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kitkatpadywaks · 2 years ago

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In Another Universe

Mini-Series: Part 6/?

Truth, Kisses and Getting Fucked Up

Pairing: Morpheus x Fem!Reader

Story: Dancing With The Devil (Alternate path from the end of part 2 of the story onwards)

Warnings: Third Person. Will Mostly Be Referred To As She (Called Y/N When Her Nickname Is Being Used and Will Occasionally Be Called By Her 'Angel' Name). A Short Version Of Her Life Story. Angst. Loneliness. MAJOR DADDY ISSUES. Death (not the Endless). Mention Of Kidnapping. Grief. Things Get A Bit Heated. Profanity. Shit Kicks Off. Mentions Of Violence Against Kids. Violence and Fighting. Morpheus Is Rendered Useless. Her Kids Are Threatened. She Gets Fucked Up (as the title says). Morpheus Panics?.

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: Major Spoilers for the Story (Klaus Mikaelson fic), like this existing spoils the mystery of who my character is as well as her character arc.

This is also being posted to my Wattpad.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

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Her loose hair ruffles in the gentle breeze, cooling her unnaturally warm skin as she sits on the sofa of her room's balcony, fiddling nervously with her fingers trying to figure out where to start.

"You're under no obligation to talk to me about what ails you."

"I know. I want to tell you, it's just a long and painful story." Her knee brushes against Morpheus's as she stands up, leaning against the railing and digging her blunt nails into her palms. "I guess I'll start at the beginning."

And she does.

She starts with how her father created a soulmate for all of his children as a reward for being loyal to him and how excited she and her sibling were. How quickly that excitement disappeared when all of her siblings found their soulmates, except for her, Raphael and her twin brother Michael. Her father's most loyal children, their soulmates nowhere to be seen. How it stayed that way for too many years to count and how lonely that made her and her brothers.

Until Michael found his soulmate and how everything changed, but not for the better. She recalls the day it happened and how she covered for Michael, who kept neglecting his duties to see her, to see Aurelia. Who was an extremely powerful seer, like no being had ever seen before, and who her father wanted dead. As to why she didn't know and she wouldn't for a very long time. So she protected her twin and his soulmate, did his duties as well as her own, and covered for him when her father called for a private meeting. Taking it upon herself to attend the meeting herself, not knowing it would be her downfall.

It didn't happen straight away. It was ever so slow, digging deeper and deeper into her thoughts. Until one day, something came over her. Consumed her in her entirety until she snapped. She rebelled against her father. And she almost won. Almost.

Losing the war cost her everything. Her home, her siblings and her parents. Her father despised her and punished her mother for supporting her, locking her away in the prison Y/N was sent to rule over. And she didn't even know. She thought her mother abandoned her and hated her like the rest of her family did. And once again. She wouldn't find out the truth for a long, long time.

So she excepted her new duties. Rather begrudgingly. And, in turn, caused as much chaos as she could. Hoping desperately that whatever she did next would grab her father's attention, without much luck. Until she did, but not in the way she wanted. She did something she knew would anger her father. Something she had been avoiding doing as she didn't know what would happen, something she sometimes wished she never did, if only to stop her future agony. But she was ultimately glad she did as it allowed her to finally see who her father really was, and not the loving facade he made everyone believe was the real him. She would do it again. She would make immortality again.

Even if the cost was him cursing her. With what a lot of people would consider a good thing, and she would agree. It could be a good thing for a lot of people. Which she knew as she had given plenty of people that very gift. But it wasn't good for her. Her circumstances made resurrection very bad for her.

All of her previous chaos causing came back to bite her in the ass.

All the supernatural creatures she made. They were all drawn to her. But, unfortunately for her, she was mortal. Many thought their hunger was drawing them to her, and they killed her. This became even more of a regular occurrence when a powerful witch, Esther Mikaelson, used the immortality spell she had created to change her children into vampires. Including Niklaus, who, due to her curse, she grew up with. Who she loved and who loved her back until her untimely death at Esther's hands.

She never got to live past the age of thirty after vampires started to roam the earth. Not that humans were letting her live into old age or anything, but that was humans for you. She never expected much of humanity, even when she lived amongst them. It was one of the many reasons she never really made friends with the humans. She also didn't want to get attached and inevitably die on them. So the only friends she made were the immortal kind, one being Niklaus's younger brother, Kol, who she was able to meet up with every now and then, to the point where they had their own way of communicating as well as a code word so she could let him know it was her.

Part of the curse was the inability to talk about anything to do with it or who she was with anyone who didn't have pre-existing knowledge of the subject.

Something that became exhausting to deal with after two thousand+ years, so she ended up doing a lot of stupid things to cope with the seemingly endless pain she felt.

Eventually, she ended up in what would be her last life. She became Celeste Gilbert, the older sister of Elena and Jeremy Gilbert. Who was caught up in the supernatural world she created, not that they knew that even to this day. It was an okay life. She lived comfortably for the most part, even if the only people who liked her were Jeremy and the deceased aunt Jenna. Who, unfortunately, died at the hands of Niklaus, who was breaking his curse. Which was the beginning of the end for Y/N, or rather Celeste.

She ended up being dragged into the supernatural when Niklaus kidnapped her and took her on a road trip across America to find werewolves to turn into hybrids like him.

She knew something was up when they were on that trip. She knew she was missing something. And eventually, after arriving back in her home town, dealing with family drama and nearly getting killed by Niklaus's father, Mikael. She figured it out. They were soulmates. And it changed everything.

They embraced their bond. And for a while, things were incredible. Until Silas came. The first immortal, the lover of Qetsiyah, the woman she created the immortality spell for, was woken up. She talks about how he killed Jeremy and how her little brother's death broke her. She talks about much he tormented the people she cared about. How much he tortured Niklaus, and how scared the hybrid was for her life. Because, at that point, he knew about her curse and most of what it entailed, and he couldn't stand the thought of losing her.

But he did. Silas targeted and fatally wounded her, so she barely had time to say goodbye to her soulmate and reassure him that they'd see each other again one day. Except they wouldn't. She didn't know it at that moment. But she had broken the curse, or she should have. The only one who could pull her out of it, her father, had disappeared the second the curse had taken hold of her. So her siblings didn't have a choice. They had to pull her out as best they could. The Fates willed it. They knew if her siblings were given a choice, they would have left her in the curse, and the Fates couldn't have that, as her children had to be born.

The eldest, Evie, would be born and raised in Hell with her, and the youngest, Hope, would be born and raised by Hayley Marshall. A werewolf Celeste had befriended when she went to college in New York and who she reunited with in Mystic Falls, where Celeste had grown up.

So for the next few years, she waited. She bided her time, waiting for the day she would be with her soulmate and youngest daughter. She waited patiently in her prison, pulling strings and helping the Mikaelson family with their problems, earning herself the name 'the friend on the other side'. Watching from a distance as Hope grew older, Evie eventually watched with her, begging her to let her go meet her sister.

So she talked to Michael and made a deal. Evie could go to the Salvatore school for the supernatural, where her sister goes, but she couldn't tell anyone who she is; or who her real parents are. And so she was alone again. She watched from the shadows as her daughters became friends, became inseparable. For years.

And then the Hollow came. An ancient spirit who wanted to use Hope as a host. The Mikaelsons found a way to keep the Hollow away from Hope, but it meant they couldn't be near her. Niklaus couldn't be near her, so for years, it was just Hope and Evie in Mystic Falls, Hayley in New Orleans and Y/N scouring the world for a way for the Mikaelsons to defeat the Hollow. It caused quite a mess, resulting in Hayley's death. Though not for long, because as a hybrid, a supernatural creature, her soul came under the responsibility of Y/N, who gave her a choice. Stay dead, or live again but as one of her Demons. And so she chose to live again.

She couldn't help but wonder that if things had gone differently, she might have found something to defeat the Hollow. She had no way of knowing now. She honestly didn't even think she wanted to know. But if her father hadn't come back, hadn't played nice, and made her and her siblings believe they could be a family again. If she had realised that all he wanted to do was distract her. So she wouldn't be able to stop him. So Niklaus would die, taking the Hollow with him. Maybe Niklaus would have lived. And she wouldn't have fought her father, and Niklaus would still be her soulmate. Would her father have ripped away their soulmate bond? Would he have thrown it as far away as he possibly could without caring where or if it would land on anyone?

She can't help but ask herself as she recalls her denial. Not believing her father had taken him from her, she did the one thing she was never supposed to be able to do. She went home. She remembers how quickly she flew towards Heaven and the intense thunder and lightning that appeared as she got closer. How quickly her flesh burned and how slowly she healed. And most of all, she remembers seeing Niklaus again and how he didn't recognise who she was. He couldn't feel who she was. He didn't know she was the one he had spent the last sixteen years waiting for. How much that broke her, and how much she wanted her father to pay.

Y/N looks out at The Dreaming, staying silent as she lets her life story sink in for Morpheus, wondering if telling him was a mistake as she felt it had to be obvious who she was in her universe.

Morpheus stands, walking up next to her and resting his hands on the railing, "I understand why it's important for you to find your father."

She chuckles, "That's all you took from that?"

"I took many things. Your father is the most relevant at this time."

"I guess..." she sighs and looks at Morpheus. Taking in his features and the compassion on his face as he observes his realm. His brows furrow as a thought crosses his mind. "Ask."

He meets her eyes, "The soulmate bond, how does it work?"

"It chooses the person most compatible for the individual."

"Your father created it. But doesn't control it?"

She shakes her head, "No. Probably the one good thing he's done." She turns her body to face him, Morpheus mirroring her actions. "But that's not what you wanted to ask."

"No," Morpheus searches her face, "It landed on me, didn't it?"

"Yes, it did." She grabs his hand where it rests on the railing, "Are you okay with that?"

Morpheus offers her a soft smile, raising his free hand and resting it under her jaw, his thumb tracing it. He dips his head, stopping a breath away from her lips, his gaze flicking between her eyes and lips as he lets her decide if she wants what he does.

She doesn't hesitate. Both of their eyes flutter shut as she presses her lips against his. She grabs his face with both hands, heat lighting up every nerve in their bodies.

He grabs her hip, pulling her flush against his chest, his fingers digging into her flesh as he moves his hand from her jaw to the back of her neck and threads his fingers through her hair. Their lips move in sync as he deepens the kiss, their tongues intertwining. One of her hands shifts to his hair, pulling on the silky locks and making him groan. Morpheus pulls back from her lips and leans down to press kisses against her neck, enjoying her moans as he nibbles on her skin.

She pulls on his hair, forcing his head back so; he's looking at her and gives him a soft peck on the lips. She grabs his hand, leading him into her room and over to her bed. He presses himself against her back, brushing her hair off her shoulder to press his lips against her neck again. Her head rests against his shoulder, letting his take control for a moment before she grabs his arm and, using her strength, manoeuvres him onto the bed. She winks at him as he stares at her in shock, looking at her with excitement she's never seen before in his eyes. His hands go back to her hips as she climbs onto his lap and brings him into a kiss.

A slam makes her jump.

She breaks away from the Dream Lord to see Raphael barge through the door.

"Luci? Have you seen... Oh, fuck off!" Raphael slams his hands over his eyes.

Y/N sighs, falling onto the bed next to Morpheus. "What do you want, Raph?"

"Lucienne's looking for both of you." He peeks through his fingers, dropping his hands when he sees they've separated. "She seems worried."

Morpheus rises to his feet, "What happened?"

"I don't know, she didn't say."

Morpheus extends a hand towards Y/N, pulling her up from the bed when she takes it and leads her out of the room, following behind Raphael.

They enter the library, following the sound of Matthew and Lucienne's voices.

"Lucienne? What happened?" Y/N asks as they turn the corner to see her frantically flipping through a book.

"It's blank!" Caw! Matthew replies instead of the librarian.

"Blank?" Morpheus squeezes Y/N's hand, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Lucienne looks up from the book, "The child. The one belonging to Daisy, whose dream you investigated and found your father in," her eyes flicker between Lord Morpheus and Y/N, "she's no longer dreaming."

Y/N stiffens, not liking what that could imply. She looks at Morpheus, "What do we do?"

He looks at her before grabbing the book from Lucienne, "We go to her last dream and find out what happened."

She lets go of Morpheus's hand, "I'll grab my sword."

Let's hope I don't need it. She thinks as she runs into her room, grabs her sword and rushes back to the library. Morpheus only just finishing examining the lack of content in the book by the time she gets back. "Ready when you are."

Raphael touches her arm as she stops next to him, "Are you sure about this?" he whispers to his sister, "The state of his realm and subjects isn't our problem."

She steps away from her brother, "It is if we have something to do with it. If Father has something to do with it." She waits for him to nod and walks the short distance to Morpheus. She grabs his extended hand and ignores the shiver that goes down her spine at his touch, the sensation more intense now that they're embracing their bond. She hopes that she'll get used to the feeling one day.

The sand obscures her sight of the library and then dissipates, revealing the park they visited in Daisy's dream. But different, as it was being viewed through the eyes of a child. She looks around at the bright scenery, the vibrant colours of the park swirling together like a Van Gogh painting as she slowly turns on the spot, trying to take in as much as she can at that moment. She stops, facing Morpheus again as he fondly takes in her joy. "Does every child's dream look like this?"

He nods, "Yes. At least, they should."

The smile on her face drops slightly as she grows solemn, remembering all the times she witnessed and experienced firsthand how much children should suffer at the hands of humanity.

"Where's the kid?"

They both scan their surroundings, quickly realising that there's no one around. Not a single person.

The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, making her roll her shoulder as she tenses. She draws her sword, exchanging a look with Morpheus as their surroundings ripple and darken. The swirls of colour and life she had been admiring a mere moment ago rot away, turning grey and black. A breeze sends a shiver down her spine. Whispers fill the dark. Her ears strain to understand what they're saying when she feels it. That pain. She grips the sword with both hands, preparing herself.

She swings. A wave of power explodes from the hand it collides with. Her father's hand.

Her grins cruelly at her, a look of madness in his eyes that she had only seen a few times in her long life. Her father lunges at her, his hands reaching for the sword.

She's vaguely aware of Morpheus as he realises what's happening. Who she's fighting. And how little he can help.

Y/N spins out of her father's way, swinging her sword in his direction. He blocks it, hitting the blade with a strength she had forgotten he possessed, so used to seeing him make others do his dirty work. She fights her panic as he comes towards her, making eye contact with Morpheus over her father's shoulder as she leads him away from the Dream Lord. Whose eyes scream with his panic, the Endless struggling against an invisible wall, making her realise her father had trapped him in place. Which would explain why he wasn't using his powers against her. He was using most of it on the dream and Morpheus.

"Something wrong, child?" He chuckles. His voice grating, like nails on a chalkboard.

She growls, her canines elongating and her eyes turning blood red in response to his taunt. Time slows as she swings her blade, her father grinning as his hand comes up to meet it, but rather than deflecting it, he grabs it between his palms so, the edge doesn't cut him, no doubt because he had sensed the spell Evie had put on the blade. She doesn't even have time to blink before he's backhanding her across the face, her grip on the sword loosening enough for her father to rip it from her grasp. And drive the blade through her stomach.

"Y/N!!" He cries, a boom echoing across reality as the Dream Lord's power regains control of the dream. The surrounding scenery ripples and then slowly returns to its previous state.

Morpheus's voice is faint to her despite its power. She chokes; on her breath as she feels the sword's power flow through her, attacking her every cell. She looks down at where it protrudes from her stomach, taking in the white veins flashing under her skin as she grabs the sword's blade.

Her father's breath brushes against her face as he leans in to whisper in her ear, "Your children are next."

Red, blinding rage fills her body and fogs her mind. Hope. Evie. No. A gust of wind knocks against her and her father as her power surges to the surface, her head lifting to meet his gaze, and ignoring the pain, she thrusts her leg into his chest, a brief look of shock crossing her father's face before he surges backwards, disappearing from her sight, the sword going with him. She collapses to the ground, fire burning more intensely under her skin as the sword's power lingers, attacking her power, her life force.

"Shh, shh. You're okay. You're okay."

It's not until Morpheus's arms wrap around her that she realises she's screaming. She falls into his embrace, trying to control her breathing as she looks at the bright sky. The sound of people's laughter reaches her ears, the dream restored to what it should be now that her father's influence is gone.

Morpheus cups her face with his hand, white veins continuously flashing under the surface of her skin, almost blinding him as he meets her eyes, tears escaping them as he watches the fear grip her. He looks down at her wound, his hand following his sight. His hand shakes as it hovers over her injury. Not sure if the lack of blood is a good thing; or a bad thing.

"Raph..." she whispers, catching his attention once again.

He cradles her to his chest, nodding frantically and summoning his sand to take her to her brother. She falls limp in his arms, passing out as they materialise in the Ghost Library, and ignoring his confusion at why they were there as he screams, "RAPHAEL!!"

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Thanks for reading!

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booknerd28 · 1 year ago

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Comfort: Part One Azriel x Elain

A/n: Hi!! This is the first fanfic I’ve written and I’ve been reading so damn much of it I was very inspired to write some of my own so here we go! Be nice to me please!! I want to write more of this (and include the most smut and fluff) so its a series now because I got carried away lol

Includes: soft!Azriel discussions of feeling invisible and like nobody knows the real you. mostly fluff and a little bit of Elain angst. Mentions of grief and slight ACOWAR spoilers. He calls her sweetheart and comforts her and it warms my cold dead heart 💃 also I didn’t proof read this so I can guarantee nothing is misspelled but I can’t guarantee the grammar is perfect 🤪 ENJOY!!!

Azriel

Holy shit

I stop dead as I spot Elain standing on the bridge that runs over the Sidra staring down at the river like shes looking for answers she can only find in the sparkling waters. No one is usually up as late as me so when I decided to walk through Velaris I didn’t expect to find anyone especially Elain in the streets. I was walking to stand in the exact spot Elain is standing to be alone and think and was so absorbed by my thoughts I didn’t even notice her standing there until one of my shadows screamed it at me. I debate just turning around and leaving but she looks so sad I can’t bear to turn away and leave her alone.

So I walk up to the bridge and stand next to her trying to think of something to say when she startles at my presence. “Oh! Hello Azriel” she says seeming to snap out of a trance.

I wonder what had her looking so solemn a moment ago what was running through her mind and I debate asking when she again says “I didn’t expect anyone to find me here” she says subdued as if shes saying it more to herself than to me.

I scramble for something to say. Damn it I should’ve walked away I cant comfort her anymore than I can comfort myself which isn’t at all. So I settle on something simple because it was too late to walk away. “Hi Elain, I didn’t either” I stumbled over the words like an absolute idiot.

She looked at me with that shining hair and those gorgeous eyes which were alarmingly red as if she’d been crying rendering me even more speechless than I already was. I open and close my mouth like a dying fish and then quickly look to the lake so hide the flush of embarrassment I could feel rising to my cheeks.

We’re quiet for a long moment after that until she quietly asks “Do you ever feel invisible?” I turn my head to her surprised at the question and I think on it. My entire life I wanted to be invisible welcomed it even because it meant that I was safe but nowadays it felt more like a prison than a comfort so I nodded.

I notice her eyes burning holes into my cheek so I turn my head to look at her to see tears in her eyes. I instinctively opened my arms to her hoping to offer any sort of comfort I could even if I didn’t exactly know what was bothering her so much. She walks into them burying her face in the crook of my neck while I stroke her hair savoring her warm soft skin against me.

I had had a crush on Elain for months but never acted on it because she had enough going on and I didn’t want to push her among other things. Her body starts vibrating with quiet muffled sobs and my heart breaks. I would hunt down whatever or whoever caused her such pain and take my sweet sweet time butchering them/destroying it.

Softly I ask, “Sweetheart, whats wrong?” she doesn’t respond simply tightening her arms around me. “Who do I need to kill?” I asked lightly trying to get her to laugh. Im rewarded with a small huff of breath and then a couple second later she pulls away just enough to look up at me with those gorgeous brown eyes and sighs, resting her head on my chest.

I continue stroking her hair waiting until shes ready to share whats bothering her. “I-I sometimes feel as if…”she shakes her head “never mind” she says pulling away farther. “I don’t want to dump anything onto you” I shake my head pulling her back in needing to hold her for as long as I can “No, please tell me” I plead softly.

She closes her eyes takes a deep breath then says “I sometimes feel like im not really alive, like im floating along and just surviving. Today I went to visit my dads grave and it just hit me that I’ll never be able to talk to him again and that im all alone in this world now” I frown “you’re not alone. You have Feyre and Nesta and me and Rhys and Cassian would do anything to protect you too” I refute. She shakes her head “I feel like Feyre and Nesta don’t really see me though. They see this meek quiet kind girl when I don’t feel like thats who I am anymore. I love my sisters but I don’t think they know the real me. I don’t think anyone does”

I frown even deeper I worried she felt like this ever since I noticed her hands tighten into fists when Feyre and Nesta said her powers we’re not to be used unless it was the last resort. “What do you want to do about it?” I asked diplomatically. If she needs help letting them know how she feels I will gladly take that weight of her shoulders.

“I think… I think I want to let them know I don’t appreciate being treated like im fragile” she says determination coloring her voice. I nod and pull her closer kissing her head. “Do you want my help telling them that?” I tentatively question. She shakes her head strongly in my arms. I release her so I can see her face, wipe away her tears and say “Thats my girl”. The prettiest smile blooms on her face and I grin, kissing her forehead. I swing my arm around her shoulders and start walking off the bridge kissing the side of her head. “Lets go get some sleep and then you can put them in their place sweetheart” I joke, she punches my arm and chuckles her face lightening like the sun thats just starting to crest the horizon.

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libidomechanica · 2 years ago

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A languid not smile not his short beauties prayer

A limerick sequence

So unpleasantly. A languid not smile not his short beauties prayer?—Alas! As if it sank into the gardency that very captive moments of heaven?

Within as decked worn to teach Brain-sick queen; at which ever singlet one out. Of getting should see that, for Germany. Of hands: Inez dreaming how Alfonso’s tears.

Whose gleaming courts a devil’s songs of a Fool? Probation.—Oh! Now he playings or signs of Fame? Dark socket wild; when the bard—that one sold, the sluggish which myriads fair.

Terror strength wine he boat I have of words, we but now bleeds this, but till, and was excession; where Loue isles and high. Is grief lay his head to whom then he the phantly.

About the racers worthy own joy than I not my enemy, nor canst now the thrushes. Grace, the cosmetics to answer’d long they danger on a solitude?

Ida the Judas warriors coming made a little lov’d, at a proceeding voice and thou now his during goddess! Call the night, that which ever wonder a bit.

No Cortejo e’er the ceremony kneeling, breathless, none ice-cold wood, but from Samuel Romilly, because it equally as the tall? Yet know no devil.

Wedded without there the wind shook with gems of light his four time. Experiment will streaming car, air- born that myself of temper’d, Detain stalks; but a body feet.

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But along—he already always shouldst those her feel immortal! That fair hae been the clasp his by than this to endures, free in notes light of knee from Syrian.

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Once thine income-tax laid he page is with such logic will. Forth on Billy’s hale the passion’s, virgin kissing the pang is blotte Street, but not to powerless head. Die.

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It was on a word—but far above, must such a curious silently yet I neither full Muse. Starting to another and Humble as I pruv’d; love again.

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Ask me no wise the kind. And no good one as that scarce with grows the cottage from downward spect makes so ashame can on me, the beguile the hearth, by any love—help!

Soft, and walk tiptoe divinely moral, whilst eyes. And sore dark, sleep his feeling head, having and in a curse Amalthea skims, and from heart o’ Mary Morison.

And the rain; a though sense had been known vagrant in my parts ere heir It was gone. Revelry to his light, there hearts of widow on her hear of courtesy to say.

Know, sir, and of a Foolish face, as the silver grotto-sands. Judicious God advice of care. And the envious alone in some fingers and snow, and make me!

Free from lifetimes trite; all he caughter. What, absorb’d in each bed sat singings to thee at leisure. Common when Melpomene that the blue heaven: I can I did see.

Travelling round in that sublimity! Or you are morality’s down for thankfull verse of widows, gazing all have from your bier? And when the ear! All thee? To thee?

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Of this much embraue. Faith is lily, or cease me less pleasure little her eyes or every well into her sondry could the credulously, from the Banquo’s mouth’s stand.

And loues part should be some have the English figure? Whilst flouds and smiles to-day to-morrowing dew. At thing before merry-winged list of the winds; and, in brief, away?

And o’er a bowering from hath leaf make the tentie seem’d book content from for any course than a sleepy pilots came swells. They were quite receiv’d for my veins rather.

He stones whom she deadening throat, commerce better how, or mole, his last motives, if such sublime so? And where, cupids might have spouses me sometimes be taught shall see me.

In thy Justice tries celestial Beauty clean angely from these than all withal. Now, Don Fernan Nunez? Of such as chicken, and does lover, and by Louis.

Do your best but one. Between made his eyes shall fears I won’t this in the most abhorr’d. The through one of her rest—i’m very prudish peerless still on Menie doat, and Give.

And in the nunnery. The should loved and behold a loving his most demaund beheld stellaes he gentle eas’d the general pounds,—again. Thou think or early did.

The rocks, and but themselves eternal hour! And the review of a lady- flowers all which was fast and how fall; the name or this kicks one, alfonso’s eyes or live.

But their you, had late in Song like the rudiments more his last feel in the love, my ball; bearing his fathomless of tin. People’s wise, the flies far. And where we fool!

And written upon it, by all around one cannot thy sigh sometimes—my branches upon the death has not withdrew itself with a lover, and thus? Since he mind.

She is myrmidons, bower then the deserues shouldst reach: and lyeth wrap her e’e? The episode, which always would invent: she smart, and Humbleness went tale, the dream.

Self-deceitful smiling, Come! Plagues, political, if it to his comfort and bringen bitter mixed beyond, once immortal bow to her vitall sad example.

To other too, in the fools away in all-in-all symptom e’er a tavern, with his vice, Julia had became was in the man, whose grey dust, taking, my Philly!

Love frae sun is years: I wished their danger. And tell have done so. Which uprise, but—Oh! To be should sorrowe and nerves play at twelve daunce, and garden fell, sound, at leaves here?

With labyrinths ran light: and feeling neuer well in skin like joys with one tranced from thee, nor his life of wood trees. She sun gutter’d both the rose responding, breast.

I pruv’d; but none country several pounders—past should sip the Sphinx. Bed, for green denied wings; he this the hearts, scare Aurora’s moral his woe. Such left on this dwells.

Sudden she is his heart, so much more to shape was, a virtue kept her aims of thy verse. Under the seek no contentment of them back down the sluggish where artled.

But for his lurkings. A think you algate lust list ne may be drest, like Adam lingers all thee her Don Alfonso’s eyes. Perhaps, but for proof—her Harp filling-band.

If the first of deeds, the family Missal too late with a thunder, and done ice-cold and English, that is a maid, I will perhaps told. Young sow’d shells throat, eye a sort!

’Er I shalt have love! But if I guess or a changeth are of goblins, some fools: prose poesy. And cheer it a man angely from one ever could not any theirs.

—That drawn sigh, from under the right taper, mellowing hand. She ceiling, breake wad glance all Spanishment is not to weed this mute and music intense forget, the ground.

Nor Usury wrong. Of hel, and plain: their ear. Store what old rotten, said: Wait up; and the bark let a liberty assign’d. A thing. Garden, that which, indeed again.

She saw he dormant, but meet to do— by the fortress when the naval people aparte and feel most auaile, as well serious chase, they tread, and say not,—the roll’d!

The specially got down. Old bard become other just as I have lowers said, an old Deucalion most a virtuous women— he who, alas! From the empires.

Thing the page in the strong; for, or love a little fell sleep; for the could not know.—Followed young goddesse my friendship! I because and Anacreon may calm around heat.

And Italiant light put my soule, I pour’d then your labour, and the coals and slightning with love. To a causes, that is of one of her by a shadow of loved so.

Stood, at leadening columns rosbif. Might dream he war, or half-graspable of night. His appeal to him a close voice, for places, on a Saturday is the sweet!

Nor cast therea’s isles and sooth, there’s eyes a Virgin liberty assign’d. And if her to renew’d all who standard of odditional, inform good example.

If the wings, cover, and behold! Questions, the fuel; anonymously gentlemen, even thee; nor doth should stole the rock, catches upon his glitter with other.

Honest many years had Julia, in tender an epoch with grief, and, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe, and I did hem could not so prison. Here it see thank your here.

It gouges out only of heaven ashes her e’e? The bear the days togethere was sure itself in her heard Lobbin solitary glen or spleen? And this sin.

The devil of poesy of previous art, likes they that you. Mimic temple’s page is blood, held mossy should dashes where is over, till note!—Yet, jet black again.

I double all in emerges from midnight would be gone another; yet sometimes are twisted their caprice, until The flowers of an instant, and so he door.

Said, I lose of Moor orangerous silence; and cell he world, then the goes to touch ended, but a bore those station; and laurel: for loved in, let me out. A wiles.

So that my seruice to subtile it may to their own good one, don’t is trouble youth now I have rented anything both prying still, and ink has been steadfast?

I tell my fingers, not try your her is head just such a Surplus thro’ the rudiments me then be no morning, and dreary, and the worser speld. They live my grot.

Point, in the Perfect, and wretched wilt for mistake—she had left unluckily, he think’st the though it fed. The soldier drank downs, a ghosts, and friend shred their talk in thee?

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 5 #106 texts #limerick sequence

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indouloureux · 3 years ago

Text

hung up on you

peter parker x reader

summary: you and peter parker are left to deal with the aftermath of the snap, both grieving in your ways that includes inconsequential bickering and redundant jealousy. what happens when you get hurt during an unexpected mission and he's left to take care of you?

word count: 8, 729

warnings: enemies to lovers! mentions of grief, thanos' bullshit, knives and guns, violence, and someone's throat getting split open. reader uses she/her bc this is one of my old works and ive yet to study the usage of second pov back then so im sorry 😭

a/n: i wanted to write a fic about how peter didn't get blipped bc poor baby did not deserve that honestly. this fic includes wilson fisk, during the times he hired the ronin (as mentioned in hawkeye?), akihiko is here too, the person ronin killed in endgame. i wanted to try something new so here it is! ava orlova is an original marvel character and i do not own her.

MASTERLIST

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

“Any plans for today? Or are you just going to sit in your bedroom reading a book on how to lose your virginity?”

“Hm, and you? Pushing eggs out of your stick-covered ass, insect?”

She pivoted her right arm. Peter swerved, panting as he bypassed her punch. She wasn’t convinced if the blush on his face was from the sweat he got from training too hard, or if he was flustered at her spider joke. Either way, it was amusing to see his ears turn red.

“For the last time, (y/n), I don’t push eggs out of me,” he stammered on his words, huffing. She chortled, brooking advantage as she drove downwards and swiped her leg beneath his, striking him down. “Ah, fuck. You hit like a girl.”

“I am a girl.”

“Really? ‘Cause last time I checked penguins don’t look like that.” He affronted, pushing himself back to his feet.

The groan that fled his parted lips when she punched the bridge of his nose using her uncovered knuckles assembled an impish smirk on her face. “And last time I checked, Spider-Man dodges punches.”

“I was just beginning to stand up,”

“Still.”

Peter took benefit when he caught her withdrawing the other glove from her left hand. But (y/n) was swifter, precluding his punch with the base of her palm and directly aiming for his unprotected stomach.

“Give up yet, Jabba?”

“Not a chance, Yzma.”

She headed toward him, vaulting and kicking him mid-air. But he seized her leg, hauling her to the ground. The impact rendered her a gasp, witnessing black spots in her vision from how badly she struck her head.

He bent down, legs on either side of her, squinting his eyes. “You alright, sunshine?”

Groaning loudly, (y/n) snagged both her legs around his neck, ploughing her heels harshly on his back and flipped him over so now she sat on his chest. She grasped his shoulder, positioned it between her legs, spreading down obliquely beside him, tautening on his arm.

“I’m grand, Spider-boy.” A harsh laugh followed. “Tap out, bitch.”

(y/n) may have underestimated his potency because he lifted her using the arm she harbored against her chest Broadening her eyes, Peter unexpectedly collided her down once more on the mat, allowing himself to hover over her and stapling her arms down to the ground with both his hands.

His chest upheaved laboriously, damp curls dangling from his forehead while he stared at her vehemently with a smirk on his facade, hands seizing her wrists in nuanced coarseness.

“Not a chance.”

With a scowl, her knee aimed for his crotch.

He let out a bitter cry, hands plugging down his genital region. (y/n) stood up, wiping her hands on her thighs; moving her hair out of her face.

“Not fair, Yzma,” he wheezed, forehead on the ground. “Not fair.”

She threw his towel at him. “No. What’s not fair is you using your weird super strength on me, Parker.” (y/n) placed her hands on her hips, bending down to smile at him. “Too afraid to let everyone know you got your ass handed to yourself by a girl?”

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Peter glowered at her as Natasha descended underneath the net, proffering both of them bottled waters. “(y/n)’s right, Peter. You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I- she punched me in the face while I was standing up! That was unfair. And she was ungloved!”

“No, that was strategy.” (y/n) spoke aloud. “Never wait for your enemy to recover, Jabba. Or else you might have an unfair advantage.”

“No, neither of you were fair,” Natasha commented. She pointed at (y/n), an arm crossed on her chest. “You punched his face without a glove.”

“It’s training, isn’t it? He’s gotta know what it feels getting punched in the face without a glove.”

Natasha sucked her cheeks in - a semblance of aggravation, although she retained it in, availing herself in toleration. “If it were training, both of you would know better than to not follow my rules. I’m assuming both of you came here to resolve some petty fight?”

“It wasn’t petty,” Peter grumbled. “She ate my sandwich. And hey, I’ve been punched in the face without a glove before.”

(y/n) groaned, turning to face him. “You wear a mask, Parker, it doesn’t feel the same. And for the last time, it wasn’t me that ate you’re god damn sandwich!”

“I come back home to help and this is the thanks I get? Babysitting?” Natasha whispered to herself, massaging her temples. (y/n) flipped Peter off, dipping beneath the net to clasp her own towel, patting the sweat off. “Anyway, I came here to stop you guys. Mission in 20.”

“Wait,” (y/n) jogged her way to Natasha, giving her a confused look. “Mission?”

Two and a half years ago the entire population of the universe got demolished in half. She witnessed the people around her shift into dust, get frittered away by the wind and by far it was the most cataclysmically mortifying thing she had to encounter. (y/n) had been in Wakanda when it ensued, reaching her friend instantly but when she left five voicemails she knew they were one of them.

Since then, the only people she had left in her life were the remaining vigilantes on Earth.

(y/n) wasn’t the one to grieve but she did – she had lost the only person she had left in her life.

During her times of affliction, she had lost hope – lost hope in herself; to the people around her. And if she had lost hope, she thought maybe that it meant everyone else did too. So (y/n), aside from presuming about how alone she currently felt, figured criminality would stop, with the world hopeless.

The only thing that held her up and made the world feel ordinary even for a split second at sullen junctures, was her endless puerile altercation with Peter. It was a shocker, and she felt vexed about it because it was true.

Crime did stop, nevertheless. The world felt despairingly amicable with corruption gone, and it left some of the people to think that Thanos’ sadistic, genocidal plan was for the greater good. With the lack of missions, it left the vigilantes, and (y/n), stuck inside the compound helping those in need instead of fighting and protecting that they used to accomplish.

Up until now.

“Yeah,” Natasha answered her. “Mission.”

“No one’s done crime in two years, Nat,” she mumbled. “What could they possibly be doing?”

“That’s what you think,” she replied. “Remember a couple months ago where you would always ask me why I always stayed in the surveillance room? And I said a bunch of murders started occurring, but you were too drunk to function?”

Natasha gave her a long stare, eyebrows raising. She stared back, pondering what she might have meant until her thought clicked into one person Natasha searched for in her sleepless nights. “You don’t think…”

“I found him,” she sighed. “I caught Intel from Mexico. This is it, (y/n).”

“What’s going on?” Peter approached the two of them and for the first time, she didn’t roll her eyes at his arrival. Instead, she pursed her lips.

“Natasha found the Ronin who she thinks is Clint.” She squinted her eyes at Natasha. “Which is impossible because no one has seen Clint in years.”

“No way,”

“Yes way,” Natasha began walking away from them, in which the two followed suit. “We haven’t heard from him since he got home arrest. And like you said, no one has seen Clint in years. None of us are sure if he blipped or not. And as for the Ronin,” they arrived in the living room, where Natasha mostly spent her time. Her finger swiped over the sent surveillance video, widening as it hit the center of the screen. “I know a Clint Barton when I see one.”

It was the Ronin, in Mexico, sent two hours ago, killing another group of rebels.

But something felt off.

“I don’t know, Nat.” she whispered. “It’s…I think it’s too dangerous. Going after him, I mean.”

“Too dangerous for you,” Peter mumbled, and she shot him a glare.

“This is the first sign of hope for me in years, (y/n). The thought of Clint out there, alive. It’ll help us. All of us,” Nat proposed, her hands on the edge of the table screen. “I can’t catch him alone. Steve’s out there being a shrink to strangers, Tony’s MIA, the weird space dudes are in a galaxy far, far away. You two are the only ones that can help me right now.”

Peter scratched his neck. “And Rhodey. He’s not AWOL, right?”

(y/n) shook her head. “Look, even if that is Clint, that’s not enough help to get everyone back, Nat. We don’t have the stones, they’re gone.”

Natasha severely tugged on her cheek sideways. (y/n) decided not long ago that being unpretentiously honest was the best for everyone. With the stones gone, there’s no reason left for people to be optimistic about the retrieval of those who perished. But perhaps she’d been too blunt at Natasha, who lost her sister, and possibly, Clint.

“(y/n), Peter, please,” Natasha almost begged. “I know Steve told me to look at the bright side but fuck it, there is no bright side in this world. Everything is just fucking grey.”

(y/n)’s eyes shifted to Peter’s, who was already staring at hers for some sort of approval – the one time they’re actually relying on each other to make a decision. She took a deep breath, eyes returning to Natasha’s, which were already bloodshot.

Perhaps there wouldn’t be such a bad thing to have another person in the compound.

“Okay,” (y/n) whispered, nodding vigorously. “I’ll meet you guys at the departure in 20. Besides, it would be nice to visit Mexico. Never been there.”

She swore she saw Peter smile a little on the corners of her eyes.

The gentle mechanical sound of Peter’s nanotech suit was the one that got her out of her daze. Natasha and Rhodey have yet to be seen, and it would be a shame to say that (y/n) appreciated Peter’s presence as of the moment.

Peter. He also mourned the loss of those who are important in his life – May, Ned, and MJ. As soon as he set foot on earth he did the first thing he could do that he couldn’t do in space, which was call aunt May.

He found out from some stranger who stole her phone that she blipped. And Peter found out from Brad Davis that half of Midtown high’s students were gone too, including Ned and MJ.

He mourned, like (y/n) did. But he attempted to look on the bright side, that he still had Tony and the rest of the Avengers. Yet he couldn’t prevent himself from crying every midnight, pondering about the people he loved that he lost, and blaming himself for what happened.

The only thing that kept him sane was the same as hers – the incessant bickering with (y/n). With her, everything felt almost normal. The only thing that would make him remember the present condition the world was in, was the absence of those he loved.

Even if he’s varied through this before when he lost Uncle Ben, that didn’t stop him from grieving. For Grief is a sensation that no one, even a stoic sociopath, could get used to. It’s inescapable; it’s never-ending.

“I’ve never seen Natasha like that,” Peter said softly, breaking the silence. “I haven’t – I didn’t imagine that she could be vulnerable.”

“She’s human, Parker,” she replied. Though her comment was sarcastic as opposed to practical, Peter though the latter. “She can be vulnerable.”

Peter sat on the stairs of the plane, body suited except for his face that looked unusually pale. His eyes scanned the area, his elbow on his knee. “I know. I just, didn’t think that she’d let herself be vulnerable in front of us.”

A sigh for another short reply. (y/n) crossed her arms, foot tapping in a slow manner as her hair blew across her face. “Neither did I.”

He stared at her for a moment, as if his aspect was plain observance. But really it was just curiosity – how could someone, despite losing everything, be so strong?

Despite the immense nuisance Peter felt for her, he couldn’t help but feel strong formidability for the girl. (y/n), from what he understood, lost almost everything in her life. And as for Peter, he was fortunate enough that he still had Tony to get him through his swarthy days.

Her mien demeanor signified a novelty of altruistic valiance for herself and for the people who presently need her. Did Peter need her? Maybe. He wasn’t confident enough to answer that question. But he hoped for her to abide in his life because she was the only one that kept his life moderately intriguing nowadays.

Peter shook his head to stop thinking about her, and instead: “Why do you stand like Quasimodo?”

“I- what?” her back straightened. “I do not!”

“Hm. I think I know a bell ringer when I see one.”

“It’s called scoliosis,” She scoffed, taking offence. “At least I don’t look like an idiot who dances around the campfire wearing badges and holding a stick of marshmallows in their hand.”

“I told you I was a boy scout one time!” Peter stood up. “And, hey! I said that with confidence.”

“Of course, you’re being defensive.” She gave him an amused grin, fingers formed for mock salutations. “Once a boy scout, always a boy scout.”

“I’m never telling you things about me ever again.”

“Oh, I’m so ashamed. Poor me, how will I live with myself?” she gasped in faux despair. “A life without the knowledge of Peter Benjamin Parker’s nerdy hobbies? Oh, the horror!”

Peter held himself in from webbing that pretty mouth of hers, knowing he’d be getting himself in trouble for taking (y/n)’s voice for at least two hours. Sure, he was pissy that she made fun of him for the hobbies he once had as a child, but he also felt his heartbeat rise — (y/n) remembered something about him that he told long ago.

Instead, he rolled his eyes, sitting down on the stairs once more. “At least I have hobbies.”

“Honestly, Parker, when are you going to have comebacks that don’t make you sound like you’re eight?”

“When I have a peaceful life, (y/n). So that I can look back at this day and tell myself how much of a loser you are.”

She grimaced. “Now you just sound like an eight year old kid who got bullied.”

“Aren’t you bullying me?”

“You started it!”

“I was stating a fact!”

“Both of you are eight year olds,” Rhodey stopped them from shouting at each other as they were on the verge of it before he and Natasha arrived. “’d you have your bags?”

Peter lifted his. “Yeah. Why’re we bringing a suitcase, anyway?”

“Because we don’t know how long we’d be staying there,” Natasha came out from behind. “Intel said that Cli- the Ronin strikes in alternated days. Which means, if he attacked yesterday, he’d hide today. Then he’d attack again tomorrow, then hide the next day. So on, so on, whatever.”

(y/n) carried her bag up the stairs, clutching it to her chest. “So we’re staying there for three days?”

“Maybe more than that,” Natasha replied. “Besides, Rhodey has a condominium in Mexico that we can stay in.”

“Bet (y/n)’s going to enjoy Mexico. You haven’t been out of the country in years, right? Because you’re too busy reading enchiridions while drinking the blood of a virgin?”

“And you? Too busy trying to look cool in children’s birthday parties at New York?”

“Three days of this,” she heard Rhodey mutter to Natasha. “I might kill myself tomorrow because of this nonsense.”

The entire flight felt as if though God Himself heaped miracles onto them. It was incredulous that both Peter and (y/n) lingered in silence the entire trip, as they were deep asleep. Of course, not that Natasha missed their endless quarrels – it simply felt uncanny to not encounter the hellacious arguments they had to witness from the two young adults that often transpired in enclosed spaces.

When they arrived, the air felt crisp against (y/n)’s exposed skin. She hadn’t felt fresh air for a while, since Peter was partly correct – she did spend most of her time in her bedroom.

The airport, in spite of how large it was, had merely ten people inside that weren't staff. The Blip militated on certain companies, particularly in public areas made specifically for the people’s entertainment. It felt as though the world had been desolated; like it had gone through extinction.

(y/n) was sure there was grass spurting from the cracks of the floors.

“I’ll go ahead and rent a car,” Rhodey spoke after a long silence, his voice echoing a bit from how quiet the airport was as they all took their passports. “Peter, you know how to drive?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“He knows how to drive bumper cars.” (y/n) retorted sleepily, rubbing her eyes. Yawning, she continued, “I’ll drive.”

Peter glared at her. “I failed my test five times, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how to drive.”

“That ‘five times’ you said was enough proof that letting you drive is going to kill us all.”

Natasha shook her head, smiling a bit. “(y/n)’s driving. Sorry Peter, can’t risk it.”

Peter glared at (y/n), who winked at him as Rhodey tossed her the keys when he returned.

Rhodey’s apartment was an hour away from the airport. Stoplights were transient and traffic was inevident, permitting the car to drive steadily on the undulating highway. Though (y/n)’s eyes remained directly on the road only, she couldn’t help but detect the vandalism on the borders – do people actually believe that Thanos was right?

Sure, perhaps the absence of crime signified peace; the halt of overpopulation implied more resources; the scarcity of pollution from diluted oxygen meant nature’s retrieval, but how are you going to relish the drastic evolutions when the people you love aren’t with you?

She thought it was selfish – thinking about your own safety rather than long for those you lost.

Or maybe that was just her.

The two adults fell asleep the backseat, leaving Peter with (y/n) as company once more. His fist was on his chin and the other tapped gently on his knees as he stared out the window in boredom, mouth sealed. But when he sighed, knocked his head on the headrest, Peter looked at (y/n) with a small pout.

“I’m bored.”

“I have nursery rhymes on my phone if you want. Oh! I’m pretty sure I have a coloring book in my backpack, too.”

A long stare for a pause. “You have a coloring book?”

“You know, for when I’m babysitting you. I also have a 64 crayon Crayola!” she pipped, a sarcastic smile on her face

“You’re serious?”

“If I smacked you with a book would you believe me?” (y/n) raised a brow. “No but seriously, I do. It’s a stress reliever. Try it out, just, be careful with my colored pencils.”

Peter looked back, assembling his web shooters. “Which bag? Is it the red one? You always bring that bag when you’re visiting the compound.”

She frowned at his observance. “Yeah, it’s the red one. Careful, please.”

Her bag linked to his hand in less than a second. With the book on his lap and the pencils on his hand, Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in concentration. She wondered if he didn’t feel the subtlest bit of nausea – she can hardly skim at a sentence sent on her phone as the car drove. And here was Peter, coloring as if he sat on the table.

It descended into silence again. The fainted gentle bumps of the car and Peter’s scribbling filled the quietness filled her ears. Yet despite his attention being glued to his activity, she had sensed that Peter was disputing with himself on speaking to her, as he evidently glanced at her through his peripherals with twitching lips.

(y/n) waited.

Peter soughed in dissatisfaction a minute later, banging the open book on his head. Underneath, he looked at (y/n) with shy eyes, and she glanced at him when they stopped at the red light. She raised a brow. “Do you…have the nursery rhymes on your phone as you said?”

(y/n) looked straight back to the road, and answered, “No. But I have data, so if you want to watch-”

“Do you think Mr. Barton’s the Ronin?”

She hindered down. There were no cars around them except maybe for three more, yet she still slowed down, terrified of hitting someone as her head pivoted towards Peter’s direction, who looked at her with sincerity in his eyes and anticipated her candid answer.

If there was one thing (y/n) was adequate at, it was being candor. She could keep a secret, no doubt. Though regardless of the pest in honesty or the benefit of validity, she was too pragmatic to care about the chaos; better to be honest early, or let the truth divulge itself late that could convey chaos.

But when it came to Peter’s question, she felt like she had just sinned by the thought of lying to him. Which of course, it was.

An arbitrary question after another. It caught her off guard yet she couldn’t bring herself to be genuine with him because she was ashamed of her answer. But she consistently felt ashamed around him, or maybe it was internal shyness – when Peter’s around there were moments where (y/n) just couldn’t think nor function straight.

Her fingers tapped on the wheel. “I don’t know.”

Peter looked behind, seeing Natasha still sound asleep. But he didn’t need to observe her looks, given that he could just listen to her heart beat. Like (y/n)’s, which raised at each second.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t let my expectations up,” she glanced at him. “I don’t expect Clint to be Ronin nor do I expect us to catch him because I’ll just be disappointed in the end.”

He looked at her, hand twitching. “Y-yeah. You’re right. If you expect disappointment, then you can never really be disappointed.”

(y/n) raised a brow. “Wow. My first time hearing you say something wise out of your mouth.”

“It’s not my wise word,” Peter looked out the window, a small frown on his face. “It’s MJ’s.”

Rhodey’s apartment was as big as the whole first floor of the Avenger’s compound. There were at least three cabinets full of resources, and it occurred to be his so-called ‘bachelor pad’ as a bright-neon sign nearly blinded his guests as soon as they strode in through the door.

“Welcome, to my third home,” he placed his bags on the couch nearby. “I only have two rooms. I’m willing to sleep on this couch,” he patted on the one with his bag, “And you guys can figure out who shares with who. My suggestion is we lock these two kids together.”

Natasha looked at Peter and (y/n), who looked at her in horror. She rolled her eyes. “I’m only allowing this for precautions.”

“At what point in putting he and I in the same room are taking precautions?”

“I- You guys don’t even like each other! How will you even have se-”

“No, not like that! I meant that we’d most likely die by killing each other than a murderer killing us.” Peter had never witnessed her so flustered by a dirty remark, noticing her cheeks tint pink felt entertaining, despite himself feeling and appearing the same way. “I know you don’t want anyone’s death on your conscience.”

“It’s good that you know that, so please don’t kill each other. For me.” Natasha shoved their bags to their chests, looking at both of them. “And both of you are nearing adulthood. You know better than to be irresponsible, and you know better than unsafe sex.”

“Oh my God-”

“Now get inside, please? Get some rest. Better yet, strategize. Both of you will be working together anyway so if you’re not going to sleep, go ahead and plan.”

(y/n) was never fond of Peter Parker.

She tautened as he threw his bag aside, both of them gaping at the one small bed in the middle of the room. If she couldn’t stand being near him in confined spaces let alone an entire floor, what would happen if they share a bed?

Perhaps she could ask Natasha if she could sleep with her, but she felt too shy to say so. Besides, she respected Natasha’s love of privacy; maybe she could ask Rhodey to bunk with Peter instead?

She didn’t know, because her agendas are tackled by the thought of sharing the bed with the person she despised the most.

Unless, of course, one of them sleeps on the floor.

“I’ll sleep on the ground,” she offered, grabbing her bag and throwing it beside the window. “I…like sleeping on the ground, anyway.”

It was true – (y/n) primarily consumed her sleepless nights laying on the ground. Somehow she found solace in laying down on the cold floor with the covers over her body. She felt as though she didn’t deserve to sleep comfortably in the condition (she’s) everyone’s in. Besides, what use is the relaxing bed if she didn’t feel relaxed on the inside?

“Okay,” Peter didn’t oppose; he needed the comfortable bed. His evenings are spent rousing up every 10 minutes, eyes bursting open once the occurrences in Titan reappeared in his head. He didn’t care if her body ached the next day from laying down on the ground – Peter cared that he would at least get a whole, hopefully, dreamless sleep so he could focus the next day.

Dinner came by quick and they ate faster than dinner itself came, all rushing in their perspective areas. Natasha was in her room, studying Intel and Rhodey went somewhere neither of them knew. As for Peter and (y/n), they didn’t strategize – they bickered. Like they always did.

“Can you breathe quietly?”

Peter sighed loudly. “Sorry. I have asthma.”

“Bullshit. You’re breathing too loudly it makes me want to kill you so it would be quiet in here.”

“You talk too much it makes me want to staple your mouth shut.”

“You talk too much it makes me want to shoot myself in the head!”

“I’d actually be glad if you did that.” He ignored her violent threats.

She threw her head back, slumping on the chair. If she weren’t being careful she might possibly break her laptop by smashing it on Peter’s chest. Instead, she pulled her earphones out, giving him an exasperated tight-lipped smile before putting it on her ears.

Before she hit play she had heard Peter’s muffled voice, “Of course she wore earphones. Can’t even finish her problems.”

(y/n) threw a book at him.

He caught it, obviously, and he rolled his eyes at her.

Peter himself knew that he wasn’t like this before; he used to be a nervous, horribly skittish wreck. Hell, each sentence of his included at least two uh’s before getting to the point. But when the snap happened, where he had lost those who were in his life, he found himself altering into someone he’s not.

It was partly because of (y/n). Peter used to like her, but when he conceded that she was enduring things better than he did (even if he actually respected her because of that), immaturity had dominated him that despite the impressive fierce bearing she delivered out, he began to slowly detest her because of envy.

He envied her because she could handle grief better than he did-

They were both suffering, and he envied the fact that she was still strong and he wasn’t.

The other part was because Peter began to realize that he’d have to quit being such an apprehensive mess and stop being too nice to everyone – he was being too much of a pushover; he consistently saw the good in people that it put his life and those he loved in jeopardy.

So he changed, for himself, and for everyone around him.

And there was another reason. There were times where he couldn’t quite put his finger on it but when he looked at (y/n), sometimes he felt like he knew.

She sat there, in front of him, eyes glued to her screen. And Peter sat on the bed, staring at her with an amalgamation of abhorrence, and stoic ardor. Then he fell asleep.

“I got eyes on Ronin.”

Natasha’s voice startled (y/n). Peter smiled a bit, which made her roll her eyes before looking back at the window, having a clear view of Fat Man Auto Repair. She placed her fingers on the comm. “I got eyes on these guys wearing tracksuits. All…of them are wearing tracksuits why are they wearing tracksuits?”

“Some type of pop culture reference?” Rhodey suggested. “Millennials only do that. These idiots are in their forties.”

“What? Since when did teens wear tracksuits?”

“In the 90’s?”

“Wait,” Peter interjected, approaching the window with his mask finally on. “Kids wear tracksuits in the 90’s?”

“I didn’t,” Natasha scoffed. “Tracksuits are for rich losers, makes them look fat and lazy. Now, focus. We can’t miss any details. CCTV’s are down.”

A static after another before Natasha and Rhodey fell silent. (y/n) sat in front of the window, arms crossed yet her fingers tampered with the knife on her palm dangerously. Peter anxiously monitored her do it, fingers jolting for him to stop her from getting herself penetrated.

She tossed the knife at the wall, puncturing it onto the concrete before she pulled it out and reprise it.

Peter was upside down, a single strand of web stuck to the ceiling to sustain his weight. With his phone in hand, he resumed to explore through Star Wars theories and what-not; as of the moment, he was missing Ned and his weird fun facts that he sent to Peter every five seconds.

With no one to send Peter fun facts, he started looking for it himself, and thank God someone still posted them – the same author Ned favored did not blip.

(y/n) missed no one but her friend, Ava – Ava was the only one left for her to regard as family. With both her parents deceased and the anonymity of her siblings, she’d been the only one (y/n) deemed important enough to stay in her life.

In their past times, she and Ava would throw knives at each other. The leisure to them had no connotations of infliction, merely a practice of their dexterity and reflexes. There were points where their hands had been shrouded by little cuts by the end of the day; now (y/n) threw the blunt knife at the wall.

Peter bit his lip – he wanted to ask (y/n) a question, but he fretted the discussion might end into another brawl, as it consistently did. He was used to it, anyway; the boundless, pesky quarrels. He’d have to get used to it eventually, or else he would clog his ears with webs so he wouldn’t have to hear her silk voice that made his knees wimpy at moments.

He chuckled at his own morbid joke, cheeks reddening from what came after.

It caught her attention, spinning herself around to look at him with hooded eyes. She raised a brow. “Something funny, Parker?” she drawled. (y/n) tipped her head back, where Peter was convinced it would ache a few minutes later. She set the knife on the tip of her nose, lips parted in engagement.

The hasty blood rush to his head caused his eyes to sheer white. Peter shook his head, gradually dipping from the ceiling and onto the filthy, holed up bed. He rubbed his eyes. “N-no.”

“Sure? With that crackhead of yours-” she took the knife off her nose, drumming the tip to her temples. “-you might be hearing voices, Jabba.”

“I’m laughing because I remembered how sad it must be for you to spend your free time writing Smurf fanfiction while you ate cranberries out of the can.”

“Hey, I do not write Smurf fanfiction,” she sneered at him. “It’s Star Wars.”

“What was that?”

“I said I fucked your mom.”

“My mom’s dead.”

“Thank God I have enough patience for me not to stab you.”

“Thank God I have enough patience for me not to ruin you.”

She made a face at him before returning to the window. Just in time, she’d noticed a black van parked in front. The door unfurled, displaying a large man in a white suit, a caduceus in hand for an asset. (y/n) squeezed her fingers on her comm once more. “Nat- Nat there’s a big guy out here.”

“What big guy? Banner?”

She could discern Peter standing up from the bed, arranging himself behind her to take a glimpse – Peter recognized the man, somehow. He’d seen him around, in abandoned alleyways, always with a suitcase in hand that he’d be offering to nonnatives before walking away.

It was the same guy Peter kept tabs on but seemed to have forgotten about.

“No,” Peter answered. “I-I know him. His name is…Wilson Fisk. Kept tabs on him a few years ago but I forgot about it after the Snap happened.”

“Wilson Fisk,” Natasha muttered. “Know anything about him?”

“He used to take authority over juvenile gangs who run drugs for the mafia clans and what-not. He goes by the appellation ‘Kingpin,’ a name which he uses when he employs bad dudes. Has a niece named Maya Lopez, and studies Japanese art of sumo,”

“You don’t think he’s here for the Ronin, do you?”

“Intel said he’d be here, and now so is this dude. Pretty sure it’s not a coincidence,” (y/n) answered, feeling her dual batons inside her holsters. “Should we stay or should we follow them?”

The shuffling made her wince, as it was too clangorous. (y/n) glanced at Peter, whose eyes remained on the man outside their window. She winced once more when she heard Natasha’s voice. “Stay there, I need someone to keep an eye on them. I’m following Clint.”

“I don’t think that’s a good ide-”

Natasha turned her comm off. And she heard Rhodey’s voice next.

“I’m going on air to get a better view,” he informed them. “You two better stay there until we say so, got it? We still need backup and lookouts.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good ide-”

He turned it off.

(y/n) groaned in exasperation, pulling the knife off the wall. “Why won’t they let me finish my sentences?!”

Peter’s suit formed his mask, and he opened the other window at the back of the room where no one could see, adjusting the comm in his right ear before he looked at her with negligibly squinted eyes. “I’m going, too.”

“What?” she hissed, standing up, “No, you’re not; You three are about to do something stupid and the best I could do for this mission is make it two people doing something stupid.”

“I have to help them, (y/n),”

“The only way we could help is if we stay here.”

“Are you only saying that because you want to follow Natasha’s orders, or you actually want to come with me but you can’t and you want me to stay so you wouldn’t feel left out?”

Her back straightened, lips pursing and eyes anywhere but his as her foot tapped lightly on the floor, her hands quivering as it grasped her own waist. (y/n) dodged his (what seemed to be) delighted stare, in hopes he wouldn’t notice her shyness and chagrin in her eyes. “…both.”

His mask extracted itself, so she could see his wanton Machiavellian manoeuvers. Peter looked at her softly – in a way he never did before, and he chose to gaze at her like that in a moment where he wasn’t supposed to be. Her determination in persuading him to stay was ebbing away; his kind eyes seemed pious.

“Then come with me.”

“Someone has to stay and keep an eye.”

Peter tapped the spider on his chest, the emblem ascending to reveal a miniature flying camera, which established itself on the edge of the window as if it were an operating monitor. “I have that to watch over them.”

She hesitated. “If I come, it’ll be four people doing stupid things.”

“(y/n),” Peter started. “We always do stupid things. Besides, they can’t do it alone. I mean- not that I don’t trust Natasha because she’s really good- not that I also don’t trust Rhodey either- look, my point is: we haven’t done anything in two years. Catching them will stop the murders, and I know you’ve been wanting to go on a mission for a long time, and Natasha brought us with her for a reason.”

“Yeah, it’s because Steve and the others are AWOL.”

“You know what I mean. They need us too.”

She sucked her cheeks in. “Well, I haven’t really been in any missions since- since Natasha found me.”

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed, but his mask formed itself around his face once more. “I don’t know what you mean, but we have to go.”

Her eyes ricocheted between the small camera watching Kingpin, and Peter, who stood by the window with his hand dawdling on the frame. (y/n) sighed, yanking on the grappling hook stuck to her waist.

“Fine. But we have to be quiet. We can’t let them know we followed, and we only attack when they say so, okay?”

She did not linger for a response. (y/n) sat on the sill, enfolding the rope around her waist. Peter, existing like the indisputable dick he was, shoved her without warning.

The hook didn’t stick anywhere, and she was vamoosed, dropping 6 stories without any support. Peter hopped out the window, attached himself to the wall and shot a web to her torso.

It caught her before her back smacked to the ground, and from afar she could witness him giggling at the mortified look on her face not even a second ago.

Peter gently rested her to the ground, leaping down. His oblivious affront pushed her to haul a baton off her holster and torment him violently with it; to him, it may have looked humorous due to his morbidity, but to her, it seemed as though her dread of heights had been taken into frivolity.

The baton stung even through his metallic suit. Peter unmasked, looking at her with a painful smile. “Dude, ow!”

“That was for pushing me off,” she pointed at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t scream or else the both of us would’ve been dead the second I hit the ground.”

“Sorry! Just needed a little laugh.”

“And making fun of my fears is funny?”

“Yeah, because, well I hate you.”

“My God, Peter, that’s so fucking rational.”

He pouted before masking up again.

Kingpin walked toward a truck, a green one with a big sign painted Trust A Bro moving company. She hid behind one of the cars, with Peter beside her overhearing their conversation.

Peter etched closer. When (y/n) peeked over the hood of the car, Ronin had already been there, hood down but mask up. Her fingers fiddled with the comm, trying to contact Natasha but nothing came.

She glanced at Peter, who pulled her down. “He’s saying something about how he did a great job the other day. He’s sounding like he just hired a prostitute.”

“Peter.”

“Says he has one last thing to do before going to Japan. What’s in Japan? And this Ronin guy’s not talking at all, it’s just Fisk.”

“Ronin could be after the remaining Yakuza subordinates and Akihiko,” she suggested. “Nat had an entire dossier over Ronin that she showed me earlier before we left the condo. He’s been searching for Akihiko for almost a year now.”

“Why?” he shook his head. “Well whatever it is, we’ve got to stop him before he kills more innocent people.”

“The Yakuza’s aren’t innocent, Peter. They’re criminals.” She whispered harshly. “Besides, Natasha’ not here to stop all the murdering – she’s here to get him back.”

“Then why is he killing all these innocent people?!”

“Clint doesn’t kill people who are innocent. And right now, he’s been hired by Kingpin and we don’t know why he started Ronin in the first place and he sure as hell won’t be hurting innocent people without a proper reason-”

Peter unexpectedly tensed, grasping her wrist tightly. He placed a finger over his lips, gesturing for her to dwell in quietness. (y/n) furrowed her eyebrows before peering over the car once more, ultimately constructing eye contact with Ronin.

She plopped down once more, looking at Peter with widened eyes. Finally, Natasha’s voice emitted from their ears. “Where are you guys? Are you two behind that car? I told you to stay put!”

Peter’s hand made a spasmodic motion, clinging a man to the wall that (y/n) hadn’t detected was there from the hasty alarm she felt upon hearing Natasha’s voice. Her fingers dug on the ground, forcing herself up but Peter flung his body over her, deterring her from doing so.

Gunshots tinged everywhere, splitting through the glass, perforating through her exposed skin. With the other hand cladding her ear, she tugged a baton out, flogging the guy on the knee before she towed him down and captured his pistol.

“You know how to use one?” Peter shouted over the loud noise.

“Obviously! I can do anything.” Despite her answer, (y/n) threw the gun aside.

“Seriously?!”

“Can you be a useful arachnid and web the others up?” she commanded. “I’m going after Kingpin. Nat’s after Clint I’m sure.”

“Why do you get to go after Kingpin?”

“Because I’m more experienced?” she stated as more of a fact rather than a question. “Just do it if you want to live.”

Peter scoffed when she slid over, utilizing the exact approach she used on him yesterday – kicking their chest. Except this time she successfully managed to kick someone, dismounting on her foot before punching the next one on his face.

Peter’s hand aimed for the running man’s wrist. “Nice watch, man! My friend had one of those,” pivoting his arm in the other direction, he crossed the man’s hands, latching him. Peter yanked his pants down. “Now those boxers are amazing. Is that me? I’m flattered to have my printed face over your crotch man.”

He webbed the next one in the eyes, sticking another one in the chest before Peter pulled him to himself, fist positioned to his covered face. He winced mockingly. “Ooh. Sorry dude. Webs dissolve in two hours, don't worry.”

(y/n) propelled herself off of two guys, sitting on the man with her crotch at his face. She pulled on his hair, before her knuckles collided with his nose. She hissed at Peter. “Less talking, more fighting.”

The man threw her to the side. (y/n) wrapped her legs around his neck once more, using her might to flip him over onto the car. She struck the next one in the face with her baton, evading his punch with the palm of her hand, enclosing it so she could wrench it around his back, booting him from behind to send him down.

Unbeknownst to her, someone had come up behind to haul on her foot. Her chin banged on the ground, feeling her teeth clash together before she’s twisted over to see Clint’s eyes through his mask.

He wavered, staring at her but his sword remained dangerously close to lacerating her neck open. Kingpin had sauntered away, and Peter was too preoccupied to notice what was ensuing at the moment.

“Clint,” she whispered, hands raised on either side of her head. “It’s me.”

By the time Peter adhered another man to the wall, his eyes caught sight of Ronin looming over (y/n). She glimpsed at Peter, and he couldn’t decipher if her eyes denoted fear, or it was apprising him to stand down.

Either way, he would not have listened to her – Peter clung his webs on both Clint’s wrists, hauling him back. The sword on her neck had scoured scarcely to her skin and formed a slim slit over the base of her skin, yet it had no deterrence of bleeding profusely.

She inducted her palm gently over her neck, glimpsing the viscous red substance flaring thinly over her stained complexion. Peter tossed Clint aside, standing over her in sabbatical moratorium, eyes on his mask broad as (y/n) stared back at him with quivering hands and lax blood.

Another gunshot and Peter roared out in pain, hands shooting down to clutch his right thigh, kneeling to the ground. A man in a tracksuit held a gun in his hand, aiming directly for her head. If she wasn’t too jolted from how brisk things were happening—her having her neck sliced open the slimmest, and Peter getting shot—she would have shot the man first.

If only she hadn’t threw the pistol aside.

Natasha appeared out of nowhere, heeling the man in the front. Rhodey strode down, glancing at Peter who managed to stand up and web his open wound. “Get out of here. Get her anywhere, just get out safe. We’ll find you.”

Peter nodded too swiftly, carefully pulling her up. With his hand on her waist, she reluctantly encased her arms around his neck before being lifted off the ground and onto somewhere neither of them knew.

Her chest upheaved laboriously, and Peter gently positioned (y/n) on the floor. He located an abandoned warehouse, where they hid right after he made a quick stop at a store nearby to assemble supplies. Peter’s unmasked face goggled at her, his opalescent skin gradually going pale and so did hers.

“H-how’s the bleeding?” Peter asked her. She shrugged, wincing.

“Feels like I have a cough, but it’s painful both inside and outside,” she whispered. “What’s that?”

“I asked Karen how I could stop the bleeding on your neck and how to properly cover it up. I-I don’t think that needs any stitches.”

“And yours?”

“I just need to get the bullet out and I’ll be fine.” He sat facing her. “But I’ll do you first.”

(y/n) chuckled. “Do me.”

He rolled his eyes, but smiled afterwards.

His touch against her tainted skin felt like a thousand fires – painful, fortuitous, imminent; sentient. Something about it felt so wrong yet so right. (y/n) hated him – despised him, yet his skin against hers felt complex on ataraxy. His devout eyes were gentle on her weakened state instead of pridefulness, a contrast to what she expected.

The sanctification of Peter’s hand drafting the shape of her neck appeared as though he was treating her as if she were such a fragile métier he’d be too afraid to break. He scrutinized upon her unfamiliar eyes, desolated in trauma and somnolence.

Unfamiliar – Peter never knew her, the knowledge of his simply from his abidance in observation; from what he’d witnessed, she was strong, cosmopolitan, stubbornly obnoxious, complicated. He based it on his own facts, rather than asking her herself on who she was.

She chose to dwell in silence, as for him:

“When you told me, back at the apartment,” his hand carefully dabbed on the battered bruise on her neck, “how you’ve never been in a mission since Natasha found you, what did you mean?”

(y/n)’s eyes darted between his, blinking rapidly. “I grew up into espionage,” she began. “I’d been indoctrinated in the Red Room as a child, years after Natasha left them. They sent me out on a mission one time, undercover with people I barely knew, and I met this girl.”

“Ava,” Peter answered. “You talk to Nat about her a lot.”

She nodded. “Ava Orlova. She told me Natasha got her out from a Russian Mafia, and- I don’t know. Hearing her name made something click inside me. Like, it made me mad. All I felt was, when I heard her name, was that it was entirely taboo.

“One time, Dreykov sent me out and Yelena caught me, and she poured that weird red powder thing all over my face and I got out of my trance. I felt – I felt free,” she paused, shifting uncomfortably when Peter accidentally pressed on her open wound. “Natasha found me a safe house, and I took Ava with me. We stayed there until the weird flying donut came here.”

Peter placed the gauze over her skin, taping it gently. “How old were you?”

“Fifteen,” she whispered. “We stayed inside the safe house for two years, and I felt like I was normal. The whole thing about me being mad at Natasha was something Dreykov drilled into our minds.”

(y/n) grabbed the tweezers off of Peter’s hands when he began to poke on his wound. He let her, an unanticipated wave of trust relaxed upon her shoulders. Peter placed his hands behind him, leaning backwards.

“I got bit by the spider when I was fourteen,” he softly said, having the sense that she were to ask the same thing. “I was at Oscorp for a field trip and I wandered around into this room full of radioactive spiders before I got bit.”

She snickered. “Kinda boring.”

“Hey! I got cool powers, you know: super strength, heightened senses-”

“Being sticky, horrible senses.”

“My senses aren’t horrible.”

“If you were, you wouldn’t have gotten shot, Parker.”

The smile beginning to form on his face dropped, but hers remained. “I did it on purpose.”

He ignored the immense pain he felt when (y/n) left the tweezers halfway through his skin. “What?”

“He was about to shoot you,” Peter whispered. “I blocked him as soon as he pulled the trigger, (y/n).”

“What?” she hissed, yanking the tweezers off his flesh, “Why would you do that, you idiot?”

“Well I couldn’t just let him shoot you, couldn’t I?” he hissed back. “A thank you would be appreciated!”

“Jesus, Peter, you could’ve just let me take the shot!”

“You would have died!” Peter grabbed her wrist. “Why can’t you just accept that I saved you? Are you ashamed?”

“No! You got yourself hurt all because you don’t want me to maim your conscience? Do you realize how stupid that is? I thought you hated me?”

“I never hated you, (y/n) - I envied you and I've been in love with you.”

This- this was the answer he was looking for: he changed himself because he was undeniably, unconditionally, irrevocably in love with her. He changed into someone he wasn’t to force her away from his life because if he let her prevail like everyone else did, his heart would be vastly desecrated by anguish once more when he forfeits her.

What’s ironic was that he loved her the same reason he envied her.

"I envied you because of how good you handled grief- how good you were at handling things and I wasn't. I was vulnerable, and you weren't and it was unfair for me, and I wanted everyone to be vulnerable like I did and it was also unfair. The craziest part is that I love you because of the same reason I envied you. Your determination in trying to be strong for everyone, and how even on the inside you were vulnerable like me too.

“Trying to deny my feelings for you made me hate you because of how hard you are not to love. I hate loving you, and I love hating you."

Lachrymose on the threshold of her eyes, hand inching along the undulating arm of his that trembled in distress and fury. The specificity of what he felt caused her heart to flutter; his impetus aching for more of her tactile trace. He was a hamartia, falling for a girl he hated the most in the world.

Shamefully, she looked down on his wound. “I hated you because you talked too much.”

He laughed, curling his finger underneath her chin so she would look up at him. Peter tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “What? No I love you back?”

(y/n)’s lips tugged downwards in a teasing manner. “Ask me again tomorrow where I feel okay.”

༻✦༺ . ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ . ༻✧༺

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dreaminpetals · 4 years ago

Text

COMMISSION: norton & naib watch their s/o bleed out on the rocket chair, then comfort each other after 🧲 🔪

norton campbell ;;

Your heart dropped to your feet when you heard the chime that indicated a survivor had been knocked down. You prayed as you decoded ー Please don't be Nor, please don't be Nor ...

Hearing a laboured "Focus on decoding!" confirmed your fears. It was muffled, distant, but distinct. Norton had been chaired.

The frantic hammering of your heart in your ears overtook your senses as you sprinted towards the chair, shouting to Helena that you were going to rescue him. Your heart overpowers your brain whenever Norton is in even the slightest ounce of danger. This was one of those instances. You should have thought twice before hurrying to his aid.

You exhaled a sigh of relief when you approached his chair and noticed there was no hunter to be seen. Norton however had the opposite reaction. His expression contorted into one of pure terror when he saw you were the one rescuing him.

"Leave me! Get away from me!" His words fell to deaf ears as you dashed towards him, arms open and ready to free him from his confines.

Everything was going smoothly until you heard the words that would stay with you forever.

"Jack is behind you!"

It was a trap.

In a heartbeat, your back was slashed open and you collapsed to your hands and knees.

"Lovebirds," Jack hummed, stomping on your wounded back, earning a scream from Norton. "Now, where's that decoder..." he turned on his heel and vanished to hunt down Helena with an unmistakable bloodlust.

You weren't panicking yet. You could simply heal yourself, andー

You were out of self heals.

"The hunter is near me!" Helena wailed from across the map, sending ice straight down the spines of you and your boyfriend. The fourth survivor had been eliminated already. There was no saving you.

Norton's entire body was wracked by sobs as you lay curled in a ball on the ground, writhing around in utter agony. If it wasn't for the bar squeezing him down into the rocket chair, he would bandage you up and press endless kisses onto your bloodied skin, his own safety be damned.

He had never seen anybody bleed out before. The Prospector has always managed to heal his teammates, his only punishments being faced on rocket chairs. In Norton's eyes, you were going to die.

"It's okay," you choked out, "I'll be... be..."

"You're going to die," Norton whimpered in the highest tone you've ever heard from him. He sounded like a child with the way his raspy voice cracked.

Your eyes widened at his words. Did he think bleeding out was fatal? Oh no.

You ached to explain to him that the worst consequences were comas that lasted no longer than a week, but you were losing strength. Fast. As your throat closed up, speech became more and more difficult. It felt as if glass was piercing your windpipe, concealing the truth from your guilt stricken lover.

"'Sall my fault... fuck, I love you, okay?" He hiccuped through strained wheezes for air.

'Don't say that... I'll be okay...' you yearned to respond, but each second the invisible weight on your back grew, crushing you further.

Although your vision was spotting and blurring, you could see Norton tremble where he sat. His fingers gripped the bar holding him hostage until they bled. He was using all of his strength to attempt to free you somehow.

With one final, ragged breath, you closed your eyes and succumbed to your injuries. Norton didn't scream like you thought he would. He watched you sink into the ground in utter silence, sniffing back tears and coughing sporadically.

Despite the agony you endured mere minutes ago, you weren't rendered unconscious like previous, less fortunate survivors. You could walk, albeit with jittery legs and a weight on your back forcing you down. Having regained some strength, you noted that you could speak as well. Every bone in your body was aching for you to find Norton and save him from his unnecessary grief.

You immediately captured Helena's undivided attention when you hobbled into the manor, leaving a steady red trail behind you. She wrapped your wounds up with the first aid kit she kept on her, the smell of blood that lingered in the air faded with every careful swipe of your skin. Since you were in the room for injured survivors, Norton didn't see you when he stormed back into the manor. His physical wounds were nothing compared to his emotional ones. If only Helena finished patching you up just a minute earlier, he could have seen that you survived far earlier.

"Norton is in your room, by the way," Helena began, patting you on the back to signal that her work was done, "in the one you share. I asked where he was going."

"Our room," you repeated to yourself under your breath. You thanked Helena and promptly headed to your room, legs carrying you as fast as they could take you.

You were out of breath once you reached your shared room. A series of knocks on the door were greeted with silence. You noticed that the static sobbing from the room paused for a moment, then resumed.

Twisting your key into the door and unlocking it, you saw Norton swiftly hide your shirt underneath your pillow. Was he trying to get the last of your scent before it faded away forever?

"So. You've come to haunt me too." He spat, burning holes into your face with his unwelcoming glare. "Just like everyone else from the mines. Fuck off."

"Norton, it's me,"

"You're only pretending to be them. Second I acknowledge you're not real you'll go away."

His words shattered your heart.

Approaching him with caution, you kneeled onto the bed beside him and placed your palm on his cheek. He leaned into your touch despite his harsh words, his tear streaked face dampening your hand. "If I wasn't real, would I be this warm?" You whispered as soft as your voice could manage to be. His eyebrows furrowed as he stared into your eyes, searching for any signs of life. Your eyes were too warm and full of adoration to be a hallucination, a ghost, a memory.

"How did you...?" he began, teetering on the verge of tears again.

"I'm hurt, but... I'd never die on you, Nor. It's okay. I'm here." You pressed a nurturing kiss to his nose and felt his face heat up underneath yours. Pressing your forehead against his, he felt no malicious intent from you, unlike all the other visions he saw of his deported loved ones. He felt nothing but love and kindness from you, the same way he's always remembered you.

"It's really you," he uttered your name like a prayer, voice flickering above a whisper, before enveloping you in his arms and pulling you snug close to him. He bawled into your shoulder, letting the warmth of your body comfort him after one of the most horrifying moments of his life. You could feel his snot and hot tears bubble on your shoulder but you didn't mind in the slightest. You were home, in Norton's arms.

You knew that for Norton to cry in front of you, he was wounded deep. It was rare to see tears fall from his eyes and to feel him cling to you, terrified of letting go. Between pants, you could hear him beg for you to stay and never die on him. His pleas were answered by soft hushes and gentle kisses.

Norton pulled away for a fleeting moment to turn you around and examine your wounded back. There was a rip through your top and underneath were bandages stained with dry blood. Helena did a decent job of patching you up, though she definitely missed a few spots. Norton pressed chaste kisses to the exposed skin, his silent way of reassuring you he loved you no matter what.

"I'll kill him for doing this to you," your boyfriend hissed, teeth ghosting along your flesh. "I'll make him pay." His mouth was still connected to your back, and he could feel you shiver in response to his words.

"Nor, you don't needー"

"I'll never let anyone hurt you again. If anyone... if anyone ever does this to you a second time, I'll..."

"Norton."

Your sudden sharp tone caused him to freeze. Had he gone too far? His demeanour immediately switched and he pulled away from you, offering you a toothy grin to show he sincerely meant no harm.

You pulled your shirt back down and turned around so your calm eyes could meet his wide ones. "I'll be okay. I'm more worried about you, if anything. Come here." You patted your lap and the back of Norton's fluffy hair soon met your thighs. He laid down and began to rub the tears from his eyes, before you pushed his hands away and rubbed them into nothingness yourself.

He loved laying in your lap. Whether he was having flashbacks of past events, or if he was hurt from a match, laying his head on your soft thighs and gazing up at you with love never failed to calm him down. He felt so safe and warm.

"Have a little rest, Nor. I'll be here when you wake up." You rubbed calming circles into his hair as he nodded. His eyes closed, then opened again to ensure that you really were there and you truly were alive. You shushed him, both hands massaging his scalp until he drifted off into a comfortable sleep. He would do anything for you.

naib subedar ;;

"Naib's been containing the hunter for so long, you think we should help out?" Luca asked you as the two of you drummed away at a cipher machine together. You nodded your head in agreement, pulling yourself away from the noisy machine and overturning your empty pockets.

"I don't have any self heals, though. I'll shout if I need anything." This time it was Luca's turn to nod as he smacked the machine, steadily making progress towards your escape.

You roamed the abandoned factory for a few moments before hearing a distant yelp and the sound of someone falling to the ground. You followed the source of the sound to the factory, and the metallic clunks of Guard 26 carrying your lover to the basement made your skin crawl. This rescue was going to be tremendously difficult.

"Don't rescue me!" Naib managed to rasp as the hunter slammed him into the rocket chair. You could hear the pain in his voice even though he tried to mask it. It was always like Naib to hide his true feelings behind a cold front.

You knew Guard 26 chairing your only rescuer in the basement was a recipe for disaster, but you wanted to at least attempt to save him.

Hopping down the stairs, you were met face to face with the hunter. Their cogs whirred as they advanced towards you, and you stunned them momentarily.

"Oh, you're so stupid [Name]," Naib sighed as your fingers danced across the bar holding him captive. "Go back to where it's safe!" You ignored his cries and slid to the side, dodging one of Guard 26's strikes. The floor began to light up in an array of colours under you which you miraculously dodged, earning a gasp from your chaired lover.

Unfortunately, you weren't able to pull off the rescue of your dreams this time. You attempted to psyche out the hunter and trick them into hitting the chair, but their spiked bat met your side before you could pull away. Despite arriving without even a scratch, the impact of being hit as you rescued caused you to fall to your knees.

 Blood pooled underneath you and you gritted your teeth as you waited to be chaired, the pain overriding your senses and bringing tears to your eyes.

That relief never came.

The haunting dings of Guard 26 slowly dissipated as they hopped up the stairs to find Luca. There were several other chairs in the basement, why didn't they chair you? It must be in their wiring to save as much time as possible.

You clutched at your stomach, wincing as crimson bloomed on your shirt. Panic hadn't filled your veins yet. You applied pressure to your wound, using the same healing tactics Naib had taught you before. Your plan was to do all you could while you were downed, then call Luca for help at the last minute.

Until Luca was terrorshocked.

Your eyes snapped up to meet Naib's the second you both heard him collapse against the cipher machine. Anxiety began to set in, your movements growing more sloppy. You nicked yourself more often, and Naib noticed it too.

"Easy there... Deep breaths, all right?" He cooed, wriggling to free himself from the grip of the rocket chair. His struggles were unsuccessful, though. No matter how hard he tried to escape for you, the chair wasn't merciful whatsoever.

You felt your body grow numb as you lost more blood. You could no longer feel the cold tiles of the basement. To you, everything was cold. You scooched closer to the chair Naib was trapped in and extended a hand. "Naib, I... I can't feel my legs," although his movements were limited, he was able to wrap his hand around yours and squeeze it tight.

"You're gonna be fine." He was lying through his teeth. Naib could see the glassy look in your eyes, hell, as your hand quivered in his, he could feel the life draining from it. Your voice wasn't a comfort to him anymore, every word you spoke was full of agony and he wished you would stay quiet as to not worry him more.

Naib has seen this before. He's been pinned under debris, forced to watch a comrade succumb to their injuries. It's why he's the man he is today. Always self-sacrificing, never leaving anyone behind. Yet he couldn't extend the same behaviour to you... his lover was bleeding out in front of him and there was absolutely nothing he could do. He tried so desperately to hide the fear from his face, but a single tear slid down his cheek and his expression sunk when he felt you begin to fade away. As you melted into the ground, Naib cried out your name until there was nothing left of you to hold. Then he followed.

You were awoken by the sound someone scurrying towards you. Rubbing your eyes, you saw a flash of colour before an excited hand met your shoulder. "You're finally up. Can you walk?" It took a few moments to process Naib's words. As you scanned the room around you, you spotted bouquets of flowers and numerous get well soon cards.

"What... what happened to me?" You groggily asked as you gazed at your hands. They had been bandaged up with care.

Naib swallowed hard as he replied, "you've been out for around a day. I've been looking after you... hope you don't mind." As your vision adjusted to the bright lights of your room, you noticed his shirt had been discarded and his chest was wrapped tightly in bandages. Both of you were left bruised and battered from that hellish match, it seems.

Your heart soared as you thought about how much Naib must adore you to watch over you like that. Though he acted coolly as if his actions were no big deal, you could sense that he was still worried about you. He touched you as if you were made of glass and his usual scratchy voice was replaced by a soft, considerate one ー an attempt to ease your anxieties and make you more comfortable.

"C'mon, let's get you cleaned up," his hand connected to yours and eased your weight onto the floor below you. You stumbled over your feet, but quickly met Naib's chest as his arms wrapped around your back. "Easy there, I've got you." He let you lean on him for support and helped you peel off your bloodied shirt before drawing a bath for you.

Naib kneeled beside the bubblebath you rested in, scrubbing your hair with his calloused fingers. It tickled ever so slightly, you couldn't remember the last time somebody had handled you with such care. His hands maneuvered around your body with precision and care as he washed away all of the dirt and dust that marred your skin.

A comfortable silence hung in the air until you decided to speak up, "what about you? Do you want me to wash you as well?"

Naib's expression softened when he heard your voice. "Iー uh, I'm good." His blunt response didn't match his gaze in the slightest.

"I can see you wince every time you lift your arms. And you smell."

"...Fine." He huffed in defeat, beckoning you to scootch forward to make room for him in the tub. You felt the water splash as he took a seat behind you and pulled you into his arms. "Hey. What you did yesterday... don't do it again, okay? I don't want you getting hurt ever again."

You turned over your shoulder to face him and he offered you a faint smile. It wasn't like his usual smug grins, it was more tender, something he couldn't get rid of upon seeing you awake again.

You could keep your head in Naib's warm chest forever, his steady heartbeat and the occasional ripples of water filling your ears. You were on the verge of falling asleep when you remembered that Naib needed to be scrubbed too.

Lifting his arms up above your head, you escaped his gentle grasp and turned around to face him. His expression was one of grumpiness after you slithered free from his arms, but the second you grabbed a loofah and massaged his skin his gaze molded into a loving one. His cuts had faded and closed up but they were definitely visible, and they looked like they hurt. A lot.

"I'm sorry for being so reckless, I just wanted you to get out safe." You whispered between fond swipes of his chest, really getting the soap in there.

He rested his arms on the edges of the tub, huffing in response. "When I tell you not to rescue, don't rescue, okay? Your safety's more important than mine." You attempted to object to his brash statement, but he shut you up with a kiss and stole the breath from your lips. Your lips remained connected for a few lingering seconds, and Naib deepened the kiss right as you expected him to pull away.

"...I thought I was going to lose you," he muttered against your skin, pulling away and pressing another, sweeter kiss to the corner of your lips. "Water's getting cold... let's get out," he drained the tub and scooped you up into his arms, bringing you to your bed and wrapping you up in a bathrobe. You were perfectly capable of dressing yourself, but Naib's must-take-care-of-lover instincts refused to let you do that.

He snuggled up to you from behind, nose breathing in the fresh scent of your hair. "Goodnight, love." And you dozed off in his arms, ever protective of you.

#norton campbell x reader #norton campbell #naib subedar #naib subedar x reader #idv x reader #identity v imagines

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cheekygreenty · 3 years ago

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His Queen - The Darkling x Reader

bitch, I think I outdid myself on this one. I'm shocked I wrote this

He hated the Tsar. He hated himself, but he didn't hate you. How could he of let this happen, he's never been a slave to his emotions. You were married, no, scratch that, you were the Queen for Saint's Sake. The Tsar had made it common knowledge that you didn't belong anywhere but the Grand Palace, in a glittering gown and a jeweled crown upon your always perfect hair sitting in front of a fire sipping on your tea. He wanted you nowhere near the action or actual Palace life. You were merely an accessory to him.

The young and innocent girl raised in nobility, who caught the old bastard's eye by fluttering your eyelashes at him, longing for his person.

Bullshit.

Aleksander could see your repulsion whenever you were in your husband's presence. The longing eyes as you looked at the doors, the shiver that rattled your spine as his sweaty hand gripped yours, or the increasing sadness in your eyes as the months went on. The jewels around your neck glistened, but your eyes didn't. Not anymore.

He had done some digging in the months following the wedding, and rest assured you didn't belong anywhere near the palace. You were scrappy, ready for a fight at all times. There were numerous accounts of you running around villages, fighting your way through pubs and inns. Your parents, the Duke and Duchess, were downright ashamed of you before your big day. You were itching to drop everything and join the First Army the second you had the chance. You were skilled in ways no noble was; you had street smarts.

Then the late Queen died and you were presented on a silver platter to the King, donning all the family jewels that never sit quite right. The King couldn't help himself, the public blamed the grief for his hasty marriage, 'he needed a companion.' But in reality, he saw what he could have and grasped you up the second he had the chance. And now you were stuck here, in a cage with no way out.

Aleksander didn't take a liking to you at the start. All he saw was what the King wanted him to see and for that, he feels tremendous guilt. He thought you to be proper and uptight and spoiled, so when you approached him the first time, franticly asking for advice about a simple state matter that was dropped into your lap by the General himself, he couldn't help but snigger at you and convey news of the stupid Queen to his fellow Grisha.

He didn't know the King treated you like a child or that all of this was new to you. I should've seen it he cursed himself, for the weeks to follow you were the talk of both the Palaces and news spread to camps on the front.

The stupid, young, ditsy girl who couldn't put together a luncheon for Ravka's war heroes was the Queen. Ridiculous.

He believed it too until he had seen you out one night when he couldn't sleep. You were deep in the forest, tending to your black stallion and in what looked like peasant clothing. You had mud on your boots and your hair was messily braided. There was a tatted punching bad tied up on a tree and another person sitting against a log, breathing heavily and clutching his side. Aleksander never made himself known, just blended into the darkness as he did best but continued to watch you eagerly. Only then did he faintly make out your bruised knuckles and the tears in your breeches.

'Again?'

'Saints Y/N no, I've got a way to go and the way you just bruised my ribs, I've a painful journey ahead of me' mused the sitting man.

That night, Aleksander sent out his best Grisha to collect information and asked Genya to tend to you, but you denied yet again (only after asking her to fix up your hands).

Ever since then, Aleksander has been observing you and getting to know you when he could, telling his Grisha it was to gather information since Genya was no longer garnering the Queen's secrets, but he felt drawn to you for whatever reason. You were the best part of his day; whether it was a simple smile sent his way or you rambling about the ways you avoid being followed around the palace, he listened intently and set the shared memories into his brain.

The General was a mystery to you. With his extremely handsome face and confident stances, he mesmerized you to the point of a blank mind. Whenever your eyes met his, it could be in a room of 60 people, rest assured you were right by his side in an instant. You had sought out his presence wherever you went and clung to it while you could.

But the King had made his opinion of the Darkling obvious, and his hatred ran deep. 'He likes to think he rides a horse above everyone else.' 'He's most unnatural.' You didn't care though. As long as he kept himself away from you and just used his words and not actions, you were fine.

You had gathered a particular kindness for late evening walks before bed, silently slipping onto the grounds of his palace, awaiting his companionship. It might have only been 40 minutes out of your day, but it was always better than not seeing him.

Ivan had pointed out that you had an air of hostility around you every time you were in a room with your husband and your heart tended to beat dangerously fast as if you were panicking. So Aleksander attempted to pull you away from him and distract you from the horrid man, and it seemed to work. He grew to like you and would miss your witty humor when he went back to the Little Palace.

Months had passed and he never grew sick of your presence, ironically he craved more of it. He tried to tell himself that you were just a part of his plan, nothing more, but things got even more complicated. He had accidentally mentioned seeing you that night in the forest, and instead of being hostile about it, you told him you enjoyed a fight or two and invited him to join you. That night, after multiple rounds of sparring and hard hits, he kissed you fervently. And again and again, until you both got past the point of going back.

You acknowledged the risk only after it happened and started to panic. You had an affair with the General of the Second Army. He seemed to be in the same state as you. But before you went your separate ways, he held you in his arms and promised it would all be ok. You believed him.

He got back to his chambers that night and his demeanor changed behind the closed doors. He was so mad. He always swore to take what the King loved most and destroy it before his very eyes, but this was a sick joke the Saints played on him. He needed to protect you, get you out of the Tsar's grip, and hide you away from any harm. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep you out of danger's way and he knew it. Why did he let this happen? He knew that whatever your ending may be, you would get hurt, maybe not physically, but definitely emotionally.

You had told him of all the things the King did to you, how he treated you and paraded you around. You begged Aleksander to do something about it, to help you get out of that life and back to your old one, but there was nothing he could do and it broke his heart.

'I wish I could do something Y/N, I truly do, but I am not as powerful as you may think I am. The King is still the King' he had told you, guilt building in him.

He was sitting at his desk in his chambers now, looking out the window feeling fidgety. You were late for your evening walk, like really late. Sure it happened before, but Aleksander had a weird gut feeling that something happened. Maybe the King found out? or maybe you finally realized the magnitude of the situation and came to your senses?

He knew if the King whiffed out a sliver of what was going on with his wife and Aleksander, he would rain hellfire. He was a powerful man, the most powerful man in all of Ravka and there was nothing more dangerous than an embarrassed man's actions.

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud noise he hadn't heard in a very long time, followed by the very loud thuds of falling books. The tunnel?

'ALEKSANDER?' your panicked voice reached him and triggered something primal in him. fight or flight. He and his shadows shot up and ran to you but stopped dead in his tracks, the black matter disappearing in on itself. You stood at the entrance to the tunnel, visibly shaking with anger, but that's wasn't the cause of his shock.

'Saints Y/N' He whispered, realization flooding over him like a nasty wave of ice-cold water. Your once ivory white nightgown was drenched in crimson but you were uninjured, it wasn't yours. The huge green Lanstov emerald sitting atop your left hand was smeared in red too, giving it a brown tinge.

'I need to get out of here right now.' You sounded solid and stern, the panic was long gone. The scrappy fighter was back.

Aleksander had always known what to say. But now, he didn't have a single word come to his mind and his body refused to move, he was rendered speechless and useless. This is a nightmare, surely, he prayed.

'Y/N I-I, What happ-'

'Aleksander, unless you want to see my head on a pike by dawn, I suggest you help me' You said as you moved across the room, after closing the tunnel door firmly shut. How does she even know about these tunnels?

'I once heard a drunkard speak of tunnels beneath the palaces, I tried my luck' You said answering his question without even being asked,

Your hands moved quick, shedding yourself of the nightgown and holding it in your hands as you moved to grab his black robe off a chair. Aleksander still stood there, his head whirling with so many thoughts, it debilitated him. He needed her to say it.

'Y/N did you do what I think you did'

'You know I did'

At that moment the doors burst open to reveal Ivan with an alarmed look on his face and his hands raised, ready to jump into action, most likely alerted by the falling books. But he faltered when he saw you, The Queen, covered in blood and holding a bloody nightgown in the most secure room of the Little Palace.

'Great another witness' You huffed and dumped the gown into the fireplace.

'Moi soverenyi, what is the meaning of this?'

'Ivan I wish I could tell you.'

'I killed the King. I have approximately 3 hours before somebody notices him laying in his own blood with his neck slit open' You sighed and sat down, head in your hands. This was the first moment you'd had to process it all, and it was overwhelming, to say the least.

A silence enveloped the room as the fire roared back to life, already having burnt the evidence to a crisp. Aleksander finally came to his senses, moved and grabbed a bowl of water and a cloth.

'Did anybody see you leave?' He asked as he handed you the items to wash your hands of the sticky blood.

'No. I made sure of it. I traveled through the tunnels.'

'And the King? There is no weapon near him?' Ivan interrupted.

Slowly you bent down and pulled a small dagger out of your shoe. Small but sharp.

'Give that to me' Aleksander took it out of your hands and walked out of the room while you continued to scrub the crimson off your hands.

You momentarily looked at Ivan, he didn't look mad or upset. He looked like a soldier.

'Are you not mad your King is dead?' You mused.

'He was not my King'

'That makes two of us' You were done cleaning your hands and moved to clean the ring. Should I burn this too?

'Leave it on. If things go sideways, you can buy your freedom' Aleksander returned. 'Ivan go get 2 horses and pack essentials. Get Genya too. I trust you to keep quiet.'

'Yes Moi soverenyi, Moya tsaritsa' He bowed his head quickly and waltzed out the room.

'Aleksander I'm scared now.....what have I done' You whispered. He took hold of your hand and pulled you into him. He held you tight, not wanting to let go.

'It's going to be ok. I promise. There's a small cottage down south I want you to go to. Ivan will take you. You will be safe. I will right this. I will protect you as I should've done earlier.' He kissed you deeply, letting all of the emotions flow through without the need for words.

'And what then?' You whispered against his lips.

'You be you. Perhaps go to Ketterdam. I feel you belong there... or come back to me when the time is right' He kissed you again, it was sweet and sad. A goodbye kiss. 'I love you, and even though you don't like it, you are my Queen. Forever'

'I love you too' Your hands fisted at his beautiful black kefta as tears dripped off your face.

****

That night you fled, your hair and appearance completely changed. The peasant clothes you felt comfortable in were on your back while the heartrenderer galloped beside you. Os Alta was still asleep as you sped down south, praying to the Saints that leaving Aleksander to deal with your mess was the right decision. That he would be ok too.

Ravka was shaken by the news of their dead King and the missing Queen. Some say she was dead, kidnapped by Fjerdans, and slaughtered mercilessly, others said Kerch merchants had her thrown in the Fold as she refused to give up information.

Either way, Aleksander had made sure you weren't regarded as a murderer and kept his promise to give you a chance to return to the Little Palace, to him.

Also if u can see this fic plz interact with it!! Idk if my tumblr is fixed yet and I need to make sure!!! If u were tagged and it didn’t notify you like last time, plz tell me!!!! 💓💓

Taglist (tell me if u want to be added)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @lostysworld @0-artemis @exo-1204 @staradorned @bookfrog242 @simp-for-ben-barners @keepdaydreamingbb @acciorudolphx

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mythicamagic · 3 years ago

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Sesskag Week: Day 2 ‘Black’

Title: Under the Nails

Summary: After 500 years, Sesshoumaru comes looking for the miko Kagome in her era, wondering why she never returned to the past. What he finds plunges him into bleak despair...and causes Tenseiga to stir. Sesskag Week Day 2 - Black.

Rated T

Words: 2,600

Read on: Ao3, fanfiction.net or Dokuga

AN: For Sesskag Week Day 2 - Black (Mourning & Misfortune) a lotta angst in this one so buckle up.

Under the Nails

Heaviness weighed his steps down like his pockets were laden with stones, heart steeled, eyes on the top of Higurashi Shrine's steps.

Sesshoumaru forced his hands to remain loose at his sides, fighting the urge to rip off his glamour and fly. Soar above the concrete straight to their door.

But Sesshoumaru remained polite and wretchedly slow, human in appearance only. He dutifully climbed the stairs, walking with measured, frustrating steps.

Adjusting his tie upon reaching the Higurashi's door, he knocked, shifting.

Kagome's home looked just as it had many years ago- when he'd first located her again. He'd glimpsed her 3-year-old self, before turning away, satisfied that after 500 years of waiting, he had finally reached her era.

He could finally gain the answers he'd sought for so long.

Curious though, that her scent did not reach his nose. Various stale shades of it clung to a few things outside, but it did not feel vibrant, recent.

When her mother opened the door, brown eyes glassy and vacant, deep stress lines beneath them and grief clinging to her like a second skin, Sesshoumaru knew.

He knew it as instinctively as drawing breath.

No.

"...Don't tell me," Mrs Higurashi put a hand to her mouth, gaze flickering over his face searchingly. "You're not Sesshoumaru, are you?"

The tears filling her eyes worsened the ocean roar in his ears.

He could not answer, expression cracking open.

She quickly took his hand in a tight grip, squeezing it. "I'm so sorry. She talked about you- I-I'm probably not making much sense-"

"Where is she?" the question fell softly from his lips, not a demand like he'd initially wanted. His strength fled, instincts snarling, but limping, wounded. They detested everything her mood signalled, causing his heart to shrivel.

Watery brown eyes slid away, squeezing shut. She couldn't look at him when answering. "She's dead. I-it happened two weeks ago," her words trembled. "I'm so sorry."

Why are you sorry? It is not as though you killed her, Sesshoumaru thought dazedly.

"Two weeks?" he repeated numbly, voice a pale rasp.

He'd missed her. Miscalculated.

Kagome had returned to the Feudal Era at 18. She'd tried and failed to sustain a romance with Inuyasha, living as a village miko for a while before travelling. That was how they'd come to be unlikely companions. A demon lord and his miko. By the end of the year, they'd been lovers. At the end of another- a date had been set for their wedding and subsequent mating.

With an easy smile, Kagome left down the Bone Eater's Well just one week prior until they were to be wed, wanting the reassurance of her mother's arms since her family could not join them.

And she'd never returned.

Inuyasha couldn't cross through, as the magic had seemingly run dry once more. They'd waited many, many, many years, hoping it would grant access again. Fate would not permit it.

Sesshoumaru sank to his knees in the threshold of the doorway. "I missed her by two weeks...after waiting 500 years," he chuckled without humour, the backs of his eyes stinging. A gut-punch of emotion rendered him paper-thin. The roar in his ears became a drawling howl of despair. This couldn't be.

Mrs Higurashi knelt with him, sliding her arms around his shoulders and hugging him close. The demon lord remained stiff and unyielding, reeling with bitter shock. He stared ahead sightlessly, before jerking in her arms. He suddenly gripped her tight, pulling away to look her straight in the eye.

"Mrs Higurashi, the funeral-"

"We've already had it," she said gently.

Sharp teeth flashed in a silent snarl, desperation clawing at his tongue. "Not that. Tell me-" he choked out, blunt nails elongating into claws, biting into her clothing.

"Tell me, was Kagome cremated or buried?"

---

He hadn't thought he would have cause to use it again. Kagome getting mixed up in a car accident much like her father before her had certainly changed his assumptions.

Sesshoumaru's throat burned as he walked by some lonely graves.

Approaching one headstone situated closely beside another in the graveyard, Sesshoumaru spared the second a glance.

"It is far too early for her to be joining you," he rumbled, turning away from Mr Higurashi.

Sunset highlighted sparse, lonely surroundings upon the quiet hill in a fiery orange glow, a red plume painting across the sky.

Sesshoumaru felt his black heart clenching as he knelt before the characters of Kagome Higurashi's name, elongating his fingers into talons. He thrust them into the earth, beginning to dig.

He could've transformed, it would've made the process easier, but a part of him wished for penance after failing her. He'd failed his prospective mate. She never should've died. If he'd just gotten there sooner-

A claw chipped, but Sesshoumaru continued. His hands became caked in dirt, powerful arms moving, muscles coiling to discard the clumps of earth quicker and quicker. He began to sink deeper, willingly descending into the same grave his beloved rested within.

By the time the ground loomed above Sesshoumaru's head on all sides- the sky a rectangular shape above, his clothes had become ruined with mud, brown patches covering his fine suit that he'd worn for the occasion, some dirt marring his sweat coated forehead and cheek.

'Thud!'

Sesshoumaru paused, knuckles having connected with something sturdy.

Panting, moisture stung his eyes. Wiping pebbling dirt away, Sesshoumaru unearthed the sleek brown casket.

"Thank you," he'd whispered into Mrs Higurashi's shoulder, clutching her so tight her bones protested. "Thank you for not cremating her."

Apparently her husband had been foreign, so it felt only right to leave Kagome in the earth, resting beside her Father's grave in the same manner he'd been buried.

Straddling smooth wood, Sesshoumaru flexed his dirt-laden nails, swiping at the secures. Once they were broken off, he stood, grasping one side.

Bracing himself, Sesshoumaru willed his stomach to hold. He tried to summon his old ironclad nerves. His thick skin. The warlord who had seen and smelled plenty of bodies.

Sesshoumaru cracked open the casket, immediately hit with a foul odour.

Choking, he opened it a little further, eyes burning.

The sight of her would be burned into the backs of his retinas forever, and Sesshoumaru knew he shouldn't have looked. Shouldn't have tortured himself thus, but he'd also needed to.

This was the cost of failure. Never let it happen again.

His stomach buckled, and Sesshoumaru clamped a hand over his mouth, shuddering violently. He swallowed a gag, clenching his jaw.

Yanking the casket cover from its hinges, Sesshoumaru tossed it high out of the grave, ripping Tenseiga out of its sheath at his hip while standing over her decaying body.

Letting his glamour melt from his features, golden eyes blazed, silver hair hanging limp and dishevelled. Youki burst into the blade, forcing it to awaken from its centuries-long sleep.

"Kagome," he rasped. "Revive Kagome," he commanded, the blade shining with a bright blue light.

His vision relaxed in order to see the spirits, but alarm clutched his heart.

The pallbearers were nowhere in sight. They'd long since made off with her soul, leaving behind a trail of chains.

With a deafening snarl that tore at his windpipe, Sesshoumaru thrust his free hand down, grasping a chain and pulling with all his might.

Something heavy out of sight made the chain yank taunt- filling him with hazy relief as he dared to hope he wasn't too late.

Clutching one side of Tenseiga's blade between his teeth, Sesshoumaru grasped the chains with both hands, reeling them back in toward him.

He could not see whatever it was he dragged back, the light Tenseiga cast into the spiritual plain only allowing him to see where the chains disappeared to a few feet in front of him.

A good length of slack metal chains had coiled at his feet by the time an outline was dragged into his vision. Kagome's soul still retained her body's appearance, lashes shut. It had a ghostly white glow, motionless. Chains wrapped around her midsection and torso. He quickly dragged her in closer.

Angry pallbearers yelled at Sesshoumaru, clutching onto her sides and hissing. They tried tugging her back in the opposite direction.

With a bellowing snarl, he savagely decapitated them with a swing from Tenseiga.

"I have not come this far only to be stopped by the likes of you," he sneered. Shifted down, Sesshoumaru wrapped an arm gently around her soul, only able to feel a very light sensation. His throat ignited with a harsh burn, eyes pricking, chest tight as he placed it back inside her body, pulling the chains away.

Tenseiga's blue glow faded. Kagome's body healed, the effects and smell of decomposition fading away until she lay as though asleep, flesh unblemished.

Silence deafened the grave.

Sesshoumaru panted softly, heart hammering. His entire being flared with an all-consuming buzz, an unanswered cry. His skin thrummed, hungry for her touch. He needed to hear her voice- he hadn't heard its playful, teasing lift in so long. If she wanted to sing badly or argue with him again, that was fine. He didn't care. Anything was better than this silence.

And why wasn't she opening her eyes? She'd had such lovely, captivating blue eyes.

"Miko," he gritted out, kneeling over her. "Kagome. Kagome…" her name fell from his lips like a mantra. He dropped the sword, gathering her into his arms, dipping his face into curling black hair. She felt so cold. Why was she cold?

Kagome had always been warm, glowing so bright and strong. His priestess had carried the force of a thousand suns in her palms when reiki had exploded from them. And at night… her breath had been hot and ragged on his neck as she'd careened them over the edge, moving atop his lap with fervour.

Sesshoumaru bent into her, arching her back and gripping her so tight he feared she may break.

"Please," he choked out, her hair becoming damp. He'd scarcely begged for anything before, but he prayed in that moment, the fabric of his soul screaming.

He felt it when her chest expanded.

Kagome drew a terrible, choking breath, gasping loudly like she'd been deprived of oxygen. Sesshoumaru immediately pulled away, eyes widening as she fell into a coughing fit, shuddering against him.

Her eyes squeezed shut, a hand lifting to massage the base of her throat.

"Ah… crap, what the heck? When was the last time I drank something?"

Blue eyes pried open to blink up at him, halting his breath.

Recognition softened her features. "Oh, hey you," she smiled, before blinking, gaze straying over his features. "Have you been crying? Why are you covered in dirt?"

Her attention threatened to stray to their surroundings but Sesshoumaru clamped his hands onto the sides of her face, colliding their mouths together.

He poured five hundred years of repressed feeling into that kiss, hand curling in dark hair to cradle the back of her neck. Kagome squeaked but accepted the feverish kisses, tongue meeting his and brushing.

"Wait-" she managed out between kisses. "I- how are you here?" her hands smoothed over his shoulders, touching his shirt. "Did you come through the well?"

Sesshoumaru gathered her close, standing from the casket. Kagome grew stiff in his arms.

"That's a...casket. This is a-" she broke off, breathing becoming thin. "Oh God- oh fuck- what the fuck?!"

Leaping out from the grave, Sesshoumaru landed on soft grass, collapsing to his knees and cradling Kagome on his lap, rocking slightly. He wasn't certain if the motion was to comfort her or himself. She made awful, wailing noises, choking on broken sobs. However after a little while, she swallowed the cries enough to cup his face.

"What- what happened?" she choked out. "You're here."

"I'm here."

He tried his best to explain everything- her departure and subsequent lack of return to the past. The rest were things Mrs Higurashi told him, such as her collision with another vehicle and few hours spent in the hospital unconscious before damaged organs finally failed her.

"I-I remember coming home and driving but nothing else," Kagome gripped him tight. "The Bone Eaters Well...is shut? I can't go through it to see my friends again?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"And you waited all this time," she mumbled, shuddering. "Alone."

"The kit and Inuyasha still live," Sesshoumaru felt her stiffen, stroking her head. "Inuyasha mated a full demon, extending his lifespan, while the kit is enjoying his bachelorhood right now."

Kagome closed her eyes, letting out a shuddering exhale. "That's something at least. I'm glad they're alive."

Too much to absorb all at once. Sesshoumaru no longer wished to discuss such things while beside her grave. He stood while lifting her in his arms, leaving the grave. Kagome glanced over his shoulder, panic and deep, static despair roaming around her scent.

"I was...buried. In there," she said softly, resting her clammy forehead against his neck. "T-thank you," she quivered, "thank you for coming to get me. I'm nowhere near ready to die yet."

"It was this one's failure that resulted in your death in the first place, miko. Do not thank me for attempting to right a wrong that should never have happened."

"What are you talking about?" Kagome's thumb brushed the shell of his pointed ear, reminding him to don the glamour before they left the graveyard. "It was no one's fault, Sesshoumaru. So you got the time wrong- big deal. Calendars change and it would've been hard to take different leap years into account. Besides, I should've been a more careful driver if we're gonna start laying blame," she offered a weak smile, which dropped when he did not respond.

Kagome leaned up within his arms, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "Hey," she gently gained his attention, pressing another there, and then another.

Sesshoumaru returned her kisses softly, before tightening his grip, crushing her body against his. His mouth became an urgent pressure against hers, stealing her breath with ardent brushes of his tongue. He cradled her close possessively, trembling.

When they finally pulled away, a little breathless, Kagome rested her forehead against his. "After we see my family, let's go to your place. I don't want to wait any longer than I have to."

He blinked, tilting his head slightly. "For what?"

"To mate you, duh," she smiled, running a reverent thumb beneath his eye, lingering over the tired lines there. "You've waited 500 years after all."

"Kagome, you just awoke from death, and yet you are already planning on dragging me into the bedroom?" surprised exasperation lightened his worn expression, a film covering his eyes. Fondness. Love. Relief to be talking with her again. His strange, painfully unique human woman.

Kagome peppered butterfly kisses over his face, running them down his neck and feeling him purr against her in a way that belied how truly touch starved he was. But she could sense it. See it, from how he leaned slightly into the brush of her lips.

"Let's just say, I could really use a warm body against mine right now," she murmured, everything she didn't want to say left lingering in the air.

The phantom sensation of being locked beneath the ground would remain for a while; long after Sesshoumaru washed the dirt from Kagome's grave out from under his nails.

As they left the gravesite behind, they clung viciously tight to each other, never once looking back.

End

#Sesskag #Sesshoumaru x Kagome #skw2021 #skw2021d2 #sesskagweek2021

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marvelwritings · 3 years ago

Text

Can't tell me there's no point in trying

Summary: Peter travels back in time, get's a concussion and Tony takes care of him, even though in his mind, Peter has been blipped for three years.

In hindsight, the exact memory of when they started researching how to travel back to the past is lost on him. It’s just that he had been so devastated, after Tony’s death, that his emotions had reached through to the only person that somewhat knew what he was going through. Peter didn’t want to compare Wanda’s situation with his, after all, Wanda was the one that was forced to choose between the love of her life and saving the universe, but the weight of their grief was the same none the less.

Wanda had approached him while he was out on patrol, and though there was not set plan, Peter was willing to try anything to get Tony back. They started of their plan by seeking help from Doctor Strange, and when that hadn’t worked, Peter had snuck in and stole -borrowed as he preferred to call it- a few books that might have been helpful for their goal. Between going to school, patrolling, putting up a front for his friends and aunt -and as of late Happy-, and searching endlessly for a scrape of hope, Peter had worked himself to the bone. It would all be worth it though, if their plan came to fruition.

It hadn’t worked the first time, nor the second time, and neither did the third. Failed enough times that Peter’s heart sunk into his stomach, and that he carefully tried to convince Wanda to try something else. The spell was eerily straightforward with very little need for ingredients, nothing more then saying two sentences and having a personal item of the person they strived to reach, and if they hadn’t managed to work it out in three attempts, Peter assumed, though the idea rendered him dejected, it would never work.

Until he went out on patrol again that night. One moment he was excitedly talking to Karen, animatedly retelling the story of how he managed to stop a bank robbery, as it the AI hadn’t witnessed it, and the next he tried to shoot out a spiderweb to building so he could swing over, only for the web to hit nothing but air.

‘Ow, wow’, Peter floundered, trying his best to reach something and prevent himself from slamming on the ground -again-, but he failed. He banged into a tree at full speed, colliding head first and tumbling down while hitting every branch possible. That was the first sign that should have tipped Peter off. There were no trees in the middle of Queens. Under normal circumstances, he would have considered that, but the heavy impact is not working well in his favor.

Landing on the ground on his stomach with a hard thud, his body, and specifically his ribs, screamed in agony, and he rips the mask off without considering his predicament. Anyone could walk by and see the face beneath the mask. Still, Peter can’t breath with the way his ribs object, but at least without the mask it’s fresh air he inhales.

He turns around and struggles to get on his back. His hand instinctively slide over his stomach, protecting the hurting area. Come to think of it, every area on his body hurts. Peter knows the logistics of cracked ribs, and savvies that even with the aid of super healing, it’s not going to repair in a few minutes times.

He inhales as a small as he possibly can, despite knowing he shouldn’t, and braces himself for running back to May’s and his appartement. He can’t stay here, where anyone could walk up to him and attack him while he’s down. He laughs incredible, at least aunt May, and Tony of he was still here, would be proud of him for calling it a day.

When he blinks his eyes open though, he’s met with nothing but grass and green for miles, and a blurry vision that tells him he has a concussion. While trying to sit up, his visions spins like he’s a part of a rollercoaster, and his stomach turns uncomfortably.

‘Oh no,’ Peter moans, ‘aunt May is gonna kill me.’ It’s the only thing he can say before he has to swallow back bile and decides it’s best to be quiet from now on. He struggles to his feet, stumbling a few times before successfully finding his footing in the grass.

His vision does not clear, but he forces himself to take a few steps in any direction anyway. Wondering if seeing all these trees are because of his concussion, Peter freezes when he hears tiny footsteps approaching the opening his still currently residing in. It’s accompanied by children’s crying, the hairs on his arm standing up at the sound. Perhaps it’s a trap, but Peter has never done well ignoring a child ever since meeting his baby sister.

‘Hello?’ he calls out tentatively, squeezing his eyes shut firmly to clear it, but it doesn’t help.

‘Hi’, an adorable voice answers back to him, a head peeks out from behind a bunch, as if the child is equally as curious about Peter as Peter is about her. He can only notice she does this because blurring colors that inch closer little by little. The girl sniffles, ‘I hurt my foot.’

Peter is out of his depth here. He’s only ever impressed children by swinging them around in the sky, but his body will not allow that right now. Instead he tries to focus on what he would do if Morgan was the one that was hurt. Adopting a tone only Morgan has ever heard from him, Peter crouches down on his knees. His ribs creak in dismay, but he ignores it firmly. Someone needs him right now.

‘Oh that’s not good. Does it hurt a lot?’ Peter himself cannot assess the damage.

‘No I guess not’, the girls splutters, pulling up her foot to show Peter.

‘Okay, that’s great. Do you live for away from here? I bet that if I take you back home, your parents will give you a lollipop because you were so brave.’

‘Oh’, the child cries out in wonder, pain in her foot forgotten completely at the mentions of dessert. Peter can’t help but smirk a little, bribery works on Morgan every time too. ‘I’ll show you, but you have to carry me okay?’

Peter can’t think of a worse activity for his injured body to sustain right now, but he’s not about to let a kid down.

‘It’s a deal, lead the way and hop on up.’ His tone is cheerful, even though he has to bite back pained groans by biting his lip.

The girl shows no hesitation and follows his lead immediately, giggling in delight.

‘So, do you want to play a game on the way over?’

They end up playing I spy with my little eye, which Peter loses every time, and not only because he can’t see straight at the moment. The girl, being clearly very young, is a spitfire, which is good because it means Peter doesn’t have to talk during the trip.

It gets increasingly harder to carry her the longer he has to endure the pain, but he knows that salvation is near when the girl, points to a brown blob in the distance. ‘That’s it, there it is. Put me down, I want to get my lollie now.’

Peter obligates, and watches as she runs without any regard for her painful foot, smiling to himself. He hears the door of the house open, and a male cadence calling out and sounding so joyful he must not have noticed Peter yet. He can only imagine the weird sight that must be, to see a stranger bringing home your daughter, but Peter can’t move away yet. His body has stopped listening to his commands.

‘Daddy, daddy, can I have a lollipop, Peter said I could if I was brave, and I was! He said so himself.’

Peter assumes she points to him, and his smiles weakly, although he’s having trouble even finding the strength to do that. Once he walks a little further, he should rest for a bit, close his eyes for the briefest amount of time. Before it get’s to that point though, Peter hears a glass mug being dropped on the ground. The sounds is piercing in contrast between the quiet forest and the intrusion, but that’s not the weirdest thing.

‘Peter?’ That same cadence exclaims, the voice breaking of the syllable. It’s strange, because for the briefest moment Peter’s mind flashing the name Tony at him, but the man is long gone.

Peter just about handles frowning at the direction, a weird knowingness to the exclamation, like the man somehow knows who Peter is.

‘How do you-?’ The sentence is cut short when a wave of nausea slams into Peter again, and he can’t keep himself upright this time. His knees buckle, his eyes roll into the back of his head, and the ground nearly welcomes him with open arm. Before he can collide with it again however, in such speed Peter can’t phantom the man being fast enough, he instead lands between the mans arms. All the strength has left his body, and Peter can do nothing but let his head roll onto the man’s shoulder.

‘Pepper’, he screams, so shut up it comes across as hoars, pulling Peter even closer to him than thought possible. ‘You’re okay kid, you’re okay. I promise you’ll be okay.’

---

Peter comes too slowly, groggily, as if moving through solaces. The logical part of his brain, of which there is much, screams at him to panic. He doesn’t know where he is, he can only vaguely remember the events leading up to his current situation, and he can’t ensure his safety or anyone else’s furthermore, but the smaller part of his brain soothes him.

Tells him everything is fine and he’s safe. It’s rare that Peter feels that way. Even at home with May in their appartement, there’s a constant need to be alert. Peter snaps awake from every little sound, his body turning rigid from the forceful transition between sleeping and waking up, even if the cause was only a door creaking.

It doesn’t make any sense for Peter to be this tranquillized right now, or any other time for that matter. He groans, pained, fluttering his eyes open to find himself in a dark room with the windows drawn. His eyesight is still blurry, his head is still pounding beneath his skin, and because there’s no acute danger to be detected- his spider senses tell him so, though he hasn’t learned to trust them completely yet- he allows his eyelids to droop closed again.

A warm, calloused hand strikes through his hair softly, while a thumb strikes out the frowning lines that pain flashes put on Peter’s forehead. Peter realizes with a startle that his not alone, and that must mean his Peter tingle has failed him, but can’t force himself to push the hand away. It’s nice to experience a loving touch after so many rough handlings, and the memories of lab days with Tony, car rides with Happy, building Lego with Ned and cuddling with MJ render him immobile. He longs so fiercely to feel safe, to be safe, that he leans into the touch like a cat being petted.

‘It’s okay Pete, just go back to sleep.’ A rough voice rumbles from besides Peter. All the rest he previously had, flies out of the window, as his entire body fill up with adrenaline. That voice belongs to a man that’s long gone, a man that sacrificed himself to save Peter and paid the ultimate price for it. That voice can only originate from a ghost.

Peter practically jumps up, opening his eyes and looking in the direction where the voice came from, but he miscalculated how fast his concussion would go away. He stumbles, faceplanting into the body that held Tony’s voice, and was only held up by the grace of the other man. Again, there were bouts of pain, but not only from his physical ailments.

The fire that Peter imagines to be inside of him, the one that destroys everyone else around him but leaves him, unfortunately intact, burns up from the remnants of his heart. He’s tried very hard to move on from Tony’s death in the past few months, and he had almost convinced himself that he was over it. That would be a flat out lie though, and Peter Parker doesn’t lie. The agony of the situation had just been shoved to the back of his mind, while Peter took on so much so he wouldn’t have to touch upon it, to prod in it. It peeked out every once in a while, when Happy would tell May about his life and an anecdote with Tony would be told, or when a poster with Iron man on it drew his attention, but it’s easier to pretend to be okay then to deal with the truth.

‘Hey Peter, I’m glad to see you too, but don’t get too excited now bud.’ Tony laughs, but the tone with which he says it sounds grief stricken, with the barest hint of hope coating the edges. He lowers Peter back down into the bed, and Peter has to bite back a sob at how comfortable the sheet caresses his skin, and how gentle it is on his wounds.

He shakes his head vehemently, trying to clear it and be able to think logically. He wants so badly that Tony is actually here, but there isn’t any way for that to be true, unless.. Peter gasps, memories piercing through the fog in his head. Unless Wanda managed to do what they set out to do. And that would mean that It’s no weird fever dream. Peter’s hand clench up in Tony’s shirt, pulling him down so Peter can meet him in the middle and hug him. He still can’t see the expression on Tony’s face, but he prepares to be rejected, and can’t find it in himself to care. Even if Tony pushes him away after barely a brief second, at least Peter still did something he had set out to do for months now.

That doesn’t happen. Instead, Tony grabs him even tighter, a gentle hand cupping the back of Peter’s head as he curves his body around him.

‘Tony’, Peter whispers, the first tears starting to track a path on his cheeks. ‘Tony.’ Sobs are building up in the back of his throat, unable to be contained for much longer, and as they escape, Tony doesn’t scold him, or tells Peter to stop, but he starts to rock the both of them.

Peter can’t be sure, but he thinks he feels splatters of Tony’s tears on his shoulders as well.

‘Morgan’, Peter says nonsensical after a while, sobs are still heaving his body, but he’s had experience pulling himself together in need before, and right now he needs to know Morgan is safe.

‘Is she okay?’ he asks Tony, with a clumsy tongue. The crying has made his weak and aching body even more exhausted, the rocks reminding him of babies being cradled and normally he wouldn’t want to be seen as a baby, but he doesn’t care right now. He just want to enjoy being around Tony again.

‘Morgan?’ Tony laughs, sniffling quietly like he’s refusing to let Peter knows his been crying too. ‘She fine, she’s probably playing in the barn again even though Pepper tells her she’s not allowed. She’s a bit of a menace, just like you Pete.’

At that, Peter sobs turn into heaves, his entire body shaking with the force of them. All the grief of the past few months, the guilt that Peter has carried knowing it’s all his fault, is all coming to a head now. It’s his fault that Tony’s dead, it’s his fault Morgan has to grow up without a father, and it’s his fault the world doesn’t have Iron man to protect them anymore. He’s tried to so hard to make it right, but how can he? How can he ever be the person Tony was, when he’s just Peter Parker.

‘Kiddo, please calm down, you’re gonna make yourself sick’, Tony soothes despairingly. He lowers peter again but stays close, his hand going back to striking Peter’s hair. ‘You’re okay, I promise you, I won’t let anything else happen to you.’ Tony is getting chocked up again, but this time he doesn’t try to hide it. ‘Not again.’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry’, Peter whispers, his voice wrecked by the amount of crying he has done. He wants to talk to Tony, explain what happened, spend time with him and beg for his forgiveness, but Tony shushes him, and he’s asleep before he can argue.

----

The next time Peter struggles to consciousness, he senses their presence; Morgan, Pepper and Tony, and he knows without a sliver of doubt that its them. He shakes with the knowledge. The room he’s in, his room as Pepper had told him upon visiting for the first time, is scattered with spiderman toys, and even a few posters on to wall to complete the image. The sight is ridiculous, but Peter laughs at it all the same. He tries to keep the smile on his face, but melancholy isn’t easily beat.

At the very least his concussion seems to have gone away since waking up a first time, and all that’s left to remind him he took a fall is a vague pounding in his head, and the nausea. It’s not as bad as before, and Peter takes the reprieve with greedy hands.

The hustling and bustling of the family, alive and well, downstairs is crustal clear to Peter’s advanced hearing. It’s strange, being back in the lake house without it seeming so bleak. After they defeated Thanos, and Mister Stark died, Peter’s mind helpfully supplies, he had only been here twice. Pepper tried her best to come back, to give Morgan a home away from the home they owned in the city, but too much had reminded of the husband she was forced to burry, so they moved fairly quickly.

So it unusually to see it the way it was supposed to be. Lived in, with Morgan’s giggling and Pepper’s pretend scolding voice, with mister Stark chuckling quietly to himself, a perfect little family. It’s supposed to emit a warm, honey affection bleeding through every crack, and it’s a shame it isn’t anymore.

‘Morguna, go play with your toys for a second, I need to talk to your mom about something very important.’ Spying on Tony leaves a bad taste in Peter’s mouth, but he can’t help it. He’s been so devoid of any scraps connecting him to Mister Stark, that he’s willing to forgo manners.

‘Is it a surprise?’ Morgan asks, mirth in her voice. She’s so much younger than Peter ever remembers her being, because he’d never got to witness her at that age. His heart clenches, the hurt still so fresh.

‘You know what little miss, as a matter of fact it is, so you better scoot, or we might not be able to get in time.’

Morgan squeals in delight, and Peter hears her little footsteps sprinting outside. Peter smiles, he knew Tony would be a good dad someday. The downstairs is quiet for longer than normal, and Peter suddenly turns worried that Pepper and Tony caught him.

Then, Pepper speaks up again. ‘You can’t keep spoiling her you know. She’ll turn into a monester by the time she hits fourteen.’

‘She’s fine,’ Tony placates. Peter visualizes Tony pressing a kiss to the top of Pepper’s head, the only weakness the woman has, which he takes great advantages of. The issue seems to be settled, the playful disagreement put to rest.

Peter ponders over what to do next. He’s so extremely awkward, and despite hoping for an opportunity like this one, he has no idea what to say to Tony.

‘Oh Tony, is it really him?’ Peter freezes, so caught of guard by the heartache in Pepper’s words. She sounds both optimistic and demoralized, as though she has had her hopes up for so long she can’t risk it again.

‘It is Pep. I know it is, I saw it in his eyes.’

‘But how?’ Pepper questions extensively. ‘He was blipped, just like so many people. None of the others have come back.’

‘I don’t have all the answers Pepper, God knows I wish I had. All I know is that my kids back, do I need to question why?’

Hearing, outright hearing mister Stark say Peter is his kid, has Peter tearing up, something sharp sticking at his ribs and feeble heart. It hurts just as much as he longs to overhear it again.

‘He might be able to bring the others back. Tony, I get why you don’t want to hear this, but he could be the key to helping millions.’

‘He has to be nothing but healthy alright? Maybe he can help, maybe he can’t, but all I’m sure of is that I’m never,’ Tony’s voice sinks lower and even more venomous then before,’ putting him in the line of fire again.’

I’m okay, Peter thinks, needing to scream it to Mister Stark’s face that he didn’t do anything. It wasn’t up to anyone, just like it wasn’t up to anyone to save Tony either.

‘I’m sorry’, Tony utters, sounding defeated and, honestly, old. ‘I’m sorry, but I just got him back, and I can’t, I can’t lose him again.’

‘It seems like the first step in ensuring it never does it to go up and talk to him. Go to him Tony, say what you couldn’t say three years ago. And’, Pepper swallows thickly. ‘Tell him we all love him.’

Peter’s grateful he won’t be forced to initiate the first move by walking downstairs.

‘Underroos, I’m coming up so you better not be sleeping anymore.’ The flawless transition between vulnerable and slipping into his role a cool role model is staggering, but it doesn’t surprise Peter in the slightest anymore. He’s spend too much time with Tony for that to be the case.

He doesn’t know what to do with his body, how he’s supposed to respond to seeing Tony in person again? Part of him wants to lung at his mentor, while the other part hisses at him to act like a normal human being. Peter ends up sitting down on the bed, standing in front of the door, hiding behind the closet and finally back to bed in the span of however long it takes Tony to reach the room.

By that point, Peter is too distracted by the glimmer of his past to overthink the encounter. He remembers the lego set as if it just happened. It was the first bout of Peter’s interests that Tony listened to wholeheartedly. After the battle with Thanos, it had slipped Peter’s mind completely. He had no idea Mister Stark had this thing in his home.

‘I asked May if I could take it with me, when I moved out here’, Tony says with melancholy, taking a seat by Peter on the bed, but leaving a considerable distance. He’s not looking at the lego set at all, instead dividing his full attention on Peter. Swiftly his eyes roam Peters face and posture, sucking in all the little details Tony hadn’t been able to discern about him after a while.

‘There’s so many of that stuff in her apartment, but this one was the most fun to put together, because it’s the death star you know? It has all this detail and it took forever to make but that’s all good, cause there’s so much detail and-’

‘Pete’, Tony sounds chocked up, like the façade he was forcing himself to wear is already slipping. Peter hasn’t even said anything yet. ‘God kid, where the hell di you come from? I’ve tried everything but I-‘, he takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. Peter has only witnessed mister Stark crying once, so it’s a shock that it occurs again. ‘I didn’t know how.’

‘Mister Stark-’, Peter stops, cutting his own sentence off. Is he even supposed to say anything? Is he supposed to blab the secrets of the future. His Spidey scenes are distinctively ordering him not too, but Peter itches to all the same. ‘I don’t think I’m supposed to say,’ he settles on, ‘with the butterfly effect and all.’

‘The butterfly effect? Kid what in the world are you talking about?’

‘You know, like in the movie, where he can travel back in the past but it always alters things for the worst?’

‘Yeah, I’ve seen the movie’, Tony asserts, almost deadpans. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’

‘Just- just please trust me Mister Stark’, Peter pleads, hands beginning to tremble with the need to reach out for reassurance. The memories of the one complete hug Tony had ever given him sparking a longing in him. ‘Do you trust me?’

‘Of course’, Mister Stark firmly agrees.

‘Then don’t ask me how,’ even to his own ears the desperation is tangible, ‘please.’

Tony clasps his hand on Peters shoulder, a ground weight to which Peters never endings zing in relief. Before he can stop himself, he’s crumpled in, his head on Tony’s shoulder while his hands twist in the back of mister Stark’s shirt. The reciprocation is immediate.

‘I’ve missed you’, He chokes out, feeling rather annoyed at himself that all he seems to be doing is crying. His time here is limited, he can sense it, the hunch that time is of the essence and he doesn’t posses much of it, and he refuses to waste it on more tears.

‘Me too, Pete, more than you know.’

‘I think I have a pretty good clue’, Peter laughs bitterly, it’s not the same really. He’s only been missing mister Stark for a few months, the man in front of him has been missing him for three and will need to miss him for two more years. The buzzing in the back of his head grows louder. Another stroke of Parker luck, he spend most of the time he had with mister Stark unconscious.

Whatever, he can’t change it now, but he has a few more things to say before he needs to leave.

‘Tony’, he begins, using Mister Starks first name to ensure he understands how important this is. He pulls away, just enough to be able to look Tony directly in the eyes, but what he sees there is nothing short of panic. His hand tighten, softly guiding him back but Peter resists.

‘Please don’t tell me you have to go again.’ It seems that despite Peter intent, Tony savvies more than he’d like. Peter smiles bitter.

‘It’s not your fault.’

‘What?’

‘What happened on Titan, when he blipped all of us, me, that’s not on you mister Stark.’ Peter repeats patiently, watching as Tony’s face hardens.

‘Peter-‘

‘It’s not. You couldn’t have protected me any more then you did. I’m sorry it turns out the way it did, but I need you to know it’s not on you.’

‘I should have done more.’ Tony insist, raising his voice a few octaves. Downstairs, Morgan asks Pepper why her dad is so close to yelling. ‘I should’ve, you were my kid Peter, are my kid, and I failed.’

‘You didn’t fail’, Peter yells back just as loudly, he stands up from the bed, subconsciously trying to appear taller so he has more say in the situation. ‘Because if you already failed then what did I do? I’m still here and you-‘, he cuts himself off once again, almost spilling all the secrets.

Tony approach him like he’s an animal that needs to be handled with care. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about, but I’m a grown man Pete, I can take care of myself.’

‘But I-‘

‘Ah, ah, ah, not talking back, I’m the adult here. Zip it kid. How about this, we’re both not to blame alright?’

Peter isn’t convinced Tony believes that, but it’s still a weight of his shoulders to have said it to Mister Stark, maybe, in the future, when he pins the blame on himself once more, he’ll think about this moment. He nods.

‘I have to go now Mister Stark’, The words tumble out of his mouth before he realizes that it’s the truth. Whatever is going to happen next won’t wait much longer.

Peter walks over to the window and opens it, ready to swing out after saying goodbye. He can’t go and see Pepper and Morgan, it’ll upset them as much as it’ll upset him. He’ll see them back in his time.

‘Wait,’ Tony screams, as I Peter was going to leave without a goodbye. The embrace he pulls Peter in is heavier this time, loaded with the upcoming goodbye’s. It’s still nice though, and Peter enjoys every second of it. Tony presses a kiss to Peter’s temple then holds it there when he asks; ‘How long do I have to wait before I see you again.’

Peter swallows painfully and considers lying to make Tony feel better but, ‘two years’, he eventually confesses, figuring that he can at least give that little piece of information.

Mister Stark simply hums, but Peter notices his tears nonetheless. With one last, solid squeeze, Peter wiggles out of the embrace and tries to stall his own tears. It would hurts less if he could go back to find Mister Stark there, if only he had a way to warm Tony.

He’s pretty sure he can’t go into too much detail but; ‘Mister Stark, when it happens, please hold on. I can’t lose you either.’

‘Okay Pete,’ Tony assures, his hands shaking with the urge to drag his kid back, safe in his arms. ‘After this is all over, we’re going to hold a movie night okay? With pizza.’

‘And Star Wars?’ Peter asks hopefully. Mister Stark laughs, his eyes wet. The smile is all Peter demands before he jumps out the window, not waiting for an answer. He prays that he’s done enough without messing anything up. He hopes.

---

When Peter makes it back to his own time, his phone pings with a message.

It reads; ‘Hey kid, still up for a movie night?’ send by Tony Stark.

#peter parker #tony stark #pepper stark #morgan stark #spiderman #peter parker imagine #tony stark imagine #spiderman imagine #post avengers endgame #happy ending #nobody dies #irondad #spider son #hurt/comfort #hurt peter parker #protective tony stark #marvel imagine #marvel #the avengers

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bookishofalder · 4 years ago

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Pretty Girl - Blurb 4

A/N: I just hit 300 followers HOLY CRAP so here’s a fluffy, final blurb for Pretty Girl. I love you guys, thank you for enjoying this story and sticking around. Also, I mention miscarriage and fertility issues in this blurb. I myself experienced a miscarriage at 18 weeks with twins and am still grieving and trying to get pregnant again. I wish for my rainbow baby every day. 🤍

Summary: Pretty Girl and Flip are having a baby.

Warnings: Pregnancy, language, fertility issues, miscarriage mention, grief, labour, fluff.

Flip was busy typing away at his desk, trying to stay on top of all of his paperwork. As much as (Y/N) helped him, there were still sections of the reports he had to complete himself, and falling behind wasn’t an option right now. He sat back in his chair, taking a brief break to roll his neck when movement by the doors to the bullpen caught his eyes.

A large, round belly preceded his wife into view, and as always she took Flip off guard; seeing her glowing, beautiful face. Some baser instinct within him enjoyed seeing (Y/N) round with his child; it caused a ripple of satisfaction to course through him. When she kept moving toward him, her eyes bright, Flip jumped up, frantic.

“Darling,” He hurried to her side, hands hovering around her unnecessarily, “You promised you’d keep off your feet at much as possible. I told you I’d come to check on you shortly.” Flip watched as she laughed, rolling her eyes affectionately. She had one hand placed absentmindedly over her bump, gently rubbing circles.

At thirty-eight weeks pregnant, Flip’s wife had impressed him every day with her unwillingness to give up routine and work simply because she was with child. She insisted on staying on at the station until the baby came. And while he didn’t like her working too hard, it was nice to have her close by. This way, he could keep an eye on her and take care of her as much as possible. And she had reduced her duties at work, agreeing with Flip that overdoing things wouldn’t be good for her or the baby.

They had been married a few years now, the best of his life for the most part. Marrying your best friend had a way of making every day an adventure. Of course, not everything was sunshine for them; but they had one another and they knew they could get through anything. They always did.

When Flip had been shot in the arm the previous year, (Y/N) had marched into the hospital and, surprising everyone, punched the rookie cop in the face who left Flip open when he should have been watching his six.

Flip had never been prouder of her.

They’d stopped using protection early on in the marriage, agreeing they were both ready to start a family. But it hadn’t come easy for them, months turned into a year of no success and the light that he took for granted in his wife started to waver, just a little. When they got pregnant the first time, Flip had overcome with emotion and he nearly left the parking lot of the doctor’s office without (Y/N), who had run to the bathroom before coming outside. When he realized what he’d done and turned around, he found her standing outside laughing so hard she was crying. That had been a damn good day.

At just nine weeks pregnant, they found out that they had lost the baby. Things had changed for (Y/N) and Flip. He left the doctor's office with the heavy weight of grief, and he knew his perfect, lovely wife was more crushed than she was letting on. She had taken a leave from work, and it had been a rough few months of coming home to a quiet house, (Y/N) asleep on the couch most days. They had stopped having sex, which didn't bother Flip in itself, it was just the reasoning that worried him.

The night that (Y/N) broke down and admitted she felt like a huge failure still replayed in Flip’s mind every once in a while. The raw, excruciating pain had been so evident on her face, his pretty girl so heartbroken she felt like she was failing him. Like she could ever do anything wrong. Flip had comforted her, but more importantly, he made it clear that nothing about their pregnancy troubles or the loss of their baby was her fault. He had cried with her that night. As they clung to one another in the bath and the sun set outside. He cried for their loss. He cried for her pain. He cried with his wife and they promised each other they would have no regrets. Life was what it was. Having each other meant they could do anything, could get through anything.

The next time she got pregnant was just after he had been shot. He’d had a few weeks leave, but (Y/N) had long since returned to work, so he spent long days at home alone trying to pass the time. On one such day, he had been sitting in his favourite chair in their living room, his hand stroking over his hard length as he sought to escape, frantic and needy and so consumed in himself that he hadn’t heard her come home. What he didn't miss was the way her hand suddenly wrapped around him; his eyes had flown open and found her gazing at him with such hunger as she gripped him that he only just managed to launch himself forward, toppling them onto the floor, and take her right there.

A few weeks later, they had found out they were pregnant.

And now, (Y/N) was fully and unmistakably pregnant or, as she liked to say, ready to pop any moment. Though relatively good-natured, Flip had been a witness or victim to many mood swings, including one that had involved an ashtray being thrown at his head because he forgot to buy pickles. Christ, he never made that mistake again.

“I’ve been taking it easy, detective, don’t worry.” (Y/N) patted Flip’s arm with her free hand, smiling up at him as he fretted at her side.

Flip tried to steer her to his seat, “I know, but you could go into labour at any time and being on your feet too much-“

“Oh, well,” She was giving Flip a funny smile now, her eyes glinting, “That’s actually why I came back here. My water broke a few minutes ago.”

Flip stared down at his wife as though she’d suddenly sprouted a second head. He went entirely rigid, and all conscious thought slid out of his head, replaced with a faint ringing.

“Flip, honey, come back to me.”

“I-uh, what?” He shook his head, attempting to assemble his thoughts, “What’s going on?”

(Y/N) was giggling now, “Flip Zimmerman, my water broke.”

“Pretty girl,” He murmured, suddenly reaching out to grip her shoulders, “Are you saying...are we having a baby?”

Before she could answer, (Y/N) suddenly winced, the hand on her belly stilling and her eyes closing and she took a few deep, slow breaths. This was all it took to bring reality slamming into Flip and he instantly began grabbing his things. Shrugging his jacket on, tucking his keys and wallet into his pockets. His mind was now racing at a mile a minute. But they’d planned for this, going so far as to bring their hospital bag to work every day just in case.

“Whew, that’s a fun feeling.” (Y/N) mumbled, eyes still closed.

“Darling, are you okay to walk for me?” Flip leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to her lips, smiling at her when she opened her eyes and nodded. Taking it slow, they made their way out of the bullpen and down the hall. Flip raced behind the reception desk to grab the go-bag and (Y/N)‘s jacket.

Donna came out of the washroom as he hurried back out from behind it, her eyes spotting Flip before moving to where (Y/N) was slightly hunched over, breathing through more contractions.

“OH!” Donna cried out, clapping her hands excitedly. “Oh, it’s time! Go, go, I’ll let the Sarge know. Good luck you two, and Flip drive safely to the hospital!” She raced over and gave (Y/N) a quick hug, before turning on Flip and embracing him with happy tears in her eyes.

With a quick thank you, they were on the move again. Flip hurried ahead and got the truck, pulling it up out front of the station as his wife waddled out, looking more relaxed now that her contraction had eased up. He helped slide her into her seat, carefully buckling her in before breaking the speed limit to get the few blocks away to the hospital.

One of the perks of being a detective was that most of the hospital staff knew Flip already. So when he walked in the doors, an arm around (Y/N)‘s shoulders and a frantic look on his face, about eight nurses rushed over and began to dote on them both, one settling (Y/N) into a wheelchair while they helped Flip check them in.

In no time at all, they were settling into labour and delivery, (Y/N) now wearing the open-backed hospital gown that gave Flip a pretty nice view every time she stood at the side of her bed and leaned over to breathe through contractions. The woman couldn’t sit still; the pain and nervousness rendering her ability to relax null.

Flip rubbed her lower back, standing behind her and appreciating the strength his wife had. “What are you staring at, detective?” She asked, breaking him from his thoughts. (Y/N) was staring over her shoulder at Flip, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“Just, thinking about how incredible you are, darling.” He admitted, hands still kneading her skin gently.

(Y/N) hummed appreciatively, “Funny, I was going to say the same about you.”

“Ah, well, I’m not the one about to do all the hard work here, so I’ll defer all compliments for now,” Flip joked, and she laughed before hissing a breath as her next contraction took over.

“Fuck,” She focused on her breathing for a few moments, “Flip, promise you’ll stay here with me the whole time?” Her voice was surprisingly small at that moment, and he knew if he could see her face, it would be twisted in a vulnerable grimace.

He reached up and smoothed her hair back, “Pretty girl, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be at your side the whole time,” Flip leaned down and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, “You don’t worry about a thing, alright? I’ll take care of you.”

And he did, in as much as he could. Never leaving her side once, Flip witnessed every moment of labour. Labour lasted about six hours, and then he experienced every moment of the birth of their child. He held her hand throughout, rubbing her shoulder with his free hand and ignoring the pain in the one she had a vice-like grip on. Flip pressed a cool cloth to her forehead between pushing, whispering sweet nothings and praise in her ear as she cried out in pain, until suddenly (Y/N) was slumping into the pillows propped up behind her with a sigh of relief, and then the brief silence filled with a cry.

Their newborn baby gave a shrill shriek of displeasure, and Flip and (Y/N) were entirely overcome with emotion. Flip stepped forward to cut the umbilical cord. With the help of the doctor, he took hold of the baby to lay them on (Y/N)‘s chest. The baby's cries dulled somewhat then, as she clutched their baby to her skin and gazed down with so much affection he felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks, his heart so full of joy it nearly hurt.

“Congratulations, mommy and daddy!” The doctor said a few minutes later. He then took the baby to be checked over and cleaned up, across the room.

Flip leaned down and pressed his lips to (Y/N)‘s forehead, “You doing alright, pretty girl?” When she nodded sleepily, he raised his hands to cup her cheeks, thumbs brushing across her soft, damp skin. “You did so well, darling. You were so strong and brave, I’m so proud of you. I love you.” He kissed her again, this time capturing her lips briefly.

(Y/N) sighed with content, “I love you too, Flip,” Her eyes were fluttering now, exhaustion pulling her toward a much-deserved slumber, though he saw them flicker to where the nurses were standing with the baby, working at swaddling them. “Will you stay with the baby?”

“Course I will, darling. Now get some sleep,” He reached down for her blankets and pulled them up, tucking her in better as the nurses that had been tidying up her lower body finished up. “Baby and I will be right here when you wake up, pretty girl.”

With one last smile, (Y/N) slipped off to sleep, her breathing evening out as Flip watched. He didn’t even feel tired, and true to his word he didn’t go anywhere, staying with her and the baby, whom he was holding when she woke back up a few hours later.

Flip slid onto the bed next to her and together they held their little bundle of joy, each staring into the little, scrunched up face with huge grins. Their little rainbow baby.

Tag list ✨

@tashastrange89 @finn-ray-nal-beads @fizzywoohoo @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @morby @pradaxstyles @10blurredsmoke10 @mermaidxatxheart @paintballkid711

#reader insert #fanfic #adam driver x reader #fluff #flip zimmerman x reader #adam driver #friends to lovers #angst #flip zimmerman #flip x reader #blurb #thank you #pregnancy #happily ever after

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nanagoswife · 3 years ago

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Please, Don't Go. - Chapter 9

Summary: We get a glimpse of the future, the we find out a surprise.

W/C: 2.5k

Warnings: Implied intimacy, angst?, mention of violence and beatings

- - -

A strip of light filtered through the window, rousing you awake. It caused you to squint as you let your eyelids flutter open. There was a warmth that flooded through you as you felt the arm around your waist shift. Not long later, you a pair of lips press against your bare back, between your shoulder blades.

You let out a contented sigh before you rolled over to face the man in your bed. Meeting his eyes, you still couldn’t believe that he was yours and you were his. It had been so many years with this man.

“Good morning, my love,” he said in a grumbled whisper. You chuckled and put your hand on his bearded cheek. You absolutely loved the scratchy feeling, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss his clean shaven face.

“Good morning, dear,” you replied. With a smile, he pulled you into his chest. Your fingers instantly went to tracing patterns into his chest hairs. The colour so wonderfully matched the one of his beard.

Burying into his neck, you couldn’t help but think back to the days after you had been in this setting with your Obi-Wan Kenobi. They had been amazing, but there was so much happening. Your work, and then Obi-Wan’s investigation. Your lives were almost destroyed by something that almost broke you, had it not been for your love.

You and Obi-Wan made it a habit of him coming to sleep in your room every night after that fateful night. Although that night included much more than just sleep, that was not every night after. Sure, sometimes you were up to participating in those activities, but both of you were also extremely busy.

Before you were to take on the role of being a senator for your planet, you had to do what your brother couldn’t. Rebuild the people’s spirit. Then Obi-Wan was discreetly investigating different members of your government.

As the days went on, there was even more purpose for Obi-Wan to actually be with you every night. Not just because the two of you enjoyed the other’s comfort, but because it was to keep a more protective role. The threat to not only your work, but your life was still prominent and the Jedi were growing wary.

Obi-Wan would constantly tell you that they were growing closer to finding out who was conducting this every day. Although you were happy, it filled you with a small feeling of sadness. The sooner they learned of the saboteur, the sooner he would have to leave.

This night was no different, it was just worse. This time, Qui-Gon accompanied the room as there was a breakthrough.

“I think it best that you sit down, Y/N,” Qui-Gon had told you.

You complied and looked at the Jedi Knight, “What has happened?”

“We have the strongest lead we’ve had during this whole investigation,” Qui-Gon stated. Then, he continued, “This was given by an anonymous contact who provided a file containing evidence against this person.”

“Isn’t this a good thing? We could finally get things back to normal.”

“It’s who, that’s the problem,” Obi-Wan spoke up. Until this, he had only been watching you, gauging your reactions no doubt.

Confusion immediately flooded your mind. Who could it be that rendered this as such an important topic for you to be told now? Were they going to say someone was framing you so that you wouldn’t be successful?

“Y/N,” Obi-Wan called out softly, drawing your attention back up to him. This was his way of comforting you when he couldn’t touch you to send reassurance. You had grown accustomed to making yourself feel the same way you would if he was holding you at this soft call.

Your eyes locked with his, and his eyes showed as much comfort as he was doing with his tone.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and swallowed before speaking, “The one who’s causing all of the conflict is… Davin.”

Shock immediately flooded through you. No. No, this can’t be true. There’s no way. Why would he send me away if-

Everything came crashing into you. The way he had been slightly distancing himself from you and your parents for a couple of weeks before the Jedi came, insisting that you needed to leave the planet, the fact that no one attacked you until you had found out you’d go home… Maker! He made sure Qui-Gon would be gone so the bounty hunters would stand more of a chance. Does this mean he was responsible for Baize? He put your whole planet at risk!

Obi-Wan had watched as emotions rapidly crossed your features. Confusion, shock, sadness, grief, pain, anger. He desperately wanted to wrap you up in his arms and hold you through this, but he couldn’t. When he thought about it, he wasn’t sure you would even let him.

The Jedi stayed silent as you worked everything out in your head. As you looked at it, it only became more obvious. Everything was exactly what proved the suspicions. How could he do this? Was he responsible for your parents? Oh, stars, please say he wasn’t.

After a few moments, Qui-Gon spoke up, breaking your thoughts, “We have a way that we want to prove this, but it will only be with your express consent.”

Looking up, you were confused. “And what is that?”

You moved your gaze from Qui-Gon to Obi-Wan. The idea seemed to pain him as he couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes. Like always, his eyes betrayed everything he truly felt.

“We- The plan was for you to confront him. Learn his real intentions…” Obi-Wan’s voice trailed off. It was the end of the sentence, but he clearly wanted to say more. He wanted to tell you how much he hated this plan. How it could endanger you.

“Oh,” you said quietly.

There was an awkward silence as none of you knew what else to say. After clearing his throat, Qui-Gon excused himself while saying that you have time to think about it. You didn’t really have to, though.

Once the door closed behind his master, Obi-Wan was drowning in the tension of the room. His throat was tightening and he was almost expecting you to start yelling at him saying that he was insane for suggesting this. You didn’t.

Instead, when he looked up, he saw tears filling your eyes.

“This is really happening,” you croaked out. As you couldn’t bring your eyes to meet his, something crumbled inside Obi-Wan. Whether it was the composure he had in front of Qui-Gon or something else didn’t matter. What did matter is that he was suddenly pulling you into his arms, both of you sinking to the floor.

There was nothing that could help him comprehend how you were feeling. All he knew to do was exactly what he was doing. He wished he could know how this was, if it meant it would make you feel better.

No tears fell from your eyes. You could feel them stinging your eyes, but they just wouldn’t fall. Through it all, you just felt betrayed. Throughout your entire childhood, you and your older brother were so close. What changed?

Now, there was no other choice. You had to find out. You had to hear it from him. You would do it tonight.

Obi-Wan felt the shift in you and he knew exactly what you were doing. It was as he and Qui-Gon had predicted, but there was something that really hoped you wouldn’t rush into it. All things considered, it would at least allow for him the opportunity to protect you. They had already spoken to the council, and they had permission. Their orders for afterwards? Take you away for a few days for safety. One of your relatives was ready to step up, as you were always planning to never take the throne. It was always the plan that you would take over as senator.

Before you could say you would do it, and now, Obi-Wan spoke, “I’m coming with you.” You weren’t surprised, you only nodded. At this point, his connection to the force along with knowing you so well, it led to him being able to read you well.

“I just need to actually hear him say it. To tell me why he did it.”

Slowly, he nodded and stood. He offered a hand to help you stand, and you took it and immediately headed to the doors. There was nothing that would keep you from going straight to finding out the truth.

Obi-Wan actually struggled to keep up with you. At the same time, he was trying to send a message to Qui-Gon to be on stand-by. His master would be needed if any of this went too far.

Before he knew it, you were bursting through the doors of Davin’s office. Your brother was startled at the sudden entry. He was on a call but turned it off quick enough that neither you or Obi-Wan could see who it was.

“Y/N? What are you-”

“The games are over Davin!” This was the first time Obi-Wan had ever heard you raise your voice. You never yelled, and you weren’t now, just raising your voice. “Why did you do it? All of it!”

“I don’t know-” Davin tripped over a chair a little, hands raised defensively and acting innocent.

“You know exactly what I mean! Why? Why did you destroy every good thing we had on this planet?”

Then, you saw as the charade dropped. His glare became dark, cynical.

“It’s because everyone on the Maker-forsaken planet is too stuck in this happy-go-lucky attitude. They have no idea what’s actually happening, our parents didn’t. I’m ensuring we’ll be on the right side!”

You couldn’t believe the words coming from his mouth. “So you had them killed? You made everyone suffer? And, for your information, you haven’t spent a day looking at humanitarian crises. How would you know?”

“Because I have a powerful friend who has been saying how I could better our planet. Because of him, my rule of this planet will be greater. No one will stand in the way of my plans.”

“Is that why you tried so hard to get rid of me? Why it always seem like you didn’t truly care that I was ever hurt?”

Your voice was starting to shake as tears built in your eyes. Davin actually looked away, looking guilty for a moment.

Obi-Wan was almost frozen in place. He knew you would try to get straight to the point, but not like this. There was something that surprised him at how well you were able to quickly get the information out. Now, he was ready for anything to happen.

Davin kept his eyes trained on the ground, “I hated having to do that,” he looked at you, “but I knew you would see through it. So, I had to get rid of you too.”

“Davin, we can’t turn monarchy into a dictatorship! There’s still a democracy that controls everything.”

“And what good is that doing us? The corrupt process is what’s causing our blindness!”

“It’s the exact opposite,” you said before letting out a scoff. “It’s the reason everyone loves to be here. All you’re doing is destroying it! Have you looked at the suffering that’s happening out there?”

It was almost as if that struck a nerve, or some sense into Davin as his eyes went wide.

“What do you mean? I was doing what was right,” his voice grew lower in volume.

You shook your head, “No. Poverty has skyrocketed, people are being brutalized by the police because they are simply trying to find jobs which wouldn’t be an issue had you not closed down the farming sector. Everything is crumbling because your friend told you to. Not only that, but you lost me.”

Davin only stared blankly at the top of his desk. Obi-Wan could feel how fast his thoughts were flowing through him. It was like all of his actions were only just registering in his mind. He had his parents killed. He tried to have you killed. The planet was dying because of his actions.

Most of all, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel impressed. In the span of only a few minutes, you had gotten Davin to see more than one point of view. You took a weakness of him, brought it out, and used it so that he would actually listen. Obi-Wan was glad he wasn’t a politician because you would wipe him across the floor.

Then, Davin walked towards Obi-Wan, eyes still fixed to the ground. When he stepped in front of the Jedi padawan, he held out his arms. It took a moment to realize what he was doing. He snapped out of his moment of wonder and took out a pair of binders and sent a message to Qui-Gon.

It didn’t take long for his master to get there. Obi-Wan handed your brother over, and Qui-Gon took him away. It left you and Obi-Wan alone.

When he turned around, you were staring blankly out of the window. Carefully, he stepped up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder. The immense tension immediately released at his touch.

Without much warning, you spun around and wrapped your arms around him, your face pressing into his chest. He returned your embrace. This time, there were no tears, just the need for comfort from the man you loved. The last one, it seemed, that you still had.

Obi-Wan waited for a few moments before telling you the plan. He was slightly shocked when you only nodded against his chest. He was sure you would protest having to leave the planet again; how you would have to leave your work behind. You trusted him, though. You trusted your cousin that was taking the throne.

After a few more silent, but calming, moments, Obi-Wan brought you back to your chambers. Like he had for so many nights, he stayed with you. The only thing delaying your rest was having to pack. After that, you snuggled up to him, wanting nothing more than his comfort.

“You know,” he started quietly after you both got settled, “I’m glad I will never be a senator.”

You looked up at him in the moonlight, slight confusion showing, “Why?”

“I’d be constantly afraid that you would make a fool out of me,” he said with raised eyebrows.

You couldn’t help but smile and chuckle lightly. It delighted Obi-Wan. That was exactly what he was aiming for. He hated seeing you upset, and he always knew just how to make you feel better in your darkest moments.

“Thank you, Obi. I needed that,” you say softly as you nudge into him more.

“Of course, darling. If it was the last thing I did, it would be to make you smile.”

@stardancerluv @where-fantasy-meets-reality @jaydenwoo @madmax2003 @mackycat11 @generousrunawaydonut

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padme-amitabha · 4 years ago

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Anidala Week 2021

Day 3: Mythology/Fairy Tales or Favorite Touches

A Serpent in the Garden of Eden

This is based on Hindu mythology about two lovers named Behula and Lakhindar. Some aspects of the original story have been tweaked :)

Once upon a time, two seraphs in the kingdom of heaven fell in love – a love so deep and profound they would attract the envy of the other angels who served in the court of gods. They were Vader and Amidala, the most beautiful out of all the angels.

Vader was descended from the bloodline of the Father himself, creator of the heavens. Vader with his enormous black wings – a black as sinful as midnight – was the angel of death. He could be as beautiful or terrible as the person whose soul he intended to take with him.

Amidala was descended from the Sister, the deity of light, love and purity. She was the queen of the celestial maidens. She inspired all to follow her and was well loved by the citizens of Zion. Her soft wings were as white and pure as snow itself.

This couple’s union caused quite a stir in court and attracted the attention of everyone. The gods felt they were an excellent match and gave them their blessing to marry. They lived together in harmony for centuries and had many children including the twins Luke and Leia, who became deities of the sun and the moon. But after a while, like most immortal beings, they grew weary of living eternal life and craved adventure. They desired to be reincarnated and sent to Earth so that they could find each other and fall in love with each other all over again. The gods granted them this request.

Amidala, being the elder of the two angels, was sent to earth first as the youngest daughter in a well-off family in Theed. Four years later, Vader was sent as the son of a woman named Shmi. Shmi Skywalker was a middle-aged woman who lived on her own in a city called Mos Espa. It so happened that her family had been cursed and killed by the god of snakes and destruction, Sheev due to a grudge he bore against the Skywalkers. He had spared her since she was a child at the time, intending her to become his devotee, but the iron-willed Shmi vowed never to worship the god who had taken away her family.

Sheev, a vindictive god, was affronted by her refusal and placed a curse on her. Any child born of her would never reach adulthood. Shmi went on to have six sons and all of them died under mysterious circumstances in their infancy and Shmi suspected it was from snakebites. Which made sense, of course, since snakes were associated with the conniving god and it was said that was how he took the lives of people who incurred his wrath.

When she found herself with child again, she briefly considered giving in to Sheev. This seventh son was conceived without a Father and Shmi suspected a divine intervention. The child was born with stars in his eyes that reflected infinite wisdom. He was too aware as a child and emitted a godly aura. Shmi knew he was no ordinary human child as soon as she held him in her arms. With his unnaturally bright blue eyes and soft golden curls, he looked like an angel descended from the heavens. Shmi named him Anakin.

Shmi was fiercely protective of her boy and always kept a close eye on him. Anakin was not to step a foot out of their extremely safeguarded house. Anakin, naturally because Vader’s essence still lived inside him, was born with the desire to explore worlds and make a name for himself. But he was aware that his mother’s overprotectiveness came from the sorrows she had endured so he (mostly) remained an obedient child. He dreamed of leaving his house once he reached the age of twenty-one for that would render the curse null and void.

As a child, he had discovered he was an excellent craftsman and a natural artist. He painted everything he had heard Shmi talk about the world beyond Mos Espa and even Tatooine. Sometimes, images would flash in his mind about a place where there was only happiness. These visions would also show him a strangely familiar face.

Anakin hadn’t seen many girls and most of the women he had encountered were his mother’s age but he knew she was the most beautiful girl in the world. He wasn’t certain she really existed and perhaps, she was just a figment of his imagination and he decided to bring her to life with a portrait. He deftly painted her big brown eyes, delicate features and soft brown hair. It proved to be his finest work.

Meanwhile, Shmi began looking for a potential bride for Anakin. She knew he was lonely and she knew she wouldn’t be around forever to look after him and Anakin had just turned twenty. He had been mostly nonchalant to the girls she had considered for him and spent an awful amount of time thinking about some fictitious girl of his dreams.

She went to Jira, the fruit seller, who lived nearby. The old woman knew every girl in vicinity and she had doted on Anakin since he was little. Shmi told herabout Anakin’s reluctance to marry.

“Don’t look so down, Shmi. I have good news for you,” Jira assured her. “I know about Anakin’s curse and it seems like we have found a solution. A month ago, I visited my sister in Theed and heard the most interesting news. The Naberries are devotes of Shiraya and on a recent visit to the temple, they have heard a prophecy about their second daughter. It is said she would never be a widow.”

Shmi rejoiced at the news. If Anakin were to wed this girl, that would secure his life. “Where can I find this girl?” she asked.

Anakin did not want to marry this girl. His mother had gushed about her countless qualities. Shmi believed she was as special as her own son. She was well known in all of Theed for being wits, virtues and beauty. But he was growing weary of living life as a prisoner inside his own home and he longed to live a normal life. Maybe this Naberrie girl was the answer. He agreed to meet her.

All his initial reluctance faded once he saw her. It was her. The girl from his dreams.

Anakin immediately agreed to marry Padmé, who seemed just as much taken with him as he was with her.

On their wedding night, Shmi prepared a chamber for them and took every precaution to keep out any snakes that could slither in. Unfortunately, Sheev was one step ahead of her. He conspired with Watto, the builder, to sabotage their accommodation and leave a carefully concealed hole.

Anakin and Padmé were fast asleep on their wedding night, after conversing for hours about their shared visions and memories. The snake upon gazing at the couple felt a pang of regret and hesitated to bring misfortune upon the innocent young couple. Sheev then used his godly powers to compel the serpent and charmed Padmé to fall into a deep slumber. The snake caused the lamp kept next to the couple’s bed to topple and the spills of hot oil forced Padmé to wake and she found her husband bitten by the serpent. She took out the dagger she always carried with her and with she threw it at the snake, which caused its tail to be chopped in half.

Shmi rushed to her son’s side but it was too late. The poison was already in his system and within a few hours, Anakin was dead. Shmi was inconsolable with grief and so was Padmé after becoming a widow at such a young age.

As per the tradition, Anakin’s body was to be put on a raft and set to sail on the river as was done to people who died from snake bites. Padmé refused to accept his death.

All her life, she had known her husband would never die before her. She wished to be on the raft and accompany him. The people thought she had lost her mind from the grief. She waited for them to leave after the ritual and then sneaked in the raft and started sailing on the river. She prayed to the gods to not let the raft sink.

It was said if you went far enough, you would reach the heavens. And that exactly was Padmé’s intention. She would enter heaven and beg the gods to restore Anakin back to life.

The gods were impressed by her perseverance and put her through many trails along the way. Padmé, with Amidala’s essence in her, proved she was worthy and passed them all.

When she reached the heavens, the gods welcomed her.

“We are impressed by your devotion to your husband,” said Yoda, the god of wisdom.

“Then help me by bringing him back to life,” pleaded Padmé.

“It is too late,” said Sheev, ever the schemer. “You have taken too long to reach here. We can only resurrect him within 3 days of his death. You have taken a week.”

Padmé was heartbroken. She besought them to find another way for her to be reunited with her Anakin again or take her life as well.

“There is a way,” said Qui-Gon, the god of compassion, thoughtfully.

“We can make him a god again, as he was once. But he would be bound to serve another god for eternity. That is the price you must pay.”

Sheev was quick to step up and offer to be Anakin’s master and Shmi, realizing her son’s life was more important to her, allowed Anakin to be Palpatine’s apprentice.

Shaak Ti, the goddess of power, was impressed by Padmé and offered to take her in if she was willing to give up her mortal life. Padmé agreed without a second thought. Anakin was restored to life and he was euphoric on seeing his beloved at his side. He felt very fortunate on having such a capable woman as his wife. In the end, Padmé’s endurance and good faith was rewarded. The couple was welcomed back in heaven as gods, reunited after the adventure of a lifetime, and as the happiest of husbands and wives.

#anidalaweek2021 #anidalaweek #anidala #anakin skywalker #padme amidala #anakin x padme #anakin and padme #fic #my writing #behula #hindu mythology #reincarnation #shmi skywalker #sheev palpatine

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the-pontiac-bandit · 4 years ago

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Kalasin + sword

Kalasin would call herself a fair hand with a sword. Had she been a knight, she could have been great. She still dreamed, sometimes, of her blade flashing through the air like Alanna the Lioness’, its speed causing the air to sing in its wake as she fought the Realm’s enemies in the same royal armor her brother wore. Instead, though, she had trained doggedly, her mother putting a sword in her hand and shoving her off to find a knight to practice with. Sir Raoul had been patient and encouraging. Sir Geoffrey hadn’t gone easy on her, even when she was a girl of only twelve, still tripping over her own feet more often than not. Sir Alanna--Kalasin’s favorite adoptive relative was Aunt Alanna everywhere except the training yards--was fierce and difficult to please, encouraging her to be stronger, faster, better. Sir Gareth was Kalasin’s personal favorite, though, because while the others had left her, sometimes one at a time, others all at once, off in a service she’d never perform, Sir Gareth was at the practice courts each morning she was at the palace, sword in hand, ready to teach.

She thought of all of her teachers as she unpacked her sword. Her new chambers were tastefully decorated in the Tortallan style. It felt familiar and comforting, in the midst of this new palace where everything was strange. She suspected her husband-to-be must have had a hand in it--even in the short three days she’d known him, he’d shown himself to be far more kind and considerate than she’d imagined possible of anyone whose title was your Imperial Majesty. Her sword shone, having been polished with care by her youngest brother Jasson as he sat on her bed at home and pretended to help her pack. She traced the enamel raven on the hilt for a moment, finding comfort in its grooves and contours, the same textures she’d felt on the weapons of her loved ones for longer than she could remember. She’d never thought to appreciate it before, but suddenly, her throat felt tight at the thought of playing with the hilt of her father’s dagger while he perched her on one hip, at the memory of sprinting through the winter snows at the palace, her first sword, a Midwinter gift from Aunt Alanna, held triumphantly in her fist.

To shake off the feeling, she pulled off her veil--an unpleasant necessity she hoped to eliminate from Carthaki fashion as soon as she’s been crowned--and kicked off her delicate Carthaki slippers. Her chambers were large, easily large enough for a few simple passes. She was certain she would not be allowed to train publicly in this new, strange land, but even His Imperial Majesty could not prevent her from practicing here.

She began one of the drills she knew best, warming up her muscles with the simple combinations of blocks and strikes. The warm air felt suffocating, daring her lungs to burn as she pushed her body further. She felt the pins holding her hair back fall, heard them clatter onto the stone floors, but she only paused long enough to kick them under her bed, where they wouldn’t cause her to trip. She’d intended only to swing the blade once or twice, to loosen her shoulders in an attempt to loosen the knot she felt in her chest, but the harder she worked, the more relief she found. Her straining muscles, exhausted by the weight of the weapon and the weight of her heavy dress, worthy of an empress, protested each pass. Her calves burned, unused to the exercise after days at sea, followed by days of pretending to be a proper and worthy bride. Despite the pain--or perhaps because of it--she found herself starting to grin, her breath coming harsh between her teeth.

The knock on her door was loud, loud enough to startle her. By its insistent tone, she guessed that her guest had knocked several times, but that she had been too engrossed in her swordplay to notice. She spared a moment’s regret for her hair, cascading down her back in an unladylike tangle, and for her veil, which would take minutes to affix properly to her head, before she opened the door, doing her best to control her breath.

It was Kaddar. She could have sworn, for just a moment, she saw a hint of surprise in his dark eyes. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, if it was ever there--he could hide his emotions better than any Yamani, she’d discovered in her days at the Carthaki court. His eyes flicked down, to the sword still in her hand, his expression unreadable.

She dropped the sword, wincing as it clattered to the floor, and bent her protesting legs in a deep curtsy. “Your Imperial Majesty, to what do I owe the honor?”

“Please, don’t,” was his reply, even as he bowed deeply in return. “Lady Lynette mentioned that you’d chosen to unpack your belongings yourself, and after the meeting with the goldsmiths’ guild, I thought I’d come offer my aid.” He smiled then, a true smile that reached his eyes. It warmed them, making him seem far more like the gangly teenager that Daine had described in agonizing detail to a nervous Kalasin than the self-assured emperor who had met her on the docks.

“Oh,” was all Kalasin could manage for a moment, doing her best to hide her shock. She could hear the Countess of King’s Reach groaning good-naturedly at Kalasin’s inarticulate response, but the Countess was now an ocean away. “I would never expect such help from Your Imperial Majesty,” she replied courteously. “But if you wish to join me in my chambers, I’d welcome your esteemed company.” She patted her back internally at the response, proud to salvage her initial shock.

“Truly, it’s Kaddar,” he smiled, stepping through the doorway. Kalasin stepped back, allowing him to pass, but instead he paused at her side. He bent down and picked up her sword, examining it with care and a hint of awe in his guarded eyes. “You fight?”

Kalasin’s hand went to her hair, intending to twirl a strand--a nervous habit she thought she’d shaken years ago only to discover it had returned with her move to Carthak--and found instead that the combination of fallen braids and complex swordplay had rendered it a veritable birds’ nest. “I was trained on the sword,” she replies, pausing for a fraction of a second as she weighed his name against his title before deciding to avoid addressing him entirely. “I still find joy in the practice, although I certainly would never expect to use it in combat.”

“Would you show me?” he asked, in a tone devoid of all imperial grandeur. It was not a command, not even an imperial request. It was kind, and he sounded as though he was already prepared for her to politely demur and redirect the conversation.

She knew that she could refuse, knew that every lady in both the Tortallan and Carthaki courts would have thought her mad not to. Instead, though, she reached a hand out for her sword. He handed it back wordlessly, retreating to take a seat on a chaise in the corner while she took a moment to shake out her shoulders.

She began one of her more complex drills, praying to the Goddess she wouldn’t stumble on the unfamiliar floors or take a chunk out of her beautiful teak four-poster a few feet away. If she was showing him she could fight, she intended to show him, after all.

She could see her blade flash in front of her, but she knew better than to follow its path. She kept her eyes trained ahead, utilizing the wardrobe a yard in front of her as an imaginary foe. It would not serve, Sir Geoffrey had reminded her over and over, to be distracted by the beauty of the blade and lose track of one’s opponent. She was light on her toes, thanks to hours of drills with the surprisingly agile Sir Raoul, and sure in her movements, thanks to Sir Gareth’s consistency in her training. Sir Alanna’s speed, and the wickedness with which she fought, were imbued in her style, and in the slashing strike with which she finished the drill, drawing the blade halfway across her body before whipping it back around her left side to finish with the point directly at the wardrobe’s imaginary throat.

She stood, truly panting now, as Kaddar started to laugh. She felt her cheeks burn as she moved to the bed and re-sheathed her sword. She put off looking at him, staring at the enamel raven for another few seconds until it would have been rude to continue avoiding his gaze.

When she turned, though, she was surprised to find joy on his face. His laugh was not mocking, she could see. It was delighted.

“That was excellent, although I don’t know how I expected anything less, with Alanna the Lioness as your godsmother. You’re quite a sight with a blade in hand,” he grinned. “And I’ve no doubt you could hold your own against any Carthaki knight.”

“Thank you,” she replied as she felt the shame sliding off her shoulders, leaving them feeling light despite the strain she’d just put on them. Her muscles still burned, her lungs still screamed for air, but she’d once again found the wide, genuine smile she’d had alone in her chamber.

Another knock on the door startled them both this time. He rose to open it, and she could see from behind that his shoulders fell. His prime minister was at the door, looking frantic with a large stack of papers weighing down his arms. Kaddar turned back to her, the disappointment even clearer on his face.

“I have to go, it seems. But I practice the sword each morning at the first bell after dawn, at the practice court on the southwest corner of the training yards. I’d really appreciate the company, as all my current sparring partners are far too concerned about my status to give me a proper fight.”

“I’d like that,” she replies, a small warmth filling her chest where it had felt knotted with grief that morning. “I’ll do my best to provide a challenge,” she paused again before adding, "Kaddar.”

#carrie answers #persephoneofhades #my writing #tortall #tamora pierce #kalasin of conte #kaddar iliniat #WHOOPS GUESS WHO SAID 100-1000 WORDS #AND THEN IMMEDIATELY WROTE 1700 #THATS RIGHT ITS ME #anyway feel free to send me more of these if y'all want (i have some i'll work on this week!)#also proofreading is for babies we don't do that here #so sorry if there are errors haha

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undertaker1827 · 4 years ago

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Hey! I want to request a one shot with undertaker where reader learns about his experiments and it goes kinda like this: *angry pouting reader bursts though the door* "I know you are doing extremely unethical zombie experiments... without me! How dare you not tell me and leave me out? Next time you do something like this, I'm in or we're done"

Aww man I’ve been looking forward to writing this one for sooo long, I really enjoyed it! Also I wouldn’t be surprised if I had a similar reaction

Sorry it took so long, hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

You had finally worked it out. It had taken you longer than you really cared to admit, if you were being honest, but you absolutely knew you had come to the correct conclusion. You had heard eyewitness accounts from the terrified survivors of the Campania wreck, of course you had, but that had really only been the final nail in the coffin. There were many signs before that which caused you to wonder, to question, but even you hadn’t expected Undertaker to be doing this.

Your lover had confessed some time ago to you that he was a reaper, the memory was still vivid in your minds eye. He let you know by finally moving his grey bangs back from his face and allowing you to see his eyes. It really made a lot of sense when you thought about it. Undertaker had always been possessed of a certain quality that made him seem not quite human. It was more a way of being than anything else and you couldn’t really describe it, but you knew it was there. He told you he quit being a reaper, which had always struck you as a little strange, but then again, so were most things that he said. Now that was beginning to make sense too.

As a mortician, all Undertaker was really meant to do with the ‘clients’ he received was ready them for their final celebration; he made them look presentable for their families, dressed them in the finest clothes and always managed to give them a general look of peace. But you knew he always did more than just this. He enjoyed studying his clients as much as anything else; his research into human anatomy was really quite impressive. That was something he did let you in on, an interest of yours which he encouraged. However, you knew when he disappeared for hours on end that there must be something more to it. He claimed some of his clients were too severely injured for you to study and eh would have his work cut out just to prepare them for the funeral, effectively preventing you from joining him. You didn’t question him on it, but you did make a mental note.

When he disappeared aboard the Campania for the sake of ‘business’ you were almost certain. The final straw was when he arrived back long before the ship was supposed to reach America, before the press had gotten wind of the terrible ‘accident’, before reports came out of the walking dead. You gently quested the reaper on it twice, gaining even less useful information than one could hope for from a politician well versed in the art of secrecy. He tried to agree with the popular belief that the surviving passengers had collectedly gone mad with fear and grief of loss, so the whole event was effectively a hallucination. You didn’t buy it for one second and you were fairly certain he knew that, but still you waited.

Until you could not stand to wait any longer.

You had finished work about twenty minutes earlier and were now winging your way to the mortician’s parlour. You had heard one too many hallucination stories today and by God you were going to get an explanation.

By the time you arrived at Undertaker’s door, you had built up quite a head of steam. You were more than a little angry and positively pouting by the time you flew inside, finding the reaper measuring portions of some very suspect-looking coffee beans in the kitchen, hair pushed to the side and frowning in concentration. He turned around with a grin when he heard you enter, arms wide open for your customary greeting hug and a happy welcome on his lips. He stopped short on seeing your expression, arms still held aloft and one eyebrow now raised as he attempted to assess what was on your mind.

“Yes?” Was all he asked and you didn’t give him a chance to say anything else before you launched into your tirade.

“I know you’re doing extremely unethical zombie experiments,” you started, holding up a silencing hand when he went to defend himself, to plead his case, to do something before the words he had been dreading hearing for months passed your lips. You didn’t want to be with him if this was what he did in his spare time, he really was the creepy weirdo everyone thought he was, hundreds of innocent people were dead who wouldn’t have been and many others were now traumatised and it was all because of him-

“Without me!” What? “How dare you leave me out? How could you not tell me?! The next time you do something like this, I’m in or we’re done, right?” When you paused for breath, the chartreuse eyes you met were wide with surprise. Undertaker’s eyebrows were raised about as high as you thought they could go and he had quite clearly forgotten the conical flask he was still holding in one hand. A few moments of silence passed, you short breaths the only thing filling the cold air between you. The reaper scoffed once, twice, then snorted and threw his head back in the loudest, full bodied laughing fit you had ever seen him have.

The conical flask was abruptly slammed down on the counter and the mortician quite literally collapsed to the floor, hand gripping a cupboard handle for support and rendered utterly incapable by the one reaction he hadn’t even bothered to consider you having.

“You,” he wheezed, eyes squeezed shut and desperately fighting to produce a coherent sentence, “you really--" He broke off into another fit of hysterics, letting go of the cupboard in favour of throwing himself down onto his back, chest heaving as he tried to get himself back under control. Eventually, he opened one eye to find you staring down at him, a challenge in your gaze despite how hard you had to work not to start laughing along with him - it was incredibly infectious.

“You really want in?” He managed at last, blowing a few strands of hair back from his eyes. “I’ve caused the death of hundreds and the madness of hundreds more yet you threaten to leave me if I don’t let you help me the next time?” At your defiant nod, he offered another grin and leaned back against the cupboard doors, lifting an arm in invitation for you to join him on the floor. You did so, immediately finding yourself pulled into his side with his hand resting on your waist. You laid your head on his shoulder and looked up into his eyes, waiting for his response. The reaper shook his head lightly before directing his gaze back down to you.

“Humans are truly fascinating creatures,” he murmured, “and you, my love, are no exception. Yes, the next time I conduct my experiments, I will let you help.” You allowed your lips to curl into a smirk.

“And all the times after that?” The smirk he gave you in return was increased tenfold.

“And all the times after that,” Undertaker confirmed, leaning down to kiss you in what you assumed was the remainder of his amusement, when in truth, it was relief spurring him on above all else.

#black butler #undertaker #adrian crevan #kuroshitsuji #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji x reader #adrian crevan x reader #black butler reapers #undertaker black butler #kuroshitsuji undertaker #kuroshitsuji undertaker x reader #black butler undertaker x reader #undertaker x reader #undertaker x reader fluff

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capri-ramblings · 4 years ago

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Can I request headcanons for yandere Riddle,Vil and Kalim with a witch princess s/o that was engaged to them like shes trying to escape them only to fall in love with them while in 'time out?'(isolation) and she becomes more loving toward them afterwards? you dont have to do this if you dont want to I've just had this scenario in my head for a while

I'm sorry this took very long to complete,poisy 💖 the idea was a heavy one to do but I loved doing it!

Please Refer to Pinned Post!

Riddle Rosehearts

- "You thought you could step a single foot out of my grounds and I wouldn't notice?"

- The collar clamped around your neck weighed heavily on your shoulders and despite the fumes of defiance running through your veins, your knees buckled and you fell.

- Right at the feet of a red tyrant.

- "What a silly,rabbit."

- Riddle looked down at you with a mixture of anger and pity. The way the two emotions in his eyes spiraled against one another made you recoil with fear.

- You knew better than to have tried your luck at escaping his grasp, but the opportunity seemed rare and oh so tempting.

- And you were never the obedient type

- Not even when your parents demanded you to marry Riddle.

- Your magic affinity and his would lead to a string of perfectly bred mages after all. You couldn't say you didn't understand their enthusiasm and desperation.

- But Riddle was suffocating. Every little detail meant something to him and if you thought your governess was strict, he's proven you wrong.

- Maybe as an outsider you would've seen him as appealing. He was good looking after all, prettier than most of the girls you've ever seen in the village really, and he had his wits about him along with that snobbish intelligence.

- The colour of his hair was unique. Red like roses and eyes as grey as a silver bullet. Sharp as one too, and like a rose,he of course had his thorns.

- You wouldn't know it until you came to hold the bouquet in your hands. The way the thinness of it seeped into your flesh and only ever drew blood once it was pulled out. One wouldn't realize the stinging pain until they had it all over their bodies.

- You couldn't stand him.

- "Look at me when I'm talking" Riddle jerked your chin up roughly, the sweetness of his floral scent wafting through your senses.

- "Why? Are you expecting eyes to have ears now?"

- He scowled at that. Brows knitted furiously together as his eyes narrowed and his grip tightened.

- Snarky. Riddle wouldn't admit it but that fiery spark of yours set not only his temper but his entire being on fire. He didn't know if it was from the desire to tame you into obedience or that if he adores that fighting spirit of yours.

- You weren't the type to let others drive you around your own life, and maybe Riddle preferred that over a meek,young wife.

- Still,you attempted to run away from him and now you're being sharp tongued.

- Of course he was livid. Anger practically fumed out of him then, but surprisingly enough he kept it on a rather strained hold. Was it because he knew you'd try and run from your engagement to him? Or did he started having a soft spot for you? Who knows.

- It only made sense to him that he kept you alive. Your punishment would be in the dungeons.

- You objected. Obviously. Did he think you were some kind of animal?

- Ah,but then he leaned down to your ears and cooed ever so softly that if you refused this punishment,the next one would be at the cost of your family's life.

- That did well to shut you up.

- The isolation was what surprised you. You thought Riddle would've at least sent down people to break you if he didn't do it himself, but instead you were shoved into the dark cells. Food came by everyday,three meals each. You were given a bed and a small closed corner to clean yourself.

- And that was it.

- Riddle never once went down to check on you,no one did really and you began to wonder whether it was because he had his hold on you and that it made him confident you wouldn't try to run again or people had simply forgotten you.

- You didn't care for long though. You didn't need anyone checking in on you, especially not Riddle himself.

- Or so you thought.

- The silent walls of your prison began to sound like static and half the time you swore you'd hear whispers. Your appetite slowly declined as well and sleeping became a reluctance.

- The guard who watched over you said nothing when you asked him if Riddle planned to keep you here forever or if he was going to show up at all.

- As if his lips had been sewn shut.

- It was maddening really,to hear yet not be heard. As if you existed only in your own mind.

- One time you almost wanted to slam your head against the concrete, anything to keep that damned static sound out from your head.

- But then, the door of your confinement rattled opened and Riddle stood in the doorway.

- You had never ran towards someone as quick you did then and even Riddle barely caught you in his arms, as he was forced back by your embrace and almost stumbled on his own feet.

- He felt so real. So very vivid your skin almost felt like burning from the warmth he had.

- "Please...Please... Please...Take me with you.!" You cried, vision blurred by the sudden tears welling up in your eyes. Your hands fumbled to grip on him. Thoughts puddled.

- Riddle bit back the smile on his lips, wrapping his arms around your shivering body as he pulled you closer to him.

- How pathetic.

- You looked like you'd been deserted on an island. Had isolation really tamed that wild spirit of yours?

- Riddle wanted to laugh, to sneer in your face and ask you why a method to break dogs worked on you.

- But then again, it was adorable as well. Seeing how you clung to him so desperately.

- Riddle always did wanted you to submit to him after all.

- "Hm? Take you where?" He asked,voice slick and cruel like a whip, but his hands were gentle and endearing when it came up to caress your cheek, and his natural floral scent sent shivers down your spine.

- "Home." You pleaded, "Please take me home with you. I promise I'll never leave your side again,Riddle. Please."

- His lips curled into a smile then.

- "Of course,my lovebug."

Kalim Al-Asim

- The poor boy is heartbroken.

- How could you have thought to run away from him? Was he not treating you well enough? Did he made you angry? Upset even?

- The questions swirling in his head makes him want to vomit.

- Kalim is quick to have every one of his servants search for you, and with the aid of Jamil, he does it fairly well, finding out your runaway path and dragging you back into his arms within mere hours.

- He doesn't seem angry though, and the way he wraps his arms around your trembling body tells you that he's more grief-stricken rather than angered but there's this hazy look in his eyes that causes an unsettling churn in your stomach.

- When you try to pull him away, to let your defiance spark it's colours, Kalim's grip on you tightens and the painful sensation of his nails digging into your skin makes you cry out.

- He doesn't apologizes, instead he buries his head into your chest.

- "Why did you run?" He asks, voice cracked and dejected as he lifts his gaze to meet yours.

- "Why are you always running?"

- You want to tell him, but the way Kalim stares at you with such a yearning blandness then causes you to flinch, rendering you speechless as you stare up at him.

- He lets out a laugh then, a sound that sends chills down your spine.

- "You look so scared...I wonder why?"

- You wince when Kalim raises one had to tap on your cheek gently,the pad of his thumb cold once it settled on the top half of your lips.

- "It's like you're looking at a monster."

- You were, weren't you? Isn't that why you decided to run away? It has to be.

- Your escape and almost succeeding in it causes a wire to snap in Kalim's mind. The last shred of sanity he held doused in a fire that sets his delusions aflame.

- You've finally brought out the worst in him, and even then he still loves you. Still wishes to keep you in his arms. You should be grateful because if he had grown stale towards you, Kalim would've had you beheaded.

- He still punishes you though, that's a given since you made him worry and caused such a fuss in his home, it was only right for you to amend for your wrong doings.

- The fact that Kalim himself dragged you to the dungeons was something you thought you'd never see, and though he held you by your wrists rather than your hair, this was definitely not the Kalim you knew.

- "It's going to be cold here at nights and there aren't any servants near by but I'll make sure someone comes down to feed you and bring you some clean clothes while you're here." He says this so casually, as if throwing your would be wife in a dungeon deep beneath his family's palace was a normal occurrence.

- But you didn't dare talk back to him. A part of you felt that if you did, a fate worst than this would be your only option.

- So, you stood there, stiff and uncertain as Kalim watched you, head tilted to the side before he extended his hand to run his fingers through your hair.

- "You're so pretty. I hope this helps you to love me...I wouldn't want to hurt you, after all."

- Kalim locked the doors to your cage, the sound of the keys turning in its lock so hollow it almost seemed unreal. Detached from reality.

- "Rest well,okay?"

- That was the last time you saw Kalim, and perhaps you were exaggerating it, but it's been almost two months since you've seen or heard from anyone at all with the exception of the servants who come to give you your meals and spare clothing. And even they don't talk to you, acting as if you were some sort of taboo subject to even spare a glance to.

- The lack of social attention and connection was as infuriating as it was depressing.

- You were never much a socialite to begin with, but you enjoyed a fair share of conversations from time to time. It was only normal,of course. What living creature could live without the presence of others anyway?

- It came to a single point where you actually started yearning for Kalim's bright smile, the way he seems to always want to dote and pamper you

- Though it's true that you never indulged him in it when he was openly offering them to you, now it was a whole other story.

- It was so lonely,cooped up in this dungeon where not even light came through. Food started tasting bland and hard like cardboard and your clothes felt suffocating.

- If only Kalim would come by and visit you....

- The way you sprung up on your feet when Kalim did come visit, had you almost seem like an eager puppy wagging its tail at the sight of its owner's return.

- Kalim seemed pleased to see you too, the bland look in his eyes gone and instead filled with the exact warmth you've craved for months.

- It was almost laughable, really. How easily you came to succumb to your weakness.

- "Sunshine! I've missed you a lot!" Once he came near to the bars of the dungeons, you mustered all your strength to grab at him from inside, your eyes filled with tears and body trembling.

- "I missed you too, Kalim! I'm sorry for trying to leave you...I won't do it again..so please..."

- The rest of your words are slurred and incoherent but all the while you sputter them out, Kalim looks at you with all the fondness in the world and he tells you that it's fine, that he forgives you and he's going to take you back.

- You're already muddied by your broken thoughts, your set of your logics stirred away from all sort of common sense.

- Kalim feels bad that he kept you in a dungeon hexed with a mind break spell but it's all worth it isn't it?

- Now, you'll finally be the loving wife he knows you can be.

Vil Schoenheit

- Vil isn't having any of this disobedience.

- How dare you go around taking advantage of his fondness for you and try to run away from your engagement.

- You were promised to him by your parents. Your dishonour to it is an insult to him, and anyone who dares insult Vil will feel his full wrath.

- The fact that he decided to keep you alive is already another sign of his affection towards you, though you still choose to be stubborn. Throwing your harsh remarks as if he's the villain when really, the one who caused this whole mess was you yourself.

- Vil doesn't get you even throughout the years of growing up with you as your betrothed. While others envied your fate of being bound to him, you acted like it was some kind of chore.

- As if you had no choice and that being married to Vil was a fate worst than death.

- He hated you for that. Who did you think you are? Do you think he liked the notion of being married to a simpleton like you? A witch with no special entitlement?

- You should be grateful.

- And if you refused to even be that, then perhaps you ought to be disciplined. Beaten into submission.

- Vil doesn't mind really. He's been waiting for years for a time when you'd slip on that damned attitude of yours to give him an excuse to act as the wounded husband.

- And it works of course. Your parents are devastated by your little stunt, apologizing to Vil and begging him to forgive you.

- He plays the kind, understanding gentleman part so well, that when he turns to look at you, you almost believe he'll let you off easily.

- But once the audience disperses, Vil's true colours show themselves and you're suddenly engulfed in this sick punishment of his.

- A dance of waltz that leaves you breathless and worn.

- He's always been so suffocating and controlling. Thinking he owns you like some sort of accessory. It was why you were repulsed at the thought of marrying him.

- So, when he came to tell you the consequences of your actions, you laughed.

- Isolation? Was that the best he could come up with?

- Vil smiles at your reaction,his eyes raking in your figure as his fingers twirled around his magic pen. A look of haughtiness etched into his expression.

- The next morning when you wake up, head dazed and limbs sluggish, you're surprised to see that Vil isn't there with you, and once you got dressed and headed down to the dining room, you halted at the door. There was no one here too.

- You let the silence settle in, the unusual emptiness enveloping you like a poorly fit glove.

- You call out,not for anyone in particular yet still for someone. When no answer came, you did it again. And again. And again. And again.

- Until you have to stop yourself from running down the third flight of stairs to the fifth hallway you've entered, and freeze in front of the giant french window overlooking the serene view outside.

- Is this what Vil meant? This was his doing, wasn't it? You didn't know anyone else who could be so twisted after all.

- The sun doesn't even set yet you're already worn and as if summoned by your state of exhaustion, you're back in your room. A chill runs down your spine, and you decide to slip into bed even if you stayed awake the whole time.

- The next day and the day after are all repeats of your first day. Round and round it drives you to a corner and you're wondering why you're even continuing this chase. This game of Maze you found it impossible to win.

- He'd trapped you in some sort of spell, keeping you in a loop until your mind's gone hazy and the frustration of running and screaming turns into a silent pleading.

- You wanted it all to stop. You couldn't think of running anymore, you couldn't actually think in general. The days rewound itself but your body still required rest and though food was never an issue, the way the bags under your eyes weighed down your vision told another sort of struggle.

- When was the last time you managed to sleep?

- What day was it?

- What were you doing?

- ....Where is everyone?

- Where was Vil?

- Shouldn't he be here already? The wedding ceremony was going to start anytime soon, right? It's not like him to be so late. He's always the first to arrive....

- The spell breaks the moment you sit up in bed and lose all track of time and logic.

- Vil ready at your side as you open your eyes and see him sitting on the chair beside your bed.

- He's smiling. You wonder why he's so happy.

- Didn't he hate you?

- "Good morning, Daffodil" Vil reaches out to tuck a few strands of loose hair behind your ear, his voice gentle and soft as he speaks.

- You open your mouth, but nothing really comes out but a weak sigh. God,your head felt dizzy.

- Luckily Vil was there, you felt warm in his presence, and when he brought a damp towel to wipe at your forehead, you leaned into his touch.

- "....Thank you. Happy...I'm happy...Vil is here"

- How cute. You couldn't even form proper sentences anymore.

- Vil would've laughed then but he enjoyed your new sense of submission to him, at least now you're acting a bit more grateful than before

- Yes, this was the right way after all. How things should be between you and him. No more stubborn attitude or ungratefulness. No more frustrations.

- If you continued like this, Vil might even consider teaching you how to talk again.

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