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cazimagines · 3 years

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Never break the chain

Synopsis: You were Zemo’s devoted girlfriend, he would take you all over the world and treat you to everything you want in life however that all changed the day Sokiva fell. Consumed by anger Zemo went off the deep end trying to avenge his fallen country and you last saw him being escorted to prison. Years later you became really ill and there was only one thing that could save you. After a lot of searching you finally managed to get your hands on some super soldier serum which saved you however Zemo is now out of prison as is determined to finish what he started no matter what stood in his way.

Warnings/Tags: Bad Zemo, Mentions of guns, Toxic relationship, Almost cried while writing this, Hits in the feelings, Lots of angst, So much angst, Mentions of death

Word count: 1.7k

Author’s note: Hello my fellow masochists *cough* Markiplier *cough*, I for one thrive on sad moments in fics, ones that break my heart. I live off angst and I am sure I am not the only one in this so I have written this angsty Zemo fic. There is no fluff here just sadness so you have been warned. I’m going to write a really sweet and fluff filled one shot after this as an apology. Also warning this relationship is toxic so like obviously I don’t condone Zemo’s behaviour in this, he’s meant to be a dick here.

I got inspired to write this from a song so like if you want extra emotions listen to this: https://youtu.be/1A8YpV1tfsQ

This is also being posted on my ao3 account under the name Casmad

The wind blew sharply against you, the coldness of it scratching your skin. Your eyes water up slightly at the harshness of it and you wrap your arms around your body trying to warm yourself up. You looked out over the cliff, looking over now the deserted area you once called home. Sokovia. Its beautiful landscape is broken and torn apart. An echo of how magnificent it once was. You raise your hand to touch the chain that hung around your neck. A reminder of the past.

“Darling I would be honored if you wore this for me. I have a similar one I’ll always keep around my neck so that even when we are apart, there’s a part of us that will always be together” Zemo asks nervously, swallowing and glancing from the necklace in his hand to your face.

You put your hands onto his, taking the necklace, “I’ll never take it off”

Zemo’s face broke out into a smile, his eyes shining as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest. He holds you closely as you close your eyes melting into his presence. He kisses the top of your forehead and rests the top of his head on yours. “My beautiful moon” he murmurs

A tear slowly slipped down your cheek as you thought back to better times. You had been so happy with him. You two had planned your whole lives out together. The Baron and Baroness.

“Would you care to accompany me to the ball?” Zemo asks, holding his arm out to you.

“Oh I don’t know should I?” you joke, holding your chin in your hand as if questioning it, making Zemo chuckle.

“If you do I promise you can be in charge in the bedroom tonight,” he says as he leans into you. You grin back at him, raising your hand to his suit jacket and pulling him towards you for a kiss. As you feel his lips on yours and his hand rests on your hip you smile into the kiss. As you pull back you swell with happiness seeing a rosy tint to Zemo’s cheeks.

“I suppose turning up to to a ball on the arm of a Baron has its perks”

Zemo laughs and pulls you into a side hug placing a kiss on your temple.

“What would I do without you” he hums to himself as he admires you “My moon”

Everything made sense, everything fit. You couldn’t imagine a life any different till it happened.

You and Zemo had been away visiting a local country when you heard of the news. You collapsed on the floor screaming at the tv as Zemo was on the phone already organizing a trip back home. When you arrived your heart broke seeing all the destruction. Zemo was holding your hand but he let go. It was all gone. Everything. Your whole life had changed just like that.

You wipe the tears away from your cheeks yet they continue to flow as you remembered what happened after. The madness and desire for revenge had consumed Zemo. You tried to stop him. You really did but what could you have done?

“Helmut, please. This isn’t healthy...this...this isn’t you!” you cried as Zemo was preparing his attack on the avengers

“Y/n I have to do this. There is no other way” he angrily replied, refusing to look at you.

“I can’t support this” you whisper, grabbing a hold of his arm. “I can’t watch you do this”

Zemo looks at you, his face forlorn as he watches the tears fall from your eyes. He pulls you to his chest wrapping his arm around you and kisses the top of your head, stroking your hair. “I’m not asking you to moon”

You leave the warmth of his arms and watch as he grabs his bags and walks out of your room, giving you one last glimpse of goodbye before he walks out of your life.

That was the last time you saw him in person. The next time it was on the news as he was being arrested. In the end, his plan had succeeded. He split up the avengers but then what? It didn’t bring anyone back. Sokovia was still dead and you were left behind while he was locked up for life.

You close your eyes, squeezing out the remains of your tears, preparing to leave this cliff looking over your deserted town when you hear the sound of a click. You let in a sharp breath of recognition. Slowly turning around your eyes adjust to the barrow of a gun and the person standing behind it.

Zemo.

He still looked the same as you remembered. Though if you stared closely you could see lines showing his age starting to appear, the bags under his eyes were bigger than what they once were however after all this time it was still him. He even wore that ridiculously over-the-top coat that you always stole from him.

His eyes however were different, when you always looked into them in the past they seemed warm, like the feeling of drinking hot chocolate. You could melt in them but now they were stone cold. Emotionless. Like he wasn’t even there.

“Zemo…” you breathed out focusing on him

“I planned to eliminate all superheroes” he states

You shake your head at him, “Zemo please”

“I’ve almost completed my plan to rid the world of superheroes, of ‘super soldiers’”

“Please let me explain,” you say starting to take a step forward to him but he quickly raises his other hand grasping the gun, holding it in both hands now and pointing it at you making you stop in your tracks.

“How could you,” he spits, his lips drawing back in a snarl “How could you become one of them!”

“I had no choice” You rasp, tears starting to flow from your eyes again, “I would have died otherwise”

“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED THAN TAKEN IT” Zemo shouts

The colour drains from your face, your eyes widen in shock staring at him. His jaw tightens as he glares at you. You both stand there in silence taking in what he had said.

Wiping the side of your tear-stained cheek you smile sadly at him, sniffing, you step forward again resting your forehead against the gun.

“Okay” you simply say, your throat feeling like sandpaper as you utter those words

Zemo glares at you, his finger resting on the trigger. The gun starts to shake as he clenches his face in anger.

“DAM IT” he shouts, throwing the gun to the side. His hands grab onto your shoulders roughly, causing you to hiss in pain.

“Why are you doing this to me y/n. How could you do this to me” He snaps.

You were too shocked to reply to him, causing him to get even angrier. His eyes swarmed with tears and when one threatened to fall he pushed you back and turned away so you wouldn’t see.

You shakily let out a breath you were holding in and collapsed onto your knees. Your heart was beating rapidly against your chest and you clenched the sides of your body with your arms in comfort.

Zemo turns back around to you, hatred in his eyes. “I’ve come so far, killing so many just to be stopped here”

“Because you refuse to kill the woman you love” you implored in hope but he shakes his head, “No. Not that”

“Yes, yes that Zemo!” you say shakily getting back up off the ground. “Zemo I still love you though by gods I shouldn’t. We made a promise to each other” you affirmed holding up the chain around your neck, “We were forever Zemo”

Zemo’s finger brushed up against the chain that had been hanging around his neck for the past seven years. They wrap around the chain and in one swift motion, he pulls it off his neck, breaking the chain and throwing it to the ground.

You stare at the broken chain on the floor, your heart dropping. In just one notion it was like all those moments you two spent together were worth nothing. It had led to nothing.

Zemo grabs ahold of your chain and pulls you closer to him, “The truth is, my darling moon, that you don’t love me either”

You try to argue back to him but he raises his finger to your lips, “ah”

“You want to know how I know?”

You don’t say anything, staring at him confused, he leans towards you and automatically you close your eyes however he instead he puts his lips to your ears,

“You’ve been calling me Zemo instead of Helmut”

He lets go of the chain, pushing you away from him again, the force knocking you to the ground.

You think back over your conversation. He was right. When had you started referring him to his last name rather than his first name? You had always called him by his first name before.

You look back up to him, your eyes watering and noticing the tears starting to fall from his eyes.

“I spent years in that prison imaging what it would be like to finally get out. To hold you in my arms once again. To have what we once had. It was the only thing that kept me going in there. You can’t even begin to imagine the pain I felt when I found out the truth. The pain of your betrayal. I hated you. I...I” his voice cracked as he started to cry more

He keeps trying to stop letting out a sob yet his mouth can’t help but frown and his face contorted. “I thought I could stop the pain by getting rid of you but I can’t. Even though I can’t stand looking at you I can’t kill you”

He swallows and looks away from you to the chain on the ground, “I don’t want to ever see you again.”

You could have said something then. Called out to him. Spoke sense to him. He might have even listened but you didn’t. You didn’t say anything. You didn’t try to stop him. You couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

He turns his back and starts to walk away but stops for a moment, turning his head slightly.

“Goodbye y/n”

#zemo #zemo x reader #zemo imagine #i love zemo #zemo x y/n #tfatws #marvel #mcu #daniel brühl #baron zemo #helmut zemo #zemo x you #angst #Zemo angst

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mxvladdy · 3 years

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Forgotten Affections: Mammon

Here is Part Two of @marymaryroo 's request!

This one used more of my True forms ideas so if you want some more contexts here is Mammon's Link

Hope you like!

Magic is a beautiful and powerful thing. It permeates the Devildom like an eternal fog. For the residents, it is as common as breathing. From the strongest of their kind down to the lowest inhabitants, it is integral to their culture and daily life. Mistakes and accidents happen daily with young and old alike learning or experimenting. Magical rebounds and mishaps mean very little to them, especially the brothers. From the Celestial Realms down, they have seen it all.

Sometimes they forget that to you, magic can be a volatile and dangerous.

Part Two of Three: Mammon

TW: Gore and slight body horror

His plans are not stupid. No matter what his brothers thought or said. He was always calculating, always thinking and scheming. Sometimes his plans were fast and spontaneous, some do get the better of him. But risks were always a part of the games he plays. The hazards are just as an addictive high as the rewards he strove for. Mammon knew his plans could go sideways, but he never cared. When he failed he just would try again. Variables changed on a dime and he knew how to handle that. Life moves fast but he always moves faster. Until he couldn’t.

The plan this time was foolproof. Everything had been in place, or so he thought. He ran a tight ship with his informants and an even tighter ship with his court. He anticipated everything. He just can never predict you.

You weren’t supposed to be here. Why were you here! You should have been at school!

Of course, the witches saw you as a threat. They thought he was trying to underhand them once again. They weren’t wrong obviously. But he would never put you in harm's way to get what he wanted. Seeing you here startles him, startles all of them. While the shock of your face showing up where it didn’t belong slows his reaction time, it increases the witches. Their spells move with blinding speed, out-pacing him by mere seconds as he tries to get to you. The spells hit you with a wet crunch, flinging you across the room. He watches in horror as your body flops like a marionette cut from it’s strings. He catches you scooping you up to his chest before hitting the concert hard. He skids along the cold warehouse floor hiss when his heat cracks hard on the metal of a stack of crates.

It hurt, but he couldn’t give less of a damn. He didn’t give a shit about the black blood trickling from his brow or the crack in his beloved glasses. He had one thing on his mind, you. You were still and loose in his arms. He saw no blood, but something wasn’t right. His pact is alight with pain, flaring and itching as he panics something wasn’t right with his master and his pact couldn’t locate it.

The next few moments in time freeze around him as he moves faster than he ever has in his life. The city and realm are brief flashes in his mind's eyes as he blinks, he just had to keep you safe. He takes you to the only place he knows you will be safe. It was the safest place in the kingdom for him, and it would be for you too.

The cave is cold. An eternal shadow coats every part of the large cavern, it had been a while since he had visited his hoard. His greatest treasure now sleeps in his bedroom and shines more brightly than even his most precious stones. Yet, now you were as cold as the jewels he once coveted. He doesn’t remember shedding his human skin but he doesn’t care using his many mismatched and uneven wigs to move you to his nest.

He tucks you into the silks and wool sheets lining his bed. Bending closer he nuzzles your arm. His many broken and scarred beaks picked up on the fetid odor of tainted magic seeping from your pores. He can’t place all the damage done to you but it is more than he knew what to do with. He was no practiced healer like Asmodeus or learned in medicine like Satan. No, he didn’t have that, but he was yours, and you were his to protect. So he does what he can through his pact, leeching some of the poison from your body into his. Getting comfortable beside you he shuffles you closer into the remaining soft down feathers on his belly. This close he can feel your frail heartbeat.

The hours move on and you still do not stir. He hates himself for this. How could he be so useless? You trust him, he was your first man he was supposed to be better than this. In this moment Mammon regrets every class he ever ditched and the class he slept through in the Celestial realms. He was never good with magic but perhaps if he had just paid attention he might have been able to help you better right now. Whatever toxins the combination of spells had embedded you rolled in his stomachs mixing with his guilt. He takes it all powering through so you could rest.

You stir sometime in the wee hours of the morning, of what day he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. His many eyes never leave you as you wake. “Mammon?” You slur, mind still groggy with sleep and the residual effects of whatever it was that hit you. He clicks his many beaks asynchronously in delight, the chatter of bone on bone is raucous.

Beside himself, he turns back to his human form in a dizzying blur of feathers and gold light. “Babe!” He snatches you up kissing every bit of your skin he can find. “I am so sorry. I fucked up-you weren’t supposed to be there. How in the hells did you find me?” He pulls back to make eye contact with you. Your eyes are wide with shock. “What’s the matter? Why are ya lookin’ at me like that?”

You looked confused, eyes darting around you as you clutch the furs and blankets closer to your bare chest. “Mammon. What...what’s going on? Where am I?” You glance down at yourself seeing how battered and bruised you were. You look at him, the confusion now replaced with unadulterated terror. “Mammon...what did you do?”

“Ti?” He shakes his head momentarily, losing his grip on your shared tongue. “Babe-I don’t understand.” He tries to touch you. You push away, scrambling back and tumbling from his nest. Mammon hears your heart rate pick up, hammering like a helpless beast when it knows it's cornered. But where was the threat? You were safe here, tucked away with him. He feels numb, disbelief locking his jaw and tightening his shoulders.

You couldn’t think he was the threat...right?

“C-come on,” He blinks back tears. “This ain’t funny. Don’t you remember me?” He reaches out for you beckoning for you to come back to his nest. There is an odd and sharp twinge in his pact and he hisses. You mark weights him down, locking him in place from coming any closer to your trembling form. You were stopping him from comforting you. You were scared of him.

“Mammon.” You shudder holding the blankets close and back away till your back hit the rough stone wall. “You’re scaring me.”

“An’ your scaring me! You promised not to play cruel jokes on me.” His head bobbles inhumanely, sapphire and gold eyes glowing in the low moon light.

He smells the sour tang of sweat blooming on your skin, his sense locking on the bob of your throat. He mimics the dry clicking of it as you try to swallow enough spit to speak. “When did I do that?” You croak. He rears his head back. The words strike him hard. You curl away from his screeching arms raised for a blow that he would never do.

“Date? You, us!” He barks, voice coming sharper and shriller in desperation. “Our late night drives? Us...movie nights alone at the theater. Just last night?” He implores searching your gaze for something. Anything!

You shake your head clutching your brow. “I’m sorry, I don’t...” His caw of rage rattles his chest. His many heads emerge again to echo his cries. He shakes them in disbelief. “Mammon! Listen to me, please! Just-just take us home-”

“No!” You flinch back, spit coating your upraised arms. “You are my human!” Mammon’s eyes flash in warning. If you didn’t remember him then the others could try to take you away from him. He would never let you go. Your scream of terror is swept up in a flurry of wings and plumage as he disappears back into the night.

He doesn’t return home to the House. He takes flight and heads east, the winds and forest coming alive with the sounds of his legion taking to the sky with him. Search. Find. He orders images of the coven and what they did to you flashes in his mind to his murder. Those mages did this, and they would fix this. He travels on the wind ignoring the searing pain of your mark. You are calling him to return, ordering him to. The pain only fuels his desire to hunt.

He will have to be fast, for your sake. While his cave had plenty of fresh water and food for you he knew you. You were that spark in the night, that shock to the system that kept him going. You help him keep his head up high. You would try to get down from his nest, or try the other brothers before long.

His council found the witches one by one, picking off the weaker members while leaving the elder witches to him. He barrels through the punishment of breaking a pacts to extract whatever he could from them before his talons find their throats. The kills got more and more savage as each hunt turns up nothing.

On the fifth day of his hunting, Lucifer finds him. His world turns into a blur of black mist and boney fingers as his brother throws him violently from the gurgling body of his last victim. Empty eye sockets bore into Mammon's dazed faces. “Where…” Lucifer opens his broken maw, jaw creaking as his voice gurgles out. Mammon ignores him screeching and clawing at the hand pinning him to the floor. The fingers begin to close slowly, choking off his air until he is forced to revert to his other form, dark chest gasping for air. “Wheerrree…” Black smoke fills his lungs, the cold radiating off of Lucifer’s exposed bone burns his skin.

Mammon hisses back, throwing caution to the wind and landing a quick kick to his brother’s deteriorating nasal bone. “Mine!” He groans, head filling with static. “They are mine...even if they don’t remember me.” The fingers around his throat loosen before pulling back. Mammon coughs holding his throat as he struggles to his knees. “You can’t have them.” He wipes his face, cleaning off blood and tears. Devil’s when did he start crying?

“Mammon.” Lucifer tries again, flowing closer. “No one wants to take them away. I want to make sure they are safe.” Safe? Of course they were safe! The Great Mammon was watching over them, there was nowhere safer. Right? But there was safety in numbers too, what was a murder of crows or a flock of night creatures if they did not stick together. Mammon pushes his palms hard into his eyes till light spots of color irrupted behind his eyelids.

Clarity and exhaustion caught up to him all at once. “I messed up. I messed up so bad, μέντορας.” He looks at the corpse of the last witch. They were the final witness to what had happened the night he got you hurt. His last chance to help you is gone, splattered across the pavement. “Λυπάμαι. Λυπάμαι, αδελφός.” The dam breaks, all the suffering, and confusion of the past week overwhelms him in that moment, robbing him of coherent thought.

Warm human hands grip his shoulders squeezing him tight to center him. “Calm yourself. Remember how I taught you?” he nods, grimy head bobbing through a hiccup. “Good-good. In through your nose and out your mouth. Yes, just like that. Again.” Once punishing hands now wrap around him surrounding him in a sea of black silk and soft hair. It is of little comfort to him now, but Mammon feels the invisible hands clutching his hearts loosen. Lucifer does too and brings his brother out of the crook of his neck to look him over. “I want to help both of you. But, I need to know what is going on.”

To say Lucifer was displeased was an understatement. He couldn’t fault Mammon for his outburst, while he could not say he would do the same he understood what fragile hearts his sibling has. Mammon would never intentionally harm you, but as he pleads his case Lucifer began to worry more and more for your well-being. Mammon wasn’t going back to check on you, that was very clear by the pattern of violence he had marked around the eastern prefecture. Mammon’s recklessness had the potential to get you hurt, and he could not have that.

“Take me to them.” Lucifer raises, helping Mammon up from his knees.

“Can’t.”

“Mammon.” His patience grows thin.

“I can’t,” Mammon repeats himself, firmer this time. The magic he placed on his nest was the last that he had. Having a demon as strong as his brother coming in would break the barrier beyond his repair. “I swear to you I will bring them back, now, back to the house. Just please...I can’t take you.”

Lucifer sighs but relents. Mammon doesn’t swear often if not at all. With care Lucifer takes the back of Mammon’s head and brings his forehead to touch his. “Promise?” Mammon coos softly showing his neck in submission. “Thank you, now go retrieve them. I will clean up this mess.”

Mammon returns to his nest to find you sleeping again. You were clothed and freshly bathed, bits of food nearby and used cutlery at your side. He doesn’t approach fearful of how you would react after last time. He kicks a pile of gold by the side of you instead. You react immediately, lurching up in bed. Something shiny glints in your hand and he laughs. The silver dagger gleams in his direction. “Mammon?” You blink in the low light squinting hard to make out his form. “Is that you?”

“Of course,” He steps closer, arms relaxed at his side. “No one else can come up here, you know. Or, I guess you did at one point.” You lower the knife but keep your eyes trained on him still hesitant.

“Are you ok?” Getting a better look at him you frown. He was a mess, disheveled and grungy. Dark viscous matter cling to his once vibrant white hair clumping it and sticking to the hard edges of his face. You didn’t want to know what it was, but you had your suspicions.

“Yes.” He said, tone clipped and stressed. “Come on, let’s get you back.” He holds out a grimy hand to you.

You look at it. “Are we really?” With how he left you you weren’t sure if this was a trap or not. For all his boisterous claims and vibrato you never thought he would actually go through with anything. Now you weren’t sure.

Mammon nods, waiting for you to make up your mind. You take his hand after a few minutes of contemplation. Your touch was so familiar yet foreign all at once. It was as warm and soft as he remembered it to be, but that was it. You were hesitant with your touch, fingers barely resting in his scabbed and scarred over palm. “What happened?” You turn his hand over seeing how the cuts and bruises continued.

“Nothing.” Nothing of worth any way. “Come, Lucifer is waiting for us.” That makes you pick up your pace and it chafes him.

When you both land in the outside garden of the house Mammon let’s you go. Rushing over to Lucifer’s side, you almost use him as a shield between the two of you. You grab at his brother’s pressed suit jacket asking a rapid fire slew of questions. Mammon relaxes only a fraction noting how Lucifer has yet to touch you out of respect for him.

Lucifer let’s you run out of steam before speaking. “I believe I know what has happened but let’s get you checked out first, and Mammon.” He looks over to his hunched brother. “Go wash up. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.” Dismissed, Mammon slinks off to his room without a fight and empty handed.

With a clean bill of health, minus the apparent memory loss you sit in Diavolo’s office nursing a cup of tea. You look at your companions on either side of you. You, Solomon, and Lucifer sit on Dia’s large couch while the prince paces in front of you. The latter shaking with rage.

“I’m not mad.” You say again looking at the men around you. Mad wasn’t the right word for the feelings you have right now. You were angry at the situation and how Mammon handled it, yeah. But now you were more confused and fearful for his sake. Even if you didn’t recall the particulars of your relationship, what you did remember was a warm and friendly mix of emotions and companionship. He had always been a good friend and steadfast ally after the initial rocky start. Could you have been more? Something blooms in your chest.

“Irregardless,” Dia turns to you, face grim. “He put you in immediate danger and then abducted you. If Lucifer hadn’t tracked him down you still would be missing.” You nod your mouth closing on a rebuttal. He wasn’t wrong. “And,” He continues. “This matter now has more repercussions then just you and your lost memories I’m afraid.”

“That’s right.” Solomon butts in. “The covens are in an uproar. Seats have been usurped and the power imbalance now is reaching dangerous degrees. They want blood.”

Diavolo scoffs, cursing low in infernal. “Mammon needs to be reprimanded, Lucifer.”

Lucifer stiffens next to you. You hear the soft creaking of his leather gloves as he clenches his fists tight. “Is this not enough?” He leans forward imploringly. “Let me handle his punishment. You know I am fair with it.”

“He wiped out the entire East coven. This will take years for me to handle diplomatically. The council of Magi wants justice, and I cannot blame them. Mammon broke contracts and peace agreements.”

His words go over your head but the implications were very clear. “I’m so sorry.” You bow low in your seat. This was your fault. You should have taken a brother with you to retrieve Mammon that night. While trapped in Mammon’s treasure trove you had plenty of time to go over that night’s events and try to figure out why Mammon had said those things to you.

You remember that day clearly. Going to classes, turning in homework and rounding up the brother’s before they got into mischief. You run down that night the best you can too. You remember texting the group that you would bring Mammon home in time for the last meeting of the day, then the burning sensation of spells hitting you and bright flashes of light before waking up next to him in his nest. You remember him, but those nights he told you about and his feelings he shared with you were gone. Nothing there but black space.

Solomon’s hand on your shoulder breaks your musing. “This isn’t your fault. I’m sure we can settle this out over time.” The two demons in the room nod, faces unreadable. With that Solomon nods, getting to his feet. “I believe the time for humans in the room is over, shall I escort you home, or would you like to stay at Purgatory?”

“Home please.” The week's events land heavy on your shoulders. You wanted to sleep in your bed surrounded by familiar comforts. “I’m over this demon shit.” Solomon doesn’t even try to hide his snort.

“There is never a dull moment with you around, huh?” He chuckles, combing a hand through his hair once he gets to the front door. You shoot him an exasperated look. “Relax. I promise we will get this all set to rights...if that is what you wish.”

“I have a choice?”

Solomon raises a pale brow. “Yes. I do believe I can fix this with enough time and preparation. While Mammon had the right idea going to find the root of the problem and there for the spell, he did it all ass backwards. Once I get in contact with the spirits of those he murdered I believe I can get you back together again. You do want that don’t you?”

Did you?

The question perplexes you while you crawl into bed. Did you want something that you didn’t even know you had? The Mammon that had greeted you when you woke up was like nothing you could remember and had planted a seed of doubt within you. What about him had you fall for him in the first place? Would you remember all of this if Solomon was able to fix it? Could this break in your memory change how you felt for him? Ugh-why was magic always so difficult…

You are left to your own devices for a while allowed to stay in from work and school while you recover. The brothers dote over you in their own ways, all expertly navigating around any question you had about Mammon’s whereabouts. Only Beel gave you any useful information.

“He’s...working off his debt.” Cryptic, but at least you knew he was alive. With the brother’s all being tight lipped you took matters into your own hands. Your phone was gone, no doubt shattered on the floor of the warehouse when you fell. You should have had a new one by now, but Lucifer seemed to be hiding it from you like Mammon.

The door to Mammon’s room is sealed tight, no handle or seam to be found. The loud hum of magic radiates from the door making it impossible for you to open. Even his seat at the council was empty. So much secrecy, you were beginning to believe you were being punished as well.

Good thing you were too pig headed to care.

Cornering Lucifer wasn’t as hard as you expected it to be. He very well could have been waiting for you to jump him by this point. He looked tired and drained, his mark, like Mammon’s, was dark and silent on your skin. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Yes. Though, as you can see, I’ve grown tired of it.” He waves at himself leaning on the wall just outside of the kitchens. “What do you want?”

“Why can’t I find anything?”

“Any what?”

“If I was dating Mammon wouldn’t there be, I don’t know evidence of it?” There was nothing in your room, and you couldn’t get into Mammon’s. The other’s had been of no help. It was gone, as if by magic. “Is this your doing?”

Lucifer pinches his brow with a grimace. “Yes, and no. Mammon asked me to.”

“What! Why?”

“He heard what Solomon said to you. That you are unsure if you want those memories back. This is your out.” A gift as Mammon likes to think of it, the last one Mammon can give you. Even if it kills him, his brother still thinks of your comforts.

“Don’t I get a choice?” Lucifer snorts eyeing you.

“It is one of the very few strategic advantages of being human. Have you made one?”

Yes? No? “Well, I would like to make an educated one! I can’t do that if I can’t even see Mammon now can I? I’m clear headed now.”

Lucifer chortles rummaging in his pocket. “Please, the fact that you picked Mammon as the object of your affection clearly shows me you have never thought clearly a day in your life.” He drops something in your hand before turning. “The magic of the door is gone. Just-please be gentle with him. The council has not been kind.” He gives you a final small smile. “You two were happy together, you know.” He leaves you with your new phone in an empty hallway.

You clutch the small device close to your chest, eyes riveted to the screen. Lucifer had backed everything up. Your contacts, calendar dates, assignments, and pictures. You click on your photo gallery. Oh, there were so many pictures of the two of you together. For a moment you hate the you grinning up through the screen. Mammon’s arms wrap around you, his face nestle in your hair as you glow under his attention. He looked serene, eyes closed with a blissful smile peeking out through your locks. The next few photos were very much the same, little dates and windows into a life you wanted to remember. The next few you took were candid photos. Him asleep on his couch stretched out and snoring or in the kitchen trying to do something, and failing.

It was so different from the Mammon you remember and the one you saw so briefly in the cave. Deep down your heart hurts for him, out of sympathy or the echoes of your lost love you weren’t sure, but you wanted that life from the pictures again. You reach his door with a new reinvigorated fire in your belly. You could do this. Mammon would never fall for someone indecisive.

The door opens as quiet as a whisper into a dark room. Stepping in you hold your breath, ears hyper aware of just how dark this place was. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this place without lights on. Mammon didn’t like the dark all that much. The room was quiet too, except for an eerie wet gurgle. “Mammon?”

“Leave.” Deeper into the room a massive black shape moves. “Shouldn’t be here.” You turn to the shape, arms outstretched to guide you through the pitch. “Don’t-” Several large luminous gold eyes lock with you. They are weary and apprehensive. You push forward till your hands touch some feathers and…

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s fine.” Like hell it was. Ignoring his protest and the slick feel of his blood on your hands you grab for your phone.

“Oh Mammon.” Your stomach twists. In the bright little of your little flashlight you can see only a small bit of his side, but it was shiny with fresh blood, feathers broken and limp from where hands had yanked at them. “Who?”

“The Rite of Equivalency.” A head turns to follow your fingers. He hisses, the feel of your fingers stroking along a raw gash under his upper set of wings burns. “Pound for pound of flesh for that which I took.” His beaks click, sore and irritated, they had not been gentle with their gathering today. His body was worth a lot to witches. His feathers and beak shavings were valuable in potions and on the market. It was the most lenient punishment Lucifer could broker, even if it did literally cost him a limb or two. Your hand goes still on his side, he can feel your small fingers trembling on his hind leg.

“Mammon-this is monstrous.”

The crow chortles swiveling his heads to look at you. “Are we not monsters?” He tries to joke, uncomfortable with your gentle touch now. “Hey- no...please don’t cry.” He sees tears clinging to your eyelashes, your lower lip quivering. He opens a wing to try to wrap it around you but stops gasping in pain. His side was like a live wire, healing bones burning under his thin skin while they mended. He is so tired.

You pick up on his discomfort and move away wiping at your tears. This wasn’t about you right now. “I came to talk about...us and what you overheard between Solomon and I,” His heart rate picks up.

“Lucifer put you up to this.” It wasn’t a question but a simple statement of fact. He had hoped-

You shook your head, brushing his side. “He gave me the option by opening the door, but I wanted to do this. To see you again and talk.” Talk, and get his side of the story, to fill in the pieces of the puzzle until you could get them back yourself. You pull up a few pictures and turn the screen to him. “I want to go back to this. I think I liked being yours.”

#obey me #obey me mammon #tw: body horror #tw: gore #fun request!

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 14

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“It was so good to see you, Will,” Valerie says in a muffled voice against his chest as he has her wrapped up tightly in a bear hug.

“I know, I’m so glad I ran into you,” Mulder replies, brushing his hands over her back. He pulls away and kisses her softly on the cheek.

“It makes me really happy to see you so happy,” she says with a smile, her long brunette hair lifting softly in the breeze, brown eyes holding affection that can only be held between two people who have the type of bond that can withstand a breakup and then a transition from lovers to friends.

“Likewise,” he says, nodding towards the small swell of her growing belly.

“I’d love to meet your girlfriend someday, if you think she’d be okay with that,” she says, collecting her purse.

“Yes, I’d really like that. I think you two would get along really well, actually,” he says, and she smirks at him.

“You’re not afraid we’ll bond over having to sit through your shitty movie collection?” she teases, and he laughs good-naturedly.

“Hey, Scully likes my shitty movies, that’s why we’re a perfect match,” he retorts.

She squeezes his arm.

“Call me sometime, okay?”

He nods and watches her walk away, feeling like he’s on cloud nine. A great friendship with his ex-girlfriend, a promising new love with the woman of his dreams; he can only imagine what lies in store next. He practically skips on the walk back to his car, wondering if Scully might let him come by tonight, hoping that he won’t have to wait until the weekend to see her again. He decides to call her as soon as he gets home.

The first few times he gets her machine, he assumes she must be at her mother’s. When she still hasn’t answered or called back by 9:00 pm, he’s confused. When he emails her the next morning and still hasn’t gotten a response at 10:00am, he’s officially worried.

Something is wrong.

———

She had eventually turned off the ringer on her phone and put the volume all the way down on her answering machine so she wouldn’t have to hear his increasingly obsessive attempts to get ahold of her, then slept fitfully all night.

She knows that she needs to give him some kind of response or he’ll show up on her doorstep, but she can’t bring herself to face him, even in voice. Every time the image of him with that woman pops back into her head, she feels a lump form in her throat immediately, a sick sadness welling in her belly. She’s pored over every memory in her mind, every interaction they’ve had, searching for signs. Signs that he was seeing someone else, that he wasn’t interested in anything other than getting in her pants, that he was lying to her. Her thorough inventory brings up next to nothing, which almost makes it worse; how adept he must have been at creating a false reality for her to exist in. Perhaps he’s garnered some tips from the sociopaths he studies, or maybe his background in psychology allowed him to manipulate her.

When she arrives at work, she is unsurprised though still dismayed to see an email waiting for her.

From: [email protected]

Sent: May 5, 1997 7:57 am

To: [email protected]

Subject: Where are you?

Scully, you’re freaking me out. Are you okay? Please respond.

She deletes it immediately and tries to focus on work. She performs an autopsy and teaches a class, both welcome distractions from her emotional torment. Just before 11:00 am, the phone rings.

“Autopsy bay, this is Trudy…yep, she’s here, one second.”

Trudy turns and opens her mouth to speak, but sees Dana waving her arms and shaking her head. She makes a confused face and puts the phone back to her ear.

“Oh, actually she just stepped out, sorry. Can I take a message?”

She watches as Trudy scribbles something on a piece of paper.

“Uh huh…yes. Okay, I’ll tell her…you have my word.”

She replaces the phone on the receiver and hands Dana the paper with a sympathetic frown.

“Trouble in paradise?” she asks rhetorically.

Dana looks down and deciphers Trudy’s messy scrawl.

Call Mulder immediately. Send a sign of life.

She crumples it up and tosses it into the trash can.

“You wanna talk about it?” Trudy asks.

“Nope,” Dana replies, turning back to the computer.

From: [email protected]

Sent: May 5th, 1997 11:03am

To: [email protected]

Subject: PLEASE RESPOND

Scully, I don’t know what the hell is going on, but if you don’t reply to this within an hour I’m driving down there.

Please respond

She feels fresh tears well in her eyes. Why is he trying so hard if he’s seeing someone else anyway? Why is he doing this to her? With a surge of anger, she hits reply.

From: [email protected]

Sent: May 5th, 1997 11:05am

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE:PLEASE RESPOND

I’m fine, Mulder. Please just give me some space.

With that she closes her email, begs someone to take her second class of the day, and goes home.

———

He feels like he’s stepped into an alternate universe. He’d left her happy and satisfied, and out of nowhere she’s shutting him out. What does she need space for? Space from him? Why? Did he come on too strong and freak her out? He thought they’d moved past that. He picks up the phone again.

“Autopsy bay, this is Trudy.”

“Trudy, it’s Agent Mulder again. Look, I don’t want to put you in an awkward position, but is Dana there?”

She pauses. “No, she went home for the day. She seemed pretty upset.”

“Do you have any idea why?” he implores.

“No, other than the fact that it seems to be directed at you.”

“Yeah, that much I gathered. Thanks, Trudy, sorry to bother you.”

“No worries, good luck.”

He slams the phone down, grabs his jacket off the back of his chair and leaves.

———

She is half expecting his knock, but it still makes her jump, nearly causing her to spill her wine. She wants to just ignore him until he goes away, but she knows his proclivity towards persistence won’t let him do that. Better to just get it over with, she thinks as she slumps towards the door.

The second she lays eyes on him in his slacks and dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his tie discarded, she feels her chin pucker and tears threaten her eyes. As angry as she is, she immediately wants to go to him, to curl up within his embrace so he can comfort her. The problem is, what she needs comforting from is him.

“What is going on?” he says with a mix of frustration and fear.

She stands in the open doorway, not making space for him to enter.

“I saw you,” she says, her voice strained with emotion.

“You saw me...what?” he asks, his face a mask of confusion.

She lifts her chin, clenching her jaw and summoning strength.

“I saw you with her. Yesterday, at the Bluebird Cafe. After I had lunch with my family.” her voice holds steady, anger carrying her through.

His face falls and her gut twists. She wishes she didn’t have to watch this.

“THAT is what this is about?” he asks, but there’s no shame or regret in his voice. If anything, he sounds a little mad.

She nods curtly.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he spits out, and she recoils a little at his vitriol. “Let me in, Scully. Right now,” he demands, and against her better judgement she moves aside.

He pushes past her into the apartment and she closes the door softly, leaving it unlocked in case either of them decides to make a hasty exit.

“Did you consider,” he begins, his back to her, “maybe, I don’t know, asking me about what you saw?” He turns to face her, one hand on his hip and his face contorted with anger. “Or were you just planning to avoid me until I gave up and went away again?”

She doesn’t know what to say. She’s confused about why he’s yelling at her when he’s the one who did something wrong. She just looks at him, expressionless.

He juts his chin out expectantly, waiting for an answer, but gets none. She averts her eyes.

“Is that all this is worth to you, Scully?” he continues, “you’re ready to throw this away over a simple misunderstanding, without even talking to me?”

She lifts her head and looks at him with a pained expression. “Okay then, talk,” she gets out.

He drops his head in frustration. “The woman you saw me with,” he says flatly, lifting his head to meet her eye, “was my ex-girlfriend, Valerie. I ran into her while I was running errands yesterday, and we had lunch. She has a boyfriend and is three months pregnant. We spent the majority of our meal together talking about you.”

She shakes her head gently, her throat closing as a tear rolls down her cheek. “I saw you kiss her,” she whispers, her jaw quivering.

“You saw me kiss her on the cheek? I also kiss my mother on the cheek, Scully, it’s hardly an intimate gesture.”

She feels a new wave of sickness pass over her, but this time it’s entirely different. This time it’s the sick feeling of realizing that she was very, very, wrong, and that she has, yet again, hurt the man who loves her. She opens her mouth to speak but she can’t find the right words.

He steps forward but doesn’t touch her. When he speaks, his voice is softer, more defeated than anything else.

“I’m sorry that you saw something that upset you. But if you actually thought for a single second that I want to be with anyone but you, you’re fucking insane. I meant what I said the day you left my apartment last year. I felt it then, and I feel it now. I want this to work more than anything, Scully, but for that to be possible you have to trust me. I can’t live with the knowledge that you might just shut me out at a moment’s notice when you get scared.”

She keeps her head down, overwhelmed by a combination of shame, embarrassment, and gratitude that he wouldn’t let her walk away. She does not deserve this man, but she wants to.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, still unable to meet his eye.

“I know you are,” he replies, moving towards the door. “Take the space you need, and let me know when you’re ready to trust me.”

When she hears the click of the door closing behind him, she collapses to the floor, sobbing for so many reasons she couldn’t possibly name them all. When it’s faded to snivels and hiccups, she stands and goes to the hallway, picking up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Missy,” she chokes out, “Can you come over?”

———

He’s not sure if leaving was the right thing to do. The risk that she might not come back around is one that sends his stomach into knots, but at the same time he finds it hard to accept that she wasn’t even going to give him the opportunity to explain. He’s been actively working to temper expressing his feelings so he doesn’t overwhelm her, but then she gets it in her head that he’s not invested. It feels like he can’t win.

He goes back to work and stops by Kirkbride’s office to apologize for disappearing. Kirkbride just gives him a quizzical look, clearly not having noticed he had left. The rest of the day he buckles down on his caseload, distracting himself from the catastrophic thoughts that dance through his head, and gets more work done than he has in quite a while. When he leaves the office just after 5:00 pm, he feels melancholy and grouchy, and annoyed that he left the ball in her court.

The elevator dings to announce his arrival on the fourth floor and he steps out with a takeout bag in his hand, eyes downcast. Halfway down the hall, he readies his key and looks up, startling when he sees Scully sitting on the floor against his door, knees tucked up against her chest and her forehead resting on her kneecaps. She’s very still, and as he gets closer he realizes that she’s asleep. His heart aches knowing that she’s been waiting that long, that she didn’t want to leave without talking to him.

He crouches down beside her, setting his dinner on the floor, and gently touches her shoulder. She jerks, her head snapping up and her eyes wild for a moment while she tries to orient herself. When she focuses on him, she immediately starts crying, reaching out to wrap her arms around his neck. He’s surprised by her uncharacteristically emotional response, but says nothing and just holds her until his knees start to ache, at which point he sits down on the floor and pulls her into his lap. They stay this way for several minutes, long enough for one of his neighbors to walk by and politely avert their eyes, entering their apartment as though there was nothing out of the ordinary happening in the hallway. When the crying seems to have subsided a bit, he gives her a little squeeze.

“Wanna go inside?” he asks, and she nods against his chest, his shirt damp from her tears.

She stands unsteadily and he follows her, grabbing the takeout bag off the floor. They enter the apartment and Priscilla plods up to them with an excited meow. Scully leans down and picks her up, tucking the cat against her neck as they nuzzle each other. Mulder smiles at them with a bemused expression.

“She was talking to me through the door,” Scully says with a small smile, “she heard me knocking and was meowing from the other side. We had a conversation.”

Affection swells in his chest and he steps forward to kiss her. Her shoulders drop and she lets Priscilla down so she can get closer, threading her arms around his waist and kissing him back in earnest. Desperate, thought I’d lost you again kisses that are as arousing as they are a relief, because he knows that they will be okay.

He pulls back a little and she makes a whimpering sound in protest.

“I’m gonna go change really quick, okay? Then can we talk?” he asks, and she sighs and nods. “You can have half my Chinese,” he adds, and she gives him a tight-lipped smile.

When he sits on the couch beside her five minutes later, she scoots closer so they are pressed against each other, and he gathers that she needs physical closeness right now. He loops an arm around her shoulder and she crawls right back into his lap, curled against him as though trying to fuse her body to his own. Her head tucked beneath his chin, she holds one of his hands in her lap, fingers laced tightly together, and begins to speak.

“After you left, Missy came over and we talked for a long time. I’ve come to realize how much I’m still affected by...what happened last year. I harbor a lot of guilt for being unfaithful to Ethan, and that’s actually largely why I married him even though I knew my heart wasn’t in it.” She pulls in a deep breath, pressing their joined hands tight against her belly, trying to get even closer. “When you and I reconnected, in a way it felt like a chance to validate it. As though things working out with us would mean that what I did wasn’t as bad, because there was something real between us. But at the same time, a big part of me doesn’t believe that I deserve to be happy.” Her voice remains steady, but he feels the wet drop of a tear on the back of his hand.

He tightens his arm around her waist. “I’ve always been a person who values doing the right thing, and integrity was something that was very important to my father. It was his measure of a person’s character, and that’s something he instilled in me as well.” She sits up a bit so she can look at him, and his heart breaks at her red-rimmed eyes, her icy irises so mournful. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Mulder. You haven’t given me any reason not to. It’s just that I don’t feel like I deserve this, especially with you, and I’m waiting for the moment it all comes crashing down. So when I saw you with that woman, it was almost like I’d been waiting for it, expecting it. Getting what I deserved.”

He brings his palms to her cheeks, brushing away the tears with his thumbs.

“Thank you for telling me that,” he says softly. “I wish I could change how you feel, but I know that I can’t. I do know how it feels to spend your life harboring guilt over something you could have done differently, and I can tell you that punishing yourself won’t make it any easier. It makes me really sad that you’ll always regret how we met.”

She closes her eyes and shakes her head gently. When she opens them, her expression is more tender than it is mournful.

“I don’t regret it, Mulder. I do feel guilt, and shame, for not ending it with Ethan so we could have done things the right way, but I could never regret meeting you.”

He pulls her back into an embrace, her arms wrapping around his ribcage, and plants a kiss to the top of her head.

“Are we okay?” he asks softly.

“I hope so,” she says hoarsely.

“Is this a bad time to tell you that Valerie wants to meet you sometime?” he asks, and she laughs.

“I don’t know, did you tell her that I freaked out on you because you had lunch with her?” she replies, and he can already hear her tone shifting back to their typical lighthearted banter.

“No, of course not. That’ll be our little secret. Well, plus Trudy. I think Trudy knows too much honestly.”

She laughs again, and god he could spend the rest of his life trying to make her laugh. In fact, that’s exactly what he hopes to do.

“Speaking of meeting people,” she continues, “Missy mentioned you to my mother yesterday and she wants to meet you.”

A grin stretches across his mouth, but he doesn’t say anything. She pulls back to look at his face, to gauge his reaction, and smiles softly in response.

“You want me to meet your mom?” he asks, the delight on his face carrying over to his voice.

Her mouth screws up shyly. “My little brother will probably be there too, and Missy. Is that too much?”

He shakes his head. “Sounds perfect. But, there are some friends I’d like you to meet too, if we’re meeting people.”

“The Lone Gunmen?” she asks with a skeptical lilt.

“Those are the ones. They’re my only friends, actually. Aside from Val.” Just then, Priscilla hops up onto the couch beside them. “Oh, and you Priscilla, sorry,” he adds.

Scully smiles at the cat, and then at him. “Can I bring Missy as a human buffer?” she asks hopefully.

“Of course. You may set a record for the highest number of female visitors to their lair in a day.”

“Lair?” she asks with wide eyes.

He chuckles. “They’ll grow on you, I promise.”

#the x files #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #txf #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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arcadialedger · 4 years

Text

Please note that I am most likely leaving this platform. I am done being abused. But first? We need to have a discussion. A discussion about hate and bullying in fandom.

All online-- I encourage you to read my story below. Reblog and spread awareness. The Dragon Prince fandom especially -- I implore you read my words, every single one of them. The short of it is that I am done.

This all began with losing and being blocked by a friend because I shared something they disagreed with. I don’t care what you feel about my initial reaction to this (which I’ll explain below) -- I’ve apologized for not handling the situation correctly. But I will not be shamed for speaking my mind and standing up for myself.

Because no human being deserves to go through what I have endured since last summer.

Following the “callout” post made about me by one of, if not the largest blogs in this fandom, I received hundreds of threats, harassment messages, and death threats. Messages and posts telling me to kill myself were also prominent, on a multiple times a week basis for awhile.

Messages from people who were well aware I have struggled with being suicidal. Due to one of their favorite Dragon Prince blogs speaking out against me, they thought it was okay to suicide bait me.

And it worked. I already struggle with hating myself, am already insecure, and being flooded with these comments which, while I made mistakes, did nothing to deserve, drove me to try and take my own life after years of progress in my mental health.

Mind you, this is like a 200 follower to 4k follower power dynamic. Which yes, plays a role-- because when you have a large following and influence, you have power. Yet the person behind this had the gall to claim Tumblr clout isn’t real.

People blocking and condemning others instantly at your word? Is power. If people read your words and are influenced, or have their minds changed, or buy or don’t buy something, etc.-- you are an influencer. You have power. And when you’re one of the largest blogs in a fandom, you have a LOT of power.

So take responsibility.

I was hurt because I lost a friend who I had chatted with for months, did a podcast with, and was generally not only one of my favorite blogs but the center of my experience in the Dragon Prince. I may not have been perfect in my words, but when I was asked why I was quiet/ inactive, I explained how I was hurting, anonymously. I was understandably in pain and upset. I had been cut off for just having a different opinion on a matter, for thinking differently. Even though it was within their rights to block and do so, it felt wrong and it weighed on me.

Is that such a crime?

The callout post and previously described abuse followed, lasting for months until later in the year (this began in June, or around then). It also included screenshots of tweets, when this user does not have Tumblr, and they have stated to have screenshots stored up on their computer of my various posts and interactions. This is creepy behavior, and freaked me out. I felt like I was being stalked, “evidence” being filed away for the very purpose of being used against me.

I eventually talked things out with the blog per recommendation of my therapist, and thought all would be fine. For a little while, it was. I largely stayed off of Tumblr to heal. Once in awhile I would have a rough, tearful night because something reminded me of what I lost, but I would make it through. Overall, I was making progress.

Then? My Twitter got hacked by one of the people sending me hate. For what had turned out to be much. And after they tweeted some purposefully incriminating and bigoted things to make me look bad, I came home from a weekend in the mountains to a shitstorm.

Twitter has a love hate relationship for me and I barely opened the app unless actively chatting with a friend. So when I saw 700+ notifications, I was surprised. It had never happened before.

I began to scroll through, and when I saw what had happened, I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

I had lost over half of my followers and a solid 60% of previous Twitter mutuals had blocked me. But worst of all, I had hundreds of hate tweets directed at me replying to the hackers tweets. Messages had been sent in DMs and accounts blocked, followed, and unfollowed as well.

If you have never felt that loss of agency-- that sickening feeling of words you never said next to your profile-- be glad. Because it is traumatic. I value my words. I value what I have to say. And having that taken from me was worse than anything I had been through here on Tumblr, outside of the suicide baiting (the most direct attack to me and my emotions/ insecurities throughout this entire ordeal). Further, this hacker had clearly stalked my tweets based on some of their comments.

Hundreds of tweets bashing me, calling me aphobic slurs (knowing I am asexual mind you, as it was in my bio), making fun of my appearance and targeting all of the insecurities which lead to my first suicide attempt in high school, and taking/ editing images of my face and mocking them. This all culminated in a doxing threat-- a doxing threat which made me feel unsafe on a campus I had already been sexually assaulted on. I was once again, after starting the healing process, thrusted back into the darkest time of my life and spiraled into anxiety and depression. I cried a lot overwhelmed by it all, had difficulty sleeping, and felt sick. I started fall semester and couldn’t concentrate on school. I was a mess.

I had once again been condemned, this time for something I had no part in. I tried to example what happened but nobody listened. I had been hung without trial. People were understandably confused, and my entire reputation on the platform, and my page, became a mess of lies, misunderstandings, and more.

If you don’t know the feeling of already hating yourself and being insecure, and having these beliefs reinforced and spread by hundreds publicly across the internet? Of already feeling lonely and unwanted and having the one space you thought you had taken from you? Consider yourself lucky.

I had a lot of voice actors and creators following me-- accounts I interacted and greatly cherished my mutual with. A handful of them unfollowed, understandably. This online hate mob was sending messages to people demanding they unfollow me, including some of these creators. They had no idea what to make of this mess or what was real and true and just didn’t want to deal with it. Most of the others just stopped interacting with me. @aaronwaltke (tagging so those who don’t follow already click and do so, because he is absolutely fantastic-- he’s a writer for ToA) who had followed me on the platform, graciously wished me peace with the entire situation after I checked to make sure he had not been subjected to messages or hate, either from my hacker or other accounts. His was the greatest compassion I got on Twitter, before I ultimately ended up just having to delete.

I lost podcast deals because of this with Adrian Petriw, Aaron Ehasz, and Justin Richmond. I do not blame them one bit and would have done the same in the confusion not wanting to get dragged into anything.

Only to have one of the friends I lost who helped start this interview these very people on their own podcasts. A slap in the face. A zine I had bought to support them came to my door, with the front page proclaiming to “spread a narrative of love.”

I was never granted that chance. That compassion. I had the vultures sent after me with no mercy. And anyone who has been through online abuse and systemic harassment knows just how much it feels like they’re slowly but surely picking at your flesh ( a metaphor I used in one of my old, since deleted posts discussing the situation, and still find accurate), wearing you down until you have no strength left.

Make no mistake, my story is not a one off situation. Many share the same tale of abuse and being driven off of platforms that once gave them great joy. These attacks are coordinated, systemic, and common hobby for these people-- who largely claim to be loving and accepting of all. They are a cyberbullying phenomenon which has risen with the presence of fandom on the internet. And I want to make clear, with current discussions of “cancel culture”, I mean nothing political in that statement. Some might call my experience cancel culture, but I don’t.

It’s just bullying. It’s just hate. These people get off on ruining people’s lives.

And my life was greatly set back and ruined. I had a stain on my past in fandom I could never be rid of. I had to shut down my podcast, took time off of all social media, and most of what I had built, most of my growth, was taken from me while those who incited and/ or spread hate thrived and continued to grow and find success. That was the greatest sting of all.

I asked the one previous friend who hadn’t blocked me, but had just stopped interacting with me (which I understood and respected, and also greatly respected her perspective, help, and support though this situation in which she largely unfortunately ended up in the middle) for help after explaining everything, and got nothing. They didn’t seem to care, and just blocked me on all platforms. Once in awhile, I would find I was cut off from yet another old friend, or a blog that I had never interacted with before but clicked into, interested. It hurt being cut off, unable to fully interact with the fandom, but I could move on.

That pain would never go away, but I made clear I did not blame them for the actions of those who abused, harassed, and threatened me. I also made it clear they did not owe me anything, including unblocking.

I just wanted to move on peacefully, but those with the power to enable that did not wish to help. I slowly, when I felt ready, began to be more active on Tumblr again, and once again the hate started up.

Sometimes when I was hurting, I expressed my pain and loss to my followers just to reach out, because I was sad. I had no idea how to rebuild from all that had happened. This got me more hate an accusations of emotional manipulation and gaslighting. I had no idea what to do, and got trapped in a cycle of needing to talk about it, and getting hate and backlash, but not knowing where else I could turn.

My doxer came back into my asks, ultimately making me switch schools, and refueled the drama. Speaking up about this got me more backlash-- mostly accounts reblogging (one with tags saying “fuck you”, despite not knowing the full story, and commenting and then blocking me so I could do nothing to respond or get it off of my page. I deleted all posts of the matter, as requested by these people (who validly pointed out they were in the main fandom tags, which I hadn’t thought of and understood), and hoped to move on.

But it hasn’t stopped. I have been beaten down and emotionally bruised for months. I have had my life and safety threatened, my education and by extension life path altered, and lost work (podcast) opportunities due to this-- alongside the irreversible emotional damage from trauma and abuse. My mental health issues and insecurities-- which I have been very open about to destigmatize the subjects and encourage conversation-- were actively targeted to inflict the most pain possible.

And I can’t even talk about it, without enduring more hate and accusations of “playing the victim”.

Death threats, suicide baiting, doxing, months of bullying and harassment to the most vile degree, which a lot of these people don’t know about because they don’t even bother to read my words. Yet I’m playing the victim.

And the accusations of bigotry and being hateful hurt, because it couldn’t be further from what is in my heart. I believing in love and acceptance of all. I don’t know how many are religious here, but I found God after my first suicide attempt and that is what his word has taught me.

I’ve been through too much in life to tolerate this, for lack of a more eloquent term, bullshit. I know what abuse and victim blaming looks like when I see it. And in my 20 years of life, I have gone through too much: constant ridicule and bullying, suicide attempts, sexual assault, major spinal surgery, to just be stomped over and not stand up for my right to basis human decency.

I refuse to put up with this, so unless I get an apology and some semblance of justice for everything I have been through, I am leaving. I will not participate in a space run by hate and toxicity. I will never claim to be perfect, and I have apologized for my mistakes and wrongdoings. Now, hold those who did this accountable. If you’re reading this you know very well who it was, and I am not naming them for those who don’t. Because at the end of the day I still send nothing but love and wish no ill will towards them.

But I’ll be damned if I don’t expect accountability of one of the greatest influencers in the fandom for their complacency in abuse, threats, suicide baiting, and and absolute ruining of my life and online experience. They enabled this and were well aware they had the power to stop it-- to ask their followers to stop-- and did nothing. They didn’t care-- about a human’s life and well being.

@dragonprinceofficial, are you aware that this is what many of the fans of your show, which preaches love and an end to the cycle of vengeance, do to others? That this is happening in your space? If you stand at all by the values you preach, condemn it. @staffTumblr/ @supportTumblr-- shame on you for allowing this abuse to happen and ignoring my reports. Shame on you for permitting these people to operate in your platform and for being okay with hosting hate. People have been driven to suicide on your website-- I am one of the lucky ones.

If you care at all about humanity and stand against this behavior, reblog and spread awareness. Share my story so I may not happen to anyone else. Tag @dragonprinceofficial until they notice and speak out.

This is my story, and so many others. Make sure it doesn’t happen ever again. No human being deserves to be treated how I was. Everyone deserves compassion, decency, and respect. And everyone deserves a place in fandom. Do better. If you want to reach out to me DMs are open, as well as my email, which is attached to my account. Until this change happens and I am given the support/ help needed to safely function on this platform, this blog will not be active outside of that.

Thank you all of the many accounts who have supported me, and I am working on getting back to all who have reached out! Your love means the world. You know who you are, and I don’t want to tag in case people come after you for showing me kindness. I am sorry if this is goodbye, to all that have enjoyed my blog. I enjoyed it for a long time too. I loved sharing my passion for stories, culture, having a space where I could analyze and discuss my favorite things. I loved getting to share what I had to offer with the world, having fun and posting jokes with my unique sense of humor. I loved interacting with intelligent people/ fellow fans and discussing my favorite stories, offering each other new insights and growing together. I loved the many, many kind and wonderful people who reached out to me in a variety of ways and provided support and friendship.

In the end, it just isn’t worth all of this pain and trauma, and I know when to put my foot down. I don’t want pity, I don’t want apologizes, and I’m not a martyr. I just want my story to make a difference-- to spur positive change in fandom culture/ spaces. I will be tagging all fandoms in which I have seen this kind of abuse present as well, to reach as many as possible.

Be safe, and be kind.

- The Arcadia Ledger/ Ryn/ Katie, signing off.

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electronicgrowth · 3 years

Text

Can’t Get Enough Part 5

Billie has lost her virginity! Where is this relationship headed?

This has just been chilling in drafts... I forgot I was a person there for a moment. I apologize.

Summary: The two most stubborn people in Knockemstiff, Ohio have eyes for only each other. Lee Bodecker is determined to become the town’s next sheriff. He knows that image is everything. Billie Dechswaan doesn’t care about her image at all. All she wants is to leave Knockemstiff and never come back. But Lee has other plans for her. Both are far too stubborn to give up their own plans. What happens when they can’t get enough of each other?

Word Count: 2.3k

After losing her virginity, Billie can’t get enough of Lee. When he’s inside her, she promises him all the things he wants. But they fight about her wanting leave. She’s still adamant about moving away, despite her attack. Lee tries desperately to reason with her. But she won’t hear it. Lee feels his time running out as the days in June and July come and go. He makes the decision for them one day. He pokes holes in every single condom. He feels slightly guilty, but Bille needs to realizes how much she needs him.

All the arguing comes to a head one night in mid-August. Billie snuck out like she did most nights and met up with Lee. She quickly slide into the car and kissed him. It was a Wednesday night and they hadn’t seen each other since the church service on Sunday. Billie had spent most of the time between services chatting with Lee, instead of helping to serve luncheon, and this behavior was not missed by the church ladies.

Rumors were flying. Everyone was wondering when Lee would finally make Billie his wife. Many were saying that it was bound to happen before the next election. She’d be sherif’s wife by Christmas, the gossip said. Edna, the police station secretary made the mistake of asking Lee and relaying all the gossip. It got him thinking. He was going to broach the idea with Billie. He had to. He already had a ring anyway.

Before Lee could even start the car and drive away. Billie was kissing his neck.

“Did you miss me, baby?” He teased. Pulling her closer to him.

“I always miss you,” she scoffed, straddling his hips.

“I missed you too,” he murmured against her lips. She ran her tongue against his.

“You know,” he began, pulling back from the kiss, “You don’t have to miss me.”

“What do you mean?” Billie giggled, staring at him, “I always miss you when you’re not around.”

“I mean, you could miss me less,” Lee said. Billie’s smile dropped a bit.

“What are talking about, honey?” She asked.

“If we live together, we would see each other everyday. Wake up together, go to bed together,” he hummed, kissing her neck between each phrase.

“Lee,” she scolded, pulling away from him.

“Come on baby,” he huffed, “Be mine. Be mine forever. And don’t give me that whole song and dance about leaving. You want to be with me and I want to be with you. I could give you everything. Just let me.”

“We’ve talked about this, I want to be independent for a while,” Billie grumbled.

“Billie, come on. We’ve been together practically everyday for months. Why do you have to independent? You want to get married and have kids right?” He asked.

“Of course, I do. But—“

“No. No buts. If you’re planning to have kids, you won’t be working that long anyway. So, pick the right man to have kids with. Pick me, baby,” Lee implored. Billie stared at him and slipped off his lap.

“I was up front with you Lee. I told you I was going to leave and go to college. You knew that going in. I should go,” she whispered. Climbing out of the car. Lee ground his teeth before he got out of the car.

“Billie,” he yelled, “get back here.” He stalked after her angrily.

“Lee,” she sighed, turning to face him, “I can’t do this tonight. I can’t have this argument again.”

He gripped the tops of her arms, “What is it? Why won’t you marry me? Is there something I’m not doing? Are you embarrassed of me?”

“What?” She spat, “Of course not. You’re everything I want—“

“Then what is it? I love you, dammit,” he shouted.

“Look, let’s just take a pause. We can talk tomorrow. We’re both upset,” she placated.

“Fine,” he huffed, stalking back to his car and driving off before Billie had even reached the woods. Wheels spitting gravel, engine revving loudly as he drove away. Billie felt empty. What had she done?

The next day the county fair started. It was the event of the summer. Everyone was there. And Billie was avoiding Lee after their fight the day before. But he spots her. She evades him all night. He finally corners her outside one of the livestock barns.

“What is with you? You said we’d talk today and you’re fucking ignoring me,” He spat, shoving her against the barn and caging her in. Billie refuses to meet his gaze. Tears quickly well up and spill down her cheeks.

“Baby,” he hums gently, “What’s wrong.” His hands move up to cup her face and his thumbs wipe the tears away.

“Not here,” she shakes her head, “Let’s go for a drive.”

“Alright,” Lee murmured. They walk silently to the cruiser and Lee drove a couple of miles down the road before he pulls off onto a side road. It’s not really a road, more like a trail in the woods that farmers use in the spring and summer as a short cut.

Billie has tears running down her face.

“Talk to me,” he begged.

“I’m late,” she sobbed. It took Lee a few moments to catch on.

“Your period?”

“Yeah, I’m three weeks late. I thought it was just stress or something,” she cried, her voice breaking.

“It’s okay. It’s okay,” he soothed, “I’ll take care of ya.” Lee’s heart is beating out of his chest with excitement, but he schools his features and voice to one of concern and anxiousness in order not to tip Billie off.

“What are we gonna do?” She’s fully panicked now. Lee can hear that she’s nearly hyperventilating.

“Shh, baby. You need to breathe, okay?” He said as he grabbed her face and forced her to look at him. She nodded slowly, breathing in and out steadily before Lee spoke again.

“We have to tell your parents,” he began. Billie’s eyes grew comically large, she started to protest but Lee cut her off.

“We’ll tell your parents. We’ll get married and no one will be the wiser. It’s okay,” he soothed, “I’ll be with you when you tell your parents. I promise I’ll take care of you.” His eyes shone with sincerity.

“What… what if I’m not ready?”

“You are. You’re perfect. Gonna take such good care of me and our baby,” Lee hummed as he kissed her.

“Lee,” she protested.

“Come on, sugar. You’ll be my good little housewife. I can’t wait to see you get round with my baby. You’re gonna look so sexy,” Lee groaned, he kissed from her lips to her neck as he spoke, “You’re all mine.”

“Did you— did you plan this?” Billie asked, shoving him away. Lee narrowed his eyes at her.

“It doesn’t matter how it happened. What’s done is done and you need me Billie,” he growled. Billie opened her mouth but no words came out. She was stunned. She shook her head back and forth, as she searched for the words.

“You’re a bastard, Lee.” His jaw clicked from side to side when she said that. Without saying anything he started the car and drove. Billie didn’t question him on where they’re going. She knew she was in deep shit. It’s only when she sees the farmhouse come into view that she starts to panic.

“No.”

“We’re telling your parents tonight.”

“Lee, please don’t do this,” she begged. But he didn’t listen.

“I wanted to be nice. I wanted to wait until after we got married. But you. You just couldn’t accept the nice future I had planned out for ya. So, if you want me to be the bastard, I will be. I’ll get you pregnant. Make you marry me.” He cut the engine and walked up to the house. Billie trudged behind him, she had no other choice.

Lee knocked at the before Billie even reached him. Joy answered.

“Deputy Bodecker,” she smiled, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“Billie and I have something to tell you,” he said happily. What a master of disguise he was. He made Billie believe, really believe that he loved her and cared for her. But he showed his true colors the second she stopped listening to him. And now he’s wooing her mother. Making her believe he’s a nice, stand-up guy. Joy’s smile faltered when she realized the Billie was with Lee, but she let them both in all the same. Lee marched to the living room as if he owned the place.

“John,” Joy called, “Lee and Billie want to talk to us.” John huffed, but turned the tv off. He gestured for Lee to sit.

“Clara, why don’t you go upstairs,” Joy suggested. Clara was the only one of the children home. All the others were still at the fair. She nodded and walked away. Joy sat down, but Billie didn’t.

“Honey,” Lee chuckled, “Come sit down.” She slowly went and sat by Lee. He was quick to wrap an arm around her.

“She’s nervous,” he said, smile glued to his handsome face.

“What’s going on?” John growled at Lee.

“Billie is pregnant,” Lee responded. Joy gasped. John looked like a deer caught in headlights. Billie started crying again, and leaned forward to hide her face in her hands. Lee patted her back.

“But, I don’t want ya’ll to worry,” Lee continued, “I’ll do right by her. I care for your daughter very much. We’re going to get married.”

John harrumphed, “You can take her down to the courthouse tomorrow for all I care. I thought you knew better than to open your legs, girl. I know you’re mama taught you better than that.”

“John,” Joy attempted to placate, “Let’s not be unkind. Lee is going to make this right.”

“I don’t care if he can make it right. Your daughter is out there acting like a whore,” John roared standing up from his armchair. He crossed the room and slapped Billie across the face.

“You have one week to get her out of my house,” John said to Lee, who looked up John and scowled. Billie couldn’t take one more minute, she jumped up and ran upstairs just as Sylvia walked through the door. If Sylvia was one thing, it was perceptive. She took one look at her father and Lee and chased after her sister.

“Now get out of my house, Bodecker,” Lee narrowed his eyes, but obliged. He would make John pay for hitting Billie.

Sylvia found Billie crying in a little ball on the floor.

“What happened?” She asked her sister.

“Lee g-got me pregnant and n-now I have to get married and I’m going to be stuck here in this stupid town forever,” Billie sobbed.

“Shit,” Sylvia sighed. Clara crawled off of her bed to join her sisters on the floor, she squeezed Billie’s hand. She wasn’t one for talking, she wasn’t good at it.

“I thought he loved me. But he manipulated me. I think he did it on purpose,” Billie choked through tears.

Sylvia stood up and started pacing.

“How much money you got?” She asked.

“About $250,” Billie answered.

“I got about $50 left over from babysitting. And I want you to take that,” Sylvia ordered.

“I can’t take your money, Sylvie.”

“Yes you can. Take it. Run away. Start over.”

“I—I—I h—have t-t-ten dollars for you, Billie,” Clara spoke.

“Take our money and go,” Sylvia said, “Consider it a thank you for all the years you took care of us.”

“Are you sure?” Billie looked between her two sisters. Both nodded.

“You have to go tonight. Go to the bus station and get out now,” Sylvia started to scheme. The girls helped Billie pack two bags that night. They rounded up and pooled their money. And at eleven that night, Billie snuck out and walked the three miles to the bus station. She waited until five in the morning and bought the first bus out to Cincinnati. But she didn’t stop there. From there she took another bus to New York. She figured she could disappear into the crowd there. She could say that her husband died and that she had no family left. She could get a job waitressing. Or maybe she could train as a secretary. It didn’t matter because she felt free.

After two weeks in the city, she wrote her family and Lee a letter. She claimed that she wasn’t pregnant. That the stress from telling them and leaving town caused her to miscarry. She said that she couldn’t face any of them now. But that it didn’t diminish her love. She refused to come home. Billie did not include a return of address. She secretly sent Sylvia another letter at her boyfriends house. It included her phone number. Sylvia would call her once a month from a payphone and then from the phone at the local grocery store she worked at. The girls stayed in touch that way. Sylvia secretly relayed the information to Clara and when Joy got suspicious, to her too.

Lee was distraught. He’d lost the love of his life and his baby in a matter of moments. He shouldn’t have made her tell her parents like that. But he couldn’t focus on it too long, because he was soon elected sheriff. He was married to the job. Then he started getting into business with the wrong people. Those terrible men he worked with gave him an idea. An awful idea. He wanted revenge against John and he would get it.

@greeneyedblondie44

@bxnnywriting

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker x female reader #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker x reader #lee bodecker x ofc #lee bodecker smut

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mymelodyheart · 4 years

Text

Miles Between Us Chapter 6 ~A Wrinkle in Time~

Previously in The Tethered Ties ...

And when he finally glanced back down at the laptop, he nearly choked. Right there on the screen, peering up at him, was a cantankerous-looking, crocodile Dundee version of Harry. Same eyes, the same face, and though a handsome fellow, this man's skin looked weather-beaten, and he had a scary scowl on his face.

"Jamie," Claire giggled. "I'd like you to meet my uncle ...Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, also known as uncle Lamb."

Ah, holy fuck! Though uncle Lamb looked like Harry, Jamie knew this man was nothing like Harry. Harry was ...or had been a polite, refined and jolly ol' chap with a very posh accent. This man was far from the polished look Harry presented. This man looked like he'd seen the world and confronted danger and probably wrestled crocodiles as a hobby. Convincing uncle Lamb that he's good enough for Claire was not going to be a walk in a park. Jamie knew he had a long evening ahead as he gingerly sat down in front of Claire's laptop and braced himself.

Jamie cleared his throat and sat up straight. "Good evening, sir ..."

If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

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Jamie had a dream. It was unlike any other dreams he had before.

He was cycling down a road, the cold wind stinging his cheeks, a plastic container of pastries in one hand. Excitement rose within as he followed the familiar route to Murtagh's house, huffing and puffing when he picked up speed. He was dropping off his ma's freshly baked treats to his godfather, hoping Murtagh would have time to go fishing.

An ear-splitting screech of brakes echoed in the air, along with mangling metal crashing and twisting.

He stopped. The plastic container dropped from his hand, and his bike collapsed to the ground. He began walking towards the crash site, sensing with every step, he was nearing a metamorphic truth that would change him forever.

Despite the trepidation mounting in his chest, he couldn't stop moving towards the wreck. He quickened his pace and then began to jog, and then he ran. Faster and faster.

He ran until the breath whooshed out from his lungs in burning gasps, and he slowed to a standstill in front of the harrowing scene that was before him.

The wind picked up, and the clouds dimmed the sun. The acrid stench of burnt rubber and engine oil filled his nostrils. A familiar face appeared through the cracked windshield, calling out his name in desperation. For a second, his heart ceased to beat, and his breath caught in his throat.

Harry?

"Save her ...please ..."

The plea struck his ears, and he tried to move, but he was stuck on the spot. He twisted his body and stretched out his arms, willing his feet to budge, straining and grunting and chanting a soundless prayer for strength. A piercing scream jolted him out from his struggle, unfettering him from the invisible force holding him in place, almost tumbling over from the abrupt release. He realised they were cries from a child.

He moved towards the car and wrenched the back door open, seemingly the only side still intact from the collision. A child, no more than the age of five with angry red blotches on her cheeks and wild curls, was restrained by the seatbelts. Her pudgy wee arms were outstretched as she screamed on top of her lungs, crying out for her mummy.

He stared in disbelief, immobilised by the uncertainty of his next course of action.

"Save her, Jamie ..." He glanced up to see Harry's face contorted in pain, eyes imploring. "There's not enough time."

"But ..."

"Go! Take her with you ...Now!"

Spurred by adrenaline and fear, heart pounding against his chest, he began to move. He unfastened the strap across the wean's body and grabbed her from the seat. Wee arms and legs wrapped around him as he spun around and headed for the moor. Holding tight to his bundle, one hand bracing the tiny head pressed against his neck, he ran as fast as he could. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw Harry watching him through the window and then the car exploded.

Jamie woke up lurching upright to a sitting position, his top clinging to his clammy skin and his heart racing like a freight train. Swallowing air in big gulps, he yanked off the duvet and swung his legs out of bed, trying to even his breathing. Then he began to shake as he heard the distant roar from the deep recesses of his brain, and the floodgates of memories swung open in vivid hues. It came in massive waves, raising recollections and visions to the surface that had been submerged under the basement of time. A deluge of dispersed images merged into one, and a stream of realisation emerged. Suddenly everything was as clear as day. Everything that Murtagh had told him of Claire's parents earlier was now clicking into place. The child they'd rescued that fateful day was Claire! Except, in his dream, he'd been the only one to save her.

A cold shiver passed through him when a suppressed but very visual memory of Harry sprung into his head just before the car had exploded. Harry had just regained consciousness and had looked straight at Jamie with a sobbing wee Claire tight in his arms, the look on his face branding his consciousness forever. Though it had been relief carved out on the doomed man's face in knowing Claire would live, it had done nought to appease his soul. He glanced over at the woman beside him. She slept peacefully, her soft snores confirming she hadn't been affected by his fitful sleep.

Reliving the sequence of that event, he remembered now how the horror of that day had haunted him. It had been so bad, he'd been coerced to attend counselling by his mother. Too young to process Harry's demise, he'd literally felt on the edge of a nervous breakdown. After a year of refusing to talk about the ordeal, he'd shifted his focus elsewhere to stop the nightmares. There had been this unabating need to atone for Claire's parents' death, the urge to help and protect growing like a snowball, morphing into an avalanche to flatten and destroy any unpleasant memories and replace them with something good. He'd rescued animals and sheltered them in his father's barn. He'd defended kids against bullies at school. He'd volunteered for causes that involved helping the vulnerable. He'd enlisted to be part of the British Armed Forces, hoping to make a difference to the plights of those afflicted. He'd even gone as far as making a promise to his dying friend, killed in action during his SAS days. Jamie had felt so guilty for his inability to protect his best mate, Simon, he'd asked his friend's widow to marry him. Though thankful now the marriage had never taken place after having met Claire, his efforts to appease his guilt had been a struggle. All these years, he'd buried the horrors of war, the memory of losing Simon and images of Harry going up in flames with layers of what he'd thought were reparations. But what he hadn't known, his failings continued to fester below the surface. It was like a wound that refused to heal.

Had Murtagh's revelation triggered the suppressed memories to resurface? Or did it have something to do with his conversation with Claire's uncle Lamb? His mind wandered to their discussion earlier.

"Jamie," Claire giggled. "I'd like you to meet my uncle ...Quentin Lambert Beauchamp, also known as uncle Lamb. Uncle Lamb, this is Jamie, James Fraser ...my boyfriend. I'm staying with him for at least a week."

"Is that right?" the man on the screen harumphed with a growl as he stuck a thick cigar between his teeth. "Not what I was expecting."

Jamie disregarded the not so subtle dig. "Good evening, sir ..." he began.

Claire laughed. "Don't call him that, Jamie. It's too weird!" She glanced over her shoulder as she walked away. "If he's giving you "the look," don't worry. Uncle Lamb is all bluster."

"I heard that," uncle Lamb grumbled.

"Play nice, then!" she shouted from the kitchen.

Jamie eyed the man on the screen and squared his shoulders. He wished he'd been more prepared for this or at least looked presentable. Instead, he resembled a drowned cat after just having arrived home from work. Claire hadn't told him much about uncle Lamb and wondered if she'd said anything about him to the older man.

He stared at Harry's look alike. Does uncle Lamb ever smile? Or is that scowl permanently etched on his face? He wasn't sure. Maybe it had something to do with that cigar hanging loosely in his mouth.

Sizing him up, Jamie presumed they're roughly the same breadth, and if uncle Lamb was anything like Harry in stature, they should be the same height too. It's a good thing they were meeting via video conference. If they had been facing each other in person, he might be less inclined to shake hands, seeing how the older man looked like he was capable of committing murder.

An amused Claire came gliding out of the kitchen with a bottle of beer, seemingly unfazed by tension emanating from her laptop screen. "Don't mind his mood, Jamie," she chirped. "He's just grouchy because five of his men came down with food poisoning. And work is being delayed again."

Uncle Lamb growled. "Don't remind me."

Claire wagged a finger at her uncle before kissing Jamie on the forehead and handing him the bottle. "I'll go prepare dinner."

He took a deep breath as he watched her head back to the kitchen. Uncle Lamb could frown all he wanted. Ultimately, if need be, he would go through twenty uncle Lambs to show the world how serious he was about his relationship with Claire.

Jamie noticed the older man watching him very closely.

"So how are ye?"

"I don't like surprises," Quentin announced, obviously wanting to get straight to the point.

"Neither do I," he returned. Facing off each other for a few silent seconds, Jamie deliberately took a slow slug of his beer. He placed the bottle back down on the table and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. "But surprises are nothing new to me. I was trained to be prepared against any surprises," he added, referring to his SAS past.

Quentin ignored the remark. "Claire told me ..." He leaned forward and rolled his khaki sleeves up, exposing tanned sinewy, muscular arms. "...you met just before Christmas."

"That's right, sir ...I mean unc ...I mean Quentin." The older man raised an eyebrow at him, and Jamie raised one back.

"Things seem to be moving along. Fast!"

"Claire and I have acknowledged that."

"She was there with you only a few weeks ago for her holidays. She's just got back to work. Did you persuade her to come back?"

"She's got a mind of her own."

"Are you serious about her?"

Jamie tried not to look rattled as the older man bombarded him with questions. It was only natural to be concerned about his niece. "Aye, I built her a shed." Ach shite, wrong answer ...what the fuck was that, ye clot-heid? He felt like kicking himself.

Quentin watched him in stony silence. "A shed?"

He inhaled deeply, careful not to show any signs of frustration. "Actually, it's a writing studio," he explained, feeling the heat crawling up his neck. "For when Claire comes over for a visit. She can work undisturbed there. I've even soundproofed the walls, and it's been comfortably furnished ."

Quentin said nothing. Instead, he slowly placed the cigar on the ashtray, raised his brandy snifter to his lips and drank.

Determined, Jamie pushed on. "Claire has handed her notice to her boss, and once her commitments in London are done, she'll be moving here ...to Broch Mordha." He tamped down the rising emotion from his throat as he thought of Claire preparing dinner for him in the kitchen. "Look, I may not look like the man ye hoped for, for yer niece, but ye dinnae ken me. I admit I come with a lot of baggage, but I'm working hard on it, and she's helped me tremendously in dealing with ..." He trailed off. He didn't want to pull the PTSD card out. This was about Claire, he reminded himself. "I ken her history. I ken she's moved a lot, lived in boarding schools, nae home to go to during the holidays, following ye half-way around the world when school's out. She told me she's never felt any sense of belonging anywhere ..." Quentin glanced away. "I want ye to know, I willnae be just another stopover for Claire. And even if she has to travel long distances to visit ye, she'll always have a place to return to. I have roots here, and I can give her..."

Quentin crossed his arms. "Give her what?"

Jamie cleared his throat. "What I'm trying to say is, I'm serious about taking our relationship further. As ye can see, she's staying here in my home until she goes back to London. Though there is this unspoken understanding between Claire and me, I dinnae want to be presumptuous ..." Jamie rolled his head to ease the tension in his neck. "...in thinking, she will move in with me when she relocates here to Broch Mordha. But I plan on asking her. And it would be verrae nice if ye could give yer blessing and ..."

He shook his head. "No!" His grin was more like a baring of his cigar-stained teeth. "Ask me again in a year."

Jamie ran a hand through his hair. "All due respect, I ken she will say yes when I ask. And I ken she's stubborn enough to make up her own decisions with or without yer blessing. But I'd rather I have it ...for all our sakes. I'm no' sure if ye are aware, but I have my own business that I share with my brother, I own a house, I have no mortgage, and I make enough to provide for both of us with enough left for savings. She can pursue her dream of writing to her heart's content without worrying about finances."

"You overlook the fact that she's a city girl. What if her writing career never takes off? What are her possibilities in the Highlands?"

"Oh, but it will take off. I have faith it will. She's very passionate about pursuing her dream, and rightly so, because she's a talented writer. I can attest to that because I've read one of her finished works."

Quentin's face softened just a tiny bit. "You have?"

"Aye, I have," he hedged. "Claire should have published her work ages ago, and I plan to encourage her to do just that. Her writing would be a wonderful gift to the world."

"You're doing a lot for someone you barely know."

"Quentin," Jamie sighed, swallowing his exasperation. "I'm in love with yer niece. I'm aware everything between us is happening fast, and I dinnae suppose there is a timeframe or formula to follow when it comes to relationships. I'm just winging this and going along with my guts. And my guts are telling me Claire is the one. I still cannae believe someone like her is even real and that she loves me back. I sometimes wonder if I'm dreaming. She brings the best out of me, and I want to do the same for her. So if helping her realise her dreams is all I have to do to keep her, that's what I'll do."

A few heartbeats of silence and watching each other closely passed before Quentin spoke again. "What did you say your last name was? I didn't quite catch it."

Ach, Christ, he's gonnae do a background check on me! "Fraser," Jamie replied.

The older man let out an impatient grunt. "Yes, yes, but which Fraser do you belong to? There are a lot of Frasers in the Highlands."

"My parents are Brian and Ellen Fraser," he replied, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

Quentin's brows knitted together, and his stubbled jaw flexed twice. "You mean Brian and Ellen from Lallybroch?"

Jamie shifted in his seat. "Ye know them?"

"And you're Jamie?" Quentin asked, ignoring his question.

Confusion descended over Jamie as he saw the transformation in Quentin's face. "Aaaye," he said slowly and deliberately. Where in the bloody hell is this going to, now?

"And Claire wants to move in with you?"

"As I've said, I havenae asked her, but I think she would like the idea of us living together. It would make perfect sense since we do love each other."

He grabbed the cigar and pointed the tip in his direction. "You have my blessings." Ignoring Jamie's sharp intake of breath, he tipped back the rest of his brandy. "Conditions are, there should be once a week phone-calls. Video or facetime ones or whatever you call it. And when I'm on British soil ..."

Jamie suddenly straightened up on his seat. "We'll visit, or ye can come and stay with us."

Quentin shot up on his feet. "Very well then, welcome to the family, Fraser. Go and get your dinner ...you wouldn't want your wife ..." he coughed, his face turning red. "...I mean your girlfriend reheating what she's just lovingly made."

Jamie got up as well, ready to shut the laptop, relief and confusion at the sudden turn around washing over him in waves. What the fuck just happened? Too bewildered for words, "Of course," was all he could muster.

Quentin hesitated, as if in search of the right words, his throat working overtime. When he finally spoke, Jamie couldn't help but hear the emotion in the older man's voice. "If Claire's father was alive today, he would think his daughter has made a fine choice."

His jaw dropped involuntarily. "He would?"

There was no reply. Too shell shocked, Jamie stood there staring at the screen for a full minute, long after Quentin had signed off.

When Claire reappeared from the kitchen, she launched herself into his arms and whispered, "Hungry?"

His bewilderment evaporated, happiness shrouding around him in such a way he knew everything was going to be alright.

Puffing out a breath, Jamie shoved a hand through his hair and made his way to the bathroom. He knew he wouldn't be going back to sleep for a while, so he might as well washed off those vivid dreams of Harry and clear his thoughts of that conversation with uncle Lamb. He felt like he was living in the Twilight Zone and badly needed to get his equilibrium back.

The silence of the night closed in around him until the soothing spray of the shower hit his skin. He wondered if Claire would remember anything from her parents' accident. She'd mentioned a couple of times, she had been five when they passed away. Considering that Claire was now in a happy place, content and well-adjusted, it was probably not the brightest of ideas to conjure up her past. But then, on the other hand, he suspected she might want to know what had happened that day. After all, she did have the right to know her history, no matter how painful.

The image of Claire's bright amber eyes and husky laughter flashed in his mind.

Jamie sighed, turned off the shower, and quickly dried himself off. When he realised Claire wasn't in bed, he made his way to the kitchen. He quietened his pace when he found her dropping teabags into two mugs, wearing only his t-shirt and a pair of woollen socks. She didn't hear him approach at first, looking deep in thought as she waited for the kettle to boil.

Moonlight streamed in through the kitchen window, creating a halo out of the wisps of curls framing her face, the whole scene reminding him she was everything he wasn't, a shining light where he watched her in the shadows. Sorcha! A force within spurred him towards her, needing to touch that light, hoping it wouldn't fade with his damaged soul.

"It's late, Sassenach. What are ye doing up?" he asked, walking towards the fridge.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!" she jumped, hands flying to her chest. She tucked a loose curl behind her ears and faced him with a sigh, a small smile slowly forming her lips. "You weren't in bed, so I thought you probably had one of your nightmares. I'm making us some chamomile tea. It helps with sleep and relaxation."

He wasn't sure if this was the time to tell Claire about his dreams, so he dismissed it with a wave of a hand and smiled. "Just a strange dream. Is that one of yer herbal remedies?" he asked, stirring the subject to something neutral.

She lifted a shoulder. "Something like that."

He opened the fridge and found a rainbow of colours of fruits, vegetables, yoghurts and juices. Claire hadn't been kidding when she'd said she went food shopping today. Obviously, root vegetables, eggs, cheese and a container of hummus he'd bought wasn't enough. Smiling, he grabbed a pear and shut the fridge door. "Do pears go with chamomile tea?"

Her face lit up, making his heart expand. "I suppose so." She poured hot water into the mugs and brought their teas to the dining table, Jamie following close behind her. "And it's good for you. You ought to eat more fruits."

"But you bought enough pears to feed an entire village, Sassenach," he pointed out, biting into the succulent fruit.

Claire giggled as she sat down. "The other bag of pears are for the sticky toffee pear pudding I'm going to make. Uncle Lamb loves making it for me whenever he comes over for a visit. So I thought I'd make some for us. He told me the recipe he uses was from my mum."

The way she smiled fondly at the memory made him want to draw her into his arms, but he took a seat instead. "With pears? I've only ever had normal sticky toffee pudding," he said, sipping some tea. "My ma makes it sometimes."

Her eyes twinkled. "I was told my mum loved to bake. And apparently, according to uncle Lamb, my favourite was cream buns."

Curiosity started to niggle in his belly at the mention of Claire's mother, even though he rebelled against it. Is this the time to talk about the death of her parents? Before he could change his mind, he came straight out with it. "Sorry to change the subject, Sassenach, but I have something to ask. What made ye come to the Highlands every Christmas?" he asked. "Ye mentioned once, ye like coming here during the Holidays. I mean, it's a great place to spend Christmas and all, but is there a particular reason?"

For a long moment, she stared at him with a faraway look. He realised he was holding his breath, half of him already regretting asking the question. There was a possibility her answer could lead to resurrecting a tragic event and snuffing the light out of her. And he needed to bask in her light some more. What was he thinking? Leave the past in the past, Murtagh had told him. He didn't know what lay on the other side of bringing up her parents' death. Either way, Claire didn't need to be dragged down with a sad memory.

Feeling suddenly foolish, he put down the pear he was eating and reached out to touch her hand. "Ye know what. Dinnae answer that. It's getting late. The tea is working its magic already, and I think I'm ready to go to bed."

A delicate frown marred her brows. "Are you sure you don't want to know?"

Am I sure? No, not really. "Go on, tell me then."

She suddenly beamed like the light that she was. "The reason why I love coming back to the Highlands every year is, this is the place where my parents met and fell in love. I'm not quite sure where exactly, but it was somewhere around here. As far as I know, the Highlands was their happy place where they made loads of happy memories and great friends, and every time I come here, it makes me feel closer to them. You might find it odd, but I do feel most at peace here. There's something that draws me to come every year. Call it gravitational pull or whatever. But it feels like it's my parents' way of sharing their happiness with me. Am I making any sense?"

His breath of relief released in a slow rush, lightness invading his chest, as he realised she didn't remember anything of her parents' death. Or at least he presumed so. But, if it's his burden to carry the truth of Claire's parents' death alone, so be it. Why bring up something dark that has no place in their lives anymore? Maybe one day ...in the far future. Her hand still in his, he stood up, pulling her to her feet before lifting her into his arms. She squealed in surprise. "It doesnae matter if it makes sense or no', Sassenach. If it feels right to ye, then it must mean something. Who knows, maybe the reason ye're probably drawn to the Highlands is that ye were conceived here. Have ye ever thought of that?"

Claire slipped her arms around his neck and smiled. "Or maybe ..." she leaned in to nibble at his earlobe. "...because I was drawn to ye. Have you ever thought of that?"

Jamie laughed as he started to walk them towards the bedroom. "C'mon off to bed with ye ...I have an early start tomorrow."

Claire eyed him mischievously as she snuggled closer. "To bed or to sleep?"

With a guttural groan, he lowered his head, brushing their lips together as he gave his answer in kisses.

Dear Readers,

I hope this chapter made sense to you. As you might have noticed, I didn't write the events in this chapter in chronological order, and I hope you can understand why I wrote it the way I did. If it didn't make any sense, please, I'm all ears ...ask away, and I'll answer.

It was a challenge writing the dream part, so I hope I've done it justice. And mostly, I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I have enjoyed seeing the feedbacks in the previous chapter. So a big thank you for that!

Let me know what you thought about the latest instalment and until the next update, take care of your health and keep up the positive vibes. X 😀❤️

ADDED UPDATE - An explanation to this chapter

I was trying to be clever and do the first two part of this chapter in the reverse order that I may have left you confused than enlightened. I have copied and pasted an explanation to the question posted by one reader in AO3. I hope this will help clarify things. So here goes:

The dream was brought about by two triggers. First, was Jamie's conversation with Murtagh in Chapter five. Although in Jamie's dream he'd been the one to save Claire, in reality, it had been Murtagh. But it was Jamie who carried Claire to safety after Murtagh instructed him to. This was the conversation:

Murtagh puffed out a breath. "The last time ye saw Henry, he was in a car accident ...with his family."

"What?" he choked.

Murtagh turned tired-looking eyes on him, and there was a deep sadness in them that startled him. "It was the day they were coming back to Broch Mordha for the first time in years. I heard talks around the village that they've rented a wee cottage from Mrs Baird. And also heard words about a wean. I didnae want to stick around to find out. I thought I'd take a wee trip to Skye and stay there until Henry and his family were gone. I was just packing when ye came barging into my hoose tellin me that a car had smashed to a tree. I came running oot like a gudgeon with ye right behind me. Ye must have been nine or ten. It wasnae far from where I lived then. By the time I got there, Henry was still alive, and Jules was unconscious. He ordered me to get the bairn first and then Jules. My first thoughts were to save Jules, but the wee child was screaming, and Henry was begging me to save her. Between the two of us, we managed to get wee Claire oot, and I ordered ye to take her as far as possible from the site. And that ye did. But I couldnae save Harry and Jules because the car caught fire and Henry lost consciousness. When I smelt gasoline, I had to run, and that's when the car exploded."

The second trigger was brought about by seeing Uncle Lamb's similarity to Harry and also by their conversation via video conference. Towards the end of their conversation uncle Lamb realised Jamie was the young boy who'd carried Claire to safety before the car exploded. Uncle Lamb would have remembered this because he was the only living guardian of Claire and the story of his brothers' demise would have been passed on to him when he came to collect Claire. You will also notice that Jamie found it strange the sudden turn around in uncle Lamb's demeanour at the end of their talk. But Jamie hadn't known the reason for this until after the dream. The dream in a way brought back all the suppressed memories and everything clicked in place together.

Now Jamie is unsure of asking Claire what she knew about the crash and telling her his dreams. Seeing her happy and contented, he didn't want her to relive that past in case more grief than good comes out of it.

I hope I made more sense here. X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #milesbetweenus #ClaireBeauchamp/JamieFraser #claire beauchamp #jamie fraser #outlanderfanfic

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hiscyarika · 4 years

Note

132: “ I haven’t slept in four days… ” with din? 💕

Word Count: ~900

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Prompt: 132: “I haven’t slept in four days...” (from This List)

Warning(s): None

A/N: I enjoyed writing this one! It was another excuse for some self-indulgent softness. I hope you like it! Thank you for sending it in! 💕

Masterlist

Tag Lists

---

He’s been tense for days.

You’re not sure what it is, but it didn’t take long for you to notice the way he held his shoulders too stiffly, kept his back more straight than normal. Like he would break if you tried to bend him. He’s been quiet, only speaking to you when necessary. Din isn’t verbose by any means, but you feel like you’re back in the beginning of your relationship. He hardly spoke to you when he first brought you onto the Razor Crest. And even when you get him to speak, you get mostly monosyllabic answers.

So when he finally loses his temper, you know that there’s something very wrong.

“What’s the population density look like?,” you ask him, looking at the image of the planet projected on the dashboard. It’s a strange planet that you’ve never heard of before, but this is where he’s decided to land next.

“Just read the data. It’s right in front of you,” he says sharply, his voice sounding even more menacing when forced through the modulator. He turns his head quickly to look at you. You don’t have to see his face to know that his eyes are burning in anger, but the question is why.

“What? Din what is wrong? It was just a question,” you say, though you try your best not to contribute to his anger with your tone. It won’t do either of you any good in the end if you agitate him more.

He goes still and silent, watching you closely. And then suddenly he’s up and trying to leave the cockpit. You stand and move in front of him before he can get to the ladder. “No. You’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on,” you tell him, putting a hand on his cuirass to keep him from moving. He still doesn’t answer you, remaining a statue as he stands there in front of you.

Until you hear the shaking breath escape him.

Your expression immediately softens, and you reach up towards his helmet, sliding your fingers underneath and cradling his jaw. It’s the only skin-to-skin contact you can give him right now, but it works. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours. He goes soft and malleable in your hands. Whatever walls he had up, you’ve broken them down again.

“Hey,” you whisper. “It’s okay. Just relax,” you murmur, running your fingers across his jawline, feeling the stubble that’s grown there.

“I’m sorry, cyar’ika. I… I haven’t slept in four days…,” Din admits, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

You frown deeply, slowly moving one hand to the back of his neck. You pull down the cowl a bit so he can still feel you, something you know helps ground him. “Why not? Why didn’t you say anything?,” you ask gently. You feel terrible knowing that he’s just been lying awake beside you for so many nights in a row, wide awake and holding you while you’ve drifted off into blissful slumber.

“I don’t know. I just can’t sleep. But I didn’t want you to worry,” he explains.

You pull back just a bit, shaking your head slightly. “Din, that’s not good for you. You need to let me help you,” you tell him, though this isn’t the first time you’ve had to tell him this.

“I know, cyar’ika. I just–”

“Shhh. Just come on,” you murmur, finally letting go of him. He releases you, watching as you move behind him to set the autopilot. Once you’ve used all the right controls, you take his gloved hand in yours, leading him back down to the hull of the ship.

Once you’re both standing near the little bunk, you press the button on his vambrace to turn out the lights. You’ve been on the ship long enough to be able to navigate it in the dark. This is all second nature to you now.

With the lights off, you start to remove the beskar from his body, carefully and masterfully working the many straps and buckles until it all lays neatly on a shelf not far from you. You’ve done this enough times that you no longer need to see. All the while Din stands there in silence, and with every piece of the armor that leaves him, you feel him grow heavier with exhaustion. He’s dead on his feet, and it makes you wonder how he even managed to stand this long.

The helmet goes last. You lift it slowly from his head, hearing the hisses and clicks as he’s released. You place it carefully with the rest of his armor. When you reach him again, you find that he’s removed his shirt himself. You take him into your arms, letting him bury his face in the crook of your neck. He leans heavily into you, and you feel your heart clench when you hear a soft whimper.

“I’ve got you. I promise,” you whisper. You lead him over to the bunk then, letting him lie there with his head resting on your chest and his arm wrapped around your torso. Running your fingers gently through his thick curls, you press your lips to the crown of his head. He melts at your touch, going limp against you as his body finally gives out.

“Sleep, my love,” you implore him.

It takes some time still, but eventually his soft snores meet your ears. Your lips turn up in a small smile, glad that he’s found rest again.

---

Permanent Tags: @theforceofdarkandlight @hail-doodles @aerynwrites@murdermewithbooks @themandjalorian @longitud-de-onda @readsalot73 @lovingtheway @talesfromtheguild @mystical-934 @lavenderl3mons @tiffdawg @lokiaddicted @adikaofmandalore @blue-tidal-wave @forever-rogue @flower-petal-blooming@fleurdemiel145 @cable-kenobi @opheliaelysia @pynch-bug

The Mandalorian Tags: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @adlerorzel-blog @mrsparknuts @deputytrash

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feralrosie · 4 years

Text

I saw @agentnatesewell tags on this post I made and... Well, I had to do it, too 😏

#i would love to see the nate pov when farah and morgan help him unlock his phone and get to the messages

The Wayhaven Chronicles

F!Detective/Nate

Words: 1336

Rating: T for mention of the same female presenting nipples

"How are you so good at this game?" Morgan grunted, perching against the pool table in the games room. The dark walls, faint light and absence of windows quickly turned it in one of Morgan's favourite places in the Warehouse.

Nate smiled, setting up another game for them, "Because I'm actually trying. You're just hitting the balls and hoping for the best."

"Well, yeah. What else am I supposed to do?"

"You can also try," he chuckled and placed the white ball in the middle of the table, "You can start."

"I bet five bucks that Nate is gonna win again," Farah teased behind them before throwing a dart at its target hanging on a wall. For the last few hours, her fun had been trying to catch the darts before they could hit the bullseye, in an incessant blur of movements.

"Make it fifty," the woman replied, taking a cue stick from Nate's hands while circling the table.

"Are you betting against yourself?" Farah laughed, but agreed to raise the bet. The other's grin was reflecting the faint lights when she set herself in place and leaned over the table. With a solid, powerful hit on the white ball, Morgan easily sank five balls at different pockets at once.

Nate gasped, aiming an astonished look at her. "How did you do that?" he asked.

"I tried," she grinned, handing him the cue stick and walking towards Farah to claim her money.

Nate couldn't hold back a smile before turning his back to analyse the arrangement on the table. He always took too long to calculate his next moves, and while doing so, the muffled sound of piano keys rang from his jacket on a nearby chair. His head turned instinctively to the melody, and he sprinted over to look for his phone.

"It's Agatha," he commented, searching his pockets, "Why is she awake? What time is it?"

"It's 7:30 in the morning," tired of the darts, Farah sprawled herself on an armchair by Nate's side, "How do you know it's her?"

"What!? We have been playing this game for seven hours?" He asked Morgan, who just shrugged, uninterested. Ever since they moved to the Warehouse, it was common for them to lose track of time whenever they had a leisure day, especially when they didn't need any sleep. When he finally found his phone, he turned back to Farah to answer her, "She set this sound for her calls and messages, so I can know it's her."

"Like a dog whistle?" teased Morgan, approaching them and perching herself next to Farah, "Cute."

Nate rolled his eyes and focused on the device. He turned it around, tried to tap the screen multiple times and press two tiny buttons on its side, but was unable to unlock it.

"Need some help there, Natey?" The youngest vampire chuckled, watching as the man struggled with technology.

"Yes, please," he admitted, defeated, and handed her the phone before going back to the pool table, "Agatha is probably just saying she's off to the station and will meet us here later."

"When is her birthday?" Farah asked.

"December 23, why?" Nate's eyes were focused once again on his game.

He didn't see when Farah tapped the password 1223 and unlocked the phone. Scrolling down the notifications, she opened the detective's message to read it out loud for him, "Oh my goodness," she choked in surprise.

By her side, Morgan leaned down to peek at the message, opening a wide grin right after, "Nathaniel Henry Sewell, you lucky bastard."

"Hn?" he shifted his attention to the women, frowning a little in confusion. His eyes studied their faces, the phone in Farah's hand, and then them again, "What did she say?"

"Oh boy, how do I even begin to describe it?" Farah bursted into laughter, while Morgan took the phone.

She stared at it for a few long seconds before announcing, "She said, and I quote, 'Mornings are too cold already. Getting out of the shower is torturing. Maybe you should warm me up a bit tonight?' and quote. She also sent a tongue emoji and sweat drops."

When both women looked at Nate again, he was seriously confused, standing still while staring back at them. His eyebrows were frowned and his lips were pressed together, as if he was trying to connect some dots in his mind. When it finally clicked, and his expression turned into pure despair, Farah grinned, "I didn't know she had freckles on her boobs, too."

In coordinated action, Morgan showed Nate his phone, displaying a picture of Agatha, taken by herself. The detective was laying on her bed, partially covered by her sheets and long loose hair, but having her torso exposed, where all three of them could see her nipples, hard and shivering in the cold air.

When his eyes met the image, a rush of blood took over Nate's face, and his skin got hotter than ever before. His whole body was taken over by adrenaline and, in a blur of movement, he ran towards his companions to grab the phone from them. Farah was laughing out loud, unable to control herself, and wiped a tear of joy from her eyes.

"Let us leave the room first if you're gonna answer accordingly," Morgan provoked, grinning so widely that she thought her cheeks would tear apart, "Make good use of that pool table."

"I–" Nate tried to speak, but he couldn't form words. Not only his embarrassment clouded his mind, but the picture surely had the desired arousing effect on him. The wave of extreme emotions froze him in place, and for a moment all he could hear was Farah's laughter and his own heart beating loudly. When he finally gathered enough senses, he aimed pleading puppy eyes at the women and blurted, "Please, don't joke about it. Let me tell her what happened so she won't think I showed you this picture on purpose. Heavens, what if she thinks I'm bragging about her? Please, if you're my friends, let me explain everything and apologise properly. I don't want her to be upset."

He spoke so fast that even Morgan couldn't help but laugh, "Relax, Nate," she said, "Those are not the first tits we've seen, and I'm sure we are not the first to see them either. Agatha will understand."

"Still!" He ran a hand over his hair, trying to calm himself down, and took a deep breath, "I must implore for her forgiveness."

Suddenly, a deep voice echoed into the room, dragging Nate away from his frenzy, "Good morning," Adam said from the door while reading some reports. The Commanding Agent turned his attention to his oldest friend, finding him with constricted pupils, messed hair and heart racing. "Nate, Agent Greene called. She needs us at the facility. Are you ok?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Fine! I'm fine. Perfectly fine." The vampire chuckled nervously, locking his phone's screen again before grabbing his jacket and heading in a rush to the door, "Facility, right? I will meet you there. See you later."

Adam blinked at the speed in which Nate ran out of the warehouse. He turned slowly to the women in the back of the room, silently demanding explanations.

"Hey, don't look at us, we did nothing," with hands raised beside her head, Farah defended herself. The agent grunted, turning on his heels and following his friend, leaving both women alone. After a few seconds, the youngest prompt, "So… we are totally telling this to Agatha as soon as she arrives, right?"

"Of course we are," Morgan smiled by her side, "If Nate thought that she would be spared, then he should know us better."

Chuckling, Farah agreed, calming herself down from the joy of the moment.

"She really has excellent tits, though." Morgan commented on a low voice, leaning a bit closer to her friend as in a confession.

"Right!?"

"It's Impressive."

"Stunning."

"I could look at it all day."

"Me too!"

#the wayhaven chronicles #twc #nate sewell #twc morgan #farah hauville #Nate/F!Detective #the Wayhaven Chronicles fanfiction #this is twice the size of the last one because its so fun to write Farah and Morgan's dynamic #bullying Nate is now one of my favourite sports #thanks for the suggestion Mar!#Agatha Greene #my writing #again im on mobile so i can do absolutely nothing if it looks like shit #but this time i know how to include a read more i just dont wanna

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1989dreamer · 4 years

Text

Colors Never Seen (an ocean in a sink) - Teen Wolf

AO3 link

Summary: Derek goes missing for a week, and when they find him, he's a wolf and he might be feral.

Tags: Stiles is 18, full shift Derek, Panic Attack

Title comes from The Daylights - Black Dove

Inspired by this post from Pale-Silver-Combs.

~ * ~

“Stiles!” Scott yells.

There isn’t anything to do but brace himself. So, Stiles closes his eyes, not wanting the last image he sees to be a feral wolf snapping its jaws around his neck.

Instead, he feels hot breath panting over his face and then a warm, wet tongue sliding down his skin.

His eyes pop open in time to see the wolf bow its head, tongue still lolling against him.

“Derek?” Stiles tries, one hand coming up to cup the back of the wolf’s head. Derek huffs out a breath, high pitched, almost whining, and then licks Stiles’ face again.

“Stiles?” Scott calls. “What’s going on?”

Stiles pats at Derek, scratching over his head. Derek whines, pressing against Stiles and nosing at him, washing him gently. “I think he’s just scared. Isn’t that right, big guy?”

“Stiles, are you sure you’re okay?” Allison asks, and Derek whines high in his throat, burying his snout against the hollow of Stiles’ throat.

Stiles glances up to see that she’s still aiming her crossbow at Derek.

“Hey, come on now,” he tells her. “He’s not hurting me, see?” He scratches Derek’s ears again to show her that he’s not doing anything except alternatively licking or whining.

Allison steps closer, her aim never wavering, and suddenly Stiles falls backward, overgrown wolf thumping down on top of him, almost crying as he scrambles to get closer.

“Back the fuck up right now,” Stiles tells Allison, surprised when she actually listens, moving back at least three paces. “Now put down the fucking weapon.”

That she doesn’t do. “Stiles,” she says, pinched face.

“Stiles,” Scott pipes up, “what if he loses control?”

“Does this look like he’s losing control?”

Despite the way the wind was knocked out of him, and the way that his back will ache with tenacity after this, Stiles doesn’t feel the least bit in danger from Derek. Allison with her crossbow bolts and Scott with his claws is another matter.

So far, the only thing Derek is doing to Stiles is trying to seek protection from him.

He’s trembling so hard his fur shakes and he’s panting too hard to even try to wash Stiles’ face now.

If he were human, Stiles thinks Derek would be having a panic attack. And it makes so much sense that he’d seek comfort. It almost makes sense that he’s seeking it from Stiles.

“I need you guys to leave. Right now.” Neither of them moves. Stiles pats Derek. “I’m so sorry about this, Derek.” He clears his throat. “He’s having a panic attack,” he announces. “If you don’t leave, I can’t get him calmed down. He won’t lose control but he also won’t shift back.”

Saliva, thick and foamy, coats Derek’s muzzle, and Stiles can feel his heartbeat rattling in his chest while his belly pumps up and down from the heaving breaths he’s barely managing.

“Scott,” Stiles implores, “what would you do if it were me having a panic attack?”

Scott cocks his head. “I’d do whatever I could to calm you down and get you breathing properly again,” he answers.

“And Derek is having a panic attack right now. Trust me. I need you to back up right now. Please?”

Scott finally shifts back and takes a step back. He also reaches out to Allison and lowers her crossbow. She doesn’t look like she agrees with Scott, but she lets him lead her back until they’re out of Stiles’ human hearing.

Not for a second does Stiles think Derek can’t hear them, but he does seem to relax marginally.

Stiles pats at him, scratching at his ears again. “Wanna sit up?” he asks when Derek isn’t panting as hard. Derek huffs a little and then licks at Stiles’ face, close to his mouth.

Stiles read somewhere that wolves tended to exchange kisses like hugs. For bacteria reasons, he doesn’t want to let Derek stick his tongue in his mouth while he’s in wolf-form, but he wouldn’t be opposed if Derek stuck his human tongue down his throat.

Derek shifts, sniffing pointedly at a certain part of Stiles’ anatomy.

“What?” Stiles asks. “It’s not like I can just turn off my attraction to you, dude. You’re just lucky I’ve got good self-restraint and don’t jump your bones 24/7.”

Derek tilts his head, leans into Stiles, and noses at his stomach and chest, head-butting him lightly.

“No, I’m up.” Stiles stands up, reaches down, and runs his hands through Derek’s soft fur. He needs a bath in the way a dog that rolls around in the most stinky thing he can find. It’s because Derek’s been missing for the past week. None of them had any idea where he’d gone, but only Stiles cleared his schedule completely to go looking.

Scott and Allison had accompanied him because today is Sunday and boring if you’ve got all your homework done, which Stiles hasn’t because he’s been busy looking for Derek for a week.

Derek whines, licking at Stiles’ hand before head butting him again softly.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Stiles tells him. He’ll get to the bottom of why Derek disappeared later. Right now, he leads Derek to his Jeep and opens the passenger door.

Derek stares at him almost amusedly as Stiles fastens the seatbelt around him.

“Hey, can’t be too careful,” Stiles says around a smile. “I may be a good driver, but even I have days where the road just wants to kill me.”

Derek yawns widely, and Stiles’ heart thumps extra loud at the little yip on the end of it.

Derek probably knows that Stiles thinks he’s fucking adorable right now. Stiles doesn’t care. Derek deserves to know that he is loved and wanted.

It just sucks that Stiles is the only one who seems to want to tell Derek these things.

Wolf!Derek isn’t much less quiet than Human!Derek, and Stiles finds himself checking on him often. Derek sways in his seat, head dropping for a moment before it snaps up. Poor thing is exhausted.

Stiles parks behind his dad’s cruiser, thinks better of it, and parks on the street. Then he realizes that his dad is home and he now has to sneak a big black wolf past him.

Derek gives him an unimpressed snort when Stiles waves his hands at him to get down and belly crawl around the house to the back door.

“Stiles,” his dad says, throwing the whole pretense right out in the open where it can barely stand under the weight of his father’s glare. “Why is Derek Hale sitting on my lawn?”

Derek sticks his tongue out again when he pants. It looks deliberate, and Stiles stifles a desperate giggle.

“How’d you know it was Derek?” Stiles asks. His dad waves his phone at him, which Stiles takes to mean that Scott or Allison texted him. He’d bet Scott. He doesn’t think Allison has his dad’s number, even after the fiasco that was junior year. “Okay, yeah. Can he stay with us until he shifts back?”

Dad looks to Derek, gaze softening. “Sure,” he agrees easily. Stiles squints suspiciously. Dad laughs. “Look, Scott was not very kind on the phone. He said that he was afraid that you were going to get bitten. Then he mentioned that you said Derek was having a panic attack.” Dad sighs. “Stiles, I’ve gone through panic attacks with both you and your mom. The best thing is to get Derek somewhere safe, and apparently that safe place is you.”

“So is it okay if I give him a bath?”

“Why don’t we see if he gets his opposable thumbs back first?”

Derek refuses to look at either of them as he trots into the house and then up the stairs. Stiles has a feeling he’s going to have to dig Derek out of his closet later, but Dad pulls him into the kitchen under the guise of helping out with supper.

Stiles finally escapes when the casserole has to go into the oven for an hour. Immediately he runs to his room. He finds a wet, naked Derek Hale asleep on his bed.

Derek’s on his stomach, blanket pulled over his hips, but one bare leg is sticking out, knee bent, and his arms are under his head.

Stiles just stares, his throat working to swallow nothing, his mouth gone dry. Derek looks good as a human, and better in Stiles’ bed.

Stiles’ fingers twitch. He wants to trace Derek’s tattoo, follow it with his tongue. Go down the slope of his back and lower, wants to see how far Derek will let him go.

When Derek turns his head a little, one eye opening, Stiles’ throat finally clicks. “Hey,” he coughs a little, “so, um, my birthday was in April.”

It’s May now.

Derek closes his eye and rolls over, the blanket pooling beneath him.

“I know you want this,” he says softly, but he doesn’t open his eyes. Stiles frowns before moving to the bed. He digs the blanket out from under Derek and drapes it over his lap. Then he rearranges it so that it covers most of Derek’s stomach and chest.

“But you don’t,” Stiles says, sitting next to him. Derek hums, flicks the blanket down so that it’s just barely covering himself. Stiles readjusts it, says sharply, “Don’t.”

Derek’s eyes open. Blue. Stiles leans in close, presses a closed-mouth kiss to his cheek.

“I was just letting you know that I’m legally an adult now. I didn’t mean that we should hop right into things.”

“But,” Derek starts. Stiles shakes his head, and Derek falls quiet again.

“You’re right: I do want you, but I don’t want you if you don’t want it too.”

“I might never be okay enough for that,” Derek admits quietly, surprised, like he’s not just saying it for Stiles.

“And that’s okay too. Look. You turned into a wolf for a week, now you’re in my bed. My dad might kick you out if he knows you’ve shifted back, but any time that you need something like you just did, come to me. I won’t ever make it weird.”

“I can smell you,” Derek points out. “I always smell everything. It makes it harder to say no because…Because I’m the one that makes you smell like that so I should—”

“Should what, Derek? Help me ‘take care of it’?” Stiles laughs a little bitterly. “No. It’s not you who makes me smell like that. That’s me. And I can take care of it. I’ve got a perfectly working hand and some toys.”

“I know,” Derek says seriously, tapping the side of his nose.

Stiles snorts at him. “What I’m trying to say is that as much as I’d like to jump all over you, I’m not going to. I respect your right to say no, even if that no is nonverbal. Understood?”

Derek nods. He sits up, letting the blanket fall to his waist. “I may need to borrow some clothes,” he says.

“Good thing I bulked up last year, huh?” Stiles jokes as he goes to his dresser and pulls out a stretchy t-shirt and some sweatpants. “I don’t think my boxers will fit though,” he says, wistfully, thinking of Derek’s thighs and the package between them.

Before it can get much worse, he shakes himself and hands the clothing to Derek, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going back downstairs. Dad and I made tator tot casserole. You’re welcome to stay for supper.”

Then he beelines for the door, intent on running away before his boner gets even more awkward and he has to rub one out where Derek can do more than smell it.

“Stiles?” Derek calls when he’s almost out the door.

“Yes?” Stiles refuses to turn around, affording Derek that bare bit of privacy while he covers his bare bits.

“Thanks. For looking for me, for offering me sanctuary. For not making me do something I’m not ready for.”

“No worries, dude.” Stiles does turn then, finds Derek already dressed, Stiles’ school bag hooked over one shoulder. “What are you doing with my homework?”

Derek shrugs. “You spent a week looking for me. Are you going to turn down my help to get your backlog cleared?”

No. Stiles won’t turn that down. And later, after supper, when Dad is trying to get Derek to watch baseball on TV with him while Stiles finishes his calculus worksheet and Derek proofs it, Stiles thinks he could get used to nights like this.

Derek is freaking adorable as a wolf or as a human, and Stiles will always come looking for him when he’s lost. Always.

~ End ~

Derek was having a bad week where he was living in his memories of his past until he shifted and ran to protect himself from the memories he couldn’t escape. He and Stiles spend months discussing where they want their relationship to go and slowly they find what works for them.

#My Story/My Writing #Sterek #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale #Inspired by a post

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thecleverdame · 5 years

Text

Gods of Twilight - 11

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Human!Reader

Master List (posting schedule is there as well)

Summary: You marry Sam, The King of Lebanon, as part of an alliance between two lands. You soon discover that nothing is as it appears and that your husband is hiding a secret that may end your relationship before it can begin.

Warnings: smut, dub-con, canon-level violence, domestic discipline, spanking

Beta: @ilikaicalie

*This story is complete. All 27 chapters are available on Patreon. To get access to this and many other stories, subscribe for a pledge of 2.50 per month. CLICK HERE

You suspect Sam must have sent a rider ahead because by the time you return to the castle there’s a steaming hot bath waiting in the middle of your room.

“Let’s warm up, shall we?” He disrobes before you have the chance to think, your teeth are still chattering when he strips down and sinks into the water, eyes fluttering closed. His skin is littered with cuts and scrapes from branches and undergrowth, the telltale signs of his recent run in animal form.

Carefully slipping off your dress you watch him for a moment longer before joining him. His eyes pop open the second your toes touch the water.

“Sit with me.” He bends his knees, spreading his legs as an offer for you to get between them.

Taking a breath you turn around, painfully aware of your buttocks in his face as you sink into the water and lean back against his chest.

“You’re still shivering.” He’s suddenly everywhere, all around you. His mouth hot at your cheek, the scruff of his beard scraping delicate skin. His legs squeeze around your hips just as two strong arms slide across your belly. “Better?”

“Much,” you nod, clearing your throat as you pretend to be at ease, resting your head back on his shoulder.

The longer you sit in the water with this beast of a man wrapped around you, the more you relax. The minutes tick by and little by little you begin to let go, your senses dulling as the gentle sloshing of the tub and steadiness of his breath lulls you into a dream-like state.

“Would you like to accompany me again?” he asks softly.

Your now heavy eyes struggle to open, shaking your thoughts back into consciousness.

“I enjoyed being out of the castle grounds. And I enjoyed my time with you. But I felt...out of place. I’m not sure it’s appropriate for me to be there.”

“Did someone make you feel that way?” He scoops up a handful of water, pouring it over your chest and breasts.

“No,” you sigh, fingers skimming the surface of the water. “But what I saw felt sacred, a moment not meant for human eyes.”

“Perhaps.” His hand comes to rest on the inside of your thigh, just above your knee under the water. “There are always exceptions. I want you to understand the gravity of what I am. That was the most honest way I knew to show you..”

“Don’t think for a moment I am unappreciative. It was incredible. What I am trying to say is that I would like to know the human side as well. To have conversations, to know each other on an intellectual level.” Your breath quickens as his touch rises just a bit further up your leg.

“Intellectual?” He parrots with his mouth at your temple, turning into a half nuzzle that rekindles the vivid image of him as that gigantic white wolf in the woods.

“Well, yes. I’d very much like to know what you think of the world. What it’s like for you to be a king when it was your brother who was supposed to take the crown. You must have gone through so much to make you the man you are today. It’s that journey I am interested in.”

“You are very different than I thought you’d be, wife,” he chuckles, chest rumbling against your back. “Always a surprise.”

“May I ask you something?” Now is the time if ever there was one. “Who was that woman tonight? The dark-haired one? She’s very beautiful.”

“Ruby.” His fingers flex into the skin of your leg. “She is not important.”

“Perhaps she is not important to you,” you counter. “But you are to her.”

“How do you know that?” He goes stiff behind you.

“I do not need the cunning of a wolf to see the way another woman looks at my husband,” you snort. “She was very polite, welcoming even, but there’s no denying the fact she was unhappy with my presence.”

“You are free to come and go as you please as long you’re with me. You’re my wife, not to mention the queen. You do as you like, it’s not up to her to cast any judgment.”

“It felt as if I was invading her territory.” You pry yourself out of his grasp, turning around to face him, still between his open legs. “Who is she to you?”

He sighs, looking away for a moment, licking his lips in thought. “I’ll be honest with you if that’s what you want. But you have to make the decision about how much you truly-”

“I want to know,” you cut him off. “I need to know. I won’t look like a fool in front of everyone else. I need you to be open with me.”

“Fine. But to understand what Ruby is to me I must first explain another aspect of what I am.”

“I’m listening.” You sit on your butt, drawing your knees to your chest.

“Are you aware of the mating cycle of deer, when the bucks go into a rut?”

“Yes,” you offer. “They spar with each other and rub the bark off the trees.”

“Well, I go through the same thing, it’s a breeding cycle. All Alphas go through it.” The moment the words leave his mouth a sinking feeling settles in your stomach. “Twice a year, for several days a time, my cycle overtakes me. It’s a feral thing. Uncontrollable. If we don’t mate, or at least attempt to, it becomes excruciatingly painful, a fever sets in. If unsatisfied it can be fatal.”

“The stories I’ve heard about you, the women…” you flush, watching his eyes narrow.

“It took me a long time to find an Omega who was able to satisfy my rut. I hate to admit that I hurt more than a few before I found-”

“Ruby,” you confirm, swallowing anger and jealousy.

“Yes.” He nods, jaw tight. It’s clear he’s as uncomfortable as you are. “She was the last resort. She made her interest known, even before I went off to fight in the war. Before I became what I am and Dean turned her.”

“Why did you marry me?” you blurt out. It’s an honest question and all you can think of as he confesses this to you. “Why didn’t you marry her?”

“Because I have never had any interest in her beyond what is required. She’s a cold person, conniving, treacherous. She hides it well but there’s a darkness under the surface that I have no interest in knowing. I chose you.”

“Chose me?” You laugh, shaking your head. “You made a deal with my father. You chose an alliance. I was part of an agreement.”

“Y/N, do you really think I need Cuthert steel to win a war? I have an army of men who are nearly indestructible. Your father is an honest, ethical man, he would never have sold his steel to anyone wishing to wage a war with Lebanon or any other peaceful kingdom for that matter. You were what I wanted.”

“But we had never met before I came here to marry you. I don’t understand.”

“You wrote the letter your father dictated, the one where he asked for extra grain to supplement his failing crops.”

“Yes, I suppose I did. But what could you know of me from a letter about wheat?”

“I could smell you.” He nearly growls, eyes lighting up as if the moment is coming back to him in fiery detail. “Your scent was, and still is, like nothing I’ve ever experienced. You are one of a kind and I knew I had to have you. It is arguably the most selfish thing I’ve ever done. Bringing you here, marrying you without telling you who or what I really was.”

“I-I don’t know how to respond to that.” Sitting back in the water you stare at the tops of your knees. “Is there anything else? Because if there is please tell me now. I seem to be getting pieces of the puzzle incrementally but I’d prefer to see the whole picture at once.”

“That is all there is,” he nods, lounging back against the tub, both arms outstretched resting on the sides. One knee stays bent, the other leg sinking into the water as he relaxes with this latest confession.

You think about his words. The very idea that this was all an elaborate ruse with you as the end game seems unfathomable. All because he smelled your scent on a letter? But then again, he is a wolf after all.

“So,” you start, looking up at him only to find him watching you intently. Normally you’d be self-conscious but there’s none of that anymore. You’ve moved past trivial concerns, at least for this evening. “You do...want me then?”

“Very much,” he responds without pause. His eyes fall to the top of your breasts, your chest still covered by your knees.

“But, even when we were intimate you always left me. You never stayed. Is it because I wasn’t able to satisfy your needs?”

There’s heat in your cheeks now, but not enough embarrassment to keep you from asking the questions you need the answers to. If you are to be a wife to him, the kind of wife that he requires, then you require the facts in return.

“That was before. I wasn’t sure how to face you when you didn’t know my secret. I was constantly wrestling with the guilt of leaving you in the dark. I have made an attempt to be better in that regard, but we haven’t been together, not since I...punished you.”

You can’t help but bristle at the mention of the incident, all too happy to put it behind you.

“And do you still want me?” you implore, gravely serious as you search his face for the real answer. “Now that you know what’s like to be with me. To know that I cannot satisfy you in the way that - that another woman can?”

“It’s not even comparable.” He sits up, reaching out he grabs your hips, lifting you up and into his lap in one easy move. You gasp, placing both hands on his chest as he spreads your legs on either side of his hips. You can feel his cock, he’s hard, trapped between your bellies as you look him in the eyes, uncomfortably close. “I do not want her. But I do want every inch of you. It’s not that I’m unsatisfied, there are just certain things that we have not yet tried.”

“You’re talking about...knotting me?” you verify as his hands curl into your hips, the lukewarm water of the tub sloshing over the sides.

“Yes. You said you wanted to try.” His eyes trail over your face as he speaks, licking his lips as he fixates on your mouth. “Is that something you still desire?”

“It is,” you confirm, your hands slip up his chest to grab onto thick shoulders. “Will it hurt?”

“It may.” One giant hand slides around the small of your back, the other under a buttock, yanking you closer with a flex of his arms. The head of his cock pokes your stomach, a reminder of what’s to come. “But I think with time it’s something that you could become accustomed to. Perhaps even enjoy. The truth is I don’t know.”

“Sam,” you pull back, a thought occurring for the first time. “You said your rut comes twice a year. We’ve been married for nearly a year. Logic would dictate you’ve already been through at least one rut during our marriage? Were you with her-”

“No,” he interrupts. The hand on your back finds your jaw, his thumb stroking the corner of your mouth. “I’ve not been unfaithful to you. I had my brother cage me in the catacombs but it was almost disastrous. I came close to death. I can’t go through that again. I have too many others that depend on me, that need me. You are my wife, you’re the one I hunger for in those moments. And perhaps if you are able to take my knot, I’ll never have to look outside our marriage.”

You sit in his lap in silence, the bathwater growing cool while you study his face. He’s even more handsome up close. The fine lines around his eyes deepen when his gaze narrows, the scruff of his short beard is unruly. His wet hair covers his head like a wild mane. He is undeniably an attractive man, despite his many imperfections, maybe because of them. For all his talk of wanting you, you’ve never once vocalized wanting him in return, but you do. More now than ever before.

“I want us to be together, to be as normal as we can possibly be,” you whisper, one hand threading into the hair at the back his head, fingers sliding over his scalp. “I want to give you everything you need. To take your knot, to bear your children.”

Your words have an immediate effect. His impressive strength is once again demonstrated as he stands up, taking you with him. Water pours down as he reaches around, hooking both hands under your thighs to lift your legs around his hips as he steps out of the bath.

He stands in the middle of the room, naked and dripping with you in his arms as he kisses you for the first time. His lips take yours in a hungry assault, warm tongue sliding over yours. It’s a wonderful thing to taste him for the first time. A simple moan escapes your mouth, only to be swallowed as he plunges deeper, doing a wonderful imitation of another part of his body.

When his lips finally leave yours it’s only to drop you onto the bed as he crawls over you. He stalks up your body like the wolf he is, shoulders flexing as he places one hand on either side of your body.

You open your legs out of instinct, pulling knees up to your ribs as he fingers your cunt with gentle strokes, exploring until his thumb finds your bud. You nearly come off the bed in response.

“Do you enjoy when I touch you?” he asks with a smile in his voice as his mouth nips down your neck.

“Very much,” you gasp, rolling your head to the side as he sucks at the juncture of your shoulder. Your sex is throbbing, that elusive ache pulsing back to life as two fingers slide inside your pussy, sinking in up to his knuckles.

“You’re wet,” he huffs, slinking slower, sucking your nipple into this mouth. He sucks hard enough to draw a whimper from your lips and then releases it, letting the cold air make your wet nipple painfully hard. “This wet little cunt is going to open up for me, isn’t it?”

His filthy words bring to life a new level of desire as you roll your hips down into his hand, the fingers inside you thrusting slowly in and out as he spreads them wide, forcing your body to stretch for him.

“Yes,” you moan, nodding desperately, legs butterflying open as far as possible.

His hand leaves your sex to snake between you, his other arm supporting his weight next to your head. He kisses you open-mouthed and needy, grunting against your lips as he notches the head of his manhood in your cunt and thrusts forward.

His cock alone is enough to take the air right out of your lungs. There’s a tingle, a carnal excitement that starts between your legs and fans out, winding through your veins until your fingers and toes are vibrating with pleasure.

His open mouth trails down your neck, grunting and panting as he fucks you with long, firm strokes that work his cock tip to base with every thrust. You can feel his sack rocking into your backside with each stroke, and the wet squelch of your bodies coming together fills the air with breathless pants and wanton moans.

The insistence of his hips and the hard length of his cock remind you of the animalistic need to fuck, but the constant taste of his lips and hot mouth over every inch of skin he can reach, feel like something deeper, more connected.

His hand wedges between your bodies, his rhythm never slowing as he finds your clit and begins to rub softly. It doesn't take much, you’re already close to your peak and a few strokes with the pad of his thumb sends you over the edge.

“Sam!” you shout, his name followed by a frenzied wail. Your cunt tightens around him, gripping, sucking his cock deeper. The pleasure is warmth and energy, in short, overwhelming bursts that make you buck and twitch against him, arms reaching out as fingers curl into the bedding, desperate for anything to keep you earthbound.

He never stops moving, the even lunge of his hips into your body works you through the orgasm as you lie twitching underneath him. You’re boneless and soaked in gratification as he watches you with a grin on his lips. His cheeks are red, flush with exertion, hair dripping as he chuckles, reaching down to pull your legs back up around his waist.

“You are even more beautiful like this.” He empathizes the statement with a quick kiss. “I could die a happy man watching you cum like that.”

A wide smile breaks out over your face but you’re unable to find words at this moment. It’s almost unbearably sensitive between your legs, everything is wet and thoroughly used as he fucks faster and harder. Your breasts bounce with each thrust, in a matching cadence with his grunts which are growing louder and louder.

That’s when you feel it. The base of his cock feels wider, slipping back into your cunt with each press of his hips. With every stroke, it feels bigger. He’s moving at an incredible pace, somehow faster and faster as he buries his face in your shoulder with a long, loud groan. For a moment he has to work to get himself back inside.

You’re not sure he’s even going to fit but after an unrelenting press, he snaps back in, stretching your pussy wider than you ever thought was possible. For a moment you think that’s it, that it’s done.

Then his knot pops and everything between your legs screams in pain. He yelps in satisfaction, panting and groaning as he empties into your belly.

There seem to be a thousand sensations all at once. The weight of his massive frame pushes the air from your lungs. There’s the pain you first felt, a stretch that you’re afraid to know the extent of, but his cock is also trapped uncomfortably deep, so deep that it feels like he’s lodged in your stomach. And the amount of seed he’s pumping into you is not at all like when you’ve been with him before. This is something altogether different. He fills you until his cum is leaking from around his knot and over your backside.

You’ve been holding back but there’s no amount of self-control that can contain the sob that escapes your lips, an awful tortured sound that echoes off the walls. The guards can surely hear you crying out and you can only imagine what stories will no doubt be told in the dark corners of the castle. When you call out he turns his head into your neck, kisses the soft skin before lifting his weight off you.

“Shhhh,” he coos, eyes opening and closing, his mouth half hanging open, clearly still in the throws of his own release. “Shhh, it’s alright, breathe.”

“It hurts,” you sputter, screwing your eyes shut and gripping his back for dear life.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he mumbles, dropping his forehead against your breast in a desperate attempt to catch his breath and gain control of himself. He unconsciously rocks his hips forward, and you whimper, tears rolling down your temple.

“It’s too much.” You panic, trying to push him off you but he takes a deep breath, rising up on his arms, looking down at you with hair falling against your face.

“You’re alright,” his voice is softer now, and he lowers down onto his elbows. “Shhh, try to relax.” His lips find yours, kissing you again and again. One hand goes to your hip, fingers trailing over the curve of your leg and then up your side, stroking gently. “Don’t move, just try to calm down.”

You’re vaguely aware he’s fighting off his own pleasure to try and comfort you. You stare up at him, eyes locked on each other, using him as your focal point as you breath slow and steady. After a few minutes, the initial pain dulls and it becomes more uncomfortable than anything else. You imagine this is similar to what it would feel like if his fist was shoved inside you.

“How long will it stay like this?” you whisper, wiping what’s left of the tears from your cheek.

“Normally it’s not long,” he snorts, thumbing a rogue tear from under your eye. “But I’ve never felt like that before.”

“It was good for you?” You ask the question genuinely, you want to be able to satisfy him but if this didn’t do it for him you’re not sure it’s ever going to be possible.

“More than good,” he smiles hesitantly, caught between the intensity of his own fading orgasm and the pain you’re clearly in. “Better than any pleasure I’ve had before.”

“I suppose it’s not so bad.” You sniffle, hiking your legs up higher. The burn of the stretch has numbed, now it’s just a fullness beyond what’s natural.

“Does it still hurt?” he inquires, lifting up enough to look down to where your bodies are joined.

“Not as much. It’s more my hips at the moment. You’re heavy.” You offer a smile, small but heartfelt.

“Next time I’ll take you from behind,” he explains calmly. “It makes this part easier.”

You gulp, scarcely able to imagine the next time while your tender sex is throbbing around him. But you’ve done it. You’ve proven that you’re at least capable of giving him what he needs and there’s personal satisfaction in that.

“I cannot breathe.” You shimmy, trying to get into a more comfortable position.

“Here.” He grips your backside with both hands holding you against him, careful not to let his knot tug as he rolls onto his back, relieving you of his weight.

It turns out that he meant it when he said he’d never felt anything like it before. It’s the better part of an hour before his knot begins to recede. You’re laying over his chest, half asleep as he rubs your back in the dying light of the fire when you finally feel relief and he’s able to pull free.

Laying you delicately onto your back again you feel his seed spill over your buttocks and look down to inspect yourself. Nothing looks too alarming, there’s no blood or obvious sign of injury.

He returns with a basin of water and a cloth, letting you clean yourself before he attends to himself. Instead of turning away from you and going promptly to sleep, as he has in the past, he lies on his back and reaches out to you. You settle under his arm, curling into his side.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, voice thick as sleep creeps in.

As you’re trying to come up with a suitable response he begins to breathe deep and slow, confirming he’s already out.

In the morning you awake to the all too familiar sounds of the morning servant girl tending the fire. Blinking awake you see her and try to move only to be held in place by the Goliath of a man sleeping soundly, half on top of you. There’s an immediate ache from your lower half and you fuss, trying to wiggle free.

“I’m so sorry m’lady.” She squeaks, barely audible, looking worriedly from you to Sam’s sleeping form. “I’ll be quiet, I don’t want to wake the king.”

She’s shaking in fear and you’re reminded that not everyone knows of his secret. In fact, the majority of Lebanon thinks him to be some kind of terrifying villain.

The soreness from your sex is growing as you wake up, and you’re going to need something for the pain if you want to be able to walk.

“I’m glad you are here.” You speak softly. “Have Golda make me a tea of hollowleek and wormwood. I’ll take it as soon as possible.”

“Of course,” she glances again at Sam, looking more concerned than before, scampering out of the room.

#alpha sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #sam winchester fanfiction #gods of twilight

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thepoppypress · 3 years

Text

The Battleline Between Good and Evil (Runs Through the Heart of Every Man)

Chapter 2:

Dick raised a suspicious eyebrow at the two women in front of him.

“So,” he started slowly, “you want to kill this man,” he pointed to the man chained to a pole, squirming with fear, “because he slapped someone? Like slapped in the face?” Barbara rolled her eyes.

“Yes, Boy Wonder. Do keep up.” Dick’s eye twitched imperceptibly. Despite her being one of the only people who could sass a Wayne and get away with it, that didn’t mean it didn’t piss him off sometimes.

“Okay, fine. Why don’t I ask a better question. Why is my bastard of an ex here?” Three pairs of eyes slid over to where Deathstroke, in full uniform, lounged on a lone wooden crate. The man’s white eyebrow raised, his eyes full of amusement.

“That hurts, little bird. Here I thought we would be able to let by gones be by gones.” Dick grit his teeth.

“Keep that up, Slade and I’ll send Damian after you,” the dark haired man snarled, a sneer twisting his handsome features, “he’d be happy to get rid of you after last time.” This only made Slade laugh.

“The baby Wayne can try all he wants. He won’t be able to do anything.”

“He’s not so much of a baby anymore. He’s almost as tall as you with much more on his body count than you’ve ever had.” Dick looked up at the larger male’s 6’5 form, knowing that Damian was only, at most, an inch shorter. Of the many traits he had taken after his father, Damian Al Ghul Wayne, Ibn al Xu’ffasch, at the age of 19, far surpassed Bruce in height, now towering over his father at his full height of 6 '4, and matched him in the bulk department. Slade scoffed at the man.

“That doesn’t matter. Nothing is going to take me away from this.” At this, Dick glanced at the man with renewed interest and back at Slade with suspicion.

“Why the hell are you so interested in this, Slade? Working with people isn’t exactly your style and Barbara tells me you’re even doing this pro bono,” a bloodthirsty grin overtook Dick’s face, “whoever this is must be real special.” A threat resided in Dick’s voice, something that stiffened the other three people in the room. Before Slade could speak, Barbara cut in.

“Dick,” she started, and while he didn’t turn towards her, she knew he was listening. “It’s not just him. It’s us too.” She gestured to Stephanie and herself, Stephanie nodding to convince Dick it was really what they all wanted. Because, it genuinely was what they had wanted. The fact that both his unofficial sisters wanted this too made him falter a bit. Dick stared at the blonde and the redhead before turning back to glare at the man chained to the pole. He visibly paled and scrambled backwards, despite his back resting against the cool metal. A slight smile at the man’s obvious fear slipped over Dick’s face before it disappeared and he sighed.

“Fine,” he said, and his eyes darkened. Everyone else in the room straightened.

While he would deny it fervently, Slade felt a small shiver make its way down his back as he eyed his ex in arousal. He particularly loved it when he used to do that. Dick grinned again, teeth showing; a pretty smile. Dangerous. “But only if I get to watch.”

-----

“I wonder what’s happened to Mr. Stanley.” Peter didn’t have to see Stephanie stiffen. He heard her. Pretending as if he didn’t, he continued, “I hope he’s okay.” Stephanie coughed into her sleeve and he looked over at her in concern. How much of it was an act and how much of it was genuine worry, he didn’t know. Peter handed the blonde a napkin, who took it with a nod of thanks.

“Why would you want to know if he’s okay? He slapped you just last week!” Peter shrugged, uncaring of the odd look his now friend was sending him. Barbara apparently had some business to take care of so Stephanie came in alone. Harley was busy as well, running after her boyfriend. Peter’s lips twitched into a frown at the thought of Harley being hurt. Again.

Stephanie, who noticed his slight frown, concluded the wrong thing.

“Pete, you’re too good for this world.” Peter averted his eyes away from her, a sad look crossing his face. He remembers all the people he couldn’t save in his own world. The people he killed because he wasn’t old enough, experienced enough, prepared enough, good enough. Of all the things he was, good was not one of them.

“I’m really not, Steph. I’m really not.” Ignoring the imploring look his blonde friend sent his way, he said nothing and looked away. There was nothing to say anyway.

Steph left not long after that, saying that she had somewhere she needed to be. It had been a week and he had still not seen Mr. Stanley since he had slapped him. There wasn’t any doubt in Peter’s brain that Slade, Steph and possibly Barbara had been responsible for his disappearance. They must’ve been meticulous too, since no news report of a missing man has shown up at all. A shiver of both fear and warmth crept up Peter’s back at length they went to. He oddly felt scared yet safe at the same time, even though he still had his powers.

‘And the suit,’ his mind supplied. Peter glanced down at his wrist where the watch Mr. Stark had gifted him lay, wrapped around his wrist. He had come up with the idea not long after his nanobot suit came to fruition.

While it looked like a regular touch screen watch, it held all the nanobots needed to pull together his suit inside, even becoming a set of web slingers itself once the suit was deployed. There were two buttons side by side on the side of the watch, one being to turn the watch on and off and the other to activate the suit. Mr. Stark had instructed him to pull the second button out, listen for the clicking sound and watch for the screen of the watch to pop upwards before pushing down on the screen, which would deploy the suit. Peter had not taken out the suit since his arrival into this world. It was nice to know he had it in case of emergencies, however.

Barely two hours later, Peter was exhausted and just wanting to get back to the shelter so he could sleep. After three fights (which was three fights too many to break up) and demanding customers, even in broad daylight, he only wanted to be alone. Well, as alone as he could get. He threw the towel over his shoulder down onto the wood of the bar and stretching his arms upwards, his back cracking deliciously as he moaned in relief.

‘Thank God, my back was killing me,’ he thought as he continued to stretch his stiff muscles. Quiet footsteps lumbered towards his side of the bar, their heaviness and sound familiar enough to Peter for him to not open his eyes and realize who it was. Another little crack came from his spine and Peter moaned quietly. A huff of laughter sounded in front of him.

“Careful, sweetheart. People might get the wrong idea.” Peter cracked one eye open at Slade, letting his arms fall back down to his sides and levelling the mercenary with a deadpan stare, silently noting the quick and quiet steps that were approaching the two.

“The wrong idea about what, Slade? Stretching?” Slade’s one eye roved over Peter’s small frame hungrily, and while Peter did feel a bit endangered, he also felt fond. After a few days of conversation with Deathstroke, his Spidey Sense had calmed down significantly and Peter knew that Slade would never do whatever Peter didn’t want him to do. Slade shrugged.

“You never know, sweetheart.” A voice spoke behind Slade, lilting and teasing.

“Aww Slade. You’ve replaced me already?” Both men looked at the intruder, a very handsome man with tanner skin than Peter’s (though that’s not saying much. Peter was pretty pale), striking blue eyes and a wide, pretty smile. Peter supposes he should be falling for him or at least be flustered, but he can’t bring himself to be with his Spidey Sense starting to sound like a banging drum at the arrival of this man.

The smile seems to melt the people around them, mostly women and even some men, but Peter’s seen it a hundred times before. It was similar to Mr. Stark’s fake smiles at press events. The first he had been to was his inauguration into the Avengers and while he was convinced at first, Peter started seeing the smile’s ingenuousness more and more as he attended other press conferences and parties. Looking at this man’s smile was like a mirror image, leaving Peter more than convinced of some sort of ulterior motive.

“Little bird,” Slade murmured, eyes suspiciously downcast. Peter watched as the man’s smile became sharp for a fraction of a second before it was gone. If Peter hadn’t seen it with his senses, he would’ve thought it to be a trick of the light or something. The man’s striking eyes swiveled over to Peter and the curly brown haired boy had to stop himself from tensing up at the intensity of the gaze. He couldn’t help but feel like he was now a sort of lab rat to this man. His gaze held interest but it was the same kind of interest that one would give an ant on the street.

“Hello,” he greeted politely, “can I get you started with something?” The sharpness was there again and gone again before Peter could even blink.

“Why, yes you can,” he purred, dark hair falling into his face attractively as he sat down next to Slade. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter noticed that Slade tensed the tiniest bit. The man spoke again, getting Peter to focus on him again, “you can start by telling me your name, gorgeous.” Peter was a bit flustered at the nickname, though he tried not to give any outward indication that he was affected.

‘Seriously, what is up with people and giving me nicknames!’ Peter pointed at the name tag pinned to his shirt and watched as the man raised an eyebrow. “I meant tell me, gorgeous. Verbally.” Peter stared at him.

“Sir, I don’t mean to insult your intelligence, but you can read right?” A quiet snort came from Slade but both Peter and the man ignored him.

“Of course I can read, but I want you to tell me your name.” Peter searched this man’s face, his intentions unclear. It was obvious he had ulterior motives but what were they? Finally, he answered.

“Peter. Peter Parker.” He grinned like the cat who got the cream. He held his hand out which Peter took hesitantly, letting the man’s much larger hand engulf his own, noticing that despite the strength he obviously carried, he kept his grip surprisingly gentle.

‘Manipulative,’ his mind whispered, ‘careful.’

“Richard Grayson. But you can call me Dick.” Peter’s eyebrows raised in surprise and a light giggle left his lips, shocking not only himself but Slade as well. It was interesting but he latched onto the name.

“Okay, Dick,” he put emphasis on the name, watching for any reaction that would accompany his subtle insult. There was none. “What can I get you?”

“Virgin mojito with ice. Thanks.” As Peter worked on making the drink for Dick, he kept a super sense ear towards their conversation.

“What are you doing here, little bird?” He heard Slade whisper.

“Seeing what all the fuss was about.” When he was done, Peter gave the glass to Dick who turned his attention towards the superhero-turned-bartender.

“So,” Dick started as Peter wiped down some wet glasses, “where do you live?” Peter glanced up and saw that Dick was leaning closer towards him, eyes sparking in interest.

“Why?”

“So I can take you on a date.” Peter barely stopped himself from scoffing.

“I just met you.” Dick nodded, his face portraying the question, ‘so?’ “So, I’m not going to tell you where I live.” The dark haired man shifted to one side, Peter’s eyes following him.

“You’re saying you don’t trust me?” The sharp grin was back, only this time it was on full display. ‘People obviously can’t tell the difference between pretty and danger,’ Peter thought as he watched more and more people start paying attention to the ridiculously attractive man sitting at the bar.

“Of course not,” he answered simply, his eyes straying to Slade for a quick moment. Dick’s eyes were analyzing and somehow, Peter felt like he knew more about Peter than Peter did himself. Even then, Peter refused to be daunted. ‘It’s not how Mr. Stark would be.’ Dick, noticing that Peter looked at Slade, suddenly looked like Christmas had come early.

“You know,” he purred, “Slade here isn’t exactly someone you should trust either.”

“How do you know I trust him?”

“You call him by his first name. Although common, he doesn’t enjoy just anyone calling him that.” Peter recalled the moment when Dick had slid into their conversation unannounced.

“If that’s the case, then you must be close to him too.” Surprisingly, Dick was startled for a quick second before he started rolling with the punches. It made Peter proud in a way. He gets the vibe that this man doesn’t get surprised easily.

“Maybe once upon a time. But still.” Peter sighed.

“Why shouldn't I trust him?” Dick leaned forward, his hand beckoning Peter to as well, which he did reluctantly. Slade tensed a bit more next to Dick.

“He’s a mercenary for hire.” It was whispered as if it was a great secret. Peter didn’t react. At all.

“Yeah, I know.” A moment passed as Slade’s shoulders slumped and Dick tilted his head in curiosity. “Besides, he’s never been anything but transparent about his job, even if he didn’t tell me. If there’s anyone I shouldn’t trust, Mr. Grayson,” Dick’s eyebrows raised to his hairline at the formality, “it would be you. You may be able to charm everyone else here but I’m not fooled. Your pretty smile and flowery words are fake enough for me to see through.” Dick was about to reply but a sharp rap on the door to the interior of the bar caught their attention.

“You’re off, Parker,” his manager rasped, clearly still hungover. He turned back to the two men sitting in front of him.

“Well, I’ll see you later Slade.” The older man nodded.

“See you, sweetheart.” Peter flashed a blinding smile towards him, making sure to leave Dick out of it. Said man was aware and huffed a laugh at Peter’s antics.

“What about me?” He pointed to himself. Peter shot him a deadpan look.

“I hope to never see you again.” With that, he walked off and out of the bar, hearing quiet chuckling but not quite noticing the interested looks from the man that would soon become one of the many thorns in his side. Fucking Parker Luck.

-----

Peter’s eye twitched as Dick sat down beside him, for once not alone. Babs followed behind him. It seemed that today it was Steph who was missing. It was barely even a week after their first meeting at the bar and he already couldn’t stand the sight of the other man. The fact that he kept appearing at all ofPeter’s shifts didn’t help. Dick smiled that pretty smile that Peter was sure tricked so many other people into selling their soul.

“Peter! What a coincidence!” A discreet glance at the red head behind Dick told Peter that this meeting was anything but a coincidence. The brown eyed boy didn’t answer, causing the darker haired man to pout. Instead, Peter met Barbara’s eyes and waved.

“How’re you, Babs?” Barbara’s soft smile lessened his irritation slightly. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’m good, Peter. Thanks for asking.” Peter nodded and went back to checking his phone, his break almost over. He’d be damned if he let Dick Grayson take up all his time. Ignoring the heat that dominated the side of his face, he sent a text to Harley.

To Harley: Are you going to be meeting me at the club today?

It wasn’t even a minute later that Harley texted back.

To Puppy: I can’t today, puppy. Mr. J has a job and wants me to help! Wish me luck! <3

Peter sighed, causing Dick to not-so-subtly turn to him in curiosity.

To Harley: Okay. Good luck. Stay safe.

Peter logged out of the app and checked his bank account, deflating at the meager number. ‘Only $329.53. How am I ever going to get out of the shelter?’ He needed so much food on a daily basis that he barely had much money left over. Momentarily distracted, Peter left his phone screen open for anyone to see, even the annoying man sitting next to him. Dick whistled.

“That’s a low number.” Peter shot him an irritated glance.

“Don’t you have anything else to do, other than stalking me?” Dick pretended to think about it for a moment, before shaking his head, his blue eyes filled with mirth.

“Nope. Looks like you’re stuck with me for the rest of the night.” The brown haired boy clenched his hand, balling it into a fist. His eye twitched again. Taking a visible breath, Peter walked behind the bar, avoiding looking at the handsome man.

‘Just another hour, Parker,’ he thinks, though his rising annoyance made him want to flee, ‘just another hour, and you’ll be fine.’

-----

After an hour of Dick blatantly staring at him (and no one, not even the security guards, questioned it. He thought it was odd), Peter was finally free to go. Babs had left within the first fifteen minutes, saying she had some late night errands to run. He practically flew into the back room to change into the clothes he wore before getting into uniform, and made it outside the club in record time, avoiding Dick when he surged up from his seat as Peter briskly walked past.

The cool air hit him, causing him to shiver and clutched his hoodie. He scolded himself for not believing the forecast this morning. Gritting his teeth, he started walking in the direction of the shelter, purposefully starting on a light jog as he heard heavier set footsteps behind him.

“Hey! Peter!” Dick called, following closely behind. Too close in Peter’s personal opinion, but before he could speed up, a strong hand grabbed his upper arm, and insane strength (at least, by normal human standards, but Peter was far from normal) halted his path. Because he had been running, physics decided to be a bitch (like it always was), and he crashed into Dick’s chest, the side of his head bouncing off the other man’s sternum.

Using it to his advantage, Peter rammed his shoulder back into his chest, managing to hit Dick’s solar plexus. It should’ve been enough to get the taller man to let go, but instead, his grip tightened on Peter’s upper arm and before Peter knew it, he was being hoisted up, an arm cinching around his waist as he was bodily carried into a nearby alleyway.

Now, Peter knew he was short and incredibly skinny, even after his transformation, but to hear it from someone else was a bit embarrassing in his books. Especially someone who had at least five inches on him, if not more.

“Jesus, do you eat? You’re tiny.” Dick hissed as Peter’s free arm came down on his shoulder blades and arms, anywhere he could reach. Funnily enough, Peter was barely putting any of his real strength into the hits, but he knew it was enough to bruise Dick for the next couple weeks. “Hey- ow! Peter!” He yelled but Peter continued to hit him. “Peter! Stop!”

“Let me go, Dick!” It seemed that Dick had had enough because next thing he knew, he was being pushed against a brick wall, the expanse of his chest pushed uncomfortably against the bricks by one if Dick’s long forearms and his upper arm had been let go in favor of capturing both of his wrists in one hand. Peter was about to stomp his foot onto Dick’s, probably breaking it, but Dick’s shout stopped him before he could.

“Peter! Wait! I just wanted to take you home!” That caused Peter to pause, looking up at Dick. None of his senses told him that Dick was lying, so instead of attacking him, Peter asked through clenched teeth.

“Why?” Peter glared up at Dick, and while he knew that his expression was about as threatening as a kitten and that he probably faced worse faces than Peter’s, he still watched in satisfaction as the taller actually seemed nervous now. His heartbeat also conveyed his anxiety.

“Gotham’s dangerous at night. And I think I’ve known you long enough to be at least a little worried,” Dick’s demeanor suddenly shifted, a smirk lighting up his face, “Besides, I don’t want my new favorite friend to get killed. Then who will glare at me with such a cute face?”

Now that Peter was closer to him, he could see why people seemed to fall for him wherever he went. Dick was very handsome, with a cheerful, if not cocky attitude. But Peter refused to be one of those people.

“I don’t need an escort. I can take care of myself.”

“You look like a breeze could knock you over.” Peter bristled.

“Are you saying that I need your help? ‘Cause I really don’t.”

“You couldn’t get me to let you go. Do you think that anyone else on the street, who are mostly larger than you and me, wouldn’t be able to take you down?” Peter scoffed, and using some more of his super strength, he shoved Dick back, the other man stumbling all the way to the other side of the alleyway. Dick braced himself on the wall, looking at Peter with wide eyes.

“Look, I appreciate your concern, Dick, but I can take care of myself. Whether or not you see it.” With that, he walked out of the alleyway and back towards the shelter. He heard no footsteps following him this time.

-----

Dick massaged his chest, still leaning against the wall that Peter had shoved him against. It was almost out of nowhere that his strength came and managed to successfully get Dick to let him go. He didn’t run after Peter, but he was resolved to escort Peter home safely. Afterall, if Steph and Babs liked him so much, Dick would probably like him too.

‘Yeah, he did not disappoint.’

His first time meeting Peter was rather weird for Dick. His first impression was ‘cute.’ The guy had one of the largest sets of honey brown eyes he’d ever seen. His hair was curly and fluffy, and Dick was tempted to card a hand through the light brown locks to prove their softness. He was small, too, with a short stature and skinny arms. Basically, he looked defenseless and naive, if not adorably so.

However, nearly everyone he met that wasn’t an assassin, mafioso, terrorist, whathaveyou, had fallen for his charms. Sometimes, even the assassin, mafioso, terrorist (etc.) had fallen for him. But Peter was different. The instant Peter spotted him next to Slade, his guard was put up quickly and he wasn’t fooled by charming smiles and pretty words. If that wasn’t enough to prove his oddity, the fact that he had said it straight to Dick’s face, even when Slade was right next to him, just made him more interesting to Dick.

So sue him if he was slightly concerned about someone so defenseless looking roaming around at night. He was a son of the Wayne Mafioso branch, largest crime family on the East Coast, and Gotham and her inhabitants were his to help, protect, and punish if he so pleased.

Pushing off the wall, Dick decided that this particular inhabitant was also his to help and protect, even if it was against his will.

Dick suddenly realized that Peter must’ve been new to Gotham, seeing as he didn’t recognize him as Bruce Wayne’s first, adopted son, which only served to make Dick want to protect him from the streets even more.

“Okay, it’s only been a couple minutes since he left. He can’t be that fast,” Dick muttered as he started on the path that Peter took to go home. A couple blocks up, Dick could see the heel of Peter’s shoe as he turned the street. Following quickly, he ran the couple blocks and turned the corner, as well, seeing Peter crossing a crosswalk to the other side of the street. He followed as well and all the way to a place that looked unfamiliar to him. It wasn’t an apartment building. Peter entered through the doors.

‘A homeless shelter?’

-----

A couple days passed since the little scuffle with Dick and Peter was thankful that the man had at least some common sense to know when he wasn’t welcome. Peter hasn’t seen him at all the past few days and he couldn’t be happier. Harley noticed.

“Whatcha so happy about, Pup?” She asked when they were hanging out at her apartment. Peter smiled beamingly at Harley who covered her eyes like she was looking into the sun. Both of them giggled.

“Just happy. Hey, Harley?”

“Hmm?” Harley played with the stick of the lollipop in her mouth, absently listening.

“Do you know Slade personally?” The platinum blonde shook her head.

“Nope. Why? You finally admitting yer’ feelin’s for him?” Peter huffed, giving his friend a knowing look.

“No, I’m not into him. Like I said, too old. Not exactly my type.” Harley hummed but looked skeptical. “Anyway, even if you don’t know him personally, do you know who he works with?” His friend thought about it for a minute, swinging her legs back and forth in her seat at her kitchen table.

“Some. Why?”

“Just wondering if you knew someone named Dick Grayson?” Harley froze, a terrified look dawning on her face. Peter frowned and was about to ask her if she was alright but Harley suddenly surged forward and grabbed Peter by the arms, her grip tight.

“Where did you hear that name?!” Peter, now more concerned, drew his eyebrows tight.

“I met him the other day, when you weren’t at the bar. He came in alone and talked with Slade. He came in another day too, with Babs.” Harley’s eyes searched his own wildly, as if trying to see whether or not he was telling the truth.

Her blue eyes widened when she saw that he was completely serious. Slowly, she let go of Peter’s arms and sat back down in her seat. She put her head into her hands, leaning over the counter for a minute, so silent that Peter started to become even more worried. Silence was uncharacteristic of Harley Quinn.

“Okay,” she spoke up after a couple minutes, “I want you to promise me something, okay, Peter?” Honey brown eyes widened a bit. She used his real name. This was serious.

“Anything, Harls.”

“I want you to stay away from Dick Grayson and anyone he associates with.” Peter blinked.

“What about Slade?”

“Yup.”

“And Babs? And Steph?” If Barbara Gordon knew Dick Grayson, then it was likely that Stephanie Brown knew him too.

“Them too. We’re going to move. Mista J won’t mind. We’ll move closer to the border, nearer Canada and-” she continued muttering, more to herself than Peter, but Peter had enough.

“Harley, we can’t move. I can’t move. I have two jobs and other commitments. I can’t just drop everything and move.” Harley gave him a desperate look.

“But-” He cut her off.

“But nothing, Harls. I know you’re worried. I knew he was dangerous the minute I met him. I can take care of myself. I’m much stronger than you think I am.” His friend didn’t move for a few moments, staring into his completely serious face and then deflated.

“I just worry,” she murmured, apology evident in her tone. Peter walked around the kitchen counter to hug his friend, who embraced him just as tightly.

“I know you do.” The hug lasted for a few more minutes, both basking in the comfort of the other before it was time for Peter to leave. He grabbed his coat off one of the small chairs at a round dinner table and said his goodbyes.

“Be safe!” Harley called after him as he left her apartment. He waved back with assurances he would be careful. He chose to walk, despite the cold and damp weather, seeing as his bank account couldn’t suffer anymore in terms of small spendings. ‘Besides,’ he reasoned with himself, ‘I need some more exercise.’

It was about 30 minutes later that he finally reached the shelter, his coat somewhat damp. Entering the door, and feeling some warmth descend upon him made him want to groan in relief. However, after that feeling had passed, another, colder feeling lay itself upon him like a blanket. Something was wrong. Peter looked around, trying to see any potential dangers but there were none he could see or hear.

Walking swiftly, Peter reached his cot, still eyeing his environment in suspicion. When he still found nothing out of the ordinary, he finally looked down on his cot to see a single white rose and an envelope sitting across his now neatly made cot. Someone had been there and messed with it. The thought made him shiver and with shaking hands he picked up the rose in one hand and the envelope in the other. He peeled the flap and opened it to see the contents. Two small, folded slips of paper sat inside.

‘Sort of anticlimactic,’ Peter thought, his face filled with confusion. He pulled out the larger of the two slips of paper, and unfolded it. And then proceeded to drop everything in his hands. The rose, the envelope and the check for $100,000 fell quietly onto his cot. His wide eyes stared down at the pale piece of paper.

‘What the fuck,’ he thought with shock. Then he remembered that there was another piece of paper in the envelope. Taking the envelope in hand, he tucked the check inside and pulled out the other slip. Unfolding it, he saw that it was a note.

‘The first of many. -D.G.’

The envelope once again fell from his hands, and Peter felt another wave of emotion crash over him. However, this time, it wasn’t shock or fear. No, it was rage.

‘Motherfucker.’

Previous: Part 1

Next: Part 3

#Peter Parker #Mafia Batfam #Mob Boss Bruce Wayne #Mob Boss Dick Grayson #Mob Boss Jason Todd #Mob Boss Tim Drake #Mob Boss Damian Wayne #Peter Parker is Spider Man #Reverse Harem #Bruce Wayne #Dick Grayson #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #Damian Wayne

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nevergiveupneverrun · 4 years

Text

Bodyguard - Chapter Fifty-Two “Redistribution of roles”

Hello everybody, how are you? Here is chapter Fifty-two of my Story Bodyguard, yay!! I hope you will like this chapter.

I’m sorry in advance for the mistakes… English isn’t my first language and I do my best. Here is the link to the previous chapter: Click Here.

I hope you will enjoy this chapter :) 💛

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- How are you feeling, sweetie?

- I’m fine, I’m a little less like a zombie, April answers weakly.

She had been awake for a few hours, still clearly weakened by the artificial coma from which she had just emerged. Her memories of the accident were almost nonexistent… the image of headlights that dazzled her… an impact… then a blackout… nothing specific unfortunately to identify the driver.

I watch two friends carefully. I am placed a little away, to give them a semblance of privacy, in a corner of the room, near the door.

Amelia is sitting on the edge of April’s bed: she tries to maintain a natural smile, but I can easily perceive all the effort behind it. Her nervousness is hard to hide as her fingers frantically clench at intervals.

Like Amelia, I am tense: the doctor must come from one moment to another, to present the situation to April… a situation on which, we have expressly kept silent.

Two knocks on the door then rise, interrupting the exchange between the two young women.

I nod to Amelia so that she stays seated and I open immediately.

A nurse appears to me with a big smile, two bouquets in her hands.

- Hello, we have these flowers which were for Miss Kepner. As well as a letter. Shall I give them to you, sir?

- Thank you very much, I will take them indeed, I reply with a smile, leaving the door open, as I walk to the bedside table opposite where Amelia is sitting.

- Flowers, April whispers with a smile. Whose are they?

- Wait, I’ll watch, I answer with a wink.

An empty vase is placed on the bedside table where I can place the first bouquet: a composition of white and pink roses. A word is slipped between the flowers and I place it between April’s fingers.

She smiles slightly as she reads the word and I rest my gaze on the second bouquet.

- Whose beautiful bouquet is this? Amelia asks smiling.

- From the film crew. They tell me that the understudy is catastrophic…

I listen to the discussion in a slightly absent way while I scrutinize the second bouquet more precisely. It’s a bouquet of red roses, but the composition appeals to me, the flowers being folded over each other as if we had pressed them so that they hide something. My curiosity fanned, I slightly discover some petals and I can see what is in the center of the bouquet: a rose… but a black rose.

My pulse accelerates by understanding who is the sender of this bouquet. The envelope placed on the table is blindingly obvious at me directly, I already know what it contains.

- And the other bouquet, Owen? April asks suddenly looking at me.

I remain motionless, taken aback, thinking about a possible response, when a voice suddenly distracts everyone’s attention.

- Can I enter?

The doctor’s voice rises behind us as she knocks on the door ajar.

I sigh internally in relief: her arrival offers me a dream escape.

I take the second bouquet and the envelope while moving back to the back of the room, as discreetly as possible.

I meet Amelia’s gaze which fixes me with attention, questions that can be seen in the back of my eyes.

- Good morning April, how are you? Resumes the doctor, in a soft and calm voice.

- Fine, thank you.

- Glad to hear that, I have your exams with me and I will be able to answer your questions and explain things to you.

- All right, I’ll leave you, Amelia suggests getting up from the bed.

- No, stay, please, April begged in a trembling voice that lets her anguish show through.

- Of course, no problem, I stay, confirms Amelia by sitting down immediately.

I take advantage of the moment to leave the room silently and I close behind me, leaving them alone for this delicate exchange.

I find the corridor of the hospital and automatically go to the first trash that I locate to throw this damn bouquet, taking care to close the cover with force, thus releasing some of the pressure that rises quickly in me.

I then sit on a nearby plastic chair and eagerly unhook the envelope.

I take out a white sheet of paper which I unfold with care: I immediately recognize ugly letters cut from newspaper articles that dress this cloud of white.

And which form the following message.

"You have been hiding for several weeks.

I’m looking for you. You escape me.

But your friends are easy targets.

If I can’t reach you, I’ll reach them.

Like this poor April.

To make you suffer through them.

You will eventually understand…

I’m waiting for you at the Music Awards…

And there, in any case, you will belong to me… forever."

The words resound in my head and drum like a litany… a litany, harbinger of a new tragedy.

- Owen?

I raise my head, stunned, as I finish coming to terms with the cold words of this message.

It is the face of my longtime accomplice that appears to me, the drawn features and an unusual accessory in hand… a bouquet of white roses associated with magnificent purple tulips.

- Jackson, hi… I whisper, getting up and shaking his hand.

- I did it as quickly as possible, as soon as you called me… he says breathlessly.

I gently place a hand on his shoulder.

I felt him particularly affected and anxious, I had rarely seen him like that.

- Calm down, you made it fast, don’t worry.

I discreetly fold the sheet that I still held in my hand and place it in the pocket of my jeans, not wishing to add another source of concern and nervousness.

- Where is April’s room? Can I see her? He asks, almost dazed, looking around with his head.

- Sit down, please, I offer him, gently.

He hesitates a few moments then ends up imitating me as I sit down again on my chair.

- What’s going on, tell me…

- The doctor is currently in the room to explain the situation to April… and Amelia stayed with her…

- Ok, and what is this situation about? He continues impatiently.

- Nothing is sure yet… we will need other exams. And a little time.

- Other exams for what? Stop making the suspense last, tell me what you know Owen, don’t be sadistic with me, he implores with conviction.

I let a break settle down and I take a long breath before continuing.

- They identified that April’s spinal column was reached… a shift of vertebrae and hematoma…

- Okay, but with rest and a little physiotherapy, they’re going to be able to put everything in order, right? He asks, looking intently at me.

I stare at his two pupils which sparkle under fatigue and anxiety. I remain silent for a few seconds, then look down.

- It’s not true… he finally whispers before my attitude.

In those moments, we hardly needed to communicate. We always had this exceptional connection, forged throughout our missions, and during those years when we relied on each other to stay alive…

The silences and the unspoken were sometimes more eloquent. Especially when it comes to bad news.

- They will know more in a few days… but it is a possibility… I finally confirmed by raising my face.

What I observe then tightens my heart: I detect a humidity settling in the eyes of my friend. An emotion that catches me totally. A completely unexpected reaction. Strong and so intense as if…

- Jackson… I resume gently, placing a hand on his forearm.

- Does this have something to do with the crazy chasing Amelia?

Her gaze has already changed from emotion to determination, with a hint of vengeance.

- Listen, for now, it’s April, the most important… focus on that.

- You can tell me… it can’t be a coincidence, this accident.

I nod weakly without confirming my suspicion aloud.

- I’m counting on you to catch him…

- We will catch him together, I corrected by withdrawing my hand from his arm, reassured by this strength of character which again emanates from him.

- You will have to do it alone, O’.

His remark suddenly taps me.

- What do you mean?

- I can no longer assist you in protecting Amelia in these circumstances. My place is elsewhere… he ends with a sigh.

- I need you, Jackson, I say, taken aback by his position.

The support of my teammate seemed decisive given the seriousness of the situation… he was an asset and a weighty ally so that I did not fail… and he had never let me down when I needed him… under any circumstances.

- You can manage without me, you already did it in the past, I am only an assistant lately. April needs me more than you…

His admission intrigues me: I noticed their new complicity on returning to Seattle.

But was there more than just friendship between them?

- You mean that you and April…

- No… well… we got very close during your absence, without going over the course you have in mind. But things have been clear to me for some time…

He suddenly stops and looks down at the bouquet on his lap.

- You know, it’s crazy, because I didn’t realize anything. I remember my first impression: I found her invasive, far too exuberant, tiring… and then over time… spending time with her, especially in those periods when she dropped the mask… imperceptibly it happened… I was charmed by what I discovered… and I’m there today… madly in love with her…

His confession leaves me speechless.

I already had serious suspicions but I never imagined that my friend’s feelings were so strong. I never saw him like that… I think I never really saw him in love in the end.

- So, given what you explain to me, I want to be with her, I don’t want her to feel abandoned, he continues. Whatever happens, it won’t change what she means to me… I want to help her every moment, every day, every week… I want her to feel supported and loved…

I listen carefully.

I don’t know how to react, how to reply.

I clearly have no valid argument to oppose what he expresses to me.

To make him changer his mind.

And I have neither the strength nor the urge after this revelation.

- I will not bury my head in the sand to regret after Owen… you should do the same thing by the way…

I stare at him more intensely, while frowning at this remark which leaves me perplexed.

- You know what I’m talking about. Not so long ago, I used to make you, remarks, and admonitions. But I was wrong. I see things differently now. Whether Amelia is your client or not is not important. These rules are stupid… it’s not what you feel that will make you less good as a bodyguard. On the contrary, you would be even better. Life is short… we know it better than anyone and look again where we are today, he declares in a serious tone while describing the corridor of the hospital with his hand… Amelia is not Yasmina. Stop refusing happiness…

I scrutinize my friend in front of me: the voice charged with emotion and sincere empathy towards me.

His words echo in my head, his words permeate me, but I still feel this inner resistance, this voice that immediately contradicts him.

- You must forget the past. I know how traumatic the experience with Yasmina was, that she broke your heart, and all you meager hopes for love. But Amelia doesn’t play a role… believe me. I see it in her eyes when she looks at you. These things don’t deceive.

Believe… trust… don’t doubt others of self.

Behaviors that had been alien to me for so long.

A certainty was deeply rooted in me: love rhyme for me with loss and suffering… or betrayal.

Do I have the strength or the willpower to contradict this observation which hovers like a curse above me?

- Jackson?

Amelia’s voice suddenly sounds a few steps away.

Jackson’s words still echo in my ears when her image appears before us again.

And my certainty seems to waver slightly.

- Hello Amelia, Jackson answers getting up immediately. How… how is April? He asks a little shyly.

I imitate my friend and leave my chair to place myself alongside Amelia.

- The doctor has just explained the situation to her and made the first test, confirming that the sensations in her legs are very weak, concedes Amelia with a distant look. But she was very strong, my little April.

I perceive Jackson being drawn tight slightly by my side.

- Can I see her? He continues impatiently.

- Yes, of course. The doctor just left. I went out for coffee to let April rest a little because she was tired after this exchange. But I’m sure she will be happy to see you… she concludes gently. Especially when I see your bouquet, with pretty tulips… her favorites flowers…

- I go immediately so that she can rest after.

I fix Jackson moving away from a confident and determined gait, the bouquet proudly in hand.

His silhouette then disappears inside the room while the feelings he revealed to me drag in my mind… given me a different image of my lifelong accomplice.

- Is she holding up? I ask, quickly redirecting my attention to Amelia.

I notice that her gaze is lowered, the strands of her hair hiding her face from me.

- Amelia?

She stays in the same position, but I gently place my hand under her chin to lift her face towards mine. I wanted to prevent her from closing in on herself in the ordeal she was going through… even if it meant imposing more than usual on me in my gestures and my attentions.

Her eyes sparkle intensely… bathed in tear.

- I’m afraid for her, you know… I remain impassive and strong in the room, but when I found that she did not react to the pressures of the doctor on her feet…

- It doesn’t mean anything, it can take time… stay confident… I said gently, placing all my conviction in it while gently moving my hand against one of her arms.

- I hope you’re right…

- You have to believe it, we all believe it… so dry your tears, ok? I asked, quickly sliding my thumb over her cheek to remove a tear that had just escaped.

- She will need Jackson… she continues, eyes redirected towards her friend’s room. I’m so reassured that he is there. April needs a man like him, with her.

Her remark surprises me; she couldn’t hear our conversation.

April had probably entrusted things to Amelia… or the singer had quite simply interpreted things.

Her head turns again and she suddenly seems to be looking for something around me.

- The bouquet that you had when you left, you gave it to the reception?

I am surprised that she kept this detail in mind.

I hesitate a few moments, but I couldn’t hide the truth from her: she had to know who was behind this accident and the very specific threats hanging over the Music Awards ceremony.

- No, I did not give it to the reception. I threw it…

- Threw it? But why did you…

She stops in the middle of her question and I see the reflections of her gaze suddenly change.

As the emergence of a revelation.

- You mean this bouquet was from Him?

I nod and hand her the message without a word.

I watch her read it in front of me, watching her reaction.

But she surprises me again, remaining impassive to the reading of the message.

- I’m sorry Amelia, I finally let got to break the silence that had settled. Unfortunately, he did not give up…

- Yes, I see it…

- We’ll be careful, I’ll call Nathan to check all the security measures on your trips and those of your loved ones. And you will have to notify the organization of the Music Awards that under the circumstances, you will not be able to participate in the event.

- Nathan’s measures will not be enough, as will my absence at the ceremony, she announces, folding the message and hanging it to me again.

- What do you mean it won’t be enough? We will avoid futures attacks as well…

- It’s not what I want… she continues with conviction.

The strength emanating from her words is impressive. In the space of a few moments, I found before me the Amelia, self-confident, and determined… and it was almost fascinating to observe her transformation in this way.

- I no longer want to avoid attacks, she continues firmly. Look what he’s doing… this guy wants to spoil my life, and doesn’t hesitate to attack those I love: he killed Richard… he plowed into April at full speed and maybe she will not walk anymore never, she explains, trembling voice. I must assume my responsibilities…

- What are you talking about? I ask, not figuring out where she’s headed.

- He wants me… I will give him what he expects. He will not stop otherwise… he gives me an appointment at the Music Awards… then, I will go to the ceremony, and offer him the opportunity to reveal himself…

- Amelia, it’s not reasonable, he will have time to prepare thoroughly… he must plan this date for ages… I contradict to try to dissuade her from going headlong in this ambush.

A possibility that was nothing but madness for me… and a real nightmare announced to come and challenge this man on his land.

- I want to put an end to this whole story in one way or another… but I can’t do it alone… she concludes in a whisper, carefully avoiding my gaze.

- Do you want me to come to the ceremony with you?

She hesitates a few moments. I feel that the next sentence costs her and that she is preparing it especially.

- I reacted like a capricious little girl asking you to leave… and no, not like an adult… what happened between us, I put it behind me… it’s not that the most important… the important thing is that it all stops… the roles will be posed between us, there will be no more ambiguity, and I will comply with anything you ask me… to water, you deem necessary in the circumstances.

Her admission takes me by surprise.

I did not expect this turnaround at all.

I discern a slight heartache, a touch of a surprising disappointment in me: she drew a line under what we shared… I should be relieved but I almost feel hurt.

After the two days that I had just spent, I hadn’t managed to forget her… I was beginning to understand what struck me despite myself.

And so I almost managed to get used to the idea of leaving everything…

To move away.

Now, she asked me to come back.

But not necessarily as before…

- Do you want… will you help me again… assist me as a bodyguard? She asks shyly, disturbed by my silence and my lack of reaction.

I observe her intensely, plunging my gaze into hers before answering her.

Despite the context, no hesitation in my mind.

- Amelia… you don’t even have to ask me…

–––––––––––––––––––––––

Thank you for reading. Have a great week 💛

#greysanatomy #amelia shepherd #owen x amelia #amelia x owen #Owen Hunt #omelia #omelia fanfiction #omeliafics #april kepner #JAPRIL #jackson avery #bodyguard #fanfic

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kilyra · 5 years

Text

Some Tawdry Notch

Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer) One-Shot

A/N: I received a request from @suitsofwo3 for a follow up to “A Deal is a Deal” with the following prompts from “100 Dialogue Prompts to Break a Reader’s Heart”: 52. “Oh, I was just another notch in your bedpost?”, 47. “You’re angry with me, I know.” and 64. “I’ve never seen that side of you.” (I had to modify 52 a bit to make it fit better, fyi).

Lucifer had convinced you to join him at a charity event where he was trying to track down the source of the new Morningstar drug flooding the streets and ruining his reputation. Only things went sideways for you there and left you questioning your relationship.

Warnings: Language - eff bomb. No spoilers though. If you want to be on my tag lists, (all or just a character) just let me know!

Your utter exhaustion forced you into a few hours sleep, but you kept jerking awake with the image of a gun pointed at your face. Of course, even as you laid there, staring at the ceiling, you still saw it. It was too much. As dawn finally broke, you knew had to grab your stuff and move on from the man who put you in that position in the first place. Move on from Lucifer.

The plan was to get in, pack your shit, and get the hell back out.

You waited for a time where Lucifer wouldn't be home. It was late enough that even if, for some reason, he was hung over and moving slowly, he'd still already be at work. And it was early enough that even if a juicy case didn't cross Decker's desk, they'd still be at the precinct. Although considering the dramatic scene that unfolded at the charity event the night before, you expected they'd be busy.

But all that careful planning was for naught. As the elevator doors open, you saw Lucifer going through the desk he told you was all yours. Disappointment and rage battled for the right to lead as he looked up at you.

Letting the open folder slip from his fingers, he let out a long sigh as he smiled. “There you are! I was hoping to find a clue for where you might be in your desk, but all I found was boring work stuff.”

“No kidding,” you said in a flat tone. Crossing towards the bedroom you decided to pack your clothes first.

Taken by surprise with your curtness, his smile dropped. “Yes, well, no matter, because here you are. You had me worried when you disappeared on me last night.”

Scoffing, you went straight for the closet and pulled out your small suitcase. “I thought you weren't supposed to lie.”

Trailing after you, his voice got higher as insult crept in. “I don't and I'm not.”

Standing at the doorway, he watched as you roughly folded your clothes and shoved them in the case. Running his hand down the front of his dark vest, his perfectly sculpted eyebrows drew together in confusion. “Darling...what are you doing?”

“I'm packing.”

“Well, I can see that. But why? What's going on?”

Cramming the shirt you were holding into the case, you finally stopped to openly glare at him. Anger won the battle of emotions as he stared at you, dumbfounded. The absolute nerve of that man was unfathomable. “I'm just another notch on your bedpost, what the hell do you even care?”

His head darted back as though you slapped him. “I beg your pardon. You absolutely are not, whatever gave you that impression?”

As he waited for your answer, his dark eyes were glued to yours. Shaking your head, you looked back down at the case as you zipped it up.

He couldn't let your icy silence hang in the air for long before trying again. “Okay, you're angry with me, I know that much. But I'm at a loss for why.”

Lucifer turned to the side, giving you plenty of space as you stormed out of the room, pushing past him. Not slowing until you reached the desk, you shoved your files to one edge to clear a spot for your suitcase. This time, it was files of paper you slapped on top of the clothes.

“If I'm not just a notch, then I don't know how else to explain last night.”

“Last night? You mean when gathering information was so successful, the detective ended up making a key arrest on the spot?”

You let out a low growl. Of course that's how he'd see it.

“No. I mean when you asked me to come with you to make you look less suspicious, to be a decoy at the most...and you used me as fucking bait instead.” Your voice cracked, betraying just how furious you were.

Confusion drifted across his pointed features as he tilted his head. “Bait? It was never my intention to use you as bait.”

Stopping with a loud smack, you kept your hand on the paper pile as you glared at him. His lost expression made it all worse. "Right. So then why was it floating around the event that I wanted to meet with the councilman?

“I haven't the faintest idea. When I put the word out that someone wanted to meet with the councilman, I meant myself.”

Clenching your hand, you crumpled papers under your fingers as you fought to keep your anger at bay. He deserved it; he deserved all your anger, but you just wanted to finish packing and get out. You were so exhausted it was hard to think straight. Gritting your teeth, you struggled to keep your voice even.

“Then why did I have a gun pulled on me?”

“Because having money doesn't equate to intelligence, I'm afraid. And that includes the councilman. I mean honestly, pulling out a gun in the middle of an event like that? What did he think would happen?” Lucifer let out a soft chuckle as he tried to lighten the mood.

It didn't work.

Massaging your temples, you tried to combat the headache that started from the sudden head rush of your racing pulse. Colours floated over your vision from how hard your heart was pounding. You needed sleep. And for this to be over.

Narrowing his eyes, he cocked his head and took a few slow steps towards you. “Wait...is that what this is about? Because I promise you, with me and the detective there, you weren't in any real dang-”

“He had a gun pointed at my head!”

All the rage exploded through your chest, and your fingers trembled violently as you tried to grab more files. Looking down, you sniffed loudly, trying to pull back the angry tears that threatened to fall.

You wanted to add more, but you knew it would be your utter undoing.

Oppressive silence filled the room, bearing down on you. The only noise was the rustling of the papers you continued to gather. Soon, it was joined by the heel of Lucifer's shoes clicking on the floor as he wordlessly crossed to the room.

“Oh, Y/n,” he breathed as he reached you.

Just as you heard him take a sharp inhale, you pushed yourself to finish. “I'm done, Lucifer. You don't do that to people you care about, so either I'm just another lay or you care more about your reputation. Either way, I'm done.”

Stepping around the side of the desk, Lucifer's fingers grazed your arm. “Y/n, now just hold on a-”

“Don't touch me!” The words burst out as you slapped his hand away.

His mouth dropped open, and he kept his hand up, facing the palm to you in a submissive gesture. Hurt flashed behind his stunned expression as his widened eyes scanned your face.

“All night, all that existed was the end of a gun barrel and that fear...that certainty...that I was about to die. All night. And all you cared about was grilling that asshole for more information on Morningstar. You didn't even notice I was gone.”

Everything came out shrill as you fought against your tightening throat. Even as it all spilled out, you knew it wasn't exactly true – your phone was filled with ignored calls and texts from Lucifer starting almost immediately after you took off.

But as he lowered his hands, he didn't even point that out. Instead, he squeezed his eyes closed and bowed his head. Letting out a long sigh, his voice was soft. “Love. I'm so sorry. I truly am.”

If his tone hadn't knocked the wind from your sails, the sorrow in his eyes when he looked back up at you would have. He broke eye contact almost immediately, dropping his gaze to the floor by your feet in an unfocused stare.

“I swear to you, I was not using you as bait. In fact, I only realized what happened after the councilman pulled his stunt. And you're right, I was so focused on the case it didn't even occur to me that you might be upset.”

As he continued to readily agree with you, it gave you nothing to continue fighting against. Tightly folding your arms, you stayed quiet.

“And I'm especially sorry for that. I see the detective in dangerous positions so often it starts to feel like a normal part of life. I forget she's an officer of the law and trained for those situations. It's her job and her choice to be in harm's way."

From the corner of your eye, you saw his hand hover above your crossed arms as he hesitated to touch you. You could feel his eyes on you as he silently implored you to look at him. You refused.

“But you...you're a sweet, beautiful, thoughtful, caring woman who was only in harm's way because you were doing your idiot boyfriend a favour. You have every right to be angry with me. I'm upset with me too."

Eventually, he breezed his fingers over your arm with a light touch, quietly testing the boundaries. This time you didn't pull away.

It wasn't much, but it was enough to give him hope. “Please, you must know that you're not some tawdry notch on a bedpost. You mean more to me than anything in this world, and I would do anything for the chance to make this up to you.”

Reluctantly, you let your arms relax. His hand traced down your skin until he wrapped his fingers around yours. When you looked up at him, his soulful eyes had a hint of panic to them you had never seen before. Even his small, hesitant smile couldn't mask it.

The look struck at you, forcing a moment of hesitation past your anger. “I...I don't know. I don't know that there is a way to make up for this sort of thing.”

“I just want the chance to try, please. I don't want to lose you,” he said as he grabbed your free hand, anxiously twisting his fingers through yours.

You had been through a lot together; it was just so much to throw away. And you weren't sure you wanted to...

“It would...it would take a lot, Lucifer. I just...”

His grin grew more assured as he nodded. “Anything, you name it. Your wish will literally be my command. Plus, I've never seen that side of you and I will do absolutely anything it takes to avoid that again.”

Shaking your head, you leaned forward. Immediately taking the hint, Lucifer wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tight against him. As the scent of his expensive cologne settled around you, a deep sigh rumbled through his chest. His relief was palpable.

And despite yourself, a smile...a small smile...tugged at the corner of your lips.

Taglist: @foreverfaeries @flower-two @getlostinyourparadise @selfishkiddo @angelicshinigami @johnwickthirstclub @pegxcarter @liamakorn

#lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #netflix lucifer

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