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starlessea · 3 years

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Here Comes the Sun: XII. Highway To Hell (Daryl Dixon/Reader)

Series Masterlist: Here Comes the Sun

Summary: Daryl Dixon scares the hell out of you climbing out of that damn creek. It takes hauling his ass halfway across Georgia and taking a bullet for him to realise that you're not half bad. He slowly starts to come around, despite grumbling about how much he doesn't like your singing, or that you can't use a gun for shit - and don't get him started on that ugly yellow tent of yours. It takes him a while before he starts to see for himself that he's found a best friend for life, and that he doesn't actually mind the colour yellow that much, after all.

Words: 7169

Chapter Warnings: Language, Violence.

You held a hand up over your shoulder and crouched down near the door, signalling for Carol to do the same behind you. Your gun was pressed snug between your palms, and your knife hung from your belt in case you needed it. Though, from the looks of the place it seemed pretty secure - if the lock you'd just busted open was anything to go by. The two of you were scavenging and had spotted a small general store, deciding to check it out before heading back to the cabin. The group hadn't eaten anything substantial in days, save for the things Daryl had been hunting. Even then, the harsh winter months made it harder for him to pick up tracks when most animals had better shelter than you all did.

It had been a number of weeks since the farm was overrun, but it almost felt like yesterday. The temperature had dropped to freezing seemingly overnight, making your fortunes that much more cruel. Even now, your breath formed clouds of smoke before your eyes, and the cold felt like it had infiltrated your bones at some point and never left. The tips of your fingers stung as they glowed red, exposed through your fingerless gloves, and you were certain that your nose matched, too. Carol's did, that's for sure.

You gave her a quick nod before kicking in the door harshly with your boot, raising your gun as you entered. The inside was bigger than you were expecting, and it took you a few minutes to clear each aisle for walkers. As you did, you noticed how most supplies were missing from the shelves, having been taken before the place was locked up. Still, Glenn had always drilled into you the first rule of scavenging: 'there's nothing good left in this world that isn't hidden.'

Sending a nod to Carol, you put your gun away in your holster before reminding her to stay alert. The two of you split up as she made her way towards the canned goods sections, hoping to find something there. Ever since you'd been on the road, you and Carol had gotten quite a bit closer. At first, she seemed sceptical of Rick and the whole situation you were forced into, as you all did. Though, after time she seemed to realise that he was the group's best shot. Most days, the two of you made dinner with anything you could find, often supplementing the things you were missing with whatever Daryl had managed to bring home from his hunt. Other times, you went scavenging together, as you did today.

At first, Rick absolutely refused to let anyone split up, and you had to abide by his rule. One time he'd caught you mocking his 'this isn't a democracy' speech to Beth behind his back and you'd had to forfeit your portion of squirrel to the greater good that evening. Daryl sneaked you some of his afterwards, however. Though, Rick quickly began to realise that there was no other choice. Before long, you'd gotten good with a gun; taking down walkers each day had that effect. Soon, you were one of the frontrunners whenever you had a house to clear - often fighting alongside him, Glenn and Daryl.

Now, he was comfortable with you leading a few runs of your own and taking Carol along with you. Glenn and Maggie often went together, too, so that you covered more ground. It wasn't that Rick was comfortable with splitting up the group, you thought; he just didn't have a choice. Lori was nearing her due date and you were all practically living on fresh air, moving from place to place quicker than you had the chance to catch your breath.

You hadn't even had time to settle things with Daryl. You barely saw the man. He'd leave first thing in the morning to look for food, and be back late at night - when most of the group had already fallen asleep. Even then, he often took watch straight after he returned. You could tell how responsible he felt for everyone and you saw the worry in his eyes daily, if the bags under them were anything to go by.

After you had kissed Daryl, back at the farm, you only had one conversation about it. It was a couple of days after you all fled, when you were taking watch with him as the rest of the group were stuck camping under the stars. It was brief, and before that the two of you had already gone back to acting as good friends, like usual. He'd told you that he wasn't good with words, and didn't want to just give you some half-assed response in the midst of struggling to survive the Georgia winter. You agreed, and it was decided then that you'd talk about it later. Yet, later never came.

It had been an unspoken rule between the two of you that everyone's safety was the priority. Though, in truth, you hadn't had a single moment where you felt safe since you left the farm. It seemed almost cruel that immediately after you'd told the man that you wanted to live, rather than just survive, you had been thrust out into the vicious world where that's all you could struggle to do. So, the two of you just existed at the moment.

Some mornings you'd wake up to sound of him leaving, and some evenings he'd be back early enough to share a meal with you. Other than that, you lived for the brief occasions where you'd take watch together, when he'd smoke a cigarette next to you and you'd sit in content silence. Though, sometimes it felt like you were frightened to say anything at all, in case you accidentally blurted out all of your feelings at once. So, the both of you barely talked - waiting for the time when you could actually talk.

You shoved some supplies into your satchel as you scoured the aisles. There wasn't much you could see that hadn't been taken already, but you picked up a few bandaids in case you ever needed them. The only thing you were able to save from the farm was your satchel. Luckily, it already had your polaroids in it and a change of clothes, since you'd been packing to move into the Greenes' farmhouse at the time the horde arrived. Still, there was so much you missed from those days.

You missed the material things, like the comfort you got just from seeing Dale's RV parked by the main camp. You missed the flimsy deck chairs surrounding it, and the big apple trees that gave it shade, and the books you'd borrow from Hershel's library to read when you had lookout duty on top of it. You missed your white dress that smelt like the washing powder that Patricia used - even though you knew it wouldn't have survived long out in these dingy, cold places. You even missed the intangible things, and felt a deep longing of nostalgia for the sounds of the leaves rustling in the breeze or for the sweetness of the air. Those days felt so far away from you now, like the images of them were slipping out of your grasp - like grains of sand before you could catch them.

The things that remained fresh in your mind, however, were the people that you left behind. You missed Patricia and Jimmy and Andrea, and even Shane. As much as that man rubbed you the wrong way, you didn't want to see him die. You didn't want any of them to die. That night was a mess. These days, you often woke up in a cold sweat from the nightmares. Except, this time it was the faces of your family replacing the walkers that usually inhabited them. You missed the people you'd lost and you missed the place that you all thought was home. You also missed Daryl Dixon.

A loud clatter sounded from a few rows over from you, immediately making you thumb over your gun as you stilled in place.

"Carol?" You called over, unable to see her from behind the tall shelves. "Everything alright?"

She responded instantly, and you felt relief wash over you as she did.

"I'm fine. I just dropped a tin." She reassured you, her voice carrying as an echo in the empty store.

You let out a small sigh before continuing with your poor haul. It was times like these that you really felt your mind wander when it shouldn't. You knew that you should always be cautious, since you promised Rick that you'd look out for Carol. Though, quite frankly, you thought that he didn't give her enough credit. That woman was a force to be reckoned with, but not many people had realised it yet. Daryl had. The friendship the two of them shared was really admirable. He'd been the one to search for Sofia, and comfort Carol after the loss of her - and Carol was equally as good for him as he was for her. She'd been able to coax him out of his shell where even you struggled to, and you could see how he'd started to accept his new role within the group because of her.

You just wished, very selfishly, that you could be with him. You understood that he had a job to do now, and how not everyone was able to do the things he did. The group had women and children and older people and a pregnant Lori. You were all running on empty, barely hanging on as it was. Yet, those nights when he'd come back empty-handed, cursing himself under his breath when he thought you were all asleep, made you want to hold him close. You never did, knowing how much Daryl Dixon hated pity from anyone, but the longing was so strong that it made your eyes sting with tears.

Although things weren't awkward between the two of you, you didn't joke around nearly as much as you used to. The atmosphere always felt heavy, as nobody knew when the next meal would come, or how long this place would be safe before you had to move again. As the nights got bitterly cold, you huddled next to Beth for warmth, or Carol sometimes. You felt absolutely no shame in it. There were only a few tattered blankets to go around, but they barely did anything for your numb toes and stiff fingers. If you weren't all family before, then you definitely were now - given how close you'd all had to become.

Some nights, the ones which were your favourites, Daryl slept beside you. You didn't think it was intentional at first. Or, maybe it was. In the grand scheme of things, it was barely anything at all. Yet, the first time almost made you cry, as it felt like he was reminding you that he still cared for you. It wasn't like you ever embraced him, or did anything remotely intimate. You hadn't ever been anything more than the brief kiss you shared in his tent. Though, it still felt intimate to you.

He'd come in late, as usual, on a particularly cold night. You'd heard him slug off his boots and throw them aside as he stripped out of his heavy winter gear. The whole time, you'd pretended to be asleep, like you normally did. After a while, he finally laid down on the ground, clambering over the sleeping bodies of the rest of the group. You usually all huddled together in one room for warmth. You'd felt the floorboards creak and shift beneath you as he settled next to you, not that you were touching, but close enough to feel his presence and hear his breathing.

Once you were sure he'd fallen asleep, you scooted backwards slightly, so that your backs were touching. It was hardly anything, but the slight warmth you felt from him was more comfort than you'd had in weeks. You were touch starved and hungry and cold. You needed something. When you'd woken up the next morning, he was already gone. He never said anything about it, but since then you'd found yourself occasionally waking up in the middle of the night to your back pressed against his, or sometimes having a hand intertwined with your own.

As you finished down one aisle, you noticed another that had been left untouched. It was a toy section, quite small given the size of the store. Obviously, the necessities had been taken first, and you thought that whatever children had survived the apocalypse probably didn't have many things left to play with - since they were all still here. You trailed your finger over the dusty shelf, feeling the glossy plastic of the boxes and the soft fur of the stuffed animals piled there.

"Looking for something for the baby?" Carol asked, popping up behind you.

You immediately jumped, and flung a hand over your chest as you shot her a look. It had been your fault for not paying attention, but she didn't need to know that.

You shook your head. "Not intentionally." You admitted, eyes scanning over the selection. "But I suppose we could pick something up."

You chose one of the bears and shoved it into your satchel. Usually, you'd have looked for something for Carl, too, but he'd recently been acting a lot older than his years. He wanted to step up and protect everyone like his father, he confessed to you one day. You had to admit, he was a pretty good shot and certainly didn't seem like a child anymore. You didn't want to undermine his efforts by presenting him with an action figure in the midst of your current situation, telling him to take a break from killing walkers to play with it.

"Did you find anything?" You turned to look at Carol, who held up her bag that didn't seem anywhere near full.

She shrugged her shoulders at you and made a face. "Few expired cans, but nothing much." She frowned. "You?"

You shook your head softly and flipped open the flap of your satchel to show her your haul.

"Some bandaids and a Freddie Mercury bobblehead." You confessed, picking it out to show her.

You held up the small figure in front of her face, pulling back its comically large head with your thumb and letting it wobble.

"Cute, right?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Carol just gave a small chuckle in reply, folding her arms as though about to half-heartedly scold a child. You shrugged your shoulders before stuffing it back into the bag. Just because Carl didn't want to play with toys anymore didn't mean that you couldn't.

Carol glanced over at the entrance of the store, before giving the shelves a final scan. "We should get going soon." She noted, her bag clanking as she readjusted it over her shoulder. "Some walkers might have gathered outside by now."

You hummed in response, distracted by the array of multi-coloured boxes. "It's fine, I'll look after you." You said, shooting her a wink as she sighed.

The woman had become used to your teasing by now, and it was a welcomed change from how tense you all were most of the time. Even though you mostly used humor as a coping mechanism, especially when you felt nervous, it seemed to lighten the atmosphere when it got a bit too heavy.

"Though I don't think you even need me." You continued, eyeing the small pistol she had tucked into her jeans. "You're getting pretty good with a gun."

Carol snorted at that, reminding you of the time she almost shot a bullet through Rick's boot not so long ago. In her defence, Rick had been a lot more on edge that day, and you'd been quite tempted to do the same.

"Speak for yourself." She spoke, after you'd tried to convince her otherwise. "You started learning after me and your aim's already on parr with Rick's."

You remembered those first days, and how hard they were. Everyone had fallen into their roles and you'd felt almost stuck in place. You didn't know how best to contribute. It had taken the neighbourhood you were all staying in to get overrun before you had the chance to test your skills. You hadn't wanted to waste bullets before that, but you'd scarcely had a choice then.

"He's a good teacher." You smiled at Carol, giving Rick praise where it was due. "And there's no better practice than being terrified and having to learn on the job." You admitted with a strained laugh.

You continued walking down the aisle slowly, back in the direction of the entrance.

"But you're right, we should go." You agreed, gesturing to the door.

The two of you took a few steps together before you stopped abruptly as something caught your attention, right in the corner of your eye. You whipped your head around to look at one of the glossy toy boxes, reading its bold letter description.

"Oh my god." You mumbled to yourself, below your breath.

Carol looked over at you, confused. "What is it?" She asked, glancing in the direction where you were staring.

You couldn't hold back the grin that spread over your face as you grabbed the box and held it in your hand. You glanced over your shoulder, at Carol, before running your fingers back over the dusty plastic.

"No fucking way!" You yelled in disbelief. It seemed like your luck was finally changing.

Carol peered over your shoulder before letting out a chuckle at your expression.

"Now that would be perfect for the baby." She smiled, staring down at it in your hands.

You shook your head at her, looking up to meet her eyes. "I actually had someone else in mind." You admitted, still feeling the smile tug at the corners of your mouth as you said it. "It's a bit of an inside joke we have."

Carol hummed in reply, but didn't press for answers.

"But I agree." You went on, making room for the box to fit into your satchel. "It'll probably get handed down to baby Grimes at some point."

The walk back to the cabin was pretty uneventful. The two of you stayed in the cover of the forest, out of sight of the main road. You'd had to dispatch a couple of walkers on the way, but nothing that the two of you couldn't handle. At this point, you just wished for another set of clothes that weren't covered in muck and dried blood. You could hardly remember the last time you'd worn something clean - that hadn't just been dunked in a creek when you came across one.

As you walked, you must have strayed slightly off the path that you usually took, since you came across an unfamiliar, old Toyota truck that had veered off road and crashed into a tree. It was covered in dried leaves and all beat up, but you recognised the model as the same one belonging to Otis, back at the Greene farm. It was always parked outside there. It was a simple, two person pick up truck that was rusty red in colour, and it instantly made you think back on the night that you were forced into driving it.

After Rick had told you and Daryl that Randall had escaped, the whole farm went into an uproar. You stayed in the farmhouse whilst some of the group went to look for him, Daryl included. It wasn't long before you spotted the horde coming your way, and Hershel's barn had started to go up in flames in the distance. After that, you could barely remember what had happened.

You'd been with Daryl at first. He shot the walkers that got too close with his crossbow, before switching to guns. You did the same, trying to give the others an opportunity to pile into the vehicles and escape. At some point, however, you got completely cut off from the rest of the group and had been forced back to the opposite side of the farmhouse.

The chaos was indescribable. It was like you'd been drafted up for war in the span of half an hour. Soon, you had run out of bullets and only had your knife left to defend yourself. So, you ran. Not able to see any of the others anymore, you sprinted for the last vehicle left - Otis' old Toyota truck. You flung the door open and clambered inside, locking it just in time to avoid the hands that smacked up onto the glass windows. You remembered how your chest heaved as your hands fumbled around the dash frantically. You finally found the keys tucked into the sun visor above your head, and almost cried from relief.

When your hands stopped shaking long enough to put it in the ignition, you turned the key only for the engine to rumble once before falling flat. You tried it again, and it gave out a choked sputter and died.

"No, no, no." You whispered, turning the key over and over to try and start the truck. "This can't be happening."

The windows had almost been completely blacked out by the number of hands and faces pressed against them, the walkers snapping their jaws at you as you panicked inside. In the rearview mirror, you could even see some start to clamber into the truck bed, and knew that it was only a matter of time before they completely swarmed you. You slammed your hands onto the steering wheel in frustration and yelled, not caring whether you attracted more.

"I can't die now, I just kissed that stubborn asshole!" You screamed, accidentally hitting the windscreen wiper stick with your elbow. You watched as the blade caught one of the walkers' flesh and smeared it over the glass.

"Fucking great." You sighed, and turned the key again.

This time, you felt it catch slightly between your fingers, and thought that perhaps the starter motor was sticking. The truck hadn't been used since Otis' death, but it still seemed to have some life in it. You jiggled the key and turned it half way, praying to every deity you could think of. You twisted it fully, and the engine roared to life. You held your breath for a few seconds, not entirely trusting it, but as it continued to rumble you realised that it had started properly this time.

Not wanting to sit around any longer, you immediately set off, mowing down the stream of walkers in front of you all while hoping that the car wouldn't flip over. You watched your mirror as the ones clinging onto the truck bed were flung off as you picked up speed, and you almost wanted to yell out in triumph - but felt like you might be sick if you did so.

The truck was hell to drive. You couldn't figure out the stick for a while and your windscreen was covered in blood and smeared guts. You knew you had to head for the highway where the supplies for Sofia were left. You'd gone with Rick one time, when he went to wait for her there at noon. As you pulled out of Hershel's farm, you gave a final glance back in your mirror to see your home burn and become entirely inhabited by the undead - and noticed your little yellow submarine trampled to the ground as you did so.

As you neared the highway, after driving on the wrong side of the road for a while without realising it, you felt a knot start to form in your stomach. You hadn't seen the others get away - you didn't know if they were alive or dead, or even if they would have waited for you if they managed to escape. Your eyes blurred with tears as you drove, still not feeling any sense of relief despite having made it out of the farm. You just prayed that everyone was safe.

When you got closer to the meeting spot, you immediately noticed the familiar vehicles from the farm, and even Daryl's motorbike, all parked up. You stopped the truck once you couldn't go any further, being blocked by the abandoned cars. The group began to approach you quickly as you clambered out and hit the floor with shaky feet. Glenn reached you first, smiling widely when he saw that you were okay.

"Is that you?" He asked, clapping a hand over your trembling shoulders. "I've never seen anyone drive that badly before-"

You didn't let him finish, instead running over to Daryl on unsteady feet. You flung yourself into his arms, which pulled you in close and held you tight. You sobbed louder than you thought you ever had before, crying into his chest as you felt one of his hands stroke softly over your back. You didn't care what anyone thought at this moment. Nothing could describe the feeling of losing your home and thinking your family was dead. You realised how close you had been to being all alone, once again.

"Hey, c'mon look at me." He said softly, trying to pry himself out of your grip.

He lifted your chin up with his finger and you knew that you must've looked quite the state. Your eyes were completely blurred with tears, so much that you could barely make out the man in front of you, and your nose ran as you struggled to hold back your sobs.

"It's a'right." He reassured you, looking into your eyes as if realising that you needed further convincing. "Yer safe."

You looked around at the group, taking in their faces and feeling your hands tremble against Daryl's chest as they clutched the material of his shirt still. Everyone looked relieved, and offered you small smiles of comfort.

You stepped back from the man a little, giving him his space. You still couldn't stop the tears from falling. It was as if your body still hadn't caught up to your mind.

"I was so scared." You admitted quietly, voice quivering as you did so. "I thought you'd all left me."

You didn't drop your hands from his chest, letting yourself feel his heartbeat beneath your palms as a reminder that this was all real.

Daryl shook his head at you. "We'd never leave ya, Teach" He grumbled, as though he couldn't believe you'd even suggest it. "Went back to look for ya on the bike but I couldn't find ya."

Maggie stepped forward, pulling you into a hug as you finally released Daryl's shirt from your grip. She stroked your hair as she brought you into her chest, and you felt tears stream down your cheeks.

"You scared us all half to death." She told you, before gripping onto your shoulders tightly as you stood back from her.

Glenn nodded in agreement, before letting out a small chuckle. "Then we spotted Otis' truck barreling down the highway." He said, pointing over to the vehicle you'd abandoned. "Thought a walker was driving it the way you were swerving all over the place."

You tried to let out a laugh in return, but it came out all watery in between your sobs.

"The gearstick-" you choked out, hiccuping as you spoke. "Had to change gears with the wrong hand." You explained, lifting your arm to give a poor demonstration as you continued to cry.

"You-" you spluttered, letting out a wail mixed with a desperate laugh. "You stupid Americans."

It was a few days before you and Daryl crossed paths in the cabin again. It was late and you'd been trying to sleep for a few hours when the door creaked open. He'd shuffled around for a bit before you heard him take over watch duty from Glenn. At first, you'd wanted to go outside and scold him for never taking the time to rest, but after a few minutes you decided on a different plan. Prying yourself out from underneath the blanket you shared with Beth, you pulled on your boots - not bothering to do up the laces. The icy breeze hit your skin and caused it to prickle instantly, making you wish you had a spare comforter to take with you. You wouldn't be surprised if it snowed soon, given how dry and bitter the air had felt on your cheek earlier that day.

You retrieved your satchel and tip-toed around the sleeping bodies, doing your best not to step on any creaky floorboards and disturb them. You opened the cabin door slowly, and shut it behind you as you stepped out into the night. Daryl was sitting on the stone wall a few feet away, and you could tell that the smoke coming from his lips was from more than just the cold. He had a cigarette lit between his fingers, and you could make out the familiar lighter that he flicked open and closed in his other hand. You approached with purposefully loud footsteps, not wanting to startle him. He didn't turn around, waiting until you came closer.

"Mind if I join you?" You shot him a smile, pulling your arms to your chest to try and protect yourself against the chill.

He hummed in response, and you noticed how exhausted he looked in the glow of the lighter flame that flickered near his cheeks. His hands were covered in dirt, as were parts of his face, and his hair stuck to his forehead and the back of his neck despite how cold it was. Though, you were sure that you didn't look any better. Your once white vest was now a grubby brown colour and you'd pulled your long hair into a bun on top of your head about a week ago and hadn't looked back since.

Wordlessly, the man shrugged off the poncho he'd found recently, and handed it to you. He had another leather jacket on underneath, but you still felt guilty. You thanked him, pulling it over your head and instantly feeling grateful for the warmth that engulfed you. He then pulled a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket, offering it over to you where he sat. You shook your head and gave him a small smile as he shrugged and stuffed them back into his jacket.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, just watching and listening to the night. Nothing was uncomfortable between you. It's just that the two of you were almost like magnets, trying to intentionally stay away from each other. You feared that the two of you might never be able to seperate if you stuck together for good. It wasn't awkward, but there was definitely unspoken tension, like you were both waiting for something that you couldn't let happen yet.

"I miss my tent." You sighed, watching your breath appear as a small puff of air against the black night.

Daryl grumbled at that. "I sure as hell don't." He muttered, taking a final drag from his smoke before snuffing it out on the wall. "Thing was an eyesore."

You chuckled a bit at his response, not really sure what you were expecting. "You loved it, really." You teased, shooting him a wink that he dismissed.

"Whatever, Sunshine." He mumbled back, but his voice sounded a lot lighter than it had for a while.

After a few seconds, you remembered your satchel, now safely tucked away in the warmth of the poncho you wore. You fumbled around beneath it for a bit, which made Daryl give you a look, before pulling out the canvas bag and setting it onto your lap.

"I have something for you." You beamed, feeling the breeze sting your sore, chapped lips.

Daryl sighed at you, finally looking over to meet your eyes.

"Ya need to stop gettin' me shit." He drawled, with no bite behind his words.

You shook your head quickly at the accusation. "It isn't from me!" You almost yelled, before reminding yourself that there were people sleeping a few feet away, and lowering your voice.

You glanced back at the cabin and pointed to it. "This place has no chimney, so he told me to pass it onto you."

Daryl raised an eyebrow at you, which you ignored. Instead, you fished around in your satchel until you found what you were looking for. You could barely contain your excitement as you pulled out the box wrapped messily in old newspapers, and handed it to him expectantly.

He took it from you carefully, as though not entirely trusting it. Though, he still held it gently in his hand, in case he was afraid to break it. You watched intently as he flipped it over and squinted his eyes at the writing on it, confusion clear on his face. You'd scribbled on it earlier in the day, having found a sharpie tucked away in one of the drawers. You'd tried to do it secretively, but almost had a heart attack when Glenn asked you what you were doing - dropping the gift and kicking it under the couch until he promised to leave. Luckily, you hadn't found any dents on it afterwards. Yet, you now found it almost comical how carefully Daryl treated the box, considering what you had done to it only a few hours before.

Your eyes scanned over the letters with him as he read them, seeing the words written on top of the newspaper in black, bold print:

'To Young Daryl Dixon,

Merry Christmas!

From, Father Christmas.'

By the time he looked up to question you, you were already watching his eyes - waiting to see his expression. At the moment, his face was still scrunched up in confusion, which made you chuckle. The man looked at you like you'd just handed him a bomb he didn't know how to diffuse.

"Father Christmas?" He asked slowly, like the syllables were foreign on his tongue.

You cocked your head to the side, looking back down at the gift and wondering if you'd made a mistake. Your eyes widened.

"Shit." You muttered below your breath, before looking back up to meet his gaze. "It's Santa Clause to you people, isn't it?" You questioned.

Daryl looked at you in disbelief, as if wondering what the hell you were going on about. You were used to that look from him by now, and continued to ramble.

"I'm sure that's what he meant." You said, nodding. "He probably was in a rush when he wrote it." You looked away from the man, trying not to giggle as you remembered the whole incident between you and Glenn.

He continued to stare at you before shaking his head.

"Yer crazy, woman." He grumbled, picking the wrapped box back up to inspect it closer.

You felt your patience reach its limit, unable to contain your excitement anymore. You shoved his arm.

"Just open it!" You ordered, and he did.

For a man so rough around the edges, you'd never seen someone unwrap a gift so gently before. He didn't rip into the paper like you would have, but spent a few extra seconds pulling the parcel tape off and unfolding it with care. Once it was opened up on his lap, you watched his face as he finally saw the plastic box inside.

You knew it wasn't the exact same one he'd told you about, from all of those years ago, but it must've been close. It was a child's sheriff kit. It had the little hat that looked similar to Rick's, and the pointy metal badge in the shape of a star. When you'd seen it in the store, you just knew you had to get it for him. He might have forgotten telling you about it by now, but you had remembered.

"It didn't come with a gun, I'm afraid." You pointed to the plastic window of the box, explaining it to him. "But we have plenty of those."

You shot him a smile as you saw his expression. It was still confused, as he glanced between you and the box in his palms, but it was a lot more shy and uncertain now. You could almost see the thoughts working overtime in that head of his, as he processed it all, and decided to stop staring at him.

"It was either this or a Freddie Mercury bobblehead." You noted, feeling your cheeks hurt at how much you were beaming at the man. "And I wanted the bobblehead."

He sat in silence, just listening to your ramblings as he usually did. His eyes were still fixated on the gift, as if making up for all the years he'd wished for it as a child. You desperately wanted to slip your hand into his, or rest your head on his shoulder - but you refrained. You didn't want to take away from this moment; you just wanted to watch it. That, and you weren't sure if you'd be able to let him go if you did.

"You said how you never got any presents as a kid." You started carefully, trying to navigate your thoughts into words. "It made me sad." You admitted, in more of a whisper this time.

Daryl looked over at you, his expression soft. It was like he was uncertain of his own words, too.

"I know it's stupid." You confessed, voice trailing off as you lost your nerve.

"Nah it aint." He interrupted, shaking his head and trying to get you to look at him. "I love it."

You thought he was being sarcastic until your eyes met his and you saw the sincerity within them, and suddenly your breath caught in your throat. Daryl Dixon gave you a smile so warm that it almost made you forget it was winter. You didn't know he could even make these kinds of expressions, and you weren't able to entirely hide your reaction. Though, his smile went as quickly as it came. He looked away from you, as if noticing he'd let his stubborn, unapproachable wall crumble down. You snorted, wondering if he truly hadn't realised that you knew him better than that by now.

"I thought that baby Grimes could play with it eventually." You suggested, and he hummed in agreement.

"But in the meantime-" you continued, taking the box from his hands and opening it.

He watched you with curious eyes but didn't say anything, just letting you carry on like you had him wrapped around your little finger. You fumbled with the box, pulling out the star shaped badge, before handing the rest back. You turned so that you were facing opposite him, and pulled on his leather jacket so that it opened.

He grumbled at you as you did it, but made no effort to pull away or stop you. Instead, you flipped open one side of his jacket and pinned the badge on the material inside, closing it again before the cold set it.

"It belongs to Deputy Dixon, as promised." You finished with a smile, watching as he thumbed over the metal concealed in his jacket. The look on his face showed just how much he struggled to figure you out.

To your surprise, he didn't remove it straight away. He just bit his lip, as though trying to think of how to respond.

"Yer too much, Teach." He said lowly, after a few seconds.

"How so?" You asked.

He glanced back down into his lap, at the box that was still resting there. "Doin' all this." He mumbled, seeming like he was holding himself back. You stayed silent, waiting for him to go on.

"You bring back comics for Carl, an' stuff for the baby." He said, looking down as he spoke. "We're all here tryna do our best jus' to survive, an' you come in with that huge beamin' smile on yer face showin' us a bobblehead ya found."

He finally met your eyes, and you could see from his look that he just genuinely couldn't comprehend it. You seemed to completely allude Daryl Dixon, and the thought of him struggling to try to understand you better made you almost giddy.

"I know it's odd." You admitted, pulling the poncho closer to your body as the wind picked up. "But just because our priority is surviving doesn't mean that we should put off living."

You bit your lip. This was the most you had spoken to the man in weeks, and as the seconds went by you found it harder and harder to hold yourself back.

"I thought you could use a reminder of that." You said, offering him a small smile. "You work so hard to try and keep us all fed and safe, I wanted to give you something as a thank you."

The newspaper fluttered in the breeze, and Daryl barely caught hold of it as a gust picked it up. You caught a glimpse of your handwriting, where he held it between his fingers.

"Santa Clause did, I mean." You corrected.

You sat together in silence for a while, but the man didn't light any more cigarettes. You felt yourself growing tired and attempted to convince him to swap his shift with someone else, but he refused. You knew the sun would start to rise in a couple of hours, so you wanted to get some sleep before then. Begrudgingly, you shuffled out of the oversized poncho and offered it back to the man before you left, immediately being reminded of how icy the weather had gotten. He shook his head at your outstretched hand, which you had already expected.

"Nah, you keep it." He said, in a way that left you no room to argue.

You raised an eyebrow at him, feeling nostalgic at the familiar situation. This time, however, you didn't fight with him. Slipping the material back over your head, you huddled it to your chest and whispered a soft 'thanks' to him. The sky was still dark, and kept you wondering whether you would start to see sleet fall in the next couple of days. You looked back over to the dilapidated cabin, with its wooden weathered walls and its roof that looked close to caving in. It was a far cry from Hershel's idyllic farmhouse, but somehow you didn't seem to mind as much on this specific night.

You slipped off the stone wall you'd been sitting on and stood up on your tip-toes to reach the man still sat there. You brushed away the hair over his face with the palm of your hand, and gave him a brief kiss on the forehead before turning to leave.

"Merry Christmas, Daryl." You told him, and returned to the house to watch the first snowflakes fall from the window.

A/N Don't you love it when the plot points you set up 6 chapters ago come back around to be resolved. It's *delicious*. I think I would actually pay to see the Christmas scene play out. There's only so much imagination can do - I want to see Daryl's shy reaction in person, too!

As usual, drop me a message to be included in the tags list!

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@xxboesefrauxx @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @teel-dinosaur @greenbeansarelit @bunnymother93 @alularae3 @death-becomes-her @royaleclown @alex-sulli

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un2-verse · 3 years

Text

BILLY — Kim Taehyung (1)

》 News of a Sadistic Serial Killer nicknamed “Jigsaw” is spreading around town like wildfire… the nickname stemming from the puzzle piece he cuts from every victim’s body. No one knows who he’ll trap next but in a town full of delinquents and criminals, it could never be you. Right? 《

pairings: john kramer!taehyung x female reader

warnings: dark themes, angst, yandere, murder, torture, self harm, suicide, stalking etc.... (will add more when i know lol) although it is rather innocent in the first couple chapters(?) so idk it could be slow burn but i guess we’ll find out as i write it >< ,, it’s my version of saw if saw was a fucked up love story lol. Please don’t read if any of the topics mentioned trigger you!! 18+

this fic is exactly that, fiction!!!! the au does not represent the characters mentioned irl......

synopsis: you end up lost on the other side of town, where you cross paths with a handsome stranger, kim taehyung, only.... are you a stranger to him?

[a/n: daffodils represent; love me, sympathy, desire and affection returned...]

word count: 3k

series masterlist

part two

——————————————————————————

Hiding behind a mask was something you were accustomed to. Your friend group and family were clueless to the torment you endured from simply existing. You were confident your masking had convinced the world you were happy with yourself. Unbeknown to you, one other person saw straight through your façade.

You wanted to end your life.

He needed you to cherish your life.

Nothing looked familiar. The café you frequented was nowhere to be found. Your usual hangout was most definitely not on the side of town you found yourself in. You felt anxiety slowly curl its way around your body, you were frigid. You tried and tried but couldn’t find it in yourself to run.

You lived in the more friendly part of town (so to speak) – where houses were colourful, gardens pristine, warm-hearted neighbours who would treat you like family and white picket fences are what surrounded you. That was your norm, sure, you weren’t exactly loaded but you weren’t exactly poor either. It was a healthy balance in the middle. That’s not to say you hadn’t lived or seen this side of town before.

Your Mother and Father had grown up on this side of the fence. Two young people brought up in the rougher, more unfortunate areas. Your Mother was tough; she looked like a naïve, weak girl, albeit that was not the case. She was strong willed, used to life on the streets and doing anything she could to get money to make sure there was at least some food on the table. While your Mum was the leader, your Dad was more of a sheep. He was easily influenced and was dragged into the wrong crowd (had his fair share with drugs and street racing). That was their life for a few years till they crossed paths and your Mum helped your Dad get back on the right track.

They didn’t tell you much about their childhood and adolescence but they told you enough to make you appreciate what you have and to always work hard for it. To stick with the right people, be wise and conscious of your decisions. Be kind to those around you.

Your family owned a garage; your Dad was the head mechanic. This was the sole reason you were here. You knew it wouldn’t be simple when you agreed to go to this side of town to get a few bits for your Father’s shop. However, you didn’t expect it to be this difficult. How could you be so stupid? Why didn’t you just ask Hoseok and Yoongi to come with you like your father told you to? Or at least tell them where you were… yet you decided today of all days to be stubborn and venture on yourself, knowing full well how unsafe the area was. There were rundown businesses on either side of the road, beggars at every doorstep; drug dealings happening in broad daylight, no one even trying to hide it.

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket, you took it out and sighed a breath of relief once you’d read the texts.

14:37— From Papa: U ok munchkin ??? Did u get the stuff ?

14:39— From Papa: its ok if u didnt. Yoongs rang said hes got majority this morning lol so be safe n get home soon . Love u

14:40— To Papa: ohhh ok pops, i couldn’t find the shop anyway lol i’ll head back soon, love u too x

*LOW BATTERY*

“Fuck, trust me to forget to charge the bastard.” You rolled your eyes as you stuffed the phone back in your pocket.

Muffled shouting was heard around you. People ran across the street, bumping into you as they ran past. You gathered yourself and moved further down the path. “Great!” you exasperated, “honestly I’m so fucking stupid! Yoongi’s gonna kill me for this, I knew, I knew I should’ve told him I was coming over here but no,” your head was hung low as you dragged your feet across the pavement, “maybe I could tell Hobi, he wouldn’t be as angry right? I’m sure he’ll come,“ A sudden scream ripped you out of your chuntering. You whipped your head to the right, you could make out some figures bustling about in front of you, a group of men were quite clearly fighting… your anxiety struck you and you held your breath as you saw a man pull a knife from the waistband of his sweatpants. All thoughts and common sense seemed to leave all at once. Statue like, feet stuck to the ground. You watched on as the group rushed towards the brown haired man, you scanned his figure: tall, broad, confident… he exuded an intimidating aura even when you were this far away from him.

How could someone be so sure of themselves? It was one against five, surely the loner had no chance?

The glistening of the knife brought you back to your senses. Fucking hell. How do you always end up in these situations when you’re alone? Why me? Why? Good Lord, I need to run. Just as you were about to leave, the group who were arguing charged past you; one gripped his side as another supported his weight. Holy fuck, did he stab him? you stood frozen, yet again, your mind raced a mile a minute. Panic bubbled in your chest.

“You okay there Doll?” His voice was deep, velvet-like. It flowed so smoothly you doubted it was real, it was so soothing like it had wrapped itself around you, embracing your body. You heard his footsteps before he planted himself beside you. His shoulder reached the top of your head, his hand brushed yours. Swallowing your nerves you dared a glance up. He was fucking breath-taking, like a fallen angel. The stranger shot you a small smile that you would’ve easily missed had you not been staring at his features… a blush crept up your neck as you nodded. His smile slowly twisted into a smirk.

Cute, Taehyung thought to himself. Couldn’t help but adore the way you slightly trembled under his gaze, the way your hands gripped and twisted your sweater paws. Almost like a puppy. He cleared his throat and reached his hand to yours, “Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself. I’m Taehyung.” you took his hand into yours, apprehensively you greeted him, “I’m Y/N.”

“Ah, Y/N. I haven’t seen you round here before, you new or something?” Taehyung cocked his head to the side, his eyes seemed to stare right through you.

“Uhm, I don’t live here. I live over the other part of Town… I was just grabbing some stuff for my Dad but, my phones about to die. I have no idea where I am or how to get home, I’m sorry, I promise I didn’t see anything!” a deep chuckle cut you off, Taehyung smiled and beckoned you to follow him.

“Come on Y/N, you’re not suited for this side of Town, I’ll walk you back. A pretty little thing like you, you’re easy prey to these guys.” your feet fell into a cautious pace behind him, he glanced over his shoulder, “hurry up Buttercup, I don’t bite.” Taehyung flashed a boxy grin in your direction, which caused you to speed up ever so slightly.

You were unsure how you felt about letting a complete stranger walk you home, Yoongi would definitely kill you for this. Especially with the recent news of some serial killer named ‘Jigsaw’, Yoongi and Hoseok had been very stern and their usual, overprotective selves when the news had broken out. “It’s on every headline Y/Nie! No more leaving the house on yourself, you need to go anywhere you ring either of us. Got it? Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know either. There’s some dodgy fucks about recently.” Although, you loved them dearly, sometimes their protectiveness was a...little overbearing. You already felt suffocated from your parents (you didn’t need it from your best friends as well). They were happy and believed you to be too; but that was exhausting, faking happiness. You had a constant façade, acted like a happy normal teenager with a happy family; when that was far from the truth.

Drowning. That’s how you’d explain the way you felt. Breathing was difficult and brought you more pain than it was worth. Growing up was tedious, you had grown differently to your peers which only brought ridicule and embarrassment for you. You had struggled with your speech (sometimes you still do), you often stuttered, mispronounced words, the list was endless. That was one of the first reasons you were a castaway. As you grew, the ridicule worsened. Verbal abuse turned physical from your classmates. They made you feel like you were a waste of space. The names they called you, you soon started to believe them. Ugly. Weird. Freak. Stupid. They took root in your brain, slowly they grew and grew till your head was overgrown with twisted, rotten weeds.

Eventually, you sought comfort in blood. You didn’t care that it hurt you; you were almost happy to feel pain. Like you deserved to.

By age 14, you had started to skip school. Only ever there for exams and a couple of art classes you had with Jeongguk. He was what you would’ve called a best friend, he supported you and was by your side till you left school. He went away to college and like always with school friends, you drifted apart. Nevertheless, he still texts you now and then to check in.

Although you were (once) close with Jeongguk. He never knew of your inner demons, the same with Yoongi and Hoseok. You didn’t want to feel like a burden and worry your friends when they had shit to worry about themselves.

Why devastate flowers that flourish beautifully with weeds that manage to twist their way around every crack?

You had walked for a few minutes now, having chatted absentmindedly about anything and everything. The roads still didn’t look familiar to you and you just wished they did, you didn’t want to be away from your home any longer, your feet were starting to ache, your phone was on 10% battery and it was fucking cold. You just wanted to be back in bed tucked up watching Lady and the Tramp or 101 Dalmatians for the millionth time. You felt safe and content when you indulged in your comfort films. Far away from the real world and wrapped up in the false reality. They easily distracted you and that's when you truly felt at peace. Your mind was always too busy thinking about how cute it was when Tramp calls Lady, Pidge or how in love Pongo and Perdy were.

Majority of the time you fantasised about having a love similar, but then again, why would you wanna make yourself vulnerable like that? Is the risk of being hurt (more than you are now) any good? Of course it’s not. Fuck that, life isn’t nothing like those shitty romance films or novels… It’s real and painful.

As you and Taehyung rounded the corner, a little cafe caught your eye, a dainty blue and pink building. Fairy Lights strung up around the windows, you could see a handful of people inside, busy sipping their drinks and chatting away to one another. ‘Aroma Mocha’ hung above the doors. It looked so cute and simple. Your previous thoughts left your mind as quick as they had come. You wanted to go inside, it had an enticing atmosphere.

Taehyung hadn’t realised you’d stopped walking until he couldn’t hear the soft thud of your footsteps behind him, he turned as he called out to you, your eyes still fixed on the cafe. He chuckled to himself, “Fucking adorable, like a kid at christmas,” he walked back over to you. “Hey Doll, you wanna go in?” He felt his heart quicken when you looked at him with those pretty eyes, “We’ve plenty of time to get you back before it’s dark angel.” You answered him with a nod as you turned your head from Taehyung to look back at the alluring little cafe.

Not a second had passed before Taehyung grabbed your hand and pulled you across the road to the entrance; you ignored the warmth of his hand as it intertwined with yours; you ignored the way your tummy erupted with butterflies. Taehyung had stopped to hold the door for you, you murmured a small, “thank you,” looking up at him, the heat that crept up your cheeks making your face resemble that of a doll’s he thought to himself. Once he ushered you fully inside, he placed his hand to rest on the curve of your waist as he guided you to the back corner of the room, where a quaint table for two was unoccupied, a little pot of Daffodils sat atop. How fitting...

Taehyung was quick to pull the chair out for you to take a seat, you pulled it in as you sat down and sent a shy smile his way, “I’m sorry, I know we just met Taehyung but this place is so fucking precious! I hope I’m not bothering you, if I am we can just carry on walking or, I could ring a Taxi? Is this weird? Oh god, I can’t believe--”, Taehyung threw his head back as he laughed, a sound that seemed to wrap its way around your soul, twisting around your heart in the nicest of ways, it was almost like a killer to the weeds taking over your body. A temporary release. You felt like you could really breathe in those short seconds of his laughter.

“Angel, if you were bothering me, I’d have kept on walking. That, or I would’ve called you a Taxi myself, it’s no problem honestly.” You ducked your head as he sent a wink your way, fuck sake Y/N get it together! Why are you acting like a fucking schoolgirl?

“Well I uh, appreciate it so, yeah thank you?” You don’t know what to do, you’re here with the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid your eyes on… yet you have no clue if what you saw was real, did Taehyung stab someone? Could someone have had the knife who wasn’t Taehyung? Was he even the person you saw in that altercation? Did you imagine everything that had gone off?

Before you had chance to overthink it, a light bubbly voice greeted your ears, “Hi! Welcome to Aroma Mocha, I’m Jimin and I’ll be your server today. Is there anything I can get you?” Jimin held his gaze on you as he flashed you a friendly smile, Taehyung turned around at the sound of his best friend, “Oh, Tae! I wasn’t expecting to see you today, what are you doing here? And who’s this pretty little lady?”

“This is Y/Nie, she was in the neighbourhood so we thought we’d nip in for something to drink before I take her back to hers.” you sent a warm smile to Jimin which he gladly returned, “I’ll have my usual and can you get Y/Nie a Strawberry Iced Tea? Thanks man.”

Once Jimin had disappeared to make your drinks, you shot your eyes to Taehyung, “Uhm, how’d you know I like Strawberry Iced Tea?” Taehyung didn’t even look in your direction as he scrolled through his phone, eyes glued to the screen. A minute passed by and he’d still not acknowledged your question so you let it slide, it wasn’t that big of a deal right? Your mind drifted. Your fingers rested atop of your lap, hidden from the sight of onlookers, picking around your nails as anxiety flooded your body. You felt like you were about to suffocate. You shouldn’t be talking to anyone, you shouldn’t let anyone close. You were only going to fuck everything up in a heartbeat. It’s only natural. Self deprecating thoughts devoured and made their way through your veins, poisoning yourself further; your whole body felt as though it was alight.

Jimin brought you your drinks, placed them carefully in front of the pair of you as you both said your thanks.

The click of Taehyung’s phone being locked and the clearing of his throat brought you back to your senses. “The drink I ordered for you is popular here so, I assumed you’d like to try it. You wanna talk about what’s bothering you?” your eyes shot up to meet his, your head tilted a little to the left as your tongue wet your lip, so puppy like...

You stared incredulously, “I don’t know what you’re talking about Taehyung.” You leant forward slightly as you wrapped your lips around the straw and took a sip.

Taehyung saw the way you sucked your drink up through your straw, his eyes darkened. Thankful to have worn sweatpants that day, he shifted himself discreetly, “I’m not stupid Angel, I know what you’re doing under the table. I’m here, so talk to me. I’ll listen to whatever you gotta say.”

You stuttered as you wracked your brain for something to say, “I-I only met you like forty minutes ago, I don’t even tell my friends what’s wrong. Not that there is, everything’s fine.”

You met me just short of an hour ago, he thought to himself, “You don’t have to lie to me Y/Nie…” he grabbed your hands that were laid near the cup of your Iced Tea. His thumb rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. You looked small and fragile, like the Daffodils on the table; one little pluck and you’d be ruined. He wouldn’t admit it to you just yet but, Taehyung fucking loved how delicate you seemed as you sat across from him.

How easy it would be to take your life away. How easy it’d be to pull those weeds up that are poisoning you, torturing you every single day. He shook his head, as he cleared those thoughts. No, only Y/N can make that decision. I’m just going to help her choose.

Live or Die.

You visibly winced, “You don’t know me. Think whatever the fuck you want about me, it doesn’t matter.” your eyes flashed hurt as you went back to picking your skin. You knew it, this whole encounter was too good to be true. A complete stranger (well acquaintance technically) had just presumed shit about you, the fact he was right is what hurt more. You didn’t want anyone to know how you were feeling. Or how you were dealing with it.

You couldn’t exactly tell him to piss off, you still needed his help home and so you tried to distract yourself from the unsettling gaze that watched your every move. You let out a breath as Taehyung went back to his phone. Your eyes drifted as you picked up the local Newspaper, your eyes skimmed over the headline, ‘Jigsaw Traps Continue’. Taehyung noticed you staring at the front page, and chuckled, “you scared of Jigsaw Angel?”

You shook your head, why would you be scared of some nutjob who’s targeted criminals and drug dealers? You’re a nobody. “Of some psychopathic puppet?” if anyone did anything to you that would threaten your life, it would be you. Taehyung just laughed in return as you skipped the article and skim-read the other pointless stories.

You were fucking clueless as to who he was while he knew every little thing about you. He had watched you for months… His precious little Y/Nie… Oh how silly you were, taking your life for granted.

You hated yourself that much, you were willingly marking yourself up. Tainting your skin… oh your skin, how fucking beautiful and soft it looked, even with all the scars it still looked perfect… Taehyung wanted nothing more than to whisk you away and lock you inside with him. Forever. He didn’t want anyone touching what was his.

He knew you wore a mask when in public, too afraid to show your real self. Little did you know, he wore a mask himself...only he wore it to better other people.

He had a plan.

And you’d soon find out.

Let the games begin.

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forever-rogue · 4 years

Note

I’m so excited that your doing these requests!🥳 could you please do prompt 36 from prompt list 1 with javier please, think I would cry😂💖 Thankyoux

Oh, okay, I see what you’re doing to me here! 🥺😌 Enjoy!

Prompt: 36. “Does he know about the baby?”

Javi x Fem!Reader ; warnings: language, pregnancy

Javier Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

You knocked on Connie and Steve’s door, hesitating for just a moment before opening once you heard her call to you. As soon as you walked into the Murphy’s place, you were overwhelmed with the smell of her delicious cooking. You grinned as you walked in, following the smell of the percolating coffee.

“Good morning,” you grinned at Steve who was setting the table. He looked up and smiled, offering you a small wave. You were just about in the kitchen when you felt a pair of arms wrap tightly around your waist before you were held against a strong chest. His smell immediately overwhelmed your senses as he pressed a few kisses to your bare shoulder; you’d purposely worn a sundress, one you knew he loved just to tease him a little...and for one other very specific purpose - but he wasn’t privy to that just yet, “good morning, Javier.”

“Good morning to you, Dulzura,” he whispered in your ear before pressing a kiss to your cheek, “you had to wear that little dress, didn’t you? You drive me crazy sometimes.”

“Hmmm,” you mused as you hastily pulled out of his grasp before turning to face him and pressing a kiss to his lips, “maybe I like to mess with you...maybe I just really like this dress.”

“You are…” his hands his found purchase on your hips as he gave them a gentle squeeze, kissing along your jaw before stopping at the shell of your ear, his warm breath tickling you, “an absolute little -”

“Hi babe!” Connie beamed when she stuck her head out from the kitchen, her smile stretching from ear to ear, “so glad you made it! Do you mind giving me a hand real quick with finishing up? Javi - let the poor thing breath for a moment.”

Javi sighed dramatically before hanging his head; but you didn’t let him down that easily, instead putting a few fingers under his chin and turning his face up so you could kiss him properly. He instantly lit up at your touch, those soft brown eyes crinkling in the corners as his dimple made its appearance, “te amo, Javier. Now go and help Steve or something. I’m all yours after brunch anyway.”

“Fine,” he pouted as you pushed him in Steve’s direction. You watched him go with a laugh before joining Connie in the kitchen. She just smirked at you, handing you a bowl of fresh fruit to cut up.

The two of you fell into easy conversation, and you thoroughly enjoyed her company. But as you kept chopping away at the fruit, your stomach started to churn more and more with each slice of your knife. When you were halfway through cutting up the mango, you couldn’t handle it anymore and practically threw down the knife as you dashed towards the bathroom. You almost kicked the door open as you got onto your knees and heaved up the contents of your stomach.

Shit. Shit. Shit. You sighed at yourself when you were all done, wiping at the corners of your mouth. You’d thought you’d gotten over this part by now, hoping that it wouldn’t rear its ugly head again - especially not in front of your friends and boyfriend. No - the morning sickness should have been done by now.

“Dulzura?” Javier stepped into the small bathroom and shut the door behind him, immediately dropping to his knees next to you. Flushing the toilet, you turned to him and put on the most innocent face you could. He grabbed your face gently in his hands, brushing a thumb over your cheek as he studied you intently, “what happened? Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, Javi,” you promised him softly as you put your hands on his wrists and gave them a gentle squeeze. Although you were sure that the average person would have easily believed your little lie, Javier was no average man and he was able to easily see through your white lie. You sighed heavily before pulling his hands from your face and moving to stand up, “please don’t worry about me, it’s probably something I ate.”

“I do worry,” he insisted, just as firmly, as you turned on the tap and stuck your head under it to swish your mouth with water, “it’s my job-”

“Your job is to be my boyfriend,” you spit out the cold water, “and to trust me when I say everything is fine. One little upset stomach is nothing to worry about, Javier Peña. You have enough to worry about, don’t worry about this one too.”

“Fine,” he held up his hands in defeat, but you could tell that he wasn’t going to let this one go; for now probably, but forever, “but-"

"If it happens again, you'll be the first to know mi amor," you promised him, "now go and finish up with Steve and I'll finish the fruit."

Javier gave your hand a squeeze before slowly making his way out of the bathroom, with you quickly following on his kneel. Before he walked back over to Steve while you rejoined Connie in the kitchen.

She'd taken it upon herself to finish cutting up the fruit, but a knowing little look was on her face. You walked back over without saying a word, fully intending on not mentioning a word, but just like Javier, Connie was sharp and perceptive and wouldn't let it go. You'd surrounded yourself with a particular type of person and right now you were regretting intensely.

"Does he know about the baby?" she whispered under her breath as you stilled in your motions. Your breath hitched in your throat as you slowly met her eyes, wanting to cry at the little smirk on her face.

"I-I-I…don't know what you're talking about," you lied lamely, more so wondering if she would go along with what you were saying or call your bluff.

"Honey," she gave you an almost pitying look, "you just had a bout of morning sickness and you're starting to show. I've seen the old dress trick tons of times."

"How did you know that's what it was?" you asked in a rushed whisper. She was a nurse...of course she'd know.

"Randomly throwing up at the smell of food? And it's not the first time - it's happened not infrequently over the past two months," she stated as you groaned, "just because those two are oblivious, doesn't mean I am."

"Fine," you hissed quietly, making sure that Javier and Steve weren't paying attention, "how can you tell I'm showing?! I thought it wasn't...obvious yet."

"Not to the untrained eye," she admitted, "I'm guessing you just started to pop? You've been wearing looser clothes lately… I'm guessing...16 weeks?"

"14 weeks...shit Con," you sighed softly, "I...I've been too obvious! I haven't...I haven't told Javier! I haven't found the right time and I've been so nervous and I-I-I...just I'm scared, Con. What if…"

"No what ifs, honey," she said softly as she put her arm around and pulled you into a hug, "you need to tell Javier. He deserves to know...and I know you're scared, but you know how much he loves you and this won't change anything. You've turned Javier into the best version of him - he adores you. But you have to tell him...besides you're not going to be able to hide it much longer…"

"Fuck!" you whined softly.

"Just tell him," she stated firmly, "you have to tell Javier."

"Tell me what?" Javier and his impeccable timing struck again as he walked into the kitchen and grinned at the two of you. You exchanged a nervous look with her before turning back to him.

"How much I love you," you swallowed nervously before grinning at him with the best smile you could muster up, "which is a lot whole, mi amor."

He opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off with a kiss. Javier made a small sound but said nothing, instead giving you another kiss.

»»————-　♡　————-««

"What's wrong, Dulzura?" Javier asked as he pulled you into his lap; you had stiffened immediately upon his touch. As soon as you'd gotten back to his apartment, he was all over you, his touch was like fire and he was all consuming. It had been easy to get lost in his touch, the feel of his lips on yours, his large hands roaming your body.

But as soon as he had led you back to his bedroom and he flopped down on the bed and pulled you into him - sheer panic set in.

"N-nothing," you lied as you stood up and took a step back. A look of confusion crossed his features as you tried to keep it together, "just tired…"

"Okay," he sighed softly before running a hand over his face, "what the hell is going on? You've been acting off all day…"

"Nothing…"

"Dulzura."

"Javier, you're worrying over nothing again."

"You won't even let me touch you," he sighed lightly, "if you don't want me to let me know. We don't have to do anything…"

"I do, Javier...I'm just tired."

"Bullshit…"

"Javi…"

"You can tell me anything, Dulzura. I love you, you know that."

"I-"

"Anything at all."

"I-"

"Nothing will ever change that I love you."

"I'm pregnant."

It came out as an almost shout as you finally plucked up the courage to just say it. Javier's jaw dropped as he immediately looked at your stomach and then back at your face. A million different emotions flickered over his features as he tried to figure out what was happening.

Oh, he'd heard you - he just couldn't come to terms with it.

"What?" he said softly as he met your eyes. His eyes were glossy as he tried to figure out if it was true, "Dulzura...what did you say?"

"I...I...I'm pregnant," you whispered softly, your own eyes starting to prick and burn. Slowly, you reached for the hem of your dress, pulling it up as gently as you watched his reaction. He sucked in his breath as he watched your stomach become revealed to him. It was small, still barely evident, but it was there - the sweetest of bumps, "I...I should have told you sooner, Javier. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

"Why are you sorry?" his eyes were practically twinkling as his lips trembled slightly. He stood up and came over, a hand gingerly going to your stomach as he paused to see if you would stop. But you didn't - you let him put his hand on your belly before putting your own on top of his, "our baby...how far…"

"14 weeks," you said nervously as he nodded, trying to keep it together and not completely lose his mind, "I found out about 6 weeks ago and I-I-I panicked so much and I kept trying to figure out the perfect time to tell you and I keep not. I'm so sorry for that, Javier. You deserved to know sooner...and I completely understand if you don't want...anything to do with me or the baby."

"Why would you think I wouldn't want anything to do with…" he paused as he looked up and met your eyes, his free hand moving to your cheek, as you keened in to his touch, "did you think I was going to be mad...leave?"

"No," you admitted honestly, "I just didn't know what you'd...think. I'm scared and nervous and I didn't know what to do, and I just kept not telling you. And we didn't plan for a baby, I mean...its a mess."

"I love you," he whispered before kissing your forehead, "and - fuck - a few years ago I didn't think I'd ever love someone again or be in this situation. And now...I'm scared, don't get me wrong, absolutely terrified. But I am...I'm excited. This is...you...I love you."

"I'm scared too," your lips trembled, but in a quick measure of reassurance, he pressed a kiss to your lips in a sweet, gentle manner, "its a baby, Javier. What if-"

"Dulzura," he whispered softly, "I know there are a ton of things to think about - but I promise you this - it will be okay, we will be okay. I'm not going anywhere and I will protect you and the baby, and fuck - I'm happy. Scared but happy."

"Yeah?" you asked softly, not hesitating to throw your arms around his neck and holding him tightly, "I love you, Javier. More than you will ever know."

"I love you too," he kissed the crown of your head as he gently rubbed your back in soothing circles. He held you silently for some time, letting you get your soft cries, these ones not of worry or sadness but nervous happiness out, "can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"How did I never...notice? What if I hadn't found out and you'd gotten bigger?" he chuckled warmly as you snorted with laughter.

"Well, I've been keeping the lights off," you reminded him and he made a sound of 'oh yeah', "and this little bit just seemed to pop out the last few days...I don't know...I guess I would have blamed...bloating?"

"You are too much," he laughed as you gave him a sheepish look, "do me a favor?"

"Of course."

"Next time, just tell me as soon as you know," he insisted gently, "I...I want this - to be a part of this - and to experience it all with you."

"Next time?" you quirked an eyebrow gently, "you presume there's a next time?"

"Maybe…" he grinned with a cheeky smirk, "but seriously, Dulzura - I'm happy, scared, but happy. And I love you, always."

"I love you too," you promised, "con todo."

"I know," he whispered, "now - will you let me show you how much?"

"Javier…"

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#Javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #narcos #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #javier pena #javier pena x you #forever-rogue's follower celebration

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queenxxxsupreme · 4 years

Note

Hi!! Could you do a rdr2 oneshot and Arthur is a chubby boi and insecure about it?? I'm a hoe for chubby Arthur 🧍‍♀️many thanks!!

A/N: Omg I haven’t been able to find enough chubby!Arthur on here but I love him!!! My masterlist is here and here is the link to go to if you want to be on any of my taglists!

Warnings: poor self image and Arthur hating on himself

***

“Thank you for giving me a hand with dinner tonight, Y/N.”

You looked over your shoulder to Pearson, offering him a little smile.

“I wasn’t busy and I don’t mind lending a hand.”

“I’m glad someone helps out around here.” He muttered, sending Molly a brief glare. She sat at the table across from you, touching up on her lipstick. You had been chatting with her while you cut up vegetables for Pearson.

“Would you want her cuttin’ up vegetables for dinner?” You asked him, keeping your voice low enough so she wouldn’t hear you. “Might end up losing a finger in the stew.”

“That would be somethin’.” He chuckled.

As Pearson moved towards his wagon to retrieve something, you picked up your conversation with Molly. She was as worried as could be about Dutch.

“Dutch is…. He’s got a lot on his shoulders right now, Molly.”

“But you see that he’s different too, don’t you?” She put her compact mirror down and looked at you. “I’m-I’m not just goin’ crazy, am I?”

“No, Molly. You aren’t.” You shook your head. “If you’d like, I can see if Arthur would be willing to talk to him.”

She was quiet, her eyes finding Dutch. He was standing at the fire not too far away with Hosea, John, Micah, and Ms. Grimshaw.

You put the chopped carrots into a bowl and wiped off the blade of your knife. As you moved on to the potatoes, you looked up to find Arthur. A few minutes ago when you had last checked on him, he was sitting at another table across from camp with Sadie. He was still there, but Sadie was gone.

He still appeared to be tense and to have something on his mind. All day, he had been grumpy and distant. After he insisted that nothing was wrong, you were somewhat convinced that he had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed.

“There she is. Mi amor.”

You turned your head to see Javier move around the table you were at. You smiled at him.

You had met Javier long before you ever joined the Van der Linde gang. You were close friends with the outlaw and had a rather flirtatious relationship with him, though it never went further than flirty comments.

“When are we going to go on that fishing trip, cariño?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” You picked up a potato and began to peel it. “I reckon when you can buy me one of them fancy boats.”

“A fancy boat? What do you need a fancy boat to go fishing for?” Javier eyed what you were doing, paying attention to your knife work. “You handle that knife well, amor. Who taught you so well?”

You rolled your eyes, knowing very well he was teasing you. He was the one who taught you how to use a knife.

“Some fella I met a while ago.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Arthur move. You turned your head to watch him walk away, taking note of how fast he moved and how tense he appeared. You wanted to follow him and make sure he was okay, but you had to finish helping Pearson with dinner.

***

A while later, Pearson called for everyone to come get dinner. You excused yourself from the table with Hosea, John, and Lenny to go find Arthur. The grump was upstairs in his room. He was laying on his bed with one knee bent slightly and his eyes focused on the ceiling. Upon hearing the bedroom door creak open, Arthur sat up. His broad shoulders were hunched and he didn’t meet your gaze.

“Supper’s ready, darlin’.” You held the door open for him.

“Not hungry.” He muttered, rubbing the back of his head.

“Are you sure? You haven’t eaten much all day.”

“Yeah, m’sure.”

You watched him for a few moments. Your stomach twisted up into knots at the sound of his voice, small and weak. Something was wrong. He just was being stubborn and keeping it from you.

You looked out into the hall, listening for a few moments to see if anyone else was in the house. Luckily, everyone was outside having dinner. You stepped back into Arthur’s room and closed the door behind yourself. Your footsteps were quiet as you crossed the room to sit down on the bed next to him.

He kept his eyes on the wooden floorboards between his boots, unable to bring himself to look at you. He knew the second he looked at you, the second he gazed into those Y/E/C eyes, he’d be done for. He’d pour his heart out and bare his soul to you. It happened far too often when he felt like this.

You placed your hand on the back of his head, fingers gently combing through the dirty blond hair at his nape. You leaned over to kiss his shoulder, not minding that you were kissing the material of his dark blue button down.

“I know you better than you think, Arthur Morgan.” You murmured against his shoulder. “You don’t gotta tell me if you don’t want to…. But I am here for you always.”

“Ain’t nothin’ you can do, pumpkin.” He whispered.

“I’m sure there’s something I could do.” You studied his profile, admiring everything from his lashes to the curve of his chin. You reached over to place your hand on the side of his face and gently turned his head towards you.

Blue eyes met yours. You smiled. He tried to but it didn’t reach his eyes. It was forced. It didn’t belong on his lips.

“I-I just….” He trailed off, pulling your hand from his face. He kept ahold of your hand, dropping his gaze to where he now held your hand in his lap. “You know there’s always gonna be…. There’s gonna be better for you out there, pumpkin. Someone better for you than me.”

Your heart sunk at the realization that this was what had been on his mind all day.

“Arthur Morgan, there is no one better for me than the man sittin’ right here next to me.” You squeezed his hand.

“That ain’t true.” He murmured. “Why didn’t you and Javier ever get together?”

“Arthur.” You said his name gently. “We’ve been over this. Javier and I are just friends. Nothing more. I don’t see him that way and he surely doesn’t see me that way. I’m a flirt, you know that. All sweet talk.”

“I know. Just…. I ain’t nothin’ like Javier or Charles or even Sean or Lenny. I’m more like Bill or Pearson.”

“And what in the world makes you say that?” You furrowed your brows together. “Arthur, you’re nothing like Bill or Pearson.”

“Startin’ to look like ‘em.” He muttered.

“Oh, Arthur.” You placed your hand on his thigh. “No you don’t–,”

“Don’t say that, Y/N.” Arthur stood up suddenly, taking a few steps away from the bed, turning to face you. He ran his hands over his face then back through his hair. “It ain’t so subtle, Y/N. Shirts ain’t fittin’ like they used to. And my belts, they’re needin’ to be put on a different loop than they used to be. Soon I’ll have a gut like Pearson or Williamson!”

“Arthur.” You said his name calmly, but he wasn’t finished yet.

“And you! My god, Y/N! You don’t deserve an old ugly bastard like me! You don’t deserve the kind of life I can give you! You-You deserve a house and somewhere to call home. You deserve to have a family and somewhere stable to be. You don’t deserve this life. You deserve better.” His voice lowered to a broken whisper as he looked at you with teary blue eyes. “So much better than I could ever give you.”

You couldn’t hold his gaze any longer. You looked down as tears welled in your eyes.

He had stopped yelling his frustrations but now his tone had shifted to something more hoarse and broken.

“I-I just…. When I look in the mirror, Y/N, I can’t find a single damn thing worth shit. And that just ain’t fair to you.”

You brushed the tears from your cheeks, biting down on your trembling bottom lip.

As Arthur stood there a few feet away from the bed looking at you, guilt began to form a nasty ball in the pit of his stomach while he watched you cry.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset, pumpkin.” He wanted to move to your side to comfort you, but his boots were stuck to the wooden floorboards beneath him.

You shook your head softly, not yet trusting your voice. You patted the space on the bed next to you, silently telling him to return to where he had been just a few minutes earlier.

He shuffled over to sit down next to you, allowing you to wrap one of your arms around his that was closest to you. You tucked your nose into his shoulder, inhaling his scent for a few minutes.

“Arthur Morgan. Where to begin?”

“That’s the million dollar question.” He chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. You smiled a little, but it was hidden since you were still nose deep in his shoulder.

“I think you’re still as handsome as ever, no matter what weight you gain. And if I’m being honest with you, I don’t mind it at all. You always tell me you like to put you head on my thighs/”

“‘Cause they’re soft and comfortable. Perfect for naps.” He placed his hand on your thigh and as if to prove a point, he gave you a soft squeeze.

“Exactly. There ain’t nothing wrong with being soft and comfortable, Arthur. And just because you’ve gained weight doesn’t mean you don’t deserve me. The two have no correlation.” You lifted your head from his shoulder and reached over to take hold of his chin. You turned his head so that he had no choice but to face you. “I love you, Arthur Morgan. You’re a good man with a heart of gold. If there’s better out there, I don’t want it. I only want you, ya hear?”

He nodded softly, leaning over to kiss your forehead.

“Hearin’ you talk so badly about yourself breaks my heart. You’re so much more than you think.” You kissed his cheek, your thumb gently tracing the stubble along his jaw.

“M’sorry.”

“Don’t apologize for it. We can fix it. It’ll just take some time and a lot of effort from you, you stubborn man.” You let his chin go and placed your hand on his knee, rubbing gently. “Do you want to go downstairs and have dinner with everyone else? Or do you want me to bring our bowls up here?”

He thought about it for a moment, his hand on the small of your back racing circles into your shirt.

“Let’s go down there. I could use some fresh air.”

You nodded, giving him a smile and a kiss on the cheek.

Taglist: @doggone-cowgirl @winterwolf @lauramb7 @caraqas @bluscryn @krenee1drful @zodiacaldust @nonodino @gabstaroc @cal-lifornication @thefirelordm @sargeantsea

If your name is in italics, it wouldn’t let me tag you :(

#arthur morgan x reader fluff #Arthur Morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan #chubby!arthur Morgan #chubby!arthur morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan ask #kacey answers #🧍‍♀️anon

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honestlyfrance · 3 years

Text

find me in san francisco

ship: sam/bucky

warning: violence, cursing, apocalypse

summary:

Bucky looked over to Sam for a moment before speaking, "Las Vegas may have currency but it doesn't have you."

Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes stumble upon each other once more at the aftermath of war.

—■—■—

Run. That’s what you do best anyway, isn’t it?

The view of a beachside stretches, the sand a murky grey with glasses and scraps of metal lining the boardwalk as if washed up against the rough and harsh soil, leaning against the ugly and crumbling brick wall where the actual boardwalk started up above at a level, and at a low tide the pitch-black ocean water lapped against the side at an increasingly frightening pace, as if it was always unsteady, always unnatural. Here on this sand, he ran, clad in a black ensemble, a matching WWII remnant design gas mask on his face, tubes attached to an oxygen tank he had in a backpack. He almost left no boot prints on the shore due to the dense debris that littered there. It was frightening what the last decade had given the earth — so terrible.

The man was running as fast as he could, biting down his tongue as he breathed at an interval of every three minutes – he had managed to breathe every five or six minutes when he was idle, and he has yet to learn to save his breath as he runs. He reaches the staircase that led to the boardwalk, hopping up the marble steps that cracked at every step he made, turning and twisting until he made his way out of the abandoned boardwalk, and was it just him when the stores and barest frames of buildings moaned in agony as the only life that passed through its once lively soul had left as soon as it arrived, or was it just the hunger that nipped at his guts?

He ended up by the road, and it was abandoned by cars and people, buildings just as decayed and bare as the ones in the boardwalk. He looked around for a moment, frantically—he has perfected the art of saving his breath, he’s been breathing for an interval of four minutes now, based on his watch. He took a right and ran as fast as his legs could go, which was a fast jog that could carry him for three hours at most without wasting his breath.

As the road ended up uphill, with him leaning forward against the heavy pull of gravity from below, there was a view of a clinic before the T-intersection. Our man didn’t falter in step and breath as he reached the clinic, breaking the glass door in one swing with his right elbow. The glass door cracked and shattered in a million diamonds, bouncing on the floor and sticking to his sleeves. He patted them off and entered through the door, invading the empty veterinarian’s clinic.

He went into a room, where the surgeries occur and found some more oxygen gas tanks. Out of all twenty of them only six had not been wasted. He took them all. His tank was still full, but he took them. No more for the strays who would try to salvage for oxygen, the only thing left for them is the decaying flesh and bones of animals in cages in the next room. He took them, placed them in his retractable wagon, and pulled north.

He hears the faintest sound, but he hasn't faltered. He walked slowly now, his breathing smooth as water as his ears tried to pick up the source of the sound. It rolled on the ground. Heavy. Faraway. It didn't change pace.

Our man, who used to go by Sam Wilson, had continued on his way, squaring his shoulders as his jaw clenched beneath the mask, and for once, he had let his guard down. He trusted his heart over his gut — he let his eyes wander towards the ground because it felt right to do so. God, when was the last time Sam had relaxed? Swinging his arms as he hummed a tune— When was the last time he could touch the sky and feel free?

It was a car. Some Mercedes. A dark shade of green. It had a pop of silver on the hood, what used to be a logo now scratched off, but there was definitely a wing in there.

The passenger window rolled down when the car had matched Sam's pace. Sam didn't want to look, didn't want to disappoint himself and get shot again. He didn't want to let his hopes wander towards the heavens just so it can fall so fast like what happened to Lucifer. He didn't want to die, to have that sliver of mercy turn into a knife.

The man in the car was covered top to bottom in a black ensemble, what they used to call the Winter Soldier armor due to the uniqueness and durability. Sam didn't want his hopes to get too high, so he assumed that the stranger wanted to steal his wagon of oxygen tanks. The atmosphere is thinning so fast, it's incomprehensible; everybody would do anything to live.

Sam whiplashed, pulled out his knife from his thigh holster, twirling it in his fingers before pulling his elbow back — it all happened too fast, next thing Sam knew, the stranger had leaned back into the driver's seat as soon as the knife had lodged itself into the driver seat window, barely an inch away from the man.

The man laughed for a moment as if it was the most adorable thing he had witnessed. His breath hitched and his arms were crossed over his chest as if he actually believed that was where Sam was aiming for.

"Nice car." Sam spoke, his words deeply muffled by his mask, it almost sounded like another language, "I'm taking it."

The man had no time to react because, by the time he had regained his stature, Sam had reached in and unlocked the passenger door, swinging it open. Holding onto the side and door of the car, Sam lifted himself and swung both his feet towards the man's chest, successfully knocking the air out of him.

As the man had choked, Sam swung himself inside and closed the door shut, leaving his wagon outside. He sat on the passenger's seat, looking over at the wheezing man. Grabbing the man's right arm and locking it under his arm, Sam elbowed the man to the chest, throat, and nose, feeling the satisfying ringing pain shooting through his skin. Sam had worn elbow pads, decorated it with silver spikes even — poor man.

Sam had twisted the man's right arm — the man grunted like a trapped animal — and forced him to duck, and with a spare hand, he grabbed the man by the collar, slamming his face into the wheel, earning several short honks, not loud and long enough for anyone in the radius to hear.

The man heaved as Sam pulled him back, even caressing the back of the man's neck, letting the stranger have a few breaths of air for a moment. What a saint Sam was. Sam abruptly squeezed the man's neck, earning a satisfying whine. As Sam was reaching over for the knife lodged in the window, the man had uppercut him in the stomach, earning an alarming wheeze from our man. With a final tug from Sam and a punch by the man, they found themselves overcome with adrenaline.

Sam pulled the knife out of the window with a grunt, pushing the knife through the man's thigh with a terrifying shringggg, eliciting a muffled scream from him.

Sam pushed the man away from him and slid against the passenger door, heaving heavily, already afraid of how much oxygen he lost in the fight. His head felt light, and there's a ringing pain in his abdomen, one that urged him to caress it with a gentleness which his gloves contrasted.

The driver's seat door suddenly swung open and an arm had stuck in and dragged the stranger out of the car, rolling on the ground with a gurgled grunt. The stranger tried standing up despite his injured leg but the man had pulled the knife out of his shin, eliciting a garbled line of a shriek as he collapsed on the asphalt road.

Sam rolled his eyes as he opened up his own door, pulling in the oxygen tanks one by one as the new man continued to clean up the scene, wiping the knife and pocketed it in his holster. Sam had retracted back his wagon and pocketed it as he closed the door, the new man taking the last man's seat in the car, his eyes blanketed by his dark goggles.

The new driver shifted gear and removed the handbrake, stepping on the gas quite slowly to avoid the roar of the engine or the screeching of tires. This man spoke, his words muffled deeply, signing as he said, "Run over?"

Sam waved a hand, shaking his head, and there's a glint in his eyes as he glanced over to the man wearing a black ensemble just like his, but there's a filter mask instead, more sleek and functional, something the Winter Soldier armor couldn't have, the actual original one that belonged to Bucky Barnes.

Bucky's eyes had joy in them as he looked over to Sam. The car moved for a few feet away from the grunting stranger, then Bucky shifted the gear to reverse, looking over at the rearview mirror until he deeply injured the man's legs. Bucky took his time in shifting back to drive, the car jumping a bit as they continued on with stealing the car.

"I didn't think you'd come," Sam signed with one hand, leaning his head against the closed window, his chest rising and falling heavily. "You were on the way to Las Vegas."

Bucky looked over to Sam for a moment before speaking, "Las Vegas may have currency but it doesn't have you."

Sam had to take a moment before figuring out what the man was saying, and when he did, he smiled under his mask, closing his eyes as it reached them. Groaning, Sam shook his head at that, Bucky laughing at the side as he maneuvered the car through the throes of wrecked cars and metal of the San Francisco streets.

The wreckage of the road, of course, only stretched the more the car rolled down the disaster of a scene. The afternoon sky was dull and settling as the winds whistled a low tune, but even then it was merely a delusion, merely a fictitious ensemble, something more of a mirage, a ploy to the senses. Decorating the asphalt road were small fires that were either already burning or had suddenly combusted out of nowhere, and other than this, the afternoon harsh sun rays were bouncing off of the reflective surfaces of dismantled cars, almost disfiguring the two men’s sight from the windshield.

It's almost like an ode to the old world, a painting dedicated to the world before downfall played into fate, something of a music piece played for the masses disguised as the Trojan horse. Our two men had sat in silence as this scenery passed by them, but all they felt was tension and war in their veins, their gazes as strong as liquor and they despised that — despised how much they could've gotten if nothing ever happened in the first place.

Bucky reached over to Sam quiet hesitantly, grabbing his attention with a slight tap. Sam's eyes glanced at Bucky's hand, watching the way Bucky signed, slowly, as if wanting Sam to take it all in, I'm sorry.

Sam spoke, but his words were chopped and deeply muffled, barely comprehensible, but Bucky knew what he was trying to say with the way Sam's eyebrows hardened, the quick tick of his jaw, and the softness in his ocher eyes. Sam's nervous, forgiving, I was okay without you.

Bucky's eyebrows relaxed, and he wanted so badly to remove his goggles but he knew he shouldn't, so he nodded, cleared his throat, and said: "You were always okay without me."

Sam nodded. They both knew. Sam was always fine on his own, but he felt that need for a companion and he adored Bucky's like Apollo's Icarus — like a scar down one's spine, one made out of love, ambition, and yearning.

"I wanted to be human. I wanted someone," Sam spoke, only signing it when he had gathered himself. He had set his head against the window, his breath shuddering as he added one last bit, "I wanted it to be you."

There's heat rising in Bucky's chest and all he could think of was how much Sam was attracted to it, but he's afraid he'd burn the angel because people like Bucky only ever did was hurt the most beautiful things in the world, but damnit, Sam wasn't beautiful.

People like Sam were ugly to the bone because they don't truly believe in peace and beauty. They've fought tooth and nail to accept fate with stardust in their eyes and that journey alone was frightening, murderous intent for all.

It's scary to think someone like Sam wasn't able to love because he was just so full of it.

"I want to love you," Bucky speaks, and they were soon going down a steep road. He moves methodically to drive them quietly. "I want to be with you too."

Sam signs, furiously, his eyebrows knitted together as his eyes had a sadness in them Bucky couldn't pinpoint. "Then why did you leave?"

Bucky's hand flew to the clasps of his goggles, but then he stopped, realized what he was doing, and slowly set his hand back down on the steering wheel. Sam was watching the man with wide eyes, silent and nervous as if they were going to suddenly combust at any moment, and maybe they were with the way flames lick their skin as if hungry peasants — maybe they were those hungry peasants.

"To survive. Didn't realize that's an empty wish if I didn't find companionship — you, when I was already so far away." Bucky replied, and his voice was clear, a little murky, but Sam heard it all, even the man's heartbeat laced around the words. "I didn't want to live greedily, I wanted to live loved and to love."

Sam turned back to face the road, his arms crossed over his chest as his eyes caught sight of the hood of the car. There were a million thoughts that ran through his head at the speed of light, but he wasn't baffled when these thoughts turned to plans, survival plans, plans with Bucky Barnes. His lip squirmed under the mask and it hurts to even smirk, but Sam's heart is so full of emotions he never thought he could feel again and it's euphoric.

Sunlight dances on grass and Sam could feel himself breathe freely again as if he was alive before the war. He could feel Bucky's flesh hand in his and there are the softness and toughness of skin he craved after the war. There were too many feelings in Sam's chest that made him weep, but he stayed stoic, stared out the windshield, his jaw hurting as he tried his best to stop his smile.

They were on flat ground and Sam made a sound Bucky thinks was laughter. Bucky's chest fluttered just like the first time he heard that laugh — before the war.

Sam's gloved fingers find their way grazing Bucky's jaw, only a fleeting feeling none of them could feel, but there's warmth in their chests as Sam cupped another hand around the man's cheek, their hearts singing in octaves as Apollo fell instead of Icarus; all backward love, they'll make it worth it.

Sam leaned into Bucky's face and their masks made a clicking sound when they met. This was the closest they could get to kissing, but it's not truly a love story if lips had to prove it. Don't you hear the world still just for them?

Sam stared at the goggles, thinking he could see Bucky's eyes flutter close, fighting to keep them open. Sighing, Sam closed his eyes to take at the moment, the new normal they can have.

Letting go, Sam leaned back into his seat, saying, signing, "We just stole S.H.I.E.L.D. property."

There's a trace of a grin on Bucky's words when he said, "What bastards. You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Sam turned to Bucky, and they share a sound similar to a laugh.

"As always."

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #winterfalcon #sam wilson sundays #france: writing #france: works

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whalesfallmoved · 4 years

Text

soft descent

Wedding vows for the dead. Neither of you ever had a chance.

chargestep. rated m. twisted memories and revenge and nightmares of all kinds and ricardo ortega, starring as sidestep’s poorly repressed self-doubt, in a manner of speaking.

or, sidestep sees nothing clearly, and her head has never been a pleasant place to be.

warnings: implications of suicide, slight body horror, violence, injury. hurt, without comfort, because of course.

ao3 link.

——

“Oof, that’s going to leave a mark.”

You’re standing next to the window in the dark the sun blistering overhead and the glass shattered underfoot. He’s looking down. You’re looking at him. It’s always been like that. When you look down you’ll see— no. You’re not going to look down. You’re going to look at him.

“It didn’t feel great.”

He smiles and it’s broken, one hand on the windowsill, one hand on his gut where Catastrofiend’s goodbye kiss drips slowly, wetly, a splash of violence against the cobalt blue skinsuit, Ranger-proud. You want to say you should get that looked at but it wouldn’t do any good, he’s already gotten blood all over the carpet.

Soft laugh and when he licks his lips you can see a hint of red, waiting to get coughed up, waiting to get expelled, the body killing itself to save itself—you remember the way it stuck between your fingers, the delirium—beg, the monster-thing demanded, and he laughed then too.

You look down at your hands. The way they curl up, clinging to air.

Are you bleeding? You must be.

“Yeah, I know all about that.”

“No,” you shake your head and your spine pops, “you don’t.”

“What, are we comparing jumps now?”

“Are we?” wouldn’t that be something. He never talked about this before, why start now? Trying to get you to forgive him? You won’t.

“It was a longer drop.”

“And there were people there to help you.”

“Depends on your definition of help.” Head jerk to the side, beckoning you to look, look down, look at them, look at you. “Technically, they helped you too.”

Bite down, taste blood and bile. Have you started choking yet down there? You remember the way it sluiced up your throat, the way you could feel the crack and splinter of your ribcage. His brows furrow a little and maybe he feels bad. You hope so. You hope it’s twisting him up inside.

“Wish they’d helped me to the morgue.”

Exhale, ragged and wet and torn.

“Yeah, those contracts are a bitch, huh? Nothing like a blood debt.”

“What, you want me to feel bad for you?” You taunt, vision hazy bones aching— pulse in your ribs, they must have picked you up by now, isn’t that nice. He’s still looking down, waiting for something to happen. “Poor Ricardo. The US government branded on his ass till the day he dies. Join the fucking club.”

“Hey—” he hisses, flashing his eyes to you finally, “you could pretend to sympathize.”

“I’m so sorry you have posters and trading cards and get invited to award ceremonies and—”

“Oh, I knew I have trading cards, but how did you know I have trading cards,” a wink, sly, charming and wrong, like a bone splitting the skin. “Collecting them, aren’t you?”

“You wish.”

You want to throw up. His neck is bruised.

He sighs, knocks his fist against the window. You both flinch. “They’re gonna keep you going till you’ve got nothing left to give, you know.”

And this time it’s your turn to laugh, bitter and cruel and serrated. You want to twist the knife in his gut you want to rake your nails down his skin, it’s the least- it’s the least you can do, god you are so angry you shake, but you’ve always been good at staying still. Hold your breath, don’t scream, fuck that hurts, and now he’s looking at you full on. “I’m already out. No thanks to you.”

Maybe he sees the way your hands are starting to twitch. The smile softens and you want to kiss-bite-punch it bruise blue to match his stupid fucking suit.

“Are you?”

Are.

You?

I am.

Am I?

A snake in your throat curling up ready to snap bite. Your lips twist, scene hazy at the edges, and when you get your hands around his neck (oh those are the bruises, they look like your hands) you’ll both be sorry—“fuck off.”

Magic words.

Ortega shrugs, pushes the window open like it doesn’t matter, like it didn’t matter, like he can just do that; he always had to make it about himself, can’t even leave you your death, can’t even leave you your place at the window.

You want to shove him away from it.

You want to shove him through it.

“If you insist.”

Close your eyes.

One.

Two.

Three.

—

Dr. Mortum does not smile, not until Angel flashes her a wicked grin and a bag of cash and a promise of more where that came from if— if— if—

She flips through the schematics, eyes brightening—the loose design, the necessities, the ideas—oh, you are going to do such great things together.

“It can be done, I assure you.”

“Excellent. My employer wants nothing but the best.”

—

The sound of waves takes the edge off the thump of a corpse hitting the ground, but you aren’t ready for it—you aren’t ready for the scent of rotting meat, rancid and cloying under the Los Diablos sun.

You open your eyes and when you look down, a dead girl is mangled, half gone. You think— she almost looks like your target.

Huh.

“That’s a bad idea, you know.”

Voice soft prying you know it and you groan, twist, turn, the sand uneven and blood-splattered.

He’s got that loose hold, hip jutted on a rock arms crossed, too casual for the teething gore surrounding them. Suit torn and eaten at, blood drip-drip-dripping down his arm where the skin is all gone, you keep waiting for them to crawl through the sand and eat you both alive. Maybe you won’t save him this time.

“Which one?” You ask, and when you look down you’re in the old suit, fitted like an infected wound. You yank at the collar, touch your cheek, your face— you’d covered your face here, hadn’t you? Yes.

He smiles. Shakes his head.

He hadn’t let them touch you, even when you collapsed, even when they wanted to help.

Not that it matters. None of it matters anymore.

“So you do care about my opinion?”

“No,” you murmur, choking down a gag—dead meat, food for the nanovores, food for the flies, “but that’s never stopped you before.”

“True,” he winks, running through the motions; what you remember, what you want to forget. Oh god you want to forget. You want to peel back this body and dig into the marrow and pull, pull, pull until the memories unravel in streams of violent orange.

He pushes off the rock, kicks his long legs out and walks too easily for a man that almost got eaten alive five minutes ago. “Walk with me?” He asks the way you don’t ask, you order, and throws his wounded arm over your shoulder, locking you hip to hip, no way out.

You sink under the weight, slotted to his side like a mismatched puzzle piece. Nothing about you fits, disjointed, dislocated. You’ve been shaped wrong for a long time now. They didn’t put all the parts back right. A doll unstitched and gutted for parts, but they didn’t— did they recycle you? Just medical waste and scars.

“You take me to the nicest places,” you say because it’s the only thing you can say when the sky looks like God wrapped his big meaty fist around it so tightly till it swelled and pinkened.

Black clouds on the skyline. Here they come. Don’t they know how strong you are now? How many webs you can weave? You crack your knuckles and almost smile.

Then you see: Tía Elena crosses herself in the background. She shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe. Why haven’t they evacuated all the civilians?

“Well, you never let me take you anywhere else,” he huffs, ignoring his mother as they walk on by, and that’s not— that’s not right?

It— no. You don’t want to be here. You can’t do that to him, not even now.

—

Fuck that’s good you’re invincible. The reckoning day is coming and when it does you’ll watch out for this one, you’ll remember her, how it felt to sit in her skin and move under it, but she can’t stop you. None of them can stop you now.

You smile and it’s sharp and cruel and silver. You almost almost almost want him to show up but the victory wouldn’t be quite as sweet, and you don’t really want to take a lightning bolt to the chest. Even if it wouldn’t slow you down, it’d still fucking hurt.

But it doesn’t matter. When you drive your foot into the golden boy’s chest you can feel his ribs crack a little bit and that’s even better. You’ll be riding the high of that for weeks after this. He’s a kicked puppy and you want— you want to kick him again, but there’s no time for that, no time for anything.

You wonder if Steel recognizes the grin right before you drop her like a body bag.

—

Gasp—jump spin dodge—near miss, fuck—Ortega laughed at the start but he’s not laughing anymore, smoke on the air, electricity crackling over his skin.

Fire off at its head one two, one miss, one hit. Head jerks, twists.

The thing-beast groans— don’t look at me i’m not here don’t look— “yOu...” guttural ugly it sees you, it sees you.

Run run run don’t touch me— “Noa!” He shouts and you stop drop and roll just in time for a blade to swing down, headsman’s axe, grazing the suit but not quite touching. Space where your body was empty, and it howls rage-snap.

“Mother— fucker!”

This. This you remember.

You remember the way its mind shucked the skin off your bones, all slick-blood drip drip drip. Gory, wrong, wound over wire, dirty fingernails scraping on the myelin, eating eating down down down— you remember: if you let it in it’ll kill you, cut your throat on its twisty edge thoughts as quick as a knife in hand.

You remember the images in your head— its plans, its ideas, the ways it was going to ply and split him down the middle like a rotten fruit. You couldn’t look at him for weeks. Almost. He was almost.

Almost.

Blink and the scene changes, and backup’s arrived, and you’re holding onto him, your mind pressed up against ITS just enough to make you both disappear. You threw up again and again afterward, but you still couldn’t forget, oil-slick.

not here we’re not here don’tlookatus

Then: you covered the wound with your own hands.

Now: you tilt your head to the side, pet his hair. It still doesn’t hurt as bad as the final impact, hitting the ground, or what came next. Suck it up.

“I told you,” he slurs, eyes half-mast, must be hazy from the blood loss. The human body can only take so much, even with the cutting edge mods. “I know all about that.”

“You don’t know anything. You don’t know anything at all.”

Hand over wound, you push down and he groans. You might as well save him again. You still haven’t had that showdown, and you’re gunning for a win. A dozen to one then, but you’ve gotten better, faster, smarter, your body catching up with your thoughts, and he doesn’t think at all. Doesn’t even matter if he did, you wouldn’t be able to hear it.

“C’mon, Noa,” that’s not your name, that’s the name he gave you—your name is a mouthful, he’d grinned and you’d rolled your eyes and flushed, but now it sticks like a stove burn—numbers and names and Noa, Noa, no one else has ever gotten close enough to name you— fuck you. “Throw me a bone here.”

“No.”

“Fine.” he gasps, chokes, but the words still spill loose, “but you can’t hate me for what you didn’t tell me.” He says, sounding so fucking reasonable while he’s bleeding out on your lap, and now you definitely have to save him, now you definitely have to make sure he lives, just so you can level him for that alone. Just wait, a feeling builds up in your chest, his day is coming and it’s coming fast.

“Don’t tell me what I can’t hate you for.” You want to snarl, a fighting dog, a dog fit for the ring, but it comes out weak, threadbare, and you hate the way your hands shake, the way your throat hardens up and each word is estranged from your mouth.

“At least give me a chance to prove you wrong.”

“Why?” Is that your voice? Small and weak, a child learning to make a fist, thumb tucked in. But you were never a child. You were never small.

“You know me,” he punches out a laugh and it breaks like a sob, “I love a challenge.”

“This isn’t a challenge, Ricardo. There’s just nothing left.”

—

He.

“November?”

He is.

“I thought you were dead—”

Older. Different. That feels wrong, wrong. He should be the same he can’t have changed that much. Fuck that moustache is ridiculous. He looks so heavy with grief, or is that just you, reflected back? A labyrinth of static.

It’s all blurry and too much, not enough, but maybe— for a moment— for a moment everything shatters, fingers under a suture, and maybe— it’s just a flash of his eyes, real and in front of you and not blurred by a late night show or security footage fight you only watched to make sure he still leads with his left sucker punch with his right and maybe—

“Are you still a telepath?”

You say yes and feel like a fool and you tell him a dash of the truth and you feel like a wound and you can’t hate me for what you didn’t tell me.

Your hands are shaking. You make a fist.

He wants— he wants something.

A raw crack down your spine and you smile and it feels wrong. Maybe it looks wrong. He won’t stop watching you like you’ll disappear if he blinks more than once, if he looks away, and maybe you will. Maybe you’re just ash and graveyard dirt held together with sutures and wire.

You want to crawl through the floor to someplace small and dark and cold where no one will ever find you again.

You tell him just enough, just enough to keep on hating him.

It’ll be easier that way.

—

Rewind.

“That’s a bad idea, you know.” He cackles as you thrust out a punch—miss—and dodge his return, feet sliding on the mat. You can’t believe you let him talk you into this, a friendly spar on Ranger soil.

“Which one?” Thrust dodge lock your ankle around his own, slipping up letting you get close like that, rookie mistake— twist of your hip— throw! and the satisfying slap of skin on the mat, his skin, his body hitting the ground, but he holds hard and pulls you down with him (if you go i go) and you land— oof! breathless and grinning and on top, finally, finally.

Fingers lock and you shift, thighs on either side, pin him down, his emitters humming biting pinching but you got him, and you aren’t letting go. A shiver skip-dances down your spine, static-charged.

“I win,” you growl, a winner’s grin biting into your cheeks, free and loose (where’s your mask?)

He squeezes your hand, sends a low-grade jolt up your palms sharp, just to see what you’ll do, jellyfish stings, and you squeeze back harder, lean down till you can feel his breath hot on your lips. You never got this close before, he’s so solid beneath you.

Ricardo, grinning back, a halo of black curls fanned out, sticking to his brow all slick with sweat, “what is that, a dozen to one?”

“Shut up,” he can’t take this from you, not yet, “don’t be a sore loser.”

“Actually, I’m enjoying myself quite a bit right now. I should let you win more often.”

“Fuck you,” but it tears out a laugh far too sweet for your mouth. You feel segmented and gentle, like a scorpion smashed on a rock left out to rot in the sun. Maybe he’ll take you home, run his fingers through your matted hair and not mind the stingers or the venom. You weren’t made for a laughter light like this, and if there was ever a time you could be it’s long gone now, but you still want him to touch you, a want like a scar healed wrong.

“Buy me dinner first— ah!” You let go just to crack your palm against the top of his head, anything to wipe that smug edge off, and— “okay, fine, I’ll buy dinner,” but this time when your hand comes down he catches it, brings it to his lips, soft on your palm— oh god, oh god it hurts.

“And then what?” You dare, you gasp, you’ve never been that bold—couldn’t afford boldness, always a coward at heart and that’s how he always won, but for a moment you let your fingers curl along his cheekbone. His eyes slide closed, kissing still—dart of tongue, tracing the line of your palm. How long is my life? How many children will I have? What do the cracks in the skin say? Maybe his mouth can divine something human in the shape of your hand, even if the lines there aren’t really yours, just a thing they gave you to play pretend.

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, still not giving you his gaze, a pained crush to his brow, “you did ask me to take you somewhere nice.”

“Did I?”

“Don’t you remember?”

“Liar. I never asked you to do anything.”

He smiles right on your skin, like a knife sliding under your gut—girl/deer, splayed out on the slaughterhouse floor of his kindness. The world hazes at the edges, curling up set aflame.

Somewhere nice. Too bad it can’t last.

Finally. Finally he looks at you. Sees you. How long has it been since someone hasn’t stared through?

“No, you didn’t. I wish you would have.”

—

Choking hard gasp and the phone screams or maybe you do. Your teeth throb.

The room is heavy dark save for the corners of curtained sunlight peeking through, the air scented thickly of cheap candles and candy wrappers. The sheets are sweat-slick and you can smell your own skin, the rawness of sleep on it. Musky. Unsterilized.

The fabric sticks and itches. Fingers under the hem, you toss the sweater aside, hear it thump damply against a wall.

Breathe. Hand to chest and yes, that’s your heart, rocking in your rib cage, slowing down. You breathe with in—ten—tion.

One.

Two.

Three.

Okay, you’re okay. You can do this. You can still do this.

—

“I don’t want to do this here.”

He holds out a plate of food, tilts his head to the side, the corners of his mouth twitching up. Pushes the plate into your hands, and you take it—just hold out something to someone and nine times out of ten they’ll take it without thinking, asking only after they’ve agreed to carry the burden.

Silly you, you never had a choice.

His apartment is soft and safe around the edges, and your heart gets sticky in your chest. You think maybe those are your books on his shelf, the ones you lost after—

“What’s wrong with here?” He shrugs, brushing past toward the table, beckoning you to follow with a grin and a nudge.

“I like it here.” You answer honestly, for once, and he beams, a light bright enough to burn.

“I know.”

“So why are you ruining it?”

“Ruining it?” Hurt. Smile gone.

“Take me somewhere else. Anywhere else.” Somewhere cruel and sharp as a scalpel to the throat. Psychopather or Overlord or the dilapidated construction ruin you jumped out of at the second story and broke your wrist because you made a deal— you agreed to a dare— race you to the bottom down the stairs— if you lose you have to answer my questions— and god, you didn’t want to answer anything, anything at all, and he’d screamed your name, cursed you out, told you don’t be an idiot what if you broke your neck and flinched when you snapped I was just following your lead.

“I can’t,” he shakes his head and you have to sit down, set the plate on the table before you drop it, wouldn’t want to break the fine china. Did his mother give him this? You think so; he’d taken such care, stacking each plate freshly hand washed before putting them away.

“Liar.”

“Not this time,” a loaded smile, a loaded gun, his fork twirls around on his plate. Shadow of a wrist and a vague gesture to the seams of the scenery. “This is all you. Your shape. What you made. I’m just along for the ride.”

“Then I’m not staying.”

Shrug again. Why won’t he do anything else? A looped tape, a slight glitch. Something’s wrong.

You’re wrong, maybe.

“Not even for dinner?”

You stand up. Pace. There are plans— things to be done— finishing touches— you can’t stay here. You can’t.

“What do you want, Noa?” He asks, so softly, so gently, it would be kinder if he killed you there, but you know he won’t; it’ll take a lot more than bad table manners to push him to that, but maybe you can do it. Maybe you can get him a little ruthless, even more desperate. You’ve seen it before, in flashes, coiling green under his skin. Won’t it be funny if he breaks before you do? No blood on your hands, not yet. What a record. Fitting, almost.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Why?”

“Hard to work on an empty stomach,” he shrugs again, fuck, stop doing that. Bare feet silent on the carpet and you find yourself back at the table, back in the chair, sitting across from him and there’s nowhere to go—

Blink.

Sterile antiseptic white walls and doctors— in your apartment— your neighbor? Yes, that’s your neighbor he accused you of staring once, the fuck are you lookin’ at? And you weren’t staring, at least not like that, but it took a soft nudge of don’t look at me for him to go all the same. Strange. You didn’t think a doctor would live here. It’s a bad side of town, but it’s good for sidestepping.

You think: I am going to wake up now.

Wait. No. You say this out loud. It comes through with the wet ache of drowning.

No. Wait. Your words roll back down your throat—you didn’t say it. You didn’t say anything at all. You never have.

All the words roll in but they’re not yours you’re fit to burst.

It must be nice being able to speak.

Not here.

Maybe that’s what it is to be human.

Get real, you think because you stick your fingers in a few skulls and cut your teeth on some gray matter while someone thinks about love you know what being human is?

I could. I could know.

They gave you a tongue and mouth and lips but you can’t kiss and you can’t make words, you can only patch together the syntax, call it real, call it human—but when you speak it’s always going to be with someone else’s voice, strangled out.

The walls are whiter now and the lights slice your skin like a hot knife through butter. It isn’t a cliff but a door you’ve already walked through and the ocean inside the warehouse inside the apartment is now a table with handcuffs. His table. Her table. You jerk your wrists and the metal clanks hard and fuck no not here not here please take me back i’m sorry i want to go back—

(he’s coming to get you)

(he wouldn’t leave you here)

(no time for the dramatics ricardo just get the door let’s blow this popsicle stand)

She smiles at you from across that metal table (wait) and tells you that you are never going to die (stop) because to die you have to be alive (i am i am i?) and you should know better by now we are going to do such great things together (please)

aren’t we,

aren’t we.

aren’t i?

wake up now- i want to— please.

—

You’re alone in the dark, the armor fits perfectly, and that’s all that matters.

(when you become a casualty revoked from the grave get ready a revenant coming back to eat them alive oh oh oh just you wait)

You think you’ll keep the name.

(sidestep and charge reunited again you can see the headlines now and fuck you can’t wait to see the look on his face you were always a pair maybe he’ll stop you wouldn’t that be something)

You don’t sleep.

—

He doesn’t stop you.

—

“Noa?”

“Yes?”

“You are... fine, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’d tell me if something was wrong?”

“Of course I would.”

—

Your dreams are filmy, cracked wombs of (not not not) memories and gummy tissue. Press on it too hard and it moves back just the same but with a muscle deep ache. At least you know it’s a dream this time, and when you go up the stairs and find him there, you don’t hiss or spit or curse. You’ve done enough of that. He’ll carry the scars to prove it.

He’s looking out the window. He’s looking at you.

No, he’s looking at you. You flinch and you don’t know why.

“Really? Even here?”

“What?”

“Take the mask off at least. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen your pretty face.”

You reach up and your fingers find hard armor, not supple skinsuit. When you look back his face is different, older, not the poster-ready Marshal but aged, aching, and you ache with it, bone-deep.

You’re so tired. You wonder if he is too.

The helmet comes off. Drops with a thump.

You go to the window. After all, there’s nowhere else left, and he asked so nicely.

“What do we do now?” You ask, so softly. Still can’t look outside. Still don’t want to see what he sees. Better to watch him watch you. Now that you’re on the other side of things, you prefer it when you’re the one doing the bleeding—what a thing.

“I don’t know,” a laugh a sob or something in between, he crosses his arms and turns away, turns toward you. “Did you ever figure out what you want?”

“Yeah.”

You blink and he’s himself again, younger, more angular, a grin fit for the big screen on his handsome, handsome face. It’s easier to talk to him like this, the way you remember, the way it should be. Time didn’t move while you were gone, and you’re the only one still snapped in half.

A pause. Are you smiling now? It must be a sad little thing though, because his eyes soften up and a frown mars his forehead.

“I want to watch you grow old.”

“What, so you can keep on teasing me? That never stopped you before.”

“Shut up, I’m not done yet.” you whisper, stepping forward, stepping up to the cliff’s edge.

“I want to watch you grow old,” reaching for his hand, and he lets you have them both, cradled so carefully—and your gloves are black and armored and insulated, but not the most protected part of your body. Could he kill you with a surge? Maybe. “And I want to watch you die in a bed. Your bed.”

“A little morbid,” he murmurs but you’ve got to keep going, you’ve got to get it out, because once it’s out you’ll never have to look at it again. “But I guess that tracks.”

Turn over his hands, you thumb at his emitters. Hint of a spark, and you laugh and now it’s sob, now it’s a wound. You won’t look at him. “I want to watch the arthritis take your hands and I want to take you away from this fucking city and we’ll both be so bored out of our minds, we’ll start inventing problems just to fix them.”

“Careful, Noa,” hands turn over, running up your armored wrists, grasping at your forearms. “That almost sounds like a happy ending.”

Wedding vows for the dead. Neither of you ever had a chance. You don’t have one now.

“And we can’t have that.”

You look up. The sun’s on his face now, turning his eyes a shade of deep whiskey, and that’s how you want to remember him; alive under the sun, smile lines just forming, his nose a bit crooked from getting punched one too many times. You’ll be on the ground in a moment.

“No,” he agrees, grasping at your elbows now, pulling you close, and you cling to his in turn. “We can’t.” Flash and grin, and there he is, just like you remember. Challenging, challenger. No chance, and neither of you know when to quit. “Want to up the stakes a bit?”

“Always.”

You let go first. Of course. You turn to the window. You open it.

“Whoever falls fastest wins.”

“And what do I get when I win?” When, not if.

“A quick and painless death.”

“Fuck,” you breathe. “That’s a hell of a thing. How do I know you won’t cheat?”

“You don’t,” he winks, steps back, head tilt toward the window. Mirrored. You’ve got one hand on the windowsill and one hand curled around your gut, where he sunk that barb between the plates before you cracked his skull on the ground before all of Los Diablos. “You never do. Isn’t that part of the fun?”

You take your place at the window, you set your shoulders, look down. What’s he been looking at all this time?

Long way down, and you wait to see her; you, in soft skinsuit, teal and black and bloody and broken, but she isn’t there.

Just an ambulance, an end repeating itself.

“Person who falls the fastest, huh?”

“And hits the ground hardest.”

You climb up, clench your jaw.

It always ends like this.

“You’re on.”

#chargestep #fhr #mywriting #okay-- I have not slept. and that is indeed a problem. and this should probably get more than a cursory glance-over. alas.#there's running themes in here somewhere- I swear- but until then I'm going to sleep #ricardo strictly through noa's twisted memories and flawed perceptions and rage up until she finds him again - because yeah #(is it ortega? good question. she doesn't know either. but your (not) lover-slash-rival haunting your memories and dreams.. mhm.)

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whump-town · 4 years

Text

The Kiss

No warnings just a Hotchniss first kiss

I was, admittedly, pretty excited about this fic but now I’m just not.

Go-bag in hand, Emily stands in the empty bullpen. It hasn’t felt right in months, none of it. Tomorrow she’ll start another case as the Unit Chief but it won’t be right. Morgan is at home with his baby boy and his wife. He’s the only person who managed to get away. The only one who really got away. Hotch may be out of the unit but he’s moved up the food chain simply because he can’t step away. It’s all too much because she knows that is her reality too. If Hotch can’t step away, how the hell is she supposed to?

“Miss him already?” Rossi makes his sudden appearance from his own office, scaring Emily from her thoughts. She’s not sure if that’s what it is. Just yesterday she sat in a two-hour-long meeting with him, passing glances like paper notes in high school. He nearly looked amused to see her bored of her mind with him. Revenge, one might say, for all the things she’d done over the years to torment him and stress him out.

Emily shakes her head, “had enough of his ugly mug for a while.” She crosses her arms over her chest and immediately her body language betrays her. Defensive but she appreciates Rossi swallowing the call-out. She does miss him and it’s going to be hard, it’s going to be scary to go out and run his team.

Rossi chuckles and wraps his arm around her shoulder, pulling her away and toward the elevator. “He has complete faith in you,” Rossi tells her. Aaron Hotchner is not the kind of man you waste your time second-guessing. He overthinks the most simple tasks and his decision to leave Emily in charge was not something he came up with overnight. “I got him a little drunk last week,” Rossi reveals with a coy smile. “Told him to spill his guts, tell me what he was thinking. Wanna know what he said?”

More than anything. She wants to know what he was thinking. She’d gladly take a list, outlined straight from his head, of all the things that he thinks make her qualified. Then maybe she would make him one, a list of all the ways that his absence has left her questioning everything she thought she knew.

Rossi lets her go, looking her in the eyes and shifting the mood so very simply with his exchange. “He told me how you were there for him after Foyet.” The admission makes her blush and she’s rapidly coming to realize that the list would be much better coming from Hotch. “He called you his best friend.” Rossi’s face takes her by surprise. “Thought I was… I’m going to have to reconsider the layout of my will.” His mouth is twisted in annoyance but his eyes burn with coy ‘I know something you don’t’.

Emily shakes her head but smiles. To be fair, she thought Rossi was Hotch’s best friend too. But, if Rossi’s smile means anything, there must be something else she thought about Hotch that is wrong.

“What I mean, kiddo is that no one is more qualified on this team than you. Hotch knew that and I know that...” He puts his hand on the back of her neck, “you’re the only person who has any doubt.”

Emily blinks back her emotions, forcing her tears to dissipate and not slide down her face. She doesn’t feel like the most qualified. Hell, most days it still feels like she’s the new kid on the block. Other days like she’s just come back from the dead to find that her place on the team is no longer available. Closed because the only person who could take the role was dead and now that she’s back none of them know how to reopen themselves to the vulnerability of losing her again. Even she doesn’t know how.

Emily clears her throat, “what about you?” There were a few times when she and the rest of the team joked about what it would be like if Rossi were their Unit Chief. Hotch had overheard once and shook his head. “Some things,” Hotch mumbled in that dark way only he pulls off. “Just can’t be explained.”

Rossi laughs. He pats his chest, shaking his head. He gathers himself for a moment before losing it again. “Lord,” he clicks his tongue. “No. Sweet Lord, no.”

Emily sighs tiredly and rubs her hand down her face. “So,” she breathes, “I really have to do this?”

Rossi nods, “I’m afraid so.”

____________________

“Oracle of the all-knowing,” Garcia picks up right away, a small click sounding off as she awaits further instruction. Just when she was starting to think they’d forgotten her! I mean, come on. They’d landed in Seattle over four hours ago. How long does it take to call her back?

Emily’s just about to start listing off what she needs when she hears the soft sound of another person’s voice in Garcia’s office. She pauses, frowning. People don’t bother Garcia. Of course, they do when they’re home but no one but Garcia goes into her lair. Not even Kevin anymore. “Is there someone in there with you, Garcia?”

Glancing at the room’s other occupant, Garcia feels stuck. “Well,” Garcia pauses for a moment. There’s a hardly audible conversation shared on her end. A voice that is clearly Garcia and the other a grumpier, deeper-- Hotch. The other voice is definitely Hotch. “Alright, I’m back,” Garcia greets again. “You have the oracle of the all-knowing and the brave Sir Hotchner, our very own knight in shining federal issued Kevlar. He’ll strip it off for--”

“Garcia.”

Emily glances at the other’s smirking and shaking her head. The things that woman gets away with.

Garcia sighs, “right, sorry, sir.” Turning completely to her computer she rolls her eyes and under her breath, she mumbles, “he didn’t want me to tell you about that.”

Hotch groans.

Emily enjoys these little moments. It hadn’t felt right, this case or any of the others lately. Cheeks feeling warm, she realizes that she misses having him around. No one corners her in the break room to talk about silly things like how the window in her office has a great view of the field the cadets practice in. That in the spring you can sit there and watch them trip and stumble in the mud. No one else knows how to make her favorite tea or gets the sugar/creamer ratio right in the coffee. No one’s successfully replaced him, not even her.

Fuck… she misses Aaron Hotchner so bad.

“What can we help you with Emily?”

It’s embarrassing how quickly her heart beats at the sound of his voice. Emily. Fuck him for saying her name like that. Like she never wants to hear another human being to say it-- just him.

She swallows thickly around the knot now sizably formed in her throat. “Uhm,” she glances to the others and realizes they’ve definitely seen it all. She kind of hates the smirk on Tara’s lips, like she’s figured something out. That stupid look on Dave’s face certainly says he has. “We needed-- needed uhm--” Dammit. Damn him and her stupid name.

With a calming flourish, JJ rises to her side. There’s a look in her eyes too as she smiles and calmly greets their friends. “What can you guys tell us about Marcie Joans?”

They have a whole conversation but she can’t focus on a damn bit of it. She just keeps hearing the way his voice had rumbled her name. Emily. Emily like he’s been calling her that since forever… like he doesn’t know what it’s doing to her right now. Maybe he doesn’t know.

She excuses herself from the room and she knows they’ll talk about what they just saw but she couldn’t care less about that.

“Aaron,” she whispers to herself. Her eyes rise to meet her own in the mirror. “Aaron.” She’s never called him that before. No one calls him that. JJ had once. That’s the kind of power in a name. Fucking Emily though. Did he have to control her like this?

She looks down at the sink and shakes her head. “Get a grip, Prentiss.”

He doesn’t love her. He doesn’t love Emily Prentiss.

It’s kind of funny because… Hotch spent his morning telling himself that. Locking eyes with himself and saying it again and again but nothing was changing that stupid feeling in his stomach. The little flips and the way his heart aches when she’s gone.

He’d sat all day with her just two days ago. He can’t miss her. “You can’t possibly miss her,” he says to himself. He’ll just keep saying it until he believes it. Until the sting of what her rejection will feel like dissipates and he can focus again.

“Sir!”

He comes to a staggering halt. “Garcia?”

He’s only thinking about her because he’s high.

“You’re bleeding.”

A foggy kind of high created from blood loss.

He’s been lightly sweating all morning. It’s just stress… and the knife wound in his shoulder. The knife wound that is now bleeding through his white dress shirt. Damn, he wrapped that in so much gauze this morning. “It’s ugh,” he can feel his tongue getting heavy in his mouth. Vision a little fuzzy. He’s learned by now what it feels like just before you pass out.

Stepping to the side, he throws out his arm-- the bad arm-- and sinks into the wall. A pained grunt leaving his mouth, a careless mistake.

“Sir!”

He shakes his head, lifting his trembling hand up to her. “I’m okay,” he manages, pushing himself back upright and then swaying once again. He really should consider at least lying about something he can hide. “I’m fine.” It takes a lot of self-control for him to swallow down against nausea in his throat, an uncomfortable knot. Otherwise, he’d be painting the old grey tiles with his stomach acid.

Because, no, he hadn’t managed to eat anything this morning for breakfast. He can think of several people who would chew him out for that… like they’re going to chew him out for the shoulder knife wound thing. Not that it was his fault. Somehow, he imagines telling them he got stabbed helping some poor kid behind Walmart isn’t going to work out in his favor.

Well, it won’t work in his favor when he tells them he didn’t go to the hospital afterward.

“Garcia,” he fails to admonish. He’s pulled to his feet with surprising strength and they walk, his stumbling, shaking knees leaned against her bright pink cardigan. Quite the pair but they always have been. She takes him back to her office and as his feet drag and his shoulder throbs he just sighs in relief. He may not understand the way Emily makes him feel but Garcia?

She’s his right hand.

“Easy,” she whispers and she’s so gentle as she helps him onto the couch.

He sighs, sinking into her couch. He can’t even argue when she lays a blanket over his waist.

“Oh,” they both jump as her phone goes off. “It’s just the team,” she tells him, answering the call. “Oracle of the all-knowing.”

His head is spinning and he feels his body betraying him. He is eerily cold and shaky. “Don’t--” he chokes on a breath. “Don’t tell them.”

Garcia turns her chair to him, eyes shocked as she tries to tear herself between him and Emily’s voice bleeding through the line-- “Is there someone in there with you, Garcia?” Placing her hand over the speaker on her headset she shakes her head, attention on him, and not them. “Don’t tell them that you’re hurt?” She looks bewildered. “Sir, I can’t lie to them.”

He grunts as he shifts, shoulder aching and stiff. An infection, more than likely. He should have gone to the hospital. “It will only worry them,” he tells her. Somehow, he’s found the strength to flatten his voice. To steady it. “They need to focus on the case.”

She seems to mull this over and with a shake of her head, that soft pity stripped to aggravation with him and his stupid ways, she turns back to her computer. Ready to work. She’ll worry about him in a moment. “Alright, I’m back,” Garcia greets again. “You have the oracle of the all-knowing and the brave Sir Hotchner, our very own knight in shining federal issued Kevlar. He’ll strip it off for--”

“Garcia,” he grumbles.

She sighs, right focus. The sooner she straightens this madness out, the sooner she can help him. “Right, sorry, sir.”

He surprises them both when he sits up and asks, “what can we help you with Emily?” Sitting up is a very bad idea and he ends up sinking into the back of the sofa, stomach tight with pain and eyes half-lidded as he listens to their voices. Emily’s softly stammering voice is taken over by JJ. He’s still sinking when Garcia starts talking. She’s doing her job. Focused.

He’s drifting… sinking into the darkness. Into the cold.

“Hotch! Sir--”

So fucking cold. He peels his eyes open, the wet sticky heat of his blood on his shirt. Oh yeah, that’s certainly an infection.

“He passed out,” Garcia tells someone he can’t see. “No, he’s bleeding,” Garcia’s voice trembles and he feels bad for burdening her with this. If he could just get to his office… everything would be okay. A palm is pressed to his cheek. “He told me not to tell you,” Garcia gasps and he frowns with understanding. She’s telling the team. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “He can just be so convincing.”

He thinks… maybe he can hear… “Emily,” he croaks, his eyes slivers. He can hear her voice.

Garcia feels a rush of relief. His eyes are open and his attention is there. Not hawk like or hauntingly focused like normal but he’s there. He’s looking at her and his fingers are slowly curling around her own where she’s holding onto him tightly. Afraid if she lets go… She smiles and nods, gripping his hand that lightly snags on her shirt. His hands are large and mostly limp but his fingertips ghost along her skin. Her’s are so small in his but she holds tight. Reminds herself he’s still here. She pulls his hand closer, tangling their fingers. “Emily’s on the line with me,” she promises. “She’s on her way Hotch. She’s coming back.”

He shakes his head, turning his head away as tears slip down his cheeks. “No,” he whispers. His voice breaks and he shivers, mind clouded with fever. Too cloudy to care that he’s crying on Garcia’s couch and bleeding everywhere. “No, she’ll… she-- she--” he moves his hand in her grip. Working himself up but for what Garcia can’t tell. “She has to solve the case,” he whispers. “She--She--”

Garcia lets out a little choked sound when his eyes flutter shut, a pained grunt leaving his parted lips. “Hotch,” she whispers, tears falling down her face. “He-He passed out again,” Garcia sobs. She presses her fingers to his wrist, watching his chest rise in jerky movements. “He’s breathing. He’s breathing and he’s okay but he passed out.”

There’s never a dull moment in the BAU. _____________________

It takes Emily six hours to get back to Virginia.

Logically, she knows it’s been years since Foyet. Her mind can still recall every detail of that day though. The heavy stench of blood and the stain on his carpet. Her feelings then weren’t clear. Murky. She knew she couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. That standing there in his apartment brought tears to her eyes as she thought of all the awful things that could have happened.

It still hurts, now, to think about.

Him dying alone in some alley. The sound of his labored breathless gasps fading out.

She’s burning with anger by the time she gets to the hospital. “Where is he?”

Garcia meets her in the waiting room. Two floors down from where the shit out of luck head of the department resides because when Emily sees him she’s going to kick his ass.

“Sleeping.” Garcia sees that anger. It’s reasonable. For a split second, she’d wanted to knock him senseless too. Then she’d been allowed back into the room and seen him attached to machines, pale, and sweaty and she'd lost her anger. She just… she loves him for some reason. “He already talked to the police,” Garcia starts but Emily interrupts her.

“The police?”

Garcia sighs, “he stopped a mugging last night.” That handsomely chivalrous man, God, Garcia shakes her head, always getting himself into trouble. “He got stabbed in the altercation and--”

“Came to work anyways,” Emily sighs.

Garcia nods, understanding the exasperation in Emily’s voice. “He didn’t go to the hospital last night either,” she adds, even though it’s the nail in Hotch’s metaphoric coffin. But, hey, he did this to himself. He’s fine now, though, and that’s what really matters (that’s such a fucking lie because Garcia knows when Emily sees him, it’s over for Hotch).

Emily is just tired. She’s not even mad. “Is he okay now?”

“Yes,” Garcia replies quickly. “He’d just fallen asleep when I got the text that you were here.”

“Can I see him?”

Garcia takes her to the room but it’s dark and he’s not in the bed.

“Aaron?” She hates just how irrationally upset that makes her. “Where--” the bathroom door opens and he’s standing right there.

He’s shirtless. Standing with his right hand guiding the IV port he’s attached to and his left arm securely bound to his chest by a series of intricate looking straps. Her eyes are drawn to the red of his eyes, the sleepy way that he’s standing here looking at her.

She kisses him.

He’s at least a head taller but slouched into himself, she manages to rock up onto her toes and pull him to her. The back of her forearm looping around his neck, while her hand cups his cheek. He fumbles to wrap an arm around her hips, tugging her closer as he kisses her back.

“Woah.”

They pull away from the kiss flushed and breathless. They shyly laugh, both blushing, and looking anywhere but at each other.

“Oh don’t stop on account of little ol’ me!” Garcia giggles holding her hands over her eyes, “trust me, the team has been waiting on that for years! I’m totally going to text the group chat about this!!”

Hotch groans, shaking his head. He’s not looking forward to that.

It puts Emily back on her track. “Hey,” she pushes at his chest. “Don’t ever do that, again, okay?” He avoids her eye contact, unable to even look at her. Just down at the floor. She grabs his hand, squeezing the fingers. “I mean it, Aaron.”

He nods his head. He’s still not looking at her. “Okay,” he manages.

She squeezes his hand but doesn’t push anymore. “You’re such an ass,” she whispers, throat tight. As frustrated with him as she is, she hates how emotion she is now. He’s right here. She’s just made out with him and just ruined everything.

“Emily,” he cups her cheek, raising her head back up. “I’m sorry.”

She rolls her eyes and sniffles. “You better be,” she hugs him, careful of his arm. “When you’re better though, I’m going to kick your ass for making me worry about you so much.”

He smirks, now that sounds like his Emily. “I’ll be ready,” he promises.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #hotchniss #penelope garcia #david rossi

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crows-and-crumbs · 3 years

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No. 1 - ALL TRUSSED UP AND STILL NOWHERE TO GO

“You have to let go” | barbed wire | bound

Characters:

Sergei- Mob-boss with a terrible sense of self preservation and loyal to a default.

Max- Ex-mobster turned policeman who just want to see his once friend happy.

Summary:

Max reminisces about him and Sergei, the situation that brought them together again after all these years, and how much he wishes they could just stay like this forever.

“You have to let it go Max, I’m not having this conversation one more time” Sergei was indeed already on his way out the door, thick black waves of hair masking his features as he began walking into the hallway. He was in pain, Max wasn’t fucking blind, but Sergei seemed determind to fuck up his leg even more than it already was. Why the man refused to listen to anything Max told him at any point was beyond the policeman, but maybe it was the gangster's stubbornness that kicked in.

“I will literally tie you to the kitchen chair if you take one more step down those stairs without your cane” Max grabbed the cool handle in a flurry, taking the stairs two steps at a time to catch up with his stubborn boss… well ex-boss “you’ll fall, and then I’ll be stuck with you in this apartment for six weeks more at least.”

“No need to worry, I’d shoot you myself if I had to spend one more night in this hole” Max knew that he meant it, the idiot was persistent, and Max had already had to pry a gun from the other’s hands once before. It hadn’t been a tease then, hadn’t been intentional either, but if Max hadn’t been as fast as he was that night, he would have gotten a bullet in his brain.

“Not funny Sir” he caught up with the shorter man, shoving the cane at him with a grunt. The other man stared at it, like a child weighing his options, but he eventually took it in his hand. Max spent the total of two seconds in awe that it had been that easy to make his ex-boss follow a simple instruction, but was quickly proven wrong.

Sergei tapped the cane once, twice, took a step and made sure to make direct eye contact with Max as he promptly let go of it.

“Oh no, my poor, weak, broken fingers can’t seem to hold on” his voice was dull as ever, but Max had to hold his breath to not scream out loud at him. “I guess I’ll have to get the groceries without it, too bad.”

Sergei opened the door to the freezing outside world, stepping into the dark street only lit by broken street lamps and whatever light the apartments provided. It was strange seeing him there, standing in mundane clothes, in a mundane street like he was just another man going to the store. It didn’t upset Max, quite the opposite actually. Sergei had never had the opportunity to live the mundane life he was being forced to imitate due to the most recent career injury.

He deserved to at least try it. No matter how much he cursed the “small, ratty apartment” far away, as well as Max’s “awful american cooking” and complained about the “ugly old sack of fur” that Max called a cat. He could say he hated the quiet life all he wanted, but Max could see the way he relaxed when Bullet jumped up on his lap, how he enjoyed his coffee at five in the morning to the sound of the radio playing some old country artist that Sergei would not be able to name, with a knife to his throat. He was at peace in a way Max had never seen him before, and it was worth every minute.

Max knew that he had to let what happened that night go. Sergei reminded him every time the other would begin to mother him once more, in that crude and mean Sergei way.

Max knew that injuries were part of the job, that they risked that when they chose that life. He had had his own brushes with death, had had more than one gangster go out, one more brutal than the other. That didn’t make it any easier.

Sergei was so good to them, his people. He fought tooth and nail for them, broke every law, killed, lied and cheated. Watering down his morals and selling every piece of himself to protect his lot. But in his time of need, when he was bleeding- no when he was dying from three bullet wounds and his skull cracked open like a coconut, he had no-where else to go than Max.

Max, who had betrayed him all those years ago when they were both just stupid kids thinking they could conquor the world. Max still hadn’t asked the other how he’d found his way to the apartment while bleeding all over the place, barely conscious and just lucid enough to force a slurred “help” out between clenched teeth. He shouldn’t even have known where he lived in the first place.

Max had changed his entire identity after that night when they were both 17. He turned to law enforcement and tried his best to put his stupid youth behind him. Apparently he wasn’t good enough at hiding his trail. Because Sergei had found him that night two months ago.

Max hadn’t even thought twice as he half dragged the other man into the small apartment, not caring about the stains on his carpet or having to explain it to his neighbours in the morning. All he cared about was Sergei dying in his arms, and selfishly, that the other man had come to him. He had come to Max, after all these years, after all the betrayal and pain, Sergei had still come to him.

“Oi, idiot, how about you make those legs work and get your ass up here” Max was snapped out of his thoughts by Sergei, a scenario that he was getting too used to these days. He would have to give it up soon, when Sergei was well enough to go back to the harbours. When he wasn’t needed anymore. He shook away the thoughts, put them on a shelf to rethink once Sergei was asleep, then followed the order.

In front of him, Sergei had grown a bit short of breath, favouring his left leg significantly and Max could see the shake of his legs as they struggled to support him.

“Yes Sir” He mumbled, hurrying up beside him. Max handed him the cane, and after a stubborn staring contest the russian tore the metal cane from Max’s grasp. Grunting in annoyance as they continued on their way down the street.

For now, Max would enjoy the quiet times with his ex-best friend. For now he’d make sure that Sergei felt safe and loved. Just for now.

#whumptober2021 #no.1 #You have to let go #head trauma tw #blood tw #mentioned past trauma #violence tw #tw: abuse #whump #oc whum #mob oc #gangster oc #my original characters #sergei oc #max oc #emotional whump

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gimmeyoon · 5 years

Text

Say My Name

↳ Pairing: Seokjin x Reader | Mentions of Hoseok x Reader

↳ Setting: Beetlejuice AU

↳ Word Count: 6.4k

↳ Warnings: death, dirty talk, degradation, exhibition kink, lingerie kink, oral (f & m), unprotected sex (but it’s ghost sex and ghost’s don’t have little ghost babies or stds, unlike you, you alive human. It’s a present, wrap it).

❝So, you died. You’ve come to terms with it; watching over your boyfriend as you’re stuck haunting the apartment you used to live in. But now, he’s bringing new girls around, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t scare them off and you can’t leave. Time to call the ghost with the most for a little bio-exorcism, baby.❞

Alternatively: ❝ You, your “no respect for the dead” boyfriend, and the ghost with the most: a hauntingly good time.❞

↳ A/N: This beautiful header would not be possible without the goddess @/kinktae. My version was so ugly, on god. (Also clearly I made it before I was gimmeyoon and Idk where the original is so I’ll just suffer)

Also yes, this is a Halloween fic two days after Halloween let’s pretend this never happened and this was posted when it should have been uwu

You're dead.

It's not as strange or as extravagant as some people might think. It's mostly spending every second of your day in your apartment. An introvert's dream.

You're pretty sure every college student has joked about being hit by a campus bus to either get out of your finals, have your tuition paid, or whatever other inconvenience one could imagine poor driving and forgetting to look both ways could help remedy.

Except it didn't really fix anything, and you weren't asking for it. It just happened and you died.

It wasn't worth it.

But you’re dead now, and that’s just life, or you guess death.

Pros of being dead: you know thanks to your haunting situation, that your boyfriend Hoseok got all ‘As’ for the first-time last semester.

The haunting situation is something you hadn't expected. You're not sure you would call yourself a skeptic, but you certainly didn't imagine people were tied to their homes for decades with no where else to go. You suppose it's nice that you get to watch over Hoseok, but it's not like he'll be here forever.

He was so sad at first, it broke your heart. But he’s healing, and every day you try to leave him little promises that you’re still there like spraying your perfume in your room so that he smells you when he wakes up in the morning or by helping him keep the place clean. He hasn’t noticed really any of it, which you think is strange, since he must realize he doesn’t clean enough for the place to look like this.

That’s your life now, literally Hoseok’s maid. There’s nothing else you can do. You tried leaving the apartment once, and you were met with a creature you’ve never seen before and hope to never see again. It was otherworldly, that's all you can really say to describe it. You suppose you are too now.

You’re not sure if you can die again, probably not, but if you could, that thing would be the cause.

Hoseok turns off the light in the hallway as he walks back into your bedroom. He always looked so cute when he was sleepy; his hair ruffled and a small smile on his face. He crawls into his side of the bed, something that makes your heart fond. He still leaves space for you.

You lay down beside him, as you do every night. You turn to look at him, and for a moment it seems like he’s looking back at you. But he’s not. He never is.

And as he closes his eyes, you place a kiss to his forehead that has him swatting as if there is a bug when you pull away.

“Good night, Hoseok,” you said. “I love you.”

You remember what it was like when he used to say it back. It made you feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

One single pound against the door to your apartment has you jumping out of your skin. You remind yourself that you're dead as you pick up the heaviest object closest to you. It doesn't make your heart beat any slower.

You slowly make your way towards the door, as you hear it unlocking, and when it swings open, Hoseok appears oh.

You sigh in relief as you set the book you had grabbed down; not so sure it would have protected you anyways. Also, not so sure you needed protecting. So far, all the secrets to being dead were in a very dense book that you kept hidden from Hoseok in a box of your things that he had put in the back of your closet.

“Oh, Hoseok,” you said, a light laugh falling from your lips. “I was so worried.”

And then you see her. And before you can truly process what is happening, the thud happens again as he pushes her against the closed-again door.

“Oh my god,” you breathe as a hand comes up to cover your eyes. “This is not happening.”

You repeat this as you walk away from the entrance of the apartment to the kitchen. You consider looking for a knife, figuring a floating weapon would probably send the message you were looking to communicate, but a pull in your heart told you otherwise.

Hoseok deserved to be happy. He deserved to move on, even though you were pretty sure the mourning period for dead-too-soon girlfriend and supposed love of your life was not over yet. Regardless, Hoseok deserved to be happy.

You almost convince yourself that.

But god damn it, you deserve to be happy too.

Whatever Hoseok is doing, has that girl moaning obnoxiously loud, and if you have to hear that all night, you’ll go back to that creature in that wasteland and perish. It would probably be less painful than this. There's no way it could be worse.

You hear the bedroom door click shut, and your body relaxes a little. You didn’t realize how tense you were until now. You move out in the living room, laying your head on one decorative pillow and pressing another over your exposed ear. If you’re lucky, it’ll be over quickly, and you can pretend this never happened.

The TV turns on in front of you and you curse assuming you’ve laid down on the remote, but then you see it on the table.

You sit up quickly, your eyes glued to the advertisement before you.

"Do you have a human infestation that's making the afterlife, hell?" A man asks. He's sitting at a desk like he's a lawyer in one of those personal injury commercials, except you've never seen a lawyer with green hair like him. Regardless, you suppose it makes sense considering your heart has been seriously injured tonight.

"Do you just want to spend your after-days in peace just as you were promised on Earth, but the living keep getting in the way? If you answered yes to either of these questions, then I'm the man to call. The world's leading bio-exorcist, I'll make sure those that are ruining your retirement from life get what they deserve. Just say my name three time."

"Bio-exorcist?" you repeated, the word even feeling fake in your mouth. There was no way that was real.

"New family move into your home? Landlord trying to remodel? Boyfriend sleeping around?" He seemed to lean forward and meet your eyes as he said that, as if he not only knew that was your exact situation but could also see you.

It's enough to have you grabbing the remote quickly and turning the TV off. You take a few moments to calm down before lying back on the couch and closing your eyes.

Of all the weird things about being dead, that might just be the weirdest.

She left early the next morning and instead of your usual kind ways of reminding Hoseok you were still around, you settled on minor inconveniences.

When he was watching basketball later that day, you kept changing the channel. When he made Ramen for dinner, you made it cold before he could even take his first bite. When he went to bed that night, you kept dropping things, so that he got too nervous to sleep.

It was the only way you were able to say, 'I'm here, motherfucker, cut it out.'

You were lucky your boyfriend was a scaredy. It wasn’t difficult to scare him.

But as before, he doesn't think too much of it. Hoseok was easy to scare but a skeptic apparently. You considered cutting his hair in his sleep, how else would he explain that, but as you brushed his light brown hair away from his forehead. You couldn't bring yourself to do it.

He had grown it out a little since you'd died, and you liked how it looked. You had been worried it was because he was too sad to go to the barber. You weren't 100% sure that wasn't the case, but he took care of it, and it was the first time in a while he had styled his hair with his forehead showing.

It was nice but you sometimes wished you could just tell him you liked it. If only he could know that you thought he looked good that way.

He has another girl over the next weekend and you consider cutting his hair anyways.

The worst part is you mumble a thank you when you realize she's quieter than the last girl. You hate yourself for even thinking that. You hate that there's a situation where you would.

You’re in the living room again, reading your guide to being dead, when the newspaper falls from the table. You flinch at the movement, and for a moment wonder if there's a ghost in this apartment.

The next moment you're laughing lightly because of course there is.

You pick it up, still laughing to yourself, when something catches your eye. It's opened to an ad, and it's the same man from the TV ad a week ago. He's definitely the same man, green hair slicked back and strikingly handsome, but this time he wears a black and white striped suit. The ad reads the same as the commercial the other day, he's the world's best bio-exorcist and he can get rid of your human infestation. His name is written in big letters behind his smiling face, 'Beetlejuice.'

You're a little offended that he would refer to Hoseok as an infestation.

Another weekend later it's another girl. You're beginning to think it's all too much.

According to the book you’re stuck here for the next 125 years, and you’re not really in the mood to listen to Hoseok fuck whoever he pleases for the rest of his lease. God forbid he re-up it and stays another year.

If there is a god. You're not so sure even though you suppose you're the leading expert on this now. Is this Hell? It couldn't be heaven. There was never any briefing on the whole god thing when you died. Maybe it's in that god-forsaken book. God-forsaken, that's how you feel.

You say it without thinking the first time, just considering your options. “Beetlejuice.”

The second time you say it you get a little thrill at the thought of that girl running out of the apartment terrified. “Beetlejuice.”

The third time you hesitate for a moment. Hoseok does deserve to be happy. But then he moans, and you think he should rot. “Beetlejuice!”

He appears before you in a flash of light, that as you falling back in shock onto the couch. You're not sure what you thought incantation would do, He’s not what you expected, much more casual than his lawyer-like commercials, wearing an oversized hoodie, skinny jeans, and sneakers. He would fit in on your college campus well, especially with his green hair.

“Beetlejuice?” you ask, gaping up at him.

“You rang?” he smiled. “God, nothing gets me off quite like a beautiful woman who can’t stop saying my name. Feel free to call me Seokjin from now on. I’d say we’re friends at this point, I mean look at us, who would have thought?”

You sit there in silence just staring at him and letting the situation sink in. He came out of no where and said that.

“Oh good, I called a pervert into my apartment.”

“I believe you called the world’s leading bio-exorcist," he said, rolling his eyes.

“Why does it sound like you’re the world’s only bio-exorcist.”

He laughed at this throwing an arm over your shoulder. "You know, I get that a lot?"

"You certainly don’t look like the world’s leading anything."

“What not dressed for the job?” he frowned as he shook his head. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and he was wearing the black and white striped suit from the print ad. “What about now?”

“Great,” you deadpanned.

"Now, what seems to be the matter at hand?"

As if on cue, Hoseok moans from the bedroom.

"Got some noisy house guests?" he asked, a smirk on his face.

"My boyfriend has no respect for the dead," you replied, staring intensely at the bedroom door.

"Oh, love," he said. "what's it good for besides heart break?"

You didn't answer him, your attention captured by the activities in the other room. It almost physically hurt, as if the sound could slap you across the face.

"Listen, kid," he said, snapping his fingers and bringing your attention back to him. "I can help you fix this problem, but I'm going to need something else in return."

"What do you need?" you asked, a bit skeptically. His ads never said anything about that and you sort of doubted that it was going to be a fair price. Maybe it was the suit that made you suspicious, the green hair, or maybe it was his general aura. It was probably all three together.

"I'm what some might call, on the run," he said. "I was cursed into this horrible, dead end job, seriously no areas for advancement, just serving the dead for the rest of my life, and I couldn't take it anymore. So I left, but that made me a wanted man. If you want me to scratch your back, even though it is a wonderful back," he said, his eyes drifting to your ass and staying there for longer than you would like, "then I'll need you to scratch mine."

"Sounds horrifying," you said, glaring at him.

"Don't knock it until you try it, kid."

"What do you need from me," you said, curtly.

"To break the curse, I need to marry a living person. We'll get your boy out of here, get someone new to move in, you be my wing woman and then bada bing bada boom we've got a broken curse and human infestation taken care of."

"What person in their right mind would marry a ghost?"

Seokjin winks at you. "The ghost with the most baby, any guy or gal would be so lucky."

“What’s he afraid of?” Seokjin asks later as the two of you stand over Hoseok as he sleeps.

“Everything,” you replied.

“Everything? Then why do you need my help?”

“He’s not paying attention to anything I do I guess.”

“Common problem in relationships. The chick just talk talk talks and the guy never listens.”

“You’re an ass, you know that?”

“An ass with a great ass,” he responds, turning his butt towards you and pulling your hand towards him.

“Rot,” you respond, as you tear your hand from him before it touches it.

“Somewhere I am, or I guess I probably already have.”

“Yeah? How long have you been dead?”

“700 years?” he says, looking off into the distance.

“Jesus,” you said, shaking your head, eyes wide at the thought.

“No, Seokjin. Jesus died nearly 2,000 years ago.”

“Thanks for the history lesson, Beetlejuice.”

“Stop,” he warned, his face growing dark and serious. “Call me Beetlejuice again, and I’ll eat your boyfriend.”

“Can you eat him?” you asked warily, moving in between Hoseok and Seokjin.

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “Who’s going stop me?”

“The laws of physics.”

“If you can touch him you can eat him,” Seokjin said, placing a hand on Hoseok’s face, causing the latter to stir in his sleep.

“Put that on a t-shirt.”

“Done,” Seokjin said, snapping his fingers.

You looked down to find a black t-shirt now adorning your body with the aforementioned phrase across from it.

“You’re right, you shouldn’t be a civil servant. You should be in the t-shirt game,” you said before turning to walk to the kitchen.

"Bio-exorcist by day," he said, his hands accenting his words dramatically as he followed you, "t-shirt entrepreneur by night," he seemed to consider it for a moment. "I like the way you think, kid."

Seokjin pauses for a moment, just looking back at you as if he is trying to get a better sense of you.

"If he’s scared of everything," Seokjin said. "Then this should be easy, but personally I think we should have fun with it. I mean, if I’m not scaring I’m not caring, you know?”

"I know you're the expert," you said, raising your eyebrows in scrutiny. "but I don’t want to scare him too much. I mean I love him."

"Listen babe, this isn’t about love it’s about respect and he’s not giving you that, Aretha Franklin style."

"Please don’t sing."

Of course he does his rendition of the song, accompanied by some minor choreography that makes you wonder if he’s done this before. He's actually a good singer though his future as a choreographer isn't looking good. It’s a little too on-the-nose dance wise.

"What is your plan?" you asked cutting him off in the second verse of the song.

"Well the way I see it we have a few options. Personally this wouldn't be the first time I turn into a gigantic snake and I’m guessing he’s afraid of snakes."

"You’re right about the snakes," you said hopping up to sit on the counter, "and that’s exactly why I can’t let you turn into a gigantic one."

"What’s the fun in that?" he asked. "Do you want him to leave this apartment and stop fucking random women in front of you or did you just call me for a good time? Frankly it’s not a good time without my gigantic snake," he said winking at the end which caused you to roll your eyes and scoff.

You stared back at him unamused. "Think of something less scary but still scary enough to have him move out."

"Toots, you’re putting me in a difficult situation," he said leaning back against the counter. "Just leave it the expert."

"If you’re an expert you should be able to come up with a different plan."

He smiled at this, though his gaze looked angry. "You drive a hard bargain," he said, laughing with little humor. "How do you feel about light possession?"

"I don’t even know what that means," you said, your eyes wide. "How can you lightly possess someone?"

"When you’re as good as me, you can do just about anything."

"Sounds fake," you said, hopping down from the counter and moving back into the living room. "lets rule out any type of possession."

"You’re really grabbing me by the balls and not in the way I like," he said following you into the living room and flopping down on the couch.

"Does it look like I care what you like?"

"Hey you’re the one who called me?" he said, looking at you accusatorially.

"No one ever said I always make good decisions," you said, looking for the newspaper that had his ad in it. "How can I send you back?"

"Hey let’s not act rationally," he said jumping up from the couch and walking quickly to you.

"Don’t you mean rashly?" you asked, looking up at him for only a moment before looking for the paper again.

"I said what I said and I meant it."

"Come up with a good plan now," you said, giving up on finding the paper. "Or I’ll figure out how to send you back."

"Fine, you’re really pulling my arm but what about this? I’m thinking classic haunting," he said, setting the stage with his movements. "I’m talking blood dripping down the walls, things falling off shelves, 'redrum' written on the mirror and the works. He’ll be running quicker than you can say 'boo.'"

"I like that plan because it seems to include no potential physical harm."

"I thought you might," he smirked.

"So when do we do it," you asked.

"Once he’s alone with nothing to distract him or try and explain it away."

That time comes the next afternoon as you and Seokjin stand behind Hoseok as he sat on the couch. You and Seokjin's arms brush against each other and you immediately push him away. Seokjin looks over at you with minor annoyance on his face.

"This is pretty lame, so if anyone asks, I was not a part of this," he said.

"Don’t worry," you said. "I don’t think all I ever see anyone as I'm dead now but even if I did, you don't have to worry. I wouldn’t want to be associated with you."

"Promise?" he asked, batting his eyelashes as if you had just said the nicest thing.

"Swear on my death."

Seokjin nods his head, before turning to look down at Hoseok. "Now," he said, before disappearing before your very eyes.

It even sends a chill up your spine, so you almost feel bad for what all of this is going to do to Hoseok. You pull the lipstick out of your pocket. You had grabbed it earlier from the box of your things in the back of the closet. A small part of you wished he would recognize the color and realize you were here with him. A larger part of you knew that would never happen.

You walk to the mirror at the entrance of the apartment and write 'redrum' in the scariest font you can manage with the lipstick.

You feel something drip on you as your writing and look up to find Seokjin has already started the blood effect wherever he's gone off to.

You make your way to the TV, rubbing the blood on your jeans as you move, and for a moment just stand in between Hoseok and the device. You think of the few times you've done it before, where Hoseok has whined and asked you to move out of the way so he could keep watching the game or whatever it was that was on.

Now he looks right through you. He has no idea you're even there. It still stings as much as it first did. You turn away from him to write on the TV screen. You touch the lipstick to the screen just as Hoseok cures behind you.

"What the fuck?" he said, standing up from the couch and moving to the entry way of the apartment.

You almost feel giddy as he looks up at the blood staining the walls.

"I can't fucking believe it," he said, shaking his head. "This fucking landlord."

Hoseok ran his hands over his face in exasperation before pulling his phone out and taking some pictures of the blood, not even seeming to notice the writing on the mirror. Just then Seokjin pushed all of his textbooks off of the table, but Hoseok didn't even flinch.

"Hey," Hoseok said his phone to his ear. "Yeah, the pipes burst again, and I really need you to fix it this time," he huffed at whatever was said on the other line. "No, I know you said you fixed, but I'm telling you there's shit coming down my walls again."

"If that's what his shit looks like," Seokjin said as he reappeared beside you, causing you to gasp and flinch in shock, "then he seriously has a problem and needs to get it checked out."

"I don't understand," you said, motioning to Hoseok grabbing his jacket and heading out of the apartment. "He didn't even see the word on the mirror. I mean this is the shit that has people running out of the building in terror in movies." "The living have no respect for the dead," Seokjin shrugged. "Not to mention your plan sucked."

"This was your plan," you reminded him.

"I told you it wasn’t enough."

"You are the worst," you yelled as you made your way to the bedroom. "I swear to god, you have been nothing but a headache since you got here. You're not the world's leading bio-exorcist your the world's leading pain in the ass."

"Oh I'd love to be a pain in you ass," he said following behind you. "Say the word, and I'll lube up."

"If you weren't already dead I would murder you."

"The feeling is mutual," he said, stepping closer to you. "Do you know what I think?"

"I don't care whatever it is."

"I think you don't actually want your boy to leave," he stepped closer again, causing you to step back. "I think you want him to finally notice you. You want him to realize you're here and stop fucking those other girls."

"Wow, did you get a PhD in stating the obvious? Of course I want the man I love to realize I’m still here. I love him, you asshole."

"Then why did you call a bio-exorcist?" he asked, backing you into the wall. "You're wasting my time."

"Because nothing I do makes him notice me," you said, fighting the urge to spit in his face.

"I don't think you're trying hard enough," he said, just as the door to the apartment opened again. "Why don't I help you?" he said, leaning in so that his face was mere centimeters from yours. "Have you tried some good old-fashioned ghost moaning?"

Your breath catches in your throat as whatever insult you had prepared dies on your tongue. You loathe Seokjin, but the idea of getting back at Hoseok has you contemplating his suggestion.

"Hm," Seokjin mused as you didn't respond. "Ghost got your tongue?"

"Shut up, and put it to good use," you said, leaning in the rest of the way and pulling him into a hungry kiss.

Seokjin kisses down the length of your body, working quickly on your pants as soon as he reaches the waist band. You step out of your pants and despite his previous pace, he stops to look at your underwear, a frown on his face. He looks up at you slowly.

"I'm going to need to fix that," he said, before snapping his fingers.

"If you gave me a dick, I'll actually feed you to the snake thing I ran into the other day," you said hurriedly as you looked down.

Seokjin laughed loudly as he pulled on your arm to move you to the bed. He had replaced your underwear, switching out the cotton panties for a strappy red lace number, that you would never consider buying.

"You like lingerie," you said under your breath, lying down and looking up at the ceiling as your racing heart calmed down.

"Where'd you go?" he asked, crawling back on top of you.

"I'm having ghost sex," you said, laughing a little bit at the end.

"Great ghost sex," he winked, before helping you take your shirt off as well. He replaced your bra as well, the crimson matching set striking compared to what you normally wore.

"Beautiful," he mumbled, kissing your breast over the bra, before looking at you with a devilish grin. "How long until Hoseok comes into the bedroom?"

"We'll find out sooner or later," you mumbled as he kissed the band of your panties.

"Do you think it'll be before the first time you cum?" he asked, kissing your clit through the panties. "Or do you think it'll be before the second time?"

"Definitely before the third," you said, causing Seokjin to laugh.

"Greedy slut," he said, before sucking at your clit, the barrier of the panties causing you to whine for more.

"Pervert," you breathed as he gripped tightly to his hips. "You'd love to watch me get off three times."

"You know," he said, his finger sliding under the band of you underwear. "You really annoy me."

"The feeling is mutual," you said, lightly pushing his head back towards your core. "Scratch my back and I'll scratch your's."

"You drive a hard bargain," he winked before pulling the lingerie off of your body. He sat it down beside you instead of throwing it on the ground and you considered teasing the delicate way he treated it, but just as you formulated your remark, he liked a strip up your cunt, having you sigh in satisfaction.

You're not surprised that he teases you, giving your clit the attention it wants, only to take it away again, laughing lightly against you. He takes pleasure in your moans, his hands gripping more tightly at your hips every time you get lost in the pleasure. It seems to ground you in the moment.

You're close to reaching your high when you hear the door open and look over to see Hoseok entering the room.

Seokjin stops his movements and looks up, causing you to whine lightly.

"Before the first time," he shrugged, before looking at you with a smirk. "Louder," he said before burying his head between your legs again.

He harshly sucked your clit into his mouth, and you didn't hold back the moan that started in the pit of you chest. Hoseok is unaware of your presence, but your knowledge of his has each movement of Seokjin's tongue feeling better and better.

You never knew you would like this, but as you think about every girl you heard in this room you feel desire grow in the pit of your stomach. Your reaching your peak quickly, your hands winding into Seokjin's hair as you cum hard on his tongue.

You're panting when Seokjin comes back up a smirk on his face. "Scratch mine," he said, pulling his shirt over his head.

You roll your eyes in response, but your hands come up to undo his belt. The two of you work to rid him of his jeans and you can only scoff in response when Seokjin props himself up against the headboard of the bed, his arms crossed behind his head.

"Can you make him see us?" you whispered, a bit embarrassed by the question.

Seokjin looked over at Hoseok and shrugged. "Maybe. If I turned into a cyclops he would probably notice us, but he could see us right now if he paid attention to the strange and unusual."

"Yes, that's exactly how I'd describe fucking you." "Less talk," he said, his eyes narrowing.

"Mhm," you hummed as you ran your hands up his thighs. You kiss his cock lightly over his boxer briefs, before hooking your fingers into the band and pulling them down. You must gape slightly at the size of his dick, because Seokjin laughs lightly. When you look up at him he seems pretty proud of himself.

"I said it was a gigantic snake."

"Choke," you said, rolling your eyes.

"Say please, and I will," he winked, looking down at your throat.

You rolled your eyes, as you took his cock in your hand, to which Seokjin took a sharp breath.

"Interesting," you said, looking up at him with a wink. "It looks like you're the one who should be saying please." "Listen, babe, I'm not about begging."

You chuckled lightly, before licking up the length of his cock. You took the tip into your mouth, sucking lightly, and then taking him in deeper.

Seokjin moans loudly and you wonder partly if you're actually doing that good of a job or if he's trying to catch Hoseok's attention.You can't watch your boyfriend from this angle, so instead you imagine what he's doing. The thought that he could be standing shocked behind you, too caught off guard to do anything but watch has your pussy clenching around nothing and desire building in your core again.

"Fuck," Seokjin said. "Swallow."

And you do, swallowing around him before he comes and after, pulling your mouth off of him as he smiles with his eyes closed.

"Watch this," he said, looking back at you and winking, before he snapped his fingers. He's hard again instantly, which is a little unsettling and the grimace on your face must communicate as such.

"I never thought it was fair girls could just cum again if they wanted to."

"Really?" you said, as he grabbed your hand and pulled you towards him so you were straddling his lap. "I never thought it was fair guys came practically every time we had sex and I was lucky to come 1/4 of the time."

"Very unfair," Seokjin said, nodding his head. "I've always recognized the power of the female orgasm." "Why don't I believe you?"

"Because you're horribly mean to me."

"Poor baby," you said, lining yourself up above his cock. "The girl that just sucked your dick makes fun of you."

"I liked it better when you had a dick in your mouth and couldn't talk."

"I liked it better when you were too fucked out to say something gross." "Then let's get to it," he said, his hands gripping at your ass as you sank down on him.

The stretch has you moaning, and despite your abhorrence that he was right, Seokjin does have a big dick and the way it fills you is delicious. He gives you a moment to adjust before his hands are helping you ride him, his mouth moving to suck at your neck.

When he pulls away he doesn't look at you, but behind you.

"You want him to see? Be too loud for him to ignore," he said, looking back at you. "Show him how mad he made you. Show him what he's missing. Show him two people can play his game."

You moan in response, turning your body to see Hoseok. He's sitting at his desk, likely doing school work, none the wiser that two dead people are fucking in his bed. He briefly turns towards the bed, his eyes seeming to fall on your body just as Seokjin moves again to suck at the other side of your neck.

"Maybe if he sees us we can both fuck you," Seokjin said before biting at your ear. "Would you like that?"

"Seokjin,” you moan.

“You want to remind him how good you take dick.”

“Seokjin,” you moan just as he thrusts deeper into you. “Seokjin.”

"You act like a prude," Seokjin said, moaning as he thrusts up into you. "But you're really a slut aren't you? You'd do anything to get back at him."

"Yes," you moaned, turning back to Seokjin. "Fuck me so good he can't ignore us," you said.

"What do you think I've been trying to do," Seokjin grunted, thrusting up into you again.

You're reaching your high a few thrusts later, moaning louder than you ever have as Seokjin cums inside of you at the same time.

The two of you are panting, lying chest to chest on the bed as you ground yourself back in reality. When you roll off of him you look over to see Hoseok still studying.

You feel better knowing you weren't powerless in this situation, that you too could move on, but something in you wishes he had opened his eyes and seen it. Some untapped kink you didn't even know existed until Seokjin came into your death.

The new plan might involve some physical injury. You've made Seokjin promise that he wouldn't, but frankly everything about Seokjin materializing as the girl from The Grudge sounds like someone's getting hurt, and probably not Seokjin. Hoseok is dancing through the hallway to the kitchen when Seokjin appears at the end of it. Or rather, the little nightmare girl he's pretending to be.

Hoseok doesn't notice at first, he's looking down at his feet as follows the melody of the song, but when he finally looks up, all of the color drains from his face and he stops in his tracks.

He blinks his eyes rapidly, as if he has something in his eyes rather than the physical embodiment of evil being a few feet from him, but soon his body catches up with his mind and he's running from the house.

He screams as he runs and you flinch when he almost trips over one of his shoes, that you have the sneaking suspicion Seokjin placed in his way.

He doesn't come back, or at least not alone. Yoongi and Namjoon, his friends from school, come back with him to help him get his stuff and move out. A couple of times Yoongi teases Hoseok for being afraid of this place, because it's the least haunted apartment he's ever been in. Namjoon scolds him and points to the box in the back of the closet with your name on it.

You've already gone through it and taken out anything you want to keep yourself. It was mostly just a few pictures of the two of you and your favorite lipstick that you never put back. You hid them in the couch cushions and hoped that they didn't check for lose change or anything.

A few months pass and no one moves in. Seokjin thinks rumors probably spread after Hoseok ran from the place screaming so no one wants to move in.

You figure he's right, because you certainly wouldn't want to.

It's strange how the two of you start to move and live comfortably around each other, though it is unfair that Seokjin can leave. He usually spends all day with the living and comes back to tell you something interesting he learned.

You feel even more like a housewife than you did with Hoseok. At least now you get to hear about your hard-working "husbands" day.

It’s half a year later when someone finally comes to tour the apartment. You and Seokjin are making out on the bed when you hear the landlord enter and soon Seokjin is tearing his lips from your breast and looking in the direction of the entrance.

"Finger's crossed they can see dead people," he said winking at you.

"Apartment tour and a show," you laughed, pushing him off of you.

The two of you make your way to the living room to see who would be so lucky to call Seokjin their future husband potentially. You almost fall on the floor with laughter as she comes into view.

Standing in he living room with your ex-landlord is a woman who must be nearly 80 years old.

“What?" Seokjin asks, over your laughter.

“I don’t know how much longer your future bride will be living.

“How horrible of you? Where are your manners? That is my wife!”

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you said, waving your hand at him. "I don't mean to be ageist, I just know your little pervert brain did not have this in mind."

"Please don't call me a pervert in front of my wife," he said, pushing you to the side. "I think you're just jealous?"

"Of who?" you asked, laughing harder. "You? Or the woman you're going to try and convince to marry a dead man?"

"If you want to marry me, just say so," he smirked.

"Not even if you were the last dead man in this apartment."

#seokjin smut #bts smut #sekojin x reader #jin smut #jin fanfic #seokjin fanfic #bts writing #magicshopnet

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secondhand-trash · 5 years

Text

Battle Scars

@shinsoubowl Week Day 5 (Prompt: thunderstorm+scars+ “It’s not your fault, you know.”)

A/N: Oof I take it back, this was the hardest to write.

Pairing: Shinsou Hitoshi x reader

Description: It was rough to see your lover coming home soaked from head to bottom and with a huge cut on his chest, but it pained you even more to see him so deep in self-blame.

Warning: describtion of wounds and scars

Word count: 2280

Playlist:

I Always Wanna Die (Sometimes)//The 1975

Achilles Come Down//Gang of Youths

My Immortal//Evanescence

The windows trembled under the strong wind and you winced as you pulled the blanket closer to your body. The howling from outside and the occasional thunder only made you tensed up even more. It was 2 in the morning but Hitoshi was nowhere to be see and he usually returns from patrol a lot earlier than this hour. You knew that this was all part of what came with the profession he was in but you didn’t think there would be a day when you stop worrying about him as you waited anxiously in your shared home, especially with the brutal storm pouring on the streets.

Where was he? Would he be alright?

You jumped when you heard the door slammed open, snapping you out of your thoughts. You always prepared for the worst in situations like this but your heart still dropped when you saw your boyfriend standing at the door with water soaking through his clothes and dripping down his hair.

Normally, you would scold him for getting the floor wet but you could not bring yourself to even speak when you saw the gruesome cut on his chest. It slashed across his left chest down to the upper part of his waist, cutting through the fabric of his costume as the blood spread on the soaked fabric.

You stumbled to get up and ignored the blanket that slid off of you to the floor. He didn’t move as you walked towards him, you could feel how tensed his muscles were when you held onto him and helped him sit down on the chair by the dining table near the door. His eyes were soulless, staring into a distance void even when you went and grabbed the first aid kit that you conveniently stored in a drawer near where he sat. It was a habit you formed very early on in your relationship. If you could not stop him from getting harmed, the least you could do was patch him up after each injury.

But of all the cuts and bruises you had seen him come back with, this was the first time you saw pain in his eyes.

Hitoshi hissed in pain as you carefully took his shirt off, trying to avoid touching the wound as you lifted the wet fabric that was sticking to his skin. His face scrunched up as you gently dabbed a washcloth around his wound, cleaning up the grim around the cut. He did not say a word as you work on the cut and you didn’t dare to ask how he got it. No matter how, it seemed to bother him a lot.

He was staring into the distance at nothing in particular and your eyes darted away from his to avoid seeing the emptiness he was displaying in his. As you try to clean the cut, you took notice to the many scars on his upper body. Some older ones had already started fading away, some newer ones permanent on his skin. There were small cuts and then there were the signs of his more serious injuries that still made your heart wrench when you look at it.

People always saw the glory and great deeds of being a hero but never how ugly it can get. One step, and you could end up with scars that stays for the rest of your life, reminding you of everything you had done right and everything that had gone wrong.

There were many small cuts littering all over his skin but it was the one on his forearm that caught your attention first, a thin straight line that could easily be overlooked as it blended into his pale skin through the years since he got it. It wasn’t as obvious or as ghastly as his other scars but you always find it to be more eye-catching than the rest.

When people ask about his scars, Hitoshi would always say that they were from fights against villains or results from accidents during training. But this one, this one you knew the true cause behind it.

You first asked about this tiny scar on the inside of his forearm when you just started going steady. You were lying on the couch on one of his rare day offs, enjoying each other’s company as you lazily traced circles on his arm that was snugged around your waist. He looked embarrassed when your finger stopped at the thin line which only prompted you to be more curious in it.

After a lot of nagging and pleading on your part, he finally gave in with a sigh and told you about how he got this scar back in his UA days. It was some time after he transferred to the hero course in his second year and he was patrolling with some pro-heroes he worked for when he heard a distant sob. Excusing himself from the rest of the team, he inspected the source of the cries and found a little girl crying under a tree. In between broken sniffles, the girl pointed to the top of the tree and as he looked up, he could faintly see the white fluff that was stuck in between branches. It was one of the many times when he had wished that he had a more practical quirk when it comes to hero work because there was nothing he could do to help the poor cat that was stuck on the tree with his.

But the girl was crying and there was no one else around. Quirk or not, how was he supposed to become a hero when he couldn’t even help a crying child?

Sometimes, being a hero did not take flashy powers or massive gestures and down-to-earth measures worked just as fine. It turns out that hard work did pay off as he climbed up the tree with more ease than he had expected, something he must thank his mentor for that his agility improved drastically since he started training. Before his foot even touched the ground, the kitten wrestled out of his hold and eagerly ran towards its owner. Hitoshi suppressed a reflective yelp as the feline’s sharp claws scratched past his forearm that was exposed because he had rolled up his sleeves for convenience.

That was the first scar he had gotten from doing anything close to heroic which if you ask him, really wasn’t much comparing to the other things he or his other classmates had done but he could never forget the bright small on the girl’s face as she hugged the cat, with joyful tears running down her cheek. It was the first time he had the realization that maybe, he could become that hero he wanted to be after all.

Your eyes travelled up from his arm towards his shoulder blade where you hesitated to look at. On there was what left of a direct stab with a knife, a soft bump that stood out as even paler than the rest of his body with a pointed side. This one, you did not need to hear about the origin from him, because you were there when he got stabbed.

In fact, it would not be an exaggeration to say that he got this one because of you.

Tension filled the air as the robber pointed his weapon at the kneeling people. No one dared to move as the robber commanded the bank’s staff to open the safe with the risk of sharp blades stabbing through their bodies if they did so little as flinch. It was only your luck that you happened to be in line at the bank when the villain marched into the building, demanding everyone to stay still with knives in his hand. You recognize the villain as one that recently escaped from another crime scene, notorious for his perfect aim and use of knives in his crimes.

In this age of unknown and powerful quirks after many generations since it first appeared, even regular criminals who wanted so much less than taking over mankind was a lot more dangerous than before. None of their tactics could be predicted and most security systems could be a loophole when faced with the right quirk.

Things escalated from there when the pro-heroes arrived. People idolized heroes, and probably for a good reason. The society relied on heroes to keep things in order and it would be safe to say that they were placed on a pedestal for more reasons other than the fact that they fought the fight for average citizens against harm.

Things would run smoothly as long as the people believed that the hero always won.

The villain was pressed onto the floor with his arms twisted behind his back as the heroes overpowered the criminal. The police arrived to take care of the rest of the work as the heroes helped those who were held hostage. You stood up, legs sore from kneeling down, letting out a sigh as the danger was finally lifted. What you didn’t see was that the villain, so filled with loathing and angered by sham, had forced himself out of the police officer’s grip and slung his dagger at whoever stood the closest to him.

If he had to go down, at least he would take someone with him.

You could not react as you heard the screams rang around you, freezing in fear as the sharp knife got closer and closer to you. It was like everything was in slow motion, and you almost felt the pain before it even hits.

But it never did land on you. When you opened your eyes that was shut in fear, you saw a tall figure blocking you from the hit. The dagger strike directly into his shoulder and even from behind, you could see the blood soaking through his sleeve. You did not need to feel it to know that it must have hurt a lot but even with that, the man turned around to you first as if he wasn’t just stabbed with a knife and asked, “Are you ok?”

You still haven’t come down from the shock but you did not need to be calm to see that if there was someone who should be asked that question, it was him, not you. You gingerly said as the red patch on his shoulder became more visible, “Yes, but you...”

“I’ll be fine.” he said with a forced smile, slightly unnatural and resembled a sneer more than a grin as he clutched his forearm in pain.

You could not get the hero who tried to smile even when he was in pain out of your head. Bothered by guilt that he got hurt because he was trying to shield you from the attack, you gingerly phoned the agency of the hero and asked if you could visit him in the hospital. You would never forget the look on his face when his co-worker told him that he had a visitor, the way he scratched the back of his neck with his good arm saying that it was part of his duty as you embarrassingly rambled on about how much you thanked him.

Even now, Hitoshi would sometimes brought it up just to tease you.

You knew how he got each and every one of his scars and you tended to everyone that he had gotten after he met you. You could not forget the way he told you that he was fine when he clearly wasn’t. He was so hell-bent on becoming a hero that he sometimes forget that there were times when he needed to be cared for too, and you took up that role with great love in your heart.

He could always trust you with the rare vulnerability he tried to hide from everyone else.

“I let him get away.”

You looked up from his chest to match his eyes as you gently apply the ointment onto the cut when you heard the words vibrating off his chest, his voice tired and hoarsed as he speak. “We almost got him, but he pulled out a cutter out of no where and I let him get away.”

Hitoshi’s eyes dropped and his lips pursed together into a thin line to form a frown. A lighting strike, casting a ghostly shadow on your boyfriend’s face as it slid past the sky. If it pained you to see him injured, then it was agony to hear his guilt ridden voice.

You sighed as you positioned the gauze on his wound, “You are hurt.”

"But still-”

“It’s not your fault, you know.” you reached your hand up to hold his chin, effectively stopping him from beating himself up as you gave him a gentle smile, “You need to stop talking and get some rest, it’s not good for recovery.”

The weight in your chest was lifted as he chuckled, “That makes no sense.”

“If course it does,” you huffed as you put everything back into the first aid kit, “I’m the one who patch up all your wounds so everything I say is valid.”

You grinned as he got up, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before going into the bedroom. “Thank you.”

The small gesture filled your stomach with warmth. Even with the rain pouring and the angry thunder yelling outside, you would never fail to feel safe and protected in the walls of your home, knowing that you were guarded by a hero you proudly called your own. One that was brave and worked hard for what he believed in, with the scars to prove it.

#bnha imagines #shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi #shinsou imagine #shinsoubowl week 2019 #shinsoubowl #bnha imagine #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

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thenovelartist · 5 years

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A Bride for the Prince, chapter 5

A03 ~ < Previous ~ Next >

Nothing quite prepares you for the sudden reappearance of a childhood friend back in your life. Especially not one Marinette thought she would never see again.

Slowly, Adrien gave her a sheepish grin. “You recognize me, then, huh?”

It didn’t matter that he had grown several inches and his shoulders had broadened and his jawline had been chiseled into something sharp, she could still recognize him. “Y-yeah.”

With a huff, he glanced away, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Wait,” she said, the gears in her mind slowly starting up again. “You… you knew, didn’t you?”

His grin turned from sheepish to devilish.

In an instant, her shock was forgotten. “I can’t believe you!” she cried, smacking his chest with the back of her hand just like she used to do. “You knew all this time? Is that why you singled me out?”

“Well, no,” he said, his eyes sparkling dangerously. “You were as klutzy as ever and ran into me—”

“I can’t believe you!” she shouted, smacking him again. This time, he chuckled, but took a step back to avoid her. Not that she would let him. “You you you… you scoundrel.”

His laughter only grew as he continued backing away from her. She smacked him once again for good measure.

“Hey,” he said through a chuckle, grabbing her hand to stop her next hit. “Is that any way to treat your old childhood friend?”

“Yes, considering it’s you.”

He barked out a laugh. “You’re just as fiery as I remember. Except your hits hurt a bit more now.”

She sighed, stopping her advancement. His mirth gradually died down, leaving the two of them staring at each other.

“In all seriousness,” Adrien spoke quietly. “It’s nice seeing you again, Marinette.”

She sighed, unable to keep the smile off her face as she looked up at the man she’d once known. “It’s nice seeing you, too, Adrien.”

His own grin widened. “I honestly thought I’d never see you again. And definitely not masquerading as a lady.”

Marinette blushed. “I have my reasons.”

“I know,” he said. “I wouldn’t doubt that.”

Somewhere in the distance, the clocktower rung the hour. “Thank you for your faith in me.”

“You aren’t the kind of woman who’d be here without good reason. You always had good reasons for most everything you did.”

Her cheeks warmed further. “How did you know I didn’t change?”

“I would severely doubt that you would go from honorable to a complete liar. You just… you just aren’t that kind of person.”

She didn’t know how to handle the compliments he was pouring over her, so she looked over to where Alya and Nino should be, only to find them gone. “Hey, where’d they go?”

Adrien looked up, only to discover that neither Alya nor Nino were anywhere to be found. “I think we’ve been ditched.”

“They must have gone off to Alya’s contest,” Marinette said with a frown. “But why wouldn’t they wait for us?”

“They probably wanted to be together alone. Or maybe Nino thought he might be able to talk Alya out of it.”

Marinette scoffed. “Not likely.”

Adrien chuckled. “How do you know those two so well despite knowing them so short a time?”

Marinette shrugged.

“Well,” Adrien said, leaning closer to her. “I’m not going to complain. I have a lovely young lady in my company so I’m going to enjoy it.”

With that, he extended his arm to her. Smiling, she wrapped her hands over his elbow. “I see you’ve become a flatterer.”

“Naw,” he dismissed. “Only with certain lovely young ladies.”

“Sure. I believe that.”

“You should. Particularly if it’s a lovely young lady I used to look forward to seeing in DuPont every year.”

Marinette’s smile faded at his comment. “Why did you never come back? To DuPont. You just disappeared.”

All mirth vanished from Adrien’s expression. “I… the queen died,” he answered. “Meaning I never had a reason nor opportunity to go back to DuPont.”

“Oh,” was all she managed. “I… I guess that makes sense.”

“I didn’t like it,” Adrien said. “I missed you.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “I missed you, too. But more than anything, I just wanted to know what happened to you. I wanted to know if…if you were okay. More than once did I think you were dead and that was why you never came back.”

His free hand reached over to cover hers. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For causing you to worry so much. I never intended that. Never… never thought you’d be that concerned about me.”

“You were the highlight of my summers,” she quickly countered. “You were practically my best friend. How could I not be worried about you?”

Her words seemed to catch him off guard. He stared at her a moment before turning away with a smile. “Thank you, Marinette.”

She cocked her head to the side, her brow furrowing in confusion. “For what?”

“Caring,” he answered simply.

But it didn’t satisfy her. She stopped, tugging him to a halt, as well. “I don’t understand, Adrien. What do you mean?”

He gave her a gentle smile that slowly calmed the curiosity in her. “Nothing,” he said, slowly pulling his arm away so he could take her hands in his. “Just that I appreciate your concern. To be honest, I mourned the loss of you every summer following. I thought you would have moved on by now.”

“I… well, I did,” she answered. “But I always wondered. And now you show back up in my life, and I can’t not catch up with you. I have to know how you’ve been. I still care even though I’d let you go.”

He smirked. “Well, I don’t intend on letting you go again so easily,” he said, giving her hands a tight squeeze. “But I’m going to ignore the inevitable parting and spend time with you now.”

Something warm washed over her. “I like that idea.”

He grinned then put her hands over his elbow again. “Come on.”

From there, they spent time wandering and talking, covering all the time that they had been apart. Adrien told her about his misadventures of becoming a royal guard but how he actually enjoyed the profession quite a bit. Marinette covered her adventures of sewing and dressmaking and being the lady’s maid to Lady Bug.

“And Lord Stoneheart told me that once this was all over, he would insist I come back to reclaim my position as Lady Stoneheart’s lady’s maid.”

“Loyal as ever,” Adrien commented. “I truly expected nothing less of you.”

She shrugged. “I think caring about the people you care about is important. That’s all.”

“And that’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you,” Adrien said. “You just… you care. And I feel like a lot of people in my life don’t.”

“Then you need to find some better friends.”

His smile turned pained, but she didn’t know why. “Yeah. I’m trying. Hey, are you hungry?”

She wanted to press him for the sudden change of subject but decided to let it go. “Are you hungry?” Marinette returned with a forced smile. “You never turned down food back home. Do you still have that appetite?”

He grinned. “I’ve calmed down a little,” he said. “But let me tell you, do you know how much I’ve missed your pastries?”

She giggled.

“Don’t laugh! There’s nothing like them in the entire kingdom. There’s only one little place out here that I found that can maybe satisfy my craving for your sweets.”

“Oh?” she asked, curious. “And that is?”

“This way, my Lady.”

She smacked him. “Enough of the title. I feel like you’re mocking me.”

A smug smile grew across his lips, prompting another smack.

“You’re so mean,” he said with a grin. “How dare you assault a royal guard.”

“You’ll get over it.”

He barked out a laugh, all traces of his previous distress now completely gone. No matter how curious she was, she would let it go in favor of the smile he gave her now.

Their teasing continued as he tugged her down a side street, then another before getting in a long line in front of a food stand.

“My, they sure are popular, aren’t they?”

“They have the best pastries in the town. I can’t say in the kingdom. You hold that title.”

“Oh, stop it,” she said, smacking his arm.

“It’s true.”

“Really?”

“I’m not a liar.”

“Says the man who didn’t tell me who he was.”

“I didn’t think you’d remember me!” he cried, expression falling like a kicked puppy.

“You were my best friend, and you didn’t think I wouldn’t realize who you were?”

“You hadn’t seen me in a while. I didn’t know.”

“You haven’t changed that much. You still have that wild mess of blonde hair and those pretty green eyes and that stupid smug grin.”

Instantly, she regretted those words as she watched a stupid smug grin slowly appear. “Pretty green eyes, huh?”

She hoped her cheeks weren’t as pink as they felt. “Yes. What of it?”

“You wouldn’t happen to find anything else pretty, would you?”

Yes. Yes, she did. She found a lot she liked. But he didn’t have to know. “No. You’re about as ugly as ever.”

The dumbstruck expression was worth it. “Oh, my poor heart,” he cried, his expression turning into an amused one. “Someone stuck a knife through it.”

“Walk it off, Chat Noir.”

Marinette succeeded in holding in her laughter for all of five seconds. She couldn’t not laugh when he was nearly on his knees in hysterics.

“Oh, Marinette,” he said, calming down. “Your tongue’s gotten sharper.”

“I’ve been working on it.”

“I can tell. At least none of the other ladies will want to torment you if you keep that up.”

They shared another chuckle before happening to get to the front of the line.

“Two eclairs, please,” Adrien said.

The shop owner handed over two pastries with a smile, and Adrien was quick to pay the man. “Thank you.”

Pastry in hand, they walked off to the side and away from the line. Marinette took a bite, discovering that he was right. The éclair was good, but she was always fond of her parents’ baking.

“See?” Adrien said, taking a bite of his own éclair. “Not as good. I’m left with subpar pastries thanks to you. You and your parents ruined me forever.”

“I don’t know,” Marinette said, swiping some pastry cream out of the center with her finger. “The pastry cream is pretty good. Just the right sweetness. I think the issue is dough itself; it’s just… off and I can’t tell why.”

Before she could lick the cream off her finger, Adrien grabbed her hand and did it. She squeaked indignantly as his tongue licked the cream off her finger, but the heat on her cheeks and the speed of her heart made it difficult for her mind to function.

That smug smile was back as he looked up at her, her finger now free of pastry cream. “You’re right. It is delicious.”

“Cheeky,” she growled, turning away to enjoy the rest of her éclair without him stealing it.

He chuckled, leaving her heart a mess.

She glared at him just as he took another bite of his own éclair. But before he could bite down, she reached up and squeezed the pastry, shooting all the cream into his mouth and causing him to choke out of surprise. Marinette laughed as he bent over, trying to get his mouthful of cream under control.

“And you call me cheeky,” he said with a smirk, staring at his now empty éclair shell.

She winked at him while taking another bite of her éclair.

He shook his head, causing her smile to widen. “I like this side of you,” he said.

“Oh, I’ll be certain to show it constantly, then. Or, at least for a week to pay back every day you never told me your identity.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“No,” she answered with a grin.

He sighed, his head falling in shame. “Is there anything I can do to get back in your good graces, my Lady?”

“You can not call me that when it’s just the two of us.”

“Oh,” he said, his brows waggling. “You mean there’s going to be more of just the two of us? How scandalous.”

Her cheeks warmed at the thought. Funny how a few years could make the difference between two friends playing together and a scandalous meeting. To her, it didn’t feel that way. Marinette was generally careful about what men she spent time with, and despite only having just realized who he was, Adrien was one of those men she felt comfortable with. “Well, maybe I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

“Maybe?” Adrien repeated, smile growing smug as he leaned closer to her. “Hmm. Then I’ll do my best to be so charming you can’t say no.”

Marinette giggled. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Proudly so.”

She shook her head before eating the last bite of pastry.

Close by, the musicians finished their song, drawing a round of cheers. The next song was announced, warning people to grab a partner.

Adrien bowed before her, hand extended. “Care to dance?”

“If I say no?”

“I’ll drag you out anyway.”

With a chuckle, Marinette put her hand in his. “I would love to.”

The smile he gave her caused her heart to trip, Quickly, she shoved the feeling away, only for it to return with a vengeance when he took her in his arms. Get a hold of yourself, Marinette! She had to. What did it matter that a dashing young man was holding her close? It was a dance between two friends. That was all.

That was all.

After that first dance, and the second, they found themselves shockingly close. Each song seemed slower than the last, prompting couples closer.

“You dance very well,” Adrien quietly commented.

“I had a great teacher,” she returned just as quietly. “I’m glad I paid attention to all the lessons you gave me before considering I’ll need them now.”

“I’d be glad to teach you more,” he said. “So that you’re more confident when any dances come up.”

“I’d really appreciate it.”

“Then it’s settled,” he said with a grin. “I’ll be your dance teacher from here on out.”

She smiled at him, warmth flooding her. “Thank you, Adrien. I know I tease you, but I could always count on you.”

“Well, I knew you did back then. I want to prove I never changed in that regard.”

“I trust you,” Marinette said, the words resonating within her and clearly hitting him hard, as well. “I know I probably shouldn’t—we haven’t seen each other in years—but I do.”

He squeezed her hand. “I promise not to disappoint you.”

I believe it. She squeezed his hand back.

The last song came to an end, meaning the dance partners parted and bowed to each other. Adrien gave her a deep bow, one full of respect for her while she gave the best curtsy she could manage.

The large town clock chimed. Adrien glanced up at it. “The light show is going to start soon.” He grabbed her hand and guided her away from the crowd. “Come. I want to get to the best place possible to view it.”

“Best place possible?”

Adrien nodded. “Yes. But it’s a secret. You can tell no one about that spot. Nino and I have commandeered it.”

“I promise. Who would I tell, anyway?”

“I suppose that’s true,” he agreed. “One more thing: you still climb trees, right?”

That caused her brows to furrow. “I do,” she said.

His grin was full of childish giddiness. “Good.”

He snatched her hand, immediately tugging her through the crowd and weaving through buildings with shocking ease. Surprisingly, she kept pace with him as they continued their seemingly unceasing journey. “This spot of yours is far off, isn’t it?”

“It’s worth it,” he told her, pausing to look her in the eyes. “I promise.”

Somehow, those words calmed her. “I trust you.”

He smiled, squeezing her hand and making her heart leap in the process. “That’s all that matters to me.”

In an instant, they were off again, continuing to weave through the crowd until they came to an area with tall houses. From there, he pulled her down a completely clear alleyway.

“Here,” he said. “The rooftops.”

Marinette blinked several times before looking around. “I see no trees.”

He grinned. “I just wanted to know if you still climbed. Look. The slats on the house offers footing while there are handholds due to the clotheslines and structure posts and windowsills.”

The moon was full, otherwise, there was no way she would be able to see a thing. She studied the side of the house, creating a path in her mind’s eye. “Okay.” She bent down to fold up her skirts in a very unladylike way, but it allowed her the ability to climb.

“Do you want to follow me?” Adrien asked. “Or do you want me behind you to catch you if you fall?”

If his expression wasn’t as serious as it was, she would have smacked him. However, it had been a while since she’d climbed anything. “Behind me, please.”

“Okay. Up you go, my Lady.”

She glared at him for that.

He smirked. “What other endearments am I allowed if not that one?”

“Anything.”

“Anything?”

“No!” she cried, spying that smug grin of his. “No. Not anything. Just not that.”

“What about—”

“Less talking; more climbing.”

He chuckled. “Okay. Just give me more time to think.”

“I regret ever telling you not to call me by my fake title.”

Several minutes later, Marinette finally made her way to the rooftop, Adrien following right behind. She nearly slipped once, but he’d caught her foot to give her stability.

“Thank you for that,” she said once they were both standing steadily on the roof.

“That’s why I was behind you, right?”

A blush was on her cheeks, she was sure of it. “Yeah. But still.”

His kind smile glowed I the moonlight. “You’re welcome, bugaboo.”

“Bugaboo?” she repeated, only slightly amused.

“I think it’s appropriate, Lady Bug.”

She scoffed. “What other ones have you thought of?”

At that, his grin widened, becoming bright enough to light the night. “I’m glad you asked—”

A whizzing sound came from the side, calling both their attentions, only for something to explode in the sky, illuminating the night with colored sparks.

Adrien grabbed her hand, pulling her up to the top of the roof and quickly taking a seat. Marinette was quick to settle herself beside him, finishing just as the next firework shot into the sky.

“Wow,” Marinette breathed. “We’re so close.”

“Yeah,” Adrien said, voice filled with awe. “I told you so.”

“You did,” Marinette absently agreed, watching as another firework whizzed into the sky and burst apart, colored flames disappearing as they fell back to the ground.

They stayed there for a while, watching in awe as every last firework exploded in the sky. And in one last huzzah, several fireworks burst together, before disappearing and ending the festivities.

“That was stunning,” Marinette cried, her voice nearly drowned out by the thunderous applause and cheers from below. “And so much bigger than anything back at DuPont. But I guess that’s to be expected.”

“As long as you enjoyed it, that’s all that really matters.”

Marinette hoped her blush was hidden by the moonlight. “I… think maybe we should go back to the castle. It’s getting late.”

“Once the crowds die down a bit,” Adrien said.

Marinette bit her lip. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be out later than I have to be.”

“It will be fine,” Adrien assured, reaching over to lay a hand over hers. “That… and I’m not ready to leave just yet.”

“O-oh?”

He smiled, glancing away. “Call me selfish,” he said. “But I’m just not ready to let you go for the night. The thought of taking you back to the castle and parting ways… doesn’t exactly sound appealing.”

Marinette blinked a few times, her mind not functioning. “Adrien—”

“Please?” he asked, turning back to face her. “I…” he swallowed. “I really missed you. And I didn’t realize just how much until now.”

Her mouth seemed dry and unable to give an answer. “I… I mean…” She swallowed, hoping something would come to her. “We can always meet again,” she finally said. “This doesn’t have to be the only time we cross paths.”

Slowly, Adrien’s lips picked up in a half grin. “Like clandestine meetings?” he teased.

She snorted. “You make them sound scandalous.”

“You’re a walking scandal, bugaboo,” he teased. “Our meetings would have to be secret.”

She hummed. “I suppose you’re right.”

He reached out to take her hand in his. “So, while we’re trapped up here waiting for the crowds to fade, I realized I never asked you a very important question.”

Her brow lifted along with the corners of her lips. “Oh? And just what would that be?”

“Have you been pursued by a suitor?”

Her heart did a funny skip before sending a burst of heat through her chest. “Most importantly?”

“I have to know if I have to march to DuPont and threaten some man’s life if he doesn’t care for you properly. Gems like you should be polished and kept at a shine, you know.”

He may have been smiling, but his expression conveyed his sincerity. It was almost scary to Marinette. “You don’t have to protect me, you know.”

“Sure I do,” he said. “I swore I always would.”

Her brow furrowed. The memory of a seven-year-old boy swearing his undying loyalty came to the forefront of her mind. “You still remember that?”

“Of course. I took that promise very seriously.”

“I won’t hold you to it, now.”

“You should,” he whispered. “I’m telling you to.”

Warmth raced from her chest up her neck to her cheeks. “Well… thank you.”

“You know you still haven’t answered my question.”

She chuckled nervously. “And here I was hoping you’d forget.”

“Never,” he said with a grin.

Amused, she shook her head. “There’s no one you need to worry about. There was an artist, then a traveling musician who were both once interested in me. In fact, he is the lead of the Couffaine troop.”

“The singer?”

She nodded. “Yes. He was passing through town and we became friends, but he wanted to pursue me even though he was traveling. No matter how much I liked him, I just… I couldn’t be with someone who would be gone more often than with me. It was the same with the artist. So in the end, I turned them down.”

“Wise,” he answered, nodding his head in approval. “You deserve better than that.”

She shrugged. “I’d like to think so. I want a family and a husband who’s actually around. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

“It isn’t.”

“Several of the other girls said I was a fool turning them down.”

“You weren’t,” Adrien assured.

“You sound so sure.”

“Marinette.” The reverence in his tone stoked the fire even hotter in her belly. How it was possible was beyond her. Why she was feeling so flustered was even more confusing. “You are an incredibly beautiful young woman with many talents. There will be a good man out there for you. I won’t let you go to anyone other than the best.”

She didn’t know how to process his words. On one hand, she should probably scoff and call him ridiculous, but it didn’t seem like he was joking. Which made her embarrassed beyond belief because what was she supposed to say to that?

“We should go,” she said. “It’s getting late, and I have to be up early with all the other girls tomorrow.”

The way he looked at her meant he clearly knew what she was doing. However, he let it slide. “Then let’s go, my Lady.”

Never did that title sound more wrong than when he said it so melancholily.

The crowd had thinned out a bit, allowing them to easily weave through the streets back to the castle. Adrien struck up conversation again about life after they separated, which passed the time as they made their way back to the castle.

The vendors were putting away their wares for the night, closing shop and extinguishing the lanterns. But one caught her eye. The man looked as foreign as her mother and stood watching the people march by, seemingly refusing to call it a night just yet. The decorations were filled with familiar symbols, and she couldn’t help but be drawn to it.

Adrien paused to look over at the shop. “Let’s go look,” he said with a grin, already pulling her over and closer to the shop.

“Good evening,” the man said. “Quite the festival we just had.”

“Definitely,” Adrien agreed. The fireworks were brighter than usual.”

The man hummed, stroking his small beard. “Good company usually affects such things.”

“Well, I can’t deny that.”

Marinette focused her attentions at the strings of brightly colored beads instead of how warm Adrien’s voice seemed.

“They’re good luck charms,” the man said. “Made with beads with good fortunes written on them.”

“They’re pretty,” Marinette said. “Despite being so simple, they’re so colorful and cheery.”

“You should get one,” Adrien encouraged.

“I don’t know—”

“Correction,” Adrien interrupted. “Pick one.”

“I can’t make you do that.”

“You’re not making me do anything. I want to get you one.”

Marinette hesitated.

“Tell you what,” Adrien said, reaching for one of the charms. “I’ll pick one for you, and you pick one for me. That way, we’ll each have something the other gave us to carry around.”

Marinette bit her lip. “Are you sure?”

His gentle smile was answer enough. “Please.”

She couldn’t resist. Not when she felt warm and fluttery and like she could melt under that grin. She turned back to the charms, looking all the options over before picking a charm of pink and green beads. Adrien, in turn, reached over to grab a set of blue and orange beads, one of which was shaped as a bird.

“Both good choices,” the man encouraged with a grin.

“I think so,” Adrien said, handing over a few coins.

The man took them with a bow. “Thank you. Have a good evening, both of you.”

“Thank you.”

Before they could leave the light of the shop, Adrien stopped Marinette. “For you, bugaboo.” He wrapped the charm around her wrist, tying off the end to secure it. He looked so proud of himself before offering his own wrist up to her.

With a smile of her own, she wrapped the charm around his wrist before securing it with a knot. “There,” she said. “Keep that safe.”

“It’s my Marinette good luck charm,” he said. “It’s very important that I do.”

Her cheeks felt on fire for the umpteenth time that night.

Soon enough, they were walking back home once again, and Marinette found she was dreading heading back to her room. Her grip on Adrien’s arm tightened. “Do you think anyone is awake to catch me?”

Adrien frowned. “I’ll lead you up to your room, just in case.”

“Thank you.”

For the second time, Marinette’s heart was pounding as she sneaked through the hallways and stairwells and corridors up to her room. Thankfully, no one was around to catch her, but when they reached her door, her heart dropped for an entirely new reason.

This meant the end of their night together.

“Thank you, Adrien,” she said, releasing him and stepping back toward her door. “I had a really enjoyable time.”

“As did I,” he said. “We’ll have to do this agai—”

He was cut off by the sound of heavy footsteps echoing down the hall. Before Marinette could act, Adrien shoved her door open and yanked her inside by the waist. Quickly shutting the door, he put a finger over her lips, and he didn’t remove it until the footsteps faded away.

Marinette’s heart was thundering in her chest. When Adrien pulled his finger away, she ignored the way her lips tingled and instead sighed in relief. “You should go,” Marinette said. “I’d hate for you to get caught.”

He grinned ruefully. “As much as I’d love to stay, I think you’re right. But going out your door is a bad idea.”

Her brow furrowed. “Then…what?”

With a grin that caused her to worry, he walked over to the double doors that lead out to the little balcony attached to her room. “Romeo-and-Juliet-style it is.”

“What?”

“Down the balcony.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Please, don’t be an idiot.”

“I’ve done it before,” he assured. “Don’t worry.”

“Of course, I will.”

“Oh?” His brow quirked and that smug smile returned. “Will you worry about this lowly guard, my Lady?”

Fire flooded her cheeks and neck and chest and even made its way down to her toes. “N-no!”

“Really?”

“Oh, get out of my sight, you stupid alley cat!”

He barked out a laugh. “Whatever the lady says.” He leaped up over the metal railing, holding onto it with one hand. “Just as long as it keeps me in her good graces, I will bow to every command that falls from her lips.”

Her heart clinched. “Knock it off.”

“But I’m having so much fun.”

She grunted. “Please, just go. A-and don’t get hurt.”

“Don’t worry.” He reached out and grabbed hold of her hand, pulling it close and laying a lingering kiss on her knuckles. “Your loyal guard will be safe. For now, sleep well, my Lady. Good night.”

And with that, he let go of her hand and disappeared from sight.

Her knuckles tingled with the feel of his lips, causing her heart to flutter awkwardly in her chest. It was impossible to ignore the burning of her cheeks; the sensation had been a constant for nearly the entire evening. She rested her elbows on the railing, her hands crossing in such a way that she could feel the simple cord of small, wooden beads under her palm. “Good night,” she whispered out into the air. “Adrien.”

#miraculous ladybug #fanfiction #A Bride for the Prince #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #fluff #its so fluffy #these two dorks will be the end of me #so sweet

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yume-x-hanabi · 4 years

Text

Family - Chapter 3

Translation of chapter 3 of the short story from the ToX2 scenario book. (See my masterpost for other chapters.)

(Note: this is a very rough translation. I’ll need an editor when I’m done with this story orz)

CW: graphic description of violence

Chapter 3

Julius untied his bandage and looked at his red-colored left hand. The burn had healed and it didn't hurt anymore, but there still remained scar that caught people's attention, as well as the sensation of his skin being pulled. In the locker room of Spirius Corporation’s Department of Dimensional Affairs, Julius covered his hand with a black leather glove. He closed this fist and opened it. The soft pony leather glove fit perfectly.

After that, he took out his glasses from his jacket's pocket and put them on. He looked at himself in the mirror inside his locker. Those were fake glasses without corrective lenses. They felt weird on his face. They softened the sharpness of his gaze and made him look like a goody two shoes.

But that was fine. After all, he was a god of death masquerading as a human to approach his fellows and consume their lives. He must conceal his true nature. He could not let anyone be scared of him. Anyone.

Julius quietly closed his locker. Time to start working.

In the file a support agent handed him, there was information about a new fractured dimension scanned by the Kudlak.

Fractured Dimension No.F41A5 Data Transmission

Depth: 121 Variation: 0.35 Entry Point: Duval

Teammate: …

Julius closed his eyes and let the light of his mind run through the darkness, searching for the coordinates; the light converged toward a point and made contact. The entry point opened up. The next moment, Julius jumped into the fractured dimension.

In the prime dimension, Duval used to be a port town south-east of Trigleph that throve on fishing. However, the town lost its shine when the world declined, and became a dangerous area where crime flourished. This fractured dimension’s Duval station had a similar rough atmosphere. Dressed in a fine suit uncharacteristic of the area, Julius stood out like a sore thumb and attracted hostile gazes. Cautious of not letting his guard down lest he invited pickpockets, Julius looked for something out of the ordinary.

“Bunch of hyenas,” he spat in his mind.

“Sorry for the wait, partner,” a funny voice called from behind him. His teammate had arrived.

“Who said you could call me partner, Rideaux?”

Without looking back, Julius swiftly sidestepped a shiny shoe aimed his way from behind.

“What?!”

When the ugly shoe missed its mark—Julius’ back—the leg attached to it lost its balance and its owner, Rideaux, fumbled forward.

“Let me show you how you kick someone’s back.” Julius kicked the now defenseless man with all his force.

“Guwah!”

Julius’ colleague, who was only a year older, fell to the ground ungracefully, and got up while coughing painfully.

“Why did you do that?!”

“There was a venomous snake on your back, so I crushed it for you.”

“Then I must… thank you… Oh?” As he was about to return the favor, Rideaux’s fist stopped in midair. “Glasses?” A twisted smile distorted his angry face. “Ha ha ha ha! That’s good, that’s perfect! It suits you so well! Did you take my words to heart, boss?”

“I don’t care what you think, but can you stop calling me that?”

“So, who’s the lucky one you want to hide your evil look from? Did you get a girlfriend or something?”

Julius did not answer.

“Am I right? You need to introduce me to that poor woman later.”

Behind the fake glasses, Julius’ eyes clouded in anger.

“For the sake of your love life and your fake glasses, I’ll forgive you for that kick, boss.”

Julius steeled himself to slap off the hand Rideaux was extending toward his shoulder, but that hand suddenly slammed into him and pushed him aside.

“Wha?!”

A knife embedded itself onto the ground, and a man clad in black jumped after it. An orange-gloved hand grabbed the knife and thrust it at Rideaux in the same movement.

Rideaux parried nonchalantly. “Aren’t you an impatient one, Mr. Nameless Thug?”

“Shut up! I don’t want to hear anything from a Spirius agent after you lot sold off our organization, Orange Gear!”

Understanding the situation, Rideaux shrugged. “Ooh, so in this dimension, our company is making deals that incur terrorists’ ire.”

“Don’t you act surprised!”

Julius knew that Rideaux was trying to do something similar in the prime dimension.

“If you two think you can survive this…”

Before the man finished his sentence, Julius’ sword slashed through his stomach. “Be quiet.”

In an instant, the terrorist was rendered unable to fight, and his body hit the ground.

“Always alert, huh.”

Julius swung the sword to shake off the blood from its tip.

“Oh? It wouldn’t be like you not to be alert in this town.” Rideaux smirked.

“I was talking about you. You stole one of my swords when you pushed me.”

Julius retrieved the sword from Rideaux’s hands by force.

“I just thought I should give you a handicap. He’s just a low level thug from a terrorist organization.”

The man was oozing blood from his stomach. On his chest, a pin in the shape of an orange gear glinted.

“Heh, is that badge a sign of the terrorist group?”

“Look at those fools taking pride in being treated as cogs in a machine.”

When Julius bent down to take off the badge, the man sat up and tried to grab him. Wordlessly, Julius took out his blades and stuck them through the man’s throat, finishing him on the ground.

“I collected them as a child… Those shiny things the assemblymen and directors who came into my house had pinned to their suits…”

Watching Julius smile as he played with the badge in his hand, even as his cheek was red with the man’s blood, Rideaux felt that something in his partner had shifted.

“Stop smiling, brat!” someone shouted angrily.

Several hot-blooded men formed a human wall around them, as though they were trying to block their path. They all wore the same badge as the dead man.

“Here come his buddies…” Rideaux started counting them aloud with exaggerated gestures.

Like any good terrorist group worth its name, the Orange Gear did not simply block out the street, but also had members aiming their weapons at them from the nearby buildings’ windows.

“Too bad, I don’t have enough fingers to count them all.”

“Hey you, the one in red with the stupid bob, you better shut your mouth or I’ll kill you!”

“You’ll kill me… Nice.”

Julius’ lips formed a faint smile. “Shall we compete, Rideaux?”

“…Compete?”

“This world is doomed anyway. Let’s see who can gather the most badges. You’re not the type to say no to games, are you?”

“You…”

Rideaux was surprised by Julius’ proposition to make killing a game. At the same time, a shiver ran down his back. The spyrix in his gut stirred. The darkness behind Julius’ glasses…

“Julius, you know… You really do have the most evil eyes.” Rideaux laughed and took out his knives, holding three in each hand.

Julius cut through the mountain of corpses at his feet with his two blades.

The members of the Orange Gear lunged at him with a scream.

Countless badges fell from the sky along with droplets of blood.

#tales of xillia 2 #julius will kresnik #rideaux zek rugievit #can someone send julius to therapy pls #this chapter is messed up wow #yume translations #kresnik family

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rrrawrf-writes · 5 years

Note

🕸 for any character!

hello hello hello here this is, fifty thousand years late! thank u for ur patience ♡♡♡

from this game!

tw: blood, gore, whump/torture, animal death, human death, swearing

—

Sometimes, Commander Tibur Dayehmon of the Cordellan Royal Guard thought about killing his king.

Not seriously, of course. But on long, cold nights like this, when Dayehmon had to leave the warmth of his wife behind in the middle of the night and race halfway across the country to track down his charge, he seriously considered strangling the king. Shoving him off a cliff. Letting him drown in the river Finns.

It would be easy. No one would suspect the king’s lifelong friend and bodyguard to poison his morning tea.

Too bad Dayehmon had morals.

He was wistfully reminiscing about his wife and the day they were supposed to have in the king’s mountain retreat, when his horse fell, and he fell with it.

The animal let out a high-pitched scream as they tumbled down into a pit that shouldn’t have been there, dug deep into the road. Dayehmon was too securely seated in the saddle; instead of being thrown, he hit the ground with the horse, its weight hitting his leg, and leaving an audible crunch that had Dayehmon crying out in pain.

The horse was louder. It must have snapped one of its own legs in the fall, because it screamed and thrashed, unable to get back to its feet. Dayehmon cursed and yelled, as every heave and twist of its body further crushed his own bones into dust.

He swallowed his own pain - or tried to - and leaned forward as best as he could. His shoulder hurt, too, and his neck, but if the horse kept on like this, it would probably kill him. He ran his free hand along its neck, trying to soothe it, wishing he was in a position to put the poor damn thing out of its misery.

It finally stopped thrashing, at least, but Dayehmon was still trapped; every few moments, the horse let out a cry of pain. He felt much the same way. He fell back against the ground, soft from being recently dug, and sighed.

A bandit’s trap, mostly likely, and he hadn’t noticed anything in the dark. The pit was a good ten feet deep, and wide enough to hold the horse and Dayehmon both. After a long moment, Dayehmon pushed against the horse’s withers, trying to get himself free.

The pain blinded him. He couldn’t stop a sob from clawing out of his throat, as the shattered bones in his trapped leg ground against each other.

He definitely wasn’t going anywhere.

One of his swords was trapped under him, the hilt digging painfully into his side. Dayehmon wriggled around to move it to somewhere more comfortable. He craned his neck, trying to see all the things his pack had thrown loose when they fell, and found a handful of the beacon sticks scattered across the ground.

Just out of reach.

Someone above gave a soft call. “We caught someone!”

Someone. Dayehmon groaned and dropped his head against the dirt again. He slipped his knife into his palm as a head stuck out over the edge of the pit.

“Damn. Worked like you said it would, Orev.”

“Told ya. Did this during the war.”

Eolan accents. Dayehmon clenched his jaw as two more people joined the first, then closed his eyes. The horse, startled, let out a shrill whinny and writhed. Dayehmon bit his tongue until it bled, doing everything he could to stay still, act like he couldn’t feel the horse’s tense, powerful muscles grind against his leg. Whatever was left of it, anyway.

“Musta died during the fall,” someone muttered. There was the sound of shifting dirt and footsteps; the Eolans, sliding down into the pit.

“I dunno, coulda swore I saw him breathing earlier.”

“It’s dark as hell out here, I’m surprised you even saw him. Never seen a Padrunni on a horse.”

“I don’t think he looks Padrunni, look at his hair.”

There was another sharp, scraping sound, and Dayehmon could see light flaring despite his closed eyes. Someone hissed, and said, “Look at his badge.”

Dayehmon slit his eyes open the barest amount. One of the Eolans crouched in front of him, and pushed at his shoulder, trying to see the badge in question. “Well, shit. He’s part of the witchking’s guard.”

Snake-like, Dayehmon’s hand snapped out and wrapped around the Eolan’s shirt, yanking him close. He swept his knife up to the man’s neck, and the bandit froze, eyes wide, as the other two swore and reached for their own weapons.

The movement and noise startled the horse again, and it heaved its body, braying hoarsely and lashing out with its hooves. Dayehmon sucked in a pained breath as the horse’s weight lifted, and then fell back onto his leg; his hands spasmed from the pain, and the bandit he’d caught jerked back and away from him.

“Damn it, kill that thing!” one of them snapped at the others. Dayehmon went for a knife in his other sleeve, but before he could do anything, the Eolan punched him in the jaw.

He blacked out, momentarily; there was an ear-piercing squeal from the horse, but then, finally, it had stopped moving. When Dayehmon managed to blink the stars from his eyes, he saw one of the bandits wrench a spear out of the horse.

“Part of the witchking’s guard, huh?” sneered the spearman. His voice belonged to the one someone else had called Orev, and he poked Dayehmon’s ribs with his spear, the barbed head of it covered in the horse’s blood and gore. “Bring that light over.”

Dayehmon shut his eyes as the pain in his jaw sharpened from the light now right in his face. His head pounded, but it wasn’t as heavy as the sick knot in his stomach.

Orev crouched down next to Dayehmon, fearlessly within his reach. “Badge from the royal guard, and those ugly scars down that mug of yours,” he remarked, drawing his own fingers down his cheek in mimicry of the three stark white lines that marked the side of Dayehmon’s face. “I’ve seen you. Followin’ after the cursed witchking, lickin’ every one of his footsteps.”

Dayehmon narrowed his eyes at Orev. “Funny,” he bit out, doing everything he could to keep his voice level and calm. “I don’t remember you.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Orev’s lip curled, and he stood up, before driving the butt of his spear into Dayehmon’s side. Dayehmon bit down on a curse as he felt something snap.

“You wouldn’t,” Orev snarled, and hit him again. “There weren’t enough people left alive in that village for any of you to take note.”

He jerked his chin towards the other two. “Get that damn horse off him. We’re gonna have some fun tonight.”

Dayehmon clenched his jaw. He glanced again towards the beacon sticks, and as the other two highwaymen discussed how to move the horse, he shifted slightly, trying to move close enough to reach the beacon sticks - and, like he’d expected, he drew Orev’s attention.

The spear came down on Dayehmon’s hand, the metal tip slicing straight through and pinning it to the ground. He couldn’t help the cry of pain this time.

“The hell are those s’posed to be?” Orev demanded, holding his light over to get a better look at the beacon sticks. Dayehmon clenched his jaw and didn’t answer, just breathing through the pain. He let out a sharp hiss as the other bandits finally started to drag at the horse, its weight sliding along his ruined leg one last time.

If he didn’t die from infection from the damn spear, he’d never be able to use that leg again.

“Nothing,” Dayehmon said hoarsely. Orev squinted at him suspiciously, then scoffed, and brought his heel down on the scattered beacon sticks, breaking three or four at once.

Dayehmon smiled.

“More of your witchery?” Orev sneered. He didn’t notice how the shattered pieces of the beacon sticks clung to his boot; even if Dayehmon died, they’d be able to track Orev down. “But you aren’t a witch, are you?”

“You really shouldn’t be complaining about magecraft when you’re on our side of the border,” Dayehmon pointed out.

Orev yanked the spear out of Dayehmon’s hand. Dayehmon whined like a beaten dog, pulling his arm to his chest on instinct. Orev kicked him.

“This is our land,” he snarled. “You bastards stole it from us. You have no rights here.”

Dayehmon tried to push himself up, pain squeezing tears from the corners of his eyes. “We won it -”

“You witches burned every village from here all the way down the Roar,” Orev hissed. He reached down, one strong hand wrapping around Dayehmon’s shirt, and pulled him a bit closer. A burn scar cascaded across the side of Orev’s neck, disappearing underneath his shirt collar. “You’ll pay for your crimes. All of them.“

He shoved Dayehmon against the side of the pit and straightened up. Panting for breath, Dayehmon watched the three bandits warily, trying to decide if it was worth it to try and stab one of them. His leg was crushed and his hand was ruined and he was pretty sure he had a broken rib, so it wasn’t like he was getting out of here any time soon.

He may as well make them miserable.

“Damn, this is water-steel.” One of the other bandits picked up Dayehmon’s second sword; he’d had it strapped to the horse instead of his back, and the woman gave a whistle as she drew the blade a couple inches out of the sheath. Dayehmon’s good hand twitched.

“They’re cursed,” he said blandly, and the Eolan woman jumped and dropped it.

Orev scoffed. “Don’t listen to him,” he snapped at her, and kicked Dayehmon’s crushed leg. Dayehmon closed his eyes against a burst of stars. “You can’t curse swords.”

“You can, actually.” Dayehmon cradled his bleeding, ruined hand to his chest. Orev scoffed again and reached down, grabbing the hilt of Dayehmon’s sword that still hung at his hip - though very awkwardly, now.

As he pulled the blade free, Dayehmon slipped his second knife from his sleeve and stabbed him in the chest. Or at least he tried to - armor hidden by the man’s shirt and the shadows of the night shunted the blade to the side, and it slipped deep into Orev’s shoulder, instead.

The bandit howled from pain and jumped back, pulling the knife from Dayehmon’s hand before he had a chance to yank it out and try again. Swearing, Orev clamped his hand around the short blade; blood welled up between his fingers, and in retaliation, Orev slammed his spear into Dayehmon’s shoulder.

He must have blacked out again, because the next thing Dayehmon felt was the awful, tearing pain as Orev pulled the barbed spearhead free from his body. “You piece of shit,” Orev seethed. He dragged the bloody spearhead across Dayehmon’s chest. “You’ll pay for that. Give you some new scars to even your ugly mug out, yeah?”

Dayehmon flinched as the spear tapped against his scarred cheek; the lines went down his neck and under his collar, too, and Orev asked, “Wonder how far down those go?”

“Only my wife knows that,” Dayehmon quipped, breathless and unable to see straight - unable to think straight from the pain.

Orev snorted, and then he spat, a glob of saliva landing on Dayehmon’s shirt.

“Let’s get him out of here and off the road,” Orev ordered the other two bandits. “Grab his things. Maybe this witch-worshipping filth has something else worth keeping.”

Dayehmon watched one of the bandits scramble awkwardly out of the pit, the soft, loose dirt giving them some trouble. The woman gathered everything together, stuffing it back haphazardly into Dayehmon’s pack. She crumpled the few remaining beacon sticks as she did, and Dayehmon wondered where the hell Mafvin was - would he even be close enough to sense the broken sticks?

He dropped his head back against the wall of the pit. The pain was overwhelming, but he tried to press his bloody hand to his bloody shoulder, a weak attempt at staunching the flow. None of it hurt worse than his crushed leg, spikes of pain radiating from his knee; it had taken the brunt of the damage from the horse’s fall.

He didn’t notice the rope until Orev fastened it around his neck. Dayehmon’s eyes snapped open, and the bandit grinned down at him. “I was worried you were gone,” he said, and pressed his foot down on Dayehmon’s shattered knee. Gasping, Dayehmon couldn’t help but writhe from the added pain. “Stay awake, bastard.”

Orev stepped back, taking the pressure off of Dayehmon’s leg, and called up to the other two bandits, now both out of the pit, “Haul him out.”

The rope tightened around Dayehmon’s throat. He sucked in a breath; ignoring the screaming from his shoulder, he reached up with his unharmed hand, trying to fit a finger in between the rope and his neck as they dragged him upwards. Struggling weakly, Dayehmon gasped for breath, his vision going white. He tried to get his good leg underneath him, to take some of the pressure off his windpipe, but that only lasted long enough for him to get a quick breath of air, before the pulling took over again.

It felt like an eternity before Dayehmon was on his back again, on level ground and staring up at the stars through tears-blurred eyes. He pulled feebly at the taut rope around his neck, but one of the bandits he couldn’t see kept the pressure just tight enough to make every breath a struggle.

He could see the female bandit out of the corner of his eye, pacing over to the pit to reach down; Orev scrambled up a moment later.

“Still awake?” Orev ground the butt of his spear into Dayehmon’s shoulder, prompting a whimper from the guard. Orev grinned. “Good. We still got a ways to go, and I ain’t wasting the time to put you on a horse. Better keep breathing.”

He looked away from Dayehmon and opened his mouth to call to the others. Whatever words were going to come out instead turned into a strangled shriek as thorny vines burst from the middle of the road, snaking up Orev’s legs. The other bandits shouted in alarm, and the rope around Dayehmon’s neck slackened as they dropped it, the holder running to Orev instead. They didn’t get very far - another set of lashing vines grabbed them and pulled them to the ground.

Dayehmon dropped his head to the ground, an awful, hysterical laugh clawing its way out of his throat. He could feel, more than hear, the vibrating of hooves, galloping along the road, and he dropped his head to one side to see the white socks of his king’s horse skid to a stop.

“Tibur!” More plants curled around Dayehmon now - but they were free of spikes and thorns, far gentler with him than they were with the three bandits. Petal-soft vines wrapped gently around his bleeding shoulder, but living plants could do little to staunch blood flow, even when guided by the magic of Dayehmon’s king. A soft groan escaped him as he felt his head and shoulders gently lifted, Mafvin cradling Dayehmon in his lap.

“Tibur, I’m sorry,” Mafvin said, his green eyes wide and frantic as he pressed his hand to the plants covering Dayehmon’s bleeding shoulder. More wrapped around his hand, thinner and flowering, the petals pressing against the wounds. “I’m sorry, I - I didn’t meant to be gone for long - You should have stayed -”

Dayehmon forced a tired smile. It was difficult to focus on the king’s face; he closed his eyes for a moment, and shivered when he felt the rope wrapped around his neck slither away. “Wherever you go, your majesty,” Dayehmon panted, “I follow.”

“I know.” Mafvin dropped his head, bowing until his forehead pressed against Dayehmon’s. Something wet fell against the bodyguard’s scarred cheek. “I know. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t - I shouldn’t have run off -”

“It’s all right.” Dayehmon forced a grin, the expression pulled crooked by his scars. “Think this is the fastest I’ve found you again in years.”

A cracked laugh clawed its way out of Mafvin’s throat. He pressed his lips to the corner of Dayehmon’s mouth; Dayehmon tried to lift a hand, but the pain was too much, and he dropped it again with a wince. All the thoughts he had, all the anger and annoyance at Mafvin running off again, had long disappeared. He was just glad the king was here now.

The king looked up at a choked-off curse, and his face hardened as he remembered the bandits, all caught up in spiked vines. Orev struggled with a knife, trying to slice through the plants that held him captive, a couple of feet off the ground.

“You gods-fucking, murderous, monster,” the Eolan spat at Mafvin. “What are you gonna do to us?”

Mafvin’s voice was perfectly cold - but the vines around Orev loosened, just a fraction, just enough to give the bandit hope. “I promised I would take no more lives after the Desolation.”

“Promises mean nothin’, with a cowardly witch like you,” Orev sneered. Mafvin’s face became stone.

“You’re right,” he said softly. Dayehmon watched the king raise his hand, and then closed it into a fist. He closed his eyes, sighing with a motion that cracked his ribs even more.

A sickening crunch of bones, and a cry of pain that was cut short into a gurgle, as the vines wrapped themselves tighter and tighter around the three bandits. Dayehmon had killed his fair share of people, and seen even more die, in horrible ways - but he turned his face into Mafvin’s shirt, grasping the cloth weakly with one hand until the screams and cries fell silent.

King Mafvin was not physically strong enough to pick Dayehmon up, but he did anyway, lifting the guard with supernatural ease. As gentle as he was, Dayehmon still let out a hiss of pain.

“I’m sorry, Commander,” Mafvin whispered, as a wind rose around them, and along with it, the vertigo that came every time Mafvin magically transported them somewhere. With his injuries, Dayehmon didn’t think he could stand it; he moaned in pain and clutched even tighter at Mafvin. The king could do anything he wanted with his magic - anything, except heal.

“Never again, Tibur. I promise. Never again.”

#tw blood #tw gore #tw torture #tw animal death #tw death #tw swearing #iwrite #violetvineyard #bannerworld #asks #answers #panticwritten #sorry this took so long!!!!

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afterthelastreset · 4 years

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Krisei Zodiac Event Pisces Week

Pisces Zodiac Sign Info Gotten From:

https://www.astrology-zodiac-signs.com/zodiac-signs/pisces/

“Pisces are very friendly, so they often find themselves in a company of very different people. Pisces are selfless, they are always willing to help others, without hoping to get anything back.

Pisces is a Water sign and as such this zodiac sign is characterized by empathy and expressed emotional capacity.”

💧Pisces Week

(This the entire element Is water Im going to base the element off that with the au Ocean rune or just water scenes, since in the rules were aloud to do stuff based off the element of the Zodiac sign.)

Day 1:

The beach. A wonderful place to go on a hot day for anyone with plenty to do and see and so much activities for anyone even if you weren't a swimming person. Building sandcastles. Getting a tan. Going swimming. Just relaxing with a good book or painting the scenery. Volleyball. Collecting seashells. Snorkling or diving and seeing all the cool fish and underwater life. There was also the occasional fisherman and someone doing watersports like surfing, water skying, jet boats, a whole lot of fun on the beautiful waves and deep blue sea- Or if you were the pair of friends in question, you'd be sitting at a picnic table under the shade and snacking on the food you got. Milkshakes ain't got NOTHIN' on the heat here now, except maybe the chocolate ones they served. Chocolate milkshakes was always the best in his opinion as he happily ate and watched all the other people running around and doing whatever they wanted to do on this smoldering hot day, it was too hot for him though sadly. Fur and all but the scenery was really pretty, even more so now that it was sunny and not cloudy like it had been recently. So of course he'd drag his friend out of the house and into the glorious great outdoors!!......Buuut they were a little busy looking at a little piece of drift wood they had found while walking In the hot sun before being dragged to the giant umbrellaed picnic tables of the beach resort. They'd been doing that for quite a while actually.

"Kris?" The human hummed not looking up at the other one across from them. "What are you doing there?"

Instead of looking up from their lap they just shrugged. "Carving somthin'."

he frowned. he knew Kris wasn't a big fan of being in public, but this wasn't exactly what he had in mind for the two of them to do when he dragged the brown haired human out of the house. SO hhe smiled politely and asked. "Really? Whatcha carving now?"

"You'll see. Almost done," they mumbled still not looking up from their position and Ralsei just groaned and sat down into his seat.

he sighed and went back to his coco milkshake then. Watching as people still walked by and once and a while looked up just to see Kris still carving something with their carving knife and keeping it out of sight of the other until they suddenly brought it up and finally held it out to him. And in their hands was a small little carved out fish. he smiled and took the small gift from them and looked at the neatly carved little goldfish he was just handed. If it wasn't obviously made of wood then she would've sworn it was a real goldfish. They always had a nack for this thing and found Kris giving a small smile back, Ralsei couldn't help but stand up to go hug his friend.

"This is beautiful Kris! Thank you!"

"Your welcome."

Day 2:

*This takes place in the Au OceanFellrune since I wanted to try exploring this au more*

Well this certainly was a pickle wasn't it. Imagine just going for a swim with your best friend and enjoying a nice day at the beach to just relax, simple right? Yeah- Nope. A storm had blown in unexpectedly and swept through the sea just a few hours after they arrived. All he wanted was to just relax around on his floaty, not be swept out to the middle of the gigantic lake with no way back..Well, he could swim but those waves didn't look so promising against his mediocre swimming skills, at least if he stayed on the floaty he could stay afloat and not worry about sinking.

But now he had another problem...The sky was starting to get darker by the minute and he wasn't too sure which direction was the way back to shore anymore. It was kinda hard to tell with the waves being so tall and him getting tossed back and forth like a ragdoll on a beach ball wasn't the best feeling in the world, and he was starting to feel like puking. Man....he was starting to get tired of this-

"HELP!! ANYONE?!" Don't ask why he thought it was a good idea to start shouting for a friend who couldn't help him, might've been just a reflex or a hope but it would soon lead to more bad than good...Or would it? "HELP?! HEL-"

A wave chose that exact moment to rear it's ugly head and crash down over the poor human's body, the wind was knocked outta him like a rock slammed into her. Immediately air bubbles surrounded his form as he unceremoniously screamed from the hurtful impact, darkness surrounded his form as the stormy waves above continued to rattle about like some sort of punisher. It was surprisingly....calm in the dark black surrounding him. Almost like the night. Completely silent. A peaceful way to go if she didn't want to die.

It was when he turned and found two pink eyes and a mouth full of teeth staring at him did he scream again.

You know....It's really troubling trying to find some peace somewhere where there's not a lot available just swimming around, so imagine his luck when he stumbled across a seemingly dumb person just floating about in the middle of his territory. Kinda dumb being all the way out here in the middle of the dam storm, but who was he to judge. A human's a human. A quick wave was able to knock whoever the person was over and into the water where he waited. He grumbled just thinking about it... But that thought soon vanished after seeing her face.

UGH- He hated puny fighters. This one wasn't worth the trouble...Not enough courage on her. He also didn't appreciate the bubbles shoved in his face when she screamed again and started kicking up towards the surface. His face scrunched up in annoyance. Did everyone always have to be so rude when they see a gigantic aquatic goat monster looking at them? Oh well. At least he got to do the scaring part he always liked.

Ounce he made it back up through the swaying surface, coughing and spitting out out hislungs, a dark shadow loomed out from under him. In a split second the shadow had bust through the waves with ease. Water splashed over him, almost sending him down under the water again.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHA! YOU FOOOOOL!!!" His raspy voice boomed over the noise of the waves and wind. "Those who enter my territory are doomed to DIE! Wha- H-HEY!" He flinched back when he yelped and instinctively grabbed onto him to keep from being drowned down by a wave. "HEY! Do you have a death wish! Those who ever as much as touch me are bound to- HEY! STOP DROWNING WHEN IM TRYING TO THREATEN YOU!!"

With a blub sound another wave sent him under. He groaned. Did his enemies ALWAYS have to make things more difficult like this? He stuck his hand back under the waves and a moment later he pulled the shivering, sputtering human back out of the bobbing water. he coughed and spat out some of the salt water, heaving and looking up at him.

".....*sigh* You know what? Screw this. My voice isn't worth some drowned human."

He began turning in the opposite direction and making swimming through the waves look like a breeze. he gave him a confused. "Where-....W-Where are we g-g-going?"

"Im dumping you on the shore. You're not worth the trouble of straining my voice."

Day 3:

IT WAS HOT!!

A lot hotter than what he was really used to, and to be perfectly honest, he didn't enjoy having the burning feeling in his lungs, or the amount of ssweat running down his body, or the heat baring down on himself. What was wrong with enjoying a nice inside inside and relaxing? Maybe cuddled up together in a nice air conditioned room, watching the live action of Romeo and Juliet? That was a beautiful tale is he did say so himself. But Noooo- he just had to go running today of all days on the beach. When the sun was fricking making it almost 80 DEGREES!! He stopped and heaved his lungs out, hands on his knees and gasping for breath like a fish out of water. Soft foosteps rang out behind him and soon someone stopped next to him. It took a few moments but he eventually looked up into the smiling face of human.

"W-What art you..*wheeze* smiling at?!"

He laughed. "Ralsei, when was the last time you even took a relaxing jog?"

"KRIS?! Running on the beach with fur is too much. C-can’t we just go swimming instead?)

He laughed again and very easily stood on one foot and stretched the other out into a ballet pose. "Ralsei, exercise never hurt anyone. I know I enjoy it.~''

''THAT'S BECAUSE YOU’RE BUILT FOR THIS!! W-With NO fur!! I-I feel horrible! Why did I bake and eat so many cakes!?”

"Oh don't be so cranky." He rolled his eye not paying him any attention. "We still have half a mile before we can start back."

He heard his lover groan behind him and he chuckled again, well the sooner they finished the sooner they could go back. It was just then he heard wheezing sounds behind him and he turned around....and blinked. His boyfriend was no where to be seen. Until he looked down that is and saw a puddle of exhausted ghost monster on the sand.

"RALSEI!!"

Day 4:

*merman Kris braces legs and goes on land to ask Ralsei a question*

The screams of children swarm about the place as he stood outside the building. He never did like the thought of screaming little munchkins running around him, or their dirty little hands grabbing onto him, or sneezing on him-; He shuddered just thinking about the germs. Funny coming from someone who's eaten raw fish, but he was free to not like what he wanted. But, he was here for a different reason. Not for the kids-

"ACK-"

One of the small buggers crashed into his legs while running around. The little girl shook her head before squealing in delight and getting up to run after another child. Playing tag he presumed.

"Kris?"

He jumped and whirled around into the curious face of the very person he wanted to see...And who he sometimes got mad with. No he didn't like it when he held his hand. Or when he gently kissed him. Or when he smiled and hugged him- He hissed at himself which made him frown and raise a brow.

"Um. Are you ok?"

"NO!...Yes! Im fine. Im fine!"

His crooked smile didn't seem to faze him more and only resulted in more confusion. This wasn't going as he planned was it? Nope! He could see it in his eyes as he looked him up and down. It was pretty rare to see Kris on dry land, with legs, he seemed to despise legs and preferred to sticking to his underwater domain. ….So why was he here in the first place?

"Ok....Um. What're you doing here? I thought you hated land."

"I do!....I- Uh-" His face flushed a light pink, and he mentally cursed himself for stuttering. "I-....C-Came to see you."

"Really?" He nodded and he became a litle redder. Of course, he giggled at the cute sight as soon as it happened and he groaned. Did he always have to respond with his cute little giggles or when- HOLY CRAP! he grabbed his hand! His eyes shined like little gems up at him, and he actually gulped. "That's so nice of you. Did you want something?"

This was it. This was the moment he came for. So of course he opened his mouth-....And a high pitched squeak came out. They froze. A look of abosolute horror coming over his face. he however went wide eyes and gasped. ….Oh no. Not this. He didn't like where this was going- he squealed in glees and immediately grabbed his face.

"THAT WAS SO CUTE!! YOU SOUND JUST LIKE A BABY!!"

His face blew up a bright red and he sputtered. "I-IM NOT A CHILD!!" he cooed and booped his nose. "S-Stop! I didn't come t-t-to be treated like a child!"

he hummed. "Then what did you come here for?"

"I want a date Ralsei! I h-hate it when...you...….." His eyes widened. " D*MMIT!! Why do you always do that?"

"Do what?" he faked innocently batted his eyelashes and giggled once he drowned in the red sea of blush. He was always so easy to fluster like this. So, it was perfectly natural to place a small kiss on his cheek. The result was weird drowning fish noises and him reaching up to try and fail to limply pull his face away from him. he giggled that cursed cute smile. "I'm really honored you came all this way to see me and I'd love to go out with you."

His mouth dropped. "R-Really?!"

he nodded. "But I have to finish work first. Is that ok?";

He nodded silently and he patted his cheek before letting go. A couple children came up to him and wisked him away into a game he didn't understand and he didn't move. Just stand there red faced and silently watching after him...…..He gulped heavily and slowly leaned back up into standing position.

He needed to get better control of his expressions.

Day 5:

*more merman Kris*

What had made him come to this? What lunatic controlling fate made the grand decision of making him fall for such a small weak little thing like him? He would probably never know, but the way he was giggling and holding his very red face right now in his soft little hands. He could always turn around, swim away, and never look back-....but he mustve put some kind of spell on him as he continued to gush at him.;

"I could eat you right know." He gave a small growl, showing on his fangs to give his point. "Know one would know and you always risk yourself by coming you know.''

he smiled. "You won't do that."

His brow raised. "How can you be so sure?"

he smiled wider. "Because your face tells a lot more than you think."

D*M IT ALL TO NEXT HELL!! He cursed himself for being like this, for being so weak and vulnerable around someone who wasn't even a threat to him. What would happen if some danger did come along?! NO! He didn't like the way he looked at him with those big beautiful eyes, or the way he was so patient with his stupid arse, or the way he was always squishing his cheeks in his soft paws and calling him cute- NOPE! NOT AT ALL!! And he definitely didn't spend last night laying awake thinking about how cute and soft he was! Nope! And he definitely didn't hit his head trying to catch him a fish she loved just to see him smile at him-

ABSOLUTELY NOT!!

…...Ok. Maybe- But that's a very small maybe.

Day 6:

*even more merman Kris*

"S-Stop it."

"Why? You're acting like a child."

"Because I don't like physical contact. And I'd like to see you prove me wrong.'' He made a move to pry his hands from his face but that idea was scraped when he felt something small on his face.

OH SWEET MOTHER OF HECK-!! WAS THIS GOATvSERIOUSLY-?! he gave a small kiss on his cheek which he froze at, immediately his face broke out into a watermelon red. His hands were shoved in front of his face as to hide his embarrassment.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH- STOP THAT!!"

She just giggled and gave him another small kiss. More muffled screams followed, before the flustered screaming merman turned around and jumped from the doc red faced still holding his face as Ralsei giggled and waved good bye.

“Bye, Kris. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Day 7:

*ralsei helping Kris with his fear of water*

He shouldn't. He couldn't......HE CAN'T!!

"I can't do this."

The human whimpered out as his red eyes gazed over the body of water that was in front of him. Already he could feel his body sweat and legs wobbling as he stared at it. A small black hand grabbed his making him flinch and look at the smaller demon next to him.

Ralsei blinked his pink eyes at him and smiled. "Oh, come on. It'll be ok." To prove his point, he stepped into the kiddy pool still holding his hand. "See? It's safe and sound."

He shook his head. "I-I don't think t-t-this is a good idea, Ralsei." He gulped down the lump in his throat. "I-I think it would be m-much better if I-I watched..through a window."

Ralsei still didn’t back down as he pulled Kris forwards more and yanked him a bit forwards enough for the human to yelp and freeze when the water came up to his ankles and shuddered at the cool feeling around his feet but managed to smile for Ralsei sake. Making the goat monster smile back.

“See? I told you it’d be alright”

@krisei-world

#KriseiZodiacWeek

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rambling-at-midnight · 5 years

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Inferno: Part 3

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

God I love Peter Parker so much. Anyways, he’s a dork even when he’s Spiderman. This is so fluffy I’m gonna get cavities. I have so many great ideas for next chapter! Also, I lied; there’s gonna be at least 5 parts.

You’re thankful for your fans. You really are. A good majority of them are sweet, caring individuals completely appalled at the blatant lies the American government sent out as a reason for your arrest. It’s nice to see people promoting positivity.

Unfortunately, being rich and having fans can sometimes lead people to hate you for no other reasons. You’re not saying there are rich people that don’t deserve to be loathed. Of course not. And maybe you do deserve to be hated. You’ve certainly done enough questionable stuff.

But at this point scrolling through your notifications feels like playing Russian Roulette with every chamber loaded.

cap2n/merica: Hey @Y/N_Stark, just do us all a favor and turn yourself into the authorities before you start melting people again.

bigbossbitch: @Y/N_Stark is another case of gross celebrity misconduct. Yes, her jail time was wrong, but now that she’s been released she’s just another spoiled celeb kid born with a silver spoon in her mouth. She gets away with murder just like her father does because of their wealth and it’s a sign of the American government’s (1/2)

You don’t feel like finding the second part of that tweet.

givemebackmymeat: @Y/N_Stark is an ice bitch

Stacey-Toland: yeah it’s great and all that New York gets Spiderman and @Y/N_Stark , but if they really cared about people they would branch out and help people in cities with a lot more crime. New York doesn’t need the Avengers, Spiderman, AND Inferno!

just-a-dumbass: y’all Inferno is the dumbest superhero name i’ve heard in a long time @Y/N_Stark

With a sigh, you turn your phone off. The public outcry will quiet down after the official statements are released. Everyone needs some time to cool off.

The pesky bandages on your hip crinkle as you sit up. You rip them off without looking. Tony insisted that you wear them last night after Helen Cho fished the bullet out of your hip. There’s no pain this morning, and you don’t even need to check to know there’s no scar.

The temptation is too great. Maybe you’re a masochist. You grab the phone before sitting down on the toilet, determined to find at least one positive comment about you in your feed. You try Instagram instead of Twitter this time. Since your public appearance last night, comments on your last post about a year ago have been flooding in.

spideyismydaddy: hey @The-Official-Spiderman what do you think about @Y/N_Stark? She invading your territory or what?

You click on @The-Official-Spiderman. It’s got to be a spoof or fan account, right? Sure enough, the account isn’t verified. You almost swipe out of it but your eyes catch on some of the photos he’s got uploaded. Either he’s super good at photoshop, or...

Is this really Spiderman’s account?

The photos look exactly like the crime-fighting spider you’d encountered last night. He doesn’t have a recent story that you can watch, but he does have a highlight story that you click on. In the first one, he does a backflip. The second clip is of him racing a train and winning. The third one is a pretty picture of the sunset.

You rest your hand on your cheek. Before you know it, you’ve watched his entire highlight story and wasted fifteen minutes sitting on the toilet.

“Miss Stark, your father wanted me to inform you that breakfast is ready,” FRIDAY says, making you jump a little bit. At first it had been a struggle to stop talking to her. The amount of times you’d say, “FRIDAY, turn off the lights,” or “FRIDAY, what time is it?” is a little bit embarrassing. No doubt how many times she’ll startle you will be embarrassing too.

“Sure,” you grunt, throwing a MIT sweatshirt on and shoving your phone in its pocket. “Coming.”

“Morning, sweetie,” Tony says cheerfully, attempting a smile when he looks at you. “I made your favorite—waffles.”

“Great.” You try a smile yourself. “I haven’t—that’s—thanks, Dad.” You’d been about to comment that you haven’t had waffles for over a year, but that would probably bring down both your spirits.

“How are you feeling?”

“Fine.” You take a big bite of waffle and look as innocently as you can at your father. “Just peachy.”

Tony gestures to his own hip. “No... pain? Bleeding? Scar?”

You shake your head and shrug. “Healed overnight.”

“Good.” Your dad actually fiddles with his fingers as you take another bite. “I, um... I don’t know what you want to do.”

I want to spend time with you is the first thing that crosses your mind but it sounds way too sappy and weak. You settle on a shrug. The familiar fire under your skin wavers and you scowl to bring it back to a simmer.

The next time they try to take you away, you’ll be prepared. Even if you have to take out thousands of agents. But you can’t let go of your anger for even a second.

“I have an idea,” you say after another awkward silence, struck with a great idea that would involve time with your dad but doesn’t involve actually asking for it outright. “I couldn’t keep up with all the new shows and movies that came out. Maybe we could get Disney+ and, I don’t know, watch The Mandalorian? I saw a lot of Baby Yoda memes online and it looks like a cool show.”

“That’s the new Star Wars show that came out, right?” Tony checks. “With the ugly green baby?”

“Hey! He’s not ugly!”

“Well,” he starts. You already know he’s about to suggest a bad idea. “Star Wars is probably Parker’s expertise. Considering both of us won’t know what’s going on, maybe we should call him and have him here? Just to translate the nerd stuff to the non-nerds?”

The hand holding your waffle clenches. You should have known that Tony would try to involve his precious Peter Parker so he wouldn’t have to spend time alone with you.

The waffle starts to smoke and you drop it with disgust. “I’m going to the training room.”

“Come on, Y/N—” Tony starts but you stomp off. Why won’t you understand that he just wants you to make a friend? He’s not trying to replace you with Peter—he’s trying to get you to replace Tony, at least a little bit, with Peter.

Tony eyes the waffle you hadn’t finished. A clear outline of fingers is burnt onto its surface.

You stalk through the compound angrily, halfway expecting a team member to jump out at you. You were the last one to be released, after all. Then again, they’re all under house arrest or on the run. But what about the ones that had sided with Tony? “Where are they?” You’d love to run drills with Nat or talk with Rhodey.

“Tony cleared his schedule for the next week,” FRIDAY informs you. “He wanted this to be a more relaxed homecoming so you wouldn’t be overwhelmed before more enthusiastic well-wishers arrived.”

“He cleared out his schedule for everyone except Peter fuckin’ Parker,” you mutter. Jesus, how important is this kid to Tony? First he never stops talking about him to you, takes him to pick you up from jail, and now he’s banned everyone but him from the compound?

For lack of sparring partners, you decide that lifting weights and running on the treadmill wouldn’t be too bad. Thankfully your muscles didn’t atrophy too much while you were locked up, though you rarely mustered the energy for exercises. You left the heat simmering under your skin at all hours. Judging by how many times you woke up to singed blankets, you started doing it in your sleep too.

No doubt due to the Extremis, you can lift every weight in the weight room—together. It’s too easy, so you move to the treadmill.

Your feet pound on the track. With every step, another thought bombards your mind: Peter Parker smiling, how you spent three months in the cage before they consented to giving you a plant, the cell smaller than your whole bed, you never even saw the sun for months, Tony coming to brag about Peter fucking Parker—

Only when your foot hits the ground do you realize that you’re running hot. “Shit,” you mutter, reaching for the ‘off’ button. Your whole body is glowing bright red and instead of turning off, the keypad melts at your touch just like how your shoes had melted off and how the track is hardly more than a melted pile of goo around your red-hot feet. The poor treadmill gurgles unhappily and its gears stop churning.

“Miss Stark, you are not wearing your fireproof clothes,” FRIDAY points out.

“Yeah, I got that, FRI,” you respond through gritted teeth, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. You need to calm down before your clothes burst into flame.

The red hue to your skin fades slightly.

You need to get your excess anger out. And you know exactly how to do that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Some guy swings a metal bar into your face. Something definitely cracks but heals within seconds, so quickly you almost don’t register the pain. It doesn’t slow you down, anyway, and you grab the man’s arm before he can whack you again with the bar. You slam his head against the side of a brick building and he slumps to the ground. If he doesn’t wake up in thirty seconds, you’ve either given him brain damage or flat-out killed him. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Before you can turn around, your back burns. Not the comforting burn of your anger, but a stinging burn that takes your breath away.

You turn around slowly. The man’s partner backs away, his hands in the air as a scared expression takes over his face.

You reach behind you. Your hand hits something hard that makes the pain in your back worse. It’s the handle of a knife, you presume. With a wince, you pull it out of your back. The blade is dark with blood that you already feel dripping down your back. The wound will knit together, scab, scar, and fade. A body’s week- or month-long process of healing occurring in seconds.

You’re not thinking when you brandish the weapon, but thankfully a weird thwip sound interrupts you. The man’s raised hands find themselves stuck against a wall by a white, sticky substance.

“Shit!” a vaguely familiar voice hisses after a second thwip. “Oh Jesus! You killed him!”

You turn around. The man you’d knocked against the wall still hasn’t moved, but there’s a dark puddle spreading around his head. Spider-man takes a quick look at him, shakes his head, and looks at you.

“And you got stabbed!” Sounding sort of like a smothering grandmother, he spins you around and lifts up your shirt. “Oh, shit, that’s a lot of blood...”

“The wound’s probably closed by now,” you mutter. The ground sort of leans away from your feet and strong arms wrap around your waist as something swipes at your back.

“I don’t see an opening.” He gingerly takes the knife from your hand places it on the ground. Then you find that the ground is underneath your butt. Spider-man’s mask swims in your vision.

“I killed him?” you ask blearily. Shit. You can’t afford to be murdering people not two days after being released from prison. They’ll send you back. They’ll lock you in that cage! Is Spider-man here with them? You smack his hands away. He’s here to get you, he’s here to take you—

“Whoa, whoa, let’s calm down a little bit,” Spidey says beseechingly. “You don’t have any wounds, but you lost a lot of blood.”

“It’ll replenish soon,” you mutter. After some sugar. Sustenance. That would help. As if he’d heard your thoughts, Spidey waves something in front of you. It takes a hot second for your eyes to focus on it, but when you realize it’s a churro your mouth waters.

“I did not mean for this to go this way,” he mutters. Almost shyly, he thrusts it at you, saying, “Here. I got it for you.”

You’re not one to refuse free food. If he’s poisoned it, chances are the poison won’t affect you much, anyway. You’ll take your chances.

You wolf the churro down in record time. Now that you’re feeling less woozy, knots are starting to form in your stomach. Spider-man, a superhero largely known for helping people out, just witnessed you accidentally murdering someone.

And you just murdered someone. You need to take that knife and burn it in an alley far from here and toss it in the trash.

Heat rises in your cheeks, but it’s not anger-heat that can be used as a weapon or self-defense. Letting Spider-man see you like that is embarrassing.

“Are you feeling better? I can get you another churro, if you’d like, or maybe a burrito, I think I have enough cash for that...” Spider-man reaches into his back pocket, but maybe his tone is too light, maybe he’s not being nice and he’s trying to lull you into a false sense of safety.

Quick as a whip, you take the knife and hold it in Spider-man’s direction. The superhero falls back, his voice cracking as he exclaims, “Hey! Whoa! Please don’t stick me with that! Do you have any idea the potential ramifications of mixing blood? Not that I think you have STDs or something, but still, I could still get alien bacteria in me! The Extremis is still in your system, right? Well, of course it is! I really don’t need that in me because it might make me blow up! Please—”

You blink. He sounds like a kid. Like someone your age. He’s in no way your father’s age. And he’s definitely not a threat. “Relax.” You close your fist around the knife and channel your anger into that extremity. It melts within seconds and drips to the ground. You shake your hand of the last bit of molten metal and allow the flesh to return to regular temperature. “You’re not going to hurt me for killing him?” Your heart still races in his presence, but it’s starting to calm down.

“I saw everything.” Spider-man stands up awkwardly, especially for someone that can do backflips and crawl up walls, and points up to the top of a nearby skyscraper. “They attacked you. It was self-defense. Besides, these two killed a bystander in a shootout recently. I’m not saying they deserved it, because that would be really mean to say, but I’m also not saying that you’re a terrible person. You know?”

“You certainly talk a lot,” you comment. It’s amusing.

“Do you want me to stop talking?” Spider-man rubs his neck. “I know it can be annoying. My friends—”

You shrug. “Why were you watching?”

“Well, last night you got shot, right? And I see you out again fighting crime. So I’m like, ‘Holy crap, is she in pain, she’s probably not all right, maybe she’s getting mugged because she slept on the streets because I didn’t help her when she got shot in the hip and then you slammed that dude against the wall and I saw the other dude stab you and—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the point.” You stuff your hands in your pockets. “It was my fault, anyway. If I was wearing my suit the knife wouldn’t have gotten so deep in. It probably wouldn’t have gotten in at all.”

“Why are you just wearing a MIT sweatshirt and sweatpants, by the way?”

You shrug. “Couldn’t be bothered to change.”

“Well, I think you’re going to have to now. There’s a big hole in your sweatshirt and your whole back is bloody.”

“Shit,” you mutter. “But that’ll lead people back to... him.” You shoot a glance at the dead man. “And he’s going to snitch on me.” You shoot a nervous glance at Spider-man. You have no idea how he’ll react to you considering a tied-up would-be mugger.

Spider-man shakes his head. “People will see my webs. They’ll blame me.”

“So we’ll both be blamed,” you say grimly. “Great.”

“Yeah, The Daily Bugle is going to have a field day. But we should get out of here.” Spider-man puts a hand on the small of your back (right where you’d been stabbed) and gently applies just enough pressure to get you moving. Shocked at the gentlemanly gesture, you take a few steps before remembering your bloodstained clothes. “I’ll get you new ones,” Spider-man says grimly when you voice your concern. “But then I won’t be able to get you a burrito.”

The sweet concern is touching. “It’s really okay,” you say. If you had your credit card, or any cash on you, you’d buy the poor boy as many burritos as he wanted. “You gave me your churro. You’ve done more than enough.”

“Well, I wanted to make a good impression!” His voice cracks again.

“Really?” you shoot him a glance out of the corner of your eye. “Why?”

“I don’t know a lot of other teenaged superheroes,” he shrugs. “I thought we could be friends.”

See, Dad? You think viciously. I can make friends without your interference. I’ve found a friend loads better than Peter Parker. “Get me a change of clothes and we’ll talk.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“A radioactive spider, huh?”

“Yeah. And I know all about the Extremis. Killian.”

“Yeah. He murdered my mother and then tried to blow me up but my body didn’t reject the serum.”

“Oh, shit. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Your mother’s death is like a bruise; tender when you poke at it but livable with. “What about your parents?”

“Oh, they’re both dead.” Spider-man gives you a half-shrug. “I live with my aunt. My uncle used to live with us until he died.”

“Shit, dude.” You lay down on the skyscraper, hesitant, and fold your hands together over your stomach clad in the I <3 NEW YORK sweatshirt Spider-man bought you. Goosebumps rise on your exposed legs, courtesy of the NEW YORK sleep shorts he’d barely had enough money to buy at that sleazy mart. What would you want someone to say to you?

“Like you said. I’ve dealt.” Spider-man lies down next to you, watching the sun set.

“I guess we kinda have to be friends, right?” You say after a brief pause of silence. “We got all the heavy stuff out of the way.”

“Sweet!” His phone buzzes. He pulls it out and types a quick text to someone. You presume his aunt, considering that’s the only family he has. Or one of his friends.

You can hear the smile in his voice and it makes a smile spread across your face too. For the first time you feel the wind whipping and realize you’re not angry. You call the heat back immediately, both to warm yourself and to protect yourself. What if—?

“Can I do a livestream?” Spider-man props himself up on his elbow and holds up his phone, which displays his Instagram page.

“Sure?”

Spider-man rolls up his suit to just under his nose and starts recording a video. You notice he lowers his voice slightly, probably to make himself seem more mature, and roll your eyes. “Hey guys! You’ll never believe who I’m with right now.”

Immediately comments start to roll in and people start sending emojis, mainly hearts.

You wave at the camera before unlocking your phone and following him on Instagram, now that you know it is actually him. A minute ago you’d gotten the notification he’d followed you, so you figured it was only fair.

Spider-man starts to do a run-down of his day, leaving out the man you’d killed. “Then I gave Inferno here a churro and we went shopping because we’re besties.” He nudges you with his arm. “No, but seriously, we had to burn her clothes. I can’t believe that dude threw her in the dumpster. It was disgusting.”

You wrinkle your nose at the camera, actually enjoying playing along. It does make you wonder exactly how much he says on his social media is a cover-up of some sinister stuff. He seems perfectly fine at lying about why you needed new clothes.

“Okay, now I’ll answer some questions...” Spider-man browses the flood of questions. “Okay, well, you guys know I can’t just tell you my name. No, I haven’t seen Iron Man recently. No, I’m not an Avenger. Still. And no, I do not have a girlfriend... Why is everyone asking if Inferno is—no, she’s not!” His voice cracks again and you glance curiously at him, tucking your wild hair behind your ear. The wind is whipping it everywhere.

“What?”

Spider-man just waves a hand at you. “I can’t tell you guys my schedule, either, because the bad guys will take advantage of it. You guys know that. Sheesh. Okay, well, since you guys are being jealous and immature, I’m going to log off now. Bye!”

“Let me guess,” you say sarcastically. “Mostly female fans, huh?”

“It’ll be such a shock when they all find out I’m gay,” Spider-man jokes. At least, you think he’s kidding. After a beat, he clarifies. “I’m not. By the way.”

You shrug and transfer your gaze back to the skyline. The sky is starting to turn orange and pink. “I wouldn’t really care if you were.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Hey, you know what isn’t fair?”

“What?”

“You obviously know who I am. Everyone does.” Not to sound conceited or anything, Y/N, good going... “But the only thing I know about you is that your parents and uncle are dead and you got your powers from a radioactive spider.”

So what, you’re curious about who’s under the mask. Sue you.

“My middle name is Benjamin,” Spidey suggests. “But I’m not going to tell you the rest of it.”

“So I should refer to you as Benjamin?” You don’t take your eyes off the horizon, not wanting to seem or sound pushy.

“Please don’t.” You giggle as he pretends to gag. “You can call me Spidey. I know Spider-man is a long title. As long as I get to call you Y/N instead of Inferno.”

“Sure thing... Benjamin.”

“I should not have told you that,” Spidey sighs. “Um, what else... I, uh, go to high school.”

You nod. “I should still be in high school.”

“You graduated high school when you were fifteen and went to MIT, same as your dad, for two years, same as your dad, and graduated college summa cum laude...”

“Also same as my dad.” You sigh.

“Sorry. I’m just... kind of a fan.”

A weird warm feeling spreads in your stomach, but it’s not Extremis-heat. “That’s okay.”

“And then you were arrested.” Spidey’s tone turns a little bit dark. “You turned eighteen in the Raft.”

“Happy birthday to me,” you sigh.

“It was shitty what happened to you.”

“I’m out now.”

“Still,” he persists. “It sucks I can’t make it better.”

You laugh. “What would you do? We only became friends maybe fifteen minutes ago.”

Spidey sighs. “I know. It just sucks, right? All these powers and we still can barely make a difference in the world.”

You sit up halfway, propped up by your arm. Desperate to make the subject lighter, you say, “Speaking of powers. I know you’re sticky and all. What else?”

“Fast and strong.” Spidey shrugs. “Not much else.”

“Wanna race?”

Inferno Taglist:

@paullrud @eridanuswave @loveissupernatural @moistpotatobear @oh-annaa

Peter Parker x Reader Taglist:

@iconicbabesss

Forever Taglist:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight

#peter parker #Peter Benjamin Parker #peter parker fic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #reader insert #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #reader x peter parker #you x peter parker #tony stark #stark!reader

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