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all-things-fic · 4 years ago

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Country Lane | Divorce Harry III

Thank you all for waiting for this one. Massive middle finger to tumblr for screwing the post up! Divorce Harry III is finally here!

Shoutout to my lovely ladies who taking time to read this for me @harrytheehottie, @harryfeatgaga, @haute-romance-quotidienne and of course @waitingfortwilight. Also, thank you to all my lovely anons and those of you who come off anon to talk about this, I’ve really loved the general chit chat about the series <3

Without further ado, enjoy! Lots of love and happy Saturday! x

*~*

You had no idea where you were.

Surrounded by nothing but overgrown grass and the odd wooden fence. If you listened carefully in the distance you could hear the traffic of what you thought could be the A34 road and you were pretty sure that the last sign you had seen before your car cut out had been for Congleton.

Rubbing your hands down your fresh face, your spa retreat to Mottram Hall for the hen-do of one of the school Mum’s entering her second marriage, was nothing more than a distant memory. As you sat freezing, in your car, looking out onto the harsh autumn weather of October, you were far from relaxed and rejuvenated.

Worrying your bottom lip with your top teeth, you juggled your phone from palm to palm. You knew you had to call him, you effectively didn’t have any choice. Especially after you’d pulled your way through your glove compartment and you hadn’t come up trumps with your breakdown cover documentation.

Part of you was cursing in that moment at how you’d handed the piece of paper which held all telephone numbers and car insurance policy account numbers over to your son to scribble upon during one particularly long car session, just to keep him quiet. You were actually sure it was now stuck on your fridge with a lovely drawing of what you presumed to be Marvel characters all over it.

The worst of it all was that you knew whatever had happened to your car was bad. You knew simply from the way the car had spluttered and started to grind before almost seizing up and stalling to a halt.

Unlocking your phone, you scrolled through your contacts and landed on his contact card. Clicking on it you saw when the last time you had called him was and recalled the soft FaceTime he’d had with your eldest son, who wanted to tell his Daddy about how he’d been picked for the schools first rugby team, taking him out of reserves and off the bench.

Breathing deeply, you ignored the ache the fond memory began to cause and tapped Harry’s name. The dialling tone that greeted you filled the pit of your stomach with knots as you tried to relax in the leather seat of your Range Rover.

Again, you started to worry your lips at the fifth ring, before the line clicked and you heard his warm voice. You froze at how friendly he sounded, his voice held an edge of laughter to it and you heard shuffling faintly in the background, followed by chatter, before it was shut out.

On the other end of the line, Harry had found himself dodging his way around people in his Mother’s kitchen in Cheshire, before leaving the room and catching your call before it cut off.

“Sorry ‘bout tha’,” he spoke an unnecessary apology, probably because of how long it had taken him to answer, as you remained quiet on the other line.

You blinked harshly at the sound of your name being spoken. “Are you still there?” Harry asked, pulling the phone away from his ear to see that the call was indeed still running.

“Ye- yeah,” you stuttered, partly due to a soft tremble to your lips from being cold.

“Everythin’ alrigh’?” He asked, a concerned edge to his question, as you dropped deeper into your car seat.

Another small amount of silence.

“Not really,” you responded, honestly. “Where are you?”

With a small frown, he answered, “‘M at Mums. ‘S her birthday this weekend, remember?”

Shit. You’d forgotten.

Heavily breathing in response, you said, “It slipped my mind. Sorry.”

There was a chuckle at the end of the line.

“Not like you tha’,” he playfully jostled, causing the pit of your stomach to fall through again. You hated how he always managed to make any conversation between the two of you not seem as if you were in the middle of a prolonged divorce. “Usually got everything colour coordinated on our kitchen calendar.”

And he still did that so smoothly too, spoke about things as if you still did them together. The use of ‘our’ and ‘we’ was second nature and so naturally fell off his tongue in a velvety way that was soothing but left you shivering if caught by your touch in a different way.

As if he could read your mind, before you’d thought it, he said, “Don’t worry. I added everyone’s names to the presents so she thinks they’re from all o’ us.”

“I shouldn’t have called, you’re busy,” you responded without feeling, starting to pull the phone away from your ear and back to thinking about how you could get in touch with your breakdown cover. There had to be a way, surely.

“Hey, no,” he was urgent. “Don’t hang up, ‘s fine. I’ve pulled myself away. ‘S okay- please. Don’t hang up on me, something’s not right ‘ere. ‘S okay to still need me sometimes, y’ know?”

“It’s okay, I can sort it myself-“ you flung your car door open. “Can you just tell me know how to pop the bonnet up on this car, cause it’s been so bloody long since I last had to do it-“

“Pop the bonnet? Why’d you need to do that? Have you broken down somewhere?” His questions were clipped as he asked.

“Don’t get arsey with me-“

“‘M not,” he replied, quickly cutting. He really was. “Are the kids wi’you?”

“‘S alright for me be stranded on the side of the road on my own when it’s about to get dark-“

“Did I say that?” Again, he words were clipped. “Are you trying to wind me up?”

“Why have you not told me how to raise the bonnet?”

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before walking the short distance in his Mother's hallway to lower himself, slowly, down to sit on the stairs.

“Underneath the passenger side there’s a lever,” he paused his softer tone, giving you time to find it. As he spoke you trampled against the grass closest to the passenger side and opened the door. Looking down at a red lever, which had clearly made itself known to you now that it had been brought to your attention.

“Found it?” he asked, hearing you hum.

You shut the passenger door of your car and stared at the slightly popped up bonnet, Harry’s voice filling your ears again. “If you feel underneath the bonnet, between the E and the R there is another little lever. Squeeze that and it’ll release the bonnet-“

“Where’s the little thing to keep it up?”

He breathily chuckled, “‘s on hydraulics so keeps itself up.”

Again, you didn’t respond and he was met with silence. Harry rested his chin against his palm waiting for you to speak, eyes looking towards the dimming light as night began to approach.

“Wha’ can you see?”

“Not a whole lot, it looks fine to me.“

“Darling, just let me come to you.”

“But this is why I pay for breakdown cover,” you snapped.

“Where are you?” He asked, voice deep and to your annoyance laced with concern that he should no longer hold.

You stammered trying to figure out some sort of excuse to bullshit him with, eyes taking in the country lane and the vast greeness around you.

“Last time ‘m askin’,” he harshly cut in. “‘S gonna get dark soon, so jus’ tell me where y’are.”

“Somewhere near Congleton.”

“And wha’s the matter wi’the car?”

You noted his voice on his last question was a bit pinched, probably from focusing on another task like pulling on a pair of trainers to bring him to you. He clearly wasn’t playing along anymore.

“Well, I think I’ve had an oil leak but none of the lights have come on to officially let me know whether I have or haven’t. The only thing is the nasty black marks that are on the driveway at home, but ‘s nothing that couldn't probably be jet washed off-“

As you rambled about cleaning the oil from the drive of the Hampstead home, Harry zoned out beginning to list the things he would probably require to bring with him. He was sure some of it could be found in Robin’s old garage, knowing that boxes of tools were still piled in the far corner.

“Send me your exact location via text.”

“Harry-“ you sighed.

“‘M not askin’, ‘m telling,” he abruptly responded.

***

People say that Googling symptoms is never a good thing, you suppose the same could be said for a car.

Were they symptoms though? You couldn’t quite coherently think of another descriptor for them as they brought up search after search at how you quite possibly could have ruined your car.

You tried not to dwell as the sky around you began to get darker while you sat in the safe passing place on the country lane. It wasn’t like you had much choice but to stick around.

Cold, and dithering slightly, you had taken to throwing your coat over your body like a blanket as simply wearing it wasn’t keeping your entire body warm enough.

Car doors locked and eyes closed, you tried to find some solace in your waiting. You didn’t have much avail, as you were interrupted by the harsh white lighting of LED headlights breaking through the dimming dusk sky.

You frowned, eyes squinting as the light got closer and pulled in behind you. A sense of uncertainty filled your body at the new arrival, along the otherwise desolate road.

A figure of a male jumped out of the car behind you, causing you to still all of your movement in your car seat as you tried to make out any features to you that would make you comfortable in knowing it was Harry.

The blinding lights made it far too difficult to see anything and you were beginning to think that the person behind you had left them on, on purpose. Unless they were those annoying ones that slowly turned themselves off.

Staring out you vaguely were able to make out the figure approaching you and as he got halfway you relaxed.

It was Harry.

He rapped his knuckles gently at your driver's side window and then smiled to himself as he realised how you wouldn’t be able to open it due to your inactive engine.

“Open the door for me,” he spoke, his voice slightly muffled as it came through your car window. He watched as you reached for the door handle inside and pushed the door ajar ever so slightly. “Could you have picked anywhere more hidden away?”

You didn’t respond straight-away, deciding instead to take him in as he stood with his left arm leaning up against the doorframe of your car. His right arm taut as he held the car door open and away from you both, not wanting it to cause any obstruction.

Underneath his khaki parka you could faintly make out a worn Versace tee as it hung open, unzipped. You internally rolled your eyes. What kind of person wore Versace to fix a car and possibly get covered in oil in the process?

As you rested your head back against the seat behind you, you silently enjoyed the way he looked down at you. It was always quite frustrating, even more so now you weren’t together, how magnetising he was.

“Do me a favour?” He broke the silent stare, “Lean over and pull the lever for me? Don’t quite fancy walking around the car and possibly going down a ditch.”

“My parking isn’t that bad!” You chastised, watching the way his lips twitched. “I’m being courteous of other cars on this tiny lane, given them extra room near the passing place-“

“You got miles of space this side of the dotted line,” he spoke cutting in, eyes wide and filled with humour. “Surprised you didn’t drive down the hill bank the other side to be extra courteous.”

“Can pull the lever yourself now, hope you break your ankle-“

“No you don’t-“

“I’d just leave you here, you know? Take the keys out of your pocket and go.“

“Don’t need to resort to petty crime,” his voice was a bit weaker now but still just as cheeky. “Could’ve just asked for ‘em.”

Your eyes moved towards the glinting keys that he held loosely by the key ring after quickly retrieving them from his pocket. Tauntingly wanting you to reach out from them.

“You’re just going to pull them away, if I grab for ‘em.”

“‘M not,” he stressed with a slight laughter. “You’re always so cynical and defensive. Not even thanked me for driving out to come and get you.”

You didn’t respond, instead you gently reached for the keys, feeling him slightly shift them from your grip as he enjoyed the determination on your face.

Fingers filled with want, you still grabbed for them, successfully but having to be halfway out of the seat and door of your car in order to fulfill your achievement.

When your feet met the ground beneath you, you quickly shifted around to pull your coat on properly. As you moved from the doorway, you watched as Harry dropped his chest onto the driver's seat and reached across the width of the car to pull the lever without needing to walk around the car to do so.

Putting a bit of distance between you, so you didn’t fall foul of staring too long at his bum in his blue jeans, you stalled yourself as he pushed his body up to standing and flipped through a book in his hands.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” He said, flicking through what you now knew to be the car’s manual that he must’ve also grabbed from the glove box while inside the car. When you didn’t reply he tore his eyes away from the pages and over to you.

“You’re a good man.”

The honesty in your voice, knocked him. “‘M not, but ‘m trying t’be.”

The two of you stared at each other in the dimming darkness and you knew your gaze matched his sad one.

Clearing his throat, he threw the manual against the driver’s seat. “Anyway out m’ sight, leave the men to the work an’ all tha’. ‘S got heated seats an’ all, if you’re into tha’ sorta thing.”

***

You felt bad watching him out in the cold and dark, a light hanging from the bonnet the only source around him that you imagined was keeping him going.

Sitting in the passenger seat, you let your eyes roam around the black interior of his car that was incredibly spacious and so suitable for your barrage of children.

Your attention turned to outside again as you saw Harry move around from your car and walk up towards his own. His forearm came up to wipe across his mouth, bringing your attention to his facial hair that seemed to be getting thicker and thicker.

Without needing to be prompted, you pressed the button to lower the driver's side window and watched as he pressed his forearms into the resting place you had created for him now there was no window blocking his way.

“Can you get me one of them shammy cloths from out o’the boot please? Jus’ need to double check the dipstick.”

You nodded as he continued, “Would do it m’self but-“ he paused, opening out his hands and showing how dirty his fingers were to you.

“It’s fine,” you said, leaving the car and joining him. “I feel a bit useless anyway,” you admitted.

Both of you remained silent when he joined you at the back of his car, two sets of eyes easily spotting what you were looking for. You opened the packet of two cloths, a horrible peach colour, and passed him one before swapping places with him.

You moved to stand at the side of the car, watching him drop his head inside the boot to see if there was anything else he needed while he was at the other car.

“Since when did you become one of them?”

“One of who?” He asked, his head popping around the side of his car and out of the boot to look at you.

“Your lights on this car are far too bright.”

He rolled his eyes, remaining quiet as he turned back to the contents of his boot. He wasn’t going to respond to your unnecessary nitpicking.

“It’s really nice inside though. Single about me did well then,” you found yourself saying the comment in a biting fashion, unable to hold your tongue.

“Which one?” He bit right back, a clanging heard from the boot, “I asked you if you wanted a credit, you said no.”

You clammed up. He hadn’t taken what you said as a joke. A bit of light humour, you thought, for the road. It was your own fault. You’d become that sort of annoying person you often could get when you found yourself awkwardly doing nothing with yourself. Your delivery of your joke didn’t help either.

“Think I preferred you when you stayed sat, quiet, in the car,” Harry said, head moving out from the boot again so you could read his expressions. Raised eyebrows and twitching lips.

“Piss off,” you glared at him, slowly turning to walk away.

Now it was Harry’s turn to think you were joking, as he shouted after you. “Really gonna be like that after I turned up to save you. That’s twice now I’ve had t’remind yer.”

“You insisted-“

“I know I did,” he spoke around a chuckle. “Now where’re you off to?”

“‘M walking home-“

“Don’t be so fucking ridiculous,” he shouted after you, a frown jarring through his light features when he moved from the open boot to walk closer to you as you turned back around to face him.

***

He managed to coax you to sit back in the car not much longer after you’d stormed off in a huff. Not without a fight, but this was one he was willing to back down on just to get you to stop storming off.

Looking back on it now, the scene was probably quite funny to some passerby or outsider, or it would’ve been if you weren’t so secluded. A female dressed in the most fetching of clothes - sarcasm noted - arguing in the middle of a street. Like some five year old in need of a nap.

Speaking of naps, your eyes shot open wide at the loud bang of your car bonnet being shut. You hadn’t realised that you’d begun to doze until you were abruptly woken.

Bleary vision was quickly erased with a rub of your eyes, as you moved to face the front and pushed your hair from your face.

You were met with Harry busy fiddling with the wires of his lamp. His face dropped down and hair falling so easily into his eyes. He kept walking rather than look into the car to see if you were still with him. Instead, he dropped everything that was in his hands into the boot and proceeded to annoyingly continue to subconsciously show off by pressing a button to close his boot automatically.

Staying wrapped up in one of your kids car blankets, you curled your legs underneath your body and rested your right cheek against the headrest. You continued to be silent as you started to wake up, eyes blinking slowly as you watched Harry in the dark pull open his car door.

He swung his body into the car with an almighty groan, one that caused you in your sleepy haze to softly smile. He looked shattered as he relaxed in his seat and rested his head backwards.

With eyes closed he sighed heavily, letting you take him in without a care. You’d noticed that at some point since your nap he’d removed his coat and now he sat in just his t-shirt and jeans. Both, of which, now looked like they had seen better days.

His brow had begun to perspire as he entered the warmth of his car, the quick switch from the Baltic (slight over exaggeration) temperatures outside to those more welcoming inside the G-Wagon could do that to you.

“Don’t think it’s fucked completely,” he said to break the silence, wiping his face and sweat with the back of his hand and wrist, to try and ensure his oil covered fingers didn’t leave any other stains on his skin.

You enjoyed the way he used the back of his hand, wrist and forearm to wipe at his now slightly clammy skin. Stupidly it emphasised how defined his upper body had become. “Dipstick wasn’t as dry as I was expecting,” he continued, “Just topped her up and ‘m ‘oping she turns over and sounds as good as new.”

Again, silence. His eyes staring straight ahead of him, yours enjoying his profile. God, he had a fantastic nose. It was definitely something that your daughter had inherited and you wondered if it would be a feature that a loved one in her life would sometimes admire in the next generation.

“Got any baby wipes wi’ you?” He cut his eyes to yours from the corner of his vision, taking in the way you were curled up in the passenger seat wearing the car blanket of your eldest son.

His eyes lingered on your shape for a while, dropping down and enjoying the way you had curled yourself up and presented to him in such a cosy vision. It meant you felt relaxed around him and that was all he ever wanted.

It was a nice contrast to the emotive happenings between the two of you that had almost become commonplace of late. A foreign feeling that was so simple, but so exciting.

Without verbal response you reached from your handbag that was in the footwell to have a look inside at the contents.

“Don’t wanna leave this car, been a bit spoiled over the last hour or so. Could do with an upgrade myself as they’re all getting older and need a bit more room,” you spoke as you rummaged around, movements still slightly sluggish.

You were successful in finding what you needed, the rustling of the plastic packaging jarring to your ears. Quickly pulling at the cover overlay, you swiftly pulled out a couple of wipes with such a mom-like finesse that had you balancing them on top of the now closed packet as you turned to face Harry.

“Don’t even think about making it a clause in the divorce,” he joked, eyes looking up at you from underneath his brow. His eyebrows snapped up in shock as you snatched at his hand and abruptly pulled at the baby wipes you’d retrieved from inside your handbag.

The two of you fell silent as you wiped at his left hand first, watching the black of the oil slowly leave his fingers. Breathing was heavy in the empty space as you didn’t dare raise your gaze higher to look into his eyes, that you knew were watching you.

“It’s so attractive, how much of a Mum you are,” he dared to say what he really thought as his humoured expression fell away. “Cleaning my hands up nicely, like ‘m your child that’s made a mess of m’dinner.”

“Harry,” you sighed his name, fidgeting softly in your seat. He chuckled in such a husky way that you found yourself softening regardless of the way it riled you.

Releasing his left hand, you reached straight for his right. Seeing the way he caught himself and stopped it before it fell against his lap. He smoothly reached for you, brushing your hair behind your shoulders as it began to curtain across the right side of your face.

“Last time m’hands were this dirty, you were licking and sucking ‘em clean.”

You felt your face begin to heat up from his brazenness.

“Are you blushing for me?” He whispered, his left hand moving along your jaw, to tilt your head upwards. He had a hold of your jaw, slightly rougher than before and while your face played ball, your eyes did not. “‘S been ages since you blushed fo’me.”

Again the sound of breathing filled the car, Harry’s gaze all over your features before his other words punctuated the air, “Look a’me.”

As your eyes moved sharply to the right, you looked at the way he’d lolled his head back. His thumb slowly pulled at your bottom lip, watching the way it softly bounced from his touch, before he lifted it to trace faintly over your Cupid’s bow.

“Missed your lips,” he admitted, enjoying the light puffs of breath that bounced against the pad of his thumb. Before you could think, you’d taken his thumb inside your mouth, an appreciative groan leaving his lips.

You felt the way his fingers cupped under your chin, gently stroking at your skin, silently caressing. Teeth nipping playfully against the skin of his thumb as you pulled away.

“How much?” You asked, lips turning to ghost against the inside of his hand.

His eyes lingered as you watched him nudge his chin up slightly, silently asking for you to come to him.

You sucked in a heavy breath as you leaned into him, the dimming ceiling light of the car slowly allowing darkness to swallow you both. A faint smile nudged your lips as your nose fell against his top lip.

He scooped you under his arm - lining you up better - hands trying to hold you as near to him as he could as you leaned over the centre console of the car to be closer to him.

“Enough,” he husked, before adding, “Your nose is cold,” in a passing tone, lips against your temple now. Breathing deeply through your nose you let him pull you even closer, unable to believe that you weren’t close enough. Muffled apologies left your lips, about how your nose was cold.

The soft drag of his lips to yours pulled you under a haze that swept away your apologies and into a tender reacquaintance. His lips were slightly shaking against yours and you weren’t sure if it was to do with the cold that he had found himself in or if it were due to his nervousness.

Regardless he was steady. Knew exactly what he was doing and what he wanted. Pulling kiss after kiss from you in the slowest fashion that you felt yourself beginning to warm up.

“‘S nice to have a little kiss,” he gently spoke against the corner of your mouth. “Missed you treating me to ‘em.”

“I think you just know exactly what to say,” you murmured as you allowed him to continue ghosting his lips over yours. “Know exactly what you're doing.”

“‘F you’re suggesting that I’m trying it on,” he murmured against your lips, “I absolutely fucking am.”

“Would never have guessed,” you looked at him with heavy eyelids, head now nudged back slightly to enable you to see his entire face. He smirked at you, eyes blinking slowly as he willed you to him once more.

His hand was secure around the back of your neck, fingers messily woven through your hair. His other hand gently massaged at the top of your back, over your fetching loungewear that you had chosen to drive home in.

“‘S it working?”

“What do you think?”

Harry’s eyes dropped in a slow blink as he felt the way your hand lowered down his chest and abdomen, which was wavering slightly from his nervous anticipation.

Dropping your head down to his chest, you left a kiss to his pec as you mumbled and felt the button of his jeans giveway to your fingers and thumb. “I am grateful, you know?”

“Yeah?”

The ruffle of your hair against the cotton of his tee filled the car, him recognising it as you nodding.

“Me too,” he assured.

And he was. Grateful.

For the life he’d had with you up until this point.

The family the two of you had created. The one you were so fiercely fighting for. Messily and viciously, all from a good place. The best place.

He licked at his dry lips, leaving his mouth to hang open slightly as he watched you descend down to his semi that was hidden in the confines of his jeans.

“Both of us need warming up,” he mused, his hands sliding from your hair and down your back, slowly and gently to your slightly raised bum from how you had placed yourself over the center console. “In’t that right?”

A dull slap of his hand against your leggings-clad bum had you rocking back as you felt his hands slide under the waistband to massage at your cheek.

Swallowing heavy, Harry tilted back his head and even through his hooded eyes he caught his blissed expression in the rear view mirror, as he felt you take his balls into your mouth and gently suckle.

He rasped your name as he basked in the dirty licks, heavily laden with saliva from your watering mouth before you took him into your throat. Obscene sounds from your actions wove between his heavy breathing and quick pants.

“Fuck me, darling.”

With his hand that was still against your bum, he pulled you closer. Hands desperate to have purchase of something as you gently but messily sucked and licked, desperate to feel the tickle of his pubic hair against the tip of your nose to know you’d successfully taken him all the way down.

His breathing was shaky, a quick hiss leaving his lips as he felt the way your nails dug into his denim clad thighs from his previous movements to try and hold steady. The position wasn’t ideal, but the feeling of your shaking breath against his wet cock as you nosed against his jeans had him smiling.

As you turned your head slightly to look at him from the corner of your vision, you noticed the way he was looking down at you. How powerful he seemed in that moment as you were slightly beneath him.

The thought changed though with the way his hand came up to your face, his thumb against your wet lips for the shortest time before he cradled the back of your head to help pull you back up and avoid any mishaps.

He tugged you forward to crush his mouth to yours with pleased hums as he tasted himself on you. Lips smacking as he pulled kiss after kiss from your mouth, smiling at the eagerness of you both.

His hands joined yours as they pulled at his jeans, his hips lifting in the seat and his arms strong as he pushed the denim and underwear down to sit closer to his knees.

“Mm,” he hummed, as his bare bum cheeks met the heated seat beneath them. “Put the seats on fo’me.”

“Don’t say I don’t ever treat you nicely.”

He huskily chuckled as he brought your lips back to him again. “Nice an’ warm,” he lazily spoke, acknowledging the heated seats. “Jus’ for me.”

And he knew every bit of his words meant the double entendre that you had caught,looking on as you pulled away to sink back into your own seat

Looking over at him, you noticed the lust behind his eyes as he slowly pumped his hand up and down his wet and aching cock when you sunk back into your own seat and watched his head loll against the headrest once more. His nostrils flared as he bit down on his bottom lip and nudged his chin up, getting you silently to come to him once more when he’d seen your movements in removing your own bottoms had ended.

“Wouldn’t do this for anyone else, y’know that?” You said around your messy kiss as you raised your legs and felt his hands guide you to straddle him. Hands splayed across your lower back and the top half of your bum as he secured you to him.

“Should bloody ‘ope not.”

As you sat above him, you could feel him there. Sprung back and wet. Your mouths rested against each other, heavy and open. Eyes moving to and fro over each other’s.

“Been at this too long to start sharing now.”

Your hips moved forward at his words, with the smallest of motions but it was enough to make his cock glide between your lips. His expression was one of immeasurable pleasure regardless of how little the touch.

Deep down you knew you didn’t have time for this sort of behaviour. The kind where you revelled in the nudge of him against your clit, and the way it caused you to gasp lightly while your brow creased and forehead fell against his.

“Take it,” he encouraged as you rolled your hips on him. “Let me in.”

Heavy breathing and shaking hands, you held Harry’s eyes as you reached behind you to take him in your hand.

Wrapping your fingers around his length, you raised yourself, feeling him shuffle down slightly in his seat to help ensure you didn’t bump your head as you lifted. Fingers gave way when he lined up nicely, slipping only his tip inside of you.

This stretch was one like no other. A burn that you savoured as much as the expression that welcomed you from the desire felt by the only man who had ever made you feel this way. His one hand crawled up your back, to cup around your neck, anchoring you to him.

When you were fully seated shaky exhales bounced against each other’s lips. Every tremble of you above him felt so vividly by Harry. The way your thighs shook from the small confines you found yourself in, to the quiver of your fingers against his neck and jaw.

“You’re so big,” your moan was feeble. Embarrassing in many ways. Especially given the amount of times you’d done this with him.

“Mm,” he agreed. “‘S cause ‘m so hot for you. Got me so hard. Always have.”

“Always will-“

“Always will,” he confirmed.

Your moan was thick as it left your throat, his words enough to get you to roll against him and have you clit drag pleasing against his pelvis.

He groaned, knowing that’s what you were doing too. Having been in this position so many times before. No one had ever had you this way, and you knew no one ever would either. A pleasure this giving was one of familiarity. Aided so deeply by feeling.

When your mouth met his again the only word to describe your kiss was sinful. His tongue waiting to meet yours, flicking so easily and far too filthily for those on the cusp of middle age.

But he still had it.

The gleaming boyish gaze and curling smile. Could charm his way into any heart and into any pair of knickers. But the ones he had chosen time and time again were yours. Regardless of their sexiness at times.

“Yes,” you gasped, pulling away from his mouth and feeling his hands encourage the knocking of your hips against his.

You were close, nowhere to go and not wanting to go anywhere. How you had made it here so quickly, you weren’t sure. Maybe it was the surroundings, how you potentially could get caught. Maybe it was because your partner - husband - just knew you so well.

His eyes didn’t want to leave you as they admired the flushed skin you were beginning to show and the gleaming, plush lips that you were rolling into your mouth to hide your pleasure.

“That’s it, fuck me,” his voice was hushed, quick in its delivery. “‘S wha’ it’s all about,” he hummed, as you rocked your hips over his. Knocking his head back against the headrest once more.

As he looked down his nose at you, he watched as your eyes fell to your navel, taking in each roll of your hips. Your expression dropped with realisation, slightly pained. “What’s wrong?”

Looking up at him, you wish you hadn’t. You wished you’d kept your eyes down to see the ripple of his abdomen each time your body flexed around him. That way it wasn’t doused in emotion, it was just raw pleasure that lived in your mind.

“We shouldn’t be doing this anymore. Needs to be the last time.”

A mix of a breathy laugh and scoff left his lips as he urged you to restart your hips that were starting to stall above him, “Bit late for tha’ now, don’t yer think?”

Falling against him, you hid your face feeling his lips over the shell of your ear and against your hair. His hand gently stroked at your hair, lips moving to your temple and pressing affection kisses that did nothing but make you feel worse.

“Do you want t’stop? Mm?” He asked, feeling your hips so tight against his, but your core so open that he hoped you would say no. Widening his thighs he pressed his feet into the footwell, seeking momentum to meet your hips with his own.

“‘S okay to love me still,” he groused, feeling your chin tremble from his words. “‘S okay to let me love you still. This is okay, us just doing this is okay.”

It wasn’t okay and he knew. He also knew everything he was saying - every single word - was just a way to satiate you.��

So, you let them. Swallowed the lump in your throat and inhaled deeply.

His words were cut short as he groaned, “Sit up for me, fuck me properly.”

Sitting yourself up, you felt the way Harry’s hands moved so that the backs of his fingers were smoothing against your lower stomach. Sweaty palm turned, he pressed it gently down your stomach and let his thumb finger your clit.

The softest frown hit your brow, as his thumb slowly rubbed in a downwards motion at your sensitivity. From his actions you felt a warmth pool around both him and you, Harry groaning appreciatively as he felt it too.

“Yeah,” he stressed the word as you gripped at his t-shirt which sat against his stomach. Cotton in handfuls as you scrunched the fabric. “‘S tha’ nice- good?”

You nodded.

“‘S it enough?”

You nodded with more fervour. Eyes holding his as you sucked your bottom lip into your mouth and scratched along his right forearm as he continued to gently swipe at your wet clit.

The abruptness of the rock to your hips showed itself as the warmth within your belly grew. Eyes now hooded, you were unable to stop them from closing as your mouth parted to desperately say, “Don’t stop.”

And you didn’t know who you were talking to; yourself or Harry.

Harry responded with a moan so deep that you clenched down around him, causing his free hand to reach up and squeeze harshly against your hips.

“‘M going to come so hard for you ‘f you keep doing that,” he gritted, breathing shallow as he felt his chest constrict. “Like tha’, just like that.”

His words were low, and like just moments before you weren’t sure if they were for him or you, but they had you moaning his name. Head dropping against his, his hand gripping at the back of your neck.

With one hard roll of your hips, you cried out, forehead against his chin and mouth fallen. His hand squashed between your bodies as you shook and convulsed.

Pliant for him, you were too dazed to move as you felt his arm wrap securely around your back and hold you to him, tight.

A merciless and repeated smack of his hips upwards, which you were sure would have the car rocking, made you aware of him seeking his release. He moaned your name, as he pulled you down to him, his orgasm shooting into you.

His heavy breathing was hot against your sweltering skin when you finally came to, his grunts melding into your neck as your core continued to flutter in the aftermath of your own release.

His hands somewhat selfishly and most definitely greedily moved you against him, both crooning at the sensitive rush that met you before he lifted you to aid himself with slipping out.

Cold air met his sensitivity, as he nuzzled against you. Hand crawling up your back, under your shirt and feeling your damp skin peel away from his own as he moved his hand up and down.

“Want to try out the back wi’me after this,” he hummed, brushing your hair off your face with his other hand. His words were heavy as they pressed into the skin of your cheek while he still tried to catch his breath.

As much as you knew you should, you didn’t even try to stop yourself from nodding.

***

Looking forward to hearing all of your thoughts! x

#Harry Styles #harry styles smut #harry smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles x yn #harry styles x y/n #my writing #divorce!harry

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bigfrozenfan-fanfics · 3 years ago

Text

Chapter 14 - Changes

Links: Chapter overview, Character list, Map, Glossar Rating: M over all Publishing cycle: each Friday at 6:00 pm CEST dst/UTC +2:00 on (link) Remarks: all my chapters contain carefully selected music tracks. It’s your own decision if you want to use them or not while reading. The purpose is to musically support the respective mood of the plot. If you can please use a browser for reading (not the Tumblr app) due to the text formatting and music.

Yelana caught the two boys from behind as they were telling jokes and laughing out loud instead of watching the herd. She cleared her throat audibly and the heads of both of them drove around scared. They both looked at her serious face and went white as a sheet.

Yelana's gaze wandered back and forth between them, then shrugged and said in a friendly voice, “You've got nothing to worry about, boys.” Their posture then relaxed a little. Then she pondered for a moment, swayed her head in her typical manner and finally looked at them a little arrogantly. “I need a reindeer, preferably saddled and harnessed, if possible please. I'm not that young anymore.”

The surprise reaction of the two of them was priceless for Yelana's taste, but didn't let on and grinned inside herself instead. The boys stood there frozen as if rooted to the ground and could not believe their ears.

“Come on, you two, I haven't got all day!” She made a wagging gesture and frowned apparently in annoyance.

The boys started moving and less than five minutes later a saddled reindeer was standing in front of her.

She took a closer look at the animal and the saddle and nodded contentedly at the end. Then she pushed her rod under the straps of the saddle and mounted. “Take good care of all of you,” she said to the boys standing there waiting and gave them a motherly look. Then she sighed and rode off without looking back another second.

“What did she mean by that? And why is she riding away anyway?” one of them asked.

“I haven't the faintest idea. I didn't even know she could ride,” replied the other.

Both gazed after her completely perplexed.

~~~

youtube

The wagon rumbled along and nobody spoke a word. Even Olaf remained silent and looked at the passing landscape with a transfigured look. Everyone was lost deep in their thoughts except Elsa, who had fallen asleep next to her.

How could she sleep so calmly; Anna thought, and pondered the upsetting events as she absent-mindedly watched the sunset. On any other day she would enjoy it, but today it seemed to her as if it announced a night of mischief.

What would this Kolgrimr do with the Northuldra once he realized that they were already long gone and he could no longer carry out whatever plans he had in mind. She feared for the people there and if Honeymaren was right in her suspicion, they could not defend themselves against his magical powers. They would all be helplessly at his mercy.

Slowly but constantly anger rose in her. Couldn't anything go right for once in her life? Did something terrible always have to happen to them and ended up being involved? She looked over to her sister and envied her. Elsa's face seemed completely relaxed, she even smiled slightly. Was she dreaming of Honeymaren? What was between them? Of course she would not mind if a romantic relationship developed between the two of them. She knew that Arendelle was quite open-minded about relationships of this kind, there was even a married female couple, Ada and Tuva Diaz with two adopted children. What was most important to her was Elsa's well-being and she wanted nothing more than the happiness for her sister.

And now someone thought he had the right to get revenge for something they were both not to blame for. Anna cursed and at the same moment, frightened by her behaviour, held her hand over her mouth. The next moment, she looked into Kristoff's eyes, who had turned around to look at her with a raised eyebrow.

“You curse? About what?” he asked curiously.

“Oh nothing, it's not that important,” she replied quickly, waving off and feeling the situation as embarrassing. Kristoff now raised his other eyebrow, too. Apparently he didn't quite believe her assertion.

“You know you can tell me anything, honey. Just say it out loud. If I don't know what it's about, I can't help you.”

Anna sat down and nodded her head a little bashfully at last. “Yes, dear, I know, and cursing isn't usually my style either. I was just thinking about this Kolgrimr and why it is always us who are in the middle of the action and risking our lives. What do you think about this whole thing? You have been quiet all the way back and don't seem particularly frightened to me.”

Kristoff shrugged his shoulders. “We made it out of the woods in time, if all this is true, and we'll be home soon.” Then he remembered the conversation with Ryder when he warned him and he said, “I'm not worried about myself, Anna, but if there's anyone I really care about, it's you, honey. If anything happens to you, that would be the end for me, I love you.”

Anna smiled, stood up briefly and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Kristoff, my love. I love you too.”

They looked at each other in love for a while, and Anna actually forgot her worries about it. Eventually, he nodded with a smile and turned around again. She herself leaned back and closed her eyes. Maybe she could get some sleep after all; she thought.

~~~

They had not yet completed a third of the way home when Kristoff saw a covered wagon approaching in front of him at some distance. He turned around and pointed it out to the others.

“Wake up, folks! Look who's coming.”

Anna and Elsa startled up, then stretched their heads and looked ahead while Olaf climbed forward beside Kristoff. “Mattias is here!” he exclaimed excitedly and pointed forward.

“They were pretty fast, though,” Anna murmured and rubbed her stiff neck because she had dozed off in an uncomfortable position.

“You haven't told me much about him,” Elsa replied without looking at her. “Except that he rode back specially to get help for me.”

Anna looked at her smiling. “The General is one of the most loyal people I know, and a fine fellow too. You'll like him.”

Elsa nodded, “I'm already very curious about him.”

A few minutes later the two vehicles, standing now directly opposite each other, stopped. The two drivers sitting on the coach box looked quite surprised. Mattias rode past them and jumped briskly out of the saddle when he was next to Anna.

“Your Majesty!” he shouted joyfully and bowed to Anna, who was now standing up at the back of the wagon. “You guys are already on your way back so soon, then I presume your sister's doing well again?” He peered past Anna to have a look at Elsa. Elsa bent over, looked past Anna and waved at the General with her arm half raised. “Hello, General Mattias.” She smiled at him and mustered his appearance with quick glances without seeming immediately curious.

Trygve and Kristina rose as soon as they saw their queen, smiled and bowed to her while reciting the usual greeting. Anna nodded to them in a friendly manner, but suddenly her worries came back to her mind and her face darkened.

“I am very happy that you are feeling better, Elsa,” said Mattias and returned her smile. Then he looked up at Anna again and his smile faded when he noticed her concern in her face. “Queen Anna, are you alright? Has something happened?”

She nodded, sat down again to be largely at his eye level and said, “Unfortunately, yes, General. We were informed by Honeymaren of a serious threat and had to flee in haste. Someone is trying to kill us.”

Mattias tore open his eyes and gasped, “What? Who? Please tell me everything!” Anna explained in short words what she knew, and his face successively expressed his moods, from amazement to serious concern to clear anger.

“The Council must be informed immediately, and the garrison put on high alert. This can't be true!” He clenched his fists and turned to the covered wagon. “Turn the cart around immediately. We must return as quickly as possible. We are in imminent danger.”

Trygve's and Kristina's jaws dropped and they stared first at him and then at each other in disbelief. Kristina finally nodded and jumped off the trestle. The trail wasn't too wide here so she took the horse by the harness and pulled it slowly around to realign the cart. Then she got back on and waited for Mattias to would ride ahead of them to set the pace. She looked at Trygve with concern and he put a hand on her arm reassuring her.

“Your Majesty, if you agree, we will refrain from equipping Elsa with the camouflage clothes we brought with us, because of the hurry. We yet could also do that shortly before Arendelle.”

Anna nodded and looked briefly behind her. “I think you are right about this, Mattias. We are still near the Northuldra area, so we should hurry.” She gave her sister a quick sideways glance and squeezed her hand before looking at Mattias again. “But we are not yet returning to Arendelle. We have to make a little detour first.”

Mattias raised his eyebrows questioningly. “A detour? Where to?”

Anna bent over to him, looked at him with big eyes and replied quietly, “To the trolls, Mattias, to the trolls.”

The general's jaw dropped and he couldn't say anything more. The day had started so beautifully, and from one moment to the next, everything turned into a nightmare. Trolls ... this can't be true; he thought, and shook his head in disbelief.

~~~

He could have taken her to Gyda. Instead, he chose his hiding place by the river. He preferred not to take any risks and Honeymaren as a hostage was very valuable, even in two ways; he thought, when he recalled the scene on the beach with her and that Arendelle bitch. He grinned as he nudged the young woman in front of him to make her hurry up.

“Faster! Don't dally like that.”

She took a quick look over her shoulder, both angry and anxious. Her hands were tied behind her back and she almost tripped forward when her attention was briefly diverted. But she caught herself in time.

“Don't try any tricks,” he said in a low but threatening voice. She nodded, but didn't say a word. That's good; Kolgrimr thought, as long as she was afraid it was easier to keep her at bay. Less work and more time to make new plans.

He couldn't get that boy out of his head, that brave little guy and brother of his captive. How could it be that he had not sensed the slightest thing, not even when he had actively and intensely tried; he thought. It was almost as if a ghost apparition had stood before him. He gritted his teeth and clenched a fist. That was not good by any means. Not at all. Even with this strong-willed half breed from Arendelle, he was able to get to her spirit with a bit effort. But with him? There was absolutely nothing. Nothing at all. And that worried him immensely.

~~~

At nightfall they reached a small, well hidden kota. Light fog was in the air and a soft splash told Honeymaren that they had to be near a river. She also knew roughly in which direction they had gone, although she herself had never been in this part of the forest. Then she suddenly became aware of exactly where they were and she drew in the air sharply. The home of the earth giants!

She looked around briefly to Kolgrimr and he just nodded wordlessly in the direction of the kota. She walked to the entrance and stopped in front of it. He reached past her, pulled the flap open and pushed her in roughly, so that she fell to the bare ground inside. Then the flap closed again and she was sitting in the dark. She heard him tie the loop of the flap to the outside of the hut, then it was quiet.

She tried to spot something inside the kota, but all she saw was a pale shimmer in the opening above her. She tugged at her shackles but Kolgrimr had been very meticulous and she could not loosen them. If only she had her knife now, which she always carried hanging by her side; she thought. But he had taken it from her, of course.

She struggled herself up into a sitting position, crawled around and systematically searched the floor, hoping to find something useful. But there was nothing, not even a fur, that usually came with every good kota equipment. All right; she thought, let's try the walls. She stood up and moved along the wall with her shoulder as long until she felt like she had reached the starting point again. With her head she had also cautiously checked the wall in addition. But there was no hook and certainly not anything hanging to it to discover. She sighed unnerved and stayed stood leaning against the sloping wall for a while.

What was he up to? What would he do with her? Would he use brute force? Most likely, the way she judged him. She wasn't usually the frightened type, but she felt her eyes get wet and soon after that tears started to flow again. She sobbed softly and finally sank back to the floor. There was no escape for her, it seemed. She decided not to exchange a single word with him. She would remain mute. Even if he should slap her, he wouldn't get anything out of her.

The minutes passed in the silence of the darkness and the minutes became hours. It already had to be in the middle of the night when the rain started. At first she could only hear the soft sound the drops made as they dripped down onto the kota from the branches of the tree above. But it didn't take long and the sporadic dripping turned into a steady hissing as the sky finally opened its sluices completely.

The monotonous noise sounded very calming and soon it made her very tired. So she curled up on the uncomfortable, hard floor and fell gratefully asleep shortly afterwards.

~~~

---

I hope you have enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a comment if you liked the story, I would be pleased to read your opinions, even criticisms. If you want to be tagged as soon I publish the next chapter please let me know, except you are already tagged :-)

Tagging: @karma26 @whether-near-to-me-or-far @annaofthenorthernlights @igotelsapregnanthelp @the-fifth-spirit-elsa

#frozen #frozen2 #frozen3 #fanfic #epic novel #the broken bridge #part two #chapter 14 #bigfrozenfan

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mushroom-cartel--writing · 4 years ago

Text

begrudging (love-)blindness

Summary: You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

Relationship(s): Gojo Satoru & Reader, Gojo Satoru/Reader

Note(s):

Here’s the link to read this on AO3! (You know the drill, extra tags, different notes, the format I intended, etc.)

Personally, I think this is hot garbage in terms of structure and pacing (it’s loosely all strung together is what I’m saying, but I just needed to get it off my chest before I wrote anything else. Yet... I guess I had fun? Yeah. I did!

There's spoilers from the manga mixed with headcanon.

I still hate spacing and formatting on Tumblr, it sucks. Please, please, please, this is for your own good, click the AO3 link, this fic is such an eyesore on this platform.

|||

There’s a tug at your chest, sending you hurtling backwards and into something hard. A wall. Tiles. Smooth.

The heavens and the earth view one another through a layer of haze of light at night.

There are thousands of people gathering, their footsteps thundering echoes in your ears. Their chatter is a constant hum in the air. It stinks of sweat.

(“The train will be arriving soon. Please stand behind the yellow line—”)

You sigh.

“Dammit, Satoru! A little warning would be nice,” you hiss to the man. You hear him whisper something back but his voice is swallowed up by the crowds and then he, too, is consumed.

You feel him wander farther away from you; not left with much choice, you follow him. And down, down, down you go.

You pause when there’s an invisible wall blocking your path of his own making. “Hey!!” you shout, starting to scream expletives at him from the top of his lungs and he doesn’t look back.

A few seconds pass. The people, these poor, clueless civilians who just want to go home for the night are like sardines in a can, their bodies pushing and shoving. For space. For air. Requiring neither, you phase through the wall and the remaining levels to catch up to him, the thoughts going through your head solely focused on figuring out why he has let you out. He wouldn’t do something like this without warning you beforehand.

Why now? What now?

You pull out from the shadowed cracks of the feeble curtain set up along the fifth floor underground, suddenly feeling a heaviness you hardly ever experience. You run a cursory swipe over his teeth; the blood in the air is fresh, there are more civilians down here than up above, more sardine-ing (their presence is fading away, the above platforms’ panicked din becomes extinguished, it’s ghastly quiet, a moment frozen in time), but no Satoru. Not physically.

He loves you, you know. (You don’t understand though… Why?)

It’s a burden, draining you of what vigour is left in your soul, barely just clinging on to this plane itself.

His love is a curse in itself, really.

"I don't want you to see me hurt," he had said often, back when you were children, oblivious to the power of those words until you got older.

What they meant.

What they did—to him and you.

Still as the wind, you stand together, hands brushing up against each other's, your fingers infected with poison where his is not; the calloused skin and scars shared between you weaving a tale for the ages that will never be told.

You’re both nineteen at heart but certainly not in spirit.

You lean against him, completely unseen, waiting for him to flick his finger back.

Waiting for him to obliterate the first person he thought he could trust outside.

He doesn’t. You disappear for another time, expectant.

His love is a burden and you're not sure where you would be without it.

If he hadn't looked your way, would you be the same person you are today?

It's frightening, these thoughts of yours, but he usually chases them off when he senses them bubbling to the surface. (You want him to be annoyed.) A casual grin and stance, a flick of his wrist, a rush of wind by your side, then the phantom pressure is gone, yes, gone, however—it's never banished completely. It never can be.

You don't remember the colour of his eyes but there's a memory of you claiming they looked like marbles, buried somewhere (somehow), in the back of your mind. Like the marbles you'd smash glass bottles to obtain, their fizzy contents only drained seconds beforehand; stubby, sticky, small fingers sorting through the shards, squashing ants in the process.

Those very same fingers, now, haven't changed a bit, save for the chipped nails and whatnot duress they’ve sustained throughout his life.

You use them to push the blindfold up to his forehead, taking in the surrounding sights.

Why now? The fact that you can feel them, his fingers and everything else—that’s a bad sign. A very bad sign.

You breathe, inflating the faux lungs.

Finally, you see it. The reason why you’re walking and talking and fully corporeal.

You gulp at the living corpse, its stitches wonky and fresh. Cerebrospinal fluid spills from its face in fat droplets and lands upon the clothes of a dead man. Disgusting.

“So I was right in the end,” you say, more for yourself than anyone else. “You’re not Suguru.”

(Satoru owes you a thousand yen. You told him to burn the body immediately. Or, you know, the usual. But what’d he do instead? He went and passed it off to a third party! Man, why’d that old hag have to kick the bucket so soon… If she was still around she’d probably kick Satoru’s dumb ass for trying to be decent.)

“How are you free?” Not-Suguru asks.

The real Suguru wouldn’t ask about your appearance. He would make a comment about how the temperature has dropped and burrow into his collar. He wouldn’t question things.

The real Suguru never acknowledged you, but he knew there was something in the corner of his eye that took the image of his friend and laughed alongside them when they pulled their antics during missions.

The real Suguru is gone.

Who the hell knows where Shouko is.

Yeah. A little warning would have been nice. Real fucking nice.

There’s a cube with a dozen eyes between the two of you, the crater on the ground betrays its unassuming weight. Satoru’s muted presence, a shrunken pearl of light, emanates from the cube.

Not-Suguru follows your line of sight to it.

Giving him an answer would be a waste of your time.

You can’t, they say.

Young master, please, don’t go there, implores the servants and guards.

The elders, his grandmother especially, tell him not to enter the storehouse tucked away in the garden behind an avenue of camellia trees because that’s something they’ll discuss when he’s older.

He doesn’t listen to them, the curiosity of a three-year-old child cannot be satisfied by mere words. (“Let this be known,” the gardener says in his defense, one cold summer’s day. It is raining outside. His grandmother shoots the only person in the compound that doesn’t treat him like a blind fool with a withering glare. He does not see them again until—)

What’s in the storehouse?

A library of cursed objects? Spiritual remnants, artefacts, texts, poisons, weapons?

Maybe the mummified corpse of an ancestor whom they keep around to ward off evil?

Perhaps a curse, frozen in time forevermore?

Maybe it’s nothing and the adults are all in on some kind of elaborate hoax, he figures. Mm, yeah. Sounds about right. No one else knows about the storehouse.

It’s old and earthen. Wild plants curl the walls to one side and splotches of moss grow on the tiled roof. Where the sun hits least is pristine. Clean. He wonders if that’s where the wards are placed, out of sight, out of mind.

Oh.

Standing in the entrance of the open door with bare feet, at the threshold of the aged structure, fulfilling his desire, he learns why they wanted him to remain ignorant.

It’s a child. (A human…? This whole situation is off.) A kid his age. He can’t tell whether or not they’re older or younger. They might be a bit taller, though.

No, he wants to shout, this can’t be it! He stomps his foot. That’s cliché! Boring, boring, boring! Again, he strikes the ground. Ugh, whatever—

A sigh escapes the emaciated figure sitting in the darkness, hunched over themself against the wall of the bare storehouse.

“Ah, my f̶̥̍r̵̝͐̏i̷̳end,” they start, softly. “M̶̹̦͒y̸͍̮̋̚ f̸͉̓̋r̴͇̦̕ǐ̴̦͇e̵̫͠n̷̢͉̅̓ḍ̸̅, my very dear, old friend. You have returned.

“My e̷̳̭̿y̶͈͂e̷͔̭̎͘s̴̭̄̊, have you come to give them back? Ask for several others?

“I have waited for you, as promised. Come. Closer. Please. I do not know how long has passed since I last gazed upon your visage. Do not be afraid.

“I no longer lust for flesh as fervently as before, I will not ask of y̸͖͔̒o̵̳̍u̵͍̘̓ ą̴͕̈́n̵̫̓d̸̛̳͛ y̵̻͑̎o̵̖̥͒͌ų̴͋̐r̵̦̩̓s a sacrifice to please me.”

Their voice is garbled, the resemblance to a broken radio off-pitch jarring his reaction time, a music box opened underwater gurgling, ghosts beat to the rhythm of the blood in his ears and titter buried mysteries.

In the corner of his eyes distant stars burn, galaxies explode to life and die repeatedly, the vast cosmos is shredded apart. Universes are swallowed whole. The plane he stands upon bends to the will of the one whose gifts he uses carelessly to play the role of a deity and dictate the balance of the world.

People have said [they] reflect the very heavens.

His faith wanes.

a trio of ragtag orphans,

escapees, survivors and starved,

on the verge of being

no better than beasts,

happen upon a traveller taking respite from the winding roads.

a foreigner no doubt

they guess from the strange hued garb;

rest, everyone around these parts,

they know comes not

easy to scum, scoundrels, sinners and

deceivers alike.

mad ones, rushing to death

—without protection i must add—

oh my darling children, you are!

consume my flesh,

defend those unseeing,

purge the blight

and you shall witness

my return before long, indeed?!

They do not move and neither does he.

What he assumes to be their head tilts ever so to the side, gauging him, this fool of a boy trespassing on their domain. This part of the garden, the little boy realises too late, is theirs.

This, the storehouse and now him.

(—the gardener finds him sprawled out on his back come dusk. They help him to his feet and dust him off, the sparkle in his eyes an unusual occurrence; they ask their precious young master what happened and he points them in the direction of the doors sealed shut.

“I took a peek inside,” he lies. Children are supposed to do that, right?

“And what did you find?”

“Nothing.” The gardener knows he’s a bad liar.

“Good. Now come.” They lead him away from the path of the camellias. “Lady Mitsue has been beside herself over you, mister.”

His grandmother hasn’t. She probably knows what he has done and will instruct him to feed the council what they want to hear. My son was too soft, she asserts before and after every meeting with those windbags.

You have to do better.

And his father is dead, so only time will tell who’s right.)

He starts having weird dreams (memories?) several days later.

Trying to ignore them doesn’t work.

Every waking moment is subject to gore.

He has to resist the urge to scratch his own eyes out while he trains.

In the world beneath his eyelids, there are shadowy figures claiming it best he is blinded and locked away and fed what no other soul could hope to consume without issue. And just as they force open his jaw—every night, every time—he wakes up.

Satoru doesn’t know what to make of it. Doesn’t know what to make of you.

One day, he dreams of years of living without sunlight causing you to screw your not-eyes shut and look away upon the opening of a door into your domain. When you recover, you turn to the door, the emotion of curiosity tugging for your attention out of the myriad of beings you’ve eaten.

Standing at the threshold, ethereal, desperate and short of breath, is a young man. In his arms is a woman, his wife, you presume. They’re stark shades of white, binary stars of a celestial system long dead.

You smile, recognising them in an instant. “Ah, my old friends, children of my children’s children a dozen times over, tell me, what is it you wish for?”

“My wife and our child,” says the man, “please, I beg of you, save them!”

Oh? A healing? It’s been quite some time since that was last requested of you.

You skitter to the pair’s side and shut the door gently behind them, ushering them further in.

You click your not-tongue at the woman’s state, wondering why no one thought to come to you earlier. If they did, the price they’d have to pay would be much less than what you’re about to tell the man. Humans are such prideful creatures, Satoru knows this, but he can’t help but feel tense as you instruct the man to lay the woman down and state your cost.

First, he opens his mouth. Then it shuts. Opens. Shuts. The man regards his dear wife with something Satoru has never seen before in the eyes of those around him.

His reply?

“I accept—”

A harsh smack to the head disrupts the memory; he looks up, unsurprised to meet his grandmother’s gaze, wrinkled eyes so very much like his own piercing his soul.

“Being distracted in the middle of a fight is unbecoming of you, boy,” she says. “What seems to be the matter?”

He can’t tell her.

He stays silent.

“Satoru.” She raises her hand, fingers crossed, indicating the void’s opening. “We Gojou pride ourselves on our ability to adapt. That is why, in fact, I say my son was too soft. He could not accept that he would lose my daughter-in-law and the child she carried in her womb to common illness. He could not accept that it was impossible to cheat death. He could not accept the position he was placed in. And for that, he died and of the aforementioned two, only you lived. Do you understand?”

No. He doesn’t want to understand.

What is adaptation if they’ve yet to rid themselves of and bow down to your constant presence? Is that not their most fatal flaw?

You eat them.

One life in exchange for another; you told his father it was the only way.

You were given the corpse of his mother a hundred days after his birth by the elders.

Every Gojou after death, you grind their bones between your teeth and their flesh rots at the bottom of your belly. Their soulful essence fights for dominance against the forces of the innumerable curses the clans feeds you—the hate, the sentiment, the sheer bursts of techniques and mighty powers clashing, click, click, click—you embody and absorb the aftermath of each childish scuffle, playing the bored jailer adjudicator. Corpses, tools, objects, energy and flesh. It’s how you’ve lived for so long without light or human thought to taint you: the jujutsu world’s dirty little secret, waste disposal.

You are, to him, unquestionably, terrifyingly lovely.

He loves you for that one reason.

A means to an end, forever.

(The boy, a few days shy of his fourth birthday and inauguration, does not know what love is. He thinks he does, having read the definition in a dictionary in order to familiarise you with modern speech, but love is not a word to be thrown around lightly the way he does.)

“I do,” he lies again, this time, to himself. “I understand everything.”

His sight is black.

He pushes back against the current, against instinct telling him to relinquish control and reaches forward for the dream that he was ripped from.

Your true form towers over his mother’s prone form, dripping ichor and the fluid of loose entrails all over. His father stays seated even when you lift an arm to draw blood, the man facing you without a trace of fear.

“I accept—but on the condition that my child receives your protection.”

“My p̶̹̽r̴̽ͅo̵̠͐ť̷̬e̶̺̊c̶̻̒t̷̙͑i̵̮̓o̶̱n̷̖͂?” Do they not teach the younger generations what that entails?

“Yes. My ancestors wrote that you were a benevolent being in a past life. That you were a kind-hearted human who accidentally drank poison before being found and buried alive, condemned and reviled, forcing you to become what you are now. Does that still not hold true?” His father’s face is hopeful.

It doesn’t. But who are you to tell him that? That ‘benevolent being’ never existed in the first place. You’ve always been this.

The vivisepulture part was true, but the beginning? Debatable. Your memories of ‘being human’ are foggy; you’re not sure if they’re real or someone else’s. Satoru’s is the clearest thus far because you abide within him. And he’s young, there’s little to garner.

What other nonsense has been made truth in the time you have withdrawn from the world?

He wants to go down that rabbit hole.

You grab the cube and run, warping reality in your wake.

You are many things.

Alive, you are first; secondly a parent, a teacher and a friend; cursed thrice times over; quarter something-something or rather by this point; and last, your hollowness complements the damned hallowed.

You are Gojou Satoru but not.

His skin peels off in delicate scales from the speed you’re going.

The first and last time you puppeteer his body, Satoru invokes his father’s contract with you for the second time in his life.

Like the first occurrence, it happens by accident.

(The first occurrence is a stain on your memory.

Mitsue looked her grandson in the eye and tasked him with a futile quest, one that would decide the future headship of their clan. You personally thought such practices outdated but you held his tongue and grit his teeth, faking laughter for the audience they had.

She reminded you too much of your youngest, both in the way she cobbled herself together and how she suspended time long enough to catch a glimpse of you hunched beside him, flickering in and out of her void domain with the ease of a toddler climbing free of their crib.

Beautiful and deadly.

He nearly died.)

He is unaware of the finer details, but where his consciousness ends at getting a scalpel to head, it rouses again with him standing before the man who has the blood of Satoru’s friends on his hands and left him to bleed out undecapitated.

On a high from escaping Izanami’s clutches, he sprouts math and whatever nonsense off the top of his head and ragdolls up, down, across and through the air.

He feels like a being higher than the gods. Doesn’t mean he is, though.

He’s barely in control.

Violent swashes of red and blue fill the sky. He sees beyond his opponent rising from the earth the heavens condemning his breaching unto their space.

“Hey, stranger, did you know purple was her favourite colour?”

“Whose?”

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“You are Satoru, right?”

“Yessssss?”

“You… you’ve got a bit of…” Suguru gestures vaguely around the lower half of his face.

“Oh.” You rub the corner of his mouth with the pad of his thumb and see it come back tinged pink. The drying drool on his sleeves is used to rub the rest of the blood away. “Thanks.”

“Have you found her?”

“Amanai? Her body?” Suguru flinches. Your gaze is drawn to the cultists clapping. “Yeah, I did. Sorry.”

“What are you apologising for?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru says. “I feel like killing these people. Should we?”

“Why?”

“I’m still h̸͓̟͐u̴̦͗n̴͇͈̅͛g̵͔̒̕ŗ̴͕͂͘y̸͚͍͘͘.” Two wasn’t even a snack.

“I’m angry that we failed too. But we can’t do anything now, it’s out of our hands.”

Several days later finds him back at the entrance of the storehouse, none the worse for wear.

In the shadow of the building grows a lone weed.

“It’s changed.”

“Of course it has.”

“Will I end up like them?”

“Yes.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gn!reader #gender-neutral reader #gojo satoru x reader #reader insert #one-shot #originally posted on ao3 #jujutsu kaisen #this is a dumpster fire

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prettyinlimegreenboots · 4 years ago

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It’s been a long time since I’ve put fingers to keys. I’ve had some amazing cheerleaders here on Tumblr who have helped me get out of my writer’s block and actually put pen to paper. As always, feedback is most appreciated!

Warnings: cursing

Prompt: my neighbor’s at my door asking if everything is alright because it smells like something is burning and I was only trying to cook for once and this is embarrassing but they decided to help me fix this mess.

The fire alarm blared as he opened the open to check on the chicken. Smoke billowed out as a cuss word escaped his mouth. Between the blare of the alarm and the choking smoke, his heart beating loudly in his ears as the panic started to creep up his back.

Grabbing the pot holders, he reached into the oven, grabbed the glass pan, dropping it on the stovetop with a groan. “Great.” He muttered, shaking his head as he made his way over to the blaring smoke alarm.

Waving the pot holder in front of the blaring alarm, he sighed as silence enveloped the apartment.

The silence was interrupted by a hurried knock on his front door. Another groan escaped his mouth as he tried to figure out who could be on the other side. Mrs. Wilson was a crotchety old woman who lived two doors down from him and always tried to bring him stale cookies and always told him he could stand to “eat a bit more”. Or it could be the cute boy who moved in the month before. Albert didn’t want to get his hopes up but he was praying that it was the latter rather than Mrs. Wilson.

Walking over to the door, he hurriedly yanked it open as the cute stranger quickly lowered his arm. Albert pushed a sheepish grin onto his face as he leaned against the door jam. “Hi!”

“Everything okay?” The cute boy asked, raising an eyebrow in question. “It smells like something is burning and those fire alarms do tend to blare pretty loudly.”

“Just trying to attempt to cook dinner.” Albert scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry about the disturbance.”

The cute boy smirked. “I’ve seen food being delivered at all hours of the day. Why mess up the system you so clearly have down pat?”

“Do you have a name? I can’t keep calling you cute boy in my head. And for your info, I was told by a very important person to quit wasting my money on takeout and learn how to cook.” Albert shrugged. “Clearly it didn’t go well.”

The cute boy chuckled, shaking his head. “Cute boy, huh? It’s Thomas but all of my friends call me Finch. And for the love of everything holy, don’t quit your day job. Also, if you need help, I could help you - that’s kind of my job.” Finch rambled on as a smirk crossed Albert’s face. Finch grinned, shifting his weight to hold out his hand. “And cute neighbor boy, what’s your name?”

“Name is Albert, but a lot of my friends call me Red.” Reaching over, he put his hands in Finch’s, shaking it. “If you’re offering, I’d love some assistance.”

Pushing open the door wider, Albert waved his hand as Finch slipped past him. “So what were you attempting to cook that ended in this disaster?”

“Chicken - thought a nice meal of chicken, mashed potatoes and broccoli. I wanted something that reminded me of home. Didn’t know this whole cooking thing would be so hard.” Albert groaned. “Why do you enjoy it so much?”

Finch chuckled, leaning against the cupboard. “It’s relaxing and you can create a good meal and afterwards appreciate your hard work.”

“Whatever you say.” Albert rolled his eyes as Finch rolled up his sleeves and quickly washed his hands before raising an eyebrow in Albert’s direction. “What are you in the mood for? I’d say your chicken isn’t salvageable.”

Hopping up to sit on the countertop, Albert smirked, giving him a challenging look. “What’s your favorite meal to make?”

Reaching to open the cupboard next to him, Finch chuckled. “Well, now I know why you like to order food in so frequently.”

“Grocery stores scare me. They’re overwhelming.” Albert shrugged. “And most of the time I don’t know where half the items I’m searching for are located within the store.”

Finch nodded, continuing his search for whatever was going on in his mind. “Make sense. That’s why I use a grocery app to get food delivered - problem solved. But you don’t have much here. Let me go grab some supplies from my place and I’ll be right back.”

Albert watched him walk out of his apartment with a shake of his head. He tried to figure out what the hell had just happened and if his life had just changed for the better. Before he could move, Finch was back with some items in his arms, dropping them on the counter to Albert’s right.

“Now where are your pots and a strainer?” Finch asked, looking over at Albert.

A wicked grin crossed Albert’s face. “Why do you assume I have pots and a strainer?”

“Well in my search, I found a zester so if you have that fancy piece of equipment, I’m assuming you have pots and a strainer, smartass.” Finch raised an eyebrow. “Now where do you keep them hidden?”

Pointing to the cupboard below his hip, Albert smirked watching Albert crouch down, ruffling through the cupboard for the requested items. “So . . . uhhh do you have a significant other?”

Filling the pot with water, Finch snorted. “That’s the best conversation starter you could come up with?”

“I mean, I hate awkward silence so yes.” Albert defended. “My brain is all mushy since you’ve taken over my kitchen. So . . .”

Finch put the pot on the stove with a nod of understanding. “Painfully single for the last three months. I had a bad breakup which left me searching for a place. You?”

“No, I haven't had one for a while. Constantly looking though.” Albert grinned, eyebrows raised. “So, what are you making me for dinner?”

Finch rummaged through the cupboard again, coming out victoriously with a grater. “Figured you can’t go wrong with mac and cheese . . . unless you’re allergic to cheese or wheat?”

“Nope and nope. You’re good there. But I am allergic to shellfish.” Albert grinned, as a phone dinged with an incoming text. They both moved to look at their phones. Albert groaned, letting his head hit the cupboard behind him.

“Duly noted. You okay over there?” Finch said adding some salt to the pot watching lazy bubbles bubbled in the water.

Albert threw his phone down on the counter with a sigh. “Big family to do this weekend that I’m slightly not looking forward to.”

“Big family?” Finch asked, opening the box of noodles before pouring them into the boiling water.

He nodded, flipping through the photos on his phone before stopping at a family photo, showing it to Finch. “Adopted family. Jack and Race are my older brothers. Romeo is my younger brother and Smalls is the only girl and my younger sister. Jack and Race’s significant others will be there as well. It’s pure mayhem and craziness.”

“Wow big family. Any nieces or nephews?” Finch asked, quickly stirring the noodles before turning the heat down slightly. “Also, make yourself useful and grate the cheese.”

Albert grabbed a plate from the drying rack before starting to do what he was told. “Jack and his wife Katherine have a little girl named Emmie and they’re pregnant with their second; they’re not finding out the gender because they want to be surprised.” Albert rolled his eyes. “Race and his husband Spot are in the process of adopting a little girl named Noelle. They’re hoping to finalize the adoption in the upcoming weeks. So it’s even more mayhem with littles around.”

“That’s gotta be fun. It’s just me and my younger sister so there’s not much mayhem when we all get together.” Finch shrugged, watching Albert for a second. “I don’t even want to ask but you do have butter in the fridge, right?”

Smirking, a chuckle escaped Albert’s mouth. “Yes, I have butter and milk as well for your info.”

“So when you referenced that a very important person told you to stop wasting your money on take out, who were you referring to?” Finch asked as he drained the noodles in the strainer before dumping them back into the pot. He quickly grabbed the milk and butter from the fridge before adding a bit of both to the pot as Albert dumped the cheese in.

“That would be my sister-in-law, Katherine.” Albert said with a roll of his eyes. “She stopped by last week and couldn’t believe all of the takeout containers in the trash and fridge. One hastily worded text message was sent to my momma and I got a strongly worded lecture on how I’m 25 and should be able to cook and fend for myself.”

Finch threw his head back laughing loudly, taking a brief pause from stirring the mac and cheese together. “Well, I’m 26 and I get the lecture all the time about dusting and vacuuming.”

“So you feel my pain.” Albert exclaimed with a grin. “But I’m thankful for all that momma has done and will happily take her strongly worded lectures on any given day, even if they’re a lil intense and leave me a little bit frightened for my life.”

Finch nodded, and with a final stir, he clapped his hand together. “Alright, I think this is ready. Bowls?”

Albert grabbed two from the drying rack. “Alright, here’s the truest test - fork or spoon?”

“Spoon, why kind of heathen do you think I am?” Finch exclaimed as Albert shook his head.

“The kind that uses a spoon in mac and cheese rather than a fork.” Albert deadpanned, giving him a look as he drew out both a spoon and a fork from the drawer. “You’re an absolute heathen and I’m almost ashamed to know you.”

Finch dished some up in each bowl with a smirk, handing one to him as he grabbed the spoon from Albert’s hand. “Almost ashamed? You mean our beautiful friendship might live to see another day?”

“I mean, we’ll see how you did with the mac and cheese but I’d say this could live to see many days, weeks, and possibly years.” Albert said, stabbing several noodles with his fork before putting them in his mouth. He wasn’t ashamed that the most ungodly moan escaped his mouth. “Holy shit, this is amazing.”

Finch laughed, spooning some into his own mouth. “Want to amend your words about keeping me around?”

“How about you go on a date with me first and we’ll see where things go from there?” Albert raised an eyebrow in a challenge.

Finch nodded. “That can be arranged. What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“Apparently not getting take out and going out with you somewhere?” Albert bit back, before stabbing additional noodles and continuing to eat.

Finch grinned. “It’s a date.”

Thank you for reading! Many thanks to @cutesiewooren for being the ultimate cheerleader! So what did you think? If I was to continue this, what would you like to see? Any feedback would be lovely and would make my day!

#newsies fan fiction #writing #Drabble #writing prompt #newsies drabbles #albert dasliva #finch cortez #shamelessly flirting #Albert can’t cook

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ollieofthebeholder · 4 years ago

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 27: Martin

Jon has always been bad about actually stopping what he’s doing and getting lunch, but ever since Jane Prentiss came into their lives it’s only gotten worse. Sometimes Martin or Tim, or both, can coax him out to join them, but too often it’s met with a you go ahead, I just want to finish this up and the next thing they know it’s six o’clock and Jon hasn’t eaten since breakfast and has just one more thing to finish up before they can go. (He always insists that the others don’t have to wait for him, but that’s a lie; the one time they did all leave and let Jon stay to finish up what he was working on, they wound up having to call him, threaten to come back to the Institute and get him, and keep talking to him while he packed his things and got out the door.) They’ve taken to solving the issue by picking up an extra sandwich or something and bringing it back for Jon when they go to lunch.

Such is the case today. There’s a curry house opening about a ten-minute walk from the Institute that Tim wants to try, but he doesn’t want to go alone; Sasha isn’t all that fond of spicy food, so Martin agrees to go with him. Martin pops in to ask Jon if he wants to go, but Jon appears absorbed in his work and waves him off. Sasha promises to text if anything happens, and he and Tim set off.

It’s the first of October, the temperature hanging at about thirteen degrees following a rainy morning. The air still smells damp and earthy, and worms litter the sidewalks. Martin’s better about that than he used to be—when he was first going on walks with the Primes, during his initial recovery period, they learned very quickly that he needed to give it a good twenty-four hours after the rain stopped before he was able to go out without panicking about the worms—but still, he finds himself watching where he puts his feet very carefully.

Tim has to notice, but doesn’t mention it. Martin’s come to realize over the last year or so that that’s very much how Tim is; he’ll tease, sure, but never about something important. He does loop his arm through Martin’s, though. “Maybe I should start bringing a pack of cards with me to work or something. I bet we can drag Jon out of his office long enough to eat if we give him the chance to whittle away at your point lead, too.”

“I hope so. I’m pretty sure what he’s working on is just the stuff that can be recorded on the laptop, but…I worry. You know?” Martin thinks about the intense look Jon gets when they’re reading over something that they all suspect will turn out to be real. He doesn’t want to lose Jon, but the words stick in his throat.

“I know,” Tim says quietly. “I do, too.” He bumps Martin’s shoulder with his own. “Worry about you, too. I’ve seen the look on your face when you’re researching some of this stuff.”

“I don’t…really?” Martin’s stomach lurches. “I-I mean, it’s…it’s hard to walk away from and…”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed, but…never mind.” Tim falls silent.

Martin decides to wait him out and focuses on his footsteps until they get to the curry house. Because it’s a Saturday (and why they’re working on a Saturday is another issue entirely and allegedly involves a scheduling issue with some work needing to be done), and because it’s the grand opening, they expect a bit of a crowd; because of the rain, it’s not as bad as it could be, but there’s still quite a line and at first Martin thinks they’ll have to take their meals to go, which wouldn’t be a bad thing, honestly. He figures maybe they can get their orders, head back to the Institute, and convince Jon to stop and eat with them if they aren’t taking him out of the Archives. But a table opens up in the corner just as they get their order, and they manage to nab it before anyone else can.

Tim doesn’t go back to his original topic while they’re eating, which, honestly, Martin should have expected. They talk a little bit about the statements they’re investigating, most of which are probably going to end up in the Discredited section, and some about what they’re going to do for Jon’s birthday next week. Although they dance around the issue a bit since they’re in public, they both agree that they’ve somehow got to do something for Jon Prime as well. The memory of the sheer delight on Martin Prime’s face when they included him in Martin’s birthday celebration is hard to forget.

“You know they’d only just had their birthdays when…everything happened, right?” Martin asks as they head back to the Institute. The sun is making a valiant effort to poke through the clouds, and most of the worms seem to have either managed to clear the sidewalks or been removed, but he’s still watching the ground instead of what’s ahead of him and trusting Tim to tell him before he runs into someone.

“Who?” Tim asks, sounding confused.

“The Primes. Martin Prime told me on…our birthday? Jon Prime’s thirty-first was while they were in Scotland, like a week and a half, maybe, before the world ended.”

Tim hums. “What about Martin Prime’s?”

Martin hesitates. “It was, um, before that.”

“While he was still working with Peter Lukas,” Tim says flatly. Martin doesn’t respond. “Great. So he was—ugh. I wish I’d known that beforehand, I’d’ve…I don’t know, tried to do more for him. Being alone on your birthday—”

“Is something we’re used to,” Martin interrupts, a bit more sharply than he means to. “God, Tim, do you know when the last time was someone even bothered to acknowledge my birthday before last year? I was eight. Mum sure as hell wasn’t going to say anything about it, and my only friends were from school. Since my birthday was right in the middle of the summer holiday, I didn’t even get the teacher acknowledging it in class. Martin Prime’s twenty-ninth birthday happened less than a month after Jane Prentiss attacked, when Jon Prime and Tim Prime were still out on medical leave and it was just him and the Not-Sasha. His thirtieth birthday happened less than a month after—” His voice cracks and he can’t bring himself to say it. After your counterpart died. After Jon Prime wound up in a coma.

Tim stops dead on the sidewalk, mid-step. Martin pulls to a stop, too, and looks up at him. Before he can say anything, Tim turns and pulls him into a tight hug. Martin freezes for a second, then relaxes into it and hugs Tim back.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says in his ear. “You deserve better than that. We’ll do better for you. I promise.”

Martin exhales. “Thanks, Tim.”

They separate and head back into the Archives. Sasha looks up at them and smiles wryly when she sees the takeout box in Martin’s hand. “Might have to wait on that a bit. He’s got someone in there.”

Tim curses under his breath. “And nobody to cut the energy.”

“I offered to sit in with them both, but she insisted it would be fine. I couldn’t push it.” Sasha waves a hand at her computer. “Besides, I’m waiting on some reports to compile on—”

There’s a yell of pain from the direction of Jon’s office. Martin’s head jerks up, and the takeout container slips from his hand to the ground. He doesn’t even notice if it falls open or not, too busy rushing for the office door, Tim a half-step behind him. His fingers touch the knob just as there’s a second, louder yell.

“Jon!” Martin flings the door open and bursts into the room. Jon is standing behind his desk, head bowed and shoulders bent, one hand braced against the surface and the other pressing hard against his abdomen.

Jon looks up, his face tight and his eyes wide with pain and terror. “Michael,” he gasps. “H-he was here.”

“Oh, God.” Martin is at Jon’s side in a flash and reaching for him. He starts to pull him into a hug, then freezes when Jon lets out a small, distressed noise. “What happened? What did—are you hurt?”

“H-he—” Jon shifts his hand slightly, and now Martin can see something wet and red on his fingers. Blood. Oh, that’s not good. “His fingers—he—”

“Tim!” Martin barks. “We need the first aid kit. Now.”

“On it.” Tim turns on his heel and practically flies out of the office.

Martin guides Jon back into his chair and kneels down in front of him. “Here, let me see,” he says as calmly as he can, reaching for Jon’s hand.

Jon only presses his hand tighter against his side, despite the obvious pain it causes him to do so, so Martin stops moving. “He took her,” he gasps out.

“Took who?” Martin asks, a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“Th-the woman. Helen Richardson. She was—she was making her statement, I told her we believed her, she left and—and I thought—and then he was there and—” Jon swallows. He’s starting to tremble. “It was the wrong door, Martin. She went out the wrong door. He took her and I couldn’t—”

“Easy, Jon. Easy,” Martin says soothingly. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not! I should have—” Jon breaks off with a whimper. He’s really worked up, and Martin is worried about it.

He’s more worried about the injury, though, so when Tim returns an instant later with the first aid kit in hand, Martin immediately sets about unpacking the gauze and alcohol wipes.

“Okay, Jon,” he says. “I’m going to need to take a look at this. Tim, can you hold his other hand? I know this is going to hurt, but I need you to trust me, okay? I want to help.”

He’s talking to Jon like a frightened child, he knows that, but right now Jon looks like a frightened child, and anyway, he nods and takes Tim’s hand. Martin carefully pulls Jon’s hand away from his side. The fussy old-man cardigan Tim’s been teasing him about since day one is torn and wet to the touch, and when Martin shifts it aside, there’s already a dark stain on the turtleneck underneath. He tries to be gentle about lifting it up, but Jon cries out when he pulls the shirt away from the wound and tightens his grip on Tim’s hand.

“Sorry, sorry!” Martin says, feeling guilty. Tim murmurs soothing nonsense at Jon, squeezing his hand and wrapping his free arm around Jon’s shoulders. Jon’s breathing heavily, and one look at what Martin can see tells him that stopping the bleeding is more important than cleaning up the skin. He grabs a pad of gauze, folds it over, and presses it to where he’s pretty sure the wound is. Jon gives a strangled noise, but doesn’t flinch away.

The gauze soaks through far too quickly, and Martin shakes his head worriedly. He manages to unwrap a second piece of gauze and press it on top of the first without any difficulty, but securing it is going to be a problem. “Here, Jon, I need your help, okay? Come hold this for a second. Can you do that for me?”

Jon’s fingers are trembling as they brush Martin’s. Martin switches their positions as quickly as he can, helping Jon apply the right amount of pressure, then reaches over and grabs the medical tape. He rips off a couple of strips, then nudges Jon’s hand out of the way and secures the gauze as best he can. It’s not perfect, but it’ll hold long enough.

“You’re going to need stitches, I think,” Martin tells him, standing up and holding out a hand. “The clinic’s only a few blocks away. Do you think you can walk?”

Jon stares at Martin’s hand for a moment, then nods mutely and accepts it. He wobbles and winces as he gets to his feet, then stumbles against Martin’s side. He’s shaking all over, and Martin is really worried.

He looks over at Tim, who bites his lip hard before saying quietly, “Call if you need backup. I’ll—I’ll stay here and help Sasha handle Elias if he turns up.”

“The tape—statement—” Jon gasps and gestures at the silent recorder on his desk.

“We’ll listen to it,” Tim promises. “It’ll be okay, boss.”

“I’ll call,” Martin assures him. He wraps his arm around Jon’s shoulders and leads him out of the Archives.

Three blocks over and one block up. It really isn’t a long walk to the clinic, but Martin isn’t completely sure Jon’s going to make it at first without being carried. He keeps stumbling over his feet and stopping for breath. Martin encourages him, but he’s about three seconds away from scooping him up bridal-style and carrying him the rest of the way to the clinic. Somehow, though, they make it. Martin texts Tim to let him know they made it safely, then opens the door and steps in.

It takes Martin a second to recognize the person behind the reception desk; they’ve changed their hair, a green bouffant with a bleach-blond stripe just above black roots and the sides shaved, and Martin’s pretty sure there’s an extra cartilage piercing that wasn’t there before, but it could just be a brighter stud than usual.

“Hey, Zig,” he says in greeting as he ushers Jon up to the counter. “Love the hair.”

Zig looks up and breaks into a grin. “Martin, hey! Long time no see…whoa.”

“Worms,” Martin says succinctly. “Bit much for you all. It was also the middle of the night.”

“Valid.” Zig peers at Jon, who is managing to look both bewildered and terrified, then back at Martin. “Work-related?”

“Yep.”

“On a Saturday?”

Martin shrugs. “They’re doing work on Monday that we apparently can’t manage around, so Elias shifted the weekend. There are some questions I just don’t ask anymore.”

“Fair enough.” Zig waves in the direction of the door. “You know the drill. What am I warning the doc about?”

“Stab wound. Thanks, Zig.” Martin steers Jon through the mercifully empty waiting room. It usually is when he comes through here, but whenever there are people waiting, someone inevitably starts complaining and Zig—or whoever’s working reception—always has to lie and say they have an appointment.

Jon doesn’t say anything as Martin leads him on the familiar route—through the heavy blue door, turn left at the corridor with a nod to the nurse sitting behind the desk, three doors down and the last one on the right. The room is on the smallish side, with enough room for the exam table, a small counter with a sink, two overhead cupboards and a set of drawers under the counter. Two people fit comfortably, three is a bit of a squeeze, but Martin for all his size fits neatly enough into the corner and out of the way…usually. Today, though, Jon clings to his arm almost tight enough to hurt, and Martin knows he isn’t going anywhere.

“It’s okay, Jon,” he says gently. He’s still afraid, there’s no denying that, but he’s also a bit more relaxed now that they’re here. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? Not unless you tell me to.”

“No—stay—” Jon sounds slightly panicked. He closes his eyes and takes a couple deep breaths.

“I will. I promise. C’mon, come sit down. The doctor will be here soon.” Martin keeps his voice as low and soothing as he can as he leads Jon to the exam table and helps him settle onto it. “You’ll like him. He’s good at what he does.”

“You’ve…been here before,” Jon manages. He’s either in a lot of pain or he’s lost a lot more blood than is optimal, and Martin kind of hopes it’s the former so they don’t have to sit here while Jon gets a transfusion.

“Mm-hmm. Remember the day Basira dropped off that first tape, when I told you Diana used to send me on whatever errand she could think of to get me out of the library for a bit?” Jon nods, and Martin continues, “Well, one of those things was bringing people here. Whenever someone in Artifact Storage gets hurt beyond the help of a first aid kit, this is the nearest place. The staff’s really good, the care is excellent, and they…”

“Don’t ask questions?”

“Don’t question answers.”

Before Martin can elaborate, the door opens, and a silver-haired man in a white coat who looks like he was sent straight from Central Casting comes in, shutting the door behind him. He smiles when he sees Martin. “Ah, Martin, good. We were starting to wonder if something had happened to you.”

“I got shifted to the Archives,” Martin explains. “They tend to…leave us to our own devices.”

“Well, they need to stop doing that. Everyone’s so damned close with their secrets. It makes things remarkably difficult.” The doctor turns to Jon with a warm smile. “Hello. I’m Dr. Early. What seems to be the trouble today, Mr…?”

“Uh, Sims. Jonathan Sims.” Jon blinks, looking a bit dazed, and glances helplessly at Martin.

“Mr. Sims, then. I hear you’ve a stab wound?” Dr. Early lifts an eyebrow in Martin’s direction. “That’s a new one. You must’ve got a really interesting artifact in. Did it explode or did you just not notice how close you were to the pointy bits?”

“It was a person this time. Jon’s the Head Archivist,” Martin says. “We don’t deal so much with…things.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

Martin glances at Jon, who still looks a little stunned. “Um, unexpected visit from a being that thrives on the fear of confusion, currently in the shape of a blond man with knives for fingers? I…don’t know the details beyond that, sorry.”

“Mm. Well, Mr. Sims, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you.” Dr. Early looks Jon over and gentles his voice. “Can you please tell me what happened?”

“Uh—” Jon looks worriedly up at Martin again.

Martin squeezes Jon’s hand. “I usually just tell him exactly what happened. It’s okay.”

“It’s a lot harder to treat someone if I’m lied to about the cause,” Dr. Early explains. “Or given vague, incomplete explanations. Which is why we’ve all been extremely annoyed that they’ve been sending people who are either protective of their work or afraid of being sent to the loony bin. I can assure you, we don’t commit people from the Magnus Institute, and we’re not interested in spreading your research around, either. Martin here is very straightforward and honest and it’s a great help. We’ve missed him a lot.”

“I can understand that,” Jon murmurs, and Martin’s face gets hot. “A—a man came to—h-he appeared and—” He breaks off. “I-I’m sorry, I don’t—I can’t—”

Dr. Early looks at Martin, obviously concerned. Jon can’t seem to get his thoughts straight, which the good doctor obviously thinks means he’s more badly injured than he is. Martin knows Jon, though, and he knows he’s just scared and confused. He takes both of Jon’s hands in his own. Maybe he’ll talk to Martin.

“Jon,” he says, gently but forcefully. “Look at me, okay? Focus on me. What happened?”

Jon’s eyes clear—he’s still frightened, but at least he’s focusing, which Martin appreciates. “Helen Richardson—she came to make a statement, she encountered Michael after all. I told her I believed her and we would do what we could to protect her, and then she left. I was getting ready to come out and tell Sasha I was heading down into the tunnels, to—to tell you and Tim not to worry about me—when I heard a voice asking me if I was who I was pretending to be. There was a man standing there and I started to say he didn’t belong there, but then I realized who he was and asked if he was Michael. He said he was, and—I said Helen had escaped, and he said she hadn’t, that there had never been a door there. I tried to get him to give her back, and when he said no, I stood up, I was—I don’t know what I was going to do, something, but he just—reached out and dug his finger into my side, just like Sasha described in her statement, but—it wasn’t to help, it was to hurt. It did hurt, and I—I asked why he was doing this, and he—he didn’t answer, he just…” His voice cracks. “I-I couldn’t stop him, Martin, I couldn’t save her—”

“Hey, easy, easy,” Martin says as soothingly as he can, even as his heart sinks. “It’s okay, Jon. You did your best. It’s not your fault. Tell me what his fingers looked like.”

“U-um, like—like knives. Long and skinny a-and sharp.”

“Were they straight, jagged…?”

“Straight,” Jon says after a short pause. “Like—like my paper knife, the one I—they weren’t metal, they were bone.”

Martin glances up at Dr. Early, who makes a motion like he’s washing his hands. Martin understands. “Were they clean?”

“I—I didn’t notice? They were yellow. Like old bone. I-I didn’t see any dirt or, or blood, but…”

“All right. Let me take a look at it,” Dr. Early says calmly. “Where is it?”

Martin steps to one side and releases one of Jon’s hands; Jon clings too tightly to the other for him to let go and indicates the injured spot with his now-free hand. Dr. Early carefully lifts the shirt and inspects the double layer of gauze. “I’m going to need to peel this off, Mr. Sims. This might hurt a bit.”

It does, judging by the way Jon’s fingers tighten around Martin’s as he hisses at the tug against his skin; Martin silently gives thanks that the Primes bullied him into taking care of himself properly and his wounds healed well, because otherwise this would hurt more than it does. As it is, he can bear up silently as Dr. Early removes the tape as carefully as he can and lifts the gauze from the wound. Fresh blood wells up as soon as it’s clear, and Jon screws his eyes up tightly.

“Mm, yes, this is going to need a few stitches.” Dr. Early speaks calmly. “Go ahead and take your shirt off and lie back. I’ll go get my supplies and be right back. Do you have any allergies, any medications you’re currently taking, any medical conditions that might interfere with the anesthesia?”

“Don’t—” Jon’s eyes pop open and nearly burst out of his skull, and his breathing starts getting shallow and panicky. “No, please, don’t—”

“All right, we can do this without anesthesia,” Dr. Early says without batting an eyelash. He’s used to the quirks and foibles of the Magnus Institute’s staff, and he’s probably used to people panicking, too. “I’ll go get my supplies and be right back.” He meets Martin’s eyes, flicks a finger at the exam table, and vanishes.

Martin exhales. “Okay, Jon. Let’s get you lying down so we can get this taken care of.”

“Don’t leave.” The raw panic in Jon’s expression is almost painful to look at.

Martin almost leans over to brush a kiss against Jon’s forehead, then catches himself at the last second and simply touches his own forehead to Jon’s briefly. “I’m not going anywhere, Jon. I promise. Might have to stand over there so I’m out of the way, but—”

“N-no—I can’t—I can’t be alone when—” Jon tightens his grip on Martin’s hand. “Th-the last time…I almost didn’t wake up. I don’t—I need someone to—”

That is not information Martin wants to have, let alone information he wants to gain right then, although distantly he supposes he’d need to know it at some point. “You won’t be alone. I promise. I’ll be right here. Doc will probably let me hold your hand, I just might have to—to be behind your head or something. We’ll see. Let’s just get you lying down, okay?”

Jon exhales and nods. “Okay.”

Martin helps Jon take off his ruined cardigan and turtleneck, then lie back against the paper-covered exam table. He tries to focus on Jon’s face so he doesn’t have to look at the gash in his side. “It’s going to be okay,” he tells Jon, and he’s not sure if that’s a promise or a threat, but he means it with every fiber of his being. Everything will be okay if he personally has to take down every entity and being that serves them armed with nothing but a corkscrew and his mediocre poetry.

Jon keeps his eyes fixed on Martin’s, even as Dr. Early comes back into the room with his little kit. He takes one look at the two of them and doesn’t even bother to shoo Martin into the corner. “Great, you’re all set. This might hurt a bit, but I’ll try to be as quick and careful as I can.”

The wound is a bit bigger than Jon implied, once Dr. Early has irrigated it, but at least the edges appear to be clean. Jon occasionally lets out a small, breathy whimper, but for the most part just clings to Martin’s hand, while Martin rubs his thumb soothingly against Jon’s skin. While Dr. Early works, he asks Martin about his scars, and Martin readily tells him about Jane Prentiss and the worms. The fear in Jon’s eyes never goes away, but it doesn’t get worse either.

“All finished,” Dr. Early says at last. “You can sit up now, Mr. Sims. Keep the area clean and try not to agitate it. You can come back here or go to your regular doctor in about a week to have the stitches removed.”

“Thank you,” Jon says softly.

“Anything for a friend of Martin’s.” Dr. Early flashes Martin a smile as he tries not to blush. “We’ll send the bill to the Institute as usual. Do take care, both of you.”

“Thanks, Doc,” Martin says. Dr. Early gives him a wink, collects his supplies, and heads out the door.

Martin helps Jon sit up, gently but firmly stopping him from touching the row of sutures punctuating his abdomen. He starts to hand him his shirt, then pauses, looking at the tear and the bloodstain. “Think this shirt might be a wash.”

“I never liked that color,” Jon whispers, but sighs and reaches for it anyway. “I—I can’t—it’s too cold to go shirtless.”

“Wait, here.” Martin takes off his sweater—he’s got another shirt on underneath it, so it’s fine—and bundles Jon into it before he can protest. He’s so used to seeing Jon Prime wearing Martin Prime’s sweaters that he expects this will be the same, but somehow it isn’t, because this is Jon and it’s his sweater, and even though he tries to remind himself it’s just for convenience’s sake, he can’t deny that it does something to his heart to see Jon, still shaking and vulnerable, huddled in the very first sweater Martin ever completed all on his own.

“Thank you.” Jon looks up at Martin, his eyes huge.

“Of course.” Martin puts an arm around Jon’s shoulders. “You ready?”

Jon nods and lets Martin lead him out of the exam room. Zig gives them a wave and a smile as they head out the door, which Martin returns.

It’s not that cold outside; it’s actually probably the warmest it’s been all day, but there’s a bit of a breeze going that keeps it cool. Martin has enough body fat that he’ll be all right, though, so he concentrates on keeping Jon from blowing away and moving in the right direction. Jon’s pretty pliable, tucked close against Martin’s side, and they’re definitely moving better than they were when they left the Institute, for which Martin is incredibly thankful, especially when the clouds thicken and it starts raining again just before they get back. Martin shields Jon with his body and takes the brunt of the wet, although it’s fortunately not too bad and they get through the Archive door with little more than a sprinkle.

Tim must have been watching the door, because he’s right there almost before they make it all the way down the steps. He grins a little when he sees Jon in Martin’s sweater, but there’s still worry in his eyes. “Hey, boss. All better?”

Jon shakes his head mutely, and Tim’s smile vanishes. Martin decides to blame the chill that runs down his spine on his slightly damp cambric shirt. “Jon, what’s wrong? Where are you hurt?”

“No, not—” Jon wraps his arms around his midsection and tucks his chin against his chest, eyes closed and looking absolutely miserable. “I-it’s my fault, I—I couldn’t—”

“Hey.” Martin pulls Jon into a hug and glances up at Tim, who instantly joins in. They’ve done this a lot lately, the three of them, a small part of his brain muses. Whenever one of them—Jon or Tim, really—has a bit of a breakdown, can’t be strong enough, the other two gently pen them in and do their best to comfort. He pushes the thought aside for the moment. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t ask to get hurt.”

“No, Helen, I—I couldn’t—I should have been able to stop her. It’s my fault,” Jon whispers, balling a hand into Martin’s shirt. “I let Michael get her and I could have saved her.”

“You couldn’t have,” Tim says, gently but firmly. “The Primes tried to warn her and she still fell for it.”

“But I-I knew, I should have known, the door was all wrong, and he’s right, there’s never been a door on that wall, I-I didn’t even notice…God, I thought Jon Prime didn’t notice because he was so—so paranoid, but I wasn’t, I was paying attention the whole time and he still got her…”

“Jon,” Martin says, half scolding and half pleading. Jon’s beginning to—there’s no other word for it—spiral and if they don’t divert it he’s going to break. “You did everything you could. We all know that. You couldn’t have saved her any more than you could have saved some of the people in these other statements. It’s not your fault. I promise. It’s not your fault any more than it’s mine, or Tim’s.”

Jon looks up at Martin. His eyes shine with unshed tears. “Y-you weren’t even here.”

“Exactly,” Tim says, obviously picking up on Martin’s thoughts, and when had they come to know each other so well? “If we’d been thinking about it, we’d have asked the Primes when Helen Richardson came, and we’d have made sure to be here all day so we could have helped. We could have all sat in with her while she made her statement, and surely one of us would have noticed the door was wrong. Or held the right door for her or something.”

Martin takes a risk and runs his hand through Jon’s hair; Jon leans slightly into the touch like a cat. “And it’s not like we would have been able to keep Michael from ever taking her. We can’t guard her all the time. How would you have felt if she’d made it out of the Institute safely, and you’d called her to follow up on the statement and found out she was gone?”

“At least the last thing she saw was a friendly face,” Tim points out softly. “At least this way she wasn’t alone.”

Jon closes his eyes and sags in their embrace. “She wasn’t,” he agrees. “But that’s worse. I-I should have walked her out.”

Martin inhales sharply, and when he looks over Jon’s head he sees the same stark fear in Tim’s eyes he feels in his own as both of them contemplate the possibility of Jon accidentally opening Michael’s door, stepping through it, getting lost in those corridors. He tries to keep his voice from shaking as he says, “And if that just meant both of you were in there? What then?”

Jon simply repeats, “I should have done more.”

And there’s really nothing either Tim or Martin can do right now to convince him otherwise, so they settle for holding him until he stops shaking so badly, then coaxing him to sit down while Tim reheats the curry for him. He claims it’s good, and Martin believes him, but it doesn’t mean they stop worrying.

Especially not when Jon refuses to let anyone else open a single door for the rest of the day.

#leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#ollie writes fanfic #tma #the magnus archives #panic attacks cw #blood cw #injuries cw #medical treatment cw #implied/referenced emotional abuse #for everyone who was wondering about Helen's fate #here ya go

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heck-damn-so-i-draw · 5 years ago

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The hotel was cheap, mostly because they wanted to save money, but also because it was the only hotel close enough to where they were going to be situated. Once the daybreak hit, the boys were up and ready. By 7 am they were approaching the old farmhouse and pulling into the driveway like last time.

☠ ̷͔͕̚T̶̢̃̽h̸̨͋͐e̵̛̞͊ ̶̗̈́̓ḓ̶͈̊e̴͆́ͅm̷͇̀͂o̶̧͓͛̕n̷͉̏̿ ̶͍͎͌š̵͕͔ą̷̜̉t̶͎̏ ̶͖͒o̵̩͗͝n̶̩͐ ̵̞͙̽͆t̷̩̊̚h̴͇͕͝͝ë̶̠̳ ̴̬̃͝ͅr̸̹̉͂ͅo̴̥̮̽́o̵̫̭͆́f̴̧̊̏t̷̙̤͐̍o̵̢̓p̵͙͚̓̚ ̵̣̠̈́̇n̴̞̓̏õ̶̩̑t̸̬̫̎ ̷̢̻̄̈t̶͖͔͆ȍ̵̪̮o̶̹̙͌ ̵͈̱̅h̸͓̘͝ả̷̠̝͂p̸̮̂̿p̸̜̆y̷̝͚͛̾ ̴̣́t̸̝͆ȟ̴̖͉a̷̳̰̐͝t̷̥̥̽̏ ̶͚͌͂t̴̼͝ḣ̴͉͓é̸̪͆s̴̓͝ͅͅe̴͛̈͜ ̷̘̳́̂b̴̟̦̈ủ̸̬̟ȓ̵̦͆d̵̢̤́̉ȩ̷̾́n̵̰̎s̴͈̈ ̸̠̈h̵͙͉͒̓a̶̼̾̈́ͅv̵̛̺̺e̸͍̓͛ ̴̻͗̍r̵̮̜͌ḛ̵͖͆̚ẗ̷̤u̴̼̿͘r̴̙͓͆͋n̶͓̒̎ë̴̻̫́̇ḑ̸̆͊ ̷̬̼̋́ţ̴̧̋ò̸͕͜ ̸̨̣͆͋h̴̛̲̫i̵̜͊ŝ̸͙́ ̷͇̠̉ẗ̷̗́h̴̪̓r̷̺̺͘e̶̝̟͌s̴͍̭̀h̵̺̕ő̵̹̾l̷̮͛̇d̵̘̣͗.̸̗̽.̶̞̻͐.̸̴͍̗̤̆̾͂̌ ̷̵̖̹̜͌͊̈☠ ⛧

The weather, and ultimately the atmosphere was considerably darker than yesterday, and though the boys would never admit it to each other, none of them slept very well. That didn’t stop Marcel from quickly getting out as much equipment as he could carry and taking it back to the tent they had set up yesterday. “Aw- jesus Tyler! You didn’t zip the door! There’s probably a shit ton of mosquitos in there now…” He complained, walking into the open tent and setting the heavy things he carried in on the table that they didn’t want to take with them. He then looked around. Yeah.. there were a few mosquitos flying around. Of course they didn’t bring bug spray either, fuck.

Tyler walks into the tent, two CPU boxes tucked in his strong arms, (brian is coming behind him with the monitors), and he throws open the already open zip up door. “What’s up mosquito bitches? Daddy’s home!” He joked nonchalantly, setting the machines on the table as well.

“Shuddup will ye? Jesus christ, a priest is gonna be here soon-” Brian starts, then get interuppted by the american who does not give a fuck. “And i’ll make him call me daddy, too.” Brian set down the monitors and nearly had a stroke fit of laughter. “Oh F’eck off.”

Evan took the last three bags of equipment from the back of the SUV, taking his time getting up the hill and to their tent. He can hear someone- something near. It whispers in his ear and tells him to run. Get out. Leave. Of course it sends a shiver down his spine and a chill deep into his bones, but he continues up the hill and tries to make out the difference between male and female in the voice he heard. It was deeper toned, a bit raspy and sad. Evan concludes male as a dark sad atmosphere starts clinging onto him. Evan sets the bags up where Tyler and Marcel want them. “When did you say he was gonna get here, Brian?”

Brian was swatting a few mosquitos out of the air when Evan asked about David. “Well, he said he’d be here probably by noon or something in his texts-” There was a loud groan from Tyler. “Are you serious? Noon? And the dude expects us not to go in until he gets here? We need to investigate.”

“I know, I know, Tyler, Ya don’t think i’m just as pissed as you? I just want to be safe about this. You don’t-”

“Get it?” Tyler responded, salt in his tone that cuts deep into Brian’s words. “Then help us understand. How dangerous is it really? It’s just a buncha dead guys-”

“It is not just a bunch of dead guys- are ye fockin’ stupid? Tyler, there is a demon in that house. A powerful demon who takes control of people. Controls their thoughts, how they act. Makes them do unspeakable things, tyler! You can’t just fuck with something you can’t see.”

This pisses Tyler off more, makes him give Brian the camera angrily. “Then you go in there and record with Evan. We need footage. When the priest starts to show up I’ll call you and tell you to get out of there.”

“Wh- But David said ta-” Evan took Brian by the arm and started to walk out with thi, “Ignore him, Brian. Let’s just see what we can find.”

Brian had a terrible feeling about this, but against Evan’s grip, he just complies and walks with him to the building. When they get to the front of the building, Evan takes the camera from Brian and starts recording himself. “Alright guys, we’ve got a priest on his way, a good old friend of Brian’s by the name of David Nagles. We’re just going to go inside to see if we can find anything else before this guy shows up. Tyler and Marcel are getting everything ready to watch us from inside out base.. Alright. Let's head in one more time.” He paused the camera feed and looked to Brian, who didn’t seem too happy to be here so soon. “Hey.. It’ll be fine. You still have that holy water right?”

Silently steaming, Brian pulls the half empty bottle, about the length of his forefinger and thickness of his thumb. He pops the cork and hands it to Evan, who, though pained at the look on his buddy’s face, applies it to the rim of his ears as Brian did before, then gives it back to its owner. The canadian sighs, looks towards the house, and then starts stepping closer.

“Wait-!” Brian suddenly calls, grabbing Evan by the shoulder and holding him back mid-stride. “There’s someone right here-” He steps in front of the confused Evan, facing a tall shadow of a man, a crying man, multiple stab wounds carved into his chest, still bleeding. As Brian approaches the spirit, it seems to flinch back, then puff out its chest and stand taller over the lad of 6’0, mouthing curses and angry words. From the back, Evan speaks, a feeling of nausea and dizziness hitting him in the chest as he holds the camera out to see “He-... He’s saying to leave. He wants us out, and he wants us out now.”

“Yeah he doesn’t look too happy… Ask him his name.”

Evan takes a deep breath and steps forward, listening carefully as words float to his ears. “Hey.. It’s alright, man. I know some bad shit happened but … What’s your name?”

The spirit-shadow stopped yelling at them, went quiet and stared at Evan dead in the eyes, even if the living man couldn’t see him. The words he uttered sounded muffled, quieter, it sounded like he was… under water.

“J...Jon.”

“Jon?” Evan repeated for himself and the camera. “Jon…” He looked up at where brian was looking, taking his eyes from the screen. God.. if only he could just .. see it. Then he caught the whisper of something.. “Assholes…”

ARE YOU SERIOUS-

“Why you little-” Evan started, but before he could finish his thought, Brian interrupted with a sigh. “He’s gone… Alright, let’s head inside-” As he picked up his foot to head back inside the house, putting on his big boy pants and gaining the courage one step at a time, he was jolted by the sound of a car horn. His heart racing a million miles a minute as he turned around to see who the hell is honking, he hears a distinct irish yelling of anger, and a phone call. He inhales slowly through his nose, closing his eyes in frustration and exhaling before answering the call. Before Tyler can speak or even say he’s sorry, Brian snaps. “I know he’s fockin’ here, jackass.” Then he hangs up and walks past Evan, who is staring, to the small black rented caddy.

“The hell did I tell ye about goin’ in before I got here, ya twit? I told you- I told you specifically, Don’t go in!” He yelled loudly as he parked. Brian was beyond caring. When David pulled in next to their car rather violently, he parked the car and got out, still heated. “You-!” He starts to go off again, but Brian just holds up his hand. “Oh shove it, I’m not a goddamn baby. I was lookin’ round the porch so I wasn’t jus’ wastin’ my damn time waitin’ f’er y’er ass ta show up-”

As much as watching two Irishmen bicker is amusing, Evan stepped towards them and sighed, knowing they’d have to cut that from the video. “We didn’t go in, I swear. Thank you for coming, Father.” He wasn’t really religious, but he was respectful, and hated actual conflict that wasn’t a joke. The tall man sighed through his nose in response and turned from his friend, to the man he didn’t know. Right… be professional, Daithi. “Thank you, It’s nice to meet you, mister..?”

“Evan.” The canadian smiled, automatically reaching out his hand to shake the priest’s.

“David.” The man replied, replicating that contagious smile.

“Well, you might as well come meet the rest of our team, then we should really get started.”

~STAY TUNED FOR PART 6~

:D <3

Wanna read the whole story without scrolling through Tumblr? Here!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1BtwQY83MEgIH46KdMA3NPKInBf0i3jiBrdgj3EoJiCo/edit?usp=drivesdk

Don't be afraid to leave comments!

#bbs ghost adventures au #vanossgaming #bbs terroriser #terroriser #iamwildcat #bbs iamwildcat #bbs basicallyidowrk #basicallyidowrk #daithi de nogla #bbs nogla #h2odelirious #bbs cartoonz #cartoonz #bbs au

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ssin-ent · 5 years ago

Text

Stone cold

Request:doyoung smut where he had a serious fight with you, his best friend and he comes to your house in the middle of the night. You start fighting again and that leads to hard smut

[warning: light angst, sir kink, spanking, dirty talk, light sadism]

note: I had a problem while posting it the first and tumblr deleted the whole smut and I've been able to save only a part, I had to re-write it again but it, obviously can be as good as what it was supposed to be, I'm really sorry if it seems rushed🙏 I hate you tumblr

(so feedsback are really appreciated it's not like I was feeling insecure about that smut ><hah nope not at all...

That was late, really late, around 2AM. You were trying to forget the fight you just had with Doyoung, you had open way too many bottles, trying to forget.

The dizziness of the alcohol started to take over you, you fell asleep on the couch. But when your mind started to drift to dream, you heard a knock at your front door. Annoyed, you didn't answer, after all if somebody needed to talk to you they could have just text you. But the sounds grew louder so you got up to open.

Just to find out that it was Doyoung, you looked at him and rolled your eyes, closing the door right away just for him to block it strongly, storming inside .

"What the fuck doyoung, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE" you yelled, trying to push him but to no avail.

Your behavior was surprising him, when you two had an argument you would yell at each but never push you or curse. And ho and did this behavior annoyed him, when he eyed the room he found the empty bottles giving a reason to justify your behavior.

He tried to talk but all that you were doing was yelling back at him but that's when he grabbed you by your shoulders and yelled you to shut the fuck up that you got back to your senses.

Looking at him with big doe eyes, you stared at his features in shook, you noticed his messy hair, his lips bitten from the anxiousness, his eyes red and swollen from al the tears that drown. You relaxed, now feeling guilt form in the pit of your stomach, wondering how did you got here, what happened , wha- you got out of you thoughts whenyou felt his lips on yours. You reciprocated it never living his lips as he made you jump in his arm to moveto the bedroom

You dont know if it was the effect of the alcohol but you needed this, you needed his lips to consume you.

As you reached the bed, he leaned over you and his lips immediatly latched on your neck, sucking, biting and licking at the flesh. He gave your skin a harsh nip " ah fuck doyoung it hurts" he just chuckled and continued what he was doing, never paying attention to your hissing sounds when he bit down too harshly untill you swore at him. He tsked

"what a bad girl, talking to me like that, dont you have manners baby? should I teach you some?" he said smirking, taking in the sight of you trying to put in a strong facade, as if his words didn't affect you.

You opened your mouth to speak but before you could even let a word out he cut you off

"shut that pretty mouth of yours before I put it to good use, hmm"

you nodded, he grabbed your throat, silently asking you to correct your answer if you didn't want to be in trouble, as if you weren't already

"yes , Doyoung"

"it's sir to you"

“yes , sir “ you answered

He smiled and whispered in your ear“now tell me baby, where do you hide your toys”

you gestured him for the closet , he immediatly left your body to go find a box full of toys from your past experiences, but what caught his eyes the most were the nipple clamps.

Therefore, he attached this lips to your breasts, paying close attention to your nipples, he sucked the buds in his mouth, his warm breath engulfing the area before it suddenly has been replaced by the coldness of the metal of the nipples clamps, making you whine in both pain and pleasure as he pulled a few times on them before gesturing you to mive on all four in front of him.

He was now rubbing his hands on the back of your thighs and ass, making the anticipation build up in you, a mischievious smirk plastered on his face

"You were a very bad girl earlier and bad girls get punished, tell me kitten, how many spanks should Igive you?

You didn’t answer , you didn’t know how far he could go , or what would he decide to do so you opted to stay silent.

“no answer? I guess I can choose then , how generous of you kitten”

he slapped your ass “I’ll give you 40″ he said starting to hit your skin.

Your breath itched both in fear and anticipation of what was coming, you knew you would be a mess by the end of it and Doyoung was proudly smirking from behind you , enjoying the way the skin was already reddening at the 5th hit.

The more he spanked you, the more it was hard for you to contain your moans, your skin was bruised already from the force of his slapps and you had tears rolling down your cheeks. Every hit sending a sharp tingle all over your body. You had your wetness leaking down your thighs, the pleasureable pain so intense,It felt like you were at it for hours and yet just a few minutes at the same time

Suddenly he stopped and your body tensed at what he was about to do next, unable to predict his next move.

“how many spanks di you had yet?

you started to panick, your heart raced in your chest and your mind was forming only incoherent thoughts. In ahurry you said “26″ just speaking out loud the first number that came to your mind.

a spank

“wrong answer, that's too bad kitten, you were almost done, I’ll give you 3 more for not adressing me correy and 3 other more for not paying attention”

And with this being said his assault on your ass continued. The last hits were deadly, you were sweating and crying, your lip bitten raw almost drawing blood at the pleasure mixed with the pain.

Then he reached the 44th spank , he pulled you onto his lap , kissing your forehead and wipping off your tears while rubbing soft circles on your back as he already missed the way his hand landed harshly on your bruised skin and the pained sobs emaning from you.

Being this close to what you wanted the most from him made your insides ache, despite the burning feeling on your bottom you swirled your hips on his bulge, making it poke at your entrance.

“wanna ride me kitten?” he asked and you nodded, settling youself over his hard cock and sinking down on it, slowly at first to het acutumised but your hips smaked down on his as he bringed you down harshly, the raw skin of your bottom colliding with his naked thighs.

“come on kitten, fuck yourself on my cock”

You started off slowl, still in pain from the eariwr punishment but it wasn’t much to Doyoung’s liking as he took hold of your hips and growled. At the force of the thrust you leaned your head in the crook of his neck as he fucked up into you, letting desperate moans and enjoying the feeling of his length rubbing against your walls with our hips smacking against his untill you came, burning the skin of your ass even more. Yet he didn’t stop his movements, bringing you past the point of oversensitivity as he emptied himsef inside you, his cum leaking out of you.

Coming down from your high you muterred against his neck sleepily, your orgasm had knocked all the air out of your lungs

“that was amazing”

“ho, you really think we were done?” he groaned.

#kpop #kpop smut #smut #nct #nct smut #doyoung #doyoung smut #nct doyoung #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct 127 doyoung #nct 127 doyoung smut #requested #nct scenarios #idol x reader #nct imagines #nct doyoung smut

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cyberlifebf · 5 years ago

Text

Us, interrupted (Connor x reader) (Pt. 2)

Note: Tumblr erased all the text post from the previous post. Now I must repost and pray it doesn’t happen again. 🙃🙃🙃

Description: Connor asks to sneak off while things are slow at the office.

(Female reader/she/her pronouns) (Connor is deviant, clearly).

Tags: Romance, some humor, S M U T.

First part here. They’re in no particular order.

Enjoy. Feedback is welcomed!

———

The small cafe section of the station was empty. You were pleased with that. No waiting in line for the cheap coffee that was beginning to taste like water at this point. Caffeine just wasn't cutting it these days. Or maybe it was the quality. Who knew.

You press the little yellow button, watching it flash blue as it began brewing on the highest setting, then you rest against the corner sleek counters; relishing in the silence, you could drift off, just standing here. Listening to the buzz, it was the only moment of pea-

"(Y/n)," Connor's voice startles you out of your daydream, you stand on edge, watching as he gently shut the door behind him.

"I'm getting coffee," you explain lazily as you turn for the short ceramic mug near the sizzling machine. "Tell whoever's looking for me that they can wait." you couldn't be gone for even a second it seemed, even on a slow day.

"I was searching for you," he says as you reach into the lower cabinet for something to add to the steaming cup. You fetch around the boxes of packaged sugar, annoyed that no one filled up the empty bowl by the machine.

"For what?" there hadn't been any urgent cases. Surprisingly. You pondered on what he could possibly be referring too; you stir sugar in your coffee now, watching the specks dissolve into nothing. The scent going from bitter to sweet.

"I was wondering if you'd be interested..in something," his tone was unreadable; he crossed the short distance between you two, the material of his uniform was almost against your back with his choice of proximity. You could hear Hank scolding him for it.

But this was different. There was no need for him to be so close.

"Connor, what are you getting at?" you turn in the enclosed space, facing him. Before you could open your mouth again, he kisses you.

Your eyes fly open as your hands fall to your sides in shock. Connor presses his lips harder against yours, your mind raced against your skull, you really hoped no one would stumble upon this.

"We're in public," you pull away. "Are you crazy?"

"No one is around," Connor explains softly, looking at you as if you should go along with this. "I thought you'd be-"

"Willing to lose my job?" you interrupt him, sliding away from the corner of the counters. "Not a chance," you turn from him, hoping to hide the redness that was undoubtedly heating your cheeks.

"You won't give me ten minutes?" Connor insists. "If we're quick, I'm certain we won't get caught,"

"What's gotten into you lately?" you shake your head at him. "If you think seducing me here is gonna work," you laugh slightly, grabbing the cooled down coffee as you pass him—"you'll have to try a lot harder than that,"

"One chance," Connor insists again. You stop in your tracks. Pondering for a moment, you knew the next hour or so would be spent typing away at your keyboard and refilling the same cup of coffee.

"Ten minutes," you repeat.

———

"You're sure we won't get caught?" you question him as he deems the break room as under construction; locking the heavy door, your heart was pounding as he looked at you.

"There's always a chance I suppose," Connor's words weren't exactly what you wanted to hear. But you were already knee deep in this. "I highly doubt it," he adds.

Your nerves only eased when Connor kisses you, the bliss only excited you more. He sat you on the flat couch, furthering the kiss tenderly; he was soft to the touch, his hand landing on your left thigh, his index finger dangerously grazed along the hem of your pencil skirt.

"We only have so much time," you remind him as you pull away. "Hurry Connor,"

Connor complies with a nod, he grabs your thigh now; squeezing gently, you tug on his collar and force him on top of you. A smile on your lips as he gives you a perplexed look.

He began peppering hard kisses along your neck, whilst one handing your blouse; practically tearing apart the buttons along the front—he used his other hand between your thighs. The dual sensations left your limbs sparking like fire; you arched up against him; running your fingers through his hair.

You held onto his shoulders as he kissed you again, he led this time; it was hot. The need he kissed you with drove you up the wall. Connor brushed his tongue against yours, he kept his eyes halfway open; watching your reactions vary.

"Touch me," you beg, undoing his uniform; you moved with urgency, wanting him bad. Far worse than you'd anticipated.

He wasted no more time. Taking both hands, he yanks your panties down, stopping mid-thigh. Just enough for access.

"Oh my god," you curse as his hand disappears under your skirt; he lets out the shortest of moans as he slid his middle finger in.

"You're so warm," Connor observes, his tone technical and breathy at the same time. He held himself up by grabbing onto the arm of the couch where you rested your head—his pace gradually quickening.

"Keep going, please," you beg once more, feeling him go quicker. He was much more attentive than any human you'd been with. Which was surprising coming from an android programmed to fight crime.

Connor could hear the delight in your moans with each brush of his finger; he wanted more of you, but knew time was running out. It was getting increasingly hard not to give in.

He runs his tongue along the tops of your breasts, the warmth was toe curling—"I'm close," you warn, how his wrist moved; it fed the flame at the pit of your stomach.

"Yes," you whisper against his ear as he began leaving gentle bites along the curve of your neck; your lingering perfume stung his mouth, your moans vibrated against his cheek—"Connor.." you call out. "You're gonna make me.." your voice fades out into a soft sound; interrupted by another warm mouthed kiss.

It'd been way passed ten minutes by the time you were straddling him, your blazer thrown about, along with your cream blouse and matching bra.

You had his coat and undershirt undone, your hands roam his chest with familiarity; Connor enjoyed this, how you marveled at his body. Kissing him with more fervor than the last.

One of the times he felt human were times like this; one of the most human feelings. The warmth and passion you two shared, eased his ever questioning mind.

"It's been well over ten minutes," Connor protests whilst allowing you to undo his pants; he couldn't take it much more—he needed you, the feeling built up in his chest; clouding his better judgement.

"And we haven't been caught," you kiss the tip of his nose, making him breathe out in a short laugh, he aids you in the removal of his pants.

Then it hit him.

A new case rolls in, disrupting every sense in his being.

"Wh..what's wrong?" you sit up when Connor takes hold of your wrists.

"An urgent case," Connor says firmly, standing and quickly redoing his uniform. "This'll have to wait,"

———

"Connor where the fuck have you been?" Hank stands from his desk. "We just got a hit for a big drug bust—" Hank pauses as Connor came closer, his coat was open, some buttons askew.

"Is that...lipstick?" Hank asks, seeing the faint red smudged on his mouth; Connor's eyes widen at the question. "Jesus Christ," Hank pinches the bridge of his nose. "You got it all over your neck and face too," Hank says through his teeth, searching Connor with annoyance. "You look like a washed up clown,"

"What do I do?" Connor asks, rubbing his lips with his hand.

"Go to the goddamn bathroom and clean up," Hank sighs, waving Connor off. "If Fowler saw you like that he'd kick my ass,"

———

#i am so pissed at tumblr #deadass #connor dbh #connor dbh imagines #connor x reader #connor x reader smut #dbh smut #dbh connor #rk800 #connor rk800 #smut #connor detroit: bh #detriot: become human #detroit become human #rk800 x reader #hank dbh

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nutbrain · 5 years ago

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Siegemas Day 1

Prompt: “Did you break into my house??” “You refused to put up any Christmas decorations! What choice did I have?”

A Smoke/Mute holiday fic :)

Thanks @dualrainbow for putting this event on and thank you @thedragonsarealive for beta-ing

(tumblr mobile doesn’t want to let me add a read more, so my apologies)

A loud thump pulled Mute out of a deep sleep, waking him with a start as his eyes flew open and breath caught in his throat. He waited a moment in the darkness, trying to discern if the sound came from within his apartment or one of the surrounding ones. He sat up, still listening as his heart hammered in his ears, almost certain the sound came from within his flat given how close it had sounded. A muttered curse drifted into his bedroom and Mute knew whoever it was was in his flat. He slid open his night table drawer as quietly as possible, pulling out the handgun he’d hidden there. Mute checked the clip and loaded a bullet into the chamber before clicking the safety off and moving to stand near the bedroom door. He was about to exit when he thought better of it, pulling out his phone and sending a text to Sledge.

‘Someone in the apartment. Going to investigate.’

Sledge lived close enough to be here in a few minutes, which would be enough time to confront whoever was in his front room. He could hear them moving around, rattling with something every so often. Mute cracked his door, peering down the dark hallway. Occasionally, the beam of a flashlight would whip around the room. Mute’s eyes narrowed; whoever this was had picked a poor house to rob.

Mute slid out of the bedroom, checking back down the hall towards the bathroom and finding no one. He stuck close to the wall, one hand on the gun the other reaching out towards the light switch. Closer, closer….there.

The lights flicked on as he swung around the wall and into the room, hands coming up with the gun, accompanied by a shout of “don’t move, hands in the air!”. The figure jumped sky high, dropping the rope that had previously been in his hands while he flung them up in the air. Mute felt his phone buzz in his pocket as he tried to calm his heart.

“What do you think you’re doing in here?” The figure squirmed under Mute’s hard tone, glancing over his shoulder.

“Awww, babe. Is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?” He asked with a nervous snicker. Mute blinked, lowering the weapon as Smoke turned to face him. He was wearing a ridiculous looking headlamp, which almost distracted Mute from the fact that he was dressed in a garish Christmas sweater displaying Santa doing his best rendition of the rope stunt from Mission Impossible. Mute glanced around, taking note of several boxes of ornaments, a lopsided tree, and lengths of lights that he had originally mistaken for something more nefarious.

“Did you break into my house?” He didn’t remember giving Smoke a key.

“You refused to put up any Christmas decorations! What choice did I have?” Smoke asked, waving his hands in the air. Mute shook his head, flicking the safety back on his gun before setting it on the table next to him.

“I told you—“

“Yes, yes. Inefficient use of electricity and fire hazard. Blah, blah, blah. You need a little Christmas cheer in your life.” Smoke rolled his eyes dramatically, setting back to his task of stringing lights on the tree.

“You could have been shot.” Mute tried sternly, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Not to mention you scared the daylights out of me.”

“I might have knocked the tree over on myself when I tried to string the top. Maybe you can help me, mate?” Mute continued to frown until Smoke pouted, pretending to be unable to reach the top. With a sigh he walked over, knowing full well if he didn’t want James breaking and entering every night until Christmas, so he might as well give in.

“Oh, look, mistletoe! How’d that get there?” Mute looked up. Sure enough, stuck to the ceiling with what looked to be a dart was a sprig of mistletoe. The dart’s hold was precarious at best, looking to be barely stuck into the stucco above.

“How many tries did that take you in the dark?” Mute could only imagine what would have happened if that ricocheted back into Smoke’s eye.

“First try, luv. Now kiss me.” Smoke tugged on Mute’s pajama shirt, coming up in his tiptoes to complete the Christmas tradition. It was at that moment the sound of wood violently splintering thundered through the apartment. Both jumped as the front door was kicked in, a very angry Scot framed by the remnants of wood, brandishing a shotgun. Both Mute and Smoke jumped, the shorter man gripping his heart. The shaking of the walls dislodged the dart, and it dropped, the back of it pelting Mute in the top of the head.

“What the fu— what are you doing Sledge!?” A moment of panic rose in Smoke, before he realized who was at the door, quickly transitioning back to his usual smug self. “It was unlocked you know.”

“Did you find who broke in, Mark?” Asked the Scot as he too relaxed a bit as well, stepping past the remnants of the door swinging on its hinges and splinters littering the floor at Mute rubbed at the new sore spot on his head.

“Oh yes. Sorry about waking you. Turns out it was just this idiot breaking in to decorate.” Mute dropped that hand scrub at his tired eyes, contemplating the best way to explain this to his landlord and the neighbors.

“You really weren’t going to decorate?” Sledge asked, eyebrows pulling into a frown as he scanned the apartment. Mute shook his head. “You’ve been hanging around Thatcher too much.”

And with that, Sledge placed down his shotgun on the adjacent kitchen counter and attempted to piece the door back together, quickly giving up with a small apology. The Scot made a call to Thatcher, letting him know what the situation was and assuring him that yes, Mute was fine and no, he had not shot Smoke, much to Thatcher’s feigned disappointment. An invite to help was extended now that they were all awake, although if it were up to Mute, everyone would just go home and sleep.

No fewer than three neighbors poked their head in while Sledge was making that call, with Smoke (unhelpfully) telling each one of them that someone had broken in and kicked the door down. Only one questioned the order of the wording, but Mute shooed them off in his usual brisk manner, knowing he was about to become the talk of the building. Again.

Finally finished with his call, Sledge assessed the room before setting about helping Smoke unpack the decorations he’d brought, despite Mute’s best protests. With a grumpy, resigned sigh, he retreated to the kitchen, putting the kettle on and stewing in his emotions. Within ten minutes, they had a fourth visitor as Thatcher arrived, a bottle of whisky and a tree topper in his hands.

“Maggie, you came!” Smoke crowed, ushering him in and clearing a spot for the older SAS to stand and hand off ornaments. Smoke smiled and winked at Mute, waving him over to sit and enjoy the conversation. Mute responded by flipping him the bird, but approached nonetheless after pouring another cup of tea.

Mute would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy their playful bickering, Smoke arguing that red and green was the only proper color scheme while Thatcher assured him that silver and gold was superior. Sledge took over the taller portions of the tree, saving Smoke from once again toppling the tree over (though with Mute awake to watch, he wouldn’t have minded seeing a repeat performance of what had woken him up). Finally, everything was coming together, Thatcher, who was now a tad tipsy, insisted Mute do the honors of placing the star atop the tree. He cheered loudly as it happened, Smoke telling him he was so proud and Sledge asking if that was so hard. With the work completed, Smoke decided he was owed a mistletoe kiss still, much to the others' chagrin.

Eventually the conversation gave way to sleepy yawns as the night progressed. With the decorations hung and the whisky almost gone, Thatcher and Sledge left, Smoke and Mute bidding them so long. Smoke, clearly not wanting to leave, puttered around the tree, making small adjustments to the tinsel and lights while Mute flopped down on the couch in exhaustion. The main room lights were flicked off and Smoke curled into Mute’s side moments later, humming in contentment. The two sat and stared at the tree as it twinkled, soft red and green glow cast across the wall.

“I’ll take that risk, babe.” Came the reply, voice just as sleepy.

They fell asleep like that, lights softly flickering, tinsel glimmering, and door hanging askew, wrapped comfortably in each other’s arms.

#r6s #rainbow six siege #r6s mute #r6s smoke #r6s sledge #r6s thatcher #I’m weak for these two #happy siegmas y'all #Siegemas2019

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thefallennightmare · 5 years ago

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Soldat [1/10]

Paring: Bucky Barnes x Reader and Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: language, angst, fluff, violence, smut(eventually)

Summary: Captain America and Reader have worked together at SHIELD for over a year. What happens when they have a run in with The Winter Solider and Steve finds out the secret Reader had been hiding from him all this time?

A/N: Alright here is chapter one finally! Tumblr decided to be stupid and delete it. This series will take place during The Winter Soldier and I’m not quite sure how long it will be. So strap in ladies and gents! It’s going to be a crazy ride!

A soft breeze came through the curtains in my living room as my eyes scanned the same sentence in the book that was placed in my lap. The sentence that I had reread four times now. Closing the book with a groan, I set it on the other end of the couch and grabbed my phone from the coffee table in front of me.

No new messages.

I pocketed my phone while pulling my bottom lip between my teeth. Worry etched in my bones as I realized that I hadn’t heard from Steve in over 48 hours. He never went that long without sending some kind of message back to me. It was supposed to be a simple “save the hostages from a ship in the middle of the ocean. It’ll take a day tops.” Steve words. So here I was, two days later wondering what the hell went wrong.

“Stupid ankle,” I cursed my sprained ankle as it was the reason I couldn’t go on the current mission.

I had tweaked it a few weeks back and Steve wanted to make sure it was 100% before going back in the field. No matter how hard I tried to convince him I was fine, Steve could tell in the small limp that I was lying.

I’d been on Team Captain America for almost a year now, Nick recruiting me because of my background. Three years on New York Swat and almost five as a secret agent for the FBI. There was more to my past, what helped mold me into the agent I was today but that was a part of my life that I kept hidden from everyone, including Steve. There was a time in my life where I was at my lowest and darkest however, as much as that moment in my life caused me many emotional and permanent scars, I don’t think I would be where I was today.

My finger ran over a small scar on my wrist as I thought back to that time, years ago, and my skin quivered as those memories came back. A dark, cold room with only one bed and the looming fear of when the next time would be when I would see him; would it also be the last time? Would my end be near?

“Christ, I haven’t thought of him in years.” I shuttered, pushing those thoughts away and tried to think of Steve.

In the year that I had been working side by side with him, Steve and I had become incredibly close. Soft touches, hushed conversions just between the two of us, and stares that never went unnoticed. We weren’t official, afraid of it getting in the way of work so we would never make it past first base; hell we never even made it close to first base.

Tired eyes read the clock that hung above the fireplace and a soft sigh left my lips. Calling him would be a waste of time because I knew he never kept his phone on him while on the field, it always stayed on the jet, so I decided to send him a text.

I should have figured it would take you longer than a day without me.-Y/N.

I didn’t even have a chance to set my phone down because a few seconds later it was buzzing and Steve’s face appeared on my screen, indicating he was face timing me.

“Thank god I actually look somewhat decent,” I muttered before hitting the green button, accepting the call.

Steve’s bright smile warmed my heart as I took in his appearance. Soot covered his forehead and chin, his typically styled hair was a mess, almost falling in his eyes as those tired blue eyes stared at me.

“Hi,” I breathed.

“Hey yourself. What time is it there?” Steve questioned.

I looked at the clock before my gaze rested back on Steve. “Just past 6 in the morning. How’d the mission go?”

Steve leaned back in the chair of the jet and ran a hand over his face, unbeknownst to him smearing the soot over his face. I suppressed a giggle, not wanting to let him know.

“You’re cleared to go back on duty. Starting three days ago.”

“I told you! We could have been finished days ago and you wouldn’t have needed me to water your plants.” I joked.

Steve shot up. “You have been watering them, right?”

The seriousness in his voice made me roll my eyes.

“Oh my god, grandpa. Yes, I did water your plants. You know, I forget that you’re 95 years old then you act like that and suddenly it all comes back.” I said with a small smile.

“You love me,” Steve gave me a smug smile.

My heart flipped. You have no idea.

“So when are you going to be back?” I changed the subject.

“The jet is landing at SHIELD in a few hours. I have to do a few errands but then I’m all yours,” the softness in his smile warmed my heart.

“The usual?” I asked.

“I’ve called in the pizza. It should be ready to go by seven.”

“I’ll bring the beers then,” I smiled

Every time we complete a mission, Steve and I would meet at his place for pizza and beers. It had been our tradition for the past year, no one else from the team joining.

Just us.

Steve’s lips moved as he was about to say something but a certain redhead appeared from behind him, coming into view.

“NAT!” I yelled, “I miss you!”

Her smile mirrored my own.

“You are forbidden from ever taking leave again. This one almost forgot his shield.” Natasha pointed at Steve.

“I did not!” He defended.

“Oh Stevie, what would you do without me?” I cooed and noticed his cheeks burned red.

We stared at each other for a few seconds and if feeling some type of tension between us, Nat shook her head before ruffling Steve’s hair.

“You’ve got something on your face.”

Steve looked closer into his phone and I swore, his cheeks were a deep crimson now.

“You let me talk to you like this the entire time?” Steve questioned, quietly thanking Nat who gave him a towel.

I shrugged. “I thought it was a cute look.”

“Maybe if you stopped giving Y/N bedroom eyes, you would have noticed how dirty you were,” Natasha teased.

“Nat!” I scoffed, feeling some warmth spread to my stomach.

“What?”, she shrugged, “Someone has to call him out.

Shaking my head with a laugh, I gave them a small wave goodbye and told Steve I would see him later.

I ended the phone call with a sigh and felt excitement spread through my veins as the thought of being alone with Steve kept creeping in the back of my mind.

“Where the hell are you Rogers,” I grumbled as I checked my phone for the fifth time since arriving at his apartment twenty minutes ago.

I had called and texted him wondering when he would be home but was met with silence. My fingers slid over his door frame before peaking under the doormat hoping to find a spare key but nothing.

“You’re damn lucky you’re cute,” I cursed when I checked my phone yet again.

“Talking to yourself?”

Spinning on my heels towards the voice, my heart leaped when I saw Steve ascend the staircase, wearing the brown leather jacket that looked so good on him. He had the box of pizza in one hand and was messing with his keys in the other.

“I left my spare key at home. You should really leave another one somewhere.” I noted.

“I do,” he nodded towards his neighbor across the hall, “Kate has one.”

“Oh,” I sighed.

As if the Gods’ wanted to torture me more with the thought of Steve’s neighbor across the hall, she came out from her apartment. Adjusting the laundry basket on her hip, she smiled towards Steve.

Jealous eyes watched as they chatted, Steve flirting almost effortlessly with her. She giggled at a lame joke he told and I scoffed crossing my arms over my chest. My shoulders slouched in anger when Steve invited her over to join us.

“I don’t want to impose,” she looked between Steve and I.

Steve quickly shook his head. “No, we’re just friends.”

My heart dropped to my stomach. “Yeah, friends.”

“Maybe next time. I’ve got a load in the wash.”

Steve agreed to the next time and I had to turn away as he hugged Kate.

“You could have been a little nicer to her,” Steve asked as he leaned against his door.

“I’ve been waiting almost a half hour for you. I’m tired and hungry so sorry I didn’t feel like being friendly,” I snapped but immediately apologized when I saw the hurt flash across his face.

“It’s been a really long day,” I sighed while pinching my eyes shut.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Steve pulled me into his chest and left a soft kiss to the top of my head. “I’m sorry I’m late. I was visiting a friend at the V.A center.”

My brows rose. “The V.A center?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah, Sam. I met him a few days ago. He’s nice, I can set you up with him if you want?”

“No thanks,” I scrunch my face, “I can find a guy by myself.”

“How’s that working out for you?” Steve joked.

Scoffing, I gave him a slight push and I nodded towards the door. “My pizza is getting cold.”

He laughed but his body froze leaning an ear against the door.

“What?” I questioned.

“My record player is on.” Steve glanced over to me.

I leaned my ear against the door but shook my head, “I don’t hear anything.”

“You don’t have super soldier hearing,” Steve teased. “Did you leave it on?”

“I swear I turned it off when I left the other day.” I promised.

Getting into Captain America mode, Steve shielded me as he slowly unlocked the door, pushing it open. I slipped my knife out of my boot as I followed close behind. The music vibrated off the walls as Steve grabbed his shield from its place on the wall. The knife flipped in my fingers with ease as we reached the living room and saw the slouched figure sitting in the chair.

Nick Furry.

“I don’t remember giving you a key,” Steve sighed while leaning against the wall.

“Did you really think I would need one?,” Nick defended while sitting up, “My wife kicked me out.”

“I didn’t know you were married,” I admitted.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Nick admitted.

“I know, Nick. That’s the problem,” Steve declared while turning on the light.

Goosebumps pricked my skin when I took in Nick’s appearance. He had a giant gash to the side of his head and blood was dripping down onto Steve’s chair. I wanted to ask what happened but he held up a finger to silence me while he turned off the light. Nick typed a message into his phone before showing us.

Ears everywhere.

Steve and I shared a look before our eyes glanced around the apartment. Steve tensed up next to me, the anger of being watched rose from within and he cursed under his breath. All of his private moments suddenly weren’t so private anymore.

“I’m sorry to do this but I had no other place to crash,” Nick showed us a new message on his phone.

Shield Compromised.

“What the fuck,” I cursed.

“Who else knows about your wife?” Steve continued to play along, in case it was true that his apartment was bugged.

Nick stood with a groan and limped over to us, clutching his side. “Just my friends.”

Just us. The new message on his phone read.

Steve scoffed. “Is that what we are, Nick?”

“Steve,” I warned, “Now isn’t the time for whatever beef you have with him.”

“That’s up to you,” Nick admitted.

The floor beneath our feet shook as a scream erupted from my throat when the wall behind Nick exploded in gunfire. Steve grabbed my waist and pulled me into his chest as we watched in horror as Nick’s limp body fell to the ground.

“What the fuck?!” I yelled.

“Get away from the window!” Steve demanded, pulling Nick’s body in the hallway with us.

He went to look out the window to see if he was able to see the shooter but Nick grasped his arm stopping him.

He opened his hand and a hard drive sparkled from the light outside.

“Don’t. Trust. Anyone.” Nick sputtered before passing out.

“Steve, what the hell is going on?” My voice quivered with fear.

Before Steve could answer, his front door busted open and Kate walked in, gun armed and aimed.

“Captain Rogers, I’m Agent 13, Shield Special Service.” Kate said walking further into Steve’s apartment.

“Kate? What the hell are you doing here?” I questioned.

“I’ve been assigned to protect Steve,” She defended.

“On whose order?” Steve snapped.

Kate set her gun down before nodding towards Nick. “His.”

Steve and I shared a look and giving him a slight nod, I turned my attention towards Kate. “You should call it in, Agent.”

“Foxtrot is down and unresponsive. I need EMT’S.” Kate ignored me as she talked into the radio.

“Do we have a twenty on the shooter?””

Steve peaked around the corner and grabbed my hand, pulling me with him. “Tell them we’re in pursuit.”

Not asking any questions, I let Steve wrap his arm around my waist as we ran through the window, literally, and felt the ground vanish beneath our feet. Glass shattered around us as we landed hard on the floor of the building across the street.

“Ow, that’s gonna leave a mark,” I groaned rising to my feet taking off in a chase after the shooter.

Steve was just a few paces ahead of me while the shooter was on the roof above us, his heavy footsteps echoing through the empty offices. Steve busted through doors and glass windows, making it easier for me to keep up with him.

“There has to be a staircase to the roof somewhere!” I yelled before I watched through the window in front of us as the shooter jumped down onto the roof of the building in front.

“We’re going through the window, aren't we?” I semi whined.

“Yup!”

Suddenly, Steve barreled his way through the window rolling onto his knees and threw his shield at the shooter. The broken glass crunched beneath my boots as I came to a sudden halt when my eyes landed on the man who had caught Captain America’s shield mid throw.

Long brown locks.

Blue eyes.

A metal arm.

My mouth ran dry while my hands shook, unable to move out of the way as the shield came flying back towards me. Ears rang in silence as the blood drained from my face, memories of that same metal arm slamming into me like a brick wall. The same man that I thought of earlier for the first time in years was standing right in front of me, in the flesh.

“Y/N!”

Steve’s voice brought me back as I fell to the ground with his body on mine. With the shield gripped tight in one hand, his other gently cupped my cheek. Steve pulled my face to look into his eyes however, I couldn’t focus. I ignored the feeling that took over my body when Steve pressed his hips into mine, unknowingly, and licked my dry lips.

My past life had just barreled into me; a private part of my life that absolutely no one knew about and suddenly, I was very terrified of them finding out.

#Steve Rogers #captain america #Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #steve rogers and reader #the winter solider x reader

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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 5 years ago

Text

We. (Brujay fanfic) Part 1/4

Summary :

Alpha and Omega, more of a curse than a second gender. Theorized to be the nature’s solution of human’s close brush against extinction hundreds of thousands of years ago. It’s truly a blessing that their population is near extinction, not more than 5% of the total. The percentage of them meeting is slim to none. Yet here they are.

Word count : 1.3 k

Note : it's been a long time since I posted anything. To be fully honest, this is the first fic that i'm not sure whether to post or not bcs i'm not happy with it when posting. But I just feel like there's no room to grow this anywhere, and it's completely done. So...Enjoy?

Part 2

Click link to read on AO3

Click keep reading to read on tumblr~

Bruce has a secure private line created especially to connect through Jason’s. That flip phone has no contacts, and only the same set of numbers ever flashed on the outside screen. A Motorola flip phone with a monochrome graphic. They went great lengths to have this method of communication separated from their work, their families, and their intruding night time associates.

The security and secrecy take intricate design, but what they have is simple.

What they knew are crucial, and yet so easily contained.

Inside the text is a location and time, sent over an hour ago. In an hour and one minute, Bruce sent back the exact text message. Anything earlier means he won't be there.

Right on the edge of Gotham. Tight slums and abandoned buildings tower tightly. But one among many is not like the other. For one, access to an underground bomb shelter for the rich and has been long forgotten, abandoned since world war two. Its records, -a floor plan on a piece of paper signed by the government- doesn’t exist at the Records of Deeds. Bruce doesn’t know what happened to it, but he does have a concrete hint who might have it.

The building above the shelter had been inhabitable for ten years. Only roaches and rats as big as your biceps roams around and called it homes. Unlike the bunker that’s been revamped into something else. Batman slips to the underground floor from the long broken lift. A secret entrance triggered by messing around the elevator button that seemed to rust and long gone. A hatch opened under Batman’s feet, too small to fall in, but big enough for him to shimmy down.

The small tunnel ends on the rooftop of a wide but short corridor. Its blue light gave him an empty feeling. Even after a few seconds, Batman’s heavy drop still echoes. The corridor is less of a path and more like a rectangle box. Unlike the building on top of it, it’s clean, almost eerily spotless, and Batman with all the darkness of him is like a speck dirt in the middle of it.

Batman takes off his heavy and armored gloves, revealing the prim and manicured hand fit of Bruce Wayne the quirky playboy billionaire, Gotham’s darling. He presses his hand on a wall exactly 10 centimeters off the room’s center, pressing on it exactly 10 seconds before pulling it away.

The wall behind him opens from an invisible seam, another hallway deeper where he’ll finally reach the bunker.

The enforced door at the end of this second hall opened. Another seamless wall, a short and dead-ended room. Bruce takes off his cowl, stands with feet shoulder length apart, facing the wall and pressed both hands on the wall, shoulder-length from each other. The wall glows a faint green light, a small dent in the front of his eyes glares laser that scans through his face. That one is new, but he goes along with it. All this for the prize in the room behind the wall.

The final door opens, with it, a gush of cold refreshing wind brushed against his skin, leaving warm pleasurable shivers down his spine. He takes in a deep breath, smelling intently the scent of faint jasmine, a strong smell of cedarwood, a hint of lavender, and a tinge of iron and sweat.

Bruce is greeted with a shocking difference between the exterior and the interior. No matter how much he came to this room, he’s never numb to the amusement. A room with pastel walls and the softest carpeted purple floor his feet ever stepped on. It was a bunker that could easily be crammed with a hundred people but originally made for 10 upper-class people to take shelter luxuriously comfortable, now transformed as a room for two.

The room is filled with plushies, cabinets filled with sex toys, soft clothes, and extra pillows. At the end of the room, is a king-sized bed with red silk covers. There, laid the prettiest piece of man that made his Adam's apples bobbed at the sight. Just like him, the man gulps at his appearance. Unlike him, the man is already completely naked.

Bruce takes off his gear, putting them on the compartment that’s open and waiting right beside the door. As his gear put inside, along with another gear that’s already there, the compartment closed. As

The closer he approached, the stronger the man’s scent is. The scent of arousal. The scent of heat coming. So strong that it’s triggering his rut. He feels even his breathing grows heavy.

“If you’re going to walk any slower,” the man sigh, flinching, already in pain as his heat started without any sign of an Alpha in the perimeter, “I’m... going to start without you.”

“I’m sorry I’m late.” Bruce takes off the scent blocker from the flanks of his neck, a thinner than a paper membrane, invisible to the naked eye. When he lets his scent adds to the air, he could see the omega deeply breaths it in like a drug and exhales in a pleasured moan. The most melodic sound that Bruce Wayne had ever heard.

Bruce lands his knee to the plush mattress, hand on the back of the omega’s neck and bare his own for the omega to scent. They stayed a few seconds to take each other’s scent, to calm the omega and give the reassurance of safety.

“I thought you’re taking suppressant,” he asked in worry. For the omega in his arms hates it to the core and their sex always without them.

Not that Bruce minds. Heat sex is said to be the most pleasurable kind. An omega in heat will want you no matter how much the person behind it doesn’t want to. An omega in heat doesn’t have their straight mind to say no. Their body will be punished with pain if no one ‘assisted’ them in their heat. An alpha in a rut doesn’t have the straight mind to say no as well. Their rut came triggered always, over the smell of an omega in heat.

Yet here they are.

“Consider yourself lucky.” The omega smirked, finally taking off his nose from Bruce’s scent glands. “I can’t take the shots forever. Healthwise, I still have to have them once every two years. I knew that the hard way when I first have my heat.”

Bruce felt his blood boil, from the top of his head down to his groin. His nose flared as he takes in his omega’s scent, rich and closing in on a full-blown heat. But he’s just way too angry to enjoy how easy the omega aroused him, with his scent and with the way his body reacted violently on his touch alone.

Without smelling his sweet scent, Bruce can’t imagine ever looking his adopted son is such ways. Supple, endearing, beautiful, with a delicious slick leaking down his carved legs, prepped and ready for mating.

++++++

Heats last for days. The first time Jason revealed he’s an omega, he was in heat, in pain. For once in a long time, Jason needed him. Bruce took that chance. To let himself be the Alpha he had hidden from the world. No one knew about their second gender but each other. Not his other sons, not even his best friend Clark. The days they spent together for days, conversing normally between the calm in his waves of heat, made him remember two years ago where he had done this exact same thing.

In their little bunker, Jason tucked in his arms, as they wait for Jason’s next wave over a movie. Talking about petty topics with light delicate laughs slipping in between.

It’s not usually like this. Their heat less sex more sober and enjoyable as they’re there as themselves, not as a rut ridden alpha, and a lulled omega. Though Bruce is here, no matter what Jason needed from him.

Once in two years, he has an omega. Every once in a while, he has Jason.

+++++

#emocel's #Brujay #brujay fanfic #brujay fanfiction #brujay omegaverse #omega jason todd #alpha bruce wayne

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i-growl-growl-growl · 6 years ago

Note

Could you do a reaction where the boys see that their lover commited suicide because of their acts?

Since the unit for this request isn’t specified, I will go with the 127 members, however, I hit the maximum limit on tumblr for text boxes for this post so Jungwoo to Haechan will be done later if you’d like. Also, if you want the rest of the members (other than 127), feel free to request for more in the future! From what I assume, the “acts” you mention are their yandere deeds. Correct me if I’m wrong!

Sorry if it was really long, I got carried away with a lot of the reactions…especially with WinWin’s…If you don’t mind, I wrote scenarios to go with it!

TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of suicide, blood, self-harm; please do not read if you are uncomfortable with this topic. Please do not be influenced by the character’s decisions in the imagine, this is pure fiction. GRAPHIC!

Taeil

When Taeil came home that evening, he expected to see you, chained to the bed and sleeping alone. But when he soon found that you were nowhere to be seen, he freaked out.

He went out on a rampage, looking in every nook and cranny of the house the two of you shared. You weren’t in the closet, definitely not hiding under the counter, why the hell weren’t you hiding in the pantry like last time?

Suddenly, Taeil snapped to his thoughts. The bathroom.

As he tore though the hallway, Taeil tried to think of all the ways you could’ve escaped from the chains on the bed. Taeil had punished you last night, but he didn’t think it would affect you that badly.

Storming into the bathroom, he saw your unconscious body on the cold tiles. Taeil’s sleeping pills had been scattered everywhere on the floor and you were without a doubt, dead.

Devastated, Taeil tried to shake you awake as if you would open your eyes and laugh at him and say it was a stupid joke. But it wasn’t. This was all real.

Taeil fell to the floor and cried, hugging your corpse like a teddy bear. It was too much for the boy to handle, despite him being the source of your pain.

Many questions ran through his head as he embraced your dead body. How did you escape those chains? How did you find those pills even though he was the only one who knew where they were? Not to mention, those pills were locked up like diamonds in a safe.

Left with questions unanswered, Taeil was confused but beyond heartbroken that he had driven you to your breaking point. But unlike the time you ran away in the mall, you had ran away forever.

Johnny

You had gone missing a few hours ago. It was after Johnny finally agreed to take you to the movies after being well-behaved for the past four months. Of course, he should’ve expected you to use the bathroom excuse and make a run for it outside. Sadly for him, Johnny didn’t think that far ahead and sat in the dark theater, wondering when you would come back. It shouldn’t have taken that long to have changed a pad, right?

Only then did Johnny realize how foolish and stupid he was for letting you go. How far could you have ran away? And how much time did he have left to find you?

Unfortunately for him, the headlines of the newspaper the following day had in bold letters, “Drowned Girl found by the River; Suspected Suicide.” By then, Johnny clutched tighter onto the paper and took a deep sip of the coffee in his hand. Rather than feeling sad, strangely, he felt angry.

He was angry that you didn’t feel fulfilled by his unending love towards you and chose to escape that by following the route of suicide. He was upset that you didn’t even bother to talk to him about your problems, though he never would’ve listened and continued to hurt you. But most of all, Johnny was furious that you thought death was the only way to escape from this love.

How could you have been so cruel to leave him alone? But not all hope was lost; who said death could separate the two of you?

Taeyong

“Y/N! Y/N! Open the damn door!”

You were currently hiding in your room, Taeyong furiously knocking. Your parents had left on a business trip and thought you were old enough to take care of yourself on your own.

Unfortunately for you, a crucial thing your parents didn’t know was your psycho ex-boyfriend, Taeyong, somehow found out with his stalkerish ways and hunted down your location. He had barged in through the window of the second-floor hallway with a small pistol in his hand.

“Y/N! If you don’t open up the damn door, I’ll blow it down myself!”

His yelling was only making the adrenaline in your body accelerate and your heart thumped louder and louder. Any second longer and Taeyong would come in and kidnap you.

Your dignity and survival was at stake. You were sick of Taeyong coming into your life and running it like a madman. Taeyong wasn’t even normal, he was insane!

The long curtains were just at your reach. Grasping onto the thick fabric, you tried to make a rope out of it. If you were going to die, you weren’t going to let Taeyong get to it first!

As Taeyong continued to bang on the door, you threw up your makeshift rope onto the poles of your bed. Thank goodness your parents had insisted on a canopy bed to make your room more “grand”.

Tying the “rope” onto the bed and giving it a firm triple knot, you held your breath as you tied it around your neck. You felt your throat slowly closing up and suffocating you.

Taeyong never blew down the door. He finally punched it open but he was much too late. Your dead body hung up from the curtain rope on full display.

He felt tears spring up to his eyes as the thought of you dead finally struck him. Taeyong walked closer and closer to your hanging corpse. Grabbing your chest, he tried to listen for a heartbeat or a pulse. But alas, he couldn’t find one.

“No…no…NO! Y/N! Please tell me this is some awful trick! You’re not really dead, right? No! Please wake up! I’m sorry!”

Through his quiet sobs, Taeyong fell to his knees, the pistol popping out of his jean pockets and onto the carpet.

“I can’t live without you…”

Yuta

Again. This happened again.

The same creepy letters were coming to your locker. But there wasn’t much that you could do to escape that. You just transferred to this school and your parents (guardians) didn’t want to move again after finally settling into your new home.

There weren’t many suspects that you could rat on. You were the new kid and that kinda meant you were an easy target. You still hadn’t made friends that could’ve supported you through this and track down the stalker.

Weeks went on and the letters became more and more graphic. Eventually, photos of you changing, walking to school, eating at a cafe, or even brushing your teeth were included with each and every one of them! It was a surprise you still hadn’t found out the person considering there was a signature at the bottom of each note.

You fell into great paranoia and depression. It hurt to even move, fearing for your life that the stalked would be there and ready to take a picture and document it on who knows what. What made it the absolute worst though was the threats included at the bottom portion.

If you find out who I am and report me darling, don’t be surprised to attend your mother’s (or guardian’s) funeral.

Love you too,

xoxo N.Y.

N.Y.? There were multiple people with that name. Nina Yoshima. Nicholas Yen. Nancy Yerevas. Noah Yackley. Nathan Yakish. Who on earth was it?

This drove you into a frenzy. Soon, rather than counting down the days for school to end, you counted down the days to die. Why?

You were going to end your life. You had it. This was too much for you and it was becoming so overwhelming. So you did it. When your parents left you on your own for a family emergency, you released carbon monoxide into the air, quickly killing you.

Nakamoto Yuta. The very boy who bestowed this tragic fate unto you. And now he had to pay, seeing the news flash with your suicide all over the headlines. He hadn’t meant for it to go so far like most yanderes, he just wanted your attention and for you to notice him!

He grieved for his mistakes and refused to eat and drink. Locking himself in his room, no one saw him ever again, lounging in the back of the classroom with a juice box in one hand and a pen in the other.

Doyoung

Doyoung had heard about your death through the school’s gossip. He was absolutely heartbroken, knowing that he had crossed the line when he fought with you about your friend group. His jealousy blinded him to the point where he took action; he killed your younger friend Renjun out of rage.

You were terribly upset about that and cursed Doyoung out. For that, he slapped you hard on the face and threatened to shoot you too with the gun in his hand. But to his surprise, you grabbed onto the gun and pulled the trigger. The bullet flew straight into your chest and your white blouse started to stain with the crimson blood.

Collapsing to the floor, Doyoung looked at you in horror. As he stood there, internally panicking, he soon realized that you were mumbling something.

I will never, in all my days, forgive you, Kim Doyoung.

So here he was with his friend Kun, at this cheap frat party. Scratch that, it was Kun’s party and only God knows how wealthy his family actually is. They’re too busy bathing in hundred dollar bills to even keep track of the damn bills!

Even though it was probably the biggest party of the whole school year, Doyoung couldn’t bear to see the drunk boys and girls dancing the night away. He tried to walk out into the balcony, but was faced with a gang of youngsters, smoking some weed. The smell was suffocating and hurt Doyoung’s eyes, so he went to the only place he knew where he could find solace.

The bathroom. Doyoung locked himself up in the cold bathroom. He sat on the toilet and buried his face in his shaking hands. The memories of your suicide haunted him to this day, even though it was over a year ago.

He sobbed and sobbed over and over again. Doyoung called out your name numerous times and screamed out of agony in the bathroom until someone knocked through the door and asked him to shut up.

Doyoung would have one of the hardest times out of all the yanderes to recover from your suicide in my opinion because of his personality. He seems to be a yandere who is sadistic, but a true softie when you actually get hurt. Your death took quite a toll on him…

Jaehyun

Jaehyun had walked into his art studio, ready to paint you again. You were posed on the sofa, lying so still that anyone could’ve mistaken that you were dead.

Only this time you were. You had stabbed yourself to death with the knife Jaehyun had you pose with. So imagine his horror that his art model and lover was dead and surrounded with blood.

But in the beginning, Jaehyun truly believed that someone had broken into the studio and killed you. Because of this belief, he tried to trace down as much evidence as he could, mainly because he didn’t want to think that your suicide was your doing. Jaehyun wanted to hope that rather than it was his fault, it was someone else’s evil deed.

Eventually, Jaehyun gave up and declared to himself that your death was indeed, a suicide. From there, the disasters began.

He didn’t expect you to resort to something so drastic like suicide, especially when the night before, you seemed surprisingly cheery, willing to cook dinner for once rather than mope around in bed. In fact, there was no sign of despair and to any stranger’s eyes, it would seem like you were a loving couple rather than a helpless girl trapped in a relationship with a psychopath.

The shock would consume Jaehyun up and it wouldn’t be until a few days later when he embalmed your body since he didn’t want to bury you that it truly hit him that you were gone.

And to think that it was all his fault that pushed you to the brink of life and death. Jaehyun would be devastated and bedridden with guilt. Even more so, he would be ashamed to feel like he was the very person who took away the girl he wanted all to himself.

During this mourning period, Jaehyun would fall into a great depression. He would take out his anger using his art until it drove him crazy. Jaehyun wouldn’t be able to focus or bear the memories of you dying. So he packed up everything and left the country, off to a new land for adventure and a new life in America.

WinWin

I will use WinWin’s real name (Sicheng) for this reaction as it is much more fitting for the scenario.

Sicheng was the son and heir of a powerful and influential company in Tianjin, China. He was spoiled rotten as a child and was used to having things his way.

So when you entered in the building as a new intern on that fateful day, he was practically bursting with excitement. Sicheng had never been exposed to many people when he was younger and most of the employees working at his father’s company were in their 40′s and 50′s.

Young and fresh-faced, you were a new person and a new friend to Sicheng. You fell for his smooth talk and innocent eyes like any normal girl would. He had his charms and quirks that intrigued you, deeper and deeper into a trap you couldn’t escape.

About two years had passed since the two of you had become couple when Sicheng placed that diamond ring on your finger and asked you to marry him. You, being completely unaware that your sweet and gentle boyfriend would show his true colors later, accepted without hesitation.

It was only on your honeymoon did Sicheng begin to reveal his cruel and manipulative ways as a yandere. He pressured you to always be by his side as he was insecure about his persona and wanted to make sure that you would never leave him.

But this new lifestyle had become unbearable for you. Constantly calling WinWin every hour. Texting him every twenty minutes a long summary of what you did. Mindlessly waiting in your shared room, locked up with a key and the windows shut with steel shutters.

You tried to take every opportunity that came your way to run from his clutches and escape. But he was always two steps ahead of you. He planned out your every move, took your passport, and any possible weapons that you could’ve wielded. Sicheng didn’t even let you cut a damn apple without his supervision. And half the time, he did it himself, afraid that you would hurt him.

Unable to carry the weight of the relationship, you took the route that seemed like the only way out; suicide.

Sicheng had to bring you to banquet outside, much to his dismay. However, this may have been the only way for you to vanish from him for good. So you walked in, ready to inhale the flashing cameras and the reporters shoving microphones in your face, questioning your latest disappearance.

When Sicheng turned his back from you to talk to some of his father’s clients, you made a break for the window. But the champagne you had drank beforehand wasn’t sitting well with you, intoxicating you so you couldn’t think straight.

Rather than finding a height that would be decent to jump from and still live in your six-inch heels, you ran for the balcony on the ninth floor of the hotel. Without a second thought, you threw yourself off the building and smashed onto the concrete, sealing the deal.

The ruckus outside certainly drew some attention on the inside as the reporters clamored in to see what had just happened. And there you were, dripping with blood all over your nice ballroom gown and several broken limbs.

An ambulance was called and Sicheng began to freak out. The next 24 hours was him pleading the doctors to save your life and to do everything they could to help you live, even if it was just a bit longer. But it was no use. You were declared dead as an “accident” until Sicheng’s own mother demanded for an autopsy to find out the truth. She had always known her own son was a bit insane in the head, but the elderly woman felt something sinister was lurking around.

Several weeks later and your apparent “accident” was changed to a suicide after the official autopsy. Signs of trauma and depression were found as investigators dug deeper into the mystery of your sudden death.

All over social media, it was absolute madness. Articles read with Sicheng on the front cover with suspected abuse, finally drawing the attention of the authorities to bring Sicheng into custody. However, with the help of some connections and his great acting, Sicheng managed to be released within a few hours and was “confirmed innocent”.

Surprisingly, your suicide was just as shocking for Sicheng as it was for the media and the people around him. But slowly, after people began to forget about the whole scandal and your death, the Dong’s company was having some peace and quiet.

Yet it wasn’t at all peaceful in Sicheng’s heart. It still didn’t click in his mind that the only reason you jumped off that balcony as a last resort was because of him. He continued to blame your death on well…you.

That still didn’t stop Sicheng from mourning your loss. As much as he hurt you emotionally and mentally, he loved you from the bottom of his heart; he just didn’t know how to express it. His days were soon filled with tears and exhaustion.

_ _ _

And that’s it! I hit the max number of text blocks for the post so I’m sorry about that. I’ll continue on another post if you’d like!

Edit: For some reason the “read more” button after the trigger warning isn’t showing, so I’ll try and get that fixed.