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nastybuckybarnes · 4 years ago

Text

Deep End - Six

Pairing: Dark!Steve Rogers X Reader

Summary: He’s back. After all your best efforts at getting away, he’s found you again. And this time, he’s not letting you go so easily. He’s determined to do whatever it takes to get you to be his. Forever.

Warnings: Dark Themes, Language, Angst, Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 4.6K

A/n: Okie dokie! I’ve got an epilogue planned but I like this. The epilogue will explain shit better but I've known that this would be the end since pretty much the beginning LMAO

Deep End Masterlist

THIS IS A DARK FIC WITH SEXUAL AND TRIGGERING CONTENT!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!! 18+ ONLY!!!

~*~

When Steve hears you stop struggling, stop fighting and stop crying, he’s nervous.

It’s been a while since he locked you up there, and he really should check on you soon, if only to make sure the baby’s okay after that stunt you pulled.

He pushes the door to the bedroom open, eyeing your figure carefully.

You look like you’re asleep. If he wasn't so attuned to your body, your heart and your breathing, he wouldn’t have noticed something’s wrong.

Your heart is beating rapidly, far faster than normal. And it’s weaker than usual.

Your breathing is shallow and strained, and your face is lacking its usual healthy glow.

He rushes to your side, tearing the rope from your wrists and touching your face carefully.

Your skin is hot to the touch, and he feels fear settle in his gut.

He doesn’t know what to do, how to help. He’s never really had to help you like this, the doctor’s always been nearby.

He grabs his phone, calling the doctor and pacing nervously.

“Sh-she’s burning up and her breathing is shallow.”

Steve's stomach drops as he listens to the doctor’s instructions, answers his questions and comes to the realization of why you’re like this.

He rolls you onto your left side, tears welling up in his eyes at how unresponsive you are.

The doctor hangs up after telling the super soldier that he’ll be there soon.

His heart is in his throat as he tries to undo the damage of his punishment, putting the evidence back in the box and kicking the rope under the bed.

You’re still unresponsive, heart weak, but your breath sounds a little less strained.

Monster. That’s what you called him. What Natasha called him and what Bucky’s asset called him.

Maybe you’re right.

But he wants you. He needs you. Giving you up would be giving up a piece of his soul and he’s not ready to do that yet.

~*~

The doctor informs him that both you and the baby are okay, but being on your back for so long was compressing a major vein supplying your baby with oxygenated blood. If he’d gotten there any later it might’ve been too late.

With strict instructions to keep you on your left side and make sure you stay hydrated, the doctor takes his leave.

He stays by your side, holding your hand tightly in both of his as he really comes to terms with the fact that it was entirely his fault. He almost killed you and your baby to prove a stupid point. To discourage you from doing the very same thing.

His heart is heavy in his chest as he listens to your heartbeat get stronger, to the baby’s heartbeat continue fluttering like a hummingbird’s.

Those two sounds bring him peace, if only temporarily.

Shattering his peace is the sound of the front door opening, followed by tiny little footsteps clomping up the stairs.

“Mommy! Mommy!”

Sarah.

Steve shoves himself to his feet and quickly leaves the room just as his daughter tries to enter.

“Sarah, mommy’s sleeping.” She frowns up at him and shakes her little blonde head.

“I need to talk to mommy!”

She walks around his legs only for him to scoop her up in his arms.

“She’s sleeping right now, honey.”

Sarah shakes her head angrily, beating her tiny fists against his shoulders.

“Let me go! I want mommy! Mommy!! Put me down!” She starts shrieking. Full-on screaming bloody murder right in his ear, and he loses his grip on the wriggling child.

She slides out of his arms and runs into the bedroom, climbing onto the bed and shaking your shoulder.

“Mommy?” She’s got little tears on her face, and they don’t cease when you don’t wake up.

“Why won’t mommy wake up?!” She looks up at Steve with terror written on her face and it shatters his heart in his chest.

“Sarah, mommy’s sick, okay? I had the doctor come over and he said that she needs to rest and when she wakes up we’re gonna need to make sure she’s got plenty of water, okay?”

Sarah’s big blue eyes are filled with tears and she shakes her head.

“I want mommy!”

She clings to your torso, crying against your shoulder in fear.

“Sarah, honey, mommy’s gonna be okay. You just gotta give her some space, okay? How about I set up a movie for you?” Sarah sniffles and slowly pulls away from you, looking at her father and shaking her head again.

“I want mommy! I hate you!”

Steve then realizes just how crucial you are. How important you are, not only to him but to his daughter as well.

Losing you would hurt so many people.

“Honey, you gotta give mommy and I some space, okay?”

He picks up the five-year-old, despite her quite literally kicking and screaming, and sets her down outside the bedroom.

He shuts the door quickly and locks it even faster.

Sarah stands outside, wailing her head off and pounding on the door with her tiny little fists.

She cries for you, over and over again, and it breaks Steve’s heart.

He’s brought back to what you said about him. About how this isn’t love.

He sits down at your side again, trying desperately to drown out the sound of his daughter crying outside as his thoughts overwhelm him.

He hasn’t been the nicest to you, that he’ll openly admit, and he makes mistakes probably more often than he doesn’t. But he loves you. He needs you.

Tears well up in his eyes and he lets out a shuddering breath.

He’ll make this right. He has to. Sarah deserves a mother, so does your unborn baby. And -though he may not deserve you- he needs you. The monster will be hard to fight, but losing you will be harder.

The damage he’s done might be irreversible, but he’s gonna do what he can to make things right, to give you a better life.

You don’t wake up for a few hours, but when you do you’re confused.

Your back aches and you feel a little dizzy as you remember what happened, how you got here.

Steve watches as you regain consciousness, confusion pulling your brows together before you slowly open your eyes.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks softly, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles soothingly.

You look up at him then drop your gaze to your belly, bringing your free hand down to rub it gently.

“Am I... are we okay?” He nods gently, tears in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, (Y/n). I was... I don’t know, trying to teach you a lesson. And all that did was hurt you. Hurt the baby. I wanted to show you that trying to hurt yourself and hurt the baby wouldn’t fly, but I ended up doing far more damage.”

You swallow hard and struggle to push yourself into a seated position, wincing at the throb in your head.

“The doctor said that you shouldn’t move too much, and try to stay on your left side when you sleep. I-I didn't know that sleeping on your back was bad.”

You take a deep breath and look up at him, waiting for the anger to take hold in his eyes but it never does.

“I’m sorry for hurting you. For scaring you and not trusting you. I... I lost you for so many years and now I have you back and... I don’t wanna lose you again. But everything I do to try and keep you close, make you mine... all it does is push you further away and I’m sorry.”

His apology takes you by surprise, and you eye him skeptically.

How are you supposed to know if he’s telling the truth?

He drags one of his hands down his face and for a moment you can truly see just how old Steve Rogers is.

The exhaustion of carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders finally shows in the lines near his eyes, the bags beneath them. But what really displays his age is his eyes. They’re so full of trauma and pain and weariness.

For the first time since waking up from the ice, Steve Rogers looks his age.

“I-I’m sorry, too,” you whisper, surprising him.

“I didn’t... I wasn’t thinking. I just... I wanted to punish you for what happened to Natasha. What you did. I wanted you to hurt but I just ended up hurting myself in the process.” You look down at your hands, trying to figure out how you want to phrase what you have to say.

“People argue, Steve. But what you do... it’s beyond that. We’re not... there are so many things wrong with what’s happening between us, what’s happened already, but I can’t leave. Sarah’s too attached and all I want for my little girl is to have a happy life. To have the happiness that was torn from me.”

Guilt settles on his chest, but he lets you continue speaking.

“I want my daughter to have a good life. I don’t want her to be afraid of-of people. The way I am. She loves you, and I know... I think you love her. You haven’t hurt her yet, and I hope it stays that way because at the rate we’re going, I'm not sure how much longer I’ll be able to do this.”

The pure fatigue on your face is more than enough explanation, but the idea of losing you is too much for him to bear.

“No, don’t say that. I’m gonna get better, okay? We-we were happy once. And we can do it again. I’ll be gentle and patient. I just... I need you, (Y/n). I need you a lot and the fact that you have such a tight hold over my every thought makes me angry. But I’m not gonna take it out on you anymore, okay?”

You let out a deep breath and eye him carefully.

“You’ve said that before.”

He thinks back to the time you spent in that cabin in the woods, where you turned his friends against him.

He has said that before, and look at where he is now.

“This time it’ll be different.”

You don’t have the energy to fight him. So if he’s gonna try, fine.

“Where’s Sarah?” You ask, hoping she’s still safely out with Morgan.

Steve’s face falls again and he stands up and opens the door to your bedroom.

Sarah sits crumpled in a ball, her cheeks covered in tears.

“Mommy!” She all but screams the word, launching to her feet.

Steve tries to take her hand but she yanks it away from him, shooting him a glare then running to the bed and climbing up beside you.

Your heart breaks when you see how sad she looks, and you hug her to your chest.

“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s okay.” She sniffles and climbs onto your lap, climbing to you like her life depends on it.

You wonder what happened while you were unconscious, what Steve did to upset her so much, and your mind immediately goes to the worst.

You look at the man, your thoughts written plainly across your face, but he quickly shakes his head.

“No. I just told her she couldn’t come in. Not ‘till you woke up. She uh... she stayed right outside the door.”

You soothe your daughter, rocking her as much as you can manage with the pain rolling down your spine.

“It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s okay. Everything’s okay.” You hold her close to you, trying to calm her down while Steve looks on helplessly.

Although his daughter loves him, loves being here with him, nothing can compare to the bond that the two of you have.

The monster in him hates it. Hates that he’s not as close to his own daughter, blames you for it. But he pushes that part of himself down.

He made a promise. And this time he’s not gonna break it.

"Are you sure you’re okay with it?” He asks for the thousandth time.

You only shrug, fixing your hair in the mirror as the doorbell rings.

“It’s a little too late now, Steve. Besides, I don’t really care. Sarah’s gonna have fun and that’s all that matters.”

Your daughter took a few days to warm up to Steve again, but now that she has he’s not gonna risk anything changing that.

He takes one last look at you, at how pretty you look in your blue sundress, then leans forward and kisses your cheek.

“I love you, (Y/n). I can send them away.”

You take a deep breath and shake your head.

“Sarah’s excited. Besides, I wanna know what we’re having.”

You plaster on a forced smile and it breaks his heart, but he turns and heads downstairs to greet the guests.

Ever since you got hurt, he’s been nicer. Far gentler than he's ever been with you, and you’re not complaining.

Steve has the potential to be a good person, that much is obvious, but he chooses not to.

He hasn’t hurt you again, or even yelled at you. No, he’s been patient and understanding and it’s such a sharp contrast from who he was before.

You can hear him greeting the guests warmly, chatting on and on about this and that and whatever else.

Taking a deep breath to prepare yourself, you leave the faux safety of the bedroom and head down the stairs, smiling at your guests.

People that you’ve never seen before are in your house. Well, that’s not true. You’ve seen them on TV.

The Avengers are in your living room and kitchen, talking softly amongst themselves.

In the presence of these superheroes, you feel small. Weak. And you can’t fight the urge to find Steve as anxiety crawls up your spine.

He’s in the kitchen, talking animatedly with Tony Stark and Sam Wilson. Iron Man and Falcon.

He looks so at ease, his face split open with a laidback grin.

Sam’s eyes find yours and he says something to Steve, making the blond turn to you with a soft smile.

He waves you over and you obey, one hand resting delicately on your bump.

“Sam, Tony, this is my (Y/n). (Y/n), Sam and Tony.” You nod politely at them, sliding your clammy hand into Steve's nervously.

You haven’t been around this many people in a very long time.

“It’s nice to finally meet the woman who’s got Captain America so hooked! All he does is talk about you,” Sam says, a grin on his face.

You smile at him, looking up at Steve.

He nods encouragingly, smoothing his thumb over your knuckles to try and ease your anxiety.

“It’s nice to meet you, too. I, uh, I’ve heard a lot about you. About both of you.” Tony smiles looking down as someone tugs on his pant leg.

“Can I have a sleepover at Sarah’s house?!” Morgan asks excitedly, her little face full of glee.

“You’re gonna need to go ask your mother. You know she makes all the decisions.”

Tony’s gaze lifts to yours when his daughter runs to find her mom.

“Is it alright if she sleeps over tonight?”

Steve nods then looks at you.

“You alright with that?”

You’re not sure if it’s a real choice or a test, but you don’t want to find out.

“Of course. She’s always welcome here.”

Tony nods with a smile, then resumes whatever conversation they were having before you showed up.

You tune out what they’re saying, carefully rubbing over your stomach and poking at your baby whenever they decide to kick you.

“(Y/n)? Did you wanna help me set the food up outside?” Pepper’s voice breaks you from your trance, her hand coming to rest softly on your shoulder.

You look up at Steve, silently asking for permission, but he just leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips and lets go of your hand.

You follow Pepper, setting up the table in the backyard silently for a while before she clears her throat.

“How are you feeling, (Y/n)? Sarah told us you were sick.”

You swallow hard and give her a tight smile.

“I’m feeling better. Tired all the time but this little devil is to blame for that.” You poke your belly only to be met with another kick.

Pepper nods, smiling at you.

“Are you excited?”

That question throws you for a loop.

Are you? Are you excited to have another baby?

You’re excited for Sarah to have a sibling. Excited to get to hold your baby and love your baby. But the reason why you’re having the baby in the first place? The father of your baby? No.

“Yeah, I am. A little nervous, too.”

She sits down by your garden, patting the seat next to her.

“You look tired, (Y/n). More tired than a mother should be. You’re wearing yourself thin.” You keep your lips sealed, not wanting to say anything that might make Steve mad.

She sighs and sets a gentle hand on your knee.

“I don’t know what your... relationship is with Steve, but I know you’re unhappy. He’s a good guy, deep down. But you need to take care of yourself, okay? Don’t work yourself to the breaking point because it’ll be even harder to build yourself back up. Especially with a brand new baby.”

You let out a shuddering breath and nod.

“It’s just hard. I’m trying but... it’s hard.”

As you talk softly with Pepper, Steve observes the two of you.

You look so sad, so defeated. He hates that he made you look like that.

“She’s unhappy, Steve.”

He turns to the voice, eyebrows raising.

“Wanda. I didn’t know if you’d make it.” He pulls her into a hug. “I heard about what happened in Westview... Wanda, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

She sighs, pulling away with a sad smile.

“No. But I will be.” Her eyes travel back over to you for a moment, feeling the pain and the sorrow in your soul.

“Do you think she’ll ever be happy here? With me?” Wanda sighs, crossing her arms over her chest and closing her eyes, feeling your thoughts, your energy.

“It’s hard to tell. Right now she’s so... numb. Nothing but sadness and... hopelessness. Her spirit is crushed, Steve.” She reopens her eyes and turns to the blond.

“You can’t keep her here like this. It’s only a matter of time before she gets fed up and tries to do something drastic. Again.”

Steve knows. He fucking knows that. But he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do to lift your spirits.

He's given you more freedom, let you make more decisions for yourself. He’s been gentler with you, hasn't forced himself on you.

Not forcing himself on you isn’t something to gloat about, but given the history between the two of you, it’s something fairly major.

He just wants to keep you in his life. He needs to keep you in his life.

He turns to the young woman beside him, a thought bubbling into his mind.

“Could you... do something to make her happy? Make her enjoy her life here? Make her love me again?”

Wanda’s mouth curves down as she looks at you, watches you play with your daughter and Morgan.

“Steve, it’s not right.”

The blond lets out a pained breath, shaking his head desperately.

“I just want happiness, Wanda. Don’t I deserve it? Haven’t I suffered enough to deserve a happy ending?”

Wanda’s eyes glow red with sorrow as she’s reminded of her own happy ending that she had to give up.

She takes his hand and gives it a squeeze, dropping her gaze for a moment before looking over at his desperate blue eyes.

“We don’t always get what we deserve. It’s hard and it hurts, but we can't control everything. And at some point, we need to let go. No matter how hard it is or how much it hurts. We can’t hurt other people because of what we think we deserve.”

They both look back over to you, your own eyes already on the pair, but dropping as soon as you see them turn to you.

“I’m sorry, Steve. I can’t do that.”

Tears stab at his eyes and he huffs out a breath through his nose, turning on his heel and walking away from the party, from his friends.

His abrupt departure catches the attention of a few people, yourself included. Before you can get up and see what’s going on, Bucky’s on his feet and heading into the house.

The woman Steve was talking to makes her way over to you, smiling gently.

“Hi (Y/n). I’m Wanda.” You smile at her, eyes darting towards where Steve disappeared from then back to her.

Bucky re-emerges only a few moments later, shaking his head at Natasha when she gives him a quizzical look.

You turn to Wanda with a strained smile.

“Could you just watch Sarah for a minute? And make sure she has something to eat? The foods ready.” She nods, watching with sad eyes as you walk back into the house to see what’s wrong with Steve.

“Steve?” You call softly, looking around for him only to find him sitting on the couch in the living room, his face in his hands.

“Why can’t I have what I want?” His question catches you off guard and you move to stand in front of him.

He shakes his head sadly, pulling his hands off of his face to grab yours, holding them tightly.

His lips brush over your knuckles gently, before he presses the back of your hands against his forehead, dropping his gaze to the floor.

“This isn’t right.”

Your heart races in your chest, stomach tying in knots as you try to figure out what he’s talking about.

“What are you talking about? Is everything okay? Did... did I do something wrong?” Maybe you shouldn’t have talked to Pepper earlier. Maybe you should’ve just stayed quiet and smiled.

“I can’t keep you here.”

One sentence. Five words. Sixteen letters.

That’s all it takes to have your heart stuttering.

“What... what do you mean you can’t keep me here?” You try your hardest not to let your hopes get too high. Maybe he’s going to kill you. Maybe that’s what it is. It’s certainly something more up his alley than... the alternative.

He slowly raises his head, teary red eyes staring up into yours.

“You know what I mean.”

You shake your head, needing to hear him say it himself.

“What are you saying, Steve?”

He lets out a heavy sigh and closes his eyes, the words hurting him but he needs to say them.

“You're free to go. You and Sarah.”

The breath gets knocked from your lungs, eyes wide as tears start to blossom. This is a trap. A test. It has to be. There’s no way...

“You’re letting us go?” You ask softly.

He sighs again, nodding as tears find their way down his cheeks.

“Yeah... I guess I am.”

You’re silent, staring at him and waiting for him to tell you it’s a joke, to punish you. But he doesn’t. No, instead he lets go of one of your hands and stands up, his chest almost brushing yours.

“You said I don’t love you... but I do. I love you. Or maybe I love the idea of you, I don’t know. But either way... I hate how sad you are. How sad and afraid I make you. You're free to go wherever you want.”

You’re practically hyperventilating.

After all this time, you never truly thought he’d ever let you go. That he’d have even a shred of decency left inside him.

He cups your hands together and carefully places something inside them, then turns and walks to the front door, grabbing his keys and leaving the house.

You stand silently, staring at the object in your hands until standing becomes too hard and you think you may throw up.

Then you sit down, silent tears trekking down your cheeks.

“(Y/n)?” You’re not sure how long you’ve been sitting on the couch, staring at your hands, but Natasha’s voice pulls you from your thoughts.

“(Y/n), are you okay? Where’s Steve?”

You stare up at her then look back down at the tiny, life-changing object in your hands.

“He let us go,” you whisper, your glossy eyes raising to hers again.

She looks half as shocked as you feel.

“What?”

You sniffle then wipe the tears off of your cheeks.

“He’s letting us go,” you repeat, pushing yourself to your feet and holding your bump.

“Really?” You nod, eyes finding the backyard through the kitchen window.

Sarah and Morgan are playing outside with Sam and Wanda.

“What are you gonna do?”

Your heart is so full of confusion, full of pain and hurt.

“I’m gonna go cut the cake, then have a talk with Sarah.” She nods, a small smile on her face.

She heads back outside and you take a few deep breaths, trying to calm down before you go out and face Steve’s friends.

You toy with the dainty thing he dropped in your hands before nodding to yourself.

This is what’s right. It’s the right choice for both of you.

You entertain his guests for a few more hours, not wanting to clue them into anything in case they disagree with your decision, with Steve’s.

Only after the presents are given and the cake is almost completely devoured do they finally start to leave.

Wanda helps you tidy up the backyard, writing her phone number down with a soft smile and a whispered ‘if you ever need a friend’.

Everyone bids you goodbye until only Bucky and Nat are left, the metal-armed soldier staring intently at your left hand before a smile spreads across his face.

He surprises you, pulling you into a gentle hug and nodding his head.

“Congratulations, (Y/n).” You’re not sure what he’s talking about, but for some reason, you don’t think it has anything to do with the baby shower.

They leave too, and then you’re virtually alone, Sarah and Morgan asleep upstairs.

After cleaning up every last inch of the house, you head upstairs to go to sleep.

Steve isn’t home until after midnight, long after he lets his tears run dry and his heart stop shattering. It just aches now. Hurts.

He let you go. He really did it.

Deep down he knew this would be the outcome. Either this or your death, but he never wanted to accept it. Refused to admit it to himself.

But seeing Wanda... after all that she’s been through... and she’s still standing strong.

He takes his shoes off and drops his keys on the kitchen counter, freezing in his tracks when he sees the covered plate of cake with his name written on it.

The batter is blue.

A boy.

He’s gonna have a son.

A son that he’ll never get to meet. He’s given you freedom, and he doubts you’ll let him be a part of your child’s life after all that he’s put you through.

He slowly makes his way upstairs, his heart hurting when he sees no sign of your things in the pristine house.

When he pushes open the bedroom door he freezes in his tracks.

There you are, sleeping in his bed. No bags are packed, nothing is out of place, and the dainty diamond ring sits on your finger.

You’ve made your choice, he realizes, his heart jumping for joy in his chest.

He sheds his clothes then climbs into bed with you, wrapping you up in his arms and sighing heavily.

Maybe Wanda was wrong.

Maybe he’ll get his happy ending after all.

#dark!steve #dark!steve x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve x you #steve x reader dark fic #stucky x reader dark fic #Steve rogers x reader dark fic #Steve Rogers x reader #dark!Steve Rogers x reader #Steve X reader dark fic #dark fic #dark au #Steve X reader dark au

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amjustagirl · 4 years ago

Text

CHAPTER 1 - TAKING FLIGHT

Fic Summary:

The sky Oikawa Tooru’s heart seeks is a world away from the earth yours is buried in. You are a fool to trust him with your heart anyway.

Where Oikawa Tooru does not make it to Argentina straightaway.

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3

Icarus, Icarus, I must be blind not to see you long to touch the sun.

Updates every Monday

Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x you, Oikawa Tooru x fem! reader

Genre / Wordcount : Angst (5.6k words)

Warnings: One non-explicit bedroom scene

Masterlist link here!

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“Home sweet home ”, Tooru declares grandly, throwing his hands out with the air of a conqueror bursting with pride at the sight of his domain.

Never mind the fact that the apartment looks like it’s been hit by a tsunami of cardboard boxes and scattered bits of furniture. Or the fact that you’re covered in sweat and grime from lifting boxes and shifting furniture and you’d very much like to lie down and not get up for the next week or two, but you can’t because of the never ending list of things to be done - unpacking your belongings, filling in your enrolment paperwork, attending medical school orientation to attend.

But his words wash away the tide of anxiety lapping at the edges of your mind.

Tooru wept and gnashed his teeth when his parents refused to let him chase his dreams to Argentina, and not a single professional team in Japan even looked his way. Don’t be ridiculous, his parents told him with wagging fingers, especially when Chuo University sent a full scholarship his way.

“It is the top school for volleyball” you pointed out, as he spent yet another hour lying flat on his back, eyes swollen from spent tears. “You could go there and grab everyone’s attention by being their starting setter for the next four years.”

He does not respond. You wonder if he’s waiting for the paint on the ceiling to crack.

“Plus” you add slyly. “I’ll be at Chuo with you.”

This catches his attention. “What d’you mean”, he mumbles, throat still sandy with salt.

“I got into medical school there”, you tell him , the smile on your face growing when he finally hurls himself bodily at you, both of you toppling off the bed and onto the floor.

“You’ll be there with me?” he whispers in disbelief.

You laugh wetly into the crook of his neck. “Every step of the way”, you declare, slipping your hand into his.

You’ve both transplanted yourselves from your childhood home in Sendai to a tiny apartment in Tokyo, a veritable hole in paper thin walls. Your hearth is a pair of rusty iron hobs, and your bed is a cheap mattress on the floor, but sunshine spills in from the windows like liquid gold and Oikawa Tooru’s hand is warm in yours.

You wonder what you’ve done in your past life for the gods to smile down on you, to bless you with a boy you love in a place you can both call home .

You’re not usually this sentimental, but just this once, you tug him down towards you, stealing a kiss from him. “I like the sound of that”, you murmur against his lips. “Our home, Tooru”.

He chuckles, wrapping his arms around you. “Do you love me?” he asks, with a smile that cages your beating heart in his calloused hands.

You are young. You are eighteen. You know nothing of the world. You know nothing of life.

So you reply - “More than life itself”.

He kisses you with languid ease, stealing the very breath from your chest. You tell yourself you have four years to work up the courage to ask if he loves you as much in return.

“Medical supplies are expensive, so stop coming here to ask for cold presses that you don’t need”, you tell Oikawa Tooru, Captain of the Volleyball Club and currently a veritable pain in your ass for constantly hounding you during your shifts at the school’s sickbay.

You resist the urge to sigh when he throws himself onto the cot, groaning dramatically - “How mean! You and Iwa-chan are the same - brutes, all of you! What’s a guy gotta do to get some tender love and care, especially when he’s injured?”

You cast a doubtful eye at the bandage over his right knee. “Iwaizumi said you recovered, but I guess if you’re really still injured…”

Oikawa grins, sensing victory in sight. “So you’ll give me a cold press and let me rest here during class?”

You drop said cold press onto his knee none too gently. “Sure - though..” your voice trails off, you tap your chin thoughtfully. “That would mean you’re not cleared for practice. I’ll send a note to your coach.”

Gotcha.

It’s your turn to grin when alarm dawns on Oikawa’s face, his eyebrows pinching together as he waves his hands at you, pleading you not to mention a word to his coach - pretty please with a cherry on top, he forgot to do his homework cos he was staying up late to watch volleyball videos last night and needs a place to hide, and you’re the kindest, bestest, person on earth if you let it slide this time, his knee is fine, just fine -

You glare at him, unimpressed.

He pouts, with the largest puppy dog eyes he can muster. Even you are not immune to his charms.

“Fine”, you say flatly. “Just once.”

He thanks you, promising never to darken the doors of the sickbay again without cause.

Of course, he breaks his promise the very next day when he sidles in just before practice, dropping a milk carton and a bun on your table.

“An offering to the maiden of this shrine” he answers teasingly in response to the question in your furrowed brow, trying his best to exude arrogance and saunter off, though his efforts are defeated by the pink tint to the apples of his cheek.

Oikawa Tooru, huh. You wonder.

You and Tooru are drawn into the ebb and flow of university life. You wake up with him by your side each morning, kiss him on the cheek before you both head your separate ways. In a fit of fancy, you imagine that your front door is the portal to different worlds - a little like the enchanted door in Howl’s Moving Castle, a movie Tooru used to make you watch with him on repeat. When you step through it, you find yourself in the humdrum world of medical school - anatomy classes, stuffy professors, scalpels and knives. Whereas when Tooru steps through it - like the titular wizard, he bursts like a fiery comet into a wholly separate, magical world of whistles and drills and volleyball practices.

Your worlds never collide in the day, even though from time to time, you sneak into the gym to watch him practice, unbeknownst to him. Typically, you only see him at night. Dinners are prepared together, shoulders jostling over the kitchen counter to cook rice and produce sourced from the supermarket’s discount bin, before you both huddle over homework. More often than not though, Tooru prefers to spend all his time crouched over his laptop, earbuds on, watching endless streams of volleyball matches.

“Aren’t you ever tired of volleyball?” you ask when you see him analyse yet another video - Argentina versus Japan this time.

You already know the answer before your question leaves your tongue but you ask it anyway, amused when he squawks in indignation and knocks over your cup of tea in his hurry to exclaim - Sick of volleyball? Him, Oikawa Tooru? Never!

Of course, you knew that. Chuo University is the top collegiate team for volleyball, so the coaches demand nothing but the best from their players. You watch by the sidelines as Tooru grinds his body into dust at volleyball practice, coming home every night with sore tendons and aching bones. Balancing a full business course load on top of that would stretch anyone to their breaking point.

Anyone normal that is, because Tooru revels in his hectic schedule.

You attend his first match and you’re blown away by how much he’s grown from being transplanted from barren soil into rich earth. The unerring confidence he’s already shown in his high school days blossoms into an elegant ease. His athleticism grows by leaps and bounds, his game sense sharpens, his sets learn true grace.

He claws his way to a starting position with bloodied fingernails, in blatant disregard of anything that might stand in his way. He builds his own wings, starts to take flight, the light in his eyes shining brighter and brighter the closer he flies towards the sun.

He is no longer the simple school boy you fell in love with from Sendai.

“Will you go out with me if I win our next match?” he asks suddenly, lifting his gaze from the video he’s watching from his usual corner in the sickbay.

“Do I look like a prize for some school boy’s grudge match?” You snipe back, head bent over your homework.

“It was worth a try”, he hrumphs.

You hide a smile.

“I would go out with you even if you lose”, you tell him, though you do not lift your eyes from paper and pen.

A laugh bubbles from his chest - surprised, delighted, triumphant.

“I better make sure I win then. So you don’t change your mind.”

He did not win that game, losing spectacularly in the finals in his second year against his fated rival - Ushijima from Shiratorizawa, a specter that still looms unti over every match he plays in up to today.

True to your word, you sat on his doorstep, waiting for him to return home red eyed, throat raw. You let him drop his aching head into your lap, and like a maiden comforting a weary warrior, you pressed a kiss to his forehead as a balm to his wounds. Then you dragged him by the hand to your favourite ramen stall, ordering two bowls of tonkatsu ramen, with char siu, bamboo shoots, spring onions and gyoza on the side. An inauspicious first date, but you consider yourself lucky nonetheless for having him beside you.

Things are different now. You are blind not to see him long to touch the sun.

No one is surprised when Chuo University wins nationals. The only surprise to the media (but certainly not to you or anyone from Miyagi for that matter), is that Chuo University brings home the trophy with Oikawa Tooru as it’s starting setter.

The boy king finally reaches the national stage.

Even then, he is always, always grasping for more .

“You were amazing!” you gush, as he finally breaks through the triumphant huddle of his teammates to swing you into his arms and greet you with his customary kiss. “I’m so proud of you!”

His eyes glitter as he laughs, giddy with delight, face flushed with pride. “It’s just college, princess. Wait til I go pro”.

Like Ushijima, you think, though that name remains unsaid.

Wax feathers had already started to sprout from the knobs of his spine back in high school, budding beneath your fingertips like a cancerous tumour. Back then it was easy to be wilfully blind to them, but now it's become too obvious to be ignored. Oikawa Tooru’s ambition lies spread eagled, naked beneath the blinding lights of the sports hall. He has only just tasted his first real victory, crossed the first hurdle separating him from his dreams of greatness.

“I’m waiting for that day then”, you respond teasingly.

You only realise later that you lied. He's left the confines of your arms in his quest for the skies.

You laughed when Tooru first broached the idea of sneaking out at night to gaze at stars in the sky. ‘What nonsense’, you’d said. What are the chances of seeing stars amidst the light pollution from a city, even a relatively minor one like Sendai?

“You’re being a meanie, just like Iwa-chan”, he pouted. He kept whining until you gave in.

Tooru picks you up from your home past midnight, chuckling when you label his rusty bicycle ‘a contraption from hell’ and ask him archly whether he truly expects you to entrust your wellbeing to the tiny rack meant to function as the pillion’s seat.

“Stop being a princess, it isn’t as if I can magick a seatbelt from thin air” he teases.

“Howl could”, you point out.

“Well, I could strap you on with my bicycle chain if you prefer”, he answers blithely. “Get on, stop complaining”.

He pedals all the way uphill to the deserted park near school, whining all the way about the strain the extra weight (you) puts on his knees (lies, all of them). You’re torn between pointing out that he chose to drag you out in the middle of the night and kicking him off the bike and commandeering yourself home instead. You choose instead to slap the back of his head.

“Ow!” he squeals. “Brute!”

“Hmph”. You fold your arms in satisfaction.

When he finally finds a spot perfect enough to commence his stargazing adventure, he stops the back, spreads a picnic mat and hands you a flask of hot tea.

“I don’t see any stars”, you say, after fifteen minutes of sitting, stiff and cold in the dark.

“Don’t be impatient! The clouds will clear up soon”, he says, squinting hopefully.

The sky remains overcast.

You sigh, the breath expelled from your nose forming your own personal cloud. You are accustomed to Tooru’s quirks, his all consuming passion for volleyball, his love for all things outer space. You decide to indulge him a little, just once.

“Why don’t you pretend we can see the stars and tell me your favourite thing about each one?”

He brightens up visibly.

“You won’t be bored if I did that?”

You prod his nose, but your eyes are fond. “Have you ever bored me?”

His chest swells. “I suppose not”, he crows, and proceeds to trace the constellations with elegant fingers, spinning stories and conjuring random facts about celestial beings you cannot see. You find yourself enthralled, not by his words, but by the lilt in his voice and depth in his eyes.

“Why d’you love the stars so much?” you ask.

“Did you not just hear anything I’ve just said?” his voice teeters dangerously close to a whine.

You click your tongue against your teeth. “I mean – trivia and myths aside. Why are you so fascinated by what are essentially flaming balls of gas and light.”

“The shallow answer is cos they’re pretty.” He says, laughing airily, before turning his gaze to you, the stark intensity in his eyes causing goosebumps to prickle the back of your neck. “But if my lady here is searching for a deeper answer, well. Aren’t stars the ultimate embodiment of the dreams of all humankind? Even as we strive and fail towards our petty goals, the stars are always there to remind us to look up and reach for the sky”

You flick his forehead. “Pretty words, for a pretty boy”.

“Hey!” He scowls indignantly before he perks up. “Wait - did you see that? There’s a star!”

The sky clears just enough for a pale light to peer through a gauzy cloud. You do see it, and it is indeed beautiful, but your attention has already been captured by the boy beside you. And Tooru being Tooru, naturally notices.

“Why’re you staring at me instead of the sky?”

Perhaps you’re drunk on the magic of midnight skies, perhaps you want to uncover the mystery of his smile yourself. Perhaps that explains why your eyes soften and why your words fall short of a whisper.

“Because you are my sun, my moon and all my stars”, you say. “I like you better than anything in the sky.”

His mouth slackens and for a moment, his eyes are tender before his laugh breaks your flight of whimsy, and you bury your face in your hands, hot with embarrassment.

“Forget I ever said that”, you plead.

“Never!” he cries. “I’m going to remind you how cheesy you can be for the rest of your life!”

You end up having to kiss him to shut him up.

In his second year, Sakusa Kiyoomi joins his team. Tooru finally meets someone who meets his impossibly high standards to fill Iwaizumi’s place as his ace.

He’s literally bouncing on balls of his feet when he comes home after the first practice.

“He’s so prickly and unfriendly but his receiving his top notch, and his game sense is fantastic, and best of all the spin he gives to each spike makes me drool - especially when I see the look on the other side’s faces when they try receiving his ball for the first time - ha ha! ”, he talks at you at breakneck speed as you both prepare dinner, side by side at the cramped kitchen counter.

“Mmhm”, you reply, head thinking of the multiple lectures you attended today, the homework and readings you must do tonight to stay abreast.

“-it’s his wrists, they’re so flexible it nearly made me puke when I first saw him stretch them”, he continues for the rest of the night, heedless of your wavering attention.

You meet Sakusa at one of the few team parties you actually attend. You nearly stumble over him when you try to hide in your usual corner with a plate of food in your hand, watching as Tooru flutters around like the social butterfly he is. His nose and mouth are hidden behind a face mask, but even you can tell he’s uncomfortable to be around so many people, so you tug at his jacket sleeve gently to lead him away from the crowd to a seat at the top of the stairs.

You don’t expect him to speak much to you, if at all, but to your surprise, he initiates the conversation.

“He doesn’t take good care of himself”, Sakusa mutters. You nearly miss his words over the pulsing beat of the music.

“Who doesn’t?” you ask - though you already know who he’s referring to.

“It’s unhealthy, the way you push yourself”, you tell Tooru, hands on hips, standing at the door to Aoba Johsai’s sports hall. You hardly intrude here onto Tooru’s sacred space, choosing instead to stay in the library to study until he’s done with practice and you can both walk home together. But practice has long ended, and your patience has run short - not to mention Iwaizumi popped his head into the library to shoot you a worried expression, dark eyebrows pinched into a pained frown.

You are aware of Tooru’s predilection for working himself to the bone. Or to the shredded remnants of the tendon of his knee, to be more accurate. So you tap your feet, looking pointedly at said injury.

“I’m fine”, he tries to dismiss you without even looking your way.

You refuse to let him.

“You’re not fine”, you tell him coolly, taking another step towards the inner sanctum, the volleyball courts. White lines, painted into brown wood. A single ball, six per side, each jostling for their pride and god.

“Tooru -”

“I need to practice so I can win”, he snarls, handsome face mangled by an angry scowl. “Don’t be like one of those whiny girlfriends, you know I can’t stand that.”

You are not so easily hurt by the barbs in his words. “You can’t win if you’re injured”, you attempt to appeal to his reason. “You know and I know and your coach knows that that knee of yours is going to cause you problems if you don’t rest it properly. So you better listen to me, because so help me - I can tell you that you’re not going to be able to come for practice if you keep pushing yourself tonight”.

His anger simmers into a sulk. “You’re not a doctor”, he replies, a petulant whine at the tail end of his words.

“Not yet”, you respond, and at that, he laughs, surprised that your arrogance matches his own.

Your attention snaps back to the present when Sakusa calls your name. “Sorry”, you breathe. “Couldn’t quite hear you - who were you referring to again?”

“Oikawa”, Sakusa says, confirming your suspicions. “Practises even though I know his knee hurts sometimes”.

You thank him for telling you before carefully diverting the conversation to something a little more innocuous, buying yourself time to turn this new information over in your mind.

You hear him hiss as you open the front door- “Iwa-chan, don’t be stupid, I can’t tell her yet!”

It’s not an uncommon sight to come home at night to find Tooru cradling his phone to his ear whilst juggling a book in his other hand. It is the only time slot that he and Iwaizumi have to catch up.

Still, it is uncommon for him to bolt into the toilet the minute he catches sight of you.

“Is everything alright?” you ask him over dinner.

“Peachy”, he replies between spoonfuls of rice. “Never been better”.

He promptly changes the topic after that.

“Not staying home for dinner?” you ask, arms wrapped around yourself as he lets the chilly air into your apartment, sitting by the open door lacing his training shoes up.

“Wanna work in some more practice tonight”, he murmurs, gaze still locked on his shoes. “Serves and all that. Don’t wait for me, yeah?”

“Right. Just...promise me you’ll take care of yourself, Tooru”, you answer, unable to keep the disappointment from leaking into your voice.

He stands up, turns to face you with a cheery smile. “Of course I will. Anyway, don’t pout, princess”, he sing songs gaily. “We’ll spend some time together after the season is over, I promise.”

“Alright”, you say, unconvinced, reluctantly tipping your chin up to let him kiss your cheek goodbye.

“Tooru?”

You feel the mattress dip. “Go back to sleep, princess”, he whispers, pulling the sheets back up to your chin.

“Where are you going?” You mumble, squinting your eyes at the clock by the side of the bed. “It’s four in the morning. The earliest you wake up for practice is five.”

“I just wanted to practice my serves a little more.” You hear him rustle in the bathroom. Sakusa’s words echo in your ears, and you sit up, bleary eyed.

“Tooru?”

“Mm?”

“Are you taking care of your knee? And getting enough sleep?”

He stiffens. “Of course”, he replies with the tight, plastic smile he only ever gives you when he’s trying to lie. “Why’re you asking me this? Who put ideas in your pretty little head?”

For the first time in your relationship with Tooru, you take care not to accidentally tread on the faultlines of his heart.

“I worry about you”, you say, gripping your sheets as he frowns. “I don’t think you’re sleeping enough - judging from the bags under your eyes, and you shouldn’t be over practising because your knee could very act up - “

“Look - I don’t have time to deal with this” he interjects with a snap. “Just leave me alone and go back to sleep.”

“I’m only saying this because I love you, Tooru.” You automatically tack on - “More than life itself.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing out a sigh. “I love you too ok? Stop worrying your pretty head about my health and my knee - we agreed you only get to nag me when you’re a full fledged doctor, remember?”, he adds, with a cheeky smile that does not reach his hooded eyes.

You let him walk out of the house without another word, cotton sheets crumpling in your clenched fists.

You don’t get to talk about it that night because he chatters at you about Sakusa’s tantrum during practice because someone hid his towel, and you can barely get a word in before he slips off to shower and sleep.

He starts to disappear for days at a time, even after the season ends with him not only taking home his second trophy at Nationals, but crowned the best setter in the collegiate volleyball league.

He tells you that there are overnight practice matches and camps. That he’s staying over at his teammates’ flats. You believe him at first. There is, after all, no reason for him to lie.

Still, it is a little funny he refuses to allow you to do his laundry from those trips. You brush away your friends’ concerns that he’s cheating on you - Tooru wouldn’t do that, you assure them with a wide smile that hurts your cheeks.

Tooru would never lie to you.

Then you bump into Sakusa Kiyoomi on campus when Tooru is away again.

It’s night time. Shadows bleed into concrete roads. You’re on your way back home from hiding up in the library all day, reluctant to return to a home without Tooru when you bump into the reticent spiker.

“Aren’t you supposed to be away at practice camp?” you ask innocently, worried that an injury might keep him from playing, though from a quick scan he seems to be fine.

“Practice camp?” He echoes blankly, his face an open book of confusion.

“Tooru mentioned that he’d be away from some practice camp for a few days...”

Your words trail off. Your heart flutters, refuses to accept the truth staring you in the face.

Sakusa frowns. His answer is brutal, direct. “There’s no training camp - hasn’t been in a while”.

“Oh”, you murmur.

Realization needles its way into the space beside your beating heart, drills its way into the marrows of your bones.

“Are you ok?” You faintly hear Sakusa say. It’s your turn to lie.

Tooru comes home the next day, a quarter past two. You’re sitting on the threadbare couch cross legged, a textbook balanced on your lap.

“Where have you been?”

“Practice camp. Didn’t I tell you that?”

You scoff. The page held between your fingers starts to crumple. Your composure frays.

“Really?” Your voice starts to veer into hysterics, straight across the highway into your emotional stratosphere. “Sakusa Kiyoomi told me that there’s no such practice camp, Oikawa. How about you try again with the truth this time.”

He reels back. You can see him trying to formulate yet another lie.

“Princess”, he begins pleadingly, but your temper runs hot and you short circuit at the sound of your nickname from his lips.

You stalk towards him, grabbing the bag in his hand. Like a woman possessed, you wrench the zip open, holding the bag open above your head, emptying its contents out. Dirty clothes, a deflated volleyball, toiletries spill onto the floor. You comb through each and every item in search of a telltale sign - a lipstick mark, a woman’s floral scent, something, anything for you to confirm his infidelity.

What you find, however, is not what you expect.

A red jersey, lying limp in your hands. A contrast to the university’s colours of navy and white.

You flip it around.

The words EJP Raijin are emblazoned across the jersey in stark white.

You look up at him. He stares back.

“Why didn’t you tell me?’

He has the decency to look away.

“Tooru”, you repeat, voice trembling. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I was afraid of what it meant. For us”, he answers, dropping to his knees in front of you. “You know I’ve always wanted to go pro - and when the Div 1 teams started holding try-outs, I had to go. I tried out for them all except the Adlers, and EJP decided to give me a shot, which was like a dream come true… But I didn’t know if you would be happy if I did take it up.”

“Take what up?” you echo. Your mind is not keeping up with this turn of events.

“Move to Hiroshima to join the team.” He answers warily, ready to flee at the first sign of danger. “You know I’d have to, right?”

You look at him with fresh eyes, this boy you profess to love more than life itself. Wings spread from his shoulder blades, moulded by madness and greed from fire and wax. The reflection of the sun gleams in his eyes. He has left you permanently for the skies.

“What about me?” Your breath stuck in your throat even as you refuse to relinquish the last hold you have on him.

“If you love me”, he begins, reaching out to cup your cheeks and it’s your turn to reel back because you know he’s about to throw back your own words in your face.

If you love me more than life itself - won’t you do this for me?

But you are no longer eighteen. You are twenty one, on the cusp of adulthood. You know a little more about life than you did at eighteen.

You know that your life is here - in Tokyo, among dusty books and lectures and tutorials on anatomy and diseases and germs, and you cannot upend your life and uproot yourself to Hiroshima just to follow someone else’s dreams. You love Tooru, but you do not share his dreams of glory and gold medals, of fleeting victory, of Olympian greatness.

“I can’t”, you say, with a firmness that surprises even yourself.

Again, he does not meet your eyes.

“Then what shall we do?” He asks, lips pressed into a straight line.

For a brief and terrible moment, you are tempted to throw your dignity to the wind, to fall on your knees and ask him to stay in Tokyo with you. But you can no longer turn a blind eye to what’s been staring you in the face for the entire length of your relationship, so you bite the insides of your cheek and grit your teeth.

“We will do what we must”, you tell him, your head held high.

You do not know what hurts more. The lack of pause in his acceptance to your suggestion that you break up, or the painfully obvious relief in his eyes.

He goes to sleep in your shared bed, oblivious to your pain. You do not join him, choosing instead to spend hours seeking privacy in your toilet, knees aching from the cold floor.

You are clinical, even in your anguish.

Wring the liquid grief from your lungs, lay it on the floor to dry. Filter the water from your windpipe, the salt from your eyes. Your organs are scattered on the floor, battered, broken, torn. Save for your heart - you will need to retrieve it, whatever’s left of it at least. You last recall seeing it beneath Tooru’s feet, dashed to pieces as he spreads his wings and takes flight.

You will put yourself back together with steady hands tomorrow, fill the cavity in your chest with the remnants of your organs, secure them in place with stitches and staples. Given time, you think your prognosis is good.

You are young. You will heal.

But now, you are allowed an hour or two to grieve at the very least. To mourn the loss of a relationship you still hold dear, a relationship that you only realise has an expiry date in the short span of a night.

You are a fool for not realising it sooner.

Perhaps he cares for you, but you must now confront the fact that you’ve been wilfully blind to. He could never give you his heart when he’s already given his heart up to someone else - to volleyball, a far more demanding mistress.

You cannot compete with her. You should not have tried.

Tooru files the paperwork to drop out of university. You find another flat, this time for one.

In the weeks before he leaves, you watch him flit about the flat, buzzing with excitement like an overgrown child. His wings nearly suffocate you with its ever increasing breadth and length, but you do not begrudge his happiness. You still love him desperately. You still want what’s best for him.

You write him meal plans, scribble reminders on the proper care for his knee. You help him label his boxes, arrange for them to be sent to Hiroshima via post. You do not tell him how tempted you are to slip yourself whole into one of them. But you start to build a cage for the remnants of your heart, turning a deaf ear even as it pounds against the bars of your ribs.

The time finally comes for him to get on a train bound for Hiroshima. The time finally comes for you to leave the flat.

“Princess”, he says softly, catching your elbow as you stand on the threshold, pulling you flush against his broad chest. You do not trust yourself to speak as he gently tilts your face up to his.

“Thank you”, he breathes against your lips. There is a lingering taste of regret in his kiss.

“For what?” you manage to ask.

His eyes pool with affection, swirl with sadness.

“For everything.” He takes your hands in his, presses a final kiss to your forehead. Your traitorous heart screeches at you to beg him to say. You smother it beneath reinforced walls of steel and bone.

Icarus, Icarus. This is goodbye.

You make him leave before you, watching as he turns his back on you. Then you steal a minute to potter through each room in the little flat that was your home. The bedroom, barely large enough for two. The bathroom, with a propensity for leaking, the shower where Tooru insists on serenading the neighbours, much to their discontent. The kitchen, full of memories of shared dinners, and quiet conversations.

You bid farewell to two full years of happiness, press your forehead against the front door to whisper goodbye to your home.

The lock clicks. You close the door.

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thepeakyfckingblinders · 5 years ago

Text

Never Again || Thomas Shelby x reader

credits to @saralou23 for the gif

⤠ MASTERLIST⤟

Anon requested/summary: “can I request a fic where the reader is found unconscious or faints in the shop or something and tommy freaks out? I just find protective tommy so ❤️💓💟!! Thank you, your writing is absolutely INCREDIBLE” (Thank you so much honeybun, you’re making me blush, pls, forgive me for being late ❤️)

Warnings: swearing, bossy Tommy, basically Tommy freaking out and being overprotective, me always loving him with all of my mangled soul

Author’s notes:

I hope you are okay darlings, I love you, please stay safe ♡

I’m so sorry for being this late, I have no excuses, forgive me. Also the end sucks, but I’m struggling with my writing lately, so, sorry again.

I love protective Thomas so much, he’s an ass, but he’s a softie, and I’m gonna lose my mind some day.

Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡

If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me

I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong

ENJOY!

Birmingham’s gelid air hit your sensitive skin with no mercy as soon as your red mary-janes crossed the doorway of the Garrison, only to disgracefully sink into the greyish muddy loam in which the whole of Small Heath seemed to be covered.

Your fingers felt like rigid appendages burdening your already wearied arms, while you tried your best to wrap them around your coat’s edges, in a disperate effort to keep that warm tissue on your bulging clavicles left exposed by the woollen dress you were wearing. No matter how many heavy clothes you decided to put on, that implacable cold still succeeded in making you feel constantly out of forces, debilitated to the core; it had always been that way, since you were nothing more than a little girl obliged to spend one every two months confined in your bedroom, afflicted by incredibly high fever and sometimes even bronchitis.

Truth was that your body had never got used to England’s humid weather, yet, even though you poor healt had previously put you in danger, for your sake, thanks to the enormous progresses made by medicine in the past fifteen years, it was now easy to fight against the ruthless chill of those endless winters. Plus, since the earliest days of your attendence, your wardrobe had been perpetually refreshed with high-quality pieces perfectly in step with the times, for your fiancée had been literally covering you in furs and duvets of all kinds, concerned as he was that you could’ve eventually caught another bad fever, whose deathly consequences he had already experienced on his own thick skin. And for no reason in the world he would’ve even risked to lose you too.

So, as everybody could’ve easily predicted, Thomas was perennially paying attention to your wellbeing: the most famous specialists from inside and outside the United Kingdom had come directly to your country house; if one thing could be taken for granted, it was that your medications would always be settled on your side cabinet, together with a glass of fresh water, every day and every night; and, come hell or high water, he would accompany you during your routine visits to the hospital, even when it meant leaving all of his business without any prior warning.

Needless to say, you were perfectly able to do those things on your own -pheraps except for getting a crowd of world renowned doctors in your living room- and you sure as hell had tried to persuade him that there was no need at all for being so preoccupied all the time; still, he was Tommy Shelby, he simply couldn’t help it.

The concern for his loved ones’ lives kept stealing his sleep, even on those nights when there was no trace of imminent dangers on the horizon, it kept excoriating the insides of his drained brains, to the point that, more than once, you’d had to sleep alone in your immense king-size bed or reach for him in his study, curling up on one of his uncomfortable armchairs, ready to appease his fears as best you could. In short, for as much as you needed him to relax, you were still able to understand his protective behavior, against which, as a matter of fact, no one could do much; thus you at least tried not to give him more reasons to be worried by paying some extra attention to all those small things you could solve without Tommy even knowing about it. Regularly taking your iron tablets, for example. Nonetheless, it had now been already a week since the Peaky Blinders had started a brand new business involving in effect every metalworking factory in and around Birmingham, and the whole family, you and Tom included, had been so turbulently tied up with work to let every other thought and need slither on the back burner. As a direct consequence, your doctor’s latest prescription was unfortunately left lying on the bottom of your drawer, that being the fourth day in a row you’d spent without taking those pills, and, even though everything appeared to be going well until then, that one Thursday morning your period eventually came and stroke the fatal blow, having you feel so faint and aching that, all of a sudden, the few metres separating your side of the street from the betting shop seemed to implausibly dilate right under your blurred vision, a vexing sense of nausea assaulting your empty stomach led you to lean against a lamppost, your skin still crawling beneath all those heavy tissues. Dizziness and lethargy almost took over your sore mind, before you shook your head with an abrupt move in a bid to dispel those unpleasent sensations; clients would’ve arrived in less than a hour, Esme had taken John’s kids on a brief fieldtrip, Michael was already in his office, the boys were making their usual rounds of the mills, Finn and Isaiah were dealing with a couple folks in need back at the Garrison and Polly was nowhere in sight, which made you the only available blinder for the opening and, with Friday’s race approaching, there was no way the box-office could remain shut. Hence, more determined than ever, you chocked down the knot forming in your throat due to queasiness and just forced youself to put one foot in front of the other onto the dusty road, until you reached the shop door, not without the risk of tripping over multiple times in the process. Your frozen fingers clutched to the small side-wall now carring all of your weight, whilst your lungs tried to let in as much air as possible. And it worked, each plodding breath seemed to fight your sickness, also your heartbeat was gradually slowing down, thus you shut your eyelids and continued to inhale deeply for a full minute, before your trembilng hand managed to finally turn the key in the lock, giving you free access to the place.

However, the small click produced by the latch closing again did not live to reach your ears, for they were already brimful of ominous hisses, in a scant moment a bulk of hypnotic grey worms prevented you from seeing anything else, they relentlessly squirmed in front of your dilated pupils, that repulsing view sending brutal shooks straight to your clenched stomach, again. And, before you even had a chance to realize what was going on, your brain completely blacked out.

~ ~ ~

Words would not be sufficient to describe the fright taking over Arthur’s features the second your inert silhouette entered his line of sight. Just returned from their daily patrol, he had indeed noticed a small crowd waiting outside the office, cursing and fussing because of the lacked opening, and that alone had been weird enough for him to punch and kick his way up to the entrance, profanities spilling from his mustached mouth every time somebody’s elbow digged into his ribcage, inducing him to hit back so to stand his ground, only to eventually find himself powerless in front of that ghastly scene. It took him a while to recover from the shock, yet the eldest Shelby eventually regained control of his limbs and moved towards your shape with a single step.

“Polly! Pol, come here, for God’s sake!” Those hoarse yells filled the room, reverberating through the brickwalls, so loud that they could’ve been heard from the other side of the city, Arthur fell on his knees right beside you, gently placing a hand under your nape in order to lift your head. Blind panic streaming in his veins kept him for thinking clearly, he didn’t know what to do, thus he simply shook you from your shoulders, hoping in vain to see your eyes fly back open, but your neck just bent backwards.

“Where the hell is that bloody woman when I need her?!” he grunted those words in between his teeth while tigthening his grip on you, then his chest raised in a sharp move: “Jesus Christ, Polly!” He shouted once more, this time conveying all of his breath and blood towards his larynx, his abrasive voice shriveled and insisted on the last letters of his aunt’s name, until swift strides frantically hit the creaking steps, announcing Polly’s arrive. Her eyes struggled to remain open, her left palm was pressed against her forehead in a silly attempt to soothe the tremendous headache resulted from the previous night’s booze, she didn’t even have the time to put proper clothing on, since her mad niece was apparentely going berserk. “You, son of a bastard-” cursed words died underneath her tongue when she understood what was going on, soon her feet took on a life of their own, as they picked up their peace, leading her next to your body now held in Arthur’s arms.

“She’s freezing, Pol, she’s a fucking chunk of ice!” Hiccoughs shattered his worried cries, he almost whined, shifting his gaze from yours to Polly’s face over and over again, she, on the other hand, used the whole lenght of her right arm to clear in one smooth motion the closest desk. “Quick, lay her here” The deafening noise produced by those items colliding with the pavement barely grazed her hears, whilst she nodded to herself in the effort to impose some order on her obfuscated head, searching for a prompt solution that was late in coming, to the point that Finn beat it to the draw and stormed in, pointing a loaded gun to each corner of the room with fear in his cerulean irises. “What the hell’s going on?” That hysterical question echoed through the place, even though the young boy was finding it hard to get his breath, due to the crazy run he had made to reach the shop immediately after hearing that insane screaming. Nonetheless, in the space of an instant, he saw you as well and fell utterly silent, violent dismay caught him off guard, his wide eyes hesitated on your motionless figure; all of a sudden he didn’t know what to think, nor he could get the thought of your death out of his brains.

“My God, she’s as pale as death” Finn let his mind talk through that throttled murmur, regretting it right away, for silty goosebumps crawled on his skin under the pungent pressure of his brother’s instantaneous lethal glare. “Don’t talk shit, kid! Just fucking go and get Tom!”

The redhead didn’t waste any time, he somehow managed to recollect his guts and steadily disappeared behind the door previously left open. While struggling for air and internally searching for the right words to say in front of Thomas, Finn covered the whole distance between the office and the Garrison. Labored gasps coming out of his slightly parted lips in louder groans as he slammed the heavy pub’s doors open, using only his strongest shoulder; both Harry and Isaiah watched him run towards the back room where Tommy was going through the books, they did not dare spill a word and, after all, the boy didn’t even look in their direction, such was his concentration. Still, once he reached the place, all of a sudden his tongue felt dry, his well-organised speech faded away.

“Finn?! What’s wrong?” Tom’s icy eyes were now staring at him through his round glasses, the paper he’d been reading was instantly dropped, although his tone remained steady. “Y-you need to come, now! She... she’s-” A frown formed upon Tommy’s marble face at his little brother’s furious rambling, something wasn’t right, that was crystal clear, yet he wasn’t able to keep up with those hasty and stuttered sentences, so he approached him, putting both his hands on Finn’s shoulders in order to give him a little shove and maybe get some decent information. “Breathe, kid, and tell me what’s going on” That deep, adamant tone somehow sounded scarier than usual roaring inside the boy’s head, hence anxiety definitively won him over, gaining complete control of his mouth too. “It’s Y/n! I don’t fucking know, Tom, s-she looks dead!” All at once, time and space seemed to collapse around him, one single second dilated, covering the space of a whole lifetime beyond his vacant blue irises now fixed on an undetermined spot of the white wall behind Finn’s back. A gruesome, yet familiar sensation raided his petrified body, it felt like having a beast’s fangs gnawing his throat off, lacerating his flesh to the bone, he could sense every little laceration, his chest being plundered, till even his sable heart was eradicated and then mauled. A strangled wheeze barely lived through his plump lips, that being the only sound he uttered, then his black pupils shrinked and immediately twitched, nailing his sibiling’s gaze. Without receiving an order from his brain, his fists violently gripped Finn’s jacket at the height of his biceps, bringing him a span away from his gnashed teeth with a sharp pull. “Where?” He snarled liked a rabid dog, striking, if possible, geater terror in the young man who struggled to spit an almost inaudible “The shop”, before being shoved against the doorframe as Tommy dodged him and rushed out.

~ ~ ~

Polly held the bottle of her almond parfume she’d just put under your nostrils as if her life depended on it, Arthur’s rough palm, instead, began to pat your pasty cheek. “C’mon, love, wake up! Don’t play games, c’mon!” The dorsum of that same hand now poking the left side of your face, and then going back to the other, at incredible speed. You started to feel your face again when his nudges grew in intensity, until he was practically slapping you; soon a tremendous metallic taste invaded your mouth, or rather, you finally sensed it, whilst your eyelids battled against gravity to get back up. Arthur noticed it, he detected that brief flinch and it felt like being pampered with a fresh breeze after days of unsustainable heat. “Oh, fuck, I think I’m having a stroke” His tone held extreme urgency as he grasped for air, tugging with two fingers at his shirt collar; sure, he was great at knocking people off, maybe the best, yet, unfortunately, after that he’d never tried to bring somenody back with the living.

Blinding light rended your shrouded eyes, everything appeared blurred to the point that you couldn’t distinguish Polly’s features, although she was right beside you; nor your hearing was working, since the loud thud produced by the wooden door hitting the brickwall, and then your name barked by your fiancée’s coarse voice, sounded muffled to your ears. With a superhuman effort you succeeded in tilting your face towards the entrance, you recognized the navy-blue suit Thomas had chosen to wear earlier in the moring, still those nebulous images reached your brains with extreme delay, it was like watching vague movie scenes stream in slow motion. Your eyelids blinked as if a plumbeous burden was anchored to them, each flutter seemed to last a full minute, so that you perceived Tom coming to you in multiple shattered motions, while he kept calling you. The moment Tommy furiously jostled against Arthur, in order to take his place by the desk, you gradually went back to see and hear clearly, now being able to seize pure dread sailing those mesmerizing ocean eyes. “Thank goodness, y/n” His big palms envelopped both your cheeks, slightly squeezing them as he lift your neck, revealing all of his hidden delicacy that you, and you only, were able to bring out. “Y/n, love, talk to me” That order came out like a prayer, his voice betraying him once too often, his fingers shaking with worry, while one of his hands held your chin and the other went to caress your locks. Those loving strokes brushed against your skin, slowly infusing a little warmth into your gelid body, he touched you with the unbearable fear of watching you pass away in between his arms, having him struggle to breathe properly. “Do you hear me?” a single, salty drop fell from his long eyelashes and poured your lower lip, you heard his voice crack, distorting, until it became nothing more than a faint whine: “Please, love, talk to me” When his forehead pressed against yours, he finally gave in to the tears that had been held back with drastic ostination, shutting his eyes for a few instants he allowed brutal sobs to trounce his already aching chest. However, that moment of raw weakness was soon restrained, so that you returned to stare into his blue irises. Then, a small grin crossed your pale mouth and, even though your throat felt like gasoline on fire, preventing you from pronouncing a single syllable, you managed to guide your tiny hand to cup his sharp cheekbone. A burning kiss was pressed on its dorsum, before Tommy completely leant into your touch, giving you a look halfway between relief and disperation, he covered your hand with his own, holding it tight. “You’re okay, you’re safe” Those soft murmurs escaped his lips, probably aimed to placate the axphyziating terror still intoxicating his veins. Indeed, as hard as it was to conceive for everybody in that room, although you were the one just recovering from a sudden collapse, Tommy was now the one trembling like a fallen leaf, his arms rested on each side of your shape, sustaining his weight, as he barely stood on his own two feet. Slowly, you regained the necessary strenght to lift your bust, leading him to flutter in your direction, promptly enlacing his forearms around your waist in order to support your movements. “Hold onto me, darling, take it slow” His raspy voice was still unsteady and full of concern, he was holding his breath out of fear, gazing at you with wide eyes and tightening the grip on your hips as if to make sure that you wouldn’t vanish in his palms. You, on the other hand, gave him a rassuring smile, caressing his face mutliple times and placing a brief kiss on his mouth. “I’m fine, Tommy, I’m here with you” you eventually spoke close to his ear so to keep that conversation between the two of you “Let go, my love, I’m here” Your lips accidentally brushed against his forehead once he listened to you and abandoned himself to your tender embrace, gradually drowning into your soft chest while his arms clung on to your figure, his fingertips almost piercing the thick material of your dress as your cheek covered his head, totally annihilating the distance. “Don’t you ever do that to me again. Never again”.

tag list: @spidey-pal, @shadow-of-wonder, @stassaurus, @peachlle, @livvtheangel, @myjbphase, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest, @vxxn128, @keithseabrook27, @spaghettirogers, @writingstudent, @hp-hogwartsexpress , @eggingamazinglove, @geeksareunique, @cailoleaf, @simonsbluee , @hereforsmutandfluff, @starxtt, @jenepleurepasbaby, @staygold-bebold, @marvelschriss, @captivatedbycillianmurphy

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mermaidxatxheart · 4 years ago

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Better Together Chapter 5

Here's the next chapter. I hope you like it. Comments are always welcome. If you'd like to be added to my tag list, send me an ask. My works are not to be posted anywhere.

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: violence, panic, swearing probably.

Chapter 4

Chapter Five

Leaves whip across your face, scratching the bruised skin of your cheek.

Dirt shifts under your feet.

Your fingers slip on Poe’s shirt and you struggle to regain your grasp.

Panting echoes in your ear, mirroring your erratic, pounding heartbeat.

Roots seem to stretch out of the ground, determined to trip you.

You can’t see more than a foot in front of you.

You stumble, crashing to your knees.

Poe’s grunt is muted, soft, as he lands next to you. Your entire torso feels like it’s on fire.

You want to stay down, to just give up.

But you can’t.

Not yet.

The river is ahead of you. You can hear it.

You start again, ignoring the burning in your muscles.

The trip back is impossible. Too long. Too far. Your urgency makes you clumsy. Your injuries make you weak.

Blaster fire snaps and crackles over your head and you yelp, ducking out of reflex. Poe shoots over your shoulder and you hear the grunt as one of your pursuers goes down.

You have to outsmart them, lose them before they can follow you to your ship. Everything will have been for nothing if that happens.

It takes more time than you can afford, but finally you can board. You guide Poe to the built in sofa and run to the cockpit, getting ready for take off.

Your hands are shaking.

You can’t breathe.

Your vision is doubling.

It’s blurry.

You smash the buttons, definitely not being careful. The engine rumbles after too long of being dormant. You push the throttle to full blast, not caring if you burned down the entire forest.

Fuck this planet.

You plot a random course, jumping to hyperspace the second you can. You run back to Poe, grabbing the cart of medical supplies. You don’t care about your own wounds, only focused on him.

“They probably,” he starts and you nod, jabbing him with a bacta shot.

“I know. I’m taking precautions.” You mutter, avoiding his face. You can’t look at him. Not now. Not after everything.

“Hey, do you think,” he starts and you clench your jaw together as you wrap his bleeding leg as best you can. “Do you think Leia is sobbing uncontrollably right now because she misses me so much?” He asks, hissing quietly.

“Yes.” You reply, tying it tight.

“It’s worse than I feared.” He continues and you push yourself up, heading back for the cockpit, not waiting to hear what’s worse.

You take your natural seat, the co-pilot’s chair and take the wheel. Your hands are scraped and bloody from falling, among who knows what else. The secret stitches all over your body pull uncomfortably, you’ve probably ripped them open. They were crude to begin with.

You can’t just sit here. You have to look for tracking beacons. You force yourself to stand and head back through the cabin, avoiding Poe, even though you can feel his dark eyes on you.

You don’t blame him for hating you. He’s in this mess because of you.

You search the entire ship, maintaining your isolation until you drop out of hyperspace. There’s no tracker inside. There’s a decent chance that the ship was never found in the first place. But you have to be sure.

You head back to the cabin and guide the ship to an asteroid, landing on the dark side. You don’t notice the bloody hand prints you’ve left everywhere, mind too wild and overwhelmed with panic.

“Y/N.” Poe starts and you ignore him, grabbing the oxygen mask and lowering the ramp. It’s cold outside the ship, cold enough to turn your fingers blue.

Good. Maybe they’ll freeze and fall off, and then you can’t hurt anyone else.

You climb all over the outside of the ship, checking in absolutely every little space that could hide something like that, but there’s nothing.

Still…

Hesitation eats at you.

You take a minute outside, hiding like a fucking coward, before going back in and starting the engines once more.

“Find anything?” Poe asks from behind you. You jump, smacking your hand on the hyper speed lever as you try to turn.

“Damn it.” You curse quietly, holding your throbbing hand to your midsection. “Go lay down. I’ve got this.” You tell him, turning back around, trying to get your heart to calm the hell down.

“Y/N,” he starts, but you can’t take the look in his eyes, the ones filled with regret.

“Go. I didn’t find anything.” You say shortly and he eases himself into the pilot’s chair-his seat.

He looks over the console, reading all the flashing lights as easily as a second language. “But you’re still light speed skipping?” He frowns, turning to look at you.

You don’t try to make him understand. How can you? Your last gut instinct turned out so bad, he can’t possibly trust you again.

“Safety precaution.” You mumble, flipping some more switches.

He studies you for a minute, the silence dragging on and you want to scream at him to stop, to go away. But you don’t. And the silence drags on.

“Alright.” He says finally. “But you’ll need my help.” He finishes and you squeeze your eyes shut before nodding. You start the flight sequence, your broken heart doing little twists in your chest. You don’t know if this is going to work, or if there’s even a need for it. But you’ve committed now, you have to follow through.

The ship lifts and you hover before punching it to hyperspace. Radar is still clear as you course correct around crazy land masses. Spires of solid rock shoot straight into the sky as you maneuver. Poe’s grip is tight on the wheel, he’s nervous. He doesn’t trust you.

And just as well.

But the realization still hurts. Your best friend has lost all faith in you.

You flip the next switch, lining up the next location and Poe initiates, sending you back into the seat with a painful grunt. He glances at you, but you won’t show weakness, not when he was nothing but strong for you. You can hide this.

Water reflects a brilliantly lit sky, two suns reflect off a glittering lake, almost blinding you as you rocket towards the tree line in the distance. Radar is still clear.

Again, another planet where you’re steering for your life, praying to the Maker that you don’t crash.

Another, and then just one more.

Poe is silent through the whole thing. Realizing you were wrong, you were never being followed, you cheeks heat with shame as you plot the course for home.

“Go clean your hands, I’ve got it from here.” He says finally.

Carefully, painfully, you peel your hands off. The skin, sticky with blood and cuts adheres to the wheel, pinching and pulling as you lift them. Fresh blood rushes to the surface and you hurry from the cockpit to the refresher.

You turn on the water and scrub your hands, removing more skin than you’re cleaning, doing just as much harm as good. Your reflection taunts you in the mirror, staring at you, blaming you. Wildly, you fling it open, exposing the cabinet behind with all of Poe’s things; medicine, shaving supplies. The tightness grows in your throat and you drop your gaze, scrubbing harder, as if that could make everything go away.

Your nose burns and your eyes blur and you sniffle. Maker, you’re fucking crying while Poe is in there, flying the entire ship by himself while he’s injured and you’re in here, crying like a little fucking girl because you feel guilty.

The ship drops out of hyperspace and you crash back into the wall, head smacking the corner of the shower stall. Pain flares down your neck as you struggle to regain your balance.

Poe’s voice comes on the speaker. “Sorry about that. Had to drop out early. Making our descent now.” He tells you.

“Do…” you cut off, your voice rough, and so fucking weak. “D-do you need help?” You manage and the silence drags on.

“No.” Comes the short reply.

You want to wail, to cry. To tell him how fucking sorry you are! You’re sorry for the kiss, and for getting him caught— but he won’t wanna hear your pathetic excuses and bumbling.

You slide to the floor, knees pressed tight against your chest as you try to breathe, try to steady yourself. The tight space helps, and acts as a compression unit. But it’s not enough. Not after everything you’ve done.

You can feel when the ship makes landfall and panic rises in your chest, sheer, blinding panic. The engines cut off and you hope Poe walks right off the ship to get looked at. Your ribs ache with the effort of holding everything in, of being silent.

And then a short knock on the door jolts you. “We’re here, Y/N. We’re home. Open the door.” He says, there’s something strange in his voice and for a moment your heart stutters in your chest. How sure are you that what you brought with you is actually your Poe? Does the First Order have capabilities on this level?

“You go ahead. I’ll b-be out in a minute.” You call and he sighs.

“Open the door.” He repeats.

“Poe, I-... I just need a minute. Please? Go get yourself taken care of.” You plead.

“You have to get looked at, too.” He reminds you.

“I know. I will.” You promise. Just not anywhere he can see you. There’s an uncomfortable moment of silence before you hear him turn and limp away.

You can hear him speaking at the bottom of the ramp, but then there’s a commotion and he’s shouting. Your name is mixed in and you scramble back from the door, already trapped, nowhere to go. Poe’s shouting gets louder, more frantic and tears finally escape as you shove yourself into the shower, twisting to hide. Clearly, this isn’t the resistance you left, the First Order got here before you, tricked Poe into landing. Now they’re going to finish what they started.

The door to the stall is pushed back, revealing a face you thought you recognized, but maybe your mind is playing tricks on you again. Blood loss is making you disoriented.

“Hey, Y/N, glad you’re back.” They say with a smile that seems to warp into something wicked. “Got something for ya, gonna make you feel real good.” He says, already reaching for you.

“No! Don’t touch me! Don’t touch m—“ you thrust your arm out to fend him off, but he jabs a huge needle into the crook of your elbow and you cry out as it pinches. “No,” you croak, already feeling weaker. Your knees no longer support you and you slump, falling right into their open arms.

“Get a table.” He barks over your head and you try to struggle. “Sh, sh, sh. It’s okay. You’re home now.” He promises, scooping you up and setting you gently on a flat surface. Foggy memories try to claw through the sedative, trying to warn you.

You try to roll off the table, you need to escape, you need to make sure Poe is safe. This is all your fault.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy, Y/N.” He says, catching your wrists and securing them to the table. You try to scream, looking around frantically. Faces are blurry, dissolving as the sedative claims you. You can hear Poe shouting your name as he tries to reach you. People are holding him back, stopping him from taking your hand.

“Give her another dose, she’s fighting it.” The man above you says. The last thing you see before everything goes dark is Poe, fighting to get to you.

***

The hike to their base is long. It takes about half a day for them to march you back there. Made worse by the fact that your arms are bound so tightly behind your back that you’re losing feeling.

Poe keeps looking at you to make sure you’re okay, but other than that, he won’t talk to you. You want to tell him you’re sorry for getting him caught, for kissing him and distracting him. And the way he won’t talk to you, the way he keeps cutting off your sentences tells you that he blames you, too.

The troopers are content to watch you trip and fall, laughing as they drag you to your feet again. Sometimes they’ll even purposely trip you just to watch you struggle.

One time in particular, if you had just fallen where their boot caught your ankle, you would have been fine. But you try to right yourself, stumbling forward awkwardly for a few steps before falling and bouncing your head off a rock. Your name manages to hiss through Poe’s clenched jaw, but other than that, nothing. You’re hauled unceremoniously to your feet and shoved forward, but you can feel blood trickling down your face.

They finally lead you into their base, sore and bruised, dragging you through the sterile halls until shoving you both into a room.

It’s a dark room, red lights dotting the walls sporadically. In the middle, two upright restraining tables facing each other.

Just like in your dream.

Chapter 6

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only-lurkin-dont-mind-me · 4 years ago

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The Path of Loyalty is Paved in Blood

While I enjoy reading Mostly fluff pieces, it seems as though whenever I write it always ends up... a little angsty (mostly with a happy end though, I’m not heartless)

@chiliiscereal

TW: Blood. Injury. Character death(s)

The night had been cold when you first met them, you remembered it well. You were still so young, so were they. You had been wandering the empty park in the later hours of the night, wandering aimlessly until you heard other children's laughter. Short stubby legs racing to find where the noises were coming from, the chattering grew louder as you made your way to a single basketball court.

As you looked past the shrubbery dotting the edges of the court, you saw them, four brothers smiling and laughing in delight as they passed the ball around in what seemed to be a game of catch. You were too young to even think of how they looked different from you. Instead, you stood in place, wondering if you could join in their game.

When the smallest of the group lost his aim and ended up throwing the ball into the same bushes that hid you, you took it as your cue.

"Mikey!" one of them laughed gleefully, "I'm over here; you gotta throw it to me!"

"I'm doing my best Leo, catch better!" the other replied in turn as you grabbed the ball. Slowly you walked to the edge of the chalk outlined court, ball in hand, looking around nervously. You could hear them walking towards you. You only looked up when the biggest of the group spoke to you with a cheerful tone as you bounced the ball towards him.

"Nice find, I thought we lost it that time." Despite being the largest out of his brothers, he was smaller than you with a big grin. You couldn't help but smile back; yeah, they seemed like fun.

Taking another step forward, you finally found your voice, "Can I play too?" You asked with a bright smile, one that was matched by the kid that had two red stripes by his eyes.

He was quick to move to your side and grab your arm, pulling you along while exclaiming loudly, "New friend's on my team!"

"What?!"

"No fair!"

"NO TAKE-BACKS!"

The darkened smoke-filled skies hid the sun from sight. You watched your heavy breaths rise into a cold mist, glowering at the looming threat that towered over you. You thought of that moment, of each and every moment you had cherished with this found family of yours.

The common tradition that came with sleeping over in the lair, you and Mikey would go straight to the kitchen, baking tools in your grasp as you both set about designing something that would be amazing. The music had been loud as you both danced around each other, tossing stencils back and forth, drawing out ideas for cake designs. Taking turns kicking the others out each time one of the brothers tried to infiltrate and sneak off with the tasty decorative pieces. "You know-" Mikey had spoken in an easy tone as you both worked on the final touches of the nights' creation. "-it really is fun getting to do this stuff with you, you're my favorite crafting buddy!" He would say while throwing an arm around your shoulders, beaming smile and all.

As the cold air of the storm seeped around you, fighting off the burning heat from the creature, you snarled at the beast above you, fist clenched, widening your stance, placing yourself directly between it and your family that lay in a bloodied and far too silent heap just behind you.

Another late night with Donnie, hiding out in the lab trying to be as quiet as possible while watching old horror movies. You could never be scared of them whenever watching them with the purple-clad turtle. "See? See?! right there, it's a big ass wire holding the doll up can you believe it!" You had jumped on him, covering his mouth to stop the roaring laughter from waking up everyone else in the lair. In the same fashion, he had covered your mouth to help you bite back the same laughter. shoving your hands away to keep his commentary up, "The blood looks like it's just water mixed with ketchup!" He had wheezed out. Throwing popcorn and chips at each other to try and silence each other in the strangest attempted stealthy food fight as the ridiculous horror movie played on.

You could feel the ache in your bones as the rain and ash pelted your skin, your muscles wanting nothing more than to give out. You knew that the only thing keeping you going was adrenalin and a deep-rooted instinct to guard and stand by your family. As the blood dripped from your wounds down your person into a puddle on the ground, you planted yourself in place. Standing firm and unyielding.

Evenings with Raph, sitting with him on the floor of his room, holding his trembling hands together as he held a paper flower in his palms. 'The Beauty of Origami' laid open on the ground next to you both, Raph had asked you to go over the instructions and make the simple lotus flower first so he could see the steps in person. As he stared at it now it seemed so small and fragile in his larger hands. "You can do this, Raph. Paper is easy, it takes a light touch and that's it. Even if you mess up it's alright. It won't hurt anything if you tear a piece or two, we'll just try again." He finally looked to you, absolute trust in his eyes as he nodded. Gingerly placing your flower down in front of him, Raph took the piece of colorful paper from you, and he began to craft.

You felt every emotion at once rising from within you, faithful love for your family, Warmth from all of the small moments you held close to your heart with them. You could physically feel your spirit rise in a violent force to defend them, this wasn't just a group of brothers. This was yours, your family.

"Hurry up, if you don't get in here already the dynamic duo is going to be a dynamic uno. I will leave you behind if Raph finds you in the kitchen this late!" Leo whisper yelled as he stood halfway through the portal that leads to who knows where. You could only throw the bag of chips at him as you rushed his way, food, and drinks in tote. As a heavy set of footsteps slowly sounded through the hallway you saw Leo's eyes widen, He lunged forward, wrapping an arm around your torso, and pulled you through the portal with a laugh. As the world brightened once again to reveal a quiet cliffside, you could hear the water below. "Come on bestie, help me set everything up." So it would go, snacks, drinks, a blanket to lay on, and an endless sky of start to watch, fake constellations to make up and give stories too.

The beast let out a crashing roar as it stomped the ash-covered ground in front of you. You could feel the force of what felt like many in your words as you bellowed a wordless, hateful cry. You could feel tears rushing down your face now. Still, you remained in place. "This is my family! You will not touch them!" Thunder booming as your voice sounded. The storm only growing as though it was lashing out in your own emotional state.

Your ferocity faltered as you felt a hand reach out to rest against your ankle. You risked a glance behind you, looking down to see that it was Leo, you could see his bloodied mouth trying to move, unable to form the words, and tears falling down his bruised face. his hand shook from the effort of trying to grab hold of you. His eyes were desperate, tired, near lifeless. He wasn't going to tell you to fight, or to run. He was just... Scared. Of existing at this moment alone.

You looked to the beast with a burning, hateful, wrath. You growled towards the creature as you turned your back to it. Instead of fighting fruitlessly with your last breath, you allowed your body to fall to the ground. Hitting your knees as everything you had was finally given out.

You leaned against Raph’s side unable to feel for his normally pounding heartbeat. resting an arm on top of him to hold onto Mikey's limp hand, squeezing lightly, waiting for a responding squeeze that you knew would never come. Stretching your other arm over Leo's back to reach for Donnie, resting a hand on his chest, feeling for his slow heartbeat, only to be met with a cold lack of the familiar rhythm. Finally, you let yourself slump forward onto Leo's upper shell. You pressed the side of your head against his, no longer holding back the anguished broken cries. You felt his arm wrapping around your shoulders desperately as he tried to catch any breath he could. You could hear his crackling breathing slow as his body began to relax.

This was your family, you had found them when you were young. You had grown up with them. Celebrated with them at their best and mourned with them at their worst. You would find a permanent rest with them. You would stay until your final breath gave out and beyond.

You called out their names softly in turn, waiting for any response.

Nothing.

You closed your eyes, knowing that this was where you belonged. Besides your family, till the end. As you allowed your body to finally rest, you held tight where you could. Allowing what final strength you possessed to be poured into a final declaration. "... I love you."

You could hear the fading noise of the beast finally getting closer, you had a feeling though that none of you would feel the burning as its molten fire gathered in its gut, its maw unhinged, the fading light of its flames shines and-

...

"HEY!" Your eyes shot open as you sat upright, greeted by the sight of four smiling brothers, no equipment, no blood or bruising, not a single scar from their lifetimes marred their scales. They seemed, healthy, glowing even in a way you had never seen before.

Leo kneeled next to you, Raph was standing tall with Mikey perched on his shoulders. Donnie standing a few steps behind them, looking outward along the treeline of what seemed to be a meadow, staring towards something that had caught his attention.

"C'mon, Donnie says the river down there has got to lead to a lake or something." Raph gestured to where Donnie was looking.

"Yeah, baby! We're gonna go for a swim, see what we can find out here." Mikey chimed in, hopping from Raph’s shoulders to the ground, snatching up Donnie and pulling him along in his excitement.

"Yes, do try to hurry though, Michel here just might leave us all behind if we take too long!" Donnie shouted back to you as he was dragged along.

Raph could only laugh as he raced to catch up with his younger brothers.

Leo grabbed your arm, pulling you up easily with a relaxed grin. As soon as you were up he began walking in the direction his brothers left in. Once he realized you weren't walking with him, however. He stopped, turning to you with a knowing look. "Hey-" Leo reached out a hand to you. "You coming?"

You stared at him, settling into yourself with a wave of newfound peace, you couldn't feel a single ache or pain, just a light airy happiness surrounding you and your family. You slowly reached out and took Leo's hand, smiling back at him with a shine in your eyes you could only remember having when you had first met a lifetime ago. "Of course I'm coming with you guys, I'm always right with you aren't I?"

Leo nodded with an amused snort. "Course you are, you're always with us, oh and by the way-" Leo pulled you along, walking at a leisurely pace, seeming to settle into this new place just as much as you had. "-We love you too."

#doingnickelodeonsjob #rottmnt x reader #rottmnt #tmnt x reader #tmnt #tbh this is like highkey all familial love nothing romantic so yeah #also sorry for the angst I intended to write something sweet but just... *vaguely gesturing* this happened?

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whimperwoods · 4 years ago

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Arms of the Enemy - D&D whump - 16b

This is part 16b! It could be 17, but I want the whole wound cleaning thing to be kind of of a piece.

There is now a masterpost, which can be found here.

Castor is a warlock, in service to the Great Old One and the Dark Emperor, in that order. Ed is a fighter, a knight and battle master in the service of the True King of Lumenea. They have always been enemies. Away from it all, they might be able to become something else. Maybe even friends.

(This time: Ed blushes. Castor makes a choice.)

tw: aftermath of torture, tw: mind reading, tw: captivity, tw: forced to entertain captor, tw: wound cleaning, tw: medical, tw: burns, tw: he doesn’t want his butt touched, in particular, but that’s where some of the injuries are that need tending, but it’s not sexy, but it still probably needs a warning?, tw: bone setting

taglist: @redwingedwhump, @fanastywhump, @insanitywishes @bluebadgerwhump,@burtlederp, @newandfiguringitout, @kawhump , @extrabitterbrain, @kixngiggles

***************

It hadn’t been particularly embarrassing before, lying on his stomach like this, but as gentle as Castor’s hands were on his ass, Ed still hated the sensation of being touched somewhere so private and, even more, the knowledge that the water woman was watching, staring, giggling periodically.

He knew more of the welts across his buttocks and thighs were closed than the ones across his back, but it didn’t mean much when Castor made full contact with one of the open cuts and he had to stifle another noise of pain.

“I know,” Castor murmured softly, “I’m sorry. I’ve almost got all the straw out of the wounds, though. That’ll be the worst part for a while.”

“It’s an interesting problem,” the woman said, her voice still sounding vaguely satisfied. “Doesn’t happen when you live in the water.”

Ed’s blush darkened, the burning intensifying across his face, his ears, and his neck, all the way to the tops of his shoulders. It almost itched, and he wanted to hide his whole head at once, just tuck the damp blanket he was lying on all the way around himself and hide.

Castor was right about the straw - once the open cuts were free of dirt and detritus, the gentle motion of the damp cloth across his posterior got at least a little less agonizing, if not less embarrassing.

By the time Castor was helping him into a pair of clean smallclothes they’d found in with the wizard’s old belongings, it was enough of a relief to have his more sensitive parts shielded that he almost managed not to think about the fact that he was wearing second hand underthings.

Castor seemed to notice, his eyes lingering a little too long on his flushed face before he helped him back down again. Every time he thought he couldn’t blush harder, his skin seemed to find a way, getting ever hotter and itchier.

Castor pulled him into a hug and he went willingly, burying his face in Castor’s shoulder so he wouldn’t have to look either of them in the eye. He took the moment to breathe, to calm himself.

“You ready to keep going?” The advantage to talking aloud was that he could feel the vibrations of Castor’s voice humming against his burning cheek, and he wanted to say no, wanted to ask to stay there, to ask Castor to just keep talking to him, but that would just drag out the whole thing, just keep him under the strange woman’s eyes for longer.

“Yeah,” he whispered, “Sorry.”

He didn’t know what he was apologizing for, but Castor accepted it with a soft little hum and the woman giggled again, keeping the hot, itching blush in Ed’s cheeks that he didn’t seem to be able to ease.

*****

There was a gulf in the pit of Castor’s stomach as he helped Ed back to the ground and started working on his left leg. Somewhere inside, he knew himself to be a coward. Ed’s right knee was as swollen today as it had been yesterday, his ankle was still broken, his foot still a grotesque mass of broken-bone swelling and bloody nail beds, and Castor didn’t know how to face those things, didn’t know how to fix them, and was chicken enough to start with the other leg, with cuts and burns he knew what to do with.

Their captor was clearly growing bored, an entirely separate problem he didn’t have any good answer for, either. She was moving around a lot more, restless, and he couldn’t help worrying that in her restlessness she’d find the amulet hidden in the healer’s kit or rush them back to the underground lake before they were finished or poke at Ed’s wounds again.

The cuts, welts, and bruises along the backs of Ed’s thigh weren’t good, but they weren’t as bad as the burns marring his better foot and running up his calf.

As soon as the soap touched Ed’s burns, he tensed again, the effort of staying quiet raising a thin layer of sweat across his brow, even as he failed to hold back soft grunts of pain in spite of the effort.

That, at least, might be fixable. Sort of.

<<I hate to say this,>> he began, tentatively, <<But I think she’s getting bored. You might need to make a little more noise.>>

Another grunt escaped Ed. <<So you want for me to - agh - scream for her? No more sweetness?>>

He sounded tired, and Castor couldn’t get his head around the comment. Was Ed tired of sweetness? Was he not? Was he just - tired? That was probably fair, all things considered, but it was hard to know if the exhaustion was the main thing, or if it was covering up the old irritation from before.

<<I don’t mean to be dramatic about it, or make extra noise. I just mean don’t work so hard keeping quiet. Let her - fuck, Ed, I don’t know. I just don’t like how restless she is.>>

He didn’t get an answer right away, but then he washed across one of the burns again, and Ed let out a yelp, the tension in his stomach relaxing as he stopped fighting quite so hard for silence. Castor felt his own muscles relaxing with him, even as a wave of guilt washed over him.

The yelps seemed to get the woman’s attention again, and she leaned into Castor’s back again, pressing against the bruises and reminding him with a twinge that they were there, but at least that meant she wasn’t focused on anything else, like the hidden amulet.

<<Thank you,>> he told Ed, <<And I’m sorry.>>

*****

Letting go of himself, letting out the little yelps and shouts his body wanted to make as Castor cleaned his wounds, felt strange, but as it went on, Ed adjusted, relaxed further, sagged into the ground and let the soft, now mostly dry blanket cushion him.

There was still something about it that kept the heat stoked in his cheeks, that ached through the base of his throat, and he found that he could only stand it if he kept his eyes locked on Castor’s face or the too-blue sky above them, away from the woman’s intently focused eyes.

Then Castor switched to his other leg, and any thought of silence, of embarrassment, of anything left him.

Castor pressed fingers against his swollen knee, touching it directly instead of trying to avoid it, and Ed cried out before he could stop himself, his back arching against the pain.

“No, hold still!” Castor half-shouted. “I need to know how bad it is.”

Ed wanted to answer, wanted to tell him off, to tell him how bad it was, but all that made it out of his throat was another full-bodied shout, one that left him breathless and gasping.

“Castor don’t-” he panted, “Don’t, please, I can’t-”

“Your, umm. Your kneecap is definitely in pieces.”

“Please, Castor-”

Ed made it up to his elbows, looking up at the warlock and meeting his eyes, more noticably blue than usual with the skin around them going faintly pale.

“I know,” Castor said, still blanching, “But if I can’t push the pieces closer together and bind them that way, it’ll never heal at all.”

“You can’t, Castor, I-”

“I have to.”

Castor’s hands were resting lightly around his leg, below the knee, and Ed could feel a faint trembling in them.

The woman’s grin was all teeth, her face no longer doing a particularly good impression of a human. “Oh dear. That is a problem, isn’t it?”

Castor broke eye contact with Ed, and even before the warlock spoke, Ed found his body reacting, letting out a soft, despairing moan.

“I’m going to need an extra set of hands, ma’am.”

<<Don’t let her touch me. Please Castor, don’t let her touch me.>>

<<I can’t fix your ankle. I already know that. But this one - this one I might be able to help. I can’t just - Ed I have to.>>

<<You don’t.>>

<<I do.>>

Ed cried softly, his eyes locked back into Castor’s again, but he could see the resolve building in Castor’s eyes, could see any hope of keeping the woman’s hands off of him fading, and this time he looked away first, closing his eyes and twisting his face away.

“Do it,” he said softly, not even sure, anymore, whether agreeing was a deal with the devil or, if it was, who was the devil.

The woman’s hands were not gentle, her fingers following behind Castor’s, pressing the two halves of his bone back together, her sharp nails digging into his flesh where it hurt the most. He screamed, his back arching again as his voice cracked, shooting impossibly high.

“I know,” Castor said, moving fast now, “I know. I’m moving as fast as I can.”

What Castor built both was and wasn’t a splint, strange and complicated and holding his kneecap in place from multiple angles, and when he pulled the bandages tight enough to dig into the swollen area around the joint, Ed screamed again, his voice trailing away to nothing and leaving a lingering hoarseness behind.

It was a relief when the woman’s hands let go, when the bandages were the only thing holding his knee too tight, but it still hurt, oh gods it still hurt, and he could feel his pulse thrumming through the knee, pounding harder at the base of his throat than it had before.

When Castor pressed gently against his ankle to find the fractures, the world went black.

*****

It was a relief to feel Ed drop into unconsciousness under his hands, because his ankle - gods, Castor didn’t know how to make heads or tails of his ankle.

“Do you need me to hold that in place, too?” The water woman��s voice was sweet and sickening, making his stomach crawl.

“No,” he said, his voice coming out unexpectedly hollow, “There’s no point. I can’t fix this one. I’m not even sure I fixed the other one, but with this one -” he sighed. “Just - I’m gonna bandage up his toes, but then I-”

Her pale green eyes were unreadable. He sighed, bowing his head just slightly as he knelt beside Ed, and looking down at her bare, half-webbed feet instead. “Please let me stay up here with him until he comes to again, ma’am. I - I don’t want him to wake up in the dark.”

Her sharp-nailed hand ran suddenly through his hair and he barely held back a flinch. “Hmm, sweet indeed. Yes, my friends will like that story, I think. Are you going to hold him? Cuddle up again? I hear humans like kissing. Or are you only kittens, after all?”

A blush colored Castor’s cheeks, and he knew two things all at once. One was that he’d never manage to carry Ed away from here, amulet or no amulet. Not with the woman still so - whatever it was that she was. The other was that there were only two ways to handle this, and he knew which one he could accept. He could either hurt Ed more, or he could give something of himself up choosing tenderness instead. He could hide away, keep himself hidden and let her be interested in Ed, or-

He blushed more deeply. “I want to wash his hair, ma’am. I - I always thought that felt good, having my hair washed, and I -” he bit his lip, blushing more deeply as he looked back up at her. If he was going to take the attention, he needed to take it fully. “It’s my fault, ma’am. I could have stopped this. Some of this. Maybe. And I didn’t. I knew, and I -”

The best lies were ones you couldn’t be sure were lies at all. The words came out as a hoarse whisper, his throat thickening up. “I didn’t stop this, and now I owe him,” he said, “Please, let me pay him back. He - he deserves something kind. He’s been through so much.”

Her head cocked to the side, and he knew it had worked.

“You can wash mine until he wakes up, then,” she said. “It does sound interesting.”

#whump #hurt/comfort #d&d whump #wound cleaning #painful wound cleaning #tw captivity #tw medical #tw burning #tw bone setting #aw man is she about to poison what was supposed to be a sweet fluffy scene after this where the boys just get to be soft and tender #and emotionally intimate in ways they want and don't want and don't comprehend and desperately need somehow?#maybe #also tempting to skip straight to after when they're back in the cave so this is me definitively NOT promising hair-washing next time #Castor also can't fix Ed's bad hand #but he's had better looks at that and knows it's partially healed and will need re-breaking and is well beyond him #so he doesn't need to do any investigating or adjusting just now

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whump-it · 4 years ago

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Callum: Fever in Chains

TWs for sickfic, stress position, restraints and Hayden beyond horrid!

@haro-whumps @grizzlie70 @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @iaminamoodymoodtoday @burtlederp @my-whumpy-little-heart @pepperonyscience @faewhump @crowned-avery @whump-tr0pes @spookyboywhump @finder-of-rings @liliability @whumpfigure @girlwithacoolcat @tears-and-lilies @inpainandsuffering @whumpfigure @whumppsychology @ashintheairlikesnow @justabitofwhump

Follows on from this little piece! https://whump-it.tumblr.com/post/614105812111065088/for-the-one-word-prompt-maybe-callum-with-a-fever

"You can lead a horse to water," Master Hayden said. "But you can't make it drink. Do you know what that means? Or are you too stupid these days?"

Callum's eyes flickered open and closed. They felt hot. His eyeballs felt like they were burning. He wanted to rub his head and check that the spot that always seemed to be bruised was still bruised. When he moved his hand it was stopped almost instantly by the restraints around his wrists. His joints were aching and throbbing.

He choked on a sob.

"I'm sorry m...m...mmm...Master Hayden," he shivered, the tremor running from the top of his head right down to his toes. He thought that he had been listening to a lullaby. He thought that his hands were his today. But they were stuck somewhere above his head. He pulled again, pulled and got no more than an inch before they were stopped again. He groaned and looked up, vision swimming a little. His wrists were cuffed backed together again as they always were, the link between them jerking against a bar of the headboard, keeping them trapped up there.

Hands in the air. He sobbed again. The lullaby came back. Rock-a-bye. He rocked his body back and for and cried with his hands shackled above his head. His mum would have sung that to him when he was ill. His mum would have cared.

His Master sighed, the noise loud and jarring as it pierced his feverish delirium. Callum wanted the wash cloth back. He wanted his Master to tell him that he liked him red and sweating with fever. He wanted not to be called stupid.

He wanted to force his brain to remember what it meant when you led a horse to water.

He wanted his hands back.

“I’ll just go ahead and assume it’s your stupidity showing itself again,” Master Hayden said. Callum groaned and rolled himself as far over as he could, trapped up by the headboard as he was, seeking the soft comfort of the mattress beneath him in place of the matted comfort of his teddy. He wanted his teddy.

“I’m sorrry...” he muttered into the bedding. “I’m sorry for being stupid but I don’t...I don’t...I...”

“I beg your pardon?” The bed dipped and lurched and Callum felt seasick. His brain told him that his body was going to tip. He was certain that he was going to fall. A bead of sweat rolled down from one shoulder blade to the other.

“I said I’m sorry Master Hayden,” Callum twisted back a little, forced his watering and hot eyes open to try to look at his Master. “I said I’m...”

“You said ‘but’ you ungrateful little wretch,” Master Hayden grabbed a handful of Callum’s hair, and shook his head side to side roughly. “But what exactly hmm?”

Callum’s world lurched again with the violent to and fro of his head. His brain felt like slurry, slopping uselessly against the inside of his skull. He could barely think and he wanted his hands and his teddy and he knew that he was sorry but. But. There was definitely a but and the flame of fever across his skin and in his mind was working faster than his mouth could keep up with. Words that should never see the light of day and could never be put back were pressing up against his teeth and his defences were coming down faster than he could prevent.

“But I try!” The words burst out, a dam with weakened, crumbling walls. “I TRY. I try every day and I want to be better and do better but you never tell me how I should do it so that it’s right!”

The silence from his Master was deafening. The buzzing from his brain and his ears and his fever was louder. It drowned everything out. It drowned him.

“You won’t tell me! You just hurt me and hurt me and hurt me...” a cough tore up his throat and Callum heaved over it, trying to get it out of the way so that it could stop choking him up. “You don’t do anything to help me....” He shrieked at the blow tht he hadn’t seen coming, the heavy handed thud across his right temple. He pulled and pulled to bring his hands down so that he could protect himself but they remained stubbornly locked up around the headboard. The effort of his pulling dragged him bodily up the bed, as he pushed himself up closer and closer to his hands. He curled up as close to the headboard as he could while his Master beat him across the head.

“No!” he cried out, sobbing over the word, stretching its syllable out, multiplying them.

"No!?" Master Hayden threw his head down as though he was disgusted. As though Callum was disgusting. "Where on earth do you get the idea that you can say 'but' to me? That you can say 'no' to me? Me, who puts a roof over your head and food in your belly?"

Callum sobbed and hiccuped, ached and burned up with fever and pain, aches and stupidity. His hands were being moved. They weren't above his head. Hands in the air? No. Hands behind his back. Face pressed into the mattress. A knee in the small of his back as the cuffs were snapped together roughly before the pressure let up and he was dragged off the bed by the wrists. His shoulders lifted too high and the pain made him shriek and drop to his knees with weak knees and a fevered haze.

"Up." His Master's voice penetrated through the overloaded sensations but his limbs refused to work. His normally quick ability to move when restrained was dulled and sluggish. He tried. He screamed internally at himself to move but he wanted to sleep. He wanted to sleep and to recover from whatever was raging through his system.

As he struggled to get back to his knees, his Master sighed. Another sigh. Another mark against him. Something else he'd done wrong. The ever familiar feeling of a hand twisting in his hair registered just a second before he was hauled across the floor.

“You can walk on your knees you little wretch,” Master Hayden said as he pulled Callum along next to him. “Ungrateful creature. You go ahead and have the all out stupidity to get ill. You take up my time with helping you. You let me put you in my bed and cool you down and then you answer me back. I have never been as insulted as I am right now. Hmm? You know that? Insulted.” With the final word, they reached the basement door, the latch being thrown hastily back and the door swung open. “Down. And if you take too long I’ll just kick you down there.”

Through his haze of pain and fever, Callum edged his way down the stairs, moaning softly to himself, working his way along on his knees and his side, using the occasional press of his foot here and there where he thought that he would get away with it. The one dim light that perpetually lit his rules seemed over bright and foggy around the edges as he got closer to it. As he approached the centre of the floor.

“Stay on your knees until I’m ready,” he heard his Master say. His mouth moved before his brain could tell it not to.

“But my knees hurt so much Mas...” he was cut off swiftly by a thudding blow to the side of his head.

“Let’s keep that stupid bruise of yours around a little longer shall we?” Master Hayden hissed at him. “Idiot.” Callum sobbed and swayed on his knees. His bruised and no doubt bloody knees, barely registering the sounds of chains being moved around behind him. His world felt too unstable to focus on anything for too long. Like a song that plays from one speaker to another, the metallic clinking of chain shifted from one side of the room to the other. In one ear and then in the next.

Back and for.

He listened and rocked a little in time with it.

Back and for.

Lost as he was in the aching rythm, he yelped then whined when his Master suddenly appeared next to him, one hand around his throat and the other around his tummy.

“Face down, stupid,” Master Hayden whispered it in his ear as he lowered Callum to the floor. Somewhere in the back of his fevereed mind, Callum felt gratitude that he hadn’t been kicked to the floor without his hands to break the fall. He felt gratitude that he had been helped. He felt gratitude that his Master was being so kind after he had made himself so ashamed upstairs on the bed.

“Thank you Master Hayden,” he croaked out, his voice cracking with his increasingly sore throat. He starined to hear anything through the muddle of his mind. To hear a word from his Master. He yearned to hear a word from his Master. Anything that might take the razor edge of his shame from him. Instead he heard footsteps and chains again. He felt something around his wrists. Cold. It made his body shiver and twitch and he couldn’t stop it.

“You can stay like this until I think you can be trusted not to be so rude and ungrateful towards me,”

A swift and tight pull jerked Callums arms up behind him and he screamed and sobbed at the pressure on his shoulders. A click. A loud snapping sound that echoed through his skull and hurt his head. A padlock shutting with a register as loud as a gunshot. Kepping him tightly in place. Chains from the hooks in the walls wrapped around his wrists and pulled taut.

Face down and bawling his eyes out. Arms up behind him to an almost unbearably painful degree. No soft teddy to lean against.

Hands in the air. Rock-a-bye your bear. Bear is now asleep.

He wanted his lullaby. His bear. He wanted his mum.

He wanted anything but silence broken by his own screams and cries. Anything but the sound of the basement door as it shut behind his Master and left him there.

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caught-in-the-filter · 4 years ago

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Emma Was Cold

A Neverland smut fic for @neverlandnewyear and @csjanuaryjoy

Summary: Emma Swan finds that Neverland nights get surprisingly cold. Luckily, Captain Hook has some experience in keeping warm.

4006 Words; Rated: E; AO3

A/N: This is basically Neverland PWP. It was inspired by something I commented in the CS Movie Marathon Discord a while back, and I never expected to actually write the thing myself. This is the first full smut fic I’m publicly posting with one of my urls attached, so I’m both excited and scared to share it. First, I need to give a huge shoutout to all the lovely people on the CSMM, CSNLNY, and CSJJ Discords for all their encouragement and assistance while I struggled to write this fic. Special shoutouts to @teamhook, @kmomof4, @hollyethecurious, and @donteattheappleshook for reviewing bits of the doc for me as I went along and being super supportive, and especially to Maddie for also giving it a last minute full review once I finished it and helping me with edits. Also a big thank you to the mods for running these amazing events and for working together to allow us to cross-post between the two.

Alright, here we go....

——

“Are you alright, Swan?” Hook asked as he turned toward Emma to find her shivering where she lay a few feet away from him, his question prompted by the fact that he could actually hear the clacking sound of her teeth chattering.

“I’m f-fine,” Emma answered, curling further into herself as she rubbed her hands up and down her arms beneath the threadbare blanket that provided her with such little warmth. Who’d have thought Neverland would get so cold at night? She wished she’d worn more than a thin tank top, which served her well during the blazing heat of the day but offered no protection from the cool temperatures she faced now.

“Are you sure?” he prodded with a smirk, “If you’d like me to keep you warm, love, you need only ask. I’d be more than willing to—”

“I said I’m fine,” Emma snapped, “and I’m not your love.”

“Suit yourself.” Hook rolled back onto his side. “Like everything else on this island, Neverland nights are not kind. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

——

Emma was cold, so cold that she couldn’t stop shaking despite her best efforts. Tensing only made it worse, but she just couldn’t relax either. She cursed herself under her breath, knowing she shouldn’t give in but desperate for the rest she knew she’d never find in such a state.

“Hook?” she whispered, padding over to where he lay apart from the rest, half hoping he would already be asleep.

“Hm?” He turned toward her once more, the smirk returning to his face and burning a hole right through her.

Emma wondered if the embarrassment that set fire to her cheeks would be enough to warm her, but she’d already gained his attention.

“Did you have a change of heart then, love?” Hook questioned. “Are you ready to warm up to me? Or with me, I should say.”

“Nevermind,” Emma rolled her eyes and stepped away from him in annoyance, hoping he couldn’t see her shivering.

“Swan—”

“No.”

“Swan, please look at me,” he pleaded, more softly than she’d have expected. She turned toward him impatiently, ready to go off on him if necessary, but found a gentle look in his eyes and let him continue.

“I may be a bit brash when it comes to making my interest known, Emma, but I assure you I am nothing if not a gentleman. Neverland is a cruel place and I would not wish to make it any more so. If we are to share warmth in a strictly practical manner, so be it.” He waved her over to him, his hooked arm outstretched in invitation to serve as her pillow. “You need rest, and I won’t let you freeze to death in your sleep before we rescue your boy.”

Emma approached him with caution, hesitating before she sat and turned her back to him as she rested her head on his arm. She wondered how he could sleep in that leather duster of his, but as he held her close, pressing his chest flush against her back but making a point to turn his hips away from her, and draped the thick material of the coat over her as well, she realized just how comfortable it actually was. She wouldn’t admit to the sudden and surprising sense of calm that washed over her as she settled next to him, but in the unexplainable safety, it didn’t take long before she was sound asleep.

——

Though it was still dark when she awoke, Emma felt as refreshed as if she’d had a full night’s sleep, a feeling and a feat she hadn’t achieved in a very long time. She huffed out a breath with a roll of her eyes when she realized she’d been pinned by Hook’s other arm which curled loosely around her middle. He must have turned in his sleep, somehow gently enough to not wake her. Her instincts said to shove him away, but he had been decent enough to respect her boundaries in his offer. And, after all, she was much warmer this way, which was the whole point of moving closer together.

He suddenly shifted in his sleep again, and Emma gasped when she felt his clothed warmth brush against her denim-clad ass. Wait, was he actually hard?! Before she could stop herself, Emma let out an involuntary moan when he rubbed against her again and she immediately froze, wide-eyed and praying he didn’t hear her as all the heat they’d shared travelled south, save for that which reddened her cheeks. After a moment had passed without a reaction from him, she allowed herself to relax again, only to be suddenly pulled closer to him.

“Sounds like you liked that, Swan?” Hook remarked and rolled his hips ever so slightly. She could sense the shit-eating grin returning to his smug face.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as he did it again before she responded, “Please, you couldn’t handle it,” and returned the motion, surprising him with the unexpected reciprocation.

“I do love a challenge. But tell me something, love,” he said, his hand traveling down towards her waistband, passing over the zipper and slipping between her thighs as his lips hovered over her neck and his hot breath seared her flesh, “can you handle staying quiet?” He lifted her leg and draped it over his own, giving himself the space to cup her through her jeans. “Everyone else is still asleep, and in any case it’s still too dark to journey on.” He placed a kiss just below her ear and continued, his voice a low growl just above a whisper, “Just say the word, I can help you ease your mind for a while.” The corner of his lips twitched upward as he teasingly flexed his fingers against her and added, “And the ache you might be feeling, if that moan were any indication.”

Emma silently cursed herself for letting that sound escape from her lips, and once more for what she knew she was about to give in to so quickly. He was right, she could use a distraction from her racing mind now that she was more awake again, and he was a damn tempting one. Her breath hitched when he caught her earlobe between his teeth and tugged, eliciting another soft moan from deep within her, and her decision was made.

“Yes.”

“Yes what, love?” he asked, nosing down her neck until his mouth latched onto the space between it and her shoulder, nipping and sucking her flesh and laving over it with his tongue.

“Yes, I can stay quiet.” Her hand reached up to find purchase in his hair, encouraging him to continue his claim of her collarbone. “Yes, I want you to ease my… well, everything.” He chuckled at that, the vibration of his laughter against her skin sending a chill down her spine.

“As you wish.” Hook wasted no time popping the button on Emma’s jeans, pulling down the zipper, and slipping his hand beneath the denim. “Oh?” He said, his eyebrow raised in wonder at the soft, thin material covering his goal. He rubbed his fingers over it, feeling her arousal soaking through it as he teased her. “You certainly do.” Hook pushed her panties aside and sank two fingers inside her.

“Ohh fuck,” Emma choked back another moan, the sinful sounds as he plunged them into her dripping core again and again filling the air instead. His rings bit into her skin with every thrust, the cool metal a jarring, yet welcome counter to the hot friction they were creating. She rocked her hips to meet him each time, and his breathing grew ragged as he rutted himself against the curve of her ass in synchrony. As Emma’s movements grew frantic, Hook’s slowed to a stop, and Emma groaned in protest when he removed his fingers from inside her, dragging them through her folds to brush her clit for just a moment.

“Not yet, Swan.” Hook carefully slipped his arm out from beneath her head and gently turned her towards himself so that she lay on her back. Getting to his knees and stripping off his duster, he knelt between her spread legs. “I’m a fan of every part of you, and I intend to show you just how much of a fan I am.”

He slipped his hooked arm beneath her tank only to find his access to her breasts blocked by another bit of material. Lifting the top to reveal the offending garment, he looped his prosthetic beneath it, the tip of the hook scraping against her skin as he did, and tugged. He noted that the small scrap of fabric differed from the corsets he was used to removing from women he’d bedded in the past but assumed it would be no less easy to snap than the laces he’d encountered on them.

“Hey!” Emma caught his wrist before he could succeed in his efforts. “I need this! Let me just….” She sat up for a moment to take off her tank top and undo the clasps at her back so she could toss her bra aside. “There.”

“Apologies, love,” Hook said, “and thank you.” He guided her back down with his hand just beneath her now exposed breast, thumbing at her tightening nipple as his mouth tended to the other. “Bloody magnificent, these are,” he mumbled against her as he teased them to stiff peaks. Emma tried to relax as the throbbing between her legs became almost unbearable and she longed for more friction to soothe it.

When he was at last satisfied, Hook released her nipple from his mouth with a resounding pop, flicked it a few times with the curve of his hook for good measure, and gave the same treatment to the other, relishing the way she squirmed beneath him as he nibbled and sucked and kneaded.

Emma gasped when the cold air rushed over her wet skin as Hook finished with her breasts and slid his body lower between her legs, trailing sloppy kisses down her abdomen along the way until he reached the top of her jeans.

Glancing up at her, he kept his eyes on hers as he gently tucked his fingers and hook just under the edge of her waistband.

“May I?” he asked, waiting for her approval to proceed.

“Yes,” she answered, “god, yes.” He grinned at that and very slowly tugged her jeans down her legs, distracted by the view of the place where his hand had been, covered only by the thin strip of fabric that had grown damp beneath his touch, pausing for a moment to slip off her boots when he reached them before removing the denim completely.

“You,” Hook said as he took in the sight of her almost completely naked form, “are absolutely stunning, Swan.” He scanned her body a moment longer, watching the blush spread over her cheeks and across her chest as she flushed pink under his desirous scrutiny. He nosed along the creases of her thighs and up the material that hid his goal before taking the top hem between his teeth, pulling it down until it hung from his mouth and letting it fall beside her on the blanket beneath them.

Fuck, that was hot, Emma thought to herself as she watched him lower his head and raise his hungry gaze to hers. The smirk on his face made her wonder for a moment if she had actually said it out loud.

Any concern she had about her comment was swept away as he gently flattened his tongue against her slick flesh, never breaking eye contact as he slowly licked an inquisitive stripe along her folds, dipping it between them just enough to pass over her clit before departing. The shiver that passed through her whole body at the contact was enough to make him do it twice more before diving in as deep as he could and mapping her inner walls with his tongue. He mumbled soft praises as he worked her—“Delicious…. Exquisite…. Divine….”—without ever fully pulling away to say them, too lost in the taste of her, as if he couldn’t get enough and didn’t want to lose even a drop of her essence. Soon he found the spot that made her hips buck and her thighs pull together, pressing against the sides of his head, and he reintroduced his fingers inside her as he licked at the spot relentlessly, knowing she grew ever closer to her release.

His scruff raked against her skin as her legs locked around him, her heels digging into his back, and she knew the raw streaks of raised red would burn later as they continued through Neverland on foot. But with the way he was making her feel in that moment, she figured it would be worth it.

The shaking overtook her suddenly and her back arched as he gave a particularly strong suck on her clit, and she came as he continued to fuck her with his hand and mouth. He reached up to silence her by pressing the curve of his hook to her lips as an overwhelmed cry caught in her throat. Taking the prosthetic into her mouth, she gently bit down on it and laved over it with her tongue to distract herself from the way he tended to her dripping core in kind. He lapped at her entrance until her waves of pleasure receded and she relaxed against the blanket, their chests heaving in an attempt to catch their breaths. He crawled over her body, hovering above her looking absolutely wrecked before he’d even been touched, his chin glistening with her release and his eyes blown wide with insatiable desire.

Their mouths crashed together and he laced his fingers through her golden locks while her hands anchored in the hair at the nape of his neck. She tasted herself on him as she traced his lips with her tongue and opened hers in invitation for his further exploration.

“You, my wanton lass, are far from quiet.” Hook attacked Emma’s lips with his own, her false rebuttal lost before it could be voiced as his tongue dipped between them and pulled her bottom lip between his teeth upon its retreat.

Emma hadn’t seen him reach for the panties he’d discarded next to her earlier until he pulled away and sat back on his haunches as he replaced his tongue with the wet scrap of material.

“Any other time, I’d love nothing more than to hear how I make you feel, but given the circumstances…,” he trailed off with a glance in the direction of their slumbering company not too far away, before returning his gaze to Emma with a smirk. “Luckily, there are ways to assist you.” He leaned over her once more to whisper in her ear, “Perhaps another time we can meet on my ship, sail far from the shore, just the two of us, and I’ll make you produce all manner of sounds for only me to hear. Hm?”

If he were expecting an answer, Emma couldn’t give him one. She told herself this was a one-time thing, just a way to blow off some steam and clear her head before the next long stretch of their journey through this land of mysterious horrors she wished she’d never have had to encounter like this. She wished Neverland could have stayed a story, though she wouldn’t admit out loud that she did prefer this real version of the fearsome Captain Hook.

Well, that and she now had a mouthful of cotton.

Emma watched as he unlaced his trousers, and she found herself unable to look away when he took himself in hand and passed the tip of his cock along her folds, aligning himself with her entrance before he stopped.

“Swan?” Hook said, bringing her out of her distracted stupor and calling her attention to his searching eyes, all of his bravado gone and replaced with a serious, patient tone. “Emma, are you sure?”

She hadn’t expected him to ask again, and that consideration for her wishes she hadn’t often encountered, paired with his rare use of her first name, only increased her desire to say yes. Unable to actually speak it, she held his gaze, hoping hers looked just as soft, and gently brushed her fingers down his cheek before she trailed them down his arms and gripped his hips with an encouraging nod.

Emma bit down hard on her makeshift gag and her head lolled back as he slowly sheathed himself inside her, the stretch burning in the best way with every inch as her body responded to his entrance with slick heat until he was fully seated within her. The feel of her around him took his breath away, and Hook braced himself on his elbows at either side of her as his head fell forward next to hers and he panted over her shoulder.

“Gods, you’re fucking perfect,” Hook whispered in her ear through gritted teeth. He finally began to move, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as he pulled back and slid home again and again. She pivoted her hips to meet him with each thrust, feeling a euphoric fullness every time she took him in deep that left her softly whimpering in protest upon his retreats.

It was too much and not enough and just right all at once. Emma’s hands slipped beneath Hook’s shirt and she raked her nails up and down his back before digging them into his flesh as she scrabbled for purchase to steady herself beneath him, and to draw him ever closer to her.

Her mouth grew dry as the material between her teeth absorbed what little moisture wasn’t being expelled from her body in arousal and sweat. She wanted to kiss him, but even if she could, his mouth was otherwise engaged, sucking a mark into the side of her neck before tonguing at the hollow of her throat on its way to brand her collarbone. She couldn’t be bothered to care if anyone would see the evidence of his claim, not while he was giving her nothing but pleasure as his hips snapped with purpose.

“Come for me, Emma.” Hook’s fingers returned to her clit to circle and tease it as they both neared their releases. “Let me feel you come on my cock.” He groaned louder than he meant to when her hands cupped his ass through his trousers. “I won’t last much longer, love.”

He almost lost it when she gripped him tighter and nodded with a downward glance before meeting and holding his gaze.

“Fuck, Emma,” he breathed, a lightheadedness overtaking him as everything inside him tensed and he slammed into her with abandon. Looping his hook under the edge of her panties that peeked out from between her lips, he tugged the material to remove it without wasting time to toss it aside, letting it drape over his prosthetic as he filled her mouth with his tongue instead in a hot slide.

“Killian,” she moaned in a whisper against his eager lips, finally able to speak to some extent as he ravished both her mouth and her aching core.

“What?” He said in breathless surprise, unsure of whether he’d heard her correctly or imagined it with his own pulse pounding in his head, his hungry and frantic eyes flitting from side to side as they searched hers. A soft smile spread across his face. That was the first word she’d spoken, not even his more colorful moniker she’d been accustomed to using, but—

“Killian,” she called him by his name again, feeling that same dizzy high he felt as she rocked forward into him. “Yes. Yes.”

Something inside him snapped, and he muffled his pleasured cries against her lips as he poured himself inside her, relentlessly thumbing at her clit to bring her to release. A rush of heat spread through her body as his cock pulsed inside her, and her walls fluttered around him as she rose and fell with him.

He pulled back for a moment and caught the thick whitish fluid that dripped from her core with the tip of his cock before pushing it deeper inside her with a desperate grunt until they both finally slowed their movements to a stop.

“That was—” Hook, the man full of innuendos, fell speechless as he carefully held himself above her, propped up on his elbows, and let his forehead drop to hers as he panted with hot breath over her lips.

A one-time thing, Emma wanted so badly to say, but she had trouble even believing herself then. The way he made her feel, the way she knew he felt, the way they felt together. None of it felt like a one-time thing. She knew what those were, but this right here with him, this could be so much more. And it both thrilled and terrified her.

“I know,” she said instead, trying desperately to process everything that had just happened, and everything she might have wished would happen in the future, if they’d have a future at all. Would they?

She subtly shook her head in an attempt to clear it and pulled him to her for another kiss before she lifted her panties off his hook and pressed her other hand to his chest where it was exposed by the low neckline of his shirt and vest, following his body with hers as she guided him back so she could sit upright. Flattening the material over her palm, she passed it between her folds and stared into the depths of his ocean blue eyes as she rubbed the damp cotton over his wet cock, making his jaw drop as his breath hitched in his throat.

“We can’t leave a mess, now can we?” Emma smirked. Pumping him with her covered hand, she took his cock into her mouth, and he hissed when she passed her tongue over the tip and groaned around him at the taste as it leaked a bit more of his release.

“Gods, Emma,” Hook stuttered as he leaned back on his hand for support before he stilled her by catching her wrist with his hook, and she released him with a soft pop and a mischievous smirk as she looked up at him. “Keep doing that, love, and there’s going to be a much more obvious tell.”

“Fine,” she conceded with a sigh, getting to her feet and slipping on her wrecked panties with a taunting wiggle of her hips as she pulled them up under the weight of his entranced gaze until he realized he’d been staring and cast his eyes toward the ground. She’d probably feel it later, the sweltering heat of the Neverland sun bound to leave her feeling stickier than its induced sweat already would, but knowing he’d know that his effects on her would be keeping her wet long after they’d finished their more enjoyable activities… well, her own potential discomfort would be a cross she’d be willing to bear without regret.

She continued to get dressed, and he gave her the decency of turning his back to her as she did and as he righted himself as well, an admittedly unnecessary gesture after the rather indecent act they’d just committed together, but oddly endearing nonetheless.

“Here, love,” Hook picked up his duster and held it open in offering for her to wear, but she waved him off with a smile.

“I’m okay now, thanks. It suits you better anyway. And besides,” Emma winked at him, “I think I prefer sharing it.”

Hook swirled it around himself with a dramatic flair to put it on, tucked his hand and hook in the pockets, and reached out to enwrap Emma in the heavy leather with him, eliciting a giggle as he held her close.

She certainly wasn’t cold anymore.

#csnlny #csjj2021 #captain swan #cs smut #cs ff #neverland smut #emma was cold #cs neverland new year #cs january joy #Captain swan neverland new year #captain swan january joy #csnlny2021 #csjj #kayla writes #my writing #my cs ff

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nobeliumoxygenoxygenmisc · 5 years ago

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Halloween w/ the starters HCs

Kaeya, Amber, Lisa x reader halloween hcs focusing on haunted houses and halloween fairs!! idk if mondstadt has haunted houses or fairs or even halloween in general, but they do now! pls enjoy and happy halloween!!

Amber, Kaeya, Lisa, gender-neutral reader (pretty vague, so you can imagine if they’re the traveler or not!), ~1.6k words total

Amber

If you offer to go to the haunted house, Amber accepts--despite every braincell begging her not to. Unfortunately you only make it worse if you notice and reassure her that it’s fine, she doesn’t have to go if she’s scared

Amber: What, of course I’m not scared??? It’s all fake anyway, I know that. It looks like fun Y/N!!

You: You really don’t have to if you don’t want to--

Amber: I’m coming. See, I’m already in line Y/N, what are you standing around for??

But the way she’s sticking very close to you--closer than usual--with a stiff-straight body, wide eyes and clenched jaw and fists tells another story

Throughout the haunted house, Amber’s fighting every instinct and reflex to not whip out her bow and combust in a burst of pyro whenever there’s a jumpscare, but she can’t exactly stop the jumps and screams and the way she grabs onto your arms like a lifeline

Pretty soon she’s glued to you, your hand losing all blood circulation from her deathly tight grip and your shoulder beginning to ache from the way Amber shoves her face into it to avoid looking into zombie eyes or vampire fangs and hilichurls--hilichurls?

It’s a sad sad day for the actor dressed as a hilichurl, albeit a bloodied, armless-with-a-bone-sticking-out hilichurl; Amber goes no thoughts head empty only hilichurl and charges--the room’s too small to shoot and everything will catch on fire if she uses pyro but her hand-to-hand combat isn’t that bad she’ll knock it out real qui--only to be stopped by you (just making it in time)

The actor is very grateful and Amber is too ashamed to even be scared for the rest of the way--that’s one way of making it through a haunted house--but to top it all off, somehow Kaeya gets wind of what happened???

He gives a dramatic, purposefully pompous lecture on what is proper etiquette for haunted houses (mainly don’t go in if you’re flight or fight response is fight) and whilst Amber is mentally taking that on board, she does not like how it’s Kaeya telling her this (especially when he makes a playful jab at how Mondstadt’s best outrider is supposed to be protecting its citizens, not attacking them)

Please cheer her up by taking her around the rest of the Mondstadt Halloween Fair, mainly winning her (or trying to win her) a vampire rabbit plushie that she’s been eying and will forever cherish since it’s absolutely adorable and she cherishes anything from you!!!

And showing her to the stand selling glider-shaped treats because all the kids there immediately so starry eyed at Mondstadt’s Champion Glider herself--and for her part, Amber has a lot of pride in that title

(of course an apology kiss also works--if you want her to be as red as her Vision)

Kaeya and Lisa under the cut!

Kaeya

Wants to go through a haunted house because he is a little shit tells you he wants to see just how good they are in there, but of course Kaeya doesn’t tell you how he wants to be able to tease you when you end up clinging onto him because you’re so scared

So a) if you refuse, firm and owning your fears and let him go on ahead, Kaeya’s delight is thoroughly deflated and he’s really just speedwalking through the haunted house, fighting his instincts to freeze everything and seriously? Not another zombie--

Or b) contrary to what he’d assumed, you’re not scared going through the haunted house, and Kaeya’s smugness is thoroughly deflated (and he can’t see how he was so wrong but you do always end up surprising him, whether he likes it or not)

But if you are genuinely scared, Kaeya does not realise just how much your terrified form guilt-trips him (and that’s when you’re not even trying to guilt-trip him) so he skillfully improvises his plan to win you whatever candies and prizes you want from the fair games afterwards, all the while still cashing in on keeping you close--he may be guilty, but he’s not going to miss out on the opportunity regardless

Needless to say, Kaeya really is a little shit but the rest of the fair is relatively less conspiratorial--as much as it can be with him

He gets you whatever prize you want, easily figuring out if the game’s rigged from a few glances and instead discreetly threatening advising the stall owner to ‘not be so sneaky, it doesn’t reflect very well on your business’

But of course he ruins it in his own Kaeya way once you’re decked out with all the prizes in the world by offhandedly mentioning he’d like his ‘payment’ by next Sunday and casually walking ahead before realising you’d been left stunned and blinking on the spot

You: You’re not serious are you

Kaeya: why, I’m as serious as can be

You: and here I thought you were just being a nice boyfriend, for once

Kaeya: Oh that hurts me Y/N, but I suppose I can take payment in kisses instead. As a halloween treat~

You can indulge him and give him a kiss for every mora spent on those fair games, or you can start returning the prizes to the stalls (which makes Kaeya begin to desperately improvise his plan some more)

As for halloween sweets, Kaeya’s interested in trying some out but his real target are the drinks--the taverns have all been advertising halloween specials for the whole month and Kaeya’s body is ready to try them all; from the Vampyro’s Explosion to the Electro Frankenstein, he playfully critiques them and pretends to miss the way the bartender’s hold his every word as law but what he really won’t admit is that he’s doing it just to see you smile and stifle your laughter at how pompous he’s being

Halloween’s fun enough on its own--it’s perfect for pranks--but celebrating it with you takes it to whole new level - especially if you join in with the pranks

Lisa

Drops a casual line about how matching costumes would be adorable before the fair so if you take her up on that, she’ll put more effort than usual (which, really, isn’t that much but when it’s Lisa it’s a lot) in picking out the outfits… although she seems to care more about what you wear than her

Can’t help but smile and coo over how adorable you look, calling you cutie more than usual (‘Lisa do you even know my name at this point??’ ‘of course i do, cutie’ ‘...’) but internally she’s really, really gushing over the costumes; from the generic vampire, zombie, witches costumes to the more flirty cat and knight (you both know a few Knights who’d be outraged at the costume but Lisa can’t help but enjoy it) ones to the funnier less halloween-y costume ideas like a spear (?), Barbara (?? later on, you’ll see a few dedicated fans sporting the costume) and a hilichurl (??? a horrible representation of one too) that Lisa is not that fond of… but if you really, really want it she supposes she can’t help but agree

‘You’re very lucky you’re so cute’ ‘You love me Lisa’ She sighs, ‘That too’

Win anything for her at a fair game--from candy to those obnoxiously big plushies--and Lisa is absolutely flattered, teasingly calling you her personal ‘knight’ and promising to treasure it

A slight ways off from the general hubbub of the fair, next to the cathedral, a small fire is lit with a thin crowd of people surrounding it. You’re curious enough to check it out as you pass by and it turns out they’re all swapping ghost stories. Lisa is slightly interested so you stay a bit, but she can’t help the disappointed sigh when some of the stories end so terribly. So you tell her to tell one and though she’d really rather not (read: can’t be bothered to), Lisa has an unfortunate soft spot for her cutie after all

And you knew your girlfriend was terrifying before (you’d seen her with people who had books months overdue) but when she puts the effort in to actively be scary is a whole new level

The story itself is good enough to get people shifting in their seats, but with the way Lisa manipulates her movements to cast her face in shadows to go along with the words just adds that extra flavour--and in the climax of the story, you almost swear there’s a bit of electro magic going on in her eyes and the fire seems to crackle louder than usual

But your girlfriend doesn’t say anything when you ask her later on about using her vision powers for it, merely acting offended and giving you an exaggerated pout that you think her effects were fake

Try going through a haunted house with her and Lisa lives up to her reputation--calm, composed, and almost bored of the desperate actors trying to get at least one peep out of her. Once, though, she tenses and her hand goes to yours, her other going to her chest as she breathes out a small sigh of relief, laughing a little at how ‘that one caught me off guard’

It’s not until you’re both outside and walking down the fair that you realise you’re still holding hands, and when you look up at your girlfriend, all she does is give you a conspiratorial wink and a squeeze--there is no sign she’s going to let go anytime soon

#genshin impact #genshin impact amber #genshin impact kaeya #genshin impact lisa #kaeya x reader #amber x reader #lisa x reader #genshin impact kaeya x reader #genshin impact amber x reader #genshin impact lisa x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #amber #kaeya #lisa #my writing #writing #my work

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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

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FIC: Keep Breathing (standalone)

Summary: Edge can handle this. He can. All he has to do is keep breathing.

Notes: I forget where I saw it, on twitter or discord, about Edge being unable to understand what he felt when he saw Stretch. This is what sort of evolved from it.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Papcest, Angst, Feels, LV Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence

~~~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Breathing, that was what was important. In, out, deep, slow breaths. It took a few before the icy Snowdin air seemed to help smother the fire currently burning in his chest. Edge kept it up, slow breaths, in and out, and he didn’t have lungs, but he still needed air, his magic greedily incorporating the oxygen as the sense of smothering he’d felt in the Swap brothers’ house faded.

His bones felt hot and achy, the snow beneath him melting and soaking into his trousers as he sat curled up on the ground behind the house, out of view of any passersby on the streets. Not far away he could hear the crunch of footsteps and words blurred by distance, pedestrians heading to the shops or perhaps Muffet’s for a treat. Their laughter was clearer, unknowing that he was close by and listening, and Edge buried his face into his updrawn knees and did not wonder at what they might think if they saw him here, if their concern would turn to fear with a simple Check.

It was rare that he made such a foolish mistake. If his brother’s lessons hadn’t taught him caution, then life in Underfell certainly had. One was cautious or one was dead, there was little room for error. Although foolish was far too sedate a word for this. Insanity might be closer, to come here to this softer world with his LV still sizzling in his soul. He’d thought it was safe, that it had settled enough or perhaps wished it so desperately to be true that he’d convinced himself it was.

He should have known better.

Bounty hunters were supposed to restrain themselves to the deeper parts of Snowdin woods where no one lived, only existed, those who lumbered about with their minds lost to their LV. Supposed to, but anyone willing to bounty usually had high LV themselves and the irony that they would probably become what they hunted in the end was not often lost on them. When they were teetering between hunter and hunted, anyone unlucky enough to cross their path could be the one to set them off and send them over the brink. Edge’s luck had been especially poor today to come across a hunting pair while checking the traplines and if he’d been only slightly slower, a fraction less dedicated to his training, he would have simply been more dust added to their growing pile.

He hadn’t killed them, though it had been a near thing. Only taken them down to one HP and left them panting in the snow to either drag themselves away to try healing or perhaps finish each other off. Either way, they were likely as good as dead, but he refused to take them over the line. His own LV was already high enough, he shuddered to think of the amount of XP that would come from killing a hunter, much less two. He hadn’t stayed to see which option they chose, only hurried back to Snowdin proper without trying to seem as if he was hurrying. The walk had seemed endless, fraught with peril as anyone who dared check him would find him vulnerable. No one did, their ingrained wariness of the guard keeping them from trying their chances.

He’d arrived home with no fresh XP, but his soul still felt as if it were lit on fire from deep within, crying greedily for more. He likened it to a voice in the back of his skull, one that grew louder with every LV up and made cold demands for more payment in dust. He’d learned to ignore it, mostly, except for these moments when his soul felt as if it was swelling in his ribcage, hovering hot and bloated in his chest, and wresting control back seemed to take longer every time.

He should have called Blue then to cancel their cooking lesson, offered his regrets and made plans for another day. He should have and hadn’t, selfishly telling himself that he had it under control because he hadn’t wanted to cancel. He’d wanted to come to their shared cooking lessons, wanted to be here in this world with its abundant supplies and residents that walked the streets easily without having to peer out their front doors before stepping out into crisp air that didn’t taste of bitter, lingering dust. The same air he was so desperately inhaling now.

Tacos were the order of the day, a simple dish with a thousand variations. He’d been helping Blue chop up the brisket that’d already spent the day roasting slowly in the oven and he'd absently reached for a scrap of gristle that would otherwise be heading to the waste bin, only to have Blue playfully slap his hand away.

"Ah, ah,” he’d laughed, his starry eye lights bright and amused, “you'll spoil your appetite."

And in that one split second, his control broke free of his increasingly tenuous grasp and he'd nearly struck back. He could still see his intention in his mind's eye, to slap this little aggravation out of his way, how dare they lay a hand on him when they should be cowering at his feet, how dare they, how—

He'd reeled it back in almost instantly, but the damage was done, the urge lingering. He wouldn’t allow it control. He couldn’t. Edge turned on his heel and walked out, ignoring Blue's confused calls for him to come back, he was only teasing, Edge…?

He ignored it all, hasty strides taking him out into the cold snow, fleeing as if the hunters were still scrabbling at his heels and not one small, confused skeleton. He’d gone, one hand clawing at the front of his shirt to let in some much-needed cold air and didn’t stop until he was around the house at the back door that led downstairs to the machine. His boots slid in snow hardpacked from so many others walking through it and he’d slipped, falling heavily to the ground. His flight back to Underfell paused as he crawled over to lean against the house and all he could do was heave in long, slow breaths to ease the aching burn in his chest.

Around him, lights were coming from the windows of the other little houses, cutting through the darkness. Artificial dusk had fallen at some point after he’d arrived, and those houses were filled with Monsters who had no idea who was in their midst. Their souls weren’t like his; they were innocent, as pure as Blue’s, and—

Blue.

He’d been so confused, apologizing profusely even without knowing what he was apologizing for. Edge would have to think of something to tell him, some excuse for his poor manners. Better for Blue to think Edge rude than the alternative; that he’d very nearly beaten him bloody in his own kitchen for the tiny sin of teasing. He needed to get and keep control over himself, and right quickly. Any moment now Blue might come looking at him, all innocent, solicitous concern.

He didn’t want Blue to see him right now, didn’t want anyone to see him. But the voice that suddenly came was from no one he’d considered at all.

“you okay?”

Edge whipped around to see Stretch leaning around enough to peer around the corner, his lower half still concealed by the house. One of his ever-present cigarettes was smoldering between two fingers, ash falling from the tip into the snow, so much like dust—

“What the hell do you want?” Edge snarled, his guilt suddenly swirling with the tension Stretch always brought with him. There was something about Stretch that had simply irritated him at first sight, something that he couldn’t put to words. It couldn’t be his lazy ways or his attitude or even his way of dress. Sans was much the same and he didn’t provoke the same reaction. But there was something, something in his enigmatic smile or the cant of his hips that made Edge’s soul stir in a way reminiscent of LV. Like now, fanning the already agitated heat inside him even hotter.

Stretch only shrugged. He’d always taken Edge’s dislike of him in stride, offering the occasional sly insult and little more. “just what it says on the box. are you okay?”

Someone of the science mind might find it interesting that all of them sounded so differently. Papyrus’s voice was surprisingly nasally for someone who had no nose, and Edge’s own ranged into higher pitch, almost a screech at times, and it took considerable effort to keep it to a lower tone. The low rasp of Stretch’s, like velvet polishing marble, was surely a sign of the Universe’s bizarre sense of humor; he didn’t deserve such a voice to use while he snored his life away.

“I’m fine,” Edge said shortly.

“uh huh. fine. you’re always fine, huh. bet your ass you are.” He exhaled smoke through his nasal aperture and it wreathed his face, his cigarette glowed brighter as he took another drag. The glowing ember briefly illuminating his face, giving it an eldritch cast and making his resemblance to Edge even more uncanny than normal. "even when you’re not.”

Did he know what Edge had been thinking? Difficult to say with him, there were times when Edge envied that carelessly bland expression, so difficult to read, even for his own brother.

“Am I supposed to be grateful for your concern?” Edge asked instead. “I see you looking at me. I know what you think of me.”

“yeah?” Stretch said mildly. “you think you got the inside scoop of what’s on my mind?”

Edge closed his mouth hard and turned away. No, no, he didn't and that was part of the problem, wasn't it. He didn’t know what went on in that head, couldn’t begin to guess. He only knew that despite sharing a face, it was nothing like what was in his own.

Stretch finally stepped around the corner entirely, sauntering closer and seeming not to notice Edge’s barely stifled flinch even as he snarled, “Get that filthy thing away from me—"

He trailed away as Stretch tamped out the cigarette on the bottom of his sneaker before he could finish, tucking the remaining butt into his pocket.

Stretch sat down next to him, seemingly equally unperturbed by the snow soaking into his clothes and Edge’s unwelcoming expression. Not touching, but close enough if one want to reach out a hand. Or a fist.

“what am i thinking,” Stretch mused, “hm. tell you what, let me give you a quick rundown. right now, i’m thinking that i wanted to check on you ‘cause you ran out of my house like you were getting chased by a bony bat out of hell. even my little bro’s most creative cooking ain’t that bad. i wanted to make sure you're okay.” He shrugged, an easy roll of shoulders. “that's it, it's not that deep.”

That was untrue. The fact that he came out at all meant something and Edge didn’t understand what. Unless his goal was to keep Blue away, a sensible choice if that were so.

Stretch didn’t wait for him to gather his wandering thoughts. "you think you know what’s on my mind? let me tell you something. you come from the wrong side of the multiverse and shit is rough for you, right? you think i don’t get that? you think that sitting here cushy in my slice of the universe means i don’t get what it’s like for you?” He tipped his head towards Edge, half a smirk lifting the side of his mouth and Edge wondered if he were being mocked. “well, you’re right. i don’t. but only takes one look at your face to guess that.” His hands didn’t seem to know what to do without their usual vice. They rested on his knees, his thumbs rubbing absent circles against the coarse material of his cargo pants. “i don’t know what it’s like to live in your ‘verse and you only think you know what it’s like in mine. we’re that much alike, ain’t we.”

“I have LV.” And you don’t was left unspoken.

“i know. but i’d be the last person to judge you about that.” His smirk twisted into something almost bitter, some humor that Edge couldn’t place. “the very last.” Stretch sighed and climbed to his feet with a groan, pressing both hands into the base of his spine as he arched. He held out a hand and after a moment, Edge took it. his gloved fingers against Stretch’s bare ones. ”come on, my bro’s been working hard on his weird ass tacos. ‘preciate if you could choke down a bite or t—hey!”

His yelp was loud, echoing then lost in the cavern overhead. The moment he was on his feet, Edge pushed Stretch against the house and finally that casual façade cracked, his sockets startled and wide as Edge pinned him against the wall. That hot, heavy feeling in his soul surged again, overwhelming the linger dregs of LV and all Edge wanted was to wipe away that easy smirk, touch the untouchable.

Only that startled expression changed into something else, unexpected and unreadable. “well, now, didn’t know this was already on the menu.”

“What?” Edge only managed that single word before Stretch kissed him, full and hard, right on the mouth. His teeth were already parted and Stretch’s tongue slipped smoothly between them, moving against his own. Edge might have expected the taste of cigarettes and it was there, a little, the slightest taint of ashy nicotine. That taste was quickly swallowed up, engulfed, transmuting into unknown honeyed sweetness and warmth.

Stretch’s hands were resting on Edge’s chest, his bare, bony palms flat against his uniform shirt, bleeding warmth through the cold air around them and it was too fast, too much. Edge jerked back and stared speechlessly into Stretch’s face. His eye sockets were half-closed and within them, lights burned, their normal pale hue tinged with a strange cocktail of orange and blue.

His mouth moved as Edge stared, reforming that lazy smirk before he said, “you wanna go right here or take this up to my room?”

The words made no sense to him, nothing but pointless yammering. Then he realized he still had Stretch pinned against a wall, pressed to him from chest to pelvis.

Oh. He thought Edge wanted sex. He didn’t, that wasn’t why, but the actual reasons were fuzzy now, distorted. Why had he pinned Stretch to the wall? He was no longer certain. That confusing roil in his soul whenever he saw Stretch only surged harder as if straining inside his ribcage, LV only a careless afterthought, drowned out by the taste of sweetness lingering on his tongue. He breathed in hard through his teeth, but the cold air didn’t deaden that tingle, the burn shifting from his soul to his mouth. He didn’t know, he didn’t understand, he couldn’t—

Edge backed off, almost stumbling as he stuttered out, “I…I didn’t…”

That easy sultry expression shifted, Stretch’s gaze narrowing. “no, you didn’t, did you. pity,” he murmured. He dusted himself off as if to sweep away any lingering traces of Edge’s touch, already reaching into his pocket for his lighter and cigarettes. “welp. on we go, then, to dinner and probable indigestion.”

All Edge could do was follow him, noting that his back was infuriatingly dry while Edge could feel his own snow-wet clothes clinging uncomfortable to his bones.

Stretch turned the corner and abruptly stopped, wariness dropping briefly across his face before it smoothed away. Edge didn’t think, pushed in front of him automatically to face whatever threat dared to invade this world and instead found his own brother standing there.

With his slouching stance and his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, some might mistake Red for harmless. It was a mistake few survived and even Edge was wary of that casual menace. Red’s gaze narrowed as he looked at them, crimson eye lights sweeping over them both. He ran his tongue over his teeth, the tip digging into the gold one. “heya, ashtray. whatcha doing out here with my bro?”

The lazy warning was unmistakable, and Edge stiffened, already bracing himself to take the brunt of his brother’s temper. Stretch only stepped around him, flashing that careless smile as he tucked a cigarette into the corner of his mouth. He cupped his hands around the flame of his lighter, breathing out a cloud of smoke as he said, “nothing i wouldn’t do with you.”

“that ain’t much reassurance.”

“heh. wasn’t trying to be.” He strolled on, skirting around Red with an extra sway in his narrow hips as if he was just another obstacle in his path and left Edge to deal with his brother.

The moment he was out of sight, Edge swung around to glare at Red.

It had little effect on his brother, it never had. He only offered his own shrug, the roll of his shoulders infuriatingly similar to Stretch’s. “just makin’ sure you ain’t gonna lose your head, boss.”

Edge narrowed his gaze, hissing out, “I don’t need your help!”

“no?”

The word was soaked in doubt and Edge stormed past him, ignoring whatever else Red said as he went back into the house where Blue was surely waiting. There were apologies to be made and tacos to be eaten. At least whatever it was that Stretch stirred in his soul had settled his LV, that heat was banked back, for now. He could handle anything else that came his way, he didn’t need help from anyone, not even his brother, and if seeing Stretch sitting at the dinner table made him inhale slowly through his open mouth, his mouth watering not from tacos but from a memory of sweetness, it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if that taste lingered, if that strange feeling still sat heavy in his soul.

None of it mattered, so long as he kept breathing.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #underfell sans #underswap sans #standalone

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hargrove-mayfields · 4 years ago

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Billy having a meltdown in school and the school security nearly kill him while holding him down, (supportive) Neil is pissed and he comforts billy in the car -🦖

I love me some autistic Billy, but I do think it would be especially hard for him because he doesn’t look like the standard of what an autistic teenage boy is expected to.

Trigger warnings are in the tags, triggering content starts after the read more.

It was an accident. Billy was just upset, he hadn’t meant to scare anybody.

He had to learn a long time ago that he wasn’t like the other kids in his class, the sweet girl with Down’s or the scrawny freshman with Asperger’s, Billy was big, and he looked like a man at 17. But no matter what he looked like, he still couldn’t just stop the way he was feeling because of his appearance.

School had already started off on the wrong foot when he got yelled at by his teacher for forgetting an assignment, but what had really made him reach that emotional threshold was when someone popped a chip bag on the other side of the cafeteria, and it made another girl scream. The sounds had felt like daggers in Billy’s ears, a kick start to his heart, and almost instantly he feels himself start to slip into a familiar panic.

He does exactly what he’s been taught to do when he felt a meltdown coming on and has time to try to prevent it by removing himself from the situation, but as he’s hurrying back to the special ed classroom, where there were bean bag chairs and pillows and things already laid out for times like these, humming and hitting one hand off of his chest over and over as he goes, a teacher stops him.

She just wants to know where he’s going, but he can’t answer her, the words just won’t form in his throat, so, in the absence of an answer to her question, the concerned teacher reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, stepping closer to him so she’s looking him in the eye.

Billy flinches, her touch feels like a hot iron under his skin, and he backs away a couple of steps, his back hitting off of some lockers. She tries to touch him again, clearly just wanting to help a student in crisis, but this time he grabs her wrist, not hard enough to hurt her, he would never, but to let her know in the only way he knew how to communicate at a time when he didn’t have his words to please stop touching him.

But to lay his hands on a teacher is very much against the rules, especially the rules he specifically was supposed to follow, and the man who enforces them just so happens to already be following him after he saw him leave the cafeteria. That was the way it went, the school officers kept close tabs on the kids like him, waiting in the wings for the moment they got in trouble.

Billy doesn’t even know exactly what happens, just that the officer is suddenly there instead of down the hall and prying his hand away from the teacher, which isn’t hard, because he’d barely even touched her. He pulls Billy away so he stumbles a little, and pushes down right on the back of his neck until his knees hit the floor.

Prone restraints are nothing new to him, he had been put in them countless times before for everything from kicking a teacher to crying in class, so Billy knew not to fight, to just let the officer push him until he was face down on the floor, kept there with a knee in his back. It only ever hurt him worse if he tried to get away.

He hears the teacher who’d stopped him in the first place ask, “I-Is that really necessary?” In response, she’s given the standard subject cooperation speech, and she must be appeased by it, because her heels click across the floor Billy’s face is pressed into, and then they’re alone in the hall.

There’s something very wrong with the way it feels this time though. The man restraining him is much heavier than Billy is used to, and his ribs are pressed way too hard into the floor. He tries to tell him, but the words are still escaping him, and he realizes he can’t breathe.

His instinct is to try and sit up, but he only gets a hand on the back of his head pressing his face even harder to the ground, making his neck hurt from the angle and his teeth dig into the inside of his cheek until there’s blood in his mouth.

The officer shifts forward, his knee digging so far into Billy’s back that he can physically feel the rest of the air leave his lungs, and he starts to panic, clawing at the floor, defenseless and unable to ask for help.

When he stops moving, his body feeling too heavy to even try it anymore, he’s asked. “Are you ready to behave?”

He’d say he was more than ready if it meant the officer would get off of him, but there’s nothing he can do at all respond. One of his bones cracks when the man moves again, but he doesn’t feel anything other than the way his lungs are burning and the pressure that’s building in his chest and the way his face hurts.

If he moves, he’s afraid the officer will think he’s still fighting and he won’t get up. If he doesn’t, he’s pretty sure he’s going to die.

Billy squirms, a whimper in his throat, and the officer asks, more edge to his voice now, “I asked you a question. Are you going to behave now?”

He nods as best he can, but the angle of his neck hurts too bad. Impatiently, the man moves again, and there’s another crack as his bones grind into the floor, “I want to hear you say it so I know you aren’t lying to me.”

With a sob Billy forces out the answer, it’s wheezy and snotty and it burns like fire in his throat, but he whines “Yes!” loud enough it echoes in the empty hall way.

The officer waits ten more seconds, he counts them off out loud to make sure Billy feels every last second of being restrained, the equal parts pain and numbness tingling in his whole body until he learns his lesson, then finally he stands up.

As soon as the pressure is off of his spine, Billy takes in a big breath that tastes an awful lot like copper, bloody spit down his chin from the effort it takes just to breathe.

His chest rises too shallow, too rattling, so he rolls over onto his back to try to catch his breath a little better, and the officer offers him a hand. But Billy doesn’t take it, he can’t just yet, but if he could he wouldn’t anyways, and the officer just scoffs at him, then sternly, he threatens, “You know I’m going to have to tell the office about this, now.”

Billy nods and does his best to sit up, only getting halfway propped up on his elbows because of the blood that’s rushing to his head combined with the slowly registering and extremely overwhelming pain in his back and his ribs knocking him dizzy.

That must be good enough an answer anyways, because Billy is told to, “Report back to your class.”

He can’t stand up quick enough at the officers orders, his shoes scuffing up the waxed floors as he scrambles to get away from him with permission. He ignores the pain in his body and the way it draws tears to his eyes, and he doesn’t look back even once as he walks the rest of the way back to his classroom.

The worst part, he realizes, is that this whole thing could’ve been avoided if he were just a little fast; he was only two doors down from his classroom.

His special ed teacher tisks when she sees and tells him to come straight to her next time, as if that wasn’t what he was trying to do when he got restrained, but she’s still at least nice enough to give him an ice pack and let him stay in her room on the memory foam mattress in the back.

Billy had been planning on getting back to his coed classes as soon as he calmed down, but the ache in his ribs hadn’t gotten any better, only turned to a sharp, stabbing feeling in his entire chest, and his throat was hurting really bad, and he just couldn’t quite catch his breath, so he was still there when the final bell rang.

The teacher looks over her glasses at him when he doesn’t leave the room, and says quietly, “Honey, it’s time for you to go home.”

Billy tries to respond, only coughing instead on the first try, then wheezes out his answer, a simple, “Can’t.”

Because he finds he can’t sit up anymore, every time he tries it he feels like he can’t breathe all over again, so, after more prompting, the teacher grimaces and helps him to his feet.

She walks all the way with him out to the parking lot too so she can explain his injuries to his father, maybe try to save face a little, but this wasn’t the first time the school system had let something like this happen, and they were done with excuses.

The moment Billy sees his dad waiting at his truck for him and Max is when he finally cracks, all of the emotions inside him that had been exhausted by his meltdown coming back overwhelmingly quick, and he’s instantly a crying mess, sobs wracking through him that make his ribs feel like they’re made of broken glass.

Neil’s face is tight with concern as he gets Billy into the pick-up, barely listening to his teacher ramble on about school procedures and necessary precautions. He shuts the door in her face before she’s done with her bullshit explanation, focusing solely on Billy, and getting him calmed down.

Neil doesn’t touch him, doesn’t speak to him for fear of making things worse. When Billy was on meltdown two, it took hardly anything to set him off again, so he settles on turning the truck on, the vibrations of the engine more calming than anything else he could try to do for him.

It doesn’t take long of that, the radio going gently and the car rumbling, for the tears to slow to a sniffle, accompanied by hiccups that ache deep in his chest, and when he’s feeling better, Neil asks him, after giving him a moment, “Will you be okay if I leave you here with Max?”

Billy nods in agreement, so when the junior high lets out and Max gets in the truck, Neil opens his own door and tells her, “Stay here with your brother.”

“What happened?” She asks, her eyes wide, but Neil blows her off, “Doesn’t matter, I need to talk to somebody.”

Max watches him go, then turns to Billy, taking note of how bad he looks, but not bringing it up. They don’t talk to each other much, but she does take up his hand, which is noticeably shaking badly, and rubs her thumb over his knuckles to try to calm him down.

“Are you okay, Billy?” She asks after a silence filled only by wheezy and uneven breaths, to which he replies by shaking his head no.

The parking lot clears out around them while they wait for Billy’s dad to come back, Max getting more on edge the longer they just sit in the truck, and Billy getting more worn out after two meltdowns and not being able to cool down.

Neil slams the trucks door when he comes back, answering before either Billy or Max can ask, “It’s taken care of.” and taking them home finally.

Max gets dropped off at home and told to explain the situation to her mother, while Neil takes Billy straight to the hospital. They tell him that two of his ribs are fractured, and when he asks, they tell Neil too that he can’t make the school pay the medical bills because it was Billy’s fault.

And that’s the straw that broke the camel’s back.

The very same night, Neil announces that they’ll be moving again, this time instead of a few towns over or just to a different school district, he wants to move them out of California entirely to a small town over in Indiana, where he lived before moving to Berkeley with Billy’s mother. Where things will be different, and safer, hopefully.

Max doesn’t get it, why it’s worth uprooting for a chance that things might be different for Billy, and she’s mad, at him and at his dad.

But she’s not the only one, because Billy isn’t exactly too keen on the idea either. It seems to him like it’s just an excuse to please Susan, like they’re leaving town because of the reputation their family has built with an autistic son that she’s always trying to run from, and he feels betrayed.

Susan is also being much snappier with Billy than before, getting on his case for everything from getting distracted and taking brakes while packing, for being too loud in the car, for being stupid and lazy and the reason they had to leave their idyllic life behind.

Nobody knows where to pin the blame, and it’s tearing their family apart.

Hawkins is the kind of town that’s supposed to be perfect for them, quaint and reserved, but they’re thrown head first into it, no time even to adjust, and the second day at his new high school, Billy has another bad meltdown.

There are already too many new things to take in about his new high school, but then he gets lost trying to tell the difference between the A and B wings in the halls, and he just gets so overwhelmed that the next time the bell rings he gets pushed over the edge.

He waits that first one out in the bathroom, terrified of the consequences, of being hurt again before he’s even done healing from the last time, but it never comes. There are no dark rooms or officers or anything of the sort at his new school, they just let him do his thing.

Even the times when he doesn’t get away and melts down right there in the hallway or class room, they just work around him. The first week in, he even finds a friend in Tommy H.

So maybe things were a little shaky at home, and there were still a couple of kids would snicker behind his back or a few rumors would spread, but the more time they spent there, the more Billy is actually maybe, just a little bit, looking forward to being in Hawkins.

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scary-mostaccioli · 5 years ago

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Excellent. Pick a creep any creep with a s/o suffering from Hanahaki disease. Bonus points if it's a soulmate AU. Extra Bonus points if s/o doesn't make it or they get a medical procedure that saves their life but also takes away their ability to love anyone.

Ticci Toby x reader - Hanahaki Disease

Here’s a tw first!! mentions of s*ic*de, blood, hanahaki disease, death

It started out with a kiss- how could it end up like this?

It felt so long ago that your love for Toby had first formed. It was something you had shoved down your throat for as long as you could, terrified of ruining a friendship that had grown over the course of a year over some silly emotion that had taken route in your chest, spreading out its branches with velvety petals decorating each and every limb.

That was your first experience with the dreaded disease.

It was hard to forget the soft pink petals with little droplets of red that would escape your lips through a series of hacking coughs. It was nearly impossible to ignore the constant ache in your chest that grew day by day, becoming increasingly harder to bare with each passing moment.

The healing of the disease was a miracle.

One day, Toby had suggested some game he had found on the internet and had wanted to try out. The pocky game, out of all sources of luck. It took all your strength to compose yourself enough to hide the red flush that clawed up your neck and attempted to display itself upon your cheeks as he set one end of the stick inside of his mouth, waiting for you to take the other. Each bite brought you closer and closer to the middle, causing the pain in your chest to grow and grow as well. It came to the point of a stabbing pain as your lips connected with Toby’s. You pulled away in an instant, a cough clawing its way up your throat… just for it to never come. The feeling died out, and the pain in your chest began to succeed. This new feeling forced you to glance at Toby, whose face was painted pink and eyes were warmed with adoration. The day that the disease ended was the day that Toby fell.

By all accounts this was a miracle on your end- many called you lucky and cursed you for the fact that you would get to stay alive and happy with the one that you loved. From the moment Toby fell it only took days before he asked you out. It was weeks before the first professions of “I love you”s came, bringing laughter and joy with it. It was days from that in which your second kiss was shared- this time a proper one- and months from that until fate had decided to catch up with you.

Toby had always remained close with you, even as the pain in your chest started up once more. It confused you- maybe it was just a bit of chest pain? Maybe you didn’t sleep right. That had to be it! That was the only logical explanation considering things were still perfect with Toby. But while Toby was gone one night fulfilling his duties to the Slenderman, that was when the petals came back.

At first you hid them, and you hid them well. With every cough there was a tissue prepared to catch the bloodied petals as quickly as you could, and the cough passed off as a cold. Though soon you didn’t need to hide them. The white man of power had begun to pull Toby out more and more for missions, and with that the petals became more frequent. It wasn’t uncommon for you to cry yourself to sleep each night, blood staining the bed sheets with petals and chunks of flowers littered upon the floor.

Soon those chunks began to turn into full flowers doused in blood and bits of stick pained with a burning pain ripping up from your chest to your throat. The soft pink petals from before were not longed for in exchange of the full roses, thorns and all, that would force your mouth open with blood dripping from the back. It was hard to eat, impossible to sleep- something had to be done.

With all the strength you could muster, you pushed yourself up from the bed and made a trek toward the shed in the back. The lock came off of the door handles with ease, and the doors creaked open with little effort. It was almost as if the universe were trying to help you with this little plan of yours.

A life without Toby would be too painful for either of you, and dying from flowers was a painful way to go.

You grabbed one of the hatchets that Toby had hid in the shed as replacements for his own in case one of them happened to break, and with the weapon in hand you set yourself up in preparation, typing the hatchet to the ceiling to throw it up and have the blade imbed itself into your skull- a perfect plan. One breath, two…

And Toby was home. Hatchets discarded outside he barged into the house with a grin displayed and several rocks in hand, calling out your name in search of you. His best idea of where you could be was the bedroom- you always were on nights like this, considering Toby always came home in the late hours of the evening.

“Wait until you see the rocks I found you,” Toby began, looking them over as he walked into the room, “They reminded me of you because-” At that moment Toby looked up to a lack of a presence in the room. He almost thought you might be in the bathroom, but the splotches of red on your bedsheets made his blood run cold. He hesitantly walked over to the bloody mess, taking half a second to observe it. What was the huge chunk in it? He picked up the chunk in his hands, inspecting it for a moment. The thought hit him hard- Hanahaki disease, something BEN had talked about in one of his stories ages and ages ago.

Toby ran around the house in search of you. Fuck, he should have known this would happen to you as soon as his love for you started to fade. He wished he had said something sooner instead of relying upon his strong platonic love for you to keep him going. Turning the house inside out without sign of you spurred Toby on. How long ago did you leave? He stopped in the kitchen, angry tears pooling in his eyes. This was all his fault, he couldn't believe it. Though Toby knew you to be sensible. The chances were that you were on your way to the hospital to get the flowers taken out and to lose your feelings and possibly all memory of him. That was fine by Toby! He could live with that as long as you were alive!

He stepped back outside, taking up his hatchets to put them away. He started his walk around the house and to the shed. Reaching the back yard, Toby knew something was off. The shed doors were open. Huh… Toby never left the doors open, and the only ones who knew the lock code were him and...you.

Toby chucked his hatchets down, making a run toward the shed. Flinging open the doors in time to see the hatchet swing up in the air with all the force you could muster, and swing right on down...into your head. Blood spattered Toby, your face forever set in an expression of shock as your eyes rolled back into you skull. Toby’s scream of horror rang through the air, likely alerting everyone in a mile radius with the anguish he felt. Toby stumbled over to where your body hung limp, held up by the hatchet in your head. What an experience- one that could have been so easily avoided. Tears spilled from Toby’s eyes as he flung his arms around your limp corpse, the warmth still there from the life that was there mere seconds ago. He pulled down in an attempt to sit on the floor with your body in arms just for a blood-curdling scream to pierce the air as a sickening crack emitted from your skull with the hatchet still buried inside. The only thing that Toby could do was sink to the floor with your legs clung to his chest with all his might, sobbing over how far he had let this ordeal go.

#creepypasta #Creepypasta x reader #ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #angst #Kinda angst?#hanahaki disease #hanahaki #request

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ifliamsmile · 5 years ago

Text

I'll keep you safe (Dick Grayson Imagine)

Request/ prompt:

Hero/ Hero

"The hero shows up at the hero’s doorstep one night. They’re shivering, bleeding, scared. There’s also a slightly dazed look in their eyes– they were drugged. They look like they were assaulted. Looking up at the other hero, swaying slightly as they’re close to passing out, they mumble “…didn’t know where else to go…” then collapse into the hero’s arm"

Pairing: Dick Grayson x Hero! Reader

Warnings: Bruised and hurt people but nothing too much.

Notes: Anony, I'm Sorry the delay, i'm back in classes again so i wrote It in the time i had and i wanted to do my best. Hope you like It xxxx

You surely wouldn’t forget this night.

You had your hand pressing against the wound in your stomach, trying to stop the blood from coming out of your body. You were trying hard not to faint. The substances that Poison Ivy gave you were starting to make its effect and It didn’t feel good, because in a few minutes you’d be passed out in some random alley with no one there to help you.

Maybe this was the wrongest choice, going after a criminal all alone. Things escaped out of your control and here you are, but luckily you were able to run.

You felt weaker by the minute and your mind went straight to the only person that could help you now: Dick Grayson.

Although your past was filled with -not at all- bad meetings, never seen eye to eye in most occasions, and bitter words thrown against each other every time it was possible, it wasn’t a secret that you were also romantically involved and you both hated to admit it;

He was still the only hero you would trust to help you.

So you pushed your pride aside ready to knock on his door.

Dick was laying down on the couch of his new apartment relaxing after a long night, with only a jeans and no shirt, enjoying the loneliness that he used to like so much, as the rain poured outside the window, until he heard a unexpected pounding on his door.

Who would dare to interrupting his moment? Fuck. He cursed under his breath and opened the door ready to kick whoever it was out.

The person standing in front of him, leaning into the wall, with blood tainting her suit made his words die down in his throat when he looked at her face.

“I didn’t know...” Shivering from the cold air of san francisco, you coughed blood as you used all your strength to finish your line

“where else to go” your vision goes blank as your body collapses, Dick was able to catch you before you could hit the ground. The brown haired guy carried you bridal style after closing the door with his foot.

Dick put you on his bed, looking for any signs or injuries.

“What happen to you, Y/LN?”

“I’m fine, Dick” you stupidly tried to speak

“Don’t tell me you’re fine, I can see the blood”

He firmly said looking into in your eyes, which looked so different now. Scared and slightly dazed.

There wasn’t the usual shine and the confidence that always made him tremble every time you would look at him deeply when he tried to resist you.

By your look, he could tell you’ve been drugged and for a moment he wanted to find the one who did it to you and kill them. But now all he had to do, was take care of you.

“I need you to keep pressure on the wound, okay?”

Dick said and covered you with a warm blanket as he went to find some painkillers, tissues and a bowl with water to clean up your body.

“Here, let me help you” The man said gently trying to remove your suit to see your wounds and clean them as you tried to lift your arms, helping him.

You groaned in pain when your suit was being completely removed. You were only in your underwears.

“I’m sorry” He said nervously apologizing. “I need to clean the blood or i won’t be able to stitch the wound” you nodded at him as saying it was okay and he could keep going.

With the wet rag, Dick cleaned the blood on your face and followed down through your neck, carefully directing to the wound on your belly. It was so painful that your body contracted itself with no warning.

"Where did you get yourself into, Y/LN?"

He shook his head, trying to understand how you ended up like this. Bloodied, hurt, scared.

By cleaning around the wound he saw it wasn't so deep. It was clearly made with a knife and whoever did that, wanted to hurt you for real. He finished suturing your injury and covering you with the blanket again.

"Don’t let them in, Dick, They'll try to get me here" you said writhing in pain.

"You're safe with me, y/n, If they ever try to get to you again, they're dead." he said completely convinced that he would end anyone who dared to do this to you again.

“Here, they’re going to help you with the pain. You may feel sleepy” he told you handing you some pills and a cup of water. You took it and he got up.

“Where are you going?” you said trying to get up. The last thing you wanted to feel this night, was lonely.

“I was just going to throw this bloodied water in the sink.”

“Stay here. Please." You needed him, and you needed him by your side

He was going to say something, but he gave up when he realized what was going on, you weren’t the type of woman who would beg him to stay at any point, but it was more than just leaving the little fights in the past for now, it was you showing him that you needed to feel protected. By him

So he laid by your side, the cold air of San Francisco didn’t let you hide your trembling lips from the chill, so after joining into the blanket, Dick took off his shirt, giving it to you.

“Could you..?” you asked him to put it on you since you felt completely incapable of doing it without feeling pain.

He smiled weakly. He wouldn’t forget how polite you were this night, it was awkward but he couldn’t complain, he would just enjoy.

He put the shirt on you and you both settled in bed facing each other. He watched you give in to sleep as your eyes slowly closed still looking at his face.

“You can sleep now. I’m here” he said trying to comfort you

It wasn’t Nightwing and Y/SH/N switching mean words at each other tonight. It was only Dick Grayson and Y/n Y/Ln trusting each other to life and death.

Pain. That was what you received as a good morning from the universe. The memories of last night started to come anew in your head. Poison Ivy. Knife. Substances. More pain. Dick.

You opened your eyes as your brain couldn’t process it all and the image in front of you made it all disappear. What took your mind was the feeling of peace. It was rare seeing this man so peaceful like this so you smiled to yourself before you tried to get up from the bed.

Your wound instantly ached and you lift Dick’s shirt to see the sutured and cleaned injury, he took care of you so well. You owned a lot to him, not that he needed to know about any of it.

You got up with much effort trying not to wake him up. You needed a shower, so you took off the shirt -which carried his scent and it was so good to smell-.

You heard him move in the bed and turned to see him staring at you in your underwear.

“Enjoying the view, Grayson?” you mocked him smiling.

“I see that you recovered your arrogance back, right?” He said before yawning. “What are you doing anyway?”

“I was actually going to sneak out in silence, ya know?” you lied and he realized.

“Would you stay if i made you some pancakes?” even though he knew you were trying to fool him, he suborned you. It was his time to ask you to stay. In his own particular way.

“Yeah. I wouldn't say no to pancakes.” You nodded.

He smiled and got up, handing you his shirt again and you both went to the kitchen.

He was cleaning your stitches and placing new bandages to the wound.

“Why are you being so gentle with me, Grayson? I don’t deserve it, i’ve been an ass to you for as long as I remember.” you asked looking down at him.

“You’re right. But i have a feeling that you would do the exact same for me.” he said looking at you this time and it made you shy, so you put your head down, knowing he was right.

“Why did you come here? Why did you come for me?” He asked when he finished what he was doing.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Don’t lie to me, Yn. Not after last night.” he said in a serious tone and it got your attention.

“You saw me in my weakest state, Dick. C’mon.”

“Hey” he came closer putting one of his hands in your cheek. Your looks were locked in each other. “It’s not about this. I don’t want this anymore.”

“I came here because after everything, you were the only I could trust my life.” You said. "This is the harshest truth."

“Good, because I feel the same about you.” He said now switching his look between your eyes and your lips, so you kissed him. A hurtful and desirable kiss.

“You have to promise me that you won’t fall in love with me.” you told him when he parted the kiss and had his hand still in your hot cheek.

“I could never, you’re incredibly annoying and stubborn.”

#dick grayson #nightwing #titans #dcu titans #dc comics #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson imagines #dick grayson x y/n #robin

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blinder-secrets · 5 years ago

Text

Nightcap - Arthur

‘When you touch me, I feel a little less broken.’ & ‘It’s okay, I couldn’t sleep either.’

wordcount: 2,158

prompt list

The wedding, as you’d expected, was not a usual occasion. It was beautiful to start with, romantic. Tommy and Grace’s union was the smoothest part. It was the events afterwards that had become complicated, draining. Arthur’s speech, the Russians, Peaky boys and soldiers fighting in the gardens… It was too tiring to put any real order to it all. You don’t know if you even enjoyed yourself yet - you can work that out once the hangover has passed.

Before he’d disappeared, Tommy had said you could stay in one of the guest rooms and, well, after the amount of champagne you’d had, you weren’t in any position to decline. You’d lasted until the early hours and then excused yourself, leaving the party-stragglers behind in favour of the quiet upstairs. The night dripped off of you with each step. Aches from socialising, and dancing, and diffusing arguments that meant nothing, fell away from you on the stairs. Your shoulders grew light on the landing.

By the time you were in your room, all that was left to remove of the evening was the dress and jewellery that you’d bought specially. After stripping that back, so you stood in just your under-slip, you were truly ready to call it quits.

Now you’re lying flat on your back, wilfully sinking into the bed you’ve been assigned, and the room feels like a prize. A commendation medal for taking part.

You are never one to say no to a party, but they don’t half drain you. Throw a handful of Shelbys into the mix and the whole thing becomes a struggle. Not one you’re bitter of, though, just one that requires a little more recovery time. Something you’d factored in from the start. In the morning you’d go home, spend the day with yourself, and then you’d be right again. Enough charge in you to handle whatever came next and, within this circle, there always is something next.

The ceiling above you is spinning, so you close your eyes and start counting slowly. You’ve had enough to drink that sleep is unlikely, but you can at least try to lull yourself into a less sea-worthy state.

On the twelfth count there’s a light knock on your door. The rhythm’s irregular enough that you can tell the knocker isn’t confident in their approach, their almost-regret is printed into the pattern. Limply, you pull away from the bed, unfolding yourself until you’re upright. You don’t bother looking for something to cover your skin, whoever it is knows the hour as well as you do - if they expected decency, they wouldn’t have come.

‘Yeah, coming,’ you call, though you’re already at the door. You pause there, hand on the doorknob, to blink a few times. The alcohol’s left you in a foggy state. Somewhere between bliss and exhaustion. When willing it away does nothing, you pull the door open and greet your visitor.

‘Oh, hello.’ Your voice is lighter once you see him, your welcome an easy one. ‘I thought you’d gone to bed.’

Arthur’s leaning a shoulder on the wall to the left of the doorway, half his body is in front of you, half of it’s hidden. He’s either that drunk that he needs the support, or he’s unable to bring himself before you completely. Perhaps it’s both. He does always get shy once the whiskey takes him over the peak.

‘Yeah, well, I did,’ he mumbles, looking at the flask in his hands. ‘Sorry. Shouldn’t bother you.’

You try to smile but your cheeks don’t quite get the memo. He’s still dressed, in his waistcoat and dress-shirt. His shoes are still on. Any attempt he’d made to sleep was obviously unsuccessful and fleeting. You didn’t need to ask why he’d come to you instead, the both of you knew the answer well enough.

‘It’s okay,’ you tell him, ‘I couldn’t sleep either. Do you want to come in?’

He sighs, relieved, and finally lifts his head to look at you. ‘Yeah, yeah, thanks, love.’

You shrug and step aside to let him in, shutting the door behind him. It won’t be the first sleepless night you’ve spent together. If it wasn’t him coming to you, it was the other way around, though you’d never admit that to anyone. Whatever relationship had formed between the two of you was kept just there. No-one knew that he’d ring you when the trouble in his head was too loud, or that it was his bed you went to when the loneliness began to ache. No-one knew that you met, and then met again. Or that you kissed, and you talked, and you touched each other like you knew the person beneath. It was all secret. All quiet, and tucked away for when one of you needed it.

‘What a night, ey?’ He mutters, walking toward nothing in particular. ‘Tommy, married. Bloody married.’ His head shakes like he can’t believe it still.

You hum, watching his back, silhouetted against the lamp on the bedside. He was your first, all those years ago, and for a while sex was all it was, but then you got attached - you and him. It clung to the both of you even now. You haven’t been alone with him in months, but it’s no surprise that a day like today would bring him back to you.

‘Makes me think,’ he continues, glancing over his shoulder to breathe a laugh that doesn’t meet his eyes. ‘This wedding, s’got me all reflective and shit. Couldn’t settle.’

‘I know what you mean.’ The wedding had set your own mind into overdrive, each romantic mistake you’ve made and every regret you had, has been swilling in your head since they said I do. You sigh and walk around him to sit on the bed. ‘Feels like it’s all getting away from us, doesn’t it, Arthur?’

‘Yeah, something like that.’ He grumbles, then takes a swig from his flask. From the height he lifts it, you know it’s the last drop, and that can only be a good thing.

‘Maybe one day it’ll be us,’ you say, only half-joking. ‘Before we’re old.’

He nods but his eyes are sad. The drink’s left him in the ditch, lost with thoughts he never addresses, questions he’ll never find answers for. He’s standing hopeless in the middle of the room and it melts you. Sinks you right in the chest.

‘I shouldn’t have come,’ he says, ‘it’s not fair to ya.’

‘Arthur, you know I’d never turn you away.’

‘I know, I know. That’s not right though, is it? Always me expectin’ it from you.’

You hold your hand out, over the end of the bed toward him. ‘Come here.’ When he doesn’t move, you wave it slightly and tell him again. ‘I’m asking you, I want you here,’ you say. ‘You’re letting the whiskey tell you things that aren’t true.’

He sighs loudly, but obliges eventually, his feet dragging on the rug as he comes. ‘Never does any fuckin’ good,’ he says, tucking the flask into his pocket. ’S’posed to be off the stuff.’

‘Start again tomorrow,’ you reply, as he arrives in front of you, one hand wrapped around yours. ‘You’ve been doing well so far.’ You smile up at him as you speak, finding it easy once he’s there, with his thighs against your knees. ‘It’s a wedding, Arthur, people drink.’

He snorts, swinging your joined hands by his side. ‘Always know just what to say, hm? Always got somethin’ in that head, waiting for me.’

You did, though it was him that put it there. Years of conversation, hours spent understanding one another, left traces of him and what he needed between every thought you had. It was never an effort to soothe him, never anything outside of yourself.

‘What, like you aren’t counting on it?’ You smirk.

‘Like fucking clockwork,’ he replies, and from the way he’s looking at you, you know what will come next. You know he’ll bend at the waist to kiss you, eager like he needs it - because he does, and so do you.

With your free hand, you hold his face and stand to meet his lips before he can move himself. Without hesitation, his hands settle on your waist, holding you close enough to feel his buttons through the silk of your slip. He tastes like liquor, and cigarettes, but it’s familiar. Fulfilling, like water after drought.

When he breaks away, it’s only to push you onto the bed. He guides you both, hands never leaving your sides, until you’re lay on your back with him over you. You fit together naturally. You always have. You watch as he bends your leg, inviting you to wrap yourself around him even further, his fingers running down your thigh like he’s discovering it for the first time.

‘I’ve missed you,’ you say, tracing your thumb across his cheek.

His eyes fall closed, face tilting until the weight of it’s resting in your palm. A quiet breath slips from his lips. ‘Y’know,’ he says gently, ‘when you touch me, I feel a little less broken.’

‘I know.’ You understand. What fixes him, fixes you just the same. ‘I was thinking it too.’

Arthur nods. He’s holding your wrist, keeping your hand in place, his thumb rubbing up and down the veins there. With him against you, it’s the quietest you’ve felt all night. It’s no different for him.

The room isn’t turning now; your mind is doing so little that you’ve almost forgotten where you are. ‘What would they say,’ you muse, ‘if they knew you were in here? With me?’

‘John knows,’ he replies, eyes-closed and still. ‘Saw me in the hall.’

‘Oh.’ Of the brothers, that was the least worrisome to know, but the most annoying. ‘Did he say anything?’

Arthur shakes his head, pausing to kiss your palm before letting it drop. He looks at you again, relieved this time, like he’s resurfacing from a dream just to find that it’s real. ‘Where was I, ay?’ he says, his voice light and easy through half-smiling lips. He bends over you, kissing your mouth and then down your neck to your chest.

‘You don’t think he’ll tell someone?’ you ask, too distracted to enjoy it. ‘John?’

‘Nah, he’s too pissed to remember.’ He litters the words across your skin, his breath hot and lingering.

It’s enough to soothe you. The last you saw John, he was face down on the sofa, his empty glass on the floor by his shoes. You’re surprised he was even up and walking about afterwards.

‘Arthur.’ You push back on his shoulders, until he stops and lifts his head again. ‘If you’re going to do that,’ you say, teasing, ‘can you at least lose the gun? It’s digging into me.’

He grins, devilment glittering in his eyes. ‘Gun? What gun?’

You laugh, head back against the mattress, and he stands to pull the weapon from his waistband. Once it’s set on the bedside, he’s on you again. He kisses you hungrily this time, hard enough that his moustache begins to rub, but you don’t mind. You welcome the feeling of it. It’s rough, just like him.

Your ankles cross behind his back, your slip rolling to sit above your waist. He’s still dressed but you can’t find the time to change it. Your fingers cling to his shirt, his hands to your neck, to your breasts. You’re devouring each other before it’s even really begun. It’s been long enough that it feels new, or at least reinvented.

Tiring of the position, you shift to the left and he takes the hint, letting you roll him until you’re on top. You sit back, straddling his lap. He stares up at you like you’re gold, touchable, malleable gold. The expression’s so honest that it’s almost convincing.

‘I want this,’ he pants. ‘Always.’

‘Then have it always,’ you answer. ‘I’m yours if you say it, Arthur.’

You know he won’t, so you bend to press kisses along his jaw, chasing the flush that rises.

After that, there’s no more talking. You melt into one another, fucking like you’re in love, and then you sleep. You properly sleep. It’s always the best when he’s beside you, always undisturbed and deep like you’re sedated. You know it’s the same for him; he’s said before that he only ever dreams when you’re there, and that they’re always nice, gentle.

‘Works better than any fuckin’ thing the doctor gives me,’ he says. ‘Makes me forget I’m no good.’

And you believe him, why wouldn’t you? You’re no different. You’ve been self-medicating with his company since you were twenty. Prescribing yourself his affection like it’s free, like it comes without ties and consequences. But it does, every time. Even now.

When you wake up, he isn’t there, and it undoes it all.

#arthur shelby x reader #Arthur Shelby #arthur x reader #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #okokok soft arthur anyone? sexy cute arthur anyone?#mutually reliant pairing anyone?#hope u enjoy xxx #fem!reader

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squidpro-quo · 5 years ago

Note

For the prompt : Jaskier is kidnapped and used as leverage against Geralt (I'd be forever grateful if you did this op)

Thank you so much for this prompt! A perfect opportunity for angst and whump and hurt and comfort, i can only hope i fit it all in here. This was a load of fun!

Jaskier strained against the rope tying his hands together, reminded of another time when the same circumstances had led to his life changing—he’d argue for the better most of the time—and now it might just happen again, except the change to his life will be that it ends. His fingers are turning numb, with how long he’d been held in the stone room it’s no wonder, only a question of how much longer until they figure out that it was all for naught. Bribing the innkeep, getting the herbs necessary to drug him, the fortified hold they’d decided to hole up in? It was all too much effort for a lost cause, but he’d kept his mouth shut for once knowing that if he spoke a word of the futility of their plan, then they’d have no reason to keep him alive anymore.

The door creaked; the sound of the key scraping in the old lock had him struggling to scramble as far away from the door as possible, his body protesting every movement even as he knew it wouldn’t help. They’d made up their mind.

“How’s the little songbird now? Ready to sing a sweeter song?” The man that entered had a grin with the curve of a sickle, sharp and cutting, to offset the fact that his lisp would have undercut any threats made in anyone else’s mouth. The sharp whistle of his breath through the cracked crags of his teeth accompanied his heavy steps and Jaskier bit back a retort about his singing’s quality in favor of staving off the inevitable by just a few seconds.

“No refrain? I’d heard it was hard to shut you up, not the other way around. Guess some things just end up embellished into lies, don’t they?” The look in his grey eyes grew hard.

Jaskier knew what was coming, he might have found himself in trouble more times than he could count but he’d learned when to expect a punch by the set of a man’s shoulders. This time was no different. The blow caught him across the temple, leaving his ears ringing and the ache in his head redoubled after he’d just started to regain some peace from the pain. He slipped sideways down the wall, unable to catch himself when he couldn’t feel the stone beneath his fingers, to the hoarse laugh of the man he’d realized was the orchestrator of it all. Jaskier rested his forehead against the cool stone floor, hoping it would take away some of the pounding that he felt reverberating through his skull. Like metal clashing against metal, the clanging sounded deceptively close despite the fact that he knew it was only his tired mind playing tricks on him.

“Talk,” the man ordered, in a deceptively soft tone, forcing Jaskier to look up at him to read his lips and discern his meaning. “You can talk to that monster, but not to a human?”

“What do you want me to say?” Jaskier couldn’t hold his tongue any longer, though his own voice sounded muted and echoing inside his head. His fear had been a thin veneer before, but now it was being poked through with the usual thorns of irritation and the aching need to be glib. “That I haven’t seen him in months? That I don’t know where he is? That I doubt he knows, or really cares, where I am either? You didn’t understand it the last time I said it, but I guess the constant whistling can get in the way of listening comprehension.”

“The entire continent knows you’re companions, traveling together, dining together… sleeping together,” the man raised his eyebrows, before continuing, “You know him better than anyone.”

“Do I?” Jaskier swallowed, to get the dry taste of irony out of his mouth and to keep from retching at the way the world turned blurry before him. “If sleeping together was all it took, I’d have several dozen of those I’ve courted lining up at your doors. So I’d say you’re out of luck on that shaky limb of logic.”

It was a good joke, considering he’d likely die just from the surprise of Countess de Stael riding up so many months after leaving his poems as ash in her fireplace. Or Geralt, who last he’d seen was firmly in the arms of someone Geralt had risked his life for against all odds and against all wishes, her own included. Not that she’d seemed to mind at the end.

“Is that a note of pity I hear?”

“I can’t do many things, fight a murderous band of men for example, but I know when I’m not wanted. I don’t begrudge anyone that.” He didn’t, he loved freely and indiscriminately, pouring his affection into the world along with his quips and commentary as an inexhaustible resource. Because what better way to try and stay a memory in someone’s heart long after the flare of passion has gone cold. He couldn’t help it if Geralt had been a never-ending well for him to attempt to fill, not realizing how he’d fallen down into it in the process and the answer he’d been chasing had been merely his own deluded echo in return.

“He might not come for you now then—” Jaskier had a brief moment of hope at the contemplative look on the man’s face, the sliver of mercy amidst the cold calculation. “But he’ll surely come for your headless corpse. If your songs have even a fraction of truth, he’s the sort to be mad about that kind of thing.”

Cold ice slid down Jaskier’s spine, because the man was right. Geralt was nothing if not a righteous man, perhaps surly and grumpy to a fault, but he’d fight anyone that threatened the helpless, never mind that it happened to be Jaskier. He’d written songs about it after all, he’d know. Blood pounded in his ears, the sound seeming too loud in the confines of his terror and he could almost imagine the keep itself was resounding with it, the thump of his heartbeat bouncing through the walls in an irregular series of bangs.

The man snatched his attention back when he slid his axe free of the belt at his waist, hefting it for a better grip and leaning down to yank Jaskier upright.

“Wait! Wait, what if you just let me go? There’s a new idea, worth considering—”

“Don’t worry, if it really doesn’t matter who ends up dead as long as it’s someone he could’ve saved then we have an endless supply of who to use. As you’ve said, it doesn’t take anyone special,” the man said, rank breath wafting into Jaskier’s face, and he wished that wasn’t the last thing he’d ever hear.

Axe shining in the flickering light of the torch, the man shoved Jaskier into the right angle despite his best efforts to scrounge together enough strength to resist. The man lifted his arm, already evident that he wouldn’t be able to make it one clean cut and didn’t particularly care, and swung.

Jaskier had closed his eyes, content with the darkness if that’s all that was left of life anyway, and so the sound of wood breaking from close by and the short gurgle of a last breath was all he knew before there were hands on his face.

Calloused, rough, and warm, familiar from the many years and he leaned into them so quickly they were all that held him up. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know, but he did anyway because he needed to see, to remember the sight of Geralt leaning over him, engulfing him in his shadow and tracing the bruises on his face with a touch so gentle he could’ve sworn it was a dream.

“Jaskier,” just the rumbling timbre of Geralt’s voice was enough to make Jaskier realize that he’d been worried, chest heaving and sword bloodied from his rush through the keep. To him.

“Cutting it pretty close, no?” Jaskier snorted, relief making him lightheaded. Relief that he wasn’t dead, that Geralt was there. “Did you get it? He was about to cut my head off, that kind of death offers so many opportunities for pithy jokes. Would be a shame to waste it…”

“I came as fast as I could,” Geralt said, tone not plaintive in the slightest but desperate, as if he thought Jaskier was really doubting him. As if he hadn’t been doing just that not a few minutes ago.

Jaskier swallowed, this time to keep the words, all the damning and too honest words he wanted to bare before Geralt, down and keep what he’d been willing to carry to the grave with him just a while longer.

Before he could find anything to say, Geralt pulled him close, palms brushing over his ruined doublet and down to Jaskier’s deadened hands, enveloping his fingers in a grip he could’ve sworn was trembling just slightly. His other hand slipped into Jaskier’s hair, until he felt the spot last touched by the man lying dead at their feet.

Jaskier hadn’t meant to flinch but he saw the way Geralt’s eyes narrowed at the movement and tried to stand on his own to make up for the moment of weakness.

“In the area, were you? I don’t think you’ll get much coin for this job.” He wanted to ask, wanted to see if he was more trouble than he was worth but he didn’t want to hear the ugly answer.

“I was already searching for you, when I heard.” Geralt’s hand stayed on his back, just like when he’d carried him around in the djinn’s aftermath. “Last time I saw you, you were covered in your own blood, like now. You left… and I didn’t know where you’d gone.”

Jaskier stumbled, both from the way the room seemed to spin beneath his feet at the change in altitude as he got up and the fact that Geralt had followed him this time, sought him out and found him.

“I got into yet more trouble, as you can see. Nothing new there.” He rubbed his newly freed hands and grimaced at the red welts the ropes had left behind. He’d have to wear his longer-sleeved wardrobe to cover those up. He looked up to find Geralt’s gaze still raking over him, the furrow in his brow the one that always formed when he was considering something. “Did you need something?”

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

“W-what?” Jaskier stuttered. “What does that mean?”

“I’m trouble,” Geralt continued, looking like he was choosing his words carefully. “And you are too.”

“Thank you for the astute observations… Where are you going with this?”

“I already said it. That you shouldn’t be alone.”

Jaskier waited, but Geralt stared at him with the same set look on his face as when Roach gave him a neigh instead of a bump in the chest, unsure what to say. But words had always been Jaskier’s forte, even if he swallowed them down sometimes.

“Are you saying you think trouble loves company?”

Geralt nodded, and that was enough for Jaskier. He’d never be empty of what he poured into the world, and so when something spilled into him instead, he overflowed. Geralt’s empty well might just have a bucket of water inside it, and he’d managed to fish it out after all.

prompts open

#the witcher #jaskier #geralt #geraskier #dandelion #my writing #prompt response #i made up my own continuity after the djinn incident #because ep 6 can't have been the real start of his self doubt about traveling with geralt #ask tag

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