#you’re just inconsolable from the pain and clinging to him with all you have and the scared whine you let out when they try to tug you away | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

seijorhi · 4 years ago

Text

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too.

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it.

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo.

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away.

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy.

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences.

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife.

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would.

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.”

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you.

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication.

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder.

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign.

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you.

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in.

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is.

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever.

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe.

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you.

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin.

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place.

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her.

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign.

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator.

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening.

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold.

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law.

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally.

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide.

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite.

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit.

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites.

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with.

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you.

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same.

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him.

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick.

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is.

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind.

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you.

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second.

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind.

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him.

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland.

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance.

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere osamu miya #yandere osamu x reader #yandere osamu #yandere osamu miya x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: infidelity #angst #drunk reader #manipulation and gaslighting ahead y'all #dilf osamu

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lavendermin · 3 years ago

Text

my enemy dearest 『2』 | childe

pairing | childe/reader

word count | 1.2k

genre | angst, enemies with benefits

warnings | liyue archon quest spoilers

[previous] [next]

“We need to talk.”

“I have nothing to say to you that’s nice right now,” you quickly seethe, the clack of your heels on the floor punctuating the tense silence.

You easily step over scattered papers and shattered decor— a haunting reminder of the frantic state everyone in the city was left in with the emergency evacuation when Osial was unsealed.

Childe, ever taller in height, easily catches up to you in effortless strides. And maybe, just maybe, if things had transpired differently, you would feel some kind of pride in seeing his eyes hold a twinge of desperation in them.

If he wasn’t with those godforsaken Fatui.

“Just— Listen,” he practically pleads, stepping in front of you. It halts you in your steps, your eyes cold like the Vision you bear. What he hoped to be an opportunity quickly turns south.

“If you do not move out of my way in the next instant, I will hurt you, Tartaglia. And that is not a threat, that is a promise.”

The calm in your tone is a stark contrast to the venom that drips from your words. And his official codename as a Harbinger… He hasn’t heard you use such a formality in a while. It makes Childe feel more distant than ever.

Maybe he was more irked that he cared— that it bothered him.

He goes easily when you shove him out of the way. And without a second thought he grabs your wrist when you’re barely past him.

“Hurt me, then,” he challenges. “You think I can’t take it? That’s an insult to everything I’ve trained for.”

The bitter laugh that escapes you echoes in the empty halls just outside your office.

“Tell me then, Tartaglia, did you train all your life just to kill Rex Lapis? Train day and night to awaken the wrath of a god that’s been dormant for eons? What do you gain from disrupting the peace of a nation?”

“I didn’t kill Rex Lapis, for archon’s sake— would you just— listen to me for 5 minutes,” Childe all but shouts.

His heart is pounding in his ears, frustration and adrenaline coursing through his veins. You were nothing significant to him, and the same you would say about him if asked. So then, why did he feel the need to clear things up with you?

You pull your wrist out of his grasp, and for a second he swears he sees a deep hurt swirl in your eyes.

“You’ve shattered the thin ice we walked on.” The seething rage consumed you, and for a second you considered the Vision around your neck.

No… No, you would still cling onto the shred of self-control you desperately held onto… Your patience was slowly dwindling—thin as morning frost— and with your mind in a dark place, it wouldn’t end pretty.

“What happened at the Golden House— let me explain—“ Childe is quickly cut off.

The change in your expression is enough of a sign. Childe is royally screwed—he knows this. The entirety of Liyue has him down as a ruthless villain, much to his annoyance. But nothing could prepare him for how you decide to hurt him. At this point, he would have much preferred to be hurt by you in battle, defeated by your icy dagger at his throat. Your words left his throat dry, his fists clenched in a bubbling toil of anger and disbelief.

“Forget me. Forget me and never come looking for me again. I don’t ever want to see you near my office and if you don’t leave now, I’ll have you escorted out by the millelith.” Your words are commanding, forceful. Enraged, yet you held back your tongue to keep from saying something you would regret. You wave him away, picking up a few scattered files here and there, “I have a city to try and restore. Dismissed.”

Childe wishes there was more hurt, more pain in your words so he wouldn’t be the only one. But you were in a state of confusion and inconsolable anger. Nothing made sense in your head right now, or rather you didn’t want to believe it.

“I’m not letting this go,” he grits. Childe was starting to lose his patience now, too.

“It’s best you do,” you reply coldly, back facing him as you unlock your office doors. And with a deep sigh you can only laugh at the idea you voice, “Or, what? You’ll say you love me? Keep this stupid make-believe game going on? I’m tired, Childe. I’m so fucking tired of you—of those people that use you like a war-machine.”

And though he wanted to feel angry, he just couldn’t. Childe knew this line of work was what his reputation would undoubtedly reflect.

There’s no more fight in him, and all he can do is watch as the door of your office slams shut. The halls are empty and echo into his mind the events that just transpired. Not even a ‘goodbye’. Perhaps because there was nothing ‘good’ about this parting—or about the entire past few days.

What does this mean for him, he wonders. Why is this even a problem? He should be rejoicing, in fact. Months ago, all he wanted was you off his back so he could run operations in Liyue seamlessly. And now that you’ve willingly cut ties…

Childe shoves the thoughts elsewhere. If he could drink to forget, then that’s what he would do. Without another word, he leaves the building and saunters off to look for Zhongli—

No.

No, no. That option was out of the question right now. Left without the only two people he was most often around, Childe retreats back to his rented living quarters. He needed to be alone— to think and regret alone.

Mouth bitter with unsaid words, he was left with a sour feeling festering in his chest. Guilt? The crushing weight of his actions? There’s one he hasn’t felt in a while. He wouldn’t quite call it that either. Who knows? Whatever it was, he didn’t want to feel. He preferred the numbing feeling of battle.

But his mind can only flash back to the Golden House fiasco. From there everything plays in a loop leading up to you, again and again.

It would be okay. I’ll be okay.

Like any fresh wound, it would just take time to heal and then be another forgotten scar. However, if he had somehow developed feelings… Well, then he was in for a very lengthy healing process.

Childe would forget you, like he did the faces of all those he defeated in battle before. This he hoped, at least.

It was harder to forget the feeling of your body under his rough hands, hard to forget the many ways he used you to forget his stress. Perhaps that was temporary relief and all that same stress was coming back ten-fold.

‘I’m not the bad guy,’ he would always say, trying to convince himself more so than others. And yet now, with how he had betrayed your trust beyond repair— beyond the excusable— he was the bad guy. Perhaps this was his price to pay.

#childe/reader #childe x reader #childe genshin impact #tartaglia #ajax #genshin fanfic #fic: my enemy dearest #drabble collection: coffee break for two #angst #genshin #genshin impact #mii writes #this would have been longer but #I love ciffhangers #enemies with benefits

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axwalker · 4 years ago

Text

AFTER

I’ve never liked the way PB wrote everything that happens after Drake gets shot trying to save MC --they don’t even go to a freaking hospital!!

I think this might have been done before but I wanted to share my own version of it. I hope you enjoy it!

This is my contribution for DAY THREE OF TRRAW hosted by @trraw

This ONE-SHOT belongs to The Walker’s universe but it’s a stand alone. MASTERLIST HERE.

I hope you enjoy it!

Book and Pairing: TRR Drake x Alexis (MC)

Warnings: Shooting, coma.

ALL MY FICS ARE +18.

Words: 2,868

Disclaimer: All characters and some dialogues and places belong to Pixelberry.

Tagging perma:

@mskaneko @drakexwillow @burnsoslow @thegreentwin @kat-tia801

@gkittylove99 @no-one-u-know @twinkle-320 @forallthatitsworth @marshmallowsandfire @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @princessleac1

@twinkleallnight @tinkie1973 @moneyfordiamonds

DRAKE

My lungs draw in air, bringing consciousness and chaos rushing back to me. And pain. So much pain. My vision is blurred as if I’m underwater. I can’t move; I can hardly take some shallow breaths. Gunshots, screams, and fire sound through the ringing in my ears. My left arm is heavy with deep, piercing pain. I feel dizzy and disoriented, but I have to make sure where Lexie is. She has to be alive. I remember the gun pointing at her, and terror, as I’ve never known, invades me, carrying adrenaline through my blood.

“Lexie,” I croak. “Lexie!” My gaze darts all over, assessing. A pool of blood, seeping into the floor below me, freeze my veins. Please, God, don’t let it be her. I struggle to sit up, but the sharp pain stops me. Trembling, I turn to see the hole in the skin of my forearm, up to my elbow. The screaming starts again closer, and I realize that Alexis is not hurt.

My relief is short-lived when I realize Alexis’s crying inconsolably. She seems desperate; her hands are drenched, red. Her dress is soaked up in blood. For a minute, I panic again, but I realize it is my own blood she has all over her. I sigh, relieved, and try to tell her that I’m in fine, but I can’t get the words out of my mouth.

I struggle to stand up, but I feel someone or something trying to keep me pinned where I am. It’s not Lexie because she’s kneeled next to me. Telling me … something. I can’t hear her. Her hands go from my face to my chest and my hair. Huge tears are rolling from her eyes. Suddenly, her soothing touch stop, and I want to scream. Leo is holding her; she seems so broken. I want to take her in my arms, tell her that I’ll be okay, but I can’t speak.

Finally, my eyes fall shut under a wave of dizziness that I can’t avoid. The last thing I see is Alexis’s sad face before blackness comes down.

A thousand stars twinkle in the sky; I’m lying in the middle of the woods. Lexie is next to me, her small hand engulfed by mine. Despite the frosty wind, I feel warm, content for the first time in a long time. I want to stay here, like this, with her forever.

Suddenly, we’re back at the palace, and she’s in my arms. We’re swaying slowly at the rhythm of an old waltz, and I realize it’s the happiest moment of my life. Just moments ago, her warm body was writhing, moaning beneath me. She was mine.

Now she’s here. With me. You have to wake up now, she says. Please, Drake. Wake up, my love. I don’t understand what she’s talking about; I try to hold on to her, but she keeps crying and begging for me to wake up over and over again.

I try to tell her I’m here with her. That I’m never going to let her go. That I regret every second, we wasted because I refused to listen to her. That I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together. But I can’t. My eyes refuse to open, my brain to cooperate. She’s so close and so far away from me. This is punishment for chasing after what wasn’t mine. For using Liam’s trust and deceive him. For hurting Lexie. I hurt the woman I loved when I swore I’d never do that. Never love anyone. I shouldn’t love anyone. I know I don’t deserve her, but I just couldn’t help myself.

Her tornado-like personality sweeps people up, and it was so powerful, it drew me in so that I wanted to kiss her and touch her and make her mine.

Please baby, please, stop crying.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

My eyes flare open, and my body spasms. Terror surge through my veins as I slam into the floor. Not the floor, a bed. My brain registers white sheets, fluorescent lights, incessant beeping—a sharp pain sliced through me. I try to scream, but something in my mouth and down my throat pushed air into my lungs instead.

“Drake.” A voice in my head. Soft and sweet. “Drake, look at me.” The voice is outside my head. I reach for it. I need it more than air. Lexie? I try to turn my head.

“Easy, now.” A man’s voice. Authoritative. Hands push me down at the shoulders. “Calm down,” he says. “That’s it. Don’t fight the machine.”

I try to inhale and exhale, but I can’t control my breathing. All the while, fluorescent lights come and go—my eyes. I’m opening and closing my eyes. I’m in here. This is me. The pain. Holy fuck, the pain. A red-hot sledgehammer to my right arm.

“Drake,” Lex says. Warm fingers fold around my hand. “It’s all right. Try to lie back.” Slowly my brain put things together. A bed with white sheets and beeping machines. This is a hospital. And Lex is here.

“Lexie,” I say. Or try to. The fucking tube in my mouth and down my throat blocks the word. I gag as more air pushes in.

“I’ll call the attending,” says the man, who must be a nurse. “Just stay with him. Keep talking and help get him oriented.”

Stay with me, my Lexie. Forever. My eyes fight hard to stay open. A plastic tube and white tape obscure my vision, but through and around it, I see her. Standing over me with brown hair falling down around her shoulders. Like a beautiful, peaceful dream after a long, dark night.

“Hey, Walker,” she says softly. Her little fingers intertwine with mine; her other palm runs smoothly over my forehead. “You’re all right. Just listen to my voice.” Her touch is so soft on my head. “You’re on a ventilator. Okay? It’s breathing for you. Try not to fight it. I’m right here. Keep listening to me. The respirator is to help you breathe until you come out of the sedation. That’s all.”

I wink again, unable to do anything else. Lexie reaches out her hand and caresses my cheek. I move my eyes and see Li and Savvy behind her.

My eyes fall shut in intense relief. My best friend and my little sister. Memories of safety and love from my childhood play on fast-forward—scraped knees and the time I fell from the treehouse. They were there for me. Over their shoulders, I see Bertrand and Max smiling. Savvy is here, Lexie is here, and Liam is all right. Everyone is.

“Hey there, Drake.” A tall man in a white coat is at the side of the bed now. “I’m Dr. Lahela. Let’s take a look at you…” He shines a light in my eyes. “You’re a very lucky man, Mr. Walker. You’ll need some physical therapy for your arm, but you’ll be fine.”

Alexis takes my hand and squeezes it. “You better never scare me like this again, Walker.” Her voice finally breaks. “I can’t live without you, Drake. Please, don’t do that again.”

I can’t talk, so I look at her trying to compel everything I feel for her. I treasure every shy smile, every kiss, every single laugh. I love her, and I don’t care if I deserve it or not. I’m never letting her go.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One Year Later

The day is finally here. I’m not one for nerves and that bullshit, but there’s no ignoring the tightness in my chest as I walk down the street. Even though I have the address memorized, I recheck my phone to verify that I’m at the correct address. It’s there in my text messages, the location Lexie sent.

We’ve been together for more than a year, and sometimes I’ll get texts like these. Lexie loves to be spontaneous. I never know if I’m going to show up and find some dark bar where she wants me to fuck her in the bathroom… or if it’s going to be this really fucking cool bookshop where we’ll linger for hours, talking about books before she eventually buys both our favorites.

Those dates mean everything to me. I love the sex—fucking love the sex—but Lexie is a world into herself, and I could spend the rest of my life exploring her and still not know everything there is to know.

Today’s different, though

It’s not just any day, not just any date.

It’s been a year since the attack.

I touch the box in my pocket, take a deep breath, and push through the doors and into the restaurant. After a quick word, the hostess leads me up a set of stairs to the roof. I shake my head as I look around.

Lexie does nothing halfway.

The roof isn’t huge, but there is a gazebo in the middle that I’m nearly certain isn’t there during regular events. A small bar has been placed in the side, and the rest of the space is cleared of tables and chairs. It will just be us tonight.

She’s leaning against the railing and looking out across Portavira. We’re high enough to have a decent view of the sea. Personally, I only have eyes for her.

She’s wearing flat sandals and a stunning red dress; it clings to her body all the way down to her knees before flaring out. I will never know how she walks in the damn thing, but I appreciate how good her ass and tiny waist look on it as I walk over and lean against the railing next to her.

“I’m surprised you didn’t have me jumping on a plane to find you this time.” Something she occasionally does. She loves to travel. And I love her: ‘Surprise, I’m in Athenes, come get me’ texts.

“I did consider it.” Lexie turns to me with a grin. Her mouth is painted a crimson shade identical to her dress. Fuck, the woman is so beautiful it makes my chest ache. Not just her face. All of her, inside and out. She bumps me with her elbow. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I love you.”

Her sexy grin turns into a full on smile that lights up her entire face. “You’re such a guy. All it takes is a short dress and a red lipstick.” She teases.

“It’s not that.” I take her hand and tug her toward the table set up for us. As we walk over, I study her expression. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine.” Lexie catches my raised eyebrow and sighs. “Look, this day is never going to be easy for me. I thought I lost you, but I promise I’m okay.” She hesitates. “How are you holding up?”

I answer her honestly. “I’m fine. I know this was a horrible day to you, but I barely remember anything.” I take Lexie’s hand and brush my mouth over her knuckles. “So, why’d you pick this place?”

She looks around, the light wind pulling at her silky hair. “It’s romantic.” She turns her hand in mine to lace our fingers together. “We’ve both been working a lot lately. While I fully intend to take you home, so you fuck my brains out, I thought it’d be a nice change of pace to have a nice Italian dinner first.” She smiles. “And this place has a cool seasonal menu.”

The bartender delivers drinks that Lexie must have ordered for us—both Macallan’s 18 years. We order and then sip in silence for a few moments. I shift the ring box, an ever-present reminder of what I plan for tonight at the beach.

I’m not used to feeling off-center. I sure as fuck have wasted too much time doubting myself. I do not doubt that I love her wildly. That she’s the woman for me. It’s her answer that frightens me.

And I’m still not sure tonight is the night for this.

“Drake.”

I realize I’ve been spacing out and grimace. “Sorry. What did you say?”

Lexie leans in, her expression going playful. “I said, ‘Is that a box in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?’”

I follow her gaze down to where the square is very plainly in view pressed against the slacks of my front pocket. “Well, fuck.”

Her eyes go wide. “Seriously? It’s not earrings or a bracelet or something?”

I pull the box out of my pocket, and I’m fucked up to realize my palms are sweaty. Jesus fuck, this is not how I planned to do this, but here we are. “It’s not earrings or a necklace, no.” I set the box on the table between us and take a breath. This might not be how I planned to go about things, but that doesn’t mean a fucking thing. Very little goes to plan when Lexie is involved; that’s one of the things I love most about her. I’ve learned to roll with the punches.

I take Lexie’s hands and hold her gaze.

“That night, I was terrified. When I saw that gun aimed at you, I thought I might lose you. And I can’t live without you.” Fuck, this is harder than I expected. It’s not the opening myself up that’s so challenging. No subject is off-limits with us. It’s more that I want the perfect words to describe how I feel, and I’m shit at words. I’m not a damn poet. I’m just me, and just me will have to be perfect because she deserves nothing less than perfection. “This year has been really fucking good, O’Brien. Every time I think I can’t love you more, you go and prove me wrong. I love the adventures and shit we get into together, just like I love the long afternoons we spend with takeout and movies and board games and shit. And the lazy mornings in bed. I love it all.”

I release one of her hands to open the box. It’s an heirloom, but it meant so much to my grandmother, I hope she likes it. Lexie deserves perfect. It’s a single ruby against a simple setting that lets the gem stand on its own.

Lexie stares at it for a long moment and then at me. “Drake, that’s so perfect.”

“You’re one hell of a woman.” I don’t move, barely breathe. “Will you marry me, Lexie?”

She screams and throws herself at me. “Of course I will.” Her lower lip quivers a little. “Damn, you’re going to make me cry after saying all those sweet, perfect things.” She holds still while I slip the ring onto her finger. She holds it up, smiling at the way it glints in the city lights. “A perfect fit.”

“Just like us.”

“Just like us,” she repeats. A heartbeat passes. Another as I try to rein myself. Then I lean down, take her face in my hands, and kiss her desperately like she’s the last thing I’ll ever taste. I kiss her with the power surging through my veins, with all the strength of my desire and happiness over this day. With all the want that’s burning through me—want of more than just her body. Everything I long for, everything I hold precious, I pour into her mouth—and my Lex responds beautifully. Her arms twine around my waist, pressing her soft belly against me. I’m so damn hard, I just want to push myself against her until she spreads her legs and lets me in. Instead, I slide my tongue into the softness of her mouth. She gasps. It makes me smile around her lips, knowing that I can make my girl gasp with just a slip of my tongue. I explore her slowly, wrapping an arm around her back and cradling her head, so when I thrust my tongue into the hot, soft sanctuary of her sexy mouth, she doesn’t have to work to stay upright. I kiss her soft and slow, and longer, harder until she’s gasping and my hand is slowly caressing her neck. Her back is pressed against the rail, and I’m thrusting against her. She’s rocking against me, too, and I stop. I see the waitress coming. We’ll have to wait a few hours until we’re together at the cabin, and I have time to explore every inch of her. Even if I know, it will never be enough.

She’s blushing, and it’s so fucking adorable I want to kiss her all over again. “You know, for a guy who says you’re not good with words, that was one hell of a proposal.”

“I just love you so fucking much, baby.”

“That’s why I’m going to marry you.” She hooks the back of my neck and brings me down for a kiss.

Lexie leans back and meets my gaze. “I don’t suppose you’re thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That we should pay the tab, get the food to go, and take it back to our cabin.”

“A man after my own heart.” She kisses me again, sweeter this time. “I love you, Drake Walker. So fucking much. I can’t wait to marry you.”

#axwalker writes #trraw2021 #drake walker #drake x lexie #drake walker fanfic #trr fanfic #tw shooting #drake x mc #drake walker x mc

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yee-fxcking-haw · 4 years ago

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•Save Me Again•

Summary: Ouchies :/ some hurt+comfort with Kiri. Its a rough mission for Red Riot, his anxiety gets to him, you pick up the pieces.

Pairing: Pro Hero Kirishima x NBreader (both 18+)

Warnings: Angst, panic attacks, mentions of blood, death, grounding tactics (five senses method)

Word Count: 1,605

A/N: Wrote this with a big achey heart at five in the morning. It hurts. Sorry y'all lmao.

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The images flashing on the television are nothing short of horrendous, they're devastating and gorey. It leaves you feeling painfully sick and hopeless. You cling to Eiji's shirt, crying into the fabric every time a life is lost. The anchorman is talking, but his words are lost somewhere between the speakers and your ringing ears.

A particularly gruesome death is shown, you feel your body sob, but again can't process any sound. Where is he? Where the hell is he?

The screen cuts to blue, some well worded message about sparing the audience of graphic content flashes on it.

You have to breathe, you have to keep moving, you have to focus. You can't though, your lungs won't fill, your body won't budge, and your brain won't settle.

He's ok. He's built for this.

-But, he's cities away, and you haven't heard from him or seen evidence of him on the news… so, what if he isn't ok?

Those villains weren't anything he hasn't faced before, but there were so many of them. More bloodthirsty than usual, more reckless. Now, with the stupid news cut off, you have to just wait and hope to whoever the hell is running this shitshow that Eiji is holding his own.

The secret feed. Fucking hell the secret news feed.

Being a loved one of a Pro, you're connected to a secret news feed that covers events like this uncensored. It's something his commission came up with, not long after you had your first severe panic attack from not knowing if he was alive or dead on a similar mission.

Your phone is torn from your pocket, thumbs flying with urgency as you pull up the feed.

With nearly supernatural timing, the camera pans to Eijirou, who's covered head to toe in ash, debris, and blood.

"Oh, baby…" You choke out, hand reaching for him subconsciously.

In his strong arms, wrapped in rock hard safety, is the limp body of a little boy. Blood seeps from an open gash on his head, it looks deep, it looks serious.

Eiji's face is hard to read, it always is when he's in mission mode. He looks focused, but shaken, resolute, but disturbed.

You watch as he brings the boy to a medic who promptly has him laid out on a stretcher. His pulse is checked, followed by a slow, mournful shake of the medics head.

Then Eijirou's face falls, you can see his heart shredding as if it's his own child laying there.

You cry for him, your heart cracks and falls apart as you watch him realize he was too late. You know what he's thinking, you know he doesn't think he's helping, or that he should even be there.

You know he doesn't think he's a Hero.

You watch helplessly as they stabilize the situation, capture the villains, and clean up the mess. Every time the camera is on Red, your heart breaks all over again. He's not doing well, the rock has been shaken.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

When the front door finally opens, you freeze completely. You should run to him, you should say something, but what would you do? What would you say?

So, you wait. You take in his battered form, the blood, the falling hair, the broken eyes. He shucks off as much of his hero gear as he can.

His eyes stay on the ground as he walks over to you with heavy feet. He slumps down on the couch, elbows on his knees as he buries his face in his filthy hands. He smells like battle, an almost offensive smell, but something you're used to.

After a tense moment of heavy silence, a trembling sob rattles through his exhausted body.

You want to throw yourself on him, wrap around him and coddle him, but you know you have to wait.

"Can I touch you?" You question softly, trying to remember all the steps you need to take to ground somebody when they're shaken up like this.

His only reply is grabbing you by the waist so he can pull you into his lap. His arms lock around your body, his face buried into your chest, and he just cries.

The cries turn to sobs that turn to screams. All sent somewhere deep inside you, somewhere dark and hopeless. Your fingers are in his hair, as soothing as they can be when you're shaking this much.

"I know, baby… I know." You whisper, tears covering your cheeks as you break with him.

"No." He chokes, he says it like he's fighting something, like he doesn't want it to happen.

"You don't know, nobody knows." It isn't accusatory, it isn't angry, it's just painful.

You wait for a moment, unsure of your footing, trying to calculate what to do next.

You have to diffuse somehow, you have to bring him back down. He's nearly hyperventilating, and you don't want him to go through a panic attack. You know you can handle him, but when Eiji panics, it does a real number on him.

"Honey, can you feel me?" You ask cautiously, digging your fingers into his matted hair, squeezing your body around his.

He nods as another gut wrenching sob rips from his throat.

"Ok, good, baby, that's good." You coax.

"You can hear my voice, right? Can I hear yours, please?"

He takes a moment to pull breath into the bottom of his lungs, pressing the side of his face against your sternum.

"I'm here. I'm right here." He answers, just like you practiced.

"Thank you, thank you for being here." You lean back slightly, a bit difficult with how tightly he's holding you. When he feels you shift away, his breathing picks up again, his hands hold on painfully and he shakes his head frantically.

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm here. I'm not leaving." You reassure him, reaching for the water bottle on the table beside the couch.

You guide his face towards yours with a gentle hand on his jaw. He's a mess of tears and snot and blood. His eyes are more bloodshot than you've ever seen them, lips quivering, eyebrows drawn tight with anxiety.

It makes you want to cry as hard as he is, but you can't. If you cry, he'll want to save you, and he's done enough saving for today.

You bring the bottle to his lips, tipping it up and making him drink. He closes his eyes as he takes in the cold water, undoubtedly dehydrated.

"You can taste that, right?" You ask as you pull it away after a few long drinks.

He'll want to chug it, but he can't, it'll make his stomach hurt.

"I can." He answers, almost like a robot, but it's better than nothing.

"Thank you, Eiji, you're ok. I'm here." You remind him.

"Can I take your shirt off?" You ask.

He nods slowly, following the lead you've taken on the situation.

Your shirts are both discarded, as soon as you're rid of the fabric you grab the blanket off the back of the couch and throw it around your back before pressing your bare torsos together.

You've learned that skin to skin is the best way to ground him. As you expect, he melts into your warmth, bringing you back down against him so he can hide his face in your neck.

"You smell nice." He whispers, picking up the senses where you left off, it makes you swell with pride.

"Good, thank you baby, what else is there?" You prompt, willing him to keep going.

"I see our home." He sniffles.

"That's right. You're home. You have me. You're safe." You repeat it a few more times.

Between gentle touches, soft kisses, and extensive reassurance, his breathing settles and his tears stop falling.

"I don't think I should be out there." He finally whispers after several moments of slowly breathing together.

You don't answer, you don't combat it. You both know he should be out there, but you know he needs to get this out, so you let him.

"I couldn't even save one k-kid." The heartbreak in his eyes is immeasurable, inconsolable, it makes you fall apart in a thousand different ways.

You don't speak, you don't fabricate comfort with sweet words. You just let him cry again, full bodied into your neck. He'll do this a few times, settle then fall apart again. You'll be patient, sit there with your glue and tape and piece him back together.

"You saved me." You remind him quietly, recalling how you met.

He truly did, you were almost collateral damage, just another tally mark on the wall counting lives lost to villains. However, one Hero, one brilliant Hero, saved your poor civilian ass.

He pulls away to blink up at you, eyes swollen and wet, broken and searching.

"You saved me." He breathes.

Your forehead falls against his.

"We save each other. That's enough. You're doing enough." You assure him, knowing he needs to hear it.

The push and pull goes on for a little while, you let him break, you stitch him back up. You wipe the dirt and blood from his body, kissing the bruises, reminding him you're real. You clean him up and talk him down, until his body is wrapped around yours in bed.

He cries himself to sleep in your arms, tears falling more slowly, the result of a dull ache that will linger for days. It'll stay this way for a bit, an unstable back and forth, but you'll be here. You'll reach down and pull him up, you'll save him like he saved you.

#kirishima eijirou #my hero academia #my hero comfort #my hero angst #kirishima comfort #kirishima angst #red riot #red riot angst #red riot comfort #my hero academia angst #my hero academia comfort #comfort fic #my hero academia fanfiction

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shreddedparchment · 5 years ago

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.28

A Dangerous Homecoming

04/08/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,529

Warnings: wounds, blood, language, fluff

A/N: We are in the home stretch my loves. The end is in sight. Hopefully I can speed up my momentum. I have the chapters outlined out but always seem to slow down when I’m near the end. I’ve done it with lots of my stories. And I am SORRY. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Consciousness isn’t something that Steve is often at odds with.

From that fateful day when his mother gave in to her most rabid of fears and made her deal with the Sun Witch. With Doctor Erskine’s enthusiastic encouragement and his own experimental flare, Steve’s fate was changed.

He was altered, irrevocably so. The man he might have grown up to be—or rather, the man he would have died as—had disappeared and in his place a new one was formed. One of drive but not ambition. One with the will to do good and now with the strength to do so.

Steve had been blessed with the body to fight, but now he understands that he was also cursed to drag everyone he loves into the darkness opposite his light.

He gasps, sweating into his expensive and ridiculously extravagant tunic. The dark blue, etched in delicate silver and blacks is nearly soaked through.

His dark gray undershirt clings to his wounded and bruised form.

His lungs struggle for breath as his fear mounts, choking him as silver steel eyes grow dark, black, and dangerous. A curtain of deep chestnut hair flutters around a pale but cold bitten face. There’s a gleam to this man’s left and a fist curls with a keening cry as metal bends.

Steve’s hands twitch. His lips part, dried blood crackling around the edges of his lips.

His fever rages, burning hotter than he’s ever burnt before. The wound in his side stings. The pain is consistent until suddenly it stops.

As the dark eyes charge forward, his weapon hand raised to strike, a soft dampness coaxes Steve away from the image. He gasps, death poised to strike only inches away, when a soft whisper pulls him out.

“Shhhh.” The whisper says and Steve lashes out.

His eyes open wide, his hand closed tight around muscle and bone.

“Ow.” You whisper, pained but also controlled.

Steve’s eyes search and find you to his left, right hand angled painfully away from his face with a damp piece of cloth in its grasp.

“You’re safe.” You tell him gently, trying to convince him. “You’re alright.”

The panic in his chest dissipates. His heart begins to slow. There’s a searing burn on his left side and he looks down to see his shirt and tunic pulled up to expose a long wound now stitched together and freshly cleaned.

“Steve…” You plead. “My hand.”

His panic returns and he drops your wrist. “Did I hurt you?”

He pushes himself up but stops as you place a restraining hand on his chest.

“Don’t get up.” You order.

And it is and order. No doubt about it.

Though Steve knows that you take your role as Queen of Broklin very seriously, he has never heard you use that very authority on him and it strokes it heartstrings like a harp.

He sits back, resting against what feels like sacks of grain. It isn’t exactly soft but it’s better than the ground. Beneath his is warm mattress, hay by the feel of it. Grass too probably.

With his senses returning, he takes a quick look around where you’ve brought him.

“Where are we?”

“My home.” You tell him, resuming the cleaning of his face. “Or it used to be.”

You gently massage away the grime from his skin. The blood caked on his scratches and cuts require a bit more pressure but you’re as gentle as can be.

While you work, he takes it in. Your once home.

It’s small. Only one room, slightly smaller than his study back in Broklin.

The floor is made of aged wood that creaks as you shift on your knees to reach the far side of his neck.

There are small holes and cracks, moldy spots of green in one corner. In another a vibrant yellow weed pokes through from the ground below.

The wattle walls have been painted to attempt a brighter interior. The paint is scarce. He can see how you tried your best to make this little room a home.

The windows, all without panes of glass and only shutters to keep out the cold in winter, have begun to crumble and splinter. A vine has begun to take over, weaving it’s way in and up into the leaky thatched roof.

“Sorry about the water. It started raining while I was in the village.” You explain and his eyes hone in on you.

“You went out alone?” He demands, fear beginning to grab hold.

“Just for a little bit.” You stop your cleaning, meeting his fretful gaze with what he knows now is a stubborn will to be independent. “I needed to get some food and clean scraps for your wounds.”

Steve frowns, hating that you'd gone anywhere without him.

He reaches up to place his hand along your left cheek, caressing your skin until his finger finds a small three inch pucker across your cheek bone.

“You’re hurt.” He hates it. He hates it so much his stomach begins to bubble with bile.

“It’s just a scratch, Steve.” You shake your head, then lean towards him again to resume your cleaning. “Luckily my old sewing box was still in the cupboard. I tended your wound as best I could but we should get it looked at properly.

“I don’t want you getting an infection.” You sigh.

Steve’s turns towards the cupboard beside the small table by the fire you’ve got going. There’s an old rusty pot resting just beyond, handle broken.

All of your furniture, including this bed that he’s laying on is of the poorest quality. With you gone and without your care, even though it’s been under a year, it has fallen into disrepair.

“I won’t.” Steve assures you, looking at the sewing box by your legs, resting on the tattered skirts if your once fine dress.

“That won’t work on me, Steve. You’re seeing a doctor as soon as we’re with father.” You frown.

“No.” He shakes his head, looking at your stubborn pout.

He could kiss you. He loves the way you are bot afraid to challenge him or show you care. You love him so openly. With no fear.

He’s never known this kind of love. Freely given with no thought of restraint.

“I mean, I can’t catch an infection.” Steve explains. “I’m already healing. Even my fever is already gone.”

You almost dive towards his cheeks, hand thrown out to feel his temperature. You press your little—well, little to him—palm against his forehead and wait.

Steve can’t help but love you in every moment that you are by his side.

Especially now as you teeter over him, face screwed up with concerned concentration. You’re a mess. Like him.

Skin broken in small places from rocks and the falls you took. Hair completely disheveled. Your crown, the smaller one he’d had made for your outdoor events, is gone. Lost somewhere in the crowd and amongst the fight.

He doesn’t dare bring it to your attention.

His eyes naturally follow the curve of your throat down to your chest, and then finally your stomach.

His calm glee at your fussing quickly fades as the small swell of your stomach—more noticeable to him day after day—grabs hold of his attention completely.

With two hands he cups the bump, wondering if he might somehow know how the little prince is in your belly. His son.

“How are you feeling?” He checks, meeting your gaze which calms as you sit back onto your ankles and place your hands over his.

“He’s alright.” You stroke his fingers, a gesture of comfort. “I was a little worried while we were walking. After the carriage flipped over, I didn’t feel him for a while, but he did wiggle a bit as we walked here.”

Steve feels a rush of relief, grateful to you for always being your shared son’s protector. He knows how much you love him already.

“That’s not what I asked.” Steve clarifies, eyebrows raised high as he waits.

“I’m fine, Steve. A little tired. Achy but that’s to be expected after today. And very worried.” You sigh, shoulders rising high and dropping low as you slouch with the weight of your grief.

Steve knows what you’re thinking about, because he’s been thinking about it too.

He thought about how far he needed to get you away from the city. And Bucky. He thought about his son and his health. And Bucky. He worried about his friends. And Bucky. He wished he could do more for the innocents he’d left behind. And Bucky.

“They’ll have subdued him by now.” Steve promises.

“How do you know? He was so…so lethal, Steve. I’ve never seen him like that. How is it even possible?”

Steve takes a slow breath, knowing that it’s time for this story. He would have preferred for Bucky to tell you himself, but this time…he’ll have to make an exception.

“There’s something you should know about Bucky.” He begins, but you nod.

“This has to do with him being taken a few years ago?” You offer, entirely more knowledgeable than he’d expected you to be. You never cease to amaze him. He shouldn’t be surprised.

You’re smart as a whip. Perhaps not by a Lady’s standards, but you know more than anyone knows. You’re observant and your common sense and instinct is unparalleled.

If you weren’t so important to him, so precious; if you weren’t his only love and the mother of his child, he would recruit you onto the team and find a way to make you impervious to harm.

Maybe find a witch to bewitch you the way they’d done him or even Peter.

“How do you-?”

“The other day when Nat and I spent some time together alone, she alluded to a story. She didn’t tell me, but she said she would. Later.” You explain and Steve can see the resignation of your all too special patience.

“I suppose it’s later.” Steve nods. “A few years ago, Bucky, Nat, Clint, and I were on a quest to find one of the secret Hydra camps in the Southern forests. The deep south. In the elder wood.”

He watches as you bring out your feet from under you and settle on the floor. He hates it, you on the hard surface while he’s on the soft bed…but if he asks you to sit with him, you’ll argue.

“He was gone for weeks. Nat was inconsolable. Clint did what he could but eventually they had to move on. They had things to attend to. Responsibilities. Thor had to go back to Asgard, Tony had to help Pepper run his own Kingdom, and although I—I should have gone back to ruling Broklin, but I couldn’t give up.

“Nat and I kept searching. How could we stop looking? Bucky is…he was my only remaining family. And for Nat…well, it would be like when I lost you. Knowing you’re out there with no way of knowing whether you’re safe, only we knew that Bucky wasn’t.”

“This was after Margaret’s death?” You probe carefully, fearful it seems in upsetting him.

He’s driven that fear into you and it upsets him that you feel you can’t be open with him about Margaret. It’s his own fault.

Steve nods. “Only just. It was so fresh. Her death…and I was grateful for the distraction; however painful it was. The thought of losing Bucky too after everything with Maggie…I couldn’t stand it. I was determined in finding him. As was Nat.”

Steve can almost sense his own desperation again. It was just as bad as when you were missing. He ignores the ache in his chest at both memories and instead presses on, pushing those bad times out of his mind.

You’re here, attentive and precious in front of him. He won’t waste another moment on the thought of you anywhere but at his side.

“When we finally found him, he’d been strapped to a wooden bed with no mattress in the lowest level of a ruined castle. It was damp but hot, as we were farther South than I’d ever been. Although Natasha knew the territory well and we were able to search it with ease thanks to her expertise.

“For the most part, Bucky seemed fine. He was a little tired when we pulled him out of that wretched cell, but he was happy to be with Natasha again.

“His arm…it was gone. Replaced by the one he has now. When we asked him what had happened to it, he said that he didn’t remember and that it did hurt, but not as much as he might have thought it would to lose an arm.”

“Weren’t any of you worried about what they’d done to him?” You ask in shock, voice tight and whispered. Steve can only guess at what has you so spooked but he’s certain it’s the loss of Bucky’s arm. Here was no grand tale of him losing it in battle.

One day it was there, the next it was gone.

“Yes. Of course. Nat and I more than the others because we couldn’t understand why they would take him only to do that to his arm. So, we kept a very close eye on him. We secluded him to one room in the castle with guards at his door day and night.

“Tony was also very suspicious. Only Tony…Tony wanted to do more than just keep an eye on him.” Steve says, voice dropping low and his eyes going dark at the memory of Tony’s panic, the fear in his eyes as he looked at Bucky laying unconscious as he recovered.

A perceived threat. But to Steve, it was Bucky. His friend and brother. Like hell he was going to let anyone hurt him any more than he’d already been injured.

As Steve can’t fight his anger, with his brow furrowed, you seem to realize suddenly that this must have been what drove your Father and Steve apart. This was what had needed your marriage to bridge the divide in their relationship.

“He wanted to lock him up permanently.” You say, not surprised one bit, but a little disappointed? “Or worse…”

As Steve’s gaze meets yours, you read his eyes like no one else in his life can and realize that Tony had actually tried to do something about it, not simply wanted to.

“What did he do?” You barely manage to say.

“It doesn’t matter. The point is, I fought for Bucky. Nat did too. We were split, though Thor and Bruce weren’t there for the fallout, everyone else was.

“Peter was the only one who managed to balance both sides even though he initially fought with Tony. He realized what this would mean and helped mediate a stop to our quarrel. At least for a while.

“Tony and I didn’t speak again until we arranged a marriage between Morgana and myself with the full intention of having it end before we could ever truly consummate the marriage. That’s where you came in.” Steve sighs, feeling a surge of gratitude for you.

He doesn’t even plan for it to happen, but his voice becomes softer as he reaches out to stroke the curve of your chin. Caressing you whenever he has the chance. How long will you allow him to show you his affections?

He cannot be touching you always, despite his desire to do so. He must maintain some form of decorum in front of his friends and subjects.

However, here in the dimly lit home of your past, he can be as free with his love as he pleases.

You catch his hand and release a held breath, looking appeased and happy to feel the heat of his skin, just as he relishes in yours.

“So, Bucky never showed any signs of mental manipulation until today?” You wonder.

“No. Nothing until today. When nothing happened, we assumed he was fine.” Steve sighs heavily, the weight of his fight with Bucky weighing heavy on his shoulders. Had he missed some sort of clue? Had there been an indicator of what was to come? Had he been blind because of how close he was with Bucky. “It’s been more than two years…”

As if that might ease his strife. It doesn’t. It only makes him worry that maybe there is more to come. What if it isn’t over? What if they’ve turned his friend into someone dangerous permanently?

Steve pulls you a little closer and you shift for him, moving where he wants you. He wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you even closer. He isn’t satisfied until you’re right against his side, your hands pressed against his chest where your fingers take to restlessly twitching against the loose threads of his shirt.

He watches you, so grateful that you’re safe. You’re as lost in thought as he is. Reliving the terrible day just as he is, no doubt.

Steve’s arm tightens again, and you look up to meet his eyes. Your own worry seems to dissipate as you see the stress in his.

As much as he loves Bucky. He can’t help but think how close he came to taking you from him today. How easily his life might have changed again. For the worse.

With a small quiet sigh, you reach up towards his cheek and begin to wipe at the smudged dirt there but stop after two swipes, eyes going wide as you stare into Steve’s storm blues.

“What?” Steve asks, seeing the shift in your expression. “What’s the matter?”

“I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t think it was important.” You begin, and Steve can hardly breathe.

“Didn’t tell me what, flower?” He coaxes, adjusting on the bed to sit up a little straighter.

“I…I think I know what happened. What set Bucky off today.” Steve begins to speak but you’re quick to shake your head to silence him and he obeys you, shushing if that is what you wish. “I didn’t think it was real. I was just waking up in the carriage when I saw it. I was drifting in and out, but I found it odd and even asked father about it.”

Steve’s impatience begins to prod at him, but he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself quiet for you.

“Now that I think about it, I didn’t see him any other time except for that moment.” You shake your head, shutting your eyes as you struggle to pull the image together in your mind it looks like, so Steve reaches up to cup your cheek.

“Tell me.” He pleads gently, forced but willing.

When you meet his eyes again, he can see the terror there but also the absolute certainty.

“I saw Lord Pierce across the square, getting out of a carriage. Bucky was there with him. Looking upset, I think. Then Lord Pierce leaned in and whispered something into Bucky’s ear.

“He went a little stiff, his face went blank, but then I must have gone under for a moment and when I opened my eyes, Bucky was gone. Lord Pierce was gone too.

“Even then, my heart was racing. I knew that what I saw wasn’t good, but I could have been dreaming it. And when I asked father if Lord Pierce was in attendance at the procession, he said that he wasn’t. That he’d made sure to exclude him purposely. So, I put it out of my mind.”

Steve’s hands are claws against your back, the rage within him is nearly choking. He wants to scream. To destroy. If he weren’t injured, he might have even torn your house apart with his bare hands.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, he assumes because you can feel his upset.

“No.” He manages to say, voice deep and quaking with his anger. “No, Y/N. You did right to tell me now. I don’t blame you.”

“But I should have said something.” You fret.

Steve looks down at your belly, the agony of almost having lost both of you today eats at him and helps calm him. It levels him out and he breathes in slowly, then releases the breath but pulls you to him in a soft embrace.

“You’re safe.” He shuts his eyes, really letting himself feel you there in his arms. He trails one hand down to rest on your stomach, tracing the shape of the small curve. “You both are. That’s all that matters.”

“What does this mean for the kingdom? For Lord Pierce? For Bucky?” You ask him, looking to him for a response to this new crisis.

Steve doesn’t often feel as if he is a king with people who depend on him.

Though he knows that he does indeed have a responsibility to his people, he doesn’t often feel as if he’s looked on for leadership. Those moments when someone is truly waiting for him to make a decision.

In your eyes he sees devotion and respect. He sees a genuine intention to follow. And yet he knows that even with this willingness, you would easily disagree with him if you felt it were important.

Everyday you are proving to him that you are not only the woman he loves, but the Queen he has needed at his side.

With you beside him, he truly feels as though he could rule his Kingdom with confidence, with grace, and with a will to do better. For you. For his son. And for all of the people who depend on him.

“I will issue a warrant for his arrest.” Steve declares, confident in his decision. “I will state his crimes clearly so that everyone may see what a snake he is. It will ruin his name and he will have no choice but to either turn himself in for trial or run.”

“What if he runs?”

“Then we will follow.” He nods. “He’ll pay for what he did to Bucky. He’ll pay for what he’s done to you.”

You lift your chin, filled with what he hopes is belief that he can do it. That he can bring Pierce to his knees.

“No one hurts my family and gets away with it.” Steve declares. “No one.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“What are you doing?!” Natasha shouts, shoving herself between Tony and Bucky, fully intent on punching if the need should arise.

The beautiful pale stones of Tony’s castle are a stark contrast to the horrors on the bed behind her.

Natasha glances back at Bucky, wary of the amount of blood he’s losing from the countless wounds to his torso.

What tortures her further is the knowledge that she was the one that put three of those stabs into his side.

She’d been careful to avoid his most sensitive spots, but after he’d woken up on the way home, he’d tried to fight his way out.

It took a hard hit from Tony to the back of the head to knock him out completely and he hasn’t woken up since.

“I need to remove the metal of his arm.” Tony replies exasperated with Natasha’s meddling.

“I needs to wait.” She says.

“It can’t. Bruce said I need to remove it immediately. He’ll have to treat that wound too to prevent infection.

Natasha licks her lips, her green eyes blazing with fear.

“Nat…Let me fix him.” Tony pleads.

“I don’t trust you.” Nat replies, brow crinkling with distrust.

“I know.” And Tony can’t blame her. He’d made a bad impression the first time Bucky had shown up altered. Now here is the results of what he’d always feared but he knows better now about what he’s willing to lose by taking certain precautions.

Bucky is irreplaceable to Natasha and Steve. He must respect that if he’s going to keep not only you but the team in his life.

“But you have to.” Tony argues, holding his hands out for her, his tools held tight as he waits for her to move.

Natasha turns around to look at Bucky once more, her face contorted with indecision and grief and reluctantly moves aside.

Tony lunges for Bucky and works quickly on his arm while Natasha cuts away Bucky’s clothing to tend to his other various wounds.

~~~~~~~~~~

“He’s stable for now.” Bruce declares, wrapping up Bucky’s arm recess where before there’d been shredded metal.

“Will he wake?” Tony asks, trying to keep his voice down for Natasha’s sake.

She’s only just fallen asleep, sitting in a large cushioned chair with a high back. Her hand firmly wrapped around Bucky’s scuffed up right hand.

“What did you give her?” Bruce asks, ignoring Tony’s question for a moment as he also looks to Nat to see her sleeping so peacefully.

“Just one of Agatha’s herbs. She’s a witch with herbs.”

“Or just a witch.” Bruce says quietly, fixing Tony with a wary look.

“I’ve been thinking so too. But she’s devoted to keeping Y/N safe so she’s a good one, as far as I’m concerned.” Tony moves to the wall to pull the call. Somewhere in the castle, he’s sure a bell rings.

“She’s going to be upset when she wakes.” Bruce points out.

“She needs the rest. Thor, Clint, and Peter are out searching. Sam has gone back to Broklin in case they head that way.” Tony assures his friend. “We’ll find them.”

“Y/N is going to be upset that you’ve got Sharon helping Samuel.” Bruce teases, a small awkward smile playing on his lips.

“She’ll deal with it. Finding them is most important right now. Not jealousy.” Tony argues.

Bruce huffs a small laugh, turning to seal Bucky’s bandage before checking on the wounds that Nat had tended to just to be sure they were sealed well.

“You are aware that Sharon snuck into Steve’s room to try and seduce him, and your daughter caught them in bed together, right?” Bruce asks, turning a knowing look to his friend.

Tony blinks, hands clasped at his front before he begins to fix his shirt.

“I am now.” Tony admits. “I’m sure she didn’t let them get away with it. And they seem fine now.”

Mind racing with what might have happened after finding Steve and Sharon like that, he resolves to give Steve a scolding when he sees him.

When. He will find you both if it’s the last thing he does.

“Where are you going?” Steve asks, voice groggy from sleep.

You’re uncurling from his side, moving to his removed tunic to rifle along the front at his expensive baubles and medals.

“To get us some food and something less conspicuous to wear. We don’t know if we’re being pursued. We must lay low.”

“And going into the village to buy things isn’t the opposite of laying low?” Steve asks.

You shake your head. “I’ll only be half an hour and I know the people here. They won’t hurt me.”

Most of them…

“Let me go.” Steve begins to get up, but you frown when he groans.

“No.” You insist, moving to him with a handful of jewels and silver.

You push him back down onto the bed and fix the ratty blanket you’d used to use over him.

“Stop arguing with me.” You chastise him. “I’ll be faster. You’re still wounded.”

“I don’t like you going out there alone.” Steve argues.

“Steven, please. Don’t fight me on this. I will be as quick as I possibly can. I’ll be as invisible as I was before I left. You’ll see. No one will pay me any mind. I was an insignificant orphan. No one will care that I’m here.” You assure him.

“You’re Queen of Broklin.” Steve argues. “And you look like her now, whatever you may think. You don’t look like the girl that came to my castle nearly a year ago.”

“What do I look like then?” You wonder, stripping off your dress before pulling on an old ratty set that you’d had here in the house from before.

It’s thin and meant for summer. Does little to shield the cold but it’s better than your regal, however torn up it might be, gown.

“Even in that you look like an angel.” Steve says.

You can’t help it. You laugh.

“Don’t you think you’re a little biased?” You ask him.

He frowns at you.

“Steve, I’ll be fine.” You move back to him and he welcomes you despite the terrible clothes you’re wearing.

He pulls you in suddenly, no warning as he kisses you hard.

You gasp, hands tense on his shoulders as his lips crush yours painfully.

When he pulls away, he does so slowly, his kiss shifting into tenderness.

“What-?”

“Please be cautious. Don’t talk to anyone that you don’t have to. Turn my cloak inside out and take it. I will not have you and our child freezing.” He worries.

“Why weren’t you this annoying when we first got married?” You tease him and he shuts his eyes, head falling forward to rest against your chest.

You chuckle and stroke his dirty hair, smoothing it out despite the blood and grime still caked into it.

“Please be safe.” He begs, looking up at you again. “I don’t know what I would do if I lost you, Y/N.”

“You’d go on. Because you’re strong. And you have a whole Kingdom that depends on you.”

Steve sighs. “I don’t want to be rational. I’d gladly follow you into the end.”

“Then I guess I’d better not meet my end.” You decide.

Getting up, you move to his cloak and turn it inside out as he wished. It’s plain gray on the underside. Still a fine fabric but less ostentatious in its stitching. It makes it much warmer in this clothing and it smells like Steve still.

“Stay quiet.” You tell him, then pick up his shield and put it beside him. “I’ll be right back.”

You slip out into the early morning freeze. The wheat fields are barren and give you no cover as you trek across the cold semi-frozen mud. It sticks to your shoes, much too nice for the plain peasant dress you’re wearing but with the cloak they’re somewhat hidden.

You’re tired by the time you reach the edge of the village and take shelter in the smithy’s doorway. He’s already open, an older man who had tried his best to ignore your hunger plight often. Many of the wealthier villagers had made the very conscious decision to pretend you didn’t exist.

You can’t blame them. You were a child in need of care and many of them, though richer than you, still struggled to make ends meet. They had no way of caring for a whole other mouth to feed.

He’s working inside, too busy making his living to care that you’re resting on his doorstep.

It takes you fifteen minutes to walk across the village make your purchase with only a somewhat lingering look from the tailor who must be the only one to notice your absence in the village as you’d always been a bit of a pain to.

You had offered to mend clothing at a cheaper cost and so stole most of her mending business.

“Haven’t seen you around here.” She states, wrapping up your new dress and the clothing and shoes you’ve purchased for Steve.

“I’ve been travelling.” You say quickly. Offering no further explanation.

“You look different.” She says, pushing the parcel over the counter towards you.

Fucking Steve.

“Do I?” You take the package and throw a silver pin on the counter worth six times as much as she’s charging you for the clothes.

Her eyes go wide at the sight, but you don’t wait for her to say anything and instead leave as quickly as you entered.

You buy some food from the bake, just something to tide you both over until you can go hunt something up and pay with a small ruby.

You’re gone before he can respond to the payment.

With both errands out of the way, you make your way back towards your cottage, eager to be back by Steve’s side.

Your trek is quick across the barren fields, pace increasing the closer you get.

It’s just beyond this slope, beyond the windmill.

As you curve around it, smile stretching your lips, you gasp as a large stocky man blocks your way.

Your free hand drops to your stomach protectively as your eyes take in the only threat to you in this village.

“Well, hello, hello, hello. If it ain’t tha little mouse.” He says.

As you take in his pale skin, a messy array of vibrant red curls on his head, your mind provides you with several excruciating memories of his large beefy body pinning you against the tavern wall. His hands tearing away at your clothing. Ripping your skin as angry tears stained your cheeks.

Both times you’d been able to fight him off. You’d been lucky.

As he devours you with his eyes, you can see the wheels in his mind turning.

“You’ve been gone a long time, little mouse.” He grins. “I’ve missed you.”

#king!steve x reader #king!steve x you #steve x reader #medieval au #royal au #medieval fantasy au #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers x reader fanfiction #steve rogers x you #avengers x reader #buckynat #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #pseudo princess #pseudo princess pt28

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leviathanswingman · 4 years ago

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love is a losing game, chapter 10; side by side

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 , Chapter 8, Chapter 9

He kept his head trained to the ground, remotely embarrassed about having raised his voice like that with Diavolo of all people. But perhaps, he felt even more embarrassed about finally having acknowledged the truth.

Lucifer was ever so aware of Diavolo's hand on his waist, keeping him upright whilst not applying too much pressure. And despite their current circumstances, Lucifer's mind still wandered to forbidden, almost blasphemous places. Stolen kisses in hidden corners of RAD, hands sliding slyly into the back pocket of the other, jewellery exchanged to symbolize something far greater. All things that could have been if it weren't for their positions. Had it not been for Diavolo's strange reaction, perhaps his mind would have travelled even further.

Now, in addition to his mind's apparent inability to keep things prim, proper and professional, he had to battle with the implications of Diavolo's strange behaviour. If he hadn't been told in person that his secret had been exposed back at the doctor's office, Lucifer would've almost found himself assuming that after all, Diavolo hadn't known about their bond to begin with. But that simply couldn't be what was occurring here after all.

However, after having seen Diavolo's raw reaction, although it seemed utterly impossible and utterly illogical, Lucifer had to accept this uncomfortable truth. If he had kept his mouth shut, Diavolo would have remained none the wiser.

Somehow, the doctor had kept his secret and told Diavolo everything except for who exactly Lucifer's pact partner actually was.

For once, Lucifer found himself at a loss for words. Diavolo stared at him, expression intense and his hold strong.

„Lucifer, this doesn't make any sense. Why would-“

Lucifer averted his gaze.

„When-“ Diavolo took a small break to compose himself. „For how long have you know?“

To say that Lucifer felt incredibly awkward would be an understatement. He felt embarrassed. If anything, this was the world's biggest sign that he was unfit to be Diavolo's right-hand man. After all, he'd failed at the simplest of tasks: Keeping things professional.

In search of a distraction to make all of this easier, to make it less painful than he knew it would irrevocably turn out to be, his eyes wandered across the room spread out behind Diavolo's towering form. White armchairs, a fireplace with slowly dying embers, Lucifer's record player and next to it, his collection of various cursed vinyls. With a deep breath, he finally started talking.

„I've known since the day before the meeting. I was at the doctor's the day before because I'd been feeling particularly strange.“ His eyes were still trained on his surroundings instead of Diavolo. This did not have to be painful at all, he tried to convince himself.

„The day before the meeting? Lucifer...“

„Yes. And I'm not sorry, Diavolo. I did what had to be done.“

Lucifer took hold of Diavolo's hand that had been resting on his face, and brought it down slowly. As he tried to let go of it, Diavolo grabbed onto it instead.

„What do you mean, you did what had to be done?! Lucifer, why didn't you say anything?I would've-“

In spite of his composed demeanour, Lucifer could feel himself lose his cool. He could feel the way his heartbeat fluttered in a hasty rhythm against his skin, right where Diavolo was holding onto his wrist.

Perhaps, Diavolo could feel its fluttering beat himself. And that just couldn't be happening.

„You would have felt responsible. Because that is how you are, Diavolo. I refused to put that sort of pressure onto you. After all, the bond is unreciprocated and you cannot be blamed for it.“

Lucifer's heart ached foolishly, inconsolably, yet he refused to move. He could feel the bond pulsating, urging him to get close, get so much closer, but that was the one thing he certainly couldn't do.

Diavolo pushed closer to Lucifer's body with a certain tremble to his hands. „Lucifer, please. Can't you at least look at me? I understand the situation you are in, but do you dislike me so much that you can't even look me in the eye?“ His voice sounded strange, almost desperate. It made Lucifer's heart jump and his sigil burn with shame.

Apparently, in spite of all his efforts to cover up the whole issue, it had all come back to bite him in the ass all over again.

His limbs were shaking terribly as he tried desperately to deny his body what it actively wanted to pursue. Usually, Lucifer would have written it off as his sigil making him act in ways he would never even dare to, but in the end even he had to admit; would his body and mind really be reacting in such strong ways if he didn't desire Diavolo just as strongly?

Lucifer took a deep breath before he pried Diavolo's hand off his wrist and raised his head to meet Diavolo's eyes again. He placed his hands on Diavolo's shoulders instead, unsure if this was alright, not sure if he wasn't going too far.

„Better now?“ he asked as he took note of the look in Diavolo's eyes. Another tremor shook him harshly. He managed to conceal it easily, after all, pain was a thing most demons were quite familiar with. Still, certain parts of his body pulsated, almost as if past memories of Diavolo's hands on his body had turned into feathery memories, ghosts of long past touches.

His lips, hands, neck and shoulder blades were tingling ever so softly and sweetly, begging Lucifer to do the right thing with sugar-coated whispers, begging him to just move forward and do that one logical thing. But he just couldn't. He shouldn't be daring enough to allow himself to ruin Diavolo's future with one single touch too much.

„No,“ Diavolo intercepted unexpectedly. „Nothing feels better now, Lucifer. You are not alright, I can feel it. And you are right, I do feel responsible, because I've done you wrong.“ He cupped Lucifer's cheeks and stared at him intensely. „Apparently, I haven't cherished you enough.“

„Diavolo, I have told you before, you don't have to force yourself to-“

„Why would I need to force myself to feel anything when it's about you, Lucifer?! How could I have known that you have been reciprocating my feelings all this time? All I ever wanted was for you to feel safe. I have loved you from the moment I first laid eyes on you!“

Lucifer's heart stopped a beat as he saw the way Diavolo's eyes almost sparkled with sincerity. He flinched, and this time, he couldn't avoid hiding it. Diavolo would be able to tell that he was in pain by the way his fingers tightened on his shoulders and his knees buckled from the pain the unclaimed sigil caused him.

However, he didn't mind the pain at the moment, his mind was set on more important things. He couldn't help but let his thoughts cling onto the words Diavolo had just proclaimed, even if only for the shortest of moments.

Love? Diavolo loved him?

Lucifer's arms slid up Diavolo's shoulders, arms crossing over his neck as hands came to rest near his shoulder blades. A shuddered breath escaped his lips as he desperately tried to keep control of his body. He just needed another second, another minute maybe. Just enough time to regain his wits and return to his usual composed state. But alas, there was no one and nothing present allowing him such luxuries.

Lucifer's fingers twitched against Diavolo's skin.

Finally, he gave his body an inch of what it wanted. He let his chin rest on top of Diavolo's shoulder, right in the crook of his neck, in spite of how unseemly of an action it was. His heartbeat slowed down a bit, but his sigil still burned and wiggled with dark patterns tainting his pale skin. At this point, it felt almost too removed from himself to be labelled a burning sensation, it was more of a fiery pain instead.

“Diavolo,” he started, his reluctance waning by the minute. “I am ever so loyal to you. Please don't misunderstand my intentions. We both know I can't give you what you need. Let's not disillusion ourselves here.” Despite his words, his head sank down to rest in the crook of Diavolo's neck. Perhaps,this was one of the last times he could push past himself and act based on his emotions instead of cold logic

Lucifer's breathing grew heavier by the minute. The pride in his heart had finally come down to a blushing sizzle. The aching throbbing of the sigil had overtaken what was left of Lucifer's common sense. Still, he tried to fight against it, tried to stay reluctant, tried to keep up what was expected of him.

Then, suddenly, Diavolo's hand shot up, fingers slipping desperately into the smooth locks of Lucifer's hair while his other arm pulled his body even closer to his.

Diavolo's head slowly sank down, almost mirroring Lucifer's own. “You're all I ever wanted, how could you not see that? My heart has been aching for you all this time. Lucifer-”

“If we wait it out the bond will dissipate. It will cease to be a problem and you will be freed. If you can just be patient for once-”

Diavolo pushed back, staring at Lucifer's form. “Why would I want for the bond to disappear?Lucifer, the only reason why I left that night was because I did not want to ruin our relationship. I lo-”

Quickly, Lucifer pushed his pointer against Diavolo's lips, desperate to keep him from saying those words once again. He couldn't take to hear those words coming from him once again. They hurt too much. They were all he needed to hear, but were at the same time the one thing he was not allowed to accept, no matter of how fiercely the fiery core of his heart burned with passion and want.

“You appreciate me. And I am thankful for that.” He forced himself to stare into Diavolo's eyes as he gently pushed him back. The sigil practically burnt itself into his flesh and Lucifer groaned involuntarily. “But we both know you are destined to marry and become even greater than you are already. My place will always be by your side as your right-hand man. I would be a fool to ask for more.”

Rid of Diavolo's strong hold onto his body, Lucifer slowly slid to the ground. His neck burned to such an extent that he couldn't hold himself back anymore, his hand ran up to the back of his neck, clawing at the sigil. He could feel the way the mark strained against his skin akin to infectious worms wiggling under his skin, crawling and pushing their way around. Lucifer coughed to hide his discomfort.

“You can leave now, I will be alright.”

All he heard was the low buzzing of static in the room. The back of his neck had been aching and twisting for a while now, but he had somehow never gotten used to it. It felt wrong and invasive. All he wanted was to be left alone so he could fight the sigil off till the end of his days, which admittedly, was perhaps not too far away.

Suddenly, he felt strong arms pulling him up off the ground again.

Diavolo pulled him up and placed him on his bed. Without saying a word, he pulled the covers over Lucifer's body and left the room.

Perfect.

Now, he wouldn't have to see Lucifer's downfall. After all, Lucifer had known for a while that that lonesome sigil of his would claim his life. And he had made peace with that. After all,this would allow him to leave this realm on his own terms. Perhaps from an outsider's point of view it would seem lonely and sad, but for Lucifer himself it was be the most agreeable of outcomes.

A low chuckle escaped his lips as he felt the way the sigil squirmed against his flesh. Perhaps, there was not much time left after all.

Lucifer would have liked to leave each of his brothers a letter as a parting gift, but right from the beginning, he had never been one to get what he wanted, cursed to be a pawn in games orchestrated by others.

And like this, in the end, he still longed for the demon prince's touch, no matter how inappropriate of a wish it was.

He was a demon, after all. No matter what he longed for, it was born to be a sin.

He brushed his bangs back with the palm of his hand and let out a huff of air as he thought about all the things he would have to miss out on. Lucifer's heart ached with all of the things he had never been allowed to say out loud.

Mammon finding love, Leviathan learning to accept himself, Satan abandoning some of the hate in his heart, Asmodeus finding peace and accepting his demonic form, Beelzebub letting go of all the regret in his heart, Belphegor accepting that peace was an option after all.

Although they didn't know, he loved them more than anything else. They were his brothers; his only family.

In the end, it seemed like they would have to be alright without him. Although they were all utterly disastrous, Lucifer knew they could pull it together. He had always had faith in them, even if he never expressed it verbally. Although he was tough on them, he loved all of them no matter what.

His heart beat faster and faster, beating in ways he had never felt okay with, beating like a heart attack waiting to happen.

Logically, he knew he didn't have much more time left. He had denied Diavolo for far too long for his sigil to be alright with it. Doctor Naamah had warned him about this and yet, he had stayed reluctant, had stayed strong and ever so resilient, no matter how much his body seemed to rebel against it because he knew what was expected of him. He was Diavolo's right-hand man, his most trusted of servants. There was no place left for love in this arrangement of theirs.

And still, he longed for a kiss, longed for strong arms pulling him in, no matter how deeply he knew that it was the one thing he could never agree to.

Because Diavolo had to be in relations with someone important to the Devildom. And that someone was an heir or an heiress, someone who was certainly not Lucifer.

Lucifer's disarrayed thoughts were unexpectedly interrupted by the sound of a door opening.

“Here you go.” Diavolo's voice came sounding through the room, deep, strange and unexpected. There was a certain tone to his voice Lucifer had never heard before.

A heavy blanket was thrown over Lucifer's body.

“You looked cold,” the demon prince's voice sounded throughout the room. “Please take it.”

Lucifer saw the way Diavolo looked at him after he had thrown the blanket over his body and promptly sat up again, mildly irritated.

“I already told you, you don't need to-”

“But what if I want to?” Diavolo's voice rang loud and clear through Lucifer's room. “I know you don't want me to be with you, so at least let me take care of you. Just let me do this one thing for you.” For a moment there was nothing but silence. “Just this once, please.”

Perhaps it was the sigil, or perhaps it was Lucifer allowing himself to be vulnerable just this once, but without much afterthought, he caved. “Alright,” he answered before he buried himself back in the covers and turned his back to Diavolo.

His hand, hidden under the heavy blankets, travelled up to his heart, where he could feel it beating ever so strongly. All he heard was static filling the room and for once, he knew his end was nigh and inescapable.

“I never wanted you of all people to know about this,” he started reluctantly, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. “I knew from the start that you would inevitably have to marry to improve your status.” Quietly, he buried his face further into the mattress, hoping that Diavolo wouldn't notice the way his heart beat to his chest, wouldn't notice it resonating in his chest wildly and dangerously. I never meant for it to end this way.”

“End this way?”

All of a sudden, Lucifer felt strong thighs straddling his hips. Careful hands unexpectedly came to cradle both sides of his face.

Somehow, Diavolo seemed to be slouching in a strange sort of way.

“Why should things end like this? Lucifer, you know I can help you out here, don't be so foolish!”

“You cannot help me here, Diavolo. I think the bond has made that fact excruciatingly obvious. Forcing yourself to adapt to certain facts has never been the way.”

“Why should I have to adapt to what I can prove is truth? You've heard Barbatos back then. Unclaimed bonds come to existence once partners fated to be bound to each other have failed to accept their feelings after years and years.” His hand slid down to rest near Lucifer's collarbone. “ I don't have it in me anymore to deny what I feel for you.”

Diavolo's hand slid further down to his own collar, unbuttoning his shirt hastily. He slid out of the sleeves, revealing a dark, intricate sigil burnt onto his chest, right above his heart, still timid and shy in its appearance.

“I've been aching for a while now, but I never knew the reason for it. Now I know why. My body was trying to alert me of what has been happening to you. And although I am mad, I can't fault you for having done what you did.” Diavolo smiled sadly as he let his hands drop down to the sheets. “It seems like we are caught up in the same sorts of dramatics.”

Slowly, Lucifer sat up, his right hand reaching out until it laid flush against Diavolo's soft skin. Without thinking he spread his fingers out, sensitive fingertips travelling across the soft lines of a newborn sigil placed upon Diavolo's chest. His own heart was still beating to his chest, terribly quick in its primal need to connect with what was so near yet so far away.

Lucifer lost himself in the patterns of familiar lines painted on a body he was more than acquainted with.

“How can this be?” he mused as he couldn't pry his eyes off the sigil on Diavolo's chest. It seemed ever so familiar to him, but seeing it on Diavolo's skin of all people, awoke something primal and needy deeply stashed away in the most hidden parts of Lucifer's soul.

He saw the look in Diavolo's eyes, saw the anger and the sadness, took note of all the emotions hidden deep inside that had been caused by no one else except for himself.

Reluctantly, he allowed himself to let his forehead rest against Diavolo's chest. “Now why would you show me this just now?” he then asked. He knew he should finally give up on those misplaced feelings of his once and for all, but truthfully, this was the one task he had always failed at colossally.

Diavolo looked down upon Lucifer's head resting against his exposed chest. His heart beat sickly and heavily. “I showed you the mark because I needed you to know.” His fingers twitched restlessly, but he refused to act upon his desires. This was not his move to make, no matter how much he longed for it, no matter how much he wanted to prove to Lucifer just how much he loved him. He had moved his chess pieces, now it was Lucifer's turn.

Lucifer took a shuddering breath as his sigil pulsed with need, with want, pulsed with the ferocity of a lonesome scream in the middle of the night, lost in dark woods.

And ever so unexpectedly, Diavolo's sigil felt hot to the touch in retaliation.

Lucifer felt like his body was sending him its last signals, similar to a cry for help. His head was aching, the back of his neck burned with desire and his limbs were shaking as he felt the unstoppable need to just push onward and let instinct overtake logic.

Lucifer saw the way Diavolo's face scrunched up in pain so similar to his own. It was hard to watch and just like that, Lucifer let out the slightest of chuckles as pain coursed through his veins, ever so impure and unnatural in the way it felt against his cold fingers on Diavolo's chest.

And just like that, Lucifer gave in, allowed himself to reach out with slender fingers finally burying themselves in thick locks.

Without even thinking about it, the pads of his fingertips grazed over the soft skin on the nape of Diavolo's neck. Lucifer took in the smallest of hesitant breaths before his lips grazed against Diavolo's.

He knew he should feel ashamed the moment he crossed that line, but really, he did not. Lucifer could let himself breathe freely for the first time ever since that night. Perhaps, grief would follow shortly after, but for the moment, he couldn't force himself to regret this bold move of his.

Without any hesitation, Diavolo reciprocated the kiss, his lips moving against Lucifer's in irrefutable desperation.

His hand rose up to cradle Lucifer's cheek lovingly as he rubbed his thumb across Lucifer's jawline.

Despite himself, Lucifer couldn't deny the way his body practically sighed with ease. After so long, he had finally given in to his most primal of instincts. His body felt like it was glowing with glee, and he certainly did not know what to do with that kind of sensation.

Still, he couldn't find it in himself to let go of Diavolo, even though the logical side of his brain seemed to yell at him to come back to his senses.

He let himself relax as he let go of all that had been holding him back before, even if for nothing more than a fleeting moment.

Lucifer let one of his hands roam upwards while the other found its place resting up against the demon prince's chest, and allowed himself to take hold of Diavolo's face as if he was really his to touch. Eyes closed, he pulled even closer and deepened the kiss as he moved his lips against intoxicatingly smooth ones, so forbidden in nature, yet so familiar in reality.

Suddenly, Diavolo pulled back and for the first time in a while, both of them felt comfortable enough to allow themselves to just look at each other.

In spite of all the years Diavolo had seen throughout his life, he now felt like a baby deer taking its first shaky steps.

“Lucifer?” he asked, almost hesitantly.

The demon in question crashed down as his arms encased Diavolo's neck and accidentally pulled him further down onto the bed with him.

And although he felt more than embarrassed, he didn't have it in himself anymore to deny their bond any longer.

He stayed like that for a moment, Diavolo's body pulled flush again his chest.

This was nothing like himself.

Lucifer tried to calm back down again as he was overtaken by the feeling of Diavolo's skin against his own. As he realized that he was faced with another impossibly harsh truth of the fates, his arms let go of Diavolo's form. He let out a deep sigh of breath as Diavolo raised his head again and placed a forbidden kiss upon the back of his hand.

And his heart fluttered. It fluttered. To think that he was even capable of feeling such intricate and sweet emotions.

Even though he had never planned to do so, his body let out a sound of satisfaction. Needless to say, he felt more than conflicted. He knew he shouldn't act in such ways, but still, he couldn't refrain from doing so. No matter how hard he tried to separate his emotions from all expectations placed upon him, he couldn't do so in the end.

Finally, Lucifer let his arms glide along Diavolo's muscular torso as his head sank down once again and his lips placed a kiss upon their sigil.

His eyes fluttered close, lashes softly bumping against each other ever so calmly. After so long, he felt the shame in his soul simmer down to a blissful sort of peace.

Diavolo remained silent as his fingers began to discover Lucifer's sigil, fingers gliding along strong lines. His eyes were big and curious, tainted by a hidden spark of uncertainty.

Finally, with his head buried in the crook of Lucifer's neck, he began to speak, his lips slowly gliding along his soft skin with every little syllable he uttered, words whispered so quietly not even Lucifer could grasp all of them to their full extent.

“Can't this be enough for us?”

Lucifer felt an unknown sort of sensation pulsing throughout his body, strange and new. He could feel loneliness filling him from head to toe, soaking through his skin and pulling him down as if he were wearing clothes in a swimming pool.

And all of a sudden, he knew. This sensation he felt was not his own, it was Diavolo's.

Surprised, he pushed Diavolo back by his shoulders. His quick heartbeat filled the sudden silence of the room and Lucifer simply stared at the demon prince, took in his widened eyes, flushed lips and a sigil that had quickly turned from blushing new lines to a deep shade of red.

“Can't this be enough for us?”

The words Diavolo had uttered before were now echoing through Lucifer's mind as he saw the look on Diavolo's face, so raw, so open, so afraid.

And Lucifer couldn't keep up with his charade anymore. He wanted whatever this was, wanted it so desperately; had wanted it for so long.

The words slithered past his forked tongue and spilled out of his mouth before he could stop himself, first testingly, but then more self assured a second time. “Diavolo, I want you. More than anything in this world.”

“Lucifer, are you-”

He grabbed hold of Diavolo's hands and placed a chaste kiss upon them.

“I know I am forgetting myself, but I see no sense in hiding this truth anymore. You know me better than anyone else, there is no sense in hiding what I truly desire, even though it is preposterous for me to even dare saying those words to your face,” he finally brought out while keeping his head bowed low.

Diavolo, at first stunned by Lucifer's unexpected confession, carefully pulled back his arms, only to wrap them around Lucifer instead, pulling him closer to his body and closer to his heart.

Kind hands travelled up Lucifer's back as Diavolo let his head come to a rest in the crook of Lucifer's neck. He held onto him fiercely.

“Can't you see that you're everything I ever wanted? I never asked for status or wealth, all I ever longed for was to be allowed to be by your side.”

“Diavolo-”

“As long as you're by my side I know I'll be fine. Cities die and worlds crumble to the ground, but through all of it, I know you will always remain by my side, Lucifer. So please,” Diavolo's voice cracked ever so slightly as he remained still against Lucifer's shoulder, “do me this one favour and stay.”

Lucifer allowed his hands to roam freely and eventually hold onto Diavolo's back, feeling delicate shoulder blades rising up and down with every single breath against the palms of his hands.

In spite of Diavolo's heavy words, Lucifer's chest felt free. No guilt, no shame, barely any negative emotions appeared to be feeding off his mind.

He tightened his hold on Diavolo and buried his head in the crook of his neck, mirroring the demon prince's actions without any regrets.

Lucifer raised his head, cradled Diavolo's cheek with the feathery touch of one hand and placed a soft kiss on the side of his neck, right under his jawline before moving on to Diavolo's lips. All of a sudden, he felt confident in his decision, more confident than he had ever felt about anything else in his life, for this was one of the only decisions that was irrefutably his own to make. “Don't,” another kiss, more firm in nature, was placed upon Diavolo's lips, “ just accept mediocrity. I am ready to give myself to you fully. After all, I am ever so devoted to you. Most of all however,” Lucifer pulled back and paused for a moment, taking in the indescribable look on Diavolo's face. Then, he impulsively allowed himself to spill his guts.

“Most of all, my devotion has already transformed into something much more concerning decades ago.”

Diavolo's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Lucifer could feel the way his fingers began to shake again, a reaction so unseemly faced with what he was honestly trying to confess. “What I seemingly fail to convey to you is the fact that I have fallen hopelessly enamoured with you.”

Diavolo shot up, all of a sudden much more present and indescribably shocked. “Really?! Lucifer, are you- this is not a dream now, is it?” His head turned from side to side as if he was looking for a hidden camera.

Quickly, Lucifer grabbed hold of Diavolo's right hand and place it upon the sigil on the back of his neck. In retaliation, he pushed his own left hand up against the sigil on Diavolo's chest and took a deep breath, finally letting go of all the resignations that had been shackling his heart.

Lucifer could feel their sigils resonate with each other, forming a bond, pretty like cherry blossoms falling during the birth of spring yet fierce like the angry flames of an unforgiving fire. Colourful sparks started to swirl around the two of them.

While Lucifer held his eyes closed, Diavolo slowly opened his own ones, unable to believe what was happening.

And what he saw robbed him of his breath. The room was illuminated by infinite particles, each of them different in colour, flourishing through the air, surprisingly careless and free. Lucifer looked calm and at peace with his eyes closed and his head tipped up to the ceiling. In Diavolo's eyes, he was glowing with brilliance and perfection.

Diavolo let out a low chuckle and placed his hands upon Lucifer's slender hips, pulling him as close as possible. It felt like the laughter in his chest would never burn down to sizzling embers as Diavolo relished in the warmth that was spreading all across his body, so utterly strange in a comforting and empowering way. As always, he could not tear his gaze off Lucifer, and for once, it felt alright for him to speak his mind as his fingers circled the sigil on Lucifer's neck, tingling ever so sweetly. Lucifer opened his eyes and they locked onto Diavolo's without any hesitation.

“Lucifer, will you believe me when I say that I am terribly in love with you?”

For the shortest of moments, there was doubt in Lucifer's eyes, perhaps even a good amount of panic. In spite of it all, Lucifer let out a little laugh, unedited and free and the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. “I will certainly consider it,” he let out. “Under one condition.”

Diavolo nodded his head ever so fervently. There was nothing he wouldn't do for Lucifer.

“Tell me it's alright to stay by your side like this, Diavolo,” he answered, suddenly all too serious again. “Tell me I can allow myself a thing like that.”

Diavolo pulled Lucifer closer without any hesitation, pulling him partially onto his lap, soft hands travelling up his body lovingly, but carefully. He stared up at his right-hand man and smiled ever so openly. “If that is truly what you want, then I will be nothing but honoured to accept you as my fated companion. As long as you are willing to accept me accordingly.”

A rare and genuine smile spread shyly across Lucifer's face. “Of course,” he answered, his eyes trained on Diavolo's form. “Always.”

Quickly, he wrapped his arms around Diavolo's neck. After so much sorrow and pain, he could finally appreciate the way the demon prince's skin felt upon his own, so alluring and enticing, yet also so comforting. He could feel Diavolo burying his hand in the back of his silky locks and without any regrets, Lucifer pushed himself forward until he could finally appreciate the perfection that was Diavolo's skin upon his own and could taste the way Diavolo's lips sang unheard hymns of praise against his lips.

For once, neither Lucifer nor Diavolo felt fear nor uncertainty. Encased by the warmth of the aura their newly claimed bond provided, they found themselves rid of any worries, even if for the shortest of moments. After all, they would be alright as long as they could rely on each other's support. In the end everything would be alright if they remained, just like that, side by side.

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ambrial-blog · 3 years ago

Photo

Love is complexed. Blitzo is fighting his inner demons.

His inner demons are unwilling to let Blitzo wake up to fight against the agents who kidnapped him.

They appear to gather around the long, winding staircase, not allowing Blitzo to ascend as they stood their ground against an idolized version of Stolas. Whose manacled golden chain comes to clasp around his neck.

Long after Dealing with the agents of D.O.R.H.K.S, Moxie and the gang bring Blitzo to the human world hospital hoping to wake him. It was their only option. Stolas carries the crimson Imp into the hospital. His eyes are glowing red. He is inconsolable and fueled with murderous rage. he made sure the Blitz was comfortable in the hospital bed, he disappears out the window, for once not caring about his status as he went on a murderous rampage, cutting anyone down who looks at him twice. Searching for the remaining two cooky agents he had thought nothing of -but now, was the only thing he could think of. Unsure of how he could help, his little Imp.

With the help of Stella, Striker appears at the hospital. Nightfall. He sneaks past Millie and Moxie, who were curled up on a couch waiting for news about their boss. And is halted by a night nurse, who asks if he would like to see him, unwilling to turn him away. Believing Striker to be his husband from the pictures of the harvest moon festival she saw when she seized the patient’s wallet to get to know him better.

Loony stiffens upon seeing the snake imp approach. He aims the gun at her head. as Loony growls, her body covering Blitz. Striker’s arm moves back to his side. gritting his teeth. knowing something like this would happen.

The Cowboy talks to Blitz, surprising the hellhound. As the nightmare version digs his claws into Blitz. Striker is by his side, stroking his hand with his thumb.

Loony growls as Striker disconnects the machines. Lifting Blitzo into his arms, he walks out of the room; Only to be thrown into the wall by a well-placed roundhouse kick by Loony.

They don’t have what he needs here growls the Cowboy. Aiming his gun and firing. Loony dodges and the wrangler keeps firing his arms, tightening around the boss.

A bullet buries itself into Loony’s leg, embedding into her. She howls in pain. As Striker gets up, kicking her in the face. He points the blessed revolver at her face, a snarl pulling at his lips.

Blitzo's body jerks, but he cannot wake up.

There are tears in his eyes. But no matter how hard he tries. They keep dragging him further and further away into a muddy nightmare.

Fizzuroli has him wrapped up in his expandable arms.

No one will ever love you like I love you, BlitzO!

Verosika has a vice-like grasp over his hips, her head over his chest.

“Why do you push away the ones you love, BlitzO! I LOVED YOU, BLITZ-O!

. A dark chuckle emits from somewhere behind him as Striker appears; his hand caresses the back of his horn. Shudder races down his back Striker stood behind him as a golden manacled chain tugs at his neck. The owl Prince winds it around his clenched fists.

But is stopped by three entities unwilling to let go.

Willing to fight for what was theirs.

“You filthy blue blood, he ain’t going anywhere with you, he is staying here, this is where he belongs growls Striker. Draping an arm around Blitzo’s shoulders.

“You need to wake up Blitzy. This is all a hallucination. Speaks Stolas.

Your daughter is in trouble, my little Imp.

Striker wiped the blood from his pistol.

Loony was lying in a puddle of her own blood.

A bullet buried deep in her side.

Her body shakes and quivers as her lifeblood spills onto the floor.

She sees her father.

Fear swells in her gut as she claws at the floor, dragging her limp body towards her comatose Imp. Striker stood over him with a dripping syringe.

“What did you do! She accused, blood dripping from her mouth. As she crawls across the boss imp to protect him.

He has a fighting chance to wake up. What the fuck did you just give him? she gargled.

There was something different about this Striker, something terrifyingly nightmarish.

You’re going to go through me to get to him, she growls, rising to her feet. Standing over Blitzo, she let her chain blade fall and clank to the ground, a vicious snarl on her lips.

You’ll get him over my dead body!

Striker’s eyes widened in surprise as she brought her weapon down. He moves to the side, whips his tail. She snaps her jaws at the long appendage throws him into the door.

Striker buries the nuzzle of his gun into Blitzo’s side, stopping Loona in her tracks.

This ends now, little girl, he growls, his eyes swirling with insanity- so long as he is fighting- in here he taps Blitzo’s head-. he still has a fighting chance out here.

but this place is unsettling.

I’m taking him back to wrath, finding that Grimoire and shredding its pages through the nine rings of hell! But you had to fight me on this. Blitz isn’t yours- he is ours. The floor moved out from underneath her. As The walls warped and ooze mud; the hospital crumbling away before her eyes.

And that’s when Loony saw him- dressed in his boss’ attire.

Blitzo- twisted in Fizzourli’s arms. Verosika Mayday, clinging to his hips a hand resting in his open shirt. While Striker’s face buried into the crook of his neck, his teeth scraping across candy apple flesh. A golden manacled chain around his neck.

Blitzo can’t turn away, feeling Striker slide a knee between his legs. A bloody throne.

Twisted and bent owl feathers lay scattered across the floor.

Blitzo cannot look at his daughter. His eyes are glued onto the horrific scene of molted feathers and the mutilated body of Prince Stolas.

Who was unsuccessful in waking his little Imp.

A bullet whizzes in the air Verosika screams as it buries itself into her spine. The succubus’s hands slip away as Fizzourli’s grip tightens.

From the lurking shadows, a tail fizzes as a pair of glowing green eyes pierce right through him.

Loony stumbles back, clutching her side, as a burning pain rips through her body and drops to her knees.

This was too much, too fast.

Her head twisted back and forth.

There were two of them, but one was from the hospital. Which one did Loony need to take down?

Striker’s tail coils sliding up Blitzo’s shirt, rubbing at his chest. Blitz gasps, falling to his knees as Fizzourli’s slid down his pants, twisting around his upper thigh. Blitzo bows his head, trying to catching his breath. His body burns as the Outlaw’s clawed hand reaches up to cover his eyes.

Fizzouroli’s hand caresses his chest as he takes Verosika’s place.

Another bullet rips from the looming shadows. Ricocheting off the stairs, followed by a fizzing sound of a rattler as it pierces the heart on Fizzouroli’s head, the jester crumples to the ground. His arms, spiraling outwards, lay limp at his side. A smoldering hole in his head.

Blitzo fights, his mouth running dry as Fizzourli’s tail slides out of his pants, the dead jester’s eyes staring back at him, laughing maniacally.

His mouth opens as Striker’s tail coils around his neck.

Brown mud swirls splattering across Blitzo’s face. His clawed hand digs into his chest. As Striker uses Blitz like a shield.

His voice is a high-pitched parody of the Cowboy.

The rogue could feel Blitzo’s heartbeat pound against the palm of his hand.

His face a wild expression as he sees the steely green gaze of the Original Striker poised, his deadly weapon aimed at the distorted version of himself.

“it’s time to wake up, Blitz.”

“There is nothing here, that isn’t me who holds you.” Striker shouts, missing his hellish twin by a hair.

The golden chains and the manacle that kept him in place disappear. Only to be replaced by a dirty rope as the hallucination sinks back, twisting the rope with a sardonic smile on his face.

He’s right, you know, came the roughed up voice of Blitzo: his throat burning after being unable to speak.

A muddy portal drips.

Everyone knows where it leads.

A skewed version of Millie’s farm.

Distorted figures of Millie’s family members.

He grips Striker’s tail. But the snake Imp just flicks him up into the air, firing his gun at both Loony and himself before catching Blitzo and holding him up by the neck. He squeezes him, drawing him tight against his body.

“Your nothing but tangible fear, a single fear! He chokes at the Hallucination screams at him, claws digging deep he drags Blitz: the boss, Imp’s body, is covered by mud as he is pushed closer to the portal.

“Your Nothing! Blitz shouts, wiping the mud from his mouth.

This world isn’t real. It’s all in my head!

The Outlaw draws closer to his double.

“Keep it up, Darlin, and I’ll have you home by morning light.”

Blitz screams as the hallucination covers his mouth, twisting the rope around his jaws.

The only being to hold any sway over this world. His tail tightens as he presses Blitzo into the portal. His claws are scraping like mad.

Loony leaps off the ground, tackling the two to the ground, Blitzo groans in pain as Striker hisses. Loony grips Striker by the vest; snarling, she grips his throat and lifts him into the air.

The Nightmare’s tail tightens around Blitzo’s throat.

Release me, hellhound, or your master dies.

Blitzo claws at the tail around his neck. The rope tight across his mouth.

Blitzo drops to the ground as the hallucination whips Loony across the face.

Sending her across the muddy plains.

The Outlaw is beside him, wiping the mud from his face. Blitz looks into his face, humiliation dripping off his body.

The jingle of spurs draws closer as Striker shields Blitz.

He had to keep him away from the portal.

Help me stand! Calls Blitz, trying to move. The only way I see us getting out of this is if I stand and face him.

The surrrealness of the moment is not lost to him.

Striker clenched his jaw as his own tail, wraps around his neck.

His body is hoisted off the ground, his eye is snapped shut as he got sprayed in the face by mud.

His arm quivers and shakes as he aims the gun at himself.

But the other, with a twist of his tail, causes Striker’s weapon to fall to muddy ground.

Striker sinks his claws into the pale tail. Before being whipped across the air and into the mud, to land next to Loony, who was wiping the mud from her muzzle.

——-

The Cowboy’s tail lashes out, slapping Blitzo to the ground before winding around his throat. He drags the Imp through the murky mud, and with mud dripping off his body, his tail fizzing like mad.

His eyes are swirling, hypnotic spirals, his fangs snap with venom.

Unwilling to release his victim.

Your nothing! Blitz snaps, nothing real Blitzo chokes.

His eyes are tearing as Striker’s hand replaces his tail.

His tail cracks Blitz across the back.

Striker pulls Blitz taut against him, his hand resting on his hip as he grinds into his ass.

Silence! I am better than anything here, and that includes you, Blitzy!.

I am addicted to your body; Stolas’s little plaything has just gotten a new master. And I want to break you, like breaking the spirit of a wild horse. I’ll ride you like a bronco into submission.

You're not even the real Striker! Blitz hisses. As the hallucination gave a sharp thrust, causing Blitzo knees to buckle.

You're telling me you’d prefer a treacherous snake over a wet dream, like me! The hallucination growls, grabbing his tail. Blitzo coils his tail around his wrist. as Striker unbuckles his pants.

Needing to subdue Blitz,.

Blitzo's eyes widened as he tries to make his escape, but the wrangler twists his fingers in Blitzo’s tail, pulling the Boss imp to him. Blitz snaps his tail, throwing mud in his eyes. He could feel himself being impaled from behind as Striker’s tail wraps around his waist. The thrusts were deep and penetrating as Blitzo chokes on his own tongue..

His face was pressed into the mud as he was made to take in a lungful. His body writhes, his legs curl. as pain twist and tears through his body. A tail cracks against the mud, Blitzo claws at the mud, snarling at the grinning snake imp above.

He could feel the pressure build as the sounds of a pair of spurs approach.

The Cowboy, the original Striker, appears behind the distracted rogue, covered in blood and dirt.

One eye was bleeding, snapped shut. A snarl on his face. As he listens to Blitz cough up mud. Blitz cries out, feeling his hot seed enter his body. His stomach coils in repulsion As Striker bite down on his neck rutting.

The Cowboy cocks his handgun back, with a look of disgust and murderous intent

Repeat it with more conviction, Sugar

This NIGHTMARE IS OVER!

Bang!

#Hellvua Boss #Nightmare world #Episode 6 #Striker/Blitzo #Protective Loony

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yan-twst · 5 years ago

Note

could i please request some general yandere hcs for the Octavinelle boys pretty please ?💖💖 🌸✨ ((btw, I love your blog, even though you’re just starting out, i can tell you’ve got talent ✨💫)

(thank you (≧∀≦)!!)

warnings: toxic / manipulative / abusive relationships, mentions of blood and wounds, kidnapping

Azul Ashengrotto

there's two sides of him- his usual sneaky businessman persona, and his deeper crybaby self

it's wild to deal with both. one second he's smooth talking his darling into takinh away yet another one of their freedoms, the next he's sobbing for them to love him back

when he's trying to act like a composed gentleman, he'll be smooth and sneaky. does his darling want permission to leave the dorm today? sure, it can be managed- just sign this contract that will essentially allow him to dictate when they can leave or not. oh, and floyd will be tailing them at all times, just a heads up! no chance to run away

one by one, his darling's life falls under his control. at first he gets them to move into his room, then a curfew is set in place- suddenly they have to be with him at all times. their right to speak to others is taken away with a contract, their means of communication limited with another

but when he's feeling more vulnerable, it's like he reverts into the little crybaby ocotpus he used to be. why doesn't his darling love him?! is it because they think he's ugly?! they think he's a weak ugly octopus- right?! he'll sob and cling to his darling until they reassure him they love him; if not... well, children throwing tantrums are prone to breaking their toys, aren't they?

Jade Leech

oh isn't his darling a lucky one, getting such a true gentleman? at least that's what people seem to think when they see floyd and his darling together- although it certainly couldn't be farther from the truth

his gentelmanly act is just that: an act. even though he's known as the calmer twin, he still has his own darkness, although he's much more sophisticated in the way he uses it. his darling won't ever find mangled remains of their friends or ex-lovers, or even a drop of blood: jade is efficient in keeping his deeds silent. but his darling will notice how one by one, the people close to them disappear

he's quite smart in how he plays his cards. he wants his darling to cling to him for safety and love- he knows better than to be too outwardly intimidating to them. instead, he'll probably just allow floyd to punish them when they missbehave: this way, he can keep his darling scared and he can act as the saviour. floyd doesn't mind- for him, jade is just letting him have some fun with his plaything!

he's an expert in manipulating what his darling sees and believes. it's enough to make them comply into his keeping them isolated and his obsessive tendencies: he's got them in the palm of his hands, and he's the only person they can run to for comfort or help

Floyd Leech

what an unlucky little shrimpy his darling is, to catch the eye of the one and only floyd leech! even if his darling had heard what he was capable of, he always acted so nice to them... so why be scared of him? right?

his darling doesn't even hear a confession from him. he realizes he's in love, and quite immediately kidnaps them. isn't it just easier that way? it's not like his darling has the option to refuse his love, so who cares?

he's all teeth and scratches and pain, even when he's not feeling violent. that's just how he is, so get used to it, shrimpy! deep marks of his serrated teeth all over his darling's body, bloodstained clothes that never seem to have time to be cleaned before getting all bloody again, permanent scars wherever his hands pressed down too hard in his eel form- he doesn't see anything wrong with it! he's having fun!

his darling better be grateful azul and jade step in to limit floyd from time to time. both of the octavinelle leaders know that floyd would be inconsolable if he accidentally killed his darling- the eel is just bad at judging how much his darling can take! however, they better not rely on this too much: after all, they'll only intercept if they're truly convinced that they are in danger of dying. regular pain and screaming? they won't do much- let floyd have his fun!

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twst x reader #floyd leech #jade leech #azul ashengrotto

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obaby-me · 5 years ago

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Ok how about this, all of the brothers (or Belphie if you can't) reacting to an m/c who died and became a very angry ghost

This was so hard. You gave me an out, and I instead took that as a challenge. And a helluva fuckin’ challenge it was.

I thought it’d be pretty repetitive if the MC died the same way each time, or haunted each person in the same way. So I tried to give a variety of scenarios for what an “angry ghost” might do. Haunt a specific person, haunt a place, and different ways to haunt someone. Hopefully you at least find it interesting.

Lucifer

You’re screaming. You’re sobbing. It’s an echo down the halls, a reminder of his guilt: Why?

Why wasn’t he there? Why did he let this happen? Why did it have to be you?

Why, why, why?

Lucifer knows why.

Because he’d scoffed at your warnings.

Because he wouldn’t even consider that anything could happen.

Because you were his.

And he was Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride. The first of the seven lords. None would oppose him. None would dare. He so adamantly believed so.

He should have been more careful. He should have listened. He should have been there.

He’ll shoulder the burden, just as he has with Lilith. But there was a small saving grace for his sister.

There was none for you. And you were resentful, and unforgiving. And you had every right to be.

So, he’ll bear this punishment; he’ll listen to every scream, and he’ll take every hit—because he knows this is what he deserves. He failed you, and he’s willing to pay for it.

If there’s even a modicum of hope to give you a chance at peace in the afterlife, he’ll do all he can to give it to you. It’s the least he can do.

Mammon

It hadn’t been anything to do with you. It shouldn’t have involved you in any way shape or form. You were an innocent bystander in a dispute between himself and a loan shark.

He was scum, everyone said so. You’d never thought so. You defended him when no one else would.

But in your death, he’d proved himself scum. Proved to you they were right.

It was his fault. All his fault. If he could be anything else other than greed incarnate, this wouldn’t have happened. If he’d never gambled himself away. If he hadn’t taken that loan. If he hadn’t then ignored that loan.

If he hadn’t, if he hadn’t, if he hadn’t. If, if, if.

You’re watching him constantly. Empty eyes boring holes in him, following him, judging him. You say nothing, but you communicate to him just fine just how much you hate him. Just how much you loathe him. Just as he deserves to be.

Despite the guilt he feels with your presence, despite the way his skin crawls when he sees you hovering around him, he doesn’t want you to leave. It’s sick, in a way. But it’s still you after all. And seeing you is a reminder of what was, what could have been. And he holds on to that, clings to it.

He hasn’t got anything else.

Leviathan

Levi’s use to being alone. But somehow, it’s lonelier now than it’s ever been before.

There’s a void in him he can’t fill. No game, no concert, no show, no manga ebbs the pain—the clench in his chest.

For once the excitable avatar is quiet, every so often, quiet sobs choking him until his ducts can’t produce much else. While he’s always been terrible eating, now it’s nearly non-existent. It’s only when his brothers demand and watch him eat that he manages to get anything down.

He spends most of him time lying in bed, sleeping because at least then he doesn’t have to feel it anymore.

Yet, there’s no real safety in sleep. You torment him. You’re shouting most of the time, though he never understands what you say. But he doesn’t need to. He knows what he is. He knows what he’s failed to do. He knows you know it too.

Sometimes you only sob, frustration welling up in your eyes, brows knit. You don’t bother to look at him. And he thinks that that’s worse than when you’re screaming.

If he could save you, spare you from this, stop your tears, make it so you stopped harboring so much hate, he’d do it in a flash.

He just hasn’t the first clue as to how.

Satan

His brothers are terribly concerned. There’s been an unusual increase of outbursts, violent and unreasonable. They’ve no idea what has come over him.

None know but him.

You’re uncontrollable, you’re inconsolable, you’re furious—and there’s no one who understands that feeling better than Satan himself.

What they’d done to you was unforgivable. The way he’d found you, unrecognizable as the bright beacon he’d known you to be, lifeless there on the floor—the rage he felt, indescribable.

You’d always been his much-needed balm. The one to soothe him, calm his temper, end his tantrums. All that yet remains of you is your fury, too stubborn to let go.

And now? Now you were fuel to his fire. Now you encouraged him to lose himself into his anger. You whisper into his ears—dark encouragements to indulge in.

He can resist you only for so long before you become demanding. He’ll appease you with whatever you suggest, letting go and wreaking havoc. But never enough to satisfy you. He makes sure to reign it just enough.

You can’t leave him alone again. He misses you. He misses you terribly. But you haven’t left him yet—you’re still here, so long as he holds on, so long as he rages, you’ll be here.

Asmodeus

Asmo visits the same alley every day. He brings a flower or two, sometimes a whole bouquet. It really depends on what the florist has—and he’s sure to bring the best.

It’s dark and it’s damp, and it’s cold and it smells. It sinks the reality of the horror you must have experienced here deep into his skin; crying out for help, left for dead on the pavement.

Just around the corner used to be a nightclub, one of the liveliest around. Demons would line up, right down into this very alley for a chance to get in there.

But the club’s since closed down. Occupied by just one.

Occasionally he’ll see a curious demon or two camped out inside the building, wondering if the rumors are true that a human haunt its walls.

You tend to verify it quickly. Violently. Sometimes they make it out without injury to more than their pride. Other times they’re lucky to be alive.

While Asmo doesn’t camp in, he does come to greet you at least once a day.

Sometimes you recognize him. You’re even happy to see him on some days. Asmo loves those days. He comes just for those chances, those moments. He holds on to those and stays for as long as you can hold your sense of self.

But it’s never for very long.

He has to leave quickly. Abandoned remnants of the club become weapons—chairs, tables, shards of broken bottles and windows.

You screech obscenities, you threaten death. Your form contorts warped by your hatred. Crawling, oozing, reliving that night where you cried for help, dragging yourself out of the club in attempt to find safety.

You suffer terribly and Asmo wishes desperately to relieve you of it. But you remember so little, and he has so few leads.

An entire club full of people and not a one remembers a thing—or doesn’t wish to say if they do. But one day he will. One day you’ll be freed of this. This he swears.

Beelzebub

Every week, on routine, Beel goes for a run. He runs mile after mile until he reaches the fields on the outskirts of the devildom where you were last seen alive.

At 6:57PM exactly, you flicker into existence and he watches as you float on a pre-determined path. You look as if you’re being carried by your arms, and you head moves wildly from side to side, eyes staring into air, but seeing something that causes you fear. He can see your mouth moving, he knows you’re screaming. You’re begging. You’re pleading.

You’re thrown to the ground and you flicker out. It’s a scene you play out, every week, on time, without fail. You’re carried away, and thrown to the ground. These are the final moments of your death. They’re the only hint he has to know what has happened to you.

You’ll be back again soon; he only has to wait. You’re being dragged this time, but to where he has yet to determine. He has to be quick. He has to be quiet. You can’t be alerted or you’ll break from the scene.

But he’s never been able to follow you yet. There’s always something that interferes. A branch out of place, an animal that rushes past, another demon camping out nearby.

And then his only lead he has disappears, only to be replaced by a nightmare instead.

The image of your battered, decomposing body rising to confront the distraction, as you screech and wail. You’re terrifying to see, to hear, but the worst is the way you latch on and thrash about, with a strength that tosses even the heaviest set demons to the ground.

It’s a heart wrenching experience every time to see you this way. It breaks him down, piece by piece; emotionally, physically. His meals have halved, and his workouts decreased. He cries more than he sleeps, and he does so little of both these days.

But he comes back every week. He comes back to try again. He has to. Your body is out there, somewhere, waiting to be found.

He couldn’t save you then.

But maybe he could save you now.

Belphegor

The avatar of sleep ironically gets very little these days. He struggles to stay awake, knowing that the second he falls asleep, he’ll be reliving the nightmare. Your pleas, your scream, your gasps for air, and that gargle of blood that choked you.

He’s terrified to sleep. And even more terrified of waking up.

When he wakes, he knows you’ll be there. Hovering just above him, pinning him down with a strength born of your malice. The lethargic demon who never would want to move now praying he could, but the paralysis you impose would never let him.

You wanted him to see. To remember.

You’ll replay your grief for him, re-enacting your death for him, wailing and begging the way you had in your final moments before quickly fading. The sleep he used to love you’ve warped into his greatest fear.

Nodding off feels dangerous. Like you’re waiting at the edge of his consciousness for him to drop.

The guilt of what happened was overwhelming, but the exhaustion even more so.

He’ll do anything to make it stop. If only he had any strength to do so.

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gumnut-logic · 3 years ago

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Whump warning + sleep paralysis

-o-o-o-

“Why do you do this?”

The voice was familiar, but not. Or rather, it was a familiar voice that was warped by pain, hoarse and hurting.

“Why do you have to push just that little bit more?”

And it was quiet, little more than a whisper in the dark.

Scott shunned it and skittered away. It hurt to hear the hurt in that voice.

“It’s Dad.” The words were barely there and Scott had to strain to hear it. “I know it’s Dad. And sometimes I hate him for it. Because of what he does to you.”

That forced his attention. Hate Dad? How could the voice possibly hate Dad? The voice loved Dad as much as Scott did. So, so much.

“I know you won’t listen. Probably won’t even understand. Deny it if you do.” A sigh. “But you are scaring the shit out of me, Scott. You’re doing all of this for Dad as if he is some goddamned messiah or something. And each time, you’re risking more.” There was a strangled sound. “I’m trying to keep up…god, I am trying…to keep one step ahead of you, but I can only save you so many times and then one day…”

A rustle of fabric.

“Please don’t do this to me.” That was almost a sob and it had Scott clawing at the darkness, desperate to reach his brother and provide the reassurance needed.

But he couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. His brother needed him, but he couldn’t respond.

The voice stopped after that for a long time. There was sound, but it was just more fabric and muffled breath that was more distress than anything else.

It made Scott struggle harder. What happened? Why couldn’t he move?

What had upset Virgil? Because it was Virgil sitting beside him. Each shaky breath he heard, proved that.

Virgil, please.

“I can’t do this without you, Scott. I don’t want to.” Another wretched breath. “Please…stop. Please.”

Scott realised he had a hand, because suddenly the grip on it was tight. Rough calluses, familiar with warmth, were clinging to him.

He tried to grip in return, but nothing.

What the hell was wrong with him?!

Hair brushed his fingertips. It was soft and slightly damp, a familiar texture lacking the usual hair product. It was enough information for Scott to visualise his brother post-shower, hair drying into the soft curls Virgil hid from the world.

His forehead touched to the back of Scott’s fingers.

Virgil.

Scott realised he must have been injured. Probably a rescue. What rescue was information he could not recall, but the thought did prompt him to locate the rest of his body.

He encountered medicated fog. There was muffled pain in his left leg. Hell, all down his left side.

Virgil was on his right.

Virgil was always on his right.

John on his left.

His younger brothers behind.

He was the eldest. Their leader.

But not right now.

Right now, chances were he was in hospital, injured, and more a source of worry for his family than anything else.

And he still couldn’t move. Couldn’t reach out to his brother to reassure him that everything was going to be okay.

“You know, sometimes I wonder what Dad said or did to you that inspired such loyalty and sacrifice. What set you on this hell-bent mission to be so much like the great Jeff Tracy.” A rough swallow. “He’s Dad, Scott. Our father. He’s not you and you’re not him. You will never be him!” The words were spat out. “I don’t want you to be him! I want you to be you.” An exhaled breath. “I want you to be happy.” An inconsolable sound. “To be safe.”

The fingers wrapped around his twitched a little tighter.

“Mr Tracy!”

Scott startled. But it became immediately obvious that the Tracy being referred to was Virgil as soft shoes hurried over.

“You are not supposed to be up. You put too much weight on that injury and you could do further damage.”

There was a groan from the side of the bed. “I just need to sit with my brother.”

“Your brother is healing and no doubt would not want you injuring yourself further on his behalf.”

“Please…”

The pain in Virgil’s voice had Scott clawing at the darkness.

“Sir, the doctors were adamant, not to mention your grandmother. You are lucky to be alive and they would like to keep you that way. Now back to bed.”

The hands holding Scott’s tightened enough that if it wasn’t for whatever medication was in his system, he’d be feeling that enough to yell. His fingers were rammed up against that forehead again, hair teasing their very tips.

Virgil.

He did his best to return that grip, to let Virgil know he was heard. To reassure a distressed little brother. But nothing…nothing! He wanted to scream. It was his job to look after his brothers and being able to hear but unable to help was the stuff of nightmares.

“Mr Tracy, your brother is very ill, but he is improving. He will get better. Please, look after yourself, if not for you, then for him.”

There was hot breath against the back of Scott’s arm as the smallest of whimpers tickled the hairs on his forearm.

And then his hand was gently placed back on the sheet and let go.

No.

Don’t leave me.

The thought escaped before he could countermand it.

Virgil was obviously injured. The groan at the scrape of a chair and hurried footsteps told him that much. The nurse muttered gentle encouragement as his brother grunted with obvious effort.

A bed creaked.

Virgil was safer in bed.

But Scott was left by himself, unable to move or speak or even open his eyes, and the combination of fear for his brother and fear for himself and the inability to do anything for either of them set his heart racing. Panic began to set in.

“Rest, Mr Tracy. Everything will feel better for sleep.”

Soft footfalls stepped efficiently on linoleum, and came closer to Scott. His heart thudded in his ears.

There was a tug at his left arm and a soft tut-tut from the nurse.

Something cold crawled up his arm and wrapped around his heart and his thoughts, disconnecting them. He lost the feeling in everything and oblivion took him.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Virgil Tracy #nuttyfic reblog #I may not have written anything but think of how the creativity will back log #think of an ice dam

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

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Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 16

Title: Bruised, Not Broken

Warnings: mental illness, memory and talk of near death experience, profanity

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty

“He’s struggling,” Esme says the following morning, as she leans stomach first against the kitchen island, cell phone pressed to her ear and an oversized mug of steaming tea staring invitingly up at her. “Badly.”

It’s eight thirty in the morning and she’s exhausted; a night full of broken sleep and attempting to fend off the monsters that accompany the reality of mental illness. It hadn’t been that bad in a long time; inconsolable, body wracking sobs that quickly transition into feelings of frustration and embarrassment, followed by a period of self loathing and disgust, finished off by intense rage directed at the mental illness itself and the people and experiences that directly caused it. It’s a hell of a thing to go through. Holding your six foot three, two hundred pound husband while he desperately clings to you and weeps like a terrified and wounded child. Able to do little more than offer verbal reassurance and attempt to comfort by running your fingers through his hair or rubbing his back. THAT isn’t the difficult part; the soothing comes easily and naturally and he normally responds quickly. Even the shame he feels afterwards is relatively easy to cope with. She can fend that off by staying calm and explaining why he doesn’t need to feel that way; somewhat convincing him that there’s no need for embarrassment just because he had a moment of vulnerability and weakness. Reminding him that he IS human; he’s allowed to feel hurt and pain and be frustrated and confused. But it’s the anger that takes over; all consuming and powerful and making it impossible to get through to him. She’d long ago learned that it’s best to just sit back and not say anything; let him rant and rave and vigorously pace the floor. Redirecting doesn’t work; he becomes defensive and accusatory and every little suggestion is taken as a personal attack or judgement. Silence IS golden when he goes off the deep end. Relegating herself to just listening and acknowledging what's happening to him and conveying understanding through body language and actions as opposed to words.

It always ends the same way. With pure physical and emotional exhaustion taking over. All the rage and tears expended and leaving him feeling empty and worn out; crawling back into bed and turning his back towards her in a silent request to just leave him alone. And she gives him that; a hand resting on the top of his head or upon his shoulder, yet no words ever exchanged. Staring up at the ceiling with tears of her own streaming down her face; a mixture of her own frustration and anger and pure and profound heartache. Not only hating to see the person she loves more than anything in the world hurting so badly, but detesting the fact she can’t do anything to take it all away.

“He always struggles at Christmas,” Ovi reminds her, and over the line she can hear the babbling of the littlest and the various voices belonging to characters on Sesame Street. It’s surreal at times; acknowledging just who he is now and how far he’s come. Easily remembering him as that scared and traumatized teenager and then having to remind herself that he’s a grown man; a wife and children of his own and well on his way to becoming a pediatrician.

“It’s different this year. It’s not just sadness. It’s frustration and it’s rage and it’s so much self loathing. I know we were told that this would happen; he’d go through these kinds of ups and downs. But he’s been doing so well and he’s been coping and hasn’t had a downward spiral like this in so long.”

“What is it he’s actually getting worked up over? What’s setting him off?”

“He’s been thinking a lot about Austin. He mentioned how it was bothering him how much Millie and TJ look like him. I mean, he’s always sad at Christmas. It’s always difficult for him. But it’s not like THIS.”

“Maybe he’s wondering what Austin would be like now. Or what he would have been like when he was Millie and TJ’s ages. And if he’s already down and out because of the holiday, adding that into the mix COULD make it worse.”

“It’s been years since he was THIS bad. You know how well he’s been doing. Everything’s been under control. He’s been managing it. Extremely well.”

“And he’s still going to therapy?”

“Religiously. By himself AND with me. And you know what a miracle THAT is. Him even agreeing to getting help in the first place.”

“Is he taking his meds? If he’s been off them or been skipping them…”

“I’ve checked. I went and counted them myself. There’s no extra. He’s been taking them. And I fucking hate that I even have to do that. Check up on him like that. He’s a grown man. He’s forty-seven years old and I’m treating him like he’s a child. I hate that I have to do that. I hate this whole fucking thing. This whole illness.”

“Unfortunately, he’s shown that he can’t be trusted. When it comes to meds. It’s a horrible thing to say, but…”

“This is just so unfair,” she laments, and lifts the mug of tea to her lips. “ That he’s suffering like this. He’s paid his dues, Ovi. And then some. Why does he have to KEEP paying? Wasn’t Dhaka enough? Wasn’t what happened twelve and half years ago a big enough price to pay? He doesn’t deserve this. This kind of pain. I’d rather see him physically struggling than this. Because at least I know that pain will subside. But this? I fucking hate this. And I can’t see Christmas being the only thing causing this. He’s never this bad.”

“How’d he seem when he got back? From Cambodia?”

“Tired. A little sore. But he seemed fine. He was glad to be home and in great spirits. He’s been...I don’t know...he’s been Tyler. Nothing out of the ordinary. I mean, it seemed like there was some underlying sadness, but I just chalked it up to it being Christmas and him always have a hard time.”

“Could something have happened while he was away? Could something have triggered it?”

“He didn’t tell me much. Just that the guys he took out were pretty much the biggest pieces of garbage he’s ever encountered. And that’s saying a lot; considering how many years he’s been doing the job and how many assholes he’s taken out. I guess they didn’t stop at just drug running and weapons trafficking. Apparently they abused women. And children. In the worst ways possible.”

“That could do it. Probably hit close to home. Hearing about someone taking advantage of kids like that.”

“He did seem rather vengeful about it. Satisfied, even. That he got the chance to take out people like that. And I don’t blame him; those people are scum and they deserve to put down in the most painful way possible. And he did say that it made him think about his kids. He kind of started dwelling on it; what would happen and how he’d react if anyone touched his kids like that.”

“That’s probably what did it,” Ovi concludes. “It’s probably been just eating away at him. It’s probably all he’s been thinking about; his own kids getting victimized like that. And you know Tyler. Once something is in his head, it lives there rent free. For a long time.”

“I try to get him to focus on other things; cut him off at the pass before he even gets down that rabbit hole. Usually it works; I can distract him and get him thinking about other things. And I thought it DID work. Guess I’m not as good at all of this as I think.”

“I think you need to cut yourself some slack. If anything, you do TOO much. You take too much on. You’ve got seven kids you’re taking care of. You’re dealing with Tyler’s issues. Are you taking care of yourself? Has anyone asked you how YOU’RE doing? Because that’s just as important.”

“I’m doing okay,” she lies, and swallows a mouthful of tea. “I’m fine.”

She feels anything but; weary to her bones and longing to be home. Six years ago, Australia had become her happy place; a beautiful home backing out onto the beach and the ocean in such short walking distance. There’s a bliss that comes with being there. The feel of the sand beneath your feet and between your toes, the sound of the waves as they roll up onto the shore, the smell of salt that hangs heavily in the air. It represents everything that is beautiful and good in her life; incredible little human beings she’d had a hand in making and a man that loves her more than anything in the world and practically worships the ground she walks on. Everyone seems happier there; content with the sunshine and the warm temperatures and the close relationship with nature. The pace of life seems slower; more laid back and relaxing and not possessing the amount of stress and tension that being in the States in the middle of winter seems to bring. And while she loves it in New York -the convenience that comes with a big city and the amount of activities to keep yourself busy that are available- she’d willingly give it all up if meant it would alleviate some of the suffering that Tyler’s mental illness brings upon him.

“You realize I know you’re lying, right?" Ovi says. "That I lived with you for years and I know exactly how you get; taking on the world’s problems and not paying attention to your own. You can’t keep doing that. You can’t keep ignoring yourself because you’re so busy trying to solve everyone else’s issues. You can’t pour from an empty cup. You burn yourself out and you’ll be no good to anyone. Especially the kids.”

“I don’t have time to worry about myself. Or the energy. There are far more important things going on than what I’m going through.”

“So you’re NOT fine.”

“It’s stressful. It’s Christmas. I always get like this at Christmas. It’s all those ridiculous standards my mother put on us when we were young. Everything had to look and be perfect on the surface so no one really knew just how messy it all was underneath. I can’t get out of that; that line of thinking. And yes, I DO know that’s unhealthy, Doctor Mahajan.”

Ovi chuckles. “Let’s not go tossing that title around just yet. I’ve got a few more years to go. Especially when I’m going into a speciality.”

“Listen, if I want to call my kid a doctor, I will. I’m proud of you. I know how far you’ve come. Everything you’ve gone up against and battled through. I still remember fourteen year old you. Keeping you occupied in that factory; talking about movies and girls and school.”

“I still remember when you showed up. Wondering who the hell you were and thinking ‘how the hell is someone THAT small going to help us?’. Talk about not being able to judge a book by it’s cover. Tyler was right; it is the tiny ones you have to watch out for.”

Smiling, she takes a sip of tea and then perches herself on the edge of the counter. “Do you remember when we used to go into town and get ice cream? In Telluride? When you had your last period off in high school and you’d come home early and it would just be the two of us?”

“I LOVED that place. That was like a childhood dream come true! Walls of candy and thirty flavours of ice cream and these enormous banana splits and massive sundaes. Remember that time we shared that really huge hot fudge one? With the whipped cream and the peanuts on it? I think it was called the Beast or something like that.”

“The Behemoth,” she laughs. “I DO remember that. We sat outside and shared it. We even flipped a coin to see who got to eat the cherry that was on the top.”

“I am still mad at you for winning that. I really wanted that cherry. Those are some of my best memories, you know. The things we’d do together. When Tyler was away and Millie and the twins were at school. We used to have some fun. I used to love when we went bowling. And we’d eat french fries soaked in vinegar.”

“And those really horrible hamburgers. With the flat patties. And no taste. That seems so long ago. You were what? Eighteen? If that?”

“Just turned seventeen. And that IS a long time ago. I AM twenty seven now.”

“And you have your own wife and your own kids. And you’re a doctor.”

“Not yet,” he laughs. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“Let’s not pretend it won’t happen. We both know it will. And I am; proud of you. So proud. You have come so far, Ovi. To do as well as you have after everything you went through. You would have had every right to have issues.”

“I had two people that loved me and believed in me. That made me realize I could do whatever I wanted. BE who I wanted. If I hadn’t had you guys? I wouldn’t be where I am now. I probably would have followed in his footsteps. I would have felt obligated to. Scared and pressured into it. And it would have just kept that whole vicious and toxic cycle going.”

“I know we weren’t perfect. I know Tyler and I went through some shit that you had to listen to and witness. But all we’ve ever wanted is the best for you. For you to realize how amazing you are. How much potential you have. And all we wanted to do was give you a good life. Even if at the time we didn’t have the money you once had and sometimes it seemed we didn’t have much to offer you. All we wanted was to give you a family.”

“You did. And it never mattered what you could and couldn’t give me. Materialistically speaking. All that mattered was that you loved me. And I felt that. I ALWAYS felt that.”

“It’s strange, huh? How something so crazy and scary brought us together? How complete strangers can become family? It’s surreal.”

“It wasn’t the most conventional of meetings, but it certainly turned out pretty amazing. You know what I remember the most? About back then? When we did meet? I remember being on that bridge with you. And how you refused to separate from me. You said you wouldn’t leave me. And you didn’t. Even I was slowing you down, you never abandoned me. And you didn't treat me like you were doing a job or I was some kind of package. There was no money, but you still stuck by me.”

“We were in it together. I wasn’t going to sacrifice you to save myself. That’s just not who I am. I wasn’t going to leave you. In the same way I wasn’t going to leave Tyler there. There was no way I was doing that; taking off and leaving him there to die. I couldn’t live with myself if I did. My conscience couldn’t handle it. And selfishly, I wanted him alive. I wanted to get to know him and be with him.”

“Hell of a way to profess your love for someone. Willingly sacrifice your life to try and save them. Stick your fingers in their neck to keep them alive. Nothing says ‘I love you’ quite like that.”

“It was quite the ordeal,” Esme agrees, and finishes off the remains of her tea. “You know, sometimes it feels like just yesterday. Other times it feels like forty years. But if I close my eyes and I try hard enough, I can actually remember what it felt like to be there. How scared I actually was. I can hear the gunshots and the explosions and my own heart pounding in my chest. I can even still smell things; blood and gasoline and gunpowder.”

“I believe that’s something referred to as PTSD.”

“Listen buddy, you’re trying to become a pediatrician, NOT a shrink. Don’t go psychoanalyzing me.”

“I’m just saying maybe it’s time you worked on what’s going on in YOUR head. Instead of worrying so much about what’s going on in Tyler’s. I know you love him. I know you’d do anything for him. You go hard core Mother Hen when he gets like this. And I know you can’t help it and I know he appreciates everything you do for him. But you know what else I know? I know he doesn’t expect you to forget about yourself while constantly taking care of him. He’s a grown man. And he’s more than capable of taking care of himself.”

“It’s easier said than done. I can’t just let him fend for himself. I can’t just let him spiral out of control and do nothing more than hope for the best. He’s my husband. The father of my kids. And it kills me to see him like this. To know he’s in so much pain. To hear him talk about himself like he does.”

“When he gets like this, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Or saying. He just lashes out. He doesn’t mean it when he says he wishes he had died five years ago. Or twelve and a half years ago. That’s just his brain telling him this shit. Do you think he’s in crisis? Do you think he’d hurt himself? Try something stupid?”

“No. I don’t think he WANTS to die. I think he just wants this over. The pain he’s in. He just wants it to stop.”

“He’s going through a depressive stage. It’s to be expected. I mean, it sucks it’s happening right now. At Christmas. What’s he doing right now?”

“Sleeping.” She looks out towards the living room; Tyler fast asleep on the couch, on his stomach with the comforter from TJ’s bed tossed over him and an arm and a leg dangling over the side. The night hadn’t gotten any better after he’d fallen asleep. Tossing and turning and having nightmares; finally coming downstairs to take up residence on the sofa and give her the chance to get a peaceful, undisturbed rest. But she hadn’t been able to. Too worried about him and wanting nothing more than to go downstairs and join him on the couch, yet knowing his current mood, her actions wouldn’t be well received. “He’s on the couch right now. It was a rough night. Nightmares.”

“About?”

“He wouldn’t tell me. Which means they were about Dhaka. Most likely about the bridge. He’ll talk to me about Nathan, but not about the bridge. He avoids that like the plague. More for me than for him.”

“Have you called his therapist? Told him what’s going on? Maybe he has some suggestions; things that can alleviate some of the anxiety and the panic. Help him sleep better.”

“If it gets worse, I’ll call. This could have been a one off. It might have just been a delayed reaction to being away.”

“If it wasn’t and he DOES get any worse? Call. Don’t hesitate. Or take him to the emergency. Or call me and I’ll take him.”

“I’m hoping it doesn’t come to that. He’s resting now. Which is a good sign. Last time he went into a depressive state, he didn’t sleep for a week. I’ll give it a couple days. At least get past Christmas. Once it’s over, he might perk up.”

“Don’t hesitate to call me. If he gets worse or you sense he’s spiralling out of control. I’ll be there. As soon as I can.”

“You have your own life. Riya and the kids. I can’t…”

“That’s my dad. I want to help. LET me help. It’s the least I can do. I’ve to go for now though; promised Mykayla we’d go see Santa in Central Park. She has some last minute gift ideas to drop in his lap.”

“Give her and Tabbi a kiss from Grandma Me. Tell them I love them. Riya too. I love you, Ovi. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’ll give them tons and hugs and kisses from you,” he promises. “And I love you too, mom.”

****

She’s sitting in the sunroom when he wakes an hour later; listening to him shuffle through the living room and into the guest bathroom, the door clicking shut behind him. Minutes later he’s heading towards her; yawning noisily and his eyes heavy lidded. And she glances up from the laptop resting upon her thighs when he pads into the room; clad in a pair of tattered and faded plaid pyjama bottoms and no shirt. And she can’t help but think about how adorable he looks; a giant of man boasting his fair share of tattoos and scars, his hair mussed from sleep and a sporting pout of both sleepiness and annoyance.

“Hey sleeping beauty,” she cheerfully greets, and tilts her head back to smile at him. “How you feeling?”

“Alright I guess.” He presses the heels of his palms into his eyes and then rakes his fingers through his hair. “Can you stand up for a second?”

She cocks her head to the side, a quizzical look on her face.

He manages a small smile, then runs a gentle palm over her hair and adds, “Please?”

Obliging, she places the laptop on the seat cushion next to her and then joins him at the side of the couch; immediately gathered into his embrace and pulled tightly into his chest. And she climbs onto the top of his feet and perches on her tiptoes in order for her arms to reach their final destination; wrapped tightly around his neck. For several minutes neither of them speak; eyes closed and their warm bodies pressed together, a forearm holding her in place and a palm cradling the back of her head. He feels so good; his body hard and strong and never failing to make her feel safe. It’s never been a worry of hers; whether or not he’d be able to defend her if someone hell bent on revenge was determined to hurt his family. And she rests easy at night knowing what he’s capable of and that he’d do whatever it takes -even giving up his own life if need be- to protect her.

Tangling his fingers in her hair, he gently tugs on the short, soft tresses, forcing her to pull back and look at him. She hates what she sees in his eyes; that darkness that betrays just how lost and confused and scared he actually is. A man that always has always been so strong and so fearless; fighting other peoples battles while refusing to address his own. And it breaks her heart. Knowing that the things he’s capable of -the fierceness and the tenacity and the sheer brutality he’s reined down on people- are some of the many reasons he’s now feeling so weak and vulnerable. So good at the job, yet suffering so badly because of it.

“I’m sorry,” his voice quivers with emotion. “I am so fucking sorry.”

She reaches up to push limp bangs away from his forehead. Trying desperately to keep her own fears and worries from betraying her. He doesn’t need that right now; her coming undone and weeping in HIS arms. It’s time for her to be the strong one; holding him up and supporting him and never making him feel like a burden. “For what? What do you have to be sorry for?”

“The way I acted. Going off the deep end like I did. I hate that you have to see that. Hear the shit I say. You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

“Tyler, you’re sick. It's a legitimate illness. And you know what? You’ve had an amazing five years. Barely any depressive or manic episodes. Things have been pretty stable and pretty smooth sailing. But we were told this could happen. That you could crash like you did. It’s just part of it. And you can’t help it. You don’t know what you’re doing or what you’re saying and…”

“I DO know what I’m doing. And what I’m saying. I’m not blacking out when it happens. I know exactly what’s going on when it’s happening.”

“It doesn’t mean you have control over it. Because you DON’T. It’s your brain. And when things go haywire, you can’t stop the things you do and the things you say. And you’re not to blame for that. You can’t control what is going on. And I know that’s what scares you the most; the loss of control.”

“I just hate that you have to be there. When it happens. That you have to see that shit and hear the things that come out of my mouth. I hate that it hurts you. That I hurt you.”

“You don’t hurt me. I hurt for you. That’s two entirely different things. You have nothing to be sorry for. And I know things were great and it seemed like it was completely under control. But baby, this is going to happen. Whether we want it to or not. We can’t stop it. It’s just the nature of the beast, unfortunately.”

“If I’d died five years ago...twelve and a half years ago…”

“Listen to me,” she pleads and takes his face in her hands. “DON’T go there. That is a very dark place and if you go there, you may never get back out. You are here for a reason. You’re here because you deserve to be. Because there’s people that love you. That NEED you. You helped me make seven beautiful little humans. None of them would exist if you weren’t here. Isn’t that enough? Knowing they’re alive because you are?”

“Of course it’s enough. But they shouldn’t have to live with this. YOU shouldn’t have to.”

“You are not the burden you think you are. It’s an illness. You can’t help what’s going on and you didn't do anything to cause it. It’s not your fault. Your brain didn’t do this to you because of something you did. It’s so many things. And you know what? It sucks. Huge. And I hate that this is happening to you. I hate that you are at war with your own mind every second of every goddamn day. But I won’t let you talk like that. I won’t let you say that you should have died. I won’t let you completely discount the life that you have now. Because I didn’t stick around on that fucking bridge and put my ass on the line so you could turn around and totally disregard that you were given a second chance for a reason.”

“I never asked you to stay. On that bridge. I never…”

“I stayed because you deserved to live. Because you’d paid your dues and you got your absolution. And you know what? Maybe part of it was selfish. Because I knew we could have something amazing if you stopped hating yourself long enough to let me love you. Can you honestly look me in the eye and say you really wanted to die that day? That you would go back and change that if you could? Even knowing you wouldn’t have what you have now. Someone that loves you more than they love themselves. Seven kids that think the sun rises and sets on you. Would you really go back and change everything? Would you really choose to die?”

“No,” he blinks back the tears that threaten to escape. “I wouldn’t. I would choose you. And my kids. Every day.”

“I’m sorry this is happening to you. I’m sorry you’re hurting as much as you are. And I would give anything to take that all away and make you healthy. But you are not broken and I won’t let you destroy what you have. I won’t let your brain destroy YOU.”

“You shouldn’t have to do this. Take care of me like this. Do you know what this is like? How fucking embarrassing it is? That you have to take care of ME?”

“There is nothing to be embarrassed about. I’m your wife. I’m the mother of your kids. I have you seen at your absolute worst. I’ve seen you inches from death. This? This is nothing compared to some of the things I’ve seen and heard. You should never be embarrassed around me. I’m not going to judge you. And it's okay to be weak. To have vulnerable moments. You’re a goddamn human being.”

“I hate it. Being like that. Being weak.”

“Because you were told that it makes you less of a man. You had that drilled into your head from the time you were a little boy. And you know what? Nothing could be further from the truth. It takes a strong man to break down and admit they need help. You are the strongest person I have ever known. You do battle every second of every day with your own mind. And you always keep going. THAT’S brave.”

“I don’t feel it. I feel weak and pathetic and…”

“You are not any of those things. Look at everything you’ve been through. From the time you were a little boy until now. A weaker man would have given up a long time ago. But you? You fight back and you never give up and get back on your feet time and time again. That is strength, Tyler. The fact you suffer like you do but you get up every day and you smile when all you want to do is cry and you love your family with everything you have and bust your ass to make them happy even though you feel like you’re drowning. THAT? That is so far from being weak and pathetic.”

Sighing heavily, he glances away; swallowing noisily around the lump of emotion that sits squarely in his throat.

Pressing her fingers into his cheek, she turns his face back towards her. “I love you. More than you could ever possibly know. And I fell in love with you knowing how messed up things were and what kind of torment and pain you were carrying. None of that matters to me. Because I know who you are outside of all of that. I know that you’re loving and you’re caring and you have a heart that’s even bigger than your body. I know how deep and powerfully you love DESPITE everything you’ve been through. I didn’t back away then, and I’m sure as hell not backing away now. So you can try as hard as you want to push me away, but you’re stuck with me, buddy.”

“That’s not so bad,” he chides through threatening tears. “I mean, I can think of way worse fates.”

“I will love you and take care of you until your last breath. And you know what? I’ll love you even after that.”

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve YOU.”

“That’s your brain trying to convince you of that. And I know its voice is deafening and it seems impossible to ignore it, but you’ve got to try and shut it out. Concentrate on what I’m saying to you. Because what I’m telling you? It’s the truth. I’d never lie to you. So you need to pay attention to me, okay? And the things I say. I am way stronger and more tenacious than that voice inside of your head. Can you do that? Listen to me? Because I would never….ever...steer you wrong. You know that, right?”

“I do. I do know that. And I trust you. ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t trust my own brain anymore.”

“Then just rely on mine. Rely on ME. To give you the truth. Can you do that?”

“I can do that. Or try, at least.”

“That’s all I’m asking for. Now…” she lays her hands on his chest and presses a kiss to the underside of his chin. “...you hungry? What do you want for breakfast? I know I’m not actually the top chef YOU are, but I do make a mean veggie omelette. And you do like my french toast.”

“I thought maybe we could go out. To that little diner a few blocks over. The one that makes those Belgian waffles you like so much.”

“With the strawberries and the homemade whipped cream? I definitely could go for that. Are you sure though? That you’re up to it? It was a pretty rough night and…”

“I’m fine. Or I will be. It’s sunny out. The fresh air would do me some good I think. And we only have so much time without the kids left and I really do like our alone time. Outside of the bedroom.”

“So you don’t like the alone time in the bedroom?” she teases.

“I never said that. I LOVE that time.”

“A breakfast date with my favourite human sounds perfect.” Reaching up, she combs her fingers through his hair, pushing the longer strands off his forehead. “I’m proud of you, you know that? How hard you fight. A lesser man would have given up a long time ago.”

“I’ve got way too much to live for. Besides, I can’t go offing myself and then have to bear witness to you dating another guy. Or worse, marrying one.”

“Never going to happen. You’re it for me. There won’t be anyone after you. You’re stuck with me until the bitter end, Mister.”

A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he takes her face in his hands and presses a kiss to her forehead. “Hell of a way to go if you ask me.”

*****

“I talked to Ovi earlier,” Esme says, as they sit in the back corner of the diner. Sipping steaming mugs of tea; joined hands resting on the table top; fingers laced together and his thumb repeatedly brushing against hers.

The booth is a safe distance away from the main hub of activity; crowds of people and excessive noise caused by the rattle of dishes and numerous conversations and boisterous laughter taking place at the same time. It’s important to avoid any and all triggers, or to at least find ways to lessen the effects of something that could bring on ‘an episode’. On the short walk she’d noticed the tell tale signs that depression isn’t the only concern; the hyper-vigilance associated with his PTSD quickly creeping in. Exhibiting anxiety if he felt pedestrians were crowding around him on sidewalks or when waiting to cross the street. Glaring at anyone he felt was staring at him or in somehow posing even the slightest bit of a threat towards her; jaw clenching as he tightly brought her into his side or put a hand on the back of her neck while drawing him in front of her. And the glances cast over his shoulder; eyes constantly scanning for anything and everything that could be considered suspicious or threatening, visibly tensing at every slam of a car door.

It’s both disheartening and worrisome; to see him regressing back to old behaviours after years of coping so well. Being off the street has helped; his shoulders not as tense, jaw no longer clenched, eyes not surveying the crowd with so much apprehension and simmering anger. But he still insists on being the one to sit facing the door; able to physically handle a threat if one came in their direction. And while she knows those chances are rare and his brain is far from thinking rationally, she doesn’t argue or try to change his mind; squeezing his arm and giving him a reassuring smile before switching seats.

Tyler doesn’t look up from the menu open in front of him. “About me?”

“Yes,” she admits, and refuses to allow him to pull his hand away from hers. “I told him what happened last night. About how you’re struggling.”

“Why? Why would you tell him? He’s got his own shit to deal with. He doesn’t need to hear about what’s going on with me.”

“I told him because he loves you. Because you’re his dad. And he worries about you. We both do.”

“He’s got his own life. His own wife, his own kids. Don’t bother him with that bullshit.”

“You and your issues are NOT bullshit. And you’re part of his life. You have been since he was fourteen years old. We took him in and we raised him and we gave him a family. And he loves you. He has every right to know what’s going on with you. And you know what? I have the right to have someone I can turn to. When I’m struggling.”

“I don’t mean to be such a burden on you. Make you struggle so much.”

“That is not what I meant and you know it. I need someone I trust to help me, help you. And honestly, I need someone I can talk to. About all of this. Because it kills me inside that you’re struggling and you’re in so much pain. And I don’t want to put that on you, Tyler. Can you just accept that you’re surrounded by people who love you? That we’re trying to help? Let us love you, okay?”

Sighing, he nods in agreement. “Okay.”

“We’re just worried about you. We just want to help you.”

“I’ll be fine in a couple days. Once Christmas is over. I’ll act like everything is okay around the kids. So it doesn’t ruin things for them. I just need the holiday over with. I’ll be okay once it is.”

“I’m sure you will.” She hopes she sounds more confident than she feels. “It’s always a hard time. The holidays. And you know, seeing the kids so happy Christmas morning will help too. You know how cute that is; how excited they are, their faces all lit up when they see all the presents. It’s kind of hard NOT to smile when you see all of that. So that gives you something to look forward to, right?”

“You know what I’m NOT looking forward to? How many times they wake us up between midnight and five am.”

“It felt like every half hour last year.”

“It wouldn’t have been so bad if I hadn’t been up until two in the morning putting together that stupid dollhouse we got for Addie and Brooklyn. Having to decorate every damn room and put out all those little forks and knives and plates and shit.”

“You were a pro. I was quite impressed how those huge hands of yours dealt with teeny tiny cutlery. And I have to say, you have quite the eye when it comes to interior design. Maybe you should be in charge of picking out decor for the house from here on out.”

“That’s not the deal. You pick shit out and I live with it. Or you tell me what needs to be painted and what colour you want and I do it. Or I carry heavy shit. I’m happy with that; our arrangement. What else did he say? Ovi?”

“He said that Tabbi is up on her feet and starting to cruise the furniture. Finally sleeping through the night. Remember those days? The relief that comes with THAT?”

“We didn’t really get to experience that until Takota and Brookie started sleeping through the night. They’re last so we didn’t have any babies after them to worry about. The rest of them?”

“One started sleeping through the night, another baby was born. We were pretty busy those first seven years.”

“You know, you could have always said ‘no’ a few times. You didn’t always have to put out every time I asked you to.”

“Are you kidding? And miss out on the fun? You can’t say it wasn’t enjoyable.”

He grins. “You won’t hear any complaints from me.”

“And Mykayla starts preschool next week. Can you believe that? Our first grand baby is going to be in preschool! It seems like she was just born. Kind of hard to believe, don’t you think?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact I have two grandkids.”

“For what it’s worth, I think we’re pretty sexy grandparents. You’re a damn fine grandpa.”

“How many times have I told you not to call me that?”

“I don’t care. You ARE a grandpa. You ARE grandpa Tyler.”

“Makes me feel so fucking old. Way older than I actually am.”

“Well for what it’s worth, you’re the hottest grandpa around. I’d still do ya.”

“Yeah? Well I definitely wouldn’t say no to you. You’re kinda hot yourself. For a grandma.”

“What about when I’m the grandma who can barely see or hear and my hair is snow white and my body a total dumpster fire?”

“You’ll still be the most beautiful girl in the world to me.”

Smiling, she squeezes his hand and then smiles at the waitress who returns to refill his coffee and take their orders. For several minutes they sit in silence; his thumb sliding down to the base of her wrist and continuing its slow and methodical caress, eyes flicking back and forth as they constantly survey the surroundings and their fellow diners. She’s seen that look before; cautious and wary, as if expecting a threat to announce its presence any second. And it’s a side that she hasn’t seen in years; since extensive therapy began to help control the hyper-vigilance and paranoia.

“Hey…” she taps the toe of a boot against his shin in order to grab his attention. “...you okay?”

“Yeah,” he manages a smile; that half assed turning up of one corner of his mouth. “I’m good.”

“Really? Because you’re acting like an armed robber is going to come barging and start shooting up the place. Do you want to get our order to go? Eat at home? Where you’re more comfortable?”

“I’m comfortable here. I’m fine, Me. Honest.”

“You are NOT fine. You are far from fine. I haven’t seen you like this in a long time. I’m safe, Tyler. Nothing is going to happen. I’m with you. Which means nothing or no one can hurt me. I trust you. I know you can protect me if you have to. I am one hundred percent safe because I am with YOU.”

“What if I can’t? Protect you?”

“You can. You’ve always been able to. Nothing’s changed. I’m fine. I’m safe. I’m here with you and everything is right in the world. Just try and relax, okay?”

“I’m not who I was back then. When we met.”

“I don’t expect you to be. And you know what? You’re better than you were. You’re stronger and you’re healthier and I trust you one hundred percent. There’s nothing you can’t handle. Nothing you can’t beat. Everything is fine. I’M fine. You need to just try and relax, alright? Nothing is going to happen to me. Not when I’m with you.”

The tension slightly lifts; the stiffness in his shoulders easing and the frantic bouncing of his leg finally stopping. But she notices the way his hand shakes when he lifts when he lifts the coffee mug to his lips.

“Do you want to go? Do you feel like you’re going to have a panic attack?”

“No. I’m okay. I’ll be fine.”

“Here…” reaching into her purse, she briefly rummages through it and pulls out a small vial of pills she’s grabbed from the stash in the lock box in the pantry; snapping off the lid and dropping two in her palm. “...just a couple. It’ll take the edge of. Calm you down. Take them. Please.”

He obliges, plucking the tablets from her palm and placing them under his tongue and allowing them to resolve. The silence that follows is nerve wracking. Feeling her own heart pounding wildly in her chest as she watches him from across the booth; an elbow resting on the table , eyes closed and his palm pressed against his forehead. And she’s unsure how much time has actually passed when he takes a sharp intake of breath; eyes opening and his forearm coming to rest on the formica.

“Good?” she asks, and softly runs her fingers over his. “You alright?”

“Better.”

“You’ll be okay. In a few minutes, you’ll be right as rain. You’re doing good, baby. I’m proud of you.”

The corners of his mouth twitch as he attempts a smile. “I was thinking that maybe we should go home. Earlier than we were going to. Maybe a couple days into New Years instead of a couple weeks.”

“Is that what you want to do? Go home?”

“Yeah…” he struggles to hold back a flood of tears; uttering a string of profanities and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Don’t do that. Don’t be embarrassed. Just pretend that no one else exists but me. That no one else is here. Just listen to my voice. You’re fine. It’s just your brain, Tyler. Ignore what it is telling you and pay attention to what I’m saying. I’m okay. I’m safe. Because I’m with you. Nothing is going to happen. There’s no one following us, there’s no out to get you, there’s no one that’s going to hurt me. There’s no threat. Everything is okay. Alright?”

Nodding, he takes a deep intake of breath and then releases it slow. “I want to go home.”

“Home as in our place here or…?”

“Home, home. Australia. I want to go home. As soon as we can. I NEED to go home.”

“I’ll change our flight plans. When we get back to the townhouse. I’ll call and set everything up. We’ll leave on the second, okay?”

“But the kids might be pissed. They might…”

“I’ll think of something to tell them. They don’t need to know what’s going on. Don’t worry about that, alright? I’ll take care of everything. I mean, if you really wanted to, we could leave earlier. Ovi knows you’re struggling and…”

“I can’t miss his wedding. I’m the best man. That’s my kid.”

“And he’d understand. If you needed to get out, he would totally have your back. Believe me, he wouldn’t hold it against you if you couldn’t handle it here.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll suck it up and I’ll get through it. We’ll go to the wedding and we’ll have a good time and we’ll have our mommy and daddy only night. Then we can leave. On the second.”

“Okay,” Esme says, and reaches across the table to wipe away an errant tear that slips down his face. “You’re going to be okay.” she promises. “You always are. You’ve fought back against way worse.”

“You have a lot of faith in me.”

Smiling, she pushes her fingers through his. “Enough for both of us.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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flamingo-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Missed Chance — Sanji x Reader; Zoro x Reader

Summary: Many things changed in the time you spent in Whole Cake Island, for both Sanji and you. At the same time, a lot happened in Zoro’s life since he arrived to Wano. You’re forced to face the situation and make a choice. So does Zoro.

A/N: It took me an entire week to write this. Not only because of school, work, and homework, this story on its own was a complicated one. But, I finally did it. I low key hate myself for writing this since this is an assault to my feelings and my favorite character, but hey, I don’t have control over my creative voice

*adding an O- before the name is a sign of respect that was used during feudal japan. This is seeing a lot in Wano.

Word Count: 4K words (I told you, this was going to be a long one)

Warnings: Angst. Not precisely a happy ending. Wano (manga) spoilers, WCI spoilers as well.

“That jerk…” Sanji hissed as soon as the both of you spotted the scene.

Hell broke loose after Yasuie was killed, and X-Drake made an appearance. And finally, having running away from that chaos, the last thing you remembered was seeing Zoro running away with a girl hanging from his neck. And now, as Zoro lied on the entrance of a small house outside Ringo, said mystery girl was kissing Zoro.

“No. Sanji...” You said grabbing Sanji’s sleeve tightly as your heart continued to shatter more and more with every second “Please don’t say anything” You growled, as you eyes were glued to the scene, torturing yourself until finally the girl pulled back from the kiss.

“But that asshole just…” Sanji looked at you, clearly angrier than you. However, you were not angry. At all. You were hurt, disappointed, surprised and at the same time dizzy. The world spinning faster than before, as a lump in your throat was pulling you down, crushing your heart with an immeasurable strength.

“I know what he did” You snapped loudly, as your eyes filled with tears with the same speed your voice lowered “I saw it too” You whispered so lowly Sanji could barely hear. “But this is my business” Your voice was slow and shaky as much as you tried to keep it straight. “Not yours” You added.

Sanji looked incredulous. His empathetic nature immediately made his heart squeeze painfully, as he thought how unfair was for someone as nice as you suddenly was punished. He knew you liked Zoro for quite a long time. In fact, he was surprised that you were still in love with him even after two long years of not seeing him nor hearing anything from him.

And deep down,he was always jealous of the marimo. Not because it was you. He wished there was someone who loved him as much as you loved Zoro. It angered him how obvious your feelings for him were, and yet, the swordsman never seemed to notice. Especially now, that Sanji had new growing feelings for you, after what had happened back in Whole Cake Island.

“I get that you’re trying to help. But please, stay away from it. I’ll see how I’ll handle this” You sighed deeply, as you tried to keep the tears inside by breathing deeply, and focusing on the bigger picture, where the crew and the alliance stood in front of Kaido’s crew. Trying to shut your feelings and bewildered thoughts.

“Alright” Sanji murmured “But if that idiot makes you cry, or I see you cry because of that jerk, I’ll do something about it, okay?” You loosened your grip on his sleeve, and Sanji’s hand reached yours, squeezing it gently “Do not ask me to see you cry and do nothing about it”

“I will not cry” You reassured him by holding his hand tightly as you tried to recall the recent events from Whole Cake Island to help soothe your pain through gentler, happier memories.

Upon feeling Komurasaki's lips on his, Zoro felt a lot of different emotions hit him at once. Even when he felt attracted for Hiyori, it wasn't enough to make him feel overwhelmed or confused. However, this kiss made his heart beat faster, and at the same time it felt wrong. He was not supposed to be doing this, as to why, he didn't know. It felt both wrong and good at the same time.

He didn't kiss her back, but he didn't push her away either. Until Hoyori pulled away, blushing, she looked at Zoro.

Confused about what to do or say next, he opened his mouth, ready to say the first thing that popped in his head. However, they both heard twigs breaking in the distance. As Hiyori turned around and Zoro quickly sat up, his heart shrunk and immediately he knew why the kiss felt wrong.

The constant tickle he felt in his gut whenever you were close finally made sense when he saw you two standing a few meters away from them. It hit him like a train. The closeness you two always had from the very beginning, an instant electricity pulling you together, he never really thought much of the strong bond tying you together. Not until he suddenly saw you holding Sanji’s hand as the taste from Hiyori’s lips lingered on his. He suddenly realized how further away you were standing now. Instantly knowing, things would hardly be the same again.

That afternoon, you met Hiyori, a very kind girl. Throughout the afternoon you avoided the topic, and instead talked about coming up with a new plan, discussing everything that had happened, along with Luffy’s imprisonment and the recent events of everyone blowing up their covers…

You couldn’t help but compare yourself to Hiyori. Everytime she looked back at you ad she smiled politely, it hurt. She was gorgeous, she was kind, she was gentle, you could see why Zoro liked her. You could see why would anyone would like her. It made you think if Sanji liked her too. And suddenly you were afraid that your only company would dissipate as well, just like Zoro did.

The rest of the day, you kept the criticism flowing through your head. Silently pulling you down while maintaining a poker face. The lump on your throat came and went all day long, as you tried your best to keep a straight face. The pain bleeding through your eyes was very well hidden behind a mask looking exactly like your face. Almost as if your usual strong eyes were untouched.

At night, the cool breeze infiltrated the house, like a gentle howl waking Sanji up in the middle of the night. When he realized his eyes were open, he was lying on his side, facing the spot where you were supposed to be sleeping.

“[Name]” Sanji whispered sitting up as he looked around the empty house. Zoro asleep next to your empty bed, and Komurasaki sleeping not far from Zoro. Sanji ignored the close distance those two had, his mind focused on finding you.

The moonlight lighting the house just barely. And it was when he realized the main door was slightly open. Standing up, he silently made it to the door, and slid it slowly so it wouldn’t creek and wake Zoro and Hiyori up.

“[Name]?” Sanji purred poking his head outside “[Name]” Sanji whispered when he saw you sitting on the steps and walked closer to you. Your knees were close to your chest, as you hid your face behind one of your hands. “[Name]” Sanji whispered sitting next to you, his first instinct, wrapping an arm around your shoulder “Are you alri—” He stopped when he saw tears falling down the sides of your face.

“I’m sorry, Sanji…” You whimpered “I said I wasn’t going to cry but…”

“Hey, hey, it’s ok” Sanji murmured pulling you close and hugging you tightly. “Cry all you need. You can’t keep bottling your feelings...It’s not healthy” You hid your face in his neck as you clung to his yukata.

Whether if it had been his gentle words, or his arms holding you tightly, closely, you immediately broke down crying. Clinging to his clothes, you hid your face in his neck and cried. Your heart shattering more and more with every breath, as if you were breathing broken glass. Sanji didn’t dare to say anything, knowing all you needed right now was silence and a tight hug.

Your pain was contagious to Sanji’s kind heart. After what you did for him in Whole Cake Island, he couldn’t help but wanting to help you like you’d did for him not so long ago. He wanted to soothe your pain away, just like you’d done with him. He even wished that his arms had the same effect yours had on him. He wished for you to go through the same realization process as he did back when it was you holding him while he cried inconsolably.

Strangely enough, Zoro woke up to the sound of your soft crying. When not even the loudest noise could wake him up, the very low sound of you being in any sort of danger was enough to wake him up. He sat up, concentrating on the sounds surrounding him. He noticed the two empty beds next to him and the soft wind blowing inside the house along with soft whimpers.

His gut twisted painfully as he realized you were crying, and his lower throat began burning when he realized it was Sanji who was there with you comforting you over his mistake. Following the sound of your voice, his heart squeezed as he heard you speak.

“I don’t understand” Your voice was shaky “Did I do something wrong?” Zoro peeked from the door as your face was resting against the cook’s shoulder.

Sanji looked at you and moved lightly, holding your face in his hands, as he rested his forehead on yours,

“You didn’t…” He whispered “Love, this isn’t your fault…” He assured, wiping away the tears from your cheeks as you kept sobbing silently.

“Love?” Zoro whispered to himself.

“That dumb marimo couldn’t see how you were always there for him, it’s not your fault he’s that blind…” Sanji added as Zoro frowned and bit his tongue, thinking Sanj was playing dirty by adding more wood to the fire.

“Don’t talk like that about him” You cut him off, very much to Zoro’s surprise.

“Why do you defend him? Even after you saw them kiss?" Sanji asked confused as you shoo your head and pulled his hands off our face gently. ,

"Have you never been in love, Sanji?” You began looking at him in the eye “Even after breaking your heart you can't help but keep loving them. At least until your heart heals and you're able to move on…" your gaze moved away from Sanji's and it was when you noticed Zoro was standing by the main entrance.

"I'm so sorry, [Name]" Sanji purred running one of his hands through your hair.

"I am too…" Looking back at Sanji, you felt your chest ache gently. It didn't burn as much as it did earlier, it still hurt, however.

The guilt twisted Zoro's stomach more and more as he couldn't help but keep watching you and Sanji. The blond kept brushing your hair, staring very gently at you, as you every now and then peeked through your eyelashes to meet his eyes.

The sweetness in his eyes was new. He didn't use to look at you like that. And you knew exactly when it started. You'd be lying if you said you didn't feel anything new since that event. That night changed everything. It changed the way you felt towards your friend.

Leaning his forehead against yours, Sanji purred you name, so very softly, so very gently. And you knew what was he thinking. As his face got closer to yours, you were ready to welcome his lips into yours when your heart beated painfully.

"Sanji, don't…" You mouthed upon feeling his nose against yours “The last thing I want right now is to keep adding to the overwhelming mess of feelings I am riht now..." Sanji stood still processing what you’d said and sighed deeply pulling back.

"You're right...I'm sorry" Sanji answered.

"It's okay"

"We should go back inside" Sanji purred as you looked back inside the house and saw Zoro.

The eye contact between the both of you made his heart stopped dead cold. It felt like an eternity the brief second you two looked into each other. His thoughts slowing down time, as he wanted to both mend his mistake and figure out what was with the sudden closeness Sanji and you shared.

"Let's say a little bit longer" You said looking away from Zoro and towards Sanji.

"Whatever it is that you want, love" Sanji whispered kissing your forehead as you rested your head on his shoulder.

You bought Zoro enough time for him to return to his bed and go back to sleep. Once you thought enough time had gone by, you told Sanji that you were now ready to go back to bed. Silently returning inside the house, you saw Zoro on his bed, not entirely sure if he was asleep or not. Hiyori sleeping next to him, the close space left between those two brought back painful flashbacks as you tried to shake them off.

Sanji remained next to your bed until you finally fell asleep. The few minutes it took felt long. Long enough for him to fall asleep shortly after you did. Lying just next to your bed, remaining close to you. One of his arms holding you close to him.

Sharing a bed with you for the second time in just a few days confirmed the feelings that had been sprouting from his heart bringing the answers to the questions in his mind. The night was short, and the morning slightly bitter, since the next morning, Sanji woke up to Zoro's worried inquire.

"Where's [Name]?" Zoro growled after he checked the house twice, and peeking outside as well.

Sanji, still deep in slumber recalled his memory, and the last thing he remembered was your smell caressing his nose, your slow breaths cooing him to sleep, and your silhouette lying next to him.

"What?" Sanji murmured as his eyes adjusted. "What do you mean…" He reached his arm towards his side, where he remembered you were asleep.To his surprise, nothing. You weren’t there.

"Where is [Name]?" Sanji said, adrenaline kicking in for a brief second.

“That’s what I’m asking, you dumb cook!” Zoro growled, as Komurasaki slid the main door open and walked inside.

“No need to get grumpy so early, Zorojuro. She’s meditating outside” She began, her gentle voice actually having an impact on Zoro’s mood.

Without saying anything, he left the house at once, as both Sanji and Hiyori exchanged look.

“Zorojuro has told me a few things about [Name]...She surely sounds like a strong woman if she’s able to keep up with his training. It’s impressive”

“Yeah, she is strong. They were...are very close friends” Sanji answered.

“He told me that too…She’s lucky, for having Zorojuro’s complete and utter trust on her” Sanji looked at Hiyori as she sighed. He could tell Hiyori was feeling slightly jealous, and thought about the irony of the situation. However, he didn’t reply.

"[Name]" Zoro said walking towards you, as you sat on the ground.

"Morning…" you whispered turning around briefly, smiling at Zoro and then returning to the landscape.

"[Name], I'm sorry"

“About what exactly? You haven’t done anything wrong…” You said, breathing deeply and concentrating on your breath.

“That kiss...I didn’t…”

“Hey, it’s okay” You sid cutting him off “I’m not mad at you and you didn’t do anything wrong, you shouldn’t be apolgising in the first place…”

“[Name]...” Zoro whisered.

“Look, when I realized about my feelings for you, I knew you didn’t correspond to them...and I knew that I was going to eventually end up hurt, so I told myself ‘Hey, we should really make the most of it, enjoy it while we still can’” You said feeling Zoro’s stare on you. “I wasn’t expecting for it to end so soon...But it’s okay, it’s the natural flow of things, isn’t it? I’m okay…”

"[Name], she kissed me, I-I didn't kiss her back I-"

"Does it really matter, Zoro? Regardless of what happened, my heart aches…” You snapped interrupting him “Besides, she really likes you. She's gorgeous, she's very kind, goddammit she's perfect. And I know you like her"

"Okay, I like her, but..She’s not you…[Name], I—”

“When did you start feeling things for me, huh? Was it when I told Luffy I was going with him to bring Sanji back? After I got afraid that he might not return?”

“The lack of your presence hit me, [Name]. And I was constantly thinking of you…”

“I was constantly thinking of you too, Zoro. But that doesn’t mean anything...When I heard Sanji had left, I his departure hurt as well. I was afraid that I was going to lose a friend. That didn’t mean I was in love with him…Just because you were thinking of me doesn’t mean you have feelings for me, Zoro”

“Then what’s with the sudden pet names and the hand holding between the two of you?” Zoro barked keeping his voice low enough so no one in the house would listen.

“It’s not all of a sudden...Many things happened in Whole Cake Island, okay? Are you jealous or something?”

“As a matter of fact, I am” Zoro answered bluntly. “Besides, you don’t get to tell me how I’m supposed to feel. When I said I was constantly thinking of you, I knew what kind of feelings I was feeling. And trust me, is not what you feel for one of your friends, it feels different” He waited for any sort of reply, but you didn’t even dare to look at him. In the end, Zoro sighed bitterly “I’m losing you, isn’t it?”

It took you several seconds to answer, and before you did, you took a deep breath, feeling the anxiety building in your chest

“For how long have you had feelings for me?” You finally said.

“I don’t know”

You gathered the strength necessary to keep talking,

“Look, you had me for almost three long years…” You began “Zoro, whatever this is, we have to get over it, otherwise we might end up hurting even more people than ourselves…” You said looking at the house where Komurasaki and Sanji were talking on the steps, several meters away from where you were talking to Zoro. “You have Hiyori, and I have Sanji. If we didn’t happen was for a reason. Do not waste a second chance that’s been presented to you” Zoro gazed at the house, looking at Hiyori as your voice faded out.

Eventually, Zoro and you returned to the small cottage, where Sanji greeted you with breakfast. During breakfast, Sanji and you made most of the talking, telling stories on how’s life for the Strawhat Pirates, funny stories and difficult times you lived.

Once breakfast was over, you and Hiyori helped Sanji clean as Zoro trained. Once the house was back to its untouched appearance, you sat down to keep talking. However, having barely slept throughout the night, you quickly dozed off while resting your head on Sanji’s lap.

“You two are very close, aren’t you?” Hiyoi asked upon noticing the gentle way in which Sanji was playing with your hair and the sweet look he was giving you as you slept comfortably.

“Actually, we didn’t use to be this close. Not until recently. I got into a lot of trouble and she was always there for me. She got in trouble a few times because of it, but she never cared and always returned to my side…”

“She’s amazing” Hiyori said. “The more I hear about O-[Name], the more fascinating she becomes. She’s strong, she’s kind…”

“She is amazing, yes. It took me so long to realize how amazing she is…”

Zoro, finally exhausting his stress through training, and after getting slightly lost, he made it back to the house. He heard Sanji talk before he slid open the door and saw you asleep, and Hiyori talking to Sanji. And after making eye contact with the cook, he spoke.

“Oi, Erocook, can I talk to you?” Sanji nodded gently before scratching your head gently, waking you up.

“Angel, can you lift your head real fast? Gotta have a word with the marimo” He whispered as you growled still slumbered and did as Sanji said before resting your head on the floor and falling back asleep at once. “Hiyori-san, would you keep an eye on [Name]-chan real quick?”

“No problem, Sangoro” Komurasaki smiled warmly as Sanji made his way outside the house with Zoro.

Zoro was several metres away from the house, looking at the landcape, thinking, breathing deeply and slowly. Even after Sanji reached him, he cook waited for Zoro to start talking, however, he took a while. Zoro was still trying to shut down the voices in his head, and trying to put his thoughts in order before talking.

Sanji grabbed a cigarette and lit it, asking a deep drag and blowing the smoke into the wind as Zoro finally turned around and faced Sanji.

“What exactly happened in Whole Cake Island? Between you and [Name]?” Zoro asked bluntly.

Sanji took another drag and closed his eyes.

“Have you tried asking her?” He sighed the smoke through his nose as he spoke.

“Yes, but she didn’t say much…” Zoro said in a low voice.

“Look, long story short” Sanji began taking another drag “I was an asshole. She punched me in the face. The next day, she slapped some sense into my head , and then sneaked into my room and kept me company even when I told her not to do so”

Sanji noticed the way in which Zoro clenched his jaw. With another drag, Sanji continued his story

“She was caught by my family and sent to a prison cell, she then escaped without anyone noticing and returned to my room. I was in a very delicate mental state when she found me, and she stayed with me that night”

Zoro glared at Sanji who chuckled slightly amused by Zoro’s reaction.

“Nothing like that happened that night...I was hurt; in a lot of pain...not physical pain… anyways, she stayed there, next to me, holding me and comforting me. Eventually we both fell asleep. When I woke up, I was still in her arms”

“So that's how it was…” Zoro whispered.

“Before that night, I never really thought of [Name] in that way, but waking up in her arms did something to me…Now, I don’t know how this was like for her. I’m just telling you my side of the story.” Sanji concluded

“I am losing her…” Without looking at Sanji, Zoro mouthed, lower than before, still Sanji could hear him.

“And let me tell you, you are an idiot for letting her slip away” Sanji added.

“I can’t believe I’m losing her to someone like you” Rising his voice a little bit, Zoro looked up to Sanj, who exchanged a cold glare with the marimo.

“You’ll have to believe it. Especially because unlike you, I won’t let her get away that easily” Sanji growled taking another drag of his almost done cigarette. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Zoro asked.

“Hiyori likes you, man. Don’t make the same mistake twice…You already hurt [Name], if you do the same to Hiyori-san, I’ll kick your ass. I haven’t kicked your ass because [Name]-chan asked me to”

Zoro chuckled bitterly as he looked back into the house. He thought about everything that had happened in the last 24 hours. Still hurt and confused, he remained silent, thoughtful. Maybe you were right.

“Zoro, whatever this is, we have to get over it, otherwise we might end up hurting even more people than ourselves…”

He’d lost. He was now well aware of it. And he cursed at himself for not realizing it sooner. For having realizing his feelings for you when it was too late. Although, he knew this wasn’t the end of everything. You’d still be friends, right? You still had to take Kaido down. Maybe, you two would be able to make amends during the mission. Maybe go back to the closeness you two shared, as friends, of course.

As for Hiyori, what could be done about her? Zoro did feel something for her. He thought about the mistakes he made with you, and how he could avoid repeating them. Should he seize his time with Hiyori? He already let his time with you go to waste...H thought about the possible outcome of everything.

“I’m going back now” Sanji announced turning around and walking back to the cottage.

In the meantime, Zoro remained there, staring into the landscape. He sat on the ground, ready to meditate, to appease his thoughts once more, and trying to bring some peace and resolution to the sprouting questions in his mind.

#one piece #one piece imagine #one piece fanfiction #one piece fic #one piece x reader #zoro #roronoa zoro #roronoa zoro x reader #zoro imagine #sanji #sanji x reader #sanji imagine #vinsmoke sanji #black leg sanji

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singledarkshade · 4 years ago

Text

The Thing That Wrecks You

Summary: Joe worried that it would break Gideon. Author’s Note: Part of the Psych Verse with @incendiaglacies, this is set after Draining The Swamp and before Case of the Lying Jerk Face. ********************************************* Harrison Wells, Head Detective of the CCPD, walked into the precinct and stopped in his tracks. Sitting at his partner’s desk, with her feet up on it, was the so called ‘psychic’, Gideon Rider.

In the past year since she’d started working with them, she had helped on many cases, solving several. Though Wells would only grudgingly admit this, under pain of torture.

Usually however she came with her business partner and best friend, who could keep her in line to a degree, but he was conspicuously absent.

“Harry,” the younger woman greeted him with her annoying cheerfulness, “What do you have for me?”

He frowned at her, “Paperwork,” looking around he demanded, “Where’s your keeper? Doesn’t he usually keep you away from us unless you’re asked to come here?”

“Rip’s away all weekend,” Gideon rolled her eyes, “I wasn’t invited.”

“Away with who?” Wells couldn’t stop himself asking.

She waved it away, “The people from the boring place he goes when he’s not with me.”

Wells translated that to normal person speak as something to do with his other job, whatever that was, and nodded. It made sense why Gideon was sitting here, as far as he could tell other than Hunter, Saunders was her only friend.

“What are you doing here then?”

Gideon smiled at him, “We’re having cocktails once Kendra finishes work.”

“In three hours from now?” Wells frowned, “Why not come in later?”

She shrugged, “I’m happy here.”

Rolling his eyes, knowing there was no point, he headed to his own desk and started to go through paperwork from the past few cases.

“Wells,” Captain West’s voice made him look up, “We’re getting a body from the Sheriff’s department in Green County. Need you to sign it in.”

Saving his work, he looked up and nodded at his captain before starting towards the morgue.

“Where are we going, Harry?” Gideon appeared at his side suddenly.

“A body is being delivered to the morgue,” he explained, “It’s not our case but we have to have a senior detective sign it in with the coroner. Simply procedure, I don’t need your help.”

Gideon gave him a sweet smile and those big Bambi-esque eyes, “Maybe I’ll get something that can help the Sheriff.”

Rolling his eyes, he said nothing and just let her come along with him.

Reaching the morgue, Wells nodded to Dr Smith the coroner on duty before turning to Sheriff Conway and took the paperwork.

“Found this guy in a hotel room. It is not pleasant,” Conway told them grimly, “Whoever did this made sure that there was no way he’s going to be identified. Shotgun blast to his face, fingers cut off and they even shaved him.”

Wells spotted Gideon’s grimace as she studied the body beneath the sheet.

“They have made one mistake though,” Conway continued, “We found his wallet with his ID under the bed.”

“That was sloppy,” Wells mused.

“What’s the name?” Dr Smith asked as she went through the form on her clipboard.

Conway pulled out the plastic bag with the evidence, “Let’s see,” he squinted slightly reading it through the plastic, “Rip Hunter.”

Wells spun to where Gideon was standing, her eyes focused on the body taking in the height and body type. She began to shake before letting out a soul wrenching scream, her legs gave out and she slumped to the floor sobbing uncontrollably.

Wells dropped down beside her, pulling the inconsolable woman into his arms. “Call the Captain,” he ordered Dr Smith before returning his attention back to Gideon.

Knowing he could say nothing to help right now, Wells lifted the young woman up and carried her into the lounge. Sitting on the couch he held her tightly as she continued to sob, hugging her close because it was all he could do at that moment. Dr Smith appeared with a sedative, she injected Gideon in the arm then left them alone again. Gideon’s sobs began to slow, her breath hitched and after a few minutes she was unconscious. With Gideon resting against him, Wells continued to stroke her hair comfortingly. He knew she had no family other than Eve, but Hunter was the one he always saw at her side. They came as a pair and Harry didn’t know how Gideon would survive losing him.

Joe West was confused by the call he’d received to come down to the morgue, even more so on seeing Gideon unconscious on the couch in the morgue lounge with Wells standing watching over her looking grim.

“Detective?” Joe asked, putting all his questions in that one word.

Moving him over to the body that had been brought in, Wells simply handed him the wallet in the evidence bag, showing him the ID.

“Oh no,” Joe whispered before turning the Dr Smith, “I want the DNA checked as a priority. I want to know for certain if that is Hunter.”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded.

“Harrison,” he turned to his lead detective, “I’ll call Eve Baxter, Gideon will need someone with her when she wakes up.”

The other man nodded grimly and disappeared leaving Joe to watch over the young woman unconscious on the couch. Gideon was brilliant with a mind that sparked, in addition to her gift, but she could be side-tracked so easily. Joe sometimes thought of her as a puppy distracted by whatever caught her interest.

Her relationship with Rip Hunter was what kept her steady and focussed. Rip was the only person who could keep her on task, their deep connection clear from the moment he’d met them. Joe worried that, if it was Rip in the morgue, it would break Gideon.

Wells told Kendra what had happened before heading to his desk and sitting down heavily. As much as he complained about the pair from the psychic detective agency, Wells did like them.

His phone began to ring, and he tiredly picked it up, “Detective Wells, CCPD.”

As the voice on the other end began to talk, he sat up a little straighter, “Say that again.”

Wells frowned as he listened to the man on the other side of the call, “I will be there as soon as possible.”

Hanging up he found Captain West in his office staring at the phone, looking reluctant to pick it up.

“Captain,” Wells said, making the other man look up, “I just received a call from Star City PD. They have something that may relate to this case, but I need to see it in person. I’m heading out there.”

West hesitated for a moment before nodding, “Be back as soon as you can.”

Nodding he headed to his car and climbed in. He hoped this wasn’t a waste of time.

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

Gideon forced her eyes open confused to find she was somehow in the lounge at the police station. A blanket was covering her and as she looked around her eyes settled on Eve standing looking worried with Captain West and Kendra.

It took a moment, a moment of blissful ignorance before the memory returned.

Rip.

Tears filled her eyes and Gideon was suddenly enfolded in Eve’s embrace, her sister rocked her, gently murmuring in her hair.

“I have to call Mary,” Gideon whispered anxiously after a few minutes, “I have to tell her.”

“It’s okay,” Eve soothed, “We’ll call her.”

Gideon nodded before she began to cry again as Eve held her, her heart broken. First Gilbert had been taken from her and now Rip. She didn’t know what to do other than call his mother. Rip was the one who knew what to do all the time, no matter what the circumstances, he always knew what to do. She needed him.

Noise from outside the room made her look round where she saw Wells walking in, she presumed he’d brought in a suspect and then she saw who was walking at his side.

“Rip!!!!!!”

Her cry echoed through the room as Gideon scrambled off the couch. Running to him she flung herself into his arms, clinging to him as though he would disappear if she let him go.

“I’m okay,” Rip breathed in her ear, “I’m here. I promise, I’m here.”

Burying her face in his shoulder, Gideon clung tighter feeling Rip rub circles in her back.

“Gideon,” Eve’s voice came, “Rip’s been hurt, you need to be careful.”

At this she pulled back and saw he had a bandage on his head, there was also a lot of pain in his eyes.

“What happened?” she demanded, “Are you alright?”

“Why don’t we all go into my office and go over what happened together,” West suggested ushering them inside.

Gideon held Rip’s arm until he was sitting, usually she would just sit on his lap but since he was hurt, she instead dragged another chair across to his side. Sitting down she gripped Rip’s hand. Wells and Kendra both took seats as did Eve. West closed the doors before he took his seat.

“Rip,” he said, “Why don’t you tell us what happened?”

The headache had eased during the journey back from Star City, but Rip still felt as though someone was trying to hammer their way out of his skull.

“One of my old college friends is getting married and had his bachelor’s night in Star City on Friday,” Rip explained.

“Really?” Gideon snapped confused.

He frowned at her, “Not now,” Rip turned back to West, “Anyway, I was leaving the hotel yesterday afternoon to head home, and someone hit me from behind, knocking me out. I woke up in hospital a few hours ago with no ID. When the police came to speak with me, I told them who I was and that I worked with the CCPD. I asked them to call Detective Wells.”

“Why not me?” Gideon demanded.

“Because I know what you drive like normally, never mind if you’re upset. I already had a concussion,” Rip replied before turning back to West, “Detective Wells told me what happened when he met me in the police station at Star City.”

“I spoke with Captain Lance,” Wells spoke up, “He’s sending us the CCTV footage from the hotel, I also called Green County’s Sheriff and they’re sending us all the information from the murder scene.”

West mused for a second before saying, “Alright. Wells and Saunders, I want you to work on everything as soon as we receive it and find out who the corpse in our morgue is. Rip, go home and get some rest. Gideon, go with him and we’ll talk in the morning.”

“The doctor said he needs to be watched for the next twenty-four hours,” Wells spoke up, “So, it’s best if he doesn’t go home alone.”

Eve spoke up before Gideon could say anything, “You can stay at the house, Rip. I have room for both you and Gideon.”

Rip nodded, standing he managed to detach Gideon from his arm so he could wrap it around her shoulders. Following Eve out the station he hoped he would manage to get some sleep.

Gideon carried the bag Rip had packed when they stopped off at his apartment, she started up to the spare room in Eve’s house with Rip following her.

“I’ll make you some tea while you get into bed,” Gideon told him, “You need to rest, and take the painkillers the doctor gave you and tell me if you feel worse…”

“Hey,” he stopped her, “I’m fine, and I’m safe. You need to calm down.”

Gideon bit her lips and looked at him with wide eyes, “Do you want tea?”

“That would be wonderful,” Rip squeezed her hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Leaving him to get changed, Gideon headed down to the kitchen were Eve was already making tea for Rip.

“Are you okay?” Eve asked her as she sat down at the kitchen table.

Gideon shook her head, “I thought I’d lost him.”

Eve hugged her, “I know but he’s safe and here.”

“I’m just afraid I’ll close my eyes to sleep and he’ll be gone,” Gideon whispered, wiping tears that were escaping despite trying to hold them back.

“Okay,” Eve took Gideon’s face in her hands, “Put your pyjamas on, take Rip his tea and you can watch over him all night.”

Gideon nodded and headed up to her childhood bedroom.

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

Rip woke up relieved his headache had finally abated. Shifting slightly, he enjoyed the warmth surrounding him, feeling the familiar sensation of Gideon curled up at his side. Gently stroking her hair, Rip listened to the sound of her deep breathing. He loved Gideon, had for a very long time but their relationship was rather unique and telling her would just ruin everything.

Gideon shifted slightly and Rip managed to ease away from her without waking her. Heading to the bathroom, Rip was relieved the bruising around his temple where he’d been hit wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

“Morning,” Eve greeted him as he entered the kitchen, “What do you want for breakfast?”

Rip smiled taking a seat, “Whatever you have is fine.”

“I’m making Gideon chocolate chip pancakes,” Eve told him, “After yesterday I wanted her to have something nice for breakfast.”

“That sounds great,” Rip said, “And tea if you have it.”

Eve laughed, “I’ve stocked tea since you were fifteen and started drinking it constantly.”

Silence fell between them and the only sound in the kitchen was Eve making breakfast. She placed a mug of tea in front of him and Rip closed his eyes taking a deep breath inhaling the steam.

“Rip!!!” Gideon’s panicked voice came suddenly followed quickly by her looking frantic. The moment she saw him sitting there, relief filled her eyes and she fell into his arms.

Rip hugged her, “It’s okay. I’m here.”

“I thought I’d dreamt you were okay,” she whispered in his ear, her tears soaking his t-shirt.

Rubbing her back soothingly Rip replied, “You were asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you. I know how hard yesterday was. I didn’t think what you would assume when you woke up alone.”

Gideon held onto him for several minutes before taking a shaky breath and moving back. Taking a seat she wiped her eyes, smiling when Eve placed the plate with a stack of pancakes in front of her.

“Eat up both of you,” she said as she placed an identical stack in front of Rip, “Joe West has some answers for us.”

Just under an hour later they were walking into the CCPD, Gideon was still attached to Rip. He was beginning to wonder if he’d be allowed to go to the restroom on his own the way she was watching him.

“Good morning,” Captain West greeted them, “Please take a seat.”

Rip frowned as Gideon once again sat at his side rather than just plonking herself in his lap as normal. Eve found a seat and they waited for the two Detectives to arrive. Wells and Kendra took their seats, both looked tired and Rip grimaced feeling guilty.

“Have you both been up all night?” Gideon asked with a frown.

Kendra smiled at her, “We got a few hours rest.”

“Detective Wells,” West nodded for him to take over.

Wells sighed, “Alright, checking the CCTV from the hotel and the nearby streets we’ve identified the perp who attacked you as Joey Walsh. He’s a known thief but from the reports Captain Lance sent us he was recently in a lot of debt. We think he jumped you when you were checking out because he assumed you would have a passport he could use.”

Gideon grimaced, “Why?”

“I’m guessing the accent,” Wells noted before continuing irately, “Which is something I’ve been meaning to ask for a long time. What is with the accents? You’ve both lived here since you were kids why do you sound like you literally just got off the plane from England?”

Rip frowned before noting, “Well when we were kids, Gideon and I spent most of our time together, not to mention with my mother, so we never really developed a natural American one.”

“Although we can do one if required,” Gideon drawled with a smirk making Eve roll her eyes.

“Anyway,” West moved them on, “Since he didn’t get a passport, he appears to have travelled to Green County to hide out using your identification, Rip but he was caught by the people chasing him.”

Gideon gripped Rip’s hand, “So, Rip’s safe?”

Kendra nodded, “It just looks like Rip was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Relief washed over Gideon’s face before she turned to West, “What’s our next case?”

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

Dr Smith was relieved that the body had turned out not to be Rip Hunter, she liked the Psych team.

They kept things interesting to say the least.

She looked up at the representative from Green County who was waiting for her to finish printing out the report.

“I thought Detective Wells was going to send this electronically,” Smith mused.

The man shrugged, “No idea, I was just told to come and get it. It’s above my pay grade to argue, plus I got a trip to the city. Means I can stop off at the bakery near here that has the best pie in the state.”

Smith chuckled, “Ah yes, if you haven’t tried their latest blueberry and apple trust me it’s incredible.” She picked up the file and slid it into the folder before handing it across, “Here you go. Is there anything else you need?”

“Oh no,” he replied with a smile, “This is all I need for the moment. But,” he started out, “I’ll be back when I need more.”

#fic #legends of tomorrow #gideon #rip hunter #the flash #harry wells #joe west #psych au #psych verse

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