#(<- lying. i probably will. i like his talon skin too much)

[orowyrm]

continuing the saga of putting way too much effort into drawing things that are silly and dumb because they make me giggle

#myart #overwatch #sigma #siebren de kuiper #ive finally figured out how the fuck that lab coat works im never drawing him in full armor again never ever #(<- lying. i probably will. i like his talon skin too much)

[fieldofdaisiies]

Just a Little Bit of Your Heart pt. II

ship: Azriel x Reader type: angst word count: 3,3k  warnings: curse words, mentions of a one night stand, unexpected pregnancy summary: an appointment with Madja reveals more about your condition; fic masterlist

It hurts.

Azriel has always wanted a mate. Azriel has always wanted to be in love. Azriel has always wanted a child. A family. To be a father. He has never spoken this wish out loud, has always kept it to himself, but deep inside his mind and heart the thought has always been there.

He never deemed himself worthy, yet still he has always wanted a family. A family with his mate. A home where their children would be joyfully running around.

But now things are different and he is sure he is not worthy of the life he created. With you. A female he spent a night with. Not his mate. Not his wife.

You are wonderful and brilliant… He had never planned on risking your life just for one night of pleasure and fun. He had never wanted what is happening here, right now. 

Under different circumstances – if you had been his mate or wife– you would have talked about children before trying to conceive. You would have talked about the potential risk of the wings.

But how it is now, you were given no choice. You had no choice. He ruined your life...risked it just for his pleasure.

You are becoming a mother. He is becoming a father. Sooner than expected. And not planned.

You are a female he has been intimate for only one time. He doesn’t even really know you, you don’t know him and yet he put a baby inside of you. A baby with wings. A baby that can risk your life.

His throat constricts so much it makes it hard for him to swallow, the back of his mouth is burning, his eyes feeling like salt has been sprinkled into them.

His scarred fingers curl tighter around the counter, his gaze solely focused on you. 

A small whimper parts your lips, Madja's hands are as carefully as possible pressing down on your belly. "The bleeding…since when has this been going on?" Her voice is soft, gentle. 

But Azriel is immediately on alert. He straightens up, leans forward, forehead lying in furrows as he looks between you and the healer. Panic courses through his veins, an icy shiver dancing down his spine.

You haven't told him about the bleeding, not wanting to worry him unnecessarily. He already worries too much, you did not want to add more on top of hos remorse and regrets. And the bleeding hasn’t been going on for too long. It has only started…

"A few days ago." You avert your gaze, not wanting to see her expression. You know you should have contacted a healer earlier, but you thought the bleeding would just go away again.

"How much is a few?" Madja raises her brow at you, a bit of reprimanding lacing in her voice and shimmering in her eyes.

"Three days, I think."

Majda purses her lips, her expression as if she is deep in thought. And she probably is. Her fingers stroke over your skin again, you cringe, and suck in a sharp inhale. The pain is quite vivid, and as much as you don't want to let it show, you can't hide it. 

Hands placed on your belly, she presses down gently and it feels like something shifts inside you, like the baby is turning and a low cry of pain leaves you.

Icy claws pierce into Azriel's heart at the sound, and he curls his fingers towards his palms. He knows it isn't Madja's intention to hurt you, but she is hurting you...his...his...the mother of his unborn child and that is enough for him to be on edge.

"It is what I thought…" She looses a long breath and finally lifts her head to meet your gaze. There are many emotions you can't place, except for one: worry.

"The tips of the talons are scratching against the inside of your womb, that is where the bleeding comes from. Your hips and womb are not made for a baby — an Illyrian baby— with wings. There is not enough room for the wings."

You know this. Azriel knows this. Everyone knows this. But hearing it...it hurts and makes concern spread out again. Throughout your entire being, and you shudder.

You turn your head a little, a sad smile on your lips when your gaze lands on the father of the unborn child.

Azriel, his expression pained, eyes dead, pushes off the counter and stalks over to you, and places his hand on your shoulder. It is just a small gesture, but it calms your rapidly beating heart, and makes the tears that started to build up in your eyes disappear. 

"But there is a chance for…" Azriel's voice is hoarse. He can't finish the sentence. 

"There is a chance both the baby and…your—Y/N will survive. We only need to get the babe out quite a few weeks earlier, and with a C-section. And that quite a few weeks earlier. Meaning in the next few weeks."

That is so early. Too early. But you trust Madja.

And so, you find yourself nodding, accepting everything if it means you and especially the little baby growing inside of you will survive.

Turning your head, you find Azriel looking at you, expression pained and worried. But you nod slowly, a smile appearing on your lips. "It will be fine," you whisper.

He does not react, only holds your gaze and that for a long moment. The shadows dance around him, stretching out, curling and swirling, brushing over your belly in calming, soothing motions.

It is almost like they can sense the life growing inside of you, and they probably can, somehow communicating with the little babe. Comforting it. It feels like they are whispering, 'It will be alright, and we will get to know you, little faerie. We took care of your father, and we will take care of you.'

Azriel's grip on your shoulder tightens, his fingers pressing into your skin as if he needs something to ground him, an anchor. The weight of the news hangs heavy in the room, there is an undercurrent of tension, of uncertainty that courses through the both of you. Azriel opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but the words catch in his throat.

Madja steps forward, her lips pursed while she regards the two of you for a moment. But when she speaks her voice is unwavering and soothing. "Y/N, Azriel, I need you to understand that this will not be easy, nothing of this pregnancy will be. The surgery will be dangerous. But we can do this. You can do this. After all, you have each other. And Y/N, you are never alone in this."

You draw in a deep inhale and turn to look at Azriel again. 

He nods, his jaw clenched and turns his attention back to you, his eyes showing fear but also a little glimmer of hope. "You will be fine. We…" Azriel swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing. "We will be a family."

You don't know if he is just saying this to comfort you, or if he really means it, but tears start to burn behind your eyes at the mention of you three being an actual family. The thought is too beautiful. 

You smile through the pain, your love for the little baby coursing through every fibre of your being. And not only for the baby… 

"I know, Az. We can do this."

Azriel's hand moves from your shoulder to gently cradle your cheek. "We'll get through this." 

It feels lightning zaps between you, your eyes staying locked. You look deep into each others eyes, lost in the moment of this intense contact between your eyes. And your souls. Your chests warm from the inside out and something behind to glow deep inside of you.

His callused thumb brushes over your cheek and then Azriel closes his eyes. He turns his head a little, and so do you, now looking back at the healer. 

Madja gives a small nod of approval. "Exactly. I'll start making preparations for the surgery. And we will talk again in a few days. If anything comes up, you have to tell me immediately. In the mean time I will give you some herbs and potions for the baby and for you, also something that will help with the bleeding. I tried to push in the wing a little, and it should be fine for now."

You exchange a look with Azriel. "Here." He offers you his hand for support as you climb down the healer's bed. You accept, carefully curling your cold fingers around his and—

"Your hands..."

Your didn't want to be straightforward, but the emotions and hormones get the best of you and often make you talk before thinking.

Silence stretches our for a moment, and it almost seems like he wants to pull his hand back, but you won't let him. "You can tell me later." Your thumb strokes over the back of his hand. "We have time."

The cool evening air greets you when you step outside the High Lord and Lady's estate where Madja looked over you. Azriel insisted on taking you home, and of course you agreed.

"Thank you," you say after a moment of walking, still holding onto his hand. It feels so good, so right. 

Azriel is about to answer you, but gets no chance to do so. 

Suddenly, an unexpected fae male collides with you, jostling you for a moment. He had probably rushed out of a shop and not seen you. The impact sent a shockwave through your body, and for a fleeting moment the world seems to spin. He hit you harder than expected, but he apologises immediately. Yet, Azriel has none of it. Azriel, with his graceful wings tucked against his back, stands tall, glowering at the male, holding him by his arm. 

His anger and power stretch out like a dark cloud, the cobalt stones on his armour glowing vividly. 

"Careful!" Azriel growls, a protective arm wrapped around you to shield you from the fae male. "Don't you see she is pregnant." His wings stretched out slightly, a dark, yet comforting shadow.

You slide your hand over Azriel's and look up at him. "Azriel," you say in a soothing tone. "He probably didn't notice."

"He still should be more careful." Azriel's arm lowers a little, fingers spread wide to cover a big part of your round belly. The touch is simultaneously tender and protective.

The fae male once again stammers an apology and quickly retreats from the scene, his eyes filled with regret as he rushes away.

Azriel's protective stance softens, but he keeps his arm around you. His fingers, resting on your belly, tracing comforting circles as he acknowledges, "He could have hurt you and the baby."

"It is alright," you whisper. "I am alright and so is the little babe."

He nods slowly, almost like he does not believe you, but you set out again. "Come on, lets go home it is getting cold out here."

His protective side is wonderful and you love it, but you don't want him to worry too much. You are fine, you've mentioned so many weeks, months without him knowing about the baby, managed your every day life without him. It is good having him now, but you can also still protect yourself. 

You head home, Azriel not once removing his arm from around you, only when you step into your flat. The place where a short time ago you told him about everything. 

"You want to stay for a little?" you offer, and Azriel accepts, nodding but not saying a word. He closes the door behind you, and you sit down on the couch, soon joined by the shadowy male. 

"Somehow I imagined this all in a very different way. With a different outcome."

A cold chuckle parts Azriel's lips and he crosses his hands behind his neck before lowering them again to wipe his hands down his thighs. "Me too."

You give him a side-long look. "Just phenomenal sex and then never seeing you again."

"Is it so bad to see me again?" Azriel turns to you, his brow raised slightly. There is a sparkle in his eyes, and you know it comes from the mention of the phenomenal sex. Males…

"I would have preferred different circumstances," you answer honestly and move your hand over his. "But everything happens for a reason, so it is alright for me. I am alright with how things have turned out. And no, seeing you again is not at all bad. Quite the opposite actually."

He regards you for a long moment, not saying a word. There is still a glow in his eyes, but it is dimmed now, his whole posture slouching a little. He looses a long breath and stretches his legs. 

"I feel like I destroyed your whole life." His chin falls to his chest, hands one again crossed behind his neck. 

You immediately move close, your hand lifting and curling around his biceps. "Don't ever say that. Don't ever say something like that."

"But it is true!" He lifts his head and with eyes wide open looks at you. "The babe has wings because of me. Because I—"

"I wanted to sleep with you that night as well, knowing you have wings. I did not even think it would be an option to get pregnant that night. We both were sure we took the tonic and yet it happened. Receiving for fae is so difficult and still it happened. Azriel, everything happens for a reason and there is no blame on you."

You lift your hand and brush your finger tips over his face. "I gave you my consent that night. I wanted you in the same way you wanted me. I wanted to sleep with you, and I did not for one second think about the consequences — the possibility of becoming pregnant. Neither did you. The blame is not solely on you and will never be. For making a baby it always needs two people. I wanted fun that night. Pleasure, sex for no reason other than enjoying myself. And you wanted the same, we are both not innocent in this."

Your thumb catches a stray tear. Azriel turns his body to you, eyes not once leaving yours. He swallows thickly.

"You remember what I told you that night when we slept together?"

The corner of your mouth curls. "All the filthy things you whispered into my ear? Or when you told me to scream your name for everyone to hear?"  

You raise your brow at the shadowsinger and give his hand a gentle squeeze. A smile blooms on your face, some lightness filling the gloomy atmosphere.

And it even makes Azriel chuckle a little, his eyes flashing as if he is remembering exactly what he said to you. And you do too, and a hot rush fills your entire being. But you bite down on your lower lip, and focus on what he wanted to tell you. 

Azriel is smiling slightly, colour blooming high on his defined cheeks and he hums. "Apart from the filthy things."

His hand is holding yours and he meets your gaze. It almost feels like he can look right into your soul – like something connects your souls. Not the baby, something else... 

"You told me that I am the most beautiful female you've ever seen, if I remember correctly."

Now, he is leaning in. "You do remember correctly. And nothing has changed about that."

Something has shifted, the tension and the desire from that night is back. The room feels warmer all of a sudden, him and his presence the only things on your mind. Almost fully on its own accord, your body leans into him. 

Azriel's lips brush yours, his other hand coming up to cradle your face. "I still think so and it has nothing to do with the baby. It is you, and back then was also you. I saw you and wanted you."

He kisses you gently. "I wanted you like I’ve never wanted anything before. I've never felt like that before, and I am not just saying this right now. I mean it."

The next kiss is a little deeper, more passionate. His tongue sweeps over your lips, parting them and you allow him the entrance, lips melding. You lose yourself in him and the soft groans escaping him, accompanied by your sighs. 

Azriel lets one hand slider under your shirt, his warm, callused palm placed on your bare skin. "May I?" he asks and you nod, although you don't even really know what he is asking for. 

Azriel gets up, and down onto his knees in front of you. 

He is crouched down in front you and the couch, his eyes filled with a mixture of tenderness and excitement as they meet yours. The only sound in the dimly lit room is the gentle rustling of Azriel's wings as he tucks them in, and for a moment you find yourself dreaming about a time where he teaches your child how to fly. 

With tenderness visible in every line of his being, he reaches out and places his hands on your pregnant belly. The love in his touch is palpable, his fingers tracing the gentle curves of your bump as if he can feel the heartbeat of the little babe inside. Wonder and joy fills his eyes, and a few tears slip out of them. 

The shadowsinegr leans in closer, his lips pressing a soft kiss onto your belly. You can feel the warmth of his breath and it sends a shiver of happiness down your spine. His love for the little babe reaches you and your own tears roll down your cheeks. "Our baby," he whispers, voice quivering.

Your heart swells, and happiness over the life growing inside of you outrules the worry and the fear about it having wings. 

You can't help but smile, your hand moving to rest atop his. 

The room falls quite and Azriel presses his lips against your belly once again. Then he looks back up at you. As you gaze into his eyes, you know that, with him by your side, you can face whatever is about to come. And you will have a future together. 

When he sits back down on the couch, Azriel helps you bring your clothes back in place and leans in again. 

"We can do this," he whispers against your lips. "We will do this. We will be a family. The kind of family our little boy deserves."

His words are so lovely, so wonderful, they make your heart warm from the inside out, and yet you pull back with a giggle, and tears glistening in your eyes. "Our little boy? How do you know it will be a boy?"

Azriel smiles, both his hands now cradling your face. He looks at you like you truly are the most beautiful female in the entire world, his eyes full of love and hope. "I have a feeling." 

He leans his forehead against yours, stroking your skin gently. 

"And yes, yes, we will be a family. A wonderful one." Your eyes close, and you revel in the feel of his hands on your face, his closeness, his presence. You blow out a breath and shift a little, wanting to snuggle against him, but—

A scream parts your lips, and you can feel liquid. Everywhere. Wetting the couch beneath you and running down your legs. Your hands fold over your belly and you groan loudly. And the liquid is not the one of your water breaking…it is a deep red. 

The last thing you hear before the blood rushing in your ears gets too loud is Azriel saying — or rather shouting, "I'll get Madja!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ tags for this series: @amysangel @bookishbroadwaybish @theofficialmadman tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii@nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @callmeblaire

#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel headcanons #azriel acotar #azriel x you #acotar #acosf

[ruiniel]

Hidden

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Alucard x fem!reader

Rating: 🔞

Count: 1.5k

Tags & Warnings: Alucard POV, frustrated masturbation, Adrian get yourself together hon, pining, romantic angst, resolved emotional tension, finally they talk, this can only go on for so long, one chapter left

Part I - Part II - Part IV

III. Moments between

He paces up many coiled stairways, clawing carelessly at the wall with one taloned hand.

Why did you do that? You’re leaving, you sounded undecided but you will probably follow, and he’ll never see you again. He could barely keep himself from telling you all the things that sprouted like poison from his heart in those moments, but he tried, tried to be the friend you needed. 

Because he is a fool who waited for too long, and in the end, he does wish you well.

Adrian slams shut the door to his chamber, wondering how he ended up here as he gazes long at its darkness, its barrenness. With clipped movements he discards his coat and boots and slowly walks forward, dropping unceremoniously on the bed with his head in his hands. 

He's a fool, yes, and an idiot besides, because the pain of the tiding you imparted tonight is only surpassed by the sweet, hot silk of your tongue on an inch of skin. 

He rises again, walking to and fro like a trapped animal in a cage.

Why the hell did you do that? You're not the kind of person who would toy with another, and yet... he couldn’t read the look in your eyes. He sits back down, wanting to both cry and scream, not brave enough to go back there and ask you. And why, to make things worse? He's come to know you and he most certainly has come to love you in so many ways, and hell knows he respects you enough to not intervene in such an important moment of your life. 

And still, the most basic instinct curls like a cornered wolf inside him ready to pounce, shattering those honorable thoughts; the wetness of your mouth won't leave his mind.

Lying on the bed, he breathes in, breathes out, trying to shut it all from thought. He tries, but his body won’t listen. He tries, even as he slowly undoes his belts and trousers. 

He shouldn't, he has no right to use the memory of you this way.  Adrian growls low in his throat, arms falling at his sides. While he can gut night creatures with his bare hands, the guilty pleasure trickling like nectar from the warmth of your tongue makes it impossible to win here.

He'll be selfish. He'll have this, at least, for his own. He slides his trousers down his hips and takes himself in hand, and his fingers are soon sticky with his slick. He’s never been easily affected by these things, but now he's so sensitive it might consume him alive if he doesn't do something to ease the pressure and it doesn't take long, either; the thought of your closeness and the conjuring of his imagination is more than enough, and he strokes almost spitefully, until he's shivering and groaning, spilling himself over his hand. 

Panting, he stares up at the ceiling without seeing it, lying still with his trousers undone and his shirt in disarray. 

At least he can think now, but that is no improvement, apparently. His low, bitter laughter fills the silence. “Pathetic...” Adrian shakes his head, eyes closing against tears that mock.

He does his best to avoid crossing paths with you for the following days. He fills his time with every chore possible and roams the forest at night, running with the animals that see him as their own when he shape-shifts. His feelings fall in the background in that state, which provides much needed respite as the time of your departure approaches. Even though he tells himself he can't and won't be there, come the time, he's on the battlement high up, watching the cart he knows is yours depart on slow wheels.

He's not even said farewell, and you hadn't sought him out, either. It's better this way, Adrian keeps repeating, close to doubling over from the grief drowning the shores of his spirit. 

He walks away when the caravan disappears from sight, descending towards the laboratory and library on a known path strewn with many memories, berating himself for his cowardice for a while, but concluding with a sigh at the futility of it all.

“You're here.”

There is no greater absurdity than the sound of your voice. Has he gone mad? But then it’s accompanied by the sight of you, sitting at one long working table, a vial in hand and a tome in the other, looking straight at him.

Adrian goes rigid, a million conflicting thoughts pinning him to the spot. “... so are you.” He dreads asking, and he's never feared anything in his life before. “Why?”

You cast your eyes down. “I decided to stay,” you say, raising your gaze to his. “Here.”

He can't quite grasp it yet, merely waiting for you to continue.

“The gist of it is... I thought long about it: about what I want, and what I don't want. Matei and I spoke... we parted amiably enough.” You sigh, closing the tome.

If you're miserable for your choice, he's the lowest of beasts for the relief bursting through him. “You're staying.”

“I'm staying,” you repeat, not quite smiling. “And you've been avoiding me.”

Adrian takes a step further, then another. “I had to.” Damn his heart, choking on the words. “I needed to,” he admits.

“No,” you rise and near. “You don't need to explain yourself. I'm sorry for... I didn't think that night, I didn't mean to...”

Damn this. “You didn't?” He looks down on you now, taller as he is, because your face shows... vulnerability, the kind he's never, ever seen before, but now he can’t stop whatever pushes him. 

You're staring at him strangely. “Adrian I... you don't know... you don't know...” You turn away, hiding your face from him and how he wishes you wouldn't, because this feels like cleaning a festering wound: necessary.

He nears you, daring to place a hand on your shoulder. “Will you tell me, then?”

Your shoulders rise then fall. “I stayed for myself, yes. I stayed because it would be such a shame to throw away my purpose... but I also stayed to be near you. I couldn't imagine myself... so far away from...”

A pause. Elation. He feels like a jester whose cunning has been strangled out of him by a mad king. “I'm happy you stayed,” Adrian says simply. The admission hangs in the air, a fragile bridge spanning the chasm between you.

You turn your head, and in your eyes there is horror melded with surprise. Your hand goes involuntarily to your chest, and he knows what you're reaching for. “How so?”

He's dangerously close to shattering, but speaks anyway. “The night I gifted you that pendant, I wanted to ask you something, but then… well.”

You swallow a tremble to your voice when you speak. “What did you want to ask, Adrian?”

You’re standing there, closer than you've ever been. Everything is turned on its head, his sadness melted by the cinders of hope. “If you’d join me, if you'd go away with me, on a trip. Just you and I, together. I know a path, I’ve been… I’ve been going for years, at around this time. It involves a lot of trekking, but the sights are splendid, worth it.” 

“Just you and I?”

You’re tilting closer, a hand on his arm.

“Yes. It’s safe besides.”

“I'd feel safe with you anywhere,” you murmur, your lashes heavier. The speed of your heartbeat rouses his blood.  “ And I really didn’t mean to… last time, but I…” Your hand reaches for his, and he can but watch with bated breath as you hug it to your chest then kiss his palm, eyes closing. “I couldn’t help it.” And as if to prove it, you gently nip at one finger.

There are times in one's life when a single moment separates a chapter from another, but it may be so short that one breath of hesitation is enough to chase it away. No, Adrian thinks. Not this time. 

His finger glides along your lips, pausing midway. “You didn’t answer,” he follows gently, bathing in the sight, scent, and sensation of you. 

You seem trapped by the gesture, lips parted as Adrian slowly wets his thumb on the lower one. He’s beginning to see, to understand. 

“Yes,” you utter, eyes lowering just as his fingers wrap around your chin and he dips his face to yours.

You fall into him when he takes an eager taste of your mouth, and Adrian thanks his innate balance but lets himself be happily affected, an arm wrapping around you as he props himself against the nearest shelf. Your hands are on him, your body leaning into his with complete trust. And when you break apart, it’s with a clarity that overwhelms him, starved and haplessly relieved.

“Sweet, sweet girl…” Adrian soothes, running both hands up and down your back; you shudder, and the rush he feels at that is beatific. He doesn’t dare speak it aloud, not yet.

But there are steps, voices. 

You both quickly tilt towards a more secluded space, wrapped around each other, watching a study group walk into the library. 

Adrian closes his eyes, reminded of the time then looks at you, placing a short kiss on your forehead. This is far from over, you need to speak, there are so many things … you both need.  “... My chambers?” 

You nod without hesitation, coiling your arms tightly around his neck.

Part IV

#adrian tepes x reader #alucard castlevania x reader #castlevania x reader #x reader #alucard x reader #adrian tepes x you #ruiniel:fanfiction #castlevania alucard x reader #castlevania x you #castlevania imagine #character x reader #alucard x you

[mmvalentine]

Pomegranate pt 2 | Feysand

Hades/ Persephone inspired AU. Read Part 1 Part 3

Rhys returns to the fields of the Spring Court the next evening. And the next, and the next, and the next, true as the moon rising. He teases and grumbles about it sometimes, but if he's honest, Feyre has become the very best part of his day.

The breeze that ruffles the wildflowers surrounding them is easy and soft, and so is Feyre. She is generous with her touch, letting her fingertips touch his shoulders and stroke in his hair like leaves landing. Rhys can’t get enough. Because it is always Spring, the evenings are balmy and warm, and by nightfall Feyre goes back to the manor on the hill. Feyre likes to tell him that she tires of him, but Rhys realises eventually that she has a curfew.

“Let me come with you,” he says one evening. It’s been a month and Rhys has just made a particularly good bargain: a story for a kiss.

“Okay,” Rhys had said, lying back amongst the flowers. Feyre remains sitting up, and is threading a daisy crown for the High Lord. “I’ll tell you the story about how I met my two brothers, Cassian and Azriel. Hopefully you’ll get to meet them one day.”

Feyre snorted. “Not while my father’s still alive.” Rhys smiled gently and continued.

“When I was a child I was put into an Illyrian training camp, in the heritage of my mother’s family, and the only ones who fit in less than I did were Cass and Az.”

“What’s an Illyrian?” Feyre interrupted.

“A warrior race from the mountains of the Night Court.”

“And your mother was an Illyrian? You look like High Fae.”

Rhys smiled then, and did something that he never thought he’d do. He didn’t know why he felt so at ease with Feyre. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that every time he came to see her here, it was only the two of them in the field, and that made it feel like it was only the two of them in the world.

He rolled onto his stomach, arms folded under his chin, and unfurled his bat-like wings. He spread them lazily and gracefully, and watched her face change from shock to awe to delight as they stretched to be as tall as she where she was sitting.

“Rhys they’re beautiful,” she breathed, reaching one hand forward. Then she pulled back as if remembering herself, and glanced sidelong at him. “May I?” she asked. And again, Rhys surprised himself by nodding his assent. The only time his wings had ever been touched was when they got bruised in a brawl.

Feyre very gently stroked her fingers down his left wing, and Rhys shuddered beneath her touch.

“Sorry,” she said. Rhys’s mouth quirked.

“What are you sorry for?” he asked.

“It… it looked like that wasn’t very comfortable for you. Does it hurt?”

“No it doesn’t hurt,” Rhys laughed, bumping her with the talon at the top of his wing's arch.

She smiled her relief, and stroked him again, and Rhys’s laugh choked off into a moan that had him biting down on his lip. Goosebumps rolled down his arms, and he tried not to let Feyre see how much her touch affected him.

“I’ll take that kiss now,” he said, and before she could argue he rolled around and pulled her into his arms. Feyre landed on his chest and smiled as he kissed her. His wings curled lightly around them both, making her feel even closer. Rhys licked at her lips in askance, and she let him sweep his tongue across hers before she pushed him off, laughing and landing back in the grass with him.

“No,” Feyre says. She places the crown delicately on Rhys's head, and looks pleased with the effect.

Rhys runs a finger from her wrist to the inside of her elbow. “Please let me. I’d love to see where you live.”

“Where I live, or just where I sleep?" Feyre challenges. Rhys flashes her a wicked grin.

“That too.”

“No.”

"I'll owe you a favour."

"You already owe me a favour."

"For what?"

"For making you king of the daisies." Feyre gestures, and the flowers nuzzle their heads against his elbows. Rhys nods magnanimously at them, then fixes his amethyst eyes on Feyre.

“Why not?” he asks softly.

“Because my father would skin you the second you walked through the front door.” Feyre nips the skin of his neck with her teeth to make a point.

Rhys huffs. “My father's been dead over a decade. Old men can hold a grudge.”

Feyre shifts. “It’s not just that. He… he doesn’t like anyone, Rhys. I told you. He’s very protective, and he gets upset when people come too near me. I’m not supposed to cross the forest line.”

“But… we’re on the other side of the forest.”

Now it’s Feyre’s turn to grin. “The flowers miss me," she says. She runs her fingers through the stalks. Then pokes him in the chest. "And they'd miss you too if you were a rug in my father's study."

“Well then come visit me,” Rhys presses. “You’d love it at the Night Court. The stars have as many secrets as the flowers do.”

It's a thought Rhys can't get out of his mind. As long as Feyre stays in this field, she's just a daydream. But then he gets home and nothing feels as real as Feyre does, and he's been sleepwalking through Velaris.

“Rhys.”

“And you could actually meet the people I tell you about.”

“Rhysand.”

“And you wouldn’t have anyone telling you what to do or where to go or who you could see.”

Feyre waits. “Are you done?”

Rhys sighs. “Yeah I’m done.”

“Rhys you know I can’t.”

“I know. Look just… promise me that you’ll come one day, okay? Even if you have to wait till ol’ Tambourine’s dead and buried." He gives her a smile to sweeten the deal. "Promise me you’ll come see the Night Court.”

Feyre's smile is so sad Rhys feels it under his ribs. “And what will you give me, young Kingling?” she asks softly. “What will you offer in return?”

“Everything,” Rhys whispers, much more serious than he had intended. “Anything and everything you want.”

Feyre looks at him with leagues in her eyes, and says, “Just a kiss will do.” And Rhys obliges.

“Do you know,” he tells he between kisses, "every time I kiss you I think I'll feel relieved. But the wanting just gets worse. How are you so soft?”

“How are you so hard?” Feyre asks, then blushes deeply when Rhys gives her a look. “Your chest. I meant your chest, you’re like a solid wall.” Rhys stares at her.

“The latter, because my father too was a glutton for punishment. I’ve trained everyday since I was eight years old.” He traces the shape of her cheekbone, and then her lower lip. “The former, well, for that I blame you.”

Rhys shifts his hips and indeed he is hard all over, from the muscles in his abdomen, and lower. Feyre shivers a little as she feels the press of him between her legs, and her fingers tighten on his shoulders. “So are we friends yet, Feyre darling?” Rhys asks her, the words blowing hot against her lips. Feyre laughs huskily, and the sound makes him twitch under her hips. Now that he has drawn attention to the evident pressure between them, he’s sure Feyre feels it.

“Do you think I do this with my friends?” Feyre asks him, and presses her next kiss under his jaw. Rhys groans and slides his hands around her waist, heels sliding in the grass.

“Probably not?” Rhys gasps, feeling every inch of her body on his.

“Just kidding,” Feyre says. “I don’t have any friends.”

Rhys can’t think of what to say to that. “Kiss me again,” he tells her.

“What will you give me this time?” Feyre asks, still very much on top of him. Rhys stares into her lovely eyes, and tries to see what she’s keeping behind her smile.

“A kiss in return,” he says quietly, because the best way to pay for a kiss is in kind.

Feyre folds her fingers with his, and leans down. And Rhys finds himself thinking that he wants this, of course he wants this, but he does also want to be her friend. That he wants her to have friends.

And then he thinks very little at all because now Feyre is straddling his lap and she’s got her tongue in his mouth and his blood is singing in his veins.

Rhys slides his hands up Feyre’s back and under her hair. He flips them smoothly so that she’s on her back and his wings are flaring, and when he finds her hands again, stalks of flowers brush their entangled fingers. Feyre is liquid and pliant beneath him, and although they’ve kissed dozens of times before, this is something new between them.

"You're making the daisies blush," Feyre whispers, and she looks like an angel beneath him.

Rhys makes a shaky exhale. He is half hungry, and half scared that she’ll push him away at any second. Touching Feyre is like catching a sparrow- sometimes she’s flying so sure and fast he can barely keep up, and other times she’s skittering away from him. He can never be quite sure of her, but then again, he’s rather enjoying the chase.

Feyre’s hands tangle in his hair when he kisses her again. They pull at the roots and Rhys begins to lose it. He’s only got so much careful in him, and if she keeps going like this…

At that moment Rhys is grabbed from behind. Rough hands seize him by the wings and throw him off of Feyre. Rhys hits the ground, then immediately rolls up into a crouch with his teeth bared. He’s already in a rage from the contact with his wings, half feral and looking for his attacker.

He does not expect to see the High Lord of the Spring Court snarling right back at him.

“You little fuck,” Tamlin growls. “You come into my land and assault my daughter. You have exactly three seconds to be gone before I tear you limb from limb.”

“Father!” Feyre says sharply. He rounds on her.

“And you. I gave you very clear instructions on where you are to be at any given time. I’ll deal with you later.” He waves his hand and Feyre is winnowed, with time only to meet Rhys’s eyes before she’s gone.

“Fuck you,” Rhys spits.

“Leave, pup,” Tamlin tells him. “This is my Court and you are in violation of my rules. If I see you again I will kill you, and I will have no qualms about doing so.”

Rhys growls, but he knows Tamlin is right. He can’t attack him in on his own land without starting an all out war. Rhys kicks at the ground savagely, then winnows.

****

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems @dealfea @s-tormwitch @cretaceous-therapod

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #mine

[yanderenightmare]

Oh master, plez, DRAGON WARRIOR BAKUGO, my lord! I was thinking, if you please, a darling who is like clairvoyant, and that's why King bakugo needs her??? can you make it dark ;3 like like like whatever means necessary dark, like like like ill murder anyone who gets in my way, also also also it being really grotesque, I want merciless bakugo, BUT also kinda sweet when it comes to darling?? I don't know what exactly I want, but I know whatever you write I'll prob enjoy, Master Nightmare :3

DRAGON ! WARRIOR ! KING BAKUGO KATSUKI x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: abuse, violence, genocide, kidnapping, abduction, death, blood, murder, ableism, classism, anxiety, arson, narcissistic personality disorder, slavery, trauma, war

so, a little foreword, the darling in this story has a quirk (ik, I’m breaking my beliefs thinking Bakugo should have a quirkless reader! The insanity!) but it’s because in this au not it’s quite special to have a quirk. Quirks are achieved and not given so to say. So Katsuki has earned his quirk and reader has earned her quirk, and so has everyone else who has a quirk. Also the song is called “If I Had a Heart” by Fever Ray, it’s the theme song to vikings ironically haha.

PART TWO

MUTE AND NUDE

The King was in her village.

Word from the south spread quickly, like any wildfire would, especially when riding the wings of a dragon. The Kingdom’s seer was dead, and the almighty bruise-knuckled King required a new one. They called it misfortune, but give a child a toy, and the toy is destined to break. Some might say that that’s what they’re made for. The old toy had apparently done something so distasteful that it cost her own tongue. Unfortunately, or perhaps ironically the only thing she was useful for: on her knees, mouth open, worshipping her king.

She counted the smoke rising to the sky near the horizon. Hers would be the thirteenth village they came to, lest their quest was done. She thought she might have seen him in the cloud-coverage. Eerie shadows resembling what bats she found in the caves, but the sun was bright and could easily be mistaken for him, or the other way around, as she’s heard his coat is golden.

She heard the rumbling tumbling of hooves and paws and claws riding up the mountain-side. They were coming.

Their houses were made of rock, sturdy as they should be when placed on a mountain-top with constant winds howling at them, and handled the fire well. But people aren’t made of stone. The smell of burning flesh is awful, and though she had nothing to puke, she barfed nonetheless. People were screaming and she probably would have too if she could, she was most certainly crying and bleeding and heaving for breath like those unlucky others that were still left alive.

High mountains are a bleak habitat for animal life, partially why they lived up there: to be spared of being hunted, to escape fangs and claws. And now: people running for their lives, the aching in her ankles, a body not built for running, and a mind not used to being hunted. Yet, it was strange but, it wasn’t really foreign at all.

She’d been dreaming of things lately, and as death as well as dust and ash and blood settled and seeped into the mud around her, she couldn’t help but feel as though she’d seen it all before. In fact, there came a point in the middle of the fray she was certain she was dreaming as she stopped to eye the great golden mass in front of her. Scales sharp and silvery like mica on the mountainside, ruby-red eyes as though soaked with blood. Teeth long and sturdy like the jagged rocks of the tunnels, dripping not with water as they did in the caves but with blood and guts and torn clothes. And the talons, curved and shiny, black as night, digging into the gravel by his feet, treating the soil as though it were as thin as the air. But the wings… the wings are what had her falling to her knees, skin bitten by gravel. Greater then roofs, sweeping the sky as though he could pluck each and every star from the welkin, stud himself with them if he so wanted to, or swallow them if only to breath the light onto earth. He could shred trees with those wings, he could slice oceans apart, he could probably part the mountain, head in the heavens and roots with hell, the bridge that had stood for thousands of years, singlehandedly torn open by that great monster conquering both sky and earth as though they gave him life.

Her arm was bleeding. It had dentures, no… puncture wounds it seemed the more she looked. A pretty crescent moon of red marking deep into the soft tissue of her meager muscles, dripping onto the dirt, creating streaks in the mud caking her bare feet. She looked up to see a wolf turn into a man, a large man with spikes for hair, red but not the same red she’d seen earlier in those eyes, red like poppies far away from the red flowing in her veins, from what was leaking out of her arm.

She looked forward and saw bodies… no, not bodies… mangled mockeries of the human form strewn about her as though they were trampled wildflowers on a field. She looked to her side and saw her reflection in the faces of those she’d grown up with but never truly knew. She looked behind her, not spotting what abomination of life she’d seen earlier, the one painting the sky, the one eclipsing the sun.

Every young, pretty thing was lined up on a row that stretched about ten meters long as they weren’t that many in her village, and she was surprised to be one of them. The auditions began in the early left side of the fray, boys and girl shaking on unsteady knees, holding onto broken arms and gushing wounds. Her bitemark was begging for a fist around it too, but she had not the focus to indulge the wish as her eyes caught sight of a blot of gold contrasting the otherwise grey figures, it being clear who he was despite having altered form. Although not the tallest in stature, one could see it as clear as day, he towered over the rest of the flock.

The tones ripped from their throats were scratchy, untuned; garbage. It would seem none of the kids in the village were gifted, but if the Gods were of mercy they would grant them the vocal cords to survive the night. She couldn’t blame them for allowing their fear to taint their song. Seeing how the drapes in which the hooded figures dressed were soaked in blood from past failures. Knowing well how their weapons would breach flesh and bone were they not of any use to them.

If she had a voice she would use it for speaking and not for singing. This would probably be her last night.

They rushed through the girls and boys rather quickly. Swiftly; as if they had done it countless times before, as if they could decide by the first utterance of their very first tone, that they were a disappointment, that they were as good as dead.

Caught in the middle of the small gathering; her turn came along. The man, standing in front, had purple hair and a nasty scar on his face, adorned with bladed eyes like a cat. Another blade, a steel blade, was held at her throat. Unnecessary, as the brutal scarring of his arms was intimidating enough for her to understand she could survive nothing compared to what he had already lived through. “Sing.” He commanded abruptly, an atmosphere of force settled on the word, as though compelling her, quite like how the wind shakes the trees in command to dance for them.

She did her hand gestures as smooth as she could under the pressure, lips remaining closed.

He threw his eyebrows up, scar shifting in its place like a serpent, the message had clearly gotten across. A condescending smile, a most sinister snicker and an unfortunate scoff was all the sympathy he allowed her. “No voice?” It wasn’t a question. “What a meaningless life.” He stated in a mutter, before moving onto the next girl.

The golden figure, who had followed discreetly, didn’t continue on with the scarred boy, he instead planted his clawedfeet in front of the girl, threatening to crush her barefooted toes, sinking into the red clay of the town square. “Sing.” His voice was fuller, and because of it she didn’t dare look up.

The scarred boy came to a halt, looking back to watch the girl repeat the hand gestures once again, she thinking that maybe the scarred boy had blocked the view the first time.

“No excuses.” His foot shifted in the mud, talons somehow growing longer as they impaled the ground, indicated he leant in closer. “Sing.” He said again, the sharpness of the demand sending a shiver to travel down her spine as it was accompanied with a growl too much like the sound of thunder to be called human. The girl furrowed her brows and looked up, her bottom lip visible quaking. Yet, what looked at her was no dragon, no… it was a man, a boy. And his skin was not golden like the rarity found in the mountain halls, but tan like sand, and his hair was only a shade lighter, nothing alike the mane of the sun. But those eyes had her quaking, those sharp slitted eyes that seemed to hold her soul in a chokehold, full of cultivated knowledge, merciless, red like wine, red like blood, red like hell. What’s a fate worse than death? She wondered and swallowed at the thought, her breathing picking up its pace. “Sing!” Spit flew to her face like venom with the roar, the tone reverberating through the ground, shaking in her knees.

She felt the itch in her throat, and she would be lying if she said she hadn’t been feeling it more and more lately, the feeling of dead born words somehow washing away. Her whimpers, absent of anything except for breathiness before, now carrying a somewhat lilt of tone. She stared a little deeper into those blood-soaked orbs of the man that looked like the onset of death before her.

“If I had heart.”

The wind roared as if it were as surprised as she was, or perhaps it rejoiced, or perhaps it mourned.

She was silent, the wind crashing and flailing, whipping the rags of her dress, letting the ripped fabric lick her dirty and bruised legs, pulling the disheveled locks of hair out from her face. Eyes; terror-wide, looking into a pair of sharp ones, who seemed to be looking beyond her disheveled state, into something far more divine than she had ever seen, ever known. “Continue.” The red-eyed boy commanded firmly, a detectable form of lust in his voice.

Startled, feeling the gravel dig into her soles. “I would love you... if I had a voice, I would sing.” The people on either side of her looked to be even more distressed now, crying and screaming, looking like wraiths in those charcoaled rags they wore, hands covering their ears as though to protect themselves, terrified as they looked to the sky expecting it to come falling down upon them.

However, their insolence and disrespect wasn’t what angered him, he could allow them that much before he took their lives. But the conflict found in her voice, that’s what truly boiled beneath his skin. He reached out his hand, quick like a viper, the pressure in his fingertips simmering on her skin, sizzling with heat, only for him to dig his fingernails into her throat as well. “Forget everything you know, except for that your life is in the palm of my hand.” He said, securing her gaze, lifting her up to her tippy-toes, though still nowhere near leveling his height.

Awakened by his words and frightened to her bones by the searing look of his eyes, she did as she was told and forgot who she was, forgot what she was and gave into simply doing exactly what needed to be done to keep her alive, to keep what beast in front of her subdued, or perhaps also to satiate what fire seemed to have burst to life inside of her, screaming to be heard. “After the night, when I wake up, I’ll see what tomorrow brings.” Eyes glazed over by some infernal light. She roared, a howl of some sorts, and the trees seemed to shiver and shake in the outmost reverence. “More, give me more, give me more.”

Somehow the leaves stopped rustling at the sound of her abrupt finish. Overwhelmed; all she could do was breath, all she could to was quake, the wind making the tears ever present on her face, the blood of her arm drying and awakened again as new blood came gushing out of her wounds.

The swirling dramatics in his eyes died down into a calm yet eerie content look. “Found you.” He stated, taking his time for the awakening to soak in, bask in the glorious feeling of triumph, before breaking focus from her. He let out a long, satisfied sigh. “Burn the village.” The statement left her blood turning cold. “There’s nothing left for us here. Dispose of the disappointments.” He was quick with his words as though they had been said many times before, and the actions performed by the ones in grey were just as swift, just as merciless. Humans turning into monsters murdering humans.

“No!” She wasn’t aware the voice belonged to her, so many years gone by without being able to voice anything; an opinion; nothing more than a foreigner, let alone an objection.

The people beside her dropped to the floor like rag dolls nonetheless, her voice just as insignificant as if she was still voiceless, drowning in their own bloodied throats. Her throat didn’t match theirs, but had strong, calloused fingers wrapped around it instead, coated with blood, the stench of it becoming so familiar yet far from friendly.

“Forget them, they don’t matter.” His voice still sheer, despite the screams around them both, overwhelming in fact. She felt her mind slip away from her then, as though her sentience was squeezed out from her by the deadlock fist wrapped around her neck, a conquering drowsiness following, seeping into her like the crawling of darkness when the sun settles on the horizon, her vision blurring everything except for those red, red eyes, who; from this point until her death, would never leave her.

PART TWO

#yandere #yandere bakugou #yandere bnha #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bakugo #yandere katsuki #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere katsuki x reader #yandere bakugo x reader #bakugo #bakugou #katsukibakugou #bakugou katsuki #Katsuki Bakugō #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki #katsuki bnha #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugo fanfiction #katsuki bakugo fic #bakugo katuski x reader #bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n

[akumaalert]

Snippet of “Awake” - First Chapter of “Divergence”

Hey, all! Wanted to share a snippet of the first chapter (”Awake”) of “Divergence” - a fic that will offshoot from “Heavy Metal Lover.” Note that this is basically a whole spoiler for chapter 20 of “Heavy Metal Lover.” If you’re like me and see random stuff saying “Don’t click if you haven’t read...” and click anyway: Hi! Welcome, chaos lover. If you like this and want to know the context, please feel free to check out the full work on AO3.

“Divergence” should be posted within two weeks and will be open to requests for the reader (”Lucky”) to have different experiences than what she has in the original. This can mean the following:

- AUs

- Re-tellings of certain scenes of the original

- Reader-specific details included in old or new/original scenes (i.e., reader is plus sized, skinny, tall, short, etc.)

- Genderbending of any of the characters

Originally made this Tumblr to share snippets of the stories on...so happy that I could finally do that! If you want to skip writing that was in the story, you can start at “Though sleep pulled at your eyelids...”

Story contains mature elements, swearing, and explicit mention of sex. Please be forewarned.

Looking back, it would only be a wonder that it did not occur sooner.

As soon as you were alone in the bedroom, you took off your shoes and eyed the clothes Heisenberg had provided you from the factory...

...before turning to the tub.

Couldn't hurt to bathe. Love to be clean. 

That man is coming back up to this bedroom.

This is the point, self.

The logical side of your brain, for once, remained quiet. 

Though you had clearly lost all sense of sensibility, you at least moved the divider to completely block the tub from any but the most determined of views. 

The water had been scalding when you got in.

By the time you had bathed and decided that your foolishness had reached its limit, it was stark cold.

"This was stupid," you said. "Fucking stupid. What did I want? Him to join me? This is the universe saying 'Wake the fuck up.'"

Though your fingers were pruned, you dried yourself off and pulled a nightgown from the small cupboard beneath the sink.

Sheer as ever. Fuck's sake. The universe had truly saved you.

Until it hadn't.

Heisenberg rushed into the room like a rocket and you jumped as the door slammed close.

"...you here, Luck?"

"Yeah," you called out. "Um...don't come over here...gotta get dressed real quick."

"...k" called Heisenberg.

Wasting no time, you slid the gown over your body and made sure to fan out the edges as far as they would go. 

You needed no mirror to see your nipples proudly displayed through the fabric.

Mouthing a 'fuck' for good measure, you frowned.

"Heisenberg?"

"Yes?"

"Do you...do you mind looking away for a second?"

"From you?"

"Yes."

"...are...are you coming out naked?"

"No," you snapped.

An awkward silence greeted you.

"Heisenberg?"

"Huh?"

"You looking away?"

"Oh. Yeah. You're good now."

Peeking from behind the divider, you only saw Heisenberg's back. 

With more speed than you were familiar with, you bolted to the bed and ducked under the covers.

Once secure beneath the pillowy softness, you breathed a sigh of relief.

"Okay. It’s safe."

You did not miss how Heisenberg whirled around.

"Oh...fuck...that was fast."

"Yeah," you said absently.

"Trying to set a fucking record?"

"Something like that."

"Mmn. I...gotta get changed."

"Okay."

The two of you stared at the other.

"You trying to get a free show or you gonna cover those peepers?"

"...I figured you would go behind the divider."

"The divider is on your side of the bed."

"Oh," you said dumbly. "Oh. Yeah...wait."

Yanking the pillow from underneath your head, you smashed it onto your face above your mouth and pressed down.

Heisenberg chuckled. "Dramatic as hell."

"Doing what you asked of me."

"...didn't formally ask you to...did I?"

Swallowing found your throat on fire.

"Mmn."

"What was that?"

"Mmn," you repeated.

"Heh...don't go into public speaking, kid."

You frowned at the ceiling and the darkness of your eyes. 

Instead of speaking, Heisenberg decided to tell you he was done by climbing in the bed beside you. It struck you suddenly that lamps had been placed in the room instead of the candles that the castle was so beset with. But when you removed your pillow, you found yourself met by more muted darkness.

"Sure you okay with this?" asked Heisenberg. "I can fuck off and go into another room. I like to bitch like a drama king, but I don't need anything crazy set up for me."

"Bed is pretty big," you said carelessly. "S'okay. We've been closer."

The chuckle Heisenberg gave was absolutely filthy.

"We have...haven't we?"

The fucking lilt would be the death of you. What a relief it was to blink blindly and stupidly at the man in peace without judgment. 

"Hey - last time I'm reminding you...what's your one job?"

"Get you out in the morning," you replied.

"Because?"

"Ah...generators...production line...something about a reset..."

"That's my girl. Nighty night, Luck."

"Night, Heis."

A turn. A breath. A feeling that you would never be able to sleep with the man so close that you could feel his body heat radiating from him like a welcome sign. 

But you awoke.

You awoke often.

You awoke in the middle of the night from a dream you could barely recall and all the images of Alcina at the forefront of your mind. 

You awoke in Heisenberg's arms and sobbed into his chest as he clung you to him just as sweetly as any of your snowy imaginings. 

"Fuck you doing awake? No...shh...it's okay...shh...you're alright. I'm here. I've got you."

Though sleep pulled at your eyelids, you nudged your head up to feel the spikes of Heisenberg's scruff. You had to stay awake. Could not return to sleep and Alcina awaiting you with her long talons and even longer legs.

"Nightmare?"

You nodded into his neck. 

"Mmn. Have those myself...think you can go back to sleep? Don't think it's quite time for me to leave yet if you just wanna yak about it or something."

Swallowing, you exhaled. "Don't wanna go back to sleep."

With a grunt, Heisenberg sat up to leave you curled on the sheets.

"Just checking the time..."

When Heisenberg turned to pull something from the floor, you noticed that your eyes had somewhat adjusted to the dark. Enough so that you saw the loose movements of his arms and realized that he had gone to bed without a shirt. 

"Fuck...two in the morning..."

"I'm sorry," you said, tensing. But Heisenberg was mumbling and coming back to you with open arms. "Sorry I woke you..."

"S'alright," he said, yawning afterward. "Gotten less sleep and done more stupid things after than make sure the reset doesn't fuck up the factory..."

As he spoke, you could feel one of his hands rubbing up and down your arm a bit too roughly. An awkward and well intended move to comfort you.

"Still...I'm sorry...you need all the sleep you can manage to get. I don't know how much work the whole factory thing will be..."

"Honestly not much as long as I get back in time," he said, hand squeezing your arm for good measure before returning to that same rough rubbing motion. "Could probably even come back here afterwards...heh...that would spook that sixty-foot snake."

You laughed a sleepy laugh and settled further into his grasp.

"Mmn...like a fucking little bunny...cuddling into me and shit..."

"I can stop...pull away..."

Heisenberg's hand stopped rubbing you in favor of clutching you to him.

"Shh...you're talking nonsense. Need some sleep."

"Heis..."

"Shhh..."

"Heis, you can just tell me that you like it when we cuddle."

When he tsked and laid his chin on your head, you smiled. It felt so much like that day at the stronghold.

"Why would I say that? Not in the business of lying to people."

Lying...yes...because what we are doing now is causing you so much distress...

"Well," you said, smiling. "I'll say it then. I like it when we cuddle. Especially in bed. Feels more comfy than cuddling in front of the lycans."

A shiver - as though Heisenberg had been beset by the cold - ran through his body.

"Oof...y'okay?"

"Yeah, yeah..." he said absently. "Uh...actually...we might wanna go to sleep after all..."

"Mmn?"

"Yeah...early morning..."

"You mind if I hold onto you for a while? This...this actually helps from the nightmare."

The only way you knew how to describe Heisenberg in that moment was jittery. His movements were fine on their own but were conducted with such awkward quickness as to be alarming.

When he did not answer you, you looked up at him through the dark.

"What's wrong?" you asked.

A beat of silence and then another.

"Nothing's wrong." Quick words to match his quick movement.

"Heisenberg..."

"It's Heis."

"...you...Heis...something isn't right. Just talk to me. In English, preferably."

What you could only assume was a curse in German fell from his lips.

"I...fuck's sake, buttercup...I don't know how to...if you...this was such a bad idea...so fucking STUPID."

"What?" You paused, gathering enough evidence from his huff. "Sleeping together?"

"Yes."

"It was your idea."

"I FUCKING KNOW THAT, OKAY?" he hissed. "Just...I thought...earlier...it made more sense...this made more sense..."

"Glad something did because I am completely and utterly confused," you admitted. 

"You're confused? You started flirting with me." Heisenberg grumbled something low and rough. "Fucking gave me ideas...false hope...so I thought...guh I'm such a fucking idiot..."

Hope began to fuel you too. Fuel you and feed into the most terrible of terrific ideas.

"Are you...whatever you're trying to say...I was flirting with you. That wasn't false. Honestly...I was in the bathtub just moments before you came in hoping you would join me."

"...you what now?"

You could not help but laugh. The fact that you could not see Heisenberg's expressive face only added to the hilarity as you imagined a hundred different emotions running through that scarred skin.

"I took a bath...a long one...hoping that you would come up here in the middle of it and offer to join me...figured one thing could lead into another and the bed was here anyway..."

The pauses in between Heisenberg's voice could only endear you to him. He seemed every bit lost for words. 

"You...are you talking about...what are you talking about?"

"Sleeping with you," you supplied with a shrug. "What are you talking about?"

"Sleeping...you...ah...I wasn't...I wasn't mistaken? Shit...I...I may or may not have a fucking stiffy over here...because the cuddling is...something you enjoy so much."

"Oh?" you purred. The chance of escaping in the delights of Heisenberg’s body made your body positively teem with anticipation. But you could not forget your own actions...the last time you had seen him in such a vulnerable state. Losing some confidence, you glanced at the darkness of the bed instead of his body. "Umm...I want to touch you...want to...would it be okay if I touched you?"

"Yeah...course. You've touched me before."

"No...I mean...is it...fuck...can I jack you off?"

For a long while, Heisenberg said nothing.

The next thing you heard was a rattling spit.

"OUCH GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKER!" he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"Pinched myself."

"You...why are you pinching yourself?"

"Because I'm clearly fucking awake but clearly dreaming at the same time because yes, I would enjoy that very much. Please. And thank you."

"Are...are you sure?"

Heisenberg's hand came down heavy but without malice on your neck.

"OW!"

"Shit...I was trying to grab your hand."

Providing your hand to his, you hitched a breath when he splayed it against his chest. His heartbeat thudded against your palm. Wrenching your knees upward, you brushed against that heated length between his legs.

"I...um...we should probably talk about boundaries before I do this."

"Huh?"

"Is this...are you okay with me just jacking you off?"

"Just? This is a goddamn holiday. Marking it on the calendar. Nothing little about it."

"Dumbass. That's not what I'm saying," you said, scratching his chest somewhat affectionately to show him that you meant no harm. "Do you...are you wanting anything more? Because I'm on my period...I'm up for it...but it might get messy and I know that's the last mess I want a certain someone finding."

"We...we can do more? More like..." You heard him take in a shaky inhale. "Can we...is like full blown intercourse on the table?"

"Sure...long as you don't call it that again," you said, shaking your head.

Grumbling and tensing his shoulders, Heisenberg whined when you dropped your touch to round one of his nipples.

"What the fuck else am I supposed to call it?"

"Sex. Fucking. Making love," you added jokingly. "Um...ah...you know...I hadn't thought about it, but maybe you genuinely didn't know. German to English...or...ah...Romanian to English. Might not have those words."

"I like making love," he said with certainty in his voice. "Let's do that. Make love."

You had expected him to laugh at that suggestion if he acknowledged it at all. But there he was giddy and practically giggling over the most flowery option he was given. 

"Okay...are there any places that you don't like being touched?"

"Not that I know of," he admitted. "Are there...is there somewhere I shouldn't touch you?"

"Not necessarily...just...no going down on me this time. Sex is one thing-"

"Making love."

"-us um...us making love is fine, but I don't want to get eaten out while my period is going on. And don't show me your dick after or comment on the blood...just...get rid of it. Please. And...and nothing too crazy to start out with. I'm not a prude, but don't want to be choked or anything harsh like that. Just...vanilla for our first go. Then we can see where things take us."

"Roger that! Heard loud and clear," he said, leaning his face to kiss your forehead. For all the lack of a relationship, Heisenberg was making you feel far much more mushy and cared for than your ex ever had. You let your hand round his stomach slow and soft in response.

"Thank you. We...if you want to, I'll jack you off for a bit before you grab the condom."

"The...I don't have one of those."

That made you freeze. 

"Not even in this room? Your chambers? If you don't feel like getting up, I can grab them from wherever they are."

Heisenberg went uncharacteristically quiet.

"Heis?"

"None in this room," he said plainly.

"I'm not trying to make you uncomfortable by asking...but...is that typical? You having sex without a condom?"

It worried you. Here you were all too willing to have him fuck you into the mattress while he could be having all sorts of unprotected sex with who knows who in the village. He was attractive - a lord. Anyone with a pair of eyes could easily fall in lust if not love with him. 

Anyone with ears too...fucking sexy ringmaster voice...

"Not typical, no."

"No? Has it just...been a while?"

"Never."

"Huh?"

"Never made love before."

That sent you sitting up in bed.

"WHAT?"

"What?"

"HEISEN..." you lowered your voice, realizing he was growing tense. "You've never...I don't believe you. Quit joking. Not the time."

"Not joking," he grumbled. "Why would I joke about that?"

"You're just..."

"I'm what?"

"You're you," you said as if it clarified anything at all. "You're a lord in a small town. You have a face of a model. Not...not trying to open old wounds, but you're absolutely gorgeous underneath all those layers..."

"Yeah," he snorted. "Fatass McGee will be strutting the runways any day now."

"Oh my god...you're serious." Lying back down, you brought your hand to the clothed length between his legs. He had grown noticeably more soft since the brush of your knee, but you could feel his cock twitch when you cupped him. "So...no one? Not even foreplay or...what about kissing?"

"...ahhh...nah...none of that either...you're probably the first person to see me naked since I was a little kid...well...maybe a few folks in Constantinople. Got sloshed one time and woke up naked tied to a lamppost. But...other than that...all you."

There seemed to be no end to the surprises that would fall from Heisenberg's mouth. You stared at him - or the inky shadow that was him - and ran teasing fingers up his shaft.

"I uhh...fuck...I'm pretty sure anyone who saw me then is dead by now though," he supplied.

"Heis...you're so fucking ridiculous." 

#heavy metal lover #divergence #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x you

[wonder-womans-ex]

‘Cause Boy I was Made for You

By wonder-womans-ex for @inloveoknutzy Sweater Weather secret santa exchange 2020

When Remus Lupin was eleven years old, he learned about soulmates. 

“Almost everyone gets a soulmark on their nineteenth birthday,” Mr. Holliday, his fifth-grade teacher, had explained. “A design, like a tattoo, on their left wrist. And out there, somewhere, someone will have a matching one.

“Some people don’t get them until later—no one knows why. Some don’t get them at all. It’s rare, but some people have more than one soulmate, or their soulmate changes. 

“Can anyone tell me why this might be?”

Trust a teacher to turn this into a lesson, Remus thought, and put up his hand. 

“Because people change, and the person who your soul matches could change, too?” 

“Very good, Mr. Lupin.” 

***

When Sirius Black was eleven years old, his parents kept him home from school. Instead, they sat him down at the dining room table—which was only ever used for special occasions; he couldn’t fathom why this might be considered one—and told him three things. 

“One,” Walburga said, bony fingers and long nails that reminded Sirius of talons drumming on the centuries-old wood, “your career comes first. Always. No matter who your soulmate turns out to be or how you feel about it, you are expected to make the choice that benefits yourself and your role in this family.” 

“Two,” Orion put in, “you are the only person who can prove who your soulmate is. If the reality is something that puts your future or your reputation at risk, lying is the best option. Remember, listen to your head, not your wrist.”

“Three—” this was Walburga again, “—your soulmark, when you get it, will remain covered at all times. No one else is permitted to see it. Are we clear?”

Sirius nodded. 

“Speak up!”

“Yes, Mother. Yes, Father.”

***

When Remus Lupin was thirteen years old, he had his first kiss. It was with a girl from his first aid course to whom he’d never really talked before, and it was wet and clumsy and didn’t taste very nice. In six years when he got his soulmark, he probably wouldn’t even remember her name. 

***

When Sirius Black was thirteen years old, he fell asleep in math class twice. He’d spent the entire night practicing—under his father’s instructions, of course—and the words in the textbook began to swim in front of his eyes. 

His mother slapped him across the cheek when she found out. Though he told no one for a very long time, that was when he started drinking coffee. 

***

When Remus Lupin was fifteen years old, he googled what if your soulmate doesn’t love you. 

***

When Sirius Black was fifteen years old, he found out what it was like to be famous. He enjoyed it, at first. There was so much to enjoy: the attention from his parents, the people who recognized him in public and smiled, and the hockey. 

The hockey was everything. 

He wouldn’t have thought so, but it was freeing, really, to be on the ice, doing what he loved, and know that the whole world was watching. It showed him he was enough—better than enough. He was the best. He’d been working towards being best his whole life, and now he finally got to feel good about it. What wasn’t to like about that?

Amycus Carrow, apparently. The first guy on his team to notice he was different. “Queer,” he whispered, as Sirius packed his gear up. 

Sirius wasn’t sure who he was trying to prove something to by sleeping with Janie Clearwater—Amycus or himself. 

***

When Remus Lupin was seventeen years old, he and his mom picked his little brother Julian up from daycare. Jules had a crude drawing of a star on his wrist in green washable marker. 

“My teacher has one! So I wanted one too!” 

Remus smiled, ruffling Julian’s hair. 

That night, he locked his bedroom door and looked up Sirius Black. Video after video of slapshots, passes, interviews, until he finally drifted off to sleep thinking that’s the sort of person I want to be loved by. 

***

When Sirius Black was seventeen years old, he had his first panic attack. He wasn’t sure what triggered it; he wasn’t sure how he pulled himself out, but he ran a thumb over the red marks where his fingernails had dug into his skin and tried not to cry.

***

When Remus Lupin was nineteen years old, everything went wrong. He woke up on his birthday to his wrist itching, and it took all his willpower not to look at it. He wasn’t quite ready yet. 

It was like Schrödinger’s cat, he reasoned—if he didn’t look, he couldn’t confirm what had been nagging at the back of his head for a while now. He couldn’t deny it, either, but it was better than nothing. 

Julian ran to hug him when he got downstairs, grinning to show off his gap-toothed smile. “I got you a present! Wanna know what it is?”

“I think,” Remus told him, “I’m about to find out anyway.”

Two weeks later, Fenrir Greyback approached him in the locker room. 

***

When Sirius Black was nineteen years old, he found himself signed to an NHL team he wasn’t supposed to be on and with a soulmark he could make neither head nor tail of: a silver wolf and black dog, intertwined like yin and yang, two crossed hockey sticks behind them. He remembered, distantly, being told that soulmarks were meant to make sense. 

The black dog was probably meant to represent him—black dog, dog black (he still hadn’t forgiven his parents for that one)—and the hockey sticks almost definitely had something to do with, well, hockey, but the wolf he had no idea about.  

***

It is now that these two stories meet. There is a split second, a fraction of time, and it seems as though the whole world is holding its breath. Will their paths cross, only to continue on their separate ways? Will they travel together for a time, before they are destined to part once more?

“Hello,” says Remus, and when Sirius holds his hand out coldly, their fate is decided. 

***

“Pots, c’mere a second!” 

Sirius is happy, almost. He’s got the team—he’s one of them, now, really and truly, but there’s something still off. He knows what it is, but he doesn’t want to. 

“I’m coming, Captain! Keep your head on!”

James comes to a stop in front of him. “Hi. What do you need?”

“Please poke Dumo.” A few of the guys chuckle, and this makes Sirius smile. He likes making other people laugh. 

“What, and you needed me for that? You couldn't do it yourself?”

Finn walks into the room, then, jersey half on. “Why do it at all? What did poor old Dumo do to you, anyway?”

“Yeah,” Pascal says from where he’s sitting by his locker. “Respect your elders!”

“Elder, you say? Edging on retirement, are you?”

“Tais-toi!” 

Glancing over to Remus, Sirius allows the barest flicker of a smile to pass over his face. He gets one in return. 

“Alright, everyone get moving,” Coach tells them, opening the door and surveying where they’re all arranged, faces like guilty puppies. “You’re paid to play hockey, not sit on your asses and gossip. Practice starts in five minutes, or you run laps around the outside of the rink. In skates.”

Most of them groan, and Kasey downs a Powerade. “Well, boys, that’s my cue.”

James is the next to go, then Finn, then Logan. Leo and Talker continue their argument—something about George Harrison; Sirius isn’t really listening—out onto the ice, and Adam follows them with Olli and Nado close behind. Dumo winks at Sirius before he goes, too, and then it’s just the two of them. 

“What did he do?” Remus asks, after Sirius has laced and relaced his left skate three times. “Dumo, I mean.” 

“Nothing much. Just… well, if you must know, he put shaving cream in the fridge, once. Guess what I had on my waffles that morning.” 

“Waffles aren’t on your diet plan.”

“It was last year.”

“And you waited until now to get James to poke him?”

He knows Remus can see right through him. He always can. “Never question the methods of a hockey player, Loops.”

He meant it as a joke, but Remus stiffens for some reason, jaw clenching and eyes darting away. There’s an awkward pause before Sirius says, “I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” 

“Right.” He clears his throat, trying in vain to find something else to say. He would be lying if he said Remus didn’t mean something to him—he knows it. But, after all, knowing something and acknowledging it are two very different things. 

Sirius runs the laps. 

***

That night, after practice, Remus is about to head for the bus station when Sirius steps in front of him. He’s walking backwards, even with his hockey bag slung over his shoulder, and Remus isn’t ashamed to say he’s a little impressed. (From a purely objective point of view, of course. It has nothing to do with Sirius and everything to do with the skill it would take, hypothetically, to do such a thing.) (He’s not fooling anyone, least of all himself.) 

“Want a lift?”

“You don’t even know where I live.”

“Well, we’ll just have to fix that.”

Remus rolls his eyes; he pretends to think about it. “All right,” he says, finally. “On one condition.”

“Which is?”

“I get to choose the music.”

Sirius lets out one loud ‘ha!’  It’s the most beautiful thing Remus has heard in a long time. (That would go well: “Oh, I’ve changed my mind. No need to put on the radio, I’ll be content if you just keep laughing.”) (There’s a reason people like him are off to the side, out of sight, instead of right in the spotlight with a microphone.)  

Remus is glad that Sirius waits until he’s parked outside Remus’s apartment building to bring up their earlier conversation. It says something that they say “So, about this evening—” in unison, but Remus isn’t going to think about that. 

“You go first,” Sirius tells him, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “Please.”

“I suppose,” Remus says, slowly, “That I haven’t quite been honest with you. Any of you. I wasn’t always a PT.”

“Of course not. You’re my age. You can’t have always worked for the Lions—before that you were a teenager. A student.”

Remus shakes his head. “No. Before that I was a player.” 

“You played? Why’d you stop?”

“Bad hit,” he says, shrugging. “I’m over it. But I… I know what it’s like. The pressure. The rules. So, if you need someone to talk to… just remember—I know what the game does to a guy. You’re not the only one who’s been told to be something you aren’t by someone who forgets you’re a person off the ice, too.

“See you tomorrow, Cap. Thanks for the ride.” 

***

Sirius is probably the one person in history who has managed to burn eggs without even turning the stove on. 

“How on earth did that happen?” James asks when Sirius phones him. 

“I dropped them into the toaster—hey! Stop laughing! It could happen to anyone!”

“Yes,” he hears from the other end of the line, “But it didn’t. It happened to you.”

It takes exactly two minutes and thirty-seven seconds after hanging up on James for Sirius to decide to call Remus. Cooking failures might not have been quite what Remus meant when he said Sirius could talk to him, but it’s the problem at hand right now. 

(Remus laughs just as hard as James, but at least he has the decency to apologize for it afterwards.) 

“Well,” he says, once he’s calmed down, “What are you going to eat now?” 

“I’m not sure. Cereal?”

“Practice is in two and a half hours. You need more than that.”

“I’ll be—”

“If you end that sentence with ‘fine,’ I’ll take the laces out of your skates and strangle you with them. Do you want me to walk you through, I dunno, a pancake?” 

“Sure. What do I need?”

“Flour, butter, eggs, milk…”

Twenty minutes later Sirius is left with milk on his shirt, flour in his hair, butter practically everywhere else, and a microwave that won’t start. 

“I think,” he tells Remus, “I should have cereal.”

“You are going to eat a pancake if it’s the last thing I do—”

“Why don’t you just come over here and make it for me, then? I’m sure you’ll have more success.” 

He holds his breath for a moment, hoping this wasn’t a step too far, before Remus responds. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll be over in… half an hour?” 

“Sounds good.” 

Click. 

The instant the call is over, Sirius opens the freezer and grabs one of the popsicles he secretly has stashed there. They’re not part of his diet plan, but he needs one. Then he takes a sponge and starts trying to get the butter out of the sole of his shoe. 

***

The first thought that crosses Remus’s mind is that Sirius’s tongue is purple from one of the popsicles he thinks no one knows about. If Remus kissed him, he’d probably taste like grapes. (The thought is banished from his mind the moment it enters.) 

“So,” he says, surveying the damage. “I am going to teach you how to make a pancake.” 

Sirius, it turns out, is infinitely better at following instructions when they’re simple, and the two of them work out a system quickly. Remus makes the pancake, Sirius gets the ingredients. It works. 

“That’s salt, not sugar. Try again.”

(Most of the time, at least.)

 “Really?” Sirius is squinting at the package. “Why doesn’t it say so?”

“It does. Right there.” 

“How am I supposed to read that?”

“You need glasses, Cap.” 

“I have glasses. I just never wear them.” 

“What?” This is news to Remus. Visions of Sirius with glasses and bed hair are swimming in front of his eyes. “Why?” 

A shrug. “I look stupid.” 

“I’m pretty sure you’d be drop-dead gorgeous in anything.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Remus realizes that, yes, he said that out loud. “I mean, all those fangirls certainly seem to think so.” 

“Right. Yeah.” Sirius clears his throat. 

“Anyway, pancakes! I think these are almost ready to cook—can you turn on the element?”

“The what now?” 

“The element? The coil on the stove?” 

“Should’ve just said that in the first place,” Sirius grumbles. “Fucking Americans.” 

“Fucking French.” 

Suddenly, Remus has a spatula pointed at his nose. He has to cross his eyes to see it properly. “Say that again; I dare you.”

“Fucking French?”

“Awright, that’s it! En garde, bitch!” 

And so begins the great whisk-vs-spatula duel of 2020. There is very little batter left once they’re done—in the bowl, at least. Most of it is on their clothes. 

They look at each other. “Cereal?” 

“...Cereal.” 

***

Kasey’s eyes go wide—almost comically so—when they show up to practice together. 

“Cap giving rides?” He says, and Sirius isn’t sure what accent he’s trying to fake but he ends up sounding like a scandalized duchess from the movie adaptation of an Austen knockoff. (Maybe that is what he was going for. It’s hard to know, with Kasey.) “I thought the day would never come.”

“Shut up.” 

“Make me.”

Remus’s elbow digs into Sirius’s rib cage. “You don’t want to say that. He tried to make me shut up this morning—it’s something I’ll never recover from.” 

Sirius almost laughs at the expression Remus makes when he realizes exactly how that sounds. 

“He dumped pancake batter down my shirt!” 

“You didn’t!” The look on James’s face is aghast. “First the eggs, now this—what will people think?” 

Finn looks up from his phone. “Eggs?” 

“Sirius here dropped the eggs he was going to eat for breakfast into his—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” 

Dumo slings an arm around his shoulders. “The price you must pay for telling James to poke me yesterday. Learn from this, mon fils. Learn.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do, old man.”

“Treachery!” 

Shrugging him off, Sirius grins. “I am the kitchen monster. Cross me and I will slaughter you in a food war.”

“Try me.” This is Logan speaking; Sirius hadn’t even realized he was there. 

“You’ve been warned!” 

***

“Look, there are twenty-two hockey players in this arena, and I ain’t one of them,” Moody says, and Remus can’t be sure, but he thinks Sirius looks at him. 

***

“You’re favouring your right leg,” Remus comments as soon as Sirius is off the ice. “Want me to take a look?”

“It’s fine, really—”

“I’ll try again. Want me to take a look?” 

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Loops.”

“That’s what I thought you said.”

They walk into the PT room in businesslike silence, Sirius hoping all the way that one of them will break it. Neither does, and it isn’t until Remus has taken off both his skates for him, now expertly examining his left ankle, that he realizes what he should say. 

“You mentioned you played, last night.”

The finger tracing his Achilles tendon stills. “I did.” 

“Were you any good?” He knows, somewhere, that he’s entering forbidden territory. He can’t bring himself to care. 

“I’d like to believe so.”

“Be honest.” Sirens are blaring in his head. He keeps going. 

“There were rumours…” Remus bites his lip, glances away. “People said I was set for first.”

“What? How come you never said anything? C’mon, you need to play with us sometime, just scrimmage or something—”

“Maybe. That hit…”

“Right. God, I’m sorry, Rem.”

If Remus’s Adam’s apple bobs at the nickname, Sirius doesn’t notice. He certainly doesn’t try his best not to jump to conclusions. (Double negative; that’s a yes, a voice that sounds suspiciously like James’s says in his head. Shut up, he tells it.)

“It’s fine. Really. I just don’t like talking about it. And besides, I like this. Working with the team, even if I can’t be a part of it.”

“You are. A part of the team, I mean. Just as much as I am.”

“Sure.”

There’s another awkward pause before Remus clears his throat. “So, I’m gonna put on some anti-inflammatory gel because it’s a little swollen, but don’t get used to it. I want you to keep doing some stretches, not too much pressure. Capeesh?”

“What the fuck is a capeesh?”

“Just say it.”

“...Capeesh?”

“Awesome.” 

Remus leans forward towards him, their foreheads almost touching. Sirius’s breath catches. 

It’s over just as suddenly. The tube of extra-strength Voltaren is in Remus’s hand, and Sirius feels stupid for thinking he was going to—

Nope. Not thinking about that. 

When he feels tears start to prick at his eyes, he glances up at the fluorescent lights overhead; at least then he’ll have an excuse. There’s a moth resting on one. Its wings flutter once, twice, then go still. Fragile things, moths are—maybe it’s died, maybe it hasn’t. He could read into that, but he won’t. 

He jumps when the cool of the gel on Remus’s hands touches his foot. “Hey!” He yelps, looking quickly down. 

Sirius hates to succumb to cliches, but he would be lying if he was to say his heart doesn’t still. 

Because Remus has pulled the sleeves of his jacket up to his elbows, and his wrist is turned to the sky—to Sirius, who has seen that mark before somewhere. 

Somewhere. He’s kidding himself. He’s seen it every day whenever he bothers to look at his own soulmark, and he’s seeing it again now. 

“You know what, I’m fine,” he blurts out, shaking his ankle out of Remus’s grasp. “Thanks, though. See you later, Loops.” 

***

Remus stays there for a second, watching Sirius leave. He doesn’t know what he did wrong, and he’s not sure he wants to. 

When he gets up to leave, tossing the container towards the first aid kit on the bench and allowing himself a small smile when it lands perfectly inside, blood rushes to his head. He closes his eyes, waiting for the dizziness to pass. 

And then he crashes into Finn. 

“Whoa, sorry,” Remus says, stumbling backwards.

“Nah, don’t stress it. There’s just something I want you to check on.”

Remus is hit by a sense of deja vu. He wonders if Finn, too, is going to leave without explanation. He follows him back into the PT room, Finn gesturing for him to lock the door. 

Though he may be the shorter of the two, Remus knows it’s his job to be the bigger person. “What was it you wanted to talk about?”

Finn waits another moment before yanking one sleeve up to reveal three paw prints, each no bigger than a thumbnail, clustered together—one forest green, one golden, and one a deep navy blue. 

“Your soulmark.” Remus doesn’t understand. “What? Is something wrong?” 

“There’s three of them,” Finn says. “Which means there’s three of us.”

“You have two soulmates?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s fine, Finn. It may not be common, but it’s not unheard of. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.” 

“It’s not that. It’s… hey, you can’t tell anyone this, okay?”

“I know. Doctor-patient confidentiality, remember?”

“Right.” Finn takes a breath, squeezing his eyes closed. “What if I told you I know who they are? Or I think I do?” 

“Hypothetically?”

“Hypothetically.”

“Well, I’d ask you if they knew.”

“And I’d say I don’t think so. One of them’s pretty stubborn—wouldn’t see love if it stood up on the ice and sang the national anthem—and the other isn’t nineteen yet, so he doesn’t—I mean wouldn’t—have his mark yet.” 

“His?”

Finn’s eyes widen. There is a pause before he nods, slowly. “Yeah. Got a problem?”

“Trust me, I’m the last person on earth who’d have a problem with something like that. Hypothetically.” 

This, at least, earns Remus a smile. “Are you…?”

“Yeah.” 

“Cool.” Another pause. “What if I told you, still hypothetically, that they were both on the team?” 

“Then I’d say get the fuck out of here and win them over before they start thinking you’ve forgotten about them.” 

Finn, smiling ear to ear, starts to leave. “Wait,” he says, hand on the doorknob. “You said you were…”

“Gay.”

“Yeah. Do—do you know who your soulmate is?”

Remus opens his mouth to say ‘no.’ He really does. But what comes out—when he takes into account the look of recognition on Sirius’s face when Remus had his sleeves rolled up; the understanding that had passed between them outside Remus’s building (god, that was just last night); the way they’ve always just clicked—is most certainly not ‘no.’ 

“Oh, fuck, I think I do,” he says, and he and Finn run out into the hallway together. 

Sirius’s car is pulling out of the parking lot when Remus arrives, out of breath, at the front doors of the arena. 

“I don’t know why he’s in such a hurry.” Remus jumps. He hadn’t heard James come to stand beside him. “Just packed up his gear at the speed of light and left. Didn’t even shower; he said he’d do it at home.”

So Sirius had been so appalled—disgusted, even—at Remus being his soulmate that he’d left without explanation, with barely even a goodbye. There was a pleasant thought. 

He turns so his back is against the door, sliding slowly down to sit on the floor. 

“Y’know,” James says, sitting next to him, “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you needed a hug.”

There’s a moment of comfortable silence before Remus says, “James?”

“Yeah?” 

“I need a hug.” 

James gives the best hugs. Everyone says so. But until now, Remus has never been on the receiving end of a true James Potter hug—warm, strong, and friendly as hell. (“I want that on a t-shirt,” James says when Remus tells him so.)

But eventually, James has to go, too, and Remus heads back to the PT room. He passes Logan in the hall, looking like he’s been hit over the head with a two-by-four. Maybe it’s Finn’s doing; he had mentioned that one of them was oblivious. Logan, Remus knows, is the definition of oblivious. 

***

“And I think that’s all,” Coach Weasley says, glancing around, “Unless anyone else has something to say? Moody? Cap? Loops?” 

“Actually, yes,” says Remus after a moment. “Checkups! Not naming names but Kris lied about his rib acting up so now all of you get to be interrogated.” 

Sirius swallows. He’s not anxious to be alone with Remus; not after yesterday. There’s no way there aren’t going to be questions. 

Kasey goes first, Remus taking just under five minutes to deem him ‘good to go.’ Kris, surprisingly, is only kept for eight, despite the claim of his ribs acting up again. Finn takes the longest—fifteen minutes—and as soon as he’s out he grabs Logan and Leo by the wrists and marches them off somewhere. Sirius’s turn comes last, right after Pascal’s, who gives him a knowing look as he enters.

“Hi,” Remus says, first aid kit nowhere in sight. “Sit down.” 

“Where?” Sirius gets only a shrug in response. 

He hesitates a moment, then sits on the floor, picking at the sole of his sneaker. 

“How are you feeling?” Remus asks suddenly.

“Fine. Ankle’s not bothering me any more.”

“No, I mean how are you feeling?”

Scoffing, he starts to stand up. “I’m not doing this.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.” 

“Sirius Black, sit your ass back down before I make you.” 

Sirius sits his ass back down. 

“Good. Now, how are you feeling?” 

“I’m… confused,” he says, trying to be honest without being specific. “And nervous. And I cried myself to sleep last night, which I haven’t done since I was like seventeen, so there’s that. But mostly I’m just really fucking mad.” 

“At me.” It isn’t a question. 

“No, not at you! At me! At the—” he gestures wildly. “—Universe, or whatever. Can I go now?” 

Remus doesn’t even acknowledge his request. “So you’re disappointed.”

“...Yeah.” 

“May I ask why?” 

“I’m pretty sure you fucking know why.” 

“Maybe I do. But I’d like you to explain it to me.” 

The stupid thing is that Sirius wants to talk about it. He really does. And Remus is the only person he can conceivably talk about it to. But he still chokes on his words when he says, anger burning his throat, “It was never supposed to be like this.” 

“What do you mean by that?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Sirius practically screams. “Stop trying to fucking— psychoalalyze me or something, for fuck’s sake. You fucking asked, and I—” He tears his fingers through his hair, feeling his chest start to constrict. “Just stop talking!” 

The echoes of his shouts fade out too quickly, and the only thing worse than the voices is the sound of his breathing getting faster and faster. Remus’s hand twitches, as though he wants to touch him but thinks better of it.

“It was always supposed to be someone different. Someone faceless; nameless. Someone I could run away from. I can’t fucking run away from you, Remus.

“I always thought I could lie. That I could—pretend, or something. Just keep hiding. It was supposed to be someone I could hide from, because I’ve spent my whole life fucking hiding and that’s all I know how to do. It was never supposed to be someone I could fall in love with.” 

There’s a choked noise from where Remus is sitting on the bench, but nothing else. Sirius refuses to look at him. 

“And I just—I just fucking hate this, because all I’ve been told is that hockey comes before my dreams. And that’s made sense until now because until now hockey was my dream, but now there’s you. Yeah.” 

Remus, to his credit, waits until Sirius’s breathing has calmed down and he’s furiously wiped the tears from his eyes to speak. “What do you need?” 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean forget everything. Forget your family, forget the team, forget me—what do you need?  

“Right now? For the rest of my life? Because those are two very different things.” 

“Let’s start with now. Can I do anything for you? Can you do anything for yourself?” 

“I need a hot chocolate.” 

***

They wait until everyone else has gone, and then make their way outside to Sirius’s car. There’s only one other in the parking lot—a grey Toyota Remus thinks belongs to Nado, or maybe Kris. He’s not sure why he thinks it matters, because it doesn’t. 

Silence hangs around them the whole four blocks to the nearest Tim Horton’s. Inhale; exhale. Inhale; exhale. This doesn’t necessarily mean anything. 

That doesn’t stop Remus from hoping. 

He knows it’s wrong; of course he does. It’s Sirius’s choice, in the end, because Sirius is the one who will be most affected. His career, his life—all on the line if he decides to trust whatever plan the world has in store for them. It’s not like that for Remus. Not anymore. 

There’s a parking spot right outside the front door. Sirius pulls into it, but he doesn’t get out right away. He glances around, makes sure there’s no one immediately in sight, and then he looks down to where his hands now rest in in his lap. Slowly, he pulls up his right sleeve to expose, bit by bit, his soulmark. 

“I don’t know why I never guessed it could be you—Wolfy McWolf Wolf.” 

Remus feels his lips twitch upwards into something resembling a smile. “I could say the same, Dog Black.” 

When he puts his hand on the console, Sirius rests his on top of it. It’s not much. 

But it’s something. 

***

Sirius looks longingly at the Boston cream doughnuts. “Please. I haven’t had one in so long.” 

“Think again, Mr. I’m-on-a-diet-plan.” 

He’s not surprised. What was he thinking, having his PT as his soulmate? (Well, he wasn’t. He didn’t get to choose. But, he thinks to himself, the point still stands.) 

“I’ll have a medium hot chocolate, please, a plain toasted bagel,” Remus looks at him and sighs. “...And a Boston cream doughnut.” 

When the food is set down on the pickup counter, Remus snatches it before Sirius has a chance to. “Hey, this is my doughnut.” 

Sirius pouts. 

“You’re cute. Here.” He tosses him the brown paper bag, and Sirius removes his prize carefully. He‘s going to eat every piece of chocolate glazing if it kills him. 

Back out in the car—this is a conversation neither of them is willing to have in the public dining area—Remus chews on his bagel thoughtfully. Sirius tries and fails not to swear when his hot chocolate burns his tongue.

“Shit!” 

Remus glances over at him. Their eyes meet for a moment, then both look away. “So,” Sirius says after a while. “I think we need to talk.” 

“Yeah.” 

Silence, then—

“You go first,” they say at the same time, and laugh. Some of the tension is broken. 

Sirius reaches hesitantly to where Remus’s arm rests between the seats. He doesn’t need to voice his question—Remus sees it in his eyes; nods. 

Up close, he can see that there are a few differences between their marks. Nothing that could possibly mean they aren’t soulmates—just the discolouring on the dog’s tail; the angle of one of the sticks; the faded white gash that stretches from one side of Remus’s wrist to the other, separating the wolf’s head from its body. Sirius doesn’t quite know what he’s doing when he presses his lips to the scar. 

When he looks up, he sees that Remus is trying not to cry. And that’s when he makes his decision. 

“I want this,” he says, voice soft but sure. “All of it.”

#sweater weather lumosinlove #coops #soulmate au #remus lupin #sirius black #remus x sirius #sweater weather secret santa #tw: panic attack

[love-and-monsters]

Harpy Rescue

M monster X F reader, 7,143 words

You wash up on an island after a shipwreck. The harpy natives take you in and you find companionship with a certain healer who’s been caring for you. 

I stared blankly at the sky above me. I was lying back on a beach. The tide was coming in underneath me. The salt water stung at the raw scrapes on my back.

It was struggle to breathe. My lungs spasmed and heaved with every breath. All my energy went into keeping my lungs heaving.

It was ironic. The only person who survived the shipwreck was the one who would die anyway.

None of my limbs would move. I knew I wasn’t paralyzed, if only because that would have dulled sensation and I could feel every scrape and bruise over the surface of my body. I just couldn’t move under my own power.

 It took all my energy to keep breathing. It hurt just to breathe. My lungs stuttered over the air, threatening to stop altogether every time. Even with all my effort going into it, I still felt faintly dizzy from lack of air.

There were birds, enormous birds, circling overhead. Carrion birds, probably. They could see me lying on the beach and probably assumed they were getting a nice lunch.

The water was getting higher. It was a race, I thought morbidly. Would the water drown me before the birds managed to eat my entrails?

They were coming down more rapidly now. They were huge. Perhaps I would get lucky and they would fight one another for long enough that the waves would come in. I would take drowning over being torn apart hungry birds.

The tide was coming in faster. I could feel it lapping around my ears. A particularly strong wave made me sputter and I spent nearly a minute coughing and gasping. It was harder than ever to breathe. Perhaps drowning wouldn’t be substantially more pleasant than being eaten alive.

One of the birds plunged into a dive, spurring the others to follow. They drifted out of my sight and no matter how far I rolled my eyes back, I couldn’t see them. Great. I just had to wait in anticipation.

There was a crunching behind me, the sound of something approaching. Another wave struck me and I choked, coughing on the water. Black spots popped in front of my eyes and I felt my entire body heave, water trickling from my mouth.

A hand caught my shoulder. With a heave, I was dragged out of the shallow water and up onto the firmer beach. Tilting my head back, I managed to catch sight of my rescuers.

They hadn’t been birds, I realized. They had just looked like birds from a distance. My rescuers were a group of concerned-looking harpies.

If I had any sense of dramatic timing, I likely would have passed out then. It would have made the situation much less awkward, at least. But I remained stubbornly awake, staring up at the small throng of harpies.

Their heads and torsos were humanoid, but they seemed to have a combination between arms and wings. Their arms were feathered and there was a split at the wrists between hands and the final joint of the wing. Their legs were scaled and ended in large, heavy talons. All of them had deeply tanned skin and dark brown hair and feathers.

They spoke to one another for a moment, in a language I couldn’t understand. Then, the one that had dragged me up the beach bent over and hauled me into his arms.

The group headed off the beach and into the tropical jungle beyond. It was getting harder and harder to remain conscious. I faded in and out, struggling to keep my consciousness together. The blackouts grew longer and longer and the tightening pain in my chest was growing sharper. Breathing was almost painfully difficult.

Another bit of irony for me. I had been saved from drowning only for my condition to kill me right away.

The last thing I was aware of was the man carrying me speaking rapidly before I was deposited on solid ground with a jolt.

When I opened my eyes again, there was a ceiling above me. It was thatched, and there were several bundles of herbs hanging from the rafters. The pain of my body had eased, and though my chest burned, it had loosened significantly. After a few breaths, I had gained enough energy to sit up.

“Here.” Someone to my right pushed a bowl into my hands. It was full of a strong-smelling liquid that made my nose run and my sinuses clear almost instantly. “It’ll help with your breathing.”

The person next to me was the same man who had carried me off the beach. I hadn’t gotten the best look at him, but he had the same golden-brown feathers and his long, braided hair was done up in the same style. I dipped my head and took a few swallows from the bowl.

It burned worse than any whiskey I’d ever tried. I sputtered, eyes watering, but the tension in my chest did fade. The bands that had always restricted my breathing loosened ever so slightly and I gulped air gratefully.

The man outstretched his hands and took the bowl back. I sputtered a few more times before my breathing calmed. “What is that?”

“An old remedy for chest trouble. It’s steeped out of different herbs.” As he set the bowl on a nearby table, I realized something.

“You speak English?” I asked.

“Some. My aunt met with travelers many years ago. She taught me. Just in case.” He leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him. Something behind him shifted and I noticed his tail, made of the same brown feathers as his wings. “You must have inhaled a lot of salt water. Your breathing was bad.” He tapped his chest demonstratively. “You were wheezing.”

“It does that anyway. But the almost drowning didn’t help.” I pushed yourself up in bed. “Where am I?”

“Healer’s house,” he said. “In Namori Village. You were brought here by the storm, yes?”

“Not on purpose,” I said. “I was sailing to Larmark. They have a good hospital there. I was going for an examination.” I rubbed at my chest. “I don’t suppose you have any ships heading in that direction?”

“We are not a sailing people,” the man said with an apologetic smile. I slouched back into the bed. I wasn’t as upset about it as I should have been. The treatment was supposed to find a way to cure my condition. Without it, I could be beset by a sudden bought of chest tightness that could kill me at any moment. It had nearly done so several times in my childhood. But I had lived my life with it so far. I was just back where I’d started.

“She’s up!” I looked up to see an older woman harpy leaning over me. “Thought I told you to call for me, boy.” The male harpy ducked his head, looking properly ashamed. “Took quite a beating from that storm. Lucky you made it to shore.” She flicked her wings. “We saw the ship go down last night. Didn’t expect anyone would survive. You’re lucky we noticed you.”

“There’s something wrong with her chest,” the male harpy said. “She wheezes.”

“Noticed that.” The woman looked me over. Her eyes were a piercing yellow. “Thought it was from the seawater. It’s usually like that?”

“Yes. Since I was a child. I had some sort of illness that damaged it. I wouldn’t worry about it too much. I’ve never allowed it to bother me.” I’m sure my voice would have been much more reassuring, but my chest contracted in a cough and I heaved a few times.

“Perhaps you should let it bother you more. Give her more of that infusion, Nor. And recheck her ribs, just to be safe.”

“Yes, Aunt Aerath,” Nor said. She turned on her heels and strode off. We were in a back room, I noticed, small and full of warm light. Nor turned back to me. “Sit up. Drink.” I sipped more of the brew he’d given me while he prodded at my ribs. It was a little ticklish and I had to work not to squirm.

“Your ribs are fine,” Nor said eventually. “But your chest is weak.”

“Well, nothing I didn’t already know.” I rolled over, ignoring the sharp pains that came to me. “Can I move around?”

Nor nodded and I got up. He hovered close by as I shuffled around. I’d been stripped down to my shift, which would have been embarrassing if both of them hadn’t been wearing something similar. They both seemed to be wearing something like togas, though Nor’s skirt was long enough to trail on the ground. Both their outfits were a deep navy blue.

There was a partially ajar door and I stepped through it, onto the forest floor outside. The trees were enormous, towering over everything. Up in the branches, harpies darted back and forth, flitting between the branches. I could see nest-like houses nestled in the crooks of the trees.

“We’re on the ground,” I said. Nor nodded.

“Healers live on the ground. In case flightless ones come to us,” he explained.

 “Ah. That’s sensible.” I stared up, looking into the trees with some interest. At least if I was going to be staying there for a while, it was a beautiful, fascinating place.

Nor took me back inside and fed me a chunk of meat along with a few fruits. I needed to heat the meat over the fire for a little longer- apparently harpies liked their meat fairly rare. Aerath returned after that and forced a few more herbal brews down my throat, which she said would help with the pain.

“I expect I’ll be here for a while,” I said as I handed one of her cups back to her. My mouth tasted like I’d licked the underside of a stone. The brews were unpleasant at best, though I could already feel a numbness creeping into my injuries.

“Humans come by only rarely,” Aerath said. “And there isn’t much of a pattern. Our species is not water faring and we can’t fly to the next mainland. Ocean flight is not easy.”

“Which is a taciturn way of saying I am stuck here.”

“No more than us,” Nor said.

“Be kind. She has lost her home,” Aerath said sternly. I shrugged, leaning back in bed.

“It’s not as awful as you may think. I was sailing to a hospital, you see. It was likely I would spend the rest of my life there, which, even with all that care, may not have been very long.” I shrugged. “At least this place is better for the soul.”

Nor turned his head and spoke to his aunt rapidly in his own language. She frowned, but responded in the same way. I ignored the pair of them and moved back to bed. Despite not having been awake for very long, I was already exhausted. My chest stuttered as I tried to lie flat on my back and I paused for a moment, wheezing.

Nor darted over and adjusted my pillow behind me. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” Nor nodded, then slipped out of the room. Aerath lingered for a moment, looking at me.

“We’ll be upstairs if you require us. If you can’t walk, knock heavy things over until we come for you.” With that, she exited the room. The door closed behind her and I slumped back into the pillow, eyes closing.

I slept fitfully, especially after the pain medication wore off. By the time Nor brought breakfast, I was already up and walking around. There were several journals with detailed drawings of plants in them. I couldn’t read the writing, but I could see what the plants were and I spent some time matching them to the herbs hanging around the room.

“Quite an interesting journal,” I told Nor as he sat down to eat with me. “Did your aunt write it?”

He shook his head. “She is…” He struggled with the word for a moment. “Practical? A… practice? She remembers by senses, not words. But I need reminders.”

“You’re quite good at drawing,” I said. “I kept similar journals, though they sank with the ship.” He looked at me with clear surprise. “I had little else to do. I could rarely go out, so I spent much time in the gardens, drawing and remarking upon the plants. These remind me of my own journals.”

“When I am collecting herbs, I enjoy drawing them. Seeing nature. It is soothing.” He seemed to grow more excited, then composed himself. “I could show you garden, if you’d like?”

“I would,” I said. He grinned, then hopped to his taloned feet as his aunt entered the room.

I did not end up seeing the garden that day, principally because I spent much of it in bed. Nor stopped by every now and then, sometimes with food, more often with a new bundle of plants to tie up and hang from the ceiling. He seemed to go into a sort of trance when he was sorting the herbs, a sort of peaceful state.

It took a few days before I was approved to walk into town. “Don’t stress yourself too much. You’re still recovering,” Aerath said.

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Nor said. He fluttered his wings at his aunt, shooing her away. “We’ll be fine.”

Being without wings earned me a great deal of stares. I was viewed with some general suspicion, as far as I could tell. I was allowed to stay because there seemed to be a consensus that throwing me into the wilderness would absolutely kill me, and they had decided not to be that cruel. Not wanting me to die, however, did not necessarily mean that I was accepted by the community. Having Nor with me seemed to help, at least somewhat. He was at least well respected, and being in his presence absorbed you into his aura of decency.

The village seemed to have been built into the enormous trees of the forest. Several houses had been formed out of several trees carefully grown together through cultivation, and the living pavilion, formed out of ten trees carefully coaxed into growing around each other, was the great centerpiece of the town.

Getting to see the town as a group also drew your eye to the cultural similarities between them. A majority of adults had short hair, while children seemed to exclusively have long hair. There didn’t seem to be a clear age delineation between them. Based on appearances, Nor was older than a few of those with short hair, though no one under a certain age had their hair cut.

“Is there a reason for the hair styling?” I asked. “You wear your hair long, but most adults seem to keep theirs short.”

“Oh,” Nor said, with a tiny, dismissive flick of his feathers. “They are… erm. I am not certain of the word. Paired?”

“Married,” I guessed, and Nor’s expression brightened.

“Yes. Married. Part of the ceremony includes cutting hair. Most couples keep their hair short, to show they are with someone. Long hair can be difficult to fly with. To keep your hair short means you have someone who makes it easy to fly.” He frowned for a moment. “It is a pun in my language. It does not work as well in yours.”

“I think I get it,” I said. “But your aunt is unmarried and her hair is short.”

“She is…” There was a long pause. Nor seemed to be struggling to think of the proper words. “Bound to work? Committed to healing? Something along those lines, I believe. She is joined to her job as one is bound to a lover.”

I frowned. “Healers are like nuns, then?”

Nor frowned too. “Like… nones? Healers are not nothing.”

“No, like nuns. It’s spelled differently.” Nor looked entirely blank. I suspected he couldn’t write English. “Nuns are people who take vows not to marry so they can become closer to God, as I understand it. Healers do something similar.”

Nor still seemed confused. “Not all healers. Only Aunt Aerath.” He reached up and touched the long braid that was coiled on the back of his head. “I have… not decided.”

“Well, you’ve got time.” We were quite close to the healing house again, but I paused and leaned against a tree. My chest was squeezing again and I needed a break. “I never planned on marrying, really.”

“Why not?” Nor asked.

“I didn’t expect to live terribly long,” I said frankly. “I have spent much of my life expecting to die from a sudden attack. And then my parents suggested that I go to a hospital for treatment, and it’s rare to marry once you end up in those sort of places.” I smoothed my new robes idly. “I never expected to have a husband  who would be okay with his wife dropping dead at any moment.”

Nor fluttered his wings. “You are not going to die,” he said. 

“It’s all right. I’m content with it. I have been this way all my life. I value every moment now. It’s nothing new to me.” Nor still looked discomfited, so I patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Truly, I’m fine. We should head back now.”

Nor plied me with the strange, spicy concoction for my chest when we returned home. I drank the lot of it, at his insistence. It did seem to help. There was something about the warmth of it that relaxed my lungs and brought air in easier.

As my recovery finalized, I began to look for ways to serve my new community. It was not something terribly easy. I could not fly, or truly do any sort of intense physical activity, which limited my options. Sewing and weaving, actions that had often been suggested to me, held no more interest for me in the village than they had in my own home. Trying to manipulate tiny threads that tangled at the slightest glance was infuriating, and my frustration often ended in chest-heaving coughing fits. I tried to go back to writing my journals, examining nature and writing about it, but there seemed to be little actual use for it.

Eventually, I began tagging along with Nor when he went to collect herbs in the forest. He’d been going out more and more often, looking for new plants and writing furiously in his notebooks. I could read them more easily now, having spent a few weeks immersed in a crash course of his language.

“Just make sure you watch out for snakes,” Nor said as we trekked through the thick foliage.

“Look out for what?” I said. I was at the awkward stage of learning a language where I knew most common words, but words that were used infrequently were still lost.

“Snakes? Er. <Snakes!>” Nor said in English.

“Snakes,” I repeated. “Are there a lot of them?” I looked cautiously at the ground.

“No. Not a lot. But there are some venomous ones that bite if you step on them.” Unsettled, I lifted up the hem of my robe, peering cautiously at the leaf litter. The clothes harpies wore were not well-designed for people without tails or wings. I had needed to do some rudimentary tailoring to fix it into something I could walk around in. Shoes had been another problem entirely, mostly because harpies had tough, scaled feet and wore no shoes. I had eventually just decided to layer several thick fabrics together and essentially tied them to my feet. They were neither comfortable nor easy to wear, but they were practical and had stopped your soles from being shredded.

We made our way slowly through the woods. I ended up holding onto Nor’s arm wing for much of it. Never having worked out for long periods of time had left me fairly uncoordinated and leaning on Nor made it much easier for me to move about.

“Look. Norell,” he said, picking up a bunch of sharp-smelling, pink flowered herbs from the ground. “My namesake.”

“What are they used for?” I asked.

“Chest conditions, actually. They’re a big part of the infusion I’ve been giving you.” Nor had been giving me a regular doses of that infusion. Taking some in the morning seemed to loosen my chest for the rest of the day. “I’ve been trying to make a stronger infusion, so we’ll need a lot of it.”

“Are you predicting a spike in chest conditions?” I asked. Winter was on its way, and apparently, due to their large, powerful lungs, harpies were quite susceptible to issues like pneumonia and bronchitis. But that seemed to be counterbalanced by the fact that winter was mild on the island, more of a tepidly cool wet season than a proper snowy winter.

Nor shifted on the ground. His wings twitched a little. It was hard to tell, thanks to his deeply brown skin, but I thought I could see a hint of red creeping into his cheeks. “It’s for you, actually.”

I lifted my brows. “For me?”

“It’s been helping you recently,” Nor said, a little defensively. “I thought that a stronger infusion would help even more.” He frowned critically at the plants. “I want to get it as concentrated as possible. But there’s not enough in the gardens right now, so I need more.” He straightened up, tucking a bundle of plants away into his bag. “Also, infusions will keep a little better than the herbs themselves, so I can keep them for longer. You’ll need some when the growing season ends.”

“You’ll need some for others as well,” I said. “Keep some in reserve.”

“If you need it, you need it,” Nor said. “I’d rather give herbs to someone who definitely needs them than reserve some in case someone else might need them.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to fully heal someone who can be fully healed than to keep giving supplements to someone who will always be sick?” I said. Nor’s feathers bristled, shifting in agitation.

“All people deserve healing. Whether or not their condition is curable. I want you to be well.” His tone was so severe that I could do nothing but stare at him. After a moment, he seemed to realize what he’d said and he broke eye contact, staring at the ground. “We should, ah. Head back.”

He started trekking through the woods rapidly. Harpies were notably better at balance on uneven terrain, thanks to their long, gripping talons. I struggled to keep up with him.

We were getting quite close to the village when I felt the unfortunately familiar seizing sensation in my chest. I stopped dead, enormously regretting my walking speed that had left me a little breathless. It was growing harder by the moment to inhale.

Nor paused, realized I was no longer with him, and hurried back to my side. “Are you okay?” he asked. One of his hands moved along my back, kneading my tightening muscles. “Breathe. Breathe!” If I had the air for it, I would have informed him I was trying, and was well aware that I needed to be breathing. Unfortunately, all my energy was going into not allowing my body to suffocate me.

Nor abruptly decided that simply telling me to breathe was ineffective and changed tact. “Hold on!” This turned out to be quite literal because he seized me around the waist and hefted me against his chest.

It was impossible for a harpy to fly while carrying something, because their arms and wings were one and the same, but I could have been fooled considering how fast Nor was moving. He plunged through the forest as fast as the wind. I would have been more impressed if I wasn’t struggling to breathe at the moment. As it was, I was aware that we were moving at quite a speed.

Nor was back in the healing house within minutes. I was unceremoniously dumped on the bed and Nor darted off, rummaging through a cabinet with a noise of wood rattling and glass clinking.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he said. He knelt next to me, turning my head toward him. “You just need to drink this. Okay?”

I tried to inhale enough to speak and it stuck in my chest, sparking a coughing fit. Nor looked panicked and thrust the little bottle he was holding into my mouth. I sputtered, but some of the liquid spilled down my throat. There was a mild tingling and my chest loosened.

With my breathing abruptly eased, I could keep taking small sips from the bottle. The tightness loosened with every swallow. Nor slumped next to the bed, wings sagging with relief. I put down the bottle, still coughing, but breathing easier.

“Are you okay?” Nor asked. I nodded.

“You can move quick,” I said. My voice was raspy and a little strangled. I swallowed, trying to fully clear my throat.

“I was worried,” he said. “You should try carrying a bottle of this with you from now on.” He walked over to the cabinet and fetched a small bottle full of the infusion. “If you’re going to be going out more often, you’ll want something to prevent more attacks.”

I took the bottle. “That’s a good idea.” I set it down onto the table next to the bed. “Are you inviting me on more herb gathering missions, then?”

A slightly shy smile crept up Nor’s face. “If you’d like to come. You’ve been pretty good at spotting plants. And you’ve been pretty good in the gardens lately.”

“I was never really able to do a lot of gardening before,” I said. “So, I tended to overfocus on the little minute details, like soil quality and the amount of water you give the plants.”

“You’ve improved the garden a lot,” Nor said. “Oh, which reminds me. Hold on.”

He stood up and trotted over to the cabinet again. After looking through it for a few moments, he pulled out a small notebook and walked back over. “Here,” he said, presenting it to me. It looked like the notebooks he used for his own notes, a smooth black cover and soft, slightly off-white pages. “I haven’t taken many notes on the gardening aspects of herbs. I just… haven’t been very good at it. But I thought you could start taking notes on how you care for the plants. It might be useful.”

I took the notebook from his hands. Our fingers brushed as I did so. His skin was warm and calloused, the sort of skin that only came around after long, hard work. The notebook was heavy in my hands, strangely dense for such a small item. “Thank you,” I said. “I would love to do that.”

Nor stood, shifting on his talons. “Good. Um. You should probably get some rest. I’ll be back in a bit.” He hurried out of the room. I watched him go until his tail had completely vanished around the doorway.

Working in the garden only brought me closer to Nor. We spent time together every day, either going out to gather herbs or helping him with the garden. He was enthusiastic to learn and good company even when we weren’t talking about plants.

His ease with me spread to the rest of the village. By the time winter was over, I had been completely accepted as a part of the community. To them, I was not as much an outsider human as a strange, wingless harpy. Even Aerath trusted me enough to allow me to learn how to make herbal remedies, while Nor took on more of her duties, like diagnosing illnesses and dressing wounds.

During early spring, when the rains began to ease, a change set in around the village. There was a new current of excitement, the younger adults spending more time showing off and engaging in stunts. Even Nor, who had been fairly even tempered in the time I’d known him, seemed to get caught up in the excitement.

It was during my usual work in the garden that I noticed the changes were not confined to emotional. There was a physical change too. Nor’s tail feathers, usually a deep golden-brown, had taken on a rusty color. The color only brightened over the next week, going from a dull, sort of reddish orange to a bright crimson. The colors showed up on the male population of the rest of the village as well, to varying degrees. Some, especially the younger males, never got past a reddish orange, while others got to the same brilliant crimson hue as Nor’s.

While it garnered some sort of notice and people seemed pleased about it, no one was talking about what it actually meant. It clearly meant something, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why it was so important.

Eventually, after some time of trying to figure out what it meant on my own, I broke down and decided to ask Nor. “Your tail changed color,” I said as we headed back into the house from the garden.

“You noticed,” Nor said. His tone was utterly unreadable.

“Well, it’s a bit hard to miss. It’s a very bright color.” Nor’s unreadable expression shifted into one of clear embarrassment. “Is it something I shouldn’t mention? It seems to signal something, but I wasn’t sure what it was-”

“No, no. I mean, I guess I should have expected you to ask about it. You’re not a harpy, so you never would have been told.” He set the herbs he’d collected down on the table and turned to me, giving me his full attention. “It’s almost spring, which means that we’re approaching our mating season.”

I felt sort of stupid for not hitting upon that idea earlier. Of course. The red was to attract a mate. Was commenting on it some kind of social faux pas? As I tried to come up with that to say next, Nor continued. “We’ll have a mating ceremony soon, with the other local villages. It’s a big event, so everyone’s getting rather excited about it.”

“A… mating ceremony?” I repeated. How carnal were we talking? Was I going to have to make myself scarce for… how long did the mating ceremony last, anyway?

“It’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” Nor added hurriedly. “It’s more of a competition? Or a show, really. It lasts about a week, and the first six days are more of a festival than anything. Lots of feasting, games, shows. It’s more about getting to know the other villages and the people from them. It’s quite fun. The festival ends with the mating ceremony. It used to be a more literal interpretation of that, a long time ago. But now it’s really more of a show. Men fly around and show off, but it’s less to attract a mate and more to show off to someone you already have an attraction to. Or to get someone to ask you out, sometimes. It’s more for the fun of it and the tradition.”

“It sounds interesting,” I said.

“It should start in a couple of weeks. That’s the peak of the season,” Nor said. “I can show you around a bit, if you’d like.”

“Sure. If you’re not going to be too busy trying to find a soulmate,” I said, nudging him playfully in the side. He shrugged, glancing away.

“I’ve never actually participated all that much in it,” he said. “I’ve been kind of focused on my studies with my aunt. I spent most of my time at the last few festivals working with the other healers.”

“You should get out more, then. I can help your aunt out, if you want. Then you can go off and see the sights.”

“I already told you I’d show you around,” Nor protested. “And it’ll be your first festival.”

“Look, at least get a little time to yourself,” I said. “I can help out, you know.”

“We’ll see,” Nor said, which was as close to agreeing as I thought he was going to get.

The weeks passed slowly, with excitement ramping up as the festival got closer. I could almost feel the tension buzzing in the air, getting ready to overflow. By the time it had arrived, I was almost swept up in the rising excitement.

The fairground for the festival was a large clearing in the center of the island. It had an impressive view of the sky, and the ground was almost entirely covered in tents and attractions. Nor and I were toward the edge of the grounds, in a sort of makeshift medical tent. “We probably won’t be called on for a little bit,” he said once we’d finished setting everything up. “I can show you around.”

“Sure,” I agreed. Nor trotted off, and I followed after, looking around the festival with interest.

Most of it seemed like the sort of festivals I’d seen once or twice when I’d been young. Ever since my chest troubles had set in fully, I’d rarely gone far from my house. It looked mostly like a very fancy market. People showed off their most interesting wares, their most brightly colored or intricately designed trinkets. There were several people slightly younger than Nor picking up things that I assumed were for potential sweethearts. There were also several games, most of them for children, but a few clearly styled for adults. The food was the usual hearty fare that I’d seen at other festivals, enormously delicious and decadent.

“And this all lasts a whole week?” I asked as we made our way back to the healer’s tent. We had gotten sidetracked a few times- there were several musical performances and talent shows, and even a few classes that I’d been interested in taking.

“Well, the first and last days are the biggest ones. But yes, the whole week. For the most part.”

“Then you can take a day or two off and enjoy all this, can’t you?” I said. Nor hesitated for a moment. “I can handle things at the tent. Why don’t you take tomorrow off? It’ll be good for you to get a break.”

Nor hesitated. “I’ll have to ask my aunt.”

“I’ll make sure she says yes,” I said. “You deserve it. Especially after having to take care of me for so long.”

Nor shrugged and mumbled something about it not being a big deal. I laughed clapping him on the shoulder.

“Just take some time off. Okay?”

He agreed, finally, and we returned to the tent. There were a few injuries, of course, mostly young people trying to show off for their potential lovers, but nothing we were overwhelmed with. It took only a bit of persuading for Aerath to give Nor the next day off.

Nor went out only after making sure I kept my infusion on me. “Just be careful,” he said.

“I’m always careful,” I told him. “Now, go. And stop worrying so much.” He made a face, but left for the rest of the fairgrounds, leaving me with Aerath and the other healers.

I only spotted him a few times during the day. He seemed to have attracted a small group of friends by noon. It seemed he could get along well with others, as long as he managed to get out. Well, I reflected, he was a sweetheart. It wasn’t hard to believe that he was able to get along with others.

I’d been breathing relatively easy for so long that I hadn’t really been expecting another attack. So, when the bout of tightness came on with no warning, I was so shocked I couldn’t think of what to do for several panicked moments.

My wheezing attracted Aerath’s attention. She grabbed my shoulder and shoved me down onto a cot. I fumbled for the infusion, and Aerath helped me unstopper it and press it to my lips.

The infusion helped, but my chest still felt tight. I could draw in air, but it wasn’t enough. Black spots started to pop in front of my vision. My chest screamed with pain. I was dying. That thought sat clear and calm in my brain, rising above all the panic like foam over a tide. I’d known it was going to happen. I’d hoped it would take longer. But at least… at least the last few months of my life had been nice. My mind drifted to Nor. Hopefully he wouldn’t blame himself. He didn’t deserve that. He’d been wonderful.

Nor’s face was suddenly over mine. I blinked up at him. Ha. A nice hallucination before everything ended.

“Breathe!” Distantly, I could feel a hand on my chest, another at my mouth. Something sharp and bitter flowed past my lips and I choked, sputtering. My chest loosened abruptly and I sucked in a great breath, coughing and choking.

Nor, who I was gradually realizing was actually there and not just a hallucination, rolled me onto my side. Some of the solution drained from my mouth as I coughed it up. Nor rubbed my back vigorously, prompting another round of coughing.

Gradually, the tightness eased to just a faint raspiness and a raw pain. I sat up as Nor sank into a seat, weak with relief. “I thought you were going to die,” he said faintly.

“I did too.” My voice was gravely and everything felt raw. “The infusion wasn’t working. What did you use?”

“It was experimental,” Nor said a little sheepishly. “I’ve been trying to make it stronger, something that works better.”

“Thank goodness it did,” I said. I got slowly off the cot where I’d collapsed. Nor stood as well, staying close by like he was preparing to catch me.

“Maybe we should fine somewhere to rest,” Nor said. “The attack probably took it out of you.”

Despite your protests, Nor followed you back home and insisted on staying with you. “Just in case,” he kept repeating.

Nor kept near my side for the next few days, even when I tried to gently push him to spend time elsewhere and enjoy the event. The only times he seemed willing to leave was when I was going with him, at which point he took great enthusiasm in showing me around the various games and events that were being held. Being near him allowed even me to make some new friends- those who would have been unsettled by the sight of some strange, wingless creature seemed reassured enough by Nor’s friendly presence to approach.

Despite his insistence on sticking with me, I did convince him to take another day off for the last day of the festival. It was the day of the mating ceremony, and, given that Nor was of proper age, possibly even a little old, to participate in it, I wanted to give him time to do so.

The showing started at noon sharp, when the sun was at its zenith. Most of the people flying were male, though a few women had painted their tails red and were flying as well. A few would take off at a time and move in carefully coordinated dances. Some were conservative and simple, others were aggressive and risk-taking. Eventually, they would land back in the throng of people staring at the sky. Some of them landed and slipped off with a single partner. Others landed and seemed to attract a group, each of the admirers vying for attention.

After about an hour, I meandered off to the bank of a nearby river. Watching harpies fly was interesting, but it did get old after a while and I was getting a crick in my neck from looking up.

I had only been soaking my feet in the river for a few minutes when Nor walked up to me and sat down next to me. “Wondered where you’d gone,” he said. “Doing all right?”

“Fine. You don’t need to be so worried.”

Nor dipped his talons into the water. “Mm. I guess. But I do anyway.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” I said. “You spent half of the festival trailing after me like I would collapse the instant you took your eyes off me. And now you’re missing out on the flight ceremony.”

It was hard to tell with his deeply tanned skin, but I thought Nor went a little pink. “I wasn’t really planning to fly anyway,” he said.

“No one caught your eye?” I asked. There was a long pause. “Nor?”

“Not as such,” he said. “I mean… Sort of.”

“And you’ve been spending all your time trying to look after me instead of enjoying the festival with her,” I said. “You know, I don’t need you to hover around me. You don’t need to feel guilty if anything happens to me. I’ve known I’m probably not going to live that long.”

Nor’s expression twisted a little bit. “I’ve been trying to fix that. I think I’ve got a concoction right. If you take it daily, it should help you-”

“Okay, okay,” I said. “Hey. You don’t need to spend all your time on me, you know? You can have a life. You’re not responsible for me.”

“It’s not about that,” Nor said. “I wasn’t worried about you. Well, not just that. I…” He stopped for a moment. “I wanted to spend time with you.”

Oh. That created a runny sensation in my chest, like my heart flipped over. “You wanted to-”

“Don’t be that surprised. I haven’t really been subtle about it,” Nor said. “Yes. I like being around you. Why did you think I kept inviting you to do stuff with me and stayed with you instead of going to the festival?”

“I thought you just wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to suffocate in your absence,” I said.

“A little bit. But mostly because I like you,” he said. He peered into my face, a tentative smile on his lips. “You don’t seem upset?”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m pleased, actually.”

“Really?” Nor’s face was quite close to mine. His lips were parted. I could feel the soft warmth of his breath.

“Really.” Our lips were quite close to touching. Just before making contact, Nor seemed to stall, hesitation overcoming desire. I smiled and leaned in, pressing our lips together in a gentle moment of contact.

Neither of us had much experience kissing, so it was a bit clumsy and we clacked teeth more than once. Still, when we broke apart, I felt breathless in the most positive way I’d ever experienced.

“We should go back,” Nor said, still staring at me. “I… I think I want to participate in the ceremony after all.”

I smiled. “I’ll be watching.”

#exophilia #harpy #harpy boyfriend #harpy lover #monster boyfriend #monster lover #ocXoc #MxF #Nor

[kashimos-hajime]

evac | g.r.

summary: reyes freaks the fuck out while you almost die. no big deal, except it is and he knows it.

WARNINGS: blood, tenderness, near-death experiences!!! gun violence a bit  pairing: gabriel reyes x fem!reader word count: 1.1k

part of the black and blue universe

You’re delirious.

The poison is swimming in your veins as Reyes throws you over his shoulder, ducking behind cover. Resting you against concrete, he returns fire just as Fio over the comms tells him evac is in t-minus three.

“Make it quick!” he barks, hunkering behind cover as a bullet chips off concrete. Blood is slipping out of your mouth as you cough, eyes squeezing shut. Your hands are covered in your own blood as you hold onto your abdomen where a sniper slug had torn through you, and you pitch forward, eyes shut. “C’mon, agent. Stay with me. Hey! Stay with me.”

You don’t respond besides an incomprehensible mumble. The sound of the Orca descending nearby catches his attention as he returns fire again, taking out two Talon operatives hounding their position. There’s another, far up by the rooftops and he yanks the rifle from your arms, switching it into sniper mode and glancing into the scope, pinning the bastard down easy. Ducking his head through the strap, he picks you up, arm scooping underneath your legs as the door to the Orca opens. Jumping onboard, he immediately lays you down on the bench, grabbing the first-aid kit always stored on board.

“What’s our ETA?” he asks, crouching down beside you as you let out a moan. Your eyes squeezed tight, you probably don’t even know where you are as the evac vehicle rumbles into flight. Soon enough, they’re exiting San Francisco air and heading back to New York. It’ll be a long trip, for sure, despite only being a few hours. Your hand raises blindly and he catches it, your skin slick with russet as you turn your head towards you. Your eyes crack open, and a smile pulls at your lips as you lift your hand from his grip, touch his face.

“Reyes,” you whisper, smearing blood all over his cheek. He turns to the medical supplies, cracking the box open and thanking God Ziegler had insisted on advanced first-aid training to Blackwatch operatives. “Hey…” “Save your strength, alright? Don’t talk.” Snapping on a pair of gloves, he undoes the bullet proof vest that did nothing to protect you, grabbing scissors and cutting your shirt open. Ripping the thermal threads apart, he swallows at the sight of your abdomen. He’s used to blood, he... he’s used to gore he’s caused by his own guns, but to see this—

A hole has been ripped through your stomach, gaping and dark with drying blood and fresh, too. Grabbing gauze, he stuffs the wound quickly and your hand digs into his shoulder as you let out a clenched moan. Keeping pressure, he turns to find the forceps, trying to think. Remove the bullet? Keep it in? Shit, shit, shit.

“How much longer?” he demands again, and Fio glances back at you, the visor of her helmet shoved up. Her eyes widen at the wriggling agent bleeding all over her floor and she turns back, focusing on piloting.

“I’m trying to cut down the hours, sir. Dr. Ziegler was already flying in as soon as she heard and she’ll meet us in New York.”

“Good.” Removing the cause, he tries to see into the wound but it’s so fucking clotted up and messy. 

What is the first step?

Flush the wound. Shit, he needs running water, some antiseptic.

The best he can do is betadine in a bottle, and he grabs it quickly, unscrewing the top and letting it flow all over your abdomen. You let out a terrible scream, your back arching off the metal as your palm slaps against the wall, but he ignores it, ignores the way your other hand is clawing at his shoulder and neck as your feet struggle to kick yourself away.

“I know, I know. C’mon. It’s gonna be over, soon, okay? Shit, shit, shit. C’mon. Stay with me.” He wipes at the blood at your mouth, finding a bandage and wrapping it tightly around your abdomen. He wraps you three times over before he’s sure he can’t see any bleeding coming through, seeping like a red mirage, and your face, damp with sweat, finally eases as he rips off his gloves, his hand finding your bloody one.

Finding a clean rag, he sprays a bit of water onto it and begins the slow process of cleaning your hands and face, rubbing the towel softly over your fingers. You’re limp against his ministrations, eyes half-shut as you watch him do so. He wishes you were asleep but there’s no sedative in the kit, so he can’t numb your pain either.

Fucking hell. He makes a mental note to remind Ziegler to fix that.

“Gabe,” you murmur, but he hushes you instantly, running the rag up your arm before wringing it out, dampening it again. He’s sitting beside the bench on his ass, medical supplies littered all around him, and his legs are crossed like he’s some kid in fourth grade, but you’re watching him all the while and he finds he can’t move away from you. He’s not about to leave your side for a fucking second because it’s his fault you’re lying here, bleeding internally and probably dying as they try to make it back to New York in time.

“Don’t talk. That’s an order,” he commands, and a bloody smile flashes across your face. He lifts the rag to your jaw, the trail of blood smearing across your face as he tries his best to wipe it off, take away the dry stains.

“Not your fault,” you whisper, your hand hanging off the bench reaching up to brush against his chin. Your hand is so cold he wants to shiver and he immediately takes your hand, abandoning his task of cleaning you up in favour of warming you up. “Cold. Really, really, cold.”

“I’ll get you a blanket. C’mon, stay with me.” Shedding his jacket, he lays it over you. “C’mon, c’mon.”

“Gabe…” you call faintly, grabbing at his arm when he tries to get up and find you a fucking blanket to keep you from shivering. “Don’t go. Don’t wanna see you… go.” You smile. “I can’t imagine this world without you, commander. Not aboutta die without you here.”

His eyebrows shoot up and you tug him so weakly he isn’t sure he imagines it, but he sits back down slowly, clasps your hand in his.

He doesn’t try to move again.

#fic: black and blue #gabriel reyes #gabriel reyes x reader #gabriel reyes x you #gabriel reyes imagine #overwatch #overwatch x you #overwatch x reader #reaper x reader #my writing

[ereawrites]

Talon!Dick Grayson - Control

Dick remembers more than he admits. It's in his best interests to hide it: as Talon, if they find out that he remembers, they'll punish him. Drug him to the gills until he can't sift through the memories anymore, or torture him for hiding it, or kill the family he pretends he doesn't care about anymore. They'll do that anyway, though, if he doesn't do what they want.

You're lucky. You never quite got close enough to him to be in any immediate danger - a friend of a friend, an occasional teammate, a medical student who clearly had nothing better to do than save the asses of a bunch of vigilantes - from the Court. Well, aside from the time Dick crowded you up against a wall in the back of a club and kissed you hard. That mission got perhaps a little out of hand, too many drinks and too few reasons to control himself: the taste of cocktails on your lips, and Oracle's whisper in his earpiece saying the target's leaving, you need to follow, now, right as your hand slipped up under his shirt. He remembers. He pretends he doesn't.

"Of course they sent you.", you say quietly, when he catches you in an alleyway on the way back to your apartment. Your hand subtly shifts to ghost over the small knife you keep strapped to your side - he notices, but he says nothing. "Are you here as a warning, or a weapon?"

Dick sees your eyes crease, just a little, with grief. His memories are still fuzzy, still coming back to him in waves like a stormy ocean on a calm beach, and he's struggling to place everything quite right. So, when the image of that same grief on your face at the news of his leaving flashes across his mind, he doesn't know whether to trust it. "They don't like what you're doing. They'll want you dead, soon. You should watch yourself."

"Oh - they don't know you're here, do they? You came in secret."

He doesn't like how easily you come to the truth. He never did. "There's no point in hurting someone, if it's avoidable. Just keep your face out of the news for a while."

With that, he turns to leave: this alleyway is too well-lit, the soft glow of neon club signs and apartment lights illuminating you both, and he can't risk being seen with you. They're always watching. Your words chase him, though. "You're not their puppet, Dick. You don't have to hurt anyone, and you don't want to."

"That's not my name, and that's not the truth.", he replies, low and level and measured. "You're interfering with their business. That makes it my business."

"Interfering? All I'm trying to do is make healthcare somewhat accessible for people in poverty-"

"That clinic of yours is all over the news. You're in danger of becoming a celebrity - they'll send me for you before that happens, though."

You narrow your eyes at him, but you take one step forward. "Are you going to listen to them? Jesus, Dick - Ric - you can't be that far gone. You can't be. You're still the same person, even with a bullet in the back of your head. There's not a fucking chance they managed to break you like that."

Dick feels his chest tighten when you step towards him again - you're right, you're almost always right, but he can't let anyone see the weakness unless he wants one of his siblings dead - and he pushes back the instinctive urge to fight. He's here to warn you, not to hurt you. Besides, the Court keeps him on a tight leash; if they picks a target without their consent, they'll make him pay for it.

"Dick Grayson died. I'm Talon. I'm here as the Court.", he says. Your hand leaves the knife - you were hardly trying to hide it anymore, and he doesn't like the fact that he's got your adrenaline pumping in such a way -, coming to shakily hover between your bodies, and he feels like he's going to throw up. You're going to try to touch him. He hasn't been touched, other than by Court doctors and torturers, in months.

You don't close the distance just yet - your voice is so soft, too gentle, it's making his chest hurt even more, and he doesn't know if he possesses the strength to fight this. Not after months of the sharp edges of fragmented memories - he's yearning, however much he hates it, for familiarity. A reminder that he's still human. "No, you're not. You keep calling them, 'them' - not 'us'. You came for me, in secret, without them knowing. And you keep running your thumb over that scar on your palm. The one you got when your brother tripped, with that knife, in combat training. I had to give you four stitches."

When did you start tearing up? - Dick pretends he doesn't notice, but his lungs feel like they're being crushed by his ribs. Damian, half-brother and half-son: the mention of him has Dick careening even further into this hole, and he knows he needs to climb back out. He's running out of time. Disabling the suit tracker was easy enough, but it automatically resets every hour, and he's the Court's most valuable weapon right now; maybe coming to you was a mistake. Maybe they'll kill Damian.

"I've done what I came here to do. If you care about yourself, you'll listen, and you'll lay low for a few months."

Part of him knows that he should leave now - he should disappear into the night, right now, and not look back. The hand inches just a little closer to him. You're not wearing gloves, but you should be, in the winter cold of Gotham, and he finds himself wishing he could- no, he has to stop.

"No.", you whisper, voice trembling but filled with conviction. He hates you, or he wishes he could. He remembers feeling something for you before he left, and he knows it's only grown since he began keeping a watchful eye over you, ever since the Court began discussing putting a target on your back. He wishes he'd lost his memories completely. "No. This is my work, I won't just give up on it. Don't you remember - you told me, that night you kissed me, just after we left - you told me that I was going to do good in this world."

With the final word, you finally move to touch him. Your soft, kind hand shakily raises to his cheek - Dick can't quite manage to fight through the longing for your touch, until the second your icy fingertips brush over his cheekbone, and then his adrenaline kicks right into action: it's muscle memory, and another memory, training with Bruce Wayne this time, claws its way to the surface. His gloved hand flies up to grip your wrist, and he pulls your hand away: too rough, enough that his breath nearly hitches in concern, but he maintains a tight grip and holds your fingers just an inch from his skin.

"Don't."

"Why? Why, Dick?"

Why is he stopping you? Why is he grappling with every urge in his body, every instinct that's practically screaming for him to punch you and hold you at the same time? Why is he working for the Court, even though it's killing him? The answers are all the same, really. He can't risk anyone else's safety. Better his morals, than the life of someone he loves. Loved. That feeling needs to remain a memory.

"Dick's gone. We're enemies now."

When your eyes flash with a visible devastation, once again, it distracts Dick just enough for your hand to slip through his grip: he was always bad with emotions, never quite able to keep them under control the way Bruce expected, and maybe a bullet to the brain didn't kill that part of him. He's starting to wish that the bullet had killed him, altogether. As you reach for his domino and slowly pull it away (your fingers are trembling, you're scared, he's scaring you), he remembers how it felt, to live without the mask. Your eyes are gleaming with tears - he manages to keep his own blank, somewhat, but he's already lost this battle. He's spent weeks torn up over the memories of his family, his teammates, and evidently he's so broken that all he wants is someone to put the pieces back together; Bruce would be so disappointed, Jason and Tim would pity him, and all of that would be better than them hating him.

He's pathetic.

You kiss him.

It's quick, so your lips are on his before he really realises what's happening - the drugs the Court have been feeding him are slowing him down, or perhaps he just didn't want to stop you - and he almost gasps at the icy cold of your skin, but he doesn't, and he doesn't know why he doesn't push you away. He can't quite bring himself to kiss you back, but he doesn't fight it. You keep your lips on his for a moment that stretches into eternity, and somewhere along the way, Dick closes his eyes. It's only so he doesn't have to see your face.

You pull back, hesitant, and Dick's chest is starting to hurt now. "You're still in there. You can still come back, Dick."

There's no point in lying to you any longer: he can see the knowing in your eyes, and you look as though you're sharing even a tiny fraction of the pain he's feeling. You look as though you care. So, although he's reluctant to trust his own conclusions, or you, it's probably better to tell the truth now, and hope with all his heart that you'll keep quiet; there's no point in lying, but there's still a chance that he can protect you. He came here to warn you, after all.

"They'll kill my family if I leave. They'll kill my family and you, if they find out that I'm here to warn you. I can't just leave - they're everywhere, they control this fucking city, I can't leave."

He hears his voice start to shake, just a little - he's running out of time, he needs to leave - and he watches you spiral further into grief. You wear your heart on your sleeve, just like Dick Grayson did. He wants to be Dick Grayson again. Not this: this weapon, as you called it, a tool, a puppet for the people who stand for everything he once hated. That bullet should have killed him.

"Dick-", you breathe, and he flinches, but he doesn't correct you. "They can protect themselves - you can protect them, you're all strong. You can protect so many people, like you always have, if you just come back. You can be Nightwing again, your dad can make up some excuse about why you vanished, and it won't be the same - it doesn't have to be the same, but it'll be okay. It'll be okay. Please, Dick."

A beep rings out from the computer on his wrist. It echoes against the rain-slicked walls of the alley, so narrow that they're almost closing in on him, and the sound pierces right into his skull and conjures up a wave of panic in his stomach; it's a matter of minutes, now, until they'll realise he's missing, and Damian and Tim are both out on patrol tonight, alone, easy targets for the Court - they're going to find him, in this neon-glowing alleyway, with his mask gone and his lips tingling, and -

"You can't tell anyone you saw me, or what I said. They'll punish us both - you can't, promise me you won't.", he hisses, snatching the domino from your hand and slipping it back over his eyes: they must be a little crazed with urgency, and he feels just the tiniest fraction of relief as his face is obscured once more. You clearly sense the fear (he's ashamed to admit it, even if it's only within the confines of his own mind) because you swallow, hard, and nod.

"I won't. But, Dick - Jesus, you know you can come back. Your family miss you." Dick can't bear to think about the implications of that statement. He'll try to forget it, later.

Dick Grayson wants to apologise to you, to tell you that he's watching over you to keep you safe, maybe even to kiss you again - just to feel human touch again, he tells himself, just for a few blissful seconds - before he flees back to the shadows like the coward that he is. Talon tells him to disappear wordlessly. He compromises. He pulls up your hood, hiding your face from watchful eyes and the biting winter cold, allowing his gloved fingers to brush your cheek and telling himself it’s an accident, and then he runs.

He sees Tim on top of a gargoyle, right before he reaches the Court's lair. His younger brother doesn't notice him, his back turned in the opposite direction, but Dick would remember that blood-red suit in a heartbeat. He pretends that the memory doesn't make him want to cry.

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #nightwing #nightwing x reader #talon #talon dick grayson #court of owls #batman #dc #dcu #angst

[readbythestarlight]

c2e125

Sam, there are some things no one needs to see

Yussah! My other favorite wizard!

He doesn’t want to help because he doesn’t want to possibly lose control of his form and reveal he’s actually a dragon

Oooo scepter?

A gold scepter with a talon? Interesting.

I love him

[[MORE]]

“All the more reason for me to stay behind” I love this cowardly wizard man

Ugh why are we talking to this asshole again

I don’t like him

Y’all aren’t going to get any answers from him

NoPE noPE Nope DONT like there where this is going

GET OUT

I M M E D I A T E L Y

CALEB

double Nat 20s awwww yeah

He’s so gross ugh

Caleb

Babe

Like I’m sure he’s just trying to squeeze what he can put before he bolts but still

Don’t like him taking the risk

And also I think this guy is a lying liar so

Please make that save

Okay thank god

Anyway we can still all agree Yussah is a dragon right?

This scrying sounds very uncomfortable

Nosebleed

In the middle of a snowy forest oops

Should be relatively safe maybe then

Wait omg what!

They get to go to Tal’Dorei!! Nice!

Gasp, Kima!!

A: “...Beholders and such”

Oh really?

Vestige of Divergence??? Meant to??? Combat!! Betrayer gods!!

U’kotoa better watch his back

Y’all, mages and magic folk probably aren’t who you need to take

Veth: “halfling to halfling, I gotchu!”

Veth plz don’t steal Kima’s sword I have a feeling you’re eyeing it up

Awww Kima offering to go and Allura’s like honey I love you and therefore no

Guys don’t drag Kima into this and get her killed

Okay damn, they’re getting all kinds of badass gifts

Does Allura know you’re friends with Artagan

Lmaooooo

Her eyes going squinty I KNEW she caught the name

V: “Are you a follower of the Traveler?”

A: “By. No. Means.”

Oh dang, what does her staff do for them?

Cad’s like “you can have mine if you want” and as soon as Jester mentions beetles goes “nope thanks”

Gonna?? Give?? Yasha the sword??

From one lesbian to another

“Skin gorger? Really?!”

“I didn’t name it”

“Kimaaaa I don’t want that in the tower”

Okay wait so what is happening

Is it a device to get them to the Astra plane

And if they see someone in a ship and they’re yellow it’s bad and they should run

Someone needs to check on Jester because she seems really upset and I think with each person refusing to actively go with and help them she gets even more discouraged

Is she gonna ask about the dagger?

Oh she’s not asking about the curse she’s asking about Caleb awww

The fact that Matt is giving them so much incredible gear though makes me AFRAID

Jester like “isn’t there a chance we’re wanted criminals?” like fuck

Gasp Dairon?!

They’re one non-wizard ally??

Oh DAMN some heavy Beau stuff out of nowhere

Oh Beau...

Group hug time, I think

Seriously, hug her

Yasha, hug herrrrr

New see invisibility? But only creatures lol

Oh Veth

D: “You’re making us all proud, I hope you know that” I’m soft

And then immediately after Beau’s “like hey btw we lost a very powerful magical item.... in the woods.....”

Dairon: “I take it all back”

Caleb I think you need to be less squishy more than you need anything else

especially up against Lucien

The dagger is finally coming out

Sam choosing to re-roll the one NOW and everyone losing it is amazing

Does GR break curses?

Okay good

And just like that the curse is broken, thank goodness

What the FUCK kind of curse is that

“You’re giving my ring back?!”

They’re so fucking cute

Honestly it’s amazing how much more lighthearted they all are now that they’re away from Eiselcross

Oh?? Beau planning the daaaaaate

The BeauYasha date is comiiiiiiiing

Ninjas??

She wants to

Fight

Ninjas

On their date

Beau, honey

I for one cannot WAIT for this disaster date

Oh no why Caduceus

FUCK OFF CITY LEAVE MY BOY

Oh okay? Not city? This seems suspiciously nice so far...

I knew it

What’s wrong are family okay

Fuck

It’s time to go home

The bark becomes flesh, branch becomes arm, stone and skin

Oh nooooooo

The FUCKING CITY

NO

a city street made of teeth, I hate it

FUCK OFF, CITY

I will personally fight Aeor myself for hurting Caduceus this way

Yasha now, okay...

STORMLORD! It’s been a while!

He’s coming to say he’s proud of her for what’s going on with Beau? I hope

“Save us”?!

Matt could you not just let them have one nice night

“You found your strength, Yasha. Now you must learn to use it. You are not an implement of others. You’ve broken those chains. You are... an avatar of the Stormlord. I work through you, but your strength is your owns you’ve begun the first steps, but you must earn this one.”

Matt

MATT NO

NO MORE EYES MATTHEW

I MEAN IT SIR

motherFUCKER

so it’s not reading the book???

fucking hell

Fuck Matt’s sound effects are so good though

All the eyes FUCK

Matthew FUCKING Mercer

I’m flying to LA right now to personally fight him

Love you too Matt

Is it Thursday yet?

#cr spoilers #critical role spoilers #critical role #emi watches critical role

[danjo-ao3]

When Ashes Fall

Pairing: Reaper/female Reader

Summary: You are a combat medic working for Overwatch, when a mission goes south and you cross paths with Talon mercenary Reaper. But will he kill you on the spot or is there more to this encounter?

Rating: 18+

Tags/Warnings: rape/non-con, violence, blood, emotional manipulation, blackmail, kidnapping

Word count: 52,215 (in 5 parts)

A/N: the warnings are clear on this one. Yes, there is going to be rape/non-con, and it’s going to get explicit. I strongly advise anyone who is not into that kind of story to turn back around, because this is going to get pretty heavy and will finally be the non-con story with Reaper that I had always wanted to write.

Part 1 / 5 (part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5)

***

Smoke. Dark and all encompassing, it irritated your lungs and sent you into a coughing fit while your drooping eyes were searching for...something.

 What had happened? You tried to move your body but you couldn’t even feel it.

 The last thing you remembered was an explosion, when you and your small Overwatch team had been scouting the area for the missing civilians, but just as you had turned to Caleb behind you to let him know that his latest joke had been even worse than the ones before, were the two of you knocked back from an explosion too close in order to get to cover in time and both of you had flown into the warehouse’s walls.

 Blinking through the black smoke, you again tried to lift your right arm to wipe at your watering eyes, but when it still wouldn’t move, you let your head roll to the side to see that a long piece of jagged metal was protruding from your shoulder.

 Oh.

 Oh shit.

 The panic at the realization of being impaled by something momentarily cleared your head enough for you to move your left arm and shakily touch the blood covered object. Why you did that you didn’t quite know yourself, maybe out of morbid curiosity or in hope of it being an illusion or a nightmare. Maybe to pull it out. But the slippery metal’s cold surface at your fingertips sent a jolt down your arm, making you inhale sharply, sending more of the smoke into your lungs, which resulted in even more coughing.

 Gradually, you could feel a dull throbbing pain emitting from your right side, spreading to your arm and lungs. Apparently, what adrenaline had been coursing through your bloodstream was finally wearing off and you would be left to feel all of the abuse your body had suffered.

Shit, if you weren’t able to remove the metal from your shoulder you were surely going to bleed to death, the nanites inside your blood would not be able to heal you around that thing. And that was when you noticed that your amplifying glove had been torn to pieces, only a few shreds were still clinging to your hand. Quickly, your left-hand fingers clumsily searched your right ear for the comm device, but that must have fallen off when you had hit the wall.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!  

 Somebody would have been nearby, though? As you drew in more smoke instead of air into your lungs in preparation to call for help, you instantly regretted your decision as your wild coughing rattled your body against the metal inside your shoulder and you gritted your teeth against the pain.

 Well, this wasn’t going to work either, you realized, and laid back against the debris behind you that was strewn everywhere about, pinned in place like a bug by a needle in a showcase. In the distance you could see the flickering of flames, even through the thick smoke around. Your breaths came shorter now, the pain in your shoulder was threatening to make you black out again, and you were certain you were going to die should you fall unconscious. If you didn’t bleed out, the smoke would surely suffocate you, and you weren’t keen on dying just yet. You still had to tell Caleb to shut the hell up.

 Caleb. Where was he? Frantically, you looked around, but the smoke was making it almost impossible to see anything further away than a two meter radius. You hadn’t heard him either, fear gripped your heart as you imagined his lifeless body lying somewhere nearby, maybe equally impaled on a piece of the warehouse.

 Closing your eyes in trepidation, you wondered what had even happened, had someone planted a bomb on your team? After the recall, Overwatch’s reputation hadn’t been the best. Most people could still remember its downfall and weren’t all too happy to see the organization being active again. You couldn’t blame them. Between the destruction of the Swiss headquarters and the revelation of Overwatch’s black ops division’s machinations, you had been reluctant to be recruited into the newly formed international team of operatives. You had been invited by one Dr. Angela Ziegler to join her in her work for the team after you had been her student for two years at her Swiss medical center. So you had accepted in hopes of keeping up your training under her.

 And now here you were, broken and battered after a routine retrieval mission, with the intention to heal and not even able to help yourself. Groaning in frustration, you again gripped the metal with your left hand and tried to pull, but the thing didn’t even budge a millimeter and your strength was waning the longer you lay there. It was most definitely embedded inside something even bigger and heavier behind you, so you would have to get up in order to get rid of it and there was no way you would be able to do that in your current condition. With a shaky breath, you let your arm drop back to the dusty floor as you felt your heartbeat slowing down with the blood loss.

 So that was it. Not even your fear was able to keep you conscious for much longer and your eyes closed on their own accord.

 Behind your lids the darkness was sporadically interrupted by flickering firelight in the distance, creating dancing spots and the illusion of a human figure closing in.

 Then between the blood rushing in your ears and the tinnitus from the explosion, you heard them: faint footsteps growing ever louder. They sounded heavy and foreboding, if such a thing was even possible. With the last of your strength, you cracked your eyes open to find that figure approaching you through the smoke, but aside from it being huge and oddly shaped, you couldn’t make out anything else. The thick smoke was still impairing your vision.

 Soon the footsteps stopped and you struggled to raise your eyes at a skeletal white mask surrounded by a black hood and even more black smoke.

How odd. You must have gotten delirious with blood loss already, you mused. Because what stood in front of you resembled nothing you’d ever seen before. Or maybe you had died already, and the angel of death was here to accompany you to the realm beyond.

 A weak smile flitted across your lips at your own weird thoughts.

 Your eyes had drifted closed again, but reopened when you felt something cold and hard press against your forehead. The muzzle of a shotgun touched your skin, and if you were surprised then only at the choice of weapon. Death had come for you and there was no running away at this point.

 You held your breath in anticipation, certain you’d soil your pants any second now and not even letting you leave this life in dignity.

 The pressure of the gun increased, pushing your head back a fraction until you almost lay flat against the ruined crates and pieces of metal behind you, even shifting the piece inside your shoulder. A gasp escaped you at the pain and your eyes shot open to stare death in the face.

 The figure loomed overhead, half leaning over you with his shotgun still in place, silently contemplating you.

 “Any last words, mariquita?” His deep voice dripped with venom and scorn, distorted and rumbling as it was, sending a shiver through you, and you were certain it wasn’t because of the ringing in your ears either.

 Breathing labored and short, you fought to keep your eyes on the figure, which grew increasingly difficult as your head had begun to spin and sent the world around you spiralling.

 “Are—” You were interrupted by more coughing. Once you regained your voice, you swallowed around your dry throat and tried again. “Are you the angel of death?”

 There, you were definitely delirious.

 But...you had to know, even if it might have sounded silly. Nothing else had come to your mind just then. Your voice was rough and small, but you knew he must have heard regardless because he cocked his head slightly, as if he hadn’t expected the question, adjusting his grip on the shotgun. The small movement drew your eyes towards his fist and you saw that he had claws wrapped around the gun’s handle. Maybe not an angel after all.

 Seconds ticked by before the figure finally moved again, he kneeled down before you, his gun had moved underneath your chin and was used to tilt your head up. With his free hand he reached for his face. His clawed fingers gripped the bottom of the mask and smoothly pulled it away, releasing a different kind of smoke from behind it.

 Your eyes widened at his gesture, wildly darting between the bone in his hand and the black mass underneath that hood. He loomed even closer now, so you were able to see faint red orbs glimmering inside the swirly black mist that was his face. There was nothing else to see, only a black void with two burning embers for eyes, stealing the very last of your breath.

 After staring at him for what felt like decades, his voice washed over you once more.

 “Does this look like an angel to you?” He almost sounded amused, if the gravel of his voice could even deliver emotion.

 Well, not like a textbook angel. But how were you supposed to know? The only thing you did know was that this... person was anything but a normal human being and that was reason alone to be wary.

 You shrugged with your good shoulder. “Demon then,” You offered weakly and blinked through the fog in your brain, not entirely sure why you were having a conversation about religious entities with him in the first place. Probably to distract him and prolong your life.

 The creature chuckled mirthlessly as he put the mask back in place, its empty eye-sockets staring at you lifelessly again. The shotgun at your chin forced your head to stay in its position and was starting to dig into your skin painfully, there was no strength left in you to keep it upright on your own.

 “Does it matter when I’m about to take your life?” Came the dark question from above and you frowned at the wording, how did one take someone else’s life? Your lightheadedness made it very hard to concentrate at the moment, so when you wanted to speak again it came out slurred.

 “Guess it doesn’t…” You trailed off and wondered why the creature even indulged you with all this small talk.

 The movement of him tightening the grip on his weapon to aim upwards at your brain sent a shiver through you, certain that this was your final moment. With it, you felt a rush of adrenaline hit you. Reflexively and in a last ditch effort you actually managed to raise both your arms, ignoring the exploding pain in your shoulder and gripped the gun to move it away from your head. Unfortunately, you might as well had tried to move a brick wall for all the good it did you, a faint cry of pain and frustration escaped you at the realization that you could literally do nothing. Still, your hands kept their feeble grip at the shotgun, your right one already slipping with the blood on it.

 The cloaked figure didn’t even seem phased by this act of resistance, he merely knelt in his spot, his strong arm unmoving at your pathetic attempt at throwing him off. Then again, how were you supposed to tell what he felt at all with that mask to hide his features from view.

 Whimpering, you wanted to hate yourself for even trying, and probably amusing the asshole, but deep down you were a fighter and hadn’t you suffered the blood loss and probably a concussion, you would have fought him tooth and nail instead of laying there to take his death blow like a rabbit with its foot caught in a snare.

 Your whole body shook as your muscles tried to keep up their position, but it became harder second after second, reminding you that it much preferred to black out any time now. But you couldn’t let that happen.

 With an annoyed grunt, the figure removed your hands off of his gun, but then stilled as he held your right wrist tightly, observing your ruined amplifying glove underneath the blood coating your entire arm.

 Suddenly his head snapped back to look at you and you felt the hair at the back of your neck stand on end.

 “You are a healer,” He stated matter-of-factly before dropping your hand like a hot potato. You could have sworn there was a hint of disappointment in his statement, but you had no time to dwell on it before your head dropped when he removed his gun from underneath your chin.

 Then the world spun around you wildly again as you were being lifted off the ground none too gently, the giant metallic piece of debris slid out of your wound with a sickening sound and made you see stars before you finally blacked out with the pain of the forceful extraction.

  White, blinding light shone overhead as you slowly blinked your eyes open. You turned your head away from the garish, headache-inducing annoyance to get a bearing of your surroundings. Everything was just so bright. The walls, the floor, not even your hand could shield you from it as it came upward to protect your eyes.

 Finally, you were able to make out details about the room you were in. Aside from the spare decor and white paint job, you could see a heart monitor standing next to you, the fine blue line dutifully displaying a heart rate. Movement caught your eye and you saw a small drone hovering above your body, apparently scanning your vitals. So, a hospital then?

 That’s when your memories came rushing back; the mission in the warehouse, the explosion and the “angel of death” about to off you. Your pulse quickened as you looked down on your body, the piece of metal was gone, thankfully, the wound covered with a patch that should not have fit had you not healed as quickly as you knew you would after it had been removed, allowing the nanites to finally do their work to patch you up.

 Still, the wound must have been massive and the size of the patch suggested it was at most a few inches long. That meant you had been out of it for at least a day or two. That was pretty normal, given the circumstances.

 With a sigh you lay back down, left arm covering your face while you let the relief of being alive and well wash over you. That whole ordeal had been pretty nightmarish.

 “Finally awake, I see,” A smooth feminine voice sounded from your left and in the haste to remove your arm, you almost knocked the small monitoring drone to the floor.

 A tall, red headed woman approached your bed, her features pointed and regal, the white lab coat she was wearing indicated that she was a part of the hospital’s medical staff. Without waiting for a reply she went on.

 “How are you feeling?” She didn’t even look at you as she grabbed a holopad from the bedside table, her long fingers tapping away at it. After the disuse of your vocal chords, you had to clear your throat before answering.

 “I, um...I’m feeling okay I guess?” You waited a beat. “Where am I?”

 Finally, her gaze turned to yours and you could see that one eye had a different color to the other.

 “The nanite technology inside your blood made sure you’d survive,” She ignored your question, then grasped the holopad in both hands as she stood beside you. “I must say, it looks eerily familiar to me,” She pressed a button on the pad and the small drone hovered over to settle in her outstretched palm. It was turned off and put aside carefully.

 “It seems Dr. Ziegler has finally managed to reach her goal of incorporating our technology into someone’s body,” The woman said with a sharp smile.

Their technology? You hadn’t been aware that Dr. Ziegler had worked on the nanites with somebody else outside of Overwatch or her Swiss based medical facility. And had this woman been there, you would have known of her, or at least her name.

 “Excuse me,” You tried a tentative smile. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch your name.” There was no name tag on her coat, only a small logo which you swore you had seen before but somehow couldn’t make the connection to just yet. Stupid concussion making your sight blurry and your memory fuzzy.

 “Dr. O’Deorain,” She said curtly and already turned away again to the other side of the room where more equipment was stored.

 O’Deorain...as much as you tried to find a connection to something, the name didn’t ring any bells. But apparently she was a doctor, so maybe she had worked with Dr. Ziegler together after all.

 “Do you know Dr. Ziegler?”

 From where you lay you could see a rueful smile flitting briefly over her thin lips.

 “I knew her, yes. We worked together for a short period of time.”

 Interesting.

 “But we soon discovered that besides our common goal in advancing human genetics, I was the one who was willing to go beyond the...pesky ethical ramifications our project was bringing up.”

 That sounded concerning.

 “I knew she was going to keep her work up on it though, just as I have,” She concluded and brought with her a small object to your bedside. It was a small test-tube filled with blood. It was probably safe to assume that it was yours.

 “You must be one of her test subjects then,” She said offhandedly, swirling the blood inside the small container. Frowning, you adjusted your position on the bed.

 “I am her student, actually,” You corrected her, which earned you a raised eyebrow. You were starting to dislike this woman. “I was gifted the nanites as part of my education. And I was trained to use them on and off the battlefield.”

 This seemed to pique her interest, a small hum was your answer as she seemed to be deep in thought at your statement.

 “Explain how you use them,” Her voice had taken on a breathy quality and it made you a little uncomfortable, though you weren’t sure why. Her sudden focus and undivided attention were unsettling in their intensity.

 A sudden need to look away overcame you, but the strange urge to prove yourself kept your gaze locked with hers.

 “The nanites can heal me, obviously. But I usually wear a glove with amplifying abilities, it enables me to focus the healing through my blood into my skin and then into a beam which I can direct towards others as well,” You explained, showing your right hand in lieu of the glove. All the while the doctor was watching with rapt attention.

 “I see,” She mumbled, her index finger tapped her bottom lip pensively. “So does that mean you can still heal others through touch without that glove?”

 You hesitated.

 “Yes.”

 Somehow you got the distinct feeling that you were telling her too much. So far, you hadn’t been given any real information about your condition or your whereabouts. Weren’t those the kind of things you would normally be told immediately after waking? The fact that the doctor had ignored your previous inquiry was alarming, to say the least. Nervously, you wondered if you should try and ask again, even though you guessed there wouldn’t be an answer.

 “Where am I?” You managed to ask in a steady voice as you searched Dr. O’Deorain’s gaze once more. She had moved further away from you, her white lab coat billowed behind her lithe frame as she came to a stop to gently put the blood filled test-tube inside an apparatus. With the push of a button the machine began to hum quietly. Once she was done, she finally addressed you.

 “This is part of my laboratory. I’d appreciate it if you refrained from touching anything. Somebody will come to escort you shortly,” Was all she offered before briskly turning around and leaving the room.

 What a shit explanation was that? Her laboratory? You shivered. The things you had learned about her in the few sentences you two had exchanged were enough to make you uneasy. Whoever considered ethics to be pesky was to be feared.  

 Immediately, you decided that you had to leave this place, wherever it was.

 You waited a few heartbeats after the doctor had left you in the laboratory and got up from the hospital bed. You were filled with dread and unease; something was definitely wrong here and you didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out what it was. So you crept to the exit cautiously and passed the machine Dr. O’Deorain had put on, its low hum getting louder the closer you got. As you lay your hand on the door handle, your heart contracted with fear of it being locked, but you were able to open it. Relief washed over you. Maybe you were fretting for nothing?

 A light breeze coming through the crack reminded you that you wore a flimsy hospital gown instead of your regular clothes and you were momentarily unsure if you could proceed like that. At least it was closed front and back, so it wasn’t revealing much. Still, it would have been wise to find real clothing sooner rather than later.

 You peeked outside into a narrow corridor, only partially lit so the very end was cast in shadow. There was nowhere else to go though, so you stepped outside carefully. Creeping along the wall, you neared the end of the dark corridor which turned into a left turn, and you stopped to check what was beyond it.

 It was a gorgeous lounge, dim lights along the walls gave off a chill-out vibe, their orange glow illuminated several loveseats grouped together in a corner and a comfortable looking chaise-longue in dark purple tones topped off with polished wood. Your bare foot landed on the plush carpet, your toes wiggled in the tuft experimentally.

 Whatever you had expected to see, it wasn’t this. What kind of lab had such exquisite waiting rooms? Or whatever this was.

 It was definitely not a hospital, that much was clear.

 Off to the side was a set of big double doors, made from mahogany by the looks of it. You certainly didn’t want to find out what was behind those, but luckily there was an elevator to your far right, the colors were held in similar tones to the rest of the room, but the buttons gave away that it was indeed an elevator.

 Quickly, you pressed the up button, because so far you hadn’t seen any windows whatsoever, and that could only mean you were below ground.

 A pleasant confirmation tone chimed quietly, and you had to look around once more to make sure no one was coming. Hopefully, there would be no one in the elevator either. Maybe you should hide behind one of the loveseats just in case?

 But before you could make a move, the door to the elevator slid open noiselessly, startling you with the bright light coming from inside. Well, if anyone had actually been in there, they would have seen you by now.

 Thankfully though it was empty and you stepped inside quickly, looking for another set of buttons only to find—nothing.

 Staring at the metal and glass walls, you felt a slight panic rising. Why were there no buttons? Was it maybe voice controlled? You opened your mouth to demand to be taken to ground level, but already the doors were closing and you felt it moving upwards.

 Well, this was where you wanted to go anyway, so that was good, right? Your hands shook slightly with worry, you hoped to just get out of here and back to Overwatch base.

 You turned around and looked at yourself in the floor length mirror. Hair unkempt, pallid complexion and an ugly hospital gown completed your asylum inmate look, etching that frown on your face even deeper. You could have gone without knowing what you looked like right now. Smoothing your hair down a little with your shaky hands, you pulled at the skin of your face, wondering if you had been actually out for longer than you had originally thought. It was a possibility that only fed your unease.

 Suddenly, the elevator came to a stop, the pleasant confirmation sound ringing in your ears ominously. This was it, wherever this elevator had taken you, there was no escape now. Heartbeat in your throat, hands tingly, you flattened yourself against the wall and cast fearful eyes at the exit.

 The door slid open once more, and a man stood before you.

 Instead of running or attacking him, you just stood there, paralyzed. The man was slowly looking up from a holopad in his hands, his expression mildly surprised when he finally saw you. He took in your disheveled appearance and then your hospital gown.

 “What are you—?”

 But before he could finish his sentence, you sprinted forward and past him, knocking him to the side before he could even react.

 “Hey!” He shouted after you, but you were not going to stop, your bare feet slapped against the ground loudly as you made a mad dash for the nearest door. You could hear the man behind you, trying to catch up and your fight or flight kicked in, keeping you on your feet until you reached the next door after turning left in a long hallway with white marble flooring.

 With burning lungs and muscles, you made it to the door, almost knocking into it, only to realize that there was no handle to it, you searched the wood with your hands for any hints of a button or scanner, but there was nothing. Pushing didn’t yield any results either.

 “Shit,” You cursed and turned around to go and find another door nearby, but already the man who had followed you rounded the corner and jogged up to you, clearly out of breath. Pressing your back against the door behind you, you watched in trepidation as he came closer, annoyance clearly written all over his face.

 “For fucks sake,” He cursed, still trying to catch his breath. When he had finally reached you, he scowled. “Couldn’t you have waited for me to get you? Why all the fucking running?”

 “Who are you and what is this place?” You were done being left in the dark, you were due some answers.

 “What?” It was like he only now actually took a good look at you, his posture finally changed from hunched over to upright. “Shit, you’re not even supposed to be here,” He huffed in annoyance and cast a nervous glance around. “Come on, I’m already behind schedule,” He gestured for you to follow him, but you stood firm, your back still pressed against the wooden door behind you.

 “No way, just answer my questions already,” Your voice was firm and you wouldn’t budge before he told you.

 The man closed his eyes as if to keep himself from lashing out, the holopad was still in his right hand and when he looked at you again, you could see him clenching his jaw.

 “Just come along and you will get your damn answers.”

 “No.”

 “Goddamn—” He raised his hands above his head in exasperation, then muttered something to himself while he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, missy. You asked for it,” He said, and started advancing towards you. Immediately, you took on a fighting stance with your back against the door, let him come at you, he would pick up his teeth off the shiny marble floor by the end of it.

 When he was in hitting distance, you ducked and swung for his abdomen, only to lose your balance as the door behind you suddenly swung inwards and you fell backwards on your ass into another room.

 Ouch, that hurt. You rubbed your left hip and looked upward to see somebody’s legs. Then they bent forward and you could see their face. It was a tall, dark skinned man with broad shoulders and a scowl on his face. His sheer intensity had you paralyzed once again.

 Wordlessly, his gaze lifted from you to your attacker, who stared back at him in horror.

 “Sir, I can explain—”

 “We will talk later, Warren,” His low voice carried a not so hidden promise of unpleasant things to come for Warren, the latter nodded jerkily and closed the door behind him, trapping you inside.

 You were still lying on the floor at the man’s feet, but you tried to find purchase with your good arm to try and turn around. As you struggled to get back onto your feet, you watched the man warily, he made no move to help or give you space, and as you finally managed to stand upright, he was still in front of you. Right between you and the solid wood door. From where you had lain he had looked imposing and tall, and even standing you had to tilt your head backwards to look him in the eyes. He was handsome with a strong jaw, a wide nose and dark intelligent eyes, and he was pinning you in place with just his gaze. Those eyes roamed over you from head to toe, lingering just a little longer on your right arm.

 Self-consciously, you gripped your hurt arm with your left hand and averted your gaze. While he was dressed casually, but still impeccably, you only wore this potato sack of a gown, with nothing underneath and you felt your cheeks grow hot.

 Silence stretched between you, and you wondered what to do.

 “In a hurry?” He asked out of the blue, rolling the “r” in an accent, drawing your eyes back to his face.

 “I, uh...nobody will tell me where I am,” You finally found your voice, even if it sounded smaller than usual.

 The man made a non-committal sound and cocked his head.

 “That must be troubling for you,” He observed and you weren’t sure if his tone was condescending or not.

 “Yeah. So...where am I?” Goddamnit, somebody just tell you already. With a small smirk, the man turned away from you and you were ready to finally lose your shit for not getting an answer again. But then you saw that he had simply moved out of the way so you could see the big logo on the opposite wall. It was a stylized “T”, just like the one on Dr. O’Deorain’s lab coat.

 And that’s when you remembered. Goosebumps rose on your flesh at the realization that these people were Talon.

 “Ah,” The man’s smirk widened. “I see you recognize it now.” He said and walked over to a large table where he pulled out a fancy chair and beckoned for you to sit. Stricken with fear of being in some kind of Talon base, you wondered if it was possible to refuse. But so far, the man had been polite and maybe if you got through this you would be allowed to leave? Wishful thinking was all you had left right now. Taking a deep breath, you moved forward tentatively and took the offered seat. The man lingered behind you for just a second, making your skin prickle with the faint smell of his cologne, but then he moved away to sit in a chair across from you, putting distance between you again.

 Then he gave you the silent treatment once more, your nerves felt raw with anxiety and you were uncertain about what to do. Looking at the man was difficult, he exuded such an intense aura it was hard to directly look him in the eyes but also impossible to avert your gaze. Instead, you decided to fix a point behind his shoulder so you wouldn’t miss anything he was doing.

 “How terribly rude of me to leave you in the dark for so long,” He offered with a grin that revealed pearly white teeth. “I am Akande Ogundimu.” Although he made it sound formal, his introduction didn’t include a handshake. You idly wondered if it was for the best, seeing as his hands were bigger than your head and one was gleaming in a metallic way that suggested it was a cybernetic one. The image of him simply grabbing you and flinging you around like a ragdoll came unbidden, and so you shifted in your seat uncomfortably.

 “Maybe you have heard of me by my title: the Successor.”

 You had heard that title before.

 “Doomfist,” You said automatically, his head inclined in confirmation and something akin to pride.

 Well, shit. Not only were you in this Talon base, you were sitting directly in front of one of its leaders. A man with such delusions of grandeur surely thought a small fry such as yourself should be honored to meet him in person. Maybe it would be best to play along with whatever this was.

 You told him your name in turn, and with a deep breath you asked the biggest question inside you.

 “Why am I here?” But really, the question should have been “Why am I still alive?”

 “We saved you,” He simply said, his eyes slightly squinting at you while he brushed his palm over the dark wooden table absentmindedly. Your eyes were drawn to the movement, it was his metal hand and you swallowed. Obviously, that was enough of an explanation to him, because he was looking at you expectantly.

 “Was it you who detonated that bomb?”

 It was a bold question, but you got the feeling that Ogundimu was a proud man, and he would gladly take claim for his actions. And just as you expected, his face lit up again, not needing to confirm or deny what you asked.

 “What happened to my team?”

 “You were the only one we were able to retrieve.”

 Your heart sank at his words. Were they dead, or had they been able to get out before Talon had swept in to finish the job?

 “Why did you attack us?”

 And with that Ogundimu’s mouth twisted in a frown.

 “Not everything is about Overwatch,” He rumbled.

 “Then you were after the civilians,” Your voice rose in accusation, unbelieving how someone could want these people dead.

 “Oh, I see,” He smiled again, patronizingly. “This is how Overwatch operates. By leaving its agents oblivious to certain facts.”

 “What are you talking about?”

 “Those ‘civilians’ were former Talon agents,” Ogundimu revealed and suddenly you felt like a fool. Why hadn’t Winston told you about the real reason you were retrieving those people? You and your team could be trusted, it was vital information after all.

 Could it be he was lying? Somehow you doubted that.

 “We couldn’t let them go and join the very organization that is trying to destroy us.” No, of course not. From his point of view, it sounded reasonable. “You were simply in the way, I’m afraid. Although it was a little like two birds with one stone.”

 Anger rose inside of you. Although you weren’t sure that your team was dead, you were enraged at his careless remark, like any of you were expendable in this greater scheme of his.

 You remembered lying on the dusty concrete floor of the destroyed warehouse, the giant piece of metal in your shoulder and you absentmindedly touched your healing wound while your eyes burned at the memory of the sheer fear and hopelessness you had felt. The uncertainty of your team’s fate.

 “So...you saved me,” You uttered under your breath, not trusting the knot in your throat to let you speak normally. “After trying to kill me.” Raising your eyes to stare at him, you swallowed any fear you felt. “Why?”

 Ogundimu regarded you cooly, his cybernetic fingers traced small patterns on the table.

 “Those agents who tried to leave us, they were part of the medical staff. I believe you already met Dr. O’Deorain.” His eyes shifted to the hospital gown you were wearing, like he knew it belonged to the doctor. You couldn’t help but feel his eyes on you physically, even though it was silly, but you still crossed your arms in front of your chest—out of defiance of course.

 “I have.”

 “Good. She agreed to take you in as a new student and helper in the lab.”

 You gaped at the man in utter shock.

 “What?” This couldn’t be happening. Your worst fear was coming true, Talon had kidnapped you to work for them. And there was no way for you to refuse if you wanted to keep breathing.

 “Of course you’re not going to work for free. You will be given quarters, food and clothing, as well as a monthly salary.” Suddenly he was all businessman. “What do you say?”

 You wanted to scream at him to shove his ‘job’ up his ass, but thought better of it.

 “I’ll never work for a terrorist organization,” You ground out instead, watching the corners of his mouth curl slightly.

 “Funny. I was under the impression you were already working for one.”

 You flinched.

 Was he referring to Overwatch? Did he really call them terrorists?

 “Overwatch is fighting terrorists.” Nobody could tell you otherwise, you knew this to be the truth.

 “Hm, maybe you’d like to ask someone intimately acquainted with Overwatch’s affairs then.” There was a pleased smugness on his face, as he gracefully rose and moved to a big window on the other side of the room. Your eyes followed him, his steps were long and deliberate, but quiet. Like those of a dancer, or a fighter.

 “Like who?” There was no one outside of Overwatch with that kind of information. Everyone involved from the old days was either part of the team again, or dead. He couldn’t be talking about Blackwatch either, it was publically known what the black ops division had been doing, and while it had been dubious things, it was wrong to call it terrorism. Those days were over, anyways.

 You watched as he half turned to you, still facing the window that overlooked a cityscape you didn’t recognize.

 “A ghost,” He said, his eyes lit up from the light streaming in.

 You blinked, but said nothing.

 “Sometimes, the people we believe to be dead simply want that,” He said as he finally turned away from the window, instead moving towards you. “To be assumed dead, to be free, or to be somebody else.” As he was closing in, he moved beyond where you sat and came to stand right behind you. You became acutely aware of his presence and your hands clutched the material of the hospital gown as you felt him shift. Next, his voice came directly from your right side into your ear, making you move away a little. “I believe you know him as the Angel of Death.”

 And even before it clicked for you, Ogundimu moved away to laugh heartily. Irritated, you turned around and watched him hold his belly as he moved over to a counter to pour himself a drink.

 “He calls himself a lot of things,” He said after recovering a little from his laughing fit. “But certainly not an angel.” Then he drank the contents in one go, making you wonder what kind of person could jug a tall glass of liquor. Terrorist maniacs probably. Or maybe it was just water, who knew.

 So the encounter with the masked man had not been a figment of your imagination after all.

 You shivered at the memory. This was getting worse by the minute.

 “I don’t care what he has to say. I’m not going to work for you,” You ground out, not liking the way Ogundimu was laughing at you. That immediately sobered him up, putting down his glass he filled it again. Then, when it was full once more, he walked over to you and set it down in front of you.

 “I’m afraid I have to insist,” He murmured and looked at you expectantly.

 You ignored the glass, instead raised a challenging look at him.

 “No.”

 He sighed.

 “Then you leave me no choice.”

 You felt your heart in your throat while your mind provided a lot of images for the things he could do to make you accept. Or to dispose of you. Whichever he deemed the best course of action, you guessed.

 “I have to confess that I wasn’t entirely honest with you before.” Nothing in his demeanor had changed, which was somehow even more alarming than if he had screamed and attacked you. Again he moved away, this time to a big holo screen projector on the wall, a small display popped up when he was near and his fingers deftly tapped at the bright interface. The holo screen lit up and right then you could see a man whom you instantly knew to be Caleb, from an above angle, most likely from a security camera feed. He was sitting hunched in a corner of a nondescript room, a small cot next to him. It looked like he was in a cell. Which was probably exactly where he was.

 Fuck.

 They had Caleb.

 You closed your eyes in exasperation, how were you to refuse him now? They would surely do unspeakable things to your teammate if you remained uncooperative. These fucking bastards.

 But amidst your horror of knowing that Caleb was kept in this cell, you were relieved that he was not dead after all.

 “I see,” You said quietly, Ogundimu regarded you with a grave expression while you tried to find the words. “Should have known you’d fight dirty.”

 The man smiled. “You don’t want to actually see me fight dirty.”

 You just stared at the screen, a hollow pit inside your stomach.

 “So if I don’t help you, he will suffer,” You said and finally tore your eyes away from your captured teammate to look at Ogundimu again. “How do I know you won’t do it anyway?”

 Dark eyes squinted at you, then he moved right in front of you in two strides.

 “I give you my word.”

 You wanted to scoff. To laugh him in the face for that blatant lie. To tell him that you had no use for obvious empty promises. But all you could do was to look in his eyes to try and gauge his sincerity, letting long seconds tick by.

 Really though, this wasn’t even a real choice. Believe him or not, you had to accept for Caleb’s sake, no matter if Ogundimu was telling you the truth about their treatment of your teammate.

  Ex-teammate.

 You sighed. Then you looked away and gave a curt nod.

 “Excellent,” The man said and extended his cybernetic hand toward you. You couldn’t help but eye it suspiciously, but you clenched your jaw and  shook it, once. The metal of it was cold and unyielding, but he didn’t grip you particularly hard. When you wanted to remove your hand again though, he suddenly pulled you out of the chair and toward him. You stumbled, but he caught you with his flesh hand on your hip to steady you.

 He was so close you could feel his body warmth through your thin cotton gown, his grip on you firm but gentle. Then he spoke again with a half-smile, almost too close for comfort.

 “I am looking forward to working with you.”

 You shivered violently, but before you could pull away he was already releasing you again, and you took an automatic step backwards.

 “For now, please refrain from wandering the facilities on your own. Warren was tasked to keep an eye on you, but he is obviously not fit for the job. So I’ll have to assign somebody new.”

 You didn’t like where this was going.

 “I do think I have the right candidate, though.” Again he tapped on a holo display at the wall, a small chuckle shaking his frame. “She will be thrilled.” This last sentence dripped with sarcasm, but you were too preoccupied with the realization that Talon practically owned your ass now, to care.

 “She will tell you all you need to know.” He gave you one last long look. “Welcome to Talon.”

 You felt sick to your stomach, no words found their way to you, and you opted to stay silent in the face of despair. Instead, you kept that frown on your face to speak for itself.

#reader x reaper #non-con #you x reaper #overwatch #fanfiction

[gremlinbehaviour]

Some additional kisses from the notes; Perwaine 'kiss to distract from pain' and Lancelot/Merlin/Gwaine 'kisses on scars'

Kisses on scars for now. I have an idea for the other one too, so I'll probably reblog this post some time this weekend to add it

Merlin's room was all of their favorite, given how it had been where both Gwaine and Lancelot had really gotten to know the servant, but unfortunately the bed was a bit too small for all three of them. They'd relocated to Lancelot's chambers, since his bed was as big as Gwaine's but his room was significantly neater. Or at least it was until they'd hastily undressed each other and strewn clothes and armor all across the floor.

The three men lay naked in the bed, sprawled across it and each other. Gwaine, who was sitting up slightly with his back against the headboard, looked out over his two lovers, mentally cataloguing everything he loved about their bodies. Merlin lay on his stomach with his head on Lancelot's chest, with the knight's own head in Gwaine's lap facing upwards.

From there, he could run a calloused thumb over the two distinct scars on his face. The one on his forehead, a barely-there line that started between his eyebrows and stretched up and to the side an inch and a half, was apparently from his childhood, though he couldn't remember where exactly. The scar on his cheek was much more recent, from his time as a cage fighter, and more raised. Gwaine loved to feel it against his own face when they kissed or under his thumb when he took Lancelot's head in his hands. Like all of them, he had scars on the rest of his body too, but most of his notable ones, such as the talon mark from the griffin on his side and the sword cut on his shoulder from when he helped retake the castle from Morgana and her immortal army, were either on his back or otherwise hidden from view by Merlin lying on top of him. He gazed up lovingly at Gwaine as the knight stroked a thumb over the scar on his forehead. His own hand was tangled in Merlin's hair where his head lay on his chest as he dozed off.

Many of the servant's own scars were on his back and visible. There was the mace blow from when he had first met Arthur, and the serket sting right beside it. That one was fairly new, and it had taken his lovers months to bully the story about it out of him. And right by the two of them was the scar from the fomorrah at the base of his neck. The whole cluster was still painful sometimes, so Gwaine avoided touching it. Instead, he leaned over his sleeping friend to press a kiss between the scars. The servant stirred, but didn't wake. Normally he was an incredibly light sleeper and would be out of bed at the slightest indication of danger or trouble, so it was a sign of how much he trusted Lancelot and Gwaine that he could let his guard down enough that even his unconsciousness knew not to be afraid.

"Where's this one from?" Lancelot asked, reaching up with his free hand to a scar on Gwaine's stomach. He must've noticed the knight paying attention to the marks of injury on his and Merlin's skin.

"I honestly don't remember," he admitted. "I have so many; it's hard to keep track."

"Merlin and I will help," Lance said. Keeping his chest as still as possible so as not to disturb Merlin, he turned his head to the side to press a kiss to the scar before following their other boyfriend to sleep.

#bbc merlin #merlin #lancelot #gwaine #merwainecelot #fanfic #no beta we die like women #kisses

[alovesongshewrote]

Whumptober Day 19: Broken Hearts | Reader

Plot:  Part 3!!  Torture!!

Word Count: 3,158

Warnings:  Torture, threats, demons, possession, the demon is a mega asshole still

A/N:  Whump

Tag List:  @furblrwurblr​ @einahpetsyarcip​ @sorrels-scribbling​ @anxious-stitcher​ @alive-and-afraid​ @animedweeb333​ @douxiesdamsel​ @saroski05

Nari was not having a good time right now.  Her guardians, her protectors were dealing with some massive evil presence, and there wasn’t much she could do other than look for help with Archie.

Archie was also not having fun.  He was supposed to protect Douxie, to look out for him and make sure he was safe.  But now?  Now Douxie was anything but safe.  It was a new kind of horror, the cat-dragon decided, to watch his oldest friend get tortured in his sleep; to watch his skin tear on its own and the blood stain the sheets.  And then he had to leave him.  He had to leave his wizard, his boy, who he had watched over for almost a thousand years, to an uncertain fate.  He trusted you, of course, but this thing, this darkness that haunted you was a force to be reckoned with.  He didn’t want either of you to be hurt more than you already had been.

The two of them ran for a while until they found a payphone, which is literally the luckiest anyone ever gets in this story because those things are almost extinct, and called for help.  After that, all they could do was wait.

You were not doing any better.

You woke up restrained, tied to a kitchen chair with bonds that glowed the same blue as the demon’s eyes.  While this wasn’t the first time this had happened, it was the first time the magic burned.  Wherever it touched your skin an unfamiliar ache took hold.  That was new, it was different, and it hurt enough to make you wince.  The demon was waiting for that.  Now that you were awake, the fun could begin.

“Good morning, darling.”

You groaned a little bit, not wanting to deal with this asshole.  Unfortunately, you had no choice in that matter.

“What’s the matter?  Uncomfortable?”

“Eat a dick.”

The thing snarled, and the expression looked uncanny on your wizard’s face.  It was just so unlike him, and that reminder that he was trapped in there hurt you more than anything this demon could do.  That didn’t mean that the demon wouldn’t try.

It grabbed your face, jerking your head to face him, “Don’t get smart, now.  You don’t want poor Douxie to suffer any more than he has to, do you?”

You bit back a string of insults while trying to escape from the demon’s grasp.  That wasn’t going super well, and it only made the thing tighten his grip.

“Well?”

“Well, what?” you spat, words laced with venom.  The demon was unaffected.

“Do you want him to suffer?”

You stopped struggling and stared at the thing that controlled your boyfriend’s body.  He couldn’t be serious, could he?  Did he actually want you to say it?  

He jerked your face again, pulling it upwards, exposing your neck, “Come on, darling, we don’t have all day.  Just say it, yes or no.”

You stayed silent, incredibly wary of why exactly he would want you to say this.  In your first nightmare, he kept trying to manipulate you, telling you that if you loved Douxie you would die for him.  The situation was too similar for this to be a coincidence.

When you said nothing, the demon sighed, shaking his head.  You felt a sharp pain wherever his fingers made contact with your face.  Claws, you realized, were extending from his hand, carving into your skin and leaving shallow cuts across your cheek.  You gasped, trying to pull back, but that made things worse.  Not only did it give the monster’s talons a better chance to tear your skin, but it let you see the awful mix of demon and man that was this thing’s hand.  Simply put, it wasn’t Douxie’s.  It may have been attached to his body, but these long sharp claws were anything but human.

While you were distracted by that little abomination, the demon drew closer to you.  The hand that wasn’t embedded in your face curled around the chair, effectively boxing you in, not that you had anywhere else to go.  His figure loomed over you, reminding you that you were completely outmatched magically and physically.  You shut your eyes and gritted your teeth as the demon’s lips grazed your ear.

“If you say yes, I’ll let you go.”

Your eyes snapped open, and you turned to face the monster as much as you physically could.  Why the hell would he offer that?  To torture Douxie, probably, but this was too weird.  Before he’d based his attacks on your love for the wizard.  Why now, was he trying to get you to betray him?  You guessed it was because his identity as a demon had been revealed, forcing him to try another tactic, but that didn’t make too much sense if you thought about it too hard.  You knew that he was lying, he would never let you go that easily, the question was why?

“You don’t believe me, do you?”

You remained silent.  You weren’t going to say anything to this guy that wasn’t an insult.

“Well, you can't be blamed for that.  Here, let me show you,” he removed his claws and his hand from your face, allowing you to move your jaw again.  He moved that hand down the length of your body, and as it descended, your bonds loosened a bit and the burning subsided.  The demon pulled away from you for a moment, only to lean over your other side and push a strand of your hair back into place.  You didn’t make a sound.

“I bet you’re wondering why you get this deal,” he ran a clawless hand down your jawline, bringing it to rest on your chest, the same place he had stabbed you weeks ago.  You felt your muscles tense up as he lowered his head to rest on your shoulder.

“It’s because you remind me of my wife.  She had the same spark you do.  I don’t regret draining her, killing her slowly as I stole her power, but,” you could feel the demon smiling against you, as he paused, letting the threat sink in “There are some things I do miss.”

He kissed your neck, making you want to vomit.  You liked it when Douxie kissed you, but even though this was his body, it wasn’t him.  You were relieved when the demon stood, taking a few steps away from you.  You even relaxed for a second before he pulled out the knife.  Silver with a green gem.  It was the blade from your nightmares.

“This was hers once.  She’d never approve of it being used in this way, but she can’t exactly stop me from where she is, can she?”  he came towards you, pushing the point of the blade against your collarbone, “So, what’s your answer, darling?  Yes or no?”

You weren’t saying anything.

And it was pissing off the demon.

“Come on, darling, I’m running out of patience.”

Silence.  From both of you.

But you noticed his grip tighten around the hilt of the blade, his eye twitched, his jaw clenched.  It wouldn’t take much for him to explode.

It took nothing, actually.

“SAY IT!”  he screamed, the blade slicing through your skin, small drops of your blood hitting the wall.  You said nothing, but you could not hide your smirk.  The demon didn’t like that.  He placed the knife against your skin again, getting in your face and growling as he spoke, “Say.  It.”

You smiled then.  This may have been a powerful demon possessing your even more powerful boyfriend, but you were the one in control right now.  You said nothing.

The monster’s face went blank, and you smirked, even as he drove his blade into your chest.  It was enough to hurt, but not to kill.

He waited for you to say something, anything, but you just sat there, grinning.  He moved his blade down to rest against your ribs, demanding that you answer his question once again.  You refused, and the knife ran against your skin, breaking it and drawing blood.

The process repeated a few more times, but you never answered.  At this point, it had moved beyond refusing to respond out of fear.  If he wanted to manipulate you, the time had passed.  This was a game of defiance now, and answering meant surrender.  Answering meant death.

You could tell the demon was growing tired of this game.  Eventually, he threw the knife down and just started hitting you.  When he finished that, you were laughing.  Maybe this was just your way of avoiding the trauma that you would have to deal with eventually.  Maybe it was your way of letting Douxie know you were still there.  Maybe you had gone insane.  Either way, the monster was now slumped over your counter, screaming out of frustration.

Once your laughter had subsided, you leaned back still grinning, “You ruined my shirt.  Just, FYI.”

With a growl, the demon flew across the room, grabbing your throat again, not hesitating to squeeze this time, “You vile little-”

He cut himself off, letting go of your neck and stepping back.  You were already concerned, but the smile that spread across his face really set you on edge.

“Well, you won’t answer me, and you clearly don’t care about your own life,” he picked up the knife, “but maybe, you’ll care about him?”

He brought the blade over his wrist, Douxie’s wrist.  You started to struggle again, panic returning and adrenaline running through your veins.  The demon pushed the point of the knife through his skin, not far enough to cause any lasting damage, but more than enough to scare you.

“What’ll it be, love?”

“I-”

“Answer or he dies!”

“Okay, stop!” you cried, straining against the magic keeping you in place, “Stop it, please, I’ll answer, just don’t hurt him!”

He dropped the knife, grinning at you, “That’s all I needed to hear, darling.  Now, tell me.”

You waited until he was right in front of you.  You had never seen Douxie look so smug.  True, this wasn’t actually him, but it was still a weird experience.  This entire day had been a weird experience.  Your Douxie, the real Douxie, would never hurt you, ever.  He would never lay a hand on you, never swat you away or elbow you in the ribs or touch you when you didn’t want to be touched.  But today, his body beat the shit out of yours for hours.  Fortunately, if you got things your way, that would be over soon.  You tried to stay calm as you followed your plan.

First, you looked into the demon’s cold blue eyes.

Next, you let a few tears fall, trying to look as weak and unassuming as possible.

Then, you gave your answer.

“No.”

You waited for the demon’s response.  He smiled sadly, shaking his head, “I thought you’d say that.”

He drew closer to you, probably going in for the kill.  Whatever, it didn’t matter, what mattered was that he was close enough now for your attack.

Here’s the thing about them bindings.  They only last as long as the one doing the binding is focused on them.  When the demon had his little meltdown, you were able to free one of your hands.  It was only one of four limbs, but it was a good start.  You waited until the demon was in punching distance.

And then you just fuckin punched him.

It felt great.

Not physically, because, y’ know, hours of torture tend to make you feel like shit, but still, it felt nice.  

While the demon took a second to regain his bearings, you made quick work of your other bonds, freeing yourself quickly and getting to your feet.  You almost fell as soon as you stood, but shit, torture will do that to you, and you could deal with it later.  You needed to run first.  

So you did.  You grabbed the nearest weapon and bolted, not out of the apartment, but into your bedroom.  Sure, the demon beat you and Douxie before because you were in his domain, but now you were in your apartment.  It was over for him.  You had the high ground.

Thinking fast, you hid in the closet preparing your weapon, which was an unopened can of something.  Maybe it wasn’t great for melee purposes, but it would make one hell of a projectile.  You waited in the dark until you heard the demon outside.  You didn’t wait anymore after that.

You kicked down the closet door and yeeted the can at your boyfriend’s head.  It was a direct hit!  With a grin, you ran at the demon, tackling it to the ground and rolling away.  While it tried to get up, you slammed your fist into the ground, your magic forming a sigil on the ground and trapping the demon inside.

You stood up, breathing heavy but smiling.  But you weren’t done yet.  You needed to get Douxie back.

“Hey babe, I know you’re in there, and I’m sorry for beating you up.”

The monster growled, lunging towards you only to hit the invisible wall made by your sigil, “SHUT UP.”

You did not do that.  Instead, you kept on talking, “But I need you to come back to me.  I know you’ve been fighting him, and I’m sorry I couldn’t help you before, but I can now.”

“STOP THIS!”

“Fight him, darling, you can come back to me, I know you can.”  

Darling.  The word slid off your tongue like you’d been meant to say it all your life.  It just felt right.  It must have felt right to Douxie too because as the demon screamed, the glow of his eyes faded.  Blue turned to hazel, and your boy was back.  Behind him, smoke gathered, but you didn’t care.  Your mans was no longer possessed.  You could not stop the smile on your face as you grabbed his hand, pulling him out of the sigil.

In an instant, his arms were wrapped around you, and yours around him.  You buried your face in his chest, letting yourself relax for a second.  He was shaking and clinging to you as if he feared he would never hold you again.  That was valid.  Today was a traumatizing day for everyone.

You brought your forehead to rest against his, placing your hands on his face, tracing his cheekbones with your thumbs.  He was crying.  So were you.

“Hi,” you whispered.

“Hey.”

You let out a sob, pulling yourself closer to him, “I love you.”

“I love you too, I love you so much,” he said, repeating those words over and over, throwing in apologies pretty frequently. 

“YOU FOOLS.”

“Oh great, this guy again.” Your voice was muffled, but Douxie still heard you, smiling despite the situation.

“YOU WILL DIE FOR THIS.”

“Sure, Jan.”  Maybe it was the blood loss, but you had decided to be funny.  Also, it pissed off the demon, which was nice.

It growled again and lunged for you, and this time, the sigil flickered and faded, freeing the thing.  The monster had to take a second as he hadn’t expected that to work, but it did, and now you were in trouble.  Again.

Douxie had no time to deal with your delirious ass.  Instead, he picked you up and ran, stashing you in the elevator while he ran up the stairs to the roof.  He managed to beat the beast to the there, grabbing you from the elevator and running to the edge of the building.  He kept you behind him, trying his best to protect you.  The monster burst through the doors, now in its true form.

“(Y/N), I love you.”

“Eh, no, don’t do anything stupid.  We’re in this together,” you grabbed his hand, and smiled.  Maybe you were about to die, but that wouldn’t stop you from being a cute significant other.

“I love you, too, just by the way.”

Douxie shook his head, but he had no choice but to smile back at you.  That’s love children, that’s love.

You stretched out your hand, magic at the ready.  Douxie did the same.  

It was time to fight the demon.

It lunged at Douxie first, and he knocked it to the side with a spell.  It jumped back up, screeching again.  Now that you thought about it, you weren’t sure how your neighbours didn’t hear any of this, but you really didn’t have time to think about it.  The demon was coming for you now.  You dodged the attack, rolling under the monster and striking upwards.  It flew back, nearly falling off the roof, but it pulled itself back up at the last second.

“Hey, babe?  If we knock it off the roof, will that kill it?”

“Not sure, we’ll just have to see!”

Douxie attacked now, fighting off the darkness with flashes of blue.  You joined him, your magic whipping around the creature and throwing it, where else?  Off the roof.  Things looked good for a moment.  

Then the thing rose from the ground, knife in hand, starting in its true form and morphing.  But it didn’t turn into Douxie.  It turned into you.

And then it stabbed Douxie.

“NO!”  the scream tore itself from your throat as you ran at the demon, wrenching the blade from its grip and driving it into the monster’s heart, your heart, over and over again.

When it was dead, your face was wet with tears and blood, both yours and the demon’s.  You dropped the knife, covering your mouth and trying to keep in your sobs.

You felt Douxie’s hand on your shoulder, and you let him help you away from the body.  Neither of you could get far though.  A few minutes later, both of you were on the ground.  Your head was on his chest, his arms were around you.  From here, you could hear his heartbeat.  You wanted to look into his eyes, to make sure they weren’t blue, that this wasn’t a dream, that he was safe and you were safe, and everything was ok.

But his eyes were closed.

You just let your head drop back to his chest, and shut your own eyes.

“We did it, darling,” you whispered, “We’re safe now.  You-you were amazing.   I’m so sorry, Douxie, I’m sorry about all of this,” you gripped onto his shirt, trying to keep yourself grounded. “I love you, I love you so much.  Don’t worry, love, help is-help, help,” your words died in your throat as the world around you went black.

//

Even though you’d passed out, help was, in fact, coming.  It just took a while to get there.  

About a minute after you lost consciousness, Nari, Archie, Zoe and Claire burst onto the roof, finding a very dead demon, a dying witch, and an unconscious wizard.

Not a great thing to find tbh.

#hisirdoux x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie x reader #douxie imagine #hisirdoux imagine #angst #hisirdoux #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #toa douxie #toa hisirdoux #torture #whump #whumptober #blood

[cadence-talle]

Dream of Endless Shadow

a dark!Tam AU, written to go along with @lemontarto‘s dark!Tam drawing. Make sure to go look at it if you haven’t seen it yet! 

Wordcount: 2,274 

Trigger warnings: Death, non-graphic violence 

Taglist: @everyonehasthoughts, @clearlykeefitz, @loverofallthingssmart, @a-lonely-tatertot, @enbies-and-felonies, @molly-sencen, @lemontarto, @appalyneinstitute1, @ruewen-and-rising, @silver-snow, @linhamon-roll, @hyperlollypop, @never-ever-too-many-fandoms, @keeper-of-the-lost-queers, @impostertamsong, @vibing-in-the-void, @yeetersofthelostcities, @mistythegirlfluxmess, @diamond-dreamerr, @we-have-no-bananas-today, @an-absolute-travesty

Laughter floats through the air and up a sweeping cliff, gathering around a pair of figures standing at the edge. Linh glances back at her brother, hair pulled back into a low ponytail. She’s smiling- she’s always smiling. Tam wonders sometimes how she can be so happy, looking at all they’ve lost. 

“Come on,” she says, holding out a hand. “You’ll be fine.” 

Tam quirks an eyebrow. “You can’t guarantee that.”

Linh raises a hand in the air, and the water below them rises with it, a huge shimmering bubble. She grins at Tam. 

“Yes I can. Just jump.”

The sun beats down on his back as Tam stares down at the ocean. It’s safe- he knows it’s safe, but he can’t stop his fear. Linh is always the brave one, anyway. 

She charges ahead while Tam stays behind, rushing around corners before he’s made sure it’s safe. He doesn’t understand, really- how she can be so happy, so fearless, so Linh. 

“Come on,” Linh says again, grabbing his hand. “On three, okay? One…”

She’s amazing. 

“Two…”

She’s powerful.

“Three!”

And Tam knows that they’ll be fine as long as she’s by his side. 

He takes a deep breath and jumps. 

-/-

Tam glares down at the dark streets of Atlantis, eyes tracking barely-visible figures on the ground below. He could probably see better if he dispersed the shadows, but that would blow his cover- and besides, he can see well enough. 

Well enough is pretty much all he’s getting, these days. He can see well enough, he can sleep well enough, he’s eating well enough. 

Well enough isn’t good, of course, but Tam doubts he’ll ever be good again. 

Finally, the person he’s looking for exits the shop underneath him. Tam was a little surprised when he found Ruy Ignis in a flower shop in Atlantis, but he supposes it makes sense; it’s not like anyone knows what he looks like. Tam only recognized him by his voice, and even that took a couple visits to figure out. 

Ruy turns the corner and enters an alleyway to the side of his shop, humming something under his breath. With a quiet grunt, Tam wraps shadows around the man and drops to the ground a few feet away. Ruy makes a sound of surprise and summons a forcefield.

“What-” 

Tam releases the shadowflux he’s been holding in his hands, and it slinks through the forcefield to wrap around Ruy’s neck, hovering just a few inches above the skin. The man’s eyes go wide as he scrambles to get away. Tam clenches a fist and it moves closer to Ruy, shrinking little by little until it’s a hair away from the skin. 

He chose shadowflux not because it was easy for him, but because it hurt. Tam wants this man- all of the Neverseen, really- to feel pain, to feel what he’s been feeling for days now. This hurt, this ache, always there but never healed. Not really. Tam forces the shadowflux closer, and-

“Tam!”

Sophie and Biana rush into the alley, both clad in dark tunics and capes. Biana has a throwing star in her hand, but she’s not looking at Ruy- she’s staring right at Tam. 

“What are you doing here?” Tam growls, relaxing his hands just enough to let Ruy breathe. Sophie narrows her eyes at him. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” she says. “Where have you been, Tam? We’ve been worried sick!”

“I’ve been out,” Tam replies. “I’m fine.”

“Right,” Biana says slowly. She turns to Sophie. “Can you bring Ruy back to the Black Swan? I’ll stay here.”

Sophie nods, shooting Biana a quick smile before grabbing Ruy’s arm and leaping away. Biana turns to Tam. 

“This is what you’re up to?” she asks. “Trying to kill people?”

“They deserve it,” Tam answers. Biana shakes her head. 

“Maybe so, but we don’t do that, Tam. We don’t kill. If we do-” her voice breaks slightly, and Tam can tell they’re remembering the same thing. “We’re just as bad as them.”

“Then I guess I’m bad.” Tam responds, curling the shadowflux back into his palms. He sighs. “I just want to avenge her, Bi. I want to- to destroy them as much as they destroyed me. As much as they destroyed her.”

“Linh wouldn’t want-”

“Don’t pretend like you know her!” 

Biana takes a step back, eyes wide. Tam only realizes how loud he’s shouted after the fact. “You didn’t know her,” he adds more quietly. “No one knew her like I did.”

“Maybe not,” Biana says slowly. “But I still loved her. She was amazing. Kind, talented, fierce.” She looks at Tam, staring straight into his eyes. “She wouldn’t have wanted you to be sad. She would have wanted you to keep living, not take other lives away.”

“I-” Tam shakes his head. “No. I can’t. I have to- to do this.” To do anything, he adds in his head. Biana lets out a long breath. 

“Okay. Just- promise me you’ll be safe, okay? You shouldn’t have to die for her.”

“I know,” Tam says, because he does. “I promise.”

It might not be a promise he can keep. 

-/-

This was supposed to be standard. 

They’d received word of trolls being attacked in the woods off Brackendale- and while, of course, no one had gotten hurt, Sophie had decided to check it out anyway. Something’s been shifting lately, some sour wind sweeping into the Lost Cities and bringing with it the smell of death. The Neverseen are braver, now, and they need to be careful. 

They weren’t careful enough. 

They’re ambushed almost immediately when they move into the woods. Black-cloaked figures drop down from the trees, surrounding them on all sides. Next to him, Tam hears Linh growl, pulling water from the air and forming it into a ball, ready to attack. Marella summons fire, Keefe and Fitz grasp throwing stars, Dex readies his newest gadgets and Sophie gets ready to inflict. 

This time, they’re not going to lose. Not again. 

And for a moment, it seems like they’re winning. Most of the Neverseen are already on the ground, unconscious or held down. Tam can’t recognize most of them- he thinks one of the only ones left standing is Gethen, but he can’t be sure. 

It’s odd, for the Neverseen to be taken down so easily, but Tam chalks it up to their little group simply being stronger now. He turns to watch Linh, swinging water in a sweeping arc and knocking a woman to the grass beneath their feet, and smiles slightly. 

And then-

It doesn’t happen in slow motion. Tam doesn’t see the throwing star coming, doesn’t hold out a hand to try and stop it. Linh is upright, and then she’s not- she’s fighting, and then she’s lying on the ground with a piece of silver metal embedded in her neck. 

Linh is alive, and then she’s not. 

Tam doesn’t even get to say goodbye. 

-/-

The first few days were the worst. 

He didn’t do anything but sit on the couch in Tiergan’s living room, staring blankly at the wall as he relived that moment over and over again. 

A flash of silver, a small cry cut off too soon. Blood staining the grass and getting on Tam’s hands as he rushes to her, too late. 

Too late. He’s always too late. 

Nightmares and sleepless nights bleed into empty days, and Tam doesn’t care. He feels time slipping away, feels himself get weaker (he’s not eating. what’s the point, when she’s gone), feels shadows wrap around him. 

They’re shockingly cold, but at least feeling cold is feeling something. 

So he falls backwards into the shadows, letting them surround him, crush him out of the half-dead state he’s been in and back into his own body. And slowly, the sadness recedes. It’s not gone, it’ll never be gone, but Tam has managed to cover it up with something else. 

Anger. 

Rage is what gets him off of the couch, what gets him to eat, what gets him out of the house. Anger is what makes him track down each and every member of the Neverseen and kill them. 

Or, try to. Someone always shows up to stop him. 

At this point, Tam is sure they’re tracking him somehow. Sophie, Biana, Keefe, Dex- someone is always there, telling him to slow down. 

Stop, they’ll say. You’re going to hurt yourself. This isn’t safe. 

And Tam knows it’s not. He can feel the shadowflux creeping through his veins; a cold, tingling sensation. It doesn’t hurt, not yet, but it will eventually. 

It’ll take over, eventually. 

Tam doesn’t care. 

He’s standing on the edge of the cliff again, the one he and Linh used to come to when they went swimming. It’s clouded, today, the water below gray and upset. No more sunny blue days. 

Sunny blue days disappeared a long time ago. 

Tam came here to find some long-lost part of Linh, to remember, but all it does is hurt. Hurt and hurt and hurt again, and it never stops. 

It never stops. It’s never going to stop. The only way is-

The water below is dark. It won’t catch him this time. 

Tam takes a shaky step forward. 

A flash of silver, a small cry cut off too soon. Blood staining the grass and getting on Tam’s hands as he rushes to her, too late. 

And a laugh. High and cackling. Tam knows that laugh. 

“Gethen.” 

And he turns away from the cliff. 

-/-

They’re at a human picnic spot, sharing a piece of fruit the gnomes gave them for lunch. Linh’s laughing at something Tam says when a screech echoes through the air. 

A hawk has just picked up a mouse in its talons, carrying it through the air and towards a tree branch. Linh gasps and stands up, but the humans on the other side of the clearing are faster- one grabs a rock and hits the hawk in the wing. It goes crashing to the ground, and the mouse scurries away. 

The humans leave, laughing, as Linh rushes over to the bird. 

“It’s hurt,” she says, gently lifting a wing that is bent in a way no wing should ever be. “We need to help it.”

“It was going to kill that mouse,” Tam points out. “You didn’t want it to do that. Why are you helping it now?”

“Because it’s hurt,” Linh says, glaring at him, “and it was just trying to find food. And even if it wasn’t-” she shakes her head- “it’s a living thing. If you can help a living thing, you should.

“If you just leave it, it could die. No one deserves that, no matter what they’ve done.” 

Tam sighs, crouching down next to her. “Fine. How can I help?”

-/-

The security at Gethen’s prison cell isn’t very good. 

The goblins at the door didn’t even give him a second glance as Tam moved through the door- although, to their credit, Tam is pretty sure he still has a reputation as “Sophie Foster’s friend.” 

Still, he doesn’t get any questions as he moves through the stone-lined walls and stops in front of a chilly cell. The man inside gives him a sharp smile. 

“Tam Song,” he says. “I’ve been wondering when you would come to visit. Last time we talked you seemed a bit… unstable.”

“Last time we talked I tried to kill you,” Tam says bluntly. “Now I’m here to finish that.” 

He summons shadowflux, ignoring the chill that runs through his whole body. He’ll deal with that later. Right now, all that matters is his sister’s murderer. 

Gethen laughs. “You always were stronger than the rest of them,” he shrugs. “I’m not surprised to see you’re the one who went insane.”

“I’m not insane,” Tam growls, pushing the shadowflux closer to the man. “You killed my sister. Now you’re going to pay.”

Gethen’s eyes glint and he starts to say something, but Tam pushes the shadowflux into his skin and whatever he was going to speak is lost in a scream.

A flash of silver, a small cry cut off too soon. 

 Tam narrows his eyes and forces the shadowflux closer, pushing it into the man’s brain. 

Blood staining the grass and getting on Tam’s hands as he rushes to her, too late. 

Gethen’s body goes limp, but his eyes are wild and Tam knows he’s still in pain. 

A laugh. High and cackling. And-

Gethen falls to the floor, his chest no longer heaving. He’s gone. 

He’s gone, and Tam should be happy. Linh is avenged. She can move on now. She can be satisfied.

Linh wouldn’t want this, Biana’s voice whispers in his brain. It wasn’t for her. It was for you. 

“No,” Tam bites his lip so hard he tastes blood, falling against the cold stone wall. He’s so cold- everything is so cold. “No, no, this was for her. This was for revenge.”

But he can see Linh, leaning over that wounded hawk. She looks up at him, straight at Tam, and her brow furrows. 

No one deserves to die, no matter what they’ve done. She says, shaking her head. She stands up, moving toward Tam. What have you done, Tam?

“I just wanted them to hurt,” Tam whispers. “I wanted them to die.”

Linh frowns sadly and the memory dissipates. Tam sinks to the floor, head in his hands. The floor is cold, the walls are cold, he’s so cold- 

Shadowflux moves toward him, burrowing under his skin. Tam lets it, lets it move through his bloodstream and into his heart. 

Everything is cold. 

#lynn rambles #my writing #tam song #linh song #angst

[roachzrivia]

I Won’t Move Until This Stops

Mordecai is hurting, bad. He's been trying to quit drinking, for Talon's sake, but sometimes everything gets too much for him and he reverts to his old coping mechanisms. Things are especially bad at night, when Brick and Tina are sleeping and he's alone with his thoughts. Set some time between Fight for Sanctuary and Borderlands 3.

Content warning for graphic descriptions of self harm, alcohol abuse and suicidal ideation.

Rated M. Borderlands. Mordecai/Brick.

Also on AO3 (link in bio)

It’s dark. Darkness on Pandora is absolute. It’s probably not safe, but he doesn’t care. He’s alone, outside. Talon is off hunting somewhere and he doesn’t know when the bird will return. He’s glad he’s not here to witness this, though. He drops his head to his knees and rests there, eyes closed, trying to so hard to talk himself out of what he’s about to do. But it’s no use. The urges are too strong. And anyway, he had his chance to fight it. He could have woken Brick and Tina. Told them that he was struggling, that it was going to be a bad night, but he didn’t do that. Instead, he picked up his gun and his knife and the bottles and left their camp. He had walked for over an hour, Talon flying soundlessly above him, until he felt far enough away. How far did you have to go to break a promise? Further than where he is now, probably, and yet he’s going to break that promise anyway. Because he’s a fuck up. This was inevitable, really, he thinks, as he reaches for the first bottle.

There are skags nearby. He can hear them. He wonders if they’ll come near him. He’s sitting with his back pressed up against a rock face, not far from the road that winds through the area. It’s cold, bitterly cold, but the booze is beginning to warm him. He’s drinking spirits neat. The taste is horrific, but the burn in his throat is comforting, and anyway, he’s not doing this for fun. The fuzzy numbness is creeping up him, and he welcomes it like an old friend. He used to always feel like this. It takes the edge off life, and life on Pandora is one sharp ass blade.

Images of Brick and Tina and Talon appear in his mind, but he pushes them away. They are too good for him. Tina with her goofy smile and her crazy schemes, always moving, always causing trouble, telling stories. Talon, who filled the hole left by Bloodwing, who he promised to raise properly, who relies on him like a father. And Brick. Brick, the man who stood by him though everything. They are all too good for him.

He takes another long swig from the bottle. It’s his second and it’s really kicking in now. He no longer feels cold, despite the air temperature. Even the sounds of the skags are muffled, like he’s trying to listen to them through water. He wonders absently whether they’ll find him. How long would is take him to die if they tore him apart with their teeth? It would be painful, regardless of how much alcohol he consumed. Would he scream? Or would he just lie there and take it? It’s an interesting thought experiment. Exactly how much would it hurt? He’s twisting the metal bottle cap between his fingers. It has sharp edges, and he notices the pain through his drunken haze. What part of him would they attack first? Sharp teeth tearing through his clothes, ripping open the flesh beneath. Jagged tears, through skin and muscle, down to the bone. Would they tear him limb from limb, or would they go straight for his guts, disembowelling him with sharp claws? Would there be anything left for people to find in the morning? Maybe just torn clothing, and a smear of blood on the hard dirt ground.

A sharp jolt of pain brings him back to reality. The jagged edge of the bottle cap has caught the soft pad of his thumb and he can feel the blood welling up. He has a sudden, uncontrollable urge to watch it, and he flicks his flashlight on. The brightness makes him blink, but then his gaze settles on the ruby bead of blood sitting on his skin. There’s something mesmerising about it. He presses his thumb to squeeze out more blood. Maybe he doesn’t have to wait for the skags. He takes his knife from his belt. It has a bone handle, smooth in his hand, and he’s kept the blade sharp. Sniping is his preferred method of fighting, but on Pandora you can never be too careful, and having something that can deal damage up close and personal is always recommended. He presses the flat of the blade against the palm of his hand, feeling the comforting cold of the metal. He hasn’t decided exactly what he’s going to do, yet. There’s a tiny corner of his brain, somewhere beyond the alcoholic fog, that’s screaming Brick, Tina, Talon, Brick, Tina, Talon, but it’s quiet, so quiet, and he has always found comfort at the bottom of a bottle or in the pain of a cut. Always turned to those first before people. Before friends, lovers, family. It’s what he knows best, after all. He undoes the wrappings around his left arm. He lifts them free to reveal the skin beneath, light brown with a criss-crossing pattern of silver scars marking it from his inner wrist to his shoulder. Everyone on Pandora has scars, but most aren’t as regular or deliberate as his. It’s been a while and there are no open wounds. He’s going to fix that, though.

He presses the blade against his skin, drags it across almost gently, caressing his skin. It leaves a thin red line in its path. Blood wells up, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. He barely felt the pain, and what’s the point in cutting yourself if you don’t feel it? The whole point is to feel the pain. So he moves the blade to a fresh spot, pushes down again, drags the blade across his skin harder, faster, deeper. Opens up his skin as if the feelings will flow out with the blood. Again and again. Until the pain is strong enough to compete with the numbness. Until he’s cut up his arm so much that he can’t find a new place to cut. Until he’s tired, so tired. He lets the knife slip from his fingers, lets himself slump sideways so that he’s lying on the ground. Closes his eyes. Lets the pain and the cold and the alcohol consume him.

It’s almost peaceful.

-

“Brick!”

He aches all over, and his arm stings, and there’s the smell of vomit in the air. He’s lying on the ground, and he can taste vomit as well. He groans but doesn’t open his eyes. He guesses that this means that the skags didn’t get him after all. He feels mildly disappointed.

“Brick!” That voice again. High pitched, filled with more anxiety than he’s ever heard it have before. “No no no no no!” He feels hands on his body, trying to roll him over and he groans again. His face is in a pool of his own sick. He can feel it in sticky in his beard. “He’s alive!” It’s Tina, Tiny Tina, who shouldn’t have had to see him like this. He keeps his eyes closed to avoid having to face her. He wishes she would just go away, leave him to rot in peace. There’s a shriek from above, and he thinks that it’s Talon, and then the ground shakes as Brick stomps over. The man doesn’t say anything, just scoops him up into his arms and carries him fire man style home.

-

Brick hands him a glass of water, which he gulps down. He’s dehydrated, and he needs to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. He wipes his face with the cloth Brick hands him and then watches as Brick washes and dresses his wounds in silence. Mordecai can’t tell whether he’s angry, or sad, or if he just doesn’t know what to say. Tina’s off playing with Talon so he’s grateful of that at least. He winces as Brick cleans a particularly deep cut.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

Brick says nothing, just wraps a clean bandage around Mordecai’s arm. He’s surprisingly gentle.

“I-” He almost promises that he won’t do it again, but what’s the point? He broke the last promise. What’s to say he won’t do it again?

“I don’t understand,” says Brick, finally, and Mordecai realises that there are tears in his eyes. Now that’s a sight that he never though that he’d see, and it makes him feel desperately sad. He didn’t want this aftermath, hadn’t thought about having to explain himself.

“What’s to get, man?” he says, shrugging Brick’s hands away. “I’m a fuck up.”

“Don’t say that,” says Brick, and Mordecai finds himself being swept up into a bear hug, Brick’s arms gripping him painfully tight. “Never fucking say that.”

“You’re gonna snap my spine,” Mordecai manages to choke out. “I can’t breathe, Brick.”

Brick lets him go. He’s not smiling, his face is hard. “If Talon hadn’t found you…” he says. “Mordi, I need you.”

“No one needs me.” Fuck, but his head is pounding. Why didn’t the skags get him? Next time he’ll just put a bullet in his brain. It’ll be quicker, less messy.

“Don’t fucking say that!” Brick shouts. Mordecai looks at him and realises that he is angry. “I should have woken up,” he says. “I should have noticed.”

Those words cut Mordecai deeper than any of his self-inflicted wounds. He shakes his head. “No. No, it’s not your fault, Brick. None of this is your fault.” He pats the bed beside him. “Come here.”

For a moment Brick doesn’t move, but then he drops down beside Mordecai. Mordecai leans his head on Brick’s broad shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. “It got too much.” He doesn’t have to explain any further. Brick wraps an arm around him and holds him.

A tear drips from the end of his nose, surprising him. He hadn’t realised that he was crying. But then Brick is pressing his lips against his, and they’re kissing, and the bad feelings recede ever so slightly. Mordecai wraps his hands around the back of Brick’s neck and whimpers into his mouth as one of Brick’s massive hands runs along his jawbone, up his cheek, through his hair.

After a while Brick pulls away. “How can I fix it?” he asks.

Mordecai sighs sadly. “I don’t think you can,” he says. “I don’t think anyone can. Sometimes the bad feelings just take over.”

“I’ll punch the bad feelings,” says Brick earnestly, which elicits a small chuckle from Mordecai.

“Wish life was that simple, man.”

“What if you tell me that the bad feelings are there,” says Brick, slowly. “And I’ll hold you, like this.” He wraps his arms tightly around Mordecai again. “And I won’t move until they stop. Deal?”

“Deal,” says Mordecai, head resting on Brick’s chest.

Brick stands up, Mordecai still in his arms. “Breakfast time,” he says, and Mordecai groans.

“No, please,” he says, but Tina has appeared at the doorway, yelling something about pancakes, and as Brick carries Mordecai out of the room, he realises that he doesn’t have a choice. And he realises that, despite the hangover, he doesn’t really mind.

“Hold onto this,” he whispers to himself. “Hold onto this feeling for next time.” Because more likely than not there is going to be a next time. Recovery isn’t linear. But, with Brick’s arms wrapped around him, recovery feels slightly more achievable.

He wonders if Tina cooked the pancakes herself, and hopes that, if she did, she stuck to a proper recipe this time. The last ones were rather more explosive than Mordecai would have liked.

#borderlands #brick #mordecai #borderlands fanfiction #borderlands 3 #alcohol tw #self harm tw #suicide tw