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sodone-withlife · 3 years

Text

icarus fell, and blood stained the ground

i'm back!! (but not really—the new school year literally starts in an hour and it will be back to my pathological dependence on academic validation. at least i can say i've technically published another fic before summer break ends)

anyway, here's the fic in response to part 1 of sumayyah's post. i published a companion poem for this some time ago. as per usual, i gave up on proofreading so hopefully any mistakes don't detract from the story. also, i hope the formatting and jumping back and forth between italics makes sense—let me know if it doesn't, though it might be easier to read on ao3 (it should go up on there by 4pm PST because school)

warnings: murder, major character death (may potentially be classified as suicide-by-proxy, depending on your interpretation), guns, canon typical violence, slight gore at the end, mentioned substances

word count: 1.9k words

The damned man thought of everything, Jessica thought as she scowled at the damned folder that sat innocuously on the large mahogany desk.

The desk that would soon be cleared, all traces of the previous owner gone.

She lifted a shaky hand and brushed it through her hair, shuddering at its greasy and unkempt state that hinted at the state she had been in recently. Weary to the bone, she forced herself to sit back up and grab her phone, dialing the number that was written on the sticky note placed on the inside cover of the folder. It didn’t surprise her to hear an unfamiliar female voice answer the phone with a “Ms. Brooks?”

He had thought of everything, after all.

Really, the only thing she was surprised at was the sheer extent of his connections—but thinking back to her phone calls with Haley back when he was still practicing law, the talks about extravagant offers from top corporations and firms, she really wasn’t surprised. Thus, it made sense that her call to the top law firm in the state would be answered within two dial tones and by someone who already knew who she was.

And within minutes of talking with the woman who introduced herself as Ms. Stevens, Jessica became even more aware of just how prepared her brother-in-law had been before he walked to his dea—

Not an in-law anymore—her brother. He had long since earned that designation, that spot in her broken family, no matter how much self-flagellation he put himself through in regards to her sister’s murder and no matter how much abuse her father hurled at him in the years before the man who once viewed him as a son succumbed to dementia.

Hours later, despite having already reached her limit twenty minutes into the call, she finally hung up the phone with only funeral arrangements as an immediate concern. Slowly, she stood up from the chair and mechanically made her way into the tiny bathroom that had once been a familiar sight, when her nephew was still a child—

She forced her mind away from that minefield; she wasn’t willing to spend another sleepless night thinking about what had gone down in the past month, what had happened a week ago in that apartment, what her nephew was doing and thinking in the cell that only seemed to become colder and crueler the more she thought about it.

How many prisons had he visited? How many interrogation rooms, holding cells, general population cells, max security cells, death row cells? Did he ever get used to it? Could he allow himself to get used to it, to forget that these people are also human no matter the crimes they’ve committed?

A careful hand fell onto Jessica’s shoulder, and she shuddered under the warmth that seeped into her body, a warmth that had been lacking from her life for a long time now. She turned to see Morgan staring back at her, concerned.

“You didn’t pick up your phone,” he explained neutrally, flicking his eyes towards her phone—and sure enough, there were ten missed calls, each from a member of the team. She looked back up but avoided his concerned gaze only to latch onto her reflection in the mirror and internally winced at her haggard appearance.

“Did you—“ she coughed, clearing her throat, “have you figured out what happened?” Morgan’s unspoken question about her well-being went unanswered, and she continued to avoid looking at him.

She watched the man shake his head through the mirror, unsurprised and once again cursing her brother for his incessant habit of playing his cards close to his chest, especially when it came to personal issues.

How else is—was—he one of the best at poker in the bureau, often even beating Reid?

“He hasn’t talked, either,” Morgan informed her quietly, saving her the pain of asking the question herself. “Forensics is still struggling to put together a cohesive picture. To be honest, I doubt we’ll ever find out what actually happened in that apartment.” He shook his head, frustrated at the man he considered his brother.

If either of them bothered to ask, they would have found that both were truthfully unsurprised at this outcome, given what they only recently learned about the factors and circumstances that led to it. The few established facts about this case in addition to speculation based on systematically organized notes left in an even more meticulously organized folder painted a clear enough picture of the events preceding the fall.

But it wasn’t really an accidental, flailing fall.

In all truthfulness, he didn’t fight it.

Icarus let himself fall to his death in an attempt to compensate for his hubris, to suffer the consequences of his mistakes, and it was both a cowardly attempt to escape the hellish burns caused by the boiling, melting wax and a selfless attempt to teach posterity to avoid ending up like him.

Jessica remembered the warmth of Morgan’s embrace when he ignored all protocol and took it upon himself to inform her of what had transpired in the past two months, regardless of the still-ongoing investigation. It didn’t do much to soothe the cold that had threatened to swallow her whole as she listened to the details in silent horror.

He had sat her down in her apartment, the one she had taken care of her ailing father in before he finally died and the one she couldn’t bear to move out of for all of the memories that had been formed inside—with her father on his good days, with her brother, with her nephew

“A week ago, we were invited by MPD to consult on a series of killings that happened over the course of a month. We had an eye on the situation since the second murder, and there were two more victims in the span of a week before we were finally called in,” he began quietly.

He had suspicions as to what was happening by the time the team was invited in on the case at the personal request of the MPD chief. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had come across this profile before, but there were simply too many puzzle pieces with matching edges for the connections to be brushed off as a coincidence.

“Based on the rate at which bodies were popping up, we anticipated another one within two days of us being called in, but the killer had gone suspiciously silent. We went through crime scenes, forensic reports, and things weren’t adding up.”

"It’s a local case and we’ve coordinated with MPD multiple times, they know the drill. I’d like to take a personal look as well, the brass has been all up in my business about this case given its proximity to the Hill."

That’s what he said to the team regarding him suddenly taking the initiative to go to the crime scenes despite his responsibilities—it had been a while since he last went out to crime scenes, often taking care of the office politics and coordinating the investigation back at whatever precinct or office the team had taken over.

“There were odd inconsistencies, missing pieces of evidence… There was evidence to show that the killer was an amateur, but ultimately the profile we ended up building was nowhere near as detailed as we hoped it could be—but it ultimately went a long way in helping us figure out what was really happening.”

Old case files going missing from his home office, growing interest in his job, sudden mood swings happening long after the worst of puberty, increased isolation, dropping grades…

Absentee fathers of Georgetown students being stabbed and shot to death as if the killer was unsure about what to do, an innocuous Jack-in-the-Box takeout bag sitting near the last three bodies…

Numerous signs, and yet it was the outwardly irrelevant piece of trash, perhaps a sign of the killer’s gluttony—a sick joke that only he could have recognized—that led him to put all of the horrifying pieces together. It’s been over a decade, and yet the memories of that damned day remained as clear as ever, dogging his every footstep. Nightmares in which the worst happens still often visit him in his sleep, sometimes even combined with the effects of Peter Lewis’s drug concoction, effects lingering even after all these years.

“Somehow, we completely missed the fact that he fit the victimology. Maybe it was because of his efforts to distract us… If we had put it together earlier we might have been able to figure it out much earlier, and maybe everything could have turned out differently.”

Only after intensive counseling and careful editing of his case reports was he allowed to continue in the bureau after Lewis and his targeted attacks, and yet he knew he was still being watched. It was with that thought in mind that he made a decision on how to handle the situation. Either way, his life would be irrevocably changed, and there would be casualties alongside him.

All he had to do was figure out how to minimize them.

“He never came in that morning; Reid was the first to notice the lights off in the office. We were headed towards his apartment complex as soon as we saw a cleared-out office with a retirement letter being the only thing left on the desk. All of the pictures, trinkets, law books, messy stacks of paperwork—gone.”

A retirement letter for formality's sake, one copy emailed directly to the director and one printed on his desk, to simplify some things for the bureau and to ensure that Jessica and his son get his pension should the worst happen. All of his decisions, meticulously recorded and justified, except for this last one to protect the team from the consequences of his choice. All of his notes, all of the claimed evidence, carefully stored in the file box he left next to the retirement letter back in the office. Favors accumulated since law school called in, contacts throughout the local justice system ready to step in and deal with the fallout.

All of this, an attempt to compensate for the mistakes he’s made over the years and his hubris, to protect the remnants of his family and the team.

Morgan couldn’t finish telling Jessica what had happened, voice somehow caught in his throat and refusing to cooperate. He simply shook his head, and she folded in on herself, the weight of the last week too much for her to hold up. Slowly, he pulled her into a hug, rubbing her back but not doing much more to soothe her.

This is a wound that wouldn’t ever heal.

The story ends like this:

Icarus burned, and Aaron Hotchner said nothing as the hand that held the gun against his temple shook with uncertainty. Everything he wanted to say was written—one might call him a coward, but writing had always been so much easier for him—and he knew that he would be the final casualty, that the killings would stop after tonight.

Icarus fell, and Aaron Hotchner was flung sideways, the unyielding bullet from his gun fired by his own son shredding the brain that thought had of everything but the emotional and psychological effects his final decision would have on his family and friends.

Daedalus grieved over his son’s crumpled form, and Jack Hotchner would be found with his father’s dead body in his shaking arms as he stared blankly at sights unseen to the team, who had come hours too late.

Blood stained the ground, seeping into the cracks and crevices of grasping fingers, and nothing would ever be the same.

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #bau #jessica brooks #jack hotchner #tw character death #tw guns #tw violence #tw murder #tw death #just to cover my bases #tw substances #tw drugs #tw gore

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roundaboutnow · 3 years

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Two

If Jazz had learned anything in her 16 years, it was that her parents were a force to be reckoned with. The completion of the Fenton Portal was a testament to that.

The portal was an expert piece of technology- where researchers had failed thousands of times before, her parents had finally succeeded. It was constructed delicately, precisely- it had to be, because even the slightest oversight would lead to failure. The portal was a demonstration of not only the Fentons’ expertise in engineering and chemistry, but also their finesse in physics and the supernatural.

When they first began designing the portal, Jack and Maddie estimated that it would take ten years of study and engineering to complete- ten years at the earliest. They finished it in just six, and for the first time in those six years, Jazz let herself feel something akin to hope.

Before that, back when Jack and Maddie were just playing around with the idea of a manmade portal, they spent most of their time studying natural portals. At the time, natural portals were the strongest connection between the ghost zone and the human world- understanding how and why they formed, it was theorised, could help them calculate when and where these portals would appear.

Unlike the researchers before them, though, Jack and Maddie did actually find a way to calculate this. But just as these portals were only around for a short period of time, there was only a small window in which they could calculate where it would form. That window would open when temperatures in Amity Park suddenly fell, about an hour before the portal would form, and would close just as the portal appeared. What other variables were needed to make this calculation was beyond Jazz, but whatever they were, it worked. More often than not, her parents were able to track down a natural portal and study it to its fullest extent.

Back then, this was the height of their careers. For once, their family wasn’t the subject of mockery but of acclaim. After a long period of near-bankruptcy, investors were finally interested in what the Fentons had to offer. Even the kids at school, who paid little attention to what the Fentons actually did for a living, could tell that something had changed and eased up on Jazz and Danny.

Of course, everything went downhill from there.

Danny went missing when their parents were at their busiest- the investors wanted more products, new projects, better results. Whether Jack and Maddie were too busy to pay attention to what their kids did or if they had simply become relaxed in allowing the children near their work, Jazz wasn’t sure. In either case, Danny had been with them when their parents went to study yet another portal.

She didn’t need to imagine what happened that day- there was video evidence that she would go on to watch day after day until the footage was burned in her memories. Her parents’ memories, too, she assumed. She wanted to call Danny an idiot, to blame herself for not being with him, but at the root of it all, she couldn’t help but blame her parents. It was their negligence that had gotten him lost, after all, and as much as she wanted it to, she wasn’t so sure that the Fenton Portal could fix that.

...

The lab alarm was going off.

Jazz became disoriented every time the alarm was triggered, but unlike previous emergencies, this was the first time she was home alone while it was going off. Her parents had given her thorough directions on what to do in this situation, but that didn’t mean she actually knew what she was doing. Instead, she was left with the feeling of panic and the frightening realization that she was the only one who could do anything about it.

She had to find the thermos. It was somewhere in the room- she hadn’t taken it anywhere since her parents had given it to her- but after a while of it just sitting on her dresser, she shoved it into some drawer and hadn’t seen it since. Now, she cursed herself for having been so careless with it- of course the alarm would go off while she was home alone. When did things ever go right with this family?

Jazz didn’t relax when she found the thermos in her dresser- she became colder, picturing what she would have to do. With the thermos gripped in her arms, she made a dash for the lab.

…

She’d seen a ghost in person before- you don’t grow up with ghost hunters for parents without seeing a ghost at least once in your life. But there was a very big difference between seeing a ghost in a controlled environment and being expected to catch one for the first time. Even so, her parents trusted her enough to handle it- and if they trusted that she could handle it, then there was nothing to worry about.

Taking a deep breath, Jazz cracked open the lab door and crept down the stairs, hoping it was all a false alarm. That she could simply turn off the alarm and be on with her day- apparently that had happened before. But peeking around the corner, she found that that was not the case.

There was a ghost in her basement.

With his back to her, she didn’t get a very good look at him, but could see that he was humanoid, whereas previous ghosts had been animals. But luck was on her side this time- the ghost was distracted, studying her parents’ inventions, holding an ecto-gun in his hands and observing it closely.

With a racing heart, she clicked the thermos on, closed her eyes, and pointed in the ghost’s general direction. That’s all she would have to do, her parents had assured her, so when she opened her eyes, the ghost would be gone.

Slowly, wincing, Jazz peeked into the lab again and felt her heart drop.

The ghost wasn’t gone, and he was looking right at her.

…

Danny didn’t have much time to assess where he was or what was happening. When the siren went off, he covered his ears and hurried to his feet- unless he wanted to jump back through the portal, he would need to find an exit.

For a brief moment, he couldn’t help but be reminded of the time he’d escaped Walker’s prison. It had been the first time he’d been in an actual building since falling through the portal, but with a sentence of 8,000 years on his head, he wasn’t about to stick around. Back then, however, Danny had been a human in the ghost zone. Escaping was a matter of walking through walls and avoiding guards. As a human in the human world, there was no reason he would be able to escape so easily.

Under the red lights of the siren, Danny turned to get a good look at the lab, his heart skipping a beat when he recognised it.

This wasn’t just any old lab- it was his parents’ lab.

It had changed- that wasn’t a surprise- but there was no doubt that this was the same lab he’d grown up with, either. On the right was their work table, the wall behind it scorched black. On the left, there were a few finished products, most of which Danny didn’t recognize, but were crafted in the same unique styles his parents so often adopted. In one of the corners was his mother’s chemistry set and in the other, he remembered, were the stairs to the exit.

Logically, Danny knew he should hide or make a run for the stairs- there was always the chance his family would shoot first and ask questions later- but he felt drawn to his parents’ work, looking over the tables full of inventions. He couldn’t tell what all of them were supposed to do- some of them were clearly guns, but others resembled jewelry and old appliances. On closer inspection, he noticed a name stamped across all of the inventions- Fenton- and could feel his eyes tear up. He barked out a laugh and hugged the ecto-gun that was in his hands- he already knew it was his parents’ lab, his parents’ work, but there was something very relieving about seeing their name with his own eyes.

When he had woken up that morning, he hadn’t expected his day to turn out like this- and he certainly wouldn’t have guessed that Skulker of all people would have helped him. This should have been the happiest Danny had been in a long time, except something felt wrong. Beyond the blaring siren and the red lights, he felt something else. A chill. It wasn’t the same as the ghost sense that he’d developed years ago, but the feeling might as well have meant the same thing- he was being watched.

Turning to see who was there, he was taken aback by the fact that he knew her.

He almost didn’t recognise her- she was a lot older than he remembered, but she resembled his sister all the same, with her red hair and narrow face. She was pointing an odd device at him, something that might have been a gun, her eyes squeezed shut in a pained wince.

Again, Danny knew he should run or hide, but he was overcome by the calming knowledge that this was his home. His sister may have been pointing a weapon at him, but this was once a safe space for him. Everything would be okay- everything had to be okay. Why would a few years have changed that?

When Jazz finally opened her eyes, she and Danny made eye contact, but instead of relaxing as he had expected, she stiffened and let out a small shriek. She smacked the side of the device a few times, urging it to work, and backed herself as far away from Danny as possible.

He wasn’t sure what to do then- she obviously didn’t recognise him as anything but a ghost, and unless she was willing to listen, there wasn’t much he could do that would convince her otherwise. There was, however, always a way to prove that he was her brother.

Taking a deep breath, Danny winced under Jazz’s terrified gaze and called over the alarms.

“Jazz!”

...

Thank you guys for your support and for the title ideas! I ended up deciding on just calling it Castaway and I'll probably post it on Fanfiction.net soon.

#im not as happy with this chapter as the first one but i've edited a lot and im a lot happier with it than i was at first #my fics #danny phantom fics #chapter two #ghost zone castaway #this one was mostly backstory which i guess explains why im less happy with it lol #let me know what you think!#castaway (danny phantom fanfic)

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giveemhales · 3 years

Text

Moodboards for Sterek AUs: 20/?

For @averysterekwinter day 3 (Theme: snow/ice)

Snow Day

(Plus here’s a fluffy ficlet, the rest under the cut because it got a bit long)

The first thing Stiles noticed when he woke up was that outside was white.

It was snowing, and not the drizzle of snowflakes that would melt upon hitting ground that was more usual for the area. No, there was a thick layer of white over everything in sight.

The second thing he noticed was the thing that woke him up: a text on his phone. He didn’t want to call it hypervigilance, because that implied a whole host of other issues he didn’t want to address, but even just the vibration of his phone from a single text was enough to rouse him.

It was an inconvenient habit (it was winter break and he wanted to sleep in, dammit), but he was grateful he had been roused when he read the text.

The text was from Derek and simply said Come to pack house ASAP.

Rest of fic under the cut!

He considered calling or texting to ask what was wrong, but he had gotten enough texts like that to know he wouldn’t get a response. If he wanted any answers, he would have to go to the pack house.

Stiles and Derek had been dating for around a year now, but they rarely texted. Well, Derek rarely texted. Stiles texted and Derek sometimes reluctantly replied. He wasn’t a big fan of technology. Kind of annoying considering Stiles was usually away at his campus, but Derek’s almost weekly visits more than made up for it.

So seeing this text immediately concerned Stiles. Pair that with the unusual snow, and he assumed the worst.

His mind whirred with different possibilities. Did a witch cast a spell? Was Jack Frost making a visit? Was some new dark Druid coming to fuck with nature?

He knew he was being a bit irrational, but he had learned to assume the worst when it came to Beacon Hills, and he could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen actual snow at home in his lifetime. His past experiences didn’t allow him the luxury of excitement about novelties.

Overall, the combination of the unusual weather and the text from Derek calling for an emergency meeting had Stiles on edge and falling out of his bed in his haste to head out.

He didn’t have a good snow jacket so he just put on as many layers as was comfortable and a coat. He grabbed some gloves, and mourned for his converse which would surely not do well in the snow.

Stiles rushed out to his car, noting his dad had already left for the station. He was grateful to note the roads had already been cleared, as he wasn’t sure if his jeep could handle snow and ice.

He parked when he reached the edge of the preserve. They had cleared a dirt road so that they would be able to drive to the pack house, but it wasn’t an official street so the city had no reason to clear it of snow.

Stiles understood why it wasn’t cleared of snow, but he was still annoyed. Fortunately, the snow wasn’t slushy, so at least his feet weren’t soaked. Still, his converse and jeans did little to protect him from the cold, and he walked as quickly as he could, while also watching out for any possible ice patches.

By the time the pack house was in sight, Stiles was shivering, and ready to yell at Derek for making him come all this way when phones were a thing.

Derek was standing in front of the pack house, and Stiles had no qualms about yelling and walking at the same time.

“Hey, jerk, there better be a good reason you called me out here, like dead bodies good reason. I am just a human without all the werewolf heat mojo, and I’m on break, so there are not a whole lot of reasons I should be anywhere except in bed sleeping right now.”

Stiles couldn’t really make out Derek’s face, but he knew it wasn’t as remorseful as it should have been.

Stiles sighed loudly and continued marching toward the house, looking down again to make sure he didn’t step in anything which would make him even more uncomfortable.

It was as soon as he looked down that he felt it, the cold becoming even colder, ice running through his veins.

He was under attack!

He looked up with a gasp, eyes searching for the assailant, for what cruel monster had thrown a snowball right at him.

He was surprised to see that all of the pack had appeared in front of the house (damn werewolf speed), all wearing smirks of varying deviousness.

Derek had his arm still raised, and Stiles knew he was the perpetrator (he wasn’t even wearing gloves but already had another snowball in his other hand, he clearly had an unfair advantage).

In fact, everyone had a snowball prepared, and they were all staring right at Stiles with an evil gleam.

“Whoa! Who decided everyone would team up against me? This seems totally unfair.”

“It’s not everyone against you,” Scott said.

“It’s every man for himself,” Isaac finished for him, and threw a snowball right at Derek’s face.

And then it was chaos.

Stiles made as many snowballs as he could while the werewolves were distracted amongst themselves, thanking god he had thought to put on gloves.

When Stiles was pretty sure he had a good amount of ammo stockpiled, he called to Scott. “Scotty, it’s snow time!”

Ever since they were young, when they had any sort of battle, whether it be nerf guns or water balloons, “It’s show time,” was their codeword to create an alliance. They would join forces and blindside their opposite.

(Stiles may or may not have been waiting his whole life to get to use that snow time pun).

Stiles began constructing a kick ass fortress as Scott ran over and began throwing Stiles’ snowballs at a pace only werewolves were capable of.

When he popped up to check how Scott was doing, he was blindsided by three rapid succession snowballs right to the face.

All from his boyfriend.

“Rude! And totally unwarranted!” Stiles shouted.

Derek glared at him. “It was revenge for that awful pun.”

Stiles gaped. “Oh you have snow idea what you’ve just started.”

He ducked before Derek had even thrown the next snowball.

The battle lasted close to another hour (Stiles cursed werewolf endurance), hundreds of snowballs and a handful of puns thrown.

It was at the time that his gloves were soaked through and he thought his fingers might fall off if he made one more snowball that he decided to call it quits.

He turned to look at Scott who was hiding with him behind the fortress and gave one nod. They stood up in unison, shouting their surrender with their hands up.

They were immediately pelted with a flurry of balls.

Stiles’ arms fell to his side. “Really? When we were surrendering? Do you snow snow bounds?”

The rest of the pack stared at him with blank stares.

“Fine, whatever, clearly nobody appreciates me nor understands my genius. Sorry my puns are too advanced for you all.” Stiles shook his head in disappointment and began to head to the house.

And promptly fell on his ass.

The rest of the pack burst into laughter (including Scott, the traitor, who was quick to abandon him), and Stiles glared at the sky from where he lay, cursing the world for this injustice.

Derek walked over, a smirk clear on his face while he looked down at Stiles. “You good?”

Stiles grumbled. “Yes. I meant to do that.”

Derek looked even more amused. “Oh really? And why is that?” Derek asked even as he offered a hand to help Stiles up.

“So I could do this!” Stiles shouted as he pulled down Derek with all his might with the offered hand. He knew Derek must not have been expecting it, because he actually managed to pull him down with an exclamation.

His victory was short lived, as he realized the consequences of his actions. He groaned. “God, you’re so heavy.”

“And you’re so dumb.” Derek got up on his elbows so he was slightly above Stiles.

Stiles stared dreamily up at his boyfriend, deciding to ignore the insult. “Hey, did it hurt?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “You mean when you pulled me down? Not really, I had a squishy human to cushion my fall.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “No, when you fell from heaven,” Stiles smiled widely, “Because you’re a snow angel.” He rolled them so he was above Derek.

Derek sighed heavily but remained limp as Stiles grabbed his arms, sliding them up and down through the snow in the classic snow angel motion.

Stiles rolled away from Derek when he got as close to an angel as he could and made his own, laughing the whole time.

Derek sat up from where he had been manhandled. “Why do I put up with you?”

“It’s because you glove me!” Stiles shouted, removing one of his gloves (which at this point had become so soaked from snow that it was just making him more cold) and tossing it at Derek.

“Don’t take off your gloves, you dumbass!” Derek said, looking scandalized. Stiles couldn’t really blame him for his concern. Stiles was a human, and therefore susceptible to pesky things like hypothermia, but Derek should have thought of that before he started a snowball battle.

Derek stood up and lifted Stiles up, hauling him over his shoulder.

Stiles didn’t really mind, since it got him out of the snow and gave him a great view of Derek’s ass.

“Just admit you’re s-mitten!” He took off his other glove and slapped Derek’s ass with it.

~~~

An hour later, Stiles was wearing multiple layers of Derek’s (dry) clothes, wrapped in a blanket, cuddling against his furnace boyfriend, surrounded by the pack.

“Well, I don’t know about you guys, but even if some people were needlessly cruel to me today, I had an ice time.”

The pack groaned, except Scott, who added, “Icy what you did there!”

Stiles leaned over to high five Scott.

“I will kick out the next person to make a pun,” Derek interjected.

Stiles rolled his eyes, even as he cuddled back into Derek’s side. “Ugh, whatever you say, Frosty.”

Derek glared down at Stiles, looking prepared to retaliate.

Stiles put his hands up in mock surrender. “That wasn’t a pun, that was a reference.”

“Well it wasn’t a very good one, since Frosty was a holly jolly soul.”

Stiles beamed. “Oh my god, my boyfriend knows his Christmas classics. I think I’m in love.”

“We know,” the rest of the pack responded in unison, but Stiles was too busy staring up at his boyfriend in adoration to care.

~~~

Later that night, when they laid together in bed, Stiles looked up at Derek, and his fondness shined bright. “I love you.”

Derek looked back at him, equally fond, and smirked and said, “I know.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit him for ruining the moment, or kiss him senseless for quoting Star Wars. He did neither, because he couldn’t let this opportunity pass.

“You mean, you snow?”

The ensuing slap on the back of his head was well worth it.

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midnightmoonkiss · 4 years

Text

Painful Stings & Sweet Apologies

Yandere! Izuku Midoriya X Fem! Reader

Summary: Rage fueled by failure, Izuku finds comfort in a bar, only to come home to a broken promise and a furious darling. He didn’t mean for this to happen.

WARNINGS!: blood, violence, alcohol (Izuku under the influence)

Category: Angst, one-sided fluff

Word Count: 9k+

A/N: This is my first yandere fic! I’m nervous as hell, I have no idea if I got this right lol. Though I did spend months perfecting it to the best of my abilities! Hope you enjoy~

Just To Clarify:

You’re both adults

It’s Friday

It’s cold and rainy (naturally--)

Izuku’s bedroom has a walk in closet and a bathroom

the kitchen is off-limits

THIS IS A YANDERE FIC!

Izuku is an obsessive yandere~

Cold, burning liquid rushed down the male’s throat as he gulped at the drink within the short glass.

Whiskey, or more specifically - a Jack Daniels, the honey-brown alcohol that delivered a bitter slap to all those who drank its refreshing nectar.

It wasn’t his usual drink, and certainly not one he’d ever guzzle like a parched beast.

Hell, who in their right mind would do that? Even with a single sip, it left your chest burning with its heat.

But desperate times call for desperate measures, right?

Or, more of, self-loathing times call for a quick, one-way ticket to Forget-Me Ville and Cringe Island.

The bar he sat at was lively, filled with drunken laughter and slurred speeches of men and women who have been out for far too long.

But it was Friday night, so who cared?

A rainy, cold, sucky, depressing Friday night, one of which his friends tried to make a bit better by taking the pissed off, green-haired hero out for drinks.

They certainly hadn’t expected Izuku, an innocent little guy who couldn’t handle his liquor for shit, to shoot down an entire glass of whiskey.

At first, he ordered a simple beer - a starter drink if you will.

It didn’t take but ten minutes for him to gulp that glass down, and he was onto his next drink - a sangria wine cooler. His typical drink. He always was more of a fruity guy, after all, preferring the sweet tang over the bitter bite.

But as the night raged on, and so did his inner turmoil, he kept ordering stronger and stronger drinks, until he got to the whiskey. You could say he lost his sense of reason a while ago.

He was still seething with rage, not as much as before but the mixture of anger and frustration swirled hotly with the alcohol pumping through his veins and sitting in his belly.

You could say it was keeping him warm in this lifeless atmosphere.

For the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t think of you, his precious little darling. He could barely think straight, mind occupied with too many thoughts to be able to understand any of them. It was all a garbled mess, one he chose to ignore.

Was that a good or a bad thing? He’d find out later.

But for now?

He needed another drink.

In the beginning, this Friday seemed like it was going to be one of the best he’ll ever have.

For months this pro hero has been working alongside detectives with catching a murderous villain known by the name “Ghoul.”

They were sick and twisted, their motives unknown, their trail hard to tract.

He had only one encounter with them, but he was too late to catch them.

That’s the day he was brought in to help aid the case.

But, that day haunted him for weeks. He knew that if he had arrived at the bloody scene sooner, he could have captured that cannibalistic fuck, brought justice to those who had already died by their mangy hands.. and prevented the deaths that would ensue after.

He’d known horrible villains before, but this one was different. Their teeth were sharp, blood permanently stained their clothes, and they gave off a wolfish vibe. Yes, a hunter. One who tore flesh from human bones and munched on it until someone screamed in terror for help.

For months he helped gather intel, piece puzzle pieces together, aid with location predictions and stakeout missions, until finally - they found that bastard.

It was more of a hunch than anything really, that Ghoul would show up to that site.

Ghoul, while hard to track, left a pattern in their wake. They avoided certain areas, thrived where the poor were at their weakest. The murders always seemed to happen at the exact same time behind run-down fast-food restaurants.

It was unclear if the sicko liked a hearty human meal with their victims own stomachs filled with greasy, fattening food, or if it was just convenient to them, either way - the perp was too damn sloppy.

To regular ol’ police personnel, the murders would just always happen there, behind restaurants.

But after Deku’s team began tracking where each and every murder occurred, it was quite easy to tell they were drawing, funnily enough, a circle around the city’s map.

It was stupid, childish, and downright idiotic, but damn if that didn’t lead the team to find the cold-blooded killer.

Adrenaline and pure hatred for the villain fueled Deku’s onslaught of attacks, each seemingly more powerful and less calculated. His mind was muddled.

He was filled with rage, finally being able to see the shitty excuse of a human again, but it affected his movements. He was being hasty, careless, not his usual calculated self.

And that’s what brought him his demise.

His shoulder was harshly bitten, razor-sharp teeth tearing through the fabric of his suit and shredding up the skin on his shoulder. Their quirk pumped through his blood instantly, making him collapse onto his knees, paralyzed. He hissed in pain as the sickeningly warm liquid flowed down his arm, unable to stop himself from face planting onto the dirty gravel of the alleyway.

He had lost, and Ghoul got away.

He still remembers it, after all, it was only hours ago that it happened.

The sun had long since set, the crescent moon hung high in the sky as her stars shimmered around her. His wound was stitched up and healed by doctors, leaving only a bitter scar to remind him of his failure.

He failed not only himself but those who counted on him.

God, he sucked.

And so, he ordered another drink.

He wanted to forget. He didn’t want to feel the failure sting at his fragile heart anymore.

It was too much to take.

What type of hero let the villain get away, knowing full well that they would kill again?

They couldn’t track Ghoul’s trail anymore, for the circle had been completed - and they were left with nothing with the numbing feeling of brutal loss.

Hours blurred together as his mind went hazy. His speech slurred together, dull, green eyes unfocused and mouth blabbering out nonsense to his friends that he couldn’t even really hear. It just- came out.

Soon enough, he was being dragged out of the bar by his annoyingly sober friends.

The night had gotten colder since they first entered the warm bar, rain pelted down like freezing bullets flying from a machine gun. A dirty old awning kept them dry as they stood still at the front of the bars entrance, the loud music bouncing off the walls inside echoed down the empty streets.

Heavy streams of salty rainwater poured off the edge of the awning, splattering down into a mud puddle that emptied into the sewer grate below.

Who doesnt love the musty stench of rain on asphalt?

Hell, the smell itself, combined with the strong yet savory scent of the Korean barbeque joint across the street was enough to make him nauseous. He had drank far too much, and his stomach was suffering the consequences. He should have eaten more before drinking. How foolish.

“It’s pretty late, you should head home.” Reasoned his best friend, Todoroki, puffs of condensation leaving his mouth as the warm breath met cold air, pressing a freezing hand to the back of the freckled boy's sweaty neck to jolt his drowsy, drunken self into a more alert state. Nothing but time could sober you up, but damn if that hand didn’t help slap some energy into him.

“Yeaahh, ye-yeahhh.. I gooht you Todooroe.” God, he sounded like someone high on anesthesia after being awoken from a surgery - which he definitely would be able to compare this experience to. Being a hero meant at least a few surgeries a year. Comes with the job.

Plus, this wasn’t the first time he’s been drunk.

He sure as hell hated the aftermath, but some nights it felt as if the hot burn of alcohol was the only thing that could keep him sane.

This was just one of those nights - or perhaps it was multiple nights slammed into one from just how stupidly drunk he was. The world was blurred, and Izuku doubted he could even walk straight at this point.

The half and half hero waved down a stray taxi, street water splashing up onto the sidewalk as the yellow vehicle came to a screeching halt.

“Get home safe.” Todoroki sighed out his nose at seeing his friends out-of-it state, helping the giddy and jelly-like hero into the back seat.

Izuku pouted, grabby hands clinging onto his friend's shirt in protest.

With a half-hearted chuckle, Todoroki pried himself free from his grip, handing the cab driver more than enough yen to get the drunk boy home.

He gave the taxi driver an address, and soon the car was rolling off down the street, Izukus flushed face pressed against the cold, fogging glass and staring with eyes full of tears at his friend.

Though, it seemed as if he had forgotten a promise he made to someone very important to him. Someone who he devoted his entire life to.

Someone who he risked everything for.

You.

His princess who had been locked in a small, dark room all day, wrists tightly cuffed to loose chains on the wall. The only light provided was a rusty oil lamp Izuku had gotten at a yard sale one day. The flame was dull, and left the room covered in shadows.

The tile below was as cold as it had been since the morning when Izuku had forcefully chained you there for misbehaving the night before.

You had deserved this punishment for disobeying him.

That’s what he tried to convince, anyway.

He was only trying to keep you safe! He hated punishing you, hated the way you thrashed and screamed at him in protest - that only meant he had to be rougher with you. You had broken into the most dangerous room in the apartment, afterall.

The kitchen.

There were far too many harmful objects in there!

Knives that could slice your delicate skin to shreds, forks that could jab into your body, hot stoves that could leave you with a nasty burn, and canned food stored too high up on the shelf that could fall and hit your head.. It was for your protection that the kitchen was off-limits to you!

Plus, Izuku, your oh-so kind and sweet boyfriend, had no problem with cooking you meals to eat together. In fact, he loved it!

He felt accomplished whenever you'd hum in approval at his cooking, or even turned on if that slutty mouth of yours just so happened to moan around your utensil.

Those were the nights dinner was forgotten.

But you had been foolish, entering the kitchen for a midnight snack whilst Izuku was out on patrol. Your sneaky little self thought you were clever, leaving no trace of your betrayal.

Until you were awoken hours later by a green glow, blood running cold as a pair of murderous neon eyes stared into yours.

It had to be one of the scariest sights to date.

His pupils were shrunk, green electricity buzzing around his large body. He hovered over your trembling body, a wrapper in between his two gloved fingers.

He was so close, your noses brushed together.

You swore he could see into your soul, as well as see the fear in your (E/C) eyes.

“What is this, (Y/N)?” He had asked innocently, hurt coating his words.

“I-” you wanted to make an excuse, protest, say it wasn’t yours, but every single letter died on your tongue as his face pressed closer, a sadistic smile overtaking his features.

“You didn’t.. You didn’t go into the kitchen, did you?”

His hot, minty breath blew all over your face as he spoke, and you shriveled back in fear as insanity crossed his expression in that way you were far too familiar with.

The giggles bubbled in his throat as he tried to fight logic with delusion, “It wasn’t you, right? Someone broke in, didn’t they? You wouldn’t break my trust, would you?”

His voice was cracking, fingers digging into the flesh of the bed beneath you as his eye began to twitch.

He stared down at you, curly green hair brushing against the sides of your face, waiting far too long for an answer he would never get. His bottom lip wobbled, feat tears welling up in his eyes and falling onto your pale cheeks as his body shook with anger and sadness.

He was already stressed about the following mornings mission, and to come home to his princess betraying his trust was not something he enjoyed.

And so, you were punished.

But he had promised you wouldnt be locked in there for long, he knew how you feared the dark. He had conditioned you to fear it, after all. It was his greatest accomplishment.

You were always so willing to cuddle into him when the lights were off.

A few hours turned into nearly an entire day, the only indication you had of this was past experiences, skin around your wrists rubbed raw from the metal cuffs, and the unusual sting of your ass and bare legs burning from the freezing tile beneath you.

That was the least of your worries, though.

Worst of all - the flame, which was holding you together and keeping you from crying out for help to those who might hear you in this soundproof room, which would no doubt get you a harsher punishment, was about to die out.

That flame, albeit small, was your only hope of surviving this.

Izuku was typically a very reliable person, it was strange for him to not keep his word to you. He devoted his being to you, worshipped the ground you regrettably walked upon, why would he break his own promise?

The thought of being trapped in the dark, the echo of your chains taunting your delirious mind had you close to tears. You didn’t want to be alone here anymore.

You watched in horror as the flame got smaller and smaller, tears now rolling down your cheeks as you pleaded under your breath for it to last longer.

The air vents around you provided enough oxygen for it to survive, but that damn oil..

Where was he?!

Suddenly, the door to his apartment flew open, giggles seeping through the house and teasing your ears.

Then, there was no more light.

A screech tore from your throat, a desperate call of his name as you thrashed around, tears pouring from your eyes.

You felt as if you couldnt breathe as your head whipped around the space, desperate for more air and light as your lungs seemed to scream.

You couldnt feel the cold chill of the floor anymore, body numb as adrenaline pumped through your veins.

What was in the dark?

How big was this space again?

Rather, how small was it?

What was that noise?

Did something just touch you?

There was wind, there was wind, no. A cold chill?

Oh god what was that-

Loud, clumsy footsteps made their way closer and closer to the locked metal door. You sobbed as your heard the jingle of keys, metal scraping against metal as he fumbled with inserting them into the lock.

Until finally, you were basked in the honey-dew glow of the bedroom.

You fought to control your breathing as he dropped to his knees, taking far too long for your liking to get the cuffs off.

But at least now you know why he took so god damn long.

You could smell the putrid miasma of alcohol wafting off him the moment he stepped into the darkroom, tainted with the salty effluvium of rainwater as it dripped onto your skin from his damp, messy hair.

Rage bubbled inside you as he giggled once more at your tear-stained cheeks, “D-did yoou miss mee?” He slurred, a giddy smile on his face as the stale stench of what he had been drinking all night circled around your head like a rotten wreath.

Instead of answering, like you knew you should have, you turned your head towards the door, soaking in the light you were previously deprived of. Even if it was just a mere minute.

At your silence, his smile quickly turned into a frown. Big, forestry green eyes welled up with sadness, bottom lip trembling, “(Y-Y/N)?” He couldnt help but reach out, scarred fingers wishing to wipe away those stray tears from your face.

You missed him.

That’s why you were crying, surely.

He wanted to comfort you, say that he was there now and that you could both cuddle until twinkling dawn.

You weren’t alone anymore.

He was all you needed, and he was right beside you.

He’ll always be there for you, and you’ll always be there for him.

Because you love each other.

“D-Don’t cry-”

His cold hand was smacked away, and his usually sturdy body was shoved back so that you could scramble out of the freezing closet.

You needed space.

More room to breath.

To be on flooring that didnt feel like ice cutting into your flesh.

Hell, you were sure the skin that had the unholy misfortune of touching the floor were burned red at this point from how long you had to sit there.

Not to mention your poor wrists, you couldnt even bear the sight of them being so raw. You were pretty sure they would bleed if you even touched them. Your body was screaming in pain, stomach growing for food, mouth parched from not being given water so that you wouldnt make a mess on the floor.

You were weak, shaking, and afraid.

That bastard had the gall to say not to cry, to look concerned when he knew damn well how much you absolutely despised the dark.

At first it was a childish fear, but the moment he snatched you from your regular life, that fear became a reality. There were countless nights you’d be punished by being left alone in the dark.

He didnt want to hurt you, no, and he never has, but damn if he hasnt conditioned you to be afraid.

Storms were the worst.

What was once a peaceful white noise turned into a terrifying nightmare once the moon rose in the sky.

There were times you were locked in that closet during violent storms, screaming and begging to be let out.

Sometimes you were, other times you werent as lucky.

Though it was only raining right now, each pitter-patter of the droplets against the window or balcony made hairs on your neck stand up. The sound was previously muted in the closet, but now it was hitting you like a freight train on a track that never seemed to end.

You heard him scramble to his feet as you wiped your tears away, the creak of the floorboards as he stumbled towards you.

A subtle bang made you jump, his foot no doubt hitting the chest at the end of your bed. Everso the clumsy one, even in an illuminated room.

Suddenly, he was right behind you, arms wrapping tightly around your middle as his head dropped to your shoulder, nuzzling his cheek against your neck.

Perhaps it would have been pleasant, comforting, even, if he wasnt soaked to the bone. The cold water from his dark grey, long-sleeved sweater was now seeping into your own thin clothes, freezing wet hair sending shivers down your spine and it presses against your heated, sensitive skin. Some drops even went down your back, ripping a gasp from you.

This wasnt comforting at all.

This was suffocating.

You squirmed in his grasp, desperate to get the hell away from him.

You were already pissed, and him wrapping around you and squeezing you tight like a snake to its prey was the cherry on top of your disastrous sundae.

With a grunt, you used the rest of what little strength you had left to rip yourself free from his ‘hug,’ nearly tripping on your own two feet as you rushed away from him.

He pouted at you as you shoved yourself into a corner of the room, finding comfort in being able to see all around you, no surprise attacks from behind, only what was in front of you.

Your breath was heavy as you glared at him, nostrils flaring and jaw clenching.

Truly, you had some nerve.

But it was hard to help it.

He broke a promise.

He never does that, and yet in your time of need- he wasn’t there for you.

For once.

He knew damn well you were locked up, scared shitless, expecting him to return home in a few short hours, yet here he is - looking absolutely clueless as to why you were suddenly so angry at him.

Tears streamed down his drunkenly flushed cheeks, hurt by how you shoved him away again.

All he wanted to do was snuggle you, his body exhausted yet numbed by the alcohol still burning in his tummy.

“Where..” you started, voice low, scratchy, and dripping with venom that reached deaf ears. “Where have you been!”

Just as he was about to open that mouth of his, no doubt about babble nearly incoherently - form logical excuses with evidence to back him up, say he lost track of time which you know damn well he never did, you shut him up.

You hated dealing with him when he was drunk, hell - you hated dealing with his obsessive ass most days.

But drunk? Drunk he got worse. He was clingy, more emotional, and worst of all? He didn’t have a filter.

He always managed to hide those more sinister desires under that sweet mask of his - until alcohol brought it out.

God, the smell of it made you sick to your stomach, but luckily you didn't have any food to throw up.

No thanks to him.

“What the fuck, Midoriya?!” You leered at him, noticing quickly the way his eyes darkened in that way they always did when you referred to him by his family name - the name he hated being called by you of all people.

“I’ve been trapped in that room all goddamn day! You said it’d be a few hours? What the hell happened to that! Look at the fucking time! Nine hours! Nine hours I’ve been stuck in my own personal hell! I can’t feel my fucking legs because of you!”

“I-” he attempted to start, the firm grip he had on his sanity quickly loosening with every shout you threw at him.

You cut him off, again, pent up rage now overtaking your sense of reason and fear, “What the hell happened?! You know what! I don’t even care! Not only did you,” You pointed a trembling finger at his stilled body, “break a promise! Something you swore you would never fucking do, you also had the nerve at laugh at me as I was trembling in fear!”

You looked like a mess, body shaking and bent over itself, one arm clutched around your waist as if to hold yourself together as that accusing finger stayed trained on him. Your hair was messy, frizzy, soaked with sweat and oily as hell from being denied a shower. Your clothes, thin and girly - much to your utter distaste, but to his satisfaction - now damp thanks to his carelessness.

All of this was because of him.

It always was.

Every single thing that went wrong in your life always seemed to be because of him nowadays.

You couldnt believe you let yourself fall for that misleading smile all those years ago, only to end up like this.

A mouse in a lions den.

But hell if that would stop you from squeaking your heart out till his razor-sharp claws ultimately caged you back in.

“Do you see my wrists?!” with a strangled sob, you held up both of your arms to show him the mess he already knew was his fault, “look at them! They hurt so fucking much because you left me in those disgusting handcuffs! This is all your fault!”

Your knees were wobbling so bad you swore your legs would give out at any second, but you’d be damned if you didnt hold your ground to this lunatic.

True, some days he was nice, normal, even. But days like these, or days much worse, you were reminded of just who he really was.

A monster was stretching it. He never intentionally tried to hurt you, your friends, or even your family.

No, he just stole you from your apartment in the dead of night, convinced the reason you were crying was because of the thunderstorm and not because some psycho snatched you from your window like some sort of 1970’s movie trope. That night he cradled your thrashing body to his hard chest with his strong arms, cooing at you and whispering sweet nothings into your ear as you begged to be let go. You were just scared of the storm~ He would keep you safe~ He is the number one hero, afterall~

That was all utter bullshit, straight from the beginning.

And even now he was still wrapped in the delusion that you loved him as much as he loved you.

A fated pair.

Please.

But you still held on to the pathetic hope that one day he’d snap out of it, return to the Izuku you knew from the beginning and not the person who now stood a few feet in front of you, staring with cold, emotionless eyes.

“I’m sorry.” he says impassively, face as blank as a new canvas - unreadable and dangerous in every way imaginable. It was hard not to feel as if he was just waiting to strike, already calculating his next moves like he always seemed to do. It was far easier to deal with an angry Izuku than one where you couldn’t read his already complex emotions, thoughts, anything. He was the definition of expressive, and it truly took a fuckin bullet to the back of his head for him to be like this.

So clearly, you hit a nerve.

Wonderful.

“Oh?” Despite knowing the implications of the situation you found yourself in, it was impossible not to laugh at such a pathetic fucking apology.

Knowing him, he probably was sorry, deep down inside. You knew he didn’t like seeing you hurt, especially if it was because of his doing, and yet- you pressed on.

Pent up anger was a nasty thing to deal with, especially since it’s been brewing inside you for so long.

“Are you now? You don’t fucking seem sorry! If you were really sorry, you wouldnt have done it! But look where we are! You’re such a fucking-!”

“Shut up.” he growls out borderline maliciously, stumbling slightly as he turns to walk out the door. He was clearly fed up, his strong hands clenched into threatening fists, but so were you. Even if you were undeniably frightened to confront him, you wouldn't let that stop you from pushing yourself off the wall - your safe space - and wobbling after him.

“Look at you! You can’t even walk right! How drunk are you, huh? Washing away your feelings again, are you? What about my feelings! Huh?!”

You were pushing it.

You really were.

The entire house felt it, the air chillingly still as Izuku had to grind his teeth together so as to not lash out at you.

He didn’t want to.

That was the last thing he wanted to do, but all that stress and self-hatred previously washed away was coming back up to the burning surface that cages his discretion.

Heavy breaths blew out his nostrils as he made his way to the living room, desperate for you to get the hint from his hunched over body that he wanted you to fuck off.

Yeah, he messed up, deep down he knew he did but currently his mind was far too clogged to even begin to comprehend it.

You were like an annoying mosquito, your words morphing into a persistent buzz.

He was ignoring you, and that made you livid.

He always ignored you when your problems were deemed irrelevant, or when he found you were being far too vexatious.

He always did this, always.

You were trapped in a cell with some asshole who didn't even want to listen to you.

Obviously, you had enough.

Typically you’d back off, go fume in another room or punch the wall till the skin around your knuckles tore open and dripped blood everywhere, making him snap out of whatever state he was in just to suffocate you in his toxic love.

Oh how life proved to be full of surprises.

A low growl of your own slithered passed your teeth, eyes practically burning red as if you prayed you had a quirk that could do something against him.

“You’re a selfish bastard! You fucking piss-poor excuse of a hero-!”

SLAP!

A shrill scream tore from your raw throat, the echo of skin burning against skin dizzying you as you were thrown back onto the floor.

Boiling hot tears streamed down your face as you sobbed out of pure fear, body shaking uncontrollably and you shuffled backward, desperate to get yourself as far away from him as you could currently manage.

It had all happened so fast, you didn't even have time to register it as it occurred.

One moment his hands were gripping the back of the couch with such strength you could see his knuckles turn a ghostly white, and the next, crackling, neon-green lightning surrounded his body, illuminating the dim apartment in a slimy glow. Before you even had a chance to register just what happened, he whipped his head around, his eyes, typically blown wide with sickening love and sparkling under delusional illusions, were narrowed and glowing in a way that sent shivers of immense regret down your spine. His arm whipped back with his hand, the very hand that delivered a painfully paralyzing slap.

He always spoke with his hands, and you just happened to be too close to him at that moment.

The reddended skin of your cheek burned, and you swore you could feel more than just tears streaming down it.

You were stuck shaking on the floor, imaginary bile rising in your throat, and all you could do was stare at him with wide, bloodshot and terrified eyes.

He had never laid a hand on you like that before, you didnt know what to think.

He always promised to do you no intentional harm, to never lay a finger on you with intentions of making you cry out in pain.

He had never acted so feral and out of line before.

It.. it scared you in a way you never felt before.

The gap between you grew, you really were just a mouse trembling in a lion's den.

“P-princess-” he shakily called out, voice weak and uneven, quirk diminishing into thin air like it never was there in the first place.

His own eyes were wide and filled with immense regret, tears already pouring down his flushed, freckled face.

He took one step forward, and you scrambled back, hand coming up to touch at your cheek, shock making you feel faint at the sight of blood coating your trembling fingertips.

You felt sick once again, empty stomach feeling as if it was collapsing in on itself to push even the tiniest bit of nonexistent food out.

You didnt know what to do.

Choking on your own sobs, you tried desperately to shuffle away from him, but he only came closer.

You cried out the moment he dove at you, your hands clasped together tightening against your chest as if to hold yourself together as this bear of a man wraps his arms cold, soaked arms protectively around you, his large shoulders violently shaking as he buried his snotty, tear stained face deep into your unruly tresses.

The stench of alcohol burned your nostrils, edging you on to try and push his heavy chest away. You tried, but you failed miserably, resulting in his arms pulling you even closer to his sweaty and damp body. It was disgusting.

“L-let go of me!” you wailed, your own tears stinging your eyes as your vision blurred and you could no longer tell just what you were staring blindly at, the dimness of the living-room paired with the suffocating embrace of your captor swallowing you whole.

You couldnt take it.

You could barely breathe at this point.

“p-p-ple .. plea-s-se..!” your cries intertwined with his own desperate ones as he babbled nearly incoherently on about how sorry he was, how he never meant to do something so horrible.

“I’m not a monster!” he howled out, desperate words seeping with ululation.

He was desperately trying to convince himself of that.

He wasn’t talking to you at all.

He was talking to himself.

He wasn’t a monster.

He’s not like him.

He’s not like that piece of filth.

No, he’s so much better.

He’s a good man.

No, no, he’s not a monster.

He’s your hero.

He could never purposely harm you.

No.

It was an accident.

An accident.

You’d understand.

He knew you would!

You always understood him.

You were like two peas in a pod!

You forgave him, surely.

Yes.

Yes!

You did the moment he hugged you, the moment he started comforting you.

He was a good man.

How could you not forgive him?

He loved you so, so, so much.

You knew that-

You knew he would never do such a thing.

His breathing was even, eyes wide and straining as he stared at the floor, a crooked smile on his face as he repeated the words over and over again in his twisted mind.

He never met to hurt you.

No.

He didnt.

“Plea-” you tried once more, biting your wobbling lip as he squeezed you even tighter.

“No, no, no, no, no, no..” he heaved out, hand coming up to gently pet your oily hair as if to calm you. His head shook back and forth in your hair, “It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m so sorry, honey.”

There was nothing you could do.

You were stuck alone in a mouse trap, the cold, metallic bar snapped down on top of your frail neck.

There was no escape.

There never was.

His form of ‘love’ far too strong for you to even attempt to.

And so, you gave up.

Just like you always did.

There was no point in resisting him.

Sticky blood trickles down your raw cheek, dripping down onto the chilled bare skin of his neck, still cold from the damp clothes he wore, instantly catching his wondering attention.

“You.. you’re bleeding?” he whispered guiltily, already feeling a new wave of salty tears building up in the corner of his eyes.

His large left hand trailed up the skin of your neck, idly collecting the thin trail of red liquid onto his fingertips and smearing a path up to your jawline, stopping the moment your shivering form flinched.

He frowned at the red mark taking up half your beautifully innocent face, a small cut resting in the middle of it where no doubt the ring he foolishly wore as an accessory swiped.

Guilt made his stomach churn, the familiar burn of acid rising in his throat.

A deep inhale, and he swallowed it down, arm still wrapped around you, languidly rubbing your back as he stared with nothing short of pity at your wrecked state.

Your lips wobbled, holding in a reply as you force yourself to look into the vast abyss of darkness that was the hallway of your apartment instead of his orbs gleaming with concern.

Concern.

Concern for something he caused.

At least he had a heart, but you were still scared shitless and wanted nothing more than to run away. You were still fighting to regulate your breathing.

His thumb suddenly pressed against the slap mark, ripping a yelp from your throat as your head flung back to avoid any more contact. It was then that you noticed a pounding headache echoing inside your skull, yet another reason to aid in the water running down your face. Pain consumed your body, and you wanted nothing more than to escape this shell you were trapped in.

Openly chewing on his lip, both of his arms went back around you, cradling your delicate form to his chest.

Without a word, he stood up, practically forcing you to have to wrap your bare legs around his waist to keep yourself steady, something you were trained to do by him. He loved it when your legs were around his waist whenever he picked you up.

It became a regrettable second nature.

Heavy foot steps brought you back to your bedroom, and then into the bathroom connected to it.

Your fears crept up your spine at the pitch black room you were forced into, remembering how you were in a similar position just a few minutes ago.

When would this cycle end?

Ah.

It wouldnt, would it?

You were set delicately down atop the cold marble counter as if you were a fragile piece of glass, which, in many ways, you were. The tears had at least stopped, but your body continuously shook like a chihuahua, your breathing still hard to control as fumbled around mindlessly with your fingers to serve as a distraction.

He flipped the light on, momentarily blinding your sensitive gaze with its bright light.

Sniffing, you wiped at your nose, watching as he walked about the bathroom, grabbing a wash cloth just to run it under cool water. The rain was still heavily pouring just outside the wall mixed with the loud splatters of the stream against the white sink. It would have been calming had cold water not splashed up onto your bare thighs, making goosebumps prickle along your skin. Your thighs were nearly numb at this point.

After ringing most of the water out, he held it up to your cheek, staring at you.

Taking the cue, you hesitantly took the cool, wet cloth from his grasp and gingerly pressed it to the swelling skin on your face. You hiss out in pain, dry sobs wracking your body at the stinging pain and the fact that he was still far too close for you to currently handle.

The pain on your cheek paired with the numbing cold was a good distraction.

You chewed on your lip as you squeezed your eyes shut, freehand gripping tightly at the hem of your shirt as you listen to him fumble around in the cabinet hanging over to the left.

You jumped the moment you felt his larger fingers ghost over the ones holding the cloth to your cheek, cautious (E/C) eyes opening ever so slightly as you looked over at him.

You couldnt help but feel idiotic as you suddenly felt flustered at the intense gaze he was giving you, eyes now gleaming viridescent in the white light of the bathroom almost staring right into your soul.

It was like he was reading you, pulling words off your own frail pages just so he could recite them to you.

He did this often.

Keeping silent, staring for long periods of times as he tried out scenarios in his head of the words he was going to say.

It gave you chills, but yet, it made you feel like you were the center of his drifting attention.

The sun his planets revolve tirelessly around, repeating the same cycles like a record forever skipping on repeat.

In these moments, though, he became an enigma.

Not exactly something your fragile state of mind entirely needed right now.

You shivered when his palm came to cup your soft jawline, thumb absentmindedly tracing over your parted lips.

His mouth opened, ready to say something, but he stayed quiet.

Mouth shutting, he leaned forward, tentatively bringing you into another hug.

“I’m sorry.” he repeated, the words nearly as quiet as your stilled breath, but you had nothing to say to it. And he knew it.

He was used to you staying silent.

He would prefer it most of the time.

So he could sink into his fantasies, the deluded fantasies that you loved him wholeheartedly, that you chose to stay silent as to not hurt his feelings, and always forgave him no matter what.

That you would forever and always be his.

He wouldnt give you the choice not to be.

He wouldnt let you leave when you’re his favorite person in the whole wide world.

The only one he needed.

And he was the only one you needed.

Yes.

Of course.

You didn’t need anyone else but him.

And he didn’t need anyone else but you.

So what if a few more people died because of his mistake, he would capture Ghoul eventually. Regardless, he would always come home to you.

Always.

And that’s all he needed.

He chucked against your neck, having buried it in the crook as his mind slipped through his shaky fingertips.

The Big Bad Wolf and his Little Red Riding Hood.

God how he loved the comparison.

Perhaps he was addicted.

Addicted to you.

Even now, as he inhaled your sugary sweet, natural scent stained with the metallic smell of dried blood.

Pulling back, he gazed into your hesitant eyes, delicately resting his forehead against yours.

His hair, now dry and no longer dripping with salty rain, tickled your skin, making you involuntarily take in a deep breath.

Closing his eyes once more, he soaks in the moment of your warm body in his frigid embrace, nothing else mattered to him.

Just you.

Only you.

“L-let me see your cheek,” he asks softly, words not as wobbly as before, afraid that if he spoke too loudly in such a thin atmosphere, everything would shatter abruptly like glass.

Your body moved on instinct as if you were used to doing as he asked immediately no matter what, pulling the cool cloth away from your burning cheek.

Resisting the urge to sniffle and flinch away, you allow him to rewet the cloth, holding still as he dabs lightly at the small wound.

“I know it hurts,” he breathes out, “shh, shh, it’s okay.” it was always so strange how his voice still managed to calm your nerves even after all you’ve been through.

Deep down, you knew he was still that loving and energetic boy you met back at that coffee shop.

If only you knew how sinister and twisted he could really be.

Perhaps.. perhaps you wouldn’t be in such a situation now.

But there was never any point in pondering the what-ifs.

All you could do was fight your mind from seeking normalities in such a relationship as this, if you could even call it that.

You wouldn’t succumb to his desires like you always did.

You wouldnt lose yourself.

No.

You couldn’t let that happen.

Or was it too late already?

You hissed when you felt the stinging seer of rubbing alcohol dotted onto your cut, cleaning the wound.

“It’s okay.” he repeats, cooing to you with a reassuring smile that should have made you feel sick all over again.

You let him apply antibiotic ointment and a small cheek bandage, his hands shaky yet careful. You could say he has experience in applying bandages.

It was uncomfortable as it sat on your raw skin, but it’s not like you were going to go and rip it off. That would feel like ripping off a wax strip on a sunburn.

Humming, he gingerly wipes away the dried blood on your neck with the same washcloth, not minding how blood-stained the innocently white fabric became.

Next came your still aching wrists. There wasn’t much he could do for your legs, but at least he had roll-on bandages on standby.

Turning the cold tap on, he lets you run them under cool water before gently dabbing the stray droplets away, careful not to press too hard.

He really needed to invest in softer handcuffs, it’s just- those were the only ones he had, and he didn’t use them often. Besides, it never got this bad before. But that wasn’t a good excuse.

He’d have to order some online tomorrow..

Applying more ointment around the area, the kind that offers instant relief, he wraps your smaller wrists up as best he could, cringing himself whenever you’d flinch.

He’d make it up to you.. Pancakes in the morning, perhaps?

Izuku then begins to sluggishly put away everything he brought out of the cabinet, tossing what needed to be tossed into the trashcan.

He was slow, almost as if he was trying to keep his balance, which he no doubt was.

Standing in front of you once again, he wrapped his arms around you, whispering “up” in your ear.

It was something he would always say when he wanted you to wrap your arms and legs around him so he could carry you like a baby.

But who were you to refuse?

It wasn’t as if he couldnt pick you up without your limbs wrapped around him, it was more for your comfort rather than his convenience.

So, tentatively, you wrapped your still shaking arms around his neck, doing the same with your legs around his bent waist.

“Good girl.” he praised as he began walking back into the bedroom, stopping just at your side of the bed to place you down at the edge.

Numbly, you let him remove your rain-soaked clothes from all the hugging, sitting on the bed in just your panties as you watched him toss the clothes in the hamper by the door

It wasn’t the first time he insisted on treating you like a child who needed help changing, but at least you didn’t have to walk.

It was hard to remember if it was a good or a bad thing that you didn’t care about being nude in front of him anymore, not even bothering to hide your chest as he came back over with a fresh set of clothes - the strawberry patterned pajamas he always seemed to adore you wearing.

You always looked so innocent in them. The shirt is far too large for your frame, the sleeves hanging off your hands and the large v-neck exposing your collar bones and parts of your shoulders. The bottoms were the regular run of the mill pajama pants, soft as cotton and comfy as hell.

The top truly was the part of the look that tied it all together.

He couldn’t help but smile as your arms immediately raised as he pulled the shirt out of the pile, making quick work of slipping it over your cute head and helping your arms into the sleeves.

He liked to take care of you.

You needed him to, after all.

You were his innocent, helpless little darling, after all.

Pulling your pants up, he guided your body down into a resting position, dragging the thick, grey, and black patterned comforter over your stilled body.

Such a good girl.

He tucks loose strands of messy (H/C) hair that fell across your face behind your ear, being mindful of the wound.

He stares at it for a moment, his expression holding that of worry and regret.

Pushing off the bed, he stumbles his way to the kitchen in the dark, having turned off the light as he went, the layout of the apartment burned to memory so he could easily avoid furniture.

In the kitchen, he opened the freezer and grabbed an ice pack, one he would commonly use on his own sore muscles and bruises. It hurt his heart knowing he was the reason you had to use it for the first time.

After wrapping it in some paper towels, he trudges his way back into the dark bedroom, eyes wracking over your balled up form, covers bunched over you like a shell.

“Put this on your cheek..” he whispered, placing the pack just in front of your face.

He would love to be the one to hold it to your cheek, but his mind was still hazy, and his words were still slurred. Events could sure as hell sober you up a bit, but damn did that nausea always come back crashing in through the brittle window full force when you’d least expect it.

Rummaging through the drawers once more, he picked up some of his own fresh clothes and made his way into the bathroom again.

All he wants is to sleep, but he also didnt want you to smell dried sweat and rain on his being throughout the night.

He knew you missed him, him and his warmth, you always did, right? No question about it. You must be longing for him even now.

Wanting him to hold and comfort you just like always.

Numbed adrenaline pumped in his veins as he stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash away his filth and regrets.

God, it felt so good to be able to somewhere warm for once.

The entire night he’s felt nothing but cold.

Not even the fire in his belly or the breath stolen from his lungs could’ve warmed him up.

He was mad at himself. Mad that he lost control and hurt the one thing that mattered the most to him.

Mad that he let himself get disgustingly drunk.

Mad that he walked in the rain like a dumbass just to soak your clothes and make you feel as cold as him.

But at the moment, too many thoughts were flying in his mind for him to properly think, no, he couldnt really even say he was thinking at all.

He was just letting the water splatter on the back of his neck, forehead resting on the cold shower tiles and he watched as water swirled down the drain like a whirlpool. His hair stuck to his cheeks like glue, but he couldn’t find himself caring.

Absentmindedly, his fingers brush across the fresh scar on his broad shoulder.

He swore the longer he stood there, watching the clear flow of water, the looser his grip on himself became.

He couldnt really say he felt anything at all anymore.

When did he lose himself?

Was he ever even really found?

Ah.

With you.

You were the missing piece in his complicated and skull biting puzzle, the one who made him whole and lit up his dull life. You were the reason he felt things anymore, you were the reason he still managed to get up and save people with a clear conscious.

You always had such a positive impact on his life, and he knew he had just as good a one on yours.

A wobbly smile tore his flushed face in two, you both really did need eachother.

He was so happy to have you in his life.

Knowing you’d never leave him.

Turning the boiling hot water off, he stepped out, the plushness of the bath-mat embracing his wet feet as water continued to pour down his nude body.

It felt, it felt so hot suddenly.

His breath came out in exaggerated pants, hands sweeping his hair from his face as the burn of bile rose in his throat.

Lunging for the toilet, he emptied his stomach into the glistening white bowl.

Gasping for air, Izuku whipped his mouth on the back of his hand, still trying to catch his breath as he fumbled to flush.

God, he needed to sit down.

Shakily turning the bathroom faucet on, he washed his hand, making quick work of brushing his teeth before lazily drying himself off.

Ignoring the other clothes he brought in, the toned hero simply pulled on a pair of black boxers before walking out of the bathroom.

Green eyes immediately looked at your form, just to see the soft rise and fall of your chest as you soundly slept, the ice pack sitting comfortably on your cheek.

You looked so adorable.

You always did.

Smiling once more, he walked over to the bed, pulling back the sheets just to slide his larger, warm body in and next to your own.

He sighs blissfully the moment he tugs you into his embrace, relishing in the feeling of your soft body against him.

Removing the icepack from your cheek, not wanting you to awake to a cheek burning from the cold, he places it on the nightstand before snuggling closer to you.

You always fit so perfectly in his big arms.

You were meant to be by his side.

And you loved it, didn’t you?

Eventually, he fell asleep, soft snores echoing around the quiet room filled with the downpour of rain still pouring down outside the large glass windows,

But you were still wide awake.

It was hard to remember the last time you got a good night’s rest, especially when the room was spine-chillingly dark..

Hard to remember what life was like before you even met your own personal nightmare.

You were used to the exhaustion, the dark circles kissing at the skin under your eyes becoming normal the day you were brought here.

Oh, how foolish you were.

You should have locked your window that fateful night.

But heroes are quite stealthy, aren’t they?

Was this even reality at this point? Or all just a figment of your imagination, protecting you from the true horrors before your very eyes.

Either answer wasnt one you wanted.

But you never had a choice.

Tears slipping from your eyes like they always seemed to do, you stared longingly off into the distance, the warmth pressed against your back pulling you further into your own bubbling madness.

All it took was a signal thought for this to all become normal.

For the pain to wash away with your tears.

‘Maybe this is ok.’

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sorcererinthestars · 3 years

Text

I wrote this a while back for @shadeofazmeinya and realized I never posted it. Their request was something along the lines of a museum date and as I’m currently in grad school for museum studies, I jumped on it!

Ships: Micheoff

Thank you to beloved @gayafsatan for teaching my idiot self how to do readmore on mobile lol

Michael knew from the moment they approached the huge doorway that he didn’t want to be here. More, he didn’t belong here. He was scum from the pits of Jersey, even dressed up in nicer clothes and given a new job didn’t mean that he was allowed to cross the threshold of a place like this.

But Geoff was already striding forward, a content look on his face, and Michael really didn’t want to be left behind, so he skittered forward after him. He hovers behind Geoff’s left arm, not sure what was the correct protocol, and follows him through the big double doors.

The museum’s foyer is warm and inviting, with cascading light from many windows and marble floors. They click over them as they approach the front desk. Geoff grins at the woman behind the counter and she glances at him a bit warily for a moment - taking in all the tattoos - but then returns the smile. “How can I help you, sir?”

“I’m just taking my friend here around. I’d like two tickets, if you don’t mind,” Geoff says smoothly, glancing over and gesturing for Michael to approach the table. The woman glances at him, taking him in, but she nods and completes the transaction, handing over the tickets. “Don’t miss the new exhibit on the third floor,” she hums. “We have a few Van Gogh paintings. They’re truly exceptional.”

Geoff’s eyes light up and Michael does have to hide a smile. There we go. That was the real reason they were spending a few hours touring a shit museum when Michael could be out racing cars or cleaning his guns or playing a few rounds of Rocket League. Their next heist was simple - they were going to break in and steal those paintings. Any Van Gogh on the black market would be worth an exorbitant amount. Plus, as Geoff explained, they hadn’t hit the Los Santos Art Museum in quite some time. It’d be fun to do it again.

He hadn’t expected Geoff to pick him as his ‘date’ to case the museum and the exhibit. Certainly Jack would have been a better pick, or even Gavin who was more familiar with the security layouts and would probably benefit from being inside. But no. Geoff had picked him of all people. Just saying that he would like a day alone with him.

He couldn’t refuse. Not when his boss wanted him to go, anyways. So Michael, Jersey street kid and scum of the gutters, was standing in possibly the most beautiful and classy place he had ever been in. He follows Geoff closely, unsure of how he should act in a place like this.

Geoff chuckles at his anxiety. “Relax,” he hums. “We need to check out the exhibit upstairs, but nothing says we can’t enjoy ourselves first.” His hand gently brushes Michael’s and the boy turns a bright red. “Take in some culture,” he teases. “I think you fucking need it.”

“Don’t be a dick, Geoff,” Michael retorts a bit awkwardly and they start to wander in and out of some of the more permanent exhibits. He can’t help but admit that he’s taken aback a bit by some of the pieces. Every time he catches Geoff’s expression out of the corner of his eye, the man seems... fond. Which makes Michael uneasy, but he can’t dwell on it, because around every corner there’s something more... magical.

He can’t explain what the feeling was. Just that this place - with a bunch of art, most of which he only cared about the price tag - was doing something to him. It wasn’t really the art. While pretty, it was just something to look at. Or it would be if they stole it.

However, the positioning, exhibit designs, interactives... It was washing over him from every direction and soon - like a kid with hyperactivity - he just felt the need to continue bouncing, continue exploring. Geoff follows along, warmth blooming in his chest.

“Michael,” he asks after stopping the man’s diatribe about how the blood was painted incorrectly on a painting of a murder, “have you ever been to a museum before?”

Michael pauses, a bit taken aback. “No,” he admits with a touch of pink. “Is that obvious?”

Geoff laughs. “Not really. I like it though. You’re so excited.” He wraps his arm around his shoulder. Michael leans in a bit despite himself. The feeling is so warm and genuine and he likes how well he fits in the crook of Geoff’s arm. “I want to do this more with you. There’s some other museums in LS. We don’t have to be stealing from one to go check it out.”

Michael’s ears turn crimson. “... you asking me on a date, boss?”

Now it’s Geoff’s turn to become a bit pink. “Not a date, Jones.” There’s a bit of a pause and Geoff doesn’t let go. The unspoken words hang in the air between them. Not unless you want it to be.

Michael glances around. It’s late in the afternoon on a Wednesday, before the work crowd releases. No one else is in the room with them. Michael’s heart thumps wildly in his chest. Geoff... his boss was such a pillar. Someone he respected more than anything in the world. But...

Geoff releases his arm around his shoulder and brushes some of his flyaway hair off his face. “It would be fun as dicks,” he finally says with a bit of a smile. “But we can worry about that some other time. Come on, we have the third floor to visit and we need to focus.”

He turns and starts walking, leaving Michael flustered and waiting in the middle of the exhibit hall. Michael can watch Geoff’s mannerisms turn back into Ramsey with every step. Colder, more detached. And with every step away from him, Michael feels something tear inside his soul - some small bond that was forming between them that had the potential to become so, so much more.

“Geoff, wait!” he calls, taking a frantic step forward. Geoff turns around, raising his eyebrow, as if to ask what?

“I’d... I’d like to go,” he says quietly. “To another museum with you, that is.” He bites his lip. It’s not an admission he’d like a date. He’s not quite sure how to even ask that, especially not of the boss of the criminal empire he was trying to join.

But the smile that erupts on Geoff’s face makes it all worth it. It’s warm and large and genuine enough that it makes Michael smile sheepishly back. He takes a few quick bounds back over to Michael .. it’s Geoff again, not Ramsey, just the warm happy-go-lucky man that only a few get to see.

“Really?” he hums. “You would?”

Michael nods a bit wordlessly, taken aback by the smile on Geoff’s face. It twists his stomach into knots, but good knots. It’s something he thought he would steal every piece of art in here just to see again. Geoff squeezes his hand warmly and without hesitating, leans down and brushes just the briefest of kisses on Michael’s lips.

There’s an electrifying pause and Michael’s eyes are as wide as saucers when they break apart, his heart thudding a million miles a minute as his body processes what just happened. But before he can say anything, Geoff is turning away. “Come on, now,” he hums. “We have work to do.”

Like he didn’t just kiss his newest hire in an art gallery.

Michael manages to kick his body back into gear just as Geoff was disappearing through the door, running along behind him. Work now, for sure. He could do that. But later....

Later, he’d have to see how much a membership to this museum cost, because he could get used to this.

#fahc #fake AH crew #micheoff #my writing #just some soft micheoff because it always makes me happy

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tired0artist · 3 years

Text

sing to me (part three)

<<part one>> <<part two>>

paring: female!V x Johnny Silverhand

summary: a street kid V falls in love with SAMURAI music and idolises Johnny Silverhand. years later she finally understands the saying “never meet your idols”

warnings: angst and fluff, Johnny being a dick as always, arguments, V plays the guitar, MORE JOHNNY AND V ACTION IN THIS ONE!!!, references to death, more/different warnings in the future parts

note: I’m describing my V, but you can imagine her however you want tho

•SAMURAI fan V (street kid)•

She was tugging on her hair, groaning in pain as she stumbled out of the elevator.

“Ughh..! Fuck!”

“The hell’s that?” Johnny questioned, looking both shocked and a bit panicked “No, no, dammit!”

V sat down on some box and focused on breathing, her chest and head feeling on fire. She saw him pace around and asked.

“Jesus.. the fuck do you want from me?”

Johnny’s head snapped to her and he stormed over, making her flinch in fear. But instead of attacking her, he grabbed a stool and sat down, saying.

“It’s all going too slow. Gonna decomish before we learn how to rip the chip out”

V glared at him “Wanted me dead. You don’t care if I die”

Johnny calmed down a bit, took off his glasses and looked at her. His nearly black eyes, soft and truthful.

“Made it pretty clear since, that I changed my mind. Want you to live now”

She was taken a bit back by the sincerity that she picked up from his tone.

“What do you want, Johnny?” she asked more calmly, calling him by his name for the first time.

He lit up a cigarette and said “I got a get-outta-jail-free card. I’d be a fucking fool not to take advantage. See me and Arasaka, we got a half-century-old score needs settling, and I plan to do it” he turned towards her adding “That’s. What I need you for, kid”

“So you just... want to use me? Great. Fucking fantastic, Silverhand. Listen I hate the corpos and Arasaka too. But I am still sane enough to know that it’s a lost fight”

He rolled his eyes “I didn’t ask for your opinion, kid. I just need you to take me from point A to point B”

“Fuck you. I’m not a Delamain!”

“Listen I know things. Where we can save your life, who can help us do that. You’ll get rid of the chip, I’ll smash Saka. It’s a win-win kid. Soul killer is what we need and Mikoshi’s how we grab it”

V sighed heavily and tugged on her hair in frustration “What’s this Mikoshi?”

“Okay, basics. If you’re jacked in, cruising the Net. Arasaka can use Soulkiller, an AI, to trap, fry and pack away your psyche, your mind and your soul. Following so far?”

“Yeah... that’s how you died. I saw it”

Johnny didn’t look pleased, as he said “Okay... seems we got a few more things to broach that I thought, but that will come later”

He continued on explaining the importance of Mikoshi and how it works. V nodded along, he had some points. Mikoshi definitely was a place that they needed to go to.

“—so you’re going to live and I’ll destroy Arasaka. As I said. Win-win, kid”

“No” she said, surprising him “We need to explore some options, find allies, find resources and then. And only, then we will attack Arasaka and get to Mikoshi. Not sooner or later”

With that she got up and stumbled away, subconsciously feeling Johnny follow her.

“Kid, we need to work fast! You don’t have time! You’re already falling apart!”

“I don’t have any other choice but to live through it. We need more time, we can’t go into all of this with a hot head”

Johnny sighed “You don’t get it—“

V spun around and pointed at him “No, you’re the one who doesn’t get it. You went into Arasaka, full of rage and devoid of reason. And see where it got you?”

He glared at her and clenched his fists. She nearly flinched in fear of him attacking her once again, but she stood her ground.

After glaring at each other for some time, V let out a cough, groaning in pain. Johnny sighed and grabbed her, leading her to a bench outside.

“Rest up, kid. You won’t do much, being dead”

V sat down, feeling a bit surprised to see Johnny sit down beside her. She coughed into her hand and saw a bit of blood there, V stared at her shaking hand. The proof was there.

She was really going to die.

“You’re not. I’m not letting you, kid. We’ll work something out” Johnny said from beside her, his arms crossed as he stared at the people passing by “Call, that braindance chick. You promised that you would”

V nodded and shook her head, trying to get rid of the blue glitches she saw. She then looked back at Johnny and noticed that he left. Bitting her lip she did as he said, called Judy.

After the call, she went back to her apartment for the night. Taking her guitar she played “Never fade away” singing softly.

Her take on the song was more heavy and calm. Each word consumed by the emotional state she was in.

“We’ll never fade away...” she whispered, ending the song, somewhat abruptly. Not because she forgot the lyrics.

But because her thoughts lingered on Johnny and what happened today.

He was still a dick and managed to annoy her to no end. But then again, he really seemed like he didn’t mean her any harm. Also as much as she didn’t want to admit it, he was being useful and had a lot of info on Arasaka.

V let out a deep sigh and started playing again, thinking.

Maybe I can try and trust him.

Few days later V was walking down the dirty corridor. The place was abandoned, but still she had her guard up. As she neared the door, Johnny appeared.

“Knock four times kid, or the dog will bite”

She sighed and did as he said.

After that things escalated quickly. One minute V was talking to Hanako and another she was falling through the floor.

V let out a groan, her body hurting as black spots danced in front of her vision.

“Get your ass up, samurai! We need to delta!”

She groaned and looked at Johnny, who was looking between her and the corridor where the soldiers were coming.

“—Takemura...” she whispered, worried for the man.

Johnny quickly grabbed her by the shoulders “He’s dead, but you’re not. So get up and get out of here”

V nodded and with his help got on her feet, reloading his gun she got to work.

Halfway through the complex she met and saved Takemura, thankfully Johnny didn’t comment on it. The rockerboy went into full soldier mode as he navigated her through the corridors and warning about possible dangers.

As she and Takemura exited the building, she fell on her knees. The relic and injuries catching up with her.

“V?!” yelled Johnny, kneeling next to her.

“We need to split up! I’ll contact you once it’s safe!” said Takemura, soon disappearing in the crowd.

It pissed Johnny off as he yelled on top of his lungs “FUCKING DOG! HELP HER!”

“Johnny... we need... need to go. I-I’ll be fine...” V said, getting on her feet and quickly stealing a car that was parked not far.

The rockerboy stayed visible all the time, his metal hand heavy on her thigh. He was talking to her the whole time, trying to distract her.

V soon hid inside of a old and nasty motel. There she sat on the bed with a gun pointed at the door as Johnny watched what was going on outside the window.

Not long after their arrival a proxy working for Hanako. V talked to her, agreeing to met her at Embers.

She waited for the proxy to drive away, to leave the room. Her whole world still swaying and glitching.

Johnny stayed visible, as he leaned against a pillar. His face showing that he disapproved.

“What Johnny...? Got some words about the... porcelain cunt?”

The rockerboy only shook his head just as V started coughing up blood.

“Fuck..! Not now!” she yelled, stumbling away trying to get into her stolen car.

“V wait! Shit! Get ready!” Johnny yelled after her.

She almost made it to the door when she completely fell on the ground. Johnny rolled her on her back and watched as she had something that looked like a seizure.

“—Johnny! I’m dying—ughhhh!!!“ she screamed, tears running down her cheeks.

Johnny grabbed her hands, looking at her with worry “No, no, no kid! You ain’t dying yet! I got you”

That’s when V’s whole world went black.

Next time she woke up on the ground, pills in her hand, her body weak and in pain.

“J-Johnny?” she asked, weakly trying to find him.

“That smell, is the sea breeze” he said looking down at her with a soft smile “Get up, Pacific’s beautiful this time of day”

V got up and leaned next to him, watching the sea.

“I almost flatlined yesterday...”

“Almost” Johnny quickly said, harshly as if to force the word on her.

V ignored it for now as she stared at the sea “It’s beautiful... I could wake up to such view everyday”

“Me too” said Johnny as he glanced at her from behind his glasses, unsure himself which view he was talking about.

V closed her eyes as the wind ruffled her already fucked up hairstyle. The air was clearer than in the city. Very... light and a bit colder too.

As she opened her green eyes she looked around asking “Pacifica? What’s this building?”

“Old hotel - the Pistis Sophia. We’re her sole guests right now. Wanted to show you something, come on” Johnny said, while slowly walking away.

V followed him, still feeling a bit disoriented.

“You took over” she stated, leaning against the wall while walking.

“What was I supposed to do? Leave you there? It’s not like I could carry you somewhere...” he said, his fists clenched as he looked annoyed at something.

Feeling a bit bad for calling him out, she simply nodded, saying “Thank you”

He looked at her and he visibly relaxed saying “What are imaginary friends for?”

V moved to follow him again, only to fall on the ground.

“Careful!” Johnny said, glitching to her side.

“I think that I’m going to die soon...” she said.

“Bullshit. We still have time” he denied, holding her elbow.

She smiled at him sadly and said “Okay... show me why we’re here”

Johnny led her to a room, watching as she weakly crawled over the broken window.

“There’s a hidey-hole where I’m standing. Open it. Empty it” he instructed as V got to her feet.

She did as he asked and took the dog tags that were there, sitting on the ground she turned to look at Johnny in question.

“Yours?” she asked him.

“They were. Belong to you now”

V was confused as she stared at her metal in her hand “Fifty years back... Mexican conflict?”

Johnny nodded slightly “When I was a young and stupid kid like you. I enlisted with a corp army. Was in Mexico when I realised that no matter the conflict, corps always win. Ordinary people always lose”

She nodded, seeing the truth in his words. All the corpo fucks got rich because of the wars, that they started. That got good people killed.

“Why are you giving them to me?”

Johnny shifted in his seat “Imagine we’re deployed together, fighting in a war side by side. Would you take a bullet for me?”

V’s eyes got wide, but with little hesitation she whispered “Yes. I would”

He smiled at her, shoulders relaxing as he said “Tags belonged to a man who sacrificed his life for mine in Mexico. Been thinking about our... predicament. Wanna be clear. I will do you no wrong. When the time comes, it’ll be my life for yours. I’ll agree to get wiped. Tags are proof of my promise”

She stared at him, the man that she was afraid of for a long time. Idolised once. And saw nothing but honesty.

V bit her lip and whispered “I would do the same for you Johnny. And... if it will be possible... I would like to try and save you too”

“That’s real cute kid, but impossible. Still, I appreciate the sentiment” he said with a smile “Now I got a request. Whatever happens to me. I want Smasher gone and for Rogue to be there when it happens”

“Okay. Done, but you sure Rogue will bother with it?” V asked getting up and walking over to the exit, along with Johnny.

“She will. I’ll ask her personally, besides you’ll need back up”

“Personally? What do you mean by that?” she asked.

Johnny crossed his arms “You’ll drop one of Misty’s pills and I’ll go talk to Rogue. Convince her to help us out. I promise”

V bit her lip, finally nodding “Alright. I trust you”

“Thanks, kid. Now let’s go home and in the evening we’ll go to the Afterlife” he said, disappearing.

She sighed heavily and got through the window, heading back to her apartment. The dog tags clutched in her hand.

•english isn’t my first language so sorry for any errors.

•you wanna be tagged in the next parts? leave a comment!

•thanks for reading! hope you like it. I will be going through some parts of the main story and beyond. I’m planning it to be a bit longer so if you want something longer than 5/6 parts, this is for you

•tag list: @signwriting @missweatherwax @axshadows

#cp2077 #cyberpunk 2077 #johnny silverhand #johnny silverhand x v #night city #female v #v

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indestinatus · 4 years

Text

Sweet Blood

TIVATOBER 2020 // DAY 21

↳ prompt: Fake Blood - rated T (1,168 words)

summary: Tony finds himself alone in a rather strange looking crime scene, and has no other choice than to act. Established Tiva.

A/N: many references to The Shining because I wanted it spooky but not that creepy. Borderline crack to be honest. I have no regrets at this point.

read it on AO3 🩸

Tony looked over his shoulder again, the prickling sensation at the back of his neck driving him to do it. He was certain he saw some motion at the end of the corridor, but with a blink, it was gone.

It could have easily been just a figment of his imagination—the rectangular shapes of the carpet and the series of closed doors were strangely similar to the famous hallway of The Shining—and it wouldn’t have surprised him in the least if a boy just appeared riding a tricycle towards him out of nowhere.

As soon as Tony entered the hotel, though, something didn’t feel right. There were no guests. Of course, that could’ve happened - it was off-season after all.

But there was no one.

No staff, no concierge, not even a doorman. He tried to see it as a good thing - as few people as possible on a crime scene made their job a lot easier - but he just couldn’t shake the feeling there was something wrong. The hotel was old, but cleaned meticulously - every surface was spotless to a point where he could see his own reflection in the pillars of the hall.

If it was an abandoned place, how could it be so well maintained?

It also didn’t help that Tony was alone. Just last Friday, he’d watched the movie again—the image of Jack chasing his wife with an ax still pretty clear in his mind—and now the long corridor felt too familiar for comfort. He’d taken the stairs (nothing related to the scene of blood gushing out from the elevator, he’d told himself) and now the team was still to arrive at the scene.

He tried not to dwell on why they’d taken longer to get there but mentally hoped everything was okay. Glancing at his watch for what felt like the tenth time in five minutes, Tony decided it would be wiser to act—otherwise, it would’ve taken him very little to just run away from that place, blaming a stomach ache or something.

Kubrick’s creations were certainly masterpieces, but he preferred not to fight two creepy ghost twins anytime soon.

Unclasping the weapon from his belt, Tony inhaled deeply as he prepared to open the door. He confirmed that the number above it wasn’t 237 and checked one last time down the hallway for any sign of the team, but there was no one there.

Suddenly he missed Palmer’s awful remarks if only to fill that deadly silence.

Turning the handle with a click, the door opened to reveal only darkness. Tony tightened the grip of his weapon and cursed when he found the light switch didn’t work—but he should’ve expected things weren’t in his favor today. Getting his flashlight, he stepped inside, his heart racing.

“NCIS,” he stated loudly, eyes trying to get used to the darkness.

A putrid smell suddenly filled his nostrils and he knew at least that that was the right room. Carefully stepping inside, Tony quickly surveyed the small living room to find nothing. The same with the bedroom and bathrooms, no body in sight.

Following his intuition (and that horrible smell), Tony headed towards the kitchen, weapon raised and the flashlight dully illuminating old-looking furniture. He could hear his pulse loud in his ears, but other than that, nothing. His breathing felt too heavy and he tried to tone it down, but it wasn’t easy.

That sensation of being watched had followed him inside.

Tony’s flashlight fell on the refrigerator and his body chilled. He halted, a shudder running down his spine.

Blood dripped from its cracks, painting the door bright red. A good amount of it, coming from inside the upper freezer drawer. Whatever was inside it had been there for some time now—the trails of blood almost reaching the floor tiles.

With the grip of his weapon turning slippery from the sudden sweat of his hands, Tony rethought his life choices for a moment, asking himself just how the hell he’d find himself there in the first place if it was his job to open the door and find out what was inside. The awful smell certainly came from it, which gave him no other choice.

He sighed, cursing to himself. Holding the flashlight with the same hand that held his weapon, Tony raised a hand towards the handle and felt the chilling sensation of the metal against his fingers, one that made him feel even colder.

Yanking the freezer door open before he could change his mind, Tony cursed loudly once he saw what was inside.

“Gee,” he breathed, letting out a sigh.

The lights of the room turned on the same time footsteps sounded, and Tony jumped a little before quickly turning around to find no one other than his boss as his shooting target.

“Scared of finding something else in there, DiNozzo?” asked Gibbs, raising an eyebrow.

Tony felt he could have hugged the man with the sudden wave of relief, but refrained from doing so. McGee entered the kitchen a moment after, narrowing his eyes at how he stood with his gun raised, and Tony straightened his posture, letting it down. No one needed to know how fast his heart was racing.

“Well, yeah,” replied Tony, a bit breathless. “I’ve grown to expect the worst.”

Tony followed Gibbs’ gaze to the freezer and felt heat creeping up his neck from the embarrassment. His boss motioned for McGee to take a picture of it before putting his rubber gloves to touch what was inside.

His fingers came back sticky from the berry jam that had defrosted because of the power outage and Tony cursed again for not having put two and two together when he had discovered that the lights didn’t work.

“A head inside your refrigerator?” asked Gibbs, though his attention was now focused on collecting a sample of it for Abby.

Tony huffed, trying to regain some composure. “I live with ex-Mossad officer Ziva David,” he said, loosening up his tie, “It wouldn’t surprise me in the least.”

“Do not worry,” a voice came from the adjacent room, and Ziva entered the kitchen a moment later. “I prefer cleaner methods.”

Tony shot her an incredulous look.

“Is that supposed to soothe me?”

Ziva shrugged, then eyed the refrigerator, chuckling amused.

“Besides… Jam is better,” she smirked. “Your blood is not that sweet.”

Tony’s eyebrows shot to the ceiling. “I thought we were talking about killing someone else. Not me.”

“Hm,” she hummed, and the sparkle in her eyes made him question if he could fool her as well as the others.

“I would sleep with one eye open if I were you,” chimed in McGee.

“I already sleep with two,” Tony replied. “She snores too loud.”

Gibbs huffed amused and McGee marked, "Not the wisest thing to say."

Tony eyed Ziva again to find her casting him a Kubrick-worthy smirk.

"I'll sleep on the couch tonight," he swallowed.

"Hm," she hummed, then stepped closer to him to whisper, "You wish."

#tiva #tiva fanfiction #tivatober2020 #once upon a halloween #my fics #do ignore the logic of these things this is really borderline crack lmao #<333

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much-obliged-timothy · 3 years

Text

Whumptober #31

Borderlands - #31 - Left for Dead

I decided to end Whumptober by posting two prompts for the last day. This one is dedicated to the Borderlands discord (which you can join here!). Thanks for supporting my torture of our favorites!

Timothy and Athena stared in horror as Jack took in the information of the artifact.

He was laughing, a cold sound that seemed to echo around the ominous space. Athena took a step forward, and Timothy grabbed her wrist, giving a small shake of his head.

“It could happen to you too,” he said, voice hoarse.

“We have to stop this,” Athena said, but didn’t pull away from Tim. The truth was, she didn’t want to get any closer to Jack, as badly as she wanted to stop whatever the hell was happening.

She looked at the others. Nisha, Wilhelm, and Aurelia all looked more curious than alarmed. Claptrap had backed away in fear.

“What’s happening?” Tim asked, tightening his hold on her wrist.

“I don’t know,” she said. “Nothing good.”

She’d thought it was over when they defeated that creature inside the vault. She’d foolishly thought they could leave, tend to their wounds, get their pay, and go on their way.

She had never imagined this horror.

“Athena,” Tim whispered, eyes fixed on something behind her.

She turned just in time to see Lilith approaching Jack. Athena pulled her wrist free of Tim’s grasp and put her hand to his chest, pushing him back and following him, keeping herself between him and Lilith.

Lilith’s attention was focused on Jack as she moved forward, though. Athena had an idea of what she planned to do.

“Heya, handsome,” Lilith said, and then sprang into action.

Tim grabbed Athena as Lilith punched the artifact, the impact sending it into Jack’s face. His scream rang louder than his laugh, but none of the vault hunters moved to help him.

He rolled onto the ground, writhing in agony as he pressed his hands to his face. Athena pushed Tim back farther as Lilith approached them next, ready to fight if she had to.

But Lilith paid them no mind, and exited the vault as if nothing had happened.

“Son of a…” Jack cried, slamming a fist against the ground.

“Athena,” Tim said, voice small and scared.

“Shhh,” she warned, not wanting him to bring Jack’s attention to himself.

He had Jack’s face, after all. And if the artifact had deformed Jack…

“I’m gonna KILL her! I’m gonna kill them ALL!” Jack snarled as he started to rise.

“Oh, god, I regret this stupid job so much right now,” Tim said in horror.

Athena elbowed him in the stomach, careful of the wound she knew he’d received during their battle. She knew he was just talking because he was anxious and scared, but she didn’t want Jack’s attention on him right now. The others were staying wisely silent, even Claptrap.

“Oh, god,” Tim choked out as Jack lifted his head. “Shit. Fuck.”

Jack’s face burned from where he’d been branded by the artifact, his left eye burned away. His blue one was bright in the light from the vault, as crazed as his voice. He was grinning, a menacing amusement at the thought of slaughter.

Athena crossed her arms as she watched him, stepping further in front of Timothy. She knew without hearing any more that this had gone too far. Whatever precarious mental sanity Jack had held before, it was gone now, burned away like his flesh.

“First, you’re gonna find me a doctor,” Jack ordered, trying to pull himself upright. “Then, we’re gonna wipe those bandit bastards off the face of Pandora. And then...Then we’re gonna wake The Warrior.”

His words sent a chill through her, but she refused to let her sudden fear show.

“The what?” she said.

“It’s gonna be so good. We’re gonna scorch the freakin’ planet in fire,” Jack said, sitting now. “There’s gonna be screaming...bandits are gonna die left and right...I can’t wait!” He was giddy with the thought of violence, the laugh that left him horrifying Athena.

Just what had this man become?

Nisha, Wilhelm, and Aurelia watched him with cruel interest. Nisha and Wilhelm would stay with Jack, Athena knew that.

And Timothy had no choice. Jack would kill him if he tried to leave. But if he stayed...his face...the brand…

Tim let out a soft noise of distress. He’d come to the same conclusion, lifting his hand to his face.

Athena wanted to leave. She wanted to get the hell away from Jack, and drink until she forgot the sound of his vicious laughter.

But if she left now, he’d slaughter the people of Pandora.

“Athena, we can’t...he’s going to…” Tim clenched his fists, trembling. “He’s a murderer. We didn’t know before, but we know now. We know.”

If they walked away now, what happened next was on them.

“Let me,” she said, because the kid wasn’t a killer, not really, and she’d do what she could to keep it that way.

She slipped her gun into her hand. Tim let his fingers hover over his watch in case anyone noticed and tried to stop her.

But she didn’t give them time to notice. Instead, she raised her gun and fired without hesitation.

Jack cried out in pain, dropping from his seat. Nisha and Wilhelm both raised their guns on Athena, though Aurelia just crossed her arms and watched.

Tim stepped up beside Athena, his gun raised and his digi-Jacks at his back. He was still trembling, but his face was set with determination, and she felt a small spark of gratefulness to him.

“Athena,” Jack growled, and coughed up blood onto the ground. “No, no!” He pressed his hands to the wound in his gut, the blood coming too fast. “This isn’t how it’s...no! Goddammit! No!”

“You’ll still get your money,” Athena said, eyes shooting to Wilhelm. At least she could talk him down. “Timothy can pose as Jack. No one ever needs to know he died here. Timothy can access all Jack’s accounts and pay you.”

Wilhelm considered, then lowered his gun. “If I don’t get paid by the end of the week, I’ll make sure the kid’s face matches.”

“This job keeps getting worse,” Tim said miserably.

“We leave him here to die, and no one ever needs to know,” Athena said.

It was for the best. Timothy’s death had already been faked and his appearance permanently altered; he couldn’t go back to his old life. But as Jack? He could play the part he needed to. He’d have a job, and he could gradually leave Hyperion and go on to do whatever he pleased, with no one but the people here any wiser to the truth.

And as far as they knew, Jack had no family or friends who would question it. No one would ever realize the real Jack had died.

“Nisha!” Jack said, trying to drag himself towards her. “K-Kill...them.” He coughed up more blood.

Athena holstered her gun. She knew how this would end. They’d already used up all their health kits during the battle earlier. There was no saving Jack. They’d never get him medical attention in time.

“A shame. You were cute,” Nisha said, and lowered her gun.

“I tire of this,” Aurelia said, heading for the exit.

“Better get me paid, kid,” Wilhelm said, slapping Tim on the shoulder as he passed.

“I can get you into Jack’s accounts,” Athena assured Tim. “You just need to stay at Hyperion long enough to alleviate suspicion. Then I’ll help you get wherever you want, if you choose to leave.”

“No!” Jack said, and there was a mix of fury and panic in his voice. “No, you little shit! You can’t!” He tried to get up, but cried out in pain and fell back down, slipping in his own blood. It was pooling around him alarmingly. “No, no. Angel. She needs me. You can’t...I’ll kill all of you! I swear it!”

“Let’s go, Timothy,” Athena said, putting her hand on his arm and gently pushing his gun down. “It’s over.”

“It’s over,” he echoed, staring at Jack. “Yea, it’s over. Oh, hell. It won’t be okay, will it?”

“I don’t know,” Athena said. “But there’s nothing left for us here. Let’s go. He brought this on himself.”

“You can’t leave me here!” Jack yelled angrily, trying to drag himself after them.

Athena pulled Timothy away, heading for the exit. The others were already up ahead of them, leaving Jack behind.

“It’s for the best,” Tim said, gripping his gun tightly. “He would’ve kept killing people. Like Gladstone.”

“H-Hey!” Jack cried as they approached the exit, too far ahead for him to catch up to.

No, no. He’d seen it. He’d seen the future. The Warrior. The deaths. All of it.

It hadn’t been this.

It hadn’t been his own team leaving him behind, betraying him. It hadn’t been his body double taking over as him.

Angel. What if Timothy found out about Angel? What if, in addition to Jack’s life, he took Jack’s daughter?

“Come back!” Jack snapped, though they were already gone.

He was alone. His vision was starting to go dark. He was so cold. His shirt clung to him, sticky with blood. The scent of it filled his nostrils, along with his burnt flesh.

“Angel!” Jack yelled. “Dammit! Angel!”

He wasn’t supposed to die here. Not like this.

But he was alone. That traitorous bitch Athena was taking his cowardly doppelganger to Helios to steal Jack’s life. And just what the hell would they do to his Angel?

“No,” Jack ground out.

But his body was too weak to keep struggling. He collapsed against the ground, everything in pain. He was drenched in his own blood, and he could only see out of his right eye.

He was afraid.

He was angry.

He was dying.

“Not like this,” he said.

He tried to cling to life, to the destiny that had just been revealed to him. But in the end, he laid there, his body growing colder as he succumbed to his wound, abandoned and mutilated, a victim to his own ambition.

#borderlands #Athena The Gladiator #timothy lawrence #Handsome Jack #whumptober2020 #no.31 #left for dead #fic #jtdoeswhumptober #My writing #my post #borderlands fic

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fallintitan · 4 years

Text

part of a wip!

[ao3 link]

The base is eerily quiet, for being such a high focal point of the IMC. He’d expected to be swarmed at some point, yet...nothing has happened, so far. He’s still on edge, checking around corners and using sonar to check hallways and adjacent rooms. The thrill of being in-person runs through him--he’s more at risk, like this, but he sees it as another opportunity to flex his skills.

He can tell BT is trepidly monitoring his movements through the neural link. The Titan understands his prowess, but still frets when the odds are obviously stacked against him. It’s touching, the hulking warrior worrying about his smaller counterpart. While Cooper is clearly suited for mission requirements such as moving on foot into areas, being a skilled Pilot and a rifleman before, there is still a high chance of something going wrong, and BT would not be able to intervene if things went haywire.

“Pilot,” BT cuts through his thoughts over the comm link. “I am detecting a small group of IMC grunts just ahead. I am sensing approximately three, as well as two Specters.”

“Thanks, pal,” Cooper whispers back. The forewarning is something he’s grateful for. More time to be prepared for conflict.

“Please, practice self-conservation when confronting,” the Titan continues, “for you are clearly outnumbered and out-gunned.”

Cooper huffs a puff of air out deflatedly. “Again, thanks for the morale boost, there.”

“I am merely warning you of potential dangers. Your morale is important, but not at this moment, Pilot.”

He elects to ignore responding to the flat response.

Cooper rounds the corner, Flatline at the ready. The Specters are easily hacked with his dataknife, the two of them rounding on their teammates quickly. Two of the grunts barely have time to reach before bullets pierce their skulls. It’s almost unfair, he thinks, were the force not, you know, desiccating entire planets and colonies for resources.

He pauses for a moment. BT had said there were three of them, along with the two Specters, yet he has only seen and killed two. Where is the third?

He finds out soon enough. A fist connects to his jaw, knocking him off-balance. On reflex, he brings a hand up to hold the sore bone. Another punch straight to his sternum knocks the air out of his lungs, leaving him wheezing.

“Piece’a shit,” the grunt snarls, going for their gun. It is hardly raised before Cooper finds his wits enough to grab at one of their wrists, twisting it sharply. The grunt yelps as bones creak and muscles stretch, giving him the time needed to raise his weapon with one hand and shoot into their chest. They fall to the ground like the meatbag they are, slumping over and oozing blood from their fatal wounds.

“Pilot Cooper, I heard gunshots,” BT butts in. “Are you alright?”

He cradles his jaw again, working it and finding out that it was a poor choice as pain lances through the area. “Well,” he starts hesitantly.

“That is not reassuring,” BT frets. “Are you injured?”

“I got socked in the jaw is all,” he tries to blow it off as something minor. He can tell it will bruise, which he laments.

“I do not understand.”

“I got punched,” he elaborates, “right on the jaw.”

“Please hurry so I can assess your injury,” BT prompts. “The console you need to hack is not far from your location. So long as you ‘keep your mouth shut’, you will be alright.”

“R’ger,” he slurs. The area grows hot under his hand, for sure already turning a nasty shade of purple. Still, he has things to do that require doing.

He slinks down the hall quietly; fortunately, no other guards seem to be around. The three incompetent fools at the entrance seem to have been the only ones assigned to the room. The door is easy enough to hack, allowing him to slip in and pad up to the console. His dataknife is slipped out of its sheath, quickly jammed into the console’s mainframe as it begins the hacking process.

“I’m in, BT,” Cooper informs.

“Congratulations.”

“S’nce when have you had sarc’sm?” he retorts blearily.

“Since I have learned it from you, Pilot.”

Hm. A taste of his own medicine, it seems. He tucks the thought away for later debate. Right now, he needs to focus.

The knife pings on his HUD as it finishes the hacking. He rips it out, tucking it back where it belongs. He turns around and jogs out the door.

“Any followers?”

“I do not detect any other soldiers on your extraction route,” BT responds. “Your path is clear.”

“Sweet.” He jogs back along the path he took to get into the data room, still wary enough to check corners before rounding them. Outside, BT waits for him, crouched with a hand extended to lift him into the cockpit. Inside, he sighs: how long will it be until he can get back to base to fix this damn thing?

“Pilot, I detect inflammatory responses to the affected area of your face.”

“No shit, bud.”

“I know speaking frequently is an unbreakable habit of yours,” the sarcasm is back again in full force, “but do try to limit your talking to only required responses. Any unneeded movement of the area will only intensify pain.” Bt straightens, now that Cooper is in the cockpit and harnessed in. “I will take us to a safe, remote area where we can address the injury properly.” With that, Cooper feels the surge of motion as the Titan begins plodding his way away from the base and into the thick forests of Typhon.

Cooper dozes off in the harness as BT finds a haven. He’s careful to rest the unaffected side of his face against the side of the seat to keep pressure off the soreness that is settling in. He stays in a light sleep that is cut off when BT stops.

“This area seems to suffice our needs,” BT says as the cockpit door opens again. “We can rest here for the night.”

“Cool.” He looks around. “Still, keep an eye out for unfriendly wildlife, yeah?”

“I am capable of searching the area even when not actively guarding. You are safe.”

At that, he lets himself relax. BT crouches as low as he can to be on Cooper’s level--somewhat. The Titan tilts his head as he looks at the mottled bruise forming on his Pilot’s jaw.

“Suggestion: applying ice and anti-inflammatory medications will help reduce swelling and ease discomfort,” he advises. “There may be Ibuprofen in the medical kit, but I doubt there will be any sort of ice pack.”

“Th’t’s okay,” Cooper sighs. He clambers back into the cockpit to grab the stowed-away medical kit, hopping back out and opening it up. Sure enough, there’s a bottle of anti-inflammatory meds. He shakes a couple out into his palm and swallows them dry, grimacing at the acidic taste they leave in his mouth.

“Pilot, I may have a solution to our ice pack situation,” BT starts.

“Yeah? Whatcha got?”

BT carefully puts his hand adjacent to Jack’s face, one finger extending to almost brush his cheek. “It is unnecessary to keep all parts of a Titan warm, besides the cockpit, so the metal will be colder. Perhaps resting your cheek on it will soothe it, somewhat.”

At this point, he’s willing to try anything. The meds will take a while to kick in, though he wants relief now. Slowly, he eases into the touch, BT moving slightly to meet him as he leans. His Titan’s prediction proves to be correct: the metal of his finger is cool against heated, angry skin, a soothing feeling that he relishes in.

A hum escapes him without him realizing it. “That’s it,” he murmurs. “Good idea, bud.”

“I take it my predictions were correct?”

“Abs’lutely. Feels better a’ready.”

“Excellent.”

#titanfall 2 #jack cooper #bt-7274 #titanfall fic #some writin

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iberico-long-pork · 4 years

Text

Hannibal role reversal au + serial killer Will au picks

Sleeping in the knife drawer - emungere Rating: T, Wordcount: 2.9K Tags: Role Reversal AU, Agent Lecter, Doctor Graham, Serial killer Will Plot: Hannibal is sent by Jack to recruit Will as an advisor. It takes persuading. Sample:

“You don’t use the space,” he said.

“I don’t use most of the house. How much space does one person really need?”

“Usually one’s life expands to fill the space that contains it. Unto overflowing, in some cases.”

Will walked to the window and cleared away a mass of cobwebs with his hand.

“I’ve expanded as much as I’m likely to,” he said.

“You’ve contracted. Away from your practice in the city. Alone out here. Alana said she was the only person whom you see regularly.”

“Most people don’t like me.” Will grinned, sharp-edged and bright as a knife blade. “No idea why.”

“Do you offer to show all of them your attic?”

“No. Maybe you’re just special.”

// Spectacular dialogue, light read

Watch Your Back (There’s a New Killer in Town) - OneWhoSitsWithTurtles Rating: E, Wordcount: 73.8K Tags: Role Reversal AU, Agent Lecter, Doctor Graham, Serial killer Will, sub Hannibal, Dom Will Warnings: Exhibitionism, Knife play Sex: Versatile, mostly dom Will sub Hannibal Plot: Hannibal is sent for a psyche eval to Doctor Graham. Will decides to court him. And teach him that killing is okay. Sample: "Hannibal," Will spoke softly, drawing Hannibal's gaze back to him. Hannibal watched him as Will took a carving knife and cut a small slice of the roast off the end. Will speared the seasoned meat onto a fork and presented it to Hannibal, who balked.

"What do you fear?"

Hannibal swallowed, eyes flickering between Will's face and the meat.

"That I'll like it."

Will held the fork aside and cupped the back of Hannibal's neck with his other hand, bringing him in for a kiss. Hannibal kissed him back but his uncertainty soured the brush of their lips and Will asked, "What else?"

Hannibal looked away but Will turned his face forward again with a hinting touch to his jaw. Hannibal swallowed.

"That if I don't, you won't want me anymore."

// Amazing dom/sub relationship, good writing, good pace

Coping Mechanism - Cinnamaldeide Rating: T Wordcout: 1K Tags: Role Reversal AU, Agent Lecter (past as doctor), Doctor Graham (past as officer), Serial Killer Will Plot: Before their scheduled appointment, Special Agent Lecter and Doctor Graham share a cigarette and some friendly considerations. Sample:

He admitted his own addiction when he noticed he had a favourite brand. An indulgence Hannibal found soothing after having pursued dangerous murderers and sensitive psychopaths. Certainly not as satisfying after an amorous encounter, as was often believed. He had taken to smoke before his appointments with his psychiatrists instead, which shouldn’t have been such an easy association.

“I thought doctors were supposed to know better,” a voice distracted Hannibal from his long inhales, fume rising above his head in a slow, languorous ascent. “Don’t you know how it tarnishes your lungs?” his therapist needled, arms crossed on his chest and shoulder loosely resting on the wall. Their appointment was scheduled in a few minutes, but Mr. Graham was an observant man, knew where to find him. Knew aiming at Hannibal’s pride often proved effective.

“You know doctors are notorious for not following their own advices,” Hannibal answered, puffing a fine line of grey, volatile smoke away from him. “It prepares me for our encounters,” he offered, curious to see how Dr. Graham would process that information.

// Pleasantly slow and casually sensual. Like a breather scene in a movie.

Identically Different AU - Pragnificent Rating: E Wordcout: 243K Tags: Role Reversal AU, Agent Lecter, Doctor Graham, Serial Killer Will Warnings: Past child sexual abuse, Trauma Sex: Versatile Plot: Doctor Graham plans to influence his new fascinating not-really-patient, Agent Lecter. When Will befriends the prickly agent and invites him to dinner, he doesn’t expect him to recognise the taste of the meat he served. And that’s only the beginning. Sample:

“I’ve seen setups like this before,” Hannibal says, his mouth feeling as though it has been stuffed with cotton, “though this is the first one with feather pillows.”

“Your comfort is important to me, Hannibal.”

Hannibal doesn’t justify that with a response.

He looks around the basement. A half-empty bottle of bourbon and two snifter glasses sit on the small table next to Will. On the other end of the basement, metal tools hang from a pegboard on the wall, gleaming dangerously, and in the corner there is a large stainless steel work table with two meat hooks hanging near it.

Hannibal works on accepting what all of this means without letting it frighten him. He tries to draw on the colder version of himself, the one that kept his feelings on lockdown and didn’t worry about Will or Will’s approval.

“I meant to take things much more slowly,” Will says, and it’s hard to know if he should credit the note of apology in his voice. “But I wasn’t expecting dinner to be the thing to give me away. Hannibal, there’s something important that you haven’t been sharing in your sessions, isn’t there?”

// HEED WARNINGS (It’s not properly listed in the fic tags). Fascinating but dangerous series. Long fic.

sweet awakening - Romennium Rating: T Wordcout: 612 Tags: Role Reversal AU, Doctor Lecter, Serial Killer Will Plot: Hannibal has been getting too close to catching the prolific serial killer. Will decides to visit him in the middle of the night. Sample:

Hannibal woke up abruptly, heart in his throat. His poor organ doubled his pace in the moment his not-yet awake brain realized that his body couldn’t move. Someone was sitting astride him, completely blocking his chest and his arms.

Hannibal moved, trying to dislodge the body above him, but his attempt didn’t do anything but make the weight of the intruder press into him even more and the hand shutting his mouth moved to partially close his nose as well.

In a millisecond the air to his lungs diminished drastically and panic grew, making him believe he was suffocating. A rational part of him, but completely overwhelmed by fear, told him he wasn’t suffocating, but his lungs seemed to burn and the air, there was no air and his sight-

“Sh, sh, Doctor Lecter,” a calm and reassuring voice whispered into his ear, “calm down, Doctor.”

The hand moved away from his nose and Hannibal tried to take a deep breath.

“Yes, Doctor, that’s good, breathe, everything is okay,”

// Very short and spicy. Snack fic.

Raw Material - RubyBakeneko Rating: E, Wordcount: 3K Tags: Role Reversal AU, Doctor Lecter, Agent Graham, Serial killer Will Sex: Top Will, Bottom Antony Dimmond Plot: Betrayed by his psychiatrist, serial killer Will Graham escapes to Italy. There, he reflects on the nature of his relationship with Hannibal, and he meets someone who provides him with an opportunity to work through some of his issues. Sample:

Will misses him terribly and without respite, the weight of his heartache a miserable fury that makes him feel ill. He imagines they are together in bed, that he is pressed up against the heat of Hannibal’s back with a possessive arm draped around his shoulder. He dominates Will’s dreams, which are by turn so luridly explicit that he comes in his sleep and so painfully romantic that he wakes in tears.

Hannibal has survived Will, the way few have done before him. He might arrive in Italy any day now, to kill Will or to kiss him. His heart races at the thought of either.

He silently dares Hannibal to find him. I’m here. Come and get me. // Poor Antony, I hoestly really love that character. Light read

+++ ( ‘Hannibal is Hannibal’ fics)

Wolfman - Cadaverish Rating: E, Wordcount: 38K Tags: Canon Divergence, Serial killer Will, Serial killer Hannibal Sex: versatile Plot: The Biloxi Wolfman has a crush on The Chesapeake Ripper. Hannibal doesn’t know that. But he does have an interest in Will Graham. (In which Hannibal wastes time trying to bring Will to the dark side when Will already has lower moral standards than Hannibal) Sample:

Gideon has paused obligingly to peer out the window set into the front door, likely checking for police sirens or curious neighbors, but all it really accomplishes is giving Will the chance to take several long strides, closing the distance between himself and Gideon. He allows his last step to connect loudly with the hardwood floor and Gideon starts, turning around to look at him.

“Special Agent Graham,” he drawls and Will gives him a grin that has nothing human behind it.

// Tfw Hannibal actually has higher moral standards than Will OvO

Astronomical odds - xzombiexkittenx Rating: M, Wordcount: 2.5K Tags: Pre-Season AU, Serial killer Will, Serial killer Hannibal Sex: Mutual handjob Plot: Based on the joke: ‘ Picked up a hitchhiker last night. He said, “Thanks! how do you know I’m not a serial killer though?” I replied, “The chances of two serial killers being in the same car are astronomical.” ‘ Sample:

There’s a knife strapped to his ankle, a loaded gun in his bag, and he’s not above using his teeth if he has to. He also has mace. He met a nice butch lesbian truck driver who picked him up off Interstate 20, drove him as far as Abilene, bought him dinner, and insisted on giving him her mace. She’d been so worried about him and his ‘pretty face.’”

“Honey,” she’d said, over burgers and shitty diner coffee, “girls like you find trouble without even looking. Take it for my peace of mind.”

He’d realized she thought he was a sex worker. Will hadn’t tried to change her opinion of him. No one was looking for a serial truck stop male prostitute. He’d run that angle for a while, down in Louisiana, but it was too much trouble. The clothing was hard to hunt in, and he didn’t like men pawing at him while he got them to the secondary location.

He wonders if Hannibal thinks he’s a sex worker. Hannibal has nicely manicured nails, strong-looking hands, and fantastic arms. Will’s not sure he’d complain if Hannibal made a move on him. He hasn’t decided if he wants to kill Hannibal or not but on balance he also hasn’t decided if he wants to try for a roadside quickie or not.

// Honestly hilarious. They make inside jokes thinking the other’s not getting it, and run into each other at a body dumping site. Light fun read.

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