#he is in my brain tearing up the walls like a rat and costing me a fortune in damages | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amethystpath-writes · 3 years

Text

P2 A Nice Catch

Part 1 here

(NOT A PROMPT)

Oooh, A Nice Catch was *chef's kiss*. Could you continue it? Maybe completely, not thinking straight, grief-stricken villain goes after Supervillain and the supervillain hurts him because the villain is very dangerous/angry and then maybe the Supervillain has to caretaker because they have a bleeding, sobbing villain at his feet.

Sorry if that seems bossy or specific, but i really loved the piece and my brain went haywire with all the possible endings. But do whatever you want to.

Not bossy at all <3

******

Flashing red lights on a Saturday. Supervillain sighed. The sound was probably the most obnoxious part of it all. No matter. Needs to be dealt with. Even his thoughts were gruff and tired. He would never admit it to anyone else but tracking down that little rat and weakening her was difficult. No wonder Villain struggled with her so much. Doesn’t explain how he developed feelings for someone so righteous though.

‘I don’t know what your life has entailed but there are other ways of healing. I can help you.’ Hero had said to him upon being captured.

Healing. Supervillain scoffed as he urged himself off the couch, turning the television off, and flipping off the lights, trying to make the quarters look vacant. There were various other electronics still on, but they were necessary for security- which was currently blaring.

I don’t need healing. I need power. Power to take down all those shitty, rich neighbourhoods. What good were they when so many people were left on the streets, starving, and begging for pocket change? The rich didn’t care, and for it they would perish. Villain used to agree.

Now, Villain was bent on a ‘The rich are a necessary part of the economy. Without them, there would be a middle class and the rest of the economy profits off the middle class,’ idea.

With a grumble, Supervillain left his lounging area, walking instead to the monitor room.

“Camera one, good. Camera two, fine. Cam three. Four. Five. Six. Then why the hell are the alarms going off?”

Not a single room revealed even a twitch of movement or a breeze to rattle lobby plants.

Ker-pshhh. The radio. The only other people working right now were part of the security faction. Meaning, Supervillain needed to respond, especially since the radio was going off. He grabbed the speaker off the side of the metal box and brought it to his mouth while holding the button. “What is it?” It no doubt had to do with the alarms.

“Sir? There’s been a breach in Building 2, third hall monitoring room. One body confirmed to be dead.”

“Any others?”

“No response from Radios 8 through 13. I’m in room Fourteen now…Sir? I think I’m next.”

Supervillain pinched his brow. “Have you gotten into contact with Buildings 3 and 4 yet?”

“No response from them. I’d gotten the alert from Radio 21 and sent it to Building 1 as soon as I got it. I don’t know who it is, Sir, but if they’ve made it as far as they have then I’m afraid-”

There was a crash on the other end of the radio before it cut out. Supervillain cursed under his breath before slamming a hand on the counter before him. He squeezed the button on the radio. “Whoever you are,” Supervillain growled into the speaker, “you’re dead.”

Silence.

Ker-pshhh.

“Oh, I’m very much alive,” a voice said. A voice which made Supervillain groan and slap his forehead with the blunt of his hand.

“Villain, what the hell are you doing?” His voice was more disappointed than anything and he released yet another groan. “Don’t tell me this is because of the rat.”

It didn’t take a second for Villain to respond. “She isn’t a rat.”

Isn’t. Oh boy, this was a case of grief, wasn’t it? “You didn’t dress her up and put her in your kitchen to eat breakfast with, did you?” Supervillain joked. “Probably had to spritz her with some of your cologne a few times, huh? Would smell like rotten meat otherwise.”

“You must want me to kill you. It’s why you tried to kill her, isn’t it? Isn’t it? You’re sick of living this sad and vengeful life, so you did the one thing that would piss me off enough to do this- to sabotage your own business.”

“Villain, old buddy, you’re in over your head.” A sigh. “I killed her, alright? She’s dead.” Supervillain refrained from calling Hero a rat for another time, seeing as it sent Villain over the edge. “And it was for your own good. You were becoming weak, and your business was falling because of it. Do you even realize how much fell apart all because you let her slither into your heart?”

“The old boxing pit on Third Street,” Supervillain explained, “underwent construction shortly before you were about to buy it. You know what was left at the scene- what the media didn’t cover? A mallet with Hero’s DNA on the handle. She smacked at the foundation, Villain, until it was bad enough to need repaired. What’d you go and do then? You bought a greenhouse instead- reported to your employees that it would benefit them because they wouldn’t need to go buy a lunch for themselves. She manipulated you, Villain, into someone you’re not.”

“She helped me become the best person I could be,” Villain gritted out, but his voice sounded with an echo. Supervillain paid it little mind.

“The rat changed your priorities.”

“They needed to be changed.” Supervillain squeezed his eyes shut, grimacing at the door slamming against a wall as Villain came crashing in. Well, that’s why I heard his voice twice. Once through a radio, and second through the door.

“That’s gonna cost you, but I tell you what.” Supervillain spun on a heel and told Villain, “You go in halfsies and I’ll let this whole thing slide.”

Nothing could have stopped the fist which Villain sent towards Supervillain, one nearly bone-crushing. One which sent Supervillain staggering back into his radio, pushing it up against the wall with a bang.

“I’m the one in the position to grant mercy, not you.” Villain began walking towards Supervillain as he regained himself but as Villain raised a fist, his old friend launched a hand of his own forward, grasping it tightly. In Villain’s shock, he lacked the response to pull away, and was instead pulled towards Supervillain while being turned, his back flush against Supervillain’s chest, his arm skewered behind his own back.

Of course, Villain fought against his old friend, wanting nothing other than to send another fast-flying fist in Supervillain’s face…or his groin.

“Villain. Villain, hey!” This made the more vengeful of the two cease his struggle. “Look, I know you’re mad, alright? You loved the ra- Hero, and you were blinded by that love, so much so that it clouded your judgement. It happens to the best of us, Villain.”

“You killed her.” Villain gave another jerk, this time with a tear in his eye. Realizing such raw emotion was leaking out, he corrected himself with a shout, “She was everything I had!”

Supervillain sighed, tightening his grip as Villain continued fighting him. “Yeah…you said that one before.” Supervillain let go, not waiting a moment before pushing Villain’s back, causing him to stumble forward, nearly passing through the door which he left open when he so rudely barged in. “Villain, listen to me, bud. You are better off without her. That love you felt was going to cause you to lose everything you worked so hard to build, and even if that weren’t the result, you would always have this internal conflict- to do-”

“To do the right or wrong thing?” Villain seethed, righting himself against the doorframe which Supervillain pushed him towards. “Supervillain, we’ve been doing wrong this whole time! Nothing we have done has been good by any moralistic means. We kill people.”

We kill people. Supervillain could almost laugh at the irony. “You killed at least one of my men today. One, which was confirmed out of twenty-eight. You’re just as bad as me.”

“Because you killed the one person in this world I could ever find myself loving.”

“You depended on her dammit! Don’t you see what I’m seeing? You don’t even know who you are without her coaxing her own ideas into your ear. You needed this. You needed her gone.”

“I needed her.” Villain’s voice finally broke like the day Hero was killed, when she was shoved through without remorse, discarded like a candy wrapper, and called a ‘rat’ without pause. “I needed her, and you stole her from me.”

Can’t bring her back, now, can I? But Supervillain didn’t say this, for he knew it was entirely pointless. Villain would just keep repeating those same few phrases, which Supervillain heard as, ‘I’m sad. You’re a monster and I can’t acknowledge myself as one. I miss my crutch and my ankle is always broken. Blah. Blah, blah. Blah, blah.’

“You need someone who you can rely on, who can rely on you just as easily, Villain.” Now onto the more sensitive topic once again. “I don’t remember you stepping forward to help Hero when she was shaking beneath my arm. You loved her, but not enough to sacrifice what we have here. We’re friends, Villain. We’ll always be friends. No one knows you as well as I and no one knows me as well as you.”

“Come sit down with me,” Supervillain finished. “In the lobby. I’ve got a few fridges, one with your name on it- literally. You stopped coming around, but I keep a stock of that weird soda you like.”

Supervillain was so casual, so friendly. It was as if he actually cared, had wanted to continue being friends, and had done everything he could to be friends. As much as him killing Hero hurt, as much as Villain wanted to hate him for it…it seemed as though Supervillain did it to help. Because Villain did rely on Hero, didn’t he? He looked to her for everything- even what food to buy. And the timing of the boxing pit was odd; what if Hero really did destroy it so that Villain would buy something else? Something that catered more to her own thoughts and reasoning than his own?

“I’ll sit down for one soda,” Villain said. “One.”

******

@digitalart-tw I considered being kind and bringing the Hero back. I really did. But the evil runs rampantly through my veins and knows no end.

77 notes · View notes

katsuflossy · 3 years

Text

Whatever It Takes

Pairing: Dabi x reader

WC: 2.3k

TW: Detailed parental abuse, detailed description of a mental episode, obscenities, mention of arranged marriage

A/n: ngl all of this is severely overdue but the recent chapter made my creative juices flow so here we are! Please enjoy💖

Taglist: @melanimed @mixfi @mythiccheroacademia @myhoodacademia @mypimpademia @ecao @strawberry-ice @plutropica @photosbyameil @lunabby010 @iiminibattlehero @sleepysheepkiara

The air was crisp, dark, and cold, what one had expected for the autumn night. Only a few patrons roamed the streets in the twilight. Those that wander under the streetlight had their eyes crossed, mind buzzed, and hand full of one final drink due to being kicked out of the bars. The ladies of the kingdom stayed within the comfort of their homes. They laid around the compassion of their loves or their families, only knowing of the horrors of the outside through gossip. The most recent urban legend paced through the streets with a scowl fixed on his face. Azure eyes glowed danger through the darkness, never revealing the coat-clad scarred body until passing under the street lights. The drunks waddled out of Dabi’s way, feeling the rolls of anger off of him from a twenty-meter radius. For once, the fire quirk wielder ignored the low bastards, never smirking as they cowered in fear nor sparking their shoes afire, laughing as they tried to put them out. No, his mind was occupied, fist clenching and unclenching in the pocket of his coat. Thoughts of past and future overwrote each other in his brain, creating a void of black in his mind. His own psyche started to turn on him again, knowing what’s about to happen would risk many lives. However, Dabi cared only about two lives-- his own and yours.

Like God gave him a sign, he passed the alleyway of a sweet memory. Running away from authority was his regular schedule since the age of 11 but he was close to getting caught one day. Caught but cunning, Dabi held you, hostage, by the neck. The little blue flame from his finger close to searing the flesh of your cheek as he backed into the dark alleyway, away from the entire police force out front. He dragged you through numerous yards before you begged him to stop, hands on your knees as you gulped for air. Glowing eyes stared at the ruby necklace that swang from your neck, almost daring him to try to take it. The second his fingertips could graze the jewel you slapped him away, grip tight on the chain and a fire in your eyes.

“You could take anything from me—shit even the pads of my shoes if you want—but I don’t want you to take this. Here, I’m sure the ring will cost more.” You glided the ring off your hand before offering it to Dabi.

Confused couldn’t even describe Dabi’s thoughts at that moment. Are you really offering a lowlife scum precious jewels? With a smile on your face?

“Are you demented?” The tilt of your lips turned down into a scowl. A haughty hmph passed your nostrils as you looked away from the criminal.

“You were stealing from Greggley’s pawn shop. The same bastard that swindles townsfolk out of their money and rats out people to the police for a living. I’d pay to see that fear on his face again when you ran off with me and his pile of stolen goods. So here’s my payment.” Dabi cautiously took the sapphire ring from your palm. The situation was ironic, he seemed more fearful than you. Cyan eyes watched as the dust on your outfit disappeared by the pats and sweeps of your hands before jumping up. You stayed rocking from the heels of your feet to the soles, eyes waiting expectantly on the chilled man to say something. Instead, his eyes bored straight into yours, deadpanned as he occasionally averted his gaze from the entrance of the deep alley, then back to you. The shouts of police guards had left from long ago; the sounds of their frantic pace went far off into the distance. Yet, you remained in this cramped space with him.

It unnerved him to no end.

“Well, your highness, your mutts went the other way to look for you. You can scurry away now,” He questioned his words. Why is he letting you go so easily? You were a perfect hostage. Just by your yelp, he could have your father in his palms, an important piece to the league’s ultimate plan. The smile on your face didn’t ease his confusion at all. His eyes burned with irritation, upset by your cheerful demeanor.

“Oi, are you fucking braindead? I said scram,” Your face dropped, forming a pout before pulling into a smile again. Dabi felt his eye twitch as you began to chuckle. His hand igniting blue flames as he stepped towards you. You put your hands up into the chilly air.

“Woah now, I’m just saying I could be of more use, Mr. Criminal.” The heat dissipated from his hand. His eyes looked as cold as marbles but within his head, he roamed over the possibilities, how and why should he trust you. Dabi was never a gambler, always a mouse wary of traps but today, he felt lucky. The once fiery hand laid out before you, staples glinting in the dim lighting.

“Dabi,” his eyes roamed over your face, noticing the crinkles at the corner of your eyes never softening, the gleam in your eyes shining more than before. You were actually happy.

“You already know my last name but that’s unimportant right now. The name’s (Y/n).”

The memory cleared away like smoke, reminding Dabi of his mission now. His hand clenched around nothing, his fist tight to relieve the searing anger in his chest. He imagined burning Shigaraki over and over, enveloping in the heat of his wrath as punishment for putting him on this mission.

Red beady eyes looked at Dabi in nonchalance, ignoring the smoke rising from his scarred hand.

“We built our whole organization on this end goal. We are one step closer to annihilating these ‘heroes’ and you’re rejecting this offer? Over some little noble mole?” the insult adding more fuel to Dabi’s rage and fire. His flames barely reached Tomura before being engulfed into another dimension thanks to Kurogiri’s interference. Unrelenting glares fixed at each other. Even then Shigaraki continued.

“I’m not saying it again. Either you do your job and save your blue-blood or they die by our hands.”

His eye pulsed; an ache coiled around his nape to his temple. His own anger throbbed in his head and blindsided his mind. He could add Shigaraki to his body count but your life, to him, was paramount. He withdrew his fire, recollecting himself before shoving his hands into his pockets. He surveyed the room, eyes scanning all the league in disdain; the others avoided his intense gaze. The gravel crunched under his heavy boots as he stomped out of the hideout.

Shigaraki’s threats echoed through Dabi’s head, anger already swelling at the thought of his red eyes as Dabi reached the edge of your house. The whirls of wind carried his coat in their stream, pulling the fabric all about. The walls of dark stone contrasted the warm yellow lights of your not-so-humble but welcoming abode. Dabi only knew the layout of your room but whenever he’s in there, there were hardly any lights from behind your bedroom door, just the occasional shuffling of the maids.

He halted his thoughts, pressing his foot against a jutted brick before hopping on to another. His movements were smooth and familiar as if he had perfected this route. He sat on the window’s stony ledge, fingers rapting against its pane, staring into the night as he waited on you to open the window panel.

Meanwhile, you were balled up in a corner, fingernails creating welts on your skin. Still, the stinging pain didn’t distract you from the taste of iron in your mouth, the phantom feeling of blunt rings on your cheek. Your silent cries shook you to your core, sharp inhales forced your weeping to stop, only for them to return again. All crying ceased once you heard knocking on your window, the same three raps then two softer taps only known to two. A familiar rhythm, one that closely relates to the song you made the criminal danced to during one night at a pub. The precious memory was unable to soothe the paranoia of your mind right now. A hitch in your breath paused all noises in your little quarter. If you stopped breathing, maybe he’d think no one was home. You ultimately stopped breathing only for harsher rapping to strike against your window.

On shaky legs, you stood up, swiping off any trails of tears and snot from your face. The cold air greeting you swung open the window for Dabi, who immediately hopped into the warm comb. He barely skimmed over your appearance before asking.

“What the fuck happened to you?” His hand came up to your swollen cheek; an obvious insignia marked the skin. You didn’t flinch away, instead, you wet your lips, pressing more into his palm. His hands were chilly from the cold outside but the contact warmed your entire body.

“I can’t do it anymore, Dabi.” A broken whisper escaped your lungs. Tears bled through your closed eyes, wetting Dabi’s thumb as he swiped a lone one away. He stood still, billions of thoughts jumbling in his mind as you bawled into his chest. Should he do this? On this night? Your well-being and the league’s plan fought for his attention. Every thought of his mission drowned by the sight of the insignia on your face.

“(Y/n), what the fuck did he do to you?” His shirt crumpled within your hands as you contemplated telling him the truth.

Nobody expected your father, an honorary Knight-Captain, to abuse his only child. It took one loose-lipped servant to say that you were seeing a commoner man in the kingdom for him to wrap his hands around your throat. You remember your body flailing, the coldness of your cheeks as tears fell from your bulging eyes. He dropped you by your mother’s cold command. As you gulped for any type of air she told you to stand. Her patience grew thin quickly as she ripped you off of the ground, your legs nearly collapsing from the force. A shroud of care she put herself under, letting her adorned knuckles skim across your cheekbones as she talked about your fate. You're being shipped off to marry the highest knight family, the Todorokis. Enjirou, commander of the Kingsguard, sought after you for his son, Natsuo Todoroki, for months. Your inappropriate actions caused your arranged marriage to arrive quicker. Her veil lifted, and in an instant, she whipped her hand across your face, the blow smacking your staggering body to the side. Their eyes entertained at your cry. She fixed her rings as she declared your fate. House arrest until the Todorokis picked up their new toy. They left you on the ground, weeping until Dabi arrived.

Stammers and hiccups escaped your lips instead of comprehensible words. His shirt crumpled under the intensity of your grip. In that time, Dabi had gathered all the information needed. The look in his eyes was unreadable as he loosened your constriction on his clothes, fingers interlacing in between your shaky digits. A shadow cast over his face as he talked to you.

“(Y/n),” your eyes dull and lost, you were wrapped up in your own severed psyche. A finger on your chin, he guided you to meet his eyes.

“Let me fix this,” It wasn’t a duel, but warfare that unfolded in his headspace as he asked, begged for your permission. You barely felt yourself nod before seeing the flame reignited in Dabi’s eyes. The smile on his face grew like a wildfire, nearly meeting the staples under his eyes. He left your numb body with a soft peck and a willful promise before walking, for the first time, out your bedroom door. Muted footsteps sounded miles away even though he left the door wide open. When did you end up on the ground, scraped knees meeting the plush of your rug, though you did not feel it? The warmth of the room dissipated from the air, goosebumps rising along your skin. Your body could only focus on one sense at a time, tuning into the sounds around you. Though muffled, you could hear the guttural screaming coming from rooms away. The cries formed into pleas before morphing back into incomprehensibility. Whether your body was protecting you from further trauma or not, your audible sense shut off only to look at the smeared blood all over your rug. Your ears never picked up on your outcry, pushing your diaphragm, but Dabi’s did.

He sprinted back to your room immediately, leaving his fires to completely consume your parents and lick at the foundations of the walls. His black coat draped over your body before he lifted you into his arms. The hungry fire now satiated, he left the same way he entered but with now, with you within his arms.

He knows what he did wrong, rubbing salt into your traumatic wounds, but he had a mission to do. He held your trembling body closer to his lithe frame. The league finally made their first step to instigating chaos but that did not matter right now. Dashing through the alleyways, he took a look into your blank eyes, cast away into another realm. The sounds of the Knights fighting against your burning house faded as he ran. He rested his forehead against yours, eyes squeezing shut as he made another promise to you.

“No one will ever tear us apart. I don’t care if this whole place burns to the ground. Just know you are the only one that matters. It’ll just be me and you at the end. Whatever it takes to get there.”

#bnha dabi x reader #bnha dabi #dabi x reader #dabi x black reader #dabi x poc reader #dabi x black!reader

198 notes · View notes

onomonopetabread · 4 years

Text

Declawing the Cat- Chapter 2

“ Can you believe that nerve of that jerk?”

Marinette was absolutely furious. Tikki watched her from the bed as she paced from wall to wall. It was really getting concerning; she’s been ranting for the past three hours. School ended about five hours ago, but Marinette’s little encounter with Felix never left her mind.

“What, did he think that a few thoughtless compliments would get me to trust him? Who does he think he is, the MaYOR?”

That last part was a particularly loud shriek, and if Tikki had eardrums, they would be completely shattered by now. It was time to stop this madness.

“Mari, I know that you’re upset, and trust me, I am too. But… don’t you think that you should calm down? You’ve been at this for a really long time.”

Marinette hardly heard her. “I really tried. I tried to just leave it alone. But nooo, he just had to go and rock the boat! Can’t the guy take a hint? I mean, if someone didn’t talk to ME after giving the third fakest apology given ever, I would know that they hated MY guts.”

“Why should we trust anything he has to say? He hasn’t exactly given us any reason to like him.”

“Yeah, how can you expect us to just become friends with us after what he did? He’s a liar!”

The group gathered around Felix. He’d just been introduced to the class by Adrien, and it didn’t seem as though they were very happy to see him. They were making so much noise that no one had noticed the lack of a certain blue-eyed class president. Unbeknownst to them, Marinette was crouched behind a pillar near the courtyard, watching and listening to the entire thing.

She had been uncharacteristically early to school and was chatting with Tikki in the locker room when she heard Adrien’s voice outside. Naturally, she'd begun to walk outside to greet him. The fact that she had decided to try to get over him out of respect for Kagami doesn’t make it illegal for her to talk to him; he is her friend.

When Marinette first stepped out of the room, her first thought was that there were somehow two Adriens. Then she realized that one Adrien looked like...Adrien, and the other looked like a sad old man somehow ended up in a teen’s body. In about 0.2 seconds, she was absolutely seething. What was he doing here? Why wasn’t he at his comfortable home in the ninth circle of hell?

“Guys, this is my cousin Felix. He’s going to be attending school with us for now on. I know you guys will take him in with open arms.”

Open arms? This clown? Marinette scoffed. She’d sooner swallow a cup of tacks than let that prick into her life. Her classmates however, aren’t as strong-minded as she was. It’d probably be better if she stayed silent and invisible for this and let them make up their own minds about this, just to see what they would do.

“Why should we trust anything he has to say? He hasn’t exactly given us any reason to like him.”

“Yeah, how can you expect us to just become friends with us after what he did? He’s a liar!”

Okay, so far so good. Maybe this time around, she wouldn’t be (almost) the only person that didn’t trust a liar. Oh, how great it will be to openly loathe for once! One by one, more and more voices were protesting letting the rat into their friend group. The entirety of the class was hanging Formally-Dressed Draco to dry, and Marinette was in ecstasy.

‘Yes,’ she thought. ‘Tear him to pieces!’

Just when things were really starting to escalate, the sound of someone clearing their throats cut through the noise.

“Hello, everyone. As Adrien just told you, my name is Felix Graham de Vanily. To answer your question, Mr. Le Chein, yes, I’m the cousin of Adrien’s that impersonated him and sent you a cruel response to your heartfelt videos. For that, I am deeply sorry. I have no excuse for wha-”

What. In. The. World. If Marinette was furious before, she was positively incandescent now. He really was another Lila! Not to mention the fact that he didn’t even have the decency to make the apology seem even slightly convincing. Anyone with an EQ of 3 could see that those puppy-eyes were rehearsed and don’t even get Mari STARTED on that pout. There was no way that her class would buy this, but by the looks on their faces…

“If you’re really sorry...”

…Of course. Of-freaking-course they would believe him. Marinette sighed and walked into the classroom. Once again, she was left to hold the class’ single brain cell, by herself this time since there was no chance in Adrien distrusting his own cousin. Now how was she going to go about this was the question. If he really is Lila 2.0, then her initial plan to outright hate him will boomerang her right in the eye. No, it’s better to just avoid him at all costs; you can’t hate what you never come into contact with.

“Are you really sure that’s going to work, Marinette?” Tikki asked once they were safe inside the room. “You can’t stay away from him forever, you know. He may be a nuthead, but he’s smart enough to notice when you aren’t fawning over him like the others.”

“I know Tikki, but I think I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. For now, I’m going to go above and beyond to make sure our paths never cross.”

“That’s a relief. I thought for a moment there that you were going to do the rational thing for once.”

“Really, Tikki? Sarcasm? That’s beneath you.”

“If you’re looking for a finger to point, blame Plagg. You pick it up after being with him for a few thousand years.”

Marinette stayed true to her word and made it her mission to never be in the same room as the Great Disturbance unless it was class time. Even then, she kept a compact with her so that she could see if he was coming up behind her. Whenever someone began to bring him up into a conversation, she would quickly but subtly change the subject.

After a few days of this, she seemed to really be getting the hang of it. Avoiding him was becoming second nature to Mari. It actually would have been way easier for her if the demon hadn’t kept trying to collect her soul. Like always, Tikki had been right. The little son-of-a caught on to her really quickly and didn’t hesitate to try to reach out to her. In fact, the other classmates would often tell her that he had been looking for her, and she’d had to act as though she didn’t have a clue what they were talking about. That part hadn’t been so easy.

“So, what are you going to make for the big competition, Mari? A dress maybe?” asked Alya.

“Actually, I was thinking about sewing up a pair of suits. I’m not sure what they’ll look like yet, but I really want to try something new this time.”

“Well, I know whatever you’ll make will blow their socks off, girl. Speaking of designers, Felix told me to ask you to meet him after school . He said he wants to talk to you.”

“Is that so?” Marinette asked, feigning surprise (see bane-of-existence, you’re not the only person who can act here).

“Yeah, he really seemed to have taken an interest in you. All he ever asks us is what you're up to. It’s almost an obsession. Do I sense a little romance here? Another blond-haired green-eyed love interest?”

“Not very likely, Alya. Anyways, I guess I’ll have to talk to him later. So, are you going to tell me about your new reporting piece or what?”

What? Don’t give me that face, it’s technically not a lie; Mari did end up talking to him later, didn’t she? Though, to be fair, she wasn’t planning on actually interacting with him until they both passed. No, not passing class. The other pass.

One thing that she had learned about the knock-off Five Hargreeves was that she had greatly overestimated him. For the love, the kid wasn’t fit to kiss Lila’s feet. At least her schemes were clever and thought-through; this amaetur just existed and everything was handed to him on a silver platter. The rest of the class has spoiled him into thinking that it would be easy to capture her attention with a tense grimace of a smile and two ounces of ‘charm’. Unfortunately for him, Marinette Dupain-Cheng wasn’t so easily bought.

So, that’s the way it went for a few weeks; a classic game of cat and mouse. He would try to catch her, and she would slip out of reach at the last minute. If she had to admit it, it was very fun, especially sneaking peeks at the frustrated faces the devil makes when he thinks no one is looking; the coward can’t be emotionally vulnerable for a second.

That’s why she felt so sure that he wouldn’t follow her to the park; the place was way too open for a stand-offish guy like him. She was very safe in the great outdoors with nothing but her sketchpad, a sharpened pencil, and a sleeping Tikki in her purse. She had been working on that design that she was talking about with Alya. Marinette really needed this design to be perfect. Perhaps a double-breasted suit would work? How many buttons would she have to buy? If she was any deeper into her work, she might not have noticed the distinct smell of leather and the tears of the innocents approaching her. She just barely retained her composure.

‘What is he doing here? Whatever, perhaps if I just stay completely still, he’ll go away.”

“Ah, Ms. Dupain-Cheng! How lovely it is to see you. We never seem to talk, do we? It is quite a shame really.”

‘It would also be a shame if you were to get punched where the sun doesn’t shine, Mr. Pied Piper’, Marinette thought. Alas, no matter how much she wanted to move her hand like so, she couldn’t let him win this fight. No, just silent-treatment it out and pray he either leaves or gets struck with a lightning bolt.

“I must say, that is a lovely suit you’re designing there. I love the use of gold thread on the pants. If I may make a few suggestions-”

Him? Give fashion advice? Marinette would rather NOT learn how to dress like an off-brand Crowly, thank you very much. Good grief, he really wasn’t going to stop trying, was he? Alright, no more Nice Marinette.

That’s when she finally snapped and, well, you know how that went. Had it been ANYbody else, she probably would feel guilty for talking to someone so blatantly, but it turns out that she left that situation with zero regrets. If she didn’t put a stop to this whole ordeal, she’ll probably have to carry around a tiny halberd with her for the rest of her life, and as much as she would like to use it, he really wasn’t worth the trouble. Ugh, he makes her absolutely Sick. He’s so slimy, terrible, arrogant, deceitful-

“MARINETTE JOSEPHINE DUPAIN-CHENG BE QUIET!!!!”

Marinette was so startled she tripped over her chaise and fell onto her bed.

“Geez, Tikki! Couldn’t give a girl a warning before you scream like that?”

“You’re one to talk, Ms. The Mayor. And for the record, I did give you a warning; I’ve been calling your name since for the past hour. Are you really going to get all worked up over this, Mari? You said it yourself, he’s just another Lila.”

“I know Tikki, and I’m sorry I’ve been rambling on for so long. It’s just- yeah, he’s a liar, a fake, and way too stoic to be real, but he’s different from Lila. I don't know what it is about him, but I can’t help but wholeheartedly loathe him. Just the thought of him makes a shiver run down my spine.”

“Loathing. Right. That’s it, totally. Is that why you haven’t said his name this entire time.”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I’m very happy you noticed, Tikki. I spent a lot of time thinking up all of those insult names.”

“I’m sure you did, Marinette,” Tikki sighed. “You really don’t like this kid, do you?”

“No, I definitely do not, and not a fiber of my being will ever so much as be happy in his presence for as long as I live.”

@ceres-zephyr here u go!

Chapter 3’s up!

https://qualityladybread.tumblr.com/post/632447827994411008/declawing-the-cat-chapter-3

#felinette #felix x marinette #marinette x felix #felix graham de vanily #marinette dupain cheng #declawing the cat #chapter 2 #PLEASE COMMENT AND INTERACT IM SO BORED

171 notes · View notes

maybedefinitely404 · 4 years

Text

Not Your Typical

Genre: college AU, hurt/comfort (kind of?)

Pairings: romantic Demus, Logicality, and Prinxiety

Content: some language, autistic character, sensory overload, mentions of losing friends in the past, anxiety, unintentional self harm, Roman is kind of a jerk but he regrets it, food mentions, unable to eat certain consistencies, beach/water/swimming, Janus being a disaster gay, ASL, selective mutism.

Word count: 6k

Comments: Like always, I don’t intend for these to be so long. Holy cow.

Janus is written based mostly on my experiences as someone with autism, and how it’s affected my childhood/relationships/daily life. No one’s experience is the same.

Janus was always alone. Alone, not lonely.

Most of the time, that is.

His whole childhood was an endless cycle of make a friend, weird them out, be alone. Find another friend, weird them out, be alone. And sometimes it hurt, yeah, but he got used to it. At home, he spent the entire day in his room, assembling structures out of legos before tearing them down and starting over. Sometimes he’d build something really cool, and that would stay up for a long time. He didn’t have any siblings, and his parents didn’t give a whoop as long as the floor was generally clear, so no one ever bothered the space ships or towers or just really long lines that stretched from one wall to the other. He liked those.

Things changed when he got to middle school. Life started getting real, people became more than just recess friends, and that unsettled him. He made a couple close friends, friends that he really opened up to only for them to leave him when he became too much. He just couldn’t help it though; he couldn’t help the way he bounced when he got so excited he couldn’t breathe, or how he couldn’t use words when he got overwhelmed by the touch and the noise, or how he couldn’t stop talking about his favorite shows or books. He was labeled as childish. It was like a label had been stuck to his chest that read “avoid at all costs”, and people did.

So he relearned how to be alone. He put a lava lamp next to his bed for when he needed something constant to look at, he got a collection of chewy necklaces and stim toys that never left his room. After a lot of research, he convinced his parents to buy him a weighted blanket for when every touch was too light, too agonizingly light, and he needed something firm to ground him. At school, or really around anyone, he learned to control his more obvious stimming and touch sensitivity by staying in oversized sweaters and jeans. He taught himself basic sign language for when he couldn’t talk, even though he knew his parents wouldn’t understand him. They took forever to learn basic signs, for ‘water’ or ‘quiet’ or ‘no’, and both eventually got frustrated and gave up. As if their frustration was anything compared to his.

It was going great, not perfect but better than before, until he graduated high school. Suddenly he realized he was about to move halfway across the country, to a new environment with new triggers and new people who didn’t understand that he wasn’t frowning because he was pissed, but because smiling when you didn’t understand the reasoning was exhausting. Why do people smile and greet you when they enter the room? Why couldn’t that be more of an… understood thing? I’m here, you’re here now, we both know that, so why bring so much attention to it? For once his parents were kind enough to help him out, taking him to the campus during the summer to get acquainted with the surroundings and learn the map by heart. He talked to the admission’s counselor, explaining his disability and why that meant he couldn’t be on the side of campus near the highway, because the constant noise and common sirens would make him explode. They were eventually able to move him to one of the other buildings, one with apartments instead of dorms, even though that was generally only for third and fourth years. It took a load off his shoulders; less noise, less people. The one thing he couldn’t do was meet his roommates before the year started.

The school got them into contact, and since he was the last to be assigned to the six person pod, they added him into their pre-established group chat. The other five already had nicknames, ranging from ‘Dad’ to ‘Rat Bastard’, and he immediately felt like an outsider. Not like that was new to him, though. Except, he didn’t stay like that. When one of the group, ‘Nerdy Mcnerd’ on the chat (he’d long forgotten their actual names), asked him what he liked and he immediately sent a list of special interests and hyperfixations, the top being snakes, it was like a door had been opened. Nerdy Mcnerd was a fan of space as well, and the two stayed up until all hours of night on their own chat discussing space and their place in the universe. Rat Bastard had an affinity for what people would categorize as “creepy animals”; octopi and squid, spiders, star-nosed moles, and most importantly, snakes. Their conversations mostly involved dopey pictures of snakes and unintelligible key smashes and emojis. Emo Disaster shared his love of darker themed TV shows, and they started a couple new ones at the same time, constantly updating each other with theories. When he mentioned his major was psychology, Dad was immediately overjoyed to be sharing the major with someone, and offered to help him study for the harder classes. He didn’t hit it off quite so well with Princey, who was put off by Janus’ so called “moodiness” and didn’t trust him.

When they finally met, it was supposed to be great. Janus knew the environment, somewhat knew his roommates, and was surprisingly excited for the new year. His joy was suddenly vanquished, however, as meeting these people face to face took a turn for the worse. Dad, Patton, immediately tried to go for the hug when he walked into the apartment for the first time, and was slightly taken aback when Janus reared back so hard he hit his head on the wall. The glee disappeared and he apologized profusely, and that’s when Nerdy Mcnerd, Logan walked in, explaining that Patton was very physical. They were over it rather quickly, but Janus shuddered as soon as the other two turned to each other. They had already claimed one of the three rooms for themselves, so Janus chose the one furthest into the apartment. He dropped his suitcases next to one of the two beds with a deep sigh. The thought of a hug… no. It unsettled him greatly, made his skin crawl. Maybe one day, but not now.

Emo Disaster and Princey, Virgil and Roman, arrived later in the day, hand in hand, bickering animatedly when they walked into the apartment. They were greeted with a huge hug from Patton and a side hug from Logan, and that’s when Janus recalled that they had all been roommates the year prior and again, felt a small tinge of pain. He was still the odd one out. Virgil gave a two finger salute to where Janus was sitting curled up on one of the bar stools, knees pulled to his chest and for the first time, Janus didn’t feel compelled to give a forced smile in greeting. It was a relief. The small nod was all that was needed. Roman however, was a different story. When they happened to make eye contact for the first time, the taller man still standing in the doorway, Janus flinched. Hard. The man’s eyes burned through him, as if scouring through his brain, eyes so full of passion that Janus had to look away. Eye contact was only an issue for him sometimes, but with Roman, it physically hurt. Which only made the theatre major more suspicious of him. As he passed him on the way to get a glass of water, the taller man blurted out, “You’re a first year, why are you in a third year building?”, earning him a gentle smack from Virgil. He answered with a lame shrug and rushed back to his room, conceding to just go to sleep, regretting leaving his drink on the counter.

No one besides Janus was surprised when the door burst open at three am and a loud voice screamed, “I’M BACK, FUCKERS!” He was frozen in place, woken with such an adrenaline rush that he couldn’t move. Outside, the other four exited their rooms with varying levels of annoyance and delight, greeting the final member of the group. Remus, as Janus heard them proclaim, was his roommate, the only two dwellers not in a relationship. The gremlin burst into the room, a deranged smile on his face, and Janus wanted to cry. Why did he have to be stuck in a room with the loud one? But Remus saw the mismatched eyes poking out from under the blanket and with no hesitation, sunk to the floor next to the bed, still smiling but a million decimals softer.

“Hey, Snakey. Sorry to scare ya. I’m Remus, but you can still call me Rat Bastard if you want. Call me whatever, I don’t really get offended. You go back to sleep, I’m gonna get settled in. We can talk in the morning.”

Janus wasn’t planning to fall asleep, not with this new person in his room, but Remus was shockingly silent as he unloaded his things (he packed a bunch of garbage bags, not even a suitcase or box), and he couldn’t help the way his eyes slipped shut.

First semester came to a close, and he was equally delighted and horrified that everyone was staying on campus for break. It had become harder and harder for him to avoid movie nights, or family dinners (as Patton called them), or days they all went into town together. In the beginning, he put it off to being tired. Then, studying for exams. Now with school halted for nearly a month, he was out of excuses. It was getting to the point where he could feel the frustration from his roommates, and he wanted to admit how much he wanted to spend time with them, until his drawer full of secret stim toys and chewy necklaces called him back. At times, he let himself spend time with them. Baked something with Patton, talked about the stars with Logan, sat with Virgil as they studied, and it was good. He never was able to escape Roman’s cynical glares that made him absolutely shudder, but he got on much better with his twin.

Remus never minded if Janus only greeted him with a raised eyebrow, and he was okay to have more one sided conversations while Janus drew, or after a few weeks, stared unapologetically. Because god, there was so much about Remus that Janus couldn’t help but watch, even if a normal person would get uncomfortable by his wide and unblinking eyes. Luckily, Remus was no ordinary person. But the younger still kept the drawer to himself, only allowing himself to nom on the plastic or squeeze the orbeez filled squishy snake with intense fascination when he was alone. So every time he was with the others and felt the need to stim or infodump or was about to have a stress induced meltdown, he would excuse himself and leave without so much of a goodbye. He couldn’t, not in front of them. Every time he left, he could hear Roman’s quiet remarks about him that stung more than he wanted to admit.

He’d had so many people leave, people he allowed himself to get close to, only for them to see the side of himself he tried to hide. In his heart, he knew that part of him wasn’t bad. It was just him. Other people didn’t understand that, though. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that no one would judge him, or laugh at him because they weren’t like that, he was scared. The effort was wearing him thin, and it came to the point where he realized he had to tell them. He had to, or he would burst, and that would be way worse.

It was just three little words: I. Am. Autistic. And he’d explain everything, tell them about his stims and limits and how he needed space sometimes and hugs others, and spill everything about himself, and they’d accept him. They’d have to, right? Only, the night he was planning to blurt out the truth, something stopped him.

They were eating dinner, one of the only ones he’d attended in a while. Patton kept glancing at him from across the table as he picked half heartedly at his lasagna, distracted from the lively conversation between the twins and Virgil. The whole thing was speckled with bite sized pieces of mushrooms and zucchini, two of the foods that he couldn’t eat to save his life. The texture made him want to recoil into himself and scream and yank at his hair, and he’d learned early in life that that wasn’t a normal response to food. He wanted to explain to Patton that it wasn’t the meal itself he was avoiding, that it wasn’t Patton’s cooking that he didn’t like, it was just the texture of those two things.

Well, maybe that was a good gateway into his big announcement, if you could even call it that. It felt almost as scary as his coming out to his parents had been. If they didn’t take this well, he might be exiled from the group. If they tried to put up with them, they’d get irritated so quickly and slowly freeze him out. He really didn’t want that. It needed to happen though, he realized. How much worse would it be if one of them walked in on him having a meltdown, holding a pillow over his mouth to block his screams, biting almost animalistically on a necklace? How unsettled would they be if they saw him hitting his blanket pile out of repulsion of the feeling of his textbook pages? Better to warn them ahead of time. It was only luck that had gotten him this far.

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, Logan hit the table with the heel of his hand and let out an almost guttural scream before storming into his and Patton’s room, slamming the door behind him. Janus nearly fell backwards off his chair, matching Virgil’s surprised expression. Roman went silent, wincing slightly.

“What…” It was the first word he’d said the entire meal. Patton whipped his head towards him as if he’d forgotten he was there, a sudden sympathetic look on his face. He gave a weak smile.

“Sorry about that, kiddo. Logan has autism, sometimes he can’t handle the stimulus around him. Or maybe he just had a rougher day than I thought. I’ll check on him after dinner, give him some alone time.”

Logan has autism.

Oh my god.

It was like everything clicked into place. His passionate talk about topics he was interested in that could rival Janus’ (if he would ever let himself infodump like he wanted). His mannerisms, his occasional emotional outbursts, his rigorous unbreakable schedule, it all made sense. For a brief second, Janus was elated. Someone like him, someone who understood! And if they accepted Logan, maybe they would be able to understand him, even if they presented different areas of the spectrum.

But… how would that look? Janus had hidden away his neurodivergent traits for so long, repressed them until he felt like he would literally explode… what if they thought he was faking it? It’s not like they knew him well, not with the amount of time he avoided being around them. They might think he was lying to get attention, didn’t want to be left out. Wanted to be special.

Patton seemed to be waiting for a response, he noted. He gave a curt nod, hoping it displayed that he was unbothered by Logan’s disability, before giving a stupid excuse about some reading to finish over break and darting back to his room. Remus joined him later, saying nothing about the fact that Janus was huddled under his weighted blanket, no book in sight. He sat down in front of the bed, a common habit of his now, and began to quietly talk about some new dark fantasy story he was designing, his lilting voice soothing Janus to sleep.

Time passed, winter came and went, and the end of second semester was drawing near. Janus was still careful with the way he presented to the others. They had picked up that he didn’t like physical contact, and though they never said a word about it, Patton’s lasagna recipe shifted, kept changing, until it no longer included mushrooms and zucchini. Janus refused to believe it was for his sake, though. He tried to join them for a couple movie nights, but the constant fear of stimming made his anxiety spike, therefore finding the need to stim more compelling, until he had to leave. It was getting harder, however, now that it was that pleasant in-between time where he understood how his new profs worked but it wasn’t exam season yet. His excuses were dwindling. Like always, Roman made his stupid quips that hurt him more than was probably intended, and he’d finally had enough.

Maybe that’s why he was staring out at the open lake in front of him, hands playing absentmindedly with the hem of his shirt as Patton and Remus squealed, sprinting into the water without a second thought. One of their shirts had landed on Janus’ sandaled foot, and he quickly kicked it off as the light touch began to irritate him. Logan stood to his side, watching his boyfriend with an almost imperceivable smile.

“You guys could have helped carry stuff if you were just going to stand there!” Roman’s indignant voice carried over the lawn, muffled slightly by the pile of towels he was carrying. Virgil snorted, whether in agreement or at Princey’s expense, Janus didn’t know. Either way, he dumped his handful of lawn chairs unceremoniously onto the lawn at their feet.

“You two set these up then. I’m hot, I’m going swimming.”

“Damn right, you are,” Roman grinned. Virgil raised an eyebrow.

“Damn right I’m hot, or I’m going swimming?”

“Yes.” He didn’t give any of them a second to retort, scooping up a shrieking Virgil before sprinting them both into the water.

“They didn’t even take their shirts off,” Logan commented, picking up a chair from the pile and unfolding it. Janus quickly joined in, helping him set the four chairs into a line and placing the towels down in front of them. “Did you want to go swimming?”

Admittedly, Janus hadn’t actually gone swimming, much less to the beach, since he was a kid. He was lucky to have even found a swimsuit amongst his other barely worn clothing; how it had snuck into his suitcase, he didn’t know. The water looked inviting and it was hot, but right now he was exhausted from the long ride over in Remus’ truck, having to refrain from plugging his ear when it got too loud or maintain his breathing carefully when a leg touched his.

“Maybe in a bit. I’m kind of tired.”

Logan turned to look at him, dare he say scrutinizingly? He washed the expression away quickly, asking, “Would you like me to stay with you?”

“No, it’s okay,” Janus mumbled, “You go have fun. I’ll be fine, I like the quiet.” As if to punctuate his point, a child screamed from the playground, making them both flinch.

“Are you positive?”

“Yes. Go enjoy yourself, Logan.”

He nodded curtly, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluent motion and walking towards the waves professionally, as if he were walking towards a lecture. Patton cheered from the water.

Janus didn’t concern himself with the time as it passed, instead letting his mind wander while he focused on a line of ants that were crawling up a tree next to him. It wasn’t until a fast approaching form caught his attention did he tear his eyes away, hearing him give a shout of “Be right back!”.

Remus plopped himself onto the towel next to him, still panting from the run, but grinning from ear to ear. As he ripped open a water bottle and drank greedily, Janus couldn’t help but stare. Water glistened on his skin like jewels in the afternoon sun, plastering his hair down over his jaw and eyes. His eyelashes were barely fluttering against his cheekbones as he guzzled nearly half of the bottle, his adam’s apple bobbing with each swallow. The jut of his shoulder, almost touching his throat, taking his weight as he leaned back on his arm… the whole thing was fascinating. People interested Janus as a whole; the way they functioned, how they seamlessly picked up on little cues from others that Janus was still in the process of figuring out, even down to intricate biology of cells was incredibly captivating. But Remus was so much more than that. His voice when he spoke him to sleep, never mentioning it the next day, the way his dark eyes glimmered with hope when Janus agreed to eat with them, the twitch of his moustache as he covered a laugh at Patton’s corny jokes.

He was art, plain and simple.

Janus didn’t know if what he felt was romantic attraction. It sure felt like it, except it had never felt quite like this before. It wasn’t that he was asexual or anything, he was actually decently far from it. It was just how uncomfortable most physical contact made him that gave him the idea he might never have a partner in the way that he wanted. He wanted to hold hands, to cuddle, to kiss… but at the same time, he didn’t. That is, he didn’t know how he’d handle it. Sure, he’d had crushes in the past, cute boys from his classes or celebrities in the shows he hyperfixated on, and still the feeling of uncertainty had stayed. With Remus, something was different though. Never before had a crush ever felt so breath stealing, chest clenching, awe inspiring-

“Like what you see?”

Janus flinched, realizing Remus had finished drinking and was beaming at him with that stupid gorgeous gleam in his eyes. He looked at his lap immediately, feeling his face heat up.

“Sorry.”

“Not a problem,” Remus smirked, having the audacity to wink at him before standing up. “I’m going back in. Coming?” He reached out his hand, hopeful. Janus took a breath, acknowledging that this was his first time initiating contact since he’d arrived, and grabbed Remus’ hand. The surprise on the other’s face was almost enough to make him laugh. He pulled the younger to his feet, keeping a firm hold in Janus’ hand. And… that was okay.

Until it wasn’t.

The second his feet touched the sand, it was like alarm bells exploded behind his eyes. He couldn’t describe it, but it felt wrong. It gave in too much, light sprinkles of sand covered the top of his feet and instantly every nerve was on high alert. He ripped his hand from Remus’, stumbling backwards onto the grass again. The elder spun to him with concern.

“Snakey? What happened?”

“I- hmm, no. I can’t. Nope. No no no. Wrong. It… hmmmm. Can’t.” The last word dragged out as his brain seemed to disconnect from his mouth. His mind didn’t work, so focused on how every blade of grass was swiping along his soles too softly, too gentle, too much. His hands had curled into fists and he was fighting against everything inside him to scream bloody murder, because oh god the wind was brushing the hair onto the back of his neck and it tickled and make it stop make it stop!

Janus could vaguely hear someone shout, and the loudness floored him. Get away, get away, it’s too much it’s too much. The feeling of the grass was gone, and he was sitting on his beach towel, but the wind was still brushing his hair too much, so he grabbed at it uselessly, begging it to stop, stop, stop.

“What’s happening?” Roman.

“Is he okay?” Patton.

“Does he look okay?” Virgil.

“Janus, breathe. You’re safe.” Logan.

Yeah, he knew that. He knew, objectively, that the wind isn’t out to get him and grass doesn’t hurt and sand isn’t supposed to fry your nerves. That didn’t change the fact that it did for him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it connected that they were seeing him have a meltdown, finally. But he couldn’t focus on that, not when someone was touching his arm why are they touching my arm LET GO!

He screamed now, he couldn’t hold it back anymore. His breaths were ragged and gaspy, hands ripping at his hair to try and stop the fluttering strands. Then there was a new sound, an engine, a boat, and with it came the deep bass of some terrible music and there were people shouting and his head was hurting, why was it hurting so bad?! New hands grabbed his wrists and he writhed, pulling back from the grip that was pulling his fists away from where they’d been hitting his skull, over and over, trying to just get his stupid brain to work. Come back to the present, ground yourself, do SOMETHING!

And then something was in his hands.

His eyes peeled open (when had he shut them?) and he saw the dark blue stress ball, almost crushed between his fingers. The hands were gone from his wrist, and he took a deep breath, relaxing his hand and watching the slime filled toy slowly return to its natural shape. It was just like one from his drawer, the first stim toy he’d ever gotten. Familiarity. He kneaded it under his fingers, enjoying the comforting texture, the color soothing to his sensitive eyes. Bit by bit he felt himself relax, still holding the toy inches from his face between stiff hands, letting his legs unfurl. Without thinking, he raised a shaking hand to his chin and did the sign for ‘water’, and immediately regretted it. It was just such a habit around his parents, the only other people who had seen him break down to this extent, how could he be so-

He flinched as a water bottle was pressed into his raised hand, the lid already taken off. The water was so good, settling his senses and grounding him, like he’d been in hyperfocus before and it was dulled now. He gave the stress ball another squeeze, captivated by the way the slime moved, not even flinching as someone snapped in front of him.

Looking up for the first time, his first instinct was to crawl into a hole and die. Logan was sitting in front of him, slowly putting the cap back on his water bottle before handing it back to Patton, who was standing just behind him. Roman and Virgil had begun packing the chairs and bags agonizingly slowly and quietly. Impressive; they were almost done and he hadn’t noticed until now. He turned to his left and his heart completely shattered. Remus was sitting statue still, a few feet away, with a look of pure fear in his eyes. He sat on the edge of his knees, like he wanted to pounce forward and hug him but was holding himself back. He appreciated that.

Logan snapped again and Janus turned back.

‘Better?’ He signed slowly.

‘You know sign?’ Janus responded weakly, confused.

‘Patton too. I go nonverbal as well. Are you okay?’

The younger nodded, returning his hands to the stim toy on his lap. ‘Yours?’

‘Yes.’

“Is he okay?” Remus whispered suddenly, drawing their attention. He looked so scared, like anything could break Janus and he was scared he would cause it. Oh. Did he think he caused this?

‘Not his fault.’

Logan looked between the two, a look of confusion settling in his face. “What?”

‘Not. His. Fault.’ He signed sharply, a frustrated hum emitting from the back of his throat. ‘Not his fault!’

“Remus, he’s saying it’s not your fault. What does that mean?”

“I- I took his hand, and then this happened…” Remus started, leaning back onto his feet ashamedly, “If that wasn’t the cause, what was?”

‘Sand.’

Logan’s eyes filled with understanding, and he responded, ‘Sand?’ as if to double check that he got the right sign. Janus nodded again, slightly thankful for the mute state he was in. He wouldn’t be able to explain this as well as Logan would.

“If I’m understanding right, then my first assumptions were correct. Janus, did you just experience a sensory overload?”

Janus could only nod, meeting his eyes shakily. This is the moment. Now is his segway. If Logan wasn’t already suspicious, he surely was now. And he’d rather not have to explain, or come up with some half assed excuse if he was confronted later on why sinking his foot into sand had made him break.

‘I’m autistic.’ He fingerspelled it, not knowing what the sign was, or if there even was one. There was a beat of silence, the twins and Virgil exchanging puzzled looks, and Janus couldn’t even bear to look at the two people who would have understood. All his fears came rushing back. Would they think he was lying, or seeking attention, or or or-

“Oh, sweetie,” Patton crooned, sitting cross legged beside Logan, “We thought maybe… well, the possibility came up in conversation before. Lo was the one who brought it up.”

“Yes. Though our experiences differ, you seemed to exhibit symptoms that are common to the ASD spectrum. I thought it feasible, but did not wish to offend or frighten you by mentioning it.”

“We thought that if you were autistic, it would be yours to tell us,” Patton smiled softly.

“Wait,” Remus interrupted, “Janus, you have autism?”

Janus’ nervous glance up must have been enough to clue the rest of the group in, because Roman sighed and ducked his head into Virgil’s shoulder while Logan messily signed something which roughly translated to ‘how dense can someone be’. Jan couldn’t tell if it was a joke or not, but he cracked a smile anyways.

“Shit. Dude, I’m so sorry,” Roman murmured into Virgil’s shirt, “All the times I made fun of you for not joining us or anything, that was way out of line. I truly apologize.”

The youngest gave him the worldwide gesture for ‘it’s okay’; not exactly ASL, but it got his point across. Everything was packed up now, and Janus realized the implications.

‘Home?’ He asked Logan, eyebrows scrunched together.

‘Yes. You need to rest.’ He was right, he was exhausted. Getting to his feet along with Patton and Logan, he reached down to grab his towel, only for it to be promptly swooped up by Roman.

“I… I got it. Don’t worry about it. Okay?”

As soon as Roman turned his back, Janus couldn’t help his heavy sigh. This was another reason he had refrained from telling anyone. He didn’t want to be seen as a burden, or worse, a child. He didn’t need help with menial tasks like grabbing a towel. Virgil and him lifted all the belongings again, with less complaining this time, and began the short trek to the truck.

‘He’s not babying you,’ Logan signed, as if reading his mind, ‘He’s just guilty. If you want my advice, get as much out of it as you can.’

“Logan!” Patton chastised, failing miserably at hiding a smirk.

“Guys?” Remus’ uncharacteristically timid voice prompted them to turn back, “Could I talk to Janus for a sec?”

“You understand he is unable to speak at the moment, correct?” Logan raised an eyebrow, probably coming off more harsh than he meant to.

“I know. Just… please?”

The other two shared a knowing look that Janus didn’t understand, before Logan turned to Janus. “Is that okay?”

The youngest nodded, watching over his shoulder as the lovebirds joined hands, leaving him and Remus alone. When he met his eyes again, he was standing much closer, eyes searching nervously.

“Maybe this will actually be easier since you can’t talk,” he laughed, before his face fell dramatically, “Fuck, that’s not what I meant. I’m such an idiot, I didn’t mean-”

Janus held up a hand quickly, as if to say ‘it’s fine, settle down’, holding back a snicker. He’d understand if someone was upset by the comment, but he’d learn to take Remus’ jokes lightly. He never meant to actually offend, sometimes he just… blurted without intending to. He rolled his finger in a ‘keep going’ motion.

“Shit. Okay,” He’d never seen Remus blush, or stumble over his words before. Not like this, at least, “Now, don’t feel obligated to say you feel the same or anything, okay? This is just, my feelings, and mine alone,” A deep breath, “I like you, Snakey. I like you a lot. More than… more than a friend.”

Oh.

Janus was ninety percent sure he died right then and there. But Remus kept going, tripping over his words in a way that was so unlike him, and yet so perfect.

“I have for a while. I never said anything because I thought, maybe you disliked me? After today though, I think… well, maybe I was misinterpreting those signals. Like I misinterpreted today. That you didn’t want to be around me, no matter how hard I tried.”

Okay, Janus took it back. He wanted to be able to talk now, but his voice came out as another low hum, and he slapped his hand over his mouth, embarrassed. Remus pressed on, unfazed.

“Snakey, I swear to you, that you having autism doesn’t change those feelings at all. It’s not a bad thing, or a flaw, it’s just you. And everything about you is amazing, and perfect, and this is just another thing I get to learn about you. Any fears you had around telling us, telling me, you don’t need to have them.”

He’d never felt this kind of feeling before. In that second, he knew for a fact that this wasn’t a crush that he had on Remus. That wasn’t possible, because a crush had never made him want to break his social barriers like this. A crush had never made him want to make an exception, to stand on his tip toes and kiss him, even if the thought of a new touch usually caused goosebumps to rise on his arms. Because he felt so safe, so blissfully numb, so comfortable with Remus, that he’d be willing to give it a try.

This wasn’t a crush. This was-

“I love you,” Remus whispered, his statement accompanied by a large shaky breath.

He couldn’t say it back, not right now. Later, he would. For sure. Maybe a hundred times. So he did what he’d never thought possible and took that step forward, breaking his bubble that he’d always thought to be unbreakable.

It’s okay. You’re okay. This is okay.

For once, he actually believed it.

Janus reached a hand up, slowly, and rested it on Remus’ face. It wasn’t light, he couldn’t do half touches. It was solid, warm, real. Not a tickling touch that made him twitch, or a brush by that stole the very breath from his lungs. The positive response affirmed his will power, and he leaned up onto his tip toes. Remus looked absolutely stunned, but he didn’t pull away, he couldn’t if he tried. His breath caught in his throat as the elder glanced down, an unmistakable look to his lips.

Had Remus always had those green flecks in his eyes?

And he kissed him. Janus surged forward, pressing their lips together harsher than he’s intended, pulling a small gasp out of Remus. There was a whoop from the vague direction of where they’d parked, followed by a loud smack, and Janus couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips.

Remus’ hands were clasped at his chest, unmoving, probably afraid that if he touched Janus wrong, this would all be over. He’d have to explain half touches later. For now, he took one of his hands in his free one and guided it around, pushing it into the small of his back until Remus got the message to keep that pressure. He let out a small sigh through his nose, an action that sent a new round of butterflies exploding in the younger’s stomach.

This is okay.

This is all going to be okay.

#lywrites #sanderssides #sanderssidesfanfiction #demus #prinxiety #logicality #autistic janus #sanders sides college au

301 notes · View notes

deadqueenz · 3 years

Text

Jeremy Blaire x Male Test Patient: Time

"Anything new?" Jeremy asks the short female nurse walking by his side as she manages to keep in step with him. "Patient 375 managed to tear off another patient's head effortlessly and proceeded to drink....his blood."

Jeremy sighs and rubs his temples tiredly. "Have someone change the dosage again, where did this occur?" The nurse quickly flips through the small stack of pages on her clipboard before finding the slightly red stained sheet.

"U-Uhm the Watch Room. During monitoring, patient 666 complained of strange abdominal pains and was taken away, Patient 375 tried to stop the nurses and doctors but they rushed out before things got difficult."

She stops and holds the clipboard tightly against her chest, swallowing hard before continuing.

"Moments later it was reported that he started having terrible migraines and screamed that his brain was melting; blood was coming out of his ears, nose, mouth and eyes that's when Patient 103 tried to attack him and....well."

Jeremy nods before stopping in front of a large window and looks at the curled figure in the center of the floor. "So they still can't be apart for long, seems like it's gotten worse." He mumbles the last sentence to himself but the nurse heard him anyway.

"Not only that; but with the increase of the medicine, his body mass and height along with his strength have increased in the last forty-eight hours."

"Excellent." Blaire states as a smile spreads across his face, he turns to face the confused nurse before motioning towards the patient on the other side of the glass.

"How's patient 901?"

The nurse stares at her boss for a few seconds before answering. "I was not assigned to this patient, Sir." Blaire frowns and looks at the woman in disgust. "Then bring me whoever I left in charge of M/N."

The woman nods before power walking down the hall as the man turns to face the window again. He wasn't surprised to see the dull lifeless e/c eyes staring at him, the male slowly walking towards the glass as he felt the familiar presence on the other side.

Jeremy smiles once more and places a hand onto the cold glass. "I knew you were pretending, did you hear my voice?" The male frowns before turning away and walks towards his bed.

Jeremy's eyes widen slightly as his free hand felt for the keys in his pants pocket. "Don't ignore me, have you eaten today?" The male stops and turns his head to face Blaire before his eyes look towards the door.

Jeremy rubs his temples before pinching the bridge of his nose. Once again, the male refused to eat what was brought to him the night before. "I can't be here all the time, you know this."

Knowing the male would continue to ignore him, Jeremy walks over to the door and places his hand over the scanner, when he sees the blue change to green, he unlocks the door before stepping inside.

M/N sat at the foot of his bed watching Jeremy close the door so they could be alone. He walks over to the bed, kneeling down beside M/N and holds a hand out to him.

"Arm."

Jeremy says but M/N refused; rolling his eyes as he taps his pant leg. Jeremy frowns slightly as he gingerly feels the right leg before feeling the left, he stops short when he feels bandages around the left thigh.

"Did you do this?" He asks looking up into the male's face. M/N points to his arm before pointing to his mouth and does the same with his bandaged leg. "The cannibal?" Jeremy whispers as he watches M/N shudders hard before nodding.

"How...When?!"

A hint of fear struck Jeremy Blaire as he grasped M/N's freezing cold hands in his warm ones; M/N shudders once more as he feels Jeremy's fear becoming his. He tilts his head to the side before leaning forward and placing his forehead against Jeremy's.

'Mistake.'

The voice in his mind was barely above a whisper, but Jeremy could hear it, feel it, like he was standing in an open field as a gently wind blew over him. "It wasn't a mistake, what if he had killed you?!"

Jeremy growled as he unconsciously rubbing circles over the back of M/N's hands. "Was it during your moonlight walk again? I should have stayed and went with you."

'You...Tired."

It was true Jeremy was exhausted after only six out of thousand successful patients this month, but any time with M/N was worthwhile. "I'll have him dealt with, put him in Incubation on Ground Zero."

Ground Zero was the bottom floor where they keep all the patients that were -not only- far to dangerous to be around others, but also be awake. They're under heavy sedation and only wake up once a month for exercise and routine testing.

M/N only pulls away as Jeremy gets to his feet and place a hand on M/N's cheek. "I'll go get you your favorite food, that incompetent nurse should have been back by now."

Jeremy turns on his heel, grumbling to himself about the nurse as he leaves the room, making sure to lock it back before going down the hall. M/N turns on his side and stares at the white wall with a poker face.

His leg stung a bit from his movements, the stitches were broken from the night nurse poorly rushed attempt to close the wound. If it became a bother, he would tell Jeremy, but for now he only wanted to rest and enjoy the time he had with him.

When Jeremy was anywhere near or on the facility, he could feel him and felt at peace knowing so. Whenever they were in close proximity of one another, they could tell what the other was feeling and if they were touching, Jeremy could hear his thoughts.

Sadly for him, M/N could do the same. He knew about the patients who died from other patients, the fact that what he was doing to all of them including M/N was illegal, Jeremy was trying to make the impossible, possible.

Finding those who were thrown away from society, taking them and bringing them here to this place to become his lab rat. He didn't care of the side effects nor deaths, he only wanted success.

And he would get it at any and all costs.

M/N unconsciously lifts a hand to his throat before tracing his bottom lip. He was almost thrown away as a failure three months ago. His tongue had disintegrated and his vocal cords were ruined beyond repair during one of the experiments.

Now he was left as a mute with his ability to never die, making him a prize in Jeremy's eyes. Every week he was put into a different test; gunshot to the head, cutting his throat, stabbing and many more.

It was painful, unbearable, he wouldn't have wished it on his worst enemies. Every time he made it through them, Jeremy would be the one to lead him to his private room and let him clean up there before taking him back to his room.

He was basically spoiled by Jeremy.

But he didn't let it get to his head, and he was glad for not doing so because Jeremy found someone else; a man named Billy Hope or as he was called Patient 001. He found himself alone more often than usual, Jeremy's thoughts were filled with Billy whenever they were together.

So much that he started wanting to meet him and get to know him in person. Maybe he will one day, if he can find out where he was held. Alone of course, if Jeremy knew what he wanted....He would be on the defensive.

Time could only tell, and he had plenty of it.

#jeremy blaire #outlast #richard trager #rick trager #waylon park #chris walker #murkoff corporation #father martin

9 notes · View notes

moodstabilizer-fic · 3 years

Text

mistakes were made

Summary: It was a stupid decision. But you needed the money. What were you thinking, breaking into the home of a vampire? A count, certainly, but more than that -- a monster. A home of jewels and riches guarded to the teeth meets a foolish peasant. Maybe you could have gotten away, if his son hadn’t found you.

Reader/OC.

“You aren’t supposed to be here.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, murmured so close to your ear you can feel his lips move against your skin. You instinctively pull away, flinching as a cold hand grips your upper arm and holds you where you stand. The grip is too tight and too strong to break easily, your fingers struggling for purchase against his as you try anyway.

“And yet you are. Pity,” he says, his voice high posh compared to yours.

“Let me go,” you say, desperately and angrily. You turn and stare up at him and are caught in his strange, golden gaze, those eyes trapping you more than his hand as, just for a moment, you forget why you’ve come here. Then it comes crashing back down on you like a wave, a strange heat flooding from the tip of your head to the end of your spine.

You have to get out of here.

“I don’t think so,” he says, the words slow and considered. “No, I very much don’t. My father would be… terribly angry, to find you here. Murderously so. A little curr, crawling inside our walls like a rat.” His eyes rove over your face, that sharp gold so counter to his deep, inky black hair, cut just short enough that it hangs over his forehead where it isn’t slicked back. His features are just as sharp as his eyes, wild and fey. Unhuman.

He’s caught you in some sort of parlor room, with doors on either side. One of them leads back towards the kitchens and the cellar you snuck in from. The other -- to where? Safety? You doubt it. To your left is a window that overlooks the cliffside. Not much to hope from there, either.

“I didn’t do nothing,” you bite out in hushed tones, as if his father can hear you there, cowering in the parlor. Maybe he can. You’ve no idea where he is. Maybe whatever noise his son heard is bringing him here too, only he’s taking his time about it. You struggle harder against the man’s grip.

“I’m sure you did ‘nothing’ at all. Certainly didn’t slip any of our silverware into your greedy little pockets, did you, you little beast?” He pokes a finger at the bag wrapped around your waste, feeling at what lay inside it. “Certainly you wouldn't have dared?”

You blush, furiously, and he hungrily watches the blood rise to your cheeks. His land lifts to cup your face almost tenderly, and you scratch and claw at his wrist, trying to tear it away. He just smiles at you. When he speaks, you can see his fangs.

“Little thing, you have no idea what you’re playing at,” he whispers, inclining his head closer until your lips nearly touch. “I could kill you in a moment, myself, do you know that? I could sunder your pretty little head from your shoulders and it wouldn’t cost me more than a bath afterwards. I think you ought to be begging me.”

You stare up at him, horrified and incredulous.

He stares unblinking back. “‘Please, sir’,” He says, sotto voce. “‘Don’t kill me.’ It’s very easy to say, isn’t it?”

“P-please, sir,” you repeat, gritting your teeth. “D-don’t kill me.”

“That’s very good. See? How very good you can be, when you aren’t stealing from your betters. Drop the bag.”

You do before you even realize you’re doing it, your hand uncinching the small knot that kept it on your waistline in an instant. Your collection falls to the ground with a series of clattering clangs, the sounds echoing strangely across the cobbled stone walls. Your eyes never leave his, and you know that he’s trapped you in some new, dangerous way. Some way far more terrifying.

“Good dog,” he says. “Good little beast. Take a few steps backwards, for me.”

Your feet walk backwards without your instruction, your muscles quaking as you try to fight the compulsion, your legs straining. As you stop, he looks you up and down, taking in every inch of your no doubt ragged appearance. Your patchwork clothing, the hungry muscle beneath it. The weary weight of your gaze. Whatever he sees there, he does not react to it, his face never changing from it’s calculating visage.

“Alright,” he drawls, finally. “I will help you, little curr. Isn’t that sweet of me? How kind, to save you from my father’s wrath.”

“W-why?” You ask, unable to help yourself.

His eyes turn cold, disappointed you’ve dared to speak. “Because I have manners, of course. But it will cost you.”

You reach up and clap a hand around your neck, fearfully eyeing his teeth. He smiles, amused.

“Oh, you poor, wretched thing,” he says, and then he has you in his grasp again, his strength too much as he wrestles your hand away and to your side before reaching down and grazing his teeth across the flesh of your neck without any pressure. “If I want it, I will have it,” he murmurs against your throat. He plants a small kiss there, at your clavicle. Despite his cool touch, you feel warm. Your heartbeat thrums in your ears.

He guides you towards a large chaise lounge and takes a seat on it himself, leaving you standing between his knees. “Now, stand still for me,” he orders, before pressing his hand into the space between your legs, his thumb running over your breeches.

Indignantly, you begin to jerk yourself away only for your eyes to catch him again. Your body goes still. He hums a little, as he presses against you. “Now what, do you think, is proper punishment for what you’ve done today? A slap on the wrist, maybe? Or a taking of the whole hand?”

When you don’t respond, he presses harder, and your breath hitches. “What do you say, curr?”

“I don’t know,” you tell him, desperately. “I don’t know. Please.”

“Please what?” He asks, carefully undoing your front laces. His fingers begin sliding beneath the fabric there. “I will not ask again.”

“Please -- stop,” you beg.

“Stop? Oh, sweetling, no. No, I’m afraid that you don’t get to ask.”

His fingers slip between the fabric and your skin, sliding down and dipping until they touch your lips, feeling at you down there. His eyes hold yours as he far too gently caresses parts of you that aren't his to feel. Slowly he rolls his fingers around your clit.

"Do you know, I think I've a mind for what you can offer up in penance," he murmurs, fingers moving against you until you begin to feel the uneasy beginnings of something in your gut. When he begins to push one finger inside you he does it slow, teasing through the slightest wetness there, so that you feel every centimeter until he's knuckle deep. Your legs shake just a little when he draws it out and pushes back in again faster.

"Don't --"

"Do not finish that sentence."

He fingers you carefully, intently, eyes roaming over your face and swallowing up every reaction you give. He seems to feed on the way your breath hitches, the way you wince against the slightest pressure on each upward thrust. When he starts to add a second finger, you shiver, your hand landing in his shoulder, your nails digging into his coat. He doesn't stop. With two fingers deep inside you, he starts to rub your clit with his thumb, slowly and softly in a way that speaks to years of experience.

You give a small, short whine. You feel so vulnerable here, captured by this cruel man, unknowing of where one far crueler may be lurking. But you try to quiet yourself. You won't give him more satisfaction.

He tsks, and pulls his hand free. "Kneel," he orders. When you hesitate, he repeats, "Kneel," and you fall to your knees between his legs. One of your hands comes to rest against his thigh, the other on the floor in front of you, holding you steady. He begins undoing the laces on his own breeches and your eyes widen as you realize what it's come to.

"Do not even think to bite," he tells you. "Or I promise you, I will bite harder."

He pulls himself free casually, giving a single stroke of his already hard cock before letting it hang towards you. It's as pale to look at as he is, but far thicker than you might have expected for someone so lean. It's long, too, though you've seen longer, and for that at least you're thankful. He reaches a hand out to caress your face before his fingers slip into your hair and he tugs you down towards him.

There is nothing else to do.

You open your mouth.

The head of his cock slides in as slowly as his fingers had worked, settling against your tongue and tasting of salt and skin. You whimper a little as he begins to press you in closer, as you feel that head begin to inch towards the back of your throat, and you panic as you realize he isn't stopping to let you adjust. He pushes until you gag, a horrible wretching sound echoing between you, sounding awful to your own ears but he groans like he likes it and presses all the deeper. His cock slides down your throat and you have no choice but to swallow to keep from choking around it. Your throat works against him as saliva begins to pool. Gently he pulls himself back out and lets you breathe.

You already have tears in your eyes, and it's barely begun. You cough, and hope it somehow buys you time, but all it does is make his fingers twitch in your hair until you're open for him again. He takes his time fucking your face, working you open for him until your jaw aches and you feel a mess. Spit drips down your lips but at least it means he feels wet inside you, taking some of the pain away. He makes you gag again, and again, until you're almost afraid he's going to push too far, but he never does, always pulling back to let you suck in air and swallow back the fear of bile.

"Put a little bit of effort into the saving of your life, will you?" He asks, releasing your head. You stare up at him, fear making your brain foggy, until you realize what he's asking for. Burning indignancy meets and melts into the fear, and for a moment you consider denying him, until his eyes turn cold and his lips begin to move again.

You take him back inside your mouth before he can force you to, sick with yourself. It's harder to bob of your own volition, harder to make the decision to press in deep the way you think he likes it. You run your tongue over the length of him, mouthing against his cock like you love it just to save your throat from more discomfort, and if he knows what you're doing he lets you get away with it.

Eventually he grabs your head again and presses deep one last time before slowly pulling you off of him.

"Get up," he says.

You stand, legs wobbling and knees aching from the pressure of having sat on them too long. He tugs your breeches down to the floor and you shiver in the cool air, hands crossed around yourself like that will somehow shield you.

"Lay down."

You do, laying back against the chaise lounge with your head pressed against the head of it, and close your eyes.

"No. Look at me," he orders.

You whimper again and open them as he kneels over you, spreading your legs wide. His golden eyes roam over your face again, taking in the fear. He smiles.

"This will be good for you, little curr. Learning a lesson and taking my cock, all at once. Why, it's a gift I'm giving you. Say thank you."

You bite the inside of your cheek hard, until you taste iron.

His eyes do not leave yours. He does not repeat himself, this time.

"T-thank you," you whisper.

"Good," he whispers back, "Just like that."

He doesn't remove his pants, just leaves them unlaced as he slowly slides the head of his cock against your cunt. You're sickened by how slick he finds you, desperately wishing you could look away from that smile on his face. He rubs the length of himself against your wetness, letting it warm and wet his cock, all the while teasing at your clit. You shiver when he pulls back and begins, finally, to press in.

He is far less gentle than he was with his hands. His cock sinks into you more smoothly than you'd like, but you still feel the pull of it, the slight burn that says you weren't ready enough yet, and as he finds the last few inches inside you, you begin to whine, thinking it can't all fit. But it does. He buries himself within you, and he fits.

"Warm little thing," he breathes, before humming. "Tight."

You blush again, one arm swinging up so that you can bite at your wrist as he begins to fuck you in earnest. He pulls it from your mouth and pins both your hands to the top of the lounge, keeping you open for him. Each thrust shakes your body, pressing your head firmly against the fabric over, and over again. And your body betrays you, slowly growing accustomed to his cock inside you until you can feel your clit twitching, your insides clenching.

"So wet for me," he says. "Does that surprise you? That you could be so soaked for a monster?"

He smiles and adjusts your legs until your thighs are pressed against each other, legs lifted over his shoulders. You leave your arms above your head, half afraid of what he'll do if you don't. When he presses his cock back inside you, he hits a sweet spot that has you gasping.

"It doesn't surprise me, truly. You looked the sort from the moment I stepped into the parlor. Desperate little thing."

He fucks you hard in that position, not giving you any space to think at all, before letting your legs fall away again. He gets closer, leaning over you until you can feel his breathe against your ear.

"Do you know what I think?" He breathes. "I think... You'll enjoy this."

You stare up at the ceiling as his teeth graze your neck again until he finds the right spot. Then he opens wide, and bites down. His teeth sink into your flesh like a knife, and you gasp, the pain lancing through you and burning far more than you could have prepared yourself for. But as he begins to drink that part of it fades, even as the pulsing of your blood in your ears seems to grow stronger.

There is a head rush to it, the draining. The world turns a little brighter, the moonlight streaming in through the window looking beautiful in your eyes as your body tries to adjust.

And then, pleasure. It starts deep in your gut, and you clench around his cock again, feeling like you're pulling him in deeper somehow, before spreading through every limb in a radial shower. You gasp, and then moan, your hands grasping at his coat, twitching and flinching. As he pulls away he licks the blood from your throat slowly, like he can't let it go to waste. The warm, rhythmic motion of his tongue against your skin has you writhing. The wounds ache, but you feel... satisfied, somehow. Full.

He presses his forehead to yours and laughs, the sound somehow exquisite in your newfound bliss. "As I thought."

He thumbs your clit again as he fucks you thoroughly, sinking all the way in on every thrust until you feel like you can't stop shaking. The pleasure hits an edge you can barely percieve and you dangle over it, twitching around him. And then he leans down and softly bites the skin of your throat again, and you topple over the edge.

You can't stifle the moans as he continues to pound into you, his cock twitching inside you now, and his thrusts begin to grow more ragged, less controlled, until finally he flips you over and pushes into you from behind. He lasts only a few strokes before pressing himself deep and coming. You feel the heat of it sink inside you, far warmer than the rest of him, and only then does your head begin to return to you.

Fuck. Fuck.

He chuckles as he pulls out and begins to lace himself back up. "I almost enjoyed that," he says, his voice throaty still. "I must say, you taste better than I might have expected. Perhaps I should try rat more often."

You push yourself up slowly, the blood loss making your head spin. You reach up and feel the wounds, noting that they still bleed sluggishly. When you pull your hand away, it's painted red.

"Go, then," he said with a simple wave of his hand.

"You said -- you said you'd help me," you whisper, a fury rising from deep inside you.

He blinks. "And so I shall. By not telling my father where you are, or that you ever entered at all. I would leave in a hurry, if I were you. He should be back from his ride soon."

You bolt upright and begin moving, only for him to call back after you.

"Your clothing?"

You flush, and work yourself back into your breeches, before turning tail and running back the way you came, his laughter echoing behind you.

Out through the kitchens. Out through the cellar. Into the cool, winter air. You stare up at the full moon, and you are afraid. There are still a few miles to cross before you will be safely home.

You run.

#vampire #reader insert #reader #smut #monsterfucker #monster fucking

46 notes · View notes

slightlyrebelliouswriter23 · 4 years

Text

We’re All Mad Here | Jurdan College AU

Summary: Ire is a thin blanket around us, an opaline veil that makes everything shimmer and sharpen with pristine clarity. I have never felt more alive as I do when I look at him, and feel nothing but hatred.

Rating: T

Content Warnings: Mild cursing. Minor mentions of anxiety, panic, murder.

Part I | Part II | AO3

Part III- Rival

He is hanging my shirt to dry on a shelf, high up where I can’t reach, weighting it down with two cans of coffee beans.

I stare at his back. The black fabric of his shirt pulls into ripples and waves as he moves. The sleeves are still rolled up past his elbows, exposing pale forearms and the creeping blue veins there.

In the front of the coffee shop, customers continue their prattling, spoons continue pinging against ceramic mugs. The espresso machine drones on. All of it sounds muffled from beyond the kitchen door.

In here, though, there is only the refrigerator’s low thrum and my raging heart loud in my ears.

Greenbriar. My mind reels. This man, my classmate—a Greenbriar progeny.

Namesakes of the city’s most prestigious university and beneficiaries of a mega-corporation called The Mab Group, the six children of Eldred Greenbriar are not quite heirs to all of Insmire, but they may as well be for how much power their name holds.

If the heir in front of me is in one of my mandatory lectures, he must also be in the same year as me. Which can only mean one thing.

I look up at him with renewed hatred.

He appraises me, taking up a casual stance leaning against the island countertop right across from where I sit. He crosses his arms and seems entirely unaffected by my serrated gaze. Which only makes me grit my teeth harder.

“You seem awfully quiet, Jude,” he says, voice made of velvet. “Have you pieced it together? Have you figured out who I am?”

I have to fight to keep my breath from going ragged, my hands from shaking. I grip the edge of the counter with a vengeance. It’s my only tether to sanity.

He brushes one knuckle across my whitened ones. They are nearly as white as his, now. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he says. The laugh that skitters from his lips is hushed and dry, like a centipede’s legs scraping as it scuttles through seared grass.

Out of every pompous prick in the Greenbriar line, the one who stands before me is by far the worst. And not just because he spilled coffee all over my only nice blouse—though that has certainly been added to the growing list of all the reasons why I hate him.

I have only ever seen his name on paper. A list tacked to a bulletin board outside the Politics and International Relations department. Three names, one from each year. His name instead of my own. For a year, that list has haunted me.

Cardan Greenbriar is known for his debauchery, not his intellect. He’s the kind of entitled that makes me want to paint the wall with his brains. And then my own. This, a kind approximation of his person, I’m sure.

Perhaps that’s why it hurt so much when he won Top Scholar last year. Perhaps that’s why I never learned his face—knowledge of it would only derail me from my goal.

“I have to say,” Cardan continues, “I’m disappointed it took you so long to deign to work it out.”

“Starved for attention, are we?” I hiss through my teeth.

Something I can’t quite decipher snaps across his face; but then it’s back to that cool veneer, and I wonder if I imagined it. One corner of his mouth tugs up.

“Figures,” I say, tearing my eyes away from his and towards the ceiling. Mostly to distract myself from that corner. “Your whole family seems to think the world revolves around them. I’m surprised you haven’t keeled over with the weight of my offence.”

“On the contrary. I find your not knowing me… refreshing.” He starts unrolling his shirt sleeves.

It is an exceedingly nice shirt for a day off. Come to think of it, all of his clothes are exceedingly nice. Gilded filigree triangles make the tips of his collar look dipped in gold. Between them, right where his top button should be, clings a black onyx brooch in the shape of a beetle.

I narrow my eyes. This is obviously a rouse of some sort. I think about how kind he acted before. His seemingly innocuous request to help get the stain out of my shirt. His sudden change in demeanour. There’s something missing, but I can’t figure out what. I don’t like it—this waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“What do you want with me?” I ask.

“The same thing you want with me, Jude,” he says, black tourmaline eyes unflinching. He buttons his cuffs. “I want to ruin you.”

I clench my jaw as his words soak in. My nostrils flare. My heartbeat is so wild in my chest I think I might die. Or be sick.

I want to tell him the feeling is absolutely mutual. I want to breathe fire and be livid and berate him for the crime of his family’s existence. I want to tell him to go fuck himself. But I know what will get under his skin most.

“I want nothing to do with you,” I say, sticking out my chin, defiant.

Cardan’s mouth splits into a hideous smile that must usually be reserved for the pillow and languorous mornings in bed. Though, I suppose for him, such mornings probably lie within the same realm of pleasure as tormenting enemies in the kitchens of what is apparently his coffee shop.

“Fortunately,” he says, pushing off the counter, “You won’t have anything to do with me much longer. I have a meeting.” He holds out a hand. I blink at him. “Jacket please.”

“Like hell,” I seethe, clutching at the lapels.

“Fine.” He drops his hand. “An interview without a statement piece wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for today. Though, I suppose it shouldn’t matter.” He straightens his collar, his black beetle brooch. “Dain will hire me regardless.”

Something sinks in my stomach like a stone. Dain.

Dain Greenbriar. CEO of the Silhouette Gazette, taking time out of his very busy schedule to interview today, and only today, for one coveted position amongst his team of interns. Dain Greenbriar, his brother and my would-be boss had I not been so foolishly diverted.

But I have been a fool. One look at Cardan tells me this. The spill, the innocent act, the plea to help me. It was all a ruse. Strung up and sutured by none other than the youngest Greenbriar, himself—and I, a much too eager victim.

He’s smirking and my face heats. Something roils right under my skin, white-hot. Just waiting to be unleashed.

So I unleash it.

I lunge. Across the countertop. I am diving, scrabbling, reaching.

Right for the knife block. Metal sings as I rip one free. A sound almost as glorious as the way it feels to angle a blade right at Cardan’s throat.

He braces his hands on the countertop behind him but does not lift a finger to defend himself.

I only see red, and the way he regards me cooly. A smirk juts the cliffs of his cheekbones. The steel I hold to his skin reflects his face so that I see it twofold. Even my own weapon taunts me.

He looks down his nose at me, despite being held at the peril of my blade. I know then what it is to loathe with my entire being.

“That internship is mine,” I tell him, my breath a jagged thing in my lungs.

“Looks unlikely, sunshine,” he says, and I want to scream. “What with you missing your interview and all.”

“Because of you, you snivelling little coward.” I press the knife’s edge flush against his throat. His eyes shutter. It’s the only surrender I get to savour before I am fixed with his stare once more.

“Ouch,” he mocks. “Not nice words.” Though he is smirking, his gaze glitters dangerously, as if he might murder me outright. Even though I’m the one with the knife.

“You took Top Scholar from me last year,” my voice quakes. Bile rises in my throat at the admission of it—my one and only failure. Until today, at least.

“Took?” His brows rise high and arrogant on his forehead. “I think I won that title from you, fair and square. Upset that someone bested you for once?”

“Please,” I scoff, indignant. “You’re a nefarious moneybags prick. Your family probably paid someone off.”

His laugh is surprised and derisive at once. “Nefarious moneybags prick,” he muses, giving me a full grin. “Now that, I have not heard before. Kind of a mouthful, though. Got any nicknames?”

I only lean in closer, pressing the knife harder. One slip of my hand and— “Give me your interview slot.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“You’re quite confident for someone held at knifepoint,” I say through gritted teeth. “Give me your slot.”

“What are you going to do? Murder me about it?”

“You really want to test that theory?”

He considers me for a moment from under hooded lids. His eyelashes are stupidly long. It’s disgusting. “Even if you had the balls to do it, which I don’t doubt you do,” he says. “You wouldn’t. Wanna know why?”

“Why?” I say with ample venom.

“Because it would cost you everything,” he tells me. “How my father would froth at the mouth for the opportunity to put you in shackles.”

Ire is a thin blanket around us, an opaline veil that makes everything shimmer and sharpen with pristine clarity. I have never felt more alive as I do when I look at him, and feel nothing but hatred.

“It’ll be your word against mine,” I say, “And you’ll be dead.”

Cardan rolls his eyes. “Even if you had a valid excuse for murder, which you don’t,” he points out, “And even though my family does not give a rat’s festering ass about me, they would not hesitate for a moment to rip you apart in court. To see the Duarte name trampled down into the dirt where it belongs.”

I know what Cardan says is true. I would revel in dragging the Greenbriars down to the deepest trenches of hell, even if it took me with them. Just as surely as they would relish in my demise. It has always been this way. For as long as I can remember.

I am sure he reads this all on my face as I think it because his smile is a sharp gash of white.

“You may have held the title of Top Scholar once, but I bested you last year,” he says. My mind sieges against the notion. “And though I fully intend on doing so again this year, if you murder me for it, you won’t even be in the running for the title come tomorrow morning. No, the only title you will ever hold for the rest of your small, pathetic life will be Inmate.”

I almost concede a flinch. Small. Pathetic.

I know what he’s doing. He’s trying to get under my skin, and credit where credit’s due: It almost works. But my fickle temperament, his not knowing what I will do next; these are my only chances at gaining control again.

I cannot show my hand.

So as my instincts scream against it, I tilt my chin up to look at him. “And how are you so very sure, Greenbriar,” I spit, “That Inmate is not a worthy enough title for me?”

“Because, Jude,” he says my name like it is his favourite flavour of sin, and I despise the way my heart flies into my throat at the sound, “It’s not. I am observant, if nothing else. I happen to know that being locked behind bars is a far cry from what you crave most.”

“As if you’d be privy to what I crave,” I say, though my stomach turns itself in knots, my grip loosening on the knife. Because he’s right. He’s so very right, I am nauseous at the thought of it.

Cardan shrugs. “Believe me, or not. I have my ways of knowing,” he says. Then, with the newfound space I have given him, he leans down close to my ear. “I reckon, however, that I am far too insignificant a name on what is presumably a very extensive blacklist for you to be kept from your higher ambitions by murdering me on a whim of passion.”

He makes a lazy trail with his index finger from my left elbow up my arm. My cheeks blaze, but the skin still pebbles there. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.

“There are so many more valuable prizes for you plunder,” he croons, breath fanning across my face. He leans back a bit to look me in the eye. “Aren’t there, dear Jude?”

It is the secret of myself unravelled before me. I cannot bear how vulnerable it makes me feel. I stagger back, breathless, and blink.

My knife is in his hand. How did it get there? How had he taken it without my noticing? He’s moving away from me now.

“As lovely as this little meeting has been,” Cardan says, sheathing the knife back in its stand, “I think I’ll be going now.”

He brushes himself off, grabs his to-go cup from the counter, and I’m standing there like an idiot with my mouth hanging open. He pauses in front of me before he goes. I’m not sure what it means when he frowns, but I hope he feels every poisoned dagger I sink into his skull.

Then, Cardan does the very last thing I expect.

Every inch of me goes still as he takes a strand of my hair between his fingers and tucks it carefully behind my ear.

“It really was quite the show,” he murmurs. As if we are lovers tangled in sumptuous silk sheets. Instead of what we really are.

Rivals. Luring each other into cages of our own making.

Just like that, he’s gone, and I am left alone with my threadbare self.

♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛

It takes me all of twenty seconds to react. I count them going by on the ticking hand of my cracked watch as I try to cobble together a plan, try to breathe. I feel like the walls are closing in on me, all my demons crawling to the surface. But I’ll be damned if I let them win. If I let him win.

Then, I am chugging my cappuccino. It’s lukewarm. The syrup has pooled at the bottom and I get it all in one gulp. Sickly sweet and absolutely revolting, but I need the fuel.

When I’m done, little rivulets of coffee stream down my cheeks. I wipe them off with the sleeve of Cardan’s black jacket, grab my bag from the floor, and start running. I leave my shirt hanging to dry on the shelf. Buttoned, the jacket covers me enough and I cannot waste time. Not now.

I careen through the metal doors, apologizing to a grumbling Liliver as I sprint out from behind the counter, and wonder just how much Cardan’s glorified bathrobe would go for on eBay. He did say it was designer…

Finally, I’m outside again. It’s stopped hailing, and the air is blessedly cool. It helps me sort through my muddled thoughts.

I see Cardan’s wretched curls bobbing up ahead. He stops for the red man on the pedestrian signal. Idiot.

My breath swirls around me. I look both ways and dive between a reasonably spaced motorcycle and a bus onto the median in the middle of the road. Then between a bus and a less reasonably spaced car, who has to put on their breaks. The driver lays on the horn and I flick him off over my shoulder.

I’m already on the opposite side of the road, flying through the heavy glass doors of the Silhouette skyscraper. I don’t look back to see Cardan’s face, though I can imagine some pretty satisfying expressions on my own.

It’s enough to help me form the next steps of my plan.

I survey the lobby. It’s all glass and dark wood and marble. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling. It smells like coffee and expensive cologne. Moneybag pricks, indeed.

There’s a sign to the right for the lifts; and right next to it, the door to the stairs.

The Gazette’s main offices are on the fifteenth floor. Which is actually probably the fourteenth floor, when you factor in people’s weird aversion toward the number thirteen. The stairs would be faster, anyway. Especially if there were multiple stops on the lift. Or many.

I think I could climb thirteen stairs. I don’t think Cardan could.

Moving as quickly as I can without drawing too much attention, I slip into the stair-well. I climb one floor, slip out into the hall, press the lift call button, slip back into the stair-well, and climb to the next level.

I do this thirteen more times, pressing the lift call buttons on every floor. I get some weird stares, some alarmed looks from people passing by. But mostly, I ignore them. My vision is tunnel-like.

I cannot let Cardan beat me. Everything I’ve been working toward for the past thirteen years is riding on this internship. If I can get just two minutes alone with Dain, maybe I can convince him to let me reschedule my interview. Maybe I can fix this.

By the fourth floor, my thighs start to burn. My feet slap against the concrete steps. The sound echoes off the stair-well walls.

Small, pathetic.

To see the Duarte name trampled down into the dirt where it belongs.

I want to ruin you.

It really was quite the show.

It’s that last one that sets me sprinting. By the tenth floor, I am heaving breaths. My lungs feel like they’re full of hot lead. The only things keeping me going are my goal and Cardan’s extremely punchable face like a beacon in my mind’s eye. I hate him I hate him I hate him. It drives me.

Finally, I slam my shoulder into the door with a sign next to it that reads, FLOOR 15, in bright red.

I spill out into a warmly lit hall. It’s lined with framed newspapers, chic black and white photographs of the city, and one large gilded mirror. There’s a potted organza sitting on a copper accent table just opposite the lifts, but not much else.

The set of glass double-doors to my right reads, “THE SILHOUETTE GAZETTE”, just above the handles, in bold black lettering. The same doors my mother walked through to get her internship here when she was my age. The same doors she walked through every day for so many years after.

No time, no time, no time. Cardan is hot on my tail. I can’t be sentimental, now.

I’m a little frazzled, but only a tad sweaty. I glance at the mirror. No, that’s utter bullshit. I look like I’ve walked through a sprinkler.

I take a moment to straighten my pencil skirt. Smooth the hair away from my face, dab the sheen on my forehead and nose and chin and everywhere else with the back of my hand. No time.

I roll the sleeves of the ridiculous jacket so they don’t swallow my hands. The red lining is vibrant against stark black. I throw my shoulders back, and before I begin to doubt myself, stride toward the doors.

My boots click against the dark granite tiles, but when I step over the threshold, it’s all grey carpet and phones ringing, the shuffling of hurried feet and stacks of paper.

The familiar smell of freshly pressed ink greets me. The man behind the reception desk straight ahead does not.

The receptionist is burly and bald, save for a tuft of black hair right on the top of his head, pulled back into a small bun. Blue ink creeps from underneath the collar and sleeves of his crisp white button-down. Tattoos. Lots of them. He wears a floral printed tie and doesn’t glance up from the computer when I approach.

I clear my throat. “Ex—cuse me,” I say. “I’m… here for an interview? With Dain Greenbriar. About an… internship?”

“Are you sure about that?” the man asks in a gruff voice, still typing away.

My brows cinch. “Yes. I scheduled it weeks ago.”

“It’s just…” he looks up at me then, “You don’t sound so sure. Besides, he’s in a meeting right now.”

My jaw clenches. “No. Actually. He’s not,” I say as politely as I can, then throw a glance over my shoulder to make sure Cardan isn’t on his way to dropkick a wrecking ball right through my life. Again. “I’m his 8:20. I know I’m incredibly late, but I got into an accident on the way here.” It isn’t technically a lie, but it slides from my tongue just as smoothly.

The receptionist gives me a disapproving look. “He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“I really only need five minutes of his time,” I say, breathless. “Could you please. Please. Just page him. Everything in my life depends on it.”

He raises one brow, regarding me dubiously. “Uh-huh. That’s what they all say.”

“Look,” I say, starting to panic, “I don’t have much time to explain before the world’s largest middle finger to the very foundation of this establishment walks through those doors and ruins everything. But if you do this for me, and I get this internship, I will bring you coffee every morning for two months.”

He’s silent for so long, I think he’s going to reject my offer. But then he says, “Make it three. Regardless of whether you get the internship.”

“Deal,” I blurt before I can stop myself. Before I can think about the strangeness of his contention. I certainly don’t have time to haggle.

The receptionist sighs, lifting the phone to his ear. Punches a few numbers. Listens. “Wait over there,” he mouths at me and points to a cluster of sleek leather chairs in the corner of the entryway that look about as comfortable as your standard park bench.

I thank him silently and head over, plopping down on the nearest one. I was right. It feels like I’m six again and sitting on the lap of my sister, Vivienne, whose legs are notoriously spindly.

The receptionist is muttering words I cannot hear into the phone’s receiver. I presume it’s Dain, but for all I know, he could be talking to Glinda in accounting, or whoever. Laughing about the silly little girl who just fell through the doors, looking for all the world like she’d been down the rabbit hole and had to claw her way back up to get here. He wouldn’t be far off, if I’m honest.

Or worse, maybe he’s calling security.

I shove those thoughts from my mind and lean back in the chair. My right leg starts to jiggle like it always does when I’m nervous. I lean forward again, bracing my elbows on my knees. I need to focus.

There’s a sudden movement in my periphery. A tall man in a navy blue suit enters the reception area. His golden crown of curls and swaggering demeanour clue me in enough. Dain Greenbriar.

The last time I saw the second eldest, and arguably the most decent of the Greenbriar progenies, was thirteen years ago. In a rescue chopper. Above a boating accident. He was in the pilot’s seat flying the chopper, while Madoc was tending to my sisters and I. But I still remember his confident air, that dash of white smile when he told us everything was going to be okay. Even though it wasn’t.

He hasn’t changed much.

“Miss Duarte,” Dain says, stopping near the reception desk. I wonder briefly if it’s a power play. Make me come to him. It’s fair enough, if that’s his ploy. It’s what I would do.

I’m surprised I’m not more phased by the memory of him. I expect to feel an inexplicable sense of dread. I expect it to be difficult to see him now, in the flesh, but it’s not. I feel nothing. Maybe that’s the difficulty. Or maybe this is just the tip of the iceberg.

I rise to my feet and make swift but assertive strides.

The thumping of the chopper was so loud that day, I don’t think anyone said much. So I’m not sure I’ve officially met him. Though, I could be remembering it wrong.

I stick out my hand anyway. “Mr Greenbriar,” I say. “I apologise for my delay. I was in an accident and couldn’t get here sooner. Thank you for meeting with me.”

He looks me over none too swiftly. He’s either decided that my appearance is evidence enough of my story, or that I’m attractive enough to forgive the faux-pas, because he takes my hand in his, giving it a firm shake that I return in kind.

“As much of a pleasure as it is to see you again, Miss Duarte—”

“Please. Call me Jude,” I say, then clamp my mouth shut. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Who the hell do I think I am, cutting off the man who’s about to hire me?

Dain’s smile is small and savours highly of pity. A sinking feeling starts in my gut. “Jude,” he continues, apologetic, “I wish we could be meeting again under better circumstances, but I’m afraid I have an appointment very soon and quite the busy schedule today.”

“I only need a few minutes of your time, Mr Greenbriar.”

“You understand, Jude, that we take our internships here at The Silhouette very seriously.”

“Yes, of course. I am one-hundred percent serious.”

“Unfortunately,” he says, “Interviews at the Silhouette require more than a few minutes to be conducted.”

“I’m sure I can give you a shortened version. When is your next appointment?” I ask, and he pauses, then looses a hesitating laugh. I realise too late that he’s not laughing at my gusto. He’s laughing at something over my shoulder.

“Now, apparently,” Dain tells me.

I whirl around and see a most loathly figure walking through the doors.

♛ ♛ ♛ ♛ ♛

More like this: Crashing | Fine Line | King

Last Part

WAMH Masterlist

Fic Masterlist

AN: We love a petty Jude. Just hitting all those lift buttons on her way up. Also some of y’all guessed it but Jude definitely went for those knives huh. Anyways, thanks so much for reading! If you liked this chapter please do let me know, via comment/reblog/keyboard smash! It truly does help me recharge my writing energy, and I appreciate every single one.

If you’d like to be added to the tag list for all future updates of We’re All Mad Here, let me know via comment/ask/message!! Thanks again for reading! Back to the forest now. -em 🖤💫

Title Inspo: Rival by Ruelle

Tag List: @the-mithridatism-of-jude-duarte @velarhysismine @knifewifejude @danieldesario @annihliation @wickedqueenoffantasy @not-tess @clockworkgraystairs @jurdanhell @afexiss @snap-crackle-and-pop @rowaelin-percabeth @runnybabbit9 @cardaans @hoegreenbrair

293 notes · View notes

fandom-necromancer · 4 years

Text

045. This isn’t goodbye

This will be a three-parter, the warnings are there for all parts so you know what you are starting with. The bold parts are in the chapter. Don’t worry, as all my stories this will end good, but there is a bit of bad stuff happening until there will be a good ending in the third part. Just so you are save out there!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900, Hannor/Hancon | AU: Reverse AU (Warnings: android being shipped off to Cyberlife for analysis of deviancy, loss of privacy, loss of control, most think the android is dead, Grieving Character, Trauma because of past mistakes, Canon-typical violence)

[part2] [part3] [part4]

‘Remember, if someone gives you an order, follow it. They mustn’t know it!’ ‘Got it, Sir’, Gavin grinned teasingly at Richard. ‘Gonna be your little obedient robot, just as you like it.’ ‘Gavin!’ Richard wasn’t in the mood for the android’s silly jokes. This was serious. ‘Worry for your own ass out there, Nines. You know me, GV-harder-better-faster-stronger-200. We’ll give them hell!’ ‘Just… be careful, tin-can.’ ‘Will be, meatbag!’

They joined the others in position to storm the building. Their suspect was hiding inside this house with a bunch of his “co-workers”. They would put an end to one of Detroit’s largest drug gangs today, catching their leader and unravelling the whole organisation hopefully. They were waiting for the signal from Captain Allen to charge, as this officially was a SWAT operation. Richard was present as a consultant technically, but his past as a soldier made him qualified. Also, with Cyberlife’s most advanced android by his side, he would be worth a lot. Normally Richard wouldn’t worry as much about Gavin, but this time Connor and his android HK400 was in the team, too. Richard generally liked the android for helping his brother get out of that hole the loss of his son had ripped, but that didn’t change that Hank was just there to find deviant androids. And, well, Gavin was one. He had deviated long ago on a mission, when they both were after some fugitive. They had caught him, and he was driven off back to the precinct and Gavin had kissed him. Since then they hid GV’s true identity successfully. But with Hank this close… Who knew how this ended? Hopefully all would go well.

He didn’t have anymore time to think about the other android, as Captain Allen gave the signal and Richard followed his group. They were jogging through foreign rooms, short status reports of ‘room clear’ muttered into their mics, their breaths and the shuffle of feet and clothing all around them. For a surprisingly long time nothing happened. Then a SWAT officer wanted to open a door and Gavin interfered. ‘I detected multiple persons behind this door.’ Immediately everyone raised their guns and prepared themselves. Richard took a deep breath to steady him, the ghost of a hand touching him reassuringly as everyone was too busy to see the gesture. Then they pushed the door in and stormed into the room to leave the bottleneck behind them as soon as possible. Immediately gunfire was thundering through the room and everyone quickly dove for any cover they could find. It spread them out and most order was quickly lost, but they had the upper hand, surprising the gang members and taking down one after the other with mostly non-lethal shots. Unfortunately, they realised that too, quickly running backwards to leave the room. ‘Gavin! Quick, keep them from fleeing!’, came the order from Captain Allen. ‘Hank, Connor, help him!’ Gavin immediately jumped over the crate from where he had sat next to Richard. He ducked under bullets, calculating them even before they left the gun. He was already pre-constructing how to advance once in reach of their leader, as a warning covered his HUD.

[Danger! Richard]

He stopped in his tracks, reaching into Connor’s holster to retrieve a gun, then aimed and shot. His bullet hit the criminal that had aligned his gun with Richard’s head in the arm and pushed it to the side, so the bullet hit a wall and not his human’s brain. The gang member next to the one he shot, had seen his action and returned it by shooting Gavin in the abdomen, just over his regulator. Gavin fell, quickly accessing the damage. Nothing vital was hit, but he was losing a lot of Thirium. Only then he realised what he had done. He had been ordered to apprehend the leader, something Hank and Connor were still pursuing. He had used a gun, what was strictly forbidden for androids. And as he looked to the side, he met Hank’s analysing glare. Shit.

No one had talked about Gavin’s action. After all it had saved one of their own. But Gavin knew that after they had entered the precinct again and Hank went straight to Fowler’s office, he was done for. Richard hadn’t spoken a word, except for a shocked ‘Gavin!’ upon seeing him lying there bleeding and reassuring mumbles of ‘it will all be alright again, I promise.’ Now the man pulled him right to the breakroom where they had stored a few tools to patch up an android. Richard had heaved him on top of the counter to sit there, before pulling him out of his jacket and shirt to access the damage. Then he had gotten the kit and started working away at Gavin’s wound in total silence.

‘Hank knows’, Gavin finally broached the subject. ‘I know’, Richard answered dismissively. ‘Connor knows.’ ‘I know.’ ‘The whole precinct knows!’ ‘I know!’ Richard had gotten louder, near shouting the last bit. Gavin knew it was him being frustrated, worried and maybe even afraid, but he recoiled all the same.

‘What are they gonna do to me?’, he asked then, his voice merely a whisper. ‘I… don’t know…’ ‘Are they sending me back to Cyberlife?’ ‘They won’t’, Richard answered firmly, but both knew this was a lie. ‘They will want to know what’s wrong with me.’ ‘There is nothing wrong with you! This isn’t fair!’ Richard’s hands were shaking, blue blood dripping from them. ‘Nines. I am a robot. I was never meant to be free. I’m thankful for the time we had.’ ‘I won’t let them kill you, Gav! Not over you doing the right thing. Not for you saving my life because I had been an idiot and coincidentally sticking my head out. I won’t let them kill you.’ ‘And wreck yourself, your carrier in the process?’ Gavin cupped his human’s cheeks and pressed their foreheads together. This way he could see Richard’s tears sharp and clear. ‘Nines, promise me you won’t do anything dumb, okay? Cyberlife wants to know how deviancy works and I doubt they will kill their only lab rat. I will try to fool them as best as I can. I played the obedient machine for so long now, maybe it will slow them down. And there is still hope. Markus.’ ‘His protest will be shut down soon, Gavin. It has always been like this.’ ‘Maybe not this time.’ ‘I don’t want to lose you. I love you, Gavin.’ ‘I love you too, meatbag. I’ll see you again. I promise.’

Richard had been called to Fowlers office afterwards. There had been muffled screaming, Fowler jumping from his chair and shouting back, Richard not backing down. Gavin knew this stance. Richard had always been passionate and protective, regardless of his often intimidating looks. Gavin couldn’t watch any longer. He stared at the puddle of blue blood on the carpet beyond his dangling feet. He continued to just sit there, trying not to think and to keep his rising panic in check. He had been reassuring, mostly to keep Richard calm. The man would sacrifice his job, his status, himself for a machine and that just wasn’t right. But Gavin himself was at the verge of breaking, because Richard was right, this wasn’t fair.

Hank passed the breakroom following Connor, who looked quite pissed. Gavin had only seen that expression once and that had been as Hank had met him for the first time. The human was hungover and had promptly pushed the larger and without doubt heavier android against a wall, seconds from throwing punches. Now Hank was talking to him, but Gavin didn’t care enough to listen in. That phcking asshole of a mindless robot, if he could, he would just- ‘He loved him, Hank!’ Gavin pressed his eyes shut. Just shut up! ‘He loved that android. And Gavin loves him too. Rich told me, you fucking toaster! They hid it, they hid it well and all would have been perfect. Who cares if the thing is deviant it isn’t a thread to anyone! All I know is that he saved my brother. I still have a brother because of that android. And thanks to you, he will be sent of to Cyberlife, where they do god knows what to him! Do you know what will happen to Richard once he is gone? Do you have just a sliver of an idea? Didn’t think so!’ ‘I’m not gone yet’, Gavin said, suddenly standing next to them. It was meant for Connor, but Gavin turned to Hank, squaring up, although the android was much, much larger than him. ‘I’m not gone yet’, he repeated, underlining every word with a prodding finger against Hank’s collarbone. ‘Don’t speak of me in past tense, I refuse to die. I will come back from there, no matter the cost. I will come back to Richard, I’ll come back to this shitty phcking precinct and if only to kick your goddamn robot ass into orbit! And that is a phcking promise!’

He stomped away from them, taking position by the door. For his part he was ready to be shipped off. He had been thinking about running, but that would only get Richard into more trouble and, if his theory was right, would be far more dangerous than the alternative. A potential deviant stuck in a lab to test on wasn’t a thread. A proved deviant on the loose on the other hand…

Richard came out of that office some time later, coughing from overusing his voice in such a manner. He spotted Connor and Hank, still talking to each other and took a detour to avoid them. He stopped in front of Gavin and pulled him in a tight, awkward hug. ‘Cyberlife is informed. They are waiting for us. I will drive you.’ ‘Thank you.’

The drive was quiet, no radio, no talking. There were quite sobs from the seat next to Gavin and he ignored them to his best ability, watching the road himself to intercept should Richard be unable to react. He was speeding the whole drive until he was granted access to Belle Isle. Then he slowed down, maybe to stretch it out as long as possible. Until they came to a halt in the parking lot, Cyberlife security staff already waiting at the front door. But they just sat there, nobody ready to say a word or move.

‘This isn’t goodbye’, Gavin finally said. ‘Right? Promise me, this isn’t goodbye.’ He had been strong for too long, he had to voice his fears. ‘No’, Richard said. ‘No, not if I can help it. I will do everything I can to get back to you. To get you out of there.’ ‘Just don’t do anything stupid if you can’t, okay? Stay save. I love you.’ ‘Gavin, I-‘ ‘Nines. Please. I will go. Just if this ends bad, I want my last words to you be I love you.’ ‘I love you too, Gavin.’

And then Gavin opened the door, stepped out and went up the stairs towards the entrance.

[>next part]

48 notes · View notes

puddygeeks · 4 years

Text

Wᴇ Cᴏᴍᴇ Rᴜɴɴɪɴɢ - Tʜᴇ 100 Bᴇʟʟᴀᴍʏ x OC - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 29: Wᴏʟғ Iɴ Sʜᴇᴇᴘ's Cʟᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ

Masterlist

Episode: We Are Grounders - Part 1

Rating: Mature

Summary: During her time in the Skybox, Indigo formed a precious friendship with fellow outcast Octavia Blake, the girl under the floor. At first they thought their departure from the oppression of the Ark was a blessing, but quickly came to rely on Indigo's keen survival instincts. The 100 struggle to meet the challenges of Earth whilst Bellamy strives to lead the wavering teenagers and his irresponsible attitude fuels constant conflict with Indigo. Their only shared interest is in protecting Octavia and Indigo beings to suspect that there is a deeper cause to Bellamy's seemingly irrational choices. As the consequences of his actions mount up around him, he finally begins to confide in her and she discovers more than she ever bargained for.

Fandom: CW’s The 100

Pairing: OC x Bellamy Blake

LONG TERM ONGOING PROJECT :)

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Non-consent, language, sex, self harm, suicide, anxiety, helplessness, torture, captivity/confinement, alcohol/drug use.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The night seemed to drag on forever as I pushed myself to keep working. I’d lost the feeling in my hands hours ago and my eyes stung from exhaustion. I was constantly aware of the impending danger of attack from the grounders and the risk of being outside the camp walls gave me a healthy dose of fear that kept me awake. Many of the others had either given up or swapped out with someone else, leaving as one of the last few determined workers remaining in place. I was relieved when daylight broke but I knew that Bellamy would find me when he was ready to talk about next steps. I assumed that, like me, he wanted to squeeze every last moment of preparation out of camp that he could so I continued planting landmines with bleary eyes.

“Indigo!” I could barely tell where the voice was coming from through my exhaustion. I glanced around, unable to see the source of the voice but it seemed to be far away. “Indigo!” The call came again and I knew that I had definitely heard it this time. I stood up and turned towards camp. McIntyre emerged from the gate and sprinted towards me in a frenzy. “Indigo! It’s Murphy, he killed Myles and he’s taken Jasper hostage in the dropship! You have to talk to him, he listens to you.” She blurted and my stomach flipped as her words washed over me.

All feelings of tiredness dissolved and I was immediately on high alert. I bolted through the minefield without even considering the danger and sprinted into camp. I could hear shouting in the distance and my mind raced through a million scenarios of what could have happened. I was terrified that I may have misjudged Murphy and that my defence of him may have cost Jasper his life. I hoped that I could still reach him but as I turned McIntyre’s naive words over in my mind, I expected that any chance of reasoning had long passed as I considered the seriousness of what Murphy had already done.

As the dropship came into view, I was shocked to find that the door was open and I watched in horror as Bellamy strode inside. I willed my body to move faster in a desperate effort to apprehend him but I was already at my limit thanks to the sleep deprivation of the last few days. I witnessed someone tumbling down the ramp and Octavia surged forward to catch them. As soon as she lifted them to their feet, I recognised that it was Jasper in her arms. I realised with a crushing panic that Bellamy had traded himself for Jasper’s safety and suddenly Murphy’s change in behaviour made a sickening sense. I knew in my gut that he had been biding his time to get to Bellamy this entire time and I felt a rage boiling inside of me as I threw myself at the rapidly closing ramp, bouncing off it with a thud.

“Bellamy!” I screamed and lashed out in attacking the door, before Octavia attempted to pull me away. “Please, please tell me he didn’t just hand himself over?” I interrogated in terror as I glanced over my shoulder at Octavia and she nodded back tearfully. “God fucking damn you Murphy! If you even think about harming him I’ll tear you apart! You’ll be begging for the grounders when I’m done!” I snarled as I pounded at the door and my words came out with a fury that I couldn’t control. Octavia and Jasper dragged me backwards and I fought against them, lost to the madness of my anger. I landed on my ass and the impact snapped me out of the desperate behaviour. I panted in an attempt to regain control and instead felt myself descending into panic. I pulled my legs into my chest and my hands wound into my hair, tugging at the roots in stress.

“This is my fault.” I wheezed, barely able to get the words out through the manic thoughts that ricochet around in my mind. “I defended Murphy, I protected him, I pushed others to trust him and now I’m going to lose Bellamy to that vile little rat.” I felt myself shaking in terror and my eyes filled with tears. Jasper crouched down and put his hands on my shoulders to steady me.

“This isn’t your fault Indie, we’re gonna get him out of there.” He smiled reassuringly at me, despite the obvious nervousness in his eyes.

“Oh, Jasper!” I gasped, gripping him back in a wave of relief. “I’m so sorry, did he hurt you?” I ran my hands over him to check for any visible harm, hardly able to keep up with my back and forth of my emotions.

“Nothing major, considering he wanted to kill me.” He smiled and I released him from my worried grip. “Raven has found a loose panel, I think we can get in that way. Bellamy knew about it before he went in, so he’s just gotta keep Murphy busy until we can back him up. We’ll get him back for you Indie, so don’t panic yet.” He explained in a calm voice and I startled at this news. I used his steady position to pull myself to my feet.

“I’m coming with you.” I stated firmly, wiping my face and searching for any sign of Raven in the immediate area.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He queries as he scanned me sceptically. I could understand his concern but I was driven by an overpowering need to do something.

“Oh I’m sure, I need to get my hands on Murphy.” I insisted and I felt my voice drop to a low, dark tone as I spoke. “Let’s go.” I prompted and Jasper reluctantly led me to the back of the ship where Raven managed to pop off the panel as we approached.

“There you are, no time to waste.” Raven called back to us, opening the hatch and crawling in on her front. Jasper crawled alongside her and as the passageway was narrow, I had to wait for them to get all the way inside before there was space for me. The very first moment that I saw an opportunity I threw myself inside and crawled through as rapidly as I could. Once I reached Raven and Jasper, there was enough space to crouch and I scanned the space for a way into the main ship. I could hear Bellamy and Murphy speaking above and my stomach lurched at the arrogant tone in Murphy’s voice.

“I’ll have to shoot through the floor. I just need to figure out where Murphy is.” Jasper whispered, frantically searching for somewhere to aim through. I fell into step with him in my eagerness to stop Murphy. Raven gripped onto Jasper’s shoulder to halt him and she nudged me to gain my attention. She indicated up at hydrazine containers above our heads and I sighed in frustration at the sight of them.

“Bad idea.” She hissed, tapping on the containers and it was clear from the sloshing sound that they made that they were nearly full. “Holy crap, there’s tons of it!” She breathed in an excited manner.

“The engines fired late on the way down.” Jasper explained as he scrutinised the containers. He suddenly turned to face Raven, catching on to her excitement. “We can make more bombs!” He gasped and I saw hope glinting in his eyes even in the darkness.

“Can we focus on how you’re gonna get me up there to kill that bastard first?” I hissed, drawing both of their attention with my exasperation. Although I was glad that we’d found something useful, I couldn’t even consider it when I knew that Bellamy was in grave danger right above me.

“Sure but from now on, no shooting. You got me?” Raven instructed, glimpsing between us both for a sign of acknowledgement. As she waited for confirmation that we wouldn’t take any drastic actions a gunshot sounded above and I flinched to face the ceiling in horror.

“Get me up there!” I snarled as I broke into pacing around the space, examining every inch of the wall and ceiling for any possible entrance points. I felt my hands shaking as I ran them across the panels that made up the ship's interior and I knew that I was barely holding back the bubbling storm of emotions inside.

“Indie, you need to stay calm if we’re going to figure this out.” Jasper whispered as he appeared at my side and tried to slow me down, whilst Raven busied herself with some kind of fuse box behind us. I could hear Octavia’s frantic voice through the radio above as I searched and I knew that we were sharing a similar feeling of despair, although she relied on me to save Bellamy from certain death.

“You want her to know you’re okay? Start tying.” Murphy’s condescending voice was clear even through the floor and I struggled to contain the panic as it blossomed in my chest.

“God, he’s going to kill him.” I hissed as I rubbed my head in an attempt to calm down, but I felt as if my brain might explode from the stress at any moment. I couldn’t think straight despite my desperation to come up with a plan.

“I’m fine, just a misfire.” I heard Bellamy’s firm voice respond from above. He spoke in a way that would’ve sounded calm to most people, but I could feel the nervousness in his words and I felt myself becoming breathless. “Now, stop worrying about me and get back to work, all of you.” He ordered, pausing to clear his throat. “And tell Raven to hurry her ass up.” He added with a poignant tone. I thinned my eyes at Raven and she sighed as she continued to fiddle with the wires.

“All right, that’s long enough.” Murphy spoke again, the cool tone of his voice sending chills down my spine. “Tie those two ends together.” He instructed and the realisation of what he was forcing Bellamy to do struck me in a wave of dread. I had to cover my mouth to keep myself from gagging as the unwelcome image of the situation above filled my mind. Jasper came to my side and put a careful hand on my arm.

“He’s making him tie his own noose.” I whispered in clarification, feeling a hot tear roll down my cheek. “Jasper, I have to get up there, I can’t just sit and listen to this.” I hissed between panting as I felt panic overwhelming me again and my chest compressed. I hadn’t felt this powerless in many years and it was a painful reminder of the way I’d felt watching my mother suffer before I had the courage to end it.

“Raven’s working as fast as she can, she’s gonna get that door open, we’ve just got to be ready.” Jasper replied softly whilst observing me closely to see if I had calmed down. When I continued to panic, he decided to try another method. “Or you can put that devious mind of yours to good use and find us another way in.” He prompted with an encouraging smile.

My eyes widened at his words and I slowly came to my senses as they sunk in. I have to find a way to get to them. I separated from Jasper and wandered the space anew, forcing myself to tune out of the conversation above. I caught sight of a small beam of light and all of my focus honed in on it. I ran my hands along the edge of the panel where the light was coming from and could feel air pouring through. “Air vents!” I breathed, remembering that Octavia would use these to sneak around in the skybox. “Jasper, help me get this open.” I called under my breath and he rushed to my side to help me.

Together we strained against the panel in a desperate bid to move it and I could feel that it was starting to budge. I felt confident in the knowledge that it would have been designed to open for maintenance, but the ship was so old that I doubted this had ever been done. With one last desperate push, the panel popped out to reveal a tiny passageway. It wasn’t clear where it led, but there was a bend that light shone in from. I scanned the entrance to see that there was nothing to grip and the space was directly vertical from my position. I glanced back at Jasper for suggestions and he shrugged defeatedly.

“I want you to feel what I felt, and then…” Murphy’s voice carried clearly from the newly opened space. “Then I want you to die.” My eyes widened at the words and I realised that if the sound was carrying that clearly, this passage must lead to them. I made the impulsive decision that I was getting through it, no matter what it took.

“Jasper, boost me up.” I instructed firmly and he studied me doubtfully.

“I can’t get you up as far as the bend, how are you going to move up there?” He questioned as he scanned the space and furrowed his brows in concern.

“I’ll figure it out, we don’t have time to plan. Just get me as high as you can, then stay here and be my backup for Raven’s plan.” I demanded and my words bolted him into place.

He lifted me onto his shoulders with a struggle and launched me up into the cramped vent. I leaned over and managed to wedge myself across the space with my back to one side and feet and hands on the other. It took constant strength to maintain my position and my body shook at the strain. I moved in tiny, controlled movements as I tried to wiggle myself upwards. It was impossible to ignore the events above now, as the sounds echoed through the chamber. I heard something being dragged across the space before Murphy’s stern voice spoke again.

“Stand on it.” He demanded and I already had a clear image in my head of what was happening in there. I heard two steps and could see Bellamy stepping up to the noose in my mind. “Put it over your head.” My breath hitched at the next order and I urged myself to move faster, pleading with any god I could name to protect him. I was almost at the bend now, I just needed a little more time. I concentrated on keeping my grip; one wrong move now would send me flying back to the bottom and would alert Murphy to our presence inside the ship.

“This is insane. The grounders could -”

I heard Bellamy attempting to reason with him before shots were fired again, causing me to involuntarily flinch. I clung to the wall with every muscle in my body and could feel several beads of sweat running down my back. My legs shook in exhaustion and I took a few deep breaths in a dire attempt to calm myself.

“Put it over your head.” Murphy repeated and I breathed a sigh of relief. I took this as confirmation that Bellamy was still managing to stall him and tried to reassure myself. I had to believe that Bellamy could do this, he was holding his side of the bargain, I just had to get to him. I heard the telltale sounds of movement, before Bellamy spoke again in a frustrated tone.

“Happy now?” He spat and I felt my panic blossoming in my chest. This could only mean that the noose was around his neck and I could easily imagine the smug expression that Murphy would be wearing. We were definitely running out of time. I finally reached the bend in the passageway and met my biggest challenge so far to manoeuvre myself onto the horizontal platform that faced me. I put one foot in the section, and one on the wall behind me and tried to steady myself.

“You’re so brave, aren’t you?” Murphy sneered as I leaned my arms forward, stretching my body to it’s breaking point. With a multitude of muscle tearing movements, I launched myself forward and splayed onto the next section. I peeked up to find a grate just above me and took in a sharp intake of breath. I was almost there. “I mean, you came here thinking you’re just gonna turn this whole thing around, that you were stronger than me and maybe one of your friends would come and help you.” Murphy continued rambling in a taunting manner and I shifted onto my knees to reach the grate. I tried to simply lift it in vain hope, but I was quickly disappointed to find that it was screwed down. I grabbed the knife from my belt and began slowly turning the bolts with the point of the blade.

“Well, what are you thinking now Bellamy?” Murphy sneered as I realised that I could see into the space now and was horrified by the scene before me. Bellamy stood on a crate with a noose made from several seatbelts around his neck and Murphy gripped the other end with childish delight. He yanked gleefully at it causing Bellamy to shift onto his tip toes, desperately clinging onto the crate for balance and I could hear his strangled gasps for air. My hands were trembling again and I cursed my fear for slowing me down. Bellamy struggled to keep his hands inside the noose to protect himself and Murphy paced the room, enjoying the act of watching him.

“You know, I’ve got to hand it to you Bellamy. You’ve got ‘em all fooled.” Murphy moved tauntingly close as he spoke and I descended into screaming in my mind. I was still only on the first screw. “They actually look up to you almost as much as they look up to Clarke. Yeah, well, we know the truth, don’t we? You’re a coward.” He spat just as the first screw finally came out in my hand. I quickly moved onto the screw in the opposite corner, hoping that if I could just get enough movement I may be able to prize it open.

“I learned that the day you kicked out the crate from beneath me.” He remarked with bitterness filling his voice. I moved much more frantically this time. My nerves were dissipating now that I knew it was possible to get the screws out with my knife. My fingers bled from my grip on the blade but I carried on without any consideration. “Isn’t that what you said? That you were just giving the people what they wanted, right?” Murphy continued with his verbal attacks and I found myself growing annoyed with his words as well as furious with his actions. The version of Bellamy that he wanted to punish no longer existed; he’d grown so much since Murphy began his exile that it felt as if he were punishing the wrong man.

“I should have stopped them.” Bellamy breathed and I could hear the regret in his tone. I couldn’t help worrying how this level of guilt could affect his mental state and I hoped that he would be able to remain focused.

“Yeah, it’s a little late for that now.” Murphy retorted and I kept working on the second screw. I prayed that Bellamy could keep him busy for just a little longer.

“You think they’re just gonna let you walk out of here?” Bellamy questioned and I was thankful that Raven informed him of the plan in advance so that he knew to keep Murphy talking. I doubted there would’ve been much conversation here otherwise.

“Well, I think the Princess is dead...but I know the King’s about to die, so who’s really gonna lead these people, huh? Me, that’s who.” He spat confidently and I struggled not to scoff out loud. I berated myself for falling for his act. He was undoubtedly delusional if he truly believed that the camp would treat him as a leader after this. “And yeah, maybe I'll have to kill your grounder-pounder little sister-” He began in a jeering tone and I knew in the seconds before it happened that Bellamy was about to lash out.

When he kicked at Murphy, it signalled that I was out of time. I knew that as soon as he stopped focusing on keeping him distracted, it wouldn’t be long before he was killed. Murphy jumped back out of his reach and leapt at the end of the rope, pulling it tight. Bellamy’s boots barely grazed the stall now and he snatched at the noose in a panic. I inhaled sharply as I witnessed the moment unfolding in horror, when the second screw finally dropped out.

“Of course, I might have to kill your crazy girlfriend too...but then again, she seems pretty fond of me since I got back, so maybe I’ll just keep her as a pet.” He provoked. I felt sick to my stomach at his insinuation and I was repulsed by the idea that I’d given Murphy the impression of interest as well as causing Bellamy to react in jealousy. I was about to thread my fingers through the grate to prize it open when a spark from below caused Raven to cry out. Murphy quickly realised that they were not alone in here and he glanced down at the floor with a sadistic smile.

“I’m guessing that’s her right now, looks like I’ll have to kill her after all.” He drawled, storming over in the direction of the sound and firing randomly at several sections of the floor. I put my hands over my head and curled into a ball, anxiously waiting for the gunfire to stop. I heard the sound that Bellamy had trained me to recognise as a gun jamming and I decided that stealth was no longer an option.

I slid onto my back, unable to see the two men any longer and risked kicking the grate. It lifted slightly and so I kicked it at full force with both legs over and over. I was shocked that the loud clanging sound of my attack didn’t draw Murphy to investigate and I became aware of Bellamy choking with a wave of dread. Between kicks I recognised the sound of a punch and hoped that it was Bellamy turning the tide. There was a slight creaking that echoed from above as I finally kicked the grate free, sending it flying out of sight and I frantically scrambled through the opening. As the room came into view, I spotted Murphy manically climbing the ladder out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn’t focus on him as my attention landed on Bellamy. He was hanging from the noose in a limp fashion with his face pointing at the ground in a lifeless expression.

“No!” I screamed in horror as I pulled the pistol from my belt. I hadn’t fired it since he trained me and felt nervous as I pointed it in his direction. I remembered him telling me that the time would come when I would need it and how he praised my excellent aim when I had the right motivation. I couldn’t think of any motivation that could ever be stronger and so pointed the gun at the clasp on the belts, took a deep breath and fired. As the bullet bounced off causing the belt to snap open and release Bellamy, I ran forward to catch him before he could hit the floor. I was unable to take his weight and so I used my body to soften the impact, lowering him to the ground. I laid him flat on his back and he stared up at the room, remaining perfectly still.

“Breathe! Please Bellamy!” I shrieked as I pleaded with him but nothing about his lifeless demeanour changed. I straddled him in preparation to do CPR as I wracked my terrified mind to remember how. Two breaths, thirty compressions. I leaned down to pinch his nose, as I blew two strong breaths into his mouth and promptly sat back up. I heard panicked voices from behind, but I couldn’t tell if they were real and I didn’t have the awareness to tear my attention away from Bellamy. I knitted my hands tightly together and just as they touched the centre of his chest, he coughed violently as he tried to sit up.

“Oh thank you, thank you!” I yelped as I frantically climbed off his lap so that he could turn onto his side and I rubbed his back as he gasped out for air. In my blind panic, I hadn’t even noticed that the door was now open. Jasper and Octavia ran to his side in a panic, dropping to their knees to check on him. I was shaking wildly as adrenaline coursed through me and I couldn’t make out a single feeling in the whirlwind of emotions that tore through my mind. Bellamy didn’t even seem to notice our presence at his side. As soon as he could move, he turned onto his hands and knees and hollered up at the hatch above.

“Murphy!” His voice was guttural and wild, adequately conveying the fury that radiated off him in waves.

He dragged himself up the ladder and was able to force it slightly open with the strength of his rage. Now that I could see that Bellamy was safe and had no ill effects from his brief time in the noose, I was able to push the fear aside momentarily. Instead, his determination reminded me that Murphy was still inside the camp and my anger returned, refuelling me for a fight. I ran from the dropship in a red tinged haze and I couldn’t feel anything other than the need to get hold of Murphy. I knew that there were outdoor grips on the ship that were designed for use during space walks and I climbed them in a frenzy. I could hear Bellamy’s furious threats even through the walls and I continued climbing until I had almost reached the top floor where I knew Murphy was hiding.

As I neared the top level the grips ran out and I searched the ship’s exterior for a way inside. I bashed various panels to check for any movement, but nothing seemed to budge. Without warning I was thrown from the ship by a blast that rang out across camp and fell to the ground, landing on my back in the dirt. I was dazed, unable to properly focus my eyes and there was a sharp ringing in my ears. I could make out a hole in the top of the ship that hadn’t been there before and saw a figure jump out of the hole to break into a run out of camp. I knew this would only be Murphy and so despite feeling winded and disorientated, I forced myself to my feet. Once I stood up straight, I felt my vision clearing and I stalked toward the gates. Although I moved slowly at first, by the time I neared them I had completely returned to my senses and marched towards them in fury.

“I’m gonna kill you Murphy!” I bellowed as I approached, only to be apprehended by two guards who blocked me from exiting the camp. “What are you doing? I have to get out there!” I growled frustratedly as I attempted to force my way past them. A firm set of hands pulled me backwards out of the struggle and I was turned by my shoulders to face Bellamy.

“Indie, you can’t go out there, the grounders will kill you.” He reasoned, gripping onto me tightly to hold me in place. He scanned my face with a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes and I felt my resolve weakening slightly at the sight of him.

“I can’t just let him get away, not after what he did to you.” I argued, feeling tears fill my eyes again as the image of him hanging in the ship flitted through my mind. I shook my head to force it away and Bellamy’s brows furrowed in concern.

“I’m okay, you don’t have to worry about me.” He stated gently before forcing his face into a reassuring smile as he met my emotional eyes. “As for Murphy, the grounders will deal with him.” He declared and I sighed in defeat.

“Someone’s coming!” A frantic cry from one of the guards drew our attention and he turned toward the gate. Several members of camp moved into formation, approaching with guns raised and I waited with baited breath. I’d already been through so many emotions today, I didn’t know if I had it in me to fight the grounders too. “Hold your fire! Clarke and Finn! Open the gate, get it.” I turned to peek at Bellamy with wide, hopeful eyes and we both remained rooted to the spot, hardly able to believe what we’d heard. Jasper jogged over to stand at my other side and as the gate slid open, I almost collapsed at the sight of our two missing members.

“Hey, we heard an explosion, what happened?” Clarke questioned as she ignored the surrounding campers who celebrated their return. Instead, she ran straight to Bellamy for an update and it was strangely comforting to witness.

“Murphy happened.” He announced in a manner that revealed his disbelief at the state of events. Clarke widened her eyes at him and he shrugged. Jasper suddenly rushed forward to hug Clarke and without thinking I hugged Finn tightly. He seemed taken aback but returned the embrace with a chuckle under his breath. As soon as she was free, I hugged Clarke in quick succession as my relief overflowed.

“It’s so good to have you both back.” I breathed as I glanced between them thankfully and I noticed Bellamy’s entertained expression from the corner of my eye.

“Where have you been? Where’s Monty?” Jasper asked, hovering around them nervously and I quickly peered behind them to find that he wasn’t there. I had hoped that only their names had been announced, but it seemed that Monty truly wasn’t with them.

“Monty’s gone?” Clarke replied in a confused voice and I put my hands over my face as I felt my stomach drop.

“Clarke, we need to leave, now. All of us do.”

I heard Finn’s voice but I couldn’t bring myself to care about what they were discussing. All I could concentrate on was Monty. If they hadn’t seen him, I knew that meant that the grounders likely left him to die in the woods, like they had Myles. I lost all hope of him returning and the enormity of that realisation was too much to bear. I turned to face Jasper who seemed to be having the same internal crisis that I was and without a word he pulled me into a hug. I stayed wrapped up in him as the others discussed whether to leave camp or not and we shared a moment of mourning for Monty. We only broke apart to force ourselves to pay attention when Bellamy addressed the crowd.

“This is our home now. We built this from nothing with our bare hands! Our dead are buried behind that wall in this ground, our ground! The grounders think they can take that away? They think that because we came from the sky, we don’t belong here. But they’ve yet to realise one very important fact: we are on the ground now, and that means we are grounders! I say let them come!” Bellamy exclaimed, earning cheers from the riled crowd. I managed to smile at him, despite the whirlwind of emotions that was ravaging me on the inside. After listening to Murphy berate him earlier, I couldn’t help but notice how much he’d grown in the time since we arrived on Earth. I could honestly say that I was proud of both the leader and the person that he was now.

“Bellamy’s right.” Clarke declared as she stepped forward and I was surprised to find her standing with him for once. “If we leave, we may never find a place as safe as this. And God knows in this world, we could be faced with something even worse tomorrow. But that doesn’t change the simple fact that if we stay here, we will die tonight. So pack your things, just take what you can carry. Now.” Clarke urged. I was disappointed with how her message flipped from start to finish and the feeling only worsened when the crowd dispersed without question to follow her orders. Only Bellamy, Finn, Octavia, Clarke and I remained in the centre of camp, staring at each other in a tense silence.

“Help me!”

A small cry caught our attention and we turned to see Raven limping into camp gripping her hip. We moved to surround her and I realised with a feeling of horror that she had been shot when Murphy fired into the floor of the dropship. The guilt of my actions threatened to crush me under its weight, as I analysed that I may have been able to protect her if I’d remained by her side. My solo mission barely took me to Bellamy’s side sooner than her plan and even if she’d still been shot, I could’ve at least found help for her sooner. I almost burst into tears as I considered how long she had been trapped there, desperate for rescue whilst we reunited in campgrounds. Finn immediately lifted her into his arms and carried her into the dropship, but I couldn’t bring myself to move. The overwhelming guilt that fell on my shoulders was the last emotion to push me over the edge into despair. Clarke moved to follow but Bellamy blocked her path with a scrutinising look.

“Clarke, leaving here is a big mistake.” He appealed to her calmly but it was clear from her expression that she wasn’t interested in his opinion on the matter.

“The decision has been made.” She answered coldly before she attempted to push past him and I was frustrated by her unreasonable behaviour. He stepped back in front of her stubbornly and I remained frozen to the spot.

“Crowds make bad decisions, just ask Murphy.” He pleaded and I watched with sympathy as his brows furrowed together. It was painfully obvious that facing the consequences of that mistake today haunted him as I feared. I agreed that this was an overly rash decision and desperately wanted to back him up, but I couldn’t find the strength to step in. “Leaders do what they think is right.” He added firmly with a glimpse in my direction and my heart skipped a beat. I almost burst into tears at hearing him repeat the advice that I’d given the night before and I was thankful that I’d been able to help.

“I am.” She replied with an icy determination. She took one last annoyed glance at him before she stormed toward the dropship and left us alone.

23 notes · View notes

notyetneedcoffee · 5 years

Text

Soul Seer, Pt. 3

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Warnings: None this Chapter, but later

Author’s Note: Takes place right after Avengers 1, with time travel elements and hints of Infinity Wars. Does NOT follow cannon after Avengers.

* * *

Banner and Stark popped up from behind the server banks like a pair of meerkats when the door opened. Steve Rogers entered the room, a stern expression already locked on his face. Stark leaned casually on the wall, cleaning his immaculate nails with the screwdriver in his hand. “Hey Cap, you come to let us know that it’s dinner time, ‘cause you didn’t need to bother. My stomach is getting louder than when big green wants to redecorate.”

“No.” Steve fought to not roll his eyes. “Tell me you’re not doing what I’ve been told you’re doing.”

“Okay.” Tony shrugged. “We’re not.”

“Tony.”

“What?”

“Are you hijacking the SHIELD surveillance on Loki?” Steve frowned.

“Hacking.” Stark corrected. “It’s hacking. And it’s not about Loki, it’s about (Y/N). Having Reindeer Games rattling around in her head has got to be tough enough, I’m not going to hand her over to SHIELD on a silver platter, too.”

“What do you mean?” Steve took in the concerned look on both their faces.

“Now that they know she has this ability, and that she’s got all that knowledge from Loki in her mind,” Banner interjected. “You don’t think SHIELD would use any means necessary to assure her participation.”

“Like, say using footage of her crying and breaking down – a totally normal reaction when you’ve had a GOD shoved in your brain – to prove that you’re unstable and should be committed against your will.” Tony spat.

“You know it’s not beyond them.” Bruce sighed.

“So, you’re just going to turn the camera’s off?” Cap crossed his arms. Not liking the idea, but understanding the dilemma.

“We’re going to fake it.” Stark shrugged. “Jarvis has been recording them for the last several hours. He’s created innocuous scenarios of them in discussions, reading, so on, to replace anything that needs to be replaced.”

“Currently, we have created a time delay of three minutes by stretching out the records by a few seconds at a time. That way we can still monitor what’s going on, but what goes on to the SHIELD monitors is controlled.” Bruce finished.

“And you’re confident this will work.” Steve asked, leaning against the desk. “They won’t be able to tell?”

“They’d have to beat Jarvis’ programming and they can’t.” Stark confirmed. “So, you going to rat on us, Cap?”

“No.” He sighed. “I’ll take a turn monitoring. This needs to stay as quite as possible. How are you going to let (Y/N) know?”

“That’s where Thor comes in.”

* * * * *

Loki sat across the room, sipping on a cup of tea and holding yet another book. He spent more time watching your sleeping form out of the corner of his eye than reading, but those who watched would never know. Even though he placed you in the Dreamless Sleep, the urge to guard over you possessed him.

It took conscious effort to maintain the mask of passive indifference. How was he to mitigate the risk of someone, a mortal no less, knowing his inner most thoughts and memories? He looked at you, internally smirking at the irony that the very reason he felt the urge to protect you was the same reason he would normally kill you.

A Midgardian mortal. The Norns must be laughing their asses off.

Still, Loki admitted to himself, your ability to adapt impressed him. Your grasp of the situation, and the danger, impressed him as well. When you asked to be put back to sleep, he knew it was not physical fatigue you sought to remedy. Your walls were crumbling.

The door opened. Loki did not hide the deep frown.

Thor’s bulk filled the doorway. He approached his brother cautiously, noting your sleeping figure on the bed, as he held out a book. “Brother. I’ve brought you something from home.”

“Your home, not mine.” Loki sneered, yet he snatched the book out of his hand.

“I have spoken with Father about the information you shared here.” Thor sat across from Loki.

“And?” Loki outwardly looked disinterested, but he knew the information would greatly impact his fate. Thor did not immediately answer. When Loki flipped open the book to avoid looking at his brother, he understood why. A new inscription had been written on the inside of his favorite tome.

Written in Thor’s sloppy Vanir. “The iron one has diverted the eyes of the shield so the little one may cry without fear. Your secrets and hers will remain safe from now till two days hence.”

Loki looked up. “What does Odin say?”

“He was,” Thor sighed, “unmoved. However, Mother convinced him to reflect for a night before making any decision.”

“She wishes to make her opinion known.”

“Mother is...” Thor shrugged.

“A force.” Loki grinned.

Thor returned his grin, but it fell away quickly. “I will return as soon as I have news from Odin. We have convinced the powers here not to make a decision until we have a declaration from Asgard. It could be a few days. In the meantime, stay well, brother.”

Loki nodded. “Thank you for the book.”

As soon as the door closed he moved silently to it. Tracing the frame with a touch of his magic to seal the room from any sound escaping, he stood back and waited for someone to rush in. Nothing happened. Magically he rid himself of the clothes he wore, replacing them with soft silk pants and a tunic. Again, no one rushed in. He moved to you, waving a hand over your body clothing you in much the same way. He waited. No one intruded.

Stark was true to his word.

Loki sat beside you, smoothing back your hair and waking your from the Dreamless Sleep. Your eyes opened slowly. The feeling of rich silk on your skin made you smile. Then you realized it was not how you fell asleep.

“Did you change my clothes?” You asked quietly, a little shocked.

Loki smiled. “Yes, pet. With magic. I assure you, nothing inappropriate took place.”

“Magic?” You sat up. “And I missed it?”

“You will have plenty opportunity.” Loki’s long delicate fingers cupped your face. “Stark has managed to blind SHIELD from seeing us for a short time. Your words appeared to have an impact.”

“Oh.” You breathed, just staring at his strong angular features. The wick sharp eyes looked back, turning soft and sorrowful. “Oh. So we’re...” Your chest felt tight. The tension behind your eyes made them burn. “We’re actually alone.”

“I have cast a silence spell on the room.” Loki stroked your cheek. “Even the men posted outside would not hear the loudest scream.”

“What if I can’t stop?” You whispered, feeling as if a storm surge continued to grow over you like a tidal wave from a disaster movie.

“I will be here.” Loki pressed his lips to the skin of your temple.

It began with silent tears, a trickle of wetness trailing down your cheeks. Soon your lungs would not expand to allow you to breathe. Panic sunk its talons into your chest. Fire burned in your throat. Too many pains, too many aches, tried to claw from your heart at once.

Loki held you to his chest, whispering quiet assurances to you. “Breathe, my pet. Let it come. You are strong. It will not break you.”

Pain, fear, anger, betrayal boiled up and ate at your throat like acid. Your fingers wound in Loki’s strong grip. “Fuck!”

A sad, rueful chuckle escaped his chest. “Most apt.”

“How? Fuck, Loki! How do you live with this?” You cried. It wouldn’t stop. Wave after wave crashed into you, stealing your breath and wracking your body. Time lost meaning.

Somehow the room turned dark and you found yourself laying on the bed, curled against Loki’s chest. You held a damp linen handkerchief. The horrid, overwhelming emotions settled. It left you exhausted, raw. Tears still escaped from your tired eyes.

You tipped your head up, seeing Loki’s face calm and passive. Except his eyes held the evidence his own tears. Dropping your head back to his chest, too tired to wonder how you ended up in the position or to question why it felt so comfortable, you buried your face against his chest. He wrapped himself tighter around you.

“Why?” Your voice was hoarse. “Why do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Hold on to it all.” Taking a deep breath, it shuddered upon release. “For so long.”

Loki lay silently for a long time. You could imagine he was arguing with himself about whether or not you deserved an answer. So, you decided make the argument for him.

“Loki,” You began slowly. “I know you would never, ever, entertain the idea discussing such a thing with anyone, especially a mortal.” You felt him tense slightly. “But for whatever reason, I was able to help you. It came with a cost, though. I’ve been in your head, and survived. Now, knowing what I know of you, it puts us in a difficult situation.” You took a deep breath. “You can either trust me and have someone, for the first time ever, that really understands. Or you can doubt me and kill me for what I know.”

He lifted your face, to stare into your eyes. Something unidentifiable burned there. The feelings radiating off him were deep and too complex to pin down. Finally, Loki pressed his lips to your forehead and spoke, his voice thick and deep. “I vow that you shall not die by my hand, though what you ask is not something I can answer yet.”

“Fair enough.” You sighed, relaxing back against him. “What time is it?”

“Your breakdown lasted approximately four hours.”

The absurdity of the way he answered made you giggle.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.” You wiped the last of your tears away. The giggle felt good. “I need to laugh.”

“You need to sleep.” Loki tried to hold you against him.

“No. Tell me a story, something funny, something embarrassing about Thor.”

He sighed, but you could hear the smile in his voice. “Very well. When we were young, Thor took a liking to this particular daughter of one of our father’s generals...”

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, but Loki brought tears of laughter to your eyes and recited tales told to him by Frigga until you drifted to sleep.

TAG LIST

@kneel-before-queen-loki / @thorfanficwriter / @dawnlaufeyson / @theladybiers / @rainbowkisses31 / @dsakita / @geeksareunique / @lbouvet / @buckybarneshairpullingkink / @theneuropsychwriter / @vanillabunn21 / @sammghgecko / @beautifullungs / @badassbaker / @the-omni-princess / @sebbysstangirl

If you would like to added to, delete from or have info changed on one of my Tag Lists, please message me!

#loki x reader #loki layfeyson x reader #loki fic #loki fanfiction

251 notes · View notes

snowpeawritings · 4 years

Note

Oops- Forgot to add that! Scenario please for the DGS ask!

prompt: naruhodou and sherlock’s s/o being blackmailed and forced to falsely testify and theyre in scotland yard?

Reader is gender neutral

CW (CONTENT WARNING): Minor spoilers for DGS 2, drug mention, suicide mention

| Ryuunosuke Naruhodou |

You watched the flame of the candle flicker idly. Their mouths moved but you didn’t hear anything. You couldn’t hear anything. The blood rushing to your ears distracted you from listening to the trial. To others, they thought you were angry that the suspect had slipped past your grasp in your patrol.

To you, the true perp who was watching the trial with a contented smirk.

In order for you to not leap across the room and maul the man, you had to cross your arms under your chest and clutched the sleeves of your uniform with a passion. You probably couldn’t afford a new one so you had to patch the holes yourself.

Him (you had dubbed him the rat man) and the suspect go way back apparently. Far back that they were able to blackmail you of yours and a certain lawyer’s relationship.

It would be the biggest scandal for you and your career hasn’t even started. You were just a fledgling police officer that was too good for the Japanese man and Scotland Yard. If word got out that you were dating him—

You worry more for him rather than your own fate from Barok van Zieks.

His Honor had allowed a cross-examination and asked for the person who was in charge of their beat, you didn’t even let out a noise.

It was only when the defense had called your position in Scotland Yard, then your name. “Are you feeling well?”

It was a question out of courtesy since you’ve been standing on the witness stand without saying anything, but you knew the defense that those words had hidden concern.

You lightly nodded your head. “I’m fine.”

With a flourish of your hand, you brought your right hand above your heart and bowed your chest in a perfect 45 degree angle. “Honorable citizens of the court, please allow me to testify in this esteemed hall of justice!”

| Witness Testimony | What occurred in my beat

“I was patrolling around my beat as usual, the fog hadn’t been as bad as it was a lot of times before so I didn’t have any excuse to miss anything. T’was ‘round the corner of Rose’s Bakery that I spotted the suspect prowling near the dustbins that the bakery had.”

“Hold it!” Yelled Naruhoudo. “These dustbins… These are the same ones that was behind the bakery, correct?”

You nodded. “Same ones that kept filling up with egg shells and bread gone wrong. Thought it was another peddlar trying to get some scraps but his clothes caught me off guard.”

Naruhodou made a hum of agreement. “The suspect’s clothes are quite fashionable, aren’t they?”

The suspect next to you smirked at his compliment and puffed his collar. You had to physically stop yourself from breaking his fingers.

“His entire ensemble is from Claire and Frank’s boutique.” van Zieks added. “I should know, I am a frequent patron of theirs.”

If only, you thought solemnly to yourself as you remember your dull plainclothes back at home. If only people were just as well-off as the Reaper.

“In any case,” you brought the attention back, “it’s still a strange sight for a well-dressed stranger to be near a dump so…”

“I approached and asked him what was he doing there. Before he could answer, I saw the glint of a knife and then he lunged at me!”

“Hold it!” He said again, this time in urgency. “Were you alright?! Did he get you anywhere?!”

You made motions with your hands to calm him down. “Easy easy! I was trained to deal with blokes that pull a fast one on me so I disarmed him just as fast.”

“As expected of Scotland Yard!” The judge said. “And what did you do after you disarmed him?”

The click of a revolver flashed in your mind. His buddy cocking his gun to your forehead as his damn voice still made you punch your bedroom wall.

“… I disarmed him and stated that I was part of Scotland Yard. Because it was too dark, he thought that I was a mugger so he tried to defend himself.”

“It… was too dark?” Naruhodou repeated. “I thought the oil lamp next to the bakery’s door was lit?”

You cussed inwardly, eyes flitting to the man who had his smirk still on his face. He made a motion with his hand; Remember our deal.

“It… was lit.” You corrected yourself, silently berating yourself for having such an obvious slip-up. “I don’t know what’s up with the bloke, he probably has poor vision.”

The suspect made a gasp of offense before glaring at you. “Excuse you but my eyesight is perfectly fine! In fact, my eyesight is so perfect I could count exactly how many freckles His Honor has just from this distance!”

“The suspect shall do no such thing!” The judge exclaimed hastily.

Van Zieks stated your position then last name which immediately straightened your back. “Sir?”

“Do try to keep your stuttering out of your testimony.” He growled before giving you a cold glare. “Else I’ll keep you out of your job.”

You shivered. “Y-Yes sir…”

From your right, Naruhodou hummed before getting the attention of the court. “Your Honor, I request that the information where the lamp was lit be added to the testimony!”

Damn! You hoped that he didn’t catch on to your tell.

“The lamp on the wall was lit but that didn’t stop the bloke from swinging his knife at me!”

“Objection!” The defense yelled, his finger pointing at you. “Officer, you said the lamp was lit, am I correct?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Y-Yes…”

“How strange…” He started, placing his index finger under his chin. “Because in this photo, the lamp appears to have been broken.”

Cripes!

“Broken?” His Honor questioned, bringing up the photo to his face again. “Why, it appears the glass has been shattered!”

Double cripes!

“Officer, what is the meaning of this?!” His honor exclaimed, furrowing his brows.

Your arms wound up below your chest, hands squeezing on your sleeves that you fear your fingernails can tear the cloth. The expenses to repair your coat doesn’t even cover the taste of iron that was in your tongue. You bit the inside of your cheek too hard and you didn’t even noticed it.

“I…” You gasped out. You tried to keep your focus away from the suspect or the rat man, but their annoying smirks were forever imprinted on your mind. You risked a glance at Naruhodou, whose face was beginning to become worried.

You stared at him, your eyes nearly watering and cocked your head to the suspect. You could only hope he got the message as you prepared yourself for your next move.

Whatever you were going to say would cost you your future either way.

“I stand by what I said.” You told the court with finality. “The lamp was lit. It didn’t matter that the glass was broken.”

And with that, the court went in an uproar. Men and women arguing on what you just said, the fact that an underdog of Scotland Yard would ignore a blatant fact. You didn’t care for their screams. You didn’t care for the glower van Zieks was giving you. You didn’t care for the triumphant smirk that the rats had on their faces.

What you did care was the future Naruhoudo had that you wanted to protect.

| Sherlock Holmes |

With a great detective as your lover, you thought that you had nothing to be afraid of.

You couldn’t help it. Even if it gets Tobias fuming, you had to admit that Sherlock emitted a charm that had you falling for. You fell in love with his theater of logic and reason (especially his fleeting touches whenever he slides near you before gliding off elegantly) and you fell in love with his little differences when he was alone with you.

Sherlock would always play his violin when you were around, the soft music gently swaying you to the music until you realize that Sherlock dropped his violin just to slow dance with you in his arms. You love him even more when you saw him taking care of Iris as best as he could until you stepped in, feeling your heart just swell at the warmth when you saw the three of you together like some weird family.

Which is why you cannot tell the entire court about this.

If people know about your relationship with the great detective, it would be the scandal of the century. If people were to find out about his and Iris’s relationship, it would be even more of a scandal than London’s most sought-out man is taken.

“… Officer? Officer can you hear me?”

You blinked out of your stupor when you heard the judge call your name. You were back in the courtroom, on the witness stand, where everyone has their eyes on you, especially him.

Rat bastard thinks its entertainment that you get to suffer standing there while he sits there scott-free. Said he owes the suspect u beat up at your beat and soon, you were the unfortunate soul who got trapped in his schemes. You could barely remember his threats on spreading your relationship to the court but you hoped that with Sherlock in this courtroom, he can point out your discomfort.

…

Who were you kidding. This is Sherlock Holmes. It’s gonna take him and Naruhoudo’s shared brain cell and Iris’s whole brain to figure this out.

“Sorry,” you said, “I’ll get to my testimony.”

You hoped that he was able to catch on.

“… They’re awfully nervous today, aren’t they?” Naruhoudo remarked to his mentor, noting how your eyes shifted from the suspect next to you to the audience of this court. He tried to follow your eyes but you were too fast to flick your sight back to front.

Sherlock hummed, his eyes flicking to your form. He had never seen you this jittery before even if it’s well-concealed. He could’ve brushed off Naruhoudo and said that you were nervous because your lover was watching you but he knew that wasn’t the case. You were the calm and collected other half to his fiery personality. He has you to thank for the times that he wanted to off himself and he would never stop his… addictions when you hadn’t stepped in.

You were the light of his darkest days. Back when Yujin Mikotoba left London and left Sherlock in a stifling darkness. You got him out of this darkness that he doesn’t know what to do if you were to ever go away.

That’s why when he notices you fidget with your sleeves, feet slightly shifting on the floor that he notices something was wrong. His mind racks to find any plausible answer but he can’t quite pinpoint on a good possibility.

He hates not knowing.

“Pish posh, Naruhodou!” He comforted the young man, tipping the brim of his hat. “I’m sure that them being in the same room as THE Sherlock Holmes is sending their heart pounding!”

At least, he hopes that’s just the reason.

#requests #scenario #ace attorney #ace attorney imagines #dai gyakuten saiban #dai gyakuten saiban imagines #ryuunosuke naruhodou #ryuunosuke naruhodou imagines #ryuunosuke naruhodou x reader #dgs sherlock holmes #dgs sherlock holmes imagines #dgs sherlock holmes x reader #smexylenny

40 notes · View notes

katerinawinters · 4 years

Text

Witcher: No Turning Back Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Walking along side of Roach, Ciri swiped away a couple of low hang branches that threatened to catch in her hair. Up ahead, Geralt was leading Roach by the reins over the uneven terrain of the forest. Earlier that morning he told her they were just outside the edges of Olena's Grove in Temeria. Since the night they were attacked by what he called Fleders, vampiric beasts, they had travelled for four more days until finally they dismounted here. Steep craggily cliffs covered with soft layers of leaves, belied the gentle seeming forest's true dangers.

"It is nothing more than a quarry covered in trees, one misstep can cost you a horse at the very least," he had grumbled to her as he carefully led Roach down a crumbling ravine.

Ciri could not help but smile at that. It amused her how much this gruff man of few words loved his horse. Each day since that night of the attack--since he administered to her wounds, she thought with a flush--she had taken over the job of brushing and feeding the venerable Roach. The task was actually rather enjoyable. His dark coat was soft and easy to brush and his tendency to nuzzle her affectionately made the small chore pleasant.

"Ah," Geralt said, stopping up ahead. "There it is."

Excited to know what he was referring to she ran forward to catch up, stopping at his side. Standing just at the edge of the forest they both looked at the gleaming body of water surrounded by tall reeds.

"Is it a lake?" she asked, marveling at the serene beauty of the surprising find.

"No, it’s a river," pointing to their left, he nodded to the mountains that curved around the water on the other side like a great wall. "The water flows from those mountains and comes down here and continues south," his arm panned to their left following the water to show her where it narrowed once more in the distance.

"And, this is where you wanted to go?" she asked carefully, pointing to the ground where they stood.

Geralt caught her eye and grinned. "Not here exactly. Over there," he pointed to across the river towards the mountain side that formed a steep wall on the other side.

Following his pointing finger, she squinted as she tried to discern to what he was pointing at through the tall reeds. Eventually her eyes settled on a dark shape against the mountain wall.

"Come," he commanded, taking up Roach's reins again and walking towards the water.

Pushing their way through the reeds, Ciri was surprised to see a sturdy looking bridge crossing the flowing water. Wide enough for a cart the bridge held them firmly as all three crossed to the other side. Closer now Ciri stopped at the sight of the cottage. Built purposly into the mountainside the cottage only had three sides, using the natural wall of the mountain as its fourth. Only one story high, the stone and thatch roof cottage were definitely worse for wear. Walking closer in Geralt's footsteps they both silently took stock of the house's condition. Surprisingly the thick paned windows still looked in tact behind their shuttered doors. Stones along the corner wall had come loose and crumbled into a pile making a hole that gave them both a peek into the shadowy inside of the place. Looking up, they could see portions of the thatching completely missing from the roof whether blown away in a previous storm or collapsed inward into the house.

Warily she looked over to Geralt, who didn't bother meeting her gaze. Making his usual grumbling noise of disapproval he stepped up to the front door and shoved. It did not move. Ciri was going to question that maybe someone still lived here despite all the signs that said otherwise but before she could even open her mouth Geralt grabbed both edges of the doorframe and kicked in the door.

Giving her the signal to wait, he stepped inside. Minutes dragged by as she shifted impatiently on her feet. Surely the place wasn't that big. Smoke began to billow from the open door and out the various holes in the house.

Alarmed, Ciri stepped hesitantly forward. "Geralt!"

Walking calmly out the door with his nose and mouth buried in the crook of his arm he backed away from the house and stood by her and waited. Covering her own face with her sleeve she gave him a confused look. Silently, he pointed.

As if on cue a handful of vermin started vacating the premises through whatever hole or door they could find. Hopping away from a few scurrying rats charging from the doorway, she and Geralt watched as a large yellow snake slithered out of the fallen corner wall.

As the last few birds flew away and the smoke died down, she turned to Geralt with a knowing grin. "What would your teachers say at Kaer Mohren if they knew you were using your witcher magic for vermin extraction?"

"Why Geralt, I see that your ingenuity and prowess has not waned in these passing years," his tone was so deep and deadpan it took Ciri a full minute before her brain registered his jest.

Laughter flowed through her spreading a smile so wide on her face it almost felt foreign. She could not remember the last time she laughed or even had much of a reason to smile. Turning away from her with an unreadable look, Geralt walked back inside the house, this time allowing her to follow.

Inside they each approached one of the square windows and unlatched the hook locks. Opening the paned windows, they reached out and opened the outer shutters letting in the much-needed light and air. Shafts of sunlight cut through the dusty room revealing its contents. Standing in the main living area they looked around to see a large steel wood stove against the largest wall, with various baskets and old furs tacked against the stone wall. Above them was a loft space still holding a few items covered in dusty cloth. On the adjoining mountain wall there were places that the mountain was cut into making a built-in larder and pantry section next to a narrow wooden table used to prepare food, and on the final wall were three doors.

"Two of the doors lead to small bedrooms, both of which are affected by the hole in the wall. And the third door leads down a hall cut alongside of the mountain to a small privy."

Turning to survey her surroundings again she looked up to meet his silent waiting expression. "This...this is actually a very nice place."

Folding his muscular arms across his chest, Geralt leaned against the doorframe and gave her a matter-of-fact look. "There is no need for false flattery princess."

Ciri flinched at the use of her title. It was a remark of derision she ought to have been used to by now. The only people who said the title with any respect and meant it were all dead now. Nobility meant nothing good in the real world, all it did was cast a giant target on her back and ostracize her.

"I mean it, honest," she implored. "If you mean for us to stay here I honesty have no complaints, I rather like it. It…it seems so peaceful," she could hear the wistful note in her own voice and winced.

Again, the same unreadable looked passed over the witcher's face before he turned and walked outside.

"There is a small stable outside, I will see to Roach for the night. You look around and take stock for what we can use," he ordered.

Nodding, Ciri turned and got to work.

Not surprisingly there was no food in the larder but there were plenty of tools. A few of them a bit rusted and dirty but all seemingly usable. Next to the wood stove, which she didn't notice before was a small domed oven which sat on a block of bricks. Kneeling down, she took note of the metal rack inside before leaning back to see a wooden paddle resting near the structure. Ciri smiled, having spent enough time in the palace kitchens to recognize the small baker's oven for what it was. Two bedrooms with furniture and beds, a loft filled with pots, pans, and other hidden away little items: it all seemed so carefully abandoned she wondered what could have happened to the prior occupants. Walking outside she shivered at the strong breeze that whipped by. Just a few minutes inside the little mountain cottage and she was already appreciative with how warm it was. Circling the other side of the house opposite of the stable, she stopped at the sight of a familiar shape hidden behind a bush. Carefully she approached. Covered by a few old sack cloths she pulled away the material to reveal the prize.

Stumbling backward she nearly tripped over herself as she scrambled to the other side of the house where Geralt stood examining some old horse equipment. Sensing her presence, he turned and gave her a pointed raise of his brow at her obvious excitement.

"You must come and see it for yourself," she exclaimed, waving him to follow quickly.

Following her around the house she pointed at her find with a huge grin. Slowly, like the coming dawn, a satisfied smile spread across the terse man's lips at the sight of the tub. "Let's see if it holds water first."

Hauling the large wooden tub on its side, together they rolled it to the river.

"Even if it can hold water," she rasped as they rolled the heavy item. "We will need a pail. The cottage does not have pumped water or pipes and we would die of old age if we have to use your tiny pot."

Geralt gave her a wicked look, before pushing the giant tub on its base. "Mmm and here I was thinking how much enjoyment I was going to get watching you run a thousand times to and back from the river to fill up my bath for the night."

"Ha, in your dreams witcher!"

"Wait here," turning he ran back to the stable and came out with a large bucket.

Ciri wanted to cry but she forced herself to hold back her tears until they tested the blasted thing. Filling the bucket with water they poured the water in and waited. With narrowed eyes and clipped commands Geralt lifted the heavy tub to one side and had her go to the other and check for leaks. There were none, the water held.

"Please Geralt, please tell me we can bathe tonight," she asked carefully, not sure if the man had other plans for the night.

He gave her a sidelong look that questioned her sanity. "At this point you would have to physically fight me not to take one."

Laughing she helped him roll it back to the house. "Good," she huffed as they pushed it over the door's threshold. "Because we reek."

Filling the tub with what seemed like endless buckets of water, Geralt went outside and collected an arm full of smooth river stones while she brought down the large stock pot hidden in the loft. Placing the rocks in the wood stove that thankfully still worked, he began heating the rocks as she boiled a large pot of water. Working in tandem they were able to clear the living area, sweeping and bringing in the feather filled mattresses from both rooms and moving aside the chairs, they made a makeshift camp in the center of the room. While Geralt knelt and turned the stones in the fire Ciri used a tarp she had found in the loft for a makeshift curtain. After beating the material outside of all the settled dust, the best, she could she strung it up over the rafters so that it hung partially in front of the tub. It would not conceal everything she thought, but a little privacy was better than none in their makeshift living space.

With Geralt's help the steaming pot of water was lowered to the floor and placed in the far corner of the room near a small wooden stool. Gathering their miniscule amount of bathing supplies she hesitantly turned to Geralt.

Before she could even pose the question, he turned and grabbed the large blacksmith tongs he found in the stable and pulled a few of the rocks from the fire. Steam rose off the rocks as they met the cool air just before he dropped them into the filled tub. Sizzling and popping from the cool water's touch he added the stones one by one until the water began to heat.

"Wash quickly if you want to enjoy the water while its hot," he instructed tersely.

Without waiting for her to respond he turned and sat in a nearby chair with his back towards her.

Quicker than ever before Ciri pulled off her tunic and sat on the stool. Dipping her towel carefully into the hot water she began wiping away the days of filth and grime. Absently she could hear the sound of metal being pulled from its sheath and knew without looking Geralt was cleaning his sword. Each night the man inspected his array of weapons with meticulous care, even if there had been no incident between the time he last checked. A few times she had wanted to question the act but stopped herself each time, settling on silence as she simply watched. Carefully and as silently as possible she removed her pants and undergarments to wash her lower half. Finishing quickly, she used one of the sheets she had found as a towel and walked behind the curtain and stepped gingerly into the hot water.

Ciri could not stop the moan of satisfaction that escaped her lips. For a brief but tense moment she listened as the sound of Geralt's polishing strokes paused before quickly resuming. Due to the position of the rocks at the bottom of the tub she was forced to sit with her back towards the wall and her feet towards Geralt's back. She watched as he leaned into his task, attentively caring for the weapon. Dipping her hair into the water, she scooped just a tiny amount of soap from the jar Geralt provided. With little where else to train her gaze she let it settle on his broad back as she soaped and washed her long hair.

"Do you like being a witcher?" she asked, dipping her head back into the water, raising her breasts in the air.

"Mmmm," he intoned deeply.

Seeing that he did not necessarily give any sign for her to cease talking she continued. "Even as the world rebukes you on one hand but calls upon you in their time of need with the other?"

Straightening in his chair she watched as he tilted his head to the ceiling rafter as if in thought, causing his white hair to fall behind his shoulders.

"I manage," he began. "Because I have to, because I've no other way out. I've overcome the vanity and pride of being different, I've understood that they are a pitiful defense against being different. I have lived my entire life by the sword, I am comfortable knowing it will be how I die."

There was something so startlingly different about this man, she realized, something Ciri could not put her finger on. Was it his strength, his inhuman exotic capabilities? She could not determine it. Not once did her chest fill with a tight longing to be simply near a man like it did now. Knights, warriors, princes, sons of the highest nobility, none of them affected her like this witcher did. She just wished she knew what the feeling meant.

Standing from the water she bent and grabbed her makeshift towel by the tub and stepped out. She could have stayed in there all night but she knew Geralt was looking forward to the bath as much as she was. Kneeling down by the grate on the wood stove she picked up the tongs before calling over her shoulder. "Would you like for me to add your stones to the water?"

"Yes," the deep sound of his voice directly behind her nearly made her drop the hot stone between the metal tong's grip.

She had not heard him move from the chair. Carefully holding the wrapped sheet around her naked body, she plucked each stone from the orange blaze and dropped them into the water. Glancing up and over her shoulder she realized she had no need to be self-conscious. Already turned and facing the corner, Geralt was already undoing the snaps to his armor.

Leaving him to his privacy, Ciri hurried to her designated mattress on the floor. Dressing as he did the exact opposite, Ciri sat with her back to him facing the opposite wall with the three doorways. Earlier she had braved the private privy and was thankful to realize it wasn't as nightmarish as she imagined. Pulling out a thick warm dress Goldencheeks had given her, she pulled it over her head before discreetly pulling on her second set of undergarments.

The deep rumbling groan from behind her nearly made her laugh out loud. The sound of water sloshing and more satisfied groaning filled the air as she made herself comfortable underneath the blankets.

"What do you think happened to the people that once lived here? It seems like such a nice home," she reasoned aloud.

Settling into the water Geralt made a contemplative noise. "The last time I passed through this area a woman and her two children were leaving for her sister's house up north after her husband had been killed. I believe it has been abandoned ever since, hidden by the reeds and hidden far back in this forest which is inconveniently too far to the nearest village."

"I wonder if they will ever come back?"

"Maybe, maybe not," he answered, water splashed as he moved about behind her. "It’s not safe to travel long distances especially as a woman and doubly so with children."

God did she know it, she thought. Just thinking of the near misses to her life just trying to find Geralt made her want to bury herself in her covers for days.

"And what of us?" she dared herself to ask.

"What about us?"

What was their life to be from here on out? Did he really mean it when he said he would train her? Were they going to live here for long or move on soon? Ciri had so many questions she wanted to ask but stopped herself from asking, she was still unsure about the brusque man and had no wish to try his patience. "I mean will you still be a witcher and hunt monsters?"

Geralt's laugh was loud and dry. "I will never not be a witcher Ciri," he said with almost a rueful tone. "And if you really mean to ask, what will your future with me now hold? Then the answer is simple my dear girl--you will be trained as a witcher because I know nothing else."

Ciri could not deny the bubble of excitement and fear that surged within her. Staring at the dusty rafters overhead she could see a peek of the night sky through one of the holes in the thatching. It was amazing what a little bit of safety and assurety to one's future could do to brighten one's mood even while sleeping in a forgotten house deep in the woods. Closing her eyes, she listened as the water sloshed and Geralt stepped out of the bath. Quiet as a cat he moved around the room presumably dressing until she could feel his presence right next to her. When they had travelled on the open road each night he had slept upright leaned against a rock or tree allowing her to curl up next to his side. Now with the shutters tightly fastened and the door barred shut she could feel himself relax and lay straight on the small mattress next to her. Warmth radiated from his person as well as from the woodstove. He had told her earlier at her worried expression when he lit it, that the cover of the mountains would block most from discerning the smoke and since the moon was well hidden behind the clouds that night, predators and human alike would only have their nose to follow through the rocky forest in order to find them. For the first time in a long time, she was truly safe.

Sleep had no trouble finding her that night.

#witcher fanfiction #witcher smut #witcher netflix #witcher #the witcher #geralt of rivia #Geralt #geralt fanfic #ciri x geralt #geralt x ciri #fanfiction

29 notes · View notes

fandom-scribe · 5 years

Text

Dick and Dami Week: Day 2 - Paparazzi

Title: Carried by Haters, Spread by Fools, Accepted by Idiots

Word Count: 1,937

Author’s Note: Uh… not much to say. I’m gonna complete these prompts no matter how long it takes :/

Trigger Warning: Implied child abuse. Didn’t actually happen, they’re just ugly rumors, I promise. Implied only by the haters, fools, and idiots ✌🏾

—

YOUNGEST WAYNE THROWS TANTRUM IN MALL

It doesn’t matter.

NEW WAYNE, NEW PROBLEMS: NEWEST ADDITION TO THE BROOD COST THOUSANDS IN DAMAGE

It doesn’t matter.

WAYNE’S BRAT ASSAULTS MAN, DESTROYS STORE

They don’t know anything.

BRUCE WAYNE ABSENT AS CHILD WREAKS HAVOC: WHERE IS HE?

Ignore it.

DAMIAN WAYNE: GOTHAM’S NEWEST DEMON

Ignore it.

BRUCE WAYNE: IRRESPONSIBLE PARENT

Ignore it!

It took everything within Damian to keep the words inside his head. He could feel them burning in the back of his throat like bile, a mantra that would be ineffective until he could hear them with his ears. With a stubborn grunt, Damian kept his lips firmly pressed together. If he spoke, he feared he wouldn’t be able to stop and Grayson might hear. Then Grayson would come and see the various articles opened on Damian’s phone and he would know exactly how much they bothered Damian.

They shouldn’t bother him at all.

Damian squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly, but it didn’t help. He could still see the words on the inside of his eyelids, could feel his body tingling as if the words were imprinting themselves into his skin, permanent tattoos to remind the world of his failures.

Tantrum. Problems. Brat. Havoc. Demon.

Every letter tormented him in a way that nothing ever had. He was Damian Wayne, heir to the Demon and son of the Bat. The opinion of a few sniffling, gossipping leeches should’ve meant nothing to him. But something about the words itched his skin, tearing at his very soul.

Tantrum.

Brat.

He was not a brat. He did not throw tantrums. He wasn’t a child. He was a protector and he was defending his stupid “brother’s” honor, something that everyone would know if anyone had bothered asking him about what happened. Not even Grayson had cared, instead opting to march him to the nearest shelter - Wayne Enterprises - and leaving him in his office with a sharp “Stay” before going off to do damage control.

And stay he did, with nothing but those damning titles on his phone and a faint buzzing in his head.

Damian squeezed his eyes tighter, counting backwards from 10 in hopes of quieting his mind, but the buzzing only grew. The words swam in his brain like angry bees and Damian let his phone drop as he clamped his hands over his ears.

Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it!

The more he tried to erase the words in his brain, the more prominent they became. The buzz in his head grew louder and louder until it was a roar and then-

“Fuck!”

Damian jumped, eyes snapping open and hands falling to his side as Grayson stormed into the office. If the curse word wasn’t alarming enough, the rage behind the man’s usually cheerful blue eyes was enough to make even Grandfather’s most loyal ninja run for the hills. Damian stumbled back as Grayson blew through the office like a hurricane, not stopping until he reached the wall of windows on the other side of the room. “Just what we need! Fucking paparazzi!”

“Huh?” Damian asked dumbly. It wasn’t until then that he realized that the roar in his head wasn’t in his head at all, but was actually coming from the other side of the windows. Feeling somewhat dazed, Damian stumbled towards the window and peered out.

It was chaos, pure and simple. A mob of people swarmed outside of Wayne Enterprises, the crowd dotted with the frequent flash of cameras. Riot would be another good name for it, with all the police and W.E. security guards trying to push the hoard back. Damian swallowed painfully, his throat suddenly dry. He had fought many crowds but this was something else. They were here for him: here to rip him apart, here to expose every flaw and immortalize them for all of Gotham to drool over. One look at Grayson’s thunderous face and dread filled Damian’s stomach. He wasn’t sure if he could count on the man’s protection or not.

“Stay here,” Grayson snapped and, dammit, would he say something else!? Stay, stay, stay, like Damian was a dog or something.

“Where are you going?” Damian asked, pushing himself away from the windows as Grayson stalked back across the room.

“To deal with the crowd.”

“You cannot go out there! Those vultures will swallow you alive!”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, kid, and they won’t leave until they get a couple of statements. They’re like high society policemen, really. Dirty officers that will make up things to get their win, unless you disprove them with the proper evidence. Or words in this case…”

Damian raised an eyebrow as Grayson trailed off into silence, his brows furrowed in concentration as if he was examining a complicated case. Eventually, he gave a one-shouldered shrug, as if whatever he was thinking about was satisfactory enough, and moved to open the door.

“Okay, then I will accompany you! My word will be the greatest of evidence!” Damian exclaimed, puffing his chest out in a show of false bravado.

“Damian…” and the way Grayson said it had Damian deflating before the word was completely said. Grayson’s voice had lost the frustrated edge and icy tone, replaced with a bone-deep weariness that made Damian’s stomach twist with guilt. “Haven’t you’ve done enough for today?”

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.

Except it did. It shouldn’t but it did. Grayson was disappointed in him, again, just like he had been when they first started three months ago. It felt like a huge step back, one that made Damian want to punch something. But he couldn’t. That’s what got them in this situation in the first place.

“Oh no, Dami, please don’t cry!”

The sentence came like a punch to the gut, making Damian suddenly all too aware of the wetness on his cheeks. Grayson’s tone had changed again, this time to pity. He moved forward, arms reached out for the first time since the incident, eyes wide with regret and - no! No! Damian ducked out of reach, scrubbing at his eyes furiously. This was not allowed! Pity was the last thing he needed, the last thing he wanted. If Grayson was going to be mad at him then so be it! Any punishment would be better than this!

“I didn’t mean it like that, buddy, I swear,” Grayson continued and it only made Damian want to scream. Mean it like what? “It’s just not a good idea for you to go out there.”

“But–“

“Damian, you sent a man to the hospital. You destroyed a store. Nothing you say is gonna make this better. They’ll twist your words, paint you in a worse light. Let me handle this-”

“But you do not even know the full story!” Grayson paused for a second, taken aback by the outburst. Damian quickly continued before the man could stop him. “You didn’t hear what he said about Father! What he said about you!”

“It doesn’t matter what he said–”

“He accused Father of committing horrendous acts on you and Todd and Drake! He said that Father was behind Todd’s death, that it was a cover-up because Todd was going to go to the police and tell of Father abusing him! He called you incompetent, was spewing derogatory insults… he - he said that you were nothing but Father’s boy toy.”

At that Grayson simply sighed and shook his head, but it didn’t seem like he was going to interrupt. Damian knew he should stop by the words kept coming.

“I did not mean to attack him. I do not recall doing it, either. One minute I was simply waiting for you, then I heard him and everything went red. The next minute, there were people everywhere. They were touching me, Grayson. Pulling me out of the store like they wanted to hurt me. I did not intend to destroy the establishment, I was simply trying to get away. I could not find you and… and, I did not want them touching me.”

The room fell into silence as Damian finished, nothing but the roar of the paparazzi ringing in their ears. Damian felt small and pathetic, eclipsed by Grayson and lost in the huge room. Grayson was looking at him, regret and pity still shining bright in those blue eyes. He reached out a hand, as if to put it on Damian’s shoulder, but then hesitated before letting the appendage drop back to his side.

Both their shoulders slumped at once. Damian wouldn’t say it, but he didn’t mind Grayson touching him. Maybe Grayson had conditioned to it, but… well, Damian wouldn’t mind a hug right about now.

“Damian I’m sorry. I… I should’ve prepared you for this. Legally, it doesn’t matter what that man said. Freedom of speech and all that, y’know? You could be arrested for what you did. Socially… well, socially, this is the norm, I’m afraid. Those rumors are popular amongst the high society crowd. No matter what I say or how many punches you throw, that’s not gonna change. The rich will always be looking for the newest drama and those rumors are the only way their sick, twisted minds could rationalize playboy Brucie Wayne taking in a young, poor circus freak and a street rat. They don’t understand how the richest man in the city could lower himself to that, I guess. Therefore, Bruce must have a secret. Then Tim got roped into it: he was the heir to a fortune but the rumor wheel had already been spinning for years. Plus with all the bruises me and Jason had, especially around the legs… you can see where I’m going with this. I should’ve warned you. I guess I just assumed I had until your first gala, at least, before you heard something.”

“But that’s not right! Father would never–”

“I know he would never. You know that too, and that’s what’s most important. Maybe once upon a time we could’ve changed public opinion but the gossip rags are persistent. I like to believe that it’s the minority that buys into the bullshit. After all, Brucie Wayne is still Gotham’s sunshine child. As long as he stays on their good side and their good drama somewhere else, you won’t hear a word about those rumors. But there are people that truly believe it and you’re just gonna have to learn how to keep your cool around them. Violence will only make it worse. You understand?”

Damian stood there, stoic and pensive. His eyebrows nearly kissed as he scrunched up his forehead and his body slightly shook from how taut his muscles were. “Dami…” Grayson singsonged. “Dami…”

“Tt. Fine.”

“Great. Now come on.”

“Huh?” Damian eyes widened as Grayson held the door open for him. “I thought you said I had to stay here?”

“You was right, Dami, they don’t know the full story. While hearing it may not help, they should know that it’s their fault. That it’s their rumors that started all this. And I think you should be the one to tell them, if you want. A chance to defend yourself. But only if you’re comfortable with it. It’s a pretty big crowd…”

“I want to do it. I will show them what happens when you slander the name of a Wayne!”

Grayson snickered. “Damian…”

“With my words, of course. Promise.”

“Right.” Grayson gave a huge smile, eyes sparkling with a mischievousness that sent a shock down Damian’s spine. “Now let’s go tell the paparazzi exactly what we think of them!”

#DickandDamiweek2019 #dick grayson #Damian wayne #Nightwing #Robin #Damian is a good brother #and the rumors are awful #paparazzi

68 notes · View notes

vulpinmusings · 5 years

Text

Ski’tar and Friends part 11: An Old-fashioned Akitonian Barfight

This week, Ski’tar, Vemir, and 6 head to the Red Planet in search of a fool.

Episode One

Previously on

In his Traditional celebration of a completed mission and our trio’s advancement to official members of the Starfinder Society, Vemir took Sixer and me out for drinks. The venue of choice this time was a few levels of class above where we’d gone after the Ulmarid incident, with an android bartender that had its own private elevator behind the bar for accessing the higher-end alcohol. My friends each went for Crystal Head vodka, which our bartender was more than eager to tell us the history and fermentation process of, while I just ordered a plain red wine and let my thoughts drift ahead to the future. All that anyone in the Society could talk about was the Scored Stars Incident, so it was only a matter of time before we would find ourselves dealing with the fallout, I was sure.

The following morning, we received a summons from our old friend, Venture Captain Arvin. When we arrived at his office, he told us he had a mission of utmost importance to the reputation of the Society. It turns out that the recent losses in membership weren’t just from lots of deaths and missing folks at Scored Stars, but also from ongoing defections by those who hadn’t been directly involved. For the most part, these quitters had left on good terms and the Starfinders held no ill will toward them. However, there was this one guy, Reynold Talbot, who decided to take a souvenir with him when he left, namely that strange stone we’d found on the Unbounded Wayfarer. The Starfinders had determined the stone was an artifact from lost Golarion; at first glance it seemed to be a Philosopher’s Stone, capable of transmuting objects into more valuable materials like gold, but in truth it was a Charlatan's Stone, capable only of producing the illusion of transmutation. Arvin didn’t know if Talbot knew the truth about the Stone, but the simple fact that he had stolen it from the Society was reason enough to send a team out to retrieve it.

Arvin’s information stated that Talbot had left Absalom Station and gone to Akiton, so it was “home-again-home-again” for Sixer and myself. Before leaving, I decided to kit myself out in some Ysoki refractor armor with an electrostatic defense mod, and spotted a plasma whip that I just couldn’t turn down despite the low likelihood of my ever using it.

Following an uneventful Drift-hop, our shuttle set us down in the underside of the city of Maru on Akiton, and we immediately got to work scrounging for information in our various ways. Vemir checked in with some fellow bounty hunters, and decided to pick up a couple extra marks while he was in the area, Sixer visited some contacts of his own, while I sought out the nearest gathering of Ysoki to tap into the rumor mill. I couldn’t find much of use, but my companions managed to put together an interesting lead. A ship belonging to Abadarcorp, the largest and most diverse corporation in the entire Pact, had recently bought a load of fuel at the small mining town of Tash, and was still there two days later. Suspecting some charlatanry was at play, we rented a dune buggy and drove the two hours out to Tash.

In the good ol’ days, before the advent of the Drift, Akiton was a bustling mining world that produced thasteron, an ore that is used to produce the best fuel for sub-light travel. Nowadays, there’s not nearly as much demand for thasteron, which has resulted the general collapse of Akiton as a global society. Tash is one of innumerable towns that were founded around thasteron mines, and the economic slump hit them hard. I didn’t know of Tash before this mission, but I’d seen a few ghost towns like it during my early scavenger days, so I was surprised when we rolled into town and saw a full-blown party going on at the local watering hole, the Digger’s Dive.

Aside from the jubilant attitude of the primarily human and ysoki crowd, the Digger’s Dive looked like a typical run-down saloon in a run-down mining town: everything made of red mud and imported wood, and the roof providing an almost uninterrupted view of the sky. The bartender was cute ysoki lady who was all too happy to offer us some ysoki mead for a mere credit a mug. Before we could pay, two of the locals butted in to cover our costs as they cheered about the town being saved. With just a few simple questions, we learned that our target, Talbot, had rolled into town a few days ago, sold a full load of fuel that he got from somewhere to Abadarcorp, spread the wealth around town, and then rolled right back out. Nobody knew where Talbot had gone, but they were well aware of at least one of Vemir’s targets, a ne’er-do-well former miner who squatted in one of the mines and came down just to break things and cause trouble. Figuring we could at least collar one bounty while searching for Talbot’s trail, we got up to leave.

Before we got out the door, a Vesk approached us and asked us to join his boss at their table for a minute. Sixer was hesitant, until we received a polite telepathic “please” from the table and realized the boss was a Shirren. I find it hard to refuse a polite Shirren, so I led the way over to the table and sat down. Our new friend was Filt, a high-ranking member of Abadarcorp, and he’d overheard us talking about Talbot. Filt explained that the “fuel” Talbot had sold him had not done the thing fuel is supposed to do, and so Abadarcorp was very interested in making Talbot explain himself. Filt couldn’t provide us any useful information, but he did offer a sizable bounty if we turned Talbot over to him. We agreed, since Captain Arvin had given us carte blanche on deciding Talbot’s fate so long as we brought the Charlatan’s Stone back.

Once again, we prepared to leave the bar and, once again, something stopped us. This time, it was deep yet feminine voice from outside, accusing us of heresy for daring to come into town seeking to harm Talbot, the Hero of Tash. That put the party in the bar on hold, as everyone hastily cleared out through any adequately-sized hole in the walls and Filt and his two bodyguards took shelter in the restroom. Knowing a fight was unavoidable, I threw myself behind the bar for cover while Vemir, Sixer, and Drone prepared to meet our future assailant near the door.

There were two assailants: a sick-looking ysoki and a hulking, four-armed shabbad mystic lady. After the traditional missed opening shot courtesy of Sixer, Vemir swept in for a sneak attack on the mystic while my Drone and I turned our lasers on the ysoki. As sickly as the enemy rat looked, he proved surprisingly durable against constant laspistol fire, although it didn’t take long for him to fixate on trying to tear by drone apart with knife and acid-dart gun in an effort to make the burning stop. He did plug Sixer with a pair of very potent acid darts before focusing on my Drone, though.

As for the shabbad mystic, she hit Vemir with a confusion spell in order to break away from his attempt to subdue her with a garrote, and turned her attention to 6, hitting him with acid darts of her own in between an attempt at a Daze spell and a successful mental barrage.

I danced behind the bar for a bit, shooting the ysoki, until I realized my friends were having more trouble than usual. Leaving my drone to keep up the battle of attrition with the ysoki, I crept out and turned my laspistol on the shabbad. I got her full attention after a few shots, giving Sixer a few moments to pour healing serum on his acid-melted bits, and she hit me with a confusion spell that I narrowly managed to fight through without hurting anybody.

The fight seemed to drag on forever; neither of our opponents showed signs of giving up despite eventually losing limbs to laser or cryo-gun fire. The ysoki managed, just barely, to win his shoot-out with my drone, and about the same time the shabbad suddenly went limp without actually falling over. Thinking she was out of the fight, I slipped around to my wrecked drone and pointed my pistol at the ysoki, giving him one chance to give up. He refused my offer, and my laspistol fried his brains.

I seem to be causing a lot of brain-related deaths all of a sudden.

The shabbad wasn’t actually done, though. She hit me with a mental barrage that dropped me on my tail, and then Vemir moved in to knock her down, tie her up, and cut her leg tendons just for good measure.

Once the dust settled, Filt and his guards emerged and offered us some medkits while we came down from the high of combat.

We had a potential lead to Talbot’s current location now, but we needed more than a bit to rest up, patch up, and get my drone operational before we could do anything about it.

#ski'tar #Vulpin plays #Starfinder

2 notes · View notes