#i think he is largely laying low out of fear of being taken back early also bc sunny doesn't want him far from home | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hxwks-gf · 3 years

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— pretty boy

summary: you’re best friends with the new up-and-coming hero, toshinori yagi. pet names are a force of habit for you, and toshinori happens to be “pretty boy”. despite the nickname, he shows you how serious he is about becoming a hero

pairing: young all-might/toshinori yagi x reader

w/c: 1.9k

warnings: creepy dude grabs the reader against their will, but that’s about it

requested by: @lady-latte (ty for sending this in love!! i need some more toshinori in my life)

“Hey there, Pretty Boy!”

The nickname came as smoothly as silk does, falling from your lips and out into the warm summer air like honey dripping from its comb. It was a nickname that had always felt natural, despite its embarrassing nature. If it ever bothered Toshinori Yagi, he never showed it.

He grinned as you strolled up to him. His blonde hair was sticking out in its usual unruly manner, with the two pieces of bangs that never seemed to lay flat arched over his sweaty forehead. Magnificent blue eyes pierced through your own in the twilight of dusk, cutting straight through the dim glow from the street lamp nearby.

“What are you doing out here this time of night?” he asked, stretching his bare arms above his head, the muscles bulging in his biceps.

“Wanted to see what you were up to,” you replied with a matching grin, and you leaned against the fence. “Working out again?”

“Yeah,” he said, leaning down and picking up a barbell that lay at his feet. He lifted it with ease and began rhythmically curling it into his chest. “School starts again in a few weeks, and I want to make sure I’m absolutely ready for it. Since my Quirk finally activated, I’ve got a lot of training to make up for.”

You pursed your lips and looked down at the concrete. A dandelion weed was pushing through a crack in the sidewalk, stretching itself and its little yellow petals up towards the darkening sky. You glanced back up to Toshinori and smiled again. “I know you’ll be amazing,” you encouraged, your eyes following the barbell in his hands: up and down and up and down. “I heard you got a new mentor.”

“I did,” he said, straining against the weight. A drop of sweat slid down his face as he set the barbell down. “She told me to keep it on the low for a bit, so--sworn to secrecy.” He made a show of locking his lips with an invisible key before tossing it out of sight.

You laughed. “I wasn’t going to ask anyways, dummy. I’m sure you’ll tell me who this amazing new teacher is when the time is right.” After a few seconds, you bit your lip with uncertainty and studied him before asking, “Right?”

Toshinori wiped his brow again and looked at you. “Of course I’d tell you. You’re my best friend.”

“Don’t you forget it,” you chuckled, playfully punching his shoulder. Man, he really put on some muscle over the summer, you noticed, rubbing your knuckles as you pulled your arm back. As he stretched his arms up over his head again, you tilted your head to the side. And a good couple inches. “How...how tall are you, now?” you tentatively asked.

Toshinori relaxed and glanced down at himself. “Dunno,” he said with a shrug. “Haven’t measured myself lately.”

“You really grew over the summer,” you half-heartedly joked, crossing your arms. “Are you...okay?”

His disposition shifted at the question, and for a moment you saw how tired he really was--but the moment passed, and he was back to being Mr. Walking Sunshine. Toshinori flashed you a toothy grin and gave a thumbs-up, “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be? All of my dreams are coming true!”

“Alright, alright,” you conceded. “Just checkin’, Pretty Boy. We wouldn’t want anything happening to the world’s next #1 hero, would we?”

“You really think I can do it?” he quietly asked, bending down to pack up his weights. His face was hidden from you, but you could hear the doubt in his voice.

You reached out and placed a hand on his warm shoulder, feeling the muscles flexing beneath your fingertips. “I know you can do it, Toshi.”

He stood up tall and grinned down at you. “Heh. Thanks, y/n. I know I can always count on you to believe in me.”

“Race you to the end of the block?”

“You know you’ll never be able to beat me.”

“Hey, you’ve got a literal weight to hold you back,” you laughed, already jogging towards the street. “C’mon, that new movie is playing at the theater--loser has to buy the popcorn.”

“I don’t know why you insist on doing this to yourself, y/n!” Toshinori called out from behind you as you started running. He seemed pretty far back, and you used this as motivation to run faster and harder down the city street towards the movie theater. The summer air sung with cicadas as the early stars came out to twinkle in the sky above you. But just as you were getting into a good rhythm, you heard his thundering footsteps on the sidewalk behind you.

“I’ll take my popcorn with extra butter!” he shouted at you as he sprinted by, his blonde hair flying in the wind.

“One day I’ll figure out how you’re cheating!” you shouted back, your lungs already gasping for precious air.

Toshinori’s face was adorned with a triumphant smile as he flew down the length of the street, his duffle bag full of weights strapped to his back. “--and some yakitori to go with it!” he called over his shoulder at you before disappearing around the corner.

You slowed down to a jog, and then to a walk, and you breathed heavily to regain your composure. No matter how many times you challenged him, or how many times he insisted on giving you a headstart--he always beat you. Always.

“You’re going to be the greatest,” you murmured under your breath, deciding to walk the rest of the way to the theater. He usually came back to make sure you were okay, even after beating you. It was almost unfair.

But before you could make it to the next block, an uneasy feeling crept over your skin, and all of the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Suddenly, the quiet street seemed dark and menacing--nothing like it had been only a few minutes ago. The shadowy corners of the alleys shifted and moved out of the corners of your eyes. It felt like you were being watched.

Your feet began to move quicker down the sidewalk, and you tried to keep yourself within the glow of the street lamps as much as you could. Just a few more feet and you would turn the corner and see Toshinori standing there with that smile on his face, and you’d be safe--

“Where ya goin’ this time of night?” a gravelly voice chuckled from behind you, and you felt calloused hands roughly grip your arm. “Pretty thing like you should know better than to be walking around this part of town all alone.”

You froze in fear, your wide, unblinking eyes staring at the end of the block--waiting for Toshi to appear. Any moment now, and he would come charging to your rescue.

“Hey,” the villain growled, his grip on your arm tightening. “I asked you a question.”

“Let go of me,” you managed to whisper, still staring at the street corner. “Please.”

“Yeah? Heh, or what? What are you going to do?”

You winced in pain as his nails dug into the skin of your arm. “Please,” you said again through gritted teeth. “Let go of me.”

“I don’t think I will,” the villain chuckled, and began pulling you towards a dark alley. “I want all of your money, and maybe I’ll reconsider.”

You knew if you used your Quirk in a public setting, you’d get reprimanded by the school and have to face consequences--but you were never taught what the punishment was, if there was any punishment at all, for using your Quirk in self-defense. You didn’t want to lose your shot at a hero’s license--but then again, you also didn’t want to lose your life.

Just as you were about to activate your Quirk while he dragged you into the alley, you saw Toshinori appear from around the corner. He looked confused, like he wasn’t sure what was taking you so long, or where you even were. But when his eyes landed on you in the grasp of a villain, that confusion was replaced by pure rage, and he charged towards you with a wild snarl on his face.

“Let go of her!” he bellowed, and for a moment you were taken aback by the sheer anger that exploded out of him. You had never seen him this way before.

“Hey, hey, take it easy!” the villain stuttered, immediately releasing you and taking a few stumbling steps backward. Toshinori surged past you and grabbed him by the collar, and shoved him up against the building wall.

“You think you can just weasel your way around here and get away with grabbing people?” Toshinori snarled in the villain’s face. He looked at you over his shoulder. “Did he hurt you? Did he do anything to you?”

You quickly shook your head. “No, no--he just grabbed my arm. I’m f-fine, Toshi.” The wavering pitch in your voice gave yourself away.

He narrowed his eyes at you and he turned back to the villain, who was struggling against the iron grip at his throat.

“If I ever see you bothering anyone in this city again,” Toshi spoke to him, his voice dangerously calm, “I won’t be this nice.” With that, he released the man and looked down at him with disgust. “Now get lost.”

The man wasted no more time scrambling to his feet and taking off in the other direction. Toshinori immediately went to your side and took your face in his large hands.

“When you didn’t show up, I got worried,” he said, searching your eyes. That anger and rage was gone; it had now been replaced with concern and fear. “You promise he didn’t hurt you?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and shook your head. “He just grabbed my arm and asked for money, that’s all.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion as he pulled you into his chest for a hug. “I shouldn’t have left you like that, I’m so stupid. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you said, your voice muffled by his shirt. “I’m okay. You saved me, Pretty Boy.”

He pulled away and looked down at you, his blue eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears. With a shaky breath, he put on a reassuring smile and tenderly touched your cheek. “I’ll always be there to save you, alright? I promise.”

“You’re going to be a great hero,” you whispered, returning the smile.

He pulled you in for another hug, his eyes glancing down at the bruises forming on your arm from where the man had grabbed you, a reminder that he wasn’t there for you, and he couldn’t protect you. Toshinori Yagi knew, in that moment, that you would never be harmed by anyone else ever again.

“I like that name, by the way,” Toshi said as the two of you started walking together towards the movie theater. He kept you tucked under a protective arm as he gave you a sideways glance. “You think I’m pretty?”

You rolled your eyes and smacked him. “You know you’re pretty.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, but I like hearing it from you.”

“Alright, fine, you’re pretty.”

“That’s my girl.”

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sweettodo · 3 years

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Professor ⟿ Hisoka Morow x femreader

Includes : smut, student x teacher

Word count : 2,7k

[STUDENT IS AGED, IN COLLEGE]

••

"Please- please sir, I'll do anything, please don't fail me this semester."

Professor Morow sits in his office chair; hand on his chin as he ponders, he did like the sound of you begging.

••

You could cry.

You could drop out right fucking now. Beyond fed up.

Tutor after tutor, study session after study session since ninth grade never did you any justice, even cheating- peeking over to your neighbors left you with an end result of the huge red D's, F's and C's scribbled onto your paper. You were tearing the hair out of your head.

You couldn't write an English essay even if there was a gun being held to your temple; you weren't necessarily illiterate, but you envied your classmates who could throw together a thesis in an hour lecture, not to mention these giant papers which could've driven you to kill.

Today, bright and early in the morning, here you sit in your English classroom writing a timed essay, an essay about the logistics of capitalism, whatever that meant. Headache booming while you wrote illogical sentences onto lined paper vigorously.

You didn't even bother to read over your work; an hour later you're finally standing up from your seat and shuffling down the row, reaching to drop your paper into the basket, "Miss. Y/l/n, have you looked it over?" Professor asks, you smile and nod, he takes it from you.

"I wrote it sir, I don't need to reread it." You retort, he leans back in his chair and raises an eyebrow at you.

"That's not necessarily what I meant; very well then." He smiles, you go back to your seat and wait for class to be over.

Thirty minutes later, kids are gathering up their bags and papers, scurrying out of the classroom to their next lecture, as you walk out of the double doors into the hallway, your last name is being called and you stop in your tracks, turning around, "yes, Mr. Morow?" You respond, stepping back into the classroom, he stands from his desk, hands patting the black button up as he stands, he waits for you to approach his desk, his arms crossed and he seemed a little irritated.

You approach the front of his desk, nervous, "now, you can't honestly tell me this is your best work." He sighs, you swallow hard, slightly embarrassed, he looked completely unfazed.

"W-well, in my defense Mr-" you stutter, he immediately cuts you off.

"There is no excuse for this lackluster paper." He states, you jump out of your skin, his tone threatening. Everyone always knew not to mess with professor Morow, he was strict and rarely tolerated unprofessionalism. But you- you, always drove him mad, he hated how you acted, he wished he could fail you for the year, being as you were so incompetent.

But that would be immoral or him to stoop that low.

"I should have you rewrite this, do you know how important this is for your grade? Do you want to pass, y/n?" You not, picking at your nails in fear, he was definitely failing you for this semester.

"I'm sorry sir, I try- I really do, it's just I can't bring myself to it." You mumble, head down in total humiliation. "Please- please sir, I'll do anything, please don't fail me this semester." You plead.

Professor Morow sits in his office chair; hand on his chin as he ponders, he did like the sound of you begging.

He sighs and moves towards his bag, opening it and shuffling through papers, pulling out mine, you braced yourself, "you're going to rewrite this, I will swallow my pride and give you a chance, I'd like to see you get higher than a C." He deadpans, you nod, gracious for his generosity.

Handing the essay back to you, "would you like me to do it right now?" You ask, he shakes his head no, closing his bag and picking it up.

"Nope, I'll help you later, you'll have to leave campus for this evening, so clear your schedule." Your eyes widen, he begins walking out, back to you before he peers his head back towards you, "do you want help?"

"Yes, yes sir I do." You sputter, he gives you a half cocked smile.

"That's what I thought." He leaves you breathless as he turns off the lights as he turns the corner out of his class, leaving you there in the barely lit room. You slowly walk out of the empty class, unsure if something like this was even appropriate, 'but it has to be, he's helping you.'

The next few hours would feel like eternity, laying chest up, looking at your ceiling spread eagle bored out of your mind. Waiting for time to pass before you anxiously awaited for later tonight. As you lay there, you hear your phone swoosh, indicating you had just received an email. You sit up and snatch your phone off the bed stand, opening it and seeing an email from the professor.

With an address being the only thing sent to you, you don't bother responding, 'this must be his house,' you spoke out loud, looking at the time on your phone, you might as well get ready, only an hour until you need to leave.

Wearing the same thing you had worn all day, a plain black skirt with a sweater, you just spray perfume over yourself and brush through your hair.

It was only 5pm, but the time of the year brought early darkness; so it was pretty dark by the time you were walking through the parking lot and unlocking your car door. Bag in toe you drive off campus, you scolded yourself for being so, so stupid. How can’t someone write an essay? Not to mention you were at fault for letting it get this bad... a teacher, y/n? A teacher is doing this for you? It was embarrassing.

Soon you're driving up the spiral driveway up towards the large house in your view, nice car in the driveway, lawn well taken care of. It was beautiful. You take off your seatbelt, opening the car door with your bag and keys in hands.

You walk up the path and inhale before you're knocking on the door; waiting a few seconds and the door is opening. Professor Morow allowed you entrance, wearing the same button up and black slacks as earlier in class. We great each other, "follow me, my office is upstairs." He speaks, you follow him up the marble stairs, down the hall and he's opening a beautiful wooden door, a large desk, chairs in front, a couch with a bookcase behind it with stunning red curtains which were closed.

"You have a nice home Mr. Morow, stunning." You breathe, looking around and observing.

"My, well thank you y/n." He hums, sitting in his chair behind the desk, you sit in front of him, taking out your paper along with a notebook and pencil, “I'll have you rewrite, and after each paragraph I'll read it over for you." He says, crossing his leg, you nod.

"I- I wanted to thank you again, for helping me." Yoy mutter, he nods slowly.

"Don't worry, you'll make it up to me." He smirks, motioning to your paper to get you to start; so you do. Starting with your thesis, you spend extra time making sure you think it looked good. You hand it to him and he reads it over, eyes trailing across the page, "not bad, but I know you can write more about the proprieties within some enterprises.” You groaned and quickly started erasing, his hand immediately grabs your wrist, stopping you, “I didn’t say erase it.” He insists, you look up at him, then down at his hand; a big hand wrapped around your wrist obviously didn’t fill your head with appropriate things.

He suddenly stands, walking around the desk and reaches his arm to grab your pencil, his arm flexing next to your head while he rewrites the things you disregarded, your throat hitches, sitting still and tense; intimidated by his cologne aroma and the fact he was inches from you, “what has you so tense?” You internally gasp, heart beating and you see him now standing against his desk to your right. How the fuck could you answer this?

“I-uh, no reason.” You nervously chuckle, he crosses his arms; he didn’t buy it at all.

“Cat got your tongue?” He chuckles, stepping closer to you, you stared up at him, he towered over you, swallowing hard, “no need to be nervous, y/n.” He says. The tension was really thick in the room, you didn’t notice until you found yourself pressing your thighs together for pressure.

“Sir I-” his hand moves, tucking hair behind your ear, instantly silencing you. You’re spinning. Such an authoritative man making you feel small was a new feeling you hadn’t felt before; like you needed to listen to him or else you’d be in some type of trouble.

“I hope you’re paying attention, if you want to do good of course.” He murmurs, dropping his hand back down, you nod slowly, listening to him. “I’ve always known you could be a good girl.” You were stunned, you chewed on the inside of your mouth like crazy as he still stood over you.

“Mr. Morow,” you breathe, nervous, “I need to pass this class.” The desperation in your voice was pitiful, and Hisoka fucking loved it.

He brings his hand up to your jaw, caressing only a little with his thumb, “don’t worry, you’ll get a good grade,” he purrs, thumb running across your bottom lip, agonizingly slow, “open.” Mouth opening immediately. His thumb slides into your mouth and down deeper towards the back of your throat. You look up at him with beady eyes, he licks his lips and smiles.

He pulls out of your mouth, you hesitantly bring your two hands up, lightly touching his belt, his head drops down and he assists you in unbuckling his black leather belt, “my my, such a fast learner, so good.” Your face heats up, fingers working at the zipper of his pants, the tight space was noticeable, the bulge in his pants made you squirm.

Hand grabbing the back of your head, he’s releasing his cock from his open slacks, you braced yourself for the thick and long cock to stab the back of your throat. He holds your hair back out of your face while you’re spitting up the base of his dick, taking the tip between your lips slowly while you looked up at him with those eyes.

Tongue swirling around the tip, his grip tightening on your skull. You push your head further onto him, spit seeping down your chin; taking over, Hisoka pushes your head down all the way to the base, choking and your throat constriction, he groans and pulls you off him quickly, “do you like my cock down your throat princess?” He purrs, index finger lifting up your chin, you nod, he smiles and grabs you from under your shoulder, you stand and he pushes you over the desk, legs locking and you’re held up by your arms.

“Hmm, how about you give me these wrists.” He hums, ripping you off your only stability, side of your face hitting the desk... right on top of your essay. You hear a click followed by another, cold metal now holding your wrists together.

“What, do you just have handcuffs in arms reach for this typa’ thing?” You found it humorous.

Mr. Morow didn’t.

Your skirt flying up, followed by a shard pain on your thigh, you gasp and try to look up; belt in hand, your English professor had whipped you. Hard. Your leg tries to move back but he’s placing his hands on your waist, keeping you still, “tell me, why might your panties be this soaked? I haven’t even touched you.” He had bent down to your ear, vibrations sending you crazy, “do you want me to fuck you? Princess? Fill you up?” You bite down on your lip, he made you tingle just by the sound of his voice.

Another smack of the belt against your ass rings through you and you yelp out in pain, hissing. “Answer me. Go on,” even his soft voice made this sound harsh, you press your forehead against the desk, panting; the pool of wetness most likely slipping down your thighs.

“Fill me up professor, please.” You mewl, he chuckles deeply, the sound of the belt on the floor caused you to sigh out of relief; instead his hands were grabbing your thong, pulling them down slowly and letting them hit your ankles.

“Oh my, so fucking wet.” He hums, pulling apart your ass cheeks to get a better look.

“Sir.” You retort, needy and beyond ready to be fucked at this point.

“Yes?” You tense up, mouth dropping open when you feel his tip stroke up and down your folds, your thighs tremble and shake under his grasp, slowly pushing his throbbing cock into you. You cry out, “use your words, what is it?” He questions you once more.

“So fucking big.” You moan, he pulls your hips further onto his cock; shaping your pussy to his liking, stretching you out and hitting every nerve possible, “oh my god!” His hips finally touching your ass, you twitched and tightened around him, fitting around him accordingly.

“You take my cock so well.” He pulls out, hands tight around your waist as he slowly thrusts you, you gasp and squeal, he didn’t even need to try to hit your gspot. He speeds up, enough to feel that sharp pressure of his head poking at your cervix, his name spilling from your mouth.

“Such a good girl, do you like that?” Ramming into you, your legs wanted to drop as he fucked you numb, his big hand grabs your hair, yanking your head upwards, “answer me.” He grits, you couldn’t, you couldn’t even compose words as he fucked every syllable out of you.

You didn’t answer, he shoves your head down, slamming onto the desk painfully, you wince and he picks up pace, “I told you to answer me,” drilling into you, you’re stomach twisting into a tight knot.

About to reach your hard orgasm, he only fucks harder, screaming out a gasp, “fuck! Your cock feels so good Sir!” You cry.

Your moans and screams were music to his ears, only inching him closer to stuffing you with his kids, “such a good little fruit, you’re sucking me in so good.” He groans, your cum coating his dick, he picked up your arms by the metal chain of the handcuffs, using it as leverage to demolish your insides.

Your wrists sore, makeup dripping down your eyes along with your tears, hair a mess, legs numb and shaking ready to give out, “I’m-I’m gonna cum again!” You wailed, he didn’t change his pace, cock stroking against your sweet spot.

“Do it.” Hips sputtering, only slowing down slightly, you become his cum disposal, dumping his seed into your hot cunt. He’s groaning, panting lightly; throwing your second orgasm into the mix, your slick and his cum pouring down his cock and your thighs, you shook profusely, he massaged your ass with his hands before unlocking the cuffs and pulling you up, dropping to your knees and huffing.

“You took me so well.” He purrs into your ear whilst picking you up by the armpits and placing you in the chair, he wipes under your eyes where most of the mascara was and brushes your hair out of your face, crouching down to your level and pulling your panties over your knees, you lift up a little so he can pull them up completely while watching his every move.

While you composed yourself, he walked back around to his desk, gathering papers together in a stack, “we can finish writing tomorrow, how about that princess?” You smile and nod, relived he wouldn’t put you through the torture tonight.

“Sure,” you say, standing and trying way too hard to walk normally, you pick up your bag and keys, walking towards his office door.

“See you in class tomorrow, professor.”

#hisoka x reader #hisoka smut #hisoka morrow x reader #hunter x hunter #smut #hxh x reader #hxh hisoka #lemon

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oitommothetease · 3 years

Text

Invisible String (12/15)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female reader (Modern AU)

Word Count: 1.9k words

Warning : angst, violence

Getting kidnapped sucked. Majorly. The most important three things that one should keep in mind before getting kidnapped; 1) Call the cops 2) Keep your doors locked 3) Don't leave the safety of your powerful and hot boyfriend. The last one might seem absurd, it's the one you regret the most because it had been two hours since you were abducted from the confines of your apartment and the only person you could think about was James. Maybe you were scared, or maybe it was the drugs that made you a little fuzzy, all you knew was that you couldn't think right. Your mind was reminiscing the image of your boyfriend in your bed to distract you from the man standing in front of you. This strange man was asking you several questions you didn't have answers to and hitting you whenever you told him the truth. The truth being you didn't know anything.

“I'm going to ask you this last time,” He seethed, “Where is Barnes hiding his mother and sister?”

You inhaled sharply, waiting for the inevitable as you answered honestly, “I don't know.”

Although your body was heavily drugged, you still felt the impact of his slap on your face. Blood was trickling down your cheek, some of it seeping through your lips, making you realize the severity of the situation. You were sure his hand's imprint was already formed on your face, and it made you shiver with fear.

It had been hours since a man kidnapped you from your apartment. He was already in your home when you entered, and one syringe at the back of your neck was enough to confirm your compliance. Not that you were strong enough to put much of a fight in front of this large man anyway, but you were strong; you could have at least injured him a little to feel some sense of pride and not this helplessness.

The only thing you knew was that your kidnappers were behind James's family and not money. They probably wanted to hurt them, but since James and his friends never talked about their loved ones or even mentioned them, it was evident that they were being kept far away from their life. A part of you wondered if maybe you hadn't been with James, then you wouldn't have been in this mess either. But another part of you was thankful for James, for making you feel loved and cherished in a way you've never felt before. So, the bigger part of you would be fine if you died tonight because you got to experience that kind of love. The kind of love you never thought you would endure in your life, the kind that people don’t get to feel in a lifetime — which you had the opportunity to feel in a couple of days.

***

Bucky was distraught. After a few drinks with his friends, finally, he fetched his phone to call you, only to find out what had happened. Sam was leaning over Bucky’s shoulder to get a look at your text so that he could tease him, but the picture left him shocked.

Bucky kept staring at the image, hoping this was a sick nightmare, and he would wake up in your bed.

“Buck,” Steve called for his friend. Gently, placing his palm on Bucky's shoulder. “She must be in one of Rumlow’s warehouses. We will get her.”

But no, Bucky couldn’t hear anything that his friends were saying. He couldn't look up from his phone, couldn't shake his eyes to focus on anything except your distressed figure. All Bucky could think about was you — you were held in a foreign environment forcefully because of him. You had been with him for a day, and you were already being hunted by his enemies. He felt so selfish about dragging you in his life.

He couldn't stop thinking about all the wretched outcomes. What if he loses you? What if you never forgive him? What if he never gets to tell you how much he loved you?

“Clint contacted our source,” Sam informed him, “Wanda Pietro will go and check out the possible places where she could be kept, while the rest will lay low till then.”

Bucky finally looked up, he placed the phone down on the table and met the concerned gaze of his friends. He thought about how no one knew about Sam and Steve's daughter, Wanda's girlfriend - Natasha, Peter's aunt, Clint's wife - Laura and their kids. He thought about how no one knew about his own mother and sister. The only reason their families were safe was because no one knew that they were related to them or even existed.

Bucky wasn't naïve, the only reason you were attacked was simply because you meant something to him. He was aware that he needed to protect you from his life, he didn’t think it would be necessary this early. He just got you, and you were already slipping away from his grip.

Furthermore, he knew what needed to be done to keep you safe; he could hide you forever. Bucky wasn’t a selfish man and as much as he wanted you in his arms every second, he couldn't put you in harm's way, and hiding you would be like taking away a part of you. Everything you've worked hard for would be lost, you would not be able to publish your work, you would not be able to leave the house. It would rip any sense of freedom from your life. He couldn’t take all those things away from you just so he could hold you close to his heart. He couldn't do that to you, so he would have to let you go.

***

The plan was simple. They had located the warehouse. Steve and Sam would attack from the back entrance. Pietro, Wanda, and Peter would keep a watch outside and Clint and Bucky would strike from the front entrance. They didn’t need to bring many men because Clint’s source had confirmed that there were only 4 guards with Bucky’s girl. Bucky could have taken down all four of them on his own, but Steve insisted that they should assist him for safety measures. Bucky didn't want Peter out in the field. He was still very young, the only reason he got involved in this was because of his uncle’s murder. He needed the money to gather for his college tuition and help his aunt financially. Peter was hired because he wouldn't take no for an answer and Bucky agreed to his assistance with the club, but barely on the field.

Stealthily, Bucky made his way inside the warehouse with his companions, only to find it empty.

“We gotta check all the floors,” Sam advised, “Steve and I will take the basement, you both take the floors.”

Bucky nodded and made his way to the stairs, clutching his gun tightly in his hold. Clint followed him, mimicking the actions of his friend. The first floor was also empty.

Each empty corridor felt like a wound being pressed over and over for Bucky. He needed to find you, he needed you. He pointed his gun in hopes of finding Rumlow’s men, but was met with vacant rooms. Not only that, but he could hear his heartbeat getting faster. What if you weren’t here at all? What if Rumlow had already hurt you and he was too late? No, he can't think like that. He would get you back safe no matter what.

“Let's check out the second one,” Clint said, and Bucky almost flinched. He forgot that he wasn’t alone.

The second floor wasn't as eerily quiet as the first one, they could hear shuffling of shoes and muffled noises. You were here. Cautiously, they made their way towards the sounds and noticed two of Rumlow’s men. Carefully, Bucky tackled one of them to the ground, covering your captor's throat tight enough for him to pass out. Clint took care of the second one. Two more to go, Bucky thought. Two more and then you'll be safe with him in his arms.

The man that Clint hit made a noise, indicating to the other men about the breach. That was good for Bucky, he didn't want you to see this side of him. He reserved all of his sweet touches for you, and he didn't want you to see those same hands hurt someone. Expectedly, the other two captors made their way towards Bucky and Clint, and both men easily took them out.

Bucky finally made his way inside the room, where you were kept — after being taken away from him. His face fell when he caught sight of the bruises running along your cheek, the fingerprints on your face. You couldn't stifle the fear and the relief as you burst into tears at the sight of him.

You wanted to be strong for him, but you just weren't. Likewise, you were scared and exhausted. All you wanted was for Bucky to tread towards you and hold you.

And that he did.

In three long strides, he knelt in front of you, he took a bloodied knife out of his pocket and started cutting the restraint surrounding your hands. Under any other circumstances, a bloodied knife would have made you nauseated — scared even, but this was James — your James. He wouldn't hurt you.

Softly, he took your left restraint-free wrist in his hand, gently running circles to soothe the pain. He hadn't looked at you yet, he was so focused on your injuries that he didn't see you. You wanted to shout and make him hold you, but only a trembled sob came out of your throat.

You could speak, you didn't have anything covering your mouth. Why weren’t you speaking? Why was he so focused on your wounds and not looking at you?

“Bucky,” you whispered, his eyes snapped up to meet yours and you could see the tears welled up in his eyes. Under any other state of affairs, he would have had a different reaction to you calling him Bucky instead of James for the first time. He was so vulnerable that your words caught him off guard. His eyes were scanning your face for any discomfort or pain.

“Bucky,” you exhaled again, and that broke him out of his trance. His palms instinctively came for your face and you closed your eyes. Carefully, he pressed a kiss on your forehead, eyes, cheeks, nose, and finally to your lips. The kiss was so gentle, soothing even, as if he was scared that his kiss would hurt you. “I’m fine,” you assured him. Without saying a word, he nodded and continued to free your right hand.

It was so easy to get lost in his concerned gaze — to get lost in him.

Bucky was focused, too focused on your wounds and comfort, that he didn’t feel the movement behind him. It wasn't until you felt another prick at your nape and you hissed in pain. But it was too late and by the time Bucky looked up to inspect your uneasiness, the butt of a gun hit him in the head, knocking him unconscious on the floor.

Clint put the gun back in his waistband and made a call to his brother, Brock Rumlow.

TAGS: @bananapipedreams @akkinda10 @rivers-rambles21 @emmabarnes @valsworldofcreativity @boofy1998 @marvel-3407 @mybuck @priii @coffeebooksandfandom @ladydmalfoy @shaking-a-jar-of-bees @elizamalfoyy

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n

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archerdaryl · 3 years

Text

I’ll Be Delicate

The reader shows Daryl Dixon that there’s still peace to be found in this world with soft words and delicate fingers.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 2.1k (approximately) Tags: sweet and soft with some humour n gloom, sfw Notes: Anon requested a simple hair braiding fic and I had to be extra and turn it into an entire comfort fic. I’m not sorry.

@bakedcrispss @phoenixblack89 @btsiguess-kpop

Lanterns burnt low and the smell of sage and tobacco lingered in the air throughout the small but comfortable basement on the far side of Alexandria. In the middle of the room was a large sofa, plush with semi-clean clothes stacked up on one half while a sleepy Belgian Malinois lay on the other, still and complaisant.

Daryl Dixon, on the other hand, sat at his makeshift desk by the window. In one hand, a sharp dagger, the other an arrow he had been cutting away at for the past hour. His skin was pink and freckled and his hair damp, freshly showered after a gruelling day outside of the walls that ended in blood and tears.

Losing someone in the community was never easy. He almost felt he should have been thankful it wasn’t somebody he was particularly close to, but that shit hardly mattered since he and Rick had to go back and let the poor bastard’s wife know he wasn’t coming home.

He couldn’t bring himself to think about it now that he was back within the safety of Alexandria, not with all he had waiting for him there. He didn’t think he could cope with where his mind would take him, so instead he took to working with his hands — carving and cutting until his mind emptied and he didn’t have to think at all.

Eventually the stairs creaked and Daryl glowered to himself, figuring it would be Carol checking in on him again. He loved her, she was his best friend, but sometimes she just did too much. When the inevitable knock on wood came, he looked up ready to grunt in acknowledgment. Instead, his features softened, his chest heaving with relief.

It was you.

The corners of your mouth quirked into a sweet smile as you stepped through the doorway. He noticed it didn’t reach your eyes and he reached out to you, taking your hand and gently pulling you closer to him where he could wrap a muscular arm around the back of your thighs and look up at you with those crystalline blues.

You placed your arm around his shoulder, fingers immediately finding their way to the hair at the nape of his neck. You played with it absentmindedly, your sole focus on the man before you, eyes so full of curiosity and care.

“Now how is it you’re cleaner than I am?”

Daryl smirked in response and squeezed you lightly. You were certainly grubbier than he was, but he didn’t care one bit considering grubby was his default state. The old shirt you were wearing was torn at your midriff and it took him a moment to realise it was one of his. He pulled at the tear carefully, thankful only to find a graze rather than something worse.

“Yer back early.” He finally acknowledged.

You hummed in response, fingers now tenderly raking through the archer’s hair to reveal more of the gruff face you liked so much. You took in his features, tracing every scar and drawing together every freckle.

“Mich’ radioed through. Hilltop had one too many people to spare anyway.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, but didn’t question it. If Michonne wanted to grant him a little bit of peace after the day they’d had, who was he to say no? Besides, Hell itself would freeze over before he ever turned you away.

“I like you like this.” You continued, “All soft and warm.”

“Yeah?”

A year or so ago he would have resented being called soft. It was a fighting word, something his idiot brother would use to provoke him into doing something reckless, but when it came from your lips it felt like he was being awarded a Purple Heart.

Sure, you were talking about his shower fresh skin, but that didn't matter. You reminded him that he had been brave and let you in, that after years of being alone and afraid, he had earned the right to be soft.

Pulling away from his grip, your hands came to your belt buckle. You unfastened it and slowly shimmied out of the dark blue jeans that were stained with speckles of old Walker blood. That old shirt of Daryl’s you’d been wearing, tucked in at the waist, fell free halfway down your thighs.

“Like a damn dress on you, girl.”

You shot a playful scowl at him and sauntered towards the couch, moving the pile of clothes to another surface before collapsing onto the cushion with a grunt. Dog perked up and you scratched him behind the ears.

“Not like you to complain.” You sighed.

Watching you like this, comfortable and free, Daryl felt something building in his chest. It wasn’t panic. Maybe it was fear? He wasn’t sure what it was, but he knew he wanted to wrap himself up in you like you were wrapped up in his shirt. Anything to keep you close so he never had to worry about you not coming home.

“Weren’t complainin’.”

It was your turn to reach out to him, coax him over from his attempts of escape. You may have been exhausted, but losing anyone from the community was a nasty reminder of how fragile this life really was.

Daryl stood and mosied over. Dog was comfortable right where he was next to you, though Daryl wouldn’t try to get rid of him even if he wanted to. You shuffled up a bit, angling yourself against the inner corner before tugging on his forearm — a silent plea to give into you and just be. He spent so much of his time looking out for you, making sure you were okay that it also became a way of making himself feel better. You loved him for it, but you desperately wanted to take care of him too.

He finally sat. It was a start. You kept your fingers on his skin, your thumb caressing it gently and he turned his head to watch your hand at work. His eyes soon drifted to your legs. They were bruised but still strong and inviting. You pulled at him again and he finally met your gaze.

“I’m right here.” You assured him, “I’m not going anywhere.”

But you could. That was what was tearing him apart.

Daryl eventually nodded and shuffled up, taking your legs and placing them over his lap so that you were practically sitting on him but not quite. He loved the weight of you, loved you dressed in nothing but one of his old band shirts so that he could flex his hand against the warmth of your thighs. You were his anchor, keeping him from spiralling just by being right there in your arms.

With one arm wrapped around his broad shoulders, you used your free hand to trace the far side of his jaw with your thumb. He leaned into your touch and you sweetly kissed his shoulder before pulling him in closer to you, the hand behind his head now weaving into his hair again.

“Think Dog is getting jealous.”

A soft snort escaped him then, “I’d be jealous too.”

“Don’t need to be. You got me.”

He adjusted his position, allowing himself to lean into you a little bit more. You continued to play with his hair, twirling it between your fingers. The tension in his body slowly began to melt away, evident from the long exhale that drew from his lips.

“Still don’ know how the fuck tha’ happened.”

And that was the truth. To this day Daryl had no idea what you saw in him. You could tell him to his face -- in fact you had -- and he’d still question it. He’d grown up believing he was no good but even if that were the case then, again, who the fuck was he to deny you?

“The world works in mysterious ways Daryl Dixon.” A smirk tugged at your lips, “That and I had to make the first move.”

“Shuddup.” He retorted quickly, “Woulda’ done it eventually.”

It was your turn to laugh. Looking back on your journey together, it was honestly miraculous you’d ended up where you were at all. He was oblivious when it came to women and you weren’t exactly someone that was easy to pin down. Your affection for him snuck up on you, but once it hit you it did so with full force and you weren’t going to risk not knowing.

“I almost wish I’d waited now.”

“‘M glad ya’ didn’t.“ He confessed, squeezing your thigh with his calloused hand, “‘M glad you’re here.”

You pressed a kiss to his temple then wiggled, adjusting your position so that you could angle yourself against him comfortably. You could use both of your hands to play with his hair now. He didn’t even try to pretend he didn’t like it, because he did. He liked all of the attention you gave him.

“So, how would you have done it?”

“Dunno. Don’ matter now.” His brow quirked as he glanced at you, “I kissed ya first. Don’ that count for somethin’?”

Well, there was that. It was one of few times Daryl had truly caught you off guard. You were pissed off about something, wouldn’t stop going on and on at him even though it wasn’t his fault.

“In my defence, you kissed me to shut me up.”

“Worked didn’ it?”

“Haven’t gotten rid of me since.”

Delicate fingers had taken a few thin strands of his hair, tucking them one behind the other aimlessly to form a subtle braid as you both reminisced. You sometimes couldn’t believe how long his hair had gotten, but you quite liked it. You never took too much off when he let you cut it.

“Wouldn’t ever.” He mumbled shyly, “Ain’t gon’ get luckier than this.”

“Not sure I’d call it luck. Been through too damn much for the world not to pay it forward.” You truly believed your words as they spilled from your lips, “We deserve a bit of good. You deserve it.”

Whether he agreed or not, he wasn’t sure how to respond. If it were true, he had already gotten that little bit of good by finding you. He would be perfectly happy if that was all the good he ever got in this new world of blood and rot. He didn’t need anything more. He couldn’t help but wonder if you felt the same.

You were partially preoccupied, braiding his hair gently piece by piece and savouring the sweet moment between you both. His hand caressed your thigh, traced circles with his fingers while you leaned into each other’s touch. It set your skin aflame, poked coals in the pit in your stomach, but you pushed that feeling down until when or if he pulled you in.

Truthfully, you didn’t think much about the future anymore. You couldn’t afford to. It put you on edge, made you panic and do stupid things. It was easier to live in the moment and appreciate what you had, and waking up to Daryl everyday was more than you ever expected to have when you were first taken in at Alexandria. Hell, you felt lucky to make a few friends after being on your own for so long.

You sighed happily as you combed out the loose braid with your fingers and began again, taking thicker pieces of clean dark hair. He smelled like your shampoo which tickled you a little, but you didn’t complain. It wasn’t like he was going to seek out his own. Piece by piece, the braid grew and you could feel him relax further, the circles he was drawing on your thigh growing slower. You bet that if you turned to look, his eyes had closed.

“The hell you doin’ girl?” He finally mumbled.

He always called you that. The way he said it made it feel like there was supposed to be a my in front of it. Sometimes if you were being especially irritating he’d slip a lil in there as if that was supposed to deter you, but it never did.

“Shhh. Stay still.” The response came with a soft chuckle.

As you finished another braid, you admired your work with a grin. His eyes flit open as if he knew you were up to something, brows soon furrowing as he looked at you. It wasn’t long until they relaxed, that smile of yours turning him into putty in your hands.

“Do I wanna know?”

“Do you wanna know I’ve been braiding your hair for the last… however long.” Your words were dry, bordering on teasing, “No, probably not.”

That infamous scowl of his tugged at his grizzly features, though there was no bark to his bite. You cupped his face, gently coaxing it towards you.

“This suits you.”

He thought you suited him too.

#daryl dixon #norman reedus #the walking dead #twd #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #norman reedus fanfiction #norman reedus fanfic #mine

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

The Blood That Haunts Me

post-scratch fic

no pairings

Hotch has a bad heart

word count 6k

In Savannah Hayes’ experience, Saturday’s are typically for parents with screaming toddlers looking for emergency medicine to soothe their fears about whatever toy their child has shoved up their nose or to ask an aged nurse what to do with this croup that just won’t go away. It’s scrapes and bruises from a fender bender with kids just learning to drive and roughly two to three broken arms from seven-year-olds learning to ride a bike without training wheels. With any luck, there will be only one underage kid in a banana bag and the college kids will be in and out for stitches and gone as quickly as they come. There’s always the regulars - older men and women that buzz with the opportunity to be out of their houses even if it’s to withstand the pain of stitches and staples on their thin skin.

Rarely has Savannah faced a Saturday where she knew someone being pulled into her emergency room. Virginia isn’t the biggest place but her friends are young and healthy and Saturdays are for squirmy children and stupid teenagers. When she sees him with his ankles stretched out over the end of the stretcher and a large hand weakly fighting with the paramedic to hold the oxygen mask over her face she’s certain of his identity. She’s good with faces and his is unmistakable.

“You shouldn’t be on break yet, baby.” Derek picks up on the first ring, the sound of Hank babbling loudly in the background making him chuckle deeply as he moves. The phone pinched between his shoulder and cheek, she can hear him pick up their son. Talking back to the baby.

Savannah is sitting in the emergency room, camped out behind the desk as she catalogs patient information. Despite it being a Saturday, the hospital is startlingly pretty timid (knock on wood). When there is a new patient the clatter is noticed. So when Hotch came in, supine but weakly fighting against the oxygen mask pulled down over his mouth, Savannah noticed. Even drugged and combative, he’s distinctly himself.

And as Savannah tells Derek, describes the man she’s quite fond of, he doesn’t believe her. Hotch doesn’t go to the hospital and no one’s heard from him in forever, he’s probably not even in Virginia. Garcia said Jack started high school last fall and if they were home and situated again with no contact then… Well, what are they supposed to do? “Derek--” Savannah can hear the pitch change in his voice. Derek goes from dismissive to genuinely worried and now pulling at strings because no one has talked to Hotch in months (nearly two years) and the idea of seeing him now is terrifying. “I am positive that it’s Hotch.” She leans around the monitor, frowning as she watches some nurses she knows buzz around him. Throwing out words she can’t make out entirely but she can see what they’re doing and it makes her heart jump a little to hear medications that they put orders out for.

Hotch makes a noise - it has to be loud for her to hear it from the distance she’s at. “Baby,” she stands and it makes her heart do a weird clenching thing when she catches a glimpse at his face. Sees that he’s crying and clearly upset. “Derek, he’s getting all kinds of agitated. I’m gonna call you back in a second, okay?” She doesn’t wait for an answer and tosses her phone down on her chair before calling out for one of the nurses she recognizes with a wave.

The nurse smiles when she sees Savannah - she’s got a particular gift with patients like Hotch.

“I know this one,” Savannah says, approaching the bed. “What have you got?”

Savannah doesn’t have all the details on the accident that occurred in 2009 with George Foyet. It’s not Derek’s story to tell and it’s not exactly the easiest one to bring into conversation. She’s aware of vague things like his collapse a few years later from scar tissue that caused him to bleed internally and that Hotch's ex-wife was killed by a serial killer. Mostly, she knows that Hotch is dependable and secure and that when he went into witness protection nearly two years ago his absence had crushed them all. Even if the likes of Emily Prentiss and her just as stubborn as hell husband would never admit it.

“Mild tachycardia and respiratory depression -” The nurse tells her about Hotch’s underactive thyroid, something he’s supposed to take medication for ever since the stabbing damaged the organs function. How it’s throwing his heart into tachycardia and it’s getting worse, not responding to medicine yet.

Savannah may not know what happened with George Foyet but she knows Derek regards Hotch as this infallible wall of a man. One she’s come to understand he thinks can’t ever fall down and one that, despite how fondly he’ll speak about him, annoys the hell out of him. Personally, Savannah thinks Aaron Hotchner is just a sweet man. She likes him and his little quirks. He’s quite the odd pairing when he gets together with Emily and Dave but they’re a funny crowd.

What she isn’t expecting is the mess of scars littering his chest. Experience allows her to date some of them by sight - their distinct shape and coloration clustering them into the same time frame and she can’t imagine how someone gets over half a dozen wounds like that at once. They don’t end there. On his right side, there’s a nearly faded out of existence scar from a chest tube. A puncture wound- something blunt she’d assumed by way of its roundness. Even a few rougher-looking, jagged scars that she assumes are shrapnel because Derek has nearly identical ones.

Savannah is a few moments too late to prevent Hotch from being pulled down by a sedative but he’s fighting it, blinking slowly to try and remain awake. “Hey,” she greets softly, turning his wrist over so she can see IV sight in his elbow. It’s secure and there’s nothing special to note but it’s going to bruise. “Long time no see Agent Hotchner.” She squeezes his fingers, smiling at the recognition behind his eyes even if his lips only form a silent mouthed version of her name.

With a smile - remembering the first time they met and how gently he’d taken her hand before shaking his head and admonishing “everyone calls me Hotch” - she reaches down and fixes his hair. He’s let it grow out since he left the BAU. Derek had been livid when he got word that Hotch wasn’t coming back despite the fact that he too left the unit. “How are you feeling, Hotch? Can I call someone?”

His eyes slide shut and for a moment she thinks he’s given in, sunk down low where his pain and his ailments can’t get him. He taps a finger against her palm and she understands he’s still here. “Morgan?” he rasps.

She nods, “Derek already knows you’re here. I imagine he’ll have the whole crew here in no time.” He grimaces, cracking an eye open to give her a look she understands entirely. She’s only ever faced their smothering worry once when Hank was born but she knows it’s a lot. It’s hard to imagine they’re going to somehow be less present and attuned with him than they with her. He’s not looking forward to that and it’s understandable. “Don’t worry,” she promises, “I’ll have your back when they get here.”

He nods, dull eyes sinking back under his eyelids. She holds his hand until she’s certain he’s fallen asleep.

“So,” the nurse asks softly. She moves and tubes and wires around so that they’re not laying against his bare skin. Folding the blankets over Hotch’s hips and leaving his chest bare. He’s still tachycardic, breathing laboriously through inflamed lungs. “How do you know this guy?”

Savannah sits down on the edge of the bed, taking Hotch’s hand into her own. Working her thumb in gentle, hypnotic motions between his knuckles and smiling sadly at the relieved rasping sigh that leaves his parted pale lips. “Family,” she answers because she’s not sure what the answer really is but in some way… yeah, family.

The nurse nods, going about what needs to be done while Savannah stays on the edge of the bed. She does what she can until she clears her throat. “Hey,” the nurse smiles, sympathetic to the soft faraway look in Savannah’s eyes. “Doctor Hamilton admitted him so I need to take him up to the--”

Savannah stands immediately, nodding. “Yeah,” she lays his hand back down on his chest. Stepping away from the bed, “sorry.” She shakes her head, stepping back as the brakes come up and he’s set into motion. “Second floor?” Savannah assumes.

The nurse nods, “he’ll be in room one seventeen. I’ll let the desk know he’s one of yours.”

Savannah watches him disappear down the hall, met at the mouth of the hall by other nurses and staff nodding as they take him to the right floor. She’d been there long enough to see his heart monitor and to identify the ventricular tachycardia plaguing him. He’ll likely need a pacemaker and she’s already racing to a solution. He’ll need to be monitored after surgery but can go home. Hank’s a little too small still but they have the guest room. If Derek cleans up the mess he lets Hank make in there--

Savannah’s heart sinks to the floor and she turns around. Hit with the sudden memory of the last event she saw Hotch at and remembers slowly that Hotch has a son and someone needs to find him.

All morning something had been off, Hotch didn’t have to say it for Jack to know. The oatmeal was made oddly, Hotch’s hands trembling so much he’d gotten the measurements wrong. Too much brown sugar but Jack hadn’t seemed to mind it being too sweet. He’d been distracted by his oatmeal and unalarmed by signs he hasn’t learned to be aware of. If Hotch had gotten up late or made breakfast and then laid down on the couch then Jack would have noticed. Bad days come frequently and like most storms look and sound distinct.

High anxiety days are an early rise, the sound of lights being turned on and off as Hotch fails to get comfortable in any room. Coming out of his room and finding his father curled up on the couch. His knees drawn up and a pillow pressed into his chest, a heated blanket wrapped around him like a cocoon. It’s lightly tiptoeing around the house so Hotch stays asleep and avoids him once he does move and allows his aching back to stretch out. Jack knows to keep his music down and to call Jessica if Hotch locks himself away.

Though time has dampened it’s severity it’s not impossible to find his father trying to work through untreated PTSD or ride out an intense wave of depression. Leaving him immobile or desperate for a distraction. Jack knows those things. He understands them and, like the blasting siren that screams out before a tornado, Jack knows when to duck for cover and ride out the storm.

But Jack had no idea what a heart attack would look like. What to expect or even if a heart attack had been what he’d seen.

Hands over his ears, Jack Hotchner sinks into the emotionless walls surrounding him. Trying to find the place past his body where everything ceases to exist. Insistently, against his will, he’s pulled back to a decade ago. To the sound of gunshots tearing through the only home he’d ever known. To Emily wiping his tears away with the palm of her hand, their backs to the carnage his father created in the fall. To a hospital not unlike this one where his father was patched up - open wounds covered and drugs numbing his rough edges - until Jack had finally been able to see him. The feeling of his father’s chest, broad and forever, solid as he’d curled his legs into his lap. His father cried softly as he explained what happened, what he’d done.

“Mommy isn’t coming home, buddy.”

Pinching his eyes shut, Jack rocks himself back and forth. He can’t go there. Not alone. He can’t go back to Foyet. He’s too old for those silly games. Too old for nightmares and monsters hiding under his bed. Unaware of the ones still crawling out of his father’s closet, wrapping their cold fingers around his ankle and threatening to pull him into the darkness with them.

You’re never too old for monsters.

Spencer had found the time to confide in Jack about being raised by a mentally ill single mother. His intent was to demonstrate to Jack that not only did he understand the pre-teens intense fury with his father but that the emotions would abate and Jack would have only a few moments to decide what to do next. How Spencer had turned eighteen and had to have his mother committed to an institution. A decision that haunted him but that he ultimately understood it was simply the only option. One day, Spencer clarified, Jack would understand the way his father worked.

Until that moment, Jack had been more or less paying attention. When it came to all things Uncle Spence, Jack typically has a longer attention span and all the patience in the world but the moment Jack realizes this was a one-on-one sort of deal he was done. He wanted out. But Reid stuttered. That one day, and the words had come out so quickly if he’d had a chance Reid would have stopped them, Jack would realize just what that meant. He’d look at his father and all the magic of his childish love would fall away and Jack would be left with his father’s bare bones. And it would be terrifying but, often, that’s all love is: all the bits bleached down to their true forms.

He gets it now, okay? The nutty academic parent with bouts of deep depression, an obsession with their jobs, and no idea how to say I love you like everyone else. He gets the comparison now. Can he be done? He wants to go home. He’s done learning this stupid lesson about love or whatever bullshit this is supposed to represent. When does it end? It’s going to end, right?

Derek Morgan falters in the doorway, stalled like an engine as he stands at the edge of the messy room. Hank hums in Derek’s left ear, bouncing his foot against Derek’s hip as he stands stationary and trying to wrap his head around everything happening. It’s overwhelming. Derek hasn’t seen Hotch in two years and if the sight of him alone - laid out right here - doesn’t bring its own intense wave of anger and longing then the sight of his uncovered chest is it’s own thing as well.

Hotch is on the bed, curled slightly to his right with the blankets leaving his pale chilled skin open. Even with his face turned into the pillow behind his head, he looks deathly pale in comparison to the white bedspread. Entirely too limp, too still as he lays there pulling in breaths audible over the hiss of the canal running under his nose. Nearly drowned out, consumed by the natural hums of the hospital and constant motion of the monitors to his left and the dissatisfied beep of the blood-pressure cuff around his right arm.

Savannah warned him of what he’d find once he got inside in case she got called away to a patient when he got there. She told him the buzz around the staff, what Hotch’s cardiologist thought and it stung to hear her warn him ahead of time what Hotch looked like, worse, she imagined, than what Derek was imaging. Weaker, she’d said as if the word was some sort of betrayal. He’s weak and Derek can’t push him and he’d wanted to advocate for himself but he couldn’t.

With tears in his eyes, he’d promised to be on his best behavior and Derek realized just how awful he and Hotch could be towards one another. How everyone sees it. He’d wondered if… Well, if Hotch hated him for it. They’d been close once. Partners. Haley used to joke she half expected he’d steal Aaron away from her. That old joke used to make Jason laugh so hard, the two of them together were the cause of all his worry and stress. Now…

Well, now Derek is standing in a room that can’t be more than a 120-foot space with far too much equipment in it feeling like he’s never been so far away from Hotch. So disconnected.

Hotch makes a soft sound from the bed, twitching his nose and flexing his fingers. There are more drugs than blood in him, keeping him weak and tired and unable to pick apart his surroundings. Hazy eyes blink open, peeled apart like they each weigh twenty pounds, and the simple act of keeping them open burns. He can’t make out the world around him very well but he sees the empty chairs on his left and the expanse of white all around. The hospital, he knows, and no one showed up.

Maybe they finally got wise and are leaving him to his own devices. Leaving him to rot where he won’t be missed. Sinking into the fibers of the bed and disappearing. They’ll stop pumping him so full of drugs and just let him wilt away. He wants it, craves the nothing he knows he’ll find. No masks or deception or this anger he feels burning and rearing its ugly head. Just nothing.

Derek steps into the room, sniffling to draw in some noise before he steps into Hotch’s line of sight. Hoping not to startle him, as he clears his throat, meeting Hotch’s gaze for only a moment looking down at his shoes. “Just me and Hank,” he offers. He tucks his hands into his pockets. He can feel Hotch still looking at him, hearing those painstakingly slow, labored breaths. He wishes he hadn’t come. To escape all this restless vulnerability.

Hotch’s eyes sink back shut, pale lips parting to mumbling, “Derek,” under his breath. Savannah told him Hotch wouldn’t even likely know he was there. The drugs are affecting his mental facilities, sedating him to keep him calm while they run tests. When he can remember what’s happening he’s scared and when he can’t… he has a baseline memory that hardly differentiates friend from foe. It’s the latter of which Savannah needs him to be aware of because Hotch’s heart can’t handle the stress. His mind is too clouded and his body too weak, he just needs someone to hold his hand. Someone to distract him.

Derek’s expecting a conversation. For Hotch to say something. To apologize for running off or to pay Hank some sort of mind. There’s not even a stiff silence, Hotch looks so weak, so pliant Derek isn’t sure he can even speak. He realizes that despite all the hefty warnings, despite everything that he was told he still walked into this room expecting Aaron Hotchner. He wanted, he needed the man in the suit, with that stern scowl, and gravelly voice. He’d needed the mask and instead he got the man. The man without the armor, just blood.

And it scares him.

It scares Derek that Hotch can’t put up his shields, that he can’t hide and play their cat and mouse game of anger and misunderstanding. They only have blind defeat.

Derek sits down in the visitor’s chair, shushing Hank when he squirms with agitation. Hank immediately starts touching everything in sight. Reaching and leaning dangerously out of Morgan’s lap, to touch the bed and smack his hand against the rail. A sound that makes Hotch’s eyes peel open to slivers before they shut again, unbothered. “Don’t touch that,” Derek pulls Hank into his lap, redirecting his attention.

He knows, from the low whine Hank lets out, that this isn’t going to work for very long. Mercifully, there’s a knock at the door and Savannah peeks her head in. Waving at Hank who fights his limbs out of Derek’s hold to be placed on the floor so he can propel his body in the direction of his mother.

“Hello baby,” Savannah scoops him right up. Grinning at that way he toddles, that quick toddler pace because he doesn’t know how to pump the brakes. How to set himself into motion that isn’t just guided by leaning forward and running.

Derek stands from his chair, clearing his throat and glancing down at Hotch before looking back to his wife and son.

Savannah can see his hesitation, his worry. “Why don’t we go to the cafeteria and get a snack? Hmm?” She jogs Hank up in her arms and he brightens at the offering - knowing pudding or a cookie is coming his way. “Derek?” She offers out her hand to him, “come on. I’ll explain everything to you downstairs.”

“Ugh--” all he can see is Hotch shivering. His skin slick with sweat from the strain on his body but the way he’s curled into the side. Trying to produce warmth where it isn’t. “Just give me a second.” Derek knows he can’t just throw the blanket over Hotch and he works himself up, gets upset just thinking about the mass of awful scars keeping his friend held together. All the old scars are bare for anyone and everyone to see. If Hotch had the presence of mind for it, he’d be upset.

With a gentleness born with great amounts of stress, Derek gently works the lower half of the blanket over Hotch’s leg. He folds the lower half over and hesitates, stares at Hotch, and wonders just how much he’s allowed. Hotch is cold and Derek knows that means his arms too but that crosses their line. They’re never spoken out loud, only shot through glances about trust and touch but Hotch is asleep or maybe lost to his haze of drugs (and Derek’s not really sure if there’s a difference between those two things). So, he picks up Hotch’s hand, swallowing against the uncomfortable swell of his throat when he feels just how cold the other man’s skin is. He tucks Hotch’s hand carefully against his chest.

Hotch’s face twitches, a grimace that makes him jerk his head but he doesn’t move his hand so Derek leaves it. Carefully, still watching and waiting for some explosive reaction but none come. Derek turns the heated blanket up to the highest setting, making sure even Hotch’s shoulders are covered. Tucking the blanket just under his chin.

Hotch groans from the back of his throat, a startling noise that comes with blinding panic. His eyes fly open, darting around the room and to Derek but not seeing. Derek can’t tell if it’s pain or fear but the machine over his shoulder picks up pace, reflecting Hotch’s distress. Hotch swallows thickly, mouth opening and eyes flicking around the room. Twisting, fighting his body in a futile battle where he loses no matter the outcome. Kicking out and dislodging blankets as he’s blinded by his pain.

“Step back Derek.” Derek just stands there, frozen. Savannah grabs him by the arm and pulls him back, allowing other people to come into the room. “He’s okay,” she mumbles, eyes glued to Hotch. He’s fighting blindly, anything and everything. His heart can’t take it, her eyes flick from his bare skin to the monitors. To the staff also taking note. “Derek, we can’t be in here.”

They pull the crash cart close, preparing vials of medicine before their eyes.

“What’re they--” Derek can’t move. He stands there watching them move blankets out of the way. Listening as they pull open a drawer and settle a machine on top and he knows what it is. Doesn’t need to be told what’s happening next. “Savannah.” He stumbles back, shaking his head. The machine wines, a high-pitched squeal that makes Derek’s heart pick up.

He doesn’t see, doesn’t watch.

He’s standing in the hall when the machine fires off. Can close his eyes but can’t unhear the sound of Hotch’s low groan, a punched-out sound but he’s alive. Still pulling in breaths.

“Morgan?”

He was still a baby the last time Morgan saw him. Quickly trying to climb to his father’s height but every bit as graceful as a colt, and angry. Angry with his father for falling into this same repeated history and questioning what he knew. How much of his father’s strength is something else? What does he really know about the man who raised him? Because he got himself a chunk of history, started to understand the man he’d always blindly turned to. His hero. Instead, he got glimpses, stories about the boy his mother knew and he could no longer recognize him.

But standing here now is a whole teenager. Blonde hair grown out and even taller, built unmistakably like his father with all height in his legs and pale.

“Jack.” Morgan stumbles back when Jack collides into him, long arms wrapping around him. “Oh my God,” he whispers. “When the hell did you get so big?” He’s standing there, a whole armful of the kid he used to give piggyback rides to.

Jack pulls away and wipes his eyes, furiously wipes his eyes so that Morgan can unsee the tears streaming down his face. “My-- My dad,” he asks. “Did you see him?” Jack looks at the room, alerted by the sounds coming from within, but Morgan steps in the way. “Morgan is he-- is he in there?” Jack worms his way out of Morgan’s arms, a whole tangle of long limbs.

Hotch would be proud to know Jack is exactly like him, real scrappy. A lot of fight for such a lanky person.

“Jack,” Morgan pulls him away from the door. Despite how much he wants to go to Hotch too, that’s not where Jack should be. That’s not what Jack should see. “Come on, kid. We can’t go in there. Come on.” The fight leaves him easily enough, he’s really just a kid standing there looking for someone to tell him what to do. Anyone to point him where he’s supposed to be.

Jack still wants to turn, as if pulled by strings.

“I called Rossi,” Morgan offers. Something to distract him, something good. “Everyone else? Reid and Garcia and Emily? They’re on their way, okay?” And even with loaded promises Jack can’t find the nerve to respond. Their names used to be a solace. Someone to call when he needs help with his math homework. To show up with books on whatever cool thing he’s into this week. His family.

People he hasn’t seen in forever.

They do come.

Hank’s ambling about, babbling to Morgan as he pulls his father around the waiting room. It’s his excited squeal that alerts them to the other’s arrival. To Reid holding the door open so the others can pass. The pile-up that happens, shocked inhales and silence as they stand there and look at the carnage. At Jack’s tear-stained face and Morgan going where Hank pulls but empty, fearful.

“Uncle Dave?” Jack stands up, wiping at his face with the back of his hand.

Dave smiles, “hey kiddo.” He doesn’t argue against the armful of Jack he gets, just closes him up. “Christ,” Dave whispers. “You’re a giant.”

“What is he feeding you?” Jack turns around and finds Emily and all she can do is laugh as he hugs her too. Finds herself all wrapped up in his long arms. “I’m going to give him a piece of my mind,” she whispers, “letting you get so big.” She squeezes him tight, cups the back of his head.

There’s not much more time for reunions, never much time for anything.

“Aaron Hotchner?”

Never get used to this part either. The sitting. The waiting. The calling.

Savannah was right about the tachycardia.

“With your permission - ” and it’s important that detail be added. That Hotch can’t make this decision for himself anymore and it’s resting entirely on the shoulders of Jessica or Dave and Emily alternatively. That doesn’t mean it’s not like a kick to the gut. A cruel taunt. “We would like to prepare him for the surgery now while he’s stable.” Stable? Is that what he is? Laying back there with defibrillator pads on his chest and sedated to the point that Morgan wasn’t sure Hotch could even recognize him.

Jack sniffles, ducking his head and whispering to Emily. Attached to her hip, clinging to her. She shakes her head and brushes his hair back, “it doesn’t work like that, Jack.” Jack’s lower lip trembles and it breaks Emily’s heart so she interrupts the doctors. Despite the voice at the back of her head telling her this isn’t a good idea. Despite the sour twist in her stomach. The way she knows Hotch wouldn’t want this. “I know there are strict rules,” and that alone should be enough to know they’re likely to be shot down. “Is there any chance he can go back before the surgery? This is his son, he’s fifteen. He’ll be sixteen soon. You’re hardly breaking the rules at all.”

Soon is a bit of a stretch. Jack’s an October baby.

The doctor looks at Jack and sighs like this is really putting him off but nods. “Yeah, quickly. Five minutes, do you understand? You can’t be back there long,”

And Jack thinks he’s won something grand. That he’ll be faced with the same mirage Morgan was expecting. His dad will be sitting back there tall and strong, probably just tired like he’s sick. But he takes one step into the room and wishes he hadn’t come. Hadn’t asked.

They haven’t removed the defibrillator pads on his chest just pulled a blanket over his stomach but that only minimally covers the damage. There are still visibly warped bullet wounds and jagged surgical scars to be seen. But Dave has seen all that. He’d been there to watch the blood spray out when the scar on Hotch’s shoulder took place. Shouted as the gunshot sprayed out and Hotch grunted, being sent back into the wall behind him. But that was… God, that was a lifetime ago when Hotch was just a kid.

Dave turns behind him and sees Jack frozen in the doorway, eyes wide. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Jack nods but he can hardly move, can’t force himself to move further into the room. He’s seen his father shirtless, not enough times to really gather anything but he’s seen the damage of years of this job has caused. But this is different. Jack isn’t six, isn’t watching him shave. He’s standing there watching him pull in laborious breaths, struggling to keep living.

“You know,” Rossi sits down in the visitor’s chair. “When you were born he cried so hard that Gideon had to call me.” He looks back at Jack, watching his face for some inclination that he’s going to either come into the room or run away. “Haley was exhausted but… She was beautiful, always was. No matter if she was showing up at the office to haul your father home by the ear in her pajamas or crying her make-up off in the waiting room waiting for your knucklehead father to get out of surgery.”

But he’s missed the point.

He chances a glance to Hotch, watching his pale face twist in discomfort. “You were born at eleven at night and by that point I was already in bed and done for the night by ten kind of guy.” He can still remember sighing and almost ignoring his phone when it had gone off. “I got to the hospital and your dad was sitting on the floor just outside the room, sobbing so hard I thought he’d pass out.” It’s still pretty surprising he didn’t pass out. “Didn’t think he could do it. You were so small, small, and pink and screaming your little head off.”

Jack huffs, smiling as he kicks at the ground. Looking everywhere but his father or Dave.

“But I picked him up,” grabbed him by his shirt and forced him to his feet. Managing the tough love Gideon couldn’t bring himself to enforce. “I don’t think he stopped crying until he fell asleep. Just sitting there with you in his arms crying.” Rossi sighs shakes his head. “Honestly, you were tiny. Had a-- Had a thing with your heart and…” Rossi had held Jack after Hotch and Haley finally managed to catch some sleep. A nurse had figured he or Gideon one had to be a grandfather, why else would they be there? They’d sat there with Jack for about an hour just gushing over how small and cute he was. Trying to keep the baby content so Haley could get some sleep.

Drowsily his voice cuts through the silence, nothing but a ghost of a whisper. “An atrial septal defect.” It’s all he can manage but it’s enough to get their attention. Jack had been born with an atrial septal defect and they knew about it in advance just after Haley’s pregnancy got tricky. It was just a tiny little hole in his atrium, closed before he was a whole year old. That doesn’t mean it didn’t scare the hell out of them first. Leave them to check his bassinet every few hours. To make sure he was okay, still breathing.

“The doctor said I shouldn’t play soccer because of it.” Jack manages a few steps and comes to the very end of the bed. His fingers just barely touching the bed frame. “But you let me play anyways.”

Hotch clears his throat, shakes his head. “I didn’t. Jessica did.” He grimaces, shifting uselessly to find a position that doesn’t hurt. “Said-- She said if you were anything like me you’d find a way.” He’s talked himself breathless, gasping and fighting to breathe. “Might as well-- Might as well make it easy on myself. Just let you do it.” So he had. He signed Jack up for soccer despite his own fears and went to every match he could. Every practice. Until he was the only parent paying attention.

He coughs softly, setting off a weight and ache in his lungs. “Jessica--” he cuts himself off, coughing until he holds his breath and fists the sheets in his hand to keep from still.

Jack looks away, fixes his eyes on the floor.

Dave calls it. Hotch won’t admit he’s not okay and Dave would venture Jack has that same stubborn-streak, doesn’t want to think that Hotch isn’t okay.

“Come on,” Dave motions for Jack to follow him. “Times up, better get out of here before they kick us out.” Five or so minutes, that’s all they had and that’s passed. “You’ll be fine,” Dave promises.

He struggles to get his breath, to say something coherent. “Wait,” he grabs Dave’s shirt. Hospitals are so cold, they’re scary and miserable and he doesn’t want to be here. He wants to go home. “I’m sorry,” he manages. “I’m sorry.”

Dave pulls Jack on, can’t leave him behind, and can’t stay any longer.

“What did he mean?” Jack asks. He keeps looking back, looking over his shoulder to the room. “Why’d he say that?” He has to run to keep up with Dave’s pace. “Dave, please. Why’d he say he was sorry?”

Dave stops and just stands for a moment, looking at the hall before them. “He’s scared,” Dave answers, finally. “He’s just scared, that’s all.”

He doesn't think he’s going to make it. That’s the horrible ugly truth. That’s why he apologized. Just in case.

“Come on,” Dave holds out his arm. Smiles a smile that doesn't even try to make it to his eyes and wraps an arm around Jack. “It’s going to be okay. You know that?”

Jack looks back over his shoulder once more, to the room. He doesn’t buy it for a second but he nods anyway. “Course,” he answers.

“Good. That’s good.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #savannah hayes #derek morgan #hank morgan #jack hotchner #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid #penelope garcia #jennifer jareau

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poptod · 3 years

Text

Pull the Stars Out of the Sky (And Gift Them to Me), pt. 3 (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Things get busy as the palace prepares for the Pharaoh’s journey to Thebes.

Notes: WC: 5.1k

Warm flame blotted out the stars shining through the marble arches, leaving their light dim and diluted. In each corner of the small room, a floor torch illuminated the rows of papyrus scrolls, fire and shadow dancing as the men at the table conversed quietly. At first you had attempted to follow the topic, but the longer the hours grew the less patience you had. Eventually you found yourself wondering how the Pharaoh did this seemingly every day.

"I think we're getting a little ahead of ourselves," said a man you eventually learned was named Gyasi. He, along with most others gathered at the table, was an old man donned in golden linen, bearing curved lines drawn above his eyes. "We don't have time for such provisions. A number of things has delayed the King from planning earlier, so the journey to Thebes cannot be as detailed or grand as the last years, with Merenkahre."

"But we cannot arrive barren of gifts. As much as the mayor is loyal to the crown, it is good to keep in the graces of those ruling your cities. We can't afford any doubt of obedience," said the man sat on the far end of the table.

"I shall attend to the provisions and gifts myself, if need be," Piye said. Very rarely had they spoken at all this evening, and the deep tones of their nearby voice nearly startled you.

"What of the ships? Our fleet was destroyed and we don't have enough of the right design to carry what Merenkahre's advisors planned for their trips," said another man, whose long hair fell over his shoulders as he spoke.

"If the rest of you agree to tend to the soldiers, and for you the offerings," Ahk turned for a moment to the several priests gathered, "I will go through our models to find the best fit. Agreed?"

"I'm not –"

"It's nearly midnight," Piye interrupted. "The King needs his sleep, as do all of you. If you have any grievances you can bring them up tomorrow."

"... thank you, Piye," Ahkmenrah said, sighing sharply as he buried his face in his hand. "You're all dismissed. Get home and sleep well."

Rings of 'thank you, my king,' came from the men, cloth and cushions shuffling as they rose to their feet. You watched with wide eyes as they left. All who remained in the study were you, Piye, and Ahkmenrah. For the first time in at least several hours there was a quiet surrounding you, which you made sure to appreciate.

The night outside appeared to calm down, leaving only the sound of flowing water and cricket bugs chirping. Not even wind dared to brush through the arches. You sniffed, feeling sleep tug at the bags beneath your eyes. Ahk had gotten up early, and of course he insisted on taking you with him, creating for you a schedule you were very much not used to.

"I'm sorry, Amoke," Ahk said lowly, clearing his throat. "I didn't mean for this to carry on for so long. Are you tired?"

"Uh, yeah," you mumbled as you rubbed your eye.

"I'll see to it that Naguib doesn't wake you two until later. Will you be staying in your regular room or...?" Piye asked, their back turned to overlook the city.

"Inner," Ahk said with a stretch of his arms to the ceiling.

"Coward," Piye said, heading towards the door.

"Hey now, just because you have the body warmth of Ra doesn't make me a coward," Ahk said sternly, pointing a vindictive finger in Piye's direction.

"Right, sir," Piye said before swinging themselves out of the room.

He let out a long, weary sigh as he bent forward, resting his head on the low table. The blanket spread out between your laps shifted, as did the cushions, and though you tried to give him space he pulled himself into you the moment you moved. There he hid himself in you, breathing deep as he fidgeted with the cloth of your skirt.

"Did you have any thoughts about the meeting?" He asked, muffled against your neck.

"Your advisors are disappointed in you for being distracted when it comes to the religious part of the state, but can't realistically say anything since you're good with foreign diplomacy," you said.

What exactly they were planning and why had escaped you, but within the first thirty minutes of genuinely paying attention to the discussion, you'd deduced that with the prior knowledge of Ahkmenrah's and Merenkahre's reign.

"Are your advisors inherited from your father or did you choose them yourself?"

"Most of them are my father's," he said, pulling away from you to look you in the eye. "I know my cabinet needs some reorganizing, but it's not something I can concentrate on right now. Once we return from Thebes... I ask your help in deciding what changes to make."

"Um – that doesn't sound very wise, asking the advice of a civilian," you said, trying to back away from him. As usual, he did not let you, and held tighter to your hips.

"Do you question my judgement?" He asked, though kept a smile on his face.

Your answer to that was yes––very much so. There was no way you could say that, obviously, but you didn't want to lie either, so you stayed silent as he scanned you.

"A King knows what's best, my dear."

In the morning, Naguib woke you, and as he dressed Ahk, the King spoke to you. You had yet to leave the confines of silk sheets, and thus lay on your side with your cheek squished into the mattress as you watched them.

"We've got many a designs for ships, but only five of those are properly big enough to support us, the court, servants, soldiers, and offerings. Of those five there are about.. seven, I think, variations in the sails. We'll need to try each of them. How many ships is that?"

Naguib quickly looked away, avoiding the question. Similarly, you shrugged your shoulders, too out-of-it to formulate the correct answer.

"Thirty-five. Thirty-five ship rides today. Have you ever been sailing before?" He asked as he fiddled with his gold bracelet, turning to glance in your direction.

"No," you said quietly. As revered and important as water was, you still clung to your fear of the depths, and thus had never taken the opportunity to travel by river.

"I think you'll enjoy yourself," he said, with quite the amount of confidence in his tone. You, with insight into yourself, knew otherwise, and shriveled at his smile.

Massive sheets of linen rippled above you, tossed and blown by the eastern wind. The creak of wood sounded beneath your feet, spiking an uneasiness that plagued your stomach, and only worsened by the sway of the massive raft on the battering tide. All that remained to comfort you was the sun, shining blazingly overhead. You combated the burning heat by staying beneath the overhang of the little shack built into the middle of the boat.

Meanwhile, Ahk stood with hair flying in the breeze, his crown long forgotten on the floor. The skirt he wore was the only thing on his body now, allowing rays of sun to shine off the sheen of sweat worked up by his succinct movements. Mid-air he caught a rope in his palm, twisting it so it wrapped around his hand, and tugging harsh till the sail calmed itself. The billows dissipated into a smooth pillow of white, standing like a cloud against the blue sky.

"What do you think so far, Amoke?" Ahk asked above the splashing waves and muting wind.

"Takes an awful lot of effort, don't you think?"

"I suppose so," he said, panting lightly as he released the rope and headed towards you. "I won't be doing the sailing on the way there, however. At least not most of the time. We'll have our soldiers do that. Besides, this ship is large. Perhaps it is the sail hindering our work."

Our work. He could galavant off to wherever he wanted to, fix the entire problem himself, and he'd still say 'our,' or 'we,' or 'us'. You couldn't quite pinpoint why that annoyed you.

Along with the help of several other sailors on the ship, Ahk brought the hull to a rest against the sandy shore, while the sailors began to strip the sail and replace it. While they did so, Ahk rejoined you beneath the overhang. Once he arrived, the two servant girls on either side of the door held up their fans, blocking the sun further for the King.

"It may be a little windy, but today is a beautiful day," he said to you, circling an arm around your back. He rooted his hand to your waist and pulled you closer.

"I don't... like big boats," you mumbled, shoulders tight as your fist.

"Really? Why's that?" He asked with a grin.

"The wind is unpredictable and you can't see past the surface of the water."

"I think I can help you with that," he said, and his hand fell from your waist, tangling his fingers in your own.

Before you could say anything in reply, he was dragging you out from beneath the shade, into the open, unmanageable expanse of floating wood. The floor swayed as the boat was removed from the makeshift dock, nearly toppling you over from your poor balance.

"Careful there, dearest," he said as he steadied you. You bit your tongue, but reluctantly accepted his help in leading you evenly forward.

He took you to the tall mast, almost swaying with its' thin height. Wind filled the sail with a great howl, and with a little assistance from the soldiers, the boat was back to coasting down the Nile with the new sail.

"The wind is coming from the southeast," he said, leasing his grip on you to grasp a loose rope. "It'll be coming from there all day, so you can adjust the direction of the sail accordingly. If the wind is blowing too strong, you tie up the sail so it doesn't catch the wind. If the wind is weak, you open up the sail. It's all very simple. The design of these ships are specifically tailored for conditions along the Nile, so it's very rare any ships are overturned.

"For example, right now we're going a little fast. A few pulls and a few knots later," he tugged hard, lean muscles popping up beneath tanned skin as he did. Your eyes widened, unconsciously staring at his arms. "There. Didn't close it up all the way, cause we'd probably go to a standstill at that point and it can be a little hard to pick up momentum again."

"... momentum?"

"Thrust force," he clarified. Despite yourself you blushed and turned away, embarrassed of your own question, and flustered by his answer.

"Right," you said, mouthing the word, though not fully saying it. "It is easier for things in motion to remain in motion rather than to stop and pick it up again."

"Exactly," he said with a grin.

He stepped nearer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close. Your own shoulders locked and tensed as he did.

"You know, Amoke," he said, looking down to you, "I quite like having you along with me on my daily duties. I know it's not the most interesting thing for you, but... I hope you enjoy it as well."

The obvious answer, at least to you, was that you weren't enjoying yourself. Never once in your life had you given a thought to learning how to swim, which made you antsy and nervous whenever you were near water. Even a shore felt like too much. To be stuck right in the middle of a massive, overflown river with a man essentially holding you hostage kept you on overload.

As the boat continued its' leisurely pace down the water, your fingertips and feet began to itch, desperate to leave the swaying rock of the waves. Sickness welled in your stomach and crawled up your throat, acid burning the back of your tongue. You tried your best to swallow it down, but your discomfort was already noticed by the Pharaoh, whose eyes turned to concern as he faced you.

"Are you feeling alright? You look a little... um, nauseous," he said, his brow furrowed.

"I feel very warm," you admitted with flushed cheeks.

"Oh, well there's a very easy cure for that!" He grinned. "Do you know how to swim?"

"Never learned."

"Don't worry. I shall take it upon myself to teach you, for now and future instances," he said, placing his hands on your upper arms.

"I - I'm not sure I –"

"Don't worry," he murmured, pressing his cheek to yours so as to whisper in your ear. "Would you rather have to face the possibility of drowning, should I not be near?"

His hands traveled down your arms to your waist, where he began to tug at your belt. The motion had your hips bumping against his, and though you tried to jump back, all that did was loosen your skirt further. Your heart began to beat against your bones, practically thrumming in your chest. While your anxiousness grew tenfold, the Pharaoh kissed your forehead, soft as his ministrations continued.

Soon your clothes were tossed to the wooden floor, forgotten as he took in your bare form. For a moment he appreciated you, ran his fingers down your skin as his eyes dragged from your shoulders to your hips, keen to move exact and slow.

"Come now," he said, ceasing contact to take your hand, and leading you to the edge of the boat.

Steps built into the boat's side led down to the water. He led you down them, helping you to perch beside the rushing water as his own skirt fell, crumpled and tossed in the same direction as your own clothes.

By example you dipped your feet in the cool water, mimicking Ahk's own legs pushed to the side by the current.

"Moshe?" Ahk called over his shoulders.

"Yes, my King?" came from the bow of the ship.

"My pet and I are going into the water. Slow us down, will you?"

Your what?! you thought, but said nothing concerning that, and attempted to change the subject.

"Don't you have a lot of sails to go through?" You asked.

"We've got all day, and tomorrow. And maybe the day after that. After that, though, we're out of luck," he said, a wide, crooked smile cast across his face. "But, of course... anything for you."

You almost laughed with him, but you tempered it down to a half-smile. From the spark in his eye and his blushing cheeks, you realized that it didn't matter if you laughed or smiled––it was still a positive reaction in his view.

Once the river slowed to the steady pulse of a sail-less ship, Ahk dropped himself into the water, his head sinking beneath the murky surface. Your eyes widened, but you made no attempt to reach him. For a moment you imagined he'd died, and pondered upon what you would do then. Probably leave.

Wouldn't that be nice, you thought, spacing out as you stared at the sandy shore.

Drenched curls drew slowly upwards, till they sat plastered against Ahk's forehead. Droplets fell down past his eyes, trailing down his cheek, and settling on the bow of his lips. His hands reached for you, settling on your ankles with a tug. You instinctively jerked away, and he grinned slyly, humored by your easily-won reactions.

"The water won't bite you," he said, tugging harder on your ankle. "Promise."

When you still barely moved from your spot on the step, he said, "I won't bite you either, if you're worried about that. Tread water with me, dear."

Gingerly your legs untensed, thighs slipping into the water as you sunk down. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you stared into the hidden depths, hypnotized by the streaming rays of sunlight, reflecting off the sand floating in the river. His hand moved from your ankle to elsewhere, though you lost track of it until it reappeared on your hip.

"Not too cold, right?" He asked with a pleased smile.

"No," you said.

It was indeed a bit frigid on your skin, but you attributed that to the fact that you'd been overheating all day in the sun. The burning cold soon began to dissipate, and what you were left with was a pleasant relief from the sun, hidden in the long shadow casted by the boat upon the ripples of water.

"Keep kicking your legs or you're going to sink," he said, moving to give you room to experiment.

Once you got hold of your legs, he mimicked how to move your arms, and soon you were floating untethered to the boat. Before you realized it, the ship was drifting away with the cool breeze. You very nearly panicked, but Ahk began to swim leisurely alongside it, and motioned for you to do the same. The slow speed of the new sails treaded steadily on, allowing the two of you to keep the same pace as the hull.

"How do you like it?" He asked, turning to drift down the river on his back, hands entwined behind his head.

"What happens if there's a creature beneath us?" You asked in return, still attempting to see the bottom through the murky water.

"We get back on the boat," he said with a shrug, a sly grin spreading across his face as you glared at him.

In order to keep with his schedule, he soon hauled himself back up onto the ship's ledge, offering a hand for you as well. You took it, but remained on the edge with your toes dipped into the water. Behind you, Ahk discussed something quietly with one of his soldiers, and reordered the sails.

Those gathered on the boat––numbering about eight or nine––went through the seven variations in the sails, and soon the boat was pulling back into the docks with the scribe's notes in the Pharaoh's hands. The crew trampled off the ship, boarding the next one in line as the sails were moved from the first deck to the second. You watched from the side, careful not to interfere, and listened to Ahkmenrah's conversation with his scribe, whose name you learned was Zaid.

"Speed can be sacrificed for storage, if we leave earlier," Ahk mumbled, biting at his bottom lip.

"Those faster ones are easier to tear," said Zaid. "If you're putting even more weight on the ship, they aren't going to work."

"Hmm. No use debating when we've got four more boats to go through."

"Yes, my King. Very well."

Zaid left the Pharaoh's side to help with the sails, earning you once more time alone with Ahk. He stepped nearer to you, placing his arm over your shoulder and pulling you in, squeezing you in a gentle side-hug.

"Zaid is a very special scribe," Ahk explained, eyes still training after the crew. "He learned his trade from Piye while they were travelling the world on a soul mission. Piye doesn't remember him at all, but he does his job very well so I don't think it's a problem, even if he is lying."

"A soul mission?"

"Yes, well, Piye didn't always look like that. You know, the whole very tall, very dark skin and very white hair. They've got a very special magic about them," he said with a nod. "I believe most of it was unlocked during their soul mission, which caused the change."

"... right," you mumbled. Ahkmenrah had said a great deal of strange things to you, but claiming magic to be real was a little much, even for you.

Egyptians were always a bit of an enigma to you––from what you'd learned in your own travels, they were fiercely protective of their homeland, such to the point that they rarely invaded other countries. Magic was something as entwined with their daily life as eating or sleeping. Every town seemed to have their own pantheon of Gods, and each tomb their own spells scarcely found in doubles. Harmony was of utmost importance, and family life was revered, having its' own pedestal to rival the significance of the Pharaonic family. The incestual Pharaonic family.

You shivered instinctively at the thought. As much as you wanted to believe Ahkmenrah was not a part of that area of his culture, you had no way of knowing, and asking him directly seemed too great a task.

For the remainder of the day, your weight was grounded on wooden decks, only breaking when you let your feet hang off the side and into the water. Ahk tried to keep his focus on the project at hand, but his attention would often waver whenever he caught sight of you. Unfortunately for the crew of the ship, that was quite often, and the Pharaoh had no trouble acquiescing to your every desire. Be it questions, or a wish to swim or break the ship routine, he would immediately fulfill your request.

By evening the tests were finally complete, leaving a few stacks of papyrus containing Zaid's notes on the ships and their sails. Ahkmenrah invited him back to the palace, where the two of them conversed quietly in his study, ignorant of the outside world and ignorant of you. To bide the time you tried looking at star charts, as the actual night sky was blinded by torchlight both in the study and the city.

The rows upon rows of scrolls and tablets soon bored you, at which point you listened on the duller conversation between Ahk and Zaid, who had a pleasant back-and-forth concerning the trip to Thebes. Slow, soft murmurs brought your shoulders to sag, muscles aching from the minimal effort of the day. It had been a while since you'd gotten any true exercise.

You closed your eyes for a moment––you could swear it was only a moment––but when you opened them, you found yourself rustling from movement, and blearily realized you were being held. Someone was carrying you down a chill hallway, and by diminishing torchlight you recognized the face of the Pharaoh.

"Long day, hmm?" He said upon noticing you were half-awake.

"No," you insisted with a frown. "I'm awake."

"Not standing, though," he teased.

"I'll fuckin' stand if y-"

"Shhh," he said softly, leaning in to peck your forehead. "We'll be sleeping soon anyway. It's far too late to do anything else."

Morning came and you found Ahk already awake, dressed in commoner's clothes and speaking softly with Naguib. From your spot on the bed, your cheek pressed into the pillow, you watched their tiny motions and the few words you could hear.

A couple minutes into listening, Ahkmenrah noticed you were awake, and hushed Naguib as he turned to you.

"Good to see you're awake," he said with a peppy smile, too bright and cheerful for your morning eyes. "I'm afraid I have to go into the markets today for a special deal. I won't be able to take you along. You might get lost in the crowd, or get hurt, and I abhor that idea. You understand, right?"

He was lying. Something about his choice of words, or the way he held his shoulders, hinted at the lie. What the truth was you wouldn't ask, though you speculated it to be a shady deal he didn't want you to know about. Instead you nodded, shifting to sit up, silken sheets pooling around your hips.

"Naguib, does this door have a lock?"

"Only from the inside, sir," Naguib said, his hands dutifully behind his back.

Ahk paused for a moment to process the answer, a detached coldness glazing over his eyes.

"Fetch me some rope, will you?" He said, and your eyes went wide, limbs suddenly scrambling backwards.

"Yes sir," Naguib said as he left the room.

"Please don't," you asked, almost on the verge of begging. Your wrists were just now barely healing, the blisters from tweed rope bruised instead of bleeding. "I'll stay with you in the market. I won't try to escape."

"I'm sorry, pet, truly," he said as he knelt on the bed, crawling up until he pinned you against the wall, your thighs pressed tightly together as you stared with pleading eyes.

"Please, Ahk," you begged, succumbing to your natural self-protective instinct.

"It won't be for long," he promised, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You shivered in disgust of his movements. "I'll come back in a few hours and I'll... I'll take you anywhere you want to visit, alright?"

His kind words made you falter, and once more you reminded yourself of an unfortunate illness that happened often to those kidnapped by lust-driven people. It was a condition you'd seen a few times––the kidnapped begins to sympathize with the kidnapper, falls in love with them, and never realizes the implication of it all.

Those sweet words of his would not bring you to your knees. You kept your resolve best you could, even as tears began to well in your eyes, pain shooting through your nerves as he wrapped the tweed rope back around your wrists and tied you to the bed frame.

Before he left to follow Naguib, he kissed your forehead again, brushing the hair out of your face as he did.

"I'll have the servants bring you some food," he said, shutting the door behind him.

You sighed sharply. Since you were last tied up, this would be your first moment alone, hidden deep within the stone walls of an alien palace. Irritation grew within you as you looked to the paintings on the wall, and soon you were grunting as you pulled at your restraints. The rough hay poked at your skin, stabbed and chafed as you struggled, attempting to find some give in the tight knot.

In the end you lay back down on your side, tears crossing your eyes and temple as blood began to drip from your already-bruised skin.

Damn him, you thought, sniffling. I swear I'll kill him.

About an hour later––though you had no idea of knowing how much time had actually passed––a servant came to visit you, a tray of food in hand. You sat up best you could, attempting to wipe away your teary shame.

"My name's Haji," he said. "I've seen you around, with the Pharaoh. I'm sorry."

"... thank you," you said blankly, despite the horrifying array of emotions that came to you. That was the first time you'd actually gotten sympathy in this Godforsaken place. Mostly you were met with people who thought you were lucky, or people who thought you were bad for the King.

"Yeah.. do you want me to undo those?" He asked, gesturing to the rope.

"Yes please," you mumbled, shoulders tightening as a blush dusted your cheeks.

He reached up, nails digging into the strange knot. Slowly it began to loosen, eventually falling over your shoulders, with your arms no longer numb from blood loss. Freezing cold first overcame your limbs, followed by tingling warmth that finally brought about movement.

"Thank you," you said, reaching for a roll and biting into it. "Are you actually allowed to do that?"

"Not really," he chuckled, "but usually people like to keep their dignity and not be handfed as an adult."

"Right?" You said, your first smile in Egypt crossing your face. "Ahk insists on it sometimes, it's incredibly strange."

"He probably has some sort of weird mommy complex. I do know he really wants kids," Haji said, drifting off slightly in thought.

Your eyes widened. Is that why he wanted you? Then came the next question, barreling into your mind without thought for your sanity––were you the child, or was he keeping you there to have his children?

You very nearly threw up.

"... but that's probably just because he enjoys protecting people," he finished.

"You seem to know him well," you said, attempting to speak through your nausea.

"I've worked for the royal family my entire life. I kind of grew up with the Pharaoh... he used to steal wine from the kitchen and I always let him. Don't really want to risk saying no to a royal," he joked.

"I understand," you said softly. "If it makes you feel better, it doesn't really matter what you say. He'll take whatever he wants."

"I know," he said, looking to you with a regretful brow. He allowed a moment of silence before he asked, "you begged with him, didn't you?"

"Yes," you said, voice cracking.

"Bit of advice? If you struggle physically, he'll get more forceful, but if you cry, he'll feel bad about himself and stop," he said.

Without thought you burst out laughing, covering your face with your hands as you tried to stop the torrent of giggles. He grinned as well, less amused by his advice, and more delighted that you found it so entertaining. Caught up in your own laughter, neither of you noticed the door swinging open by the Pharaoh's hand. When you did turn, you found the King beaming at you, his smile bright enough to fill the whole of the room.

"Amoke!" He said, striding across the room to you. Your eyes darted quickly to Haji, who looked as alarmed as you, before you were pulled from your spot and heaved into a tight hug by Ahk. Even there you glanced to Haji, whose mouth was now open in disbelief.

"Um, I'll leave you two alone," Haji said, gingerly raising himself from the spot on the bed.

Ahk promptly dropped you back into the soft cushions, a high-pitched huff unwillingly leaving you as you landed.

"Nonsense Haji! You made my pet laugh," he said, turning from Haji to you as he spoke your name, fingers dragging beneath your chin to force you upwards. "Considering I've rarely seen Amoke smile, much less laugh, I think some new arrangements in order. You shall join us on our journey to Thebes."

"Like... a professional friend..?"

"Sure. Whatever you'd like to name yourself. Go get packed––we leave within the hour," he said, information that sent Haji bolting out the door with an obedient, 'yes sir'.

“You’re awfully chipper,” you noted with mild suspicion.

“Someone burned a whole pot of blue lotus and it got caught in the, um, room. With the traders. You know, where I was for an hour. That’s probably why.”

"Oh. I thought we were leaving in two weeks," you said with a confused frown, moving to your feet when Ahk pulled you to do so.

"Not sure where you heard that, but we were hoping to leave within a week. Do you have any belongings you want to bring along?"

"My clothes. I still haven't gotten them back from those washhouse servants," you said.

"Then it shall be done. By someone else. We need to get to the docks. I'm assuming you've never been to Thebes before?"

"No."

"I think you'll like it," he said, taking your hand in his and leading you out of the room. "The orgies there are fantastic."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Wouldn’t It Be Nice. Yan Jotaro x Reader [COMM]

warnings: isolation mentions, very brief and minor injury ment, just general yandere stuff word count: 2.1k

“We’re here.”

You let out a low hum of acknowledgement at Jotaro’s statement, lifting your head from its previous position of resting against the car window. It’s bright and early in the morning, the sun just starting to peak up over the clouds, bathing the world in a soft glow of warm colors. Jotaro turns the keys, the engine’s purring dying down into a final sputter. Throughout the drive from the hotel you’re staying in, you’ve been in and out of sleep, not used to being up bright and early. Normally your repetitive days blend together like watercolors, faint and indescribable from each other. This serves to be a new palette, an opportunity to see the world with your own eyes.

Ignoring the dull ache from your legs, you step onto solid ground and stretch. Jotaro’s preoccupied with opening the car trunk, gathering his equipment and the few items you wanted to bring along. An umbrella, beach chair, towel, and some books to read. You fiddle with hands, shifting your weight as silence encompasses you both. He doesn’t so much as struggle with all the heavy items in hand, but the part of you that feels polite feels inclined to offer assistance.

“Do you, uh, need any help with that…?” You inquire, taking a step forward and preparing to reach out should he agree. Aquamarine eyes flicker towards your clumsy proposal, searching for something unknown and coming up short. As you expect, he turns you down with a decisive shake of the head. It’s impossible to quell the curiosity of knowing what flashes through his mind, his body language hardly ever giving hints to his intentions, aside from taut muscles and grimaces.

“I’ve got it.”

His tone isn’t meant to sound harsh, it’s just how his voice naturally sounds. You still can’t control the natural reflex of shrinking away at his rebuttal, an uncomfortable silence drowning over you both. He pauses for a brief moment, staring you down, parting his lips before closing them. Time feels like it’s at a stand still, until his attention returns to the awaiting beach. Neither of you make any further attempts at conversation, you trailing a foot behind him as he walks onto the sand. The tension from before melts from your person at the sight of soothing ocean waves, the ground underneath you growing softer, nostalgia coming in full force.

He sets up your area before getting to work on his own tasks, steadying the umbrella in the sand and unfolding the beach chair. You mutter a quiet thank you as he places the finishing touches down, a cooler that had water and sandwiches for if you needed them. The details of this trip are still largely muddled, Jotaro never has been one to over indulge his business. All you managed to squeeze out of him is that he’s taking samples, something about plankton and checking on the local ecosystem. The jargon went over your head. What matters most is that, after being on your best behavior, you’ve earned a trip outside of your normally reclusive lifestyle. Anything is better than having to stare at the same four walls everyday, trying to reminisce on what your life was like before you met Jotaro Kujo.

“I won’t be too long.” Jotaro calls over to you, walking towards the receding waves and setting off to work. You nod your head, settling back into your seat. The beach you’ve arrived at has no other signs of life, aside from seagulls calling to one another and the occasional crab you spot. Human beings are out of the question, Jotaro likely having chosen this spot for the lack of them. He can’t always keep an eye on you, no matter how much he wants to. Having him stuck to your hip like glue has been suffocating, and you’re grateful for the break.

Staying within the confines of the shade the umbrella brings, your mind drifts into a land of daydreams. The world around you fades away, replaced with thoughts of better times. Where you didn’t have to constantly be on guard, around a man who claimed to care for you, despite rarely showcasing it. Your quality of life improved the slightest bit when you stopped acting combative towards him, taking a more passive approach to get through the days. Jotaro didn’t change his conduct around you much, aside from a few offerings to travel alongside him if his job required going to a secluded area. These opportunities are few and far between, and you always jump at the chance to see the world you were stolen from again.

Preoccupied with your thoughts, you’re unaware of a presence lingering over you, until something wet and slippery drops onto your leg. A startled gasp leaves your lips at the unexpected sensation, your body jolting up to identify the source of the feeling. Eyebrows furrowing together, you spot Jotaro wading in the ocean, bending over and observing different objects. So where did this come from…? Squinting, you continue searching around, before spotting Star Platinum staring at you expectantly.

Oh. So that’s what’s going on here.

Now having a better understanding of the situation, you realize the item on your thighs is a bunch of seaweed. Cold droplets of water fall onto your skin, causing a shiver to course throughout your body. He hovers above you, eyes almost doe-like as he excitedly searches for a positive response to his gift. Lazily rubbing away the sleepiness that threatens to consume you, you pluck the seaweed up to inspect it closer. You’re not sure what led the Stand to giving you this bizarre gift, but decide to thank him for the effort regardless. He’s never given a reason to earn your ire, a friendlier companion than his own User.

“Thank you,” you glance from his gift and then back to him, placing the seaweed by your side for safekeeping. “So, this is for me?”

He nods his head, offering a soft “ora!” in excited confirmation. Star Platinum doesn’t make any movements to disappear, and you can only assume Jotaro has no idea his Stand is wandering about on its own merit. The first -- and likely last -- time that you surprised Jotaro was when he realized you could see his Stand, having a Stand of your own. Ever since then, he’s made it a point not to allow Star Platinum around you, for whatever reasons. There’s no way to confirm the gnawing suspicion that it’s because he’s embarrassed by how enthusiastic the Stand is in your presence, though it’s the theory you go with.

You realize in the time spent searching for a plausible explanation, Star Platinum had been gathering more knick knacks. Settled in his muscular, phantom arms, are various objects that litter the beach. Seashells, sea glass, and a few colorful rocks. The one item that sticks out to you the most, is a very peeved looking hermit crab, its legs flailing in the air.

“Star, you have to put that little guy down. I think he’s wondering why he’s floating…” You sit up, pointing at the huffy hermit crab. The Stand blinks, considering your proposal, then concedes with your wishes. If only Jotaro were this agreeable, your life might be a bit better. With surprising care, he places the crab back onto the sand, then looks back to you. Is he hoping to be praised for following through with your request? Tilting your head to the side, he mimics the movement.

“What else did you find?” While you ask this, you cross your legs together, waving for the Stand to come closer. He does so without hesitation, dumping the treasures in front of you. You search through the combination of items, fixating on a pretty, amethyst sea glass. It feels coarse in your hands. You inspect it, a rougher side of it managing to nick your finger in the process. Dropping the item at the unexpected jolt of pain, a small curse leaves your lips. Star Platinum floats to your hand, frantically taking hold of your hand.

“It’s all good,” you reassure him with a sheepish smile. “Just a small cut. It won’t do too much damage.”

Star Platinum doesn’t appear convinced, fawning over your effected finger with great displeasure. This serves as further reinforcement that he’s Jotaro’s soul manifest, as they both worry over you the same amount. Star Platinum doesn’t look to be convinced by you. Larger, ghost-like hands envelope your own. It’s strange how a Stand so powerful is capable of showing a softer side, only for your eyes. You can’t help the fluttering of your heart at its potent concern, not used to being fussed over having physical touch accompanying it. Jotaro will chastise you should you ever do something to displease him, without laying a hand on you. Star Platinum is different in that regard, taking every opportunity he has to touch you.

“Here, how about this,” you grab into your bag, procuring a book that Jotaro bought at your behest. “I can still hold it, see? It’s not a big deal at all.”

Not wanting the Stand’s guilt to transfer over to the User, your mind searches for a way to mend the situation. This time without Jotaro breathing down your neck is to be relished, you won’t let it end earlier than it needs to. Opening back up to the page you left off on, you motion for Star Platinum to look over your shoulder.

“Do you want me to read for you?” You ask, taken aback by how swiftly he nods his head in confirmation. This wholehearted approach to life is so unlike Jotaro, you sometimes wonder how this can be his Stand. It’s in total contrast to the man’s stoic, seemingly dispassionate way of going throughout life. Maybe you’ll ask if you can interact with Star Platinum more often, with how eager he is to please you, it can be a bit addicting. Your own Stand is stirring within, though you don’t want to let it out in fear of how it may be interpreted. Revealing your Stand is often associated with trying to use it, and knowing Jotaro, would be taken as a sign of rebellion. Maintaining the delicate balance that consists of your turbulent relationship with Jotaro takes priority.

“Well, this story is about a girl who has a ghost, and lives in a town full of them. Unlike Stands though, her ghost is haunting her, and tells her people’s thoughts…”

Jotaro secures the final amount of samples required for testing, having just finished the checklist he was assigned. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he sets back to shore, thinking about the plans for the rest of the day. You’re probably going to be hungry by the time he gets back. Maybe a visit to a restaurant wouldn’t be so bad…? It’s been over half a year since you’ve made a fuss over your situation, and he hopes it stays that way. Jotaro is uncertain of what to do when you’re crying, overwhelmed by the tidal wave of emotions that came with your initial resistance. He decides that going around that many people is too much of a risk, you’ll both get room service when you’re back at the hotel.

He doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary at first. That is, until he spots his own Stand hovering right by your side, bewitched by your every word. Jotaro clicks his tongue, calling Star Platinum back, pushing down his hat to hide the flush of his cheeks. When did his Stand come out, and how did he not notice? Internally, he prays that Star didn’t do anything unsightly in front of you. At his appearance by your side, you stop reading aloud your book, realizing that Jotaro must be the reason Star Platinum disappeared.

Frowning, you close the book. “He wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

“I finished up here,” he doesn’t want to talk about the flustering events from before, already bringing the umbrella down without asking if you’re ready to leave. “We can go get breakfast.”

At the mention of a solid meal, you shoot up, thinking of what you’re going to order. Jotaro’s grateful for how well he knows you, and how adept he’s grown at redirecting you. It’s a most useful skill, not that you ever seem interested in teasing him. Without thinking, he hands you the container that holds his samples, hoping it’ll serve to keep your attention.

It works like a charm, you asking about the nature of the water samples on the walk back to the car.

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seacottons · 3 years

Text

reaper ; — k.hj x reader

pairing: hongjoong x reader, platonic wooyoung x reader

wc: 5k

notes: i guess this is horror? pft. idk. mild violence. set in the late 80s? early 90s? technology isn't prevalent here so- yeah. probably needs to be proofread but i'm too sleepy as of now. maybe tomorrow. also, happy hongjoong day 🤍

synopsis: after an accident leaves three of your friends dead and one in a coma, you and wooyoung struggle with living expenses and piling medical bills. in the midst of it all, you’re stalked by strangers who resemble your deceased friends.

"Bad day at the tavern, Woo?" You asked, arms wrapping around the black-haired man who stood over the stovetop. A gentle fire simmered the stew he was cooking, a thin sheen of oil and spices pooling on the surface. He nodded with a grim frown and tight jaw, shoulders tense as he stirred a ladle into the pot.

"Got in a fight with some asshole who thought he didn't have to pay for shit," he grumbled back. You frowned at the sight of a bruise on his jaw, and he caught your gaze before scoffing incredulously.

"Don't look at me like that. This is nothing," he quipped hastily, voice thin with resignation.

"I think I have some leftover ointment for that," you sighed, turning away to fetch the item. After dinner, the two of you sat in silence as you tended to his bruises and cuts, your brows furrowing into a glare as you wrapped his finger with scraps of linen you managed to find," You should be more careful with people like that."

"We need the money," he retorted gently, "Mr. Lee would've taken it out of my paycheck if I had let the guy go without paying."

"At the expense of you getting hurt?" He ignored the glare you sent his way.

"We need every silver coin and more right now, y/n," he exhaled softly, leaning back against the old headboard of your bed, "Yeosang's medical bills aren't getting cheaper, and we promised the landlord we'll pay her this month." He groaned, reaching up to massage his temple with a tight frown, "And I can't keep making you work two shifts every day. I see the toll it's having on you."

"I told you I'm fine," you gave him a hard stare, defensively crossing your arms above your chest, "We both work overtime, so it won't be fair of me to just throw all the responsibility on you."

He gave you a tired smile, eyes fluttering shut as he hummed back a reply. Bringing you into his arms, he placed a gentle kiss onto your temple, before cradling your head against his chest while laying down, "I'll always be grateful to still have you with me."

Wooyoung sleeping in your bed alongside you became a silent agreement of some sort months ago when he couldn't bear to sleep alone in the other room he and Yeosang shared. Since then, the two of you found comfort in each other's arms, so much so that it became difficult to sleep without the warmth of his arms wrapped securely around your frame every night.

You sat in a comfortable silence, eyes closed as you relaxed back in your seat while holding Yeosang's delicate hand. The occasional beep of the IV machine and other monitors filled the air of the small room. You peek one eye open to look at Wooyoung, his back turned to you as he gazes out of the window. Neither of you speak for a while.

"You really think the doctor's words are guaranteed? That he'll wake up soon?"

You watched from your spot as Wooyoung leaned over the blonde-haired male, his hands brushing the hair away from his closed eyes. He appeared to be in a very deep and peaceful slumber.

"Yeah. I'm sure–.. I know he will. Things will get better for all of us," he drawled out tiredly, a soft smile finding itself onto his visage as he turned to gaze at your hand grasping Yeosang's limp one, eyes puffy from his crying session last night, "I know it."

An hour later, a nurse peeks her head in to politely state that you two have exceeded your visiting time. The two of you bid your friend farewell and left the hospital.

"I'm actually going to run by the cemetery real quick before my shift starts," you explained while walking down the road with the other by your side, half frozen autumn leaves crunching beneath your boots.

Wooyoung pulled you into a tight hug, hand reaching up to tussle your locks, "Alright, please be careful. I'll see you later, alright?," he readjusted the scarf around your neck with his gloved hands, "We'll have fried fish tonight, your favorite. Don't overwork yourself at work again!"

Tears nearly welled in your eyes, knowing fully well behind his cheerful demeanor hid a scared and tired being. The unspeakable pain behind his eyes killed you on the inside. He overworked himself both physically and mentally, and you can only wish you can rid some of the burden off of his shoulders.

You were just as hurt by the circumstances that the both of you were in, but watching his mental health erode with each day was A lump formed in your throat, and instead of replying, you merely flashed him a smile, not trusting your voice.

You pressed a quick peck to his cheek only to laugh as he flinched away from your freezing lips, your laughter escaping as puffs of white in the frigid air. You bid him farewell and waved back as the two of you separated.

The low mist enshrouding the cemetery did very little to bring warmth in the early hours of the morning. Your hands absentmindedly brushed along the dew covered grass as your eyes fixated onto the inscription on one of the three tombstones.

Where there are flowers, there are butterflies.

"It's your birthday next month, Joong," you muse to the grave in front of you, "I'll make sure to spend the day here with you and the others when the time comes."

You adjusted your position on the grass, the gentle beams of sunlight sparkling in the beads of dew around you. Sitting cross legged, you reminisced the times you spent with the male and the other two friends that shared his fate.

"Wait— how come you get to be the flower? You should be the butterfly instead," you whined whilst poking his cheek.

With a playful quirk of his brow, he reached up to lightly flick your forehead before pulling you closer for a gentle kiss, "You're the butterfly, because you always bug me, baby."

You smiled to yourself at the memory, reaching down to admire the various flowers that have finally bloomed on Hongjoong's grave. Similar blossoms and flowering vines were planted and grown onto the other two graves to the right.

"I miss you so much."

You startled at the sight of a small butterfly fluttering over your head, only to smile once it landed on the purple blossom. You stilled your frame in fear of scaring it off, and watched as it flapped its blue wings subtly.

A small lizard peeked through the gaps of leaves, sharply and swiftly clamping its mouth onto the butterfly. It struggled to keep the bug in its mouth, its head shaking rapidly as the insect wriggled in its hold. Moments later, the bug stilled and the lizard scampered off with its prey.

You stood up, shoulders slumping as you gave the three graves a smile and a wave, "See you guys tomorrow. I love you."

You tightened the sweater around your frame as you made yourself out the gates of the cemetery, sighing in annoyance at the lingering and dense fog. It was difficult to even make out the next tree as you made your way back to town. You faintly hear the sound of a crow's caw in the distance and peer down onto the ground as you feel a tremor beneath your feet. Your head snapped up in time to have a large vehicle's headlights reflect in your wide eyes.

You somehow couldn't quite grasp what day it was, or even what happened at work earlier. Your head spun as if you had just awoken from a drunken stupor.

The sun had set and the moonlight washed the town with a silvery blue hue. Flames flickered within the numerous lampposts and pebbles crunched beneath your feet as you walked through the familiar cobblestone path back home. The streets were deserted. Many buildings were left with shattered windows, small plants and moss growing in the most delicate fissures on their walls. Plastered advertisements and papers on the walls and lampposts looked withered and aged, drooping forward and swaying with the gentle breeze. It was quite an odd sight to see. The once boisterous town strangely felt like a ghost town.

You shrugged off the ominous feeling growing in the pit of your stomach as you trudged along back home.

Along the way, you crossed the hospital where Yeosang was kept. You peeked back to glance at the building, your eyes immediately catching sight of a figure who stood behind a third story window. Furrowing your brows, you turned around to continue walking, the sight of the stranger leaving a bitter feeling in your heart.

The male had the same patch of silver hair as—

Suddenly, your feet came to a halt and you turned back frantically, but the figure was gone. In its place, the blue curtain of Yeosang's room swayed gently with the wind.

Shaking your head, you continued your path whilst rubbing your tired eyes.

"I probably just had a long day," you explained to nobody.

In the distance, there crouched a dark figure, his hands caressing the top of a stray cat's head. You met eyes with the stranger moments later, and you paused in your tracks, your heart dropping down to the floor and leaping into your throat almost simultaneously.

"San?" the figure's lips stretched into a wide grin at your acknowledgement, before he stood up straight to face you. Your legs shook and threatened to give under the sudden weight of your body, "San? Is that really you?"

"Long time no see, y/n."

He silently nodded, arm extending to beckon you forward with a small smile. You took a small step forward, brows furrowing in confusion, "But this can't be you. You're dead."

"Your eyesight is still horrible, I see," he drawled out with a roll of his eyes. You stood inches away from him, eyes widening in disbelief. He sounded like and resembled your late friend with a terrifying accuracy. With a trembling hand you reached forward to cup his cheek, eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"You're..," you trailed off, eyes briefly glancing to your right at the reflection of the store glass window. Your reflection grasped at nothing but thin air, and you quickly retracted your hand from his face, eyes wide, "You're not real, are you?"

In an instant, the bright smile vanished and his gaze hardened into a dark expression. He silently bore holes into your head as a gentle breeze swayed his ebony and silver locks over his eyes. You took two hesitant steps back, and a blur of black flew towards you at an inhumane pace, your back roughly slamming onto the cobblestones underneath you.

Your brain scrambled to process what had just happened, eyes widening as San gripped your two wrists above your head with one hand, the other reaching down to wrap his lithe fingers around the column of your neck to squeeze hard. You released a pained cry, face contorting into a harsh wince. The heel of his palm dug painfully in the middle of your clavicles.

With eyes wide as saucers, you frantically kicked at your heels, hitting his frame repeatedly in an attempt to escape his clutches. Your attempt was futile as he released a growl, eyes practically slits as he seethed down at you, his grip tightening at an unbelievable level.

You wheezed, mouth falling open as you choked out his name, before furiously and blindingly sending a stomp onto his crotch repeatedly, your other leg jutting high to kick at his shoulder. It loosened his grip just enough for you to wriggle away, knees buckling as you attempted to stand up, heels kicking at the floor as you scrambled up, desperately trying to create as much distance as possible.

His eyes spoke of unfathomable fury as he regained his composure, taking two big strides to reach you.

Hastily rising to your feet, you dove in an alleyway and into the dark, mind not even processing your whereabouts as you quickly attempted to flee.

Your mind was in shambles as you ducked past clothes lines and the multiple abandoned carts near one of the taverns by the tea shop you worked at.

Turning around another corner, you collided with a strong chest, and you stumbled back at the sight of San's dark eyes peering down at you with a miffed expression. You gasped, face draining of color and chest heaving as you stumbled back and away from him. His chest rose with heavy breathing, brows knitted together furiously as he scurried after you.

"Y/n, y/n," he tsked in amusement, voice chiming like he was singing a song, "Come back, I just want to talk!"

Minutes later, the sound of his heavy footsteps ceased, but you did not have the time or courage to look back to see if he was still following you. You scrambled through dark alleyways, turning around every other corner, heart beating frantically in your ears and weak legs threatening to give way under your weight.

Tears prickled your eyes, and a sob threatened to escape your throat as you practically threw yourself against the frame of your door, fingers frantically reaching down to pull out the key from your pouch. From the corner of your eye, you spotted San madly dashing out from an alleyway to reach you, his voice growling out your name.

"Why are you running away?" He mocked, brows quirking up, "I thought we were good friends?"

Your trembling hands scrambled to unlock your door, hastily clambering in and throwing your entire weight to close it shut. A heavy weight from the other side thudded against the wooden frame, and your hands shook whilst reaching up to slide the chain into place. A loud gasp left your lips as the door jerked open slightly, the thin chain straining under the weight that threatened to break it.

"I'm hurt, y/n," a laugh escaped the man from the other side as he lodged his foot in between to keep the door ajar, voice rising as he attempted to shove himself in once more, "Don't you miss me?"

"Leave me alone!"

A hand shot from the gap of the door to clamp around the chain, rattling it viciously, as his other arm bent at an awkward angle to coil his fingers around the side of your neck, "Come out, y/n. I just want to talk," he chimed.

A sudden surge of strength overtook your frame and you threw your weight forward, successfully ramming the door shut against his arms. You expected to hear a cry of pain, but a chime of laughter sent a chill down your spine. With furrowed brows, you repeated the action, slamming the door continuously onto his hands and fingers, the sounds of bones and tendons snapping making you cry out in anguish.

Your hands trembled as you quickly locked the door with the key, stumbling back onto the floor as the knob shook threateningly. The door and chain rattled under the heavy kicks the male delivered from the other side, The impact of his frame against the other side shaking the door slightly. You fell onto your bottom, wobbly knees finally giving in, hands clutching your gaping mouth, and tears silently streaming down your face. You can practically feel the smile in his words, "It's okay. You'll come out eventually."

The dark shadow of his figure disappeared moments later.

When you woke, you weren't exactly sure when or how you fell asleep. You couldn't quite grasp the memories of the night prior. Sitting up, you emit a disoriented groan before realizing you weren't in your bedroom, but rather in the waiting room in the hospital Yeosang resided in. Peering around in confusion, you took account of the night sky, brows furrowing as you scrambled to find the nearest clock. It was well past midnight and visitors weren't even allowed at this ungodly hour.

The room was vacant, and you couldn't make out any figures of the receptionists through the pebbled sliding-windows. Your hand grasped the doorknob of the entrance door, only for you to sigh in frustration after finding it locked. You turn to the other side of the room only to find the door to the main halls of the ICU left ajar ever so slightly.

You called for any doctor or nurse, but you were met with silence. After much contemplating, you decided to make your way through the long corridors of the hospital, your steps reverberating throughout the empty halls. Where are the attendants, and why is a place like the ICU empty?

If you were stuck in here, you might as well stay in your friend's room. The lights from the mounted sconces petered out against the wall and casted the hallway with a warm glow.

After much turning and walking, you reached the end of the hall, hand reaching for the doorknob when the hallway lights wavered for a second. You peered to the side in confusion, before entering the room, only to stop after a step.

The room was empty, the sheets on the bed untouched and perfectly made. A hiss of air from the corridor startled you, and just as you snapped your head back, the lightbulb above you flickered rapidly before it shattered along with the windows, showering your shocked form with glass shards.

The room was engulfed in darkness, save for the streaks of moonlight filtering past the curtains. You jostled up from where you fell from shock, legs feeling useless as you crawled back out of the room with trembling limbs. Not wanting to look back, you clutched the wall for support before hastily speeding through the endless turns of the hallway.

Corner after corner, panic settled through your system because these were definitely not the same hallway layouts you remembered and memorized like the back of your hand. They were endless and vacant, and you felt like a helpless little mouse in a vast maze. As you quickened your pace into a panicked dash, the windows and light sconces on the wall flickered and shattered with every step you took, and you hastily covered your head and face from the flying glass.

This isn't real, you thought. It can't be real.

"Y/n!"

You froze in your spot, breath caught in your throat as you clamped a hand over your mouth to swallow back a scream threatening to slip past your lips. Did you hear correctly, or was that part of your imagination?

"Y/n," the familiar voice spoke once more.

Your heart hammered against your ribcage as you daringly poked your head from the corner and into the other hallway. Blood pounded past your ears, and it took more than a second to realize there was a figure of a man at the end of the very long and dark corridor.

He took a step forward and the soft moonlight pouring from the window beside him illuminated his figure, and your breath faltered at the sight of the man's smiling face.

"Seonghwa?"

"What are you running away from, y/n?"

You couldn't properly form a reply at his remark, hands reaching up to rub at your tear pricked eyes. A sob bubbled its way up to escape your throat at the sight of your late friend who merely chuckled at your tears.

"Missed me that much, hm?" he mused, shoulders shaking with an amused chortle, "Why don't you come here and give me hug? You know I don't like seeing you cry."

You couldn't help it as a gnawing feeling of unrest settled in the pit of your stomach. A shudder traveled down your spine, goosebumps decorating your arms, and hair standing on the back of your neck. Your mind couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was that had you so disturbed, but your body displayed all the signs. His tone felt off, and you realize he's playing with you. Toying with you. A small distant voice in your head told you to get away.

A sudden thought found its ways into your mind.

Where was his shadow?

Sensing your hesitation, the friendly expression on his face soon dropped, making way for a stone-cold frown and unamused eyes.

"Y/n."

His cold voice snapped you out of your thoughts, and you take a hesitant step back, words slipping out before you even processed them, "I know you're not real."

The feral look that overtakes his expression has you reeling back, and you took off running in the opposite direction. Glass crunches beneath your shoes as you dashed from corridor to corridor, lungs burning and muscles aching from the rush of adrenaline. He called for you repeatedly, and you didn't dare turn back to see how far he's caught up with you. With every turn, his voice grew louder and closer, before a flash of black sends you flying back onto the floor. Your body skids onto the ground, shards of glass pricking at your skin. With a rush of adrenaline fueling your system, you hardly wince as you scrambled back from the towering figure, glass piercing your skin in the process.

You feel an excruciating burst of pain in your foot, and before you had the opportunity to pull your leg back, he slams his foot down onto your ankle once more, grinding the joint roughly with his boot. A loud cry of pain escapes your throat and you to struggle wildly to escape his unrelenting grip.

You glance up and through your tears, you make out the gleam of a large piece of glass in Seonghwa's hands, his threatening, blown out pupils pinning you down like trapped prey. Turning the large shard in his hand to examine it, he hums sarcastically before peering down at you with a quirked brow, "You know, I'm offended." Kneeling down to your level, he traces your cheek with a glass, watching your skin split at the action and beads of blood oozing out from the scratch, "And here I thought we were such good, close friends."

Without missing a beat, your hands flew to grasp the shard, roughly ripping it into the soft tissue of his eye and slipping past his frame to stagger to the nearest broken window. You hear a groan from behind you as he doubles over in shock, blood overflowing from his ruptured eye and spilling down his scowling face. Pain surged with every step you took, but if this was your only option to escape, you think maybe the idea of couple of broken bones doesn't sound too bad.

Hastily, you stepped over the windowsill, your arms and legs catching on the jagged teeth of glass remaining, your clothes tearing in the process. You took a sharp inhale before curiously taking a look back at Seonghwa one last time. The sight of him lunging after you has you falling forward and out of the window. It felt as if gravity had slowed the pace of your fall, and you held eye contact with Seonghwa as your frame descended down from the third story floor. Darkness fogged your eyesight, his figure vanishing within the black abyss.

The impact hit you like a truck, and you sat up with a loud intake of breath on your warm bed. Your chest heaved heavily as you took in your surroundings. You suddenly realize you're in Wooyoung and Yeosang's shared room that hasn't been occupied in months. Your eyes fall onto your feet, and your brows furrow in confusion as a sudden thought invades your head.

You faintly remember your ankle being crushed, but it seemed to feel just fine now. When you attempted to recall why you thought it had been broken, it felt like your mind was searching for a forgotten and fragmented memory. After calming your breathing and thoughts, you sit up to go and find your friend.

You called Wooyoung's name repeatedly, but the silence you were met with indicated he wasn't home.

Peering into your room, you hoped to find him sleeping, however your eyes landed on the wall, the sight of messily painted words catching your attention almost immediately.

Where there are flowers, there are butterflies.

Painted flowers and butterflies littered the wall, the excess ink dripping down into lines onto the wooden floorboards.

"Do you like it?"

You jumped at the voice behind you, swiftly turning around to meet the sight of a familiar head of blue hair. You stood there, mouth agape as you silently stared long and hard at the man that once held and loved you in his arms. A long silence followed suit, hanging in the air like the calm before a storm. A breeze hardly stirred from the open window and not a sound could be heard save for the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears.

The forbidding, subtle grin displayed on his features filled you with dread, and the mere sight of him gave your brain a debilitating shock. Your knees couldn't hold your weight any longer, and with buckling limbs, you were sent crashing down onto the floor, the look of disbelief and horror never leaving your expression.

You stared at him but it felt like you couldn't quite focus your gaze on him as he peered down at you in mock pity, a condescending smile playing on his lips. His dark gaze seared you as he crouched down to meet your eye level, hand reaching to cup your cheek as he leaned in to press numerous kisses onto your lips. The gesture was void of the warmth and care you remembered, and you sat still as he trailed fleeting kisses down your the column of your neck, his lips attaching fervently onto your clavicles.

"I missed you so much," you began, catching his attention. Pulling away from your irritated flesh, he quirked his brows at your words, hands brushing the hair out of your face as he let out a chuckle. His finely-chiseled face, illuminated by the oil lamps on the wall, broke into a fond expression. Pulling you close to his frame, he pressed your head against his chest, head dipping to kiss into your hair.

"Do you really?" Your brows furrowed slightly, eyes blinking away the tears as you wrapped your arms around his torso, head pressed against his chest. It's been too long without the feeling of your lover's arms around you. It's just been way too long for you, "If you miss me that much then-"

While nuzzling his chest, you come to realization he lacked a heartbeat, and with that thought striking your mind like lightning, you detached yourself from his form instantly. He eyed your trembling form without any sign of amusement.

"Don't look at me like that!" Cowering back against the wall, you broke into screams of despair, fingers pulling handfuls of your hair as you shook your head rapidly, "You're dead— you're not real!" you slapped the heels of your palms against your temple repeatedly, eyes scrunched shut, "Not real! Not real! This is all just my imagination!"

He released a chilling laugh that traveled down your spine and left your fingers and toes numbingly cold. A sudden gust of wind sent the crispy, autumn leaves scampering wildly into the window while also extinguishing the lamplights that illuminated the room, plunging it into darkness.

You only had a second to register his close proximity, your pupils dilating instantly, before a hand latched onto your throat, ramming your head back against the wall in the process. His vice-like, lithe fingers squeezed around your windpipe, successfully blocking your air flow as you squirmed in his relentless hold, lungs burning and diaphragm spasming.

"You'll join me so we can be together again, hm?"

The fist around your throat choked your response, and he tilted his head with a mocking smile, "I'm sorry, what was that?"

His hold only faltered ever so slightly to give you enough air to speak, "I don't want to die," your reply was a little more than a ghost of a breath.

"But, baby," his fingers coiled around your neck, pressing unforgivingly hard until your darkening vision littered with stars, "don't you realize you're already on the brink of death. Just give in, y/n. Don't keep fighting."

The silence of the atmosphere contributed to the solemnity in the air, and despite the clear blue skies and warm sun, there was a relentless chill in Wooyoung's heart. The black-haired male crouched down over the grave, gently placing a small bundle of roses onto the base of the tombstone.

"Happy birthday, Joong," he mused sadly, his puffy, tired eyes flickering over to the sides where the other tombstones lay.

"I'm so sorry for breaking my promise," he blinked rapidly to rid himself of the stinging tears threatening to spill, nose scrunching slightly as he sniffled, "I should've been there that day- shouldn't have let y/n come here alone- and.."

"You know nothing was your fault, Woo. Stop blaming yourself for something you had no control of."

A hand clutched his shoulder, and he peered with tear-filled eyes to give the blonde male a grateful smile, before turning back to the grave, "Yeosang's awake now though and- and the doctors said that y/n's case isn't as bad as his was, so we have hope."

"Y/n is a stubborn fighter," Yeosang offered the other a small smile, crouching down to rub his trembling friend's back, "Everything will be okay in due time."

"I hope so.. and I hope you'll forgive me, Hongjoong," Wooyoung murmured, watching two small butterflies flutter and chase each other around the blossoming flowers atop of Hongjoong's grave.

#ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #ateez imagines #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong x reader #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung imagines #yeosang imagines #seonghwa imagines #choi san imagines #ateez horror

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cornacopicimagines · 4 years

Text

best of friends pt.2 │t.h

pairing: singledad!mob!tom holland x singlemom!reader

words: 5.7k

warnings: SMUT, swearing, major violence, depictions of violence and blood, rough sex, oral (male receiving), face fucking, unprotected sex, dom!tom & creampie.

summary: Everything was perfect. The two-and-a-half years since they first met have been nothing but love and respect. Until, y/n comes home one night, her husband gone for the time being. It all somehow crumbles in front of her, she can't help but question it. Though this thought is nothing to what he feels in that very moment. It's pure fear and terror, a pent-up storm of worry. Their comfort zone is nothing longer alive, it was buried and left to rot.

a/n: so. it must be said, i went through three different plots before i settled on this one. that is why this goddamn fic has taken me so long to write. This is probably the last mob!tom holland fic i'll write because bitch has a lot of other AUs that i would honestly prefer to write. enjoy!

part 1

masterlist

━━★✼☆｡

y/n waited for a moment. It wasn't long, but it was enough she had to check the clock on her wrist. 1:37am. Although she heard the snoring of Lottie, sound asleep in her bed, y/n knew otherwise. She knew that as soon as her feet hit the carpeted floor of her daughter's bedroom, the girl would shoot straight up and whine for y/n to come back. She loved Lottie with all of her heart, like all of her kids, however sometimes the precious little angels got on her nerves. Just last Tuesday is a prime example as y/n desperately fiddling with the buttons of Tom's shirt, wanting nothing more to take every inch of him while his whole operation continued below them. Just as she had popped the last latch, James called out for his father from across the house, most likely because one of the boys got hurt again from the play fighting they insisted they do. Sadly, y/n redid her husband's buttons and let him leave her widely aroused and dissatisfied.

As she watched Lottie take in her small breaths, y/n recounted the moments. She still remembers her wedding, clear as day. It was in their garden, with the trees dressed in beautiful pink silk and the flowers somehow in full bloom. No one was around, it's was secluded and perfect. It was just them, Theo and James stood side by side, their matching suits made her heart swell. Their perfectly rosy cheeks lit up as they saw y/n make her way down the grassy aisle. Though she never saw it, Tom admits that it was Theo who smacked him on the arm to turn around. To come face to face with his bride, a blushing bride that was 7 months pregnant. It was a rush of a events that y/n never quite saw occuring so early into her life. Yet, the day she told Tom they were going to be parents, he asked her to marry him. Of course, y/n organised a typical wedding after she had given birth but at that very second, every bad thing she had to live through suddenly became a single speck of sand on a vast beach. A prologue to her wonderful life ahead of her.

The door swung open slightly, though the light from outside Lottie's room was off, y/n could instantly tell who was stepping over countless dolls and plastic cars. Tom knelt at the side of his daughter's bed, just below his wife as she softly stroked Lottie's forehead. "You need some rest Sweetness," he told her quietly, watching over Lottie's snoring figure.

"I can't" y/n stifled through a yawn. Though she greatly needed to run to her bed and pass out, she refused to leave Lottie unless she knew her daughter was absolutely deep in sleep. Tom sighed, letting his forehead hit the soft linen of the bed cover.

"You need sleep, I can't look after the brady bunch by myself," Tom joked. His hand came to draw soft circles on y/n's thigh. It was nothing if not soothing to her. He could directly make out her face in the darkness, but Tom knew his wife was smiling, a low grin painted upon her fatigued face. "I'll take this shift."

y/n reached out for his face, finding it in seconds. Her thumb now matched the pattern on his cheek that Tom was drawing on her thigh. "We made a deal," it was his speciality, but he never wanted it to get this bad. "You would help Theo with his Valentine's Day gift if I could get this one to sleep."

y/n possessed many traits that Tom adored. She was empathetic, a woman of incredible wit and intelligence, had the stamina of a bull but her stubbornness seemed to be her crowing glory. Tom knew his wife as well as he knew how to count to ten. She wasn't leaving until absolute confirmation was handed to her. "Sweetness, I would prefer if you came to bed with me," he tried, the approach was simple and usually it worked.

"As much as I would adore that, I'm not going anywhere with you mister," y/n teased. Her attention focusing back on Lottie. Perhaps it was the way her eyelids seemed to betray her, closing every few seconds or if it was simply the way the mattress felt beneath her legs. Eventually though, the mixture of all of those and her husband's head laying flat on her thighs, she began to slowly creep off the bed. The pads of her feet pressed against the floor in such delicacy, y/n doubted that she even touching it. She reached out for Tom, grasping slightly at his bare bicep as she lifted herself up.

Tom caught on to his wife's movements and made sure that the path was completely clear of any of Lottie's toys. Calmly, the pair of them tip-toed out. Every move halted by their daughter's movements but eventually, the door closed and y/n was free from the little montress's grip. y/n wishes that she was more awake, more alert because even in her half sleep dazed she could make out the tight white singlet that clung to Tom's body. She reached out for him, it was the weakest of touchs. Yet, her hand fell on his shoulder and running up to the base of his neck. It wasn't sexual in any form, instead they stood in the dim light in complete silence. Watching each other feel the affected of forced insomnia.

"How am I going to get up this morning," y/n giggled as she accepted the sudden embrace from Tom. Her head finding it's way into the same shoulder she tenderly caressed seconds ago. Tom's fingers coiled around her forearm gently as the began to quietly walk to their bedroom. "Hopefully Meg will be around at that time," she sighed as the soft breeze of their room hit her face. Meg was their nanny, a woman who has been employed by Tom since James was a baby. She was a sweet old thing, a cliché of the lovely old lady in fairtales.

"She will, sadly I won't," Tom told her, pressing a kiss to her cheek as they both hid themselves under the sating covers. y/n wanted to continue the conversation, she knew that Tom wouldn't be back at home until tomorrow night and for the first time, she would be in charge of everyone but she couldn't. As soon as her head hit the lavender scented pillow, she was out like a light. Tom just chuckled in return, pulling her into a soft embrace.

━━★✼☆｡

y/n wasn't an idiotic woman. She has been with Tom for two and a half years; married to him for two years, she immediately knew when something didn't feel right. As her fingers gripped the steering wheel, she peered in her rear-view mirror. It was something Tom's bodyguards drive around in. The vehicle was large and bulky, looking like it a take down a building with minimum amount of speed. It was painted in the midnight black, even the widows seemed to be darkened. Like before, y/n recognised the model of the car to be a sister of the cars she would frequently have to ride in if she accompanied Tom anywhere, he thought posed even the slightest amount of danger. She knew that with every corner she took, the car would mimic her turns. y/n caught onto it in seconds, watching through Lottie's car seat and Theo's mop of hair. It didn't help that when she called Tom's head guard, he told her that he had followed her orders. To let her pick up her children to avoid the never-ending shock from the ensemble of 6'5 muscular men accompanying her wherever she went.

"Do you want us to do anything about it ma'am?" he asked through the car's speaker. y/n pondered for a few seconds. While her gut was screaming at her that this was something completely out of the ordinary, if there was any ordinary being married to a Mob boss. Her mind knew that if she did say something to him now it was no doubt find its way to Tom. He would instantly assume the worst and cancel any important deal in front of him to race home. The guard's voice pulled her out of her concentration.

"Get the house under lockdown," she ordered, for the first time she felt truly in control but as all things it was slipping. "Do not tell my husband."

"Ma'am, it is imperative that Mr. Holland know of this," the guard protested. y/n had been going through quite a rough day. She was tired, overworked and constantly around wailing children. She refused to be around another. Her jaw clenched as she pulled into their street, the car still hot on her tail.

"I don't care, Tom will not know of this," y/n snapped, peering up for a final time but to her initial surprise that car had vanished. She had no clue where the fucker had gone. "It's probably nothing," she spoke quietly. The sentence was more reassurance for herself than from him, yet he had heard her, accepted her terms and hung up.

As she pulled the car into the impressively large garage, she lets her bare forehead hit top of the steering wheel. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth.

"Mum," Theo called out from the backseat, "are you alright?" The boy's question was laced with genuine concern. It released whatever anxiety riddled grip had got a hold of y/n. She gazed up, smiling as she let all her negative thoughts leave her before turning to her three children.

"I am just really tired honey," she replied as she exited the car and proceeded to undo Lottie's buckled. "Not to worry, I think it is Boy's Movie Night tonight!" Both boys cheered in unison. The afternoon went on as usual. Theo and James spent the entire time with their faces glued to the screen in front of them. Squealing every time the supposed bad guys landed flat on his ass, jumping at every occasion that they could. Even if they lived in a mansion, y/n was positive that everyone in this house could hear their playful laughter.

y/n sat next to Lottie; her curly brunette hair clipped back into two adorable pigtails. Lottie was a carbon copy of Tom. Even next to her half-brother James, Lottie seemed to possess ever physical trait of y/n's husband. The smooth somehow flawless skin, the bouncy chestnut curls that y/n just knows will be her daughter's statement piece when she grows up and finally the pair of chocolate eyes that gets her father weak every time, she babbles up at him. She wondered how all of her children would look like when they get old enough to make their own decisions. While James doesn't have Tom's colouring like Lottie does, he has this glimmer of mischievousness in his eyes. Something y/n has loves about her boys, they all share this odd ball of high-energy. Theo looks exactly like y/n, her colouring and her features. Theo's look alikeness to his mother is something y/n feels is divine intervention. To show that, this is her son. Her baby boy and no one else's unless she says so.

"Ma'am" Meg's heavy Irish accent perks up. She's standing at the windows, peering through the curtains slightly. "I think you should see this," she advises before stepping away from the scene and running to grab Lottie from her highchair. y/n hesitantly waltzes over, she presents a cool face to her children, but she can feel her stomach crawling into her throat as she gets closer. y/n pulls the fabric back slightly, she prays that is it now in the early hours of the night and the light is off. It's the same car, it's now parked across the road from her house. Just outside of their camera’s visibility, the vehicle is camouflaged almost to perfection, she can still spot it. Its headlights are off and the car makes not a single sound. At first, y/n faithfully believes she is now seeing things, that her brain is so unfathomably tired it has resorted to petty tricks. That is until one of the car doors open quickly. She waits for a moment as does this figure in the car before a pair of fit hit the ground. Though it makes no clamour, it startles her. y/n doesn’t wait to meet his eyes as his head ducks under the car roof to fully meet the air. She turns around to meet Meg’s eyes, the women wear matching looks.

“Take the children into the spare room, go now,” y/n speaks softly as not to alarm her sons. Meg nods quickly, instantly holstering Lottie on her hips and shooing the boys away from the glowing TV.

She pauses until she hears the door close. It’s deafening. She turns her attention back to the scene, it’s worse than before. There’s at least 7 of them huddled around this car, pulling unknown bags from the seats. As the mystery bags hit the ground, the unknown men begin opening it. It’s filled to the brim with metal, the holsters of guns peeking through with the aid of the dim light of the streetlight. y/n refused to observe anymore, silently she alerts the guards in the house. She doesn’t even process the next second, it’s like nothing is working anymore. y/n knows what the sound is, she knows what is happening, she knows that in a matter of seconds the men have begun firing at her front landing. Killing anyone standing outside, she can feel the bullets entering their bodies.

It’s with that, y/n goes from a fast pace to sprinting. She rushes down the long halls to meet with her children. It’s feels like an eternity that she is opening doors, calling out for any of them. All the while, gunshots ring out like a bell, constant and terrible. Her phone vibrates,it send her nerves over the edge. y/n stops for a second to stare at it, Tom’s name lights up the screen. Instead of answering, her fingers lose all their function. Her phone drops from her hand and hits the floor. She wants to pick it up but her feet work against her and begin to simply pace herself away from her phone as it continues to hum against the tiles.

Finally, she reaches the room. Meg holds Lottie close to her chest, rocking the toddler back and forth as Lottie cries into Meg’s shirt. Theo and James are standing in the middle of the room. Both look like they are on their verge of tears and to be completely truthfully, so was she. Closing the door, y/n immediately wraps her arms around her sons. She feels the wet tears staining her shoulders. She feels their chests rise and fall drop as best they can.

“You boys are so brave,” she sooths, her palms rubbing circles atop their heads. Slowly, she peers up. While the gunfire continues to ring out, y/n stares at the people in the room with her. Not a single bulb is turned on, the area is pitch black, but she can still see how this if affecting the boys. How Meg clutches onto Lottie’s wailing body. “It’ll be over soon.”

“You promise,” James chokes out, he wipes his face of her blouse. y/n pressed a tender kiss to his hair. She lets a single tear escape her eyes.

“I swear handsome,” y/n tells him, but she’s not convinced by the sound of her own voice. The boys pull away from her, one of her hands reaches for their salty cheeks. “Everything will be alright, Mumma swears.”

She doesn’t want to; she wants to scream. She wants to burn the entire house to the ground. She wants to leave with her children and never come back. y/n has never felt this in her entire life. This is not only pure terror for the lives of her children but it’s uncontrollable rage. She’s being held together by a tearing material of a rubber band. Her limbs are coiled, feeling as though she has rusted in the rain. Her mind doesn’t stop, it runs as if it has never felt this wrathful freedom in its life. A million different thoughts threaten to take power, as if they should decide her next move. She doesn’t let them of course, y/n’s had practice at this, and she will not crack now.

“Meg, give me Charlotte now,” y/n’s voice is hoarse and breaking with ever vowel that drops from her lips. The old lady rushes over to y/n and hands her Lottie. The toddler instinctively wraps her arms around y/n, refusing to let go. Another 20 minutes go by, it's torture. The air seems to wash around y/n as she clings onto her children for dear life. Quietly, she pans over to Meg. The old woman looks as if she has turned from the humble baker's wife down the street to death herself. Their eyes lock, passing silent messages to each other.

I'm sorry, y/n pleads. She thinks if she spoke it aloud, it would travel barely above a whisper.

It's okay, sweetheart, Meg responded. Though the woman only truly meant the first part, y/n wanted to believe that she would have used the nickname to calm her nerves. Somehow it did.

The moment lasted for only seconds. A fleeting feeling of safety was ruined by the doorknob rattling furiously. At the speed of sound, y/n had handed Lottie over to Meg and told her to hide in the bathroom with the children. y/n heard everything, the door lock behind Meg and the muffled yelling behind the door in front of y/n. She scrambled to her feet, driving her to the wide bedside table. She threw open the doors until she landed on the one thing she never believes she's use. A small handgun. y/n didn't quite have time to question her morals at this very second in time. y/n wrapped her fingers around the handle just as the door swung open. Tears spilled as she pointed the gun aimlessly.

"Thank god," his familiar voice rang out. y/n sunk to her knees, the gun falling right from her fingertips. Tom rushed to her side; he didn't know what to say to her. He knew exactly what she was feeling, he knew whatever attempt he made at explaining the horrid situation would break his poor wife even further.

y/n studied his features in the dim light of the room as he got closer to her. She had never seen him in such a state. His hair flopping all over his face, hiding whatever panic was clearly evident over his features. More specifically, y/n watched as it became clearer. A large splatter of blood across his right cheek. She fell right into his arms, finally allowing herself to stain his shirt with her burst of weeps.

━━★✼☆｡

y/n's body was on fire. The fire was nothing but pure pain. As if bugs were nesting right under skin, desperate for a gasp of air. Even the clock ticked loudly, ever noise of the hand pressed her brain against her skull. Every joint rigid in its own specific way, damaged and tight.

"Sweetness, talk to me," Tom soothed, using the towel to clean the final fragments of blood off his cheek. Her eyes squinted at him, waiting for him to do anything other than be his normal gentle self. y/n slid herself off the foot of their bed and walked to the closed door. Flashing images of the other room crossing her mind.

"I need to check on the kids," she huffed. While y/n knew Meg was laying wide away on the floor of Theo's room as all three children slept contently, she wanted to be away from him at a moment like this. She needed to not see his face. Alas, Tom's hand gripped her wrist tightly. The touch sizzled her skin, the tension elevated for a split second.

y/n whipped around to face him; Tom felt his patience slipping from him. "y/n, be an adult," he hissed.

Tom knew he shouldn't be talking to her like this, but he was at his wit's end. A candle burning to the final wax. He mentally fucked himself over when he got that stupid fucking call. Sir, your wife has informed us of an unidentified vehicle following her, it engraved itself into his mind. Tom remembers sitting at the desk, wondering if she was witnessing the same group, he had fucked over a few months ago. Deciding it could wait, Tom told them to keep his updated throughout the night. As if whatever god was up there decided to play a tortuous comedy routine with Tom, it did begin to progress. First, the car pulling up hours before his arrival. Then the major security breach and finally as they began shooting at his house, ready to slaughter anyone they found inside. Especially his family.

She watched his intently. Waiting for a further response and yet, nothing. Her anger was bubbling over. "I am an adult," she seethed at him, her fingers unwrapping themselves from the doorknob. "I make sure that my children are safe, I make it my life's mission to ensure that I am not the direct cause of those certain dangers I wish to keep them so far away from!"

She had ripped her hand from his grasp, this wasn't something she was backing away from. It was something she could fight and to which she intended to do until the very end.

The little monologue broke Tom's heart. How could she believe that he would do such a horrific thing? How could she blame him for the events that unfolded tonight? He wondered if she truly knew this was never his intention. That he never wanted his family to come under direct attack all because he made one dangerous decision.

“You don’t talk to me like that y/n,” He grumbled. The air seemed to thicken with every word, cause more distance between the spouses. It was never like this they fought like a normal couple but never with this much venom. “I don’t deserve such criticism, especially from you.”

“Why?” she pondered, she moved closer to him. Inching closer with every second. “Is it because you question my authority? Or maybe is it because I am some silly little schoolteacher who got trouble with the wrong kind of people," she moved closer with every word of the sentence, pushing her dangerously closer. It’s a risk she must take if she wants to feel any sort of release.

“Stop being so theatrical y/n, you endured something horrible, but that is what you signed up for when you married me,” the room climbed in temperature. Tom had half a mind to strip himself just to get closer to peace, but with y/n so close to his chest, he preferred to work on her. Tom can’t pinpoint what made his mind switch in directions. Maybe it was the ever-growing heat, or perhaps it was the indescribable feeling of almost losing your wife and mother of your children. Either way, Tom thoughts were growing darker. The need to bruise y/n’s skin seemed to be the only thing he could really think about. “You wanted this,” he grunted, closing in on her. “Sweetness, you agreed to this lifestyle as soon as you sunk your sweet cunt onto me.”

The vulgarity of his words caught her off guard. Her breath stopped halfway when her back almost slammed into the wall. She wasn’t giving in so easily, even if the heat from her body had swiftly travelled to the valley between her thighs. y/n turned her head away from him in any desperation to not look at him. Unfortunately, Tom caught her actions as if he knew her every move. His fingers pressed against her chin to bring her eyes back to him. Tom was worried for an instant that she would truly be too furious with him to play into his game. Luckily, her eyes betrayed her. The big doe eyes of her stared up at him, pleaded to be fucked like an animal. Slammed into until all of her rage had slipped from her conscious.

“Screw yourself Tom,” she coughed out. She was playing along, y/n knew exactly where this was heading. A tender kiss was placed upon her lips, while the action itself was soft, nothing about the kiss genuinely was. It was the ultimate puzzle piece for him.

"You want to speak to me like a bitch," Tom chuckled, "you'll get fucked like a bitch." He kicked the back of her knees harshly, causing her to meet with the floor. "On your knees and hands behind your back." She wanted to protest, she wanted to act out the little brat but like most things, her arms instinctively pulled themselves behind her. "Now, I sincerely hope I don't have to punish you further sweetness," Tom soothed as he swiftly undid the buckle of his jeans, discarding the items of clothing across the room. His throbbing cock hit the base of his stomach with a soft slap. y/n bit her lip in instinct, it had been a while, and did she wholly miss this glorious scene in front of her.

y/n leaned forward and dragged her tongue from the base of him until her lips met with the beads of pre-cum drenching him. Slowly but surely, she wrapped her lips around him. Letting him enjoy the wet cavern of her mouth for a short time. He threw his head back in unison with a beautifully quiet moan. Her eyes never left him, as she bobbed her head gradually. If she was on her knees unable to reach out and touch him, she would at least make it fun for her. y/n only quickened her pace if their line of focus connected. As soon as Tom stared directly into her eyes, she would start her movements but if he turned away to enjoy the moment, everything would stop. It went like this before Tom had quite enough of it all. Without uttering a single word, Tom wrangle his hands into her soft hair and thrusted right up into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat roughly. She gagged loudly, making an awful sound as she attempted to regain her position. He pulled away from her, only to slam right back into her mouth. Unlike her plan beforehand, as he face fucked her, his pace begins to speed up.

y/n was now struggling to hold back her ragged gags as small tears slid out of her eyes. "Pretty girl, all worked out from my cock in your mouth huh?" Tom teased as he relished in the sounds of her cacophony of broken breaths. Just as quickly as he began, he pulled away from her complete. He dropped out of her mouth with a small pop and a trail of saliva that landed on the tops of her breasts. "Get up," to which she happily obliged. As soon as y/n had regained her footing, Tom's hands had completely destroyed her pants. The loose skirt was now in two pieces at her feet, along with her favourite pair of panties. Unfortunately, she didn't even get a second to scold him before he spun her around and slammed her chest against the wall. The pain excited her, it coursed through her torso and down into her legs, causing them to spasm slightly.

Tom looked at her, in the soft moonlight she was glowing. Ass facing him, tits pressed up against the wall. Complete ready for him. Tom gave her a small kiss on her shoulder, this time it truly was meant to be tender but in typical Tom fashion. As soon as his lips left her skin, Tom plunged right up into her. His hand covering her surprised squeal. God did he miss this. Filling her tight pussy right up to the brim. Even after everything they had been through, she still fit him like a glove. Hugged him so perfectly, Tom was worried he was shot his load right into her at this very moment. Sadly, he pushed the thought away and began rocking into her; his hand still covered over her mouth.

y/n could feel every inch of his like this. She could feel just how hard he was ramming into her cunt. Her nails gripped onto the wall in front of her as she whimpered into the palm of his hand. With every snap of his hips, her worries seemed to really melt away. All the tension built up in her body being oiled as he parted her legs to reach a nook in her that she thought impossible. “Tommy, f—fuck, oh my god,” it was incoherent garble. Nonsense talk as her eyes rolled back into her head for a few seconds. His head found the valley of her neck, peppering light kisses a major difference to the rough pace he had adopted.

“What is it sweetness,” Tom gasped right into her ear. The hot air tickling her skin. His other hand gripped callously at her hip, bruising the delicate skin under his fingers. “Come on tell me,” Tom was struggling to keep himself in check. The pure sound of skin against skin as he fucked her ass filled the air, pushing him closer to ecstasy. His hand pulled away from her lips, an immediately low moan tumbled from her lips. y/n waited for her body to response to anything, everything thrown out the window every time his dick hit her perfect spot inside of her.

“Har—harder,” she strained through strings of vulgarities and chants of his name. Tom smirked at her, she caught it before he pulled away from her. Tom started to slow his movements, observing how she swallowed him whole every time he thrusted into her tight hole.

“You really want it harder sweetness?” Tom asked, he was just as desperate for a release as she was. y/n nodded her head furiously, words seeming to fail her at this instance. “Turn around,” he ordered, she swivelled around to face him. Her once neat hair now a mess of pleasure tugged strains. Her lids fluttering shut and her cheeks flushed. She looked like a Greek statue. Tom bent and lifted her over his shoulders, earning a tiny giggle from his huffing wife above him. He frantically sprinted over to their bed and promptly chucked her on it. The force knocking a bit of wind out of her.

In a flash of actions, her face had been pressing into the mattress and her ass high up in air. Tom gave it a light smack before lining up and pounding right into her. Both of them let out a soft line of curses. It had never been this intense in their entire relationship.

The room was silent. Nothing could be heard outside but inside was a different idea. Tom brought her hips down roughly onto him, matching his tattered speed. y/n’s breaths were muffled by the cover of the blanks, her hands desperate for anything to latch onto for support as he fucks her relentlessly. It a beautiful mixture of sounds. Nothing like the soft breaths and gasps on a normal night. While those still as amazing as now, this was pure unfiltered animalistic need. No feelings, just a fantastic way to blow off incredible tense steam. Tom usually adored staring at her as her face scrunched up in pleasure but something about how every time his cock rammed up into her, everything moved with his thrusts. It was memorising, as if a painting had been brought to life. y/n had lost track of time during this, so focused on the way he was able to stretch her so wide that she had completely forgot how long she had been lying here. She didn’t dwell on it for too long before the divine familiar feeling presented itself to her, dwelling at the pit of her stomach.

“Go faster, I’m going t—to come,” she pleaded, lifting her head up for only a moment before diving right back into her muffled screams. Tom growled at this, picking up his already forceful speed. While he tried, his thrusts became sloppy and jagged.

“Come with me sweetness,” he whispered to her, his fingered rubbing cathartic circles on her sensitive clit. The sensation on her bud rupturing another last piece of sanity in her body.

With a final thrust, both y/n and Tom came. A relief as both almost shouted out in absolute ecstasy, their juices mixing together in a beautiful sense of the terms. y/n’s toes curled as she felt it all, every little piece of tension, anger and lust all combine and explode inside of her. Tom wasn’t even the slightest but worried as he had been before this had begun. His sweaty forehead lay against her spine, as his wife attempted to catch her breath. Slowly he pulled out of her, his cum leaking out of her. A sight he would love to have burned into his vision for the rest of his life.

“Feel better?” Tom asked her as he threw himself next to her. y/n turned to face him and for the first time that night an honest grin appeared on her face. A grin given to her by whatever relief she had received moments before.

“Much,” she replied.

━━★✼☆｡

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maaaddiexo · 3 years

Text

The Within Series | Legolas Greenleaf

Book 1: The Devil Within - Part 1.9

Mainlist | Serieslist

Nyx of Tyndall does not know love or kindness. Cursed at a young age by a jealous witch, Nyx has lived a life of solitude and death.

Until Gandalf the Grey requests her presence and uncontrollable skill in assisting a young Hobbit across Middle-Earth with nine others to destroy a ring so powerful all fall victim to its evil.

Not only must Nyx face Orcs, demons, and creatures she’s never seen before, but also the devil inside. Controlling the devil is the key to finding freedom in a spell that can’t be broken. But it will not be so easy for Nyx when every obstacle she faces pushes her to an edge she cannot return from.

Chapter Nine

Nyx slept soundlessly that night, which surprised her. She’d been dwelling on her decision to join the Fellowship the moment she’d agreed. She was tired. She didn’t want to go any further. And yet, looking into Frodo’s eyes and feeling no judgement from Aragorn, how could she possibly say no?

An elf woke Nyx up in the early hours of dawn, helping her into a warm tub and rubbing the stress away with a sponge. Nyx did her best to fight the anger at not being allowed to sleep in but she was aware of the water heating up a few degrees when it should have been cooling. Her anger was stronger than before. Harder to control.

Afterwards, the elf helped Nyx into dark pants – she couldn’t tell if they were brown or black – and a dark blue turtleneck tunic. Overtop, she was given a thick woollen cloak, black as night. Her hair was braided into two inverted braids which were then secured in a bun at the nape of her neck.

“Low maintenance,” the elf explained, standing up. “Will you be joining the others for breakfast?”

Nyx inhaled. Since her arrival she’d avoided eating in the dining hall. Being around so many people made her uncomfortable, which made it easier for the evil within to take control win. But she would be traveling with these people now for who knew how long. She would have to get used to it. But, perhaps, not yet. “Oh, um, no. I need to finish packing.”

The elf nodded and left. Nyx moved to the end of her bed, where Elrond’s gifts from the day before lay.

“You will need weapons, my dear. And not just this old…thing,” he looked at the scythe with disdain. The blade was chipped and dull, and the wooden handle was thinning where she often gripped it. The wood was also stained with blood, but it often was and Nyx had grown tired of washing the wood when she didn’t even see anyone.

“I don’t have any other weapons, Lord Elrond. I’m sure I will be fine.”

“Nonsense. Since your arrival, I have had my people working on some new weapons for you. Including a new scythe. Gandalf tells me you are quite attached.”

“It’s the only way I’m connected to them.” Gandalf had told Nyx that her parents had lived on farm before they had her. And though she didn’t have any memories of them, this made her feel close to them.

Elrond nodded and placed Nyx’s old scythe against the wall. “Then it will be waiting right here for you when you return. But you cannot take that into war. It will splinter on the first strike. Here,” Elrond lifted his arm and two Elves came in. One carried a thick bundle wrapped in cloth while the other carried a scythe made fully of metal, with strips of black wood running with the long handle from top to bottom.

Nyx ran her hand along it in awe. “It’s beautiful.”

“It is strong. It will serve you well. And here.” The second Elf unraveled the bundle of cloth, revealing two daggers with birch hilts and a knife with a red wood hilt. “For extra protection.”

Nyx smiled at Elrond. “Thank you. You owe me nothing and yet you always offer so much.”

Elrond smiled. “You are worth so much more than you think, Nyx of Tyndall. Soon you will see.”

Nyx smiled. “I really am sorry about your gazebo. And your Council Room floor.”

Elrond laughed. “Already forgiven. But don’t expect me to forget anytime soon.”

Nyx sheathed her weapons in the leather holster the Elf had dressed her in underneath her cloak. There were slots for her two daggers and the knife, plus an additional holster that she wore over her cloak. One strap went around her chest while the across her chest like a sash. The holster was on the back. She’d had a similar one before, but it seemed Elrond had replaced that as well.

Nyx knew breakfast would be over by nine, so she was in the courtyard at nine-oh-five, patiently waiting for the rest to arrive. Ever the punctual Elf, Legolas was the first to arrive.

“Good morning, Lady Nyx.”

Nyx grimaced. “Please, just Nyx.”

Legolas inclined his head, hands behind his back. He carried a bow and arrow, the bow made from a material unlike anything Nyx had ever seen. The holster for his quiver was similar to Nyx’s. His hair was braided the same as the day before: a small one going around each ear and a larger one for the hair on the crown of his head. He was dressed differently than when he had first arrived. He wore tall brown boots and grey pants. Arm guards over a grey shirt and a green elven tunic. He touched Nyx’s scythe, which she had in her hand at the moment. His fingers ran over a small inscription in elvish near the hilt of the blade.

“Dilthen lúg. Little Dragon,” Legolas read. “What does that mean?”

Nyx furrowed her brow. “It is what Gandalf used to call me…when I was a little girl. I almost forgot he used to call me that.”

“Why did he call you that?”

Nyx closed her eyes, but the memory was a good one. Those were rare for her. “I had the short temper of a dragon. Plus, my bad habit of catching fire made the nickname an easy choice for Gandalf. I used to find it endearing. Now, people say my name with malice and fear in their voices.”

“Why? You do not look so dangerous. Except, of course, for the large weapon in your hands.”

Nyx looked at the scythe as someone else joined the two of them and spoke. Aragorn. “Do not doubt her, Legolas. She has more fire in her than you think.”

Nyx looked away and took a few steps back, under an old stone arch. The two conversed and she ran her thumb over the inscription Legolas had pointed out. She hadn’t even noticed it until he’d mentioned it. She looked over at the Elf. He was laughing with Aragorn freely and she wondered how two people who’d seen battle and taken so many lives could still be so happy.

She looked at Aragorn. Though she knew he meant nothing ill, his words bothered her still, and she felt the anger inside her swell.

Take control of it.

Nyx leaned her head against the stone wall, closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths. They didn’t work. It seemed she had less control over the evil inside her since she carried the Ring.

“Nyx!”

Gandalf was standing in front her, waving his hand back and forth in front of her face. The rest of the Fellowship had arrived but, thankfully, no one was paying attention to the two.

“Sorry, Gandalf.”

“What is troubling you, my dear?”

“It’s the Ring. It did something to me. I feel…angrier. The littlest things are making me angry. This morning, I nearly cut off the Elf’s head when she woke me up. And just now, Aragorn.” Nyx shook her head. “Maybe it is best if I do not journey with you.”

“Nonsense, my dear. You are one of us. There is more good in you than you think. Come.”

“The Ring Bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom,” Elrond announced. “On you who travel with him, no oath or bond is laid to go further than you will. Farewell. Hold to your purpose. May the blessings of Elves and Men and all free folk go with you.”

“The Fellowship awaits the Ring Bearer.”

Frodo turned nervously, taking the time to look at all the people who had chosen to accompany him on quest they may not return from. He walked through the group, leading the way.

The moment they crossed over Rivendell’s border, the air of magic dissipated, and Nyx suddenly felt it hard to breathe. She was at the back of the group with Aragorn who noticed instantly.

“Sacred Elven places suppress other forms of magic that is not their own for the sake of protection,” he explained. “Now outside of Rivendell, you once again feel the full force of the curse.”

“It wasn’t this bad before,” Nyx whispered, mainly to herself. “The Ring did something to me. To the curse.”

“Perhaps when we destroy it, you will go back to normal.”

Nyx didn’t know what normal was. “Do you really think we will destroy it?”

Aragorn was silent.

That afternoon they stopped for lunch and a longer break than usual. While Boromir helped Pippin and Merry work on their swordsmanship and Sam handed out plates of food to everyone, Nyx sat silently beside Gandalf as he smoked his trusty pipe.

Gimli, who was slightly behind Nyx and Gandalf, spoke surely, “If anyone was to ask of my opinion, which I note they are not, I’d say we are taking the long way ‘round. Gandalf, we could pass through the mines of Moria. My cousin, Balin, would give us a royal welcome.”

A sour taste filled Nyx’s mouth at the name of Moria, but she wasn’t quite sure why.

“No, Gimli,” Gandalf replied softly. “I would not take the road through Moria unless I had no other choice.”

“Why?” Nyx asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Evil lurks close there in the shadows,” Gandalf replied. “And since we are already walking straight into the fire, it would be best to avoid it when possible.”

Legolas, who had been watching the north, suddenly moved to the other side of the rocky outcropping to watch the south. He stared intently.

“What is it? What do you see?”

Legolas glanced at Nyx, who was squinting to try and see what he saw.

“Nothing, it’s just a whiff of cloud,” Gimli insisted.

“It’s moving fast,” Boromir stood. “Against the wind.”

“Crebain from Dunland!” Legolas shouted.

“Hide!” Aragorn shouted.

Nyx grabbed for Legolas, who remained where he was, quickly searching for the perfect place to hide. She found it nearly instantly, five paces from where they stood now. She dragged him along, tugging him under the curved boulder. Together, they tried to quiet their breathing and still their movements. Nyx heard everybody else scatter, their feet thumping against the ground as they ran for cover. She could feel Legolas’ chest against her shoulder and tried to match his steady breathing. It was hard but she managed to slow her breathing and calm the fire dwelling in the pit of her stomach.

The sky darkened with the birds’ arrival, caws piercing the air. Nyx saw their shadows on the ground in front of her as they flew by, circling the area before leaving in the same way they came. Slowly everybody emerged and watched the birds leave. Legolas looked back at their hiding place. From where he stood, he could barely see where they’d hidden.

“That is an excellent hiding spot,” Legolas admired.

Nyx shrugged and walked away. She was good at hiding. “What are they?”

“Spies of Saruman! The passage South is being watched. We must take the Pass of Caradhras.”

Nyx looked up at the snowy mountain, its peak hidden above the clouds. She grabbed her pack and tightened the laces on her boots. They set out immediately, climbing the steep incline of the mountain range. Nearly to the top, there was a grunt from behind Nyx and she turned to see Frodo tumbling down the hill.

“Frodo!” Gandalf called, unable to do anything but watch him roll down the slope of the mountain. Thankfully, Aragorn stopped him before he could roll too far and immediately Frodo reached for his chest. The Ring was gone. He spotted it just as Boromir did, lifting it up by the chain and holding it closely to his face.

“Boromir,” Aragorn said softly. The man either did not listen to him or did not hear him.

“It is a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing… Such a little thing.” He reached up to touch it. Aragorn called his name again, this time firmer. The man heard him this time.

“Give the Ring to Frodo.”

Nyx watched from beside Gandalf as he reluctantly returned the Ring to Frodo and ruffled his hair. She turned to the wizard. “I do not like the way he looks at the Ring. And I especially don’t like the way he looks at Frodo.”

Gandalf clenched his jaw, shifting his weight. “Neither do I, my dear. Neither do I.”

Part 1.10 ➺

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random-mha-thoughts · 4 years

Text

Greedy (Shinsou x Reader)

Pairing: Shinsou x Reader

Genre: Fluff/Comfort, College!AU

Summary: You’re an extremely touch-starved college student, so you ask your friend Shinsou to help you out.

Word count: 2,282

Tags: @yuki-osaki @liviitehe @iamsoftsodonttoucheume-blog @bunnythepipsqueak

a/n: I may or may not be projecting on this one...

This took way longer to write and it ended up way longer and shittier than I expected. Not to mention I fell asleep in the middle of writing last night, so I’m sorry this wasn’t up sooner!

I was debating between Shinsou and Todoroki on this one, but I haven’t written for Shinboi in a while, so why not? (If you guys want a Todoroki ver, I’ll write it too!)

I hit 500 followers 2 days ago! Thank you guys again for liking my posts and my content, I really appreciate it! I’ll work hard to give you better stuff in the future!

I said in my milestone post that I would start a new tradition of spotlighting other writers/artists in the community that I follow to spread some love around, so I’m promoting @lovingshoto once again! If you want some floofy headcanons and one shots, go check her out!

Alright, I’m done talking, enjoy lovelies~

My friend blinks at me. He's practically frozen with fear at my proposal.

"Come on, it's not that bad! Why are you looking at me like I asked you to hide a body for me?" I whine.

"It's not that." He puts down the drink he almost choked on. "It's just...very strange."

I'll admit, it's a very unconventional request I asked of Shinsou, but it's very rational, I swear. "I have scientific evidence to persuade you. Science agrees that it helps lower depressive symptoms and stress. And it releases Oxytocin and makes you happier. Which I really think both of us can benefit from."

My friend sighs. "It still sounds really weird."

"And it improves sleep." I give him a pointed look.

For the first time in our conversation, Shinsou finally seems interested. "Alright, I'm listening."

A grin splits my face in two. "We can start at twice a week! That way, it won't interfere with both of our busy schedules too much."

The violet-haired boy crosses his arms over his chest. "What's so great about cuddling anyway?"

My jaw drops to the floor. "Shinsou, are you telling me you've never cuddled anyone before?" When his face turns red in shame, I know his answer. "You poor, touch-starved boy. How about tonight we give it a try, and then you can give me your answer?"

Shinsou levels a gaze at me. I can't read what exactly he's thinking, but I'm hoping I'm pulling him to my side. Spring is start to hit and I'm feeling both the emotional and physical consequences of so-called cuffing season. Long, hot showers, wrapping myself in blankets, and clothing myself in hoodies and fuzzy socks to survive winter aren't cutting it for me anymore. I want to say I'm becoming influenced by the amount of couples I see walking around campus, but it sounds more intelligent for me to say it's a natural instinct of animals.

But I know it's just an emotional thing, I'm lonely and touch-starved myself.

Shinsou rubs the back of his head. "Where and when is this happening?"

The poor, confused boy stands in front of my bed. "What am I supposed to do again?"

Huffing, I pull his arm into me. "Just get in here and hug me. I'll help you."

I don't blame my awkward friend for being hesitant. He's not usually one for invading personal space and he's definitely not the hugging type. Unfortunately for him, I am a hugger and physical touch whore.

"Just lay back like this, arm out." I position him on his back before laying on my side, using his arm as a pillow and wrapping an arm around his torso, almost like hugging a life-sized teddy bear. Feeling his warmth radiating from him, I hum in satisfaction. "Just like that."

Shinsou eyes me, stiff as a board. It's a cute expression, watching his face tinted in rosy blush. "W-What now?"

I shrug. "We just talk. Or we can just stay here silently." But he's still panicked about the whole thing, so I decide it might be easier for him to be distracted by conversation. "How was your bio test yesterday?"

"It was...okay." His gaze darts back and forth between me and some other object in the room. "I think I messed up on one of the answers."

His arm under me hasn't relaxed from his tense state. "Are you having trouble in class in general?"

"Yeah, but the bio department in general is out to get all of us anyway. Something about narrowing down the huge number of pre-med kids."

I nod slowly, but Shinsou still looks completely nervous. "Hey, is this making you too uncomfortable? I don't want to force you to do something you don't like." Maybe I went about this the wrong way.

He finally looks down at me. "No, it's not- Damnit. It's just... I'm not used to it. I don't really know what I'm supposed to do, and I'm not much of a hugger, and I don't think I'm the best person to do this for you."

My heart melts at his candor, guilt eating at me. I get up from my position. "I'm sorry, it was selfish of me. I didn't even think- I guess it's a little pathetic."

Shinsou sits up and hugs me. "It's not pathetic, don't think that way." His large hand strokes the back of my head.

I'm taken back by the sudden gesture. "Look at you, being all touchy-feely now."

"Shut up, you're obviously trying to make this work, I should put in an effort too." The tempo of his head pats slows. "Also, is it...strange that I kind of missed your warmth when you pulled away?"

Something flutters inside me as I smile to myself. "I think I've made you a believer."

"So, how did your presentation go?" Shinsou strokes my hair from behind.

His soft touches coupled with the warmth radiating from his chest on my back is a magic relaxation spell. My eyes are already closed in bliss. "Went great, especially since my group stayed up late the night before to practice like 500 times. I'm just glad it's over."

"You think you did well?"

"Yeah." I feel myself already drifting off from his hypnotic gesture.

His deep chuckle resounds in my ear. "If you were a cat, you'd be purring right now."

I snuggle closer into his chest. "I can't help it, I'm just so tired and you're putting me to sleep."

Shinsou has really warmed up to our twice a week cuddles. We thought it would be best to have a Friday night cuddle to wind down from the week and a Tuesday night cuddle to energize in the middle of the week. If either of us end up being busy one of those days, we said we can either postpone it a day or just wait until the next cuddle day, but nothing has every come up yet. It's settled very nicely into both of our routines.

He seems to enjoy it more than me sometimes, sending me eager texts or showing up early to our cuddle sessions. It's not uncommon for him to end up sleeping until morning as we embrace. It warms my heart knowing he's realized the benefits of cuddling.

"Can you turn around? My arm's about to fall asleep," Shinsou asks, and I lay on my other side, letting him fold that arm near his head and wrap the other around my torso.

Speaking of warmth, I never imagine I would feel a different kind of warmth when I'm near him. It's not the kind that comes just from the sharing of heat. It's the kind that sends tingles or goosebumps through you from just under the surface of your skin, makes you a different type of cozy, the feeling of sweetness without the taste.

Our relationship grew deeper than I think we both expected. Slowly, we've opened up to each other about deeper things we wouldn't have normally talked about. Late into the night, if we were both still awake, we would open up about out innermost thoughts, secrets, and demons.

Most importantly, I'd say it definitely improved my mood overall. Not only did it give me something to look forward to, but I feel happier. Even on nights where Shinsou ends up leaving for his own room, I'm left with an afterglow buzz, sleeping with a smile on my face for the rest of the night. Thinking about it during the day sends another wave of warmth through me. It's as if all my stress melts away when we're in each other's presence, basking in each other's scent and low breathing.

Though, there is something about cuddling Shinsou that makes me want more of him. I don't know if this is a side effect of the warmth, but I understand his eagerness to spend more time interlocked as we do. All I want to do is snuggle closer to him until there's no more space left. The afterglow of the cuddle sessions would easily be replaced with a cold emptiness, leading me to crave his touch during the day. I'm a starving child who's become a greedy glut for nourishment.

Shinsou's scent is stronger now that I'm facing him. I press my arms into his chest, allowing me to lean in closer to his neck, gradually morphing into a ball against him. I don't know how I survived without this before.

This week has been absolute shit. I'm so close to screaming at something, my lungs feel like they're going to burst. A mix of anger, self-loathing, loneliness, and melancholy bubble underneath the surface. I failed a test in one of my major science classes, I have a paper summary due sometime next week, and two written assignments due in two days. On top of all of that, as part of a pairs assignment in one of my classes, none of the "friends" signed up to be my partner. And these are the same "friends" continuing on to graduate school with me. As if that wasn't bad enough, I'd left my umbrella in my dorm and it poured rain today.

Trudging up the stairs of my dorm building, I open my door and slide my bag off my damp shoulders without moving inside. A familiar tickle in my eyes, heaviness in my chest, and overall loss of warmth in my body almost starts overtaking me.

I don't want to be along right now, I think desperately, closing the door and practically sprinting down the hall, up another flight of stairs, and finding another room. I don't care if it's not Tuesday or Friday, I can't be alone right now.

I slam the door open, thankful that he never bothers to lock it. But I turn the bolt closed.

Shinsou jumps up in surprise. He's sitting at his desk, textbooks and laptop open. I would feel bad for intruding at a time like this, but I'm too far into my feelings to care about things like shame or decency.

"What's wrong?" he looks up at me as I rush over.

I don't respond, grabbing his arm and harshly yanking him out of his seat only to throw him onto his bed. His eyes widen as I climb on top of him, one of my knees between his legs. We haven't used this position, but I just don't care. Once I collapse my head onto his chest, he audibly breathes out a sigh of relief and relaxes, settling one of his hands on top of my slightly dampened head and the other on my back. "What happened?"

His warmth and fresh scent that normally calms me right down makes me silently sob into his chest. I don't hold anything back from him; all my feelings ranging from my past mental health to my childhood quarrels with my parents to the existence of time being a curse for not being enough of it in a day burst from my lips messily. I probably sound a mix of drunk and deranged.

Shinsou doesn't say a word, only alternating between stroking my wet hair and patting my back gently, even as I make a mess of his shirt. "It's been a tough week, you deserve to rest before you even try to tackle it. Those people aren't your friends, you don't owe them anything and you shouldn't expect anything from them either. They don't deserve how great a person you are. You're doing great, trust me. You're hardworking, friendly, trustworthy. Anyone would know you're an absolute gem to be with."

His words evoke a shift in me. This warmth is different from the emotional bursts I've felt before. Hearing compliments from him hits differently.

And that's when it hit me. I'm not just greedy for his cuddles, I want Shinsou as a person. As my boyfriend.

My eyes snap open and I lift my head up. I meet his confused stare. "Do you...mean that?"

One of his eyebrows lift up. "Of course. You're amazing, why would I lie about that?"

I feel a slight rush of heat. "Would you... Do you see me... in some other way?"

He blinks once before a tint of pink coats his cheeks. "Well...maybe I do? I didn't want to say anything about it, but since you're asking, I won't hide it from you." The color saturates more. "I like these cuddles and everything, but...sometimes I think I want more of you. It's...we're already doing this whole thing together, it feels like we're already a couple." His arms constrict around me. "Sometimes, I want to hold you like this and call you...k-k-" He coughs, embarrassed of his next word. "Kitty."

My own face gets infinitely hotter as my stomach tumbles at his term of endearment.

"Y-You already nuzzle into me like one!" he adds defensively. "It's not weird, I swear!" I looks cute to see him all flustered like this.

I kiss his nose instinctively and he turns tomato red. "I think it's really cute," I mumble. "You can call me that if you want. I'll be your kitty."

Shinsou seems like he's in a panic, arms frozen as they constrict around me. "Wow... That sounds better than I thought it would," he mutters incredulously.

I chuckle. "You said that out loud, Hitoshi."

One of his large hands cups my jaw and I nuzzle against it. "My precious kitty." It rolls off his tongue so naturally. He presses a kiss on my forehead. "I'll keep you happy with my cuddles."

I smile against his touch. "Aren't you happy I showed you cuddling? Aren't they great?"

"They're the best, especially with you, Kitty."

#Shinsou x reader #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #shinsou hitoshi #college!AU #shinsou fluff #comfort #gender neutral reader #shinsou imagine #shinsou scenario #mha shinsou #bnha shinsou #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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di-kut · 4 years

Text

Baar Bal Runi: Chapter 6

Series Masterlist

Pairing: The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive!Reader

Words: 4K

Summary: (Body Swap AU) You and the Mandalorian have stopped on Garel, a huge urbanised centre, in order to refuel and restock again. Fears of lurking bounty hunters, your looming shower, and the things you have kept from Mando are making you skittish and jumpy.

Rating: T

A/N: I am so sorry this has taken me SO LONG to do!! Thank you to everyone for being very patient and lovely with me while the chapter whooped my ass. I am going to hell for teasing this shower scene again and not delivering I know. Also guys @adikaofmandalore has made an absolutely gorgeous moodboard for this series here!

Garel reminds you too much of Coruscant.

You stare out the small window, arms folded over the chest plate of the Beskar, watching the speeders curve in layers like winding snakes up into the sky, black shadows against a rich purple sky. Beneath you there’s the yelling of stalls and sounds of droids just off the alley in front of the hotel. The streets are crowded, the walls around you leak with waste from machinery. Distant rock formations loom with the towering of the buildings around you. Everything is tinged purple, or red and blue from the bright artificial lights lining the streets. Beneath you, two floors down on street level, a garbage shoot opens and empties cubes of compressed plastic into a dumpster. You pull the window closed.

Mando watches you from his bed, hit feet crossed at the ankles. Scarf finally removed, in only your tunic and trousers and boots. Hair unbraided, but tucked into his collar to keep the loose strands from getting into his way. The bed is a narrow creaking thing, but the mattress has springs and is stuffed, and feels like heaven after months on the Crest. Your bed is identical, pushed against the opposite wall of the small room. You move to it, decide suddenly against sitting, and pace back to the window.

“It’ll be fine.” Mando’s eyes track your progress across the room.

“There are so many people.”

“Exactly. No one will pick you out in a crowd. Or – or – pick me out.” He frowns. “We just need a refuel, and water. And they accept Imperial credits since – ”

I can’t work. You sigh and pause in your track across the room. You haven’t talked about it, not exactly. Haven’t talked about what will happen when the credits run out, but you can’t live forever without one of you picking up a job. You resist the urge to take the helmet off, know you still have to make your way back through the crowds to the ship, collect your packs for the nights you had rented rooms, had access to facilities to mend and wash your things. It had been months since you had anything other than just the inside of the Crest or a tiny trading dock on some backwash planet. You should be excited, but –

“What’s wrong?” Mando says.

“It’s… nothing.”

He can’t see your eyes, but unnervingly seems to sense where they have drifted, and his line of sight follows yours to the closed door of the ‘fresher. You hadn’t been able to rent the cheapest rooms, as you had originally intended, because it would have meant communal showers. Which was not an option. And you were glad, not just for the Creed, but also because you would not have to discover the Mandalorian’s body in a room full of strangers. And he would not have to do the same for you. Your face is so hot you can feel sweat starting to form at your hairline. You should not be worrying about washing, on a planet so bustling and full you have far more to keep your mind occupied. The threat of Bounty Hunters was very real on a planet like Garel, and it was not only you but the kid you should have been worried for. But.

“Are you okay with this?” He asks.

You pull at your glove. Catch the thick seams of the leather between your fingertips. “Yes. No. Not really but… I need to wash. We can’t just not wash.” You admit in a small voice. “Is… is it okay for you? The armour…”

He deflates in a puff of air, sinks into the bed. “I don’t know. But like you said. We can’t not wash.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” He echoes. Stares down at his hand – your hand – laying flat over his stomach. “Is there… anything we can do? To make it easier.”

You shrug. Feel your leg begin to jump against the ground so you pace again. And Mando watches you carefully from the bed in the corner, letting his eyes drift to follow you about the room.

“Gotabor.” He waits till the helmet turns to look at him. “Whatever I can do, just tell me. I will do it.”

You sigh and finally let yourself sink into your own bed. “I don’t know. Just – just – ” You scratch the your neck under its covering and then the underside of your jaw. Its growing itchy with facial hair, beginning to catch on the fabric and rub at the helmet on the sides of your cheeks. “Nothing. I don’t know.”

“We don’t have to – ”

“No. We need to wash.”

You and the Mandalorian stare at each other, mirrors on your identical beds at opposite ends of the rooms. His face is pinched again, but he otherwise looks so relaxed you would never have guessed he was bothered at all, shoulders propped on the pillow, chest sunken back half against the wall. Completely at odds with his expression. He nods eventually.

There’s a soft, sleepy coo from the cot. It’s hovered in the corner, unsealed, but the child is asleep inside. Rolls over slightly and one of his large ears pokes out of his blankets. But he does not wake, tucks his ear back against his side and makes another quiet noise of contentment. You both stare at the kid, glad to have something to think about that isn’t your impending showers, or each other’s bodies. You needed to get your things before you can shower – can’t bear the thought of having to put the same dirty clothes back on afterwards. The delay is a relief, but also makes the twisting anxious knot in your stomach worse. You aren’t sure what’s worse; knowing you will have the Mandalorian’s body completely exposed to you or knowing yours will be exposed to him.

Mando makes some noise, like he’s clearing his throat. You look over to him, the hand which had been spread over your stomach is curled into a fist. “It’s been almost a month,” he says. “Since – since this.”

“Yeah.”

“Is there… do we need to…” He sighs. “Do you need anything – from a medcenter or…”

“Oh. Oh.” You sit up a little straighter on the bed, glance down at the Mandalorian’s body beneath you before you can stop yourself. Rest your hands against your lower stomach. “No, no I’m – I’m on cycle suppressants, so. So, no.”

He nods slowly. “Okay.”

You agree to leave the child sealed in his crib, and with the door locked behind you. Better than dragging him through the crowded street again. The ship is docked at the nearest bay, not five minutes from the hotel. Your trip will be a quick one. It’s late, by local time, weaning into the early hours of the morning, but the market strip is still as busy as it had been when you’d landed some hours ago. It should take longer than it does to weave through the crowd, but the people melt away from before you when the glint of the Beskar catches their eyes. You walk ahead of the Mandalorian, feel him close in your wake to avoid the bustle of people. Feel the sudden overwhelming frustration and panic which does not belong to you.

You stop dead, feel him slam into your back. He swears in Mando’a and is rubbing his forehead where it had hit your pauldron. Instead of breaking off, you feel his frustration spike, and then melt very quickly into something sharp and calm. He looks around you, the Viroblade he had strapped onto his own belt, somehow appearing in his hand.

“What is it?”

You stare at him. The feeling shifts again, changes quickly, the sharpness fades and melts into concern. A tugging, warm feeling. You see it reflected on his face. See his eyebrows pull up into worry, his eyes searching the visor of the helmet.

“Gotabor?”

“It’s nothing.” Your voice is quiet. Half the syllables too low for the vodocor to pick up and are lost in the sounds of the street around you. You clear your throat. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

You feel it. He does not believe you. The worry becomes warped, powerful. Fills up your chest and throat. And then it cuts out and you stumble slightly, the sensation of the Mandalorian’s emotions leaving like having the floor yanked from beneath your feet. He catches your arm, but you find your footing before you can fall. Steady your weight against his shoulder. He keeps his hand against the gauntlet, tightens his fingers until you see the knuckles turn white. Stares at you with the same piercing look which makes the hair at the back of your neck stand on end.

“Something’s wrong,” he says.

You shake your head.

“You’re – ”

“Not here.” You say. “Not here, Mando.”

He starts to tug on your arm, steps in towards you like he is going to push you himself. “We’re going back to the hotel.”

“We’re almost at the ship.” You feel fine now, strong and solid again. All except for the strangeness of a leftover aching which does not belong to you. Slightly winded. “Let’s just get the packs and go back.”

He is going to fight you on this, you think. He is going to drag you through the market back to the hotel room. He stares at you hard and you watch as the debate he is having with himself plays out behind his eyes. So open and honest. His whole face is, lets every thought flicker across it, hasn’t had it exposed to the world since he was a child. His hand tightens its hold on you and then he sighs and releases your arm. Steps away from you just enough that there is a breath of space between you. He jerks his chin in the direction you had been walking, sheaths the Viroblade again as he does.

The docking bays on Garel are locked with codes, distributed by automated machines which charge a nightly fee. You punch in the code and the door slides open with a quiet hiss. The bay has a fuel station, water tanks, powered down droids in the corner for maintenance. It’s a clean, durasteel and plastoid, slick and sterile and lit in white fluroscent lights which flicker on as you arrive. There’s a space on the wall which is slightly brighter, a familiar sight to you, the removal of Imperial insignia has left the faded spot exposed to the world. Above you the traffic of speeders continues on a steady pace, slicing against the purple clouds. The Crest looks even older amongst the sleek surfaces, rougher and dirtier than it usually does. Calms you against what you know you must do, the familiar sight of home.

The packs are huge, too heavy for just one of you to carry. Empty medkits to fill, clothes to wash and mend, your holopad to connect to a larger terminal, download articles, books, news, anything which will shed light on your predicament. You had prepared them before departing the ship, left them stacked inside the ramp just in case you could not find anywhere to stay.

The ramp lowers slowly and you stand by it, foot jumping against the ground again. Try to formulate the words in your head before you start. Try to run through everything you know he will ask you in return. Think very briefly about continuing to conceal it from him but you know you can’t. Know that you had already lied to him once. Mando is watching you openly, and you can’t feel him anymore, but you can see his concern still painted over his features and feel worse because of it. Know that concealing that you have felt his heart four times now is becoming a breach of the trust you have won with him. It doesn’t make you feel less sick.

“Mando,” you say as he lifts his heavy pack onto his shoulder. “Mando. I have to talk to you.”

He looks to you expectantly.

“It’s about – it’s – ” Your foot is still jumping, echoing around the hull in the Mandalorian’s heavy boots. You breath in as deeply as you can through the helmet. “You remember when we talked about how I could… how I could feel things?”

He frowns. You are growing more skittish, fight the urge to turn away from him.

“Well I – I said I couldn’t… that I’d never with you but, but…”

His face smooths over. “But what?” He doesn’t sound angry. He sounds perfectly calm and you know him well enough to prefer his temper to this. You shift backwards slightly, away from him.

“Just then… when I stopped.” You think about not admitting the rest, about letting him believe this had only just developed, but the guilt gnaws away at your stomach. You twist your gloved hands together. “And in the desert. I felt what you were feeling.”

“You said you couldn’t do that to me.”

Your heart feels like its pounding in all your limbs at once. You squeeze your hands together to stop you from fidgeting them. “I… I know.”

“When you told me you couldn’t do that to me, had you already… had you ever…”

You bite into your lip, drop your head to the chest plate. It’s all the answer he needs. “Only once,” the vodocor cracks through your quiet tone.

He is still so calm, so still. “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t want you to be upset.”

He snaps. You see it, the split second it happens. The calm breaks away and his face pulls into a snarl. He hoists the huge pack up his back and shoves past you and down the ramp, footsteps echoing through the empty dock. You stare at the space where he had been and then swing around and scrabble after him, leave your own pack laying against the floor of the Crest as you struggle down the ramp, feet unsteady.

“Mando, wait, please – ”

“You have everything that belongs to me!” He yells, swinging around to face you. “You have my body, you have my Beskar, you have my Creed! And now you tell me even m-my feelings? You have taken everything away from me!”

You flinch away from him again. The Mandalorian is shaking, vibrating almost, his jaw so tight you think he will break his teeth on it, his eyes burning red and shining. The wetness in them grows and he swipes a hand across his face, so harsh you can hear the sound of the back of It hit against his cheek. Catches a tear before it falls. You stomach lurches. He is breathing in short, angry gulps. Looks at you like you have betrayed him. And you have.

“I’m sorry.” You say. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you but… I’m not doing it on purpose. If I could make it stop I would. I promise, I don’t want – ”

“How many times?” His voice is ragged. Eyes search yours through the visor. “How much?”

“I…” You trail off. Drop your gaze from his, can’t take it. Can’t take the way he is looking at you. The guilt is worse, so much worse, makes you feel sick. “Four. Four times.”

He opens his mouth to say something, a mean, ugly expression on his face. But he closes it again, his eyes searching the helmet frantically. You want to call to him again, reach for him, say something, anything. But you do nothing, you stand there silent and still and he shudders. Closes himself off. And then he is turning, passing the powered down droids, and hitting the control panel at the door so hard you jump. Worry it will break. He is outside before it finishes opening and disappears into the throng beyond it. Leaves you standing alone, listening to the hiss of the door as it closes again, the sounds of the outside world entering and then becoming sealed away. The docking bay is unbearably silent.

You feel strangely mechanical when you turn and walk back up the ramp, lift the heavier of the packs onto your shoulders. The pack which should have been his but isn’t. His words echo around and around with the sounds of your footsteps as you tidy the hull of the Crest with the lights from the docking bay. And he is right, you realise. He is right because you have taken everything that is his, and you still hold everything about yourself in which you take pride. Your hands have fixed the ship and rewired the engine and adjusted the child’s crib to take controls from an external remote instead of the gauntlet strapped to your forearm. Your hands are still capable of all that they were before, even though they are not your hands, they are his. But he is left with nothing. No Creed. No Beskar. Everything which holds him together now makes a part of you. A Mandalorian without a helmet.

You close the ship in a daze, descend the ramp again and stand by the manual control as you watch it fold back into the belly of the ship, sealing it off from the outside world. Feel a buzzing start to settle into your fingertips as you stand still, and you almost reach for the controls to open the ramp again. Think your lumpy cot in the dark of the hull would be better than having to go back and face him again. You rest your hand over it before you drop it slowly back to your side. You wish you were different; wish you were not able to feel anything of the souls of the people around you. Close your eyes tightly and try to hold all the shaking pieces of yourself together against the trembling you feel growing from inside you.

The market feels more crowded even now. The press of the heat and noise all around you unbearable, but you do not move fast. Can’t make yourself hurry back to the room where you know you will have to face Mando again. You even stop, more than once, let yourself be moved by the crowd and blankly inspect goods hanging in stalls ramshackled to the sides of the towering buildings all around you. Let sellers talk to you eagerly, show you food and weapons and tinkering little bits of jewellery you have no intention of buying. Shake your head at every one of them when you can no longer bear standing still and drift on, a part of the crowd. Ignore the way people jump when they notice the armour, trip over themselves to move from your way. The blaster at your back presses under the weight of the pack. Makes you wider, even, than you already are. You happily let it slow you down.

You are so caught in your own head that you don’t hear the yelling or the scuffling until you are nearly in it. A wall of people, taking up half the pathway, raising cheers and yelling. You hit into someone’s back and step away again. They turn, ready to shove you away until they see the Beskar. The man throws both hands up and steps to the side, and the ebb of the crowd behind you pushes you forward into the circle.

You sigh and start to shuffle sideways along the back edge of the gathering, trying to slip between people harder with the added bulk of the pack behind you. And there are people all around you, human and alien, trying to get a closer look. Even with the intimidation of the Beskar you are pushed along, moved further forward. You realise the crowd isn’t just cheering, there are a chorus of language and swearing being thrown around, someone yelling about credits and another answering in Huttese. Bets. A fight, you realise, and try harder to move. Push back harder against the people at behind you. Someone shoves into your side, another shoulders in front of you, trying to get closer to the action. You shoulder them back with a grunt, feel the swing of your pack connect with another body. A cry raises up through the crowd as you see the massive head of a Barabel pass over the rest of the crowd, circling the centre of the group, the dulled lumps of horns on its skin like massive rivets against green leather. As it passes closest to you the people ahead of you shudder and part, moving back from the enraged alien’s path and allows you a glimpse into the makeshift ring.

And Mando, fist curled back around his viroblade, circling opposite the Barabel.

The crowd closes back in as you blink. Stunned. The Barabel charges forward and you hear another deafening scream raise up around you as the crowd roars in response. You move before you realise what you are doing, shove your shoulders at the people ahead to try and break the crowd.

“Move!” You yell and it’s thundering. Around you everyone jumps, scatters and you push to the front of the circle.

The Barabel has circled further away now, scaly fists curled into tight balls and held up. Tongue hissing between its teeth and snarling. Sunken yellow eyes trained in on Mando. Opposite the Barabel he looks tiny, hair pulled half out from where it is tucked into his collar and falling around his face, flushed and sweating, a red blotch where he has taken a grazing hit near his temple. His pack lying on the ground near your feet. You feel the pounding of blood behind your eyes. Search Mando for any other injuries. Realise his gun is still strapped into his holster at his hip. He wants to fight.

And before you can think they charge at each other. The Barabel swings but Mando ducks low and twists and evades it completely, moves back out of the huge alien’s range. The knife is throbbing in the air, shivering so that you can’t focus on it. And then the Barabel is reaching again, roaring and swinging but Mando stays away, keeps himself far enough out of reach that it can’t find purchase. Weaving along the edge of the circle, further and further from the Barabel, but closer to you. You watch, mind blank, as the Barabel charges again. Mando twists but he isn’t quite fast enough. You see the misjudge, see the size of his step and swing of his arm, and realise he is fighting in your body, trying to manipulate a completely different person into a victory. The Barabel gets a fistful of his tunic but the viroblade is already at its arm, looks like it glides along the scaled surface, but there is a singing burst of blood beneath the sharpness of the blade and the Barabel screams and releases him.

Mando stumbles back, right in front of you.

You lunge forward, grab a handful of his collar and yank him back before the Barabel reaches him again. Haul him with you half into the scattering crowd. There’s shouting everywhere, all around you, the clamouring of tens of people rearing for a fight. Screaming filling up the helmet. And Mando is twisting, yanking against your grip, surprisingly strong. His collar stays bunched in your hand, his hair whips against the chest plate of the Beskar.

There’s a cool blade pressed through the fabric at your throat before you can blink.

Gotabor: Engineer

Tags:@btillys @vercopaanir @absurdthirst @sistasarah-sallysaidso @adikaofmandalore @babyomen @purpleeeslurpppp @fleurdemiel145 @hdlynn @starwarsiscooliguess @thedarkwitchling @no-droids-allowed @dartheldur @toilet-keeper @sinnamon-bunn

#oooohhhh boy #tensions anyone? would anyone like a tensions?#bc i have many #i promise the next update for this is mostly written i will not make anyone wait a week for the next part #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #reader insert #force sensitive reader #the mandalorian imagine #fic #my fic #body swap #baar bal runi

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ahs-requests · 4 years

Text

Libertine (Michael Langdon x fem reader)

Summary: Michael has taken an obsessive liking to you since he’s entered the Outpost. You’re the only girl he can see himself bringing back to the Sanctuary and helping him rebuild the world, but you’re a bit more defiant than he expected.

Warnings: DUB/CON, dirty talk, daddy kink, rough sex, choking, humiliation, spitting.

WC: 2.4k

A/N: just a lil one shot to switch things up - this is more of my ‘tortured artist’ work lmao i dont think its as sexy as the other things ive posted since is has a pretty non-conish overtone but i thought id try something new.

~~~~

Mallory leans over the keyboard in the library, performing each request you suggest to her and revelling in every moment. The two of you reserve classical music for singularly cruel days. Between Venable’s ceaseless perusal and Langdon’s sudden persistence with you, you’ve grown ill. Mallory begins hitting the keys to play your favourite classical song, an upbeat hopeful tune that reminds you of early childhood. You stop her. “Moonlight Sonata,” you tell her, “I’m feeling… dark.”

Mallory eyes you up and down, staring at your gray uniform as you recline onto the grand piano. You can detect her empathetic expression, the way her eyes fall and lips curve into a frown. She knows the only way to aid your vicious mood drop is playing your favourite songs. So, without question, she begins playing the somber, ominous keys.

You lean your head against the piano, hearing each key tick to create a beautiful song. You’re startled by the clicking of dress shoes along the opulent, polished floors. “Y/n,” the calm voice addresses, “Mallory.” The two of you stop enjoying the music and stare at Langdon. He’s dressed head to toe in elegant, formfitting black clothes, his hands behind his back. “Please, don’t let me interrupt. It sounded beautiful.”

You and Mallory exchange a glance. You should’ve foreseen this; Langdon hasn’t been able to leave you alone these past few days. He perpetually sits back to watch you clean, engages you in eerie, bone chilling conversations, and even started the habit of watching you sleep. Mallory apprehensively starts playing the song again, timidly botching a few keys. “I’ll take care of him,” you sigh.

You propel yourself off of the piano and stride towards Langdon. He doesn’t say a word to you, he just stares with careless bedroom eyes. “Any particular reason you were in my room last night?” you keep your voice low.

He passively shrugs. “I like to watch you sleep. Your innocence is… arousing,” he admits with a facetious grin.

You clear your throat, disguising your anger. You don’t want Mallory to find out about Langdon’s abnormal obsession with you, she hates him enough as is. “Innocence?” you whisper. “You don’t even fucking know who I am.”

“Au contraire,” he responds, leaning his shoulder against the wall. You obstinately cross your arms over your chest as he speaks. “I’ve pried through your memories, felt the emotions you bury deep down inside of you, and hear the thoughts you so desperately keep hidden in your subconscious. Darling, I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Bullshit,” you spit, the words passing your lips with pent up aggression. “You don’t know a thing.”

“I know everything,” he snaps, slicing your attitude with his bellicose tone. “I know that you’re wickedly turned on right now. You can’t admit to yourself that being degraded by me is one of your deepest, darkest fantasies because it’ll make you feel like a miserable little harlot.” You’re taken aback by the brutality to his delivery. “I’ve seen you in my mind,” he whispers, “heaving chest and raisoned fingers, touching yourself to the thought of me choking the life out of those glossy, perplexed eyes.”

You feel tears welling, burning in your eyes from humiliation. Although nobody can hear the two of you, those thoughts were private. They were yours. Langdon simulates a reality in which he owns you completely, like you’re his fictious little plaything. You feel your blood boiling; you’re sick of it, you’re sick of him. “Fuck you,” you say through gritted teeth.

“You will in due time,” he mocks.

You hike up your hand, preparing to smack him flush across the face and wipe the pompous smirk right from his lips, but he grabs a hold of your wrist. “Just leave me the fuck alone,” your voice shakes.

He squeezes your wrist tighter. “Mouthy girl. You know I could never stand for that mistreatment in my new world.”

You struggle to escape his rigid grip, but fail at your short attempts. “I’ll never be a part of your new world,” you growl, weakly spitting in his face.

He shuts his eyes when you spit on him, then calmly opens them. Slowly using his free hand to wipe away the white spit that slipped down his cheek. His composure is unnerving, almost like he’s about to twitch a finger and snap your neck in a matter of seconds. Even if he is pondering over that thought, your ego is much too large now to surrender an apology. “Mallory,” he calls, not breaking eye contact with you. His head cocks to the side. “Leave us. Now.”

Mallory stops playing and rises from her seat. “What are you going to do to her?” she asks from across the room.

Langdon finally turns his head over to Mallory, jaw clenched in irritation. “Go or I’ll make sure Venable has your head on a fucking stick by sunrise,” he seethes. His nostrils flare and his eyes narrow on her. If looks could kill…

You don’t look in her direction, you can’t take your eyes off of Langdon. He’s impossible to deal with, his conviction is exasperating and his tenacity is tedious, but he is the most gorgeous person you’ve ever had the pleasure to lay your eyes on.

Mallory’s footsteps quickly pace out of the room. Your heart drops, partly from having your friend leave you alone with Langdon, but mostly because the classical music soothed you in such a dreadful circumstance. “I can provide classical music,” he responds to your thoughts. Langdon flicks his finger towards the radio, and you jump in your spot as Beethoven’s seventh symphony commences.

You feel your body trembling in fear. Langdon always seemed like an overly ambitious, domineering asshole, but he has never shown off his much-gossiped supernatural ability. “What kind of monster are you?” your voice wavers in fear.

He raises a hand and you jump again, but brings the feeble fist to your face and grazes your cheeks softly with the backs of his fingers, the metal of his rings are cool against your skin. You blink out a fleeting tear and he wipes it away, still gripping your wrist hard enough to cut blood flow. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, “I’d never hurt you.”

He leans down and gives your lips a small kiss, guiding your chin closer to him to deepen his kisses. You take a moment to kiss him back, but once you do, he accepts this as admission to devour you whole. He walks you backwards until your back is pressed against the piano. Then lifts up your dress, his greedy fingers find your clit and your eyes grow hazy, still trying to grasp the situation. He pulls down your panties and spits on your cunt.

He rubs the spit into your core and you let out a light whimper. Maybe it’s the fear adopting your body, but you relax as he continues undressing you. Langdon throws the pieces to your uniform aside until you’re completely naked. You’re dazed by him, almost like he’s drugged you, and now all of his advances seem palatable.

Langdon towers over you, unbuckling his belt and pulling down his pants. You can already see how hard he is from the outline of his cock in his briefs. He spins you around and shoves you into the piano, your hips sock the hard wood and he pushes you down, lifting your ass for his consumption. He pries open your legs and you feel his dick press against you. Teasing by running up and down your folds. “You made this so easy for me, my love,” he croons. “Your pretty cunt is just begging for my cock now.”

He stretches you out, stuffing the fat head of his cock into you. You freeze as he does this, clawing at the edges of the grand piano you’re pressed against. He pushes himself deeper inside you and moans, your cunt writhes in pain. You feel your body tauten, embracing itself for another plunge. He pushes himself so deep that it feels like he rearranges your organs, you free a childish cry from your lips, a tear slips from your eye through a blink. “You may bleed, darling, but I can assure you,” he whispers and leans down, his full lips drag against the shell of your ear, “it will be electric.”

You squirm under him, now questioning whether or not you’re in over your head. Whether you are or you aren’t, Langdon is still going to use you like his personal, conceptive project. He hammers into you, growling and praising you for how tight you are. Occasionally you emancipate a moan, but it’s difficult to work past the pain. “Think of this as your baptism into the sanctuary,” he breathes, still pounding himself into your palpitating cunt. He still leans over you, speaking into your ear and creating friction between the two of your naked bodies. “We’re dirtying you up for the hellish dumpster fire of a world that we’re going to create… together.” You shudder at the thought.

The sound of his skin slapping against yours and the loud classical music echoes throughout the abandoned halls. You wish Venable would walk in and interrupt the two of you, alleviate you from the soreness already overtaking your tender cunt, but even she is too recreant to stand up to Langdon. You just have to lay down and accept it.

You feel your body resisting him, but he ignores the obvious signs. Only burrowing himself into you harder when your tight hole tries to reject him. He grabs onto your torso, pushing you against him and feeling his warm skin against your back. It almost reminds you of how you’d feel with a husband, a boyfriend, or simply a lover, but you question if Langdon could even claim that title.

His hands, once gently caressing you, now holds both of your wrists behind your back. Now you surely suspect both of your wrists to develop bruises. “It’ll get easier each day, kitten,” he assures you. His cock pounds your cervix as he speaks, you can’t bring yourself to respond. He uses a free hand to wipe away your tears.

He pulls himself out of you and both of you sigh, presumably for different reasons. “Mr. Langdon,” you say breathlessly, “this is a little excessive.” He laughs bitterly and begins positioning himself for re-entry. “Please,” you cry, not daring to change your position, “I don’t know how much more I can take.” Your breath fogs up the burnished wood.

“Well then, shouldn’t we figure that out?” his voice is as sweet as honey before he pummels himself into you again. You yelp from the unexpected intrusion. Your nails dig into your skin as he still holds a tight grip on your wrists with one of his large hands.

He pulls back your wrists so you stand up against him, your back pressed to his sturdy chest. His unoccupied hand sluggishly rubs your clit in circles and he kisses your neck, biting down on your skin and sucking until leaving a pale purple mark. You throw your head back, leaning it against his shoulder blade and he continues stroking you. His cock so deep inside of you that every movement feels lethal. You wiggle around, trying to find a position more suitable, less painful, but come up empty.

He breathes out a vacillating sigh. “You like how daddy stretches your tight little cunt?” he asks. He pushes himself balls deep and you cry, dropping your head into the crook of his neck. “Your pretty pussy swallows daddy up so well… mmm, you’re such a fucking mess for me right now.”

“You’re too big,” you whine into his burning hot skin.

He breathes out a sinister laugh, as if insulting your inability to endure his rough jabs. His hand careens up your body, glazing over your hard nipples and wrapping around your neck, squeezing tighter with each thrust.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he asks. He squeezes harder, arresting your windpipe and cutting your breath. “To honour me with watching the life drain from your eyes as I fuck your tight hole?” Langdon stiffens his grip on both your wrists and your throat. More tears pour out of your eyes as he slams himself into you. “Pretty, pretty baby, dying by my very hand,” he jeers.

He spits down on your face, that must be turning red from the lack of air supply. Your lips part to beg him to stop, beg him for your life, but all that comes out is a short squeak that’s drowned out by the music. He spits on you again; it runs down your cheek and into your parted lips. He clutches tighter and tighter until your vision becomes foggy, then he lets go.

You hunch forward to collect your breath, still feeling the imprint of where his fingers restrained your throat. You try to wiggle your hands free to touch your neck, but he doesn’t allow you to move. Langdon throws his arm over your chest and presses you against him again, kissing your neck sloppily. You can’t keep up with his undulate sensuality… but of course, none of this was sensual.

His thrusts slow down but he pounds into you harder than before. Each of his breaths turn rugged as he groans against your skin marked in goosebumps. He thrusts one, two, three more times until you feel him release inside of you. Each thrust feels like it shatters your bones. He hauls himself out of you and you drop against the piano again. You feel his seed leaking out of your stretched hole as he finally releases your bound wrists.

He picks you up by grabbing your shoulders and spinning you around, although you’re essentially ragdolling at this point. He runs his tongue up your cheek until your eye, licking up the tears that have fallen while being fucked senseless. Then he kisses you, gently, almost lovingly. “You’re so pretty,” he whispers, “we’re going to rule this fucking world, baby.”

#ison is the most underrated album #michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #ahs apocalypse #outpost michael #ahs #american horror story #outpost 3 #michael langdon x fem reader #michael langdon x you #ahs imagine #ahs fanfic #ahs fanfiction #ahs apocalypse fanfiction #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon one shot #michael langdon smut #cody fern

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tmnt-veelicious · 3 years

Text

Across the Stars - Ch.17

*crawls out of a hole* HOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLYYYY FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF-

Yes. I am alive.

Yes I had a rough patch of life over the last few months.

And jeeeeesus, I think I wrote the beginning of this chapter like 3 times....

BUT IT’S HERE. AND I’M SORRY IT HAS BEEN SO LONG. At least the next chapter will be interesting and will introduce some new characters!!! I am definitely feeling the writing juices flowing~

First Chapter -> HERE Previous Chapter -> HERE Next Chapter -> SOON

''I think this neighborhood suits you,'' started April as both women were comfortably seated at a table in a cozy café. Vee couldn't help her quiet chuckle, crossing her arms as her eyes ventured to the large window that offered a view to the street. ''I think it does too..., but I'll be so far from everything. Mostly far from Donnie. He's downtown and I'd be uptown...'' ''It's not so bad! You know these guys can travel fast and they know the city like no one else.'' True. A small sigh escaped the artist, her attention back to the other. She was glad the reporter had answered her call. Vee confessed feeling stupid for her sudden departure and her attitude, but April had been quick to waive those away, answering that all that mattered was that her friend was safe. The only thing left to do was to move forward. Harlem seemed like a nice place. It was mostly known for its nightlife and its jazz influences, to which Vee felt drawn to. Maybe she'd have opportunities up here, who knows? Her train of thoughts came to a stop as a waitress got to their table; a lovely african american woman adorning a dark afro like a crown. Vee did admire her style, noticing her septum piercing and her 'au naturel' look. It didn't seem like much, but so many people could ever inspire the artist, and that was the beauty of living in New York. As the orders were taken and the women left with coffees in hands, proper discussions could finally start. ''So...starting a family?'' started Vee. ''Since when were you two planning that little adventure?'' April's smile was soft: ''We were talking about it for several months, but only recently did we really start to properly consider it.'' ''Even with both your lifestyles? … You wouldn't be the most 'typical' and 'calm' family.'' ''I don't think that should stop us, or anyone. … It's something we both want, Vee, and we're ready to work for it.'' ''I'm not saying the opposite, don't worry!'' quickly reassured Vee. ''… I guess I'm just having a hard time wrapping my head around that idea. I never really thought about having kids, so the thought process kinda escapes me.'' ''Oh?'' the reporter slightly cocked her head to one side, curious. ''I don't want to say I'm surprised, but still am nonetheless.'' The other woman seemed amused: ''There's so many things I have yet to accomplish.... Getting a child is the least of my worries right now. I guess I just don't really feel compelled at the idea.'' ''In that case I can understand,'' added April with a soft smile. ''It's only natural that you'd want to advance your career and get more stability, I get that.'' The conversation paused as their food arrived. But as soon as both were left alone again, the reporter couldn't help squinting a little, now curious: ''Although.... do you think you could ever have kids with Donnie?'' Vee almost spat her coffee, her thoughts suddenly rolling at a franctic pace. She frowned, reminiscing all those times they had sex without any protection. ''I, uh... I'm not sure,'' frankly answered the artist. ''I've never really thought about it, but now that you mention it, I should verify with him.'' ''I think it'd be in both your interests to set things clear. At least you'll know where you both stand in this...'' ''Yeah … that's for sure.'' What if he wanted kids? Could it be possible? At least for now her cycle had been steady and normal, so there was no fear regarding that. And the relationship was still in its early stages – it was too soon to think about that! Oh, those thoughts would plague her mind for the rest of the day, she knew that... ''Anyway, enough kid talk,'' said April, thankfully interrupting Vee's thinking. ''I wanted to discuss apartment and furniture with you.'' ''What, you wanna know how I'll decorate my fortress of solitude?'' playfully commented the artist. ''Oh come on now...'' ''Just kidding, just kidding, don't worry. What's on your mind?'' ''Since I'll be moving in with Casey and he pretty much already has everything in terms of furniture... I was thinking about giving you some of the stuff we have at the apartment. Fridge, oven, whatever you need.'' The artist lightly frowned. ''Wait... give? April, I can't just receive without giving in return. Tell me your price and I'll gladly give you so-'' ''Vee, please,'' gently cut the reporter. ''… I know I'm putting you in a difficult situation and things can turn expensive. I want to help in any way I can, plus you can always repay me in other ways. Don't worry about it. I've given it some thought and I'm at peace with that.'' And the artist was absolutey thankful. Knowing she didn't make the best of incomes, this help felt like a miracle. … Just thinking about all her future expenses was enough to make her head spin, but at least with Donnie's help – and now April – she knew she could get a good footing and proceed without immense struggles. ''Also,'' added April, ''I know you don't have the best of conversations with your parents regarding your choice of living in New York, so I wanted to ease things up by giving you a good headstart and make them less worried.'' Vee softly sighed, although showing a small smile. She knew the brunette had heard some bits and pieces of conversations ever since she moved in. Even if the dialogues had been in French, it was not hard to notice the argumentative nature of those calls. ''I, uhm … it's been almost a month since I spoke to any of them, so there's nothing to worry about for now,'' said Vee. ''Is everything alright?'' ''The less I talk to them, the better! So, yes, everything is fine,'' tried to reassure the artist. April seemed good with the answer, but there was no denying that for Vee to avoid her family, it would probably blow back to her face in a nasty way. But today was not the day to think about such matter. Breakfast done and over with, both women were now on their way to visit the apartments. The first one proved to be a complete disaster; mold found in the bathroom and under the kitchen sink, only two windows and barely any natural light coming in, a broken wardrobe door in the bedroom. The landlord didn't seem like the most caring person either, insisting that he'd get the needed repairs done once a new tenant would move in. ''Those things have a cost, you know?'' he would say. … And this apartment will be a hard pass, you know? Vee couldn't believe that she got fooled by the advertisment online. It seemed so nice... At least the second stop was promising. The lot was at the top floor of a five story high building. The entrance was a small hallway that had one door to the left which gave to the bedroom (with a window!), and a door to the right that gave to the bathroom. The end of the hallway gave to an open area to which the left part was planned for a living room, and the right had space for a kitchen, the area delimited by a side hall that gave enough surface for an extension of the counter tops. Some windows gave enough light into the place, as well as a nice view on the street and buildings around. Plus, the living room windows were tall and large enough, one being an entryway to the emergency staircase outside the building. It was perfect. *** Her step was light as she made her way back to the lair, the greatest grin plastered to her face. She did it! Well … almost! But it was at least a first step in the right direction. Her first point of interest when she arrived was Donnie's workspace, but she found it empty, instantly bringing a small frown on Vee's features. Maybe she should check the garage next? Her attention snapped when she heard a sharp sound – a can being opened. Turning around, she slightly jumped as she spotted Mikey nearby, an orange crush drink in his hand. '' 'Sup?'' ''Jesus, Mikey, you gave me a mini heart attack,'' she breathed out. ''Oops, my bad,'' he said, taking a sip. ''You lookin' for Don? He just got out on patrol with Raph.'' ''… Aren't you guys supposed to lay low for a while with the Purple Dragons and Foot Clan situation?'' The orange clad one shrugged: ''Going out on patrol doesn't mean we're looking for them, you know? We still gotta look out for the bad ones on the streets. Plus, going out in small numbers attracts less attention.'' ''Huh... touché,'' admitted Vee. ''I guess the good news can wait, then.'' ''What good news?'' The artist's grin was back: ''I might have found a new apartment! The landlord just needs to do a credit check and then, if it's all good, the place will be mine.'' The terrapin's smile was soon as big as Vee's: ''Yo! That's awesome! Where is it? How big is it?'' The woman didn't wast any time to grab a blank sheet of paper and a pencil laying around on Donnie's desk, already starting to sketch the layout of the apartment. Deep in her explanations, she did not notice Leonardo now standing near, trying to take a peek from behind. ''What's that?'' he asked. Vee slightly jumped again, already on the lookout for the leader. ''JEEZE, what's with you guys scaring me tonight?!'' Leo showed an amused smile, arms crossed before him as he took some pride in that comment. ''I'm an excellent ninja. Getting to scare you means I'm doing a good job.'' ''Alright, don't get too cocky.'' She briefly sighed, next bringing the paper to clearer view. ''Behold, this is probably my next apartment!'' The blue clad mutant took some seconds to observe the layout, pensive. ''… There's quite some windows in there. I'll have to get Donnie to secure the place so no one can spot you and get in.'' ''Leo! Chill!'' faintly laughed Vee. ''I don't even completely own the place yet. Plus I'll be on the fifth floor; I'd like to see anyone get in other than by the emergency staircase or the entry door.'' ''I'm sorry I am cursed with the leader plague. I always have to think many steps ahead.'' Vee's smile was soft: ''Don't worry, it's appreciated. But now it's time to celebrate! There's no place for worry tonight!'' ''Now we're talkin'!'' added Mikey playfully, rubbing his hands together. ''… Watchu wanna do?'' The artist left her paper back on her boyfriend's desk, a smug smile now showing on her features. ''Donnie and I do have a little secret stash of red wine, and I fully plan on going through one bottle tonight.'' ''Hell yeah!'' Mikey was now nudging his brother's arm with his elbow. ''Care for a drink as well? Come ooooonnnnnnnn.'' Leo was squinting, trying to appear severe, but it didn't take long for him to conceed with a grin, his posture relaxing. ''Alright. Just one.'' *** Vee was delightfully surprised to learn that Leo also had a taste for red wine, happily sharing her bottle with him – and of course he did take more than one drink. Meanwhile Mikey had opted for beer, some cans already resting in the fridge. It felt good to kick back and just be happy, living in the present and have no worries. But soon celebrations took an interesting turn, Vee definitely inspired by her luck and feeling a little bold. An idea came to her mind as Mikey was showing her some stuff he was hoarding, especially when it came to hair dye bottles. She had always wanted to try a new hair color... It didn't take long before everyone was set up: Vee sitting in a chair with a towel over her shoulders, hair in layers. Mikey had ''borrowed'' some of Donnie's latex gloves (used for when he was tattooing), already at the task of applying the chosen color. Meanwhile Leonardo was sitting nearby, keeping company and enjoying the show. ''It's gonna look dope as fuck,'' commented the orange clad turtle, hair dye brush in hand as he was spreading some color. ''I'm kinda nervous about it, though,'' added Vee. ''Last time I did something to my hair, it was only some blonde streaks here and there. … It's my first time going full on with a non-natural color.'' ''There's never nothing wrong with going wild once in a while,'' said Leo. The artist threw him a glance, somewhat amused. ''Says the guy who seems to overworry a LOT about anything.'' ''Hey, I have my moments, alright,'' chuckled the leader, next taking a sip of wine. Mikey tsked; ''What, your last wild thing was to shorten your training time or somethin'?'' ''Nooooo, I-...'' Leo lightly frowned, his lips forming a thin line. A sharp sigh left him as he confessed: ''I asked Mikasa out.'' Both Mikey and Vee's gazes were now locked on him, their smiles wide. ''Finally!'' let out the woman. ''How did it go? Is everything good?'' ''Spill the tea, bro!'' chided in Mikey. Leo's smile was shy, carefully choosing his words. ''We're still figuring some things out, I guess? It all started when we got to you both at the Maneki Neko... I brought her back to her apartment and we kissed. … I dunno how to explain it, it just felt right at that moment.'' ''So far, so good,'' commented Vee. ''What's next?'' ''I'll admit that I chickened out after that,'' continued the leader. ''I just didn't know yet if I was ready to get into some sort of relationship. I was a douche and I didn't say or text a word to her after a couple of days.'' ''You're a fucking dumbass,'' added the other turtle, slightly scolding as he parted some more layers of Vee's hair. Leo raised his glass a little: ''On that I agree, BUT! I kicked my own ass and finally got back in touch with her yesterday. I explained the situation to her and she agreed to meeting up and talk about it a little more. … I'm just-'' His eyes met Vee's, somehow pleading. ''How can I know she really likes me? For crying out loud, how did you know you liked Donnie?'' The artist couldn't help her laugh, surprising both mutants. Leo didn't really know how to react. ''Did … did I say something wrong orrrr?'' ''No, no! Good gosh, no!'' tried to rectify Vee, calming her laughter. ''Oh jeeze, Leo, you and Mikasa are just so freakin' adorable. …. Would you believe me if I told you that she kinda asked me the same question a while ago?'' The blue one showed a smirk, amused: ''Welp, I won't hide that I had a smiliar conversation with Donnie as well.'' ''See!'' pointed the woman. ''Dammit, you two. Mikasa likes you, okay? You guys … all four of you, there are people who're gonna like you and even love you for who you are, no matter the fact that you're mutants. Damn, get that drilled in your heads, alright?!'' Mikey couldn't contain a chuckle: ''You're pretty straight-forward when you get some drinks in you, Vee.'' ''I only speak the truth without reservation,'' she added, taking a sip of wine. She savored her beverage for some seconds before speaking up again: ''But to answer your question, Leo, I knew I liked Donnie when everything felt comfortable. I mean … whatever I would say or do, I knew it wouldn't mind him. … His presence is like a never-ending warm hug around me. I feel true, I feel seen...'' Her eyes got back to him. ''And if you feel like you can be your true self around Mikasa, then I say that it's worth a shot.'' ''I'll take your word for it,'' replied Leo, smiling and slightly lifting his glass in cheer. *** Hours later and Donnie couldn't be any more glad to be back home. Patrol had been pretty boring and tame tonight, but at least he got to spend some time with Raph, which was never a bad thing, at times. Hanging his gear for the night, he then proceeded to his workstation, only to frown a little once he spotted a sheet of paper with some sort of layout draw on it.

By the looks of it, it seemed to be an apartment, the gears of his mind running as he also recognized Vee's handwriting. ''Bro!'' His attention snapped, suddenly realizing that he had been deep in thoughts. He turned to the source of his calling, then noticing Mikey with a big smile on his face. Donnie didn't have time to say anything that his brother spoke again: ''I have the immense pleasure to present to you the world-premiere revelation of Vee 2.0.'' He did some theatrical gestures before bowing and backing out of view in a comical way, finally giving view to Vee who had been hiding behind him. The purple clad turtle's eyes grew wide as soon as he noticed the artist's new hair color. Teal. A lush dark green color that reflected so well when exposed to any lights. ''Whoa! That's so cool!'' blurted the tall terrapin, already approaching the artist. One of his hands was still holding the paper, but his other one couldn't stay put, gently taking some strands of Vee's hair and having a closer look at the color. He couldn't erase his grin, his eyes scanning every inches. ''You should thank Mikey, he's the one who did most of the work,'' informed the woman. The tall terrapin did throw a glance towards his brother who was still nearby: ''No wonder it's perfect. There's always a positive outcome to any of his projects.'' ''Aww, thanks bro!'' added the orange clad mutant, somehow surprised, yet glad to hear such compliment. ''So … you like it?'' asked Vee with a timid smile. ''Like it? I love it!'' answered Donnie, his gaze meeting hers. ''It really suits you. … Any specific reason for that change, though?'' The woman had noticed the sheet of paper in his hand, taking it in turn and pointing the sketch she did. ''If all goes well, this little lot will be mine.'' Donnie's happiness was renewed: ''For real?!'' A simple nod from Vee was enough for him to lift her off the ground in an embrace, unable to stop himself from spinning around a little, obviously feeling overjoyed. Relief also washed over him, knowing how the whole process was stressing the artist – and himself as well, there was no lying there. ''You did it, baby,'' he gently said, loud enough for only her to hear, nuzzling her as he came to a stop while still hugging her. ''Almost, but yeah. Let's hope for the best...,'' replied Vee in the same tone, her arms gently coming around his neck. ''Get a room, you two!'' piped in Raph's tone, playful. The couple looked his way, the red clad terrapin making his way to Mikey. ''Come on, let's give these two nerds some space. Ya wouldn't want to catch their cooties.'' ''Hah! You're just jealous!'' added Donnie comically, next suddenly hurrying to his room, Vee still in his arms and now laughing. Raph was rather unimpressed, a sharp exhale of air leaving him as he glanced from the running one back to his younger brother. ''…. The day I'll be jealous of that bean pole, assume that I'm delirious or somethin' like that.'' *** It wasn't long before they were found in bed, exchanging everyday clothing for comfortable wears. Donnie was laying first, Vee next nestled in-between his legs, her back against his form. The artist was not finished, drink-wise, so she shared some more wine with the terrapin, a screen mounted to a telescopic arm brought over them so they could watch any videos they desired. It was during moments like this that Vee felt at complete peace, loved, and the happiest. The warmth that invaded her could only confirm that she was at the right place with the right person. And yet the same question kept repeating itself in her mind since her conversation with April. ''Donnie, are we compatible?'' she asked in a shy tone. The mutant slightly frowned, his gaze still on the screen. ''Define 'compatible','' he asked. ''Can we procreate?'' His body and muscles suddenly tensed. Both were now staring at eachother, not giving a damn about the video anymore, the turtle trying to find his words. ''… Uhm, well, no. I don't think so. … Wh- Why are you asking this?'' Vee shrugged: ''Well, we've been having unprotected sex and I don't take any contraceptive pills. I'm just curious.... How can you be sure that we're not?'' He sighed briefly, his thoughts running a hundred miles per hour. The video on screen was still going on, the subject suddenly a blur. But that didn't matter. ''First of all, we're not the same specie.'' ''Ok then, why can tigers and lions create ligers? Why can donkeys and horses create mules?'' ''Because to their roots, they are the same. As for us, we come from two different branches. I'm a reptile, you're a mammal; there's a huge spacing inbetween us. Plus, I'm suspecting the mutagen has something to do with it, as it mostly prevents us from contracting human diseases, amongst other things.'' Vee crossed her arms, diverting her gaze, slightly feeling uneasy as she circled her drink slowly and pensively. ''… You do make sense. … I guess I was mostly biased by the fact that you do present humanoid features.'' She felt one of Donnie's hands to her cheek, bringing back her attention on him. ''… Did you want to have a child with me?'' he asked in a hushed tone, forever soft. Vee suddenly blushed, frowning a little. ''No! I mean- uh. Based on your explanations, no. Also I'm not ready for that and it's too early in the relationship to know. I- shit, I dunno,'' she blabbered. The terrapin's smile was soft, amused by her reaction. ''Hey, don't worry, I was just asking! … I guess I'm just wondering too if you ever wanted one. If that was the case, I wouldn't want to prevent you from doing so...'' ''What? You mean you'd let me hook up with a human guy only so I can get banged up?'' questionned the woman, confused, as she sat up straight and was still looking at the other. ''Hell to the no - yuck. The whole pregnancy shebang doesn't appeal to me anyway.'' ''Adoption is also an option,'' added Donnie, matter-o-factly. ''That's pretty much this family's case!'' ''For sure, and I think it's very admirable, but raising a child is still a huge deal in itself.'' She sighed, timidly rubbing the back of her neck. ''… Sorry I brought that up, I was just curious. Ever since I spoke with April, it has been bugging me. I'm really not ready for that chapter in my life and I don't think I'll ever be, but I wanted to know your opinion on that.'' Donnie rejoined her, one of his arms snaking around her form. He was softly nuzzling the top of her head, keeping her close. ''Whatever you choose or decide, I'll always stand by your side, loving every moments – every seconds - spent with you. We build our own happiness, and that doesn't mean it has to imply a child in the future. … As long as you're happy, so am I.'' ''I know. … I do feel kinda weird for not wanting a child though,'' mumbled Vee. ''Hey,'' intervened the mutant. ''You're not weird, believe me. Having a child is not an obligation. This is your body, your choice, and I will forever respect it.'' ''Oh, you better,'' smirked the artist in return.

#chapter #writing #tmnt #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #fanfic #fancharacter #oc #selfinsert #donatello x oc #donatello x selfinsert

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corpse--diem · 3 years

Text

Suspension of Disbelief | solo

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Nichols’ Funeral Home SUMMARY: With the weeks drawing closer to the funeral home’s grand reopening, Erin reconciles with her past and reaches her limit. CONTENT WARNINGS: none

While Erin had floated in and out of the funeral home during reconstruction, this was the first time she stood alone in the house in nearly six months. No hammers, no drills, no chatter of the crew off in the distance. They were done, nearly. Some coats of paint still needed to go up in the living quarters and there were a few doors ready to be installed sitting in the hallways, but outside of small finishing touches--it was done. Her entire morning had been spent in her office, organizing the files that had been salvaged from the fire and preparing for what she still needed to replace. It was the most finished room in the large home outside of the basement and for the first time in months, she recognized a glimpse of a life that had been long out of her grasp. Even the mountain of paperwork overtaking her desk garnered a small, wispy smile. This was normal. This was hers.

Her hands touched over a large vanilla envelope and she perked up even further at the sender. The Maine Board of Funeral Services had finally sent over a new copy of her license. She jumped up, grabbing the empty picture frame she’d set aside. The office’s final touch. Her grin grew as she tore the envelope open. The paper inside wasn’t what she was expecting. Flimsy, thin, and much unlike the higher weighted paper that a certificate typically bore.

It wasn’t a certificate. It was a letter.

The words were there. She read them clearly. She read them again. And again.

...Until a proper investigation regarding the alleged organ trafficking operation within the Nichols’ Funeral Home has taken place, the board has agreed to suspend the license of the funeral director until further notice. All funeral services are to cease immediately...

And again. Each time, it said the same thing. Her gaze became lost in the black shapes of each letter, then to the sea of white surrounding them. She couldn’t understand the words. Black ate at the edge of her vision. Everything was loud. Even the light was loud. It buzzed in her ear and grew more intense the longer she stood, frozen to her spot, the letter in one hand and the frame in the other. All she could focus on was the impossibly loud buzzing in her ear but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

All at once, it stopped.

“Oh, isn’t that just perfect?”

Erin closed her eyes and shook her head, dropping the frame and letter back onto her desk. If she didn’t acknowledge the voice or the low laughter that followed, it wasn’t real.

“I know you can hear me, Nichols.”

The smell of cigar smoke hit her nose and she tensed, squeezing her eyes shut. No. No. This wasn’t happening. None of this was happening. Quiet settled around her once more and she took a deep breath in and back out again. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. She’d open her eyes and--

“I’m still here,” the voice chimed in smugly.

Erin’s eyes snapped open.

Roy Chamber’s sharp smile greeted her with all the malice it’d bore in life. He was leaning in the doorway to her office, a cigar dangling from his lips. “Atta girl. There were go,” he exclaimed excitedly between puffs. “Miss me?”

This wasn’t real. He wasn’t real. Roy was dead. Just a husk of bone and long-rotten flesh that had been tossed into the bay months ago. The knife had slipped into the softness of his temple with some effort but no--it’d done the trick. Roy Chambers, in no uncertain terms, was dead.

“No. No,” she managed between grit teeth. She closed her eyes once more, shaking her head furiously, almost laughing at the absurdity of this moment. “You are not here. You’re--no. No.”

“Oh, yes,” Roy corrected her, boisterous and sure. But he was right. He was here, stepping into her office like none of the events of the warehouse ever happened. Like it’d been a bad dream, a nightmare, one she was about to relive. Was she dead? Was there a hell after all?

He reached for the letter on her desk and all she could do was watch. She wasn’t afraid, she realized. She should have been, she knew that too, but it wasn’t fear that gripped her. It was anger. That hard, dark anger she had been working so hard to quiet. It wasn’t quiet now. He chuckled as he looked over the words on the paper and it flared brightly within her like an angry star. “Nice to see you too, toots. Long time coming, don’t you think?” He mused, glancing around the desk for an ashtray, then up at her when he found none. “Not a smoker? I don’t know why I thought you might be. It’s because you’re always so stressed, I think. Stressed people have the worst vices. But good for you--this stuff’ll kill you.”

He leaned forward and upended it in her coffee mug before turning his attention to the frame. “Anyway--won’t take up much of your time. I know you’re busy with getting things ready for the reopening.” He nodded at the letter with a knowing grin, clearly tickled. “Told you this wasn’t going to end well for you. Remember? Because I do. Very clearly. Maybe you didn’t want to believe me or just didn’t want to hear it, but either way it’s pretty clearly you forgot. And I get that. I was dead, you won, I lost.” He dragged his finger from one end of his throat to another and flashed a grimace at her. “Point made. A dead man can admit defeat when it gets pierced through his cranium. I gotta ask though...” he paused for a long moment, unhooking the metal backings of the frame one by one, the side of his mouth turning upward into a punchable grin. She balled her fists instead.

Even now, this guy droned on. Couldn’t even stay dead without making a grand gesture. There wasn’t an ounce of patience left in her for this. “What?” She shot back.

“Was it worth it?”

The question struck Erin like a bullet between the eyes. Left her stunned, silent, wholly unprepared for the blow. He slipped the suspension notice into the frame and began closing the back up and raised a brow a her. “Really? Nothing? Not one quitty retort? Not even a ‘Fuck you’? Disappointing.” He grimaced and stepped back from the desk, framed letter in hand. “Let’s review. Maybe it’ll jog your memory, get your blood flowing, wake up that fighting spirit that got you here. We’ll circle back to that and see how you feel then, hm?”

Erin followed his gaze to the wall beside them. Small, framed portraits hung where empty wall space had been moments before. Her eyes grew and her throat tightened.

“Exhibit A!” Dale’s shit eating grin stared at her, a trail of dried blood trickling from the top of his head, down his neck, soaking into his shirt. Like a screenshot of a memory that was still burned into her memory. “Always hated that guy. Can’t say I was too upset to see him and his Hawaiian shirts say Aloha. Pretty creative with that kill though, getting that mara to do the dirty work for you.” He nodded at her. “I meant it when I said I was impressed.”

He took another step back, moving onto the next photo like he was at the beginning of a presentation. He tapped the glass of the next one. A news article. “Multiple victims were found dead following the explosion that destroyed an abandoned manufacturing warehouse at the docks on Amity Road early Friday morning.” Roy raised his eyebrows at her excitedly. “That was you.” He let out a bellowing laugh and shook his head and quickly pointed to the photo directly beside it. Another article. “Three more dead at Pat’s and dozens hospitalized. That was you too! Say, didn’t you have some friends there that day?”

Erin’s fingernails dug into the palm of her hand. “That was you,” she snapped back.

Roy raised a hand, shaking a finger at her. “Uh-uh. This,” he pointed to the Pat’s article, “Only happened because of this.” His finger jabbed at the Ring article once more before bouncing back and forth between the two. “Cause and effect. Makes the world go round. Try and keep up, Nichols. Am I losing you already here?”

Maybe if she closed her eyes and counted to ten he’d disappear and leave her alone. Had she fallen asleep? She didn’t remember laying down but it was possible. Wouldn’t have been the first time her body had given up on her the second she found a comfortable couch. He laughed again, loud and joyfully, and her entire body sagged when she opened her eyes. Still here. This time he stood in front of her mugshot, giggling like an idiot. “I’m sorry--well, no. I’m not. Not at all. This is beautiful.”

He gathered himself and took a deep breath before moving on, moving faster now as he gestured towards the next few photos: Detective Wu’s car being pulled from Dark Score Lake, a snapshot of the fire from the funeral home lighting up the night sky, Sgt. Roland Hill’s obituary, the memory of Marley lying motionless on that warehouse floor. Erin couldn’t look anymore. Roy noticed. He pressed on, loud and clear. “Death, after death, after death. Strangers and friends alike.” A photo of her and Alain doting over Betty came next. “No wonder that little French friend of yours hightailed it out of the country without even a word after you got his leg lobbed off.”

“Stop it,” she hissed. It felt like she was being crushed. Like every picture, every word, added another ton of pressure directly on top of her. Her breaths quickened and her heart pounded dangerously fast between her ribs. “Stop it.”

“Not until you answer the question, Erin.” He barked back, harsh edges replacing the humor from before. The next photo shook on the wall when he pressed a finger against the glass. “Remember them? The witches of the coven you failed to inform about a fext in town? The ones I sucked dry? Because of you. Cause and effect, actions and consequences, Erin. It all comes back around. These people suffered and died because you couldn’t leave well enough alone. Because your freedom was worth more than any of their lives.”

Roy’s smile was gone. Dark eyes stared back at her. The last spot on the wall was empty, a single nail marking the spot. He set the framed letter in place, making sure it was perfectly straight. “There,” he said calmly, stepping back to admire the small gallery before them. That sick smile returned and he craned his neck to look at Erin again. “Can’t ignore this forever, Nichols. This is your handiwork. A trail of accomplishments that brought you back home and to this place you built on their blood, sweat and tears. All for them to--” Laughter spilled from his throat, his sheer glee interrupting his own words. “All for them to suspend your license. You can’t even work.”

It took more than a few moments for his laughter to settle into a humored chuckle. Erin’s cheeks flushed with shame. Tears burned at the back of her eyes. He didn’t notice and didn’t care, pulling another cigar from his suit pocket. “Indulge a dead guy and bask in it with me for a few minutes, will you?”

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t look. Not at him and not at the wall in front of her. Her hands shook furiously and she couldn’t breathe. “Get out,” she managed, but it wasn’t more than a harsh, choked whisper and she tried it again with more vigor. “Get. Out.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

She was going to be sick. This was a nightmare. This had to be a nightmare. Her hands rushed up to cover her face, rubbing her eyes, pulling at tufts of hair her hair as her fingers glided through them.

“Please. Please. Stop. Just stop.” Erin was nearly begging now. She could feel his gaze boring a hole into her but he wasn’t letting this go. Not until she answered. Not until she looked at the wall.

“Was it worth it?”

CRASH!

Across the room, a vase of fresh flowers lay shattered on the ground where Roy had been seconds ago. She wasn’t at her desk. She was standing in front of the framed letter on the wall. The room was starkly silent outside of that. Roy was gone and the frames on the wall with him. Minutes passed before she realized she hadn’t thrown the vase across the room but knocked it off the stand near the framed letter. Did she do that?

Roy was dead. Roy wasn’t here. She’d imagined it. It’d been his voice, his image, but her words playing back at her. Her hands shook. Was it worth it? The question cycled on an endless loop, tormenting her more than the ‘No’ that screamed for attention at the back of her mind.

She ripped the letter from the wall, locking onto the words again. One word. Suspended. She gave in to the despair and rage that filled every pocket of her soul and didn’t stop until the frame was just a shattered afterthought on the ground. Didn’t stop until every book, every trinket, every photo was thrown onto the floor with it. Her screams tore through her and tears poured down her face like a monsoon that’d finally ripped through and shattered the ceiling of the safe house she’d been hiding in. What did it matter anymore? It didn’t. She’d been beaten. Roy’s last move came late and without warning, destroying the last shred of stability she had left. She couldn’t hold it together anymore. Six months of tightly wound emotions exploded without any sign of stopping. Her neatly piled paperwork filled the floor around her. Coffee covered the walls. Glass crunched under her feet.

It wasn’t worth it.

#wickedswriting #chatzy #solo #suspension of disbelief #//this got so long i'm so sorry #I don't believe this needs any real tws but pls correct me if i'm wrong

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