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cinebration · 1 year

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What Purpose? (Sherlock Holmes x Reader) [Request]

hellooo, if you taking requests, you could do sherlock holmes (of enola holmes) x reader fic inspired by theo sharpe and eloise bridgerton?? I’d Sherlock to be very in love with the reader, and tells her something like: when I read something new or interesting or provoking, it is you who crosses my mind. It is you I would like to speak with about those thoughts and so I am wondering if you might also have thoughts of me when you think.—Requested by @kelloggs-world

I slightly modified the quote. I hope you don’t mind!

Warnings: Mycroft

Gif Source: henrycavilledits

“The society papers say you’re cavorting with Lady Thornton’s personal maid,” Mycroft noted dryly, one eyebrow arching in ill-disguised disdain. “A maid, Sherlock, really.”

“A companion.”

“A glorified maid, then.”

Sherlock snapped the newspaper shut and fixed his brother with a stare. “Do you know anything about her?”

“Yes, the heiress to the modest trapping fortune not dominated by Astor. Which makes it all the more disgraceful that she is an old lady’s maid.”

“If her official title were to change to lady’s companion, would that appease you?” Sherlock shook his head. “I forgot to whom I was speaking.”

Mycroft sniffed and plucked up his snifter of brandy. “Really, Sherlock, what purpose does this woman serve?”

Sherlock straightened in his seat, spine dangerously rigid.

Mycroft snorted. “Every person and every thing serves a purpose, Sherlock. So what good does this woman do? I can’t imagine it’s much.”

The words slipped out through clenched teeth, barbed. “She does more than you.”

A brusque laugh tumbled out of his brother. “I highly doubt that, Sherlock. Our own sister isn’t comparable to either of us, and at least she comes from the source.”

Shoving himself out of his seat, Sherlock straightened his suit jacket and shot a glare in Mycroft’s direction. “Enola is more than a match for you, Mycroft. That’s why you failed to bend her to your will.”

A livid flush crept up Mycroft’s neck and into his cheeks. “If I recall, you stepped in as her guardian.”

“Consider that, brother. She convinced me against you.” Sherlock flashed an insincere smile. “More than your match.”

“Here I thought Enola was the problem, scurrying around town like some low-bred urchin, yet I hear you are cavorting with nothing better than a maid.” A sneer curled Mycroft’s lips. “My God, the pair of you. I don’t know why I even bother!”

“No one asked you to bother, Mycroft.”

Sherlock strode for the door, refraining from snapping a goodbye.

“She can’t be worth much,” Mycroft called after him. “Even if she did throw you a bone by sending you on that murder investigation!”

Teeth grinding, Sherlock all but slammed the door shut. Anger radiated in unexpected waves through him, his frustration tantamount to whenever an investigation thwarted him unnecessarily. He couldn’t understand why Mycroft’s words stuck within him. Though his brother was insufferable, most if not all of his barbs passed through Sherlock without so much as an abrasive touch. That he should so infuriate him confused Sherlock as much as it riled up his ire.

Sheets of rain poured down on the city, drowning all light in gray. Hansoms darted down the cobblestone streets, streaming water in their wake, impossible to flag down. The pavement was nearly empty, everyone huddled someplace out of the deluge.

In his haste, Sherlock had forgotten his umbrella. Turning his coat collar up and shoving his hands deep in his pockets, he cut across the street, dodging a hansom he heard before he saw, and stormed in the direction of his flat. The stinging cold of the rain beating into his face and running rivulets beneath his shirt did nothing to cool him of his anger.

“It wasn’t just the murder,” he hissed between his teeth, hands balling into fists in his pockets. Although the death of your last living relative had proven an intricate and thorny case, one that had taken twelve day to solve, it wasn’t as though you were a treasure trove of such cases. In the months since the investigation’s resolution, you had not required Sherlock’s services again.

Lady Thornton, however, had used them in a theft case shortly after Sherlock solved your case, causing you both to cross paths again. Sherlock had taken the time to interview you regarding the theft and any information you might know. As with your own case, you presented facts and evidence in a logical, rational manner, offering up details that surprised Sherlock and gave a glimpse into your perceptiveness, leaving an indelible impression on him.

The theft was resolved in less than two days. Yet Sherlock had returned again to Lady Thornton’s estate to see you. He had recognized a sharp mind desperate to be seen and engaged, and despite himself, he decided he was the man to do it.

The old woman acted as chaperone, but the shrewd and experienced Lady Thornton recognized what was unfolding before even the faintest hint of it brushed either Sherlock’s or your mind. Melding into the shadows as much as possible, a smirk playing on her lips, Lady Thornton contented herself with providing only the barest level of propriety for the sake of the papers, allowing you and Sherlock as much privacy as she could.

Sherlock had found you eager to discuss all manner of subjects. He brought books for you to devour in days so that there was new topics of discourse the next time you met. Your voracious appetite for knowledge and conversation—proper conversation, not the societal niceties that amounted to nothing but superficiality—secretly delighted Sherlock, such that he took great care to select the most interesting of texts to deliver to your door.

What purpose did you serve? The question tasted vile on Sherlock’s tongue, though he hadn’t been the one to ask it. Like a wound, he returned to it again and again, suffering the indignity of it. Did a person have to serve?

As he turned down one street, then the next, he found himself contemplating it. Loathe to admit it, he realized that Mycroft had something akin to a point. Neither Holmes brother wasted time on anyone without reason. For Mycroft, it was blackmail and state secrets, government and high-society connections; for Sherlock, anything to do with a case.

Therefore, why did he spend so much time with you?

The thought spun so quickly through his mind that he grew dizzy with it, pausing to lean against a lamppost. The answer was there, just beyond his reach, and any attempt to grasp it made him ill, the world tilting beneath his feet.

They carried him through the rain until they found a cab unloading an elderly couple. Sherlock flagged the driver and hopped into the hansom, the carriage dipping low beneath his formidable frame. He had to bribe the driver several extra quid to ensure the man drove him out to the estate.

When they arrived, he paid the man and refrained from asking him to stay. Lady Thornton would never allow him to return home in such weather, not without sending him off in her own carriage. Seeing as she wouldn’t subject her own driver to such inclement conditions, Sherlock would be stuck there until the weather cleared.

The staff recognizing him, they let him enter and stripped him of his soaking overcoat and jacket.

“I believe the former master of the house,” the butler informed him in crisp tones, “had trousers you could use.”

“I can dry before the fire,” Sherlock assured him.

He paced in front of the crackling flames for what seemed like an eternity while he waited for you to arrive. When the door opened softly, it took all his self-control to avoid spinning sharply to face you.

“You’ll catch your death, Sherlock, getting caught in the rain like that!”

Suppressing the faint upward twitch of his lips, Sherlock slowly turned to you. The anger at Mycroft’s words melted as he peered into your face.

“What is it?” you asked, reaching up to touch your cheek self-consciously.

“Nothing. I merely…” Sherlock frowned, casting about for words that suddenly eluded him. “Do you believe that every individual in one’s life must serve a purpose?”

Eyebrows arching, you chuffed a quiet laugh. “My, has the weather made you maudlin?”

“No, it isn’t…my brother made an insinuation, and I thought it worth asking you your opinion on the matter.”

Head cocking to the side, you scrutinized Sherlock’s features. “What sort of insinuation?”

“Well…” Sherlock laughed, shook his head. “Mycroft is uncannily skilled at insinuating more than one thing with few words. It would take hours to parse everything he means from what little he says.”

“You are stuck here until the weather improves, so we have the time to spare.”

Sherlock met your gaze, your eyes sincere and curious. Struck suddenly with the urge to fidget, he turned back toward the fireplace and leaned against the mantle, his soaked trousers and collar slowly drying.

“I think,” you answered carefully, “that whom we choose to spend our time with speaks to their importance in our lives.”

Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at you.

“For Lady Thornton, my purpose is to be a companion. She may compensate me for it, but I would be her companion for free, because I enjoy spending time with her. Her purpose for me, if it matters to know, is as mentor and friend. That is sufficient.”

The words sunk into Sherlock’s thoughts, quieting them. The flames popped behind him, crackling as the logs shifted.

“Mycroft asked me what purpose you served,” he heard himself say. “He doesn’t understand why I spend my time with you.”

Your throat moved as you swallowed reflexively, your gaze dropping away from his. “Frankly, I’m inclined to agree with him. I don’t understand why you spend your time with me.”

Sherlock frowned, his chest tight. Were there words to explain why? He considered it for several moments, his heart an uneven metronome in his ribs.

“When I read something new or interesting or provoking,” he began, the words passing softly over his lips, “it is you who crosses my mind. It is you I would like to speak with about those thoughts. So I come here and I share them, and I enjoy hearing your replies.”

You glanced up at him, your gaze sharp and hesitant simultaneously.

“And I find myself wondering…” He swallowed thickly, the words on his tongue as if they had waited his whole life to be there, his thoughts roiling in confusion but the conviction that this was right, inevitable, felt firmly in his deepest self. “I am wondering if you might also have thoughts of me when you think.”

Your lips trembled, caught between a smile and panic, triumph and anxiety. Pressing your fingers against them, you inhaled sharply and attempted again, this time managing to speak. “I think of you often, Sherlock. How could I not?”

Something sharp buried itself in his chest, but the feeling was not altogether unpleasant. Sucking in a breath, he gripped the mantle with both hands, knuckles white with the pressure. He didn’t know how to proceed, the confession having worn out any social manner he had been forced to learn.

Gently clearing your throat, you offered, “So when next you see your brother, tell him the purpose I serve is…as your other self, as you are my other self.”

Your hand touched him lightly on the elbow. Shifting, Sherlock watched your hand slide down the length of his forearm, fingers gently entwining with his. The touch sent shivers through his arm and down his spine, startling him with their strength.

“He will never understand that,” he managed to say, his voice thick.

“Then we should pity him.”

Meeting your gaze, Sherlock laughed, unable to let the sharp ha! stay buried. You smiled, flashing teeth in a beautiful face. He hadn’t realized you were so beautiful…or perhaps you had been beautiful all along, and it had taken all this time for him to see it.

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock Holmes imagine #Henry Cavill x Reader #Henry Cavill #Henry Cavill imagine #Cavill!Holmes #Henry!Sherlock #Enola Holmes 2 #Enola Holmes #requests

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surrealinkrpstories · 2 years

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ShadesOfInkk

Shace: -Night morphed into day. One patch of skin after another gracing new inked up lines. I feel like I’m drowning in the daily mundane.

Life was okay. Mostly.

The shop was the only thing holding me down.

I moved through my day, responding when spoken to but not contributing much in conversations.

The mysterious text had come through and thrown me for a loop.

What was up with that?

Still thinking about it now.

‘I know I haven't been around in a while… but I will soon. Thinking of you. Xoxo.’

It could only be one person, but how? It’s been too long since she’d been by the shop. I was growing suspicious of Runa. Was she assisting the little sneak with sharing my contact info?

I didn’t respond back. What exactly would I say? We’d never even exchanged more than a word or two, other than her notes and etchings.

I didn’t know anything about her life. Why was she being so creeper-like? I knew things were more than what they seemed usually.

I reached my condo, keys jangling as I unlocked the lock and stepped inside. My mind wasn’t going to shut off any time soon and I knew that. I headed right for my spot. Cigar box lid cracked open, grinder filled and twisting and turning to break down the fresh nugs of Sour Alien Cookies.

Whatever was keeping her away, whatever it was, I had this unnatural urge to look after her. If she ever returned that was.

Breathing in. Another day begins.

Nando had been on my ass to get back into practice. The other band members were slowly returning from our hiatus and the calls were rolling in to book performances.

His understanding was wearing thin.

Fed up with Vane’s failure to return my calls. I was debating on a trip to Miami myself and dragging @Surreal_Ink’s ass back from wherever he had holed up.

Anger stirred. Gaze vacant. The usual whites of my eyes were bloodshot. A steady drop, drop, drop, landed onto the top of my scuff black boots. Knuckles bloody.

Shit.

I’d been so deep in frustrated thought that I hadn’t realized I’d punch clear into the middle of a wall mirror. Shards of sharp mirrored slivers crashed to the floor and dug into the thin flesh on my knuckles and base of my fingers. Rivets of red trickled over the words now shredded with reflective jagged pieces pierced and protruding.

No one around as I plucked the shards from my flesh. Vane and I had made a vow long ago to keep in contact no matter what. What was he up to?

I wince with a sharp hissed intake of air. Tweezers dug out a sliver that had lodged deep and rubbed over the cartilage of my middle knuckle. I cool myself down. There wasn’t much I could do at the moment.

I cleaned and dressed my right hand, slipping fingerless leather gloves on to disguise the blood soaking bandage.

Business was thriving. Yet I needed something more to do more than just survive. Something to believe in.

Maker’s poured up in my tumbler. One after the next.

I dreamt about her every night. Flickers of her slipping through my inked up fingers.

It had to be her. I thought of calling her back.

Not text. Call.

Gathering up the guts to drunk punch the numbers on the screen. On the cusp of hitting that red X to cancel the call but the line trills and I’m lifting the device up to my ear. Cradling with slender rectangle against shoulder and ear. The liquor made it easier to let drunk words fall free.

Slurred with spit spraying out. What kind of box of crazy was I opening up like Pandora’s box?

Nights had been tough.

The night wasn’t getting younger. All I wanted was to tug her close and bring her in. To take us both higher.

She had gained my attention with such ease and the last time I’d seen her swiping my hoodie with a deep whiff and hug, I knew she was equally interested.

The call never went through. I take a deep breath. Phone charger connected and I knocked back what I hoped were sedatives.

This was exhausting. Surrendering into the dark of the night.

#SurrealInk #Shace #RP #FuckinInkedStory

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vivifrage · 3 years

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Whumptober Day 1: You have to let go

She was sleeping, that was all. The Gendered Child knew that; she'd spent the night at her mother's side, letting her heartbeat and soft, raspy breaths lull her to sleep. It boggled her to think someone had thought the stone plinth Herrah rested on was a more appropriate bed than her actual bed, suspended in her room and plenty full of blankets that on their own were far comfier than a slab of rock. Nobody yet had explained that it was for her sake. Some day, she would be properly crowned queen, and by then she likely would have outgrown her small, cozy room.

"Child?" Her father's voice was rarely loud, but ever since he took Herrah and The Hollow Knight to the temple, it was soft in a new way, not like his usual whispering sigh.

She didn't like it. She couldn't say why, but the sound of it made her back bristle uncomfortably. It wasn't right.

He approached, the tiktiktik of his footsteps muffled from the webbing all over the floor. He held his arms out, even when she turned her head just enough to fix him with the angriest glare a young child could manage, then huddle against her mother's side again, growling.

"Child, I have custody over you. This is not unfamiliar, you have spent time at the Palace before. Would you like to see your stepmother? She is planning a trip to her gardens soon." He curled his fingers, but the gesture went unseen and unacknowledged.

The Gendered Child had heard the word "custody" many times in her life, and she had decided custody meant it was the custodial parent's job to take her from wherever she was back to their home, whether she wanted to or not. It was, indeed, very familiar.

Most of the time.

Consciously or not, and neither able to put words to it, they both understood it was different this time. Even beyond her mother and sibling's missing presence. It was the shift in the air preceding a storm, tense and thick and choking, waiting for the relief of pounding rain and howling winds.

She had never seen a storm, and had no such language to describe this uncomfortable anticipation. He had weathered many, though he pushed it all back until it was all only a ghost of familiarity he would not name, lest it take that as power.

"Can't Mama have custody this time?" she asked with a big, deep sigh.

The Pale King hesitated. Sharp mouthparts worked, kept hidden well away from his child. This was not unforeseen, which did not give him hope.

"No," he said at last. "She must sleep, and it is my duty to provide for you."

"Duty," she snapped back in a sniveling, mocking tone. She scowled and pulled the edge of Herrah's cloak over her head.

He sighed the way a particularly harsh gust blew down a yawning cavern. He reached forwards, set his upper hands on her shoulders. "I've got your packing done, we should-"

"No!" She swatted at him, hissing, the fabric crumpling around her snarl. "Let go!"

"Child…"

"No!" A hand flew out, clawed at his carapace. "Let go! I want Mama!"

"Child…" His voice deepened, on the edge of a growl.

"Mama!" She cried, the edge of fear and pain absorbed in cobwebs. No Devout rushed to her aid, no Weaver called in concern.

"Child." The angry snap silenced them both for a time, no sound but his ragged breaths and her soft hiccups.

"Child," he said again, once he could speak in a calm and measured way, "You have to let go."

"I want Mama," she said. It came out in fits and bursts, broken by sobs. She tugged at the cloak's fabric, pressed it into her face so her tears dampened it, turning the blue fabric near black.

His hands rested on her shoulders again, cold, ready to pull away at any moment. "You can come see her later, for now we must-"

"Sto-op!" The sobs were deep and full now, beyond anger or frustration and more akin to when she cried during a molt. The sort of sound that put a hard, worried weight in his belly and made him all tense, waiting for something horribly, horribly wrong.

"I am not trying to hurt you." One hand stroked numbly down her back. "But I need to take care of you."

"No." Her protest was soft, eaten by tears. "I gotta- I gotta wait until Mama's back."

"She is staying this way, you need to let go." The cold, awkward touches became iron. His hands clamped on her shoulders, her sides, and tugged at her, a deep growl underlying a pained shriek.

She squirmed, twisted herself free, burrowed against her mother's side to cry.

"Child!" When his shout got no response, he hissed to himself and searched, hands hovering just over Herrah's form. "Child, you need to- ah!"

He pulled her free with a sharp tug, grimacing at the rip of tearing fabric and her ear-piercing scream.

She turned to him, flailing and kicking and sobbing, face wet, each breath a gasp.

"Child, I-" Two arms pinned hers to her sides. Two more swaddled her tight to his chest, where his heart thundered. She fought. He held her closer, squeezed tighter.

"Child…" He took a deep breath. For a moment, he didn't know what to say.

By the next, the words spilled out unbidden.

"Do you realize what a privilege it is to be able to see her again at all? Do you realize what a gift you have been given, that she understood what would happen and made plans for this eventuality? Plans you spurn?"

Again, the anger silenced her. But this time, he continued on. Despite the growing realization. Despite the growing horror.

"Your mother and I understood what must be done. Your birth is a kindness, and your situation is the best we could devise. You squall over her rest when her heart still beats, when even as she is, she could soothe you to sleep at her side? You will see her so many times through your life. You will have her."

A small jolt from his hand shook her. She whimpered. A keen built in his chest at the poison of his words, how they seeped into her body to take root and sicken her. But he couldn't stop. The Pale King of Hallownest, he who shaped his form as he shaped the world, was lost in a maelstrom of his own making.

"You have her as you have so many others. Vespa, Midwife, my Lady, the entirety of the Great Knights rejoice at the sight of you! Do you spurn them, too? My child, the world is cruel, but you do not suffer that true loneliness. But until you let go, you do not appreciate how much is left."

Even when the words ran dry, her sobs pulsed to the rhythm of his heart, loud and hard until he wished to pluck it from his chest, let a void take its place.

When he opened his mouth again, nausea welled in his throat. His stomach throbbed, bile etching at the back of his mouth.

What had he done?

He set her down on the plinth, arms trembling as he pushed her to Herrah's side.

The storm was gone, leaving only broken branches and uprooted things when he spoke again. "I should speak with your caretakers on your progress in your education. When I return, we shall leave."

He swept out of the room, leaving her to cling to her mother's sleeping form, dreading the inevitability of their separation.

#Hollow Knight #Pale king #Hornet #Herrah #Jaxx writes #whumptober2021 #Let's see when tumblr lets me tag right #Also soz this one is a bit dug into my own PK backstory headcanons! Rip

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ncssian · 3 years

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A Favor: Part Twenty-Two

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

content warnings: secondhand embarrassment, i dont know how skiing works, poor editing, NSFW 🔥

***

To Nesta’s horror, Cassian was serious when he said he’d teach her how to ski. Nevermind the fact that it’s his birthday, and they should be having a lazy morning together filled with cuddles and breakfast in bed. Instead, they’ve been up since six in the morning without food or drink, just to shuffle around in the snow while Cassian repeats the same instructions over and over. By late morning, the rest of their group has gotten up and joined them at the beginner’s trail to be firsthand witnesses to Nesta’s humiliation.

She stares down at the blinding white slope before her and inhales a breath of frigid mountain air, trying to steel her nerves before she has to push off the ground and take flight.

Cassian sees her hesitation and sighs. “Come on, Nesta,” he urges. “It’s thirty feet to the bottom of the hill.”

“Why is it so steep?” she demands, even though she knows this is a practice hill. Toddlers in skis are shuffling around them, hand in hand with their parents.

“You’re not falling to the bottom,” Cassian says, growing impatient. “You’re gliding.”

He’s already shown her how to maneuver with skis a dozen times already, and Nesta can see that he doesn’t have another dozen times left in him. Unfortunately for him, Nesta’s own patience was used up hours ago. Her stomach pangs with hunger, and she has a pounding headache from the cold and lack of sleep.

“Oh, come on, Nesta,” Gwyn calls from behind her. She hops up and down in her snow boots like a cheerleader. “You can do it!”

Nesta does not want to do it. She looks down at the hill, then back at Cassian with pleading eyes—eyes that he can’t see under her ski goggles anyway.

“I can’t take this anymore,” Azriel mutters from somewhere. He picks up his ski poles and points to Emerie. “Ski lift?”

“Sure—” she starts to say, and then remembers that she’s here to support Nesta. “Not now,” she amends.

“Just go,” Cassian turns to tell them. “At least some of us will be having fun.” Nesta watches as he goes over to Emerie and Az to give advice on the trails, the same frustration from last night building in her chest.

Stupid ski trip. Stupid uninvited guests. Stupid birthday that Cassian isn’t even treating like a birthday.

Gritting her teeth, Nesta jabs her ski poles into the ground. She’ll conquer this hill, and then she’ll conquer the rest of the trail, and then she’ll take her skis and set them on fire.

With everyone briefly preoccupied and no eyes on her, Nesta pushes herself downhill. Her skis slip a little as she takes off but she readjusts her feet the way Cassian showed her, regaining control. She takes a deep breath, realizing the height isn’t as scary as she thought it would be. Testingly, she bends her knees and pushes herself farther, gaining speed.

“Oh, oh, look!” she hears Gwyn say from behind her. “She’s doing it!”

The voice breaks Nesta out of her precarious concentration, and she almost misses the kid right in front of her skiing at the pace of a turtle. Gasping, Nesta swerves at the last second to avoid running him over.

Her skis clack into each other and she feels her ankle twist, and then she’s down. Hard. Her face meets snow and her ski gear jabs into her body as she tumbles down the rest of the hill, until she finally meets flat ground and rolls to a painful stop.

Nesta only hears a dull roar in her ears as she slowly pushes herself upright. Ignoring alarmed looks from stray skiers around her, she reaches forward and unstraps one ski from her foot, then the other. Her goggles fall to the ground next. Once free, she stands up and walks away, ignoring the calls of her friends from the hilltop.

She walks until she loses sight of the trail and then the resort, until the flattened and trampled snow piles up into powdery mounds untouched by human presence. A cropping of towering evergreens appears before her, and she heads straight for the thicket without pausing.

Once safely entombed by the dark tree trunks and frosted branches, Nesta releases a breath and screams. Screams until the frustration and anger within her bluntens just a little.

The forest absorbs her fire and answers with silence.

“Better now?” Cassian’s voice comes from behind her.

Nesta whirls, ready to fling her next scream at him for having the nerve to follow her, but she only restrains herself because it’s his birthday. Guilt and humiliation nips at her; she shouldn’t be doing this on his birthday. “Leave me alone.” Her voice is raw from shrieking.

Cassian only takes a step closer to Nesta, eyeing her up and down. “You’re not hurt, right? ’Cause that would be embarrassing for you.”

Any edge that was taken off starts to build up again, and Nesta really doesn’t want to look at him right now. “Cassian—”

“Your face is turning red,” he suddenly gasps, pointing. “You should try yelling again, babe. I don’t think the entire resort heard you last time.”

Done with her boyfriend’s shit, Nesta releases a growl and rushes at him. He’s a lot closer than she realized, and in a blink she slams right into his broad chest and shoves him with all her might.

Cassian laughs, short and blunt, and pushes her right back. Her back hits hard-packed snow and then he’s on top of her, pinning her wrists loosely beside her head. Icy wetness seeps past the neck of her jacket.

“Do you want me to fucking bite you?” Nesta snarls, getting in Cassian’s face.

“Always,” he says without hesitation, pressing closer to her. “But first you gotta take a breather.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she seethes back. At this rate, she really might bite him. She wants to see his smug face drop when he realizes he pushed her too far.

“You might have an aneurysm at this rate with your anger issues.” He pouts prettily. “Imagine how sad that would make me.”

“I DON’T HAVE ANGER ISSUES!” she shrieks.

Cassian barely blinks. Nesta breathes heavily in the ensuing silence, realizing how embarrassing this is for her. Yet she doesn’t know how to stop.

Closing her eyes, she drops her head to the ground and turns away. Wishing she could sink into the ground and vanish for a few minutes, at least until she gets herself under control again.

After a moment of quiet, she feels the back of Cassian’s fingers brush her neck. “I wondered where that spitfire girl went,” he says lowly. “She didn’t die. You just hid her very well.”

Nesta’s body doesn’t know whether to feel soothed or incited by the touch, the words. “Does it make you happy?” she breathes, her eyes still closed. “That she’s still there?”

“It would be murder if you ever got rid of her. Don’t you dare,” he threatens.

Nesta huffs a derisive laugh. It’s easy for him to say, when he isn’t the one that has to live with it. “I bet you’re enjoying this.”

“Only if you are.” He sounds completely genuine, and Nesta feels him pluck something out of her hair—likely a snowflake.

Realizing Cassian has long since released her wrists, she opens her eyes and stares at the column of his neck. She doesn’t see the regret and concern on his face when he says, “I ruined today, didn’t I?” She watches him swallow before he adds, “I’m sorry, Nes.”

“It’s your birthday,” she mutters, looking away. “You can do whatever you want.” Even if it’s spending the whole day skiing.

“You’re right about that.” His warm breath hits her nose, and now that Nesta’s head is somewhat clear, she can feel every place where his body settles into hers.

Before she can betray herself and forget how upset she was at him only a few minutes ago, Cassian pushes up and off of her. Frigid air replaces where he was just sprawled, and then he’s holding out a hand to Nesta. “We’re going back to our room,” he says, watching Nesta’s feet closely as he helps her stand. “You can ride on my back.”

“Why?” Nesta grumbles, brushing herself off. “I can walk fine.”

“You twisted your right ankle on the way down that hill, and you started limping as soon as you thought you were out of sight.” Cassian turns around and points at his back. “Get on while I’m being nice.”

That makes Nesta scoff, because he’s always nice, but she has little fight left today. She tries to reach up to wrap her arms around his neck, but Cassian grabs her legs and hitches her up onto his back before she can struggle.

She responds with a scowl, clasping her hands across his chest and getting comfortable. “You noticed I was hurt but didn’t have a problem with tackling me to the ground?”

Cassian squeezes her thighs and holds her closer, tossing a blinding smile over his shoulder. “Sorry if I wasn’t expecting you to try to jump me with an injured foot. You took me by surprise.”

“Bullshit,” Nesta says as they start walking out of the trees. “You did it on purpose.”

“Do you like starting fights, Archeron?”

“Do you?” she retorts.

They bicker back and forth like that until they reach the resort, and even once they’re inside the lobby, Cassian doesn’t put Nesta down. The exhaustion of the day has settled over the both of them by then, and the elevator ride up to the penthouse is peacefully quiet.

Back at the empty suite, Cassian carefully lowers Nesta to her feet. “Take your clothes off,” is all he says before heading for the bathroom, shedding his heavy outer jacket as he goes. Nesta has no problem listening; she’s all too happy to take her snow-drenched gear off and breathe air-conditioned air again.

She only realizes as she’s removing her boots that her overwrought emotions must have dulled the real pain of her fall. Her entire body aches down to the bone, and her twisted ankle has it the worst. Inspecting the swollen skin around her foot, she wonders if Cassian will make her see a doctor when the sound of a running faucet pulls her attention. Still dressed in her thermal underwear, Nesta pads over to the bathroom.

Inside, the room is dim, and the only light comes in from the single window panel at the far end of the room. Cassian sits on the rim of the clawfoot tub as it fills with heated water, already naked.

Nesta coughs, caught off guard. The sight is far from unfamiliar to her, and yet she hates to admit that she’ll never not react to it.

Cassian looks up at her, meeting her eyes head on, and a giggle almost escapes her.

“What’s that dumb look on your face?” he says with high brows. “Take your clothes off and get in.”

Nesta firmly schools her face into obedience. Is she a grown woman or a schoolgirl? she chides herself as she strips naked. But as soon as she’s free of her top and leggings, Cassian stops her. “Turn around,” he says.

Is this a sex thing? She hopes it’s a sex thing. She does as she’s told, and hears Cassian hiss in a breath. Glancing at the mirror over the sink, Nesta winces when she realizes what he sees. “Damn.” Her back is peppered with still-forming bruises from her fall, along with her legs and ribs.

Getting up, Cassian approaches her and cautiously runs his fingers over a reddened spot on her ribs. “I think a ski pole stabbed me there,” Nesta says, frowning down at the bruise. She looks like shit, and not at all in a desirable way.

“How’s your ankle?” Cassian kneels to check for himself, handling her like a porcelain doll. He presses gently above the bone where she twisted it. “Does that hurt?”

Nesta considers saying yes, just so he can keep fussing over her like this, but she shakes her head. “I’m fine. Just a little achy.”

A sudden chaste kiss between her legs makes her yelp, and she twists to find Cassian still on his knees, grinning sheepishly up at her. “You know what can help with those aches?”

Nesta blanks as Cassian runs a calloused hand up her inner leg. “Uh…really good dick?”

Cassian is visibly trying not to smile when he says, “A bath.” He stands and turns the faucet off, before going to help Nesta into the tub.

Steaming hot water just beneath the point of being uncomfortable hits Nesta’s calves, then her hips and chest. She might moan in relief as she sinks into the bath.

Cassian settles in across from her, taking up most of the tub space as Nesta twists her ponytail into a bun. He takes her ankle onto his lap and starts massaging above the injury. He notes, “We haven’t been alone like this in ages.”

“I remember when it was my job to be the chill guy,” he continues, rubbing circles into her leg. “I was the one doing stupid shit, and now I have to tell other people to knock it off when they do stupid shit. Since when did Azriel take my role?” he mutters to himself.

Nesta tilts her head against the lip of the tub and watches Cassian, taking in the barely visible lines of weariness on his face. She was once in a similar boat, too, where she had no one to answer to but herself. “Do you miss it?” she asks hesitantly. “Life before we got to know each other?” A life spent in the company of his friends, meeting different women every other week and being as free as possible.

“No,” he says easily. “I miss life before we had to share each other with other people.” He meets her eyes and smirks. “Who knew monogamy could be so exciting?”

Nesta’s stomach curls at his honesty, and she doesn’t know what to say. In the silence, Cassian reaches for a washcloth and lathers it with a bar of pine scented soap. But before he can reach for Nesta, she snatches the washcloth from him and pulls herself forward into the cradle of his limbs. What she can’t say, she’ll just have to show.

She starts soaping up his arms, granting extra attention to his tattooed biceps.

“You’re hurt—” he tries to protest.

“Shut up.” She runs the washcloth over his shoulders, across his collarbones.

When Nesta reaches his chest, she starts, “Earlier in the woods...I lost control.”

Cassian looks wary, but she goes on, “I don’t know why I did that. I thought I didn’t do that anymore.”

“I know why,” he says simply. “You were having a bad day. It was overwhelming.” He shrugs.

“But I’m better than that,” she insists. “You might think it's cute or funny when I—lose it, but I spent years training myself not to fall apart at the slightest inconvenience.” She takes in a breath, her movements slowing. “I learned how to escape reality, remember? I climbed into books and TV and songs, and at one point my entire life passed me by because I refused to participate in it. If I didn't participate, I couldn't be hurt.” She wrings out the washcloth, and Cassian carefully pries it out of her grip.

Nesta places her empty hands on her thighs, avoiding his touch, his eyes. “I think you were one of the only people who ever made me want to come back to real life,” she offers awkwardly. “That's why you made me uncomfortable at first. There were times I would look at you and think, He's better than anyone from the books. If I start living on the same plane as him, I can have him. Does that make sense?”

Cassian swallows visibly, but nods.

“It seemed like an impossible thing to do at the time—participate in the real world, make real friends. But have you noticed? I don’t read as many romance novels anymore.” Not because she doesn’t love them, but because she no longer needs them to remind herself she's alive.

She looks up at him, searching for his thoughts and opinions. Cassian looks like he's doing the same with her face, but then he says, “If you need to scream, even if it’s at me, tell me. I’ll take you somewhere far away, or I’ll let you have it out right in front of everyone. Whatever the hell you want, as long as you tell me. Please.”

Nesta starts to shake her head, adamant, but he stops her with the most pitiful look he's ever given her. “There’s nothing I hate seeing more than you trying to swallow down your rough edges. Even in the woods, you were about to tame yourself before I provoked you.” Cassian holds out a pinky, completely serious. “Consider it my birthday gift. Don’t do that shit anymore.”

Nesta stares at him, his plea warring with years of conditioned self-restraint. “I already got you a birthday gift,” she finally grumbles, but hooks his pinky with hers.

He seems satisfied, but doesn't let go of her pinky. With surprising strength, he uses their hooked fingers to pull Nesta into him, and she just barely catches herself on his chest before he brings her head down and kisses her deep.

Nesta already has her legs adjusted around his waist and his cock pressed against her stomach before she can pull away far enough to choke, “What’s this for?”

He leans up and catches her lips with his again, dipping his tongue just far enough inside to flick the roof of her mouth before retreating. “For existing. And for those aches.” He presses down lightly on a bruise at her back and runs a soothing thumb over it right after. Between her thighs, she feels him growing hard.

Nesta huffs a distracted laugh, the steam from the water sending a red flush up her chest and neck. It's suddenly very hot, and she unconsciously squirms in his lap. “I just realized I’ve never had sex in the bath before,” she says out of nowhere, rubbing her chest and quickly dropping her arms. She’s babbling, she knows. Contrary to popular media, being a seductress is harder than it looks. Half the time she has no idea what to say, and she considers herself lucky that Cassian is driven wild by it anyway.

Cassian entertains her, nodding along while his fingers slip past her ass, brushing her folds. “That sounds like something that should be amended, don’t you think?”

“Well, in terms of comfort I’m not sure if it’ll be better than the shower—” She’s cut off by a finger teasing at her entrance, making her jerk. “Yes,” she says quickly. “Yes, it should be amended.”

He hums thoughtfully, leaning in to nibble and suck at her neck. Her hardened nipples brush against his chest, and Nesta pushes closer into Cassian’s embrace. She’s half-rocking against him when she rasps, “How do you give head in the bath? Do I, like, have to hold my breath underwater?”

“You don’t need to know how,” he mutters, grasping her by the hips and tugging her up so that he’s eye level with her chest. He starts leaving a trail of openmouthed kisses across her breasts. “You’re not doing anything I don’t tell you to do today.”

“What do you mean?” Nesta’s grip on Cassian’s shoulders tightens when he brings a pink nipple into his mouth, sucking hard and pulling off with a flick of his tongue. She can’t move her hips for fear of climaxing at the slightest touch. “It’s your birthday,” she manages to get out. “And I like seeing what I can do to you.”

“Then save it for your birthday.” He pulls her back down firmly into his lap, making her thighs clench with restraint. “Because I like seeing what I do to you more.”

To prove his point, he parts her legs and slips one finger inside her. The smug pride on his face at what he finds makes Nesta move to grip the rim of the tub. Having a pretty boyfriend might have been a mistake, she thinks. That kind of face will get away with anything. Right now, for example.

“Tell me what you want, then,” she pleads.

Cassian leans back, pretending to think. “Sit on my cock,” he finally says.

An easy enough order, one Nesta is all too excited to carry out in only a few movements. It takes a minute to adjust to the fullness and the stretch, and the water doesn’t help in dousing the fire in her veins at all. With heat pounding deep in her core, Nesta releases a terse breath. Her tongue darts out to wet her lower lip, and Cassian watches.

“Now don’t move,” he orders.

“What?” Nesta’s knees involuntarily clench around his hips, her body already craving the feel of moving against him, on top of him.

He levels her with a look. “No clenching, no rocking, no touching.” He hisses in a thoughtful breath, combing a wet hand through his hair. “Actually, that isn’t very fair, is it?”

Nesta is about to nod furiously when he says, “You still need to wash yourself.” He hands her the washcloth she used on him earlier and leans his elbow on the rim of the tub. “Be quick about it. No games.”

Nesta’s eyes widen, looking at the washcloth, then back up at Cassian. Excitement tingles in her fingers and toes, and she doesn’t want to argue with him.

Gulping tightly, she soaps up the washcloth, then smooths the lather over her arms. It’s hard to focus on what she’s doing when there’s a pounding pressure between her legs, and the only thing that keeps her going is that she’ll be rewarded when she’s done. Cassian doesn’t bother watching her, instead tipping his head back against the tub and closing his eyes. From this angle, the tendons in his neck stand out clearly, and the hard line of his jaw looks tense. Nothing on his calm face reveals that Nesta is the reason for his tension, though.

Bringing the soapy cloth over her breasts, Nesta looks up to see if Cassian is secretly peeking at her through his lashes. His eyes remain shut, the perfect portrait of a man at rest.

Suddenly, his hips shift beneath hers, and Nesta nearly drops the washcloth. Straightening up, she has to use herculean strength to force her inner walls to relax around him. “You moved,” she accuses him.

“I was getting comfortable,” he says, still not opening his eyes.

“Why can you move but I can’t?”

That gets him to look at her. His eyes are hooded and lazy when he says, “You’re still talking?”

“Maybe if you had clearly explained the rules—” Nesta starts to grumble, but shuts up when he quirks a brow at her. She won’t lose this game, not for anything—even if she’s split at the seams with Cassian inside her and is one thread away from completely snapping.

Now fully alert, Cassian watches Nesta finish washing up. He hasn’t touched her once since he pulled her onto his cock, and now Nesta tries to make up for the aching lack by pretending her roaming hands are his.

It’s not until the washcloth reaches her tummy that Nesta pauses, her hand frozen over her lower abdomen. Because there, even past the cloth, she can feel him. The skin just slightly bulges, and she looks down at herself with her lips slightly fallen apart. She didn’t realize he was nestled so deep in her, but now she swallows past a lump in her throat. “Cassian…” she starts weakly. Every last muscle is trembling with the effort to stay still. Can he really be unaffected by all of this? Is she really the only one dying right now?

Without intending to, her hand drops the cloth, slipping toward her clit. She can only brush the sensitive nub before Cassian says quietly, “Don’t.”

So this is against the rules, too. She can’t even bring herself to look at him, she’s strung so tight. Taking a shallow breath, she grabs the pitcher from the shelf by the tub and fills it with water, using it to rinse off the suds. When she’s done, with water droplets running down every inch of her, she dares to look at Cassian again. Her anxiousness to get this over with must be written all over her face, and yet.

“Good,” Cassian says, voice just a little grated.

Nesta’s heart rate picks up a beat. She’s finally getting her reward.

“Now sit still and pretty while I rest,” he says, sinking even lower into the tub—and causing his cock to dig even deeper into Nesta. “This is a bath, not a splash pad.”

Nesta chokes. “What—I thought—”

“Hm?”

She presses her lips together tightly, refusing to protest. He can’t make her warm his cock like this forever, can he? Soon enough he’ll crack.

Four minutes in, and he doesn’t crack. While Nesta gets closer to crying by the second, she has yet to find evidence that he’s even aware of her presence. Her only proof is the fact that he’s still rock hard, occasionally twitching against the depths of her walls.

At five minutes in, Nesta can’t help it. She breaks, and her inner muscles clamp around Cassian with a viselike grip. She half-sobs in pain and relief, and her hips jerk of their own accord.

Cassian’s eyes fly open at that, the pupils blown wide, and Nesta has to catch herself on his chest to keep from crumbling. If she had half a working brain left, she would have noticed the trembling restraint that lines Cassian’s limbs, or the way his eyes burn with welling desire and even sympathy. Instead, she turns her face into his chest and begs weakly, “Pleasepleaseplease.” Her thighs keep shifting, rubbing back and forth to create friction, but she can’t give herself permission to move the way she truly needs until Cassian gives her permission.

Nesta feels Cassian’s broad hand come up to carefully brush her back. She nearly weeps with relief at the touch, but he doesn’t go any further. “What do you want, baby?” he says roughly.

“You,” she forces out. She doesn’t care if this is losing.

“Me, what?” He sounds like he’s about to lose, too.

“I want you to fuck me.” She’s nearly whimpering, trying not to squirm on his lap.

Cassian, the horrible bastard, has the nerve to snicker in her ear, though he sounds more than a little wrecked when he says, “Well, why didn’t you just say so?”

In a flash, he has Nesta pinned against the porcelain tub. And before she can decide whether to laugh or moan or cry at the turn of events, Cassian covers her mouth with his and thrusts into her, giving her everything she wants.

***

Hours later, after they’ve sated themselves on sex and food and Cassian is napping sprawled out across Nesta’s back, she receives a text from Azriel telling her he won’t be there to celebrate the rest of Cassian’s birthday.

Az: You two deserve the alone time. Also I didn’t get him a present.

Another text pops up before Nesta can reply.

Az: I did order a cake to be sent up to your room, though. Don’t worry, there’s not a picture of your boobs on it.

Nesta’s eyes widen at that, not knowing why—or how—that would be an option. But she completely forgot about getting cake in all the unexpected hassle of their vacation, and not for the first time is she grateful that Azriel came along with them on their trip.

Typing back a quick thank you, Nesta clicks her phone off and curls further into Cassian’s warmth. He shifts on top of her, hugging her closer, and a moment later she feels his nose poking at the crook of her neck. “Good morning,” he murmurs thickly, sleep coating his voice.

“It’s six p.m,” she snickers. The sun slipped behind the mountains just a few minutes ago, leaving the room a blue dark.

Cassian responds by slipping his hands under her oversized tee, rubbing the muscles along her back. “Where’s everyone else?” They haven’t seen Gwyn, Emerie, or Az in hours.

Nesta turns around in Cassian’s arms to face him. “Consider them gone. We’re by ourselves for the rest of the night.”

He perks up at that. “Really?”

A knock sounds from the penthouse door, and Nesta remembers Azriel’s text. She squirms out from under Cassian’s weight with some difficulty and stands off the bed. She points a stern finger at him. “Don’t move from here,” she orders. “I’ll be back.”

Cassian leans back, looking questioning and amused, but Nesta has already jammed her feet into slippers and left the room by then.

She accepts the covered platter from room service at the door and leaves a tip, before carrying the cake over to the coffee table in the living area and setting it down. Within ten minutes, she has an entire setup arranged: the fireplace is up and roaring, the fur throw she stole from Cassian’s couch to bring on vacation is spread out before it, and the cake candles are lit. The Italian dinner that she ordered earlier also arrives by then, and once everything is laid out, she calls for Cassian to come downstairs.

He’s fully dressed in a sweater and jeans when he appears at the top of the short set of stairs, and he looks so excited to see her that he doesn’t notice the cake or the dinner until he’s only a few steps away from her. Very slowly, his smile freezes. “What’s all this?”

“It’s your birthday,” Nesta says. “Duh.”

“But I thought we already celebrated,” he stumbles, looking around. “With the skiing, and the bathtub—”

Nesta makes a face. “You thought that was celebrating?” She shakes her head and beckons Cassian over to the fur throw, right before the table decked out with food.

He sits down beside Nesta, looking over her in nothing but her thin white shirt. “Are you cold? Do you want my sweater?”

She rolls her eyes as far back as they can go. “No, I want you to focus and make a wish before 6:27.”

“How do you know my birth time?”

“Will you do it or not?” she threatens. The candle wax is melting onto the cake.

Cassian stares at her for a moment longer before finally facing the cake. Closing his eyes, he mouths something unintelligible and blows the candles out.

Nesta claps softly. “Happy two years away from thirty. What did you wish for?” She leans closer.

He leans away. “It doesn’t come true if you go around announcing it.”

Nesta’s shoulders drop. “Wishes aren’t real, Cassian.”

“That’s what you say.” He swipes a dollop of chocolate frosting off the cake with his finger and holds it out to Nesta.

Smiling, she wraps her lips around his finger, scraping the chocolate off with her teeth and licking it clean. He sucks on the same finger when she’s done, chasing after her taste and the lingering frosting. “What do you want first?” he asks. “Dinner or dessert?”

“This.” Nesta pulls out a small box from under the table, placing it in front of Cassian. She didn’t have time to find wrapping paper or a bag, but she’s a bit proud of herself anyway.

Cassian once again looks taken by surprise. “You didn’t have to…” He trails off as he reaches for the box. It’s already obvious what it is, but he still opens it carefully, hesitantly.

He stares at the silver watch for a little while and then looks back up at Nesta. “I…” He clears his throat.

“What do you think?” In all honesty, Nesta already knows. But she needs to hear it from him.

He meets her eyes. “It’s so…normal. Do you know what I mean?”

It’s the type of gift that Nesta’s mother would have given to her father, the type of gift that wives would give to their husbands. Not necessarily original or thoughtful, but domestic.

“Since you like to spend your time thinking about taxes and minivans and stuff,” Nesta says, remembering their last conversation about the future, “I thought you’d like something normal.”

Cassian laughs at that. He takes the watch out of the box and turns it over in the firelight, still a little dumbstruck. “I love it,” he says roughly.

Nesta kicks him in the knee. “It’s a watch, not an engagement ring.”

But he doesn’t hear a word, already clasping it onto his wrist.

***

Their last day at the resort starts early with Gwyn, Emerie, and Az banging on the suite door at five in the morning. Though Cassian is already up by then, Nesta snarls and snaps like a bitch at being dragged out of bed to watch the sunrise.

With everyone’s bags packed and waiting at the door, they all gather on the balcony connected to the suite in content silence. Azriel nurses a thermos of coffee that he refuses to share with Cassian, and Nesta is wrapped up in that fur throw she loves, half-asleep against Emerie.

When the sky starts lightening, Cassian pulls Nesta away from Emerie and into his body. “You’re gonna miss it,” he murmurs onto the top of her head.

She blinks awake, looking out at the sky slowly being streaked with a dozen colors. From here, the view over the mountains and the quiet town some miles beneath the resort is breathtaking. Easily better than any sunrise Cassian could have shared with Nesta back home.

It’s beautiful, and in that moment he decides he wants to see even more beautiful places than this with Nesta. Someday.

“Pretty,” she yawns, tilting her head back against his chest. Cassian feels guilty for keeping her up so late the night before, but he’s not ashamed of how she rests in his arms right now.

After the sun climbs past the lowest peak, the group of them slowly but surely come more alive. Emerie asks Az to go inside with her and do a final check before they leave, and Nesta shakes both the blanket and Cassian’s arms off herself.

“Some coffee will wake you up,” he promises her, leaving her outside in the dewy morning air with a kiss on the temple.

When Cassian returns to the balcony with two freshly brewed cups, he finds Gwyn and Nesta in deep conversation. “I never apologized for crashing your weekend,” Gwyn is saying.

“You don’t need to,” Nesta responds, watching the world wake up below her.

“Still,” Gwyn says, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “I acted out of character, didn’t I?”

Nesta turns to her then, the sun haloing her face, and the look of understanding she wears makes Cassian take a step back inside.

“He does that to me,” Gwyn goes on, looking lost as ever. “I don’t know why he does that to me.”

“First love will do that to anyone,” Nesta says.

This isn’t a conversation Cassian should be overhearing, he realizes. Turning around with his coffees, he goes to find Emerie and Azriel instead.

In the living area, Emerie realizes at the last minute that she’s missing her phone charger. By the time she finds it, Nesta and Gwyn have rejoined the group.

Cassian hands Nesta her still-warm coffee with a warmer smile. “You ready to get out of here?”

“Hell yes, baby.” She slings an arm around his waist.

They barely make it to the resort lobby before Azriel and Gwyn start arguing over which route to take home.

“Why would you add an extra hour to your trip for no reason?” Azriel is saying.

“It’s none of your business!” Gwyn retorts.

“She’s scared of highways,” Emerie inserts.

While they bicker on the way to check out, Cassian finds Nesta’s hand and runs a finger down her palm. “Hey, Nes?”

“Hm?” She looks up at him.

He curls his fingers around hers. “Thank you for doing this.”

***

a/n: i cant keep posting chapters right before i sit down to cry in front of kdramas

tagging: @hellasblessed @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @wannawriteyouabook @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson @planet-faerie @shallowhighwaters @ghostlyrose2 @chosenfamily-valkyriequeens @rarephloxes @readiajin @nessiantrashh @live-the-fangirl-life @ifinallygavein @xoblivisci @sjmships @jungtaekwoonie-is-life @lysandra-tiara @lanyjoy-13 @frosted-crackers @post-it-notes33 @loosingdreams @fromthelibraryofemilyj @18moneytoad @dontgetsalmonella @champanheandluxxury @togreblog @arinbelle @ladygabrielli1997 @meridainthedisneyland @moodymelanist @pixieelea

#ncssianwrites #a favor #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nessian fanfic #nessian au

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mellowswriting · 3 years

Text

The No-Good, Absolutely Shitty Day

Part 1 of the Quarantine AU

pairing || Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales x Reader

summary || With the world already spinning off it’s axis in the midst of a pandemic, your life is further thrown into chaos when you find your boyfriend in bed with his ex-girlfriend. Good thing you have Frankie on your side.

word count || 1,242

warnings || infidelity, Frankie to the rescue, quarantine blues, your ex is a shitbag okay

Main Masterlist | Join the taglist!

Francisco Morales wasn’t a stranger to having his restraint tested. His military service was basically a decades-long plucking of his nerves, even before he joined Delta Force. Not to mention his closest friends all seemed to manage a constant level of mischief unrivaled by any other. He was used to being the only one with a lick of sense in his head, and even when everything else around him seemed to be going all to hell, Frankie managed to hold on to his self control.

Seeing you sat on his couch, trembling with mascara tracking down your cheeks was something entirely different. It didn’t annoy him like Santi and Benny’s stupid pranks or frustrate him like when his commanding officers in the Army ignored his expert advice. It enraged him. There you were in his living room, almost inconsolable for hours, all thanks to one asshole: your boyfriend.

Well, ex-boyfriend as of a few hours ago. Not that he knew it yet.

As if having life as you knew it changed at the drop of a hat thanks to the pandemic sweeping the country wasn’t enough, you came home early that afternoon to start working from home and found the man you were supposed to be able to trust in bed with another woman. Not just any other woman, either. His ex-girlfriend, the one he had promised that you didn’t need to worry about. They were asleep when you walked in, naked and entangled with each other in the sheets of your bed, neither stirring in your presence.

It was the shock that enabled you to leave without exploding. You showed up on Frankie’s doorstep looking hollow, as if your emotions funneled out of you and left you empty, but the moment you managed to whisper the words - ‘Eric cheated on me.’ - the tears came. And they didn’t stop.

In all of his life, Frankie never resorted to violence unless it was absolutely necessary, but in that moment he wanted to storm over to your apartment and take that motherfucker down. It was stupid, barbaric. He knew that, and he knew that you needed his friendship more than some alpha-male display of masculinity. Even when your crying turned into disbelieved and enraged ranting, the tears didn’t stop. Frankie listened to your anger, to the betrayal that coursed through you and lit a fire in your belly. He didn’t even need to respond, not really; he just nodded along, offering small encouragements of ‘you’re right’ and ‘you deserve better’.

It didn’t take long for you to tire yourself out. Between the ranting and the crying and the pacing back and forth in Frankie’s living room, your energy was quickly depleted and you could do nothing but collapse onto his couch with an exhausted sigh. The sight was heartbreaking and Frankie would do anything to ease even the tiniest bit of your pain. So he brought you a cloth wet with warm water and gently wiped the black smudges away from your face and set a steaming mug of hot cocoa in your hands before tucking you into his side.

“God, what am I going to do?” You mumbled against him and Frankie frowned.

“Well, you’re going to break up with him, right?” He asked hesitantly - he thought that much was obvious.

“Of course I am, it’s just… it isn’t easy.” Your words came slowly and Frankie just nodded, trying to encourage you to voice what was really worrying you. “We live together and finding a new apartment during this quarantine bullshit is going to be damn near impossible. Besides, he’ll probably kick me out once I tear him a new one.”

“You don’t have to worry about that, hermosa.” Frankie said with a shake of his head. The idea of you fretting about something as serious as housing while everything else was already going to hell made his stomach flip. “You always have bed here.”

“Frankie, I can't impose on you like that, I -”

“You think it's an imposition to help you? To have my best friend stay with me?” A small smile curved your lips at his words and Frankie couldn't help but return it as he smoothed his hand down your hair. “It’ll be like a sleepover, except this time we’re old enough to drink. Besides, I think it would be nice to have each other through this craziness, right?”

“Right.” Your voice was small, almost hopeful, the torrential mix of anger and fear in your eyes softening somewhat, and Frankie breathed a small sigh of relief. “I promise I won't tell Pope that I've stolen the ‘best friend’ title out from under him.”

Frankie chuckled as he handed you the mug where it sat on the coffee table and urged you to take a sip. If there was one thing he loved being, it was a provider. Comfort, safety, delivering an ass-whooping - whatever you needed, Frankie was all too glad to provide. In this case, it was a warm blanket, a hot beverage, and the comfort of his arm wrapped around your shoulders. “Do you want to talk about it some more?”

You shook your head. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

“Well, I have the perfect cure for that.”

A few clicks of his remote later and Brooklyn Nine-Nine came blaring across his television. He had just started it at your recommendation and was already hooked a few episodes in; it was the perfect kind of show to take one’s mind off of a no-good, absolutely shitty day. The familiarity of it had you relaxing into him even further, some of the tension easing from your shoulders, and his running commentary brought out a few of those laughs of yours that he loved. They weren’t deep, full-bodied ones that his antics often caused, but it was something at least.

Two episodes in and you were dozing off next to him. It was adorable, the way your eyes fluttered every few seconds, your head dipping back further and further the more your exhaustion washed over you. It took a lot of prompting to get you up onto your feet so he could get you settled in the guest room, but when he threatened to pick you up, you grumbled your way to your feet and meandered after him. There was no way he was going to let you sleep in those uncomfortable jeans, so Frankie brought you a pair of sweatpants and one of his shirts to change into.

“Thank you, Frankie.” You muttered as you collapsed into the soft bed, warm appreciation in those pretty eyes of yours that did funny things to his chest, and suddenly your hand wrapped around his and squeezed gently. “Seriously.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Frankie squeezed back before he pulled the blankets up to your shoulders and it hit him - he didn’t want to leave you there alone. Blame it on how sad you were or how hard your day had been, but all he wanted to do was curl up with you and keep holding you, just like he had on the couch. Frankie quietly closed the door instead and went down the hall to his own bedroom, intent to let you get as much rest as possible instead of lurking around like a weirdo.

That night, Frankie Morales fell asleep with his forearms tucked up underneath his head, wishing instead that he had his arms wrapped around you.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x y/n #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales #quarantine au

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mossygardenstone · 3 years

Note

Hi !

How are you doing ? ^^

Can I request something angsty but maybe (if possible) with an happy ending for whoever you want ?

My idea was that their crush has hanahaki (because they think they don't love them)

I'm sorry, I don't really know how to explain the idea clearly ^^"

I hope you will have a nice day ! :3

I can totally do that for you! :3 I'll write for Red because that's my boy =w= But if you want someone else, feel free to request again! Hope I did it right! ;w;/ I may have gone overboard ;; Reader x Redd - with Hanahaki TW: Medical stuff, illness things, hospitals, angst, no proof reading oops, and swearing You plucked away a last petal from your shoulder, as you returned your gaze to the mirror, looking yourself over for a moment. Of all the people for you to fall for, it had to be him. When the monsters started to come from the underground, you never thought you'd be friends with them, let alone had fallen so head over heels for one of them. But something about this bone boy really got to you. Despite the rough and tough personality he put up, you could see who he was truly. But that's why you knew they wouldn't be interested in you. How could a monster be in love with a human? You looked your face over for a moment more in the mirror, your hands gripping the sink tightly. Once you felt that you had gathered yourself enough to be around others, you sighed and pushed off the sink, giving the mirror a last glance on your way out the bathroom door. Once you entered the living room, a pair of sockets shifted to look at you, as Red's constant smile seemed to grow more at your sight. "Was starting to worry ya fell in the toilet." He teased, his sockets shifting back to the video game he was play, that you had brought over to play with him. You simply forced a smile, that you wore well to block out any prying questions about how you had been, despite the fact your features has slowly worsen over time. Your body finally giving way to display how sickly you had been feeling as of late. You gave the other a soft chuckle and shifted to sit back in your spot next to him in the floor. "Where's your brother?" You asked, peeking over your shoulder, where the taller skeleton monster had been when you left. But it simply earned a shrug from Red, not even looking up from his game. "Didn't ask, he just said he had ta go." He gave a chuckle and shifted a socket to you again. "You know how he gets." You returned a chuckle, the smile you forced felt as constant as the skeletons smile. But you think your cheek muscles were making you have less of an advantage in that department. Your face hurt from smiling. Your body hurt from breath. And being around him just made it worse, you could feel your body react the second you're around him. It felt like you were dying slowly next to him, but that was okay. At least it would be next to him. Lost in your thought, your vision blurred, not even hearing Red as he starts to talk about the game. Your frame wobbled softly in it's spot as the room danced around you, just to swirl into a never ending blackness. You felt your lungs failing yourself, but now you could hear him, because he was much closer now. Your eyes weakly trailed up, to see his bone fingers gripping your shoulder tightly, but you couldn't feel his touch. Your eyes continued up to meet the sockets of the other, his yelling seemed muffled by the fog in your head, he look frustrated, his sockets narrowed at you, his eyelights reduced to pin pricks. But that expression changed once your eyes finally met his, you could see his frustration leave like a flash, the second he locked eyes with your dull ones. He was sweating now, his eyelights gone, leaving his deep sockets staring blankly at you. His worry was quickly amped as your eyes finally fluttered shut and you toppled over in the floor beside him. He gasped now, scrambling to your side and stroking a boney hand across your face, calling out your name, but getting no answer. You awake later, to the sounds of beeps, and the uncomfortable feeling of a cold, sterile room closing in around you. You blink groggily as you try to sit up, but your body refused to let you do more than softly shift around. But you soon stopped your movement, hearing a familiar voice in the next room. It was Alphys, and another more loud voice you also recognized as Sans. You stopped shifting so

you could listen to them in the other room, they seemed upset. But you thought you'd pass out again when you heard Alphys mention a word far too familiar for you. Hanahaki Disease. You knew you had it, you knew that's what was happening to you, it's an easy search. But no one else did, not them, not your friends, not a soul but you knew this. You could feel tears prick your eyes, as you heard Alphys explain it to Sans, your body shaking hoping he wouldn't catch on. But another voice rang out, this time from the room you were in. It was Papyrus, you hadn't even noticed he had been sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, arms folded over his uniform. "Alphys, Sans, they're awake." He barked almost as a command, and they funneled into the room as though it was one, locking eyes with you. Alphys went to spoke, but before she could even attempt to speak, Red's hulking frame was stomping toward you. "Why didn't ya tell me? D... Did ya not know? That's it right?" His tone sounded pleading, like he wanted more than anything for you to not known you were dying, than to not have told him, to hide something like this. You shifted your teary eyes away from him, you knew the longer you stared at him, the more they would fall. "I knew." You finally spoke after a while, making him stare in stunned silence, before his sockets screwed up in anger again. "Why the hell didn't ya tell us? Or at least me?" He sputtered out, his hands waving as he spoke. But when you didn't answer he simply let out a grumble and moved closer to your bed side. "Then tell me at least..." He started, causing you to look at him out of the side of your eye. He hung his head for a moment, thinking over everything he had learned today, before raising his head with a snap "Who the fuck is it then? Who are ya so in love with that it's doing this to ya?" He was shaking at this point, and he didn't know if it was anger, or fear. "And why the hell don't they love ya back?" His voice cracked at those words, and hearing it sent you over the edge as well, tears rolling down your face now, your body trembling to keep from letting out shaky sobs. "Because.." You started for a moment, bringing your hand up to wipe your eyes, the IV in your arm feeling weird as it moved. "I haven't told them." This caused Red to stare blankly, and finally shut up for a moment. Giving Alphys the perfect moment to finally speak. "But Y/N, you will die if you don't tell them soon. Or get the surgery." You winced and tried to choke back another sob. "I don't want the surgery. I know what comes with it... I rather be like this than lose my feelings for them." You said blankly, Alphys looking from you to Sans again. Who was now angered again, hands balled into a fist. "Then tell them! I'm sure they're going to love ya back. They have'ta!" he spat, shaking his skull. You couldn't reply at first, you just softly sobbed to yourself, before taking a deep breath and collecting yourself. "It wont matter if I tell them. They wont feel the same." You weak mutters just fueling his anger more, as he finally had enough, he closed the rest of the space between you both, gripping the bed rails. Alphys reached out to stop him, but simply let him get it out, noticing Papyrus keeping a close eye on him. "Why the hell wouldn't they? Ya great! I should know, I spend almost every day with you!" Alphys blinked and looked at him for a moment. "Sans.. You've been around them a lot lately right?" Sans snapped his head to look at her. "It's what I just said, innit?" Alphys shifted her gaze to you again. "When you met them.... Did they look this sick?" You winced, you knew she had figured it out. Red was staring at you now, you could feel it, his sockets scanned you, before turning back to Alphys. "N...No, I don't think they did.. They had a lot more colla to them." Alphis nodded and looked to again, Red's gaze trailing back to you, his boney fingers still wrapped around the bars of your bed. "Is it a monster? Is that why ya don't think they will like ya? Y/N, monsters fall for humans all the time, you

really-" Sans was cut off by the bellowing of his older brother, causing all three of them to jump and instantly give him their attention. "Sans, you absolute moron." Sans gulped nervously, loosing his grip on the bed, as his brother continued. "It's you they like, how can you be so dense? I saw this ages ago" His eyelights rolled in his skull, as though he had just made another pun. Sans just stared at him, jaw slack, his large frame rumbled from the laughter he let out. "Come on Boss, it's a good joke, but this is serious." He shifted his skull back to look at you. "There's no way someone like them-" He stopped, your eyes were wide, and you face was flushed, and he realized just how pale you've gotten from this sickness. He blinked softly for a moment before letting out a panicked grunt, leaning over the bars, a foot from your face. "Yer fucking joking? T..." His skull flushed a bright cherry candy red, his eyelight finally appearing again for the first time since you passed out, they seemed to vibrate softly, flickering as they scanned you. You couldn't stand to look at him anymore, you felt destroyed, you were going to get rejected in front of everyone and slowly rot away. But instead you were surprised when you felt him clambering over the rails, into the bed with you, spooking both you and Alphys "S.Sans! Careful with them-" She blubbered as he managed to nestle his large frame, mostly sitting on the railing. His grin was larger than you've ever seen, his eyelights looked almost like they had turned heart shaped, and he was giggling like a dork. You scanned him, as you scooted in your bed to make space for the large skeleton monster. "Yer as big of a moron as me I guess, because I liked ya for a while too." He finally, said with another giggle. Your eyes went wide, and you suddenly felt dizzy, actually too dizzy, the room spun as you put a hand to your forehead, leaning back with a huff. Sans jumped again, trying to back away to give you space. "Fuck! Sorry uh.." Sans muttered, and Alphys simply snickered and walked over to the free side of the bed that didn't have a bone boy perched on it. Softly fanning you with her clipboard. "It's okay Sans, it's the blood flow coming back to them. They shouldn't be showing anymore signs of the illness in the next 24 hours." Sans beamed at you, watching the color come back to your face slowly. "Guess I'm ya new medication hun. Take as needed." He snicked and slumped into the bed beside you, pulling you to his lap. You sunk into his large frame like a bean bag. You had no idea how it happened, but you were fine with the out come. "Dork.." You muttered as you snuggled into his chest.

#x reader #underfell sans x reader #sans x reader #sans x y/n #underfell #underfell sans #undertale imagines #hanahaki disease #undertale #sans

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doveypink · 3 years

Text

the one i left behind [technoblade imagine]

summary: you recount the moments leading up to your death. genre: angst words: 5.3k warnings: death, (past) abusive relationships, swearing, general violence a/n: i've been working on this one for a long time. i hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i did writing it!!

[ part two: come and find me ]

Freezing. I was absolutely freezing.

The brisk wind was sharp, leaving pinpricks of its icy touch upon my skin. I could have sworn there was snow, but when my eyes finally cracked open to peer around me, there was only the burning blaze of the sun and lush fields surrounding me. I turned my head to the side lazily, feeling the grass tickle my cheek. My body felt stiff and I stretched my arms out as though clasping the sky between my fingers, and my muscles loosened as I lifted myself from the ground. How long had I been laying there? Time seemed to escape me as I tried to recollect myself. I was just tired, that was all; if I went home now, I’m sure I would remember again. I would make myself a big meal, as well, something hot to melt away my chill, even though I didn’t seem to feel any ounce of hunger within me.

I walked in the direction of a place I couldn’t quite remember, attempting to turn the preceding events over in my mind. The only thing I could seem to recall was the smell of something burning, a bright flash of light, a big bang — fireworks, an image of creation and destruction all at once. It was almost as though I had never existed before this moment, lying in a bed of flowers, untouched by the calloused hands of the living.

I walked through the field, reaching out to pick a single flower from the blades of grass—a blood-red carnation—when I noticed that the shade of my skin had lost its warmth. Where it once had the flushed undertone of my blood, it was now ashen with the impression of death. I flinched, suddenly shivering as my cold bones once again made themselves known. A thought occurred to me, a memory that had slipped my mind in my haze: I only had one life left.

And I lost it.

Without thinking, my feet began to glide over the earth, kicking up dirt and pebbles as I ran. If I had lost my last life, something awful must have happened. What was it? I tried to pull the memories from the vault in my mind, but it seemed to be locked. All that was left were the shadows under the door, the footsteps in the distance, the keyhole that could only provide a glimpse into a scene.

I smelled it, then, the same scent that I recalled upon waking up, though fainter: something hot and burnt. Up ahead, there was a wisp of smoke floating above the trees, and I hurried towards them. The ground became blackened with scorch marks and, among the ruins of a building I could no longer recognize, I caught sight of blood. My heart sank, and with a start, I realized that there was a crater full of rubble and fires that had long been burning. I stepped through the debris, stumbling over broken doors, shards of glass, golden goblets and picture frames; dozens of signs of life all buried in ash and smoke, melted into a haunting image of destruction. Nothing was recognizable, but I knew what this place was: L’Manburg. Or, more accurately, what was left of it.

I searched the ruins of the country, cringing at the blood streaked debris and discarded weapons and armor that lay haphazardly among the wreckage. I circled the edge of the massive crater, unable to step much further into the space due to its depth. I looked down at the scorched land and moved out, surveying the surrounding area.

Upon noticing the remnants of a building—someone’s house, maybe? It was too far gone to make out—I felt compelled to search what was left of the structure. I wasn’t sure what drew me to suddenly climb through burnt wood and broken cobblestone; some part of me felt as though I would find an answer to all my questions, a sign, anything to point me in the right direction. I felt desperate to find something to satisfy the tug in my cold heart. My freezing hands sifted through the mess, shoving away rubble and pushing through the debris until my hands were covered in dirt and bruised from the digging. My hands suddenly found something smooth and dense, and my searching became frantic as I pushed through the ruins to find what I had been unknowingly searching for: my bow. I tugged it out from under stone and dirt, running my fingers down the edge of the smooth silver. It remained unmarked despite the destruction surrounding it, the curve of its limbs untarnished and shining brilliantly in the evening light. I searched some more and discovered the hard shell of my arrow quiver and a number of silver-tipped arrows still inside. I stood and slung the quiver over my shoulder with my bow in hand, feeling almost complete with the items on my person.

The wind picked up and blew through my hair, insisting that I look further. I stepped into the wreckage of the building, an unsettled feeling rising in the pit of my stomach. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of red against pale grey stone; I turned, staring at the scene before me with wide, horrified eyes.

A short distance from where my bow was found, there was a violent splatter of crimson against the rubble. It looked like a balloon full of paint had popped, streaking the cold stones with a sickeningly bright shade of red. Among the drying mess, there was a flurry of scorch marks strewn across the area, a minor crater digging into the earth where the scene lay. I realized what this all was, my hands trembling as I clutched my bow.

I had died here.

I screwed my eyes shut, plagued with a sudden onslaught of memories that I no longer wished for. Falling to my knees, I held my head in my hands and shook violently, my head pounding with a torrential rain of scenes flashing in my mind. All I could do was be swept away in the flood.

* * * * *

“Are you still mad at me?”

I blinked at Techno with an arrow in hand, sharpening its tip and inspecting the edge. I was mad at him, but I didn’t feel like giving him an answer. If he had to ask, he already knew; we were both smart enough to understand each other like that. He sighed when I wordlessly turned my gaze back to my arrow, stepping towards me and plucking it from my grasp. I jumped up, prepared to steal it back. “Hey—!”

“You know why I had to do this. Don’t get mad at me,” Techno said, his voice low and serious.

I crossed my arms and frowned. “Right. You have to team with Dream just to blow up a country. You definitely couldn’t have done it on your own or, I don’t know, with me to help, yeah? Because the great Technoblade is always right—”

“We have common interests—”

“And I hate being interrupted.”

Techno went silent after I snapped at him, adjusting his cape while I gritted my teeth. “I thought you hated him,” I said slowly, “and I hated him too. You know what he did, you know how it hurt me, and you still…” I trailed off, feeling suddenly exhausted—exhausted from fighting, exhausted from chasing a peace I could never have.

Techno placed a gentle hand on my shoulder—a gesture he rarely used, and reserved for me—and met my eyes. “Just this once,” he said. “I still owe him a debt, but this will be the end. It’s within our reach.”

“I could die,” I said plainly. This made Techno pause, his entire body freezing over like a lake in winter, so I pushed further. “I could die. I could lose my last life, and I gladly will for what we’re doing, because I believe in this. I know we haven’t always been right, but I know that this is. I hate that you let Dream in, and I’m going to be angry. I deserve to be angry.”

“You’re not going to die,” he said with certainty. “Not when I’m there.”

I couldn’t tell if Techno was trying to reassure me or himself with his words, but either way, the weight of the possibilities made my stomach turn with anxiety. “You can’t be so sure. I’m not exactly as talented as you are at everything,” I countered.

“Don’t say that,” Techno insisted, his tone full of frustrated reassurement. “I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you. Never again. And hey,” he started, poking my cheek, “you’re more than capable of handling yourself, anyway. You couldn’t die even if you wanted to.”

“I think you have too much confidence in me, Techno.”

“Cut that sentence 3 words short and I’ll consider agreeing with you.”

I sighed, finally letting myself crack a small smile. “I’m still mad at you, but I trust you. Only out of pity though—I know you couldn’t last a day without me around.”

Techno grinned, his sharp-toothed grin melting the ice as he returned my arrow. “Good thing it’ll never come to that.”

I shook my head, twirling the arrow in my hand while I inspected it silently. Techno turned away to prepare his own weapons, leaving me alone with the aftermath of our conversation.

My anger had been redirected with my friend’s words of reassurance, now colliding with my resentment for Dream. Even though I did have faith in Techno, I still feared the possibility of Dream playing a trick on us. I sharpened my arrow and considered my choices: I follow Techno’s lead and go along with Dream’s help, or I take matters into my own hands. I finished up with my arrows, placing them neatly into my quiver as I prayed that the latter wouldn’t have to occur.

I already knew well enough that war was brutal.

With a deep, tired sigh, I leaned back and recalled a time not so long ago—just a few years at most—when I wasn’t resentful of Dream. We were friends, once, and I’ll admit that I admired him; I bitterly wondered what would have happened if I had ever found the courage to tell him just how much I adored him, but the thought made some long forgotten part of me ache, prickling my heart with thorns. It was shameful of me to wonder what could have been, even more so to speak it; there was a reason why only Techno knew, and there was a reason why his decision made my blood bubble over in frustration and betrayal.

I considered the moment I caught Dream shifting, edging away from his former self as his own hubris overtook him, rotting his soul as something else took form. He had always treated me as an equal, and he charmed me with his kind words and gentle gaze. I couldn’t begin to understand how suddenly he was so cruel to me, taking me by surprise when his usual soft tone became sharp and grating, tearing me apart from the inside out. I had only ever been supportive of him, even when he did things I couldn’t agree with; even when his friends turned their backs on him; even when I found myself seeking his approval at every turn despite his cruelty. Nothing I did could ever seem to be enough.

The first time I was separated from Dream was after Techno captured me, initially planning to use me as leverage against his rival to put an end to the government. After finding me, though, he must have seen what I couldn’t: the hollowness that Dream had left behind. The anarchist took pity on me, if you could even call it that; mostly, Techno shook me awake from the nightmare I had been living and made me realize the extent of Dream’s manipulation. I felt dirty for a long while after my realization, plagued with the sense that I would never feel safe or whole again. A part of me still felt that way, even, but at least I had the sense now to not seek out the shadows when they beckoned me over.

Technoblade was a surprisingly good friend through it all. It was him who helped me become myself again, but he would always argue that it was my own doing. He frustrated me sometimes with his monotonous tone and his thirst for anarchy, but at the end of the day, I could never stay mad at him; Techno had a good heart, and his honesty and dedication to his morals was enough to convince me. Even through my fog of anger at his teaming with Dream, even when I questioned whether this was a good idea, a sensible part of me knew that this was nothing like what Dream had done to me. Techno didn’t hide his nature as Dream did, and I could trust him in that.

A knock on the cabin door brought me out of my thoughts. I heard Techno’s footsteps as he stepped back into the room, a knife in hand. “Do you know who it is?” he questioned, scrutinizing the door when I shook my head in response. I stood from my chair and followed behind Techno, who peeked out the window and let out a tired sigh before swinging the door open.

“Hello, Dream. What are you doing at my house?” my friend deadpanned.

Dream lowered his grinning mask, his own lips drawn back into a polite smile. “Oh, just checking in before tomorrow. I wanted to see if you needed anything.”

“You could have sent a message first,” Techno replied, tapping the messenger device on his wrist. “I don’t really appreciate unwanted guests.”

“I figured it wouldn’t be much of a problem since we’re on the same side now. And I tend to find surprise visits are a lot more… Insightful,” Dream mused. His eyes peeked over Techno’s shoulder to meet mine and I stiffened, standing straighter. Dream, perceptive as usual, smiled wider, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners before he spoke to me in a soft voice. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

A cold hand gripped my heart, the blood pulsing in my ear drums. I hated him; I hated that he hardly had to speak for me to begin to crumble. I attempted to reply in a steady voice despite the slight tremor that shook me. “Yeah, it has.”

Before Dream could say anything else, Techno stepped up as though to shield me. “You know, we have everything we need here. You should probably make sure your things are sorted, though,” he announced.

Dream’s smile faltered for half a second before returning. “Hm, I think you’re right. Just remember to give me the signal,” he said, beginning to turn away from the door. Dream hesitated, giving me one last look before he addressed me, his words kind, though laced with a cold, haunting tone. “I’ve missed you. Good luck tomorrow.”

It wasn’t until Techno had shut the door and confirmed that Dream had left that I allowed myself to breathe. I hadn’t even realized that I was holding my breath in the first place; I felt lightheaded and weary as Techno sat me down and asked if I was alright. I nodded, watching the worried man cross the room to fetch me a glass of water. With a shudder, I took in the sight of the floorboards and listened to my friend rummaging around the kitchen. My stomach churned and my mind flashed with sudden clarity about what I would have to do.

I was going to kill Dream.

The following day felt like a blur. Every motion leading up to the total destruction of L’Manburg was like a sharp jab of a paintbrush, a swipe across a canvas already drenched in paint. There was a picture here, some greater meaning when you stepped away from it all, but in the midst of things, it didn’t quite matter. All Techno cared about was erasing the country for good and keeping us alive; all I wanted was to get the day over with.

I had spent the entire night trying to decide whether it was truly a good idea for me to go after Dream or leave him be. A part of me felt that it was a terrible idea, a decision that would only serve to lead me to certain death; still, another part of me wanted closure. I didn’t think of myself as anything special compared to Techno, Phil, or even Dream himself when it came to combat skills, but the truth was that I was more than capable of holding my own in battle. I had been through my fair share of wars, and the experience in addition to training with Techno led me to become a skilled warrior of my own. As I considered it, I found myself realizing with a newfound confidence that I had the strength to take down Dream all on my own if I wanted to. My only question was how I would go about this.

The answer came surprisingly soon.

Techno and I had been doing well against L’Manburg’s defense—there was only a scare when Sapnap came close to taking one of Techno’s lives during a fight, but I had stepped in with a nicely timed arrow to his head, which made our enemy disappear into a cloud of smoke as his life was lost. Techno and I chugged some invisibility potion, courtesy of Phil, and hid around a building to watch everyone fight off the withers while we healed ourselves.

“What’s taking him so long? We’ve been at it for—” Techno glanced at his watch, “—thirty minutes! And here I thought Dream was all about punctuality,” my friend griped, taking a bite out of an apple.

“I’m not surprised. Of course he would choose today to take his sweet time,” I assessed, thumping my head against the brick building. “He’s probably going over his plans to sacrifice us next as we speak.”

“We are not getting sacrificed.”

“You never know,” I hummed. “It’s not a bad thing to be cautious, is it?”

Techno snorted. “Well, I suppose not. We’ve survived this long, though, so I have a good feeling about this.”

I nodded, peering in the direction of my friend. We couldn’t see each other due to the potion, but if I focused hard enough, I could catch a shift in the light that alerted me of his position. I felt a sudden urgency within me—some calling to spill my fears, inky and black, before I choked. “I need you to do me a favor,” I blurted.

I watched the light shift and turn. “What? What’s going on?” Techno wondered.

“If something happens to me, if I lose my last life,” I began in a serious tone, “don’t look back.”

“I… don’t understand. What are you saying? You won’t—”

“Techno, if I die, you carry straight through with the plan. Don’t come for my things, don’t try to help me, just go. Please. Can you promise me that?”

The light shimmered slowly, hesitantly. “Of course you choose now to drop that on me,” Techno muttered bitterly, but I could hear the underlying hurt. “I can never say no to you, though, can I?”

“It is your best trait,” I joked, though there was a heaviness in my voice.

The shift in the light leaned back as Techno sighed. “Alright, fine. It won’t come to that, but I’ll do it. I promise.”

“Thank you. For everything,” I confessed, stressing the importance of all that he’s done for me in my reply.

Before Techno could reply, a resounding boom went off nearby. Dirt and debris flew past us as plumes of gray smoke shrouded our sight. Between the clouds of smoke, I could see a flash of bright green and a bone-white mask.

“He’s here,” Techno mumbled next to me. “Let’s get moving.”

The pair of us sprinted across the land, dodging at the sight of explosives and attacking enemies under the guise of our invisibility. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Dream dropping TNT from the tops of buildings and hurling them at every patch of land in his vicinity. By the time he was finished, I knew there would be nothing left.

The invisibility began to wear off shortly after that, and I watched as Techno’s vibrant red cape began to fade back into view. I followed my friend from a short distance until I realized that Dream was completely distracted in his efforts to destroy the nation. As Techno veered down one path, I caught him by the arm. “I’m heading the other way,” I said.

Techno immediately began to protest. “No, you’re not. Don’t be stupid.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You were the one worried about losing your last life, and now you’re trying to split? We have to stick together.”

“I’ll be quick. You won’t even know I’m gone,” I reasoned, already turning to leave. “I promise I’ll be back.”

Techno frowned, but eventually his shoulders became less tense as he reluctantly decided to let me go. I gave him a nod of thanks before hurrying off to a building that hadn’t yet been destroyed. Fortunately for me, the citizens seemed to have cleared out, so no one was there to intervene as I leapt over crumbling buildings and the charred remains of the nation. My heart raced in my chest and I clutched my bow tightly in my hand. It would all be over soon enough, I thought, and I would be the one to end it all.

I reached a building that hadn’t been completely damaged from the TNT and scaled the wall. My fingers were wedged into the grooves of the brick until I reached the ledge at the very top, tugging myself up and throwing my legs over the side. I huffed and looked up to watch Dream, practically gliding on air as he hurled explosives at the ground without remorse. I squinted and realized through the haze of smoke and ash that he had nearly hit bedrock, yet he continued to demolish the same area of land. It was like he wanted to blow a hole straight through the ground, so deep that he’d be able to see the other side.

I shook away the nervous shudder that ran down my spine and instead raised my bow to aim while Dream was distracted. I glared at the back of his head and lined my sight to him, the familiarity of the motion sending a sort of ease through my tense muscles.

It was an easy shot. I could do it.

I drew a deep breath and held it while I drew my arrow back, pulling the string taut. With a slow sigh, I released.

My arrow soared above the destruction, seeming to transcend the rules of time and space. The light made the metallic edge glimmer as though a star was shooting across the expanse of land, bright and beautiful and destructive all at once.

Dream was still turned away as the arrow launched towards him, and for a moment I felt sure that I had succeeded in my efforts. Right before the arrow was able to lodge itself in his head, though, Dream ducked, and the arrow flew past his head. He rose again to stand straight and turned slowly to face me, the blank eyed smile on his mask mocking me. My blood turned to ice in my veins and I frantically drew another arrow to fire, this time pointed at his heart.

Before I could release the arrow, Dream held up a stick of dynamite and pelted it right next to the building I stood on. It was close enough that I took damage and fell back as the earth shook around me. My head smacked against the roof and I groaned at the dizzy shock that sparked against my skull. I lay there, my head pounding, focused on the rumble that rattled my bones as I tried to regain my bearings.

By the time I had struggled onto my knees, Dream was hovering over me. I glared up at him for one silent moment before snatching my bow and striking his mask, which cracked and shattered to the ground. He stumbled back and I took my chance to load an arrow, but my head was still pounding, my coordination thrown off by the blow I had taken. Dream took advantage of my weakness and kicked the bow out of my hands, where it skidded across the roof and over the edge. I had made a feeble attempt to catch it before it tipped over, but I was too late.

Dream caught a fistful of my hair, yanking me backwards, and I growled, an animalistic sound that scratched my throat as I dragged my feet and struggled in his grasp. I kicked up dirt and clawed at the pale hands that trapped me, yelping when my captor shoved me to my knees. I must have looked ridiculous, like a child throwing a tantrum, as I thrashed and screamed to try and get away. “This is what happens to anyone who doesn’t follow my orders. You really thought you were smart enough to turn on me?” Dream laughed darkly, tightening his grip even as I scratched streaks of red into his skin. “You’re pathetic. I almost feel bad for you.”

“Fuck you,” I spat, attempting to jerk away, but Dream’s grip was unbreakable.

“I hope you’re not this rude to Technoblade. Where is he, by the way?” I struggled while Dream called out for my friend, who I watched sprint towards us between exploding buildings and smoke.

“Dream, what is this?” Techno heaved, meeting us on the building.

The man in question nodded his head towards me, a warrior bloodied and brought to my knees. “I think it’s about time I used that favor,” he said coldly.

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach, and I felt my body begin to numb with fear. If I wasn’t sure of it before, I was now; this was the end for me.

It was almost laughable, the irony of this situation; the promises to keep each other safe that I had made with my best friend—the only friend I had left—were tearing apart at the seams.

“Maybe you should rethink this before you do something you’ll regret, Dream,” Techno threatened.

“Oh, I won’t be regretting anything. But you might.” Dream gestured with his free hand towards the bundle of fireworks in Techno’s hand. “Kill them.”

The situation was eerily similar to another from so long ago in this very nation—when Techno was ordered by Schlatt to kill Tubbo. I could see the realization in his eyes, the acknowledgment of the parallels, the regret and anger and so much fear. I had never seen him so scared, but he remained stubborn. “I won’t do that,” he replied.

Dream’s grip tightened as he jerked my head forward for emphasis. “Listen, Technoblade, you’re going to kill your little friend here because you owe it to me. If you choose not to, I’ll just take them for myself so I can do it instead. You probably wouldn’t want that, though—I won’t be so kind. Oh, and don’t even think about trying to kill me instead. One of you was already stupid enough to try.”

“This isn’t what I meant when I said I’d do you a favor.”

“Isn’t it, though? Look around, Techno. The only reason this is happening right now is because Tommy betrayed you. He could have chosen you, he could have stayed on your side, but he didn’t. This is the consequence, right? And this—,” I yelped as Dream snatched me and held me up as evidence, “—is what happens when I’m betrayed. You all agreed to help me, and now my trust is broken. So pick up a fucking weapon and do me a favor.”

My friend stood frozen as he tried to calculate some way out of this, but I knew I had ruined any chances of a better life for us. It was my actions that were about to get me killed, by the only person who ever truly loved me, nonetheless.

“Do it,” I told Techno. “Please, just get it over with.”

Technoblade looked down at me, his eyes full of hurt as his brows furrowed. “No. You’re crazy, why would I do that? I made you a promise—”

“So did I. But there’s nothing else to do. I fucked it up, so I’m asking you to do this. Not for him, for me,” I pleaded, painfully aware of the grip Dream had on my hair. “I’d rather it be you. No one but you.”

I watched as Techno’s face contorted into a woeful expression. The guilt was bubbling over in the pit of my stomach, an all-consuming feeling that made me sick with sorrow for what I was asking him to do. We were one and the same, him and I, a pair of lonely people made better with the other around. I would miss him and, even if he never chose to admit it, I knew he would miss me too. I could only hope that my absence wouldn’t destroy him.

Slowly, Techno raised the firework launcher as he pointed it at my head. “You know, I always had a soft spot for you.”

My smile was regretful and watery; I prayed that he could hear my apologies without having to speak them out loud. I prayed even more that he could hear my unspoken words of gratitude, the unfinished symphony that was our friendship. “You’re the only person who ever knew me.”

Behind me, Dream groaned in annoyance. “Shut up with the monologues and get it over with,” he griped. With a harsh shove, the tip of the fireworks were pressed against my forehead. I bit my tongue, the metallic taste of blood in my mouth as I tried not to seem too meager in my final moments. Dream dropped me to my knees as he escaped the line of fire, now peering over Techno’s shoulder in waiting. I watched my friend’s hands shake, the light tremble of his finger as it hovered over the trigger. I wanted to give him some sort of reassurance, but how could I? How do you ease the heart of someone forced to kill their friend?

With a shaky, mournful sigh, Techno looked down on me, his knuckles white as he gripped the weapon. “I’m sorry,” he said.

I squeezed my eyes shut with tears running hot over my cheeks, trying to recall a better picture in my mind. I thought of when I first met Techno, brainwashed and broken, a person slowly made whole again. I thought of the softness in his eyes even as he yelled at me over some mistake I had made. I thought of the nights he spent hunched over his desk writing about anything until I threw a blanket at him and dragged him into his bed. I thought of the mornings we would wake up early on a day of traveling just to catch the sunrise. I could have seen it a thousand times, and still, nothing would have ever compared to him; no amount of wealth or glory could even come close to making me feel as elated as he did. Techno was, without a doubt in my mind, my soulmate. The universe decided that for us; the sun and the moon and every star in the sky chose to bind us together, and what reason did I have to refuse it?

My heart ached, jumping as the click of the trigger sounded. There was a bright flash, a pop, an explosion of color and sound—

Then nothing at all.

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spitpr1ncess · 3 years

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BRUISED BODIES CHAPTER 1 LEVI ACKERMAN X READER

(not my image)

“You’re too pretty for this, little girl” remarks your current company. You roll your eyes and have to hold in the audible sigh that almost escapes you. How many times you have heard the same drivel? If you were too pretty, they wouldn’t continue the silent abuse on your body, would they?

You’ve been a working girl since you barely had the ability to think for yourself. You were plucked from your poverty-stricken family with the promise of their debts being written off.

You aren’t special and your family don’t care about you, a lie you’d been telling yourself for twenty two long years. You are a slab of meat and a source of income, that’s all, and believing yourself to be more was a stupid mistake you’d learned not to make, assuming people actually cared about you had caused you more pain than any physical abuse you’d ever endured.

You’re snapped back to reality as a pair of hands paw clumsily at your breasts, you inhale and remind yourself that this is only a temporary situation, but until you figure out how, you must continue to appease the men that Jools sends your way.

Jools is like your older brother, if your older brother worked in a brothel and openly encouraged men to fuck his slightly younger sister. The two of you share an intimate relationship built on a strong foundation of sharing trauma, you know he means well.

Jools was taken around the same time you were, only, as he managed to flourish into a promising young man, he was favoured by boss, and thus, promoted. You and Jools have always seen eye to eye, his depressing background is in servicing men, just like yours and it’s how you built your relationship, why you share such a deep understanding of each other, such mutual respect. This doesn’t go unnoticed by the other girls, and as a mean result, ensures that you are on the less favourable end of their antics, often being the brunt of their absolute frustrations and jokes.

As head of appointments and bookings, alongside other things, he always tries to send you the easy ones, if Boss knew he favoured you, you’re sure Jools would be sacked, or worse, effective immediately. You’re eternally thankful that he chooses to throw you a bone, even if it doesn’t seem much to him, it means the world to you.

Your mindless wandering halts once again, as you make unfavourable eye contact with your unwelcome company, you notice he is grunting as he roughly palms his own erection with his bear-like hands, staring holes through you as he directs his dirty glare at your breasts. Without thinking you grasp his knees and push your elbows to meet, forcing your breasts to squash together in that specific way that the male gaze loves so much, accentuating their plumpness. You are the first to admit that although sex is something that is daily to you, you are a very sexual soul by nature. You love the affect you have on men, and how you can practically melt them down to nothingness in the palm of your soft hand. You’re certain it comes from the trauma that is deep rooted in your hunger for male validation

The man sat in front of you isn’t the smallest you’ve seen but he isn’t particularly well endowed either, weighing up your current circumstances, you decide to make the most of it. Standing up, you lick your lips and undo the tie to your virginal white skirt, allowing it to fall to the ground quietly. It crumples in a small pile and feverishly you step out of it, feigning nervousness. You take your willing participants bear-paw off his own erection and place is gently on the arm of his chair, straddling him, you centre yourself and gently lower down to allow your warmth to press against him. Instinctually, he grunts and pushes back, his actions clumsy and annoying yet you allow it, not wanting to anger him, the men you service are big businessmen and you know better than to piss one off. You have seen first-hand the damage they can and do cause. You let him believe he has control, you grind back and nuzzle into his neck, playing him like a game, inhaling, you pick up on cigarette smoke and some notable cologne brand, nothing out of the ordinary.

You kiss his neck, breathing over his ear, begging him to enter you, you are not stupid, the way you make men feel, like you are infatuated, like there is nothing else you need at that moment than them, always gets you tipped. And tips go straight to your pocket, and any tips that go straight to your pocket, go straight to your running-away-savings. As he clumsily lines up his erection, you lift yourself onto your elbow to assist him in his feeble attempt at entering you, you feel his tip pressed right up against you, simultaneously, you kiss him and sheath yourself entirely. It isn’t anything notable and is in fact somewhat disappointing, nevertheless, you continue to finish the job.

You inhale sharply to sell the fantasy. He grunts again, like some half dead animal, you cringe trying your hardest to not let on as you know that his tips will make the effort worth it. Like a wet dream he was having, you bounce yourself up and down, in and out, in and out, in and out. It isn’t long before you see his head fall back and he stiffens below you, he opens his mouth and grabs your ass, hard. You squeal as you feel his hot seed lacing your insides, you feign your own orgasm, making your legs shake as if you had to convince him like your life depended on it. He buys it; dirty talking you and asking various lewd and cringey questions that make you shudder, if it weren’t for you writhing on top of him, he might have picked up on it. You kiss him before finding your feet, passing him a napkin as he sheepishly cleans himself off, only now feeling shy and vulnerable. He stands and pulls his trousers up; buckling his belt quickly, he then reaches into his breast pocket, he pulls out a stack of fifties, he throws a couple on the floor by your feet. He is trying to regain his masculinity, uncomfortable about looking into your eyes, you used to let it upset you, only you are used to it, each man having the same reaction.

He leaves and you lock the door tight behind him, you tidy up, wiping the chair and cleaning away any fluid that may have made its way to places it doesn’t belong. You wander towards your bathroom; the wooden floor feels cold but welcome on your ever tired feet. You stare into the mirror; a few tears had escaped your eyes without your noticing, it was a pretty normal occurrence for you now.

You glance in the mirror and notice that she is foreign, the girl staring back. Her long brown hair pulled over one shoulder, bruises lacing her frail body, you gently trace a finger over her body and look down to see your body. It is like you are disconnected, her body has not been your body for a long time. You wipe your eyes and turn your shower on, you hop in as it is still running cold.

You inhale sharply. It hurts, and the excruciating pain is welcome, you allow your bare back to fall silently against the wall and slowly lower yourself. You protect your knees with your arms as you grasp them toward you and lay your head between the makeshift protection you have created. Loud sobs escape your lungs as if they'd been brewing for a century.

A long while passes and you don’t hear the door unlocking.

Jools lets himself in, he hears your measly sobs coming from the bathroom and heads toward them, he slides open the shower door, startled, you jump up and let out an ugly shriek, Jools looks at you, pathetic, slim, bruised and sobbing. His head falls to one side as you try to somewhat protect your modesty. Jools has seen everything you have, and you, him, yet it still feels embarrassing and intimate.

“Olive.”, his voice is cool, patient, and laced with a little sympathy, “What am I going to do with you?”, he steps into the shower, allowing his clothes to get sprayed with water, you turn to him and press your forehead to his.

“I am sorry Jools; my emotions are all over the place. I will be ready in ten minutes, just allow me to clean up”, your voice sounds tired and you let out a little sigh. Jools places a hand on your shoulder and gently turns you around. You have been each other’s comfort in such a long life of trauma and you know what is coming next, he picks up your shampoo and lathers some between his hands, he rubs his fingertips into your scalp, scrubbing the dirt of the day out of your hair.

His touch is welcome, if not a little alien. It is rare these days that a pair of hands aren’t grabbing, pulling, pinching or pushing you around, you let out a long sigh, letting go of the anxiety and slowing your heart rate, you close your eyes and allow yourself to be cared for. By the time Jools finishes showering you he is soaked, you both step out into your bedroom. You pull on your skirt and replace your corset, a “uniform” as far as Boss is concerned. You hate it, making you feel vulnerable and cheap, you would rather slip on a t-shirt and shorts, or a loose dress.

Jools discarded all his clothes sans boxers and made himself comfortable on your bed as you were stood contemplating. You stare at him, with his light brown, almost ashy blonde hair. He is handsome, you have always thought this, you just never placed you two together, with him acting the “older brother” for all intents and purposes.

Jools breaks the silence, “Your four o’clock has cancelled, it’s what I came here to tell you” he pats the bed next to him and smiles “come and sit, unless you’re going somewhere”.

You pause momentarily before undoing your skirt again, you let it fall to the ground before reaching for a pair of linen shorts sat on your vanity, pulling them on, you take a few steps before collapsing on the bed next to Jools in complete exhaustion. “I’m tired of fucking the same men Jools” you remark.

“The same men, with the same predictable sex routines, the same sized cocks, the same moves. I’m bored. I’m climbing up the walls, Jools. Throw me a bigger bone, I’m begging you.”, You feel Jools eyes on your face, you let your head fall and meet his gaze. He snorts and pulls himself closer to you. You slide your body next to his and he drapes and arm over your waist.

Your foreheads touching, you lay in comfortable silence for a while. You close your eyes miss him protectively watching over you.

“I’m not sure what I can do for you Ol, unless you want me to fuck you myself. We don’t have much new clientele and any we do have seem like the abusive type, so I deliberately don’t send them your way.” he laughs. You ponder his first sentence, unable to tell if he was joking. You try your luck and shift your weight so you’re straddling him.

“Wh.. what the fuck are you doing Ol?”, You decide that he didn’t mean it, judging by his response. You begin to tickle his sides and he goes bright red before kicking you off, you land on the wooden floor with a loud bang.

“OW. That fucking hurt you fuck.” You stand up and cross your arms like a grumpy child. Jools looks at you and sticks out his tongue, you both pause, waiting for the other to break. It is you who laughs first, shortly followed by Jools who snorts, like a little pig. You can’t stay mad at him, he is so sweet, and you started it, after all.

“I was thinking Jools. If you have some time this afternoon, maybe we could go for a walk?” Your schedule was usually so full you don’t have time to visit outside. It was the beginning of the spring too, so everything was just starting bloom, it was one of the things that gave you a little peace and hope.

“I can’t Ol, I can’t leave the others unattended, in case anything happens, you know the rules” his voice holds a little sadness and disappointment, you can tell he’d like nothing more.

“Maybe I can open up a space for you this weekend? Then we can go out together?” Jools doesn’t work weekends; part of his promotion demands of course, but you did.

“Weekend rates are higher and I rea..” Jools cuts you off.

“I will charge one of your regulars more in the week; I’ll make it up for you, pleaaase?” he draws out.

You look at his face and the little boisterous glint in his eyes. You ruffle his hair like a little boy and laugh.

“Sure thing.”, You reply.

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ultraimaginez · 3 years

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My Love Is Not A Joke - [Mammon x Reader]

Fandom: Obey Me! Ship: Mammon x gn! reader Word Count: 1.9k Rating: T A/N: just thinkin about the amount of effort it would take to convince mammon you actually like him and you’re not just being an ass to him like everyone else made me feel a lot of thiiiings and then this was born lol.

Mammon lives in a liminal space between fear and a love so fierce it threatens to consume him. It’s a hell of his own making-- too cowardly to tell you how he really feels and too devoted to let you go.

And so you are forced to exist in this hellish space with him. Each time you try to get close he pushes you away, afraid he’ll be the butt of just another joke. Each time you try to give him space he pulls you back in, terrified you might leave him. It’s an exhausting game of tug of war between his ego and his heart and, frankly, you’re sick of being the god damn rope.

Eventually you reach your breaking point.

You are lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and replaying another days worth of back and forths between you and a certain white haired demon boy. This has become as much a part of your night time routine as putting on pajamas or brushing your teeth. Every flush of his cheeks-- be it in anger or embarrassment or affection-- every dumb argument, or sweet sentiment, or stupid joke. They all play like a never ending feedback loop in your mind. But tonight a thought strikes you as you roll over to finally try and get some sleep-- as long as Mammon is engaged in this endless war against himself you’ll be stuck in it right along side him. He’s never going to give himself peace. He’ll fight until there’s nothing left of himself. So if the two of you are going to get out of this mess it comes down to you.

It’s a scary thought, the idea you might have to be vulnerable and make the first actual move. Scary enough that you try and let it go. Maybe you can just sleep on it and think about it more in the morning.

But now you can’t think of anything else. The thought begins to ruminate in your brain and there’s no way you can sleep at this point. You stay awake all night wondering if there’s any other solution. Any other way out of this mess. It turns out you also exist in the liminal space between fear and love. The idea of telling Mammon how you feel is paralyzing. And so you go to school the next day not having slept at all.

This pattern continues for nearly a week. Each night you stare at your ceiling going round and round in circles. And maybe Mammon can take this awful tug of war but you certainly can’t. You don’t have millennia to stay away pondering this shit. You’re a mortal and you’re being driven in-fucking-sane. So finally, on the seventh night of nearly no god damn sleep, you fling off your covers and irritably begin stomping down the hall.

You ignore Beel who is hip deep inside the refrigerator cleaning it out of whatever the hell is left inside. You passively wave to Levi when he sticks his head out of his room to ask you to play games and mumble some lame excuse. You’re on a mission to resolve this once and for all and nothing will stop you.

You make a beeline to your destination and once you reach Mammon’s door you begin to pound on it aggressively.

A familiar voice rings out from inside. “Jeez, cool it, Lucifer. I told you, I’m working on it. I’ll have all these late assignments done by tomorrow just gimme some time.”

“It’s me.”

There’s a pause and you can’t practically hear the gears turning in Mammon’s head as he registers who is speaking.

“Oh well why the hell didn’t ya just say so? Come in.”

You open the door to his room and find Mammon sprawled out in one of the arm chairs in the center of his room. His feet are propped up on the table and his leather jacket is flung over the couch opposite of him, leaving him in his normal jeans and black shirt. You can tell he’s been running his fingers through his white hair in frustration as it’s mused and messier than normal and his brows are knit in concentration as he looks down at his notebooks.

“Stupid Lucifer. Makin’ me do all this damn work in one night. It’s not fair.” He says, tossing the books onto the table as you shut the door behind you and approach him.

You have a rebuttal about how it’s not exactly ‘unfair’ since all of that work had been assigned weeks ago, but it dies on your lips when he looks up at you. You can feel you heart jump into your throat as your eyes meet, the normal façade of the student mode dropped here where he is comfortable and alone. People often attribute fastidiousness with appearance with Asmo, but Mammon is usually just as put together. Seeing him so relaxed is special, it’s something you know he reserves for only people close to him.

Your not sure how long you stand there at the edge of his chair looking down at him but it must be longer than normal because the sound of Mammon clearing his throat pulls your attention. “Eh? Do I have something on my face? You’re staring and it’s weirding me out.” His cheeks are pink and he looks absolutely anywhere but your face. “Anyway, what the hell are you doing here in the middle of the night? Couldn’t wait to see me until tomorrow, huh?”

Well.. It’s now or never. You’ve plucked up enough courage to make it this far so you might as well commit.

“Mammon, I like you. A lot. And I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable but I just... do. So. Yeah... Do with that what you will.”

If you weren’t borderline unhinged from the complete lack of sleep and frayed nerves and being so vulnerable, you would find the way his eyes quadrupled in size fucking hilarious.

“Wha? What do you mean? Is this some sort of dumb prank.” You can see him looking past you at the door. He’s searching for his brothers, searching for a camera, searching for the evidence that this is all some elaborate joke at his expense. You can already hear the derisive laughter he’s waiting for playing in his head. ‘Stupid, Mammon.’ ‘How could you think they would ever like you?’ ‘Got you good, huh?’ ‘Actually thought that they might like you? You’re even dumber than we thought-’

You cut off whatever string of insults he’s playing in his own hand by gently touching his face, cupping his cheek with your hand.

“It’s not a joke, Mammon. I like you. And I understand if you don’t feel the same way but... I need you to know that.”

It’s clear that the moment you touch his skin his internalized war rises into a crescendo. It breaks you open to see his eyes soften with a vulnerability you’ve never seen before, blue gold shimmering with an emotion you can’t quite place but sends your heart hammering harder than it ever has before... and then immediately they harden again. “Do you have a fever or something?! Jeez, leave it to a human to get sick right when I’m supposed to be doing something else. I don’t always have time to be-”

He begins to rise from the chair and it’s clear he wants to run, wants to hide, wants to lick his wounds before they can even form. You can tell he’s already written this off as another joke at his expense. If you let him get away from you right now you’ll lose that look you found in his eyes just moments ago for good.

You push down on his shoulders, seating him in the chair again, and then wordlessly climb on top of him, pinning him beneath your weight. Surely he could pick you up and yeet you across the entire god damn room if he wanted to, but the action seems to break the string of negative self talk long enough for you to actually speak to him.

“Mammon.” You grab his face between your hands and force him to look at you. His expression is wild-- scared and hopeful and completely unguarded. “I. Like. You. And it’s not some joke. If you don’t feel the same way just tell me. But if you do-”

You don’t get to finish the rest of the sentence.

Mammon kisses you like you are oxygen and he’s on the verge of drowning. One hand shoots up to the back of your neck, pulling you close, tangling his long tanned fingers in your hair. The other comes to rest on your thigh. It’s all you can do to twine your own fingers through his soft white hair and pull him closer as he rocks into your body. You feel tears begin to well in the corner of your eyes as a surge of emotion races through you. You’ve never felt so much for one person in all your life. It’s enough to make you feel like you’re being crushed under the weight of it all.

At some point you physically can’t keep kissing him because you’re afraid you might actually suffocate. You pull back to take in a breath but he continues to hold you close, keeping his hands in your hair, lips still only inches from your own. You look at him, his eyes are more gold than blue now and you feel like you might catch fire if you look at him too long. You let out a breathy “Oh...”

Apparently he’s decided you’ve had enough time to breath and he’s on you again, pulling you close and making desperate little noises every time you part lips even briefly. You wonder if maybe you can die from catching on fire internally because every part of you feels like it’s engulfed in flames.

Eventually you manage to part again, long enough to put a hand on his chest and keep him from chasing your lips. You’re breathing heavily, trying to suck in air but finding it hard to do so when Mammon is looking at you like he’s just waiting for the chance to devour you again.

“So..” your voice comes out an octave higher than normal and your face turns scarlet, clearing your throat so you can try to speak somewhat normal. “Uh.. I take it... we’re on the same page then? Y’know... about... stuff...?” You’re not exactly eloquent but Mammon just kissed you to the point of ceasing brain function so, really, who can blame you?

There’s a beat of silence, and then Mammon speaks, voice deeper, quieter, and more serious than you’ve ever heard it before. “Don’t leave, okay?”

You’re not really sure what he’s referring to. Leave this chair? Leave the Devildom? Leave him? But he’s raw and real and so fucking perfect staring up at you perfectly kissed like that and the answer comes to you without thinking.

“Never. I’m never leaving. I’m here for as long as you want me.”

Suddenly both of his arms are around your waist, drawing you close. Your face is pushed into his neck and his into yours. You breathe in the smell of his aftershave and shampoo and you’ve never felt more at home. Your hearts are pressed up against one another and you know you’ve never felt more right than in this moment.

The last thing you hear him whisper as you drift off to sleep for the first time in nearly a week is a whispered. “Always... I’m always going to want you, silly human.”

#obey me #obey me! shall we date?#obey me mammon #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon x mc #mammon x reader #mammon x oc #obey me imagine #obey me imagines #obey me fic #fic #0-2k

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doubleleoenergy · 3 years

Text

VI. Burning Desire, Lolita Series

I drive fast, wind in my hair, push it to the limits 'cause I just don't care. I've got a burning desire for you, baby.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: bestfriendsdad!Andy Barber x fem!reader

Warnings: dirty texts, teasing, daddy kink, face-fucking, ass-fucking, dirty talk, name-calling (whore, slut), rough fucking. I apologize for the filth.

Words: 2355

Summary: Andy takes the reigns

Y/N had been on cloud nine since their weekend getaway, when her and Andy had become official. Since then y/n had spent many nights sneaking into Andy’s bedroom when Jacob and the other guys were asleep, playing footsie under the dinner table and doing ‘late nights’ at the office when they were actually getting dinner or seeing a movie. It was fun sneaking around, the thrill of getting caught turning y/n on every time they fucked.

It was finally Friday, Jacob and the guys were traveling to New York City for the weekend, leaving y/n and Andy with the house to themselves. Y/N was extra chipper when she got ready for work, wanting to tease Andy until they were finally alone for the evening.

Andy walked out of the bedroom, his cock twitching in his work trousers at the sight of her bent over the stove. Her deep red bodysuit hugged her figure, her breasts overflowing in the thin fabric. His eyes trailed down to her plaid skirt, the hem barely covering her perky ass. Her long legs looked toned and tanned from her days lounging by their pool, her strappy stilettos keeping her height just below Andy’s chin.

“Good Morning, Lolita.” Andy licked his lips as he took his normal seat at the counter, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Good Morning, handsome.” She chirped, turning around to set their plates on the counter. They both sat in silence as they ate, y/n’s stiletto rubbing up and down the side of Andy’s trousers. He was hard as a rock by now, tugging on the crotch of the fabric to acquire some sort of relief.

“You in the mood for a morning fuck?” Andy questioned, watching her hips sway as she cleaned their plates in the sink.

Y/N tilted her head from side to side, pretending to think about his offer. “No, I’m good.” And with that she grabbed her bag and headed for the garage. Andy’s brows furrowed in frustration as he followed her out the door and tried to fill his brain with the most unattractive thoughts in order to calm his cock.

Their day at the office was normal, filled with clients and meetings, y/n teasing Andy relentlessly with her revealing outfit. Andy wasn’t the only one taking note, every man in the office, and even some of the women, were drooling at their desks as y/n handed them copies of work files or brought them their lunch for the afternoon.

The last straw for Andy was watching y/n conversing with Neal at his desk, Neal’s eyes trained on her chest. She knew Neal was interested in her, and she was trying to rile Andy up with the way she was leaning in. She even fake-laughed at his jokes, touching his shoulder lightly as she giggled.

Andy had had enough of the scene in front of him, striding over to Neal’s desk, his eyes filled with rage. “Y/N, you can head home for the day, we’ve got everything covered here.” His tone was firm and final. “I’ll call you an Uber.”

Y/N kept her expression professional, gathering her things and walking past Andy casually, as if they were just coworkers. Once she had gotten in the Uber, her phone buzzed with a text from Andy.

Andy: I’m sorry. You knew what you were doing with Neal though.

Y/N: You sent me home for talking to Neal? I was just being friendly.

Andy: Don’t play dumb, you were trying to rile me up.

Y/N: Did it work?

Andy: You’re on your way home, aren’t you?

Y/N: So, it worked.

Andy: Don’t try to rile me up, I mean it y/n.

Y/N: You haven’t even seen what I can do, Andy.

Y/N arrived at the house fifteen minutes later, bidding the Uber driver a farewell before unlocking the front door and stepping inside. The house was quiet as she set her purse on the counter before climbing up the stairs and grabbing a special ‘prop’ for today. If Andy was going to complain about her riling him up at work, she’d turn the riling up to the extreme.

She tossed the item on the bed, slipping out of her skirt and heels, leaving her in just the tight red bodysuit. She sat back on the bed, holding her phone above her before starting her mission for the afternoon.

Andy sat in the conference room, listening to one of his colleagues’ drone on about one of their clients, his attention faltering as his phone buzzed on the table. Andy left it face down, focusing on his coworker again when he heard his phone buzz again, and again, and again. He seemed to be the only one who noticed, plucking his phone off the table and holding it down in his lap. Four new messages from y/n. He unlocked the screen and immediately regretted the decision, a mix of desire and anger spreading across his features.

The first text was a simple photo of y/n lying on his bed in just her bodysuit, her curves jutting out and leaving nothing to the imagination. His cock twitched as he viewed the next photo, glancing around the room to make sure none of his colleagues were looking in his direction. The next photo was of y/n splayed out on the bed, the bodysuit tossed to the floor, leaving her naked body laying against the plush comforter. The angle she chose for the photo had her ass popping out from behind her, her breasts perked up in view, her thighs open with her pussy on display.

Andy was now painfully erect in his trousers, clearing his throat and locking his phone, putting his files in front of his body to hide his growing erection as he stood. “I’m sorry everyone, I’m not feeling well. I’ll be taking the rest of the afternoon off. Megan, please take all my calls while I’m out. I’ll be back on Monday.” And with that he excused himself out of the conference room, hiding his cock all the way to his Audi, waiting until he was inside to open his phone again.

The last two texts were videos. Andy clicked on the first video, a groan leaving his lips. She was moaning into the phone, fucking her pussy with a light pink dildo, tugging on her nipples. ‘Oh my god, Andy, I’m gonna cum.’ She whined, fucking herself harder as she came undone on the flexible cock.

Andy’s fingers fumbled with his keys, roaring his Audi to life. One hand gripped the steering wheel, the other holding his phone up to re-watch the video. He sped his car along the road, scrolling to the last video and clicking play, his body instantly enraged.

The phone had been propped up against the pillows, y/n’s face against the bed, ass up facing the screen. Her left hand was working the light pink dildo in and out of her pussy, the fingers of her right-hand pumping in and out of her ass. His cock was begging for relief, and he could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

Oh, she was in for it now.

Y/N was lounging in one of Andy’s button-down work shirts, flipping through Netflix trying to decide on what to watch when she heard the garage door open and slam shut, flinching at the sound. Hard footsteps walked down the hallway, stopping at the door of Andy’s bedroom as he pushed it open, taking in the sight of y/n sitting casually in bed. As if she hadn’t teased him endlessly a mere twenty minutes earlier.

“Hey babe, you’re home already. Finished with your meeting earlier than expected?” She asked, clicking absentmindedly on one of the shows that popped up.

“Are you fucking kidding me, y/n?” Andy tossed his jacket to the floor, tugging at his tie until he pulled it free from his neck, his eyes dark as he bore into her own.

“What? You didn’t like my messages?” She teased, her eyes trailing to the large bulge in his trousers.

“Is that what you wanted, y/n? Wanted to embarrass me at work? Acting like a desperate whore with those texts.” He took his time unbuttoning his shirt, dropping it from his shoulders before pulling his belt off, starting to push down the trousers to provide some freedom for his cock.

“So...you didn’t like them?” She asked, cocking her head to the side. Her eyes watched as he peeled off his clothes, standing completely naked in the doorframe, his cock lying flat against his chest.

“Of course, I liked them. But what if I had opened those videos in front of my colleagues? I would’ve been in so much trouble at work, Lolita.” He stepped closer to the bed, grabbing her foot with his hand and tugging her down to the edge. “And for that, you’re going to be punished.”

Y/N’s eyes were wide with a mix of fear and excitement, her pussy clenching around nothing.

“Take off my shirt, y/n. Lay your head off the bed.” He instructed, letting go of her ankle. Y/N sat up, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it to the floor, turning around and hanging her head off the edge of the bed, her eyes staring up at his fully erect cock.

Andy moved just above her face, his balls resting against her forehead. “You want to act like a slut? You’ll get treated like one.” He tapped the head of his cock against her lips, smearing precum on them. “Open.”

She does as she’s told, opening her mouth wide as Andy pushes his cock inch by inch inside her, feeling his cock pressing against the back of her throat. He pulls out suddenly, one hand gripping at her hair as he plunged back inside, cutting off her airway. Tears sprang to her eyes, choking on his cock as he pulled out again, spit running from her mouth down her face.

“You can take it.” He commanded, snapping his hips back into her. He kept up a brutal rhythm, pumping in and out, spurred on by her sputtering beneath him. Y/N’s pussy was dripping, turned on by his sudden need to control her in the bedroom. He continued to fuck her face before finally pulling out, stepping back to look at her.

Her mascara was smeared along her cheeks from her tears, a mix of spit dripping from her mouth into her hair and onto the floor. She looked absolutely fucked out.

“So pretty, Lolita. You can get up now, hands and knees.” He instructs. The blood rushes back to her head as she moves, struggling to get in position at first but finally settling with her eyes facing the wall in front of her.

His hands roamed up her hips, squeezing and pinching at her breasts before he gripped his cock in his right hand, rubbing it along her wet folds.

“I think I deserve to fuck this tight ass; don’t you think?” Y/N gasped, turning her head back to face him, her eyes wide.

“Andy, you’re too big and I-” He cuts her off as he plunges his cock deep into her pussy, her eyes fluttering closed before he pulls out completely.

“You fucked yourself on your fingers, riling me up on my drive home. I think it’s only fair.” His cock, now covered in her slick, moved to her tight hole, his head pressing up against it. Y/N mewled underneath him, her pussy dripping. “Beg me.”

She whined, resting her face against the bed and looking back at him. “Please, Andy.” His palm gave a quick slap to her ass, jolting her forward.

“You know what to call me.”

Y/N swallowed, her eyes locking on his. “Please, Daddy. Fuck my ass.” Andy growled deep in his chest, wasting no time as he pushed the thick head of his cock past her tight ring of muscles, her cries below him spurring him on.

“Fuck, Lolita. You fucked this hole with your fingers and you’re still so tight. Got a vice grip on my cock.” He keeps pushing inside, her tight walls gripping him harder with each push forward. Andy finally stops moving inside of her, giving y/n time to adjust to the feeling of his cock inside.

He slowly works his cock out so that just the tip is inside her before slamming back in, y/n letting out a high-pitched scream of delight. Andy twirls her hair around his hand, tugging her up so that she’s flush against his chest as he fucks in and out of her.

“Is this what you wanted all along? Wanted me to come home and fuck your tight ass? Maybe next time I’ll make you hold that pink dildo in your pussy, stuff your ass full of my cock and make you cum repeatedly with it inside you.”

Y/N gasped; her body held up by Andy’s grip as he fucked into her ass mercilessly. “Please, Daddy.”

“You like that huh, my little Lolita? If you’re gonna act like a whore you’re gonna get treated like one.” He moves his fingers down to rub her clit, feeling her squirming against him. “Cum, Lolita. Want you to cum while I fuck your ass.” A few more flicks to her clit and she’s coming, tightening her grip on his cock inside of her.

“Fuck, y/n, gonna fill your ass with my cum. Want it to leak out of you all weekend.” Andy thrusts twice more before he presses deep inside, coating her walls with his thick cum. He pumps his cock inside of her, pushing the cum deep before pulling out, a trail of cum dripping onto the bed.

Y/N flops onto her stomach panting, her hair matted with spit and sweat. Andy moves to lay beside her, tugging her back against his chest, pressing a row of kisses along her shoulder.

“Did so good, Lolita.” He whispered; another kiss placed on her neck.

“I promise not to tease you like that at work.” She mumbled, her eyes closing as she fought to stay awake.

“Next time, take my offer for morning sex.”

Tagging those who may be interested. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list: @my-divine-death, @blackwiddows, @sokovianheadtilt, @fuckandfluff, @rattlemyb0nes, @rootcrop, @turtoix, @sylvielaufeydottirr, @jeremyrennermakesmesmile, @ccmarvelxx, @rebelemilu, @tenaciousperfectionunknown, @serendipityrogers, @agentofbarnes

#doubleleoenergyseries: lolita #DLE Series: Lolita #andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber x female reader #andy barber smut #andy barber x reader smut

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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years

Text

Waking Up Confused in Both Hotel Rooms and Forests [Jay Merrick X F!Reader X Masky/Tim Wright]

[Jay Merrick X F!Reader X (kinda) Masky]

[Warnings: firearms, slight language, slight blood]

[AN: I originally had Masky in the spotlight but couldn't like, directly fit him in like that. Also big thanks to Entry 32 and slight Entry 76.]

You could hardly breathe as you ran further and further through the trees. Panic seeped through your veins. Your only guiding light was the light of the moon. You weren’t supposed to be here - why the hell did you agree to begin with? You had no time to regret your actions as you continued to run. Where was Jay? Was he okay? No time to think of that either, Alex was catching up. But you had to find him. You just had to.

A few weeks ago, you woke up in a hotel. You had no recollection of even leaving your apartment. Strange, very strange. Confused, and unsure of how you even got there, you attempted to leave and get back to your life only to find you were hopelessly lost with practically nothing to support yourself. All you could do was remain.

The first few days were awkward. You managed to find some food and stock up the minifridge but other than that, your days were a little lonely, and mostly confusing. The longer you stayed, the hazier your memories and thoughts became. What have you been doing for the past year? Huge chunks of time, gone in an instant. Where even were you? None of your questions were answered and the days began to blur together.

Things only grew more confusing when you were given a neighbor. You had woken up, decided to get some fresh air and passed by a man wielding a camera in the hallway. Your eyes had quickly scanned over his features - it almost felt alien to look at another person. The entire time you’d been at this odd hotel, you hadn’t seen a single soul here but yourself. And it went on like that for a few days, just passing by each other in the hallways, politely nodding, sometimes saying hello, but nothing further. It didn’t take long for you to realize your rooms were conjoined - the only conjoined rooms in the hotel. Strange, how strange.

Feeling bold, you plucked up your courage to speak with him, albeit awkwardly.

“What’s the camera for?” You asked, a small smile on your face to set him at ease.

The man shifted a little uncomfortably but smiled back. “A documentary on, uh, hotels. Y’know?” He said in a more than awkward tone. He shifted slightly after a painfully pregnant pause took place. “I’m Jay and you-”

“Oh! I’m Reader,” you answered back, more than caught off guard he asked you a question. “I’ll see you around?” You said in a slightly unsure tone.

“Y-Yeah. I’ll see you around.”

And the two of you parted ways.

That’s certainly not the last you’d ever seen of Jay though. If it had been, you wouldn’t be running from a maniac with a gun at this moment.

You and Jay continued to cross paths, awkwardly saying hi, sometimes commenting on the weather until you had finally reached a head. The previous day, you’d tried to prod him to see if he had any inkling as to what was going on when he sloughed it off as if your concerns meant nothing. Deep down, you knew he was going through the same mess as you. Frustrated, confused, you got up in the middle of the night to interrogate Jay. You lept out, slipped on your shoes, and knocked on his door. Immediately, you were greeted to his camera.

“Can I uh, ask you something?” You began, eyes dark and desolate due to the haze that swarmed in your mind.

“Sure?” Jay sounded confused. His eyes darted down to the camera and back up to you as you scratched at the back of your neck.

“Why… Why did you answer the door with a camera?” A slight frustration began to come to your tone.

“Well, I mean, I had it in my hand already-”

“Look, Jay,” you said in an increasingly exasperated tone. “I know you’re lying. First you tell me some stupid thing about a hotel documentary and then you tell me your house is being renovated, but then! But then you tell me your job was being relocated. What is going on?” You questioned, voice strained and harsh.

“It’s- It’s complicated I-”

“You’re not acting like a normal person-”

“W-What’s it matter to you? You’re just some stranger,” he tried to shake off. He looked at you like you were crazy, but his eyes conveyed something deeper.

“I think… I think something is going on,” you said, brows now furrowed together. “I know something is going on,” you took a pause and breathed in deeply. “I don’t know how I got here. You’re the only person I’ve seen in this hotel other than the staff and we have adjoining rooms. I don’t even know you. You said it yourself! I’m a stranger! Haven’t had any kind of memory loss at all?” You raise your hands and dragged your fingers across your scalp. “I-I think I’m going crazy,” you said with a small laugh, unsure of what could be considered real and what couldn’t. “Jay, I’m losing HUGE chunks of time. I’m having pounding headaches and coughing fits and I can’t even sleep, but when I do sleep, I feel like I’m still moving, like I’m sleepwalking.” You were pretty much shouting at this point and allowed all your anger, frustration and fear to bubble over.

“Reader-”

“And the worst part? I keep having these dreams back when I was a kid and I feel like something’s watching me-”

“Stop,” Jay sighed, his hand reaching out to hold your shoulder. “Let’s… Get your shit together. I’ll tell you everything, I promise, I just need to get some of my own things together.”

You nodded with shot nerves and let him go as you went off to your room, quickly getting everything together. From your room, you could what Jay rummaging around in a safe. What a mess everything had become. With a heavy heart still rife with confusion, you had begun to pack.

You never really completed packing, as the moment you touched the drawers, hands were wrapping around your face. A quick breath was all it took to black out.

Later, you woke up confused in the forest. Jay was by your side. Twilight had fallen over the land, you were unsure of how you got here, and all you knew is that you both had to get out. You were the one to wake up Jay, your hand nudging him.

“Where… Where are we?” He asked groggily, slowly sitting up before his hands pat at his chest. The camera was still attached.

“Was hoping you could tell me,” you mumbled, trying to make heads or tails of the place you were in. It looked like the two of you were laid in the middle of a burnt clearing.

“It’s a park, I think,” Jay said as he slowly began to stand up before helping you up as well. “We should make it back to the parking lot or something. Not safe to be here.”

“Not safe?”

Jay shook his head as he checked his pockets for his keys and nodded for you to follow him once he confirmed they were there. The two of you passed through the trees and greenery of all kinds before finally coming to an uneasy stretch of woods. Here, tunnels lined the sides of the paths, making your hair stand up. Every part of your body told you to run.

You did so and remained walking beside him in a tense silence before finally opening your mouth. “So, what were you gonna tell me back at the hotel?” You asked softly.

“I have some thoughts,” Jay began. “Like-”

Before he can say anything, a gun shot rang out, making you scream and jolt as Jay ducked, hand immediately gripping at your wrist.

“Don’t run, you coward!”

That voice sounded familiar, oh so familiar. When he stepped out from the dark recesses of the tunnel, you knew him. You felt it deep down inside, but you couldn’t but a name to his face - not even when the remaining sunlight stopped obscuring his eyes when the light glare subsided from his glasses. But how could you forget him? You knew him - you knew him.

“Let her go, Jay,” the man said as his eyes narrowed. The barrel of his gun was pointed directly at you two, barring you from running past him to get to the parking lot.

“Alex, please,” Jay said in a strained voice, refusing to let go of your wrist.

“No, you know what has to be done,” Alex growled as his steps got closer and closer to the two of you.

“Come on man, you know her,” Jay attempted to reason. “She was Amy’s roommate, you can’t hurt Amy like that.”

A pause.

“All the more reason to shoot you dead where you stand.”

“Alex please,” you whimpered, eyes looking at him with a light that pained him to even consider snuffing.

“I’m sorry,” Alex apologized as his eyebrows furrowed. “It has to be done - there’s no other way. I have to stop it.” Alex sounded absolutely at war with himself as he continued closer and closer to the two of you. “I’m sorry, Reader. I’ve been sorry.”

His finger rested on the trigger.

The sun set; the park is bathed in darkness.

Before the trigger can get pulled, Jay momentarily let go of your wrist and punched Alex with all his might, sending the gun flying in one direction, and Alex careening to the floor.

“Stay down!” He shouted, moving to keep him on the floor.

Your eyes struggled to adjust to the dark, but you could hear something. Something growing closer and closer until it was practically on top of you. You let out a slight screech as a man in a tanned coat came zipping past you, shoving aside Jay (with an odd about of care) before pummeling Alex back into the earth.

“Stop staring and get the fuck out of here!” The man’s voice boomed as he continued to wrestle an invigorated Alex.

Jay reached for you again in the darkness, and you reached back. The two of you ran.

Somewhere in the confusion, you’d managed to get separated from Jay right around the time more gunshots rang out throughout the forest. You could almost hear Alex in the back of your head after they’d ripped through the silent night.

And that led to now. Running scared through the never ending, godsforsaken forest where static seemed to invade your head every other minute. You could feel Alex on your specific trail. Where had Jay gone? No idea. Who was that guy that tried to fight Alex? Possibly dead. There were a lot of gunshots.

You continued to run until your lungs burned, stumbling through the trees, praying he hadn’t caught up with you. Whenever the static grew louder in your head, so too did the feeling that Alex was close. Too close.

“Reader!” You heard Alex shout out into the night after a particularly rough patch of static that left your eyeballs feeling like barbells in your skull. He kept calling out for your name.

Your lungs and your legs burned. You couldn’t possibly go on for much longer like this - he’d find you. He’d kill you. You felt tears prick your eyes as the sound of crunching sticks and grass invaded your ears. He was closer still.

In your haste of running, you had slammed into what felt like a tree, knocking it off balance as well as yourself before recognizing, no, that was not a tree.

“What the fu-”

“Shh,” the voice said. You recognized it immediately as the man from earlier. “Come on, this way.”

Not even waiting for an answer, he took your hand into his and began to guide you through the trees, pulling you along at a speed you didn’t think was human.

You held your other arm out as you pushed away branches and brambles. “Who are you?” You ask as quietly as you could, the sound of Alex’s running steps growing faster.

“Unimportant,” the man replies, barely looking over his shoulder as he continued to pull you along. “You need to get out.”

“What about Jay?”

“He’s in the parking lot waiting for you.” The man sounded a little out of breath, or perhaps he was just restricted due to the mask he wore (you could make out its outline in the moonlight). “He’s okay.”

A relief floods your system as you attempt to match pace with him on your own accord. It’s gone when you hear more gunshots ring out through the trees followed by flashes of light from the muzzle when you turn your head around.

“Fucking reckless,” the man mumbled under his breath.

“Why is he doing this?” You asked in a panic.

The sound of Alex’s laughter echoes through the trees.

“He’s insane.”

You believe him.

Eventually, the two of you reach the same tunnel where it all began. How far had you run out? No time to ruminate on that thought, the masked man pauses, his hands resting on your shoulders.

“Keep running straight. You’ll hit the parking lot in no time.Jay is waiting for you.”

“But I-”

He hushes you as the sound of Alex grows closer and closer still. You can hear him taunting you as he realizes where you are.

“Go.” He pushes you in the direction you need to run before turning around and facing Alex, who’s finally caught up.

Not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, you run.

You’re almost certain you’re going to throw up or something to that effect when you finally make it back to the parking lot. Your lungs have expanded much too much, your muscles ache, and you feel light headed and dizzy. By the time you reach the asphalt, you don’t even recognize the sound of Jay rushing over to you. His words sound like a blur in your head as he grips your shoulders.

“Reader!” His grip tightens. “Are you okay?” He keeps asking but you feel so faint.

“Jay?”

“Hey, hey, stay up.: He holds you up as you sway. “Let’s get outta here,” he says, eyes looking at you with great concern.

You take in a deep breath as you nod along to his words, hardly able to even comprehend anything. You feel your body move on autopilot as he brings you to the car, and you act on autopilot as you buckle yourself up. The car begins to leave the parking lot, your eyes able to scan the tree line once more.

And there he is, the masked man, watching the two of you leave.

Red bloomed on his chest.

#jay merrick #tim wright #marble hornets #marble hornets x reader #x reader #reader insert #jay merrick x reader #creepypasta masky #masky x reader

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moral-turpitudes · 3 years

Text

For The Family:

Masterlist | Rules | Peaky Prompts

Trigger Warnings: Swearing, Angst, Fighting/Arguing, Pregnancy, Fluff.

Word Count: 2,572

Characters: Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader

Requested: Yes

Requested by: Anon, it can be found here.

Summary: One argument and a million frazzled nerves sends Y/N running out the doors of Shelby Company Limited, causing Thomas to re-evaluate his plans and think about more than himself for once.

One minute.

One minute was all it took for her to walk out, heels stomping through the shop halls of Shelby Company Limited and to the car. Not caring that she and Thomas rode in together that morning. He was resourceful, so he could surely find another way home, if he could make it home that is.

The morning had started out as usual, her husband calling a family meeting to discuss the days events and the legitimate business. Giving them all a rundown of the numbers and telling her and Lizzie about what papers needed filing. But not long after everyone had been given their tasks, he made one final remark. “I have a plan to discuss though, before you all go.” He said, putting his cigarette out.

“God what is it now?” Polly asked rolling her eyes in Y/N’s direction. She smirked slightly, avoiding her husbands gaze as she clasped her hands in front of her, preparing for whatever it is he’d say next.

“I’m going to go after the men who trashed our pub.” He said, looking at the paper on the table that talked about the recent bombing of the place.

“They’ll just come after us again though. What if they plant bombs here aye Tom? We’ll be fookin’ blown to bits.” Arthur said looking out the window. Paranoia already setting in.

“We’ll be fine. They’re getting what’s coming to them.” Thomas said, noticing his wife tensing up as he looked over towards her, her usual relaxed demeanor long gone. The ring on her finger that she was looking at, disappearing as the tears welled up in her eyes.

Polly sighed and clicked her manicured nails against her teacup, hoping that whatever strategy he had planned was good, knowing he’d go through with it no matter who tried to stop him.

“How do you know?” Y/N asked, wiping away her tears as the thought of bombs surrounding the shop ran through her mind.

“What?” Thomas asked, his voice even and unbothered by his family’s concerns.

“How do you know we’ll be fine huh? You said that three months ago and there I was trying to keep you from bleeding out on our driveway.” She said, cringing at the thought of when he’d come home miraculously after being shot in the abdomen, mere inches away from anything vital.

“That was different. This is a another gang with different ways of doing things.” He said, dismissing her concern as the family grew antsy.

“No it’s not. They all have the same fucking goals in mind, Thomas.” She said quietly, going straight to the bathroom. Not bothering to lock the door as she’d made quite the scene.

“When do we go?” John asked, breaking the awkward silence as Thomas tore his gaze from his wife’s empty seat.

Thomas didn’t answer him as he stormed out after her, not bothering to knock as he waltzed right in. “What were you trying to do back there aye? What the hell is wrong with you?” He asked, an anger to his voice that was usually only reserved for his brothers.

“Why are you in here yelling at me? I was trying to get you to think about your fucking family. You say everything is fine, you say everything will work out but how do you know?...” She asked as he stood there without an answer.

“That’s right. You don’t. But you go along with everything anyways not bothering to think about anyone else other than yourself and your little agenda! I’m tired of it.” She spat, looking at him angrily as she realized that was one of the only times she truly yelled at the man.

“I’m doing this to protect the family!” He said, running a hand over his tired face. Y/N looked at him for a few moments, her warm eyes meeting his ice cold ones.

“You signed up for this Y/N.” He said, inching closer to her.

“The only thing I signed up for was to love you. I didn’t sign up to watch us get blown up or to be pawns in your little games. I’m done.” She said, holding her palm to her stomach, the familiar nauseous feeling returning for the third time that week.

“I won’t let them hurt us.” He said, trying to take her hand in his but feeling her turn away.

“Tommy...you don’t realize how many nights I’ve stayed up for you. How many nights I’ve seen you in your office half alive. How many times I’ve dragged myself in here not wondering if I’d ever see you again. You don’t realize who all needs you, and I’m afraid you may never realize it because we’ll all be dead because of you one day.” She said turning to face him, her face pale and her hands shaking as she wiped her tears away once more.

“Why are you so worried about everything now aye? You know I have to do this or it’ll get worse.” He said, more quietly than before.

“Because....I can’t stand the thought of losing you. I know I can’t do anything to stop that but I can’t sit around here or at the house worrying all day. I have more to think about now...more to protect.” She said, leaning against the counter as he walked over to her, putting his arms around her in a tight hug.

“What are you not telling me aye?” He asked, his voice quiet like before, a hint of genuine concern in his voice.

“I’m pregnant, Tom...Just found out last week while you were gone. I was going to tell you later today but...I couldn’t after that meeting. It made me sick thinking about all the possibilities.” She said, looking down at the tiled floor. Her heart hurt at knowing he’d leave her again when she’d only recently gotten him back from one of his “missions.”

Thomas stood there and sighed, the gears shifting in his mind as he thought about what he could and couldn’t do. All the decisions he could make put them at risk, or more so himself, but this forced him to look at things slightly differently. She needed him there, now more than ever, and blowing himself up or getting himself shot wouldn’t do the family any good. But deep down he knew he had to do something.

“You’re thinking of another plan...I can’t believe you.” She spat, walking out of the shop and towards the car, knowing the safest place to be was probably their house.

Thomas punched the counter, frustrated at the woman he loved, the impact stinging his hand as he went back into his office.

“Get your things ready gentlemen. We’re going this evening. Pol I need you to tell me when you knew.” He said quickly, John quirking an eyebrow as he loaded his shotgun.

“She told me she felt off last week, so I read her tea leaves. She didn’t want to tell you until you came back, and it wasn’t my place to tell her business.” She said.

“What’s our dear sister in law hiding aye? She left here in a hurry after all that.” Arthur said.

“She’s pregnant.” Thomas said lighting a cigarette, an expression on his face that was hard to pin down. Frustration, happiness, fear, sorrow, all of them danced around his head as he thought through his plan.

“Well let’s get this over with then brother. You have some making up to do since she left like she did.” Arthur said.

“My wife is my concern Arthur. Just get the guns, get the grenades, and get in the car.” He said sternly.

“....right.” Arthur said, giving Polly a quick hug and patting John on the back before heading out to his car.

“She’s worried about everyone, about me, about the bombs. Hell she’s the safest of all of us if she’s at home though.” Thomas said, mumbling as Polly watched him.

“Of course she’s worried Tom. You plan this stuff out on a whim and expect everyone to go along. What she needs is support and to know you’ll be okay. You’re her husband and the father of her child for Christ’s sake, at least try to not get yourself killed so you can see the poor thing. God...Planning all these things and throwing bombs whenever ya please will only get ya that much closer to your grave.” She said walking out of the room.

Thomas stood there with a blank stare, his cigarette dangling from his lips as he went over the last hour in his head. For as many things he planned, Y/N always knew how to keep him on his toes, and this by far was the best, yet most frustrating one. He wanted to be there for her, and he never doubted that for a second. But he couldn’t guarantee his safety and he knew she was right about that. So with all his will, he sauntered out to the car, telling the boys the new plan, and hauling off to finish the job, praying to nothing in particular that they’d all make it home.

As the hours passed by, the sunlight soon faded as a grenade was thrown, taking out the last three men that they couldn’t shoot down. It wasn’t his plan to start out, since he wanted to bomb their whole operation, but for Y/N’s sake, he told his brothers to use one bomb to avoid hurting themselves, and innocent people nearby. They had enough ammo to take down the rest, even if they had to take cover behind the rickety barstools and old tables.

“You sure you didn’t want to use those other grenades Tom? Just take down the whole building?” Arthur asked breathlessly as they loaded up the car.

“No. Wasn’t worth it. We can use the others some other time.” He said shortly, not wanting to discuss how he’d stopped himself from throwing the others out of love for her. Thinking it would make him seem weak.

“Alright, well let’s get back. You have some explaining to do at home.” Arthur said driving as fast as he could to Thomas’ manor to drop him off. With a small salute, they drove off, John smoking a cigar out the back as they disappeared into the night.

The house was quiet as Thomas arrived, the only light coming from his study as the door was cracked open. Music was playing lightly as he opened the door, Y/N lying on one of the lounge chairs with a book lazily in her hand. Her eyes closed and a soft snore escaping her lips as she slept by the fire.

Thomas plucked the book from her hand gently, putting it back on the bookshelf. Noticing how she shuffled around in her sleep, her brow furrowing almost in worry like a bad dream. Quietly, he walked over to his desk, taking off his coat and everything else work related until he was in his pants and dress shirt, the gun that was nestled in its holster gently placed on the desk as well.

With a swift movement, he gently picked her up, carrying her to their room. The lavish king bed greeting them both as he laid her down, Y/N almost instinctively reaching for him despite their earlier argument.

“Goodnight love. We’ll talk in the morning.” He said as he ran his hand down her back, settling in beside her.

“I love you...” She mumbled before drifting off once again.

“Love you too.” He said quietly knowing she was out. With a small kiss to her head he laid his head back against his pillow, dreams of Y/N and their child filling his mind for once instead of horrid nightmares.

The next morning he awoke to Y/N retching in the bathroom, the morning sickness finally living up to its name as the week went on.

Thomas got up in concern, lightly tapping on the door.

“You alright love? Can I get you anything?” He asked.

“No. I’m fine.” She said shortly, her brain fog from the nights sleep clearing from her mind as she remembered their fight. Her heart aching at his reaction and at his decision he’d made to continue with his plan last night.

After washing up, she finally left the restroom, haphazardly putting her clothes on as she looked at the clock. The time reading dangerously close to when they’d usually leave for work.

“We’re going to be late. Why aren’t you getting ready?” She asked.

“We’re taking the day off.” He said sitting back into the lavish pillows and lighting a cigarette.

Y/N scoffed, and sat next to him, her mind racing to how he’d be up and begging to go to work in less than an hour.

“Tommy Shelby taking a day off? That’s fucking unheard of.” She said, reaching for his hand that was now draped over her leg.

“We need it. Even if it’s only for today.” He said.

“Why?” She asked, messing with the few rings he had on his fingers.

“We need to talk about yesterday. And....I didn’t have the best reaction....so I wanted to apologize. You have me to yourself for the rest of the day.” He said, a slight smirk on his face.

Y/N sighed as she remembered, their heated argument filling the walls of the shop restroom as she tried to get him to see reason, knowing not even she could get him to change his mind, or so she thought.

“I changed my plan last night. I was going to bomb the whole place...but uh...when I looked at them....I saw you. I only used one and we shot the rest.” He said, hating he had to tell her the details but that unfortunately came with the territory of marrying a gang leader.

“Really? Only one?” She asked, her eyes flicking up to his as they laid their on the bed.

“Mhmm. Didn’t want to hurt other people ‘round there. I saw women and their children near the place...and it got me thinking of what you’d said earlier...I couldn’t use more after that.” He said, finally coming to peace with the fact he didn’t have to completely obliterate the place to get his message across, saving innocent lives in the long run.

Y/N smiled as she gazed into his eyes, trying not to drown in the ocean blue orbs as he took her hand in his and brought it up to his lips.

“I know I didn’t have the best reaction yesterday to the news...but I am happy. I can’t wait to see them. And I know you’ll be a wonderful mother. I couldn’t be happier, love.” He said softly, gently resting his hand atop her stomach and kissing her temple.

Y/N nodded, a sense of relief flowing off her as she finally knew he wasn’t upset. Even if she’d had Polly find out before him.

“Thank you...” She said quietly, the sunlight streaming in through windows as she pulled him closer to her, not wanting to let him go anytime soon.

“Are we going to lie in bed all day?” He asked.

“You said I had ya all to myself, I can think of a few other things we could do.” She said, smirking at him as she pulled him in for a kiss. Both of them looking forward to spending the day with each other, even though it was a rare occurrence.

Thomas Shelby Tag List:

@msbzowy, @nofckingfighting, @aranoburns, @sighonahurricane, @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes, @gaytommyshelby, @wowjeena, @fifty-shadesof-tommyshelby, @inglourious-imagines, @thebloodyshelbys, @tsolomons, @blinder-secrets, @reveparade, @shelby-fanatic, @ta-ka-shi-ma, @psychkunox, @peakyxtommy, @captivatedbycillianmurphy,@dreamwastakenx,

@lovemissyhoneybee @thomashelbyswhore, @xxbeckybeexx-blog

If you’d like to be added/removed, just send me an ask/message! :)

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagines #peaky blinders headcanons #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x female!reader #thomas shelby x y/n

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tacticaldiary · 3 years

Note

Hi! Can I request for Osamu.. maybe angst to fluff type? Surprise me ❤ thank you sm!

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Here ya go! @asdfghjkl7things

Quality Time

Pairing: Reader x Osamu Miya

A relationship requires one to see both perspectives, and a lack of communication inevitably leads to arguments. Osamu learns this the hard way.

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“For the fifth time, I’m busy.”

“You were the one who asked me to come over!”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d be this much of a distraction.” Osamu turns the page of his textbook over, pausing to jot down something into his notebook.

Huffing, Y/N gets up from her chair at the table next to him and goes over to the couch, flopping down on it. She just wanted to spend some time with her boyfriend, after he called her over to ‘hang out’. It wasn’t fair. Blowing a stray strand of hair from her face, she starts scrolling through her phone boredly, occasionally glancing back at Osamu, who was engrossed as ever in his textbook.

A few minutes pass in silence, before her phone is plucked out of her hand. Frowning, she sits up and is met with the grinning face of Atsumu.

“Whatcha doing?” he smirks, rolling his eyes when Y/N lays back down.

“Sulking.”

“I don’t blame you, having to deal with ‘Samu all the time.” he teases, starting to scroll through her feed.

Y/N didn’t mind. Over the past two years of dating Osamu, she had grown close with his slightly-more annoying brother. It was inevitable, really. She had nothing to hide either, so she wasn’t worried. It was the loss of her distraction that bothered her. Peeking her head over the back of the couch, she spots Osamu, still reading, but now munching on a couple of pretzel sticks. He seemed completely engrossed in the material.

Atsumu drops Y/N’s phone, opting to check his own instead. Grinning at the recent notification, he looks up at her. Seeing her look at his brother that longingly made him feel a twinge of annoyance towards his twin.

“Alright, you’re done moping around.” He stands suddenly and stretches his arms over his head. After a few satisfying pops, he grabs Y/N’s hand and yanks her off the couch, snickering when she loses her balance and falls to the ground instead. “Whoops.”

“Asshole.” she groans rubbing the back of her head, before standing up. “What are you talking about.”

“You, Aran and I are going out.” he pulls on his jacket and throws Y/N’s at her. She pulls it on, glancing back at Osamu, who hadn’t even looked up. She felt a little annoyed at that. He was the one who invited her over, refused to pay attention to her, and didn’t care if she left. She nods at Atsumu and grabs her things.

She had come to have fun, and that’s exactly what she was going to do, with or without her boyfriend.

Grinning at her agreeing, he pulls her towards the front door. “Oi, ‘Samu, I’m stealing your girlfriend. Have fun being lonely”

“Shut up.” he retorts, almost automatically. He doesn’t even glance up, too focused on his work.

Osamu only looks up when he hears the door close, frowning a little. He doesn't make a move to go see what was happening, opting to focus on his assignment instead. He just wanted to finish it quickly, so he could spend time with Y/N, but it was taking longer than he expected.

Laughing over Atsumu and Aran’s mindless bickering, with Aran mostly ignoring the twin, Y/N walks in between the two, caught in the line of fire, a shopping bag in hand. The three had spent the day at the shopping centre, even catching the latest action movie she had planned on watching soon. It was fun, to say the least, the two expertly distracting her from her sulky mood, but Y/N couldn’t help but miss Osamu, the person she really wanted to spend time with.

After saying goodbye to Aran, the two headed towards the twins' house, Y/N wanting to have a chance to say goodnight to Osamu at least once. As they approach the door and Atsumu rummages for the keys, Y/N speaks.

“Thanks for today.” she smiles genuinely.

“What would you do without me, honestly?” he smirks back, opening the door.

“Life would probably be much easier.”

“It’d be boring. You’d be bored to death without me, face it.”

Y/N is saved from responding when they spot a very frustrated Osamu on the couch. When he sees them enter, he stands quickly. “Where the hell were you? Are you alright?” he walks over to Y/N and scans her up and down. Upon finding her unharmed, he crosses his arm, waiting for an answer.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” Atsumu calls over his shoulder snarkily, moving to go up the stairs to put a few things away. His brother was clearly talking to Y/N.

“I was out with Atsumu and Aran? He told you.” she nods towards the stairs.

“No, he didn’t. I’ve been worried sick. I look away for a few seconds and you’re gone! And you won’t answer any of my calls or texts!”

Taking out her phone from her pocket, she finds that he did, indeed text and call her multiple times. “I must have forgotten to put my phone off silent after the movie.” she frowns and looks up at him, cursing the height difference. “And a few seconds? I thought you didn’t want to spend time with me. You were clearly ignoring me.”

“I was trying to finish my assignment so I could get back to you. Honestly, how hard is it to check your damn phone? You’re always on it, anyway.” he says, still very much angry.

Y/N never really saw this side of him much, given that Osamu was a pretty chill guy, much calmer than his brother, and it took a lot to rile him up like this.

“I wouldn’t have had to put my phone on silent if you just spent time with me like you said you would.” Y/N shoots back. She wasn’t at fault and he wasn’t justified to be mad at her.

“If you would have waited 10 minutes-” He clenches his jaw.

“I waited for two hours! Two whole hours that you called me over for, only to spend ignoring me.”

“I would’ve gotten done way sooner if you weren’t breathing down my neck the whole time.” he spits out, pissed. How the hell was this his fault? He was doing his best. “If you weren’t so goddamn clingy and desperate for attention all the time!”

His words stung, but she didn’t back down. “I'm not-...I left you alone, didn’t I? It’s not like you noticed till about two more hours later.” She shows him her call log. He had started calling after they had finished the movie, so about two and a half hours after Y/N had left.

“To spend the day we were supposed to have together with my brother?”

“Bullshit! I’m not the bad guy here! I came over just like you asked, only to be brushed off so excuse me if I actually decided to have fun with my friends instead of wasting my time with you!” She yells harshly.

A beat of silence that stretches on for a bit too long.

“Why don’t you go back to him then?” His voice is much quieter, somehow more heart-breaking than it would’ve been if he was yelling. “Since he obviously knows how to make you happy and since I’m just a waste of time.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it-” He cuts her off with a scoff, running a hand through his dyed hair.

She didn’t mean to have it go this way. Taking a step towards him, she grasps his arm. “Hey...you’re not...I didn’t-...” she struggles for second. They rarely ever fought, so this was a fairly new situation for her. He’s not facing her, so she shifts to stand in front of him. Osamu, after a few good seconds, shifts his gaze down towards her, staring at her coldly. Y/N can tell he was a hurt, even if he didn’t show it much.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.” She says, taking a deep breath. “I don’t like arguing, but you’re not seeing things from my perspective.” She frowns little, feeling encouraged when he says nothing. “I came over, specifically because you asked me too, and you spent the whole time not saying a word to me.”

Taking the information in now that he was a lot calmer, it made a little more sense. Exhaling sharply, he looks away slightly. “...sorry.”

A little taken aback, because your boyfriend wasn’t one to admit he was wrong this quickly, Y/N nods slowly.

“I was worried. I didn’t mean anything. Sorry.”

Y/N sighs and pulls him into a hug. “We’re both in the wrong then.” she hums against his chest, feeling him hold her closer.

The pair stay like that for a while, before Osamu silently pulls her toward the couch, putting on a random movie. He pulls her towards him, and Y/N’s not complaining. Tucking her head into the crook of his neck, he wraps his arms around her securely. They lay in silence, taking the moment to let go of their anger and cool down in the presence of each other. The slightly tense and awkward atmosphere slowly dissipates over the course of the film, and before the second half, Y/N is fast asleep on top of him, her breath tickling his skin in steady puffs.

He sighs and brushes the hair off her forehead, giving her a small peck, before turning the volume down and settling down himself. He dozes off shortly after, and the two stay like that till the morning.

They’re woken up, rather rudely, by Atsumu yelling at them to ‘get a room’ from the kitchen.

Y/N’s face smiling softly up at him erases all thoughts of smacking his brother over the head.

Requests Are Open and Welcome

338 notes · View notes

flamencodiva · 3 years

Text

Bottom of the Bottle 2 - Sneaking Back on Stage

Description: Dean was at the peak of stardom until his world came crashing down. Can he find his way back to the top?

Word Count: 5340

Warnings for entire series: Smut (oral female and male receiving, P in V, Threesomes, Fingering, Orgies) Fluff, Angst, Violence, Language, Mentions of Drug use, Drinking, Mentions of Death.

Songs in this chapter: Partial Lyrics of Brother's Osbourn Ain't My Fault and Full lyrics of Down don't Bother Me by The Derek Truck Band

Beta'd by: @wonder-cole

Aesthetic by: @firefly-graphics

Dividers by: @talesmaniac89

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

<< Chapter 1

Dean pulled the bike up on the driveway and parked her next to his father’s truck. Then, killing the engine, he hopped off with a smile. Finally, Dean found a place where he could start over, a place he could play and live again. He found a small spring in his step and ran his fingers through his short hair. He was glad it was quick. His years with Purgatory had the band growing out his hair long. He hated it, but it was for the image. At the time, he would do anything just to be able to be involved in music and if growing his hair long was the worst of it, it was worth it to him.

But the minute that he was put in jail and kicked out of the band for something he didn’t do, he was glad to be rid of it. He was happy to cut off the long hair and return to his short locks. Turning the key to unlock the door, he let himself in to find his father sitting at the dining room table, hands folded on top of it.

“You could have gone to bed, you know,” Dean muttered as he placed the helmet on the table in the foyer and shrugged off his jacket to put it on the hook, “I told you I was going to be back.”

“Where did you go?” John asked as he looked up at Dean.

“Out,” Dean huffed, “I’m not a kid anymore, dad. So I went out, the bike had a wire come loose, I was close to a place, got help, came back.”

“You can’t do that again, Dean,” John said as he got up from the table.

“Do what? Go out and have fun? Go out and try to find some friends?” Dean asked, “I’m confused as to what you want from me here. I’m already working at the garage. I’m living under your thumb. I have a damn motorcycle instead of Baby.”

“I just wanted you to think before you went out,” John said as he walked to Dean, “I know you love to sing, and you love music, but it isn’t everything.”

“It’s all I have!” Dean practically yelled. “You know you started spewing all this bullshit about how I abandoned this family and ran away and couldn’t wait to leave,” Dean ran a hand across his face. “I wanted to go out and explore and find myself. You want to know the fucked up thing?” he walked up to his father, “I came back when Sam called me about mom. Not you,” he poked at John’s chest, “Sam, he called me to tell me mom was sick. You were the coward who couldn’t even face me to tell me my mother was dying!”

“Would you have answered the phone if it was me?” John muttered. “You have to admit, the minute you signed that contract, you wanted to high tail it out of here faster than a damn wolf chasing its prey.”

Dean looked down at the floor and licked his lips, “I wanted to get away from you. Not mom, not Sam, you. Because I was so mad and disappointed that my own father didn’t want me to follow something I was good at, something that gave me life.” Dean walked over to a picture of his mother and let his fingers graze over it, “I came every chance I could. I was in that hospital by her side when you didn't know it. I always waited for you and Sam to leave because I didn’t want to fight you while she was fighting Cancer.”

Dean wiped the stray tear that was falling down his cheek and shook his head.

“But it doesn’t matter. Nothing mattered, not that money I gave for the treatments or the fact that I tried to get Mom one of the best specialists I could find.” he turned to face his dad. “Music is in me, and I can feel it. What hurt me wasn’t mom dying. It was the fact that my own father thought of me as a disappointment when I made it big.”

John let his son’s words sink in before heading to the stairs, “A lot of good that fame and fortune did. You became part of a group that, in the end, it brought you back down to zero.” John was halfway up the stairs before he stopped, “you called me a coward for not calling you, but you’re a coward for not manning up to face me at that hospital.”

John’s footsteps began to fade as he ascended the staircase and retreated to his bedroom, leaving Dean to stew in his anger. Dean let out a frustrated growl with his jaw clenched and stomped up the stairs towards his old room. Why was his dad so adamant about keeping him locked up in a cage? He was already in a cell for six months, and he hated every minute of it. Apart from the fact that he could write a few lyrics, he hated being in that damn jail. He didn’t do anything wrong, and everyone tried to fight him for being a damn rock star.

Entering his room, he could see the boxes from his old home scattered around. Some boxes labeled clothing, some marked notebooks, and a few just miscellaneous. Walking to the box labeled notebooks, Dean tore the tape out and pulled out one of his more recently used ones. His fingers grazed over the pages before he turned to his bag full of his things from jail. Reaching inside, he pulled out a small booklet he had filled with some lyrics he had.

Dean didn’t go to bed right away that night. Instead, he took that time to filter through the small notebook and transferred his lyrics to his larger notebook. The memory of Y/N on stage seemed to haunt him. She looked at peace being up on that stage, almost ethereal, an angel ready to spread her wings and fly. Putting down his pen, his eyes roamed his room before settling on the silhouette of his guitar case. Sure, Dean had plenty of guitars, but this one, this one was special, and he was surprised to see it propped up in the familiar corner of his room.

Getting up from his chair, he walked over towards it, pulled the hard case out, and placed it on his bed. Opening up the latches, he lifted the lid and smiled. There nestled nice and snug was a Fender FA-100 Dreadnought Acoustic Guitar. He loved this guitar and hadn't been able to play it for years. He felt almost sad that he had it with him but could never really pull it out to play often. It was a birthday gift for his 17th birthday from his mother. Sure, she said it was from both her and his father, but Dean had a feeling it was more his mother than his old man.

Gently pulling it out of the case, Dean sat on his bed and placed the guitar on his right thigh, the fingers on his left hand holding down a chord on the fret before he strummed it. He winced at the awful sound that came out. It needed tuning. He looked around his room using the tiny light from his desk lamp and smiled when his eyes landed on the corkboard above his headboard. There, pinned to it, was his favorite pick. It was one of the few things his father did give him that he loved, a pick that he had seen in the music store that he had to have.

Taking a deep breath, Dean began to pluck at the strings and turn on the knobs to find the right notes. There was something about the way he felt holding his guitar that sent a shiver down his spine. Dean missed this feeling, and he kicked himself for letting the image geniuses at the label dictate that he should only be the voice of the band. Focusing on his tuning, he continued to play with the knobs until he was sure the guitar had the right notes to play.

With one last strum, he hummed in satisfaction at the sweet sound. He moved his fingers along the fret, strumming at the strings when a melody came to mind. He wasn't sure of the tempo, but he knew the notes he wanted to play. Adjusting himself and the guitar, he cleared his throat and let the music flow through him.

“Blame the whiskey on the beer, blame the beer on the whiskey,” he let out and smiled, “I like the sound of that,” he chuckled before grabbing his notebook and scribbling it down.

He continued to find the melody, and he figured a slow rhythm was a good fit for the song. At least that’s what he felt.

“Blame the bar for the band, blame the band for the--” he paused as he tried to find the right word, “song? Yeah, that works,” he wrote it down and shook his head gently.

His mind began to fill with doubt as he looked down at the lyrics. Was he really going to try to get back into music? Could he really deal with being a label stooge? He wanted to make music, sure, but it needed to be his music.

“You got this, Winchester,” he calmed himself, “You’ve been playing music for a long time. This is a good song.” he licked his lips and looked down at his fingers, “you had these lyrics in your head for a while, you just gotta get them out.

He continued to strum on his guitar and progressed as much as he could. He had gotten to the first round of the bridge before yawning. But, looking over at the clock, it was well past two in the morning, and he had to try to get as much sleep as he could.

The following day, Dean woke up to his father banging on his door.

“Wake up,” John called through the door, “I’m headed to the garage. You should head out soon. Coffee is already brewed.”

Dean let out a groan and ran a hand across his face to try and wake up fully. He stretched his body before forcing himself to get up. Dean looked at the open notebook on the floor and sighed. He had to finish the lyrics and try to memorize the song by tonight if he wanted to show Benny up. He didn’t like that Benny thought he would use Y/N for his own personal gain. That wasn’t in Dean’s nature at all. Besides, if the song was a hit, he could perform the other songs he had lying around, but he had to find a way to hide it from his dad.

Walking to his window, he looked outside and sighed. The sun was just rising, and he could hear the birds chirping on the nearby tree. Opening the window, he leaned on the windowsill when something caught his peripheral vision. He turned his head slightly to see the trellis that ran up the side of the house by his window. Reaching over, he pulled on it and gave a pouted shrug.

“Still feels sturdy,” he muttered to himself before looking down and feeling his pulse race. “You can do this,” he said, looking at the height, “you did it back in high school to go sneak over to ‘easy’ Gracie's house.” he reminded himself. “That and all of Mullet’s parties to play a gig.”

With a nod, he began formulating his plan. He spared no time in grabbing his clothes and getting dressed. His notebook was tight under the crook of his arm as he made his way downstairs to grab a coffee. His father had already left, leaving him alone. With a coffee mug in his hand, he used his free hand to write out the rest of his lyrics before looking at the time and dashing towards the front door. He made sure he kept the notebook close to him as he got ready for his bike ride to the garage.

He kept to himself as he placed certain things in his locker before grabbing his coveralls and put them on over his clothes. Then, his notebook in hand, he walked over to the work orders board and picked a clipboard to work on for the day. In between changing the oil on a few cars, replacing brake pads, and rotating tires, Dean had finished writing and found himself memorizing the lyrics he wrote out.

“I got my hand’s up. I need an alibi,” Dean muttered, “find me a witness who can testify.”

The melody was slow and funeral-like, and for the most part, it worked. What mattered to him right now was memorizing the damn words so he could get them out. He was sure the melody would change later, as he kept bouncing from uptempo to slow funeral march. It was hard trying to find a good beat, but he wasn’t sure what direction he was going. Was he going to stick to the complex rock rhythm he got used to with purgatory? Or was he going to go to his country roots?

He didn’t notice his father looking at him closely, the sad look on John's face as he recognized that Dean was writing lyrics. The old man could always tell when Dean was working on a song. Dean could never sit still when he was inspired, and the fact that Dean kept tapping different rhythms during the day wasn’t helping him hide it. But John was out of ideas, and the last thing he needed was to find his son on the news where they were announcing his death. It was bad enough seeing his son being arrested on the news, but to have his death broadcasted would absolutely shatter him. John had tried so hard to shelter Dean from getting the performance bug, but it seemed like the tighter John held on, the more Dean slipped through his fingers.

The rest of the day, Dean had played with a few different melodies in his head, but nothing seemed to stick. By the time he had memorized the song, it was time to close the garage. Dean had put his coverall back in his locker and walked over to his bike.

“Dean?” John called.

“Yeah,” Dean answered, turning to face his father.

“What do you think about heading over to the diner we always used to go to for dinner?”

Dean looked at his watch and then back up to his Dad. He still had some time to head home and grab his guitar and sneak out, “yeah, sounds good. Need to have that famous burger of theirs. I missed it when I was up in KC,” Dean said with a tight-lipped smile.

“Okay, I’ll meet you there,” John nodded his head as he let Dean go before him, “I gotta lock up, so you go ahead and see if they can get us in a booth.”

“Sure,” Dean called out before putting his helmet on and zipping up his jacket.

The ride to the dinner wasn’t too bad. It was short. To begin with and Dean made it with perfect time to grab the last available booth. Dean ordered a burger for himself along with a beer and a slice of pie for after. The waitress was about to leave when John appeared and slid in.

“I’ll have the meatloaf and a water, Jenny, thanks,” he said to the young waitress.

“You got it, John, coming right up,” she smiled at the elder Winchester before turning to Dean and winking, “I get off at 8.”

Dean offered her a smile before turning to his father, “you come here a lot then?”

“Haven’t really cooked since your mother died,” John muttered as he looked at Dean. “You did good work today,” he changed the subject, “I was thinking about showing you how to run the books and showing you all the accounts, you know, get you ready to take over.”

“Dad--” Dean sighed, “I love working at the garage, I do, but it won’t make me happy.”

“Because music makes you happy,” John scoffed, “look what music did to you!” he pointed out.

“You know as well as I do that it was the industry, not the music. Those are two different things!” Dean argued.

John shook his head before running a hand across his face, “look, you need a backup, and I need someone I can trust to take over.”

“You planning on retiring soon?” Dean let out as he leaned back in his seat.

“Maybe,” John sighed, “I can’t run the garage forever, and I don’t want to sell it.”

Dean looked at his father’s face and could see the hurt in his eyes, “you really love that garage.”

“It’s my second love to my family,” John said as he folded his hands together over the table. “Just think about it?”

“I guess I can do that,” Dean muttered as their waitress, Jenny, came by with their food.

“You know she’s single,” John commented as he grabbed his fork to dig into his meatloaf.

“I don’t need dating help,” Dean let out as he grabbed his burger in his hands, “besides, I’m not looking for attachments.”

“Sometimes they’re a good thing, though,” his father commented after swallowing his food.

Dean rolled his eyes, “after the fiasco with Lisa, no thanks.”

“You’ll find someone,” John chuckled, “I don’t think I ever met Lisa.”

“Thank your lucky stars for that,” Dean huffed. “All she cared about was the fame and notoriety. Then I caught her with some publicist screwing in my bed,” he shook his head, “then again, I was nailing two, maybe three girls at a time so… no skin off my back when I cut her loose.”

John stayed silent for a minute, digesting what his son was saying, “so you went for the sex god approach then.”

“Better than being the drug addict,” Dean shook his head and took a bite of one of his fries, “the alcohol helped to just dull the senses anyways. I was a pretty face and a voice for the band, that’s it.”

John could hear the unhappiness in his voice and see the pain radiating in his son’s eyes over not making the music he wanted. It hurt John for a bit, but it also had him thinking about how it might help keep Dean home and safe.

“The business can chew you up and spit you out pretty easily.”

Dean watched as his father continued to eat his meatloaf, letting the conversation die. Yet, he knew where it would lead if he kept the conversation going.

Finishing his meal, Dean cleaned up his face and reached for his wallet before John stopped him.

“I got this son, you go on home, or are you going back out for a ride?” John asked.

“I need to rest, so I’ll be up in my room,” Dean lied as he slid out of the booth. “So I’ll be in bed by the time you get home, maybe.”

“Okay, I’ll be up watching some tv, so I’ll try not to make too much noise,” John pulled out his wallet and a few bills to place on the table.

Dean walked out and towards his bike just as John got into his truck.

On the ride home, Dean was thinking of what his escape plan would be. He already knew he would climb down the trellis, but his guitar had to come with him. Reaching the house, both men stayed in silence as they went their separate ways. Dean closed his door and put the lock on for good measure. He felt like a teenager hiding from his parents, but he knew his father would never understand. And honestly, Dean really had no place to go, and if he had to keep his musical exploits a secret, then so be it. One could say he wanted to try to impress a particular bartender he met last night, also wondering if he would hear her sweet voice again. Grabbing his case, he looked around for something he could use to strap it to his back, finding a rope he could use on the fly.

Once he was sure that the case was secured to his back, Dean carefully climbed out of the window to sit on the windowsill. He moved as carefully as he could, making sure to avoid making too much noise with his guitar case and getting it out of the window. He breathed a small sigh of relief when he reached the trellis and slowly began to climb down.

“You got this, Dean,” he said to himself as he made sure to place his foot on the holes as he climbed down. “Just like that time you snuck out to head over to the bonfire,” he took a deep breath and swallowed the lump in his throat, “granted you also missed a small hole and fell when you reached the last foot off the ground, but you did it.”

Finally reaching the bottom of the trellis, Dean gave a small jump and smiled in satisfaction. Heading to his bike and rolling it away from the house to not make any noise when he started the engine. Once he was a block away, at least, his night began. The ride to Rusty’s was smooth, and Dean could see it already start to fill with patrons. Parking his bike, he adjusted his guitar and made his way inside. His smile grew when he saw Y/N at the bar already taking orders.

“You know we really do have to stop meeting like this,” he called out with a smile when she turned to him.

“Does that line work? I mean, right now, it just seems like you’re trying too hard,” she let out as she walked over to him, “going to drink, perform, or both?”

“Both,” he answered, “know where I can find Jo?”

“She’s over by the stage taking names for tonight,” she pointed over to the blond who was talking to a few groups.

“Wait,” Dean squinted a bit, “That’s Jo Harvelle? I know Jo,” Dean smiled and turned to face Y/N, “Will you be performing tonight?”

“Nope,” she sighed, popping the ‘p.’ “Yesterday was a fluke. I was filling in for someone.”

“I’m going to go talk to Jo,” Dean said before leaning over and taking Y/N’s arm gently before she could leave. “Whoever told you that you weren’t amazing last night was lying to you, sweetheart.” He let her go before she could give him a counterargument and made his way to the stage with his guitar strapped to his back.

As he approached the stage, he could feel a hand pull him back, and a person walked past him.

“Hey,” he called out, “do you mind?”

“Why yez, ah do mind,” the familiar Cajun voice said, “didn’ tink youz goin’ tah show up.”

Dean gave Benny a cocky smile before huffing, “I did tell you I would see you. Let me guess you have a song to sing tonight too?”

“Betta’ than what chu have to play i’m zure,” Benny chuckled, “I didn’ tink dat dey let chu play an inztrumentz.”

“I was playing the guitar before I ever joined that group,” Dean said with a low growl, “how the hell did you recognize me anyway.”

“The long lockz don’ matta to me brotha,” Benny sighed, “but da eyez are da windows to da soul.”

“You and everyone else seem to recognize me,” Dean muttered, “well, you can go ahead and sing your song before me,” Dean offered him a sly smile, “I’m sure I can bring the house down.”

Benny let out a scoff before turning away to walk towards Jo, “good luck wit dat brotha.”

Dean watched as Benny talked to Jo, who gave him a quick nod while jotting down a note. Once she was done, the Cajun turned around and checked Dean on the shoulder.

“Good luck up, der,” he chuckled at Dean, “you lookz like you need it.”

Dean clenched his jaw as Benny walked away. The guy really didn’t like him. Dean didn’t do anything. Hell, most people’s assumptions of him now have to do with the damn drug charge. Shaking his head, he walked up to Jo and adjusted the guitar strapped to his back. As he walked up to the young blond, he couldn’t help but smile as a memory of a young girl in pigtails flashed before him.

“Never thought you’d grow out of the pigtail stage,” he said as he stood in front of her.

“Well, well, well,” she said, chuckling before pulling him into a tight hug, “never thought the infamous Dean Winchester would grace us with his presence. I thought this place would be too. country for you?”

“I want to sign up to perform,’ he let out with a deep breath.

“Fees $20 to perform,’ she sighed.

“Performance fee?” Dean scoffed, “Really, Jo? Who the hell came up with that?”

“Look,” Jo sighed, “The $20 goes for every and all performers. It’s a small fee for renting out the stage. Besides, you get more in tips if people really like you.”

Dean grumbled as he fished in his pockets for a twenty-dollar bill. He handed it to Jo and shook his head, “I’m only going to be singing the one song.”

“Okay,” Jo wrote down his name and smiled, “You can wait by the bar and order some food. I’ll have someone pull you to the back about three performers before you.” She reached over and pulled him into a hug, “Welcome home, Dean. I have a feeling this is going to be a fresh start for you. You never looked right with that band.”

Dean smiled as he hugged her back, “Thanks, Jo.”

With that, Jo pulled away to let him walk towards the bar with his guitar still on his back. Approaching the bar, Dean smiled, seeing Y/N smile as she served customers. Her laugh reached his ears, and it pulled at him. There was a sense of comfort he felt from listening to Y/N’s laugh. Her laugh was very familiar to him. Walking to the bar, he pulled up a stool and sat down to wait for his turn. He wanted to try out his new song, but he wasn’t sure about the tempo yet. He continued playing around with different beats, but all he could come up with was a depressing march, but it didn’t seem to fit the song at all. With a groan, Dean decided to get something in his stomach while he waited.

“You look like you got something bothering you, Gringo.”

Dean snapped his head up from the menu to see Y/N leaning over the bar top towards him.

“Just trying to figure out what to eat before I have to head up on stage,” He chuckled, trying to shrug off the nervous feeling he had on him. “Besides, Benny’s gonna get mad if he sees you talking to me.”

“I can handle Benny,” Y/N offered him a smile, “besides, I’m the only bartender here, so I’m doing my job.”

“What do you recommend from the kitchen?” Dean asked as he licked his lips. There was something alluring about Y/N, but at the same time, he felt as though he had known her from before their encounter in the coffee shop.

“Honestly? The ultimate bacon burger,” Y/N answered. “It’s got premium Angus beef, with nice crispy bacon, a chipotle aioli, lettuce, tomatoes, and pickles. Not to mention you can have it with steak fries or onion rings.”

“That actually sounds good. I’ll have that and a bottle of Margiekugels,” Dean closed up the menu and sighed, “So is there ever a chance I’m going to see you on stage again?”

Y/N looked over at him as she put in his order on the digital register, “I don’t know,” she sighed, “it was just a one-time thing being up there.”

“Well, if you ever want to go up there again,” Dean said before taking a sip of his beer, “I could always be your backup.”

“Look,” Y/N shook her head with a slight huff. “I know all about you. Just because you cut your hair doesn’t mean that people aren’t going to recognize those big green eyes of yours,” she gave him a soft glare. “I’m not into rock stars, so do me a favor and just find someone else to play with, okay?”

Dean let out a small huff with a smirk, “well, screw you then, sweetheart.”

He took another sip of his beer and shook his head.

“You think you know me because of what the media says about things I didn’t even do? Then fine, you know me. But in reality, you’re just a scared little bitch who wants to stay behind the bar counter.” he grabbed his guitar as he got off the stool. “You can have them send my burger to the table in the corner over there,” he pointed towards the back of the saloon and slapped some money on the counter, “keep the change.”

He stalked off with his beer and guitar, chest full of anger as he looked up to see Benny had already gone on stage and was singing a song. The people were cheering and hollering for him.

Goin' 'round in circles

Pickin' out a cue

Travelin' with no memory

Ow, in my shoe

Down don't bother me.

If the music say

You can take a picture baby

Time won't care

And you're my second nature

A-coming over me

And though I might be shakin'

Down don't bother me no more.

Down don't bother me no more

As Benny finished his song, Dean rolled his eyes as everyone in the crowd cheered and whistled. Seemed like Benny has a crew of regulars that come to see him. He took a swig of his beer, smacking his lips and smiling at the waitress who brought his burger to him. Dean could feel Y/N staring, but he didn’t care. She had made up her mind, and he was done trying to prove to people that he wasn’t an asshole.

Finishing up his burger, he watched as Benny made his way over and rolled his eyes. He should have known that the seat he picked was closest to the kitchen.

“I’ze hope chu enjoyed dat performaze brotha,” Benny chuckled, “chu look like you could yuz da luck.”

“I don’t need luck,” Dean grumbled, “I know my skills, so why don’t you go back to yours and leave me and mine alone.”

Benny lifted his hands in surrender and let out a laugh, “didn’t mean ta hit a sore spot witch you. Enjoy da burga.”

Dean shook his head as Benny walked into the kitchen. His nerves were starting to get the best of him as he could feel his hands shake. Looking at his guitar propped up in the chair, his mind began to spin with thoughts.

‘What the fuck am I doing?’ his mind shouted. ‘People are going to hate this song. I don’t even have a tempo yet!’

He could feel his heart race. Nothing could get him to snap out of it. At least, not until Jo came up to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, making him jerk.

“Hey,” she gave him a warm smile. “You got two performers before you. You should head backstage. I’ll show you the way.”

Dean nodded numbly as he followed her, not noticing an old friend watching him as he disappeared behind a black curtain.

Chapter 3

Tags in the Reblog

#Bottom of the Bottle #Rockstar!Dean Winchester #Rockstar AU #Dean Winchester Fic #Dean Winchester Fan Fiction #Supernatural AU #Supernatural Fiction #Rockstar!Dean Winchester x Reader #Angst #Fluff #Smut #mentions of orgies #Mentions of drug abuse #Alcoholism #violence #fake dating #language

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ehovocrown · 3 years

Text

Ground Zero

Author: ehovocrown

Pairing: Alpha Team (Special Ops) Captain Byun Baekhyun x Air Force Lieutenant Reader

Genre: Special Forces!AU, Angst

Warnings: Cursing, slight sexual content, violence, mention and use of combat weapons

Author’s Note: Hi there! this is the first one shot that i’m posting on this account, it’s been collecting dust on my notes app so i thought maybe it finally deserves to see the light of day. :’)

Word Count: 2,017 words

—

Smoke bombs & gunshots were his norm, weaving through the constant precipitation of bullets as he fought every waking day for freedom, honour, and protection. Meanwhile for her? The skies were her territory, unlike him who was totally grounded on soil, she was the captain of the skies. Flying, fighting, and pursuing freedom in the air. But there was one thing that they had in common, and it was that every waking day was a fight for survival.

—

[Spring 2017 - D-1 to special ops]

“Operation failed. Our troops and allies are all dead. ARE YOU NOT GOING TO FOCUS?!” Captain of the Special Ops Unit Byun Baekhyun’s booming voice resonated through the warehouse, frustration and anger clearly evident in his features.

“I’m sorry Captain!” The youngest soldier replied, earning him multiple sighs of exasperation from his team followed by a whirling sound and sudden gasps.

A knife, flying ever so closely by their captain’s head only to impale itself on the wooden panel behind him.

“Get your fucking boy scouts together Byun! Or maybe go the fuck home.” Captain Kim called out, snickering as he turned to the group of laughing soldiers behind him.

Baekhyun scoffed, turning around to pluck the combat knife from the panel. “If he keeps doing shit like this I might have to rebel again.” And with that he whirled the combat knife back towards its original owner, making sure with exact precision that it would end up on the wall between the laughing captain’s legs, right in between where it would hurt.

The snickering was definitely put to a halt, and both teams suddenly found their captains heading toward’s each other, hands balled into fists and ready to salvage their own pride.

But the fight never came, because just as they were about to deliver their first hit, Baekhyun felt the cold barrel of a glock against his temple.

“Break time’s over boys. Looks like the regiment has been going too easy on you for your troops to be playing around like this.”

The captain turned slightly towards his aggressor, only to lay his eyes on a lady, his lady, in her Air Force uniform, long hair cascading past her shoulders making it impossible for him to see her rank, or her name patch.

“Easy, do you even know how to use that?” Baekhyun taunted as he motioned towards the gun that was still pointed at him, the lieutenant raised a brow, smirking at the captain’s obvious arrogance.

“Looks like playtime is over for you, Byun.” The other long forgotten captain spoke, snickering once again at the sight of Byun Baekhyun who was currently at the mercy of the Air force pilot.

Captain Kim’s glory moments didn’t last long though, because his snarky remark earned him a kick from Y/N who clearly had both him and Baekhyun at her mercy.

The kick landed behind his knees, causing him to fall to the pavement, pride clearly shattered to pieces, ironically the same one that he was trying so hard to salvage just a few minutes ago.

“Play time is over for you too, take your squad back to your quarters or you will receive word on disciplinary orders tonight.” Y/N spoke simply, and Captain Kim wasted no time in leaving.

On the other hand though, the coldness of the barrel did nothing to aid Byun Baekhyun’s pride, deciding that he too was tired of being held hostage, the captain moved swiftly to snatch the gun from the lieutenant in front of him.

First, a grab on her wrist.

Second, his hand overpowering hers.

Third, a quick snatch of the weapon from her delicate hands.

And fourth? Turning the tables so that her back was now pressed against his chest, his arm keeping her restrained while his other hand dismantled the gun in front of her face.

“Do not, play with me like that ever again.” His voice was deep and hoarse as he whispered against her ear, “understood?”

Y/N simply rolled her eyes, scoffing at the captain’s sentiments.

“As if. Did I hurt your pride Captain? Angry because you didn’t get to dig your fist into your opponents smug face?” Her tone had the captain smirking in no time, turning to his men to subtly signal them their dismissal.

He watched them leave, now relieved that the eyes that were watching him and Y/N were gone.

“Lieutenant, i think you’d be falling for me in no time once you see me in combat.”

The lieutenant only scoffed, turning to face her lover the moment he released his hold on her.

“I think you’re wrong Captain.” She whispered, arms wrapping around his waist and her words ghosting against his lips due to their close proximity.

Personal space was now a foreign concept and neither one of them were willing to let go, not when they are so grateful that the both of them were able to see each other again.

“And why is that?” The captain hummed against his lover’s lips, his heart feeling fully content in her presence.

“Because, there will never be anything attractive about seeing you get hurt.”

Baekhyun only shrugged in reply, deciding that he has been patient long enough he took her lips into his, pressing a passionate kiss that dripped of longing and worry that his heart was unable to suppress as his lover went on her mission approximately 5 nights ago.

Her return felt like heaven to him, and he knew just as well as she did that this was the consequence of falling in love in the force. But neither one of them were willing to give up what they had, even if that meant living in a state of anxiety when one of them would get deployed.

———————-

Back in the captain’s quarters that night they found themselves tangled in sheets, bodies speaking not with a language of words but with passionate kisses and thrusts, of fingers that were intertwined so tightly that both their knuckles turned white, and of heavy breathing as their names escaped each others lips in pleasure.

For Baekhyun? Hearing his name on Y/N’s lips was his revival. In every day that he was deployed to the field he felt like half of him was already in the grave not knowing whether he would even make it out alive.

But here with her, with every passionate kiss, every loving and lustful touch, every mark that he left on the canvas that was her body, and as his name escaped her in sighs of pleasure, he knew that he was fully alive. He knew that his heart had every reason to keep on beating.

But for the lieutenant?, For Y/N, Baekhyun was her grounding force, her safe haven. He was home, and the captain of the sky barely made it home today but she wasn’t going to tell him that.

And as she embraced being on the receiving end of the captain’s every kiss, and every touch and everything else in between, she held on to him, flipping them over so that she could return the favour.

Her every touch left goosebumps on the captain’s skin, kissing the scar on his temple, down to the one on his chest, and the other on his hip. And with every passing second that she spent straddling him, she poured all her love onto him in ways that he could also feel.

And with a climax that ran through them more intensely than the wages of war, they both prayed to the heavens to not take this love away from them. Not when each other was the only form of sanity left for them to hold on to.

——————-

[Spring 2017 - Special Ops d-day]

“Promise me you’ll fight.” Y/N whispered as she worked on buttoning up the captain’s uniform.

“Promise me that you will do everything in your power to stay alive.” She placed his dog tag over his head watching as it landed on his chest.

“Promise me, that i will see you again and not just your tag being handed over.” The lieutenant stepped back, eyes still trained on the dog tag around her lover’s neck.

R.O.K. ARMY

Byun, Baekhyun

- 050692

Blood Type: O

“Captain Byun Baekhyun, promise me that you will come home.” And she raised her arm in a formal salute with utmost respect overflowing despite the tears that fell relentlessly down her face, and the Captain did the same.

And as they stood in his quarters with a silence that was as deafening as the aftermath of an exploded grenade, Byun Baekhyun spoke. Not with with words but with a kiss that conveyed everything that he wanted to say to the lieutenant who stood before him, I love you, until my heart stops beating, and maybe even then I’ll love you.

_________________

[5 years later]

“Mommy these flowers are pretty!” the little boy smiled as he eyed the bunch of roses in his hands. The roses that resembled the scar that sat on his father’s temple, and the same scar that sat on his.

“They really are, aren’t they Raiden?” Y/N smiled at the boy who was walking beside her, kneeling down so she could face the little boy better. “Should we give them to daddy?”

The little boy flashed a toothy smile as he nodded, never letting go of his mother’s hand.

“Mommy, where did i get this necklace?” The little boy asked in curiosity as he examined the silver tags around his neck.

Y/N smiled at her son, eyes welling with tears as she watched her little boy try and read the letters on the tags.

“Rai, you know that Daddy was a very brave man right?”

“Yes mommy!” Raiden smiled, to him Byun Baekhyun was a hero, like the avengers as he would like to call it.

“Well Rai, daddy used to wear that necklace whenever he would fight bad guys.”

“-Then why do I have it now?” the boy tilted his head, confusion evident on his innocent face. And in that moment it was as if the former lieutenant’s heart broke all over again, and as she suppressed the tears that were threatening to spill she looked at the picture of her lover. One that sat behind the glass window next to an empty urn that held nothing but an engraving of his name.

“When daddy had to fight for the last time, he asked uncle Sehun to give it to mommy.”

“-but why mommy?”

Y/N fell silent, how could she possibly explain to her little boy that it was because his father was not supposed to be identified incase he was killed on enemy grounds? How was she supposed to say that his father surrendered his tags because he knew that the operation was a suicide mission? How was she supposed to explain, that until the very end his father gave it his everything, but it wasn’t enough for him to be able to come home, and so he left his tags for the woman that he was no longer going to be able to come home to. His way of saying, I’m sorry, but i will always be here, and you will always be my home.

Taking a deep breath, the former lieutenant gathered her thoughts, “because daddy wanted you to remember him Raiden, that’s his way of saying that he will always be with you.”

The little boy nodded again, eyes still scanning the tags he wore before noticing the same ones that hung around his mother’s neck.

Examining both his father’s and mother’s necklaces, Raiden looked on with curiosity, “what does it say mommy?”

Y/N took both tags in her hand for her son to see.

R.O.K. ARMY

Byun, Baekhyun

- 050692

Blood Type: O

R.O.K. AIR FORCE

Y/L/N, Y/N

- 080514

Blood Type: _

“This is daddy’s name, and this is mommy’s name.” Y/N explained, and the little boy smiled with pride. Then she flipped the tags over, a new engraving, one that she had made shortly after Raiden came into her world.

To our son Raiden Byun, we will love you even after our hearts stop beating.

— end.

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