Tumgik
#that feeling really started to fester and I just felt like shit forever
00ops1e · 9 months
Text
Sunshine for Everyone pt.2
Tumblr media
Pricefield! Fluff!
Life is Strange - Max Caufield x Chloe Price
After saving Chloe at the expense of Arcadia Bay, our favorite girls are forced to flee their hometown. It soon becomes apparent that while they can run from the storm, running from their desires just isn't plausible.
click here for part one
“I swear I could sleep forever,” Max mutters, cuddling into the blanket further. The motel had proven to be a good idea, using someone else’s hot water and blankets was always nice. The pair were too tired to even notice the television only had four channels, or that the mattress was a little lumpy. Maybe things just weren’t so bad if they had each other.
“We can stay as long as you'd like,” Chloe trails off, “s’cheap enough anyways we deserve a vacation.” she babbles with eyes half closed, no longer sure of her words. The girls lay in bed, inches between. The last room available happened to be a single, and she had managed to haggle the price down, so fucking score again. When the man in the office mentioned the single bed, Chloe felt something flutter deep in her gut. It was a giddy, childlike feeling, but muddled with some sort of anxiety. 
Max shifted in the bed, mind still racing, “Will you hold me?” She heard the words fall from her lips before they even registered in her brain. The question appears to catch both girls off guard. It hung in the air for a moment, Max began to babble, face growing red, “I- 'm sorry I really didn’t mean to… I just, I can't stop it's all too much. I don’t know what's w-wrong with me.”
Without hesitation, she pulls the smaller girl into her arms, as if rehearsed, as if Chloe had been waiting a lifetime. Instantly the tension evicts Max’s body. The sweet musk of her shampoo, perfume, whatever it was completely enveloped Chloe. Holding her tight just felt natural, like all was well with the world. Comforting others has never come easy for Chloe, always awkward, never knowing what to say or do. Not with Max though, she made everything easy. Existing with her felt like hearing an old song and singing along perfectly, yet recalling none of the lyrics. She traces small circles into Max’s back, the smaller girl somewhat buried in her chest.
“There is nothing wrong with you,” Chloe starts, angry at the world for putting her max through all of this, “y-you didn't ask for any of this. You shouldn't have seen even half the shit you did. Max, I swear to you if there was a way I could take it all away, I’d do it.” Max looks up at her, tears in those beautiful blue eyes threatening to spill. A pang of fear hits Chloe right in the gut. Did she say something wrong? Did Chloe cause those tears? 
She begins to ramble, “Shit, I’m not saying I'm not glad I found you again, or that you shouldn’t have saved me or-or anything like that,” a sense of urgency laced her tone, god she was supposed to be helping not making it worse. “I just- I wish I could fix it, seriously Max. I am so so fucking happy you’re with me again. I don’t know, I guess, i-i just feel like it's all my fault” Her voice thickened towards the end, holding back a sob. ‘This is not about you Chloe,’ she thinks, reprimanding herself for being so selfish. But the guilt had been festering, gnawing at her organs like some feral dog with a bone. She was the reason the whole world had turned upside down.
“C-Chloe,” Max mumbled, sitting up to look at her properly. With shaky hands, she took the girl's face in her hands. Forcing Chloe to meet her eyes, hands lingering on her cheeks a bit too long before pushing the messy blue hair behind her ears. Her hands rest languidly on Chloe’s shoulders, reassuring her somehow. Max sat and contemplated her next words before answering, “None of this was you, okay? This is some freak-supernatural stuff okay? I do not blame you. Do you hear me? Please don't ever think that. I’d go through it all again if it meant I had you. Chloe, you're my best friend.”
It was like Max was able to reach inside and undo the knots in Chloe’s stomach. No one had ever done so with such ease, such grace. Not even Rachel, though that hurt to admit. Max just knew her, regardless of the years apart. Deep down, way below the rough punk girl exterior, Chloe was still the same little girl Max had grown up with. A soft smile inched its way to the surface, god how could she not smile looking at her? The way her hair fell, perfectly framed those soft doe eyes. Those fucking freckles and long lashes. The way Max would look up at her, eyelids heavy, how could anyone keep a straight face? Chloe hadn’t realized she was staring until she felt a soft squeeze on her shoulder.
“Thank you,” Chloe mustered up, embarrassment pricking at her cheeks. She shifted in place, yearning for closeness once more. These feelings, they can't be normal. Max’s words reverberate in her skull, ‘my best friend’  they stung a little. Those ten letters formed a lump in her throat, a pit in her chest. The words had some sort of mal effect on her, and she just couldn’t pinpoint the reason. Chloe once again chalked it up to just feeling weird about Arcadia.
The blank look in Chloe’s eyes prompts Max to speak. Whatever had her in such a trance could not possibly be kind. Max used a shaky hand to brush the girl’s cheek, “Do you think we could get some sleep now?” she proposed, pulling Chloe from the complexities that danced in her mind. 
She nods silently and lays her head on the pillow, wriggling slightly to settle in. Max drapes an arm around her shoulders, pulling that mess of blue hair onto her chest. Upon feeling the weight on her chest, Max lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. This was a comfort unknown to her, never before had she felt this light. An absentminded hand travels to Chloe’s hair, despite all the bleach and dye damn it was soft. With her fingers tangled in the blue locks, everything felt right in the world.
“Everything that happened was so terrible,” Max breathes, wanting to offer one final comfort before slumber claimed them both, “It was so terrible, we’re not okay. But we’re gonna be. We can work through it Price, we’re a team and-and we can heal together. I’ll help you, we don't have to face things alone.” max consoled, her voice wavering ever so slightly. 
“It's you and me against the world Caufield, now and forever,” Chloe assured, tightening her grip on the smaller girl, as if afraid she’d get snatched away, “seriously max, what would I do without you?” she let out a small chuckle before closing her eyes and passing out, still entangled with her best friend.
I have yet to begin writing the rest of this (call of duty brainrot is taking over my life) but i promise my google doc has many many ideas. stay tuned ig? lots of love, liz
52 notes · View notes
antique-traveler · 2 years
Note
i am an absolute sucker for hurt/comfort and your most recent fic took me out and made me feel mushy emotions.
i got to daydreaming ab college mattfoggy. we all know the flashback where foggy seemed kinda shocked when matt explained he stitched his dad up. i’m picturing a night where the boys are just a lil tipsy and it’d be oh so painful and fluffy at the same time if foggy started to press more ab matt’s dad and we get to hear some fluff and tragedy bc that’s what matt’s childhood with his dad was like. i think that foggy is an incredible listener and hearing matt pour his heart out about his dad so passionately has foggy feeling the feels (some romantic ones if you’re catching my drift lmao)
ah i'm so glad you liked the fic!! i'm so proud of that one, and i was really hoping it'd be received well.
this prompt was so cute i just had to write something for it immediately. don't ask me where all this insane writing motivation has come from in the last few weeks, i have no idea lol
1.4k, T, references to blood, takes place on the same night as the flashback in Nelson v. Murdock
Foggy’s buzz is just starting to be replaced by a dull throbbing in his head by the time they make it back to the dorm. Tonight felt like it meant something, like some sort of butterfly effect puzzle piece had just slotted into place, and now Foggy’s life is set on a new path, one that Matt’s guaranteed to be in. As Foggy closes the door behind him, Matt’s already sitting on the floor, back against his bed with his long legs splayed out in front of him. It’s adorable and sincere and Foggy’s inhibitions are still lowered just enough that he slumps right down next to him, sitting criss-cross applesauce like he’s in kindergarten again. 
Foggy leans his head on Matt’s shoulder, and Matt leans his head on Foggy’s head, and Foggy chuckles a little at the Jenga tower of heads they’re making. And then he stops laughing because wow, that’s actually kind of a horrifying image.
Matt reaches up and takes off his glasses, toeing off his shoes clumsily as he does it. “What’re you laughing about?”
Foggy can’t really find a way to congeal all the grotesque images his brain has conjured up into one sentence, so he just settles on, “Heads.”
“Heads?” Matt laughs. “Like, just heads, no bodies? That’s dark, Fogs.”
Foggy takes in a deep breath and settles into Matt’s shoulder a little more. “No, you see, it’s actually a metaphor for… the effects of capitalism on the… wig… industry.”
“Sure,” Matt agrees skeptically, and Foggy hangs on to the low melody of it, letting Matt’s voice run along his skin like wind, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Foggy’s not totally oblivious. He knows that Matt’s hot, he knows that he knows that Matt’s hot. Fuck, fine, he knows that Matt’s more than hot, that he’s kind and ambitious and funny and smart as they come. And leaning into Matt’s shoulder like this, Foggy feels like a traitor, not to himself but to Matt. Because this has got to be taking advantage of him, right? Foggy’s indulging his dumbass schoolboy crush and blaming it on all the booze and no matter what comes of it, one of them will end up hurt. Either Foggy tells Matt that he’s a little bit, sort of, very, extremely in love with him, and Matt goes into a heterosexual tizzy and leaves Foggy behind, heartbroken.
Or Foggy doesn’t tell him. He keeps it locked up inside and follows Matt around for the rest of their lives like a lost puppy and lets the love and admiration and hopelessness fester inside him until he dies and Matt will never know just how much he means to Foggy, never know that Foggy would follow him to the ends of the earth if it meant he’d get to see him do those little happy jumps again.
Foggy stares at the veins on Matt’s hand, at the way his calves curve in his pants, at the soft, relaxed smile, on his face and decides that, if it means he gets to stay this close forever, he’s fine keeping a secret. 
Shit, if Foggy keeps thinking about this the sadness is probably gonna start leaking out of him and staining the carpet. He changes the subject. “God, man, nine years old when you had your first drink? That’s badass.”
Matt chuckles a little, holding something back behind it. “Yeah, after that I’d always get a shot or two of whiskey whenever my dad needed patching up. It was always our thing, you know? Our boys’ night. I’d listen to my dad fight, he’d come home, we’d clink our glasses and throw a couple shots back, and then I’d get to work sewing him back up.” Matt says it with this wistful note in his voice, nonchalant and nostalgic as if he were recounting something completely mundane like family picnics or something.
Foggy sits up from Matt’s shoulder and examines his face. His eyes are heavy lidded, that same relaxed smile still sitting on his face, and Foggy’s heart breaks a little. “Shit, Matt, I’m sorry you had to go through that. You… you know that that’s not really, like, a normal father-son bonding thing, right?” It’s probably not the right thing to say, Foggy’s mother would probably scold him for being so blunt, but they’re both drunk and loopy and now a little sad so Foggy thinks he gets a free pass.
Once Foggy says it, the smile drops from Matt’s face and something behind his eyes goes a little cold. “... Yeah,” he says, chewing on the inside of his lip. “There was this one time, only a couple months before he… you know. He was supposed to go down in the ninth round, they wanted to keep up the suspense, you know? That just meant that my dad had more time to get beat on, though. By the time he got home, he was cut up all over and he… reeked of blood. I stayed up past sunrise patching him up. I tried to wash it all off of my hands afterwards, but when I went to school, I… I still had blood under my fingernails.”
Foggy is silent. He puts a pin in the questions he had, questions of how someone could “reek” of blood, or how Matt knew there was blood under his fingernails if he couldn’t see them. Instead, he just lays a hand on top of Matt’s where it rests on the floor between them, and whispers, “I’m sorry.”
Matt takes in a quick, deep breath and blinks a couple times. “Yeah, you know, I– I’ve taken off the rose-colored glasses in the last couple years, and I… I don’t think he was really that great of a dad. Don’t get me wrong, he did the best he could, and he was a good man, but… I don’t think a good dad would make his son do that. Maybe under other circumstances, he could have been better, but… he shouldn’t have let me get so much of his blood on my hands.”
Apparently, Matt has sobered up quite a bit since they got back to the dorm if he was able to deliver such a verbal knock-out. Foggy swallows through the tightness in his throat and turns Matt’s hand over, lacing their fingers together and squeezing slightly. Emotional honesty had never come easy to Matt, at least, not in the three years that Foggy had known him, and now he felt like he owed Matt something in return. Maybe if Matt could survive all that with his dad, then Foggy’s secret wouldn’t be so monumental in comparison. 
“I already said it,” Foggy whispers, “but I’m sorry you went through all that.”
Matt just turns his face a little towards Foggy and puts on a small, sad smile. “It’s okay, Foggy,” he says. “I think things are better now. Now I have you.”
Fuck, if there wasn’t a lump in Foggy’s throat before, there sure is now. He takes a deep breath and lets himself close his eyes in anticipation, knowing that Matt can’t see him do it. “I love you, man,” he says, and hopes it’s not too casual, hopes that Matt won’t misunderstand and make him say it again.
“I love you, too, Fogs,” Matt says, and Foggy feels his heartbeat echo through his whole body because now he has to say it again. He can’t let Matt go through life orphaned and still feeling his father’s blood under his fingernails and not knowing how big Foggy’s heart gets whenever Matt’s near.
Foggy jumps out of the frying pan and prays he doesn’t get burned too bad. “No, Matt, I–”
“It’s okay, Foggy,” Matt cuts him off before he can finish. “I know.”
Matt brings their interlaced hands up to his face and presses a kiss, the most gentle and light and honest kiss Foggy’s ever felt, to Foggy’s knuckles. The fire is certainly hotter than the frying pan, but Foggy isn’t getting burned, he’s getting perfectly warmed through and through. Without another word, Matt lets go of Foggy’s hand, strips off his scarf and jacket and crawls into his bed, still in his street clothes. 
Foggy sits on the floor, back pressed up against Matt’s bed where he can hear his breathing already leveling off, and runs a finger across his knuckles. 
Definitely a better outcome than he was predicting, then. 
16 notes · View notes
Text
Okay so lately it’s been a struggle but probs best to get it out then let it fester.
Let’s start from the beginning.
Me and this guy had known each other, well knew of each other, in high school. Same year same classes all that shit, but we never spoke. In year 11 however, I became quite close with his best friend and obviously as his best friends birthday was coming I figured, why not ask him what I should get him (bc mine and his best friend’s friendship was still quite new at the time but I wanted to do smth nice bc that’s just me). I didn’t expect it to be so easy for me to talk to him, like it blew my mind. And fast forward a few months, we weren’t really talking but if we were, it was about his best friends birthday and what we were gonna get him etc etc. but one day, all of my emotions that I kept bottled up (healthy ikr) burst and I couldn’t calm myself down. No one was picking up and bc he and I weren’t that close, I was worried he wouldn’t either. But he did. He picked up on the second ring and asked me what was wrong and I burst out crying then and there and he stayed with me for as long as I needed. Obviously I did my best with him to be there for him and we made it work. He was genuinely like family to me, the older brother I always wanted.
Then it was just blow after blow after blow. Life knocking me down but I still tried to keep going even though it felt like I was drowning. He honest to God saved me more times than he knows and I will be eternally grateful. He taught me that friendships and relationships require love and effort and just being open. I had never been as open with anyone about things that have happened in my past as I had with him. I digress, I was spiralling (as I so often seem to do nowadays and it’s exhausting) and he stayed with me through every single one of them and said ‘I got you I’m here, I’m never gonna leave’ - famous last words lmfao. I said ‘don’t make promises you can’t keep’ and he goes, ‘I never felt like anyone understood me until I met you, I pray for you everyday, I pray that we stay like brother and sister forever and always’, he said that to me yk and it hit me hard and I somehow found myself believing his words.
I never claimed to be perfect, I told him that from the jump. I told him I’m hard to love, that it’s hard for me to open up, that it’s super hard for me to trust and it’s bc of my dumbass brain that sometimes I can get distant but only bc I start to self sabotage when I feel like things are going too well (I’m working on it I promise). He said ‘what are big brothers for? You’ll always have me to fall back on’. We had our first big argument a few months after and though we both needed time, within the next few days we spoke everything through. On the phone for hours trying to work through it and what I respected most was his honesty. I accepted accountability for my part and he for his. Again I’m not perfect, so fucking far from it and I can admit that but he accepted me for me, and life all of a sudden didn’t seem so bad. He was my best friend.
Then within the last few months, like literally the last 2, things began to feel off. He wouldn’t answer my messages but then spam me with loads during the night. Or just wouldn’t reply. I’m fine if you don’t reply for days or if you’re busy I get it I get it, everyone has lives to live but I started feeling unwanted. We still called and I asked him about it but he claimed it was family stuff and we spoke about that too. It felt normal again but maybe that was just me being naive. I asked him if it was anything I did or if there was anything I could do to help and he said ‘you help me a lot just by being here and listening, my boys didn’t even wish my good luck on my test. No one remembered but you and I’m so grateful so never doubt that place that you have in my life or my heart’. Now see if someone says sweet things like that, you’re inclined to believe them right? So I did, i did my part, went above and beyond for this boy but it started to feel like the friendship was running its course yk?
Fortunately that’s when I met another friend. Funny how life works like that right 😂 they were and are a blessing. I just wish we weren’t so far away :/. Anyway we’ll get to that later. As my friendship with him was declining, my friendship with them was just starting and it was easy. Easier than I expected and I say this bc once things were going downhill with him, I promised myself that I wouldn’t let anyone in but they so casually just broke down almost all my walls. My new friend and I are still rather new to each other so I didn’t and still don’t want to bother them with my problems when mine appear so trivial. But I do love them with all my heart and I hope they know that I don’t mean to be distant, it’s just been hard when I do everything I can to block things out. Especially with it being this time of year (other reasons)
Again I digress, he claimed that I did nothing wrong, there were so many nights where I was just sat thinking over everything we’d said that day and in the days previously and if I even thought smth small could’ve done smth, i spoke to him the next day but he swore on God that it was nothing to do with me (I believed him bc we only swore to God when it was smth serious, so like if one of us said that it was like an indirect way of saying trust me we’re all good). And then it just went silent. No calls no texts, left me on read but still viewed my stories and everything which slightly confused me but yeah we just stopped talking. I kept texting and called too but it started to look like harassment so I eventually stopped Bc I got the hint. It would’ve been nice to know where I stood with him earlier on so I wouldn’t have had to invest this much time and love into him. I’m angry rn but only bc the love ran so deep. I still have so much love for him and I’m finding it impossible to hate him.
This was so recent too - within the last few weeks and I feel like it’s started to impact my other friendships. I’ve stopped really talking about myself bc I don’t want to be sad anymore. I’d rather keep distracted by talking about others plus I think I talk too much anyway (case in point) and they’re probably gonna start getting sick of me too lol but Um yeah. This is very very long but doubt anyone’s gonna read it so I think that’s it for now
1 note · View note
Note
the [redacted for being sad] reminds me of in seventh grade when we asked the (awesome) english teacher why she had an acting degree and she said "we all had dreams once"
Here lies squidward's hopes and dreams
#personal#I mean the story behind it isn't like. THAT sad in the grand scheme of things#so I can tell it I just didn't feel like wasting more tags on something that was gonna make me sad#but if u want the full unredacted story here goes (it's v long):#my school never taught drama while I was there just bc there was no budget for it#there wasn't even a drama club for most of my time there#if I was really determined to take it I would have had to travel to another school several times a week#which I was willing to do. like. the other schools weren't that far away#but somehow my mother thought this would be an incredible burden on her? somehow?#bc she really didn't want me going to study drama for several reasons#but tried to be sneaky about it and be like ''well here's this drama club in the town centre u can go to! :)''#and just kind of hoped that would be enough for me and that I wouldn't notice what she did#I just never brought it up again bc I knew I wasn't gonna get any support#ngl to this day I'm annoyed that she insulted my intelligence like that and that what I wanted didn't matter but we move#and that drama club was fun. went to it for like 3 years until I graduated and made some good friends#but as time went by and I got into a deeper spiral feeling useless and in a panic about my future and lack of passion#generally feeling like my future wasn't worth living#that feeling really started to fester and I just felt like shit forever#the last time I went to the drama club everyone was just chatting about how they wanted to get into acting#and all the auditions they had for stuff and I had to work so hard to hide the fact that I wanted to cry#bc I wanted that so desperately#I was going into a course I had 0 passion for. could see no future in for myself. didn't even think I was capable of completing#major Oof moment#*bdg voice* give up on your dreams of becoming an actor. you gotta give up on your dreams (clap clap)#the good news is that this doesn't really have a miserable ending#time has passed. I'm doing different stuff. I'm doing a course I'm 1. interested in 2. that has a future and 3. I'm decent at#and I'm actually okay with the life I'm currently living. I actually want a nice future in the games industry#and to have. like. a nice lil flat w a lil succulent plant and shit#both the big things and the little things about my future no longer bum me tf out#I'm just generally doing okay!! And I'm completely fine not studying drama for a lot of reasons
4 notes · View notes
the-hidden-pages · 2 years
Text
Masked: Adrian Chase/Vigilante x Fem!Reader SMUT
This funky little murderer really got my heart. This one’s really self-indulgent, but I can’t believe that Adrian isn’t soft as hell and Vigilante is a kinky shit.
Enjoy 4.6k words of some uneditted soft followed by pure filth, ya sinners.
Tumblr media
Synopsis: After dating Adrian Chase for some time, you eventually find out that your sweet, mildly eccentric boyfriend is a masked vigilante with a hard-on for killing criminals. And you don’t have a problem with it - well, you do have one. You like it. You like it a little too much.
Warnings: NSFW, Consensual Non-Consent. Weapons Kink. Fucking in a Forest. The Mask Stays On. Criminal/Anti-Hero Roleplay. Dirty Talk. Established Relationship.
You hadn’t been seeing Adrian Chase for years and years, but you felt you had a solid understanding of who your boyfriend was as a person.
Your sweet boy was a little odd, for sure. Eccentric and all over the place, with the energy of a young puppy. His jokes would sometimes not land in certain crowds, but the pure joy he got out of even telling them would always bring a smile to your face. And despite being a bit off, he would always take time to make sure that you were okay, that you were looked after, that you were feeling loved.
He was a warm ray of sunshine, plain and simple.
But there had always been something…off. More off than his occasionally odd mannerisms or poorly timed jokes. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but it felt like there was a layer you weren’t seeing clearly, something hidden behind his warm smiles and bright eyes.
A darkness festering.
You never called him out on it. You figured that in time, it would reveal itself. Adrian was always good at talking with you, so you had no doubt that with a little time, intentionally or not, he might slip up and confess what it was.
It was just another night when the confession came, albeit in a very unplanned way.
You had spent the night at Adrian’s, as you had been doing more and more frequently. A quiet, soft morning of cuddling and kissing your partner had been cut short, however, when a call came in, the sounds of Aqua interrupting your serene moment.
Short words were exchanged, and by the time the phone was hung up a hint of frustration and malice burned behind the emerald eyes you were falling in love with.
You sit up slowly, the blankets shifting down to reveal the shirt you had stolen from him – the heart eyes Adrian gave you when you exited his bathroom in only a black D20 shirt and panties would live in your mind forever – and you reach forward slowly to wrap an arm around him. Your lips pepper kisses onto his bare shoulder, taking a moment to (once again) marvel at how unexpectedly toned he was.
“Everything okay?” you mumble against his skin, looking up at him.
He tilts his head down to face you, malice turning to wonder in his eyes. You really could stare at them forever, behind those dorky frames that were really starting to grow on you.
“Work needs an extra guy,” he answered, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead before standing up.
You groaned, lying back on his pillows, and watching as his muscles flex, pulling on his shirt.
“But it’s our day off!” you whine, curling back up in the bed.
Adrian turns back towards you, curls messy and glasses askew from putting on his shirt. He quickly straightened his frames and walked back over to you leaning down to place a lingering kiss on your lips.
“Stay here as long as you want, I don’t want to ruin your day off. I don’t know when I’ll be back, so don’t wait around, but maybe we can do something tonight?”
You groan again, winding your arm around his neck to pull him down to your lips again. Your hand grasps his hair, not hard enough to pull, but enough that you could feel Adrian’s breathe stutter against you.
“I can’t convince you to say fuck it?” you mumble against his lips.
It was his turn to groan.
“I want to, fuck I really want to.” Emerald eyes meet yours, filled with regret as he pulls away, running a hand through his hair. “I need to go, though.”
“Mmm, fine.  I’m going back to sleep,” you sigh, lying down more comfortably and closing your eyes.
Adrian pauses in the doorway and leans against it, a goofy smile plastered on his face as he watches you.
“What?” you mumble, face half-smushed in the pillow, sensing him looking.
He shrugs, turning to leave. “I like that you’re comfy here. You’re cute, surrounded by my stuff.”
You crack your eyes open again, holding back a laugh.
“Adrian.”
“Yeah?” He turns back to you, eyes wide.
“I think work needs you wearing pants.”
He tenses, looking down at his bare legs, before the familiar goofy grin returns. You chuckle as he darts around the room, fully dressing, and leaving you to return to your dreams.
You really hadn’t intended to stay in Adrian’s home for the whole day. You had errands to run, your own home to clean, a life of your own.
But you were so comfortable there. The extra sleep had proved to be the deepest one you’d had in months, and waking up surrounded by his scent, his things, really all things Adrian left you feeling warm and fuzzy inside.
So, you took your time moving, took the time to make the bed, and made your way to the kitchen to make a very late breakfast.
By the time you had really pulled yourself together, it was dark.
And remembering his potential promise of seeing each other in the night, and his reassurance that you could stay as long as you wanted, you figured you’d wait it out.
It was an enjoyable lazy evening. You ordered a pizza; one you could save half of for Adrian when he got home and curled up with a silly anime you hadn’t watched since high school.
Hell, you two had gotten this far, the man might as well find you squealing on his couch because of a slow-burn romance.
You weren’t worried when Adrian was gone all day. In hindsight, maybe you should have been. Maybe it could have prepared you for the situation.
Shortly after midnight, the front door burst open. You glanced up to see a man clad in a suit made up of blues and greys collapsing into the doorway, locking the door immediately behind him.
You froze, immobile.
Vigilante was here for Adrian? Why? Your Adrian couldn’t be a criminal. Not your sweet man that would hold you and comfort you and tell the strangest jokes and sing both parts to Barbie Girl and Promiscuous and -
The intruder moved, reaching up to rip his mask off, revealing familiar curls and a flushed face, eyes shut in pain and mouth agape as he sucked in air like a dying man.
You couldn’t help the surprised. squeak that left you.
Emerald eyes opened in shock to meet yours.
Adrian was Vigilante. Your sweet, D&D loving, lore-spouting boy was the same masked man murdering criminals and calling it justice. Your Adrian was him.
And he was…bleeding. Vigilante was bleeding. Adrian was bleeding.
A panicked mumble of your name leaves his lips as you dart up off the couch, walking quickly over to him.
“Shut up. Where are you hurt?”
You patched him up that night and left.
You couldn’t think.
Not when the sweet eyes were looking at you with so much love and fear.
So, with a promise that his secret would always be safe with you, you took the time you needed to think.
Days passed. And then a week.
You mulled over everything. The danger, the risks, on all sides. On one hand, any enemies Vigilante made could come for you, if his identify ever leaked. On the other, Adrian himself, who was once just a busboy, a nerd (albeit a strong as hell one), and your boyfriend was now…a killer. A man who delighted in hunting down criminals, from something as small as graffiti to as large as murder.
He liked the risk, the control, the power, the violence, the hunt.
You should hate that, you rationalized.
It should terrify you that your boyfriend is this person. It should repulse you. It should be somewhat off-putting, at least.
So why, every time you thought about it, did you get horny?!
After nine days, you couldn’t put it off any longer.
You had been together long enough that you knew his schedule pretty well, so unless he had picked up another shift (or was doing Vigilante work), he was very likely at home.
And as luck would have it, the door swung open, revealing wide eyes and a mouth already open to spew apologies.
You say nothing, instead stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his middle, embracing him tightly. He tenses, unsure if he should move. “We have a lot to talk about,” you mumble against his chest.
You feel him move to push the door closed behind you.
“I can’t stop being him.”
You shake your head, still clinging. “I’m not asking you too.”
Finally, he relaxes, arms coming around to hold you.
“I love you,” he whispers, and you smile.
“I know.”
The night is filled with conversation, the pair of you sitting on the couch and talking for hours. You’d ask him what it was like, being Vigilante. If he was always coming home hurt, how dangerous it really was for him. He asked over a dozen times if you were scared of him, if you could forgive him for hiding it from you. There were some tears, but the moment they arose, one of you would cut the tension with a joke and a fit of giggles.
After many hours and a couple of drinks between you, you felt everything was settled. You laid on a pillow on his lap as he lightly played with your hair. Your eyes were closed, content, but he couldn’t help but look at you.
“You know I won’t ever hurt you, right?” he questioned you for the sixth time that night.
Maybe it was the drink, or the exhaustion, or the fact that you had reassured him six times prior and wanted to shake things up. Whatever it was, you couldn’t stop your lips from curling upward.
“What if I want you to hurt me?”
A moments pause was all it took for you to realize what you had said.
You peeked your eyes open to gauge Adrian’s reaction to them.
He just looked…perplexed, in that cute, clueless way of his.
“Why would you want me to hurt you?”
“I…oh forget it, I’ll probably sound crazy,” you laugh it off, sitting up to take your empty cups into his kitchen, determined to stop the conversation before it went too far.
He stopped you from even getting up though, hands reaching out to grab yours as he sat forward to face you, legs crossed.
“Everyone thinks I’m crazy, and that doesn’t stop you from being with me.”
“Well, you’re a cute kind of crazy,” you tease lightly, and he grins widely.
“And I’m sure your crazy will be even cuter! So, spill.”
You sigh and lean back on the couch, taking your hands away from his to play with your fingers. You avoided his eyes as well as you could, looking anywhere else.
“I…I mean…Have you…shit…” you’re already red, but Adrian just sits patiently, cluelessly as you struggle.
You breathe deeply. “Have you…ever had sex in the Vigilante suit?”
Adrian’s eyes nearly bug out of his head, and you immediately start to babble in some attempt to defend yourself. “I mean, I’m just curious, right? I mean, you hurt and kill people in that thing, so I’m not saying it’s inherently sexy. It’s just, you’re always so gentle and sweet – and I love that! I’m not saying I don’t love that, or that I’m not satisfying, cause, Jesus, Adrian you’re wonderful. I was just wondering, I mean, if you’ve ever had a sort of power-trip fantasy or anything. Not that I think it would be hot or anything, you fucking me in the suit. That would definitely…be…weird…”
You trail off hopelessly, noticing that Adrian’s eyes are still wide, only now they aren’t looking at you, and he’s clenching the pillow on his lap tightly.
You groan, rubbing your temple and squeezing your eyes. shut. “I’ve freaked you out, Adrian I’m so sorr-“
“You want to fuck Vigilante?”
Opening your eyes again, you gently place your hand on his leg. Adrian jumps a bit, but you just try to rub it soothingly.
“I mean, he’s you, isn’t he?”
“Well, yeah, I mean…” Adrian breathes, finally looking at you. “You…want me to fuck you while wearing it?”
“I…kind of?”
He goes silent again.
“Just…you kill people in that. And it really shouldn’t be a turn on. But I started thinking about it a couple nights ago, and you’re just so sweet Adrian, that the thought of you…doing that is…I don’t know. It’s pretty hot.”
The small beginnings of a smile form on his face, though he looks away once more.
You’re determined to make things more casual, to cut the tension that had started to suffocate the room. “I mean, come on. There’s not a single fantasy in that head? You have a dirty mind; I know that better than most. No…whisper in the back of your head about…tying me up and Vigilante having his way with me?”
Adrian coughs, and you notice him shift under the pillow.
It’s then that you notice how flushed he is, and how dark his eyes are.
You feel a smile of your own begin to grow.
“Adrian…move the pillow.”
He clears his throat. “No…no, I’m good.”
“Adrian Chase.”
“That’s me – hey!”
He protests but doesn’t fight you when you snatch the pillow from his lap, revealing a very evident hard-on.
“So, you have thought about it!” you cackle, tossing the pillow and situating yourself in it’s place.
Adrian’s legs straighten out and he instinctually puts his hands on your waist.
“Well, I don’t know! I thought when you’d learned I was him you’d run away, not get horny!”
You laugh, peppering kisses on his face. He giggles happily at the notion.
“Well,” you chuckle, “I am your girlfriend. How boring would it be if you were the only crazy one?”
The man’s face is beaming, happier than you’d ever seen him.  You didn’t realize then how relaxing it must have been, to finally get to stop hiding half of who he was.
“So, Vigilante…” you purr, and you feel Adrian shudder underneath you as you grind against the tent in his jeans. “I believe we have some matters to discuss.”
Adrian stands up and you squeal in surprise, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you to his bedroom.
“We definitely do.”
You had worked out an arrangement very quickly, though there was something about following through on this fantasy that had your blood pumping, your mind racing.
You knew your safe-word, you knew Adrian – no, you knew Vigilante would stop if you used it.
But actually running through the forest, heart pumping, lungs burning, as a chilling bastardization of your boyfriend’s laugh followed you had you terrified.
And you loved it.
All you could do was keep running, that was the game, after all. You were a criminal, a low life, on the run for who knows what reason. All that mattered was you were running.
And you were his target.
“You really think you can get away?” an incredulous voice sounds behind you. You don’t look back, continuing to stumble your way through the trees.
You come up to a larger one, planning to take a hard turn in some attempt to throw him off.
What you don’t expect is for the whistling of a knife to sail past your ear, lodging in the tree directly ahead of you, where your head would be in maybe one more second.
You shriek, sliding to a stop and colliding directly into the tree, eyes glued to the knife.
Your brain swims.
Adrian wouldn’t really hurt you, would he? He was strong, he was capable. He knew where he was aiming, didn’t he?
Your adrenaline was pumping, and you were so lost in your shock that you didn’t notice the figure catching up to you before it was too late.
Within moments you were pinned to the tree, panting heavily as the masked man stared at you, emotions unreadable behind the red visor.
You shout, but he just snorts, not even bothering to cover your mouth.
“We’re in the middle of nowhere, sweetheart. No one to hear you for miles and miles and miles…”
Vigilante’s hands made quick work as you squirmed, tying some rope around your hands, and suspending them above you. The knife that had nearly struck your head sits nicely in his hands, and he uses the flat side of it to force your head up to look at him, the point barely grazing your neck.
Your heartbeat flutters.
“Shame you had to go breaking the law,” the voice that sounds behind the mask is familiar, it’s Adrian, but somehow, it’s not. It’s more playful, more confident, more condescending, more teasing. “I’d hate to kill such a pretty face…”
“Bet you say that to all the girls you kill,” you spit out, wrists pulling against your restraints fruitlessly.
Fuck, your hands being tied already has your body singing.
You can hear the smirk in his voice. “No, they’re usually too dead to talk. But you…” the knife trails down, lingering between your clothed breasts. “I almost want to find another use for you.”
A hint of hope enters your voice. “You’ll let me go?”
A sharp, almost cruel laugh leaves the mask, and you shriek as the knife is stabbed into the tree above you, too close to your face.
He continues laughing, taking a step back to look at you, tied up with a couple of tears sliding down your face.
“That, that’s funny! Now, come on. What sort of a hero would I be if I just…let you go? No punishment, nothing to stop you from getting that cute little butt of yours all wrapped up in crime again?”
He tilts his head, almost comically, before stepping back towards you. He reaches towards the holster at his side and pulls out a small pistol.
You don’t know a lot about guns, but you know enough that the clicking sound of the hammer being pulled back sent chills down your spine.
You feel a throb between your legs.
The cold barrel of the gun is pressed against your cheek, the red visor of Vigilante’s mask revealing nothing of what the man might be thinking.
“So, how do you prove to me that you’ll be a good girl from here on out, hmm?”
Fuck.
You don’t know.
You didn’t have a script to follow, but you sure as hell weren’t going to keep this scene paused for too long to figure it out.
So, you did the one thing your brain was screaming at you to do and hoped it would be the right move.
You didn’t say anything, but instead turned your head to the side slowly, keeping your eyes on the red visor, as you wrapped your lips around the cold steel of the gun the same way you would on your boyfriend’s dick.
It’s deathly silent for a moment, and you freeze like a deer caught in headlights, terrified you had made the wrong move.
“Oh…Shit,” you hear softly, and you could’ve laughed at how much more that sounded like your Adrian. You wondered, if the mask weren’t there, if he’d have that wide-eyed wonder, his mouth hitting the floor as if you were the most surprising, beautiful thing he had ever come across.
But instead, you feel him push the cold barrel of the gun deeper into your mouth, leaving you to choke a bit at both the motion of the intrusion, and the unpleasant cold metallic taste now flooding your senses.
“So, the little whore wants to prove her worth, hmm?” that sickly sweet voice croons, pulling his hand back so that the gun exits your mouth, leaving you to splutter for air.
His body presses closer against you, the heat of his solid, unmoving body on one side and the cold, uneven bark of the tree leaving you claustrophobic.
Vigilante runs the tip of his gun over your lips, prompting you to attempt to lick the barrel, short whines escaping you as you hear the man giggle sadistically at your actions.
“Good girl…Good girl! You just might earn your life back yet.”
You continue to suck, mouth working as hard as you might if you were on your knees, Adrian’s hands in your hair, begging you to go faster, suck harder. But now your mind was on high alert, aware that the gun was primed and ready to fire, aware that your life was completely in Vigilante’s hands.
God, you’re already wet.
Your mind hazy already, you whine and gasp for air as the gun is slowly pulled from your lips, tossed carelessly to the ground.
You jump, waiting for it to go off from the impact.
The masked man laughs, gloved hand caressing your jaw, thumb pressing lightly on your throat.
“Relax, sweetheart, I won’t hurt you…too much.”
His right hand reaches up and yanks the knife from the tree bark, and in a similar manner to before, he trails it down your chest.
Only this time, he begins to cut away your clothes with it, hands and blade making quick work of your shirt. He hums a directionless tune as he goes.
Your pants are next to go, although these he undoes and pulls down your legs himself, leaving them pooled around your feet.
Adrian had been on his knees for you plenty of times before, eyes wide, begging to taste you, to touch you. But Vigilante was looking up at you a different way. Eyes obscured by red took their time scanning your legs, before lingering on the space between.
“My, my,” you can hear the smirk as he stands up slowly, knife blade once again dancing along your skin, trailing up your leg, your hip. You can already feel the cold metal warming from your boiling skin. “What could this be?”
You freeze, all your instincts screaming at you not to move an inch, as you feel the flat of the blade caress your folds.
Vigilante pulls the knife away, holding it up to your eyes. You flush as you notice the very evident arousal glistening off it.
“So wet, and I haven’t even touched you…” he mused. “How could I kill such a perfect little fucktoy?”
You whimper, and he holds the knife up to your lips.
“Clean it off, and I’ll reward you. Not with your life, but you never know, we might get there too.”
Hesitantly, you lean forward, slowly lapping up your own slick with your tongue, determined to not take your eyes off the red visor.
“Veeeery good,” he draws out. “Now…a reward!”
The knife disappears from your field of view again, only this time, you feel something round and hard being pressed against your throbbing entrance.
Gently, slowly, contrary to everything he had put you through that evening, he pushed the hilt of his knife into you, working you open.
“Good, little, whore,” he sung each word, punctuating each with a thrust of the hilt.
You can’t help but moan with every thrust, voice echoing around the forest.
Vigilante leans forward, masked mouth hovering dangerously close to your ear. “I could kill you, you know. Right here, right now. No one would find your body for days. You fucking love that, don’t you?”
You let out a high-pitched whine, already feeling your orgasm approaching.
Suddenly you’re empty, pussy clenching around nothing.
“I asked you a question,” an airy voice prompts you, and you fight back a sob.
“Yes, yes I love it. I love that you’re stronger than me, I love that my life is in your hands, I love that you’re fucking me – fuck!”
Your last word squeaks out as the hilt re-enters you.
His game continues for what feels like hours, building you up with his knife, muttering in your ear, before stopping the moment your orgasm can take over.
You’re not sure how long it’s lasted, but eventually you’re crying, Vigilante’s hands gripping your hair tightly to keep you looking at him, knife fucking you quickly.
He stops again, and you sob.
You’re babbling, you’re aware enough to know that you’re babbling, but you can’t stop the flow of words leaving your mouth.
“Please, please, oh my god Vigilante please?”
His gleeful voice chirps back. “Please? Please what?”
“Please fuck me, it’s not enough, I need more, I need you, I –“
“You…what?” he teases, running the knife blade like a feather across your throat. “Come on, little villain, let me here you beg.”
You nearly scream. “Please, I promise, I’ll never do anything wrong again. I’ll be good, I promise I’ll be good!”
He hummed, and you feel the knife leaving your throat. “Will you? Will you be good for me?”
“Yes, yes! I promise, I’ll be so good. I’ll be yours, I’ll be your fucktoy forever if you just let me live, if you just fuck me please –“
You wailed as you feel not the knife, but your boyfriend’s hard cock slowly pushes into you. You’re so out of it that you hardly process the sound of the knife clattering against the gun, both abandoned on the forest floor, instead focusing slowly on the loud grunt that escapes Vigilante as he bottoms out.
“Fuck!” he shouts, pausing for a moment. “I spent so long loosening you up and you’re still so fucking tight and wet around me, Christ.”
Without mercy, he begins fucking you hard, and you’re so far gone you don’t feel the bark of the tree roughly scratching your back.
It’s his turn to ramble, words coming out in a growl different from anything you had ever gotten out of Adrian.
“Perfect little fucktoy, so warm, so wet. I should do this more often. Tie you up for days, keep you as a pet for me and me alone. Mine to use, mine to protect, mine to fuck.”
“God, yes! Yours. I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours,” the mantra leaves your lips uncontrollably.
Adrian looks at you through the red visor, gloved hand coming up to clench around your throat. A broken moan leaves your lips as he uses the grip to tilt your face higher, taking in your tear-stained face, the drool that escaped your lips, the fucked-out expression.
He releases his grips, both hands positioning onto your waist to fuck you deeper.
“Scream my name,” he grunts, forehead coming to rest against yours. “Scream it and I’ll let you live, scream it and I’ll let you cum.”
You do just that, Vigilante’s name bouncing through the trees as you feel the waves overtake you, your world going white.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he grunts, and you feel a familiar heat seeping into you as his hips rutt into yours, riding out both of your orgasms.
For a time, all that can be heard is heavy pants, the sounds of a breeze, and the odd tweet of a bird.
It’s not long before Adrian is ripping off his mask, familiar green eyes staring at you with a combination of love, lust, awe, and concern.
“Are you alright?” he asks, quickly moving to untie your arms, wiping some stray tears from your face.
“Holyshityes,” you slur out, immediately collapsing into him when you’re untied. “I don’t think I can move, but…yes. I’m wonderful. Thank you for that.”
Adrian’s arms support you strongly as he searches your face for any hint of a lie. When he doesn’t find one, he begins peppering your face with kisses.
“I love you; you were perfect. Thank you so much for staying with me.”
As the pair of you drive home, Adrian rambling to you as he drives about the bath he’ll run, the fresh clothes he laid out, the food he’ll make and the water he’ll make you drink, your blissed out smile grows wider when you realize.
You two are going to be just fine. Mask or no mask, Adrian was yours. And you were his, no matter the cost.
2K notes · View notes
scuttle-buttle · 3 years
Text
Chapter 11
Tumblr media
WC: 2077
Rated: E
Chapter Tags: full on angst, discussions of emotional trauma, mild depictions of blood/gore, mentions of self h*rm & su*cide, mentions of child abuse, discussions of physical disabilities, institutionalization, some dialogue & plot canon to TV show, hurt/comfort
🧠
The rest of the conference went by much like the first day did. Both you and Laszlo bought a few books for your collections. An ease had settled over your conversations with the help of Sara and John's presence; you spoke more freely with each other. You tell yourself it is not because he's going soft on you or vice versa, but rather that you have found yourself in this imaginary bubble where you happen to get on well. It's inevitable that it will pop once you’re back at school and Laszlo will revert back to his usual callous state.
Laszlo. It still felt odd to think of him like that, rather than by his title. You couldn't lie, it gave you a sort of thrill. Even in your dreams you had only called him by his honorific. Thankfully you didn't have another dream after Friday. You couldn't escape the feeling that you'd said something incriminating in front of the man in question. So you chose to pretend it didn't happen.
Monday morning came and you headed to the train station. Once again he had secured a private cabin for the journey. This time you came prepared with a book since you had yet to replace your broken phone.
"Thank you again for inviting me to this, I really enjoyed myself. It was really nice of the department to foot my travel expenses, the hotel was really fancy. I may have helped myself to a mini-bottle or two," you joked.
"There is no need to worry about the department's finances; they were not involved."
You pause. He paid for you? Laszlo did say he would take care of the arrangements; but the four-star hotel, the private compartment train tickets, the admission to the conference, and every meal? Shit, that must have been a fortune, hundreds of dollars at least.
You don't know what to say, so you settle for an awkward "oh." A moment passes before you add "I appreciate that, um, I can pay you back. Might take some time but I can."
The professor is flippant in his reply. "There is no need, it was well spent for the research and knowledge acquired." He opens his book signaling the conversation is over.
You lick your lips. Fine then, I'll just consider it payment for emotional suffering and damages of the last eight weeks.
The first few hours of the journey were spent reading one of the new books you picked up at the convention. Occasionally you would peek over the pages at the professor. He was engrossed in his own selection; sometimes he would pause to write down a thought.
Around the seventh hour of your journey you had given up on reading anymore in favor of looking at the fields outside. The silence was comforting.
Laszlo had trouble concentrating on the book in his hand. He saw you as a conundrum. One minute you could be sociable and teasing with your comments, then next you were biting at his throat with your quick wit and fierce ideals. He decides that he wants to know what made you into who you are today. Now is as good a time as any.
His eyes on you cause a tingle up your spine but you ignore it. Laszlo breaks the silence; "may I ask a personal question?"
"You just did," you answer, still peering out of the large window. He huffed once, amused. At his following silence you face him. You raise your eyebrows to signal him to go on with his question. Curiosity grows at the thought of what he intends to ask.
"Twice now you have made implications of a traumatic past," he begins.
Bubble popped.
Interrupting, you snark "is this the part where you psychoanalyze me, doc? Because trust me, I've been through enough of that." You pick at the lint on your jeans.
Laszlo tries to choose his words more carefully the next time he speaks. "What I mean to say is, the first afternoon in the classroom where you defended that student you implied you had been witness to a trauma. You then displayed signs of anger and embarrassment before leaving prematurely. Yesterday you mentioned having entered a psychiatric facility. As an alienist I can't help but find myself curious about your experiences."
You slide your eyes to meet his from across the cabin. Your face is devoid of any emotion. "We all have our demons. Even you can't argue with that."
Your jaw clenches. Everyone had warned you. They all said he would try to worm his way into your head to figure you out. All the reviews, the gossip, everything. It was a big fat 'I told you so'. You give a pitiful laugh at the situation. "You know, everyone told me that you would pull this stunt."
He seems confused by your statement. "And what is that?"
"That you'd get inside my head and try to figure me all out or whatever. You already know I googled you beforehand, what everyone says about your methods. By now I assume you've done a little research yourself. I promise you there is nothing exciting here," you scoff and point to yourself.
"You would be correct in your assumption." You chew at your cheek as he starts. "I do know some of what happened in your past. Yet I also know that society likes to dilute the truth into something either more palatable, more entertaining, for people to consume greedily. What I want to know is what you have faced. How you have not allowed the experience to overcome you so much so that your humanity is erased like the characters I lecture on."
Eyes closing of their own volition you are thrown back in time to that night so many years ago. You didn't talk about it anymore. Bitsy knew of course, but that was the extent.
Laszlo waits. He knows this is likely to push you over the edge if your history with him means anything. Quite frankly, anyone would be tossed to their limit at his interrogation had they gone through what you had. John always told him that he needed to work on his bedside manner; that he had a habit of coming on too strong in his pursuit of learning the intricacies of the human mind. But your earlier comment about being sent to a so-called 'nuthouse' rubbed him the wrong way. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He needed to know. He needed to understand.
Laszlo can imagine the reprimand that he would receive from John and Sara for this. Just as he considers apologizing for his intrusion you open your eyes.
"She was fine. None of us suspected anything was wrong. I came home from having dinner with some… boy, and she had locked herself in the bathroom. She- she must have started over the sink and moved to sit on the side of the tub. She was hunched inside it when I got the door open. I pulled her out. Blood was… everywhere." Your voice is clinical as you explain.
"After, I shut down. So I checked myself into a psych ward a few days later when I couldn't get the feel of her blood off my hands. It's slippery, you know. And it smells. You wouldn't think so but it does." You clear your throat. "I did the therapy, took the meds they prescribed, all the standard treatments. Later I started watching true crime documentaries. I'd heard about exposure therapy so I figured the more I saw the gore, the less the image of my dead roommate would bother me. And it did help. The nightmares stopped after a while, I came back to school. I was better, just not the same.” You had watched the passing landscape as you explained. Turning to face him you speak again. “That's why those pictures didn't bother me. They weren't anything I hadn't seen before."
He contemplates you. The discovery and subsequent loss of your friend in this manner would no doubt cause lingering effects to your psyche. A stain that would forever remind you. "I offer my sincerest condolences. I do not presume to know what that would be like to experience, but I am glad you sought help afterwards. To make the choice to alleviate yourself of your own suffering where possible.”
As he says this he realizes that your anger towards the idea of being enslaved to unconscious impulse makes perfect sense. It explains why you focused so much energy on defending your belief in free will. That you have the power to choose how you carry your joy, your anger, your healing. It reminds him of how he held onto his own guilt and hurt, ignoring how it festered within him for so long. He feels as though he needs to share a piece of himself with you.
“I played piano as a child, quite well too. My mother hoped I would someday make a career of it. I vividly remember playing Mozart’s Concerto for Piano No. 20 in D Minor at a holiday party when I was seven years old. It was my favorite to play.... It requires two hands." You finally look at him. "My father...” He pauses to gather himself.
Now it is the doctor that cannot meet your eyes. As you listen you feel your confusion grow. How could he have been a talented pianist if he only had full use of his left hand? Unless..., the realization dawns on you just as he continues, his words slow.
“My father had two sides. One loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall... A game of tug of war. We were laughing…” He inhales a sharp breath. Already you can feel the tears begin to blur your vision. “I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back.” Laszlo exhales shakily. “In small children, fractures can often affect…” he trails off, unable to finish. You can hear how he barely holds himself together.
Your heart aches for the broken man that sits in front of you. He never let on how much his arm bothered him, at least not within your presence. Suddenly you don’t see him as this rude, insufferable, obsessive man, but instead as someone that spends his life trying to protect himself. He projects his own anger and hurt so that he may, just for a minute, forget about his own demons. He wants to help others even when he feels he cannot bear to help himself.
But unlike you, he has to live with the physical reminder of his past every day of his life.
You stand and move to sit on his right side. Before allowing yourself to think too much of your actions, you place your hand atop his own, curling your fingers around his palm and squeezing delicately. You don’t bother wiping away the tears on your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Laszlo;” the whisper is barely heard above the sound of the train. A second passes where you fear you have overstepped and offended him by touching the affected limb. When his thumb tightens against the backs of your fingers you know he is not. He holds you in place.
“You asked me how I kept my humanity. How does anyone really? We learn to take what we get and we carry it in a bag. Sometimes you have to drag the damn thing behind you. But eventually the weight gets less and less if you allow yourself to move forward, even if it’s still there with you all the time. I dealt with what happened years ago and it does still haunt me. It’s easier now than it was, but… I- I suppose I’ve learned from you too. Sitting in those lectures and hearing you talk. We can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives… or we can accept it… and use the memory of our pain to help ourselves and others.”
“I’m not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.” His tone is mournful.
You turn to smile at him through your tears. His own eyes are bloodshot. “I disagree. If it weren’t, if we didn’t have the freedom to choose that, we’d all be murderers.”
Tag list
@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams
134 notes · View notes
quinntheebrain · 3 years
Note
Hi there! I was wondering if you could do a jealous bokuto x f!reader (preferably if not then gn! is fine). Like he gets jealous of his bby and kuroo getting along really well... a little too well lmao. Anyways, I hope your day/night is going great ya wonderful person <3
Tumblr media
Pairing: Jealous!Bokuto Kōtarō x fem!reader
Warnings: implied alcohol use, a temporarily sad Bokuto, Ummm I curse????
A/N: *deep heavy sigh* I looked over this 1000x lmfao. I’m used to writing fics and not hcs, so they’re probably not the best (I gotta stop doubting myself). I’m always so nervous to share my writings, but this a learning process! Thanks for being my first request. It’s been a while since I wrote anything seriously and shared it. I really hope you enjoy it :) Also, somebody else (who I can’t think of rn) hc that Bokuto doesn’t drink, I just agree wholeheartedly. 
Oh, my precious baby Bokuto. He’s so cute it hurts🥺. 
He gets jealous easily. 
He’s so lively that people naturally gravitate toward him. So, he’s used to being the center of attention. 
Even though the only person’s attention he really cares about is yours.
Bokuto loves the way you look at him when he makes you smile. He loves the feeling of just being in your presence.
So, when he sees you and Kuroo smiling and laughing from across the bar he’s irritated. 
And when the two of you get a little too close for comfort, he’s fuming
...but for some reason, I feel like he wouldn’t say anything
Now, Bokuto would normally shut that shit down instantly.
But it’s Kuroo, his closest friend. He doesn’t want any kind of confrontation. He doesn’t want to cause a scene (I believe Bokuto could beat Kuroo’s ass)
So, he says nothing and instead spends the night alternating between super soft/affectionate and super distant. 
He’ll bring it up in private though. Half-jokingly asking if you’d prefer Kuroo to him. 
And when the conversation turns serious 
Don’t invalidate his feelings, don’t make him feel crazy. (he’ll curl up in a ball and it will be a long time before he opens up to you again)
RE-AS-SUR-ANCE!!!!!!!! He needs it; he will die without it. Please just tell this boy how much you love him. 
And please believe he doesn’t blame you alone. He talks to Kuroo after he talks to you.
Because next time, Bokuto won’t be so nice :)
Tumblr media
This is the third time Kuroo has put his arm around you; Bokuto is counting. He watches you from across the room as he holds a conversation with Akaashi; though, at this point, his friend’s words are nothing more than background noise. 
You are supposed to be with them, but once Kuroo challenges you to a drinking contest, Bokuto knows it’s a lost cause. You promise to join him shortly and though he doesn’t believe you, he nods as if he does. Unlike you, and most of his friends, Bokuto doesn’t drink; he just doesn’t like the taste, but he wants you to have a good time. So, he goes to sit with Akaashi by himself but not before leaning down and pulling you into a soft kiss. Bokuto’s large palm caresses your cheek as his mouth moves delicately against your own; It’s quick and gentle, but it’s effective. His lips linger on yours just long enough to leave you wanting more; it’s a reminder that he’ll be waiting for you. 
But, 15 minutes have passed and you’re still glued to Kuroo’s side. 
Now, you’re a giggling mess, teasing one of your boyfriend’s closest friends, who seems to be enjoying the attention a little too much. The rest of their volleyball buddies watch and laugh, most of them far too inebriated to find anything wrong with the way the two of you are interacting. Bokuto, on the other hand, finds everything wrong with it. He watches you with narrow eyes and tightly clenched fists, trying his hardest to keep his composure.
“Your jealousy is showing,” Akaashi smirks at his best friend; Bokuto hasn’t been listening to a word he says. He wants to tease him about it but now doesn’t seem like the time. “Why don’t you just tell them it’s bothering you?” 
“They’re not doing it on purpose,” Bokuto sighs as he unclenches his fists, wiggling his fingers to crack his knuckles. “Besides, there was a time she couldn’t even be in the same room as Kuroo. I’m glad they’re friends now and if I say something I might ruin it.” he looks away from you and instead focuses on the ground. 
“Forget about Kuroo,” Akaashi says, slightly irritated. “What about you? If you don’t talk to her, you might ruin your relationship. You don’t want to harbor resentment toward the one you love,” Akaashi glances at Bokuto, who is unable to reply. They stand in silence for a short time. Akaashi doesn’t want to bombard Bokuto with advice; he knows that sometimes, a few thoughtful words are enough. “Look, it’ll be okay. I have to go.” Akaashi pats Bokuto’s shoulder, leaving him alone to think about the situation. 
Bokuto is truly happy that you and Kuroo have finally learned to get along but deep down, a part of him wishes the two of you never stopped the incessant bickering; part of him wishes that you still disliked Kuroo and he disliked you. Maybe, the petty arguments were nothing but an attempt to mask the attraction you felt toward each other but honestly, that’s what Bokuto would prefer. Because what’s happening now — you and Kuroo openly fawning over each other — is driving him crazy. 
I’m just imagining things, he thinks to himself. Maybe, there is no real meaning to the way the two of you are carrying on; but, watching as Kuroo embraces you in a hug that lingers a little longer than it should doesn’t ease his mind. Your face buried into Kuroo’s chest, his hands pressed firmly against your lower back as he rocks you side to side, it’s a bit more than Bokuto can handle. The thought of you in someone else’s arms so intimately bothers him, and pulling out your phone to take Kuroo’s contact info is the icing on the cake. 
Still, you’d never know how much it affects Bokuto because he approaches you like there’s nothing wrong, and though he tugs you away from Kuroo rather possessively, he does it with the brightest smile. “Alright, ready babe?” He looks down to you with those golden eyes, glimmering with adoration as he places a kiss on your forehead. You nod ‘yes’ quickly. “See you later, bro.” you both wave at his friends once more before the two of you exit the bar. 
A weight lifts from Bokuto’s shoulders as the door shuts behind him; the absence of his best friend shouldn’t put him at ease, but it does. Still, Bokuto has another problem. 
You don’t want to harbor resentment toward the one you love. Akaashi’s words play in his head like a broken record. If he doesn’t settle this now, he never will. His insecurities will continue to fester until he can no longer look at you the same.
“You and Kuroo were pretty cozy tonight,” he fakes a chuckle as he peers at you from the corner of his eye. “I’m glad you two are so close now.”
“Cozy?” you scrunch up your face. You could count the number of times Kuroo touched you on one hand (which was still too many for Bokuto).  You will admit that you spent an unusual amount of time with Kuroo, but he’s more entertaining when he’s drunk; it’s actually your favorite time to be around him. “Hardly. If anything,” you pause, “Wait a minute. Ko, are you jealous?” you manage to suppress your smile, but there's a hint of amusement in your tone. 
He doesn’t answer your question; it’s embarrassing enough to even be feeling this way and for you to call him out so quickly only makes it worse. He takes a deep breath, “Y/N,” Bokuto’s voice is barely above a whisper. “Do you ever think you’d be better off with Kuroo? I mean the two of you actually have a lot in common, and I just think-” the words sound crazy now that he’s finally saying them out loud. 
“No,” you say sternly and confidently, cutting off your boyfriend before he has the chance to ramble on. It’s reassuring how quick you are to shut the notion down. “Besides, we really only have one thing in common,” you pause in your tracks, forcing Bokuto to stop and look at you. 
“What’s that?”
“We both love you so much,” you can’t help but smile as you speak. Bokuto has such amazing people in his life and that warms your heart. “We would never try to hurt you; I would never try to hurt you. I’m so sorry for even making you feel like that.” the apology is sincere. Your glossy eyes are a giveaway. “If I haven’t made this clear, you are the only one for me. It’s you and me, together forever,” he wipes away a single tear; you hadn’t even realized you were crying. You never wanted to make him feel this way; he’s never sounded so defeated. Was he going to just hand you over to his best friend? Did he think you would accept that? “But really, Kuroo?” you pretend to vomit to lighten the mood. It makes you both laugh, something you desperately needed. 
“I love you,” Bokuto sighs in relief.  
“I love you too.” flinging your arms around his neck, you kiss him. 
There’s something almost enchanting about the way he immediately takes the lead. He doesn’t care about the taste of liquor that lingers in your mouth or the fact that you still smell like Kuroo’s cologne; at this moment, Bokuto only cares about you. His lips glide over yours passionately, yet ever so gently; your tongue sporadically teases his bottom lip, his teeth occasionally nibble on yours. It’s a steady rhythm that makes you weak in the knees. His hands find their way to your waist, then to your back, sliding down until they’re secure in your back pockets. 
Bokuto pulls away, pressing his forehead against yours. “Let’s get home, yeah?” he squeezes your ass before he removes his hands from your pocket; intertwining his fingers with yours, Bokuto starts to walk again. 
“Yeah,” you repeat with a smile on your face, nodding eagerly as he pulls you down the sidewalk. 
166 notes · View notes
yandere-sins · 3 years
Note
I was wondering, Claude had a tendency to use people for his own gain right? Like he did with Byleth and the sword of the creator? What if an uno reverse card was pulled on him? And the reader was using him for their own gain by getting close to him, and once the reader had what they wanted they stopped talking to Claude. How do you think Claude would react once they realized they loved the reader but found out that he was being used later on? Also I hope you’re doing well!
Thanks, hope you’re doing fine as well ♥ Thanks for requesting! I had an idea for it but it doesn’t exactly fit your request, so I hope you still like it!
»»———————— ♡ ————————««       
What pleasure it was to lay on your lap beneath the shadow of an old oak tree standing in the gardens. Just Claude and you, and the book you were reading. Sunlight broke through the gaps in the leaves as they swayed in the wind, tickled his skin while the breeze refreshed him. Even if this wasn’t a life he could live forever, he sure hoped it wouldn’t end soon.
“Read to me?” he asked, and your expression turned sour for a moment before you shook your head, taking a deep breath, turning another page. “You wouldn’t like it,” you responded in between reading, and he huffed. ‘I like everything you tell me,’ he wanted to say but refrained, wondering if you’d catch on to the subliminal meaning he put into it.
It was true, wasn’t it? You liked to tell him what to do, sent him on errands, fluttering your eyelashes at him as you told him what you wanted but couldn’t have. You wanted a component for a new potion here, a new sword there. Jewels for your mother that you never sent, and alcohol for your father that you drank with your friends instead. No matter what, if it was just that, Claude was happy to supply you, the moments spend with you in return every few weeks or so enough to still his hunger for a while.
How long would he be able to contain himself, though? Even if he was just a means to an end, Claude really loved you. You were aware that’s why you used him so much. But he couldn’t bring it over himself to deny you a wish when you came to him as if he was your savior. Even if you canceled more plans than actually showed up to the ones he made for you two, he couldn’t be angry at you when you fulfilled your debt eventually and asked him out for a day.
Times like those gave him enough fuel to carry on, to keep humoring you with his power and wealth that you desired. If not for his stand in society, you’d probably not bat an eyelash at him, but he was the heir of a noble house, and for that, you liked keeping him close. And for every good deed, he did for you, Claude felt confirmed when you hugged him or kissed his cheek, or rarely, let him lay in your lap and nap for a while.
Even if he was aware of your intentions, he loved you enough to oversee you playing with his feelings and using him. But how long? How long would he be able to keep it up? Claude wanted so much more - your attention and affection. And he wanted it unconditionally, not just because you felt like paying him for it in exchange for anything else.
“You seem tense,” he noted, one eye open to watch your reaction.
Indeed, the corners of your mouth dropped as you heaved a long sigh, partly in annoyance as he was interrupting your reading time. It must have been so uncomfortable for you to have him lay on your legs for hours just so you’d please him for a bit. The price you had to pay was grand, wasn’t it?
“There’s just someone bothering me... a group of juniors that keep spreading rumors and stuff like that. You know, they say I only use you and shit.”
Finally, you put the book aside to look at him ruefully. “You wouldn’t believe these rumors, would you?”
Claude countered the self-pity you fakely assumed for yourself with a smile, shaking his head. “Of course not,” he lied as if he wasn’t the one trying to sully your reputation around the Monastery. If someone would believe these rumors, you’d only have him to save your honor. And even so, no one liked to stick around people who used others for their own gain. Once the rumor festered, who’d you turn to will all you had to give? Claude so hoped it would be him.
You seemed surprised as he suddenly got up, the wind rustling through the leaves above you and flipping over the pages of the book you were reading.
“Do you want them dead?”
Claude’s words didn’t seem to reach you at first, as you remained quiet, your mouth opening way before you had processed the meaning behind his question. “W-What...?” you eventually mumbled, and your eyes met, serious intent shining in his.
But as spontaneously as the question had dropped into your life, as quickly Claude grinned again mischievously, plopping back down in your lap and shook his head. “Just kidding!”
“Oh... ahaha...”
The surprise and shock in your face was a welcome change in expression than you usually wore around him. In fact, it probably was one of the most sincere showcases of your feelings he had ever seen. “They can die all they want; I don’t care. They’re stupid,” you said as you tried to save yourself, noticing him still watching you. Putting on a tough act wasn’t going to save you now, as it only made Claude realize how much more he wanted to see of you.
Perhaps, true love and sincere affection weren’t something you could show him ever. However, it was a start knowing you could still experience the horror that he had to offer. “Fine, then I’ll go kill them now,” he said, unbothered by what he was talking about. As if it was yet again just an expensive gift he was buying you. It wouldn’t hurt him, but he was happy to provide it if you benefitted from it.
Rocking himself upwards, he hesitated before standing up, instead reaching his hand out towards you and pulling you close by your chin. “Anything for you, my Love,” he breathed against your lips, stealing the first kiss between you two ever before getting up and walking away.
All hell would break loose when he’d present you with the heads of the ones he hired to spread the rumors about you. But throwing a glance over his shoulder back to your utterly confused and flabbergasted form beneath the oak tree, Claude deemed it worth it.
He couldn’t wait for your reputation to be buried with the bodies of the people he killed and the face you’d make when no one believed you that Claude, the heir of House Riegan, did such a cruel murder to the innocent souls.
In fact, Claude couldn’t wait for all the emotions you’d show him soon when he was the only one to still stick around you.
95 notes · View notes
max-is-tired · 4 years
Text
What the hell would I be (without you)
Pairing: Dukexiety
Characters: Remus Sanders, Virgil Sanders
Words: 2.078
Warnings: sympathetic Remus, swearing, self-deprecation, spiraling thoughts, anxiety, crying, kissing, tell me if I missed something!!
Notes: man I love soulmates AUs so much. This fic is inspired by this headcanon from @figurative-siren-song, I just loved the entire concept so much I simply couldn’t not try my hand at it. I hope you guys like it, comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated!!
Commission me!!  Buy me a coffee!!  Join my Discord server!!  AO3!!
Virgil stared at the clock on his wall, nervously bouncing his leg on the carpet as he raised one hand to his face. Before he could start biting his nails, however, another hand appeared out of nowhere, giving it a quick slap to keep it away from his mouth.
“No biting,” chided a voice from above Virgil, Remus grinning down at him from his position lying upside-down on the bunk bed. Virgil grumbled but complied, opting to wring his fingers instead.
“You’re an ass,” he muttered under his breath, throwing his best friend a half-hearted grave.
“Well excuse me for trying to look out for you,” Remus shot back, his tone amused. “If you bite your nails you might hurt yourself, and there might be blood and then the whole thing might get infected and they’d have to chop your entire hand off and-!”
Without missing a beat, Virgil reached for one of his pillows and slapped it onto Remus’ face, effectively shutting him up.
“Alright, message received you fucking gremlin,” he said, a smirk of his own tugging at his lips. “Remind me why I have yet to smother you?”
“Because it’s gonna be your birthday in a few hours and you needed your big, strong best friend to hold your hand lest your anxiety reduces you to a hot mess for the umpteenth time,” Remus easily recited, winking down at Virgil. “Not that you need it, you’re already a hot mess by yourself.”
Virgil rolled his eyes, letting out an amused huff as he stood up and stretched his arms upwards with a tired groan -the curse of being born at fucking 2 am, he supposed. Currently, it was only 1:45 am, and for the first time in what felt like forever, all he wanted was to curl up under the covers and go the fuck to sleep.
There was no way he could ruin his soulmate’s birthday if he was asleep, right?
“Oi, Earth to Virgil!” Remus called, startling the boy out of his thoughts. “Did you decide to go for a mental walk without me? That’s just rude, Vee! Come on, what’s running around in that worrying head of yours?”
Virgil shrugged, plopping down on his spinning chair as he looked up at the ceiling.
“Do you think my soulmate will like me?” Virgil finally asked, frowning. “I mean, I know I sure as hell wouldn’t like myself. I’m an anxious, self-deprecating mess, Rem, why the fuck would anyone want to be stuck with me? I’m just going to ruin their birthday, and I don’t want to but I can’t help it, they’re gonna hate me and I can’t blame them for that and then I’ll end up all alone and soulless-”
“Hey, stop with that crap right the fuck now,” Remus suddenly exclaimed, snapping Virgil out of his self-deprecating spiral. The boy pulled his gaze away from the ceiling, only to meet a pair of determined, blazing green eyes.
“That’s my fucking best friend you’re insulting, and I won’t stand for it. You’re an amazing person Vee, you’re loyal and determined and got snark for days. And that’s not even talking about that beautiful ass of yours!! Whoever ends up being your soulmate is going to be one lucky motherfucker, and this is the hill I’m willing to die on.”
Virgil blinked, looking like a deer caught in the headlights as he stared at his best friend with wide eyes. Slowly, he felt the familiar tingle of a blush covering his cheeks, whipping his head to the side to avoid the instinct of doing something stupid like try and kiss Remus or something.
“Shut up,” Virgil muttered, looking down at his hands in hopes that his long bangs would hide just how flustered he was.
“Never,” Remus easily shot back, voice soft and earnest in a way Virgil knew was reserved just for him.
Fuck, and people wondered why he had done something so idiotic as falling for his best friend -he was just… perfect. He was honest, loud and everything Virgil would have wanted and more. He just got him, always had, and before he’d known it Virgil had found himself head over heels, falling and falling with no chance of getting up again.
Not that he would have wanted to, of course. Sometimes, during those endless nights when sleeping felt like the most impossible thing in the world, Virgil found himself wondering if maybe, he and Remus were meant to be. After all, Remus still had to go through the swap, even after having recently turned 20. It wasn’t so far fetched for that to be a possibility, was it...?
Except that it was. After all, why would the universe pair someone as amazing as Remus with, well, Virgil, who seemed to grow needlessly anxious about the smallest and most mundane of things?
And there he went again, his thoughts spiraling more and more as the seconds passed. Of course Remus couldn’t be his soulmate. Whoever the lucky soul was, they were probably someone as incredible as him, full of life and energy and desire of adventure. Not an introvert, anxious downer like him.
1:58 am
Like, who was he even kidding? Virgil probably had no soulmate. His birthday was going to come and go and no swap would happen, not today nor never.
1:59 am
After all, why would the universe doom some poor soul to be stuck with him forever? He should just start getting used to the idea of being alone forever, instead of letting that stupid hope still fester in his chest.
It was just so stupid. Worthless, really.
2:00 am
Except that it wasn’t, not at all.
All of a sudden, Virgil felt a surge of self-confidence overtake him. He stood straighter on his chair, a grin tugging at his lips as his head filled with a thousand ideas. He wanted to bolt out of the room, jump out of his window, run into the woods behind his house and get himself lost in the wilderness, maybe even catch some squirrels.
Who cared if it was the middle of the night and there could be an assassin lurking in the shadows? He could take them, Remus had shown him how to throw knives when they were like, twelve.
Talking about his best friend! Virgil snapped his head up, eyes twinkling wildly under the fairy lights in his room, only to feel his excited expression morph into a frown once he took in the other’s expression.
Remus was hunched over just a few feet away from him, his shoulders shaking slightly as he rested his head between his knees.
“Rem?” Virgil tentatively called, standing up and shuffling forward. He crouched down in front of the other, brow pinched in confusion as he tried to understand what was going down.
Slowly, Remus looked up, his eyes red and wet as he tried to get his shallow breathing back under control. He was clutching at his chest, his fist tight around the fabric of his shirt. All in all, he looked right on the edge of an anxiety attack.
But why? He had been fine just a minute ago! There was no way he could have been faking the determined fire in his eyes as he defended Virgil from his own thoughts, and besides, Remus didn’t get anxious. Like, ever. Virgil should know, they’d been basically inseparable since kindergarten.
Then, Remus spoke.
“Do you really hate yourself this much?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper as some stray tears escaped from his eyes.
And finally, it clicked.
“I-” Virgil stared at Remus with wide eyes, trying to process the sudden life-changing information that had come to light. Normally, something like this would have sent him into some sort of attack, his anxiety, fears, and deepest insecurities filling his head until he could barely keep his head above the water.
Instead, all he felt was quiet, unmistakable happiness blooming in his chest, spreading further and further until he could barely keep himself from dancing around the room to try and get rid of some of the overwhelming giddiness.
“You’re my soulmate,” he breathed, a grin slowly stretching on his face. It was wide, bright, unhinged, the type of smile he would have never dared to let appear on his face before -but now, he couldn’t care less if his teeth were slightly crooked, or if a random stranger was annoyed by his smile.
Fuck them, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Remus was his soulmate, and that meant-
Oh. Oh no.
“Shit, Remus, I’m sorry,” he murmured, raising his hands to cradle the other’s cheeks. Gently, he wiped away the occasional tear still escaping his eyes, leaning forward to rest his brow against Remus’. “I’m sorry you have to feel all of that.”
“How do you deal with this every fucking day?” Remus whispered, looking at him as his breath slowly started to calm down. “I mean, I knew it was bad, but shit Vee, I didn’t think it was this bad.”
Virgil hummed, his smile turning a tad softer. “It sucks, doesn’t it?”
Remus silently nodded, carefully releasing his shirt to rest his palm above Virgil’s chest. His breath started to synchronize with his heartbeat, and after a few minutes, he finally looked like he wasn’t three seconds away from breaking down in the middle of Virgil’s room.
“God, this is exhausting,” Remus muttered, drawing a chuckle out of his soulmate as he slid his head down to rest his brow on the other’s shoulder.
“Holy shit, how do you deal with this shit basically every other day? It’s not even been five minutes and all I want is to curl up under the covers and sleep for like, a century or so. Maybe more.”
Silence fell around them, calm and comfortable as they held each other. Then, Remus looked up, a pensive frown on his face as he visibly mulled something in his head.
“Can I-” he started, sounding strangely insecure as he avoided Virgil’s gaze. “I mean, can we- uh- god, this is impossible!”
Virgil couldn’t help the amused snort that left his lips as he watched Remus frustratingly throw his hands up, his cheeks crimson red in embarrassment.
“What, Rem?” he asked with a lopsided smirk, feeling strangely coy, “do you want me to kiss you?”
“Yes!” Remus nodded vigorously, looking more flustered by the second. “I’ve wanted to smooch your pretty face since fucking high school, do you know how hard it has been to hold off?? So you better kiss me right now before the embarrassment decides to off me for real by sending my heart on a one-way trip around the world with how fast it’s beating right now!”
Virgil cackled as he listened to Remus’ rant, feeling the muscles of his face hurt with how wide he was smiling.
“Well, it looks like the swap didn’t take away your lack of filter, at least!” he exclaimed, before grabbing Remus by the lapels of his jacket and dragging him into a kiss.
They melted into each other, the world around them fading away until there was nothing but the soft press of their lips and their careful, roaming hands. And just like that, they felt something inside them fit into place, like a puzzle piece they’d never noticed was missing.
Virgil felt the extra confidence and energy slowly slip away, leaving behind exhausted happiness as the familiar background tingle of his anxiety started coming back. As for Remus, Virgil didn’t miss the way his soulmate -holy shit, Remus was actually his soulmate, what the fuck???- immediately straightened up, pushing forward a little until Virgil was bending backward and a massive grin had taken over both of their lips.
“Fuck, I love you,” Remus murmured almost reverently as he pulled back enough to look at the boy in his arms. “I hoped, once the switch didn’t happen on my birthday, I never stopped hoping and I just- I love you so much, you have no idea. You’re the only soulmate I’ve ever wanted to have.”
“I love you too,” Virgil answered, the giddiness in his chest ever-present, burning and shining like a million suns, “but I think you’re talking a little too much right now.”
And he leaned forward again, dragging Remus in another kiss. And another. And another.
Needless to say, they didn’t find themselves in need to talk for a little while more.
830 notes · View notes
blessedboo · 4 years
Text
Mop Bucket | Angel Reyes.
Tumblr media
Angel Reyes x Reader 
GIF Credit: @mayans-mc
Summary: The sequel to Complicated - On a shopping trip with your boyfriend, you bump into Angel at the store after avoiding him for a while. 
Requested: Yes - @ifoundmyhappythought, @thesandbeneathmytoes, and a few others. Thank you, my babies!
Warnings: Cursing/Language. Sexual (18+ Content, NSFW). Cheating. 
Word Count: 1.3K
A/N: Spicy? Absolutely. Headcanon? Not. So yeah, the first part was a HC, this one ain’t - I wanted to give it a little more substance, ya know?
You frustratedly scoured the store’s aisles for ingredients. The task became tedious when most of the things you wanted were out of stock. The lack of help from your inattentive boyfriend didn’t make the situation any better. 
Finally lifting his head up from his phone, “Babe, is this cake really that important? I mean, who even is this guy?” He groaned. 
You rolled your eyes, shaking your head disappointedly. “It’s for Ezekiel, love. We’ve been over this — you’ve met him!” 
Waving his hand at you dismissively, he scoffed. “Whatever. You can’t expect me to keep track of all your friends.”
“It’s one frie-” 
As you turned to face him, he started to make his way elsewhere; his eyes still glued to the bright screen in his hand, per usual. 
“Douchebag,” you mumbled to yourself. 
You couldn’t tell whether the exhaustion started to make you hallucinate, or if you actually heard laughing coming from the end of the aisle. Peering over to confirm your suspicions, a familiar dark-haired, gentle giant stood snickering at you from a few feet away. 
Angel.
“He is quite the catch, mi dulce,” he sarcastically acknowledged, throwing a sly wink your way. Your lips pulled into a tight line as you flipped him off. He chuckled, yet a part of him couldn’t help but hurt. He wasn’t offended by your crude gesture, he just missed that attitude of yours. 
You had been keeping your distance with him since that night at the clubhouse. You didn’t want to keep leading him on, it just wasn’t fair.
Angel made his way over to your cart, stepping in front of it to stop you from leaving - not before he got the answers he desperately needed. The sound of metal clanging against the shelves rang through the area as you winced. 
“Nice. Great job, Angel.”
“Ah, so you do remember me? Amazing. Now, why have you been avoiding me?
“Wh—”
“I mean, no calls, no texts. Nothin’. Fuck is up with that?”
You sighed, dropping your head down. You knew you couldn’t avoid him forever, no matter how much you wanted to hide from the inevitable truth. He was upset, and rightfully so. 
“I-I don’t know. I thought a little space would be good for the both of us,” You confessed meekly, toying with your fingers as you anxiously waited for his response. 
Angel stared at you blankly, his eyes wide and eyebrows raised. His thumb scratched at his chin as he licked his lips, trying to process what he’s just heard. 
He pinched at the bridge of his nose, seemingly trying to control his temper and choose his next words wisely. “You don’t get to make that decision for me, querida,” he spoke through gritted teeth. 
You crossed your arms stubbornly. “Well, I did it for me. I have a boyfriend, Angel! In fact, he is probably looking for me right now.”
His lips curved into an empathetic frown as he pointed behind you. “Really?”
Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion before you spun around, your heart clenching at the sight. Your partner was flirting with some blonde in booty shorts. Her hand was groping his bicep, giggling as she copped a feel. Instead of pushing her away, he just stood there smirking obnoxiously, entertaining her sexual advancements by flexing his muscles.
You cleared your throat of the lump that festered within, “They’re … they’re just talking. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Angel flailed his arms in the air, clearly fed up with your bullshit. “Are you fucking kidding me? Stop lying to yourself!” 
His raised voice expectedly caught the attention of nosy passersby. To be fair, it wasn’t like they had anything better to do - they might as well bring out the popcorn while they’re at it. 
“Shh, quiet down!” You looked around for a spot to inconspicuously talk in private. Not that it mattered anyway, your boyfriend was busy getting his ego jerked off by Ms. Perky Tits over there. Your eyes stopped their wandering when you spotted the janitorial closet, quickly pulling Angel’s arm as you dragged him in there. 
You leaned against the door as Angel towered over you, pain and weary written all over his face. He sighed deeply, scratching at the back of his head as he contemplated on what to say. 
“You know I’d do anything for you. But I can’t keep playing this game, baby.” Angel reached for your shoulders, rubbing at them patiently as he frowned at you. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t miss me. Tell me you don’t want me … and I’ll leave you alone. I promise.”
You bit your lip as you tilted your head, your eyes giving him that knowing look that told him you couldn’t do that. You loved him more than he knew, more than you could admit to yourself. 
Sporting a triumphant, lopsided grin, he cupped your cheek reassuringly. “I knew it. I knew you couldn’t resist me. It’s my charm, isn’t it?” 
You scoffed, laughing at his frustratingly cute face, “Puh-lease, in your dreams.”
He hummed at your remark before pulling you in for a chaste peck, “I know I’m in yours.”
“You’re so annoying that it hurts, Reyes.”
“Likewise, mami,” he drawled before he licked at your bottom lip. “Yet, you don’t seem to feel that way when my tongue’s sucking that pretty, little clit,” he whispered into your ear dangerously, his lips barely grazing the skin.
 “Yeah,” he let out a dark chuckle, a sound laced in sensual mischief. “You certainly don’t find me annoying when I shove my fat ass cock down your throat either.” 
You were dumbfounded, completely speechless. You quivered excitedly, stuttering as you tried to let out any sensical words. 
“Nrgh. Ang-el, I-”
Before you could continue, his hand snaked around your throat in a light grip. Lifting your chin up with his thick fingers, his thumb parted your glossy, pouty lips as he slipped it in between them. The desire in his eyes set yours aflame with an even greater hunger as he waited for you to suck on it.
“Shh. Damn, baby. You talk too fucking much,” he growled lowly. He nipped at your exposed collarbone, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your chest. His other hand slid down to your ass, groaning as he groped a handful of your ample cheeks. 
“That naughty mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble — but we both know that’s what you want.”
From Angel’s shit-eating smirk to his filthy language, your panties were ready to drop from how wet they were. No one could work you up like he did, and his smart-ass knew that. 
Giddy from this rendezvous, you were on the edge of collapsing. The cause being deprivation of touch. It was a valid diagnosis in your book. 
“Angel, please,” you whimpered in a voice so breathy, so needy. 
“Would you like to know what I want, baby?” 
You nodded feverishly at the question, but nothing prepared you for what he was about to say. 
“I want you to walk out there with my cum dripping down your thighs. I want you to go back to that pendejo pretending that I didn’t just fuck the living shit out of your tight, soaking wet pussy. God, I want that so bad, mami.” 
At this point, your hormones were on overdrive. You felt sweaty and sticky, and the need for clothes didn’t seem necessary. Frankly, you two were overdressed and you couldn’t understand why it was taking him so long to bend you over the mop-bucket-service-cart-thing as he shoved his cock inside you. 
Some things are better left as mysteries. Other things are better left sprawled naked in your secret lover’s arms, but maybe that was just you.
His skin on yours felt electrifying and you didn’t know how much more teasing you could take. However, you couldn’t say that you didn’t deserve it. 
And just like that, all of that sexual plasmic energy was gone as he stepped away from you. 
“But I won’t wreck your shit in the janitor’s closet. I’m classier than that.”
Angel bit his lip, trying to hold back the laugh while looking at your frozen state; hands shaking, eyes wide and mouth agape. He shook his head, his hands shoved into his pockets as he walked through the door in his usual big-dick-swagger. 
“But you aren’t classier than that! You aren’t!” You cried out in agony, but it was no use. 
That cunning son of a bitch. 
A/N: I DON’T APOLOGIZE ON BEHALF OF ALL THE LADY BLUE BALLS I’VE CAUSED.
____________________________________________
MAYANS TAG LIST:
@ifoundmyhappythought @woahitslucyylu @starrynite7114  @claytoncardenasbabymama @multiyfandomgirl40 @justlikebreathing @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @chibsytelford @fvckthisbxtchup  @angelreyesgirl  @sheeshgivemeabreak​ @awildcur​ 
[Just ask if you’d like to be tagged!]
304 notes · View notes
finaledenialist · 3 years
Note
Okay, your tags on The Empty Post have showed up in my notes and I have to ask. Tell me more. Tell me it all. All of the feelings and thoughts about that scene because what I’ve seen so far? Absolute perfection and I agree wholeheartedly.
Thank you! Okay I basically unloaded most of my thoughts in my tags here but let’s go through this one more time. I may add: this was already said a thousand times by better meta writers than me 3 years ago when season 13 was actually airing. And I will ramble a little about Purgatory, too. Now with that out of the way: 
The Empty. Canonically it is a being, a living immortal being that rules the place or an ‘anti-place’ where angels and demons go are sent to when they die to dream of their regrets forever (this sounds awful and like a punishment for dying despite being immortal, for getting themselves killed or something). Also: the Empty was there before Creation, the Nothingness before Darkness and before Light. 
Okay. But let’s see what other things the Empty represents: lack of anything. Complete nothingness that Cas got sucked into (by Lucifer but also by helping the Winchesters). Now we know that Cas‘I am afraid I might kill myself’tiel had his issues, right (I still can’t believe that we are praising 8x08 thee Hunteri Heroici for being a filler episode with Cas - which is awesome, don’t get me wrong - but we all keep forgetting what he actually did say to Dean there!!! Dean says: are you afraid the angels will kill you if you show up in Heaven? And Cas looks straight into his eyes and says: After all I’ve done, when I see Heaven, I am afraid I might kill myself).
Please remember that it’s not only Dean, Mr. ‘Purgatory was pure’. Cas, after all he did in season 6, after his death in s7, after coming back and being literally haunted by everything he’s done, must have felt that Purgatory was liberating, too. It was some kind of an Alternative Universe where he didn’t have to face the consequences of his actions. He was free of them. It was literally his escape AND additionally it was (well, according to good old christian lore, maybe not specifically spn lore) a place where you are supposed to atone for your sins so there must have been the feeling of atoning, of making things right without actually doing anything specific, where having to survive and not get eaten by the Leviathans was his main problem (= surviving was just enough, nothing was asked of him), which, compared to all he’s done, wasn’t that hard or difficult. He found himself running away from Leviathans which could mirror running away from consequences of his actions - but it was Purgatory, it was at the same time atoning for what he did. It was EASY.
Cas basically confirms that he officially stayed in Purgatory because he didn’t think he deserved to go back to Earth and that is true but what he doesn’t say is: ‘Purgatory was pure and easy and kill or be killed and no other worries than that, no thinking, no real responsibilities which actually was a nice escape from the real world after all I did and been through in the past 3 years’. He wanted out, he wanted an easy choice. Okay, maybe he wasn’t actively looking for an easy way out but when it presented itself - when they appeared in Purgatory - he took it like a gift. We’re talking about a character who spent all his life following orders, who finally broke free and found himself completely lost in the freedom of choices, directionless and maybe wanted an escape. He must have felt overwhelmed but all this freedom (which he basically confirms in 6x20 freedom is a length of rope and god wants you to hang yourself with it). I COMPLETELY understand that choice to escape. 
So in seasons 8-12 Cas has a lot of stuff going on in his head, he gets lobotomized for most of season 8, he is hurt and tortured and treated like shit for most of season 9 and 10 and he ultimately gives himself up to Lucifer in s11 and then he almost dies in 12x12 and he never really got to talk about all of this or work this things out with anyone because Sam or Dean are not really the most talkative guys and Dean in 10x09 basically tells Cas to ‘let it go and not think about it’ which is a shitty advice to someone who suffers from some mental issues if I am being honest (this is like. ur depressed? oh go for a run and smile and stop being sad!!! kind of advice if you ask me). So these issues only grow and grow and start eating him up and please remember that at the very same time Cas is falling in love. I said it previously but I think the moment he realizes what he really feels is 12x12 when he is dying. In that moment he is able to name this feeling but it’s of course covered by: ‘I love you. I love all of you’. 
Now in season 12 he finally gets a proper arc with Kelly (god bless her, honestly, she and Cas had one of the most healthy relationships ever portrayed on tv and it wasn’t even romantic, I could go off about this but it’s getting really long anyway). So he kind of is on his way to find a purpose again - Dean is saved (from hell, from Michael, from the Mark), so he focuses on Kelly and unborn Jack and maybe in his relationship with her he rediscovers love (not necessarily romantic but he sees how she loves Jack) and he does all he can to protect her from basically everyone including the Winchesters. And he promises he will take care of Jack and then. Then he is killed by Lucifer (shattered at the altar of Winchester because he gets involved in the Apocalypse World because of them while having built something for himself with Kelly and Jack BUT still not having properly processed all his previous trauma). 
Okay, so fast forward: Cas is woken up by Jack in the Empty. He is of course confused and stuff (we still don’t know what was he dreaming about all this time he spent there now that we know this is a place where angels and demons dream about their mistakes and regrets <- fanfiction gap #1). He wakes up, he is ‘greeted’ by the Empty and one of the first things he says is that he has to go back because Sam and Dean need him. 
This is his first, automatic thought - I (probably) don’t want to go back, but Sam and Dean need me so I have to, I don’t want to go back for myself because I never wanted to since Purgatory but I know I have to. He doesn’t even think about Jack in this moment. I... maybe it is a stretch but I sense a kind of fear in these words. It’s like he thinks: ‘if I had the chance to come back and chose not to come back from selfish reasons then if the Winchesters ever find out about this they will be angry at me’. But I might be reading too much into this, but on the other hand Jesus fucking Christ this is precisely what happened in Purgatory. He chose to stay although he had a chance to return and the effect was Dean being mad at him. Talk about trauma--
Then the Empty (who was in Cas’ mind) voices his biggest fears: 
'I know who you love, I know what you fear. There is nothing for you back there. Wouldn't you rather be a fond memory than a constant festering disappointment?'
There is a lot to unpack here because this is the Empty’s (who, as stated at the beginning can be read as a manifestation of not only death but also Cas’ depression and self-worth issues) reaction to Cas saying that Sam and Dean need him. She says: uh oh you’re wrong<3 I know who you love, what you fear, the is nothing there for you, sweetie. Essentially: they don’t need you. No one needs you or wants you there. They are better off without you. Wouldn’t you rather be a fond memory (of actually being useful as in: saving Dean from hell, helping to stop the Apocalypse, helping to fight the Leviathans) than a disappointment (failing powers, makes mistake after a mistake, chooses to protect the unborn Antichrist rather than killing him before he’s born - and not to make this whole thing worse but this is what Dean has the audacity to say to Cas in 15x03: why if something goes wrong it always seem to be you).
I will now allow myself for some privacy, because I am a person who dealt with these kind of thoughts in my head for years, these are straight up suicidal thoughts: no one needs you, no one wants you, you are a disappointment and if you die you will be fondly remembered, everyone is better off without you. And we know Cas was suicidal because he literally tells us in 8x08 and we have no proof that he somehow got rid of these thoughts, ever. If anything, they were always there, present, if not growing. Thoughts like that don’t just disappear. Please remember one more time what was happening to Cas in seasons 8-11. He wasn’t healing. He was getting worse, while all this time managing to keep his head above water for someone else, while the guilt was rising and rising. 
If the Empty represents all his issues: depression, suicidal thoughts, guilt, self-hate, lack of self-worth, and what she offers is: eternal sleep. Maybe not entirely peaceful sleep, but sleep nevertheless, no consequences, no facing your fears, no dealing with anything, an escape, sleep - 
And she prompts him to stop fighting, to go back to sleep because there is nothing to fight for (now the symbolism of him being waken up by JACK who was his new found purpose just before he got killed), but she makes a mistake to confront his thoughts and fears with him. She makes a mistake of taking a ‘physical’ form, putting on his face and voice his fears. And Cas is a warrior and he kind of hates himself, so his instinct was to fight. Of course it was easier not to think about all of these stuff at all, to push it back, to try to forget. But once he was forced to face all of these? He fought back. AND HE WON!!!!! 
WHAT A MESSAGE TO SEND RIGHT?!!! You might have all these issues and not want to face them because you feel you will crush under them but look: when you are forced to face them it turns out you are somehow way stronger than them!!! The moment you choose to fight you already won, you are already saved!!! Because ultimately these are your thoughts and this is your mind and you control it, no one else! The moment you decide, you choose, to take control: you win. You are saved because you chose to save yourself because you decided you are worth saving. And the Empty (and everything she represents) immediately gets angry and lets him go, ultimately annoyed because he dared to defy her and she just can’t win with someone who decides he wants to be free. WHAT. 👏🏻  A.  👏🏻 WONDERFUL. 👏🏻  MESSAGE.  👏🏻
So... Having said all that. There is only one thing left: I have NO IDEA. NO IDEA. HOW HE FOUND THE STRENGTH. TO STAND UP AND SAY THIS:
I'm already saved. You can prance and you can preen and you can scream and yell and remind me of my failings but somehow, I'm awake. And I will stay awake and I will keep you awake until we both go insane. I will fight you. Fight you and fight you for... ever. For eternity.
A FUCKING ICON. STRONGEST CHARACTER EVER. YOUR FAVE COULD NEVER--
72 notes · View notes
anothertimdrakestan · 4 years
Text
Burn (Tim Drake x Reader) angst????
Words: 1.6k
Req: Hello!! May I request Tim x reader angst?? The song “Burn” from Hamilton is stuck in my head so why not put it into context with Tim cheating on reader?? Thanks and bring on the pain..
omg i love this song and im shit at angst but you only get better from trying right??? so lmk how i did i tried lmao hope you enjoy!
You dove into Bart’s chest as the tears began falling. “Just say it’s not true, say I’m wrong. Just say it” you clutched the fabric of his shirt while he stayed silent, his arms rubbing your back. “I- we- we all thought you guys were over I didn’t realize I would’ve said something but he was so secretive” Bart murmured while you let the sobs wrack your body. 
“All the nights he didn’t come home from the tower he was with her?” You began, pushing Bart away while you felt like tearing your hair out. “Every time he left me on read he probably wasn’t even the person I was texting” you continued spitting out the words in such a way that Bart was flinching at your delivery. “And now, when he needs a fucking reason to be out of Gotham he’s on a trip with her? Just leaving me here like it’s nothing? Like everything we had was just a fun little power trip for him?” you were yelling by now. 
“No- I mean yeah, Tim’s an idiot. But maybe it’s not true, maybe you just need to talk to him or something” Bart piped up, your head whipped around. “Yeah? Who am I gonna talk to? Mr. Taking My New Girlfriend On A Getaway Trip? You know he didn’t take me anywhere. Months. I begged for a day together and he was just too busy. He’s not too busy for her though, clearly she’s everything I’m not.” your anger was seeping from you slowly, the realization that every time he told you he was yours he was probably sharing rooms at the tower with her. “god FUCK how long has this been going on? It’s been like a month since he moved in to the tower- dammit! My friends told me this long distance bullshit doesn’t work but ‘oh y/n we’re perfect it’ll be fine! I’ll fly home all the time! We can call every night’ that turned out great didn’t it.” you felt the hot angry tears get replaced with the slow rolling tears that reminded you once again you weren’t good enough to be kept around.
“Do you- maybe- wanna talk to him?” Bart was clearly terrified of you but you appreciated his help. “B, what good is that gonna do? You know Tim as well as- better than me. He’ll give me a shitty excuse that it was ‘for the greater good’ or that I’m ‘just looking at it wrong’ you know he’s better with words than either of us he could run- dammit he has run circles around me like a fucking toy” you had begun scrolling through your phone wondering how many texts got copied and pasted to another text thread with someone he probably cared about more than you.
“So, what are you gonna do then?” Bart had sat next to you on the floor, letting you rest your head on his shoulder while you scrolled through text after text noticing every red flag or lazy text. “Y/n that’s not good to be looking at, you’ve gotta block him or something” Bart whispered, staring at your screen probably reading every message in slow motion. 
“It’s not just the messages I’ll be blocking” you whispered, letting the seething anger slide back in. In what Bart would describe as almost super human speed you began the descent to freedom, blocking, unfollowing, and deleting almost everything that was reminiscent of you and Tim. Then you got to your main instagram account. “Fuck it” you whispered, unfollowing him knowing that tabloids would be starting the smear campaign now. 
It felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders at an immeasurable price- the price of heartbreak which you’ll be indebted to for a long time. 
~a week later~
“I have really got to buy myself some damn pajamas” you groaned to yourself, pushing down the little lovesick demon in your head that was telling you it was okay to keep sleeping in Tim’s hoodies and sweats because maybe he’ll apologize and you can take him back and be in love again and- not gonna happen. The celebrity magazines had been lurking near your apartment for days now, waiting to hear the newest gossip and find out what truly happened as you’d been radio silent- only adding to the interest of the paparazzi. As you realized you had to go outside today you prepared yourself for the onslaught of questions. 
“Y/N L/N WHAT’S GOING ON WITH YOU AND MR. DRAKE-WAYNE?” “MISS Y/N WHY THE UNFOLLOW?” “HAVE YOU BEEN SEEING HIS RECENT POSTS? WHO IS THE MYSTERY GIRL?” you cringed at the last question, reminding yourself that his actions didn’t matter as he hadn’t truly been a part of your life for months. 
Before you could get into the black SUV waiting for you, you were stopped and trapped until you spoke into the microphone in front of you. “Anything you can give us on Tim Drake-Wayne and you?” you took a small breath, willing yourself to stay calm. “I’m sorry I simply just don’t know who that is” you smiled between your words, using the confused moment on the questioner’s face to slip into the car and drive off, finally letting you exhale the breath you’d been holding in. 
~two weeks later~
You almost threw up at the sound of a once familiar knock on your door. 
“Y/n, y/n I know you’re here let me in we’ve gotta talk” his voice pleaded from your hallway. After three deep breaths and promises to yourself to stay strong you opened the door. Tim looked normal, it was horrible. You had been fighting to look that normal and were barely holding together but here he was, wearing the shirt he wore the night he told you he loved you with the ever present stern look like nothing had ever gone wrong. He moved to come inside but you blocked his path. “We can talk out here. I don’t have much to say” you hissed, watching him sheepishly back off. “Y/n I just wanted a chance to explain and give my side and-” you cut him off. “Apologize. You’re here to apologize and if you aren’t you’d better leave now” you were screaming and sobbing and melting down internally but you held your composure. 
“Well, yeah, that too. But also we need to issue a public statement because yaknow it’s kinda been going so fast and I think if we could just sit down and work everything out we could stay on better terms because I am so sorry love” you flinched against your own will at the familiar nickname. You took a second to remind yourself that he was again just using his words to get the better of you, you were not going to fall for the same trick twice. “There’s no statement Tim, I’m not clearing your name or coming to your side- hell, I’m going to go work with fucking lexcorp so you won’t even have to worry about seeing me at the office. You and I are separate entities, you broke that relationship when you began the lies and the goddamn cheating, there’s no public statement I’d make that would put you in a better light you’re lucky as hell that this is all I’m saying got it?” you watched him flinch at your words and against all your control you could feel your body begging you to hug him and kiss away the pain like you’d done for months on months. 
“Y/n I want to apologize, I should’ve never- it- it was a lapse in judgement but I want to make it right” Tim pleaded, you watched his facade falter, like he truly felt sorry. “That’s great Tim, I’ll try to remember that when I remember all the nights you said you were stuck at the tower with work when you were with her okay? Sound good? You have a good one okay?” you feigned a smile, shutting the door and crumpling to the ground. 
You let yourself cry silently, burying your head in your hands. Your heart was heavy, it had been learning to beat on it’s own now, not to the beat of Tim’s and it hurt. But it was done? Not really. Not when you’re in the public eye, running a business that would eventually have to work with Wayne Ent. it wouldn’t ever truly be over. Your body was practically turning in on itself, your throat burning as you held in sobs, refusing to let anyone know how deeply this wound would scar. A scar so jagged and deep you feared if would keep your heart permanently broken. 
So how does it end? Because this was supposed to be the closure everyone said you needed. Where you give him a slap in the face for hurting you, telling him to ‘fuck off’ and instantly the pain subsides. But the pain was so intense and raw nothing felt soothing anymore. In a span of weeks you’d lost friends, hell- you’d lost family, and you’d lost love. Because no matter how hard you try to pry the words he said from your brain they creep back in. Nights when he’d call you from the Tower and explain how much he missed you and how perfect you were, days when you got texts about how he missed kissing every inch of your face, memories of the beautiful moments you’d had together that you figured you’d be telling your kids about. Those don’t just die with the relationship. They fester and they boil into your skin, they run through your veins, they flash in your head, reminding you that even when you gave every ounce of love you could muster you still weren’t enough. That’s what will forever stick. So it doesn’t every truly end does it?
Because you can’t burn away scares without leaving a deeper wound. And your wounds were deeper than you could fathom. Your wounds had just simply broken you. 
Tim Drake had broken you. 
So how the fuck do you get fixed?
234 notes · View notes
wordstro · 3 years
Text
omg okay so here are yeosang’s and wooyoung’s more indepth backstories in the hero/villain au because in between working on my wips I’ve been thinking about this universe as a whole a LOT lol. this also includes everyone else's powers (the backstories aren't as in depth yet) as well just a little worldbuilding establishment:
yeosang’s powers are persuasion. he was always a quiet, shy boy who liked to keep to himself. he wasn’t always quiet though, not until the day he activated his powers. when he was 13 years old, he’d been upset about something he didn’t even remember, that’s how insignificant it was, and he screamed and shouted at his parents. his mother sighed, and his father crossed his arms over his chest and said stop being a brat and tell us what happened. ironically, yeosang hated being told what to do. he stomped his foot in anger and shouted, “leave me alone! go away!”
then he turned and stomped up the stairs and slammed the door shut. when he emerged from his room hours later and tiptoed to the kitchen in search of food. the apartment was eerily quiet, the tv still running and the lights still on. he’d gone to sleep peacefully that night, unknowing that his parents would never return.
to this day he did not know where they were.
he’d lashed out a boy prodding at him during gym class, still reeling from his parent’s abandonment. he remembered the boy’s insult. you’re so useless and ugly. no wonder your parents left you, he’d spat. yeosang saw red. he hissed, “go jump off a bridge, asshole.” the boy’s eyes went blank and he turned away. yeosang stared after him in confusion but the bell rang and he was herded back to the school. the next day he learned that the boy jumped off the highway bridge still dressed in his gym uniform.
that’s when yeosang knew what he could do.
he did not speak and kept to himself since then, festering in guilt, always on the look out for his parents. in high school, he met a boy with a big smile on his face and mischief in his eyes. he witnessed one of yeosang’s bouts of anger, when he cornered some bully behind the school where the CCTVs were broken and kids came to smoke and skip class and he told him to forget about his victims and leave them alone, to focus on his grades and family and stop bullying innocent people. he’d owed one of the bully’s victims for her help with keeping him from failing math. jung wooyoung witnessed it all. the boy’s blank eyes and listless nod, yeosang’s test afterwards, everything. before yeosang could persuade wooyoung to forget, wooyoung flicked a finger and blue flames sparked to life at the tip of his fingers.
yeosang suppressed the relief and a sudden onslaught of tears at the sight, the knowledge that he was not alone anymore.
wooyoung used it to light his cigarette and wordlessly offered it to yeosang. yeosang grimaced.
i hate smoking, he’d said. me too, wooyoung replied with a grin, tossing the cigarette to the ground and grinding it with his heel. he swung his arms over yeosang’s shoulder and the rest was history.
yeosang spoke again and wooyoung helped him control his powers and outbursts. yeosang promised he would follow wooyoung to the ends of the earth. and he did, to the hero-villain alliance where he acted as a villain, to the underground meetings, to the coup, to his fights with a team he’d come to love just as strongly as he loved wooyoung. he followed wooyoung through everything and he would do it again and again. still, why did he feel so guilty? why did he feel so much regret?
wooyoung can control fire. his backstory was nothing horrifying. it was kind even compared to the others. he’d simply lost control one day, overwhelmed by emotions as teenagers are, and he burned down his house with his family still in it. he’d left severe burns on his mother and brother, but no one died. when the police came to investigate, his parents covered for him.
his mother reminded him that she loved him and stroked the tears from his face, reminded him that he’d made a mistake and she forgave him for it.
his brother said he forgave him too, but the fear in his eyes remained and wooyoung saw it. he worked to remove it but he saw it. it stayed with him. the fear changed him. not death nor hatred, just the way people looked at him when they found out what he could do, even when he played a hero.
when he and yeosang joined the hero-villain alliance, he’d basked in the kindness in their eyes and though he told himself that he would stop being soft, that he only cared for the people he cared for and that’s it, just his parents who were too old and exhausted and his brother who feared him and yeosang, the team wormed their way into his heart. he loved them. he really did.
they taught him to embrace his softness. they taught him to care. he’d been chosen as a hero by management. but he saw the injustice done to his kind. he despised the fear the public felt towards his villain counterparts, his best friends. it angered him.
because it wasn’t fucking fair. though wooyoung was soft he never agreed with peaceful protests. he believed in fighting and sacrificing for the greater good. peaceful protests rarely changed anything. the ends justified the means. always. so he staged a coup. he had to. for his people. for the world. for the greater good. he betrayed the people he loved most in the world and he would do it over and over again. for the greater good.
jongho’s powers are invulnerability/absolute durability. he has indestructible skin. it’s said he could withstand a nuclear bomb, but no one lets him try it no matter how many times jongho asks. jongho likes danger. it’s the only thing that keeps him entertained and gets him through the numbness he feels every single day. they made him a villain and jongho wondered if they knew that he feigned his optimism. he wondered if they knew how much he despised himself. he wondered if they knew that he used to beat people up just to feel something.
san’s power is intangibility. he can phase through objects by vibrating his molecules to pass through objects. recently he learned to phase his body parts so when someone tries to attack him, they fly straight through him. he tries to learn the science behind it but frankly he doesn’t care. jongho asked once if he could make his molecules turn into a nuclear beam, eyes alight with hope. san would always scold him, but he could see the sincerity in jongho’s eyes. san joined the hero-villain alliance last, plucked from jail for petty theft and given a second chance.
he loved too deeply, and he grew attached too quickly. it was a fatal flaw of his.
so when they betrayed him, yeosang and wooyoung especially, he grew so angry, he was terrified of the force of it. he never knew he could hold so much resentment, but he figures that if he could hold so much love, he could hold just as much hatred too. he fought with a vengeance with anger, but more than anything, with deep, deep hurt.
mingi’s power is light manipulation. he can manipulate light, blind people, create burning heat from it, and even create entire illusions by fracturing light particles. he’d blinded people with his power and he casted an illusion of himself, forever living in his hometown, suffering the consequences of a crime he should have been, and he fled. he’d met yunho on the streets before the hero-villain alliance and they quickly became best friends, brothers even.
hongjoong’s power is dimensional storage. he can store objects and people away for safekeeping. he’s been told that if he trained hard enough, long enough, he could advance his skills. he could manipulate space itself, erase people from existence, create wormholes and paradoxes, warp reality. it would be hard for him.
wooyoung spoke of the possibilities with twinkling eyes.
hongjoong couldn’t admit that his powers terrified him. he still couldn’t bury the guilt of what he did when he couldn’t control his powers. he still didn’t know which dimension he placed his hometown in, whether they were still alive, and it’s nearing twenty years since the accident.
that’s why hongjoong advocated for peace, for treaties and regulations. he hoped for the best in people because that’s all that kept him going. he didn't want to fight. he advocated for his team every single day. he loved them.
that’s why he ignored the signs that wooyoung was up to something until it was too late. every day since then he fought to bring them back, to right his shortcomings.
bonus:
technically this ateez hero/villain au takes place in the same timeline as the astro hero/villain au i have on here on AO3. so the juxtaposition between how fluffy and how much of a fun time astro/the ioi unit/etc are having vs ateez shows how much public opinion of people with powers changed over such a short period of time. especially as super powered people began emerging in droves.
astro’s stories take place when people with superpowers just started emerging. and villains and heroes hated each other but it wasn’t ever as serious as it now is. superheroes were a commodity. no one was extremely afraid of ppl with powers to the point of murder and villains only stole for the paycheck. that’s why they were all best friends. but as the government began to start regulating people with superpowers and ppl began to protest their existence, more government-run academies opened up and all of astro joined the hero-villain alliance as a team. that’s when they joined the biochemical weapons sector. at first it was fine - they didn’t work out on the field often but they hoped with their research they could help their kind and learn more abt themselves. until the experimentation got worse, more invasive, forced. eunwoo was the sole survivor. he lost his shit, but they managed to contain him at a high security facility. when jongho broke him out, eunwoo swore he would avenge them.
35 notes · View notes
Text
Only Live Forever in the Lights You Make
Tumblr media
Hey, remember that time Killian met Meg in some tunnels in the Underworld and introduced himself as “Captain Killian Jones” before he called himself “Captain Hook”? Because I do and, surprise, I’ve got some feelings about it! As always, I am still on my season five ‘ish, so here is about 4.2K of name-based feelings, some out of place flirting and some, surprise, Captain Cobra Swan that I didn’t plan on until I typed it. I hope you guys got all the carbs you wanted yesterday. 
All credit always and forever to @shireness-says​ for constantly telling me to keep shoving words at the internet. Even before she reads said words. (I only listened to Arctic Monkeys and My Chemical Romance while writing this. Take from that what you will.)
----
The words are heavy on his tongue. 
Still, as if they don’t belong there, or never really did and the feeling makes him ache. Although most of him aches at this point. Killian is sure his gashes have scrapes and those scrapes have bruises and gaping wounds that are likely far more metaphorical than he’s willing to admit. Staring out at the expanse of Main Street doesn’t particularly help. Hazy air hangs low over cracked asphalt, thin branches and dead leaves that only swirl slightly against the barely-there breeze coming from the Gods know where. 
There’s no water here. No hint of salt-tinged air. 
Occasionally there are some strikes of lightning, leaving the sky bright enough that Killian swears he can see for miles. He wishes he couldn’t. None of it looks right, feels even more wrong, and he supposes that’s to be expected in a place like this, but it also seems like another metaphor of sorts and maybe the torture hasn’t ceased yet. 
Maybe it won’t. 
He deserves that, he’s sure. 
Darkness doesn’t scare him much anymore, at least the more literal variety — or so he will swear, but this is somehow even worse. Every flash of light that cracks across the sky dredges up memories of the kind of storms that threatened to capsize any of the ships he once called home, and he imagines it’s something about extremes. 
Complete darkness can blind a man, but so can light. Stunning him, until he has to blink away the dots that hang in front of his eyes and the dots never entirely disappear. 
He shouldn’t have told that lass his name. 
Foolish, that’s what it was. 
“I can hear you thinking from upstairs,” Emma murmurs, slumped against the side of the railing that should lead up to her room in her parent’s loft. Something similar exists in this place, of course. He can’t imagine the blankets on that bed are as soft as the ones he only barely remembers falling into, what now feels like several lifetimes ago and—
“Might be getting worse now, actually,” she adds, “surprised there isn’t steam coming out of your ears too. Y’know, just for good measure.”
Letting out a breath, he’s all too aware of how slumped his shoulders are when he turns. Emma lifts her eyebrows. 
“The streets are already steaming,” Killian says, “anything else seems like overkill, doesn’t it?” “Stupid word.” “Aye, that it is. In poor taste.”
“What are you thinking about?” He tilts his head. Strands of hair fall towards his eyes, but Killian doesn’t make any effort to brush them away. “Did he fall asleep?” “Yeah,” Emma nods, eyes flitting back towards her room and the space she’d marched Henry into nearly fifteen minutes earlier. “About time, too. I think he was half a second away from falling asleep standing, could barely keep his eyes open anymore.” “Stubbornness is an inherited trait.” She clicks her tongue. “You think?” “Rather pointed.” “Nah, definitely round,” Emma objects, “in a circle-type way that could bring us back to my question and what you’re thinking about and—” “—Henry shouldn’t be here.” “No.” Jerking his head up the way he does only guarantees that several muscles in the back of his neck almost audibly object to the movement, Emma giving him a tight-lipped smile that isn’t exactly his, but is at least getting there, and that’s something almost vaguely positive. 
Her hair is longer than Killian remembers it being. 
He tried to remember that. 
Before. 
Wandering — stumbling, more like — around those caves, blood dripping down the side of his face, caking the same strands of hair that now threaten to actually poke him in the eye, and all he could think about was the exact shade of gold Emma’s hair turned in the moonlight. Preferably when she was also sitting in the harbor, feet hanging above the waves as they passed his flask between them. Or on the deck of his ship. 
He didn’t allow himself that particular fantasy very often, though. Getting both felt distinctly like the kind of selfishness he’s now hoping to avoid. 
“Stubborn,” Emma shrugs. 
“Something about circles, love.” “And going in them, yeah. But I’m also legitimately worried about that pinch between your eyebrows, so seems like as good a time as any to fess.” “Fess?” “Confess,” she amends, “more slang.” Killian’s smile isn’t really that. Is more a grimace and twist of his lips, and yet the weight he’s only marginally worried has taken the place of his heart lightens ever so slightly. Nothing beats yet. He’s still dead. “I like that one, actually.” “When we get home I’ll make you a list.” “Of slang?” “Whatever you want.” Neither one of them move. 
He’d like to move. Would love to, really. To cross this space and pull Emma flush against him until she grumbles about the inevitably uncomfortable nature of her perched on either one of his thighs and how his chin digs into her shoulder when he tries to breathe her in, but something about the overall tension in her jaw and the weight of those yet-to-be acknowledged words keeps Killian rooted to the spot. 
Every one of those words came out quicker than the last, as if they were an admission Emma wasn’t entirely ready to make and he’s fairly certain the pinch between his eyebrows won’t ever disappear completely. He hopes she doesn’t cut her hair. 
He hopes to get his fingers in that hair eventually. 
“I mean—” Emma stammers, color rushing in her cheek. “Within—y’know, within...no, fuck that. Whatever you want. Lists of...I don’t know, movies and books and you’re a giant dweeb right? So you’ve got to like books.” “I do, in fact.” “Yeah, yeah, I figured. I just—do they have holidays in the Enchanted Forest? No Thanksgiving or Christmas, right?” Killian shakes his head. Gets the hair away from his eyes. And makes it easier to see the exact moment Emma starts wringing her fingers together. The railing is very likely digging into her shoulder now. “Yeah, that’s what I figured,” she continues, “but uh...shit, what about birthdays? That’s a thing, right?” “Do you think I get two now?” 
One side of his mouth tugs up. Despite any efforts otherwise and his own, rather intimate, knowledge of that edge Emma is quite obviously teetering on. 
Killian’s been balancing there for the better part of the last few days. Ever since she appeared in front of him again, magic wrapping around him and making goosebumps prickle on his skin, a low heat that felt as if he’d been put on simmer without any threat of boiling because he’s not all that capable of boiling anymore, just festering and stewing and—
“I told that lass my name,” Killian says, voice hardly loud enough to qualify as any sort of sound. One of Emma’s knuckles crack. “The one in the caves, another one of Hades’ prisoners. I can’t—Gods, I can’t remember her name.” “Megara,” Emma whispers. “Yeah, I know.” He quirks an eyebrow, a sudden retreat back to flirting that’s not entirely honest. It’s very likely he’s something of a cad. And it’s easier that way. To slink back into the role, and the person he was and that person deserves everything he’s gotten and may still get. 
Of course, he can’t keep it up for very long. 
Not with Emma staring at him like that — far too appraising and understanding, and the whole thing fails rather quickly. 
Completely. Immediately. A few other words that end in ‘ly,’ just to drive the point home. “Wow, you totally suck at that.” Laughter rumbles in the back of Killian’s throat before he can even begin to rationalize the sound, rubbing his fingers into the raw skin just above his brace. “Fraid you’ll have to be more specific, darling.” “Low blow.” “Endearments, or…” “It’s not going to work,” Emma objects, rolling her eyes when Killian’s mouth shifts in the very specific kind of smirk he knows has always worked. “You don’t just get to start playing pirate and think I’ll swoon enough to get distracted.”
“Suggests I’m still able to distract you.” “Like that would change.”
Heat ripples up his spine. Surprisingly, so. The flicker of normalcy catches Killian off guard, facade slipping for half a moment, and that’s far more time than Emma needs. His hair is greasy when he runs his fingers through it. “Are you something of a soothsayer then, Your Highness? Good at reading minds now?” “More circles, babe. Open books, and all that.” He hums. Can’t do much else, actually. Emotion claws at the center of him, threatens to take root in that stagnant heart of his, and maybe that will help, but it also feels like it could drown him if it had a mind to. The give and take of all this may very well drive him insane quicker than anything Hades could hope for. “How do you know that?” “Which part?” “About the girl,” Killian says, “did you find her?” Emma scrunches her nose. “Regina and I did. In the forest. There was blood and—” She shivers. Tries to hide it, but open book works both ways and he’s always been able to tell when she’s thinking too. Or being inherently stubborn. “I was...well, I wasn’t cool about it.” “Sounds suspiciously like a compliment.” “Ass.” Staying upright is becoming increasingly difficult. “I believe that’s been well-documented, m’dear. I’m sorry about that.” “My inability to insult you better?” “That you thought it was my blood.” 
“Presumptuous,” Emma grumbles, although that sort of misses the insult mark as well and he’s genuinely not sure who moves first. Creaking joints give way to a groaning floor, a tangle of limbs and hands that almost immediately search for skin. If only to remind the other that they’re here and real and at least partially alive. 
If Killian feels his pulse pick up, he’s sure he imagines it. 
That’s not possible. 
“And,’ he adds, Emma’s back against the nearest wall now. He has no idea how his head found her thigh. He’s not going to complain. She doesn’t when she inevitably notices how goddamn greasy his hair is. Fair is only fair, after all. 
“And?” Eyes fluttering shut, Killian briefly worries for the state of his muscles. Which appear to be unspooling the longer Emma’s fingers move, tracing over his temple and the furrows of his forehead and it takes all the self control he’s only marginally in possession of not to wrap his arms around her, bury his face in her stomach and sob. 
“And,” he repeats, “that you were ever uncool about any of this.” Her body shakes when she laughs — soft and disbelieving, which is another marker in the stubborn column, really. Killian doesn’t mention that. He closes his eyes. Breathes. Counts his inhales and takes his time on his exhales, only a little disappointed that the honeysuckle scent has disappeared from Emma’s hair. 
“Can I tell you something?” “Anything.” “Half the reason I think we should make a slang list,” Emma says, “is so you can say more of it. Might be one of my favorite things.” “A slang puppet, huh? Here to entertain you.” “Why are you freaking out about telling Megara who—by the way, was not nearly as snarky as her Disney counterpart would have me believe.” “I’m sure being chased around by the three-headed beast of the Underworld will do that to a person.”
Emma’s thumb taps his jaw. Three times. Exactly. “Ah now I feel like an ass.” “Impossible,” Killian mumbles. Turning his head isn’t easy, but he doesn’t have to worry about the rest of his body when he’s splayed out across the floor like this and the muscles in Emma’s stomach noticeably contract when he noses at the hem of her shirt. 
She squirms. Above him and below him, and there it is again. More metaphors. More dichotomy, or some other philosophical bullshit he’s not willing to think about now. When Emma’s breath noticeably hitches. As soon as Killian’s teeth graze her skin. 
“Distracting—” Gasping, Emma’s nails drag across his scalp. Which isn’t as unpleasant as it probably should be. “Ah shit, I can’t think of—” “Scoundrel? Miscreant? Blackguard?” “What century is that last one from?” “Not nice at all, love,” Killian chides, but Emma just widens her eyes and perhaps they’re both dancing. Without any music. “Probably around the time the first King George ascended the throne.” “There was more than one King George?” “Several, if memory serves. You know those royals. Can’t concern themselves with naming creativity, have to honor the past and whatnot.” “Whatnot,” Emma echoes with a smile. “You want to tell me now? About Megara and how she knew your name.” “I told her, we’ve been over this already.” “Yeah, but—” The rest of the sentence disappears on Emma’s shrug, her lower lip twisted between her teeth. Nerves radiate off her, falling in waves Killian can almost see and nearly remind him of the real thing. 
Time doesn’t mean much here. Days pass on loop, and exhaustion is a guarantee more than an occasional state of being. And yet, somehow — as the last few flickers of warmth continue to lap at the base of Killian’s spine, and Emma’s fingers return to their pattern through his hair, something almost like moonlight casts a welcome shadow across the floor. Stretching over Emma’s outstretched legs and bent ankles, it curls up her arm, lingering at her elbow before it drifts towards her hunched shoulders and the edge of Killian’s wrist and then—
It’s gone. 
Disappearing as quickly as it arrived, Killian wonders if he imagined it. He didn’t. He knows, he didn’t. Just as easily as he knows it didn’t happen simply because of him. 
He licks his lips once. 
“I found her,” he starts, “or she found me, I suppose. Not easy to keep your direction underground.” Glancing up, Killian finds Emma’s eyes on him. Wide, they don’t quite demand an explanation, but they want one and he supposes wanting is half the battle. At least metaphorically. “No stars underground, you see.” “Real confident in your navigational abilities huh, Captain?” “Only if you’ll keep saying that.”
She can’t be comfortable when she bends. Twists towards him, and kisses the top of his absolutely disgusting hair. 
There’s a shower upstairs. In the right version of it. He’s not sure what’s here. He can’t bring himself to go up there. 
An absolute coward. 
“Anyway,” Killian continues, “there was a three-headed monster, this lass, and I—we weren’t both going to get out.” “You let her go, though. Told her to go.” He nods. Talking is something of a challenge once more. “As if you’d ever do anything else,” Emma mumbles, a note of pride in her voice that makes every one of Killian’s internal organs clench. That’s all they can do, really. None of them are working all that great, after all. 
“That’s not true.” Tensing, Emma’s fingers still. “That wasn’t really you.” “Ah, that’s not totally true, either. It was at least partially me, all those deep-rooted desires given free reign. But I wanted...she was so scared, Swan.” He doesn’t bother mentioning the rest. Being more specific seems pointless, especially when Emma’s fingers stay exactly where they are. And she knows, anyway. He was terrified. Of what he’d lost and what he’d done and what he’d still be willing to do, if it meant she got out of here. 
Safe. 
He wants them all safe. 
“I told her to find you,” he rasps. “That—I knew you were here, could...feel it, almost. No matter where I was or—” This may be their least organized conversation. Full of tiptoeing and heavy words, unspoken meaning that neither one of them is entirely ready to give credence to yet. “Gave her my name, my—my real name.”
Hair brushes the top of his head, softer than it has any right to be and several things in Killian’s chest threaten to combust. “I was doing a lot of yelling of your name in that bloody forest.” “Joke, or…” “Fresh out of jokes, I think.” He noses at her jeans, not sure if he’s desperate to touch her or the opposite. Desperate to brand himself there, so she’ll remember. No matter what else happens. “I didn’t even think about it,” he admits, “just—I told her to find you, said I was Captain Killian Jones, like that was something I could say, and that you needed to know I was here.” Emma’s silent for a moment. 
Another. Two moments. That become three and four and then Killian’s counting his inhales again and doing his best not to stare too intently at her. She kisses his hair again. Luke she can’t help herself. 
“Had to use the title, didn’t you?” Killian exhales. “Haven’t in quite some time.” “Did you think I wouldn’t have known it was you?” Emma teases, so the joke-thing was something of a lie. A nice one as far as misplaced lies go. Making another noise, he finally burrows closer to her until it’s closer to snuggling and clinging and another round of goosebumps explode on his skin when her hand flattens against his back. “Or,” she says, “was it something else?” “Several somethings, maybe.” “Wanna ballpark for me?” “Not sure I understand that one, actually.” “I don’t need all the somethings, but a few would be good right now. We can get to the rest of them later.”
Those words don’t necessarily fall on top of him. They’re as heavy as the rest, all that meaning and the possibility for a future that seems as distant and impossible as the past or the overall softness of the bedding upstairs. So, while gravity does its best to pull the words down on top of Killian, there’s an ease to them that makes it feel as if they’re simply resting across his back, a reminder that helps keep him pressed to this plane and this place and Emma’s left thigh. 
Which is one of his favorite places to be, quite frankly. 
Usually without the jeans in the way, but dead beggars can’t be choosers. 
“I don’t know why I did that. The name, I—” “Liar, liar.” “Would you like to talk about pants, Swan? Because I have my fair share of thoughts regarding the ones you were wearing in Storybrooke.” “I didn’t pick that outfit.” “Rather good happenstance, then.” “Is deflection a required pirate characteristic?” she asks. “Distract your enemy with half-hearted compliments and—” “—Oh no, those are full-hearted, I guarantee.” “If nothing else, I did look stupid good in those pants.” “Hair left something to be desired, but the pants fit like a glove.” Her smile almost reaches her eyes. Obvious when light filters through the gauzy curtains, once more. “Flirt.” “Only with you.” Emma’s eyes widen. Not in surprise. Closer to frustration. A hint of impatience. The stubborn sort of determination that requires an answer. “And, I—I wanted it.” “Wanted what?” “To be that. Again, I suppose. After everything. All that I’d done, and how much I’d hurt you, I—”
“—You didn’t…” “Swan, let’s be honest that’s the worst lie either one of us has told.” “Ever?” “If not longer.” Huffing out a laugh, she slides further down the wall, a move that can’t feel good on her spine, but does ensure that she’s closer to Killian and he’s still enough of a pirate to want exactly that. “But I—a very long time ago, Captain Killian Jones believed in something. Wanted something, and thought he could get it. Even if some of it was distinctly lawless.” “Probably a requirement for your line of work.” “Ah, well that king deserved all the insults you could come up with. Stealing from him, destroying everything he’d built. That felt like justice, somehow.” “Should I mention the circular nature of time again or is that redundant?” “Unnecessary,” Killian agrees, his mouth inching further up Emma’s ribcage. The noise she lets out is closer to a giggle than he’s capable of dealing with. In a place that’s always tinged vaguely red. “I suppose part of me wanted to return to that. To the ideals, maybe not the laws or the uniforms, but certainly not the…” He swallows. “Villain. Evil. Wrong.” “I never thought you were wrong,” Emma says, soft enough that it’s difficult to hear. Over the ringing in Killian’s ears. And whatever rushes off her. Magic, of course. Responding to emotion and its innate desire to meet him halfway. 
Gods, but he loves her more than he ever believed he could. 
“I know that,” Killian promises, “even when I didn’t want to. Especially then.” “Make it sound less like an insult next time.” Tightening his arms isn’t easy when there’s this blasted wall in the way. Killian tries all the same. Emma doesn’t tell him to stop. “You were Captain Hook,” she adds, “when we found you. Buried under all those bodies in the Enchanted Forest.” “Eventually that’s really all that was left.” “I can make some more snide comments on pants, if you want. What’s the flammability of leather?” “I have no idea, honestly.” She smiles. He doesn’t check. Knows, can feel it in the very center of soul. “Ah, well, they can probably catch fire. Regina’s going to teach me how to do those ball things, anyway.” “Absolutely menacing, Your Highness.” “Don’t you forget it.”
The room is getting brighter. 
Or Killian’s finally fallen off that edge. Either one seems entirely reasonable and maybe even a little enjoyable and he’s not sure when, exactly, he decides to start talking again. Only that the words arrive without much thought and even more feeling and Emma’s eyes don’t leave him.  
“It was a mask. A reason for everything else, an excuse that I’d rationalized so I could fall asleep. Captain Hook was a product of his own misfortune, all those unfair hands he’d been dealt. The loss, the anger, the fury that grew every single time metal found skin. Being that, being him, allowed me to drift further and further into that darkness.” “But?” “But,” Killian repeats. “You found me under a pile of bodies in the Enchanted Forest.” “Oh, that’s kind of nice.” “It kind of was. After you got rid of the blade at my neck.” She flicks his chest. The knot of their limbs is another kind of miracle. “And then everything else that happened. Beanstalks, and Cora, and magic beans and—” “—You came back,” Emma cuts in. “Seems you’ve returned the favor several times over, love.” “That’s how it’s supposed to work, I think.” Maybe he’ll marry her.
The thought strikes him as suddenly as the lightning that flashes outside, a spark that’s eerily similar to the flames Emma was just talking about and there are far too many metaphors bouncing around his skull. He might just have a headache. 
And yet the thought doesn’t disappear. Not immediately. No, it settles. Threatens to grow at the forefront of his brain, where the institution of marriage has never been given much consideration. Until now. With his left shoulder close to popping out of his socket, and Emma’s fingers in his hair and her back contorted while half a dozen bruises on his legs refuse to heal. 
“I love you,” Killian says, unable to do anything else. Except propose, apparently. He should be alive for that. 
And sitting up. 
He can’t bring himself to sit up. 
Only pull himself closer to Emma, until it’s obvious how much he wants and possibly needs and something about a circle. Coming back. Over and over. 
“I know. Which is—” “—Good?” “Better,” Emma says. “I love you, too. Just you, you know that right?” Nodding leads to jeans scratching at his cheeks, but these pants fit fairly well too and both of them flinch at the noticeable creak coming down the stairs. Tufts of Henry’s hair stick up in every direction. 
“You ok?” Emma asks her son, only to get a teenage-type shrug and genetically inherited head tilt. 
Killian narrows his eyes. “What’s the matter, my boy?” The head tilt reaches an angle unaccomplished by anyone over the age of twenty-five. Killian isn’t even sure he could attempt such an angle. But it doesn’t seem to bother Henry and neither he nor Emma point out the use of those particular words in that particular order. “Couldn’t sleep,” he mutters, already stumbling forward. Falling is likely far too generous a descriptor for whatever Henry does next, another mess of limbs that adds to Killian and Emma’s knot, and there are a few more grunts than there should be. 
From all of them. 
Until they find something resembling comfort, Killian’s head still on Emma’s thigh and her legs stretched out so Henry can take advantage of her right one and— “Probably should have found a pillow,” Killian mutters, hoping it sounds like the apology he wants it to be. It’s not enough. Nothing ever could be, really. And he’s not all that surprised by Emma’s head shake, the way it makes her hair sway and brighten under the bit of light they’ve probably created just now and she winces when Henry’s chin digs into her knee. He starts snoring five seconds later. “I’m fine,” Emma says, and it’s impossible to argue with her. Even in this impossible place. “You’re comfortable like this.”
His heart thumps. 
With wishful thinking or more misplaced hope, but it’s there all the same and he kisses exactly where his lips land. 
73 notes · View notes
incubae-fics · 3 years
Text
Bitter [AU!Aomaris]
Tumblr media
Pairing: AU!Sam x Female!Reader
Warnings: Angst, darkish imagery
A/N: I told you I would continue. Also I love sam ;-; where is he. short n meh. I’ll have more shit later lol
Tumblr media
It sounded like it was raining. He couldn’t be too sure though. It sounded like rain was pouring against.. glass? It had been so long since he was somewhere with glass windows so that was why he was so confused.
His usual response to being caught off guard was to get up and fight. Grab his nearest dagger or anything and just knock their fucking teeth in for trying him but.. he wasn’t doing that? He felt... secure here. There was no need to fight and.. well, it felt like someone was laying on him? 
A soft sigh was heard, the breath of it hitting the side of his neck, “We really should get up.. it’s at least lunch time now..”
Her voice is so nice to him- soft and thick with sleep. He doesn’t know who she is but.. he feels.. happy to have her near. He feels as if he had been waiting all his life for something like this. Or at least months of agonizing 
“Mhm.. you’re so warm though, haha..”, she speaks again, breath warm against his skin.
Without thinking, he presses her close. He feels her smile in response and his heart feels like it’s going to fly out of his chest. She squeezes back and it makes him feel so tingly. His nerves are on fire- no, his whole body is, but in a good way. Not in the way he’s used to fire lapping at his skin.
He wants to say something- to profess something that he feels deep within his bones- down to his very core. She beats him to it, however.
With the softest sigh he’s ever heard, she says, “I love you, Aomaris..”
He shudders at the sound of his name on her tongue. He can’t see her, but he can feel her. He feels so lucky- so very blessed- what is this? Who is this? Why is she killing him so very sweetly- how can she love such a monster?
How is he so comfortable like this? Chest bare and vulnerable, back against something.. soft? He wonders if he’s laying on a bed, but how is that? He hasn’t had one since he was a child..
“Aomaris..”, she says again, and he shudders all the same. It’s so soft.. so very loving..
He basks in it- soaks it all up. He craves for more, struggles to force his mouth to speak as she lets out a small laugh.
“C’mon.. let’s get some food. I’m starving.”
He feels her start to move, and once more, he pulls her closer. This gains him another laugh and he feels so complete somehow. This feels like everything he has ever yearned for and more. It feels like things have fallen into place. There is no more fighting just to be able to breathe for a bit longer. No constant worry for his brothers safety- no more looking behind his back to see who else is trying to come for his head. His body does not ache. There are no open gashes or caked blood.
There is only her. Her in this dim room, with cool sheets and soft fabric. Her warmth and her sweet scent- something like fruits and flowers. A fine mist mixture. The rain continues to poor and he wishes to lay here forever.. please-
“Aomaris we-..”, she is cut off and then her voice fades. He can’t hear her- he can’t feel her. She should be here- she should-
Tumblr media
Burning against his back is what causes him to stir. It is dead silent and his limbs feel heavy. His eyes blearily open, and at first all he sees is a stained stone floor. Dried blood decorates it in disgusting splattered patterns. Claw marks accent it here and there.
Above him lay his arms, shackled and connected to chains in the floor. They are rusted and ragged, dents here and there from when he got close to breaking the old metal.
His throat feels raw and gross with each breath he forces out.
Breathe- It was a dream-
A dream 
His chest feels heavy- it is a pain he isn’t used to. He doesn’t know of any low power spell that can numb it. It hurts worse than anything he’s felt before. He wonders if someone caved his chest in while he slept.
That would be preferable. He wanted to have a name to this pain- he wanted a reason, someone to blame other than himself. Who the hell was he anyway?
What kind of monster would ever be granted any sort of freedom? Love? Who would ever love such a bastard? A gruesome demon with a long track record to match?
He has to force his eyes shut and grit his teeth. He will not cry here- he just fucking won’t.
He won’t allow any tears to fall onto this stone floor ever again.
So he presses his face into the hard and cold surface, forcing his breathing to stay even no matter how much it hurts him to. 
He considers himself lucky that no one is around or even awake to hear his small sounds of misery. The rough grunts to bite his lips shut- the blood dripping onto the floor that follows suit.
He considers slamming his head into the ground to knock himself out, but he doesn’t go through with it. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he passed out. He doesn’t know how long Izroul has been without food and water.
So he goes through the motions. He shoves this misery away- deep into his core, where he let it fester on it’s own.
To this day, no one knows of how he broke on that stone floor. Surrounded in his own drying blood..
Tumblr media
His teeth had clacked against each other, making him bite his own tongue. He hissed in irritation. How dare she-
“You asshole! Who the fuck do you think you are?! Touch me again and I swear I’ll fucking knock your teeth down your throat!”
Her voice- it’s enough to make him freeze for a solid second before glaring back a her. He’d come to regret what he’d done then, and all the things he said after, but for the moment.. he let that pain resurface. She wouldn’t know.. not then..
He wasn’t even aware he’d let it out.
He always said he was a rotten bastard of a demon..
She comes to disagree..
49 notes · View notes