#((bones creaking)) it's crazy I remember this from when it was new
Text
Like A Movie
“ Hiya! I absolutely adore your lockwood x reader fics. They are so good! I was wondering if you would write some Lockwood x reader fluff where the reader loves the rain and so when they have a quiet moment on day Lockwood takes her outside to dance in the rain and then they share their first kiss. That would be amazing, thank you! ”
a/n: @nessa-stark your wish is my command!! hope I've done it justice <3
warnings: none
gn reader
Outside, rain lashes down onto the pavements in thick sheets, drowning out the sound of the kettle boiling in the kitchen, or George's strange shuffling around in his room - probably some sort of yoga, though you dare not go and check. The sky is a deep grey, and it's hard to see anything out of the living room window with all of the raindrops on the window. Instead of people watching, you opt to follow the falling droplets, racing down the clear glass to reach the windowsill.
There's something about rainy days that calms you. Maybe it's the sound, or the comfort of sitting inside, dry and warm, as the weather takes its toll on the world beyond.
The living room door creaks, and you glance over at it. Lockwood walks in, holding two steaming mugs, and grins at you. At the sight, a shiver runs down your spine, and you smile, pulling yourself away from the window to gratefully take one of the mugs from him.
"I remembered the honey this time," he says as he sits on his armchair. "Didn't want a repeat of last time."
Rolling your eyes, you sit on the sofa, propping your feet up beside you. "Don't be dramatic. I still drank it."
"You looked like you wanted to cry," he says.
"Did not. You, Anthony Lockwood, love to exaggerate."
He only laughs, turning his attention to the magazine you set out on the table for him this morning after picking it up on your shopping trip. It's funny how enthralled he becomes by them, totally oblivious to the world around him. You could set the sofa on fire, and he'd still be busy reading about how Rotwell has released a new prototype, or Penelope Fittes hosting another party.
You sit content just admiring him for a minute. His hair falls onto his forehead, still slightly damp from when he'd nipped out to Satchel's earlier to stock up on more salt bombs and such, and his cheeks are rosy from the heat in the living room. In one hand, he holds the handle of his mug, perched on the arm of his chair, while the other holds the magazine. He reads it as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. Rather than his usual shirt and tie, he's dressed more casually today, wearing his rarely-seen hoodie and T-shirt combo. It suits him.
"Let's go outside."
Surprisingly, Lockwood looks up from his magazine. "What?"
"You heard me. Let's go outside."
"It's chucking it down," he says, frowning. "We'd get soaked immediately."
Leaning over the sofa's arm, you pluck your shoes off the ground, haphazardly thrown there after your shopping trip this morning, and tug them on. You scamper into the hall, tossing Lockwood's into the lounge, looking at him expectantly.
For a moment, he just sits and stares at you, one blink away from being bug-eyed, but he eventually relents.
"If I get a cold, I expect you to look after me."
You grin. "Colds aren't caused by rain, actually. Now, come on!"
The kitchen is cold and, when you throw open the back door, you're struck with a blast of freezing air that chills you to the bone. You've left your jacket but, regardless, you step out into the rain.
Immediately, you become drenched. The rain is heavier than it looked through the window, but you don't mind. Each drop feels like heaven.
Lockwood stands in the doorway, clutching his jacket tightly around his body. "You're insane, you know that, right?"
You spin in the rain, laughing. "Absolutely. It's why you hired me. You needed someone to make you feel less crazy."
Your jumper clings to your skin, and your hair is plastered against your face and neck. Water fills your shoes. The long, uncut grass grazes your legs, soaking your jeans even further.
"Get out here," you say with a laugh, running over to Lockwood.
Before he can protest, you grab his warm hands and tug him out of the door. His head ducks slightly when the rain hits him, but, despite it all, he's grinning widely.
Lifting his arm above you, you twirl beneath it, hair whipping out behind you as you do so. The rain drips over your face, lashes against your back, and your skin is covered in goosebumps, but you barely feel the cold. Lockwood's laugh is enough to keep you warm.
As cheesy as it is, he keeps moving to let you twirl, or shuffles along with you in some kind of dance to only the sound of rain and distant cars speeding through puddles. It feels like a movie, a rom-com musical where the love interests dance in the rain, but if people were to look upon this, they'd see nothing more than two teenagers who have lost their minds. Two teenagers that definitely aren't love interests.
Right?
If your story were a movie, it would be the one with unrequited love. The one where the girl pines after the guy, no matter how hard she tries not to. A movie full of secret glances and little gifts, longing looks and eventual heartbreak. Well, that's how you've always seen it, and you've been given little reason to believe otherwise.
Lockwood can charm anything that moves with nothing but a smile and some pretty words. It's in his nature. He charmed you long ago, caught you in a net of emotions that you can never escape. No matter how many magazines you buy him, or how long you sit, admiring him, hoping he'll notice, he doesn't seem to realise. Not that it's his fault. He's the most oblivious guy you've ever met.
You don't mind too much. Having him as your friend is better than not having him at all, and you're content. Every day is spent with him in some regard, and that's more than you could ever ask for. You get to hear his little sarcastic remarks, the sound of his laugh when someone is being an idiot, see his enchanting smile. Nothing in this world would be tempting enough for you to give the privilege of seeing and hearing those things up.
Once more, Lockwood lifts his arm for you to spin, but you stumble, catching your foot on a rock hidden in the long lengths of the grass. Before you can even come close to falling, his arms close around you, holding you close to his chest.
He's impossibly warm, skin practically steaming in the chill of the back garden, and it's a warmth you can already feel yourself melting into.
Your eyes meet, and you're captivated. His eyes are dark, but they shimmer in the bleak outside with emotions - happiness, and something else, something hidden just so. You can feel his breath on your cheek, faces closer than they should be, but neither of you makes a move.
"Falling for me now, huh?" he says, but his voice is quieter than you would've expected.
Swallowing, you say, "That was the cheesiest thing you've ever said. Never do it again."
He smiles down at you, and your heart skips a beat. "If you say so."
Even still, you stand, held close to his body. His apparent reluctance to move has butterflies swarming in your stomach.
"I -" The words get caught in your throat. You're too busy studying his face - the way his eyes flicker over your face, how his lips quirk up in a softer rendition of his infamous grin, how his hair, plastered to his forehead, catches his eyelashes.
"Can I kiss you?"
The words catch you completely off guard and, for a moment, you need to confirm that you're not actually dreaming. But, no, the rain feels real, the chill feels real, his hands, carefully holding one of your arms and your back, are real.
It takes a minute, but you nod, unable to speak.
He smiles, moving a hand from your arm up to your cheek, holding you gently. Raindrops cover his eyelashes, glittering like little crystals.
Ever so slowly, he leans forward, and you meet him halfway, eyes fluttering shut.
Maybe your life is a rom-com. Dancing and then kissing in the rain, something you never thought you'd do, nevertheless with the guy you've been pining after for months. Sparks fly when his lips touch yours, and fireworks explode in your mind as your brain and heart throw a celebration. His lips taste like slightly too bitter tea, and they're chapped from the cold, but it's something you find you quite like. His hoodie, soaked beneath your hands, is soft, and you clutch it tightly, filled to the brim with emotions you can barely contain.
It feels like years before you part, breathing softly and gazing at each other, looking like idiots in the heavy rain. Lockwood is grinning like a madman, and you're probably no better, although you're likely bright red.
"What was that for?" you ask, and your voice comes out as little more than a whisper.
"Something I've wanted to do for a while," he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. "Is that allowed?"
"Kiss me again, and I'll let you know."
#lockwood x reader#anthony lockwood x reader#lockwood and co x reader#lockwood and co fanfiction#lockwood and co#lockwood and co netflix#anthony lockwood#george karim#lucy carlyle#x reader#fanfiction#givemea-dam-break
295 notes
·
View notes
Text
One Day
Premise: Ethan is confronted with the fact that his father won’t be around forever.
Book: Open Heart (post series)
Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine); feat. Alan Ramsey
Rating/Category: Teen. Angst.
Words: 2,405
A/N: Submission to @choicesoctober prompt "family"; I'm using @choicesflashfics week 53, prompt 3 (in bold).
Alan Ramsey woke before his alarm, not an uncommon occurrence after thirty-plus years of early mornings. But lately, his knees creaked more often than not when he climbed out of his bed. There was no denying it took his muscles longer to recover after a full day at work.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the quiet around him. Every now and then, he heard creaking and settling from inside the walls of the old house. Alan was used to the silence, but he missed that long ago time when the house was a home.
There was a time when his ears would be tuned to the sound of Ethan’s heavy feet rushing down the stairs, ready to conquer the day. And when his son was older, those same feet stealthily climbed up the stairs after a night out with a girl or his friends.
Alan was loathe to get out of bed this morning. He felt the ache down to his bones, and the inky blue darkness outside the bedroom window wasn’t helping. The days were getting shorter and the air colder. He felt like calling in sick but wasn’t sure what he’d do sitting at home alone.
Deciding he’d dawdled enough, Alan shoved the covers aside and rolled off the bed. His feet touched the cold floor, reminding him that he needed to call someone to service the furnace. Typically, Ethan took care of it, but his son had been busy lately, more than usual, as he prepared for his new role.
Alan was proud of everything he had accomplished, but he wondered if this was a sign that he’d have even less of Ethan’s time than before.
Later, still feeling out of sorts, he started the truck and waited for the engine to warm up. He absently sipped coffee from a thermos as the wipers cleared early morning dew coating the windshield, and slowly backed out of the drive.
A loud honk had him hitting the brakes hard and cursing as hot coffee splashed across the steering wheel and his hand. He looked in the rearview mirror to see a black sedan zoom past, uncaring about the speed limit.
Shaking his head in disgust, Alan used a rag to wipe the coffee stains away and continued on to work.
Later that morning, when his foot missed a foothold halfway down the telephone pole, and the ground rushed up towards him, he wished he’d called in sick after all.
---
Cassie Valentine was trying to read a super-dense journal article for the diagnostic team’s latest case, but an intermittent buzzing sound kept interrupting her focus. Frustrated, she threw Ethan’s cell phone an annoyed look, tempted to chuck it across the room.
Why did he have to be forgetful today of all days? She cursed as she lost sight of the paragraph she was on and had to start over.
It didn’t help that she was working the case on her own. Tobias was on vacation, and Baz was tied up with a research project. Ethan was working with Naveen on his transition. So, their contributions had been minimal to date.
Her green eyes fired up when the sliding doors swooshed open, and Ethan strolled in nonchalance.
“How’s the research going?” Ethan asked, heading straight to his desk.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Cassie bit out. “You left your cell phone here, and the constant buzzing is driving me fucking crazy. Did you have to leave it behind today of all days? It’s not that hard to remember to take it with you!”
Ethan glanced over in surprise at her raised voice and waspish tone. “What’s got you upset?”
Cassie almost screamed in frustration, ready to tear her hair out. Instead, she snapped, “Nothing!” in a tone that implied everything was wrong and it was his fault.
She pushed back her chair, not an easy feat since it didn’t have wheels, and gathered her things.
And another thing, she grumbled, which genius decided office chairs without wheels on a carpeted floor were a good idea? Everyone knew a good chair should easily roll across the floor!
She stalked over to his desk, slammed his phone down (vibrating again, of course, in that maddeningly grating way) and marched off before she said or did something she’d regret.
Ethan watched Cassie warily through the glass walls as she disappeared down the hallway. He pursed his lips at her strange attitude and then dismissed it out of hand.
He glanced at the still buzzing phone — the vibrating tone really was annoying — and wondered who he knew at University Medical Center in Providence. Likely a consult request, he thought absently and accepted the call.
A few minutes later, he rushed towards the staircase closest to this part of the hospital. He was too anxious to wait for the elevator and didn’t want anyone to see him like this. Once he was in the parking lot, he called Naveen, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder as he opened the car door and slid into the driver’s seat.
“My dad’s been in an accident at work,” he said when his mentor answered, grateful that Naveen didn’t interrupt with a lot of questions. “He’s at University Medical in Providence. I’m leaving now.”
Ethan started the engine and waited for the phone to sync with the Bluetooth system.
“Keep me posted, Ethan,” Naveen’s voice boomed from the overhead speakers. “I’ll come down to Providence as soon as I can.”
“Thanks,” Ethan said, disconnecting the call before backing his car out of the parking spot.
A thousand thoughts crowded his brain as he battled the afternoon Boston traffic. He breathed a sigh of relief when he cleared city limits and took the interstate ramp, accelerating with every passing minute.
Like most children, Ethan had always thought his dad would be around forever. But the man and doctor in him knew one day he’d have to reconcile with losing his only parent. Still, Alan was only fifty-seven, active and fit, and Ethan figured one day was a long way off.
He checked in on his father every month, made sure he was aware of any medications he was prescribed and took care of stuff around the house. Well, he hired someone to do it, from mowing the lawn in summer to a snow cleaning service in the winter. His dad protested at the expense, but Ethan didn’t want him doing the heavy lifting.
The last time he drove down to Providence…he racked his brain and realized it was six or seven weeks. He’d been too busy lately to visit, what with leading the team and working with Naveen on the transition and with Cassie on hers. Their calls had been brief too, just hello, how are you, sorry, can I call you back?
He was about to cross into Rhode Island when he remembered Cassie. He’d call her later, he decided. Right now, he wasn’t in the mood for an argument about whatever was bothering her. They could hash it out later, as far he was concerned.
It was an hour later when he was finally escorted to his dad’s hospital room. Sitting in the waiting room had been unbearable, but he understood these situations all too well.
He nodded absently as the on-call resident went through the litany of injuries, some of which Ethan could see for himself. Alan’s left arm was in a cast, broken in two places. There were abrasions, contusions and lacerations along the side of his neck and face, his arms and legs.
He looked so small, Ethan thought, watching his father sleeping, swallowed up by the large bed, the back raised at an angle. Lines and wires were running up the side of the bed, and a pulsometer measured his heart rate and O2 stats.
“Your father is fortunate, Dr. Ramsey. The bushes broke his fall,” the doctor droned behind him, his tone deferential upon learning his identity. “A few inches to the left and the injuries might have been catastrophic. We’ll monitor him overnight and reassess in the morning.”
Ethan placed his hand atop Alan’s through the guardrail, reassuring himself when he felt the warm skin.
“I’ll check in later in case you have any questions,” the resident said.
Ethan nodded, taking a deep breath to hold back his emotions. “Thank you, Doctor…” He turned around to look at the young man with a quizzical look. “I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name.”
“Doctor Nolan,” he said simply, hand on the door handle.
And with a wave, he was gone, closing the door behind him.
Alone, Ethan dropped into the visitor’s chair beside the bed and leaned forward. He reached for his father’s hand again, careful of the IV catheter. His eyes turned misty, and his mind flooded with memories from his childhood.
His dad cheering him on at hockey practice and basketball games. Those early days after Louise left and waiting for his truck to pull into the driveway, afraid that his father would disappear like she had.
Walking along the riverbank in the summer, licking ice cream cones. His dad teased him for taking his sweet time while Alan gobbled his up quickly, laughing as he wiped the sticky residue in his beard.
Being a single parent was hard, but his father had done his best for his only child. Ethan knew Alan had no regrets, but he couldn’t say the same about himself. He should have visited more, spent less of his free time working or with Cassie, or maybe he should have brought her down with him.
She had been pushing him for months for a relationship with his father, but Ethan had resisted. He wasn’t even sure why he’d been reluctant. His life in Boston, his life with her, was so different from his life in Providence. He wasn’t ashamed of it, precisely, but he couldn’t envision her in the rundown neighborhood with chain-link fences.
Should he contact Louise? Alan would want him to. He was certain of that.
Ethan wasn’t sure how long he sat there, head in his hands, lost in thought. When a hand fell on his shoulder, the unexpected touch was like an electric shock to his system, and he almost jumped out of the chair. The darkness outside the window was as jarring as the intrusion.
“Sorry,” Cassie whispered. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“What are you doing here?” he asked, clearing the gruff from his throat.
Cassie looked momentarily hurt, but then her face cleared, looking almost serene.
“Naveen told me,” she said, her gaze briefly landing on the bed. “I’m so sorry, Ethan. How is he doing? What did the doctors say?”
“He hasn’t woken up yet, but his vitals are stable,” he said, stretching his long arms into the air.
He narrated the notes he’d read earlier, summarizing what the doctors and nurses had relayed and the incident report from his father’s boss when he dropped by earlier, falling into the familiar role of a doctor and not a son.
“I wish you’d called me,” Cassie said softly, and then she shook her head before Ethan could respond. “Never mind.”
She nodded at an overnight bag on the floor just inside the entrance. “I packed you some clothes, underwear, toiletries. I figured you’d want to stay until Alan is out of the hospital. I wasn’t sure if you keep a change of clothes at your dad’s house, but it couldn’t hurt to be prepared.”
Ethan felt ashamed for not getting in touch with her himself. He’d meant to do it after he arrived, but it had slipped his mind. And yet, he’d managed to speak to Naveen and convinced him to stay in Boston.
He stared at the bag and thought he was an ass for taking her for granted.
“I’ll leave you alone,” she said, taking a step back as she turned to leave. “Let me know when he wakes up and how he’s doing.”
Ethan grabbed her hand before she could leave and reeled her into his arms, locking her against him. He framed her face between his hands and tilted her head back to meet his gaze.
“I’m sorry, Cassie,” he said, his blue eyes remorseful. “I should have called you as soon as I heard, or at least from the road. I kept telling myself I’d do it shortly, but it slipped my mind.”
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “You had a lot on your mind.”
“It’s not okay,” Ethan countered vehemently. “No excuses. You should have been my first call.” He brushed her lips tenderly. “I want you to stay. Please. I can’t do this without you.”
Cassie relented, the stiffness in her body dissipating as she leaned into him and her hands slipped around his back.
“I’m sorry, too, for snapping at you earlier,” she said, kissing the underside of his jaw. “I was irritated by my lack of ability to solve the case, and I took it out on you.”
“There, you’re all better now,” Alan whispered hoarsely from the bed.
Ethan let Cassie go and stepped toward the bed. He placed one hand on the pillow as his father struggled to sit up, his hands failing to find purchase.
“Easy, Dad. I’ve got you,” he said, pressing a button to adjust the bed and helping Alan get comfortable.
“I’ll get the doctor,” Cassie said, leaving them alone as she rushed out of the room.
“Dad, I…” Ethan swallowed hard against the lump forming in his throat.
“I know, son. I know.” Alan squeezed his hand lightly. “I was careless.”
He started coughing, wincing at the pain. Ethan quickly grabbed the water jug and poured water into a paper cup. He stuck a straw through the top and held it up for his father to drink.
“We can talk later when you’re feeling better.” Ethan lowered the back of the bed slightly. “Just rest for now. Doctor’s orders,” he added, forcing a smile.
Alan settled back on the bed, wheezing slightly from the exertion, and closed his eyes.
“Don’t make the same mistakes I did, Ethan,” he said weakly. “Don’t take the woman you love for granted.” He paused to catch his breath. “Love is fragile in the best of times. But when things are hard…”
“I won’t,” Ethan said, understanding what was left unsaid. “I promise.”
---------------
All Fics & Edits: @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction
Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics
Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @hopelessromantic1352 @mrs-ramsey @youlookappropriate
#open heart#ethan ramsey#open heart choices#ethan ramsey x mc#open heart fanfics#open heart fanfiction#alan ramsey#choices fanfics#choices fanfiction#choices fic writers creations#cfwc fics of the week#ethan ramsey x cassie valentine
64 notes
·
View notes
Text
the leather jacket effect - billy hargrove x reader
part 2 ; masterlist here
WARNINGS; sexual tension, language, douchebag billy hargrove, drinking, let me know if i missed any!
you once heard about a myth about fairies when you were little. it made you stay up for days out of the fear that some mythological being would sneak in your room late at night and steal your body. they’re always depicted as being apple-cheeked, giggling and joyful little critters, adorned in flowers and shades of green. but they were also known to be hideous to natives- vengeful, mischievous, wanting nothing but to create chaos with bodies of grey-green skin and white bone and yellow fingernails that drag across your floorboards with a disgusting creaking sound. the myth that you remember the most- because you made the mistake of asking your grandmother if she’d ever seen a fairy- was, if you give a fairy your name, you give up power to them. then they could trick, lure and enchant you.
what this meant, and why you knew it, was kind of a mystery. all you knew is that it seemed relevant to your current situation, after you gave the new star of hawkins, billy hargrove, your name. it seemed like after that morning when he interrupted your smoke break, he couldn’t get out of your way. it seemed like even the idea that you weren’t interested in swooning over him was driving him insane, making him feel the need to prove himself and everyone around him.
after first period, you tried to shake the very strong scent of his gum mixed with tobacco off of your nose and the image of his smile out of your head. you had never actually sat through your entire life skills class, but with billy guarding your usual spot, you had to today. you didn’t know why you couldn’t just.. stand next to him. you weren’t scared of him, and you didn’t have anything to hate him for, you just.. couldn’t. and it was bugging you. big time.
but first period came and went, and then second period, and then third period, and then soon enough the fourth period bell rang and you made your way to your english class, stopping at your locker to grab your overly heavy textbook that you would barely use the entire year and your copy of animal farm, a book that all teachers were pushing their students to read with the sudden increase in hostility between the US and the USSR. to you, it was just a pain in the ass. but, you thought the book was kind of cool. the concept, at least, giving farm animals human characteristics in their plot to create a communistic society within their home.
and you were excited to read it, too, as you sat down in mrs. campbell’s class. she was an older lady, not elderly but not a yuppie, of course. she was super passive to you- you weren’t sure if she even knew your name. you could excuse it because of her age, but she wasn’t nearly old enough to use that excuse.
as you sat down, the usual chatter of the pre-tardy bell seemed to be a bit louder, a bit more excited than usual, from behind you, you heard whispering and giggling from several people that you passed off as the usual hawkins gossip and judgement.
“oh my god, did you see-”
“yes! yes, i know, right?”
“it was so crazy,-”
“jesus, jason is being such a drag-”
“hey, are you going tomor-”
“oh, for sure. i hear that new hottie is going- billy hargrove.”
you don’t know why, but that collection of sounds put together in the form of a name made your senses tense up, like a bloodhound looking for a trail. like a reflex, your neck twisted to look at the group of gossipers, unfortunately coming face to face with “the popular kids.” you froze as they stopped talking, eyes widened without your knowledge. tina raised her eyebrows at you, tilting her head and waiting for you to talk, say something besides looking like a deer in headlights.
“can we.. help you?” tina asked sarcastically when you didn’t answer, earning a snicker from the other girls.
you swallowed, “uh- no no, i was.. looking at the.. poster, behind you,” you lied, pointing an unsteady hand behind the group to the poster of kindergarten-level grammar rules.
tina let out a laugh, the others following suit until she spoke again. they knew you were looking at them, but it was entertaining to them to see someone else struggle. sadists, you thought.
“riiiighhhtt, yeah. totally,” tina continued, looking at her friends as they laughed, waiting for you to turn around to continue their gossip.
you sighed, planting your elbow on your desk and holding your forehead in your palm, already wanting this stupid class to be over.
“alright, class! tardy bell has rang, please get your books out,” mrs. campbell announced, her tired voice sounding already irritated with her students. you understood why, hawkins high students had a tendency to be incompetent and careless. you honestly felt kinda bad for her, having to teach a bunch of teenagers that wanted to go out and do keg stands about the dangers of the soviet union.
you heard the shuffling of bags and papers, and then the thick sound of books planting on desks with small groans of dread.
“now, today we will be independently,” she emphasized, glancing at the group of basketball players in the front of the class, “reading chapters four through six. i want you all to focus on the stylistic choices today- i have a worksheet up front to fill out wh-”
the wooden door labeled with “mrs. campbell” and various stickers slowly pushed open just then, interrupting mrs. campbell’s instruction and throwing the class into a curious silence. the sound of boots thudding against tile seemingly bounced off the walls of your small classroom, and with each sound, dread filled the pit of your stomach. you needed this to not be what you think it is. if it is, maybe a transfer is something to think about.
but, of course, it was exactly what you hoped it wasn’t.
“ah, mr. hargrove, how nice of you to join us on your second day of school,” mrs. campbell sighed, folding her hands together and turning to face the character entering the classroom.
“oh, mrs. campbell, so sorry about that. i uh- got lost and ended up in E hall. it won’t happen again. promise.”
billy hargrove. there he was, trying to charm his way out of trouble with the same smile he gave you, when all you wanted was to have nothing to do with him or what he represented. his stupid, cold puppy-dog eyes made contact with mrs. campbell’s, and her stern face dropped, just like that. you could’ve sworn you saw her knees buckle, too. gross.
“that’s.. fine.” oh, come on mrs. campbell! you thought she had way more bite in her than to submit to billy’s manipulation. “this will be a warning, though. i expect you to be on time.”
“of course,” billy nodded. he then held out his ring-clad hand for mrs. campbell to shake. what a douchebag. “i’m billy hargrove, miss.” she took his hand, giving him a weak handshake, her usual frown twisting into a polite grin.
“i am mrs. campbell, your english teacher. please, take a seat- we were just getting started,” she explained, tired tone becoming welcoming and accepting as she extended her arm to gesture billy to an open seat as she dropped his hand. billy’s eyes examined the terrain, seeing what people he could bully for homework and what people would do it willingly and what people weren’t even worth asking. and eventually, as he scanned desk by desk, his blue eyes landed on you. he smirked. a quiet smirk, one barely noticeable and would’ve seemed like it was directed at the popular girls wearing bright colors behind you. but you knew, it was directed at you and the name you gave him. you could feel his gaze even after it left you, like a lazer that burned a hole in your head. it was sharp, like he was holding a knife to your acrobatic stomach, threatening you with a secret even you didn’t know about. as soon as his eyes landed on you, your eyes snapped another direction, letting out a heavy huff, hurrying to open your book and appear busy with the hopes he wouldn’t bother you.
he opted to sit right in front of you, much to your distaste. maybe you could move seats tomorrow and mrs. campbell wouldn’t notice. you didn’t need to be around him and his basketball team buddies, sandwiched between them and the group of gossipmongers behind you. and especially not near him. you knew that his public acknowledgement of your existence meant that you became another person that hawkins high saw as prey to hunt and degrade at billy’s new command. and you really, didn’t want that to happen. you didn’t want to be popular, not by any means, but you couldn’t stand to be bullied as harshly as the band nerds or that one fantasy board game club. you felt like you needed to hide, shove yourself inside a locker so no one else could. was it too late in the year to get a complete schedule change? maybe change your name, too?
the entire class you were on edge. everytime billy shifted or talked you felt your stomach drop and the need to clench your eyes shut, like you were expecting the fall on a rollercoaster that you definitely did not want to be on. you couldn’t comprehend why you cared so much. why you were so.. uneasy about him. it wasn’t just the consequences that could appear if you became one of billy’s inside jokes to his friends, but him as a whole. the way he walked, the way he talked to you that morning like your attraction to him was guaranteed, the way you could see his biceps flexing when he shed his leather jacket and placed it on the back of his chair. you hated that he was so.. hot. it was infuriating. he was dangerous. you could tell that the moment you saw him walking from his car. and for some goddamn reason, and as much as you would like to deny it and bury it deep, you were curious.
but, nothing happened. that class ended after forty five extra long minutes, and for the first time in the school year, you had to finish your english work at home. you just couldn’t seem to focus for some odd reason. you knew that billy and his goons didn’t do any work, though. they just fooled around and made fun of people and talked about basketball, keith’s new hot babe, praising billy for his new found basketball skills, et cetera. and everytime billy whispered the first sound of your name in any word, your face shot up, ears sounding in carefully to their conversation, until you realized it was nothing and looked back down to your book.
the rest of the day, thankfully, went completely normal. lunch, your last three periods, and then you got to go home. it was a friday, and your parents always went to bed early, so you could do your homework and then watch tv until you decided to go to bed. maybe you could catch that new show miami vice cathy had been talking your ears off about.
well, that’s what you expected, but just as everything else in the day, it went exactly the opposite. cathy stopped you as you left the school, obviously determined to get her way. you could tell by the way she hurriedly walked to you, no bounce or giggle, just a “stern” face that still morphed into a grin.
“i am picking you up at 9, we are going to that party. got it?” she demanded, obviously set on her goal.
“but-“
“no buts! come onn, let’s have a little fun-! you’ve never been to laurie’s party’s, they are toootally bitchin.”
you sighed, your lips parting to protest more, but cathy had you figured out.
“you have little to no homework, it’s a friday, there is nothing to study for. AND,” she exclaimed, holding up a finger to emphasize her point, “there is going to be legit so many dudes there. like, fiinnneee ones.”
“i- i don’t have anything to wear,” you interjected, trying to come up with any excuse to get out of this. “it would be like.. hella embarrassing for you to show up with me, caths.”
“bullshit!” cathy laughed. “you are a total babe, trust me. just find something cute to wear, if you’re luckyy-“ she said, a little sing-songy. it made you chuckle. “it won’t be on you for long.”
“you’re trying to get me laid?” you laughed, beginning to walk to your school bus.
“yes! well, no, not just that- i just want you to take a chill pill and have fun, (y/n)!” cathy returned your laughter, her trying to be intimidating and demanding long gone. she was a good person. for sure a dumb blonde, but she wanted the best for you, and wasn’t ashamed of being friends with someone so unknown.
you stopped, sighing with a grin at her excitement and wholesome desperation.
“fine.”
cathy gasped happily, clapping her hands giddily.
“YAY!” she squealed. she then spent the rest of the walk to your bus giving you all the details, the vibe, who she was hoping to see there. and billy hargrove was never mentioned. a good sign.
she gave you a tight hug, whispering a thank you into your ear before playfully pushing you into the bus.
————
cathy arrived at your door promptly at 9, holding true to her promise, making sure to honk her horn at least three times, as if telling you ‘there is no backing out now!’
you didn’t really intend to back out, but you were nervous. you couldn’t tell why, but your stomach felt like it was twisting and jumping in anticipation. to be honest, you had only been to one highschool party before, your sophomore year, and it was the lamest thing you’ve ever seen. you went with your then boyfriend, who didn’t make eye contact with you and was way too scared to hold your hand. there was no drinking, barely any music, just a pizza and a couple cokes. everyone just played board games the entire time, and then you were home by 11.
but you were playing in the big leagues this time. popular kids, including cathy, stoners, jocks, preps, all of those people. and you, the one that atleast 95% of the party couldn’t recall your name. you ended up wearing something that cathy would approve of, but still shield you from any unwanted attention- which was most attention. a pink dress and a denim jacket, and your black converse. cathy gave you her thumbs up of approval, and then you two sped away to laurie’s house. cathy sped through atleast three stop signs.
it was almost fully dark when you got there, that october moon shining over hawkins, reaching out her arms to hug you in comfort as you walked up to laurie’s door. cathy was tugging at your arm so forcefully you wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been pulled from the socket at your shoulder.
and as she pulled you up the steps, it was like she could smell your anxiety. she turned to you, placed her hands on your shoulders in an encouraging manner. she saw how your eyebrows were furrowed, eyes constantly shifting to anything but her, your hands fidgeting with eachother until one raised up to place a fingernail between your teeth.
“hey,” cathy said, grinning at you. “this will be the most fun you will ever had. promise.”
you just nodded, giving her a smile that definitely didn’t affirm your confidence. she rubbed your shoulder for a second, and then turned to the door and slamming her finger on the doorknob.
the door opened after a couple long seconds, cueing you to remove the hand from your face and plant them at your sides, swallowing nothing but the dryness in your throat. when the door swung open, no other but tommy fucking hagan stood there, leaning in the door way with a red solo cup in one of his hands. immediately you could hear music and voices blaring. laughs and yelling made a rick james song you didn’t know the name of barely audible, even though it was obviously at full volume. it was like the house was bouncing back and forth, up and down, shaking as high school bodies wondered around, danced, and participated in other drunk activities. his glare landed on cathy, giving her a small simper and a nod of his head in replace of a wave.
“hey caths. glad you could make it, henry’s out back,” he explained, way too calmly for your liking. you knew tommy from.. well, him being tommy. you knew him and steve harrington used to be friends, and you knew that tommy hagan was a capital D, Douchebag. everyone knew that he was apart of the posse that vandalized the theatre, and everyone knew that tommy was overall an asshole. you held your breath when his eyes shifted to you, looking you up and down, like he was judging you for entry.
“and who are you?”
seriously? you had been in school with him for like.. ever.
“uh- (y/n). (y/n) (l/n), we have history together,” you hurried out, refusing to make any eye contact with tommy, instead opting to look at cathy for help. “i can go if-“
“tommy, (y/n) is like.. my BFF forever, she’s super cool!” cathy, without you even asking, defended you against tommy’s instant judgements.
tommy nodded, pressing his lips together, “cool,” he said, simply. and then he moved to the side, allowing a pathway straight into the bullpen. it was pretty tame in terms of high school parties. basically exactly what you expected. drinking, dancing in ways that prom supervisors would disapprove of heavily, girls being tugged to rooms, guys wrestling for no reason but to prove their strength. cathy left you alone pretty early, basically as soon as you got in the house. she blew you a kiss, told you to have fun, and ran outside to go spend time with whatever that tool’s name was.
so, you wandered around, got a coke can, found a couple of people to have very short talks to, and eventually you landed yourself in the kitchen. it was quiet there. it was just a guy holding ice to his forehead, a couple making out, two girls chatting and giggling, and now you. none of them acknowledged your presence. you sighed. you hate to admit it, but.. someone’s attention would have been very nice. to be noticed within a crowd of pretty girls and attractive guys, to have a spotlight on you for just a second.
you leaned on the kitchen counter, taking a sip of your coke, looking around the kitchen and just zoning out. have you wasted your high school life? if you stuck with cathy, all day every day, would you have been invited to this party yourself, instead of being a plus one? did you rush everything? you wished that there were guidelines or a handbook to navigate hawkins high. one that told you how to feel like you belonged, one that told you how to not just survive. you wanted to rush back out to the living room-turned-dancefloor, but you just.. couldn’t bring yourself to do it, out of fear that your feet would catch aflame and everyone would stare at you, not helping to put you out, until they start laughing and pointing when you start rolling around and trying to get the fire off of your clothes.
“hey.”
a familiar voice. a voice you had been unfortunately thinking about way too much that entire day. billy. god fucking damn it. you quickly snapped out of your thought train, blinking rapidly as your mind grounded back to reality, away from the flame in your imagination.
“(y/n). i didn’t think i’d see you here,” billy remarked. he had changed clothes, too. a button up, half buttoned that proudly displayed his toned chest, and somehow an even tighter pair of black jeans. and again, that leather jacket you saw him wearing that day. he held two beer cans.
you shrugged, refusing to meet his eyes. you shifted a little, crossing your arms over your chest, like it would shield billy’s blaring gaze away from you. but you knew he was smirking, that stupid fucking smirk that made you want to slap him silly. without asking if he was welcome, or even considering if he was welcomed, billy leaned up against the counter right next to you, extending the beer can to you.
“here. i was gonna bring it to my buddy, but.. i found something a lot more interesting.”
his words, no matter what they were, slid off of his tongue like velvet. he had to be a product of some sort of sorcery or something.
“no thanks. i don’t drink,” you stated, blankly, hugging yourself tighter.
“aw, come on,” he snickered, refusing to move his hand. “too strong for you, sweetheart?”
“n-no, i just-”
“no?” he pushed back, raising an eyebrow. “you ever had somethin’ stronger than a beer?”
you paused, furrowing your eyebrows. “..yeah, yes i have,” you confirmed, turning your head to look at him finally, but still refusing to meet his eyes.
he didn’t say anything then, just held a challenging grin with the can still in his hand. you sighed and reluctantly took the can, knowing you couldn’t win. you would just pour it out after he left. but for now, you just took a sip, fighting so hard to keep your face from scrunching up in disgust. beer tasted awful, and it kind of burned your throat.
he nodded his head, his eyebrows raising with satisfaction. he was winning this.
“watcha doin’ hiding in here all alone? waiting for someone to come find you?” he leaned his hand on the counter, just behind your back, to lean in closer to you. it was uncomfortable. even though he wasn’t even touching you, you felt like your skin was burning.
“no, i’m just.. taking a break.”
“riight, right, taking a break,” he joked. then, his eyes scanned you up and down, and you could feel every inch of your body itching, screaming at you to get up and leave.
“you look fine as hell, (y/n). didn’t know if you were able to get out of that frumpy-nerd look,” billy chuckled. “dress kinda looks like you got it at GAP kids, though.”
you stopped, eyebrows furrowing even further, but this time with a different emotion as you processed his comment. did anyone ever tell this guy to shut up? your mouth opened to speak, and then closed again, your words getting tangled on your tongue, and then opened again, and then closed again, and t-
“do you.. do you think that’s charming? like, does being a demeaning asshole really work?” you asserted, with a tone you didn’t know was possible from you. was it getting stuffy in here? it felt like there was ash filling your lungs.
billy’s smirk fell from his face, slowly. he chewed his gum, and you heard the smacking between his teeth as his jaw set. he obviously didn’t like to be told no. he fell flat, for a while, having no words to respond with. you two engaged in a very intense staring contest for a while, both of you challenging, rather begging, the other to look away.
to be honest, billy didn’t understand his feeling towards you either. you seemed so.. simple. boring. but the fact that you weren’t throwing yourself at him, even when he showed any sort of interest, frustrated him beyond belief. he got use to being able to flirt with any girl and her panties instantly dropping. he could figure out those girls, figure out a formula that worked every single time to get what he wanted and leave her wanting more. but he couldn’t figure you out. he saw you, just this morning, throwing a cigarette on the ground and smashing it with your shoe to hide anyone knowing of your habits. it made him wonder what else you were hiding, what else he could find by digging into you. and of course, he couldn’t deny, you looked.. amazing, at that party. so innocent, quiet, a contrast to the other girls wearing loud colors and hair that rivaled skyscrapers. it’s not that he found the other girls unattractive, they were all gorgeous, hot, but you were just.. something new. a challenge.
“yeah. it does, usually, when they’re not a prude,” billy snarked. a quick transition from the charming facade he entered with.
“i’m not- i’m not a prude, i’m not interested in you,” you argued, your tone gaining steadiness with your growing confidence, fueled by the need to beat this douchebag at his own game. because you weren’t his game, you weren’t something he could play and win.
but then, his smirk returned. it was different this time, though. mischievous, scheming. his eyes darkened, you saw it, a storm washing over the blue ocean that swirled in his eyes. he set down his beer can, pushing himself off the counter.
“not interested, yeah?”
you nodded, pursing your lips together. you hugged yourself tighter.
his eyes stared at you, waiting for you to meet them. you finally did, waiting for him to say something, do something, storm out and leave in shame and leaving you your victory. he just stared at you with that smirk for longer than you could tell.
slowly, like he was approaching a deer and didn’t want to scare it and run it off, he peeled the beer can out of your palm, setting it on the counter near his.
his big hands floated to you, slipping between your denim jacket and your dress and landing against your waist, fingers digging into the pink fabric.
“so.. you don’t care if i do this?” he challenged, his voice low.
you blinked, rapidly, breath picking up and your chest rising and falling quicker. you hoped he didn’t notice.
he did.
“nope,” you huffed out, shaking your head. but that wasn’t enough.
he pulled you towards him, away from the counter, so quickly that your hands ripped away from yourself and landed on his chest, one catching grip of his bare skin, and you swore your brain was spinning.
you were close, so close that you could smell the beer and the smoke and the mint on his tongue. you felt the heavy, cool huffs of his nose on your face as he studied you and your expression, like he was waiting for your legs to give out and he would have to carry you to the nearest bedroom. but you didn’t. you just stood there, blinking. he saw you gulp, saw your jaw tense up and your eyes rip away from him, to the side and to the ceiling. he didn’t like that. so, he took your chin between his thumb and his pointer finger, anchoring your gaze to look at him.
“not interested, huh?”
you just nodded. your mouth was dry. you guessed the beer took all moisture from your mouth down with it, and it wasn’t because of billy. of course not. you weren’t interested in him.
you felt his thumb lightly rubbing your chin. he was thinking. you saw his jaw set to the side, his tongue press against the roof of his mouth as he laughed. it made your stomach turn, made you flinch.
“you’re not a good liar, you know that?” his eyebrows burrowed together in a condescending leer.
“don’t lie to me, sweetheart. i know you wouldn’t want anything more..” he started, pulling you even closer to the heat of his body. his face hardened, sharp and heavy. “..than for me bend you over these counters, huh?”
your face was burning. your intuition was right, you were definitely going to be set on fire tonight. you felt like you were going to throw up and cry and.. rut against his leg and-
“barf me out, billy hargrove. i would never,” you snapped. your tongue betrayed you. they were stern words, for sure, but they sounded so weak, the protective layer of your skin breaking down.
billy let out a little gasp, taunting you. “never? that’s a long time, (y/n),” he chuckled darkly.
billy then leaned in, pulling your face to his, until your lips were almost grazing. and then he swerved to the side, lifting your chin up so he could reach your ear, so close to the point you could feel every sound vibration his voice made.
“you’ll be on your knees for me in no time,” he muttered. it made you shiver, and he took note of that. you couldn’t tell if it was his words or the dark tone of his voice. he let his lips linger against your skin, making sure to let them make slight contact with the soft skin of your jaw, before slowly pulling away from your face with an overly conceited smile. he studied you and your features, even being as cocky as to glance down the top of your dress, before he let go of you.
and he was gone.
you had already given him your name, and now he could lure and enchant you. and you realized, within seconds, you quickly became billy’s prey. but definitely not the kind you expected yourself to be.
#billy hargrove x reader#billy hargrove#billy hargrove smut#billy hargrove fluff#hawkins high#stranger things x reader#billy stranger things#billy hargrove fic#billy hargrove imagine#stranger things fic
748 notes
·
View notes
Text
Flowers for the Year
A short story that I wrote almost two years ago. I hope you enjoy it :)
Pink camellias for longing. Pink carnations for remembrance. Heliotrope for devotion. Yarrow for everlasting love. A single rose, deep crimson for mourning, in the centre of it all.
I clutch my mismatched bouquet to my breast, take a deep breath and step through the short wooden gate into the graveyard. The smell of spring and freshly cut grass hangs heavy in the air around me, weighing down on my shoulders and my heart. It’s an unseasonably warm day in late February, the complete opposite of my first visit where the earth was blanketed in snow.
I weave my way through well-tended gravestones, adorned with their own tributes to the dead, my feet dragging with every step. Finally, I stand alone in front of your grave.
“Hey…” The word falls from my lips easily, but it’s difficult to make anything else follow. I remember the bouquet in my hands and place them at the base of your headstone.
“I got this for you. The florist looked at me like I was crazy when I picked it up but that’s why I ordered it special in advance. It means…” I trail off, stall for just a second. “You know what it means.”
I sit down and cross my legs in front of you, groaning as my bones creak. I reach out and lightly caress the petals, focusing on their velvety texture as I rub them between my fingertips. I sigh heavily.
“I’m still not used to you not being around. Someone tells me a joke and I still turn to see if you’re laughing too. When I get home it’s still strange that you’re not there to greet me.
“I got a cat a few months ago. Her name is Chicory. At first I just wanted someone to be there when I shouted ‘hello’ coming through the front door, to help me feel less like a madwoman. I still can’t break that habit, I don’t know if I ever will, but at least there’s someone around to hear it. Sometimes she even meows back.
“She’s nothing like you though. She hates flowers for one thing. I’ve had to store all the nice vases in the cupboard under the sink. I know you hate fake flowers but they’re the only ones I can get that she doesn’t bat off the table. She still does sometimes. I only keep them in the shitty plastic vases we got from distant relatives as wedding gifts. I can’t not have flowers around, so this is the compromise I’ve had to make.
“Your shop has changed. It’s a florist again and I’ve met the old lady who runs it. That’s where I got your flowers from today. She told me about how she remembers your shop and how she felt something was missing when it was closed down. I didn’t tell her who I was or who the flowers were for. It’s been two years, I don’t want to hear anyone’s ‘condolences’ anymore.” Now that I’m talking I find it hard to stop.
“Nothing else has changed, really. Everyone’s still worried about me, but they’ve learned not to ask. I can see it in their eyes though. Hear it when they ask me if I’ve met anyone new. I know that I’m being ridiculous but I can’t. Not yet, maybe not ever. I don’t need anyone else, I’m a complete person on my own and I’m allowed to miss you. You know that I still miss you, right? Even though I only visit once a year?
“I miss your shop, hanging out and eating lunch together surrounded by fresh blooms and potted plants you’d painstakingly taken care of. I miss the smell of flowers constantly hanging around the flat but it feels wrong when you’re not there to arrange them. I’ve vacuum sealed your favourite sweater, to try and keep the scent of you on it a bit longer. Also because Chicory figured out how to get into the wardrobe and I’m starting to forget what things smell like without the scent of cat fur.” I laugh through the tears that have started to flow down my cheeks.
“It’s only been two years, I don’t want to forget what you smell like yet. I don’t want to move on or meet anyone new. I want to talk to you and laugh with you and smell flowers in your shop as you tell me the meaning of each one, even though no one buys flowers for their meanings anymore.” I break off and sob out a heaving breath, shuddering to myself as I try to regain enough composure to continue.
“Chicory sleeps on your side on the bed. It felt wrong at first, someone else sleeping there, but I couldn’t stop her without shutting her out of the room, and it’s easier than sleeping alone. I might be becoming a crazy cat lady and I know you’re laughing at me because I hate those stereotypes, but I can’t help it.”
I sigh sadly, not quite a sob, and lean back on my hands, sniffling. I turn my face towards the warmth of the sun. “It feels like spring today. I opened the windows wide when I saw the weather, just like you used to do, and smelled the air. I could almost hear you telling me how much you love spring, like you did every year. Since you died, it’s become my favourite season too, but I can’t appreciate it like you could. I don’t think anyone can.”
For a while, I simply sit in silence. The graveyard lies next to a road, so I listen to the world passing us by. Everyone seems to be out today, taking picnics and dogs and reluctant children to parks. “If you were here,” I say quietly, “I think we’d be in the shop right now. The doors would be wide open, letting the smell of your flowers flood the street. You’d be telling me about your latest order, who they’re for and what occasion you think they’re celebrating. I’d only be half-listening, just enjoying the sound of your voice, but you wouldn’t mind. You’d keep talking about everything and nothing until I almost fell asleep, and then you’d shut the shop early, just for me, so that we could go home early and watch movies.
“I think I miss the boring parts of our lives the most. Texting you about picking up more milk on your way home. Cleaning the flat together. Looking up insurance policies to make sure we got the best deal,” I laugh wetly. “Doing anything hurts because we always did everything together.”
I lie down on my back and close my eyes against the glare of the sun. Tears slip past my lids and make slow trails down the sides of my face. Laying there, with you, I lose track of the time.
The sun dips behind some clouds and I shiver as the air suddenly turns crisp. Opening my eyes, I’m surprised to find that it’s already early evening. I check my watch and see that it’s just past five o’clock. It’s far cooler now, closer to the typical chill of February. I sit up and collect my thoughts.
“I have to go now.” I stare at my hands, fingers tangled in my lap. “I love you,” I say to your headstone, heart heavy in my chest. Sometimes I feel close enough to reach out and touch you, but you’re always just beyond my reach. You have been for two years now. The flowers at the base of your headstone flutter as the breeze picks up around us. It feels like you’re waving goodbye. “I miss you.”
I heave myself up, standing in front of you and resting my hand on your headstone for a moment. It’s cool under my touch. Saying nothing else, I turn and walk away. Out of the graveyard, not looking back.
I won’t buy flowers for another year.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Summer of Whump #27: Injured
Warnings: left to care for injuries alone, thoughts of death, torture, vomit, hallucinations, fever, hurt villain whumpee
Villain fumbled with his doorknob until it opened. He collapsed with it, using only his momentum to shut the door behind him. Immediately, he slumped against it as the world around him slowly started to fade to black.
When he regained consciousness a few moments later, he momentarily forgot where he was. The pain was so great that it blocked any thoughts from slipping into his mind. He mouth tasted like blood and when he licked his damp lips, he realize that they were covered in blood.
The memories flooded into his mind like a wave, fast and overwhelming. There was Supervillain and Hero and then... Villain choked back tears. Hero abandoned him... she...
Darkness threatened to overcome him again as his mind raced with thoughts. He blinked it away and allowed his gaze to drift down to his thigh. A dagger was in the side, pushed through all the way to the hilt. Villain, with shuddering breaths, grabbed onto it with sticky hands and pulled.
A white flash of pain exploded in front of hid eyes. He let go, his body going slack and his mind spiraling down through a tunnel of oblivion.
The last thing his clouded eyes saw before he blacked out again was new blood pouring out of his wound.
He sat like that for a while, drifting in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he found himself face first into a cool, wooden floor and other times, his cheek was leaned against a cushioning substance. He just barely tried to wonder what was going on. It really didn't matter, and the agony made sure of that.
Once, he woke up enough to drag his broken body to a cupboard. He breifly considered how smart he was to keep his first aid box in a low one before pain consumed him once again. His shaking arms threatened to give out he half hoped that they did.
Villain collapsed to the ground, but didn't pass out. He weakly grabbed to the door of the precious cupboard and opened it. Quickly, he grabbed the kit and opened it.
And then he vomitted without warning, right onto his floor. It racked his broken ribs as they moved with the motion. He began to cough until he started spatting up blood.
His face sunk into the blood and puke, exhausted. He wanted so desperately for someone to find him and help him. He closed his eyes, swimming through his memories. He knew that no one would come, the one that would betrayed him, so he had prioritize injuries.
A boot clashed with his ribs, snapping and breaking them.
A spud bar hit his finger, severing it off.
Another boot hit his jaw. There was a crack right?
Hands grappled at his throat while others tied a heavy chain right above his hips.
He was dragged through barbed wire, glass, and nails.
Tears flowed freely from Villain's bloodshot eyes. The salt stung the open cuts on his cheeks. Sure he was a villain, but did he deserve this? Did he deserve to be tortured half to death and then have to lick his wounds by himself? His head lolled to the side. He didn't know what to do. In the back of his head, he was vaguely aware that shock and adrenaline was preventing the true onslaught of pain from attacking.
He groaned. He had to take care of himself before he was unable to. He opened the first aid box and grabbed guaze pads and other supplies. The dagger was the first to be removed and it would bleed, a lot.
He wrapped a towel into a roll and placed it in between his teeth. The fabric tasted funny from being mixed with all the ointments, but Villain could care less.
His hands then went to the hilt and he hesited. What if he lost consciousness again? He could wake up in complete agony and would die of infection.
Villain pushed those thoughts aside and wrapped his hands around the dagger. Before he pulled, he realized that he was using his hand with four fingers, yet he felt no pain. His heart started beating in anticipation.
Drawing in a deep breath, Villain pulled the dagger out.
Only it stopped half-way out. Villain took in shaky breaths and blinked away the black splotches in his vision. It was barbed.
"Mm," Villain groaned, laying his head back down. He swallowed the limited saliva he had. This was impossible.
More tears spilled. Villain spit out the towel. It fell out, but landed on his cheek, irritating it. He weakly raised his hand to brush it off, but it didn't work. He tried again. No luck. He tried again until frustration allowed him to kick out.
Pain erupted through his leg, centering on the dagger. Villain screamed, loud and laced with sobs.
"I-it hurts," he cried as if someone was with him, tending to him. "It hurts soo bad."
The adrenaline disappeared, leaving Villain beyond tired with a dagger half-stuck in his flesh. Hero would have someone to take care of her. Heck, she would be so pumped full of painkillers that she wouldn't feel a thing as she drifted in and out of lala land. And here Villain was, completely alone without even a simple, warm hug.
He allowed his eyes to slip shut, knowing that sleep could act like a painkiller. But it didn't come, pain kept him awake just like it brought unwanted unconsciousness.
His eyes danced back towards the dagger. Maybe his brain would shut down if he accomplished that one simple task.
Villain dug his fingers into the gnarled flesh, clenching his teeth in pain. He worked to dislodge the dagger until it broke free, clattering on the ground.
Villain sighed in relief, but was caught mid sigh when blood started pouring out the wound at a crazy fast speed. Villain lunged forward, grabbing the towel and earning a broken scream from his throat. He pressed the towel to his thigh, but his arms were not strong enough the staunch the flow.
"Hero," Villain cried. As weak as it was, it sounded booming to Villain's desperate ears. Unless, it was his foggy mind playing tricks on him. Making it seemed like he could call Hero and she would come running. Heck, would he even start hallucinating that she was indeed here?
Villain finally was able to stop the blood flow. His trembling hands hovered over the hydrogen peroxide, but he decided against it. Pouring that over the wound would make it hurt. And hurt was not on Villain's wishlist.
He instead reached for a gauze pad and gingerly laid it over the gaping injury. His shaking fingers applied medical tape over the pad.
When he was done, he closed his eyes. His head limply hung over his chest. His lips turned up in a slight smile as exhaustion pulled him under like anesthesia.
Villain came to only a few minutes later- maybe ten, but to him, he felt like hours. He so desperately wanted to sink back into sleep when he remembered what happened. His mouth was oddly dry had an unpleasant taste in it.
"Hero," he whispered, lifting his head up only for it to flop forward again.
The gauze pad was now stained with blood, but Villain had neither the energy or the will to take care of it. His whole body ached, especially at his jaw. He moved it, testing it, but it creaked and fired up in agony. Broken.
Villain closed his eyes again. He tried not to, but his thoughts drifted to the long list of priorities he came up with. His finger was long gone and he wouldn't be able to care for his jaw. The bruises on his hip bones would fade as would the surface cuts on his face.
He could wrap his ribs up, but he wouldn't be able to get his arms around to his back.
His back.
He knew that he had glass and nails stuck in it. He knew that it would get badly infected within a couple days.
If he lived that long.
Villain shut his eyes close momentarily. He would live. He wouldn't give Supervillain or Hero the satisfaction of killing him.
Fueled by motivation, Villain shot to his feet. He immediately regretted it, however, when the world tilted and collapse in on itself. He blinked back the dizziness, gripping the counter like his life depended on it. In a strange way, it did.
Villain pushed himself towards the bathroom, sometimes having to lean against walls when a sudden wave of wooziness threatened to make him crumple. But he went on like a determined father in a snowstorm, trying to get home to his freezing wife and kids with firewood.
Villain finally reached the bathroom, triumphant, but he instantly fell onto the ground and threw up again. On his way down, he smacked his head against the tile floor.
A loud sob escaped his throat as he realized his dire situation. The previous energy faded into frustration and anger, but mostly exhaustion and loneliness. He pictured the thought of an injured Hero lying in a hospital bed.
She wouldn't be covered in sweat and vomit.
She wouldn't be lying on her bathroom floor.
She would be cared for.
Villain buried his head into the crook of his elbow, wiping snot and tears on it as he dived back into sleep.
Villain woke up on a couch. He didn't recall dragging himself onto it, but one glanced at the blood smeared floor confirmed that he indeed did.
His head felt like a hammer was hitting it. He groaned and brought a hand to his forehead. Almost instantly, he pulled backwards shocked.
His forehead waa sweaty and burning.
Villain looked at his thigh and saw it festered and puffy. He knew that his back was no better.
And now he had a fever. Fabulous.
Within the next two days, Villain tried to tend to ongoing fever with little luck. He contemplated wasting the energy to drag himself to a phone and call 911, but decided against it.
He also started hallucinating.
Apparitions of Hero and Supervillain's face danced across his hazy vision. The floor around him also turned to lava. Between these realistic (according to Villain) and the burning pain of a fever, he was in a hole of misery.
Once he even woke up on the floor of the bathroom, leaning against the bath tub. Tylenol pills were strewn all over the floor in a sloppy attempt to take a few. A thermometer also made its home by Villain's feet. The number still read 104.
He shouldn't be alive.
It was a miracle, really, but part of him wanted to die and leave this mess.
"Hero," he would sometimes cry out. He wanted her- needed her. He hurt, oh so bad, and was scared and alone.
In his short spans of consciousness, he would take in his surroundings the same way each time. Look around, look at leg, and then give in again.
He remained in the bathroom, but was now collapsed on the floor, unable to do more than lift his finger.
Hero wondered what happened to Villain after beating him up. Many times, she wanted to go see, but she also feared her sister, Supervillain.
Not that Hero did not take any pleasure in injuring Villain; it was quite satisfying in an extent, but her sister went extreme when she did not allow Villain any care.
So what brought Hero to Villain's doorstep that evening? She didn't know. All she knew was that the second no one answered the door, she had this need to barge in and find Villain.
And find him she did.
Only it was not the sight she was hoping for.
Villain was passed out of the bathroom floor, shivering like a dog with hypothermia. He was covered in sweat, blood, and vomit. Wounds that covered his exposed back were deeply infected with pus.
Hero did not hesitate. She ran to Villain and scooped his figure into her arms, guilty and mortified. She allowed this to happen.
"Hey," Hero tapped Villain's cheek. "Wake ul for me, will you?"
No response.
"Villain?" Hero asked, starting to rock. Villain's eyes fluttered and he looked up at the hero in fear.
"Wha-wha," Villain tried to speak, but his heavy tongue made it difficult. He decided to just snuggle into Hero, happy to not be lonely.
"I'm so sorry," Hero reached forward and grabbed the thermometer. Villain opened his mouth willingly, but whimpered when Hero stuck the point under his tongue.
It beeped. 104.
Hero stood up with Villain still hanging limply in her arms. She would fix this.
She promised.
#summer of whump#prompt 27#villain whumpee#guilty hero#tw vomit#feverish whumpee#crying villain#all alone#reluctant caretaker#hero whumper#supervillain whumper#torture#writing#unconscious#hero x villain
182 notes
·
View notes
Text
All that’s left | Pt. 2
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem! Reader
A/n: So, this is... a different reader in comparison from the one in the first part but I kinda like it? Anyway, Im considering making a third part and im thinking it'll contain some smut. I used google translator so please don't judge me. Tell me what you think. Happy reading.
All that's left pt. 1
Warnings: angst, mentions of scars, swearing, implied smut?
Word count: 3.263
Summary: After moving from her life in New York, away from the Avengers and him, she finds happiness and a life that she actually enjoys, but that seems to last little when she spots the familiar jet on the roof of the building she lives in. Is she ready to face them? To face him?
*Three months later*
The warm air surrounding my body made me take a deep breath and unconsciously smile. I was happy, I was free, I was whole. I was with my neighbor drinking coffee in our usual spot, which was a cafe near the main street of the place that I decided was going to become my new home.
“Продолжай рассказывать мне о своем боссе, который сводит тебя с ума” (Keep on telling me about your boss who drives you crazy) Andrei said making me laugh and shake my head.
“Не о чем говорить, он просто засранец, который дает мне слишком много работы и заставляет меня плакать” (Nothing to talk about, he's just an asshole who gives me too much work and makes me want to cry) I laughed. I had met Andrei a week after I moved in and there was an immediate connection. No, it wasn’t in a romantic one, god no, we were just really good friends that had a lot in common.
“Now now, that was not what i saw the other day when i went to pick you up from work” He said with a playful smirk plastered on his light brown face. I gasped, a fake indignant expression on my face while my hand went to my chest. He laughed loudly. “Don’t play that card, I saw you!” he added
“I don’t know what you are talking about” I said, trying to fight the smile that tried to come out but failing miserably, we both laughed.
He and I had become quite close in the little time that we had known each other. He was an American with a Russian name. He explained that his mother was from the states while his father was a russian spy, they fell in love against all odds and eventually, Andrei was brought to this world. When he was fifteen his father died and he and his mom went to America, where he finished high school and surprisingly, entered the military. He did two tours before he decided that he had enough and returned to Russia. Hence why he could speak both Russian and English fluently. As for me, I told him that I was in some sort of organization that worked for the government, and that’s why I knew russian. He believed me, thank God, I didn’t want to talk about how I was part of the Avengers and why I left. Obviously I will tell him when the time is right and I know that he can be fully trusted.
“Oh, come on Ames, are you going to tell me that you don’t like him one bit? Not in the slightest?” he asked, smiling and I shook my head. He stayed silent for a second and stared at me, like he was considering whether he should ask me something or keep quiet. “Is it because of him?” he finally asked, watching me closely to see my reaction. I felt my stomach twist at the mention of him. Of course it was because of him, because of them, I couldn’t afford getting hurt and betrayed one more time. Andrei didn’t know his name, or theirs for that matter, so I smiled weakly and nodded.
“Yeah, I know it sounds stupid but… I just can’t afford getting hurt, not again, not anymore” I said looking at my hands.
“I understand, believe me I do” he said, his hand reaching out to hold mine. I looked up to find his brown eyes looking for mine, I saw nothing but genuine love -the friendly kind- in them. I smiled and squeezed his hand. He was going to say something but his phone rang; a notification. He withdrew his hand to look at his phone and the moment he did, people around us started getting up and running in the same direction. I looked at him confused to find him frowning at his phone.
“What is it?” i asked.
“The Avengers are here…” He said and my heart skipped a beat and my body went rigid. Andrei noticed. “What 's wrong?”. Well, there’s no use keeping him from the truth anymore.
“So, remember when I told you that I worked for an organization for the government? Okay don’t freak out and hate me but, here it goes” I took a deep breath. “That organization was called The Red Room were they trained me from a very young age to be a perfect cold-blooded killer, years later i escaped and was on the run until i got a new identification, name, address, new everything and then joined the avengers to amend the wrongs I made in the past. To my luck, it didn’t go great because it ended up breaking me the same way The Red Room did, so I left to find a fresh start and came here where I met you. Please don’t hate me” I concluded in one breath. Andrei was silent with a straight face, which was hard to read, and eventually after a few seconds that felt like an eternity and shrugged his shoulders. WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT MEAN.
“Believe it or not, I've heard worse” he simply said
“Worse than finding out that your best friend is a train killer and former avenger?” i asked incredulously and he tilted his head and smirked
“US Agent mother and Russian spy father” He said. I laughed and he followed right after. “So, I'm guessing we are running away?” he asked. Say what now?
“We?” I asked, almost in shock to which he simply nodded, “You don’t think im just gonna let you go like that, please, is not that easy to get rid of me” he snorted. “And I'm supposing Amelia is not your real name either, given the fact that you ran off,” he added. Damn, he is good.
“Y/n, y/n y/l/n” I said and he slowly smiled
“Well y/n, nice to meet you, my name is Andrei Petrova” he said, extending his hand, i repeated his action with the same smile. “I’ve got to say, I like the name y/n more than Amelia '' he added and laughed. We were brought back to the matter at hand when the screaming of the people were getting louder. I snapped my head up and saw the familiar jet on the roof of the building where I was living.
“Here’s what we are going to do, I’m going to my apartment and buy us some time while you go get a car and,” i handed him my card “you are going to get all the money from my bank account. I will meet you in front of the cafe that’s two blocks away from my place”
“Are you going to be okay?” He asked with clear worry in his eyes. I smiled and nodded
“Yes, I promised. Now go” I said before he got up and ran. I sighed and went to my apartment. Was I really going to do this? After months, was I ready to face them, already knowing the truth? Well, guess I'm going to find out.
Once in the building I decided to programmed the lights to go out in 50 minutes and then I went to the elevator, wanting to appear as normal as possible even though I felt like my heart was going to explode from how fast it was beating inside my rib cage. When the elevator stopped at my floor I walked until I was standing in front of my door. I didn’t need to wait and confirm, I knew they knew I was here, now there’s only one thing left to do. But before I did anything, the door creaked open.
*10 hours earlier*
Bucky paced from one side to the other, finding himself incapable of staying put. Natasha sat silently on her chair, Tony was in the front with his head in between his hands, Steve was resting on the side of the wall looking at the floor, Bruce was just standing there holding his chin analyzing everyone in the room. Sam sat on the couch looking through his phone, Vision was sitting next to Wanda on the other couch, while Clint and Thor were sitting on the other chairs. Peter had some school stuff to deal with like the teenager that he was. They’ve been looking for her for the past three months, and about a week ago, a picture was found of someone that looked exactly like her, all except her hair that was a bit shorter and the color was different, but other than that, it was practically her.
Not wanting to get their hopes -or rather enthusiasm- up, they decided to look deeper and found out that the picture was taken a month ago in the city of Magadan located in Russia. They found out that before three months, the name Amelia Agapov, didn’t exist. The more they looked into it, the more they were convinced that it was her.
“The mission report from Agent Carter arrived, should i put it on the screen?” the voice of the AI filled the room. The team had been waiting for that report for days, the nerves of the question that lingered in the air ‘was it her?’ being present for that time only grew stronger as Stark asked FRIDAY to project the report on the screen.
Pictures were shown, most of them were about this woman buying in the market, having coffee with a guy, but there was one, where her face was looking straight into the lens of the camera, and it was that picture that left the people in the room absolutely rigid. It was her.
“We found her…” Tony said in a whisper. Everybody kept their gaze on the picture on the big screen. After months looking for her, they finally had found her. To everyone, it was like someone just discovered something new, a kind of relief and anxiety all at the same time.
“Suit up, we’re going to get her” Steve said to the group, but see, it was the choice of words from Cap that Bucky found unsettling.
“Get her? Like she is some kind of criminal?” he said, looking at his best friend dead in the eye. Steve opened his mouth to say something but Tony beat him to it.
“She was trained by The Red Room to be an assassin, we can expect nothing more from her '' He said, trying to calm Bucky down, but instead it only caused him to get angrier, and not only him.
“So was I” Natasha said, her voice low that could scare anyone to the bone if they weren’t so used to her.
"It's different" Tony said
“How is it different?” Wanda said this time, “It wasn’t when you practically recluded me after I helped Ultron and tried to kill you all” she added.
Tony sighed and looked down, realizing that he might be overreacting.
“Let’s just get suit up and get on with it” Steve said, cutting the rather awkward silence that filled the room.
The avengers were suit up and on the quinjet in less that forty-five minutes, and they were in Madagan in nine hours, it took them an hour to find her building, and once they found it, Clint landed the jet on the roof and they all got out and looked for her apartment. Funny enough, it was the same number as the one she used to live in New York; 108. They waited for what seemed an eternity until they heard footsteps just outside the door. Suddenly, the air felt thick with anticipation, but Bucky couldn’t wait any longer so he crossed the living room in two steps and opened the door. She was standing there. Silence took over the entire apartment until she broke it.
“Well, are you going to move so that I can get inside my goddamn apartment Barnes?” she said expectantly. Bucky realized that he had been staring at her since he opened the door. Her hair was different, more wavy and a shade or two lighter. He moved to the side and she was able to see the rest of the team. This was going to be one hell of an evening.
Breathe. In… and out…
It was hard. Fuck. Okay i can do this.
“Well isn’t this nice. All the team back together again!” I said with sarcasm dripping from every letter.
“What the hell did we ever do to you?” Steve said firmly.
“Damn, getting straight into it. That’s okay” i shrugged as I went to my room but the sound of the blasters of Tony's suit stopped me.
“Stop, don’t take another step” He said, lifting his hands and I smiled.
“Really? Well unfortunately i have to change, so i’ll leave the door open if it makes you comfortable” i said as i continued to walk to my room, and like I said, i left the door open.
“Y-you don’t have to do that, you can…” Wanda said but trailed off. I had taken my shirt off; my scars were shown.
“So, Steve” I broke the silence as I put on a black shirt, “the thing that you did wasn’t as bad as tin man over there, but you still let Hydra take me the day we took out the helicaries” i added. His face got pale and started shaking his head.
“What? No, you made it out safe, you-” He started saying but i interrupted him
“You sure? Who do you think stopped Rumlow when he tried to interfere with the exchange of the chip when you were in the helicarrier with Bucky?” He started thinking for a moment until he realized what I said fell into place. “Yeah, I took one hell of a beating, and if that wasn’t enough, I fell to the water. I fell thirty floors down, and I alone got myself out, because I didn't have anyone to cover me or have my back” i concluded.
“Your scars…” Tony said this time and i turned to him
“Yeah, thanks to you Mr. Stark” i said and he looked at me. “Doctor said that 74% of my body is covered with scars, along with one or two burns”
“You were that girl in The Red Room” Natasha said, causing me to turn my head to look at her and I smiled cynically, “You are Eliza” she finished.
“Давно не виделись с Натальей” (Long time no see Natalia) i said and she looked at me in pure surprise in her faced. That’s something coming from the famous Black Widow.
“What about the rest of us y/n?” Sam said this time, redirecting my attention from Natasha to the rest of the group. Thor was standing there holding his hammer, Bruce was next to the fridge, Clint was by the sink, Wanda was with Vision beside the kitchen table and Bucky was by the door. They were all looking at me. I took a look at the clock, I have to leave in less than thirty minutes.
“Long story short, Clint, Bruce, Sam, Wanda and Vision are the ones that didn’t do anything, so just chill out, you are still on my good side” I smiled and waved my hand.
“Hold on, but what did I do?” Thor asked and I looked at him.
“God it really is unfair how such a little thing can cause such a big problem. The first time you came down to earth, met Jane, bla bla bla… when her stuff was under custody of shield, and you took that notebook; they blamed me. I know it may seem weird because, how? Thing is, I was undercover at that time inside Shield, so when the notebook disappeared, guess who was the one that got beaten for it. I couldn’t move from the pain.”
Thor was standing completely still.
“Lady y/n…”
“How is it possible? I was there and never saw you” Clint interrupted Thor.
“It was before the avengers, i was on the run and a girl's gotta eat. Don’t worry, I never gave them anything. Got the money and then killed them, they were nobodies” I shrugged off.
“So, that’s all you needed to know, so if you please leave my…” I said but then he interrupted me.
“No” I would be lying if I said it didn’t send shivers down my spine at his tone, and I hate even more that he noticed it. “You’re missing one doll” Well fuck me
I turned to see him and he was walking painfully slow towards me and I was praying for my legs to not give out.
“Barnes” I simply said, thanking God and all the saints that it didn’t come out as a whimper. I took a look at the clock once more. I have to leave. Now. “Such a shame, wish you had fought for us, I would have gone through hell and back for you, Buck” his eyes were looking straight to my own and I felt like he was staring at my bare soul. In a way, he was. I smiled and I saw behind my back that the team was looking at us, we’ve never been this close, not in public anyway. I standed on my tiptoes and reached for his right ear, he instinctively reached down so it was a bit easier for me.
“If you want to know, you’ll have to find me first дорогой” (Sweetheart) I whisper. Next thing, the light went out just like I programmed it to and I slid beside Bucky to reach out to the door and to the hall. I could hear the team screaming ‘what the hell just happened’. I ran to the emergency stairs, and once out I could still feel him behind me, getting close. I went into an alley, having to detour, knowing that he eventually was going to catch up to me and I couldn't have him follow where I was really going. A few seconds later, I felt him caging me to the wall on the alley, both of us breathing heavily. His flesh hand went to my throat and his metal one rested on the wall.
“Given a different occasion, I would have loved this, don’t get me wrong, I still love how you…”
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked huskily and I smiled.
“I told you, you’ll have to wait until you find me again. Alone.” i said
“Come on Barnes, do you really think that the charade of being your personal fuck toy would last forever?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“It wasn’t like that, i…” he said but trailed off. The pain in my chest starting and clenching my heart.
“There it is…” i said lowly, the hurt in my voice evident, “listen, i’d love to keep talking about how you used me, but like i said,” i got close to his face, my nose touching his, “find me to found out” after that, I raised my knee kicking him right in between his legs.
He let out a pained groan and fell to the floor, causing his grip in my neck to give out. I took advantage and ran. Two blocks away, I saw Andrei. When he saw me running to him, he immediately got in the car and turned the engine on, then I got in.
“Drive, fast” it was the first thing i said
“Where?” he asked while we took off. I smiled and looked at him
“You’ll see”
-
-
-
Taglist
@silentkiller2374 @vikingqueenlove @girlfriday007 @supraveng
#avengers#bucky x reader#steve x bucky#bucky barnes#bucky barnes angst#steve rogers#natasha romonova#tony stark#the red room#wanda maximoff#marvel#imagines#hydra
141 notes
·
View notes
Text
“The simple act of being in love with you is enough for me.”
jiara | post-s2 | pining idiots | title: quote by Pacey from Dawson's Creek
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
“Kie.”
“Hm?” The girl’s mop of curls obscured her face as she mumbled out some vowels, clearly still buzzed from the night before. An amused smile ticked up his lips and slapped her calf again. She sighed. “What?”
“Leggo,” he pushed, “we gotta get to Pope’s place.”
“Why?”
Even if everyone else would deny it, JJ swore Kie was as bad as he was: slow and fucking lethargic before eleven in the morning. Sure, she had better grades in school, but he wasn’t gonna give her more credit than that. Speaking of, “Helping him with that new scholarship, remember?”
The girl groaned and rolled over to face him, droopy eyes cracking open to scowl at him. She slept where he used to crash whenever his dad’s place became too much, but since the old man fucked off to Yucatán, he found peace in the quiet walls and cracked windows. Regardless, it was weird seeing her sprawled on this mattress, the boy almost able to envision himself beside her. A dangerous fantasy to linger on, so he pushed it aside and kept on trucking.
“C’mon, Kie.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered and sat upright. “How did you even get in the Château?”
JJ grinned and snagged a key chain from his shorts. “Spare key. Duh.”
She rolled her eyes, uttering, “John B’s stupid,” and then pushed him out the guest room, telling him she’d get ready. His mouth opened to make the joke if he couldn’t stay and watch, but the door slammed in his face and that was that.
Having a crush on Kiara was the freakiest thing ever. First of all, JJ and emotions didn’t mesh well — it only led to trouble, a perfect example being his dad and him with the most fucked up dynamic to boot. He preferred to not even think about the man, though one glance in the mirror often betrayed his mind and brought a rush of memories to the forefront, whether it was a shiner against his eye, or the fact that he resembled his father when he was young.
So yeah, he didn’t like anything ‘love’ related. It was stupid. It was more reckless than buying a jacuzzi or trying to steal a golden cross from a boat with dozens of armed men. Friendship, however, was easy. He told the Pogues just that: they were ‘it’ for him, he’d go through fire for them, through hell and fucking back.
But he didn’t think he’d actually die for them, which almost happened when he tried saving Kie on the Coastal Venture — to which she ended up saving him. (A vision illuminated by a golden sun, hovering over him. He’d never forget it.)
While he inspected the contents of the fridge, embarrassingly filled with only beer, eggs, milk and junk food, the door creaked open and revealed a dressed and less-wrecked Kiara. His gaze flicked up and down her frame, quick, and then averted it back to the fridge.
“You got no food, man.”
She chuckled. “I know. It’s not exactly The Wreck type of food…”
“You haven’t gone back?”
“Nope,” she replied, curt, and moved past him to shove a container of sausages aside to grab a bottle of almond milk. Even if she wasn’t with her parents, she still somehow kept up her ‘no dairy’ principles.
Also, Kiara was hella beautiful. He hadn’t let it register when she walked in, but it was true. Her soft-looking, shiny skin, sporting the prettiest smile in all of the OBX, and she was just hot. Especially when she propped herself on the kitchen counter, to which he settled beside her to not look at her legs.
“How many scholarships are there?” she asked. “Like, I’m obviously proud of him, but…”
“He told us last night,” JJ laughed. “You were that fucking high?”
She giggled, “Yeah! You were there, I was just on my ass.” And then, quieter, “And… I don’t know, I guess I’ve been kind of distracted.”
He perked up, surprised. Though the Pogues were family, openly talking about emotions when it wasn’t prompted by anything, remained rare. They were better at talking shit and smoking and napping on boats. Whatever, he took the bait.
“Why?”
She shook her head. “It’s stupid, JJ.”
“Kie, you’re talking to me,” he nudged her shoulder, “throw me a bone here. Is it Pope? You got the hots for our favourite nerd again?”
Taking a sip from the bottle, her brow quirked up as though that was the stupidest thing he ever said, and retorted with, “Why’re you always doing that?”
His hands raised instantly, defensive. “Doing what?”
“You’re always digging, like, when I was with Pope you got all weird.”
“I don’t dig.”
“You do.”
“I don’t. Kie, what’s up?” He kept it moving before she found the core of his problem, and bounced back to the original issue. “Before I start saying shit to Pope.”
She scoffed. “You're full of shit.”
“Oh, Kie,” he drawled with a smirk. “You can do better than that.”
Silence fell. He waited, fiddling with his fingers, and quietly hoped Pope wouldn't be too annoyed when they arrived late — then again, they were begrudgingly coined 'tortoise and tortoise' by the group anyway.
She placed the bottle back in the fridge and sent him a rueful smile, one he often saw her showing Sarah before they went aside and had a private talk. Their eyes locked and she finally spoke.
“Sometimes, I… I miss my parents. And it's like, I don't get how they don't just accept that I'm a Pogue, that I'm friends with you guys, you know? But I still miss them.” She looked down at her feet, crossing at the ankles like a little girl waiting to be reprimanded by the teacher. “I miss my dad's hugs.”
Instantly, his arm swung around her for a gentle side hug, a grateful smile pulling on her lips as she leaned into him. Both knew they should savour a moment like this, as hugging with a twitchy JJ and often irritated Kie happened once every blue moon.
Ignoring the guilty look in her eye — yeah, he didn't understand missing a paternal embrace, rather used to a blow in the stomach or a crude remark, but that didn't mean he lacked empathy — he resisted the urge to encourage her to reconnect with them. Knowing her, she'd just close up and glare at him for the rest of the day.
So no, he wasn't going to ask her. And no, she shouldn't feel guilty. P4L 'til the end, baby.
“Thanks, JJ,” she whispered.
He snickered and pushed her off. “You can't tell the guys I'm becoming soft, dude. Theyʼll give me so much shit for it.”
“They know you're soft,” she teased, “don't even try.”
“I'm tough,” he tried.
“Like Play-Doh.”
“Whatever,” he mumbled and motioned at the kitchen door. “Let's go, Carrera. Before John B and Sarah come back and act all married.”
Now that was fucking annoying. After John B and Sarah faked their death, they got married by a bandana strip and hadn't let that notion go after returning. Sure, there was that small blip when they were fighting the crazy religious chick, but that was old news.
John B made him swear he wouldn't tell a soul, but the guy waxed poetry about Sarah whenever they were drunk and alone. It was hilariously sad. Another man lost to a girl.
(“She wants a beach wedding,” JB sighed a couple nights ago. “Nice, right?”
“I– yeah, I really don't care about this, man.”)
JJ knew that when he got a girlfriend (Kiara unintentionally but also very intentionally crossed his mind), he'd act normal. No mushy shit. No poetry. Definitely no creepy Romeo and Juliet references thrown in as if that shouldn't freak the Pogues out. Their behaviour better not be infectious.
Expectedly, Pope's scowl reached them all the way from the car, Kie and JJ sharing a sheepish look before stepping out.
“Gee, guys,” the boy deadpanned, “thanks for making haste. Really appreciate it.”
JJ's wide grin hoped to salvage it. Slapping his friend on the shoulder, he pushed past him and yelled, “Kie was dead, dude!”
Pope grimaced. “Don't joke about that.”
He watched as Kie stopped beside Pope with an apologetic expression, telling him she overslept and was sorry and that he knew how JJ was — “Always joking.”
His chapped lips pursed, a familiar punch hitting his chest with him then pretending it didn't hurt. She always did this. Even if she claimed she didn't, she always took Pope's side. Relationship or not. JJ knew she didn't owe him her 'side', but it'd be a nice change of pace either way.
Whatever. This wasn't the JJ Pining For Kiara Show. Pope needed their help.
A state-wide scholarship competition gave Pope another shot at winning a huge chunk of money (no gold type of rich though) and getting his ass out of OBX, hopefully launching himself into some fancy college when he revealed to be of Denmark Tanny's lineage. Those hibrow assholes loved a good sob story.
All Pope had to do was score hella high on some test — easy — and impress the panel — not so easy — and he'd be the luckiest Pogue of all.
But that did mean Kie and him had to sit on his creaky bed with a freaky amount of flashcards while a stressed out Pope paced around his room. He was pretty sure the floor was eroding.
Also, he had no fucking clue what any of the flashcards meant. Did Pope's smarts really attracted Kie that much? Was it the brain? Brain over brawl? But where was the fun in that? JJ loved Pope to death, but the guy had to be fully medicated or high before his brain shut off and he acted carefree.
“Pope, do you even know what this all means?” Kie bemoaned, flipping the cards around.
“You got a dictionary somewhere?” added JJ, squinting at the word aberration. It sounded like some weird disease. He showed him the word.
Pope dismissed it. “It means: different from the norm.”
“Dude, why not write that then?”
“Because they want aberration.”
He didn't get it. “No one uses it though.”
“JJ, that's just the way it is,” Pope pressed.
“Guys, stop,” Kiara interrupted. “But honestly Pope, it's so, like, elitist. None of these questions are important to the world, or the well-being of the people.”
“Sorry, Kiara, but unfortunately not everyone cares that much,” he sighed. JJ could tell they were starting to annoy their friend, their tortoise bullshit bleeding through.
Her nose scrunched up, peeved. “Right. Because there's a planet B just waiting to be used by us. Duh.”
“Ooh,” JJ drawled, nudging her arm. “Are there donkeys shitting money?”
Kie laughed. “Yes. All beaches, clean air, no Kooks, and money-shitting donkeys.”
“Nah, I want it to be hella Kooky,” he joked, gesturing wildly. “I want a yacht and tell people someone else does my laundry, or something.”
“You don't even do your laundry anyway,” she bounced back with a roll of the eye. “I know you force John B.”
“He's already playing House with Sarah, might as well wash my underwear, too.”
Oh, man. He could do this all day. Talking shit with Kiara went as smooth as fishing for him. Each time he thought he one-upped her, she threw more on top and kept it going 'til neither knew what the point even was anymore. Sarah dubbed it as 'banter' which he believed was a rich way of saying 'talking smack.'
“I don't believe you even know how to do it,” she challenged.
JJ huffed and crossed his arms. “I can do it.”
A smirk bloomed on her lips as she kept jabbing. “It's kinda cute, how you need John B to be your mom.”
“I don't.”
“You literally said it five seconds ago.”
“Guys,” Pope groaned, followed by an exhausted sigh eerily similar to Heyward. “Can we get back to the flashcards?”
Kie and JJ were too far into their discussion though, jabbing at each other at rapid speed. Then she threw her cards at him and all bets were off. He yelled she should make a goal with her hands, to which he folded up a flashcard and shot it straight between her fingers.
And that was when Pope kicked them out. JJ presumed it was a victory they lasted as long as they did. Kie kept apologising over her shoulder, prompting Pope to ask Cleo for help instead.
For a beat, they were silent stepping out of his place and back into the car. JJ felt a stab of guilt for fucking up Pope's study time, but it was hard to dial his brain to school when his friends surrounded him. Just when he wanted to ask if she felt bad too, she went off about the climate — as usual.
“It's so dumb how there were no questions about the environment or human rights or, or anything like that! It's all science and lit, like, there's more to life than fucking chemistry formulas!”
“I skipped those cards. Didn't get them.”
“It's so fucked,” she hummed. “And I'm obviously glad that you drove to the Château to wake me up and all—”
“Yeah?”
“—but I really wish those questions would matter. We almost died, JJ!”
“No, shit,” he grumbled, quickly starting to lose his patience with the ranting girl. She didn't even realise what the fuck she was saying anymore — what she did to his heart, skipping like some elemtary school girl on the playground, when she slipped some nice words in.
“Died!” she pressed. “Why even care about stuff like that?”
“Fucks sake, Kie—”
“And I didn't want to say it, but did you see how many flashcards there were? How many trees were cut for that? It's like, hello, Quizlet exists!”
“Kie, shut up!” he yelled.
Her mouth fell slack, gobsmacked, gawking at him like his interruption was a slap in the face.
Gesturing wildly with one hand, he exclaimed, “You know, you can just go on and on and I hear you talking and it's like, yeah, we get it, Mother Earth needs to be saved, we're fucked, you don't gotta repeat it twenty-four seven.”
“What the hell, JJ!”
“You have an opinion about everything! A man gets tired!”
“A man?” She scoffed. “You're not even eighteen.”
“Point is you don't gotta act all preachy all the time.” He turned the corner, hands tightening around the steering wheel.
Kie scowled. “Where is this coming from? I'm not preachy, I'm educating you.”
Now that was just fucking with his head. Incredulous, he exclaimed, “You think I don't listen? Kie, I'm the only one that does. JB is on Planet Sarah all the damn time and Pope only did shit 'cause—"
"That!” she yelled, throwing her hands up with frustration. “That's what I mean! You're doing it again! You dig!”
“What?!”
“Every time you mention Pope and I, you dig. You needle!” Twisting in her seat, his gaze flickered to catch her disgruntled expression. “Why do you do that? It's so… sus.”
JJ laughed. “Sus?”
“You don't ask John B about Sarah.”
“'Cause they're fucking obvious.”
“Still,” she pressed. “Did I do something to piss you off? Is that it? Is it me constantly asking you to recycle and yet — shocker! — you never do?!”
“Fucking God,” he grumbled under his breath.
With frazzled thoughts and shaking hands, adrenaline coursed through him as he swerved to the side of the road and stopped the car. If he fought with Kie any longer to this degree of fuckery, they were gonna crash.
She frowned. “What're you doing?”
“You, Carrera, are driving me insane,” he deadpanned, matter-of-fact. Then he slammed the door open and stepped out, desperate to catch his breath.
In the back of his mind, he had an inkling as to why he was so keyed up. Kiara would call him a Neandethal, but fuck it, here was the truth: Kiara was hot as hell when she argued with him.
Following his lead, she got out, her sneakers stomping against the asphalt. The sun steeped low on the horizon, the light hitting the hood and reflecting onto her face; her curls shifting from dark brown to gold. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was so fucked. He almost missed the start of her spiel, too enthralled.
“I'm driving you insane? I'm always getting you out of trouble, because you never think things through! You never see the bigger picture!”
He rolled his eyes. “Bigger picture? The only thing I see, Kie, is you going on about nature. That easy.” And then, before he could stop himself, he spewed out, “And you don't have to do that.”
“What?”
“Getting me out of trouble,” he said, pursing his lips. “That's not your responsibility.”
“Right. Duh. Because after everything we've been through, I can't care about you,” she exclaimed, face twisting up in pure fury. She got in his space, shoving his shoulder, but when he didn't budge, it only seemed to anger her more.
JJ didn't know what was going on anymore. Why was she so mad? Even if she didn't want to admit it, he was telling the truth. Of course all the Pogues had each other's back, but Kiara doted over him more than was necessary. The constant checking of injuries, limiting his day drinking, all that. Like he was some child!
He leaned in and mumbled, “I can take care of myself.”
Kie smirked. “Then do your own laundry.”
It happened naturally. One second he stared at her furious eyes and thought about how much he loved arguing with her despite the bullshit, the next his fingers curled into her hair and pulled her in a fierce kiss.
At first, her hands laid frozen on his shoulders, surprised, but the moment he realised his impulsive decision was a mistake, they slid around his neck and kept him close.
JJ sighed in relief and deepened the kiss he'd been craving ever since they were fourteen and Kie went from gangly to statuesque. Her lips were warm and soft and her hands were soft and she hadn't let go and holy shit — he was kissing Kiara Carrera.
The kiss lessened when her mouth quirked into a smile, their grins pressing flush together, and JJ shivered from delight. Oh, man. He was gone.
“You drive me damn crazy, Kie,” he murmured, voice dropped to an undeniably soft tone.
She bit back her silly grin and whispered, “Good.”
Taking a deep breath, he tried focusing up, but all he could do was stare at her face. A shy hand grabbed hers.
He had to get it out of the way now, or else he'd kick himself later. “I'm… really into you. I'm– oh, fuck, uh–”
“Maybe we can talk about it not on the side of the road?” she suggested, amused.
JJ grinned, elated (What was the word he saw on the flashcards? Exalted!), and kissed her again, because he could.
On the ride back to the Château, he confessed to seeing her in a different light for years, while she couldn't really pinpoint a time or moment, that it just happened. It didn't matter, though he was in utter disbelief that he and Kie were having this conversation. No jokes, no BS, all seriousness. Tomorrow, he'd wake up and it wouldn't be some sick dream. Kie liked him back.
JJ was sure he'd doubt himself or overthink it in the future, but today, he'd bask in the certainty and the major ego boost.
“Okay, but did you ever legit like Pope then?”
A sheepish smile crawled up her cheeks as her gaze averted to the window. “I thought I did. But we have, like, no chemistry, so…” She shook her head. “I was confused.”
“That's okay,” he uttered. He couldn't give her shit for it. Even if he did torture himself with their short-lived relationship, he understood.
How would he react though? John B and Sarah wouldn't care, or Cleo, but Pope? He didn't want one of his brothers hating him. Being iced out by the guy fucking sucked, as it meant he was truly hurt and therefore meant JJ truly fucked up. He couldn't handle disappointing him.
Kie read his mind. “He'll be fine with it.”
“I dunno, man…”
“He will,” she repeated. “We're Pogues. We've all narrowly survived death. And besides…” She turned back to him with a secretive grin. “I think he has a thing for Cleo.”
Whoa. He did not see that coming. His brows shot up to his hairline, mentally kicking himself for being so focused on Kie that he didn't even notice the shift of interest between Pope and Cleo. They made sense, too. Know-it-all's, but well-meaning, and only speaking when needed.
If the idea didn't relief him of worries, he'd be concerned as to why they were all seamlessly coupled up like in some 90s sitcom Big John had on VHS.
“What a player,” he joked.
“Tell me about it.”
They arrived at the house, the Twinkie and Sarah's bike sprawled on the overgrown front lawn. JJ frowned. He had hoped to have some alone time with Kie, not to jump her bones and fulfill a regular dream of his, but to talk. To figure it out. He wanted to do this right. Because after everything, they deserved to have good things, to start on a high note — he deserved it.
Kie noticed it, too. Puckering her lips on contemplation, her gaze trailed from him to the rest of the property, ending on the trusty ol' hammock. She jabbed her thumb at it.
“Let's sit there.”
Normally, they laid on opposite ends on the hammock, if they even shared one to begin with. But now, she pressed herself right beside him and he felt like heaven dropped down on them in the best way possible. He suddenly understood what John B was lamenting about — the company, intimacy, the ease. Nerves rippled through his body like a summer storm, but he figured that was what it cost to lose one's mind over a girl.
He didn't know what to say, so Kiara spoke instead.
“I don't want us, the way we are around each other, to change, you know?” she said. “Like, I don't want you to think you have to act like some mellow ass boyfriend all of a sudden.”
He smirked. “Who said anything about boyfriend?”
“Bye.”
“Hey, wait,” he grinned, latching onto her arm before she pushed herself out. “C'mon, Kie.”
Her nose scrunched up. “I don't do this usually, okay?”
“You think I do?” he asked. His hand softly slid down to wrap around hers, to which she hooked their fingers together. Okay. Wow. It felt so damn nice that it propelled him to say, “I wanna be your boyfriend, Kie.”
The girl smiled and then surprised him by leaning in herself, pressing a gentle kiss on his chapped lips. It was overwhelming having her instigate it, his gut twisting up in excitement like when he was about to backflip from a boat, or cliff dive, or something similar like that.
He let go of her hand to cup her cheeks, only to whisper, “That's a yes, yeah? Gotta get a yes.”
“Yes, JJ,” she uttered back. “Here's to not fucking this up.”
“Cheers, baby.”
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
86 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Immortal Sky - Part VII *Mature*
Summary: It’s a battle to survive and not everyone will make it.
Pairing: Henry Cavill/You
Word Count: 17,431
Rating: M - Dystopian!AU, Futuristic!AU, Language, Dark Themes: Severe Angst, Violence, Torture, Kidnapping, Traumatic Death, Blood, Life Threatening Injures, Severe Trauma, Life Changing Events, Hurt/Comfort, and a teeny bit of Fluff
Inspiration: I’ve always wanted to write a futuristic fic!
Author’s Note: This is the final official Chapter of The Immortal Sky, I will be doing a short Epilogue to round things out though. I hope you enjoy this and thank you so much for all the love, comments and support! A super thanks to @wondersofdreaming for being a great support, listening to my crazy thoughts, giving me amazing suggestions and ideas, and just being an all around amazing friend!
You gasped, sitting up on your elbows, heart pounding and drenched in a cold sweat as the nightmare continued to dig its claws into your waking moments.
“Henry?” You called out, instinctively, before remembering he wasn't there.
Still.
Letting out a hard and shaky breath, you dropped back onto the mattress, damp from your sweat. You stared up at the ceiling, gripping the blankets in shaking fists as hot and furious tears dripped over your temples and into your hair.
“He isn't coming back.” You choked on your own snot. “They've captured and killed him, I just know it. He's died trying to protect me and there's nothing I can do to stop it. To make up for it, so his pain and death weren't in vain.” You took gasping breaths and only choked more on your tears. “I'm so sorry Henry. Oh my god, I am so sorry.” You wailed, crying without abandon.
You beat your fists on the mattress, outraged at your negativity and ease of giving up on him. Henry wouldn't have given up on you, he would have stayed strong and came for you, like he had when you ran away from him in London. Jerking up, you sat on the edge of the bed, the springs of the mattress creaking under your shifting weight.
“He's still alive.” You forced yourself to say out loud. “Henry is still alive, and I will find him.”
Resolved to this conviction, you stood up and dressed, pressing his shirt to your face and took a deep breath, inhaling his earthy and masculine scent, fortifying you, before slipping it on over your own shirt and finished tying your shoelaces. You weren't completely sure what to do or how to go about finding, and potentially saving, Henry. You weren't the amazing and seasoned High Marshal Henry was, is. You tried putting yourself in his shoes, hard as it was to fill size eleven boots. So, you started in the only place that made sense to you, the Black Bone pub, where your brother and his handler were known to frequent. So, locking your room, you trekked the six blocks from the hotel to the dingy pub, heart pounding in your throat as you entered.
“What can I get ya?” The bartender asked you as you approached the counter.
“Um,” You looked at the stained menu taped to the bar top. “A Virgin Mojito, please.”
The bartender lifted a brow at you, shrugged his shoulders and turned away from you. A minute later, he set the tall glass in front of you and held out his hand, wanting payment. Sighing, you dug out the meager change you had and slapped it into his hand, picked up your drink and took a seat in the corner, the same corner you occupied with Henry the day before.
You tried your best to look as inconspicuous as you possibly could, keeping your eyes on the tv, like Henry had, swirling your drink with the thin black straw inside of it and checking out everyone in the room from the corner of your vision. It was slightly more busy than it had been the morning before, but there was no sign of your brother, Knox or Henry. What your inexperienced eye failed to notice, was the bartender keeping his eye on you, for several minutes, before going to the back of the store room and making a phone call.
“Yeah, Ashe. It's me, Bruce, the owner of the Black Bone. You asked me to keep an eye out for a lady.” He rattled off your description. “Told me to call if I saw her around.”
“And?” Ashe replied, staring at the black, web-like, 3-D printed cast on the hand he busted in his fight with Henry.
“She's back.” Bruce told him, stepping out of the store room and peeking around the corner, to make sure you were still there, clearly ignoring your drink. “Sitting in a booth, right now.”
“Excellent.” Ashe grinned, wolfishly. “I'll be right over, let me know if she leaves.”
Bruce hung up with Ashe and moved back to serve his new customers, keeping his eye on you the whole time. You finally took a sip of your drink, the mint was refreshing to your taste-buds with the slight twinge of the lime's tartness, when the door of the pub chimed as it opened and from the corner of your eye you saw who entered, making your blood run cold, the man from the day before, who had given Henry the creeps and chased you both down the alleyway. Your hands shook as he glanced in your direction, a faint smirk on his thin lips, you noticed the cast on his arm and drew conclusions; knowing he and Henry must have gotten into a fight. Wishing you had the bartender put the rum into your drink after all, you gulped it down and tried to get up as casually and calmly as possible, eyes darting to the lopsided and hand written sign above the bathroom door and headed that direction.
The bathroom was big enough for a discolored and filthy toilet and a teeny window above that. Locking the bathroom door, you climbed top of the toilet, wobbling on the unstable tank to peek out the cloudy windowpane. There was another alleyway behind the pub, but you couldn't see where either end of it led out too, but you weren't going back out into the bar area with Ashe there, waiting to pounce on you. The window was wedged into the frame, sticking it into place from years of hard rains and freezing winters, swelling and warping the wood. Biting your lip, you started bashing it with the heel of your hand, the wood protesting and squeaking with each blow, until it suddenly flew open.
Glancing over your shoulder to the latched door as the dented handle started to rattle, you wasted no time, jumping and diving halfway through the window, legs flailing and kicking the dingy wall. Scrambling to get a footing and wiggle the rest of the way through the window, the rough wood scraping and cutting up your sides and ripping holes into your jacket. The bathroom door started to shake, a shoulder driving into it, you knew it wouldn't be long before Ashe busted through and hauled you out of the bathroom. Growling in frustration, you kicked hard at the wall, breaking through the crumbling drywall and used it to boost yourself up more. Punching more and more holes into the wall with your feet to you wiggle and shimmy through the window.
You gasped as your hips passed through the window frame and scrambled to get a footing on the other side, before you fell face first into a pile of two week old trash. You had just managed to flip yourself as you fell out of the window, landing on your butt on top of the overstuffed black plastic bags with a grunt. The eruption of Ashe charging through the bathroom door exploded above you, followed by his flurry of curses as his head popped through the window, the only thing small enough to fit through it.
“You fucking bitch!” He roared, pushing an arm through the window with his head to try and grab at you.
You struggled to your feet and stumbled away from Ashe and the window, out of breath and bleeding. Knowing he wasn't going to get through the window, Ashe jerked back inside and stormed out of the bathroom, shoving and knocking people aside as they came to see what all the commotion was about. Not waiting around for Ashe to reach you, you bolted down the alleyway, slipping on the slimy pavement and tripping over trash, just making it to the end, when two shadows blocked the way. Startled, you tried twisting around to run the other way, but they were faster than you were, grabbing the hood of your jacket and yanked you back, making you choke in the process.
“You ain't going anywhere.” One of them huffed as you were slammed chest first into the wall, scraping the side of your face on the rough surface.
Your arms were harshly yanked behind you and hands slipped through the loops of thick black cuffs, before your captor pressed a button on the handle connecting the cuffs and they automatically tightened around your wrists, painfully cutting off circulation and into your skin. They jerked you off the wall and faced you out of the alleyway, one of them clamped a hand down on your shoulder, making you whimper in pain and try to shrink away from him, only to be struck in the side.
“You should have stayed in London.” Ashe's angry voice growled as he approached the three of you, pinching your chin between his fingers. “Or just not have been born at all.” He hissed, letting go of your head with a jerk. “Get her in the van.” He ordered the two men, hitching a thumb over his shoulder, to the van parked at the curb, its back sliding door open and waiting.
You looked up and down the sidewalk as they pushed and shoved you towards the van, frantically hoping someone would see the four of you and rush to help you, stop them for kidnapping you. But, as you looked at the full street, you noticed everyone looking everywhere but at you, not wanting to get involved, knowing doing so would land them in the same hot water you were finding yourself in. But, to your utter shock, one face did look back at you, just as stunned to see you as you were to see them.
“Michail.” You mouthed, blinking like it was just a fragment of your frantic mind. “Mikey!” You screamed out, realizing it wasn't your mind toying with you, before you were thrown into the van and the door was slammed shut behind you.
“Let's go grab a pint.” Knox said, throwing on his jacket. “Come on, Keagan, one pint won't kill you. We have a load of time before your first big run.”
Michail sighed and rubbed at his face, his back ached from hunching over the map of his first run as an Adjutant Runner for Quinn. He had been staring at it non-stop for two weeks and the run was due to happen in three days. But, Knox was right, an hour's break to enjoy a frothy pint at the pub would do him and his brain some good. So, stiffly raising from his chair, he grabbed his own jacket and followed Knox to the lift and down the four floors to the ground floor and out onto the street. They chatted about the run as they walked down to the Black Bone, Knox's usual establishment for a good pint, hammering out more details and clearing up any misunderstanding about what was to go down, once it did happen.
But, they were interrupted by a small scuffle ahead of them, near the pub.
Looking away from each other and to the altercation, they saw three sizable men roughly handling a woman, her hands tied behind her back. Michail felt the breath in his lungs freeze and his heart drop out into his stomach as he met the woman's eye, watching her mouth his name, before yelling it out.
“Mikey!”
“Issy?” He whispered back, too stunned to manage anything louder before you were manhandled into the van.
“You know that woman, Mike?” Knox asked, his eyes panning between the speeding away van and him.
“She's my sister.” Mikey replied, his mouth hanging open, shocked and speechless to not only find you in Bristol, but being carted away by those ruffians. “But, she should be back in London.” He blinked, slowly regaining himself. “What the hell is she doing here in Bristol? Do you know who those guys were?” He asked, looking at Knox.
“Only one of them.” Knox replied, narrowing his eyes. “The blond is Ashe James, he works as a free agent, working several different jobs in every Sector.”
“Why would he take my sister like that?” Mikey asked himself, deeply troubled.
“We'll find out later, let's get that pint.” Knox answered, clasping Mikey on the back and pushed him towards the pub.
Henry spit nothing, but blood, as Emilio gave him another crack punch to the face; which was multicolored and inflamed. A cut high on the bridge of his bloody nose and upper lip, his bottom lip was split and bleeding as well, blood caked in his beard and curls, as well as his chest; soaking into the fabric of his jeans. His eyes burned from the unyielding and bright lights illuminating the room. He was spent and exhausted, leaning forward with his head lulling and eyes half rolled and swollen shut. A forest of marks and box cutter cuts littered his body, partiality around the surgical site of his artificial kidney. He was more than sure every one of his ribs were broken or cracked, making him wheeze and hiss with every breath he took.
Henry wasn't sure how much more of he could take, but that didn't mean he would break.
“I don't think you have much more blood in you, mate?” Emilio huffed, shaking his throbbing hand, his fingers puffy and bruised from hitting Henry so many times. “Usually, the people I—set straight—have given up by now. But, no. Not you, you're tough. I respect that.” He said, shrugging his sore shoulders.
“To a point.” He chuckled, slapping Henry in the back of the head, making him whimper. “Why don't you tell my boss where the girl is? Then, we can let you off. But, if you don't, you'll just end up dying here.”
Henry remained quiet, he had run out of witty and smart-ass comments hours before. So, he kept his mouth shut and reserved his energy and strength to withstand their assault on him. The one saving light was the thought of you safe and sound in your room. He knew, by now, you were freaking out and panicking. There were no clocks and only one mirror that Henry knew, without a doubt, was a two way, but he could catch a glimpse of Emilio's expensive watch. He had been in the room for nearly twelve hours, all night and most of the morning.
He sighed, grimacing as he swallowed another mouthful of blood that was pooling in his mouth from his bloody nose, cut lip and the cuts on the inside of his cheeks; his stomach cramped and twisted as he swallowed it down, adding to his discomfort. His mind started to wonder, his pain was beginning to numb his battered nerve-endings, he wondered how much longer he would survive, what blow would potentially kill him.
He counted each blow.
One.
Two.
Three.
The door came flying open and Benji waltzed in, the door slamming closed behind him, as he grinned and looked chipper after getting a good night's rest, having left not long after Henry's torture started. But, he seemed overly happy, too happy, for Henry to be comfortable with, he knew something. That's when Henry's fear finally spiked and his abused body tensed and his bloodshot, blue orbs widened with panic, showing that growing ounce of fear outwardly for the first time.
“Well, Mr. Cavill, I see that you are still alive!” Benji quipped with an amused smile, grabbing the back of Henry's sweaty and bloody curls, and jerked his head back, roughly. “I am quite impressed by your stamina. I bet the ladies love it.” He teased, lowering himself to meet Henry's gaze.
“I have a surprise for you, Henry.” He cooed, menacingly, his brown eyes darkening to a black hole of evil and danger. “I'm quite sure you'll be relieved to see it.” He said softly, running a finger over the freshly bleeding cut on Henry's brow, making him hiss as heavy beads of sweat mixed into it, then straightened up.
“Bring it in!” He yelled, moving away from Henry and turned towards the two way mirror.
The door swung open again, revealing Ashe, who pressed his back against it, to keep it open, and motion into the hall for someone to come forward. Henry's shoulders fell with his face, the last bit of his strength he had draining out of him as you were shoved into the room, stumbling and almost falling if Ashe hadn't grabbed the handle of your zip cuffs and steadied you.
Your mouth dropped open seeing the pitiful and terrifying condition Henry was in, covered in blood, bruises, cuts and god knows what else. You struggled to swallow down your throbbing heart and blinked back the searing tears that burned your eyes, biting hard into your lip to keep yourself from falling apart. Henry licked his split and chapped lips and blinked slowly at you, trying to keep himself together, but not to cry, but to not lose his temper, his muscles flexing as his anger flared and surged beneath his blue and purple, blood covered skin, straining in his restraints, like a bull seeing red.
“Two very different reactions.” Benji commented, watching the pair of you through the two-way mirror. “Interesting.” He hummed, turning on the heels of his expensive dress shoes. “I've been looking for you.” He said, stepping closer to you. “Thank you for making it so easy to find and get a hold of you.”
He smiled, touching the tip of his finger to your cheek and drew a smiley face on it.
In Henry's blood.
“Release her hands.” He ordered, snapping his fingers.
“Boss, is that a good idea?” Ashe asked, hesitating with the key to your cuffs. “She's pretty cunning.”
Benji's cool broke and slapped Ashe across the face, ripping the key out of his hand and releasing the cuffs from around your wrists. “I know what she is, you moron. But, what is she going to do? They're in my house, surrounded by dozens upon dozens of my men. Even if, they managed to get out of this room, they wouldn't make it out of the hall, before we either killed or incapacitated them. So,” He smirked at you, giving you a sour taste in your mouth.
“Let's leave them be.” He chuckled, making a motion with his hand and cleared the room, other than you and Henry.
You stood frozen for several moments, unable to move as you and Henry stared at each other, your silent tears finally escaping down your cheeks. “I'm so sorry, Henry.” You sniffled, gulping thickly.
Henry closed his eyes and sighed, groaning and gently shaking his head. He knew, he knew you had left the room to come look for him, the guilt and evidence of it was all over your face. “It's all right.” He finally replied, his voice dry and raspy. “I know you were scared.”
“I was worried.” You whimpered, slowly approaching him. “I still am.” You told him, dropping to your knees before him, looking over his battered body. “I'm sorry, Henry. I never meant for this to happen. I never wanted anyone to get hurt because of me. Least of all, you.”
Your emotions started to overwhelm you, reaching out to gently cup his face in your shaking palms and pushed up on your toes to touch your forehead to his temple. Henry frowned and nudged your face with his, trying to give you what comfort he could, while still tied to the chair. Your wet cheek smeared more blood on the both of you, as you wrapped your arms loosely around his bare waist.
“I told you to wait for me.” He whispered, meeting your damp eyes.
“I tried.” You protested, pulling back from him. “But, I-” You bit your lip and looked away from him.
“I told you, I'd come back for you.”
“How?” You snapped, incredulous. “You're tied to a fucking chair and practically bleeding to death!”
Henry narrowed his eyes at you. “I'll be fine, I just needed more time. I've done this before.” He told you, shaking his head, then regretting it.
“That doesn't make me feel any better or convince me, Henry.” You replied with a huff. “How are we going to get out of here?” You asked, lowering your voice, sure they were eavesdropping.
“I'll think of something.” Henry answered, looking around the room, but there was very little to aid you in that endeavor. “Just stay strong for me.” He added, turning his face into yours, his chapped lips brushing your ear.
“Nugget.”
Benji stood in the room adjoined to the interrogation room you and Henry were held in, watching the two of you interact and talk, when a phone started to ring. Flexing his hands, Benji turned on his men, glaring each of them in the eyes until one of them shied away from his gaze.
“Answer it, Luis.” He hissed at the smaller man. “Now!” He roared, making everyone flinch.
Luis slipped a shaking hand into his pocket and pulled out his mobile, flipping it open and answering it. “Hello?” He squeaked, his voice high pitched with fright. “Um,--” He shuttered, eyes glued to Benji. “It's Monroe, Sir. He's asking about the girl, why she was nabbed this morning.” He explained, holding his phone out to Benji.
“Knox!” Benji roared into the receiver. “Why are you asking about the girl?” He demanded.
“My new Runner, they know each other.” Knox replied, cool as ice, he was used to Benji's outbursts. “We saw Ashe and the boys dragging her out of the Black Bone, she saw us too, and called out Keagan's name. When I asked how she knew him, he answered that she was his sister.”
“Her brother?” Benji said slowly, turning back to the mirror and staring at you as you huddled close to Henry. “Bring him to me, I want you here within the hour.”
“You got it, boss.” Knox replied, hanging up.
“The bubble of intrigue just keeps growing around this girl.” He said, studying you. “I love it.”
“I just got a call from headquarters.” Knox said as he approached Mikey at their table. “We need to go in, they're having a Runner meeting we need to attend to get the new details on our run in a couple days.” He explained.
“All right.” Mikey nodded, wiping the foam off his upper lip as he finished off his pint. “Are we going straight there?” He asked, standing up.
“Yep.” Knox nodded, clapping him on the back and directing him to the door, waving to the bartender as they left.
They hailed a cab to the Hernandez building, it was the tallest building in all of Bristol, showing the power, presence and money they had, running their empire of drugs and violence. The twenty minute ride there was quiet, and Knox almost felt bad for Mikey, knowing the kid had zero clue what was about to happen to him, but he wasn't sorry for the fact he was related to you, who could possibly bring down the business that kept him employed and out of the Slums.
“Mr. Hernandez is expecting us.” Knox told the receptionist at the front desk.
Nodding her head, the receptionist picked up her phone, dialed a number and waited for it to pick up. “Mr. Monroe to see you, sir.” She said, then hung up. “He'll meet you at lift number three.” She told Knox, then returned to her paperwork.
“Come on, Keagan.” Knox called, motioning Mikey to follow him.
Mikey followed him, unaware and naive to what was about to happen to him, to what was waiting for him, as the lift doors slid open and revealed Benji and Ashe. It was seeing Benji and Ashe that Mikey got a strange feeling in his stomach, but he ignored it, figuring it was just nervous jitters from meeting the most powerful man in Bristol.
“Knox.” Benji smiled at his prized Runner, then settled his cold eyes on Mikey. “Mr. Keagan, how nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much.”
“All good, I hope.” Mikey gulped.
“Of course.” Benji chuckled, motioning for the two men to step into the lift with them. “Let's go to my office to speak.” He suggested.
The ride in the lift was silent and stiff, no one speaking or moving, not even making eye contact for the several minutes the ride took, until the ding announced their arrival to the floor and the sleek metal doors slid open. Benji stepped off first, followed by Knox and Mikey, with Ashe bringing up the rear. They walked down a long hallway and Benji stopped beside a door, scanned a key card and pushed it open, motioning for Mikey to go in first, wanting to see his reaction as he entered.
Biting his lip, Mikey did as he was told, a nervous sweat breaking out on his brow as he moved into the dark room, noticing the wall length window to one side. He stopped in front of it, looking through the two way mirror and felt his jaw and heart hit the floor.
“Issy.” He gasped, seeing you pacing the bright room, then noticed the large and beaten male tied to the chair in the room as well.
His shoulders slumped as it all clicked in his head, he had been lied to too and was now as much a prisoner as you and Henry were. A cold sweat broke out all over his body and his hands started to shake, gulping several times to try and keep his composure.
“What is the meaning of this?” He asked, eyes snapping to Benji as he watched Ashe lock and block the door, leaving Knox in the hallway.
“Who is that girl to you?” Benji asked, lightly tapping the glass of the mirror. “And answer truthfully.”
Mikey steeled himself. “I don't know.” He huffed, puffing out his chest.
Benji rolled his jaw and banged on the mirror, grabbing Emilio's attention. Smirking, Emilio pushed himself off the door he had been leaning against and strode over to you, startling you and making you stubble away from him.
“NO!” Henry and Mikey both screamed at the same time as Emilio grabbed you roughly by the hair, yanking your head backward and making you cry out as he shoved you closer to the mirror.
“Who is she to you?” Benji asked again, slowly.
“A friend.” Mikey whimpered, clenching his fists together as he felt and saw your pain.
Benji knocked on the window again. This time, Emilio twisted you around by the hair and slammed your back up against the mirror and wrapped his meaty hand around your slender neck. Henry jerked and squirmed in his chair, roaring with madness and cursing loudly as Emilio choked you, trying desperately to break free and pull him off of you, before it was too late.
“Stop!” Henry roared, letting his anger and frustration out in a violent scream. “Let her go! Do it to me!” He begged Emilio. “Let her be!”
Mikey doubled over, his hands braced on his thighs as he gasped for air, like a goldfish out of it's tank. “Please, stop this.” He begged Benji, in a wheeze.
Benji tilted his head as he watched Mikey, watching his distress as it mirrored your own. Curiously, he banged on the mirror again and Emilio, still choking you with one hand, drove the fist of his other into your stomach, making you yelp around his hand, incapable of more as you struggled for air. Mikey stumbled back into a shelf behind him, nearly losing his footing. Benji's fingers caught the underside of Mikey's chin and jerked his head back, thick strings of drool on his lips and chin.
“Tell me who she is to you?” He hissed in his face.
“Please.” Mikey begged him, weakly.
“Tell me, and I'll make him stop.” Benji told him, his face twisted with smug malice.
Mikey whimpered, hearing you struggling and Henry's desperate protests. “She's my sister.” He broke. “My twin sister.” He admitted, weakly.
“Your twin?” Benji echoed, intrigued. “So, you feel what she feels. Does she feel what you do, I wonder.” He let go of Mikey and knocked on the mirror twice, signaling Emilio to release you, which he did, causing you to collapse to the floor. “Ashe, go in there and tell me if she feels anything from him.” He ordered, keeping his eyes on Mikey.
Nodding, Ashe left the room and entered yours and Henry's, nodding at the mirror, so Benji knew he was in position. Smiling, Benji promptly drove his knee into Mikey's stomach and looked behind him and saw Ashe smirking and chuckling to himself.
“The connection between twins.” Benji laughed, amused to all ends. “I love it. Let's have a proper little family reunion, shall we!” He declared and motioned to Luis to grab Mikey. “Bring him.” He ordered, marching out of the room. “Good news everybody!” He declared, bursting into the room with you and Henry.
“It's family time!” He laughed, as Luis shoved Mikey into the room with the two of you.
“Mikey.” You coughed and rasped, holding your bruised neck.
“Issy.” He rasped back, crawling over to you. “Where have you been?” He asked, cupping your face in his shaking hands. “We thought you were dead.”
“I went looking for you, to try and patch things up with our parents, after the fight.” You explained, fresh tears dripping down your face. “But, I was caught by the Traffickers and was held by them. Henry,” You looked up at him, still straining in the chair, his blue eyes wild. “he saved me and I've been with him the whole time.”
Mikey blinked up at Henry, then narrowed his eyes at him. “Saved you?” He echoed your words, but not your sentiments and appreciation. “The only reason a person goes into a Trafficker's warehouse, if they're not merchandise, is to buy.” He hissed, his face darkening. “You bought my sister from a fucking Trafficker. Typical Upper, buying and enslaving us just because we were born in a lower Sector than you.”
“Mikey, it wasn't like that?” You panted, shaking your head at him, desperate for him to understand.
“How can you fucking defend him!” Mikey barked, gritting his teeth at you. “Unless he's already brainwashed you, convinced you that owning you didn't make you any different than him.”
“I don't own her.” Henry growled, low in his throat.
“Is that so!”
“It is!” You barked back, regaining yourself. “He never registered me for an Ownership Bracelet. Henry's never treated me like a Slave, or even a Slummer, for that matter. He's been good to me, Mikey.” You told him, cupping his tense neck in your hands and pressed your forehead to his. “He's been helping me to find you.” You whispered to him, holding his eyes.
“He's been protecting me.” You said quieter.
“I was originally meant to follow her until you were found, then bring you both back to London.” Henry added, his eyes on you. “So, she could testify against him.” He jerked his chin at Benji. “and to turn you in for your part in the Running business. But,” He paused and sighed. “But, I changed my mind and decided to just help her bring you back home, safely. Make up some story about why I didn't bring you in, then once she testified, I was going to release her to go back home to your family.” He explained.
Mikey opened his mouth to ask why a High Marshal would bother to do something like that, when he finally felt it, a warmth that came from you, and met your eyes and saw the cause of your warmth, towards Henry. You were in love with the High Marshal, and looking to Henry, he could tell that Henry felt just as strongly about you.
“I've been a complete brainless prick.” Mikey sighed, feeling guilty, if he hadn't decided to become a Runner, then none of this would have happened, the two of you and Henry would still be safe and sound in London, going about your lives as should be.
“I'm sorry, Issy.”
“Well, you're just a stupid boy, what do you know anyway.” You huffed, smiling softly and shrugging it off.
“Well, isn't this all well and sweet.” Benji huffed pushing off the wall.
“But, we all have an issue. The three of you are a threat to my business.” He said, folding his arms. “You, High Marshal, are on the case that threatens my business. You,” He looked at Mikey. “Being a Runner, know the routes and procedures of my business, and you,” He settled his eyes on you. “Are the witness to my operations and hold the key to ruining my business in London and putting away one of my best Traffickers.”
“I can't let you live.” He said, looking at the three of you. “So, we're going to play a fun little game.” He smirked, greedy and giddy, as he rubbed his hands together. “Luis, your gun.” He ordered, holding his hand out to the other man. “Ashe draw yours as well, and Emilio, why don't you untie Mr. Cavill over there, we do out number them with people and firearms, so I doubt either of them will be stupid enough to try something.” He said, motioning Emilio towards Henry.
Obeying, Emilio removed the key to Henry's bonds from his front pocket, while Ashe had his gun trained on him, anticipating any attempt Henry, you or Mikey might make to try and be a savior. Emilio unlocked the ties around Henry's chaffed ankles, then his wrists. Henry let out a relieved sigh as the strain and tension of his shoulders and arms released, almost slumping out of the chair.
“Henry!” You gasped, dashing forward to try and catch him.
“Ah, no!” Benji barked, stopping you in your tracks. “Leave him be.” He hissed at you. “Get up, Cavill.” He demanded of Henry. “Now, or I'll start putting holes in her!”
Groaning, Henry forced himself to stand, swaying on his throbbing and injured legs and almost falling, but caught himself on the back of the chair. Assured that Henry would be able to reasonably stand, then took the gun Luis was still holding out to him, Benji removed the clip from the firearm, checking how many rounds it had, reloaded the clip and cocked the slide, securing a bullet into the chamber.
“Take it.” He snapped, holding it out to you.
“No.” You whimpered, shaking your head and taking a step away from him.
“You either take it, or I kill all three of you now, starting with the High Marshal, then your dear brother and you last, so you can watch as your brother and the man you love, die.” He threatened, with an eerie calm.
Taking a shuddering breath, you stepped forward again and, with a shaky hand, took the heavy weapon from Benji's hand. You looked at Henry and Mikey with wide and frightened eyes, visibly shaking with terror. They both looked back at you with the same fright and worry.
“So, this is our game.” Benji grinned, licking his lips, like an evil serpent. “You get to choose who dies first, and get the honor of killing them.” He told you, grinning sinisterly.
“No.” You whimpered, slowly shaking your head. “No, I can't. Please, I can't.” You begged him, trembling, and staring down at the gun, like you expected it to swallow you.
“None of you are going to leave this room alive. So, you might as well put each other out of your own misery.” Benji tried to reason with you. “Do you want them to suffer because of your selfishness?”
“Don't listen to him.” Henry snapped, drawing your attention. “You don't need to do this, just give me the gun.” He told you, reaching out a hand to you.
“He's right, Issy. You don't.” Mikey agreed, holding his own hand out. “Just give it to one of us, we'll figure this out.”
Both Henry and Mikey knew why Benji had given you the gun. You would never have considered hurting anyone, with or without the firearm; unlike Henry and Mikey, who would.
Your eyes darted back and forth between them, unsure who to give it to. What would Henry do, if you were to give him the gun? Would he manage to kill Benji, Ashe, Luis and Emilio before they could do any real damage to the three of you? What about Mikey? Did your brother even know how to use a gun? What would he do once he had it? Should you even give it to them? What if one of them turned on the other, what if Henry turned on Mikey? He had originally been sent after you to bring you back to testify and take care of Mikey, because of his involvement with Benji and Bristol. Would Mikey try to kill Henry, because he was a High Marshal, maybe try to save face and show Benji he could be trusted, to save himself, and maybe you too.
You knew neither of them would turn on you or harm you in any way. You weren't afraid of them; you were afraid for them, and what they might do if they had the gun themselves.
It took all you had not to throw up, then and there. Everyone was staring at you waiting for your decision, but you couldn't decide, you wouldn't decide. You loved Henry and you loved your brother, you would rather kill yourself than one of them; and it was as if they sensed your mind go in that direction, for both Henry and Mikey jerked towards you, startling you.
“No!” Henry hissed, his eyes wide with panic. “Don't you dare.” He panted heavily, spots in his eyes as his advanced blood loss started to take its toll on him, on top of everything else going on. “Don't you dare turn that gun on yourself.” He whispered, half begging and half ordering you.
“Listen to him, Issy.” Mikey agreed, nodding his head. “Don't harm yourself. We can figure this out.” He said, eyeballing Benji over your shoulder.
Tears dripped down your face, like a waterfall after a heavy rain, it was too much, it was all too overwhelming for you to take. Mikey looked between you and Henry, he saw the absolute terror and worry in Henry's eyes, his pupils eating away the cobalt blue and speck of brown of his irises. Your own blown out pupils doing the same as you started back at him. It was something that Mikey wasn't used to. When things became scary and too much, it had always been him that you looked to in those moments, but this time, it was Henry you were seeking comfort and protection from.
“You fucking prick!” Mikey growled, trying to lung at Benji.
“Ah ah!” Benji barked back, grabbing Luis's wrist and forcing him to point his gun at you. “If either of you try and act a hero, Luis will kill her, out right.” He warned, meeting Mikey and Henry's eyes.
Biting his lip, Mikey took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh, Benji had the three of you cornered. He was forcing you to kill one of the men you loved with your own life, while stopping Henry and Mikey from trying to save the day, by threatening to kill you, knowing they both would die to keep you safe.
What a twisted and poisonous web that was being weaved in the room. But, sooner or later, the strings of that web would start to snap and unravel, taking all of you with it.
Mikey took a hesitating step forward, his heart pounding and choked inside of his throat, his eyes daring between you, Benji and Luis. Reaching out, he wrapped his hand around your wrist, feeling the weight of the gun you held in that hand. The pounding pulse in your wrist drummed against Mikey's fingers, and he felt his own heart become attuned with yours. From the day the two of you came into the world, you several minutes before him, the pair of you were in sync, but as you grew older, you became less so. You had taken the right path, following the law, doing the job assigned to you, making the best of the life you had been dealt, without a complaint. While Mikey rebelled and became restless, wanting to be more, wanting the people he loved to be and have more than you already did, failing to see the wealth he already had, in you, your parents and little brother.
It was too late now to go back and fix those things, to see and cherish them properly, like Mikey now realized he should have.
The two of you synced together, heart beats the same steady, but pounding rate, breathing heavy and as one, flowing in a way that only twins could. You read his face, like it was the page of an open book and knew what he was doing. Your hand grasped the grip of the gun tighter, eyes widening and head softly shaking.
It's all right, Issy. His face and eyes said to you.
No. Your eyes begged back, blinded by collecting tears. Not like this. Don't do this. I can't live without you, Mikey.
You'll be fine, Sis.
He looked away from you, to Henry, who stood there, supporting himself on the back of the chair he had spent hours being tortured in. Henry looked back at Mikey, confused, just like everyone else in the room to what was transpiring between you, narrowing his eyes and frowning, shaking his head at Mikey, wanting to understand. But, Mikey looked back to you, squeezing your wrist and pressing his free hand to your chest.
You have the High Marshal to care for and protect you now. His eyes said to you. And he'll do a better job at it. He can give you the love, life and protection you need and deserve in life.
You shook your head at him, eyes screaming at him. Don't do this! What about our parents? Our little brother? What will I tell them? They will be crushed.
I'm no good and we both know this. Let me do this, and prove I still have some good left in me.
His hand slowly slipped down yours, gently prying your fingers from around the gun's grip, carefully taking it from you. Your hands shot out, gripping Mikey by the sleeves, one last plea for him to reconsider, to help you and Henry find a different plan and outcome, to give it a chance. But, he shook his head and took your arm in his free hand, leaned in to kiss your cheek, then gently shoved you in Henry's direction. Henry just managed to catch you before you stumbled over your feet, and himself from falling as well, blinking between you and Mikey, starting to realize what was going on.
“Mikey, n--” You started to scream as he raised the muzzle to his temple.
Henry's thick arms wrapped around you, somehow mustering the strength to hold you back as you struggled and thrashed in his embrace, trying desperately to stop what was about to happen.
A loud pop and a high pitched ringing filled your ears, muting out all other sounds that were being made, the sounds of your scream that you only knew was happening by how sore it made your throat, the warm spray of droplets against your face and neck, the world ending sight of your brother crumbling to the ground, the gun falling from his limp hand and slid across the blood covered floor, spinning under the chair at Henry's foot.
But, the chaos didn't stop there.
As Mikey hit the floor, Ashe came to life, using the distraction of Mikey's decision, to pull the gun out of his back waistband, smoothly flipping off the safety with his thumb, cocked and pointed it at Luis. All of it was in slow-motion, ears still screaming, as another pop filled the room, this time taking out Luis. Henry's body tensed up against yours as he watched Luis instinctively pull the trigger of his own weapon, the bullet whizzing towards you both. Henry wrapped his arms completely around you and threw you both down onto the floor; caging you in with his heavy and bloody body, using himself as a human shield as more muffled shots rang out.
You felt Henry's body jerk once against yours and the hot breath of him groaning against your neck, then a searing pain in your thigh, before the room went quiet and dark.
You started to come back around to the sound of Henry yelling your name, above the ringing that was still filling your ears and mind. You shook your throbbing head, feeling him pat your cheeks, trying to get you to open your eyes and respond to him.
“Can you hear me?” Henry asked, blinking down at you.
You blinked back up at him, only catching every other word he said. “A little bit.” You wheezed back, your thigh felt like an overfilled, hot water bottle as it throbbed.
“Good.” He nodded, then looked down the length of your body, just then noticing the slow puddle of blood pooling around your leg and cursed. “You've been hit.” He huffed, wrestling with his body's want to panic, but kept calm.
Spotting the tattered remains of his shirt, that Emilio had cut off, Henry grabbed it. “This is going to hurt, but, I need to control the bleeding before you lose too much.” He explained, carefully bringing your leg up, then wrapping the strip of his shirt around your thigh, just above the bullet wound, and tied it off as tightly as he could without causing any more complications.
You winced and whined as he did, gripping his bicep and digging your nails into his skin. “What happened?” You asked, out of breath, you couldn't see most of the room, Henry's body blocking your view, mostly on purpose.
“It seems, we have a friend.” Henry replied looking over his shoulder to Ashe. “We're going to get out of here.” He told you, fussing over your wound as a thin and steady stream of blood continued to flow from it, tightening his shirt more.
“We can't leave without--” You paused, remembering. “Oh god, Henry!” You gasped, it all rushed back to you.
“I know.” He frowned at you, crushed.
“We have to take him with us.”
“We can't.” Henry whispered, licking his cracked lips. “It'll slow us down.” He told you as carefully as he could. “I'll get him back for you. When we get back to London, I promise you.” He said, helping you sit up.
“Henry--” You sobbed, throwing your arms around his neck and buried your face into his sweaty and sticky chest.
“I know, love. I am so so sorry.” He whimpered in your ear, cradling you in his arms as you sobbed.
“We need to go.” Ashe's rushed voice came from the door. “Now, before the alarms go off.” He said, looking back into the hall.
He felt for you, he really did, never expecting all of this to happen, but now that it had, the three of you needed to put as many kilometers and as much time between you and Bristol as you could, because Benji's men would be coming after you in no time.
“Come on.” Henry grunted, pulling himself up to his feet and taking you with him, wrapping your arm around his neck, to support you out of the room.
Your breath caught in your throat as Henry helped you stand up, seeing Mikey's body laying there in a large pool of blood, but also Luis, Emilio and Benji's bodies as well. In the chaos of Mikey taking his own life to save you and Henry, Ashe had sprung, pulling his weapon and dispatching them in the confusion. Luis and Emilio let off several rounds from their own guns, one of them nicking Henry in the side and another going through your thigh.
“Is he on our side?” You wheezed, as you and Henry followed him down the hall.
“Yeah.” Henry nodded, shifting you against his side as you started to slip. “He's a Alpha Marshal, from London.” He explained to your questioning brow lift
“How did you not know that?” You asked him, frowning, you figured since Henry was a High Marshal, he would know all of the other Marshals.
“He finished Marshal training four years before I went in, and was recruited straight out of it to go undercover and infiltrate Bristol and climb the ladder as far as he could. Seems he got as high as being Benji Hernandez's personal enforcer.” He explained, stopping as Ashe secured the hallway around the corner.
“Which is damn lucky for the two of you.” Ashe commented, coming back. “The way is clear, there's a back service lift that goes down to the garage. I have a car there we can use to get the fuck out of Bristol.”
“Let's go.” Henry nodded, antsy.
You looked back down the hall, to the still open door to the room that held all that carnage, and shuttered. Henry looked at you, feeling the shiver and frowned, reaching up to brush your hair out of your sweaty and bloody face. He couldn't understand the level of pain and anguish you must be in, after watching your brother commit suicide to save you. But, he knew that Mikey would want him to protect you and get you the hell out of there, with or without his body, and that's what Henry planned on doing.
“You can do this.” He whispered to you, blood crusted fingertips brushing your cheek. “He would want you too.” He added even softer.
“I know.” You gulped down tears, pressing your forehead to his shoulder. “Let's go, before I lose my nerve.” You said, looking away from the door.
Nodding his head, you and Henry supported each other down the hall to the lift, leaning against the wall as it went down to the dark underground garage. Finding Ashe's car, he unlocked it and helped you and Henry get inside, before rushing around to the driver's side, tearing out of the garage and onto the street.
“Here.” You sighed and removed your torn and filthy jacket, revealing Henry's shirt beneath it, and took it off, seeing Henry's shiver.
“Thanks.” Henry whimpered, carefully pulling the shirt on his sore and battered torso. “How are we getting out of here, Ashe?”
“There's a gate out of this Sector that most of Benji's top men use for dealing with business outside of Bristol. I know the guard that works it, he'll let us through and keep his mouth shut.” Ashe explained, keeping his eyes on the road. “From there, I'll drop you both off at the drop location I use for sending my information into London.”
“What Sector is that in?” Henry asked, checking your makeshift tourniquet.
“Three.” Ashe replied, slowing his car down as they approached the gate he spoke about. “Let me do the talking.” He said over his shoulder, rolling his window down as a stocky male with a semi-automatic weapon approached the driver's side.
“James, it's been awhile. How have you been?” He asked, staring through the open driver's window.
“Been all right.” Ashe replied casually, as if nothing was amiss, like the two bleeding people in his backseat. “I need to run an errand outside the city, if you don't mind opening the gate and letting me through.”
“Sure thing.” the guard replied, chipper and oblivious to you and Henry, unable to see through the black tinted windows.
Stepping away from Ashe's car, the guard moved into a small booth beside the gate, turning a key and held down a large red button. The large and scuffed up gate groaned to life, screeching and protesting as it slid out of the way, revealing barren land and an uneven road on the other side. Waving back as the guard waved Ashe through the gate, he drove through, letting out a relieved breath as the gate closed behind you, everything so far going smooth.
“It's a two and half hour drive to your drop off location.” Ashe said, breaking the silence.
“That's fine.” Henry replied. “It took us nearly a week to walk here.” He added with a huff, that felt like a year ago at this point.
“What about you?” You asked Ashe. “What will you do now? Will you not come into London with us?” You inquired, interested, since his life and the long years he spent undercover in Bristol was now blown apart because of you, Henry and Mikey.
“I'm not originally from London.” Ashe replied, stiffly. “I'm from Chester. My father was killed in an accident and my mother couldn't take care of me. So, she had a smuggler bring me to London where I have a wealthy aunt. She took me in, adopted me and raised me as her own son, enabling me to have a better life. With her connections, I was able to attend the Marshal Council Academy, graduated top of my class and was recruited directly out of training to go undercover and infiltrate Bristol and the Hernandez family. I've been there ever since, running and doing whatever job Benji and his family tell me too, while sending the information back to London and half of the money I make back to my mum in Chester.”
“I've wanted to return to Chester for a long time, I haven't seen my mother, in person, since I was eight. So, I plan to go back there, after I drop the two of you off.”
“Won't they go looking for you there?” You asked, concerned for him, you had dragged so many people into this mess.
“No, as far as they know, all my family is dead.” He answered, glancing at you in the rear-view mirror. “My backstory was I was orphaned as a baby and raised on the streets of London, where I got in with Runners and came to Bristol to be more big time. So, I don't know who my parents are, let alone, know if I have any other family or where.”
“And they believed that?”
“For more than a decade.” Ashe chuckled, smiling at you.
The rest of the drive was quiet, you and Henry huddled together in the backseat, Henry's heavy head resting on your shoulder. His eyes were closed, but he didn't find any sleep, still too worked up to find it with the state you both were in. You rested your cheek on the top of his head and closed your own eyes, your head still throbbed and your leg was on fire, but had stopped bleeding so much. Both of you were worn, spent and weak, desperately needing proper medical attention and rest after everything that had happened.
“Henry?” You whispered softly into his messy curls.
“Hm?” He hummed back.
“What are we going to say, when we get back to London?” You asked him, biting your lip.
Henry sighed, picking up his head as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pressed his lips to your temple. That had been brewing in his mind for the last hour, trying to figure out how to explain all your injuries and absence to everyone that asked. The only person that truly knew the nature of your and Henry's disappearance was Reyes, and he didn't know what Reyes would do when the pair of you showed back up in London in the sorry state you were in, and without Mikey.
“We'll cross that road, when we get there, love.” He finally replied, kissing your temple again.
You crossed that road an hour and a half later, when Ashe pulled up to a door that had been built into the wall of Sector Three. He helped you and Henry out of the car and approached the door with you, pointing out an intercom box beside the door.
“The code is 8391, it'll ring whoever is working the door today, they'll come down and ask for credentials, tell them you're a High Marshal and you'll get all the assistance you need.” He explained to you, heading back towards his car.
“Ashe!” Henry called after him, before he could get into the car and leave. “Thank you.” He said, when Ashe turned back.
“We're Marshals, we're trained to look out for each other.” Ashe replied, nodding his head to you both and got into his car.
Henry waited until Ashe's car disappeared from sight, before limping up to the door and pressed in the code Ashe had given you. A buzzer went off and five minutes later, the door opened, revealing a Beta Marshal, who frowned between you and Henry.
“High Marshal Henry Cavill.” Henry told him, as the Beta Marshal started to open his mouth. “We require aid and you need to get a call into Supreme Commander, Dylan Reyes.” He said, grabbing your hand and pushing through the door.
“Now, Beta Marshal, before we finish bleeding to death.” Henry hissed at him, annoyed and impatient.
“Of course, sir.” the Beta Marshal squeaked, saluting Henry and showing you both to his service car. “Supreme Commander Reyes, this is Beta Marshal Grant, down at the Security Door. I have a High Marshal here, wishing to speak with you.” the Beta Marshal explained, as his call to Dylan connected over the car's speakers.
“Who would that be, Grant?” Dylan's voice asked back.
“It's me, Dylan.” Henry huffed, slumping in the seat.
“Henry!” Reyes's voice snapped in surprise. “You're alive!”
“For the time being.” Henry sighed, rubbing at his face.
“Do you have the girl and her brother?” He asked, sounding desperate and frantic.
“I have her, but not her brother.” Henry explained, glancing at you. “It's a very long story. But, right now, we both need medical attention. She's been shot in the leg and bleeding heavily and I've spent the last thirteen hours being tortured.” He revealed to his boss.
“Grant, get them both to the Marshal Council Hospital right this second and make sure they don't spare any medical intervention and assistance. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Supreme Commander.” Grant replied, with a hard nod of his head as he started his car and directed it towards the Marshal Council Hospital, in Sector One.
“I'll be there promptly.” Reyes replied, clearly rushing out of his office for the parking garage.
So much of the tension went out of you and Henry, you were finally back in the protective and safe walls of London, no more worry about people trying to find and kill you, no more filthy and bare essential hotel rooms and days of endless walking. You were home and free, and with Henry. Now, you both just needed to get looked over and have your injuries treated, then you could go back to the comfort of your own flat.
You and Henry were rushed into the hospital, dozens of doctors and nurses swarming you both, poking this and pulling on that, asking a barrage of questions too fast for either of you to answer properly. The leg of your leggings was cut all the way to your hip as they removed Henry's ripped and blood soaked shirt to examine your gunshot wound. You screamed in pain as they pushed around it, and apologized profusely for it, and became more gentle about touching it.
“Good news is, it went through, relatively clean.” The doctor explained to you, standing beside your bed.
“The bad?” You whimpered, biting your lip as you tried preparing for it.
“The bullet nicked your great saphenous vein, it's the longest vein in the human body, running the entire length of the leg; which is what's causing a lot of your bleeding. ”
“Am..” You gulped down a hot lump of vomit trying to surge up your throat. “Am I going to lose my leg?” You asked, frightened beyond belief and wished Henry was in the same room as you, but they had separated the two of you after coming in with Beta Marshal Grant.
“No.” The doctor chuckled at you, shaking his head. “We have a procedure that will stop the bleeding and help the wound heal in no time. But, I must warn you, it is rather painful.”
“As long as I don't lose my leg, I don't care.” You told him.
You had already lost too much.
“Excellent, I'll have the nurse bring in the instruments and we'll get down to treating you.” He smiled at you, sweetly, trying to be supportive and calming. “Do you have any questions, before we get started?”
“Yes, how's Henry—the High Marshal.” You asked, correcting yourself.
“High Marshal Cavill has lost a good amount of blood.” He told you, his brow creasing with his concern. “We gave him a blood transfusion and an army load of fluids, while we treated his wounds. He has broken and cracked ribs and sternum, a broken nose, a severe concussion and very deep cuts on various parts of his body.” He explained to you, as gently as he could.
“But, he will make a full recovery. He's a tough young man, and has the best medical care London has.”
“Good.” You sigh, relieved.
The doctor smiled at you, gently resting his hand on your shoulder before leaving the room to prepare your treatment. A nurse came in a moment later, pushing a cloth covered cart, then put an IV port into your arm and hung up a bag of fluids, antibiotics and blood; since you had lost so much blood from your bullet wound. You hissed as she gingerly rotated your leg and slipped a triangular shaped pillow under your bent knee, an oval notch cut in the top of it for your knee to rest comfortable and securely, while they treated you.
She removed the cloth from the metal cart she brought in with her, and you saw what looked like a short caulking gun, a tube with a fat nozzle and two packaged patches. Picking up one of the patches, she ripped it open and dipped it in a small bowl of solution, the patch absorbed some of the liquid solution and became almost rubbery and gel-like. She moved around to your stabilized leg and gently pressed the ice cold patch to the bruised and puckered hole on the inside of your thigh, where the bullet exited, more than halfway up. You hissed as the cold gel patch touched the heated and angry skin of your thigh, whatever the solution she dipped it in stung and burned like liquid fire as it covered your wound, adhering to your skin with a firm hold.
“This will keep your wound protected, clean and sterile. It has antibodies that will recognize any infections or foreign matter and attack it, preventing your wound from going bad.” She explained to you, pressing her palm to it and held it there with firm pressure.
“And that?” You asked as she let go of the patch and picked up the caulking gun-like device and slotted the tub into it.
“This is Nanite Gel. It has antibodies in it, as well as stem cells and biological Nantes, that will start working to repair the severed muscle, skin, tendons, nerve endings and tissue inside your leg; closing the wound right up.” She replied. “The doctor will insert the nozzle into your wound and slowly draw it out, while filling it with the Gel. The patch also works as a barrier, since the projectile went through one side and out the other, preventing the Nanite Gel from squirting and leaking out.” She described to you.
“Fantastic.” You replied, with a nervous sarcasm.
You gulped with anticipation as the doctor came back in, with an additional nurse, and pulling on a pair of latex gloves. He smiled at you, took his position beside your leg, and took the injector from the first nurse. The second nurse grabbed your ankle and the top of your knee, pinning your leg down as the doctor lined up the tip of the nozzle with your uncovered and slightly bloody wound.
“Deep breath.” The doctor instructed you, taking a deep breath with you. “Ready?” He asked as the first nurse carefully dabbed at the blood with a wad of gauze at the end of a clamp, keeping your wound clean, so the doctor had an easy time guiding the nozzle in, which was easily bigger than your actual wound.
“More than I ever will be.” You replied, bracing yourself.
Nodding his head, the doctor pressed the nozzle to the opening of your wound and started to push it inside. You tensed and jerked, screaming again, but the second nurse had an iron grip on your leg, keeping it still as the doctor continued to push inside. You had strobing spots in your eyes and your jaw was so tight it felt like your teeth were going to shatter at any second. The doctor barked at the first nurse to give you twelve micrograms of Fentanyl for your pain, and she scurried out of your room and came running back a minute later with a IV syringe full of the opioid, pushing it directly into the tube of your IV. Within a couple of seconds, the painkiller washed over your whole body, like a hot comforter out of the dryer, and allowed you to relax, going slack on the bed.
“Good.” The doctor nodded, seeing and feeling you relax and finished pushing the nozzle the rest of the way in.
Shifting his hand, the doctor pressed down on the trigger of the injector and slowly drew it out again, filling the tunnel the bullet made with the blue-ish gel. You didn't feel the pain of it, but you felt the pressure in your leg. Your eyes were heavy, glazed over and half lidded, you felt absolutely nothing and you were so sluggish from the opioid that you couldn't even form words to think, it felt nice after all the trauma and hardship you had gone through in the last week.
So, you let it take you, pulling you under the crashing waves of exhaustion, pain and the high of the painkiller, your body going totally limp. It alarmed the doctor and nurses for a moment, fearing you had blacked out. But, once they checked you out and determined you had simply fallen asleep, they relaxed and finished tending to your wound, filling it with the gel, then covering it with another patch, like the other one, and lightly wrapped it with a bandage.
They left you to rest, closing the blinds over the window and turned down the lights, before softly closing the door behind them.
“How is she?” Henry asked Reyes as he came into Henry's room; he had heard your screams of pain from his room, across the hall.
“She's doing fine.” Reyes assured him, patting him on the shoulder. “They treated her gunshot wound with Nanite Gel, gave her some strong pain medication and she's asleep now.”
“Good.” Henry nodded, relieved, but still wanted to see you, to be by your side.
“So, what the hell happened?” Reyes asked, pulling up a chair next Henry's bedside.
Henry started to heave a sigh, but stopped, clutching his rib-cage with an arm as his ribs screamed. “I chased after her, like I said I would. It took me nearly three days to finally catch up to her. She's crafty, in a good way. She'd make a great Marshal.” He chuckled, carefully. “I was going to bring her straight back to London to testify. But, she was dead set on finding her brother, so I went with her, figuring I'd kill two birds with one stone.”
“Get her back to London to testify and have her brother prosecuted.” Reyes nodded, understanding.
“Well, when we got there, we had no clue on how to find him.” Henry continued on, staring out his room window. “I recalled that a Beta Marshal that had been banished to Bristol for dealings with Runners and Crime Bosses. Ramsey Kellan. We found him in Sector Fifteen and he gave us the information we needed.” He rubbed the side of his face, he really wished he could just take a nap, but continued to fill Reyes in.
“Somewhere along that time frame, we were outed as being in Bristol, and looking for her brother.”
“Over a decade as an undercover, and your first blown cover happens with the girl.” Reyes laughed, greatly amused.
“Yeah.” Henry frowned, not finding it funny, if his cover with you hadn't been blown, so much of this wouldn't have happened. “As I said, our cover got blown in a pub in Sector Three of Bristol. Benji Hernandez sent his best guy to track us down there. I was able to get us out of the pub and down an alleyway, where I boosted her over a wall, to keep her safe, and faced the guy. We fought, he tazed the fuck out of me, and the next thing I knew, I'm waking up in a bright room, cuffed hand and foot to a chair.”
“They tried beating and reasoning me into telling where she was, but I refused.”
“Where was she, when this was going on?”
“The hotel room we got before going to the pub.” Henry replied with a sigh.
“But, she was clearly found.” Reyes pointed out. “How?”
“I told her I would return in an hour. When I hadn't returned by morning, she got worried and decided to try and find me. Which ended up with Benji's men, who had been keeping an eye out for her, capturing her and bringing her in.”
“And the brother?” Reyes pushed, leaning forward, his elbows pressed to his thighs.
“They saw each other as she was being thrown in a van to be taken to Benji. His handler, Knox Monroe, had found out that they were siblings and outed him, and he ended up in the room with us.” Henry replied, gingerly shifting to find a more comfortable position.
“So, where is Keagan?”
“Dead.” Henry replied, bluntly. “Benji gave her a gun and forced her to decide which one of us would die first.”
“She killed her own brother?” Reyes asked, stunned and gobsmacked.
“No.” Henry shook his head, the image still burned in his mind. “She couldn't do it. She wouldn't choose either of us, she almost turned it on herself. Before, Michail managed to take the gun from her.” He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push the image out his mind, the sound of your screams as you were forced to watch.
“He took his own life, so she didn't have to choose.”
“And Hernandez allowed the pair of you to leave afterwards?”
“No, I'm sure he would have forced either her or I to kill the other, then kill the last one himself.” Henry answered, opening his eyes again.
“Then, how did the two of you make it out?” Reyes asked, tilting his head at Henry.
Henry looked at Reyes. “Do you know Alpha Marshal Ashe James?” He asked, his eyes scrutinizing his boss.
“I do.” Reyes nodded back, his brows drawing together. “My predecessor, Eric Banner, told me, when I took over his position, when he retired, that he had a man on the inside of Bristol and to expect his reports regularly.”
“He was the one that saved our asses.” Henry explained with a sigh. “He was the one that stunned me in the alleyway. When Mikey killed himself, Ashe took the opportunity to pull his weapon and dispatched Benji and his men.”
Reyes blinked at Henry. “Are you telling me that Hernandez is dead?”
“I am. Unless, there's some way Nanite Gel can repair a hole in the brain.” He replied, with slight sarcasm. “Which I know there's not. So, he's now out of the way.”
“This is great.” Reyes grinned at Henry. “That'll be a massive blow to the Hernandez family, their operations and Bristol. Especially, when she's healthy enough to testify against Twist and his trafficking business.”
“It will be.” Henry agreed, but the only thing he was concerned with was the two of you getting well again. “I'm guessing, they'll be postponing the trial for a few weeks.”
“I still have to call the Cleric and Royal Councils and report everything that's gone down. But, I'm sure they'll delay the trial, for at least, a month.”
“Good, I want to take care of her first.” Henry added, nodding and relieved.
Reyes frowned at Henry and leaned back in his chair. “What is it between the two of you?” He asked, he had the suspicious feeling in his gut about the two of you for a while, but had only just had the time and place to ask.
Henry's cheeks warmed slightly and glanced away from Reyes, making his boss laugh out loud, seeing it in Henry's body language.
“You're in love with her.” He blurted out, tickled at the notion. “The great Upper, Henry Cavill, is in love with a Slummer, that's meant to be his Servant and Slave.”
“She's not my Slave! And, don't fucking call her a Slummer, either.” Henry roared, huffing angrily through his nose, like a bull about to charge. “I never registered her, and I never will register her, either.”
“Oh, I know you never registered her for an Ownership Bracelet, Henry.” Dylan continued to chuckle at his friend. “I checked and I got a copy of the paperwork you both filled out for her Life Pin.”
“And, you didn't say anything?” Henry asked, surprised.
“Not my business what you do with your private life, Hank.” He replied with a sigh, and crossed his arms over his chest.
“But, you pressed me into buying her.” He hissed back, eyes wide.
“I did.” Reyes nodded, pressing his lips together. “We needed the paperwork, a trail to link Twist to trafficking, and to Benji. What you did, or didn't, do with her outside of that, was purely on you, and her.” He confessed, running a hand through his short black hair.
“I was also hoping you'd find a lover or mate.” He added, clearing his throat.
“You were what?” Henry barked, taken aback.
“I should let you rest.” Dylan sighed, getting up, then carefully rested his hand on Henry's shoulder. “It's good to have you back, and alive. You did good, taking care of her and everything else. Take all the time you need to recover, the Council will be here, when you're ready to get back into it.”
“Thanks, Dylan.” Henry replied, giving him a respectful nod of his head, still brewing on what he said.
“Do you want me to call your family?” Reyes asked as he stopped at Henry's door.
“No, I'll call them, when I'm ready.” He shook his head, feeling that new wave of stress hit him. “Last time you called them about me being in the hospital, I almost died, and ended up needing a kidney replacement.”
“Fair enough.” Reyes laughed, and saw himself out.
A day later, Henry slowly limped into your hospital room, across the hall from his, and found you sitting up in bed, eyes glued to the tv and eating a jell-o cup. Your eyes shot over to Henry as he came in, setting your cup down and turned off the tv, relieved to finally see him. The two of you had only been given random updates on each other through your shared nurse, who also, gratefully, passed messages between you as well.
“Henry, should you be out of bed?” You asked as he stopped at your bedside.
“Well, I wasn't the one shot in the leg.” He chuckled and grinned at you, before leaning in to kiss you. “I just had to see you for myself.” He confessed, brushing the back of his fingers against your cheek.
“How are you feeling?”
You took a deep breath, tilting your head into his hand. “Like I got shot in the leg.” You chuckled back at him.
“Other than that, Nugget.” He laughed, shaking his head at you.
“I feel fine. Sore, but fine.” You assured him with a nod. “How about you, Puppy?” You asked, looking him over in his hospital gown, a warm and playful smile spreading across your lips.
“Same. Sore and ready to go home.” He smiled back, his stomach full of butterflies.
“I'm ready to go home too.” You concurred with him, sighing at the thought.
The butterflies in Henry's stomach wilted and died, a nauseous, heart-shaped lump forming in his tight throat, hearing you wanted to go home. His shoulders dropped, trying to get a hold on his heartbreak, before you saw it and had your mood ruined.
“You know what I've missed about it?” You asked, looking up at him, just as he managed to hide his disappointment.
“What?” He replied, pained.
“Kal.” You chuckled at him, oblivious, until you saw his shocked face. “What? You think I would miss you, when we've been together practically the whole time?” You laughed, shaking your head at him.
“No.” Henry squeaked, confused and relieved at the same time. “I just thought..” He paused, looking away from you.
“You just what, Hen?” You frowned at him, seeing his face and became worried. “Henry, sit down.” You ordered him, becoming concerned for him as you put down the arm rail, so he could sit on the edge of the bed with you.
“Tell me.” You whispered, gingerly wrapping an arm around his waist.
“I thought you were talking about going back to your family's home.” He whispered, faintly. “When you said you were ready to go back home, and that you missed them.”
“Well, I do miss them, Henry.” You told him, pressing your cheek to his bruised and nicked shoulder. “I would love to see them again. But, I wanna stay with you.” You whispered, looking up at him.
“Unless, you don't want me too?”
“I do want you too.” He replied, quickly. “I love you and I want to be with you. I want you to come home and stay with me.” He confessed to you, nosing the hair at the top of your head. “And, Kal.” He added, softly.
“Your place has become more of a home to me, than my parents' place has ever been.” You told him, honestly.
You had grown a lot in the time you shared with Henry, and a lot had also changed you. You didn't get kidnapped in your own city, imprisoned in a pitch black and freezing cold cell, either not fed or fed food crawling with unmentionables, cut off from most contact with people, other than the traffickers that had put you there, when they dragged you out for another line up for another snobbish, stuck up and entitled Upper, or to beat you into submission, without something changing you.
You still had nightmares about being in that cell.
You also changed from all the things Henry exposed you too. New foods, tv shows and the luxury of being in the upper Sectors of London, like taking you to that Royal Dinner party with his family. Henry had taken the mostly naive and sheltered Slummer and opened the world up to you. You would always appreciate and love him for that, and for taking care of you and protecting you through the long months after saving you from Twist.
Henry and Kal had become your new home, and the three of you had made a new family.
“I love you, Henry Cavill, and nothing will ever stop or prevent that.” You told him, kissing his cheek tenderly.
“So, you'll come back home with me?” He asked, looking down at you, hopeful.
“I don't want to be anywhere else.” You replied, smiling back at him.
Henry's face broke out into a smile and cupped your face in his hands. “Neither do I.” He whispered, pressing his forehead to yours and kissed you.
“Henry!” A frantic voice came from across the hall.
“Mum!” Henry called back, breaking away from you. “Mum, over here.” He yelled out, limping to your room door as his mother rushed out of his empty room.
“Oh, thank god, Henry!” She cried, rushing him and throwing her arms around him.
“Easy, Mum.” He winced, but hugged her back. “How did you know I was here?” He asked, he hadn't gotten around to calling her and his family yet.
“A report came across my desk about you being injured in the line of duty with a Slummer, and that you were still recuperating here in the hospital. I was afraid it was serious, when you hadn't called me to tell me you were all right.” Marianne explained, shaking her head at her son. “What were you doing with some Slummer that caused you to get so hurt?” She demanded, upset.
“I hope they get the punishment they deserve for getting you into such danger.”
“Mum.” Henry snapped eyes wide and looked back at you.
Marianne blinked and looked into your room, seeing your sheepish and hurt expression, then looked up at Henry. “She's a Slummer?” She asked him, surprised, as she recognized you.
Henry took a deep breath, biting his lip. “We need to talk.” He said, stepping aside, so Marianne could enter your room and followed her, closing the door behind him.
“What's going on?” She asked, taking a seat as Henry sat back down on the edge of your bed, taking your hand in his.
“Several months ago, I was undercover in Sector Thirty-One. I was tasked with infiltrating a trafficking warehouse run by one of Benji Hernandez's men. I did so, with my usual skill and process, but after finally getting an appointment with the guy and seeing the people that had been imprisoned there, Dylan told me I had to—make a purchase—to nail the traffickers and for them to get properly arrested and prosecuted by the Councils.” He explained to her.
“One of the people they had kidnapped and had for sale, was her.” He said and looked at you, giving you a soft and loving smile. “So, I purchased her, and was meant to take care of her, until the trial happened and she testified.”
“So, you bought a Slum-”
“Don't call her that.” Henry hissed, angrily, but recalled himself. “Don't call her that.” He repeated, calmer.
Marianne took a deep breath, glaring at her son. “So, you bought her, in a sting operation, took her home and acted like none of this happened, taking her to events and other functions.” She summed up, studying the two of you. “When she is, technically, your Slave.”
“Yes. But, I don't and didn't want her as a Slave. That's why I never registered her for a Bracelet.” Henry replied, licking his lips.
“So, how did the two of you end up in Bristol, of all places?” She asked, looking between you.
“I ran away, to find my brother, who got himself into a situation, as a Runner, in Bristol.” You answered, before Henry could. “I wanted to go there to try and convince him to come back home. I didn't expect Henry to come after me, when he found out where I went.”
“But,” Henry sighed and bit his lip. “I did. I was worried about her safety, and Dylan asked me, unofficially, to bring her and her brother back here. So, she could testify at the trial and her brother could face justice for his hand in the whole thing.”
Marianne looked at you, her expression stern. “And where is your criminal brother?” She asked, stiffly.
You gulped and licked your lips, staring at your covered legs and picked at the fuzz on your blanket. “He's dead.” You whispered, choking up and tears filling your eyes. “He gave his life, so Henry and I could live and get away from Benji and his men.” You blubbered, crushed.
“Sshh.” Henry hushed you, wrapping his arms around you and hugging you against him.
Marianne blinked between the two of you, taken aback.
“They tried torturing her location out of me, that's why I'm so injured. They wanted to kill her to stop the trial against Twist and their operations. I refused, for obvious reasons. She tried to save me, but got caught. When they realized her twin brother was her sibling, they brought him in as well. He died for us, and she got shot in the leg during the escape. Another undercover Marshal helped us get away and back here, to London.” Henry finished explaining to his mother.
“That's what happened.” He sighed, his eyes still on you.
“You're in love.” Marianne blurted out, seeing it as plain as day now.
“Yes.” Henry nodded, looking up at her. “I don't care that she was born in the lower Sectors, mum. I love her, with my heart and soul, and she loves me.”
“I do.” You replied, gulping down your tears and clinging onto him.
Marianne sighed and pressed her lips together, she had waited, a long time, for Henry to finally find someone to fall in love with and share his life. He was the last of the five Cavill boys to find love, settle down and start a family. If she was honest, she didn't care about what social standing the girl he fell in love with was, as long as he was happy, and by the looks of it, you and Henry were more than happy and in love with each other.
“All right.” She whispered softly, nodding her head. “I approve.”
Henry lifted his head and blinked at his mother. “Really?” He asked, shocked to hear it. “You don't care that she's from the lower Sectors?”
“Honestly, Henry? No.” She replied, sighing and shaking her head. “Love is love, and nothing is stronger than true love, not even differing social status.” She told him, honestly. “But, you both know that if, and when, people find out about it, there will be issues. They'll gossip and make comments, some might even turn away from you, shunning you for being with a Sl—someone of a lower standing.” She said, looking between the two of you with an authority of a Royal.
“Do you think you both, and your love, can survive that?”
You and Henry looked at each other, a silent conversation happening between you, before Henry looked back to his mother. “Yes.” He answered, firmly.
The two of you had gone through a lot worse than people talking behind your backs and shunning you.
“All right then.” Marianne replied, standing up. “Then, you have my, and no doubt the rest of the family's, approval, respect and support in the choice of your relationship.” She approached the bed, hugging Henry and kissing his cheek, then turned towards you.
You gulped at her, like a mouse getting stared down by a hungry cat, before she leaned in and hugged you as well; you were surprised by her move, but gave her a hug back. Breaking the hug, Marianne left the room, leaving you alone with Henry again.
“That went incredibly better than I thought it would.” Henry commented, finally breaking the silence in the room.
“You can say that again.” You agreed with him, staring at the open door of your room. “What do we do now, Henry?” You asked, looking up at him.
“Now, Nugget.” He smiled, kissing your forehead. “We get you well enough to go home.” He said, squeezing you against him.
Four days later, with the help of some crutches, you left the hospital with Henry, going back to his flat in Sector Two. Kal was over the moon to see you guys again, Charlie having dropped him off at the flat that morning. Henry had body block the Akita to keep him from knocking you over and harming you, until you were able to sit down on the couch and he was allowed to greet you; pressing himself against you and licking at your face.
“Yes, yes!” You laughed, hugging his thick neck, trying to calm him down. “We missed you too, Bear. We missed you just as much.” You told him, kissing his face back and giving him scratches.
After getting settled back in, Henry carefully picked you up, making you laugh as he did.
“Where are we going, Henry?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carried you through the flat.
“We are both absolutely filthy and need a proper shower.” He told you, going into the bathroom and setting you down on the sink counter. “Lucy!” He called out, looking up.
“Yes, Mr. Cavill?” His flat's AI replied.
“Start the shower on preset two, please.” He said, pulling off the clothing his mother had brought him, before you both left the hospital.
“Right away, sir.” Lucy replied, and the shower came to life.
“Here, let me help.” He said, grabbing the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head.
“Thanks.” You smiled, then eased off the counter, balancing on your good leg and grasping Henry's forearm.
Marianne had even been kind enough to bring you clothes as well. So, Henry's hands dropped to the ties of your loose sweatpants and untied the knot, pushing them down your hips to pool around your bare feet. You half limped and half hopped under the spray of the hot shower head, making you moan and groan as it cascaded over your battered and sore body. Henry chuckled and stepped in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing the top of your wet hair.
“I love you, so very much.” He whispered to you. “I'm glad you came back with me.” He added, even softer.
You turned in his arms, wrapping yours around his hips. “I love you too, Henry, and I don't want to be anywhere that you're not.”
“Neither do I.” He replied, kissing you gently on the lips.
Dried blood, dirt and grim swirled around the shower drain as you and Henry helped clean each other off. You scrubbed his skin with an exfoliating sponge, careful of his cuts and stitches, as he washed your hair, then switched, Henry washing you as you washed his hair.
“There's almost no better feeling than that shower clean feel.” You said, limping into Henry's bedroom and snagged one of his shirts out of his closet, slipping it over your head. “It's such a euphoric feeling.”
“What feels better than that?” Henry asked, coming in after you and pulling on a loose pair of pajama bottoms.
You smirked up at Henry, impishly. “I think you know.” You chuckled at him.
Henry laughed, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you, tenderly, but passionately on the lips. “I agree with that.” He said against your lips. “But, you know what else feels euphoric?” He asked, lifting a brow at you.
“Tell me?” You giggled at him.
“A nap in that bed.” He said, pointing to his bed.
“Oh yes.” You agreed, biting your lip and staring at it. “The clean and divine smelling sheets, the warm and cloud-like mattress and pillows.”
“It's an orgasm in itself.” Henry cooed, staring at his bed with a wanting lust.
“I vote we sleep in it for the next year.” You said, looking up at him.
“I vote, the next decade.” He added, looking down at you.
“Deal.”
Henry scoped you up, carrying you to bed, and laid down with you. Cocooned under the soft and clean sheets, both of you moaned, as you melted into the mattress, like warm butter. You snuggled together, wrapped in each other's arms, and almost sound asleep the moment everything settled in around you.
“Lucy, go to night mode.” Henry mumbled, his body feeling like a ton of rocks, he was so tired.
“Yes, sir.” Lucy whispered back.
Everything went dark, heavy drapes closed over the windows, the lights went out, the doors locked and the air purifier went on, with the soothing sound of ocean waves filling the bedroom, and you and Henry were out cold within minutes.
You slept the rest of the day and well into the next, only getting up because your stomachs were growling for food and your bladders were screaming for release, then you both crawled back into bed and slept even longer. Henry was the first one to officially wake up from your long and deserved hibernation, he laid in bed with you, stroking your hair and the nap of your neck. He traced your face, placing delicate kisses to your eyes, between your brows, the tip of your nose, both cheeks and finally, softly, to your lips.
“Henry.” You whispered, a smile tugging on your lips, before your eyes fluttered open and met his sparkling blues.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” He asked, the tip of his finger ghosting over the shell of your ear.
“Warm, content and happy.” You answered, snuggling in closer to him and pressing a kiss to the side of his neck. “You?”
“The same.” Henry replied, nuzzling your hair. “We should go see your parents.” He said suddenly, biting the inside corner of his lip. “They deserve to know.”
You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your forehead to his chest. You had been trying to avoid this, avoiding telling your parents that you had been kidnapped and sold by traffickers, to the man you were now madly in love with, and that their son was dead, having killed himself in the pursuit of saving you and Henry from the same outcome.
How do you tell them that? You asked yourself.
“I don't know how.” You mewled, squeezing his thick bicep, like it was a lifeline.
Henry frowned into your hair, stroking the small of your back. “With honesty.” He whispered back, his heart hurting for you.
You stood in front of the door to your family's flat and it felt alien, you didn't feel the familiar nostalgia of coming home, of seeing your family after a grueling and mindless fifteen hour shift at the supermarket. It felt like you were there for the very first time, as if you had never been there before and didn't belong. You could hear the noise inside the flat, your brother running around the place, playing with his toys.
Henry rested his hand on the small of your back and gave you an encouraging smile. Biting your lip, you mustered the courage to knock on the door, it didn't feel right to enter the pin and walk in. You fidgeted as you waited for the door to be open, absentmindedly rubbing your thigh as it throbbed with even the slightest bit of your weight on it.
Finally the door ripped open and Christophe looked at Henry first, his eyes growing with shock, then looked to you, where his face lit up with surprise.
“Issy!” He shouted, and launched at you.
“Fuck.” You snapped, catching him in your arms as Henry caught you in his, keeping you both from tumbling to the floor. “Easy, Christophe. I don't need any more injuries.” You tried to scold him, but only ended up laughing at him as he hung from his arms around your neck, feet dangling.
“Where have you been, Issy!” He demanded, letting go of you and looking between you and Henry. “Who's this?”
“Is mum and dad home, Chris?” You asked, smiling down at him, nervously ruffling his hair.
“Yeah!” Christophe nodded and rushed back into the flat. “Mummy! Dad! Issy's back!” He screamed running around the house.
You looked to Henry and took a deep breath, shoulders rising, rolled your eyes, and stepped into the flat. Henry followed behind you, as your parents rushed into the living room, hot on each other's heels.
“Oh my god!” Your mother gasped and scrambled to you.
“Easy.” You warned her, unable to take a second person jumping you, and motioned to your leg as she lifted a brow at you.
“What's happened to you?” Your father asked, blinking at your wrapped thigh.
“I was shot.” You sighed, figuring it was best to be open and honest, and not sugar coat too many things.
“What?” They both roared, horrified.
“You might want to sit down.” You said, motioning towards the sofas.
Looking at each other, your parents shooed Christophe back to his room and sat down on one couch while you and Henry sat on the love-seat, across from them. There was a long, and awkward, silence, before any of your spoke.
“I'm sorry, I've been gone for so long.” You started, squeezing Henry's hand for support and comfort. “There's been a lot going on, and I didn't, we didn't want to risk your, or Christophe's, safety.” You tried to explain the best you could.
“What are you talking about?” Your father frowned, shaking his head at you and Henry.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out, you came out with it. “After I went looking for Mikey, that day, I was tricked and taken by a group of Traffickers in Sector Thirty-One. I spent several months in their warehouse, I don't want to go into details, I think that's best.”
“Of course.” Your mother nodded, clutching your father's hand.
“Henry here, is a High Marshal with the Marshal Council.” You introduced him. “He was undercover, trying to get information on the people running the trafficking warehouse, when he—uh—“ You gulped hard.
“He purchased me from them.”
“You what?” Your father hissed at Henry.
“It was part of his job, papa.” You cut him off, before his temper flared too much. “He had to do it for paperwork and other Council stuff. After he did that, he took me back to his place in Sector Two.”
“Is that where you've been this whole time?” Your father asked, his eyes narrowed angrily at Henry.
“It is.”
“And you couldn't contact us?” Your mother asked, upset. “Sent us something to tell us you were alive and all right?”
“She wanted too, many times.” Henry finally spoke up. “But, her life was in serious danger, and if she contacted anyone close to her, like yourselves, you would have been in grave danger as well. So, we didn't contact you for that reason.” He explained to them, hoping to ease that conflict.
“And how did you get shot?” Your father asked, still angry.
“I found out where Mikey was going.” You answered, quietly. “He was heading to Bristol, to advance his training as a Runner.” You gulped and looked up at Henry. “I ran away from Henry, and went to Bristol, trying to find him. I knew he was going to be in a load of trouble and I wanted to try and prevent that; to make him come home.” You explained to them, starting to shake.
Henry wrapped an arm around you and hugged you against him. “You can do this.” He whispered into your ear, gently.
Nodding and clearing your throat, you continued. “Henry came after me, trying to get me to return to London with him.”
“But, she wouldn't come back without Mikey.” He added, nodding his head at you, his eyes only on you. “I was meant to bring her back, so she could testify against her captors. But, I was also meant to bring Michail in, for his part in the Running business.”
“When we got to Bristol and started looking for him, people were looking for me, and they found us.” You picked up the narrative. “They took Henry after he made sure I was out of the way and safe. They hurt him.” You said, looking at his still bruised and cut up face. “I tried to go after him, but they got me as well.”
“While all that was going on, they somehow found out that Mikey and I were related and brought him in as well, locking us all in the same room.”
You stopped talking, trying to keep yourself from getting overwhelmed and turning into a sobbing mess. Your parents sat there for a long time, watching you try to control yourself and got the feeling something very bad had happened, worse than everything you were telling them.
“Where is Michail?” Your mother asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“He's-” You licked your lips and shook your head, unable to get it out of your mouth.
“I am sorry to inform you both.” Henry replied for you. “But, Michail didn't make it.” He said gently, using his High Marshal voice, the only way he knew how to say it to your grieving parents.
“They were forcing me to decide which of the three of us would go first.” You sobbed, shaking. “Mikey made the choice to take his own life, so we could live.”
Your mother wailed and threw herself on your father, howling and sobbing, screaming at the top of her lungs about the loss of her beautiful and precious boy. You sat there with Henry, clinging onto him and wincing at each terrible and heartbreaking cry your mother made into your father's neck. Your father sat there, stoically, but silently crying as he held her and rocked back and forth.
“I'm sorry.” You whined at them, drained. “I tried. I tried so hard to bring him back.” You mewled at them, crushed.
Your father's eyes were on Henry as they both comforted the women they loved. “And you, what do you get in all this?” He asked, suspicious. “You bought my daughter, are you going to keep her from her family, still?”
“No, sir.” Henry replied, frowning back at him. “I love your daughter. I have treated her as my equal from the moment I saw her, and she will always be my equal. I don't want her as a Slave or a Servant.” He looked at you and wiped your tears away.
“I just want her.” He whispered, smiling gently at you. “Forever and always.”
#Henry Cavill#HenryCavill#The Immortal Sky *Fic*#The Immortal Sky#Henry Cavill/You#Henry Cavill x You#Henry Cavill x Reader#Henry Cavill/Reader#Language#Angst#Dystopian#Dystopian!AU#futuristic#Futuristic!AU#Henry Cavill AU#Fluff#Hurt/Comfort#Final Chapter#viking-raider fics#Trauma
172 notes
·
View notes
Text
yellow . cedric diggory
pairing: Cedric Diggory x Reader
AU: soulmates
summary: Y\N thought the whole “soulmate” business was a bunch of horse shit, honestly.
warnings: Harry falling off of his broom and Oliver losing his mind over Quidditch, but is it really suprising?
author note: I’m sorry in advance if I have any fault. English is not my first language. But please let me know if you see anthing that doesn’t seem right. Please leave a comment about what you think, love you.
main masterlist
You woke up to your roommate Angelina sneaking in, and it was still early, so early that it was still dark. For a moment, you thought it was the rain that woke you, but then you realized it was Angelina and she was still wearing the same clothes from the day before. You let your head fall to your pillow again, groaning. Your other roommates were still sound asleep.
"I assume you were with Fred?" Your voice was hoarse since your face was still buried in your pillow.
Angelina giggled as she dropped herself to the end of your bed. "Oh, I had such a good time, Y\N."
You smiled at yourself, not knowing if she could see your face or not. "I can tell. But you two need to take it easy, though. I had to drag Percy the Head Boy to the other side of the school so you guys could sneak into the Astronomy Tower." You raised your head to see her face. "And I'm not doing it again."
Angelina laughed as she reached and kissed your cheeks. "You're the greatest prefect slash best friend ever!" She walked to her trunk that stood at the end of her bed. Taking her uniforms out of it, she turned towards the bathroom. "I'll tell Fred to buy you from those green candies you like, I promise."
"It doesn't matter, you know, since I can't see the color of it."
Angelina stood at the door, looking back at you with lovey-dovey eyes. You hated when she did that. "You'll find him, Y\N. It doesn't always happen at our age. Marry's aunt found hers when she was thirty."
"Wow, you're a great motivator, Angelina. Have you ever thought about turning it into a profession?" You yawned. “And, honestly, I couldn’t care less.”
“Sure, honey.” Then she turned and went into the bathroom, but you could hear her laughing. You fumbled for your alarm clock and looked at it. It was half-past six. You rolled over and tried to get back to sleep, but it was difficult, now that you were awake, to ignore the sounds of the thunder rumbling overhead, the pounding of the wind against the castle walls, and the distant creaking of the trees in the Forbidden Forest. In a few hours, you would be out on the Quidditch field, battling through that gale. Finally, you gave up any thought of more sleep, got up to eat something before Oliver gave you a hell of a time.
The weather seemed to worsen steadily as the first Quidditch match drew nearer. Oliver was making everyone train harder than ever. You loved playing Quidditch, but you had no idea how you survived through training because Oliver Wood was obviously a psychopath. But luckily this was your last training before the match, so you were finally going to be able to rest between your prefect duties and school work.
Now, standing in the cold, all of the Gryffindor Team was waiting for Oliver to arrive at the Quidditch pitch, which was weird because Oliver had never been late for training.
"Do you suppose he's having a breakdown again?" George asked. You could feel his body vibrate since your head was resting against his shoulder.
"I hope not; it's freezing out here!" Angelina complained.
"I don't think he would do that when he has the opportunity to torture us. Surely something is wrong." You said, your head still against George's shoulder and your eyes closed. You wished you had tried sleeping more this morning.
"At least it's not raining." You heard Alicia. "Oh, there he is!"
You opened your eyes to see. Oliver was walking towards you, and you could see the anger on his face. When he finally reached where you were standing, he gave his team some unwelcome news.
“We’re not playing Slytherin!” he told you, looking like he could throw a fit any time. “Flint’s just been to see me. We’re playing Hufflepuff instead.”
“Why?” chorused the rest of the team.
“Flint’s excuse is that their Seeker’s arm’s still injured,” said Wood, grinding his teeth furiously. “But it’s obvious why they’re doing it. They don’t want to play in this weather. They think it’ll damage their chances."
“There’s nothing wrong with Malfoy’s arm!” said Harry furiously. “He’s faking it!”
“I know that, but we can’t prove it,” said Wood bitterly, “And we’ve been practicing all those moves assuming we’re playing Slytherin, and instead it’s Hufflepuff, and their style’s quite different. They’ve got a new Captain and Seeker, Cedric Diggory —”
Angelina, Alicia, and Katie suddenly giggled. “What?” said Wood, frowning at this lighthearted behavior.
“He’s that tall, good-looking one, isn’t he?” said Angelina.
"Oi!" Fred yelled. "I'm right here, you know!"
“Strong and silent,” said Katie, and they started to giggle again.
“He’s only silent because he’s too thick to string two words together,” said Fred impatiently. “I don’t know why you’re worried, Oliver, Hufflepuff is a pushover. The last time we played them, Harry caught the Snitch in about five minutes, remember?”
“We were playing in completely different conditions!” Wood shouted, his eyes bulging slightly.
“Diggory’s put a very strong side together! He’s an excellent Seeker! I was afraid you’d take it like this! We mustn’t relax! We must keep our focus! Slytherin is trying to wrong-foot us! We must win!”
“Oliver, calm down!” said Fred, looking slightly alarmed. “We’re taking Hufflepuff very seriously. Seriously.”
"Perhaps we could use Y\N for distraction." Alicia slyly smiled.
"What's that supposed to mean?" You asked, not knowing what Alicia meant, but surely it couldn't be something good.
"Don't tell me you've never realized it!"
"Realize what, Alicia?" Now you were sure she was only doing it to get on your nerves. "His eyes are always on you on meals!" She turned to look others. "We believe he has a crush on our little Y\N."
"Diggory?" George asked. "He better stay away, that git."
"Why, Weasley, you in love with her too?" Alicia laughed. You didn’t let George speak. "You're just being ridiculous. We don't even know each other. There's no way Diggory has a crush on me."
"I wouldn't be so sure, honey," said Angelina. But before you could say anything, Oliver was back to yelling about not having any time for your little girl crushes.
-
There were a lot of things loved about playing quidditch, but now standing on your broom, drenched to the bone because of the awful rain, dementors lurking around, you couldn't think of one good reason why you were playing this stupid sport. Holding the quaffle under your one arm, you tried to strengthen your grip on your broom, but it was useless; your hands were slipping under the rain. Your muscles were stiff as if screaming you to stop. But you didn't. You knew Harry was close to catching the golden snitch, plus Oliver would have your head if you did. So, you kept flying towards the hoops, but two Hufflepuff players cut in front of you, leaving no way to run. Your ears were ringing, voices were blending into each other, but you could distinguish your teammate Alicia almost screaming your name.
"Y\N! Here!"
In a matter of time, your arm was throwing the quaffle to Alicia without your will. Alicia caught the quaffle and sprinted towards the hoops, passing Fred, one of your best friends, on her way.
We don't mind a bit of rain.
You remembered Alicia's words from earlier, but this was the absolute worst. First, your opponent team got replaced with Hufflepuff, so you had to change all of your strategies because Hufflepuff's play was nowhere near Slytherin's, and now, you had to play under this awful rain, and you could hardly hear or see any of your teammates. In addition to that, all you could see was black and white because your soulmate sucked.
Living in this magical world had its perks, it did. You could channel your magic with your wand, from taming the wildest animals to levitating a cup; it was simply fantastic. But magic also brought disadvantages with itself. No wizard and witch, regardless of their blood status, could see any colors until they touched their soulmates, which was compelety ridiculous. What if you never met your soulmate? Were you never going to see any colors? And almost all of your classmates finding their soulmate and trying to describe the colors and terribly failing at it was nowhere near helpful to you.
Now, at the quidditch pitch, only thing you could do was to trust your instincts because you couldn't see any of your friend's faces at all. And you couldn't see their uniform's color, well, because your soulmate was determined on not showing up at all. And you certainly hated them for it.
"Harry!" You heard Oliver's crazy screaming. "Harry, behind you!"
You turned to see Harry. For a moment, he stood there, searching for the snitch. The moment he saw snitch, with a jolt of panic, Harry threw himself flat to the broom handle and zoomed toward it. But Cedric was on his tail, following him higher and higher.
"C'mon, Harry," you muttered under your breath. You couldn't take your eyes away, but you were only watching Cedric Diggory. His hair sticking to his forehead, his face features stern, and his wet yellow, at least you assume, robes weighing him down. And in a matter of time, you saw Harry's broom was slowing, then finally stopping in the middle of the air, Cedric passing him and Harry slipping off of his broom, falling to the ground.
You couldn't even react until Harry was halfway through. Then you heard yourself yell. "Harry!" Now, you were flying towards him, but it was no use because he was already on the ground, lying unconscious.
After Cedric caught the snitch, he heard your cry, making him turn around. He saw you getting off your broom, stumbling in the mud of the pitch. Your hair now, free from the hair tie, was sticking to your face. The heavy rain was beating your face, causing you to frown. Cedric found himself following you. His feet touched the ground without even realizing it, and he saw Harry. Cedric stopped one step behind you, not knowing what to do, and then his hand found yours.
"Is he-"
You didn't even realize until you turned around and saw him standing with worry in his eyes, soaking wet, and in yellow robes. You could see the pale color of his skin, almost purple lips from the cold, and grey eyes. Your breath stuck in your throat. Your hand, the one that Cedric was still holding onto, was burning despite the rain and the cold. You almost didn't believe it. But then you heard Fred's voice even though you couldn't figure out what he was saying because your ears were ringing stronger than before, and then you saw your teammates red robes. Your head was spinning, you tried taking a step back, but it was almost impossible as if the ground was shaking.
You stumbled again as you did a minute ago when you were trying to walk in the mud, but this time you felt hands steadying you, making sure you were on your feet. Cedric's looks were burning through your head. It was so absurd. You didn't even know him.
There was no way he was your soulmate. He couldn't be.
You took a step back again, this time fully aware of where you stepped on. Turning your back to Cedric, you saw Madam Pomfrey carrying Harry to the hospital wing. You followed after them, hearing Dumbledore's yelling and Cedric's voice after. But you didn't stop or look back because if you did, you knew you wouldn't be able to walk again. This whole thing was such bullshit, honestly. A boy you knew nothing about but his name was your soulmate. And all of a sudden, your world was upside down because you could see colors now?
A week ago, hearing that he might have a crush on you sounded batshit crazy. But obviously, the universe got offended after all the shit you thought about soulmates and said, here you go, your soulmate.
-
As you were standing next to Harry's bed in the hospital wing, you could hear people talking around you, but you weren't listening to any of them. Your head still spinning, you thought about Cedric and his yellow robes. You felt hands around your shoulders, but they didn't burn through your skin as Cedric's did.
"Y\N, you're shaking," George said, still holding your shoulders and with worry in his eyes. "Would you like me to ask Madam Pomfrey for a blanket?"
You forced a smile. "No, it's alright. I guess I'm just in shock."
Harry's eyes opened. "Harry!" said Fred. "How are you feeling?"
"What happened?" he asked, sitting up.
"You fell off," said Fred, again. "Must have been - what - fifty feet?"
"We thought you'd died," you said, now realizing how shaky your voice was. Hermione made a small, squeaky noise. Her eyes were extremely bloodshot.
“But the match,” said Harry. “What happened? Are we doing a replay?” No one said anything. The horrible truth sank into Harry like a stone. “We didn’t — lose?”
“Diggory got the Snitch,” said George. “Just after you fell. He didn’t realize what had happened. When he looked back and saw you on the ground, he tried to call it off. Wanted a rematch. But they won fair and square… even Wood admits it.”
“Where is Wood?” said Harry, suddenly realizing he wasn’t there.
“Still in the showers,” said Fred. “We think he’s trying to drown himself.”
Harry put his face to his knees, his hands gripping his hair. Fred grabbed his shoulder and shook it roughly. “C’mon, Harry, you’ve never missed the Snitch before.”
“There had to be one time you didn’t get it,” said George. “It’s not over yet,” said Fred. “We lost by a hundred points.”
“Right? So if Hufflepuff loses to Ravenclaw and we beat Ravenclaw and Slytherin…”
“Hufflepuff’ll have to lose by at least two hundred points,” said George. “But if they beat Ravenclaw…”
“No way, Ravenclaw is too good. But if Slytherin loses against Hufflepuff…”
“It all depends on the points — a margin of a hundred either way —”
After ten minutes or so, Madam Pomfrey came over to tell the team to leave him in peace. “We’ll come and see you later,” You told him. “Don’t beat yourself up Harry, you’re still the best Seeker we’ve ever had.” The team trooped out, trailing mud behind you. As everyone made their way to the Common Room, you were still standing in front of the hospital wing. You needed some time alone.
"Y\N, are you coming?" You heard Angelina. You looked at her, your eyes almost empty. "I think I'll check up on Oliver, see if he's alright."
"You don't look so good yourself, love. Wood will be alright, no need to worry. Let's get you to your room." George said, gently touching your elbow.
"No, I feel fine. I really should see Oliver, make sure he didn't really drown himself. I'll see you later."
George finally let you go; he realized he wasn't going to convince you. As you made your way to the changing rooms, the cold made you shiver inside your soaked clothes. But you couldn't find the strength to reach your wand and cast a spell. You were exhausted. Your arms were almost numb, and you had no idea how your legs still carried you.
A few steps before you reached the boys changing room: you heard footsteps behind you.
"Y\N!" You heard Cedric yelling. "Can I talk to you?"
You turned to him, realizing there was no point in acting as if you hadn't heard him call you. "Not the time, Diggory." You turned back again and took the rest of the steps, diving right into the room.
"Wait, that's boys changing-" Cedric yelled after you. "Y\N!"
He could swear to Merlin that he had never met anyone as stubborn as you. Were you not going to talk to him after what happened? Well, he understood that you might be in shock, but one way or another, you had to speak to him, right? After all, he was your soulmate. Not having any choice, he followed you into the room.
"Oliver!" You found him sitting under the shower, his clothes still on, while pulling his hair and mumbling to himself. You were sure that one of these days he was going to lose his mind, well, if he hadn't already. You heard Cedric following after you like a lost puppy, but you didn't have the time to deal with him. You reached to turn the shower off, getting yourself wetter than you already were.
Oliver was still pulling his hair. Now you could hear him better without water running. You sat in front of him, gently pulling his hands off of his hair. "Oliver, you need to calm down."
"We lost." He mumbled.
"It's not the end of the world, you know."
"It's the end of the world, Y\N! We lost!" Oliver yelled; his eyes were almost going to pop off. "Now, there's no way for us to win the cup!"
You held his hand tighter. "Don't be stupid now. Harry is still in the team, he’s alright. Everything'll be alright."
You could visibly see Oliver calming. "Yeah, we still have Harry."
"Also, there is no way that Hufflepuff is going to win against Ravenclaw. So, no need to have a tantrum." You turned to Cedric. "No offense."
"None taken," he said. He knew now wasn't the time to have a fight about which team was better. Cedric stood there for a while, not knowing what to do, and watched you calm Oliver. He could see you still shaking, but you didn't seem to care. Instead, you were helping your friend when you could use some help yourself. Cedric's chest tightened to the thought of you. It wasn't a lie that he had liked you for a while. He had seen you laughing with your friends, playing Quidditch, maybe throwing a fit at Alicia or Angelina because you lost a few points to Slytherin, but he had never seen you this vulnerable, shaking, in shock and scared.
"I better take him to his room." You said, feeling the urge to explain yourself or share something with Cedric. He helped you get Oliver to his feet. "I'll help you to the tower."
"It's alright. I know the way." You smiled. Why were you even smiling?
"You can't let people help you, can you?" said Cedric, not caring about what you had just said and still holding Oliver. His smile was beautiful. It was beautiful, and it made you mad because you didn't want to think that his smile was beautiful. And it made you angry because you wanted to believe the world was a good place and full of yellow.
The world was not a good place at all.
He was aware that you were tired and had probably a million thoughts in your head, bothering you. So, he didn't say anything. He had all the time in the world to talk to you, the rest of his life. He knew to take his time, especially with you. He wanted to ask you out, but he didn't. You probably would've said no anyway. He just took you in. Your face, your looks, how you tried to stay on your feet even though you were exhausted, how you walked, he took all of you in.
You stopped in front of the portrait of Sir Cadogan and told him the password. When Oliver took a step in you lingered back, turning to Cedric.
"I'll see you later, then. Maybe at breakfast?" Cedric asked, smiling.
"Maybe."
#cedric diggory#cedric x you#cedric diggory x reader#Harry Potter#harry potter fanfiction#cedric#robert pattinson#soulmates#soulmate au
154 notes
·
View notes
Text
How I Fell In Love Three Ways
Ship: Shorter / (Y/N)
Warnings: None
Summary:
Of course it decides to the first day on your vacation to cap cod. Shorter as always shows you how to make the most of any situation. You remember all the times you've fallen in love with the mafia boss.
The thunder rolled over the hills; the air was full of static. You knew it would rain since yesterday, you could feel it in your bones with the chill of the wind that raced through the grass where you laid. Cape Cod was the first place you felt the change of the weather so strongly. In New York it felt like it was either summer or winter. You had missed the subtle divides of the world as it spun and changed. Spring was making a mark you’d never smelled before. Laying in the grass you waited watching intently as the clouds darkened turning the late afternoon into an early evening.
Another long roll of thunder shook your core as a hand reaches over warm and reassuring. Turning your head to the side you’re greeted with glittering dark eyes slanted in the corners pulled into a bright smile. Suddenly the sun was back.
“Trust me,” He whispered through the tall blades of grass.
You trust him with your life.
You nod unable to say just that.
Shorter Wong was one adventure after another, a gang leader who you’d never guess had the stomach for it. Though it wasn’t for him, but for the good of China Town, at least that’s what he told you and himself. When he asked you to come with him and his friends to an old house you didn’t even hesitate. If he asked you to jump from the cliff you just might.
“Here it comes,” Shorter’s voice was raised in excitement.
You braced yourself as the first drop fell, it was warmer than you expected on your skin. It started gradually before becoming a blanket of rain falling steadily against your body. Shorters laugh cut through the thunder as it growled low. His face towards the sky, his eyes closed as his chest raised towards the angry clouds above taking it all in. He was beautiful, and this was it, the fourth time you’d fallen in love with Shorter Wong and his patience with the world. Letting it all fall as he embraced it rolling with the waves. The rain itself couldn’t drown him, or quench the fireworks blooming in your chest.
The first time you had fallen in love with Shorters patience was simple. Getting home from work you saw Eji pacing around the kitchen while Shorter sat at the table in the corner looking intently. Eji was upset about something wringing his hands together as he talked quickly about his bad day at work. Slipping back into Japanese on occasion until he noticed you standing in the doorway shocked. Seeing Eji agitated wasn’t a normal occurrence. Sheepishly you closed the door and walked past while Eji groaned and rattled on. You paused on the stairs straining to listen.
“Now she’s going to think I’m” he paused huffing, “Damn it what’s the word? Not all together?”
‘Crazy,’ was the first word to pop into your head. You noticed Shorter hadn’t said a word as Eji worked it out before snapping his fingers.
“Crazy!” Eji shouted.
“(Y/N) isn’t going to think that,” Shorter assured him, “You had a rough day, it happens.”
As Eji continued on his rant you noticed Shorter never just fed him the words he wanted, never interrupted. Eji was free to express his feelings with no rush. You smiled as you continued up the stairs to your room. It was the first time you took note of Shorter’s firecracker personality taking a back seat. He was careful to listen thoroughly to Eji, giving genuine responses. That night while you laid on the couch playing on your phone, you didn’t miss the way Eji hummed while cooking dinner.
The second time you fell in love with Shorters patience was a rush six months later. The end of a roof party. The stars were sparkling while you dimmed the string lights strung along a small section of the roof patio. People were starting to filter out as midnight was on the horizon minutes from striking. The atmosphere had changed and Shorter who had controlled the music most of the night- playing all of his personal favorite party mixes- played something soft and slow. You yawned starting down the stairs with plates in your hand telling yourself you’d let them soak overnight and worry about them in the morning. Reaching into the pocket of your summer dress you realized you’d left your phone upstairs on the table. With a loud groan you trekked back up the stairs pausing at the top.
A wimped made you freeze holding the door open praying it wouldn’t creak. Sitting on the couch looking out over the city Ash’s golden hair was squished against Shorter’s shoulder. Shorter had his arm loosely draped over the back of the couch.
“I still think about it,” Ash said before swigging a beer, “Worried it’s not over, that we’re not really safe.”
“It’s been four years,” Shorter replied.
“Then why am I not over it!” Ash sat up straight.
Shorter’s hand moved to the middle of Ash’s shoulders rubbing gently, “No one expects you to be over it.”
You knew Ash had a rough past, something everyone but you seemed to be around for, for the most part. He doesn’t talk about it, basically pretends it doesn’t exist. You’ve seen Eji rewrite stories from the past on the spot when Ash is around to erase any bad events. Listening in felt wrong, but your curiosity of Ash had skyrocketed for years.
Ash screamed pulling you from your thoughts making your body shiver. His voice was broken as he shouted into the night sky over the honking of cars below. Shorter was a quiet comfort.
Feeling as if you had intruded slowly you let the door click close. It wasn’t supposed to rain, you could go without your phone that night. You never said a word to Ash or Shorter about what you saw that night. Keeping it to yourself felt right, but the next morning when you woke up with your phone next to you and Shorter doing the dishes with a goofy smile your heart did a flip.
The third and most recent time you’d fallen in love with Shorter was right before the trip. Sing wanted to go; Sing always wanted to tag along. No one was against him joining and you assumed it had been decided Sing was coming. Until you heard a familiar groan while you were taking a basket full of laundry to the basement. Peeking around the corner of the doorframe to the kitchen you saw Sing with his head down on the table.
“I have no idea how to write this,” he groaned.
Shorter was slicing an apple at the counter, “Tell me the prompt again, and we’ll think of something.”
Sing had recently started going back to school letting the whole gang thing take a seat on the back burner. It wasn’t easy and took a whole lot of convincing on Shorter’s part. The discussion had taken place on day on accident- it was totally your fault and Sing wouldn’t let you forget it.
Shorter and Sing came home early from the restaurant and caught you dancing in the living room. Shorter joked about your terrible dance moves and you rolled your eyes.
“Ha ha, Sing can tell you these moves are in. He probably sees them at school dances all the time.”
“As if,” Sing scoffed.
You put your hands on your hips, “I should have known you weren’t a school dance guy.”
Shorter put his hand on the back of his neck looking towards the floor, “Sing uh doesn’t go to school.”
“Oh,” You felt your cheeks flush in embarrassment.
“Why would I need school?” Sing snorted, “I’ve already got a job.”
You shrugged, “You don’t need it, you’re a smart kid Sing. You’ve had great mentors, and the restaurant is great work. It does open more opportunities though, just in case you find yourself wanting to do something different.”
Sing pulled the juice from the fridge, “Sounds like a waste of time to me. I don’t plan on getting too old.”
“Sing,” Shorter’s voice was deep and gruff.
Sing took a long chug from his glass.
Later that night Shorter paced around the bedroom biting his nails as you brushed your teeth peeking from around the frame.
You spat the toothpaste into the sink, “You doing okay?”
Shorter sighed laying back across the bed, “I’m bummed out about Sing. He’s fucking fourteen.” He ran his fingers over his face, “He’s a hot headed know it all who hasn’t realized he’s in over his head. I hate the way he said he didn’t plan on being around long. What kid acknowledges death at 14?”
You walked to the bed sitting next to Shorter gently lacing your fingers through his, “Then talk to him about it. Tell him he should seriously consider doing more.”
Shorter kissed your knuckles gently, “I can’t go all authority on Sing, we’ve always been equals.”
“Maybe it’s time to be a different kind of role model for him.”
Shorter looked at the ceiling his dark eyes on focused and his brow wrinkled in thought. You didn’t bring it up again.
A week later Sing was upset with you calling you names accusing you of brainwashing Shorter. Shorter ran into the living room making Sing leave in a stern tone you didn’t hear often from Shorter. It was official Sing was going to try going to school and Shorter was going to help him all the way.
Shorter’s determination to give Sing a better life that didn’t revolve around violence seemed like a no brainier, nothing to get mushy over, but you knew it was a cycle. It was so easy to keep gangs as a family business. Had Shorter not been Shorter Sing could have inherited the gang, if he lasted that long. There was too much bloodshed in New York they didn’t need to add to it much longer.
“(Y/N),” Your name slid off Shorters’ tongue as graceful as the wind snapping you back into this moment.
You were captivated the purple mohawk now flat laying to the side drenched in the spring rain. This moment could have lasted for eternity, and you would accept your fate, to never leave the gaze of a lover that swallowed your heart whole.
“Shorter! (Y/N)!” An outside voice cut through the storm, “You two are going to catch a cold!”
Shorter rolled his eyes dramatically before sitting up, “That’s a myth Eji!” He called back towards the house.
“We shouldn’t worry him,” Your voice sounded small stolen away.
Getting up you attempted to wipe the grass off your ass as if you weren’t drowning standing up. The storm had picked up the wind threatening to rip you off the ground. A warm arm slung across your shoulders, warm and grounding. You let yourself lean into Shorter as his other arm wrapped around the small of your back pulling you into a hug. It felt like nothing could shake you.
Lifting your head you looked up at Shorter smiling as if he’d never known a pain or struggle, as if he’d never feared or hurt, smiling for you. Standing on your tip toes you kissed Shorter surprising the man who always surprised you knowing that you would find new reasons to love him for the rest of your life.
#shorter wong#shorter x reader#banana fish#ao3 fanfic#fanfiction#fanfic#ash lynx#ash x eiji#haikyuu!!
55 notes
·
View notes
Text
Where Monsters Dwell
“What kind of place is this?”
“The kind of place where fairy tales live and monsters dwell.”
—Smoke Bitten
Adam Hauptman is intimately acquainted with fear. It was born in a jungle in Vietnam and never quite left him. Even in his happiest moments—of which there were many, especially recently—it lurks in the fringes. Lying in wait.
When he sees Mercy broken on the burnt grass, seemingly dead, he feels that fear claw up his chest and strangle him. He blacks out for god knows how long, his worst fear playing like a feedback loop in his mind. It isn’t until Samuel, still wolf, bites him in the arm that he finally comes to.
That’s how Adam finds himself, naked and half covered in blood, cradling Mercy’s body. His pack huddles around him, worry creasing their faces. He feels the stink of his fear billowing out of him like smoke, choking everyone around him.
“She’s alive, damn it!” Gary finally manages to gasp. He is panting, voice raspy. How long had he been trying to tell him?
Adam reaches down into himself and feels for that thread-thin bond that connects him to his heart’s mate. It’s there, flickering. He grasps it in both hands, wrapping it around his wrist, anchoring himself to sanity. To her.
Mercy survives that night, like she has done so often before. But one day her luck will run out; his fear whispers the words he knows too well. She’s not like Coyote—damn the man—who resurrects like the sun every morning.
Adam hates beyond telling that her unconquerable spirit is wrapped in such an insubstantial thing as human skin and bones.
:::
Adam first met Mercy Thompson in Montana when she was about thirteen years old. He was up on business, Alpha of a New Mexico pack and newly engaged to a blonde, 22-year-old coed named Christy.
Mercy at the time, before the deaths of her foster parents robbed her of childhood, was still all scraped knees and awkward arms of adolescence. Jutting chin and slumped shoulders—defiant and bored.
There was a ghost of a bruise on her face from the accident where she wrapped Bran’s brand new sports car around a tree. He had heard of that incident within hours of it happening, as he suspected most wolves did, even across the ocean. Mercy’s antics were already famous.
She sat on a chair outside Bran’s office, the scuffed toe of her sneaker knocking into a leggy console table nearby. Looking at him sidelong, she had the air of someone waiting their turn at the principal’s office.
When the door finally opened to let him in, he asked, “What did she do this time?” He stepped around Bran to enter the office.
Bran’s mouth pressed flat in an irritated line, while Charles smirked in the corner. He was the one who answered: “Something about chocolate Easter bunnies.”
“She poisoned a group of boys at school,” Bran snapped, closing the door a little too roughly behind Adam.
“Really?” That seemed a bit extreme for the young girl, whose reputation for pranks were mostly harmless, if effective.
“She injected several chocolate Easter bunnies with ipecac,” Charles explained. “And then warned the boys not to steal them, or ‘they would pay.’ They, of course, did not listen. Apparently the boys had been in the habit of stealing the younger kids’ candy for a while.”
Adam laughed despite himself.
“She wants for discipline,” Bran said with a frown.
“Mercy has plenty of discipline,” Charles answered. “It’s the focus of it, that’s the problem. Her interests are too narrow and she has an overdeveloped sense of justice.”
“And her foster father can’t do anything?” asked Adam.
Charles smirked. “If Mercy were a wolf, I wouldn’t be surprised if she outranked him. Any good she does is out of love for Bryan and his mate, not because of fear or intimidation.”
That was, Adam realized, the principle by which Mercy lived her life. It was the driving force of all she did for her family and friends—the pack she forged for herself, not with magic ties but by fierce loyalty and reckless love.
:::
It has been months since she recovered from her devastating injuries. Injuries that Samuel said at first would be the end of her. Her survival is nothing short of a miracle and, Adam suspects, a bit of Coyote’s magic.
Now night holds new terrors for him. He lays in bed at night just listening to the steady beating of his mate’s fragile, mortal heart. Dreading the day when it would inevitably stop.
:::
Mercy was twenty-three when he next saw her in the middle of a Washington desert. Alone in the world but still causing trouble. The first order of business for his newly arrived pack was eliminating the rogue wolves who were harassing her. Saved without so much as a thank you.
Was it coincidence or conspiracy that brought her to the Tri-Cities when Bran had ordered Adam to move his pack north from New Mexico? Coincidence on her part probably, but definitely not Bran’s, whose machinations were wide reaching and infamous.
That Adam bought the property behind her trailer was pure, ornery spite on his part.
She had marched up to him on the first day of construction and stuck a finger in his chest. “Tell Bran that I don’t need a babysitter,” she told him, eyes flashing. “I’ve done fine for eight years without his help—I’m done with wolves.”
“Good to know,” he answered, because he knew that response would drive her crazy, and turned back toward the construction of his pack house. He imagined her making faces at the back of his head and smiled.
:::
He kisses a line down her body, pausing at the shiny-pink of each new scar. Scars she earned in defense of his pack—in defense of him.
And he knows his love is killing her.
Oh god, would her life be better without him? Yes, the fear—the monster—inside him says. Yessss. We will kill herrrrr.
Panic like bile rises in his throat, and he gulps it down. Beneath him Mercy tenses, sensing his change of mood. He murmurs quietly, nuzzling her, lulling her back into softness underneath him. His lovely Mercy. His mate, for who he would willingly lay down his soul, let alone his body.
Whom he would kill for. Without question.
This. This will be his goodbye, then.
He presses a kiss to her inner knee, to her neck, and then presses into her, drawing a sigh from her lips. With his own he continues his careful ministrations, whispering a benediction against every mark on her skin that dares to be there because of him.
:::
His touch is a disease. His touch is a curse.
He can’t bear lying next to her and not touching her, so he doesn’t. He stays late in his office. He sleeps in the spare guest room. It’s killing him, but every day she’s alive, and it’s worth it.
It’s killing him that she wanders the house with those empty eyes, a line of concern between her brows, the hurt and confusion that clearly marks her face.
But at least she is alive. And soon, it will be over.
:::
Adam’s favorite memory of Mercy—the one he thinks of before he puts the gun to his head—is of her in the wedding dress too fancy for the church reception that his pack and daughter put together. She’s dancing with Jesse, at the heart of the people he loved most in the world, swaying to a country song blasting from the church’s ancient speaker system. And she turns to him and smiles.
He can see it as clear as if it were right in front of him. There was so much love in her face then. How different are those faces, the one from his memory and the one Mercy wears at this moment, when she finally sees him for the monster he is.
But she is not disgusted and horrified, as he feared she would be. She is furious. She throws a barrage of words against him, her unfettered anger like a battering ram.
In the years Adam had known and loved Mercy, he has become intimately acquainted with her many moods. Sneaky, playful, worried, content. They were as familiar to him as the feel of Mercy’s calloused hands in his.
Her white hot rage was something entirely new. And through clenched teeth she seethes a truth so utterly profound, that in that moment it shatters the madness that grips him. He lowers the gun in his hand.
Three simple words they had spoken to each other again and again. Whispered in passion and in play. Promised—sworn.
“You are mine.”
:::
He believes her. And for now, so does the monster.
You are mine.
You are mine.
You are mine.
He follows her home, to bed. And though he can’t make love to her like he wants, he worships her body with oil and hands and mouth.
It isn’t until she is completely sated and asleep when the monster rips through his body again. A monster that he now realizes is the ugly marriage of his own fear and self loathing, and Elizaveta’s death curse.
But instead of hurting his mate like Adam fears, the monster scrabbles out from beneath the covers and huddles in the corner of the room. It sits there watching his mate, the covers rising and falling to the rhythm of her breathing.
Within a few minutes, the even breaths stutter and stop. “Adam?” she calls, voice rough with sleep.
It’s the monster that growls in response, and Adam waits. It didn’t work, he thinks. The monster is still here. Will you finally leave me like you’re supposed to?
And still he remembers her promises: You are mine. You are mine. You are mine.
“For fuck’s sake,” she says sounding annoyed. “Get back to bed. I’m cold.”
Oh, my Mercy.
After a moment, the monster cautiously approaches the bed, and it creaks under the sudden weight. It wraps itself around her, tucking her head under its chin. She draws up the covers over them both, and they settle to sleep.
For the first time in a long time Adam prays. Let this be enough. This love. Let me be enough to keep her safe.
If God is kind and he is lucky, maybe it will be.
Maybe the monster will love her, too.
#mercy thompson#mercyverse#Mercy Thompson fanfic#my writing#sondrawr writes#adam hauptman#mercyverse alphabet series
33 notes
·
View notes
Text
OKAY, I just immagined something crazy that broke my heart cuz I listened to "You broke me first" by Conor Maynard. The chorus was the part that made this idea pop out in my brain. But first... I have to warn you that english is not my mother tongue so I'll probably make a lot of mistakes, but I need to share this thing with the TMNT fandom cuz I don't have a single friend that is into this fandom.
------------------------------------------------------------------
If only...
Donnie x reader
[You had an argument with your boyfriend Donnie 2/3 weeks ago, you told him that you could no longer be his partner because you have your dreams, your life, and that you couldn't be 100% happy stuck down there with him and his brothers, so you broke up with him. You two haven't talk since than, not a single call or message.]
♡
Donnie was working on a new experiment, typing on the keyboard faster than light trying to not forget what he needed to write. His eyes were tired, but still wide open, looking at all those screens, going from one to another in less than a second. Everything seemed normal, you could almost tell that he looked fine while working, but he and his brothers knew that he was everything but fine. He was struggling to remember what he was typing a moment before, his fingers slipped sometimes, making typos often, and his brother knew that he almost never does this kind of mistakes. It was hard, so hard. Even if he tried to concentrate on his experiments, he couldn't stop thinking about (y/n). Their last words were stuck in his head, tormenting the turtle like a punishment for not being enough.
"I can't stay here forever, I want to have someone that could take my hand and go for a walk with me during the day."
These words continued to reverberate like a broken vinyle stuck on that part of a sad song that makes your heart shatter.
"If... if only you were... human"
Those few words hurt more than every weapon in the world. Not even all the punches he received from Shredder and the rest of the Foot Clan hurt that much, because a bruise or a broken bone can heal with rest and medicines, but a broken heart... it's a different kind of pain, there were no medicine for that. Hearing that coming out from (y/n)'s mouth really made his entire world fall. He perfectly knew that the world could have never accept such an ugly face, and he's always been aware of that, but when they entered his life, he started to think that maybe that 0,00001% possibility of being accepted finally arrived. For the first time, he thought that what he's always craved was not a Utopia. But he was just a fool, because, in the end, even they said those words.
Mikey asked Donnie everyday if he wanted to play videogames with him, but the answer was always the same: "I'm busy Mikey, maybe another time". Even Raph tried to cheer him up in his own way by asking him to train together, teasing his brother in hope that it would make him feel better or just help him thinking about something else. They all knew that Donnie's thoughts were tormenting him day and night.
"Yeah, if only I were human" he thought at one point, and suddenly stopped typing. He was staring at the screens in front of him, all those words, all those codes, they were nothing. He was very clever and not too good at compliments. "Maybe.. I had to examine them a little more, I needed to analyse their interests more. They would be here if I was more careful with what I said"
▪ Who am I kidding?
Said out loud, all of a sudden.
▪ I'm a mutant, I'm not a human. That's the main problem and it can't be solved just by analysing a situation and guessing the better answer to give. Being kind is not enough with a face like mine.
▪ That's not true.
A familiar voice came from behind the turtle, that immediately freezed being unable to talk. That soft, beautiful voice... he knew that voice too much for not being able to recognise it. He slowly turned to the person that spoke, the chair creaked while spinning, than he stood up looking at them in the eyes with disbelief as if he just saw a ghost. He tried to swallow but his mouth was completely dry, so he just standed there, staring at them, analysing every angle and curve of that person. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
▪ (Y/n)... why are you here? You forgot something?
▪ Yeah, in a certain way...
Their voice, he almost forgot how beautiful that sound was to his ears. His heart was telling him to run towards them and hold them tight like they used to do, but his brain was stronger, and he simply stood there, thinking about what they meant.
▪ I... I needed to see you, Donnie.
"What does that mean? They needed my help? Maybe their laptop had been hacked again?" He couldn't think about a possible reason for them to came back and talk to him, than he asked her directly.
▪ What do you need from me?
They were trying to swallow, but was visibly struggling. They looked down at their feet, taking a deep breath before deciding to talk.
▪ I'm sorry Donnie for what I said about... you know, being a normal couple and all that stuff. I truly regret everything I said, I shouldn't have said those things, maybe I was just a bit stressed, I don't know.
They stopped to take another deep breath, than looked back at the turtle.
▪ I want to stay with y-
▪ You don't need to apologise.
He stopped them without letting them finish the sentence. He already understood what they wanted to say, and he couldn't let 'em say that.
▪ But, Donnie. Why did you stop me? I wanted to say that I still lov-
▪ You were right, you didn't say anything wrong.
He stopped them again. Those words, his heart wasn't strong enough to listen to those 3 damn words again after what happened. He knew what to do now, even if that meant pushing his true desire apart.
▪ We just don't work. It's like... trying to charge your cell phone with a broken charger: it might seems to work at first, but you'll realise soon that it was just a waste of time, it doesn't matter how hard you try to keep it into the right position.
▪ Donnie...
▪ It's fine.
He smiled, it had never been so hard for him to smile. He had to look fine, even if he wasn't good at faking at all, and he was pretty sure that (y/n) wasn't that stupid to fall for it.
▪ Donnie, please. During these week I felt so bad for how I treated you, I thought about it so much and I felt so damn empty without you. I was stupid and selfish. Please give me another chance, I'm sure I can handle being here forever and-
▪ Go away, go back to your house, your parents must be wor-
▪ I LOVE YOU!
They screamed out loud because the turtle continued to interrupte them, so that was the only way to shut him up. Donnie's brain stopped working properly, his feeling were bursting so much that he couldn't think as he always did anymore. He hit his chest near his heart with the palm of his hand making a step forward.
▪ I LOVE YOU TOO, THAT'S WHY YOU HAVE TO GO AWAY.
His breath was so heavy, his lounges hurt like if he was breathing iron instead of air. He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, taking one deep breath after another until he calmed down completely. He had never in his life reacted like this. It was usually Raph that acted without thinking, only listening to what his instinct and heart were saying but... this time, Donnie reached his limit. He wasn't used to it so he almost fainted, his hands were shaking but he managed to keep them at their place.
▪ Listen... you don't belong here, (y/n), and we both know it. You can maybe love me like you said before, but you would never be truly happy if you force yourself to stay here just because of your feelings towards me. You have your dreams, you wanted to go to collage, have pets, a house of your own... and a family. If you truly love me like you think you do, then leave. Do you think that I would be happy seeing you dreaming about all the possibilities you would have outside while being stuck here? The answer is no, there's no a 50% and 50% possibility, it's a 100% no.
▪ Donnie...
▪ Go fulfil your dreams (y/n), do it for me.
He made a few steps towards them, bringing his big right hand on their head to caress their hair making them accidentally messy. Then turned around, headed back to his desk to finish his experiments. He started typing on the keyboard again, all the words popping on the screen. He could clearly hear (y/n) sobbing, trying not to cry behind his back. He bit his lips so hard, "I can't" screamed in his mind, while trying to focus on his work. After a few minutes, they finally left. In the meanwhile the other turtles returned home and saw (y/n) running away while crying and trying to clean their face with the sleeves of the hoodie.
▪ (y/n), what the-
▪ Donnie!
The three of them run to their brother. Leo placed a hand on Donnie's shoulder trying to make him stop typing for a couple of seconds and turn him towards them.
▪ Donnie, why were they here? Didn't you two broke up almost a month ago?
▪ Yeah, what's goin' on, bro?
They all were worried, even Raph but he said nothing, he just waited for an answer. Donnie wasn't really in the mood for talking, he never talks about his feelings with his brothers at all, so he just smiled with those tired eyes.
▪ She just forgot a thing, don't worry.
He tried to get back to his work but another hand stopped him by grabbing his other should. This time it was Raph.
▪ Yeah, then why where they crying, uh?
"You're not that stupid after all, you can think properly if you want to, Raphael" he though, then faked another smile trying to make his words sound real.
▪ They wanted to talk but I stopped them before they could say anything. I think they got mad, that's all.
Then he stood up, moved his brother to the sides so that he could walk away. He went towards the exit and jumped in the big tube that lead to the open world. It was almost 11 p.m., it was dark enough outside to go out. He turned his head back to his brothers.
▪ I'll go take some pizza, don't worry, I'll be back in 20 minutes.
▪ HEY-
Leo grabbed Mikey's shoulder and pulled him back not letting him finish what he was about to say. Donnie vanished in the dark of the tubes, heading to the outside world. Mikey was confused by Leonardo's decision and tilted his head looking at his brother with a puzzled face. Even Raph wasn't able to understand and looked at Leo, waiting for an explanation.
▪ Leo, why did you stop me? We already got pizza!
▪ I think... he just needs some fresh air.
86 notes
·
View notes
Text
Commission #2
I am so sorry @patchworkpuzzle that this took so long. There was a lot going on this month with family drama, work, school, and just...a lot of shit. I hope you like it.
Characters: Incubus/Demon! Sero Hanto x Fem! Reader
Contents: dub-con/non con, groping, fingering, overstimulation, mentions cervix, one spank
As always. I don’t write teenage characters. Sero Hanta is aged up and not even human. Also, minors DNI.
You meandered through the collection piled unto a table. The sun beat down on your neck. A bead of sweat dripped down the side of your face. Still, you couldn't resist a garage sale. In your arms, you already snagged some excellent finds, a couple of rare books, and a teacup. There was, however, one item that stole your attention away from everything else. No matter where you looked, your eyes were drawn to an ornate box. It was a round box made of silver filigree. Its three legs were shaped into lion's feet, claws included. Faces of animals, gargoyles, and twisted vines decorated the outside. You set aside your goodies to get a closer look at the trinket.
When you picked it up, your first thought was, 'How odd.' It was hot outside, and you felt sweat running down your back beneath your shirt. And yet, the trinket box was cool to the touch. You remember as a kid scorching your hand on playground equipment when it got too hot during the summer, but you were able to pick up the box and examine it without issue. The filigree was unique, if not a little frightening. There was neither a lock nor a latch to seal it closed. You lifted the lid, and it creaked on its hinge. Inside, a mirror was affixed to the bottom of the cover. The trinket box held nothing but a velvet lining and a single ornate ring with a black and yellow gemstone. You set down the box to pull out the ring. There was no price tag on the ring, only on the trinket box. You quickly looked around, but the granddaughter running the sale didn't see you put the ring back. Sneaky as it was, you walked up with the trinket box in hand and everything else discarded.
You thumbed the sides of the box almost lovingly. Then, you cradled it close to your chest like it was the most precious thing in the world. When the granddaughter finally finished with her other customer, you brought the trinket box with you.
"How much for this?" You ask.
"Fifty bu—"
"No!"
Heads turned towards the voice. Everyone looked to see an elderly lady hobbling out of the house in her bedclothes and her cane. Her face appeared red. Customers and neighbors got out of her way as she staggered towards her granddaughter.
"Don't you dare!" The old woman shouted. "Don't you dare sell that! It's mine. Give it back!"
She reached towards you to take the trinket box, but you were so shocked that you stepped out of her grasp. Her reaction just made you hold onto the box even tighter.
"Gran, you need to get back into bed," her granddaughter scolded.
"You can't sell that box. It's mine! Give it back!"
The granddaughter, frustrated, turned towards you. "Forty dollars to get it out of here." She offered.
"No!" The grandmother shouted.
You had half a mind to give it back out of pity. The granddaughter had to physically restrain the woman to keep her from pouncing on you. The older woman's eyes were fixed on the box, grasping at air, trying to reach it. A deep possessive thought crossed your mind. A shudder ran down your spine because of it, but there was no way you were going to turn over the box to some senile old woman. You reached into your purse for your wallet while cradling the box to your chest. You hastily drew out forty dollars, at least what you thought was forty dollars, and briskly walked away.
You were walking to your car when you heard the old woman wailing. There was a pinch of regret pricking your heart, but it was somehow easy to forget all about her. You could barely hear her granddaughter say in return, "You know we had to get rid of it."
Your new trinket found a home on your vanity in your bedroom. You couldn't help but glance at it while you relaxed after dinner. You washed your face, brushed your teeth, and slinked off to bed in a silken nightgown. It was starting to drive you crazy how often you looked at the box just sitting there on your vanity. Before climbing under the sheets, you snatched the trinket and placed it on your bedside table. You laid in bed, pulled the covers up, and reached for the cord to turn off your lamp. Your hand grazed against the box, then you stopped.
'Put me on.'
You didn't look around the room. A little voice inside your head urged you to open the box again and look inside. And so, you did. The lid creaked open. The bejeweled ring still lay inside. Not knowing what urged you to slip it on your finger, you put it on anyway. You held your hand up to see the ring on your ring finger. Its color dazzled you. However, you couldn't help but be curious about one thing. When looking at the ring in its box, it looked much more prominent. When you were pulling it on, it certainly felt bigger. Now, it snugly fits around your left ring finger. You didn't at all question it when you finally turned off the light and pulled the blankets up to your neck. You turned to your right side so you could see the yellow and black stone shine in the moonlight.
It didn't take long for you to fall asleep, which was odd because of how often you laid in bed and stare at the ceiling. Tonight, though, your eyelids fluttered shut after a short while. A weight settled over you like a thick blanket.
Unbeknownst to you, the sweet dreamer, a finger protruded from the empty space where the ring once was enthroned. A spindly, spider-like finger stabbed through the air. Despite the box's size, four more fingers appeared, rising like a mountain from a black sea. Soon, a hand emerged, then an arm. A bone-white shoulder arose next. Following, a neck. A human head appeared with short black hair, a triangular mouth set with teeth like stakes, and two bronze horns. Gold and black spiraled around the horns on top of its head, cresting out of the impossibly small crevice. Finally, a whole body emerged out of the silver trinket box. It clattered off the bedside table at the taloned feet of the one it imprisoned.
Sharp black eyes stared down at your slumbering form and licked its lips.
For a while, the thing stared. It stood by your bed and toyed with the blanket, protecting you from the cold and from him. However, the blanket was useless to hide your form from his penetrating gaze. He could see right through it and through your flimsy nightgown. He made out the shape of your body, all of its curves and edges, dips and scars. A clawed finger caressed your cheek as he waited for the timing to be just right.
Midnight struck after he waited by your bedside, slowly driving himself mad. Finally, when the hour struck, the creature crawled into bed with you. He pulled the blankets and sheets away from your body. You were so sound asleep that you didn't even flinch. But he chuckled to himself. It was no ordinary sleep. His power lulled you into a false slumber so his plans could fall into place. Without the blanket to cover you, he crawled up to you. His long arms snaked around your waist and under your chest. He was naked from head to toe. His cock poked the small of your back as he began humping you. The flimsy garment of yours and your tiny shorts was like nothing once his advances began.
The thick fog in your mind lifted, and your eyes fluttered open. You found two long arms wrapped around your torso. Something long and hard was poking you in the back as a body snapped its hips against your ass. Your first instinct was to scream or claw at the arms pinning to an unknown man's chest. You couldn't bring yourself to yell for help or fight back at all. Your heart was racing as fast as your mind. A growing sensation built up in your lower belly. You could feel yourself clench down there around nothing and something slick grow between your legs. A whimper ripped from your throat as the man humped you from behind.
"Ah, I see you're finally awake. I was wondering why my spell was taking so long," said he.
"S-Spell? What…spell?" Words could barely form in your brain, let alone leave your mouth.
Tingles ran up your spine. Suddenly, he stopped. The arms that trapped you loosened and fell away. Just when you thought you could book it for the door, you were forcibly turned onto your back where pitch-black eyes met yours. You gasped in horror at the odd mouth smiling down at you, and even more so because of the sharpness. They were something out of 'IT.' Black hair fell around bronze horns. Any thoughts about screaming were thrown right out of the window.
"Sero," he said.
"What?" Your brows furrowed. What was he trying to say now? Something in a foreign language, perhaps.
"My name. My true name is incomprehensible to you humans, and trying to pronounce it would cause you to go insane, so this is the name I go by while I'm free. You will call me Sero, won't you?"
"W-Why should I?" You growled.
Your hands snatched his arms, and you pierced him with your nails. But the skin did not break, it did not streak, it did not even a single red mark when you dragged your fingernails across his skin. You only felt corded muscles tighten. Sero groaned at your protest and bit his lower lip. It sank into you that he liked it. Any fighting back would have the same result; it would just turn him on more. You glanced down the length of his body just to see what you were dealing with. Horns, sharp teeth, pointed ears, talons, and a cock that would split any woman in two. He was no mere mortal.
"Because the more you say my name while I fuck you, the more power you give me. So, shall we get started?" He asked with a menacing grin.
You opened your mouth to protest, only to be tugged and forced onto your knees on your mattress. The demon Sero sat behind you, muscled chest firmly against your back. He licked and nibbled on your neck and shoulders, even kissed your earlobes. Your knees shook as his large hands maneuvered up and down your body. He grasped your thighs, hips, and waist. Sero trailed one hand up your ribs while he places the other on your neck. He didn't choke you but merely kept his hand there—a power move.
The hand not holding your neck moved up your body and stopped at your chest. Sero groped each breast and trailed his hand back down. Finally, he moved his hand from your neck and grasped your breast. He tweaked your nipple through the nightgown while he roamed down your front. Boney fingers found their way through your clothes, into your shorts, and flicked your clit. Teeth tugged the straps off your shoulders. Sero played with your clit and breast to distract you from the fact that he was humping you again.
"Kiss me," he ordered.
You turned your head to meet his. You kissed him, head-heavy. Warmth continued to grow in your stomach and spread like a virus. Somehow, your shorts disappeared, but your nightgown did not. Sero's fingers sank into your wet sheath, growing wetter by the second. Sero released you from the kiss that all but drained you.
"Do you hear that?" He asked.
You tried to listen for a sound yet heard nothing.
"Don't you hear how wet your cunny is for me? Your body is making such lewd noises just for me, and I've barely even touched you. Wanna ride my fingers, sweetheart?"
Before you could answer, Sero pumped his fingers inside. The burn that came from three fingers plowing into you made you cry out. Your hips moved of their own accord. They moved up and down to match the tempo of the fingers already reaching deep into your cunt. He whispered dirty sweet nothings in your ear about how wet you were for him and how your whimpers were music to his ears. You didn't even notice the sounds you were making.
But you did when you screamed after riding his fingers buried inside your cunt. You came down hard. Your orgasm ripped down your spine like a rocket. You coated his whole hand in your fluids, and it splashed all over your inner thighs and soaked our sheets. Sero brought his three fingers to his mouth and licked them clean.
"Now that you're well-prepped—"
Sero yanked down your nightgown until it bunched around your waist. You realized that something happened to your shorts you'd been wearing underneath but don't remember when he took them off. Sero pushed open your folds with his fingers again and stretched you open. He ripped a breathy moan from you as he pushed you forward and teased your cunt with slow pumps of his fingers. He adjusted your legs so that they were spread painfully apart. He lifted your hips high in the air and made sure that your face was firmly planted into the mattress.
"Normally, I'd romance you a bit more, but I've been stuck in that box for sixty years. I have a lot of pent-up energy. Please forgive and excuse my eagerness."
His eagerness came with an extra package. You clawed at your bed to the point of ripping the fabric as the blunt head entered, followed by the long, stiff shaft. Sero pushed it in slowly to make sure you realized just how many inches were going to be buried in your cunt. Sero's cock was so long that it hit your cervix by the time he bottomed out. You wailed and bit into your sheets and clenched them between your teeth. Sero grabbed your hips and started to move.
Skin clapping against each other loud enough to fill the room and your senses. Your body shuddered with every thrust. Every time Sero moved his cock inside of you, the impact sent ripples through your flesh. He was as gentle as a demon could be after spending decades locked up in a box. Your pussy became acclimated to his size, or you ignored the feeling altogether. You were only half-aware of the screams he elicited from you. Soon, he grabbed your wrists, pulled them behind your back, and held them there with one hand. Your fingers clenched and unclenched around nothing while Sero continued to drive you mad with his cock.
Surrender was coming your way as soon as you realized that your hips moving in tandem with Sero's. Your toes curled, and so too did your fingers. A white-hot-searing sensation built up and up and up all along your spine. Pleasure formed in your brain until it shot down your nervous system straight to your cunt. Your walls cinched around his cock. Sero's hand came down on your ass, causing another ripple of pleasure to course through your brain. That was the first of many orgasms. Sero had the stamina of a hundred men and continued until early dawn began creeping through the window.
There was no cum seeping out of your abused cunt when you woke up, still laying face down in the mattress. You moaned loudly as you urged your legs to move out of their stretched position. You stumbled to your vanity to look at your reflection in the mirror. Your nightgown was still bunched around your waist. Meanwhile, teeth marks and hickies reminded you of the late-night activities that likely caused the dark circles under your eyes. Your hair was a tangled mess and around your wrists cuff-like bruises that could have only been made by someone gripping you too tight.
Your eyes immediately go for the trinket box on your bedside table. Except it wasn't there.
#my hero acadmia#mha#my hero academia fanfiction#mha fanfiction#mha smut#tw: toxic relationship#tw dub con#tw noncon#demon!sero#incubus!Sero#fem reader#he's 18+#18+ only#Minors begone#minors dni#minors do not interact#comissions#commission entry
28 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Weapons: The Crash
This is a series I have been thinking about with some OCs. The basic idea is that a corrupt mental institution takes in these villains and turns them into weapons for a cause unknown.
The warnings for the whole series are: mental institution, dehumanization, needles, creepy illegal mental institution practices, villain whumpees, both lady whump and male whump, referring to people as "its" and "subjects", and lots of (illegal) steroids/power enhancers
I will do individual warnings for each chapter.
--
Warnings: dehumanization, referring to people as "its" and "subjects", steroids (mention), IV, sensory deprivation, fake power enhancers (mention), car crash, choking (brief)
The room was white. White with the faintest trace of mud towards the floor. White that was stained with the slightest pink as if blood had been splattered and wouldn't clean.
It was silent too, dead silent. The lack of sound was alarming and unnatural, yet it fit the aesthetic perfectly. The only thing that broke the image was an eerie shadow that made people take a second glance.
The shadow led to a human, hanging by their wrists and ankle from the ceiling. They wore a thin hospital gown that hardly gave any warmth from the AC that was constantly pumped into the room. They were blindfolded with black goggles that completely obscured their vision. Their ears were covered by headphones that looked way too big for their small head.
All the subject heard, over and over, was "Hot Blooded" by Foreigner. The constant 90s rock song was loud, rattling their eardrums with every slam of a drum or every time the guitar hit a chord.
It destroyed any brink of sleep they managed to catch. The incessant sound caused a headache that could not be alleviated. They were going crazy; crazy like everyone else in that building.
They were being stripped of their identity. They hardly remembered their life before Hot Blooded blasted through their eardrums. They had no name, no gender, no past or present other than hanging there in the white room that they couldn't even see.
Isolation may be the easiest way to drive one crazy. That and the music turned up to max volume. Crazy and ready to be molded into whatever the doctors deemed appropriate.
The door to the white room opened with a creak then a slam. But the subject did not hear it. They were locked in their world, fuzzy and cool without a care for reality.
"Subject 143," the doctor with a clear clipboard read. Female. Nearly white blonde hair that offset her darker skin.
"Date of admission: 17 May at 12:03 P.M.," she read with clarity and devoid of any emotion. "Weight at admission: 134 pounds. Female; 5 foot, 4 inches. Age: 19." She stuck the clipboard between her armpit and eyed the hanging subject with curiosity, "Let it down."
The word "it" rang throughout the room like fire. It spit venom at the few cracks in the plaster, making them seem like they expanded in agony.
The doctor's assistants released the subject slowly. They were professional, not unnecessarily cruel other than protocol.
The subject, female, stiffened at the sudden drop in altitude. Even though it was only a foot, it was all she knew. The slight change in pressure screamed at her nerves, but at the same time it was slightly relieving. It was the first feeling she felt in what seemed forever.
"Subject has been under sensory deprivation for a month," the doctor continued reading her notes. "Let's begin a physical evaluation."
The subject's knees hit the floor, sending a shock through her body. Her bottom lip trembled, yet it wasn't joy. It wasn't joy that she felt when her body touched the hard tiles. It was fear. Fear of this new world in a way that made one's heart race.
"Turn off the headphones." The subject felt pressure that made the small hairs on her arms raise in anticipation. She raised her top lip in a snarl, ready to fight.
A click and all was silent.
The subject collapsed forward, her hands immediately trying to reach her ears. The headache was worse now, much worse. It radiated through her ears with heat bouncing out of every pore. The dizziness made her want her music, at least it kept out this strange buzzing.
Strong arms gripped the skinny biceps, pulling the subject back onto her knees.
"She's been getting nutrients and liquids for a month now by IV."
The subject flexed her muscles. She forgot about the IV that fed her all the nutrients she needed. She never was fed food. She forgot the taste of it and the thought of actually ingesting something was exciting yet nauseating at the same time.
"Good to know. She is looking quite slender, but no worries." Hands touched the subject's core, pressing down on each rib until she flinched back, squirming in the hands that held her. Hands stuck into her mouth, forcing it open and inspecting every tooth. Gloved fingers ran over her gums, jabbing at all of the inflamed sores.
"Put dental work on that list you got there Nurse Baton," the doctor ordered. "And I want it on Anadrol-50 and power enhancers. It needs muscles fast and I do not have the time to work to devise a strict workout schedule. Rather save that for the more dangerous subjects."
"Yes ma'am."
"Start her on a diet of mashed oats with avocado and protein supplements. May sound fancy, but we need these muscles back in shape." The doctor squeezed the once-taut muscles in disgust.
"Yes ma'am."
"Other than that, weigh her and do some blood work. I expect her to be ready by the end of the week."
"Yes ma'am."
The doctor grabbed the subject's chin, tipping it upwards and took in the pale, hollowed features. Once pretty, the subject was now like a ghostly corpse from a horror movie. The doctor lifted the goggles off, watching in slight amusement as the subject blinked her bloodshot eyes rapidly.
"Well," the doctor made a few small circles on the subject's cheek. "You are quite fiery."
The subject only snarled and tried to lunge at the doctor.
--
"Attention all heros north of Redbrook," came the same droning voice of dispatch. Trisha groaned and leaned forward to click in.
"Trisha Jakes here, what'dya got," the half-asleep hero grumbled. She yawned, leaning her forehead against the steering wheel thinking about the pleasant dream she was just experiencing.
"The Redbrook Mental Asylum had an escape. Male, twenty years of age. About five foot nine and 189 pounds. Dark brown hair and blue eyes," the dispatch sounded bored like they did this on the daily, which is more than likely. But then their voice turned oddly foreboding, "Labeled as highly-dangerous. Use any means to capture: tranq gun, taser, anything."
"I am five miles from the asylum," Trisha already was pulling out of the parking lot she was napping in. "I can look around."
"Copy that," and the dispatch repeated their message. Not wanting to hear the description of the individual, Trisha clicked out.
This was not the first time that she had dealt with mentally sick people, but it was the first time that she dealt with one her age at the same time as being "Highly Dangerous" as dispatch put it.
Trisha leaned forward and clicked the button on her steering wheel that allowed her to call people.
"Call Colton Myers on cell," Trisha stressed every syllable. She didn't have the time to repeat herself.
"Calling Colton Myers on cell…" Trisha sighed in relief when the speaker lady's voice repeated back to her, followed almost directly by a ringtone.
"Hey Trisha, what's up?"
Trisha didn't even bother to say "hey" back. "Colton," she gasped, growing in nervous excitement. "Get out here now. There is this guy on the loose from that asylum."
"Isn't that your job," Colton chuckled on the other end. Trisha could just imagine the twinkle of laughter in his deep green eyes that reminded her of emeralds.
"Yes," Trisha replied in a flirty tone. "But isn't it your job to design websites, yet I do half of your work?" She smiled to herself. Even though it could get frustrating because Colton was practically incapable of doing anything but complaining, she loved graphic design.
"You got me. But now we are even."
"Shut up," Trisha hoped the smile was prominent in her voice, "I have to go."
"Bye-bye idiot."
"Charming," Trisha teased and hung up, quite content with her friendship status.
Trisha drove on in silence, observing every shadow as she tried to put her mind into a disabled guy's mindset. What would he deem safe? Definitely not a building, if he thought that the asylum was dangerous. Trisha shuddered, that asylum gave her the creeps. Professional, yes, but the attitudes of the nurses were disturbing.
Yet they helped keep villains locked up… Trisha shook her head. The place was in alliance with the Hero Agency. Good, safe, and most of all necessary.
She knew that the people who were admitted into the facility were villains. Some may even call Redbrook a reformation center. Trisha cocked her head, deep in thought as she half-heartedly watched the traffic.
If he was a villain, wouldn't he be searching for something villainy? Assuming that he had some form of anger issues or another mental problem -or maybe just truma?- he would likely be headed to a Villain Agency, or his home.
Yet, what good would that be? There was only one villain agency in Redbrook, assuming he lived in Redbrook. But that agency was too tiny for a "highly-dangerous" patient.
And Trisha had no idea if he even had a home to begin with.
She sighed and started to tap the steering wheel in a rhythmic beat. Periodically, she would glance down to her bow and gun to make sure they were still there.
Very suddenly, a flash of white boltes in front of the windshield. Without thinking, Trisha spun around, making other cars honk and scream at her. But she didn't care, for her eyes were locked on the thin hospital gown.
The sight baffled her for a moment. The gown was so thin that she could see his shoulder bones from fifty feet away. She pressed the gas until her speedometer read eighty-five. She was nearing, very close… almost there…
BAM!
Trisha let out a scream as her car lost control. Her seat belt started to unceremoniously pressed against her chest, restricting any breathing. She gasped for air as adrenaline and fear coursed through her veins. The seatbelt was moving up towards her trachea.
Then it snapped and Trisha fell forward hitting- but not breaking- the reinforced windshield. Her back lit up in pain as the car continued to go out of control until it hit a concrete wall.
And the world was engulfed by one big, black wave.
--
"Move your hand for me."
Trisha gulped and lifted up her wrist. She slowly was regaining strength over the course of a fews days. The Hero Agency and its medics had access to an array of fast-paced healing techniques.
Luckily, Trisha didn't break anything important. Just a few ribs and her jaw, but glass got into her organs. The doctors surgically removed the pieces and with the speedy recovery, she was beginning to get better.
"Good. You should be discharged by the end of the week, but keep it easy. Okay?"
"'Kay," Trisha replied and started fiddling with her thumbs. There was no way that she would be able to take it easy when a murderer just got her into an accident.
What if he knew who she was? What if he finished the job? Already, she made sure that someone was in the hospital room with her. Her boss wouldn't spare anymore heros, but Colton was already there.
Trisha looked over at the chair that Colton was slumped in. His mouth was parted open as he silently snored and murmured in his sleep. His ruffled light brown hair looked even more greasy than a McDonald's cheeseburger.
Yet even though he held an unpleasant appearance, Trisha was more than thankful for his sacrifice. So, even though the poor hero was loaded with questions, she let her best friend sleep.
#the weapons#trisha jakes#colton myers#villain whumpee#mental institution#sensory deprivation#my ocs#steroids#car crash
20 notes
·
View notes
Text
Impossibilities for All
Numb legs. Dry mouth. Cold sweat.
Light shone from buzzing streetlamps and from lonesome windows, a hollow valley of brick and steel. Stars twinkled in the black sky, far above.
The tapping of sneakers echoed arrhythmically, sometimes scraping across asphalt whenever exhaustion weighed them down enough to drag. When she shouted, only her own echoes answered.
Lifeless cars stood parked along the sides of the streets. A piece of newspaper rustled as it danced madly on a gust of wind, tumbling down the sidewalk.
She had been running for what felt like forever. Her sides hurt. Even more so every time she stopped to rattle at locked doors or bang on them with her fists or call for help. Things she did less and less frequently because they proved to feel more and more pointless.
Advertisement posters of smiling people stared at her with lifeless eyes and muted corporate colors from the sides of a graffiti-covered bus stop, and neon signs glowed everywhere in the windows of shops and from the tops of tall buildings.
Yet with all these signs of a world that should be teeming with life, a city that supposedly never slept—even in this witching hour—she was all alone. Every street, every alley, every corner; all devoid of life. A husk of an urban metropolis.
Completely abandoned except for her and her pursuer. And the trail of blood she was leaving wherever she stumbled, dripping from an arm and a leg.
Every glance she shot behind her, he remained absent. But she knew he would show up any second now. If not after looking over her shoulder the sixth time, then the seventh. He had been following her since she stumbled drunk out of the party, and he had killed her friends with a crowbar.
He turned a corner and stood at the end of the street crossing from where she had just run.
As far as his attire was concerned, he looked normal. Normal as far as crazy serial killers were concerned. Crinkled three-piece suit. Holding a crowbar in one hand, hanging down with something dark dripping from it.
Just some guy. Just some crazy guy.
Just… minus a head.
And yet he walked. He walked quickly—he walked quicker than her.
And when she started running, so did he.
She did not even bother with yelling. Just no point.
Breath had to be saved. Her weary legs had to carry her faster, she had to make up for her limping, and the distance between them would shrink quickly. The sound of Kelly's skull cracking underneath the swings of that crowbar still haunted her. Rob had tried to fight back, and the end of the crowbar ripped his eyeball out with the first sickening crunch, not to mention what it must have done to the rest of his head after other blows had followed.
The headless guy with the crowbar was unstoppable. Merciless.
And just a little bit too fast for her. The deaths of her friends had bought just enough time for her to run away.
She tripped on the curb and stumbled and caught herself before running right inside a movie theater where the doors stood wide open. The letters on the glowing sign above the entrance read
THE PIANIST
Not a soul in here either, just wide-open halls with velvety red rugs and brass decor and a diffuse, warm light. Would have been nice under other circumstances.
Her breathing ran ragged, her lungs burned like they had been doused in gasoline and set on fire. She shoved her way inside a bathroom door and grabbed it from the inside and pulled it shut in hopes of stopping it from swinging—and making her pursuer struggle to find her here.
She backed away from the door and when her sneaker squeaked on the bright white clean tiles underfoot, she gasped and held her breath.
She even caught a drop of her own blood in her hand before it could hit the ground. Had to make sure he could not find her here.
She backed farther away and crept into one of the stalls and closed it behind her and locked it and stood up on top of the toilet seat where she crouched down, doing her best to not make a sound, trying not to breathe despite wanting to vomit, and her nostrils flaring more and more, and trembling all over the longer she denied her lungs that vital air.
Footsteps thumped outside. He had caught up. Ran down the movie theater hallway in his mad chase.
The thundering footsteps went right past the door to the ladies' room.
She allowed herself to breathe.
Then the running stopped.
Her breath stuttered, freezing as she held it once more, letting the searing pain in her lungs flare back up again.
Thump, thump, thump. THUD.
The bathroom door creaked as it slowly opened.
A shoe screeched when it twisted on the squeaky-clean tiles of the floor, punctuating nearing of his footsteps.
WHAM.
The door to the first stall slammed.
"You did this to me," said a raspy, gurgling voice.
The first time he had spoken since losing his head. How in the hell was he speaking, anyway?
WHAM.
The door to the second stall slammed against the wall.
"You did this to me, and you will pay," said Headless.
She had done this to him. Just yesterday. She somehow knew it had to be him.
She had bumped into him on a crowded sidewalk and down he went, tumbling right into the street where a fast truck blared its horns and swerved too late—where its massive tractor winged his head. Headless looked more like his head had been sliced off at the neck and less like half his skull had been smashed to bloody bits of bone and brain by a speeding truck. But to her, there was no doubt.
It had to be him.
WHAM.
The door to the third stall slammed against the wall.
Last door before reaching the one she hid behind.
"I'mma need all I can get to have a new head reattached," said the voice, crowned by something like retching sounds. Bubbling with anger.
Thud. THUD. THUD.
He kicked away at the door to her stall.
"I-I d-don't have any m-money on m-m-me," she stammered out in pleading. "B-b-but I have money! I can get you money, man, just l-l-leave me alone!"
She did not really. She lived on the edge of poverty even her attire said otherwise. Like most people she knew, like most people who lived outside the center of the city. But she would have promised to pluck the blue out of the sky for him at this point.
THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.
Headless reared back and then lunged at the door with his heaviest kick.
THWUD!
Whatever the bathroom stall walls and doors were made of, it all splintered once he jammed the crowbar in and started jimmying it open, widening the gap to sharp sounds of the material snapping and breaking entirely.
She shrieked when he cracked open the lock far enough to reveal his decapitated silhouette.
WHAM.
She screamed when he kicked the busted door fully open.
Headless pulled his crowbar back in both hands, readying to bring it crashing down on her skull with full force.
She flinched before he even lunged. Slipping on the edge of the seat, one of her shoes slid straight into the toilet and got immediately soaked. She flailed her arms to break her own fall and accidentally flushed.
Fa-WOOSH.
Water splashed everywhere, shooting cold wet up all around her. She sputtered and her hands found no traction on the walls of the stall, fingertips and palms just skidding down as she fell and fell and fell.
The vortex of water dragged her down, the horizon transformed into the toilet's bowl, and the crowbar smashed into its edge like a dark meteor, exploding in an avalanche of white ceramic chunks the size of boulders that chased her down the spiraling world, spinning around and around, making her dizzy and sick but also impossible to see as she screwed her eyes shut in the flood of water, flushed right down the toilet.
Impossible?
Sure. But Headless was impossible, too.
She left behind one impossibility for the next, shooting down dark watery corridors like a kid riding down a slide in a water park. Except that her clothing was drenched, her lungs burned even brighter as she held her breath to not inhale whatever water enveloped her, and horror shook her with a chest-bursting fear of death.
Everything else was drowned out.
The dark tunnels meandered, pushing her along and slamming her against the sides of metal walls surrounding her.
Then the flood abruptly ejected her into a brighter environment. Even with her eyes shut, she could tell that some lights glared around her. She hit the ground hard and rolled, water splashing and spraying all around.
Finally, she dared to breathe, gasping for air. The pain of having skinned her knuckles and knees set in with delay. Trembling and bloody as she surveyed the damage, she pushed herself up off the ground.
Asphalt. Back out on the empty streets again.
Her thigh and her arm also hurt from where the crowbar had hit her in their previous encounter. She spat and got up and then instantly bent forward as a wave of nausea welled up inside and made her entire body buckle. A jet of vomit shot from her mouth before she could pull her hair back, splattering the street, and emptying her insides of all the booze and finger food she had ingested in that night.
The rancid, stinging taste lingered, and her eyes had teared up so much that the neon-colored nightscape blurred around her, yet she still distinctly noticed something odd in the splash of vomit, staring at it in disbelief and disgust.
Some pills. Not any she remembered popping and nothing from her prescription.
Had someone slipped her those somehow?
But how?
It was not like you could just roofie someone without them noticing. And if it had been in the food, these things should have dissolved beyond recognition by now. It had been hours, right?
With trembling fingers, she wiped some chunks and gobs of vomit from her strands of hair and then pushed it all out of her face. The smell only diminished with delay.
Finally had a chance, finally stood still, and looked around. Her clothing was sopping wet like she had been in a swimming pool, still dripping like crazy, admixing with the smells of iron and dirt. The cool breeze made her shiver beyond the exhaustion and pain and terror wracking her body with tremors.
The asphalt around her was wet and the gushing of water never stopped, sloshing and sloshing in an infinite torrent behind her. It still sprayed from a busted fire hydrant on the side of the street.
The nightly city around her, however, was still just as deserted and abandoned as before. She reckoned she might be stuck in a nightmare, but the pain said otherwise.
She stopped looking around—not only because it was making her feel dizzy and queasy all over again, but because her gaze came to rest upon the crowbar on the ground.
Droplets of watery residue on the black iron of the crowbar reflected all the colorful lights from her environment.
She snatched the tool up and gripped it in both hands, muttering a curse under her breath from the fiery pain of her knuckles stretching where top layers of skin had broken, exposing the ones beneath with a sheen of fresh blood.
With the crowbar in her hands, she staggered away. And walked. Finally breathed, defying all the pain and the cold and the terror.
Every glance over her shoulder helped ensure that Headless was nowhere to be seen. She wandered the streets, not as desperate to find help anymore. Somehow, she had just given up, even if she was still far from accepting death and welcoming its dark embrace. It had all made way to anxiety, a simmering dread of being all alone in this huge, soulless city.
Walking past a darkened storefront window, her own mirror image made her stop. Made her choke. Made her stare in disbelief.
She was wearing a business suit now. A perfect fit, crinkled and in need of ironing, but it would have looked good on her under other circumstances.
Impossible?
Sure, but she had just flushed herself down a toilet only moments ago.
In disbelief, she looked down, patted herself down. To ensure that it was not just the reflection, to make sure she was not just losing her mind.
Indeed, she was wearing the crinkled suit. Just like Headless earlier, though tailored to fit her frame. Still drenched. It would take forever to dry; she would catch her death by exposure in the cold air like this. She needed to find a safe haven somewhere.
Hell, she needed to limp her way to an ER. Headless may have busted her leg and her arm.
She still bled.
And then: voices.
Voices echoed down the streets. The tiny flame of hope flickered in the back of her mind. It flared up into a flame and shone brighter than any nagging doubt.
Traffic, too. A horn honked somewhere else.
She jogged down the sidewalk, rounded the next corner, and there they were.
Everybody. The city was as alive as it should be, even this late at night. Some people loitered around at a bus station, waiting for a ride home. The red taillights of a car glowed at the next crossing; its engine purred as it took off from where it stood when the traffic lights turned green.
She approached the group at the bus station. They were fully engrossed in whatever conversation they had going on. It sounded somewhat unimportant, but then again, it all sounded like incoherent slurring to her. Had she suffered a concussion, too?
Some of them drunkenly swayed, visibly having spent some time at a party just like the one she had come from.
She fought the urge to cry out, did not want to come across as a crazy person. Instead, she limped over to them.
Other than a few furtive glances laden with disgust like she was some sort of homeless person, they paid no attention to her.
She reached up to tap one of the guys there on the shoulder, and he swiveled.
Too quickly—he bumped into her.
And she fell, stumbling right into the street.
The honking horns of a truck blared as it sped by the bus stop in that very same moment, cleaving off the top of her skull and spraying the asphalt with bits of bone and brain matter.
The people around were all shocked, scarred for life, one of them screamed in terror. Just like she had when this happened to Headless the day prior.
When the police officers had concluded their investigation and someone zipped up the body bag, the world went dark, and the air tasted like plastic.
The zipper opened to a place of blinding bright light, phosphorous white in color and exuding an unbelievably cold air. Machines uncaringly beeped and hummed around her.
Strange figures in surgical masks—their heads horned like devils—all huddled around her bed and leaned over her. They looked like they were dressed like hospital staff, but the objects they held and wielded looked more like they belonged in a workshop's collection of power tools for woodworking.
The spinning saw blade cleanly cut through skin and bone with a high-pitched whine and squelching whenever it had to sever the softer tissue. Though she could not resist, could not fight back, and just witness; at the very least it did not hurt. The demonic doctors took off what little remained of her head until only the flat stump of a headless neck remained.
Eventually, a third demon showed up with a clipboard, studying it with hollow eye sockets and then turning his head as if to lock eyes with where hers should have been.
"It says here that your faith plan does not include body part replacements. Unless you can pay the soul exchange out of your own pocket, you'll have to make do like this for now," said the demon doctor.
He shoved the glasses back up the bridge of his nose which made little sense because he had no eyes to speak of. He sighed and flipped a page on the clipboard, then turned away with a shrug.
Minutes later, two orderlies carried her by the arms and tossed her outside the hospital entrance where she landed on her ass, just as if they were bouncers throwing a troublesome drunk out of a nightclub.
The crowbar clanked as it landed on the sidewalk next to her. The demons in white outfits disappeared back inside, and the sliding doors closed behind them.
Now that she was Headless, she saw no other option than to reap some souls. Not that she saw anything at all, strictly speaking—she just knew these things instinctively.
And she might as well start with the guy who had bumped into her and killed her.
Bastard was probably out there, somewhere, partying.
He had done this to her.
And he would pay.
—Submitted by Wratts
#spoospasu#spookyspaghettisundae#horror#short story#writing#my writing#literature#spooky#fiction#submission#surreal#hyperrealism#headless#crowbar#murder#violence#blood#pursuer#chase#running away#ghost#bizarre#demon#devil#specter#hopeless#helpless#isolation#metaphor#health care
5 notes
·
View notes
Text
Have You Heard The News That You’re Dead?
Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader
Genre: Drama, Horror
Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 23. Prompt: “Afterlife”.
You’re a cancer patient. You’ve travelled to Hawaii, for an operation, that you hope will save your life. But, while you’re in the hospital, your nurse tells you the story of the Night Marchers. Legend has it, that anyone who sees their parade, will die. When you begin hearing phantom marching-band sounds at night, you start to wonder if the legend could be true.
It had been a year now, since you were first diagnosed with stage three leukemia. Chemotherapy alone had not slowed the disease down. So, you had travelled to a hospital in Honolulu, for a transplant procedure, that you hoped would save your life. You’d been receiving radiation conditioning for a week now, to prepare your body, to receive the donor’s stem cells.
Today, your favorite nurse was on duty. Her name was Leilani.
“Aloha, Miss Y/N,” Leilani smiled, as she entered the hospital room, to bring you your daily dose of busulfan. “How are you feeling today?”
“Tired,” you said sleepily. “The drums kept me awake last night.”
“Drums?” Leilani repeated curiously.
“Yeah, I could hear music, outside my window, all night,” you explained. “Was there a concert, or a luau, going on in town, or something?”
“Maybe the sound that you heard was the Night Marchers,” Leilani said mysteriously.
“What are the Night Marchers?” you asked, eyes wide.
“Oh, it’s an old Kanaka Maoli legend,” Leilani chuckled. “There were these warriors, who served the chief, in ancient times. They say that after sunset, they rise from their graves, and march through the streets, towards the site of the battle they once fought.”
“Ghost warriors?” you blinked. “Now, that would be interesting to see.”
“Oh, no, Miss Y/N,” Leilani shook her head. “You do not want to see them. Legend says, that anyone who watches the Night Marchers, parading through town, will die.”
“I...I would die?” you gulped. Just for looking at a ghost?
“That’s how the story goes, anyway,” Leilani shrugged. “They say the only way to survive an encounter with the Marchers, is to lay down on the ground, and avert your eyes. But, it’s only a folktale, so don’t worry about it. Give me your hand, and take this pill, okay?”
“....Okay,” you frowned. Something about this folktale, made you very nervous.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
That night, you tried your best to fall asleep. You knew you needed your rest, but the hospital bed was so uncomfortable. What was worse, your illness had left you in severe pain. Leilani had gone home for the night, and you didn’t feel like calling the other nurse, for a dose of painkillers. You tossed and turned, trying to just be still.
Then, you heard the sound again, in the distance. A drumbeat, outside your window.
Could it really be a parade of ghosts? you wondered, staring up at the ceiling. No way - it’s probably just some street performer.
The bed creaked, as you turned away from the window. The drums grew louder, and, if you were not mistaken, you could hear trumpets joining them. Seriously - what the hell was that?
Your curiosity overwhelmed you, and you gingerly stood up from the bed. You padded over to the window, and peered through the blinds. You gasped at what you saw.
It really was a parade. But, these were no grass-skirted warriors. They looked like a high school marching band. From the second story window, you could just barely make out their black and silver jackets. The leader, in front, had short-cropped white hair. You were too high up, to see his facial features. Who the hell was he?
You watched, fascinated, as the band marched past a stop sign. Your blood froze, as the parade leader phased, intangibly, right through the sign post.
“A...a ghost?!” you gasped. Were these really the Night Marchers, after all?
A wave of dizziness suddenly hit you, and you felt faint. Your vision faded to black.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
You woke up the next morning, in your hospital bed. Leilani was standing at your bedside, adjusting your IV bag.
“Leilani!” you gasped. “I saw them last night!”
“Saw who?” Leilani frowned.
“The Night Marchers!” you shuddered. “They’re real!”
“You must have had a bad dream, Miss Y/N,” Leilani shook her head. “I’m sorry that my stories frightened you.”
“B-but…,” you protested.
“Ssh,” Leilani interrupted. “You have bigger things to concern yourself with, right, Miss Y/N? Your transplant surgery is today.”
“That’s right,” you realized. Today, you would finally be infused with the bone marrow, that would hopefully send your cancer into remission. You were lucky that a donor had been found for you. You knew that many people succumbed to the disease, without ever making it to the top of the waitlist.
“The doctors here at Hawaii Cancer Care are very skilled, Miss Y/N,” Leilani assured you. “I’ve watched their surgeries save many lives.”
“You think that the surgery will be successful?” you gulped. The truth was, that you were still nervous.
“I’m sure of it,” Leilani said positively. “You have nothing to worry about.”
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
That night, after the surgery, you once again found yourself struggling to sleep. Your time in the hospital was not yet at its end. The doctors needed to observe you, a little longer, to make sure the procedure had done what they hoped. And your body, of course, still ached.
Suddenly, you heard a noise. This time, it was not coming from outside your window. The music sounded like it was emanating from the hallway, outside your door. But, the military-ish drumbeat was unmistakable. It was the ghostly marching band again.
You stood up, leaning on your IV pole for support. You felt unsteady on your feet. You knew it was unwise, to be moving around, so soon after your procedure. But, you couldn’t shake the compulsion to look.
You shuffled over to the edge of the room, and hesitantly opened the door. You poked your head out, and that was when you saw them.
A whole parade of specters was marching through the hospital corridor! There were phantoms in masks, at the back. But, the five men at the front, caught your attention. Their faces were uncovered, and they were playing instruments, as they stepped forward in time.
The one in front, with the pale, white hair, clearly seemed to be the leader. He raised his baton in the air. The phantoms followed him.
Was this real? you wondered, shaking. Or, were you dreaming?
Your IV pole rolled away from you, as you accidentally released it from your grip. The wheels made a skittering sound, on the linoleum floor.
The marching band leader’s head snapped up, and he turned around, seeking the direction of the sound.
You dropped to the floor, remembering Leilani’s warning: “They say the only way to survive an encounter with the Marchers, is to lay down on the ground, and avert your eyes.”
You trembled with fear, as you covered your eyes with your hands.
Don’t see me, you pleaded, heart pounding, as you lay as still as possible in the doorway. Don’t see me…..please don’t see me…..
“Miss Y/N!” gasped a familiar voice. “What are you doing out of bed?”
You opened your eyes. The parade of ghosts was gone. There was only Leilani, looking down at you with a concerned expression.
Am I going crazy? you wondered, eyes wide. Did I hallucinate that whole thing?
This didn’t seem possible. The blonde man’s piercing gaze had felt all too real.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
You opened your eyes, hours later, and saw someone standing at the foot of your hospital bed. It wasn’t Leilani. It wasn’t any of your nurses. It was the blonde man, who had appeared to you in the night.
You screamed.
“It’s alright, Y/N,” the man whispered.
“H-how do you know my name?” you gasped. “Who are you?!”
“I’m Gerard,” the man introduced himself.
“I mean, what are you?” you demanded. “Are you a Night Marcher?”
“No,” Gerard shook his head. “I am the captain of the Black Parade.”
“What do you want with me?!” you asked, shaking.
“We’ve come to guide you to the afterlife,” Gerard explained.
“What?” your eyes widened. “You’re saying….I’m dying?”
“Yes,” Gerard nodded. “I’m afraid that you’re fated to die of a stroke tonight.”
“There’s no way that I’m going to have a stroke!” you denied.
“I’m afraid that you’re already having one right now, in your sleep,” Gerard revealed.
“No!” you cried. “If this is a dream, then, I have to wake up right now!”
“You won’t,” Gerard said calmly. “It is your time.”
“But...that doesn’t make any sense!” you argued. “I just had a bone marrow transplant! It’s supposed to cure my cancer!”
“You’ve developed what’s called graft versus host disease,” Gerard explained. “The donor’s cells see your body’s tissues as something foreign. They’re attacking them.”
“So…..you’re some sort of Grim Reaper?” you realized. “Where’s your scythe? Aren’t you supposed to look like a skeleton?”
“I took this form, in hopes that I would not frighten you, Y/N,” Gerard explained. “Do you not find it comely?”
The truth was, you found the phantom’s appearance, extremely handsome. You could see his strong-looking arms beneath his black jacket. Above the jacket’s high collar, he had a beautiful, almost angelic-looking face.
But, he’s an angel of death, you reminded yourself grimly. You wanted to cry.
“I...I can’t die yet,” you stammered, tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m still so young. There’s so many things I haven’t done yet. I’ve never even fallen in love.”
“A surprise, and a tragedy,” Gerard said softly, gently stroking your cheek with this thumb, and wiping away your tears. “For such a beautiful woman.”
“You...you think I’m beautiful?” you sniffled.
“I do,” Gerard confessed. “I’m sorry, that the powers that be, have given you such a short time on this earth. It is not for me to decide. My job is simply to walk with you, to your destination.”
“You mean, the afterlife,” you guessed.
“Yes.”
“What’s going to happen?” you wondered, feeling scared. “Are you just going to drop me off in some limbo, a-and leave me there?”
“No,” Gerard promised, wrapping you in a comforting embrace. “Y/N, I will stay by your side, as long as you need me.”
“I don’t want to be alone,” you sobbed. You found yourself clinging to the specter, holding onto him tightly and sobbing into his chest.
He stroked your hair gently. “Sssh,” he consoled you. “It’s alright. You’re not alone. My marching band is waiting for you, just outside this room. We’ll all walk with you, to the Other Side. You will have as many friends there, as you wish.”
“You want to be my friend?” you asked, staring up at him, with wide eyes.
“I want a great many things from you, Y/N,” Gerard confessed. Suddenly, he grabbed the collar of your hospital gown, and pulled you into a kiss. His lips were warm, and soft, like a living person’s. There was no coldness of the grave, in his touch.
You kissed him back, soothed that, at least, someone was by your side, until the very end.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
The heart monitors screamed, as Leilani ran into the room. The flatline on the screen, told her that her favorite patient was gone. Tears welled up in her eyes, as she stared down, at the woman’s terribly still form.
“A-Aloha, Miss Y/N,” Leilani sobbed. A word that could mean both hello, and goodbye.
There was one small comfort, as she pulled the sheet over Y/N’s head. Her final expression was a smile of bliss, as if she’d just received a pleasant surprise.
#gerard way imagine#gerard way x reader#gothtober#it's very fitting that I posted this on the 14th anniversary of Black Parade being released#if you enjoyed today's story - please consider donating to Be The Match#they're a very cool charity that helps leukemia patients find bone marrow donors
77 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
sixtymillionoverdueideas
All Our Helling Content Regrets
kotoka-nara
コト菓
grimsbane
I SHOULD HAVE NEVER GONE ZIPLINING
hsc285
Vade Mecum
screwyoumfers
RGG obsessed pleb