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jb2856 · 1 year

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The Bodyguard - Part 3

Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Fic Tags/Warnings: abt 16+ in my eyes, use of you/you’re & Y/n, no specific character descriptions other than (braid your hair and Din is larger), angst, death, fluff, secrets revealed, blood, injuries.

This one is going to be quite long, this is the end. I suppose I could have made it more parts but I did NOT. So enjoy!

Self edited! so I’m sure there are some many mistakes. And yessss I’m aware I change between perspectives like every minute. I’m sorrrrrryyyy don’t yell at me 😂

As always please leave constructive criticism if you’d like, and if you read/like this post REBLOG PLS! Thank you

Asks/Requests are open 😊 Ask me anything!

—— Din. ——

“Din,” She whispers. “It’s my uncle.”

Confusion is his first thought. Her uncle?

“What do you mean?” He asks urgently, eyes shifting around the site. When she doesn’t answer he speaks louder, “Y/n!”

Her head turns to his, eyes glistening.

“He….” She starts, devastation seeping into her voice. “I think he killed my parents.” And more clearly she states, “he’s the leader of the syndicate..”

Nobody speaks.

Her uncle? The one who had personally hired Din?

But the more he thinks about it, the more it starts to make sense. Thinking back to all the details that Y/n had told him if her life, he puts the pieces together.

He is the high priest of the kingdom, he’s constantly robed in brilliant white gowns, accompanied by a black collar. Y/n had told him her uncle had always been jealous of her mother, envious of her being able to hold even a fraction of power. Y/n also told him how much he hated her father. The night her mother died, she saw a man in white robes. Not to mention the man has never been kind to Y/n.

Din’s skin starts to prickle, he’s angry. Angry that the man who was supposed to care for Y/n is the very man who is the cause of her greatest pain, angry that he had spoken to this piece of shit civilly. Why would he have hired someone to keep her safe? To keep her in check instead?

Din wants to kill him.

Suddenly there is the distinct sound of footsteps approaching, Din grabs Y/n arm and ducks behind a tree on the outskirts of the campsite. Din watches as the man who had been sitting at the fire runs for the woods, in the wrong direction apparently. Because he is thrown back, his body hitting the ground with a deafening crunch. A deep harsh voice says, “fool.” The man was dead, a knife in his throat.

Y/n is breathing heavily, and Din lifts his hand to cover her mouth. “Shh,” He whispers in her ear. She nods slightly, her back flush against his chest, Dins arms around her, Y/n’s hands gripping his vambrace.

“What the fuck happened here?” The man says to himself, in contempt. Three more men walk into the clearing as Calrin continues to survey the scene. “Scott!”

The man, Scott, jogs right up to him. “Yes sir?”

“Go scout.” He demands, “Find whoever did this. Now!”

Scott nods quickly, running off to search around the perimeter. He starts on the other side, slowly making his way into the trees. They had maybe two minutes max before he catches them.

Din tugs Y/n’s elbow, “we need to leave.”

Her brows furrowed, not liking the idea.

“Come.” He insists, wanting to keep her safe. He begins to tug her arm once again, she relents shuffling a step. But her foot lands on a branch, causing a deafening snap to ring out.

She lets out a quiet sigh of resignation, her lids sliding closed at the display of stupidity. “Fuck.” She whispers.

Lord Calrin’s head whips towards their direction, his hand going to a concealed weapon under his robe. He ignite a red saber, which causes Y/n’s eyes to bug out.

Was he the Sith Lord??

——Y/n——

“Come. On.” Din growls lowly, tugging your hand.

Shaking your head you take your hand back, “No, no. I have to…”

“What?” Din interrupts quietly, “kill him right here?” He shakes his head grabbing you fully now, throwing you over his shoulder. “You’re not ready to face that, him.”

“Din.” You hiss, smacking his back. “Put me down.”

You’d already retreated quite a bit, the distance quickly growing between you two and the syndicate.

“No.” He plainly. “It’s my job to protect you.” Smacking him again lightly, he relents.

“You can protect me as I walk on my own two feet!” You say, annoyed.

You’re walking in silence now, you gripping your aching shoulder and Din beside you, brooding. Always Brooding. As you walk, you think how unusually easy it was to flee that area. How had he not detected you both?

“What are we going to do now?” You ask him quietly, breaking the deafening silence, agony and confusion clear in your tone.

He shakes his head, “I…don’t know.”

Silence.

Could you to home? How are you supposed to act as if you didn’t just find out about your uncles secret double life? As if you didn’t just come realize it was your uncle you saw the day of your mothers death, as if you don’t know he is responsible for your mothers death? Your fathers disappearance?

Maybe it is your best option..maybe…maybe if you take them down from the inside…

“Din?”

“Yes?”

“I think we should pretend that did not just happen.”

You’re still walking, your bare feet scuffling the dirt of the path. You take a glance at him, his helmet nodding. He isn’t reacting to you, more thinking to himself.

“I agree.” He finally states, “I think I want to investigate your court.”

“Yes, I agree.” You stop in your tracks causing him to also. “Although I think…” you say as you place a hand on his wrist, shaking your head. “I think it’s just him.”

“We shall see.” His other hand comes and rests upon your own, you stare into his visor a warm feeling enveloping your being.

“Yes,” breaking out of your stupor, you nod, taking your hand back and continuing the walk back. “Come on.”

Once back in your rooms, you and Din discuss combat. You’ve asked for a refresher as it’s been awhile since you’ve trained. Before he leaves to investigate, you made a plan.

Your uncle lives in the upper tower of the Castle, he usually returns around 12am each night and leave around 10am. Din is going to go take a look around, but not touch or remove anything. He wants to get ahead on Calrins plans, and simply confirm. You are going to stay in your rooms, your windows and door locked and partially barricaded for the night. You feel prepared. He’s left you with a new blade, and you retrieve your own from the stone floor near your bed. He’s also left with you a communicator, incase either of you need to contact the other. You feel as prepared as you can be for the time being, but you are worried what the future holds.

Will you fight? Will you have to kill your uncle? Or witness his death. How will you feel about it? And how far has his war progressed? Is your uncle truly a Sith Lord? You were not aware that your uncle was force sensitive. Could you be? How could you tell if you were? Was your mother? Everything is overwhelming and you hate the uneasy feeling that sinks in your bones.

For now you try not to worry, mentally preparing for a fight instead. Changing into a comfortable outfit, a tan pair of tactical pants that cuff at the ankle, a sage green long sleeved tunic that stopped at mid thigh and had a slit on each side that began at the waist, revealing your hips and thighs. You also added a back mock neck top underneath your tunic, and you tied your hair into a braid the best you could. You’ve placed your boots by your bedside, prepared to put them in quickly.

With nothing left to do, you put your covers back and get into bed. Laying your head back on the pillow and getting comfy under the covers, you close your eyes, hoping to put off thoughts of your uncle and his actions. Eventually you fitfully drift off.

——Din——

As he shuts the door to Y/n’s rooms, Din takes a steadying breath. He feels…nervous. He feels anger for her, anger at the man’s actions. Towards Y/n, towards many many other people.

He can’t let anything happen to her, he has come to care for her too much. He would burn the world for her. He…loves her, Din realizes, deeply.

He makes his way down the hall, it’s around 11:30pm, if Y/n is right, he has about half an hour to look for anything in that man’s room. He walks through the castle, in high alert. Does Calrin have spies? Does he have security?

Din switches on a sensor in his visor, scanning for any unusual power sources or signatures. Nothing from what he can see. He tiptoes up the spiral stairs to the top of the tower and slowly opens the door. But before he pushed it open he turned on his heat signature feature, scanning for human life this time. Still nothing. Behind the door was a plain room, a bed, a wardrobe, a door that was open revealing a bathroom. He had a desk and a closet door.

It’s very…empty.

Din decides to start at the desk, refilling through the papers. But none of it pertains to his second life. After the desk he moves to the bed, checking underneath and in the chest in front of it. Nothing. Just clothing. He stands from searching underneath the bed, and does a turn around the room. His eyes catch at the closet, there is a abnormal shape behind a few hanging robes. Din walks closer, eyes borrowing under his helmet. He shifts the robes aside, and the wall is somewhat detached from the rest, a rectangular shape like a door behind it.

Pushing on the section of wall he is able to get it open, but then he has to shift it to the side. It’s a pocket door, hidden inside the closet wall.

The contents behind it have Dins eyes widening.

There is an entire wall of Sith and Dead Eye memorabilia, and rows of weapons. Two light sabers from what he can see, and a table in the center, with a tablet and a paper map atop it.

Here is his proof, he thinks almost sadly. Anger rises inside him again, this man will pay, he promises himself.

Din picks up the tablet, searching the contents.

There are plans for his syndicate, they plan to advance within a month. His kidnap attempt is outlined inside as well. That clearly failed. No one knows exactly what the Siths plans were, just that he had been conquering entire worlds. It does not say anything about his goal, it just contains fractures of plans. He sets the tablet down after searching it’s entirety, and then he looks at the map.

It shows the region.

The castle, the landmarks, their camp, and a cave labeled, ‘prison.’ Din feels sorry for any of the people he has imprisoned inside that dank, dark abyss of a cave.

Din rolls the map up and puts it in his waistband. After checking a few other things inside the room, Din makes the decision to wait. And take the man down here and now. No remorse, he doesn’t deserve it.

He clicks on his communicator, “Y/n.”

It takes her a moment, but then he hears the static and her lovely voice. “I’m here.” She says quietly, voice a little tired. Had he woken her up? She must have been exhausted from todays events. He imagines her cuddled up in her bed, hair a mess. Maybe there were lines on her face from the pillow. What was she wearing? Maybe a nightgown.

Fuck, Din. Focus.

“It’s him.” He says lowly the images of her dissipating and anger seeping into his voice. “He has a secret room full of evidence. I’ve found a map consisting of all their secret bases. I’m going to wait for him to return. I’m going to kill him tonight.”

He lifts his thumb, the line crackling once again. He waits for a response with bated breath.

Finally shes responds, timidly. “Don’t kill him.”

He clenched his jaw. They might need him after all, maybe she’s right. “Okay,” he responds curtly.

“I want to speak with him first.” She says tone laced with anger, not at him he knows.

He takes a moment, “I understand.”

He waits a second before putting away his communicator, and he smiles softly as her voice speaks once more, in a crackling whisper. “Be careful.”

Din decides to put the door back, and wait in the dark for Calrin to return.

The time is now just a little over 12am, so din prepares himself. He charges his stun dart, a new toy he picked up before excepting this job, and shifts a vibroblade into his hand.

It isn’t long before Calrin shows up.

Just as Din expects, He shuffles in quietly to the room, making his way over to the secret room. Din can’t see him so he has to blindly prepare for his attack, he shifts to the corner in the dark, dart at the ready.

Calrin shuffles in, unaware of Dins presence. He has a duffle in his hand that he drops to the ground near the table.

Din makes his move before Calrin could turn.

He rushes forward, but before he can shoot the dart Calrin is twisting flicking the gun out of Dins hands with a wave of his hands, clattering to the floor along with his vibroblade.

He throws Din against the wall with the force, a grunt coming from his throat at the feeling.

“Din Djarin,” Calrin says menacingly. “It seems I’ve been found out.”

Din doesn’t say a word.

“So what?” Calrin says with a chuckle, “You’ve decided to try and end this war yourself? You were going to come in here…and kill me?”

Din struggles, still not speaking.

“Answer me!” Calrin shouts, voice like venom to Din’s ears. “You Mandolorian scum. I should have known better…employing you. I’d heard the stories…but the fucking court wanted Y/n protected.” He hissed.

Din is huffing now, still struggling against the force of Calrin’s power.

Calrin rushes Din, yanking his helmet off.” Din eyes widen, panic fills his chest.

Fuck. No. No.

He starts chuckling again, “Not so tough now?”

Din bears his teeth, his face scrunched in anger. Eyes blazing with hate. “Fuck. You.” He spits.

Calrin comes closer, clocking Din in the face.

Din realizes he can move his hands, clenching a fist. Ever so slowly starts to reach for his saber, detaching it from his belt.

“So what did you find Mando?” Calrin questions in amusement. “Did you connect the dots?” He turns his back on Din. “Oh.” He says to himself, starting to pace. “it was you who rescued my niece.”

Calrin let’s go of the force pining Din, and he slides to the floor with a thump.

“Does she know?” He questions. “Who I am?”

Din doesn’t respond. He gets to his feet, saber in hand, and ignites it.

——Y/n——

“I can’t wait any longer.” You mutter to yourself, pacing your rooms. You hadn’t really been sleeping, mostly just shuffling around in your bed. Worried out of your wind, after the conversation with Din. Maker. Was he okay? You hadn’t received any word from him, it’s been hours. It was almost morning.

Making up you your mind, you swiftly make way to the barricaded door and clear it. You have to tell the court, maybe they can contact the resistance. Hopefully none of them were involved.

It was a risk, but one you needed to make.

You shuffle down the hall, making your way to the court room, bursting in you’re met with a single man. Tom-El, you believe is his name. He looks up, startled.

“Princess!” He chokes, rushing to bow.

“Don’t bother.” You say, rather rudely. He’s left standing awkwardly, not knowing what to do. “I need to speak with you about a very sensitive matter.”

He face grows serious, half bowing his head. “Of course Princess.”

“Please wake Xil, I need to speak with him and someone from the court. High priest Calrin is a traitor to the crown, and a Sith Lord.” You huff out, chest heaving with the words.

Xil was the man who trained you, the one who saw it important you weren’t weak. He was trustworthy. He had served with the resistance during the Battle of Yavin, he had contacts. He could help.

You continue to tell Tom-El the events of the past few hours, his jaw drops, eyes wide. Pleasantries forgotten he rushes to turn the emergency coms, his fingers punching the buttons to contact Xil. His eyes are shifting back and forth from you and the now ringing com, concern and confusion blurring his rather handsome features.

You just stand there, chest still slightly heaving. Anxious to get moving, about Dins whereabouts. Was he okay?

“Commander Xil.” Comes an annoyed response from the com.

“C..commander!” He stutters, not exactly knowing how to say the words. Instead he settles on, “get to the court room as fast as you can. It’s an state emergency.”

“Of course. I’ll be there in a moment.” He says astonished, promptly hanging up.

Tom-El turns to look at you, you look back.

You both wait.

——Din——

Bursting the door open, Din limps out of Calrins quarters, breaths rattling his chest, his hand grips the gaping wound on his side. Blood seeping out of his clothes, dripping down his polished armor. He pauses, coughing wetly, the taste of blood causes him to gag slightly.

He has only one thing on his mind now, Y/n. His sweet girl. He had to apologize, for what he just did. He wanted to kiss her soft, plush lips reverently. He could now, he thinks bitterly.

Din pats himself looking for his Com, letting out a quick breath when he finds it. “Y/n.” He grunts, continuing his limp down the corridor.

“Din!” Comes her quick, worried reply. “Are you alright? Where are you? What happened?”

“Where are you?” He chokes out instead, not wasting his breath on answers.

“I’m in the court room, I’ve enlisted some help.”

Instead of responding he drops his Com back down and continues his stuttered walk, he stumbles slightly his hand catching himself on the wall. He glances, worry finally etching onto his face at the bloody print he leaves behind.

Finally making it to the court he bursts in and halts at what he sees, he’s bracing against the door. Quick breaths harshly escaping out of his chest, rattling when he breathes back in.

There are so many people in the court room, bustling about. So many conversations, he can’t focus. His vision starts to blur, his eyes dart searching for her.

“Din!” He hears her horrified voice call out. He finally sees her, rushing forward, worry marring her beautiful features. “Oh maker! What the fuck happened!” Her hand comes to his face, cradling his jaw. Tears are welling in those shocked eyes.

He hates that. He doesn’t want her to have to feel these things.

He starts to wobble, his knees collapsing. Y/n tries to guide him to the floor, but he is so much larger than her. He hits the ground, his eyes rolling in the back of his head.

——Y/n——

He is laid up in your bed, his armor had been removed, his helmet. Maker.

That was the first time you’d seen him, and he had been battered, covered in blood. But you’d still seen him, his brown eyes, his patchy facial hair, his kissable plump lips. You’d seen him.

They’d rushed him into a bacta tank, injecting him with antibiotics and a bunch of things, you had no idea what they were. You had cried for so long, worried to death about him.

After they’d rushed him off you’d informed the court and resistance members that now filled the court room of where he had been, and they’d gone to search for Calrin, and with much protest you’d accompanied them.

He had been there, to everyone’s astonishment. Dead.

Din had severed his head, with his saber you assume. There had been severe signs of a struggle, and blood everywhere. You had never seen so much blood. Many weapons had littered the floor, and Din’s helmet had been thrown, rolled under the now broken table. You had snatched it up, still shocked at what you’d seen. It had clearly not been a choice on Din’s part, he’d just defended himself.

You sit, his hand in yours, two fingers placed on his wrist obsessively making sure his heart was still beating.

He looked so much better, the bacta has healed his severe wounds, only just touching the cuts on his face. The bruises were now gone but he still had some small cuts, one on his lip, another on his brow.

Tears begin to blur your vision once again, you lean forward and place a soft kiss to his forehead.

“Please wake up Din.” You whisper to yourself, willing him to hear you.

The court, with the help of the resistance are making a plan to thwart the efforts of the syndicate and your uncle’s followers you’re not sure what their plan is right now. More focused on Din.

You sit there, long into the night, only moving to relieve yourself, not bothering to eat or drink anything. Your only thoughts consist of him.

It’s not until early into the night, almost morning when he finally shifts, you jolt at the feeling. His hand slowly grips yours back, you gasp, eyes shifting between his.

“Din!”

His eyes are cracking open, blearily searching about. He blinks harshly, a small smile forming in his dry lips. There is a notch between his brows you want to smooth over.

“Din.” You whisper again, waiting for him to speak.

“Sweet girl.” He rasps, his other hand making it’s way to cup your cheek. Tears start to fall from your tired eyes once again, you sniff, chuckling slightly.

“Oh maker.” You cry, practically launching yourself on top him. He lets out an oof as you make contact. “I was so scared.”

His hand rests on your back, your head on his chest and your leg twined with his. It’s moments before he speaks, you’re still huffing out silent sobs.

“I’m sorry.” He chokes, remorse clear in his voice. You shoot up, hand braced on his chest. You brows lower in confusion.

“Sorry? For what? You did it Din!”

His head shakes minutely, “I…I killed him.”

She shakes her head back at him, “it’s okay.” You tell him intently. “The Sith is dead, he was an evil man Din. That part is over…thanks to you.”

He stares at you, no words come out of his mouth. His eyes shift lower, he glanced at your mouth. Almost…longingly.

Does he want to kiss you?

A small smile forms on your face, you look at his lips quickly, moving back up to his eyes. You lean into him, closing the distance between you ever so slowly. Your eyes drift close, and then your lips meet sweetly, softly.

You heart fills, love swelling inside you. You’re kissing him. You love him. His large hand is moving up your side to your face again, your hands are on his chest still. The kiss deepens, your feel his tongue brush your lips, requesting entrance, you accept moaning at the taste of him.

You get lost in each other, only pulling away for breath.

You’re both panting, now. “Din.” You sigh his name, pulling away.

“I love you.” He burst out, surprising you.

Your eyes shoot to his. You smile wildly, tears once again, filling your eyes. “I love you too.”

You both chuckle, just staring, wide smiles cracking your faces. Jumping when you hear a knock at the door, you extract yourself from him as his slowly sits up in the bed. You move across the room and open the door.

“Princess.” The man states, “Xil requests yours, and the Mandalorians presence in the court room.”

“We’ll be along in a moment.” You respond, closing the door in his face.

“That was sort of rude.” Comes Din sardonic reply.

You smirk, rolling your eyes.

“What’s going on?” He questions more seriously, as you make your way back to his side.

“Xil was able to contact the resistance, they’ve come to help.”

He nods, “that’s good.” You nod back.

You can’t help but feel a little sad that your moment was interrupted, you’d just gotten him back.

Not to mention you have so many unanswered questions regarding Calrin, questions that will remain unanswered.

“Let’s go.”

———

Once arriving back to the court room you search out Xil, Din tagging close behind you. He hasn’t put his helmet back on, you wonder if there is a reason, you wonder if he ever will again.

“Xil,” you say stopping behind him. He’s hunched over a table, speaking with a man in an orange jumpsuit.

“Ah. Princess.” His eyes shift to Din, he nods his head once acknowledging the man towering behind you. “We’re going to attack within an hour.”

Your eyes widen at the news, that was fast.

“Thanks to the Mandalorian we’ve found very important details on their whereabouts and their plans. We must act swiftly.”

“O…of course.” You stutter, head moving to look at Din. His own lower to you.

He smirks at you, eyes moving back up to Xil. “How can we help?”

The end.

——————————————

AN: if you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading! Again Anon- Thank you for requesting, I hope this story was to your liking!

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x female reader #the bodyguard #the mandalorian x f!reader

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jackrrabbit · 3 years

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Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul��s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha imagines #tw dubcon #tw sacrilege #tw christianity #overhaul #chisaki kai #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia x reader #boku no hero imagines #my hero academia x reader #my hero imagines #boku no hero fanfic #smut

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Just Two Sad Roommates

Corpse Husband x Reader(Female)

Warnings: Swearing (maybe)

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Summary: The power of medieval tavern music gets put to the test when Corpse’s roommate is having a rough day. SPOILER ALERT: it’s more powerful than anyone could assume.

Requested by Anon. You know who you are 😊😋 Wish I could tag you, I loved this idea so much and had such a fun time writing it. Hope you enjoy it just as much 🥰

The last twenty four hours haven’t been so great.

Last night I had a huge fight with my boyfriend over his flirty messages with several girls. It was not just witty banter, it was way more and way more hurtful to me. He obviously denied it and defended himself, at least in the beginning of the argument. Then he took on the accusatory stance, pointing fingers at me for living with another guy. That had me absolutely fuming. Not only was his statement fabricated and literally made up on the spot, but he also used some seriously horrible insults for him. I was having non of it. Corpse is a really great roommate, sweet guy and overall amazing person. I haven’t once argued with him since we’ve started living together. We’re actually quite good friends. So hearing my asshole boyfriend call him all those names was more than enough to chase him out of the apartment. Thankfully, Corpse wasn’t home to hear all that. He rarely leaves the apartment but by some miracle this was the time he was absent.

Then this morning my mom called me to have a chat. It started off decently enough but it only remained that way for so long. It didn’t take her long to start criticizing each and every element of my existence. From my job, my boyfriend, my living arrangement, the career I’ve decided to pursue, the fact I moved to a different state, my paycheck that’s lower than her friend’s daughter’s...…..You get the point.

Now I’m sitting here, contemplating what the two years I’ve been in a relationship with Marcus mean to me. I guess it is just like a phone call from my mother - starts off nice but slowly deteriorates. All things follow this pattern in my life, apparently. And just like the phone calls, I’ve considered ending things between me and him many times but never actually decided on it. Until now. The last part of this decision is executing it, which doesn’t look very promising. My thumbs are frozen, hovering over the keyboard.

I take a second to take a look at my life from a third person point of view, like an out of body experience. I am wrapped in a blanket, huddled on the couch like a burrito with a face. A really sad burrito with a face. I have a job where I work as much as three highly ranked workers and get paid a little over a secretary’s paycheck. I’m in a constant state of exhaustion and disinterest. I often forget I’m human and just assume I can live like a cactus - no food, no water. I have a boyfriend that’s cheating on me and most likely has been for quite some time now. And we’ve been dating for two fucking years. Man, that must be the longest cheat streak in history. Who knows with how many girls as well. And I still have trouble deciding weather to break up with him or not. Actually no, scratch that, I have already decided, but it feel so unnatural and so out of character that my body refuses to complete the task of delivering the final blow to the structure of this relationship which was already weak to begin with.

And it only got weaker when I started catching feelings for another guy. I know, I know, I’m a bad person for that, but I was never planning to act on those feelings. They have always just...lingered, loomed over me. They got stronger and stronger every time Marcus and I would fight, as though they were laughing at my mock of a relationship.

Speaking of laughter, I hear my roommate laughing in his recording room. I gave him the spare room for his recording equipment for a cheap add to his rent fee and it’s probably the second best decision I’ve ever made - first being picking him to be my roommate. He was among the first to reply to my online add and appeared the least sketchy over the phone. More hypnotizing if I’m honest. He could’ve told me he was a hitman and I wouldn’t have batted an eye, handing the keys to his room and the apartment without a second thought. All he had to do was keep talking. Again, SUE ME.

“Fuck, I’m so fucking pathetic!“ I drop my phone when all the strings inside me snap, releasing the sobs and tears I’ve been holding back for so long.

I bring my knees up to my chest, hiding my head in between them, desperately trying to shield myself from the plane crash that is my life at the moment. Crying makes me feel even sadder and more miserable but I have nothing left to do to get all the crap that’s piled up inside me out.

I’m on the verge of falling asleep, the tears have dried and the sobs have died somewhere in my chest, when I hear what sounds like music straight from Robin Hood’s time.

Holy shit, I’ve lost it

I lift my head from in-between my knees, looking around the living room for the source of the jolly, lighthearted tune which despite all the heaviness of my self-loathing makes me feel like the main character in an medieval adventure. Wait...Holy crap, it’s that medieval adventure, Robin Hood-ass music I hear from Corpse’s room!

I whip around to face the entrance from to the hallway where I see an arm sticking out, holding a phone which is where the music is coming from.

“Corpse?“ I call out to him in a questioning manner, shifting to a sitting position with my blanket kicked off of me and bunched up next to me.

“I can’t tell if you’re angry or sad...or both. Didn’t want to get attacked upon entering the room.“ I see the right side of his face peek out as well.

I break out into laughter, covering my mouth with one hand, “You’re such a dork.”

He takes this as a sign to come in, pausing the music as he does so. “What’s wrong?”

My laugh stops but a smile remains on my face as I look at him. He just has that effect on me. “A lot. What’s going on with you?”

He shrugs his shoulders, plopping down on the couch, “The usual, streaming Among Us. You should play with me and my friends some time.”

I scoff, “I can pull of a lie no problem. Maybe I really should.” I don’t actually consider it, it’s just funny to think about.

I have never watched any of Corpse’s content. Not his scary story videos, not his streams, not his animated compilations. Just his songs. And let me tell you...they are hella good. One song and I was hooked.

“Hey, I have a question.“ I tilt my head to look at him, “What’s with you and your love for medieval adventure music?“

“Medieval tavern music, and it’s not really love.“ He shakes his head with this dopey grin that is just. so. adorable. “More like a coping mechanism. Tell me, did you feel less sad I played it for you?“

I stop and think for a second. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Point made.“ He declares, leaving me to nod in amusement. “Now, tell me what that ‘a lot’ is.“

So, I do. I tell him everything, from how my boyfriend is cheating on me to how my mother thinks I’m a complete failure. He listens carefully, paying close attention to everything I’m saying. I catch myself laughing a few times while I retell the recent upsetting events.

Must be that music.

“So, you broke up?“ He asks once I end my monologue with a sigh

I shake my head disappointedly, “Not yet. I still haven’t pulled the plug. I don’t know what to say.”

He holds out his hand to me, “May I be of assistance?”

I look at his hand then at him and contemplate for only a second before deciding ‘what the hell’ and handing over my phone after unlocking it. The screen displays my boyfriend’s chat so Corpse just types away what he has in mind. Before pressing ‘send’, he hands the phone back to me. “Proofread it.”

‘Dear Marcus, this is one of your girlfriends speaking. Yes, one of them. You think I’m not onto what you’re doing, you little shit? Well, to your dismay, I am. And so, I discontinue this relation between us. That word might have been too long for your IQ so let me rephrase: We are over. Finished. Hope your other girlfriends wake up too, unless they are already in the know, of course. Love, but really hate, Y/N‘

I was never aware this level of sass even existed.

I add a smiling emoji and send the message, sighing in relief. “I can check that off my to-do list now.”

We both lean back on the couch, looking up at the ceiling. A moment of comfortable silence takes over, leaving us both wandering in our own heads.

“Hey, um, I wanted to do this when I first moved in, but then I met your boyfriend and I took the hint. Now that you’re single, would you want to...“ he sounds a bit uncertain but continues regardless, “It’s ridiculous cause I don’t really like the idea of going out, but maybe we could order take-out...“

“Are you circling around asking me on an at-home date?“ I am surprised by how unbothered I manage to sound while I’m squealing on the inside. It’s fascinating how quickly a person can flip someone’s day around. Turns out it wasn’t the music at all. It was him that had the positive effect on mine.

Out of the corner of my eye I catch his face turn red and have to contain my laughter. The grin can’t be tamed though, especially not when he says, “Yes.”

Internally squealing, I launch myself from the couch, standing up straight in front of him. “Thai. My usual order is on the sticky note on the fridge. But first,” I offer him my hand, “I need to find out if a person can even dance to that ridiculous music.” At his amusement, my grin widens, “May I have this dance?”

He laughs that adorable laugh of his I’ve only heard through the layer of a wooden door. It’s even cuter when there’s nothing between me and its source. The source is cute too, not gonna lie.

With a shake of his head which is most likely disbelief, he takes the hand I’ve offered him, saying: “And you call me a dork.”

@susceptible-but-siriusexual @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @hacker-ghost @itsminniekat @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze

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imthatchishiyasimp · 3 years

Text

HELLOOOOO!!!

I'm freaking out this is my first post, like the first one shot I post and write about AIB and Chishiya.

I really hope you all like it, please please please tell me what you think about it and whatever you want to tell me.

It's long (4444 words), I know, but I hate small things because I get upset. It's very close to the story and it doesn't have lot's of changes, I wanted to try first to write about something I know. In the future I will write more original and new stuff. Also, I wanted to get used to the universe and to the characters first.

HAVE A NICE READ 💚

“THIS WAY TO THE GAME ARENA”

The sign flashes all around the city. I slowly walk towards the Toei Sendagaya block apartment, focused on the cube in my hands. Due to having no electricity, I’ve gotten used to pick random things from stores to entertain myself.

It’s still shocking to feel the city so silent and calm, and at the same time it feels terrifying. One would think that being that people die every day, the streets would be forgiving. You can’t even lower your guard now. Even since the first day, I’ve liked walking around the streets, checking out shops and random apartments. I kinda feel powerful, but it’s something that deep inside I know it’s just fake and limited. And I’m not giving up, but at least I’m going to enjoy now that I can, until ‘they’ decide that I’m not needed around anymore.

The tall complex shines between the bushes and buildings, its lights on every floor lighted on. I place myself a few meters hidden behind the stairs leading to the central lobby. From there, I sit and watch people climb the stairs. A couple of them look pretty scared and lost, showing signs of this being their first game. The rest all look shaken up but used to this. When it looks like no one else will come, I get up and get to the crowd around the phones.

There’s thirteen people waiting and all of them look at me while I pick the phone from the table. When the facial recognition is finished I can see that there’s only a few seconds left for the game to start. Almost didn’t make it. Would have been stupid to die because I was daydreaming.

‘Move aside’ I say to Chishiya, elbowing him after not having a response. He looks at me annoyed and slips off his earphones. He finally moves to let me place my back at the wall and get my hair in a bun.

“REGISTRATION HAS CLOSED. THERE ARE A TOTAL OF 14 PARTICIPANTS. THE GAME WILL NOW COMMENCE.”

It’s so easy to point out who the newcomers are and the ones that are sick of playing. You can also name who’s going to be willing to put themselves first and who’s going to scary run the whole game.

I start rolling the sleeves of my sweatshirt up when a boy with a cap starts talking to some guys. They look lost, but not new to this. Might be the first week here. I eye them from my spot, not saying a thing but listening to the whole exchange.

“Excuse me, do you know what this is?” He asks a black haired boy. Honestly, he looks a mess, like he has just gotten up from bed and hasn't changed in a few days. “I ended up here and I have no idea what’s going on”.

“It’s a game” He answers. At the same time, the blonde man next to him, probably his friend, tells him to stop it. I chuckle and cover it up with a cough, earning myself a glare from both Chishiya and Aguni. I might be prone to get in trouble with people and they won’t be happy if I screw a game up. Better be quiet.

The blonde guy whispers to his friend and I try to pick something up from the conversation. Not get close to the new ones and something else.

“DIFFICULTY: FIVE OF SPADES”

The card flashes on our phones, telling us the kind of game and the level of difficulty. I was so curious about the card when I got to my first game, I didn’t know what it meant and what I was supposed to do with it. I’m a bit ashamed to admit that I admire the cleverness behind the rules and the method of the games. It’s the work of both a psycho and a genius.

A sporty girl starts to stretch just after the card shows, so she must know what it means. She’s calm and collected and I bet she’s willing to put all of us on the killing zone before she goes down. We could be friends, I think.

I hear a sigh next to me and I catch a glimpse of Chishiya rolling his eyes. He doesn’t exactly hate physical games, but they sometimes mean having to run or climb and he’s not a fan of working out. And, even though he won’t admit it, he doesn’t like having his white hoodie dirty. Not going to judge, I don’t love spades games either, but I will choose them over the hearts ones a million times.

I get down to tie my shoes tighter just in case. I would hate tripping like the clown I really am in front of all these people. Some guy in a hat starts explaining to the two friends from before what it means a spades game. Club games are hard if there are more newcomers than experienced people. I mean, if it's a game where team work means everything, you bet you prefer working with someone who knows the way around the games. Diamond ones are a bit weird: being clever will get you through them, but sometimes the answer is so straightforward that you get lost looking for the catch. Heart games are the worst. They will kill you even if you survive, and pray that you don’t get to play with a friend or someone you know.

“GAME: A GAME OF TAG.”

“RULE: RUN AWAY FROM THE TAGGER.”

“CLEAR CONDITION: DISCOVER THE SAFEZONE HIDDEN IN ONE OF THE BUILDING ROOMS WITHIN THE TIME LIMIT. YOU CLEAR THE GAME WHEN THIS OBJECTIVE IS FULFILLED.”

“TIME LIMIT: 20 MINUTES.”

“AFTER 20 MINUTES HAS PASSED, THE TIME BOMB HIDDEN IN THE BUILDING WILL EXPLODE.”

I turn around to face Chishiya, grinning like a mad girl. He doesn’t even flinch when he stops me from talking. “No, I’m not racing you to the top.”

“But…” I sigh and watch as everyone starts running to the stairs like lost puppies. “You are so mean”. I punch him in the shoulder and cross my arms, walking towards the lift. No need running seven floors up and wasting energy if I’m not even going to be able to brag about having won a race.

Chishiya follows closely behind, probably guessing I’m going to try and leave him there.

“TWO MINUTES BEFORE THE GAME STARTS.”

We get inside the lift and silently wait until we get to the seventh floor. It’s been a long time since I used one, not everyday you get to play in a building apartment. Feels nice, and like we’re back to normal.

Once we get to the top, we both choose a position that lets us have a good look at the whole complex. He goes to one wing while I leave for the other one. No point leaving a flank unseen. I take my cube out and restart it, keeping an eye on the people looking around scattered through the floors. I don’t get why someone would choose saying in the lower ground when a tagger is supposed to chase you through the whole building. Dude, that’s the most critical place to start.

“Hey, don’t get distracted with those games of yours.”

“Don’t be mean, Chishiya. You know I’m paying attention.” Anyway, once I finish the cube, I keep it in my pocket and rest my arms on the banister.

Aguni and his new friend get to the seventh floor and both of us wave towards him. Like always, he completely ignores us and keeps walking towards another high point.

“That’s nasty” Chishiya says and I nod along. Aguni is always so serious during games, it’s boring.

“I place my bet on those two guys and the sporty girl surviving”. I firmly say. They look like they will make it, but not without having a rough time.

He has the audacity to snort and laugh at me and I look at him surprised. “You’re joking. Everyone looks like they’re about to die, as usual. Just look at them, they don’t know shit about what to do”.

“Were you this calm in your first games? Don’t be mean, they are trying their best. No one wants to die.”

“But, where you that stupid?” He says while pointing to a couple of girls on the second floor who are touching their phones desperately. “I’m not saying you gotta be a genius from the start, but if you don’t collect yourself quickly, you are already dead.”

“Well, my majesty, not all of us are like you, and some people need a little more time, and a little more help.”

Chishiya looks at me and, as if I had imagined, a caring and sorry look crosses his eyes. He probably remembers the first time he saw me get through the games and how I completely lost it once. It wasn’t easy.

“THE GAME WILL NOW COMMENCE.”

He nudges my arm with his elbow and I look at him.

“THE TIME LIMIT IS 20 MINUTES.”

“Hey” He says with a soft voice.

“GAME START.”

“Don’t die this time.”

“Wasn't planning to.”

“THE TAGGER IS NOW ON THE MOVE.”

As if we all had planned it, the whole complex goes silent, trying to locate this said tagger. A trumpet goes off and everyone looks scared, ready to bolt to wherever they can.

The sound of the lift’s doors can be heard from our position, so the tagger is probably on the sixth or fifth floor.

Not a penny drop can be heard. Not a breath.

Some people start walking and try to open doors. The rest are all watching closely until something happens.

And it does.

Gunshots run through the dense air that surrounds us. I try to see where they come from and I finally catch sight of the tagger. Probably a man, judging for the height, with a horse head and a really mean gun. He’s on the sixth floor, just in front of the stairs.

I point at him and nudge Chishiya, but I already know that he has seen him.

There’s now thirteen of us.

And then shots are fired again and we can see the two friends and the one with the hat running down the stairs, away from the tagger.

“Told you, they are gonna get killed.” Chishiya says with a smirk.

“Oh shut up, this is not a TV show we are talking about. And I have faith in them”.

They split up on the third floor, the hat man keeps going down while the other two try to hide in the hallway. Not long after, on the ground floor that the tagger chases and shots the first one and finds another man freaking out. I don’t know if it’s better that he died because he went off the game zone instead of being shot by the tagger. Anyway, he’s also dead. And that makes three dead players.

Eleven participants left.

“See, they are smart. At least the cute one”. I say smiling.

Chishiya looks at me and raises an eyebrow, silently questioning just what I said.

“What? It’s not like I’m lying; he is cute, and smart.” I laugh and wink at him, cutting eye contact with him. If we are going to have an awkward moment, please don’t be while we are playing for our lives.

The killing spree of the tagger continues with the pretty and lost two girls. They sure are on their first game, because they look so freaking scared and unprepared. I mean, who would have come with heels and handbags. I scoff and shake my head watching how one of them falls dead and the other one wastes an incredible opportunity of getting away while the tagger reloads. Well, not all of us are strong enough to leave our friend and not panic at the same time. Shame she has to die, anyway.

So now we are nine players still alive.

Looks like everything’s gone silent again, until shouts break the silence and we all look for the source. It’s the cute guy and I laugh when I understand what he’s saying.

“Everyone! The tagger is currently at the second level of the central area! The tagger has bad vision because of his mask! Let’s inform each other of the tagger’s location and search for the safezone together!”

“Oh my god, did he seriously turn a spades game into a club’s one?” I laugh again and Chishiya scoffs under his hood. “I want to be best friends with him”.

“Don’t be stupid.” Chishiya says. We move a bit to see where they are going now that they are all running. “It’s a good idea, not going to lie, but no one will answer him.”

He mutters something else, but I don’t really catch it. I think I saw the tagger doubt his step when he heard the guy shouting, but he definitely looks annoyed when the sporty girl shouts back.

“The tagger is moving from the fourth level of the central area! Anyone nearby, run!”

I celebrate and raise my hands, clapping and laughing in Chishiya’s face. He looks surprised and tells me to shut it.

The girl runs from the tagger and finds an elderly woman in the hallway. With the tagger on their back, they are probably going to get killed. I grip the banister and hold my breath. She seems friendly and clever, I’m internally rooting for her.

Suddenly she jumps off the balcony and starts climbing the pipes up to the next floor. The other woman dies behind her, and the tagger tries to catch the girl but fails.

“She’s pretty good.” Chishiya mutters. “You just wish you could do that. It’s called envy”.

“As if you could do that too. You are just as weak as me.”

“Hey! Don’t throw me in the same casket!”

“EIGHT MINUTES UNTIL THE GAME ENDS.”

“THERE ARE CURRENTLY EIGHT SURVIVORS.”

Already? We should start moving.

I look at Chishiya under my hair and he frowns at something. I follow his gaze and see the tagger looking at the cap boy from an upside floor. What’s shocking it’s him starting to shoot from there. He has been killing just people he casually finds while walking around, not shooting from that distance.

The boy goes down, but looks unharmed. The two friends are on the same floor and get to him, running away from the door he was trying to open.

Not bothering to ask Chishiya if he got that, I start jumping on the place and keep my phone in my pockets. He slides off the hood and shoves me towards the stairs.

“Shall we, ma’am?”

“THERE ARE FIVE MINUTES REMAINING.”

From the corner of my eye I catch Aguni intercepting the boys and I make a face. It doesn’t always go well when he does that, he tends to let them die in order to have his way. The sporty girl stops to talk to them and she starts jumping from floor to floor.

“Do you think someone’s going to get it too?” I ask out loud. Chishiya shrugs and keeps on walking. I tsk and stay behind him when we get to the hallway. I turn around and watch my back, even though I heard a fight somewhere near. Probably Aguni, who are we kidding.

Just when we are arriving at the safezone apartment, the cute boy appears from the other side.

“Cute boy! I’m glad you realized it!” I happily say without thinking. I mouth a silent sorry when he looks at me a bit perplexed. Chishiya elbows me, hard, and I whine a bit. That’s mean.

He picks the doorknob first, but doesn’t open it. The three of us are watching closely, and honestly I’m a bit nervous about the time. I don’t like risking it as much as Chishiya.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” he asks.

The boy answers a couple of seconds after, lost in his thoughts “Why did the tagger chase us? He could have just waited here.”

He is onto something. Now, I’m not liking this at all.

“Seems like there’s something else we don’t know.” Chishiya says, keeping his calm exterior. He’s going to use this poor boy in case he has any doubt of a risk. “However,” he adds, taking his phone out “if you don’t open it…”

There are three minutes left.

Sweat starts running down my back, making me shiver and hold my breath while I watch the boy start turning the doorknob. All our phones beep announcing the time left until we all die with the bomb.

Slowly, he opens the door with caution. We all walk inside, in silence and with darkness surrounding us. It 's empty. No furniture, neither personal objects nor some leftovers of someone’s life. A few steps in we notice a door at the end of the room and we all walk towards it.

It’s not until we are too far inside that another tagger walks out behind the door.

“Look out!” the boy screams and pushes us out of the shot range.

Gunshots fly around the apartment and I duck behind the bathroom door. Chishiya uses the taser and the tagger goes down, but recovers quickly and starts shooting again. I scream when a bullet gazes at my arm. It fucking hurts, but at least the bullet didn’t got me completely.

I can hear the apartment door being shut and the other door at the end closing too. They must have gotten through them. I hope they aren’t harmed.

I wait, trying not to make any sound in case the tagger comes to finish me off. I search through the room, but nothing seems lethal enough to use like a weapon. I hate bringing weapons to games, I don’t really want to kill anyone if I can help it.

Gunshots are fired and I cover myself up, even though they are not directed towards me. Fighting blade weapons? I’m okay with that. Fighting people? Not against it. But, I have nothing towards a gun. I mean, it can take me from a long distance! No point.

“Everyone! The safezone is in apartment 406! It’s impossible to clear the game alone! We need two people to do this!”

Are you kidding? This is so mean. What if you were the only survivor? Not fair, not at all.

Well, it seems like I should get moving and try to do something useful in this game. I haven’t done shit, now that I think about it.

Slowly, I open the door just in time to see the tagger shoot the door and break the safelock. I take small steps following it, ready to throw myself to placate it. Just when the gun is going up I jump and kick the tagger in the knee, managing to bring it to the floor.

I hear a scream coming from the tagger and a lady cursing from behind the mask. She starts shooting and I scream trying to cover myself without being hit. The guy bolts and tries to help me get her off the gun, but she keeps fighting like a mad person.

We both go down before she gets us with the bullets and I catch a glimpse of Chishiya at the door, trying to help but having to cover himself because of the lost shots.

The phones all inform us of the ten seconds remaining at the same time that the sporty girl jumps through the glass of the balcony. The tagger kicks me and gets the gun pointing at my face and I panic just a bit before I push back. The other guy tries to help me, but with no help.

“Hey!” Chishiya shouts.

I’m on the floor fighting the tagger with the gun under my chin, trying to get it off my face, but I see him throwing the taser to the girl and she quickly gets the tagger down.

I let out a sigh before I heard the time almost coming to an end. My eyes search for him and we lock our gazes. I can feel the breath we are both holding and the silent words running through our minds. My fingers clench and I swallow, accepting death like a forgotten friend, saying goodbye with a blink.

But, just like that, with a blink, it all finishes. The buttons are pressed on the last second and we all hear the beeps from our phones.

“GAME CLEAR.”

“CONGRATULATIONS.”

In that same moment, the tagger gets the mask off and we can see an old lady crying looking at us. The collar in her neck starts beeping faster and faster and I scramble to get away from her. Chishiya grabs both my arms and I scream at the touch in the bullet gaze from before, but he doesn’t let go and gets me away at the same time that the collar explodes, killing the lady.

My whole back is covered in blood and I roughly grab Chishiya’s hoodie. I don’t want to look at her and see what we did, even though it was unintended. She was also playing, and she died because we won.

Chishiya and I are left in the room with the dead tagger, and he grips my hand and makes me let go of him. He starts checking the pockets of the lady and gets something out, but I don’t register exactly what.

I get out of the apartment to breathe. I hate this part where we really think about what went down here. Lots of people died, and we got a few days to live just to have to risk it again in the next game. Could have we saved someone? Not really, I know that. But it doesn’t make it easier anyway.

“I’m Arisu.” Someone says beside me. I turn and the cute boy is there, watching me from a distance. “I wanted to thank you, for risking yourself back there. We are alive thanks to all of you.” He sticks out his hand to me and waits.

I’m speechless. No one has thanked me like this in any game. I didn’t really do a thing, but he’s thanking me. I should be the one doing it, he cooperated with the other girl and they stopped the bomb. We could have died there.

I let out a small laugh and shake his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Arisu. And thanks to you, you did the dirty work inside the room.”

I look back inside and watch Chishiya stick the paper in his hoodie and walk towards us.

“I look forward to meeting you somewhere else, hopefully not dead in a game. Be careful and enjoy the warm water in the ocean now that we are all alone in the city.”

With a wink, I walk out of the apartment building with Chishiya not too far behind. I think he heard me talking to Arisu, but he doesn’t comment on it.

We walk, and we walk, and we walk. Neither of us likes to go back to the Beach in the cars, so we always take a stroll through the streets, enjoying the silence and the stars shining above us.

“Does it hurt?” he asks.

“Mmh?” I look at him questioning and he nods to my bleeding arm. “Oh, yes, like a bitch. But I’ll have to wait until we get there.”

He tsks and grabs my arm, leading us to a pharmacy around the corner. I don’t say anything, knowing he will shut me up and will only be a waste of time. We get inside and he starts looking for some disinfectant and bandages.

He knows his stuff. I was surprised at first to discover he knows his way around the medical grounds; and I’m glad he does. It doesn't hurt having someone nearby capable of dealing with nasty wounds.

He silently works and I watch him closely. He’s handsome. And he knows it, that’s why he smirks feeling my gaze on his face. I trace his features taking my time. His eyes are the most scary thing I’ve ever met. They hold so much knowledge and feelings. I always feel like he could take me apart just with his eyes. He mostly covers his emotions, so even though you search for micro expressions, you will come empty handed almost always.

I bring my free hand up and run my fingers through his hair. I love it, it’s so smooth and soft. And the fact that he always wears white to match his hair makes me smile like an idiot.

Chishiya clears his throat and starts covering up the wound. My hand drops and rests in his arm, basking in the heat he’s making.

Once he’s done, he brings down my sleeves and looks me in the eye, silently checking if I’m okay. I nod and take his hand, quickly gripping and, just as fast, letting go. I can hear him sigh behind me, and he follows behind.

“You know, I’m glad I met you here, but I would have prefered meeting you in the real world.”

“Why?”

“Because I know I will be safer here with you, but I also know the probability of us having a happy ending is minimal while we are here.”

“You are not wrong.” A couple of minutes goes by until he adds: “But that doesn’t mean you can’t try and make the most of it while you are alive. It will hurt more, but at this point, who cares?”

I let out a breathy laugh and turn around to hug him. Hard. He stops and lets me hug him, finally giving in and hugging me back. I hide my face in his neck, breathing deep and closing my eyes. I can feel his pulse and his chin coming down on my head, his hand running through my back.

“You are an idiot.”

“And you are mean. Deal with it.”

I swear I can feel his lips kissing the top of my head, but it’s so fast I can’t be sure. He starts walking again and I run to catch him before I lose him.

We may have a complicated relationship, if you can call it that. We are there for each other, not sure of what to do, what to give, what to take. But we do not give up. I’m just glad I’m not alone, and thankful that I have someone looking out for me.

I smile all the way to the Beach.

#chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya x reader #aib #alice in borderland #fic #oneshot #reader insert #fanfic #arisu

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renova-writes · 3 years

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The Silver Shadow

Summary: The Avengers come up with a plan to capture you. Unfortunately, you are not a stupid girl. They know this and must come up with something that is foolproof. Everyone knows that this is their only chance for decades to get you and they are not messing around. You make your way to one of your many safe houses only to get captured. But, as it turns out, the Avengers want you alive.

Words: 2,007

Warnings: swearing, violence, talk of suicide

Tags: @shadowolf993 @daisy116

Other Chapters: Masterlist

A/N: I’ve got my plan for this fic FINALLY laid out. I’m sorry it’s taken so long for this chapter. I’ve been busy with the end of the school year and stuff like that. Anyways I hope you enjoy this chapter. If you do you should totally ask to join the tag list for this fic or request your own. And remember: comments and asks are always okay. 🖤🖤

Chapter 4: What was the point?

"Where do you think she is?" Rhodes asked. Fury had called him in from the Military to find you. He and the rest of the Avengers were in Tony's penthouse living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed off just how high up the room was. Not only displaying the might of the building, but it also had a near-perfect view of Manhattan. The city that never sleeps was illuminated by the pinkish-orange glow of the sunset.

"According to my calculations and the report of the Special Ops on the train that reported her. She is approximately 80 miles outside of Quebec. "Vision said, "Whether she is aware of that proximity or not, our best move would be to have a watch in the city."

"Definitely," Steve agreed, "I'll talk to the mayor and call in a few favors."

"What if she never makes it to Quebec? She's probably not stupid. What if all those eyes cause her to stay off the grid? Then we'll never catch her." Tony criticized. It was true; you weren't stupid. If you got wind of an alert to look out for someone who looked even remotely like you, you were going to stay as far away if you could.

One time, you had left a witness, and they reported you to the police. Like clockwork, they put out a wanted alert. It was 1985, and you were in Los Angeles, so they had more significant issues to deal with. You got lucky because, at the time, it was the height of the terror caused by the Night Stalker.

To be honest, you had never really understood serial killers. You were technically one, but the psychopathic killers—the crazy cannibal sadists. HYDRA had checked your mental health, and the results had come back pretty standard. There was a bit of crazy in you, but hey, who doesn't have any?

Since everyone was so scared of the Night Stalker, they didn't pay too much attention to someone who had killed one minor, uninfluential politician. No one reported you, and no one cared. You left Los Angeles unscathed but a little rattled.

What if someone had reported me?... What would happen?... Thank God it didn't happen this time?... I need to be more careful…

You had learned your lesson. If you got wind someone was looking for you, they were never, ever going to find you—end of story.

"He's right," Bucky said as he walked into the room. After Steve talked to him, he went back to his room to clean up before joining the rest of the Avengers in coming up with a plan to catch you. "She's careful. There's too much on the line for her."

"Then what do we do?" Wanda asked, "How do we catch her?"

"Hear me out… We still do a watch and tell the mayor. But we don't release it to the public. We let law enforcement know and send them as many troops as we can." Clint suggested.

"With undercover cops?" Banner asked.

"Exactly," He responded. "Let Y/N think that everything is normal. That no one's looking for her."

"All in favor?" Steve asked. Everyone voted yes. It was a good idea. You didn't know it yet, but it was an excellent idea. "I'll let the mayor and police chief know then."

Steve walked out and made his way to one of the comm rooms. The rest of the avengers looked among one another. They were all on edge. Sam Wilson, who had absolutely no idea how dangerous you were, was the least worried. To him, you were just another common criminal who would be caught. On the other side of the spectrum, Bucky could barely keep himself together. After excusing himself, he walked to the bathroom, locked the door, and wasn't heard from for a few hours.

Everyone else waited for a while to see if they were still needed before making their way to various spots. Some, like Nat and Wanda, went to their rooms. Banner went to the lab with Tony, and Clint went to the gym.

---------------------------------------

You were no better off than you were yesterday. Maybe you had clothes, sure, but you also managed to have sex with an asshole and assault the guy. Alex wasn't going to remember it, but that didn't make it right. Out of all of the things you had done, your conscience said that was the worst. You had acted like a monster. Hopefully, he would be okay. You wouldn't.

After storming out of the King's Treason, you found yourself on a dirt road through a forest. It was the middle of the night, and all the stars were awake. You wondered what was up there. After watching the Battle of New York unfold on television, you were well aware that you weren't alone in the universe. Thor had made that clear. But you still didn't know precisely what there was. In your mind, the galaxy was rich with alien life. Things that looked like humans but with rainbow-colored skin. Somethings that looked nothing like humans. You wondered if it was like Star Wars showed it. That would be cool. But you didn't know, because you had never seen an alien in real life before.

When you stared at the stars, there was always one that stood out to you. It wasn't the biggest or the brightest, but it was the most beautiful. If someone asked you if you wanted to go to space and you could go to any star or place, that would be the one. It didn't matter if nothing was there, but you knew there was. You just knew. The moon was bright tonight too. It dimed out the light of the surrounding stars and made the night on Earth a little brighter.

There was only one road to follow. Since all roads lead somewhere, you picked one and started walking. The night was peaceful and quiet. That was what you needed. You looked at your watch that had a compass on it. You were heading southeast.

The scenery remained the same for the first few miles. Suddenly the forest began shifting into the countryside. The rolling hills morphed into gated suburbs. A quick glance at your GPS told you that you were in Quebec.

Quebec…. I have a safe house here… Finally some peace and quiet…

You walked for an hour until you found the road that led to the neighborhood your house was in. It had been a few years since you had gone to his house. Everything was the same, but a little different. The streets were emptied in the early morning air, but it wasn't the same Quebec that you remembered. The barbershop on the corner was gone. The window that had once said Chez Berruby's Barbers had been changed to an ice cream store.

The more you looked, the more you saw the changes. That was never a good sign. But you ignored it and kept walking down the street until you got to Rue Saint-Paul. That was your street. You were right; everything was changing. Every single house on the street looked well kept and trimmed. The bushes were perfect, and the grass was green. Then there was your safe house. The yard was brown, and the windows were cracked. It stuck out like a sore thumb, which meant you would stick out too.

It's only for a night… Or two… We'll move on again…

You looked in a small notebook you kept in your supply belt for where you had hidden the key. Under the pot shaped like a frog. Was it on the front steps? No. After searching the side gate area, the garage, and the balcony over it, you concluded that there was no frog pot. There might have been a few years ago. But a lot can happen in a year. Let alone three or four.

"Well fuck it," you muttered. You got a knife out and picked the lock. A click told you the door was unlocked, so you went inside. You opened the door and stepped inside. The house was musty and smelled like cat pee. You followed the hallway past the stairs and into the kitchen.

To be honest, you didn't know what you were expecting when you opened the fridge. Definitely not food. To your surprise, there was a moldy pizza and flat Coca-Cola. You were not that desperate. After rummaging through the cabinets, you found some cans of kidney beans. The expiration date was last week, but they'd have to do.

Halfway through the can of rancid beans, you heard the fists banging against the door.

"Y/n Y/L/N? We know you're in there." A deep voice yelled, "Turn yourself in now, and we can do this quickly and quietly. I will give you a minute to come out, and then we will come in. Understood?"

No. They were most definitely not understood. You would not be going out without a fight. They were probably going to execute you right there on the steps. If they wanted to kill you. They were going to need to catch you first.

How about a game of cat and mouse?... Maybe this mouse will bite you in the nose... Who nose...

But you couldn't take it anymore. Fear took over. Instead of fighting, your first instinct was to hide. You flew upstairs and flung yourself into the top shelf of a closet. Who cared if it wouldn't be able to hold you? You were hiding for your life. Fear crept up your spine as you saw the end come into sight. Movies always showed the last moments of someone's life as an emotional roller coaster. Maybe if you lived longer, you could have seen some more movies. But they were right.

What had you done with your life? Lie? Kill? For what? For who? What was the point? You had never trusted anyone. Never loved anyone. You didn't even know what love was supposed to feel like. If you could live again, you would try to be a regular person. To live and love. For a trip to Starbucks for an Iced Latte be a normal thing. Not something you had to plan for months for. For friends. People you could trust and care about.

You wished that you could be dying in a huge comfortable bed, with your lover holding your hand. Surrounded by friends and family. Reflecting on your life and having no regrets. You could have a beautiful funeral where people flocked from near and far to celebrate the life of the girl they all loved. Your family would get so many flowers that all the bees of the world would come and dance on your grave.

But that was a fantasy.

Instead, you were alone. Scared out of your mind on a shelf in a closet. In a house that wasn't yours. Alone.

Tears fell down your face as you compared what your life could have been to what it was. You almost wanted them to kill you so it could be over.

It's all over… And I'm… Happy?...

"Anyone in here?" A soldier called. You were surprised he couldn't hear your heart hammering through your chest. Or the hurricane in your eyes.

The footsteps of three other soldiers entered the room and began tearing it apart.

Five… Four… Three… Two… On-

"Found her!" He shouted. He opened the closet door and barely had time to get the sentence out before you shot him. You didn't even have room in your mind to feel sorry. You were numb and tired and scared for your life.

You jumped out of the closet and aimed your gun at the next guy.

He fell down. And the next. You only got shots onto those two before everything went dark.

Am I dead?... Please tell me I'm dead… Shit…

The darkness faded into blinding white. After that faded, you saw that you were in a prison cell. And not dead. Fuck.

109 notes · View notes

justanotherblonde23 · 3 years

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An Unexpected Surprise - A Marcus Moreno Story

Author’s Note: So with some encouraging from my friends, I decided to post my writing! I know that technically we don’t know anything about Marcus Moreno, but that superhero dad has been taking up space in my mind rent free all week. I tagged people that I know wanted to read this and a few that I thought might enjoy it. Please let me know what you think! -Kat

Content Warnings: smut, oral (female receiving), P in V

Tags: @autumnleaves1991-blog @dindjarindiaries @frannyzooey @zeldasayer @hdlynnslibrary @jollyrancher87 @bisexual-space-slut @woakiees @scribbledghost @softpedropascal @catfishingmorales

Marcus trudged into the house, it was at least 2 in the morning, and he was absolutely exhausted. He was always exhausted these days; his age was catching up to him. He may be a part of the Heroics, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t getting older. He was balancing heroism, kids, a spouse, and trying to give them some semblance of a normal life. He was ready to retire, be involved in every aspect of the kids’ lives, and see his wife in more than just the middle of the night and before leaving for work. He had given enough of his life to the service of the world; now, it was about time to provide all of himself to his family. Missy, his eldest, was already 11 and getting older every single day. Jules, the baby of the family, was about to turn 5, just about to leave the toddler years behind her. He felt as if he had missed so much of their lives; he didn’t want to miss anymore.

Most of the house lights had been turned off, signaling that most of the inhabitants were fast asleep. He hoped that at least he could get a kiss or two from the woman he loved. Maybe she would still be awake. He made his way up the stairs, checking the kids’ rooms. He planted soft kisses on their foreheads, smiling at their serene expressions. What beautiful little girls he had, he was the luckiest father in the world.

He frowned, opening the door to the master bedroom; the soft glow of artificial light bathed the room in a yellow haze. There she was, his love, sitting in the middle of the bed, clearly wide awake, wearing her glasses and frowning at the hologram in front of her. Someone was working even later than Marcus himself. He took in her form; she still hadn’t noticed him quite yet. She was wearing a silky nightie that hit her upper thigh and a matching robe loosely tied around her. His cock stirred in his pants. Even as spent as he was from the day, the view in front of him made him want to take her to bed and fuck her senseless.

“Dr. Moreno, hard at work, I see,” he teased.

Her eyes shot up, smirking at him. I’m not quite Dr. Moreno yet, Marcus. You’d have to marry me first,” she teased.

“We had a ceremony-” he started.

“And someone still hasn’t mailed the marriage certificate, even though it’s been two months. All you gotta do is bring it to the post office, baby. I’d do it myself, but somebody insisted that he’d be the one to do it.”

Marcus groaned, falling onto the bed beside his wife (that’s what she was to him, even if he didn’t mail the marriage certificate yet). He heard some shuffling and a command for her AI system to file the holograms working on for the night. He’d lived with her for four years now, and he still hadn’t gotten used to all her tech. If he was a hero in name, she was the genius behind every piece of technology in his arsenal, as well as all of the other members of the Heroics. Her superpower was her mind, that gorgeous, intricate, genius mind of hers. Her ability to retain information, learn, critically think, and create was almost impossible to fathom truly. At 33, she had twelve doctorates in various fields, including engineering, physics, nanotechnology, and art history. Her thirst for knowledge and eagerness to invent was unparalleled, even among other enhanced individuals. He would never stop singing her praises; she was a wonder.

“Marcus, baby, do you wanna shower and go to bed? It’s late.”

He sighed, starting to relax into the feeling of her fingers carding through his hair. “Baby, if you keep that up, I’m gonna fall asleep right here and now. I took a shower at HQ before I left, so I’m good.” He opened his eyes when her fingers stilled, looking up at the beautiful woman with the soft smile leaning over him.

“Do you think you can stay up for a little bit longer, honey? I have a surprise for you.”

He sat up, scooting up against the headboard, kicking off his shoes. He felt wide awake now. His wife wasn’t typically one for surprises on any old day. He wracked his mind, trying to make sure that he hadn’t missed her birthday, their dating anniversary, or any other consequential, momentous occasion.

“I didn’t forget a special day, did I? Fuck, amor. I’m so sorry if I did. I’ve been spread so damn thin since the wedding; I’ve been running around like a madman.”

She placed a tiny cream-colored box in his hands, his wife sitting right in front of him, eyes sparkling with excitement. “You didn’t miss anything, Marcus, just open the box. You’ll like it, I promise.”

He nodded, pulling at the perfect bow holding the box closed, carefully opening the lid. For a minute, he just stared at the contents of the box, his eyes wide with shock. Ever so slowly, he picked up a pair of teeny baby booties, placing them in his large palm. He took the second item out, a pregnancy test that digitally read, PREGNANT. His hands began to shake; tears began to overflow, tracking down his cheeks. He looked up, his gaze locked on the woman in front of him.

“Sweetheart, are we-? Are you-? We’re- we’re having a baby?” he managed to choke out.

There was one more item in the box, at the bottom, an ultrasound labeled Baby Moreno. He studied the picture intently, his thumb moving over the little blob on the paper. That was his baby, their baby. They were having a baby.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, “we’re having a baby!”

A giggle made him raise his eyes once again. “That’s what I said, too. I’m about ten weeks along now. You’re going to be a daddy of three, Marcus Moreno.”

He scooped up everything in his lap, dumping it on the nightstand. He quickly grabbed his wife, flipping her so that she was under him. He covered her face in kisses, whispering how beautiful she was, how she was so loved, so treasured, so cherished. How their baby was made of nothing but love, how they were precious cargo, and how he would protect both of them every single day of his life. He kissed down her jaw, down her neck, eliciting breathy moans from the woman underneath him. His kisses went lower and lower until he reached her belly, pulling her nightie up around her waist so that he could get to her bare stomach. He planted dozens of kisses all over her belly, in awe of the life growing in there.

“Hey baby, it’s your daddy,” he cooed softly. “Your mommy and I already love you, little one, and you’ll have two big sisters that I just know will love you too. I can’t wait for you to be here, little baby. I promise I’ll be here for you.”

He looked adoringly at the mother of his youngest child, grinning as if his world had been made complete, and in all honesty, it had been. This baby, this tiny little one growing inside of the woman that he loved most, filled a hole in his heart that he hadn’t even been aware of.

He bit down on his lower lip, smirking while ever so slowly pulling off her panties. He would lavish the woman he loved with every ounce of devotion, adoration, and love he had to offer. A breathless Oh please, Marcus was all he needed to motivate him to continue. He opened her legs up, giving him access to her slit, wet and wanting. He groaned, the sight making his mouth water. If he had it his way, Marcus could spend hours between her thighs. Two fingers lightly toyed with her slit, moving up and down, collecting her slick.

“Look at you, baby, so wet for me, and I’ve barely touched you. If this is what pregnancy does to you, amor, I might have to start keeping better work hours so I can spend my time between your thighs.”

He could see her hips try to follow his fingers, desperate for more than he was giving her. “Marcus, don’t tease, please,” she whined. He chuckled, easily giving in to her pleas. He couldn’t say no to her, not tonight.

He buried his head between her legs, tongue coming out to lick a broad strip all the way to the top of her slit, his nose nudging her clit. She tasted like heaven, making him moan into her core, sending pleasurable shivers up her spine. He speared his tongue into her, getting as deep as he could, fucking her pussy with his tongue while her fingers tangled themselves in his curls. He kept exploring her folds with his tongue, hitting all the spots he knew would make her see stars.

He easily pushed in two fingers, causing her to buck her hips up, matching his pace. He focused his tongue on her clit, alternating between drawing lazy circles and sucking her into his mouth. His fingers hit that sweet spot inside her with every thrust, bringing her closer and closer to her release. Before he knew it, she was cumming around his fingers, squeezing him tight and pulling him deeper. His mouth flooded with the taste that was uniquely hers, prompting him to moan. He could feel himself rock hard in his pants, leaking with his arousal.

He crawled off the bed, swiftly ridding himself of his clothes, placing his glasses safely on the nightstand. He grabbed her glasses as well, placing them next to his own. She had shrugged off her robe and nightie, languidly watching him, her eyes blown wide with desire.

“Marcus, I need you inside of me,” she begged. His large cock rested heavy against his stomach, tip red and leaking. The thought of him inside of her was almost too much. She needed him, and she needed him right now.

He settled over her, catching her lips in a deep, earth-shattering kiss. His tongue explored her mouth, letting her taste herself. Marcus was intoxicating, enthralling, and all she wanted was more. Finally, they broke apart, panting slightly.

“Dr. Moreno, my lovely wife, mother of my child, let me make love to you. Let me show you how happy you make me, sweetheart. I want to make you touch the sky,” he whispered into her ear.

She beamed at him, cradling his cheek gently. “Yes, baby, I’m all yours.” He leaned back in, catching her into another searing kiss. He worked his length up and down her slit, coating himself in her slick, bumping her clit a few times in the process. At last, he began to leisurely enter her, inch by inch. They both groaned when he bottomed out, fully seated inside of her.

“Fuck honey, you’re just so tight, so wet, so warm for me,” he whimpered, moving inside her with slow, deep strokes. He wanted to make this last, to draw out her pleasure. With every thrust, he told her how good she felt, how beautiful she looked underneath him, how her pussy was made for him, how perfect she was. He could’ve gone like that for quite some time, slowly bringing her closer and closer to her high. Only her pleas of more, faster, harder made him speed up.

He grabbed one of her legs, placing it higher on his hip, allowing him to hit deeper inside her. Her hips moved in unison with his own, meeting each thrust into her. He would never get tired of the pretty sounds she made for him when he was fucking her. Those breathy moans she let out, the babbling it all spurred him on. He could tell she was close. She always got so fucking wet and even tighter right before she came. He dropped a hand between them, rubbing hard, tight circles around her clit. Not even a half dozen thrusts later, and she was wailing in ecstasy, clamping down on him like a vice. He wasn’t far behind, spilling himself deep within her, muttering her name over and over like a prayer.

He rolled off of her, panting, taking a minute to catch his breath as he gazed at her blissed-out form. Hair a mess, chest heaving, lips swollen from his kisses to Marcus, she was stunning. He couldn’t think of a moment when she was more gorgeous than right then and there. He could look at her forever, just like this.

Eventually, he got up and grabbed a warm cloth, gently cleaning her off. Turning off the light, he climbed back into bed, pulling her body to his, cradling her close. He let his hand wander, rubbing soothing circles over her belly.

“You’re gonna look so stunning, honey, all round with our baby. I promise I’ll take such good care of you. I’ll do whatever you need.”

He could feel his wife sigh, completely relaxed in his arms. He held her close, basking in her warmth and the love between them. He let his mind wander, thinking of the future, thinking of this baby.

“I’m gonna cut back at work, move more into an advisory role in the Heroics. As your pregnancy progresses, I’ll be able to work from home and take a solid chunk of paternity leave when the baby comes. I’ve given enough of myself to the world. It’s time for me to give everything I can to my family, to you, to the girls, to this baby. I’ll go drop off the marriage certificate tomorrow before I go into HQ to talk about restructuring my job. That way, you’ll officially be Dr. Moreno, even though you’ve already been that to me for a long time.”

She answered him with a happy sigh and kisses to his hand that entwined with hers. “I’d like that, Marcus. It might be selfish, but I want you here, with us. We love you so much; it’s nice when you’re here. It makes our family complete.”

They spent a few more minutes talking about the future, drifting off into deep, dreamless sleep. The thought of tomorrow was full of bright promises, just waiting to be embraced.

#marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x y/n #we can be heroes #pedro pascal

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natromanxoff · 3 years

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Mercury Roadrunner's Interview about Freddie Mercury with Peter Freestone – Part I

Thanks very much to Mercury Roadrunner (Pavel Strashnyy) for letting me share his amazing interviews! Originally shared here. Check the tag "MR interview with Phoebe" to see the other parts.

Here are the 5 topics of this interview, beginning of each topic is written in bold:

1. Live Aid

2. The Works tour

3. "Mr. Bad Guy" album and recording period

4. "Heaven For Everyone", Freddie's habits about listening to music, opinions on Madonna, Montserrat

5. Swimming and memories about Los Angeles, Ibiza, Japan

Mercury Roadrunner: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. We welcome you to the unofficial Russian Queen fan club special program. You can find our website at www.vk.com/queenrocks. I am knownn as Mercury Roadrunner. This year marks the 50th anniversary of Queen. And I’m very happy to say that this evening we have a very, very special guest here with us, and it is an opera critic, a book lover, biographer and writer, and close friend, confident and personal assistant of Freddie Mercury, Mr Peter Freestone. Hello, Peter. How are you? Peter Freestone: Hi. I am… okay. I’m good, I’m good. What can I say? I’m good. PS: You are good and you are very happy to join the other Queen fans who would be very happy to hear you finally talking. And the first topic is about your personal memories. It’s a historic date but what are your own personal memories of 13th of July, the Live Aid day, what were your feelings in general on that day? PF: For me, I suppose, it was just another show… [laughs] PS: Really? PF: Because I worked for Freddie and he was going to do a show. I didn’t separate that from all the other performers that were going to be there, that made it such an incredible day. And not only in London, when they were also performing in America as well at the same time. When the satellite was showing something from London, then it showed something from Philadelphia, then back to London again. So to say, for me it was… another day. It wasn’t even as though there were such a big show because we’d played stadiums in South America. So, it wasn’t the size of the audience. I suppose, when it really struck me what was happening was when the band went onto stage. And the roar from the crowd was absolutely amazing. Again, it wasn’t so different from normal shows because they’d actually rehearsed for their twenty minutes. You know, there was four days’ rehearsal. So to say, it was normal, it was normal work, it was a short show. But then, thing is, it was in daylight and Freddie could actually see the audience. And from the back of the stage, we could look through holes in the back, you know, the screen in the back. And we could see what the band could see. And… then it sort of struck me that, actually, this is something very special. And then I was really so very, very proud of them. At the end of their set, when, again, the audience reaction was indescribable. What they had done in those twenty minutes, they had picked up the whole audience, shook it around and put them back down again. PS: Indeed. PF: So, yeah, that was what I felt. PS: And do you remember some of Freddie’s jokes, maybe, during the day, the way he interacted with other superstars, like David Bowie or others? PF: The thing is, he [Freddie] was just one person amongst his peers, you know. All of the bands were names, they were bands. And the thing I have found, and this goes all the way – the real professionals are the most normal, approachable people on earth. It’s the wannabes who have the attitude of “Don’t you know who I am?” and who behave like stars, because stars behave like human beings. Real stars, they can be just like the rest of us. There was a time when Freddie just wanted to be on his own, you know, with just his friends, with his group of people. But I mean, there’s a few photographs of him chatting with various people, like Elton John and David Bowie. I remember seeing them with him, and Adam Ant. And, of course, he had friends along; I think Wayne Sleep was there as well. In his life, he [Freddie] needed people around him that made him laugh. And so, he still had that. David Bowie and he had been friends for so long. Elton [and he] had been friends for even longer. So, it was actually a chance for them to sit and catch up rather than, you know, being in front of the world press. They liked to spend time on their own, you know, talking to each other, really talking, not putting on a show. PS: So, I imagine that backstage on that day Freddie felt pretty much joyful and relaxed, right? PF: Yeah, on the day of the show, I never really saw Freddie nervous…

because, the thing is, it was too late by then [to be nervous]. You know, there was no point in being nervous anymore because the show was going to go on whether you were nervous or not. So, why be nervous? Just, you know, get on and do the show, enjoy yourself. PS: And do you remember, where did the idea of Freddie and Roger joining the Band Aid on stage in the final song, “Do They Know It’s Christmas”, came from? Or was it totally a spontaneous idea for them to join the others? PF: I think the idea at that point was that anybody who was around, who would stay on to the end – because don’t forget the show had started in the afternoon, so not everybody was going to be waiting – but then anybody who was left, who wanted to join, could go and join. There was no strict “You must do this, you have to do this, you have to be there”. It’s “If you want to, by all means come and do it.” PS: And we even have a picture of both of you, Freddie and you, on that day when Freddie wears a white shirt for “Is This The World That We Created”, and you stand right next to him and it’s a beautiful picture. PF: And Queen were the only band that actually kept their dressing room. Because all the other bands had to vacate their dressing room half an hour after they’d performed, so that the next band could come and use it. But because Brian and Freddie were performing “Is This The World That We Created” at the end, they got to keep their dressing room from the time they arrived. [laughs] PS: So they spent the rest of the day after the show in their dressing room? PF: Well, in or around their dressing room, yes. PS: They, like, had their Royal Queen place there. PF: That’s it. Anybody else had to go into the Hard Rock Café. There had to be a tent, you know, hospitality tent there. And most people ended up in there because they were not allowed into their dressing rooms, they didn’t have dressing rooms after that. So… that also helped Freddie relax. [laughs] PS: Like, his little bit of his own, right? PF: Yes. PS: All right. So, the second topic is about you, Peter. And you are credited as a “band party” member on The Works tour. Can you please clarify what a band party meaning is? Because I am assuming it’s like an entourage but it will be nice to hear the expanded definition from you. PF: Yeah, the band party, I think, was about ten or twelve people. It was the band members, their assistants – me, Chris Taylor was there, and Paul Prenter was there. If Jim Beach was on the tour at the time, he would have been part of the band party too. And some of the time Gerry Stickells was there. But often he would be ahead, making sure that everything was ready for when the band arrived. But that was it. There was about ten people. And there were baggage tags for each member of the band party. That’s why I know because I had Number 9, I think. And there were about twelve, I think, altogether, because at one point at the beginning I used to have to collect the band party baggage, so that’s why I always knew which were, even though I wouldn’t know whose bag was what. It would have one of these crew tags on it, so I just picked up and I knew that there were going to be twenty bags, so I just picked the twenty bags. But they were easy to identify because of these tags. PS: I see. And what is your own favourite memory about The Works tour and about this time, like, 1984, 1985? Maybe the Rio shows? PF: Yeah, I mean Rio was… amazing. The feeling from that crowd… you know, something like 350,000 people. Oh, you can’t beat that. And when you’re flying in a helicopter over that crowd, it was stunning. But the thing is, I know this sounds really, really stupid but [laughs]… one thing I will always, always remember from that tour was, remember, in the back of the stage you had these wheels that turned every now and then, not constantly but just every now and then. That was because there was… the guy looking after Roger’s drums and me who actually turned those wheels. And there was no set cue or anything that, “Oh, it has to start on this bar, on this song.” No, it

was when he wasn’t doing anything and I wasn’t doing anything, we’d say “Ok, let’s go and do it.” And we turned the wheels for a couple of minutes and then left them alone. He had then to do something for Roger and I would just sit there like I always did. And then you’d go back and you’d turn the wheels, like a hamster. We were like hamsters… So, that’s my memory of The Works tour. PS: And how technically did you operate those wheels? How was it possible? PF: With your hands. You just grabbed hold, you know, because it was like cogs on a wheel, and you just grabbed hold of them. Because we would be behind, I mean, I was always on John Deacon’s side, so I was hidden behind his bass setup. And you just pulled on the cogs because the whole wheel was on a metal axle and you just held there and you just pulled it down. PS: And the wheels actually were the real wheels, the big ones, right? PF: The very big ones in the back that moved, yeah. And they were made of, I think, polystyrene and plywood. So they weren’t very heavy. PS: So it was, like, actually you taking a part in the show, like, directing this? PF: Yes, I mean, you know, this is how things used to work in the old days before half of you were born. [laughs] You had to use your hands. I don’t think that a Queen tour as it is now is manual anymore. Everything is “push buttons” in it. PS: Yes, so it was indeed like the works, you had to work to make it work, right? PF: Yes, but nobody knew that’s how it works. They just saw these wheels turning every now and then. PS: It’s like a kind of magic indeed… PF: Yes, this was the whole thing with the Queen show – that people saw things happening but didn’t try and think “Oh, how do they do that?” If I see a big show now, I just think “How do they do that?” You’re not listening to the music anymore, you’re thinking “How do they get this to move? How do they get that?” But in the old days, you never did that, you just saw it move and it was part of the show. PS: You were just enjoying it, you didn’t have the time to analyse it. PF: Yeah. PS: I see. That’s a great memory, Peter. So, the third topic is about Freddie’s solo album, “Mr. Bad Guy” Freddie firstly wanted to name his solo album Made In Heaven and he even mentions that title in an interview with David Wigg. Why did he later decide to call it Mr Bad Guy? PF: I think he felt that Mr Bad Guy represented him more than Made In Heaven. And the lyrics to that song, everything. It sort of was very much about him. I think that’s why it changed. I actually love that song because it is real orchestra on it. And I was in the studio. I mean, it’s not a massive studio, so what they had to do, they had to record each section, so the strings section was there and recorded all their parts. And they went out. And woodwind recorded all their parts. Then brass recorded their parts. Then timpani came in and recorded. You know, they could not do everything together, so it was actually really quite complicated. But the end result, I think, is great. It reminds me very, very much of “The Carnival of the Animals”, the old classical piece. That was written by Camille Saint-Saëns. But that is what I’m immediately reminded of when I listen to “Mr Bad Guy”, you know. [starts to hum the song] You know, all the different pieces of the orchestra doing it, repeating it. Now, that for me is my favourite part. PS: I also enjoy it, I adore it. It’s truly a work of art from Freddie. PF: Yes, definitely, definitely. And I agree with him because it does represent him, multifaceted. You know, you never expect… He never gives you something that you expect. He always gives you something that will surprise you. PS: Yes. And why bad guy, why do you think Mr Bad Guy? Why bad? PF: Because… anytime in the press, there was never anything saying what a lovely man he is. So why not live up to his reputation? PS: Yes, it’s like “Yes, I’m everybody’s Mr Bad Guy,” yes. PF: Yes, this is it. This is what people want to believe, so this is what I will be. PS: Yes. And why do you think his first title was exactly not some

other track title but exactly “Made In Heaven”? Why was his first idea about exactly this song, to call the album this way? PF: I don’t know, I really cannot answer that one for you. I don’t know why he thought of that. Maybe he thought that would be the most popular track. A very popular track. PS: Yeah, it’s a hit song, totally remindful, yeah. And what was Freddie mostly like during the recording? What’s your favourite memory of him in this period? PF: That’s a lot more difficult because it was a difficult time. Munich. It took him far too long to create it. In the end, he was more interested in going out and spending time with Barbara Valentin than he was in creating work. I mean, the amount of time… he would turn up in the studio at two o’clock. Because he always turned up at two o’clock. It was pointless staying or coming at ten because he wouldn’t. And the thing is, it’s a singer’s voice, he’s not really ready to use [it] until later on in the afternoon. Once he’s warmed up properly and everything else. But the thing is, by four o’clock the phone would be ringing and Barbara was bored, so Freddie would run over and go out with her. So it was hard. And sometimes it felt like he was forcing himself to enjoy himself. Because he also felt bad, because he knew he should have been working, but he was letting his arm be twisted very, very, very easily. Yeah, I mean, okay, yes, he did enjoy himself when he was with Barbara, but he also had in the back of his mind that he was supposed to be working. PS: But the final result, I think, is totally great, he’s so much presented there. PF: It wasn’t the commercial success that people were expecting, but I think Freddie was happy with it in the end. PS: Yeah, it’s, like, his self-portrait songs. PF: Yeah, yeah, yeah. It got that music out of his system so that when he was back with Queen he was thinking more of the band stuff than, you know, things that the band would be happy with and just him happy with. Also, the thing is, Freddie did miss the rest of the band. He would never admit it but if you listen to some of the instrumentals on some of his solo tracks you could imagine Brian playing the guitar, you could imagine John playing the bass. You know, he missed having the band around him. PS: I see, I see. Even though it was his only first experience as his solo work, he already missed the other boys. PF: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Because the thing is, all his recording before Mr. Bad Guy had always been with other people around. You know, even when he was producing the Peter Straker album, he had friends around him doing things. This was him on his own and it was all on his shoulders. PS: Yeah, and he worked on this album perfectly, it’s absolutely a masterpiece, yeah. So, the fourth topic is about Freddie’s and Roger’s connection. There is a story that Freddie heard Roger’s song “Heaven For Everyone” and he liked it so much that he wanted to sing it, and in the end The Cross, Roger Taylor’s band, released a version with Freddie’s vocals on it. And do you remember, had Freddie ever listened to Roger’s solo albums at home? PF: Freddie didn’t really listen to very much of anybody’s music at home. The only thing I remember... well, okay, yes, I remember putting on videos of Prince. But, musically, we would put on, we would buy every one that came out. It was a series of CD’s and albums, of course, before the CD’s, Now That’s What I Call Music. And what it would be, would be the sort of top hits of two months or something. And they would all be on Now That’s What I Call Music 1, then Now That’s What I Call Music 2. I think it’s on to Now That’s What I Call Music 373 at the moment. I don’t know. That was the music that he would put on, it was the music of the time. Because, you know, for his own music, for Queen music, that was work for him. And what concerns Freddie listening to Roger’s albums - probably what it would’ve been he would’ve listened to it when he and Roger met up. But it wouldn’t necessarily be at home they would put on the album. They would meet up and Roger would say,

“Oh, you must hear, listen to this, you have to hear this. This is something I’ve been working on,” you know, that sort of thing. PS: I see. And, you mentioned Freddie enjoying Prince, and it connects me with the fifth topic and it’s about the musician of the same age as Prince and it’s, like, a connection of Freddie Mercury from Queen and the Queen of Pop who is known as Madonna. What was Freddie’s attitude to Madonna? Because it’s almost impossible to imagine that he never ever mentioned her or never talked about her. PF: He admired her as… a woman surviving and winning in basically a man’s world. Yeah, because she was a power. And for that he admired her. Some of the music he quite liked. But there’s also the other side of the coin. Freddie, for all he was, had one security with him whenever he went out or everything. And Freddie felt that Madonna was actually attracting attention to herself rather than protecting herself. When she would go running in Hyde Park with ten security, you know, he said, “If she went with one person, people wouldn’t even notice her, but because she’s got ten people around her, then the whole world is going to notice. And you are best safe not like that but if you have just one person.” So, I mean, for that side he didn’t understand her thinking, but for her musical acumen and for her performance he thought she was fine, she was good. PS: And what is your personal attitude to Madonna? Do you like her? PF: Again, some of the things she’s done I think are very, very good. I don’t know, the more recent stuff I’m not so keen on. But all the first ten years or whatever of her stuff, I loved it. Yeah. Because, again, she never copied, she always did her own thing, and she never repeated herself. And I love originality. PS: And what is your own favourite memory about Freddie and Montserrat, Barcelona story in general? PF: I suppose it would have to be the actual recording of “Barcelona” because that was the first track that was completed. Freddie had sent Montserrat a tape giving her a guide vocal. Mike Moran had written out the music for her and sent it. So when she came in, when she arrived, she was fully, fully prepared for what was going to happen. But I remember being with Freddie after she’d done the first tape of her vocals for Barcelona, and… there were almost, almost, I mean, there were tears down his face. He was saying, “I now have the greatest voice in the world singing my music.” And that will always stay with me, always. PS: I see, so it was, like, very deep for him. And what is your favourite memory of Montserrat as a person? PF: Ah, a lot of memories. I went to pick her up at the airport, took her to the hotel, I would go and meet her at the hotel, go with her to the studio, all of that sort of things. And I was only in the studio when Montserrat was there. And when she was actually putting her vocal tracks down, the track was basically finished. I saw her so many times after the recording as well. You know, I went to see different performances of her. And it was because of her that I was actually at the Palais Garnier in Paris. You know, the opera house in Paris. Because she actually did an AIDS Gala there. And she invited me to go. I think… her laughter. It’s just like Freddie’s. Because whenever people ask me what’s my first memory, what is the memory that first comes to my mind of Freddie, and it’s always him laughing. And it’s the same with her. Whether she’s just finished a performance or actually when she’s doing a recital or a concert. And during her encores, she is always giggling and laughing. Amazing giggle. Because she likes to bring the audience in during the encores. And she’s got this infectious giggle. She invited me to the first night ever of her performing Isolde in “Tristan and Isolde” in Barcelona. And talking with her afterwards, I said, “You must know how wonderful it is for me to be coming here, to be seeing it, to be listening to you.” And she says, “Of course, you’re part of the family.” So, that really has always stuck with me. PS: So, the next topic for

today is Freddie spending time just making any kind of normal activities. And the question is firstly about his swimming skills – could Freddie actually swim, and if yes, did he enjoy it? PF: I never saw him swim. Never. I don’t know if he could swim. I’ve often thought about that and I never saw it. He didn’t… thinking about it, we went on a motor boat when we were at Pike’s hotel in Ibiza one time. And he didn’t look the most comfortable. So, I really don’t know if he could actually swim. I never saw him in a swimming pool or anything like that. Even when there was a swimming pool around, I never saw him in it. PS: But speaking of other activities, for example, you mentioned your staying at Pike’s hotel, he liked to play tennis there, right? PF: Yes. And, of course, when he was younger he was very good at table tennis. So, yeah, he enjoyed tennis. When we were living together with Freddie in Los Angeles, in that house, there was a tennis court as well and he played there a few times. PS: I see. And what are your other memories of Los Angeles? PF: Los Angeles. Also I remember in Los Angeles it was in L’Ermitage hotel when Queen were designing the Hot Space album cover there. They were there, maybe, even rehearsing for a tour or something. That’s the hotel I was staying in at that time. It was just this concrete glass and… stainless steel… and chrome. It was a very, very modern hotel. I remember, there were all band members, I was there, Chris Taylor was there, Paul Prenter was there. And they were throwing ideas around. And that’s where Freddie came up with the colours. “That’s the hot space, the space is the colours, hot colours.” PS: Ah, so it has something to do with image, with colour as you see it… PF: Yeah, yeah, yeah. PS: The hot like the bright one, right? A definitive one. PF: Yeah, yeah. PS: And he drew, like, a draught of the cover, right? Because he is credited as designer. PF: They were talking about which colours and then who would be which colour and then what they would put on each colour. You know, when they started talking about, not necessarily a profile but just picking out the aspects that people recognize from each artist, like Brian and his hair, Freddie and his moustache, you know, that sort of thing. PS: And so, each member chose the colour for himself by his own, right? PF: Yeah, yeah, yeah. PS: And how do you think, why Freddie chose the red colour? PF: Because it’s the colour that sticks out the most, although red was not his favourite colour, his favourite colour was yellow. But red is the one that you first look at. If you look at every sale, you know, big sale signs and everything, it’s always red on white. Because red is the colour you notice more. Apparently, whether it’s true or not, I don’t know, but in the old days police stopped more red cars than any other car. PS: Oh, really? PF: Yeah. Just psychologically red is the colour that stands out. PS: And Freddie being so outstanding wanted to strike everybody. PF: Yeah. PS: I see. And you mentioned Freddie and you spending time at Pike’s hotel. And what is also your personal favourite memory of this time. PF: I suppose the swimming pool was actually something nice. To actually think that we were in the swimming pool where Wham had recorded “Club Tropicana”. I mean, yeah, Pike’s. It was a nice hotel. They treated you well. They treated you personally, you know, they took care of you. And so it was a nice place. You really felt well-treated. PS: And what was, like, the top of the top on Freddie’s 41st birthday? What are your memories? PF: The most ridiculous thing is when guests went off into a corner and started smoking, so they weren’t smoking at the table and set light to the decorations. There were all these paper decorations hanging down the walls and everything. And people were there smoking and not looking at what they were doing, and they set light to them with their cigarettes. And then they started throwing alcohol to try and, you know, because it was wet they thought they would put the flames out. I mean, some people are not

very, very bright. [laughs] PS: I see. And what was your favourite memory of his previous one birthday, in 1986, the hat party? PF: Now, the hat party was a one-off, there was no other party quite like that, in Garden Lodge. Not with two hundred and something guests. Because the thing is, the thing that I loved about the fact was that nothing was put away. None of his vases or, you know, anything was put on tables. All the antiques and everything. Everything was left there. Because, okay, there were two hundred people but he actually knew them. He knew he could trust them. PS: And what was it like for him when he arrived back from his magnificent journey to Japan? PF: The thing is, it extended because he was then back home opening up all the packages that had arrived and the crates that had arrived. Because everything was sent over as soon as he bought it. So, the big room, the small room. Everything, all the rooms were full. And these, he had twelve of them. So, it was like Christmas. You know, a six-week Christmas. Because he was away enjoying himself and then opening up and putting it all around the house. PS: So, he was actually in Japan for six weeks, right? PF: No, no, he was in Japan, I think, for about three weeks. But then when he came back, he had three weeks of opening up and putting them all out. PS: So, he had a chance to enjoy his presents one more time, like, actually having them all. PF: Precisely, precisely. PS: So, it was, like, double joy – first to buy it and then to enjoy it at home. PF: Yes, yeah, yeah. PS: And mostly he bought antiques, right? PF: Yeah, I mean, he did actually buy some modern porcelain and things, but almost everything was antique. Almost everything. PS: I see. It was indeed a magic year for him. The Magic tour and the magic holiday… PF: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Definitely. PS: I see, I see. So, as we are ending our first part by now, I’m saying to you a very, very big thank you, Peter. It’s amazing to hear all these stories about Freddie. PF: It’s been a pleasure, it’s a pleasure. SPECIAL THANKS TO VALUREX FOR CONTRIBUTION AND ASSISTENCE TO BE CONTINUED

#MR interview with Phoebe #queen #queen band #freddie mercury

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kidney9-9 · 3 years

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November Bet

@hollandlover19 asked:

Can you write something where peter is dating the reader and she’s an avenger with similar powers to Wanda meaning she can read his mind and for the past two weeks peter has been horny as fuck and it’s driving him nuts cus he made a bet with Sam and Bucky to see who could survive the longest during no nut November so he’s trying to resist the urge to jack off but the only thing that will calm him down is y/n but she had to go on an emergency mission and won’t be back till later so he just lays in his room crying cuz everything hurts sorry if this is too specific you don’t have to write it if you don’t want to 🖤

Hey there hun! Hope you enjoy! Thank you for sending this in. Just a note: I have no idea how boners feel after a certain amount of time, but I’m assuming it’s really painful since it’s a muscle straining itself?? (i think lmao) But this was interesting to write since I usually put more humor in my writing, and this one turned out sort of sad! Everyone is over the legal age in this piece.

Masterlist is linked in my bio, tags in reblog.

Peter Parker x Reader [Angst with sort of happy ending] Warnings: boner, pain and swearing Word Count: 1.6k

Peter regretted the bet so much now.

It happened back on the 31st of October, when everyone was resting about, eating junk food and candy. Sam and Bucky had been teasing Peter for almost two weeks now after catching you and Peter getting a bit steamy in one of the weaponry rooms, and he wanted pay back. Peter thought he could control himself for a month because obviously he was able to do it before he reached puberty, so it should be fine! But fuck, did he regret it now, making a bet with Sam and Bucky to see who could survive the longest following the No Nut November challenge.

Day one was normal, he had so much confidence. He only let himself kiss your cheek though, and glance over to you when you would dress during the morning.

But now, two weeks in, he couldn’t fucking handle it. You were too hot. Tonight, was a gala event for Pepper and Tony starting a charity for children with heart problems which would start funding research into heart disease, and funding families who couldn’t afford treatments. You were wrapped in a silky flowing dress that Peter wanted to drool over. The small peaks he’d see over you twirling around, dancing to the classical music, and the fabric would outline your ass perfectly. Fuck, it was too much for him.

He had too many thoughts about it though. He wanted to reach out and squeeze you, spank you, trace every part of your body with his tongue. He wanted to devour you tonight; he wanted to fuck you out of your mind only to bring you back to another orgasm after the last.

Yes, the boner was showing very much.

It didn’t help when you’d look over to him worriedly, and he knew you could hear every single thought of his. It was your power, but you called it a curse. You spoke to him a few days before about how you heard his pleas to make love to you once again, but you reminded him of the bet and what he would have to do if he lost.

The loser had to streak and run across the outdoor gardens of the Compound at any time the winner felt like it; only once though. Peter thought about losing constantly, wishing he could lose, but he knew he shouldn’t. He couldn’t let Bucky and Sam win like that, after them teasing him for so long. It would be humiliating, sure, Peter didn’t care much about that. But he cared about it humiliating you as well, he didn’t want them to tease you about it too.

“Baby, want to leave?” You mumbled to Peter, causing him to flinch out of his trance. Peter gazed down at your body for a moment, and cleared his throat, flushing immensely while he looked away. Your curves… he was so in love with everything about you.

“Mm, yeah sorry about this.” Peter signaled down to his boner and he could just imagine how some people had already saw it and started speaking about him, but he just needed to leave. You nodded sympathetically back to him, reaching out and grasping his shoulder to comfort him.

He shrugged your hand off after a shiver went through his body, breathing heavily as another wave of lust flushed through him, “I’m sorry. I- I don’t mean to, it’s just…” He trailed off, glancing back up to your face and seeing you nodding understandably back to him.

“I know, I hear it too. Text Tony and Pepper in an hour and tell them something came up. They’ll be okay with it.” You responded, almost wanting to stay behind to talk with the two more. They were one of the funniest but loveliest couples you met. You felt close to them, almost as if they had a parental authority over you.

“I will, thank you.” Peter whispered back, gulping nervously as he tried to adjust his forming hard on. He just needed to go take a cold shower as soon as possible, and he already started thinking of strange things.

Deformed candles. Cheetos in beans on someone’s head. Evil cartoon characters. A dictionary with misspelled words.

You giggled, shaking your head at the things he comes up with in his thinking. You walked out of the ballroom with him, distancing yourself and opting to take an uber home instead, so he didn’t feel trapped. You worried about him during this month, realizing how bad it would feel to not nut for a guy.

You wished you could help him, but he wanted to keep the bet going.

When you got back to the Compound, your alarm instantly went off and your eyes widened, realizing you had to leave now. It was an emergency mission, you quickly read through the report, seeing that one of your contacts was revealed and gave up some information that needed to stay private. You rushed as fast as you can, barely sending a text to Peter who just got back to the Compound, saying you needed to leave.

Peter finally opened the text when he fell back on his bed, still struggling. He groaned, feeling his boner build up again, just imagining you out in the field, looking so sweaty and ready for anything. “Fuck…” He whimpered, quickly sitting up. He was worried for you being out there by yourself, but he knew he shouldn’t doubt your abilities. At the same time, he was trying to stop his feelings, because it just furthered his pain.

He cupped his boner, stumbling up and thinking to himself, how long has it been now? He couldn’t help it, thinking about sex. Fuck, it was crazy he wanted to just touch you again, how much he missed touching you was driving him insane. He couldn’t masturbate, he would lose the bet.

The winner also had the benefit of getting the title, “Greatest Person of the Year”, which included perks of people not teasing him and you, and many more. It would be great to have Bucky and Sam off your backs.

He set his phone down while he turned the shower on cold, needing to get in there as soon as possible. Maybe it would work now, but he couldn’t tell if it was too late to help. He still needed you by his side. Whether it was sexual or not, he loved you and needed to be by you.

“Ouch – oh shit.” He whined, coughing as the cold water hit his bare back. He stripped himself as quick as possible, now realizing he kept his socks on. He criticized himself, why’d you leave your socks on? Why are you doing this now?

The shower didn’t help at all. Once his body got used to the temperature, he got flashes of visions of you, from missing you. He groaned out of anger at himself for doing it, and he had to stop himself from palming his boner.

He got out of the shower, rushing to his phone and dialing your mission phone, that was connected to the earpiece you wore. When it connected, he could hear you grunting as you punched one of the people that attacked you.

“P-Peter? What’s up?” You stuttered, breathing heavily as you ran down to the other room, trying to get away for a few seconds to just get your mind together to focus.

“Oh shit- I’m sorry!” Peter rambled, forgetting you were busy. He hit his head and groaned to himself, hearing you on the other side of the phone.

Stop thinking like that idiot! He reminded himself, and you responded to him after a moment of shuffling around in the corner. “It’s okay! Is everything good? You alright, babe?” You whispered, glancing around and picking up one of the objects in the room with one of your powers, focusing it by the doorway to protect yourself.

“Yeah…uh, I’ll get you go. Please be safe. I love you.” Peter sighed out, scratching his hair as he sat by the edge of the bed, hoping you were okay.

You quickly responded to him, “Love you. I’ll be back in a few hours I think, maybe 12 hours tops?” You randomly guessed the time, knowing there was a lot to do. You hung up when you heard someone’s footsteps.

Peter gazed down at his boner, now fully erect and he frowned. The blood hurt so much in his cock; he couldn’t do anything though. He laid back on the bed, his head on his pillow, still naked, knowing any clothing would hurt to put on.

He tried to focus his thinking on something else again, anything. It barely helped, and he ended up squeezing his eyes shut as the pain rumbled through his body, the soreness was too much. He felt a few tears form and start to leak down his face, and he had to remind himself everything would be okay soon.

He rolled over, doing breathing techniques, trying to calm down. The tears wouldn’t stop coming though and he bit his lip, holding back his cries. It must have been ten or twenty minutes later when he pushed the pillow over his head, now having a headache from crying and the pain.

He held the pillow close, trying to block any light from the devices in the room, crying himself to sleep as the pain worsened.

When you got back, you quickly paced over to the room, needing to check Peter. You could tell he was struggling when he spoke to you and you pouted when you opened the door, seeing him laying on the bed. It was upsetting to see him with dried tear stains on the pillows, and you leaned down, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek.

His boner was gone now, but you could tell he was probably in pain still. You laid down next to him, holding his arm softly, just hoping this dumb bet would be over soon so he wouldn’t struggle like that again.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #avengers x reader #avengers fanfiction #thank you for sending this in!#love y'all!#kidney9-9

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poesparakeet-fics · 3 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Caduceus Clay/Caleb Widogast, Caduceus Clay & Caleb Widogast, The Poly Nein - Relationship Characters: Caleb Widogast, Caduceus Clay Additional Tags: Tickling, ler!Cad, Lee!Caleb, Punishment, Injury, Injury Recovery, Caleb Widogast Needs a Hug, Caleb Widogast is a Mess, Teasing, Queerplatonic Relationships, Pinned, Wrestling, Forced Self Love, And for once I don’t mean that in the sexy way., Safewords Series: Part 3 of The Poly Nein Summary:

Caduceus shows Caleb the consequences of dodging a healing spell around people who love you.

This one’s SFW, so please enjoy it here or on AO3!

This is what happens.

They came home battered, beaten and pissed besides. The others hung around for Jester’s prayer of healing, but Caleb slipped away, too full of old wounds and grey memories to give up his new wounds quite yet. His head ached and his side pulsed painfully while he climbed the stairs. He was nearing his door when a great, heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

“Here,” a warm voice hummed from behind him, “lemme get that for you.”

“Oh Herr Clay, it’s–”

Caleb’s sentence was choked out by a sudden sucking feeling accompanied by a sharp sound in his chest as Caduceus’ spell took hold.

*POP*

Caleb froze, then swayed in his tracks. Perhaps the injury had been a little worse than he thought. He turned around to thank his friend, only to see thunder in the firbolg’s eyes and freeze. He had seen Caduceus upset, annoyed and disappointed, but he wasn’t sure he’d seen him furious before. Until now, that is.

“For real?” Cad’s voice was still it’s usual low, placid cadence. He closed his eyes and pinched the top of his nose.

“Wh-”

“That was a broken rib, Caleb.”

“I was just going to bed–”

“You didn’t take a lick of healing from Jester.” He paused while Caleb floundered under a wave of embarrassment, guilt and stubbornness. “Your rib would have been the first thing to heal, since it’s the most life threatening. Unless you had a dagger through your heart I didn’t know about.”

The lie that was ready on Caleb’s tongue died there.

“I… ah… I did not know it was broken.” He finished lamely.

“That is not…” Caduceus closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, “That’s not the point, you… dammit, OK. OK, We’re gonna deal with this.”

His hand closed around the back of Caleb’s coat, and the now-healthy wizard yipped as he was lifted effortlessly off his feet. As easy as it was to forget Caduceus’ quiet anger, it was easier to forget his rarely-used strength.

Caduceus pulled Caleb into his quarters.

“Caduceus, what–”

“It was one thing when you were still too broken to function or believe anyone could care for you. But that’s not what’s happening here, right? You know better than this now.”

Caleb felt a panicked little chill run up his spine as Caduceus carried him like a suitcase.

“Caduceus, just— wait, I didn’t know–”

“Of course you didn’t. That big, stabbing pain in the side of your body, next to all the vital organs? I can see why you weren’t concerned.” He set Caleb on the oversized bed, and used a stern look to him in place. “Take off your shirt, I want to check your other ribs.”

“Caduceus, your spell worked fine…”

The firbolg regarded him with mild astonishment. “You really gonna fight me on this?”

Caleb swallowed, and pulled his coat off, then his holsters and shirt. He sat politely and quietly on the edge of the bed, eyes downcast. Caduceus sat next to him, tugging at his arms to manipulate his torso and peer carefully at him. Eventually he let out a breath.

“It looks like the spell healed all of the physical damage.”

Caleb was just starting to relax with slumped shoulders when one large hand caught him across his chest from behind and pulled his torso across Caduceus’ lap. That gave him a chance to catch the wicked twinkle in his friend’s eye and start fighting, but it was too late at that point. He was pinned with both wrists held over his head by Caduceus’ left hand, his torso stretched over the width of the firbolg’s lap while a heavy right elbow held his hips in place.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Caleb squeaked, legs kicking feebly against the mattress.

“Making sure you remember what happens when you dodge heals from now on. I’m gonna check every one of your ribs, I’m gonna do it until it’s done, and you’re gonna take it because if you bamf away from me, I’m just gonna have to get other people involved.”

With that Cad started to gently trace Caleb’s short rib with a pinching finger and thumb, reaching across the wizard’s body so his arm could block Caleb’s attempts to curl up in a ball.

“Wait, I– Oh, noho!”

Caleb threw his head back to laugh, every squirm just sending him deeper into Caduceus’ embrace. He could feel the firbolg’s mass shaking against his side, chuckling at his reactions.

“One. That first little one looks OK. Is it supposed to be that small? I should really learn more about human anatomy, huh? Two…” Caduceus moved up one rib, and Caleb’s laughter pitched up despite himself, “Hmm, yeah, that looks good too. So, did you think of what could have happened, if you went to bed?””

“Whahat?” Caleb gasped, unable to grasp the question under the onslaught he was suffering.

Luckily Caduceus didn’t need him to. “It could have punctured your lung. -Whoops, there’s three.- It could have killed you in your sleep. Four.”

Caduceus was a good way up his ribcage now, and the precision attacks on every solitary bone under thin skin was escalating Caleb’s desperation pretty rapidly. Being stretched out over Cad’s lap made it feel like his breath was being chased out of his chest by long downy fingers.

“Please! I’m sohohory!” He squeaked, heels drumming against the bed.

“Someone would have found you, cold and dead in the morning. Five. You know, we might have been able to bring you back, but that scar? From finding you? That’s a lot harder to heal.”

Caleb felt a sharp roll of guilt across his stomach. Not that he could express it. “Ahahaha- I-I’m sorry, pleaheeheese!”

“Hm. Are you sorry you did it or are you sorry I caught you? Six.”

“Both!” Caleb squealed, perhaps a bit too honestly.

Caduceus chuckled at him again. “Well, at least I know you’re not hiding things from me anymore. Hmm… where’s seven?”

Caduceus fingers dug around curiously, pretending he couldn’t find the rib he was currently torturing. Caleb thrashed with tears springing into his eyes, but he made no progress in escaping at all. It was like being tormented by a fuzzy mountain.

Caduceus made a frustrated sound, stopping his torment for a second. Caleb sucked in a few deep breaths.

“You made me lose count,” Caduceus explained, voice full of patently false regret, “I’m gonna have to start over.”

“Nein!” Caleb yelped

“You’d better hope you have more than nine ribs.” Caduceus teased, laughing when Caleb let out a frustrated growl.

Caduceus’ fingers returned to his lowest short-rib and started counting them out again, quicker than before. This time Caleb was crying by 3, trying desperately to stay still and expel all his ticklish agony without making Caduceus start over again.

“OK, I found seven this time. Are you ready?”

Caleb sobbed and shook his head no, but Caduceus continued anyway, ignoring his squeal.

“Pleaheeheese! Please, I’m sohohorry!”

“Eight. I do believe you, now,” the firbolg answered, “but the only way you’re getting out of this is to use that special word. And since you’re too stubborn to use that thing when Jester tortures you for fun, I’m guessing you’re not gonna use it now, when you know you deserve it. Not for little old me.”

Little old Caduceus was currently tickling a powerful mage to tears without so much as a bother, but Caleb didn’t have the breath to point it out. The first time Caduceus had seen the Nein really tickle Caleb to pieces, he had broken it up. Jester had to have a patient talk about safewords to convince him it was OK. Now he was wielding it against Caleb, and if he could, the wizard definitely would have pouted about it.

As it was his face was forced into a bright smile that he tried to hide against one bicep, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes to roll past pink cheeks and red ears. His feet kicked helplessly at the air when Cad’s fingers moved again.

“There’s nine. So I think you’re just gonna have to take this, but if you’re cooperative and not stubborn, we’ll get through it quicker, OK?”

Caleb wanted to wail that he didn’t know what that meant but settled for just wailing instead. Caduceus was quickly getting to the ticklish spots that his holsters usually protected.

“Ten. So, are you gonna do it again?”

Caleb felt a flash of panicked confusion before he remembered what had gotten him into this mess.

“Nein!” he wheezed between fits.

“Good to hear. Eleven. Why aren’t you gonna do it again?”

“Bitte! Pleheeheese I can’t” Caleb choked, breathless.

“Oh, yeah you can. Come on, why aren’t you gonna do it again?”

He switched to one finger and a lighter touch, leaving Caleb in hysterical waves of giggles while also giving him a chance to catch his breath a little.

“Because- it would- ahaha- upset theheehee others!”

“Hm. Well, I’ll take that for now. Twelve! Now, what’s gonna happen if you do it again?”

Caduceus had to realize that the shrieking wizard had no way to answer, so he answered for him.

“This is what happens, right? We have a zero tolerance policy from now on.”

Caleb sobbed and nodded in understanding, his whole body bending to try and save the one patch of ticklish skin without any success. Then Caduceus’ hand started to wriggle and prod into his armpit and his whole body jerked like he was electrified.

“AAHahahaha nahahahaha!” Caleb couldn’t get enough of a break to beg for mercy.

“Hmm. Looks like that’s it. Is twelve the right number?”

“Yahahahas!”

“Oh, well, good to know then.”

Caduceus released him, letting the teary-eyed wizard’s arms snap down to belatedly shield his ribcage, his face disappearing into his hands while his body shuddered with laughter.

“Shh,” he soothed as though he wasn’t the perpetrator of Caleb’s state, “ just breath.”

Caleb tried, rolling onto his side to breath into Caduceus’ linen shirt. Hysterical, pitchy laughter jerked out of him when the other man tried to pat his back and immediately stopped with a soft apology.

“You… just… please never do that again.”

“I think that’s up to you, based on the arrangement we just agreed to…”

“-under torture!-”

“… and I mean, it’s gonna happen again. At least one more time tonight.”

There was a moment of heavy, terrified silence.

“…What?” Caleb felt like a cup of ice water had been poured down his back. His eyes went perfectly round.

“I said I was gonna check all your ribs. I feel like if I don’t follow though I’ll set a bad precedent.”

Caleb immediately tried to scramble away from Caduceus, and he would have hit the floor if the firbolg hadn’t reached out to grab him around his middle and hoist the smaller man into his lap.

“Mist! Nein! You can’t, please!”

Caduceus started the patient, gentle work of getting a grip on the wriggling wizard in his lap. He kept his right arm looped around Caleb’s middle, his other arm working to try and grab a flailing wrist. When he wasn’t quite quick enough he made a frustrated sound in Caleb’s ear, right before planting a raspberry between the smaller man’s shoulder blades.

“Hold still!”

Caleb let out a wordless peal of squealing laughter under the onslaught of soft lips, velveteen nose and wooly beard. It bolted down his spine and made his whole upper body collapse.

One big, soft palm gripped his now-limp wrist and heaved it upward, exposing his currently un-tormented right side. Caduceus looped his right arm under Caleb’s captured one, bracing his palm on the back of the smaller man’s head. Caleb’s left arm was pinned against his chest as Caduceus’ other arm wrapped around him to keep him in his seat and hover downy fingers over Caleb’s exposed ribcage.

“Pleaheeheese you’ll kill meeeheehee!” Caleb whimpered through anticipatory laughter, eyes glued on Caduceus’ hovering hand.

“Sssh.” The firbolg soothed into the back of Caleb’s head. “I’m not gonna kill you. We’re just gonna take it really easy, OK?”

His left hand started to rub Caleb’s side in smooth circles, each one climbing higher than that last

“Nooohoohoho!” Caleb whined, eyes squeezing shut as the firbolg’s fingers found his short rib.

“One.”

“Bitte!” Caleb squealed through gritted teeth.

“I want you to repeat after me, OK?”

Caleb tried to turn and look at him, teary eyes astonished, as though Caduceus had asked him to move the moon.

“I -yeeheehee!- I can’t! Please!

“You can, I promise. We’re gonna start off really easy. How about “I deserve to live.”

“Whahahahaat? I can’t–”

“Two.”

“-Aaah! Nohoho! OK, ok, please!”

Caduceus only gave him a moment to take a breath before it spilled out “Ideservetolive!”

“Very good!” The hand holding Caleb in a half-nelson patted his head. “How about ‘I don’t deserve pain.’ for number three?”

“Ahahaa! Says the one torturing meheeheehe!”

“Ha! Are your ribs hurting? It’s a good thing I’m checking on them. Four.”

“Aaahaaa! I don’t deserve pain!”

“See, you’re doing great,” Caduceus praised, “we’ll be done in no time. I know this one’s going to be a little tough for you, are you ready? Five. I want you to say ‘I’m loved and I deserve that love.’”

For the first time that night, Caduceus’ request made Caleb’s jaw lock up.

“Nein— no, aah! I can’t!” He managed to whine through his teeth and the increasingly hysterical laughter that Caduceus was pulling out from deep in his chest.

“You have my permission not to believe all of these for now, but I want you to say every one. Six.” “AhahaHA! Nein, habt Mitleid! Mehehercy!”

Caduceus snorted. “On your ribs or on your low self-esteem? Actually, don’t waste your breath. I already know the answer. Seven.”

“Aaaaii! Please! I c- I can’t remember whahahat I’m supposed to sahahay!” Caleb sobbed, body starting to go limp with exhaustion in Caduceus’ arms.

The firbolg laughed, letting up for a moment to use his sleeve to wipe the tears off his captive’s cheeks.

“I’m loved…”

“I’m… loved…” Caleb panted, his unpinned hand holding on to Caduceus’ currently-stilled tickling hand for dear life, as if it might save him.

“And I deserve that love.

Even breathless and exhausted, Caleb winced like the sentence left a bad taste in his mouth. “I… deserve that… love.”

“Hey, good job. That was one of the hard ones.”

The sound that started to flow out of Caleb was somewhere between a panicked giggle and an exhausted sob. One of the hard ones.

“For this one I’m gonna need the whole phrase. ‘My name is Caleb Widogast, and I am a good man’ Are you ready?”

“No! Please have mercy!”

“Aw, sorry buddy. Not this time. Eight…”

“NIEN, can’t– s'too m-muhuch pleaheese–”

“Nine indeed!” Caduceus chuckled, fingers jolting upward to take advantage of the joke. “It’s not too much. I know you can do it.”

“I c-c- NO PLEASE I can’t while you– CAN’T! BITTE!"

Caduceus chuckled, fingers jumping up to tweak the next rib and yank a short little scream out of Caleb before he stopped moving his fingers and froze, still and menacing.

"That’s ten. Come on. I can’t make you believe it but I’m gonna make you say it.”

Caleb’s weight was leaning into Caduceus’ chest, his head leaning back against one solid shoulder with his eyes closed as he gulped in breaths.

“I'm… a good man.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Caleb Widogast… is a good man.”

“Aw, very good.” Caduceus praised, squeezing Caleb in a small hug. “Ready? Almost finished. Eleven.”

Caleb didn’t even plead this time, he just started to laugh again with his head still thrown back against Caduceus’ shoulder.

“Last one, I promise. I want you to say "I am going to take care of myself for the people who love me, or Caduceus is going to tickle me until I scream. Every time.”

“I CA- I CA- nohohoho! Too lohohong!”

“Twelve.”

Caleb’s back arched and his feet kicked while he shrieked, unable to get even the first part of the sentence out. Caduceus did have a little mercy, then, pausing to let Caleb suck in the breath he needed.

“I'mgoingtotakecare *pant* of myself *hic* forthepeople *hic* who love me or… *hic* this is what happens…”

“Every time.” Caduceus reminded him, tapping his fingers on Caleb’s top rib.

“Every time! Every time! Pleaheeheese!”

Finally, Caduceus let him go, angling himself so the wizard could flop over onto his bedspread. Caleb curled up on his side, face in his hands as the residual laughter started to slowly die down and the shuddering feeling in his bones faded.

“Do you wanna stay here tonight? Least I could do.”

Caleb unfurled with a heavy sigh. “Ja, please."

"Hey Caleb? What time is it?”

“Ah… *hic* probably between 10 and midnight, why?”

“Oh. No reason."

Caleb could see the firbolg’s smug little smile, but was entirely too tired to do anything about it.

Caduceus started to shrug off his outer layers and lowered the lamp while Caleb tucked himself in up against the wall.

"So just to be clear, this is what happens when you dodge a healing spell–”

“Yes! Yes *hic* you’ve made your point!”

“-But it’s going to get worse every time.”

Caleb just whimpered into the pillow.

“I mean,” Cad continued, “getting Jester involved is obviously the last resort. She is the ultimate escalation. And Molly’s not far behind. Maybe Beau first?”

“Nien!” Caleb jerked himself up in the bed in a panic. “Not Beau! She’s right under Molly. Not Beau.”

Caduceus chuckled, sliding himself into the big warm bed next to Caleb.

“So that leaves Yasha, Fjord and Veth. Wanna fill out the ranking?”

Caleb chuckled a little along with him, then whined.

“Nooo. I feel like I’m being made to dig my own grave.”

“If it makes you feel better, you’ve definitely already done that. I saw that reaction to the raspberry. That’s how I’m counting next time.”

Caleb groaned in the back of his throat. The threats felt like they were melting him.

“Mein gotten, to think I used to believe you were the nice one.”

Caduceus chuckled again. He slung one arm over the Caleb ball next to him and pulled the wizard in for a cuddle, rubbing his back soothingly when the other man tensed up.

“Hey, I’m done. For now. Seriously though, who’s most dangerous after Beau.”

Caleb gave a defeated sigh as he relaxed into Caduceus’ soft, solid embrace. The softly lit room took on a golden haze. Caduceus smelled like spices, cardamom and rosemary. Caleb hid his face in one wolly shoulder, his breathing evening out.

“Fjord because he teases, then Yasha because she bites.”

“Heh. So Veth’s the first level of escalation? Good to know. She seems more likely to keep this between us anyway… Caleb?"

The only answer was a snore.

#critickle role #tickle fic #caleb widogast #caduceus clay #tk fic

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buckyswintersoldiermask · 3 years

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ι’ll love yoυ ғorever; нello

Bucky Barnes x powered reader, platonic Shuri x reader

Summary: Bucky comes out of cryo and Bucky and the reader spend their first together.

Bucky Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist ~ Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1287

Warnings: just fluff?

A/N: I wrote “goodbye” and felt like there should be something after it so here’s “Hello.” I wanted to give the reader powers in the first part but didn’t know how to fit in so I just put it in the second part. (I’m not too confident about the backstory and how it’s executed). !!constructive criticism is always welcome!!

After a few long months, Shuri did it. She got all of HYDRA’s brainwashing out of Bucky. Shuri healed him with the traditional stuff that was learned from their ancestors, along with some tech with his mind. He was finally free. He could finally move on from his past.

“(Y/N), are you ready to see Sergeant Barnes?” Shuri asked, leading you to the medical ward.

“You know I am.”

Since you stayed in Wakanda after Bucky went back into cryostasis you had a lot of time to get close to Shuri. You tried to help her in the lab as much as you could and just be a good friend. You also had a lot of time to learn new things about your powers.

You made it to the medical ward where Bucky was kept. Doctors all around his capsule awaiting instructions. Shuri goes over to Bucky looking at his panel which shows his vital signs and has the button to take him out of cryostasis. “(Y/N/N)? Want to do the honors?”

Stunned, she asked you, you walk over next to her and she guides your hand to the button. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You take a deep breath, your hand slightly shaking because of the adrenaline. You get to see Bucky again. Not just check up on him from the outside of the capsule. You get to hug him, kiss him, cherish him.

You didn’t know you were crying until you felt a teardrop fall on your hand. You look back at Shuri smiling, in a split-second decision you press the button and wipe your eyes.

At an instant, the tube began to defrost causing your throat to leap. Shuri pushes you closer to it so you can be the first thing Bucky sees when he wakes up.

It finally opened all the way and Bucky’s eyes immediately found you. “Hi there.” You say voice cracking, tearing up a little.

“Hi, Doll.”

You missed him, you missed the way he called you, you missed his pet names for you. You missed his sarcastic comments, you missed feeling him in your arms. You missed him so much.

The doctors unstrap Bucky and he gets out pulling you into his arms. You melt into his touch as he cradles your head in his hand. “I’m here. I’m back.”

You let out a sob you were holding back. The room cleared as Bucky led you to some chairs, helping you to sit down.

You and Bucky spent time catching up. He wanted to hear all you did while he was on ice. You told him how you and Shuri became closer. You told him about how you were learning more about your powers. You told him about the beautiful Wakandan hut you were staying in that will become both of yours.

“It’s away from central Wakanda. It’s very peaceful and calm. I think you’ll like it.” He smiles kissing your hand.

“I’m sure I will.”

Shuri comes over with a huge stack of books and drops them on the table next to you. “Self - help books.”

Bringing your attention back to Bucky his eyes are wide at the number of books she brought. “I can read some of them to you.” Bucky nods directing his attention back to you.

After you spent some time catching up, Shuri had to check Bucky. Everything looked well and he was free to go. Bucky decided not to get his metal arm reattached. There was no danger, no one to fight so he didn’t want it just yet.

You lead him to your tent carrying the books Shuri prescribed. “So this is it.”

Bucky goes in and looks around, seeing all your drawings and the artwork you’ve done since he’s been gone. Paints, pencils, paper, brushes, practically any art materials Wakanda had, all over your desk.

“I’m glad you’re still a good artist.” He teased, smirking at you.

“Well, I did have to do something to pass the time.”

Putting down the books on the bed, you and Bucky see his dog tags there. You grabbed them smiling at Bucky. “Shuri gave them to me while you were on the ice. Here you go.”

Bucky shakes his head, “I told her to give them to you, you can keep them.”

“Really?” Bucky nods, cupping your face in his hand.

You smile putting them around your neck. “They look better on you anyway.” He flirts.

You and Bucky stare into each other’s eyes just taking the moment in. Bucky takes his hand pulling you closer to him, his eyes glancing from your eyes to your lips. You lean forward placing your lips on his. The kiss was anything but innocent, it was violent and hungry, and left you breathless. You were making up for the lost time. Taking in every moment of that kiss. Being away from Bucky wrecked you. You fell hard for James Buchanan Barnes. He’s your home. Bucky pulls away so you can both catch your breath.

“You really missed me huh, doll?” You nod resting your head on his chest wrapping your arms around him. “Of course I did.”

“I won't ever leave you like that again.”

You sat there in silence until you pulled away, “Let’s get you settled, okay?” You put the books down in a neat row on your desk, cleared some space around the room so your things aren’t all over the room. Bucky snoops around on your desk and finds a journal, curious about what it is, he scans the pages.

“You’ve been practicing new things with your powers?” He questions looking back at you. You grab your journal out of his hand. “Maybe.”

“Can you show me?”

“I guess just this once, you’ve always been my biggest fan.” You smile as you turn the bed and the desk invisible with a single touch. “I can also stay invisible for a lot longer now.”

For as long as you can remember you had invisibility powers. When your father was young he had experiments done on him, so his mutated genes were passed on to you. Your father liked to tell you that you were chosen to have powers to do a greater good.

You hid your powers for years until your mother’s life was threatened. That put you on the map. Next thing you know Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, and Natasha Romanoff are knocking on your door asking you to become an Avenger. You accepted feeling that this is what your father wanted you to do, use your powers for a greater cause.

“Wow, doll. You’re incredible I remember when we first met-” You cover Bucky's mouth with your hand before he could continue . “No, No not that cursed time. That was so embarrassing.”

After you joined the Avengers you helped Steve find Bucky, you used your powers to the best of your ability. You needed a lot more training and work. You hadn’t used your powers in years so you were very rusty. Your first encounter with Bucky was one to remember.

Bucky gets out of your grip laughing so hard he has to sit down. “You bumped into me while helping Steve find me and you got so nervous that half of your body became invisible.”

“In my defense, I was very untrained,” you say with your hands on your hips. “I know, doll. You were so cute though.”

“You just came back and you’re already bringing up embarrassing stories about me.” you groan facing the door.

“Someone’s gotta do it, and that someone is me.”

You roll your eyes and take a look outside, the sun is getting ready to set, “Want to watch a Wakandian sunset?”

“With you? Anyday.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated :) ~ Mak

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader soft #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff #bucky imagine #bucky one shot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky fic #bucky x y/n #buckyswintersoldiermasksfics

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satoruvt · 3 years

Text

for now; forever

pairing → kwon soonyoung x reader

word count → 9015

genre → mostly fluff, angst ↳ tags: ooh boy. firewatch au, banter, like a little bit (a lot) of pining, strangers to friends to… something, FLIRTING, reader’s kinda fucked up but its ok, hoshi’s weird and endearing (as always), a tiny bit of hurt/comfort, minghao best boy, soonyoung is very sweet it makes me want to cry

synopsis → after an unfortunate burnout that lands you in every critic’s negative and all-seeing eye, you decide to take a break from the one thing you know. you’re not sure if you’ll find what you’re looking for out in the middle of the woods - if you’re looking for anything at all - but at the very least, soonyoung will make the hunt a little less lonely.

warnings → there’s eventually a forest fire (starts on day 64 and is mentioned throughout the rest of the fic) that leads to an evacuation but it’s not super detailed, mentions and descriptions of creative burnout/breakdown

a/n → IT’S FINALLY HERE!!! i made a fancy banner nd everything <3 i know 9k isn’t a lot to some people but this is probably the longest one shot i’ve ever written LMAOO so i hope it’s paced ok and everything <33 PLEASE let me know what yall thought about this i am insanely proud of it. ok thats it hehe. hope you enjoy!!! see u on the other side!!!!

btw here’s a fun playlist of songs i listened to while writing mixed with some songs i think reflect the fic super well <33

DAY ONE.

So. You’re… out here, now.

Save for the bugs you have to swat at every fifteen seconds, the outdoors doesn’t seem that bad. The weather isn’t too hot (yet, your mind reminds you) and there’s something about the color of the sky that makes your heart constrict in your chest. You can’t tell if it’s good or bad, but given your luck recently, you’re hoping it’s not a warning for the coming months - God knows you need a break. The weight of the journal in your bag feels heavier than any of the camping gear you brought with you.

You debate texting Minghao that you’ve made it to the park safely, but when you check your phone after deciding yes, you see the words no service instead of the familiar lines of a signal. It’s not that big of a deal - you’d told him when you left that you probably wouldn’t have service at all - but a little part of you feels the tender shake of anxiety at the thought of not being able to contact your best friend.

He was the most worried out of everyone when you told him you were leaving for the summer. You can’t really blame him - it was abrupt, you saw the flyer at the grocery store and took it - but after what happened… doing something felt, feels, better than sitting around and waiting for nothing to happen. Waiting for a healing you aren’t sure will ever come, at least not completely.

“Is this really…” Minghao had started upon first entering your apartment after getting your text. Clothes were thrown all over your bedroom floor in an attempt to pack. “Do you need to do this?”

The tone of his voice told you he wasn’t going to try to stop you, that he just wanted to make sure this was what you needed. You had only nodded, sitting down on the edge of your bed to fold clothes and pack them into your suitcase.

“I just don’t want you to run away from it all,” Minghao said softly, sitting next to you. “You’ll need to face it eventually.”

“Is escaping really such a bad thing?” You asked, looking at Minghao. He gave you the look he did when you said something stupid, and if you weren’t still so wired from everything, you might have laughed. Instead, you sighed, placing a pair of pants into your suitcase. “I just need some time.”

Before you can face it, before you can come back, before you can write again… you still don’t know. Minghao had placed a kind hand on your shoulder to tell you there was no rush.

It’d taken no more than two days for you to get everything ready - including buying some apparently necessary survival equipment from Target. In a matter of a few hours you had gathered everything up, texted some other friends and your family that you might not be available the next few months and then… you left.

(Your manager was pretty pissed off that you left so suddenly, but she was also pissed off at you when you told her you needed a break for at least a few weeks, so you’re not really offended.)

You take one last longing look at your car before locking it, pocketing the keys, and starting on your hike.

The hike takes almost the whole day.

You think you almost cry when you finally see the watch tower you’re supposed to be staying in, your legs barely able to hold the rest of your body up. The hike wasn’t hard, really - long, though, and for someone who usually spends a work day sitting at a desk, you’re surprised you’re still alive. You find the little lock that holds the keys to the tower at the bottom of the stairs, fastened onto the railing. It takes a few seconds for you to enter the code you’d been given earlier, relishing in the soft breeze the cools the sweat on your face and neck. The sun is just barely starting to set beyond the mountains, a beautiful sight that you can’t properly focus on because all you want to do is pass out. You’re pretty sure you almost do on your way up the stairs.

The cabin at the top of the tower is pretty scarcely furnished, save for a few basic necessities (a gas stove rests on one wall, a small desk opposite to it by the door, a mini-fridge, and a bed in the corner plus what looks like a map table in the center of the room). It’s a little weird, a feeling caught between the nostalgia of moving into a new place and something you can’t quite name, but you figure you have a few months to make it all a little more comfortable.

For now, though, you feel like you’re on the last leg of your energy. Your mind is saying eat, sleep, eat, sleep on repeat and you have to agree with it, so you change the sheets on the bed, take down the boards over the windows while you wait for the macaroni from the Kraft box to cook. You end up eating a few forkfuls of poorly-made mac and cheese before crashing.

When you wake up, it’s to gentle static and a semi-clear, unfamiliar voice. It takes you a minute to remember where you are and what you’re doing, too disoriented to even think about the voice, but then - oh. Forest. Watch tower. Escape. Okay.

“Yo, Cottonwood! Am I coming through okay? Pick up your radio!”

Right. The voice. Radio?

“Come on, I saw you get in yesterday, I know you’re there. Unless,” a gasp, “you died! Oh my God, this is like a horror movie… and I’m next!”

You manage to wake up enough to locate your radio (a walkie-talkie resting on a charger on the desk) and, after a few seconds of gentle struggle, work it. “Not dead,” you say, then clear your throat because your voice does not sound good right after waking up. “I mean… almost. But not dead.”

There’s barely a moment of hesitation before the person on the other end hoots, apparently excited. “Arisen from the dead! Brought back to life by none other than the legendary Hoshi!”

A brief thought crosses your mind about having to listen to this guy all summer, but you quickly shoo it away. You won’t have to deal with it for the whole three months, right? “Who… who is Hoshi?”

“Me!” The voice answers, sounding a little too smug. “But it’s really just an alias. You can call me Soonyoung. I’m at Twin Peaks tower, west of yours!”

You spin around your cabin, looking through the windows cluelessly - how long have you been asleep, it’s practically afternoon - until you see a very small silhouette of another tower in the distance. You nod, then realize Soonyoung can’t see you. “Oh. Cool.”

“Aren’t you gonna tell me your name?” Soonyoung asks, but his tone is light, breezy. You blink, reciting your name to him in a daze. “Pretty! So, what brings you out here?”

You weren’t expecting that question. “What?”

Soonyoung giggles into the radio. “Everyone comes out here for some reason. Like… Jihoon says it’s ‘cause it helps him write music. And Joshua loves the outdoors, so… what’s your reason?”

“You…” you start, not exactly wanting to tell a stranger the reason you ran away from everything you know. “Do you normally ask this many questions?”

“Yeah!”

You feel yourself sigh, already tired again.

“I… just wanted to get away for a while,” you end up saying. A half-truth. “I live in the city.”

“No way,” Soonyoung gasps excitedly. “Me too! I wonder if both of us have ever been walking and, like, passed each other without knowing…”

This isn’t exactly what you had in mind when you thought of escaping.

DAY TWO.

The next morning, you dedicate time to getting a little more settled into your home for the next few months. You didn’t bring a lot of decor - you didn’t think you needed any - but even seeing your blanket on the bed and a few books you need to catch up on reading stacked on the desk makes the place feel a little bit more like you. You eventually reach the journal you packed (that Minghao made you pack) and stare at it like it might do something. Like it might tell you to write again, or like it might tell you to leave everything behind. You don’t really know what you want from it.

A sing-songed version of your name comes from your radio and you blink away from the journal, set it down on the desk. “Good morning!” Soonyoung says from the other end, and you feel yourself take a deep breath as you pick up your radio and press down the button so he can hear you.

“Morning, Soonyoung,” you respond, calm compared to his excitement.

“So… what are your plans for today?”

“Um,” you pause, brows furrowed, looking towards the direction of his tower even though you know he can’t see you. “Looking out for fires?”

“That’s boring,” is Soonyoung’s immediate response, and you laugh a little.

“Kinda my job for a while.”

And listen, you’ve known Soonyoung for less than a full 24 hours, but even before your brain really comprehends what he’s saying you know you’re not going to like it. “Wait, that reminds me,” he says, tone of his voice a little less overexcited puppy. “What did you do before this? Or, like, what’s your career? I mean, you don’t have to answer, I just thought it could be a way for us to get to know each other…”

His voice fades away for the split second you remember a little too much all at once, but somehow your voice still sounds put together when you speak. “Nothing special,” you say. There’s a pause when you don’t elaborate any further, but instead of asking about it, Soonyoung changes the subject.

“Okay!” he says, back to a more playful tone. “Anyways, I asked about your plans ‘cause I kind of need you to do something for me.”

“Already asking favors?” you tease. “We just met, Soonyoung.”

You hear him laugh, loud and hearty, and it’s contagious even through a radio line so you feel your own smile pull at your lips. “One of the other lookouts found some teenagers with fireworks,” he informs you. “I need you to meet him and get the fireworks from him.”

Your feet are already in your shoes, one halfway tied. “You can’t do this?”

Soonyoung’s voice is strangely thoughtful, but you catch a hint of mischief at the end of his sentence. “I would, but Jihoonie said he’d eat me if I tried to see him again and I think he’s serious this time.”

He tells you where the other lookout - Jihoon - should be and gives you a quick lesson on how to properly use your map to get there. You’re not really excited for another hike this early on (you’re still sore from even getting up here) but by the time you meet the halfway mark you’re convinced it’s not that bad. It’s neither long nor challenging, and… well, Soonyoung’s insistent on keeping you company the whole time.

When you see what looks like a guy at the edge of a now-abandoned camp, you tell Soonyoung you’ll radio him when you’re on your way back to your tower. “Hey,” you call out as you get closer. The man looks up at you, his eyes sharp but not unkind. “Jihoon?”

“Yeah,” he replies. Under his cap you notice that his hair is a gentle silver, almost purple. He’s dressed casually, like you, and you suppose it’s a given since there’s no exact dress code for this job. “You’re the newbie?”

You didn’t know people knew about you. “I.. I guess,” you say, then tell him your name.

“Cool,” Jihoon says, voice flat like he’s distracted. He picks up the bag next to his feet and hands it to you. “Take these. Thanks.”

He starts to walk away, down a trail opposite the direction you came, but you think of earlier, when Soonyoung asked about your job (or when he didn’t). You call after Jihoon, hesitate, but then opt to make this quick since he looks like he’d rather be anywhere but here. “Have you and Soonyoung… known each other for long?”

Jihoon turns around. He shrugs, then nods. “We met in college, a few years ago.”

“What kind of person is he?”

You watch in vague amusement as Jihoon’s nose scrunches up, but the small smile on his face refuses to hide and it makes you giggle. “Really annyoing,” he tells you, then pauses for a second like he’s looking for the right words, “kind of overwhelming sometimes. But he’s good. He’s someone you want around.”

Someone you want around, your brain repeats to you. You nod with a friendly smile as you haphazardly stuff the fireworks in your hiking bag. “Okay. Thank you.”

Jihoon offers an acknowledging nod of his own before continuing on his way back to his tower. You’re about five minutes into your hike back to yours when your radio sounds from your pocket with a now-familiar voice.

“Are you on your way back?” Soonyoung asks. “You forgot to tell me!”

“Sorry, yeah, I am now. I was talkin’ to Jihoon for a second.”

“Really? That’s weird. He rarely talks to anyone, especially strangers. What’d you talk about?”

You can’t help the small smile that lands on your face as you speak. “Stuff to blackmail you with.”

You think you hear Soonyoung’s groan all the way from his tower, and your smile only grows when it turns into a laugh.

DAY FIVE.

The clouds look dark today.

They haven’t covered the sun completely yet, but they’re closing in fast. You hope that it rains, already sick and tired of the disgusting heat, but also. Something else.

Rainy days always used to be the best to write, your brain supplies to you. You brave a glance at the still-unopened journal on the desk, thinking that maybe…

Your radio turning on drags you away from the crack in metaphorical door, coming at the perfect time as if to tell you that you’re not ready yet. You listen to it, grab the radio, murmur a greeting to Soonyoung.

“It’s getting pretty dark out, huh?” He says. He must be looking at the sky, too.

“Yeah,” you hum. “Hopefully the storm isn’t too bad.”

The line goes quiet, but you know that Soonyoung’s still there even if he isn’t saying anything. The knowledge comforts you, just a little.

“Well... got any rainy day stories?”

DAY SEVENTEEN.

“So, Soonyoung,” you call into your radio as you step outside. You’ve taken advantage of the small balcony around the entire cabin, setting up a few chairs you found in the storage unit at the bottom of the tower (just in case someone stops by, you tell yourself) and a small table you weren’t using inside. The nights are hot but still relaxing, and you find yourself sitting outside often, catching up on reading or taking in the stars.

“I can’t believe you radioed me first,” Soonyoung responds, and you hear the smugness in his voice. “I’m so happy!”

Soonyoung somehow almost always manages to be with you in the nights, too, even if not physically. Being away from the urban civilization you’re used to has been a little difficult to adjust to, but you feel significantly less alone whenever you hear him calling you. You tell him to be quiet even though both of you are laughing. The distant crickets make your chest warm.

“What do you do? You didn’t tell me before,” You ask him after a second. There’s a small wave of anxiety that rushes over you at the idea that he might call you out about when he asked you the same thing. That was two weeks ago, though, you think, and Soonyoung wouldn’t. You’re sure he’s been able to tell that it’s a touchy subject. You’re not as discreet as you think you are, even if (and you’ve learned this the past few weeks) Soonyoung’s a bit more on the oblivious side sometimes.

“I dance!”

Somehow, despite having not even seen what he looks like, it’s fitting. “Like… teach, or choreograph, or…”

“A little of everything,” Soonyoung tells you, and then starts elaborating. His voice echoes through your radio and you look up at the stars as you listen to him, trying to map out constellations from memory. He sounds so excited to simply talk about it, you can’t imagine what he must look like when he’s actually on stage. You hope you get to see it one day.

“You’ll have to teach me something sometime,” you say once he’s finished, voicing your thoughts. With a giggle that sounds like the stars above you, he tells you he’d love to.

A moment of quiet passes, spent focusing on the tiny specks of fireflies you see in the field around your tower and feeling the summer breeze as it passes. The words slip out of your mouth with much less resistance than you thought they would.

“I used to write,” you murmur into your radio. It takes you a moment to register the heavy beat of your heart, like you just got back from a run.

“Used to?” Soonyoung asks, curious but soft.

“For now,” you answer. The ache you’ve become familiar with throbs in your chest. “Hopefully not forever.”

It’s not the whole story - not even close - but you figure you might be able to tell him with time. The thought stresses you out even when you have nothing to stress about, and you think Soonyoung is psychic because he says, next, “the stars are really pretty tonight.”

You’re not looking at the sky when you answer. Your head is tilted in the direction of his tower.

“They really are,” you say.

DAY THIRTY-THREE.

You’ve fallen into a bit of a routine with Soonyoung.

Not a day goes by where you don’t talk to him - the one day you radioed and he didn’t pick up you genuinely thought something happened to him, seconds away from calling a park ranger. Right before you actually did it, though, he picked up his radio and said he had been taking a nap.

(His voice was a little groggy from sleep, sounded like he was pouting whether he meant to or not and you’d be lying if you said the thought didn’t make your heart skip a few beats - but if anyone asked, you’d definitely lie about it.)

One of you calls the other around the same time every morning and you don’t put down your radio until the sun is well behind the mountains. You’ve grown used to his presence, in a way, even if you can’t really feel him with you (though sometimes you swear you can). It’s comforting to have him out there with you, and it’s been so long since you’ve talked to someone the way you do with Soonyoung… you find yourself looking forward to every morning, waiting for when you hear him over your radio.

Today is no different.

Well, in an unrelated way, it is - you have to hike to a supply box to get your surplus of food for the next month and a half you have left. But even as you’re doing inventory of what you have left in your cabin on a piece of paper, you’re waiting for Soonyoung’s usual good morning. It comes as always, makes you smile when you hear it.

“Good morning!”

You leave your scratch paper on your desk and reach for your radio. “Morning,” you say after you’ve pressed the button down.

“So…” Soonyoung trails off. “Supply drop day.”

“Yeah,” you reply, sitting on your bed.

“Both of us are getting crates of food today…”

What is he getting at? “Uh-huh…?”

“Both of us… getting supplies… from the same place.”

A confused laugh leaves your lips. “Soonyoung, what is your point?”

Even for as often as you talk to him, you’re still always surprised when he starts yelling. “Let’s meet up!” he exclaims, obviously excited, and it clicks in your head.

“Oh my God, can we do that?”

“Yeah!” Soonyoung sounds like he’s grinning, smile palpable in his voice. “If we pull some strings with the other lookouts and get hiking at the right time, it’s totally possible.”

Holy shit. Your heart is beating wildly, butterflies swarming around it at the thought of meeting Soonyoung in person. “Okay,” you tell him, noting that you sound a little breathless. “Okay, yeah, let’s do it.”

It takes a few minutes to work everything out - the supply boxes should be dropped off by midday, so you can leave your tower around then and get to the drop location in a little over an hour. Soonyoung has to leave earlier than you since he’s farther away, but if everything goes well the two of you should get to the drop location close to the same time, margin of error small. You radio Jihoon to cover for you while you’re out, and he agrees, although he sounds a bit miffed.

When you finally leave for your hike, you’re not expecting how quiet it is. Soonyoung’s usually there to cover it up with his voice - you don’t hike often (you’ve not had to, given your job for the summer is to watch for fires) but whenever you have he’s been there to keep you company. You plug in your earphones about halfway through your trip just to drown out the quiet, something more to listen to than just trees and the sound of your own footsteps.

Eventually you make it to the supply box, and, well. There’s a guy. Standing in front of a long, green box - you think you see lookout tower names engraved ever few inches: Thorofare, Cottonwood, Twin Peaks. Packing some ready-to-eat meals into his backpack.

Holy shit, Soonyoung? your brain automatically asks, and it sends your heart spiraling up and down. You’re not sure what you thought he looked like, but it wasn’t this. Tall, lean - wait, you don’t even know if this is actually him yet.

Before you can think too much about it, you call out, voice tentative. “Are you… Soonyoung?”

The man turns around, shakes his head with a kind smile. “No,” he says. “I’m Joshua.”

You think about throwing yourself into the river by your tower when you get back for absolutely no reason. Somehow you manage a polite smile and a gentle sorry.

“No, don’t apologize, you’re fine!” Joshua chirps, adjusting the cap on his head. “You’re looking for him?”

You pause. Those aren’t the exact words you would use, but they’re not technically wrong, so you nod. After all, you don’t know what he looks like (you probably should have asked him before both of you left, but you weren’t expecting another person to be here).

“Please don’t tell me he got lost again,” Joshua says, suddenly looking tired, and you look back at him wide-eyed because... again? Has this happened before?

“No,” you tell him. “No, I mean, I don’t think so. I don’t know. Since we both have to pick up supplies he thought it’d be cool if we met up in person.”

Joshua sighs, seemingly relieved, then continues packing what’s left of his supplies into his backpack as he hums. “That’s weird.”

“What is?”

He shrugs. “Soonyoung likes the outdoors, yeah, but the supply box is a pretty far hike from his tower. I think the last few summers he’s had them delivered.”

Oh, you think, and maybe say out loud, because then Joshua’s looking back at you, a mischievous smile on his face.

“He must really like you to come all the way out here,” he tells you, and you laugh like it might get rid of all the thoughts popping up in your mind that you keep telling yourself to stop thinking about.

“And yet,” you say wistfully, looking towards the horizon. “I still come second to Jihoon.”

This time Joshua laughs, a friendly sound, and the two of you fall into a playful conversation. He’s somewhat a superior of yours, though not by a far gap - as the lookout who’s been on the job the longest, he oversees the rest of you (which is you, Soonyoung, Jihoon, and a few others you have yet to come across). You get along with him easily and it’s weird to think that if you hadn’t gone through what you did a few months ago you wouldn’t be here talking to him, establishing what could be a new friendship. You wonder if that’s a new step towards healing, finding a way to be grateful even if it was horrible.

You talk to Joshua for a while until he says he should get back to his tower. You nod, tell him goodbye (and thanks for his company) and he starts to walk away -

“Shua!”

A burst of platinum blonde hair rushes past you from the opposite direction you came from, heading for Joshua. The new guy drops a bag at his feet and almost softly crashes into Joshua, who has this look on his face you can’t really decipher.

“Hey, Soonyoung,” he says, and you blink.

Soonyoung, like… your Soonyoung? The Soonyoung you’ve been talking to for weeks?

You watch as the two hug, Soonyoung excited to see Joshua and completely ignoring you (though you’re not sure he’s doing it intentionally). All you can do is stand there. This is him, your brain keeps telling you. This is the guy.

“I haven’t seen you in forever!” Soonyoung exclaims, bouncing on the balls of his feet excitedly. “How are you? How have things been?”

Joshua shrugs, a small smile on his face as he puts a gentle hand on Soonyoung’s head and starts… petting. “I’ve been good, same old deal. I know that you’ve been doing good too, though, as far as I’ve seen from your reports.”

Soonyoung beams at the praise and you take note of it in the back of your mind (you also note the way Joshua’s treating him like a toddler and how it’s working). He opens his mouth to say something else but looks around and meets your eyes - for a second there’s nothing at all, but then you think you see an exclamation mark actually pop above his head.

The yell of your name is so loud it makes you jump. “Oh my God,” Soonyoung whines, falling to his knees dramatically. “I can’t believe I didn’t recognize you!”

“This is the first time you’ve seen me,” you say. You can’t seem to hold back your smile.

Joshua excuses himself (again) and finally moves on his way, says he’s in Thorofare lookout if anything happens. The sun is mellow on your skin as you look at Soonyoung, take him in - light hair, warm eyes, tan skin. His smile matches your own. A breeze shifts by, slow and sweet.

“Hi,” you say.

Soonyoung grins.

“Hey.”

So the bag you saw Soonyoung drop on the ground before was, in fact, for a picnic.

He didn’t bring a lot of food (the whole point of the hike was to get supply boxes anyways) aside from a few candy bars he’d saved for today. He did bring a blanket, however, and the two of you set everything up on the edge of a rock not too far away from the drop location, under some trees. It looks over a small ravine, a stream cutting through at the bottom.

The time goes by like it was never there in the first place, spent talking and laughing. Soonyoung is just as animated in person as you thought he’d be, telling stories wildly as the two of you snack away a portion of your supplies. You know the two of you don’t have much time together, given how late it already was when Soonyoung arrived and both of your hikes back to your respective towers, but it’s still… refreshing, almost, to be with him like this, to finally get a piece of him you didn’t before. To hear him without the crackle of the radio and to see him.

To see him.

Something stirs in your chest when you look at him lying back on the blanket, arms supporting his head with his eyes closed. The sun lights up his skin in a golden glow, like honey, and the dark roots growing into his blonde hair are somehow endearing. The breath leaves your lungs when you finally label him as pretty. You hope you can blame the heat in your cheeks on the sun.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Soonyoung sighs, still not opening his eyes. You almost reach out to brush the hair away from his face, but a breeze comes by and does it for you. You hope it’s not a sign.

“It would be nice, huh,” you murmur in response. You finally break your gaze from Soonyoung and lean back on your hands, soaking up the feeling of the blue sky.

It’s now that you remember what Joshua had said earlier about Soonyoung usually getting his supplies delivered, and you turn back to him. “Hey, before you got to the supply box, Joshua and I were talking.” Soonyoung hums in acknowledgement. “Is the hike from your tower to here really that bad?”

His voice strains as he stretches, opening his eyes to look at you. “I mean, yeah, it’s a bitch of a hike to take sometimes. But it’s not really hard except for a few spots, just long.”

You furrow your brows. When you agreed to meet him, you didn’t think it’d be this much trouble for him. “And you came all this way so we could… what, sit here and eat? Like we do most of the time anyways? Just separately?”

Soonyoung pouts at you and you feel personally attacked. “Food tastes good when you’re with other people.”

You give him a soft, semi-playful glare, and Soonyoung offers a small giggle. You turn back towards the view in front of you.

“Did you not want me to come down?” He asks, and he doesn’t sound… sad, really, more observant. Like he wants to know where you’re at.

“No,” you answer almost immediately (Jesus, your brain says). “I just… it’s a long trip. It doesn’t really seem like it’s worth the effort.”

Like I’m worth the effort, you think to yourself.

You hear Soonyoung shuffle behind you and turn around to look at him again, finding him sitting up straight. “It is to me,” he tells you, and there’s something in his eyes that holds you in your spot. The tips of his fingers brush against yours on the blanket. You’d look down if you didn’t think you’d miss something. “I wanted to.”

In a second, it clicks.

It’s not much longer until Soonyoung needs to start heading back. The two of you get your things together, and you help him pack up the picnic supplies he brought. When everything’s said and done and the two of you are back by the supply box, there’s a second of uncharacteristic quiet that falls over you.

“Let me know when you get back,” you say after a moment. Soonyoung grins.

“You’re worried about me!” he swoons, and you hit him on the shoulder playfully, but don’t deny it. It can be dangerous out there, and even if Soonyoung has been out here longer than you, anything can happen.

“Just radio me, okay?”

Soonyoung smiles, something a little softer from before. He nods. “I will. You be safe too.”

You nod in return, taking a few steps back towards the trail that leads back to your tower. “Talk to you later, Hoshi.”

The last you see of him before you turn around is the grin on his face.

DAY THIRTY-FOUR.

It feels like forever since you’ve been here.

A window is open and welcomes a distant ambiance of the forest around you, trees and birds and animals. The journal you brought with you is open to the first page, but remains untouched - nothing on the pages. At least, not yet.

(The not yet you always tell yourself seems closer, this time, not so far away. Within reach, or at least within reason.)

Soonyoung had called in that the hike from yesterday had worn him out and he needed a nap. You had laughed fondly at how tired he sounded, told him to sleep well and that you’d be waiting for him. And you feel the words, right at your fingertips, the way the rest and wait to be written. Their presence is both terrifying and reassuring.

You don’t think they’ll be able to bleed out correctly, not the way they used to since it’s been so long. But they’re there, in your mind, in your heart.

You pick up the pen you got out, feel the weight of it as you click it a few times. You tap it on the desk once, twice, and then.

You take a deep breath and start to write.

DAY SIXTY-FOUR.

“Are you lookin’ at the fire?”

Your eyes leave the page of your book at Soonyoung’s voice crackling from the radio, looking around your cabin windows to see that, oh, there is a fire. You’d kind of forgotten that it’s… literally your job. At least there are multiple lookouts.

You fold the corner of the page you’re on as a makeshift bookmark before closing the book and setting it down on your bed as you stand to get your radio. You grab a can of soda from the mini-fridge you’ve started to utilize (as best you can, given it does a mediocre job at keeping things cool) before walking out onto the deck, sitting in one of the chairs you set up. “Now I am,” you tell Soonyoung as you adjust the chair so it faces the direction of the fire. You think you’re the closest lookout to it - which makes the fact that you didn’t notice it even worse - but not in any danger. The smoke paints the evening sky red-orange, washing over the purples and blues the sun used earlier as it set. “You’ve called it in?”

“Yeah, told Josh, who told the higher-ups,” Soonyoung responds, voice strangely… solemn? He sighs his next words. “They’ll probably send a crew in for suppression by morning.”

“Is there a reason you sound sad about putting a potentially dangerous forest fire out?” You tease, cracking open your soda and taking a sip. The carbonation feels good in your mouth, pops on your tongue.

“I’m not!” Soonyoung denies after some sputtering, and you laugh. “Just… ugh, looking at it - I’ve worked here every summer for the past, like, five years, and I’ve only ever seen two fires. Three, counting this one.” His voice gains a certain softness, like he’s lost in thought. “I don’t want the place to burn down or anything, but… don’t you think it’s kind of beautiful?”

It’s a little morally ambiguous, but as you look at the distant, licking flames you have to agree. In the dark, it’s vibrant, more than just ashy smoke and the smell of burning - it glows red, flushes out silhouettes of the trees in between it and you.

“I guess it is,” you hum into your radio as you stare at it.

“So. What should we name it?”

“The fire?”

“Yes,” Soonyoung says, dramatic as always. “She needs a name! I’ve always given them names, but I’ll let you do the honor this time.”

There’s something sweet in the way he offers you the chance to name it, and you try not to dwell on it too much. “Ah,” you start, thinking for a moment. “Barbara. The Barbara Fire.”

Soonyoung howls out a laugh and it’s infectious; you feel the tugging of your lips into a grin. “That is the worst thing that has ever come out of your mouth,” he says, and you roll your eyes. “We are not naming it the Barbara Fire.”

You huff out a fake whine. “Come on, it’s just Barb! She’s beautiful.”

“But deadly,” Soonyoung adds in a voice that sounds like it came straight out of a crime documentary. It makes you giggle, the two of you throwing around silly, stupid names.

“Okay, okay,” you say after a few minutes. “Then… hmm, the Hoshi Fire.”

There’s a long, long pause, and you hold down the button to your radio again. “Uh oh, is he broken?”

Soonyoung’s voice comes through, joking, but you sense a pinch of sincerity. “You want to name a raging forest fire after me… I feel like I shouldn’t be happy but I kind of am.”

You remember to push the button as you laugh, looking directly at the fire and shouting, “I hereby dub thee… the Hoshi Fire!” as loud as you can.

After the laughter dies down, for a second, there’s quiet - not awkward or for the sake of a bit, just quiet. Soonyoung’s not telling a story, you’re not giving witty comebacks. It’s just the two of you and the fire, alone in the forest.

It breaks eventually. Soft, gentle. “I’m glad you’re out here, you know,” Soonyoung says.

His words make you stiffen and relax all at once, and almost on instinct you look in the direction of his tower. You can’t really see the silhouette - the sun too far gone, taking the last of its light with it - but you know it’s there, can pinpoint exactly where it should be. You hope Soonyoung’s looking over at you, too.

And even if the reason you’re here in the first place is still a tender bruise to be pressed, you find yourself recovering a little more every day. “I am, too,” you respond. “I… I wish you were over here.”

It’s a roundabout way to say I miss you, but a part of you thinks neither of you are ready for something that explicit. You reach a hand out in the direction of Soonyoung’s tower, grasping at it like it might bring him to you. It’s not as if you can’t meet up with him again, but… between the distance and the fact that there’s an actual fire to keep your eye on, it certainly wouldn’t be easy. This is the closest you can get for now.

“I wish I was too,” Soonyoung says. You close your eyes to picture him, pretty smile and fond eyes. “We could hang out, like last time.”

“Without the radios,” you add.

“We could, um… you know.”

His words make you giggle, and you feel a little lucky that you’re not holding down the button. Your heart is pounding in your chest, nervous but stable, secure, as you reply. A welcomed beat, even if startling.

“No, I don’t,” you tell him. Your soda sits forgotten, half-empty, on the floor of the deck by your feet. You don’t bother paying attention to the fire. “What could we do?”

Soonyoung groans and this time you laugh pushing the button so he can hear you, warm and affectionate. “Don’t tease me! You know what I’m talking about.”

You do. “What could we do, Soonyoung?”

There’s a pause, but you know he’s still there.

“Well,” he says eventually. “Let me tell you.”

DAY SEVENTY-SIX.

The fire’s gotten big.

You feel like you shouldn’t be surprised by it - it’s a wildfire, they’re not exactly easy to contain, but seeing it up close like this is vastly different from being in a city and barely even noticing the smoke. It is larger than life out here, consuming more and more of the forest each day. The last few days you’ve spent inside due to the low visibility (though it’s not as if you take a hike every day anyways). It makes you wonder if it’s safe to stay out here.

“...Hey,” Soonyoung radios in. “I have a question for you.”

Rationally, you know whatever it is, it can’t be that serious. But your heart picks up pace anyways, beats a little harder as you pick up your radio to respond. “Look, it was Jihoon’s idea to use the fireworks, I promise neither of us knew it would start the fire.”

Soonyoung sputters out a laugh and you match him, feeling yourself calm down. “I’ll… I’ll ask Jihoon about that later, but - I really do have something to ask you.”

You lay down in your bed, unmade and messy. “Is it… bad?”

“I don’t think so,” Soonyoung responds. “Maybe?”

“Okay…” you say, timid. “Shoot.”

“When you first got here, I asked why you took the job,” he says, and you nod to yourself, remembering the first call you got from him. “You just… never really responded. I get it if it’s, like, a touchy subject, I don’t want to pressure you at all…”

“No,” you interrupt before you realize what you’re saying. You take a deep breath, Soonyoung waits. “No, it’s probably… it might be good to talk about it. I’ll tell you.”

He murmurs an okay, tells you to take your time and you do. It’s not like you’re scared to tell him - you’ve come to trust him, you know he won’t judge you for anything that happened or think any differently of you. You’re not even sure that’s why it’s hard for you to talk about - rather than any sort of outside force that might affect you, it’s more… more of a part of you that you felt you lost. It’s more coming to terms - even after these months - and going through the motions. It’s scary to talk about disconnection, especially from the one thing you loved (love?) more than anything.

“I… write,” is how you start, looking at the ceiling of your cabin as you speak. “Or wrote, maybe? I’m an author. I have a few books published. Writing is something I’ve loved since I was so young, it’s… a part of me, really. It’s special to me.

“When I finally got a manager and a publishing company and all that official stuff, I was so excited. It was like I was finally living my dream. I wrote my first book and got it published and it did really well, so my management asked me to do another, and I did. Then they asked for one after that, and I didn’t… it felt too soon, in a way. Rushed. But I guess I did it because I had to, because I figured this just came with being a writer and not everything is what you want it to be - and I didn’t want to risk losing what I had wanted almost my entire life.”

You take a moment to steady yourself, note the tremble of your fingers and take a few deep breaths. Soonyoung waits for you, patient and kind. “It went like that for a while, and I lost touch with writing. I stopped loving the only thing I knew how to love. I was so detached from it. A few months before I took this job my manager set up a press conference for me, and I… kind of… had a breakdown. At the conference. So I’m out here to run away for a second. Be away from it all.”

The quiet that follows doesn’t make you nervous, really, but you’re still waiting for a reply of any sort. Even if it’s the common oh or it’ll be okay that you got from distant friends and relatives who didn’t know what was really going on. But Soonyoung was patient with you, so you can be patient with him.

“Have you written since?” He asks after a minute, and your eyes flash over to the journal on your desk. One page has the familiar strokes and loops of your handwriting, written after you met Soonyoung in person.

“Only once,” you respond, truthful.

“When you start to write again… will you show me?”

And for some reason the question is so tender, filled to the brim with something you want to name. It makes tears spring to your eyes as you look out over the rising fire, trying not to let your voice shake too much as you reply.

(Maybe it’s because he said when and not if, maybe it’s because he didn’t tell you it’ll be okay, maybe it’s because it’s him and not someone else telling you the same thing.)

“Yeah,” you say, letting go of the button to sniff. “Yeah, I will. If you let me see one of your dances.”

You hear Soonyoung’s smile through the radio as he tells you it’s a deal.

DAY SEVENTY-EIGHT.

For the first time since you started working, someone who isn’t Soonyoung calls you through the radio (not counting the time you radioed Jihoon to make sure he was still alive, because you only saw him once and hadn’t heard from him since then). You hear the familiar click that tells you someone’s on the station, and you’re fully expecting Soonyoung’s voice to light up your cabin the way it always does. Instead, Joshua’s voice rings through.

“You there?” He asks after a comfortable call of your name, and you pick up your radio.

“Yeah, I’m here. It’s been a while,” you respond, and Joshua hums. “How’ve you been?”

“I’ve… been,” he tells you, which earns a small laugh. “Anyways, I called in to let you know that they’re having trouble controlling the fire -”

You take a look at the giant flume of smoke north of your tower, nodding to yourself. “I can see that.”

Joshua tells you to be quiet. You hear the friendly smile in his voice.

“There’ll be an evacuation team here within the next two days,” he says. “Maybe less, shouldn’t be more. They’re gonna get all the lookouts evacuated.”

Oh. Evacuation? That means… the city. Your apartment, back to your family and friends. You’d forgotten an entire world exists outside of the bubble you created for yourself.

“Okay,” you say slowly, still looking at the fire. “I assume you’ve told the other lookouts?”

“I’ve got a few more to call, but other than that, yeah, everyone’s covered. I told Soonyoung and Jihoon first,” Joshua tells you, and you blink at the fact that you didn’t even have to ask. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

“Yeah. Stay safe, Josh.”

You sit for a while after that, trying to cope with the feeling in your chest. You… you feel better about everything, about writing, for sure, but. But. It’s cut short, even if only by a little over a week. You haven’t even started packing anything up - so much of you is strewn around the cabin, in the field around your tower, in the trees of the forest you hiked through. You don’t think you’re ready to say goodbye to the place you’ve made your home and the people (person, your heart whispers) with it.

The sun starts to set and the fire grows. You sit on your bed and look at the things you’ve made your own, a sunken, unfinished emotion spreading through you. Eventually it is Soonyoung’s voice that comes from your radio, low and humorous.

“The Hoshi Fire can’t be stopped…” he murmurs, and you laugh despite the loss you feel.

“Please,” you groan into your radio after you’ve grabbed it. “We’re getting evacuated!”

Soonyoung giggles, something mischievous that makes your heart warm with slow appreciation. “I can’t believe it’s ending so soon,” you say, standing up to walk around aimlessly.

“Yeah, the summer went by super fast, huh?” Soonyoung replies. “I’m kind of excited, though. I’ve missed a proper dance studio.”

That’s… oh.

A current of mild surprise rolls through you and you think you physically feel your jaw drop, just a little. That - that hurt. More than you want it to, more than you think it should - but it’s... fine. You’ve only known Soonyoung for a few months, it’s not like…

You realize you haven’t responded and open your mouth on purpose this time. “I wish we could share the sentiment, Hoshi,” you joke, hoping it doesn’t sound too stiff.

If Soonyoung notices anything, he doesn’t say it. Only laughs, sweet and genuine. “I’m sure you’ll find something to yearn for just as I yearn for dance,” he says dramatically. You laugh, forced, because yeah, you will. Maybe you already have.

DAY EIGHTY.

Evacuation day.

Last day in your tower. Last day in the forest. Last day of the job you took to escape, to heal. It’s spent packing up the things you brought with you, throwing away everything else. Joshua said helicopters would be touching down at two points - Twin Peaks lookout and Mule Point lookout. Twin Peaks is Soonyoung’s tower, and if you planned it out right, you could probably get there and leave with him.

You tell yourself that the reason you can’t is because Mule Point is closer. Safer. They’re evacuating you for a reason.

“Hey.”

Speak of the devil, you think, grabbing your radio from its charging port. “Hi.”

“So,” Soonyoung says. For the first time since you’ve known him, he seems awkward. “Evacuation day.”

“Yessir…”

“What evacuation point are you hiking to?”

You pause, hesitate like you’re about to say something you shouldn’t. “Mule Point,” you manage to get out. “It’s closer,” you say after, your brain telling you to justify it, explain.

“What did the Hoshi Fire ever do to you?” Soonyoung huffs out through a laugh, and it sounds so unaffected that you feel that ache from before again. After a second, he adds, “so… this’ll be the last we talk. At least for a while.”

That realization hits you like a brick and the sting behind your eyes seems normal - regardless of whatever was built between you and Soonyoung or what lead you out here in the first place, it’s so sad that it’s ending. “Yeah,” you say quietly. Everything is packed, you just need to get hiking. “I, um. Is it cheesy to say thank you?”

“Maybe,” Soonyoung chuckles. “But it’ll also make me feel really good, so…”

You feel yourself calm down and let out your own small giggle. Maybe it was always meant to end this way, a little too soon, a little too sad. “Really… thanks, Soonyoung. I think it would’ve been worse for me if I got the silence I came out here for. I’m glad I had you to talk to.”

“Thank you, too,” Soonyoung says back. “I hope… you write again. I’ll talk to you later.”

The mention of it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to, and you feel the smallest of smiles on your lips. “Yeah. Later.”

The radio clicks off and that’s the last you hear from Soonyoung.

EPILOGUE.

It’s hard to come back.

From nature, from Soonyoung - everything, really. To go from trees and fires and talking every night back to car horns, busy sidewalks and your own apartment. It’s weird to wake up and not see the immediate shine of the sun through your windows. But you come back, slowly get used to the life you had before.

And you start writing.

Given - you get back in August only start writing again in October, but you write. Little by little, page after page. Maybe not every day, like you used to, but the words are back and they are eager to get out, leave their mark as your work. You stand up to your management (with Minghao’s support) and take control of your own writing schedule. The pressure from before leaves. Writing becomes special more than ever, returns as the one thing you never get truly tired of.

Minghao asks about the job, your summer. You tell him it was easy and peaceful, and that you’re thankful for the time. You mention the other lookouts. You mention Soonyoung. Only in passing, though.

(Minghao definitely suspects something, but even if he asked, you wouldn’t tell him much.)

Sometimes you allow yourself to think of him - when you got back, you looked for a Soonyoung in the multiple dance studios in the city, but since you didn’t have a last name or any proper title, nothing came up. After that, you gave up, but he still shows up in your thoughts from time to time, bright blonde hair (the roots growing in) and glowing smile. It’s cold out, now, so you hope he isn’t getting sick and that he’s staying warm.

You’re reminded of just how cold it is when you have to brace the outside world to get your mail. There’s not even any wind, just an undeniable cold, and it makes your nose burn and eyes water as you walk the short trek to your mailbox. You find your slot and push your key in, unlocking it and gathering your mail. Most of it is junk, but you could have sworn something you ordered was supposed to come today -

“Excuse me?”

You turn your head to the voice and find a man walking towards you, his head turned down towards a small piece of paper. His voice sounds familiar, but you figure it must just be a neighbor you haven’t spoken to in a while. You turn your body to him, waiting for him to look up from the note so you can place a name on him. “Do you know where I can find an author…”

He looks up.

It’s Soonyoung.

He looks a little different - his hair is shorter, dyed black instead of the platinum you remember from last July. But it’s definitely him. The longer you stare at each other the wider his smile gets, and you stand, speechless. He’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world. Your heart starts to race, warms you up beneath your jacket.

“Found you,” Soonyoung grins. You can’t take your eyes off of him.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “You did.”

#caratwritersclub #kdiner #CRIES I'M SO EXCITED #THIS FIC IS MY BABY I HOPE YOU ALL ENJOY IT!!!!#seventeen x reader #seventeen imagine #svt x reader #svt imagine #kwon soonyoung x reader #kwon soonyoung imagine #svt hoshi x reader #svt hoshi imagine #seventeen hoshi x reader #seventeen hoshi imagine #hoshi x reader #hoshi imagine

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flowerpowell · 3 years

Text

The Royal Holiday Romance (Liam x MC)

EPILOGUE

A/N: Ahhh the last chapter and the last peek into Victoria’s and Liam’s lives! I was supposed to finish this series before Christmas but... better late than never, huh? I hope you’ll enjoy the epilogue!

Rating: G

Tagging: @gardeningourmet @delightfullypinkglitter @twinkleallnight @lodberg @sfb123 @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @iaminlovewithtrr @kingliam-rys @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @gkittylove99 @shanzay44 @sweatyrysconnoisseur ❣

“Li, you sure you don’t wanna come?”

Liam nodded, assuring his friends once again that he made up his mind and wasn’t going to change it.

Maxwell sighed. “As you wish. You’re gonna regret it though. I even wore my squid suit! The one that made Hana fall for me.”

“Hana never fell for you, Maxwell.” Drake rolled his eyes. “She just said it was a nice suit.”

“Whatever. She invited us to that party after all!”

Liam looked absentmindedly at his friends. Hana and the rest of the crew finished filming a week ago and they celebrated it with a big wrap-up party. She invited him and his friends but Liam didn’t feel like coming. Mostly because he still felt bad for almost firing Victoria from said movie. But also because she wasn’t going to be there. There was no point for him to go.

When Drake and Maxwell left, Liam went into his bedroom and opened his laptop.

It was almost four months since he saw and talked to Victoria. She went home right before Christmas and it was already March. To say he missed her every day, was an understatement.

Not much changed for him; Liam kept himself busy with work and all his duties. He knew Maxwell and Drake were worried about him but he kept telling them he was okay.

He allowed himself moments of weakness only in the night. He would google Victoria’s name and read what she had been up to. After leaving Cordonia, she set up her own blog and started her film critic career online. Maybe because of the scandal but mostly because she was very talented, she soon found a big audience and started being invited to different events, premieres and interviews. Liam was very proud of her and very happy for her. But reading all of that, made him miss her even more. The fact that she didn’t want to come to the wrap-up party, as well as the Cordonian premiere in a few months, was a clear proof she wasn’t thinking about him the way he thought about her.

Liam sighed as he saw an article titled: Victoria Brooks refuses to attend the premiere of ‘Cordonian Christmas’ in the light of the scandal.

Even though he explained everything what happened, he still was guilty of causing the scandal. He wasn’t surprised she didn’t want to come to Cordonia after all that happened. And he wasn’t surprised she didn’t want to keep in touch with him.

It was all his fault.

~~~~

“Greetings from the wrap-up partyyyyy”

Victoria looked at the picture Hana just sent her. She and Maxwell seemed to have a lot of fun. Victoria even spotted Drake sipping on his drink. No sight of Liam, though.

Not like she would expect him to be there. Hana had told her that Liam avoided leaving the palace since… she left Cordonia.

Victoria blamed the scandal and all that negative attention that Liam got afterwards for his antisocial behavior but Hana straightforwardly told her that it was because he tried to get over her.

She wasn’t sure what to think about it. Were his feeling actually genuine? It wasn’t just a game? Was a King really… into her?

“Don’t go there,” Victoria warned herself. What happened, happened. It’d been almost four months since they spoke last. High time to move on.

So why did Victoria feel like there was something missing?

~~~~

Liam was playing with his phone after checking his emails. He looked at his drafts folder and sighed seeing at lest fifty different emails he wrote to Victoria. Wrote but never sent.

He wondered if she thought about him. Even if just for a second.

“If she did, it would be pretty negative thoughts, I’m sure.” He thought to himself and put his phone away. It was pointless. No matter how bad he wanted to forget about Victoria, he couldn’t.

He still felt just as in love with her as he was four months ago.

~~~~

Victoria was playing with her phone after reading comments under her newest blog post. She checked her emails but nothing new came.

What was she waiting for, though? For an email from Liam?

“He closed that chapter. You should, too,” she thought to herself as she put her phone away. It was pointless. No matter how bad she wanted to move on, she couldn’t.

For some reason, the butterflies she felt when thinking about Liam didn’t die even after those four months.

~~~~

“It’s so nice to see you, Liam.” Hana smiled and greeted the King. He nodded and shook her hand.

“Likewise. I’ve heard the wrap-up party was a success.”

“It was… nice. We missed you,” she said and Liam could almost hear that silent and Victoria too but he didn’t say anything. It was his fault she couldn’t even come here.

“Maybe you could talk to him, Hana. He said he won’t come to the premiere!” Maxwell chipped in and Liam rolled his eyes. Hana’s face softened.

“You really should. I mean, I’ll understand if you don’t but it’d be nice to see you there.”

“I’ll think about it,” he promised. When Maxwell and Drake entered the throne room, Liam followed suit but Hana stopped him, gently grabbing his arm.

“Can we talk? Alone?” She added.

“Is something wrong?” His mind immediately wandered to Victoria. Did something happen to her?

“No… No. But… I wanted talk to you about Tori, if I may.” She started and Liam’s heart began to race. He nodded.

“I don’t approve of how you treated her with your lies and dishonesty. And I don’t blame Victoria for being upset with you and wanting to leave. But… I also know you regret it. And I know that you didn’t want to deceive her. Listen, Liam. I’ve known you for many years now and I know you’re a good person. We all make mistakes. And you… already redeemed yours. And I think Tori would agree.”

“I am really sorry for what I have done. Truly. If I could turn back time—” Liam started. Why was Hana bringing it up now?

“I wasn’t trying to make you apologize for something you’ve already apologized for. I’m just trying to ask… why did you give up on Victoria?”

Liam was taken aback. He gave up on her?

“I don’t think I understand… I didn’t give up on her… She left!”

“Yes, but that was four months ago. Even very stubborn people like Tori soften in that time.”

“What… are you getting at?” He was confused and Hana shook her head.

“I’m saying… if you really like her, which I see you do, you should’ve fought for her. She forgave you a long time ago and she misses you just as much.”

“She told you that?”

“She didn’t have to. I hear it in her voice and see it in her eyes every time we talk. Just like I see you still love her in yours.”

Liam stared at Hana. “You… think… I should—”

Hana chuckled. “When Cinderella left Prince Charming in the palace after the ball, he didn’t just accepted his fate and tried to move on. He started looking for her and fought for their future. Because he truly loved her.”

“And Cinderella’s two sisters lost their feet in the process,” he added absentmindedly.

“I see Tori educated you too on original fairytales?”

“Yes.” he smiled. Victoria had a bigger impact on his life than he even thought.

“Then why don’t you just go for her, huh? She doesn’t have any sisters so don’t worry about that part. Call her, message her. Fight for her! I’m sure she’s waiting for it, too…”

~~~~

Liam stared at the ceiling, rewinding the conversation he had with Hana earlier that day. If Victoria really forgave him and was waiting for his sign…

Hana told him he should call or message her but Liam wasn’t sure it was a good idea. When it came to Victoria Brooks, he wanted to make it right.

And he could only hope it wasn’t too late.

~~~~

Victoria hit enter and her newest post appeared at the top of the blog. She quickly turned off her computer and decided to go for a walk. It was her routine. After posting something, she was too scared to wait for people’s reactions so she always went for a walk.

“What you’re up to?”

Victoria marveled at the message Hana sent her. It wasn’t the fact that Hana messaged her because the two women kept in touch, but it was four in the morning in Cordonia and Tori wondered why Hana was up.

“Just went for a walk. Wbu?” She typed and the answer came right away.

“Where?”

Victoria frowned. What was going on with Hana?

“That little forest a few minutes away from my apartment. Why are you asking?”

“Nevermind, enjoy your walk!”

Now Victoria was concerned. She tried to call Hana but her phone was turned off. Or she simply didn’t want to answer her calls.

She was walking in the forest, trying to call Hana from time to time but without success.

“Fine! Be mysterious!” She yelled at her phone after tenth time Hana didn’t pick up.

“Is that what actresses do? Talk to themselves?”

Victoria turned so abruptly that Liam had to catch her. Her eyes widened at the sight of Liam, King Liam, in a little forest in her hometown.

“What—what are you doing?” she asked, still in shock.

“You visited Cordonian forests and I wanted to visit American,” he replied calmly.

“Ha ha. No one ever comes here. And how did you—” she narrowed her eyes. “Hana.”

“Don’t be angry with her. I wanted to make sure I’d meet you. Poor Hana, I had to wake her up in the middle of the night.”

“Why are you here?” She asked, her heart and mind racing. She couldn’t believe he was here. Here in America. Here, for her.

“To see you. To talk to you. To tell you how much I miss you. Victoria, I—I missed you so much. I never felt this way for anyone else. And I am so sorry it took me months before I finally came here to tell you that. I wanted to call you every single day. I’m still…” he paused for a moment. “I’m still very much in love with you.”

“Liam…” she felt her eyes started to water. “I missed you, too. And I’m sorry for what I said to you before I left.”

“No, you were right. I made a mistake. And I promise to never lie to you again. What was between us… was real. And I want that. If you’re still interested.”

Victoria swallowed hard and felt tears running down her cheeks. “I’m still interested.”

Liam smiled and extended his hand. “Hello. My name is Liam and I am the King of a small European country, Cordonia. I love Baklava and I’ve recently started reading Grimm’s fairytales. I still think they’re actually thrillers. In my free time, I like to go for walks. Four months ago, I fell deeply in love with the most amazing woman. And you?”

She laughed. “I’m Victoria and I’m a movie critic. I have my own blog. I used to be an actress but it wasn’t for me. I’ve never had Baklava but it sounds delicious. I consider Grimm’s fairytales better than their Disney’s adaptations. I once traveled to Cordonia and fell in love with their King. Nice to meet you.”

Liam’s face lit up and she threw her hands around his neck. She didn’t know how they would make it work, what it would look like dating a King, what the people would say but she didn’t care.

For the first time in her life, she felt like the main character in her own fairytale.

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#the royal romance #choices #playchoices #king liam #liam x mc #king liam x mc #the royal heir #choices trr #trr #my fics

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