#I spent hours just staring at the wall shivering trying to form a coherent thought | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

haikyuucute · 4 years

Text

Piss Me Off (Kuroo Tetsurou)

Summary: In an attempt to get back at Kuroo’s teasing, you pull a stunt that has him needing to teach you a little lesson

Warnings: dom!Kuroo, degredation, some choking... this is just all nsfw

Word Count: 2.6k

You made a mistake.

It seemed like a good idea at first, but now... not so much.

Kuroo Tetsurou was an insufferable tease. His teammates knew this, his classsmates knew this, rivaling teams especially knew it. But no one knew it better than you did.

Whether he was teasing you over a silly mistake you made in your homework, somehow having the audacity to make fun of your bed head, or when he was sending you inappropriate texts just to get you hot and bothered, you fully knew the extent of the Master of Provocation’s talent when it came to the matter.

And for once— once, you thought it would be a good idea to get back at him after he spent most of the day teasing you.

Your parents were out for the night and were supposed to come home sometime tomorrow night, so naturally, you invited Kuroo to come to your place after practice and sleep over. With the promise of having all night together, he took every chance during the day to leave lingering touches or whisper something dirty in your ear.

He was relentless and by the end of the day you were already soaked through your panties... so you decided to take matters into your own hands and give him a taste of his own medicine.

What was the worst that could happen?

It seemed like a reasonable question at first but as you replayed the scene in your head, you should’ve known better than to provoke the Master of Provocation himself.

After the last class of the day, you dragged Kuroo into the gym’s storage room and in seconds had his back pressed against a wall as you climbed to your knees, hands undoing his belt and pants.

He had been more than pleased with seeing how desperate he had made you throughout the day, grunts of your name slipping past his lips as he carded his fingers through your hair when you took his cock in your mouth.

The timing was perfect. He was this close to cumming down your throat, when you both heard Yamamoto asking where Kuroo was from just outside the storage room.

He ignored it of course, but you on the other hand... you pulled away, ripping his orgasm from him.

He stared at you in confusion and surprise, as a satisfied smirk made its way to your lips and you giggled.

You stood up, grabbing your bag. ”I guess you can’t keep your team waiting, Captain.”

It was as if time itself had stopped as you slowly watched the realization dawn on him as he finally understood what was happening.

You suddenly remembered how easy it was to forget how intimidating Kuroo could be.

”Are you trying to piss me off kitten, cause you succeeded,” his words were steady— the complete opposite of what you were aiming for, which was for a flustered reaction, a reaction that would’ve been more akin to your own if the tables were turned.

Your resolve suddenly crumbled, “I—“

”Get back on your knees, you’re not leaving me like this,” he said, gripping his cock and slowly pumping, all the while keeping his hooded gaze on your form.

From the sheer strictness in his tone you almost did as he said— almost.

You don’t know what came over you. Maybe you still felt the tiniest bit of satisfaction for getting one over Kuroo after all this time, or maybe you wanted to see what he would do if you denied him, but you straightened your back and tried your best at collecting yourself.

”W-well maybe you’ll think twice before teasing me all day,” you bit down on your lip, as you started backing away towards the exit.

”(F/N)—“

”And I wasn’t kidding, you don’t want to be late for practice. I’ll see you later—“

”(F/N), I fucking swear, if you leave—!“

”Bye, Tetsu~”

With that, you were able to successfully sneak out of the storage room without the team noticing before making your way out of the gym.

The fact that he used your first name instead of one of his pet names for you sent a chill down your spine.

You knew you’d be in for it later... you just didn’t think it would be this bad—

Your head was swimming, you couldn’t think and every nerve ending was on fire— you didn’t know how much more you could handle, he had been at if for god knows how long now, and you were close to tears.

You were completely naked except for your panties, your back to Kuroo’s chest and legs hooked over his own, keeping you spread open for him as his fingers teased you through the material covering your pussy. And while you were naked yourself, he was still completely clothed as he sat behind you.

He went back and forth from slipping his hand into your panties and sliding his fingers into your swollen cunt, fingering you until you were so close to cumming, before pulling his fingers back out, instead running them over your clothed slit and playing with your clit while you calmed down from what would’ve been another orgasm. His other arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, keeping you from squirming so much.

He ignored you the entire time, he had put a movie on in front of the two of you and directed his attention to the screen, ignoring every whine and moan you made— every incoherent cry of his name.

Another desperate whine escaped your lips and you sniffled, as he pulled his fingers out of you for the umpteenth time.

Your pussy ached, lips puffy and clit swollen— and you were so uncomfortably wet.

”T-Tetsu... please..” you whimpered, not even caring in the slightest how pathetic you sounded anymore, “‘M sorry—please.”

By some chance, he finally— finally— said something.

“If you’re gonna keep whining like a whore, maybe I should gag you like one too.” He scoffed.

“..Tetsu...”

He turned his gaze down towards you, face hard as he raised an eyebrow, “What did I just say?” he asked rhetorically, fingers slowly circling your clit through your panties.

You bit your lip, blinking back the tears that wanted to fall as you stared off to the side, trying your best to not moan at the feeling of his fingers.

He sighed at the pathetic display, the arm wrapped around your waist, letting go so he could wrap his hand around your throat and direct your gaze upwards at him.

”You brought this upon yourself kitten,” he hummed, “I wanted to fuck you so bad tonight and make you cum over and over again, but then you had to go and pull that little stunt.”

You couldn’t help the desperate whine that escaped you, “I’m sorry!— Please, I want your cock, I want you to fuck me — I just thought—“

”No,” he suddenly slipped two fingers in your mouth, keeping you from speaking, “You didn’t think, that was the problem. You don’t get to get away with acting like a whore and not expect to get punished. So you’re gonna be the good little slut I know you can be and take every second of this, right kitten?”

A slightly strangled whimper left your throat, a few tears finally escaping, but you nodded.

”Good,” he hummed, pulling his fingers out of your mouth, instead deciding to toy with one of your nipples, “It’s funny how you think you still deserve my cock after what you pulled.” He idly commented as he turned his full attention to your pussy, once again slipping his fingers into your panties, “It’s a shame too— look how fucking wet you are, you completely ruined your panties, soaked right through ‘em.” He dipped the tip of his middle finger in your pussy, groaning at how easily it slipped in. “Bet my cock would slip right in.”

“Fuck~” a quiet breathy moan escaped you as you squirmed against his hand, your own hands clinging onto his bicep for support.

”So needy,” he hummed, as he spread you wider with his legs. With that he pressed his index finger in as well before slipping the two digits in you, “Clenching around my fingers so hard,” he grunted, rutting his cock against your lower back.

You couldn’t stop yourself from wrapping a hand around his wrist and grinding down, much to Kuroo’s distaste, he quickly pulled your hand away with his free one, before slipping his fingers out of you and smacking your clit. You yelped, your whole body jerking at the impact.

”Behave. Don’t make this worse for yourself, I’ll drag this out even longer if I need to until you learn your lesson,” his fingers slid back into your pussy.

”But I have,” you whined, “I have learned my lesson.”

He hummed, curling his fingers into you, “I think you’re definitely getting there pretty girl,” his fingers sped up, thrusting and curling right into your g-spot, making more tears slip out as you hung onto every bit of pleasure he was giving you. “Beg,” he suddenly grunted, “Let me hear how badly you want my cock.” A sudden stream of pleads left your lips, some coherent and others incoherent. He tsked, “I think you can do better than that kitten. Y’know my hand’s pretty tired, maybe I should just stop and take a break— make you ruin a different pair of panties in an hour or so—“

“No-!” You yelped, cutting him off, “Please, please, please Tetsu— I want— need your cock. ‘M so wet Captain— please fuck me into the mattress—“

”Hmm, that’s better.” But just when you thought he was going to let you cum on his fingers, he pulled them out again, making a broken cry fall from your lips. But he quickly soothed your panic with his next words, “Hands and knees, I think you finally learned your lesson.”

You shakily did as he told you, unhooking your legs from his knees, quickly sliding your panties off, and scrambling onto your knees, supporting yourself on your elbows.

It was a position that usually made you feel flustered from how vulnerable it made you feel, but all you could think about was Kuroo finally letting you cum.

You felt the mattress shift beneath you as he moved behind you.

He shrugged off his red volleyball jacket before pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing the two off to the side. He made sure to take his time as you shivered with anticipation.

But Kuroo was an impatient person himself sometimes and as soon as he pushed his sweatpants past his hips, he hissed when his cock sprung free. He had been painfully hard for a while now and needed a release almost as bad as you did.

He leaned over, reaching for your nightstand for a condom.

As quickly as he could, he tore one open and rolled it onto his length before he shifted forward, the head of his cock brushing your entrance, and dipping in ever so slightly.

“No more teasing Tetsurou,” you whined out.

You couldn’t see the shit eating grin that painted his lips as he did what he did next, “Alright kitten. No more teasing.” And with that he slid in and snapped into you hard, jolting you forward.

With a loud moan your upper body fell to the mattress and you buried your face in the sheets. Kuroo groaned as well, a deep guttural one as he gripped your hips in a bruising hold.

”So fucking tight,” he grunted, pulling out and snapping into you once again.

He continued these sharp thrusts and soon fell into a rhythm, his thrusts hard and fast. The only sounds in the room were your moans mixing with Kuroo’s grunts, the sound of skin slapping against skin, and the quiet drone of the movie that still played in front of the two of you.

You fisted the sheets tightly, burying your face into them as your moans got louder and louder. With how sensitive you were from before combined with Kuroo’s brutal pace, you were practically screaming at this point.

One of his hands left your hip, tangling into your hair and pulling your head up, “Wanna hear you,“ Kuroo grunted, as the sounds you made now rang freely throughout your bedroom. “Taking me so well kitten— such a good little cockslut— fuck— you’re fucking dripping— can hardly keep my cock from slipping out— from how soaked you are,” he teased.

Your moans were the only response he got, making him smirk.

”Can’t even fucking speak, can you?” He asked with a breathy laugh, his hips snapping into you even harder, “You close yet pretty girl?”

“Y-y—yes,” you managed to get out.

The next thing you knew, Kuroo was pulling you up like you weighed nothing, your back flush to his chest, with your head lolling back on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around your middle to hold you up while his other hand snaked down to your pussy to toy with your clit. High pitched moans escaped you as he continued to fuck into you roughly.

Kuroo crashed his lips against yours as your head was tilted back, kissing you messily. You had trouble keeping up with how much your head was spinning, making the kiss a mess of teeth and tongue. You raised a hand and wound it into his messy black locks, needing something to hold on to.

He pulled back, gazing down at you and how fucked out you were. Dried tears on your cheeks as you trembled, face completely screwed up in pleasure. “Fuck, just look at you kitty— you’re a fucking mess— just a little slut for my cock,” he groaned, close to cumming.

“Fuck— ‘m gonna-“ you gasped out.

”Cum?” He finished for you, “Cum then. Be a good girl and cum all over my cock.”

With a few more sharp thrusts, you keened loudly as you came hard— one of the hardest orgasms you ever had. Kuroo followed not too far behind as he moaned loudly, muffling it against your neck.

The two of you rode out your climaxes together, Kuroo holding onto you tightly as you slumped against him as soon as you came down from your high.

You both panted hard, and you finally felt how exhausted you truly were after that as your whole body ached.

Kuroo gently lowered you back down onto the bed, quickly tossing out the condom before he was pulling you into him and wrapping his body around yours protectively.

”Good girl,” he muttered breathlessly, pressing a kiss to your forehead and carding his fingers through your hair, “You okay kitten?”

You nodded wordlessly as you buried your face in his neck, breathing in his scent.

”It wasn’t too much for you to handle?”

”No,” you softly answered.

”I wasn’t too mean before?”

You shook your head, “No... but I’m never doing dumb shit like that again to mess with you.” You mumbled lazily.

He chuckled, “Y’know what? Feel free to, it’s kinda fun having to punish you when you act like a brat.”

“You just like having an excuse to tease me more,” you huffed.

“Hm that’s definitely a plus,” he sighed, sitting up, “Let’s get you cleaned up now and head to bed. Since I didn’t get to fuck you how I originally wanted to tonight, we have a lot of lost time to make up for before your parents come back tomorrow,” he grinned down at you devilishly, making your eyes widen. With that he picked you up and carried you to the bathroom to run a bath.

~~~

A/N: Oof I’m still working through a writers block so I ended up revising this fic five times and proof reading this final draft three times. And I just— my brain is fried.... But now it’s time to start the Iwaizumi smut I’ve been planning lolol

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kuroo #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader

945 notes · View notes

cyraclove · 3 years

Text

I wrote this lil’ Revalink oneshot for my friend @virgll as a part of our Discord server’s New Year Fic Exchange. Having never written these two precious idiots before, I had a really good time exploring their relationship.

I hope you enjoy!

Tell Me Where Your Heart Is, Tell Me Where You Keep It

It began with a look.

A stinging glare that lingered in his mind long after; a disdainful sneer that harbored something more than envy, something deeper than resentment. It had been enough to stun Revali into silence, for once, the way the young Hylian’s eyes bore into him from behind locks of sweat-drenched hair.

Link had looked up at the Rito champion from where he’d fallen on the Flight Range landing, a thin stream of crimson blooming from his lip and dripping off of his chin, icy flecks of snow lashing at his face. Something foreign stirred in Revali’s chest as a shiver flew up his spine that chilled him more than the frigid Tabantha air ever had.

Before he could open his beak to admonish Link for his poor form, to spit out yet another biting quip about his performance, Link wrested himself up from the ground. His blood painted the snow when he spoke, delicate pinpricks of red slowly sinking into the dense white.

“Again,” he’d rasped, and snatched his bow up as he stood on shaky legs.

As he watched the young man once again prepare to leap from the lofty landing with paraglider in hand, Revali suddenly and inexplicably found himself wondering what he might taste like in that moment, all iron and salt.

It was infuriating.

Read on AO3

In the weeks that followed, Revali attempted to keep his distance. Avoiding Link wasn’t too terrible a feat, as he was much too preoccupied with Zelda—as recalcitrant as she was royal. The Rito had even discovered her hiding around the village on numerous occasions, seeking a moment’s respite. Her emerald eyes would silently plead with him, and he would leave her be, feeling more akin to the princess than he would have thought possible.

Mastering Medoh needed to be his focus, he would remind himself, not this amateur —this pathetic excuse for a champion. While Revali had spent countless, grueling hours honing his skill, all Link had done was stumble upon a sword. That they both trained for the same battle was the only thing that united them. Had Link not been Hylia’s chosen , Revali thought, he’d be nothing more than a lowly farmhand playing at being a warrior.

In Revali’s mind, Link was still just that. He had to be. The alien ache in his chest from their interaction on the Flight Range would return if he allowed himself to consider otherwise.

Sunrises turned over and twisted into sunsets as Calamity Ganon’s ever-looming shadow spread across Hyrule, swallowing what little hope its people still clung to as time continued to slip away. Revali memorized Medoh’s every mechanism while Link tirelessly trained, both somehow existing together and apart simultaneously. Zelda continued to pray.

They all prayed.

The chill of evening in the village was beautiful, albeit bitter, for the night winds brought with them silence and the scent of the pines. It was the only time when Revali was awarded with some semblance of peace, though he endlessly warred with his own mind—a turbulent sky of relentless thoughts that denied him true rest. To his chagrin, he often found that his most tumultuous thoughts were of Link.

It enraged him, being plagued by a man so much lesser than he. One sleepless night after another, Revali had managed to convince himself that it was simply because of the injustice of the entire situation. So unfair was it that Link had been awarded a position that he did not deserve, and Revali was merely trying to make sense of it all. It had nothing to do with the way he had felt those many weeks ago when Link’s stormy eyes had locked with his; how his breath had caught in his throat when he heard him speak for the first time.

In fact, he’d all but forgotten about it.

When he heard him speak a second time, winter had settled in entirely, shrouding Tabantha in a shimmering blanket of blinding white. He knelt by the small hearth in the center of his roost, watching the embers softly flicker and die. After a failed attempt at sleep, he’d decided to get an early start rather than wasting more time. He waited in the pitch of early morning for the sunlight to creep above Hebra Peak, a whisper of a breeze gently rustling his feathers.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” a voice cut through the silence.

His heart seized with that unwelcome, startling twinge of something that he had yet to name. Though Revali felt Link’s presence, he did not raise his head, keeping his gaze trained on the dying flames.

“The hero can speak in complete sentences,” Revali drawled, his tone dry. Out of the corner of his eye, Revali saw Link’s jaw clench.

“I speak when I care to,” Link retorted, “and it’s not often that I do.”

Revali scoffed, a mirthless smirk on his face. “To what do I owe such an honor, then?”

“You’re supposed to be training me,” Link said, “but I’ve been trying to figure everything out on my own.”

He let out a squawking laugh this time, cocking his head as he finally looked up. “Are you not Hylia’s chosen champion? He who wields the sword that seals the darkness, protector of the crown and savior of us all, yes? Surely, you don’t need my help.”

“When we first arrived here, you said that you w—”

“When I said that I would show you how it’s done,” Revali snapped, making the end of Link’s sentence die in his throat, “I meant, of course, by besting you. Not by teaching you.”

Link inhaled deeply, eyes flashing beneath his knitted brow. The feathers adorning the shoulders of his Snowquill tunic fluttered slightly in the breeze as he took a seat on the stone floor opposite Revali, crossing his legs and resting his hands calmly on his knees. They regarded one another in silence from across the fire, their faces obscured by sparks of amber dancing above the flames.

“I don’t recall inviting you to join me.”

“Revali,” Link started, the very sound of his own name from the Hylian’s lips twisting the knot in his stomach, “I respect you. Your skill as a marksman is undeniably impressive…but I don’t have to tell you that. What I’m trying to say is that I want to learn from you.” He paused then, his eyes trailing downward. When he spoke, a hint of a tremor colored his voice.

“I need you to help me because I’m not ready. I’m…scared.”

As satisfying as the admission of fear should have been for Revali, it wasn’t at all. Why, out of everyone, had Link chosen him to confide in? Surely Daruk was more of a mentor to him; Urbosa more of a sage than he; Mipha, with her gentle words and kind demeanor, would have been a better choice. The walls of pretense came crumbling down around him and all he felt was shame. Despite the posturing and the honorifics, Link was merely a man —and he was frightened, just as anyone would be.

Just as he was, though he dare not say so.

Before he had a chance to even begin to register a response, he saw Link’s eyes grow wide as they flickered up towards the sky. Something had diverted his attention away from Revali entirely, his mouth parting slightly as he sat there, transfixed. Revali raised a brow at him.

“And here I was thinking that we were having an actual conversation. What could you possibly be staring at?”

“What is that?”

Turning to look, Revali saw familiar, beryl-green rivers of light weaving their way through the twilight. Like a gleaming veil concealing some otherworldly place, the ethereal light hung in the air as if by magic, an ancient mystery to all. Distant stars shone through, accenting the deeply hued sky with pinpricks of white.

“It’s just the aurora,” Revali said plainly, unwilling to admit that he was just as captivated now as he was the first time he’d witnessed it.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Link murmured, craning his neck to get a better view.

Revali watched him then, his face aglow with viridescent light. Never had he thought that a grown man could look at the sky with the wondrous eyes of a child, and for a fleeting moment, it was he who was envious of Link. The light that he saw in him was as bright and as brilliant as the light above them, the likes of which he’d not seen in anyone. Perhaps in himself, long ago.

Where had it gone?

“Your eyes,” Link said, the sudden comment causing Revali to startle.

He clucked his tongue. “ What? ”

The corner of Link’s mouth quirked up as he shifted to face him, his expression soft. Revali felt his breath hitch as his entire body tensed in anticipation of the other man’s response.

Link gazed back up at the aurora.

“They’re the same color.”

His damnable heart flew to his throat, any coherent thought evading him. Words were out of his reach now, language a distant memory. Revali’s mouth went dry as he turned away, trying desperately not to choke on his own tongue.

“What a ridiculous thing to say,” he stammered as he rose to his feet. He heard Link chuckle softly.

“Just an observation.”

“Well, in the future, do keep your observations to yourself. It’s nearly sunup; I need to train. And so do you.”

Revali turned to leave, longing to be anywhere else. He could have very easily taken to the skies right then, a powerful gust in his wake. He could be at the Flight Range in moments, his only focus his arrow and its target. Instead, he paused, cursing himself for what he was about to say.

“Flight Range in an hour. We can start with that atrocious form of yours.”

He took off, the force of his gale sending him soaring above the rooftops. Flying swiftly towards the mountains, an odd urge to look back nagged at him in the back of his mind. Relenting, he turned in enough time to catch a glimpse of Link standing at the railing of his roost, watching him.

He was smiling.

#revalink #loz botw #botw fanfiction #botw fic #revali x link #ao3 #archive of our own #breath of the wild #cyraclove #cyraclove writes

66 notes · View notes

turning-dreams-into-chaos · 4 years

Text

Lost Without Her: I’m Broken

*Not My Gif*

Summary: It’s been 5 years since half the world was snapped away, 6 months since her mom, Natasha sacrificed herself and the world came back, but how does she handle it after her world flips upside down?

~Lost Without Her Master~

Post Date: 11-26-19

Paring: Peter Parker x Romanoff!Reader

Word Count: 2K

~Master~

~Marvel Master~

Peter rolled onto his side, groaning a little from the way the floor hurt his back as he slept. His eyes fluttered open, drinking in the darkness as Clint let out a loud snore, making Peter scoff and push his pillows into his ears to block out the sound. Something felt off in Peter as he sat up quickly, scanning around the room. Everything looked fine as Peter relaxed, finally taking a look at where you were supposed to be sleeping. Your blanket was askew, and you weren’t even in the spot.

“Y/N?” Peter whispered into the room, careful not to wake Clint up but enough for you to hear. “Y/N?!” he repeated before standing up and searching around the store. He couldn’t find you anywhere inside as he made his way up to the roof. When Peter and you first became friends, you spent hours and hours a top any building you could. He pulled open the door, the crisp night air hitting his arms made him shiver but he ignored it, finding your silhouette barely lit by an old streetlight a few yards away. You were sitting on the ledge of the building and he didn’t know if he should’ve approached you, but it didn’t matter as the door squeaked when he shifted. Your body tensed as you reached for the gun you always kept close and aimed it at the door. Peter put his hands up, making you relieved to learn it was just him but a little irritated.

“Sorry. Reflex.” You explained as you tucked the gun into your pants again, turning out into the sky. Peter just stood there, unsure of what to do. With the drop of your head you let him join you, you were both silent and Peter kept looking at you in the corner of his eyes.

“Didn’t know you had that.” He said as he nodded down to your shirt. You pulled it away from your body, chuckling at yourself. It was one of Peter’s old shirts you stole before the blip. You ran your thumb across the fabric before letting it fall.

“What can I say? Old habits die hard.” You shrugged and for a moment everything seemed simple. Peter and you were acting like normal and it gave you some sort of comfort. Peter smiled at you, seeing the kid come out of the stoic assassin as he subconsciously scooted closer. That’s what shot you back into reality as you felt the cool metal of the gun caress your lower back, and you sat up straighter. “Peter.” You whispered as Peter didn’t move away, only nodding his head.

“What happened to you Y/N?” he asked so innocently and for a second you didn’t know what to say.

“I gave up.”

Peter let his eyes drop, denial seeping through his expression enough for you to already guess his next question.

“Why?”

And there it was.

You stared straight out in front of you, ignoring the way your eyes seemed heavier and it felt like something was scratching the inside of your throat. “I listened to my heart instead of my brain, ended up on shits creek with no way out.”

Peter couldn’t say anything, all the words dying on his tongue as watched a slight bit of rain get stuck in your hair. You looked up into the sky, letting your eyes close as the rain encased you face. Peter was entranced as he watched you, drinking up all the things that have changed in your 5 years. Your Y/H/C hair was longer, and your face had matured into one a 17-year-old would wear. You filled Peter’s shirt better than you used too and it no longer looked like a dress on you, but that was expected. And the scars.

“Stop staring Pete. It’s weird.” Peter blushed as he looked away from you. There were a few things that were the same. Like your distaste for being stared at. Peter guessed it worked for you being an assassin, hating being looked at so you made sure no one was.

“How’s May? And Ned?” You wanted to be alone but knowing Peter wasn’t going to do that, you decided small talk was best.

“They’re good. May has been trying to figure out where we’re living now. When we blipped back, there were people already living in our apartment.” You felt a little guilty. The avengers should’ve protected Peter’s place, not let someone else take it, but how were you supposed to know they would come back.

You licked your lip, willing yourself to ask him another question. “And the team?”

Peter bit his lip, running his hand up and down his arm to soothe some of his nerves as he sighed. “They miss you. Everyone misses you Y/N. They want you to come home. I want you to come home.”

“Peter.”

“No, Y/N, please.” His voice cracked as you turned to look at him shaking your head as a tear ran down your check, blending in with the rain around you.

“Peter I can’t.” Peter couldn’t control himself as he lifted his thumb to under your eye, wiping the drops from your cheek as you sought comfort in his touch, a touch from someone who wasn’t trying to kill you was rare now these days for you and you missed them. Peter dragged his thumb across your skin, the feeling of your scars under the pad of his thumb should’ve made you pull away, but Peter’s touch was different. It was almost as if he made them better. You looked into his brown eyes as he met yours. He seemed closer, but you didn’t mind. Flickering your eyes down to his lips, they parted slowly and yours copied, both of you leaning in just slightly as your eyes closed gently, savoring the last looks of Peter before you did the last thing you ever thought you’d be doing with Peter Parker.

Kissing.

But you didn’t. Instead a car alarm went off just a few blocks from you and you bolted apart, jumping even farther than you had been before. Your eyes were wide as you tried to process what was about to happen between you and Peter. Peter seemed to be in the same state as you, avoiding any type of eye contact you could as the alarm turned off.

“You shouldn’t have come here Peter. Neither of you should’ve.” You told him as you made your way off the roof, head back down to where you sleep. Clint was still sleeping, and Peter stayed on the roof, leaving you to your own mind to figure things out. You laid back in your spot, pulling the blankets up to your neck as Peter’s footsteps came down from the staircase. You know he could tell you weren’t sleeping but neither of you said anything as he laid in his spot as well, drifting off into a sleep as you stayed awake into the morning.

When the sun peaked into your shop you rolled over, seeing Peter and Clint both waking up due to the sun’s invasion. You pushed yourself up to a stance and cracked your back, eliciting groans from both the others. “Welcome to the real-world boys. Time to leave.” You tossed Clint’s bag at him, hitting him square in the chest as he furrowed his brows and watched you. You picked up Peter’s bag, tossing it at him but not bringing yourself to look in his eyes. Clint didn’t know what had happened between the two of you apparently sometime after he went to sleep but that wasn’t the most important thing now.

“You’re really going to make us leave?” he asked you as you hummed a yes, moving onto your work as you arranged your wall, filing some of the papers you had stored. “Y/N.” he took a few steps closer to you, but you didn’t see as your back was facing him. You didn’t turn around, just saying yes as Clint sighed deeply. “Y/N.” you repeated your action as Clint turned to Peter who looked like a deer caught in headlights as he defensively shrugged.

“Y/N, will you look at me!” You froze when Clint yelled at you, turning around with an attitude as you crossed your arms over your chest.

“What do you want, Barton?” Clint looked stunned when you called him that. You’ve only ever called him Clint or the occasional Uncle C, but that was before everything happened. He cleared his throat, pulling Peter up to where he stood knowing Peter was the key to everything.

“I know you think your home is gone Y/N, but there are still people who care about you back there.” Peter finally spoke as you looked at him, letting your defensive stance drop only slightly before hardening again.

“I don’t want to go back.”

Clint threw his hands up as if he was arguing with a three-year-old. “Why not?!”

“You both left me!” you ran a hand through your hair, pulling on it slightly as Peter spoke up.

“I didn’t have a choice.” He cried as you knew your breathing got more erratic.

“Yeah? Neither did I!” You let your eyes linger on Peter before facing Clint, seeing the way he couldn’t bring himself to look at you. “But you did leave. You left me and my mom. Forgive me if I don’t forgive you.” You turned back to the wall, not even looking at it as you calmed down your racing heart enough to form a coherent thought. “It doesn’t matter. Even if I did go back, the Y/N that you know, the one you left, she’s gone. And don’t think she could ever come back if I tried. I’m too broken to be put together.”

“You’re not broken Y/N.” Peters hand made it to your shoulder, yet you didn’t turn around, hiding the tears coming down your face. Peter knee what you were doing. You were trying to stay strong and he knew you weren’t going to last long. “Y/- “

“Just admit it. I’m a mess up. I’m a specially trained agent ruining my mom’s legacy by going in a murderous rampage. I know that’s what everyone’s thinking back there. They sent you here to make me stop because I’m broken.” You knew you hit a cord when Peter gingerly removed his hand, letting his fingers linger a few seconds before dropping.

“Ok, we’ll go home.” You spun around quick, looking Peter in the eyes with fascination.

“What?”

“We’ll go home. You can stay here for as long as you need, and Mr. Barton and I will go home.” Peter shrugged as he played with his fingers, his eyes downcast every few seconds as Clint just stood in shock behind him.

“Peter.” He started as Peter glared at him, mouthing a ‘trust me’ that you couldn’t see, and Clint sighed deeply. “Alright. We’ll go.” You never really imagined where to go from there. Never did you think they’d actually agree to go home, but you were going to ask if they were certain. Clint didn’t know if he should trust the boy or not, but he knew that you weren’t coming home without a fight and if Peter had a plan then he needed to risk it.

“We’ll see you around Y/N.” Peter said as you averted your gaze, knowing if you had your way, they wouldn’t see you again. Ever.

“Bye Pete. Bye Clint.” They left without another word and you were left in silence, staring at the front door to your shop as you realize how much you’ve thrown away. You pushed away the team, you moved across the world because you couldn’t handle the world without your mom, you began killing people, and you pushed Peter and Clint away when all they wanted to do was save you.

You broke yourself.

What did you think?

All Tags Open

Permanent: @literal-fand0m-trash @just4muggles @saturn-aka-six @nathaliabakes @whyamihere-bro @colored-confetti @wiseeggspickleslime @sadn0va @btsiguess-kpop @galacticstxrdust @independentgirl @wellhellotherelovey @hollymac79 @delicately-important-trash

Peter: @laic2299 @danielabetancourth @darktwistydiamond @pastelsweaters-and-bubble-t @missmulti

Marvel: @hahaboop @laic2299

Lost Without Her: @autobotgirl15-blog @eridanuswave @irisv-x @animegirlgeeky @eternaleviee @marvels-exlol

112 notes · View notes

strawberriestyles · 5 years

Text

Part 5: Ghost Grave

(BANNER BY THE GODDESS HERSELF @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy)

Harry X Reader (AU)

In which you try to resolve the case of a fraternity’s haunting in a single night.

Read previous parts here.

Word count: 2.6k

Author’s note: Here’s the end!! I think it’s probably the most satisfying conclusion I’ve written to date but you let me know lolol. Please enjoy!

There’s no way to tell how long you’ve been sitting here, dirt caking your hands and staining your fingernails. It could be minutes or hours. The pain in your leg is still thick and pulsing but you have yet to look past your skirt, terrified that you might find bone protruding from flesh. Instead, you sob with your eyes directed toward the concrete ceiling.

The fallen flashlight rests just beside one of your hands, beam illuminating the body which lays crumpled mere feet from you in this pit, this unmarked grave. It is only visible in your periphery.

Your thoughts have slowed, stalled, unable to venture any further back than the memory of your fall. But now your mind races to catch up, to connect the string of individual memories into something coherent. Of course you drew a solid conclusion at the very moment you first saw the skeleton in this room, but you have only now been able to process the truth of your situation.

Harry’s name leaves your lips before you’ve fully formed the idea of him. But nothing answers, only the very distant thump of music. You could almost convince yourself that the bass is all in your head.

“Harry,” you whisper again. The light beside you flickers and you can finally force yourself to lower your gaze, but still you see nothing new. “Please."

“Y/N, I didn’ know.”

The voice is so sudden and strange and close that you shift away from it. Your leg screams in protest and you let out a breathy shriek.

“Don’ move.”

You turn your head in the direction of the words, which sound garbled and thin, nothing more than a movement of air. Harry stands there beside you in the pit, his eyes unblinking and his body stock-still. But neither of these visuals is what unnerves you. It’s the transparency of him, the wispy form through which you can see the very solid skeleton—the very empty shell of what he once was.

You stare through him, see through him, and neither of you speaks for some time.

“Harry, when did you die?” Your voice is hoarse, thick, more real than anything else that surrounds you, or so it feels. Your eyes focus on the blurred outline of him and he stares back at you.

“Halloween of 1986.” He bends down as he speaks until his face is mere inches from yours. This close, you can see dirt smeared along his cheek. He looks just how you remember seeing him throughout the rest of the house, just dirtier and…less. “What year is it?”

“2019.”

There’s a sound like a shocked sigh and you can feel air pass over the edges of your face. It makes you shiver, and suddenly the cold that you’ve felt at random points throughout the night intensifies. Your arms curl around your abdomen. Your stomach is churning. This man in front of you, this ghost, is almost boyish in his confusion. And you are cold to the very center of your being.

“Why did you bring me down here? To find you?”

He shakes his head quickly. “No. I didn’ know. I thought—” He cuts himself off and shakes his head once more. “I didn’ remember any of it. Not until we got in here. Not until I saw my body—or my bones, I guess.” He scoffs. "Love, I didn’ know I was dead.”

You feel like you really could be sick. You almost wish he’d led you here purposely. This way is so much more tragic.

“What happened?”

Harry sighs. “No one was home and I was about to leave for a party. I just—I came downstairs because the power went out and then I found that space in the wall and…I fell. The same way you did."

You try to picture Harry—this man that you’ve known for only a single night but who feels so familiar already—stumbling through the dark alone, falling and suffering here where you currently sit. The fear and pain and loneliness he must have felt. “How long were you here for?”

“I died right away. Must’ve hit my head. Or broken my neck. One or the other.”

It’s a relief, somehow. You ache to touch him, to comfort him or yourself, you’re unsure.

“What even is this place?”

“I dunno. And I doubt the landlord actually knows it’s here. He would’ve said somethin’. Would’ve at least checked when I went missin’.” Harry sighs. “Y/N, ‘m sorry.”

“What?”

“I didn’ mean to drop yeh. ’S just—I was holdin’ on to yeh one second and then I couldn’ hold on to anythin’.”

“How does that even work? You’ve been touching me all night. I—“ Blood rushes to your face as you remember the time you spent in his bedroom. Well, what was once his bedroom. And the hoodie you’ve stolen from a closet that no longer belongs to him. “I could feel you touching me.”

“Could yeh?”

“Yes, I—”

Suddenly, you’re not so sure. Could it all have been in your head? Surely not. No, even when you weren’t looking, he pulled you away from the falling attic ladder and tweaked your shoulder. He broke the rungs of a ladder all on his own. He was solid beneath your fingers, if only a little slippery. It just doesn’t seem possible when he’s here in front of you in a flickering form. You reach your hand forward and it slides through him with little more than a chill. He blinks slowly.

“Can you feel that?”

“Yes,” Harry answers, shifting toward you like he’s chasing your touch.

Perhaps it wasn’t all in your head, but maybe it was a joint effort. A manifestation of your imagination and Harry’s obliviousness to his own death. After all, he only faded after he’d seen his empty body.

“Yeh need to get out of here, love. Can tell yeh’re tryin’ not to look at it, but your leg isn’t in great shape. No one’s gonna find yeh down here. And I don’ think they’ll be able to hear you either.”

He’s right, you’re sure. But the mere thought of trying to get up makes your head spin. Pain still lances needle-sharp through your leg, up from your ankle to your kneecap and back down.

“I don’t think I can.”

“Yeh have to. Now, get up.”

Harry stands again. He watches you expectantly, and despite your reluctance, you press your back into the wall of the pit. The edge from which you fell is above you but it looks incredibly far away. You close your eyes and hold your breath as you press upward. Although you put all of your weight on your good leg, you have to grit your teeth against the jolting agony of your injured limb as your heel drags across the ground. It’s close to unbearable, but you power through. When you’re upright, you tilt your head back and your heart plummets.

“I can’t reach that,” you whisper.

“You need to try,” Harry insists.

With a huff, you spin yourself around. The force of your movement twists your leg so roughly that you cry aloud. Harry is at your side, his hands extended toward you but missing the pressure that his touch should carry. His face is drawn and creased, so human, so life-like. And you reach your fingers up the wall and there are still too many feet between you and the lip of that floor.

“Are yeh okay?”

“No.” You let out a pathetic sob, lower your hands, and lean your forehead to rest against the back of one. Tears leak down your cheeks and leave your face feeling stiff and sticky. “Harry, I need you to help me.”

“How?”

“I’m not gonna be able to pull myself out of here.”

Harry shakes his head. “I can’ lift yeh. I can’ even touch yeh.”

“I know, I know. I need you to tell someone I’m down here.”

“Y/N.” Harry tilts his head like he pities you. That’s not right. He’s the dead one. You’re still alive. You still have a chance, but it depends on him. “No one else can see me.”

“What?”

“I felt like I was drawn to you when yeh got here tonight. Like—like yeh were open somehow. And I didn’ know why, but I guess we know now.”

“Please, Harry. I need you to try.”

“Love, I was just up there tryin’. The whole time yeh’ve been sittin’ here. I was upstairs and I couldn’ get a single person to acknowledge me.”

Your head spins all over again and you sink down to the ground, screaming as you jostle your bad leg. Your eyes finally catch sight of your injury and although there’s no visible bone, the limb is angled strangely. The contents of your stomach threaten to empty but you swallow against rising bile. You yell for help as an overwhelming anxiety, a helplessness overtakes you.

“I’m going to die down here with you,” you choke out between sobs. Harry only watches from above, his lips pressed tightly together, eyebrows drawn low. He waits until you’ve cried yourself out, until you’ve calmed yourself back to the silent, contemplative state you sat in while he was upstairs. Then he crouches down in front of you.

“Yeh’re not gonna die, love. We’re gonna figure somethin’ out, okay? Yeh’re gonna be fine.”

You look into his softened face, contrasted by the determined look in his eyes and the set of his jaw, and you can almost believe him. But the hopelessness of your predicament is overpowering. You let your head rest back against the wall.

“Stop it.” Harry’s hand slides up your wrist, and it shocks you like a bit of static before the sensation fades into nothing again. “I can’ touch yeh and I can’ talk to anyone else, but there’s gotta be somethin’ I can do to help. Think, love. Yeh’re smart enough for this.”

Your cheek lolls onto your shoulder. You let his determination stir your own and you begin to think back through the events of the night. All of the times you felt cold or uncomfortable, the slamming attic door. The darkness of that attic and this basement. The complete loss of power not once but twice tonight, and the flickering of the flashlight bulb when Harry reappeared here beside you.

“The electricity.”

“What?”

You stare down at the light and nod. “You need to short the power again.”

“What?”

“Harry, it’s been you all night. You’re the ghost who’s been causing the power outages. You just need to do it once more so that someone comes downstairs.”

He shakes his head regretfully. “I didn’ do any of that on purpose. It just happened. I didn’ even think it was me doin’ it, love.”

“Well, you know now, and I need you to try. Really hard. Please, Harry.”

He’s frowning, but there’s a look of desperation on his face that you’re sure mirrors your own.

“Please,” you whisper again.

Harry closes his eyes, sighing, threading his fingers together. His face screws up like he’s trying to concentrate, but it’s only a few seconds before he mumbles, “I have no clue what ‘m supposed to be doin’.”

Your head tips forward and you grunt as a muscle in your broken leg twitches.

“Okay, okay,” Harry says as your fist at your hair. He closes his eyes again and this time he stills completely, He stops breathing the air he doesn’t need and ceases the disconcerting flickering at the edges of his form. The flashlight shorts for a quick moment before blinking back to life. Then you’re immersed in darkness again. Your head spins, thoughts circling down a drain, and you hear your name in Harry’s garbled voice before you lose consciousness.

***

When you awake, you can hear voices, distant and urgent and muffled. Dead, you think. I’m dead. An entire army of earth-bound ghosts is parading around you and you’re dead.

“Y/N, you awake?”

When your eyes open, it’s dark as night. There is no flashlight, but you can feel a presence by your shoulder. And then a touch, soft, but very real.

“Harry?”

“Yeah, ’s me.”

“I’m dead.” It’s not a question. If you can feel him, you must be, and somehow the thought doesn’t make you as upset as you thought it might.

He chuckles. “After all that work? No, yeh’re not dead, love.”

“What?”

“There are paramedics here. They’re tryin’ to figure out how to get yeh outta here because your leg is broken. And the bigger guys can’ fit through the gap but the women wouldn’ be able to lift yeh out alone.”

Your mind spins and Harry’s knuckles brush at your cheek. “How are you doing that?”

“I dunno. Just want to really bad. Tha’s how I got the power out. Think it was me that made yeh pass out though, love. ‘M sorry. Was like I needed more energy and yeh just kinda…gave it to me.”

“So, someone came downstairs?”

“Yeah.” You can hear the smile in Harry’s voice. And the sound is so strong, like he was never a diminished version of himself. “And then I threw the flashlight at him.”

“You what?”

“Well, yeh weren’ conscious, and I wasn’ about to just let him turn the power on and go back upstairs. So, I flung it at the little gap and it rolled into the other room. He couldn’ fit in here, but he called the police.”

“Harry,” you begin, shifting toward him. Your leg twists and you let out a guttural scream.

“Hello?” someone shouts from the main basement. “Miss, we’re coming to get you!”

“Look, we don’ have a lot of time before they get in here and if yeh’re just talkin’ to open air, they’re gonna think yeh’ve gone mad.”

“Or that I’m in shock,” you argue.

“Yeh probably are.”

“Shut up.”

Harry’s fingers whisper along your jaw once more before his touch falls away. “Thank you,” he says.

“For what?”

“For finding my body.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did, even if you didn’t mean to, even I didn’t mean for you too.” He sighs, and it sounds exaggerated, especially when you realize that he doesn’t need the air that he's moving. “Will you tell my family?”

There’s a thick silence that falls between you, and in it, you hold your breath. “Tell them what?”

“That I didn’ just run away. That I wasn’ murdered. That I didn’ suffer. They probably have no idea what happened to me. Maybe they didn’ even have a funeral. I dunno. Maybe they’ve all died, but I feel like I would know, right?”

You swallow, though your throat’s dry. Harry lays a palm over the back of your hand.

“Please? Just let them know?”

“Of course I will, Harry.”

Then his lips are pressed to your forehead, light and feathery as cotton, and you can feel him smile against your skin. “Oh,” he mumbles, “and I think yeh’ll do just fine as a paranormal investigator, love. Think yeh picked the right major after all.”

When he pulls away, you can feel him stand up, feel him drifting, somehow. “You’re leaving,” you observe, and your voice is more desperate than you expected. “Where are you going?"

There’s shuffling in the crevice that leads to this place as first responders attempt to reach you. Metal scrapes against the concrete walls and people in the basement are still shouting at each other. But you can hear Harry’s voice over all of the din as he says, “The only place I can go. On.” And then he’s gone.

The End

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles angst #see through

128 notes · View notes

spookyspaghettisundae · 4 years

Text

The Closet

Natalie awoke.

Her eyes fluttered open, trying to listen to what was being whispered to her. Through the drunkenness of sleep and the haze of broken dreams, she strained to hear the words, but failed to comprehend their language.

The soup of broken thoughts coalesced into coherence. She remembered: she lived alone.

She shot up into a sitting position on her bed. The whispers felt like they reached her ears from everywhere and nowhere at once. They sliced through her mind, sharp and leaving razor-thin cuts in her thoughts. Fear bled from those invisible wounds, causing her heartbeat to wildly race.

Her closet’s door stood open. Natalie stared in disbelief as blue light poured out of it. Not the warm yellow light that could come from the small light bulb hanging inside there, but something much brighter. Colder. The light itself refused to maintain consistency, for it sparkled like a body of water was reflecting it, ever-flowing and shifting.

When she awoke again, thin slivers of light poured in through the cracks in her blinds. It was morning and time to go to work. She visited the closet and peered inside, finding what she should have expected to find—her clothing, and shoes, and boxes.

No strange lights, nothing out of the ordinary.

No whispers.

She went about her day, dismissing it as something ephemeral. She wondered if she had simply dreamt it all. During work, Natalie caught herself searching the internet on her phone. Some part of her feared that anybody could discover her strange search history.

Nothing turned up on this new house she had bought and moved into a few months ago. The move had been stressful, but nothing about it had been unusual. Not until now.

During another break, she wound up on sites and online threads regarding descriptions and discussions of sleep paralysis and night terrors. Weariness weighed her down all day—as if she had barely slept the night before.

In a moment of silence and solitude, waiting for the elevator to open in front of her, she remembered that bright light. Scintillating, dancing. Luring her.

The soft chime of the elevator broke her out of her trance as its doors opened before her. She rode it down to the parking garage and left to go home. On the drive across town, she distracted herself with music and chatter from the radio, as well as flipping through messages on her phone while she waited at red lights.

Natalie crashed into bed early that night. While brushing her teeth, her thoughts circled towards the strange—dream? Nightmare? She could not say. She expected another such event that night, and the exhaustion allowed her to drift into sleep in what felt like an instant.

She awoke one time and stumbled in the dark for a nightly bathroom visit and then awoke again the morning, feeling fully rested. The day passed and some tricky challenges on her current work project distracted her too much for her to occupy her thoughts with the strange experience.

The more days passed, the more distant it grew. The more surreal it became to imagine it, the more the memory blurred. Such thoughts shrank until over a week had passed.

The closet door opened. It took her several moments to gather her thoughts, leaving her confused and disoriented. She blinked, sitting up in her bed and realizing that over a week had passed. Nine days without such incident.

One of the whispers she heard sounded so clear that she could almost spell it out, though she found it impossible to comprehend.

Dune-Akeer.

Tendrils of forbidden knowledge snaked through her thoughts and wrapped themselves around the memories from a week ago. The whispers continued, dancing at the edge of her perception like soft white noise.

The light shone from her closet; bright blue and ominous and sparkling as brightly as ever. As alien as the whispered words, echoing in her head.

This was no sleep paralysis—she knew that much. She untangled herself from the sheets on her bed and felt everything. The soft carpet underneath her bare feet; the cold hardwood floor. The nightly air kept cool by air conditioning, sweeping over exposed skin. And the closet with its strange light—it drew nearer with each timid step that she took towards it.

Her hand, outstretched, trembled, but not with fear. It shook with anticipation.

Natalie’s destiny awaited beyond that door. The light beckoned her.

With it standing ajar, she saw something through the crack. A silhouette stood out against the blinding brightness. An eye peered back at her, pitch black like a doe’s and glistening and curious.

The door slammed shut and Natalie gasped. The light disappeared with it. Nothing shined, not even a hint of it emerging from the cracks at the seams of the closet door’s frame. The whispers had gone silent and would not return.

She swallowed and felt a pit forming in her stomach. Natalie shivered with the sensation of goosebumps forming on her arms and the back of her neck.

She had to know what this all meant. This was no dream.

No hallucination.

Every inhibition died that moment. Unyielding curiosity took root in her. A thirst for knowledge took the shape of a knife in her mind, thrusting outwards. Matching that motion, she grabbed the closet door and ripped it open.

Darkness had taken the bright light’s place and softened the outlines of everything inside the closet. There was nothing unnatural in there but clothing hanging from hangers on the bar. Several pairs of shoes and boots on the floor. Boxes up top.

She yanked the light cord and the light bulb’s soft glow flickered on into existence, illuminating the walk-in closet’s interior.

The goosebumps settled and any lingering sense of fear crumbled away. The pit in her stomach remained, because she had to know. She had to get to the bottom of this. Natalie refused to believe she was losing her mind.

Rifling through the objects in her closet, the sound of hangers clattering and boxes rattling fully shook her awake. None of this had the quality of dreams, every last bit of it felt so real. She could taste the dust on her tongue and realized that her job had not left her any time or energy to do any cleaning since she had moved in here.

With a violent motion, she spread the hanging clothes apart.

On the brink of giving up and going back to bed with the uneasy feeling stuck in her stomach, she spotted something unusual after all. What appeared to be a wooden surface in the back of the closet was, in truth, a wallpaper made to mimic the texture of polished wood.

She would never have noticed this, had it not been for the top right corner of this faux-wooden wallpaper peeling away at the edges.

Her fingers dug in and tore at it. Natalie tugged and scratched and ripped and scraped it away. Much of the wallpaper proved to be persistent, glued well to the closet’s back wall, but she managed to remove the top third of it.

The pit in her stomach grew and a bitter taste spread in Natalie’s mouth as she struggled to understand what she was looking at. It had to be the top third of an arrangement of symbols, placed in the shape of a circle. They reminded her of old Norse runes, but to her knowledge looked nothing like them.

A sharp pain spread throughout her skull, shooting from one temple to the other. She cringed at the headache overcoming her senses while she tried to study the symbols or make any sense of them. It quickly got so unbearable that she fetched her phone from the dresser nearby and used the device to take a photo of the symbols.

Time and experiences melted into rote motions as she downed some painkillers and a whole glass of water against the headache. She found herself loitering around for the next hour, aimlessly pacing through her darkened home and then browsing the internet for answers. But she found none and—when she realized with horror how few hours of sleep she would get that night before getting up to work again tomorrow—eventually returned to bed to continue sleeping.

She would experience this again and figure it all out eventually—she hoped.

When she awoke the next morning, she remembered nothing else to have transpired but felt like she had slept in an uncomfortable position, aching all over.

Work colleagues who saw her that day asked if everything was alright. A look into the mirror revealed thick dark rings underneath her eyes. She assured her colleagues that she was fine, albeit having slept poorly. “Dreamt something funny and now I feel like I was hit by a truck,” she joked. She knew deep down that she could not tell anybody about her experiences. Checking into a mental institution was just a few disturbing sentences away, she feared.

Natalie tried everything to gather evidence over the next days. She set up her phone to film videos of the closet during the night to see if she was missing anything when she slept, but to no avail. Then she repeated the same experiments by setting up the camera in the closet.

Still nothing.

Days passed and she spent every free second conducting research. She made some calls to the Realtor who had sold her the place to learn more about the house’s previous owners, but got nothing out of it. Natalie joked to her about the place possibly being haunted and giving her nightmares, which prompted a long and awkward silence on the phone call. This struck her as odd, but nothing came of it, and the Realtor’s nervous laugh preceded her saying that nobody had died on the premises of this house.

The symbols or runes or whatever they were didn’t match anything that Natalie could find in online searches or even in frantic hunts through library books.

Days turned into weeks without any results or anything else happening. One morning, she woke up having dreamt about the light shining from her closet, but that’s all it was—a dream. In the hours of footage she had been gathering and filling external hard disks with, she sifted through everything three times to ensure that the light had not returned that same night.

It must have been a full month since she had started researching the history of her home, the symbols in the closet, and eventually even scouring weird message boards filled with conspiracy theorists who shared related experiences. Not once did she find anything remotely similar outside of one account from a person obviously suffering from schizophrenia.

It was around then that Natalie realized with growing frustration that she had become obsessed. Though she feared the consequences, she started contemplating the option of seeing a therapist about this.

She began to question her sanity again, and she especially began to question if what she believed to have experienced was real at all.

Yet there it was—at the back of her closet in her bedroom—she had peeled away all the wallpaper and revealed the full circle of symbols. It was impossible for her to tell if they were occult or alien. They might as well have been both.

One morning, she had finally worked up the courage to call up a therapist. But before she could during a break at work, she got a call from her Realtor, Sally.

Natalie hesitated to take the call. She just froze, staring at the display and her Realtor’s name on it, “Sally Summers.” Natalie tapped it and took the call, likely only seconds before Sally would have given up on the call.

The pit in her stomach returned. Her innards knotted and a weird tingle danced and pirouetted down Natalie’s spine as she heard her Realtor out.

Sally admitted that she had done some digging, and found out that the owner before the last one—from nearly thirty years ago—was some sort of kook. His family had died in an accident and he was incarcerated for manslaughter, though the two were not necessarily related. The newspaper articles were somewhat vague, but she had pieced together that this was the man who had lived here before the previous owners, long before she had even picked up working in real estate.

Babbling and making excuses, Sally assured Natalie that she would have disclosed such information if she had known and promised that had not been the case until now. Natalie believed her—there was a subtle melody of desperation riding along in the Realtor’s voice.

Just as she was about to hang up, eager to conduct her own research into the matter, Sally interrupted Natalie and surprised her deeply. The fearful tone in her voice made more sense when she offered her to contact a psychic she knew.

Natalie politely declined the offer, telling Sally that she didn’t believe in such things. She assured her Realtor that there was nothing to worry about and thanked her for her candor before hanging up.

She knew now again she couldn’t share anything of what she was experiencing.

This was not knowledge that you share.

Still, the light refused to return. In that time, Natalie found out that the mysterious incarcerated owner had died in a correctional facility over twenty years ago. She stopped investigating this matter—for dead men tell no tales.

Right when she had accepted that the light would never return again, she awoke to it. The night hung deep with its darkness draping over everything, and the bright blue light created a sharp contrast in her bedroom.

Losing no time, Natalie climbed out of bed and approached it.

Her heart pounded like a giant drum, causing her whole body to thrum. The throbbing extended all the way into her digits, which she was acutely aware of as she reached out and touched the closet door.

It opened by itself before her fingertips ever reached it, but she embraced it and clutched the edge of the door with growing determination. She had to know what awaited her on the other side.

She pulled it open.

With the closet door opened wide, the whole bedroom was bathed in the bright light, as was she.

But all Natalie had eyes for was the world beyond this portal. It looked nothing like Earth. Plants with jagged leaves that looked as sharp as razors and with bright blue lights shining from their stems, casting the eerie blue glow that emanated and engulfed her. Rock formations that curved into looming stone spirals. And that silhouette of a figure again. Mere steps away.

Limbs far too long to look natural. Too freakish to be human. It turned and stared back at her through pitch-black eyes. It tilted its long and angular head and studied Natalie. She studied it back.

She stepped through the closet and into this world.

The closet door slammed shut behind her and Natalie was never seen again.

—Submitted by Wratts

4 notes · View notes

imnotinclinedtomaturity · 5 years

Note

LY hc: DnP are eating pizza and Dan is having a fond moment describing how good the pizza is, cries in the first bite but Phil... Is not feeling it. Dan turns into a full drama queen and ask for a divorce, and all the dips. (totally not me the other day)

marii told me she did this and was like lol imagine ly dnp and i was just like hngggg they are in new york rn it’s perfect. so i wrote this 1.3k gem just for you

timestamp: ly chapter 30, somewhere in the middle if dan’s day was less busyrating: t (a hint of hinting at smut who knew pizza got me there ;) )words: 1348

“Come on, Philip,” Dan huffed, tapping his foot impatiently and drumming his fingers against the hotel door handle.

The bathroom door was cracked shut, a beam of bright artificial light casting a glow over the dark entryway. “Chill out, Howell. You’ve got three hours before you have to be on set, you’re not going to be late!” Phil shouted through the door. “Not that that’s normally a concern for you…” he added quietly enough that Dan wagered he wasn’t supposed to hear it.

“Hey!” Dan cried indignantly, shoving off the door and pushing into the loo.

Phil was leaning close into the mirror, meticulously spreading gel through his hair and styling his quiff. His eyes flitted to meet Dan’s in the mirror. “Don’t you dare try to defend yourself, you know it’s true.”

“I — I’m not — I’m —” Dan sputtered. He swallowed thickly, leaning against the doorframe. “I am punctual sometimes,” he huffed.

Phil ran a final hand through his quiff before standing up, spinning around to face Dan. Without hesitation, his hands landed on Dan’s hips, tugging lightly. Dan stumbled forward, suddenly finding himself in Phil’s personal bubble.

Very much in Phil’s personal bubble.

The sudden closeness nearly knocked the wind out of Dan’s chest — he found himself struggling to take deep enough breaths for the oxygen to get to his brain, he found himself unable to look anywhere other than Phil’s icy blue eyes, he found himself incapable of forming coherent thoughts.

The only thing Dan could manage was a quiet giggle.

It shouldn’t affect Dan to be this close to Phil, not this much anyway. Not after months of knowing Phil, especially now that they weren’t dancing around each other anymore. Hell, Phil had fingered Dan and given him the best orgasm he’d had in months a few days ago. And now Dan was fucking losing it over some light hip-grabbing and close proximity.

Phil leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against Dan’s ear and doing absolutely nothing to help Dan’s utter lack of control. “You’re never punctual, but I like you anyway,” Phil whispered in Dan’s ear. The warm gust of air and the gentle slide of Phil’s lips on Dan’s skin sent a hot shiver down Dan’s spine, and he knew it was obvious how much Phil was getting to him.

“I am punctual sometimes,” Dan protested weakly.

“Nuh uh,” Phil fought back, his lips shifting down to press a kiss to Dan’s neck.

“Uh huh,” Dan whined — well, moaned more like, given the way that Phil’s lips were working their way towards his collarbone. “I was never so late to B ‘n’ G that I missed you,” Dan pointed out, his words coming out far too breathy to effectively carry any fight.

“But that made you late for how many other things?” Phil murmured into Dan’s skin, his lips dragging further downwards, his teeth just barely scraping along Dan’s collarbone.

Dan’s breath caught in his throat, and he didn’t miss the smug giggle breathed against his skin when Phil inevitably noticed. “Fuck off,” Dan huffed. “I was distracted by the hot barista. Sue me.”

A warm heat dragged up Dan’s neck, from his collarbone all the way back up to his ear. “What are the odds you can get distracted by him right now? You don’t have to be on set for a while.” Phil nipped Dan’s earlobe suggestively, his fingers slipping under the hem of Dan’s shirt.

“Fuck,” Dan mumbled, fixating on the intoxicating feeling of Phil’s lips on his neck. Phil was right — Dan didn’t have to be at The Tonight Show for another three hours, and those hours could just as easily be spent in bed as anywhere else. They had two more days to explore New York together, today wasn’t important, he didn’t have to —

A low rumble from Dan’s stomach cut off his internal debate.

Phil pulled back, just far enough to be able to look Dan in the eyes. “Dick says yes, stomach says no,” he teased.

“Ugh, you wanker,” Dan whined.

“Mmm, if I recall you’re the one who wanked in the shower this morning,” Phil responded cheekily.

“Actually shut up, or I’m not taking you for the best pizza in New York.”

“Well if there’s pizza at stake, then I supposed we must go,” Phil mockingly conceded.

***

Half an hour later, Dan and Phil found themselves tucked away at one of the many hole-in-the-wall pizzerias claiming to have the Best Pizza In New York, a large pizza and one of each dip on offer spread between them. Dan wasn’t sure if it was truly the best pizza or not, but in the few times he’d been to New York, it’d certainly been his favorite.

“Okay Philip,” Dan started seriously, “are you ready to have your life be fucking changed?”

“I’m so ready,” Phil gushed with just as much sincerity.

Dan picked up a piece of pizza loaded with veggies and meat, and dipped it into the first of the sauces. “Prepare yourself, Philip.”

Phil picked up his own slice, following Dan’s lead and dunking it into the same sauce. Poised at the ready, he held it in front of his mouth, waiting for Dan’s signal.

Matching Phil’s pose, Dan brought his own slice up to his lips. “On the count of three,” Dan said.

Phil nodded once, deliberate and somber. “One,” Phil began, voice low.

“Two,” Dan counted, his tone echoing Phil’s.

“Three!” they said together, the gravity in their voices giving way to excited, boyish squeals. With mirrored smiles, they both immediately took a large bite out of their slices.

Eyes rolled back in pleasure, Dan collapsed forward onto his elbows, his slice of pizza dropping onto his plate. “Fuckkkkkkkkkkk,” he moaned pornographically.

Beside him, Phil was silent. Too silent.

Dan turned, expecting to see a blissed out look on Phil’s face as he appreciated the pizza. Instead, however, Dan found Phil staring blankly at his food, a small frown playing at his lips.

“What?” Dan demanded harshly.

Phil didn’t say anything, though, merely glancing from Dan to the pizza.

“Philip. Michael. Lester.” Dan pointedly poked at the slice Phil had sat back on his plate. “What. Do you. Think.”

“It’s…” Phil started hesitantly. His gaze was trained on one of the dips, clearly refusing to look up at Dan, and not appearing to be willing to look at the pizza either. “Fine.”

“Fine!?” Dan cried, outraged. “Fine?!”

“Yeah?” Phil answered tentatively, sounding slightly scared of Dan’s reaction. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” Dan exclaimed. “It’s fucking heavenly!”

“It’s just kind of… floppy,” Phil said weakly. “And thin.”

“It’s New York style!” Dan shrieked.

“And is New York running out of dough or something?” Phil whined back, for some ungodly reason having the fucking audacity to sound as upset as Dan was.

Feeling utterly offended and indignant, Dan forcefully pulled Phil’s pizza away from him. “This is completely unacceptable. I demand a divorce.”

Much to Dan’s annoyance, Phil didn’t take Dan’s anger seriously — he laughed. Laughed.

“A d-divorce?” Phil managed through giggles. “We’ve technically been dating, like, a week, Dan.”

A red-hot blush raced from Dan’s neck all the way up to the tips of his ears — he hadn’t meant to jump that far ahead, even as a joke.

“Well — I — fine,” Dan scrambled, trying to maintain his cool. “I’ll date you long enough that you propose, marry you, and then divorce you over your plebeian views of coffee and pizza.”

“Okay,” Phil agreed simply.

“Okay?” Dan cried back, still outraged. “What, you’re fine with condemning yourself to a divorce in three to five years?”

Phil narrowed his eyes, leaning in. “Well I’m hoping in that amount of time, you can teach me a thing or two about taste so we’ll change your mind,” Phil said lowly.

Phil’s response did nothing to alleviate the warm flush on Dan’s cheeks. If anything, he just blushed harder. “You — I —” Dan stopped stuttering and took a massive bite of his pizza. “Shut up, Lester.”

#phanfic #ly #ly outtakes #ly asks #pizza #mariitheredgirl #asks

31 notes · View notes

konan-supernova · 6 years

Text

Falling for You (Literally) part 3

Words: 3000

Warnings: deceit mentioned (malice also mentioned)

Tagging: @roxinnaxu and @stormblessedcastiel (lemme know if you wanna be added/ removed)

part one / part two / part three (you are here)

HUGE thanks to @obsessedfanofmanythings for beta reading this chapter 💙

Logan had never been one for feelings.

They were just so confusing, so unnecessary, so ridiculous. Why force yourself to go through all those horrible stages of weakness and despair just for a tiny moment of happiness? There was no logical reason to indulge yourself in such awful mindsets, no reason to suffer through that if you had the choice to remain numb to such things.

Logan had always diluted his emotions, especially those such as fear, sadness, anger, and the like. He tried to let himself experience happiness more often though, especially after Patton found out what he was doing. It was their compromise - he got to be happy, feel real emotions, but dial down the ones he wasn’t comfortable with.

He was not surprised, however, that at this point in time, he was unable to hold back his terror. Tears streamed down his face and stuck to the lenses of his glasses, making the body in his arms no more than a black and purple blur. He could barely breathe, his mouth was open wide and pulling in sporadic, shuddering gasps of air. Virgil twitched in his arms, and Logan sobbed, lifting him closer to his chest. He leaned in, shaking and sobbing into Virgil’s hoodie.

Why couldn’t he stop? Why couldn’t he hold his tears back, like every time before this? What was wrong with him?

“Patton,” he gasped, feeling a sudden hand on his shoulder. The hand guided him, helped him to stand up, then pulled off his glasses. A moment later, they were slid carefully back into place, and he could now more or less see Patton standing in front of him, Roman strung over his shoulder fireman style.

“We need to get them somewhere safe,” Patton sniffled, biting his lip. Logan nodded, unsure that he would be able to form a coherent sentence in response. He turned around, doing a quick survey of the area, then turned back to Patton.

Wordlessly, he took a step forward, his legs shaking under him. All at once, he felt his energy leaving him, but his resolve was anything but weakened. He had to help them, had to get them to safety, had to make sure they were okay. Patton would not be able to carry three unconscious sides out of the imagination, especially not when two of them were badly injured. He would be stuck, forced to choose between leaving all of them behind to go get Thomas or taking them one at a time to safety. Logan couldn’t do that to him, wouldn’t do that to him, not after what had just happened.

So he took another step. Then another, then one more, over and over and over. This will be the last one, he thought to himself. You can stop after this one step. But he did not stop, all the way through the imagination.

Even hours later, when they had long since reached the main hub of the mindscape, when they had long since put the others to bed, when they had long since told Thomas about the day’s events, he did not stop.

His feet shuffled onwards in his sleep, and he woke up covered in sweat, the covers kicked off of his bed. He was barely awake for a minute before the dark tendrils of sleep took hold of him, pulling him back down into oblivion. Ghostly images of Roman unconscious in the dirt and Virgil falling from the sky filled his dreams, but he kept going.

He had to. He had to. He had to. He…

°•°

He woke up earlier than he was used to.

Sunlight filtered into his room the window, his thin colored curtains casting everything in a strange blue light. His head throbbed slightly, and in the back of his mind, there was a thought, an urgent reminder that he couldn't quite reach.

He furrowed his brow, concentrating on the thought as he reached for his glasses. As soon as he slid them onto his face, he noticed the odd smudges on the lenses - the insides of the lenses. Tears.

Virgil.

A shiver ran down his back and he leapt out of bed, his normal clothes already having replaced his pyjamas. He raced down the hall, the activity not doing his headache any favors, finally stopping in front of Patton's room. The two of them had summoned extra beds the night before so that Patton would know if they needed something in the night (he had assured Logan that he would okay taking care of the both of them, that things would be fine. Logan had eventually agreed and retired to bed).

Logan hesitated at the door, his fists hovering above the wood, prepared to knock. After a moment, he did, trying to keep it as soft as possible. A quiet “Come in,” answered him, so he slowly pushed the door open, relaxing when he saw Roman sitting up on his bed. He turned to Logan, wincing as he attempted to wave at him.

“Don't do that, you need to stay still for now,” Patton reprimanded, bringing over an ice pack to the injured side. He muttered a quick thanks before pressing it to his forehead and closing his eyes. He then shifted on the bed for a moment, his brows furrowing as the seconds ticked by.

“I've been sitting still for half an hour, shouldn't I stretch my muscles?” Roman groaned.

“Soon,” Patton said, not bothering to elaborate further. He walked towards the door, smiling wearily at Logan as he passed by. “Watch these two while I'm gone, would you?” he disappeared down the hall without giving Logan a chance to respond, so he just sighed and stepped into the room, taking a seat next to Roman on the bed.

“How is he?” he asked after a moment of silence. Roman just huffed.

“Patton or Virgil?” he asked, staring at the lump of covers and ruffled feathers laying on the bed across from him.

“Both,” Logan answered, his thumbs twitching as they rubbed up against one another over and over.

“Patton's been working himself to death since I woke up, trying to get me sorted out. He's been running all around the mindscape, grabbing medicine and juice boxes and ice packs and pillows and whatever else one of us needs,” Roman paused, holding out one of the aforementioned juice boxes to Logan. He took it, setting it down on the bed next to him before letting Roman continue. “Virgil hasn't woken up yet. Patton filled me in on what happened, and….”

Roman swallowed, and it did not go unnoticed by Logan how tightly his fists suddenly clenched, or how he had to close his eyes as if to bite back tears.

“I'm afraid for him,” he admitted, indeed sounding choked up. “He's been hiding this for so long, and then he got hurt because of me and now everyone knows and he's going to be so afraid when he wakes up,” he gasped, a few tears escaping his eyes. They ran down his face slowly, leaving Logan lots of time to wipe one away, tell Roman everything would be alright.

He didn't, though. Instead, he sat on the bed next to him, reaching a hand over to console him. Roman looked up, tear streaks on his face and fear shining in his eyes.

“It's going to be okay,” Logan said, but he really wasn't sure.

In front of them, Virgil shivered, letting out a long breath of air. His wings twitched, but other than that, he remained ghostly still, the only movement being the methodical rise and fall of his chest.

“Sorry,” Virgil slurred, and Logan felt his heart freeze.

“Yeah,” Roman said, taking a sip from his juice box. Logan knew enough about emotions to note the thick sarcasm in his voice. “It's all gonna be just peachy.”

°•°

There was a rushing in his ears, like he was falling, then a ringing sensation, then silence. Consciousness usually hit him like a mallet, striking once or twice in the night, then once more with maximum power come late morning. Today, though, it was a rushing sound, a ringing sounds, and then no sound at all.

He let out a large breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, his entire body relaxing from the action. Virgil realized quickly that he was quite sore, and a few parts of his body hardly had any feeling at all, just a faint tingling sensation and a feeling of being hot and cold all over all at once.

His wings were probably where he had the most feeling, although a lot of it was currently pins and needles. He tried moving them, to no avail, and was left floating in this awkward (yet somehow peaceful) state of semi numbness. He tried to relax, go back to sleep, but that wasn't happening either.

“Yeah,” someone said, the words coming from somewhere behind him. “It's all gonna be just peachy.”

Virgil froze. Who was that? Were they in the room with him? If they were, they must have seen his wings, right?

A truckload of memories hit him, and he could barely control his heavy breathing as he remembered the day prior. The fight with the dragon witch, the reveal of his wings, passing out in someone's arms… it all came back, washing over him like a rogue wave of headache material. How was he supposed to fix this?

He had really messed up this time, hadn't he?

Virgil groaned, forcing his eyes open, wincing as bright light assaulted his vision. He found himself facing a wall, the light blue color being quite familiar to him (he'd spent enough sleepless nights up talking with Patton to know what his room looked like). He took in a deep breath, grimacing as his chest began to regain feeling. His right shoulder and left wing began to throb in pain, though he noticed that it was much improved from what it had been during the fight.

He started to sit up, knowing that rolling over would just cause trouble - he really wasn't in the mood to roll onto his wings and damage them further. Once had pushed himself into a sitting position, he turned around, ready to face whoever was there. Might as well get it over with, right?

Surprisingly, he was met with two sides - Roman and Logan. Both of them stared at him with varying degrees of shock. Roman looked like he was about to drop his juice box, as it was hanging out of his mouth from the straw. A few bandages were wrapped around his chest, and Virgil couldn't help but wonder if that was his fault for not rescuing him sooner.

Logan sat next to him on a bed that Virgil didn't recognize (and, now that he thought about it, he must've been on a new bed too, since Patton's was across the room), looking somewhat frazzled but overall, just exhausted. He did smile after a moment, which was a heartwarming sight, seeing as Logan tended to be less expressive with his emotions.

“I'm glad you're awake,” he said softly, so sincere that Virgil almost believed him. In the back of his mind, though, he knew that it couldn't have been true. Everyone he'd known before had hated his wings, told him that they made him the worst out of all of them. Why would Logan just not care? Even he would have to admit that they were unnatural, ugly, useless.

“Yeah, I am too, I guess,” he muttered, clasping his hands together in his lap. When would they bring it up? Would they wait, let him heal before they shot him down? Maybe they would just let him come to his own conclusions, pretend that it hadn't even happened. He kind of hoped they would do that, it would certainly make things easier.

“Roman, how does your chest feel?” Patton burst into the room, surprising all three of its occupants. He didn't even notice Virgil (or maybe he just ignored him), moving past him to tend to Roman.

“It's already doing better, Patton, thank you,” he waved away Patton's hands, pointing to Virgil. Patton spun around, smiling wide as he noticed the winged side.

“Morning, kiddo. How're you feeling?”

“Fine,” Virgil lied, forcing a small smile onto his lips. It felt wrong, poisoned, but he had to make them believe him. It was no use worrying them over something that he could deal with on his own.

“You sure?” Patton asked, cocking his head to the side. “Your injuries were about three times worse than Roman, and even he's in pain - don't look at me like that, Ro, you know it's true!”

Virgil bit his lip, nodding.

“I'm fine, really,” he assured him, already summoning his hoodie to cover up his bruised chest. “I'm just a bit sore, that's all.”

“Well, I'm glad to hear it,” Patton beamed at him, and Virgil felt a bit bad about lying when he saw his smile.

“Cool, now I'm gonna-”

“Since you're feeling better, though, I think it's time we talked about,” Patton paused, glancing down at Logan for a second, “the wings.”

“Oh,” Virgil gulped, holding his hoodie in his lap. He looked down at the lump of black and purple fabric, running his thumbs over it. He took a deep breath, getting ready to tell them that he would understand if they didn't want him around anymore, or if they didn't want his wings out around them. He'd always hidden them anyway, he really wouldn't care if they wanted him to keep doing it.

(Well, he would care, but he wouldn't say that - it wasn't fair to them.)

“Why did you hide them?” Patton asked before he could say anything. He sat down next to Virgil, turning to face him. Virgil looked down at the floor, unable to answer.

“Don't know,” he managed, curling a fist around the fabric of his jacket. “I guess I thought you'd hate them.”

There was silence for a moment, thick, tense and consuming silence.

Then Roman laughed.

“Why would we hate them?” he asked, genuine amusement and confusion on his face. Virgil stared, unable to understand. Why wouldn't they hate them? Only Dark Sides had non-human attributes, like Deceit with his scales, Malice with his claws and Virgil, with his wings.

“I'm not like you,” he answered, brows furrowed with a frown on his face. “I never have been, and these stupid wings are just a reminder that I never will be.”

“None of us are like each other, Virgil,” Logan said softly, catching his eye from across the room. “I can't process feelings like Patton can, Patton can't create like Roman can, and Roman can't focus like I can. We're all different from each other, so why should we care if you are too?”

“But it's not like that!” Virgil shouted, tears threatening to spill out. He shook his head, forcing them down. He would not allow himself to cry. “You guys are all normal, you… You look like people do. Having strengths and weaknesses is not the same as having a pair of wings slapped onto your back to remind you that you're not normal. You guys are different because it's your job, but this doesn't relate to my job at all! I don't need these, and you don't deserve to have to look at them all the time,” Virgil finished, both fists balled in his lap. He shook, holding back years worth of tears and shame.

Patton reached a hand out, letting it hover over Virgil's for a moment. Virgil eventually opened one of his hands and let Patton grasp it, bringing it up to eye level.

“You do know that we could never hate you, right?” he spoke softly, looking hurt and concerned and just so full of love. Virgil didn't nod or shake his head or acknowledge the question in any way, just looked down at the floor again. Patton hummed softly, bringing his other hand up under Virgil's chin, lifting his face up again. Virgil bit his lip, trying to avoid looking in his eyes.

“But-”

“No 'buts’,” Roman chimed in, and Virgil turned to face him once more. “None of us could ever truly hate you, Virge, not ever. You're wonderful, absolutely wonderful.”

“And what you said about your wings and how they don't relate to your job?” Logan recalled, an eyebrow raised. “It's wrong. You used those wings to protect Roman yesterday when he was incapacitated, and again to protect us when Dragon Witch expressed will to harm us. As the protector of the group, wings would be an invaluable asset to all fight or flight situations.”

Virgil opened his mouth to retaliate, then paused, closing it again. How could this be? Did they really just not care, or were they being nice to let him down slowly later?

He closed his eyes, pushing away all of the nastier thoughts. He didn't have the time or the energy to worry about it anymore.

“Yeah,” he said after a moment silence. The world seemed to slow down as he opened his eyes, looked around the room at his friends. They each smiled at him, and he smiled back, a real (albeit shaky) smile. “I guess you're right.”

Later, he would tell Thomas about it, relive his doubts and fears as Thomas processed the story and his feelings. He would relax as Thomas wrapped him in a hug, laugh as the others popped up and joined in, careful not to press up against his injured wings. Eventually he would grow comfortable with them, showing them in videos without much explanation (the fandom freaked out after the first time he showed up with them out).

But for now, he would just sit, happy tears streaming down his face, sobbing his heart out with the friends he loved gathered around him. Things would be okay.

Everything would be okay.

51 notes · View notes

thestoryweneededtowrite · 6 years

Text

Visiting

A birthday fic for @casualghost!

“Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your seats. The fasten seatbelt sign has now been switched on and we will shorting be landing at New York’s JFK airport.”

Davey supposed that, for most people, those words were comforting. The flight was about to end and they could get on with their lives as planned, unhindered by fasten seatbelt signs or cramped legroom or turbulence. But he didn’t feel comfort when he heard the pilot’s announcement, only fear and anxiety and a deep-seated longing, cresting and churning inside his stomach until he was double-checking he knew where the motion sickness bag was in his seat compartment, just in case.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want the plane to land. He was desperate to get to the end of his journey – it had been years in the making. But there was so much pressure for this meeting to go exactly as he’d envisaged it that he was getting himself worked up over the semantics. What was he meant to say? What was he meant to do? Because this was Jack. And Jack mattered.

They’d been friends for three years and dating for one and Davey had finally scraped together enough money to fly to New York and stay with him for a week. In theory, it was the best of his dreams made real. In reality, he was trying to work out which way he was meant to tilt his head when Jack kissed him, if indeed Jack even did go to kiss him. And oh god what was Jack expecting when it came to sex. Did he want it? Did Davey want it? He wasn’t sure. He knew he liked the idea of sleeping in Jack’s bed, but for all he knew he might just be shown to the sofa. It was too much to think about and he just groaned and put his face in his hands, worrying the woman sat next to him.

“You alright, honey?” she asked gently.

Davey just nodded, forcing a smile and trying not to look as faint as he felt. He was hoping all the anxiety was going to go away when he saw Jack and realised that he was as comforting in person as he always was over Skype or text messages.

The worst part of the plane journey was that he had no contact with Jack during it. Every moment over the last fortnight when he’d felt nervous, he’d message Jack and get a dramatic speech on how he didn’t need to worry because they were going to be together for the first time and that was going to be perfect. They never failed to make Davey smile and he fished around in his rucksack for his phone so he could scroll up and read a couple of the ones Jack had sent via text.

By the time he has finished reminding himself of just how in love he was with this crazy artist from New York, the plane’s wheels were connecting with the tarmac and Davey was jolted back into his seat and back into reality. Then the nervousness returned in floods.

Davey’s legs were shaking as he collected the small bag he’d packed for the week and followed the corridors of the airport round until the arrivals gate was just ahead. He only had one corner left to turn before he’d finally get a chance to kiss his boyfriend. Gripping the strap of his rucksack he forced his feet to keep walking, desperate to get there and terrified of doing so. As he walked he mumbled curses to himself, bemoaning the fact he’d managed to make it to age 23 and still be this caught up over a boy.

Part of him has been worried he wasn’t going to be able to recognise Jack, but it was a pointless concern. He’d spent hours and hours with him on Skype, used to sleepy chats long into the night and falling asleep as Jack painted and spared him sweet smiles after every couple of strokes as Davey forced himself to stay awake to get just a couple more minutes in Jack’s online company.

As soon as Davey rounded the corner he saw Jack. It was difficult not to, since he was standing there holding a huge bunch of flowers and bouncing up and down on his toes with anticipation. And Davey forgot to be anxious as he started to walk towards the love of his life, picking up speed until he was running the last couple of yards, skidding to a stop before deciding fuck it and hugging him tightly.

“Hey babe,” Jack managed, laughing as the breath was knocked out of his lungs.

“Hi,” Davey mumbled back, his face burrowed against Jack’s shirt.

And it was a nice shirt. Jack had clearly put a lot of effort into his appearance and Davey felt a wave of warmth in his stomach that he cared so much. Taking a moment to absorb what was happening and getting used to the fact that Jack actually had a corporeal form, Davey took a step back, tears in the corners of his eyes.

“It’s so good to see you,” he managed, his voice rough and wavering.

Jack laughed again. “Good to see you too, love. You have no idea how much I’ve been wanting to do this,” he mumbled.

Then he reached forward to rest his hand on Davey’s cheek, the flowers abandoned by his feet, and guided him closer until they were kissing and Davey realised that he had been ridiculous to overthink this because he didn’t have enough spare brain cells to think, only to focus on the fact that they needed to get somewhere private so they could keep kissing and he wouldn’t be feeling the stares of half of the airport on his back.

“Can we do that all week?” Davey asked as Jack pulled away, too dizzy to voice coherent thoughts.

Grinning, Jack pressed a kiss to Davey’s cheek.

“I plan on it,” he purred, and Davey felt a shiver of desire run up his spine, deep in the marrow of his bones. Sex was so very on the table.

Jack stepped back just a little to pick up the flowers, dusting them off a little after their brief stint on the floor and holding them out.

“Here. I know they won’t last the week so you won’t get to take them home, but I just… I wanted to do this whole thing right,” he explained with a sheepish smile.

“I love you,” Davey replied, aware that he was hardly keeping up a good conversation. But he wanted to say it to Jack face to face. It had been exchanged countless times over Skype and messages, but this was different. This felt real.

Davey’s cheeks were red as he registered what he’d said and how flippant he’d been about it, but there was so much love in Jack’s eyes that he knew he’d said a good thing.

“I love you, too,” Jack smiled, kissing Davey again and pulling him in for another hug. “Wanna come home? To mine?”

“Please.” Davey nodded, too exhilarated by everything that was happening to let the nerves slink back in.

Jack reached for Davey’s bag, shouldering it before he could react.

“I can take it,” Davey protested.

“Let me feel like a good boyfriend,” Jack shrugged. “I don’t ever get to do this.”

Davey was about to object again but Jack took his hand and squeezed and he decided it was best to let him have this one. Because Jack had a point – they never got to do the proper boyfriends thing and it was such a welcome feeling. Davey shouldered his rucksack and squeezed back on Jack’s hand, happy to be led through the airport and towards the train that would take them to Jack’s apartment.

Jack was incredibly tactile. It was something Davey had figured out before, from the way Jack would talk about wanting to hold his hand or fall asleep with Davey in his arms, but he’d never experienced it in person before. All the time they spent on the subway Jack played with his fingers and pressed small kisses to the corner of his mouth, and Davey wasn’t complaining. He was more unsure about PDA but no one was glaring at them in the carriage and it was so easy to give in to Jack’s affection that he returned a couple of kisses and chatted excitedly about Kansas and his plane journey and what he wanted to do in his week in New York.

When they made it to his apartment in Brooklyn, Jack stopped uncertainly at the door.

“I… It’s not the biggest apartment,” he explained, a little embarrassed.

“Jack, if it has four walls and a roof then that’s enough for me, so long as you’re in it,” Davey rolled his eyes, poking him gently in the ribs to encourage him to open the door.

And Jack did. He turned the key and held the door open to let Davey pass through first. It was the first time Davey had seen the apartment not through the lens of a webcam and he took a moment to absorb how very Jack it was. A studio apartment, it was indeed pretty small, with a lingering smell of spirits and turpentine, and paints on every spare surface. There was a small kitchenette in the corner and a sofa pushed against the far wall. A screen covered one corner, behind which Davey assumed was a bed, and a mismatched wardrobe, both doors different colours, sat beside the screen. Davey took it all in with a smile, turning it into a grin when Jack walked up behind him and wrapped his arms around his waist.

“I love it,” Davey promised. It was nowhere he ever he thought he’d actually standing, and anywhere Jack was seemed good to him.

Then Davey’s gaze fell on the small pile of bedding Jack had left on the arm of the couch and he couldn’t help but frown. Jack sensed him tense in his arms and he stepped back to see what the matter was. Following Davey’s line of sight he caught his train of thought and he shrugged.

“I… I wasn’t sure…” Jack mumbled, unusually awkward. He tried to hide how much he desired Davey, not wanting to force his hand. “You’re welcome to sleep in my bed. With me, I mean. So, so welcome. But I didn’t want to presume so I was going to maybe take the couch? At least for the first night. And you take the bed. Unless-”

“Jack?” Davey stopped him gently. If he was being given the choice, then he had absolutely no inclination to sleep anywhere alone whilst Jack lay ten feet away. “Yeah?” Jack asked, a little tentatively.

“The bed. Please. With you,” he requested with a light blush and a small smile.

“Okay. Yeah, okay,” Jack breathed, stepping closer again and brushing his thumb across Davey’s jaw to angle him for a quick kiss.

Now they were alone, Davey was all for kissing. They had an entire year of wanting to make up for – Skype and text messages could do much to bridge emotional gaps but little to bridge physical ones. He had imagined this dozens of times. Endless hours stretched out ahead of them, the door was locked, his phone was still turned off from the plane. No one was going to distract them. So he grabbed the lapels of the jacket Jack hadn’t taken off yet and pulled him over to the sofa, pushing him down and climbing over him, kissing him deeply like he was breathing Jack instead of air. Jack’s surprise at his enthusiasm was clear but he definitely wasn’t complaining as he tugged Davey closer by his hips and his fingers found themselves reaching up under the hem of Davey’s shirt to find bare skin.

“You’re real,” Davey mumbled against Jack’s lips, almost in awe at just how good it felt to finally be able to touch.

“Last I checked,” Jack grinned, returning for another kiss. This was better than he had ever dreamed.

An hour later Davey was resting his head on Jack’s bare chest, the spare bedding Jack had laid out tucked over them both as they lay on the sofa. Jack traced small circles on Davey’s shoulder, relishing in an afterglow that had been a year in the making. Pressing a kiss to Davey’s hair, he broke the silence.

“What part of New York do you want to see first?” he asked conversationally.

“None of it,” Davey yawned, shifting a little to find a more comfortable place to lay his head. It was only four o’clock but between travelling and sex he wanted nothing more than to take a nap. “What?” Jack laughed, turning his sketched circles into small hearts. “I mean, everything,” Davey rectified. This was New York City and he was excited to see it all. “I want to see the whole city. But… not today? Today I want to… I mean I don’t really want…”

He didn’t want to have to share Jack with fields of tourists. The world had kept him from the love of his life for far too long and he wanted to take a little of what he thought he was due.

Jack got it. He didn’t really want to lose any of his time with Davey, especially not right now. “You want to watch Netflix, order takeout, and make out on the couch?” he suggested.

“God yes,” Davey groaned, turning his face into Jack’s chest as Jack trailed his fingers down to stroke over the small of his back.

“Your wish is my command, love,” Jack promised.

Davey smiled. He was already incredibly fond of hearing Jack call him pet names he’d only heard through a Skype connection before. And he had an entire week of it ahead.

#newsies #newsies fanfiction #javid #Jack Kelly #david jacobs #Jack/David #casualghost #hap birth

259 notes · View notes