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botherkupo · 2 months

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Summer Green (lovesquare oneshot)

So it's been so long probably no one remembers that before I moved cities I promised to write two oneshots as a thank you. Anyway, I got given the prompt "cake" for one of them and this is the result. It was meant to be much more comedic and fluffy, but well ... this happened instead.

i have no idea when the next one will get written, because my job is busy and I'm still recovering from a broken ankle, but hey. I finished one lol

Summary: Twelve years ago, Marinette had found out that Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste were the same person. Twelve years ago, she’d seen him sob like a shattered wreck as he’d knelt in front of his mother’s glass coffin and his father, Hawkmoth, was arrested. Then he'd vanished. Just gone without a word.

After twelve years, on the day of her wedding, they finally meet again.

AO3

Marinette sits on the floor in her kitchen, knees pressed to her chest. Her feet are bare. She’s still wearing the veil, still dressed in white silk and embroidered lace. A wedding rose clipped before full bloom. A wedding rose stained with mascara trails and stupid, stupid regret.

There’s a knock at the door. She ignores it, just like she’s ignored all the calls and texts. She wouldn’t know what to say to anyone anyway. All she knows is that her wedding day had come—the day she’d fantasised about since she was a little girl—and all she’d felt was her heart sinking down, down, down into the arms of suffocation. It had only got worse as she’d walked up the aisle. As she’d looked into coffee-brown eyes and realised she couldn’t say I do.

“Idiot,” she mutters, thunking her head against the cupboard door over and over. “You stupid, crazy idiot.”

The knocking gets louder.

“Marinette?”

Her entire body stills. That voice.

“Marinette, please open the door.”

It’s something achingly deep that drags her to her feet. Something that reaches deep into her bones like the inescapable force of gravity. She moves as if in a trance and wrenches the door open, her heart stuttering into a pounding drum. Adrien blinks. His hand is still poised to knock.

All of her breath escapes her in a shaky rush. “You jerk!” she says, but then she’s throwing herself against his chest and clutching him tight.

He’s taller. Broader in the shoulders, too. His scent is different—light musk and woodsy tones instead of the citrus notes of his youth—but his arms wrap around her just as warmly as they’ve always done. She closes her eyes and lets their heartbeats blend.

“Why did you never contact me?” she says. Her voice is practically a whisper. “Twelve years. Twelve years, Adrien.”

“I’m sorry.”

The words don’t appease her. Not at all. She wants to hit him, wants to curse him, but the fact he’s here—solid and real—is too precious.

Twelve years ago, she’d found out that Chat Noir and Adrien Agreste were the same person. Twelve years ago, she’d seen him sob like a shattered wreck as he’d knelt in front of his mother’s glass coffin and his father, Hawkmoth, was arrested. A twisted fairy tale with no happy ending. A twisted fairy tale that had left Adrien with nothing but grief, bitterness, and ugly court trials.

Then one day she’d woken to find the cat miraculous ring on her bedside table and a note that only had one word printed on it in neat handwriting:

Sorry.

She’d never seen him again. No one had. It was like he’d vanished. Sometimes, she’d found herself wondering if he was even still alive.

A lump forms in her throat. Hot tears sting her eyes and she buries her face into his coat, fingers curling into the soft fabric.

“I waited for you,” she says softly. “I waited for you every day like a total idiot. I waited for years.”

“I’m sorry.”

Her fingers dig in tighter. “Why couldn’t you have just called?” Her voice cracks. “Even a text just to say you’re okay would have been better than nothing.”

“I’m sorry, Marinette. I really am.”

The lump in her throat chokes any response. All she can do is hold him, tears spilling down her cheeks.

He pulls back to meet her gaze, his own cheeks damp with tears. “I wanted to come back. Believe me, I wanted to come back so many times.”

“Then why—”

He lets her go completely, shoulders hunching. “I don’t know. I guess I thought … I thought maybe it would be better if I stayed away.”

“Why?”

“Because maybe then it would hurt less. If I could forget about everything, if I could start fresh, maybe … maybe it would be better. Maybe I could be happy.”

She wordlessly tugs him back into her arms. Her heart aches and aches and aches.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into her hair. “I’m so sorry. I was selfish and stupid. I should have never left. I should have come back sooner.”

She clutches him tighter. “Forget it. I’m just glad you’re here now.”

They stay like that for a long time. She’s afraid if she lets him go that he might slip away again. But eventually they part and look at each other. Really look at each other. His expression is soft yet sad.

“Can I ask you something personal?” he says. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“What is it?”

“Why did you run from your wedding?”

She stiffens in surprise. “You know about that?”

“Uh, yeah. I stopped at your home first. I mean your old home. Your parents told me. Plus, the whole—” He gestures at her dress.

She looks the other way, biting her lip.

“I heard he’s a nice guy. Your parents seemed to like him.”

“He is nice.”

The weight of Adrien’s gaze is a silent question. Why? Why break up with him then at the altar? Why run?

Her fingers curl into her palms. She refuses to look at Adrien, though she can’t stop the tickle of heat that blooms on her cheeks. The answer is simple: it’s because her ex-fiance’s eyes are coffee brown instead of summer green. It’s because Adrien—her partner and first love—had wedged himself so far into her heart that he became part of the beat. Twelve years had not changed that. Nothing could change that. Adrien is a song she can’t forget: a song of yearning glances, almost kisses, and words never uttered.

“I think you know the answer to that,” she says softly.

He takes a step closer, then another step. His hand brushes her. She inhales shakily and their eyes meet, aching with heart-thudding longing all over again.

“I didn’t think I had a chance,” he whispers. “A part of me hoped, but—”

She leans up on her tiptoes and presses her lips to his. Impulsive. Inevitable. He surrenders to the kiss like waves embracing the shore, his arms enfolding her. Fresh tears sting her eyes. Kissing him hurts just as much as it soothes, like honey sweetening bitter medicine.

She weaves her fingers into his hair and kisses him again and again.

I’ve missed you. I love you.

Silent words are exchanged through every shared breath. The years of loneliness, the years of fruitlessly trying to move on. None of that matters now. All that matters—all that she wants to matter—is being with him in this moment. So she pushes aside the guilt. She pushes aside the thoughts of the other man whose heart she’d broken, of a wedding cake left untouched, and the money wasted on a pretty dress and diamond ring. Instead, she focuses on the warmth of Adrien’s touch, on the way he makes her heart pound faster and faster, and the yielding softness of his lips.

She won’t regret this moment. She won’t regret choosing him.

#ml #miraculous ladybug #lovesquare #my writing #romance #angst

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bluemoose86 · 1 year

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Rachel x Astrid Snippet

*Not my gif*

Pairing: Rachel Chu/Astrid Leong

Summary: What if Rachel ran into Astrid while trying to leave the wedding?

Inspired by my Rachel x Astrid brain rot and my question of how tf did she get to Peik Lin’s house. She didn’t drive herself to the wedding, Peik Lin obviously wasn’t there, and she didn’t see Oliver at all. I guess she could have Uber’d or something but it’s much more fun to imagine she ran into Astrid and she gave her a ride there

Warnings: anxiety, panic attack, hurt/comfort (I didn’t really get into the comfort though)

Word count: 640

DISCLAIMER: This is an unfinished fic. I may continue it in the future if the urge hits me, but as of now, I have no plans to do that. Anything written in brackets [like this] is not part of the story itself, but necessary context.

✨Read Below!✨

[Rachel’s POV. This is during the wedding, just after Eleanor showed Rachel the PI’s photographs.]

Her heartbeat roars in her ears. Everyone is screaming. Laughing. Laughing at her. They’re always laughing at her. She can feel it pressing in on her, crushing her under the weight of their expectations, forcing the air from her lungs. She wades through the crowd, desperately searching for an empty corner or an exit or something because if she doesn’t get out of here right now she will suffocate to death.

She pushes past a clump of people and comes face-to-face with Eddie. He says something. She can’t understand a single word. But she understands when he laughs in her face, and when the others around them join in. She stumbles in a different direction because she can feel her mask starting to crumble and the tears starting to fall, and she refuses to let them know they finally won.

The giant fans at the edge of the dance floor catch Rachel’s eye. There. She shoves some guy out of her way, beelining for the empty space, when Bernard comes crashing through with his pants at his ankles and his hands all over Alistair’s actress girlfriend. The piranhas descend, laughing and pointing while the photographers snap as many pictures as they can before Bernard hobbles off. Rachel backs away, trying to leave the way she came, but she’s caught in their net. A minnow in a sea full of sharks.

The tears are welling up faster than she can choke them down, and Rachel knows she can’t keep this up much longer. A narrow path opens, and she barely hesitates before she elbows her way through. A glass shatters behind her. She can’t afford to stop and look. Further and further she swims, but the sharks seem to multiply instead of thinning. She nearly runs into Auntie Alix and Auntie Felicity. They laugh at her the same way Eddie did, and she wants to be hurt, but she can’t even bring herself to feel surprised.

Shoving past them, Rachel all but sprints for the empty space she can see up ahead. A sob falls from her lips before she can stop it. She bumps into someone else—this time a woman in a bright pink dress—but doesn’t bother to apologize. Wait—pink dress?

“Rachel?”

She freezes. Astrid’s voice is as soft as ever, but it cuts through the chaos like an answered prayer. Rachel turns towards her, and the rest of the world falls silent. Astrid’s dark brown eyes are filled with concern, her face creased into the same worried expression she’d worn at Araminta’s bachelorette party. That time, Rachel had been able to keep herself together. She picked herself up and put on a brave face so none of Araminta’s idiotic friends would know how rattled she was. But now, staring at probably the only person at this entire wedding she can actually stand to be around, she can’t hold back the flood any longer.

Rachel bursts into tears and buries her face in her hands. “Oh, God,” Astrid says, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. “Okay. Come on, Rachel. Let’s get you somewhere quiet.”

Astrid leads her away from the party until the screams and cheers fade to a dull roar.

[Astrid sits Rachel down somewhere quieter. Rachel cries for a bit before she realizes what a mess she’s making.]

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” she says. She leans back from Astrid, hurriedly wiping her face. Her fingers come away stained with mascara, mimicking the blackened tear streaks on Astrid’s pink dress.

Astrid’s frown deepens. “What?”

Rachel gestures vaguely at the ruined fabric. “Your dress.” The words come out shakier than she would like. She clears her throat, trying to steel herself. “God, I’m sorry, I—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Astrid interrupts. Her satin voice is still gentle, but firm enough to know that this was not an argument Rachel would be able to win. She reaches for Rachel’s hand, twining their fingers together. “Please. It’s all right, I promise.”

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! If I write anymore, I’ll add it onto here.

#god that gif makes me want to start writing again fr #THAT LOOK #crazy rich asians #cra #rachel chu #Astrid Leong #constance wu #gemma chan #rachel x astrid #astrid x rachel #fanfic #fic snippet #wlw ships

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aetherarf · 3 years

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Hi hello i saw your requests are open!! And i dont know if this is allowed but can you do genshin boys caught cheating and they played it off and later on they started to regret what they did and when they found the reader, the reader is now happy or disappeared or idk ITS UP TO YOU TO DEICIDE HEHEHEHE IM SORRY I LOVE READING ANGST SM SO ITS OKAY IF YOU WONT TAKE IT !! YOUR WORKS ARE REALLY GREAT BTW!!! (more than great i mean *chefs kiss*)

Yes I've finally gotten to this one! I hope it's angsty enough for you 😘

[[ WARNING: CHEATING, NON-LETHAL INJURY, ALCOHOL ]]

[[ Summary: Kaeya, Childe, and Diluc end up cheating on their partner... They get caught, not by their partner, but someone else. As the days pass, they begin to regret it... only for their little secret to get back to their lover...

Note, Kaeya's is longest/wordiest cuz I didn't realize I should probably be a bit more brief... Kaeya favouritism lol.

Overall Word Count: 3'602 [rip me]

Kaeya Word Count: 1'841

Childe Word Count: 950

Diluc Word Count: 811 ]]

Kaeya

Distantly, he remembers an old saying from Crepus, in response to his question-- "Why do people drink so much?"

"Well... Alcohol doesn't solve anything, but it can make you forget questions you'd rather not think about."

He understood that as he got older. Why stress, and think about things he could not control? ... Well, maybe he should deal with them, but that's easier said than done when his entire life was on the line. Every night, in the tavern, he drank to forget. Not that he'd admit that to anyone.

And, somehow, he had forgotten more than he'd like to admit. On his lap, a beautiful woman, and he was tugged to a back closet of the Angel's Share. She tasted sweet, like wine and sugar. If it wasn't for an intruder, ( despite the fact that he was the one intruding into staff-only area ) he likely would have had a far better time, to completely lose himself in his inebriation.

"K-Kaeya!" Uh oh, as his vision focused, he could see Diluc's unmistakable silhouette, with that fluffy red hair and broad shoulders. "You," he pointed to the woman, "Out." The woman, not wanting to envoke the wrath of Sir Ragnvindr, running out immediately. But, Diluc didn't let Kaeya out, not that he was fighting to get out. Instead, he walked closer.

"What have you done?" he asked, voice low and full of rage. However, Kaeya could only smile,

"What do you mean, Master Ragnvindr?" He asked, all sly.

"You cheater," he snapped, "You do know that wasn't your partner? The one you swore yourself to? They were just looking for you, you know." He was nearly yelling, forcing his voice low...

And that, that idea, the realization of everything hit him harder than even the biggest bomb's that Klee had ever made. He... did.

"Look," The world was no longer warm an fuzzy, just a little shift away from his normal reality, everything crashing down. The thoughts that haunted him when you slept so peacefully in his arms, when he would see the knights laughing and smiling together, the ever-haunting knowledge that he was alone amongst them...

The way only you did not have that odd look in your eye, of wonder upon seeing something unique, or of something alien that terrified... You only looked at him as what he wished to be seen-a person.

And here he went, fucking it all up.

"Look," he said again, tears in his eye, "You, you can't tell anyone," He all but snapped at Diluc, who's eyes widened in shock, "I-I wouldn't tell if you did it, you have to do the same for me," he promised, desperately trying to think of what to do...

"Kaeya, this isn't about me, this is about you and-and them," Diluc didn't even need to say the name, "You're better than this, I won't tell, but only if you do."

Kaeya's brows furrowed, he wasn't used to feeling so... betrayed. Normally, it was expected, but this... but this was different! Wasn't it...?

"It has nothing to do with you, I... I can deal with it on my own, 'Luc." He insisted, straightening out his back. He was only a tiny bit taller than Diluc, but he wanted to hold it over him, to prove he wasn't going to let him use him over his... his mistake.

"Kaeya," his voice was... softer. Kaeya didn't want to hear this voice, this consoling voice. Not after everything, not... not like this!

"Fuck off, Diluc," he snapped, pushing him to the wall as he stormed out, "You made it clear you want nothing to do with me, don't try now. Not like this," he demanded, seeing Diluc look at him, eyes wide... shocked.

"Fine. Get out and don't come back." Diluc hissed, voice much lower, his eyes glazed over. Kaeya almost wanted to yell at him, to keep fighting... But, no, no, he didn't. He couldn't do that here, not when he was too desperate to figure out what to do, leaving through the front of Angel's Share, slamming the door behind him.

And he ran. He didn't know why, he wasn't headed home, but he just... he felt like he was running from his mistakes, the wind biting at his face, until he finally skidded into an alleyway, his back against the wall, his hand put up to his mouth, biting at the base of his thumb to stifle the sobs that wanted to burst from his chest. It hurt, oh, it hurt, but it felt... right, it felt like he should hurt, his teeth clasping harder onto his hand, tears rolling from his eye as he roughly breathed through his nostrils, his brain desperately trying to figure out what to do, what to say, what to think... But it all only ended up in a jumbled mess, of black and red and tears and crying.

He didn't know how long he sat there, but by the time he stopped biting his hand, it felt... hot, for some reason, and as he looked at his hand...

Red. Bite marks. His teeth had sunk in so deep, his skin was broken and reddened and bloody. He couldn't even feel the pain, like when the burning fire had turned to grey, dead embers... he felt nothing, his own bodily sensations distant in an odd way.

He doesn't even know why, but upon seeing his blood ooze from his flesh, he swing his fist towards the brick, hearing it clatter against it. He stared at his hand, pulling off his glove to stare, dazed, at his busted knuckles.

Holding his fist close to his chest, he finally walked home.

If I don't tell them, he thought, I can live with it. I've lived with worse. I live with worse.

He didn't want to.

But he did that-he cheated. He cheated on the one person that could make everything feel okay, like he never hurt anyone, like he wasn't from a distant corrupt land, like he wasn't the monster he was told to be.

Should he say it? Tell directly?

...

It wouldn't matter if he told immediately or in a week. He-he trusted you'd understand, he could... He could figure it out. He just, his brain was both sinking and floating, drunk yet sober, he wasn't in his own body right about now. He was somewhere gone, and he couldn't be making any decisions.

Shambling his way home, he opened the front door... And hesitated, listening. Looking. You weren't in eyeshot or earshot, so... He could wrap up his hand before he gave everything away, or at least, his temper tantrum of sorts. He rummaged around before finding that small first aide kit, cleaning the wounds of his own cause, and bandaged up his hand... for a second, he tensed, hearing your footsteps, but he opted to finish wrapping it before you could see.

"Kaeyaaa..." You whined, "You didn't come to bed..." You walked over, hugging him from the side, resting your head on him. How sweet you were, how cuddly... As though nothing happened.

"I'll come to bed in a minute," he said, "I just need to finish this real quick."

You peeked over to look at whatever he was messing with, and woke up in an instant, reaching over to his hand as he was tucking the end of the bandage away, so it wouldn't unravel so easily. "What happened?" You asked, tenderly holding his injured hand with both of yours.

"Nothing to be worried about," he reassured, trying to hide how his voice shook, "Just wanted to patch it up."

With one hand, you gently stroked his, and then lifted it to your mouth to give a loving kiss atop it. "Are you okay to come to bed?" You asked, still tired from the late hour.

"Of course," he wanted to kiss you, badly, but he refrained. You shouldn't, Kaeya, your mouth is dirty.

The two of you walked to bed, he undressing just enough to comfortably lie down...

Feeling how you snuggled up to him, sighing in such comfort now that he was home, and how you soon became a weight upon him as you sunk back into sleep...

However, he did not sleep that night. Or the next, or the next... Or the next.

Days, truly, passed. He did not sleep, he was not sleeping, Jean even scolded him for blacking out more than once, stunned when one second he was standing, and the next he was on the ground, no memory of having fallen, with the knights consoling him.

He started staying later, he had not gone back to the Angel's Share. Many mornings, he was not there when you woke. You knew he was busy, but... this was horrific.

Eventually, two weeks have passed. He steeled his nerves, and he was going to talk to you about it. He didn't want to live like this, with this guilt and agony upon the things he could not fix--but he could fix this. He could-he could make this better.

But, as he walked into your shared home... an eerie silence. As he looked around, it felt like... a lot was missing.

Everything that was missing, from simple objects placed about to pictures on the walls, were all yours. Of you.

Save for a single picture frame, with shattered glass, and a picture of him and you, smiling. It was one of the more coherent pictures the two of you had made.

Beside it, a note.

Dear Kaeya,

A woman came to me recently, telling me of you. Of how you kissed her, and nearly slept with her at the Angel's Share. She was unaware of the fact that you had a partner, and had finally found and confided in me about this.

I don't know what made you cheat on me like this, but worse still you've been avoiding me, and you wouldn't even tell me. If I knew... then we could have talked about it, we could have gotten counseling. We could have fixed this--fixed us. But you were gone.

I don't want to hear you say it, say that you don't love me or you don't want to be with me, so I left. I'm not in Mondstadt, I've gone to live with someone I can actually trust. Please don't look for me, I need time. Your lack of communication was enough to tell me you don't care enough to fix this.

Sincerely, Your former beloved.

Tears truckled down onto the paper, and he nearly crushed it in a single fist... But, no, he couldn't, he couldn't destroy the last connection he had to you, no matter how badly he wanted to rip out his eye, so he never had to look at it ever again. He collapsed the floor, the letter, and the framed picture falling to the ground, a broken, loud laughter rung through the house as tears fells down his face, maniacal in nature...

He wanted to be alone, and gone, for a long... long time.

Childe

Childe didn't understand the meaning of 'exclusive' as well. He loved you, dearly, but to him, love was a thing to be given more freely. Maybe it was just a lack of communication, or maybe he completely misunderstood your words, but with an old friend he slept with time and time again...

When Scaramouche saw him sending off his friend with a goodbye kiss, it being a casual commoditiy in his mind, only then did he get utterly chewed out for this.

"Are you a fucking idiot?" Scaramouche snarled at him, "You're not even shameful about this, you cheater." He snapped, as though he was truly angry for you, instead of just a generally very angry person. Childe shrugged.

"I wouldn't mind if they slept with someone else," he said casually, "Doesn't mean they love me any less, you know?"

Scaramouche tried to response, but he was simply flabberghasted. "Most people don't think that way, you airheaded moron."

Childe just laughed, brushing off the shorter harbinger, before walking off without a care.

But... in the end, the words got to him.

Maybe you didn't think that way? You two had spoken of marriage, a very possible reality that he was looking forward to... But, maybe there was a... culture clash, maybe? A clash of upbringings?

He found himself wondering these things at night, when you were snuggled up to him, unaware of the whirlwind of fear in his mind.

Silently, he resolved to simply stop--It would keep you happy, a little secret he didn't mind keeping. Maybe in many, many years, he'd mention it, but... he thought that was okay. That could be the last time he'd ever do something like that...

But, as he came home... You were sitting, waiting for him.

"Please, come sit down, Ajax," that morose tone, it made his heart ache... so he obeyed without question. You looked at him, face puffy and eyes red... "Tell me the truth," you asked, his heart sinking, "Did you cheat on me?"

He froze, but... "Y-yes, but-"

"I don't need an explanation," you admitted, a small, broken smile on your face, "I knew I wasn't loveable enough."

"Wait, no, no, that's not it at all-"

"No," you interrupted, "I don't need an explanation. I'll be out by tonight," you looked down at your lap, his heart shattering into even smaller pieces,

"Babe... please, please, let me explain, I'll never do it again-"

You stood,

"If you'd do it once, you'd do it again. Don't talk to me," you hesitated, "If you want me to be happy, don't look for me ever again."

He was trying to reach for you... but, he couldn't make himself grab you, not when you so delicately shied away...

Eventually, he gave up. No amount of fighting would stop you, and... and he... he couldn't keep seeing your pain as you cried for him to just leave you alone.

Was this love? The pain of another, the terror not of considering spending the rest of your life with them, but the terror of not spending the rest of your life with them?

Before he knew it, he was staring at a mirror, shards of glass in his fist, more than a few holes in the wall and a broken door, the shattered mirror distorting his expression...

Upon walking through the house, he saw that there was... it felt so empty, without your delicate touch and presence making it a place he lovingly called home.

"No," he whispered, hoping... were you here? Did you see... whatever he blacked out and did, the tantrum he did not remember? Did he, oh gods above, oh gods, he didn't hurt you, did he?

...

But he never got an opportunity to find out.

By the time he had sobered up from his tantrum... you were gone. Only a note, left behind, Don't look for me.

Because, you both knew, if he really wanted to find you, he could. He could capture you, trap you... hurt you.

But he didn't want any of that, as much as it hurt to have you away... to make you hate him anymore than you already did was enough to drive a man to near insanity.

Even after you had been gone, he would sit, whenever he was not forced to work, to fulfil his duties to the Tsaritsa... he would wait. He would cook your favourite dishes, read the books you liked, go to the places you enjoyed...

Only after weeks of this, did it hit him that you truly were never coming home. He knew that, but... but, somehow, his heart, his emotions hadn't caught up.

For a second time, he had destroyed your shared, no... his home.

It just wasn't home without you.

Unable to endure the idea of still being here, of a place where he had held you so many times, kissed you, loved you, and suddenly you were all but gone... He tried to do anything to avoid it, to avoid that demon that desperately tried to crawl out of him, threatening to burst from his chest.

Even the other Harbingers had noticed this, how... awful he had been, how he had lost himself. Even Scaramouche, the one most openly said to be the easiest to hate amongst them all, with an uncanny talent to bring even the most pacificistic souls to pure rage, had done well to stay his tongue, never kind, never sweet, but he would give him the isolation he craved, only speaking as much was necessary.

He didn't know what to do with himself, but whenever that happened... he'd just throw himself to the maws of death and, unluckily, crawl his way back out.

Diluc

Everything felt hot and fuzzy and...

Red.

Was red a feeling? His face was red, his body burned, and he could scarcely breathe, he definitely had accidentally drunk some alcohol, but for once, the effects of inebriation hit him. However, while he couldn't understand why people would devote their lives to this sensation, he could appreciate reality being distant, when he knew if he wasn't drunk, he would have spit up the wine and some extra blood, making it an even richer red color.

A warm feeling around his dick, he saw a pretty, if not distorted, face. It didn't take long for him to explode with sensation, his eyes shot wide... and a kiss pressed to his lips.

He almost chased that pretty face, only to see it disappear, he falling to his knees, rasping for air. Moments later, he felt hands on his shoulder's, shaking him. He shot his head up, seeing Kaeya looking at him in fear, and distantly, he heard his name...

"Diluc. Diluc. Diluc! Say something!"

Diluc stared at him, and opened his mouth to speak, but he only ended up jerking his head down, coughing into his elbow, seeing blood on his black coat... Kaeya noticed, too, frozen in shock.

"What happened?" he asked, his eye wide in shock.

"I..." Diluc rasped out, and his eyes widened in shock.

He realized what he had done.

He. He slept with someone who was most definitely not the one he had sworn himself to. Some-some random woman who was likely enchanted by the prospect of a rich man.

"Diluc!" Kaeya shouted, afraid, "What happened?"

Diluc shoved himself up, his hand on Kaeya's shoulder, already rushing to run out and all the way back to the Winery-but not before Kaeya grabbed him, stopping him, strength near equally matched.

"'Luc, I'm not letting you go anywhere until you-"

"I did," Diluc was still gasping for air, "I did something terrible." He admitted, with no small amount of pain.

"What did you do?" Kaeya asked, "Don't run, don't run, you're going to choke on your own blood-"

"No!" Diluc shouted, throwing Kaeya off his arm, running on pure adrenaline, even as his face was beet red, and his vision blurred.

But he needed to confess his sins, immediately, he needed to... now, now, now!

He heard Kaeya shout, but in the end, as he had to stop just to rasp for air again, the burn of alcohol still in his throat, he heard no shouting, nothing but the sound of his thundering heartbeats in his own ears.

Finally, he got to the Winery. You saw him, shocked, seeing his red face and how distressed he was, his hair nothing short of a fluffy mess.

"Diluc," you run over, he leaning on you, just to not collapse from the lack of air, "Diluc, what's wrong?"

"I-I..." He shuttered out, sucking in a breath, "I cheated on you."

You were reeling, "You-What?"

"I-I accidentally drank wine. I was drunk, I can't..." He was still heaving, "I can't breathe... I don't... I don't know what happened, but... She... a woman, she..."

He couldn't finish, but he didn't need to.

"You cheated on me and the first thing you did was come home and brag about it?" You asked, equal parts anguish and anger,

"No," he rasped, his knees buckling as the world tried to disappear on him, "I can't..." his hand went to his throat, "Wait..."

He didn't know what happened, but he only saw flashes after that--Your tears, his bloodied hands, you leaving.

And he was alone, on the ground, barely able to breathe, to think... to do anything.

You left him.

You were gone.

And, somehow, he wasn't mad at all. Having breathed long enough to move again, he stood... and he found the half-empty bottle of wine left on the table, the wine you adored so.

He grabbed the bottle and drank straight from it, feeling his throat and tongue swell, it crashing to the ground as he fell, unable to rasp even the slightest breaths,

I deserve this, he thought, I deserve this. This is all I deserve.

...

...?

For some reason, despite his better wishes, he woke up. He lay in bed, a cool, wet cloth over his forehead... his flesh burned, and his tongue was still swollen, he unable to wiggle it in his mouth. His breathing, still, was labored, but it seemed that he was still breathing, despite everything.

He watched as Adelinde cautiously walked over, looking down at his face, "... Master Diluc, are you alright?"

No, he wasn't, but he could not even sob and cry, for he could not breathe enough to do so.

A cruel twist of fate, but he was not deserving to cry, he was the one who hurt you. You did nothing but love him.

He didn't deserve anything right now.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #kaeya #diluc #childe #genshin kaeya #genshin diluc #genshin childe #kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #childe x reader #bark writes #// also dw anon i've written way more messed up stuff than this #// :)#// also idk why ppl cheat beyond the thrill of it and i wanted to make it more interesting than that #// chlide was the closest to that idea #// i got some shitty news + people who didnt stop bringing it up so this took way more time than i'd like to admit

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jangofctts · 3 years

Text

As You Are (Bucky Barnes x fem!reader)

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6.4k

Warnings: smut, explicit language, mentions of alcohol, mentions of violence and injuries, light choking, brief thigh riding/grinding, vaginal fingering with them metal fingies, oral female receiving, unprotected vaginal sex (dont be a dick, wrap that stick), fucking on sam’s couch

a/n: ok hi this fic is very self indulgent bUT YKNOW WHAT WHO CARES EKJHEJHKEJH this is my first fic for marvel and AH I hope I did Bucky justice. ENJOY YALL

This had been a terrible idea.

Right from the minute you tailed after he and Sam to the Baron’s extensive vintage car storage. Bucky had explicitly withheld any and all information regarding this little excursion to protect you but of course you’d shown up—none too jazzed about the little stunt Bucky pulled regarding the Baron. Fair.

You were right—Bucky should have called but that overwhelming guilt of dragging you into another one of his problems stopped him from pressing that little call button. He never wanted to be the reason you ended up back on the run again. Though judging by the way things were going, it was more than likely you’d be in prison by the end of the week.

Luck had your back in that sort of regard—too bad it could never rescue you from your own stubbornness and grief regarding that damn shield.

You’d taken a devastatingly hard hit from Walker—a fractured orbital, a split lip and a dislocated shoulder. All preventable—if only Bucky kept better track of you before you showed up in that warehouse alone. Left to fight the shadow of what was once a symbol of hope for some—another man playing dress-up in something that will never belong to him.

It was just their luck Bucky and Sam arrived in time—preventing you from becoming another red stain of violence splattered over that shield.

James Buchanan Barnes is not afraid of much—but fuck. Seeing you crumpled over the concrete floor, all bloodied and struggling to raise a hand to protect your face… It was the same feeling as injecting his veins with a pure shot of adrenaline and anger shrouded in fear. He promised Steve he’d look after you…

And as Sam carried you out of that warehouse you had the gall to tenderly tell them that you were just fine—as if your mouth weren’t full of blood and a face blooming with patchy bruises. The jealousy that sparked through Bucky’s chest when you clung to Sam’s chest did nothing to help that dark festering pit inside his ribcage he’s attempting to suture back together.

Bucky clenches his jaw. At least you’re asleep now. Curled up against the window, holding your injured arm in a way that limited the turbulence from jostling it. It’s the first time Bucky would describe you as fragile. He know’s you’re anything but that—stubborn mostly—yet most of all brave. It’s what Steve admired most about you—what Bucky loves most about you too. That vibrant spark flowing through your blood and how you’re not afraid to shout along to your favorite songs despite the odd looks you get. Bucky envies how self-assured you are, how you’ll never lose yourself because you know just where you’re headed. He wishes he still had that sort of drive instead of all this uncertainty and guilt clouding each muscle and fibre in his body.

Bucky doesn’t realize the jet has landed until Sam stands and and places a large hand over your shoulder. Your face scrunches as you whine and curl further into your seat. “C’mon, kiddo.” You grumble something inaudible. “You want me to carry you?”

The delicate plates of vibranium clink together as Bucky’s hand tightens into a fist, jealousy flaring hot and bright. He quickly stands, too fast to be considering anything less than awkward. Sam’s brow quirks. “I can do it.”

“It’s cool, man,” Sam says as he scoops one arm under your legs and the other around your back. “I got her.”

Bucky bristles. Whatever.

It’s not like you and him have anything together. A one sided plague of affection that you’ll never know about—he wants to tell you. Fuck, the words burn through his tongue and collect like ashes between his teeth and yet they are never voiced from self sabotage. There’s no possible way to voice how you’ve haunted his thoughts and his dream since the moment his eyes met yours. How he’s memorized the lines of your smile and the sweet sound of your laugh, the sweep of your lashes and the rhythm of your steps. Bucky would know you deaf, blind, numb, in this world or any other twisted reality.

He had said that he wasn’t afraid of much, but that’s not entirely true. Eternity, oblivion, crowded rooms, being alone too long. And you. You terrify him. You have the power to pluck at the very strings of his soul and unravel him completely until he’s no more—and you don’t even know it. Bucky Barnes is less afraid of dying than he is of loosing you but that fear never once provides him the courage to tell you. You may not be a scribbled name in his book, but he still hopes that one day he’ll earn the chance to strike his cowardice and put to rest the wretched ache in his heart that he feels for you.

He wishes he told you in Wakanda, after the Blip, Riga, and right this instant. He watches Sam carry you out of the jet—what’s a little more time?

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The sun is beginning to melt into the horizon, turning the expanse of water into molten gold and shimmering blues. The hazy humidity from the late afternoon heat collects at the back of Bucky’s neck and the light breeze does nothing to cool. Bucky sighs and swipes at the bead of sweat creeping down his forehead with the back of his hand—he glances up.

A ghost of a smile creeps across his lips. You’re exactly where he and Sam left you three hours ago. Surprising to be quite honest—you never did like to stay in one place for longer than ten minutes. You’re a pain in his ass, simply said.

But now—now you’re haphazardly splayed out on the lawn chair you were forced into, a juice box loosely held in your good hand while the other still remains in the sling. He can’t tell if you’re asleep—Steve’s sunglasses do an excellent job of hiding your eyes. Yet as Bucky wanders closer, your head rolls to your right in greeting.

“It’s rude to stare, y’know,” you grumble, lifting the juice box to your mouth. Your lips purse around the plastic straw. “And before you ask—yes, I have a very important job I’m currently overseeing.”

Bucky quirks a brow. “What—hogging the lawn chair?”

“No—“ You huff. You gesture with your juice box at the large cooler your sandaled feet are propped up on. “I’m the booze master. God of the ale, destroyer of sobriety—“

“Alright, Booze Master,” Bucky interrupts with a snort. “Why don’t you bestow upon me a beer, your majesty.”

You tap your index finger over your chin as a lazy smile fixes itself over your lips. “Granted.”

You slide your legs off the cooler and with a pained grunt you shift forward. Bucky shoots his arm out and steadies you back against the chair by your shoulder before you get any further. Your face pulls into a grimace.

“I got it, kid. Relax.”

Bucky pops open the cooler and fishes out a beer and pops the cap off between his left index finger and thumb. You watch with a frown, “I could’ve done that for you.”

Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes and takes a seat on the cooler. The bitter fizz floods his tastebuds as he takes a sip of his drink, a tangible silence blanketing the space between you. He gets it—people like he and you can never settle for complacency. As if the rest isn’t deserved despite the bloody knuckles and the shattered glass that slices through skin—the bruises and the broken bones. None of it is enough—not worthwhile to preserve yourself when other’s so desperately need your help.

Or maybe it’s penance.

Bucky sure as shit finds himself swallowed by the black maw of guilt each and every day. Battling the never ending shadow of doubt that clings to his soul like glitter to a an old carpet. Bucky believes it’s safe to say that you’re the same—every good deed you do added to the imaginary scale weighing against the bad despite it feeling hollow and insurmountable. Paying in blood to equate the amount you’ve spilled. A hopeless battle you both insist on fighting.

Bucky sighs through his nose, bends at the waist and collects both your ankles in his left hand. You let him lift them both and settle your legs over his knees. You shiver, an eruption of goosebumps rushing up your skin at the cold metallic shock of Bucky’s vibranium thumb scrapinh over your bare flesh.

Bucky’s lips tilt down ever so slightly. “Did I hurt you?”

“Never,” you rush to say before he has the chance to flee. “S’just cold.”

His hum reverberates low in his chest as those cerulean blue eyes fall to his hands. You clench your jaw until your teeth ache as his left thumb continues to stroke over the delicate skin covering the joint of your ankle. This is…new…

You’d been close with Steve and Sam, and by proxy Bucky—in some weird adjunct way. Compared to Sam’s teasing bumps of the shoulder and that infectious laugh far more addicting than the golden liquor of the sun, Bucky is frigid. Still attempting to shake off the whole Winter Soldier thing that’s molded onto his bones like stubborn permafrost. Touch had always been tricky with him—even a friendly pat over the back or a simple tap to the harm had him tensing under the touch—muscle and steel bunching to prepare for a harsh blow that would never arrive. Never from you.

Bucky rarely sought out your physical comfort—you were always the one to initiate those friendly touches even if he was the type to just sit and ignore you like a grouchy old cat barely clinging onto that ninth life. The first time he breached that fragile barrier was in Wakanda—something in Bucky cracked and split into a cavernous ravine of nebulosity. Stitches shred apart then stapled back together as he grabbed your arm and wrestled you into a bone-crushing hug. You didn’t need to ask to realize he cried the entire time, gripping your shirt like a lifeline while he shuddered and sobbed into the crook of your neck. To him everything from the rain to silk sheets felt like shrapnel and the stars tasted like old blood and the past of things long gone—yet you were familiar.

A comfort for the much needed healing of the scattered pieces of a man. You don’t mind helping him pick up the tidbits and reattach them with veins of silver. It’s the least you can do.

The second time occurred after the loss of Steve. Some part of you had been wrenched out with his departure and he never bothered to return it. It doesn’t matter anymore—the hollow ache had been soothed with the Winter Soldier clutching you to his chest until you drifted off into a fitful sleep. A tether to a new reality you both partake in.

Which brings you to now. There’s no cathartic reasoning behind his touch…it’s simple…a risky leap of faith into unknown territory. Bucky’s eyes lift to meet yours—curiosity swimming in those icy irises. You don’t mind—in fact you quite like the calloused warmth of his hand and the opposing chilly metal one tentatively exploring your exposed skin.

“You have a scar here,” Bucky murmurs, skimming the thumb made up of flesh and sinew over the mottled skin occupying the crease of where the top of your foot meets your ankle.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I fell on barbed wire.”

“Clumsy,” he chides, quirking a dark brow.

Your shoulders bounce with a huff. “I was like—twelve when it happened, James.”

His mouth quirks in a half smile, quite liking the validation of his name in the way your mouth speaks it. He wonders if you know the weight of granting you that leeway of calling him that. Shit—he doesn’t care what you call him, everything sounds lovely when you say it.

There’s another silence—holding your breath until something splits and shatters into a million pieces. You’d be a liar if you said you didn’t want anything more than just friendship with Bucky but fear of rejection is a tricky thing. You take the easy way out and offer him the chance of something more on a silver platter.

“Bucky?”

His fingers whisper up your shin as he inclines his head.

“I’m tired. Drive me back to Sam’s?”

“Sure thing, doll.”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Bucky holds the door open for you as you stumble in, escaping the hazy southern heat. He disappears into the kitchen as you make a beeline straight for the couch, sighing loudly once the plush cushions meet your back. You lazily lift your head once you hear his familiar footfalls nearing.

With him he brings two Otterpops, one blue raspberry and the other cherry. Once he hands it to you he takes a seat on your left, close enough that his thigh and shoulder bumps against yours. “Don’t tell Sarah’s kids that these were the last ones.”

You roll your eyes and promptly stick the Otterpop into you mouth. “‘M ain’t no snitch.”

His low chuckle reverberates through his chest. The silence that follows isn’t an awkward one as you enjoy the cold treat—it’s filled with the humming cicada bugs outside and the breeze through the wind chimes. Comfortable with the normalcy—just a couple of regular old people enjoying life for a suspended amount of seconds.

Once you finish the Otter Pop, you crumple the plastic up and rest it on the coffee table. He does the same—hints of the blue syrup sticking to the cracks of his plush lips. You force yourself to avert your eyes. You cheeks heat with a flush as you rush to occupy your mind with anything but wild fantasies of Bucky’s mouth. You lean forward again, pointedly ignoring the way Bucky’s eyes track your movements as you shuck off your sling, the prickle of unused muscles and bruised ligaments rushing through the limb. You wince as you slowly roll your shoulder.

The muscles in Bucky’s jaw clenches. You sigh—he’s still blaming himself for your injuries. “Does it still hurt?”

“Not everyone has freaky healing powers, Buck,” you snort. You rush to appease him when he frowns. “It’s getting better though. Still can’t sleep on it—but eh.”

“I’m sorry.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. No matter how many times you tell him he’ll never believe you. That’s something only he can fix. Doesn’t stop you from telling him anyway. “Stop blaming yourself for my idiocy. I made my choice and paid the price for it.”

Bucky’s eyes drop to his hands. “Can’t help it, sweetheart. Steve told me to look after you.”

Your heart constricts within your chest like a fist. You inhale and reach out to rest your hand over his wrist. “Funny—he told me the same thing about you.”

It surprises him—his dark brows furrow as his mouth parts, but nothing comes forth. Grappling with the right words that fit with what he feels. He’s still learning how to give his soul a name that fits. Learning how to take the dark, twisted bramble of his heart and make it into something that doesn’t ache each time it beats. He’s still learning how to look himself in the eyes, point to himself and say that there’s nothing frightening in there. Not anymore. No more.

You suck in a breath and muster up the embers of courage. Here goes nothing—

You cup Bucky’s cheek, the scrape of stubble welcome against your warm palm as you gently turn his face to look at you. His eyes drift to yours when the mumbled syllables of his name tumble from your lips. His eyes are framed with dark circles of wildflower bruises, his small smile a moonbeam stark against battered skin. You’ve dreamt so many times of swallowing it whole and pressing him close enough that your heartstrings become entangled with no hope of separation. But that’s something for him to decide.

You drop your hand cradling Bucky’s jaw, but before your hand completely falls Bucky surges forward. His large hands rush to cup your face, swallowing your noise of surprise as his plush lips fall onto yours. The syrupy flavor of a Blue Raspberry Otter Pop he stole from Sarah’s freezer lingers on Bucky’s mouth, mixed in with the smell of old leather and cracked cardamom. Bucky nips at your bottom lip, tugging once and then rolling it between the blunt enamel of his teeth. Despite all the bad jokes regarding his age and senior citizen status—fuck he’s a damn good kisser. Compared to him you feel clumsy, sloppy, but no matter how hard you search for his distaste he doesn't seem to care in the slightest—if anything he’s pulling you closer.

Bucky’s kisses may taste like the middle of June and a first love, but desperation lines every action like a wound with jagged edges. It’s a slow process learning to be free, but one day he’ll transform into starlight—and instead of a kiss like fire, it’ll be like touching your lips to a constellation’s aureate mouth.

When Bucky pulls away, sucking in air and resting his forehead on yours, you catch a whiff of his hair. Freshly washed and smelling a bit like Sam’s shampoo. Your lips quirk. You’ll make sure to keep that a secret from Sam.

You pull back just enough to meet his eye, resting your palm over his vibranium hand that still cups your cheek. “Am I the first person you’ve kissed since the stone ages?”

His lips pull into a cheeky smile. “Maybe.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, skating your palm down the front of his shirt, the heat of his skin near searing through the fabric. “I guess we have a lot of catching up to do, huh?”

Bucky’s lips smother your small moan as he drags you into another kiss. You can feel his smile as he murmurs his agreement between desperate kisses and the enticing warmth of his tongue skimming along yours. The next time you part for air, Bucky drops his strong hands from your face to instead wrap them around the curve of your hips. He tugs you over his right thigh with ease and breathes a gentle sigh of your name, beginning to pepper kisses over you cheek and down the slope of your jaw.

Bucky reaches your ear and carefully nibbles the cartilage, his voice a warm scrape in your ear. “I want you.”

It’s such a simple phrase…and yet…it tears through you and pools like a heavy weight right to your center. “Then take me.”

Quick as a strike of a match, you’re tipped backwards, cradled right between the arm of the couch and the back of it. Heat rushes through each limb and gathers in your cheeks as Bucky’s vibranium fingers skate up your chest and curl around the column of your throat—that hardened soldier he’s tried to bury bleeding through the cracks of his resolve. You don’t care. You gasp into his mouth as he squeezes ever so slightly while he pushes a firm thigh between your legs. Shit—this is how you’re gonna die—grinding on Bucky’s muscled leg while he’s got a hand around your throat.

What a way to go.

With his other hand he grips the meat of your thigh and pulls you higher, grinding the rough material of his jeans covering his crotch into yours. You whine and arch into him. You need more.

You both stay here for a good while up until it feels like you’re ready to burst at the seems if you don’t have him now. Bucky is no better—cheeks flushed as he fumbles with the zipper to relieve the noticeable bulge straining against it. Impatient and needy, you shoo away his hands and do it yourself, easily sliding your warm hand down his navel and over his boxers to palm at his cock. Bucky’s hand twitches around your neck, a sweet groan filling the air when you softly squeeze him through the elastic.

“Fuck, you’re gonna…” Bucky trails off and buries his nose into the crook of your neck. “Gonna make me cum in my pants if you don’t—don’t stop.”

While the thought is tempting, you want this to last just a little bit longer. Rush after the glorious high of just being near him, his kisses, everything about him. Bucky grunts at the loss of your hand and mouths a wet trail of sloppy kisses up your neck and returns to your lips. When you part he sweeps a stray strand of hair and tucks it behind your ear. He smiles softly.

“Can I try something?” He breaths. Before he can even tell you what his idea is, you’re happily nodding along. “Wanna taste you. Been thinking about it ever since Wakanda.”

Oof. His words shoot straight your center. “Bucky—why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

His mouth quirks. “You make me nervous.”

Rolling your eyes you plant a kiss on his forehead and grant him his simple desire. Bucky sits and slides to the floor, close enough that he’s still able to hover over you. You lift your hips as Bucky tugs your shorts and underwear down and off your legs. Besides the general anxieties of being half naked in front of an incredibly attractive man and performing something so sinful on a friend’s couch—there’s a strange stroke of pride that alights through each of your vertebrae. A powerful man willingly dropping to his knees to please you.

Bucky shoots you a smile and slides his hands around your ribcage, bends forward slightly and captures you mouth in a deep kiss. He parts and nips down your jaw and over your throat, sliding his tongue over the marks he leaves with his teeth as if to soothe the slight sting. You whine and arch into him as he slides lower, leaving an obvious trail of bruises and teeth marks in his wake until he reaches the collar of your shirt. Bucky moves his palms under the fabric to grab at your breasts, the flats of his fingertips rolling over your nipples that peak through your bra. You suck in a shaky breath when Bucky catches the pebbled bud between his forefinger and thumb, the hard vibranium of his fingers scraping over it. A low hum rumbles through his chest as he leans forward to playfully nip at your collarbone.

“I wanna see you naked.” Bucky admits as he slips his hands out of your shirt. You shiver as those chilly metal fingers gently come to rest on the outside of your bare thighs.

“Not here, Buck,” you sigh. “T-they—fuck—they can come back any minute.”

Bucky quirks a brow, eyes dropping between your legs, then back up with a smirk. His plush lips part, yet before he can disprove your silly point—that your bare ass is already out and taking off the shirt would barely make a difference—you interject.

“Shut up.”

His shoulders bounce with a chuckle. “You have such a way with words, y’know that?”

You make a noise low in your throat and reach out to sharply tug his ear. He easily bats your hand aside, hooks his hands under your ass and hauls until you’re all but hanging over the edge of the cushions. You squirm, unable close your legs or to relieve some of that burning tension collecting in your core as Bucky lowers himself and wedges his shoulder between your thighs. He slides his hand over your calfs and wrestles them over his broad shoulders—earning a perfect view of your pussy. You’re already wet—worked up and running on borrowed time. You roll your head back onto the back of the couch and clench your jaw. You don’t want to rush him but Christ—you really don’t want Sam or Sarah to find you like this.

It feels like ages before Bucky’s lips touch your belly and then your navel with his warm tongue. With a grunt he shoves your shirt up to your breasts and circles your bellybutton with the tip of his tongue—his enhanced strength easily pinning you down as you jerk and giggle.

Bucky picks up his head and grins. “Try and hold still, doll.”

No sharp retort comes to mind. Fuck—he’s already got you so expertly wrapped around his finger.

Bucky hums, satisfied with your weak nod and continues on.

Bucky’s bare fingers trace minuscule patterns into the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, coaxing out a shiver that rushes through your body. They tickle towards the apex of your thighs and settle close enough to reach your aching center. He pauses for a moment and while you know he’s there, you curse when you feel his thumbs softly part the lips of your soaking cunt. They gently work up and down, smearing your wetness around but never enough to give you any friction as your body adjusts to the feel of flash and vibranium. You bite back a groan as your hips unconsciously twitch.

Unsatisfied with simply touching you, Bucky shifts his weight to better reach your core. “Fuck—you’re so pretty.”

There's a moment just before Bucky swoops down, face hovering close enough that you can feel his sticky, warm breath fan across you inner thighs. Anticipation grips your heart with an iron hold, and then— Bucky licks a broad stripe from the base of your cunt all the way up to your swollen clit. His mouth is molten, tongue like liquid velvet as you shudder and grab at his hair. Bucky grunts against you as you drag him closer by the short strands—greedy for any and all touch he gifts you. Bucky’s mouth slips around your clit, sucking and tracing circles over the bundle of nerves with the tip of his tongue. Your eyes flutter shut as a quiet moan wrenches free from your vocal cords.

He trails lower, sucks on your labia, and makes his way down to your soaking entrance. The wet heat of his tongue circles your cunt, skips over it completely to catch the wetness before it leaks over the couch. Bucky opens his mouth wide and groans in appreciation, devouring your pussy like he’s been denied this his entire life. Desperation lingers on his tongue and all you are is the honey sweet taste of salvation.

“Shit—Bucky,” you cry, throwing your hips forward in search of more friction.

It's perfect. So fucking delicious.

You tense as the vibranium tips of his fingers, two of them, press at your entrance, teasing the clenching ring of soft muscle before sinking in. The chilly digits slip in with ease—all the way up to the second knuckle and when he draws them back, they're slick with your wetness. With a self-satisfied grin, Bucky thrusts them back in, then out—setting a steady pace that makes everything ache with desire. It leaves you just hovering over the sharp edge of ecstasy, the catch of his knuckles and imperceptible metal plating dragging along your walls pure torture. Fuck—he’s going to be the death of you—

Bucky’s mouth dips down a second time and sucks on your clit and with a few more curls and thrusts of his fingers inside of your clenching walls, your body seizes up tight. You're flying off that edge, faster than a fucking freight train. You cum onto his tongue and fingers with a strangled cry of his name, sparks of blurry white lining the edges of your vision as your back arches. Bucky continues to lick you through your orgasm, even as you buck and squirm in his iron hold. Supernovas implode behind your eyelids as heat, hotter than wildfire and jet fuel spreads from your center all the way up your stomach and down to your toes. You're shaking, lucid enough to hear Bucky murmur his praise—feeling the vibration of his groan, as he licks up the flood of your wetness over his tongue.

Your brain swims in hazy bliss as you float back to reality. He's still curling his fingers into your pussy and it damn near hurts. You're too sensitive. Nerves rubbed raw and still throbbing—but you're too fucked out and still riding the waves of your orgasm to push him away. Bucky is all too happy to remain between your legs—takes this opportunity to tilt his fingers into your cunt faster, suckle and lave his hot tongue over your clit that burns from overstimulation—somehow you're back at the very edge again.

It's sharper than a vibranium razor against bare flesh. Your thighs shake around him as he twists his fingers inside you and bumps agains that tiny, little patch of nerves. You cry out as an orgasm floods through you veins, rupturing each cell in your being with molten pleasure. Your core pulses around Bucky’s fingers, fucking you through it until those burning waves of release eventually cease to a fading throb. You whine and push at his forehead because he's still going. You panic a bit—fucking hell, he’s gonna make you cry—but he pulls away, his mouth and chin wet with your slick.

“Feel good?” Bucky purrs, resting his cheek on your thigh.

If judging by the way you thighs still quiver and your chest heaves—then yeah—it felt good.

Cheeky bastard.

“Get up here—“

You grapple with his shirt, fisting the thin fabric, but he’s heavy and your entire body feels like jello. Your grip strength is all but laughable at the moment as Bucky clambers back onto the couch and grabs both of your legs, slotting his narrow hips between them. One leg is stuck against the back of the couch while the other hangs off the edge, foot skimming the hardwood floor to accommodate Bucky. Not the most comfortable but fuck it—who cares.

Bucky grunts when you lift your hands and hook your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, tugging them halfway down his legs with a sharp yank. Already a dark patch of wetness stains the fabric of his boxers, the impressive bulge straining against the elastic and begging to be released. Your eyes meet his icy blue ones as you slowly pull his boxers over his cock. It bounces up towards his navel, thick and beautiful just like the rest of him.

Impatient, Bucky’s fingers curl around your wrist and presses your open palm against his cock. He’s thick and heavy in your hand—perfect. The bead of precum that pools at his flushed tip smears against the inside of your palm as you experimentally roll your wrist, fascinated with the feel of his foreskin rolling over the steel heard flesh with each stroke.You give his a cock a rougher squeeze, a bolt of liquid heat settling in the pit of your stomach as a stifled moan reaches your ears.

A sharp hiss of hair passes through his clenched teeth as you lightly tug on his cock. From the base up you pull, fixed upon the throbbing flesh, flushed and pulsing and all for you. His cock bobs when you let go—he huffs out a disappointed noise. “I need you, Buck—please.”

Your previous two orgasms did seemingly nothing to soothe the growing ache for him. It prickles up your spine and singes through every nerve and bone—you whine and arch your hips, trying to touch your slick cunt to his cock. Bucky growls your name and pins your hips to the couch with ease.

With his left hand, Bucky firmly grips your jaw, his stare folding into something serious. “You sure?”

Your tongue runs over your bottom lip. You grin. “Do your worst.”

Bucky curses and readjusts your calf slung over his hip and grips the base of his cock. You shudder as he runs the blunt head through your folds, slicking himself up with your arousal. You mewl and dig your nails into the flesh of his forearm as the wide tip of him pushes into your entrance—he shudders as you clench and arch. It doesn’t hurt, but he’s certainly not small in any way shape or form. You’ll feel him for days afterwards as your cunt swallows inch after inch.

You both groan as he finally bottoms out. His jaw clenched tight as sweat beads at his hairline. Shit—he’s gorgeous—struggling not to loose control the moment he’s buried inside of you. You allow yourself to adjust for a moment but your own impatience rakes down your spine with claws of scorching arousal. You rock your hips in curiosity and squeeze around him.

“Fuck—“ A ragged moans severs his words as your gentle rocking tilts into abrasive jolts. At this angle it’s difficult to fuck yourself onto his cock, but the measly thrusts are meant to tempt him. His left hand shoots to your throat, the chilly metal a stark contrast to your flushed skin. You dip your head back, exposing more of your supple skin—all his for the taking.

You dig the heel of your foot into the small of his back and grab at his shoulders—tempting him into fucking you already. You’ve waited long enough. Bucky snarls your name, hooks one hand under your ass and pulls his cock nearly all the way, out only to slam back in with devastating force. There’s no time to adjust or gather your obliterated thoughts before Bucky sets a pace, desperate and feral. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end after being denied for what seems like a millennia—and maybe it has been. Bucky shifts, widening his knees as much as he can to sink lower onto your body—his soft hair tickles your cheek as his choppy exhales burn hot over your skin.

Bucky turns his head to steal a kiss, open mouthed and catastrophic. No words are exchanged as he fucks into you with brutal strength aided by that damn super-soldier serum—there’s no need for them, not now anyway. You complete each other without the spoken utterances—still both a work in progress. Though most things are you suppose—constantly remaking yourselves, but instead of smashing the haphazard pieces back together alone—you have one another. You bury your hand in his hair and cry his name.

You choke out another groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter and damn—you really hope nothing gets on this stupid couch. You don’t want to explain that Sam.

Electric heat sears down each vertebrae in your spine, blazing through each and every vein with the brilliance of a wildfire escaping the edges of the forest. This is gonna ruin you. Bucky’s hand reaches between your bodies and rubs tight, controlled circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a calamitous surge of warmth that sweeps your very soul off its feet. Your nails dig into Bucky's back as you shake and fumble for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor.

You have no time to recover because he’s still going. Thrusting into your pussy with violent slaps that echo through the room and will more than likely leave bruises against your ass. Through the pressure of his hand over your windpipe—threatening to cut your air off completely—you garble out his name. Bucky drops his head to his chin, the weight of his gaze landing between your legs, watching the way his entire length disappears inside of you. When he raises his head he molds his mouth to yours. The soft, wet kisses rapidly morph into pricks of his teeth, his gravelly moans so pleasing to hear.

You arch and tilt your head back as he presses you harder into the couch. The vibranium hand latched onto your jaw, works it open and slides a thumb past your plush lips. You lave your tongue over the digit—the metallic tang flooding your tastebuds. “Good girl—m’close. A little longer.”

Bucky’s panting breaths mingle with yours as his pace turns vicious. Chasing his high that he so desperately needs. Overstimulation bites at your nerves, but with a gentle tug to the soft strands of hair on the back of his neck and a sweet whisper of his name, Bucky bursts. His moan jumps up an octave, eyes slamming shut as he buries his face into the juncture of your neck and shoulder as he cums. He’s shuddering in your arms as his hips erratically jerk, hot spurts of his release coating your insides. You whine and tilt your hips up to prevent it from spilling onto the couch.

Finally he slows to a stop, ragged breathing filling the air as the heat and weight of his body becomes a welcome comfort. Eventually that warmth grows stifling. He lazily pulls away, observing gaze drinking in each inch of bare skin exposed—the marks and the light sheen of sweat. You hiss as he curiously drags his thumb over the bite mark lingering just above your collarbone.

He parts his plush lips but before he can apologize, you interject. “Don’t—I like the reminder.”

Bucky shakes his head and drops down to tempt your lips into a lazy dance. “You’re a weirdo.”

You smile and cup his cheek. “I’m not the one with a staring problem. You know that you can’t kill people by glaring, right?”

Bucky kisses your cheek, your jaw, and then the dip of your throat. “You don’t ever shut up, do you?”

You shudder as his softening cock twitches inside of you, another coal of desire flaring in the pit of your stomach. You flash him a coquettish grin. “Maybe if you give my mouth something to do, you’ll finally get some peace and quiet.”

Something dark and dangerous flickers within those eyes. You shiver as one hand returns to your throat while the other draws teasing patterns over the outside of your thigh. He draws in close, nips at the shell of your ear and chuckles darkly. “You’re on.”

#weLL here we are in a marvel hole kwejrkwejhr #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x fem!reader #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #marvel #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #tfatws #the avengers x reader #my writing

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stratiotis-nth · 3 years

Text

The few times Cas spoke about his true form, Dean had always imagined some terrifying robed creature with a bazillion heads and rotating rings and fifty giant wings from different animals. He imagined mighty beings that embodied the idea of God’s warriors. Cas once said his true form was size of the Chrysler building, and Dean had had to hide just how impressive the angel was despite looking and acting like a total dork. Cas as Cas was intimidating enough, but Castiel—the Chrysler-sized warrior of divinity—sounded terrifying and majestic all at the same time.

But apparently, Cas had omitted a few details. He had neglected to tell Dean that little bits of his true form lingered with him while he was in human form, some additions that couldn’t be seen but existed with him in another plane of reality.

So imagine Dean’s shock when he’s on a case and accidentally uses the holy fire glasses in his insurance company disguise. He didn’t even realize the difference until Cas joined him and Sam to help.

They were dealing with a Shifter who had been killing old people in a wealthy neighborhood in upstate New York. Cas, a fully functioning angel again, had offered to help when Sam and Dean realized they were up against a Shifter duo instead of a loner.

Sam was out getting grub when Cas appeared in the motel room with a whoosh of wings. Dean knew how much Cas had missed flying, and even he had missed hearing him announce his presence with that characteristic whoosh.

“Hey Cas.” Dean greeted without looking up from the laptop.

“Hello, Dean.” Was the usual response. He flicked his gaze up to Cas briefly, peering over the rim of the glasses he hadn’t bothered taking off. Dean did a double take when he caught a flash of black within the glasses’ lens. Frowning, he pushed the frames up his nose until he could squint through them properly. A sharp intake of breath caught in his throat.

“Dean?”

Cas’ voice floated through his mind but he couldn’t process it. He stared at the Castiel revealed through the lens, abso-fucking-lutely floored.

A pair of black wings, ones Dean had only ever seen the shadow or scorched remains of before, were folded neatly against Cas’ back. As the afternoon sunlight hit the feathers, Dean could see them shimmering and reflecting all the colors of the rainbow subtly. The feathers looked spun of night sky and stardust, light as clouds but dense and powerful was cooling lava. Dean had a really, really strong urge to run his fingers through them. They looked like they’d make his fingers tingle with lightning.

Alongside the wings, the other newly revealed part of Cas was his halo. He had never mentioned one before, so Dean had just assumed halos were just another one of those things crazy Christians made up. But apparently, angels did had halos, because there was a thin ring of glowing light surrounding Cas’ head like a circlet, hovering above his ears and just a few inches away from his hair and forehead. It gleamed an ethereal pale gold, almost white, light. As he looked at it closer, he noticed a few gaps in the ring, like jagged cracks where pieces had fallen away. Were they supposed to be like that?

Dean was so shocked that he wondered how the hell he was even seeing these parts of Cas now. It took him a moment for his sluggish brain to piece together that he must had accidentally taken the holy fire glasses instead of another fake pair.

“Dean? Are you alright?”

He blinked, still taking in the halo and wings, and cleared his throat. Cas was frowning at him in concern, his head tilted adorably to the side. The halo drifted and followed a half second behind his movement.

“Uh—“ a strangled noise escapes Dean’s throat. His fingers itched to dig themselves into those feathers, to trace that halo and try to feel the warmth of light. He swallowed thickly, his throat clicking. The words fell out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Are there supposed to be cracks in that thing?”

Cas blinked at him, thoroughly confused. A split second later, his face both flushed and paled at the same time. Dean worried the sudden blood flow would make him pass out, but then he remembered Cas was an angel.

“Those glasses have been burned in holy fire, haven’t they?” He asked, his wings tucking more firmly against his back like he was trying to hide them.

“Uh, uh yeah.” He stammered, wondering if he should say something to ease Cas’ obvious insecurity. “Grabbed ‘em by accident.”

Cas shuffled his feet awkwardly, the light of his halo dimming shyly. He obviously wasn’t going to offer any information unless Dean pressed a little more.

“So?” He managed to sound somewhat casual, even though his heart was beating loudly in his ears. “What’s with the missing pieces?”

“Ah.” Cas rumbled in his low voice. He avoided Dean’s eyes, his chipped halo floating after every movement of his head. “Well, to angels, the halo represents purity and devotion to God. It is the manifestation of each angel’s divinity. When Lucifer rebelled against Heaven, his halo was shattered as a sign of disgrace and he was banished to Hell. Other angels like Gabriel and Anna had a chip broken off because they rejected Heaven and their loyalties were to their own well-being. Angels cannot exist fully if their halos are damaged, but because Gabriel was an archangel and Anna became human, they were exceptions.”

Dean frowned. But Cas had way more than one piece missing and he was still alive and still an angel.

“So how come you’re still around?” He asked, waving a hand at Cas’ cracked halo.

“Because I was created already broken.” The words, delivered in a flat, emotionless tone, still cut through Dean’s heart. That wasn’t true. Cas wasn’t broken. He was just Cas. Perfectly fine the way he was. “As you have heard from many angels and Chuck himself, I came off the line with a crack in my chassis. I was created to be flawed.”

“Cas…” Dean began, trying to find the words to tell him that it wasn’t true, that everything Naomi and Chuck had told him was a lie.

“It’s alright, Dean.” Cas said gently, glancing at him for the first time since the conversation started. “When Jack restored me to my full power I asked to keep the cracks I bear. Not as an punishment.” he added, somehow interpreting the frown flashing across Dean’s face. “but as proof that angels can exist with their flaws and still do good things. That they can still protect humanity, as was their reason for existence.”

Well, when he put it that way, Dean really couldn’t protest. It was very Cas-like of him to not give a single fuck about being perfect and defying everything anyone has ever known by doing it his way.

“But I am sorry.”

That made Dean snap his head up sharply, looking at Cas in surprise.

“For what?” He asked incredulously.

“For forcing you to see me like this.” Cas’ wings spread out momentarily before being tucked tightly against his back again, hiding their magnificence from Dean. He hated that. He hated that Cas thought Dean wouldn’t want to see him like this, one step closer to his true form, to the real Castiel. “I understand it was undoubtedly shocking and unsettling, but if I could hide these parts of myself from those glasses, I would for your sake.”

“No.” Dean snapped vehemently, jumping to his feet and jabbing a finger at Cas. He hated that Cas believed the things he was saying. How could he not be awestruck by him, by his beautiful wings and perfectly flawed halo? “Shut the fuck up, Cas.”

Cas’ face fell even further than before, the corners of his mouth ticking down and his eyes falling downcast. He looked so…rejected. It cut right through Dean’s heart again, and he scrambled to fix it before they fell victim to miscommunication again.

“Cas.” Dean said firmly, ducking down to catch his gaze. Like a moth to light, that piercing blue gaze fixed on green and followed them up. “I ain’t unsettled. Shocked, but in a really good way.”

Cas looked frowned, confused. Dean plowed on.

“Dude, don’t be ashamed of who you are. Your wings and halo…they look awesome, man. Seriously. You look badass.”

Cas’ lips parted in shock. Dean nervously fidgeted with a pen he had forgotten was in his hands, tapping it against his palm as he struggled to find the right words.

“You ain’t broken or flawed—you’re just Cas. My—“

Best friend didn’t cut it anymore. They had gone through too much together to be best friends. Brothers didn’t sit right either. Dean didn’t feel the same things for Cas as he did Sam (it made him shudder in disgust just thinking about his little brother like that). Dean knew what it was like to lose Cas and Sam—Sam, he had lost his family, his blood. Cas, Dean had lost a part of his soul.

“—you’re my—“

Dean wanted—needed—to say the words. But nothing fit, nothing felt right. No word could describe just what Cas was to him.

“—you’re my angel, Cas. And I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

Cas just stared at him with another one of those soul searching gazes. Even when he was human, Dean felt he could still see straight through him, searching for deception or lies and every time never finding one.

There was a small, awed smile on Cas’ face, and before Dean could register what was happening, Cas gently cupped the back of his neck and pulled Dean down. Soft, chapped lips pressed briefly against his forehead, warm and sweet and grateful. They were gone a moment later, and so was Cas’ hand.

“Thank you, Dean.” He said softly after a while. “I appreciate it.”

Dean blinked and nodded stiffly. His entire body was shaking, aching to feel that warmth again. “Don’t…yeah, don’t mention it, Cas. I just…you gotta know the truth.”

Cas’ wings were fluffed up a bit, and they twitched against his back like they were itching to spread out. His halo was glowing much brighter than before, matching his smile.

“I have always been honored to be by your side, Dean, but it is nice to hear that you consider me yours.”

There was a lump in his throat that muted his voice. He nodded, shivering when he felt the cool, electrified tingling brush of a feather run down his arm and the warmth of light as Cas’ halo grew brighter.

“Always have. Cas.” He murmured, staring down at the pen clutched between his trembling fingers. He could feel Cas’ smile grow, and the primary feather of his wings brushed against his arm with a little more intent.

“As have I.” His response was so quiet that Dean almost didn’t hear it. But a shiver ran down his spine nonetheless. There was something different in the air, now that there were these confessions in the open. It wasn’t quite like a straightforward declaration that Dean was Cas’ and Cas was Dean’s, but it was pretty damn close. It was just a soft, gentle confirmation of how they had felt about each other since Cas pulled Dean from Hell all those years ago.

The quiet, peaceful moment between them was effectively shattered when they both heard the motel door open and Sam come barging through. They both jumped apart. They might have confessed…something between them…but that didn’t mean they were at all comfortable letting Sam see them in such an intimate moment.

“Uhhh…” Sam came to an abrupt halt as he took in Dean and Cas all but throwing themselves in opposite directions. “did I…?”

“No.” both Dean and Cas said quickly. They faltered and fell silent. Sam glanced between them hesitantly, like they were a bomb about to go off. Dean peeked over at Cas, noticing how his wings were fluffed up almost twice their size, his cheeks burning when he noticed Dean had noticed.

“Riiiight.” Sam said. “Well…there’s uh…been another body. I was gonna grab you and go…?”

“Yeah.” Dean said immediately, straightening up. “Let’s go.”

Cas looked like he wanted to protest—or force Sam to leave so they could deal with twelve years of tension—but Dean pointedly sent a prayer his way.

Tonight. Promise.

Cas’ wings fluffed up even more, his halo’s light shone so brightly it poked Dean’s eyes, and his face was redder than a tomato.

Dean grinned before grabbing his keys.

“See ya at the crime scene, angel.” He said before ducking out of the motel room.

“Is Cas okay?” Sam asked when they were in Baby.

“Oh yeah.” Dean grinned smugly, already looking forward to tonight. “He’s definitely okay.”

He’s got a chipped halo and beautiful wings that had once been burned to bone.

He’s Dean’s angel. He’s perfect.

#this was a lot longer than i thought it would be #but i’m a sucker for cas with a halo and wings #dean would be so floored to see cas like that #supernatural #cas #castiel #destiel #spn #casdean #dean is bi #dean winchester #deancas #love confessions #destiel confession #destiel fandom #destiel fanfic

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ray-ray-writings · 3 years

Text

Totem Troubles-Technoblade

This is a Technoblade x fem!reader in the dreamsmp. In this, the way that some of the Minecraft lore, so to speak, is wrong. For example, I know a poison potion won’t kill you but will only take you down to half a heart. For the sake of the story I had to change some things to make it flow. I hope you enjoy!

Check out my masterlist here!

Gathering materials was supposed to be easy. It wasn’t supposed to end in an almost cannon death.

Y/N’s POV

It was simple. I needed wood and Techno needed cobblestone. We decided to go out together and gather what we each needed. There was a small stone mountain next to a big patch of trees. We could gather what we needed and be within earshot of one another at all times. So we went to sleep and when we woke the next morning, we set out. The place we were going was only about 60 blocks away from our home. Far enough it didn’t damage our ‘view’ so to speak but close enough we could easily run home if need be. It was simple… Well it was supposed to be.

I gave Techno a quick kiss before turning to the tree in front of me. “Be careful,” Techno warned, pressing a kiss to the top of my head, before walking toward his stoney mountain. “You too,” I called in response, taking out my netherite axe and getting to work chopping down the amount of trees I needed.

Maybe I was too focused on my work, maybe I was too focused listening for Techno, maybe it was because it was daytime. Either way, I didn’t notice it. I didn’t notice the footsteps and the sizzle. I couldn’t hear the laughter a few blocks away drawing nearer. Sucks I had to find out this way.

As I raised my axe to chop some more wood, a huge force hit my back. A creeper exploded, propelling me forward a few blocks, causing me to drop my axe and land on my stomach. A scream escaped my throat as white hot pain coated my back. “Y/N!” I heard Techno scream through the ringing of my ears. Laughter rang throughout my ears as well. I slowly eased myself up, looking to find a witch standing above me, splash potion at the ready. “Please, no,” I whimpered, knowing it wouldn’t have any effect. Mobs were mindless drones, their only thoughts to hurt the people that lived on the server.

Glass shattered onto my back and green swirls surrounded me, immediately making me feel sick. Another glass shattered on my back, this one purple. I felt awful. I felt sick and I couldn’t bear to hold myself up anymore. I collapsed back to the ground, completely at mercy to the witch. The laughter rang once more through my ears as darkness completely clouded my vision. “Techno,” I murmured once more, praying he would hear me. Wherever he was.

*POV Switch*

Technoblade’s POV

It was supposed to be simple. Leave the house, gather materials with Y/N, go back to the house. Of course nothing in my life can ever be that simple.

An explosion set a small flurry of panic through me, but what truly caused my blood to run cold was her blood curdling scream. “Y/N!” I screamed out, hoping she would be alright. I dropped my pickaxe and unsheathed my sword and shield. I raced out of the small cave I had dug while retrieving cobble and found my girlfriend lying prone in front of a witch. “Fuck!” I cursed to myself, pushing myself even harder to get to my lover.

The witch raised up a splash potion, but I quickly dove my sword into its side, causing it’s attention to shift. I raised my shield as the splash potion was thrown on me causing it to bounce back and hit the witch instead. Pulling my sword from the witches' side, I stabbed at the mob once again, this time hitting directly in the chest causing the mob to parish.

Quickly I threw my sword and shield into my inventory and rushed back over to Y/N. Purple and Green swirls surrounded them as they lay face down on the ground. Blood was seeping out of their shirt from the back and I silently cursed myself for not making her put armor on. I checked her left arm and almost fainted at the sight. Her hearts, the ones that showed how much health she was at, were green and were being depleted with no signs of stopping. “Fuck,” I cursed, throwing open my inventory to search for the one thing I knew would for sure save her. “Where is it?”

After a few seconds of struggle, I finally found it. The golden totem I had secured just a few days prior. Ripping it from my inventory, I dropped to the ground and shoved the totem into Y/N’s hand, forcing her fingers to wrap around it securely. I didn’t even have time to relax. A huge pop sounded and the totem disappeared. The swirls disappeared from my love’s body and three of their hearts came back, no longer green from poison, as well as an additional two golden hearts as an extra cushion.

I felt myself let out a breath. She’s safe now. She’s going to be alright. “Y/N?” I questioned gently, moving to look at her face. Nothing. “Y/N?” I tried again, gently reaching out to touch their shoulder. Again, nothing. The movement she made was her chest up and down to show she was still breathing. Panic began to flood my senses once more, why isn’t she awake? The totem worked, didn’t it. Why isn’t she responding. Looking at her arm once more calmed me down only slightly. Her hearts were stable, so why aren’t her eyes open?

Gently, I rolled Y/N onto her side, allowing the glass to fall off of her back and onto the snow before standing up and gingerly lifting her off the snow, bridle style. I was extremely careful to not touch the parts of her that were still healing as I made my way back to the house as fast and safe as I could.

Once inside, I took Y/N into our shared bedroom and laid her down on her stomach. Pulling off her shirt, I winced at the sight of her back. Burns and cuts littered her back, blood oozing from many of the open wounds. I noticed that there were still little shards of glass poking into her skin. I forced myself to be completely calm. Although I was still in a bit of a panic because she wasn’t waking up, Y/N needs me right now to take care of her and her wounds and that’s what I was going to do.

The first aid kit we kept in the bathroom was well stocked. My eyes danced over the materials with fondness in my heart. Y/N had made this kit when we first got together. They hated seeing me hurt but knew I had little to no care for myself and my injuries. So they brought over this kit and would always be the one to sit me down after a battle or a long time away from one another and would take the time to tend to all of my injuries, no matter how small. It’s a little hard to swallow that it is now my turn to tend to Y/N’s wounds.

I retreated back to the bedroom, kit in one hand, a damp rag in the other. I set everything I needed on the bed and began working. I grabbed the tweezers and carefully plucked the remaining shards of glass from Y/N’s back, throwing the glass into a nearby trash can, making a mental note to take it out later. Once I was sure all the glass was gone, I used the damp cloth, to gingerly wipe down Y/N’s back, cleaning the blood, sweat, and grime from their slightly charred back. Next came bandages, one for every cut, no matter how little. Because then came the burn cream and I didn’t want it to get in any of the cuts. Gently, I applied the cream to my fingertips and slowly began massaging the cooling cream into my lover’s back. It was almost calming taking care of my lover in this way… Almost

Once I was finished, I took the kit back to the bathroom and put it away before washing my hands and then splashing some of the cooling water on my face, hoping to calm myself down even further. It didn’t work.

The totem prevented them from dying. From losing a cannon life. They should have woken up once the totem popped. It is designed to get rid of all affects and give you hearts, golden hearts at that. It confuses me to no end as to why the effects worked on Y/N but didn’t wake her up… What if she never wakes up? What if the totem glitched? What if it gave her hearts but she lost all of hers before that happened? What if I was too late?

Thoughts swirling in my head, I stormed out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. Y/N still lay on her stomach, back rising and falling, but eyes remaining shut. Tears pricked in my eyes as the last question danced round and round in my head. What if I was too late.

I began pacing at the end of the bed, thinking. Who could I go to for help? Almost the entire server either hates me or fears me… Philza wouldn’t be much help, as much as I love him, he can be kind of daft about these things. Dream is a possibility… But I don’t want to owe him. God, why! Why did it have to be her? Why couldn’t it have been me? I wish it would have been me. I would do anything for me to be in her place right now.

I don’t know how long I was there just pacing and thinking. But it was long enough for the room to become completely dark and then light again. All throughout the night, Y/N’s condition remained the same. Hearts slowly healing back to full, but her eyes still closed. My legs felt like jelly underneath me. I had been on my feet for so long. Slowly I walked over to Y/N’s side of the bed, sitting on the chair I had placed there when I was tending to their back. I found my hand reaching out and carefully pulling Y/N’s hand from her side and holding in both of my hands, bringing it up to my mouth and placing a soft kiss to Y/N’s hand.

“Y/N… I don’t know if you can hear me,” I began, a lump forming in my throat and tears pricking in my eyes, “but if you can. I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I failed you. You’re hurt and it’s all my fault. I should have kept a better eye on you, I should have been beside you, but I wasn’t and now you’re not waking up and I don’t know why… I’m so sorry Y/N. I love you. I love you so much. Please, please come back to me,” I begged. The tears that had been welling up in my eyes finally streamed down my cheeks. I couldn’t hold them anymore. I moved and pressed a tender kiss to the corner of Y/N’s mouth that was exposed by their position. “I love you,” I whispered once more, before bringing our joined hands back to my forehead and closing my eyes tight.*

After a few more moments of silent begging, a gasp startled me out of my thoughts. My eyes shot open to find Y/N’s Y/E/C ones staring back at me. “Y/N,” I breathed out in disbelief. “Techno” they whispered back, “What happened?” I let go of their hand and brought mine to their cheek and gently stroked their face, “What do you remember, love?” I asked, looking at her face deeply. Y/N attempted to adjust themselves, but winced. “Careful,” I warned, looking over to their back. The burns had healed a little bit, but it was best for them to remain on their stomach for a while longer.

“We were getting materials,” she said slowly, her eyes scanning mine. I gave her a slight nod silently encouraging her to continue. “And I was chopping wood. There was an explosion… A creeper. I landed on my stomach in front of… of a witch. It hit me with two splash potions… it hurt so much and I felt so sick, and then it all went dark,” Y/N finished, eyes scanning my face. I nodded in confirmation. “Yeah, yeah that’s what happened, love. When I heard you scream I dropped everything and ran to you. I wasn’t fast enough and for that I’m truly sorry,” I apologized, bringing their hand up and kissing it once more.

Y/N rolled her eyes at me, “It’s not your fault dummy. Besides, you probably rescued me just in time. Didn’t you? Kill the witch and then bring me here and fix me up, didn’t you?” She questioned, eyebrows raised. I nodded sheepishly, rubbing the back of my head with my free hand, “Yeah. I guess I did that…” I replied, trailing off. Y/N let out a small scoff with a grin painting her face, “You’re a hero Tech, my hero… I love you,” She stated softly. My heart fluttered in adoration, “I love you too. So much,” I responded softly. “Come here and kiss me you big doof,” Y/N commanded, a cheesy smile on their face. I couldn’t help but return her smile as I leaned down, reached under her chin and gently tilted her head to mine, pressing my lips to hers in a sweet yet passionate kiss.

I felt all of my worry melt away as our lips were connected. The kiss reminded me that Y/N was in fact here, alive, and safe with me. My love’s eyes were open and the totem had worked, although a bit slower than I would have liked, but it worked nonetheless. I slowly pulled away from the kiss, a soft smile on my lips. “Can we cuddle now?” Y/N asked innocently. Who am I to deny her request?

I carefully stood from my chair and made my way to my side of the bed, crawling ever so gently into bed next to Y/N. I carefully laid myself next to her and slowly placed an arm around the top of her shoulders where the burns weren’t as back and the cuts had mostly healed, “Is this okay?” I whispered softly, my eyes scanning my lover’s for any discomfort. “Yeah, it’s okay,” She responded softly, her eyes fluttering closed. And for the first time in many hours, I wasn’t worried about her eyes being closed. In fact, I allowed my own eyes to flutter closed and allowed my body to fully relax knowing the one I love is completely safe.

*Do you guys know the position I’m talking about? The one you always see in movies and tv shows in hospital scenes where the one conscious person has the other person’s hand clutched in both of their hands and it’s pressed to their forehead? Yes, no? Let me know! Lol

There you have it I really hope you enjoyed! If so, be sure to leave a like!

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alby-rei · 3 years

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[Arthur Week, Day 3] Midnight Snacks

a/n: in which MC (ft. accomplice Dazai) wants to make the resident flirt, Arthur Conan Doyle, jealous. Why? Who knows! But what I do know is that it ends up working in his favor rather than MC’s... wait, what?

a/n 2: changed the title cuz it was bothering me xD nothing else changed.

My entry for @scummy-writes‘s Arthur Week!

Day 3: Coffee and Fudge || Writer’s Block

[Pairing]: Arthur x You/gn!MC, (pre-relationship)

[Characters]: You, Arthur, Dazai, Sebastian

[Word count]: ~2300 words

[Rating]: T

[POV]: 2nd Person

“...and all of a sudden, I hear Mozart yell ‘stop releasing chickens in my music room!’ but Dazai didn’t even flinch!” You brought a foam-covered hand up to your mouth to cover your laughter.

You and Sebastian were cleaning the dishes together after lunch time. You’ve made it a habit to catch up on your day and share observations with Sebas, as pretty much no one steps into the kitchen around this time.

Well, that is except—

“_____~!”

Except Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, naturally. He must’ve finished his writing session and been wandering around the mansion, as is his trademark since your arrival.

You closed your eyes, hoping the man would walk past the kitchen without checking. You weren’t exactly in the mood for flirty games with the mystery writer, especially not after dealing with a haughty music teacher in Mozart. Sadly, luck was not on your side, today.

“I’ll tell you the rest later,” you wipe your hands with a towel. Picking up the tray of plates and cups to put them in their rightful places, you didn’t pay the writer any mind.

“After this I gotta find Dazai,” you said as you opened a cupboard. Your turned around to find Arthur leaning on the door frame, and your tone shifted dramatically, “Oh! Arthur, funny to see you here.”

Sebastian knew that tone very well. It was your sickeningly sweet voice that you dedicated to either (a) dodging conversation, or (b) planning something against that person.

“I’d say the same to you, ___, but you’re always in the kitchen. I couldn’t help dropping in to check on my favorite bird,” Arthur leaned against the door frame, flashing you a grin and a wink.

“Oh please, don’t talk about birds after what happened this morning,” You caught sight of your target at the end of the hallway, “aaaand I have to go, see ya!”

You duck under Arthur’s arm while his guard was down. He twirled around to follow you, but you evaded him, calling out to Dazai. Arthur stood in his tracks, as he watched the japanese author stop for you, and you beamed up at him.

“Dazai-san, I’ve been wanting to ask you for something, if you’re… free,” you noticed mid-sentence that the chicken that was still nestled in his arms.

“Hm?” His piercing yellow eyes brightened, “I’ll always have time for you, Toshiko-san.”

“Bawk!” The chicken… agreed, supposedly.

You laughed sheepishly, “That’s very sweet of you, I was actually interested in learning about your writing style and get some advice. I’ve been going through some terrible writer’s block.”

“I was working on a short story earlier, it’s in my room. Want to come with me?” He began to lead her towards his room.

“I’m honored! I’d love to, Dazai-san.”

Oh yes, you were definitely planning something, Sebastian noted.

As the two of them walked away, Arthur stood glued watching the scene. Sebastian had been poking his arm the whole time, but he didn’t budge. Even shaking his entire arm didn’t spur any sudden movement from him.

“Sir Arthur. Earth to Sir Arthur,” Sebas continued tapping his shoulder and pinching his arm.

“Huh? Oh…” His gaze held an odd expression, one that Sebastian hadn’t seen from him before—a hint of sadness, maybe even frustration. But it was quickly replaced by his signature grin as he finally took notice of me, “Sorry, Sebas, I must’ve been blocking your path, got to go!”

And just like that, he scurried off.

After a moment’s pause, and after making sure the hallway was clear of esteemed residents, Sebastian did much the same, but in the opposite direction. He has notes to take, pronto.

~*~

You and Dazai sat in the lounge room, having passed by his room, and Dazai collected his writing material.

“You have really pretty hands, Toshiko-san. I’ve heard you playing in Mo-kun’s piano room, you’re a wonderful pianist,” Dazai held your hand delicately in his, as he ran his thumb over your knuckles.

“Thank you, it’s something I take a lot of pride in,” your heart swelled from the warmth of his compliment, “but I’ve been much more interested with writing as of late. Actually, I’ve always wanted to write a novel.”

“Oh? I admire your ambition. How can I help?”

“Well well well, what do we have here?” A third voice chimed in.

Right on time, as you expected.

“Have I interrupted your little rendezvous?” Arthur walked slowly and purposefully, as if he had caught them red-handed doing something they shouldn’t.

Internally, he was trying his best not to jump to conclusions. That would be uncharacteristic of him, after all. You weren’t tied to him in anyway, so there was no reason to feel so jealous that you went to Dazai for writing help instead of him. He didn’t even know about it!

So why was his heart pounding so loudly in his head while his eyes were fixated on their linked hands?

Dazai withdrew his hand, occupying it with his writing pen instead. He shot Arthur a smile with closed eyes.

“Of course not, we were just talking, Arty.”

“…Don’t call me that,” Arthur narrowed his eyes, “and second, I’d like to steal ____ now.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but I want to talk with Dazai a bit to improve my writing.”

Being shot down so directly caught Arthur off-guard; his insecurities getting a hold of him. For the first time, he found himself at a loss for ways to turn the conversation in his favor. At the moment, if he persisted, and you kept turning him down, he wouldn’t be able to let it down for the rest of the day.

Instead, Arthur straightened himself, fixing his tie, “Well then, I’m heading to the pub soon enough to find me a pretty skirt for the evening. Have fun, you two, I know I will.”

He huffed childishly, going out with a wave. Dazai turned to you with a polite smile.

“Do you think it worked?”

“Oh, he is definitely salty, thanks for agreeing to this, Dazai-san.”

“Any time, Yoshie-san, what are housemates for?” He smiled fondly at you.

“You’re a great actor, didn’t even flinch!”

“Ah, but who said I was acting?”

He got up with his writing tools and stepped out of the lounge before you registered what he said.

“Wait… what?!”

~*~

Later that evening…

…Well, more like around midnight, you just happened to catch the insomnia bug and were heading to the kitchen, as all people naturally do when they’re insomniac. You switched on the lights, thankful for the dimness of the lanterns in the kitchen. Scanning your options, your eyes settled on the coffee pot that sat quietly in the corner. Thoughts of a certain mystery writer gnawed at you, but you darted them away and walked past the coffee pot to get a glass of water instead. You leaned forward, filling her glass with bleary eyes that refused to slumber but also refused to open properly.

Suddenly, you felt a touch to your backside. Eyes cracking wide open, you spun around and swung your makeshift weapon of glass at your offender. The offending mop of ash blue hair felt the full force of the blow, and the glass shattered across the floor.

Well crap.

“Ow… If I’m not mistaken, I’d say you were trying to kill me there, ____.”

For the love—.

“Arthur what the hell were you trying to pull?! Bloody hell! You made my heart drop.”

In a flash, his body was pressed against yours, caging you between his arms and the kitchen counter. The crunch of the glass under his shoes was the only sound in the room. You saw a small stream of blood start to fall by his ear.

“I was going to prepare myself a midnight snack with my coffee, but it seems I already found one ready for a taste test,” he licked the back of his fangs.

“At this hour??” It was well past midnight by now, and caffeine was the last thing you’d recommend anyone at this time.

You felt his breath on your ear before he inhaled your scent. It was comforting to him as much as it was intoxicating to his senses.

He sighed, “____… I can’t get you out of my mind, no matter what I do.”

His arms circled around your waist, pulling you away from the countertop and flush against him, instead. All sorts of alarms were going off in your mind despite the drowsiness, with your instincts telling you to push him off.

“But then, you started avoiding me. And then… Sebastian and Mozart and even Dazai took you away from me,” he sniffled.

You pushed him off gently but still within his arms, as you stared at his face. There was a pink dust across his cheeks and a redness in the corners of his eyes.

“Arthur, are you… drunk?”

His frown flipped into a grin as he nuzzled his nose into your disheveled hair.

“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. I may have been out drinking, but I can bloody well hold my liquor. Theo can vouch for me on that.”

(a/n: no, he can’t lmao)

The sight of him in a somewhat vulnerable state, as well as the smell of his cologne, made it hard for you to properly fight him. Plus, you felt bad for crushing a glass cup on his head. Speaking of which…

“Is your head okay?”

“Hm…” He brought a gloved hand to his forehead, feeling a dull pounding in its wake, “I must say, you got me good, even the most daring fools never landed a hit on me yet.”

Just how thick is his skull to endure that?! You were both dazzled and frightened by their realization.

With one of his arms off of you, you took this chance to escape, but you slid on a shard of glass and would have fallen face first onto the floor had Arthur not pulled you against him and taken the impact of the floor to his own shoulder. He laid on his back, clutching you protectively against his chest. He groaned with pain, but he pushed it aside to check on you first.

“Clumsy tonight, are we, or are you seriously trying to kill me?” He chuckled wryly.

Before you could even blink, you felt your vision do a 180-flip, and you were suddenly beneath him, away from the glass shards that littered the floor. The scent of his cologne flooded your senses again, as he smirked down on you with a drunken lopsided grin.

“I was absolutely livid when I saw Dazai hold your hand. Was that part of your plan, darling? Well, I’ve taken the bait.”

You flinched, your body wide awake to every touch and caress of this man. You bit your lip to avoid playing into his hands. You were still in control of the situation, you thought. His lips descended to your jaw, barely brushing your skin, like he’s testing your limits. Instinctively, you sighed, unaware of the breath you’d been holding.

Ok, maybe you weren’t entirely in control, either.

“Arthur…” You commanded, trying to regain some semblance of control back.

This was not part of your plan, however, and you were quickly losing grip of all reason and logic. You needed to get him off and away from you before you acquiesced to his ministrations.

“But don’t worry, ____. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”

He drew back from you, staring down at you with an uncharacteristic tender look. He continued.

“The effect you have on me is not one I’ve felt with any woman I’ve ever encountered before. It’s confusing—maddening, even— and I can’t escape it… because I don’t want to,” he sighed in surrender, “I want you, ___.”

It was a look of pure love and affection that shone in his eyes. His half-opened shirt invited your gaze to roam his body, and his thick-rimmed glasses framed his features in such an alluring glow that outshone the dimness of the kitchen. His hair looked softer than usual, too. Your hand twitched at the thought of running your fingers through those ash blue locks. Your mind was thrown into a whirlwind with the influx of new information, one that dented your rationality. Your desire to get closer to him wrestled against your impartial stoicism, threatening to crack the armor around the stone gates to your heart.

“Hey Arthur,” you started, twirling a lock of his hair with your hand. It was ever-so-slightly damp; he must’ve bathed in le thermae earlier.

“Yes, ____?”

Damn that seductive voice of his, you shooed away that thought as soon as it entered. You chose to focus on something much more pressing at the moment.

“We need to get you bandaged up. You’re bleeding terribly from your head.”

~*~

It took a lot of convincing, but Arthur finally acquiesced to your persistent request.

“There, all done,” you stepped back from Arthur, who was sitting hunched over on his bed.

You were both settled in his room with his medical bag open on the desk and his equipment strewn all around. You didn’t exactly know what to do to treat Arthur’s wound, but you insisted on doing it for him… with copious amounts of instructions from him.

“I brought you some fresh coffee and fudge, as an apology.”

“At this hour?” He mimicked your tone from earlier. You rolled your eyes at his childishness.

“And here I am trying to make it up to you, and this is how you show gratitude?”

You huffed indignantly, ready to head out and leave the unappreciative writer to his own devices.

“Hold on, now,” he gripped your wrist before you could fully turn away, “you’re the one who smashed glass on my head, so you owe me a favor.”

“…a favor on top of tending to your wounds and bringing you coffee?”

“Oh, indulge me, won’t you? You did those of your own volition.”

You sigh, “Depends on the request, then.”

“Feed me,” he perked up with no hesitation or embarrassment in his tone.

You wanted to turn him down, to tease him about his child-like excitement, but you couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes. Those eyes held a very powerful hold over you though you blame it on your own tiredness outweighing your better judgment.

“Alright…” You moved aside his things to sit next to him, leaning towards the table to drag the tray closer to yourself.

“Open wide, you incorrigible baby.”

#where does that put their relationship?#no idea!#what I do know is that Arthur is a happy baby #congratulations MC you played yourself #MC's plan backfires #accomplice dazai did his job #note: MC promised to help him build his chicken army in return #ikevamp arthur x mc #ikemen vampire arthur #arthur week #arthur week day 3 #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp dazai #ikevamp mc #alby one-shots #ikevamp fanfic

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

I Believe In Love [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader] — Four: Lies

Summary: When you find your calling to leave Themyscira, you venture out to the World of Man with intentions of helping and healing a very specific person's relationship with his son. You've heard his voice before, but only in dreams. You've felt his pain and anguish and you've never been able to relate to anything more. But things don't come easy for you, and they certainly don't come easy for him either. [This series contains spoilers for WW84 and is my interpretation of what happens after the movie ends].

Warnings: brief mention of blood, allusions to an abusive household/family, mention of child custody battle, 80s typical misogyny, cursing.

Word count: 5,200>

Masterlist

I Believe In Love Masterlist

Previous - Chapter Four - Next

-—-—-—-

He'd lied. You read the name over and over again, the crumpled letter shaking in your hands. Lorenzano. Lorenzano. Lorenzano. He wasn't Max Lord, he was Maxwell Lorenzano and you had no idea how he could lie to you - or better yet, why he would lie to you? There was a reason for everything. You might’ve been new to the world of man, and you might not yet understand their conditions and way of life, but it didn’t change the fact that this hurt. He was your first friend - your first real friend who wasn’t a child. He accepted you into his home, and he even believed you when you told him who you are. You had opened up about being a literal goddess from the secret haven Themyscira, and he hadn’t even told you his real name.

And then, your visions of him… memories and dreams… they hit you one by one. Now you could finally put a face to the voice that had been haunting you. He was the child you saw when you had fallen asleep in Black Gold Cooperative, the child who was getting bullied for the clothes he wore, and his shoes. You felt foolish not realising it sooner. The image of ‘Little Lorenzano’ getting tormented perfectly paralleled the way Alistair had gotten cornered in the park earlier today. Your heart ached for them both.

Max Lord was clearly putting on a brave face in front of you. But now that you knew who he really was, you knew that he was deeply hurting, and he needed your help. He might not realise it, but this is why you were here. You’d come to the world of man to fulfil your duty as the Goddess of Home and Hearth for a reason and Zeus had deliberately connected you with Alistair and Maxwell. This was your purpose. They were your purpose.

You smoothed out the letter to the best of your ability, deciding that if you were to help him, you should probably read it. You had hope that it would help you understand things and allow you to piece together the puzzle. You glanced back at the speckles of his blood in the sink, and the smashed vase on the floor. Whatever was in this letter had clearly angered him.

I, Theodore Thomas IV, share a bond with Miss Grey and recognise that she is a caring and devoted mother. We are in full belief that Alistair Lorenzano would be better off, in the care of his biological mother.

A bond. You were quickly able to identify that Julianna Grey was the mother of Alistiar, although the bond between she and Theodore Thomas IV had not yet become clear to you. Your heart would usually find warmth in the revelation that Julianna was, in fact a ‘caring and devoted’ mother, but instead it grew cold. As the goddess of home and hearth, you could sense the lie in his words. You wanted to believe that Julianna was a good mother, but your intuition said otherwise. These were your powers - and there was no way you were wrong about this. Despite the immediate concern you had for Allistair, you pushed the feeling to the back of your brain and forced yourself to continue reading the letter.

Mr Maxwell Lorenzano and Miss Julianna Grey divorced on the seventh month of 1980 after being married for two years. Miss Grey notes that their relationship was strained since the beginning, with Mr Lorenzano too preoccupied with his career to focus on his family.

Marriage - Max and Julianna were married. It was something you had read about back on Themyscira when you had spent time educating yourself on the ‘way of man’. Marriage was, supposedly, a sacred ritual that joined together the spirits of two people in the name of love. And love was the fundamental principle that would create a family. At the core of a family, was love, and that was the most important thing. Your eyes flicked back up the final sentence of the first paragraph; “We are in full belief that Alistair Lorenzano would be better off, in the care of his biological mother.” You couldn’t help but shake your head profusely. These people wanted to take Alistair away from Max? There was no way. Theodore may think that Julianna deserves Alisitair, but it was never going to be about ‘deserve’. It could only be about love. And you knew for certain that Maxwell loved Alistair with his whole heart.

I have known Miss Grey since 1980, after working on her and Mr Lorenzano’s divorce case. As not only her partner, but also a trusted lawyer of our capitol’s legal enforcement, I can whole-heartedly ensure that sole custody of Alistair Lorenzano must be granted to Miss Julianna Grey.

Divorce was something you weren’t so familiar with, and you figured it should be something you ask Maxwell about at a later date. It was at this moment you learned that Theodore was Julianna’s partner, lover, even. No wonder he thought so highly of her. There was no question about it. You knew you had to pay Julianna and Theodore a visit to see for yourself. You had to see the truth.

Please find us at the District Columbia Court, D.C., in one week from the date stated on the letter. If you make no effort to show and fight your case, you will be banished from seeing Alistair until he turns eighteen years of age.

Banishment? The thought of splitting up Max and Alistair filled you with the most excruciating pain. You couldn’t let this happen. You wouldn’t let this happen.

Sincerely,

Ted

So Theodore was Ted and Maxwell was Max. If you had known that names in the world of man could fluctuate so much, maybe you wouldn’t have gotten mad so mad at Max for lying about his name. After catching the address on the envelope, you engrained it in your memory and carefully folded up the letter and placed it in the pocket of the Maxwell’s pinstripe shirt that he had given you to wear. Now you just had to figure out a way to get to the address on the letter.

You spent some time sweeping up the shattered glass on the floor, and cleaned up the sink before padding back into the living room and sliding your feet back into your gladiator sandals, buckling them up. You even picked up the lasso of truth and tied it around your waist so it acted like a makeshift belt on you. There was no way you were going to leave it behind. You took another look at the photo frame that was on the small table next to the couch and picked it up. You smiled as you felt the exact same love that Maxwell felt when he was in the photo, holding baby Alistair. Just looking at the family portrait filled you with so much joy. You knew that Max’s love for his son was genuine.

Turning the frame over, you opened it up and took the glossy polaroid out, placing it in the same pocket of your shirt. You loved the photo and you wanted to take it wherever you went.

It was cold outside, and the sky was a deep shade of blue. There was definitely a draft, and you wondered if you should’ve changed back into your Amazonian warrior gear. The oversized shirt that Maxwell had given you, as well as the gladiator sandals, didn’t really provide you with the greatest amount of warmth. You weren’t even wearing anything on your legs.

A small old lady with a zimmer frame was walking down the street. “Oh wow!” she exclaimed, looking you up and down, presumably judging your outfit of choice. “You have very nice legs, but aren’t you cold?”

You looked down at your legs, noticing the goose pimples, and nodded in confirmation. “Yes, but I’ll be okay. Do you think you could help me with something?” you asked curiously, watching as she raised her eyebrows.

“Me? Help you? What could little old me-”

You took the letter out of your pocket and pointed to the address. “How do I get here?”

She adjusted her glasses and squinted. “Thomas Family Lawyers,” she read out loud, before turning back to you. “Honey, this law firm is on the other side of Georgetown. You best call a cabbie, especially this late in the evening.”

“A cabbie?” you asked, shivering in the cold. “I’m sorry… I’m not from round here.” you shrugged helplessly.

“Let me help you.” the old lady said, reaching into her purse and bringing out an enormous 1984 brick-like cell phone. The contraption shocked you, and you even wondered how she had fit it in her bag. She pulled out the antenna and began to dial a number. “Hi, could I get a pre-paid taxi to Thomas Family Law Firm, Georgetown? Thank you,” She put the phone back in her purse and offered you a smile. “A cab won’t be long. I’m Mrs Stagg, by the way. Might I enquire… why are you going to a family law firm when you’re not even from the area?”

“To help a friend.” you returned the smile.

“Does your friend live in this neighbourhood?”

“He does. Um… his name is Max Lord?” you explained but the way it left your lips made it sound more like a question. Lord? Lorenzano? What difference did it make?

“Ah,” was the small sound that emitted from Mrs Stagg’s throat. “Max Lord, the oil guy. My son Simon is- was an investor for Maxwell’s company. From what I heard, the company is bust. A joke. Max Lord has been scamming the entire nation for years.”

“Scamming?” you asked, confused. “I don’t understand.”

“Black Gold Cooperative have shares in oil fields all around the world, only, the oil fields have completely dried up, you know - with the Cold War and all. But he kept going… kept making those silly infomercials and selling his dream. ‘Anything you want, you can have it.’ or something like that.” Mrs Stagg scoffed, shaking her head incredulously. You recognised the quote from when you had seen him all suited up on the television.

“I don’t… I don’t understand. Why would he lie to the whole country?” you beckoned further, despite the conversation bringing you some uncomfort. Max had seemed like a genuinely good guy and a loving father up until this point.

“For money, I suppose. That’s all it’s ever about with folk like him. Money. I chastise my son for it too. He’s the CEO of Stagg Industries and the only reason I could live in such a beautiful neighbourhood like this one. He bought my home here,” she beamed proudly. “But, I don’t know much about Max Lord. Don’t really see him around on the streets either. He must be cooped up in his office most of the time. Hey, you’re his friend. Maybe you should ask him why he’s nothing but a low-life conman.”

Her words stung, and they weren’t even about you. You were completely lost for words, and surprised that she had so much hate in her heart for Max. Granted, if he was rivals with her son, it would make sense, but she did raise many questions that concerned you greatly. When the taxi pulled up, she paid the driver and helped you into the passenger seat. “I don’t know Max Lord,” she whispered from the other side of the car door. “But please darling, be careful.” She warned you before the cabbie whisked you away.

Your concept of time was slightly askew, but you figured the journey to the law firm lasted twice as long as the journey from Black Gold to Max’s home. You looked out the window taking in the stunning city at night. The buildings were all lit up and reflected against the windows, creating a glitter in your eye. There was nothing like this on Themyscira. No tall skyscrapers, no enormous shopping malls or company buildings. D.C. was booming, and it was beautiful. The journey allowed you to process Mrs Stagg’s words and think even more about Max. Clearly, both Julianna and Theodore had their reasons not to like Maxwell, and now, so did Mrs Stagg and her son Simon. You had to speak to Max and confront him. You knew there was more to him than what meets the eye.

Thomas Family Lawyer’s was a big building, not as big as Black Gold Cooperative, but it was still big. Just as you went through the revolving doors (which you had now grown accustomed to, due to your time spent and Max’s office) a group of girls began to file out. Whilst Raquel had been somewhat confused by your presence, these girls shot you the most evil of stares.

“Do you know what time it is? Office hours are closed. Why are you here?” One girl with sleek black hair spat coldly. You practically winced at the malice in her voice.

“Oh, I’m here to see Theodore Thomas?” you said slowly, nervously biting your lip.

“Who are you?” quizzed the same ebony haired girl.

“I’m a friend of Max Lord.” was the only thing you could come out with. Maxwell had warned you to refrain from identifying yourself as the ‘goddess of home and hearth’ in front of the public. He told you that people won’t believe him like he does, and that they’ll think you’re crazy. You had no choice but to believe him.

“Max Lord!” a red haired girl gasped, and a shorter blonde girl slapped her hand over the redhead’s mouth. “Sorry,” the redhead muffled as the blonde girl removed her hand. “He’s just so sexy.”

“But you know we’re not supposed to like him.” The blonde girl hissed.

“Huh?” you asked, knotting your eyebrows together. “Not supposed to?”

The ebony haired girl let out a longing groan. “Will the both of you just shut up?” she grimaced, glaring at the other two girls before looking back at you with that same mean stare. “Turn left, his office is the big one at the bottom of the corridor. You’re lucky he’s working late tonight.”

“Yeah, on his girlfriend’s case.” The redhead said weakly.

“Can you not keep your mouth shut?” Snapped the black haired girl. “Why would you say that in front of this hobo stranger when she’s just said she’s Max Lord’s friend. She doesn’t need to know that Mr Thomas is working on the custody case! It’s a wonder he hasn’t fired you yet for being so stupid.”

You had zoned out of the pointless conversation about mid-way through anyway. Those girls were nothing but rude to each other anyway. You slipped past them and down the corridor until you reached two double doors, not hesitating for a second to open them up.

There, with his head buried down into a pile of papers, was a dark haired man in a tight fitted suit. He abruptly looked up when you had entered his office, his mustache wavering in bewilderment as he took in the appearance of a girl who was wearing nothing but an oversized button up shirt and brown strapped gladiator sandals. “C-can I help you?” he gulped, relishing the sight of his body like it was the sweetest view he’d ever come across. You crossed your bare legs together awkwardly, feeling slightly vulnerable by the way he was staring at you.

“Are you Theodore Thomas IV?” you asked.

“I am.” the dark haired man confirmed, shuffling around in his leather seat.

You nodded, turning around to close the double doors behind you and walking over to his desk. You took out the crumpled up letter that had been addressed to Maxwell Lorenzano and slid it over the expensive oak wood. “What is this?” you questioned. Theodore took out his reading glasses before analysing it.

“Where did you get this letter?”

“Max Lord is my friend.” you gulped, folding your arms over your chest. “And this letter…”

“You mean Maxwell Lorenzano?” Theodore scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Listen, I’m not here to discuss that low-life loser, okay? I have more pressing matters to deal with.”

“So do I.” you persisted. “This letter…”

“Unless you’re his lawyer, and I doubt you are,” he snarled, looking at you up and down with the utmost disdain. “I will not be discussing the letter with you. Friend or not, it’s confidential.”

“I’m here to help him.” you gritted out, unable to believe the anger that dripped from your own tongue. It was true, you were angry. You were angry at the way everyone was so against Maxwell Lord, and you were angry at the fact the reason remained so unclear. Every new person you met didn’t like him, and you just wanted to know why.

Your words did pique the curiosity of Theodore, however. He raised an eyebrow and leaned over his desk, his gaze not breaking from you once. “Help him? You mean, you’ll be representing him in court?” You weren’t sure what that meant, but you nodded your head. If this was the only way you could get information out of Theodore Thomas IV, then so be it. “Do you even have any legal experience?”

“What? No. I told you, I’m just his friend.”

Theodore let out a boisterous laugh, the level of volume making you flinch. “Shit, he can’t even afford his own lawyer. I didn’t realise it was that bad,” he assumed. “Excuse me for one second.” he pointed a finger and dialled a number on the telephone.

Meanwhile, Maxwell was Julianna’s home. When Alistair heard his dad’s voice, he came running downstairs to greet him. “Daddy!” he called excitedly, running into his father’s arms. “You came back!” Maxwell picked up Alistair and spun him around, pressing a loving kiss to his son’s forehead.

“What do you want Maxwell?” Julianna sighed, tapping her foot impatiently against the marble floor of the lobby.

“To talk,” Max answered, placing Alistair back down on the floor. “Just us two. Uh- is Ted here?”

“Lucky for you he’s working late at the firm. Working on our damn case,” Julianna shook her head before turning to face her son. “Alistair, go to your room.” she commanded.

“But I want to see daddy!” Alistair cried, tears pricking his dark brown eyes.

“He can stay.” Maxwell negotiated but the comment was completely lost on Julianna.

“Go. To. Your. Room.” Julianna barked angrily, which sent a frightened Alistair running back to his bedroom.

“Shit Julianna, he’s just a kid. No need to talk to him like that.” Maxwell frowned, his ex-wife’s tone reminding him of his own father’s.

“Now Maxwell, I know you’re not giving me parenting advice, are you?” she asked sarcastically. Maxwell noted how bitter she had become, or perhaps, how bitter she always was. “I’m assuming you’re here to talk about the case. Try and change my mind. Well, you can’t.”

“Julianna, I know things have been rough between us since the divorce but I just want what’s best for Alistair. I love him so much.” Maxwell revealed.

“Bullshit!” Julianna scowled. “All you do, Max, is speak bullshit. You want what’s best for him? You’ll allow me and Ted to have full custody of Alistair. You’re a shit father and you know it.”

“I know- I know I’m messed up. I mean, I’ve messed up in the past but, something happened. Something inside me woke up and I’m ready to step up Julianna. I’ve changed, please just believe me. I love Ali-”

“You don’t deserve him,” Julianna growled. “You know what Maxwell? You’re nothing but a deadbeat. Just like your father was.”

Maxwell felt his face turn red with rage at his ex-wife's comment. He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles had even turned white. “I am nothing like my father!” Maxwell yelled defensively as the anger bubbled within him. He wanted to cry. Every time a memory of his own abusive father came up, it made Max want to curl up into a whole and cry. It broke him.

Before Julianna could reply, the phone on the wall began to ring. Julianna answered it.

“Hey, Julie?” Theodore was on the line, still laughing from his talk with you. “Baby, you won’t believe this.”

“What is it?” Julianna asked hesitantly, twirling the wire of the phone around her finger.

“Some girl- some half naked girl is here- in my office claiming to be a friend of Maxwell,” Theodore spluttered. You frowned at his tone of voice as he talked about you, right in front of you. Julianna turned to Maxwell in bewilderment, who was just standing there and had no idea what was going on. “She’s saying she’s going to represent him during the custody trial.”

“What?” Julianna spat. “Who the fuck is she?”

“I don’t know! Never seen her in my life. Pretty little thing though, I guessed maybe he’s fucking her? Not sure. She says she’s living with him.”

“Living-” Julianna couldn’t help but repeat her boyfriend’s words. “Teddy, Maxwell is here. Right now. Can you come home and… bring her with you? I want to have words with her.”

“Got it. See you soon sweetie.” Theodore finished before hanging up the phone.

Julianna turned to Max. “That was Theodore. He says some half naked girl has shown up to his office claiming to be a friend of yours.”

Maxwell’s eyes went comically wide as his greatest fears became realised. “What? No, no- there’s no way. That’s impossible. I told her to stay at home- how the hell did she get to Thomas Family Lawyer’s?”

“You’re asking me?” Julianna gasped in disbelief. “Who the hell is she, Max?”

Max was so confused and shocked, he couldn’t even find words. If you had found your way to Theodore’s office, that meant you had read the letter. It also meant that you knew his name. And finally, it meant that you had completely invaded your privacy. Part of Maxwell was mad, but an even bigger part of him was confused as to how you ended up on the other side of Georgetown in the office of his ex-wife’s current boyfriend. You weren’t even from round here, hell, you’d only gotten into a car for the first time today. Julianna and Theodore weren’t the only ones who had a thousand questions. Maxwell did too.

When you arrived at the Thomas family home, you looked at it with complete adoration, just like how you looked at Maxwell’s home. It was extensive in size, with beautiful pillars and adorned with flowers on every corner. Maxwell and Julianna were waiting for you and Ted in the dining room. Ted hung up his suit jacket on the coat peg in the lobby and you slowly followed him into the dining room. Unlike Maxwell’s home, which was covered with photographs of Alistair, you couldn’t spot a single picture of the bright eyed child in any of the rooms you passed. You wondered why.

When you entered the room, Julianna’s and Maxwell’s jaws both dropped in unison. “She’s wearing your shirt!” Julianna screeched, pointing her finger accusingly at you.

“Yeah? So fucking what?” Maxwell shot back. “I didn’t realise you can police my wardrobe now!”

Your gaze flicked between Maxwell and Julianna who were already arguing with each other. "Can we settle down?" Theodore intervened, placing his briefcase down on the table.

Maxwell turned to you and took a deep breath. "Why- why didn't you put on some clothes before you left the house?" he sighed, closing his eyes as he tried to keep his composure.

"I- I didn't have any clothes and. I didn't know if it was normal to dress like this in the world of man." you admitted sheepishly, feeling embarrassed that you'd made a fool of yourself and seemingly Maxwell too.

"The world of what?" Julianna scrunched up her nose. "She has no clothes? Maxwell, where did you pick this whore up?"

You stiffened up at her harsh words and Maxwell's dark eyes snapped open. "Don't call her that," he warned. "She's… different. Look, I can't explain now but-"

Julianna turned to Theodore. "I want her out of my house. She's a fucking prostitute."

"She's not a prostitute," Maxwell sighed, running his fingers through his dark blonde hair as the stress engulfed him. "She's just a friend."

"I want her out." Julianna reiterated, her voice like venom.

"I- I can wait by the car," you told Maxwell timidly. He didn't reply, instead just putting his head in his hands. You turned to Julianna and Theodore. "I apologise for any intrusion I may have brought upon you both." you said before walking away.

Even before you got to the front door, you'd heard them start fighting again. Maxwell wasn't yelling, but Julianna was so loud and accusing. You couldn't help but feel like she brought around such a toxic environment.

As you leaned against Maxwell's car, you looked up at the upstairs window. It was illuminated, signifying that the light was on. It was so cold and you couldn't help but sigh as you waited for your friend to return and take you home— if he still liked you, that is. After everything that had gone on, you wouldn't be surprised if he just left you on a street corner to fend for yourself.

You were delighted when you saw Alistair in the illuminated window. He poked his head around the curtains, smiling and waving immediately when he saw you. You grinned back, thankful to see the sweet boy and to know that he was okay. The smile on his face dropped and although you couldn't hear what was going on back in the house, you could tell by his expression that there was something wrong. Alistair disappeared from the curtains and you began to untie the lasso of Hestia from your waist. Swinging the rope around in the air, you attached it to Alistair's balcony and swung yourself up to the third storey of the Thomas family home. You quietly tapped on his window. After only a few seconds Alistair returned and let you in.

You clambered back into the house, finding yourself in the little boys bedroom. "Hey Alistair, how you doing?" you smiled, kneeling down and giving your friend a hug.

"I'm good, I'm so glad to see you again!" Alistair confessed with a toothy grin. "How did you get up here?" Alistair asked curiously, stepping out onto the balcony and looking at the long way down from where you had been standing by his father's car.

You gulped. "Can you keep a secret?" you whispered. Alistair nodded enthusiastically. "Okay." you showed Alistair your lasso, and he watched it with bright eyes as it glowed gold. If you could trust Max, you knew for a fact you could certainly trust Alistair. After all, they were your purpose. They were the reason you had found yourself in the world of man.

"Whoa, what is it?" Alistair asked, pointing his finger hesitantly, as if he wanted to touch it but not sure if it would hurt him.

"It's magical," you revealed. "My mother Hestia gave me it. It lets people see the truth, and speak the truth. It knows when you're lying."

"...And it helps you climb up really tall buildings? Like Spiderman?" Alistair asked with wide eyes.

You giggled. "Yes."

"Can I try?" Alistair beckoned further.

"Maybe one day," you promised him. "It can be difficult to learn, but I'd love to teach you."

You and Alistair both gasped as you listened in on what was going downstairs. You heard footsteps, and it sounded like Max was leaving. You rose to your feet and approached the window again, unravelling your lasso. "Hey, I have to go now. Listen, you can't tell Julianna or Ted that I was up here, okay? I don't think they like me."

"Oh, they don't like anyone who's associated with daddy." Alistair frowned, but nodded understandingly. "Are you going home with daddy?"

"I hope so." you replied, because there was really no way of telling where you stood with Maxwell at this point in time.

"Good," Alistair beamed, and in that moment, you recognised his smile to be the spitting double of his father's. "Because I like it when you're around daddy. He's not as miserable."

You tilted your head but had no time to question Alistair because you heard the front door open. Swinging back on your lasso, you attached it to the branch of a tree and dropped back down to the front of the porch where Maxwell's car was parked. Wrapping your lasso back around your waist, you pretended like you hadn't moved from the car— like you had been waiting for him this entire time.

"Good night!" Maxwell called but earned no response, only the slam of the front door. He sighed deeply and slumped his shoulders in defeat before turning to face you. His lips were curled into a frown and he shook his head as he approached you, sliding past you and unlocking the car door. "Get in." he told you, to which you obliged and slipped into the passenger seat.

Maxwell dropped his head to the wheel of the car in frustration. He wanted to scream. Cry. Yell. Curse. He hated this. He hated having to fight for what was already his. He needed Alistair— his life would be empty without his son. There was no question about it. And unfortunately for Max, he was beginning to lose all hope.

"Are you okay?" You asked, feeling as though the question was a stupid one considering the disheveled look on Maxwell's face. You placed a hand on his back with full intention to be comforting. He didn't reply. After a few seconds of silence, you heard his sobs. You heard his whimpers and chokes. "Oh Max." you whispered quietly, rubbing his back.

"I can't— I can't fucking do this," Maxwell cried, tears dripping down his cheeks and falling onto the steering wheel. "They're right— what they say about me— they're all right. I'm a monster."

You winced, shaking your head at his comment. "You are not a monster." you assured him.

"You don't even know me," Maxwell huffed before glaring at you, the tears still falling. "You're just— you're just some random girl who came into my life at the wrong fucking time and— I don't even know why you're here. Why are you here?" He said your name like it was poison and the desperation in his voice was enough to make your heart ache.

You swallowed. "When I found out your name, your real name, I knew for certain… Zeus brought me to you and Alistair for a reason. Everything is so clear now. Max, I'm here to help you."

"I'm screwed— we’re screwed. It's pointless. There's nothing we can do. We can't go up against them. Julianna is a fucking psycho and Ted is one of the best family lawyers in the state—"

"And I'm the daughter of Zeus and Hestia. I'm the Goddess of Home and Hearth and I will not let them rip you away from Alistair." you promised with pure determination in your voice. The change of your tone was enough to make Maxwell stop crying and look up to you like you were his saviour. His angel. And despite everything that happened, despite the feeling of complete hopelessness, he believed you.

The war began now.

-—-—-—-

Taglists— let me know if you wish to be added!

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes @honeymandos @rocketqueen @ladycumberbatchofcamelot @dybalalover10 @girl-obsessed-with-things @elena-myth @moth-guillotine @cyarikamando @hayley-the-comet @pinkninja190 @maxiarapamaya @autumnleaves1991-blog @artsymaddie @harrys-stan

I Believe In Love: @mrschiltoncat @thebloodrobin @greatvaluedazzler @bxxbxy @marydjarin @the-feckless-wonder @typicalnerd98 @biharryjames @thwiso @pedrolorian @julieteagk @starsandmando @kishie8 @supernaturalcat7 @depressedchillipepper @galaxypox @cocastyle @welcometothepedroverse @galactic-rhi @honestlystop @walkerchick007 @winchesterxxl @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @why-cant-i-hold-all-my-husbands @criminalmind1927 @seasonschange-butpeopledont @lola-max-sugar @thesadvampire @wonder-jedi @eternallyvenus @way-too-addicted-to-anime @spacedaddydinn @mack4676 @terrormonster55 @vonschweetz @tanyaherondale @thisis-theway @savannah-elliott @drinkingwhileblogging @pxstelink

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #max lord x reader #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal smut

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trellanyx · 3 years

Text

Dark!Stolas AU

I started to send a prompt to @vizowrites after reading the latest installment of her Dark!Stolas AU, then realized I wanted to write it instead. lol This is meant to be a direct sequel to Where You Belong. Thanks for letting me play in the sandbox for a bit bb!

Fic Warnings: This is an AU where Blitzo does not want to have sex with Stolas, and only does so in order to have continued access to the grimoire. Stolas has no qualms about using this leverage to keep Blitzo in line, or ignoring Blitzo’s boundaries. Nothing sexual happens in this fic, but if you don’t like reading fics based off this premise, this isn’t for you. Like the title says, Stolas is not a good person here.

“And you,” Stolas said, his gaze flashing back to Striker with a near break-neck speed, flashing in a surge of barely contained power that still seemed to simmer just beneath the surface. “While I admire that terribly forceful nature of yours, I highly suggest that you remember just to whom you are speaking. And just to whom you owe your continued opportunities that keep your schedules oh so busy. Which reminds me, darling Blitzy….bring the book with you to our next meeting.”

“Blitzy! There you are, darling.”

Regrettably, Blitzo thought. He placed the book on its usual place on the nightstand and shucked off his coat. Stolas loved it when his favorite toy showed such ‘enthusiasm’, not noticing, or perhaps not caring, that Blitzo’s only motivation was to get the night over with as quickly as possible.

He didn’t know which option was worse.

“Look, can we skip the roleplay tonight? My back has been bitching at me all day.”

Stolas giggled. “Ah yes. Isn’t that post-coital ache just delightful? I know my best mornings always happen when I can’t walk straight.”

Blitzo rolled his eyes. In the beginning, he’d respond to comments like that with something along the lines of, “I hear a good ass whooping produces the same result”, but Stolas always interpreted those retorts as encouragement, and Blitzo eventually stopped bothering. He nodded to where Stolas was decadently sprawled along a twilight-violet chaise. “That the spot you’ve decided on?”

“As thrilling as it is to be the center of such undivided attention,” purred Stolas, “I’d actually prefer we take things slower tonight. It feels like ages since we’ve had the chance to simply…talk.” Stolas’s eyes gleamed scarlet, all four of them pinned directly on Blitzo. “Given both of our busy schedules, after all.”

Blitzo stiffened, feeling his stomach shrivel with a sudden chill of terror.

“Stolas--”

“Sit, please,” said the prince, waving a hand at a matching armchair Blitzo knew hadn’t been there a moment ago. “I’m as eager to receive your glorious cock as you are to give it to me, but another need must be satisfied first.”

The words tumbled out of Blitzo so quickly they nearly slurred together. “If this is about what happened at the office, I swear--”

“I said sit.”

Blitzo’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click. He power-walked to the chair, unwilling to risk finding out what Stolas might do if he thought Blitzo was taking too long. But Stolas only giggled again, as if seeing Blitzo so flustered was cute.

“Though since you bring it up, I would like to discuss what happened when I last tried to visit you. I fear there may be some…misunderstanding among your employees about just what our relationship is like, Blitzy.”

“We don’t have a relationship, Stolas,” snapped Blitzo. “We have an arrangement. I fuck you, you don’t fuck over my business. Cut and fucking dry.”

Stolas clucked his tongue. “Blitzy, we are lovers. You could at least try to put in a little romantic effort outside the bedroom.”

Blitzo bared his teeth. “I’m plenty romantic,” he said, in a moment of reckless defiance. “Just not with you.”

Stolas blinked, and Blitzo nearly bit through his own tongue. He did not, however, take back the words. He was engaged now, for fuck’s sake. And the memory of his fiancé almost spitting in the eyes of demon royalty was enough to give Blitzo just enough courage to wipe out his remaining fucks.

You wanna talk, bitch? Fine. Let’s talk.

Stolas tapped a claw against his thigh. “Are you now?” he asked, terribly soft. Blitzo opened his mouth to snarl back, but it hung open when Stolas suddenly beamed and said, “Why Blitzy, that’s wonderful!”

“….It is?”

“Of course!” trilled Stolas. “I’m so happy to hear there are other paramours in your life! Not surprised, of course, my dear little imp. Who could possibly resist such a beautiful and wickedly talented creature like yourself?” He laughed gaily. “I wondered why that fiery little fellow seemed so testy last we met. Jealousy, hm?” Stolas gave a sage little hoot. “I understand, Blitzy. Love makes fools of us all.”

Blitzo couldn’t help but laugh incredulously. “Striker, jealous of you? Listen bitch--”

“Blitzy, darling, it’s alright,” Stolas soothed. “I understand.”

Blitzo raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Do ya now?

“It’s not the first time I’ve been threatened over our little courtship,” said Stolas, still smiling. “At least he didn’t throw something at me! Poor Seymour,” he sighed. “Two centuries of care, gone in a blink and a crash. Fortunately my reflexes are better than my wife’s aim!”

“…Am I on drugs?” Blitzo wondered. “Is Verosika about to pop out with a horse head or somethin’? ‘Cause I’m not gonna lie, that’d actually be a pretty sweet upgrade for her.”

“Silly imp,” giggled Stolas. “Well! Now that that little bit of unpleasantness has been cleared up, I say we move on to more enjoyable activities. How about some refreshments before we start?”

Blitzo withheld a groan. Feeding each other was one of Stolas’s favorite forms of foreplay. He’d constantly nip at or suck on Blitzo’s fingers, to say nothing of how often he’d pretend to feed Blitzo a strawberry or something before replacing it with his mouth at the last second. But if it got Stolas to stop asking questions about his and Striker’s relationship, Blitzo was up for anything.

“Just no strawberries, okay? Last time they made me break out in hives.”

“Alas, tonight I’m simply thirsty.” Stolas pulled a silver bell from his robe and gave it a dainty ring. Then he winked at Blitzo and added, “Of course, that’s always my mood when you’re on my mind.”

A servant imp appeared almost instantaneously, carrying a tray with two shimmering glasses of wine.

“I really do feel much better now,” said Stolas, taking his glass.

“Good for you,” deadpanned Blitzo as the servant turned his way. “Now can we get on with--”

CRASH!

“FUCK!” Blitzo scrambled backward, tripping over the arm of the chair and falling onto the floor. His claws scratched the tile as he scooted backwards on his ass, away from the servant who was now a solid block of stone. Blitzo’s wineglass was shattered on the ground. Why…why did it look like the exact shade of blood?

Stolas took a long, indulgent sip of his own wine. “Wiggles, this is Blitzy. Blitzy, Wiggles.”

“Stolas, what the fuck?!”

“Wiggles hasn’t been with me as long as Seymour was,” Stolas continued, not needing to raise his voice to talk over Blitzo’s panicked yelling. “I daresay Wiggles isn’t even his name, but that’s neither here nor there.”

The prince unfolded his unnaturally long legs and walked around the statue of Wiggles. “He’s a good servant, as far as imps go. Obedient, polite, deferential…he knows his place in the world and is content with it. Like Seymour was.” Stolas placed a hand on the top of Wiggles’s stone head. “And like Seymour…”

Blitzo realized what was coming a split second too late. “DON’T--!”

Stolas lightly pushed, and Wiggles fell forward. There was a sick crack when the statue hit the ground, and Blitzo watched in horror as Wiggles’s now detached head lay face-first in the puddle of wine. Stolas waved his hand, and the rest of the body crumbled into dust and rubble.

“Gone in a blink and a crash,” finished Stolas.

There was no flirting or good-natured silliness to Stolas now. He stared down at Blitzo with cold disappointment. Blitzo barely dared to breathe, let alone move.

“Let’s not forget what our actual roles are, my precious little imp,” murmured Stolas. “You are exceedingly good at what you can do with your body, and because of that, I allow your little family venture to succeed. Every time you rendezvous with the world above, you pay your way with my magic. Your daughter sleeps under a roof built from my generosity. Your lover fucks you in a bed gifted by my mercy. I could rip everything away from you, Blitzo. Everything you’ve ever touched. I wouldn’t even have to leave this room.”

Stolas knelt down, ignoring the way Blitzo flinched back. “But I don’t do that, darling. Because I love you. You’ve brought excitement and joy back into my world the likes of which I haven’t felt since my daughter was born. Of all my collections and all of my toys, you are my favorite.”

A crimson glow slowly bled into existence until it outlined Stolas’s entire body. Blitzo couldn’t look away from him, and wasn’t entirely sure that Stolas wasn’t making that possible. The air seemed to constrict around him, making his temples pound and his nose bleed.

“What you do with your time is your own business, Blitzo. But when I call on you, full moon or not, I expect you to answer,” whispered Stolas. The use of Blitzo’s full name stung him like a brand. “When I ask for privacy, I expect to not be interrupted. Above all, I expect you to make sure your associates know their place around us – and mind it. Do you understand?”

Blitzo jerked his head in as much of a nod as he could manage.

“They may hiss and spit all they like, but they will stay out of our way. Else I will remove them myself, and I will make you watch. Do you understand?”

Another nod.

“Say it, Blitzy.”

“…I understand,” said Blitzo through gritted teeth. The moment he did, the air returned to normal, leaving Blitzo gasping for air like a drowning man. Stolas finished his wine, and looked out the balcony window behind Blitzo.

“Ah! And there’s the moon. What a beautiful sight – not as lovely as you, of course.” Stolas cupped Blitzo’s cheek, looking at him with a familiar expression of lust. “Come darling,” he purred. “The night is still young, after all.”

#helluva boss #blitzo #stolas #helluva boss stolas #helluva boss blitzo #vizowrites #felt like stretching my evil writing muscles lol #thanks for letting me borrow him vizo!#does blitzo try to lay low or does he immediately go home that night like BABE GET YER RIFLE WE'RE GOING OWL HUNTING #it's up to you XD

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kenrik · 3 years

Text

I’ve written a lot of GoUta fics,

Sharing all of them here would take forever. So, just sharing my favorites!

First and foremost, however, I want to say that I adore, absolutely adore (and find myself always re-reading!) onemoreword’s works. These fics are the pinnacle of everything I could want from GoUta. The world this author has created, the grasp they have of the characters -

onemoreword’s writing is simple and straightforward, yet so beautiful, so haunting. They’re the best for me, in a ship with so many awesome authors and stories already. UwU

PrettyKittyLuvsU also holds a special place in my heart!

Their fics are just so pure and deep. Mine’s are really just surface, just to get me through my brainrot fics. 🤣 I’m trying to write stories with deeper insight into the characters in canon, but, it’s taking me forever to build a story. The rules set by the JJK world, their dynamics, the tone I want to achieve of their relationship, are all so tedious to factor in. Most of what I’ve written are AUs and fluff because I just put in the bickering and teasing and call it a day. xD

I’m trying with Still Blue, This Black Sky, but it’s a new fic. And I’ve just come up with a plot. I’m only updating once I have a draft of the entire story. Posting without one is a pain, I lost my way a lot with 01 and Cast Away.

I also reread my fics! I write fanfics after all, so I can read my HCs. Hahahaha

So, if you happen to find my fics fun to read too, we’re in the same boat! xD

Ao3 says I’ve written 21 JJK stories. 🤣🤣

This shipper’s brainrot is too real, too potent. 🤣🤣 I can’t even with my self. 🤣🤣

Here are my favorite stories to reread -

1. Drinking Parties - Canon-Compliant, Funny

A series of oneshots following GoUta go from bar to bar.

And now, there they were. At their drinking party. The drinking party where Gojo said everyone would be going to. It would be fun, he told her. Everyone would have a such a blast, he said.

Honestly, Utahime could only blame herself for being foolish enough to believe him.

This damn idiot. She thought with a glare as she slammed her mug of beer on the table.

"You're really mad." Gojo looks at her with a curiosity. "Why?"

Why? Utahime seethed. "Where the hell is everyone?!" She threw her glass at him. And his infinity just catapulted it away and made a shattering mess on the floor.

"That wasn't nice, Utahime." He shakes his head at her. "It's that time of the month, huh?"

Utahime flushes red the next second. And with an embarrassed cry, she reached out for Gojo's very own glass and flung it at him as well.

"You're paying!" She screamed at him in finality when she's gotten tired of his stupid infinity. And she drops back to her seat and yells for the waitress to serve them a round of beer.

"Drink!" She barks at him when he was just playing with his glass. "Drinking party, my ass." She grumbles to the rim of her mug. And she downed her drink in one go.

2. The Clearing - Series of AUs, Japanese Folklore AU, Samurai AU, Pirate AU

A series of AUs covering soulmates over the course of history.

(Pirate AU)

They were cruising in the high seas when Satoru was leaning on his back against a wooden pillar, idly sharpening his knife. He was whistling to himself when a crew member walks up to him with an anxiousness about him.

"Um, captain," He didn't know what to say; how to say it. "I think I found a stowaway."

Satoru turned to him with a dangerous twitch in his eye.

"What?" He spits with a venom.

And in the next instant, a woman in menswear was thrown before him at the deck.

He took it as a personal offense that anyone dared board his ship without his express approval. Let alone a woman. He spat at her gall. He would have her head, he thinks to himself in a growing spite.

"The sharks are going to be full today." He tells his crew coldly as he looked at the woman who didn't dare face him, whose angry gaze was directed to the wooden floorboards.

"Have any final words before you die?" He asks her to make peace with her inevitable demise.

And when she doesn't speak, Satoru just waves a lazy hand, signaling to his crew to just get it over with.

But before anyone could touch the woman, she speaks in a low voice, "I'll do anything."

Satoru turns to her with a confusion, with a raised brow.

"What?"

And she suddenly looks up at faces him with a fierce glare in her eyes.

"I'll do anything! So, let me stay on board!" She cries. And her hands clench against the wooden boards; the smell of the ocean consuming her; the adventure she's yearned for her whole life was so close she could taste it. "Let me stay!"

Satoru leans back, surprised.

Then, he starts to smile a sinister smile.

"Do you even know what you're saying?"

Utahime clenches her jaw.

"Do you have any idea where we're going?" He laughs at her dryly and crouches down at her; his face patronizing.

"You won't last a day with us."

"You'll get raped."

"You'll get killed."

"You might even just stub your toe and start crying for your mom." He laughs at how ridiculous she was.

Then, he pokes her cheek with the dull end of his knife.

"Don't be stupid."

I can’t even begin to say how much I love this Pirate AU. I love all the AUs in this story. I love everything I write honestly, even if it’s just plain crack. xD

But, they’re just so cute in this AU. I love them so much. And I owe readers a sequel.... 🤣🤣

3. the most valuable relationship to a sorcerer is friendship - Canon-Compliant, Friends at a wedding, Have a serious conversation, about their life as sorcerers

Uta and Satoru find themselves attending the wedding of a mutual friend.

He finds her in a bar alone, nursing a drink. And when her gaze drifts from her beverage to him, she almost spits out her drink.

"What are you doing here?!" She cried at him in dismay. And Gojo just chuckled as he approached her.

"You don't have to be so mad about it." He tells her with a small smile. "I'm on vacation."

"You take vacations?" She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Occasionally." Gojo grins at her. "Rarely." He adds. And Utahime frowns at him when he eventually says, "Mostly never."

"You here for the wedding?"

And he laughs again when Utahime just turns away with a deep sigh.

"I am." She sips her drink. And, she fights back the twitch in her eye when Gojo takes the empty seat next to her.

"Shall we go together, then?"

Utahime turns to frown at him.

"You think I came here alone?" She hisses at him in disbelief.

And Gojo just smiles at her. "Didn't you?" Then, he laughs when Utahime relents.

"Fine." She sighs. "I still can't accept that out of everyone I know, I run into you, you of all people, in Hawaii." She groaned to the heavens. And Gojo just chuckles. "In Hawaii, Gojo. Why?" She cried to the heavens for an answer. Why did they have to keep torturing her?

"Must have been something you did in a past life." Gojo offers with a laugh, resting his cheek on the palm of his hand.

Beside him, Utahime's face soured.

4. Sweet - Modern AU, Barista Utahime, Cafe Shop

Uta is worried about the health of one of her regulars.

"I can't, in good conscience, serve you anymore bubble tea."

"You took an oath or something?" He smirks. "Not to over serve poor salarymen with a sweet tooth?"

Utahime raises a brow and bites back her laugh.

"So," The man leaned over the counter with his smile, looking down at the selection of drinks in the menu laid on the bar. "What would you recommend I get?"

"An americano." She simply tells him and slips cups for a previous order into the plastic melder to seal them.

"All right." The patron smiles, too wide, and too familiar for Utahime's liking.

What was wrong with this guy, she couldn't help but frown in discomfort.

"But, add three tablespoons of honey." The man adds, and laughs at the look of disbelief on Utahime's face. "What? Honey's not sugar."

"It is..." Utahime couldn't believe this guy. "Whatever." She sighs and prepares his order. But, instead of the three spoonfulls of honey, she put a single teaspoon.

And when he drinks it in front of her, she laughs out loud at the disgusted, sour look on his face. And he demanded she give him five packets of sugar.

5. Immature - Canon-Compliant, Gojo “teasing” Utahime, First Meeting, Childhood GoUta

Uta finally meets the kid with the Six Eyes.

When the family before them leaves, when they're presented as the Iori house, Utahime is fuming red. But she bites her tongue and keeps her mouth shut in respect for her parents, for her relatives around her.

And when she sees how the six year old looked at her condescendingly, slouched forward on his seat, looking at her with his calculating eyes, seemingly appraising her; she starts to shake in a growing rage.

Then, he smirks. The six year old smirks at her.

And something inside her snaps when he tells her, when he chuckles and tells her,

"Did you know?" He smirks at her with a chuckle in his lips. "Did you know you're so weak?"

Red with rage, before her mother could stop her again, Utahime cries out and angrily grabs the empty juice box in front of her; and she throws it at the six year old; hitting him square on the face.

And he flushes. In an instant, he flushes red. A very, very angry, humiliated red.

"Utahime?!" Her mother cried out in dismay.

And Utahime had to be dragged out before she could get her claws at the six year old and set him straight.

6. Red, Blue, and The Purple Moon - Canon-compliant, Post-Shibuya Incident Arc, GoUta living together, Powerless Gojo

GoUta play house.

"Wow," She mouthed, not noticing how Gojo's face paled. "I actually got to hit you for once." She unconsciously ruffled the hair on the top of his head, making the strongest sorcerer twitch in annoyance.

"I can actually hit you, now." She suddenly gripped his head with some force. And Gojo could only look in horror at the murderous glint in her eyes.

"Utahime..." He tries to laugh it off, the growing tension in the air. And he tries to take Utahime's hands in his, tries to pull her hands off him, when Utahime suddenly looks down at him with a demented glare on her face and started chuckling.

"Gojo," She smiles at him sinisterly. "Do you remember," Her hands started to trail down from his hair, from his face to his neck. "Do you remember how you've been calling me weak since we've known each other?"

Gojo tries to smile back, tries to laugh with her; "Of course," He forces a chuckle. "We have our fun, Utahime!"

"Fun?!" Gojo sees the murderous glint flash in her eyes too late. And the next thing he knew, Utahime started choking him and shaking him like there was no tomorrow.

This is my first fic. I’ve had to rewrite this a lot, since I’m learning so much more about their world and the characters. Still, I really love this. I love the fact that Gojo is powerless. HAHAHA. I will definitely find myself editing this fic again. But I love it already as is.

While I love No Love and 01, and all the other fics, I do not like angst. Just thinking about how it’ll hurt later on is just so painful. I don’t know what’s up with people and pain, but those who’ve read my stories seem to prefer angst. The heck. 🤣 Isn’t JJK canon enough pain for you guys? 🤣🤣

#gojohime #gouta #fanfic #i wrote some #just a few #🤣🤣🤣🤣

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voidcat · 3 years

Text

– pieces, scattered (around)

characters: oikawa tooru, you

info: comfort (maybe slice of life if u squint), 2.1k words

a/n: been listening to Last Words of A Shooting Star (Mitski) & Dreams Fall Hard (Car Seat Headrest) on repeat since yesterday... this is a cry for help-

By the time you hear approaching footsteps behind you, the cold has long past infiltrated your bones, making you unable to feel it at all.

You don’t bother to turn your head to greet him, already knowing how his steps sound and rhyme, years of unwanted experienceyou call that.

Just as you don’t bother to address him, Oikawa doesn’t bother to say anything as he sits down to your right on the dirty pavement. Vast, empty space all around the two of you, all kinds of trash and forgotten memories lying around, cast aside; it hasn’t been this full for years, and now, your presence and Oikawa’s break it, like a seal forgotten.

Knees to your chest, arms resting on top, and on them your head weighs down.

“A voice inside me told me I’d find you there.” Oikawa says.

His form seems more relaxed, not that you turn to observe how he sits, examine his posture, the way he rests his arms behind him, feet more scattered around.

“I didn’t think anyone would notice I was gone.” you say in a whisper. Not that you mean to, it’s just a tiring day.

You can picture him already, and yourself, in the familiar uniforms of beige and blue, hear a dry chuckle coming from his way, maybe turning his head to look at you and make a playful remark, or deciding to be serious like one of these rare times and reply with a short statement you’d not expect.

Oikawa doesn’t do any of these, instead he sighs out loud, resting his weight on his arms again, resting back, shoulders slopping, –with the sigh, you can hear all that weight he pretends doesn’t exist piling up on him, breaking that straight back everyone is so used to see and make him lose a centimeter or three.

“You always had a habit of being distant while your little friends were present, watching us or chit chatting.”

“Didn’t think anyone noticed.” You pause, “Then again, you’ve always been observant.”

“I’d prefer ‘You’ve always been better than others.’ but this works too.” You smile at this, it feels, normal, more than you could hope for.

Despite the minimum time you and Oikawa shared before, it feels like the calming sense of safety you get before you fall asleep, when it’s a sunny afternoon or a calm evening. And when you think about it, was there even a time it was just the two of you in a room, alone? You’d recall it if that were the case, because as much as you roll your eyes at what he said, he hasalways been something else, entirely.

“And what brings you to a forgotten sidewalk at this hour, when everyone else is back at the party thrown in, in your honor?” you raise your head then, as Oikawa stares straight ahead.

“What’s wrong with the hour?” his words come out, disinterested.

“You’re avoiding the question.” You state in a stern voice. Whatever peace you had a moment ago shattered.

He sighs, and you think you can hear the hint of a smile in it, “It’s not like I’d spend all my limited time back here at a stupid party.” He says as he shakes his head slightly.

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at that, “Yourparty.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that it’s stupid.” He turns to you, a sheepish smile etched onto his face. “Besides, when’s the last time we shared some quality time together?”

“February 31st 2012, if I remember correctly.”

The small falls from his face, confusion clear until it’s wiped off with laughter, a genuine one you’re sure you’ve only heard from him once. Never in your life, you think, you cared about the honesty of Oikawa Tooru’s reactions and whether you could get one out of him yourself. Yet now that it has happened, you feel… content, accomplished, in a way.

Wiggling your index finger in the air, you put on a more dramatic voice: “Now now, don’t go soft on me and confess how you returned to see me. That would be a blow to the many devotees of the Grand King.” This only multiplies Oikawa’s laughter, to the point of making him tear up.

‘Nice one.’ You can hear in his laughter as he clutches his stomach and you direct your gaze back ahead, without realizing the smile on your face.

Soon later, his voice dies out slowly, without alerting either of you.

“I don’t get how you do it sometimes.” You break the silence after a while although your voice is barely louder than the wind.

Oikawa doesn’t glance at you, nor does he speak a word, –deciding to wait for you.

Head falling, resting your forehead to your knees, “How you can never falter, how you keep going and going, pushing, fighting… Just- how do you find that will in you, the ambition, the wish to do things?” hands falling to both sides, clutching at nothing, you stare at the tiny grains on the ground, in the cement.

“I feel like falling sometimes, you know. Or- wait, drowning. I’m drowning, until I let the water take me in, surround me completely and I feel comfort in it again. No more struggling, I am one with the water and it is with me. Doesn’t feel cold on my skin, it doesn’t feel like anything.”

Arms gathered front again, you itch your right wrist without noticing.

“In the air, when I’m standing, walking, sleeping, sitting, doing anything, I can feel my body. I can feel the air around me. It has turned against me. And the air feels hostile, sharp.”

“And the water-“ you raise your head and take in a deep breath, “the water is welcoming.”

“I feel like all I do is waste away my life, my time, and I don’t even feel bad about it. No guilt, not until the last moment. All these years have passed, I’ve come this far and- I’m still so utterly, completely lost.” The last part comes out in a sob and a choke.

Oikawa watches you the whole time, every time you breath in, he breaths out; whenever you sigh, he holds his breath, body never moving, eyes never blinking. Still, like he is made of glass.

The silence falls again, and heavy it does. Like glass shards raining down, pricking at your skin and only then Oikawa puts his hand on your right wrist before you can itch and pick again.

At the sudden contact, you look up, thinking you’ll be seeing Oikawa, but in his stead, stands someone you only saw from afar, maybe never saw at all. Without a mask he bothers to keep on, he seems foreign, a stranger.

The ‘Don’t.’ hangs in the air and in his eyes.

Only when you pull your left hand back to your lap, does he let go of your wrist.

“I know,” he begins “that no word of confirmation about how ‘you shouldn’t push yourself to be productive every day’ will help, or saying it’s alright to feel lost and look for something. You must know these already.”

“But ask yourself this: are you feeling this overwhelmed over these only because of yourself or does anyone partake in that? Would you feel like a waste if we weren’t forced to shoulder all these responsibilities and past hopes of our parents from our childhoods?”

“I-“ he cuts you off before you can speak up again, to further argue, to prove a point, your point.

“Look at Makki for once!” he sounds angry. “Unemployed, not living up to the dream life some would expect him to be, all these years of sweating blood and tears and he is not even mentioning the ‘s’ of sports.” Turning his body to you as well, he faces you fully, arm and hand gestures never stopping for a second.

“Do you think he is fully content where is? Do you think he doesn’t any days where he regrets the choices he had made, the paths he have taken? Do you think he never ever, not even once, considered Mattsun’s joke about selling foot photos for money?”

With each question he says, you feel yourself shrinking more, selfish, a part of you hisses; spoiled, another voice is about to join in –then you hear Oikawa’s latest words and get pulled away from inside your head.

“Did he seriously consider that?” you sound meek, frowning internally.

“Oh, he even designed a promo banner and opened a burner account. Took us quite the struggle to change his mind.” He says matter-of-factly. You giggle a little, missing the way he tilts his head watches you with another expression you wouldn’t decode.

This escape is short lived, not enough to distract you from all your worries and doubts.

Your smile falls back short afterwards, face returning to its default state, lips downward, a moody expression watching the world outside.

And a part of this world outside, Oikawa watches you, a lot on his mind and not a single one seems fit to be spoken out loud.

The stillness of your body bleeds into the scenery before him a little painfully.

Blending in without a bother, as if that is what you see yourself worthy of, where you’ve come from and where you’ll end up. Cold, gray stones that no one gives the time of the day, nobody bothers to keep them clean or throw their trash at. Just a place all too like anything else.

The sun is cold, the air hangs low, a gray filter pulled over the world,

He almost misses your words, embroidered into the idle day. “Why make us all have dreams,” you raise your head as you say the rest, a sad smile on your face “-if they’ll all fall, crashing down one day?”

“I’m sorry your bright young boy is dying.” You sing, done speaking and return to the lifeless state you were in, long before he got here.

“Then don’t.” Oikawa says.

“Don’t dream big, don’t force yourself, or force yourself into a mood you won’t fully fit in.”

“Isn’t it enough to crave a sweet in the middle of something and go get it in the evening? Is it not enough to get survive each day, remember to eat and drink, sleep and think?”

“I know” he turns to you then, “it must sound rich, coming from the guy who always preaches ‘Hit it til you break it.’ But that doesn’t necessarily mean breaking yourself in the process.”

Not meeting his gaze, you stay as you were, trying to shut him down, shut the musicdown, drown out the noises but there is no static noise tingling in the air.

Yet seeing how your posture has changed, shoulders tense and fingers no longer latching onto anything they come in contact with, Oikawa knows to keep going and speaking.

“No one truly knows what they’re doing, and whoever claims they do, is bullshitting.” thisearns him a smile and he returns it with one of his own although you cannot see.

“Dream small, take it easy. No big dream is worth breaking yourself in the process. Else, how can you enjoy it if you’re not there to live in it?”

You tense when you feel his hand on your back, a consolation, perhaps, an olive branch.

“Why did you come here in the first place, Tooru, really?”

“Honestly? I don’t know it myself.” The words come out of if without an ease. And why wouldn’t they?

For all this time you’ve known him, Oikawa had a way with words; knowing how to speak and in which tone, what to say and when.

Speaking was like breathing to him, like playing volleyball; almost on instinct and good at it.

And it was his turn to look ahead again, eyes focused on nothing, his hand already drawn back to himself.

“Even if there’s a reasoning within me, it’s not clear to me. But I am here now, I chose to come, and I would’ve left long ago if you truly wanted me gone.”

“Thank you.” You say when the night has fallen.

“Don’t thank me for voicing the things you already had here.” He taps the side of his head.

“It’s a pretty sky tonight.” You say in a whisper, “There’s nothing up there, must be light pollution.” He says in a whine and you can almost hear him pout.

“We don’t need to see them to know that the stars are up there.” You say to him then, and he meets your eyes.

‘I guess you’re right.’ is in the air, not needed to be spoken out loud.

And Tooru’s hand is holding yours again, fingers stroking over the nail marks you left hours ago, already beginning to heal.

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phantaloon-books · 3 years

Text

All We Are is Bullets

AFTG songfic, Andreil centric, Andrew POV, inspired by Demolition Lovers by My Chemical Romance

Trigger warnings: violence, graphic descriptions of violence, death, major character death, gunshots, guns, gunshot wounds, injury, angst, hurt no comfort, sad ending, blood, car crash, life on the run. This one’s on the heavy side sorry.

Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard

I would drive on to the end with you, a liquor store or two keeps the gas tank full

It had been over 7 months since they last had an encounter with anyone from the Moriyamas or the remaining of the Butcher’s people.

They had grown too comfortable, too soft. Andrew wasn’t even sure how that happened, considering both his and Neil’s upbringing, but it happened anyway. They were reckless and careless, jumping from town to town along the United States, jump starting cars and making gas station stops and robbing liquor stores, and they’d grown to feel safe.

What a ridiculous thing it is, safety. Neither Andrew nor Neil should be able to afford to feel safe.

But they did.

And these are the consequences.

Andrew shakes his head, pressing harder on the gas, willing the stolen sports car to just go faster. One hand on the wheel, the other hand hovering over Neil’s pressed against the bleeding wound on his stomach.

Neil’s breaths are getting rougher, and Andrew tightens his hand on the wheel. Of course Neil notices, and icy blue eyes look up towards haunted hazel.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t worry, I’ve dealt with worse, it’s gonna be fine,” Neil’s words are supposed to be soothing, but his voice is too hoarse for them to work. Andrew snarls.

“Shut the fuck up, Josten, just stay awake, I’ll get us out of here, and we’ll stop soon to patch you up.”

“They’re gonna be on our tails soon, Drew, I don’t-”

He breaks off in a coughing fit, his lungs rattle, and when he pulls his hand away from his mouth, Andrew sees the red that paints his hand. Andrew swears his soul leaves his body.

“I’ll pull over on the next stop-”

“Andrew, we don’t have time to stop right now, you know we don’t, it’s fine, I’ll be fine, if we stop we’re dead.”

Andrew knows that’s true, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it. Instead he holds on to Neil’s hand tighter, and Neil’s expression softens.

“Until the end, forever, remember?”

I will drive until the end with you. I mean this forever.

This isn’t supposed to be their lives. They were supposed to be done after the shitshow that was Neil’s freshman year. The Moriyamas were supposed to leave Neil alone. The FBI was supposed to deal with what was left of the Wesninski circle. They never should have trusted the feds to do their fucking job. Instead what was left of the Wesninski claimed war on the Moriyamas and Hatfords. Ichirou was beyond furious, with both Wesninskis and Hatfords out for blood and revenge. And he blamed it all on Neil.

Andrew would never understand the Moriyama lord’s logic. To blame a mob war on a 19 year old kid, whose only crime was being born to two mob families, one of which was tied to the yakuza.

But they were out for Neil’s blood then. Had nearly killed him outside the Court the first time, he would have been shot in the head if it wasn’t for his incredibly quick instincts. The shot hit his shoulder instead. They didn’t wait for a second time, Andrew just shoved their stuff in a bag, took Neil’s remaining money and together they ran. He only left a letter for Aaron, and he didn’t regret leaving their family behind.

Neil had been upset with Andrew at first.

“You have no idea what you just did, Andrew! You have no idea what it’s like to run for your life every single day, not knowing if you’re gonna live long enough to see the next, you have no idea what you just did!”

“I don’t care about that, Neil.”

“You should! This isn’t a little adventure, this isn’t a road trip, this is fighting to stay alive, and bullets and knives and hiding and lying forever!” his voice broke, and dropped to a whisper, “I never wanted to put you through this.”

“You’re not understanding me here, I’m trying to show you but you don’t understand. You mean too much to me to care about all the things you’re saying, I’d end my days in a hail of bullets to keep you safe, I would drive on to the end with you, I’ll keep running with you to prove to you how much you mean to me.”

Leaving bought them 4 more years.

Until today.

Until the end of everything.

The sun is going down on the highway as Andrew floors it, going too high above the speed limit running from Neil’s demons. But he’d signed up for this, as Neil had so kindly put it. Neil’s hand trembles, growing cold. His blood is slowly pooling on the car seat below him. He fights to hide his grimace, but his face is pulled tightly in pain anyway.

“I’m going to fucking stop, Neil.”

“Goddammit, Andrew! No, we can’t afford to stop, right now!”

I’m trying to let you know how much you mean.

“Andrew, we’re not stopping, I can hang on however long we need to get somewhere safe.”

“Nowhere is safe, Neil, we’ll never stop,” Andrew can’t help the snarl, anger is curling inside his chest and it’s too much, “You’re bleeding out, don’t you understand? We need to stop now.”

“I know this is frustrating for you, Drew, I get it, but we have to wait until we reach somewhere safer-”

“Goddammit, Neil-”

The car is thrown forward at once, and Andrew has to take both of his hands to the wheel to stop the car from veering sideways and crashing. With a curse, he takes a look through the rearview mirror, and he curses once more.

Fuck.

They’d been too busy arguing to notice the black SUVs and trucks on their tails. There’s a lot of them, nondescript, but obviously Moriyama. Andrew’s heart starts to race, as he wills the car to go faster, beyond its own limits. But there’s too many of them. There’s no way they’ll make it out this time.

He glances at Neil, blank mask long forgotten, worry and dread and terror seeping out of him like it never has before. Because Neil is crying softly, despite the serenity of his entire posture. Tears are streaming down his face, eyes closed but body and face relaxed.

The car is nearing 200 mph when Neil opens his eyes, tears flowing freely. The black SUVs are getting impossibly closer, caging them on the sides.

“I’m so sorry, Drew,” Neil’s voice is a shattered whisper, and it breaks Andrew’s already shattering heart, “I never wanted to get you involved in all of this, I never wanted this life for you, I’m so so sorry, I ruined your life.”

“Shut the fuck up, Neil, I chose this, I chose to run with you, I wanted-” the words are stuck in his throat and he can’t get them out. I wanted to spend however much time was left with you. That’s how much you mean to me. That’s how much this means to me. “I meant it then, and I mean it now, Neil Josten, until the end.”

Neil’s eyes are pained, something like grief and sorrow shining through the icy blue. But he still forces himself to smile, as if he can read what Andrew thought, and Andrew knows full well he does.

“We’ll show them all how much we mean.”

The first shot comes from Andrew’s side and he barely manages to dodge the bullet that cuts through the glass like it’s nothing, shattering the window at once. Neil crouches with a cry, and Andrew shoots a glance his way as much as he can as he attempts to keep the car under control. Neil’s right shoulder is bleeding, the window on his side just as shattered as his own. Andrew didn’t even notice the car getting close enough to Neil’s side, or the shot aimed his way. Neil feels his stare, the overwhelming alarm and horror that drowns Andrew from the inside, and turns pained yet calm eyes his way.

“It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

Understanding.

Neil knows he’s not going to make it, they are not going to make it. This is going to be their last run. With a deep breath, Andrew buries all the fear and worry deep down, and stares at Neil with nothing but determination.

“I’m about to get us killed, but when it stops, we run in the other direction and into the city, we hide as best as we can.” The or die trying goes unsaid, but Andrew knows Neil understands, he always does.

“I love you, until the end of everything.”

Andrew stares at Neil, and he wants to say I love you too, you mean everything to me, but instead what comes out is “Hang on, tight,” and he hits the brakes at once.

Despite Andrew’s eidetic memory should make sure that he remembers what happens next, but it’s all a blur, and when he can get to consciousness and focus his eyes, it’s to Neil half carrying him as he limps his way down the highway, looking frantically behind him. A quick glance behind them and Andrew sees the wreck he left behind; cars pile one on top of the other, some are on fire, including the one they were driving, and they set each other aflame, like pouring fuel on scarecrows. Moriyama men are dragging themselves out of the cars, and trying to find a way out of the wreck. Andrew can’t help the smile. He didn’t think they’d make it after braking a car going 200 mph, but he somehow manages to make his legs listen to him, as his ears echo.

Neil notices when he feels Andrew take back some of his own weight, turns a bloodied and dirty face at him, and smiles back brightly. Neither of them have much hope of making it to the other side of the road and finding a place to hide, but in that one second, they begin to run hand in hand, and things are okay, despite Neil’s bleeding wounds, and Andrew’s aching head.

They both know it won’t last long, so Andrew pulls Neil for a kiss, as long as he dares to, it’s merely a brush of their lips, but it’s everything that matters.

They’re about to reach the other lane when the first shot rings through the air, but Neil’s always bright instincts pull them both out of the way. They would be helpful if there were two or three men, but Andrew risks a glance back. There are dozens of men regaining their composure, readying their weapons, and before he knows what’s happening, both Neil and him are hitting the ground hard.

Neil just pushed him.

And then the bullets come, lead rain passing through phantoms.

He’s too disoriented at first, but then burning pain lights his body, like nothing he has ever felt before. He gasps, but he pushes through the pain, and forces himself to look around. He doesn’t have to look far, he finds what he needs next to him.

“Neil! Neil!” His voice seems far, far away, but Neil is looking up at the blue, blue sky, breath coming in insignificant little huffs, more like sighs than breaths. Blood is pooling underneath them. “Neil, look at me, stay with me.”

Moving hurts, burns, but he makes himself push through it harder, until he’s somehow leaning on his side, with a clear view of Neil. Neil who’s bleeding too much. Neil who has too many bullet holes on his body. Neil who just pushed him to the side to protect him. Neil who is bleeding out. Neil who despite everything turns his head so he’s facing Andrew, even if his eyes are still looking up.

Andrew’s own eyes are blurring with unshed tears, and he blindly reaches forward to grab Neil’s hand lying limply by his side.

He feels like he’s falling.

Neil’s lips are turning red, and he’s coughing, choking, trying to force out words that can’t come out. He gasps and moans in agony, and Andrew’s own chest hurts, not just from the bullets he couldn’t escape. This is it, a pool of blood, falling and touching hands.

“Neil, look at me, look at me, it’s gonna be alright, we’re gonna be alright.”

Andrew’s own voice is cracking. He doesn’t understand how Neil remains awake, but his stubborn idiot rabbit is still breathing. With another strained whine and a choked sob, their eyes meet at last. Icy blue and deep hazel, one last time.

And Andrew is falling, falling, falling.

He squeezes Neil’s hand as tightly as he can, and chokes out a whisper despite the metallic taste flooding his mouth, “It’s okay, we’ll be okay, just let go, it’s okay.”

He feels the thuds of footsteps approaching, but black is already creeping at the edges of his vision, his eyelids are growing heavy, and Neil’s own breaths are coming slower.

Neil closes his eyes, and Andrew closes his as Neil’s shredded chest stops moving.

I’ll meet your eyes, I mean this, forever.

lol sorry

read on ao3

#all for the game #aftg fanfic #aftg #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #tfc fanfic #tfc #tkm #trk #the foxhole court #the raven king #the kings men #this was dark lmao #ngl i made myself cry for a bit there #demolition lovers

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heliads · 3 years

Text

Fortune Favors the Love-Struck

When Y/N’s best friend Race asks her to help him ask out some Manhattan girl, she feels reluctant because of her own feelings for him. What will she do when Race finds out that she loves him?

masterlist

You’re curled up on your bed, knees bent in front of you in an attempt to spread out on the narrow space of your bunk. A battered and beaten paperback is propped up against your legs, your eyes glued to its pages. Across the room, the door opens and you barely have a chance to realize someone’s there before a sudden blur flashes across the room and knocks you back against the bed.

You tense for a moment, then laugh despite yourself when you realize that the blur was just your best friend, Race, knocking you down in a running tackle. “Jeez, Race, you trying to kill me?” Your joke dies slightly on your tongue when you look up and see his face only a few inches away from your own, his legs strewn over yours and his chin propped up on his palm to grin victoriously at you.

Race just rolls his eyes at your complaint. “Y/N, do you remember how we first met?” You attempt to calm the beating of your heart, and speak in a slightly exasperated tone. “You mean when I saw you on that street corner selling papes and bet I could sell twice as many as you?” Race nods in agreement, cheeky grin on full display. “And for some reason, I let you sell with me despite the fact that I had no idea who you were, and even after I won the contest I brought you to Jack out of the goodness of my heart and had him make you a full-time newsie?”

You don’t need Race’s anecdotes to remind you of that day. It seemed like it had just happened recently, despite the fact that you had now lived with the Manhattan newsies for well over a year. After you had first met Race out on the streets, the two of you had formed a fast friendship that would lead to you selling him with him more often than not, him even allowing you to steal a cigar or two from his treasured stash, and instances like this one, when he would launch into a running tackle just to rough you up and joke around like you were just another one of the boys.

That was one of the first things you had noticed about Race- he never seemed to care that you were a girl. He never treated you differently, like a glass ornament that could shatter at a moment’s notice. He never seemed to see you as anything more than a selling partner, a friend, a newsie he could talk and laugh with whenever he wanted to.

The next few things you started to notice about Race were the sudden, startling blue of his eyes when the light caught them, or the way his mouth twisted up into a crooked smile when he was having fun. The way he’d raise his eyebrows slightly when talking about something that he’d seen earlier, which made him look like an excited kid again for just a second. The way his arm slid around your shoulders like a missing puzzle piece that was supposed to have been there all along. The way you loved him for all of that, and would keep loving him until the day your heart finally stopped beating.

The worst part about loving Race is the best part about him, too- the way the two of you were closer than anything, closer than either of you were to any other newsie across the entire city of New York. You were his best friend, and he was yours- even though you were the most important person to him, you were still stuck in one place in his heart, somewhere in between a sister and a friend. He would never see you as a girl he would fall in love with, even though you’d been head over heels for him for a long time. So, you fake your smiles, and pretend your eyes don’t linger on him when they do, and you force yourself to snap back to reality instead of swimming around in your thoughts like you’re doing right now.

You raise your eyebrows doubtfully. “Actually, I think I won the pape-selling contest, and you were so amazed that you practically dragged me over to the lodging house so you could beg Jack to let me sell with you.” Race frowns. “I don’t remember it being like that.” You laugh at his cross face. “Maybe you should get a better memory, and maybe you should get off of me and tell me what you want.”

Race stares at you for a second, then stretches out an arm to your side to push himself upright into a sitting position just a few inches away from you. You sit up yourself, trying to stop the hammering of your heart. Race crosses his arms over his chest. “What do you mean, I should tell you what I want?”

You give him a look. “Race, you only bring up that story when you want a favor. Now, can you stop wasting my time and tell me what it is? I want to get back to my book.” You reach for the abandoned paperback, but Race beats you to it and snatches it away before you can close your fingers around it. “Y/N, I’se your best friend. The book can wait.” You raise an eyebrow. “What could be more important than my book?”

Race clasps his hands together melodramatically. “I met a girl.” You stare back at him, unmoved. “A girl? I thought those only existed in the papes.” Race swats you on the shoulder. “Toss the attitude, Y/N. This is important. I met the most beautiful, most amazing, most everything girl in the entire world.”

There’s a slow dullness that’s starting to spread across your heart, one you can’t acknowledge, not right now. It would destroy you. So, you return his gaze, pretending to the world like you’re completely unaffected by this. “And what does this incredible girl have to do with me?” Race leans forward, wrapping his hands around yours. “I need you to help convince this girl to go out with me. I can’t do it alone, I need you. You’re my best friend, and the only one who could make me have a fighting chance with her.”

You shake your head slightly. “I’m not sure I’d be any good at that. I don’t even know who this girl is, let alone what she likes in a boy.” Race jumps up from the bed. “Then let’s go see her. She’ll be walking home from school now, we can glimpse her from across the street.” You stay where you are, but Race drags you up by the hand and out of the room, laughing at your protests. “Come on, Y/N, it’ll be fun. You know I can’t do this without you!”

Race pulls you down the city streets, up blocks and around corners. You pretend to fight him the entire way, but you can’t hold back your grin for much longer and the two of you dissolve into laughter. For a moment, you can’t feel anything but a blinding joy- this is how life should be, isn’t it? Just the two of you, out in the night and letting the dark surround you, uncaring to the troubles of the world. He is all you need, and he needs you just the same.

Then he stops you in your tracks, one arm flung out to stop you from coming out of an alleyway. He jerks his chin across the street at the figure of a young woman heading down the sidewalk. “There she is.” You narrow your eyes at the girl, and you feel a wave of sorrow begin to break over you.

She’s gorgeous. Flawless, even. Dark hair, falling in curls to frame her face. Bright, warm eyes that look like twin pools of honeyed sunlight. You’d seen a picture of an ancient hornet caught in a chunk of amber once, in a scientific section of a pape you’d been selling, and for some reason this girl reminds you of that. You feel like the insect caught in the amber- maybe you were drowning in her eyes, but it was such a beautiful sight that you’d stay there happily, even when it killed you.

You glance over at Race, but the boy is obviously caught under the girl’s spell. He stares at her, a light smile playing on his lips. It hits you then like a ton of bricks- you will never have a chance with him. Not in a million years, not when he has this goddess of a girl to love instead. Who are you to stand against her?

Race is looking back at you now. “So, will you help me?” You nod, and force a smile that feels like it’s poisoning you from the inside out. “Of course. I’m your best friend, aren’t I?” And why can’t you be content with that?

Even though it hurts, you’re determined to do right by Race. So, you coach him through how to speak to this girl, how to compliment her laugh and shy smile without sounding weird. How to secretly wrap her morning pape around a bunch of roses so that the blooms spill out into her hand. How to catch her eye from across the street, and have his hand linger on hers for just a second longer than he does with anyone else. How to make sure the girl falls utterly in love with him, just the way you already have.

After a week or two, you feel you’ve prepared Race to the best of your abilities. You finish selling your papes a short while before he does, and give him one last pep talk before he has to face the girl again. Race looks nervous, shoving his hands in his pockets as he looks around the crowded streets of Manhattan. “You’re sure I can do this?” You give him a reassuring smile. “There’s no doubt. You’ve got this.” You turn to go, but Race catches your hand and spins you back around to face him. Your breath catches in your throat, and you can’t do anything but stare at him, suddenly only a few inches from you.

Race flashes you a grin. “Thanks for your help, Y/N. Honest. I don’t know what I would do without you.” You stare at his hand, at his fingers linked so casually with yours, then force yourself to meet his gaze once more. “Of course. Now go get your girl!” Race walks off confidently, and waves to you one last time. You watch him go, only turning to leave when he rounds a corner and disappears from your line of view.

You’re waiting for Race when he returns to the lodging house. The second you see him slip through the doors, you eagerly head over to him. “How’d it go?” Your excited tone starts to drop off when you notice the distress evident in every line and crease of his face. You wince. “Not that great?”

Race just sighs. “I don’t know what I did wrong. I thought she felt the same way about me, but I guess not. She just said ‘maybe later’ and walked in the other direction.” You frown, reaching out to touch his shoulder lightly in sympathy. “Well, she’s missing out. Any girl here’d be lucky to have you, Racer. You know that.”

Race nods hesitantly. “Maybe. Still hurts, though.” You click your tongue understandingly. “Well, I can’t think of anything we could have done differently. There’ll be other girls, and we’ll figure out how to deal with them too.” Your gaze brightens as you remember a detail from earlier that day. “Say, I forgot to tell you but I managed to snatch a Corona or two off of some sleeping banker during my rounds. Want me to get you one?”

Race’s face brightens almost immediately at the mention of his favorite cigars. “Y/N, you’re a gem. What would I do without you?” You grin. “Probably go into cigar withdrawal and die a spectacular death. I’ll get them, be back in a second.” You disappear into the throngs of newsies, heading to your room to retrieve the fabled stash of cigars. When you return, you notice that Race is now talking to Davey, and you approach quietly so as not to interrupt them.

Race is sadly talking about his earlier disappointment to Davey, who nods understandingly. “City girls is weird, honestly. I don’t know how Jack managed to convince Katherine to go out with him. Maybe he’s got blackmail or something.” Race chuckles at that. “Y/N’s been great during all this, though. She’s been helping me with the girl over the last couple of weeks.”

Davey frowns. “You made Y/N help you ask this girl out? What, you have an argument and get mad at her?” Race looks up at him, confused. “What do you mean?” Davey rolls his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? Y/N’s been crushing on you since forever, and you just made her coach you through asking some other girl on a date. It’s almost mean.” Your eyes flash to Davey. Surely he didn’t just say that, surely he wouldn’t tell Race.

You must have gasped quietly, because Davey looks at you and his expression quickly changes to regret. Race sees his sudden change in character and turns to see you. His face drops into a frown when he sees the look of horror on your face, realizing that what Davey said was true. You can’t stay here, not after all this, so you turn and walk hurriedly out of the lodging house, breaking into a run when you’re free of the door.

You run and run until you’re forced to come to a stop, panting for breath in the brisk night air. You’re still afraid to be seen by anyone, so you climb a rickety fire escape on the side of a building, heading up and up until you crumple into a heap on the roof. Then, and only then, do the tears finally come. They burst out of you, and you dissolve into sobs that rack your entire body as you remember that look on Race’s face, that haunted realization that bordered on disgust. It’s all over now. He’ll never want to even speak to you again.

Finally, night falls heavily on the streets and you’re forced to retreat shamefully back to the lodging house lest the cops catch you out after curfew. Getting tossed in the Refuge would only be the icing on the cake judging by how badly today’s gone. You manage to make your way into the lodging house without getting noticed by Race, and you quickly pull Elmer aside to talk.

“Hey, Elmer, can I switch bunks with you?” Elmer nods eagerly. “Absolutely- your room’s got the best view. Consider it a deal.” You both spit on your palms (as per newsie tradition), and you hurry to grab your few belongings from your bunk and bring them to your new location without being seen by any blond, blue-eyed newsboys.

Thus begins your habit of avoiding Race- you sleep in an entirely different room, you don’t sit with him during meals, you pretend you don’t see him across the room even when you’re sure you can feel his eyes burning holes into the back of your head. A few times, you’ve had close calls and glanced up only to see him starting to move towards you, but you’d been able to quickly disappear into the crowd in time to lose him when you had to.

However, it doesn’t look like the universe is interested in protecting you for very long, as you’re heading to bed early one night when you hear the sound of someone quickly approaching you. You know Race better than you know anyone else, and you certainly know the sound of his footsteps, so you pick up your pace in an attempt to lose him in the twistingly narrow halls of the lodging house before he can catch up to you.

Unfortunately, this doesn’t look like it’s going to happen. A hand reaches out and closes around your wrist, forcing you to come to a stop. You whirl around to see Race, and, panicked, try to walk away again, but he wraps an arm around your waist to stop you in place. All you can do is stand there, breathing heavily after your hurried escape attempts.

Race looks down at you, and for once, you can’t tell what emotions are lingering behind his eyes. “You can’t avoid me forever, you know.” You glance away. “I can try.” Race sighs. “I’m supposed to be your best friend, right? Please, stop trying to get rid of me.” You force yourself to stare back at him, feeling frustration bubbling up inside of you.

“This is what’s best for both of us. You want your best friend back, and so do I. Just give me a little while to get over the fact that I love you and we can be back to normal. Maybe I won’t see as much of you for the time being, but we can go back to being friends.” Race’s hand doesn’t move from your hip. “Is that what you want?” You look at him, feeling tears starting to prick at your eyes. “It’s what you want. It’s what’s best for both of us. It doesn’t matter what I want, it’s what’s going to happen.”

Race’s hand lightens on your side, and you take advantage of his softened gaze to slip away. You think for just a second that he might be about to say something else, but you know you can’t stand to hear it. So, you disappear into a darkened room, and pretend that you can’t feel the shattering of your heart.

It’s a warm summer day, the cheerful glow of the sun at complete odds with the dull ache surrounding you. It’s been about a week since that conversation with Race, and he’s respected your wishes to stay away. You don’t talk to him, and he doesn’t talk to you, and you can’t help but hope that it hurts him as much as it’s killing you.

You hear the sound of someone approaching behind you, and force a smile as you recognize the customer holding out a few coins in exchange for the morning pape. The man is a regular, and you’ve become pretty accustomed to his habits. He’s got a tendency to overpay for a wink and a flirty smile, so you look at him through your eyelashes and force a coy grin that you don’t feel at all.

The man, as always, hands you a few extra coins, and you, as always, wave him goodbye in thanks. However, you’re startled when you see Race suddenly appearing from around the corner, and are taken aback by the intensity of his glare. He gestures for you to follow him into an alleyway to speak, and you follow him, albeit a little hesitantly.

You’ve barely entered the alley when he pulls you close, out of the view of any passersby. His breathing is hard and uneven, as if he’s furious. He glances towards the opening of the alley to make sure nobody else can see you, then turns back to you. “I can’t do this any longer.” You frown up at him. “Do what?” His voice comes in a low, incensed whisper. “I can’t stay away from you. I can’t pretend I don’t see you across the room, and glance away when men like that look at you like you’re a piece of candy.”

You can’t do anything but stare at him, and a moment later his lips come crashing down onto yours. You feel your breath come in a sharp inhale, and Race pulls away just slightly to speak in a low murmur. “I thought I wanted us to just be friends, but I’m not sure that’s right anymore. I don’t want to be your best friend, not if it means I have to stay away from you any longer.”

You stare at him for a second, then break into a quiet laugh. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.” “And you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to realize just how important you are to me.” Race says, and you can feel the slight upwards tilt of his smile when he kisses you again.

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the-sympathetic-villain · 3 years

Text

I Know What You’re Going To Say - Chapter 4

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: A Beauty and the Beast style Vampire AU. Vampire!Virgil has picked up Logan off the street and is holding him captive under the threat of killing his friends if he tries to escape.

Word Count: 6041

Chapter Warnings: Unsympathetic!Virgil, Angst, Captivity, Threats, Mentions of Police, Implications of abuse, Threats of violence, Anxiety, Hypervigilance, Crying, Doctors/Medical Examination with questionable consent, Food, Mentions of prescription drug abuse, Malnourishment, Unhealthy relationship with food, Yelling, Anger, Ethical Dilemmas, Swearing, Mentions of Drugging/Mind altering effects, Mentions of blood/drawing blood (Let me know if I missed anything!)

---

Virgil snarled as he turned the corner of the empty hallway. Two paper bags hung from his hand as he turned on his heel, cutting the corner short as he stalked his path through the warehouse. His anxiety ached in his chest as the door in front of him flew open against the wall.

He didn’t miss the way the man across the room flinched at the sound of the door slamming into the wall. Though to his credit, he didn't try to scurry out of Virgil’s way as he approached. He simply remained stock still, submissively staring at the ground as Virgil leered down at him.

“Look at me.”

The guy's shoulders tensed, but he tipped his head up to meet Virgil’s gaze without hesitation. Virgil didn’t miss the glimmer of anger that flickered in the man's dark eyes as he lifted his head, but any inclination of rebellion immediately went up in smoke as Virgil bared his teeth down at him.

“I'm going to make this quick.” Virgil hissed as he slid forward, hands curling around the man's collar as he growled down at him. “but whether or not this painful is entirely up to you. Got it?”

Logan flinched at the sound of his growl, nodding a stiff affirmation as Virgil released his collar.

“Why aren’t the police out looking for you?” Virgil’s voice cut through the silence as the man's eyes shot up to him.

Logan’s face suddenly drained of color as he stared up in Virgil in shock. His mouth dropped open as he stuttered out a response. “W-what?”

“Don't play dumb.” Virgil snarled, looming as Logan trembled. “Janus heard your pretty friend say you'd planned for this to happen.”

“I didn't—”

“These answers already aren't working for me.” Virgil curled his shoulders forward as he circled around Logan’s back. The scent of adrenaline filled the air as he disappeared from the man's periphery and Virgil grinned, feeling his canines extend as the man sputtered out a response.

“It's not what you think—”

“Then, explain,” Virgil hissed. His voice dripped with a dispassionate venom as he leaned into Logan’s ear, sending shivers down the man’s spine. “and do it before I lose my patience with you.”

“I didn’t know Roman would actually follow through on what I asked him to do.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow at the tremor in the man's voice. “And what was the pretty boy supposed to do?”

“I was upset—” Logan’s breath hitched in his throat. “—I needed to know Patton would be safe, if something happened to me.”

“Keep going.” Virgil leaned into Logan’s ear from behind him. He rested a hand on Logan’s shoulder, sneering as Logan winced at the contact.

“Please—”

Virgil tightened his grip on Logan’s shoulder, feeling the man curl his shoulders in discomfort as Virgil breath lingered in his ear.

“Okay—” Logan forced out an affirmation as he struggled to contain the panicked breaths rising in his throat. “—Okay. I've been trying to get custody of my brother for almost two years.” He mumbled, relaxing slightly as Virgil dropped his hand from his neck and stepped back, lingering behind him. “I wasn't handling being kept away from him well and Roman helped me.”

“How?”

“He—” Logan sucked in breath, casting a cautious glance over his shoulder. “I wasn't allowed to see my brother, and on the nights when I was weaker, Roman had to talk me through whatever spiral I’d fallen into. Sometimes that meant talking through what would happen to Patton if something happened to me.”

Virgil hummed, circling back around front of Logan. “You asked him to keep it a secret if you went missing to keep your brother safe?”

Logan swallowed nervously and nodded. “The police would alert my father, and if he managed to get Patton back, we wouldn’t have another chance until he turned eighteen.” Logan released a breath as his captor stood in front of him, leaning against one of the crates as he pondered the new information. “Still, it was an agreement Roman made under duress. Given the circumstances, I couldn’t be sure he'd follow through.”

Virgil huffed, crossing his arms as he eyed the man in front of him. “Is there anything else you’d like to share?”

“If Roman sticks to our plan, he'll call my job and resign for me if he doesn’t hear from me in three days.” Logan's eyes darkened as he bowed his head to Virgil. “This should only benefit you. No one’s coming for me and it's unlikely that you’ll be caught.”

Virgil chewed his lip as Logan sank back on his ankles. He hesitated, staring at the despondent look on Logan's face as the fluorescent light flickered above them. Silence hung between them for a moment before Virgil decided he was satisfied. He snagged one of the paper bags off the crate behind him and carefully dropped it in front of Logan.

“Eat,” Virgil mumbled, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he turned back to his crate. “I don't need Emile thinking I'm neglecting you.”

“E-Emile?”

Virgil hesitated at the tremor in the man's voice. He turned his head over his shoulder and his eyes traced down the man kneeling in front of him. The man trembled, dropping his head to his chest as he avoided Virgil’s gaze.

“Relax,” Virgil watched Logan carefully as his eyes flitted up to him. “He's a doctor.”

“A d-doctor?”

Virgil blinked as the man stuttered, watching a glistening streak run down the man's face. “Hey—”

“What are you going to do to me?” The man's voice cracked as the words poured from his lips and the light glistened on his face as tears suddenly streaked down his face.

“Nothing.” Virgil managed to squeeze out. He watched in shock as Logan pursed his lips, nodding stiffly as he edged back into the wall.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I—”

“Emile is only going to check your health. You’re going to be fi—” Virgil’s wide-eyed statement ended abruptly as a knock interrupted his thought.

“Virgil?”

“Come over here, Em.” Virgil sighed, reluctantly turning away from the man in front of him.

“Hey, Virge. I—” The man in the tan sweater vest stopped short of the full distance as he caught sight of Logan. “Oh.”

“Don't freak, Em.” Virgil held a hand out to him, gesturing subtly at Logan. “You’re not going help anyone by getting upset.”

Emile's body tensed as he glared at Virgil. His eyes flitted down to Logan curled against the wall before turning to Virgil with a disapproving glance as he adjusted his glasses. “He does not appear to be doing well, Virgil.”

“We hit a bump in our communication, Em. That's all.” Virgil reassured him, skin prickling on the back of his neck as he heard Logan look up behind him. He slowly turned his head back to the man trembling on his knees before him, locking his eyes on the man as he slowly knelt down to eye level. “I was just reassuring our guest that you are here to perform a simple physical exam. Nothing invasive today.”

“Nor any other day, Virgil.” Emile growled from behind him.

Virgil could almost feel the waves of anger rolling off him as Virgil reached up at the wet streaks on the man's face. Gently, he wiped away the tears from Logan's face. The man winced, but didn't pull away, allowing Virgil to wipe the wetness from his face. “Whatever you might think of me, I'm not a liar. Cooperate and no one will hurt you. I promise.”

“Virgil, may I have a word?” Emile’s carefully tempered voice sounded like it might shatter under the pressure of the emotions he was clearly holding back.

“Do your exam and then we can talk, Emile.” Virgil stated dryly as he stood and turned back to Emile.

“Fine. Then leave,” Emile growled bitterly after a moment of staring at him. He quickly stepped past Virgil toward Logan, glaring over his shoulder at Virgil as he took a step toward the exit. “and expect to get an earful when I come out for you.”

“Thank you, Em.” Virgil whispered gratefully as he took a step towards the door, bowing his head. “I’ll be just outside the—”

“Wait.” Logan’s weak protest pulled Virgil's attention from Emile as he looked up to see the human staring intently at him. “We made a deal. You said if I did what you wanted, you'd tell me about Patton.”

Virgil stalled, lost at the sight of pleading in Logan’s eyes. He bit his lip as Emile turned back to him with a serious expression, but he ignored his friend. Instead, he kept his gaze trained on the man staring up at him. “Allow Emile to complete his exam without issue and I will give you news of your brother.”

Logan whimpered as Virgil turned on his heel toward the door, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he went.

“Don't go far, Virgil.” Emile’s deadpan voice stopped him in his tracks. “I still want a word after this.”

Virgil glanced over his shoulder at the barely concealed tension in Emile’s eyes. “I'll be outside when you’re done, Em. Just come find me.”

---

Emile stared after Virgil in disbelief as he staggered out of room before quietly turning to the man cowering beneath him. He frowned, feeling an ache in his chest as the man dipped his head submissively away from him.

Taking his time, Emile lowered himself to the ground, sitting a few feet away from the stranger. He could feel the man's eyes following his movement bit he pretended not to notice, pulling out his notebook from his bag. Careful not to make any sudden movements, he pulled out a pen and jotted down a few cursory notes.

“Okay. Let's start easy, kiddo. I'll make this—"

A sharp intake of breath stopped his words in his tracks. Emile glanced up, heart sinking as the man's chin immediately dropped to his chest. He watched as the man tucked his shaking hands out of sight, still avoiding Emile’s eyes.

“Is something bothering you?”

“I'm fine.”

Emile frowned. The guy’s response came a little too quickly for his comfort. “Are you sure?”

“I'll do whatever you ask. I swear.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Emile whispered gently, staring as the man's eyes filled with desperation.

“I'm sorry. I can do better—"

“Don’t be. You're doing just fine.” Emile waved him off gently. “I'm not going to hold anything you do against you. Though, I would prefer to know what is causing your discomfort, so I may avoid doing so in the future.”

Logan eyed him suspiciously not quite sure what to make of the man sitting in front of him. After a long minute, he dipped his head with a quiet whisper. “I just want to cooperate with you.”

“Telling me what's bothering you helps me do my job. I can assure that you are being cooperative by doing so.” Emile let out a sad sigh at the desperate look in the man's eyes. “Whatever Virgil promised you, you'll still get it if you tell me what's bothering you. I'll make sure of it.”

The man looked at him skeptically and Emile didn’t miss the quick flick of the man's eyes to the door Virgil had left through before he answered. “I'd prefer not to be referred to as kiddo, if it's not a hassle.”

“Not at all.” Emile smiled gently at the kid as some of the tension seemed to leave his shoulders. “Is there a name you’d prefer for me call you?”

“Logan.”

“It's nice to meet you, Logan.” Emile whispered gently. “I wish our meeting were under different circumstances, but—"

Emile faltered as Logan looked up at him for the first time. Behind the disheveled hair, he could see the distant look in the kid’s eyes and something about his expression gave Emile pause. After a long moment of staring, he realized that Logan seemed to be waiting on him for direction and he dipped his head to his notepad briefly before turning back up to the kid.

“Is there anything else you’d like me to know before we begin?”

Logan seemed to hesitate for a moment. His eyes seemed to tip up cautiously as if gauging the truthfulness of Emile’s statement before dropping his eyes to the ground. “M-my neck is tender. I'd prefer to minimize contact there, if possible.”

“Oh. Sure thing, kid—Logan.” Emile stuttered uncertainly as he sat up. Still keeping his distance, he leaned to get a better look. “I—uh, don’t see any puncture marks. Just some faint bruises. Did you hurt yourself?”

“Sort of.” Logan evaded, raising a hand to brush along his throat.

The quick, look Logan shot towards where Virgil left from was all the answer Emile needed to guess what had caused the kid's injury. A pit of anger boiled in his stomach at the indication, but he plastered a sweet smile on his face, taking a deep breath. He was beyond anger, but he’d be damned if he was going to contribute to this poor kid's misery.

“Would you like to eat while we continue?”

“What?” Logan’s eyes clouded with confusion as Emile gestured to the bag of food on the floor next to him.

“I assume that’s something Virgil brought you to eat.” Emile smiled reassuringly. “The first part of the process is just me asking you questions about your health history, so it's perfectly okay if you want to eat during that time.”

Logan hesitated. “I can wait.”

“Honestly, I wouldn’t recommend it. Fast food tacos tend to become less appetizing with each minute that passes. You really should eat them before they get soggy.” Emile smiled apologetically as the kid still hesitated, torn with indecision. “It is, of course, your choice still, but that is my recommendation.”

“Okay.” Logan whispered as he hesitantly reached for the paper bag.

“Great,” Emile beamed as he slowly jumped to his feet, patting the crate beside him. “Why don’t you come sit up here and eat while I ask you some questions?”

“Sure.” Logan replied cautiously, rising to his feet as he moved to sit where Emile had indicated. He was still reserved as he moved, but Emile could see he seemed to be accepting that he wasn’t in any immediate danger.

Emile smiled, backing away a few feet as Logan sat down on the crate and pulled out an individually wrapped taco from his bag. Emile frowned at the pungent smell of grease, but Logan seemed undisturbed, quickly picking at the taco until it was gone.

“So, Logan.” Emile continued, eyeing the man curiously as his attention seemed distracted. “Do you smoke?”

“No.”

“Good.” Emile watched the kid swallow his food before moving on. “How about drinking?”

“Never."

“You were never curious?” Emile whispered with curiosity as the man shrugged.

“Not particularly.” Logan stated dryly, not looking up at him. “I prefer not to inhibit my brain's functions.”

“Alright. That's good, Logan.” Emile blinked, relaxing slightly as the kid started to open up. “though I still have to ask if you've used recreational drugs?”

The kid froze at that question, staring at the taco in his hand. He seemed to deflate, dropping his food to his lap as he mumbled out a response. “Define recreational.”

“Illegal drugs or prescription medications that didn’t belong to you.” Emile watched the kid carefully as his nervousness started to show. “There’s no wrong answers. I can’t exactly turn you over to the police, Logan. These questions are purely for your safety.”

Logan looked up at him cautiously and swallowed, nodding subtly. “Then, yes. I have used drugs in the past.”

“What did you take?”

“Adderall.”

Emile frowned as the kid tensed, staring at the ground. “I take it you were not using it to regulate ADHD.”

“No, I got it from a friend.” Logan's hands trembled as he avoided Emile’s eyes. “I used it to help me study when I was in school and later to focus when I interned for my father at his firm."

“You must have been very stressed to have turned to drugs to keep up with your workload,” Emile prompted as Logan turned back to his food. He frowned as the kid nodded quietly. “but you stopped?”

“I've used it a few times since, but for the most part I stopped.” Logan crumpled the wrapper in his hand, tossing it into the paper bag.

Emile bit his lip at the monotone in Logan’s voice. He could feel the kid growing distant as they talked. “Did you ever talk to your father about your stress?”

Logan huffed as a bitter smile curled on his lips. “He would not have appreciated hearing of my weakness.”

“It’s not a weakness to ask for help.” Emile replied automatically, but the kid simply shrugged, unconcerned. “What about your mother?”

“She was too far gone on her own cocktail of drugs to be concerned with my problems.”

Emile’s chest ached as the kid set aside the empty paper bag and stared at his lap. “Have you ever spoken to a therapist about this?”

“That hardly seems like it would matter now.” Logan mumbled, casting a cautious glance up at Emile. “But no. My parents didn't believe in that kind of medicine.”

“And you?”

“The evidence is compelling.” Logan pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged on the crate underneath him. “I’d like to believe it could have helped.”

“Sometimes, simply talking about your feelings makes it easier to handle them.” Emile smiled reassuringly as he took a step forward, resting a hand gently on Logan’s shoulder. “We don't have to push any further on that. Shall we just continue on?”

Logan tipped his head up nervously, biting his lower lip as he nodded.

---

The rest of Emile's exam went smoothly. With a bit of coaxing, he was able to convince Logan to allow him to check his breathing and heart rate without causing the kid any significant distress. His reflexes were good and he didn't appear sick. Even the bruising on his neck seemed minimal as far as the damage that was actually done. In fact, the kid seemed to be in overall good health save for one other detail Emile had noticed.

“We’re almost there, Logan. I only have one more question for you.” Emile stated seriously as he stopped in front of the kid.

“Okay.” Logan’s voice was tired and he’d given up any pretense of being evasive at this point.

“Please forgive my prying questions. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t relevant to the issue at hand.” Emile sighed as Logan looked up at him with a suddenly guarded expression. “Judging from what I was able to feel when I used my stethoscope, I believe it is safe to assume that you are significantly underweight.”

Logan swallowed nervously and nodded. “I don't disagree with that statement."

“Alright.” Emile tipped his head to him and gestured to the empty fast-food bag next to Logan. “Clearly, your appetite is not the issue, so I have to ask. Did you have some food insecurity issues where you were living before?”

“No,” Logan chewed his lip at the skeptical look in Emile’s eyes and he dropped his gaze to the ground. “Access to food was never the problem. I just prefer to have extra cash on hand in case something goes wrong.”

Emile’s lip twitched into a frown as he stared sympathetically at Logan. Every word that passed the kid’s lips only seemed to sink his heart deeper into his chest. “Is Virgil bringing you enough food now?”

“What he brings me is more than sufficient for my caloric needs,” Logan responded quietly, quickly adding on before Emile could interrogate him further. “and I'm eating far more than I would on my own.”

Emile held his breath for a moment before letting out a long sigh of resignation. “Okay."

“Okay?” Logan glanced up, clearly skeptical at being let off that easy.

“Yes. If nothing else, I'm going to discuss the quality of the food he's bringing you, but I'm glad to hear you’re eating.” Emile's exasperation faded to a gentle smile. “I'm going to go speak to Virgil and I won't probably see you for a day or two. Is there anything you’d like me to bring you when I return?”

Logan looked taken aback by his offer, but he shook his head. “I don’t need anything.”

Emile let out a breath at the kid's automatic response. “Perhaps not, but surely there's something you want. I imagine you get bored during the day when you’re alone.”

Logan blinked, still hesitating at the offer as Emile smiled reassuringly at him. “Um, books would be nice.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Honestly, I'd read the dictionary at this point.”

“I'll bring a variety then.” Emile chuckled as Logan let a small smile spread across his face for the first time since they'd met. He stood up off the crate he was leaning on and paused, looking at the kid earnestly as he turned to leave. “It was nice to meet you, Logan. Again, I wish it were under better circumstances, but I’m glad to have had the opportunity all the same.”

Logan was silent for a moment, but as Emile turned towards the door the kid's whisper stopped him.

“I don’t understand why you’re helping him.”

Emile glanced over his shoulder at the crestfallen look on Logan’s face before turning back. “I know you’re scared, and you want a simple answer to why this is happening, but the truth is there isn't one. We're all just trying to survive here.”

He could almost feel the kid's disappointment as he stepped toward the exit and he smiled weakly back at him.

“You’re going to be okay, Logan. I promise.”

---

Emile gritted his teeth as turned out of the room. He turned to see Virgil leaning against the wall down the hall, flashing a glare at him that could cut glass. He could see Virgil’s shoulders slump as he approached.

“Please, Em. Not you too.”

“I agreed to help you,” Emile snapped. “not to enable you to brutalize that poor kid.”

“Brutalize—” Virgil growled defensively. “—I haven’t touched him.”

Emile snarled. Instinctively, his canines extended as his eyes glowed a dull red. “Do you expect me to believe he bruised his own neck?”

“Oh—Yeah, okay.” Virgil held up a finger up as he made himself small in front of Emile. “That—that was an accident.”

“You don’t choke someone out on accident, Virgil.” Emile hissed as he loomed over Virgil.

“He fucking snarled at Janus and I lost my temper.” Virgil’s voice cracked as he dipped his head, shadows darkening around his eyes. “I haven't fed in weeks, Em. I can't help how protective I get around Janus, but I know now that I should’ve been more careful and kept my distance but I didn't. It won't happen again.”

Emile’s expression faltered slightly as he stared down at Virgil. “Virge—”

“I don't want to fucking hurt him, Em.” Virgil muttered as he slid down the wall. “I don’t fucking want any of this, but the world just fucking loves to screw me over.”

“Virgil,” Emile whispered. “He is terrified of you.”

“Yeah, I scared the shit out of him. The last thing I need is for my problems to blow back on you and Janus because I couldn’t keep control of that bastard.” Virgil hissed. “That doesn’t mean I'm enjoying any of this.”

Emile paused hesitantly, shaking his head in disappointment. “Virge—"

“It’s not fair. You and Janus are both so happy to get up on your soapbox and lecture me about how shitty I am but you don't get it.” Virgil yelled. His eyes glistened in the light as he held back tears. “You never have to worry about going without because you can always your husband. Janus can just drag any guy he likes home, feed on them and they can go home none the wiser. Do you remember what happened to the last guy I fed off of?”

“Virgil, you don't get to hurt him just because you’re hurting.” Emile chided him lightly. “You already took him away from his life. He doesn’t deserve to be your punching bag on top of that.”

"I only wanted to scare him, Em. I swear I didn't mean for him to get hurt.” Virgil muttered. “I just can't have him trying to escape. I’d never forgive myself if you or Janus got hurt because of my problems.”

“Terrorizing him emotionally is still hurting him, Virgil.”

Virgil sighed as he stood up and staggered over to the dark window, leaning against the frame. “I know.”

“—and you need to bring him real food. He can't subsist forever on that junk you’re bringing him now.”

“I know. I will.”

“—and I want to see him regularly.”

“Em, please don’t get attached. You know what's going to happen when I finally feed off of him.” Virgil sighed. “He's either going to turn into another zombie thrall to my every whim or he's going to lose his mind entirely. Such is the nature of my stupid fucking curse.”

“Perhaps there's another way.” Emile whispered quietly.

“Well, damn Em.” Virgil muttered, running his fingers through his dark hair. “I'm all ears for another fucking solution.”

“The donated blood—”

“I can't keep doing that.” Virgil sighed. “Every unit of blood I steal is another person that could be going home to their family. That’s the whole point of me bringing this guy here, Em. This way I'm only stealing one person away from their life.”

“I know, but—”

“Not to mention, he is the person that put Janus and I in this situation to begin with.” Virgil pointed back to the room where Logan was being held. “He's not exactly blameless in all this mess."

“I can draw his blood.” Emile sputtered out without thinking.

“What?” Virgil looked up at his friend curiously as he shifted his feet nervously in front of him.

“If I draw his blood, your curse will not affect him.” Emile stated plainly, trying to sound firm as he crossed his arms. “He can keep his awareness and you still get to feed.”

Virgil sighed, stepping off the wall to stand closer to Emile. He dropped his voice, speaking empathetically to his friend. “Do you really think he wants to be aware that he's never going to see his brother again?”

Emile was quiet, staring back at him with resistance in his eyes.

“Seriously, the guy's in a shit situation. The least I can do take away his pain.” Virgil reasoned softly, feeling his breath catch in his throat. “I hate enthralling people but it's blissful. He won’t feel a thing.”

“He should have a choice.” Emile sighed.

“Fine. Then, give him one.” Virgil raised an eyebrow as Emile looked up at him. “If you want to commit to a lifetime of drawing that guy's blood, be my guest—”

“Okay.”

“But—” Virgil held up a finger to Emile as his expression turned stern. “—You will give him both options. I won't have you prolonging his suffering because of your own guilt. Got it?”

“Very well, Virgil. You have a deal.” Emile nodded, dipping his head in thought. “However, that decision will have to wait. He's not able to give blood yet.”

“Emile—” Virgil groaned.

“You asked for my professional opinion.” Emile interrupted him. “The kid's weight is too low. There could be complications if we draw blood now."

“Are you serious?” Virgil’s heart sank as Emile nodded reluctantly. “How long, Em?”

“Once he's been on a stable diet for a few weeks, we can attempt to take a small amount.” Emile stated plainly. “If he tolerates that well, we can consider taking more at that point.”

“Weeks…” Virgil breathed, feeling panic rise in his throat. I can’t wait weeks. It already hurts so much. I-I'll lose my—”

“Relax, Virgil. We'll find a way to get you by until then.” Emile put a hand on Virgil’s chest as his breath became unsteady. “I haven't fed off of Elliot in a while. I'm certain he'd be more than willing to let me draw his blood for you.”

Virgil leaned up, blinking in shock at Emile. “You’re really just going offer your husband’s blood like it’s nothing?”

“I'm not going to let you starve, kid,” Emile smiled as Virgil curled his arms around him. “and Elliot wouldn’t want one of his favorite students suffering anyway.”

“Thank you, Em.”

“I expect you to treat that kid in there better from here on out.”

“I will.” Virgil pulled away slightly, not quite letting go as he looked down at Emile apologetically. “I promise I’ll make him comfortable. I'm sorry, Em.”

“Don’t apologize. Just make it right. I'll be quick, okay?” Emile smiled sadly at the gratitude in Virgil’s eyes. “Probably can be back within an hour or two.”

“Thank you.” Virgil’s dark hair fell away from his eyes as he poured his gratitude out to Emile. “God, Em. Seriously, I can't thank you enough —Please, I’m so sorry—”

“Hey, now.” Emile curled his arms around Virgil as the makeup under his eyes ran down his face. “It's okay—”

“Please, don’t hate me.” Virgil cried as Emile clung to him tightly. “I don’t want to be this person, Em.”

“Never, Virgil.” Emile whispered as tears brimmed in his eyes. “I know you’re just trying to survive. There’s no easy answer here.”

Virgil nodded, gradually releasing Emile from his grip as he forced himself to find some level of composure. “Thank you—”

“Hush, now. You don’t have to thank me.” Emile smiled as he pulled away. “You’re going to be okay. Please, just go give that kid whatever you promised him. I'll be back before you know it. Okay?”

“Okay.” Virgil breathed, feeling lighter as he nodded at Emile. “Okay, I will.”

“Good.” Emile smiled as he turned to go. “I'll be back as soon as I can.”

---

Logan winced as the door opened behind him. His heart jumped in his chest as he shot upright, realizing he was still sitting on the crate as the footsteps approached. It was too late for him to move back to the ground so he bowed his head, hoping that would be enough to appease the man.

He shivered as his captor circled his left side to face him, sending a prickling anticipation down his body as the man eyed him up and down. Logan took a breath, tensing as the man let out a long sigh and shoved his hands into the pockets of his purple sweatshirt.

“You seem to make a strong first impression.” The man drew out his words slowly, still eyeing him carefully. “I don't think I've ever seen Emile that mad. I never thought I'd see the day where he actually yelled at me.”

Logan swallowed, feeling sick with fear as the man stared at him. “I'm sorry. I didn’t mean to upset him—”

“Hey, relax.” The man looked up, holding up a hand to stop panicked rambling. He paused, his expression guarded as Logan lifted his head. “Emile was right to be upset.”

Logan tensed, watching as the man chewed his lip. His black hair fell over his eyes casting shadows on his pale face. For the first time, Logan could make out the black streaks marked his face as the man stared him down.

“You’re stuck here. There’s no getting around that,” The man let out a long breath. “but you've been cooperative. So, I'm not inclined to make you miserable.”

Logan dropped his head, drawing on the last of his bravery to speak up. “M-my brother. Is he—”

“He's fine.” His captor paused as Logan let out a choked breath. He watched Logan, sounding hesitant as he continued. “The kid made it to your pretty friend. Safe and sound. Janus is going to watch them for a few days and make sure nothing else goes sideways with your father.”

Logan nodded, bringing his fist to his lips as he struggled to conceal his relief. He sucked in a sharp breath as he forced his voice to be steady. “Thank you. Do—”

The man raised an eyebrow as Logan glanced up at him, immediately swallowed back his question as he made eye contact.

“What?”

“Do I get any more details?” Logan shivered as the man's intense stare turned to him and he dropped his gaze. “If there’s a cost, I'll pay it—"

“No.”

Logan sucked in a breath, disappointed at the man’s quick response, but he continued to dip his head submissively. “Okay.”

“No. That's not—I meant there's no cost.”

Logan froze, cautiously tipped his head up. The man was running a hand through his dark hair, staring down at him. The man’s demeanor had changed from before but Logan couldn’t quite place the man’s emotions.

“I'm not going to fucking punish you for actually giving a shit about your little brother.”

Logan stared blankly at his captor, unsure how to process the man’s sudden change. He dipped his head as the man's shoulders slumped and he turned back to him.

“Last I heard, your friend had put the kid to bed.” Virgil offered hesitantly. “That’s all I know for now, but when Janus returns, you can ask him whatever you like. Good enough?”

“There’s no cost?” Logan asked quietly. He barely dared to lift his head, not wanting to give the man a reason to change his mind.

“No cost.” The man confirmed once again, drawing a relieved breath from Logan as he continued. “I—I can't let you go, but if you continue to cooperate, I'll guarantee the kid's safety. Janus will check on him periodically and give you updates for as long as you ask.”

“If I cooperate, Patton will be safe from my father?” Logan asked cautiously, considering his words.

“He couldn’t be any safer with Janus around,” Virgil nodded. “and from what I gather, Janus is already defensive of the kid. Your father will be lucky if he doesn’t find himself dead in a ditch if he tries anything.”

“Good.” Logan muttered bitterly. He glanced up, refusing to be ashamed as the man raised an eyebrow at his reaction. Fortunately, he didn’t seem inclined to press further. Logan let out a long breath, feeling the weight of his captor’s offer as he resigned himself to his fate. “My only concern is Patton’s safety. If you keep your word, I won't resist you, but—” Logan hesitated as he timidly negotiated with his kidnapper. “—but I would like proof that Patton is safe.”

“Done." Virgil reached over and grabbed the other paper bag he’d brought in earlier. He tossed it to Logan who glanced down at it, frozen with shock at the man' agreement. “That’s a change of clothes if you want them. You can change while I figure out a better place for you to sleep.”

Logan's fingers curled around the paper bag and he nodded, responding automatically. “Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t call me that.” The man groaned as Logan flinched at the command, softening his approach. “Please.”

Confused, Logan looked up at the man's sudden concession. He blinked, taking in the strange look of anxiety in the man’s eyes as he stared back at him.

“You can call me Virgil.”

Logan nodded stiffly, tipping his eyes away at the man's agitation.

“—or don’t. I don't care.” Virgil muttered. “Just please, nothing else. Okay?”

Virgil waited for Logan to nod his affirmation before turning to the door. He paused, thinking for a moment before straightening up. “Good. Um—stay here, I guess. I’ll be back for you when I figure something out.”

He didn’t wait for Logan’s confirmation before turning to the door, locking it behind him as he left Logan staring after him, struggling to process what had just occurred.

---

General Taglist

@somehow-i-got-an-account @justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck

I Know What You’re Going To Say Taglist:

@theoddkidnextdoor @ace-in-a-shopping-cart @im-actually-ok @justanoymous @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @hope340

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts virgil #ts logan #ts emile #analogical #slow burn analogical #emile picani #unsympathetic virgil #questionable virgil #tw violence #tw captivity #tw food #tw blood mention #tw malnourishment #I Know What You're Going To Say #villain writes

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bookersebastien · 3 years

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the little mermaid!au with quynh as ariel and andy as her princess (if you imagined the other way around it's cool too, i just think i need to send an ask to make you write). ily don't hate me 🥰

(asjkdsa i could never hate you, but i love how you send this to make me write it, a loving push if you will. but yes andy is the princess quynh saves for this ficlet, enjoy my love 💕)

the ocean cannot have you

She remembered the nights she used to come to the surface as a child, giggling with her sisters and making up stories about the constellations, telling strange tales about the humans that roamed the seas in their ships. It was all jokes then, about how they so desperately wished to travel the ocean yet with their legs it was impossible; Quynh felt a kinship with them, though she instead wished for legs of her own to explore the lands she’s only heard rumors about.

Tonight she made her way to the surface again, her insatiable curiosity as a child had only grown and she made time to observe humans any chance she could, even if that meant skipping out on a few hours sleep. The water was cool and dark around her, comforting yet sometimes it felt as if the currents were pulling her back, ghosts of drowned sailors trying desperately to keep her in the depths, but the fresh air once she broke the surface was well worth any sleep she might be missing.

The stars were bright tonight, not a cloud in sight, a smattering of diamonds scattered across a sky as dark as the sea itself; a shining, yet distorted, reflection, a world she knew and the one she wanted to get to know.

It was a rare sight to see ships, she’d spent many nights, and what little daytime hours she could sneak away, waiting and watching the horizon for even the slightest peek at passing boats, the sight of their sails rippling in the wind always tugging at her sense of adventure, begging to be set free upon the world, face tilted up at the sun and feet on the ground.

So tonight she counted herself lucky when a grand ship floated into view, the deck lit up with the soft glow of lanterns, the sound of voices and music carrying across the calm waters, the high tempoed beat accompanied by shouting and the rousing stomping of feet. She gazed up in wonder as it grew closer, eyes transfixed by the way the humans moved along the deck with ease, feet allowing them to hop and twist along to the music, she could see the instruments being played, things with strings whose sounds were earthy and bright, resonating deeply in the crisp air.

Cautiously she slipped closer, every warning about humans gone from her mind as she moved, utterly bewitched by the sight, the sailors faces plastered with wide grins and red cheeks as drinks were passed around, everyone taking large swigs from the bottles, not a glass in sight. Her eyes darted over to the corner of the ship, where a strange pile of objects lay and just as she wanted to move closer, a sailor came running over and picked up the bundle in his arms, words too slurred to make out from where she clung to the ship.

Propping them up along the bow, she had only a second to peruse through some theories before a booming sound shattered the joyful noise of the party. She dove under the water, eyes wide and fingers clutching at the wood of the ship so hard she felt it scrape at her fingertips, her breath coming in short gasps until she glanced up, seeing the sky lit up in dozens of different colors spraying across the sky, no longer dark but now bright and vibrant. She had to cover her mouth to stifle the giggle that rose from her throat, watching on with glee as the colors reflected back onto the water, blending together with the soft movement of the waves.

She peered back at the sailors, finding her excitement nearly matched as they cheered, holding up their drinks, that then sloshed onto the deck, but none of them seemed to care. It was a moment before she realized it wasn’t the display of colors they were cheering, but instead a person who emerged from amidst the group, joining in on the revelry and Quynh suddenly felt as if the earth had stopped moving.

The sight of the women before her caused her heart to flutter in her chest, a noiseless gasp escaping her lips. She was magnificent. She moved amongst the sailors with such an easy familiarity, dressed in slim black pants and a white shirt, that she could almost be mistaken for one of them, but it was her posture that gave her away. Quynh recognized the straight line of her shoulders and the slightest raise of her chin, she wore no clothing that revealed it, but Quynh knew she had to be royalty. And looking like that, she’d be hard pressed to find someone who disagreed.

Her movements commanded every bit of Quynh’s attention, soft yet purposeful strides that took her across the deck, swiping a bottle from the hand of a sailor who was swaying on his feet and without missing a beat, tilting her head back and belting along to the next song the musicians started up.

However, it was her eyes that had Quynh frozen in awe, lips parting slightly as she stared at their brilliant blue, putting any blue sky to shame the way they sparkled in the warm light. They held so much life, it was almost as if the entire sea itself was condensed into them, like the depths of the ocean, beckoning her into them, and Quynh had no desire to fight it.

She watched as she ran to bow, face painted with unreserved happiness, laughing into the wind with arms spread wide. Her reverie cut short as an older man rushed over to her, careful to pull her back from the edge with a disapproving glance, whispering something that made her pull a face at him before laughing and moving to grab hold of the ropes tied to the edge of the ship. Right next to where Quynh was hiding.

“Princess.” He sighed when she didn’t respond. “Andromache,” the man pleaded, “please be more careful.”

“Nothing is going to happen Charles, I just like the feeling of the ocean breeze.” She lifted her head then again, eyes closing while she took a deep breath and exhaled with a wild smile on her lips.

“Your father will not be happy that you didn’t take a liking to the prince.” His voice was more firm, but he made no move to grab her from the railing.

“Love cannot be forced.”

“Well it’s not always love that makes a marriage, you know.”

She looked back at him now, an unreadable expression in her eyes, before casting her glance back out to the sea; it was like she could see the very edge of the earth from where she was perched. “For me it is.”

Before he could say anymore, a flash of lightning shot across the sky followed by an angry burst of thunder that shook the entire sky. The ship trembling under Quynh’s fingers. It was barely a second before the full force of the sudden storm manifested itself on top of them, churning the dark waters, swirling dangerously and crashing against the ship with loud thuds.

Rippling in the wind, the sails flickered and snapped against the air, the crew scrambling to take them down, a sudden burst of sobriety overcoming them at the impending danger. She could do little but watch as the rain burst forth from the heavens, dark clouds releasing a torrent upon them, so heavy she could barely see in front of her. Everyone packed down supplies and took their spots across the ship, looking every bit like hardened sailors, faces moments ago laughing and singing now held determined stares and clenched jaws..

Andromache herself moved to the wheel, face hardened with a fierce determination as she gripped it tight and held it as steady as she could, her shirt soaked through and dark hair matted against her pale skin, arms straining with the effort to keep the ship upright. She stood tall against the wind, the look in her eyes could almost command the storm had she so desired, but in the end she was no match as a huge swell cascaded over the deck, dragging them off the ship with deadly swiftness, the boat groaning as it slowly tipped over into the water. Their screams cut off by the sounds of their bodies hitting the surface.

Quynh was thrown off the ship as it fell, hands scrabbling uselessly against the wood before she found herself underwater, watching as pieces from the ship hit the water around her; jagged pieces of wood and rope tangled together. Everything moved in slow motion for a moment, the debris sinking slowly into the ocean depths while she saw the crew members drag themselves to the surface, clinging to the pieces that managed to stay afloat, some scrambling into a small lifeboat a little ways away from her.

The princess was nowhere to be seen among those resurfacing, and the pained expressions on the sailors faces as their eyes scanned the water in the darkness confirmed her fear. She was still under.

Plunging under once again, she swam closer to where the ship was rapidly taking on water, suddenly reminded of an old ship wreck she’d explored years before. Everything had been taken over by kelps and corals, it was no longer a ship, it didn’t hold the same sense of anguish that swimming through this wreckage did; the way darkness curled around it, it felt more like a graveyard than a ship.

The lightning was still visible from this far down, it reflected off the occasional bottle or scrap of metal each time it struck, flashing in the peripherals of her vision. Her stomach twisted as she pushed away debris after debris, movements becoming frantic, her body protesting as she pushed herself faster and harder through the wreckage, desperation growing until she finally saw it.

Bright white, the sail was hard to miss, rippling and dancing along the currents, it would almost be beautiful if it wasn’t the thing dragging the princess to her death. Her face was deathly pale, eyes closed while the fabric pulled at her body like the hands of a vengeful ghost, determined for others to share the same fate at the bottom of the ocean.

Urging herself further, she carefully unwraps the canvas from her limbs, heart skipping a beat as her fingers brush over the skin of her neck, smooth and ice cold to the touch. Taking a deep breath, she ignores how her body feels against her as she winds her arms around her waist, hand clutched to the back of her head, threading faintly through the black strands, speeding towards the pale light that followed the now retreating storm.

Quynh wanted so badly to stop, to tell the princess not to worry, that she would be okay, but with the way she hung nearly lifeless in her arms she knew she had to keep going, praying silently to every god she could think of, hoping the ocean could show its mercy this time.

Time passed in a blur and soon a beach came into view, the warm colors of the sand a welcome break in the blue gloom that had settled in the sky, and she nearly cried in relief at the sight, gritting her teeth and pushing herself faster, ignoring how the princess’s clothes were weighed down by the water, instead just clutching her tighter and hoping she was fast enough.

The sand was smooth under her fingers as they gently released the princess to the ground, rolling her onto her back. She tucked her tail underneath her, hands hovering in the air over her face, unsure what to do now that they’d reached land, chest tightening as she watched for any signs of life, soon finding herself admiring the sharp angle of her cheekbones and the fullness of her lips, the color slowly coming back with the return of the sun, the clouds now chasing the horizon line, the storm nothing but a distant haze in the sky.

Everything was quiet, save for the sound of waves gently lapping against the shore and the sound of Quynh’s blood pumping in her ears, so loud she couldn’t even be sure she was hearing the waves at all.

A startled shout left her lips when she saw the faintest rise of her chest, pressing her ear quickly against her and letting out a loud breath. Her heartbeat was there, soft and slow, fighting it’s way back and Quynh felt like she could finally breathe, letting her own heartbeat slow in time with the princesses. And for the first time she finally realized how long it had been since she’d left her home, her family was probably worried, the morning sky a pale blue, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave, not as she watched the princess, her hand trailing slowly along her cheek, admiring the slight movement of her eyelashes at her touch.

She leaned in closer, her words barely there as the breeze seemed to steal them from her lips.

“Andromache,” she tested the taste of her name on her lips, reveling in the way it felt on her tongue, like honey and home, powerful like the sea but warm like the sand beneath her; it was almost like it belonged in her mouth, fated to speak it in this life or the next.

And just like that, her eyelids fluttered open, a brilliant flash of blue before she blinked the salt from her eyes, chest heaving as she took her first, full deep breaths. Quynh wanted so badly to rush closer, let her know the extent of her joy that she was okay, but quickly remembered herself and instead used the moment to slip back into the water, already missing the feeling of the warm breeze on her skin, the cold of the ocean not as refreshing as it once was. Now it stung, a reminder of what she couldn’t have.

She watched from a good distance away as a group of sailors, many of them she recognized as members of the sinking ship, rushed down the beach, screaming and shouting as they enveloped the princess in blankets, pulling her carefully to her feet.

Just as she was propped up, the princess’s gaze once again found the horizon and Quynh dared to dream it was her she was looking for, and as she swam back into the depths she couldn’t help but wish it was her eyes she was lost in instead.

#marwanckenzari #the old guard #tog fic #andromaquynh #andromache the scythian #quynh #usrbkrw #bea tag #userhegel #usertriz #swquser #demonicneonfishy #daniwouldnever #cant look at this anymore so here it is bea!#(lets pretend it didnt take me weeks to get around to it)#mistakes are bound to be in this still but ive read it too many times to notice

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