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ilikemesometaetaes · 3 years

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Don’t Hold Your Breath ~ jjk

Chapter Six (M)

•••> Author: @ilikemesometaetaes

•••> Summary: As the CEO of an international government security company, you have the world at your fingertips. Living life lavishly and extravagantly has become the norm. Behind closed doors, however, you host a past that renders you lonely and, quite frankly, miserable. It’s only a matter of time before your past comes back to bite you right in the ass.

•••> Pairing(s): Jungkook/Reader, Taehyung/Reader (slight)

•••> Inspo: This fic is inspired by the song “SAVAGE ANTHEM” by PARTYNEXTDOOR. Thank you to @dariangarcia, @btssmutgalore, and @junghoseokit for supporting my work. To my mamas, Kaitlin, Adora, Lauren, Lanie, Lu, and Sher.

•••> Word Count: 7.81k

•••> Rating: 18+

•••> Warnings: angst, dirty talk, sexual teasing, heartbreak, cursing, pining, depression, breakup, emotional instability, arguing | Warnings are written specifically to chapter.

Taglist: @dariangarcia @apurpledheart @itsgottabeyoo-ngs @hytibm @namjinsbaby @ggukkieland @fan-ati--c

If you’d like to be added to the taglist, say so in a comment to this chapter or the DHYB Main Page, or send me an ask!

NAVIGATION: Chapter Five (M) <- | -> Chapter Seven (M) -> Mini-Masterlist -> Series Masterlist

•••> Official Playlist

~#~

“I put the dirt into dirtbag. Still got your jacket in my bag.”

THEN.

“Kookie!” You screamed in between breaths, eyes watering at the struggle. “Stop! Please!”

“No way!” His laugh was buried in your hair as he pressed his face against the back of your head. “Apologize!”

“For what?” You wheezed, attempting to get away from the curling fingers that tickled your ribs relentlessly. His long legs were wrapped around your body, restricting your movement and effectively taking away almost any opportunity to escape.

“For calling me a singing demon!” His hands continued their assault, sending you into another laughing fit. You fought helplessly against his tattooed arms.

You wanted to bite back, but the lack of air in your lungs prevented you from doing so. Your heart beat wildly, adrenaline spiking and arms flailing against his grip. Desperation flooding your mind, you wrapped your hand around the one that caged your neck and dug your nails into his flesh in hopes that the pain would get him to weaken his hold.

Jungkook only laughed again and hummed teasingly. “Oh, just like that. Harder, baby.”

Squirming didn’t help much, but when you shifted your hips and felt something poking into your spine, you huffed with defeat on the horizon. His obvious boner signified that he liked your struggle- a clear indicator that there was no way he was letting you go any time soon.

Unless…

With another shift of your hips to grind your ass upwards on him, seating his dick between your clothed ass cheeks, you let the situation take over your body with your brain rewiring into a horny mindset in order to distract him.

“Jungkook,” You whispered through a gasp, hoping the change of pace would throw him off. It was a stunt you always pulled; whether it be during an argument or sex, changing the pace would unfocus your boyfriend’s attention and give you the upper hand.

Sure enough, Jungkook’s embrace around you loosened so that he could give himself more room to slide his manhood against you.

“Oh, baby...” He grunted into your ear with a sliver of surprise tainting his lust.

Slowly, so as to not trigger him, you slid one hand down his stomach and slid two fingers below the waistband of his shorts. With your body on top of him, you couldn’t go further inward, so you settled on harshly scraping your nails across his hip while you dug your other hand harder into his forearm.

“Please.” You said with more air in your lungs. Finally, you could breathe.

“Are you begging for me to fuck you?” His dick twitched against you, desperate to bury itself between your thighs. “Or are you pleading for mercy? Tell me, Y/N,”

Jungkook flipped the two of you over so that your chest pressed into the bed and his entire body pinned you to the mattress with a swift cant of his hips. “Which one is it?”

For a moment, you rolled your eyes and struggled to look at him from your compromised position. It wasn’t until your eyes caught sight of the numbers on the clock sitting on the nightstand that you began struggling with a new burst of concern in your mind.

“Jungkook!” You wheezed. “The time!”

“Answer my question, Y/N. I can stay here all night. The stage can wait.”

“But you’ll be late!” Your voice increased in volume.

“Only if you continue avoiding my question…” Jungkook trailed off for a moment before he leaned down to murmur softly in your ear. “Well, I’ll only be late if you refuse to let go of your pride to ask for mercy and beg for my cock instead. I will rearrange your guts if that is what you’re asking for.”

You huffed in frustration, the desire to fuck your boyfriend dissipating with his words. You knew that Jimin would be through the roof by now, searching high and low for the lead singer of BTS to dress him properly.

“Mercy.” You finally grumbled in defeat, not wanting to delay him any longer.

Almost disappointedly, Jungkook grunted as he removed his weight from on top of you. “Fine.”

“I’ll go turn on the car.” You got up and swiped the keys off of your dresser, thankful that you were still dressed in your internship clothes.

“You go do that.” Jungkook chuckled whilst sliding his shorts off of his body to reveal a very obvious boner tenting his boxers that you pretended to be oblivious of. “You’re a master at turning me on so I trust you with that.”

“Ew.” You grimaced at the poorly-delivered joke. “That was terrible.”

“No, it wasn’t. It was clever.” Jungkook chided.

“Not at all.” You quipped. After you watched him slide a pair of jeans up his muscular legs, you turned to leave. You just needed to make sure he got dressed. “I’ll be in the car.”

~#~

Jimin’s knowledge of art always mystified you. His prowess wasn’t the type of intelligence like knowing how Picasso depicted the loss of innocence in Guernica or how the melting clocks of Dali introduced surrealism to the world of art- no, that was Taehyung’s strong-suit.

Jimin knew how to create his own version of art that left viewers wistful and in absolute awe by making a stage the vessel of his masterpieces.

As you sat on the balcony, overlooking the crowd while they all thrashed and jumped to the beat of Hoseok’s bass drum and the duo of guitars that was Namjoon and Jungkook, you just had to sit back in your chair and stare at the composition that was Jimin’s show.

Flashes of blue and red lights swept across the crowd, printing themselves temporarily into the crowd’s retinas so that when the opposite color came back, a light hue of purple was brought into the experience for a fleeting moment. Short puffs of fire whenever Namjoon strummed a power chord warmed your face, even from the distance in which you sat from the stage, and lasers shot through the crowd every time Yoongi penetrated the sounds of his group with the keys of his keyboard.

Graphics on the jumbotron behind the band, which were also of Jimin’s creation, outlined each member with curls of dark, tentacle-like wisps that matched the purple hue of the crowd with its raven color.

The last song of the setlist, Blue and Grey, was one you were all too familiar with. The lights faded to a soft blue for a moment as Taehyung began the first strong notes with his bass and the crowd in the venue whooped and hollered in excitement- Blue and Grey was BTS’ most popular song. A year and a half into their journey of being a band and they already had a crowd favorite.

As Taehyung continued his bass line with his guitar and tattooed strumming arm put on display by Jimin’s spotlight, Jungkook leaned into the mic and began strumming his own guitar.

“Where is my angel?”

You sighed and leaned forward in your seat, loving the way Jungkook’s voice carried throughout the performance hall.

Taehyung accompanied Jungkook with the intro until Hoseok joined in to transition into the first verse with his high hat and snare drum.

Once the chorus hit, you couldn’t help but stand from your seat as you began to feel the power of BTS’ music rocking the venue.

“I just wanna be happier. To melt the cold me.”

Jungkook’s neck veins bulged from his skin as he belted out the notes, sweat dribbling down his temples from exertion. Even as he huffed for breath in between his lines, the image of him dressed in all black and owning the stage while ripping his fingers through his guitar strings was one you could never get tired of.

The songs were full of angst- the dark, unspoken feelings that not many people talked about- and you loved how you heard them from Jungkook through music. If only he were this honest when it was just the two of you.

“Don’t say it’s okay, ‘cause it’s not okay.” Jungkook closed up his lines with a heartbreaking tone that every fan in the crowd sang along with as Namjoon prepared to sing his part. For a brief moment, your boyfriend met your eyes across the large venue.

“Please don’t leave me alone. It hurts too much.”

~#~

NOW.

You walked into your building, grateful for the warm protection it offered against the freezing winter of New York City.

Noticing the lack of staff around, being that there was only the elevator operator and the receptionist sitting behind the marble counter, you glanced at your watch to check just how long you spent working.

20:17, your watch read. You had been working in front of computer screens and reading contracts for almost 9 hours.

“Greetings, ma’am!” The receptionist stood from his chair. “May I be of any service to you this evening?”

You shook your head to the man and continued on your path to the elevator where the other employee in the lobby waited to take you up. “None needed. I’ll be leaving momentarily.”

“Very well. Please let me know if you need anything.” He sat back down and turned his gaze to the computer in front of him.

The sound of your pumps echoed against the vast but empty room until you stopped in front of the elevator where the woman already had the doors opening in preparation.

“Good evening, ma’am.” She said lowly.

“ ‘Evening.” You responded, stepping inside without another word. The woman kept the conversation at that, which you appreciated, so you smiled at her in gratitude after you placed your key in the penthouse slot. She returned your smile with her own before the doors closed to encase you in silence.

The ride up was quiet, warranting you to pull out your phone so that you could read over your conversation with Taehyung again.

Why am I wearing think socks? I hate thick socks.

Read at 8:01 pm

Trust me. You’ll regret it if you don’t.

Is that so? Why?

Read 8:03 pm

Just wear the damn socks, Y/N.

Are you gonna tell me where we’re going?

Read 8:04 pm

Negative, captain

Why am I a captain now

Read 8:04 pm

Cuz I said so. Now stop talking or you’ll make me give away my position

Alright.

Read 8:05 pm

I said stop talking

…?

Read 8:05 pm

Fucking hell.

You let a small giggle slip past your lips at how normal the text conversation was. It was as if you never stopped talking to him, slipping into the normalcy of having Taehyung back in your life as quickly as it had been to cut him out of it. You zoned out for a moment in thought.

The strange sensation of friendship didn’t take any getting used to as it settled itself back into your bones and filled your heart with warmth like it never left- like the ice covering the beating organ was only temporary. As you stood alone, staring shallowly at the increasing floor numbers, you smiled in content.

The elevator slowed as the cabin came close to reaching the top floor, bringing you back to your senses. Sliding your phone back into the pocket of your slacks, you looked up once the elevator doors opened, only to drop your briefcase to the floor loudly.

Jungkook sat against the wall beside your door with his knees tucked under his chin and his arms wrapped around his legs. At the sound of your clumsiness clattering on the ground, his gaze snapped to you as he scrambled to stand up.

Anger flooded you immediately. You wanted to backhand him and rip his hair out. You wanted to scream and cry and lose your shit. However much you wanted to hurt him, though, you could not afford catching an assault charge on the man who defaced you once before.

There was a break of silence as you stood staring at him, unsure of how to handle the punch in your mood while the memories were forced to surface in your mind.

“Y/N…” Jungkook trailed, breaking the tangible barrier of tension. He took a step forward whilst obviously hesitating. “I-”

Instead of screaming at him, you went for the more sophisticated and controlled route to keep your lividity at bay whilst stopping his sentence in its tracks.

“How did you get up here?” It was a sensible question to ask. You just wanted to prevent him from deepening the conversation.

“I pulled some strings.” He murmured, looking down almost shyly, before piping up with more confidence. “But listen, I-”

“Save it.” You cut him off again, unable to control your facade much longer. “Get the fuck out of my face.”

His anxious expression turned worried- desperate. You didn’t miss the way his eyes became more expressive than you’ve ever seen them. “Please, Y/N.”

“Please what, Jungkook?”

“Please just give me a moment to speak.”

For a beat, you pondered his request. Taehyung’s words weighed heavily on your mind. We needed to talk.

Fuck talking. You have been done talking for ages.

“Wow.” You scoffed coldly, ice barriers slamming back into place over your heart. Taehyung had been able to melt them away, but Jungkook put them right back with fierce determination to completely ruin you. “You just want to take everything from me, huh?”

“Y/N, what-“ He blinked cluelessly, caught off-guard by your sarcasm.

“I gave you years to speak, Jungkook. I gave you everything.” You stepped forward, the boiling rage overtaking your body, and came to a stop in front of him with the fury of a charging bull. You wanted him to feel small and vulnerable.

“What else could I possibly give you? I have nothing left.” He took everything. The veins in your body were emptied and exhausted of every single ounce of energy to fight for someone.

You were unaware of the way Jungkook’s fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles turned white and his nails dug into his palms.

You failed to notice how much he trembled under your gaze, physically struggling to protect his butterfly from your wrath.

Your vicious swings at the dainty being of hope were nothing compared to what he, himself, had done to it. Jungkook found it ironic that you gave him an aspect that he was just barely strong enough to protect yet took the darker things from inside him and destroyed them as if they were mere placeholders- as if you were his puppeteer.

You were too stressed to realize the toll it took on Jungkook to keep his act together. He needed to keep the door open long enough to be your friend. Anything to prevent losing you. Earlier, his demons swooped in and overtook him, suffocating him to silence once again, but for the first time, they ebbed away at the mere thought of you.

As he walked down the street with his stage persona flowing, the simple thought of your name empowered his butterfly to beat its wings so fiercely that it blew away all of the impending smoke and dark tentacles of smog that threatened to overtake his vision.

Once he thought of you, he thought of everything.

Your anger was justified. He understood that now. Watching you huff breath after breath following your question was somehow relieving- you still cared enough to be pissed off. Jungkook forced himself to look on the bright side of the encounter with you; he made himself see that you were still passionate about the past. You were passionately upset and he couldn’t be happier.

He had seen you with Taehyung. He saw the way you were happy again. Jungkook wanted a part of that because he was too selfish to back off and stay dormant in your life- too determined to make you silence his demons.

Even if it was just as a friend. He could deal with that.

“You’re right.” Jungkook stated.

You paused in your tracks at the concession. Anger no longer blazing- staying right where it was- you quirked an eyebrow at him. Any time the two of you fought, he would never come even close to alluding that you were right.

“You’re right and I’m sorry, Y/N.”

An apology.

Words always seemed minimal to you. Unless to communicate information, you found that words filled with feeling didn’t mean much from someone you didn’t know.

After Jungkook, anyone that told you they loved you was promptly deemed a liar. Kate worked hard to make sure you were aware of the fact that she would actually take a bullet for you because of how much she loved you. She spent moment after moment proving to you that she cared deeply even though she didn’t have to put up with you.

Your parents, despite not talking to you much, expressed their love and gratitude whenever you sent them money. You knew they were hard workers like you and didn’t have time to worry about trivial things like words. Instead of taking the easy way out by simply telling you that they loved you, they showed you.

But Jungkook, who claimed to love you in the way that a lover would- the only person to actually do so- lied.

You could never trust the words in that way again.

Still, you couldn’t help but be taken by surprise.

“I’m right? Really?”

“Y/N, you’ve been right since the beginning. I took and took and just stopped giving back. I understand that you’re angry and I want to fix it so that you don’t hate me anymore. I want to make it right.”

You were silent. You hadn’t expected him to admit his fault so easily. Jungkook changing the pace of your conversation ruined your momentum, sending you stumbling and scrambling for thoughts.

Jungkook sighed for a moment, pressing his lips into a thin line as he let his eyes drop to the floor in your silence. He wasn’t about to lose the opportunity to elaborate further, though.

“Look, I know I fucked up. Bad. I know you can’t possibly forgive me right now, but I want you to know that I’m sorry for the things I’ve done to you.”

Your automatic reaction to being emotionally pushed came back, closing you down and disguising you as a cold woman.

“What the fuck do you know? What the fuck do you know about how badly you fucked up? I don’t need your lame-ass apology, Jungkook. I don’t know you and you don’t know me. Stop pretending that you do. Sure, we fucked a little and kissed a few times, but that’s all that it was.” You grit out the last few words, lying through your teeth. “Now please move. You’re blocking the door.”

Shockingly, Jungkook obeyed. He stepped aside and clasped his hands behind his back without another word, allowing you to walk to your door and open it.

Don’t look back. Don’t look back.

No matter how many times you repeated the words in your head, commanding yourself to abide by the mantra as if it were law, the emotions in your head managed to break through and force your head to turn back after stepping through the doorway.

Jungkook stood as still as a statue, staring at you with a blank expression that was almost eerie. You glanced down quickly, unable to maintain the eye contact, and noticed that his knuckles were clenched.

It was almost as if he was a completely different person because of the fact that his appearance was drastically different from that of BTS Jungkook. The man that stood in front of you was no rockstar. He was not an idol nor a role model that millions looked up to.

He was a scared boy. The fear that riddled his eyes was extremely difficult to miss and it made him seem almost small whilst standing in the small junction between the elevator and your penthouse.

You shut the door in his face impulsively, hoping that you wouldn’t have to see him again.

Backing away from the door slightly, you waited until you heard the elevator signal that its doors were closing before going to look through the peephole. You finally released your breath and slumped against the door when you saw that he had left.

Without his presence putting you on edge and keeping you on your toes, you could finally reflect on the conversation that just transpired.

He admitted his wrongdoings and apologized for them. He showed you his belly and became vulnerable. He admitted defeat.

Jungkook wasn’t an apologetic person in the slightest; he wasn’t a forgiving one either. In all the years that you had known him, he was headstrong and stubborn- if you looked past the part where he closed himself off and cheated, of course.

This Jungkook, the one you had just spoken to, was not the one you remember. Maybe you were right. Maybe you didn’t know him anymore.

Your phone vibrating in your pocket distracted you from pondering any further over the epiphany, prompting you to pull it out and fumble with it to get away from the confusing subject. You were thankful for the distraction.

Kim Taehyung (BTS)

I’ll be out front in 15 mins

Cursing internally, you left the idea of Jungkook behind you and rushed to change into clothes better suited for the cold weather.

It was a given that a small smile pulled at the corner of your lips when you slid thick tube socks over your ankles. You hadn’t actually worn tube socks in ages because they didn’t exactly go with your usual professional style of suits and heels.

You zipped your coat up about three-fourths of the way before turning to look at yourself in your mirror with a huff.

Suddenly, you were bombarded with a memory as it flashed before your eyes.

“You know you look good, babe.”

You giggled as Jungkook came up behind you to look at you in the reflection, setting his chin on your shoulder while he used his tongue to toy with the hoop pierced into his lip.

“Thanks, Kook. Just want to look my best is all.” You met his eyes in your bedroom mirror, smiling softly.

“Well, you look beautiful.”

You were left staring at the empty space where his face was, unsure of how to react as you stumbled back from the intrusion. Another meaningless scene came barging into your senses before you could process the first.

“Wow…” You trailed off as you looked at the angry red spot on Jungkook’s chest. A brand new tattoo, the size of your hand, raised out of his skin and shined under the luminescent light of the tattoo parlor. With the tattoo artist cleaning up his station behind the two of you, you were left to admire his beauty in his reflection.

Jungkook stood shirtless in front of the full-length mirror as he smiled brightly at the last tattoo to complete his set. Your eyes drank in the way each exhibit of inked art contrasted with his smooth, caramel expanse of skin while you stood behind him.

The new piece, which was almost large enough to touch the Chinese characters stamped onto the side of his neck and the back of his ear, was a depiction of an angel falling from the heavens. The detail in the blackening feathers attached to the angel’s back was mesmerizing, drawing all of the attention from the rest of the tattoos covering Jungkook’s chest.

“Is there any special meaning behind it?” You asked, knowing that your boyfriend had a few meaningless tattoos that were part of his ‘woke-up-and-it-was-there’ collection.

For a moment, Jungkook stayed silent as he studied the work of art in the mirror. It wasn’t until you called his name again that he answered your question while meeting your gaze in the reflection.

“Nah. It just looked really cool to me.”

You pressed your hand to your forehead and looked away from your mirror, wondering why- now, of all times- you just had to remember those small memories.

You didn’t miss him- you know you didn’t. But something within you twisted at the thought of being with him- the memory of how it felt to be his.

The disconnect between the feelings of your heart and the thoughts of your mind, ever so obvious, shifted. His apology was unexpected, to say the least, but it was also surprisingly heartfelt and pulling on your need to forgive.

Saved by the bell, your landline phone began to ring.

You rushed to the bedside table and grabbed the phone from its dock, pulling it to your ear.

“Ms. Y/L/N? It’s the front desk. Mr. Kim Taehyung is here and waiting for you.”

“Got it. Thank you. I’ll be down in a moment.” You hung up the phone and grabbed your wallet and keys before shuffling over to your desk to grab your briefcase on instinct.

“Wait,” you spoke aloud, laughing at yourself and withdrawing your reach. “I don’t need that.”

As you opened the door to your penthouse, the sound of something lightly hitting your door had you looking down.

A small, navy blue bag, the size of your palm, swung from the doorknob and hit lightly against the wood from the momentum of you opening your door. Confused, you unhooked the loop from the doorknob and looked inside the bag to find a familiar-looking box inside.

Gingerly, you pulled it out and opened it. In the way of the box’s contents was a folded piece of notebook paper with your name scrawled across the top in Jungkook’s messy handwriting.

You held your breath after reading the note and looked down at the small charm.

Since you gave me yours, I’ll give you mine. -jk

In the fabric of the satin display lay the familiar gold chain that Jungkook gifted you those few years ago, but, instead of the small J that you were so familiar with, lay your own initial.

You knew Jungkook’s way with words well enough to know that the small note connected his intentions to the chain. You were instantly pulled back to the night that he gifted the necklace to you in the first place.

“It’s beautiful. Happy one-year, babe.” You whispered onto his lips with a smile.

After you sat back into your seat, Jungkook walked to your side of the table to put the chain around your neck. “I obviously have the describe how much this necklace means so that you never take it off.”

You laughed. “I wouldn’t even dream of taking it off, Kook.”

“I still need to explain. It was like a message from heaven when I saw them in the jewelry store.” He pouted, returning to his seat. “So the idea with these is that we’re wearing parts of each other. You’re wearing the part of me that belongs to you and I’m wearing the part of you that belongs to me.”

Jungkook continued as he raised his glass. “So even though you think this necklace is yours because it’s your letter, it’s actually mine.”

You cocked your head in confusion, struggling to understand the concept. “What are you talking about?”

“It sounded so much better in my head, I swear.”

You understood the idea now.

Push off the emotions. Don’t think about them.

You were hellbent on ignoring the weakness, knowing full well what path you would go down if you let them get to you.

Instead, you made your way down to the lobby with the bag gripped tightly in your mitten-clad hands, heading to the desk with determination furrowing your brow. Even as Taehyung stood from the small sofa in the lobby upon seeing you, you did not spare him a glance.

Forcefully, you thrusted the bag into the receptionists’ face, internally wincing at your rude gesture.

“Please put this in the lost and found. I have no idea where it came from.”

The receptionist did well at hiding his expression, however, you could still see a sense of somber recognition behind his eyes. You decided not to press him seeing as you want to avoid the topic of Jungkook like the plague.

“Understood, ma’am.” He took the bag from your grasp before you had the chance to rethink addressing his slip of emotion, placing it in a drawer by his knee. He looked back up and gestured to Taehyung after locking the drawer. “Mr. Kim is here for you.”

You sighed in a mild sense of accomplishment, forcing yourself to shut out the regret and sadness for giving away a formerly precious memory, before turning to face Taehyung with a small smile to mask your inner turmoil. Your smile faltered when you noticed that Taehyung mirrored the same expression on his face that the receptionist wore.

“What?” You asked, walking to him.

“I just-” He looked down for a moment, scowling, and you noticed he had placed his small barbell back into his eyebrow. “-nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Why won’t you tell me anything?” The two of you had walked to the door, stopping before going out into the cold so that you could finish your conversation.

“Like I said before, it’s not my place to say or judge.”

Taehyung opened the door to an icy gust of wind before you could protest, chilling you into a mind-numbing stupor as you whispered, “Holy fucking shit.”

“Good god, it is freezing.” Taehyung mumbled, linking an arm around your body and ushering you towards his SUV across the sidewalk.

Once sat inside the warmth of the cabin, you shivered in satisfaction at the heat gracing your body.

“Please tell me we’re not going to be outside for whatever we’re doing.” You pleaded to him. The light from the city was filtered by the darkened car windows, however, you could still see Taehyung’s shoulders moving up and down when he chuckled.

“Unfortunately, we are, but fortunately, I brought some heat packs for us.”

You whined in protest, looking up to the GPS screen in front of the driver to see if you could identify where the two of you were going. Without a route plotted, you were left even more curious.

About twenty minutes of small talk and a brief roast session targeting Hoseok later, you sat in front of the ice skating rink at the Rockefeller Center.

“We’re ice skating?” You asked, suddenly in shock. You hadn’t been ice skating since-

No. Stop it. Your mind warred with itself as it suppressed the memory threatening to spill over into your eyes.

“You’re quite the detective.” Taehyung’s sentence was drenched in sarcasm, functioning as the perfect distraction, and prompted you to lightly shove him with a giggle as you exited the vehicle.

“I thought I was a captain.” You pouted against the cold, pulling your hat down on your head even further in hopes of retaining your body heat and warmth from the van.

“You are.” Taehyung laughed again. “Captain Detective.”

You only rolled your eyes at his playfulness before you turned to face the rink from the sidewalk. A person passing behind you and bumping into your back lightly had you cursing New York City’s busy and bustling population.

Seeing all of the people on the rink, you instantly remembered that you did not inform Jay of your whereabouts.

“Do we have security?” Worry riddled your brain as you turned to look at him with your eyes widening in a panic. You became hyperaware of all of the possible outcomes to Taehyung being identified in such a crowded place.

Taehyung sighed as he walked you up to the ticket booth. “We don’t. I just want to have a normal and plain but fun time with my friend- without someone glaring at me like they don’t want to be here while they breathe down my neck.”

Despite understanding his statement, you couldn’t help the automatic stress to being in public without any form of protection.

“Taehyung,” You warned, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Y/N,” He mocked your tone childishly before leveling it to his regular voice. “Relax, weirdo. We’re here to have fun and people are too busy having their own fun to notice us.”

“I doubt that.”

It wasn’t until you got your rental skates tightly secured onto your feet and began walking toward the ice that Taehyung mentioned a vital detail that he definitely should have mentioned prior to arriving at the center.

“You what?” You were baffled to say the least.

“I can’t skate.” He sheepishly brought his hand to the back of his head and adjusted his trapper hat under your scrutiny.

“Then why did we come?” You were almost yelling at that point.

“Because Brian told me that you liked ice skating!” Taehyung gripped at your fingers tightly, anxiety getting the best of him.

Fucking hell, Brian.

“Did he?” Your laugh was almost hysterical because of how wrong he was. You were becoming increasingly hesitant about giving your personal assistant a raise now.

Still, it was worth the effort. Brian was just trying to help the world’s most popular bassist when he came to him in need of information. It was a decent attempt.

“Yeah,” Taehyung huffed. “He did.”

“Well, Tae, I’ll have you know,” You moved towards the ice rink with determination. “I haven’t been ice skating in ages and I hardly like it. Hopefully, I still have muscle memory.”

“Oh god.” Taehyung groaned, tipping his head back as the feeling of imminent and utter chaos ensued. “Fucking hell, Brian.”

As soon as you stepped on the ice, you realized that you were still perfectly coordinated enough to complete the task.

Taehyung, on the other hand, clung to the walls like the world was attempting to swallow him into the ground. Dutifully, you stood next to him with a cautious hand on his back in the case that he went tumbling.

The sight was one to behold.

Kim Taehyung, hard core rockstar- the physical definition of a stereotypical ‘bad boy’- with tattoos littering his skin and a glistening eyebrow piercing that was winking at you from under his gray trapper, stood hunched over and afraid as he moved baby step-by-baby step to proceed further around the rink. You couldn’t help but giggle as the man who possessed the prowess of an elegant panther on stage adopted the likes of a stumbling newborn giraffe within the span of five minutes.

You were still concerned for him despite how funny it was. Tentatively, you reached your hand to grip his shoulder and urged him to look at you.

“Tae, are you okay? We can do something else if you’d like.”

“No, it’s okay.” He wheezed in effort. “I got this.”

Making a show out of how brave he was, Taehyung stood up straight on shaky legs and began progressing forward by attempting to walk on the ice.

“I can show you how t-” Taehyung cut off your offer before you could finish it.

“I’ve been shown countless times how to skate and the best I can do is walk and maybe slide forward a little. I’m a lost cause, Y/N.” Even though he seemed upset, Taehyung couldn’t help but crack a smile at how clumsy he was.

You smiled pitifully at your clumsy friend before you stepped in front of him. “Here, hold onto my shoulders and we’ll slide forward together.”

All Taehyung could do was begrudgingly agree, hating the idea of having to lean on you for support but wanting to remain close to you for the majority of the night. Once he placed his hands tightly on your shoulders, you moved.

At first, you skated slowly so that Taehyung could adjust to the feeling of being pulled forward. Once he got the hang of keeping his legs locked so that you could move around easier, you skated at a normal speed.

After about ten minutes of joking around and catching Taehyung’s slipping form a handful of times, your mind was left free and without defense.

You hadn’t realized how vulnerable you were because of it.

“Y/N, slow down! I can’t go that fast!”

Your breathing came to a halt at the voice that echoed in your ears.

“Here, hold my hand and we’ll skate together.”

Panicking, you rushed your mind to shut it out. No. Stop.

Unknowingly, the chaos in your mind and the desperate need to get away from the memories had you gradually increasing your own speed to subconsciously escape your thoughts.

Taehyung’s nervous laugh and call of your name in warning fell on deaf ears while you furrowed your eyebrows in concentration.

“See? It’s easy. Just step and lean. Step- and lean.” His hand clutched yours as if he was trying to squeeze all of the blood from your fingers but you only squeezed back in reassurance.

“Don’t let me fall, please.”

Taehyung’s skate crashing into the back of yours served as the perfect distraction, yet it only lasted for a split second as the two fo you went tumbling to the ice in a hauntingly familiar manner.

In the process of falling, Taehyung had managed to wrap his arms around your waist and twist his body so that he could take most of the impact from the ice. Landing on top of him with an ‘oof’ reminded you of the last time you went ice skating.

Even with your face mere centimeters from your friend’s, all you saw was him.

Taehyung’s small puffs of air against your lips were an indicator of how close you were to kissing him. Truly, you could kiss him if you wanted to, needing only to relax your neck and let your head fall to close the rest of the minimal gap between you. He looked up at you with wide eyes, holding onto your gaze with an unreadable expression on his face.

All you saw, however, was a small mole dotting the underside of his lips. Fuck, you wanted to kiss Taehyung and rid yourself of the nightmare, but you couldn’t shake the sensation of how wrong it felt to kiss anyone but Jungkook.

“Y/N,” Taehyung called your name cautiously and pulled you from your thoughts. Instantly, your eyes welled with tears at the realization of how fucked you were.

You yanked yourself from him with abandon, needing to get far away from the reminder that you couldn’t move on.

Kim Taehyung was mature. He was kind and respectful- everything you could ask for in a man- yet the thoughts of Jungkook and the good memories you had with him outweighed the bad, preventing you from truly letting go.

Before Taehyung could protest, you stood and left him on the ice, making for a quick exit. You wanted to go back and help him up so that he wasn’t in danger, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at his face in this setting.

Instead, you skated off the rink and walked to the skate rental area, plopping down on the bench weakly to untie the laces. Once you did so, you set them on the counter and waited for your boots with your eyes on the ground. You didn’t want anyone to see you on the brink of crying.

“Y/N!” Taehyung’s voice was loud and attention-grabbing. You had half the mind to be concerned that he would cause people to notice him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you finally got your boots and rushed to put them on. Taehyung was finally off the ice when you slid the first boot on.

“Y/N,” He called your name again, awkwardly approaching you with the blades still on his feet. “Please, talk to me.”

You could only sniffle in response and continue to put your boots back on, a fresh wave of tears welling in your eyes and threatening to spill onto your cheeks. You’d kept them at bay thus far but Taehyung was making it extremely difficult as his comfort approached you. The welcome yet heartbreaking aura he exhumed paired with your teetering emotional stability wouldn’t fare well in such a public setting.

Without hesitation, you stood and walked away once you were done securing your shoes back on your feet. Again, you felt the urgent need to be alone.

And again, Taehyung was right behind you as he ran without putting his shoes back on.

“Y/N!” He grabbed you as he called your name more sternly, forcing you to face him. Your eyes met his briefly before you looked back down to the pavement and cursed yourself once a tear slipped out. “Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Because I-” Your breath caught in your throat as it constricted due to the beginning of a sob building in your chest. You cleared your throat and struggled to breathe your way through your response- one you had trouble communicating. “-I just can’t.”

Taehyung grimaced, looking around with concern, before he ushered your body to begin walking away from the busy area.

Once you were a good distance down the street, he grabbed both of your shoulders and forced you to face him once again. Away from the well-lit area of the ice rink, the only light that shone in the middle of the dark night was that of the street lights. With bated breath, you looked up at your friend with your mouth closed tightly so that the sob in your chest wouldn’t come barging past your lips.

The pain was nearly unbearable. It anguished you, knowing that you were stupid enough to think that you could eventually move on from Jungkook. It pained you, being aware of the fact that Taehyung had offered himself to you and you did nothing but continue to look at Jungkook.

But most of all, it hurt that you still wanted Jungkook.

If only you could reach into your chest and tear your heart out so that you couldn’t feel anymore. If only you could shut off your feelings so that it didn’t agonize you like this. If only it were that easy.

Under the light of the street lamps with Taehyung’s look of pity- the one he held as he looked at you across the club on that dreadful night those few years ago- on you, you broke.

As you began sobbing, Taehyung pulled you against his body and backed up into the darkness to give you the privacy to cry without being seen.

The pain stabbed your heart repeatedly; quick blows, shallow at first, became increasingly deep as you drowned in the memories of what once was.

Falling so passionately in love became your biggest regret. For so long, you hated the idea. You hated the fact that you still loved Jungkook notwithstanding the things he had done. You denied the fact until you started seeing the good memories again- until it was an unavoidable and objective truth.

The truth that you still loved him.

As Taehyung held you tightly in his embrace while you held your hands to your face and dug your nails into your skin, you sobbed uncontrollably at how completely and royally fucked you were.

“W-why-” You blubbered into your palms. “-why do I-I still lo-ove him?”

“Because your heart wants what it wants, Y/N. You have no control over that.”

At this point, you had to tell him how you felt- how you truly felt.

“I w-wish that it wa-anted you. I’m so sorry, T-Tae.”

“Hey, now. Don’t say that. It’s a waste of time to wish for things that you have no control over. Don’t waste a wish on something stupid like that.” Taehyung pressed his face to the top of your head, pressing his lips there to leave a small kiss. “Besides, I have someone waiting for me back home so you don’t need to worry anymore.”

Instantly, you looked up at him in shock while still hiccuping. “You do?”

“Of course.” Taehyung laughed warmly, smiling down at you. “I wasn’t gonna be stuck on you forever. One way or another, you move on.”

“It’s been years since I’ve even seen him, Tae. The fact that I still haven’t moved on despite that has to tell you something.”

“Which is why I told you that you still need to talk to him. You can’t move on or do anything about the way you feel unless you communicate it.” He pulled back to bend his body to become eye-level with you so that he could look you in the eyes as he spoke. “There’s things you don’t know.”

For a moment, you weighed his words in your mind. If they’re things that Taehyung can’t tell you because they’re ‘not his place’ to say, then you figure that the matter must be a serious one. Your curiosity was getting the best of you. It wasn’t long before you gave in.

“Yeah…” You trailed off in hesitation, suddenly regretting shutting out Jungkook. “I guess I do need to talk to him.”

“Please just… take your time and be patient with him.” Taehyung winced slightly. “He’s hot-headed but he’s a lot better than he was before. I promise you that.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Taehyung.” You scowled as you backed out of his embrace.

“You know I don’t. I would never suggest that you talk to him if he was the same as he was before.”

A few beats of silence passed before you asked the question that had been nagging at your mind since your revelation of remaining love for the lead singer of BTS.

“Do you think we still have a chance?”

Taehyung answered immediately. “That’s not my place to judge. All I know is that you guys did something sad like being broke up even though you had life.”

“Good god, Tae,” You huffed out a laugh. “Are you quoting Lil Dicky right now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Taehyung crossed his arms and let out a small ‘hmph’ as he lightly stomped his foot onto the sidewalk. “And you can’t stop me.”

For a while, Taehyung let you catch your breath and calm down while looking up and down the street. It seemed as if he was planning something.

Before you could process what he was doing, Taehyung took you by your arm, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, and began walking across the street. You looked up in the direction of your path and noticed that you were heading towards the quaint coffee shop that seemed to be the only open place at the current hour.

Your eyes hurt from crying. Your chest ached from sobbing and hiccuping. Your heart and head hurt as they came to blows with each other. You were slowly beginning to freeze as the calming of your emotions slowed your heart and cooled your body. It was so fucking cold.

You could use a coffee right about now.

~#~

Thank you for reading, reader! If you’d like to check out the rest of my work, feel free to visit my Masterlist!

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fullmetalscullyy · 3 years

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uncertainty

summary: Riza sustains her Promised Day injuries at the same time Roy is pinned by Pride in the transmutation circle

an: tldr i was consumed by this idea all evening. the narrator, probably: this is the darkest timeline

this was originally supposed to be “riza gets her promised day injuries AFTER roy goes blind” but it evolved, grew arms and legs, then ran away from me. but. i am still v invested in that original idea so. why not play about w and write the same thing/something similar twice right? yolo

also. its been like. 4 and a half hours of work so if u see any mistakes no u didn’t <3

shoutout to those who left encouragement/interest in this idea and to meg for spurring the bradley being Bad idea along <333

rating: t | words: 3262 | tags: graphic depictions of violence, angst, angst with a happy ending, promised day, canon divergence, royai

read on ao3

“Let him go.”

Riza orders the Fuhrer to step down, to remove his swords from the Colonel’s hands, to stop piercing his flesh. Her gun is trained on him easily and Riza discovers she has no qualms about shooting the man in charge of the country. She will not hesitate to do so if he so much as breathes in the wrong way.

After his appearance, and his assault on the Colonel, Riza had watched the tips of Bradley’s swords pierce through the Colonel’s palms, had seen them bury themselves in the gaps in the stone beneath her commanding officer. With her heart in her throat, Riza had inhaled sharply and drawn her weapon without pause, training it on Bradley’s head.

Riza’s voice didn’t betray her raging emotions within. For years – over a decade – she’d kept them under wraps for a variety of reasons. And even now, faced with this horrifying scenario, she did not let them surface. As much as she wanted to, she wouldn’t do it again. Not after her confrontation with Lust. She’d made a promise to the Colonel, and separately, in private, to Roy, not to.

“You were always an exemplary soldier, Lieutenant Hawkeye, following every order without question or complaint,” Bradley remarks. His spine straightens but does not remove his swords from the ground beneath the Colonel’s palms. He does not stop from looming over Mustang but turns his head to look at her. It’s reminiscent of a shark swimming right towards its prey, going for the kill, but Riza does not let that analogy get to her. She strengthens her grip on her pistol instead. “What has changed now?”

He’s toying with her. If she argued against any of his orders while his hostage, he’d have her killed.

A memory suddenly pops into her mind.

“You could always court martial me, sir.”

Riza’s eyes flick to quickly look down at the Colonel, lying pinned, helpless, and watching her anxiously on the floor. Mustang never would, but she misses the days where she could argue lightly against his orders and do what she felt was right and just by him and others she cared about and supported.

The doctor with the gold tooth writhes in agony above the Colonel, Bradley, and Pride, trying to call out for help and salvation, but the homunculi ignore him. Unfortunately, Riza has to as well, for she has seen how quick Bradley is and has felt the terror and harshness of Selim’s shadows, so cannot let herself slip for a second. If she does, it may cost her life. Or the Colonel’s.

“Simply doing my duty to this country and it’s citizens, sir,” she replies evenly. She holds no remorse for her actions. Not after the Fuhrer took her hostage for so long and the team discovered he was part of a scheme to try and kill everybody.

“Your duties involve following my orders, Lieutenant.”

Bradley is reminding her of her position as he trains his single eye upon her, but Riza tries her best to ignore it. It’s unnerving how piercing his gaze is, but she holds steady. She will not give into him and his intimidation.

“I am the highest authority to you. At ease, soldier.” He bites out the words, forcing them out as he tries to keep a lid on his fury.

“Not this time, sir.” She will not blindly follow his orders. Images of the desert flash inside Riza’s mind. Not again.

It angers him, but before he can react properly, Pride quite possibly saves her hide.

“We don’t have time for this, Wrath,” Pride sneers suddenly. He glares at Riza and she stares back, unflinching. She’s an expert at this by now after so many months under their scrutiny. She will not fall now at the final hurdle.

In response to Pride, Bradley angles his head towards him, looking away from her, and Riza feels herself relax momentarily. She does not turn complacent. Far for it. She’s too wired and on edge with the Colonel pinned in a transmutation circle underneath a homunculus’ feet to be close to any semblance of calm. But with Bradley’s gaze no longer pinning her, it’s a welcome reprieve. Her shoulders relax and lower a fraction.

“Enough of this conversation,” Pride continues. “We’ve got more important things to do.”

“Of course.” Bradley sounds so calm that it causes the knot inside Riza’s stomach to tighten. It’s the same knot that’s filled with unease and uncertainty regarding their current situation. It trembles and contracts as she stabilises herself and recentres her weapon so it’s ready to make a kill shot if need be.

“We have more important things to do,” Bradley repeats quietly to himself. His voice is without emotion, completely different from the rage-tinged tone he’d used just moments ago. Under his moustache, Riza sees a small smirk. One corner of his mouth quirks upwards.

In a flash, he rips the swords out of the Colonel’s palms, causing him to cry out in pain. They must have snagged on his skin because his loud gasp was laced with anguish.

Riza fires unflinchingly as Bradley charges at her.

“Lieutenant!” The Colonel’s cry is a gasp. She knows he fears for her, but she cannot focus on that right now.

Her finger does not let up on the trigger and it is relentless. She doesn’t have time to pay attention to it, but behind Bradley, Pride’s shadows dance around the room and she cannot fathom why. If she could spare enough of her concentration and tear it away from the charging homunculus, she’d realise the shadows were protecting Pride’s main body from her bullets flying behind the Fuhrer.

Bradley is too fast. He ducks underneath her weapon and outstretched arms, swinging around to her back.

Before she can blink, Riza can feel the kiss of cold metal on her throat.

Shit.

Her eyes widen, and so does the Colonel’s. His teeth are gritted together as he’s trapped in the transmutation circle, but his eyes meet hers immediately. It’s interesting to note how her own gaze zoned in on his during her sudden moment of helplessness, but Riza knows exactly why. She does not deny it to her heart.

“You’re a pest,” Bradley hisses in her ear.

The metal moves easily against her skin, like a knife moving through butter, and she hears the Colonel yell. As her body crumples to the floor he calls to her. He barks her rank, pleading with her to stay with him and focus on him. Her head hits the ground hard, and she’s dazed for a second. Her vision turns grey, and she cannot focus on anything, but still hears the Colonel calling out to her.

“Hawkeye!”

The others try to surge forward to intervene, but Pride’s shadows lash out and keep them at bay, pushing them backwards towards the outer wall. The homunculus forces them away from the two on the ground, preventing them from helping.

This is it.

She’s lying on the floor, bleeding out, with no one to assist her, and the Colonel is going to be forced to open the portal against his will.

She was supposed to watch his back and protect him. She was supposed to make sure no harm came to the Colonel so he could forge ahead and set in motion the plans he’d voiced to her over a decade ago. This was not how this was supposed to happen. Things changed in nanosecond and Riza’s brain has whiplash from trying to keep up.

“Do it, Pride.” Bradley’s anger is back under control. The bout of rage he’d experienced while advancing on her is gone. Or, it is back underneath his mask, hidden out of sight but simmering just below the surface.

Riza’s eyes meet the Colonel’s – no, Roy’s. His eyes are wide and panicked. She watches him strain against the dark tendrils holding him in place, but his struggle is futile and probably harming him. Through blurring vision she can see the colour red around his hands and up his forearm. The restraints must be cutting into his skin. Her mouth opens, asking him to remain still and not hurt himself. To not harm himself trying to escape to try and help her.

Impossible, she thinks to herself. Roy Mustang would tear the world apart for you. And you, him.

“Colonel –!” She wants to cry out to him, but with her injury it’s just a croak. A strangled, garbled call that doesn’t sound much like anything.

“Lieutenant!”

The homunculi ignore Roy’s cry, filled with such helplessness and anxiety. His expression is one of horror as their predicament hits him full force. His fight abates slightly, it stutters as his chest heaves with panicked breaths while realisation settles upon both their bones simultaneously.

They’re stuck and completely at the mercy of their enemies, with no hope of escape. No hope at all.

“It’s a shame to waste a soul,” Pride remarks quietly, sounding as though he’s talking to himself as he stares at the struggling doctor. His eyes lower lazily and focus on Riza. “When we have a perfectly good one right there.”

“Do it, Pride,” Bradley repeats, snapping this time. His mask is slipping.

Pride’s gaze lingers on her for a fraction of a second longer before turning back to look at the Colonel. His expression is unbothered by what he’s about to do. The complete opposite to the terror Riza can feel building within her.

You’re going to die, and he’s going to be forced through the gate.

“What will be taken from you Colonel, I wonder?”

Roy’s pained scream fills the air and infiltrates the gaps between her ribs. The sound cuts through her painfully, rattling her bones and constricting around her heart. She was supposed to prevent something like this from happening, but she didn’t.

Her vision fades and blurs even more intensely than before as the blue light from the human transmutation turns almost white. She cannot breathe. She cannot think.

The light winks out, leaving nothingness. The doctor falls to the ground, rolling slightly from the impact but Riza can no longer focus enough to determine what has happened to him.

You’re dying and he’s gone.

There was still a chance… A toll must be paid to pass through the gate so he may return alive, able to press on forward and achieve their goals and beat the bastards who did this to them today…

But it will be without her.

As Riza lies there, in a pool of her own blood, hearing her comrades call desperately out to her, a tear escapes from her lids and runs down her temple. She’s breaking her promise to the Colonel, to Roy. She’s leaving him, but it’s against her will, just like he had been forced through the gate against his.

She doesn’t want to leave him.

Images are flashing through his mind as he travels to the gate. It’s too much to bear inside his head. It feels like information is being stuffed into his brain far too quickly, and there’s too much. It’s overflowing. He sees snippets of his life, his past, and perhaps, what is yet to come?

Then there’s Riza, lying on the ground, clutching at her neck and lying in a pool of her own blood, but Roy blinks and she’s gone.

“Riza,” he gasps, the memory of what was done to her penetrating the fog inside his brain. It consumes him and his eyes squeeze closed. It does nothing though, it’s all he can see. It’s seared into his brain. He cannot escape the image of her dying, and him unable to help her.

The white room he suddenly finds himself in is featureless and unforgiving in its brightness. It hurts his eyes. Roy is reeling from arriving in the sudden and jarring expanse of white nothingness he finds himself in after passing through the gate, but he still squints and looks around frantically, looking for Riza, for some familiarity, momentarily forgetting himself as he’s overcome with his grief.

“What happened to her?” He demands an answer from the white being with the chilling smile. “Where is she?”

His questions go unanswered. When Roy starts to advance on it, the being simply smiles at him. After he takes about five steps, something secures around his aching wrist and jerks him backwards. Looking frantically down, wondering what is halting his approach, he realises with horror that these… things look similar to what Pride had used to restrained him before within the circle.

Not again.

“Is she okay?” His frantic cries are ignored.

Roy fights the tiny hands but there is no use. He cannot best them and it's worthless to try, but he continues to shout, beg, and pressure the smiling being to tell him what happened to Riza. To ask if she’s all right and going to live.

He has to. He needs to know.

Roy is drawn backwards, through a towering doorway, and into an inky black existence. Just like before, the last image he sees before everything goes black is chills him to his core. That white thing is still smiling at him in the distance, and for the first time since arriving there, Roy’s hoarse voice falters.

He will not receive any answers. He can yell until he is blue in the face, but no one will tell him if she’s okay, if she’s alive, or what happened to her. Terror was a constant companion after seeing Bradley’s sword slice through Riza’s flesh, but now panic was threating to overcome him once again.

Roy cannot lose her. He can’t.

The doors slam with a finality, leaving him in complete darkness that Roy gets the feeling he will never be able to escape from.

He’s blind.

The last thing he saw was Truth’s unnerving smile, and before that it was Riza on the floor, bleeding out and dying in front of him. That image was the last thing he saw in this world and it’s burned into his mind forever. It will not leave him be in his sudden pitch-black world.

He hates it. Abhors it. He wants to escape it but can’t. It’s with him always. A companion that lays out all of his failings before him. Roy chokes when he thinks about how she was left lying there, alone, critically injured, and he did nothing, could do nothing, to help or ease her pain.

Father tosses him around like a ragdoll, but Roy is still trying to adjust to being blind. He’s blinking furiously, hoping it will all turn out to be a horrible nightmare, but it’s futile. No matter how many times he blinks he cannot shift that image of her.

Is she even still alive?

He will not accept anything less.

“Sir?”

His head whips up and swings around frantically in its search. Roy thinks he may have been mistaken but… It is entirely possible his mind is playing a cruel trick on him, but he would also recognise her voice anywhere.

There’s a pressure on his forearm that commandeers his attention.

“Roy?”

The voice sounds scratchy. It catches as it pronounces the ‘y’ in his name, but Roy is filled instantly with recognition. The muscles of his face go slack as he stares wide eyed, yet unseeing, at the person he knows is in front of him.

Relief explodes within him. Muscles all over his body quiver and shake with it, and Roy cannot help himself. Every consequence, and everyone else, be damned. He surges forwards and upwards to his knees to wrap his arms – albeit clumsily – around Riza Hawkeye’s shoulders tightly.

He doesn’t even need her to confirm it. He knows it’s her by the smell of her shampoo and the faint smell of her perfume. It’s barely there underneath the smell of blood and the day’s grime, but it’s there, with him. It anchors Roy completely and tears surge into his eyelids.

“You’re alive,” he whispers.

Hands clutch desperately at his back. “I’m alive,” she confirms quietly.

Roy doesn’t care. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, and as an afterthought he realises he was lucky. It was not her injured side his face happened upon. Underneath his lips her skin is smooth and unmarked by the homunculi’s cruelty.

Roy inhales deeply and his eyes squeeze tightly closed as he savours the feeling of holding her, of knowing she is alive.

The last time he saw her, she was bleeding out. Dying. Chance, fate, or whoever, were smiling upon him today though, and Roy is grateful. He will take it. Roy doesn’t question her survival, just takes it at face value because that’s all he’s ever wanted in this last traumatic hour.

She’s alive.

Riza is alive.

His worst fear, his nightmare, had not come to pass after all, when it had seemed so likely before and he’d been left floundering, not knowing what the outcome would be.

The ‘how’ can come later. A tear escapes from beneath his closed lids and Roy simply rejoices in that fact while they have a quiet moment together. Another one follows suit when one of her hands lifts to rest upon the back of his head and pats it twice. It seems like a simple, friendly gesture, but he can feel the way the fingers of her other hand tighten their pressure upon his back. She’s still clinging to him and does not let up.

She’s alive. He can’t see her, but he can feel her touch and hear her breath.

“Are you okay?”

He wants to laugh. The joy bubbles up inside his chest when he hears the concern laced within her voice, simply because he is so happy to hear it.

Even if he cannot see her, this is enough for now.

“Are you?” He has no time to focus on himself. Not when the last time he saw her, she was so near death.

“Mei patched me up,” Riza explains, sounding hoarse.

Roy vows that owes that young alchemist a life debt. He will work until his dying breath to ensure it is paid for saving Riza’s life.

He pulls her in hurriedly for another embrace. It affirms that she is really there and breathing, and alive.

What he’s about to say is risky, but he’s in the mood for it. After what they’d just been through, Roy feeds the impulse because he needs her to know what he’s truly thinking.

Just in case.

When it came to Riza Hawkeye, his decisions always did have the tendency to be ruled by his heart, and while Riza still involved her heart completely, she was always the more level-headed and reasonable one, given their circumstances as subordinate and commanding officer.

Still, the situation called for it.

“I love you.” It’s whispered against the skin of her neck. Roy knows Riza hears him because her body stiffens with surprise.

Riza doesn’t respond until after a beat or two. It’s a simple nod, but it’s enough to know she acknowledges what he’s said. Roy doesn’t expect her to reply. They both know where they stand with one another and have done for years. The first time the sentiment had been expressed was after he returned from the academy, so this is not a shock revelation. It’s a means of comfort. A reassurance. And Roy feels it needs to be said. It’s also been a while since he’d last said those words to her, but right now it feels like it’s been too long. Another wrong in his book, but one he could correct immediately.

“I love you too, Roy.”

He blinks, surprised that she has said it back to him among the company of so many people, but they must not be paying attention to them.

Roy tightens his arms around her.

She’s alive, and she knows how he feels about her.

She knows.

They both do.

She’s okay.

That one thought eases all of his fears and leaves him feeling light, like he’s floating on air, so he buries his face into the crook of her neck once more to find an anchor.

#royai #royai fanfic #royai fic #royai oneshot #emma writes

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mssirey · 3 years

Text

Hope (part 10 - finale)

Everything can now be read all together on AO3!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Kara went still.

Her face melted into a smooth, blank stare, and the sight of it invited icy tendrils to grip Lena’s exposed heart, squeezing until all she could do was gasp pitifully. Lena slammed the flat of her hand against the field that kept them apart, crackles dispersing around her skin, but Kara didn’t so much as blink.

It had taken every bit of her courage to put words to the tightness in her chest, to name the heaviness that beat against her ribs, to acknowledge the way gravity had turned against reason and her orbit circled one person. She had never let herself consider it, shrank away from it, welcomed darker thoughts in its place. Love was a fool’s game, after all, and Lena had long refused to play.

In the end, she was a fool and the universe proved its point in its ruthless fashion, her admission met with utter silence, not even a whisper to ease her doubts. Mercy was never meant for her.

Kara was lost—fallen out of reach—and Lena was ready to follow her, to sink beneath the tide of panic and be forgotten by the world. There was no telling what might surface, but she preferred not to see it.

The first break in the stillness was the soft flutter of Kara’s eyelashes and the well of tears that fell down marred cheeks, salted already weeping wounds. “No, no, no, no, Lena,” she whispered, syllables wet and slurred together. Her face cracked, her brow heavy with her devastation, her eyes stormy.

“Kara?” Lena didn’t dare hope, couldn’t survive being wrong, but her heart wished so deeply for it to be Kara—safe and whole.

Kara blinked, jarred from her sputtering, and her head cocked, her gaze distant, looking inward. “Yes,” she breathed, with a startled little laugh. “It’s me! Just me!”

Lena exhaled all the weight she harbored, sank back to sit fully on the floor, numb overtaking her limbs, closing in on the rest of her. “Fuck,” she panted and her body gave out as tension bled away, leaving her a boneless mess. She laid back, covered her face with her shaking hands, and willed her heart to steady.

There was relief, unquestionably, but there was also the sense that she had to answer for the hand she had in the course of events and she was tapped dry of courage. When she could feel her face again, she turned onto her side and lifted onto still trembling hands. She crawled until she felt her legs could support her and then set herself to task.

Kara called after her, her voice warbling and frantic. “Lena, where are you—”

“If Lex thinks I can’t break into a cell I designed, he only has his ego to blame,” she huffed, putting her hands to work rather than facing the continuation of their conversation. She didn’t aim for finesse as she pried the control panel open with ill-suited tools and in a matter of minutes, the door slid open.

Kara had gotten to her feet, and once freed, sidled out with her head hung and her gaze flitting between Lena’s face and the floor at her feet. “Lena, I, um… will you let me say something?”

Lena couldn’t summon the walls of her fortress fast enough, couldn’t contain her spilling heart, but for the first time, that wasn’t as terrifying as the thought of never trying to meet Kara. She nodded.

“I am sorry, Lena,” Kara said as she fidgeted, her hands each seeming to work to keep the other from reaching out. “I worried endlessly about what might happen if I told you—”

“For four years?” Lena was reluctant to press, afraid of what she would find when she opened that vein. Her lips were ready to drink from any cup offered—cracked and broken as they were—but she knew poison when it was fed to her.

Kara gave a pained nod. “I hold onto things too tightly— I always have.” She tried to force a smile, but it never quite stuck. “After everything I’ve lost, I…”

Lena’s stomach twisted, trapped in a vice with jagged teeth that rent her open, let the acid wash into her gut and devour her from within. “Kara, that’s not fair.” How was she supposed to justify her hurt when set against the backdrop of Kara’s loss?

Kara was floundering, lost and trembling. “No, I know, hang on— just, um, let me finish?”

Lena could only offer a stiff dip of her head. She watched Kara’s head lift, her eyes turned up towards the ceiling, her lips moving in a silent whisper—a prayer. When her gaze returned, she was steeled.

“I felt helpless… hopeless, that’s true, but instead of trusting what we had, I let my fears back me into every wrong choice.” All Lena heard was that Kara didn’t trust her and it punched straight into the hollow pit at her core—gave credence to the haunting whispers she argued so fervently against when alone with her thoughts. “I just… I couldn’t bear to lose you.”

It didn’t make sense and her mind screeched its alarm, telling her to run. “I was always there for you,” Lena reminded, her voice cracking under the strain of her withering composer, her knees degrading with the rest of her, ready to give out.

Kara chewed at her lip, but forced her chin to stay lifted, refusing to bend under her guilt. “You were,” she managed. “You’ve always made me feel so whole and I—” her eyes closed as tears streamed down her cheeks, “I didn’t let myself think about how little of me was present for you.” She exhaled shakily before she looked at Lena properly once more. “You deserved better from me, Lena.”

Lena’s doubts feasted, spun every word into another lie, mocked her with the awareness that there was no way to truly know if she was being spoon fed exactly what she wanted to hear. She needed something tangible to hold onto, and without thinking, found herself walking forward. Kara let her approach, watched with wide eyes, her uncertainty stiffening her back.

Lena stepped into Kara’s space and hesitantly reached out. Kara’s hands untangled and fell away from each other, affording Lena more room, and she took it. As soon as her arms encircled Kara, she sank forward, no longer able to deny needing to be held.

“I’m so sorry, Lena,” Kara whispered into her hair as she wrapped Lena up in the shelter of her embrace, cautious at first, but then shifting to pull Lena closer, taking the weight from her with sturdy hands.

Kara’s support allowed her to let go of her boxes, to let the seams of her wretched masks unravel, to fall apart and trust that she wouldn’t be alone to put herself back together. She buried her face in Kara’s neck and wept. Lena clutched tight to the fabric at her fingertips, secured the source of warmth that cushioned her fall. Kara made no mention of the tears that dampened her shirt, only soothed a hand along her back.

With the floodgates opened, her doubts spilled outward. “What did I do to—”

Kara shook her head and squeezed Lena tighter. “You didn’t do anything, Lena, I promise.”

“Then what were you afraid of?”

Kara’s chest expanded in her arms and Lena could feel the heaviness of her heart, the quickened thud against her cheek. “I was scared of letting you down.”

That struck a chord in Lena, plucked at the very strings that appeared in every arrangement she wrote. It was the undercurrent that steered her towards grand gestures and worse decisions, and why she tried so desperately to earn affection. She never felt worthy unless she compensated for every debt, and every misstep, and sometimes it was never enough.

For Kara it had been, or so she had been led to believe. She had bought into it blindly, unaware she was staking her heart until it was too late.

“Kara Danvers is not all of who I am, but she was who I wanted to be.” She tucked her head closer, as if to ensure that her words reached Lena’s ear. “She was important to you and I… I didn’t know how to give that up.”

Lena still couldn’t understand why she was singled out and it tightened her throat until she couldn’t swallow the reasoning.

Kara was important to everyone. She forged light out of her own darkness; she strived not only to be good, but to see good when others might turn away; she understood the power of kindness and empathy; she encouraged strength by way of example; she embodied hope, not in grandness, but in nuance. No one in her life would say different.

“Why me?”

Kara pulled back so abruptly that the air seemed to go with her and Lena’s lungs struggled to fill, but then warm, tender hands cupped her cheeks, and she melted into them. “Lena,” she breathed, her resolve beared down upon Lena with such intensity, her gaze unwavering, “it’s because I love you.”

That was one possibility Lena had never considered and it ripped up every logical foundation her doubts relied on. Her mind went quiet, slowly calibrating to the new way of framing events, wondering how the two of them could have been such fools.

“I’m sorry I let you think otherwise,” Kara said, her hands quivering, her courage wavering. “You are so, so important to me, Lena, and you always will be.”

Lena’s hands lifted to Kara’s wrists, fingers curled around them, wishing she could keep them there. “You promise?”

Kara nodded, relief mixing with eagerness in her eyes. “Yes! Yes, whatever the future brings, whatever we have to face out there,” her gaze flicked to the lab door before returning to Lena, “I’ll be here for you.”

Lena’s breath hitched, her lungs over-full, a spark of warmth igniting in her heart. Her shoulders were less burdened, or her spine sturdier, it was hard to be certain. Her tears didn’t sting the same, instead seemed like a welcome cleansing. Her smile didn’t need to be forced.

Perhaps that’s what hope felt like.

Lena didn’t mind it.

#hope au #lena luthor #kara danvers #supercorp #my writing

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chockfullofsecrets · 3 years

Text

Critical Role: Difficult

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: He considers for a moment and then pulls it over the back of Caleb’s head, leaving his arms dangling loosely in the taut pull of the fabric. “Be good or I’ll tickle you again.”

It’s something he’d say to one of his siblings, and it gets an equally petulant response - Caleb growls, elbows flailing as he tries to break free of his shirt prison. “Caduceus.”

Difficult. Caduceus eyes the bare and probably-ticklish - and currently burnt up - expanse of Caleb’s exposed torso and makes a decision.

Wordcount: 2.4k

A/N: Fill for this anon prompt!

---

Caduceus likes to think he’s pretty immune to nonsense, as things go - growing up with three siblings will have that effect - but that doesn’t mean he’s not frustrated when certain people decide that they’re going to walk away from a we-barely-survived-a-dimension-with-a-dragon-in-it healing circle.

Still, he knows how these things go. He sees everyone off to bed and reminds himself to come up with some tea for Beau later. He pulls thick green stalks of succulents from his pack, grateful that he’d thought to wrap most of his herbs up in oilcloth before his time with the group took a decidedly nautical turn, and crushes them methodically into paste before stirring in some warm oil and beeswax. He hums a quick prayer to the Wildmother, asking for the same patience it took not to sneak something annoying into Clarabelle’s food when she started putting worms in his bed at night.

Then, he goes to find Caleb.

Their guilt-ridden wizard looks even worse than he did before, if that’s even possible. He smells of soot, shirt scorched and blackened around the collar, and his cheeks are red and peeling with what might be mistaken for a particularly terrible sunburn if Caduceus hadn’t been in the room with him and a fire elemental and a whole entire dragon. But that’s not the worst of it - he’s hunched up at the head of his bed in the already confined space of the room he and Nott have taken over, knees pulled to his chest and a faraway look in his eyes that says he’s probably sat himself down and not moved since.

Caduceus tries not to sigh. “Hey, I brought you some stuff.”

Caleb’s head barely twitches in his direction. “I am not in the mood for tea just now, Herr Clay.”

“Well, good, cause it’s not tea.” He ducks through the doorway properly and brandishes the bowl of salve for inspection, cradling it gently in his hands. “For the burns - you’re going to have to take care of those sooner or later, or they’ll get pretty gross.”

“I will sleep it off, then.”

Caduceus very tactfully refrains from mentioning that Caleb has obviously not been sleeping. “Where’s Nott gotten off to?”

Caleb tends to be a little less guarded when Nott is around, he’s noticed, and the question gets him to shift just enough to reveal Nott hidden between him and the wall, high-pitched goblin snores muffled in the sleeve of Caleb’s coat that she’s wrapped herself up in. “We will let her sleep, ja?”

He turns away, clearly considering the conversation over. Caduceus takes just a little bit of smug pride in the way his head snaps back around when he climbs onto the bed to join them.

“She can sleep. You, though-” He settles cross legged at the foot of the bed, catches Caleb’s eye and pats the mattress in front of him. “C’mere.”

Caleb stares. Caduceus thinks he might be trying to intimidate him. “Herr Clay, we do not know each other so well, but I think I have been quite clear-”

Caduceus snags one of his ankles and starts towing him in, patiently watching him wince and sputter as he scrambles to keep himself upright without the support of the wall. “You - well, the group, but also you - asked me to come with you to heal you all.”

Caleb, just shy of his lap, makes an immensely frustrated noise - he looks like he wants to gesture angrily, but both of his arms are occupied keeping him from falling over. “Yes, but you cannot just-”

“You need healing,” Caduceus says firmly. He takes Caleb’s shoulders and nudges them around, leaving him to straighten the rest of himself out. “Hold still now, I’m doing the back of your neck first.”

All at once, Caleb seems to decide that it’s not worth the effort to crawl back to the other side of the bed - his shoulders bend under the gentle pressure Caduceus puts on them, and he looks away. “Jester has never been this dedicated to healing,” he complains, but he turns himself to sit on the edge of the bed and pulls his feet to the floor.

Caduceus hums approvingly and lets go of him- it’s important to reward good behavior. “Isn’t it nice that the Wildmother decided to bring you to my door, then?”

Caleb snorts.

It’s slow going. First Caleb won’t let him braid his hair up out of the way - he jerks his head away, and Caduceus can see the way his back stiffens with pain as he produces a twist of silver thread and yanks the reddish locks into a painful looking tail at the back of his skull. Then he bows his head and refuses to say a single word when Caduceus asks him if he’s pressing too hard. Honestly, he’s met more cooperative corpses.

“Does it help?” he asks, smoothing more of the salve over the taut muscles on either side of Caleb’s neck. Goosebumps spring up under his fingers, and he rubs a little more firmly to smooth them back down. “The sulking, I mean. Doesn’t do much, in my experience, but you seem pretty attached.”

Caleb, unsurprisingly, stays quiet. Caduceus has to laugh at that, doesn’t particularly bother keeping it quiet. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

It’s not a big area to cover, and he’s finished within a minute, but as he keeps rubbing his thumb over the bony jut of spine just under the fragile curve of skull Caleb relaxes ever so slightly into his touch - very much despite his own intentions, he’s sure - and he’s interested in chasing that rather promising hint of compliance. Another minute, and Caleb’s elbows unlock from their pillar-straight position by his sides. He’s curious what might come next, but the exhaustion of the day is starting to pull at him and he knows he needs to check on Beau too before he goes to sleep. Caleb’s a multi-step project, if anything.

He does take the opportunity to tease Caleb’s ponytail just a little looser, though. He doesn’t like seeing people mistreat their hair.

He pulls his hands away - Caleb sways in his direction, a quiet protest escaping, and he does make sure to hide his amusement at that - and reaches for the collar of his shirt. Tugging it away from the skin, he peeks down Caleb’s back and instantly hisses in sympathy. It’s not burnt, protected by two layers of cloth, but the skin still looks red and irritated from the heat. No wonder Caleb isn’t keen on going to sleep. “Okay, shirt off, let’s do your back too.”

And, just like that, Caleb locks right back up. “What? I thought we were done.”

He does permit himself an aggrieved sigh, at that - he’s sure the Wildmother will understand. “Yeah, no - I can see the burns on your back, you know.”

Caleb’s shoulders take on an especially mutinous hunch, fingers tightening on the hem of his shirt. “I will be fine.” He huffs in a dark, angry way that makes Caduceus’ ears want to flatten against the side of his head. “I’ve seen worse.”

Somehow, he doesn’t think his look-over-here trick with the mushroom will work as well here as it did on Beau. Instead, he flutters his fingers along the side of Caleb’s neck, on an unburnt patch of skin just below his ear. Tends to be distracting, even on people who aren’t ticklish there - and he’s fairly sure Caleb isn’t, after watching Jester try to blow a raspberry on the back of his neck and immediately gag on the taste of days-old sweat and earn barely a startle for her troubles.

Which makes it all the more delightful when the sensation takes right away - “Oh”, Caleb gasps, and instantly crushes his shoulders up against his ears as goosebumps bloom over the sensitive skin. “Ah- hffff-”

Caduceus keeps a watchful eye on his hands, yanking his shirt up as soon as his death grip on it loosens and - oh, right the holsters. He’d forgotten about those.

Caleb recovers quickly, pulling away from the tickling and jerkily tugging his shirt down from where it’s caught up by his ribs. “Okay, this is - I am low on spells right now, but if this is what it takes then I will fucking do it-”

Caduceus tunes him out, searching the visible stretch of skin on Caleb’s back for somewhere that’s not going to hurt him to be touched, and - ah, there it is.

Caleb’s tirade cuts off with a startled squeak as Caduceus wraps a palm around his side and wiggles a fingertip into the soft spot just underneath his ribs. Perfect.

He smiles triumphantly and leans over to fish for the buckle on the front of Caleb’s holsters - he’s tall enough to catch a look at Caleb’s face as he does, and finds the scrunched-up nose and twisted lips of someone trying desperately not to laugh. “Didn’t know you were ticklish,” he tells him, gently tugging at straps until he finds the ones he wants. “You could’ve said, if that’s what you were worried about.”

It’s definitely not, he knows, but he’s hoping to bait Caleb into trying to say something in the hopes of getting him to laugh - it’ll be easy enough to deal with him like this, squirming and distracted from the tickling, but he might at least have some fun in the meantime.

Caleb doesn’t seem to share the sentiment. “Sta - hhh - stohoppit” he grits out, swatting at Caduceus’ hand, and he does, but only because he’s got the buckle sorted out and can finally get Caleb’s shirt all the way up.

He considers for a moment and then pulls it over the back of Caleb’s head, leaving his arms dangling loosely in the taut pull of the fabric. “Be good or I’ll tickle you again.”

It’s something he’d say to one of his siblings, and it gets an equally petulant response - Caleb growls, elbows flailing as he tries to break free of his shirt prison. “Caduceus.”

Difficult. Caduceus eyes the bare and probably-ticklish - and currently burnt up - expanse of Caleb’s exposed torso and makes a decision.

Grabbing Caleb around the ribs to hold him still, he murmurs a prayer to the Wildmother and smooths his hands over the damaged skin. Lichen sprouts beneath his fingertips and webs across the irritated skin, a beautiful thing made all the sweeter for happening amidst the salty waves of an earthless ocean. He watches for a moment, waiting for the growth to crumble away as the spell finishes and leaves pink and tender flesh in its wake.

There’s a lot of dust. Caleb’s gone still under his hands, finally, so he lets go and starts to brush everything away - curls his fingers a little more than he needs to, while he’s at it, scritching lightly here and there to see if he can find anything particularly sensitive.

“You,” Caleb says slowly, the bright edge of a laugh squirming its way up under his words, “had spells?”

“Mhmm.” The grooves of Caleb’s ribs seem particularly useful, even if lingering there for more than a moment makes him start squirming again.

“Then - what - ahhf-”

“Well, you didn’t want them earlier. I thought you could use a little fussing over.”

“But - hfff-” Definitely a laugh caught in Caleb’s throat now, words jumbling uselessly on his tongue as he tries to fight it back. Caduceus chuckles and presses his fingers carefully into the bony ridges of his ribcage, rubbing nice and slow to give him a fighting chance of getting the words out. “But I - heh - I am healed now, so-”

He considers for a moment. “Now I’m going to make you laugh,” he decides, digging in a little harder, “and we’ll go from there.”

Caleb jumps hard enough that his shirt tumbles back down around his shoulders, revealing his flushed face as he turns around to gawk. “N - hnnn - no, no, but Nott is sleeping, please-”

“Yeah, she’s a deep sleeper,” Caduceus says. “Does she know how ticklish you are?”

“I’m not,” Caleb gets out, just as Caduceus goes to tickle under his arms and finds the top edge of his ribcage instead.

The resulting shriek of laughter sounds very ticklish to him.

“Not when you’re surprised, maybe,” Cad tells him. Caleb’s starting to wobble dangerously close to toppling off the bed, too tired or distracted to stay upright, so he wraps an arm around his waist and tugs him back to sit properly in his lap. “But if I spend enough time poking around-”

He kneads at the top of Caleb’s ribcage again and finds himself with a lapful of cackling wizard - his hands are under Caleb’s shirt now, but even with his arms free the poor thing isn’t making much of an attempt to get away. “Ahaah, ahahaaa - aaa! - hah, Caduceus - please - ”

Caduceus hums and lets his hands still for a moment. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Caleb’s face is nearly as red as his hair. “It tickles,” he pleads, squeaking helplessly as Caduceus twitches a finger a little too close to his ribs.

Caduceus grins down at him. “Sure it does,” he teases, drifting down to squeeze Caleb’s sides until he starts laughing all over again. “Maybe I should just heal you like this, from now on, so you can’t wander away. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

“No! Noho, please, I’m sohorry - ahahaaa!”

Whoops, his fingers are back on Caleb’s ribs again. “Yeah? You’ll stick around next time?”

“Yes,” Caleb shrieks in an very un-Caleb like way, kicking frantically as the merciless tickling heads back up under his arms. “I will, I will, plehehease!”

His voice cracks on the last word, cresting into silent laughter, and Caduceus begrudgingly deems him repentant enough that working on any other bad habits will have to wait. He pulls his hands out from under Caleb’s shirt with one last pinch to his tummy, looking over the giggling mess in his lap with the serene satisfaction of punishment well administered.

He’s been on the other end of things too, often enough - especially from Calliope - but no one here needs to know that.

Caleb sits up, the giddy remnants of a smile lingering in the corners of his mouth as he scrubs his hands furiously over his ribs. “Herr Clay,” he says, breathless, “I think that I will stay very far away from danger for the time being. Just in case.”

Caduceus just laughs at him.

#tickling #critical role #caduceus clay #caleb widogast #chocfic #i'm a little :/ over the characterization on this one but HERE WE GO

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sin-of-jess · 3 years

Text

Hawks(Keigo Takami)

Type: Smut

I didn't think twice about the click I heard when I locked the door to Annati Cafe. There had been a fight between a few heroes and villains a couple of blocks over, and many bystanders had chosen to visit the cafe I managed once all the action was over.

This part of town was mostly a shopping district, so this was a familiar type of day for me. Letting a huff of air pass, I crane my neck a touch to see if any of the disasters from earlier was visible. Not seeing anything I just shrug and make my way to the counters. Doing the routine final touches that my coworker Nani tends to miss, I move towards the door that led to the storage room.

The ceiling was significantly higher in this room, and the wall lights didn't brighten the top of the back shelves. Using my illuminate quirk, a soft ball of light forms at my fingertips. Giving a gentle push, the ball bobs in the air a few times before going still just before the ceiling.

Seeing the box at the very top shelf, I want to curse the nearly 7-foot Annati, who is the only person who uses the shelves that high. "So you're who I want," I mumble to the box.

"I hear that a lot." I hear behind me. I let out a quick shriek as I spin around, coming face to face with the winged hero.

"H-Hawks!" I shakily say, heart still in my throat as I give a quick look over the handsome blonde. "How did you get in?"

The hero jabs his thumb over his shoulder, "Was gonna stop by for the usual, but noticed it was 5. I was leaving when my hand nudged the door and it budged." He explained.

"Oh no," I sigh aloud, "Annati-san says the door hasn't been closing properly for her, I bet it did the same and the lock didn't work."

Hawks took a step closer, crossing his arms with a smirk, "it's a good thing I was who popped in, and not some bad villain out after a pretty lady." I felt a shiver down my spine. "So which box did you need?"

"Huh?" I turn my head slightly to the side, confused for only a moment. "Oh!" Spinning on my heels, I point up at the box with dark pink lettering. "It's the one saying Suguwora!" I felt my cheeks heating up when I felt his breath on my neck as he leaned in to see where I pointed. It had been enough time that the ball of light was losing its glow, but Hawks had no problem lifting himself and grabbing the box. The room was somewhat cramped, but he only needed one flap of his wings after a jump to grab the box.

I felt bashful as I shifted my hair back in place, the wind of his wings causing papers and empty boxes to flitter around. He places the box on a shelf beside me, leaning against it with a lopsided grin. "That's that, anything else you need help with?"

the L shaped shelving system meant I couldn't step back again, I'd only bump into more shelves. Nonetheless, the winged hero was only a step forward, and I was beginning to feel flustered. "N-no! I think that should be it."

He took a half step closer, fingers sliding down my arm for a fleeting moment, "It's a shame, my favorite thing to do is help beautiful women."

I think every inch of my skin turned red. Was that a compliment? I wasn't used to such bold flirtations, and I wasn't sure how to react. I shuffled on my feet as I looked away, "Well I'm sure there are plenty of pretty girls to save." It was hard to feel on the same level as someone so glaringly gorgeous as Hawks was, and the photo's don't do nearly enough justice to the real thing in front of me.

"Yeah, but I'd rather do it with beautiful ones like you." He spoke, leaning over me and giving me a smoldering look.

Had it been some random guy, I'd be angry by his brazen intents; there was something about the pro hero Hawks that made my insides twist and panties moisten. I wasn't one for flings, and this certainly wasn't the setting to find one, and yet I felt like her next words defined where it would go.

Putting my shaking hands behind my back, effectively pushing my chest out as best as I could while still wearing the unflattering Cafe apron, I spoke in the only way I could without my voice wavering, a whisper. "What do you like to do with beautiful women like me?" I ask, pushing my chest out more and standing straighter.

The hero leans in, his warm breath dancing on my lips and yet never breaking eye contact. "I like to fuck 'em."

I wasn't sure how far the hero wanted to go in such a situation, but at this point, I was ready to find out. With nothing else to say, I turn my shock into bravery and rid us of the small space left between our lips.

His lips are soft, and I'm instantly melting into his touch as his hands find my hips. I put my hands inside his jacket, the tight shirt allowing me an easy feel for how strongly built he was. His lips moved against mine with expertise, feeling more and more flustered as the kiss deepens.

His hands slide from my hips to lower back, coming up to pull the apron strings, then down to the very top of my ass. The cafe uniform was simple; the black dress of a modest maids outfit with a basic pink and white apron with the cafe name and logo in black on the chest. With the apron now hanging loosely from my neck, I break the kiss long enough for a deep breath of air and to pull the apron over my head and to the floor.

When our lips met again his hands grew bold, sliding down and groping my ass lightly, as if a little tease of a feel. All the kissing had left me lightheaded, and the feel of his hands was only fueling the fire.

He pulls away, his hands finding my hips again. His gaze is clouded in lust, "You okay, yeah?" He asks, wanting to be sure he had consent before continuing.

"I'm great," I breathe, embarrassed at how visibly aroused I feel.

That's all he needs, and he's back to kissing me. His hands trail up my ribs, thumbs grazing along the underside of my breasts the moment they can reach. With no sign of hesitation from me, he grows bold as he massages me through my bra. After a minute, his hands travel back down to my hips, under my dress and up my back. The dress rides and stretches up to accommodate Hawks hands as he eases them to the clasp of my bra, releasing them in no time as my breasts drop to their natural perkiness.

He pulls his lips away to give light kisses to my neck as his hands move to my front, the dress hiking up higher as my [f/c] panties are fully exposed. I don't have a chance to think of how exposed I am when his fingers find my nipple, the left one given full attention while he palmed my right breast.

With nothing covering my lips, whimpers and light moans are coming from me as my hands migrate into his hair. The soft locks keep me grounded while my breasts and neck are given attention.

"Hawks," I whisper out, voice so full of lust I nearly feel surprised. It's as if he already knew, his hands going to my panties as his lips return to mine. He slides them down until they fall to the ground on their own, grabbing my asscheeks with a groan.

"You feelin' good baby?" He asks at a whisper, grinding his obvious erection into my front.

"Fuck yeah," I whine out, holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

He grips me better, lifting me up to where the very edge of one of the shelves was under my ass, my legs wrapping around him. He uses one of his hands to help support my body, the other squeezing between us to rub his fingers along my soaked slit. A moan garbles from my throat, my body happy to feel direct stimulation.

His fingers alternate between rubbing along my folds, and dipping just a knuckle deep into me. I moan as I grind into his fingers, wanting more. He obliges, putting a finger fully inside and giving a few pumps before adding another.

"You're so wet for me." He whispers in my ear, scissoring his fingers to enunciate his point.

"Ngh... Fuck." I moan out, my core hot and wanting.

He pulls his fingers out, making a show to suck both fingers individually. Once all the juices were licked off his hand moves back down, though this time it's to his own pants. He skillfully unbuckles and opens his pants with one hand, his impressive cock being freed to the cool air. I could drool right now, his cock long and thick; a prime example of good meat.

He pumps his dick a few times, unable to get eye contact with how hard I stared. "You want it?" He asks, already knowing the answer.

"Uh-huh," I answer, unable to think of anything but the cock in front of me.

He shifts slightly, then the pair watch as his cock slides into my soaked slit. He goes slow, pleasure shooting throughout my entire body at every inch he gives me. He groans once he's fully sheathed inside me.

I mewl as he begins to thrust, gripping onto his jacket as I grind my hips into him in sync with his movements. He slides his arm around my waist, supporting my weight so he could slide his fingers up my dress and back on my nipples.

"Fuck!" I moan, fingers going white as he speeds up and pinches my nipples. I can feel an orgasm coming, my hips grinding harder as my eyebrows furrow. I've had my focus on his shirt since his cock first entered me, and the look on Hawks face was enough to send me over. His eyes were hazy yet his face looked serious, eyes glued to my tits that were exposed while he played with them.

My back arched and my knuckles turned white, the hero name coming from my lips in an elongated moan as my head dropped back. His thrusts never slowed, and it felt like the euphoric feeling would never stop.

My breath quickens, the high pleasure making my head feel as if it was in the clouds.

Hawks shift the position, pulling my tits from the top of my dress before wrapping his arms around me. His hands are in my hair, gripping without actually pulling. His forehead touches mine, and he's got a cocky grin.

"You cum fast Y/n." He speaks lowly, eye contact never breaking. "Think you could cum again for me?"

I can't speak, loud moans the only thing my mouth does when I part my lips. Instead, I shake my head, yes, his cock hitting a new spot inside me that has me well on my way to doing what he wants.

He moves his head until his face is in the crook of my neck, his hips now pistoning with vigor as he kisses my damp skin. One hand has an iron grip on the back of his coat, the other in his soft locks. He's stopped kissing my neck, and the grunts and airy moans from his lips sound angelic.

The dam breaks again, my entire body going rigid as my pussy walls clamp around the thick cock inside me. My body is shaking as what is easily the best orgasm of my life flows through me.

"Ahh~ shit!" Hawks curses as he pulls himself out, the first spurt hitting my soaked pussy before my dress slides down and warm cum coats it.

Our breath is rigid, neither of us moving. Hawks was still in my neck, our limbs a tangle as we let our orgasm high come down. Hawks is the first to move, carefully holding me as my legs dropped down. I was far too shaky for him to let go, so Hawks held onto my waist until my legs could support me.

We finally pull away, Hawks fixing his pants while I realize the damage to my dress. Pulling my boobs back into the dress, I notice the neckline was stretched out. Looking down I also realize just where most of the hero's cum went. There were two white streaks up the bottom of my dress, the hem between the two streaks also painted white.

"oh no..." I groaned out at the sight of myself.

Hawks eyes go wide before he looks what only could be described as bashfulness. "I'm sorry, maybe turn your dress inside out?"

Though at close inspection, the inside hem was white as well, this side didn't look like cum at least. I turn away as I quickly turn my dress inside out, only realizing as I reach for the apron that I had shown modesty towards a man who had his cum on me. With the apron on, my ruined neckline was hidden away. I face Hawks again, "Decent?"

"Gorgeous," He replies with a flirty tone. "You'll need to fix your hair, but in all, you don't look freshly fucked." He answers with earnestly.

I blush at how brazen he is, but I'm happy I don't look as dirty as I felt. The loud ringing of the store phone makes me jump out of my skin, wide eyes turning to the wall phone by the door. I answer, blushing when I realize it's my boss, did she know?"

"So how many decorations do we have??" Annati asked.

I stuttered, realizing I was too busy with hero dick to count the festival decorations Annati had asked of me.

"Was the store busy? If you haven't gotten to it yet just text it to me!" She replies, thinking nothing of how disheveled I sounded.

"O-of course! I just got the box down, I'll let you know soon!" I tell her, happy to get off the phone right after. Hawks is beside me again.

"When you find your phone, put this in it." He hands her a piece of paper, numbers written neatly on it. He opens the door, pausing so he could speak, "It's been fun, we should meet up sometime." With a final peace sign, the Pro hero walks out the door and heads to the cafe front door. I watch him, feeling smitten at the reality of it all.

A hero wanted to fuck, and wants to do it again.

#hawks x reader #hawks smut #mha x reader #mha smut

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sideblogformindtrash · 3 years

Note

Write about barbed wire whump? Maybe the whumpee is restrained by barbed wire, and/or it's around their neck?

BARBED WIRE 👀👀 thank you this gave me such an idea >:3

CW: Escape attempt; breaking bones; shock collar; electric fance; barbed wire; blood; dehumanization; collar; kidnapping mention; gun; death mention; agriculture; creepy whumper;

…Whumpee watched nervously as Whumper’s chest went up and down, on a peaceful sleep. They had a spare key tucked under their blankets, that had been stolen a few days ago… And Whumpee had been planning their escape since that day.

But now the moment had come, and it was so hard to keep calm. Whumper was fast asleep, and they had been behaving so good lately that Whumper stopped padlocking their collar. They still had a leash, but they could take it out without any trouble.

They held their breathing as they quietly unbuckled their collar and tip-toed out of the bedroom, always keeping their eyes on Whumper, making sure they were asleep. They crept through the dark house: they already knew very well which boards they could step one, which ones were noisy.

Unlocking the door, they quietly closed it, and finally they started to breathe again, in the cold air of the night. The darkness around them was immense, and there seemed to be nothing for miles, just the huge rural property.

They started to run. It was a long way until civilization. There were some neighbors, but some of them were Whumper’s friends that new about Whumpee. Others, might as well just shoot anyone who enters their property in the middle of the night. And there were guard dogs, for sure.

So, their best bet was to reach a highway and try to hitchhike. Maybe they could find a gas station and beg them to call the police. But the most important thing was to cover as much ground as they could before Whumper was awake.

They jumped over a fence where the sheep grazed during the day. Sometimes they would sit at the window and watch. They knew there was a fence of barbed wire somewhere, to keep them away from the crops, and they tried to see them in the dark. And they did.

But what they didn’t see was the single wire thread that worked as a electrified fence for the cattle. Their feet got caught up on it and they screamed as a shock ran through their body. They lost balance and fell over, straight on the wire fence. The wooden poles didn’t support their weight and fell, leaving the wire to wrap around Whumpee’s body.

Their scream alerted the dogs, the dogs woke up Whumper. The lights on the house were turned on.

Whumpee’s eyes widened, and they debated against the wire, trying to get it off their body, not caring if they were getting scratched. The door to the house opened just as Whumpee got back on their feet and scrambled into the corn-field, doing their best to hide among the tall crops.

The next minutes were a persecution filled with horror. He heard Whumper’s voice angrily shouting their name, demanding that they would return. Sometimes, they saw a shadow move closer to them on the crops, and had to sneak into another corner of the field.

…But ultimately, it was all in vain. They gasped when they heard the gun being cockled, and when they turned, it was right on their face, being wield by a furious Whumper.

“Kneel”

…They obeyed, their stomach twisting so much they felt like they would throw up. They put their forehead to the floor, ignoring that it was all dirty and mud.

“W-w-whumper I-I-I’m sorry” they tried, but Whumper hit them with the gun, making their vision dark for a second.

“You will be” a foot on their face, lifting their chin from the mud “I gave you my trust… And you fucked up this badly pet”

“I-I’m sorry… I-I really am I I d-don’t know what… What was I thinking”

…They were thinking that this is fucked up. That Whumper was a monster. That they missed their normal lives from before, and that they hated that they had to wear a collar, to crawl on all fours and eat dogfood, because some fucked up bastard wanted them to. Because otherwise they would be hurt.

And they wanted to spit and scream and fight Whumper. But they couldn’t find the courage to. All the braveness they still had was used on this pathetic escape attempt. And even if they did, Whumper could just shoot them and bury them here in the middle of nowhere, to never be found by anyone they ever loved.

Tears started to flow… But some of them were from anger. Whumpee was angry at the world, at themselves, maybe at Whumper too.

“Let’s go home dog. So you can be punished properly” They whimpered a bit at the order, but nodded and got up. Whumper kicked them down immediately “I never allowed you to walk. You are a dog. Crawl for me”

They shivered, and relented. It was much more torturous this way, as their hands and knees got caught up on sharp rocks, hard roots and tiny herbs with thorns that grew among the grass. Still it was nothing compared to what the punishment would be.

Whumper led them to the shed and locked the door behind them. Whumpee didn’t need to be told to kneel, they did so obediently, near the center of the room, while Whumper got a bunch of rope.

They only secured Whumpee’s wrists, which was strange, but soon they understood.

“Well well well, let’s see…” Whumper comes back with a roll of barbed wire “…Running away. Stealing a key. Removing your collar. Walking on two feet as if you were a person. Waking up your master. And you broke up my fence. I’ll have to wake up earlier tomorrow to fix that, you know? See how many troubles you’ve caused silly little pet?”

They whimpered again, and Whumper steps towards them and starts wrapping the wire. They glue their arms to their body, wrap it around their back and their throat, all so tight the edges break their skin and even breathing makes the wire dig in further.

They whine as blood starts to drop. They have to keep their breathing short or else it hurts them more. They look pleading at Whumper.

“There, there little pet. We are just beginning. For the fence, you know?” Whumper smiles and walks to their tool box, picking up a hammer “Now for running away, silly thing. And using your legs…”

“No. No Whumper please. Please no- Please don’t! I-Il-Ill be good I promise I-“ Whumper doesn’t want to hear them. They grab Whumpee by the ankle and pull them forward. They barely have time to think before the hammer goes down hard on their leg, and the bone breaks with a sick sound.

Whumpee screams and shakes, they barely feel as the wire cuts them hard. All they can sense now is the bone and the movement as the hammer is lifted again and goes on the other leg.

Whumpee passes out for a few seconds, tears flowing out. They wake up shivering, in shock, and try to curl up to their smashed legs, but the movement causes the wire on their back to be moved and make long cuts before they realize and stop themselves, half-curled up. Whumper is caressing their head now, voice full of sick affection.

“There there, you woke up. No trying to escape from me like this either, uh?”

“S-s-s-orry” they whimper, voice sounding like a squeak “S-s-sorry n-no more p-please…”

“…Oh dear” Whumper smiles with disappointment “This could be a nice night for us, Whumpee. You could still be curled up on your warm blanket, getting some comfortable sleep. It’s your decisions that caused this pet. Your disobedience.”

Whumpee sobbed. It was true. If they hadn’t attempted this they… they would still be fine. If they just did what Whumper told them to, they would be fine and cared for.

They braced themselves for what would come next. It was their own fault. Their stupid decision… They wished they could go back, just put that damn key on its place, and curl up like a good doggy. That fluffy rug was the most comfortable place on the world.

Whumper brought back… a collar, made of old metal that Whumpee recognized very well. They had it for the longest time, before being allowed on the leather leash. They wept when they saw it.

“Oh no, no complaining now dear” Whumper said as if scolding a child “You had a real nice and soft one, didn’t you? You rejected it, so this is what you get”

They flinched a bit, but was no use. As soon as the collar was on, Whumper pressed on the button that shocked them. They screamed and twitched on the floor, despite their attempts to stay still and avoid getting more wire cuts. Even worse, every time their moved their leg a wave of pain made their spine cold.

It stopped for a second, and they breathed deeply, despite the wire. A kick on their ribs that they barely felt before another shock running through their body.

They cry and sob desperately. Whumper shocks them over and over, until their voice runs out, their whole body is full of dried blood, the wire is so wrapped on their skin they aren’t sure it can be removed by just unwrapping it.

Finally, Whumper kneels by their side, gently caressing them again, and leaning in to whisper on their ear.

“…We will be starting your training again tomorrow. From step one. This time, I’ll make sure you learn it properly”

Whumpee cries out in response, as they watch Whumper stepping away and leaving them on the dark.

#whump #whump writing #whump drabble #whump scenario

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angstyaches · 4 years

Note

Hey! A fic where Shayne just CANNOT stop throwing up and Charlie is taking care of him, and outwardly, he seems to appear very calm and methodical to keep Shayne calm (psst Shayne notices and is even more attracted to charlie because he hasn’t seen him be this in command before) but inside Charlie is freaking out big time because he isn’t sure if he’s taking care of Shayne properly or not?? I’m sorry this is so detailed sdgsgs you don’t have to write it if it’s boring or anything

Anon, I love this request so much! I really hope I did it justice. Get ready for some post-reunion Charlie and Shayne (I’ll probably write the actual reunion eventually, but for now we’re time-skipping).

CW: nausea, emeto. Otherwise it’s just bois being Soft.

___

“Hey,” came a soft whisper next to his ear. “You still with me?”

Shayne tried to open his eyes, eyelashes sticking together a bit with dried tears. He was shivering between the arms that were holding him up, drooling slightly against the shoulder supporting his head.

“Hmm?” was all he could manage to get out.

“Poor thing. You must be so tired,” Charlie said, tilting his head to try to get a look at Shayne’s face. “Are you ready to head back to bed, or…?”

Shayne faintly shook his head. The nausea was rushing back in force now that he was awake, now that he’d remembered where he was and what had been happening for the past few hours. He had vague memories of Charlie helping him drink some water right before he’d dozed off there on the floor, and he could feel it sloshing inside him even while sitting still.

“Charlie,” he groaned, reaching for one of Charlie’s hands.

“Yes?”

He didn’t know what he’d wanted to say. He’d just wanted to let Charlie know that he could feel him, that he was glad he was there.

Hot and cold liquid began to gurgle up his throat at the same time. He turned towards the toilet bowl, his body just going through the motions by now. He heard Charlie sigh before he sat forward to stroke Shayne’s back, even though his t-shirt was stuck to his back with chilled sweat by now. His stomach lurched, slamming against his ribs like a fist.

He spat out mouthfuls of water, gasping and coughing as droplets attempted to go the wrong way in his throat. He leaned a little harder against the toilet bowl with each heave, his chin eventually resting on the seat, eyes glistening with fresh tears. His stomach gave a deep rumble, empty again and still writhing inside him as his abdominal muscles spasmed.

“Hey, come here,” Charlie whispered, prying him away from the toilet. Shayne gladly let his body slump against him. He closed his eyes again as Charlie used the sleeve of his hoodie to dry the tears from underneath them.

“Charlie, my stomach,” he whined.

“I know.” Charlie rested his hand on Shayne’s belly, without lifting his t-shirt. Shayne winced and then sighed as Charlie’s fingers began to trace gently up and down. The taller boy nuzzled his face against the back of Shayne’s neck.

Something seemed to flutter in Shayne’s gut, but maybe it was to do with the nausea fading slightly. His stomach hadn’t felt this awful in ages, yet Charlie seemed so sure of his movements that Shayne was falling into a weird sense of calm. The soothing pressure of Charlie’s hand over his belly was forcing his eyelids halfway closed.

He shivered, which Charlie seemed to assume was due to the cold, because he rubbed a hand briskly up the side of his arm.

“Come on, let’s go, huh?” Charlie asked. “You need to get some sleep.”

“Mmm, no...” Shayne looked up with his half-closed eyes as Charlie slid his hands under his elbows. “Still feel sick.”

“You can throw up on me, or on the duvet, or wherever you need to,” Charlie said, starting to get both of them up, “but I’m not letting you sit on this cold floor all night.”

Nausea swirled deep in Shayne’s stomach, and he found his legs too shaky to take his own weight. There was an awful moment when he thought he was going to drop right back down onto the tiles, but thanks to Charlie, it didn’t happen.

“Whoa – it’s okay, lovely, I’ve got you.”

Their eyes met briefly, and Shayne felt that weird flutter again. Usually he couldn’t stand having anyone’s arms looped all the way around him, but this felt different. Charlie was acting so calm and sure of himself, and Shayne didn’t have the urge to push him away.

There was just the urge to keep rolling that word around on his tongue. Lovely. It was the only thing he could focus on to keep his mind off the wrenching pain in his belly. It had a taste to it, like butter melting onto toast. Had Charlie really meant to call him that?

Despite Charlie’s pull, Shayne paused in the bathroom doorway and put his hands to his stomach, overwhelmed with what felt like a wave crashing against its walls. He felt a gurgle working its way up from deep in his gut, burning behind his ribs, making his cheeks ache.

The heaving began so quickly this time that he didn’t think he’d make it back to the toilet, so he turned and puked bright yellow acid into the sink instead. Charlie was practically tangled up in him, and was still holding his waist when he started throwing up again. Shayne’s hands were clammy and kept slipping on the edges of the sink as his stomach flipped over again, with nothing left to force out of him but a weak belch and a dry sob that made Charlie’s heart twist.

“Sorry,” Shayne murmured, shakily bringing one hand up to hold onto Charlie’s. “Can’t... can’t stop.”

“It’s okay,” Charlie sighed. “Take all the time you need, it’s – it’s okay.

Was it okay, though? Charlie couldn’t understand exactly how it was possible to keep throwing up after so long. His heart was threatening to escape up his throat at any minute, his nerves tingling with worry at every retch, every flinch in Shayne’s body.

“Oh, that’s okay, lovely, I’ve got that,” Charlie whispered, reaching for the faucet as he saw Shayne try to do it himself.

There, you said it again. He cringed and tucked his cheek closer to Shayne’s shoulder as the running water cleared the sink a bit. He prayed uselessly that Shayne had managed to not hear him both times he’d called him lovely. God, he was a mess, and he wasn’t even the one who couldn’t stop puking. He needed to get it together.

“You okay?” he asked. “Ready to try for the bed again?”

Shayne nodded and kept a weak grip on Charlie’s hand as he turned around. Charlie was sure his heart was going to burst as he let him wrap his arms around him for the second time that night.

Charlie grew anxious again when he noticed how Shayne kept his hands on his belly all the way back to bed, as though he was afraid something was going to fall out if he let go. Maybe it would have been better to let Shayne stay by the toilet for as long as he wanted, instead of dragging him to bed, but… Charlie’s chest ached at the thought of Shayne falling asleep on the cold floor again, when they could be tucked up under the duvet together.

Charlie eased Shayne down onto the edge of the bed, but instead of lying down, Shayne let out a whimper and leaned forward slowly. He rested the top of his head against Charlie’s belly while keeping his hands pressed to his own. Charlie’s spine tingled, and he gently traced his fingertips over the back of Shayne’s neck and up into his soft dark curls.

“Shayne, are you –?”

He was cut off by a muffled retching sound, which made Shayne’s spine curl harshly. There was a slight choking sound as the dark-haired boy lifted one hand to his mouth. Charlie stepped back a little to see that he had retched up a thin string of liquid that now ran from his lips to his palm.

“Shit,” Shayne mumbled.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Charlie said, rubbing a hand across his shoulders. “I’ll be right back.”

He grabbed the hand towel from the bathroom, running one corner of it under the tap for a few seconds. When he made it back to the side of the bed, he knelt down and cleaned the mess from Shayne’s face and hands.

“Still –” Shayne scoffed weakly. “Still think I’m lovely?”

Charlie’s heart sank. Of course, he heard the little pet name. He looked up from the floor, ready to try to explain it all away somehow, maybe by blaming the verbal slips on nerves and exhaustion. What he wasn’t expecting was to see Shayne’s dark brown eyes filling up with tears and shying away from meeting Charlie’s gaze.

“Yes,” Charlie whispered, dropping the towel on the floor without looking away. He swallowed against a lump in his throat and climbed up onto the bed. “You want to know a little secret?”

“Mmhmm.”

“I always think you’re lovely.”

Shayne leaned against Charlie’s shoulder, laying a shaky hand on his knee. Charlie felt both a thrill and a wave of relief, the combination of which made his head feel a little funny. He ran a hand up and down Shayne’s back and nuzzled his cheek against his curls.

“Let’s lie down, yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

Charlie got in first, holding out his arm for Shayne to curl up with his back against him. Their fingers slipped together under the sheets. The bedside lamp was still on, Charlie realised, but there was no way he was moving from this position again.

Charlie felt a little guilty for allowing himself a smile while Shayne was probably feeling miserable. “How are you feeling now?”

“Mmm,” Shayne mumbled against the pillow. “My stomach hurts, but this - this is... good.”

“Good.” Charlie once again nuzzled the back of Shayne’s head. He was quickly getting used to the smell and feel of his hair against his face, yet felt like he’d never, ever get sick of it. “If I gently rubbed your tummy, would that also be good? Or would it make you nauseous again..?”

Shayne’s heart skipped a beat. He was already guiding Charlie’s hand down, lifting his t-shirt out of the way and letting Charlie’s hand slip underneath. He’d thrown up so much that he could feel how empty he was, and the emptiness itself had brought on its own kind of ache.

Charlie rubbed soft, wide circles over his belly with the palm of his hand, causing Shayne to melt further into the mattress, the pillow, the warmth of another body. The caring touches seemed to slowly chase out the ache and fill up the hollow spaces left behind by the nausea.

His eyelids continued getting heavier, and he meant to say something to Charlie about falling asleep, but he never got around to it before drifting off.

Charlie also found his eyes closing sporadically, found his hand drifting to a stop at intervals. He smiled faintly to himself when he heard Shayne’s breathing deepen. He pressed a kiss into his hair before tucking his face away again. He fell asleep holding Shayne like one of them would fall off the bed if he decided to let go.

#sickfic #emeto sickfic #emeto #shayne and charlie #oc sickfic #oc emeto #emeto fic #nausea #stomach ache #belly rubs #just the bois being soft for each other #aagghh

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f-nodragonart · 3 years

Text

Vertebrate Wings, PART 5: Full-body Integration

Return to main post + TOC >>HERE<<

Full-body Integration TOC

Shoulder Placement

Overall Integration

Shoulder Placement

Many fantastical flying creatures are hexapodal, with at least one set of wings along with four other limbs. This poses an interesting dilemma for artists, as there are no real-life animals with this sort of setup: how do you anchor the wings to the body?

The key to answering this is to keep in mind a critical note about wings that I hope I’ve made distinctly clear in my rambling in all previous sections-- wings are intricate, fully-fledged limbs. Not only that, but the fact that they’re locomotive limbs means that they must be anchored VERY solidly to the body (since, y’know, they’re throwing around the mass of the whole body from the points where they’re anchored). Wings CANNOT be treated like pasted-on decorations, if you want them to function correctly.

This in mind, my most important tip here is to absolutely NOT anchor the wing shoulders DIRECTLY ON TOP of the front limb shoulders.

For one, the wings will ALWAYS need quite a lot of chest/shoulder muscular connections. Wing shoulders need a LOT of muscle (relatively speaking) to power flight, particularly on the downstroke, so those shoulder muscles connecting down onto the chest need plenty of open room to anchor to the body. Plus, these muscles generally stretch a fair way down the chest cavity in order to help hold/stabilize the chest cavity in-flight (I’ll discuss this a bit more in the following Overall Integration sub-section, but flying bodies are generally stiff and compact for optimum flight design). And this need for muscular space is without even considering whether a particular design requires a keel or not!

Also note the needs of shoulder movement, depending on the design. Bat flight is highly versatile in part because of their rolling shoulders and general high range of shoulder flexibility. If bats couldn’t flex their shoulders to the same range due to there being a whole other set of limbs in the way (or even having to share a clavicle setup with another pair of limbs), they wouldn’t have near the same range of versatility. While this would likely be less of a problem for bird (and potentially pterosaur) flight due to the fused clavicles and subsequently less-versatile flight, I still think this would pose some issues for flight in general, if the wings had to function around a whole other set of limbs.

Setting aside the problems the wings themselves would face, the wing muscles would also interfere with the front limbs, in this hypothetical setup! If the front limbs were anchored properly to the base chest cavity (as they would absolutely need to be if they were to be used for anything involving locomotion, like walking/running), the wing muscles/bones stretching over/around these limbs would interfere with their range of motion, and likely their overall locomotive power as well. Now I could potentially see the front limbs perhaps detaching from the base chest cavity over time, and instead anchoring on top of the wing chest muscles (a little far-fetched still, but not impossible). However, without a strong anchor to the core body, these limbs would have very little strength (certainly not enough to hold up the body, in-motion or not) or range of shoulder motion, if any at all. thus, if anything, these limbs would likely be used for display or very light object manipulation at most. Think teeny T-rex arms, and you’ll get the picture (and even then, T. rex arms are still anchored to the chest cavity and have significant scapulae, soo..).

There’s no reason that wing musculature would warp itself around a set of limbs when the wings would simply not function correctly if there was another set of limbs in the way. And if the front limbs were evolutionarily ‘important’ enough to keep in the first place, there’s no reason that the front limbs would be forced to function nestled within fully-realized wing musculature (which, I must reiterate, would likely not be fully-realized in the first place if there were other limbs in the way).

Now, for quite a while I held onto the theory that wings could ONLY be anchored behind the front limbs rather than in front. I still believe that anchoring the wings behind the front limbs is the anatomically ‘safest’ way to go, especially for artists new to anatomy and creature design, but I’ve recently changed my opinion on the plausibility of wings in front or arms due to exactly one(1) piece of anatomical artwork shown below:

Drferox (collaborating with Shinydinosaurkingdom’s excellent artistic skills~) designed this Pegasus whose front limbs are actually behind the wings, and it actually works!! This may not seem exciting to anyone else, but I’ve literally NEVER seen this idea executed in a way that convinced me it was anatomically plausible, so I’m a little flustered. (if you’d like to see more of Shinydinosaurkingdom’s art and read up on Drferox’s explantion for their design decisions, I’d HIGHLY suggest checking out the link and digging into their blogs!)

Anyways, I’d like to note to other artists here that the ‘front’ limbs on this Pegasus have been shrunk down and pushed quite a-ways back from the front of the body, to the point that they’re useless for locomotion. This gives the chest muscles of the wings the proper room needed to stretch down onto the keel, and for the wings to rotate comfortably. If you want your dragon to be quadrupedal, I still hold that the only way this could work is with the wings behind the front limbs. However, if you like the idea of a bipedal hexapod, then this approach with the front limbs behind the wings seems an excellent idea!

Of course, this is all under the assumption that the wings have fully evolved perfectly into the hexapodal body plan. Evolution does not happen overnight, and it’s perfectly plausible that a set of “pre-wings” would not yet be properly based behind (or in front!) of the front limb shoulders in a certain species’ ancestry. This idea is best described in Swirlix’s discussion of potential hexapodal evolution from the lobe-finned coelacanth. But note, again, that this is a step along the way to powered flight, not the fully-realized structure for powered flight.

Overall Integration

Knowing where to base the shoulders is only half the battle! Remember how I explained in the previous sub-section that locomotive limbs have to throw around the weight of the whole body? This means that the wings’ motion actually drives the shape/structure of practically the entire rest of the body. Locomotion-- and especially flight-- involves the WHOLE body, so ya can’t just slap a set of wings onto any given body and expect that critter to fly. Some bodies need more integration than others, but integration is needed to some degree for ALL bodies.

Now I’m going to list out some things to keep in mind for flighted bodies, building off of some specevo I did for flighted humanoids in the past:

1) To lean slightly forward, even out of flight. This spine arrangement allows a more natural inclination to a horizontal position when flying. This position would extend to the neck as well, which could possibly: 1) be short and attach more towards the back of the skull, so that the head could comfortably look forward during horizontal flight, or 2) be long/flexible and attach to the bottom of the skull, with the elongated curve allowing the head to position itself forward comfortably when the body is horizontal.

This also allows more comfortable spinal flow and positioning for a tail, as discussed in the following point—

2) A tail. Whether bird or bat-winged, a tail is ~usually~ a helpful structure for powered flight. A tail extends the surface area of the wings (whether through tail feathers or membrane attachment) so that the whole body is supported in-flight. Sure, you could have your humanoid’s membrane attach down the legs, but unless you’re planning on drastically changing the humanoid’s leg structure and walking style (thus rendering the term “humanoid” less and less accurate), the legs aren’t going to be entirely suitable for flight in the same way a bat’s or pterosaur’s legs are.

Now, I will admit, there are bats without tails and/or tail membranes. However, you must take into account the human body plan, and how humanoid legs wouldn’t be able to tuck up against the body like a bird, or help with flight like a bat. Besides attaching the membrane to the legs themselves, the best way I can think of to help lift those legs in the air is to hold them up against a fanned tail during flight. Feathered/membranous tails are also a significant plus if you’re planning on giving your humanoids clothing—leg membrane could be a pain to work around compared to tail membrane.

3) A stiff spine with a compact, possibly midsagittally-flattened torso. While certain flyers may have more thoracic/lumbar (the vertebrae of the back/hip regions) flexibility than others, flyers tend to have pretty short/stiff torsos.

Birds probably represent the most extreme in this regard, as their lumbar vertebrae have fused to their hips to form the solid synsacrum, and their furcula/coracoids help hold their chest cavity open. I didn’t mention this in the Basic Anatomy section, but birds also have little projections that extend off the backs of their ribs to overlap proceeding ribs called uncinate processes. These are also believed to help hold the chest cavity open.

This stiffness is important because the chest is the base for wing muscles, which exert heavy thrusting power on the chest cavity during flight. The chest cavity may very well collapse under the strength of these muscles if it wasn’t at least a little stiff/compact. despite not necessarily being a base for wing muscles, the rest of the torso holds enough mass by way of hips+internal organs that the spine in that region needs a bit of stiffness/shortness as well, to help hold all that mass steady. Plus, stiff hips can provide more landing/takeoff stability (which leads into #4 below).

It’s also important for the torso to either be round or be flattened along the midsagittal plane (when looking at the ribcage from a head-on angle).

Human ribcages are a bit unique, since we’re flattened along the frontal plane, whereas a lot of other chordates (even other mammals) are flattened along the midsagittal plane due to various biomechanical factors (like how gravity affects quad torsos with legs based underneath the body, etc.).

Flying animals have torsos that are either round (bats, pterosaurs) or flatter along the midsagittal plane (birds, due to their deep keels). This provides a far more stable surface for the all-important wing shoulder muscles to attach to. A torso flattened along the frontal plane like a typical human likely wouldn’t provide the wing muscles a stable enough surface for proper thrust.

4) Digitigrade legs. They don’t necessarily need to be distinctly digitigrade—maybe even semi-digitigrade—but the extra joints can provide more cushioning support to absorb the force of landing and takeoff.

5) Body feather integration, if the wings are feathered. Since this is strictly a wing/flight guide, I’ve only described wing feathering in detail. However, keep in mind that birds are FULLY covered in feathers-- their wings aren’t the only limbs with feathers. If you give your creature feathered wings, there should be a least some form of feathering on the rest of the body too. Some sections could be bare or scaled instead, taking into account their uses (bird legs, for example, often have bare talon pads for gripping, hard-scaled legs, and bare stretchy skin around the eyes, etc.), but birds do have important feathering on the rest of their bodies.

I won’t be discussing these sections of feathers because I’d essentially have to describe an entire bird, just be sure to do some research into this feathering (and take pterylae into account).

Maybe your creatures won’t look exactly like your base animal (horse, wolf, human, etc.), but they’ll actually be able to FLY once you integrate their wings into their body plans! Plus, I’ve always found animal amalgamations like vanilla-typical pegasus and winged humanoids to be boring as hell—I want creatures that look like their own unique species, not some knock-off brand of another!

But really, the main takeaway here is this—flight is a primarily horizontal endeavor (barring special hovering cases, as we’ve discussed) that exerts heavy forces on the core body. If you want humanoids (or any animal) to fly, they usually need to 1) adapt to a horizontal lifestyle (if they aren’t already horizontal), and 2) have a strong/compact/stable core structure.

If you’d like some more ideas for wing integration, this video is a fantastic 3d overview of basic bird anatomy and some of the adaptions the body has made for flight.

-Mod Spiral

#wings #mod spiral

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septic-skele · 3 years

Text

UT - Touch and Go

Summary: Today is just like any other day. Papyrus intends to go about his business as usual—never mind his strange fatigue, or his terrible headache, or his voice giving out when he coughs. He'll deny anything is wrong until he can't anymore.

Papyrus awoke feeling strangely…slow-motion. His eye sockets felt gluey as they pried open, bones sluggish as he shifted with a raspy sigh. The first big stretch was a relief, untangling his legs from the blankets and cracking a long row of joints, but the next step was to muster himself and leap up for the day.

Which he did not do, to his own groggy surprise. Within seconds of waking up, his brilliant mind ought to be brimming with notions of chores, puzzles, friendship-making conversation topics. Due to all of this mental activity, he had never gotten much sleep; he was used to catching only fitful snatches of it, but he must have caught a few…fewer last night. Should that bother him?

His bed was so welcoming, so warm—warm enough that his magic was slightly sticky, in fact, radiating under the covers. It held a pleading invitation: snuggle down, stay cozy for just a little while longer.

The fleeting time he spent to consider it would have to suffice. It was sure to be a beautiful day outside and the great Papyrus was not one to waste it! No more wallowing about! Thus decided, he flung the blankets back, sparing just a second to give his bedframe a fond pat as thanks for its offer of comfort and support.

His legs creaked as he rose, still resistant, so he stretched again, popping his ankles and toes for good measure before shoving them into his boots. He would need to put a little more backbone into his morning run. Only because Sans wasn’t there to see, he chuckled at the thought, swallowing a dry tickle that surfaced with it.

Gloves, firmly tugged! Scarf, expertly wrapped! (It was oddly chilly in here. Not something Papyrus was prone to notice, yet he noticed today.) His battle body was heavy on his shoulders and spine, heavy with the weight of responsibility. He had to be ready for anything.

The household chores were simple enough, though Papyrus could feel those minutes he’d spent lollygagging now pressing at his back. Today of all days, when a human finally arrived and he found glory and honor in their capture, he couldn’t afford to be late! If he only started one load of laundry and skimped ever so slightly on brushing crumbs from Sans’ side of the couch, no one would notice.

He had no lungs to be out of breath as he set up the pot for breakfast. The illusion of his gasping was probably just nervous energy from his reserves to keep him alert. While useful for a potential battle later, it did prove distracting. The steam fogging his battle body made him fidget, abruptly aware of the damp heat and the ill-fit places it pinched.

Patrol would offer him plenty of time in the nice, cool weather, he reminded himself patiently. And perhaps if all went well, King Asgore would soon award him a splendorous suit of armor like Undyne’s.

The spaghetti hissed and spat irritably, breaking him out of his thoughts. As he hurriedly stirred, he found himself coming to a sinking realization. These noodles didn’t…sit right, somehow. They didn’t create that pleasant curl of satisfaction in his nonexistent stomach. Was it right to say that he felt not hungry at the sight of them?

Well, it was only because the standards he set for his breakfast were so high! He could make an even better batch later. For now, he could safely assume Sans, compliant as he was, would eat this anyway. It was about time he got up.

“Broth—!” Papyrus began, startled as a few sharp coughs broke him off. With a slight wince he cleared his tight throat and turned down the stovetop. The steam must have grown too thick. “Brother! Rise and shine, you lazybones! I, Papyrus, have concocted a delicious breakfast as a great start to your day! I won’t see you missing out!”

As much as he loved the sound of his own voice, its reverb stirred an unfamiliar song in his head—a plodding set of drums that tromped just behind his eye sockets. He didn’t care much for the beat, but he could rationalize that it was better than Sans’ trombone.

The song continued its pace as he rolled his brother out of bed and spooned up a plateful for him. Because it was more polite to dine in company, he relented and took a bite or two himself.

It was…an experience! he decided, his smile wrenching. One he might have lived his life bereft of, if he hadn’t taken a brave step to try new things! Sans was less adventurous, sucking a single noodle through his teeth.

“Wow, Pap. That’s really something,” he admitted, and for once Papyrus could see that Sans was doing him a kindness by saying so little.

It was something. A pulpy, slimy something that seemed to get tangled up in Papyrus’ mouth the more he chewed. To the rhythm of the drums his jaw twinged for mercy, but nothing bested Papyrus, certainly not something of his own creation.

“Well,” he mustered as he finally got it down, gripping the edge of the table to help himself to his feet. “A sampler is more than enough for me to savor this unique taste. Humans wait for no scheduled meals. I need to get an early start.”

One of the noodles must have tickled the right bone; he muffled another cough against his glove, trying to dislodge the new little ball of pressure sitting behind his breastbone.

Surprisingly Sans perked up at the noise. “You okay?”

“Nyeheh. I’m more than ‘okay’; you of all people know that I am great.” It was a common response; even if he didn't give it his usual gusto, the familiarity would ease his brother’s mind.

Idly twirling his fork around his plate, Sans watched Papyrus shove the pot of leftovers into the fridge with the rest. He didn’t inquire again, which must mean he was properly reassured. There was no reason to fear in the first place. Papyrus would be great regardless of any challenges!

The frigid air seeping from the refrigerator felt lovely, even if it made him shudder. He lingered there, letting it wash over his sore joints until he recalled: Creaky. Exercise to shake it off.

“Finish your plate, Sans,” he urged distractedly, rubbing down his stiff forearms as he left. (How Sans finished the plate—perhaps with the assistance of the sink disposal—he left intentionally vague.)

The jog through town took longer than Papyrus cared to admit. He was pacing himself. It had nothing to do with the battle body slamming against his collarbone or the drumbeat matching his every step, and it certainly had nothing to do with an almighty slipping and crashing as snow shifted to ice underneath him.

A singular wave of pain had rippled through his body, paralyzing him where he lay sprawled on his back. Had he landed somewhere more discreet, he would have been perfectly content to stay there until the throbbing subsided. It was only the snickering of the nearby teenagers that urged him frantically back to his feet.

“It was deliberate!” he blustered, voice cracking. “It was…” He might have come up with some cover story about wanting to see them laugh, using a pratfall as lowbrow humor to cheer them, but without any warning the snowflakes were dotted with dizzying grays and blacks. Swaying, he trailed off and focused instead on regaining his posture.

“You alright, dear? That looked like quite a tumble!” the shopkeeper remarked as she passed.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine!” he stammered, so loud, teeth clacking in some attempt at a grin. “Nothing brings the great Papyrus down for long! A-As for my tumbling, I must give it 110% of my effort, as I give everything else!”

With that he soldiered on, slush making itself at home in his boots. It wasn’t miserable, just uncomfortable enough. He wasn’t used to temperature having such an effect on him; skeletons weren’t meant to notice it. How could his magic be buzzing with the chill when his ribs and spine felt so trapped and clammy in his chest plate? Just as quickly as the thought occurred to take it off, it was smacked away. Ridiculous. He was on the job! He couldn’t be seen as anything less than professional!

That fall had disoriented him. He shot down the muffled voice of Sans in the back of his head giving rise to a pun about being “rattled.” It was far overused but it would have been a good descriptor nonetheless. His footing wobbled now with the unsteady rise and fall of the snowdrifts around him, but he didn’t let it stop him. By the time he reached his puzzle, his equilibrium had settled to a low seesawing.

Gaze sweeping the work ahead of him, he let out a low, hoarse breath. Perhaps with peace and quiet to address his passion project, he could settle his jittery nerves.

“Ohhh, it’s you. Took you long enough to get here and help me!”

Ah. Jerry.

“I have, like, no idea how this puzzle works,” the lumpy monster complained before Papyrus could even think of a greeting. “I don’t have fifty hands! What, are you supposed to bring fifty more people along to activate all those switches at once? As if!”

The wormy gesticulating of his arms was already reminding Papyrus of that bad mouthful at breakfast. Swallowing a sour essence, he decided to take Jerry’s words as backhanded praise and hiked his wan smile up a little. “Yes, it is quite a conundrum, isn’t it? A human will surely be flummoxed by my ingenuity.”

“I don’t care about that! It’s totally in the way.”

“Yes, that…that hasn’t escaped my notice either. That is the intention: to ensure a human may go no further so I, the great Papyrus, can capt—”

“Psh, why even bother, though? A human’s probably never gonna fall down here anyway; basically all your loser puzzles are doing is making life harder for the rest of us! I’m just trying to get from point A to point B. The wi-fi’s better over there! If you were actually good at these things, you’d pass around, like, solution guides for monsters or set up some kind of invisible trap so it wouldn’t be such an eyesore…”

Never one to turn down feedback, Papyrus nodded along, trying to make mental notes of his critique, but as the comments went on and on, Jerry’s grating voice turned the drumbeat in his skull into a full marching band.

“I shall take stock of such things the moment I get the chance!” he spoke out over the din at last, eye sockets twitching in the effort not to grimace. “You said before that you required my aid?”

“Well, duh! You built the thing, didn’t you? Solve it for me so I can get by!”

Papyrus didn’t overlook how the other Snowdin residents reacted to Jerry’s presence—negatively, by all measures. Even Sans did more than a fair share of muttering and eye-rolling at Jerry’s antics, but Papyrus was a gracious and tolerant monster. More than that, he felt a sort of kinship with him. Being an outcast was a lonely affair and Papyrus was certain that he and Jerry both had unseen potential that recognition, kindness and friendship could reveal in time.

That being said, Papyrus was distinctly not at peak friendship ability today.

“You know how to solve your own puzzle, don’t you?” Jerry sneered.

“Obviously! As you said yourself, I am the mastermind behind it!” he shot back with just a flash of indignation. “Come, come, witness the mystifying genius that I’ve laid befo—” He coughed. “Before—” He coughed again, twice, thrice. As that one caught, it wrenched the next out before its time, which triggered the one after that. Before he quite realized what was happening, he was almost doubled over, hacking into his gloves. Jerry, for his part, recoiled in disgust.

“Eww, dude! Wash your hands!” he spat hypocritically, scurrying back the way he had come.

For the first time Papyrus wished that he was a monsterkind equipped with lungs. If he had been, perhaps he could have made better use of the broken wheezes he snatched. Drawing too much air too soon only scratched at his throat and he gagged again. It was a relentless loop of gasping, then gagging, and his eye sockets were on fire. Come to think of it, every bone in his body was burning.

“Bro?”

“S—” he croaked. He wasn’t sure if he stumbled toward or away from Sans’ voice; the gray and black snowflakes had returned, blotting out his vision.

Perhaps he was already falling and hadn’t noticed or Sans was taking preventative measures, but a blue tug on his soul caught fast and helped him down to the ground without another rough impact. For that he was grateful. Next nimble fingers were on the seams of his battle body, collapsing it away from his shoulders, but even that relief didn’t help him settle the fit.

“S’s—!”

“Shh, shh, shh. Don’t try to talk,” Sans ordered, torn between patting or rubbing circles into his back. “Geez, you’re burning up. In through the nasal bone…In, in…And hold it, as long as you can. Cover your mouth if that helps you keep that breath, okay? And…out. Let it out slow.”

Papyrus’ shoulders lurched violently as he struggled to choke back the next cough laced into his exhale. In a blurry panic he shook his head, water stinging his eyes.

“I know, Pap, I know. Slowly. In…and hold. Long as you can. The cough’ll calm down as soon as you do. Freaking out makes it worse. In…Hold it.” His hand went still against Papyrus’ spine, bracing him as he trembled. “I’ve gotcha.”

It would be comforting if it weren’t so humiliating! Wild thoughts scattered through his thundering skull. What if other monsters came along and saw him like this, unable to wrest back control? What if the teenagers laughed? What if he just couldn’t make it stop?

Forget the humiliation. Sans’ palm was comforting. It stayed right there with him as he dragged in a real breath and strangled it into submission. His soul was racing.

“…And out,” his brother coaxed. He obeyed, slowly, slowly, like a balloon deflating from a tiny pinprick. It took three more attempts, almost four, before the raging fire in his ribs surrendered, dying down into bitter crackling.

Blinking stars from his vision, Papyrus sat in an exhausted, shivering haze. Sans was staring at him expectantly, perhaps wondering if he needed to put any more effort into this.

“You’ve done enough. I’m okay now,” Papyrus wanted to say, but only the faintest trickle of noise petered out.

Furthermore, if he had to be honest…he wasn’t okay.

About time he surrendered too.

He slumped, tiredly hoping, and Sans blessedly obliged, shuffling sideways to support Papyrus’ head against his shoulder. His jacket smelled less than terrific, but the fluff and padding were nice against his flushed cheekbone. The cool fingers scratching gently at the back of his neck helped too, soothing its whiplashed sensation.

“I’ve gotcha,” Sans repeated, softer.

He was in capable hands.

#undertale #fanfiction #papyrus #papyrus undertale #sans undertale #snowdin shopkeeper #jerry #sickfic #whump #jerry being a jerk #what else is new?#hurt comfort #brotherly love #caretaking #sans is a good brother #papyrus is now the poster child for cough syrup

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wordsintimeandspace · 4 years

Text

Better With You (3/6)

Due to a petty feud between their respective department heads, Crowley and Aziraphale have been hiding their friendship for months. When they’re suddenly stuck in lockdown amidst a pandemic, Crowley is not coping well. Thankfully, Aziraphale is there for him - but their changing relationship means that keeping secrets from their bosses only becomes more of a challenge.

Crowley/Aziraphale, rated M (for chapter 4). Read on tumblr or AO3.

Crowley knew that doing ninety miles an hour in central London was probably a bad idea and would only get him a scolding from Aziraphale, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The streets were deserted anyway as he sped towards Soho. With screeching tires, he finally came to a stop in front of Aziraphale’s place.

He miraculously found a parking spot not too far away, grabbed his bag from the back seat and hurried towards the entrance. He’d thrown together some clothes, toiletries and work things before he left, enough to hunker down with Aziraphale for a while. Hopefully long enough until the worst was over. Crowley’s heart pounded in his chest as he rang the bell. He vaguely noticed how his hands were shaking. It felt like he’d just ran a marathon, his body trembling under the strain, but Crowley pushed through it as Aziraphale buzzed him in and Crowley sprinted up the stairs.

Aziraphale was waiting for him when he reached his floor. He was standing in the door, the light from his hallway illuminating him from behind in a way that made his soft white hair look almost like a halo. Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. Aziraphale looked like an angel, and Crowley had never wanted to fall to his knees in front of him any more than he did now.

Aziraphale’s lips were curled into such a tender smile that it made Crowley’s heart clench, but the smile slipped away as soon as Aziraphale took him in properly.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started with a frown. “My dear, you look awful.”

Crowley scoffed, still standing at the top of the stairs. Suddenly he was self-conscious, unsure if he should come closer, although every single muscle in his body seemed to quiver under the strain of standing still instead of launching himself at Aziraphale. “Thanks,” he finally muttered. “That’s why I came here, just for the ego boost.”

Aziraphale let out a huff. “That’s not what I mean, you’re still handsome as ever. It’s just… oh, Crowley, please come here.” Aziraphale stepped forward, opening his arms for Crowley, and the last bit of Crowley’s self restraint snapped.

He dropped his bag at once and leaped forward to throw his arms around Aziraphale’s neck. Aziraphale answered without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s waist. He held him close, both gently as if he was the most precious thing in the world and firmly as if he never wanted to let go. Crowley let out a shuddering breath, hiding his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck as he blinked against the tears burning in his eyes.

“It’s alright,” Aziraphale whispered in his ear, soft and sweet. “You’re alright, my darling. I’ve got you.”

Crowley desperately tried to stifle the sob that rose in his throat, but it was like a dam had cracked open, the exact same thing that had been gathering fissures for the last few weeks now. Each of Aziraphale’s hushed whispers punched just another hole into it, yanked just another sob out of his chest. Crowley couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down his cheeks any longer. Aziraphale just continued to hold him, soothingly rubbing his back and whispering words of comfort into his ear.

Crowley was only vaguely aware that Aziraphale steered them into his flat, without ever easing his grip. As soon as they made it to the living room Aziraphale sat down on the couch and pulled Crowley into his lap. Crowley followed willingly, curling up against Aziraphale’s chest, letting himself be held until finally the sobs died down. The utter despair he had felt previously was numbed for now, replaced by a fragile calm and a growing feeling of embarrassment. Crowley sniffled one more time, his nose still buried in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. He didn’t feel up to facing him just yet. But if Aziraphale was bothered by his sudden breakdown he didn’t show it. His ministrations never ceased. He still stroked Crowley’s back and the nape of his neck, occasionally pressing a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head.

“‘M sorry,” Crowley finally croaked when he felt like he couldn’t escape reality any longer.

“Don’t be,” Aziraphale protested. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“Might have ruined your shirt though. Bet it’s all gross now.”

Aziraphale tutted. “Nonsense. And even if you did, it’s hardly more important than you are.”

Crowley closed his eyes against the nearly unbearable gentleness in Aziraphale’s voice. He suddenly wasn’t sure if he could handle this much affection after being starved for it for so long, but he definitely wasn’t going to tell Aziraphale to stop. “I missed you,” he mumbled against Aziraphale’s skin.

Aziraphale pressed another kiss to the top of his head. “I missed you too. And I’m sorry I didn’t realize how hard all this was on you. I should have checked on you way sooner.”

“It’s alright. It’s not that I called you either.”

“No. You could have though.”

“I- I wasn’t sure if it would have really helped,” Crowley admitted. “Hearing your voice without being able to see you. Or touch you.”

“Well. I’m glad you’re here now.”

Crowley’s breath caught in his throat as he recalled their earlier conversation. “Did you mean what you said?” he finally managed to get out, heart pounding hard against his ribs. “About your… affection.”

“Darling, let me look at you,” Aziraphale breathed out, and Crowley didn’t resist as Aziraphale guided both of them to lie on the couch until they were face to face, bodies still pressed together. Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s face in his hands and smiled at him so brightly it was almost blinding.

“There you are,” Aziraphale said, his thumbs brushing away the remaining wetness on Crowley’s cheeks. Crowley still felt like hiding, but he was lost in those pale blue eyes, drinking in the love shining from them, and he couldn’t have looked away even if he’d tried. “And yes, Crowley,” Aziraphale continued, his voice so calm and steady that Crowley never doubted that he spoke the truth. “I meant each and every word.”

Crowley let out a long breath, reaching out to grasp Aziraphale’s wrists. He felt Aziraphale’s pulse throb under his fingertips. “I feel the same, you know,” he finally managed to get out, his voice hoarse, and Aziraphale’s eyes gleamed in response.

“I wasn’t sure, but… oh, I had hoped you would, Crowley.”

“I thought I’d been quite obvious as well,” Crowley mumbled, tilting his head to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s palm. “Guess being around these wankers at work all the time makes it a little hard to get that point across.”

Aziraphale winced at his words.

“What?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, nothing, I’m just... thinking about what Gabriel and Beelzebub would say if they could see us now.”

Crowley let out a huff. “I don’t want to imagine,” he grumbled. “But they couldn’t possibly have anything to complain about. All we’ve been doing has been perfectly innocent.”

The smile was back on Aziraphale’s lips in just an instant. It slowly curled into a smirk, something wicked hidden behind his usual softness. “Would you rather make this a little bit less innocent?” he asked, his voice still even and calm as if his words hadn’t just sent a shiver down Crowley’s spine. “Because I would very much like to kiss you, although I was planning to wait until after I cooked you dinner. Just because we can’t go on a date doesn’t mean we can’t do this properly.”

Crowley snorted. “And then what? Will you kiss me goodnight after and and banish me to the guest room, because that’s the proper thing to do?”

Aziraphale studied him for a long moment before he spoke. “You’re more than welcome to take the guest room, darling, if that’s what you want,” he finally said. “Just because I invited you over doesn’t mean I have any expectations whatsoever in that regard.”

Crowley felt like he should scoff at the coddling, or at least counter Aziraphale’s ridiculous concern with a quip, but he was too busy blinking away the moisture gathering in his eyes and swallowing around the lump in his throat. Instead of speaking, he hid his face in the crook of Aziraphale’s neck all over again, breathing in the comforting scent of his skin. His words were reassuring to hear, Crowley had to admit. But the thought of sleeping in the guest room, away from Aziraphale’s comforting warmth and softness, was almost unbearable. “I don’t think I want to sleep alone,” he admitted eventually.

Aziraphale hummed, pressing a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head. “In that case you’re more than welcome in my bed. Again, I have no expectations. If all you want to do is sleep, I’ll be more than happy to do that with you beside me.”

For a moment, Crowley was at a loss of words. Aziraphale handled him with such care it was nearly overwhelming. He wasn’t sure how to deal with it, except to answer with a joke to hide his vulnerability. “Are you an angel? I mean an actual, proper angel? All with a shining halo and white wings? Do I need to be afraid of your divine wrath if I ever piss you off?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale said, without any malice. “I know you went through a difficult time recently, and I simply don’t want to take advantage of you. I don’t want you to think my support comes with any conditions. And…” Aziraphale hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath. “... you did tell me once that you’re asexual. Or, well, on the spectrum. I just thought it might be a delicate topic.”

Crowley felt his cheeks heat up. He hadn’t been sure if Aziraphale remembered - there had been a lot of wine involved on that particular evening, and he’d never brought it up again before now. “Hnk, I- yeah. I am. Demisexual, I mean.”

“Yes. I need you to know I am perfectly fine with that. I would never push you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“I know that, or I wouldn’t be here.”

“Good. I’m glad,” Aziraphale said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Crowley’s head.

“And, there are a lot of things I’m comfortable with, but, uhh…” Crowley trailed off and gulped around the lump in his throat. He struggled for words for a moment, eventually letting out a groan. “Can we just, not have this conversation right now? I think I went through enough complicated emotions for the day. Give me a break, angel.”

Aziraphale chuckled and raked his fingers through Crowley’s hair, scratching gently. “Of course. Take all the time you need.”

Crowley let out breath. “See, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Angel. Too bloody good for this world.”

“Nonsense,” Aziraphale said, a smile in his voice. “If it reassures you, I don’t think all my thoughts regarding you in my bed are very angelic.”

Crowley laughed. He finally pulled away from the safe hideout that was the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and rolled over until he was hovering over him. “Good,” he said, grinning down at him. “I don’t think I want them to be. You can be an angel and a bit of a bastard at the same time, yeah? Think that would suit you.”

Aziraphale's lips twitched. "Is that a compliment?"

“Highest one there is. And you know what? Fuck doing things proper. Can I kiss you?"

Aziraphale’s eyes shone up at him. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, Crowley, please.”

It was all the encouragement Crowley needed. With his heart thumping wildly in his chest, he leaned down and finally pressed his lips to Aziraphale’s.

Crowley felt something uncoil inside of him, at the first gentle touch, at Aziraphale’s soft gasp, at he way he curled a hand into Crowley’s hair to keep him right there. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, a pressure eased from his chest so that he was finally able to breathe. Aziraphale’s lips were warm, his body soft against his own, and Crowley never wanted to let go again.

It wasn’t like everything was well, all of a sudden. The state of the world outside still made him want to despair. But Aziraphale’s gentle touches and sweet whispers wrapped around him so tightly that for the first time in weeks, Crowley didn’t feel like he would fall apart any second now. It calmed his nerves, soothed all the raw places inside of him until the hurt was just a faint echo in the background instead an all-consuming ache. And for the moment, Crowley thought as he kissed Aziraphale again and again, that was enough.

#good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #ineffable husbands fic #crowley x aziraphale #my fic #my fic: better with you #here is the comfort I promised #sending hugs to everyone having a hard time right now 💜

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gasp-iwrotesomething · 4 years

Text

Apologies to the anon :)

Since I utterly fucked up a request that was sent in, I knew that I had to give the anon what they wanted so this is what it is. Again, I’m so sorry for screwing it up and disregarding your request and I hope you can forgive me and my sleep walking self :)

Anon Request: Could I please request Helena and mc while mc is pregnant, maybe Helena helps mc through a sleepless night, mc pushing for more while Helena is a little reluctant to as she’s scared it would hurt the baby

Awww, this is such a cute idea, anon! I’ve never written something like this before (in terms of pregnancy) but it doesn’t hurt to give it a try; I would be so happy to write this for you! Thank you for taking the time to request and I hope you enjoy!

Summary: MC is seven months pregnant with her and Helena’s baby and for what seems like the trillionth time, she’s faced with another restless night. Aggravated and hormonal, MC relies on the support of her loving wife to make it through the night; which transcends into spicing it up in the way MC loves most...

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MC was restless.

It wasn’t uncommon nowadays with a baby nestled deep in her belly, constantly moving around and squirming like it was dancing. She silently scolds the baby to stop being so active--to let her get some rest--since she had always heard that a mother and the child growing within her are connected like no other. Maybe that entails a psychic link where all MC had to do was bid her rowdy fetus to do as she says--but to no one’s surprise, it doesn’t work like that. MC nestles against the firm wall of heat at her back, grooved inward to spoon her body and allow her aching back some repose. Helena’s arms are wound around MC’s torso and cradle her baby bump, both a heartwarming position and a reassuring gesture. When wrapped up in Helena like this, she could swear that her heart was a lantern in her chest; glowing and bright following Helena’s warmth. She holds onto that facet and tries to fall asleep--but then her unborn dancer kicks her belly again, hard, and any tendrils of sleep around MC recede. The Chicagoan groans and pouts into the pillow. What does a peaceful, uninterrupted, uneventful sleep even look like? Haven’t seen it in months. Helena stirs then, her pale hands drifting slightly across MC’s stomach. “Something wrong, love...?” Helena’s voice erupts beside her ear low and husky, her words slurred as sleep attempts to drag her back down. MC restrains the shiver that crawls up her spine and shakes her head gently, hands wandering to Helena’s. “No, nothing much,” sarcasm broils within her tone unintentionally, “just Baby Klein keeping me awake. The usual.”

Baby Klein kicks as if hearing that they were acknowledged, which only doubles MC’s frustration. Behind her, Helena relinquishes a brief hum and pulls MC a little closer--if closer was even possible when her groin was pressed quite firmly against MC’s tail bone. Suddenly, once one area of connection is recognized, MC becomes hyperaware of all of the rest. Helena’s breasts, supple warmth that MC had felt time and time again, pressed into her spine and cushioned her temperamentally. Her long, slender legs are woven with MC’s and her lips brush the base of her neck, painting the skin hot each time she breathed. That heat rises up MC’s nape to her cheeks, then as she recollects just how close Helena’s beautifully sculpted body is to hers, descends to the other fleshy facets of her body. Soon, under the moon’s silver gaze, MC’s body was the epitome of a flustered mess. These pregnancy hormones are so strong... how am I going to be able to go to sleep now that I want Helena to touch me so badly? “That’s unfortunate--I wish you could get more sleep, it is crucial when you are with child,” Helena keens into MC’s ear which sends a gust of tremors to wrack her body, “do you believe there’s anything I could do to help you?” The sorceress skims her fingertips up and down MC’s swollen belly. She presses a sweet kiss behind MC’s ear and a moan escapes the pregnant woman, her heartbeats an uptick higher.

She knew what she wanted--she wanted Helena to touch her, kiss her, nurture her until MC was too pleasantly drained to keep awake. Biting her lip, MC’s hands lock around Helena’s wrists. She turns her head slightly to see her wife’s gentle face, presented beneath the moonlight. “Could you... could you make love to me? Please?” MC whispers. The sentence stumbles as it travels from her mouth and MC burns harder, embarrassment a cracking lash of a whip. There’s a heavy silence that follows, so deep that MC feared Helena had fallen asleep. “MC... but I,” Helena seems frazzled, shocked, so she speaks before the words properly form in her mind, “...what about the baby? You are pregnant, my love, how could I...?” The sorceress trails off, her breath wafting against MC’s skin as she presses her nose into MC’s shoulder blade. It was evident that Helena was reluctant because of the baby, and MC smiled to herself--her wife was so thoughtful and caring, a trait that MC had always loved most about Helena. Lacing their fingers, MC tosses a reassuring smile at Helena from over her shoulder, desire and respect shimmering in her grey eyes. “Helena, it’s okay. Stuff like that doesn’t affect the babies, just the mom. And it’s a good effect, so don’t worry about that either.” MC gives Helena’s fingers a sweet squeeze as her heart flutters in her chest. The way Helena was embracing her made her feel safe, like nothing could ever touch to the happiness that Helena bubbled them in.

Helena considers her wife’s words, blue gaze quizzical as it roves her wife’s tender skin. She stays quiet for a while and MC worries that Helena will still refuse. But if it’s not something Helena if comfortable with, then I won’t push that agenda. She’s got boundaries, after all. The last thing MC wanted was to make her wife uncomfortable--especially with something as sacred as their blossoming child. “I suppose it won’t hurt to try that with you,” Helena hesitantly agrees, her fingers hugging MC’s back, “but please, if you feeling anything is amiss with you or the baby, tell me. You and our baby’s welfare comes first.” MC is a little surprised at Helena’s agreement but she pauses before continuing any farther. Helena sounded reluctant--almost unwilling--which wasn’t something MC wanted to inflict upon her wife. She wanted her to be eager and willing, not feel forced into it. “If you don’t want to do that, it’s fine. I can just go back to sleep. I’ll live.” But Helena interjects quickly, her lips touching MC’s shoulder in a ginger kiss. The feeling both soothes and agitates the hormones infecting MC’s being. “No, I wish to do this with you, my wife. If this is what pleases you and promises a long night of rest, then it is my duty as your lover to cherish you the way you desire to be.” The last section of her reply is bathed in undertones of sensuality and lust, illustrated in gentle, low whispers between kisses that travel up from MC’s shoulder to the shell of her ear. A whole new wave of heat laps her guts and she moans, leaning into Helena as the sorceress’ hands wander lower on her belly.

They scuttle past the swell of MC’s pale stomach down to the rim of her navy panties, the dull scraps of silky midnight pushed aside to grant Helena access. Then her fingers explore MC, both around and within her, and the pregnant Chicagoan shudders. Helena smirks, reigning in her brief sense of power, and presses the pads of her fingers against the part that made MC craziest--massaging gently. MC pants as two fingers dip within her, savoring her hot wetness and the ribbed texture that engulfed them. A sequence of chain reactions seize the lovers in the night; MC would lose herself and react, which encourages Helena further, which causes another reaction, and then another change in the sorceress’ movements. The seconds blur together as MC’s bliss doubles, then triples, then quadruples until-!

She’s falling, winged by Helena’s presence and her fingers’ prowess.

When MC floats back down, she’s quivering in Helena’s arms. The fill of her wife is sucked away as Helena withdraws and adjusts her panties, easily discarding any evidence left over.

Well, every ounce of evidence besides the gloss that hugged Helena’s fingers.

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Thank you for your request and again, I apologize for disregarding your request like that; I hope this will make up for it, lovely 😊

If you want to request something, here’s the Prompt List, here are the Guidelines, here’s Who I Write For, and here is where you can Request me.

#helena klein #love and legends #sincere apologies to the anon who requested this and got a 'k' instead of their request

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miyomiikonran · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 4

Extra rules: Each short story will be between 500-1000 words and will include at least one of my or @ironic-artist's OCs.

Today's theme: Running out of time

Choosen prompt: Collapsed building

Universe: Wakfu (explanation in notes)

Character: Takashi

Word count: ~1000

Trigger warnings: Emotional and mental distress

For more notes please look at the end!

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Who would have thought that's how he's gonna end up. Under a tons of stone chunks, bricks, tiles… Definitely not the way Takashi imagined himself to go. But one thing was sure, he took that bitch with him.

It was supposed to be their big day, the day when they're either gonna win or everything will go to shit and they're gonna die one way or another. Pretty much a day to look forward to. Attack on palace started before dawn, as they had to get through old dungeons leading from prison all the way under the palace, possibly undetected for as long as possible, with all forces available at the moment. Whole island was tense for a few days now. Both sides knew final clash will happen eventually, as army's reinforcements were on their way to help with ongoing revolt against King Adale. Rebels would obviously stand no chance against them, because of their high tech, despite higher numbers.

After they arrived under the palace, real battle finally began. Everything was going smoothly at first, as they managed to get lower levels under control. But once they started moving further, losses were starting to grow as King's personal guard was protecting central parts of palace. First fall back and need for regroup caused doubts to grow, which was the main reason for officer meeting to be called. His shoulder still felt stiff while he moved it, because of that blow from axe he got three weeks ago. Thanks to Shinuo it was mostly healed, otherwise he couldn't be here now.

In the end it was decided that they have to give it all they got in last deciding offensive. They thought they would had few hours left till dusk to prepare… Till King's General didn't appear out of nowhere in her damn robotic suit. Of course that crazy bitch had to somehow get ahead of rest reinforcements! Just her presence alone caused a lot of panic as she was known for having no mercy even towards her own soldiers not even mentioning any traitors to the kingdom. That's when he and maybe dozen other people from his old unit got the same idea, just as batshit crazy as their enemy. They did their best to provoke her and take her away from main forces. Unfortunately, they were lucky enough for it to work.

That's how they found themselves in ballroom at the far west section of the palace, which was topped with huge dome and surrounded with massive, thick columns all round. These were great hiding places, at least for as long as Miss General didn't decide to put her portable cannon to use. Soon they felt how whole construction started to shake with each heavy step of robotic suit jumping around. It was the last chance to leave, they all knew it. But he didn't make it. Entrance got blocked by stone supports from ceiling just before his eyes. Just his kind of luck.

One of his last pieces of memory before ceiling completely fell apart was being chased by her, trying to hide behind what remained from all the columns and other rubble, right as piece of ceiling fell onto robotic suit, causing General herself to crawl out of it, pissed and bloodthristy. Last seconds got filled with their struggle on the ground, exchanging hits. His last thought hardly could be called sane, as he used a small fire spell Shinuo taught him to ignite whatever shit was seeping from broken robotic suit. Explosion was the last hit, right after it whole ballroom turned into rubble. Heavy, suffocating grave for the both of them.

Being burried alive is new kind of nightmare he never had to imagine. It was so hard to breathe... He knew his ribs got smashed, pain basically was going through his spine with every deeper inhale or exhale. Dust all around, on his face, in his hair, flying all around in all these tight spaces, tangling in his throat, as he desperately tried not to cough. He couldn't move his legs, that's for sure, but hey, at least he felt them! Mostly more pain but that's something... If someone's gonna find him.

Takashi's thoughts were going crazy at the time. Panic was slowly seeping in as more and more scenarios were apprearing in his mind. How's Shinuo gonna react? Will he be alright? As long as rest succeeds, probably… If not, then even doctors treating rebels might pay heavy price. Feeling of powerlessness was kinda terrifing. He tried to calm his breath but panic finally made him cough so hard his vision got black for a second. He asked Shinuo to stay away from this whole mess! But obviously he wouldn't listen, so so devoted to help in whatever way he could. Of course he would... He's never gonna see Hidemichi again, or his girlfriend. Maybe Hide will help Shinuo to get out of trouble? He could take him to Amakna, or something… That thought was weirdly reassuring, despite being stuck. Even if he's gonna die here… Thought sent shivers down his spine. How long will it take….? His head started to feel dizzy. It already hurt before, now it only was getting worse. With time it started to get pretty chilly, so he suspected that night came already. He couldn't hear anything though. No sounds of battle, nor someone digging through these damn stones. He finally lost his consciousness as new day came.

* * *

Is there anything more terrifing than thinking you might've lost your twin?

Shinuo just couldn't be stopped since information that Takashi's probably burried somewhere under collapsed part of palace reached him. Uncertainty was there, of course, but his mind was too skilled in sending him more and more visions of painful death in that scenario. He wanted to help but most stones were too heavy for him to lift... Finally he left, heartbroken, but aware there's nothing he could've done to help. He went back to field hospital instead. That's where he can make a difference. He had to occupy himself with something, anything! It's not like they had any free time on their hands anyway, with so many injured, among rebels, soldiers and civilians alike.

As late evening came, he heard some shouts. And even a bit of cheering from nerby tent. He rushed there right away...and there he was, unconscious, worn out, with his legs so heavily bloodied but at least alive. However, elderly doctor stopped him before he could get close to Takashi, who was taken to their "intensive care" tent. If you can call a tent like that...

- That's bad idea. Look at yourself, you're barely on your feet right now. Better leave it to others, you're already a ball of nerves. Go and rest, have some sleep. - woman insisted, but before she let him go, she pushed something into his own hand.- Take a look, he had it in his hand.

It was a little, golden like metal badge, now heavily scratched and bent in one place. The General's badge.

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Sloooowly but I'm still going. Today's lil writing is still about my two main babies, but in completely different setting, in universe known from fantasy MMORPG called Wakfu, as well as anime series. It's Takashi and Shinuo's original world, I created them while game was still in beta qwq. Good old days. For those of you who might not know, it's a world with twelve main races, each with it's own God/Goddess, powers based on them and stuff. It also has four nations player is able to choose as their character's main base. Takashi and Shinuo are born as Eniripsas (healing class in this universe) and their nation was ocean-oriented island of Sufokia, who also appears in anime series. My plot for them is basically a mix of both game elements and anime's setting with some of my own twists.

This scene was in my head for years by now. You see, in anime series we can see a young, egoistic prince Adale of Sufokia, who's absolute dipshit unable to properly command his troops as he tries to take over an island for his father's kingdom. Just to spice things a bit I made him a King in here for good chunk of time only to plan a revolt against him when city guards (which was actually position you could have in game too!) and civilians had enough of his neverending wars with other nations that kept ruining Sufokia as a whole. Takashi who worked hard for few years to become a guard and actually get his own small team of people, obviously joined the fight as the hot-head he is. Shinuo as a good brother and skilled doctor he is, followed him into this chaos.

What's kinda funny is that mentioned General also appeared in anime series and was just as crazy and ridiculous in her behaviour as I described. If you don't believe me then go check up 2-3 last episodes from season 2 of anime series :')

#whumptober2020 #no.4 #collapsed building #oc #fic #tw: emotional distress #tw: mental distress #wakfu #sufokia #Takashi

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megalony · 5 years

Text

Pay the price

A Ben Hardy imagine I thought of from the theme of my series ‘Baby of mine’ which I hope you all will like.

Taglist: @marshmallowmae @langdonzvoid @butlegendsneverdie @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap

Ben Hardy masterlist

Enjoy.

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The devilish smile on Ben's features made (Y/n)'s stomach do summersaults before his lips were suddenly smothering her own. His hands gently holding her waist opposing to how much energy seemed to be radiating off of him. His frame towered over her own, his body pressing as close to hers as he could.

"What's up with you?" (Y/n) questioned, humour and curiosity to her voice as she wondered what Ben had done today that had suddenly made him this energetic. He was practically bouncing off the walls as his arms moved to wind around her waist, his hands locking behind her back as his lips attached to her neck.

Pressing her hand to his chest (Y/n) gently pushed him away so she could look up at him, wondering what had gotten into him so suddenly. But when her eyes met his own, (Y/n) didn't need to ask what was suddenly making him this bright and adrenaline rushed. She could see it in his sparkling eyes that seemed to have widened like he was a predator looking at his prey. His emerald orbs darkening as he grinned like the Cheshire cat. His head moving down to try and capture her lips with his own, a frown replacing the predator-like smile when (Y/n) pulled from his hold.

Taking his chin in her hand she tilted his head down so she could look at him properly. Seeing that Ben seemed to think that this was some sort of game, the grin back to his features so wide the corners of his lips were meeting his eyes.

"You're high, aren't you?" (Y/n)'s insides churned in the worst possible way when Ben simply smiled in response, leaning in aiming for a kiss. His body stumbling when (Y/n) pulled away from him, not bothering to help him when he had to lean on the sofa so he didn't face plant the floor. His eyes watching her with confusion when she simply walked away from him.

Ben wasn't in much of a state to try and follow after her but he tried. Clambering up the stairs on all fours, using the bannister for support to propel himself up to the top of the stairs after (Y/n).

"W-what are you doing?" Ben breathed through the words, his eyes coming in and out of focus as he decided to sit on the bedroom floor for a moment or two trying to recover his energy. His heart hammering even harder against his ribs when he noticed (Y/n) was beginning to pack a bag.

"I won't raise a child with an addict Ben. It's two in the afternoon and you're higher than a kite."

(Y/n) was through.

She couldn't continue to have the good days and the bad with Ben because he didn't care about what he was doing to himself. He didn't care what he did or who he lied to as long as he could get that high that he was never off anymore. The actor had promised that he would stop. He promised (Y/n) that their daughter meant everything to him and he would stop himself from continuing with this habit that was digging an early grave for himself. Ben wasn't going to stop. He loved the highs too much to come back down to Earth and (Y/n) couldn't raise a child with someone like this because it wasn't fair to any of them.

"N-no! (Y/n) no d...don’t leave me!" Ben whined the words through a sob, his arms suddenly wrapping around (Y/n)'s legs when he couldn't find the ability to stand. His hands tightening around her to the point she had to kneel down in front of him before he pulled her over and caused some damage.

His head moved down so he could press his face to her chest, his arms encircling around her to try and keep her to him. He knew he had messed up just like every other time, but every other time (Y/n) had never threatened to leave him. Every other time she didn't threaten to leave with his child. Ben could never stop himself from taking the pills and booze that gave his brain a break that he didn't need anymore. A break that he constantly took so much he forgot what it felt like to be sober.

"Me and Lily aren't enough to keep you clean Ben, maybe knowing what you're gonna lose will do something." It hurt to know that she wasn't going to be enough for Ben to get back on the straight and narrow. His career wasn't enough because he simply found ways to hide his addictions from his management. His friends were never enough because no matter how hard they tried Ben pushed it back in their face when the opportunity for a fix came about. (Y/n) thought she would be enough, she thought their daughter would do something to help and up to this point Ben had been doing okay.

If Ben had decided that they weren't enough and he would keep his addiction then he needed to be prepared to pay the price his addiction came with. His addiction was painkillers. He'd suffered problems from rugby when he was just starting to date (Y/n) that led him to rely too much on the tablets that took everything away. Ben decided to abuse those pills and downing too many was the way to go because of the euphoric feeling he got especially when they were combined with alcohol.

Ben knew ways to get his addiction when his friends and family tried to stop him. He used to get prescriptions from his doctor until his brother told them he was an addict and being taken to hospital had only proved this point further. Hospital wasn't helping when they didn't know and they put him on morphine which only made him worse. Ben looked to stealing painkillers from friends and family's homes when (Y/n) cleared their shared home out to try and stop him.

No one could stop the actor from simply going to the shop and buying painkillers. He wasn't underage and two packets (which was the limit to buy at once in a shop) was more than enough for him to take at once to get him high. Taking his face in her hands (Y/n) pressed a kiss to his temple before she prized his hands from around her frame. Using the bed to push herself to her feet, grabbing the bag she had packed before leaving Ben on the bedroom floor. Going to get their one-year-old, hoping that them both leaving would make Ben buck his ideas up because (Y/n) didn't want to leave Ben, she loved him too much to leave for good. But there was nothing else that she could do to show Ben this was not the way forward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ "I didn't know where else to take him." There was an apologetic yet worrying look in Joe's eyes as he had Ben's arm slung over his shoulder, holding the blond to his side who was close to collapsing on the doorstep.

Ben had managed to splutter (Y/n)'s sister's address to his friend who he had called when he knew he couldn't get himself home. Joe had tried to be angry with his friend, he had tried to help him and then to ignore him when he realised Ben had gone home high which led to his wife leaving him. But when he heard the sound of Ben's broken tone he couldn't leave him as he clearly had no one else right now.

Turning up at the bar Joe had nearly screamed when he saw Ben sat at the bar, glasses piled up around him. Working out Ben had had a concoction of beer, whiskey, gin and a few shots and on top of that Ben had admitted he had taken quite a few pills that he wasn't sure about.

Nodding her head (Y/n) indicated for Joe to drag Ben inside which came as a struggle when Ben's eyes set on the one-year-old in (Y/n)'s arms who he hadn't seen for over three weeks now. His arm reaching out for his little girl, trying to get out of Joe's hold so he could hold his daughter. Ben's face fell when (Y/n) moved out the way, her teeth biting down on her lip at the look he gave her before Joe managed to pull him inside. Dumping the blond down on the sofa in the living room.

"Let me hold her."

"You're high." (Y/n) responded, lightly bouncing the little girl on her hip who Ben was reaching out for. His knee bouncing up and down from adrenaline as he pushed himself to his feet, reaching out for Lily who held her arm out to him. Having not seen Ben for a few weeks now, a small babble leaving her lips at finally seeing him here. "Ben, she's tired and you're pissed."

"D-don't do that. She's my girl too give her to me." Ben practically heaved the words as he tried to get rid of the feeling of cotton wool stuffing his head. Lily was his daughter too and he wanted to hold her, he wasn't asking for much and he certainly wasn't going to hurt her. Reaching out he let Lily hold onto his hand as she was trying to grab hold of him, a sudden wail leaving her rosy lips when (Y/n) pulled back and Joe tried to sit Ben back down. "You're upsetting her she wants me."

Sighing through her nose (Y/n) rested Lily in Ben's hold when she began to cry, reaching out for her dad when (Y/n) tried to turn her away from him. If Ben was sober she would have no problem with him holding Lily but right now he could hardly stand up let alone hold their daughter but distressing them all was not a good option.

A shudder ran down Ben's spine when Lily was finally placed into his trembling arms. His hand gently cradled the back of her head which was resting on his shoulder. Tears left his eyes as he pressed his lips to the top of her head, letting Joe gently guide him back to sit down as he was in no state to stand. His eyes fell closed but the tears still fell from his lashes as his head started to pound like someone was attacking his skull with a hammer. Ben had tried, he had tried so hard to clean himself up when (Y/n) left him. His heart had torn into pieces when she left and hadn't let him see Lily either, he missed his little girl.

"What have you taken?" (Y/n) questioned, sitting down on the sofa with him as Joe perched on the table in front of them. "Ben, what have you taken?" She repeated, an edge to her rather calm tone as she tried to see if this was serious or not.

"C-come home. I need you and Lily." He whispered the words as his eyes were trained on Lily. Watching the one-year-old curl up against his chest, her cries nothing but small whimpers now that she had gotten to be in Ben's arms again. Ben was so engrossed in watching his little girl that he didn't realise Joe had leaned over and was checking his pockets, pulling out an empty packet of codeine and a crumpled packet of tramadol.

"Ben... oh what have you done?" Tears welled in (Y/n)'s eyes as she took the packets from Joe's hands, examining them with fear. "You can't mix these together... you've taken a fucking overdose!"

Joe's eyes darted over to look at (Y/n) when she looked at the amount Ben had taken compared to the amount that was meant to be taken. Tramadol on its own was a very high painkiller and taking one too many wasn't good but it was certainly not meant to be mixed and taking codeine with it was dangerous. With the amount he had taken and the alcohol on his breath it showed he had clearly overdosed, now it was just a matter of time before the drugs washed through his veins and took their effect.

"Give me Lily please, so we can take you to hospital." (Y/n) pleaded, tears falling from her eyes at the look on Ben's face showing he clearly didn't want to let go of his girl. Scared that if he let Lily go now he wouldn't have the chance to hold her again anytime soon after this. A flurry of tears escaped his eyes as he handed Lily over, knowing (Y/n) was going to ask her sister to look after her.

"(Y/n)!" Joe shouted, terror in his voice not long after she had left the room when Ben suddenly doubled over. His arms wrapped tightly around his middle as he threw up a substantial amount of blood onto the carpeted floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Opening his eyes felt like he was lifting weights from his eyelids as if stones were set on them. With that being such a struggle, moving any other part of his body was too hard for Ben to do as if his body was made from gold. It took a few moments for his vision to come into focus, unsure of how long he had been unconscious for. But Ben knew the last time he had been awake he hadn't been in a bed like he was now. His mind quick to work out that he was in a hospital room.

A swell of relief surged through Ben when he felt (Y/n)'s hand brushing across his cheek, her other hand entwined with his hand that laid limp on the bed. Her relieved look on her face as tears welled in her eyes seeing that he was finally awake now.

"What happened?" Ben croaked, feeling like his throat was made of sandpaper that his voice was grating against.

"The pills you took damaged the lining of your stomach and you started haemorrhaging. They had to pump your stomach and then take you into theatre to fix the bleed." (Y/n) was rather relieved that Ben didn't remember what had happened before they got here, it was distressing enough for them all and remembering that wasn't something she would choose for herself if she had the option.

All the pills that had dissolved in his stomach and gone to his blood had damaged the lining of his stomach which had started to cause bleeding. Ben hadn't stopped throwing up blood even when they got him to the hospital and in his pained yet high state of mind all he could do was beg for (Y/n) not to leave him and cry out for Lily. At one point all three of them had thought that Ben might not make it through this. Joe had waited with (Y/n) for four hours whilst Ben got his stomach cleared of any trace of pills and then had to go for an operation when the bleeding had slowed but hadn't stopped.

"They've put you on a morphine drip which goes straight into your vein so it won't damage your stomach. Ben... if you take any more pills your stomach will give out I mean it, one more cocktail and we could lose you. I want you to come home but we have to get you help."

This was the last chance that Ben could take to get himself clean for good or he wouldn't live another year. His stomach was damaged now and (Y/n) didn't have the nerve to tell him just yet that the damage meant he was going to have to have a specialised diet to make sure his stomach didn't give out. If he took one too many pills or overdosed like this again he wouldn't be here he would be in a very early grave that he had dug for himself. (Y/n) didn't want that for him because she loved him, she and Lily needed him but for that to happen Ben needed to accept help.

It took all the effort Ben had for him to move his free hand, reaching over to his left where there was a drip leading straight into the vein in his hand. His fingers ghosting over the drip tube until he reached the small push button that he pushed upwards. Effectively cutting off the supply of morphine to his system.

"Ben- you've got stitches from the op, you'll be in immense pain stay on the morphine. Sweetheart, they know that you're an addict, they will control the amount and slowly take you off it when you're ready." It was good that Ben was prepared not to have the medication and that he seemed to want to be off it. Especially since last time the morphine had given him such a high that he didn't want to be off it anymore. But he was going to be in immense pain and that meant he needed the drugs to take the edge off and let him recover before he started to get clean.

They were in a hospital, the doctors and nurses would know what dosage to give him so he didn't get too addicted to the feeling and they would be able to help him come off the morphine when he was ready.

"Can't h-have morphine." Ben shook his head just the tiniest bit that he could manage. Morphine was what had made him want to be high all the time before, it was something that gave him the high no other pills had been able to do. Ben wasn't making that mistake again and taking it even if he was going to be in pain. He had gone through withdrawal symptoms before and made it through that, he was going to get through this.

"So we'll get you something else-" (Y/n) pleaded, not wanting Ben to go through the pain he was clearly going to have to deal with by deciding this when he could start getting clean when he was better.

"No. I'm going straight, I need you and Lily. No more drugs."

Leaning down, (Y/n) cupped his face in both her hands before gently pressing her lips to his own. Ben was going on the straight and narrow starting from now because he had seen what he could lose by taking pills. He was not coming within an inch of losing his family or his life and being clean started now.

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben x reader #dad! ben #imagine

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