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whumpsday · 2 years

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Damned Part 2

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content: demon carewhumper (caretaker/whumper combo), reluctant whumper, pet whump, electrocution, psychological torture, begging

The demon returned the next day. Whumpee felt his skin pickle at their arrival. Yesterday’s torment had been lighter than what he was used to, but it was still horrible. He didn’t want to go through that again.

“Hi!” the demon greeted cheerfully, oblivious to his apprehension. “So, I’ve got bad news, good news, more bad news, and more good news, ‘kay? The bad news is your appeal got denied again.”

Whumpee had tried not to get his hopes up, but it was so hard not to dream of a way out. He felt the misery wash over him, knowing he would never escape.

“Aw, don’t look so sad. I still have good news, remember?” the demon reminded him. “The good news is that the backup plan worked! You’re officially my pet!” They looked excitedly at him, clearly expecting a positive reaction.

“U-um,” Whumpee stammered, “What does that mean, exactly?”

“Oh, did you never have pets when you were alive?” the demon asked.

Whumpee had a lot of trouble remembering most things from his life. Sometimes there were flashes, but it felt so, so long ago. It felt like he had never been anywhere other than the depths of Hell. “I don’t remember, sir.”

Not that remembering whether he’d had a pet or not would help him figure out what it meant to be one.

“It means that you’re gonna come home with me. No more torture chambers for you!” They gave him a smile.

“You’re gonna... torture me at your house?” Whumpee asked, confused.

“No, silly!” the demon laughed. “No more torture. That was the whole point of me helping, remember?”

Whumpee felt his breath catch in his throat. That’s it, just like that? If that was true, Whumpee would be the perfect pet. He would do anything this demon asked, if they were offering him salvation. “It’s- it’s over? Thank you, sir! I, I just... Thank you so much!”

The demon looked away sheepishly. “Uh, about that. There’s just a liiiitle-” They pinched their fingers to illustrate, “-tiny bump on the way. That’s the other bad news. See, I kind of exaggerated with that “officially” earlier. I got approved, but the paperwork’s still being processed and all. Bureaucracy, am I right? That’s how you know it’s Hell.” they joked. “So it’s not quite over yet. But it will be, really soon!”

That was still good. That was still great. Whumpee didn’t care how long it took, the fact that there was an end in sight at all was a massive relief.

“Anyway, the other good news is that I got it locked in that you’ll stay assigned to me in the meantime. That means I can keep tossing you softballs until we can get you home, alright?” The demon reached down to pet his hair reassuringly. Whumpee tried his best not to flinch, so used to contact with demons equaling pain.

“Now, I know you weren’t a huge fan of yesterday.” the demon continued. Whumpee shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself.

“Yeah, I know, sweetie.” the demon cooed. “So I found something I think you’ll handle a lot better. It’s totally genius, because it’s actually mostly downtime! There’s some hurt involved, but when you break down the time spent on it, it’s so little that it’s actually categorized as ‘psychological torture’ instead.”

He did not like the sound of that.

“Basically, I’ll shock you at random times, so you never know when to expect it. The idea is that the anticipation is the worst part, which seems kinda dumb. Most of it is literally just sitting around! Plus, I’ll still give you breaks where you won’t even have to worry about it. Walk in the park, right?” The demon seemed very pleased with themself for thinking of such a scheme.

“Yes, sir.” Whumpee said, and meant it. It honestly did sound pretty easy compared to everything else he’d been subjected to.

“Great!” the demon replied, sitting down next to him. They snapped their fingers and a book appeared in their hands. Whumpee waited for something to happen, but they just began reading. This was it? Just this with some shocks every once in a while? He could work with that.

A few minutes in, he got his first shock. He shrieked as the pain tore through his entire body, his muscles spasming as he collapsed. The pain was gone as quickly as it came, leaving him gasping for breath.

“Sorry.” the demon murmured, gently running a hand over his back.

The amount of time between each shock was impossible to predict. Sometimes it was only a couple minutes, sometimes it felt like as much as twenty. The longer waits were almost worse as Whumpee grew more and more anxious, tensely bracing himself for the inevitable. Sometimes there would be two or more in a row, making the time just after a shock equally unsafe.

“P-please.” he gasped after his longest wait yet ended in four consecutive shocks. He was shaking uncontrollably.

“You’re not even being hurt right now, honey.” the demon reminded him. It was true, the pain did not linger even slightly in-between shocks. But when it came, it was so terrible that the brevity almost didn’t matter. Dread built up in him once again as he awaited the next one. It could hit any second.

“T-t-too much. Please.” Whumpee begged, curling into the demon’s side. “Mmm, break? Please?” He just needed a moment to relax without anticipating the next bout of overwhelming pain. A moment to be safe.

The demon shook their head sadly. “Still got half an hour to go, I’m afraid. We need to stick to schedule. If we break too often, it’s gonna take all day and all night.”

Whumpee let out a broken sob.

“It’ll be okay, sweet thing.” the demon soothed, cradling his trembling body. “Soon you’ll be all mine, and there won’t be any more pain. Not ever again.”

“N-need, I, I need,” Whumpee choked out, “I-”

A shock ripped through him before he could finish his plea, tearing a scream from his throat. When it was done, he whimpered into the demon’s shirt.

“That was going to happen whether you were speaking or not. Please don’t feel discouraged. Keep talking, if you should like.” the demon said.

“I, I need it to stop. Please, sir. M-m-mercy?” he tried again, hoping the sympathetic demon would take pity on his frayed mind.

The demon frowned and dropped their voice to a whisper. “I’m not supposed to do this.” they said in hushed tones, “But I suppose I can make an exception. Is this better?”

Whumpee gasped sharply as he received another shock. It still hurt like crazy, but significantly less than the ones before. Bearable.

“Yes, sir. Th-thank you.”

The demon hummed happily. “We’ll keep using that one, then. Don’t go telling anyone, alright?”

“Who... who would I tell?” Whumpee asked.

This made the demon giggle. “I suppose you’re right.”

taglist:

@thecyrulik

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@wolfeyedwitch

#whump #whump drabble #my writing #demon whumper #demon caretaker #carewhumper #electrocution #psychological whump #begging #pet whump #reluctant whumper #damned #whump writing

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mylittlerambledmusings · 3 years

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The Road-Trip Part Five

Part Four | Masterlist | Part Six

Rating: T +

Pairing: Frankie Catfish Morales x Reader

Notes: First off, Merry Christmas if you celebrate it, Happy Holidays if you celebrate something else, or just Happy Friday if you don’t! I never really expected this to go on for this long, if I’m being honest. I’m thinking maybe one more part and an epilogue if all goes as planned. Thank you again for all of your support, comments, and reblogs. They’re better than presents under the tree! ❤

Warnings: Mentions of death (briefly), cursing, and a bit (okay, still a quite a bit) of fluff, excessive drinking, throwing up, and a very comforting Frankie.

Summary: This was an idea from another prompt. The list is “Whump Prompts which are close to my heart. (If this is from your list, please let me know, it didn’t have a username to go with it.)

Prompt: Hey, hey, hey. I’ve got you, I’ve got you

The following morning you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face as you sat on the counter watching Frankie make breakfast as you drank your coffee. Marvin was leaning against his leg whenever he stopped moving for more than thirty seconds and Flex was letting you use him as footstool. You chuckled into your cup when Marvin tripped up Frankie for the tenth time this morning. He never got mad about it, just huffed a little and stepped around the big dog and then narrowed his eyes at you. “Something funny, hermosa?”

You bit your lip in an attempt to hold back your smile and shook your head. “Nope,” you responded, stealing a piece of bacon and taking a bite all while holding his eyes.

He grabbed up a piece and broke it in two, then threw them to the floor, using the distraction to slip between your legs. He pressed a kiss to your lips and then turned his head to steal a bite of your bacon with a smirk. You held out your cup to him and he took a sip and then narrowed his eyes again. “Are you trying to distract me from the fact you were laughing at me?” he asked, placing the cup he’d taken from you off to the side on the counter.

“I would nev-” you cut yourself off with a laugh as Frankie pressed his face into the crook of your neck nipping at the bare skin, his mustache tickling you as his fingers did the same to your sides. “Okay. Okay! Yes.”

“Yes what?” Frankie asked, nipping once more, chuckling against your neck when you jumped.

“I was laughing at you!”

“Was that so hard, hermosa?” He lifted his head and before you could react, he stole the rest of your bacon with his teeth, winked and backed away. You made a face at him and threw your leg out trying to kick him, which he dodged expertly, laughing as he went back to the stove. "Is this what I have to look forward to every morning?” You asked, grabbing another piece of bacon.

“You telling me you’re only moving in for the food?”

You laughed and reached out, grabbed his arm and pulled him back to you. You pressed your lips to his, gently running your nose along his when you broke off the kiss. “The food is just a bonus.” Your voice was quiet and more serious than either of you had expected. He leaned back a bit so he could see your face, the worry in his eyes fading away when he took in the look on your face. You licked your lips as your eyes dropped to his chest, a sudden shyness you hadn’t felt since the beginning of your relationship coming over you.

Frankie tilted your chin up with two fingers and smiled softly at you. He slipped that hand from under your chin, to cup the back of your neck, his eyes bouncing back and forth between yours. “Whatever you want, hermosa, it’s yours. You know that, right?”

You dropped the uneaten piece of bacon onto the counter and cupped Frankie’s cheeks, pulling him back to you. Your lips pressing together in a kiss that deepened the moment he opened his mouth. His grip on you tightened and he pulled you to the edge of the counter as your kiss got more and more heated. That was until there was a knock at the door, and then another, and another.

You broke apart like you were high schoolers that had just been caught by your parents, you stared at each other for a moment before you both started laughing. The serious moment broken by Benny who was now yelling and banging on the door.

Frankie moved back in for another kiss, this one sweeter, less frantic than before, only breaking it when his smile got too big. When he met your eyes he winked, straightened, and yelled something out in Spanish as he went to answer the door.

You took that moment to compose yourself and quiet down the dogs who had started barking while Frankie let in the guys. You slid down off the counter, meeting Pope for a hug as you took in the four of them. They all looked a little bruised but seemed to be moving as smoothly as Frankie had been, considering what had happened the night before.

You made everyone coffee and the five of you moved to the back porch with Benny sitting on the floor, forgoing a chair so he could play with Flex. Frankie pulled you down to sit on his lap as the others sat in the deck chairs, Marvin sitting beside him and leaned against his leg. The conversation flowed just as easily as the day before, this time the questions were directed at you and Frankie. How the two of you met -which only Pope had heard- how long you’d been together, and of course when were you two tying the knot, as Benny put it.

Frankie had huffed, tossing the tennis ball at the other man as he said. “Damn, Benjamin, don’t scare her away, I just got her to agree to move in with me.”

You’d smiled down at him and him at you, which, of course, had started the mixture of jabs and obligatory congratulations. Pope had gotten up, pulling you and then Frankie into a hug, telling the man it was ‘about damn time’.

The morning continued on this way until Pope spoke up and said that he and the guys had talked about it and they’d decided they’d rather spend the evening here. They’d go to town and buy up everything they’d need for a cookout and then they’d bring it back and set up the fire pit and grill. His reasoning was that it was easier and less of a chance of someone getting arrested tonight.

You’d all gotten a good laugh at that, but you knew that none of them regretted one moment of last night. They’d done it to protect someone and honestly, you were glad they had. It just proved that they were the men that Frankie had told you they were.

~*~

Frankie had taken the dogs and went with everyone else to town to get ready for the night ahead, which had left you blissfully and completely alone. You’d taken your time in the shower, gotten dressed in your most comfortable jeans, and had even let your hair in the messy bun you’d been sporting that morning.

By the time you’d come out of the bathroom the guys were back and setting everything up outside. You went out and asked if there was anything you could do to help, which resulted with you and Frankie in the kitchen, while the other three tried to figure out how the grill worked.

The two of you worked side by side, seasoning the steaks and burgers that the men had picked up and placed them on trays to make it easier to carry outside. You could feel his eyes on you and instead of asking what he was staring at, you just hip checked him as you took one of the finished trays to the fridge. The moment you’d set the tray down he reached out, caught you around the waist, and pulled you back to him. You gave a surprised yelp but went willingly. He pulled your hair back so he could press a kiss to your neck and then your cheek. “Thanks for being alright with us staying here tonight,” he said softly.

“Hey,” you whispered and turned in his arms. “You know I don’t mind… Plus, I like them. And you’re not going to hear me complain when I get to spend more time with you.”

“Let’s see if you’re still saying that three months from now once you’re stuck with me all the time.”

You shook your head as you pinched his side. “It’s not going to be all the time,” you pointed out. “We’ve still got our jobs. We’ll just be able to come home to each other and I really like the sound of that.” He smiled down at you and pressed your lips together. You broke off the kiss almost as soon as it started and frowned up at him. “But who’s to say you won’t get tired of me after three months?”

He scoffed and shook his head and instead of verbally answering he just kissed you again.

You’d just started to melt into his arms when you thought you heard the door open, but you weren’t really paying any attention to it until you heard Benny say, “If you two lovebirds are done in here, we might need some help with that grill.”

~*~

With the four of them, they’d finally got the grill to work and Will had started cooking, filling the grill up with more food than you thought they could possibly eat. Frankie and Pope had gone to collect some wood for the fire pit while you watched Benny throw the tennis ball for Flex. Marvin on the other hand, was leaning into your legs as you rubbed his head. You figured he still wasn’t sure about the younger Miller brother, and that was why he was sticking to you and Frankie like glue until he was.

Frankie and Pope got back just in time to get the firepit started before it started getting dark and after they’d got that going, the five of you sat around it just eating and sharing stories. You’d gotten to hear about Tom, their old captain and friend that they’d lost on the last trip that they’d taken together. When the mood got to be more than a little melancholy, you changed the subject to lighter things and in no time the men were back to themselves and laughing and joking with each other. Frankie had held you a little tighter, whispering a thank you in your ear as he pressed a kiss to your temple while the other men were distracted.

It went on like that for a little while longer until Benny pulled a deck of cards out of his back pocket. You couldn’t have known that that meant trouble, but when he’d suggested you all play the game Kings none of you all had any better ideas and it had seemed innocent enough, so you all had agreed. He had laid out his phone with the rules and placed the deck face down on the middle of the table set up outside. It had started off simple, Pope drew a six, which meant all the girls -you- drank. You drew a five, which meant all the guys drank. Each card stood for something like questions or tasks and it felt like every time a card was flipped you were having to drink for some reason or another. Before long the majority of the bottle Pope had brought was over halfway gone and you were more than a little tipsy.

While you didn’t want to be the first to drop out of the game, even your normally competitive side was waving a white flag of defeat. You were sitting on Frankie’s lap when you announced you were done, which was quickly followed by Will, Frankie, and Pope. It was more than you’d drank in a long time and you were definitely feeling it. That wasn’t exactly a good thing either.

Frankie rubbed your back as he leaned forward to look at you. “You good, hermosa?” he asked and you could almost swear you heard concern in his tone.

You nodded, which was a mistake because all that did was make the space around you start to spin. You closed your eyes, fighting off the nausea, your hand going to Frankie’s shoulder for balance. When you’d finally got yourself under what you considered control, you slid your hand up from his shoulder to pat his cheek. “Yeah, baby, I j-just need some water.” After taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes and gave him a lazy smile.

It took you a few tries but you finally stood, swaying slightly until Frankie’s hands gripped your sides. “Yeah, I don’t think so,” he said, standing up behind you, his firm grip keeping you vertical. “I think it might be time for bed. You guys are more than welcome to crash here.” You heard some sounds of agreement but before you could chime in, letting them know you were good with it too, Frankie was steering you towards the house.

About five steps away from the door was where your stomach revolted with the amount of alcohol you’d consumed and you doubled over, emptying the contents of your stomach on the ground. Your knees had almost given out but a pair of strong arms wrapped around you and held you up.

“Hey, hey, hey. I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Frankie said, comforting you as you threw up everything you’d eaten for the past twenty-four hours. You hadn’t gotten this drunk since college and now you were kind of remembering why.

The rest of the night was pretty much a blur, only a few things sticking out that you actually remembered. Frankie holding your hair back as you threw up again in the bathroom -at least making it to the toilet this time-, Frankie carrying you back to bed and helping you change into one of his t-shirts, and then Frankie telling you if you felt sick all you had to do was lean over the side of the bed because the trashcan was right there. You vaguely remembered apologizing for ruining the night but couldn’t remember what he’d said in return, only that he’d gotten you to drink a little bit of water before you passed out completely.

~*~

You woke with a groan, on your stomach facing away from the warm body behind you. The bed shifted slightly as Frankie tucked your hair behind your ear then ran the backs of his fingers down your cheek. You didn’t dare try to move yet, you already felt like death and you’d barely opened your eyes. “Oh, God…”

“Are you alright, love?” Frankie asked, gently rubbing your back.

Instead of using your words, you just groaned again and risked turning your face toward him, then pressed your face into his hip effectively blocking out the sun that had started coming through the windows. He huffed a short laugh as he ran his fingers through your hair. “I’ll take that as a no.”

“Did you sleep?” you rasped after a blissful ten minutes of silence. He didn’t answer you but you knew he was awake because he was still rubbing your back. You chanced leaning back just enough to crack an eye open to look at him.

When he just gave you a sheepish look, you made a noise of and pressed your face back against his warm hip. “Frankie…”

“I’d apologize, but we’d both know I was lying.” Your eyes weren’t even open but you could hear the shrug in his voice. You lifted your hand to pat his chest and smiled against his hip when he threaded your fingers together. “I didn’t want to risk you rolling on to your back or me getting trapped in a…”

He trailed off when you squeezed his fingers and nodded against him. “I know, baby.”

“I’ll sleep tonight, hell, maybe I’ll even take a nap today.”

“Nap sounds good,” you agreed, smiling when he chuckled, until it started shaking the bed and you groaned.

“Shit! Sorry, sorry,” he said, quickly getting himself under control.

~*~

When you woke again, the bed was empty and you were feeling marginally better than roadkill. You cracked an eye open just in time to see a shirtless Frankie walk through the bedroom door.

“Alright, hermosa, time to get up,” he said, carefully sitting on the bed. You blinked up at him and frowned, but he was there and helping you up before you could even object.

With his help he led you to the bathroom where you saw the clawfoot tub over halfway full of steaming water. You turned your head to raise a questioning eyebrow at him and he smiled...No, smirked at you.

“The guys are gone.” His hands turned you again towards the sink where your toothbrush and toothpaste were waiting for you. The man was an absolute godsend, because your mouth? Yeah, you weren’t going to think about that. “And I just want to take care of you. So a bath, then maybe some toast, water, ibuprofen, and then you’re going to relax until you feel better.” He gathered your hair so he could place a gentle kiss right where your jaw met your neck. You shuddered as you watched him in the mirror and smiled when all he did was meet your eyes in the mirror and winked.

Once your teeth were brushed and you’d stripped down, you tested the water with your fingers and then climbed inside the tub. You couldn’t help the moan as you lowered yourself to sit. The water was hot and relaxing as hell. How had you managed to get so lucky finding the man in front of you? You couldn’t answer that, but you sure as hell weren’t going to take it for granted either.

You reached out to run your wet fingers down Frankie’s stubbled cheek as he kneeled beside the tub and smiled when he pressed a kiss to your palm. He took your hand in his and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Thank you, Frankie,” you said softly.

“I told you, mi sol, anything for you.”

Tag List: @cxnnxrmar

#Triple Frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #The Road-Trip #Frankie Morales #frankie catfish morales #frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie catfish morales x you #pope garcia #santiago pope garcia #benny miller #ben miller #will miller #william miller #drinking #fluff

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whumpqin · 4 years

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Clean-Up Duty

Finally, a new chapter for Elisha! I originally intended this to be a lighter chapter for poor Elisha but honestly it didn’t go that way. Whoops.

Taglist: @faewhump @galaxywhump @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @insanitywishes @burtlederp @whumpasaurus101 (if you would like to be added let me know!)

CW: Whumper POV, creepy/intimate whumper, pet whump, major dehumanization, dehumanizing thoughts/language, monster whumpee, painful horn filing, passing out from pain, pinned to the floor, collars, noncon touching, mentions of self harm (via the horns), being mean to someone with a stutter, conditioning, brainwashing, manipulation, begging, crying, reference to eye whump, blood, muzzling, brief torture mention, humiliation. If there’s anything I left out just let me know!

Word count: 2,458

“Fucking… stay still, mutt!” Jeremiah spat.

He drew the file along Caleb’s horn roughly, feeling how he jerked and whined. His tail thrummed against the floor in a panicked tune, hitting the wall, the chain link that kept him tied to the wall, and Jeremiah’s back. Even his legs, broken as they were, shifted and moved in the struggle.

It was with a sigh that Jeremiah adjusted how he was straddling Caleb’s back, feeling the Cambion’s arms as he pinned them more efficiently. How did he get stuck grinding his horns down?

Partly, it had something to do with the bad habits that Caleb had picked up over the past few months since his escape attempt. He started to grind his horns against the stone of the basement, and while Jeremiah didn’t understand what sort of sick pleasure that he got from doing it, Caleb’s horns had been flattened on each side into a point from doing it too much. Considering how it could have been used as a weapon, they simply couldn’t have that. Now it was his job to make sure that they were dulled down and ‘made pretty’, as Aridai put it.

Jeremiah pinned Caleb’s head to the floor, grinding bits of his horn into it. Caleb’s fangs parted in a shrill whine when the file was drug along his horns, chest heaving as he sobbed freely. He’d started crying the moment Jeremiah announced what he was doing, and it didn’t seem like the Cambion had any intention of stopping. Not that he really cared whether or not Caleb was nervous about being caught - he rather liked the noises his pet was making. It wasn’t like he could get the stupid devil to actually understand why he was doing this right now anyways.

His hands rounded and dulled the tip of the keratin growth, listening to the sound of Caleb’s teeth as he snapped at Jeremiah, despite not really being near any skin to latch onto. Biting was another bad habit of his now, snapping at his Masters when they tried to do something to him. Aridai alone had been subject to multiple nips here and there, though they assured Jeremiah that Caleb immediately regretted it, and they had muzzled him until he learned better. Jeremiah however, unlike his partner, was well aware you had to treat Cambion much like snakes; grab them by the back of the head and don’t let go until you were good and ready to. Such tactics worked rather well in this sort of setting.

Again, it wasn’t like Caleb actually knew what was going on beyond his instincts. Jeremiah could tell from the panicked, unfocused look in his eye that he was only doing what came natural. Not that the idea that his pet would try to hurt him made him any less upset.

God he hated doing this. He just wanted to read his book.

“It’s your fault this is even happening, Caleb,” Jeremiah hissed above his stupid whining and the sound of the file against his horns. “I don’t even fucking get why this is such a fucking problem. Just sit the fuck still and stop wasting my time.”

Caleb’s breath hitched, squirming the arms that Jeremiah had pinned underneath his legs. He let out a low whine, terrified and seemingly in pain. Jeremiah’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything. The Cambion hadn’t done anything too contrary to his rules, and he liked it when Caleb was scared of him. It gave him more control.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Jeremiah paused a moment to allow him to speak, but it was obvious that Caleb was too stupid to realize he’d been prompted. Instead he sobbed, chest bobbing up and down, jerking every time the file was drawn across his horn. Jeremiah gritted his teeth, pressing the Cambion’s head against the cement of the basement. “I asked you a question, Caleb. If you’re going to act like a whining puppy you better beg like one.”

“I’m-I’m s-so-sorry, sorry! Pl-plea-please, Sir, please, nnk, it-it hurts! It hurts,” he cried, spitting and sputtering his words like he always did. Jeremiah’s lip curled in annoyance.

“I’m sure a dog can speak better than you. Can’t you fucking calm down for a moment? I’m not even doing anything to you.” He watched as Caleb panted, fangs bared in a warning for what would happen if he drew too close. Then they gritted, snapping together without any words, wanting to say something. He sighed. “Speak.”

“My, my, my horns, it hurts-” he cut himself off in a cry of pain, tears flowing freely from his eyes. “It hurts s-s-so-so bad, Sir, I c-can-can’t, I can’t- help, help me, pl-please…”

Jeremiah felt Caleb’s tail flick, hit his ankle, and coil tightly around it. It worried at his skin as it moved, gripping tightly to mitigate the pain he was feeling. Which was, in Jeremiah’s opinion, a bit strange. Cambion didn't feel their horns, they were like goats, or something - it was all just dead skin and didn’t have any nerves.

Out of curiosity, Jeremiah paused.

The relief was instant. Caleb still cried, but he seemed to finally take in a deep breath, his chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon. Jeremiah felt his tail relax and slip off of his ankle. It was almost ridiculous; had that been the problem the whole time? He just thought Caleb was scared because he got hurt. Had he known he might have tied Caleb up so this wouldn’t have been an issue.

“Th-thank, thank you, Sir,” Caleb breathed, practically going limp in Jeremiah’s hands.

Huh.

It became rather apparent he was going to have to switch tactics. Jeremiah slid his hand from Caleb’s hair into his hair, gently petting him to get him to calm down.

“I need you to be still for me. Can you be good and do what I ask?” He tried his best to keep his voice soft, like how Aridai spoke to make him more pliable from time to time, but Jeremiah couldn’t stop the weariness from seeping out of him.

Caleb swallowed thickly, oblivious, and nodded. “Y-yes, yes, Sir, but, but it-it hu-hurts-”

“Shh. I know. But if you stay still for me it’ll be over much more quickly.” Jeremiah was light in how he touched Caleb’s horns, relishing in how the Cambion shuddered in anticipation from the feeling. Caleb nodded again, but remained quiet. “Don’t fight it,” Jeremiah murmured.

As the file pressed against Caleb’s horn, he could feel him try to resist writhing, wanting to be good for him. Even so, he couldn’t stop the whines and whimpers that fell from his mouth, the incessant snapping of his sharp teeth meant as a warning, as the pressure increased on his horns.

However it only took a few moments of filing before Caleb jerked again, eye rolling in sheer agony. Jeremiah couldn’t tear his gaze away from the sight of it, even if it was more bothersome. Eventually, he did drag his eyes away long enough to focus on filing, but he couldn’t help it when his grip became rougher and dragged across the surface of the horn.

Meanwhile, Caleb’s whines eventually broke to screams and sobs.

Screaming, and screaming-

Until finally he went limp, passed out from the pain.

Jeremiah finished up dulling Caleb’s horns. They’d gotten much longer since he’d last done this, jutting forward and then nearly halfway curled around his head, but the last time wasn’t nearly as excruciating as this.

When he was done, he huffed out another sigh. “You’re such a fucking hassle,” Jeremiah muttered, ruffling the Cambion’s hair to get out the bits of horn that had fallen into it. He tilted Caleb’s head to the side to get another look at his bandaged eye while he was thinking about it, noting the blood seeping out from behind it and mixing with the pet’s tears. Damn it.

He drew the box of items he had brought down with him, placing the file back into it. He took out the extra bandages and clippers he had left in there, setting them in the space between Caleb’s shoulder blades to hold them still for a moment.

Jeremiah drew off the bandage covering Caleb’s missing eye. He tried hard not to peer into the empty socket, nor remember the bloody sight of when it was removed, or even what Aridai planned to do with it despite his protests.

Right now, it’s sitting in a jar in the kitchen while they figure out how to preserve it properly. It made it difficult to eat there.

He placed the bandages over Caleb’s eye quickly and tied it towards the back. Jeremiah was less careful about keeping the knot away from his hair this time; if Caleb wasn’t going to keep himself from bleeding then he wasn’t going to waste his time trying to be nice. Instead, he just focused on washing off the blood that had stained on Caleb’s face and simply left it at that.

Jeremiah had to move a bit to get to Caleb’s claws - which he still had no idea how they kept getting sharp, considering he’d dulled them down far too many times to count - in order to clip them down again. It only took a bit of extra effort since Cambion claws were stronger than a human nail, but he managed. After that, he dropped the clippers back into the box and got the muzzle.

Caleb wasn’t allowed to be around either of them without his muzzle on. He liked to bite a little too much, and Aridai wanted it on at all times, for the most part. Jeremiah wanted to keep it off despite the risks. He liked hearing Caleb’s voice sometimes, even if he continuously stuttered. When he was able to speak straight his voice was soft and gentle, never rising above a distant call.

Jeremiah shook his head out of that thought. He was getting distracted.

He straightened the leather of the muzzle before curling fingers around one of Caleb’s horns, drawing him up from his resting position. Caleb unconsciously tensed at the feeling, tail once again finding and curling around Jeremiah’s ankle a little tighter as he stirred. His eye fluttered open, and the faded pupil of his black colored eye darted around to understand what was happening.

“Shh, stay still, boy,” he murmured gently, as if he were talking to a spooked dog. Jeremiah heard him swallow audibly, but remained still. “Good, that’s it…”

He slipped the muzzle over Caleb’s head and buckled it quickly, firmly locking those fangs of his behind the leather where it wouldn’t hurt anyone. Jeremiah finally let go of him, pulling away to sit against the wall and relax for a moment. He watched Caleb like he was one of those freshly released animals in a new zoo enclosure, confusedly looking around to see what was different or what was done to them.

The Cambion shifted, moving his arms to inspect the damage done to his hands. He felt his nails against his face as his hands moved up to gently touch his horns, feeling how dull they now were. He must have been satisfied with it, somehow, considering that after the careful inspection he huffed a sigh and rested his head on the floor, angling his gaze to look back at Jeremiah. Waiting patiently.

At the moment he seemed so… gentle. A lot like how he was when they’d first met each other, though with a bit more obedience and reverence. Awkward, maybe embarrassed, like when he had gently corrected the amount of cash he was supposed to be paying when Jeremiah hadn’t really cared whether a few cents were tallied correctly or not. Though, Jeremiah much preferred having Caleb here, with him, when he had all those nice bruises and cuts on him and a leather collar that wrapped around his throat and chained him to the wall. He preferred having things that couldn’t get away from him, and Caleb was no different.

It made him much prettier, he supposed. If that’s the proper word he could use to describe Caleb.

He reached into the box and recovered the book he had put in it, then patted his lap. “Come over here, Caleb.”

A simple offer, though not so simply followed. Caleb struggled to lift himself up off of the ground, and his animal-like legs offered no assistance. But he did as he was told, even if he had to crawl, until he was somewhat draped across Jeremiah’s lap.

“Good boy,” Jeremiah praised, running his hands through his hair. He let his fingers graze against Caleb’s horns, drifting over them with featherlight touches that made his pet’s breathing quicken. His pet stayed perfectly still, allowing him to touch what he pleased, only twitching when his hand encompassed one of the dull tips of his horns. “Shh, you’re being a very good boy right now. We wouldn’t want to ruin that.” He felt the tips much like Caleb did. “This wasn’t so bad once you stayed still, was it?

Caleb’s eye fell downwards, searching for the answer. It always took him a little bit of time to think now, and Jeremiah was quite alright with that. He didn’t want a pet that thought, he just wanted one that would listen to him perfectly.

He hummed, pleased, when Caleb shook his head to agree with him. “No, I didn’t think so.” Jeremiah’s fingers drifted downwards, tracing the Cambion’s jawline, down to his neck, and thumbed across the leather collar around it. “You really are handsome like this, despite the eye.”

A faint blush worked itself over Caleb’s cheeks, or from what little he could see, anyway. Embarrassment, humiliation, a bit of grief, then acceptance, all flashed in his expression. His head lowered, resting on Jeremiah’s thigh and hiding his face in the fabric of his pants. His hands curled up with him, tangling their fingers into the lower hem of Jeremiah’s shirt. Jeremiah couldn’t help a chuckle as he ruffled Caleb’s hair.

“You blush too easily,” he stated, voice lowered to be soft. “Get some rest while you can, pet. I doubt Aridai will be nice after how deeply you bit their arm yesterday.”

Caleb heaved a sigh, knowing. He leaned into the hand that brushed against his head, making adjustments so that he could rest more comfortably, draping himself over Jeremiah like he was a pleased cat.

He watched Caleb breath for a moment, in, then out, then back in, relaxed in the momentary peace that he had allowed him.

Perfectly obedient like how he was supposed to be, now that he knew there was no escape.

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snarkythewoecrow · 4 years

Note

I’m so obsessed with your writing, especially the angsty stories! I was wondering if you’d ever consider doing drug addicted Peter where tony starts to notice and recognize the signs and basically just all the whump and feels as possible lmao! Seriously love your writing and I really appreciate you taking prompts! 💖

This was an awesome prompt, and I tried to fill it, but I’ll admit, it took on a life of its own. I think I may do a second chapter later or an epilogue, so keep an eye out for it.

This has a big trigger warning for drug use. Read with caution if that’s a thing for you.

Read on AO3

Peter had a problem, one that started slowly and quickly tumbled out of control. He never meant it to happen, but regrets were like wishes and worth little in the end.

It started after the snap to bring everyone back, after nearly losing Tony on the battlefield. The nightmares haunted him every time he closed his eyes, a million other ways things could have gone. He’d had the fate of the world in his hands as he had carried the gauntlet. One wrong move and Peter would have been responsible for their loss.

It probably wasn’t the healthiest way to cope, or maybe it wasn’t coping at all. May had suggested he talk to a therapist, but Peter had brushed her off, telling her the things she needed to hear, that he was sleeping, though he wasn’t, that he didn’t see the dead when he closed his eyes, even though he was. He’d never forget the bodies or the smell of burning flesh. They might have won, but people died, people were hurt.

Tony was hurt, but then, at least he was alive. Scarred but healing.

Recovering from battle meant that Tony was busy and not looking too closely, which was how Peter managed to avoid his attention, which was how no one noticed when Peter tried drugs for the first time.

He'd gotten the heroin from a drug dealer he’d webbed up. It hadn’t been his plan to keep it, but he found himself gripping the baggie in his hand and swinging away. There was a thrill to keeping it, instead of making sure it went to the police. It had taken him a few hours at home to decide to use it, and another hour of googling to realize he’d need some supplies to make that happen. In the end, he had tucked it under his mattress and made the decision to find a needle and lighter the next day.

The next day came after a fitful sleep, guilt and curiosity warring in him. May went to work and wouldn’t be back until morning. It was the weekend, so he didn’t need to worry about school, and the only thing he could think about was whether the drugs would give him any relief, any bit of freedom and happiness in the darkness he was living.

He sat on his bed with the bedroom door closed even though no one else was home. He arranged the syringe, spoon, lighter, and baggie of drugs on the mattress. The water he’d need to dissolve the heroin was on the nightstand, a room temperature bottle of Poland Spring.

From everything he’d read, he estimated that he’d have plenty of time to come down before morning. That was if this even worked with his metabolism. Regular pain pills barely worked on him, and heroin was an opiate in the same family.

Checking the time on his phone, he steeled himself to start. Following all the steps he’d seen on YouTube, and you really could learn anything on the internet, he prepped the drug in the spoon and then drew the top layer of the solution off the spoon. The whole process reminded him of chemistry class.

He let out a shaky breath as he studied the contents of the needle and then put the spoon and lighter and baggie away in his nightstand.

It was just him, the syringe.

“Shit,” Peter said, as he realized he needed a tourniquet.

Setting the needle down on the mattress, he rummaged through his closet for something to use. With a thudding heart and shaky hands, he found his tie from homecoming and, with a moment’s hesitation, grabbed it and went back to the bed.

Pushing down his fears, he knotted the tie around his upper arm as tight as he could and uncapped the needle.

Doing like the videos said, he found a vein, inserted the needle, and then drew back to get blood. He depressed the plunger fully, his hyper-aware senses feeling the tepid mixture in his vein. When the syringe was empty, he recapped it and tossed it on his nightstand, loosened the tourniquet, and laid back on against his pillows.

He immediately felt a rush. It reminded him a little of his super pain pills that Bruce had designed but more intense. His mouth went a little dry, and his skin flushed. When he tried to move his arms, they felt heavy.

He let his eyes close and enjoyed the feeling of heavy warmth envelop him. His thoughts, which had been dashing around his brain, slowed to cold molasses, and he relished the freedom from his chaotic, depressing mess that was his mind..

Feeling relaxed and floaty, he let himself drift off to a dreamless sleep.

XXX

Over the next few weeks, Peter tried to explain away his hunt for more drug deals to interrupt as just being a diligent hero, doing his part, but secretly he knew that it was because he wanted more drugs, and that was the easiest way to get them.

He always waited until May was working the overnight to use, and each time it got easier, the motions of preparing the drug becoming like second nature. His healing factor hid what would have been track marks on his arm, and the drug was wiped from his system by his high metabolism soon after taking it, so it didn’t seem like much of a risk.

That didn’t mean he didn’t know what he was doing was wrong. On some level, he did, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find reasons to make it less of a bad thing and more positive. It was honestly hard to argue with the benefits, not when on nights he used to struggle with his dreams, he now got real sleep. It finally gave him a little peace.

As weeks of using turned to months, Peter’s appetite slipped, and his demeanor started to change. Living became about when he could get high next, and the waits made him irritable, and even May noticed.

“How many days in a row do you plan on coming home and slamming your bedroom door?” May asked from the doorway to his room.

He’d wanted to come straight home and shoot up, but May had changed her shifts this week and was home the last few nights, including this one. It meant he couldn’t risk doing it. If she caught him using, he didn’t want to think about what she’d do. His spider-manning days would be over. And she’d tell Tony, who didn’t need the stress. Honestly, Peter wasn’t sure who he feared finding out more, May or Tony. Neither was an option. He needed to play it safe even if that meant going without for a few days.

And going without shouldn’t have been such a big deal, but he was finding his skin itched, and he couldn’t make his muscle relax. The only thing that gave him some relief was moving, but he worried that alone might be enough for May to catch on. She’d worked in the ER enough to recognize the symptoms of withdrawal, though maybe she wouldn’t believe Peter would ever have a reason to go through that.

“Sorry, May. I haven’t been sleeping that much lately.” He fought the urge to bounce his leg. “I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.” He tried to stop himself from scratching his arm, but his fingers still twitched. “I’ll do the dishes tonight.”

May pushed her glasses up her nose, eyes roving over him. Finally, her shoulders dropped, and she sighed. “Fine, thank you. I’m making meatloaf tonight. It’ll be ready in an hour. I expect you to make an appearance.”

“Yeah, I’ll be out. Sorry again for acting like a jerk.”

She gave him a small smile. “Larb you.”

“Larb you, too.”

After dinner, Peter packed his kit and headed for the roof. He told May he was patrolling, but he didn’t even wear his suit. He took the stairs and went out to the chair over by the vent. May had gone to binge watch her favorite shows in her room, so she wouldn’t come looking for Peter if he was late.

Shooting up on the roof wasn’t the best circumstances, but it was better than May walking in on him. If he didn’t take as much as usual, he could come down enough to go back inside before long. It would just take the edge off. That’s all he wanted.

Sitting in the chair, he opened the small canvas bag and pulled out his supplies. He made quick work of the prep and was ready to inject in minutes.

Once he depressed the plunger, he counted in his head until he hit five, and he was already feeling it. The awful twitching and ache in muscles faded, and he relaxed. Recapping the needle, he dropped it on the roof and closed his eyes, sliding down in the chair until his head was resting against the back.

He nearly drifted off to sleep when he felt his pocket vibrate. It took him a minute to put together that it was his phone. He couldn’t find it in himself to care enough to answer, though, so he just waited it out.

A second later, the phone rang again, and again, he ignored it.

The cool fall air stirred, and he scrubbed his hand over his face. Checking his watch, he saw it had been almost two hours since he came up to the roof. His head was still hazy, but he needed to get back.

Grabbing his bag, he pushed himself to his feet and made his way to the side of the building, hopping over the side and scurrying over to the fire escape. He wasn’t sure if May would still be in her room, so he figured he should use his window since she thought he was patrolling.

The next day, Peter felt a lot better, but he was feeling the need to use again by the end of the day. It was becoming harder and harder to get through the whole day. It started to worry Peter, he didn’t like giving over control, but he squashed the feeling down and focused on his homework.

His phone came to life on the desk, and he glanced over at it. On the screen was the familiar image of the Iron Man helmet. He felt a rush of fear go through him, like if he answered, somehow Tony would know what he’d been doing.

Before he could decide what to do, the phone went quiet again. He felt a little relief now that the ringing had stopped.

He really should talk to Tony, though. Ignoring his calls was never good. It always made him more intense, more curious, pushier. Peter knew it was because he cared, but Peter didn’t need to be babysat. He’d been through so much, space, death, coming back, and fighting for the fate of the world. Of course, Tony wouldn’t agree with Peter’s coping technique, but it worked for him, and what harm was it doing? He was keeping the drugs off the street, away from someone who could overdose or be killed. He’d bet with his metabolism that he couldn’t overdose if he tried.

His skin was starting to crawl, and he needed another fix. Kneeling down beside his bed, he shoved his hand between the mattress and box spring. When his fingers brushed over the flimsy plastic bag, he snatched it and pulled it out. Disappointment washed over him when he saw it was empty. He would have sworn he’d had some left. Had he really used it all? He knew he’d been using more, but it didn’t seem like that much.

Crushing the bag in his hand, he tossed it into the wastebasket and let a heavy breath out his nose. What was he going to do? It wasn’t easy to find the right drug deals to get what he needed. It was always hit or miss what they would be dealing in. Working his jaw, he realized he didn’t have a choice. He was going to have to go out.

Just as he went to his closet to get his suit, his phone came to life again, and Peter nearly growled at the interruption. He was focused on finding drugs. He didn’t have time to talk, and who called anyway? Why couldn’t they just text?

He forcefully swiped the phone from his desk, briefly glancing at the caller ID. It was Tony because, of course, it was Tony. The universe hated him.

His muscles ached, and his hands shook as he held the phone in front of him. He swept to answer, bringing the phone to his ear, and squeezing his eyes shut like it would help him hide.

“What?” Peter breathed before Tony could answer. The longer the call took, the longer he’d have to wait to get his next fix.

“Is that how you’re answering your phone these days? I guess I wouldn’t know since this is the first time you’ve answered in weeks. Why is that, Peter?”

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose in a very Tony way. He tried to push down his annoyance. “Sorry, Mr. Stark. Can this wait? I’m kinda busy right now.”

“I won’t lie and say that doesn’t hurt my feelings, Pete. I thought we were past this stuff, and since when do you call me Mr. Stark. It’s been Tony since, you know, Thanos and all that.”

Peter didn’t need a reminder. Peter had been calling him Tony more, but the formal moniker offered some distance, which right now, Peter needed. He felt caught out in the open, like at any moment, Tony would just know and call him out. He didn’t want to give up his new coping mechanism, no matter how controversial it might be.

“We are past it,” Peter said honestly.

“Do you know why I’ve been calling you?”

Peter sighed with a shrug. “I don’t know? You’re bored because Pepper won’t let you turn the toaster sentient?”

He heard Tony’s breathy chuckle on the other end. “Maybe a little of that, but more that May is worried. She called me a few days ago, telling me how you have changed. You’re snappier, angry, always seem tired. She even thought you’d been losing weight.”

Peter pursed his lips as his jaw ticked. “She shouldn’t have called you.”

“So you don’t deny what she’s saying?”

“I didn’t say that.”

Tony’s tone was firm when he spoke. “Don’t lie to me, Peter. Tell me what’s going on? Are you having trouble with nightmares again? Christ knows you’ve seen some shit.”

Peter stood there quietly, afraid to talk, afraid he might betray himself and say the wrong thing.

“Answer me, kid.”

“I don’t have anything to say. I wasn’t handling things, dying, Thanos, coming back, but I’ve found something that’s working. It’s helping, so don’t worry about it.” He took a breath and tacked on a, “Please.”

It was Tony’s turn to be silent. A few seconds passed, then Tony cleared his throat. “I don’t know if that makes me worry more or less. It could just be me projecting, but I’m something of an expert on shitty coping mechanisms. Part of me thinks that if it wasn’t something to worry about, you’d tell me.”

“I can’t, please, just leave it,” Peter breathed.

“Okay,” Tony sighed. “Okay, we’ll do this your way, but if things get to be too much, call me. I’m always here for you, kid. I didn’t just bend time and space to get you back because I didn’t mean something to me. Promise me you’ll call.”

“If I need you, anything, I’ll call, but I swear, Tony, I got this.”

They ended the call, and Peter tossed his phone on the bed. Scrubbing a hand over his face and ruffling his hair, he pushed down his conflicting emotions and looked at his closet where his suit hung. It would all be better once he found some drugs. They’d make it all better. He’d be able to be himself, to think. Lying to himself was easy.

Patrol took him all over the city, but he couldn’t find any heroin. Weed didn’t do anything for him, and his metabolism burned through cocaine too fast to bother. As time went on, he felt the withdrawal more and more. It was like a caged beast inside him, clawing at his chest, tearing at his muscles. He felt the need to use burning through his very core.

Panic started to build in him as he realized he might not find any. He didn’t know what he would do if he couldn’t. Without any other ideas, Peter headed to an area that he knew people used. Maybe he could sneak some away from a passed out junkie.

When he got there, he immediately saw someone. A woman was slumped by a dirty cardboard box, syringe still in her hand, spoon on the ground. She looked like she was sleeping.

Taking a look around to make sure no one else was looking, he crept closer to her, eyes searching for leftover drugs. He caught the edge of a bag sticking out of her pocket. Relief flooded him. It wasn’t until he was tugging the bag out of her jacket that he realized she wasn’t moving at all, and he couldn’t hear her heartbeat. It was then that he saw how pale she was, lips tinged blue.

There were a lot of things Peter knew he should do, call for help, make sure someone found her, a million other things, but what he found himself doing was snatching the bag the rest of the way from her pocket and clenching it in his fist. There wasn’t much, but it would be enough to take the edge off. Then he looked her over one last time and took off toward the rooftops.

He made it a block before the weight of what he’d done crashed down on him, and he collapsed on a roof, down on all fours and panting, feeling his stomach roll. The image of the woman wouldn’t leave his mind. What was thinking? What was he becoming? This wasn’t him. This wasn’t Spider-Man. He didn’t recognize himself anymore.

He pulled his mask off just in time for bile to come splattering on the gravelly roof.

Spitting on the ground, he pushed himself up and sat back on his knees. His HUD was alive and active with his stats. His heart was beating a little too fast. He wondered how much was his emotional state and how much was withdrawal.

The worst part was he was still holding the baggie, and he didn’t want to let it go, even though he knew how wrong it was to keep it. Was this what he’d come to? Scavenging drugs from the dead. At least when he was taking them from dealers, he could reason that he was saving a life, but that wasn’t the case anymore. How had he gotten here, and how did he get back?

He remembered his conversation only hours earlier. Pulling his mask back over his face, he thought about what he really wanted, and he knew in his heart that it was to be free again, but he was afraid that would never happen. If there was any hope of getting back to normal, there was only one option. Peter just hoped he’d understand.

“Karen,” Peter’s voice broke, “call Tony.”

#irondad #peter parker #tony stark #tw: drugs #snark writes

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ashintheairlikesnow · 4 years

Text

Ash/Athena AU: Enter Corrine

Strap yourselves in, motherfuckers, because @whump-tr0pes and are about to take you on a rollercoaster... that’s right, the storm is here!

CW: Dehumanization, threats of torture, referenced past noncon/torture

Very little rattled Corrine Michaelson.

She was feeling more than a little rattled now, and she did not like that feeling. She very badly wanted someone to punish for it.

She twisted her ring around one finger, large blocky gold with the slightly raised M at the top, with a twist of vines around it, and settled back into the soft cushions of the section couch in her eldest son’s formal living room.

“What do you mean, they’re gone?”

She looked up at the three men arrayed before her - Nate Vandrum, who stood largely relaxed with his hands clasped behind his back, and two of the Michaelson’s armed guards.

Nate stared back at her with his jaw set, with the unreadable green eyes that softened only for Daniel. Corrine had little use for mortal humans beyond their usefulness to her, but she would have given Nate a job even if Daniel had not been the one he rescued. When a man spends six months planning and then burns a house full of people alive to get vengeance for someone … a smart Syndicate sees the potential in having that sort of careful, analytical violence properly directed.

Directed at the protection of her son, and of hunting down those who had sullied the Michaelson family and insulted them by using him against his will, Nate Vandrum was an employee she very nearly liked.

In this moment, she liked him less.

“J-Just what I said, ma’am,” Nate said quietly. “We let our g-g-guard down, and th-they left without approval. Without w-w-warning. They left their th-things behind and we were unable to catch up to them in time. We think they must have h-h-had some warning.”

Corrine could not read people like her son and husband could, but she saw the way a muscle twitched in Vandrum’s cheek, and she wondered.

Nate seemed aware of her scrutiny, as he shifted just slightly and straightened his spine. “They even l-l-left one of their oh, own behind.”

“Did they now?” Corrine blinked, surprised. That was at least something, although she couldn’t imagine whatever poor sap they’d left behind could be of any use. Well, there wasn’t a living, breathing, bleeding mortal on Earth who couldn’t be of at least a temporary use to Corrine Michaelson, but…

Her fingernails, painted a deep beige-pink to pop against her dark brown skin, began to tap lightly on the fabric of the couch.

“Yes. His name is Isaac Moore.” Nate paused - it was barely a moment, but Corrine caught it. “We don’t know what purpose he serves to the group itself - but they don’t appear to have hesitated to leave him. He’s st-still out with D-Danny, in the woods. I’ve c-confirmed with our men that Isaac Moore and Danny are ac-accounted for. But the r-r-rest of them are gone.”

Corrine frowned. She had come here expecting to find the little ragtag band of heroes still kept in place, effectively held like zoo animals waiting for her to decide their exhibits.

She could sell them back to the Stormbecks one by one - she’d heard the family was desperate to get their hands on them. The man who had once run their Syndicate was blissfully dead now, and honestly Corrine had been looking forward to meeting the one she’d heard was responsible for murdering him. He had insulted her deeply, once, a long time ago.

Corrine did not leave grudges behind. She did not forgive or forget. She held every slight, every insult, every attempt to overthrow her carefully close, and waited. In this, perhaps she had waited too long.

She hadn’t exactly decided to sell them, yet - but had considered it, and Danny’s house would no longer do. Her eldest son had a reputation, since his return from his unfortunate waylaying by those anti-syndicate mercenaries, for being… weak.

Unwilling to take the harsh steps necessary to maintain control. Unable to even really be part of running the Syndicate at all. He’d holed up here in an old summer home and Corrine had begun to understand that her eldest son - adopted, as a child, to shield her youngest from too much scrutiny - could not be trusted to keep them if they wanted to go.

She was surprised to discover they had gone without Danny even knowing.

“You will question everyone who has worked this house the entire length of their visit,” Corrine said, her voice brusque and sharp.

Nate Vandrum nodded, once, as did the men on either side of him.

“Nate, I need your absolute focus on this,” Corrine said quietly, steepling her fingers together. “I want you to find them. I cannot have them escape my territory without my knowledge, I cannot. I will not be shown to be weak.”

“Yes, ma’am. I take full r-r-responsibility for the f-failure to maintain their security h-here-”

“Yes.” Corrine frowned at Daniel’s bodyguard and partner. He looked right back at her, with no discernable expression at all. She wished, briefly, she had her husband’s ability to understand people, to know the wants and needs of humans at their basest depths. “You will take responsibility. This is your fault and your failure.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His voice did not change. Even and strong, the constant presence at Daniel’s back. The shadow of her son, stronger than her son could ever be now. Corrine felt a flicker of something like affection, deep within a heart that rarely felt it for anyone she wasn’t married to or the mother of.

“You say my son at least is accounted for? Along with this… Isaac person?” Corrine sighed, rubbing at her temples with one hand. “Does he have any useful intel? Have you discerned his potential usefulness to the Michaelson group?”

Nate paused again. His expression did not change, but there was a calculation there, a consideration. Corrine looked up at him. He is trying to decide how much to tell me, she thought. But Nate was loyal to Daniel in ways that ran deeper than the blood she might otherwise have made him shed for her. He would never have hidden a single thing that could bring Danny risk or harm, and she knew it.

She couldn’t read people like her husband and son could, but you didn’t have to. Nate wore his loyalty, his devotion, like visible armor. As long as Daniel was in this world to protect and to shield, Nate could not be harmed by knife or bullet or a mother’s hunger for someone to blame.

And for all her coldness, Corrine would not have taken him from Daniel - she could never even have begun to make herself try. Daniel had suffered, for the choice Corrine had made in bringing him into their home. He had suffered for years as a stand-in for every choice the anti-Syndicate fools hated the Michaelsons for.

Daniel had come home, to his parents and to his brother. Corrine could indulge him in allowing him the love he had found in the darkness.

“I don’t believe h-he knows m-m-much, ma’am,” Nate said carefully. “He s-seems to be a sort of… fighter, for th-the group. He has a lot of physical c-c-capability in combat but I wouldn’t s-s-say he’s.. overburdened with knowledge.” His eyes slowly raised, looking at something behind her. “Not knowledge w-we can use, anyway.”

“Damn. Can I kill him?”

Nate blinked and his eyes jerked back down. “Ma’am? Are you… asking?”

“Yes. I don’t want to, if there’s a good reason not to, but I dislike that his little friends left without my permission or my say-so. I dislike that they abandoned one of their own, and I immensely dislike the idea of feeding, clothing, and housing a useless scrap of flesh.” Corrine tilted her head to the side, crossing one leg over the other in the tight-fitting deep red suit she wore, her hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. She looked like power, and she knew it.

Patrick was the nominal head of the Michaelson Group, but Corrine was the bite behind his charming smile - and everyone knew it. A precious lucky few even knew why.

“I have a deep need to fuck someone up, Vandrum, and it might as well be the runt they left behind.”

“I w-w-wouldn’t, ma’am,” Nate said, and swallowed. She watched his Adam’s apple bob with unusual nervousness. He seemed… pale, and when she thought about it, she could hear the way his heartbeat had sped up.

“And why not?”

“Because… ah, b-because…”

Behind her, she heard the back door from the kitchen open, the sound of her son’s soft, half-breathless laughter. Another male voice laughing with him.

“Do you, um, do you… do you want to see if anyone wants, um, lunch?” Daniel’s voice sounded lighter - stronger - than it had since he’d come home. Corrine’s eyebrows raised nearly to her hairline.

She… couldn’t remember the last time she had heard Daniel laugh like that, speak like that, to anyone but Nate Vandrum. And then only rarely.

“I… yeah, sure, let’s do it, but first - come here,” The second voice replied, with the same shy flirtation. There was a pause, and then the two men laughed again.

Corrine looked back at Nate, who gave her a slight, uncertain smile. “D-D-Danny likes him,” Nate said softly.

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faejilly · 4 years

Text

ashes of angels 2/6

Jace Herondale is not pleased to learn that someone tried to hurt his parabatai.

For my @shadowhunterbingo square: Kidnapping [AO3]

Jace has to take a few minutes, after Magnus has given them the rundown and before they leave, to stand in the doorway of Alec's bedroom. He has to see it for himself, has to look at him, sleeping quietly, while Cat and Madzie play some incomprehensible kid's card-game at a small table they'd pulled into the room.

Alec will be fine.

Alec was almost really really not fine, and he'd barely noticed the odd flush of heat through the parabatai bond before Magnus had taken care of it.

Or more, he'd noticed, but he hadn't known what to do about it, and honestly if he'd called Magnus he just would have gotten in the way while he was making the antidote, so he's not sure what he's feeling guilty about, what he could have done, but still. It won't go away.

Izzy props her head on his shoulder to look into the room with him, tension clear in the way she stretches to fit rather than just looking around him like she normally would.

She probably feels guilty too, for even less reason.

He supposes it's one of the few things they share with Alec: guilt is a family sport, at this point.

He snorts.

Izzy pulls back and looks at him, eyebrows raised, but he just shakes his head.

"Let's go see if Magnus is ready."

Izzy nods, and they turn back to the apothecary.

He's never seen Magnus so furious. He's hiding it well; Jace doubts most people would be able to tell. He's too stiff, too controlled, and while his magic isn't visible, not really, Jace can feel it, pressure and heat in the air around him, like the waves of a mirage on an empty highway in the summer, swirling around Magnus until he looks like he might be a bit more than just half-demon.

Alec would probably say he looks half-angel, righteous and avenging.

Jace lets himself linger in that thought until he agrees with it. It doesn't take long. Anyone angry on Alec's behalf is clearly on the right side of history in Jace's opinion.

Magnus grins at them, baring his teeth. "Ready?"

"Ready," Izzy echoes, while Jace nods.

They stalk through Magnus' portal, right back into the middle of Alicante.

Not in the middle of the Hall, though, but in an empty and slightly dusty stairwell. Izzy raises her eyebrows, and Magnus shrugs. "No reason to make it obvious to anyone who doesn't know that I can get in and out of Idris so easily, is there?"

"Are we going to let them think they pulled it off, then?" Jace asks. If Magnus couldn't have gotten Alec back to New York they might have. It's probably what they were counting on, risking a drug like that. Dead or humiliated, and they'd possibly have preferred the second one, considering.

Jace hates the Circle, and he hates that there are remnants of it still, even without Valentine, trying to undermine all the good Alec's doing. Trying to undermine Alec, just because they think they can.

Izzy wrinkles her nose at him, but he can tell she can see the appeal of running a con on the people they're hunting because she doesn't actually argue. They'd probably get to hit more people, selling it as grief at their loss; he has to admit a preference to any plan that gives him an excuse to let his own rage at someone threatening his parabatai go free.

Magnus tilts his head, considering. "I'm not sure I could keep my temper if I let that idea out, even in the hypothetical."

Fair enough. Jace nods.

Not that he's against turning half of Alicante into a crater at this point, but it would make Alec's job harder, once he's better.

"Avoiding the direct approach," Jace says, only half a question. Alec can pull off the direct approach when dealing with the Clave; Jace has never seen anyone else manage it.

"You have a rune for tracking magic, yes?" Magnus asks, and they activate their spiritum runes. Jace blinks. Magnus looks even more other-worldly with hints of red and blue and black sparking in the aura around him.

Magnus holds out a hand, and a ball of sickly yellow-green magic forms in his palm. "Here's the signature for the pixie dust. Whoever handled it will have traces around their hands, and probably whatever pocket or bag it was in."

"They won't let their guard down around us." Izzy flicks her fingers towards Jace. "Even if we are dressed for the occasion." They're in formal clothes, weapons hidden as well as glamoured so no one will see them. Jace is 99% sure the fancy stick in her hair is sharpened to work as well as a dagger, and he knows she's more than capable of stabbing people with the heels on her shoes, too. He's a little jealous; he'll have to pick her brain after this, to figure out what else he could hide in his formal gear next time he has to dress up.

Magnus winks, and Jace feels the warm wash of magic across his skin. It feels almost like a glamour rune, but... lighter? He looks over at Izzy to see how she's taken it, and his eyes just... skip over her face, somehow filing her away as unimportant.

He blinks, and it happens again.

Izzy whistles softly. "How does that work if we actually talk to them?"

"They'll think you look vaguely familiar, but that's about it," Magnus says. "It's more of a don't look, nothing interesting here misdirect than a full-glamour with a false image, so it's much less likely that it will occur to them to try and look through it."

"But if they do?" Izzy asks.

"Then we do the direct approach," Jace answers.

"Hopefully not? But..." Magnus concedes to that back-up plan with a graceful shrug of shoulders and wide-spread hands. "Good luck."

"We don't need luck, we have you." Izzy drops a quick kiss on Magnus' cheek, and she and Jace step out into the party.

They do a full circuit of the room, nodding politely and pretending to sip at the drinks they snagged off a server. They spot one person with green fingers right away, a man in an almost aggressively nondescript suit, but they make sure there's nothing else before they move; they wouldn't want to miss something by acting too quickly.

Alec would be proud of them.

Jace is rather proud of them, too, especially when they find a trail of magic that leads to the serving station behind the hall, and a tiny cabinet under the staging table that still has stuff in it.

Izzy locks it up under her own rune, so no one besides them can get to it.

They go back to the Hall, and Jace finds a good vantage point, half-way between their prey and the gallery door.

Izzy takes the almost direct approach; she flirts.

After about thirty seconds, Jace wonders if they'd even needed the don't see me Magnus had laid on them, because he's relatively sure the idiot's eyes never move higher than Izzy's breasts. (Which is entirely the point of her outfit, of course, but he's still always kind of horrified by how easily it works.)

She manages to work their target almost to the door all on her own before he apparently remembers that he has a job of some sort that he's still supposed to be doing. By then it's too late, and even as the idiot starts to demur and look around, Jace is already up on his other side, and they frog-march him out of the room before he has a chance to do more than inhale in surprise.

And then he sees Magnus, and he opens his mouth as if to yell, and Magnus does something with a wave of his hand that makes the man sag so suddenly that Jace staggers under the sudden weight pulling at him.

Izzy snorts, and shifts her feet to steady herself. "That's one way to keep him quiet."

Magnus shrugs, and waves his hands again.

The magic slides off Jace's skin, and he watches the weird mirage haze swirl move around the man between them instead.

There are a few blue and red sparks, and a Circle rune appears on his neck.

"There's a tracker spell in his pocket," Magnus points. Jace reaches in to pull out what looks like a bus station key, a blue spark of Magnus' magic spiralling around it.

"I'll put it in the cabinet with the rest of his stuff," Izzy holds out her hand. "That way it'll still be here at the party if anyone checks."

Jace hands it over.

"You stay here and keep an eye on it, will you?" Magnus asks. "Jace and I will get this fellow settled."

Magnus makes yet another portal, Izzy helps them get the man through, and then she slips away.

They're back in the loft again; the guest room, this time. They drop the man on the bed with a soft whump.

Catarina pokes her head around the door, sees the man on the bed, and raises her eyebrows. Jace can't tell what she's thinking, but she seems neither upset nor particularly surprised. She clearly sees the Circle rune. "Let me know if you need any help with him."

"Of course," Magnus agrees, and she closes the door behind her after she leaves.

Magnus looks at Jace.

Jace waits.

"I need a second opinion," Magnus starts.

Jace shakes his head. "If you really wanted a second opinion you would have asked Izzy. You know what you want to do, what you think is necessary, and I'm telling you now that it doesn't matter if Alec would think it's crossing a line, I'll back you."

Magnus stills, and then he smiles, and it's not a nice expression.

Jace grins back.

"I'm going to take his memories, because that Circle rune will stop him from telling us anything, even if we somehow convinced him that he wanted to."

Jace nods.

"The only way to do it without the Circle rune interfering with the spell, is to rip them out so quickly that the rune can't activate."

Jace nods again. That tracks, with the way Hodge had been able to talk about the Circle just a little, while still wearing the slightly modified version of the rune that the Clave had left on him for his punishment.

"He'll be a vegetable."

Jace nods, a third and final time, and Magnus' shoulders ease, as if he'd really thought Jace might have a problem with that. Jace can't have that. "You know, if they'd drugged you instead of him, Alec would have stolen the damn Soul Sword and shredded the man's mind himself, if that was what it took to help you."

Magnus' smile softens, but it's sad instead of relieved. "That doesn't mean he'll accept it when it's done for him."

Jace shrugs. "He will once I yell at him a little."

Magnus snorts.

"Stop stalling," Jace waves at the unconscious man. "We've got a conspiracy to unravel before my parabatai wakes up. Think how pleased he'll be that I helped clean up a mess instead of making one for once."

Magnus snorts again, and turns to start his spell.

#hmdiscord #shadowhunters #jace lightwood #isabelle lightwood #magnus bane #my sh fic #malec #jilly writes #shadowhunter bingo #idek what are tags #ashes of angels

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inactiive-shit · 5 years

Text

Masterlist

UPDATED: 7/3/2020

I have decided to collect and link all my shit together because it is hard to find sometimes and honestly, I just thought it would be fun. Here are all my stories (at this point, they are all Sanders Sides fanfiction):

1. A Hero’s Death - Virgil always wanted to be a hero. And now he is. But it's not quite like anybody imagined it. (warnings: death, violence, no comfort//genre: angst/whump?//pairing: LAMP, some qpp some romantic) Read on AO3

2. Reasons To Live - Virgil just wants to walk home and agonize over his upcoming test, but a man he’s never seen before asks him a question, and somehow it all ends up okay. (warnings: none//genre: this was once described as cold fluff, which is possibly my favorite thing I’ve ever been told//pairing: platonic Analogical) Read on AO3

3. Don’t Stop If I Fall - When Virgil makes a promise, he means it. Furthermore, he always fulfills it. Even if it’s not quite in the way Patton was hoping. (warnings: death, unspecified creatures, unhappy end//genre: angst//pairing: platonic LAMP) Read on AO3

4. But Grow If I Can’t - Sequel to “Don’t Stop If I Fall” (warnings: same as previous installment) Read on AO3

5. Blood In My Mouth - A win brings him a friend, a loss brings him a friend, and an illegal fighting group can bring. . .love? (warnings: violence//genre: ???//pairing: platonic Moxiety, Prinxiety, romantic Analogical) Read on AO3

6. We’re Not What We’ve Seen - Nothing is guaranteed in war, and Patton knows this better than most. That doesn’t stop him from believing they’ll make it through mostly unscathed. (warnings: violence, war, despair//genre: hurt-comfort?//pairing: platonic LAMP) Read on AO3

7. I’ve Been Sane Too Long - Finals are a hard time - especially for someone like Logan, who has always done well and now has to. Failing means he’s worthless. . .doesn’t it? (warnings: stress//genre: hurt-comfort probably//pairing: platonic Logince) Read on AO3

8. (Bury Me In) All My Favorite Colors - Logan’s favorite color used to be dark blue, but now it’s a little more complicated than that. (warnings: death, no comfort//genre: angst//pairing: romantic LAMP) Read on AO3

9. You Watch It Fall - Roman’s been around for a very long time. He’s seen and done a lot of stuff. Some of it can get pretty old. (warnings: violence, some comfort//pairing: romantic Prinxiety) Read on AO3

10. Desperate Times, More Desperate Measures - When their powers manifested, Virgil’s three older brothers wanted to be just like their Dads and fight crime. Virgil had never been so inclined. Now, however, they never come to family dinners because they’re always busy. Virgil takes matters, and maybe the law, into his own hands. (warnings: I don’t think there’s any unless you count annoying your siblings//genre: It’s pretty funny//pairing: familial LAMP) Read on AO3

11. Night Is For Sleeping - Or Making Friends - All Dee wanted was a nice night in, sleeping. When the Prince of Chaos shows up in need of help, Dee’s night goes down the drain along with whatever sleep schedule he may have had. (warnings: blood, near death experience//genre: hurt-comfort//pairing: platonic Roceit, romantic Moceit) Read on AO3

12. Dedicated To The Kids - Virgil’s never known anything but his grueling schedule. Now, he’s tasted freedom. He won’t give it up. (warnings: implied abuse, running away//pairing: none) Read on AO3

13. All The Lighters Looking Just Like Stars - It’s about Roman being in a band (warnings: none) Read on AO3

14. False Hope - All Virgil wants to do is go home, to leave all this pain behind him. Nothing’s ever been that easy, though. He doesn’t think it ever will be. (warnings: whump, pain, confusion, unclear ending//genre: whump//pairing: romantic Analoceit, familial Prinxiety, platonic Moxiety) Read on AO3

15. Memes Make For Serious Business - This is based off a textpost. It’s really just funny and fluffy. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Analoceit) Read on AO3

16. Memes, Pt. 2 - Sequel to “Memes Make For Serious Business” (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Analoceit, platonic Roman/Patton/Virgil)

17. Leaf You Happy - Roman and Remus have a tradition they’ve enacted every year since they were kids. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: FAMILIAL Creativitwins) Read on AO3

18. Pumpkins - Logan's favorite treat comes around exactly once a year, and it comes with all of its own rituals and traditions. Those rituals and traditions have changed over the years; that just makes it that much more special. (warnings: mention of a knife for pumpkin carving//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Analogical, familial DLAMPR) Read on AO3

19. Supernova - Virgil was looking forward to a full night of horror movies and candy. Unfortunately, his Dad gets sick last minute, so there's only one person left who can take Roman trick-or-treating. But, hey, there's probably something aside from candy in it for Virgil as well. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Analogical, sibling Prinxiety, sibling Logicality) Read on AO3

20. Live A Little - Logan only gets one day out of the year. He has to make it last. (warnings: death, implied murder, blood, ghost//genre: ???//pairing: platonic LAMP) Read on AO3

21. In Perpetuum - They say the house is haunted. Shadows where there can't be, sounds there shouldn't be, music when nobody's lived there for over a decade. They say there was a murder there. But what really happened? (warnings: death, mental illness, it do be happy ending//genre: I’d call it fluff, but it’s whatever you call trying to write a ghost story and coming up with a love story instead//pairing: romantic DLAMP) Read on AO3

22. Friends In Scary Places - One thing Patton loves are haunted houses. (warnings: general haunted house stuff, gore for actors’ costumes, scares//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Moxiety, Intrulogical, Roceit, platonic DLAMPR) Read on AO3

23. Skeptical Belief - Logan has always believed in ghosts, despite the facts that his life has been totally free of the paranormal and he's a very skeptical person. The crux of the issue, then, is that he must find his own proof. Easy enough. (warnings: there is a demon-like thing//genre: it’s sort of fluff but not really? Unsure//pairing: platonic Analogical focus) Read on AO3

24. A Promise Never Broken - When the waters rise, Dee will always be there. (warnings: depression//genre: hurt-comfort, maybe? Idk, man//pairing: ambiguous Moceit) Read on AO3

25. Scary Movie, Safe Arms - Roman hates scary movies. He always has. He definitely does not want to watch one, not even for Virgil. Well...maybe he'll try for Virgil. (warnings: scary movie//genre: fluff//pairing: platonic Prinxiety, platonic LAMP) Read on AO3

26. The Dragon Witch of Heart’s Hospital - Dee is the Great and Terrible Dragon Witch. He can often be seen battling with young Prince Roman and his good friend Mage Logan. Recently, though, the Kingdom has gotten a few new residents. (warnings: setting is a hospital//genre: fluff//pairing: platonic DLAMP) Read on AO3

27. Jack And Sally Started At Taco Bell - Romantic Anxceit and their absolutely trash goblin dynamic. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Anxceit) Read on AO3

28. Monster - Virgil is clairvoyant - a psychic, medium, gifted, has The Sight, whatever. No matter what you call it, it sucks. Even a hang over would be better than this. It might not be all bad, though. Things could be looking up. Maybe. If Virgil can stop puking long enough to look up. (warnings: puke//genre: hurt-comfort I think//pairing: pre-romantic Anxceitmus) Read on AO3

29. Masquerade - Dee is the Prince Consort to Prince Remus. They've been dating another man for quite a while now and they believe it's time the rest of the kingdom - and the King, Remus's brother Roman - finally learn about their newest partner. In the most spectacular fashion possible, of course. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic Anxceitmus) Read on AO3

30. First Snow - Virgil’s from southern Florida and he’s never been to a hell-state quite like this one before. Of course he’s never seen snow! (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairings: platonic lamp) Read on AO3

31. The Shoulder - Virgil gets hurt and the last thing he wants to do is be vulnerable withe people. Unfortunately for him, there are a few people he might like to be able to be vulnerable with. (warnings: fight mentioned, dislocated shoulder, anxious thoughts//genre: hurt/comfort//pairing: platonic dlamp) Read on AO3

32. When The Violence Causes Silence - Virgil has to train the New Recruits.And he is just ecstatic about it. /s (warnings: zombies, fighting, near death experiences//genre: apocalypse//pairing: platonic moxiety) Read on AO3

33. Life As A Sanders - Through the years of Virgil and Logan getting adopted by their Dad, Patton, and some of their major milestones in life. 12 Parts. (warnings: some fights, I’ll add more as they appear//genre: fluff?//pairing: familial dlamp) Read on AO3

34. Old Flame - Roman had a high school sweetheart. He hasn't seen him in over ten years and for all he knows the man could be dead.Then he shows up unexpectedly, and it turns out to be something both of them needed. (warnings: past toxic relationship, past drug abuse//pairing: platonic prinxiety) Read on AO3

35. Icarus - Roman loves to fly high, but Logan fears that one day he may go too high. (warnings: none//pairing: romantic logince) Read on AO3

36. Leaving To Be Happy - Roman and Remus are rather well off, rich sons of a well-known business man. Roman is expected to marry well and one day, surely, Remus will finally settle down himself. There's just one problem: Roman might as much disdain for this plan as his brother. (warnings: mentioned homophobia, forced heteronormative garbage//parings: familial creativitwins) Read on AO3

37. I Don’t Have A Name For It - Logan does not know what to call the feelings that Patton makes him experience. Luckily, it's an easily-solved problem. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic logicality) Read on AO3

38. Of Love And Knives - It’s Valentine’s Day, and Remus had a plan. It’s just…a work a in progress. (warnings: lots of sexual language/references//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic dukexiety) Read on AO3

39. Quiet Lies - Dee gets a little bruised up. Luckily, it’s not anything a couple of horror movies can’t fix. (warnings: mentions of violence//genre: hurt/comfort, i guess//pairings: platonic anxceit) Read on AO3

40. Burning - Virgil needs a goddamn hug. (warnings: touch starvation//genre: hurt/comfort//pairing: platonic dukexiety) Read on AO3

41. Warmth - Logan can’t sleep, but his roommate is very helpful. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: platonic/ambiguous loceit) Read on AO3

42. Ice Cream And Staying Up - Patton gets home from work late, and he’s fine, but Virgil was scared about what might have kept him. (warnings: mention of puke//genre: hurt/comfort//pairing: qpp moxiety) Read on AO3

43. Knight And Mage - Roman gets wounded in battle. It's fatal. Or...under other circumstances, it would be. (warnings: near death, battle//genre: hurt/comfort//pairing: romantic logince) Read on AO3

44. Snake-umentary - Virgil has had a stressful day. (warnings: mention of crash, accidental misgendering, panic attack, dissociation//pairing: romantic anxceit) Read on AO3

45. Water Bottle - Remus hyper-focuses so hard that he forgets to do basic things, like eat. (warnings: accidental dehydration//pairing: romantic anxceitmus) Read on AO3

46. Nasty - Virgil likes ice cream and Remus doesn’t like clothes. (warnings: nonsexual nudity, mentions of quarantine and shitty jobs//genre: fluff//pairing: platonic dukexiety) Read on AO3

47. Peachy Fuzz - Remus really needs to get better at cards so that this doesn’t happen so often. (warnings: blood, fight, theoretical mention of murder//genre: hurt/comfort ig//pairing: romantic dukexiety) Read on AO3

48. Empty - Patton feels empty. (warnings: depression//pairing: platonic royality) Read on AO3

49. Thunder - Dee doesn’t like thunder, and his boyfriend does, in fact, know that. (warnings: referenced sex, none included//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic anxceit) Read on AO3

50. Self Care - Roman fights crime because he has to. Because if he doesn’t, who will? All Patton’s asking is, who’s looking out for Roman? (warnings: none//genre: hurt/comfort//pairing: platonic royality) Read on AO3

51. Gift - Patton gives his boyfriends a heartfelt gift. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic lamp) Read on AO3

52. Jacket or Blanket? - JD, Virgil, and Remus go to the roof to look at stars. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: ambiguous anxceitmus) Read on AO3

53. I Love You - Logan is very much in love. Figuring out the appropriate time to say this is, somehow, the hardest part of the process. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: romantic analogical) Read on AO3

54. Medusa - Remus really just wanted a bite to eat. He hadn't been expecting to find a living myth. (warnings: vampire, monching//pairing: pre-romantic dukeceit) Read on AO3

55. Drifter - Virgil has been on a lot of ships in his life; he’s more of a drifter than a pirate. But this one? It’s something different. (warnings: none//pairing: platonic moxiety) Read on AO3

56. Electricity - Remus is like the clock that still has cogs. He does work. It is just a different kind of working than others are used to. Sometimes, he must be wound, sometimes his gears malfunction and he must be reset. Sometimes people ignore his face for the ones printed in pretty, glowing numbers. (warnings: references to past issues, intrusive thoughts, Remus-normal stuff//genre: comfort//pairing: platonic intruality) Read on AO3

57. Betrayal - Virgil’s getting revenge. His way. (warnings: fighting, betrayal, blood, stab//genre: angst//pairing: Virgil and Janus, but angry) Read on AO3

58. Family - Janus finds out about Virgil trying to duck out. He’s less than pleased. (warnings: dark sides, aggressive love//genre: hurt/comfort ig//pairing: platonic anxceitmus) Read on AO3

59. Eventually - Roman and Logan play Mario Kart. Sometimes, Mario Kart can be the window to the soul. (warnings: none//genre: fluff//pairing: logince) Read on AO3

60. Just Until - Virgil has not been having a good week. Patton knows a guy. (warnings: panic attack, snake mention//genre: comfort//pairing: platonic moxiety) Read on AO3

#masterlist #thomas sanders #sanders sides #ts logan #ts virgil #ts patton #ts roman #ts janus #ts remus

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ragewerthers · 5 years

Text

Do You Dare Risk All?

Summary: With a lunch that goes right and a dinner that goes wrong, the gap between these two slowly starts to close.

A/n: Its taken me awhile, but Chapter 3 is up and ready! I hope that it’s a fun read as I really enjoyed getting to write this bit of whump and fluff to set up for Chapter 4!

You can also read at AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/18612211/chapters/45802942

Enjoy! :D

Words: 4965

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

As the afternoon came along and lunchtime arrived, Cor made his way back to Cartus’s office with a less than stellar meal for himself. To be fair, he’d never really taken the time to ever make himself a proper lunch for work. Why would he? He spent most of his day either running around after recruits, which left little to no time to eat, or doing military meetings where he discussed what was going on around Eos and in those cases lunch would be ordered in for them. Considering today was ‘chase recruits around and run them through their drills’ day it meant he was going to survive off of what he got out of any nearby vending machines.

Today’s meal was a bottled water and two bags of some sort of spicy chips that he’d picked up just down the hall from the Adviser’s office. Knocking on the door he soon heard the call to come in and happily obliged. The idea that he was getting to spend a bit of extra time with the man was honestly making the marshal feel a bit giddy in a way he never would’ve thought was possible. But here he was, trying to tamp down the urge to smile like an idiot as he made his way inside to greet the other.

Now that he wasn’t bleeding profusely from his nose he was able to make out Cartus’s office a bit more than before. It was simple and clean, two windows allowing in a bit of light from the back and side of his office. Considering the time he had heard of Cartus spending here it was probably good for his sanity to have some sort of natural light.

A large, dark oak desk sat in front of the window to the back of the room facing toward the door. Currently, Cartus was settled behind the desk in a wooden chair fully engrossed in whatever he was typing on his laptop. In front of his desk another two chairs were set for visitors, but a comfortable looking leather couch was positioned to the side of the room underneath the other window, a plethora of bookcases adorning almost every other wall and filled to the brim with all sorts of political, economical and financial books someone could think of.

The room itself seemed much more comfortable then the one Cor had for himself, but then again he was barely there so what was the point in putting in extra furniture for company?

Returning his gaze to Cartus’s desk he realized that he wasn’t the only one ill-prepared for lunch if the can of Ebony and the two energy bars settled near the corner were anything to go on.

Cartus seemed to be just finishing up something on his laptop, his eyes squinted at the screen as he worked and making Cor roll his own eyes at the stubborn man.

“Glasses, Cartus. Didn’t we have this discussion the other day?” Cor asked, closing the door behind himself and turning around just in time to see the narrowed look now focused on him.

“Don’t make me get Door the Immortal to teach you a lesson again,” he warned with a quirked eyebrow, reaching up to lower his glasses from the top of his head to perch on his nose.

Cor couldn’t help chuckling at that and shook his head. “No need for that. Just a friendly reminder is all. Like I said, you’re one of the few gunners we have and I’d hate for your eyesight to suffer because of your vendetta against your glasses.”

Cartus snorted at the accusation as he typed a little more before clicking the final button to send his email. “It’s not a vendetta! I just… hate them,” he said with a little shrug, finally turning his attention to the man who had entered and bringing a hand up to remove his glasses once more, setting them on his desk with a look of disgust/ As Cor drew closer, the Adviser’s eyes moved from his evil spectacles to glance at the items in the marshal’s hands.

“Crisps and water? Watching your figure, Leonis?” he asked with a little tilt to his lips, making Cor scowl back at him though a smile soon appeared over the Immortal’s features as well.

“Could ask you the same thing. Ebony and energy bars?” he asked simply, watching as Cartus’s cheeks tinged a bit pink.

“Alright, alright. I’m not exactly the healthiest eater either,” he admitted with a little smile, closing his laptop to set it aside. “Here, you can take either one of the seats there. Both are comfortable… -ish. Or if you prefer you can sit on the sofa. It’s small but probably a little nicer than the chairs.”

“Thanks. I think a chair will be fine,” Cor said politely as he took a seat in front of Cartus’s desk.

As both men settled into their lunches, however small and unhealthy they might be, they found themselves falling into easy conversation. They discussed what they were each doing for the day, talked a bit more about what had happened earlier with Regis and Clarus, even going so far as to start telling stories on the King and his Shield to each other and what ridiculous antics they’d been pulled into.

Cor told Cartus of the time he was tasked with trying to free Clarus from his royal robes after the man had gotten his cloak caught in a revolving door.

Cartus told Cor of the time he’d been tasked with trying to find a gift for Queen Aulea when Regis had forgotten their anniversary two years ago. Cartus could still recall the look in Regis’s eyes when Aulea had turned to him and thanked him for trying to help her husband.

Both men ended up getting so caught up in their stories that it wasn’t until Cartus’ secretary came in to remind him of his 2:00 meeting that they realized they had far surpassed lunch and lost track of time.

After agreeing to get ready for the meeting and watching the secretary leave, Cartus gave a little sigh and turned back to Cor.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t realize the time, but I can honestly say this has been one of the nicest lunches I’ve had here in awhile. Far nicer than simply working through it at least,” he said with a little chuckle as he took his wrappers and tossed them in a wastebasket nearby.

Cor couldn’t help smiling a bit at that, gathering up his own empty chip bags and nodding. “There’s nothing to apologize for. It was definitely nice getting a chance to… talk and just… get to know you a bit more. You’re incredibly good company,” he said softly, watching as Cartus’s cheeks tinged a bit pink from the compliment. Gods he was never going to get tired of that, was he?

The Adviser couldn’t stop a little chuckle even as he flushed and looked back up to the marshal. “Well… that’s incredibly kind of you. But… I agree that it was definitely nice getting a chance to talk to you as well. It’s definitely given me some good info on our dear Shield and King,” he joked, making Cor laugh a bit.

“Like I said. I got pictures of Clarus floundering around if you ever want to see them. It may have been one of the happiest days of my life,” Cor joked, smiling more when Cartus couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the imagery.

“I’ll have to take you up on seeing those some time,” the lithe man chuckled, unable to keep from smiling now.

Both men stood, getting ready to bid the other goodbye and it struck each how even though this was only a simple lunch together… neither really wanted it to end.

However, only one of them really had the nerve to say and do something about that.

“You know… I don’t have any plans this evening and… I was wondering if you’d like to grab some dinner after work?” Cor asked, watching as Cartus seemed to give pause for a moment, a look of uncertainty in his eyes. Cor instantly read what he was thinking and raised his hands in a sign of peace. “I know, I know. No dates. I promise this is nothing fancy and honestly, you can even consider it my way of apologizing for denting your door if you want.”

That definitely made Cartus relax, a snort escaping him as he brought his hand up to cover his mouth, trying to play it off as a cough even as the smile remained.

“Well. I suppose that dinner as repayment for the pain and suffering you caused my door wouldn’t be so bad,” he offered back, his smile growing a bit the more he thought about it. “Alright. I’m probably going to be running around for the rest of the day so if you want you can text me where to meet you.”

Cor felt his chest warm through and through to hear Cartus agreeing to his dinner not date. “Sounds good. I’ll send you a text when I get out of work and where to meet me. Until then,” he said, giving the other a little nod and heading toward the door. “Oh, and Cartus?”

The Adviser had just been gathering a few items for his meeting when he heard his name called again and looked up to meet Cors gaze. “Yes? Something the matter?” he asked curiously.

“Don’t forget your glasses,” Cor said lightly, the barest hint of a teasing tone in his voice as the Adviser grumbled and narrowed his eyes, picking up the glasses he had conveniently set aside so as to “forget” them.

“You think you’re so clever, don’t you?” the man mumbled, putting the glasses into his front vest pocket as Cor chuckled and opened the door to leave.

“I do. But I’m only keeping your best interests at heart,” he said fondly, watching as the blush that had been on Cartus’s cheeks earlier managed to somehow make it to his ears.

This man was going to be the death of him.

With a final small wave he left the office, his heart a little lighter at his future plans laid out before him. Even if it wasn’t a date it still was exciting to think that he was at least earning back a bit of his good name in the man’s eyes. Perhaps, even if this never led to anything romantic, he could at least consider himself a friend to the man. That would be good enough for him.

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

Cor stood outside ‘ Aberdine’s Cup Noodle Stand ’ only about two blocks down from the main Citadel building, waiting in the glow of the street lamps and fading evening light for Cartus to join him. He’d sent a text earlier that day giving him the place for their impromptu dinner, figuring what could be less date like then going to a cup noodle stand for a quick bite?

It hadn’t been too much longer before he’d gotten a message back saying that he’d meet him there and that he was looking forward to getting away from the office.

The day had gone on a little longer than even he had anticipated, only leaving around 8:00 p.m and knowing full well that Cartus probably had a bit more to do than himself. Cor sent another quick text, letting the Adviser know that he’d be waiting for him at the little food stand. Once again a text had been quickly forthcoming that he would be there shortly.

That had been almost an hour ago.

Cor glanced down at his phone from time to time. Granted he didn’t want to pester the man and didn’t want to keep sending him texts so after every glance he would simply pocket it again, try to avoid the odd looks from the food stall lady and try to look up with each passerby by to see if a familiar figure could be making his way down the pavement from the main building.

Had he been stood up?

He honestly wouldn’t blame him if he had been, but the man had only just confirmed a little while ago that he was going to meet him there.

Something wasn’t right.

A little worry built up in Cor’s stomach and he began to make his way back to the Citadel.

Luckily the place he’d chosen for their dinner wasn’t too far away and in no time he saw the imposing figure of the Citadels Tower looming over him. Most of the windows were dark with the occupants having long since gone home, however, a few night owls still seemed to be hanging on as small flecks of orange lit up their offices.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out what had probably happened, but he wasn’t a man to leave things up to assumptions and chance.

A few minutes later found him exiting the elevator on Cartus’s floor, making his way down the now slightly darkened hallway and toward a door left ajar with light filtering out into the darkness.

As Cor stood outside the door he peeked in, making sure to stay quiet so as not to interrupt what may be going on inside the room.

What he saw made something in his chest ache.

Cartus looked absolutely miserable.

He sat in front of his laptop, actually wearing his glasses while the glow of the screen accentuated the tired lines marring his face. His vest was undone, the buttoned up shirt underneath looking a little less pristine than it had earlier. The sleeves of his shirt were now rolled up to his elbows revealing his forearms and all in all he just looked the epitome of the word ‘rumpled’. Something Cor never would’ve associated with the normally put together Adviser.

“What do you want, Scelus?” Cartus growled, not looking up from his work.

Cor quirked his head to the side and finally pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

“Scelus?” he asked, watching as Cartus looked up startled, his tired eyes taking a moment to register who was actually coming into his office.

“Oh! Cor! My apologies! I… oh gods, what time is it?” he rambled, looking around for something to check the time with, but apparently his mind wasn’t exactly in the right place as he glossed over picking up his phone or looking to his laptop.

“It’s getting close to 10 now I think,” Cor offered and heard a disgruntled groan from the man as Cartus ran his hands over his face, pushing his glasses back up his forehead as he rubbed at his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Cor. I should’ve sent a text or called, but… I got… waylaid with some extra work at the last second and I’m afraid my mind was elsewhere,” Cartus apologized once more, lowering his hands and looking more deflated and tired by the minute.

“Extra work? From Regis?” Cor asked as he walked into the office, closing the door behind him. The question was his way of gently prompting the subject. He didn’t become one of the head military figures of Lucis by not knowing how to get information and right now he wanted to know about this ‘Scelus’. The obvious cause for Cartus’ distress, but he knew coming right out and asking could well enough lead to no answer at all. Better to just play a little dumb for now.

Cartus shifted a little where he sat as Cor got closer, not exactly meeting the others gaze, but tugging at his shirt sleeve in a nervous gesture he would’ve definitely had a better hold on had he not been so tired. “No. Not from Regis,” he admitted, giving a little sigh of defeat. “Scelus Asina decided to drop by and give me a few reports to finish for the delegation coming from Altissia tomorrow. It’s nothing he couldn’t have done himself, but… I always seem to find myself finishing up his work.”

Cor had settled himself in the wooden chair he’d been in earlier that day, listening to Cartus as the man vented a bit. Apparently this wasn’t going to be the toughest interrogation he was ever going to conduct. “So he does this often?” Cor asked, watching the way Cartus’s green eyes hardened at the statement.

“At this point I don’t even know why he has a job considering I carry most of his workload,” he grumbled. “But he plays it off as if I’m doing him a favor each and every time! ‘ Oh you’re really saving me here, Scientia! It’s not like you have a family to get home to right? ’ or ‘ This is really going to save me from getting in trouble with the missus again! Good thing you don’t have a bustling social life, right? ’ Somehow… he manages to compliment me, insult me and then sautner out of here with me holding onto far more work then I really need. And the stupid part of it all is that I do it! Each and every time! Because you know what? He’s right. I can’t refute what he’s saying. I don’t have a family to get back to and I don’t have a bustling social life.”

There was something in the way he said the last few sentences, the way his shoulders slumped and he seemed to take the words to heart that made Cors heart ache for the man in front of him.

“Cartus…,” he began before being silenced by the look he received.

“Don’t. I don’t need pity. It’s the truth, Cor,” Cartus reiterated, his stern expression melting into an apologetic one. “But I’m sorry that I won’t be able to join you for dinner this evening. And I apologize for not having had the thought to text you to let you know instead of having you waste your evening as well.”

This time Cor shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for. Though I’m sorry that this Scelus has decided to use your good nature in such a way,” Cor said honestly.

Cartus offered the man a little smile at that and shook his head. “It’s… fine. Really. You think this is the first bully I’ve had to put up with?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at the marshal and Cor had the decency to look ashamed. “Some seem to have found fit to follow in your footsteps, as it were. I can only hope they will follow the new steps you’re taking.”

Cor still felt the sting of those words. Knowing that he had inadvertently led the way for other people to think they could take advantage of Cartus definitely didn’t sit well with him.

Gods he’d been a prick.

Cartus seemed to pick up on the mood of the marshal and he shook his head, offering a little smile. “Cor, stop it. I can hear you getting ready to wallow and I won’t allow it. I’m an adult. I should be able to deal with a few grade school antics. I’ll figure it out. But for now… I… should probably get this done before tomorrow.” The man glanced over at the laptop again and the files that had unceremoniously found their way to his desk thanks to Scelus.

“If you’re sure. I’ll... stop in tomorrow and make sure you haven’t burned yourself out then,” the marshal offered, feeling the guilt still holding strong in his chest as he stood to leave the man to his work. “Have a good evening, Cartus.”

The Adviser watched Cor stand, something unreadable in his eyes as he gave a small, tired smile in return. “Have a good evening, Cor,” he offered in return before turning back to his work with a roll of his shoulders, the small smile disappearing as he refocused on work that wasn’t his, doing it because it merely because it needed to be done.

Closing the door behind himself, Cor stood in the hallway for a moment, his mind still processing that he’d inadvertently forged a path for others to take advantage of Cartus. A man who had so much on his plate, but who had now become an ‘easy target’ because of his own idiocy.

He couldn’t just leave this as it was and soon a little plan had formed in his head. A small way to make up for all the ways he’d managed to fail the Adviser to the throne.

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

Cartus was just finishing up the second of three analysis papers on the Altissian fishing commerce and the surrounding area when he heard a knock on his door.

Cor had only just left about 20 minutes prior and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out who would be milling around the building apart from security possibly coming to check up on him.

“Erm… come in?” he called, watching as the door opened to reveal one of the last sights he expected to see.

Cor had returned… and his arms were laiden with a few takeaway bags, a teasing smile on his lips.

“Really, Cartus? You’re here… alone… at night… and you hear a knock on the door and you just invite someone in? We’re definitely gonna have to get you back into training,” he teased, kicking the door shut behind him.

Cartus was still sat, slightly flabbergasted at the sight before him. “What are you doing back here?” he asked before Cor’s words caught up to him and he scowled. “And don’t give me that! I can handle myself just fine, thank you very much.” With that he stood, going over to Cor to help unburden the man.

The closer he got the more the scent of the food started to get to the poor Adviser, his mouth watering as he realized that all of this was probably from a few different takeaway joints nearby.

“I wasn’t sure what your tastes would be… and I know that your lunch was worse than mine so I figured I’d bring you a bit of whatever I could find,” Cor offered with a light smile, taking the bag he still had and setting on a small coffee table in front of the sofa.

Cartus was still holding the other bag he’d taken from the marshal, the scent of curries, chicken and a few other spices making his mouth water the longer he held it.

“Cartus? Caz?” Cor asked, unknowingly letting the nickname slip as he looked over at the poor guy, trying his best not to laugh at the dazed look on his face as he finally got his attention. “Why don’t you take a seat and dig in? You look like you’re three seconds from passing out and I’m not going to have that on my conscious.”

Any sort of comeback or denial died on his lips as his stomach gave a growl any daemon would be proud of and his ears instantly flushed crimson. “Fine, fine,” he agreed moving around to take a seat on the sofa and set the other bag down, starting to pull out the different food items Cor had picked up. As he sat his mind finally caught up with the fact that Cor the Immortal had just dubbed him with a new nickname and it… made his stomach give a funny little flutter in a way he didn’t want to analyze right now.

“You really did pick up a little of everything, didn’t you?” Cartus chuckled, unable to help himself as he pulled out curry, Chicken parmesan, two slices of pizza and some Shrimp Cup Noodle, his thoughts easily refocusing on the food before him.

Cor smiled smugly and nodded, taking a seat beside him. “Yes I did. If you can’t find something you like here then it can’t be found… at least not within a few blocks of here,” he joked, pulling out a sub, Spicy Chicken Cup Noodle, sushi and three cans of Ebony and two bottles of water. “So… what would you like first?”

Cartus’s eyes roved over the buffett laid out before him, his stomach giving another growl as he sheepishly pointed to the curry and sushi. “I’d happily lay claim to those two items if that’s alright?” he asked, though before he had even finished Cor was already moving the items closer to him.

“You could claim everything here and it would be alright,” Cor promised, giving him a kinder smile as he also put a bottle of water near the man. “It’s really the least I could do after being the catalyst for all your troubles this evening.”

Cartus paused in the removal of the lid to the curry, looking over at the man sat beside him and the look of guilt that was coming over him.

“You didn’t put Scelus up to doing what he does, Cor,” Cartus said gently. “Just because he saw fit to be a bully, that’s not on you. He could have just as easily left me alone, but he chose not to. Like I said, I’ll find a way to deal with him like an adult. It’s nothing I want you to trouble yourself with. Though… I really do appreciate the effort of this dinner.”

As he spoke, Cor worked up the nerve to look over at him once more, finding a kind smile on the other’s features and feeling his heart beat just a little faster.

A small smile broke out over his own features now and he nodded. “Well… like I said. It’s the least I could do,” he murmured, reaching for the Spicy Cup Noodle and settling back into the sofa cushions

Cartus seemed content in the knowledge that Cor was a bit more comfortable now and finally tucked into his own meal, eating the curry in a flourish and quickly following it up with the sushi and finally picking up the Shrimp Cup Noodle to enjoy a bit of extra guilty, salty goodness.

“Feeling better?” Cor asked as Cartus picked lazily at the noodles, eating the bits of seafood he found in it with a contented little hum each time.

The Adviser nodded, a soft smile on his lips. “Much better. I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” he admitted, fighting a little yawn now as Cor set his empty bottle of water aside.

“I’m sorry I didn’t pick up a little dessert for after,” he said honestly, getting a surprised snort from Cartus and turning to see the man hiding a laugh against his hand once more. He’d come to realize that Cartus had a tendency to hide his laugh. He wondered if he couldn’t fix that.

“Oh thank goodness you didn’t,” Cartus admitted with a little shake of his head. “I’ve a horrible sweet tooth. I would’ve made a joke of myself in front of you and I don’t think my ego could’ve handled it.”

Cor chuckled at hearing that, making a mental note to definitely bring back something sweet next time.

Cartus leaned back against the sofa now as well, Cor soon following suit after setting aside his empty cartons. As they let their dinner settle, Cor still mulled a few things over in his head, debating if he should say what was on his mind and in the end deciding that really… there was nothing to lose by speaking up now.

“You know… I really am sorry for everything I’ve put you through, Cartus,” Cor murmured, looking down at his lap, his fingers fiddling with nonexistent fuzz on his trousers. “I shouldn’t have been treating you the way I have. I shouldn’t have been a bully and I should’ve just been fair to you and treat you like the amazing person you are.” Cor could feel his cheeks heating up as he spoke, but he knew this had to be said. “And you really are amazing, Cartus. You do far more than your share of work without complaint. You are loyal, kind… and I hope that we can continue to get to know one another and… that I can continue to earn your trust and especially your friendship.”

As he finished speaking he waited for some sort of comment or remark, only finding the quiet of the room greeting his ears and then… he felt a bump against his side and a weight settled on his shoulder.

“Cartus? Are you…?” Cor turned his head to check that everything was alright only to find the man asleep against him, the glasses that rested atop his head now slightly askew, his lips only just parted as soft, even breaths escaped him. He appeared to still be holding onto the half full cup of noodles and Cor carefully reached over to take them from him, trying not to shift too much so as to wake the man.

The marshal couldn’t help smiling at the poor Adviser’s state, shaking his head. “Here I am trying to have an honest heart to heart and you fall asleep on me,” he whispered more to himself than anything. All he got for his troubles was a little hum and soft nuzzle from the brunette that made his heart melt. “Well now you’re just being unfair.”

Cor knew he couldn’t stay like this forever. That eventually he was going to have to get up and leave and make sure that Cartus was awake and okay, but… for now he remained at his post, ever the loyal soldier, allowing the man a moment’s rest from his hectic day.

Giving another little glance to the side, Cor took in the relaxed features of Cartus and gave a little sigh, his smile still lingering on his face.

“You’re definitely gonna be the death of me.”

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wobbling-grapes · 7 years

Text

The Winter Flu (oneshot)

Synopsis: Bakugou's sick, and Kirishima is the only one who can take care of him while the school is on a trip. Contains whump, sickness and fluff.

It was the winter and Yuuei High School was currently on a trip for all of their first years. The were visiting various places around the country. Class 1-A managed to get into a historical mansion where heros of the olden days used to live. It should've been pretty enjoyable, even for Bakugou who was known for cussing people out and always having a resting bitch face no matter what. The class full of 1st years were going to the historical mansion and then to training grounds and back to the hotel where they would eat dinner, spend the night, and then go to an supernatural aquarium, seeing creatures that normally didn't exist.

That was the plan. And eventually they would all head back to the school and dorms where classes would resume like nothing happened. But for Bakugou... that was far from what was going to happen. Considering how early everyone had to wake up (4:30 a.m. to be exact) and how cold it was (15°F) it seemed like there was not a reason Bakugou would get sick. He has an explosive quirk and his body temperature was higher than everyone else's it seemed as though it wouldn't happen. Yet it did.

The 16 year old ash blond was huddled under many blankets he found in the hotel room. He even turned up the heat but nothing seemed to be working. The heat was seeping out of him in waves and whenever Bakugou fell asleep, he was jolted awake again by the violent shivers all over his body. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It read 5:50. 'Only... what? 2 more fucking hours...? I think I can make it....' Bakugou's thoights were on a constant ramble until he finally gave into the heavy dropping of his eyelids and sleep enveloped his whole body in warmth and darkness.

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"Bakugou. Bakugou. Bakugou." Somone was shaking his shoulder. It hurt. Why didn't they stop? Fucking why? The shaking didn't stop. "Pst. Bakugou. You gotta get up bro. We were supposed to meet the others downstairs hours ago." It was Kirishima. They both shared a room that night. Bakugou groaned and put the pillow over his head.

Kirishima started shaking a little more. "C'mon Bakugou. I know you hate mornings but seriously..." The red haired teenager grabbed Bakugou's wrist and immediately let it go. "Hey, Bakugou." Kirishima put his hand onto the tired boy's forehead. "Dude! You're burning up!"

Bakugou opened one eye at that. "No I'm fucking not..." he mumbled under the mountain of blankets. "Get the fucking hell away." He breathed, while rubbing his red and irritated nose. Bakugou weakly pushed Kirishima's hand away and rolled over to one side. He closed this eyes again and fell asleep as a low snore filled the hotel room.

Kirishima grumbled. 'Fine my ass. I know that he's not feeling good. Should I tell Aizawa-sensei? No... then it'll be a bigger issue than it already is. Oh!' Kirishima came across the best idea he's ever had. Literally. 'I'll talk to Midoriya. They used to be best friends, right? So he should know what to do.'

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Kirishima got down to the dining hall in record time. It seemed as though time had stood still when he was on the staircase. He glanced around for Midoriya, trying not to look to upset.

"Hey."Kirishima swirled around, startled, and smiled. It was Midoriya, the person he was looking for. Kirishima sighed a sigh of relief. "Dude, don't scare me like that!" Midoriya smiled apologetically. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. What do you need?" He said, wiping his hands on his pants. He just came from the bathroom and there were no paper towels.

Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck. "So... if someone... per say a pretty explosive person got sick, what should happen?" Kirishima finished, rocking back and forth on his heels. Midoriya cocked his head to the side. "Kacchan? He's sick?" His eyes widened. "Oh. Well, when we were kids he usually got sick at this time of year." Midoriya rubbed his eye. "I think it was because of how he was always forcing himself to train and stuff so he fell sick to those yearly sicknesses." He explained.

"Well... what should someone do if he has gotten sick?" Kirishima asked, trying to not let out that Bakugou has fallen ill. Midoriya stuttered before talking. "Kirishima, is umm... Kacchan sick?"

Kirishima sighed and nodded. "Yeah..." he sighed quietly and pointed up the stairs with his thumb. "Do you want to come see? I think it'll be better if you do." Midoriya closed his eyes and thought about this for a moment. "Ok, but let me eat first. Then we can go. Have you eaten? I think if you eat first some of your energy can come back." He laughed awkwardly. "Taking care of an explosive, uncooperative person may take it out of you...." He guided the red haired teen to his table with his other fellow classmates.

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

Midoriya was right. Going without eating anything at all really made you feel more tired then you generally were. Kirishima thought about this as he climbed the staircase with Midoriya behind him. It took about 5 minutes to fully make it up to the hotel room Bakugou and Kirishima were sharing. Kirishima placed the card inside the slot and as the door clicked, he opened the door, letting Midoriya go in first as he followed suit.

Inside they found Bakugou, sprawled out on one of the beds covered in blankets. His back was to them and they could see the rise and fall of his chest. The pillows were on the floor and the quiet sound of snoring filled the room. It wasn't annoying, like someone else's, but more natural. Midoriya walked closer. He saw that Bakugou's usual tan skin had taken a shade lighter, almost like he was pale. There were bags under his eyes like sleep was hard to come by. In short, Bakugou looked terrible. Worse than he did when they both fought against All Might in the End of Term Exam. He walked closer and shook Bakugou's shoulder.

"Kacchan. Umm... Kacchan. C'mon, get up." With enough poking and prodding, Bakugou eventually opened his eyes, turned over, yawned, sneezed once, and sat up slowly. He rubbed his eyes and looked at his visitors. "What the actual fuck... Deku? Why the hell are you here?" Bakugou's voice was hoarse and strained. It sounded like talking took almost everyone ounce of energy out of him. He glanced at Kirishima and growled, "Did you fucking bring him here?"

Kirishima nodded. "Yeah. Sorry, but I needed to ask him to tag along. I wanted him to see everything, even though he's not a doctor." He finished, sheepishly. Midoriya rolled up his sleeves. "Okay, so Kacchan? How do you feel?" He put his hand onto Bakugou's forehead before the sick teen could slap it away. "You do have a fever."

"I fucking told you guys. I'm fine, dipshits." The ferocity in Bakugou's voice made Kirishima blink and Midoriya take a step back. "I'm probably just tired or something. I don't need any of your motherfucking pity." With that he pulled the blankets back over his head and turned over, ignoring the world around him. Midoriya and Kirishima exchanged worried and frustrated glances. "Do we need to do something?" Kirishima whispered. Midoriya sighed quietly. "He's always like this. I think it'll be better if you do it by yourself, though because of... yeah and... I can relay you information on what to do does it sound like a plan? I hope it works. Oh nooo..." he spoke.

Kirishima nodded. "Yeah. It's worth a shot. This guy is gonna work himself into the ground before he admits he's feeling under the weather. And maybe he'll admit it in front of me. You never know."

Midoriya nodded, embarrassed. "Umm, right. And so everything's fine... right? Yeah, he's not deathly ill and he's not dying either, Kacchan still is cursing and angry and still is uncooperative and can move and talk and--" Kirishima laughed and patted Midoriya's shoulder. "Stop mumbling. I'm pretty sure everything will be fine. It'll be okay."

Midoriya nodded and walked closer to the door. "Umm alrighty... so you want me to tell you..? Or can you do it yourself? Because me and Urakara had something we needed to do..." he trailed off. Kirishima's face brightened. "Hey, if you need to be with her, go for it."

"I'm pretty sure I can handle everything here. Plus," he winked. "I can understand. Now go." He pushed Midoriya to the hotel room door. "I'll text you if I need anything else. Alright?"Kirishima finished. "Everything's gonna be fine." Midoriya looked skeptical but Kirishima's reasurring smile made Midoriya finally give in and opened the hotel room to walk out. "Okay...okay... b-but if you need anything then I can help you! Kacchan can be ruder than normal when he's like this, so keep it in mind. Bye Kirishima." Midoriya gave a weak smile and closed the door behind him. As he finally heard footstoes go down the hall, Kirishima breathed a sigh of relief and looked at the lump under the bed covers. He walked over, just like before, and quietly repeated aaid teen's name. "Bakugou, man, wake up please. Midoriya's gone."

At that, Bakugou's shape under the covers moved slightly as he coughed harshly. "Fucking finally." Bakugou sat up in the bed. His voice seemed more hoarse and groggy than before. "Idiot. I thought I told you I was fine." He rubbed his red and tired eyes. Kirishima sat down on the bed across from him and put his elbows on his knees. "Well, considering that you look like this," he emphasized Bakugou's condition. "I don't think you are. Does it matter how many times you say it? I mean look, we're bros. You need to tell me stuff like this so it won't get outta hand like it is now." Kirishima sighed and stood up. "But I honestly think that you now need someone."

Bakugou turned his head to glance at Kirishima. His look was confused and muddled. Kirishima stared back before he realized something. Bakugou just forgot what had happened. Kirishima's worry reached the breaking point. Yeah Baukugou cursed and was antisocial... but they managed to become friends. Maybe even more than that. So therefore Kirishima placed his hands on his forehead. "Bakugou," he said, worried. "Get up. We're going to the hotel doctor." Bakugou turned back to look at him. Kirishima could tell it was taking almost all of Bakugou's will power to say no. But considering the current situation, the explosive teen managed to swallow his pride and finally cooperate this once.

Bakugou nodded in acknowledgement and started to get out of the hotel bed. He shivered noticeably as the covers fell from his sickly frame. Kirishima held his shoulder. "If you need anything, tell me alright? Don't pass out on me while changing." Bakugou grunted in response along with a low stream of curses then shakily made his way to the bathroom to get changed. Kirishima sat down on the hotel floor, turning on his phone and started to play various shooter games he had. When he finished his fifth round, Kirishima decided to check up on the ash blond teenager. He hadn't come out the bathroom in what seemed like 30 minutes. Did something happen?

Kirishima's mind swirled with worry as he slowly pushed open the tall door. Inside was Bakugou, and he somehow fell asleep halfway through putting on his clothes. His pants were on ('Thank God', though Kirshima) but his shirt was halfway on, showing part of Bakugou's toned stomach. Kirishima blushed profusely. 'He doesn't look half bad...' Kirishima thought before walking closer and pulling the arm of the shirt and slightly taking Bakugou's arm and pulling it through before shaking the explosive teen awake. Bakugou opened his eyes slightly.

He rasped a, "The fuck...?" before slapping Kirishima weakly away, standing up shakily, and walking towards the hotel door. Kirishima quickly shook his head to forget the situation that just occurred and followed Bakugou. Bakugou opened the door and grabbed his head, dizziness overtaking him. Kirishima held his shoulder and guided the sick teen out of the hotel door. "Are you good enough to walk?" Kirishima asked. "The elevator is down this hallway. Think that you can make it?"

Bakugou coughed wetly into the back of his hand and nodded.

Asthey walked down the hallway, Kirishima slowly tugged on Bakugou’s shirt, making sure to keep him awake as they walked down the hall.

#mha #bnha #boku no hero academia #boku no hero season 2 #bakushima #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x kirishima #bnha bakugou #whump #sickfic #anime #bnha kirishima #caretaker kirishima

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tirstyspngirl · 3 years

Text

Too Much to Take

Febuwhump Day 2: Mind Control @febuwhump

Fandom: Supernatural

Trigger Warnings: Canon-typical violence, mild descriptions of injuries

Tags: Whump, Hurt Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester takes care of Sam Winchester, Hallucifer (mentioned), Sam Winchester hates clowns, post Season 7 Episode 14: Plucky Pennywhistle’s Magical Menagerie, emotional hurt/comfort

Dean glanced back over at his sleeping brother, glad to see he was finally getting some semblance of rest. They’d gone back to the motel, Sam took a ridiculously long shower to remove the glitter, and Dean cleaned out as much of the vile substance as possible out of his baby. He thought about forcing Sam to do it, but the kid seemed miserable enough. No need for Dean to make it any worse.

As soon as the glitter was as gone as possible, they’d gathered their gear and booked it out of Kansas. Sam took a long time to settle, obviously still keyed up from fighting his biggest fear. Now he was curled up against the window, cheek pressed to the cool glass of the window. Dean caught movement out of the corner of his eye and looked over to Sam. Sam’s face was pinched and he was pressing his thumb into his palm. Dean sighed inwardly. His brother couldn’t seem to catch a break. Or any sleep.

Dean had been driving aimlessly up until that moment, the only goal being to get the hell out of Kansas. Seeing his brother constantly tormented made his heart ache. Not that he’d ever admit to such a girly notion, but it was true all the same. It was then that he decided they needed a well deserved break. He aimed the Impala towards the one place the brothers frequently talked about, but never seemed to make it to: the Grand Canyon.

They drove straight through the night. Sam continued to pretend to sleep, pressing his hand every so often. Dean pretended not to notice and pressed down the accelerator just a tiny bit harder. When they arrived in Cameron, Arizona, they booked a room at the Grand Canyon Motel and Dean dropped right into bed. The motel was a little nicer and busier than they normally chose, but it was close to the canyon and Dean was too tired to care much about it.

Despite the fact that Sam had been pretending to sleep and not actually sleeping, Sam didn’t follow Dean’s lead. Instead he left to grab coffee. As Dean slept, Sam researched more on Dick Roman. Not that he found any useful info, but Lucifer wouldn’t let him sleep much, so Sam didn’t even bother to try.

Dean woke in the early afternoon, Sam tapping away furiously at the keyboard. Coffee at the ready right in front of him. As Dean walked to the bathroom to shower he glanced at the trashcan already half full with empty coffee cups. He sighed, but kept his mouth shut. He knew there was nothing he could say to Sam that would do any good and he really didn’t want to start an argument.

When Dean was done with his shower they found the nearest diner for lunch. Dean scarfed down his double cheeseburger with extra onions as Sam picked at his grilled chicken salad. Dean tried to encourage his brother to eat, but Sam refused to eat more than a few bites.

“Are y’all done with your food?” The waitress asked as she walked up to the table. Sam jerked in surprise.

“Yes, Ma'am,” Dean said, scooting his plate towards her. Sam scooted over his plate without a word.

“You sure you’re done honey?” she asked Sam.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“You should eat more if you’re planning on heading down to the Canyon. Gotta keep your strength up. Too many people have gone missing lately and all the recent sightings. Can’t be too careful.”

“Sightings of what?”

“Why the Mogollon monster of course.” She said, walking away with the dishes. “Be careful out there boys.” She called over her shoulder.

“So much for our vacation.” Dean sighed.

____________________________________________________________________________

“So this Mogollon monster. It’s not usually spotted in this area, but it isn’t too far of a stretch to say it could have made its way out here. It’s been known to act extremely violent and its scream sounds like a woman in distress. It’s essentially the Arizona version of Bigfoot. No lore on how to kill it, so we’ll have to take several weapons with us when we go after it.” Sam said as Dean walked into the room in his Fed suit. “What‘d you find?”

“There have been 7 missing persons cases in the park in the past 4 months. No patterns connecting them that I can see right away. They found traces of body dragging. They assumed it was a mountain lion. Attacks by mountain lions aren’t super common though, so it’s definitely unlikely that’s what’s actually happening. Sounds like this moglin creature is our most likely suspect.”

“Mogollon, and yeah, seems like it. Did you get any info on the last sightings of any of these people. It’s a big park. We need to narrow down where to search.”

“Only on two of them. One was with his group of friends. He went missing overnight from the campground on the South rim. There weren't any signs of brute force near his tent, so my guess is he went to take a piss and was snatched.”

“And the other?”

“She was on a solo trip, but the night before she officially went missing, she checked in with her mother, said she was going to be on the Roaring Springs Trail. Then, when she didn’t check in that night like she was supposed to, her mom reported her missing.”

“You said they found some drag marks, where were those?”

“Out near the Cliff Springs Trail.”

“Ok. Let me pull up a map. See where those spots are and see if we can’t find a likely spot to find this thing.”

___________________________________________________________________________

“Ok, since we’re hiking in, we gotta be smart about what we take with us. I’m glad we’re getting to see this damn thing, but I do not want to die in this canyon.” Dean snorted as they dug through the trunk.

“Yeah. A decent amount of water for sure. We each have our sidearms. A machete each. A couple different mags, one silver, one iron. What else should we take? There is absolutely no lore on ways to kill it.”

“I say we take the bronze dagger and flare guns too and obviously some salt and lighter fluid. Honestly, I don’t want to take much more than that. Worst case scenario none of what we have with us works and we regroup, come back later with different stuff.”

Sam sighs at Dean’s response. “I really don’t want to have to come back out here again. I just want to kill this thing and be done with it.”

“Me too, Sammy. Me too.”

With that, Dean closes the trunk and they head down the trail towards their monster of the week. They hike for close to 3 hours before they hear sounds of movement nearby. Simultaneously, the boys stop, straining to hear where the sound may be coming from. With a quick hand gesture, the boys split, Dean moving to the left and Sam to the right, guns raised and ready to shoot.

The hairs raise on the back of Dean’s neck, alerting his hunter sixth sense to something nearby. He glances at Sam, only to see a hairy beast at least a foot taller than Sam and twice as buff right behind his brother.

“Sam! Look out!”

Sam spins around, only for a massive arm to swing, sending Sam flying into a nearby rock. Sam slumps sideways upon impact, clearly unconscious.

“Hey! Ugly!”

As soon as the furry beast turns toward Dean, he send 2 bullets into the monster’s chest and 2 into his head. The monster drops and Dean can hardly believe it. Was it seriously that easy to drop the damn thing? WIthout dropping his firearm, Dean walks over to the beast. Its brown eyes are staring up, unseeing and there is no rise to its chest. Dean kicks it for good measure, but when there is no reaction from it he knows it’s dead.

Dean scrambles to Sam’s side and shakes his brother’s shoulder, but Sam doesn’t respond. Quickly he checks for a pulse and sighs in relief when he feels it bounding along. Dean feels the back of Sam’s head only to find a decent bump already forming. If he doesn’t have a concussion, he’ll have a wicked headache at least. Dean takes the opportunity of Sam’s unconsciousness to feel along his ribcage as well. Unfortunately at least one rib is broken on the left side and 2 on the right. Dean pats down the rest of Sam’s body, thankful to find no other apparent injuries.

Sam still hasn’t woken up by this point, so Dean presses his knuckles into Sam’s sternum. Sam groans in response and Dean lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Come on, Sammy” he says as he digs his knuckles in harder. Sam blinks his eyes open. Almost immediately, Sam’s eyes dart behind Dean’s right shoulder and winces. Dean glances behind him, but doesn’t see anything over his shoulder. When Dean looks back at Sam, there are tears in Sam’s eyes and looks seconds away from a breakdown.

“Sam?” he asks tentatively. He keeps his voice soothing and low as if speaking to a frightened child or animal.

“I can’t take this anymore, Dean.”

“What?”

“It’s too much. The clowns from earlier this week, and Bobby dying, and Lucifer is screaming his head off behind you. Now it hurts to breathe and we’re 3 hours from the car, I have a splitting headache and I just can’t. I can’t do it.” The dam broke, and tears spilled out of Sam’s eyes.

“Oh Sammy.” Dean literally feels his heart breaking as he listens to Sam give up. But he can’t let him. “Look, I know it’s been really shitty lately. Losing Bobby was a serious blow. And I know those clowns hit you real hard, but we’re going to figure out how to get Lucifer out of your head and it will get better. I promise you. Everything just feels worse right now cause of that head injury. Pretty sure you got a good concussion going and I’m sure your head hurts something fierce. We’ll get you back to the motel, wrap up those ribs and get on some real nice pain meds. You can rest for as long as you need. I won’t look for any hunts until you’re back in tip top shape ok?”

Sam looked at Dean hesitantly. Dean couldn’t blame him. Lucifer was only getting worse and they had no idea how to make it go away. Plus they were at a stalemate in the Leviathan issue with no leads on where to even look. And a 3 hour hike sounded daunting to even Dean right now, and he didn’t have 3 broken ribs and a concussion. But Sam nodded anyway.

Dean cupped his hand on the back of Sam’s neck, offering him strength. “I’m gonna salt and burn this bitch real quick and then we’ll get you out of here. Ok sammy?”

Dean waited until he saw Sam’s nodded answer before turning back to the monster. He pulled out the small canister of salt and sprinkled it liberally over the entire beast.

“Damn Sammy, I thought you were a giant, but you got nothing on this dude.” Dean heard a small huff of laughter and took that as a good sign as he poured the lighter fluid on top of the salt layer. He opened a pack of matches and stuck one. He tossed it on the monster and turned away without looking back for any confirmation that the monster was burning. Sam was visibly attempting to get himself under control. As Dean turned back towards him, he steeled his expression and let Dean help him to his feet.

“Okay little brother. Let’s get you out of here.”

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday2 #spn #Deanwinchestertakescareorsamwinchester

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