#it's going to be too late. And instead of his blood staining the street it's going to be Buck's and he's going to tell him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shoyoist · 1 year

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ﾟ+* ꔫ — 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 : hanma shuji.

content: f!reader. bad toman!shuji. mentions of murder, blood and violence. use of guns and knives. some sort of mutual pining. work partners to fwbs to lovers kinda thing. you fuck on the hood of his car that's parked in an alley, you suck blood off his fingers, he licks blood off your body (not your own). unprotected sex, fingering, biting, body marking, shuji's a little crazy v_v.

word count: about 4.0k

— . ｡˚ ♡ when kisaki gives hanma a little ‘birthday treat’ by sending him on a hunt for some traitors, he makes you go with him as a leash. and hanma decides he wants to have a little more fun, with you.

an: i'm terribly late but here it is! happy birthday shuji my love.

the night is still — the sky dark, the moon blocked out by the heaviness of the clouds, and the expanse overhead stretches like a void, consuming all that lay underneath.

the sounds of the city fade further away, giving way to the clack of your heels and the thud of hanma's shoes against the asphalt with every step you take away from the main streets — following him as he turns wildly around the final corner into an alley, and you both at last make it to a safe place.

you stop just short of bumping into him, and the scent of sweat and drying blood, mixed with a familiar hint of cigarettes and men's cologne, invades your senses with your next breath.

you taste rust on your tongue, at the back of your throat, and now that you've stopped running, the smell and the taste remind you of how badly you've both just fucked your mission up.

"you know what," hanma laughs, barely out of breath as he lurches to a stop beside his car, parked unceremoniously at the back of the alley, concealed by the shadows of the buildings and midnight gloom. "i take it back. kisaki knew what he was doing when he sent me out to work on my birthday."

he gives his gun a little shake, watching as it spews the last wisp of smoke from its mouth, before putting it back in his pocket and turning to you with a grin. "heh, that was the most fun i've had in a while."

oh, you know he had fun.

you've known hanma quite well for quite a while, even intimately so because you've fucked on occasion, but still — you think you'll never quite get used to seeing him like this.

his suit had been clean when you'd left headquarters earlier that night — it was a grey two piece, form fitting and accentuating his lanky figure, and it was as expensive as it was lovely.

but when you'd watched him in the warehouse, told to stand by on guard in case someone interrupted his little kill job, you'd witnessed how he dirtied it, how he got it covered in blood.

the sleeves were dripping red, his white dress shirt splattered with arterial spray — and you couldn't tell if it was his own blood or not that was trickling down his chin, as he slid his tongue out to lick it up.

"fuckin' shit, you are," he'd cackled, on his haunches over the victim of his hunt, as the man under him screamed for mercy. "think you can fuck my boss over and get away with it? i'll kill you. yeah? say my fuckin' name with your last fuckin' breath."

and when he'd gotten back up, his hair was tousled, black and blonde curls falling over lusty gold eyes as he threw his head back and laughed — tall and broad shouldered, with a long, freshly used blade in his hand and with his pale skin stained red with blood, he'd laughed.

and god, he looked so fucking hot.

but you can't focus on that right now. you're too busy trying to catch your breath, and though you're glad you've escaped safely, though he'd looked so hot playing his game of being a ruthless villain — the task you were assigned with was still ultimately fucked. "shuji, what is wrong with you?"

and instead of feeling remorse or staying quiet, hanma just laughs. again. "babydoll, i think we need to do this more often. you're getting out of shape."

"kisaki said—" you're cut off by your own coughing, and hanma rests a bloodstained hand on the small of your back as you bend down and brace yourself with your hands against your knees. "kisaki said keep things under cover and deliver the body to the harbor, not make a whole massacre out of one little kill job and then be all fucking careless and almost get shot to death by the other guy hiding under a fucking cardboard box."

"hey," he rubs your back, thumb catching on the red satin of your dress as he presses into it, trying to get a feel of your softness. "i didn't die. you saved me."

"you almost died!" you protest — "you nearly fucking died and you would be bleeding out through a hole in your head right now, had i not been there to shoot down that other man first. who fucking knew he was even there?"

"you did save me." he smiles. "two birds with one stone! now hush. you're being a little too loud."

right.

"and who knows how many other people know what we were doing there tonight." you mutter sourly, thinking of how much trouble you'd all have to go through to cover up all that had happened tonight. if you didn't send people over to clean the bloody mess hanma had left at the warehouse tonight, there would be no escaping things.

you'd lose a lot of cash, at the very least, bribing people to stay blind and mute to the murder. "someone ratted us out. there's more traitors around, shuji. there were more people coming. that's why we had to fucking run for our lives all the way till we got here."

"you're right, babydoll." he says softly, rubbing your back for you as you sigh — and you'd believe he'd finally snapped out of his adrenaline high and sobered up, if he wasn't using that petname on you. "we've got more hunting to do."

you glance up when you catch something glinting between hanma's clothes, and you notice that the knife he had used to slash his victim up was carelessly stabbed into the folds of his own suit—

something he'd recklessly done that you hadn't noticed, as he'd grabbed your arm and run off with you, thanking you in a maniacal fit of giggles for shooting down the guy that would've shot him in the back of the head and killed him, had you been too late.

he's crazy.

"fuck's sake. at least you had your fun." you sigh again, and hanma steps closer to you still, chuckling as he runs his fingertips lightly up your spine. "i did, baby. it's my birthday, remember? i'm supposed to have fun."

you can feel the heat radiating from his body even from here — it chases away the cold, lets you feel some of the fire that's burning in him. "take that stupid knife out of your poor suit."

"you mad the suit's ruined?" hanma pouts, and you roll your eyes at him.

"enough." you mutter, straightening back up and taking another breath.

the polished surface of the car gleams in the light of the street lamp buzzing across the street, as you walk over, squeezing into the narrow space between the alley wall and the car door to open the shotgun. god, he had to park the thing in a place like this, too.

"we need to get home quick. you're all fucking dirty, and you'd be in worse shape if i hadn't been here to haul your ass. kisaki sent me with you so i'd keep you from getting killed or caught red-handed."

"aw, come on baby." hanma coos, shrugging his shoulders as if to claim his innocence, watching while you lean uncomfortably into the car and pull out disinfectant and a clean towel from the bag under the shotgun seat.

he watches as you struggle, twisting your body and cursing under your breath as you work through it. he remembers — how you'd watched him cut that man up, how you'd looked so enamoured by his violence, so afraid yet excited all at once, as you'd listened to him talk and watched him gut the man like a fish.

he remembers how you had run up to him, almost losing your footing in those cute little heels of yours as you pushed him aside and pointed your gun behind him, the weapon already loaded and with the hammer pulled back as you pulled the trigger — and shot another man that had somehow stayed silently hidden behind the boxes at the back the entire time.

"fuck," you'd gasped, and hanma had seen the anger, the fear and the flooding relief in your eyes as the man crumpled to the floor. then, you'd been interrupted yet again by the screeching of motorcycle tyres outside. "we need to get out of here, shuji. now."

and hanma's cold, ruthless heart had fluttered. you cared for him, didn't you? truly.

aw, he had thought. she loves me!

oblivious to his stare, you squeeze back out and set the bottle on the hood of the car, reaching up to place a hand on his shoulder, turning him around and examining his condition.

half of his face is swathed in shadow, and half is bathed in the fluorescent light of the street lamp. you see the smatter of blood on his cheek, the stain of it at his lip and on his chin where he'd licked it away earlier.

there's drying blood all over his clothes, trails of it down his neck and spread over the white of his shirt, from when he drove his knife into the man's chest and it had cut a vessel, spraying blood all over him.

"take the jacket off." you say, and he does so.

the white shirt stretches across his shoulders, the buttons at the top undone to make it easier for him to move in the thing. the hem of it had somehow stayed mostly tucked into his pants the whole time, and the buckle of his belt shines gold as you looked down at it. his pants hug his legs, showing off his thighs and calves as he stands there, smirking down at you like he's reading your thoughts.

shit, he looks so good.

the round lens of his glasses flash as he turns according to your push, the edges flecked with drops of red — and when you reach up and take them off, his eyes glimmer gold, along with the dopey smile he gives you. "babydoll, you're my lil life saver, aren't you?"

his voice lilts with the words, and instantly, you know what he's trying to start. you say nothing, but the meeting of your eyes with his is all he needs to continue.

he towers over you, shadow falling on you and shielding you from the light as he draws closer. the thick scent of cigars, cologne and blood grows stronger, and you breathe it all in — and his smile widens along with the rise of your chest.

"shuji, wait." you try, but your tone is half hearted and you know he catches it. "i need to clean you up first."

"you're all dirty too, you know?" he hums. his right hand comes back up, still sticky and red with blood as he cups your cheek with his palm, lifting your face up towards his. "such a gorgeous fuckin' sight, when you're covered in blood and holdin' a gun."

it's true. right after you'd told hanma that you both needed to get out of there immediately, you'd fallen on your ass into a pool of the first man's flesh and blood. your arms, your dress and your legs were all dirty with it, and now with hanma's touching, your face is dirty, too.

"shuji," you repeat. "not now. we need to get back, report to kisaki, and send people to cover up the messes you made."

"that can wait, can't it?" he presses even closer to you, placing sin flat against your stomach and giving you a light push.

he coaxes you to sit up on the hood of his car, the metal cold and smooth against your bare thighs, exposed by the short length of your pencil skirt — and you almost fall against it as hanma pushes himself between your legs and lowers his face to yours, bending down so he can get a good look at your pretty face. "haven't had a taste of you in a while, doll. don't you miss me?"

his palm slides over from your stomach to your waist, fingers squeezing at your flesh over the fabric as he slides his palm higher up. "it's my birthday. can't turn me down just like that. that's mean."

"sh—shuji," you say, trying your hardest to sound composed but it's so hard when he's so close, so hot, and his voice is so low and delicious in your ear. "not here—"

"can't." he groans almost dramatically, hand making it up to your ribs before he slides his palm to your back, toying with the zipper that's hiding under the slit of satin at the middle of your back. "i can't wait. you don't fuckin' know what you do to me, huh? so fuckin' hot, all dressed up, covered in blood and bossing me around like you're my little wife."

and with a whirr of tiny metal teeth unhooking from eachother, your zipper is undone, and your dress hangs loosely at your chest.

"your hands are bloody, shuji." you protest, but your voice is reduced to little more than a whine — he's so hot it's overpowering. "can't touch me like that."

"suck my fingers clean for me then." he says, and laughs when you scrunch up your nose and scowl. he takes a moment to grab the bottle of disinfectant, pours some into his palm and lathers it over his hands and arms. the bloodstains disappear somewhat, but his fingertips remain red, skin and nails etched with blood.

wiping it off with the towel, he presents his hands to you again. "happy? now, suck them off for me, like you'd do to my dick." he doesn't wait for your answer, pushing his thumb past your lips and into your mouth, and you taste blood and disinfectant on your tongue— "mmph!"

"shhh, it's okay, baby." hanma chuckles, tapping your cheek with his index finger. "go on. i know you missed having daddy's fingers in your mouth."

fuck — hearing him call himself daddy makes you go weak. and he knows, god, he knows — you see it in the way his eyes darken, the way his grin widens as you curl a hand around his wrist and suck on his thumb, leaning into his touch. "that's it, there's daddy's good girl."

the edges of his eyes catch the light from the street lamp, glowing in a halo of gold as he watches you closely, letting out little groans of pleasure as you suck harder and harder.

he gives you another finger, and then another — and his other hand first pulls at his belt, unbuckling it and pulling it off, letting out a sigh as he then brings the hand over to your thigh. this time, it's punishment, and he slides it under your skirt swiftly, fingers tugging at your panties and urging you to lift your ass of the hood a little so he can take them off.

"'s my little doll gonna be quiet for me?" he croons, pulling the lace garment down and yanking it off along with your heels — you feel them slip off, hear the heels clatter onto the ground. "we're outside, aren't we? 'n even if we're alone, you're gonna hafta stay quiet. or do you need me stuffin' these panties in your mouth?"

"n—mm," you shake your head, trying to speak around a mouth full of his fingers, and he laughs, wishing it was his cock making your cheeks bulge like that, but he doesn't have the patience to play right now.

he needs his cock in your cunt.

"good girl," he gives you a smile, showing teeth as he presses into you, giving your pussy a quick swipe with two of his fingers to gather up your leaked slick onto them and pop them in his mouth for a taste. "mm, fuck, baby," he grunts, eyes rolling up as he exhales, hot over your neck. "so good. so wet for me tonight — y'like seeing me kill people, ah?"

"mhm," you moan, not even sure what you're saying anymore, more interested in the way he's pushing your legs further apart, fumbling with the zipper of his pants and pulling his cock out from within, the heady tip red and hungry to be buried in the velvet walls of your cunt.

"a dirty fuckin' slut, aren't ya? heh," he giggles, voice so deep yet playful at the same time as he slips his fingers out of your mouth, his other arm curling around your waist, forearm against your bare back because he's unzipped your dress already, pulling you in as he tries to angle himself right.

"shit, baby," he grunts, wet fingers going under your skirt to touch your pussy — digging through the folds and touching your clit before he's bringing them down to sink into your entrance. "move a little f'me? daddy wants his cock in you, doll. let me fuckin' get in there."

"hah," you gasp at the curl of his fingers in your cunt, warm, wet walls clenching around them and squelching loudly as you lean back onto your elbows on the car's hood, feeling it bend a little under your weight as you spread your legs further and wrap them around hanma's waist, dragging him in. "please, shuji — daddy, need it. hurry up, fuck."

"'m givin' it, doll." he moans, laughing hoarsely when he pushes his fingers in deeper and your pussy squelches again. "fuck, pussy's louder than your mouth tonight, huh? naughty girl."

he slips his fingers back out, lands a sudden slap on your cunt that makes you cry out, and laughs as he grabs his cock and strokes it, still caged into your body by your legs wrapped around his waist.

"daddy," you whine, and he moves in for a kiss, meeting your lips with his mouth open, forcing his tongue in your mouth and tasting the blood — and he chuckles into your mouth, brows screwing together as he tastes the bitter tang of disinfectant that followed.

you're really his little slut, huh? sucking on his fingers even when they tasted like that?

"shhh," he mumbles into the corner of your mouth, giving his cock one last pump before he bumps his head to your pussy, slowly slipping himself in. "i got you, baby."

the stretch is expected — you've had him in you more than a few times, but still, it's still fucking delicious when his cock slides into you.

you feel how your walls hug his length, sucking him in as you lay on your back on the hood of his car, legs spread out and wrapped around his waist as he slowly pushes himself balls deep inside, skin cold but body hot and heart beating so loud inside with him pressed to your body, his smell and his taste cloaking you along with the metallic odour of blood.

god, he's so hot — so, so hot — "let me clean you up a little too, hm?" he hums, voice breathy with pleasure as he kisses your cheek, feeling the smatter of dried blood on your cheek against his lips, and he puts his tongue out and licks at your face, sending shivers crawling up your spine when he moans into your ear.

"heh, so good, babydoll. all of you 's so good," he says, rolling his hips in and slapping them against your ass as he slides fully into you with a heavy chuckle that sounds so good you could cum just listening to it—

and then, he bites.

he grabs your hair, curls his fingers up your nape into your messy locks and pulls your face aside to reveal your neck to him — and he bares his teeth and bites.

"a—ah! shuji!" you cry, and he laughs, digging his teeth in just hard enough for it to hurt, for it to hurt so good, before moving his face back to see how his teeth have marked your neck. "it's halloween season, baby. you'll be getting bitten sooner or later, lookin' this fuckin' fine."

"mmm—more," you moan, pulling another string of pitchy laughter from him, followed by a low growl as he bites again, lower this time but still just as hard. "fuck!".

he starts to move then, knowing he's not going to last long with how you're fluttering around him, sucking him in like you're afraid he's about to get up and leave.

there's blood on your neck too, and down your collarbones, and he licks it all up as he pulls in and out of your cunt, filling the silent alley with muted slap-slap-slap sounds and your moans, your dress falling apart to reveal your tits to him — and as he watches them bounce with each slap of his hips into you, he thinks he might go insane.

your only warning is the sight you see, of his eyes going bright, gold and narrow with want—

and then he's got you shoved onto the hood right on your back, your head against the windshield as he grabs your waist and digs his fingers into the plush skin, leaning onto the car and telling you in a rasp, "fuck, hold on f'me, pretty doll."

then, his body offers the first snap — and his cock hits your cervix so hard, your head is knocked back along with the rest of your body — he has you seeing stars.

the night sky above, that you can barely see between the two buildings on either side of the alley, is pitch black — but hanma puts stars in your eyes with how hard he fucks you.

the hinges of the car's hood whine just a little under your shared weights, but you don't hear it — not over hanma's heavy breathing, his whispered fuckfuckfuckfuck as he gets closer and closer to his high, and your open mouthed gasps for air as each thrust of his big fucking cock in your cunt knocks your breath away.

his pace is so fast, so hard, it's incredible he has so much left in him after all that fighting and all that god damn running—

but he fucks you hard, big hands holding you pinned down as he uses you all up, dress bunching up at your stomach, and your zipper digging into your back as he sends you to heaven and back on top of his car, right in this stupid little alley with a dead man's blood still wet on both your skins and clothes.

"baby," he moans, sweat glistening on his brow, at his temples, as he struggles to look at you through the bliss. "gonna cum, gonna fuckin' cum."

"want it, shuji — fuck, inside, please." you beg, eyes rolled back into your head, back arching up as you try so hard to keep your orgasm away, because you wanna cum with him, not before him.

but it's impossible — each thrust sends a pulse of white hot pleasure into your veins, the head of his cock hitting your sweetest spots so well, digging into them and leaking precum into you as he nearly loses himself and collapses on top of you, blissed out before he even cums.

"inside?" he rasps. "want it inside like you're my girl? like you're my own little thing, my slut, my girlfriend, my wife?"

"i am—" your voice breaks with the next hit of his cock into your cunt, overwhelmed and unable to hold your high back anymore. "i am your girl— mmh, gonna cum shuji, gonna cum!"

"go ahead, cum f'me," he hisses, the words sharp and needy as he bends down to kiss you again. "make me cum too, yeah? cum nice 'n hard for me 'n help me fill you all fuckin' up."

"mmgh," you swallow, as he keeps fucking into you, and you're half afraid that there's someone around to hear you by now as you feel yourself slip, as you feel the first wave of your orgasm crash down on you and your mind goes blank.

your pussy tightens around hanma's cock, so tight and hot and wet, squeezing him in a vice — and when your hands finally come up from where they've been gripping the edges of the hood to try and stay balanced, to cup his face and pull him down for another kiss, before you wrap your arms around him and drag him ontop of you, he feels your body squish under his, and fuck, it pushes him off the edge.

"cumming—" he chokes out, and you feel the thick, hot seed paint your walls white a second after, as shuji tries his best to hold himself up over you, gasping out your name as he cums.

your orgasm milks him through, pussy eating all his cum up, as he falls still with his balls against your ass, dissolving into your frame and your embrace as he breathes, so tired but feeling so fucking good at the same time. "hah—shit, baby. so good. so—so fuckin' good, i love you."

"mmm," you whimper, as he kisses your neck, his hair in your face, his glasses getting smudged on your skin. you feel his cum fill your hole up and drool out, so much cum you can't even hold all of it in. "i love you, too."

the two of you lay there for a few minutes, catching your breath and pulling yourselves together — and then shuji says, "fuck. gotta get home now."

"would've been better if we waited till then." you grumble, feeling sticky and sweaty now that the euphoria is over.

"hah, no," hanma giggles, his cheek pressed to your chest. "much better this way, dollface. don't fuckin' lie."

"hmph," you huff, running a hand through his hair — and you feel how he relaxes into your touch, purring low in his throat as you scrape your nails at the nape of his neck.

"happy birthday, shuji." you sigh, and he chuckles, low and hoarse into your skin.

"thank you, babydoll. give me an 'i love you'?"

"i love you." you hum, tilting your head forward to kiss his hair — and you ignore the way he lifts himself up to stare at you and coo like you hadn't just said it minutes ago. "now come on, let's fucking go home, shuji. i'm tired."

"okay, okay. but — since it's my birthday and since you love me … you drive."

"shuji."

"fuck, fine. you're no fun."

and there's nobody to hear it, but if there were, then they'd hear two killers laughing together, huddled up ontop of a car in an alley in the middle of a late October night, after having freshly added to their body counts just that very same night <3

#₊˚ପ⊹ REKHA™.#₊˚ପ⊹ NYCHTA.#hanma shuji smut #hanma smut #hanma shuji x reader #hanma x reader #tr smut #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tr x reader #tr x y/n #hanma x y/n #hanma x you #hanma headcanons #hanma drabbles #tokyo revengers drabbles #tokyo revengers headcanons #hanma angst #hanma fluff

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

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Hangover 2

Warnings: dubcon, noncon, other possible triggers. Proceed with caution.

Please leave any and all feedback! 💚💚💚💚💚💚

Part of The Club AU

Another day down the drain. Your lower back aches as you clock out, pulling on your jacket as the new hire Elizabeth shadows Monica behind the counter. You just want to go home and fall into bed but Will is on his way home and you’re supposed to have dinner together. It’ll likely be your only time together before he catches up with his high school buddies.

You zip up the checkered pink fleece coat that’s seen you through a few too many winters. There’s a coffee stain on the pilly white collar and the cuffs fray around your hands. You say your goodbyes as you hitch up your large purse and push out into the frost of late fall.

As you turn down the street, the toot of a horn causes you to trip up. You glance over expecting some driver swerving but there are no screeching tires. Instead a cop cruiser sits by the curb, the door open and closing as an officer appears on the other side. He puts his hat on as he slams the door and rounds the hood. He’s familiar.

You recognise the man who’d left his breakfast spat up on his plate. The very same who passed out in the alley. He looks better than the last time you saw him but no less agitated.

“All done for the day?” He asks as he steps up onto the curb.

He looks younger without the hangover shadowed under his eyes. He has more colour in his cheeks too. You clutch the straps of your purse as you face him.

“Uh, yes, sir,” you answer. You don’t know what else to do. You can’t guess why he’s asking. Better yet, you wonder why he’s even there.

“Need a ride?” He puts his hand on the roof of the cruiser and tilts his head.

“Um,” you look up and down the sidewalk. Pedestrians pass by with their gazes averted or chins down. No one wants to deal with the cops, you’ve all heard the stories. “Sir, that’s nice of you but I’m fine. Thank you.”

“You don’t trust me? I’m a cop. I serve and protect,” he challenges.

“I didn’t say–”

“Don’t have to. I can see right through you,” he snips, “the other day, you felt bad for me, like I was a baby? Some stray dog on the street and now you’re acting all afraid when I’m here tryna repay a favour.”

“Well, uh, er, you don’t have to do all that,” you press your lips together, trying to wet them against the dry air. His antagonistic stance and tone counteract his words, “you know, I was just helping. I don’t expect–”

“Officer Storm,” he interjects, “that’s what you can call me.”

You swallow and wince. You lean back on your heel and his eyes drift down as he notes the subtle shift. He scoffs again.

“Officer Storm, I hope you’re feeling better but I gotta get home. My son–”

“Faster if you drive,” he lets his hand slide down the car and he pulls the handle on the back door, opening it a few inches, “so get in, honey.”

His last word drips with venom. He’s mocking you but you don’t know what you did to provoke him like this. He must be embarrassed. He’s not the first man with a fragile ego that you’ve dealt with. You married one. Divorced him too.

“You’re on duty, officer, I’d hate to get in the way–”

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he opens the door all the way and steps closer, “I’m not usually this nice.”

You blink. You peer down the street again, searching for an escape. Running is no good. You’re not fast enough and running from a cop is a recipe for suspicion. You always told Will to just follow orders if he was pulled over. The thought of him in the same position turns your blood cold.

“Don’t look around, look at me,” Officer Storm orders. You obey as his other hand rests on his belt, just above his cuffs. Your eyes flick from the silver hoops to his face. He smirks. “Just a drive down the street, right?”

You shiver and cross your arms. You’re at a loss. There is no right choice.

“It’s cold out here,” he drawls in a sickeningly fake tone, “I’ll turn the heat up for you, honey.”

You almost tell him to stop, just like he had. Don’t call me honey. You push your shoulders back and unfold your arms to squeeze your purse straps tight. You just want to get home and see your son.

“Alright, Officer Storm, that’s very kind of you,” you eke out in a brittle chatter, “thank you.”

His brows pop up as his smirk spreads wider and he grips the top of the door as he leans on it. You step forward and dip your head through and slide onto the backseat. As you pull your legs in, he swings the door shut behind you. It slams and leaves you in the hollow quiet of the car.

You watch him stride around the hood and look at the interior of the door. No handles. Like a criminal, you’re locked in.

It’s okay. He’s just reminding you of his rank. Of his power. This is how men are, especially men with authority. You’re just an old woman, you’re harmless. He’s already scared you and he knows it.

He gets in and removes his hat. He tosses it into the passenger seat and checks his reflection in the rear view. He brushes his hands over his short hair and coughs. He sits back and turns the keys in the ignition. Neither of you say a word.

You hug your purse as he steers with one hand out into traffic. He doesn’t look, nearly sideswiping another car. No one is dumb enough to honk at a cop.

You reach into your purse and take out your phone to check the time. He stops, idling at the end of the street. He snaps his fingers so you glance up, jolting with surprise.

“Give me the phone,” he commands as he curls his arm awkwardly to slide open the small window in the partition.

“What?” You murmur, “I’m just looking at the time.”

“Give me the fucking phone,” he demands in a deeper timbre.

You shakily hand it over, putting it in his hand right before he retracts his grasp. He throws the phone onto the floor without a care. He slap the wheel, gripping it until the leather squeaks, leaning on the gas as he turns onto the next avenue.

He didn’t ask you where to go and he’s driving away from your neighbourhood. He’s not taking you home. You touch your throat as it tightens, your heart pounding against your ribs. Static crackles in your ears as your head swims.

“Sir, Officer Storm,” you gulp out, “where are you taking me?”

Silence. He lets it linger as he chuckles and reaches to flip on the stereo. He turns up the crashing rock music until your ears ring. He veers around the next corner so that your shoulder hits the door.

Shit.

#johnny storm #dark johnny storm #dark!johnny storm #johnny storm x reader #drabble #au #series #hangover #the club #fantastic four

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talesofesther · 2 years

Text

Black and blue

Yelena Belova x Reader

Summary: Every few nights, Yelena shows up at your door; and with each visit, your heart breaks a little more.

A/N: Inspired by the brief guilty look on Yelena when she's talking with Kate in ep 5 of Hawkeye. This story has been sitting in my wips for a while, and as much as I'd like to, I won't be able to write it any better. I've been having a bit of a tough time with creativity lately, do hope it's still kinda good.

Masterlist

The TV was talking to itself in your living room, light rain was falling outside. The sound of water hitting the fire escape mixed with the low rumble of cars passing by had lulled you to sleep about an hour ago.

The remote was loosely held between your fingers, you were half laying down on the couch in a way that your neck would complain about tomorrow.

An annoyed meow coming from your lap woke you up when your arm squeezed the cat too hard. You blinked multiple times, grimacing when a bright image came up on the TV.

Soft paws were moving around above your thighs, you glided your fingers amongst the fur, stifling a yawn. The moon could be seen high in the sky through your window, falling rain being illuminated by the street lamps far away. You rummaged around for your phone, the clock read 11:48 PM once you found it.

You stretched your body, a random movie was playing on your TV. "We should take this to the bedroom, right honey?" You scratched behind the cat's ears, he purred happily.

The movie stopped playing with a click on the remote, leaving the room in darkness save for the light in the kitchen. The windows remained partially open, despite the wind being a little colder up in your apartment, you still liked it.

You were halfway through brushing your teeth when you heard the faint ding of the elevator. You wondered if it was the old lady that lived next door who was coming home late again, having spent the day with her son; you would certainly hear all about it tomorrow, she loves to talk and you are too polite to not listen. Or maybe it was the guy from two doors to the right, coming back from his weekly trip to the club.

Putting away your toothbrush, you waited to hear one of the doors unlocking; but instead, you heard a hard knock on your door.

You glanced up at yourself in the bathroom mirror. Not many people came to visit, let alone at this hour. Yet you were almost sure you already knew who it was.

Your cat trailed behind you as you walked to the door, you held your breath when you turned the doorknob.

The first thing you noticed was how her blood was staining the ground in a dark shade of red, little droplets of it traced her path from the elevator to your door; most of it was coming from an ugly cut on her thigh. She was panting heavily, you wouldn't be surprised if she had run all the way to your apartment.

Her forehead had a cut, painting bits of her blonde hair in crimson. She was leaning on the doorway, her legs not being able to support her weight anymore. You could also see dark bruises on her knuckles, and you knew that when you took off her shirt you would find more.

Your gaze moved up and down her body. Your lips were pursed in annoyance but you could feel your eyes stinging. She didn't say anything as you seemingly analyzed her, she knew better already.

You raised an eyebrow in a silent question, your fingers holding the doorknob turned white from the grip.

She shrugged as if it was no big deal, but she broke your staring contest for half a second. "Had nowhere else to go." Her voice was strained, she held her abdomen as she spoke.

The cheap light of the corridor was making her bruises look much worse, making the many droplets of rain coating her hair and clothes shine. You felt nausea building up in your stomach. "Damnit, Yelena." You heaved out a heavy sigh, bringing a hand up to your eyes.

Yelena clenched her jaw, focusing her eyes on your cat that had just hopped up on the couch. "I'll be leaving soon."

"Yeah, I know that part." You grumbled, pulling the door open for her to walk in. The air was heavy as she limped towards your couch, lowering herself to a sitting position as if every movement hurt more than the last.

The only sounds in the living room were the rain falling outside and Yelena's labored breathing as you walked to your bathroom and picked up your first aid kit, which now held much more stuff than a normal one. You felt a familiar weight on your chest, the movement of your hands was mechanical by now.

You placed the kit on the sink and took a moment to lean back on the wall of the bathroom. Your unfocused eyes stared ahead at the white tiles. A part of you asked why you did this to yourself every night that she knocked on your door. The other part knew the answer.

Yelena was no stranger to you, much on the contrary.

Natasha had introduced her sister to you and the friendship was almost instant. She was captivating, and you fell right into her trap.

You never knew she had fallen on yours as well, having been too wrapped up in your own feelings to notice hers.

But that was a long time ago. A time before you both came back to a world that was five years ahead of you. You had met up with Yelena twice right after. The first time when she came to you looking for Natasha, the second when you held her body as she cried in front of her sister's grave.

For months, you never saw her again after that. Until she showed up at your door one night, bruised and battered and almost dying from blood loss. The routine had started then.

You wondered if she knew how hard it became for you.

You walked out of the bathroom and saw Yelena gently petting your cat, she was sitting stiffly on your couch. Seeing her always made you smile, despite the circumstances. You sat beside her quietly, your eyes cast down and focused on finding gauzes, antiseptics, and needles.

Yelena glanced towards you, bright green eyes pleading for words she knew you wouldn't give to her. Her fingers twitched to touch you, yet she didn't know how to reach out. With a tired breath, she moved to take off her vest and shirt, hissing at the instant pain that came with the movement.

"Let me." You said softly, finally looking her way. With gentle fingers, you opened her vest, shrugging it off her shoulders carefully. Next, you worked on lifting her shirt, mumbling apologies when quiet whimpers came from Yelena.

The air got caught up in your throat when her chest was bare to you. There were purple and yellow bruises all over her skin, some bigger than others and a prominent one on her ribs. A few cuts adorned her abdomen and upper back as well.

"Lena…" You breathed out, seeing your vision start to blur. You raised a careful hand, ghosting your fingertips over her shoulders and spine. Her skin was soft and warm under your touch, your heart was torn for seeing it so damaged though.

Visible goosebumps erupted on Yelena's skin at your touch, she leaned towards you instantly. Closing her eyes, she gulped down a lump in her throat; yours was the only gentle touch she knew these days.

"I know." Her voice was equally quiet, tainted with self-loathing.

You shook your head, drawing your hand back quickly and switching your attention to patching her up. She stayed quiet for the next hour that you spent cleaning up, stitching, and treating any and all the wounds she had tonight. You did the best you could and only hoped she'd take a day or two off to heal and rest. In the back of your mind, you knew she wouldn't.

The ice was cold in your hands, you placed it over Yelena's ribs slowly, watching as her stomach involuntarily wanted to move away from it. You held it in place as she leaned back on your couch, closing her eyes. Your gaze moved over her body, now filled with white tapes and bandages.

Yelena had yet to relax, you could see how tense her muscles were. You reached out for her hand, her eyes opened to look at you once your fingers closed around her own. You guided her hand to the ice pack on her ribs, closing her hold around it.

Her eyes never left you as you moved closer to her and started undoing the messy braids on her hair. You threaded your fingers through her soft locks, stopping at her cheek and tracing the outline of her jaw; not caring if she saw the emotions reflecting on your eyes.

Along with the movement of your thumb on her skin, a bittersweet smile appear on your lips. Your love for her clenched painfully in your chest.

Yelena's lips parted in shaky breaths, her fingers closing more tightly around the ice. Her gaze inevitably moved down to your lips, thinking about the few stolen moments you had with each other every other night. After a beat, she leaned forward in a daze.

"Why are you doing this?"

Yelena opened and closed her mouth, her nose brushed yours before she pulled back to look at you properly. "What?" She breathed out, not registering your words.

You gulped, moving away from her and retreating your hands. Burying away the thought that she was about to kiss you. "Why are you still doing this to yourself, Lena?"

The question made Yelena avert her gaze, the light of the kitchen highlighted her profile. She let go of the ice that was resting on her ribs, placing it on the coffee table. "You know why."

There was a pause, and a scoff left your lips. "No I don't, you keep hurting yourself and every time I'm the one who needs to patch you up. And for what, doing someone else's dirty work?"

Green eyes glared right at you, but the tears on them betrayed the anger. She stood up fast, her bruised leg failed her right after and she almost fell back. She limped away from you before you could reach out, searching around for her clothes.

"I'm doing a job that I'm good at, it's what I was trained to do." The words tasted bitter on Yelena's tongue, she refused to turn back, afraid of how you'd be looking at her. "What else is there for me?"

A single tear escaped your eye, having a last look at the harsh colors painting Yelena's back before she put her shirt back on. Her movements were stiff and labored, she was standing up with all of her weight on only one leg.

"It's not what Natasha would want for you." Your voice broke halfway through the quiet words, doubting you'd ever be able to make her see how much she was losing. "You don't need a life like this anymore, just... stay."

Yelena huffed out a nervous breath, making quick work of walking to the door. Anger and hurt clouded her better judgment.

When her hand hesitated on the doorknob, you decided you had enough. "I won't stand by and watch you tear yourself apart for nothing." You got up, picking up your cat to ground yourself. "I'm done, Yelena." The whisper was heavy.

Yelena turned her gaze to you, her fingers loosening on the handle.

The room became agonizingly quiet for a few seconds. Her eyes were fixed on the cat in your arms, it hurt that she wouldn't look up at you. "If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back." Your throat was tight around the words, but you forced them out anyway.

You heard the front door opening as you made your way to your bedroom.

As much as it hurt, you couldn't bear the thought of her showing up one day at your door, and you not being enough to patch her up. Or the day that she wouldn't make it to your door at all.

If your love wasn't enough to make her stay, then you weren't going to wait for her to come back either.

___

Yelena closed your apartment door with a soft click, the sound resonated through her body like a punch.

The steps she took towards the elevator were slow, water was collecting on the bottom lid of her eyes faster than the way she was moving. Alone. She suddenly felt painfully alone.

It was way past midnight and all the doors in the corridor were already closed. Rain was pouring outside, she could hear the clinking of one failing light on the ceiling. It felt wrong to walk away from the only person that remained in her life, the person she cared about the most.

Yelena was stubborn, she pressed the button to call the elevator up with a faint touch. By the heavy weight on her heart, she could tell it wasn't worth it. The job she hated doing wasn't worth losing you over.

She grimaced when a tug of pain came from her bruised abdomen, ghosting her hand over it. She would miss you.

The elevator reached her with a ding and the doors opened. All she had to do was walk two steps forward. It felt as if she would put a bullet through her own heart.

Deep down she knew she was still trying to atone for the mistakes of her past. Doing a job she was told was rightful work, even if the means weren't the best, made her feel a little more deserving of coming back to you.

But coming back every few nights and leaving before sunrise wasn't nearly enough anymore. She wanted to stay and wake up beside you.

Yelena ran a hand through her messy hair, cursing herself under her breath. She limped back to your door with the nagging fear that it might be too late.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she gently turned the doorknob. The room was engulfed in darkness already, the only light coming from the street lamps and the moonlight.

She hesitated in the middle of your living room, her eyes fixed on the opened door that lead to your bedroom. There was a catch in her breathing as she heard the rustling of sheets coming from your room. Yelena gulped down the lump of feelings in her throat.

What if you really don't want anything to do with her anymore.

Shaking her head, she ignored the pain in her leg and walked to your room. Her hand rested on the threshold as she peered inside. She could feel her stomach twisting in anxiousness, her feelings for you grew way beyond her control.

Yelena knew that you knew she was there, you heard the door opening, heard her unsteady steps.

Soft light coming through your window from the streets outside illuminated her as she walked to the empty side of your bed. She sat down first, afraid to overstep any new boundaries.

When she heard nothing but your breathing, and you kept laying down with your back to her; Yelena carefully removed her vest, then her boots, and lifted the covers.

The softness of your bed was familiar to her, she breathed in your scent. Her fingers prickled to reach out for you, she bit her lip in doubt.

Eventually, her tired body and the way she was craving to feel you, won her over. Yelena reached out a careful hand, sneaking it around your waist. When you didn't complain she moved closer, pressing her chest to your back.

As soon as you felt Yelena's warm hand over your waist, your eyes stung with tears. You didn't hold yourself back from interlocking your fingers with her hand that was now resting gently around you.

Feeling that you accepted her touch, Yelena let out a breath she didn't realize she was holding until now. She finally tightened her grip around you, nuzzling her head behind your neck and flushing your bodies together. "I'm sorry." She mumbled, lips brushing against your skin.

The single tear that you felt in the skin of your neck was warm, as was her breathing that caused goosebumps on your body.

You lifted your intertwined hands to your lips, kissing each one of Yelena's knuckles. "It's okay." You told her just as quietly.

You couldn't know if keeping her close was your best decision. But pushing her away hurt much more.

—⧗—

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are very much appreciated. <3

Yelena’s taglist: @alotofpockets @simpforflorencepugh1 @emeraldevan

Let me know if you wanna be added to her taglist.

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x female reader #marveledit #mcu #marvel #black widow x reader #florence pugh x female reader #florence pugh x reader #fluff #angst #imagine #fanfic #yelenabelovaedit #yelena belova x you #yelena belova fanfiction #my story

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bloatedandalone04 · 1 year

Text

➪the one where it’s time for nick to sacrifice another resident of shadyside, but calls his old flame instead. (request, altered slightly)

First time writing 1994 Nick <3 (I find both versions fine, btw)

Warnings: Fear Street related topics, mentions of the devil, mentions of death, character death, blood, Tommy Slater has an ax (enough said), rituals, swearing, time jump, flashbacks, descriptions of blood, murder, kissing, Nick isn’t evil

Word Count: 3.5k

1978

Nick nearly tripped over the many large rocks that littered the ground of the woods, the flashlight he gripped tightly doing very little to light his way. He balanced himself quickly before resuming his fast pace.

He hadn’t seen you in quite some time and it was slowly driving him insane. He had no idea where you were or if you were okay, and the thought of something terrible happening to you had his hands shaking and his heart racing.

Why hadn’t he made sure you were somewhere safe before he made the sacrifice?

He fucked up, he knew that.

He wasn’t thinking clearly.

He just said the first name that came to mind.

And worst of all, he couldn’t fucking find you.

The cave was dark, even with the many candles he lit.

Endless thoughts ran through his head, guilt, worry and fear beginning to take over his body.

What if he forgets what to say? What if he picks a bad sacrifice? What if-

“Thomas Slater,”

Fuck.

Well…

It was done.

He hadn’t meant to say Tommy’s name. He actually liked the boy quite a bit and had no intention of picking him to be the sacrifice, but his name just slipped out.

Before he blew out the candle, he quickly checked to see if it worked. When he saw the newly carved name in the stone, he knew he had succeeded and he had officially carried on the family legacy.

“Fuck,” he muttered, blowing out the candle and running up the stairs to find you as fast as he could.

What did he do?

“Y/n!” He called out for what felt like the hundredth time. It had been a while since he saw Kurt take the bus full of kids and drive as far away as he could from the camp. He knew you weren’t on it. “Where the fuck are you?!”

Man, he fucked up.

If anything were to happen to you, he knew he would never forgive himself. This was completely and entirely his doing and the amount of blood that was on his hands was endless.

He could only hope that your blood wouldn’t join the many campers’.

Just as he opened his mouth to call out to you again, movement up ahead caught his attention. “Y/n?” In the clearing, leaning against the rather large tree, was you. Your chest was rising and falling quickly, as if you had been running, and your head was bleeding. But you were alive. “Y/n!”

At the sound of your name, you shot up from the tree, your eyes scanning everywhere in the direction of where the voice came from. Your eyes meet Nick’s and tears involuntarily form in them, a broken smile forming on your lips. “Nick,” you call back as he lets out a relieved sigh, closing his eyes as an attempt to calm himself down.

You were okay.

Neither of you saw Tommy creep out from behind the tree, his hands swinging the ax up, until it was too late. Nick opened his eyes just as the ax swung down, his hand letting go of the flashlight. “Y/n!”

You turned around and your chest was immediately pierced with the ax. Your mouth opened in shock, blood quickly beginning to pool on your tongue. Nick screamed from behind you, but you couldn’t focus on anything as you fell back due to the force of Tommy’s kick he gave to your abdomen, pulling the ax from your chest in the process.

Nick felt like he couldn’t run fast enough, despite his legs moving the second he saw Tommy. He watched in horror as Tommy raised his arms above his head once more, burying the ax into your chest again, this time even deeper.

Your eyes closed as your chest was impaled for the third time, blood pouring from your mouth and staining your lips.

Tommy was about to go for his fourth swing when Nick finally reached you, his eyes frantically searching for something to use as a weapon. He reached for a broken branch, not noticing how heavy it actually was as he used both hands to swing it up from its spot on the ground. It makes contact with Tommy’s head and he drops the ax as he stumbles over himself.

Nick grabbed it, kicking Tommy’s leg to knock him to the ground before he swung the ax down and into his face. The force of it split the bag, and most likely his head, in half.

Tommy stopped moving almost instantly, his body going limp and matching yours.

Nick threw the ax a few feet away and was at your side within seconds. His hands cradled your face as if you were the most fragile thing in the world, his eyes looking down at the three ax wounds that scarred your chest. “Y/n,” he said, his thumbs wiping away the blood that smeared your chin. When you didn’t answer him, or even move an inch for that matter, Nick felt his heart drop. “No, Y/n.”

He moved one hand to your neck, his fingers hopelessly feeling for a heartbeat that wasn’t there.

“No, no, not you. Not like this,” he said, his eyes tearing up as he moved his hands to your blood covered chest. He had never done this before, but he needed to act fast before your body shut down completely. “Come on, come back.”

He applied quick bursts of pressure to your chest, ignoring how your once white tank top was now stained dark red, before he moved his hands to your face. He used one hand to tilt your head up while keeping your mouth open and the other to cover your nose as he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours, blowing air into your mouth.

“Come on!” He yelled desperately, resuming the compressions to your chest. Why wasn’t it working? He could feel the adrenaline seeping into him as he leaned back down to blow air into your mouth again. “I’m so sorry. Please. Come back to me.”

His hands were shaking as they returned to your chest for the third time, his ability to apply enough pressure faltering as the seconds passed. He felt his hope draining and his hands stopped the compressions as his head leans down to rest his forehead against yours.

Just as he gave up, he felt your chest press up against his hands and your mouth opened. You cough, blood spitting out onto Nick’s face as he quickly pulls back. His hands hold onto your face, careful not to move you too much or touch the wound on your head, as raspy breaths escape you.

You can’t bring yourself to do anything, let alone wrap your arms around the boy above you like you so desperately wanted to. “You’re okay,” Nick mumbles, leaning down to kiss your forehead before brushing your hair out of your face. He grabs your bloody hand in his and brings it to his chest. “You’re okay.”

1994

It was time again.

What more could he want?

He lived in a huge house, had the best job in town, and had everyone in Sunnyvale kneeling at his every need. But he didn’t associate with any of them, nor did he involve himself in any relationship.

How much power can one bloodline hold?

He didn’t want to do this anymore, but he was a family man. His father, his father’s father and so on had been continuing this ritual for centuries, how could he ruin it just because he was feeling guilty?

His leg bounces uncontrollably, his elbows resting on his knees as his laced hands press against his mouth.

There was no choice. He had done the sacrifice willingly for the first time back in ‘78. He had to do it.

Or did he?

He shot up from his place on the couch, striding over to the nearest phone.

He dials the familiar number, one he had dialed countless of times over the years, and brings the phone to his ear. His eyes squeeze close as he waits for the call to go through, his breath hitching when a voice answers.

“Hello?”

He froze, his face heating up and his eyes shooting open.

The person waits a few seconds and when they hear nothing, Nick once again hears, “Hello?”

It sounded more impatient this time.

“Hi,”

The person goes silent for a few seconds before speaking again. “Nick…is that you?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “It’s me.”

The knocks on the door were hesitant, he could tell.

Nick opened the door, revealing his summer love. The only girl who ever had a hold on his heart and continued to for nearly two decades.

He stepped aside, allowing you to enter his house for the first time ever. You stepped into the entryway, fiddling with your fingers as your eyes stayed glued to the floor.

You looked even more beautiful than he remembered, but you were 16 years younger at the time. Guilt filled him at the fact that he never went to go see you in person after that night. He didn’t even visit you in the hospital.

He wanted to, but he felt like he didn’t deserve to see you after what happened. He was to blame for it all and he knew he would feel worse about everything the second he saw you again.

That was proved by your appearance now.

Nick didn’t know what to say as you stood a few feet away from each other. “Thanks for coming,” he finally said after standing in the awkward silence for a few more seconds.

“Of course,” you say back, forcing out a small smile.

“It’s good to see you,” Nick says, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck. “It’s been a long time.”

You nod, looking down at your hands. “I guess we’re both to blame for that,”

“I guess so,”

You hadn’t seen Nick since the night he saved your life all those years ago. It had been sixteen full years since you last saw him and the reality of it all had you feeling light headed. He looked good. Very different from the last time you saw him in person, but good nonetheless. Seeing him on your small TV screen didn’t compare to the real thing at all. He was more matured, his features showing how much he had gone through since becoming a cop.

You talked every once in a while, mainly him calling to check up on you, but he hadn’t called in a few years at this point. You had just assumed that he had grown tired of hearing your life updates and stopped reaching out to you.

The tense silence returned as you shifted your weight between your two legs, looking anywhere but at him.

Fuck it.

“It’s going to happen again,”

You looked over at him quickly, confusion lacing your features. Shaking your head, you ask, “What is?”

Nick sighed heavily, looking at the ground. He couldn’t look you in the eyes when he told you all that he’s done. “What happened at Nightwing….” He trailed off. “It’s going to happen again.”

You shake your head again, confused beyond words at this point. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’m the one who did it,”

It went completely silent as Nick finally gathered the strength to look at you.

You still looked confused, but he could see you slowly start to put the pieces together. “What do you mean you’re the one who did it?”

He didn’t answer you. How could he? He had just confessed to being the one responsible for all the deaths that occurred at Nightwing, including yours. Granted, he brought you back, but even that was because of the ritual.

And somehow, you knew that. “I was hacked into with an ax..” You trailed off, trying to make him meet your eyes. “And you brought me back. How did you bring me back?”

“With CPR,” Nick answered. It was true, but it was also completely irrational.

“Don’t lie,” you nearly whisper. “Not to me. How did you bring me back?”

Nick felt his heart falter slightly at the look you gave him, sighing deeply before he told you, “By sacrificing Tommy’s soul to the devil,”

That was the quickest way to put it, and the quickest way for you to understand, Nick found out, as he watched your eyes widened before they filled with tears. You stared at him, shock and fear all over your face as you took a step back. “What do you mean by ‘sacrificing Tommy’s soul to the’-...to the..” You couldn’t bring yourself to repeat his words and look away from him. “Who are you?”

Even though you mainly asked that question to yourself and not to Nick, he still reached out to you. “It’s me, it’s Nick,” when his hand touched yours, you pulled back quickly, making his heart hurt for a second. “The one who saved your life all those years back.”

“By sacrificing someone else’s,” your voice was steadily rising and you were surprised at how much you believed his words, despite how crazy they sounded. It made sense, now that you thought of it. There was no way Tommy just snapped and decided to go on a killing spree, and there was no way Nick brought you back when your chest had three massive slashes in it with just CPR.

“I didn’t want to,” Nick mumbled, giving you the space you clearly needed. “I didn’t mean to say his name, I just panicked. Tommy was a good person and he didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

You shake your head, your anger dissolving as the sadness crept in. “Why?” You hesitantly asked. “How, why-…how?”

“I’ll tell you everything,” Nick said. “Just please, don’t leave me right now.”

Nick saw your conflicted expression before you sighed and followed him into the living room, sitting on the chair across from where he sat on the couch.

Nick told you everything, from start to finish. And what scared him was that you didn’t interrupt him once, nor did you say anything after he was done. You just sat there, your hands covering your mouth and elbows pressed to your knees, matching his position from before.

You couldn’t look at him as you took in all the things he had just told you.

This had to be a dream right? No, this had to be a nightmare, right?

How could the guy you fell for when you were a teen be a Satanist? How could you not have seen the signs?

Clearing your throat, you try to find the right words to say. “So-” you start but immediately stop. You glance at him before looking over at the fireplace, the orange flames lighting the dark room. You inhale quickly, keeping your chin tucked behind your hands, before you resume what you were going to ask. “What happens if you don’t sacrifice someone?”

“Sunnyvale will see its first tragedy in over three hundred years,” Nick answered simply. “And they’ll keep coming after that. I’ll lose everything.”

You hold eye contact with him. “What happens if you die?”

“The same thing,”

“Well, then what-” you cut yourself off as you lean back in the chair, your arms falling on the rests at either side of you. “What happens if you end up deciding to sacrifice someone.” You didn’t phrase it like a question, mainly because you already knew the answer and because you wanted to hear him say it again.

“Shadyside will continue its poverty, have a higher crime rate than normal and it will see another local turn into a ruthless killer,” Nick said everything with a straight face and you wondered how he kept this all to himself for nearly two decades.

Your shoulders became less tense as you asked, “What are you going to do?” The only response you got was the sound of the embers cracking as they burned. “Are you going to do the ritual? Sacrifice someone?”

He glanced over at you, your grey sweater falling off your shoulder without you realising. He saw the start of one of the three large scars that lined your chest and his heart dropped. He never did get to see what they looked like now, not that he’d want to see visible evidence of what he caused, but he knows you wear them beautifully.

Nick looked at the ground as he laced his fingers together, draping his arms over his knees. “I wanted you to hear it from me first, before the rumors started,” he said after a few seconds. “That’s why I asked you to come over.”

Your brows furrowed as you leaned forward. “What rumors?”

“I’m not going to go through with it,” he said, looking up at you. You leaned back in shock, your brows raising now as you took in what he said. “I can’t do it. I’ve already done enough. I’ve already taken too much. My father, my grandfather…this has gone on long enough.”

When he is finished, you look him over before slowly standing up. Nick watched your every move as you stepped around the coffee table and sat next to him, close enough so that your knees were touching. “What about the legacy?”

“Fuck the legacy,” he said instantly. “Fuck the power, fuck the wealth, all of it. It shouldn’t have been mine in the first place. None of this should’ve been mine.” He was referring to the massive living room you were in, equivalent in size of your entire house back in Shadyside.

You glance around the room before swallowing your nervousness and take his hand in yours. You could feel his eyes on you as you lace your fingers together, and for a second, you’re brought back to the night under the tree, with Nick’s hand being held tightly by your bloodied one. Slowly, his hand relaxes in yours as you sit in silence.

That was the Nick you knew. The one who saved your life and gave you a second chance.

“What happens now?” You ask after a few seconds.

Nick looks over at you and you hold eye contact, seeing a younger version of himself in his eyes for a split second. “I wait,” he simply said.

You tighten your hold on his hand, sitting up a bit straighter. “Then let’s wait,”

You and Nick stumbled into the Science and Nature cabin, laughs leaving both your mouths as you try to avoid bumping into the tables and shelves. You stop in the middle of the room and watch as he tucks the keys back in his pocket. “Thanks for bailing me out back there,” you say and fail to hide the smile on your lips.

Despite being on different teams, Nick convinced some of the Sunnyvale kids to let him guard you instead of them. The second their backs were turned, he grabbed your hand and ran, taking you with him as he tried to find a hiding place. He ultimately decided on taking you to the science cabin, as he had the keys to lock and unlock the door. You’d be able to hide there until the end of the game.

“No problem,” Nick answered, looking over at you. “I hate the color war game.”

“Me too,” you say and tug at the hem of your blue ‘color ‘78 war’ shirt. Glancing over at Nick, you tug the shirt more until it’s over your head and discarded on the floor. You were left in your white tank top and light blue jean shorts, showing more skin than you were used to, but you couldn’t stand to wear it any longer. “Hope you don’t mind.”

Nick quickly shook his head, averting his eyes from your form once you looked over at him. “No, not at all,” he mumbled, looking down at the floor. The sound of kids laughing was heard outside the cabin, making both you and Nick look out the window. He quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you to sit down behind one of the shelves. “As long as we stay hidden and quiet, they won’t find us.”

You nodded, trying to ignore the fact that he hadn’t pulled his hand away from yours.

“What?” He asked after he caught you staring at him.

Shaking your head, you move your hand so your fingers are laced with his. Nick only then noticed that he had failed to drop your hand, not that either of you minded, anyway. “Nothing,” you say quietly. “Can I just try something?”

Nick nodded, his heartbeat picking up slightly when your free hand came up to caress the left side of his face. His eyes closed the second you leaned in and connected your lips, kissing him and unknowingly taking his breath away for a couple of seconds.

It was a quick kiss, just to test it out.

You share a look before his free hand comes up to tuck your hair behind your ear, leaning to down kiss you again, this time for much longer.

Time went on until the clock read 12:01 AM.

Your lips didn’t break away from Nick’s for a second, your hands gripping the hem of his shirt while his caressed the sides of your face.

The sound of glass breaking outside was heard, followed by the sound of one of Nick’s neighbors screaming. Not even then did you pull away from him.

You kissed him for who knows how long as Sunnyvale slowly fell apart just outside of his house.

The legacy was shattered, the power the Goode’s held for centuries weakening as the seconds passed, but Nick couldn’t bring himself to care.

He should’ve known that his life would end up here. Powerless, hated and blamed but with you. He could live with what happened, just as long as you never left him alone to deal with the baggage that came with being a Goode.

As he deepened the kiss, pushing into you slightly, he had a feeling that this was just the beginning.

DISCLAIMER: a lot of this was made up by yours truly :)

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meguwumibear · 8 months

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One With the Force

I wanted to contribute a little something to @strawberrystepmom's it takes a galaxy collab star wars au. no pairing yet but written as a precursor to a more complicated force sensitive!megumi x reader dynamic i have in mind. ft jedi master!gojo. swf but minor description of injuries. not super lore heavy.

By the time Megumi realizes he’s force sensitive, Toji’s dead and gone. The first few nights he doesn’t come home, Megumi figures he’d simply fucked off with a new woman or found some new space casino to hole himself up in for a while, but news of his passing eventually finds its way to him.

The force isn’t exactly hereditary. Megumi’s sensitivity wasn’t guaranteed. It ran in the Zen’in family, sure, but it had skipped his father for some reason or another. It’s been skipping a lot of the Zen’ins lately, much to the family head’s chagrin. There was no reason it shouldn’t skip Megumi too.

Most of his life Megumi thinks the only thing his father ever passed onto him was his massive debt and violent tendencies. Because, like his father, Megumi has a hard time turning down a fight. Nights when he can’t find one, he picks one. The bigger the opponent the better.

Street fights are illegal of course, but they’re a quick and easy way to make money. Credits aren’t easy to come by on his home planet. Neither is quality health care. He’s been fighting for scraps for years just to keep his poor sickly sister alive.

That’s how he finds himself in the ring again tonight. He’s up against some monstrous thing with pulsing tentacles and needle like claws. Odds and bets are against him but that’s just fine. His handler pays him to throw most fights anyway. Tonight is no exception.

Tonight though, he doesn’t even have to pretend he’s the weaker opponent. Not even a minute into the fight the creature has him pinned flat on his back. All the air in his body is expunged in a singular, guttural grunt.

That should be the end of the fight, but the beast on top of him doesn’t relent. A warm, slimy appendage wraps its way around his neck while a set of razor sharp claws rake their way down his torso, cleaving the flesh as if it were nothing but soft fruit. Thick, crimson blood pours from his chest, staining the dirty mat he’s pressed so helplessly against. Megumi tries to scream but doesn’t have the breath to do it so a low, quiet hissing sound escapes him instead.

As dark spots begin to pepper his vision, panic begins to churn in Megumi’s stomach. The fights aren’t supposed to be to the death, but they do occasionally end that way. There’s no rule prohibiting it and no referee is going to interfere. Not when the crowd gets so drunk and rancorous on the violence.

But then he feels…well he isn’t exactly sure what he feels. Something more. Something else. The creature on top of him is no longer just flesh and blood. There’s an energy pulsing through his veins, one Megumi can feel calling out to him.

When he reaches out for it, the unexpected happens. The monster moves. Fast and hard. Whatever Megumi’s tapped into has sent the creature tumbling out of the ring.

The crowd goes silent for a beat before it comes alive with even more vigor than before. Those who bet on him are cheering. Those who bet against him are accusing him of cheating. And someone, somewhere, is screaming about the force.

Only Megumi is too old to have his awakening now. Most people with force sensitivity are discovered in early childhood. Surely someone in the crowd came to his aid. Briefly, stupidly, he thinks maybe it’s his mother.

There’s a sudden surge as the crowd surrounds him. He’s protected only by the four flimsy cables that separate the raised platform from the horde. They groan loudly in protest as hot, sweating bodies swarm them like locusts. It isn’t long before the first of them snaps.

The first person to reach him is a lanky man with hair white as bone. He’s dressed in a simple, earth tone tunic. The garb is familiar to Megumi somehow. He knows it from somewhere. But like an itch he just can’t seem to scratch, he can’t place it.

Instincutually, Megumi raises two clenched fists, prepared for a fight, blood singing with adrenaline, but then the man places a large hand on Megumi’s head and suddenly the two of them are levitating several feet above the other disgruntled patrons.

Only when the pair are safely outside the warehouse does the stranger speak to him. Four simple words dripping with familiarity.

“It’s about time, squirt.”

#this collab is so cute #hope it isnt too late to submit a little something #it takes a galaxy collab #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fic #fushiguro megumi x reader #jjk x reader #<- just to be safe #like i said no ship yet but in my head it's coming #gojo wants to train megumi #but megumi ends up falling for you #and has a hard time forgoing passion for the jedi code

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dragonwritersblog · 3 months

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Labyrinth

Funnybunny Week Day Three: Abstraction . Those who wonder into the Labyrinth be wary, for they should not anger it's ruler, the Abstraction King Jax.

Read on AO3

Hey guys! It's day three and the prompt that I chose for this was abstraction! I did put a little bit of a twist on this though, for instead of what we usually expect from a prompt like this I instead decided to make a little au out of it instead. I recently had a bit of nostalgia for the David Bowie Labyrinth movie and thus, this was born!

Also, there is a brief depiction of a panic attack in this, just so you guys are aware and are sensitive to this type of topic if you've experienced it before. If you've read my stuff before you know that I usually number (1) for when the panic attack starts and (2) when it ends. If this is something that you find triggering please feel free to skip this fic, your mental health matters. Other than that, please enjoy and stay safe. <3

Uh oh, I'm falling in love Oh no, I'm falling in love again Oh, I'm falling in love I thought the plane was going down How'd you turn it right around - Labyrinth by Taylor Swift

Run

Pomni’s heart threatened to beat out of her chest, blood pounding in her ears and her feet aching with each step she took. The rain hammered against her body and the wind kept attempting to push her to the ground. But it didn’t matter, she had to keep going.

“Come on boys!” a cruel voice cackled behind her, “She can’t get that far!”

She didn’t dare to look back, she knew that the imp-like creatures chasing her were close, looking over her shoulder would just slow her down. And she couldn’t have that, not right now.

Pomni never even knew how she ended up here. One moment, she was running across the street in a panic, late for work. The next, there was a crash, a blinding light and then she was here, being chased in some type of winding labyrinth maze by terrifying demonic creatures who thrived on her fear.

It was only when her clumsiness acted up and she tripped over a crack on the ground did the chase finally cease, falling face first onto the ground. She rolled over, hissing as her palms and knees stung, fresh blood staining her hands and felt the same warm bodily liquid soaking onto her jeans. She swallowed and lump in her throat when the same wetness trickled down the bridge of her nose. She lifted a hand to her face, feeling an open gash on her forehead and gasped when she touched her nose. There was no doubt that she looked awful right now.

“Nowhere to run now mortal,” an imp leered over her.

But that didn’t matter, the imps were already closing in on her, pointing their spears near her face as she tried to crawl away backwards. She tried to stand, but her muscles were trembling too much to do so.

She squeezed her eyes shut as they raised their spears, preparing herself for the final blow.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. A chill crawled up her spine, a new darker presence entering the scene.

“Well, well, well,” a smooth, relaxed voice purred, “What do we have here?”

Pomni opened one eye, peeking up to see the new stranger. She gasped, both eyes now open and widening at what she saw. A tall, rabbitoid creature looked over her, black attire and a fur lined cape draping over his shoulders. But what scared her was that one half of his body was stained in inky black, with multi-colored blinking eyes on his limbs staring right into soul. If she weren’t frozen in shock and in pain, she would be running as far as she could.

“King Jax,” one in the imps paled, “A new human has entered this realm. We were just playing with our new food.”

“She would be your food if she was in your territory,” the king raised an eyebrow. “But this isn’t your territory, is it? You’ve wandered too far into my labyrinth.”

“W-well,” another imp stammered, “We s-saw her f-first your maj-j-jesty. And w-we were only f-following orders from our s-superior.”

“From your superior now, huh?” The creature drawled. “Let me tell you a little bit about superiority,” he bent down to glare at the imps, Pomni realized that her back was pressed directly against his legs. The position making it seem like he was protecting her?

“A lot of people like to get superiority confused for power hungry,” the king began. “They see it as an excuse to flaunt their status to those they believe are below them, and sometimes to hurt them. I’ve had my fair share of witnessing people like that, people who believe themselves to be god just because of a title. And know little imbeciles like you are leaching onto that title to have at least a taste of that power. Well, let me tell you what it truly means to have superiority.”

He grabbed the first imp by the throat and lifted him to the king’s own eye level. The imp tried to pry the creature’s fingers off, even trying to gasp out for help from his fellow associates, but to no avail. The king’s grip was strong and the rest of the imps were too afraid to challenge him.

“You and your ‘superior’ lack any sense of what the word actually means,” the king growled. “As a leader, you must be compassionate enough and cruel enough to truly earn that word, something that you, your lackeys and your boss seem to lack. For example, you have no compassion for this scared lady who is lost and has no idea where she is. Instead of helping her, you decide to chase her around and hurt her. If you truly had what it takes to be a leader, you wouldn’t be hurting the innocent. On the other hand, none of you are cruel enough to enforce vengeance on those who deserve it. You torment this lovely lady for the hell of it instead of focusing on those who deserve true punishment…like you.”

His fist tightened round the imp’s throat, grinning as the smaller creature squirmed in pain, “So here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to take my beautiful new friend back to my castle, clean her up and nurse the wounds that you and your buddies made and help her feel more comfortable here.” He turned to Pomni, smirking and winking at her, making the woman’s cheeks turn as red as a tomato.

But then, he smiled. And it wasn’t a smile writhing hidden malice underneath, waiting to pull the rug out from under her. No, it was a real and genuine smile, filled with the promise of helping her.

“And as for you,” he turned back to the imp in his clutches, his cold demeanor returning. “How about we recreate that little scene of you chasing her. Only this time, when I catch you, you’re gonna be wishing that I killed you. After all, your ‘superior’ would want you in one piece.”

The imps let out a cry, the few on the ground already running away while the remaining one in King Jax’s hold spluttered, “B-but you said-!”

“I told you, as a leader you have to be cruel enough to punish those who deserve it,” King Jax sneered. “You decided to play in my territory, now you have to face your consequences…I hope you traced your steps in this labyrinth, you don't want to get lost. Do you?”

With that, he let go of the imp, the smaller being scrambling away as he screamed in terror. The king brushed his hands on his coat, as though touching the imp had soiled them. He turned back to the human behind him, who recoiled as he faced her again.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she whimpered. She hated how pathetic she sounded.

“Hurt you? Have you not heard what I just said,” He chuckled warmly, grinning at her question.

“B-but I-” she stuttered, her mind still reeling over the events that just happened, “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll repeat it for you little lady,” without skipping a beat, he scooped her up into his arms, Pomni letting out a surprised squeak. “I’m gonna help dress those wounds of yours then deal with those low-lives who hurt you. Although, I’m looking forward to spending time with you, rather than deal with them.”

He smirked at her again, warmth radiated throughout her with the way he looked at her. Perhaps it was a good thing he was carrying her, otherwise she was sure her knees would have buckled right there and then.

Before she could say another word, he snapped his fingers. The world around them changed, one moment they were still in the labyrinth, the next they were in an ornate bedroom, decorated with gold and had a giant plush canopy bed in the middle of it. Cold and wet, replaced with heat and comfort.

Pomni took in the beauty of the room. When the king said castle, he really meant castle. He gently sat her down on the edge of the bed, gently cradling her face in his hands. He hummed disapprovingly, before he inspected the gashes on her palms. “Where else are you hurt?” he asked.

“Um, my knees,” she answered, taken aback by his sudden concern as she lifted up one of the legs of her jeans. No one back home had ever shown her this much concern before. “But all this is because of me, please don’t punish them because of my clumsiness.”

He took her chin in his fingers, guiding her eyes to meet his, “I’m not punishing them for any actions that you have done. They are being punished for disrespecting the rules of my kingdom and hurting an innocent. None of this is your fault.”

Pomni gulped at the intensity within his eyes, not able to see any hint of a lie. “Wait here,” he told her, “I’ll be back in one moment.”

“O-okay,” she nodded slowly.

He smiled at her one more time, “That’s my girl.”

He disappeared into the connected bathroom of the bedroom, turning on a tap. Pomni took this opportunity to finally process all that just happened within the last few minutes. How did she go from being completely terrified of an unknown world and its habitants, to being cared for by the king of this place? Who she definitely did not find attractive in the slightest!

She jumped when she heard the tap go off and saw the king return with one arm holding a bowl of warm water and a cloth while the other held onto some bandages. He knelt down in front of her, dipping the cloth into the water before ringing it out, “Do you mind lifting your trouser leg for me sweetheart?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” she blinked out of her daze, doing as he asked.

Carefully, he patted the cuts on her knee, whispering apologies every time she hissed. Once he was done, he wrapped some gauze around her knee and secured it tightly. He then repeated that action on her other knee, palms and her head, making sure that her nose was bandaged up and there wasn’t anymore blood on her forehead before applying the last piece of gauze to the gash.

“There we go,” he hummed, “Now, I guess you have some questions as to what’s going on?”

“Yeah, first of all,” Pomni began, running her fingers over the bandages on her hands, “Who are you and what is this place?”

“Allow me to formally introduce myself,” he stood straight, brushing himself before flourishing his cloak. “I am Jax, the Abstraction King, and this place that you find yourself in is the Labyrinth kingdom, my home and my people. Now that you know my name, how about you tell me yours little lady?”

“I-I’m Pomni,” she spoke, “From New York earth? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you with all this, if you could help me get home then I can get out of your hair…or rather, fur.”

His face fell, his body becoming tense as he rubbed his arm nervously, “I’m really sorry Pomni. But those who fall into the Labyrinth kingdom aren’t to get out. We’ve been trying to find a way to fix that for years, but we could never find a proper solution.”

(1)

“WHAT!” Pomni screeched, “I’m stuck here?! Forever?!” She could feel the walls close in, her breathing quickening as her hands clawed at her throat.

She was stuck here.

She could never leave.

Never see her friends again.

Never return to the life she once had.

This was all her fault.

It's all her fault.

Her fault

Her fault-

“No, no!”,” Jax grabbed her hands away from her neck, “Don’t do that! Here, breathe.”

He took a gentle breath in, beckoning for the girl to do the same. Pomni inhaled shakily, copying the rabbit’s movements as he breathed back out. Soon, after a while, he had managed to calm her down enough for her to take in what he had said.

(2)

“I’m sorry,” she wiped her eyes, “I’m really sorry, that happens sometimes.”

“Hey, don’t apologize,” he told her, “I know these things aren’t easy to process, you don’t have to be sorry for feeling scared.”

“I just…what do I do now?” she said, “Everything I ever knew is back on earth and now I have to adapt to this new world. I just wanna go home.”

Jax frowned at the way Pomni’s face saddened. This girl had only been here for a short while yet she had been chased, hurt, and told that she could never go home. There had to be some way to help her. A lightbulb went off in Jax’s head, there was one way. “We might have not found a way to get people back home before,” he informed her, “But that doesn’t mean why stop trying.”

“What?” Pomni looked up at him, tilting her head to the side.

“Let’s make a deal,” Jax held out his hand, “You can help me with my research on how to get you and the other wanderers back to earth if you stay with me in the castle and let me get to know a pretty little thing such as yourself. How about that?”

She nearly spluttered at that last part, how could he say that so casually?

“That kind of sounds like it benefits me rather than you getting anything out of this deal,” Pomni said aloud.

“Trust me,” Jax said, “Having you in my presence is more than enough little lady.” His heart skipped a beat when she blushed again. She just looked so pretty…”Anyways. Do we have a deal?”

Pomni looked at his hand, he didn’t seem to have any ulterior motives. And if this worked, she could actually get back home. All she had to do was stay in a nice castle and be his friend, it didn’t seem that bad. “Okay,” she took his hand into hers and gave it a firm shake, “Deal.”

Jax took a closer look at her, her pale skin and her unique eyes. One was brown and the other blue, none of the other humans who arrived in his kingdom had eyes like that. His fingers brushed the skin of her cheeks, taking a lock of her hair and put it behind her ear. How did the universe manage to plant the most perfect and beautiful creature in all the realms into his arms?

It was only when he heard her make a choked noise did he realize what he was doing. He pulled his hand away and stood abruptly, “Sorry! I’m sorry! I have no idea what came over me!”

“It's fine!” Pomni was the darkest shade of red she had ever been in her life, “It’s fine! It was just, uh, unexpected.”

Jax cleared his throat, desperate to move onto another topic, “If you’d like, I could show you to your sleeping quarters for your time here?”

“Yeah,” for the first time here, Pomni felt a smile tugging on her lips, “I’d like that.”

That smile had to be the most lovely smile Jax had ever seen in his life, “G-good, follow me.” Great now he was the one stammering.

Pomni giggled, hopping off the bed as she trailed with him down the stone walls of his palace.

Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all.

She wouldn’t repeat this to anyone, but if she were to spend the rest of her days here with the king, she wouldn’t mind that in the slightest.

#funnybunny #funnybunny week #funnybunny week 2024 #pomnijax #jax x pomni #pomni x jax #jax #pomni #tadc #the amazing digital circus #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 #dragon rambles

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 1 year

Text

Lo-Fi: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

You and Cooper step off the subway on 14th Street station, trying not to stand out as someone who isn't supposed to be there.

"I know you're with Spencer, but if we're undercover, then maybe we should act like a couple," he says.

"Look, you're nice and charming, but we both know you'd never actually cheat on your wife. You love her too much."

"Fine, you got me there," he chuckles nervously.

Everyone is bustling around to and from the subway, but you're looking out for anyone suspicious. All of a sudden, you get a sickening feeling that something isn't right. There are thousands of people walking by you, but there is only one that stands out. Even if you haven't seen what he looks like, you can feel the sinister motive one of your unsubs have.

"What's wrong?" Cooper asks.

"He's here. I can feel him."

"You can feel it?"

You don't have time to explain what you can do.

"Hotch, he's here. I can feel him. He's close by," you say into the microphone embedded into your jacket sleeve.

Just then, you and Cooper hear a gunshot go off, and you know you're too late. You're too late to save a life, but you're not too late to catch the culprit. You take off running without waiting for an answer, and Cooper has no choice but to follow you.

You turn the corner onto 16th Street and see the unsub running towards you. As soon as you two lock eyes, he quickly turns and runs the other way. Cooper sees who you're after, and he picks up the pace. The man's looks are seared into your brain so that even if he gets away, you can tell his description to a sketch artist.

"We got him, Hotch," you say into the microphone.

Cooper is faster than you since you have heels on, but you try your hardest to catch up with him. The unsub turns onto Broadway, but he doesn't continue. Cooper turns the same corner, and the unsub is waiting for him with a gun pointed right at him.

The unsub shoots Cooper in the side, and the detective falls to the ground. You run into the open and point your own gun at the unsub. He hesitates, and you take that opportunity to shoot him twice in the chest. He immediately falls down, and Cooper groans in pain.

He is going to be okay, so you go to the unsub first, but he isn't moving. You grab his gun before retreating back to Cooper.

"Penelope! Hotch! We've got an officer down at 16th west of Union Square!" you say to the other agents listening in. "You're going to be okay, Cooper. Please, stay with me."

You place your hands over his chest, watching as his blood spills over your hands. The ambulance sirens come closer before screeching to a halt behind you. The rest of your team comes in seconds later, and you pull away from Cooper so the paramedics can tend to his wounds.

The ones that aren't taking care of Cooper are taking care of the unsub. Once stable, Cooper is taken away by a gurney and placed into the back of the ambulance.

"Are you okay?" Derek asks you.

"Yeah I'm fine. Cooper lost a lot of blood though," you sigh and wipe your blood stained hands on your black slacks.

"Did they ID that guy yet?" you ask about the unsub.

"No, there isn't any ID on him."

"Figures," you scoff. "I shouldn't have had to shoot him."

"Y/N, stop. He shot a cop. You did what you had to do," Derek says seriously.

"No, not that. He was ahead of us by a long shot. He would have gotten away if he kept running. Instead, he stopped and waited."

"Maybe he felt trapped and figured he'd shoot his way out," JJ suggests.

"I don't know. There's something more to this. It's like they're terrorists or something." You can see the doubt on your coworker's faces. "Think about it. This guy is as cool as can be and shoots somebody two blocks from where Cooper and I were standing. He has no ID on him, and he waits for us to catch up to him."

"What are you saying?"

"I think they're distractions. I think shooting people isn't murder but a way to keep the police busy while they get ready for something else."

"I think she's right," Hotch backs you up. "Good work, Y/N."

"Thank you, sir," you smile.

"We need to go over the profile and see what we missed."

Once the unsub was declared dead, Cooper got taken to the hospital, and the crime scene was taped off, your team headed to the FBI building.

"So, how does this work?" Kate asks.

"The murderers simulate a bombing. From there, they station someone to watch and gauge police response time," Spencer explains. "At which point, they know when to bring in a second bomb."

"The goal is always to take out the first round of civilians, followed by a second wave of emergency responders."

"It's crazy, but it's ingenious. They get a practice run, and if someone catches the shooter, they think they just have a murderer. The cell isn't compromised," Spencer says.

"It's Lo-Fi," Kate says. "It's the smartest way to plan for a terrorist event. Creating panic ensures that they see the most urgent response times short of a bombing."

"There's been seven different shooters?" JJ asks.

"Having followers do the shootings would ensure they're willing to kill or be killed for the cause," Derek shrugs.

"It fits the profile. There is something larger at play. It's similar to gang initiation, especially if they're home-grown. They haven't had a chance to prove themselves."

"I think they're targeting points of entry. All the murders have taken place near a bridge or a tunnel," Spencer says, pointing to the map he's been working o this entire time.

"Holland Tunnel, Midtown Tunnel, and Manhattan Bridge," you mutter. "If bombs went off, Emergency Response would shut down all entry and exits from the city. People will be trapped on Manhattan Island. It's what they want. Thousand of people with nowhere to go. Thousands of victims."

"Keep in mind it's still a theory, just like any profile," Hotch says.

Derek's phone rings and he places Penelope on speakerphone.

"Talk to us, Garcia."

"We got a problem. I went through and checked all four thousand, four hundred and sixty-eight cameras. They hacked into the surveillance system. They've got footage of every crime scene. They've been watching since the beginning."

"How could we not have caught that?" Hotch asks.

"They were smart. It wasn't system-wide, so they had to check each camera individually."

"Is this from every crime scene?" Emily asks.

"I'm afraid so. They hacked into one camera at every scene."

"So much for theory," Rossi scoffs.

"We need to hit the ground running," Kate says.

"I'll head to the hospital. I'll check on Cooper and brief Detective Brustin," Emily offers since you're needed here more than she is.

"Tell me how he is," you say as she leaves.

"Dave, will you go talk to the commissioner? Morgan, you brief Homeland Security," Hotch says, and the two men gather their things before leaving.

"JJ and I will talk to the port authority police," Spencer offers.

"Kate, Y/N, and I will go talk to the mayor, and we'll meet back here as soon as possible. Y/N you don't mind coming with us?"

"No, sir," you shake your head.

As soon as he asks, your body felt pulled in his direction. Something is telling you to be with him, and you have to listen to it.

"The one advantage that we have right now is that they don't know we know they're watching," Kate says.

JJ is about to head out with Spencer when she gets a manilla folder. Upon opening it, her whole attitude changes. There is a letter inside and something chunky that is still left inside, like a present of sorts.

"What is it?" you ask.

"It's from Will. He's going home to New Orleans tonight. He doesn't want to be in the way," she whispers.

"JJ, are you okay?" She reaches inside the folder and removes Will's police badge as if he is quitting his job. "He's quitting?"

Hotch comes over and sees the look of concern on JJ's face.

"Do you need everyone in the field?"

"Reid, take Y/N with you to Port Authority. JJ, you can run point here at the office. Go back to the hotel, tell Will what's going on, then come back here straight away."

JJ smiles and she immediately leaves before Will can get on a plane.

"Actually, Hotch, I'd rather be with you and Kate if that's okay."

Hotch looks between you and Spencer but shrugging, giving his silent okay. He walks away, and you turn to Spencer with an apologetic look.

"Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, Spencer. Something is telling me not to leave Hotch. If I stay with him, I might be able to warn him if something does come. I'm hoping not, but I have to be with him and Kate."

"Okay, I understand. Please, be safe. Do you know what's coming?"

"It doesn't work like that," you chuckle. "I promise to be safe."

You two kiss goodbye before you, Kate, and Hotch leave the FBI building. The car is parked on a desolate road, and that's when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up straight. There, right in front of your standard-issued SUV, is a man, and he's kneeling on the ground by the car.

When he pulls away, you know exactly what he had just done. There is a bomb in this car, and if you don't do anything to stop it, you, Kate, and Hotch are going to die. This is it. This is why you needed to go with Hotch. The fact that Hotch and Kate don't see the man is because he's a vision.

The energy he left behind is enough for you to paint this picture.

Hotch takes out the keys to the car and hovers his thumb over the unlock button.

"No!" you yell, and time seems to slow down all around you. "It's a bomb!"

The person closest to you is Hotch, and you tackle him to the ground just as the car explodes in a fit of flames. Kate is blown back from the shock, and you and Hotch are rolled away from the impact. Your head hits the ground hard enough for you to see stars, and your face is bleeding from scraping the asphalt.

Your hearing is shot from being so close to an exploding car, but all you can think about is your teammates. JJ is pregnant, Spencer is all alone, Rossi and Derek are on their own, Emily might be safe if she made it to the hospital alright, and Penelope should be heading to the hotel.

And all you can do is lay on the ground.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds fan fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fan fic #cm #cm fic #cm fanfic #cm fanfiction #cm fluff #cm fiction

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abbatoirablaze · 19 days

Text

Fire & Ice, Chapter 5

Word Count: 732

Johnny kept you behind himself, fighting her off the best that he could, “you need to get away from here!”

“She’s trying to come after me,” you reasoned, “if I leave, she’ll find me. She wants me dead!”

“She won’t hurt me!” Johnny tried to argue just as another icicle came dangerously close to him. You gasped, eyes going wide when you saw another one coming towards him; this one far too close for him to dodge.

You pushed him out of the way and the icicle grazed your arm before shattering against the building behind you.

The other version of you screamed as she charged.

“HE’S SUPPOSED TO LOVE ME!” she screamed, launching herself into you. You felt like the air was knocked from your lungs as your back hit the wall, your head bouncing off the concrete.

You tried to fight her off, but you quickly realized that she was much stronger than you, so instead, you focused on using your hands to keep them in front of your face while she swung wildly.

But then a blast of light rushed past you.

And the weight keeping you pushed against the building ceased.

You collapsed to your knees, coughing up rivulets of blood.

“LET ME GO!” the version of you wailed, screaming and thrashing against the human torches form while he kept her subdued.

You fought back from your knees just in time to hear the rest of the four eyeing you down from the other side of the street.

You heard a ‘wooshing’ noise, and Johnny looked up, his own eyes going wide as he saw his sister shoot an energy blast at you.

“SUE! NO!”

But it was too late.

The blast not only sent you back into the building’s wall once more, before collapsing onto the sidewalk, but it had also threw Johnny and the other dimensional version of yourself even further down the street.

Sue, Reed, and Ben took on fighting positions as Johnny ran to you, “It’s not her! She’s not the evil one!”

“Evil one?” Reed asked, his pose faltering ever so slightly, “what are you talking about?”

“She’s not the evil one!” he repeated as he pulled you to his chest, “it’s the other one.”

“Other one?” Sue asked.

“She’s from another universe!” you exclaimed, coughing up a little more blood, “she-she wants to kill you all because you tore her and Johnny apart!”

“What is she talking about?” Ben asked.

“Her and Johnny?” Sue scoffed, “what is going on?”

“Sue Storm!” the other version of yourself growled, before launching towards her. Your eyes went wide as you saw ‘the canon event’ that she’d mentioned.

She was going to try to kill Sue.

You threw yourself out of Johnny’s arms as you saw her gearing up to blast her with a burst of energy.

“WAIT!” you screamed, rushing Sue. You tackled her as the energy released, you hitting her before your other self, and the three of you went flying.

It all felt like it went in slow motion.

There was a part of you that knew if it truly was a canon event, and Sue was meant to die, there was no way that you could stop it.

But you had to try.

Your eyes closed and the wind was knocked out of you once more.

But then a new feeling accompanied the other one.

A sharp pain in your stomach.

You gasped. It felt like someone had shoved a red-hot rod into your stomach. Across the street was the other version of yourself; eyes staring blankly at you while she remained in an upside down position. Her neck was broken and she was dead.

And right as your worry faded, Johnny rushed up to you, an anxiety in his own eyes. He reached up and took your face in his hands.

His lips were moving, but you couldn’t focus on what he was saying.

You went to push yourself up, but he held you in place. You tried to push him away, but everything felt heavy.

And that’s when your eyes fell down, and you realized why everything ached.

You were impaled on a broken off, bent street sign; the metal pushing straight through you. Your shirt was coated in your own blood, staining the sky blue material a deep burgundy.

“J-Johnny…”

And then your eyes closed; darkness circling around you.

Tag List: @designatednewbie, @elbell20-blog, @lohnes16

#fire & ice #marvel #marvel au #the human torch #human torch #fantastic 4 #fantastic four #chris evans characters

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definitely-not-samayoi · 10 months

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Saejima Taiga was sleeping restlessly. The sheet clung to his sweaty body, exhausted by the August heat, which did not stop even at night – except that crickets chirped instead of cicadas.

Saejima Taiga had a dream.

Blood, blood everywhere, why is there so much blood..? All the greenery of the bamboo grove was stained with scarlet strokes. Saejima darted feverishly between the trunks. His lungs felt as if they had become too large for his ribcage, each convulsive breath a blinding pain.

There was only more blood. Saejima's heart skipped a beat, as if anticipating the inevitable.

A tattered kimono stained with blood and dirt. The skin, pale to blue, was not the skin of the living person. That made it all the more frightening to look into the disfigured face, to see the torn eyelid and the ghastly gap in the empty eye socket.

The dead man turned his head toward him with difficulty, his caked purple lips whispering:

“Hirama…”

Saejima's eyes widened as he abruptly sat up on his futon and put his hand over his mouth, holding back a scream. Strange dreams had been keeping him awake lately. Saejima wearily ran his hands over his face and rose to his feet. After that bloody dream, a peaceful night seemed unattainable. He went to the bathroom and washed his face with ice-cold water, but this hardly helped him to organize his thoughts. Fortunately, he already had a recipe for dealing with this.

Saejima quickly dressed and went outside. Taking a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of his gray pants, he lit one, exhaling the smoke with pleasure and greedily inhaling the damp air of the August night instead.

At that late hour, the street was deserted, although life in Kamurocho never stopped: the silence was broken by the sounds of music from all sorts of places, the neon snakes of signs brightly illuminated everything around. Saejima didn't like Kamurocho: too crowded, too noisy; however, there was no lack of work here.

Out of the corner of his eye, Saejima noticed that someone was approaching him with an unsteady gait. Just in case, he clenched his fist in his pants pocket, even though it was most likely just another drunk salaryman trying to find his way home.

The stranger was getting closer, and Saejima soon realized that he was mistaken – it was not an office worker at all, but a kid who looked smaller than Saejima by half a head, if not more. He could barely move his legs, holding his stomach. His narrow face was so covered in blood and dirt so that its features were hardly distinguishable.

However, this was not uncommon in Kamurocho either. Even Saejima couldn't always walk down to the konbini for a discounted evening soba and come back without a bruise or two. The kid, with his worn-out rags hanging loose, was an easy target.

The kid did not reach Saejima a couple of steps – his legs gave way, and he fell first to his knees and then to the ground, his face on the pavement.

Saejima sighed, threw the bull under his feet, extinguishing it with the toe of his sneaker. He was not a good Samaritan at all, but for some reason the thought of the kid dying right here in front of his apartment displeased him. What if he lay there all night, and the local kids, going to school in the morning, would see the body? Surely they'd be scared.

The thought of Yasuko stung his heart. Saejima imagined the menacingly furrowed eyebrows and clenched small fists. She certainly wouldn't be happy to see her adored older brother abandon someone in need.

Saejima walked over to the kid and gently rolled him onto his back. To his relief, the boy was breathing, albeit intermittently, and didn't seem intent on dying.

"Hey, you," Saejima called cautiously. “D'ya hear me?”

The kid struggled to open his blood-glued eyelashes. His left eye, swollen from the blow, did not manage to open.

“H…Hirama…” he whispered in a barely audible voice.

Saejima went cold. His brain worked feverishly, throwing up one crazy thought after another. Maybe it was just a coincidence? Maybe the kid had him confused with someone else, or maybe he was just calling someone in a delirium?

“Who the hell is Hirama?” Saejima tried his best not to lose his composure, but he realized his voice didn't sound quite as confident as he wanted it to.

But the kid didn't answer him anymore – he passed out.

Hoping from the bottom of his heart that the boy had no internal injuries, Saejima, not too elegantly, put him on his shoulder, surprised at the unexpected weight of his skinny body, and dragged him home. He wasn't sure what to do with him, but it was obvious that the kid definitely needed water and food, and he clearly needed to clean and disinfect the nasty-looking cut on his shoulder.

After dragging the kid into the apartment, Sagejima carefully laid him on the floor, then unfolded the futon belonging to Yasuko, and moved him there. The boy groaned weakly, and Saejima leaned closer to him to hear the soft voice.

"I'm fine." The kid turned his head towards Saejima, desperately trying to focus on him. “I'll be gone tomorrow, I promise.”

"Yeah." Saejima nodded. " Just tell me yer name first."

“Majima Goro.” The kid turned away from Saejima and closed his eyes again.

“Saejima Taiga. “Jima" is spelled as "island".

"Same," whispered Majima.

Now that Majima was awake, it was possible to take care of his wounds. Saejima brought a first aid kit from the bathroom and carefully dressed and bandaged the wound on his shoulder – Majima only sighed noisily through clenched teeth when Saejima touched the wound with a cotton swab soaked in antiseptic. After finishing with his wounds, Saejima decided that Majima needed to at least wash his face. Of course, it was not worth dragging him into the bath, and Saejima made do with a damp towel and a basin of water. Majima grimaced slightly as Saejima touched the towel to his face and hair, but didn't protest.

When he finished, Saejima put the towel aside and took a deep breath as if he were about to jump into the water. Most likely, Majima was not in a position to give detailed answers, but the question stung his gut so much that Saejima couldn't help himself.

"Majima... When I picked you up, you said somethin’ about Hirama. Who is he?”

Majima was silent, still not looking at him, and Saejima thought that he had lost consciousness again, but then Majima turned to him. His eyes burned feverishly, and Saejima felt a chill run down his spine. Majima looked like a man with nothing left to lose.

"You won't believe me, but I'll tell you anyway." Majima licked his parched lips, continuing to stare directly into Saejima's eyes. “I already know you. Or rather, not you, but another person who looks exactly like you. Or rather, I... It was as if I saw myself in a dream, but everything seemed to be happening a very long time ago – all these samurai folks, Shinsengumi, you understand?”

Saejima didn't really understand, but remembering his own strange dream, he nodded. Majima furrowed his brows doubtfully, but continued.

“So ... In these dreams, we were friends – no, more than friends, brothers even. Only the names were different. You… that is, a person similar to you was called Hirama Jusuke there. And was called Hirayama Goro.”

"I dream about that too," Saejima blurted out. “Last time. The night I found you, I dreamed that I…” He swallowed with an effort the sudden lump in his throat. “That I found yer body somewhere in the bamboo forest. It was covered in blood, and you... Well, you had yer eye gouged out, that's it. That's a helluva thing!”

With every word Saejima said, Majima's eyes widened until they finally formed two perfect circles.

"Oh," was all he could manage. “I see…”

Saejima didn't really believe in fate, but that night he felt that he and Majima were connected, whether they both wanted it or not.

#yakuza #saejima taiga #majima goro #saemaji #like a dragon ishin #nagakura shinpachi #okita souji #rgg #ficlet #ryu ga gotoku

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i-can-even-burn-salad · 1 year

Text

Chapter 25

Glass Shards

Warnings: Lady whump, blood, lots of angst on both sides

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Merridy peered through the branches of the hedge and up to the sky. Watching the clouds drift by made her nervous. Although she couldn’t see the exact position of the sun, it seemed to be very late in the morning. The portal to Dragon’s Reach was only active before noon. She couldn’t waste any more time. If only the bleeding would stop already.

When she finally couldn’t see any fresh blood on her sleeve, she pulled her cap over her forehead and stood up. She made sure no one was around as she staggered out of the hedge and stepped into the street. After only a few steps, she had to lean against a house wall and catch her breath. Her chest would surely bruise horribly, if it hadn’t already. Each breath felt like needles piercing her lungs.

Slowly she dragged herself along, and when she saw a yard with a barrel of rainwater in it she stumbled towards it and dipped her hands into it. She resisted the temptation to drink from it, washing only her face and sleeve. The blood stains would not come out of the latter, so she simply turned the fabric inside out instead. After the surface had calmed down again, she examined her reflection in the dark water. With her thumb, she wiped away another trace of blood, before she was satisfied. Then she tucked escaped strands of hair back under her cap and adjusted her clothes.

Merridy left the yard and tried to orient herself. The house of the Lightwood’s wasn’t too far from the portal in the palace garden in the center of the city, but she didn’t know how late in the morning it was. She tried to run, but the stabbing in her chest quickly became unbearable. She had no choice, she had to slow down and catch her breath. The sun was standing so high already. If only she’d make it before noon. Cursing every single cart and every person blocking her way, she hurried through the streets.

Shaking from exhaustion and out of breath, she finally arrived at the portal — just as it was shut down to be tuned to another city for the afternoon. Merridy couldn’t prevent the disappointment from crossing her face as she stared at the empty circle. So close. If only she had managed to run a bit faster. Reaching for a nearby wall, she tried to steady herself as the sudden despair left her knees weak and her head all dizzy.

“Well, you’re in quite a hurry, boy. Where do you think you’re going?”

Merridy turned around and found herself face to face with a city guard. The guard, while not unfriendly, eyed her with undisguised curiosity.

“I wanted to go to… Dragon's Reach,” she answered between two gasping breaths, glad that her voice was so toneless. He would hardly notice that it didn’t quite match her appearance as a boy.

“On what business?” she was further quizzed.

Had she checked her fingers for blood? She couldn’t remember. As stealthily as possible, she tried to wipe them against her pants, knowing very well that it would be pointless. If there was any blood, it was long dried.

The guard looked from her to her hands, shaking at her sides, half hidden between folds of fabric. Brows furrowed. Something crinkled. The letter. The letter! With trembling fingers, she pulled it out, waved it briefly, and then quickly put it away again. “I have to… deliver a letter for my master. He’ll be furious,” Merridy tried to provide a believable reason for her haste and visible desperation.

It seemed to work. For a moment the guard’s features relaxed, but then his colleague stepped forward. Now it was his turn to scrutinize her, but his gaze was way less friendly.

“Aren’t you a bit late for that? Everyone knows the portals are turned off at noon. Besides, you look like you crawled through some hedges on your way here.”

Merridy thought feverishly. With every moment that passed, she became more suspicious. “I— I…” she stammered softly, “I lost… track of time.” Think. She had to think. “There was this maid,” she blurted out, lowering her gaze to the ground, as if ashamed. “She… we…”

The two men laughed. “Well, I hope she was worth it, my boy. You won’t get to Dragon's Reach before tomorrow,” one of them sneered. “Why don’t you go back to your maid and let her comfort you, before your master whips your ass.”

The tears on Merridy’s cheeks were from relief rather than from expecting some imaginary master’s imaginary punishment. They were enough to make the guards laugh again.

With her head bowed, Merridy crept away, forcing herself to walk slowly and with hanging shoulders until she disappeared around a corner. Only then did she dare to lean against a wall with trembling legs. Close, that had been so close. Damien would be sick with worry if she didn’t come back, but she couldn’t help that now. It had been the thought of him that had driven her to hurry. She should not have risked appearing at the portal in her condition. She should have returned to Cedric’s house instead and waited for the next day. This was the second mistake she had made in the last twenty-four hours. Surely this wouldn’t have happened to her a year ago. She really had to pull herself together.

After closing her eyes for just a moment, she realized that she had almost blacked out. She was so incredibly tired, and when she opened her eyes again, everything around her was spinning. Now that the tension was leaving her, she could barely stay on her feet. What was she supposed to do now? A sob rose in her throat as she realized there was no way she’d make it back to Cedric’s house like that.

She needed some place to hide. Desperately, she dragged herself further, from the busy street into a narrow alley, then into an even narrower one. It didn't take long for her to lose her orientation. Her mouth was so dry, her throat aching, but there was no well or fountain. Just rubble and trash, all over the place. Merridy couldn’t even say if she was still in the Vandaya district. She climbed over rags and broken scraps of wood, bracing herself against the walls of the houses to keep from simply collapsing. Her heart was beating up to her throat and the rising fear made her look around nervously all the time. She wasn’t even sure what she was afraid of. She was far away from the portal and the guards, and she seemed to be completely alone, yet she could barely breathe. A place to rest. A safe place. That was all she could think of.

Finally she found a house entrance with a boarded-up door, in front of which old crates and empty barrels were piled up. There was just enough space between them for her to curl up on the floor. She stuffed a few of the rotten rags lying around into the spaces between and hoped that no one would see her. Bedding her head on her arm, she couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. It was silly. She’d be fine. It was just a little delay. But she was cold and scared and tired, and right now, shivering between trash and cold stones, she wished nothing more than for Damien to be with her.

* * *

Damien set out to wait at the portal square at dawn. The fact that Merridy had not returned the previous day had caused him little concern. He knew that she would have had very little time before noon to gather all the information and return to the portal before it was tuned to another city.

But today hour after hour passed without her appearing as well. At first he stayed in the immediate vicinity of the portals, pacing restlessly, watching each traveler who arrived. After an hour or two, as he began to slowly attract attention, he settled on a bench two dozen steps away. As on most days, the early stream of travelers and merchants had slowed down after a while. With every new arrival, Damien raised his head, full of hope, and every time it wasn’t her his worry grew. The sun reached its highest point and moved on, and still there was no sign of Merridy. Damien was aware that the portal was long out of tune with Caldeia, but he continued to wait. What else could he have done? He couldn’t just leave.

At some point it became dark and he had to realize that Merridy would not be coming back today. With nightfall, the portals were completely deactivated until the next morning, and the previously lively place lay completely deserted within minutes. Nevertheless, Damien did not move at first. It was the dragon guard, giving him pointed looks every time they passed him on their rounds, who eventually made him get up. His limbs had become stiff from sitting for so long, and his throat was so dry that he could hardly swallow. Had he drunk anything at all since he sat down? He couldn’t remember. He reached for the waterskin hanging from his belt, which felt suspiciously full. When he tried to loosen it he realized his hand was shaking. He’d have to get away from the guard first, before dealing with that.

Head hanging low, Damien left the square and walked a few steps into the first street he came across. When he was sure he was out of sight, he paused, leaning against a wall to start a second attempt to grab and open the waterskin. After taking a sip that didn’t come close to washing away the bitter taste in his mouth, he made his way back to the inn. As if in a trance, he followed the familiar route through the alleys and only realized he had arrived when his feet simply stopped. On the way up, he clutched the key and then just stood in front of the door for minutes without opening it. When he finally entered the room it seemed so quiet, so completely lifeless. He didn’t bother to turn on a light or ignite a fire in the fireplace. It was not the brightness or warmth that was missing, but the life with which Merridy had filled the room.

He took off his shoes and sank onto the bed. There was a pile of blankets at the bottom end, where Merridy had dropped hers carelessly in the morning, too excited for her adventure. The one he pulled close still smelled of her, only very slightly. When he buried his face in it he could almost hear her laughing and tears came to his eyes. It was because of him that she had gone. To look for his brother. In the city that had become dangerous for her because of him. Again and again she had assured him that it wouldn’t be a problem for her, but what if something had happened to her? What if she was in danger or hurt or scared, and he had no way to get to her, no way to help her?

“What kind of fucking friend am I?” he whispered into the silent room.

If he had thought he had even the slightest chance, he would have gone to Caldeia himself. But he was still guaranteed to be wanted, and even his best deception would be of no use to him. Portal guards had ways of dissolving illusions, and since the portal of Caldeia was located in the middle of the palace district, security was especially tight there. They were likely to discover him, to arrest him, and he’d be no closer to helping Merridy than he was now. So he was condemned to wait idly in Dragon's Reach and hope that the research had only proved more difficult than she had thought.

That night Damien did not find much sleep. Again and again he woke up, shaking from nightmares he could only partially remember. He saw Merridy being pursued, calling out to him, but he could hear nothing, only saw the movement of her lips. Another time he dreamed of seeing her in the dungeon, in his place, barely alive and covered in blood, and when he woke up he felt so sick that he took the precaution of pulling the chamber pot out from under the bed. After that, he did not dare to go back to sleep, but lay awake until the first glow of dawn found its way through the window.

Even before the sun had fully risen, he set out. Today. He would wait one more day, he swore to himself, then he would go and look for her, consequences be damned.

To keep himself from wandering restlessly back and forth in the square, he sat down on a low wall. So early in the morning, not many people came through the portals yet; only a few merchants left the luminous circles and headed for the numerous marketplaces. An hour passed and he felt his restlessness growing. Just as he had once again jumped up to take a few nervous steps, a single figure stepped out of the portal. He paused and eyed them. At first he thought it couldn’t be her; their bent-over posture and dragging step had nothing in common with the light-footed way Merridy usually moved. But then he recognized the much too large woolen cap and jacket he had mocked. Immediately, he ran towards her, freezing in his tracks as soon as he could see her better. The strands that peeked out from under the cap were disheveled, her clothes were dirty and when she looked up he could see that her eyes were dark with pain.

“Merry! By the gods, what happened?” Damien extended a hand in her direction, not daring to finish the movement.

Some stains on her jacket were the reddish-brown color of dried blood, and the skin on her temple was dark blue with bruises. Merridy started to reach for it, then thought better of it and let her hand sink again.

“If you think that’s bad, you should see the others.”

Her words seemed to crush his chest. He swayed as his knees buckled. She had been attacked. She had been attacked and he had been unable to help her. He should never have accepted her help. He should never have let her go alone. It was his fault. His fault. His fault.

“Damien. Damien. Can you hear me? I’m sorry, it was a joke. Damien! I just fell.”

As if in slow motion, his brain pieced together her words, tried to comprehend them. Fell? It made no sense. Her shoulder was under him, holding him up where his legs had failed him, and she had closed both her hands around his.

“Let’s get out of here, people are already staring,” she urged him.

Willlessly, he let her lead him, and only when they had already left the portal square far behind did the movement spark his thoughts to life. He noticed that even now she was walking hunched over, with uneven steps and one arm pressed against her chest.

“Merry, wait,” he begged her, stopping so that his hand slipped from her grasp.

She also stopped and looked at him questioningly. Breathing seemed to be difficult for her and single drops of blood were now seeping out from under her cap, leaving a bright red trail on her cheek. He studied her face but found no fear, only exhaustion and pain. Damien took a deep breath and pulled himself together. He needed to know what had happened to her, but there would be time enough for questions later. The sooner they got to their room, the sooner he could take care of her.

“Sorry. There’s time for that later. Let’s keep moving. Let’s get you home.”

[ID: The top image is a banner covered in colorful glass shards. Across it is written the title of the story, glass shards, in a white to bright cyan gradient with a black outline. The font looks like written with a broad paintbrush. All other images in this post are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

Tagging: @dont-touch-my-soup @kixngiggles @starlit-hopes-and-dreams

#Glass Shards #whump #fantasy whump #lady whump #my writing

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the-chosen-fanfiction · 1 year

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Gentile. | Chapter 7

When Atticus invites you to accompany him to the library, you go against Quintus' wishes to remain home.

Chapter list

You yelp in pain and the fine linen soaks up crimson, fabric staining red underneath the golden flowers you have been embroidering. Bringing your index finger to your mouth, you suck on the small droplet of blood that had been forming there, the needle already the cause of a dozen pinpricks in your skin.

Quintus looks up with a scowl on his face, his jaw tensing. “Can’t you be quiet? I’m trying to work here.” You don’t reply, instead narrow your eyes and continue your sewing in silence. There is no fibre in your being that would even consider giving him the satisfaction of a reply.

“Dominus.” Gaius enters the room and puts his hand on his heart, bowing his head slightly. “Atticus Aemilius Pulcher is here to see you.”

Your heart skips a beat, your embroidery work suddenly way less interesting. Fiddling with the needle, you find it to be abruptly more difficult to set a stitch.

“Is it urgent?”

“Of course it’s urgent.” There is no voice in the world that you have ever been more excited about to hear and you nearly drop your crafts, shifting to sit up a little straighter from your slouching position, hoping to appear more elegant. Atticus steps into the room and Gaius gives Quintus an apologetic look. Your husband waves off the centurion, who hurries away.

Sadness tugs at your heartstrings when Atticus does not immediately glance your way, but you do not blame him. Doing so would perhaps raise the suspicion of Quintus, so you keep down your own excitement as well. “What do you want now? Fishing for another invitation to a dinner party? Perhaps you should gain some credit with me first, marshall, give me something good before I might consider—”

“I wouldn't be here if it weren’t for business.” Atticus’ eyes momentarily find you and make you fluster in your seat. “Good to see you again, my lady.” His voice is promptly gentler, nearly making you squirm.

“Likewise, Cohortes.”

When you feel Quintus’ gaze prickle the side of your face, you quickly turn your attention back to the embroidery in your hands. “Forgive her for speaking out of turn.” your husband pipes up, “And as for your business, I am certain that it is pressing enough, otherwise you wouldn’t drag yourself all the way here again. So, spill it, why don’t you?”

“It has to do with the extremism that has been happening around the city as of lately. A violent mob, somebody got assassinated, people are restless around here and something is afoot.”

“What are your findings?”

“Zealots, likely. You know who they are?”

Quintus scoffs. “Of course I do. Nothing Rome can’t solve. A bunch of goons with a persecution complex.”

“They’re a little like roaches, if you will,” Atticus explains, “Have a few, nothing to panic about. But when they spread in the dark and become too many, you have a true problem, a possible health hazard as they start to soil your supplies.”

Your husband raises an eyebrow. “And why haven’t you arrested them yet?”

“Because I only have one pair of eyes and arresting one or two will create martyrs.”

“So you have come here to request my aid?”

Atticus crosses his arms. “Indeed. These are your streets, Quintus. Don’t force me to report back to Rome eventually with intelligence about how poorly you handle extremist threats.”

The frown that twists Quintus’ features into displeasure tells of his annoyance towards the Cohortes right now. A few seconds of intense eye-contact ensue, the tension tangible in the room. You hold your breath, witnessing it unfold, until Quintus is the one to break it.

“Fine.” he admits, “I’ll look into it.”

“Do it soon, Quintus, and do it well. Chasing them back to the shadows will only give them a chance to grow, and then, they’ll strike when we least expect it.”

For a moment, your husband freezes on his spot, his chin pinched between his fingers, as if considering something. He then moves at once, grabbing his helmet and cloak, his weapons, and waltzes out of the door without as much as a glance your way.

Atticus turns to you and gives you a small smile. “Enjoying yourself, my lady?” You hold up the embroidery you had been doing and shrug, causing him to chuckle a little. “Ah, I see.”

You stand and dare to approach him, albeit with wobbly legs, your stomach twisting in circles when his scent reaches you. It’s more comforting than you’d like to admit. “It’s boring at best.”

The Cohortes makes an amused sound and pleasantly smiles at you. “I’ve been reading Metamorphoses, and I must say, I’m glad you recommended it to me.”

A soft hum leaves your lips. “Ah, I’m happy to hear that, Cohortes. We should discuss the details soon. I’m sure you’re busy enough as is.”

“For you, I’ll make time.”

The words aren’t unpleasant, nor forced, and he watches you thoughtfully for a good second before opening his mouth to speak.

“Would you like to accompany me to the local library? I've heard they have recently imported some new works from Cicero."

With a wry smile, you shake your head at him. "I would have loved to, Atticus, but Quintus has forbidden me to visit any public places with the violence about. He's unrelenting about it."

He frowns. "Oh... I know it might sound daunting, but have you considered... Sneaking away?"

Your eyes widen and you can't help but smile a little. "You mean the way I did whilst wearing that awful disguise?"

Atticus chuckles and nods in acknowledgement. "That's what I mean!"

After laughing together for a few moments, you lower your gaze, a little shy. "I ah... Perhaps I could try."

"Tomorrow," the Cohortes proposes, "After the second meal. I'll be around in case you need me to cause a distraction."

Oh, Atticus is a distraction indeed - to you . With a nod, you settle the appointment. "Meet me under the fig tree at the town square," the Cohortes says, grabbing your hand to once again kissing the back of it. The sensation makes your gut pleasantly stir and is even nicer than the first time.

He lingers there, finding your gaze. Your breath stutters.

With a smile, he finally pulls away, letting you go. You resist the urge to chase his warmth, can't do anything else but blush at him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then." says Atticus, "This time around, the figs will be fresh instead of candied."

The comment sends your system into overdrive and you take a moment to process what he had just said, but he backs away before you can ask more about it. "Have a wonderful day, my lady."

"I'll-I'll see you later, Atticus..." you murmur, watching him leave whilst your heart stutters unevenly in your chest. Had he... Had he just severely hinted that the candied figs from a few days ago had come from him ? Your knees feel weak and no sensible thought formed in your mind.

With one final look over his shoulder, he leaves the chamber. Your lips tremble when you fight the wide grin threatening to spread there.

Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

Eventually, it arrives. Quintus returns home in the dead of night and luckily does nothing but grumble a little whilst crawling under the covers beside you, vaguely mentioning the possibility of civil war, but you’re certain that he is exaggerating, as he always does. You’re awake long before breakfast, spend some extra time dolling up - it’s not a date, right? - and use your most expensive perfume to subtly apply to your wrists and neck. Since you’re supposed to go in disguise, the least you can do is try to make your face look pretty.

This time around, you use a coat that is not as heavy as the one you had borrowed from Quintus a few days ago, which makes for a more agreeable look. You don’t know how to not look Roman, quite frankly, so you’re glad that you’ll be at Atticus’ side most of the time. Praetor Quintus doesn’t seem keen on having you around today, which gives you enough space to sneak away.

Under the fig tree, as discussed the day before, Atticus stands with one hand on the hilt of his sword, holding a half-eaten apple in the other. His casual confidence is endearing. When you approach him, he finds you with a small smile on his features, and he winks. He tosses the core of the apple into the shrubbery and observes your new guise.

“Still Roman-looking, but you are starting to get the hang of it.”

“Teach me your ways.” you jest.

Atticus reaches for your red cloak. “Swap this out for a more muted colour and we’ll speak again.” You are aware that he is only teasing but you still feel your cheeks flush with slight embarrassment. “Come on, let’s go.”

The library isn’t too far away. On Atticus’ arm, you float here within a quarter of an hour. The warmth that radiates from him is enough to set your entire form aflutter with feelings you certainly have not have mustered towards Quintus in any moment of time.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you say, “It isn’t easy being under Quintus’ roof all the time, especially with the current nice weather. I enjoy the noise of the market. It inspires me to write poetry about everyday things. See that merchant over there?”

You discreetly point out a salesman that is trying his best to force one of his pigeons back into its cage, but it flutters in protest despite the man’s best efforts. He cusses at it in a language you don’t know until it breaks free and flies away before the merchant can stop it. With a dejected face, the pigeon keeper watches it take off, far beyond his reach.

Both you and Atticus laugh at the amusing scene, but your smile soon falls. “Sometimes I feel like a bird being locked inside a cage. Seeing this happen makes me think of ways to implement it into my poetry.”

Atticus hums, tilting his head curiously. “Ah… I see. Do you write about all topics?”

You nod, tucking some hair behind your ear. “Mainly how I feel.”

The Cohortes lets out a sound. “You should read me something one of these days, if you want to of course. Ah, here we are.” The pair of you halts next to a building and he opens the door for you to let you go in first.

You honestly hadn’t expected much of Capernaum’s library, but you have to admit that it is quite nice on the inside. Two dozen shelves are stocked all the way to the top and you nearly trip over a pile of books. A woman behind the desk smiles at you. “Welcome,” she says.

You greet her back and remove your hood, taking in the place. “It’s beautiful here.” you comment towards Atticus, who smiles warmly.

“Isn’t it? Come on, let me show you where the poetry is. I’m certain that you’ll like it.”

You follow him to the back of the library, just around the corner in a secluded section. About thirty-some books stand with their spines towards you, almost calling out your name. You let out a small, content noise, and Atticus chuckles whilst you pry one out, letting your eyes flit over the cover.

“If you want to borrow anything, just let me know.” He takes a copy of Odes from Horace off the shelf and flicks through it. You watch him from the corner of your eye.

Atticus returns it before you can ask what he thinks of it and you quickly look away, skimming through the pages of the book in your own hands. His presence behind you is maddening almost, with your heartbeat thumping inside your ears at the gentle brush of his body against yours when he reaches out to take something from the ledge above you.

Closing your eyes, you fight your blush at his proximity. Atticus smells musky, like sweat and leather with an earthy note to it, a hint of oil somewhere. It is already so familiar that you’re certain that you’ll drown in it.

“Have you ever read the Song of Songs, (Y/n)?” he queries.

Your nose turns pink and you dare to look at him. “Isn’t that… That’s from the Jews, right?”

Another chuckle comes from him. He nods and flips through the pages. “Controversial, perhaps, but let’s see…”

He clears his throat, momentarily finding your gaze before he reads aloud:

“Where has your beloved gone,

O fairest among women?

Where has your beloved turned aside,

That we may seek him with you?”

Your breath hitches when he glances at you again, locking eyes. A short silence follows, and you wonder if he meant it as a question directed towards you. Without breaking eye-contact, he puts the book away again, stepping closer in the process. Your body freezes at his nearness, throat running dry.

His breath brushes against your face, his usual charming smile not present at this moment. Instead, he tips up your chin with his finger, eyes flicking between yours, searching fear, or regret. “Where has your beloved gone, o fairest among women?” he repeats. Your lids flutter shut and exhale shakily.

The boldest of questions leaves his lips.

“Do you love him?” Atticus inquires. You sharply gasp, stepping back, looking at him with slight shock on your face when your back hits the bookshelf. His face immediately contorts into one of regret. “I-I didn’t mean to… I… I apologise if I’ve overstepped a boundary with that question.”

There is no fibre in your being that is able to reply to him right now. Slack-jawed, you stare at him whilst shaking your head, tears prickling behind your eyes.

“Perhaps I should drop you off home,” Atticus proposes, “I… I went too far, and I fear that I read you wrong, I–”

“No.”

The firm statement causes Atticus to freeze. “No.” you repeat. To which of his comments it was directed is left ambiguous.

He bites his bottom lip, observing you closely. “I see.” he mutters kindly.

“Atticus, I–” You step closer to him but halt halfway through reaching for his cheek, shame suddenly creeping its way up your cheeks. “I-I find our interactions more than enjoyable.” you confess nevertheless.

The man smiles - you’re getting weak at the knees at the sight of it - and relaxes. “Me too,” he states.

He takes his distance by stepping back, out of respect, you assume. Still, you want him to close the gap, to lose yourself in the sight of his dark eyes and the musky scent of his being.

Despite your marital status, you yearn for him. Pursuing it would spell a death sentence for both of you.

“I don’t think we should see each other, Atticus,” you whisper, closing your eyes to fight back the tears. “You… You confuse me.” Your voice breaks, but you remain strong.

“How so?” he asks.

“I shouldn’t…” you whisper, “I shouldn’t tell. It would be… Improper to do so.”

There it was, your ambiguous confession. Atticus smiles curiously.

“I won’t pry,” he promises. “For now. Let’s get you home.”

The air between you is thick with tension. “Already?” you murmur, almost disappointed.

“You’re probably being missed.”

He is right, and so, you follow him to the exit.

The woman behind the desk lends you one of Virgil’s works, Eclogues, even though the Song of Songs remains on the shelf despite your initial intention to take it with you. Atticus’ citation has made you curious, but the fear that Quintus would find out about it makes you decide to leave it be.

With your hood pulled up again, the pair of you stroll towards the estate in pleasant silence, until he breaks it.

“The book you’ve given me, Metamorphoses. It’s… Interesting.”

Your face lights up at the mention thereof. “How far are you?” you’re eager to know.

“Hm, I’ve just read the story of Cadmus and his Queen transforming into serpents, if I recall correctly.”

Your eyes widen. “You’re quite far, then.”

“I’m a fast reader.”

A brief silence, nonetheless enjoyable.

“Say,” Atticus begins, “What do you think the meaning of the book might be?”

You look at him, slowing in your step a bit. “What Ovid is trying to tell us, you mean?”

He hums in acknowledgement. It takes a moment to formulate a proper answer.

“Then, I think it means this. Every single person is constantly changing and transforming throughout their life. And even though it is written as a chronological series of events from the beginning of time until Caesar’s death, there is one constant throughout, which is chaos . Change does not always come easy. Sometimes you have to fight to survive through it.”

Atticus puts his hand on top of yours as it rests around his arm. The contact makes you jolt, but you don’t pull away.

“That is an interesting point,” he muses.

“I think it somehow reflects how we are,” you clarify. “We are changing, too. You cannot escape transformation. Some loathe it, some require it, and others crave it.”

When you fall quiet, Atticus looks at you. “And you, (Y/n)?”

You blink a few times in puzzlement. “Beg your pardon?”

“Do you loathe change, require it, or crave it?” He slows down at the word crave , as if already knowing the answer.

“I…” you start, but sigh right after. “I crave it,” you then whisper. The Cohortes squeezes your hand against him. “I do not know how to achieve it yet, but yes… And you?”

Atticus chuckles as you halt underneath the fig tree where you had met this afternoon. Dusk is already creeping up, visible in the colours of the sky. You just hope that Quintus has not returned home yet.

“I think you’re already right in the middle of transformation, (Y/n). Something important is going to happen. I can just sense it. It is almost tangible in the air.”

You smile softly and hug the book you’ve lent a little tighter against you. “Perhaps.” you whisper, “Here’s to hoping.”

“I won’t keep you any longer.” Atticus declares. He pecks the back of your hand again, a sensation that never fails to send a swarm of butterflies through your system.

“Thank you,” you murmur, “You’ve been spending a lot of your valuable time on me lately. I understand if you cannot afford to do so anymore.”

“You stop that silly talk, now.” he states, holding onto your hand tightly, “If there is anything you need, just say the word.”

He releases you, which is your cue to start walking off. You feel his eyes burn in the back of your head, watching you leave.

Once the residence comes into view, you feel yourself tense up.

It is clear that the man of the house has already come home right away. Quintus’ cloak and helmet are stored in the foyer. Dread settles in your gut and you sneak up the stairs to stow away your disguise.

Your husband has sensed your presence and clears his throat behind you just as you stuff the old coat into the dresser. Exposed, you straighten your back, breath hitching in your throat as you hear him approach, closing the door behind him.

“Well well, if it isn’t my disobedient wife.” When you don’t turn, he hisses: “Look at me.”

Deeming you not quick enough, he grabs your hair from the back and twists you around in his arms, bringing his face in front of yours. He tilts back your head, looking down at you with such hatred that you doubt for just a second that you ever married him. He stinks of wine.

“Where were you, huh?! Weren’t my instructions clear enough?!” He tightens his grip on your hair and you wince, holding up your hands in defence. “You think I’m a laughing stock?”

“No!” you whimper, “No, I just… I felt like I was getting crazy in here, Quintus!”

“Think I need your excuses?” A few droplets of saliva land on your face as he barks, your eyes narrowing in disgust.

He releases your hair at last, but not for good reasons. With the back of his hand, he strikes you across the face.

For a split second, your ears ring. With a gasp, you feel your cheekbone sting, trembling fingers reaching up to find a tiny cut on your skin. You gawk at him in disbelief. Quintus stares at you for a few seconds, inspecting you closely, until the rage in his eyes dies down a bit. He seems to consider your earlier words.

For the first time in forever, he allows you some space.

“Fine.” he bites, “But not without a chaperone.”

You pull straight your tunic once he steps back, giving you a warning glare. Only when Quintus has stumbled back down the stairs to get another goblet of wine, you dare move. Heading for the mirror in the washroom, you wince at the sight of the small injury that your husband has inflicted upon you. You leave it alone after prodding at it for a second, thinking it best to leave it be.

With a hazy mind, you spend the rest of your day in your sitting room, the copy of Eclogues remaining unopened on your desk.

Next chapter Chapter list

#the chosen x reader #chosen x reader #the chosen fanfiction #chosen fanfiction #the chosen #angel studios #atticus aemilius pulcher #atticus x you #atticus x reader #the chosen atticus #elijah alexander #quintus x you #quintus x reader #quintus

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radicheart · 1 year

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@hclluvahctel | plotted starter with alastor & vox

Alastor’s day had started out normally enough, beginning with his usual routine: wake up, make the bed, shower, brush teeth, comb hair, get dressed, then head downstairs and join whoever else might be awake at the same hour. Most of the time that cast consisted of Charlie and Niffty, as well as an occasional appearance by Vaggie and Angel Dust, which gave the Radio Demon plenty of opportunity to entertain himself as he made and enjoyed his own coffee and breakfast.

Then, he had gone on with his day: washing his own dishes, bidding the hotel staff farewell, and leaving so he could go get some personal errands done. Truth be told, Alastor was excited about today in particular; a musical guest of considerable popularity was planned to appear for an interview, conducted by yours truly! It put a little extra pep in the demon’s step as he kept walking, barely even taking notice of the figure tailing him from a distance.

It’s only when he turns a corner in one of the darker, more abandoned parts of town, situated between himself and his current destination, that they make themselves better known - and by then, it’s far too late.

As soon as the Radio Demon turns to face the foreboding presence he’d sensed approaching from behind, a sharp, blessed blade pierces his body - sinking deep into his abdomen, but not enough to emerge on the other side. Normally, pain is no big deal, but considering the fact that this is an angelic weapon, it hurts far more due to the holy power embedded in its metal. As a result, the wound sizzles and steams, and Alastor proceeds to do something he never imagined he’d do out in the open.

He screams. It’s loud and ear-splitting and filled with screeching static. There’s no way that could have gone unheard by anyone nearby.

Whoever they are, they don’t stick around for long, yanking the blade free and turning to hightail it out of there before Alastor can recover enough to bite back.

Blood, nearly black in color, flows freely from the gaping wound, staining his red shirt with a much darker shade and covering his right hand as he instinctively clutches at it to prevent any more from escaping. Another downside to being injured by blessed weaponry: they don’t heal nearly as fast. This means that Alastor could potentially bleed out and into a second, more permanent death unless he managed to either patch himself up or find help.

He manages to use what energy he has left to teleport himself, trying to picture the hotel in his mind’s eye as his new destination. Instead, he misses by a long shot and only winds up teleporting a few feet away, putting his bleeding body out onto the street for anyone to come across. Unable to even get onto his knees, the Radio Demon collapses, face first, onto the asphalt.

Maybe someone heard him scream and would help him...but the chances are incredibly low.

Still...he can hope.

#hclluvahctel #a day in the afterlife (face to face)#(( WOOF. ))#(( This got Long. ))#(( You don't have to match the length. ))#(( I'm just setting the scene here. ))

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chaosmultiverse · 1 year

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Funfacts/Important HCs About my William Aton

So since rn I can't really make bio pages I'm gonna share the important info on some of my new muses via these posts, below the cut is the info.

William came from a broken home, his mother was emotionally abusive and his father was flat out monstrous, I haven't figured out all the details but it was a mix of abuses including verbal and physical.

So William did a mix of putting up a perfect goodie two shoes son persona and extreme acts of 'rebellion', one week his teachers would be commenting on how well behaved he was to the next week where his mother found the pastor's missing dog in a shoebox under the boy's bed.

William is gay, but due to the culture of his time and his family's abuse he never became comfortable with this aspect of himself, intensely denying this part of himself, feeling intense shame over his feelings for other men and as a father was homophobic, especially towards Michael when it became clear that the boy may have been gay too. The only version of William who is actually comfortable with this aspect of himself is Glitchtrap, though outside of ghost or entites based off Henry he would have no interest in a relationship.

Like a lot of serial killers Williams first targets where animals, at first wild small animals no one miss like rats or birds but eventually he moved onto street 'pet' animals before eventually targeting people's pets. It gave him a sense of control, something that he had power over regardless of his parents, had he been taken from his parents at this point it would not have been too late for him to give up on this unhealthy coping mechanism.

But no, he was with them until he was 18, on the same very day he left. He had been still in school so simply didn't go back to the house and instead went to get ID and then rented a mortal room for the rest of high school (or may have stayed with Henry, in interactions with Henrys that knew William before he was 18.)

William went to a university for a business degree, he had always had a lot of academic skills and his anxiety over his family being able to control him using money kept him from going foe his real passions in different types of preforming or sewing.

This is another point in time he could have meet Henry, finally for the first time he had someone in his life who valued him for how he presented himself, didn't have some predetermined idea of him

Too bad that after so many years of lying to survive William just... Didn't know how to be honest, to open up or express who he truly was but hey, at the time he thought it was great. He could just choose to be whoever he wanted and Henry's affection for that persona would be great social pressure to not ruin it like how he stained his 'innocent child' persona with blood.

Yeah he was setting himself up for failure, for him to feel very alone, to continue to feel intense shame over his feelings for others and to be setting himself up to grow to resent the person he loved most.

But it still wasn't too late, it had only been animals and people who deserved it that had suffered at his hands. Had someone intervened, been able to look past his act and get him to admit there was a issue he could have became a okay person, not a monster.

This is the last option for when he meets Henry, finally thinks he can trick himself into having a happy relationship where he's a totally fake person.

They draw up the ideas for Freddy's and set to it, to make their dream come true.

William didn't let Henry wear the Springlock suits, or really do a lot of the riskier things when it came to the restaurant, the idea of Henry getting hurt was at the time very destressing to William and... He thought out of the pair he was worth less, that Freddy's would live on, Henry would live on, without him, so it was totally fine if he died trying to fulfill every role needed of him.

He may have projected a lot of himself onto Bonnie and projected Henry onto Freddy, whenever he could he always made any version of the two best friends. And when Michael made the Glamrock animatronics that was simply ingrained, no longer with the context remembered.

As a whole he was always controlling of Henry, though at first it was his putting Henry on a pedestal and self hate that motivated it.

Things got worse, especially morally when William ended up having a shotgun marriage with a woman he didn't know too well, she was a seamstress who William had tried dating after getting to know her as she was hired to help with putting together some of the suits. When she became pregnant she made it clear she didn't have the money to rise a child alone and would be shunned by her family if they found out, so William both out of a sense of obligation and wanting to do things right, fit in (after all Henry had a partner, shouldn't he? Won't it be good to be ahead of him for once?)

William was extremely emotionally negligent and controlling of her, forcing her to leave her job and rely on him for money and controlling how she would present herself, no one was to know this up and comer had married a lowly seamstress.

When Michael was born William swore to himself that he would be a better father, he did honestly love his new child, even if he didn't love the boy's mother. He failed, miserably often resorting to verbal and emotional abuse to control Micheal and physical abuse when either his emotions became to unstable or when he felt the child would be a threat to his persona otherwise.

Soon enough Henry had a children of his own, William quickly took on a uncle like role and in all honesty up until the big breaking point acted like a better parenteral figure to the twins than his own children, as he could never bring himself to abuse them them in the same ways, just deceive them.

William would often joke that someday when they were older Charile should marry one of his sons. This was very much just projection of his own desire to be with Henry

Soon enough he and his wife also had Elizabeth and Evan, after seeing how Michael was turning out William decided to be more hands on in controlling them.

He pushed Elizabeth into becoming a pageant star as a child, forcing her to take dance and acting and all of the artsy things he hadn't been allowed to as a young boy, punishing her whenever she expressed her own true intrests, despite how much he mourned her later on he never even really knew Elizabeth, due to him no one did.

He isolated Evan from the rest of the family and tried to push him into behaving how he did as a child using the Fredbear plush to give commands and try to break him (to be pit back together better), unfortunately for William Evan's stress response nor response to thinking his family hated him was the same as Williams.

But despite his treatment of his family he made them all keep up the act of being happy even around the actually happy Henry.

Then Evan died, Willi drove himself, the boy and Michael to the hospital as his wife got into a streaming match with Henry, begging for a answer to why a animatronic could even bite down (no one noticed Elizabeth, just staring at the blood.)

This is when Williams whole thing of pretending to be a whole other person thing sorta failed him as at that point he resented Henry, was so jealous and had so much hate for how happy Henry was in contrast with his miserable life that he was driven to kill.

He wanted to make Henry hurt as badly as he was, so he took one of Henry's children and then he took more childrens lives, made everyday a nightmare for the both of them as Henry would have to see other heartbroken parents and have that tragedy stain their dream.

Soon enough he did notice remetent and did decide to study it, though unlike in canon he had no goals of immortality, he was more simply curious.

But it still took Elizabeth's life, and after that it was becoming clear he was tied to the issues of Freddy's.

So he faked his death, his wife was finally free of him and did her best to care for Michael meanwhile William continued to be a issue for Henry/Freddy's.

To be continued

#William Afton {I will poison all your happy thoughts} {Headcanons & Meta}#Child abuse #religion #religious abuse #Physical abuse #Animal abuse #Animal death #Homophobia #Suicidal ideation #Unhealthy relationships #Relationship abuse

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love-pyramus · 2 years

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Max Carlyle

Yuhhhh- so Max is a dumb little sorcerer who me and Clo got attached to, so here’s his funky little story. Except like. There’s death and suffering.

@logic-cat @joshkatz @weaselweaselweasel

Max’s heart was nearly beating out of his chest as he walked up the steps to the house. Did his parents even live here anymore? Did they still remember him? Would they still love him, would they still want to care for him after all these years?

After all, he was no longer that little eight year old who needed help going down the porch steps, no. Now he was a was 17, quiet, and much too aware of the eyes from across the street that felt like they were burning into him.

Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves, Max knocked on the door. He remembered that sound.

He remembered it from the night everything had happened.

He had been so young, a dog stuffed animal held in one hand as he trudged around after dinner. Kaden, someone like him, was staying with him and his parents. Kadens magic was much more advanced, and though he used it very little, Max loved watching it when he did in the late of night.

That night, no magic had been used. Max had been too tired after dinner, he simply wanted to go to sleep. He was curled up in bed, his stuffed animal held tight in his hands, when there was knocking on the door. It had been quiet at first, before getting louder when the door wasn’t opened.

“Mom-?” Max called, confused and bleary eyed. Kaden ran into his room, shutting the door and beginning to barricade it. “Hurry Max- we’ve gotta go, c’mon-”

“No! Mom! Mom-!”

Thinking back on that night years later, Max realized they’d have been safe, Kaden would probably still be alive, if he hadn’t started screaming for his mom. He still couldn’t get that thought to leave.

But instead of his mom coming to the door, it was kicked down by a man in a dark purple cloak, and a blast of Kadens magic pushed the man back. “Max!”

Max had begun screaming and crying, he wanted his mom, he wanted his dad. He was tired, he wanted to sleep and to be safe. Not this.

His wails only got louder as rough hands grabbed him, pulling him out of his bed, and in his panic, he had dropped his dog. Oh, how he had wished he’d held onto it tighter.

He heard Kaden shout, and saw a red stain spread across his shirt as they were both dragged out of the house.

“Mom! Mom!” Max’s screams were loud, his eyes were closed as he was thrashing in the strange mans arms.

His mom had watched, he figured in later years. His mom had watched as he was taken away, probably with no other choice. Hazy memories provided him with what he hoped was his dads voice, yelling at people, faintly picking up the names of the couple across the street.

He never saw Kaden again.

And it had been nine years. Nine years trapped in the cold dungeons, rare food and rare water. His magic only being used when the king allowed, and even then, it was only used to hurt.

His magic was being used to hurt. That thought had hurt him. He could hear the screams of the rebellion leader, he’d heard about her. The ever strong Bella Ramirez. The woman who would save them.

And now here he was. Listening to her scream as his magic kept the shackles in place. Watching her magic be torn from her, her blood spill over the floor. So when told to stop by a man who looked like how Kaden had, he did. He dropped the magic, curled up on the floor, and went silent.

‘Don’t speak’ he thought to himself. ‘Don't make a noise when he kills you. Let them save her so she can save them.’

But then there was a warm hand on his shoulder, and a quiet “follow us.”

Looking up, there was a short blonde girl with her hand outstretched, and against his better judgement, he took it.

The dungeons were silent as he walked out, people giving him encouraging nods or smiles. And for the first time in years, he walked out to the night sky.

The rebellion had been won. That’s all he knew. He hadn’t strayed from one of the people he’d befriended, and was putting all his focus onto not fucking up this healing spell, come on, please-

He breathed a sigh of relief as the fighting around him seemed to stop, and the wound in his friends side healed. He’d have to go and find others to heal before finding his way home. As he looked up, the crowd around him started cheering. His friend looked up and gave a quiet whisper of “holy shit…they actually did it.”

Following his friends gaze, his eyes went wide as he saw Bella standing on one of the balconies, the kings crown held in her hand as she raised it up, as if asking the gods to take it from her.

So now he was walking up the steps to his house, and giving three gentle knocks on the door. The woman who opened it had a familiar face, though older than he had remembered, with more lines around her eyes and the corners of her mouth, and a few gray hairs beginning to peek out.

But it was her. It was his mom.

Before he could even speak, the woman in front of him gave a whisper of “Max..?”

At his nods, she pulled him into a tight hugs, beginning to shake as sobs wracked her body. Max began to cry as well, resting his head on her shoulder as he did so. The embrace was warm and familiar, and oh, it felt so nice after so long without it. The eyes from across the street still burned, but he didn’t mind.

For the first time in a long time, Max felt safe.

#Max Carlyle #Beyond The Sunrise

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