#manages to tear open his chest while fighting back and finds nothing inside | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fortheloveofwonderland · 4 months

Text

Darkness Declares Glory | Chapter 19 | S.R

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Summary - Luke Alvez wakes in the middle of the night to find his worst fears materialised on his doorstep. While Spencer fights for his life, Luke takes a trip to PIW.

Pairing - Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | eventual happy ending.

Warnings - drug use, overdose, relapse, hospitalisation, comas, attempted suicide, suicide note, heavy angst, seizures, tears, scared Luke, swearing.

WC - 4.9k

Chapter 19 - Away From the Sun

Luke Alvez rubbed his eyes with his palms, trying to shush Roxy’s barking as he padded out of the bedroom half asleep.

“It’s ok, girl.” He croaked, patting her head. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

The nothing he referred to had been a loud crashing sound coming from directly outside his front door. It was nearly two am and the sound had woken him up, he’d always been a light sleeper. Roxy was spinning in circles, running back and forth from Luke to the door while Luke slowly ambled across the room.

He reached the door but had been too tired to think to grab his weapon so instead of opening it he peeked through the peephole. The fisheye lens made it hard to distinguish what he was seeing and his foggy, sleepy brain didn’t help. There was what appeared to be a human shaped something on the floor in front of his door, slumped back against the wood.

But as he blinked a few times it was the mess of curls that really caused him alarm.

He suddenly threw open the door, heart racing heavily against his chest. The body that had been using the door to sit up, flopped to the floor in his doorway.

“Spencer?” He scrambled to grab the man’s arms and helped him to his feet.

Spencer was somewhat of a dead weight but Luke managed to get him up right. The younger man blinked at him, an eerie smile on his lips.

“Luke.” He breathed.

Roxy tried to nuzzle against Spencer as Luke got him inside and closed the door so he shooed her away.

“Bed girl.” He told her sternly and she huffed but did as she was told. “What are you doing here?”

Spencer blinked a few more times, leaning his body against the now closed door as though he physically could hold himself up.

“Didn’t know where else to go. Didn’t wanna go home.” He slurred his words.

“Why aren’t you at PIW?”

Spencer shrugged, the effort of which caused him to wobble.

“Assholes wouldn’t let me and Y/N be together. They begrudged us for having sex.” He giggled, a sound Luke had never heard from Spencer’s lips. “Left. Just left. Assholes pissed me off.”

The fear that consumed Luke at that moment was like nothing he’d ever felt before. He’d been in war zones, he’d chased down some of the worst criminals this world had ever seen but it was nothing compared to the terror he felt now.

Spencer’s pupils were non-existent, his shirt was undone half way down his chest and stained with dirt. His left sleeve was rolled up to his bicep and Luke’s stomach turned at the fresh, pulsing needle mark on the crook of his arm.

“Spencer, what have you taken?” It was a stupid question, but he still needed to check.

Spencer fished in his pants pocket and pulled out a glass vial. He handed it to Luke without a fight. As he handed it over, Luke noticed his fingernails had a blue tint to them. When he looked back at his face, he realised now that Spencer’s lips were the same blue shade. A sheen of sweat coated his skin and suddenly his breathing started to become shallow.

He was overdosing. He was overdosing right in front of Luke’s eyes. And if he thought he was scared before it had nothing on how he felt now. His heart beat so hard against his chest it made him feel sick, but he had to focus on Spencer, had to keep himself centred on the younger man.

“Spence, I need to know how much you’ve taken.”

Spencer shrugged again, a dreamy smile gracing his lips as he slid down the door and landed on the floor with a thud. He fell to his side, nuzzling his face into the carpet. Luke dropped to his knees next to him.

Spencer looked at him, eyes glazed over so Luke wasn’t even sure he was looking at him really. He reached out and pressed two fingers to the back of Luke’s hand. Spencer’s skin was frozen.

“Didn’t want to die alone.” He croaked, breathing getting even shallower. “Don’t let me die alone.”

And then suddenly he started convulsing, his muscles spasming and his eyes rolling back in his head. Luke gasped loudly, rolling him onto his back.

“Jesus Christ.” He started to panic watching the man seizing on his floor. “Fuck!”

He leapt to his feet and ran as fast as he could back through to his bedroom where he found his cellphone and speedily dialled nine-one-one. Whilst on the phone to the operator he grabbed something from his bathroom cabinet and quickly hurried back to Spencer’s side.

“You have to hurry, please. He’s going to die if you don’t hurry!” Was the last thing Luke said before he hung up and tossed the phone aside.

Dropping back to his knees next to Spencer he ripped open the packet of the item he’d grabbed from the bathroom. After the night Luke had seen Spencer in the hospital with the self-inflicted stab wound, and explaining it all to Lisa, she’d written the whole team scripts for naloxone.

Naloxone was known specifically for its use to reduce and potentially reverse the effects of opioid overdose. She’d insisted they all carried a shot just in case they should ever need it. He’d hoped he never would.

He gripped Spencer’s wrist and held his left arm as still as possible while Spencer still writhed on the floor. He uncapped the needle with his teeth, spitting the cap out somewhere across the room. Spencer’s veins weren’t hard to miss given his previous activities and it allowed Luke to quickly pierce the skin and inject the possibly life saving drug into his vein.

The effects of naloxone, Lisa had told him, can begin within two minutes when administered intravenously. It can block the effects of opioids for thirty to ninety minutes. He may just have enough time. He couldn’t let Spencer die here like this, not on his watch.

He sat back on his haunches while Spencer’s limbs slowly stopped flying around. His breathing had all but stopped and he had to hope the naloxone would kick in soon. But regardless, he couldn’t sit back and do nothing.

He knelt over Spencer’s body and started chest compressions, hopefully enough to keep the younger man alive until the drug kicked in. He knew more about heroin overdoses than he cared to, he’d read countless articles online after he’d found Spencer at the hospital that night.

Heroin prevents the medulla in the brain from making you breathe when oxygen levels fall and carbon dioxide levels rise in your blood, causing respiratory depression. Overdoses occur more easily in people who have relapsed because they’ve lost their tolerance.

He continued the chest compressions, counting in his head as he did so. Everything after that was a blur.

The paramedics arrived and had to physically pull Luke off of Spencer so they could get to him. He vaguely remembered telling them about the naloxone, following them downstairs and jumping in the back of the ambulance.

The drive to the hospital seemed to simultaneously last a lifetime and only a few minutes all at once. It was only when he jumped out of the back into the cold night outside the hospital emergency department that it occurred to Luke he was only wearing his boxers and a t-shirt.

Roxy is home alone. Need to call the sitter. Need some clothes. Someone needs to bring me clothes.

Need to call Emily.

He barely remembered the conversation that took place when he called his unit chief, and had no concept of how much time passed before she arrived at the hospital. He must have mentioned his lack of clothes as she brought some for him. By the time he dressed the rest of the team had now joined them to await their friend's fate, to see if Luke had done enough to save Spencer’s life.

Luke didn’t speak again for several hours, despite his team's attempts to get him to talk. He just kept playing everything over in his head on a loop, trying to make sense of it. Emily sat vigil at his side and when he finally did speak, his voice was haggard and croaky.

“Didn’t want to die alone. Don’t let me die alone.” He mumbled, not looking at her but staring at a spot on the far wall.

“What?” Emily questioned softly.

“That's what he said to me.” A tear crept from Luke’s eye. “He knew he was dying and he chose to be with me at the end.”

“He’s not going to die.” Tara, who was apparently on his other side, spoke. “He will not die.”

Luke hoped that was true, he needed it to be true. But he had a sinking feeling in his gut that this time Spencer had gone too far, that there was no coming back from it this time.

And if he died, Luke would spend the rest of his life blaming himself.

***

It was the longest night of any of their lives. The minutes stretched into hours, hours felt like they encompassed days. Not knowing was the hardest part, being kept in the dark about Spencer’s condition. The team got pulled away on a case, much to all of their frustrations but Luke, understandably, refused to leave. Emily allowed him to stay behind while the rest of them flew out to Ohio.

Garcia left to get her laptop before rejoining Luke at the hospital but he barely noticed her presence. He was lost in his own little world that started and ended with the possibility of Spencer dying.

Hours later a doctor finally approached them and Luke instantly snapped out of his state and jumped to his feet, heart racing erratically. Garcia had stepped out to speak to the team about something she’d found pertaining to the case so Luke was alone again.

“How is he? Is he ok?” Luke spoke frantically, trying to read the doctor's expression and failing.

“He’s stable for now. But he’s yet to regain consciousness. He’s fallen into a coma but we have no way to know when he will wake up, if he ever does. The naloxone you administered might have saved his life, Mister Alvez. If he doesn’t wake up, it’s not your fault. You did everything you could, but with his history of drug abuse, there really is no telling if he’ll make it through this or if his body has simply had too much.”

“Can I see him?” Luke asked, not particularly wanting to dwell on the doctor's words.

“Of course, follow me.” The doctor motioned towards the door and Luke followed silently.

He tried not to let himself think about what awaited him in Spencer’s hospital room, he’d seen him in that state not so long ago and he dreaded having to witness it again. So he pushed it down and didn’t let himself consider it.

The doctor showed him to Spencer’s room and left him alone soon after. Luke closed his eyes as he gripped the door handle, his stomach turning and lurching as he tried to control his breathing.

When he opened the door, the scene was much the same as it had been a few months ago when Emily had called them to tell them Spencer had overdosed. His eyes were closed, an IV drip was attached to his arm and machines beeped and whirred around him.

His skin was almost matching in colour to the white bedsheets, his hair lay lifelessly across the pillow. He looked peaceful, which was at least something. But Luke had hoped he’d never have to see his friend in this position again.

“Goddammit, Reid.” Luke sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he came closer to the bed.

The horrible reality set in that this man wanted to die more than anything else in the world. The kindest thing to do would be just put him out of his misery, a mercy killing of sorts. At least then he might finally be able to say goodbye to his demons. But of course Luke would rather Spencer wake up and defeat them rather than running from them.

At some point as he stared at Spencer’s still form, tears started to silently roll down his cheeks. Each time he’d had to witness one of his friends in trouble, it chipped a little away from him. And as of late that had happened so much Luke was surprised there was anything left of him.

From seeing Spencer in prison to almost losing Emily at the hands of Mr Scratch, Phil’s death, Lisa leaving him and then Spencer’s multiple attempts on his own life; it weighed heavily on the usually unflappable Luke Alvez. If Spencer died, he knew he wouldn’t recover from that.

He looked away from Spencer, the noise from the machines letting him know that at least for now he was still alive. On the chair sat a clear plastic bag with Spencer clothes and belongings inside and Luke picked it up so he could slide into the chair.

He rested the bag on his lap, drumming his fingers against it for a few moments before curiosity got the better of him and he emptied the contents from the bag. He bypassed his slacks, creased shirt and old converse, discarding them on the floor.

The other items included a couple of hundred dollar bills, an empty vial of dilaudid, his apartment keys, a slightly worn purple and gold woven bracelet and a crinkled envelope.

Luke turned the envelope over in his hands and his heart skipped a beat seeing the one word written on the front in Spencer’s chicken scratch handwriting. One word. One name.

Luke.

He looked up from the envelope to Spencer and back again before he hurriedly ripped the seal on the envelope and pulled out the sheet of legal paper inside. His mouth was bone dry, his hands trembling a little as he tried to unfold the paper. More tears escaped his eyes as he read the letter in his head.

Luke,

I’m sorry I failed you, I've failed all of you. I really wanted to get clean, for a time I did anyway. For a small window I really wanted to sort my life out. But as Gideon once told me, some people are beyond saving. And I fear I became one of them.

If you’re reading this letter, you’re probably being handed it by a hospital worker and I am probably already dead. I’m sorry I put this on you, I’m sorry you had to be the one. But truthfully even though we’ve not known each other all that long, you’re the one person I wanted to be with at the end.

I’m sorry for that, I’m sorry that you’ll have to live with that. But if it helps at all, I’m sure having you there as I take my final breaths will comfort me even if it doesn’t do the same to you.

I’m sorry I wasn’t strong enough for this world.

Luke paused to wipe his eyes as his tears started to hinder his vision. He rubbed them heavily with his palms, a stifled sob leaving his throat before he forced himself to continue.

If by some stroke of luck I survive this, Luke I need you to do something for me. I need you to have me committed. Like really committed, padded cell committed. I can’t do it myself, I’ll back out. I need you to do that for me, to save me from myself. Please. I need your help.

I will fight you on it, I’m sure of it, but I need you to do this. No matter what I say, it’s the best place for me right now. I know you’ll help me, I know you’ll do this for me without getting overly invested like JJ or Penelope or even Emily. You’re the only one I can trust to help me.

I apologise in advance how much I will try to fight you on it but deep down I know it’s where I need to be. The only way I’m ever likely to finally beat this is if I’m locked away from temptation and out of harm's way.

If I survive this. But truthfully I hope that I don’t. I’m sick of it all, you know? I’m just sick and I’m tired. Death has to offer some kind of relief. I don’t believe in the afterlife as you know, but honestly I’m just looking forward to the peace and quiet that death will bring. I can’t go on like this anymore, and I think somewhere inside of you, you’ll understand that.

Tell my mom I love her and that I always will, even in death that doesn’t change. Give Y/N her bracelet back for me, but I think it would be best if she doesn’t know the truth. She’s struggling with her own sobriety and I don’t want to be the reason behind her downfall.

Give Henry and Michael a hug goodbye from me and tell the team not to blame themselves. Don’t blame yourself either, whatever you do, don’t blame yourself.

My death is not on your head. I just wasn’t strong enough to handle all the blows that have been dealt to me. I’m sorry it had to be you. I think we grew close pretty quickly and you became one of my best friends, Luke. There wasn’t anyone else I wanted by my side at the end.

I’m really not sure how to end this and in truth I still have so much more to say. But I don’t want to take up anymore of anyone’s time, I’ve already burdened you all so much.

Oscar Wilde wrote - “Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grass waving above one’s head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forget life, to be at peace.”

I so want to be at peace,

Spencer W. Reid

The smudges on the page indicated Spencer had been crying as he’d written it and fresh tears from Luke’s eyes joined the dried ones. Luke read and reread the letter several times, soaking in each word and committing them to memory.

His heart ached for his friend. His heart shattered at the evidence before him of Spencer’s fractured state of mind. Maybe death would be the better option for him, to finally be at peace.

Garcia found him soon after and he quickly tucked the letter away in his pocket, not quite ready to share it with anyone else just yet. It wouldn’t help anyone else to read it, it would only upset them. For now they all just needed to focus on Spencer and pray he would make it through this.

And if he didn’t, then maybe Luke would rethink sharing his last words with the team.

***

It was over a week since Spencer had abruptly left PIW and you’d missed him for every single second of that time. It was strange how you’d found yourself so bound to a man you barely knew, how much his absence had affected you.

You carried his chip around in your pocket and now you sat in your bed twirling it over in your palm. You’d spent one night together in a drug fuelled sexual frenzy in which you’d imprinted on him. Clearly he’d also had the same impression on you.

When he approached you for the first time in the rose garden there was something hauntingly familiar about him, as though you’d met in some kind of past life and your souls had been entwined ever since.

You’d carried a hazy memory of the night you spent together somewhere deep in your subconscious and it was only when he’d made love to you in the garden that it dislodged itself and floated to the surface. You must have left a piece of your heart tangled between his bedsheets that night without your knowledge.

But you had to stick by your convictions. No matter how much your heart yearned for him, your rehabilitation had to be your focus. Being with a man who was tied to that time of your life would do you no good. He was an addict just like you and addicts would only facilitate the addictive behaviour in each other. But you couldn’t stop thinking about him which couldn’t be good for you either. It really was a catch twenty two.

Although the chances were you’d never see him again, he’d left the institute and you had no way to track him down once you finished your stay here. All you had left of him was his one year sober chip. And in turn he still had your bracelet.

You were still toying with the chip when there was a soft knock at your door. You closed your palm around it just as it opened and your doctor, Doctor Yang strolled in.

“You have a visitor. I told them to leave seeing as you don’t have an approved visitor list but they are being incredibly stubborn, flashing an FBI badge and refusing to leave.” She sighed a little as she spoke. “You don’t have to see them but I’m not sure they’re going to leave if you don’t.”

Your eyebrows knitted together. FBI badge? No, it couldn’t be Spencer, surely he wouldn’t have actively come back? But what if he had? What if he’d come back for you?

You suddenly jumped up from the bed, pocketing the chip and nodded at Doctor Yang.

“I’ll see them.” You insisted, subtly trying to smooth down your hair.

“Thank you.” Yang gave you a relieved smile. “He's in the day room.”

You followed her hurriedly from the room, heart racing with anticipation. If Spencer had come back for you, you had no doubt that you would throw yourself into his arms and tell him to never leave you again. You’d tell him you loved him, despite yourself you really did. You’d beg him to hold you forever.

You rounded the corner and stepped into the day room, eyes flitting around the room in desperation to find his face. But none of the people in the room resembled Spencer.

A man with dark hair and kind eyes was smiling at you from the table by the window, motioning you over. You frowned at him as you took a few tentative steps across the room towards him.

When you reached him, he stood up and held out a hand for you to shake. You took a few seconds of caution before complying and shaking his hand. It was large and strong, albeit slightly calloused.

“Y/N?” He said your name and you nodded as you both slid into chairs either side of the table. “I’m SSA Luke Alvez. I’m a friend of Spencer Reid.”

Your heart immediately plummeted into your stomach, sure there could only be one reason a friend of Spencer would visit you. You stuffed your hand into your pocket and clutched the chip for dear life. You averted your gaze to the table, unable to look at this man when you spoke.

“He’s dead isn’t he?” You croaked, feeling the tears already working their way to your eyes. You heard SSA Luke Alvez sigh.

“He, uh, overdosed. But he’s not dead. He’s in a coma, but he’s still alive.”

Your eyes shot up and met his. They were a deep, soothing brown and you felt comforted just looking into them.

“He’s alive.” You swallowed.

“Yeah, I mean he’s in pretty bad shape, doctors don’t know exactly if he will wake up or not. But yeah.” Luke nodded slowly. “He wrote me a letter, I think it was supposed to be a, uh, suicide note.”

You closed your eyes and grinded your teeth furiously, gripping the chip so tightly your nails dug into your palm.

“Is it my fault?” You whispered, keeping your eyes screwed tightly shut.

“No.” Luke mumbled and then you felt his hand on your arm. You opened your eyes and looked at him again. “No one is to blame, Y/N. He's a manic depressive with a drug problem. He specifically asked me in the letter not to tell you, he was worried it would impede your recovery.”

“Yet, here you are.” You narrowed your eyes on him, removing your arm from beneath his hand.

“Here I am.” He smiled sadly. “I thought you’d want to know, I guess. If it were me I’d want to know.”

“What did he tell you about me?” You surprised Luke with your words, you could tell by the way his eyebrows furrowed.

“I uh, I’m not sure how to answer that.”

“Did he tell you he’d manufactured a whole relationship with me in his head? He thought I was his ex-girlfriend and that I worked for the FBI.”

“Yeah.” Luke rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. “When he woke up here he kept asking us about you and we had no idea who you were. When he figured out it had all been in his head, he was a complete wreck. I think coming to terms with that was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. I don’t exactly know what the real story was.”

“I’m still piecing everything together myself.” You removed your hand from your pocket and brought the chip out with it. “At some point we met while we were both high. I guess we hooked up and then went our separate ways. It wasn’t unusual for either of us I don’t think, it certainly wasn’t for me. But what was strange is the way I held onto that memory even without realising it. He stuck with me. I think he always will.”

“I think his false recollections of you were the only thing keeping him going. And when he realised they weren’t real, he found you again. I think in some kind of weird way you’re like his guardian angel.” Luke shrugged.

“I’m a drug addict who slept around with a bunch of guys while I was high.” Your lip twitched at the corner.

“I did say it was in a weird way.” Luke laughed lightly.

“You’re not here to get me to come see him are you? Because if you asked me to, I would without hesitation. But I know that if I do see him it will do me more harm than good right now.” You rolled the chip in your hand.

“No, I wouldn't ask you to do that.” Luke glanced at the chip, instantly knowing what it was, before looking back into your eyes. “I just thought you’d want to know.”

“Thanks.” You quickly pocketed the chip again. “I did want to know and I also didn’t want to know. But thanks.”

“You’re welcome I guess.” Luke gave you a tight lipped smile.

“I love him, you know?” You whispered, averting your gaze back to the table top. “Which is such a fucking weird thing to admit seeing as I barely know him. But I do. I love him with my entire being and I think in some kind of twisted way we’re kindred spirits. But two addicts would only ever pull each other down.”

Luke sighed, pushing his chair back and getting to his feet. He didn’t want to stay away from the hospital for too long in case something happened to Spencer. You looked up at him as he stood and he saw the tears behind your eyes.

“I know for certain that he feels the same way about you. And I think deep down he would probably agree with you.”

You stood up and smiled sadly at Luke. There was something about him that relaxed you, that made you feel safe.

“I uh, don’t get many visitors.” You wrapped your arms around yourself. “I mean, any really. So uh, if you ever wanted to come back to tell me how Spencer is doing or whatever…I wouldn’t hate it.”

“Any friend of Spencer’s is a friend of mine.” Luke smiled at you and held his hand out to shake yours again.

It was hard to say who was more surprised when you bypassed his hand shake and threw yourself into his arms.

Luke hesitated for a moment before cautiously wrapping his arms around you as you nuzzled against his chest. He felt your tears seeping into the fabric of his shirt. You held him so tightly as though you were afraid he might disappear. His heart ached for you, being in here with no kind of support system.

But Luke decided he would take on the responsibility. You clearly meant the world to Spencer and maybe by comforting you it would help ease Spencer’s troubles too.

The hug lasted several minutes and Luke allowed you to cry all your tears against his chest. When you finally pulled back you wiped your eyes on the back of your hand.

“Sorry,” you swallowed. “That was embarrassing.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Luke shot you a smile. “What are friends for?”

You couldn’t help but smile at the sentiment as Luke offered you a wave before turning on his heels and heading towards the door. You watched him go, snaking your arms back around your waist. Luke seemed like a good guy, and you so sorely needed people in your corner right now.

And who knows, maybe one day you’d be strong enough to see Spencer again. If he didn’t kill himself by then.

@tiredmilky @thatsonezesty13 @1mechanicalalligator @elle-28 @academiareid @andiebeaword @dreatine @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @thebloomingeagle

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem! reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction

58 notes · View notes

holyfuckthisfishcandrive · 5 months

Text

For Zolu Week hosted by @zoluevents Day 1: Thriller Bark What if?

Nothing happened at Thriller Bark once they defeated Moria. Nothing at all.

But when they woke up, while Luffy discovered that he was doing surprisingly well, Sanji freaked out.

"Where is he?" he cursed, stumbled to his feet and ran. Luffy looked around. Zoro was missing. The area looked a lot more wrecked than he remembered.

"What happened?"

Usopp's voice shakes as he speaks of a man with paws, an order to take their heads and and explosion in his palm. The others nod. None of them know what happened after though. They don't have time to theorize before Sanji's voice cuts through the air, yelling for Chopper and - Luffy is no stranger to blood. He's grown up fighting tigers in the jungle, getting beaten and getting up again. He's only been a pirate for a couple months but he's seen people - and people includes himself, if he's honest - get stabbed, impaled, cut open, electrocuted - Many things. People can bleed a whole lot. And even with a lot blood outside of their bodies they can live.

However, Luffy doesn't think he's ever seen someone bathe in blood. Because that's what it looks like Zoro has done. It dyed his hair, coated his skin, dripping and hardening. It was impossible to tell where it was coming from. Zoro hung over Sanji's shoulder like a dead weight. Chopper scrambled over, yelling at them to get his medical supplies, Franky took Zoro from Sanji, who immediately slumped onto the rubble, too exhausted to keep moving. Lola and her crew were celebrating. They stood in the sun and laughed and cried, feeling the sun on their skin for the first time in ages.

The party was wonderful. If Luffy blocked out that neither Zoro nor Chopper were there, because Zoro wasn't waking up and Chopper was performing surgery. At some point he left to the quiet room they had turned into a makeshift hospital. He saw Chopper leaning over Zoro, tools and equipment scattered around him. He saw a lot of red. The blood bags that were trying to pump more back into Zoro. Luffy stepped into the room, circling around to sit across from Chopper. Zoro's chest was open. Skin held in place by clasps. Luffy has butchered animals but he'd never looked at anything's organs like this. The movement, how wet all of it was. Squishy. Luffy took Zoro's hand and watched Chopper stitch him up, put him back together from the inside out. Various people stopped by at some point or other but Luffy barely registered them. His focus was only on Zoro. On the wounds that didn't make any sense. It still took him too long to realise why the room suddenly seemed far too quiet. Chopper was already panicking by the time he did. As Chopper tried to get Zoro to breathe again, Luffy readjusted his grip around Zoro's wrist. He knew where to find Zoro's pulse. He'd felt it first in that little dinghy, late at night, and many more times since then. He couldn't find it.

"Zoro?" Luffy whispered. "Zoro, wake up." He could barely hear himself over Chopper counting chest compressions, pressing onto Zoro's ribcage with so much force the bones creaked. "You need to wake up."

Five minutes.

It took five minutes for Zoro's heart to start beating again. Weak, barely there under Luffy's thumb. But he was alive. Chopper sobbed. Luffy managed to tear his eyes from Zoro's pale face to Chopper, crying and exhausted.

"I don't-," Chopper managed, cut himself off and sniffed. "I don't know what to do! He wasn't breathing! What if-? I don't know if I can fix this!" He didn't meet Luffy's eyes.

"You have to."

It took five days for Zoro to wake up. On the seventh they left Thriller Bark behind. When Luffy had confronted Sanji a second time, he'd gotten all cagy and claimed that it wasn't his story to tell, so Luffy stuck by Zoro's side, hoping that he would talk. He didn't.

And then everything came crashing down.

It took several years for Luffy to think about Thriller Bark again.

It was a humid night, quiet, though Nami had predicted a storm by morning. Everytime Luffy closed his eyes he saw Ace. Heard his laboured breathing in the silence, felt his blood on his hands, smelt his burnt flesh - He stumbled out of the bunk and onto the deck, drinking in the night air. His eyes landed on the crows nest. There was a low light still burning. Who's night shift was it even?

Without caring about actually remembering Luffy climbed up.

"Captain," Zoro greeted when he made it up.

Luffy stumbled over to him and let himself fall into Zoro's arms. Any of the crew would have held him, but he was glad that it was Zoro. Zoro didn't ask any questions. He was just there, warm and solid and breathing. Luffy closed his eyes and buried his face in Zoro's shoulder.

He wasn't sure how long they sat there before the world felt real again. Before Ace was back to being that ache in his chest, but no longer cutting off his air.

"Zoro?" Luffy broke the silence. He didn't wait for a response. He knew Zoro was listening. "Promise me you'll never try to die for me."

The waves crashed against the Sunny's hull deep below and now that he was fully aware of his surroundings again Luffy could feel each of his nakama sleeping soundly.

"I'm sorry," Zoro said. "But that's one thing I can't do."

Luffy pushed away from him.

"Promise me!"

"I can't."

"You have to! Promise me you'll let me die if it means you live!"

"I'd never."

"Then it's an order!" Luffy burst out. The ache grew bigger again. "Captain's order! You're not allowed to die for me!" He jabbed his finger in Zoro's chest.

"I'd rather mutiny. Luffy, you don't know what you're asking of me-!"

"Yes, I do!"

Zoro shook his head sharply.

"You can't die for me! You need to become the world's greatest swordsman still!"

"You need to become the Pirate King!"

"If I die then maybe I just wasn't good enough! I don't care!"

"If you die than none of this matters anymore! It's not that simple anymore! You need to become the Pirate King. And I'm going to be by your side when you do. I'll be your swordsman, the best in the world. I'm going to get you to the end of the Grand Line, whatever it takes! Because if I can't do that that defeating Mihawk won't mean anything. What kind of swordsman would I be if I can't even protect my own captain!"

For a long moment the only sounds were the waves again as they stared at each other.

"You… You tried to," Luffy realized. "You tried to die for me."

Zoro nodded ever so slightly.

"When? Where?" Luffy demanded.

"Do you remember Thriller Bark?"

Oh.

Suddenly he felt ill.

"Zoro. What happened when Kuma came?"

In his mind's eye he saw blood, blood, blood, organs behind cracked ribs, busted knuckles - such an odd injury for a swordsman -

And Zoro, never one to lie to his captain, spoke of a bomb, an offer, a self sacrifice he'd cut off and a bubble of hurt.

"You died," Luffy whispered. He thought of the stillness under his thumb, Chopper's tears and desperation -

"I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Luffy shook his head.

"Captain's order. You're not allowed to die before I do. You're just not. You can't."

#ZoLuWeek2023 #zolu #luzo #my writing #the formatting got a little messed up for some reason #but like.... thriller bark huh #also managed to miss the tense jump but... im not fixing that

67 notes · View notes

cheegu3 · 6 days

Note

Heloo may I request a enhypen reaction when y/n killed themselves and left a note saying "this is all your fault"

Sorry if this makes you uncomfy

oh not at all, I was only on the fence about writing this bc idk if talking about this topic is allowed on tumblr, but I hope u didn’t feel a lot of anxiety when sending in this ask 😭 it is a little short so sorry abt that :c some of the notes are a bit different too to switch it up!

tw / trigger warning: yandere, dark themes, depression, suicide, self-harm, sad asf, cursing, violence, blood, suicide-note, vomiting, gun

pls do not read if this triggers or offends you or if you're struggling !!

Yandere!Enhypen - reaction to you unaliving yourself

Jungwon

He didn't know how to react when he found you dead. No tears fell down his face as he looked for a pulse, clutching your cold hand in his.

When he spotted a note lying a few meters away, a heavy sigh left his lips and he gave you a pained look.

' This is all because of you. If only you'd treated me like a normal boyfriend would, maybe we could've been soulmates. I hope you feel pain for the rest of your life. '

The more Jungwon stared at the note, blaming him for all of your pain and problems; the more he felt like he had to fight to hold back the tears that were itching to fall.

At the same time, he found a strange anger bubbling inside of him. Not only did you - the love of his life, leave him in this way but you had to wish him pain in your last breath too?

He became blinded by anger. The hand that was holding the note clenched and the paper crumbled under it.

He will try to stay alive just to spite you. Trying his best to move on and get happy, maybe fall in love again and find a family just so he could get his revenge; as you watched from above and realized you meant nothing to him.

But Jungwon never got over you, not really.

Heeseung

He got angry immediately, cussing you out and almost getting the urge to hit you. Instead, he took his anger out on a mirror and felt some sense of relief when he started to bleed.

He blamed himself of course. He had been wrong about how you were feeling, even though he often prided himself on having been able to read you like an open book.

He didn't notice your spark slowly dying out; the more he got angry the more he got jealous, and then the more you were punished for the smallest things.

It got to a point where you couldn't even live in the moment and enjoy the short times when he was a sweet boyfriend again, because you were always scared of what would tick him off a few seconds later.

' I'm sorry, Hee. I was so tired of fighting. I love you,

y/n. '

His vision blurred as tears filled his eyes. He could only manage to hold them back for a few seconds before he doubled over and sobbed loudly.

The room filled with loud wails of pain that would even make angels cry. Anyone that heard it would know just how much he loved you.

Heeseung clutched his chest right where his aching heart felt like it was being ripped out of him. '' I'm sorry, I'm so sorry baby, '' he kept whispering until he was tired of crying for hours and it turned into shaky murmurs.

He fell asleep, hoping it would be eternal, with your body in his arms; dried tears on his cheeks being replaced by new ones, as even in his sleep he couldn't escape seeing his lover.

Jay

It was the worst phone call he had ever received. He didn't know how to react after it ended, only staring blankly into the distance as his thoughts went crazy.

He needed to see you with his own eyes to believe it so he rushed home. His stomach sank when he spotted the ambulance. Quickly he pushed through the people to get to you.

But when he reached you and saw your lifeless body on the stretcher, he didn't know what to do yet again. A stupid voice inside him told him he should keep his cool in front of all the spectators, even while the love of his life lay dead in front of him.

Did he want to cry, scream, or hold you?

He lowered his eyes to get the image of you like that out of his head. Still in shock, he went inside, locked the doors, and shut the windows' blinds.

He stayed like that for days; barely eating, seeing the sun, or getting out of bed. No matter how bad his depression got and how the light at the end of the tunnel seemed to get further and further away, he still refused to cry.

There was a reason. Your note.

He had seen it while cleaning his house that day he got home. Not wanting to let his thoughts get to him, he started sterilizing and cleaning the whole house. When he then got to the bedroom, a small green note poked out underneath the bed.

He crouched and was about to throw it away until he turned it over and read the first and only line.

' this is all your fault '

And after that, he'd never be the same man again. Most days he wondered if he was even human anymore, he didn't feel anything.

Jake

'' Y/n! I'm home. ''

Jake's face scrunched up as he pouted when you didn't come running to him like usual. Something felt wrong, a bad feeling brewed in his stomach, growing in size the more he moved around in his apartment.

He went further in, peeking around the corners but not calling out for you anymore. It felt better to explain the bad feeling by thinking you were doing something you weren't supposed to, rather than you being hurt; so he moved quietly so he could catch you in the act.

Inside the office, you were nowhere to be found. He guessed you had snuck in there to write to your loved ones or maybe snoop through his stuff. Defeatedly he sighed and moved on, eyes getting caught by the door to the bedroom being slightly open.

Jake stopped in his step and turned back.

'' Y/n? Are you in there? Come out please, I just want to talk, '' he tried, his voice coming out a lot more whiny and desperate than he'd planned.

But he got no response except for silence. His worry grew. One deep breath later he pushed the door open before he could change his mind.

It slowly creaked open, revealing the room little by little. He fell to his knees and gasped.

You were lying in a pool of blood. At first, he felt a surge of anger - who could've done this to you? Then, his attention drifted to the small folded note next to you, and his heart sank.

'' No, please don't say...'' he trailed off, hurrying to unwrap the paper with so much panic that he almost ripped it.

' I wanted to meet my friend one last time, that's all I asked for, but like always it was about what you wanted. We both know that this was all your fault. '

Overcome with despair and grief it wouldn't take long for Jake to join you. He couldn't stand being apart, and he'd find you wherever you were, even in death.

Sunghoon

He felt very angry at you, not himself. Yes, he had dared you to do it while the two of you were in the middle of a screaming match but he hadn't expected you to actually pick up a gun.

The image of you staring at him, tears in your eyes, and that look on your face, which was the last he'd see of you, would forever be etched in his mind.

He couldn't sleep at night. It was like it was burned into the back of his eyes too.

Once your body fell to the floor with a thud, his eyes widened and his lips parted. He knew you were gone without even having to check your pulse.

'' Do it, '' those were his last words to the one person he loved.

He felt sick suddenly, rushing to the bathroom to throw up everything and then some more.

In that bathroom he stayed for hours, just staring blankly at the tiles on the wall, not saying a word or moving an inch. After the sun started setting outside and the light caught his eyes, he finally got up and went to where he had last left you.

You hadn't moved. Sunghoon crouched down next to you and started digging in your pockets for your phone. Something sharp brushed against his palm.

He took it out and saw that it was a note. Unraveling it, he discovered it was a suicide note you must've written a long time ago. Had you always had it on you? Just in case.

' I hate you '

He clenched his fist around the paper, it broke. '' Weak, '' he whispered under his breath and got up.

It was a coping mechanism to place all the anger on you. God knows what he would've done if he started letting that transfer to himself. But, even the anger couldn't stop him from missing you - every single day.

Sunoo

He would blame himself immensely, not having room to be mad at you at all. All that he felt for you was pity and empathy. He tried putting himself in your shoes for the first time and it was a heartbreak he'd never experienced before.

He went to school that day, so excited to see you, only to feel horror as he pushed through the crowd that had formed curiously and saw your body there.

It felt like slow-motion when the wind made you turn and you made eye contact with him. Whispers spread like wildfire all around him, surrounding him completely.

Sunoo felt confused and scared, his eyes darted around anxiously and he tried slipping out. Someone pushed him back.

'' You did this! ''

His head snapped up. A girl, your friend, was standing on the table overlooking the whole classroom. Her eyes were red from crying and in her hand, she was holding something white.

' I'm sorry to do this here, but it's because of my boyfriend, he's controlling and an obsessive, crazy person. I don't want anyone else to get hurt because of him. I'm sorry, I love you '

His world fell apart in an instant. He had no idea you'd been feeling like that, why didn't you tell him? He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair as he came to a realization - you did, and he didn't listen.

He was finally allowed to push through the crowd and run away from the school which he'd never again return to. Tears streamed down his face the whole way home, and they didn't stop even as he reached it.

In his mind, all the ' what if-s ' played. What if he fixed himself and was less obsessive, would you have stayed then? What if he was less jealous, would you have loved him back? What if...what if.

Ni-ki

He tried distracting his mind by both rationalizing it to soften the blow, saying '' we probably weren't made for each other anyway '', and trying to go on dates with other girls.

However, every time he did so, he'd zone out and wish that it was you sitting across from him instead. He started daydreaming which brought a smile to his face until it dropped almost as suddenly as it had come when he heard her voice and realized it wasn't you.

They could never be you.

Suddenly he was angry at them, cursing and telling them to leave him alone and to never text him again.

Deep down he knew he'd never love anyone like you again, and you were actually meant for him; but he hated admitting it and to spare himself from more pain, might never admit it.

That was the thing, you were meant for him. Not anymore; you didn't exist anymore, because of him. He knew that now that his soulmate was gone forever, his bleak days would never be lit up by you again.

Just thinking of that smile, the only one that managed to get through his tough and cold exterior, made him feel like crying or punching something.

He then thought of the note, which he often did, and your body at the morgue because he hadn't come home quick enough to see you, and for that he was grateful; seeing you like that would've driven him to the edge.

The note, the one that read, ' I'm sorry, Riki. I tried, I really did. I love you, -y/n '

#yandere kpop #kpop yandere #yandere enhypen #yandere enha #enha x reader

19 notes · View notes

blueicequeen19 · 2 years

Text

Big Brother Part 2

Part 1

Trigger Warning: DARK AF! Somnophilia, degradation, breeding 🔞

I don’t know how much time has passed. After Rafe kicked me out of his room, I barely managed to go to the bathroom then I collapsed onto my bed. I needed a shower but suddenly my pussy was throbbing with need and from being sore. I groan, trying to roll over but I can’t. My eyes try to open but I’m too exhausted. I feel like there’s a weight on top of me, holding me down as exhaustion smothers me. I hear a familiar chuckle and my eyes finally open.

“There she is. You’re a deeper sleeper than me.” Pleasure wracks my body straight down to my toes as I look over my shoulder at Rafe. He’s straddling my hips, his hand pressed into the center of my neck as he fucks me. God, it hurts being stretched like this but it feels amazing too.

“I’ve had a taste and now I can’t stop. I’ve been hard all fucking night and I can’t sleep.” Rafe growls, his pelvis slamming harder against my ass. I fist the blanket, burying my face in my pillow as I feel myself cumming. I feel a gush of warmth between my thighs as he fills me up but he keeps going, nothing stopping him.

“Don’t worry. I’ll keep going. It feels too good to stop.” His hand slides up to the back of my neck and I can feel his sweat dripping onto my back. My toes curl and I know I’m about to cum again, regardless how exhausted I am.

“You dumb little slut. Going to fall back asleep while your big brother fucks you? You’re going to feel me for the next fucking month. Your body is going to crave me everyday for the rest of your fucking life. You’ll never be rid of me. If you even think of leaving, I’ll drag you back by your fucking hair and chain you to my fucking bed. Maybe I’ll keep you pregnant. It’d be nothing to remove this IUD and just fucking breed you.” I cum hard at his filthy words. My body withers beneath his, sucking him deeper.

Why can’t I get enough of him?

This isn’t right. I shouldn’t want him. But he’s right. My body literally craves him. Heat and desire run through my blood whenever I’m in his presence regardless if he’s being a royal dick or not.

I’m in a dense fog as he continues to use me. Soft moans leave my lips and all I can hear is skin slapping skin and his heavy breathing. There’s so much fluid between my thighs that I’m not sure how many times he’s climaxed inside me. I can feel it getting sticky and pooling on the sheet beneath me.

“Rafe.” My fingers find the edge of the mattress and I try to pull myself away. Earlier I begged him to make me cum and now I felt like I was going to beg him to stop. I couldn’t cum anymore.

“Where are you going? You asked for this.” Rafe yanks my hips back harshly, impaling me even harder on his cock. His lips land on my shoulder - kissing, biting, sucking - marking me as his.

“I can’t. Please, no more.” Tear fall from my eyes and Rafe laughs, his tongue lapping them up from my cheek.

“You got one more in ya. I know you do. You’re still clenching me like a damn vice. Your pussy isn’t done with me yet.” Rafe yanks away, giving me a moments relief only to flip me onto my back and shove my knees to my chest. My feet almost touch the headboard as he folds me in half, slipping back inside me with ease. I groan loudly, feeling him deeper than before. His motions grow sloppy as he begins to rub rough circles over my clit. My body tenses, fighting against the hold on my body but Rafe only chuckles, dragging me to the edge.

“That’s it, that’s it. Let me have it.” Rafe spits on my clit and rubs it in harder, forcing my body into the most intense orgasm I’ve ever experienced. I scream myself hoarse until my body goes limp and Rafe collapses on top of me, having filled me up once again.

“We’re going to have so much fun, Doll.” Rafe kisses my slack lips as my heart beats rapidly in my chest. He rolls off me, scooping me into his arms as he takes me back down the hall and into his bathroom. After the tub is full of hot water and I’m fully submerged, he tips my head back, looking at me like I’m his most prized treasure. I fight to keep my eyes open, my heart swelling under his intense gaze.

“You’re mine now.”

#jj maybank smut #jj maybank fic #smutwarning #jj maybank imagine #jj obx #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank x you #obx2 #rudy pankow #wattpad #drew starkey #rafe smut #rafe fanfiction #dark!fic #dark!rafe cameron

975 notes · View notes

deathbecomesthem · 6 months

Text

No Shelter Part 2

Rockstar!Eddie Munson x AFAB!Partner!Reader | 3.1k

Series Setting: 1999 Los Angeles - No Upside Down AU

Summary: You are Eddie Munson's partner of 12 years. You've been together through everything. You managed Corroded Coffin while they were establishing themselves. But who are you? When you look in the mirror, you only see yourself through Eddie's eyes.

This is a series about being lost in a relationship, and seeing if there's a way to find yourself without tearing it to pieces. This is also a story about being queer and very in the closet. (It's the 90s)

Warnings: Angst, drinking, breaking things in anger, secrets, Eddie will have sexual trysts in future installments that are not with the reader (not cheating), smut with the reader, and allusions to smut.

A/N: This was posted previously on my other blog, but I want it over here instead. Feel free to pass it by if you've seen it before.

---

Time is a funny thing. There are moments that slow down time. You can ask a physicist about that, and they’ll say it’s just a neat trick that our brains play on us in moments of stress. In fact, nothing external is happening at all. Your brain processes speed up so fast that it makes everything around you appear to move slower. It gives us a fighting chance in the face of danger. Right now, Eddie stands in front of you smelling of iron and whiskey, and you see everything.

You can’t breathe, but for short gulps of air. Eddie’s chest is rising and falling in sync with the rhythm of your breaths, but the red lines in his eyes and the flush high on his cheeks are an indication that it’s rage that’s making his breath speed up. Not fear. You see it all. You see the dried blood across his knuckles, and small cuts where the fresh blood is slowly leaking. You see his eyebrows pushed down far on his brow, creating a shadow across his eyes. It’s menacing. You see his fists flexing, as if they’re looking for something to grip. There’s a whole body tremble, from the top of his head to his feet.

“Eddie,” your own voice sounds obscured by the waves of adrenaline rushing through your ears. “Eddie, what happened to your hands?” It’s weak, but it’s the only thing you can think of to say. Actively bleeding wounds take priority over your deep emotional scars.

“What is this? Are you -” Eddie closes his eyes and brings a bloody fist to rub at them. “Are you leavin’ me? For real?” The tears in Eddie’s eyes mix with the fresh blood. A bloody tear streaks down his face. You see it carve a path through the fine lines you’ve watched be born through your years together.

“Baby, you’re bleeding. Come inside.” Your voice is calm when you speak to Eddie. Even now, you’re falling back into your role. The pressure changes as Eddie steps inside your place, and it feels like a threat that you don’t understand. This is not a space you expected to be in with him. Not yet. Not without warning.

“What the fuck is this, Sweetheart? What is this place? Terry said you’re leaving me.” Eddie’s voice is not calm. He’s meeting your calm with desperation, panic has replaced rage as he takes in the surroundings. Bare but lived in. A few empty glasses sit by the sink in the kitchenette. A blanket lays across the couch’s armrest. There is trash in the bin. This is a place you visit often.

You don’t answer Eddie’s question. There is no answer to give. How do you explain the pain inside of you? How do you show him? Do you cut him with a knife and tear at his flesh? Do you form words on your lips that will travel deep inside of him and catch on his most sensitive places like barbs? Neither are sufficient, physical pain doesn’t touch how those open wounds inside your soul ache and bleed. He doesn’t fully see you, how can he? You don’t even try to be seen.

Instead, you hold his hands gently in yours and let the cool water flow from the kitchen tap. You watch the dried blood wash away, a red stream circling the drain, and examine each gash making sure there’s nothing that might require a stitch or two. He has to play on stage in 3 days, an injury is not acceptable.

You don’t have a first aid kit, which you now realize is stupid. What you have are paper towels, so you do your best to wrap his hands. You tie them off while Eddie watches. He stands before you, broken and in pain - caused by your actions - and he lets you care for him. It’s his need. It’s you and him, always. You take a clean paper towel, run it under the water, and wash the blood off of his face.

“There he is, there’s my guy.” You whisper and give his cheek a rub with your thumb. You catch a hint of a grin begin to sneak across Eddie’s lips, and then vanish completely. It’s not fair to talk to him like this. You know he’s drunk and confused. So you take a breath and walk him over to your couch, which is also your bed, and sit down. You pat the spot next to you, offering a tight lipped smile to Eddie.

“We need to talk, Baby.” You tell Eddie as he takes his spot. Eddie’s quiet, but tears are streaming down his face. The anger seems to have evaporated as soon as he heard your voice outside of your apartment door. Even your fear is gone now that his familiar form is pressed against your side, his scent in your nose. It’s a relief to have him know, but you’re a coward for letting him discover this on his own.

“Sweetheart, I need you to tell me you’re not leaving me right now. Because it really fucking seems like it.” Eddie’s voice quavers. His hands shake. You wonder how much he had to drink and how he made it downtown. An unpleasant vision of twisted metal and smoke flashes across your mind. Stupid, stupid man.

“Eddie, hey,” you turn his face to look into your eyes before you continue, “I’m right here, ok? Even if I leave the house, I’m never gonna leave you. This -” you motion between your two bodies, “- is forever.”

“Then why are you renting an apartment and hiding it from me, huh? Why are you spending my last fucking day before I leave for months alone? Why are you keeping secrets from me, Sweetheart? We don’t fuckin’ do that. We don’t keep secrets.”

But that’s not true. You keep secrets all of the time. Things left unsaid, more and more every day that passes. For years, you’ve kept yourself from him, and in return he’s split his life down the middle. The Eddie with you, and that other man. The one that’s going on the road in the morning. The wild man. The star. You know this. He should too.

That’s how this life goes, though. You can love someone so well, but they’ll never be inside of you. They’ll never see the world through your eyes, and feel things through your skin. They will never know how beautiful their face is during those moments your bodies connect. They’ll never know the way their body smells while your nose tucks into that spot behind their ear. They cannot. They are trapped in their own skin, seeing you and smelling you. How do you make him understand this, when it’s not something you can even explain to yourself.

“It’s not secrets, Eddie. Not like that. I’ve been feeling,” you stop yourself before saying anything that can’t be taken back. Eddie is made of both metal and down. He’s not used to wearing armor around you, and you don’t want him to have to start now. “I’ve been feeling like I don’t see myself, Ed. I’m restless.”

And so it goes. The words are spoken, true and incomplete. The conversation that follows this admission is stilted. Measured words from both of you. Tears flow from both of you. No understanding in sight, only confusion that piles on and on. The only relief is that it’s Eddie and it’s you. Open the wound and push the poison out before it becomes fully necrotic.

After hours and hours of circular conversation, spinning like a top for him, you realize yet again that you’re sacrificing your peace for this man. And you think, is this worth it? The answer must be yes, because you continue. You hold him, you comfort him while your discomfort looms above the room. It hangs like a specter that haunts your crumbling marriage.

At some point, it had changed. No longer were you both pursuing your separate dreams together. You were both chasing his dream as his star rose higher and higher. His value skyrocketed into the stratosphere while your feet stood firmly on the ground. Your value continued to be found in the dirt. In the foundation. You could dig deep into the earth and still find yourself. The stilts that hold up his life. The thing that tethers him here.

It was only fair. Someone needed to make sure there was a home to return to every time he came hurtling back down from his place among the stars. It’s the least you can do. Hold steady and keep the home fires burning.

This is how it is. Your life. No amount of pushing and comforting is going to make Eddie understand that tonight. No. There is a need outside of the wound that is festering inside of you. That need - Corroded Coffin and The Eddie Munson - is paramount. So. You tell him the words that will get his mind to rest. You hold him. You reassure him. You do what you do. You are his life. You are his home.

Where is your home?

Your apartment isn’t suited for this. Your body is pressed against the cushions of your second hand couch, holding Eddie tightly. His body is barely clinging to the edge of the cushion, and you find your hands holding him in place while he sleeps. A metaphor. Another one. You’re tired of seeing them in every little thing that happens between you. They are everywhere.

It is in the brightness of the night, with that big moon shining on the two of you, that you know. You know. This is the end of what was, and the beginning of what could be. So, you brace yourself. You let yourself dig deep inside and find the strength to tell him. This is the beginning. Not the end. The beginning of finding a place for yourself in this world.

–

“I love you, Sugar,” Eddie whispers into your hair while holding you in his goodbye embrace. It’s the same thing he says, your old nickname, but this time there’s a break in his voice. Dried tears cling to his puffy face, and the light seems to have faded from his eyes. You are leaving each other, for months, with no resolution. Only questions and uncertainty. You hope that his time on the road will give him a chance to think about things, to take inventory. And you will do the same.

The boys get on their buses, and you watch. You wait until they pull away, just like you always do, before heading back to your car. Eddie warned you that he left the house in a shambles, as if the dried blood on his hands weren’t an indication. As a reassurance that everything is ok, you had kissed him. When you brought your lips to his, you remembered that first time all those years ago. You remembered the way he had tasted that day, lips sweet from Twizzlers, and hair still dark brown and fuzzy. No hints of gray sneaking at the sides of his temple. You remind yourself, he is that boy. Your boy. And the thought cuts at you.

You make use of the cell phone in your car for the first time in ages. This call can’t wait. It’s urgent. You know he’ll answer. He always answers, no matter when someone calls. It’s the nature of his work. Your car zips through the hills, heading up to the house you and Eddie share while you listen for his voice on the other end. Fire is building in your gut, and you put the pedal to the metal.

“Hello.” Unprofessional greeting. You’re not surprised.

“Hey Terry, you absolute piece of shit,” the words hiss through your clenched teeth, professionalism be damned. He should know the score, no reason to pretend after what he’s done. “I’m calling to let you know that if you ever, EVER put your greasy nose into my personal business again, I’ll fucking kill you -”

“Sugar-” he tries to start, but you cut him off.

“Don’t call me that, you son of a bitch. You manage the band, you don’t manage our marriage, pencil dick.” You’re yelling, and it feels good. You can feel the veins in your neck bulging.

You can hear him yelling something about doing his job as you throw the phone out the driver’s side window of your Corvette and peel around the corner of your street. You’re done. You’re ready to murder Terry if he dares try to come near you anytime soon. You’re ready to fire his ass, but you know that only leads to you back in the manager chair. That can’t work.

The rage is still building when you yank the emergency brake up before your car even fully rolls to a stop in your driveway. What the fuck do you care? You could light the thing on fire and Eddie could afford to buy you 4 more without a quick stroke of a pen. Anything money can buy, he’ll get you. “You want the moon, Sugar? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it.” You angrily wipe away a hot tear that is sneaking from your eye at the memory of a sweeter time. A time when love was easy and promises felt like a comfort instead of a cage.

The house smells sour when you throw the door open, and you wonder if it’s a trick of your senses. It’s not. Vinegar and whiskey hangs in the air, and your mind begins to work to understand it. You wanted to see the damage before it got cleaned away by the maid. She services the homes of mid level celebrities and never asks questions. The house would look exactly like it does every time she does her work, even if it means calling in someone to replace the carpet.

You drop your bag at the door, but don’t bother to kick off your shoes. What does it matter? A little more dirt to stain the cream colored carpet already soaked through with the remnants of a bottle of Jameson thrown against the wall. You don’t stop to take in the sight, but keep your feet moving to inventory the rest of the damage caused by Eddie’s heartbreak. That you caused.

The vinegar smell makes sense when you see a broken pickle jar on the kitchen floor, along with what looks like your favorite mug in pieces along the counter. Smashed to pieces. You made it yourself when you took a pottery class at the rec center in Hawkins. A remnant of your past obliterated. You can feel a creeping sense of dread in your gut, because you know there must be more.

The rooms between the kitchen and your bedroom are undisturbed. The study, the guest rooms, the spare bathrooms, and the small music room are all perfectly kept. You catch a streak of blood on the doorframe of the master suite, as if a bloody knuckle brushed against it. Your bedroom is a shambles. You can picture him in your mind’s eye, frantically searching for something. The mattress is thrown on its side. Your dresser drawers are open, a bra cup hanging from a knob. Your vanity is clear of perfumes and makeup, you can see him take his long arm and sweep it all to the ground. How unsatisfying it must have been to have it land safely on the thick carpet. Quiet and unharmed.

The bathroom is where Eddie drew his own blood. The mirror is shattered, shards of bloody glass are in the basin. You see your reflection in each broken piece, empty of emotion. Inventorying. Not processing. This house has nothing for you, so you take the information you’ve gathered and head back down the stairs and through the front door. Let the maid do her job, you’re not cleaning up this mess. You’ve done enough.

—

You get your phone hooked up the next day and call everyone in your address book. This is where they can reach you. An answering machine with a simple message, “Please leave a message and I’ll return your call as soon as possible.” You don’t call Terry to give him the number, but you do call the record label. Eddie will have the number now, and he can call here if he wants to talk while he’s on the road.

But he doesn’t call, and that’s fine. The weeks move quickly, and you focus on the job in front of you. You read the old journals. You start putting words down on the page, a life shrunk to fit in the chapter format. The man, the myth, the legend - your Eddie. Who he is in the context of your life, and you wonder why anyone would want to read it. How they can understand. It doesn’t matter, you still write.

The television is a purchase you make out of desperation. You’ve kept yourself away from the outside world, lost in the past. Your friends are coming over for a movie night and a sort of house warming this weekend, so it makes sense. If you have the television, you might as well get the cable too, you reasoned. It’s exactly one week before Eddie is meant to return home when it happens. The water swells up, and the already buckling stilts are shaking when you turn on Entertainment Tonight and see it.

Mary Hart’s voice echoes through the bare room, and you can’t peel your eyes from the car wreck in front of your face. “Trouble in paradise? Wild man Eddie Munson was spotted outside of the Chelsea hotel with none other than model Eva Hammond.” You’re staring at the photo of Eddie and a model half his age. His hand is grabbing her ass, the one with his wedding ring. They’re not just kissing, they’re eating each other up on that sidewalk. “What does this mean for Munson and his long time -” Mary’s voice is cut off when the remote control in your hand is whipped into the television.

One rule. You have one fucking rule for him when he’s on the road. Never let the cameras see. Never humiliate you. He can stick his dick anywhere he wants as long as he uses a condom and never lets it be more than a byline in the gossip columns. He did this on purpose. He did this to hurt you.

Fuck Eddie. You’re in the wind before the episode of Entertainment Tonight ends.

#eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson imagine #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #tw injury

37 notes · View notes

eomayas · 9 months

Note

Hiii love ur writings 💘💘

And now since your requests are open .... Can I request for a fluff / angst Loey scenario where reader has panic attack in the middle of night and calls her bf Loey who was busy in study but she doesn't wanna disturb him so she doesn't tell him what actually happened but Loey figures it out anyways and comes home to comfort her? 🥹🥹 I hope it's not too much to ask for

call me what you want, when you want, if you want • pcy [req]

pairing: chanyeol x f!reader, established relationship

genre: fluff & angst

warnings: mentions of panic attacks and anxiety

a/n: thank you for the request! i apologize for the lateness🤧 i hope i didn’t generalize too much or anything, ive only had a panic attack twice in my life and was trying to recall what it felt like and how i managed it. apologies if misinterpreted anything. thank you for your patience and support 💕

your eyes fly open and your hand clutches at your chest. you lie flat on the bed, blinking rapidly as a tightness in your chest spreads across the expanse of your sternum. it feels like there is a car resting on your chest, hindering your ability to breathe properly, thus making you panic even more.

you try and recall what your therapist said to do when you start recognizing all of the signs, but your brain is too scrambled to even focus on one single technique, so much so that you start to jumble all of them together and make yourself hyperventilate.

blood pounds in your ears and you push yourself up and lean your back against the headboard. you close your eyes momentarily, your throat feeling tight. this didn’t happen often, but lately you’ve started to feel that particular tightness in your chest more frequently before bed. you’ve been able to work through it, to convince yourself that you’re fine, to breathe, and that you’re fine. you should’ve known that could only work for so long, that one day it was going to take the reigns and do a number on you—you just weren’t planning on it being tonight.

he said you could call him whenever, no matter what. you always felt bad calling him while he was busy, especially when he was working. but he always told you you could call him, even if it was to just talk.

you fish around for your phone in the dark, your hands finding it on your nightstand. the bright screen makes you squint, though you find chanyeols number quickly and press call. you place the phone by your ear and listen to it ring and ring, more anxiety creeping over you the longer it trills.

just when you think it’s going to voicemail, chanyeols soft voice sounds through the receiver. “hello?”

“hi, yeol,” you say, chewing on your thumb nail. you hope your voice sounds normal, and not like you’ve been gasping for air and fighting back tears for nearly thirty minutes. “what’s up?”

his deep chuckle makes you slide down your pillows until you’re flat on your back, your grip on the phone tight. “nothing, really. what’s going on with you, baby?” chanyeol asks. you can hear papers rustling and soft music in the back.

you let out a breath and shrug though he can’t see you. “nothing. am i interrupting you?” you ask, rolling onto your side and bringing your knees up to your chest.

“i told you that you can call me whenever,” the answer is yes. you hum and the two of you get quiet, the only thing to be heard is the quiet music on his end and your breathing. you’ve managed to find some semblance of peace compared to how you felt only moments ago. the trick is to distract yourself from what’s really happening, and before you know it, you’ll feel normal again. “are you still there?” he asks, pulling you out of your own head.

“yes, im here,” you reply softly.

“are you having trouble sleeping?” he asks and you bite the inside of your cheek.

“no.”

“y/n,” chanyeol says, his voice accusatory. “it’s okay if you are.” he adds quickly after.

“i just want to hear you, that’s all,” chanyeol makes a sound on the other line as if to say ‘yeah, right’. he’s going to figure you out and you know it, but you don’t want him worrying about you. “i’m not having trouble sleeping.” you say, and you don’t know who you’re trying to convince more, him or yourself.

chanyeol let’s out a breath and looks at the space around him. he’s not near finished, but he knows you, and knows it’s something else. maybe you aren’t having trouble sleeping, but you rarely call him this late and when you do it’s because you need something. “i’m almost done here, i’ll come home soon, okay?” he says, but the moment you hang up he’s jumping in his car.

“okay,” you say, and you two say your goodbyes. you wonder if you’ll be able to fall asleep by the time that he gets here, but you’re too awake now, and too excited to see him.

when chanyeol makes it home, you’re still in bed, rolled over to face the window. he can tell you’re still awake by the way your shoulders move up and down too quickly for you to be knocked out. “baby,” he says, setting his stuff down and slipping off his shoes. chanyeol walks around to your side of the bed and turns on the bedside lamp to look at you. “it’s late.” he says, sitting next to you.

you only shrug and he peers down at you, his eyes squinting as if he’s trying to figure you out. “what?” you question, looking up at him. chanyeol gently places a hand on your cheek, his thumb absentmindedly stroking under your eye.

“were you crying?” he asks quietly, a small frown on his face. you shrug and his frown deepens. “did it happen again?” and by it, he means your panic attacks. he’s known about them as long as he’s known you, experienced them too and has tried to help guide you through.

you dont say yes or no, but your silence is enough of an answer for him. “was it just tonight? or did it happen yesterday?” chanyeol asks, concern evident in his voice.

there is no point in trying to hide or keep this from him, so you decide to be honest. “well, it happened tonight but i’ve been feeling it all week. i’ve just been stressed,” you admit and he sighs. it’s not a coincidence that they’re happening the week he’s busiest and isn’t by your side in bed. it’s not like you can’t sleep without him, but you’ve been stressed lately and when your thoughts start to spiral you can typically roll into him and distract yourself with his closeness, or focus on his heartbeat to distract yourself.

“you need to tell me these things, baby,” chanyeol pleads. he removes his hand from your face and opens up his arms for you to crawl into. he moves so his back is against the headboard and you’re sitting between his legs with your cheek pressed against his chest.

“i dont want you to worry about me,” you say.

“i’m always worrying about you,” he replies, and you snort a little.

“well i don’t want to know that you’re worrying about me. it’s fine—i’m fine.”

chanyeol pets your hair and doesn’t respond. you both know that you’re not fine and that this isn’t going to end well if you don’t do something about it. “i think you should go back to talk to Dr. Choi. at least tell her that you’ve been going through it again,” he suggests. Dr. Choi is your old therapist that you recently stopped seeing. you started feeling like therapy was a waste of time so you stopped going, but it seems like it was the opposite given that you were better managing your anxiety when you were seeing her regularly.

you let out a shaky breath and nod your head. “i’ll call in the morning,” you mutter and chanyeol kisses the top of your head. “thanks for coming home.” you whisper moments later, snuggling deeper into this body.

chanyeol kisses your head again and runs a hand up and down your arm comfortingly. “of course. please keep calling me, even if it really is just to talk. you know i don’t mind—even when i’m busy.” he says softly.

you nod and close your eyes, his embrace and warmth making you feel safe and calm enough to start to doze off.

#exo imagines #exo scenarios #exo x reader #exo x you #chanyeol scenario #chanyeol fic #chanyeol imagine #chanyeol angst #chanyeol fanfic #chanyeol fluff #chanyeol x you #chanyeol x reader

80 notes · View notes

maremartinelli · 3 months

Text

THE GENERAL²

Sirius Black X reader!!Potter

Summary: Where Y/n wants revenge for Sirius, but can she really beat Walburga?!

Words: 3.2K+

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of burns, wounds, cuts, magic, dark spells, mentions of death, cute ending. If I missed any, just let me know.

Author: As mentioned in the first chapter, English is not my first language, I apologize if there are writing or spelling errors. And once again, I wrote this for my readers on Wattpad, but I loved it so much that I needed to share it with the WORLD🌏🌎🌍.

Part 1

MASTERLIST

Walburga walked down the stairs of grimmauld place while smiling evilly at Y/n, who was standing at the bottom of the stairs.

"What brings your illustrious presence here?" Y/n's mother-in-law asks while placing both hands on her hips.

For a moment, the Potter girl feels intimidated and takes a step back. But when she remembers the things Walburga did for the love of her life, the girl stops and frowns in anger.

Walburga lets out a loud laugh.

"Why distance yourself, dear? It was you who came here" The woman takes another step forward, coming face to face with her daughter-in-law.

Y/n raises her head and looks at the woman.

"I came here to take revenge for what you did to my Sirius!!" Potter almost spits out the words in front of her mother-in-law, while staring at her with a deadly glare.

"Revenge, darling? Why revenge, if he's safe inside the room here in grimmauld place"

Y/n lets out a bitter laugh.

"That's not what my family and I witnessed in our house a few hours ago"

Walburga's eyes widen and then turns to see the huge house. Thus realizing that the window in his eldest son's room was open.

He ran-away.

She turns to Y/n again and the girl can feel that her mother-in-law's gaze could pierce all her muscles.

"So the blood traitor went into the arms of his beloved. Very romantic!!" Walburga says bitterly and lets out a laugh that raises the hairs on your arms.

Y/n right in my jaw I was angry.

"He's not a traitor!!!" Y/n spits the words in her face.

"Whatever" The oldest rolls her eyes. "For me, he's nothing more than that. And I really admire that he found someone who really loves him. That little guy from the bad house!!"

Y/n's blood was boiling in her veins. She could very well punch Walburga in the face right now, but she knew the greater damage would be to her.

"You should measure your words before saying them out there" Y/n doesn't know where that strength to say that came from, but she wouldn't do it differently if she had another opportunity. "Sirius is an incredible person, if he really were a real mother he would believe me."

Walburga rolls her eyes and smiles, as she slowly reaches for the wand that was on her waist.

Potter glances over and raises her wand while pointing at Walburga's chest.

"I'm not going to lie. I hate Sirius. I hate him because he has everything I didn't have the opportunity to have. He managed to find true love and be happy. While I was destined to marry my cousin. I hate him for being happy. I hate him with all the strength I have. For me, Sirius has never been and will never be my son" Walburga says and Y/n's eyes fill with tears. "Now if you're here to take revenge in his name. Come on, little girl!! Let's finish the war you started!!" Walburga says before firmly holding Y/n's arm and apparating to a place completely unknown to Potter.

Regulus, who was passing through the corridor with a window to the outside of the house, ends up seeing his mother apparating with his sister-in-law, while leaving a brief flash of light before disappearing.

As much as he didn't want to think about it, he would know that between the two fighting, one could very well come out alive, while others would regret the death of one.

However, the black cape the girl was wearing ends up falling off. Thus leaving her lying on the ground in front of Grimmauld Place.

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

Meanwhile at the Potter house, everyone was sleeping soundly as the day was about to break.

Sirius, who was lying in the guest bed, wakes up with a pain in his rib, so he sits up in bed to see if there is blood on the bandage. Black lifts his shirt and there is no red spot, but what worries the man is that his girlfriend was no longer by his side.

He could have sworn he fell asleep in the girl's arms.

Sirius frowns and gets up from the bed, while putting on the slippers that James had borrowed and starting to walk down the hall to see if Y/n could be in her room.

Arriving in front of Potter's room, Sirius saw that the door was open, but no one was inside that room. Black's heart began to race as his brain told him to go downstairs and check the kitchen.

Sirius didn't want to think, but the option of Y/n not being at home, but going to see Walburga was haunting him now.

He closes his eyes quickly and asks her to be safe, or at least meet her in the kitchen.

Passing through the fireplace room, Black enters the kitchen and whispers:

“Y/n my love, are you here?” He says as he walked slowly because of the pain and looked around the large kitchen.

When the taller boy didn't see any sign of Y/n, panic began to take over his body.

He even opened the back door of the house to see if she was in the backyard, but nothing.

Pads looks at the clock above the door leading to the hallway and sees that it says 5:05 in the morning. Soon the day would appear and Y/n had disappeared from the Potter house.

Before thinking about calling James, the boy comes running into the kitchen.

"Holy crap!" Sirius exclaims in fright when he sees his best friend.

"Holy shit I say!! I passed by your room and didn't see you, I thought someone had captured you" James says in relief and leans against the door.

Sirius looks at his best friend worriedly.

"Yeah, I'm fine. But Y/n I don't know anymore"

James looks at Sirius and frowns.

"Like this?" James asks now getting worried.

"I woke up and didn't find her in the bed or in her room, I thought she would be down here, but there was no sign of her. Either someone captured her or--"

"Or she went to visit someone." James runs his hands through his hair and Sirius agrees. "HOLY SHIT Y/N" James screams and runs to tell his parents that his sister wasn't home.

"Prongs, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause so much trouble" Sirius felt guilty as he walked up the stairs with James.

James turns quickly.

"Sirius no!! None of this is your fault or Y/n's. No one's fault between us" James holds Sirius' shoulders and he nods. "But you know how it is Y/n, right. She would kill someone if she messed with someone she loves. That makes me scared" James says and Sirius smiles slightly.

They both knew what Y/n was like. Well, one is the girl's twin brother, and the other is her boyfriend of almost 4 years.

Arriving at his parents' bedroom door, James knocks before someone inside opens it.

"Y/n is gone"

"And we think she went after Walburga" James finishes and Fleamont runs his hands over his face.

After waking up Euphemia and Sirius explained that he couldn't find the girl anywhere. James was completely sure that she went after Walburga to take revenge.

And that doesn't sound good.

"Your mother and I are going after her. James, stay with Sirius here."

"No!!" Pads and Prongs say together.

"She's my sister, we have to protect each other." James says determinedly.

"And without trying to make myself big. She's my girlfriend! I can't stay here while my mother could possibly do horrible things to her. I wouldn't forgive myself for that" Sirius says taking another step forward. "I know that Y/n is strong and one of the best students at Hogwarts. But I know what Walburga is like, and trust me, she can do horrible things!!" Black says to Fleamont and he nods.

"Okay, let's all go!! But if things get hot, you two quickly Apparate here. Understand?" He says and both boys nod.

After they get their coats and put on their shoes. Fleamont asks where Y/n could be and Sirius says the answer he is 100% sure of, thus, the 4 of them apparating in front of the large house.

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

Arriving in front of Grimmauld Place, Sirius looks at the large house and feels something twist in his stomach.

"Everything is fine?" James asks and Sirius nods yes.

While everyone was looking at the mansion, the front door opens. Everyone pulls out their wand and points it at the Black family member. Making the person raise their hands in surrender, while they had a cape hanging from their arms and walked down the stairs.

"I'm wandless," Regulus says, still holding his hands up.

"How can we know this?" James asks.

"You can search me if you want." In a quick moment, Sirius takes a step forward and reaches his brother. So searching and noticing that he had no threat.

"What do you do here?" The eldest Black brother asks.

"I saw Y/n and our mother." Regulus says.

"YOUR mother!" Sirius says quickly.

Regulus nods slowly.

"Right. They were here until a few minutes, before mom apparated with her. Y/n ended up dropping her cloak" Regulus takes his arms to Sirius, so that his brother could pick up his girlfriend's clothes.

Padfoot takes the cloak and looks at his brother suspiciously.

"Do you know where they went?"

"I believe that mom took her to that big but remote field, you know, where we used to run away as kids to play there. Before our mom found out and forbade it."

"YOUR mother!!" Sirius says again rolling his eyes.

And do you remember where it is exactly?"

" Euphemia asks in a calmer voice than Sirius'.

"I know. But I think you better hurry, my father woke up and maybe he can go after them too." Regulus says, with some fear.

James and Sirius look at each other quickly before leaving for the place where Walburga and Y/n were.

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

Meanwhile, Y/n and Walburga stood in front of each other with their respective wands raised. The field where they were was large and in a high place.

If you walked even further, you could see all of London.

"I don't understand this hatred you feel for Sirius!!" Y/n shouts to her mother-in-law.

"Do I need to draw again, little mouse?" Walburga says before casting a spell in the Potter girl's direction. "Opulent!!" Walburga screams, making parts of Y/n's body burn.

She moans in pain.

"You cheap bitch!" Y/n says while trying to stand straight. "Distentio!!" The girl casts a spell that leaves the opponent with a certain fear.

Walburga quickly casts the reverse spell so that it hits the opponent.

Y/n widens her eyes and dodges, the spell hitting a tree. As the girl turned in horror to her mother-in-law who now had a terrifying smile on her face.

"Wanting me to be scared?? You'd make a great Death Eater, my dear!" Walburga approaches her and Y/n takes a step back.

"Never!!" The girl exclaims and then casts Expelliarmus. Making Walburga's wand fly away, and her body in another direction. "And now who is the mouse??" Y/n takes a step to stand next to her mother-in-law who was now on the ground.

Before Walburga even goes to get the wand, Y/n steps on the woman's hand. Making her feel pain, but apparently she didn't say that the older one was feeling it.

The Potter girl approaches closer and starts to say.

"You say it as if love is nothing. As if Sirius isn't lucky enough to find someone who loves him, just because you haven't. You think it's simple, right." Y/n crushes the woman's hand more, taking pleasure in seeing her suffer. Even though the woman didn't show pain. "For those who understand that love deserves respect, and not its sordid meaning" Y/n points her wand at the woman's neck.

Walburga just gives a sideways smile.

"My sweetie, you should know more about spells before going after someone. Study more about the spell that doesn't feel pain, then you'll come fight with me" Walburga says before quickly getting up and pinning Y/n to the ground.

Y/n's eyes widen, already feeling that this would be the end.

Walburga angrily puts her booted foot on Y/n's chest, while bending down to pick up the wand that was on the floor.

"You're going to beg for your life now, you little mudblood!!" Walburga spits out the words, making Y/n turn her face away in disgust. "But first, I should do something with that pretty face of yours" she runs the wand across Y/n's cheek.

In a quick move, Walburga passes the wand across Y/n's face, leaving a large cut that ran from her right eyebrow to parallel to her chin.

Y/n cries in pain, but doesn't twitch.

"I see you're resilient. Who did you learn from?? Your dear boyfriend Sirius?!" Walburga intimidates and Y/n now squirms when she hears her boyfriend's name. "Let's see if you can handle this too!!" The older woman lifts Y/n to the ground and holds her to her body. Making the girl's back close to the woman's chest. "CRUCIO!!" Walburga presses her wand to Y/n's ribs.

For the first time, Y/n screams in pain.

"You BITCH!!!" Potter says, before Walburga increases the spell.

Hearing that, Sirius and the Potters, who were running to get to the top of the hill, shudder.

"It's Y/n!!!" Sirius speaks apprehensively and tries to run, but the bandages on his ribs have started to leak blood. "Cum!!" He stops and puts his hand on the wound, to feel the blood.

Meanwhile, James ran past him with anger in his eyes.

Euphemia stops next to Sirius and puts her hand on his shoulder.

"Fleamont and James, keep going!! I'll manage here and we'll go up soon!!" She says and they affirm.

Meanwhile, Walburga was still throwing crucio at Y/n. She was now kneeling on the floor and her mother-in-law was holding her by the hair and placing her foot on the girl's back. So that she would feel more pain beyond the spell.

"This is to learn not to mess with people you don't know the power they have in their hands."

Y/n's anger explodes, thus giving her more resistance.

"That's to never mess with someone I love again. And like you said, you don't know what power you're messing with. You bitch. I hope you rot in hell. You and your husband!!!" Y/n screams and then stands up. Making Walburga startle and stop the spell without noticing. "This is to never mess with THE LOVE OF MY LIFE again!!" Y/n gets up and stops in front of Walburga. "Stupefy"

Y/n throws Walburga away and directs another disarming spell. Since the woman was under the effect of the spell and did not feel pain, it was only right for her to defend herself to distance the older woman.

Potter was still sending a spell in Walburga's direction when the Potter's finally reached the top of the hill. So with Euphemia and Sirius close behind.

The light emitting from Y/n's wand was large and strong. Which could blind anyone who looked too long.

In a way that Y/n didn't know, Walburga was resistant to the curse and managed to get up.

"Honey, let's get this over with" Walburga stands up. "AVADA KEDAVR--" Before he even finished the spell, Sirius ran from behind Euphemia and threw himself at Y/n, but first making sure to return the spell to his mother.

Or rather, Walburga.

A huge bang was heard and Walburga fell to the ground unconscious, while Sirius was on the other side with Y/n on the ground as well.

"Siri" The girl says before bursting into tears.

"Y/n" Black says, before wrapping Potter in a hug and crying into the girl's neck. "Promise me you'll never do that again. Regardless of the situation!! I can't lose you. You're my whole world" Sirius cries, making Y/n cry too.

"I couldn't let her do all that to you and get away with it" Y/n Potter says, still crying.

"Look at you!! You're all hurt" Sirius said in horror as he sat down and helped Y/n onto his lap.

"The same way she hurt you because of me, I hurt myself because of you. But all of this is because I love you!!"

Thus, Euphemia, Fleamont and James approaching the two.

"I thought you died" James hugs his sister and Sirius gets up to make room. "You're stupid" James cries on his sister's shoulder. "But you're still my brave idiot" Y/n smiles through her tears.

When James left, Euphemia and Fleamont approached their daughter.

"I'm sorry..." Y/n says looking at her parents. "I shouldn't have, but I also couldn't stay at home," Y/n says and starts to cry.

"The important thing is that you're okay now, we'll talk about this later" Euphemia sheds some tears and approaches her daughter. "My sweet girl, you are okay now. You and Sirius"

Meanwhile, James and Sirius were standing next to each other. Looking at Walburga who was lying on the grass on the other side of them.

"Do you think that--"

"I don't think so," James says, knowing Sirius would ask if she was dead.

"Wo--could you check?" Padfoot asks quietly and James nods, walking towards Walburga.

He bends down and checks the woman's pulse.

"She's still alive, but her pulse is low" James returns to Sirius who now breathes a sigh of relief.

No matter how much Walburga had made Sirius suffer his entire life, he would never forgive himself if he had killed his mother.

"Okay" he says softly and looks at Y/n, who was now standing with the help of her parents.

He approaches her and Euphemia and Fleamont leave.

Y/n grabbed his leather jacket to support herself and stay upright. While looking at her boyfriend's face. With a passionate look that would probably never leave their eyes.

"Her face, it was her wasn't it?"

Y/n nods.

"Everything is fine"

Sirius shakes his head no.

"No, not really" Y/n lets out a low laugh and Sirius smiles. "But it will stay..." She says finally.

"You will stay if I have you with me"

"I always will be" Y/n replies and places a quick kiss on Sirius' lips.

"Come on children, let's go back home" Fleamont pats Sirius' shoulder weakly. "Come on son" he says once again, now looking into Sirius' eyes.

Pads smiles at his father-in-law and can feel his eyes almost spilling tears.

"Come on..." He nods and turns to Y/n, so he can pick her up. Because of her injuries, fuck theirs. Sirius thought.

Author: Thank you for reading this crazy story. And again, sorry for the wrong words. English is not my first language.

#sirius black one shot #sirius black #sirius black x reader #y/n #marauders imagine #the marauders #marauders #james potter #fanfiction #ben barnes #sirius orion black #harry potter

32 notes · View notes

soleilnomoon · 2 years

Note

Hi! Could I please request a soft nsfw scenario with Kidd after he breaks out of Udon? If you’re not inspired to write it, no worries! Thank you for your work so far tho ❤️

anon, this ruined me in the best way; your mind is beautiful <3

2.1k words, afab reader (no pronouns), nsfw, hurt/comfort type of angst bc i live to suffer and you shall too

guilt sits on your chest, marooning you in a sea of regret, anger, and sorrow. you feel helpless, finding solace in opening and closing your fists periodically to remind yourself that unfortunately you’re still alive.

it isn’t because you don’t want to live—no, it’s because he’s not here, and possibly might not ever come back.

“yet,” you remind yourself miserably, “he’s not here yet.”

it doesn’t help much, but you refuse to sink. you sit quietly, barely drinking your tea, as heat and wire remain huddled together, discussing possible strategies. with both kid and killer gone, everyone’s on edge—it’s a precarious situation and you hate it. days ago, you suggested that a few of you disguise yourselves and go in to stealthily obtain information on them. your idea was met with resistance, mostly because wano is not the sort of country you go traipsing in with ease and because there was no telling if kaido’s group wasn’t already looking for the remainder of the kid pirates.

and then, you have to remember that apoo and hawkins are also now aligned with kaido.

you toss your tea into the sink, watch the dark liquid swirl around, spending more time than necessary when you wash out the cup; your fingertips prune from their prolonged stay under the cold water. it doesn’t bother you, though—just one more thing to remind yourself that you’re alive and kid’s—

you pinch yourself and halt those thoughts again. it’s ridiculous, really; but you know you’re only worrying this much because you fought with him just before he left the ship to meet with the other supernovas. clearly, your fight has nothing to do with his capture, but there are things you want to say, things that need saying. you have to put them in a box for the time being, holding off until he returns.

whether or not he’ll listen doesn’t matter; you’ll do what needs to be done, your heart and mind won’t rest until you do so.

it’s late one night when they finally make it back.

you haven’t slept in days, nodding off in between tasks, caffeine barely fueling you. so you’re skeptical, even as the rest of your crewmates greet them enthusiastically, tossing questions their way in succession. killer looks like he’s seen better days and your heart breaks for him when you learn that he’s been forced to eat a failed devil fruit. killer assures everyone that it’s not anything he can’t handle, and while his laugh takes you by surprise, you’re just grateful that he’s alive.

kid, meanwhile, retreats to his room, waving off everyone’s concerns, wanting to desperately forget all of this happened. but he can’t. his mind is plagued with memory after memory, his anger rising substantially. he tears off his dirty clothes and takes a scalding shower; his injuries scream, the sting of the water exacerbating the pain, his skin reddening under the heat of the water.

still, he welcomes the sensation; here, he has control.

he manages to dry off without making much of a mess, ignoring the drops of water that trail behind him as he pads through his room. he sits on a chair, first aid kit on the table in front of him, and tends to his wounds. after what feels like forever, you pace in front of his door, walking back and forth and biting down on your lower lip. you want to knock, barrel inside without remorse, and cry cry cry until he gets tired of you.

but you can’t—you won’t.

it’s pathetic, isn’t it? the way you’re yearning for even one look from him, you’ll even accept a harsh word or two. but you swivel on your heels, ready to head back to your own room, and you hear a faint groan followed by a string of curse words. his door isn’t shut all the way, so when you push on it, it opens with ease.

a quick glance over your shoulder reveals that there’s no one around, so you softly close the door behind you, hand loosely gripping the handle as your eyes find his.

he blinks slowly at you, a scowl already revealing itself before he realizes who it is. that annoyance dissolves slowly and he turns back to the task at hand. your steps are measured as you make your way over to him; he knocks over a bottle of antiseptic with his elbow, but you catch it before it falls onto the floor.

“let me help you with that,” you say gently, voice soft, without your usual bite—something that unnerves him. he wants to refuse you, simply on the basis that he hates appearing weak. especially in front of you.

not that you know; he has no intention of telling you, ever.

but it’s evident, and you don’t press him over it. instead, you pour some of the antiseptic onto a large cotton ball, ignoring his rough words and dabbing one of his cuts without warning. he falls silent and clenches his jaw, relaxing almost immediately once you take over and dress his wounds. your touch is featherlight, fingers gliding along his skin with familiarity, taking the time to memorize the feeling before it’s too late. again.

the silence wraps its hands around your throat, but you don’t let it overwhelm you; instead, you talk to him quietly, hands moving swiftly and with precision. he doesn’t say anything, which doesn’t surprise you, so you keep babbling—about nothing, really, but it soothes him somehow, so he lets you talk. he leans back into the chair, eyes closing momentarily as you work on wrapping the last of his wounds. you clean up a bit and wash your hands; when you return to inspect your work, his eyes are open again. still, he doesn’t say anything.

you figure your presence is no longer needed, but before you can leave, he reaches a hand out and grabs onto your hip, holding you in place.

“wait,” he says gruffly, orange eyes searching yours for something—anything. “stay for a bit.”

he really wants to ask you to stay for longer than that, but he knows if he pushes too hard you might run. little does he know, you have never had any intention of running from him.

“what is it?” you manage to ask, your throat dry, his large hand still gripping your hip, putting your nerves on edge. when he pulls you closer, your hands settle on his shoulders, and your initial confusion morphs into realization. you run your fingers along the back of his neck, the towel that’s wrapped around him, shifting a bit, exposing more of his powerful legs. you try to focus, swallowing back the anxiety over him not wanting you—it threatens to ruin whatever it is that’s happening, and you won’t allow it. not now.

his hand glides down lower, slipping underneath your dress and pulling you closer by the back of your thigh. you stumble onto his lap, sighing softly, your mouth clumsily finding his. he slants his lips against yours, kissing you slowly, tongue finding its way into your mouth, possessive and dizzying. he swallows all of your excuses, your unshed tears, and paranoia from his absence. your fingers slide into his hair unceremoniously and you grab the strands, tugging on them helplessly, kisses transforming into something frenetic, impossible to contain, your body on fire.

you’ve never felt so alive.

somewhere in between all the hurried kisses, you manage to break apart long enough to catch your breath, before you find yourself prying his towel off of his waist while he grabs onto your ass, his fingers pulling on your panties until they rip. they aren’t your favorite pair, so you forgive him, although the whine that spills out of your mouth makes him think otherwise.

“i’ll get you another pair,” he mumbles against your lips, and all you can do is smile at that; you highly doubt he’ll stop at ripping just the one, but you don’t say anything. you’re too busy pulling your dress off, tossing it over, not caring where it lands. your bra comes off next, your hands trembling as you unhook it, kid taking the initiative to press feverish kisses down your throat, along your collarbone, and on your breasts. your head is a mess of emotions that you’ll never be able to sort through, and yet you don’t really care about that, do you?

all that matters now is the heat that passes through you as his hand trails along your lower back; your hands wrap around his cock, stroking it slowly, precum spilling out of the tip. your thumb swipes at it, earning a groan from him; you like seeing him like this, unable to keep himself together as your pace increases mercilessly. and when he calls out your name, you nearly lose it; you don’t hesitate, hips lifting as his tip glides easily in between your folds, your slick arousal prettily coating the length of him. it occurs to him then that this is what he was missing; you, really—the intimacy of holding you like this.

another troublesome truth he will never admit to.

in a matter of seconds, he’s inching his cock inside of you, your breath catching but you don’t ask him to slow down at all. your nails dig into his skin, something he barely feels; you don’t mean to, but you add additional scratches along his back. nothing serious, he’ll tell you, but still you try to be mindful. your lips meet with his again and you savor each burning kiss, one right after the other. the way pussy clenches around him is something short of miraculous, prompting him to thrust into you fully, a strangled cry trapped in the whirlwind of sloppy kisses exchanged between you two.

under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t let yourself get carried away like this; his body needed rest, you know that. but—

you missed him far more than you realize; so maybe you’re being a little selfish, and maybe you don’t really care. you’re chasing an impossible sort of high, your hips rolling as you slide up and down his cock, half in a daze. you tug on his lip, nipping it with your teeth, his arm wrapping around you as your pussy continues to swallow him whole—deadly, if he’s not careful.. when it becomes too much for him, he switches it up, hand squeezing your ass as he lifts his hips up to match your movements. kid slams his cock inside of you with a frenzied rush, in a way that has you calling his name out over and over.

it’s prayer-like, almost religious in a way; your moans a welcomed melody to his ears.

you can hardly keep quiet, and you don’t want to; if the whole crew hears you, you’ll deal with the aftermath of it later. for now, all you want to focus on is the man that’s simultaneously ruined and taken over your life. you’re not sure how long you go at it like this—a spasm powering through you as your breathing grows uneven. and kid, who normally is the one who sends you spiraling, also finds it difficult to keep control, his own breathing becoming labored with each thrust. sweat trickles along your forehead and down your neck.

your arms wrap around his neck, holding onto him tightly, breasts rubbing against his chest, bringing another surge of heat through you, making it difficult to think or function properly.

“ahh, k-kid,” you call out, not wanting things to end, but feeling absolutely drained from all of those sleepless nights. a traitorous blush crawls along your face, coloring your common sense. you’ll beg if you have to, pride be damned.

his voice is gravelly when he responds. “i know, i know,” he says soothingly, “i’ve got you, don’t worry.” your thighs burn in a way that excites you, his hips knock into yours wildly, burying his cock into you without remorse, and your orgasm is within your grasp, creeping up on you as soon as he sucks on your nipple, teeth biting it lightly. a flash of white light takes hold of your vision, momentarily stunning you, despite your eyes being closed. it’s intense, ruthless, maddening. you don’t stop riding him, and he’s thankful for it. once his thrusts get a little more uncoordinated, you know he’s close, so you clench your pussy again and again, his own orgasm has him biting down on your shoulder, leaving behind a very noticeable mark that you’ll surely fuss at him about later.

as the two of you settle into a comfortable silence—both of you sticky, cum trickling in between your thighs, a chuckle slipping out of him at the sight—you press your lips to the corner of his mouth and leave a small, chaste kiss behind.

“i missed you,” he says uncharacteristically, but you don’t bother questioning it. all you do is kiss him again and whisper, “me too.”

#eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #kid x y/n #kid x reader #one piece smut #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #‘i can change him’ 🥴#fic request #one piece #this was longer than it needed to be and i'm not sry abt it #eustass kid x y/n #eustass kid smut #one piece angst

429 notes · View notes

creativepawsworld · 1 year

Text

Silence -Chapter 41

Pairing = Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary = The Garrison reopens bringing up sore memories for Ana. Tommy finds a way to help ease the traumatic memories by creating a good memory.

Warnings = Language, Grammar, Violence, Fluffs, Drugs mentioned! Lots of alcohol consumed. Long awaited news...

Word Count = 2890

Note = No notes today, I am excited to see the fallout of this chapter... I really am. Enjoy :)

Tonight was the grand reopening of the Garrison. A night that quickly became a sharp thorn in the sides of both Tommy and I. We had fought so much about this night- he wanted me there, I wanted to stay as far away as possible. Ultimately I was the one to cave, giving into his ask with the thought of it being a family event, even Ada was making an appearance.

Hand in hand, Tommy and I walked down the cobbled road towards the new bar, the outside looked a lot like before, I just prayed the inside was different. Memories of that fateful morning crossed my mind the closer I got.

Feeling the sickness rise in my throat, I slowed down our steps, my body fighting against moving any closer. My breath began to quicken the closer we got to the entrance - the flashes of bright orange and red, the feeling of the immense heat, the pain, the screaming it was all coming back.

Pulling away from Tommy, I quickly ran into the side alley, trying to collect my breath. Holding my hand against the wall, I tucked my chin into my chest, inhaling through my nose and breathing out through my mouth, the tears were threatening to spill from my eyes as I stared at the ground below me.

“I can’t do this” I whispered, feeling Tommy’s presence behind me, the smoke of his cigarette flew around me as the wind carried it away.

Placing a hand on my lower back, he rubbed small soothing circles as I tried my hardest to control myself but I couldn’t get the thoughts out of my head.

“Stace you are one of the strongest woman I have the pleasure of knowing, not to mention call my own. You can do anything.” Tommy encouraged, moving his hand from my back to my shoulders, rubbing them tenderly.

“It’s going to be us first right?” I asked, lifting my head, looking at him over my shoulder, the moonlight catching the twinkle in his eyes perfectly.

“Us and the bar staff, they are just setting up. You won’t even know they are there.”

Nodding, I allowed my tongue to rest between my teeth before straighten myself out with a long deep sigh. Retaking his hand, I pushed aside the screaming voice in my head telling me to stay away, marching forward towards the entrance before I had a chance to talk myself out of it once again.

Tommy noticing my determination opened the door for me, the glowing heat of the place hitting my face as I walked into the pub for the first time, my jaw falling in shock.

Although the outside looked similar the interior was nothing alike. It was completely different. Taking a step further into the main pub, I let my hand glide over the top of one of the chairs, taking in the finer details, the designers did a fantastic job.

The walls were gold, bright gold due to the lightening hitting off the darker golden wallpaper perfectly. It was accented very well with the dark wooden tables and booths with dividers reaching half way up the walls allowing privacy for the patrons.

The snug where Tommy and his men liked to hang out was in the same place, frosted windows demanding the much needed privacy the Peaky Blinders craved while the bar itself was deep mahogany, varnished and sealed to perfection.

“Tommy it’s so different.” I managed to speak, watching as one of the barmen avoid all eye contact as he unloaded a wooden crate of whiskey, piling the bottles under the bar, getting it ready for the next half hour.

“It is, for good reason.” Tommy nodded moving to stand next to me. Feeling his presence next to me, I turned to offer a weak smile.

“Guess you need Arthur here before you do that.” I pointed towards a black silk cloth covering a painting or plaque hanging on the bar wall adjoining the snug to the bar.

Tommy glanced over at it before pulling his watch from his waistcoat.

“It’s not for Arthur.” Tommy shook his head, placing the watch back. “Can you men excuse us for a minute.” He asked, the two men working the bar. Without a word, they simply nodded at him, disappearing out the back.

“What’s going on?”

“I know you don’t want to be here, but it might be easier to know your brother is here with you.” He nodded his head towards the cloth while his hands reached into his pocket to pull out his cigarettes.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, feeling overcome with emotion, my eyes flickering to the cloth and back to Tommy, who just stood there waiting for me to move.

Rubbing the tip of his cigarette over his lips, he rested it against the corner of his mouth, bringing a match up to light it.

“Go find out.” He spoke, a puff of white smoke coming from his mouth.

Biting my lip, I slowly turned my back to him, walking back towards the top of the bar. Inhaling, I put a hand on the countertop, walking along the inside of the bar, the feeling of wood under my fingertips grounding me. Stopping just short of the cloth, I felt like my heart was going to pound out of my chest.

Tommy just stood on the other side of the bar smoking his cigarette, his eyes watching every movement I made.

Reaching forward cautiously, my hand was shaking as my fingers traced the outline of the cloth, the silk feeling soft beneath my fingertips. Tugging on the light material, it crumbled into my hand but what was beneath had completely taken my breathe away.

Inhaling sharply, I dropped the cloth to the ground. My hand came up to cover my mouth, tears now falling freely from my eyes as I stared into the eyes of my brother. I was unsure how he got the picture but it was perfect.

Silently sobbing, I tried to blink away the tears that were blinding me. It was James, Tommy had organised a memorial for him, pride of place in the pub he had lost his life.

“Its perfect.” I whispered reaching forward, my fingertips pressing against the glass. Tracing around the outline of his face before returning to my mouth. My bottom lip trembling as I glanced a Tommy, who simply nodded in return. “Thank you.”

*****

“Where the fuck is Arthur?” Tommy asked, walking over to the table where John, Finn and I sat.

They were playing a game of poker with some other men, while I watched. John had tried his best to show me how to play, but according to the boys my poker face was terrible.

“In the house, he wasn’t even dressed when I left Tom. Sitting by the fire with a bottle of whiskey.” Finn spoke, glancing at his older brother before checking his hand.

“Go get ‘em then and bring him here Finn.” Tommy demanded, knocking back the rest of his whiskey, an annoyed expression on his face as he looked around the bar.

The place was filled to capacity between his men and the residents of Small Heath, to the other people around Birmingham all wanting to get into the hottest pub in town for opening night, where the drinks were cheap and flowing.

“But Tom-“ Finn tried to defend only to stop after receiving a cut throat look from Tommy. “I fold.” Finn grumbled tossing his cards into the centre of the table.

Standing with a huff the younger Shelby brother threw his black coat over his shoulders, disappearing into the crowd and out the front door in search of the oldest brother.

"Tommy tonight’s a successful why you so tense?” John asked, receiving a cold glare from Tommy, who instead of replying took himself off, back through the crowd. “What’s gotten into him?” John asked, turning his attention to me.

“I don’t know.” I shook my head, glancing over at my man. He had perched himself against the side of the bar, waiting on another glass of whiskey.

Since the doors opened an hour ago he was on edge, it wasn’t like Tommy. To most of the patrons in the bar it just seemed as though he was in a bad mood, even to his own brothers it was how he was coming across but I knew different. He was on edge, nervous almost.

“Excuse me” I spoke, not taking my eyes off the blue eyed man, determined to make my way towards him when Curly stood in front of me, a giddy smile on his face.

"I didn’t get to congratulate you probably yeah.” He smiled widely, nodding his head, jiggling from foot to foot as he searched his jacket pockets. Pulling out a small white handkerchief and unwrapping it to reveal a small white peonies flower.

“Oh” I smiled down at the wilting flower before looking up at the heavier set man who held his hands out offering it to me.

“It’s white for innocence and the flower stands for luck. I found it under Barley’s hoof this morning. It’s a sign you know.” He went on to tell me, as I took the handkerchief from his hands.

“Thank you Curly, this means so much to me.” I tell him honestly, it was incredibly thoughtful of him to even think about me never mind, taking the flower and treating it with such care before giving it to me. “May I give you a hug?”

“Yeah, you can, yeah.” He nodded, standing awkwardly in front of me. Leaning forward I wrapped my hands around his neck pulling him closer to me. Feeling his discomfort I pulled away and with a simple nod of his head he was gone, disappearing through the crowd, his cheeks fiery red.

Folding the handkerchief over once again I made my way through the crowd over to Tommy. He was still standing in his spot, analysing everything that was going on in the pub, his elbow resting on the bar, his half-filled glass in his hand sitting in the air.

“Where is Polly? It’s not like her to miss a party?”

“Polly is not speaking to me.” Tommy sighed, placing the glass on the counter top, turning his head to look at me, his blue eyes swirling with a lot of emotion.

“What did you do this time?” I asked with a sigh, placing my bag on the countertop, placing the handkerchief with the flower carefully inside.

“I won’t tell her where her son is.”

“You found her son?” I gasped, smacking the side of his upper arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because, if I did. You would tell her.”

“And why can’t she know?”

“Because Stace, the boy isn’t eighteen and the woman he calls mother will not allow Polly anywhere near him. If Polly tries, the woman will call the police. Knowing Polly, she will go on the offensive, getting herself locked away, scaring off the poor boy before she has a chance to meet him, yeah?”

“But it’s her son Tommy.”

“I’m protecting them both, why is that so hard for you both to understand?”

“What if someone did that to your son? Would you be so calm about it?” I asked, leaning on the bar with my arm, turning my body into his. Tommy swallowed back a mouthful of amber liquid before looking at me with a raised eyebrow. “No I don’t know the sex am just saying.”

“No one is taking my child away from me Stace, there is a difference.”

“That’s not fair Polly didn’t have choice.”

“LET’S GET THIS FUCKING PARTY STARTED” Arthur loud voice came yelling through the door, turning to look at the gentleman, he had entered the bar with both hands held in the air as the patrons welcomed him inside.

Instead of replying, Tommy raised his glass at his brother the moment he entered through the door, a small smile pulling at his lips. The role of host silently being passed on to the correct brother.

“Alright sister, looking ravishing tonight as always.” Arthur complimented, taking my gloved hand into his and placing a kiss on the back of the satin.

“Thank you” I nodded, smiling softly.

Almost immediately I noticed his pupils were completely blown, his eyes almost completely black as he moved beside me to hug Tommy who said something about snow and race days.

Leaving the brothers to talk, I brushed down the emerald green chiffon on the front of my dress, avoiding the embellishments before making my way through the crowd, only to be stopped by a gloved hand on my bare arm.

“Ana, I went to your shop yesterday, to fix a few dresses but it was closed. When do you plan on opening?” Lizzie Stark asked, the taller woman looking absolutely radiant tonight in her off cream, embellished flapper dress.

“Oh Lizzie, I no longer work there. I’m sorry.” I smile, tilting my head to the side as the taller woman nodded in response, a sad smile pulling at her lips.

“That’s a shame, I heard you were really good. One of the best.” She smiled, bringing her cigarette holding to her lips, puffing on the end of it.

“I can still fix the dresses for you though. Bring them by Tommy’s office and I’ll call around tomorrow, pick them up.” I explained much to her surprise.

“Are you sure?” She asked, taken back by my suggestion. “I don’t want to put you out or anything?”

“You wouldn’t be, I can absolutely do it.” I nodded, fanning my face with a gloved hand. “If you’d excuse me, I need to get away for a bit.”

“It is getting a bit hot in here, aint it” Lizzie agreed, placing a soft hand on my upper arm. “Thank you though, really appreciate it.”

Nodding at her words, I turned around making my way towards the back section of the bar Tommy had shown me earlier this evening. It wasn’t opened to the public tonight, something I was grateful for as it gave me a place to hide away.

*****

“I was wondering where you had snuck off to.” Tommy voice interrupted the peace and quiet I had found myself enjoying.

Sitting in front of the roaring fire, I rubbed small circles into my stomach. Feeling at complete peace, watching the flames dance, the show giving me something to watch as I sat alone with my baby.

“I just needed to get away for a bit.” I nodded, sparing him a glance before returning to watch the flames.

“Stace” Tommy called, bringing my attention to him.

A strange feeling came over me as I looked at him. The feeling of unease hung in the air as he stared at me, his hands clasped behind his back, he looked rather serious. I couldn’t help but think something had happened and I was about to receive bad news.

“Tommy is everything alright?” I asked slowly getting out of my seat, my fingers sliding along the grooves of the seat as I stood.

“Marry me” He stated, face completely serious.

Laughing shyly, I paused my movements looking for any sign of him joking but there was nothing, his face was completely still.

“Tommy…” I started. I was about to ask him why he was joking about such a thing when he did something I never expected, he dropped to his knee in front of me, for real this time.

“Marry me Stace?” He asked, reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out a diamond engagement ring.

Feeling my breathe hitch in my throat, my hand slapped over my mouth as I stared at the ring, shining under the light of the fire. It was white gold, six smaller diamonds rested either side of a huge clear solitaire diamond in the middle.

“I was gonna do this at the betting shop, but seeing you sitting there, stroking our baby I couldn’t stop myself.”

“Your not joking?” I whispered, the words muffled behind my hand.

“No Stace, I’m not joking. I want, no I need you by my side as my wife.”

I have seen Tommy on his knees many times throughout the course of our relationship. Whether that be to pleasure me or after a brutal fight, to putting a boot over my foot for the first time allowing me to feel like a princess – nothing could compared to this.

“Yes.” I squeaked out, unable to control my excitement. “Yes Tommy, yes I will marry you.” I nodded frantically.

With a grin of his own he took my left hand into his, slipping the satin glove from my hands before sliding what I considered to be the most gorgeous ring onto my third finger.

Standing to his feet, he reached forward cupping my face in his hands. His thumbs catching any tears that fell. We stayed this way for a few moments before he finally pushed his lips against mine allowing me to taste the cigarette and whiskey taste I had grown to love.

“Shall we get you home Mrs Shelby?” Tommy smirked, pulling away but still remaining rather close to my face, mischief dancing in his eyes.

“Take me home, Mr Shelby.”

Taglist

@shelbyteller @seleneshelby @forgottenpeakywriter @babayaga67 @sweetmilkshakeluminary @slutforcoffein @sydneyyyya @happysparklingshadows @margew76 @midnightmagpiemama @pierre-gasssllyy

#tommyshelby #tommy shelby #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #thomasshelby #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #peaky fucking blinders #peaky fookin blinders

101 notes · View notes

of-worms-and-fibers · 25 days

Text

Wrong Body

Shinya and Tsunagu get hit by a body swap quirk and Shinya HATES it Fluff, Angst with good ending, comfort, trans Shinya, ask Word count: 1100

„Shit, Edgeshot?!“

Jeanist cursed, looking for his husband on the battlefield; in one of the most annoying fights of his career. None of the villains were particularly dangerous, just a group of pranksters with annoying quirks that did nothing but pose semi-mild inconveniences. Hell, calling it a “battlefield” felt ridiculous, it was more like a circus. Some of the heroes were stuck quacking like ducks while others had been made to dance the macarena. It would have been almost funny if the group hadn’t been so active lately, bothering civilians greatly.

“Jeanist, I’m here!”

The other called out, and he hurried to where the voice had come from; finding Edge fully alright, albeit a little annoyed looking, among a small group of more heroes who had managed to avoid getting hit by any of the quirks so far.

Jeanist breathed deeply in relief, going to hug Edgeshot briefly; too slow as the rest of the group shouted a warning and jumped aside; a fuzzy shiver ran all over his body, and when he opened his eyes; he wasn’t sure what was wrong at first. He felt the same, didn’t dance or make strange noises.

“Oh my god Tsunagu-“

Edgeshot exclaimed, and hearing his real name in a battle situation like this could only mean bad news.

“What is it?”

He asked, but immediately noticed what it was; his voice didn’t sound right. Now that he thought of it, his body didn’t feel right. Jeanist almost didn’t want to do it, but he slowly patted his body down, feeling his hips and chest to be far softer than they were supposed to be. In a panicked motion, he reached for his hair, relieved that at least that hadn’t changed. And so he returned his gaze to Edgeshot, who was clearly a lot less calm about it; screaming silently on the inside while uncomfortably tucking at his clothes, trying to cover up the silhouette of his body; a body Tsunagu had seen, years ago, before Shinya’s transition.

But there was nothing for now that could be done about it. Gang Orca sent them home, to see if the quirk would lift overnight and so the two could do nothing but obey his suggestion.

“Okay. We’re physically girls now. We have to stay calm. Why is my voice so annoying?!”

“Welcome to my life.”

Shinya replied bitterly, wrapping a blanket around himself. Clearly, he wasn’t happy with the situation and sensitive to everything about it. Tsunagu brought the dinner, sitting down by the other’s side:

“You know it doesn’t change anything to me right? You’re no less of a man, even if this predicament is making you feel dysphoric again.”

He said, sitting a bit away from the other, knowing how uncomfortable he was right now. Shinya didn’t eat much at all, and it worried the blonde:

“We should still have your binders, right? I don’t think we got rid of them. I can look for

them, but you need to promise not to wear them to sleep again.”

Shinya merely nodded, and with a kiss on his forehead, Tsu disappeared into the basement. An hour passed, then two until he finally came back:

“Sorry, I got distracted by old clothes. Look at this dress I found!”

He said, showing off a pretty dress he used to wear a lot. It looked even better with his hopefully temporary, more feminine features and he felt gorgeous. Two binders were promptly dropped on Shinya’s lap:

“I sewed little ninja patches on.”

A small smile finally crept on the grey-haired one’s face, which was quickly replaced by tears and a hug; this wasn’t a new sight. But one neither of them had expected again. After hormones and surgeries and a lengthy social transition, they had thought it was over. But of course, life was cruel. It always was with the job they’d taken on, but this was beyond any of that. This wasn’t about getting hurt or dying. This was so much more personal, to both Shinya and himself.

It felt like a setback of years and years of progress and it… frankly, it hurt. Tsu knew that he wasn’t the one having any right to feel hurt, but he did, because he knew he couldn’t do anything but assure and reaffirm his husband. Husband, that’s what he’d always stay no matter what anyone could ever do or say.

“I don’t think I want to have…”

The ninja enthusiast started but Tsunagu just shook his head with a soft smile:

“I know, we don’t have to do anything tonight or until this is over. Don’t you worry about that at all. I’m sure it will be over soon.”

It wasn’t over soon. A week passed, then two, and the two of them were getting increasingly worried. Visiting Kugo a lot, and a quirk specialist who couldn’t tell them more than

“It’s probably temporary.”

And probably wasn’t good enough. So the panic lasted for a whole month until one morning, the blonde was startled awake by a sudden scream from Shinya, who had come back early in the morning from a night shift:

“I’m normal again!”

With a quick pat down, the blonde assured himself of his own return to normalcy and breathed out in relief. He went to the bathroom, where the love of his life stood half undressed by the mirror.

“Oh thank god. I did like the hips though.”

“Your hips were the only good thing about this whole ordeal. Ugh, I thought I'd have to go through hormones and surgeries again I am not not showering for a week again!”

Tsunagu laughed, finally able to cuddle Shinya again, after a whole month of needing to be careful about it to not make him uncomfortable:

“Haha no never again. Glad to see your smile again, I missed it.”

He said, brushing a strand of hair out of his face to cup his cheek; the gleam in his eyes was back. The confidence. The smile. The relief. It was all too wonderful to see. He was wonderful to see. Handsome and happy, how he was meant to be.

“You’re the most beautiful man on this planet, do you know that Shinya?”

“Oh? Strange because I always thought you were.”

They laughed, deeply in love with each other. As they calmed down, only a small chuckle remained as the grey-haired man found his passion to joke again:

“Ryukyu is going to be so disappointed.”

“Oh yeah? She should be happy I’m even sharing you my little worm~”

With that, they continued getting ready for yet another day of hero work, as if nothing had happened, with a refreshed acceptance of whatever it may bring. Because at the end of the day, no matter what could happen, the most important thing was that they had each other.

#edgejeanist #edgeshot #best jeanist #shinya kamihara #tsunagu hakamada #mha #fanfiction #bestshot #best jeanist x edgeshot

12 notes · View notes

imhereforscm · 4 months

Note

Can i please get some comfort from Tauxolouve? I am feeling horrible physically and mentally. I was considering to end everything. Then i talked to my best friend and now i am not thinking about that but i don't know. I just want to be held for sometime. I don't how that will be possible to write as a story but if you can then please write something. I am sorry.

"That...! Is your strength..."

Genre: comfort

Warnings: suicidal thoughts

A/N: Hello, dearest!! The year has just started and an entire life is unraveling still. Please, don't give up!💓💓💓 I love you, you can do this!!🌹🌹🌹🌹

The call ended and the continuous sound of deeps filled up your ear, before you left your phone on the table, with trembling fingers. You put your elbows on its cool surface and buried your face in your palms, your wet cheeks cooling down your heated palms.

You breathed in deeply and exhaled through your nose, your eyebrows furrowed in frustration. Holding your palms against your temples, you stared at the wall opposite of you and you could feel the silence suffocating you, wrapping around your heart, lungs and mind and squeezing tightly, until you were holding back tears again.

Your body and soul felt tired, exhausted... Your muscles were sore, your eyelids heavy and as much as you slept, you'd always wake up just as tired by the sun's greeting.

Your mental health was dragging you down too, like iron shackles pulling you deeper and deeper within the ocean's abyss. The waves crashed into your pained body and your sobs begged for you to open your mouth and let the water rush in. You felt nothing but hopeless, even considering the end. Even considering opening your mouth, while still beneath the water.

You did your best to keep your friend's words in your head, gripping them tightly. "Don't leave." She had begged. "Don't give up." She had pleaded.

You were not thinking so much about it right now, but it didn't change the way that everything around you appeared grey and cold.

You slowly turned your head to the balcony and took a deep breath. You got up, your feet feeling heavy, as if your ankles were made of steel and stone and you stepped out into the night breeze, clutching your jacket tightly around you. The cold had at least managed to wake you up a little.

You connected your palms before your chest and shut your eyes tightly, your fingers intertwining. "I wish you were here... I need someone to hold me, at least for a little." Your words came out as a whisper, as if you were too scared the stars would hear you, but at the same time, you wanted them to.

You gripped the railing and stared at the ground with an empty gaze. The pain was dull and perhaps that was the worst. Because you couldn't cry it out. It was just a hole staining your soul. Your heart was the locket and you had lost the key, so cold air slipped inside and howled during the night.

A breeze blew just then and you looked up, tufts of hair swaying around your face, like a broken frame fighting to hold onto its pieces against the inpatient wind. Your eyebrows rose, a feeling different than the dull and aching pain, finding home within your chest. It wasn't exactly the brightest of emotions, but it was better than feeling the nothingness and physical exhaustion suffocating you.

A star twinkled in the sky and it descended lower towards the Earth. Towards you. The light took on form and features, until you could undeniably recognize the form of the man you love, flying down to your side.

You watched on silently, as he landed on your balcony, the streetlight broken and dipping the entire neighborhood into darkness and securing the intimacy of this moment for just the two of you. "My little lady," He spoke softly, tongue dripping with honey at the sweetness of his tone and vocal cords made by velvet at the softness of it. "I'm here."

You nodded, your lower lip quivering. "You are, indeed."

He spread out his arms, wordlessly. His features were soft, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes giving his expression the welcoming and kind appearance you always adored.

Tears spilled from your eyes and they felt somehow freeing. Redeeming. You sobbed as you rushed into his arms, throwing yours around him, your fingers curled around the soft fabric of his uniform, gripping him tightly and never wanting to let go. "Thank you for coming." You said, voice low and muffled against his chest, your shoulders jerking along with your ragged breaths.

"I will always come." He answered, wrapping his arms around you securely, his warmth and caramel scent embracing you and protecting you from the world that seemed so uncaring with you. "I promise you that."

"Life seems so hard right now. So hopeless...!" You explained, opening up between sobs. "Physically, mentally, I feel horrible. I've considered ending everything." You wiped some tears away, but it was pointless, since new ones soon came forth, like rain falling from the Heavens and causing floods. "I don't know. I just... I just want to be held."

"My little lady..." He breathed, squeezing you in his arms and preventing the cool wind from touching your fragile and already tired body. "I'm here, don't worry. I will hold you as much as you yearn for." He placed a hand on the back of your head and began stroking your hair, while speaking, lips close to your soft head. "Life is hard sometimes. Life can look like a dark tunnel with no exit and you may walk and walk, until your feet start hurting. Until you want to give up." He rubbed your back, feeling your labored breaths and placed kisses to your hair, between words. "But trust me. Life... Has always something for all of us. I didn't believe it myself, until I met you, but it's true. Things may seem like they're not worthy of the trouble and hardships now, but... The more you live, the more you'll gain. Surely, bad experiences are part of it too. There are wonderful things down the road too, though. Things that once you live them, you'll be thinking back on the days when you wanted to give up and be glad you didn't."

"What if that's not how my life's going to be and I only have hardships?"

"That's impossible." He objected, gently, giving your trembling body a warm squeeze. "Everyone's lives are shaped with both good and bad moments. But I promise you this. With everything in me! Brighter days are coming and it'd be tragic if you were to miss them. Right now, no one can fathom what life has in store for them specifically, so it's easy for most of them to say 'it's over, I can't do it'. But I know that, if you were to close your eyes by your own hand..." He paused, taking a deep and shaky breath, his body shuddering at the thought. "You'd also be closing the door to every beautiful thing that you could've had experienced." He cupped your cheeks in his hands and tilted your head upwards, so you would be facing him properly. "Every time you feel like giving up, remember a time in the past you told yourself you couldn't get through and you could've sworn you wouldn't make it. And yet you made it. That...! Is your strength..."

Your lips formed a smile, a trembling and weak one, but a smile nonetheless. Burying your face back into his purple scarf, you still felt exhausted, physically and mentally. But now determination melted some of the sharp, icy corners. You could do this. You are strong, just like Tauxolouve and everyone who loves you believes and even more.

#scm #star crossed myth #fanfic scm #scm fanfic #scm tauxolouve

7 notes · View notes

viking-raider · 2 years

Text

Afterlife *One-Shot*

Summary: Clark becomes aware of his own death, in the aftermath of his battle with Doomsday, while you grieve for him.

Pairing: Clark Kent (Superman)/Reader

Word Count: 6.6k

Warning: G - Angst, Trauma, Mention of Death and the Great Beyond, Greiving, Depression, Fighting, Alien Technology, Light Amnesia, HEA

Inspiration: I had this headcanon after watching Batman v Superman.

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoy it! Line divider by @FIREFLY-GRAPHICS!

If you would like to get notifications for my writing! Just follow my Tag List blog, @VIKING-RAIDER-TAGLIST and turn on the notifications for it! It’s that easy!’

The first thing Clark remembered, after Doomsday stabbed him through the heart, was emptiness. It was quiet, dark and empty. He couldn't pinpoint where he was in the universe or if he even was in the universe anymore.

His next thought was for you, you had been in downtown Metropolis, while he, Bruce and Diana fought Doomsday. He had to save you, when you went for the Kryptonite spear. He recalled telling you that you were his world, that he loved you, before taking the spear himself and flying off towards the monster, impaling Doomsday through the chest with it.

Had I killed it, before it killed me? Is she safe now?

It became abundantly apparent to Clark that he was dead. There was no other way around it.

If it were anything else, he likely would have recovered by now, however long by now it was. He was inhabiting some state of being, aware and conscious of himself, and could only answer it by him being a Kryptonian. He wondered if this was a natural Kryptonian occurrence, once their body died, that their consciousness lived on for some sort of duration or perhaps his body was still intact enough and his body's refusal to decay allowed him to be mentally aware, while still dead, somehow.

It truly baffled him.

Is Zod in a similar state? Are my biological parents? Is there a way for me to reach out to them?

He let himself go quiet and listened for anything that might potentially be moving or making a sound around him, he remained that way for a long time, hoping for any semblance of contact in the space beyond, but heard and felt nothing, other than himself.

Finding no reason in returning to the surface of his consciousness, Clark receded further inside of it, the quiet outside was only a tortured reminder of the loneliness and his death, of being without you and the pain he knew he left you in. The life the two of you would now never have the pleasure of living.

At least, she gets to live, then my death was well worth it. He thought, before finally falling silent.

“It's been a month.”

Martha pointed out, as she found you sitting on the pouch, staring off in the direction of the graveyard. “You haven't been to his grave since we buried him.” She said, holding a steaming cup of tea out to you, before taking up the spot on the porch swing beside you.

You opened your mouth, but the words jumbled into your throat, like a traffic jam. Shaking your head, you took a sip of the tea and washed the tangled words down, before finally managing to speak. “I don't have the courage or the bravery.” You whispered, biting your bottom lip against a fresh onslaught of tears that threatened you. “I could walk into a war zone, into a pack of rabid protesters and stare down the most decorated and brazen, four star Generals, to get a story.”

“But I have to use the back road to drive onto a farm I'm more familiar with than my laptop, just so I can avoid seeing that graveyard, or I'll end up losing myself.”

Martha pressed her lips together and rested her hand between your shoulder blades. “It took me a week to walk halfway down there, after Jonathan died, and then three days to finish the other half.” She confessed to you, sighing softly. “I thought I was going to cry, like a newborn baby, when I finally made it to his headstone.”

“But, I didn't.”

“What did you do?” You asked, looking at her.

“I was finally able to tell him all the things I wanted to tell him, but couldn't at his wake, since it was all still too raw and new.” She admitted, gently rubbing your back. “If it takes you a month to walk down there, or longer, we both know there are still things you need to tell Clark, so you can heal.” She told you, leaning in to kiss your hair, then stood and went back inside.

You let out an unsteady breath and stared down at your cooling cup, you missed Clark, like you were missing one of your body parts. You had become a shadow of yourself, you had only returned Metropolis for a few days in the month after he died, to grab some of your belongings from the apartment you shared with him. But staying there was too hard, seeing his things around the apartment and sleeping in the bed you had shared with him, and seeing the construction being done to rebuild the parts of the city destroyed by Doomsday, was just too much of a reminder, things were still going on, even when your life had stopped.

So, you took Martha's offer to stay at the farm with her.

It wasn't as hard being in the place where Clark was raised, and buried. You didn't see him as Superman, where in the Metropolis, all you saw were the flying black and silver symbols of Hope and people mourning their superhero and god. On that small Kansas farm, you saw his life, you saw Clark Joseph Kent; the son, reporter and fiance that just happened to be an extraordinary and more unique being than most people on Earth. The Kent Farm was the solid foundation you needed in the wake of his death and you weren't sure you'd be able to set foot off of it again, without your life falling apart. Even though you knew Clark would be upset with you, understanding, but upset that you were allowing your life to spin to a halt.

But Clark had been your world too.

You took a deep, fortifying sip of your tea and stood up, setting the cup on the porch rail and walked down the front steps, the gravel leading up the driveway to the house crunched under your feet. “Oh god, it took your mother a week to make it halfway there, might take me two weeks just to get farther than the porch steps.” You huffed, smirking and shaking your head. “Look at me, talking to you again, like you're here.” You scolded yourself, even though Martha and the therapist Perry made you talk to on the phone told you it was perfectly normal and part of a healing process.

“Hey, Dusty.” You sighed, leaning over to pat the fluffy Border Collie on the head. “Got any encouraging advice for me?” You asked, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Maybe, if we lined up a bunch of juicy journalist leads along the way, I could just write one article at a time to his grave, hm? Might take a year, but I'll get there!” You laughed, straightening up and sighed again. “I bet if it was me in that grave, Clark would have built a house next to it, so he'd see me every day, and here I am, a month in.”

Squaring your shoulders and putting on your best expression, the one you usually used when one of your leads was being a hard-ass, you put your foot in front of you and did the same with the other and kept focusing on that, one foot in front of the other, in the direction of Clark. While trying to convince your panicking brain, you were just going out there to grab him from visiting his dad's grave, for lunch. You had done it several times before, you could do it again, minus the catch attached to it.

Before you knew it, you were standing at the edge of the graveyard, Dusty was trailing behind you a little ways. Your hands were trembling and sweating at your sides as you looked out over the sea of varying headstones. Even though you hadn't been here since Clark was buried, before they had even closed his grave, you knew exactly where to look. He had been laid to rest beside Jonathan, who you had visited several times. It put a small smile on your face, remembering the first time you had come to the farm with Clark, he had introduced you to his mother, then afterwards, he walked you down here to introduce you to his dad, saying even if he was gone, it didn't feel right not at least having the two of you meet in some capacity.

You had found it sweet, a tad cheesy, but all Clark, with what you would later coin as his Southern Kryptonian charm.

“It only took a day for me to make it this far, Clark.” You said, biting your lip and rubbing your hands on the thigh of your jeans, standing at the edge of gravel and lush, emerald green grass, his grave just in view with the brown granite headstone, just like his father's, you noticed the grass had grown in over him, seamlessly.

Your hands balled up and you moved a few steps closer, before stopping again, breathing hard and shaking a little bit. “Clark.” You mewled, chin quivering as you finally made the last couple of steps. “Clark, I miss you so much. I don't know how I'm supposed to go on without you here.” You sniffled, lowering yourself down, to sit cross legged in the grass, between his and his father's graves.

“Everything is so much duller, now that you're gone. I just don't--” You sighed and looked at the blue sky above you, picturing him hovering in it.

Clark became aware of a murmur that did belong with a sequence of memories he had been inhabiting and swam away from them.

He'd become innately skilled with his conscious surfing, flitting from one memory to another, mostly memories of you, a couple memories from before his dad died. He had been learning how to manipulate them to a degree, so they'd last a little longer. He was currently engrossing himself in reliving the night he proposed to you. He had flown the two of you to the farm, his mom had left the house to the two of you, staying with a friend for the night, to give you space. He had taken you on a walk through the corn field, just before sunset and as you both came out on the other side with a perfect view of the sun melting into the horizon, Clark got down on one knee and revealed the simple diamond and platinum band.

The murmur became more clear, the closer to the surface he got. It was the sound of your voice, calling out to him from somewhere outside his consciousness, that he could somehow still hear you from.

Clark, I miss you so much. Your voice was crystal clear, as if you were standing right next to him.

I'm right here! Clark tried yelling back.

I don't know how I'm supposed to go on without you here. You cried, your voice weakening. Everything is so much duller, now that you're gone. I just don't see the world like I used to. I can't find the point or the center of a story anymore. I keep waiting for Perry to call me, to tell me the Bosses have fired me, since I haven't been into work in the month you've been gone.

A month.

If Clark's nervous system worked, he would have jerked with surprise.

I've been dead for a month! Oh sweetheart, I'm so sorry. You can't even hear me.

I'm sorry, it took me so long to come see you, after the funeral. A whole month. But I do talk to you, I feel absolutely insane and like I should hand myself in to the Metropolis Asylum or something. But your mom says, she still talks to your dad, to this day. So, that's comforting. She's the most sane and wonderful woman I've ever met. She's the only real rock I've had, since—you know. You sighed, twisting blades of grass between your fingers. Other than Dusty. You added with a weak chuckle.

At least, you still have Ma, and Dusty. Clark took some consolation in that. I hope she's holding up well. But if you're visiting her regularly, then I'm sure the two of you are being strong for each other. I wish there was a way for me to come back to you both. To go back and try something different. But, at least you and Ma are safe.

I promise to visit you more. I'll come back before bedtime and say good-night to you. You promised, softly. Now, I know I'm actually strong enough to make it down here, without turning into a pathetic mess of a human being. You chuckled, smirking. There's a joke for you, Kryptonian.

Very funny. Clark quipped, before growing somber. Wish you knew I could hear you. That you could hear me too.

I love you, Clark. You cooed, finding a little more strength to place a gentle kiss to the cold stone of his grave marker.

I love you too, babe. I love you too.

You starting to regularly visit Clark's grave began to give him a general sense of time. You always visited him after breakfast in the mornings, telling him about how you slept, describing the dream you had, which usually always involved him in some way.

He learned quickly, you had a recurring nightmare about the day he died, but you had only spoken at length about it once, as if his grave and consciousness were the only things you could unburden yourself of it too. Which wasn't wrong. You hadn't told anyone about the night terror. You were sure Martha had an idea about it, mother's intuition and the several times you'd woken her up screaming Clark's name, but she never pressed you for it.

After that though, you just referred to it as that dream, before moving on again.

After an hour or two, you'd leave his graveside for several hours, to try and get some journalism done with the stories Perry had sent your way via emails and such, he was being extremely understanding and accommodating. But you knew that was going to run out soon enough. You'd either go back down to Clark again around lunch time or for a break. Going on and on about the piece you were trying to write for the Planet. Clark, even in the grave, would out of habit throw in his suggestions on ideas you could use, possible ways you could look for leads or just his loving encouragement, before catching himself.

But you always came down before you went to bed to say good night to him.

“All right, Super-Boy.” You sighed, stopping beside Clark's grave, your feet bare and wearing a pair of Jack Skellington pajama bottoms and Clark's old Smallville High School t-shirt. “It's bedtime. So, I've come to say good-night and don't let earthworms bite.” You chuckled, even with the smallest twinge in your stomach.

Even dead, you still make fun of me. Clark remarked, entertained. If I ever get out of this box, I'll tickle you mercilessly.

“I love you, Clark. I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well.” You said, keeping to your ritual of kissing his headstone and walked back to the house.

With you gone, Clark began filling the time with memories, until he sensed something, that wasn't you. He couldn't put a name on what it was, he knew what you felt like. Even dead, Clark understood your approach and presence, it called out through his consciousness and it had pulled him to you through the world and cosmos, when he was alive. This felt as Alien like he was, strange and strong, and right on top of him.

Beyond that feeling, this presence, he heard nothing else.

The next morning, you were coming down the stairs and heading towards the kitchen, when you stopped dead in your tracks, hearing a familiar voice coming from that direction; one you hadn't heard in three months, since Doomsday and Clark's death. Panic bubbled into your chest as you slowly approached the kitchen door and saw, none other than, Bruce Wayne sitting at the kitchen island with Martha, enjoying a cup of coffee with her.

“Oh, you're awake!” Martha started, spotting you. “This young man,” She smiled, touching Bruce's shoulder. “was a friend of Clark's and wanted to come see how you were doing.” She explained, but saw the look on your face and quickly slipped off her stool and rushed over to you. “Honey, what's the matter? You look like you've seen a ghost.”

“You can say that.” You rasped, wide eyes still on Bruce with shock.

“That's my fault.” Bruce said, setting his mug down. “I should have called you first to see if it was all right I came by.”

“You think?” You huffed, eye twitching a little bit, before you looked at Martha. “Do you mind if I speak to him, for a moment?” You asked, keeping the edge out of your voice.

Martha got the hint and nodded, made a polite gesture to Bruce, then went upstairs, to give you both privacy.

“What the hell are you doing here, Bruce!” You barked, starting towards him, anger flaring in your eyes.

“Well, I came to check on you and Martha.” Bruce replied, a tad surprised at your reaction, but didn't move off his seat. “I know you haven't been back to the Daily Planet, or even the Metropolis in the three months Clark's been--”

“Don't you dare.” You hissed him, snapping your fingers and sticking your index finger in his face. “Part of why my fiance is dead is because of you, Bruce Wayne. You were hell bent on making him some monster that wanted to burn the world to the ground. When all Clark wanted to do was be a reporter, plan our wedding and bring Hope to people, when they needed it!” You growled at him, tears beginning to stream down your face. “But instead, you both let Lex Luther manipulate you into fighting. Maybe that's why the word starts with man. I don't know. But you had a hand in taking him away from me.” You seethed, before slapping him across the face, though it hurt you more than it hurt him, it felt good.

“I'll never forgive you for that!” You huffed, finally turning on your heels and storming out of the kitchen.

“Even if I could bring him back!” Bruce called back out to you.

You froze on the steps going upstairs, part of you said to keep going back to Clark's old room, the one you had taken over, that Bruce was just baiting you back into the kitchen to talk. But the part of you that knew Bruce, knew he didn't mince words or promises.

“Shit.” You mumbled under your breath, turning around and heading into the kitchen again. “If you're lying to me, I'll expose your ass as Batman before you can get off this property.” You told him, coldly.

“I'm not.” Bruce said, ambiguously, picking up the coffee pot Martha had set on a pot holder in the middle of the island and poured some into the cup she had clearly set out for when you came down to join them. “Coffee? I know how cranky you are, before your first sip in the mornings.” He smirked, holding it out to you.

“Don't act chummy with me, Wayne. Just talk.” You told him, taking the cup from him and walking out onto the front porch, spotting Bruce's ultra expensive car in the driveway with your car and Martha's truck.

Bruce followed you onto the porch. “We, my team and I, found a way to bring Clark back.” He said, standing beside you.

“Oh, more Kryptonian technology?” You asked, sipping your coffee, trying to scold your hopes from coming up.

“No, it's some form of Alien technology, we're not exactly sure what kind, but...” He paused, looking down at his feet for a second, considering how much he should tell you. “Take a walk with me.” He said, stepping off the porch, before looking back at you.

“It's nothing chummy.” He reassured you, before moving forward.

Sighing, you caught up to him and waited for him to continue.

“One of my team members was in a horrible car crash, nearly died—should have died, his body was maimed, almost beyond recognition.” Bruce began to explain to you, slowly walking towards the graveyard. “His father was a top scientist for the Department of Defense, he used this Alien Technology, a Box, to put his son back together again. I have a theory that with the Kryptonian Ship, where Lex made Doomsday, in the regeneration chamber, and this box, we would be able to revive Clark.” He finished, just as the two of you reached the graveyard.

“Dear God!” You gasped, your cup slipping out of your hand and broke on the gravel at your feet. “What have you done!?” You demanded, seeing the gaping hole where Clark should have been buried. “Bruce!” You yelled, punching him in the arm. “Where—Did you just take Clark's body without asking his mother and I?”

“I did.” He nodded, unapologetic. “We need him—alive.”

You glared up at him, and finally saw it. “No.” You shook your head at him. “You don't need Clark alive. You need Superman alive. You don't give a fuck about Clark, you never have!” You growled, burning with anger.

“You're wrong!” Bruce snapped, jerking slightly towards you, spooking you. “You're wrong.” He said softer, pulling himself together again, not meaning to scare you. “I know going after him was wrong and I regret that decision every single day. I blame myself for his death. I don't need you or anyone else blaming or reminding me of it, I do it already. But, as much as my team and the world needs Superman, they need Clark Kent more. You are right, he gave this world Hope, but he also gave this world more than just Hope.”

“There's something coming, and without him alive, we won't survive it.”

“Then, why are you here and not wherever you need to be, to bring him back?” You asked, sighing heavily.

“Because, we have all the components.” He answered, looking down at you with a soft smirk. “But, we don't have Clark Kent's key.”

“Key? You mean, the Command Key?” You frowned up at him, shaking your head. “We lost that, when we fought Zod.”

“No.” Bruce laughed, resting his hand on your shoulder. “You are Clark's key. I need you to come back to Metropolis with me. We don't know what's going to happen, when we use the Box to revive Clark, but something told me you were the key. So, I need you to be my secret weapon, should anything happen. Besides, if I know anything about Clark Kent, you'll be the first person he'll want to see, when he comes back to the world of the living, and I can't deny the Kryptonian that.”

“When do we leave?” You asked, with no hesitation.

“As soon as you're dressed.” Bruce laughed, looking you over, still in your pajamas. “I'll get you some breakfast on the way there.” He added, heading back to the house with you. “But, don't mention the Clark thing to Martha.” He whispered as you walked up the porch steps.

You shot him a look, that asked, who do you think I am?

“Martha!” You called out, heading upstairs to change.

“Is everything all right?” She called back, coming out of her room.

“Everything's fine.” You reassured her, resting your hand on her arm. “But I need to return to Metropolis with Bruce.” You told her, feeling a small part of you needed to tell her of the possibility, however small or big, about bringing Clark back, she was his mother, she deserved to know, but you also didn't want to get her hopes up either. “I won't be gone long, he has a lead on one of the articles I'm trying to write.”

“The privileges of a Billionaire PlayBoy.” You said, chuckling and rolling your eyes.

Martha studied you for a long moment, before smiling and nodding her head. “All right, you both be safe then!” She said, hugging you tight.

“I promise.” You replied, hugging her back, but had that reporter's tingle that she knew something more was going on, but wasn't saying anything about it. “I'll see you, hopefully tomorrow or the next day.” You promised, letting go of her and heading off to get changed, then met Bruce at his car and sped off to where his jet was parked.

“I really hope this works, Bruce.” You whispered, settling in your seat on the plane. “I miss him. I miss him so much.”

“I do too.” Bruce replied, sitting across from you.

“Just stay here with Alfred, when we're ready for you, he'll bring you to us.” Bruce explained as he sat beside you in the back seat of one of his luxury cars, Alfred at the wheel.

“All right.” You nodded, nervous and impatient.

The flight from Kansas to Metropolis had been shorter than it would have been on a commercial airplane, but it mentally felt longer, thanks to you tossing the idea of Clark potentially coming back to life or not. You had no idea what you would do if it failed. You supposed it wouldn't actually change anything, he'd still be dead, you would just have to somehow explain the fresh dirt on his grave to Martha and anyone that visited it. You also had no idea what you would do if, and when, Clark came back to life. There would be explaining his reappearance to people.

You had thrown this scenario at Bruce during the flight and he had replied simply, witness protection.

You had considered that avenue, Clark had done some digging into the Batman and drew the eye of Lex Luther. So, using the Doomsday attack as the perfect timing to fake Clark's death to cool the heat from those two, even though Bruce was Batman, would make a damn good cover story.

“Would you like to listen to anything on the radio, madam?” Alfred asked, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“No, thank you, Alfred.” You replied, smiling kindly at him.

He nodded his head back at you, before turning to face forward again and went back to his newspaper. You pulled your phone out and scrolled through your photos, smiling at the pictures of you and Clark, not realizing you had chuckled out loud at a photo of the two of you covered in cake frosting, until noticing Alfred smirking at you through the rear-view mirror.

“Sorry, I was just looking at a photo of Clark and I at my last birthday.” You told him, turning your phone around to show him. “We ended up eating my cake plain, because we got into a frosting fight.”

Alfred chuckled, seeing the photo. “I truly hope Bruce can bring Master Kent back.” He said, softly.

“So, do I.” You sighed, looking back at the photo and running the tip of your finger over the image of Clark's chocolate covered, grinning face. “I'm so terribly lost without him.” You admitted, quietly.

The look on Alfred's face was soft, understanding and sympathetic, but you hadn't noticed, your attention had been drawn outside. You bent your head low to your chest with your eyes out the heavily tinted windshield, almost rolled into the back of your head just to look up at the object hovering in the sky.

“Oh, dear god.” You gasped, jaw hitting your chest. “Clark.” You mewled, voice creaking. “He did it. Bruce actually fucking did it.” You sighed, a smirk pulling across your lips, watching Clark move across the sky, away from the building Bruce had vanished into sometime before, and towards Hero's Park, where Superman's monument once was and now his shrine stood.

“I have to--” You started, grabbing the handle to your door, only to have the lock click shut on you. “Alfred!” You barked, head snapping to him.

“Mr. Wayne said he would call, when it was time for you to join him and Mr. Kent.” Alfred replied, calmly, his index finger still holding down the master lock button on the driver's door. “It's safer this way.”

“Safer? You think Clark would hurt me?” You asked, snorting at him and the notion of it.

“No, I don't, Miss.” He answered, tipping his head forward slightly, offering his silent apology for the apparent slight. “But, we don't know how Master Kent would react to being brought back to life, and until we do know, it's safer for all parties concerned, that he and the team assess the situation first.”

You bit your bottom lip and clenched your jaw, before straightening up in your seat with a sigh. “Fine. Clark would tell me the exact same thing.” You said, impatiently turning your phone in your hands. “In fact he has, many times.”

It wasn't ten minutes later that the sound of sirens filled the city air outside of the car, you weren't entirely surprised by the sound, it was the middle of Metropolis, if there wasn't at least one police siren going off every five minutes, then there was something truly wrong. But as time progressed, there were more and more sirens, and not just sirens, soon there were cop cars speeding by you and Alfred, lights blaring. You became uneasy, seeing them make it to the intersection up ahead and turn left, towards the park.

Soon, Military Humvees joined the cop cars and your unease and anxiety only increased. You couldn't see the Park from where you and Alfred sat in the car, but regardless, you knew things weren't going as planned. Gripping your phone in your left hand, you slowly crept your right hand up the side of your door, carefully eyeing Alfred as he watched all the cop cars, military personnel and civilians crowding into the streets to see what all the commotion was, until your fingers found the lock. Your heart stopped in your chest as you strained to unlock your door, freezing in place as it popped, but Alfred didn't react, his attention firmly focused on what was outside the car and not what was inside it, probably believing both of you were safe and sound.

With the door unlocked, you gripped the door handle and took a quiet, but deep breath, waiting for the perfect moment to pull it open and bolt out. It came a minute later, with the sound of a new police car ripping down the street. You yanked the door open and tore out of it, before Alfred could fully react, yelling out your name through the left open back door. You ignored him as you sprinted down the cracked and weed strewn sidewalk, your sneakers beating the pavement and shocking your legs with the impact, but you kept going, willing yourself faster.

You needed to get to Clark, to find out what was going on and why Bruce was taking so long to call in his secret weapon. You hardly looked both ways, before cutting across the street and around the corner towards Hero's Park. Just turning the corner onto the street the park was on, was a whole other world, there were cars and people everywhere, being pushed behind establishing lines, but you weren't about to let that deter you, you never had before for a story and you sure as hell wouldn't, if it meant getting to Clark. You stopped for a second and looked around, before spotting a small spot in the chain-link fence they put around the fence after the Doomsday fight and went for it, squeezing your body through it.

Getting through the fence, you found a small-scale battlefield. The three pillars that once stood behind Superman's statue had been smashed to bits, even more rubble and debris filled the space, with smashed Metropolis Police cars and a burning Humvee. You saw Diana laying on the ground by one of the shimmering pools, a kid in a red suit splayed out on the steps beside a larger, heavily tattooed man. You finally spotted Clark just past Diana, barefoot and shirtless, only wearing the shredded suit pants he had been buried in. His body was tense, the muscles of his back defined and his hands almost completely curled into fists as he strode intently towards someone just beyond him.

“Bruce.” You mumbled, spotting the Billionaire in his full Bat suit. “Oh, Christ.” You gasped, watching Clark rise up from the ground, just before he reached Bruce, a cold chill of fear rushed down your back, prickling your skin, you took off towards him.

“Stop, don't!” A half metal, half man yelled out, as you dashed by him, but you kept going, your eyes locked on Clark.

“He doesn't know who he is!” Diana tried to warn you.

“Clark!” You screamed out, coming to a halt as he blasted Bruce backwards into a parked police car behind him with his laser vision. “Clark, don't!” You cried, begging him, your heart giving way with relief, when you saw Bruce had managed to block the scorching light with his gauntlet, and was mostly unhurt.

Clark slowly turned towards you in the air, his ordinarily cerulean blue eyes lit up like molten steel made the breath in your throat freeze solid, but he didn't unleash his vision on you, not yet at least. He only cocked his head at you, clearly scanning and studying you.

You gulped thickly, not wanting to show him fear. “Clark, please.” You rasped, biting the inside of your cheek. “This isn't you.” You told him, daring to take a small step closer to him.

“Don't-” Bruce started to call out, but stopped, when Clark jerked a look at him over his shoulder.

“Just shut up, Bruce.” You growled between clenched teeth. “You wanted your secret weapon.” You hissed at him, then focused back on your fiance. “This is not who you are.” You said, steadying your voice and taking another step forward. “You are a good person, and he-” You pointed to Bruce, and took a deep breath. “Is your friend. He's an idiot, but he's still your friend.”

Bruce shot you a look, but didn't say anything.

“So, please, don't kill him or any of them.”

The bright, fiery-orange in Clark's eyes faded, revealing the eyes you had missed and loved so much, bringing a grin to your face and even more tears to your eyes, before he slowly lowered himself back to the ground. You reached out to him, your fingertips touching the warm, but cool skin of his shoulder and sighed softly, it was all real and not some insane dream.

“I know you.” Clark's deep voice rumbled.

You chuckled, sniffling. “I know you too.” You replied, looking up at him. “You are Clark Joseph Kent, the love of my life.” You whispered, feeling the world around you brighten again.

Clark cupped your face in his big hands, tenderly rubbing his thumbs underneath your eyes to wipe away your overflowing tears, before pulling you in tight against his body, wrapping his strong and solid arms around you, then took off into the skies, with a thunderous boom.

“What the hell was that?” Asked the tattooed male, as he helped Bruce up.

“My secret weapon.” Bruce replied, flexing his sore body.

Clark landed the both of you on the edge of the corn field he had proposed to you in.

“Home.” He whispered, looking out over the waist high stalks to the Kent Farm.

“You remember this?” You asked, looking up at him with your hand resting on the small of his back.

“I do.” He nodded, looking down at you and smiling. “It's starting to come back to me. I was really jumbled up back there, but seeing you kick started me again.” He confessed, cupping the side of your neck in his hand and leaning in to kiss you deeply.

You melted against him, wrapping your arms around his waist and returned his kiss, before pressing your forehead to the center of his chest and took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. “I missed you very much, Clark.” You mumbled, relaxing.

“I know you did.” He replied, nosing your hair and kissing the top of your head. “I heard you.”

“You what?” You squeaked, tipping your head back to look up at him, confused and caught off guard.

Clark smirked at you, brushing his fingers through your hair, reveling in being able to feel your tresses and skin again. “When you would visit my grave-” He licked his upper lip and cast his eyes in the direction of the cemetery. “I don't know how to explain it or how it worked, but I could hear you. I could still sense you too, when you were close enough to me. Everything you said, while I was—away—I heard it all. I know about your nightmare about my death and Doomsday, that you haven't been back to our apartment since it happened.”

“Clark-” Your mouth worked, but you didn't know what to say.

“It's crazy, I know.” He laughed, shaking his head. “At first, I was alone with myself and the memories I had of my life. It probably has something to do with my being Superman and Kryptonian. But, I want you to know, I heard all of it. You weren't really alone. I would answer you, even if you couldn't hear me. Which reminds me.” He said, dropping his hands to your sides and gave them a tickle, making you laugh and squirm.

“What was that for?!” You giggled, slapping at his hands.

“Making fun of the dead!” Clark chuckled back at you. “Don't let the earthworms bite! Really, babe?”

“We both know, I've always had a good deadpan humor.” You replied, winking at him, before scurrying away, so he couldn't tickle you again. “But I do find that oddly comforting, you being able to hear me.” You said, returning to him, but paused for a moment. “What was it like, being dead?”

Clark took a deep breath and let it out with a soft sigh. “It was--” He shook his head, then leveled his eyes at you. “It doesn't matter, I'm here with you again.” He said, pulling you against him for another kiss. “And, I'm not going back there again, for a very, very long time. I promise.”

“You better keep that promise, Kent, or so help me God!” You proclaimed, lifting a brow at him. “Now that I know you can hear me from the grave, I'll hound you day and night with the most god awful things I can think of and buy!” You threatened, jabbing a finger in his chest.

“If that's the case, I'll make sure to live to at least a hundred.” Clark smirked, closing his hand around yours and brought your fingers to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

“That's what I want to hear.” You smiled, pushed up on your toes and rubbed noses with him.

100 notes · View notes

yen-doodles · 2 years

Text

This has to do with the fight scene I mentioned a little bit ago. Part three of a fic I wrote, last part was "Lost Moon"

Cw// fighting, graphic death and funeral scene, as well as self destructive coping mechanism

Be careful

An Eclipsed Moon, Leaving the Sun Alone

The sky was grey. It always seemed grey, or at the very least, felt grey; empty.

The pilgrims truck into another cluster of mountains, they were nearing the end of the journey. Feeling so close to the monastery that they could touch it.

The group were becoming increasingly excited, babbling to themselves, for the thought of not needing to travel another step being within reach. Well except for Sun Wukong, he wasn't excited and his traveling wouldn't be ending any time soon.

He was melancholy. For once the journey was over, he intended to find his Moon once more. To reunite again.

Thinking he was still out there, alive and well, gave him hope but he wasn't always so optimistic. Sometimes, at night, he wonders if it could be true—that his Moon was indeed alright.

The simian felt his feet drag along the dry dirt under him, weak and tired. He would usually summon his somersault cloud to give him time to rest but it gave the king unwanted time to think, to dream.

He rubbed at his drooping eyes, puffy from crying and lack of sleep. It made him wonder sometimes, if Wukong were to find his Lui ēr again, if he'd recognize him when they saw eachother.

The sage had surely lost the features his Moon knew him for. He's sure he charming looks he had under the tired eyes and body. Was he still the Peaches the demon monkey cared so deeply for?

The stone monkey felt ears twitch at the sound of rustling leaves as they came to an area where the ground flattened, someone was following them.

He stiffened, signalling the others to stop which they listened to. After activating his gold vision, he looked around the area the surroundings. Nothing, or at least a more stifler target.

He listened closely again, there were no rustling or signs of moving.

"Looks like a false alarm, probably was just a critter-" Wukong felt a brush of wind hit him as a black blur swished passed him. 'Nevermind, it wasn't a false alarm' he managed to think before sprinting to block the assault.

He raised his staff, successfully colliding with the assailant's weapon before it hit Tripitaka.

The monkey glared towards the person before being hit with a mix of emotions. "L- Liu 'er?" He stumbled out. Relief, excitement, guilt, confusion. It all swirled around inside him, he was overwhelmed in the best possible way.

"Plum!" He cheered as the two monkeys pulled their staffs away, "I can't believe it- it's you- it's actually you!"

Wukong allowed his arms to drop to his side's casually, not knowing what to do with them anyway. Relieved, he was so relieved. "I was convinced that I was going to spend centuries alone while I look in all directions for you," his watery red eyes gazed at his Moon's longingly as the sage opened his arms up for an expected hug "but look at you! You're here, I have my Moon back- we're together!"

Excitement overtook his voice, feeling his chest become warm inside once more. Something he was convinced he'd never feel again. 'I missed you' he'd thought.

When the other monkey didn't come in for the hug, his mood faltered as he lowered his arms. "Liu 'er? Plum?" Macaque wasn't looked at his eyes, grey eyes only flickering between the fillet on the king's head and the monk. His eyes like steel, his pupil mere slits, serious.

"I'm here for the monk Wukong" the shadow weaver's voice was stern, though it seemed forced. As though it hurt to talk sternly to the stone monkey. Sun Wukong's felt his heart sink, Wukong not Peaches.

"He's the one to tear us apart, he put that stupid ring on your head and made you go on this pilgrimage," Macaque gripped his shadow staff tighter "once he is gone, no one can rip us apart ever again!"

His Moon would never think of hurt someone unless he felt himself, or people he cared for, were in danger. Monkey King had to think of something quick.

"Hurting the monk will do no good, this is something for us to settle," he tried to reason "Lui 'er- we can talk this out I promise." The other monkey's expression didn't seem to change, his eyes still cold as steel.

"No can do Wukong.." his Moon ready his stance.

"Liu 'er.. please." He pleaded. Let's not fight, stay, stay with me... I just got you back. His world was slipping.

"I'll only say this once, move Sun Wukong!"

He moved his staff to be in front him again, feeling off balance. "I can't do that Plum," "then I'll go around you!"

The ash coloured monkey snarled angrily, dashing towards the sage. He held his ground, only for the other to leap into the air. Quickly Wukong used his staff as a leverage, kicking up and pushing Macaque back a couple feet.

The demon monkey stabled himself, summoning some shadow clones before sending them to attack the stone monkey. Monkey blocked the clones' attack with his staff, stumbling backwards only slightly, before dispersing them. He caught a glimpse of something in corner of his eyes and sprinted off into the direction of whatever it was.

Macaque had tried to go for Tripitaka again while Wukong was busy with the clones. Pigsy and Sandy had put themselves in front of their master but by the looks of his Moon's face, they would quickly be ripped through.

The monkeys hands lock together, they had let their staffs drop, pushing against the other's force. "That monk is what's keeping us apart! Don't you see?!" The shadow weaver yelled, looking into the auburn monkey's eyes for the first time since he'd shown up.

"This has nothing to do with the monk, I'm the one that yelled at you!"

"Yes because of that monk!" Macaque growled, kicking Wukong in the stomach. He winced for a second but recovered quickly. No one but a few exceptions could leave a mark on him.

The stone monkey unlocked their hands and punched his friend back, holding his strength back to not hurt his Moon as the other stumbled back. He tried to make every push, every kick, punch softer.

Because a lot of things can hurt Liu 'er..

The demon monkey winces, clutching his middle. He didn't bounce back right away and a pit crawled into Monkey King's throat. 'Had I punch too hard?' he asked himself, 'broken a rib? Part of his spine maybe?'

Red eyes met grey ones once the darker monkey recovered. Please Wukong's pleaded, let's not fight anymore.

Macaque eyes soften, no longer the hard steel but gentle moonlight he remembers. It seems as though the shadow weaver was stopping himself, holding himself from hugging Wukong with the longing they both felt. His moonlight eyes saying: I wish that could be possible.

His Moon glanced at Tripitaka, eyes becoming hard again, before looking back at Wukong. A final argument about ending the monk where he stood. The stone monkey frowned, shaking his head, 'don't do it.'

Shadow weaver lowered his head, a silent apology, summoning another staff before dashing towards Tripitaka for a final attempt. "No!" The sage shouted, all cohesive thought leaving his head as followed after with staff in hand. Pigsy managed to push Macaque enough that he toppled slightly. Wukong leaps into the air, holding the staff up as he slammed it against the demon's head.

He had intended to knock Macaque out so they could tie him up, when he would wake up he could talk things out with him. Find out why his Moon thought killing the monk would solve the issue between them.

But as he lands, he looks upon his companion's body laying on the ground as blood dripped from his face. He doesn't get up, doesn't even grumble in pain or breath a shakily breathe.

Sun Wukong rushes over to him, picking him up and laying him across his lap. He had a large gash down his right eye from his brow to his cheek.

"Liu 'er?" He called as he shook the unconscious monkey's shoulder lightly, chirping. The king felt his eyes tear up. He placed an ear against his Moon's chest as Monkey King listened for a slow heartbeat. Nothing came, no breath, no heartbeat. He choked on a sob as he pulled Macaque closer to his chest.

"LIU 'ER!!"

Wukong felt like he was back on Flower Fruit Mountain, but this pain felt so much worse. At least then he knew his Moon was alive.

He had been reunited with Liu 'er and he killed him, he ended his Moon.

After getting the sage to let go of Macaque, the pilgrims began to assemble what they could to preform the proper burial.

Sun Wukong had flown back to retrieve a change of clothes for the other monkey to be changed into after being washed. Pigsy and Tripitaka obtain the jade that would be placed on the shadow weaver's eyes and mouth. Sandy built the coffin that would be used.

His master along with the Great Sage washed and dressed Macaque in the clothes he had gotten, they had been a gift from Wukong that the other seemed to cherish.

As he had been cleaning the wound, what had ended his Moon's life, he felt himself pause. Running a finger gently across the cutter cheek, outlining the shape of it. Moving to push some longer fur out of his companion's face. His eyes felt so raw, looking down at his Liu 'er, having been crying since he'd held the smaller monkey in his arms. He had been sure he was crying then too, but was so used to the feeling he hadn't felt the water come out his eyes.

He'd forced himself to continue on with the cleaning process.

Sun Wukong had picked a nearby tree to bury Macaque. It seemed like a fitting spot to have it. A place Moon would've liked sleeping under once everything got quiet.

Tripitaka placed the jade on the darker monkey's eyes and mouth, saying a prayer as Wukong and Sandy lowered the coffin into the hole in the ground.

The sage remained there through the rest of the day, and the days that followed.

He'd lay there at night even though he hardly slept and wouldn't join in for meals. The others left him mostly allowed beside coming to bring something in hopes he'd eat or to say prayers.

Tripitaka joined him one of the days, taking a seat next to him but no words were shared between them.

"Master..?" Wukong had called out quietly after awhile of silence, peeking a glance at the monk. "Yes, Sun Wukong? What do you need?" The auburn monkey clutched his fists atop his knees.

He gulped. "Master, I would like you to..." The king hesitated "perform the mantra that goes with the gold fillet I wear."

The reincarnation of Golden Cicada sat shocked. The mantra was meant as a way to keep the sage in line whenever he disobeyed. A punishment.

"Sun Wukong, I don't believe that is a good idea-"

"You said that Buddhists do not kill, well, you made me a Buddhist when you took me as your disciple" Monkey King turned fully towards the other. "What's so difference from the one times you used that mantra?!" Tears streamed down his face as he shouted, "I killed someone, any other time you would have already recited it, I'm asking you aren't I? So do it monk!"

Tripitaka sat stunned, Wukong faltered. "I- I'm sorry master.." the stone monkey's voice was soft as he reverted his eyes away to look towards the tree, "I should not have of raised my voice."

"The Sun Wukong that warranted putting the fillet didn't feel regret or remorse for killing," the monk gazed up at the tree "the Sun Wukong sitting next to me does."

Tripitaka sighed, "you asked for the difference from the other times the mantra was used." Monkey King nodded. He placed a hand on the monkey's shoulder, looking at him sympathetically, "the difference is that you are in pain because you lost someone so dear to you."

"It doesn't see right to use the mantra while you are grieving.."

Wukong placed his hand atop of the monk's, being extra careful to not grip too hard. "Liu 'er Mihou.. never hurt me once in the whole time that I'd known him, and how do I repay that kindness to him? I kill him!" He remarked between sobs.

Tripitaka let him cry, never moving his hand away from the sage's shoulder.

"Master I need to be punished for what I have done to Liu 'er, please, I'm begging you as both your disciple and your friend.. please!" He looked at his master as though the world was crumpling beneath him, because in some ways.. it was. He had lost his Moon and his goal for going home to Flower Fruit Mountain in one swoop, by his own hands. Wukong was looking for some way to compensate for the pain he put his Moon through, to punish himself for still being alive when Liu 'er wasn't.

"Alright," Tripitaka said with a sigh "but I would first like to know why you picked this tree for your..."

"Mate, lover."

"For your mate's burial place" he finished.

"Moon-", "Moon?" The monk interrupted, confused by the sudden name change.

"Oh! A nickname I used to call Liu 'er, we used to compare ourselves to the sun and moon," the stone monkey explained "he was the moon and I was the sun; like part of my name but he mainly called me Peaches- since I really like peaches." Wukong smiled sadly at the memory.

"I see, so the tree?"

"Right- yeah- sorry Master" he chuckled half-heartedly as he scratched under his chin. "Moon liked sleeping in trees, well most monkeys do but him especially because of his ears; since six" he made a gesture towards the side of his head.

"He'd sleep separated from the rest of the monkeys in this big tree! It had lots of flowers like this one," the tree was a light brown with smooth bark and was surrounded by an assortment of flowers "I thought it might be a fitting spot for him to.. rest."

"I'm sure he appreciates it Wukong," "if he isn't already hating my guts right now..." He said bitterly.

"Before you do it, can I have one more moment?"

"Of course."

Wukong stands up and goes over to tree, placing his forehead against the trunk in a gesture the two monkeys used to do with each other.

"I hope you can see how sorry I am Liu 'er, for everything.." he stated sadly.

He turned back to Tripitaka and sat down in front of him. "Thank you for doing this Master, I'm ready" with that the monk stood up and brought his hands together.

As his master recited the mantra, a pain coursed through his head causing him to flinch. His face scrunched up but he refuse himself from being able to yell out, to allow his body the satisfaction to keel over in pain from the splitting headache.

His Moon went through more than this. Sun Wukong deserved what was happening to him, he needed to be punished.

The Moon has disappeared, leaving his Sun alone and lost without him.

The Sun has elcipsed the Moon permanently. Something he desperately wished could be undone.

The Sun cries and cries but his Moon can not come back to him. He is to live without him and go back to the mountain alone.

To always be alone, without the moon, only the night sky to comfort him.

#lego monkie kid #lmk macaque #shadowpeach #drabble #shadowpeachshipping #JTTW #lmk fic #JTTW fic #angst #heavy angst #i dragg SWK through more pain for the next thousand words

97 notes · View notes