#As he watches him drift further away. Unable to get him back without a shouting match. As he watches with his heart heavy and cracked at- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

zeydaan-isabella · 7 months

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A Terrible Fate

Story by Vivipixels - Zeydaan has a lucky escape from death... But the price must be paid.

“I can’t control it! Agh!” A surge of energy rippled from Zeydaan’s fingertips, ripping open a dimensional rift directly on top of a bus that the two were fighting near. Vic fell to his knees, watching the twisted faces of the passengers, screaming as they were pulled into the rift. There was nothing he could do, and it was all his fault. “Are you even paying attention Victor!?” Zeydaan screamed. Their rival, Victor Powers, had suddenly stopped in the middle of what had started out as a sparring match, but had quickly bloomed into a no-holds-barred fight. Vic’s pale blue eyes suddenly sharpened with focus, and he brushed some of his wild, blonde hair back over his ear. “I am!” he spat back defiantly, “but are you?” As he shouted, he closed the gap between the two, swinging his sword wildly. Zeydaan hopped back, keeping Vic’s attacks just out of range. He was attacking with a sudden ferocity, desperately trying to hit them. No matter how hard Vic tried, he could not strike Zeydaan. “You almost had me that time!” Zeydaan taunted. Energy surged down their right arm as they prepared to cast a spell. As they did, they saw fear in Victor’s eyes, and hesitated. Vic lunged, seizing Zeydaan’s right wrist, twisting it behind them. With a pommel strike to Zeydaan’s shoulder, Vic forced the energy out, creating a dimensional rift behind Zeydaan. “Agh! What are you doing!?” “What I must for the greater good.” Without a further word, Victor plunged his sword into Zeydaan’s stomach, and pushed them into the rift. They watched the rift starting to close as they fell into the chaotic abyss. Zeydaan watched Victor turn away as the dimensional rift closed. The sheer shock of the situation had kept Zeydaan from feeling much of anything. Their body quickly numbed, drifting down into the unknown. A sudden presence pressed on the back of their mind. With it, a voice. Coarse, gruff, but mystifying. “No… No no no… That wasn’t supposed to happen. How did… You, you’re not supposed to be here.” Zeydaan tried to respond, but couldn’t. A cold absence filled their form, replacing the numbness with true emptiness. “I’ll cut you a deal, mortal. You get a second chance, returning to life. In exchange, you help me right the wrongs. Does that sound fair?” A single thought formed in their mind as darkness swallowed them whole. ‘Yes.’ Then, there was nothing. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “...and then things just got out of hand.” Zeydaan’s eyes snapped open. A sweltering rage erupted in their chest, burning so hot it made their blood run cold. Slowly, they rose from the heap they were laying in, and assessed their surroundings. They were in the Hawkmoth’s base, and somehow without a sword in their midriff. “How out of hand? Victor, what happened?” an indistinct voice asked. Zeydaan stumbled towards the conversation. They were disoriented, as if they were unused to having a body. After turning a corner, they realized they were behind Vic, who was completely unaware of their presence. With quiet steps, they began to sneak up behind him. “I… Zeydaan-” They threw their arm around Vic’s shoulder, casually draping themself on him. “-is just fine!” they interrupted. Zeydaan felt Victor jump in surprise, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He screamed, turning as pale as a sheet. “Y-Y-You-You-” he stammered, unable to compose himself. “Me?” Zeydaan asked playfully. Vic shuddered. “I-I-I watched you fall into a dimensional rift.” “And I made it back just fine!” The rest of the Hawkmoths began to laugh, taking delight in the circumstance. Zeydaan leaned in to Vic, and whispered with a cold, angry tone. “I know what you did,” they hissed in a voice that wasn’t entirely their own. Zeydaan smiled as Vic looked back at them, sheer terror expressed in his eye. They took their arm off Vic’s shoulder, patting his back. The gesture barely helped to comfort him, as he was shaking like a leaf under Zeydaan’s touch. “Well, I’m gonna go for a walk,” they said, “I’ll be back later!” With a wave, they stepped out of the base. As soon as they were alone, they felt an icy chill run up their spine. “You felt it, didn’t you?” The voice from the dimensional rift spoke to them once more. “I know you did. You feel the same anger I do, that fate itself has been changed, interfered with, and know those who shouldn’t still be alive walk without punishment. This is what I brought you back for. To right the wrongs.” “I… I don’t think I could.” “Well here’s the thing. You don’t exactly have a choice here, Zeydaan Jem. I saved you. You now owe me. When I say this, it isn’t just an offhand remark. You feel the same as I do, because I said you do.” A pit formed in their stomach. The voice’s tone had become more commanding and sinister. “What if I don’t want to?” Zeydaan demanded. “Well, very simply, I would kill you. I’ll return you to the pitch black void I plucked your miserable soul from, where you could rot for all eternity. A fitting fate for someone who would back out of a deal struck.” Zeydaan’s heart slowed, filling their veins with icy fear. Doubts swarmed their mind. Was this a mistake? Would it have been better to have just stayed in the dimensional rift? Who or what exactly did they make this deal with? Why did i- “There’s the first of those who were fated to die. Do not let them slip away without correcting this.” Snapping out of their deep thoughts, Zeydaan looked up. They had apparently been wandering during this conversation, and ended up just outside a café. A shiver ran down their spine, and an awareness that something was horribly, viscerally wrong. The feeling only got stronger as they stepped inside. Behind the counter, a person worked hurriedly to fill orders. This woman was the source of the horrid feeling that now permeated Zeydaan’s form. It made them sick to their stomach. “There it is, now you understand. Help me correct this.” “How?” Zeydaan mumbled to herself, “I’m not exactly keen on offing someone in the middle of a coffee shop.” “Just get close enough for my influence to take hold, and I’ll handle it.” “Okay.” Zeydaan sighed. They quietly joined in the line to place an order. As the line moved, the nausea intensified exponentially. A spark of frustration flared in their chest, fueled by a desire to make the terrible feelings plaguing them stop. As they stepped up to the counter, they had to steady themself with one hand. The woman behind the counter looked at them expectantly. “What can I get you today?” She asked in an overwhelmingly chipper tone. “Could I just get a small, black coffee, please?” “Sure! Can I get a name for the order?” “Zeydaan,” they said, barely managing to keep it together. With a half stumble, Zeydaan moved over to a small table, and put their head in their hands. Their attention landed on the café workers’ conversation. “We’re out of coffee grounds!” “Hey Micheal, can you take orders up front? I need to grind some more beans!” “Sure Linda, just be quick.” Zeydaan watched Linda, the source of their nausea, enter a storage room. There was silence, then a whirring. Then a thud. Then a bloodcurdling scream. Zeydaan’s eyes slowly widened, realizing what had happened, as the feelings plaguing them faded. “There’s the first one taken care of. “ Zeydaan felt a different sort of nausea. The feeling one gets when they realize they’ve made a horrible mistake. The storage room door was pushed open, wafting out the scent of blood. Micheal, the other worker on duty, gasped. He gagged, and turned to the onlooking crowd. “Someone call an ambulance!” Panic and chaos ensued as customers began to flee. Zeydaan got themself swept up in the madness, pulled from the café in the crowd. They managed to slip into an alley, where they collapsed. “...fuck…” “What’s wrong, my executor? Getting cold feet after your first brush with Death?” Pin pricks rushed down their scalp. They gasped for air as their mouth ached. Relief clashed with panic, a sickening joy melded with deep discomfort. “...How many more times do I have to do this?” “Five souls remain unreaped. Five more must die.” Adrenaline slammed through their veins, that made them burn with rage and frustration. “Fine! Fine! If it’ll get you off my back I’ll do it!” More pin pricks scattered across their body as their emotions surged. With an uncharacteristically wicked laugh, they ran their claws through their hair. Some of it felt rougher than the rest. Must’ve slept on it weird. This wouldn’t be so bad, just get close to five more people, let the aura take hold, then leave. Easy. “What a sudden change of heart! How delicious.” That made them shudder. Their passenger was right, they had a very sudden shift of perspective. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or the relief in knowing that their first hurdle was clear. Perhaps it was something different. Deeper than they could even perceive. “Where’s the next one?” “I’m not omniscient. I have yet to locate another soul that escaped me.” “Alright, what do I do then?” “Be patient. There’s no telling how long it will be until we find the next one.” Anger and frustration welled up inside them. A bizarre, newfound desire to finish what was started. “Agh! I just want to get this done so I can get you out of my head!” “Have I been that bad of a passenger?” “You- You just-” “Helped you pay off your debt to me. Did you forget? You owe me for saving your pitiful soul.” “Why do I owe you so much? Who the fuck even are you!?” “Have you not caught on yet, my dear host? Has the thought of who is inhabiting your body not crossed your mind until now? Did the reaping of a soul not even stir a single idea?” Zeydaan’s heart froze. Their throat tightened. “Ohhh so you do already know. Are you trying to deny it then? Trying to deny the truth? To spare yourself the pain? It’s not complex. You know who, or what, I am- and what you are.” “...Death…” Their voice wasn't entirely their own. “The one and only.” Zeydaan felt their knees grow weak. A sudden, gastly weight filled their mind. Their vision darkened. On a plane of shadowy, reflective glass stood a tall, silvery-white wolf. He wore a black, hooded cloak, and clutched a sickle in both of his claws. Zeydaan shrunk under his gaze, his red glowing eyes piercing through them. “It’s a pleasure to finally speak face to face.” Zeydaan’s jaw trembled. Their eyes unfocused. In wordless terror, they watched as Death approached them. They looked down at their shaking claws, but quickly found the tip of a sickle blade tilting their head up to meet Death’s gaze, his red sclera pulsed in time with his heartbeat. “What’s wrong, Zeydaan Jem? You know I’m not here to take that miserable soul of yours from your chest.” Fear still clamped Zeydaan’s throat closed. They couldn't even make a sound. Death leaned in even closer to Zeydaan, the mask-like pattern on his face becoming very prominent. “Aww, what’s the matter? Cat’s got your tongue?” A surge of defiance burst through Zeydaan. They grit their teeth, reaching up to pull the sickle away. Only to find their wrist caught in the crook of the second sickle. “What did you think was going to happen? Arms down.” Begrudgingly, Zeydaan obeyed. Death let out a deep, menacing chuckle. “I’ve had enough of this little game,” Zeydaan shouted, frustration filling their voice, “what do you want from me?! Why are we here?! Where is here?!” “Oh you’re upset? You aren't the disembodied spirit of an all-powerful entity forced to constrain himself into the pitiful shell of a mortal. I brought you here, into the depths of your own mind so that you could see this beautiful face of mine.” “Okay, I’ve seen it, what’s your plan now, jerk?!” “To teach you some manners!” A red glow washed over Zeydaan. “I am Death, and you are my vessel. As my vessel, you are to do as I say because I am Death. I want to make sure you get this through your thick skull before we set out after the remaining five souls to pay off your debt. You listen to Me. Understand?” Zeydaan scowled. “Fine. Whatever gets you out of my head fastest.” “I assure you, cooperation with me is most beneficial. If you refuse, I can always send you back to the void I plucked you from.” “You… won't have to…” Zeydaan trailed off, defeated. With a deafening, cruel laugh, Death pulled his sickles away, as darkness filled Zeydaan’s vision once more. Pinholes of light bloomed into color, returning them to the alleyway they had stumbled into. They rose on uneasy footing, leaning against a brick wall. “Zeydaan? Zeydaan!” A familiar voice cried out. “Here!” They shouted, letting out a deep sigh. Rounding the corner was an anthro goat, probably one of the best people who could have shown up. It was their dear friend Asriel Reinsford. “There you are! Someone said they saw you around here and I came looking. Are you alright?” For a fleeting moment, they considered telling Asriel everything. About being possessed by Death. About how they were thrown into a dimensional rift. About being tangentially responsible for the death of that barista. Their passenger, however, stayed their tongue. “I’m okay,” Zeydaan said behind a forced smile, “just a little rattled by what happened at the café.” “I can tell. Just take some deep breaths, okay?” Zeydaan closed their eyes, leaning heavily on the brick wall. “You know I can hear your thoughts, right? Telling your little friend there about our deal would most certainly go poorly for the two of you.” A frightened gasp escaped Zeydaan’s throat, causing Asriel to move closer. “What is it?” He prodded gently, “Are you alright?” Truth or lie. Risk or safety. “I… I think I left my phone back in the café.” “Oh! I’ll run and get that for you.” “Thank you,” Zeydaan sighed. “You are treading a dangerous path, Zeydaan Jem.” “What if I am, huh?!” “Then I will teach you what it means to play with fire.” The following thirty seconds of silence were deafening, each moment passing slower than the last. Even Asriel’s movements seeming to be sluggish. As he approached, Zeydaan’s mouth spoke on its own. “Y’know, I can't help somehow feel responsible, if only I'd been more directly involved maybe things would've gone differently.” Asriel put a gentle hand on their shoulder. “Survivor’s guilt, I get it. I promise you it wasn’t your fault. Just breathe, okay?” Cautiously, with his other hand, Asriel handed Zeydaan their phone. He smiled at them, trying to be as calm as possible. “It’s more than just survivor’s guilt,” Zeydaan’s mouth continued, “it’s a feeling of direct responsibility. This… This was my fault, and I could have stopped it.” “Hey, you know that’s not true. It was a freak accident.” Zeydaan wrestled for control of themself, doubling over. Death’s grip over them was tight, yet Zeydaan managed to shake loose. “Zeydaan!?” Asriel exclaimed, watching his friend in horror. After a moment of stunned silence, Zeydaan straightened upright. “I’m okay. Just… lost control of myself there for a minute.” “I personally believe you were more in control than ever before, but I digress.” Zeydaan scowled inwardly. They knew none of that was true. “It’s alright,” Asriel said in a comforting voice, “I know none of that was true. Come on, let’s get you back to HQ.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Sometimes, the passage of time is fast. Minutes fly by, hours pass without it feeling more than a couple seconds. Other times, it is slow. Every moment drawn out in agony. If one is really unlucky, time may bounce between the two extremes rapidly. Zeydaan groaned, staring at the hands of the clock on the wall. They could have sworn the hands had begun to move backwards. All they could do was wait, as Death was focused on finding the next missing soul. In his absence, Zeydaan felt… empty. Like a part of themself was missing. They counted each sluggish second, hoping for a swift- “I return, O Vessel mine.” A wave of relief washed over Zeydaan, followed by anger. “What took you so long?! Why couldn't you just reap the soul while you were out?!” “It took a greater period of time because I am not a bloodhound, and I could not reap the soul because I had no Vessel to spread my influence through. Shall we continue our questions, or are you done?” Zeydaan bit their lip. “Alright, where are we going?” “Into the city, in a pillar of steel and glass, high above the world.” “A skyscraper?” “Yes.” “That is decidedly unhelpful.” “I will guide you, my Vessel. You need only trust me.” “...We have already established why I don’t want to do that.” “We have also established that you need to.” There was a long pause. The tension was palpable. “...Fine, lead the way.” Zeydaan rose from their bed, unsure how to follow Death’s guidance. For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a scent, as attractive as the sweetest honey. The smell itself was earthy, heavy, and slightly metallic. Zeydaan quickly found their body was beginning to chase the scent all on its own. “Yes, your first quarry. Follow my guidance. Find your prey.” As much as Zeydaan resented Death for saying that, it was remarkably easy to track the bizarre smell. They weaved in and out of strangers on the sidewalk, picking up speed the longer they followed the scent. Zeydaan was so focused on chasing the trail, that they ran full tilt into a door. Fortunately, the only thing that was damaged was their pride. They quickly jumped to their feet, brushing off some dirt. “We are here. Somewhere in this building lies your quarry.” “Okay, any tips on where to look?” “My guidance will not lead you astray. Follow it.” Zeydaan groaned, frustrated that their companion could not give them any more specific details. As they stepped into the lobby, a wave of the strange scent rushed through them. They drank it in for a moment, strange as it was, the smell was pleasant. With a confident stride, they made their way across the lobby, straight up to the lift. Thankfully, the lift was empty. Zeydaan stepped in, then hesitated. Perhaps it would be better to take the stairs, since they had no idea where to start anyway. Before they could step back out or press any buttons, the lift beeped, and the doors closed. Someone had called it to another floor. The decision had been made for them. Perhaps this was to their benefit. The lift was going all the way to the top floor. If they paid enough attention, they could tell what floor their quarry was on! Patiently, they stared at the floor number, waiting for the scent of their quarry to fade. With each passing floor, the smell grew stronger. Adrenaline began to course through them, the thrill of the hunt overtaking their rational consciousness. It wasn’t until the lift reached the top floor that it stopped. As the lift's doors slowly rolled open, another wave of the scent hit Zeydaan like a freight train. They nearly stumbled back, caught off guard by the sheer strength of it. “Oh!” A voice exclaimed, “I’m sorry, I’m not taking meetings right now.” Zeydaan focused on the source of the voice. A rather pale man in a fancy suit with a black crew cut. He stepped into the lift next to Zeydaan, and pressed the first floor button. “Quickly, depart this lift. I have marked our prey, Death will soon find him.” There was one way out of any scenario, guaranteed. Faking nausea. Zeydaan cupped their mouth, and began frantically pressing the button for the nearest floor. The man in the elevator with them immediately took note of this, giving Zeydaan space. With a beep, the lift doors opened, and they bolted out. Behind them was a loud, haunting creek. Zeydaan looked back, locking eyes with the man inside the lift. Their right arm moved involuntarily, claw drawing a circle in the air. SNAP! Zeydaan watched the lift car plummet, screaming back to the first floor. Horror washed over them, in realization of what they had done. “I-I just…” BANG! “...Reaped your first soul yourself.” A red tinge filled their vision. Pinpricks rushed down their spine and scalp. Fear and exhilaration clashed, causing cascading confusion. Wild laughter began to fall from their maw, as the claws of guilty joy dug into their heart. An ache shrouded their mouth, their teeth sharpening into vicious points. Suddenly, they fell silent. “Perhaps I underestimated you, O Vessel Mine.” Somewhere, among the swirling mass of conflict in Zeydaan’s mind, hairline fractures began to form. Subtle, small, but ultimately could lead to a terrible shattering. “I… I need to leave.” They peeled themself off the tile floor and bolted to the stairwell. Zeydaan scrambled down the stairs, as if they could outrun what they had done. They burst through the doors at the bottom of the stairwell, looking out on a crowd frozen in terror. It took Zeydaan a moment to notice that not a single eye fell upon them. Silently, they slipped out of the building. In a manic haze, they began to wander. Their gait was shuffling, aimless. Their mind churned on what had happened, what they had done. This time, it was not squarely Death’s fault. This time, they had done the deed. This time, Zeydaan Jem had killed someone. Without warning, they tripped, landing squarely on the bank of a pond. Zeydaan peered down the water, staring deeply at her reflection. Most of the fur on their muzzle had become white. The very edges of their iris had become a deep crimson. Their teeth had all sharpened to a dagger-like point. "Admiring yourself, Vessel?" Zeydaan was quietly contemplative. "How… How did this happen?" "You channeled my power to Reap a soul. Of course you, my dear Vessel, would not escape unscathed." "Does this last forever?" "As long as we are bound, Vessel. I'm sure a little white fur isn't worse than abyssal oblivion." That much was true. Some color changes here and there… probably better than the alternative. The alternative being something far worse than death. A yawning void awaited them if they backed out. It felt like standing on the precipice of some great chasm, doing everything they could to keep the wind from knocking them careening into the depths. "So… what now?" Zeydaan asked, rising from the pond's edge. "Four souls remain, in need of being reaped. Four more hunts. It falls on your shoulders to find our next quarry." "What?! Why!?" "You have channeled my power, we are more bound than before. I cannot depart this body as easily as I once could." "Well, I-I'll just unchannel you! I can do that, right?" "Hmhmhm, that is not possible." "Well, why not?!" "Your soul has been tainted by death… In simple terms, your soul is Mine. Were I to leave your body now, I would take your soul with me." "...oh." "Worry not, O Vessel mine. You've tracked a quarry before, I have every confidence in you to find our next soul." "Okay but where do I-" On the breeze, like a faint whisper, came the scent of their next quarry. From just that one hint, all the fur on Zeydaan's neck stood on end. Their pupils dilated, their body suddenly putting itself into fight or flight. "The Hunt Begins." Zeydaan bent their head down slightly, drinking in the scent. Had they been craving it? Desiring to hunt, to stalk their prey. Briefly, they leaned down to the ground, digging their claws into the grass. "I-Zeydaan!?" In a wild panic, they glanced behind them. The source of the voice was their dear friend Asriel, who looked disturbed and horrified. Zeydaan swiftly straightened up. "Asriel! I uh, didn't see you there." "What was that?! What were you doing?!" "Uh, new stretching technique, saw it online." "You were growling!" Zeydaan knew the lies were piling up. "I was clearing my throat." "Be honest with me Zeydaan. Please." "You know what you risk with the truth." "I know something happened with Victor- You've been off ever since," Asriel continued, "could you please just talk to me?" "The abyss will be your fate should you speak." The two voices were becoming overwhelming. "Zeydaan, please. Come with me." "If you follow him, you walk to your doom." Zeydaan doubled over, clutching their head. "I want to help you, Zeydaan. Let me help you." "The hunt calls, Zeydaan, and you must answer." "I'm your friend, I'm not going to hurt you." "He cannot know. Do not speak with him further." "AAAAA! SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!! BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!!" Zeydaan screamed, claws pressing into their skull. Asriel recoiled with a gasp. Even Death himself seemed startled. With a frenzied gaze, Zeydaan looked towards Asriel. They had never seen such fear in his eyes. Shame washed over them, and in a panic, they fled. Tears blurred their vision. They cared not for how long they ran, only that they would get as far away from Asriel as they could. How could they treat their dear friend like that? Snapping angrily at him like a wild dog. Zeydaan was not some cornered, feral beast whose life was being threatened. Their actions were wholly out of line, and they knew it. They were angry about how they acted, how quickly they were overwhelmed. "Vessel! Calm yourself! Be STILL!" Zeydaan's legs froze from under them, causing them to trip. As they lay on the ground, darkness enveloped them. Out from the inky blank, Death appeared, standing over Zeydaan. "Well? Are you just going to lay there, vessel? Stand up!" Despite very much not wanting to listen to the whims of Death, their body followed the command without fail. They scowled at the pale wolf. "What do you have to say for yourself?" "Asriel is my friend," Zeydaan growled, "and I don't appreciate you telling me what I can and can't say to my friend." "I can't have you spilling your guts to him!" "Ohhh, is the all-powerful Death scared of a goat doctor?" Death snarled, pulling Zeydaan close with a sickle. "Our bond will remain secret whether you tell him or not. Of course, we both wouldn’t like to be witness to his death, would we?” A spike of ice cold fear pierced Zeydaan's heart. "You wouldn't dare." "Do. Not. Doubt. Death." Defeated, they backed down, shrinking away from Death. He let out a deep chuckle, pulling Zeydaan ever closer. "You are my vessel, never forget that." His words hung in the tense air. The darkness slowly faded from Zeydaan's eyes. Once more they found themself on the ground, staring up at the sky, dazed. Zeydaan sucked in a deep breath, expecting to pick up the trail of their next quarry. There it was, like a whisper on the breeze. If nothing else, at least it was reliable. Carefully, Zeydaan rose to their feet, drinking in the scent. Their senses sharpened as they uncaged the primal beast in their heart. Zeydaan let loose a deep bellow, and dashed off in the direction of the trail. Four more souls. That was all that was needed. Four more, and then Death would release Zeydaan. They kept this in mind as they arrived at what they assumed was the site of their next reaping: a… used car dealership. Zeydaan was briefly taken aback. This dealership was new, of that they were sure. Not all of the cars had been taken off the trucks. Maybe this would be easier than they thought. They crouched slightly, and began to stalk the lot, following the scent trail. Their quarry was here, there was no mistaking that. "Jake! Are you gonna fucking sign for these cars or what?!" The person driving the truck shouted at the lone building in the center of the dealership. A voice called back, turse and frustrated. "I told you not to swear on my lot, Curtis! Keep your pants on, I'm closing a deal!" A moment later, Zeydaan watched a middle-aged shiba-inu leave the center building, approaching the rear of the truck. This was it, the opportunity was served to them on a silver platter. They raised their hand up, drawing a circle in the air around one of the cars on the top of the cargo trailer. As Jake reached the back of the truck, there was a loud screech. He looked up in fear. CRUNCH! An SUV had become unstuck, rolling backwards off the cargo trailer. It had fallen roughly four and a half meters, landing squarely on the salesman. The truck driver was frozen stiff, having been standing near the car as it fell and crushed Jake into a paste. "C-can someone call an ambulance!" cried the truck driver, finally shaking himself free of the paralysis. Zeydaan skulked away, creeping into the treeline. The second they were alone, warm static erupted across their body, followed by pin pricks. A sharp pain burst from the top of their skull, one familiar to Zeydaan. A growing pain. Their claws wrapped around their muzzle, forcing a wicked laugh to stifle. In this madness, a truth had become clear to Zeydaan, unveiled by the deepening of their bond with Death. The guiding hand that had been leading them to their prey was not simply the power of death guiding them. It was the smell of their quarry's fear. These souls had a fear buried deep down below their consciousness, an ingrained fear that Death would come to claim them, to correct the error. With freshly heightened senses, Zeydaan drank in the scent of fear. Their emotions smelled so sweet, they couldn't stand it. This wild joy in their heart was so viscerally appealing. They had doubted this for so long. But now, bathed in the enjoyment of the hunt… why had they ever feared the consequences of this bond? Why hadn't they embraced this sooner? As soon as the feelings arrived, they began to fade. Zeydaan needed more. "Finally, vessel, you serve me willingly. Continue the hunt." Drawing in a deep breath, they picked up the trail of the next quarry. They were close by. Zeydaan turned back to the lot. How fortunate was this? Another soul to reap was there, just waiting for Death's vessel. Amidst the onlookers who were watching the ambulance arrive on the lot was a posh hag of a woman. This vain ghoul was her quarry, there could be no mistaking it. Vessel could practically see the miasmic fear cloud swirling around her fur coat. They snarled at their quarry through the brush, and began to stalk closer. Zeydaan made sure to keep from sight as they snuck back onto the lot. This soul had arrived on the scene in a very fancy car. Well kept, clean, and more expensive than every other car on the lot combined. "Oh miss Shibaluki, I'm so glad you're here," the truck driver said, "I-It's your husband, he's-" "Dead," the dog replied. "I-It was an accident I-" "Oh don't worry too much. We had an incredible insurance policy on him. Speaking of, I'm going to go claim that now." As suddenly as their prey had arrived, she turned back from the SUV that crushed her husband, climbed back into her car, and started to leave the lot. Vessel growled, this one could not be allowed to escape. The car drove right by Zeydaan, who stared the hag dead in the eyes as they drew a circle around the car in the air. BOOM! That fancy, multimillion dollar car the hag was driving exploded. Vessel snuck away, cackling to themself. As they broke through the treeline, the cackles turned into maddened, full chest laughter. Euphoria filled their head, as another wave of pin pricks and static washed over their body. Zeydaan growled as they gripped their horns. It only now occurred to them that their horns had been experiencing some strange growth spurts. Now, they were much larger, nearly curling down to their shoulders. As they contemplated when this had happened, the red tint at the edges of their vision slowly expanded, smothering their sight. Then, it was gone. "Yes, only two souls remain." "Two more…" Vessel echoed, "I almost pity that our deal will come to an end. I've come to enjoy it." "You've seen the error of your old ways. You were always fated to be an instrument of Death. Now, you have embraced that truth." Death's words stirred a myriad of emotions deep within Zeydaan. Before any of them could rise to a coherent thought, the scent of fear clouded their senses and mind. The earthy, heavy smell of fear… Vessel loved it almost as much as they loved the hunt. Their quarry's fear guided their steps once more. Out of the woods, down the road, to an intersection that had recently been hit by a blackout. In the center of the crossroads was a police officer, directing traffic. Zeydaan grinned, watching him intently. This would be so easy. There was a nearby construction site. All they needed was… that! A semi-truck carrying a large supply of metal pipes, so many that they were piled above the cab. Perfect. Vessel drew a circle in the air around the truck, and waited. With sudden, violent acceleration, the truck lurched forward, speeding into the intersection. Fortunately, it managed to stop just before the police officer. CLANG! The truck had stopped, but the pipes it was carrying didn't. The cab kept most of them from flying forward. Most of them. The five sat just above the cab kept moving forward. Then down. The police officer who was directing traffic watched the pipes slide down the front of the cab, piercing through him at high speeds. He was skewered before he could even react. Vessel snuck into a nearby alleyway, barely containing a joyful howl. Their claws clutched their growing horns, desperately holding on to them as their body quaked. Flesh and bone stretched, adding on to Vessel's height. It was only uncomfortable for a fleeting moment, as their head was filled with bliss at the thought that their body had nearly become a perfect mirror of the image of Death. They released their horns, slowly standing to their new, full height. This Vessel was incomplete. One soul remained. Once that soul was reaped… Vessel shuddered to think of what would happen. A cackling laugh rolled out of their maw. Joy bubbled up their spine. Death and the Vessel would be one. "Find your last wayward soul, O Vessel mine. Our pact will be complete." "Yes, yes! One final soul, and the error will be corrected." Vessel leaned down to the ground, searching for the smell of fear. It was faint, very distant. Their quarry was a good distance away from them. This was no issue. Vessel had the trail, that was all they needed. With a howl, they began to sprint towards the source of the scent, so swiftly that it seemed like they were gliding. Wind rushed through their now coarse, white fur, bringing a toothy grin to their muzzle. They would find that soul in no time flat. Vessel didn't pay attention to any of the signs as they barged into the building that the trail led to. Gasps and screams echoed behind them. They flew down a set of stairs, and burst into the room with their prey. A morgue. How fitting. A single person stood alone in the center of the room. Zeydaan's dear friend Asriel. Recognition caused hesitation. Asriel turned to face them, letting out a soft gasp. "Zeydaan? Is that you?" Vessel growled, gasped, grappled for control. "I'll admit," he continued, slowly approaching Zeydaan, "I knew something was happening, but not what." "I-I…" Zeydaan's words caught in their throat. "You are so close, my Vessel! Finish it! Kill him!" "You're in pain," Asriel gently laid a hand on the side of Zeydaan's face, "I can help you." "No, you cannot," Vessel growled. "Do you truly believe that you are beyond saving?" "You are my Vessel! Nothing can change that now!" Vessel snarled and swiped a claw at Asriel, who jumped back in response. "You need to listen to me, Zeydaan. No matter what you've done, no matter what has happened, you can still come back from this." "Six souls…" Vessel started to approach Asriel, "Five have already been reclaimed. All except you." Panic flashed in Asriel's eyes. Vessel shuddered, the scent of fear acting like chum in the waters. "It is too late for this Vessel," Death's words flowed out from his Vessel's grinning maw, "And it is too late for you." "Y-You don't have to do this," Asriel stammered. "Oh but I must," Death continued, approaching the goat, "for you see, you were destined to die. As Death, I must correct that. And for that to happen, I've got to pull that miserable soul of yours from your body!" Vessel wrapped their claws around Asriel's body, lifting him up. "Zeydaan!" Asriel pleaded. With a wild howl, Vessel threw Asriel into the morgue's incinerator. Their claws trembled as they drew a circle in the air around the incinerator. The flames quickly rose, swallowing Asriel's silhouette. Death threw their head back laughing and howling. Pain swelled across their body. A perfect image of Death. Pure white, coarse fur. Sleek black claws. Eyes of crimson red. "Finally, oh finally, it's sooo good to be back," Death growled, admiring himself, "and this Vessel turned out so well." "There is only one thing left to do," said the Vessel, "repay the one who started this all." "Funny, I was thinking the same thing." Death hummed to himself as he left the morgue. Now that the Vessel was complete, only those who were destined to die could see them. While many within these walls feared Death, none of them needed to be reaped. For now. They were focused on a singular task. To repay a blood debt. Death arrived at the entrance to the Hawkmoth's base, just as someone was leaving. The exact someone they were looking for. "Victor Powers," Death snarled. "D-Do I know you?" he replied, turning pale. "Oh of course you. The rider of the pale horse? The fate of all fools? The black cloaked specter?" "Your voice… Zeydaan?" "So you recognize the Vessel." "What happened to you?" "What do you think, Victor," the Vessel spoke on its own, "I was spared by Death. You altered fate, and I was punished for it! But now, your little hero act has been corrected, now Death and I are one. And you will finally get your due." "You… are going to kill me?" "I'm going to repay the same kindness you extended to me on the day I died." Death reached up, gripping onto the Vessel's horns. CRACK! They shattered off rather easily. With a press of his influence, the long, curved horns transformed into his signature sickles. A cruel smile spread across his muzzle. "I take no pleasure in killing those who do not deserve it…" Death started. "But you do," the Vessel finished. With a flash of red, Death darted towards Vic, who caught Death's initial cross slash with his sword. "No! I will not fall to the likes of you, you-you freak!" "Oh, that's not a nice way to address your former rival!" Vic pushed out of the clash, causing Death to step back. Capitalizing on the break, Vic slashed upward confidently. He failed utterly, not a single fiber of the Vessel's fur had been split. Death landed a few feet back, spinning his sickles. With a shout, Vic charged, bringing his sword in a wide arc. Death ducked under, slamming the heel of his sickles into Vic's stomach. Victor screamed, enraged that this non-human would dare fight him. He made a wild slash, loosening his grip for extra range. In response, Death hooked Vic's sword, and disarmed him. With his other sickle, Death pulled Vic in close. "What are you going to do now, hero?" "Y-You can't do this to me, Zeydaan!" "Pleading to those who you've wronged won't save your miserable soul!" Vessel screamed. "You should have stayed in the dimensional rift I threw you into! I did it to save people!" "And look how well that turned out. No one can cheat Death, Victor, not even you." "Zey-" Victor's head tumbled from his shoulders, still contorted in an angry scream. Death chuckled, knocking it aside. The Vessel and Death were finally one, united. They could not rest though, for there were many souls to reap. Death began to whistle to himself as he walked from the lifeless corpse of Victor Powers.

#zeydaan #death #death wolf #puss in boots #puss #boots #slaughter #dark #adventurer #fire #horror #gore #transformation #takeover #madness #scythe #asriel #hawkmoths #the hawkmoths #crush #murder

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starlingflight · 3 years

Text

James Sirius’ First Display of Magic

It was a small gathering by Weasley standards. Arthur had been simply delighted by the Muggle barbecue gifted to him by Harry and Ginny as a late birthday present and had immediately sought to try it out.

Molly, possessing years of experience with Arthur's experiments had insisted on forgoing the invitations to the rest of the family until she could be certain he knew how to work the contraption now taking pride of place in The Burrow's back garden.

Harry had offered to take the kids home for dinner, but Arthur had been adamant that he, Ginny and the kids stay and appreciate the gift they had given him.

"I think dinner's going to be a while," Harry muttered to Al as he settled beside him on the picnic blanket Ginny had laid on the ground only a few minutes ago.

The news didn't seem to concern Al who was much too busy picking up sticks and twigs from the grass beside them and comparing them before throwing away the ones which, Harry assumed, had been deemed unworthy.

A bottle of butterbeer floated across the garden, coming to a stop in front of Harry's face. "Thanks, Molly," he called, plucking the bottle from the air and tilting it in the direction of his mother-in-law who was standing by the back door, holding a cauldron cake just out of James' reach.

Harry took a long pull from the bottle, closing his eyes for a second and appreciating the crisp spring breeze upon his face and the aroma of newly-bloomed snapdragons drifting to him from the flowerbeds.

His peaceful reprieve did not last long. The sound of Ginny's exasperated voice drifted to him much as his butterbeer had done.

"Dad, it'll be so much quicker to use your wand."

"It's a Muggle barbecue!" Arthur cried. "We must use matches, Ginny!"

Harry grinned to himself, able to imagine, without opening his eyes, the frustrated expression currently adorning Ginny's face.

"Wand," said a much closer voice and Harry felt something sharp poke him in the ribs. Albus grinned up at him, waving his latest stick wildly through the air. "Wand," he said once more.

"You've got a wand, have you?" Harry asked, smiling proudly at him.

Al nodded as he continued to wave the stick with abandon. His eyes focussed on the tip of the ‘wand’; his round cheeks turned red from the effort of concentrating.

Harry continued to watch Al, listening to Ginny and Arthur’s increasingly frustrated conversation until, finally, there was a whoop of joy and he turned to see the two of them hugging. Flames danced upon the coals and the smell of smoke began to drift across the garden.

It was at that moment that Al, seemingly bored of his stick, threw it carelessly to the side and took off, running as fast his pudgy legs could carry him towards the opposite side of the garden where a particularly grumpy looking group of gnomes had just popped up from a hole in the dirt.

“They bite, Al!” Harry shouted, hauling himself up from the picnic blanket in order to chase after his son.

Al shrieked loudly as he ran, obviously too overcome with excitement to listen to his father’s warning. Fortunately, the noise alerted Ginny to his presence. With a speed that had been honed over her years as a professional Quidditch player, she turned and grabbed Al before he could reach the waiting pack of gnomes.

His capture did not seem to bother Albus, who squealed loudly as Ginny proceeded to throw him into the air before catching him securely against her chest.

“Where are you off to?” She asked Al as Harry reached her side. “Was Daddy not paying you enough attention?”

“Daddy was giving him plenty of attention,” Harry said, reaching over and taking Al from her. “I’m just not as interesting as garden gnomes, apparently.”

“I’ve been telling you that for years,” Ginny said, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Would one of Nanna’s cauldron cakes hold your attention?” Harry asked, ignoring Ginny as he turned his attention to his son who was wriggling in his arms, desperate to get away.

“You’re going to spoil his dinner,” Ginny warned.

Harry looked up from Al and smirked at her. “Who’s the boring one now?”

Ginny rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him. “Naughty!” Al declared, pointing a stern finger in Ginny’s direction.

“Yes,” Harry agreed, already turning away from Ginny and carrying Al towards the table set up near the back door where Molly and James still stood. “Your mummy is very naughty.”

James was still jumping, though it seemed he had worn Molly down some time ago, judging by the traces of chocolate smeared across his face.

Harry settled Al into the highchair beside the table, securing him with his wand before reaching over and placing one of the freshly baked cauldron cakes arranged in the centre of the table on the tray before Al.

It was impressive how quickly Al managed to make a mess. Harry watched as he succeeded in smashing the majority of the cake between his hand and the tray. “See, you won’t ruin your dinner like that,” he muttered.

His attention wandered from the destruction Al was wreaking upon Molly’s baked goods, to James, who was still hopping like a kangaroo in front of Molly.

“I can jump higher than Louis!” James declared.

“Well, Louis is a few months younger than you,” Molly replied fairly, her hands on her hips and a look of amusement on her face.

“I can jump higher than you!” James said, as though he had not heard Molly at all.

“Of course you can!” Molly said through a chuckle. “Nanna’s can’t jump!”

James paused for a moment, as though considering his grandmother’s words. A hand reached up absently to brush through his unruly auburn hair. He turned, fixing Harry with a questioning stare. “Nanna’s can’t jump?”

“No,” Harry said seriously. “Everyone knows that.”

The doubt disappeared from James’ face immediately, apparently trusting that if his father said that Nanna’s couldn’t jump it must be true.

“I’ll show you,” he said decidedly, turning back to Molly and taking her hand.

“It’s no use, James!” Molly protested. “I simply can’t jump!”

“It’s easy, Nanna” James said dismissively. He tugged on Molly’s hand until she bent her knees. “Now, jump!” James instructed, launching himself into the air.

Molly stood up straight once more with an expression of faux concentration. Her feet did not leave the ground. “I told you, Nanna’s can’t jump!”

“Nanna,” James said, his expression more serious than Harry had ever seen it. “That’s silly.”

Harry caught Ginny’s eye from across the garden; they grinned at one another before Ginny’s hand moved to her mouth to conceal her laughter.

“Try again!” James said, pulling on Molly’s hand once more.

This continued for some time. James, apparently unwilling to accept that his grandmother would never be able to do something as wondrous as jumping, became increasingly erratic in his movements until Harry had to move Al’s highchair further away, lest he fall victim to one of his brother’s flailing legs.

“Give it up, James,” Harry said eventually. Just watching his son bounce up and down endlessly was beginning to make him feel exhausted. “Nanna’s can’t jump, there’s nothing to be done about it.”

“One last try,” James said solemnly, widening his eyes and schooling his features into an expression that neither Harry nor Molly had ever been particularly good at saying no to.

“One last try,” Harry agreed through a sigh.

James crouched low, his bottom only inches from the ground as he gestured for Molly to follow his example. Molly bent her knees in a rather more dignified manner.

“One…Two…Three!”

This time, Molly jumped, her feet leaving the ground by mere inches. James, however, did not have the opportunity to savour his victory. His own jump had been more powerful than anyone would have rightly expected. Harry watched, his heart crawling into his mouth as James soared higher and higher, until he came to land upon the roof of The Burrow.

“Merlin!” Molly exclaimed, her hands flying to her face. “He hasn’t done magic before has he?”

“James!” Harry yelled, jumping from his seat at the table; barely hearing Molly’s question. “Don’t move! Stay right where you are!”

James’ laughter was audible even from a distance, his wide smile of delight was easy to see.

Harry was a fully trained Auror, he had extensive experience in dealing with high pressure situations, but seeing his son balanced so precariously on the roof had made him blind with panic.

“I’ve got him!” Harry heard Ginny call, though he was unable to tear his eyes away from James to look at her.

He withdrew his wand from his pocket, willing his hand not to shake as he held it poised, ready to cast a cushioning charm should James slip and fall.

A moment later, Ginny appeared, hovering in front of James on one of the old broomsticks from the shed. Harry watched intensely as she gripped the broom between her thighs and scooped James off the roof, seating him firmly in front of her.

Ginny landed smoothly on the grass in front of him. Al applauded his mother’s daring rescue attempt enthusiastically and Harry felt his heart begin to retreat back into his chest as James' feet touched the ground once more.

“Did you see that?” he asked, looking excitedly between Molly and Harry.

“I did,” Harry said faintly, lowering himself back into his seat before his legs gave out beneath him.

“Now you know,” Molly said, giving Harry a satisfied look as she patted James lovingly on the head. “What you lot did to me when you were younger.”

“Burgers are ready!” Arthur called triumphantly, seemingly having missed the commotion owing to the excitement of his new barbecue.

“Sorry doesn’t quite cut it, does it?” Harry said.

#hp fanfic #dad!harry #james sirius potter #molly weasley #harry potter #ginny potter #fluff #so much fluff

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katsukikiss · 3 years

Text

I FUCKIN HATE YOU

CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP // MINORS DNI // EREN X F!READER

Warnings: NSFW 18+, fingering, unprotected sex, alcohol use, noncon touching(ish), hate fucking?, creampie m, idk what else

AN: This is a collab for @bordemm bunny’s rager! It had to fit the theme/vibe of a song and mine was ‘IFHY’ by Tyler the Creator! Give it a listen when you’re about halfway through!

Big thanks to @morelikebaku-no for beta reading this for me!

WC: 5.2K

Masterlist

How did you two get to this point? Why did you hate each other? He would always shove you into walls when you got too close to him and you’d slap him across the arm in retaliation. He would mock how eager you were to please and achieve on missions, and you’d scoff at his selfishness. You threw insults and jabs back and forth whenever you two were near, which wasn’t too often anymore. Although, you weren’t the one who started this all. He used to be so nice, asking you if you needed help, giving you his food, riding your horses side by side. You were both so fond of one another, a bond you had shared since childhood. You thought you might’ve even loved him, but something snapped in Eren one day. You couldn’t understand why he changed so much after that day.

Eren remembered the day perfectly. You both got ready that morning before you set off for what would be a horrible evening. Your squad had a relatively easy mission to complete, but something felt off to you. Eren rested a hand on your shoulder, reassuring you that everything would be okay, and that he’d protect you. He always stuck close to you on these missions, fearing that he’d lose you like he lost everyone else.

You set off on horseback together. You were a skilled cadet, well seasoned in using your ODM gear. Eren hated when you’d get cocky and push yourself too far, but thats why he stuck so close, but not this time. Levi sent you and Jean forward in a group of two, despite Erens pleas to be paired up with you. You shot him a reassuring smile before you and Jean pushed forward and to the right. Eren had to stay in the center with Levi and Armin, his eyes trailing off to watch you descend further away from him.

You and Jean easily took out five abnormals, you killing three and him taking out the other two. You were in a state of euphoria, zipping through the trees. Jean admired your strength and confidence, but they all still saw you as someone that needed protecting, and it royally pissed you off. You slung off to the left, Jean quickly losing sight of you.

“Y/N! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING?!” he howled out to you. He swiftly maneuvered around to try and follow you. Then he heard you scream.

Your blood curdling screams echoed through the forest. ‘T-Thats y/n’ Eren thought to himself.

“EREN WAIT!” Armin loudly pleaded, but Eren was gone, slashing his way through the trees to where your voice came from. Rage was radiating through his body, how could Jean have lost you, let you get hurt. He swore he was going to beat him half to death for letting something happen to you. He moved at an inhuman speed, frantically looking around for where you might be. Then he saw a 15 meter titan, with a tight grasp on you and your neck. Blood was dripping from your nose and lips, you lacked the ability to scream anymore.

Without thinking, Eren transformed. It was dangerous for him to go into his titan form, with you so close and vulnerable, but his body acted on its own will. He lunged at the titan, his mouth clamping hard onto the arm in which you were trapped in. The arm came tumbling to the ground, with you hurdling down with it. Eren was too blinded by rage that he failed to realize you were about to splatter on the ground. He continued to thrash at the titan that once held you. You looked down and your eyes filled with fear. Why wasn't he going to catch you? Suddenly you heard quick sipping noises and you were caught by Jean. He glanced down at you nervously, his breath heaving. He perched up onto a large branch and sat you down against the trunk of the tree.

“Oh my god y/n are you okay?!” he asked in a panicky breath, cupping your face in his calloused hands. You shook as you looked over his shoulder to see Eren still on a rampage, but now he was running towards you two. You lifted a quivering finger to point to him, your throat bruised and unable to form words, and Jean quickly turned his head. A large hand was coming down at you two. Jean scooped you up and slung the two of you away as the branch snapped. Eren let out a shrieking scream that sent shivers down both of your spines. Jean never let up his tight grasp on you as he navigated his way through the forest, trying to get as far away as possible. Eren hadn’t lost control in so long, and now he was trying to kill you.

You got back to the rest of the squad, and Jean explained what had happened. Armin, Mikasa and Levi all went back into the forest to find Eren. He was in a clearing, sticking out of the nape of his now disintegrating titan form, sobbing uncontrollably. They approached him with caution. He hysterically screamed at them, “I'M A MONSTER, I ALMOST KILLED HER!”

You had spent three months in the infirmary, healing from the broken arm and bruised windpipe you had suffered. Everyone came to visit you regularly, except Eren. He never came by to see you, and shuddered when Armin finally recommended that he should.

“I dont want to fucking see her” he muttered under his breath. Armin stopped speaking, not wanting to push his friend over the edge again. You were finally strong enough to go back to your own room, eat in the dining halls, and train. Much to your dismay, Levi wasn’t going to put you back on missions for awhile.

Your first day back in the dining hall, everyone beamed a smile at you.

“Hey y/n! Why dont you come sit over here?” Jean shouted to you. You smiled and looked away, opting for your usual table instead. You made your way to Armin, Mikasa and Eren with your tray. You plopped your tray down and scooted your way over to Eren. His head was low until you sat down. He looked up at you with anger in his eyes.

He was never angry at you, but at himself. He feared being anywhere near you. You almost died at his hands and he could never forgive himself for that. You were so sweet, never once holding a grudge for what happened that day. He hated how forgiving you were, it made it all so much harder. He made a promise to himself that he needed to stay away from you, make you hate him if it meant you’d be safe.

“Long time no see Eren!” you exclaimed. Mikasa and Armin both looked at Eren anxiously. He slammed his fist on the table, standing up and walking away.

“What's his problem?” you asked the other two who were looking at you with doe eyed expressions.

“Not sure, but I think it's best if you keep your distance for a little okay y/n?” Armin said in an apologetic tone. He could see the pain and worry twist its way into your face. ‘What did I do wrong?’ you asked yourself. Tears flooded down your face as you ran out of the dining hall back into your room. You told yourself this wouldn’t last long and things would be back to normal but you were so wrong.

Six months later and now you and Eren thoroughly hated one another. You couldn’t take his insults and cold shoulder anymore so you threw it back at him, making the divide between you two grow larger with every passing day. You let your feelings from before the mission drift away and all you were left with was resentment and anger. You never understood why he turned so cold but you didn’t care to figure it out anymore, he never wanted to be around you and that was it. But little did you know, someone else had really convinced him to stay away from you. He wanted to try and talk to you one day but Mikasa coerced him out of it, telling him that it would make things worse and that he would only end up hurting you again. He believed her and vowed to stay away from you.

It was a crisp Saturday evening. The regiment was going to be drinking and celebrating a successful mission outside together later that night, even Levi and Erwin would be attending. You made your way over to Sasha’s room to talk and get ready. It was nice to finally have a day to let loose and have fun. You and Sasha decided to take some sheers to old shirts and create sexy twist tops; neither of you had attire for a night out like this. You took an old black t-shirt of Erens that he had given to you one night, looking at it you felt a pang in your heart, before you shook it away and began to cut. You twisted it in the middle, giving your breasts little fabric hammocks to rest in. You pulled the straps up and over your shoulder. You shoved yourself into some high waisted jeans before heading out with Sasha.

It was a lively sight. People hugging and laughing, ignoring the horrible world they lived in for a while. Connie waved you and Sasha over to him and Jean who were seated around a high table. You jumped up onto a stool between the two boys and across from your friend. Jean had a pitcher of beer on the table and four glasses for you all. You finished three pitchers all together in the matter of 30 minutes, talking and cracking jokes the whole time.

You looked around and spotted Armin red faced, blabbering off to Commander Erwin, whose face was also flushed red from the alcohol he had consumed. It was a pleasant surprise that made you smile, seeing the two blonde men letting loose for a bit. Then you saw Eren and Mikasa, sitting at a table together getting belligerently drunk. You were never jealous of her, he always told you she was like a sister to him, but then you shook your head. ‘What? Why would I even be jealous anyway…’ you looked away from the pair, cursing at yourself for even feeling that way. ‘He hates you, you hate him’ you reminded yourself.

Your attention was snapped back when Connie placed four shots onto the table. You were no stranger to drinking, you actually really enjoyed it; maybe too much. You all nodded, tapping your shots down on the table, bringing them up, clanging them all together, then slamming them back onto the table before throwing the clear alcohol back into your mouths. Sasha groaned at the foul taste, begging Connie to go get some food with her to wash it out of her mouth. They headed off towards a table of food, leaving you and Jean alone. You looked back over at Eren, but he and Mikasa were both gone. Your mind started racing, but you kept your calm on the outside. You were pretty drunk at this point, vision a bit distorted, but your words still came out presentable. Jean laughed, he watched you sway in your seat before gripping tightly onto the table almost falling.

“You alright pretty girl?” Jean asked in a flirty voice. He was always super kind to you, especially after the accident, but he also learned not to baby you anymore after that. Sure, he was mad you ran off on your own, but he understood why you did that in the moment, you felt like you needed to prove something. You didn’t mind him taking a coy tone with you tonight.

“Oh yeahh don't worry about me” you said, dragging your words a bit in a teasing voice. You winked at him and he blushed. You were typically sarcastic when Jean flirted with you but not now. He was cute, maybe not ideal but you can’t be that picky when you weren’t dealt a great hand in the Scouts. He slid his hand across the table and grabbed onto yours gently. You looked up at him with a wide eyed, innocent look on your face. You looked to the side to see if Eren came back around, but to your frustration he was still nowhere to be found. You looked back at Jean.

“You know, I’ve always thought you were so beautiful y/n” he confesses, his grip on your hand tightening. You probably would have blushed under normal circumstances, but your drunken state left you smirking at him with an insatiable gleam in your eyes.

“So why don’t we…” your voice trailing off, you nodded your head to the side, signaling to Jean that you wanted to ditch the party and be alone. His entire face flushed red and his pupils dilated. He was so eager to finally have you to himself. He stood up briskly as did you. He held onto your hand, walking forward without saying a word to you. You started to feel a bit intimidated by the tall handsome man as he led you away from the crowd and into the dark of the night. But someone was watching you two, never stopped watching.

He pushed you up against the stables and began ravenously kissing at your neck and squeezing at your breast. Being touched deprived and drunk made you moan at his every touch.

“You look fucking incredible in this shirt” he huffed out. His lips came back to yours, shoving his tongue into your mouth. He started to move his hand lower and lower. You started to get nervous, you didn’t want to go this far, you weren’t ready to. You grabbed at his arm and whimpered out, “I-I don’t wanna do that right now, okay?” Jean kept moving his hands down. You weren’t sure if maybe he didn’t hear you or was too drunk or was just flat out ignoring you. Then his hand was forcefully pulled out of your pants as he fell backwards into the ground.

“Get the fuck off of her and get out of here. Now” Eren demanded in a fierce tone. He was standing above Jean, looking down at him. Any haziness you had in your head was washed away when you saw the scene unfold in front of you. Jean scrambled to get to his feet before looking Eren right in the eye.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he challenged. Eren was seething with anger. They both burned holes into each other's eyes. You didn’t want to see anyone get hurt because of you, so you spoke up.

“Jean, it's okay, I'm okay, I’ll catch up with you later okay?” you tried to reassure him. He looked at you confused then back at Eren with a grimace before turning away from the two of you.

“Alright whatever” he groaned, disappointed. You looked at the man in front of you for a second, before you lazily lunged at him with a fist. You were so angry and emotional when you saw him leave. Your coordination still wasn’t functioning at its best, he easily dodged and grabbed your wrist.

“What the fuck were you doing back here? Was he trying to..?” he manically questioned before letting go of his grasp on your arm. You were surprised to see how riled up he was over seeing you with Jean. You decided to push your luck.

“Why do you care Eren? And yeah, we were going to fuck until you came and ruined it” you spat at him.

“I heard you y/n, and I saw him ignore you. Don't play tough when I know you aren’t” he hissed back at you.

“What is wrong with you? Why were you watching us, you freak? Weren’t you off fucking Mikasa?” you sneered at him. You were embarrassed that he caught you lying, but even more embarrassed that he watched Jean touch all over you.

“You should be grateful I was here, who knows what we would’ve done” he answered, ignoring your comment about Mikasa. It gave him pleasure knowing you still cared a bit, that maybe you were even jealous.

“Grateful? I have no reason to be thanking you, I can handle myself just fine now leave me alone” you said, shoving your way past him. He grabbed your arm and yanked you back.

“What the fuck Eren. Get off of me…don’t you have another girl to harass?” you scoffed at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” he stated in a shadowy tone.

“Don’t play dumb, you and Mikasa left together”

“We didn’t..but why do you care hm?” he asked, slightly smirking. He was lying, but he didn’t want you to know that just yet.

“I don’t give a shit, fuck whoever you want but don’t ruin my sex life too”

“I actually never left the party”

“Yes you did”

“Maybe you didn’t see me, but I was there, watching you,” he confessed.

“Eren what the fuck” you said, afflicted by what he had just said. Over the last year he spent everyday avoiding you, your gaze, your touch, and when you were around he was nothing short of evil to you. But here he was, hands on your wrists, having the longest conversation you two had ever had since the mission. You felt your emotions being pulled in every direction. ‘He still cares. He hates you. He’s an asshole. Does he miss you?’ You couldn’t figure out what to think, but one thing you knew was that you couldn’t forgive him for the way he had treated you.

“I don’t know why you were watching over me, or why you’re even talking to me right now, but I want to leave. I don’t want anything to do with you” you stammered. It wasn’t entirely true. You missed him so much, but that was the old him. You don’t even know who you’re looking at anymore.

“Y/n, I know that isn’t true” he said, inching closer to you. You could smell alcohol on his breath and the scent made you dizzy. You backed up, trying to pull your hands from his grip but it was of no use. Your back was up against the wood of the stables.

“I've missed you so much, you have no idea” he remarked, with a hint of sadness in his voice. You looked up at Eren, finally locking eyes with him. You hadn’t looked him in the eyes in so long. Despite everything, his eyes were the same as you remembered. They looked at you sympathetically, with love and tenderness, the way he used to. However, your fleeting moment of empathy turned quickly back into anger

“How could you?! How could you just cut me out of your life, treat me like a fucking stranger? And you have the audacity to pull this little stunt! ” you screamed at him, hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I-Im sorry, I-“ he was cut off by your hand sharply smacking him across the face. He stumbled back and away from you.

“Get the fuck away from me. You don’t get to just walk back into my life, no, fuck that and fuck you” you refuted. Your reply hit him harder than the slap. He couldn’t let you go, never again. The brief compassion he had was gone. He was done trying to be gentle, you had awakened something that had lied dormant for months. He spent so long trying to stay away from you, his thoughts tormenting him, but you were different now. He was going to go easy on you, slowly open up to you to see if you could accept him into your life again, but it seemed he couldn’t take that approach anymore. He slammed you back into the side of the stable, trapping your arms behind your back and gripped your jaw with one large hand.

“I did that all for you. You don’t know how hard it was for me to be mean to you, to stay away from you. But here you are, and I'm not going to hold back anymore” he revealed with a low predatory voice, sending an aching chill to your core. He slipped his free hand under your little makeshift shirt and ferociously clutched at your breast. He aggressively pressed his lips against yours, his heart fluttering as he finally felt your soft pretty lips against his own. A low whine vibrated in your throat. You wanted to be stronger, to push him away from you but your resolve crumbled.

“I don’t want to see you around Jean or any other guy here, do you understand me?” Eren murmured, his throat rasping with the low tone he took.

‘Excuse me, what did he just say?’ You couldn’t just take orders from him, not after all he put you through. You snapped out of the trance he had you under. You looked at him with scalding eyes and spit onto his face. It was risky, but you weren’t thinking straight. Again, you were conflicted between screaming at him or accepting him, hating him or loving him. He looked down at the dirt and slowly dragged his hand across his face, wiping your saliva from his cheek. He creeped his head back up, his vile look tormenting you.

“Who the fuck do you think you are Eren? Trying to tell me what to do with my body? Fuck off” you hissed back at him. You tried to move away from him but his hand was encasing your fragile throat.

“I know you miss me baby, I know you want to let me back in, but you have too much pride, you were always too stubborn. Let me show you what you’re missing” he muttered. You wanted him to be wrong but he was so right. You desperately wanted to forgive him and bring everything back to the way it used to be. His free hand unzipped your tight jeans and tugged them down to the ground. His thick digits started to rub against your folds through your pink lace panties. His other hand moved from your neck to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back. He bit and sucked at the tender flesh of your neck, leaving little territorial marks all over you. Your lips parted to let out soft mewls. The last few months suddenly flashed before you, bringing anger back to the forefront of your mind.

“I h-hate you!” you screamed. Despite enjoying the way he was making you feel, you still had so much to let out.

“Don’t say that” he growled. His hands were under the fabric of your panties now, two fingers pumping in and out of you. His thumb reached around to swirl erotic circles on your sensitive nub.

“I mean it” you softly moaned out.

“No babygirl, you don’t. You can’t lie to me” He cooed into your ear. His fingers pace inside you abruptly quickened causing you to let out a pleasurable cry. Something about this new Eren was making your mind go crazy, he had an intense hunger for you and a depraved way of fulfilling it.

“Come back to me y/n, let's start over” he groaned into your ear, and you had a feeling he wasn’t suggesting that, but rather demanding. He tried to reach for your hand.

He desperately wanted you to touch him. You held your arms behind your back the entire time, by choice. You didn’t want to make him feel good, you didn’t want to feel his body, his face, his hair, or you knew you’d completely come undone.

“N-no Eren” you stammered. You were pushing his buttons, seeing how far you could go, how much he could take. He was starting to get angrier, revealing his deep sinful nature. He flicked his two fingers up, hitting your spongy spot every time they prodded back into you. His talented digits made your chest rise and fall quickly, letting short strained breaths and cries out.

“Wrong answer. You don’t get a choice. You will be mine” he demanded. Just as these words left his mouth your walls began to involuntarily clench around his fingers, your juices releasing all over them. You scraped your nails into the wood behind you, desperately trying to offer yourself some comfort. His possessive words should be scaring you, making you uncomfortable, but they only make you long for him more. Something about his controlling nature was truly intoxicating.

“I knew it, you do miss me, don’t you babygirl? I knew I should’ve done this earlier” he insinuated, a shameless smile creeping up on his face. He pulled his fingers out of your sobbing hole and brought them up to his mouth. He lolled his tongue out and slowly dragged his fingers down, savoring your sweet taste. You watched him in the lewd act, but thought about his words for a moment. ‘I knew I should’ve done this earlier’ you want to ask him what he meant but before you could speak his mouth was on yours, lips meeting once again. He gave you a wet kiss before pulling away to look at you. He pet your face and swept your wet strands of hair off your sweating forehead. Even all hot and messy, you still looked so adorable to him.

“Please baby, I can’t take it anymore. Put your arms around me” he begged. You gave the slightest nod of disapproval, pissing him off again.

“When I try to ask nicely you refuse. What is it with you?” he scowled at you. He yanked your arms from behind your back, making you yelp. He put them on his shoulders and pressed his body flush to yours. You stopped trying to fight his advances, wrapping one hand behind his neck and the other snaked through his hair.

His clothed bulge was firmly pressed against your exposed cunt. You began to buck your hips forward into him, forcing a low moan to escape his lips. He placed his hands on your thighs and hoisted them up and around his waist. You continued to kiss and explore each other's mouths with your tongues. You twirled yours around his, as if they were always meant to dance with one another.

He picked up your pants and carried you a few over to a shed. He kicked the door open, removed a hand from your ass to pull a light on. You looked and saw an old steel table with miscellaneous tools and blueprints all over it. Eren used a hand to shove everything to the side and sat you down. He stood between your legs, your neck angled painfully high to kiss the man towering above you. His hands moved down to his crotch as he meticulously unbuttoned his slacks. His throbbing member sprung from his boxers as he lowered them down his legs. Your mind was racing as you thought about what was actually happening. He pressed his cock against your needy hot cunt, sweeping through your puffy lips with it. All inhibition left your body from the touch. You pulled him close to you, the heat radiating between your legs.

“Fuck me Eren, please” you begged him. Your words made his blood hot.

“About time” he groaned. He aligned his cock with your tight entrance. He firmly grabbed your ass cheeks as he slowly advanced himself into your sobbing cunt. Your walls clung onto his swollen tip. He bucked his hips before completing bottoming out inside of you, gently grazing your cervix. His thrusts turned into brutal ramming, the entire table shaking with ever hard pound into you. Your lower stomach was bulging with every assault, your head hanging back from the feeling.

“Do you still hate me now?” he spat at you. His eyes transfixed on your bouncing tits. You couldn’t think straight, the pleasure of his cock hitting you in all the right places scrambled your brain.

“N-No no Eren fu-uck just fuck me, faster please!” you squealed out. He was already savagely slamming into you, but he answered your calls and quickened his pace. He grabbed you by the neck, forcing your head forward to look into his eyes.

“Tell me, tell me you’re mine” he whined into your ear. His eyes looked primal, as if he would devour you if you didn’t answer him correctly. You could tell he was close, his thrusts were getting sloppier and all he could do was let out husky breaths and little moans.

“Ah fuck I’m all yours Eren!” you cried out.

“ONLY mine”

“Y-yess ONLY yours”

Your legs wrapped around him as your orgasm shocked your entire body. You gripped his dark locks and looked up to see Eren’s eyes looking at yours, admiring the way your face contorted with pleasure. His knees buckled as his cock twitched inside you, releasing his warm thick cum all over your walls. He slowly dragged himself out of you, huffing heavy breaths out. Your legs fell down to dangle off the side of the table again. You rested your head onto his chest and he wrapped his arms around you, placing his head on top of yours. You both laid there, chests heaving in unison. You abruptly pulled away, startling him, and you looked up.

“Why d-did you leave me Eren?” you asked, tears welling up in your solemn eyes. He looked to the side, saddened by the question, and trying to find the right words.

“Because, I didn’t want to hurt you. I thought you’d be better off away from me after the mission and I-“

“Why would I be better off that way? You hurt me even more by doing that…”

“I nearly killed you y/n! I almost lost you, and everyone made me feel like I would be a danger to you” he whispered. Anguish and hurt flooded his voice when he spoke to you. The once domineering man was crumbling as he gave his confession to you.

“Why did you wait so long? Why now?” you said, pulling aggressively on his shirt. You recalled him saying he wanted ‘to do this sooner’ but never got to ask about it. He rubbed the back of his neck before looking down at you.

“I…well…Mikasa told me to stay away from you too…and I did leave the party before with her..but only for a little and that’s when I realized her intentions…but I came right back to find you and talk to you after that” he said, searching your face for a hint of how you were feeling. Your expression was blank, eyes were now dried and void of emotion. You jumped off the table and started putting your pants on. Eren started to grow worried as you neared the door.

“Y/n? Where do you think you’re going?”

“To find Mikasa”

#bunnys rager #eren x you #eren smut #attack on titan eren #aot x reader #aot fanfiction #jean kirschstein #eren jaeger

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morganaspendragonss · 3 years

Note

Can you write a fic where Carlos is attacked while he is home alone and TK comes home after a shift and finds him super badly hurt?

holly's august extravaganza day 31: scars turn to memories

thank you anon! who else isn't ready for it to be september yet? i'm certainly not 😅 a masterlist will be coming out tomorrow with all fics listed. thanks so much for everyone's support this month, and i hope you enjoy this final fic (for august)!

thanks to @halsteadmarchs for the beta!

ao3 | 1.5k | angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, major character injury, knife violence

There’s someone in their bedroom.

TK is stuck in the doorway, just watching as the love of his life is brutally attacked in their bed, in their home. He tries to shout, to move, to do anything, but some invisible force is pinning him in place, making him a mere spectator to the horror show in front of him.

Carlos’s head rolls on the pillow, his eyes instantly alighting on TK. His lips move, though the only sound that comes out is a wet gurgle, followed by blood spilling from his mouth and down his chin. Tears drip hot down TK’s cheeks as he sees the desperation in Carlos’s expression, which soon morphs into confusion and then betrayal as TK doesn’t save him.

He can’t—he can’t—and he’s trying but the light is starting to fade in Carlos’s eyes and he’s dying, he’s dead, and TK still can’t move, he—

He wakes with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in bed. His heart is pounding and his face feels tight with drying tears, trembles wracking his entire body as the dream replays all too vividly in his mind. He’s been having the same one since that night four months ago, when he’d arrived home from shift to find Carlos…

To find him…

TK shakes his head, trying to shove the memories from his mind, but it’s a lost cause. He presses the heel of his hand hard into his eyes, but he can’t stop the tidal wave from rising up and claiming him, dragging him back into a waking version of his nightmare.

Their front door is open. It’s wide open, and the wood of the door frame is broken, splinters littering the driveway and the floor of the front room. TK’s heart stops in his chest as he surveys the scene, his brain going blank, struggling to comprehend what he’s seeing.

He takes a tentative step forward and peers into the darkness, slowly sliding his phone out of his pocket with a thumb on the home button, ready to call 911 at the slightest sign of movement.

Everything is quiet in the front room, not even a table setting out of place. TK creeps further into their home, his every nerve on edge as he barely breathes for fear of alerting whoever’s here of his presence.

And then—

Carlos.

TK barely remembers to be quiet as he rushes to the stairs, desperately praying that the intruder has left Carlos alone. He knows that Carlos is more than capable of defending himself, but he would have been in bed, maybe asleep and definitely alone; TK doesn’t want to imagine what might have happened to him.

But, as it turns out, he doesn’t have to. TK stops dead in the doorway to their bedroom, all the breath knocked out of him as he takes in the sight before him.

The room is a mess, lamps knocked to the floor, the bed in disarray, and dark stains cover their sheets.

And on the floor, spread-eagled in a pool of blood, lies Carlos, and TK feels his world crumble.

His hands won’t stop shaking. TK grips onto the kitchen counter as he waits for the coffee pot to finish and closes his eyes, breathing carefully. It’s like the anxiety started when he first caught sight of the open front door and then never left, latching onto him and growing like a weed.

He hasn’t really had a good day in months, but it seems like today is going to be an especially bad one. Nausea climbs up the back of his throat as he remembers the sensation of Carlos’s blood on his hands, sticky and warm and there was so much of each, every bandage he pressed to a wound being soaked through in seconds.

His body is almost bent in two, his forehead pressed against the counter as the panic of that night returns in full force, almost choking him. TK gasps, his entire body trembling, before he loses his grip and crashes to the floor, the sobs that have been building in his chest since the moment he woke up finally letting loose.

“Carlos! Carlos, baby, stay with me, please, please.”

TK blinks back tears as his shaking hands hold another bandage to one of Carlos’s many wounds, crying out in despair as it quickly turns red. It was his last one, and now he’s down to grabbing anything he can find to attempt to staunch the ever-increasing blood flow.

He thinks the 911 operator on the phone with him is trying to calm him down, maybe, but TK stopped listening a long time ago. His training has been the only thing keeping him focused; if he had to just sit here helplessly, TK thinks he would have lost his mind by now, though it can’t have been more than five minutes since he found Carlos.

TK knows, in the back of his mind, that it’s a miracle Carlos is still breathing. There’s so much blood… No-one can lose that much and be okay. They’re on borrowed time, every second of delay in getting Carlos to a hospital increasing the likelihood that he won’t make it out of this.

“Come on,” he begs, pressing down harder, as if he can force the life back into his husband. “Don’t die, please don’t die, not now.”

But his pleas are in vain; Carlos’s breath stutters and rattles, and then stops altogether.

A second later, the room is bathed in blue and red as the wail of sirens heralds the arrival of help.

He comes out of the flashback with a gasp, finding himself curled into a ball on the kitchen floor. TK sits up with a groan, resting his head against the cupboards and tries to figure out how to breathe again.

One, two, three, four, five, in through the nose.

One, two, three, four, five, out through the mouth.

One, two, three, four—

One, two—

One—

It’s pointless.

TK forces himself to his feet, chest still tight with anxiety, and staggers to the couch. He collapses onto it and stares sightlessly at the wall in front of him. It’s still mostly dark outside, only the barest slivers of light entering through the windows, and TK wishes he could go back to sleep.

He won’t try—he’s too scared of the nightmares for that—but he’s so tired. He hasn’t slept properly since that night; is one night without feeling his husband’s life ebb away under his own hands really too much to ask?

Is it too much to want just a few hours of peace to pretend that reality doesn’t exist?

“I can’t lose him, Dad,” TK whispers, curled in on himself in the waiting room of the hospital.

His dad rests a hand on the back of his neck, fingers gently brushing TK’s hair, but it brings little comfort. Usually, his dad’s hugs and gentle reassurances would work miracles—even after their house burned down, when TK was furious at him, he couldn’t deny that it calmed him, just for a moment, to relax in his dad’s embrace.

But now… Now, TK doesn’t think there’s anything in the world that could make him feel better.

He has no clear memories from the moment paramedics swarmed the house; all he can remember is the pain and dread as they worked on Carlos, the fear as TK gripped onto his husband’s hand in the ambulance, unable to stand the thought that this could be it.

“I can’t,” he continues, shaking his head. “I don’t—I won’t survive it.”

“We’ll get through this, son.” His dad squeezes TK’s neck gently, then moves his hand to rub circles on his back. “We will.”

But all TK can think is how grateful he is that his dad didn’t say something stupid, like “It’ll be okay.”

Because it won’t.

Nothing will, anymore.

A silhouette steps into TK’s line of sight, and then he’s being lifted, his body pliant to the shadow’s ministrations. He’s resettled against a strong chest, arms wrapping around him and a kiss landing on the top of his head.

“Did you dream about it again?” Carlos murmurs, rubbing a thumb over TK’s knuckles. The gesture is soothing, and it does more to loosen the knot in TK’s chest than anything else could.

He nods wordlessly, sitting up and raising a hand to Carlos’s cheek. The raised scar tissue is barely visible in this half-light but TK feels it clearly as he brushes his fingertips over the mark. His hand drifts down Carlos’s neck and to his chest, where even more scars litter his skin, and TK’s heart aches—but then, something incredible happens.

Carlos smiles.

He fucking smiles, his eyes understanding and sad and maybe a little haunted, but it’s full of love; the same love TK feels for him.

And it’s the most beautiful thing in the world.

TK kisses him gently, briefly pressing their foreheads together before burrowing closer into his husband, his ear pressed to Carlos’s chest. And his heart is beating, strong and steady, just like it always has.

And everything is going to be okay.

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niqhtlord01 · 3 years

Text

Humans are weird: Hope for the future

( Don’t forget to come see my on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord )

The planet Alia near the edge of human territory and had grown from it's species first colony outside of their home system of a sparse few settlers to a thriving metropolis of millions.

The shinning spires of metal and glass of the planet's mega cities pierced the skies like the hand of an angry god reaching out to the heavens and the wealth and prosperity that flowed from it's vast trade network and supported the outlying colonies for further expansion. Yet for all their wealth and prosperity the fate that had been decided for this world was something that could not be changed.

A massive seismic event occurred on Alia shortly after it's new year celebration. The planet's tectonic plates became highly volatile and a series of growing earthquakes began triggering around the globe. Within a week of the events triggering a massive shattering happened and the plates shifted violently without warning.

Oceans swelled and receded, mountains crumbled and volcanos detonated, rivers changed direction and howling winds ripped across the lands so intense it shredded flesh from the bone of any foolish unfortunate enough to be caught in the open. Countless buildings shook and toppled and thousands if not hundreds of thousands died in the ensuing chaos as entire cities were swallowed beneath the cold surface of the planet.

Communication with Alia was lost and though the rest of the wider galaxy was unable to establish contact their response was already put into motion.

The human governing body organized a massive relief effort and was further bolstered by neighboring alien domains that shared trade with Alia and had heard of the travesty. Before the tectonic plates had even stopped shifting a fleet of relief ships from a dozen worlds was already enroute.

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Dust slid off the toppled column like a waterfall as Uto lifted it. The Vorka's muscles straining and bulging as he used all of his strength hefted the massive concrete pillar. His breathing calm and measured as he breathed in rhythm with his lifting. He lifted the mass over his head and in a single motion cast it aside with a deafening *THUMP!*

When the dust settled aide workers rushed passed Uto and cleared the rubble that had been underneath the column and in short order a door was revealed. Uto bent down and punched his fist through the metal door and ripped it off it's hinges. A dozen pairs of eyes looked up at him as he removed the door from his arm and dropped it harmlessly to the ground before gently extending a hand down. One of the people in the shelter took his hand and he carefully lifted them out into the open.

"Res ease, hue-mn." Uto struggled with human language, his tongues struggling to form the correct words.

He set the human, a scrawny female Uto wagered, to the ground. She looked up at him with a mixture of emotions dancing across her face before throwing her arms around Uto and hugging him. Uto stood transfixed as the female wept and thanked him over and over as the other rescue workers began lifting the remaining survivors from the shelter.

Unsure how to react Uto stood still for several moments before one of the rescue workers took the still sobbing woman away with the remaining survivors. Uto watched the frail female leave before turning his gaze back across the now ruins of the capital city.

Numerous fires still burned across the entire metropolis; some scattered around the ground while others burned high up in the few remaining sky scrapers that had not toppled during the quake. Roadways were cluttered with thick dunes of debris ranging from metal beams to massive chunks of concrete turning the landscape into some horrid nightmare forest.

Portions of the city's sea wall had broken and sections of the city itself had drifted into the ocean. Sky scrapers that once stood over 300 stories tall now appeared as nothing more than tiny isles just breaking the waterline.

Though he kept his thoughts to himself, Uto was amazed by the level of devastation nature still could have on modern civilizations.

He stood their for several minutes taking in the catastrophe before heading back and resuming the rescue work. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Several long hours passed with further rescue efforts across the entire city before their overseer called for a crew change and Uto's team began heading back to their hospital ship to rest.

If the shattered city was unpleasant to look at at during the day it was terrifying to look at at night. Nearly all of the power grid sections had been destroyed leaving the vast roadways shrouded in a darkness so thick it felt as if Uto could reach out and grab hold of a chunk of it.

His team was murmuring among themselves with Uto only half paying attention to their conversation when he spotted something down a side street between two toppled buildings. A single light was waving back and forth slowly from beyond the darkness like a beacon of old warning wayward travelers.

Uto held up a hand and pointed to the light and his team stopped and followed his direction.

"Another survivor?"

"Out here? Wasn't this area already swept?"

"Maybe they missed one."

The rescue team debated among themselves before Uto sighed and began walking towards life.

"No mazer," Uto spoke, "we help all."

With that the rest of the rescue team began following after Uto.

As the team came closer to the light they were able to better make out the surrounding area. The weak light appeared to be a lantern hanging from a wooden pole hanging from a small building at the end of the side street. A tiny structure with half it's walls caved in but the remaining structure appearing sturdy enough to support the roof.

"You smell something?" one of the rescue workers said quietly.

Uto sniffed the air and realized there was indeed a strange smell in the air that did not belong in such a wasteland.

"I'd recognize that smell anywhere." Another of the rescue workers spoke before pushing their way forward.

Uto made to grab him fearing the way ahead was unstable but they were too fast and they were already making their way inside through the broken wall section before shouting "Everyone, get in here!"

At that Uto and the other rushed forward expecting the worst but were confounded once they entered the building.

Rather than the gutted remains they had expected the inside of the building was semi clean and well lit. The worker who had rushed forward was sitting at a table on the opposite side of the room with another human handing him a steaming bowl. At seeing the other workers they raised their hand with the bowl to show them.

"It's a ramen store!"

While the word was unknown to Uto it seemed familiar to the others who then in turn piled in and began sitting down at what tables still stood. The man behind the counter appeared to be an elderly human but moved as if the years had only effected his exterior rather than his reflexes and soon there was a warm bowl of ramen for everyone present.

Uto stepped towards the counter and two of his team members parted to allow him a seat. As he took it the old man handed him a bowl.

"For your hard work." the man said as he smiled.

Uto looked at the bowl then at his team. All of them were eagerly eating and the mood was one of joy and comradery; a steep contrast to the dread they had been dealing with as they sifted through the remains of the city.

"Ssank ou." Uto muttered as he began sampling the contents of his bowl. It was a flush of flavor the likes Uto had not had since he was on his homeworld. Warm and delicious, almost disarming in it's nature to such a degree that when Uto looked up and for a moment felt as if he wasn't in the ruins of a once proud city.

When Uto finished his bowl and set it down the elderly man was ready and handed him another.

"Why ssssay here?" Uto asked the man, now curious about this human living alone.

The elderly man waved a hand around the building as he continued cooking. "This restaurant has been in my family for three generations now; I could no more leave it than I could chop off my own arm."

Uto looked back at the ruined walls and roof as portions of the shingles slid off and shattered to the ground. "I am sorry is ruined." To his surprise the elder man chuckled.

"It is not ruined, only broken."

The man must have saw the confusion on Uto's face and he continued. "In my culture when something has been broken it is, like a vase or cup, it is not thrown away and discarded but instead mended with gold to heal the wounds and restore it."

Uto shook his head at the man's remarks. "Iz confusing."

"Is it?" The old man pointed to Uto's arms. "You are covered in cracks and scars yourself, yet you did not resign yourself to languish in the trash and be forgotten."

The man handed out several more bowls before fully turning to Uto. "This city has been broken and many have been lost, the wounds are fresh and feel as if they will never heal again; but in time the city will rebuild and the streets will once again be filled with the sounds of joy once more."

"Ruins are only made when those who remain are unwilling to rebuild what was lost."

Uto pondered the man's words and again looked at his team as they mingled. Their faces were filled with joy and hope he did not think any would have after witnessing such devastation first hand.

"Ou are very wize." Uto tilted his head in acknowledgement to the old man who seemed to blush slightly and laugh.

He sheepishly waved to the store again. "It comes with owning a ramen shop." He leaned in close and whispered "All the best ones have sage advice; it makes the food taste better."

The two laughed and sat the night away, a tiny corner of joy in a city though broken, would never be defeated.

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #story

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inkformyblood · 3 years

Text

looking means remembering

Day 04 of @bobadinweek Prompt: Family Warnings: none

“How would you do that?”

Boba pauses at the sound of Din’s voice, unmodulated and cracking whenever the words caught in his throat and tips his head back to inspect the other man, blinking away the rolling scrawl that had imprinted on his gaze from the screen.

Din catches his gaze for a moment, his eyes large and dark, his mouth drawn into a tight frown that seems out of place despite how easily he wears it, and turns away, inspecting the tangled mess of wires Boba had drawn from the central console. It takes a moment for Boba to drag his thoughts away from the loose curls of Din’s hair, floating free around his face, and the pale silver patch of hair at the curve of his jaw.

“We already stripped this ship,” Boba begins, unsure at which point his thoughts had shifted from his mind to being spoken aloud, an old habit to fill the silent air of the ship as he drifted alone and grieving as a child. “Peli was more than happy to help with that.”

Din laughs, a barely-there exhalation, and Boba lets his eyes drift out of focus as he studies the datapad, bringing Din into sharp relief through his peripheral vision. It highlights the exhausted slope of his shoulders, constantly in motion as he fidgets with the edge of his gloves, his armour a smooth burnished silver against the dark metal walls.

Boba grins, disguising the gentler than usual expression as he lowers his head to peer at the lines of programming again. His ascension to the throne had caused many people to treat with a certain level of nervous respect in the beginning, cautiously relaxing when Boba hadn’t descended into the tyranny they had all been expecting. Peli was someone different. It was hard to argue with a woman who, when she looked at him, still saw the too-slight figure in armour that was hanging off of him that had stumbled back into her workshop with cuts and scrapes and burns after jobs that had gone right and jobs that had gone wrong.

“I’d thought that had gotten all the hidden triggers out but it’s looking like there’s some coded deeper than that. Maybe on the actual core. It’s tricky and hasn’t been done in years. Too dangerous, you see. There’s not many left now but have you ever seen spacers who have large shimmering burns on their arms and chest, maybe their face?”

Boba sees the tremor in Din’s hands steady as his thoughts turn away from the planet they were approaching and what possibly waited for them there, warm satisfaction flooding through Boba’s chest. The annoyance of having to take the refurbished ship apart for a second time and hearing Peli’s comments on his work as she watched him would be worth it in the end.

“Some. Scars are their own story but those seemed…” Din trails off and Boba watches the gleam in his eye, the starlight through the viewscreen casting him in ethereal silver.

“Core burns do funny things to skin. As does Sarlacc acid as it turns out.” Boba’s grin tightens, becomes sharp, and Din turns towards him, stretching out and down to catch one of Boba’s hands in a loose grip.

“Is it hurting?”

Boba opens his mouth, a reflexive denial rising to his lips, but Din’s thumb slides over the curved edge of one scar, his mouth set into a flat line.

“A bit,” Boba says finally, the smallest concession he will allow himself for the moment. The burning pressure of Din’s touch solidifies as he works, his thumb pressing into the corded and damaged muscle until it leaves behind the shadow of his skin and a sense of relief.

“And your leg?” Din shifts in the seat, wriggling forward to brace his boots against the floor. There are imprints in the plush carpet, deeper around the toes where his heels had bounced for most of their journey, unable to settle but unwilling to pace like a caged animal. Boba understood his nerves, but hyperspace was his one true comfort, the limitless rush of stars past the window a balm on his exhausted mind. When he had been younger, hyperspace had been the only place he could sleep and, while he had broken himself of the habit years ago, old memories still remained draped around his shoulders.

“There’s sand in the joint again.” Boba stretches forward to tap his boot against Din’s, judging the motion with his memory and the soft smile on the other man’s face and he wants nothing more than to kiss him.

So, he does.

It isn’t sustainable for long. Boba can tell that in an instant from the immediate aching increase in pressure on his knee, an answering burn in the small of his back, but it was enough for the moment. Boba drinks Din in, revelling in the soft noise the action still shocks out of the other man, even after all this time. Din presses closer, his grip tightening on Boba’s hands as if reassuring himself that he was real, their noses brushing together as they parted for a moment. Din’s eyes are blown wide, brown and beautiful, and he stares at Boba, truly still at last from the nervous energy that had rumbled through him like the aftershocks of a quake ever since they first heard the rumours. Boba kisses him, unwilling to let him go but knowing it was inevitable.

“Ready?” Boba’s voice is steady even as his heart twists at seeing Din’s hands tap over his weapons again, a rhythmic jump of a brush of his fingertips over his blasters, a pause at his wrist, a shift of his shoulders to check the blades hidden in their holsters.

Din nods, his brow furrowed and the corners of his mouth downturned as he glances towards the planet in front of them. Boba scoops up the wires, hearing their hum sharpen and rise in frequency as the ship begins to land. The sharp slam of the open hatches in the depths of the ship makes them both jump, blasters flying to their hands as they whirl around.

“Karking smuggler,” Boba growls. “Of course he rigged the hatches to slam closed when the ship lands.”

Din laughs, the sound tight and the edges sharp, but he leans into Boba to press his helmet into the signet on his pauldron, his shoulders rounded with relief. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Anytime, kar’ta. Your family is my family.”

Din didn’t speak any further, but he presses his hand into Boba’s, curling their fingers together and squeezing tight.

Din’s grip doesn’t lessen the closer they get to the small settlement, growing tighter and tighter until Boba can feel the minute tremors from the force of it tremble through him and his HUD flashes with a warning.

“Look at the houses,” Boba murmurs into his internal comms, his heart twisting in his chest as he tries to remain focused. He can dissolve into his own worries and concerns when they are tucked away on the ship and in the safety of hyperspace. He feels rather than hears Din’s exhale, slow and shaky, as the man sags against him for an instant.

“Those symbols…” Din’s fingers twitch around Boba’s, an instinctive want to stretch out and trace the symbols he likely ran his hands over as a child, learning his way around his coverts new location again and again. “We used them to mark out locations and see the ones lower down?”

Din indicated one of them with the barest tip of his chin — a purple spiral twisting in on itself in concentric circles. Boba’s gaze flitted over the other houses, each one sturdy despite their ramshackle appearance, and saw more the same symbol leading away into the distance.

“That’s for the younglings in case of evacuation. It marks out a safe way for them to run.”

They were being watched. Boba keeps his face turned forwards as he glances to the side, past Din and into the muffled shadows in between two buildings. Amid the twisted groups of wire that hung like banners, disappearing into the roofs and coiling down the walls like vines, a tall Zabrak man stood, his skin a dark grey and his tattoos branching across his cheeks and bare shoulders like lightning. His face is slack, every flicker of emotion bright and clear in his eyes as he stares at them. Boba turns away before he realises it, old shame burning in his gut even as he pulls them both to a halt.

“Din. On your left, the alley.”

Boba had seen Din without his helmet, but he knew the sacrifice the man had made for that. Neither Din nor the stranger was the same as when they left the covert.

Din turns, his grip loosening before returning in force. Every scrap of fear and worry, concern and delight since they first heard the rumours poured into his voice, erupting in a single shout. “Paz!”

#bobadinweek2021 #bobadin #boba fett #din djarin #paz vizsla #my writing

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pandoras-princess · 3 years

Text

Next Best Thing (Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader)

*gif not mine//credit to the owner

A/N: Woop wooop! Helloooo my lovely peoples!! 🌸 yes I am wayyy overly excited because this part just came out so effortlessly so I am hyper af 💃💃 I am very happy to welcome you to part three, and while it may seem a little lacklustre, it’s the lead up to the final part which will be show stopping material and I hope you’ll agree 🤗 you have all been so nice and absolutely amazing about this fic and I appreciate it so much I can’t wait to bring you part four 🥰🥰🥰 but let me shut up and get to it. Happy Reading Peoples! 🥳🥳 as ever I appreciate every like, reblog and follow, feedback is always welcome 😌

P.S: Y/N/N = your nickname

Summary: Fantasies are shattered and dreams come true as Y/N navigates her way through this messy love triangle...

Pairing: (OOC) Tommy Shelby x fem!reader, John Shelby x fem!reader

Warnings: Violence, swearing, blood, alcohol

PART ONE PART TWO PART FOUR

━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦━◦ ♡ ◦━◦ ♡ ◦━

“What can I get ya?” You shout to the burly man on the other side of the bar.

“Two whiskeys and a pint of beer love!”

The buzz of the crowd continues to drown out your voice, which not only made your job unnecessarily hard, but also provided a little tune for the tiny men occupying your skull to hammer away to, so it turns out.

Little hairs lining your throat were long since singed and a dull ache seeps through the bones in your feet as you set about preparing the next round of drinks.

Quickly scanning the area to your left, a smile spreads across your face when you land on the pair of ice blue eyes you were after, his cheeky wink inspiring a new burst of energy in your overworked muscles.

That smile drops as quickly as it spreads; the once friendly and loving gaze of your best friend now replaced with a cold glare.

In the weeks that had followed your last encounter John hadn’t been near or by the house, and every time you had a shift at the Garrison he was conveniently held up elsewhere. It was the longest you’d ever gone without speaking to him and it was safe to say you couldn’t take much more.

One of these days you’d have your old Johnny back, you thought.

One of these days...

“Where’ve all the glasses gone?”

“Out there.”

Harry’s thumb jerks in the direction of the ever growing crowd, earning an all too familiar groan in response.

‘Get a job you said... it’ll be fun you said... it’s just pulling pints!’

You disappear into the sea of people grumbling to yourself, only managing to grab four empty pints before you begin to carve a route back. Your struggle - along with your mood - was only to be made worse as you near two men in the midst of an argument, the stench of beer and stale cigarettes rudely invading your senses.

“Excuse me!”

“What yerr shaying about me wife” the large man slurs, entirely oblivious to your presence behind him.

“Excuse me!”

Nothing.

“Excuse m-”

You watch, frozen in horror, as his fist connects with the second man’s jaw, sending the large brute hurtling into you.

Crashing to the ground, a pained scream tears from your throat.

Tommy - who was engrossed in a conversation with his two brothers - hadn’t witnessed you get hurt, but he definitely heard it.

He shoves his way through the crowd until he is met with your body hunched over, quietly whimpering as you attempt to dislodge shards of glass from your right palm. His eyes follow the steady stream of blood trickling down your arm and any facade he held about your relationship quickly fades away.

“You’ve hurt my girl.”

He rounds on the man responsible, nostrils flaring and lips snarling as he reaches for the deadly cap atop his head.

Despite being a good foot taller, the stranger shrinks away, vigorously shaking his head as he rushes to apologise.

“I’m so-sorry Tom real sorry. It- it was an accident I didn’t know she was y-yours ho-honest!”

“I suggest you leave.” Tommy spits out. “That goes for everyone. Leave, now!”

The once jolly punters trip over themselves to squeeze through the narrow doors. Within a matter of minutes the pub is empty and Tommy is crouched at your side inspecting the cuts.

John remains in his seat, jaw set and knuckles white, as Tommy scoops you up and disappears into the office.

He carefully lowers you onto the desk; a warm kiss lingering on your forehead as he’s tending to your injuries.

“You’re okay Princess” he mumbles wrapping a bandage around your hand. Whether he was reassuring you or himself you weren’t quite sure. But thoughts of any kind are banished from your mind as he draws you into a kiss.

His lips are chapped and salty as they move against yours. It was slow and it was sweet. It was the kind of kiss that called every hair to attention; the kind of kiss that replays in your mind as you drift to sleep.

Without warning Tommy is ripped away from you, an involuntary yelp slipping out at the sudden loss of contact. Brain scrambling to make sense of it all you soon zone in on John’s forearm tight against Tommy’s throat pinning him to the wall.

“You bastard! I warned you- I warned you to stay away from her! She’s not one of your little whores you can pick up and fuck off when you get bored. I fucking told you to stay away!”

“What do you mean, you warned him?”

The quietness that followed easily could’ve been passed off as nobody hearing your question. And it probably would’ve been, if you hadn’t seen the slight drop of John’s head.

It was physically impossible for him to ignore you; it always had been.

Tommy took this opportunity to push his younger brother away and the two men stood glaring daggers at each other, embroiled in an argument only they were privy to.

“Tommy, what’s he talking about?!” You ask your boyfriend, who was now unable to meet your eye.

Once again your question is met with silence.

“Will somebody bloody answer me!”

Your small hands ball into fists at your sides as you look between them.

John’s face softens when he finally looks at you, the confusion that passes over your delicate features serving to break his heart further.

The guilt that flashes in his eyes as he threads a hand through his hair adds to your impatience. “Well get on with it then!”

“He knew, Y/N/N, that you liked him. He knew because he read your diary. He already knew and he had it all planned out in his little fucking mind the minute you asked him for the job. Why’d ye think he said yes? I told him-” an accusatory finger points at Tom standing a few feet away “-you weren’t to be played with, and now look!”

You fail to register John lunging at Tom. You fail to register the scuffle that ensues as a result. You fail to register Polly screaming at the top of her lungs to separate the brawling idiots.

Piece by piece, memory by memory, your new found utopia crumbles between your fingers and you stand, completely oblivious to your surroundings, as everything clicks into place.

“You knew?” You whisper, inching towards Tommy.

He watches you shift from confusion to anger to disgust as the revelation sinks in, shredding through the trust he’d so effortlessly built. And he was utterly powerless to stop it.

“The whole time... you knew? When you came to me and- and asked me to... you knew?!”

His mouth opens, but the words escape him.

With a final shake of your head, your trembling figure retreats from the office; the following slam of the double doors eliciting a flinch from everyone.

The parilysis subsides, and he jams his finger into John’s chest. “You have no fucking idea.”

“Y/N wait.”

Your feet cry out and your muscles scream in protest as you storm down the cobbled road, Tommy hot on your heels. But with the searing pain in your hand creeping up your wrist, you push on, desperate to escape any person with Shelby as their last name.

“Y/N please I can explain!”

“You can explain? You can explain?!” Shrieking you finally give in to the blind rage that threatens to consume you.

“You can explain what exactly Thomas? You can explain how you violated every ounce of trust we’ve ever had? You can explain how you thought it’d be a good old laugh to have me convince the man I was hopelessly in love with to marry someone else?! You can explain how the past 7 months - everything between us - was one big lie! You don’t need to explain anything Tom, honest. It all seems pretty fucking clear to me.”

Tommy watches your hands wave and point and clap and throw themselves in the air as the anger pours out of your every word. See, it was a tough one for him really. On the one hand, he’d really fucked up and the least he could do was pay attention to the scolding he was rightfully due. On the other, you were so god-damned irresistible when you were angry it was driving him mad.

“God Tommy! I thought you were different! I actually thought you were fucking different. I thought you loved me, not as a lie, not out of fear, but honest true love. And that’s the worst part, really Tom, it’s not that you pulled the wool over my eyes, no no, it’s that I fooled myself into thinking this was actually real! I should’ve known I was just another pawn in your stupid game.”

Whirling around, you resume your getaway.

“If this was all a game, why would I have this?”

When your body slowly turns back to face him, Tommy knows the argument is done.

“What are you...” your voice trails off as you find Tom on one knee in the middle of the deserted street.

He held a little black box, and in that little black box sat a gold ring set with a diamond so flawless it remained sparkling under the gloomy skies of Small Heath, and a sapphire so blue you’d get lost at sea if you dared to stare too long.

“I do love you Y/N, have done for a while. Not as a game, not until I get bored, just honest true love.”

Tommy moves to stand in front of you, stopping inches from the tip of your nose. He takes your left hand and slides the ring onto your fourth finger with ease, pausing to admire the look of the gold metal against your smooth skin.

“I had to ask you to convince John or you’d still be in love with him today, wasting away oblivious to how much you’re really worth. Yes I had a plan when this started, but I could never have planned falling in love with you-”

Chapped lips graze over your knuckles, kissing each one softly.

“-I could never have planned the amount of time I spend thinking about you in your absence-”

His lips brush over your wrist, leaving pecks along the length your arm.

“-and I could never plan the desperate need to hold you in my arms, to see your smile and hear your laugh and cherish you, because you’re the only thing in this god foresaken world that can keep the storms at bay.”

His feather-light kisses trail over your shoulder and along the curve of your neck, stopping just above your lips in an undeclared challenge. You close the distance, hungrily drawing his bottom lip between your teeth as his fingers tug at your roots, deepening the kiss.

The intoxicating taste of sweet smoke and Irish whiskey sweeps over your tastebuds and you tangle your fingers in his soft brown tresses.

Reluctantly separating a few seconds later, you’re both left panting as you make up for the lack of air. His hands make themselves at home on your waist, whilst yours settle comfortably on his chest.

“You know... I never did say yes” you smirk, twisting the gold band around your finger.

“Mm it was implied.”

So caught up in the joys of young love were you and your fiancé, that you failed to notice the wooden doorway supporting John’s weight as he watched in the distance...

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boykisserbuckley · 3 years

Text

don’t let go

1.2k of angst for @jaameskirk

read on AO3

Buck is going to die here. He feels it as sharply as the pain in his leg, all-encompassing and pulsing right down to his shattered bones. He’s going to die here alone in the street, his team so close and yet so far away—between him and them, through the smoke, he can see a kid with a bomb and he knows that they can’t get to him without risking themselves too.

It should be a comfort, really, that they’re staying out of harm's way. It isn’t. It just makes him feel helpless, adrift in this sea of agony, unable to save himself from the inevitable and—he’s going to die here.

The crunch of glass under the kid’s feet is too close, too loud. The broken windshield of the truck shifts and shatters further. Something pops and the truck rocks, sending another wave of inescapable fire up Buck’s leg.

Everything hurts. Everything hurts and he’s alone and he wants to go home. He doesn’t want to die.

“Help,” Buck sobs into the pavement beneath him, barely audible through the chaos. The truck rocks again and he digs his fingers into the concrete, trying to do...something. Drag himself away, maybe. He can’t think straight.

“I want the captain!” the kid screams, somewhere in front of him. Buck stopped tracking him as soon as his vision started to swim. More shouting follows, and he thinks—maybe—is that Chimney?

Pain rockets up his leg again, a lightning strike crackling to his very nerve endings, and Buck’s vision goes white as he rides it out. He might be screaming. He’s definitely dying.

He doesn’t know what’s happening; Chimney was there, wasn’t he? For the briefest moment, Buck wasn’t alone. Chimney was right there. But when he manages to lift his head again, the pavement stretches out in front of him covered in shattered glass and smoke and his team is nowhere to be seen. The flickering lights of the squad cars light up the street with blue, and the heat of the fire builds behind him, but he’s feeling it less and less. Blissful numbness starts to spread through him, taking with it the agony and panic, and the space between him and his team feels endless and impassable.

“Help,” Buck chokes out again, desperately, even though there’s no one around to hear. “I don’t—I don’t wanna die.”

It’s so hard to keep his eyes open. He tries, knows his team wouldn’t want him to let go; he tries, but there’s too much noise and the sound of struggle slips right past him, his mind too muddled to focus on anything for very long. He can’t help but feel a little hopeless. He wants his team. He doesn’t want to die alone. He wants to go home.

And then as if called on a prayer, there they are. There’s more shouting, and someone’s knees hit the pavement with a harsh sound right next to Buck’s ear. There’s hands on him, pressing at his pulse point and tapping at his face, but he can’t get his eyes to open. He wants—

“Eddie,” Buck manages to breathe out, when a hand slips into his. He’d know that hand anywhere, even through the haze of pain he finds himself trapped in. He tries to get his shaking fingers to cooperate and squeezes weakly; the hand in his squeezes back, firm and unshakeable.

“I’m here, Buck,” Eddie says, the rumble of his voice coming from somewhere above his head. “We’re all right here. You’re gonna be fine.”

He peels his eyes back open then, and it scares him how much effort the simple action takes. It’s worth it, though, because even as his vision blurs he can see Hen beside him. She tries to smile, just a ghost of a thing, when she notices that he’s watching her.

“Hey, Buckaroo,” she says, trying to sound gentle, but doesn’t slow in her hurried movements. “How we doing?”

“...Kinda numb,” he admits, and he thinks he might be slurring a bit.

“We’re gonna get you out of there,” Eddie assures him again, still holding steady. “Just hold on.”

Buck clings to that, clings to Eddie’s hand as he trembles through another spike of pain. It’s a little detached, like he’s in a bubble and everything else is just pressing in at the sides. He doesn’t want to know what it’ll feel like when the bubble pops. He hears something about lifting the truck, but he barely comprehends it.

“Don’t let go,” he pleads, hand tightening as much as it can in Eddie’s grip. “I can’t—I can’t do this—”

“Yes you can,” Eddie snaps. “You can. I’m not letting go.”

The unwavering confidence in Eddie’s voice and his solid grip on Buck’s hand are like a lifeline; he’s trapped, but he might not die here. There’s still hope, because his team has crossed the expanse between them to be with him, to get him out. He’s not alone.

The truck moves, and Buck’s bubble pops. The pain crashes back in like a wave and threatens to swallow Buck up and drown him in it, and he’s screaming, this time he knows he is, over and over and over as the weight drops back onto his leg.

He’s crying too, probably, or else that’s blood dripping down his cheek. It might be both. He can’t even hear what’s going on around him anymore past the ringing in his ears, but he feels it when they lift the truck again. It hurts so much, too much, and Buck doesn’t know if he’ll survive it but he can still feel Eddie’s hand in his and Hen’s presence beside him, and he knows they won’t let him go. They won’t let him die here.

Buck barely has the strength left to grit out a miserable sob when they lift the truck one more time, but then Eddie’s hand is tugging at his and Hen’s hands are on his arms and he’s sliding across the pavement. The jostling movement sends shockwaves of fire up his leg with each pull but he’s free, he’s out, he’s not trapped anymore and his team is there and they’re holding on to him. Holding him together.

“Four minutes to the hospital, Buck,” Hen says, from somewhere at his side. He’s too exhausted to turn his head to find her. “Just hang on.”

Four minutes. He thinks he can make it another four minutes. The sky is moving above him, then, and he distantly realizes he must be on a gurney. His hand twitches, but he stills when he feels another squeeze. Eddie’s still holding on, just like he promised.

“You didn’t let go,” Buck mutters, half to himself. Eddie meets his drifting gaze, and tries for a smile. It’s a little strained, but it’s there.

“Not a chance,” he says firmly.

Buck won’t die here. He knows that now because his team came for him, because Eddie didn’t let go—they gave him a lifeline and he clung to it through the agony. He’s alive, and he’s not alone.

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seehowsupplethespineis · 3 years

Text

When the Wind Roars

(I can’t believe I finally finished this!!! This story was originally intended to be much shorter, but...obviously I got a bit carried away. Expect lots of angst. There’s some fluff, too, but mostly ANGST.)

(Plot Summary: In the past, Starscream and Skyfire made quite the team, but even then, that partnership was put to the test. In the present, Starscream and Skyfire do battle, as Starscream tries to rid himself of their shared memories once and for all.)

(Warnings: violence, guns, injury, a bit of disturbing imagery, death mention, lots of vengeful thoughts)

Present

The wind roared deafeningly at the peak of the mountain. It had only picked up in intensity in the few cycles they’d been stationed here, bringing with it a relentless rain that blanketed the world in hues of grey. Starscream scowled as he hastened to catch a stray bit of metal before it went tumbling off the mountainside, his feet nearly slipping out from under him in the sea of mud. He hated this weather. It was cold and wet and impossible to work in.

Of course, Starscream had faced far worse weather than this, but that was of little comfort.

Rumble was also fed up. After face planting in the mud for the fourth time, the minicon threw down his supply of metal beams with a cry of outrage.

“This is stupid!” he exclaimed, “How does Megatron expect us to build anything up here?!”

Starscream scowled at him, “I did not say you could stop working!”

Rumble’s small fists balled up at his sides, “What are you gonna do about it?”

Starscream didn’t like to be challenged. Without hesitation, he chucked the piece of metal he’d been holding at Rumble, who toppled over once more.

“I said work!” The other Decepticons hastened to comply as Rumble crawled out from under the metal, studiously avoiding Starscream’s withering glare.

In all honesty, Starscream was just as furious as Rumble, though his frustration was more because he was forced to work up here on this Primusforsaken mountain; he should be leading an attack on the Autobots, not laboring in the mud. This was far beneath him.

Despite his demand that everyone keep working, Starscream paused to look up at the sky. It was grey and murky but a ray of light shone through, reaching only so far as to give a hint of warmth.

He was reminded of another planet he’d visited millions of years ago. It was just as wet and windy as this one; just as meddlesome. He hadn’t been alone then, either, nor was he alone when he’d first visited this accursed planet.

A few rain drops splattered on his optics and Starscream violently wiped them away, an irritated snarl escaping him.

“Starscream!” It was Thundercracker.

“What now?!”

“Autobots!”

At first, Starscream didn’t believe him. There was no road up to this mountain. The wheel-bound Autobots would be unable to make it up here; even by foot, the journey was too perilous. The only way up was through flight.

Starscream’s optics widened. He lowered his servos from his face to find the mountainside cast in shadow. His gaze flicked upward.

Above him, in a halo of light, hovered a large, white jet.

Starscream felt sudden heat swell within him despite the cold.

“Shoot him out of the sky!!!”

A distant planet, millions of years ago...

“This is very likely a bad idea.”

“You say that about everything.”

“No, I only say that when a situation seems hazardous...this situation seems hazardous.”

“Honestly, Skyfire, you can be so cowardly sometimes,” Starscream transformed back to root mode as he touched down on a muddy precipice. He scowled as his feet sank into the muck but kept a chipper tone as he addressed his partner, “I can barely feel the wind!”

Skyfire set down beside him. The sudden weight of the two jets shook the cliffside, sending a few boulders tumbling over the edge. Skyfire watched their descent and frowned.

“You’ve seen the weather report, Starscream,” he said quietly, “The storm could pick up any moment now.

Starscream waved a flippant servo. Raindrops spiraled off his digits, “If it does, we can handle it! We’ve suffered through far worse, you and I.”

“Perhaps,” said Skyfire, “But nothing which hampered our ability to fly away.”

Starscream shook his head; he loved Skyfire, but sometimes he was a real pain in the afterburner. They’d been on countless exploration missions before and faced plenty of unsavory weather conditions; floods, earthquakes, they’d survived them all. What was a little storm to them?

“If you want to go, fine!” Starscream started walking, “I’ll complete this mission myself.”

He’d barely taken two steps before Skyfire was at his side, as Starscream knew he’d be. The smaller jet grinned up at him and Skyfire sighed.

“Let’s just get a lay of the land and go. We can come back for those crystal samples we’re supposed to investigate when the storm lets up.”

Starscream heaved a dramatic sigh, “That could take ages, Skyfire, and we’re on a tight schedule! We’re meant to be returning to Cybertron soon.”

Skyfire glanced away at that. Starscream narrowed his optics.

“What is it?”

Fiddling with his portable scanner, Skyfire shook his head, “It’s just...Cybertron has been so...contentious of late. Part of the reason I volunteered for this expedition was because I wanted to get away for a while.”

“I thought you volunteered because I volunteered,” Starscream said with a slight smirk.

Skyfire glanced at him and smiled, “I do have a mind of my own, you know.”

“Yes,” Starscream agreed, “And it’s smart enough to follow me.”

A laugh escaped the larger jet, “Or dumb enough.”

“Nonsense! We’re highly intelligent bots, Skyfire,” Starscream ruined the sentiment by tripping over a boulder, but Skyfire righted him before his face hit the mud. Coughing slightly to hide his embarrassment, Starscream continued, “That’s why we work so perfectly together.”

Skyfire still kept a hold of Starscream’s arm as he considered his partner’s words. At last, he let his servo drift down to clutch Starscream’s hand.

“Interesting hypothesis.”

Starscream’s processor seemed to momentarily short out, but it came back online as Skyfire regarded him fondly with those brilliant blue eyes of his. Flustered, Starscream only stared, until eventually he managed to connect his processor back to his voice.

“Interesting fact,” he corrected, squeezing Skyfire’s hand, “That we shall prove now!”

He pointed up the mountain with his free servo. High above, the faintest gleam, as of polished metal, twinkled in the faint light.

“Those are the crystals.”

Skyfire squinted up at them and raised his scanner, “Hmm...they definitely have a high energy output. Akin to energon.”

“We need a sample,” Starscream broke away from Skyfire so he could take flight. Skyfire laid a hand on his shoulder before he could.

“Starscream, look at those clouds,” Skyfire gestured up at the - admittedly - ominous sky above them, “I would not advise flying.”

“So what, we climb?” Starscream had to shout to be heard over a sudden gust of wind.

“No, we wait until the weather becomes more favorable.”

A burst of lightning and a rumble of thunder punctuated Skyfire’s words. Starscream couldn’t deny the sudden thrill of apprehension that shot through his system, but he wasn’t about to be bested by a mere storm.

“I’m going for it!”

“Don’t!” Skyfire’s grip on his shoulder was more insistent, “The wind is picking up. You could get blown into the mountain side or crash to the ground. And those crystals are brimming with unstable energy! We shouldn’t get too-!”

“I am a scientist, Skyfire!” Starscream shook free of the other jet, “I know how to handle dangerous substances. And I know how to handle myself, thank you very much!”

Skyfire opened his mouth but whatever he said was lost to the wind.

“What?!” Starscream shouted.

“I said, we must seek shelter!”

“We’re on a cliff! Where-” Starscream’s response was cut short as a large rock tumbled down from above, forcing the smaller jet to leap out of the way. Scowling, he glanced up to where the rock had come from, and his optics widened as he saw still more crashing down.

“Move!” Skyfire yelled. As one, he and Starscream dove off the cliff and transformed back to jet mode. Instantly, Starscream felt the wind buffet his wings, threatening to splatter him against the cliff side. Okay, he conceded to himself, Maybe the weather is too much.

The rain poured down in earnest, now, blanketing Starscream’s windshield to the point where the world became a hazy, grey blur. A bolt of lightning arced down. It was far, far too close for his liking, and Starscream instinctively swerved away.

Extending his long range sensors, he sought a safe place to land below. Skyfire would be doing the same, he knew. His sensors probed the sky around him, trying to pinpoint the white jet so they could touch down together.

Something within him froze. He extended his sensors further, as far as he could. His engines faltered. The wind pressed in around him, rattling him to his very core, but he paid no heed.

In a moment’s frantic decision, Starscream transformed back to root mode and scanned the landscape with his optics.

Even as he plummeted to the ground, he called out desperately.

“SKYFIRE!”

Present

Energy bolts lit up the gloomy mountain as the Decepticons opened fire. As if sensing the sudden hostility, lightning split open the sky and a deep, resounding rumble followed soon after. Starscream’s optics were momentarily dazzled by the stunning displays surrounding him, and when they adjusted, three Autobots had leaped down from the sky to stand before him.

He recognized their leader, of course. Optimus Prime leveled a weapon at Starscream, though the jet paid little mind. Even as the Prime spoke, his voice deep and commanding, Starscream didn’t heed. Instead, he watched as the large, white jet above transformed and fell to the mountain top just behind Prime.

Something within Starscream burned as he locked gazes with Skyfire. Blazing red optics met piercing blue. They sliced through Starscream, as cold as the ice Skyfire had rested in for millions of years. Starscream didn’t recognize those eyes. He couldn’t even recall what they’d used to look like, though he remembered how they’d made him burn with a fire entirely different from the one raging within him now.

Prime shouted something. The Autobots charged. Two of them - Ironhide and Prowl - rushed to meet Thundercracker and Rumble. Prime defended himself against an emboldened Skywarp. And Skyfire, stance steady despite the shifting mud, raised his gun at Starscream.

The seething rage within him ignited and Starscream opened fire. Despite his immense size, Skyfire dodged, nearly trampling a terrified Rumble. Starscream didn’t let up, even as Skyfire took aim and forced him to launch off the ground to avoid the blast. Transforming into jet mode, he streaked through the air, null rays zeroed in on Skyfire’s bulky frame.

Skyfire fired off a few more shots, forcing Starscream to alter his course. His flight took him close to the other battling Autobots and Decepticons. Ironhide fired a few bolts at him and Starscream hurried to avoid the crossfire of his and Skyfire’s weapons. The distraction infuriated him and Starscream took a moment to fire on the red Autobot. Suitably cowed, Ironhide returned to his tussle with Rumble, leaving Starscream to focus every bit of his ire on the white mech firing on him from afar.

Their battle grew removed from that of the others. With each attack, they drew further away, further toward the edge. Starscream didn’t care. He refused to be beaten by this mountain or the wind and rain that assaulted him. He wanted Skyfire dead. That was all that mattered.

He streaked through the air. He was close now. Skyfire stood no chance. Sudden giddiness grabbed hold of Starscream as he imagined Skyfire offline at his feet. The traitor would die a traitor’s death; there would be no mercy.

But Starscream’s perceived victory was short-lived. Before he could even slow down, Skyfire dove forward, managing to come up under him. A servo closed around his wing and Starscream shrieked as Skyfire swung him into the ground. He landed painfully and it took a moment for him to recover enough to shift back to root mode. When he did, Skyfire stood over him, gun leveled at his face.

All was quiet, as if the increasing downpour had muted the world. The wind that howled so relentlessly before had petered out. The battle raging behind them was a distant nuisance, almost inconsequential. For all Starscream cared, the world consisted of only him, Skyfire, and the gun between them. The shaking gun.

Starscream’s gaze flicked to meet Skyfire’s. Those blue eyes stared back with a wavering resolve. For a moment that seemed to stretch across millions of years, neither made a move.

The wind sprang back to life, the distant battle drew nearer, and Skyfire still hadn’t fired. What are you waiting for? Starscream wanted to shout, Finish it!

But Skyfire didn’t, and this, more than anything, sent a surge of loathing through Starscream’s system. It fueled his null ray as he raised it in one deft movement.

Skyfire had no time to react. The force of the blast sent him careening back, his feet slipping in the mud, gun falling from his slack hand. There was no time for him to regain his balance.

Starscream watched him fall over the edge. He didn’t react for a few long moments after. All he could do was stare at the space Skyfire had occupied.

He’s gone, Something within Starscream’s spark shrank in on itself, I can’t see him.

His processor fixated on that one thought. I can’t see him. I can’t see him!

He stumbled forward, a desperate cry escaping him.

“SKYFIRE!!!”

Past

Not even the relentless gale could slow Starscream’s descent. He tore through the air, the wind shrieking as if in protest, his limbs flailing uselessly. He knew he needed to transform; if he didn’t, he’d be nothing but a mound of smashed metal and circuitry. As the image flashed in his mind, he couldn’t help but envision a similar corpse, this one much larger and a stark white against the dark landscape.

Starscream quashed the thought as soon as it arose. Skyfire wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be. Those were two differing thoughts, Starscream knew, but his processor couldn’t help but bounce between them. He’s not dead, because if he is then...There was no conclusion that Starscream dared consider, so he focused his processor, attempting to ignore the threat of his imminent demise.

He felt his transformation cog whir to life, though the transformation was made clumsy by the unconventional circumstances. The mess of green below drew nearer, serving as an unnecessary reminder that he needed to pull up fast.

Acting purely on instinct, his engines rocketed him forward. He felt leaves skim his wings as he struggled to pull upward, making for the murky grey of the clouds above. The wind was a constant assailant that threatened to dash him into the trees or the mountainside. Lightning split open the sky over and over, closer and closer.

Was that what happened? Had Skyfire been hit by a stray lightning bolt? The concept forced Starscream to tax his engines harder than he ever had. With a burst of speed, he shot upward, letting the trees be swallowed by the mist once more. Again, he extended his sensors and cursed his lack of visibility.

“SKYFIRE!!!”

No response. Starscream knew he wasn’t thinking straight as he veered closer to the mountain, seeking any hint that Skyfire may have crashed. His wing clipped a jutting boulder and he nearly smashed into the cliff face himself as he went careening off course. He was forced to climb higher in a desperate attempt not to meet with the rocks below.

Where is he? He couldn’t think. Couldn’t see, Where is he?!

Something glittered nearby, almost like…

Metal. Starscream threw himself forward, heedless of the risk, “Skyfire!!!”

The wind pulled at his wings, trying to drag him down. The noise was cacophonous, forcing his engines to roar all the louder. He would not be bested. He was so close…

The glittering material suddenly sharpened into focus. The hope glittering just as brightly within him dimmed.

In the faint light shimmered the very reason for this accursed mission. The energy crystals. No sign of Skyfire.

Starscream’s spark sank. He was sure it would drop right out of his fuselage and shatter on the jagged rocks far below. Maybe another spark was already waiting for it.

Thunder continued to growl overhead. Lightning tore through the darkness and illuminated the entire cliff side in brilliant white. An instinctive part of Starscream knew what was coming, but there was no time to react. He could only stare as the lightning zigzagged down and struck the shimmering rocks.

The crystals exploded. Shards smashed open Starscream’s cockpit and embedded themselves in his battered frame. He may have screamed, but he couldn’t hear it. Stabbing pain coursed through his entire being. It overwhelmed him, so much so that he didn’t realize he was falling until he smashed into a jutting, sloped cliff. The impact jarred loose a faint recollection.

Those crystals are brimming with unstable energy! We shouldn’t get too-

Skyfire had warned him. He’d warned him about everything, and what had Starscream said? Honestly, Skyfire, you can be so cowardly sometimes.

He felt himself sliding slowly toward the edge. Desperately, he forced himself to transform. His cockpit grated over the rocky terrain and another dizzying bout of agony washed over him. He could hear his scream this time.

Legs dangling into nothingness, Starscream sought for something to grab onto. His servos dug into the mud, clutching at nothing but loose pebbles. The cliff was too unstable and his body too heavy. The inevitable outcome to his struggles became alarmingly clear.

I’m going to fall, he stilled and felt himself slip further, I’m going to die.

There would be no saving himself this time; he’d smash to pieces on the rocks below before his taxed transformation cog could even come online. His vision flickered as his cockpit continued to grind over the rocks, bringing him ever closer to his doom. All Starscream could manage now was a faint whimper, his screams spent.

He knew he deserved this; it was his fault that he and Skyfire had been caught up in this Primusforsaken storm on this Primusforsaken planet. His fault that Skyfire was likely a shattered corpse on the mountain side. Still, as he began his final descent, a voice - a shameful voice that refused to be quieted no matter how much he tried - shrieked in his head, clamoring to be heard above all else.

I don’t want to die!

Terror seized his spark, shocking his limbs into one last, frantic attempt at salvation. It was futile.

I DON’T WANT TO DIE!

He fell. Opening his mouth, he let out a final, broken scream.

“Skyfire!!!”

“I’ve got you!”

As suddenly as the fall had begun, it stopped. His arm pulled taught and lances of pain pierced through it and his cockpit. The world disappeared, sapped of everything but a cold blackness. After countless moments, warmth and color seeped back in, as a familiar voice, the one that had called to him, spoke again. It was insistent, desperate, as were the arms clasping his limp form. Starscream’s optics fritzed a bit before coming back online. He was in some kind of cave. He could see the deep grey of the sky just beyond and feel the wind and rain graze his wing. It was all remote though. He was more aware of the arms wrapped protectively about him, the feel of someone large and sturdy holding him close. Above all else, he saw brilliant blue optics staring down at him. He watched them soften as a quiet sigh reached his auditory sensors. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard.

“Thank Primus,” Skyfire breathed, “Starscream, can you hear me?”

Starscream wanted to respond but he couldn’t. All he could do was stare, drinking in the sight of the bot before him. Skyfire was alive. Somehow his mind couldn’t yet process it. He was here. They were together again.

Skyfire’s anxious voice broke in on his thoughts, “It’s okay, Starscream, it’s okay,” It was only then that the smaller jet realized he’d started babbling.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he gasped, “I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Skyfire repeated, “We’re okay.”

Starscream couldn’t stop, “We almost died! I-I almost killed us!”

“But we’re okay now,” Skyfire replied gently, “I’ve got you.”

He rested a servo on the back of Starscream’s head. The touch snapped Starscream back to his senses and he shoved him away. The movement sent shards of pain through him and he clutched a servo to the mangled cockpit situated over his chest.

“Don’t,” he hissed as Skyfire reached for him. He was still shielded by the cave, but he could feel the wind lap hungrily at his wings as he moved backward.

He stopped - afraid to move any further - and met Skyfire’s worried gaze.

“How...” he began, pausing for a moment to gather his strength, “How can you...This is all my fault! I should have listened to you! Skyfire, I...You could have died because of me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Stop saying that!”

Skyfire regarded him helplessly. Starscream hated it.

“Why aren’t you mad?” he prompted angrily, “You should be furious! You should be...Stop looking at me like that!!!”

He didn’t. “Do you want me to be mad?” Skyfire asked quietly.

Yes...No. “I don’t know!!! Just-” he had to pause before the pain overwhelmed him.

Skyfire moved closer. Starscream told himself not to, but his whole frame ached and trembled and he yearned to be back in Skyfire’s arms, so when Skyfire reached again, the smaller jet could do nothing but melt into him. He cursed his weakness.

“Starscream,” Skyfire’s voice pierced through the turmoil within him. Defeated, Starscream could only listen.

“I’m not angry with you. I don’t think I could ever be angry with you. Don’t ask me why; I don’t know either. What I do know is that I lost you in the storm and assumed the worst, so even though you’re upset, I’d like to just hold you for a while, if that’s okay.”

It was far too easy to comply. Already relaxed against Skyfire, Starscream let himself be pulled closer. The larger jet took special care not to aggravate his injury. It would need to be dealt with, but not now. Right this moment, all Starscream needed was the surety of Skyfire’s arms around him. All his guilt and shame still burned within him, but he couldn’t focus on it if he tried.

They were safe. They were together. That was all that mattered.

“I’ve got you,” Skyfire murmured again, “I’ve always got you.”

Present

The edge of the mountain was shrouded in rain and mist. Even as Starscream dove toward it, he couldn’t be certain he hadn’t flung himself off. His arm extended into nothing. His feet dug into the mud as he felt himself fall forward, just barely managing to snag a jutting rock.

As his entire frame came to a jarring halt, Starscream’s processor seemed to rattle with it. What was he doing? He couldn’t think. The image of Skyfire’s frightened face as he tumbled over the edge was seared into his mind. It was all he could focus on.

I’ve got you. I’ve always got you.

“Skyfire!!!” The call reverberated through Starscream’s spark, splitting it open as forgotten feelings and buried dreams clawed their way out. He couldn’t halt the flood; it washed over him, drowning him in memories.

“Starscream!”

That voice - as it always had - snapped him from the mire of his mind. He peered downward. Just below him, hanging by a crumbling ledge, was Skyfire.

For a moment, it was Starscream hanging for dear life, crying out for rescue. He blinked and the roles reversed again.

As his precarious handhold collapsed beneath his digits, Skyfire desperately tried to bring another servo up to help. He was forced to stop as the movement only made him slip faster. Rain hissed over the place where Starscream had shot him and he grimaced as smoke blended with the mist. He looked up, blue optics shining in the gloom. Starscream nearly lost his grip when they focused on him.

He recognized those optics. They were the very same that used to look at him as if he were the most lovely thing in the universe. Even when they’d explored new, vibrant planets, he’d felt those optics gazing at him with a fondness that made him want to both laugh and scream. He wasn’t sure which he did now, but from the way the blue of Skyfire’s eyes widened with recognition of his own, he figured it was laughter.

“Skyfire…” he reached for him.

Eyes shining, Skyfire’s servo lifted to meet his, “...Starscream?”

His handhold crumbled even more but neither paid any heed. The storm and the clash of Autobots and Decepticons became remote. This time, though, the world didn’t seem to shrink until it was just the two of them. It seemed to grow. Starscream felt a heavy weight in his spark start to lift. His servo reached past millions of years to seek out that familiar yet forgotten touch. He wanted it more than anything, just a hint at what they once were and could be again.

In the faltering light, the insignia affixed to Skyfire’s chest gleamed.

The world shrank. The weight in Starscream’s spark settled back down until he almost felt it would drag him over the edge.

He snatched his hand away just as Skyfire’s digits grazed his own. The touch was like electricity arcing through him. It was tantalizingly, achingly familiar. It promised love and security and everything that had been denied him for millions of years.

It was a convincing lie, but Starscream couldn’t be fooled that easily.

As he stood up slowly, Skyfire’s round, wide, and impossibly blue optics followed him. Starscream wanted to plunge his digits into them until the Autobot started screaming. The flicker of horror he felt at the thought died instantly as Skyfire spoke again.

“Starscream?” he repeated, his voice wavering.

It was his voice, and for the first time in his long, painful life, Starscream was not consoled by it.

“You…” His voice should have been lost to the wind but somehow Skyfire heard and grew deathly silent.

Memories collided within Starscream’s mind. Skyfire holding him, speaking softly to him, laughing with him, exploring with him, rescuing him...

They were all lies. Skyfire betrayed him. Starscream had circled half the globe searching for him, carried the weight of guilt for so long that it had become as familiar as flight, suffered in silence for cycles upon cycles, all for what?

“Starscream,” the Autobot begged, “Please.”

The plea was music to Starscream’s auditory sensors. He let it play, let Skyfire try to sway him again, enjoying every moment of the Autobot’s agony.

Skyfire’s voice grew quiet, “Don’t you remember?”

Starscream hesitated. He did remember. All of it. His fists clenched as his foot stomped downward.

“TRAITOR!!!”

Helpless, Skyfire could only give a strangled cry as Starscream’s foot crunched into his upturned face. The Decepticon watched his enemy fall, his own face lighting up with a terrible grin.

Skyfire barely managed to slow his descent by digging his servos into the muddy cliffside just enough to crash into a protruding ledge. He lay there motionless for countless moments, his recent fall marked by dents in his fuselage and muddy stains dimming his crisp white. He looked broken. Starscream couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy.

When Skyfire at last came to, his gaze was unfocused. The clear blue of his eyes were crusted with dirt and likely cracked by the impact of Starscream’s foot. The steady rain did a poor job of washing all the muck from his frame, only succeeding in making it bleed into the remaining white. His optics turned upward and somehow found Starscream in the hazy mist. He almost seemed to know where the other jet was without needing to see.

It was there, atop that war torn peak, that Skyfire first looked upon Starscream with fury. No, not fury. Hate.

“Skyfire!” Optimus Prime’s booming voice echoed across the mountain, “Where are you?”

Starscream turned. The Autobots stood on a field of victory, the remains of the Decepticons’ machine scattered amongst its fallen creators. He scowled and turned to confront his foes, when he felt a sudden whoosh of air blast past him. Looking up, he watched as Skyfire sailed over his head to land heavily on the mountaintop.

Without hesitation, Starscream opened fire, only to hit the dirt when the other Autobots returned it. By the time he tentatively lifted his head, all three Autobots had retreated into Skyfire’s fuselage. NO! Starscream rushed forward, his guns vainly attempting to bring the cargo plane down even though he knew he was out of range.

“NO!” he shrieked into the mist, “COME BACK, YOU COWARD!”

But Skyfire had already been lost to the grey sky, leaving Starscream alone. Again.

He continued to stare at the space where he’d last seen Skyfire, unable to look away. He felt as if he’d been awoken from a cruel dream. It took every bit of his willpower not to scream his agony into the sky above. All he wanted in that moment was to hunt Skyfire down and make him suffer. He wanted to hear his screams of terror as he at last cornered him and slammed him into the dirt, gun pointed right between those too blue optics.

How could you do this? He’d scream, Did any of it matter? Did I matter?

Starscream knew the answer already. He turned to face his forces, who all looked to him for guidance.

“Decepticons, take flight!” Without waiting to see if they followed, Starscream transformed and took to the air. To his dismay, there was no trace of the Autobots. They’d be back, though; they never stayed down.

One of them will, Starscream vowed, That traitor will die by my hand.

The rain continued to pour as three jets - and one passenger cassette - returned to their base, leaving the mountain top to be shrouded in mist once more. All they left of their battle were the remnants of an evil machine and a singular gun that had slipped from a foolish Autobot’s hand.

Epilogue- Past

The flight back to Cybertron felt like it lasted millions of cycles. Crouched in Skyfire’s fuselage, Starscream lamented as much to his partner. Skyfire’s only response was an exasperated yet fond sigh; Starscream could tell he was just glad to hear him speak without wheezing.

The damage to his cockpit was extensive but not life-threatening. After a thorough inspection, Skyfire had determined as much. He’d carefully removed some of the smaller bits of crystal from Starscream’s frame and left the larger ones to be handled by a medic. Starscream had wanted to appear brave, but he hadn’t been able to stifle the quiet whimper that escaped him. Luckily, Skyfire responded by wrapping him up in another hug, which had instantly soothed the smaller jet.

When they at last returned to Cybertron, Skyfire was quick to usher him to a medic. In fact, Starscream’s feet barely touched the ground before Skyfire scooped him up and rushed into the medical facility. The hospital was just one branch of the science center that had been built there. For the most part, the civil unrest that had broken out over Cybertron had not affected the science community. It was only a matter of time, though.

Starscream and Skyfire were meant to report to their superiors in the Scientific Exploration department. After much convincing from Starscream, Skyfire had at last agreed to leave his side and speak with the higher-ups, taking a few samples of crystal with him, also at Starscream’s urging. It was what they’d been sent for, after all; it shouldn’t matter that they’d ended up having to gather it from Starscream’s mangled cockpit.

The procedure to repair his cockpit was fairly long but luckily Starscream was in stasis for most of it. When he awakened and examined himself, he was pleased by the results. He didn’t think he’d ever seen his windows shine quite so brightly. He couldn’t help but hope Skyfire would notice, too.

Skyfire was pacing in the waiting room when he emerged. The moment Skyfire spotted him, he almost seemed to teleport to his side.

“Are you okay? I was worried something had gone wrong.”

“Don’t worry, Skyfire,” Starscream said with a slight smile, “I am the picture of health.”

Skyfire looked him up and down, “You’re certainly...shinier,” he said with a bit of awe.

Starscream beamed internally, “Thank you for noticing.”

The two walked out side by side, arms brushing. Starscream wanted to savor the moment, but his curiosity got the better of him.

“So, what did our bosses have to say?” he asked, barely hiding his disdain. He didn’t like having to report to superiors; he’d rather make his own decisions than comply with someone else’s. Maybe one day…

“The crystals seem promising, though they’ll have to perform further tests,” Skyfire replied, “In the meantime, there’s another planet they want us to investigate right away. It’s uncharted, as of yet. There might not even be intelligent life on the surface, though long distance scans hint to a great energy source.”

Ordinarily, Starscream would have leaped for joy at an assignment such as this, but as he watched Skyfire speak, he couldn’t help but recall how close he’d been to losing him. They were lucky to stand here together at all.

Sensing his hesitation, Skyfire favored Starscream with a concerned frown, “What’s the matter?”

“You know what’s the matter,” Starscream huffed. He didn’t mean to take his anger out on his partner - especially since he was really mad at himself - but it was difficult. Skyfire didn’t respond in kind, though. He never did.

“It’ll be okay, Starscream,” Skyfire reached down to grasp his servo firmly, “So long as we’re together, we’ll be okay.”

And because Skyfire’s voice never failed to console him, Starscream believed what he said. He squeezed his servo back and smiled up into Skyfire’s brilliant blue eyes.

“Together, then.”

35 notes · View notes

archerdaryl · 3 years

Text

Peppermint Sugar.

You’ve been tasked with decorating the Christmas cookies while Carol is out on a hunt. It would have gone just fine if the archer hadn’t shown up.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Tags: more cute christmas vibes, sfw, fluffy and fun but still a little slow burn Word Count: 2.5k Notes: This one-shot follows on from London in Your Eyes! I’m thinking about turning it into a little collection of Christmas fics that all link together. As always I would love to hear your thoughts. ♥

You’d been at Carol’s house for barely ten minutes and you were already overwhelmed.

The air was thick and sweet like molasses, a pleasant surprise that was almost enough to soften the visual overload that was waiting for you in the kitchen. There were trays upon trays of cookies sitting on almost every counter space you could see. You had happily agreed to help decorate while she went out on a run with Ezekial and his knights, but good God.

There were at least a hundred cookies there. And they all needed expertly icing.

You approached the kitchen island slowly, eyebrows knitted together as you cursed under your breath. You can’t have been the only person she asked. Especially considering you weren’t exactly artistically inclined. Sure, a snowman was simple and you could probably figure out how to ice a Christmas tree adequately enough, but a couple of the shapes you couldn’t even identify.

“She’s lost her fucking mind.” The words escaped you in a mumble, followed by a long exhale.

Looking back you weren’t sure why you agreed to this in the first place. Maybe it was the assumption you wouldn’t be stuck here alone at 7am or that it would only be a few cookies you could hide at the bottom of the pile. You couldn’t have been more wrong, but you were at least relieved that you didn’t bother to change out of your yoga pants for the occasion considering you were going to be standing there decorating for hours.

Eventually you accepted that simply staring at the endless trays of cookies wasn’t actually going to do anything and you moved towards the stove to boil some water for coffee. While you waited for it to bubble, you organised the trays according to cookie shape and decided to start on what you could only assume were snowflakes.

How could you possibly mess those up? All you needed was white icing. If by some miracle Carol had got her hands on some food colouring, maybe you could be real fancy and mix a little blue in too.

You continued to wipe down the counters, dusting off remnants of flour before placing the first tray in front of you. You soon found a set of instructions left behind by Carol and you would be lying if you didn’t say you were relieved. You followed them, grabbing everything you needed and mixing up some sort of concoction that resembled a very basic icing.

Carol had to have chosen you for a reason. You hoped she had more faith in you than you did in yourself.

She had to, because you were already bored and you had barely begun.

And then the door swung open, almost making you jump.

“Oh my god, my very own knight in shining armour.”

Daryl Dixon stopped in his tracks and stared at you in confusion.

“Wha’?”

“I could settle for scrap metal.” You grumbled.

He narrowed his eyes before hesitantly moving his way through the house, eventually disappearing into the basement with Dog trailing along behind him. You mumbled a rather sarcastic goodbye before grabbing a ziplock bag and carefully spooning the icing into the bottom right corner, following Carol’s instructions as closely as possible.

“Thought you were huntin’ today.” Daryl shouted as he climbed back up the stairs.

“I was supposed to be. Carol wanted me to do… well, this.” You gestured to the mountain of cookies behind you and tried to hide your disdain. Dog happily padded towards you and demanded neck scratches by pushing his snout against your legs. Naturally, you obliged.

“On yer’ own?”

His crystalline gaze traced your form as he leaned onto the opposite side of the kitchen island. You were in an old hoodie, hardly form fitting but the dark red hue complimented your eyes, and there was a dusting of icing sugar across your cheek. He smiled ever so slightly, but said nothing.

“Unless you’re offering to keep me company, yeah, it looks like it.”

The pair of you hadn’t spent much time together since the Christmas fair. Keeping food stocks up was more important than ever with the snow being as heavy as it was, and the fact The King insisted on an extravagant Christmas celebration wasn’t helping anyone’s work load. Keeping busy kept you both from thinking about that stolen moment of innocent intimacy, though Daryl still found himself staring at you just a little bit longer with his fists clenched every time you crossed paths.

He was chasing the sensation of your hand in his without even knowing it.

“Ain’t got much else t’ do,” He lied, shrugging and leaning further onto the countertop with his forearms, “Watchin’ you fuck up might be fun.”

You didn’t bother glaring at him, your hands went straight for the icing sugar, picking it up in a pinch and flicking it right into his face before turning to find some scissors. You heard him splutter and blow hard, as if that alone could erase your act of vengeance.

“Don’ start somethin’ you can’t finish girl.”

You snorted and returned to your original position at the kitchen island, your grin widening after seeing the mess you made of him.

“I think you look great.” You insisted, “As ruggedly handsome as always.”

Daryl’s lips thinned in faux annoyance, though his eyes betrayed him. He was unable to come up with a retort of his own. He was stuck on two words in particular.

Ruggedly handsome.

He knew you were being sarcastic, you had a habit of that, but it still made him feel a little embarrassed. If not for the icing sugar speckled across his face, you likely would have noticed him blush a little.

“Handsome huh?”

Daryl had never been one to concern himself too much with the way he looked. He could never afford to and there certainly wasn’t any point anymore with the world in the state it was. However, in that moment he realised that when it came to you, he felt a sense of insecurity previously unknown to him.

“Oh yeah. I’m super into the whole dandruff thing.” You teased further, gesturing to the sugar speckled in his hair.

He rolled his eyes and pushed himself up off the island counter, “You talk too much.”

You had thrown him off on purpose. You had no choice. You couldn’t stand there and lie to him to protect yourself from the feelings you constantly tried to bury. Daryl Dixon was many things but ugly was not a word that ever came to mind. Yet, you couldn’t look him in the eye and tell him he looked like home either.

“C’mon. Carol will kill me if I don’t get something done.”

Daryl wasn’t sure what exactly it was he was supposed to be doing, but he was perfectly happy to be there even with the nerves causing havoc in his stomach. Anyone else would have considered them butterflies, but he wasn’t exactly a teenager dealing with a high school crush.

He met you behind the island and towered over you at your side. You forced yourself to concentrate on the task at hand, continuing to spoon icing into the ziploc bag. As he watched your hands at work, he leant down onto folded forearms and chewed the inside of his bottom lip absentmindedly

How did they look even softer than before?

He supposed it was because you were inside where it was warm, nuzzled within that oversized hoodie of yours. Was the rest of you as soft as your hands? He lost himself for a moment wondering what it would be like to fall asleep against your chest, your heartbeats perfectly in sync.

What the fuck was he thinking?

Quickly clearing his throat, he took his index finger and scooped up a blob of icing before you could steal it away with your spoon. He savoured the sweetness as he sucked it off his finger and then looked up at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

This was the most time they had spent together in days and he wasn’t about to ruin it by getting caught up in shit that didn't, no, couldn’t matter.

“Don’ start somethin’ you can’t finish girl.”

You met his gaze, eyes briefly drifting to his sugar sweet lips before you allowed a smirk to tug at the corners of your own.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Dixon.”

“Oh yeah?” He replied, cocking a brow before going in for a second scoop of icing.

Before you could even try to swat him away, Daryl had gotten his hands on the bowl and darted out of reach. Though his mischief may have been a distraction from his wandering thoughts, you were none the wiser. To you, this was one of those rare moments where he let his guard down enough to act a fool without wanting to beat himself up about it. You couldn’t be pissed even if you wanted to.

Grabbing the bag of powdered sugar, you immediately rushed after him, eager to make an even bigger mess than you already had. You followed him into the lounge where he had collapsed onto the couch, making himself comfortable and continuing to scoop out sticky white icing with his fingers.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You whined, unable to keep an amused grin from tugging at the corners of your mouth, “Don’t think I won’t ruin this couch.”

Daryl looked up at you and allowed a snort of amusement to escape him. He didn’t doubt you for a minute, but he didn’t care about decorating no cookies and he knew you didn’t either so it wasn’t like he felt particularly guilty about the matter.

You stood your ground, your hand venturing into the bag of powdered sugar. Daryl watched you carefully and weighed up his choices, which didn’t take long at all because he soon found himself leaning forward to grab your forearm, pulling you down onto the couch with him in a poor attempt to keep you from attacking again.

What he didn’t consider was the bag of sugar doing a somersault out of your hands and creating an even bigger mess anyway.

“Ah, shit!” He groused.

You landed awkwardly on him, having to adjust yourself so that you were flat on your back while he was laying on his side next to you with his arm bent to prop up his head. You quickly found yourselves coughing and having to wave your arms as you tried to dissipate the cloud of sugar, which mostly landed in a little hill on the rug but had still managed to leave heavy traces all over you.

“This,” You gestured to your hoodie and the mess around you, “- is on you.”

“Fuck that, I weren’t the one chasing me with sugar.”

After a futile attempt of wiping down your stomach with your hands, you turned your head to look at Daryl with a frown. You didn’t realise how close you were to each other until you met his eyes, which almost made you trip up on your words. You didn’t remember them being that blue.

“You’d really leave me to fend for myself like that?” You pouted.

Daryl opened his mouth to speak but the words got stuck in the back of his throat. You were so close. Too close. He could smell the sweetness on your skin, paired with peppermint which he could only assume was your toothpaste or some sort of lip balm.

“Carol won’t get mad at her pookie.”

He reached for the pillow by his legs but didn’t follow through on the threat as you quickly grabbed his arm and pulled it back towards you.

“I’m kidding!” You practically shrieked, his arm resting over your stomach with your fingers still wrapped around it to keep him from going for the pillow again, “Well, actually…”

“Stop.”

“It’s true and you know it. Please don’t leave me with this.”

Daryl went a little stiff. He wanted to pull away. He could feel the warmth of your body against his, could see each individual eyelash, and, fuck, those fingers of yours were wrapped around his arm. He was almost afraid to breathe. He didn’t want to take up more space than he already had.

You had spent many sleepless nights at each other’s sides in the past, either in temporary shelter while on a run or for comfort when things got bad. You had not, however, been this wrapped up in one another. Not in the slightest. He only had to put his head down for you to take him into your arms, and the thought of that alone was enough to make his heart skip a beat.

Once again, something had shifted and those uncharted waters were only getting deeper.

“Ya’ know, Dog can be pretty bad sometimes.”

“Yeah?”

Your eyes were locked and the words spilled from each of your lips slowly. Your grip on his forearm softened but you made no effort to let him go. In that moment it seemed as if you only saw each other and that the wall you insisted on keeping up was starting to crumble. It was only a matter of time before one of you rebuilt it, but right then, right in that moment, you could have laid there forever.

You wanted to know what he was thinking, if his thoughts were as scrambled as yours. You felt safe at Daryl's side, as if nothing could ever hurt you again, and you found yourself wanting him to pull you in closer.

God, he was already so close. One of you only had to lean in.

“Yeah. Carol don’t gotta know.”

“But the cookies…”

“Can’t ice no cookies without icin’.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

Daryl wet his bottom lip with his tongue and he could have sworn your eyes lowered to his mouth for just a second. He wanted to be put out of his misery. He felt like a damn school girl losing his head over someone he couldn’t have. You hadn’t approached this - whatever this is - for a reason but he wasn’t feeling very reasonable anymore.

Did your mouth taste as sweet as his? Would the peppermint make his lips tingle?

All he had to do was lean in.

Then, the unmistakable sound of the front door being opened echoed throughout the house. You both froze and confusion turned to horror when Carol eventually called out to you, claiming the weather had taken a turn for the worst.

You sat up on your elbows, eyebrows knitted together in worry whilst Daryl went completely silent, both annoyed and embarrassed that Carol had trespassed in her own home. You were mortified, there wasn’t a damn thing to show for your time there other than icing sugar everywhere, but you were also a little relieved - not because you didn’t want to be pinned in place next to him, but because you were finally able to take a full breath.

“Quick.” Daryl muttered, “Out the back.”

“But -”

Daryl didn’t give you a chance to argue. He quickly but carefully climbed up off of the couch and grabbed your hand without hesitation, squeezing it tight and pulling you along towards the back of the house where you could both escape.

You squeezed back, a childish grin growing across your sugar dusted face as your hand fit perfectly into his once more.

#the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon ff #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #mine #my fic #christmas fic #christmas

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aellynera · 3 years

Text

Accidental Anniversary (Llewyn Davis x Reader)

ACCIDENTAL ANNIVERSARY

💜💘 Happy Valentine’s Fic Exchange, @samrockweil 💘💜

I am your Valentine’s elf (or maybe cupid?) It was an absolute blast writing this for you!! At first I couldn’t decide which guy to write for, but Llewyn spoke to me and I ran with it and I hope you love it even half as half as much as I did writing it. Happy reading and happy beeps!

Also, huge thanks to @sergeantkane for putting this fic exchange together! Love you Clarke!

Word Count: around 8k oops look i had a whole MONTH okay i’m not sorry

Summary: You meet Llewyn Davis one night at the Gaslight, and soon find out that the universe has an odd sense of humor and an even weirder sense of timing.

Warnings: A few curses. Nothing else, it’s 99.999999999% fluffy fluff.

March 14

The air inside the Gaslight is thick with smoke that coils and kinks around the dim lights on the walls and the candles on the tables. Someone at the end of the bar calls out for a whiskey, which you pour and pass down. The sound system shrieks with feedback for three painful seconds as your boss flips the power on.

You’ve been working there for a couple weeks, a side job to help make your rent and keep you busy on the weekends. It’s not a terrible gig, most of the time; the patrons are pleasant enough, the performers hit or miss, and Pappi, your boss, is okayish, so long as you can mostly steer clear of him.

You begin to wipe down part of the bar while the next performer sets up on the small, dingy stage. You haven’t seen him before, but whispers from the stools at the counter hint he’s semi-popular around these parts. You quirk an eyebrow; he certainly is easy on the eyes, at least.

From the minute he takes the stage, your focus is ninety percent on him (you do need a little brain power to do your job, after all) and you find that he is also very easy on the ears. Dark curls, dark beard, dark eyes, dark clothes, but a surprisingly bright voice singing lovely songs. He finishes his set, comes off the stage, and sidles up to the bar. You hand him the requested bourbon with a soft smile.

And the next thing you know, Pappi is on the ground and this stranger is holding his hand, wincing, flexing his fingers. Your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god!” you cry. “What--”

“Jesus Christ, Llewyn,” Pappi groans from the floor. “I was only kidding.”

“Yeah, doubt that,” this Llewyn person mutters under his breath, taking a seat on the stool closest to him. “Can I bother you for some ice?”

You keep a wary eye on him, and on Pappi as he gets up and wanders to the other side of the room like nothing happened, and wrap some ice cubes in a towel and hand it to him. “You decked him.”

He scoffs and takes a sip of his drink. “You hear what he said about you?”

Well, no, you hadn’t actually, but having heard what Pappi has said about others in the club over the past two weeks, you can imagine. “I can handle him,” you say archly.

“I’m sure you can,” a huff of air escapes his lips, “but you shouldn’t have to.” He turns around to look at Pappi, who just glares and shakes his head. The man in front of you flips your boss off.

You refill his glass without him asking and stick out your hand, telling him your name.

He shakes it and says, “Llewyn Davis” with a sheepish smile.

April 14

Llewyn shuffles down the sidewalk towards the Gaslight, really only noticing the early spring chill that hangs in the air. It’s early, before noon, but he wants to run through his set before the night’s performance and the early hour is convenient for him to be able to do so in peace.

He’s about a block away when a sound distracts him. A voice is singing, pure and sweet - if a tiny bit off-key - and if he didn’t know any better - and he certainly does, at least most times - he would call it angelic. No, not angelic. An actual angel. That’s what it sounds like.

Llewyn stops and looks up at an open window on the third floor. He can make out the vague outline of a figure inside, but he’s unable to see any details. But that voice. A few minutes pass as he just listens, staring up at the window, thinking about calling up to get the attention of the mysterious singer. But he doesn’t, and he just stands and listens, until he finds his feet starting to carry him on to his usual destination.

Three steps into his walk, he realizes he knows the song. It’s one of his songs. Part of him can’t believe it, and the rest of him wants to offer pitch correction. Three more steps into his walk, and his face makes very solid, very resounding contact with the light pole on the corner.

“God dammit,” he shouts.

A few seconds later, the window on the third floor slides open and a head pokes out. “Oh my god. Llewyn?”

Llewyn looks up and groans inwardly as he recognizes your face from that last gig at the Gaslight. “Hey,” he waves awkwardly, leaning on the pole.

“Are you bleeding?” you call down to him.

He reaches up near his eyebrow and realizes he is, in fact, bleeding. Quite a bit, honestly. Before he can answer, you call back down, “Come up the fire escape to the side window!” The window drops shut and he can hear another slide open.

So Llewyn Davis climbs the fire escape steps and meets you at your side window, a first aid kit in your hands as you motion for him to sit. He does and you start to patch up his wound.

“You should be more careful,” you mutter as you worked, stopping briefly to look him right in the eyes.

He holds your gaze. “Sorry, I was...distracted.”

“Mmm,” you return. You fold a gauze pad and hand it to him. “Hold this on that cut. I’m going to get you some ice.” You turn to walk to your kitchen.

He mumbles his thanks and leans his head back against the fire escape railing.

May 14

You glance back behind the bar, making sure the bottles are stocked and the glasses are ready. Another night at the Gaslight is about to start, and although Llewyn isn’t playing tonight, he takes up a spot at the end of the bar and thanks you as you pass him a drink.

“How have you been?” you ask. You’d seen him a few times over the past couple weeks, here and there in the Village, but it’s been several days. You found Llewyn’s company quite enjoyable. You’d talked a bit and even shared lunch once at the diner a couple blocks away.

His lips turn up, a shy smile lighting his face. He opens his mouth to respond, when another voice breaks in.

“He’s been an asshole.”

Llewyn’s head ships around and you follow his gaze. A slender woman with long, straight brown hair and piercing eyes stands about ten feet behind him, arms crossed and glaring. Neither of them says anything for a beat, Llewyn turns away from her, and then she’s on him, daggers flying from her lips, going on and on about assholes and responsibility and electrical tape.

Llewyn keeps his eyes down, the bottom of his glass suddenly staring back at him. “Jesus Christ, Jean.”

You bite your lip as you glance between them. You have no idea who this woman - this Jean - is, but it’s clear she is not a fan of Llewyn Davis. In three seconds flat you decide you do not like her either.

“Is there something you needed?” you break in.

Her eyes flare at Llewyn, then at you, then bore into the back of Llewyn’s head. You resist the urge to literally toss a glass of whiskey in her direction.

“I need Llewyn to stop being an asshole,” she seethes. Llewyn rolls his eyes.

You arch an eyebrow and the words are on your tongue - I need you to back off, you crazy weird bit-- you bite your tongue just hard enough to make your mouth behave. Fortunately, she’s distracted by someone else calling her name and her attention drifts to the stage. With a final mutter of “asshole” and a rude hand gesture, she flounces off.

You point over Llewyn’s shoulder. “Um, what was that?”

He snorts. “A night of bad decisions and a lifetime of regret.” A pause. “It’s...a long story.”

You watch as she adjusts the microphone center stage. “Good lord, is she a singer? Tell me she’s not going to just smile and sing after...whatever that was.”

“Yeah. Well,” he offers by way of explanation and doesn’t say anything else. It’s almost like this woman sucked all the fight out of him and you feel your heart give a little twinge.

You toss the rag in the sink and take his glass. “Do you wanna get out of here?” The air around you has a weird vibe now, and you felt a sudden impulse to get out and take this man - your friend - with you, away from this...whatever she was, somewhere safe.

“Fuck yes,” he sighs, a grateful glimmer passing through his dark eyes.

“There’s a great cafe down the block.”

“But don’t you have to...you know...work?”

You look around and shrug. “It’s dead in here, and Bobby can handle it,” you hook your thumb at a co-worker behind the bar. “And if Pappi says anything, I know someone who can set him straight.”

Llewyn’s eyes glint and his lips turn up in a real, honest smile this time. “So, coffee?”

“Coffee.”

June 14

The summer - or very last days of spring, technically - is starting to get hot and your open windows are doing the bare minimum to alleviate the warmth. Of course, the third glass of wine you’re drinking probably isn’t helping things either.

Whatever. It’s your day off.

Shoes kicked off, jeans rolled up above your ankles, feet up on the arm of the couch, a record on the turntable and your glass of red as the dusk slowly melts into dark. The night is tranquil and relaxing and perfect. It has been a shitty week, and all you want is to ignore the outside world and do exactly this.

The shrill ring of your phone bursts that bubble..

You close your eyes and tilt your head back on the couch. Ignore it. If you just ignore it, it will go away. The phone stops ringing. Deciding to take no further chances, you switch off the ringer, completely, then sigh happily, settling yourself on the couch and sipping your wine.

Perfect.

A resounding, repeated thump echoes through the room. You bit back a shriek. Ignore it. If you just ignore it, it will go away - lightning can strike twice, right? It was extremely rude of people to just call you and knock when all you wanted was--

“Hey, are you home?” a muffled voice comes from the other side of the door.

Suddenly alert and somehow much less annoyed, you spring up and cross to your front door. Yanking it open, you find a very disheveled Llewyn Davis on the other side. He doesn’t seem to notice right away that the door was now open, and you had to jump back as his hand, raised to pound on the door again, almost knocks you in the head instead.

You take a deep breath. You catch a waft like the mat under the taps after a long night at the bar.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Sorry.”

“Are you drunk?” You take him by the arm and drag him inside, appraising him quickly. His eyes are glassy, red-rimmed, his curls an absolute mess, and there’s a dark mark under his left eye and a split in his lip. He looks terrible, smells just as bad, but suddenly all your desire for a quiet, no-other-humans night evaporates. “And did you get in a fight?”

“...yes?”

You sigh and point to the couch. “Go. Sit. I’ll make some coffee, and then you’re getting a shower..”

“You’re incredible,” he slurs, smiling, “And you’re so…I tried t’call you, from th’phone on the corner but you dinnt answer. An’ then I realized, hey, I’m on your corner, so decided t’come up and see you. You’re pretty.”

You take him by the elbow and lead him to the couch, only stumbling twice and managing to catch him as he sways, precariously, once. “Uh huh,” you bite your lip to hide a smile. “Sounds like you’ve had a fun night. You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.” He flops down on the couch and buries his face in a pillow.

By the time you make the promised pot of coffee and get back to the living room, Llewyn is snoring, still face down in the throw pillow. Turning off the music and the lights, you cover him with a blanket and take your glass of wine to your room.

July 14

Ring, ring, ring.

You’d remembered to turn the ringer back on three days after Llewyn slept it off on your couch, but your phone hadn’t actually rung again until just over half an hour ago, and honestly you weren’t sure if that was a blessing or if it was just sad.

You are sure, however, that the sheer desperation in the voice on the other end when you answered is the reason you’re on this train to Queens. Are you doing anything, Llewyn had asked, because I could really, really use some help right now. Please, I’m begging you. And now the echo of your phone ringing just, well, rings in your ears.

The train screeches to a halt and you exit, making your way to the given address. You knock on the door of a smallish, nondescript row house and it swings open almost immediately, revealing a very disheveled, slightly panicked looking Llewyn.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he breathes and grabs you by the arm, dragging you inside.

“Llewyn? What is going on?”

“It’s a disaster,” he says. He’s completely serious.

You’re preparing yourself for blood, broken bones, water damage, collapsed ceilings, possible dismemberment, anything, really, that could explain your friend’s current frazzled condition. What you get is completely, unexpectedly, not anything like that.

There are about ten kids, all around ten years old, running around in the living room, which is also full of balloons and streamers. One giant pinata, shaped like a baseball glove and bat, hangs from the light fixture. To Llewyn’s credit, it is kind of...chaotic, but it’s far from a disaster and you can barely contain the guffaw that escapes your lungs.

“Whose birthday?” you grin at him.

He narrows his eyes at you. “It’s not funny.”

You consider this and try to straighten your lips. Nope, not working. “It’s a little funny.”

Llewyn smacks you lightly on the shoulder. “It’s my nephew’s birthday, and my sister forgot some party thing and made a run to the store. I was stayin’ here last night and she just decided, oh, Llewyn can watch the kids, and she was gone.”

“So what’s the problem, exactly?”

“She should be back by now,” his eyes look slightly panicked.

“Maybe she had to go to a couple stores? Maybe she just got delayed by transit?”

“I can’t do…” Llewyn gestures around weakly, shaking his head. “This.”

“Llewyn, they’re kids. They can’t be more than what, ten years old? Just blindfold them and let them whack at the pinata.”

“You’re the people person. I can’t...can you help me, please,” he turns to look at you. Directly at you. You’re fairly certain his eyes cannot get any bigger or shine more pleadingly.

“Fine,” you sigh. “Let’s go wrangle some kids.”

The panic slides from his face and to your surprise, he throws an arm over your shoulder and kisses the top of your head in his thanks.

And when one kid takes a wild swing at that tacky papier-mache sports equipment, misses completely, and lands a clean hit on Llewyn’s thigh, neither of you talk about it.

You just get him an ice pack.

August 14

“I’m making lasagna. Come over for dinner.”

You worked early that day, and said this to Llewyn as you left the Gaslight for the day. He isn’t playing tonight, and he’s really just here to stay out of the sun, and as much as he doesn’t like to push his luck with others’ hospitality, he has to admit that a home-cooked meal does sound incredible.

He has a feeling your invitation was partly due to Jean showing up, ready to do unnecessary verbal battle because she just can’t let it go, and you’d asked to both deflect her and keep yourself from actual physical battle. But whatever.

So he finds himself at your front door a couple hours later, a bottle of cheapish red wine in hand and an odd tingle in his chest. He dismisses it offhand; he’s probably just hungry.

You open the door and Llewyn’s nose is assaulted by the smell of homemade sauce - he’s half Italian, he knows these things - and cheese and garlic. You smile brightly at him. Yeah, he’s definitely hungry.

“Hey! Come in, it’s almost ready.”

He hands you the bottle. “Brought wine.”

“Excellent,” you lead him to the kitchen table and motion to a seat. He settles himself into it and grabs a piece of bread from the basket on the table as you grab two wine glasses.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks around a mouthful of carbs.

The timer dings and you pull the lasagna out of the oven. “No occasion. I just felt like making this and I didn’t really want to eat alone.”

“Lucky for you I like to eat,” he chuckles.

Your face suddenly feels warmer. Well, you did just pull a piping hot casserole dish out of the oven, so that does make sense, you suppose. You turn and put the lasagna on the trivet in the middle of the table, then turn and grab two regular glasses for water. There is an outlandish, metallic ka-chunk-ing noise as you turn on the tap, and suddenly water is shooting from under the sink and halfway across the room.

Llewyn jumps up and dives at the faucet, a chunk of bread clutched between his teeth, at the same time you crawl halfway under the sink to try and shut the water off. The stream blasts you in the face and you sputter.

This is not how you imagined tonight. Blasted ancient, rickety building. You make a mental note to have words with the super tomorrow.

You finally get the water shut off, and Llewyn closes the tap and sinks down onto the wet floor next to you. You lean against the cabinets and try to wipe the water out of your eyes.

Llewyn fares a little better; he’s only wet from his waist down. Your head thumps back on the soaked particle board behind you and you turn your head towards him. For a long moment he looks back at you, then rips the butt off the hunk of baguette in his mouth and passes it to you.

You snort. He bites his lip.

“Sorry, I think dinner might be a bit late,” you deadpan, eyes still on him, and take a bite of bread.

He bumps your shoulder with his. “It’s okay. Lasagna is always better the next day.”

Llewyn has to admit, though, it’s still pretty good a couple hours later, after you’re both dry and the lake in the kitchen is mopped up and you settle on the couch with your plates.

And if you use the water glasses for the wine, well, neither of you mentions it.

September 14

It’s pleasantly warm today, the heat of late August dragging itself into the beginning of September, and you find yourself in Washington Square Park, on a checkered blanket, a basket in the middle and a guitar by your feet. Pigeons wander and plot to steal food, but it’s easy enough to shoo them away.

It takes a little convincing, early that morning, to get Llewyn to agree to join you. It didn’t, really; he’s quickly become one of your best friends, and he doesn’t have anywhere else to be, he just likes to tease you.

But he does accept, and you eat some of the bread and cheese you packed and drink the iced tea you brought, and you get out a container of fruit salad and package of cookies your down-the-hall neighbor, Mrs. Peterson, made for you that morning.

“For you and your lovely man,” she’d said as she knocked on your door. You feel the warmth in the tips of your ears and you certainly see the color rise in Llewyn’s embarrassed face, but you don’t have the heart to correct her. She’s such a sweet old lady.

Llewyn plays a song or two while you enjoy your lunch, and even asks if you want to hear a new song he’s been working on, which you are more than happy to agree to.

It’s such a pleasant afternoon.

Until a small, brownish-gray blur jumps onto the blanket and grabs a chunk of bread and darts further onto the lawn.

“What the hell!’ Llewyn shouts as you yelp in surprise. The squirrel, for its part, just stops fifty feet away and turns back with a triumphant gaze, then scoots off into the bushes, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs in its wake.

He starts to make a comment about the nerve of the wildlife, but you’re not really listening. Your eyes are fixed on the path the squirrel just ran and you tug on Llewyn’s sleeve. He keeps muttering and you tug harder.

“Llewyn.”

He finally looks up and follows your finger. There’s a flock - an honest-to-god flock, not that he has any real idea on the technical makeup of a flock, but there’s more than one so as far as he’s concerned, yeah, it’s a flock - of geese marching directly at the blanket.

Okay, so there’s only three of them. But they look angry.

The leader strides forward deliberately and bites at Llewyn’s shoe. Another yelp leaves your lips and he grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet. He also grabs the remainder of the bread and tosses it in the opposite direction as he takes off running towards the fountain, dragging you behind him.

“Where are we going?” you shout.

“No idea,” he replies. The leader falls for the bread feint, but his loyal minions do not, and they follow behind you, quacking and honking and flapping and Llewyn isn’t sure but he may dislike geese even more than he dislikes pigeons.

He jumps up on the edge of the fountain and pulls you into a protective embrace as the beasts close in. Only Llewyn doesn’t account for, you know, physics, and the force of your bodies colliding sends you both straight into the water.

Spluttering, you try to wipe the water out of your eyes. Llewyn is doing the same when a loud HONK startles you both. The leader is back, flanked by his friends, and they’re all staring at you.

“Um, Llewyn?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“...don’t geese like, love the water?”

His eyes flick to you, then the winged monsters, then you again, then the fountain like he’s seeing it for the first time and all he can do is mutter, “Shit!” and grab your hand as he pulls you to your feet and takes off running again.

You manage to swing by and gather the leavings of your picnic, blanket and basket tucked under your arms and his precious guitar clutched to him, as you beeline out of the park, soaking wet and laughing.

October 14

Llewyn slides the key into the lock and turns it, an odd flutter rolling up his spine as he hears the bolt click open. He’s had a key to your apartment for almost two months now. You gave it to him, insisted really, telling him this way he wouldn’t need to worry about finding somewhere to crash. That your couch is always open.

It still doesn’t feel real and he doesn’t always use it, but tonight he really, really doesn’t feel like making the rounds. You’ve been spending more time together recently anyway, and he feels mostly comfortable around you.

He’s greeted by the sight of you wearing a catcher’s mask and knee high rubber boots, and you’re wielding a tennis racquet. He doesn’t know what to say for a full minute.

“What are you...why are you wearing...what the hell.”

“There’s a bat,” is your whispered response.

Llewyn’s nose scrunches and he isn’t any less confused than he was a second ago. “What?”

“There’s a bat,’ you repeat. Your voice is slightly on the edge of hysteria because, well, “there is a bat. In the bathroom.”

“...okay?”

You jab your finger at the closed door. “I was just going to wash my face and brush my teeth and I went in there and it was just...in the corner, by the shelves. It was staring at me.”

He bites his lip, trying his hardest to suppress the smile tugging on his face. It isn’t working. He drops to a whisper himself and asks, “Baby, why are you whispering?”

Your head jerks towards the bathroom, and your shrug nearly sends the tennis racquet into his shoulder. “Because that’s how they...they’re...how they do the...the bat hearing thing!”

Llewyn laughs fully. He can’t help it; you’re ridiculous and his face heats a bit as he realizes it’s entirely endearing. “I don’t think that’s how it works,” he says, his voice sliding back to a whisper. He avoids your death glare as he makes his way to the bathroom door. “But sit tight, slugger, I’ll get rid of it.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

Hand on the doorknob, he pauses and considers this. “Just gonna encourage it to go home? I dunno.”

Your grip tightens on the racquet. “How will that work?!”

“I don’t know! I’m not a fucking bat!” he hisses at you. “Just, make sure a window is open.” He opens the bathroom door.

Several things happen at once. Llewyn doesn’t so much open the door as he flings it wide and it slams into the wall. The bat makes a squeaky-shrieky noise (you were entirely unaware, until now, that they could even do that) and swoops out, recklessly streaking through Llewyn’s mess of curls. You make an actual shriek and fling the side window open as wide as possible. Llewyn makes a sound he can’t describe and you’re honestly not sure if it was Llewyn or the bat. The bat decides to take a few laps around the living room and you duck under the window sill just before it mercifully decides that outside is the place to be. Llewyn slams the window shut and you spring back to your feet, crash into his chest and his arms wrap around you.

Neither of you say anything, and Llewyn isn’t sure how much time passes, but he’s very aware of your hand running through his hair, and your soft words catching as you say you’re just trying to smooth out the bat damage.

He clears his throat. “I, uh, I’ll keep watch out here, make sure that thing doesn’t come back,” he jokes. “You okay?”

You finally - finally, he cheers internally - take off the catcher’s mask and nod slowly. “Yeah, I’m...good. Thanks for...thanks.”

Llewyn lets you go and takes the tennis racquet out of your hands, placing it next to the couch. He throws you a soft smile. “Just in case.”

November 14

It’s been a long night at work, a lot longer than it has any right to be and infinitely insufferable. The Gaslight is packed, patrons nearly crawling the walls and not an empty seat to be found. Drink orders stack up and you try to keep up. It’s so crazy that even Pappi doesn’t have a chance to be a smartass like usual.

Apparently it always gets like this, closer to a holiday.

Note to self - skip holidays.

There are two acts tonight. Llewyn is first, and it’s clear much of the crowd is here to catch him. It cheers you slightly, and it would certainly cheer you more if you had the time to pay more attention to him, but the constant call for whiskey and gin takes most of your focus. But for the time he’s on stage, your heart feels lighter.

Then the second act takes the stage, and Jean launches eye missiles at Llewyn from behind the microphone, and your mood sours instantly.

Yeah, it’s a very long night.

Everything is blurry for the rest of the evening, until last call mercifully rolls around and you can finally get to straightening out the mess the bar has become. You notice Llewyn still sitting on his usual stool at the end of the counter, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Don’t even say it,” you point at him sternly. “When will you stop fussing about this?” Ridiculous man. He has a key to your apartment, and still he worries that he’s an inconvenience.

You toss an orange slice at him, and he allows you a sweet grin.

Finally - finally - you’re home and Llewyn follows you inside, locking the door behind you. He heads for the couch and you head for your room, a mumbled g’night the only word that passes between you. You’re far too exhausted to deal with anything higher level.

It could be minutes or it could be hours later - your alarm clock somehow ended up on the floor and the darkish sky outside giving nothing away, and when did it start raining anyway - when a loud SPRONG and then a yelp and a THUMP from the living room jolts you awake.

It takes a few seconds to regain your senses. “Llewyn?”

“Fuck.”

You stumble out to the living room to find him half-sitting, half-sprawled on the floor, the quilt he normally uses tangled around his knees and ankles. He rubs a spot on his lower back and winces.

“Llewyn! What happened?” you cry.

He points to the middle cushion and you see something sticking up from the padding.

“Oh, Llewyn, jesus. I’m so sorry,” you apologize. You really do feel terrible; your couch hasn’t been in the best shape for ages, and it looks like the squeaky spring you noticed a few weeks ago finally gave up and poked it way through. And stabbed Llewyn in the back as he slept. Damn it.

“It’s...it’s fine,” he tells you, still wincing. “I can turn the other way, or sleep on the floor. Not a big deal.”

You shake your head. “Yes big deal. My couch just stabbed you, and it’s cold outside, you can’t sleep on the floor.”

“S’fine. Not the first time I ended up on the floor.”

You make up your mind before you even think about it and reach your hand out to him. “Come on,” you wiggle your fingers. “Come to bed.”

Llewyn’s eyes go wide and he opens his mouth to protest, but your look is so firm that he relents with a soft sigh and extricates himself from the blanket. He follows you to the bedroom and asks, no less than seven times, if you’re sure this is okay and says he really has no problem sleeping on the floor. You eventually tell him to shut the hell up and get under the covers.

You both lay on your sides, facing each other, but keep a space between you. Llewyn still looks mildly uneasy but relaxes as you smile at him and the warmth of your duvet and the softness of your pillows pull him under.

“Good night again, Llewyn,” you whisper.

“Good night again,” he replies with a soft yawn.

The rain steadily patters on your window and the sky slowly lightens as morning breaks and you languidly wake, curled into Llewyn’s chest, his arms secure around you.

December 14

Snow falls lightly outside, coats the grass and sticks to Llewyn’s curls, and his breath swirls and makes curlicues in the chill winter air. It’s two weeks until Christmas, and you decide to put up a tree, a real tree, and you tell him he’s going to help decorate it.

You also tell him that a bunch of your light strings have stopped working, and before you can ask him to run to the shop down the block that sells replacements, he volunteers and is out the door.

He can’t remember the last time he was anywhere with a real tree. It was usually those cheap-looking fake ones, the green plastic branches a color that would never exist naturally, if there were any tree at all.

So yeah, maybe he’s a little excited. He comes up the steps to the apartment, a bag perched in the crook of his elbow as he unlocks the door.

“So I got the lights, like you asked,” he says cheerfully, and sets the bag down on the table by the door.

“Help.” That’s...not the response he’s expecting.

It’s two weeks since the entire living room has been rearranged. The new, non-back-stabbing couch is on the opposite wall. You rearranged all your shelves, got a new armchair, and much to Llewyn’s wary delight and bewilderment, a new side table. The side table has blank sheet music and pens and there’s a guitar stand next to it and he doesn’t really know what to make of it. You just smile and tell him he needs a space to be himself, whatever that means.

The newly-opened space under the window is where the tree is going. Or, should be going. Llewyn looks down at the toppled fir and sees a foot sticking out near the trunk.

“Sweetheart? What happened?”

Your voice answers from beneath the branches. “Can you just help get this off me, please?”

Llewyn rights the tree and turns his head to check on you. He’s more concerned about you than the tree, of course, but he wants to make sure it doesn’t take you out again so he secures it to the stand as he takes you in. Thankfully you look fine, a few needles stuck to your sweater and a tiny scratch on your cheek, but otherwise…

He tries to stifle a laugh. “You’re looking very festive.”

Your eyes narrow. “Go ahead and ask,” you bite out, “because I know you’re going to ask.”

“I already did ask, before I had to be your lumberjack.”

You refrain from telling him that lumberjacks fell trees, not upright them. Whatever. You motion your head to the shiny silver tinsel wrapped around your torso. You can’t use your hands, really, and you’re not sure how they got tied up in this mess, exactly, but here you are, sitting on your living room floor in a pile of pine needles, trussed like a Christmas goose in sparking silver twine.

And your best friend is laughing at you. Jerk.

“I was trying to get this around the top part, and I lost my balance. Then like an idiot I tried to catch myself on the tree, and the whole damn thing went down with me,” you sigh. “I don’t even know how the rest of this tangled mess happened.”

He does laugh now, full and rich. “I was only gone for like, twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah. Um, can you maybe...untie me?”

“Oh! Wait, here, I got something else,” Llewyn jumps to his feet. He ignores your request and pokes around in the shopping bag.

“If it’s not chocolate, I don’t want to hear about it,” your grumbled response brings another laugh.

Llewyn’s back in front of you seconds later, holding a small white cluster above your head. The grin on his face is equally charming and infuriating.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you blink at him.

“I mean, I was just gonna, y’know, hang it above the door later and let it happen, but now seems like a better time for some Christmas cheer.”

“I think you’re pretty satisfyingly cheerful right now, idiot.”

He waves the mistletoe over your heads. “Come on. It’s tradition.”

One day, maybe you’ll be able to stop sighing in his presence, but today is not that day. You sigh again, roll your eyes, and lean in, planting a soft kiss on his cheek and delighting in the shade of crimson he turns in response. He clears his throat and places the mistletoe to the side.

“Now will you untie me?” you ask, sugar-sweet.

He does, and helps you get the tinsel where it’s supposed to go and you spend the rest of the afternoon decorating the tree and drinking hot cider.

Llewyn sings you more than one Christmas song to make up for all the teasing.

January 14

It seems like a good idea at the time. One of your friends at your actual day-to-day job offers to set you up with another coworker, and it’s been ages since you went on a date and you figure, why not? What could possibly go wrong?

It turns out the answer is, a lot. A lot can go wrong. So much that you don’t even want to think about it.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. There is no chemistry, no spark, just an hours-long recitation of how your date is god’s gift to pretty much everything under the sun and possibly also the moon. The name-drops are just the cherry on top.

Maybe your first impression isn’t wrong after all.

You trudge up to your apartment, the bag of your favorite takeout under your arm filled to nearly bursting, and get the door open. All you want to do is stuff your face and maybe take a long, hot bath with a glass of wine. Yes, that sounds perfect.

The melody of a strumming guitar stops as you place the bag on the side table and shimmy out of your coat. The lamp in the corner is the only illumination and you tilt your head towards the armchair’s occupant. You’re surprised that he’s there, but only because he was supposed to be somewhere else tonight. Knowing he wouldn’t be around was at least...half the reason you agreed to this stupid date in the first place.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date tonight?” Llewyn asks in a low voice through the dim light.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing at the Gaslight tonight?” you retort, brow raised.

He shrugs. “Might have had a few too many an’ said some things. Might’ve gotten thrown out.”

“Mmm,” you appraise him. He just looks the same way you feel; ridiculously tired. Exhausted. “Might’ve told my date I had to use the restroom but… maybe didn’t mention I meant the one at my house.”

“That bad?” Despite his snort, Llewyn sounds genuinely curious.

You sigh as you flop down on the couch and hold up the takeout bag. “I’d rather not talk about it. You wanna help me eat this?”

In an instant he’s on the couch next to you and you hand him some plastic utensils and a napkin. You get up and grab two beers. For a while you just focus on eating, passing containers back and forth with occasional comments about the food. Your knees bump sometimes as you each reach for different containers or your drinks.

“So what happened?”

You stab a piece of chicken a bit more forcefully than necessary. “I said I don’t want to talk about it. It was a stupid idea to go on a blind date.”

“Kind of a stupid idea to go on a date at all,” Llewyn replies softly.

“What.” It’s not really a question. You definitely don’t mean it as a question and you vaguely think about throwing an egg roll at him but that would be an honest waste of decent takeout.

“I know what the problem is,” he continues in a normal voice. “It’s the fourteenth.”

You look at him with a raised brow. He has an odd look on his face and you wait a beat before asking, “Okay? And?”

Llewyn also waits a beat before replying and points at you with his fork, a green bean stabbed on the end. You lean forward and pluck it off with your teeth. He needs a moment to clear his throat before he can go on. “It’s the fourteenth,” he repeats. “Don’t know if you noticed, but...well..weird things seem to keep happening. On the fourteenth. Of every month.”

“Huh.” He’s right, now that you think about it. You stab your food again. “What do you think that means?”

Llewyn looks like he wants to say something, like he’s going to say something, but instead he just shrugs. You put the container down and lean back on the couch, swinging your feet into Llewyn’s lap.

He idly strokes your ankles as his expression grows serious. “I think it means we should not go out on any fourteenths, ever. Just to be safe.”

You poke him with your big toe. “You’re an idiot. There are things that can happen inside. There are things that have happened inside.”

A smirk creeps through his beard. “Shit, you’re right. One-a your crappy novels might fall off the shelf and crack me on the skull.” He pauses. “More run-ins with wildlife? Oh! I know. Squirrels, but this time, in the walls.”

“That’s not funny!” you try to poke him again and dissolve into giggles as he tickles your foot. Your combined laughter ricochets off the living room walls before dissipating back into silence.

This time, you’re clearing your throat before being able to continue. “It’s been a day. I’m gonna go take a hot bath.” You get up and walk down the hall to the bathroom.

“Please don’t fall asleep in the tub!” he calls after you. “Don’t forget what day it is.”

Idiot.

After your bath, you head to the bedroom and find Llewyn passed out on top of the covers. He has a key, and he stays over far more often than not nowadays, and even though he’s been told numerous times since the broken couch that it’s okay if he’d rather sleep in a bed, you don’t mind sharing, he rarely takes you up on that offer. Okay, so this is the first time since the broken couch that he’s even sort of taken up the offer.

It’s been a weird day.

You grab a quilt and curl up on the other side of the bed, pulling it over both of you and snuggling down into your pillow.

“I wonder what happens on the next fourteenth,” you yawn mutter into the darkness of the room.

You’re asleep, so you can’t notice that Llewyn isn’t, really, and he rolls to face away from you and whispers, “Yeah, me too.”

February 14

The air inside the Gaslight is thick with smoke that coils and kinks around the dim lights on the walls and the candles on the tables. Someone at the end of the bar calls out for a straight bourbon, which you pour and pass down. The sound system shrieks with feedback for three painful seconds as Pappi flips the power on.

You glance back behind the bar, making sure the bottles are stocked and the glasses are ready. Another night at the Gaslight is about to start, and Llewyn isn’t playing tonight, and he hasn’t shown up yet, which is strange.

Another thing that’s strange? This weird feeling of déjà vu. Whatever, you’ve been working more nights at the club recently, and they’re all starting to blend together.

“Your friend’s out back,” Pappi’s voice breaks into your thoughts as he sidles up to the bar and leans back on it.

“My friend?” you ask, confused.

Pappi shrugs. “Said he was a friend of yours. Dark curly hair, worn corduroy jacket, always looks tired or pissed off or both.”

Your expression doesn’t change. “Wait, why is...did he get the crap kicked out of him again?”

“Nah,” Pappi shakes his head. “At least, maybe not yet. Anyway, I dunno, he just asked me to tell you he was outside. I don’t know what the hell he’s up to.” He nods his head towards the back exit and turns to tend to the bar.

Strange.

You duck your head out the door and glance up and down the alley. You see nothing except the usual debris; trash containers, the dumpster, the rusty drain pipes that run down from the gutters, weathered fire escapes. Something skitters off at the far end and disappears between the buildings. Was that a raccoon?

You snort a laugh as you recall Llewyn’s jab about wildlife run-ins. It would be something that happens, in a dark alley behind a basket house in Greenwich Village on the fourteenth of…

Oh. It is the fourteenth.

“Hey,” a familiar voice calls from the head of the alley.

Llewyn stands there, leaning against the brick, dark curls and worn corduroy and all. He holds a single yellow rose in his hands. He looks incredibly nervous, enough to match you looking incredibly confused.

You step fully outside and the door clicks shut behind you. “Hi?”

“Uhm, this is for you,” he says, awkwardly holding the rose out. “Saw a guy selling ‘em a few blocks down, thought you might like it.”

“Thank you? But what’s the occasion?” Why is everything coming out as a question? Even that.

He bites his lip. “You don’t know what today is?”

“Yeah, it’s the four---” Oh. Oh.

“You wanna get out of here? Have dinner with me, maybe?” Llewyn rubs the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit you’ve seen him done countless times, usually when he’s thinking about something serious and… Oh.

You twirl the rose in your fingertips and don’t quite meet his eyes. “I thought you said maybe we shouldn’t go out any fourteenths.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, well. Um, I don’t know if you also noticed, along with this whole fourteenth business, but I...I really like spending time with you, just hanging out with you, and...I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, but I thought maybe we could, y’know, have a non-weird fourteenth day of the month for a change.”

He’s rambling and it’s adorable. You hum softly. “...on Valentine’s Day.”

Llewyn’s hands twitch in his pockets. “Well...yeah. I mean, I like spending time with you, but...I also like you. So why not?”

He has a point. And really, now that one of you has said it out loud, you really can’t deny it. All the time spent together, all the shared meals and drinks and late-night talks on the couch and letting him basically move into your apartment...it’s no secret, you realize, it never really was, how close you’ve become over the past many months. How easy it is with him. How natural it is.

All the times he helped you. All the times you helped him. All the times you were together, just being.

The fourteenth of the month be damned.

You pretend to think about it for a little longer than necessary as Llewyn watches you anxiously. “Well, I do have to work, you know.”

“I already asked your boss,” he shakes his head, “and he was more than willing to agree. Something about not getting a black eye on your behalf tonight.”

Your laugh rings out into the street. “But it is the fourteenth. What if one of us gets food poisoning or chokes on dessert or something?”

“Vomit doesn’t bother me and I know the Heimlich,” he smirks. “And I’m already asking you out in a dark alley in the Village, how much weirder can it get?”

“You make a fair point, Llewyn Davis.”

He extends an elbow and a hopeful smile.

If he notices, as he brushes his lips on your knuckles as you take his offered arm, that your breath catches and your heart rate increases, he doesn’t let on.

But later that night, as he trails kisses along your jaw and down your neck and asks you what you want to do on the next fourteenth, well, Llewyn Davis definitely notices then.

~end~

#llewyn davis #llewyn davis x reader #valentine's fic exchange #oscar fandom fic exchange #samrockweil

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sylvain-writes · 3 years

Text

Unbroken (Mikey x Reader)

Rated: T Gender Neutral Reader, pre-relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, Mikey whump, brothers not coping well with stress/fear, victim blaming, affection, love confessions, friendship/love

Mikey's been injured beyond anything his family has experienced before, leaving his brothers terrified. While Donatello, Raphael, and Leonardo struggle with their own guilt and fear, you take over your dearest friend's medical care. for @brightlotusmoon

Tension pours from the Lair into the tunnels. You move quickly.

Something had told you to bring your delivery of medical supplies early, but what you had chocked up to a gut-feeling now feels much more likely to have been a call from the energies that connect you to Michelangelo and his Father. That psychic pull flares as you draw near and there's no longer room for doubt.

Your messenger bag slips down your arm as you increase your pace. It catches on your elbow awkwardly as you carry the heavy cooler of sundry medicine vials, but you don’t let that slow you down. There’s panic in the air - anger and fear. Casey’s and Raphael’s voices echo through the space - another call for your attention.

Casey urges Raphael to stop raving before he says something he’s going to regret. But his pleas are ignored.

Raphael shouts over Casey’s shoulder from the tunnel into the infirmary. He spits accusations and threats at someone unseen.

In plain clothes, but with all the authority of a Detective, Casey gives Raphael a final warning before pushing past his raging friend and stepping up to you. He grabs the cooler and leads you into the infirmary, thanking god for your arrival.

“Donnie will be so glad you’re here.”

You would have come sooner had someone sent word. You’re about to say as much when Casey steps out of the way and the sight of Mikey laid up on a hospital bed leaves you speechless. Frozen. Donnie gives you a frightened look before his eyes drift to his quarreling brothers, then draws the curtain to block them out.

Raphael’s bellows behind your back, shocking you out of your stupor. “Ya shoulda been there!”

Your heart leaps, thundering against your ribs. You turn around, breath caught in your throat wondering how on earth you could have prevented such a thing. But Raphael is rounding on Leo, not you, shoving his older brother square in the chest as he brings his face too close.

“Ya shouldn’ta sent him away!"

Tension ripples up Raph's arms from his fists to his shoulders as he crowds Leo into a corner. "This is on you, Leo. If he don’t wake up- If he don’t... “

When words fail him, Raphael launches himself at his brother with a growl.

Casey’s face twists into horror as Leo, outwardly stoic and calm, takes his brother on.

In a quick series of grabs, Leo has Raphael twisted and pinned against the wall in seconds. Leo eyes him with a look of impatience and disappointment. “Walk it off, Raph.”

“Try’na get rid of me too, huh?” With his face pressed against the cement, Raphael grinds out his words through clenched teeth.

Leo turns to Casey, as if he doesn’t have time for such an inconvenience as this. “Get him out of here. He’s making Don nervous." His grip on Raph lets up as he turns to face the curtain once more. "We’ve been hurt before. We heal. Everything is going to be fine.”

You've only caught a glimpse of Mikey's condition. But you've never seen Donatello so scared. You wonder who Leo is trying to convince.

Raphael seethes as Casey takes him by the arm, but he isn't forced out of the room. "Ain't been this bad. Never this fuckin' bad." Raph's voice is hoarse from shouting and crying, but his words don’t seem directed at Leo anymore. As his disbelief turns from swears to prayers, you think you hear him making deals with god and the devil.

“Swear to god, bro,” Raph says, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, “if you don’t wake up, man…” With his elbows on his knees, Raphael buries his face in his hands.

Casey lays a hand on his friend's shoulder before the radio at his belt urges him topside. "I'm sorry," he says to the room. "I gotta..."

Raphael's head hangs lower, but he nods.

Leo stands stoic - arms resting at his sides, ignoring Casey's words of departure, watching the drawn curtain. Blinking but not seeing. His breath is even enough for him to be attempting some form of meditation, and you think that’s for the best. But you wonder how long the quiet will last.

Casey tips his head toward the hospital bed. A small jerky movement that grabs your attention. You look at him, head spinning. “You gonna be OK with this?”

You glance over your shoulder to where the curtain hides Donnie and Mikey from view. Slowly, you nod. Even before med school you were proficient at compartmentalizing. You can help Mikey without becoming overwhelmed by seeing your best friend in whatever condition he’s in. You just need to get in there, see what you’re working with.

“I’ll be alright,” you tell Casey and remind yourself.

You wave him off, draw back the curtain, and take a fortifying breath.

At the head of the hospital bed, Donnie moves as if on autopilot. He's set a PICC line just under Mikey's shoulder and is starting a transfusion. He's talking himself through the steps, laying out his plans for what to do next. Even as you approach, he remains completely focused on his tasks.

His hands shake as he lifts a fresh bag of fluids to the IV stand. Careful as he tries to be, the bag slips from the hook and lands with a wet slap on the floor.

You crouch down to help and lay a hand on his arm as he apologizes for this little hiccup in Mikey's care.

Unshed tears cloud his vision. He looks almost as pale as his brother lying on the bed. It's obvious he's doing the best he can, and you couldn't ask for more.

Donnie watches you easily hang the bag and open the line. He holds his breath as you properly take in the scene. “He shouldn’t have been out there alone,” he says quietly. It sounds like another apology.

From the edge of the curtained area, Leo parrots the same words. The way he says them, however, sounds like an accusation.

“He knows better,” Leo continues, coming closer to Mikey's bedside. The more Leo speaks, the more life returns to his eyes. Fire heats Leo’s words. You suppose anger is easier to feel than fear. “What was he thinking?”

From the floor, Raphael chokes on a sob. “You knew better. The fuck were you thinkin’, huh?”

Leo widens his stance and rolls his shoulders back, ignoring his younger brother's latest outburst.

The monitor at Mikey’s bedside beeps, Mikey starts to convulse, and it’s easy to tune out everything else.

You and Leo struggle to hold Mikey still as Donnie checks the equipment.

Donnie adjusts the speed of the morphine drip, scanning Mikey's body and the monitor displays. His mouth is set in a hard line. His jaw ticks with how hard he's clenching his teeth to keep his lip from trembling.

He wipes his eyes on the back of his wrist and pretends he's not close to tears seeing his only little brother injured beyond what any of them have ever faced.

Even as their eldest brother works to restrain Mikey from further aggravating his injuries, Leo asks if it's really a good idea to increase the narcotics. "We don't want him dependent on that stuff."

It was the last straw for Donatello. His resolve falters. He faces Leo with color high on his cheeks and opens his mouth to argue. But he sputters and fails to string together an explanation fit for Leo’s approval. Too much of his energy has been depleted by Mikey's care for Donnie to dumb down his course of treatment into terms Leo can understand.

You place a hand on Donnie's shoulder and offer him a knowing look.

"One thing at a time," you tell Leo with the calm authority of your medical expertise. "We get Mikey through this, first. We'll titrate him off the meds when he no longer needs them."

Exhausted and exasperated, Donnie ducks his head and steps aside to let you take over. He watches you assess the work he's done. He holds his breath as you review the scans and x-rays he provides.

There’s nothing for him to be ashamed of. His stitches are hasty, but they'll hold. The broken bones have been set properly.

There's a pain in your chest as your brain switches the images in front of you from patient to Mikey to patient again. You know that unbiased detachment will serve you best in your decision making tonight, but the crease between your eyebrows twitches as you spend a second too long watching Mikey's eyelids flutter, hoping for them to open.

Mikey is barely conscious, groaning with every squirming movement but seemingly unable to keep still.

The file Donnie's prepared lists a concussion on top of deep tissue bruising, stab wounds, broken bones, a dislocated knee, and a cracked plastron. Mikey's head is wrapped. Thick gauze pads the left side of his skull and dark bruises color his swollen face. With each injury your interest in the case, in the patient before you, grows more clinical.

You mutter, more to yourself than to Donnie or anyone else, your review of what's been done and what still needs doing. Donatello nods along, keeping up and eager to learn even in the midst of the crisis. Perhaps especially due to the nature of this one.

And after a few more minutes of tweaking the medications, your dear patient eases more deeply into sedation.

You smooth your hand over the gauze above Mikey’s ear and allow yourself a breath of relief. His glassy eyes blink up at you, unfocused until you run the back of your fingers down the side of his face.

Memories of all the times he’s called you ‘Angel’, the times it felt less like a place holder for ‘Dude’ and more like a pet name chosen specifically for you, poke and prod the edges of your mind until one memory rushes through.

You and Mikey sitting on the rooftops together. His feet dangling over the edge of the building, kicking out a rhythm as he percusses with his hands upon his thighs. You rocking forward and back as he listens with rapt attention to you talking about Med school: your residency, your hopes and dreams for advancing the field of neurobiology, and the sundry inbetween stuff that never feels like tangents when you're speaking with him.

You’re lost in the memory of the night, of you and Mikey and endless possibilities, when Donatello gives your shoulder three taps and pulls you back to the present.

The hairs on your arms rise when Master Splinter arrives to check on Mikey's progress. You wish you could say it was his raw psionic power that gives you chills, or his virtuous presence that tears your attention from your patient. There's no compassion or concern flowing from him right now. And it's neither respect nor admiration you feel for him in this moment.

Though Splinter approaches the bed, his energies remain rather distant. Cool. Complacent. He reaches out to Mikey through their psychic bond and nods in approval. "He will learn from this,” Sprinter says, voice a low, monotonous hum. “Grow stronger." He turns from his youngest with a clipped, "Humph," and moves to the corner of the room without offering a word of comfort to any of his sons. He sits to meditate, unperturbed by the scene.

As if taking a cue from their father's indifference, Leo and Raphael start up their squabble again.

It's too loud. Too much. Reading Splinter's energy and watching Mikey's shrink from it like a kitten being scolded for mistaking wicker furniture for their scratch post tests your nerve, grates on your mind, and burrows under your skin.

A year into your residency, and twice as long helping the Hamatos, you think you'd be able to handle anything. But you begin to get shaky. How Donatello worked so long with his brothers looking over his shoulder and arguing behind his back, you'll never know.

Every now and then Splinter comments on the strength of Mikey's chi. He seems oblivious to the fact that his son was literally writhing in pain on this hospital bed moments ago. The harder Splinter insists on Mikey’s resilience and tenacity, the more you feel Mikey pulling in on himself, frightened to show his Father the truth of his condition. Protecting his family from his frailty and pain even as he lay nearly unconscious.

Meanwhile, Leonardo insists that this all could have been avoided if Mikey would have exercised some patience and common sense by not going up to the surface alone.

“Where were you, anyway, Raph?" The unending feud cycles around and around. "You’re supposed to look out for him.”

When Leo starts apologizing on behalf of Raph's and Donnie's negligence, you think his younger brothers are going to snap. You make the call to get them all out, so you can focus on Mikey without worrying about playing referee.

Leo catches Splinter on the way out, making plans to meditate together through the night.

Before Donatello leaves, he pops by for a goodnight. “Get well quick, little bro,” he pleads, squeezing his arm and dropping a kiss upon the crown of his brother’s head.

Raphael does similarly, adding that they’re bedroom won't be the same tonight. Without Mikey's headphones hanging off the side of the bed, still playing music while his snores somehow ride the beat of each song, Raph won't get a wink of sleep. “Won’t sleep til you’re there buggin’ me again.”

Mikey responds with quiet murmurs that his brothers all but ignore. They're more accustomed to and comfortable with hearing their own voices than listening to their brother's pain.

With the room clear, it’s easier to hear Mikey’s mutterings for what they are. Though speaking through a fog of pain and anaesthetic, he’s not incoherent.

Your heart sinks to realize he understands what's happening to him, that he’s likely heard everything that’s been said in the room. The shouting, the crying. The selfish demands on his suffering body. The detached sureness of his Father.

So confident that all will be fine, Splinter hadn’t even laid a hand on Mikey or spared a shred of empathy before he had gone.

You pay close attention to Mikey’s words, letting them inform your care.

Mikey’s eyes peek through heavy lids, trying to follow you around the room. But when you’re at his side again, and your hand strokes his face, his eyes close. He leans into your palm despite his bruised and fractured jaw.

For a few minutes you remain just like this - cradling his face in your hands, watching him drift in the haze of sedation, feeling his energies ebb and flow from their hiding place in their search for the safety he’s always found with you.

“I’m here,” you assure him gently. “It’s only me.”

Your promise is enough for his energies to move free.

Hushed sounds and quiet clicks of your tongue fill the space between you as you put Mikey’s mind at ease. Your fingers pitter-patter over his cheek bones and down the sides of his neck as you palpate for further injuries. They pass over his clavicle and shoulders as Mikey stutters a breath.

A sling traps his arm against his chest, where his fingers tap the scute over his heart. It’s a small movement, perhaps one of the only movements he can safely make in his condition, and even then, it must be a challenge. For someone you’ve only seen lying this still during his most depressive episodes, you think being incapacitated thusly must be torture.

His bandaged hand is heavy as you lift it. His fingers are cool under the press of your lips. They curl reflexively around yours and you kiss his hand again.

“My best days are the ones I spend with you,” you whisper. It hurts to be burdening him with such a thing right now, but you also think it’s a truth he should hear sooner rather than later.

Mikey’s chest rises and falls with staggered, labored breaths as you pet his chest. You talk and Mikey lets your voice wash over him. He leans his head back, relaxed and floaty, feeling like he's in a dream. And as he has so many times before, in dreams, Mikey tells you he loves you.

You bite your lips together as tears fill your eyes. For the first time tonight you think they’ll truly spill over. “Love you, too,” you say, and it doesn’t matter to you whether he means it romantically or as friends because the relationship you share and the love you’ve fostered for each other doesn’t need labels or constraints.

When Mikey seems to be falling asleep you try to give him some space, but he doesn’t want you gone. His mind is quieter when you’re at his side.

You rub his leg as you stand by his bed. Though your back is aching and your feet protest the constant bustle, you still haven’t been able to sit.

“Tell me if you need anything,” you say in earnest.

Despite your efforts to keep Mikey hydrated, his words are but a croak. “Just you.”

“Hm?”

“You here. Could you-” Mikey’s eyes close and his hand turns palm up on the bed. Though he can’t muster the strength to lift his arm, his fingers curl and release inviting you back. You slide your hand into his and give it a light squeeze.

“Stay,” he whispers weakly.

Sleepy, and still in pain despite the heavy opiate cocktail you and Donatello created for him, Mikey gives a weak tug on your hand and whimpers, begging you to understand what he needs.

You climb up, thankful for the extra wide bed, and rest against his wrapped plastron carefully. He buries his face into the top of your head. He nuzzles the hand you’ve raised to cup his cheek. The soft, sleepy sounds he makes drift in and out, sometimes words and sometimes just a hum.

“...M no good,” Mikey mumbles into your hair, and you feel his breath hitch. “Not good enough.”

“Oh… no, baby,” you say, bracing yourself on the mattress and pushing up to look him in the eye. You stroke the lines of his brow ridge above his eyes, left and right, until his eyes flutter open. They shine with tears threatening to fall. “You’re always enough. Always been enough.”

He gives the slightest turn of his head, but his eyes stay locked on yours as if desperate to believe your words. His lip trembles. His tears slide down his cheeks.

“You’re perfect, sweetheart.” You continue to pet his face, but you let his tears fall freely, letting him know it’s alright to cry.

“For you?” Mikey asks, bordering on inaudible. But you hear him. The question rises from the depths of his being, calling out to you, and you answer the call with the truth of your soul.

“Always. Perfect for me. Forever perfect for me.”

#TMNT x Reader #tmnt x gender neutral reader #mikey x reader #michelangelo x reader #gender neutral reader #my writing #angst #hurt/comfort

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anthrat · 3 years

Text

Like a Moth to a Flame

Shino Aburame/Reader

Shino has been away on a mission for the last couple of days, as his girlfriend you make the executive decision to start waking up early in the hopes you'll be able to welcome him back to the village

1785 words

It was another beautiful morning in Konohagakure, the sun was just beginning to rise, casting a faint orange glow upon the streets. You sighed heavily, thrusting your hands in your pockets as you made your way towards the entrance gate. Mornings didn’t really suit you. Unfortunately, being a ninja meant you had to begrudgingly abandon your dreams of being able to sleep until noon without interruption. You were secretly quite jealous of those who could handle waking up early without feeling like they’d been hit by a bus, mornings really made the world feel different somehow. Nothing quite felt the same, on the few occasions you were awake this early you always felt as though you were somehow out of place, disturbing the complete calm which enveloped the world. In just a few short hours the peace and tranquillity would be broken by the bustling of people as they went about their day to day lives. This was the third morning in a row you’d woken up early, as much as you hated the loss of sleep you had a very good reason to be up. It would be any day now that your boyfriend would be returning from his mission.

You and Shino had only been dating for a few months but by God, you loved that man. Everything about him made your heart skip a beat, maybe it was because you were young and stupid but you honestly couldn’t see yourself ever finding a better man. He was perfect, yet so misunderstood. People constantly mistook his stoic nature for ignorance or a lack of compassion but you knew first hand that wasn’t the case. Even before you’d started dating you couldn’t understand how people didn’t see him for the pure and gentle soul he truly was. Shino was a man of small actions, never one for grandiose displays of affection. That’s what you loved most about him, everything was genuine, nothing was for show. The little gifts he gave you every time you spent time together, things like pretty rocks, cicada shells and feathers which seemed worthless but weren’t. They were always gifted to you alongside a story of how they had reminded him of you. Even when his gifts had more material value they were always well thought out. You’d often come home to find small packages with the new book you’d wanted, your favourite snacks and even things like milk and bread which you hadn’t even realised you’d run out of. Your hand instinctively reached towards your neck, gently fingering the necklace he had gifted you before you’d begun dating. You smiled, remembering your complete and utter confusion when you’d first received it.

The necklace was adorned with a small moth pendant, at the time you’d looked at Shino, unsure of what to make of it. You knew he loved bugs but even then… A moth? Something like a butterfly or ladybug you’d understand but a moth seemed so unfitting. Sensing your confusion Shino had quietly explained the importance of the moth. “Why is it a moth? It’s because they are a symbol of determination. They always fly towards the light even when their efforts may prove to be futile. Just like the moth, I hope you always have faith in your own abilities and continue to have the strength to never give up.” You remembered the blush that had adorned his face as he said this to you, the intensity of his stare as he waited for your reaction. The warmth of his body as you pulled him into a tight embrace, hiding your own blush by burying your head into his chest as you thanked him profusely. It was after that day that you found yourself unable to rid your mind of Shino. No matter where you were or what you were doing, from that moment onwards you’d been bitten by a love bug.

You waved to Kotetsu and Izumo as you walked past, Izumo grinned at you “We were just wondering when you’d show up grasshopper. Don’t worry, you haven’t missed Shino”

You blushed profusely and murmured a thank you, slightly increasing your walking speed as you exited the village, trying to ignore the fading voices of Kotetsu and Izumo as they called after you. You’d made the mistake of telling them that Shino often gave you nicknames of bugs, they’d taken this as an invitation to only refer to you as some sort of insect. Finding the patch of grass you’d claimed as your own you slumped into a sitting position, your back pushing against the wall surrounding the village. It wasn’t the most comfortable position but it had served you well over the last few days. Pulling your knees towards yourself you rested your chin on top. Your eyes strained against the light of the sun as you tried to focus on the road ahead, hoping that you’d soon be able to make out the figure of Shino. It wasn’t long before you found yourself slowly drifting off.

You could feel something warm on your face, “Mmmf go away” you mumbled sleepily, wafting your hand to try and fend whatever the warmth was away. Instead, your hands made contact with something large and furry. Very confused and startled, you opened your eyes. To your surprise, your vision was almost entirely obscured by the nose and snout of a very large, white dog. “Hello Akamaru!” You grinned, scrunching him behind his ears and marvelling at how furiously his tail was wagging.

“Yo, Y/N!”

You looked up as three figures made their way towards you, hauling yourself up and wiping your legs free from any dirt you waved at them, a huge grin plastered on your face.

“Morning Kiba, Hinata and Shino, lovely day for a walk isn’t it? How was your mission?” You asked whilst gently patting Akamaru’s head.

Kiba gave you a goofy grin “It was great! Me and Akamaru absolutely destroyed these two ninjas and-”

“Uhm… Kiba…” Hinata mumbled, “Didn’t those two ninjas end up capturing you?”

“Hey, Hinata shut up!” Kiba shouted, “Getting captured was all a part of my plan so we could complete the mission” he explained to you, he opened his mouth as if to continue before he was interrupted.

“It wasn’t a plan. Why? Because you never plan anything, you just run in headfirst and put everyone else in danger” As he said this, Shino gently pushed his goggles further up his nose. You snorted as Kiba stuttered a number of insults at both his teammates, something about them being unsupportive of his fighting methods. You weren’t really sure.

“Well, whatever. Never mind me, Y/N what are you even doing up this early, and what were you doing on the ground?” Kiba questioned, clearly he was desperate to change the subject.

“Ah, well… I was actually waiting for Shino, I wanted to speak to him” you responded, turning your head to smile at the goggle-wearing shinobi. Although it was hard to see Shino’s face behind his large collar, you could have sworn you saw it turn a gentle shade of pink as you said this.

“Really? What do you even see in this guy anyway, he’s so quiet and-” “Kiba, let’s leave” Hinata murmured, pulling gently on his sleeve trying to guide him into the village. “Don’t worry about the report Shino, me and Kiba can do it ourselves.”

“What? That’s not fair! How come Shino doesn’t have to come with us? Reporting missions is such a waste of time! We’re a team aren’t we? We should always -” He paused as Shino glared at him. You shuddered slightly, Shino wasn’t even looking in your direction yet you could feel the anger within his gaze. Raising his hands in defeat Kiba turned away from you both, “Alright I get it you two. Have fun or whatever. Shino, you can count on us to report to the Hokage.”

You stood besides Shino and watched them leave, gently brushing your hand against his. As soon as the pair were out of sight you practically leapt onto him, burying your head into his chest and wrapping him in as tight an embrace as you could. “Welcome home” You murmured into him. You felt him initially stiffen, and then soften as he relaxed into your arms, wrapping his own around you and pulling you closer. You stayed like that for a while, his head rested atop yours, you listening to the quickened beating of his heart. He was the first to pull away, moving his hands to cup gently cup your face, lifting your chin slightly so you could meet his gaze.

“What did you want to speak about? Did something happen whilst I was away?”

You placed your hands on top of his and slowly pulled them away from your face so you could hold them. “Nothing in particular, I just wanted to see you. I missed you.” You smiled up at him, interlacing your fingers with his.

“I see,” he responded quietly. “I missed you too.”

He pulled your hands towards his lips, leaving gentle kisses on each of your knuckles before grabbing your chin and pulling you into a deep kiss. You could feel yourself melting, you gently pulled his hood down and laced your fingers behind his head. You felt his hands trail down to your waist, gently stroking your sides as he pulled you in even closer. You withdrew from the kiss, panting slightly as you tried to steady your breath. Shino gently kissed your nose, a slight smile forming on his lips as you scrunched it in response. He wasn’t entirely sure if you’d ever be able to understand just how much this meant to him. He’d finally found someone who remembered him, someone who genuinely missed him when he wasn’t there. After years of feeling like a third wheel, years of feeling like his friends didn’t even know who he was he’d found you.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“I love you” He didn’t even wait for your response, he instead pulled you in for another kiss, his lips crashing against yours. All your previous kisses had always been gentle, somewhat tentative and uncertain. This one was rough. You could feel the quiet desperation in the kiss, the years of repressed emotions spilling out His hands gripped your waist as his lips grew more frantic. You placed a comforting hand on his chest, pushing him back slightly.

“I love you too” you breathed, barely being able to catch your breath before his lips smashed into yours, hungrier than before. You smiled inwardly, questioning why it was only now you’d decided to start welcoming him back home from missions.

#shino aburame #shino x reader #shino aburame x reader #fanfic #naruto #reader fic #naruto fanfiction

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