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titan-fodder · 3 years

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Prima Vista Part VI

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Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader, Zeke Yeager x fem!reader wc: ~ 11.2k

Warnings: explicit sexual content, ass play, jealousy, possessive behavior, humiliation, manipulation, OC introduced (read A/N), non-con coming inside, fighting, miscommunication A/N: As I was writing this, I decided to bring original female characters in to play the “bad guys” because I didn’t wanna demonize the canon AoT girls. Just didn’t feel right. So, everyone, meet Rhi. Enjoy~

Mike is extremely fucking aware of you sitting a foot away from him on his couch. You're hunched over and whining about him beating you in Mario Kart again, and honestly, he doesn't know how he's doing it because he is so not focused on the game.

You came to the party in tight jeans and a sparkling top, and all Mike can think about is getting you out of them, spreading you out underneath him just like he used to.

But, he's not gonna say anything about it, not even gonna allude to it because he feels awful about pushing so hard at the Pike house. He never thought he'd be that type of guy, but he's been known to go a little off the rails when it comes to you.

"Have you ever played this with all banana peels?" Mike asks, trying to get his mind off of the heat he thinks he's radiating.

"What?"

"Like, you set it so all the items are bananas."

Your eyebrows raise. "That sounds nightmarish."

"Oh, it is," he agrees. "But you should experience the chaos at least once."

"Alright, fine. Nanner me up, then." Mike snorts as you sit back against the cushions, examining the Switch controller in your hand and mumbling, "Could they have made these any smaller? My hands are too big. How are you even playing?"

"Practice. We played a lot of Don't Drink and Drive my sophomore year."

He toggles to change the settings, and you both pick characters again. Mike selects Baby Park and grins too widely when you squeak.

"This is the worst possible—"

"It's the best possible track," he corrects you.

The next minute or so is spent with Mike swearing and you screeching, but a melody of giggles can be heard in between.

He stands up like it'll help him focus, and you follow suit, bouncing and leaning forward until Mike thinks you might lose your balance. It's the only match you actually beat him at, and you raise your arms in victory, acting like the terrible winner you are. You dance and poke him in the chest so that Mike rolls his eyes and shoves you with just enough force (so, not a lot) to make you fall back onto the couch.

"Wow, rude!" You exclaim with a little pout.

Mike stands next to you, a little too close as a retort forms on the tip of his tongue, but the angle is awkward, and he watches your eyes flit from his face to his waist (or what's a little below it) for just a split second, just long enough for him to notice, and he has to fight a smirk as you meet his eyes again.

He can imagine your cheeks are feeling pretty warm right now, but Mike doesn't say anything about it, just takes his place beside you. If he's sitting a little closer than before, neither of you mention it.

It's nearing one in the morning, and both of you are starting to feel it, eyes and hands too slow to keep playing the video game, so you switch to a movie. Mike doesn't think much of it when he lays down, legs hanging over the armrest, head in your lap. You tense for about two seconds before relaxing into the position you both know so well.

The first Jurassic Park plays from the TV, but Mike isn't paying any attention, too busy watching the way you're nibbling on your bottom lip. It's your thinking face, means you're lost in your own brain, just as far away from the film as he is.

It's stupid that you're both fighting this. Mike doesn't understand. If he wants it, and you want it, what the fuck is standing in the way? Zeke? That pretentious, clay-stained fuck? You don't even fit well together. In any way. He's too arrogant and philosophical (or so Erwin says). He probably doesn't appreciate your sense of humor (or so Mike says). And, he won't fuck you (so you say). How are you happy with him?

"Miche," your voice is quiet, but still loud enough to send a shiver down Mike's spine.

"Hm?"

"Stop staring at my mouth."

"You looked at my dick earlier."

"Shut up, no I didn't."

Mike laughs, turns his head to bury it in your stomach, and you start carding fingers through his hair. It's natural with the two of you. Nothing is forced. It took a while to get back into the groove of your friendship, but now you're here, and Mike is breathing in the smell of your perfume and fabric softener and you, and he wants so badly to just raise your shirt and plant kisses all over your soft skin.

Your body rises and falls with a deep breath. Your hand stops at the crown of his head. Then, you whisper the words he wants to hear most: "Just one more night?"

Mike sits up so fast, he nearly smacks into your chin with his forehead. He turns to face you again, eyes too round, voice too hopeful as he assures, "Just one more night."

He knows the only reason you're considering this is because Zeke has you all wound up, but that's okay. Mike will take care of you. He'll scratch that itch and then some—remind you of what you're missing.

"Alright, yeah, I—"

Mike is suddenly standing and taking your hand, leading you to his bedroom as the Jurassic Park theme plays you both out.

He knows you'll want to snoop—it's sort of your thing—but he doesn't give you time as he bends and catches you in a kiss, hands holding your face, tilting your head. He feels you curl your fingers into his shirt, using him for leverage as you balance on your tiptoes, and he lets you dance like that for a little while, desperate little ballerina as you open your mouth for him, but as soon as he feels your tongue against his, Mike lifts you clean off the ground. You wrap your legs around his waist, no need for straining muscles now as you both lick and suck and hold on to each other too tightly.

Mike paces over to the bed, nearly tripping over the shoes he left in the middle of his room earlier that day, but he’s able to drop you onto the mattress and catch himself above you before any real damage can be done.

You laugh out a, “Real smooth, Zacharias,” that he ignores in favor of taking his shirt off.

He can’t see well in the darkness which just will not do as you begin stripping, but then he remembers, “Oh,” and leans over you to plug in the string of lights he somehow managed to hang around the flag pinned above his headboard. “Ambience.”

You crane to look at them, suck your teeth, and say, “Let me guess. Erwin told you to do it.”

“How’d you know?”

Another little giggle as you tuck a few strands of hair behind his ear—“Because Erwin is the fairy lights type of motherfucker, but you…” You don’t finish that thought, just shake your head and tell him, “They’re cute. I like ‘em.”

Mike hums, “Good,” then leans down for another kiss. Several more, actually.

He’s missed this so fucking much, the way you taste on his tongue, the way you sigh into him, the way your body moves beneath his. It hurts to think this will be the last time he gets to experience it with you, but he plans to savor every second, never let himself forget and, hopefully, make sure you never forget either.

Cheesy or not, the lights cast incredible shadows on your body once it's bared to him. Your silhouette is something he could stare at for hours, days, a lifetime. If he were even slightly artistically inclined, he’d probably try to paint it, but as that’s not the case…

Starting at your jawline, Mike leaves a trail of little bites, pinching just hard enough to make you gasp. When he reaches your neck, though, he begins sucking, dragging his teeth over new-forming bruises so that you whimper and arch to press your chest to his. He moves slowly, barely even registering your breathy pleas as he holds a patch of skin captive between his incisors and laves over it.

A mark on your neck. One on the swell of your breast then on the side of the other. The space between two ribs. Just above your naval. The hollow of your hip bone. And, finally, the insides of both thighs.

Last time he did this, on the bed in your old room doused in moonlight, he wasn't trying to be possessive.

Tonight he is.

“M-Miche, please.” Your voice is catching as if you’re crying—as if Mike is torturing you. He supposes he is. You’re ready for relief, and all he’s doing is winding you tighter and tighter. It’s okay, baby, he thinks to himself, I’ll make it worth it.

Swiping his tongue between your folds, Mike groans at how wet you are. He almost feels sorry for you. Now, he’s gonna have to spend even more time drinking you in.

You throw your legs over his shoulders with no prompting, letting him sink further into you. Mike licks in long, deep strokes that make your thighs tremble and jump around his head. He sucks your clit into his mouth, slick and swollen against his tongue, and makes sure to move his face just enough to make a mess of the hair on his chin.

You’re begging again. For something. For nothing. He isn’t quite sure. But, when Mike moves to lick around your dripping hole and uses a finger to flick over your sensitive little bud, you sing for him, and he realizes just how pent up you are.

Oh, he can have fun with this.

Pausing to suck more bruises onto your thighs, Mike tries to calm himself down, find a way to ignore the throb between his legs, but that doesn’t seem likely judging by the way you just keep trying to spread yourself further and further, like it’ll get him to move faster.

He crawls back up your body, face level with yours as he teases your entrance with a finger. You let out the cutest sounds, brow furrowing like you’re focused as you shift your hips in a silent demand that Mike does not follow.

His face is slick with you, and he knows you can taste yourself as he forces you into another long kiss. You let out an honest-to-god sob when he pushes his finger inside of you, throwing your head back and clenching around him while praising, “Yes, yes, yes, fuck, tha—thank you.”

Mike pumps in and out a few times, finds your spot with ease and massages over it until he sees true tears leaking from your eyes.

Then, he pulls out, slaps a hand over your cunt, and warns, “Don’t thank me just yet.”

Your chest heaves as you stare at the ceiling seemingly in shock. Mike raises to his knees and wipes his chin on his shoulder, glances back just in time to see you sit up and attempt to tackle him back on the bed.

Mike snorts, catching you by the wrists and leaning in close. “What do you think you’re gonna do?”

Your eyes are a little wild, lips kiss-swollen, body marked to hell and back from Mike’s mouth. You just can’t get enough, shamelessly cock hungry, and god, he is so glad he's here to witness it. To be a part of it. Maybe he should send Zeke a gift basket, an edible arrangement or something. Thanks for letting me satisfy your girl since you can’t.

It takes no effort to lay you back down, just like it takes no effort to flip you over. Mike raises your hips, enjoys the view of you whining into his pillow for a second, then turns his sights to your ass. He gives it a couple spanks, biting his lip at the way it makes you clench your muscles, then spreads your cheeks and spits.

“M-Mi—”

“‘S’okay,” he tells you before letting more of his saliva drip from his mouth and land on your asshole. “Gonna feel good, I promise.”

He’s never done this with you before, not that he hasn’t wanted to, but he figures if there’s any night to go all out, it’s this one.

The first press of his tongue against your hole has you inhaling sharply, and the first press of his fingers into your pussy has you moaning low in your throat. Just like that, you relax for him. Mike works himself inside of you, opening you up until you’re nothing more than a drooling mess on his bed. You allow him to lick inside of you, to take in every exposed part of you as he rubs your g-spot over and over.

“Mm, gonna… gonna…” Your words are thick and wet. Mike isn’t even sure you realize that you’re speaking. He knows what you’re trying to say, though, so with a mischievous smile, he removes his face and hand, admiring his handiwork as you drop back to the bed and whine for him.

There’s a bottle of listerine in his nightstand, one he only planned on using when he would wake up in the early morning hours with that dead animal taste in his mouth. Turns out, it has more than one use. Mike takes a swig so that you won’t freak out if he tries to kiss you after eating your ass, swishes it around, then swallows.

“Not supposed to drink that,” you slur, already looking much too fucked-out for someone who hasn’t even taken his dick yet.

“Harmless in small doses, babe,” he tells you, recapping the bottle and tossing it back into the open drawer. “If I just chugged all of it, it’d be a different story.”

You let out a little scoff, mumble something he can’t hear, then ask a little louder, “You ready to fuck me yet?”

Mike smirks, pushes you to roll over again, then strokes a thumb over your face. “I am literally always ready to fuck you. Just trying to draw it out tonight.”

It makes you pout, but he thinks your eyes clear a little. Like you understand what he’s feeling. When you pull him down for another kiss, much softer than all of the previous, Mike smiles—another little snapshot he’d like to tuck away.

Without any warning, he pulls the pillows your head is resting on out from under you, snickering at the grunt that leaves you. He taps a hip, “Lift,” and shoves them underneath when you do. He should probably ask if you want him to wear a condom, but that’s nothing more than an afterthought as Mike begins to push into you.

“Ohh, thank god, thank god, thank god,” you pant, and Mike chuckles, dipping a hand down to gently stroke over the tissue stretching around his cock.

Every shallows thrust pushes more slick from you, and he can’t help but gather some on his finger and hold it to your mouth. You’re quick to lick it off, but instead of dropping his hand, Mike moves to press a thumb to your chin and hold your mouth open. You stick your tongue out, and he mumbles a low, “Such a slut,” before spitting on it.

As soon as you swallow Mike snaps his hips forward and starts a hard, fast rhythm. The way your face splits into a crooked grin almost has him coming on the spot, so fucking pleased with yourself, but he wants to make sure you’re seeing stars by the time he’s finished with you—wants to make sure you can’t even get out of his bed.

You're sucking in air through your teeth, little hisses that could be from either pain or pleasure, but the way you keep raising yourself off the pillows to meet Mike halfway is a pretty good indicator of which one it is.

While your voice seems muted at the time being, your sloppy little cunt is not—lewd, wet noises echoing through Mike's room as well as his head. That fucking squelch he hears every time he pushes in, the mirroring suck whenever he pulls out… You always get messy with him, or maybe he always makes a mess out of you—either way, it's one of the many things Mike adores about you. You were shy about it maybe the first two fucks but not anymore. Now, you wrap your legs around Mike and pull him closer, claw down his back and try your hardest to fuck yourself on his cock until he's laughing in your ear.

"Here, hold on."

You whimper when he pulls out, but it's only to flop down in his back and let you climb on top. He expects some kind of break, a single second to breathe, but you just sink down on his length and let your head hang back.

"Mmygod," you moan, taking him in as far as you can then rocking back and forth.

Mike can feel your thighs break out in goosebumps, traces a finger over your arm to find the same effect and hums. Bracing yourself on his chest, you plant your feet on the mattress and bounce like your life depends on it, that drunken smile back in place as Mike coos, "That's it, baby, take what you need."

He reaches up to grope your tits, cupping both of them, brushing calloused palms over each nipple. It makes you arch your back and gasp, but the rhythm of your hips doesn't stop. Mike can feel the way your pussy is drooling on him, slick little rivers that add to that filthy, beautiful symphony. He wants to hear it every night on repeat. Most played song of—

"Oh fuck, oh fuck," you whine, and Mike reaches between your spread legs to press a thumb against your clit, fingertips digging into the meat of your thigh as he rubs in tiny circles.

You sit and take it for several seconds before your eyes find his, widen, then roll as you start to come.

Mike takes over, lifting and lowering you on his cock as you twitch and cry for him. You're so pretty like this, hair out of place, damp with sweat and tears, thighs painted with your own orgasm. He doesn't want this to end. He doesn't want this to be the last time.

With your pussy still spasming around him, Mike switches positions again, lays you down like before and situates his head between your legs to idly lick everything that's dripped out of you. Your legs are shaking, kitten-like mewls meeting his ears. You jump whenever he runs his tongue over your clit, but you never move to stop him or swat him away.

Mike waits for you to go boneless before scooping you up and sitting on the edge of the bed. You're clumsy and slow as you straddle his lap, letting him slip inside you once more, but it's nowhere near as frantic as before.

He guides with gentle hands under your thighs, coaxes you to uncurl them from underneath you and wrap around his waist instead. Chest to chest, you rise and fall together. Mike breathes heavily into your neck as he hits that unforgiving wall inside of you. It makes you wince, but you don't shy away from him.

He's careful after that, makes sure everything he does is slow, tender, and when he sees fresh tears shining in your eyelashes, he knows it isn't from anything he's doing to you.

Mike is able to suck a few more bruises onto your neck and shoulders before he feels you nose at his cheek. Your kiss is dream-like, deep and relaxed but so full, and Mike knows he would be able to just do that all night if his orgasm wasn't about to run into him like a train.

He breaks away, looks to the ceiling only to have little fingers curl around his jaw and bring him back. You watch him with half-lidded eyes, bottom lip sucked between your teeth, and that expression—that need to see—it makes the cord in Mike's gut snap. He sees a vague twinkle in your gaze as his jaw drops then blackness as his eyes are suddenly facing the back of his god damn skull.

Every line of cum he shoots inside you has him groaning, his fingers digging into the swell of your ass as he fills you up. You purposely squeeze him, clenching on his cock to milk him of everything he has until Mike is shuddering and whispering, "Okay, okay, okay."

"Okay?" You question then squeeze him again, giggling when he grunts and twitches.

Lying back on the bed, Mike lets you pull your legs out from under him, but you remain straddling his waist as you lean forward to lay on his chest. It’s quiet for a long time. A different Jurassic Park movie is playing now, the music too intense for the deep, even breaths you’re taking, for the way you’re lightly tapping Mike’s shoulder in time with his heartbeat.

His head is beginning to clear again, the lust and excitement ebbing away into those reflective thoughts that always seem to hit him after a mindblowing orgasm. It’s mostly questions: Why are you doing this? Why is he doing this? Why can’t you keep doing this? Why didn’t you pick him? Why don’t you want—

“Okay, I gotta get up,” you grumble. “I can actually feel your cum dripping out of me.”

Mike snorts, looking over his nose at you. “Never complained about it before.”

You push yourself off of him, both of you hissing at the sensation, then Mike watches you stand and glance around, probably trying to figure out which door is for the closet and which is for the bathroom.

“It’s the one on the left,” he grunts, staring at your ass a little too long and suppressing a groan when he catches sight of white fluid streaming down your thighs. “God dammit.”

The toilet flushes, the shower starts, and Mike is left to wonder if you need the alone time or if he should treat this like any other time and join you. Are you in there trying to wash him off of you or—

“You comin’?” You peak out from the door, wet hair dripping, tired smile in place.

“Just did,” he shoots back while sitting up. Like every other time. Just keep it casual.

The water is hot, but you’re even hotter as you lather your hair in shampoo and soap up your body. Since he’s back to pretending like this is nothing more than your old routine, Mike has no problem pressing himself against you from behind, running his hands up your sides, “helping” in the bathing process by squeezing your tits, feeling the suds get caught in the webs of his fingers.

“You’re playing with fire, Zacharias,” you tell him, and he can see your lips pulling into a smirk. “You need to stop unless you wanna go for round two.”

He nips at your earlobe, uncaring of the soap that gets in his mouth. “Or three, or four.”

You laugh and turn to face him, but your eyes are shut as you rinse your hair. It gives Mike time to admire all the marks he’s left on you—too many, probably—and he doubts you’ll be very happy with him once you notice, but fuck, you’re so pretty covered in him.

The shower ends. Mike expects you to ask for a ride back to the dorms (that he doesn’t understand why you’re still living in), but it turns out you’re not all talk. After sitting on the couch for only a few minutes, trying to make sense of the dinosaur movie you’ve walked in on halfway, you’re crawling into his lap again, teeth dragging over his neck this time as your hand trails down his torso to rub over his rapidly growing cock.

“Oh, shit, I didn’t actually think you were serious,” he chuckles through a kiss.

You grind down on him, bite his lower lip, then remind him, “I told you I was frustrated.”

He smirks, gives your hair a little tug that makes you moan, then makes sure his words just ghost over your mouth when he teases, “Like a bitch in heat.”

This time he takes you over the armrest of the couch, leaves you swollen and dripping his cum again.

Another shower, the steam on top of such vigorous activity has both of you deliriously tired, and Mike is honest when he tells you, “I really shouldn’t drive now. I’m about to pass out.”

“You and me both.”

So, you slip into one of his shirts and crawl into bed with him, but neither of you get more than a couple hours of sleep before the morning sun is shining in through the window. Mike’s grumpy groan very quickly turns to one of interest when he feels you push your ass against his morning wood, and then you’re at it again. He’s never fucked this much in such a short amount of time, and he can’t imagine doing it every day or even every other day. In fact, he thinks he might be a little burnt out for a bit. Unless it’s with you, of course. He’ll always make an exception if it’s you moaning his name and hiking a leg over his hip and milking him dry. He guesses if this is the last time he gets to do this for the foreseeable future, he’s at least made it worth it.

Back in your little party outfit, you step up into Mike’s Jeep and almost doze off in the short time it takes to get to student housing, but you’re roused when he pulls into the parking lot and steps on the breaks just a little too hard.

Mike snickers when you jolt forward and grunt, cutting your eyes at him and muttering, “Fucker,” before undoing your seatbelt and leaning over to pull him into another kiss. He cradles the back of your head, holds you there for too long as he tries to make you feel everything he’s feeling through tangled tongues, little nips, and the string of spit that stretches between two bottom lips.

He thinks he’s been good at hiding it, but now as you’re about to slip out and away, those words are lodged in Mike’s throat again, and no amount of swallowing will get rid of them. He takes a deep breath and forces one of those horribly insincere smiles, and you can tell because the look you give him is thoughtful and sorry, and your voice comes out as a whisper when you say his name, “Miche.”

“Hm?”

“Uh… Thanks.”

He lets out a humorless laugh and asks, “For last night? This morning?”

“For everything. I mean, last night and this morning were incredible, like… Incredible. But, it’s more than that. For helping me with everything you have in the last year or so.”

Mike’s heart drops into his stomach, and he sits back in his seat as his mind starts racing because this doesn’t sound like gratitude; this sounds like goodbye.

But, why? He’ll see you on campus in a day or so, at the PKA parties you end up going to. You probably won’t be able to attend a ton of his games, but that’s fine. He understands. Are you just being dramatic—sad that you won’t be able to fuck him anymore?

He can’t ask any of this, settles with a half-hearted, “Yeah, no problem,” as he fights the confused frown that’s slowly taking over his face.

“I’ll see you around,” you tell him.

Mike nods and watches as you slide out and start walking to the bland building. He doesn’t like how that just ended. It doesn’t sit right in his head or his gut. It could be that you’re already regretting it. It could be that you're fearful of the consequences. It could be that you think this might be the final straw in your friendship. You’d be wrong on that one, though. Mike is willing to let you get away with a lot—too much—before he runs. You can use him in whatever way you need, and he’ll keep coming back. He just can’t help it.

That had been a bad idea. A really, really fucking bad idea. The ache in you has been completely satiated, and you loved being able to hang out (and fuck) Mike—wouldn’t really trade it—but as you walk up the stairs to Zeke’s apartment sore as all get out and see his face when he swings the door open, it really hits you—

That had been a terrible idea.

“Why the fuck did Eren say he saw you leave the party with Zacharias?”

“Alright, I’m just gonna turn around,” you say, pivoting back toward the staircase because you really don’t like the way Zeke’s tone is tying your stomach in knots and making your neck prickle. You haven’t ever been one to be scared of men, but in this moment, you would much prefer to not be anywhere near him.

“No, no, let’s talk about this,” he says with a suck of his teeth.

His grip on your arm is just shy of painful, and you take note of the way he forcefully guides you into the apartment rather than tugs you.

You chew on the inside of your cheek, setting your purse down on the counter as you follow him over to the couch. Zeke sits down at the other end facing you, as always, blue eyes narrow behind his glasses. “So, is it true?”

“Yeah,” you admit before diving headfirst into a lie, “It was just to play videogames, though. Neither of us were diggin’ the party, so—”

“That so?”

You nod. “We used to all the time.”

“And, what else did the two of you used to do?” He mocks, and you keep your mouth shut, bottom jaw sliding as your lower lip starts to quiver. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Thank whatever you want, Zeke. I was just hanging out with my best friend, okay?”

“Your best friend?” He snaps. “Tell me, sweetheart, just why might you be covered up head to fucking toe, hm?”

You cringe inwardly, taken back to the debate you’d had with yourself in front of the mirror. Your normal casual wear would show off some of the bruises Mike had littered you with—cold spoons can only do so much—but getting buttoned up would be suspicious. You had opted for the latter, hoping it would escape Zeke’s notice, but of course it didn’t.

Now, you’re sweating in your jeans and a fucking turtleneck you’ve never even worn before, and Jesus Christ, you just want to leave. Zeke is hot, but not hot enough to put up with this kind of bullshit.

“Don’t have a comeback for that one, do ya’?”

Mental note: kick Eren’s ass next time you see him. You knew that kid rubbed you the wrong way for a reason.

You don’t know who to be more upset with, the little brother or yourself. You could be irritated at Mike if you really wanted to—he hadn’t been subtle about wanting you last night, but then again, you hadn’t really expected him to, and you can’t find it in yourself to fault him for his feelings. There’s no way you could actually be mad at him.

This is your fault. You need to deal with the consequences without bringing anyone else into it.

“What d’you want me to say, Zeke? What’s the right answer here?” You ask exasperatedly.

“The fucking truth!”

“We hooked up, alright? I fucked him! ‘Cause you don’t wanna fuck me, which would be fine if you’d just tell me why, but you won’t!” You’re starting to breathe a little heavy, voice rising as you continue, “I feel like you’re just waiting to see how long it’ll take for me to lose it, and apparently it was last night, and you know what?” You grin at him, nerves on fire the more you let every frustration fly from your mouth. “It was awesome. It was so fucking good, you don’t even understand.”

Zeke’s eyebrows are high as he lets your little rant die off, obviously annoyed when he asks, “You finished?”

“I think I am,” you laugh.

“Fantastic. Take your shirt off.”

You choke on your tongue. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Take. Your shirt. Off.”

“No!"

“You just said you wanted me to fuck you, so—”

“Not right fucking now!” Even if you wanted him to, you wouldn’t be able to take him. You don’t think you’ve ever been so sore after having sex, but that could also have something to do with the multiple rounds of being impaled on Mike’s horse cock. God, you already miss it.

“Swear to god, if you don’t take it off right now—”

“You’ll do what? What’ll you do, Zeke?”

Your breath gets caught in your throat when he lunges at you, one foot planted on the ground as his other knee digs into the couch in a way that cages you in. His nails scratch against your skin as he pulls roughly at the material, and you hear the sound of threads splitting as you grunt and squirm and try to keep the terror rising in your chest at bay because this is not happening. This is not happening.

Zeke manages to rip the turtleneck off of you, and you shiver on the cushions as his eyes trace over every inch of you he can see, icy blue somehow becoming colder and colder.

“One,” he growls, shoving a finger into your neck. It smarts the way every bruise does, and you bat his hand away only for him to move it to the skin just beneath your collarbone. “Two.” He shoves your bra up to find hickeys three and four, making you wince as he digs a fingertip into both. “Five,” your ribs. “Six,” your stomach. “Seven,” your hip.

Your face is incredibly warm, tears stuck at your waterline as humiliation washes over you in waves. And naturally, it just gets worse.

“Are you gonna take your pants off, or will I have to?”

You aren’t breathing deep enough anymore, and you can feel a burning in your lungs as a result. When you don’t answer quick enough, Zeke threatens, “I’ll rip them if I have to.”

“They’re denim,” you snark, but that last piece of attitude is stomped out when he unbuttons and unzips your pants and tugs each corner, effectively tearing past the zipper.

You let out something frighteningly close to a whimper as he pulls them off, then sits between your legs and starts counting the marks dotted along your thighs.

“I’ve gotta hand it to him—Zacharias is a pretty thorough guy.” He pinches you a couple times, chuckling at the way you jump and hiss. “Did you like it when he was treating you like a fucking fire hydrant? Marking his territory like a dog?”

“Shut up,” you grit, sitting up only to get shoved back down by a hand that curls around your throat.

You stare at Zeke with huge eyes, finally letting that fear bloom inside you—what is he about to do? What is he about to do?—and as he leans over you, tears start streaming down the sides of your face.

He lets out a condescending little, "Oh," then lowers his face to run his lips over your temple and whispers, "Don't be scared. It's okay."

A gentle kiss, and then he pushes himself up, stands, then disappears into his room. You stay on the couch, trying to catch the breath you didn't realize you'd been holding. Shivering as you sit up, you reach for your close only to find them ruined.

Zeke must have known that the moment he ripped them off of you (honestly, you should have known too) because when he returns, he tosses a ball of material at you—an old t-shirt and pajama pants.

"I'm gonna throw a pizza in the oven. That okay with you?"

You blink at him, unable to respond as he glances over his shoulder and makes a face like he's annoyed.

"What, are you stupid on top of slutty now? I asked if that was okay with you."

"I—Ye—I need to leave," you mumble, quickly slipping the clothes on and standing. "I'm gonna leave."

"How about you just chill and watch a movie instead?"

"Why would I want to—"

The look Zeke gives you is chilling, mouth downturned, one eyebrow raised. It's a challenge, one you don't have the energy or fight to rise to, so you drop back onto the cushions and sigh.

It’s fine. You’re fine. He didn’t go nearly as far as you thought he was about to—just got upset. He had a reason to, right? There were better ways to handle it, a fucking conversation for example, but at least now he’s giving you a little space, cooling down in the kitchen while you gather your thoughts. You could go without the name-calling, though.

He just lost his temper, wanted to remind you that it’s him you’re with. You have been for a few months now. And, until now, Zeke has been a nice albeit slightly arrogant guy. He’s personable, he’s smart, he’s funny. Most importantly, he’s level-headed. You probably just pushed him a little too far. It could have been worse. It could be worse.

You play it over and over in your head as Zeke hands you a plate with a slice of pizza on it. You play it when he sits down and throws an arm around you. Then, you play it when he walks you to your car that evening and kisses you like nothing ever happened.

Could be worse. Could be worse.

Mike curls his tongue over his bottom lip and squints at the array of cups on the table across from him, picking one out before tossing the ping pong ball with a flick of his wrist.

It bounces off one of the cups' rims, and Nile easily snatches it up and smirks at him.

"Dude," Erwin starts, frowning when Mike turns to him. "Why do you suck so much tonight?"

Mike rolls his eyes. "Man, fuck off."

"No, I'm serious. What's up with you?"

"Nothin'. Just having an off night."

"More like off week," Erwin scoffs. "Month."

Gelgar sinks his ball into the middle cup, and Mike quickly reaches forward to grab it, extracting the plastic before downing the beer.

Erwin is right, but Mike refuses to tell him that. He's been off since the last party a couple weeks ago, the last time he saw you—last time he touched you. He's spotted you around campus several times since, but you're always hanging off Zeke's arm, and Mike isn't about to pry you off him (despite how much he wants to).

Honestly, he's a little surprised at how close you still are with him, how unaffected your relationship is by the hookup. Maybe Zeke just never found out. Mike has tried to ask you about it, sent more than one text, but they've gone unanswered which is a concern all on its own. Two weeks without talking at all. Mike feels like he's going insane.

Could it be that you're mad at him, upset that you gave into temptation and you're blaming Mike instead of yourself? He understands the need to scratch that itch, but if you really hadn't wanted to fuck, you could have just said so.

Mid-terms are next week, so Mike figures if you still haven't talked to him by then, it's definitely time to worry about the state of the friendship. He's trying not to get himself worked up, but honestly, just the thought of you being upset with him is enough to make his stomach roll. He just needs one text. One everything's fine. That shouldn't be too hard for you, right?

Mike misses another shot and swears to himself, sticking a middle finger up at Erwin when he throws his arms out.

"It's just beer pong, bro. Calm down."

The party is like every other—loud music, rowdy college kids, too many girls Mike doesn't care about making eyes at him from across the room. He really just wants to go home, but he can't help but stay in hopes that you might show up. It's highly unlikely, but that slim chance keeps him rooted to the spot, missing cups left and right until Nile and Gelgar win.

Erwin is not happy as he drinks his share of the remaining beer. Once he finishes the last, he tells Mike, "You owe me for that pathetic fucking display. Tell me what's going on."

Mike comes close to just turning his back and walking away, but he can see that even through his irritation, Erwin is worried for him.

Running a hand through his hair, Mike just asks if Erwin has heard from you at all recently. "I just can't get ahold of her, and I can't tell if it's 'cause she's busy or ignoring me or what."

Erwin's thick eyebrows knit together as he shakes his head. "No, I haven't talked to her in a while. Did something happen between the two of you?"

"I mean, we hooked up at the last party—"

"Oh, that ended up happening?" Erwin asks, surprised.

Even after making up last semester, Mike has tried to keep the details of his sex life with you to himself and away from Erwin specifically. After the shit he pulled that drove the rift between them in the first place, Mike isn't willing to be quite as open about you as he previously was, but he did have to break that code at the last party when he was convinced you would end up fucking. Buzzed and excited while still at the house, Mike had asked Erwin if he'd be cool with the two of you using his room (with the promise of cleaning up, of course), before you ended up just retreating to the quietness of Mike's apartment instead.

So, Erwin knew the potential that evening had, but Mike never followed up with him until now.

"Yeah, it did."

"Well, what did Zeke think of it?"

Mike shrugs his shoulders. "Dunno. She hasn't talked to me since then."

"Shit." Erwin looks genuinely taken aback. "It's been that long?"

"Yeah. I'm trying not to freak out, but like—"

"No, I get you. If I end up hearing from her before you do, I'll let you know."

Mike nods, "Thanks, bro," and forces a smile when Erwin claps him on the back, then breaks away from his friend to mope around somewhere else.

What if something happened? What if Zeke had found out and lost his temper with you? Mike will murder him if he finds out that four-eyed fuck put his hands on you. Gruesomely murder.

If he could take back what you both shared that night, he would. Things seemed to be getting somewhat back to normal between you—talking and making dumb jokes, like you were actually comfortable around him despite your boyfriend. If Mike had known one last night would fuck that progress up, he wouldn't have ever brought it up.

Then again, you had told him. I don't wanna fuck things up with Zeke. And, he had still pushed, tried to get you to give in, and god, that's embarrassing. Mike is glad you called him out on his shit, but looking back on it still makes his face heat. That was fucked up. He fucked up.

"It's Mike, right?"

Mike's eyes snap downward, caught off guard by the girl suddenly standing in front of him, dainty fingers with painted nails clutched around a beer bottle. It's the same kind you would drink only to end up giving it to Mike.

"Uh, yeah, that's me."

The girl smiles at him. He's seen her around the college, events shared between both frats and sororities, and the more Mike looks at her face, the more he recognizes her as one of the chicks who used to hang around the baseball team a lot. In fact, he's pretty sure she's—

"I'm Rhi. You played really well yesterday. I was watching you."

"Thanks."

She bats her eyelashes at him as she returns, "You're welcome," then clicks her tongue and asks, "So, who ya' lookin' for?" in a sing-song voice.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you've been scanning this room for the last, like, fifteen minutes. Looking like you're playing Where's Waldo or something."

Mike snorts, flipping hair from his face as he lies, "No one in particular."

He recognizes the look of satisfaction that blooms on Rhi's face, has seen it many times before on many different girls. It makes him sigh inwardly because he really could not be any less interested.

"That's good." Rhi's wide grin shrinks into a smirk before she adds, "I was hoping you'd say that."

Mike feels his mouth tug up on one side in what he's pretty sure comes off as a sad little smile.

Fuck it, though. At least she's pretty.

Things don't change all that much between you and Zeke. After spending a day or two rationalizing, you're able to look at him and smile again, to laugh at his jokes and listen to his tangents. He's back to playing with your fingers on the table while you sit face to face for lunch, back to shoving his hand in your back pocket while you walk around campus. It's like nothing ever happened.

If anything, you start spending even more time with him. He walks with you to and from class whenever he can, tells you to come watch his practices because the teammates he's closest with—his best friends—want to get to know you better. It's all normal, and you get used to the slight change in routine without a problem. You like the Galliard brothers, Marcel who plays shortstop and Porco, the catcher, so it isn't a chore to hang out with them after games and practice.

What is a chore is watching Zeke talk with his bubbly ex as he walks with her to the science building you're waiting at. Leaning against the brick wall under an awning, you squint as they approach. Rhi is looking at him with those huge, entranced eyes you know too well, a little too much pep in her step making her tits bounce in a way that's fucking impossible to ignore.

You shouldn't be territorial. If anything, you should probably still be mad for the stunt he had pulled with you, but… if he gets to be possessive, so do you. It only makes sense.

'Cause that's how healthy relationships work, you think with a snort, pushing yourself off the wall when they both stop in front of you.

"Babe, you remember Rhi," Zeke reintroduces her like you haven't been at least a little wary of her for the last couple months.

"Yeah," you nod, forcing a smile. "How are you?"

"I'm great!" She grins, looking at Zeke for one reason or another, like he needs to approve her answer, which is fucking dumb, but you also kind of understand because that's just the effect he has on people.

"Glad to hear it." You turn your attention to your boyfriend, content to ignore her from here on out, and ask, "Did you wanna grab something to eat before practice?"

“Yeah,” he nods before glancing at Rhi and offering a, “Catch you later,” that sounds too promising for your liking.

You don’t glare at the other girl as the two of you leave, but you definitely do not smile, and as Zeke drives you both to your favorite cafe, you whine to Hitch through texts.

i wouldn’t be too worried about it, she tells you. she’s in my psych class and she’s kinda dumb. i doubt zeke wants to put up with that again. probs why he dumped her in the first place

You try to appear unbothered through lunch, but you’ve had a pretty shitty day so far—woke up late, probably failed a quiz, got no response from Mike despite texting him three times in rapid succession, and then you had to witness that doe-eyed little brat blatantly pine for—

“You know, you don’t have any right to be jealous, right?” Zeke asks after swallowing a bite of salad.

You blink at him, having to process for a second before you understand what he’s saying. And, why he’s saying it. How can he just read your mind like that? You don’t think you’ll ever understand.

“‘M not jealous,” you mumble, stirring soup you really have no intention of eating.

Zeke smirks across from you. “No?”

“I’m just having a bad day. Don’t make assumptions just ‘cause I didn’t smile at your little ex.”

His expression of self-satisfaction falls into a frown, and he asks what’s going on. When you tell him, you purposely leave out the detail about Mike ignoring you because it would only further Zeke’s point about you having no right to get possessive especially considering how fucking upset you are about the matter. Why the fuck isn’t he talking to you?

“Want me to help take the edge off?” Zeke asks when you finish venting.

You look at him with one raised eyebrow, tempted to reply with a smart-aleck ‘only if you plan on seeing it through’, but that sounds like too much of an ultimatum, too manipulative. You’ve made it this long without being a shady bitch, and you have no intention of becoming one.

He can see the gears turning in your head, leans forward and grabs your hand before urging, “Come over. Skip your evening class, and we can just… Relax.”

You snort when he wriggles his eyebrows suggestively, possibly the first time you’ve smiled today. “I really shouldn’t skip. We’re reviewing for our exam next week.”

“All the more reason to. You’re not getting any new information. You can just go back over it on your own.”

He has a point. You have all the notes and PowerPoints, and the idea of just lounging and fucking is very tempting since the last time you had sex was the night with Mike.

And, just like that, your stomach is in knots again. Why won’t he just text back?

Sighing, you come to the conclusion that a distraction is exactly what you need.

“Yeah, okay. That sounds nice.”

“Oh, I’ll make sure it’s more than nice.”

Zeke finishes his meal then asks for a to-go bowl for yours, and after about fifteen minutes, you’re in his apartment.

“Let’s watch something while my food settles, and then we can you know…”

“You know,” you mimic, putting the leftovers up in the fridge then joining him on the couch.

He turns on some underground horror movie that doesn’t exactly set the mood, but you power through about half of it before all but throwing yourself at Zeke as soon as he pats his lap.

Chuckling, he helps take your shirt off, kisses your collarbone and murmurs, “Damn, should we just move straight to the bedroom?”

“I literally could not give less of a fuck. Whatever you wanna do.”

He grips your thighs and stands, making you hold onto his shoulders for dear life as he walks into the back and drops you on his bed. You immediately kick your pants off, a constant stream of ‘yes yes yes’ running through your mind. You need this. God, you need this.

But, when Zeke curls over you, he doesn’t feel broad enough, and when he kisses you, his beard is too thick, and when he trails his hands down your body, they’re barely calloused.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to turn your brain off—please, just turn off—because you should only be thinking of Zeke.

Zeke who circles your nipple with his tongue, who brushes fingers over your bare pussy and groans at how the sensation makes you arch into his mouth.

“Can’t wait to stuff this pretty cunt,” he breathes before grazing his teeth over pebbled flesh.

His voice isn’t deep enough. His blue eyes have a different shine from the green you're so used to.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, just let him—

Shimmying down your body, Zeke spreads you open and pushes spit from his mouth to land on your clit and drip downward. It makes you gasp, and you feel that familiar throb of arousal that grows when he starts rubbing soft circles over the sensitive bundle.

“Oh, shit,” you huff.

Heat pools between your legs as he continues the motion, only stopping to replace his finger with his mouth.

You let out a high-pitched moan, thinking to yourself, what about pillows? You can get a better angle with pillows. It doesn’t matter in the long run as he drags his tongue over your entrance, dipping inside for just a second before going back to swirling the muscle around your clit.

A finger is pushed into you a little too roughly. It’s not quite long enough, not quite thick enough, but it still feels good, especially once Zeke finds your g-spot and massages it until you’re whimpering and begging for more.

“You think you’re ready, sweetheart?” He speaks into your thigh, a thigh that was once littered with dark bruises from another mouth.

“Yes,” you pant. “Yes, please, please, Zeke.” Even his name feels foreign falling from your lips despite having said it hundreds of times.

You don’t understand why your mind is sabotaging you like this. You’ve been desperate for Zeke for months now, so why is it that you’re finally getting what you want but can only think about Mike? What is wrong with you?

He scissors two fingers inside of you, making sure you’re nice and stretched, and you want to tell him to hurry up, that you’ve taken someone substantially longer and thicker, because yeah, Zeke has a nice cock, big enough to be satisfying, flushed pink at the tip and dripping, but it’s doubtful that he’s gonna hurt you.

He has a lovely upward curve that drags over your spot as he slides into you, and it makes you groan, eyebrows knitting together as Zeke swears.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he breathes, giving a few experimental thrusts.

You can take him without issue, wet and stretched, and god yes, finally. Finally. His pace quickens, coarse hairs on his pelvis rubbing against your clit and causing your eyes to roll back. Locking your ankles around his waist, you grin at the new angle, and Zeke huffs out an appreciative, “So fucking sexy when you smile for me, baby.” You stick your tongue between your teeth, something between a moan and a laugh leaving your throat, and he coos another, “Feel good?”

“Ye-es.”

Your mind is finally cleared—for a few minutes, at least—until Zeke pulls out and tells you to turn over. “Hands and knees.”

You comply, and when Zeke spreads your cheeks and shoves his cock back into your wet pussy, the memory of Mike’s tongue on your asshole flashes through your brain.

“Jesus Christ,” you whine.

Zeke’s balls slap your clit with every snap of his hips, the sound of skin on skin ringing through the room. It’s so fucking lewd, the sweat breaking out on both of you only making the noises more obscene. The fingers of one hand are gripping you tightly while Zeke brings his other down on your ass with a little too much force. The burning that follows feels good, makes you hiss and push back against him.

Pulling out so that only his cockhead is inside you, Zeke stills to focus solely on spanking you, alternating between cheeks as heat radiates from them. You cry and keep moving to the best of your ability, fucking yourself on his length as you get lost in sensation.

You lose track of time. Zeke switches between abusing your ass and leaning over you to grope your tits. No matter what he’s doing, you’re moaning, and eventually your own hand travels between your legs to play with your clit, the pressure in your gut becoming too much. You need to come, need that release, and when your back arches and your muscles tense, Zeke growls against your spine, “Fuck yes, come on my cock—just wanna feel you—”

He lets out a little, “Ha,” when you pulse around him, gushing slick and leaving you overstimulated as he continues to fuck into you harshly.

Your arms give out, elbows buckling and sending you falling face first into the pillow. Every noise you make grows in volume but remains muffled. Zeke is relentless in his strokes, but he thankfully doesn’t last much longer, droplets of sweat landing on your back as he curls over you once again, breathing heavily into your ear, “Can I come inside? Lemme come inside you.”

Before you can realize what you’re doing, you shake your head, turning your cheek to the cushion and panting, “No, don’t.”

It shouldn’t matter. You’re protected, and you’ve done it before, but…

You only want to do that for one person. You don’t want to let anyone else.

“Don’t, Zeke, I—”

“Did you let him come in you?” He suddenly asks. “Did you let him fill you with cum?”

He reaches around you to pinch your clit, and you squeal and squirm, trying to get him to drop his hand, but he doesn’t, just holds it with two fingers and taps the swollen bud without mercy.

“Did you?”

“No!” You lie, voice rising. “Fuck, I didn’t let him!”

Zeke scoffs. “I don’t believe you,” pinching hard enough to make tears spring up in your eyes before letting go. He returns to your hips, blunt fingernails digging into your skin as he gives a few more thrusts and groans, spilling into you then moving you back and forth on his cock, watching his own cum get pushed further into your hole and coat the entirety of his length.

“God dammit, what the fuck, Zeke?” You speak through gritted teeth, shoving back against him suddenly and with enough force to make him lose his balance and fall backward. You can feel thick fluid dripping down your thighs and turn to glare at him only to find him smirking at you.

The space behind your eyes grows hot with tears you refuse to shed in front of him. Instead, you get up and walk to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it before sitting down on the toilet with your head in your hands.

You shouldn’t be as upset as you are, generally like the feeling of guys releasing inside of you. It’s just hot. But, you had not wanted it this time. You weren’t ready for it, and now you can’t help but feel… tainted.

You pee then hop into the shower to rinse off, to cleanse yourself and calm down, and once the hot water has drained you of most of your anger, you slip into one of Zeke’s t-shirts and go back outside. He’s in sweatpants, sipping on water as he stares at the TV.

“Feel better?” He questions without actually looking at you.

You’re free to roll your eyes, but you think you sound convincing when you answer, “Yeah, a lot.”

He hums. “Didn’t seem like it.”

“I mean,” you sigh and move to sit down next to him, one leg tucked under you as you think about how you want to word what’s on your mind. “When I ask you not to do something, I, you know, want you to actually listen."

Now, he turns to look at you wearing an expression frighteningly similar to the one he'd worn the day he humiliated you on the very couch you're sitting in.

"Oh, so you want me to respect your wishes." He doesn't sound at all sympathetic. "Kind of like I wanted you to respect mine before you went and fucked Zacharias."

"Alright," you drawl. "We're back to this again. Awesome."

He didn't ever explicitly ask you not to sleep with anyone else. At that point, you don't know if Zeke even saw you as a legitimate girlfriend. And, you understand why he's annoyed by your actions, but you're getting extremely fucking tired of him dangling it over your head.

"Uh, yeah, we are."

Taking a deep breath, you try to keep a level head, to appear collected when you tell him, "Look, I see your frustration. I get it. But, me sleeping with Mike is a little different than—"

"How?" Zeke cuts you off. "How is it different?"

"Because what you did in there was against my fucking will. I told you not to come inside me, and you still did."

Zeke is on his feet in an instant. "Is that a fucking accusation?"

"No, no," you hold your hands up in defense as you peer up at him. "I'm not trying to say that everything that happened in there was non-consensual—"

"Sounds a lot like you are."

You're starting to panic. You don't like how hostile he's getting when he isn't even trying to understand you.

"You're trying to fill in blanks that aren't there, Zeke. I'm not trying to accuse you or get you in trouble or anything. I'm trying to explain how fucked up—how scary—it is for someone to ignore your boundaries in the bedroom."

He makes a little, "Tch," then mutters, "You're blowing it out of proportion."

It's about the worst thing he could say to you. Firstly, he's the one getting offended by the situation, and secondly, it completely invalidates you.

"You're the one who was so desperate for sex you went and fucked someone else," he adds.

You massage your temples, figure you need to remove yourself before saying something you can't take back.

Your phone is still on the armrest where you left it before going to the back, and it lights up with a text—Hitch—and displays the time. It's only five. If you wanted, you could still make it to your six o'clock class.

"You know what, I'm gonna put a pin in this so we can both simmer down. We can revisit it later."

Zeke doesn't seem to like that solution, or lack thereof. You grab your shirt off the floor then pad back to the bedroom to change into the clothes you picked out for the day, texting Hitch back while you're hidden.

She had asked what you were up to, and you reply with, at Zeke's. Could you by any chance pick me up? I didn't drive and we just got into a spat.

on my way 😘

You waste a little time before deciding to brave your boyfriend again, simply telling him that you're just gonna go to class and that Hitch is coming to get you.

"Fine," he dismisses.

You think about giving him a little peck but decide against it, opting to just grab your backpack and slip on your shoes.

"I'll text you," you tell him.

He replies with a short, "Sure," and you take that as your cue to leave.

It doesn't take long for Hitch to get there and takes even less time for her to ask what happened.

At last, you give her the full scoop (barring Zeke's meltdown after originally finding out you slept with Mike). She frowns almost the whole way through, and you expect her to either soothe you or tell you that he's being an asshole, but instead, she clicks her tongue and mutters, "I don't get why you aren't just dating Mike. Like, yeah, Zeke's hot and all, but you and Mike have always had a thing. And, you both obviously like each other so whyyy," she ends in a frustrated whine.

"Because Mike and I…" You trail off. You don't really know, honestly, not for a few seconds at least, and when it hits you, it isn't some big epiphany. It's more like a natural thought. "Because Mike is long-term. If we got together it would be, like, the real deal. And, I don't think either of us are ready for that."

It feels good to admit both to Hitch and to yourself. You never thought about it in depth before, mostly because while you've known about his feelings for you for a good while, you haven't fully accepted your own.

But, if the hurt you're feeling at him not texting you back is anything to go on (not to mention how much you thought of him while fucking Zeke), your fondness for him has probably turned into something more, something deeper.

"I don't understand what's so bad about the real deal, but whatever. You guys will sort it out in your own time."

"I don't know about that," you mumble. "He hasn't talked to me since that morning. Just won't reply to any of my texts or calls."

"That's weird," Hitch thinks out loud as she pulls into the parking lot. "If anything, I thought he'd be fighting even harder now."

"Yeah, well, that is clearly not the case." You grab your bag out of the backseat, guessing, "He must be mad at me or something."

"Maybe. Maybe he's just trying to give you space."

Shrugging, you get out of the car, forcing a smile as you thank your friend for the ride.

"Any time. One more thing, though," Hitch stops you." You tilt your head in curiosity as her face grows uncharacteristically serious. "Next time Zeke uses that against you, tell him to fuck off. And, consider dumping him."

"I mean, I did fuck up by sleeping with Mike."

"Yeah, but you and Zeke aren't gonna work if he keeps holding that over you. Something like that isn't supposed to be leverage. If he can't handle it, he needs to leave."

It's rare that Hitch loses her happy go lucky attitude, so seeing her like this is a little jarring.

"I'll take it into consideration."

As you walk into the dorms, you pout about how your shitty day only got shittier. All you want to do is talk to your best friend, but that's obviously not gonna happen.

[ next ]

#mike zacharias x reader #miche zacharias x reader #aot x reader #aot fanfic #tw noncon #tw manipulation #and just to be safe #tw abuse

201 notes · View notes

smallrainclouds · 3 years

Text

Made To Break

Yandere!Hypnos x reader (gender neutral)

Word count: 5k

Warning: Yandere bevaiour, dubcon/noncon, sex in later parts

No beta. Read at your own risk.

A/N: part one of two. Enjoy.

Your father was a fool.

But perhaps You were just as foolish.

💮

When the letter arrived, you couldn't believe that the same man wrote it.

Your father always wrote in neat, tight letters but the letters You got were loopy, large letters that fused together at odd parts.

You sat in your car outside your childhood home. The front yard was nothing but overgrown grass now. You could see the lack of care the home had gotten over the years in the cracks and chipped off paint. The overcast skies and trees with just a few leaves holding on only added to the depressing picture.

You bit your lip as you pulled out your father's letter from your bag.

With shaky hands, you unfolded it again for what must have been hundreds of times.

'My dearest child.

I gave it all up. I have found a way to eternity. But it cost me everything.

Forgive me.

I just wanted to see your mother again.

Father.'

"Madness. Simply mad." You murmured. You could feel the tears welled up in your eyes, you knew your father loved your mom. Her loss had slowly eaten him alive since you were a child.

Now he was just a body in a hospital room. It was unlike any coma the doctors had seen before.

The doctor, an older woman with short gray hair and sharp blue eyes, had felt more like a grandmother than a doctor.

But even with her kind face couldn't soften the blow that your father will likely never wake up again.

You sniffed as you used your hoodie sleeve to rub at your eyes.

"Okay. Okay. You got this. This was your home too." You tried to smooth yourself with little success. With a deep breath for courage, you made your way to the house.

When you got inside the dark house, you stubbed your foot on the piles of books by the door and they promptly fell over into a heap.

"Urg, fuc-owww. Okay, Y/N great start.Just amazing." You pulled out your phone. You could make the numerous texts from your partner-no, now your ex but you just bypass those for the flashlight.

You shone the light around, there was nothing but a big mess. Books and papers had overtaken the house and you can smell the old fast food bags that piled into the corner.

You could see on one wall, writing in wasn't in English and strange markings. A single gold and red eye stared back.

"Fuck."

💮

Hours later, you had made headway in the madness that was now your childhood home.

At least your room had been mostly spared. Only some odd books here and there. And the many, many dried poppies on your floor.

You tossed the broom on the floor as you flop down along with it. You didn't realize how bad it had gotten. You only got your room back to normal, let alone the rest of the house.

Guilt swelled in your chest, you should have been more aware. You knew your dad wasn't the most stable person which isn't good but this was something else.

But…

But...

You had been busy dealing with your 'friends' group, the breakup and the last of your exams.

You covered your face, you already cried three times today and you weren't not about to start again.

Your phone buzzed, and you couldn't stop the laugh. Speak of the devil.

You rolled over to your side and pulled your phone close to you.

You swipe away the message, you were not dealing with any of your former friends right now. Your cheating jerk of an ex could keep them all. You had far more important matters to attend to now.

You opened up the gallery app, you took many photos as you could with the last of the daylight left.

You zoomed in on the writing, you had thought it was nonsense at first but after a few more looks,you could see the repeated words. You just didn't know the language.

There was something deeply wrong in this house. You could swear you could feel something was in there with you. But if friend or foe you weren't sure. You tried not to think about how your only protection was your childhood baseball bat.

But what did your dad do? You normally are able to pick apart what your dad was doing but this was something else unknown. You kept checking the pictures with the creepy red and gold eye in hope of finding something.

Slowly you could feel tiredness sinking in your bones, and before you knew it, your eyes drifted shut.

💮

A warm hand cupped your cheek, and you pressed into it with a sigh. You couldn't remember the last time you were touched so tenderly. You think for a moment it was your ex but they never did that before.

The hand left but then you were lifted up against a warm chest. You heard murmurs as sleep pulled you under again.

💮

Rushing water reached your ears and for a moment, you thought you could hear the sounds of birds.

It took you a moment to notice that you weren't in normal clothes but a tunic that went over one shoulder. You saw a brooch with two wings in its place. You should be more worried but you felt too tired to care.

You turned your head with a yawn. Whose lap were You using as a pillow? Before you could look, a hand covered your eyes.

"Not yet, You still need more time." A man's voice... but You didn't recognize it. You made a questioning sound but he hushed you gently.

"Blood and darkness, you are just as beautiful as I remember."

You reached up and stroked his hand, trying to understand what was going on.

"I don't remember… you." You slurred quietly.

"I know. It's not your fault. All it matters is that I found you again."

His thumb rubbed your cheek, "Now go back to sleep. I will be there soon."

You sighed as you sunk back into sleep.

💮

You stared at your bedroom wall, not able to breathe. There was someone else here and they apparently tucked you in bed, blanket pulled up to your chin and all.

You took a breath and tried to listen to any sounds. You waited, surely you would hear footsteps or something.

But there were no sounds, none at all.

It took all of your nerves to get out of bed. You grabbed your childhood baseball bat, it was small but you could still get a good hit in.

You remembered you left your phone on the ground and turned to look for it. It wasn't there, not on your nightstand or desk.

'Great, some creep definitely got my phone.' you tighten your hold on the bat, and after listening for a moment, you slowly push the door opened.

Without saying a word, you slowly walked out though the house. You were sure you would find out who invited themselves in.

The mess was still the same, the writing on the wall was still there. You went through the house twice and found nothing.

You heard the sound of a single bird singing in the backyard. You followed the sounds, it almost felt like it was calling you.

The bat dropped from your hand and You couldn't stop the tears in your eyes.

The backyard had been overtaken by red poppies, there was almost no grass left. the singing stopped when you stepped outside. But a soft hoot had You stared up into the tree and saw a single little owl stared back at you.

It's eyes were light yellow.

💮

It was late morning now, the overcast skies have darkened and You are sure it will start snowing soon.

You had given up finding your phone. You s out of your bedroom.

"Fine, you can have it! Good luck guessing the password, you jerk!" You shouted into the backyard. There was no response but you didn't expect one. You had already tried to find the owl but it must have flown off.

You couldn't stand the smell of the old food anymore and tossed it. You found some tea that was still good and stood in the kitchen, waiting for the water to boil.

You changed out your tight jeans and hoodie for a pair of much more comfortable jeans and an oversize sweater.

Thankfully, like your bedroom, the kitchen was also mostly clean. You found as many candles as you could, which wasn't many. Two kept the kitchen dimly lit.

You checked the light bulbs, nearly all of them had burned out. Just one more thing for you to fix.

You rubbed your face with a sigh, at least all the appliances were working. And you won't have to go without water either.

You flipped through your dad's notebooks in hopes of finding something. It was in the second notebook you finally found a name. It had been underlined and circled.

"Hypnos?" You murmured, "Who the hell is that?" It doesn't sound like a human name you heard of.

You made your tea, tucked the notebook under your arm. After cleaning off the big armchair and side table, You began going through the books in the living room. Nearly all of them were about ancient Greece, which you knew nothing about.

Your eyes went to the wall writings, that would explain why you didn't know any of the words.

Did your dad believe this stuff? You looked down at the open notebook in your lap. You skim some of the pages, the only name that came up was Hypnos.

"The god of sleep, huh?" You looked at the stacks of books. Why would your dad care about some god of sleep?

You keep looking though, and found a basic guide to Greek mythology. You flipped through the pages, "Come on Hypnos babe, where are you…"

You grinned when you saw the name in bold print. You skim past most of the information, but one part caught your eyes.

Despite being considered as a gentle and kind god, he has been known to strike others down. In the death of his lover by a human warrior (whose name had been lost to time) he had caused the world to go into a permanent state of sleep, never to waken again.

Only his mother Nyx, goddess of night, was able to talk him down or fight him depending on the storyteller and restore the world. In oral storytelling that has been recorded, it is said that he still uses dreams in hope of finding his lost love.

"Oh dad. No wonder." Your heart twisted, sad that your dad's last days have been spent on some myth. He must have been so far gone to think any of it was real.

But was he wrong? You stared out the window, knowing there was somehow a field of poppies waiting.

Your gut flipped, and told yourself it was just one of those freakish nature things.

💮

You didn't quite realize when you fell asleep. You sighed when you felt a hand touch your forehead followed by a kiss.

You tried to wake up, but the voice murmured something and you just hummed. Your eyelids are too heavy to open anyway.

When the arms scooped you again, you just sighed and curled against the chest.

💮

You felt soft grass tickle your face. You pushed yourself up quickly. You were in the tunic again and you could see a sea of poppies and other flowers surrounding you.

A thick fog of sleepiness tried to pull you back but you ignored it. Not again, damnit.

You stood up, your legs felt so wobbly like a baby deer. Dispise your best attempt, You fell on your knees, the call to sleep overpowering.

You gasped when a hand covered your eyes. You grabbed his wrist, "No, I don't want to go back to sleep." You could feel the fog of sleep growing stronger. You kicked at his legs but got nothing but air.

"I'm sorry, but not yet." His voice came next to your ear, you could feel his breath on your skin. You tried to move away but you fell against him. Your head lolled upward against a shoulder.

An arm wrapped around your waist and held you firm.

"Soon, I promise. I just have to handle a few more things. I will be here when you wake up." A kiss was pressed against your temple.

You wanted demand for answers but you were already falling back into the darkness.

💮

"Not again." You moaned. You sat up, the blanket pooled in your lap. What in the world was going on?

You were back in the oversize sweater and jeans. You press your fingers against your temple. Those kisses felt so real.

Are you going mad too? Just like your dad? You gulped, feeling so very alone.

An hour later and some crying, You somehow found the willpower to make it out of bed. Snow was falling down now and a healthy inch was already on the ground.

You made it to the living room when you saw him by the window, snow falling down against the glass. His sheer size made the living room seem smaller. He was reading one of your dad's notebooks in one hand, a quill floated around next to him.

Some part of you, deep inside of you knew were looking at Hypnos, God of sleep.

"It's you." Your voice cracked. His shoulders tensed up as he turned. Bright, yellow eyes stared at you. "Oh you were the owl too weren't you?" You said numbly.

He nodded slowly, "You've been crying again." He said concerned, his eyes scanned you up and down. He tossed the notebook to the side as he took a step toward you.

Unable to tear your eyes away, you grabbed for the first thing you could reach, a thick and heavy book. And with all of your strength, you launched it at his head.

"Blood and darkness!" He ducked to the side. You reached for another and hurled it.

"It's you!" You snarled, feeling like a rabid animal. "You did this! What did you do to my dad?! To my fucking phone?!"

The bastard ducked again. "Hey, I didn't do anything he didn't ask for!" He held up his palms, stretched out to show he wasn't a threat.

"I won't hurt you. I would never lay a finger on you, Y/N." His voice was soft, kind like he was dealing with some animal.

You stared for a moment, rage overtaking any sense you had. "You've been the asshole putting me to bed every night." You grabbed another book and hurled it. "How dare you!"

And of course, he sidestepped the book. Which just made you angier.

"I don't care if you're a god. Make my dad go back to normal. Or I will find a way to hurt you somehow!"

"He didn't tell you anything did he?" The god asked, a wry smile on his face. You picked up another book, and he just sighed. "Have you tried aiming? Sounds crazy, I know but maybe you could actually hit me this time?"

"You don't get to be disparaging, not with all the trouble you made for me." You gestured with the book as if it would help make your point.

You stood behind the armchair, using it as a shield. You knew you wouldn't win in a physical fight but you weren't going to make it easy for him.

Hypnos sighed, "No, no you're right. I'm sorry." He ran a hand through his curls, a soft smile on his face.

"I'm happy though, you are still as courageous as you always have been. I wasn't sure what I would find after all this time."

"What are you talking about? I have never seen you before. I think I would remember meeting an ancient god." You snarled, not enjoying whatever game the god was playing with you.

"Most people don't try to fight a god with books, my love. Not even other gods." Hypnos smiled.

"If I had something stronger, I would beat you with that. Be happy that I don't have my bat on me. You still didn't answer anything."

You pointed at the wall with writings. "I want answers and I want them now. You said we met before, when?"

Hypnos was silent, his eyes tracing the words on the wall. He stepped closer to the center of the wall, his fingers traced the words. "So that's where he messed up. I told him to check with me before doing anything." He murmured to himself.

After a moment, he looked at you.

"In your past life, you were going to be my consort. I've been looking for you for a very long time.."

You stared, quiet in your disbelief. He waved a hand toward the wall, "Problem is that the spell got messed up. I think your father was rushing and couldn't finish the spell the proper way. That's why you don't remember anything."

You shook your head, laughing "No, none of this makes sense."

"Y/N, stop hiding behind that ugly chair, and we can talk more about what happened." Hypnos' voice tried to sound calming, but you heard an undercurrent of eagerness. Of hunger to it.

You shook your head, "No, and don't take another step toward me. I can see what you're doing. That lighting thing your fingers are doing, Hypnos." You tighten your grip on the book, cursing yourself for leaving your bat up your bedroom. Not that it would be much better.

Hypnos' fingers abruptly stopped the magic spell. His smile faded and his eyes stayed on you, waiting for your next move.

You eyed him, you haven't been able to land a single hit on him but you didn't see any signs of super speed yet.

You might be able to get out of the house and into the car before he could get you. But what if he just could teleport or something you haven't thought of?

It was a risk you would have to take because since you saw him, he watched you like you were some prey for him and you didn't want to stick around to find out what Hypnos had planned.

The living room front way will be no good but the backdoor was in the kitchen, if you could make that, it would be a longer run but you would have far more chances for escape…

You dropped everything and took off like a shot into the kitchen. You almost sailed into the sink but used the motion for more speed.

You heard Hypnos yelled your name followed by something you were sure was a swear word in Greek.

The yard, full of poppies and snow greeted you, you hissed as your socks got soaked from the snow.

You almost made it to the gate, and past that, you could see your car.

Freedom.

You didn't see the root sticking out of the ground, but you saw it on the way down.

The breath knocked out of you when you slammed into the cold ground and mere seconds afterwards, you felt hands on your shoulders followed by a pressure against your back. Hypnos leaned down, his lips against your ear, and he spoke in must have been Greek.

"No. Nonono." You gasped, fighting for breath but he just shushed you. His fingers brushed against your cheeks almost lovingly.

Your eyelids slided shut.

💮

When you woke up, your fingers were curled against an unfamiliar red blanket. You sighed as your eyes drifted shut, you couldn't remember the last time you felt so….warm and safe.

You heard the sounds of paper moving around and your eyes fluttered open.

Hypnos must have cleared off the sofa and placed you there. You could see the written wall behind him, post-it notes dotted between the words and some of them were covered with lined paper, new words on it.

Hypnos was sitting on the ground, notebooks and paper surrounded him. A quill tip between his teeth, his golden eyes almost glowed in the dim lighting.

It took a moment of staring but you noticed Hypnos's cloak was gone. Your fingers tighten when you realize you were under his cloak. You took a moment to look at him as he kept reading the notebook

While he wasn't the broadest person you've ever seen, there was a solidness to him. You could see the lean muscles in his arms and shoulders. The gold bands he wore only highlighted the muscles.

You tore your eyes away. 'Jerk.' you thought even as your cheeks warmed.

"I don't like you very much." You spoke, voice rough with sleep.

Hypnos looked up to you, not saying anything. He took out the quill and twilled it between his fingers.

You rolled your eyes at him, unmoving your spot under his cloak. He stared, looking thoughtful for a second before he leaned toward you with a wide smile on his lips, "If you don't like me then you should return my cloak."

"No, it's mine now." The words slipped out your mouth before you knew it.

You blinked at his laugh. You thought he would be upset.

Hypnos chuckled fondly, "Word for word."

At your questioning look, he continued.

"You don't remember yet but the first time we met, you were trying to find medicine for humans. I think you were upset at me because you got lost in my cave. I brought you back home and I gave you my cloak so you could get warm."

You sat up against the arm rest, holding on to the cloak. Not ready to give up the feeling of safety yet. You bit your lip, not quite sure what to say.

His eyes glazed over, the quill still spinning between his fingers. His voice turned quiet. "You were so beautiful, so strong, so determined. You fought for humanity, not that they even remember, those worthless animals, the whole lot."

He seemed lost in a memory so you just waited it out, letting him talk.

"You hated the fact I took half of their lives away from them. And that I often took more."

His eyes meet yours, and his whole face softens. You flushed at the realization that you could make him do that, to have that much power over another being let alone a god.

"I couldn't give up the half, it was mine by birthright but I was slower afterward, let them have more time to themselves. And I never took more than half. The only reason I got called a kind god was because of you."

You stood up, still holding on the cloak and walked over to him. His eyes never left you, and you had to tell yourself to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

You kneeled next to him and after a second, you reached out to touch his shoulder. You were surprised at how warm he was, how human-like he felt. Maybe you were wrong about him.

"Hypnos. I-I I'm sorry you lost them. I can hear how much you love them, especially after all this time. But I am not whoever you think I-"

"How much I love you." Hypnos interrupted, his hand covered your own. "I never stopped looking for you. I just need more time to fix this." He waved a hand to the wall.

You shook your head, "I am not then though. You are just like my dad, always looking for a person who isn't there."

"No, your father was. The woman who birthed you died and is in the underworld now. You, however, are here in front of me." Hypnos leaned closer, he tightened his hold but it wasn't painful, it was almost comforting. "You are them, your eyes, your lips, your nose even the way you move and talk. You are them, given life again."

"How?!" You said despairing,surely even he could see what nonsense he was saying? "How could a god become reborn as a human? Or even go back to being a god?"

"There are ways. There is always a way." Hypnos replied darkly. He took your other hand and held them between his own warm hands. "You haven't even let me talk to you, to tell you what happened."

"I don't want to." You whispered, "I don't need to know what happened. I just want to know what it will take for you to understand that I am not them."

Hypnos didn't say anything for a few minutes and the silence grew heavy.

"Did he summon you?" You asked, trying not to feel guilty, looking at the swirls of words on the wall, in the middle of the circle was a single red and gold eye staring back.

Hypnos stared at the wall along with you, "He really didn't tell you anything did he?"

You dug out the letter from your front pocket. "This was the last thing he wrote to me. This isn't his normal writing."

Hypnos read the letter, his eyebrows rose and reread it again. "Blood and darkness, what a damn fool."

"Hey, that's my dad you know." You murmured, "Also you guys are both doing the same thing, you with me, and he with my mom."

"No, not nearly the same thing." Hypnos scoffed. You rolled your eyes at his words. You moved on, tired of this fight for now.

"Where did dad get this information anyway?" You asked.

Hypnos sighed as he rubbed his forehead. "From me. I loaned out the books I have for this kind of stuff. He told me that he could handle the translation since it had to be a two person spell, think of it as a bridge, your dad could visit your mom every time he dreamt. But I had to be on the other side to help build it."

"You trusted him? I mean you seem like you don't like humans."

"I didn't. This whole mess just proved my point. But…" Hypnos shrugged, "I knew you wouldn't let me just take you without making sure your dad wasn't alone. I wanted you to want to come back to me, especially after everything I've done."

You brushed your fingers along the cloak, "Are you talking about when you put the whole world to sleep?"

"And most of the gods." Hypnos added. "I still don't remember much of what I did. My mother or brother still hasn't spoken to me since then."

Hypnos looked so worn down, his brow furrowed and you wanted to smooth the stress away from him but you held back. You already let him touch you even if it made you want to run. Toward him or away from him you couldn't say.

"I've been so blinded by the thought of having you in my arms again, I didn't foresee him going rogue on me." He murmured quietly.

Hypnos fixed his gaze on you, but you looked away, cursing the flush on your cheeks.

"I took care of the stuff he wouldn't have been able to do. With the underworld and stuff. But he fucked up, he changed the spell without telling me. And he did it badly. He tried to bring her from the underworld and you can't do that, and now he has to deal with the punishment."

"Well, can't you just erase it? Or do a new spell? I mean, you are a god right? Do you even need this stuff?"

Hypnos slid his fingers under your chin, making you look at him. "Listen to me." His serious tone kept you from pulling away. "No one can't take the dead from the underworld. Not me, not Hades or even my mother. It's the cost of life. Right now, he is being punished for his pride and when he does die, there is a good chance he won't be able to find your mother."

You swallow, your heart breaking, "Is there nothing you can do?"

"I don't know." Hypnos said. "I was already putting my neck on the line just to let them have a link."

"What if I agree to go with you, to see if I am the one you are looking for? I will do whatever you need me to." You asked.

Hypnos didn't respond, his eyes glazed.

"Hypnos, please." You begged, "I can't just let him die like this-"

He spoke finally, "I will talk to Persephone. I can't promise anything. I'm still banned from the house after the 'Great Sleep'."

"Thank you! Thank you, Hypnos." You felt dizzy with relief and hugged him. You squeezed him, and buried your face in his neck. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." Hypnos chuckled, his hands on your back,"You might not like what you'll get."

#hypnos x reader #yandere #self insert #hades hypnos

102 notes · View notes

stoneworldsimp · 3 years

Text

the dying poet

senku x reader

warnings: angst, mentions of food/water deprivation, swearing

day seven.

fuck, fuck, FUCK!

it felt like you had been running for hours, trying to shake this wild animal off. you made sharp turns behind large bushes in hopes of losing it, you’d hold as still as possible behind large roots on the ground, but the animal kept finding you in one way or another.

“please go away,”you panted. “c’mon. you’ve been chasing me fucking forever, can’t you just give up?!”

you were tired; your legs were about to buckle in on themselves. dinner one night was suddenly ruined when you realized the fucker was watching you eat. in the beginning you thought it was only after your food, not you; you threw a random ration away from your camp in hopes to get it away from you. in hindsight, it only worked until you fell asleep.

you were lucky to wake up the next morning alive; your set up had been ripped to shreds, and footprints were on the ground around your body. it was painstakingly slow and nerve wracking to escape your position, but once you had everything you absolutely needed, you booked it.

sprinting for miles after miles proved to be very difficult for quite some time now.

the phone...it’s weighing me down. my bag of food isn’t even half as heavy as the phone.

looking down at the call button in your hand, you thought about tossing the phone. maybe i can fix it.. no, i don’t have any tools, the fucking animal chewed on them like dog bones. is there any way to put the wire back together...?

“FUCK my life!”

you took the phone off your back and threw it to you left, careful not to trip yourself in the process. immediately, you and your body felt the difference. with your new found energy, the run away was becoming easier, and helped you see a large cave just over the horizon. using the last of your energy, you took as large of steps as you can, and practically threw your body into the cave. the animal’s footsteps were nowhere to be heard, but you figured you didn’t want to take any chances and look behind you. you were finally breaking free from being chased, just a little deeper into this cave, and if i can find specific markings then i can backtrack—

a deep, loud rumble took you away from your thoughts. in no time, you were engulfed in dust and thick particles you didn’t know of.

the caved had closed in.

day one.

“i can do it.”

“are you sure? its a pretty perilous trip—“

“you should at least bring one other person with you—“

you sighed, exasperated that you had to defend your case once again. it had been days since the decision was made; you were going to make a trip to another part of the island in hopes to find extremely specific materials for one of senku’s projects... and it was far, far away.

quite frankly, you were the only one fit for the adventure. you were known to travel well on foot, had an exceptional sense of direction and you had a good eye for natural elements, as well as food; you also were unintentionally the least helpful when staying in the village. you didn’t have the crafting skills to successfully make glass or metal components for his experiments, and you never trusted your brain when helping senku with calculations and blueprints.

hearing senku and gen talk about this long trip to another part of the island was almost a dream come true. it was perfect for someone with your skillset, and kept you from being in the way of everybody else.

“it’ll be fine. c’mon, you guys have SOME faith in our traveler, right?”

you turned around, a smile on your face as you caught senku walking out of his lab. thank you, you mouthed.

once senku reached you and the group of villagers crowding near you, he spoke up again. “this trip is a straight shot from the bridge, the only problem would be that it’s going to take some time. possibly a month just to get there. but you,” he turned to face you,”have excellent outdoorsy-type skills that will make it really easy for you to spot what we need right away. everyone needs to stop worrying, because you’ll be there and back in no time. two months will pass like nothing.”

as the rest of the group walked away, mumbling their skepticisms, senku took your hand and tugged you back to the lab.

“what’re you taking me here for? oh wait,”you planted your feet at the front of the lab curtains, keeping the both of you from entering. “are you making me help you with your math again? because—”

“no, you’re pretty terrible at calculations,”he replied. “i have something for you.”

you puffed out your cheeks in embarrassment, but your expression completely changed once the curtain was opened.

on the table, there was a telephone. if was the size of a backpack, but it still had a speaker, a microphone, and a call button.

“i made it for you to take on the trip, in case you have any emergencies. i fully trust you in your own survival skills, but you never know if something extreme happens.”

you gave his hand a squeeze before letting go. as you walked closer to the table, you touched the outer fabric. you turned back to senku. “thank you.”

“you don’t have to thank me. i’m only making something that’s essential to your travels.”

“even still,” you trailed off. “i appreciate it.”

you turned back around and beamed at senku. “i’m not going to call you until i get there. i want to make sure that no enemies try to tail me if they hear me, as much as i’d want to give in right away and hear your voice. something like that...”

“how corny.” senku smiled and pulled you close while you laughed. you jumped a bit when his hands made their way around your waist.

“a bit touchy today,” you asked, grabbing hold of his shoulders. “but i’m not complaining.”

“i’m stockpiling the feeling of you for the weeks to come. we’ve never spent this much time apart before; it’s only logical.”

“i guess you’re right.”

he kissed you, multiple times; each one was deeper than the last.

day eleven.

he brought me a flower every morning, because i always slept in later than him. he’d wake up at the asscrack of dawn, just to have more time to jot ideas down. i used to try and pull him back to sleep with me, but he was so overflowing with plans, i didn’t want to stop him.

you turned on your side.

i remember he went to explore with chrome really early one morning, and apparently they found some huge meadow with a bunch of plants. ever since then, he would bring me a different kind; it was always a single flower, too. they were different colors and shapes, and some were enormous and some were smaller than my finger. he never woke me up for it, though. he would just leave it for me when i woke up on my own. it was always a surprise, almost startling when i’d open my eyes. it was my own pick-me-up for the day, in a sense.. no matter what happened the night before, waking up to a new type of flower would put me in a good mood every time. it was better than a coffee in the morning.

i wonder if he’s looking at the flowers with chrome everyday while i’m gone. man, i still wake up hoping to see a new one in front of me.

sure, reminiscing was fun and felt good, but what’s the point? you had eaten all of your food approximately two days ago, you only had about a teaspoon of water left, and there was no getting out of there. the way you came in had been covered in a dam of rocks. you couldn’t even dig yourself out.

you furiously wiped the tears that fell from your eyes. “senku...why did i think i could go alone?”

day fifteen.

poke, poke—

something was touching you. no, someone was touching you. your head bobbed side to side, in an attempt to shake them off.

damn, that’s persistent.

opening your eyes, you woke up to senku smiling. he was knelt beside your form. “wake up, sleeping beauty! it’s been almost three hours.”

it’s only been three hours?!

you sat up way too fast, and felt lightheaded as you tried to ask,”but...why didn’t you.. wake me up earlier? did everybody...did everyone eat already?”

he laughed. “yeah, sorry. we all thought you were out doing something with chrome. but,” he turned around, to grab something behind him,”i saved some in case you got hungry when you came back.”

you took the food in a dizzy haze. was it even food? you didn’t care too much, it felt like you hadn’t eaten for a long time. any food at this point was good food.

you couldn’t even swallow the first bite. “do you- is there..any water?”

“what?” senku pulled away from you, a look of disbelief painted across his face. it was clear as day.

you hesitated, feeling more lightheaded than before. “w- water?”

“don’t you remember?” he asked. he turned away from you. “there hasn’t been any water in days.”

it’s been days.

your body jolted from its spot, and harsh reality hit you square in the face.

yes, right. you shakily rubbed your eyes to make sure they weren’t cemented shut.

in the cave, finished your food, no water to be found. making yourself walk around was no use, either; without the fuel, your body was essentially just a trembling mess.

you scowled at yourself; unsure of what to do, what to even think.

day eighteen.

you remembered how he kissed you. the first kisses the most; you always had to tell him to not look so terrified. you also had to remind him to not stand like a statue when you kissed. pretty soon, after some reassurance, he got comfortable. there was nothing but confidence in the way he caressed your face in his hands. usually he was the one to pull away; you were so mesmerized, it felt as if the world completely stopped.

they were always quick and out of the way in public. usually, it was on your forehead or your one of your cheeks. the deep kisses you felt when you two were alone were incomparable. soft lips remained on yours for what felt like centuries. he tasted sweet, in his own way—

wait, who?

you licked your lips slowly, trying to think.

it was no use; you couldn’t even remember what he looked like. you lolled your head to the side and stared at the outline of a rock a couple of feet away.

once i get out of here, i’ll kiss him. whoever it was. it won’t matter if it’s just us, or more people. i’ll kiss him forever.

maybe if i go to sleep.. i can see him again.

#dr stone #dr stone x reader #senku ishigami x reader #senku x reader #ishigami senku x reader #ishigami senku #senku ishigami #dr stone imagines #dr stone scenarios #senku ishigami fluff #aahhh this was a little half baked #I’ve been busy what can I say😔#my semesters almost over and I have a placement test #final drivers test(yes I’m 20 and my ass can’t drive legally)#and another performance with my current schools ensemble #despite all of this. I hope u like what is basically my first attempt with angst!#at* not with ew

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xxdragonwriterxx · 4 years

Text

🔥The Secret Compartment🔥

~~~

“Oh come on, Erwin! I know you’re just as curious as I am!” Hanji whined, leaning with her palms flat against the Commander’s desk, her eyes shining behind her glasses.

“Hanji, it would be wrong,” Erwin said with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“Who cares about moral principles? Levi is out for a few hours, this would be the perfect time to do it! You know there won’t be another chance like this again soon, we need to take advantage of it and see exactly what he is hiding from us!”

Erwin met Hanji’s excited gaze, knowing she would not drop this until she got what she wanted. He sighed again, trying to fight off the headache that was forming against his skull. About a month ago, both Erwin and Hanji had noticed a locked drawer attached to Levi’s desk. The pair always knew that their friend was a private person, but it was the only drawer that had a lock on it. There was even one time when Hanji had burst into his office without knocking, only to see him quickly and violently slam the drawer shut with a glare in her direction. They had questioned him on it, only to be met with annoyed scowls and complaints about everyone sticking their noses into his business.

Erwin would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious, but his anxiety over what would happen if they were caught overwhelmed his desire to see the contents of that drawer. Hanji, on the other hand, had been tailing Levi like a dog with a bone, nearly foaming at the mouth as she continuously attempted to get a sneak peek.

“Come on, Erwin. I can almost guarantee you that it’ll be worth it. Levi could be hiding anything in that drawer. It could be embarrassing things he did as a child, or a secret about his life, or a guilty pleasure he’s hiding. There might even be a diary or journal of some sort in there!” Hanji said.

“I don’t know if I even really want to read Levi’s diary, Hanji. That thing could have anything written inside,” Erwin said.

Hanji threw him a look and Erwin crossed his arms with a frown. Damn, this woman was persistent.

“We might even be able to use whatever is inside as blackmail if he ever tries to threaten us again. Like when he threatened to tell everyone about the time you got drunk and started going on about creating a new order stating all of the women in the Corps have to sleep with you,” Hanji said, a wide grin spreading across her face at the sight of Erwin’s paled features.

“Fine,” Erwin said. “But if we get caught, I’ll feed you to your titans. After Levi is done breaking off both of his feet in our asses.”

Hanji squealed in excitement and grabbed the Commander’s hand, dragging him with her to Levi’s office. Erwin fought against the nervousness that was clawing in his stomach as he pulled out the ring of keys he had for every office in the Corps, found the one meant for Levi’s door, and put it in the lock. Hanji pushed past him and into Levi’s office as soon as the door was unlocked, looking around with even more excitement than when she was working on her experiments.

Wasting no time, Hanji moved over to Levi’s desk and bent down, pulling a hairpin from her done up bun. The crazy scientist picked at the lock, her tongue sticking out as she concentrated on moving the pin within the gears until a loud click sounded throughout the room. Erwin shuffled from foot to foot at the sound, the Commander glancing at the door from where he stood awkwardly in the center of the immaculate office.

“You better make sure that everything is put back exactly where you found it or he’ll know,” Erwin said with another glance at the door. He knew Levi was in town for the afternoon but he was still expecting the short raven-haired man to pop up out of nowhere, as if he knew his private belongings were being messed with.

“Erwin…”

The sound of Hanji’s voice, filled with awe and surprise, made Erwin turn to look at her. She was holding what looked like a large, leatherbound notebook, her mouth agape and her eyes wide and sparkling. Despite the anxiety that was still gnawing at his gut, Erwin’s curiosity won and the Commander slowly moved around the desk to crouch beside Hanji.

“Told you it’d be worth it,” Hanji said with a smirk as she tilted the notebook for Erwin to see. Erwin felt his jaw drop. It was a sketchbook, a beautiful sketchbook that nearly gleamed from the tender care Levi had obviously subjected it to. The leather was smooth and cool against Erwin’s calloused hands and the pages were soft to the touch.

“I didn’t even know Levi liked art, let alone that he could draw, especially like this,” Hanji said, her eyes shining as she looked down at the sketches on each page. Some of the pages just had small little doodles while others had full scale scenes and portraits, all of which were immaculately detailed. One page held drawings of kittens playing around, while another was a giant drawing of all of the superior officers standing at attention in a large field.

Neither of them could believe it. All of the drawings were stunning, each mark carefully constructed and purposeful. They probably wouldn’t have believed they were Levi’s drawings if it weren’t for his signature at the bottom of each page.

“Holy shit,” Erwin breathed when he came across an image of Levi’s black stallion, Azriel, the sketch so realistic that he could almost feel the animal’s fur through the page.

“Yeah,” Hanji murmured in response as she continued to flip through the book. Erwin tore his eyes from the drawings for a moment to peer into the unlocked drawer, reaching in to study the wide variety of pencils, paints, charcoals, and colored pencils that lay neatly at the bottom.

He had only been looking at the art supplies for a moment, when Hanji’s breath caught. The Commander automatically looked up at the door, fear lurching in his gut at the thought that Levi had come back, only to find that the door was still shut firmly. Looking down at Hanji, he saw she was grinning like a cat, her gaze flashing with mischievous intent as she looked at one of the pages. Erwin refocused his attention on the sketchbook and grunted in surprise when he saw the drawing in Hanji’s hand.

It was a drawing of (Y/N) (L/N), one of their fellow superior officers. (Y/N) was a Captain in her own right, leading her own squad of efficient warriors that rivalled even the famed Levi Squad. She was a well loved soldier, her compassionate personality combined with her ability to make almost anyone laugh making her a very popular member of the scouts. Despite her vibrant personality, she was also known to be a very talented soldier with a cool headed approach to conflict and a strength that often surprised most people who met her. She refused to take bullshit from anyone, and wasn’t afraid to release the filter on her barbed tongue when necessary, easily putting people in their place.

The drawing was downright gorgeous, by far the most beautiful out of all of the drawings in the book. He had used color when drawing her, one of the very few sketches in which he did, the image coming to life with the splashes of color and detailed features. The image looked as if she could turn her head and wave at them right then, the drawing so realistic it was breathtaking. In the drawing, (Y/N) was laughing, her eyes closed and her head tilted back slightly, her (h/c) hair cascading behind her. Her lips were parted in a wide grin as she laughed, one of her hands just barely touching her chin, as if she had been trying to cover her mouth only to give up when the giggles became too intense.

Hanji and Erwin looked at each other, their eyes wide with shock. Levi had done many portraits throughout the entire sketchbook, even having drawn some of Erwin and Hanji, but this sketch of (Y/N) was by far the most detailed, the most realistic. It was clear that Levi had spent hours upon hours drawing her, each stroke of his pencil done with immense love and care.

The two officers were quiet as Hanji flipped the page, their shock mounting somehow higher as they found more drawings of (Y/N). Hanji ran her finger through the pages once, flipping through the rest of the used pages to find that all of them were of (Y/N). Going back to the page they were on, Erwin and Hanji admired each illustration. Some of the drawings had color just like the first one they found of (Y/N), while others were just black and white, albeit no less detailed.

There were sketches of (Y/N) standing in a sparring stance, riding her horse, shouting down a noble, wielding a sword, reading a book. All of the drawings in the rest of the sketchbook were of her doing different things, each drawing lovingly crafted to make them look as realistic as possible.

Erwin’s eyebrows shot up into his hair and Hanji let out a surprised squawk of laughter when they flipped to one drawing of (Y/N) in a very suggestive position, her (e/c) eyes half lidded and filled with lust, the love in her gaze shining at them even through the page. She was laying down, her hair splayed out on top of the pillow, with her arms crossed over her exposed breasts. A sheet was covering her lower half, but it was hanging tantalizingly low on her form.

Hanji cackled as Erwin covered his eyes and quickly ripped the book from her hands, tearing to the next page, his ears turning pink at the sight of such a provocative image of one of his Captains. Hanji laughed even harder when the next page contained a similar image, this time with (Y/N) leaning back in obvious pleasure, her eyes closed tightly and her mouth open, her palms splayed flat on the ground behind her, her lower half disappearing off the edge of the page.

Erwin dropped the book as if burned and turned away, his face flushed. Hanji snickered at his embarrassment and grabbed the book again, looking at the few pages of (Y/N) in different arousing positions. Despite the inappropriate theme of the sketches, Levi seemed to keep it relatively modest, never drawing anything that exposed the most private places of her body, merely hinting at it rather than drawing it in detail.

Hanji motioned Erwin back over when she finally got through Levi’s “personal” sketches, finally reaching the last drawing in the sketchbook. The final sketch was a beautiful illustration of the pretty Squad Leader staring out the window, her chin resting on her palm as she watched rain slide down the glass pane. There was a single candle on the table with her, the darkness of the night held back by the small circle of flame, her face accented by the light of the candle, her skin colored with a honeyed glow.

“Wow, Levi sure has been busy,” Hanji said softly as they admired the picture.

“I’ve been busy doing what?” A gruff voice suddenly said, causing both officers to freeze, their eyes wide with terror as an icy feeling of dread shot through their veins.

The pair looked up to see Levi leaning against the door frame, not yet aware of what they were doing due to his desk obscuring his view.

“What the hell are you doing on the floor? And why are you with Shitty Glasses, Erwin? I thought you were busy filling out all of those proposals, which was why you couldn’t come with me into town.”

When neither of them answered, Levi pushed off of the wall and strode towards his desk, a scowl of annoyance on his face.

“Oi, did you two hit your heads or something? What are you doing in-”

Levi stopped dead, his face draining of color when he rounded the desk to find Hanji holding his sketchbook open in her lap, both of them pouring over the pictures inside. He glanced at the drawer and saw the hairpin still sticking out of the lock, the metal bent to jack open the gears.

His eyes flew over the drawing they were looking at, his most recent one of (Y/N) looking out at the rain. Embarrassment washed over him then and he closed his eyes as he realized they had looked through the entire sketchbook. He felt a dark rage bubble up in his chest, boosted by his embarrassment. When he opened his eyes again, they were hard and filled with fire.

Erwin and Hanji both flinched at that look, shame flooding over them as they both glanced down at the book in Hanji’s hands. They knew they shouldn’t have done this. Hanji didn’t regret opening his locked drawer but once they figured out what he was hiding they should’ve put it back. Obviously he had hidden it in that drawer because it was his private book, something he wanted nobody else to see, and for good reason.

“Levi I-” Hanji started only for his nearly feral growl to cut her off.

Levi leaned down and snatched the book out of her grasp and hoisted it under his arm, throwing a deadly glare in their direction. He turned to move the sketchbook somewhere else but paused when he realized there was no other place he could put it without other people noticing it. His locked drawer had been the one safe place for it, the one place where nobody was supposed to be able to reach it.

Levi ended up pacing in frustration as he frantically searched for a place to put it, to no avail. The raven-haired man eventually collapsed onto the couch in the center of the room, sliding the sketchbook onto the coffee table in front of him and putting his head in his hands. He had no idea what to do. He didn’t even want to look at the two people he thought were his friends, not just because he was furious with them but also because of the shame that was hammering against his heart. They had to have seen all of the drawings of (Y/N). There was no way they didn’t if they had reached the end of his filled pages. Which meant they had seen everything.

He had never meant to draw her like that. He honestly hadn’t meant to draw her at all, afraid that if he did, it would be admitting to himself the feelings he had for her. But even though he fought it hard, he eventually succumbed to the urge to draw her when he saw her laughing at a joke he had told her, the moment so perfect he just had to put it on paper before it faded from his mind. He guessed that must have been the moment of his downfall, because after he had drawn one picture, he felt compelled to do more until his sketchbook was filled almost completely with drawings of her.

The more he drew her, the more time he spent around her, his mind subconsciously watching for more perfect moments to paint onto a page, his feelings for her growing until he was completely in love with her. The drawings had gotten more suggestive, his hand moving as if it had a mind of its own as his hunger for her grew. He had never crossed the line of drawing her completely exposed, not wanting to shame her like that, not when they weren’t even in a relationship, but he had gotten pretty close when his hormones started controlling his hand rather than his brain.

Even though he had never been vulgar with his illustrations, he knew what Erwin and Hanji must have thought when they saw it. Knew how disgusted they must be with him after seeing such things in his sketchbook. He feared they might even tell (Y/N), warn her against him so she wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Levi clenched his fists. He knew Erwin and Hanji had never done anything like that before, they were his friends and had always supported him, even when he pretended to hate it. But that was before they saw everything.

“Levi?”

Levi ignored the sound of Erwin calling his name, keeping his hands cupped over his face in mortification. Levi tensed a little when he felt Erwin and Hanji sit down on either side of him, but still refused to look at them, afraid to see the condemnation in their eyes.

“Levi, look up please. We are genuinely sorry about looking through your sketchbook,” Erwin said softly.

Levi looked up to throw him a filthy glare before he leaned back into the couch cushions with a sad sigh, his eyes closing as he fought the shame that reared up in his chest. He felt like throwing up. Or beating Hanji and Erwin to a pulp. Or both.

“They’re, um, really beautiful, Levi. I didn’t know you could draw like that,” Hanji offered.

Levi scoffed.

“They are! Seriously, they look like you could walk right into them. I didn’t even know you liked drawing but here you are with a book full of masterpieces,” Hanji said incredulously in response to his obvious doubt.

“Oh come on, Hanji,” Levi said, piercing her with his stare. “I know you saw them, don’t play dumb. You saw them and now I feel like a perverted bastard.”

“There’s nothing wrong with drawing (Y/N), Levi. You did a wonderful job, really made her look beautiful,” Erwin said, resting a hand on Levi’s shoulder.

“Sure, there is nothing wrong with drawing her, but there is something wrong with drawing her, like that,” Levi snapped wholly embarrassed.

“Levi, relax! You did it because you love her and it is your personal sketchbook, not meant for any eyes but your own. We know you struggle with expression, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. This was just your way of expressing those feelings, an outlet. We were never meant to see it, I’m sorry that we ever did,” Hanji said, her eyes full of sympathy for her mortified friend.

Levi looked at her, doubt still swimming in his eyes.

“It’s true, Levi. Not only that, but you have real talent. I never would’ve thought of you as an artist but you know what you’re doing. Why did you hide this from us? I think it’s really cool that you know how to draw so well,” Erwin said.

“Because it is a useless passion to have,” Levi said. “I am Humanity’s Strongest Soldier, fighting to save the human race in a world filled with man-eating monsters from hell. Being able to draw pretty pictures is pointless; I can’t exactly kill titans with a pencil. The only reason I ever let myself do it in the first place is because I need to distract myself with something mindless sometimes.”

“What are you talking about!?” Hanji squawked. “This is the coolest thing ever! Can you draw another picture of me? I think I need to have more of an obvious presence in that sketchbook.”

Levi scowled at her but sighed softly at the relief that washed over him as the bespeckled woman lightened the mood.

“No, I am never drawing you ever again, Shitty Glasses. I only did that once because I was feeling sick and wanted something to help me throw up.”

Hanji pretended to act offended, gasping dramatically and placing her hand against her chest.

Erwin chuckled at the pair and patted Levi’s shoulder comfortingly. Levi sent a weak glare in his direction but the Commander knew he was grateful.

“Hey, speaking of an obvious presence…,” Hanji said, a borderline evil grin creeping onto her face. “You have the hots for (Y/N).”

Levi growled something Hanji chose not to hear and smiled even wider.

“Why didn’t you say anything? You know she is one of my best friends, I could’ve set you guys up!” Hanji said.

“That is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” Levi said. “I don’t trust you to not do something embarrassing on my behalf.”

Hanji scoffed at him and sent him a playful glare, one that he returned followed by a choice hand gesture.

“Well, now that we know, why don’t you confess to her? From the dates written on all of your drawings, you’ve been dealing with this for a while.”

Levi coughed awkwardly, obviously uncomfortable with the topic of conversation. “I don’t know how,” he mumbled.

“What are you talking about, Levi? You have it easy. Most people would have to buy flowers, or food, or do something else to get the source of their affections to notice them, but you won’t have to do that. You have everything right in front of you. Just give her one of your drawings, and she will surely get the message,” Erwin said with a knowing smirk.

“That’s a great idea! I’m sure she’ll absolutely love one!” Hanji squealed, clapping her hands together like an energetic toddler.

Levi thought for a minute, leaning back against the couch cushions. It could work. He had never purposely shown his drawings to anyone, but maybe trying something like this would be enough to win her heart. Nervousness wormed its way into his gut as he thought about it. What if she hated it? What if she didn’t care, turned him away without a second glance? What if she thought it was creepy or flat out didn’t like the drawing? Levi swallowed.

“Do you really think that would work?” Levi mumbled. “I do not want to fuck this up. Even if we can’t be together, she is one of the few people I call my friend, and I do not want to ruin the relationship I currently have with her because I’m inept at flirting.”

Hanji nodded enthusiastically, her glasses sliding down her nose at the movement. “Oh definitely. She’s going to think they are stunning! And we can be here to help you, if you want us to. Which one do you think you would give her?”

Levi looked at both Erwin and Hanji in turn, rolling his eyes at their identical cheshire grins. He figured he must be crazy, absolutely fucking insane, but he really could use their help, as much as he refused to admit it out loud.

Regardless of his attempts to hide his desperation, Erwin and Hanji saw right through him, their grins spreading wider as Levi scowled at them.

“Alright…,” Levi sighed, getting up from the couch and making his way back to the open drawer, making Erwin and Hanji arch their eyebrows in confusion when he passed by the sketchbook still resting on the coffee table.

“I’ve had this saved for a while. I didn’t want to put it with the others, it’s my favorite one.”

Erwin and Hanji looked up to see Levi pull out the bottom of the drawer to reveal a hidden compartment. The pair watched curiously as their friend pulled out a piece of paper that was significantly larger than the rest and turned it around for them to see.

“Well? What do you think?” Levi demanded.

____________________________

(Y/N) was walking back from the Mess Hall with her friends when a young scout came running up to her, claiming Captain Levi needed to see her in his office as soon as possible. She smiled brightly at the cadet and thanked him, before turning to her friends and waving goodbye, changing her course to head for Levi’s quarters.

(Y/N)’s stomach fluttered with butterflies as she got closer to his door but she quickly shoved them down and shook her head. She needed to focus. He was probably wanting to talk to her about the upcoming mission and what her plan was for her squad since she had missed the last meeting with the other superiors thanks to an injury she received when she saved a rookie cadet during ODM training, resulting in her crashing into a tree.

She chuckled to herself at the memory of Levi furiously chewing out the cadet afterwards. She had felt so bad for the poor kid, it had been an accident, but Levi had been no less upset by the fact that she got hurt. The thought sent more tingles up her spine and she growled in frustration, forcing herself to push her feelings to the back of her mind.

Her head finally cleared when she reached his door and knocked, smiling to herself when she heard his deep voice grant her entrance to his office. When she opened the door she found Levi facing away from her, watching something outside his window, Commander Erwin and Squad Leader Hanji standing along the far wall of the room. (Y/N) raised her eyebrows at the sight of them but saluted without hesitation, smiling when Erwin waved her off with a chuckle.

“I’m assuming because the two of you are here that this is about the details of the last meeting I missed?” (Y/N) asked, closing Levi’s door behind her with her foot.

Hanji smiled so wide her cheeks hurt as she shook her head. “Actually, no. Levi wanted to talk to you about something. Erwin and I were just leaving.”

Erwin nodded in agreement and pushed off from the wall he had been leaning against, his own lips twitching as he fought the grin that tried to run across his face.

(Y/N) watched them in confusion as the pair walked around her and left the room, Hanji’s barely concealed giggle echoing in her ear when they passed. Arching an eyebrow at her two fellow senior officers, (Y/N) eventually dropped it and turned back to Levi who so far, had not said a word.

“What’s up with them?” (Y/N) asked, trying to ease some of the awkward tension that had filled the room.

“They’re just idiots,” Levi said, but something about the way he said it seemed off. Maybe it was the lack of conviction. Or maybe it was the quiet, almost hushed way he said it, as if he wasn’t thinking about the odd behavior of their two friends at all, too lost in his own world to pay attention. (Y/N)’s brow furrowed in concern. This was not like the Levi she knew, something was wrong.

“Hey, Levi, what’s going on? You don’t sound like yourself.”

Levi tensed. Damn her for being so observant. He should’ve known she would automatically pick up on his off behavior. She had always been able to read him like a book, it was part of the reason why they were so close, why their friendship worked so well. (Y/N) had always been able to figure out exactly how he was feeling or what he needed at any given moment, why would this be any different?

“(Y/N),” Levi started, taking a deep, shaky breath as he tried to ignore her intense gaze on him. He knew she was worried, but her eyes on him were making him feel nervous. He almost wanted to bail, to claim it was just to help her recap on the meeting she had missed. He even had half a mind to bury his sketchbook, never to be seen again. It would hurt him, to lose that book, and despite what he said, he did love to draw, and having that taken away would be difficult, but at least he wouldn’t have to go through all of this anxiety.

But then he thought about (Y/N). She was standing right there, waiting for him. She had always been by his side, always caring for him, even when he felt he did not deserve it. She made him feel so loved, so strong, so hopeful. He knew that if he didn’t tell her how he felt now, it would drive him to insanity. He had to do this. Clearing his throat, he started again.

“(Y/N), I called you in here because I have to give you something,” Levi said.

“Really?” (Y/N) asked. Now she was really confused.

“Yes.”

“Okay, thank you Levi. What would you like me to do?” (Y/N) asked, keeping her voice soft and steady. It was obvious he was struggling a bit and she wanted to make him feel as comfortable as possible.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands,” Levi directed.

(Y/N) followed his orders and closed her eyes with her hands held out. She was worried about him, and even a little bit frightened for herself, but she couldn’t deny the curiosity that was gnawing at her gut. What could her fellow Captain have to give her other than reports to finish, or a sword to fight with, or a cup of tea?

She was surprised when she felt something very light and thin land on her opened palms. Her brows furrowed in confusion but she kept her eyes closed, waiting for him. Levi paused once he had rested the picture in her arms. He knew she was waiting for him before she opened her eyes but he couldn’t help but hesitate for a minute. This was it. The moment of truth. Either she was going to love it and his dreams might finally come true, or she was going to hate it and he was going to lose the best thing to come into his life. Taking a deep breath, Levi leaned against the wall as he told her to open her eyes.

(Y/N) gasped loudly when she opened her eyes. In her hands was the most beautiful drawing she had ever seen. It was a picture of her, so realistic she felt as if she were looking in a mirror. In the image, she was sitting bareback on her dapple grey mare, Danika. Danika had her head up and her ears forward, looking off to the side of the page while (Y/N) leaned against her neck, her chest touching her horse’s withers and her arms on either side of the mare’s neck. In the sketch, (Y/N) had the biggest smile on her face, her eyes shining with a brilliant (e/c). Her (h/c) hair looked as if you could reach out and feel it through the page, the strands blowing in the wind.

Levi didn’t say anything as he watched her take it in, crossing his arms and subconsciously biting his lip as he waited for her response. He had drawn this image of her ages ago. It was one of the first few he had drawn of her and it was by far his favorite. He had known that day, when he was striding across the courtyard headed for the training ground, and he turned to see (Y/N) riding Danika, smiling as if she were the embodiment of happiness, that he was head over heels in love with her.

He had even abandoned his idea of training to rush back to his office, eager to put the picture of her in his head onto paper. It was his favorite one because it captured the exact moment he truly came to accept his feelings for her. It was the one he had always saved for when he was having a bad day, keeping it separated from the others so he could find it easily whenever he needed it, just the sight of her making him feel better.

Suddenly, tears formed in her eyes and Levi felt his panic rise. Oh gods, she hated it. He never meant to make her cry! He had thought it might bring her the same level of joy he got from seeing it, but instead he had just made her sad, or disgusted, or angry. He honestly couldn’t tell which one it was, not that it mattered, it was obvious she was offended by it regardless of the specific emotion it invoked. Maybe she didn’t like the way he had drawn her. He thought she looked absolutely stunning, but maybe he had accidentally accented certain features she was self conscious about? Maybe she hated her smile? Maybe she just didn’t like having her fellow Captain drawing her like a creep when they weren’t even in a relationship?

Levi quickly moved to take it from her, apologies spilling from his mouth like a river. He didn’t even know what he was saying, he was sure he was just blabbering about nonsense at this point, but he didn’t really have the mind to care as he grabbed the drawing from her and moved to put it away. He was even planning on throwing it out after she left. He absolutely adored this drawing but if she hated it, he would not make her more uncomfortable by stashing it for his own desire.

“I’m s-so sorry, (Y/N), I’ll just get rid of it,” Levi said, cursing himself for stuttering. “I didn’t mean to make you upset, I just thought-”

“NO!” (Y/N) shouted, making him look at her in shock.

(Y/N)’s eyes were wide as she looked at the drawing in his hand. She had honestly been rendered speechless when she first saw it, overwhelmed with the tsunami of emotions that had crashed over her. She knew he struggled with expression, so the fact that he had gone out of his way to draw her as a form of confession had brought tears to her eyes, her heart throbbing with her love for this man.

(Y/N) had loved Levi ever since they had become good friends, laughing at his surprisingly funny dry humor, ranting to him when her squad was annoying her, holding him when he had no one else to go to and life just got too hard. But she would’ve never guessed in a million years that he returned her feelings. She had just assumed her feelings would forever be unrequited and forced herself to enjoy what they had, loving him in secret. But here he was, holding his heart out to her, offering her his love and affection in exchange for hers. She almost panicked when he snatched the drawing away, thinking he had offended her with it.

“No…?” Levi asked hopefully, uncertainty sparkling in his breathtaking silver gaze.

“No, don’t you dare throw that masterpiece away,” (Y/N) said firmly, brushing the tears from her eyes.

“So you…, like it?” Levi asked.

(Y/N) finally managed to pull herself together, clearing away the love induced haze that had clouded her brain and striding up to him confidently. When she reached him, she gently took hold of the hand not holding the drawing with both of hers, her eyes meeting his gaze. She blushed at how close she was to him, and had the urge to look away when his intense hues settled on her, but she held firm. She knew he was uncertain, she had to show him exactly how she felt without hesitation, otherwise he would think she was pitying him.

“I love it, Levi. It is one of the most gorgeous things I have ever seen. I can tell it took you hours with all of the detail and color and expression. It looks so real, like looking in the mirror. It is the greatest gift I have ever gotten, from anyone. Thank you.”

Levi sucked in a breath at her words, his eyes wide. She really thought all of that? He had hoped she would like it but he did not expect this reaction at all. In the back of his mind, Levi made a mental note to thank Hanji and Erwin after this was over.

“You really think so?” Levi asked.

“I know so.”

Levi swallowed thickly. “Does that mean…, you accept my confession?”

More tears pricked (Y/N)’s eyes but she nodded enthusiastically, calming his fears and making him release a breath of knee-wobbling relief. He barely had a moment before she launched herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck as she hugged him. Levi was a little stunned at first, but eventually slid the drawing onto his desk before wrapping his arms around her tentatively, still getting used to the contact.

“Yes, yes I accept your confession, Levi. I have loved you for a long time, I couldn’t be happier knowing that my feelings aren’t one sided.”

Levi’s heart jolted at her confession. “I love you too, (Y/N).”

___________________________

(Y/N) hummed happily as she skipped around Levi’s office, cleaning around the room while she waited for her boyfriend to get back from his one on one meeting with Erwin. Her heart fluttered as she thought about the surprisingly sweet, socially awkward man she was so damn lucky to call her own, smiling widely while she cleaned.

Their relationship was definitely still new and they were both slowly figuring each other out but (Y/N) had to admit, these past few weeks had been the best of her life. She had been surprised when Levi had confessed to her, but had been even more shocked to discover how long the man had harbored feelings for her, his actions around her telling her exactly how he felt about finally being able to call her his.

(Y/N)’s smile got bigger the more she thought about him and the slightly flustered yet determined way in which he doted on her in an utterly Levi fashion, using his blunt manner and dry sarcasm to fly through his inexperience. (Y/N) moved over to his desk and began to meticulously clean the already polished wood surface as her mind wandered, not really paying much attention to the items on his desk except to gently shift them to give her more space to clean. When she was finally done, she was about to move to another spot when she caught sight of Levi’s third drawer opened just slightly.

With further inspection, it looked as if the drawer had been slammed shut quickly, the rough movement causing the door to bounce back open a little in the process. Under normal circumstances, (Y/N) would’ve just closed the drawer and kept cleaning, but the sight of a leatherbound book caught her attention, her curiosity peaking. Glancing around her to make sure nobody was around, (Y/N) quietly shimmied the drawer open more and grabbed ahold of the book, opening it to lay flat on her lap.

The more she looked through it, the more her face changed from shock, to awe, to wonder as her eyes drank in each stunning drawing in his sketchbook. (Y/N) bit her lip when she reached the middle of the book, her system flashing with heat and surprise at what she saw. Carefully closing the book, (Y/N) slipped it back into the drawer and pushed it closed before standing and making her way to the door like nothing had happened, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she left his office.

_______________________________

Levi looked up when the door to his office opened later that night, a small smile flashing across his face at the sight of his gorgeous lover standing in the doorway. She smiled back at him and sauntered over, her eyes bright as she took in his casual appearance. In (Y/N)’s opinion, Levi looked amazing in everything, but seeing him in a pair of black comfy pants and a loose sleep shirt was hard to beat.

“Are you almost done?” (Y/N) asked once she had made it to him, leaning her hip against his desk.

“Yeah, just finishing up with these last few reports and then we can go to bed. Feel free to head in there whenever you’d like to though,” Levi said.

“Oh, I’ll wait,” (Y/N) said with a coy smile that made Levi pause in his writings. He had never seen that look on (Y/N)’s face before, at least, not in real life. His mind flashed him an image of one of his more provocative drawings of her before he quickly shoved those thoughts to the side, shaking his head a little to clear his mind.

“Do what you want,” Levi said, forcing himself to turn back to his reports.

(Y/N) settled herself on his couch and turned around to face him while he worked, admiring him from over the armrest. Her smile only got wider as she allowed herself to really look at him, his beautiful features making him seem almost painfully attractive.

Levi tried to keep focused on his work, wanting nothing more than to finish up quickly so he could cuddle with his amazing girlfriend, but he kept getting distracted. He could feel (Y/N) staring at him, her eyes on him making the hair on the back of his neck stand up, his nerves tingling. Levi grit his teeth as he attempted once again to read the same sentence he had read twelve times already to no avail, her intense gaze setting him on fire.

‘Focus, idiot! Fucking focus!’ Levi chastised himself despite the hot coil of want that was swirling in his gut. He was trying to be considerate of her and the speed she had set in terms of the physical side of their relationship, but he was finding it harder and harder to appear unfazed when she wouldn’t stop watching him with that expression on her face.

Finally, Levi slammed down his pen and looked up, his scowl deepening when he saw (Y/N) smile innocently at him and his frustration. Forcing himself to take a deep breath and steady his heartbeat, Levi glared half-heartedly at his lover.

“Why the fuck are you staring at me like that, brat?” Levi asked.

(Y/N) smiled even wider and stood from the couch, her hips swaying enticingly as she made her way over to him. Levi could do nothing but freeze in his chair, his breath caught in his throat when she slithered over his thighs, making herself comfortable on his lap. His heart rate skyrocketed when (Y/N) leaned forward, her lips lightly grazing the shell of his ear, her warm breath on his skin making him shiver.

“I saw something, maybe I shouldn’t have…,” (Y/N) said coyly.

Levi froze at her words, panic flooding his system as he thought about his sketchbook. He had no idea how she could’ve found it, but there was nothing else she could be talking about, since he had nothing else he actively kept from her.

“You did?” Levi asked nervously.

“Hmmm,” (Y/N) purred against him. “I did.”

“(Y/N), I am so sorry, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, I don’t even know why I drew those pictures of you. I just really love you and I guess it got out of hand but I am so-”

(Y/N) placed a finger to his lips and rolled her eyes affectionately at her lover’s uncharacteristic rambling. Levi immediately stopped talking and waited impatiently for her to condemn him, his face flushing slightly with embarrassment.

(Y/N) leaned in and surprised Levi by capturing his lips, encouraging him to relax until he finally gave in, the tension melting from his muscles as he kissed her back with a quiet groan. When she leaned back, Levi was looking at her with half lidded eyes, his silver hues sparkling with love and wonder for her. Her heart clenched and she smiled genuinely at him before it turned sultry, making Levi’s heart flip. Leaning forward again, (Y/N) nibbled lightly on his earlobe before speaking.

“Next time, Levi, draw me without the sheet.”

815 notes · View notes

just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi · 3 years

Text

Pickett

*bangs spoon on pot* NEW OC NEW OC i can't be tamed

CW: Magical whumpee, branding/scarification, burning, scalding metal, Whumper as caretaker, ... nice? whumper, implied nudity for a second, restraints.

(Pickett can transform into a marten but will never be whumped as an animal.)

The magician smiled as he walked through the market, taking in the sights of the bustling coastside Town. There were stands and carts, open shops and peddlers selling their wares. He could see the docks from the stone streets, could smell the foul salt in the air.

This was the last stop before the wild, before the world opened to those brave - or stupid - enough to explore it. It was a place of last chances, of hastily made decisions and half-thought through plans. Just like all the others, he was there to make his name.

One such salesman waved him over, encouraging him to spend his coins for the compasses and maps that could guide him to riches and fame. He waved him off, continuing on his walk. A girl offered him a handheld loaf of fresh bread, but he waved that off as well. The little creature sitting on his shoulder lifted it’s head to see, slowly following the girl with it’s blue eyes as the Magician kept walking. He smiled and scratched under its chin, more than happy to stop at another stand and buy the little furry thing some fruit as a treat.

The moment the door was closed and bolted behind them, the creature jumped down from its perch around the man’s shoulders to the floor. He turned to busy himself with his organization, putting away his hat and bag with a dim blue light glowing behind him. When Errold turned, he threw the boy that had appeared in a wam brown robe.

Pickett wrapped it around himself quickly, hissing in a breath. His wrists - his wrists ached fiercely. Everything hurt, a dull pain that settled along his spine and across his hips. He had spent too long in his animal form, too long with bones and muscle and sinew out of alignment. He leaned side to side, trying to stretch out as quietly as he could. Something popped and his breathing hitched.

“Pickett? Are you okay?”

“Oh! No, I’m-I’m-I’m okay,” he said quickly, smiling up at Errold. He didn’t want him to know, didn’t want him to catch on. If he did, he might try and fix it and he, he couldn’t handle that right now.

Errold looked down at him, brow furrowed. “Are you sure?”

Pickett nodded a little too quickly, and winced. Errold raised a brow.

“I’m, it’s- I’m a little sore,” he finally admitted, pulling the robe closed tighter. He looked up apologetically to see the magician’s concerned face. “But I’m okay! It was just a long time.”

Errold hummed, walking over to the dreaded bookcase. “Not all that long, Pic. Let me see what I can do.”

“No!” Pickett tried to stand, to reach out a hand to stop the man, but his legs couldn’t hold him up and he fell forward. He hit his nose on the way down, and even though it didn’t hurt much, there was still blood on his hand when he drew it away. The Magician tutted and went down to his knees.

“Look at you, making a mess of yourself,” he muttered, examining the boy’s face. For some reason, Pickett shivered under his gaze.

“What, what, what if I, what if I just walked-” the man sighed loudly, interrupting him. Pickett cowered further into himself, avoiding eye contact. He knew he wasn’t supposed to ask, but what danger could they really be in here?

“Pic, you know better than to ask that. Again,” Errold muttered, picking up the boy and depositing him onto the low table. “You know why, you must still remember how dangerous it is out there for people like us. They’d lock me up, take you away from me.” He paused, lifting his chin gently until they finally met eyes.

“You don’t want that, now do you?”

Pickett blinked up at him and took a deep breath before he shook his head. No, no he didn’t want that. Errold laid a hand on his chest and pushed him back flat against the wood. As the man walked around, back to his book and supplies, Pickett’s heart was slowly starting to race. While he was distracted by his own fear, a hand slipped under the boy’s shirt near his stomach.

Errold cried out, jerking his hand back and shaking it to get rid of the spark of pain. Pickett sat up on his elbows, eyes wide. The older man glared at him, hand smoking faintly.

“Wait, wait wait wait, I can explain! I can!” Pickett tried, crawling backwards off the table. Errold didn’t bother to respond, striding forward and pinning him down. The boy squirmed and wiggled, but was no match in his exhausted state. Soon enough there were long strips of linen securing his wrists and ankles to the table legs, two more going over his collar bone and hips.

Gruffly and annoyed, Errold wrenched up his shirt to examine the intricate lines of gold that covered his body. Pickett tried to interrupt, to distract him, but was shushed harshly. With a sigh, the man ran his fingers along one line that had been scratched and inched and the gold picked out of the scar. He gave Pickett a disappointed side-eye.

“Pickett-”

“I’m sorry!” Pickett cried out, eyes glossy but no tears spilling out yet. “I’m sorry! I am! But, but it itched and, and Errold please it felt better when I took the rune out. I can control it this time, I really can. I know I can!”

Errold leaned down and cupped the boy’s face in both hands. Poor thing was shaking, scared of what was going to happen. He hated to see him this way, hated that this was really the best way to apply the runes.

“I know, I know Pic - and I’m sorry, Sweetheart. But you can’t just claw them out. They’re there for a reason, and you need to respect that. I know you don’t want to, but I have to put them back. Shh, don’t cry, Shh I know, I know it hurts. But you need them, Pickett.”

He brushed his hand down the boy’s dark hair, looking into light eyes as the tears spilled over and down his cheeks. Poor thing. Pickett shut his eyes and laid back against the wood, trying hard to stifle his crying. Errold was right, he was always right. But it would be okay, he could do it. He had survived the other hours upon hours it took to bind the rest of his body, he could make it through re-placing a few lines on his side.

And whatever other ones Errold would add.

When the muzzle was placed against his mouth, he didn’t buck or try to fight it. Honestly, it was almost welcome. The process hurt, and others would be disturbed by his cries of pain. Errold pet his hair back one last time with an affectionate look before he lifted the boy’s shirt all the way and went to light the small fire.

The rods of gold were long and thin, small as a delicate sprig from a rosebush. They were expensive and shined even in the leather pouch Errold kept them in. It had to be a good quality gold, one that was pure enough to handle the weight of the magic. As harmless as they were in this form, Pickett still shivered when he heard them clink together.

Errold used a bit of dusty chalk to paint the correct lines across his skin as he waited for the fire to build. This part never hurt, but the sensation of it still made his heart race. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to wait.

The magician could see how hard the boy was trying for him, and he smiled sadly. Poor thing, but it really did try and be good for him. He would of course care for it afterwards, making sure he was as comfortable as possible. Donning thick gloves, Errold picked up a rod of gold and placed it in a specially crafted pipe. He’d had to make all these tools himself, designing them to work for what he needed. This pipe would not only help him melt the gold, but also apply it in even lines.

When it was ready, he returned to the boy bound to the table. He laid a hand on Pickett’s stomach in sympathy, then began his work.

Pickett cried out the first moment the molten liquid touched his skin, back arching and struggling in his restraints. It was beyond painful, beyond words he knew to describe it. It was burning through him, searing away paths and lines to cool in his skin. He sobbed into the muzzle, tears streaming down both sides of his temple. Every line, every dash burrowed farther into his skin. The pain built and built, with no regard to how much he could withstand. It didn’t care. It had no stake in how hard his heart pounding in his chest or how his lungs heaved for air. He just had to get through it, had to survive it.

He curled his hands into fists until he could feel the bite of his nails.

Errold hushed him softly, focused on following his chalk outline. His heart ached lightly, but only lightly. Pickett knew better than to dig the runes out. Any pain from the re-working of that was his own fault. Errold was doing this for his own good, he understood that. Pickett needed these, and Errold needed them.

It was mutually beneficial, he told himself.

Right as he was on the cusp of passing out, Errold pulled the pipe away to show he was finished. The new lines of gold over the boy’s dark skin were practically still glowing red, not yet having cooled down enough to shine their signature color. The magician didn’t dare touch them, just laid a damp cloth over the area.

Pickett whined loudly at the feeling, still heaving for breath. He could barely tell if his eyes were open at this point, just feeling like the world was distant from him. A hand touched his face to remove the muzzle but he couldn’t muster the strength to respond.

“Shh, shh Pic, you’re alright. Here,” Errold started, lifting him bodily from the table. Pickett whimpered, totally unaware that he had been untied. He was gently placed in his hammock, gratefully on his unhurt side, and left there as the magician tidied the rest of the room. The boy got his eyes open a few times, but the world was still blurry. He huffed through his nose and rubbed his face against the fabric, itching at the tear tracks across his face.

“Alright then,” Errold’s voice came and Pickett raised his head up. The man gathered him back out of the hammock and laid him on the bed. With just the back of his hand to the boy’s forehead he could tell he was already getting the fever, so he laid a damp cloth across it. The other wounds were still too tender to apply anything too strong, so he just used a general salve.

Pickett remained mostly quiet through the rest of the bandaging, simply letting it happen. He was a little more aware, however, when the magician wrapped his unharmed hands in bandages as well.

“To keep you from messing with them, Pickett,” Errold chided at the boy’s confused sound. Picket hadn’t done it much, but it would have to be something he would have to keep an eye on now. Perhaps he would pick up some mitts somewhere.

By the time he was done, Pickett’s fever was raging and he had to replace the cloth. He then returned him to the hammock to rest while he turned to his real work.

A request for a spirit guide had just come in, and it was an offer Errold had no desire to resist.

Tagging @yet-another-heathen cause this idea actually came from a convo with them!

#whump #magical whump #branding tw #burning tw #whumper as caretaker #painful transformation tw #pickett #errold #whump fic #magical whumpee #hehehe

59 notes · View notes

kim-ruzek · 3 years

Text

family we chose

Summary: spec fic for season nine bc that photo of paddy with painted nails Sent me. (Ft. Dad!am and cuteness)

Warnings: Cute adorableness and the possiblity you may die from how fluffy it is.

Word Count: 3.6k (lol can you believe I thought this would be 1-2k?)

Read on AO3

Notes: Paddy + painted nails + Theories = me going fucking crazy with feels.

“Adam, are you done yet?” Makayla calls to him, her voice a whine. Six year olds are not known for their patience, and Makayla is no different.

“Almost,” Adam replies as he finishes up putting away the freshly washed plates from their dinner. Makayla is old enough that she can play, happily and contently, by herself without his participation but during dinner she had asked him if they can play princesses and who was he to say no?

Especially when it helps distract her from the awkward questions she’s asking about Kim, and the clear anxiety and worry which is clearly plaguing the girl, the missing presence of her adoptive mother hanging over them both like a dark cloud.

It’s day two of Kim being in the hospital—day three, if he was to count the night Kevin and Jay found her. She had been in surgery for hours, and it had killed Adam to have to stay away, to not he at the hospital, but Kevin stayed on the phone with him and he was grateful for that.

And it was easier knowing that he was doing what Kim would want, that he was looking after her little girl, helping to preserve some normality in Makayla’s life.

When he had looked after her that night, he had just told her that Kim was busy at work, and he could see that Makayla had sensed that wasn’t just it, but for the most part she believed him. The next day was more difficult, however.

They knew that Kim is going to be okay. She has quite the recovery ahead of her, and she’s nowhere near ready to leave the hospital—she hasn’t even stayed awake for more than five minutes, and even that might be too generous. And so Adam had the task of telling Makayla this.

In his years as a cop, he’s had to do a lot of notifications and telling people that their loved ones are in the hospital but it never gets easier, and none of it could prepare him for having to tell Kim’s six year old.

It had gone better than Adam had thought, with him discovering that he’s a little better at this whole thing than he assumed he’d be. But Makayla’s worries and fears was clear; Adam having to reassure her that Kim will be coming home, and that in a few days, she’ll be able to see her.

“And,” Adam had told her with a smile, hoping to distract her. “Until then, we can have lots and lots of fun together.”

His goofy smile and his light hearted voice seemed to reassure her, as she had smiled at him them, an adorable toothy grin that somehow—even though it makes no sense to as why—reminded him of Kim.

Makayla had asked him if they could make Kim a card, to which he obviously said yes, and they had a fun evening with card, paint and glitter and Adam thought that maybe he’ll actually be able to do this. She did, however, when night came ask if she could sleep in his—Kim’s—bed and, although it sent him briefly into a panic, he immediately said yes, wanting to be able to report to Kim that he did everything right.

“Adam!” Makayla calls impatiently again and Adam laughs, shaking his head slightly.

“I’m coming,” he says, walking to her and taking a seat beside her. His bones complains about how low to the ground he has to be, but Makayla’s bright smile makes it worth it.

“Okay then, lil darlin’, how do we play princesses?” He asks her and her smile widens at her new moniker he’s given her. He called it her yesterday, right after yet another thought that Kim and her may not be blood related, or even known each other for long, but there’s already so many similarities between the two came to him.

“I’m not that small, Adam! I’m third tallest in my class!” Makayla had initially protested to the lil part of name.

“I know you’re not that small,” He had agreed, even though to him, she is, obviously. “But you’re lil darlin’ because you’re Kim’s daughter and Kim is darlin’.”

He had then momentarily freaked out, because he’s not sure how she feels about being called Kim’s daughter, and because he was scared that she’d think he was forgetting all about her mother, the one who raised her for six years.

But Makayla didn’t seem to mind, in fact, she seemed to beam wider at it. She made it clear that she liked Kim and her having matching monikers, and that she’s Kim’s junior—and thankfully, she didn’t ask why Kim is darlin’, as Adam had no idea how to answer that.

Makayla, now, in response to his question, jumps up and runs to her bedroom. She’s back shortly after, with a box filled with princess outfits, and bright materials, like a fluffy neon boa scarf.

“Here!” she places the box down, smiling proudly. Adam eagerly returns the smile, before fishing out a tutu out of it. He holds it up, grinning goofily at her.

“Somehow I think this won’t fit me.” He jokes and Makayla giggles.

“Of course it won’t, silly. You can use some of Kim’s clothes!” Makayla tells him.

Makayla quickly chooses what clothes she—and he—is going to wear, wrapping the neon boa scarf around his neck proudly. And then she’s going back to her bedroom, coming out with a smaller, more delicate box.

“First, we need to put on this!” She exclaims, opening the box to reveal kid makeup, nail polish and some stickers. Adam raises his eyebrow.

“Kim says we have to put it on before the clothes, so we don’t get the nail vanish on it.” Adam thinks she means varnish, her mistake making his heart constrict at the adorableness. Makayla then grabs this sheet, putting it over the rug.

“And we need to make sure we don’t mess the carpet,”

With that done, Adam peers into the box. “Okay, what colour do you want to paint my nails?”

It’s not a sentence Adam ever thought he’d say, not at this time anyway, but he doesn’t mind. Not even when Makayla’s eyes fill up with glee and mischief as she happily exclaims;

“All of them!”

Adam isn’t one who takes much photos, especially as he got older and more serious, and had less things in his life he wanted to document. But he takes lots after him and Makayla dress up, wanting to have a record of this for when Kim is properly awake.

And, if he’s honest, for himself, as—despite the love of his life being in hospital in the ICU—this is the happiest he’s been in a while. He snaps photos of not only Makayla, but himself, capturing his made up face, the tiara on his head and his multi-coloured nails.

Makayla is at school the next day, and Adam is in Kim’s hospital room. He’s showered and washed off his face, and in his clothes, obviously, but his nails are still painted. Makayla seemed to be really happy at him letting her paint his nails—saying offhandedly that her uncle never used to let her paint his nails—so he kept them. That, and because he couldn’t find the remover for it, of course.

“Hey, Kim.” Adam says softly. Kim’s not awake, still sleeping and if it wasn’t for the bruise on her face, the hospital gown, and all the wires surrounding her, Adam would think she looks so peaceful, like she’s just slumbering in her bed at home.

She’s off the ventilator, now, and Adam thinks that he’ll be able to take Makayla in to see her tomorrow, even if she’s not awake when he does, because she doesn’t seem as scary, as hit and miss and near death.

He’ll never be able to get the image of her lying attached to the ventilator, the day after they found her. Adam had dropped Makayla off at school and headed straight to the hospital. Kevin had met him outside, and warned him it wasn’t pretty, and he thought he was prepared—but nothing could ever prepare him for that.

Adam sits down next to her bed, now, lightly holding her hand in his. He’s immediately brought back to all those years ago, to when she was shot the first time, and she was in the hospital. He feels just as sick as he did then, feeling as if half of his heart is gone.

He can’t help thinking how this is the reverse of then, too. Back then, he had to hide how he felt from everyone, the only one who knew was Kim. And now, now he doesn’t have to hide it, everyone in his unit knows just how much he loves her, but Kim doesn’t—or rather, perhaps, can’t see it, for whatever reason.

He’s caught up in this thought that he doesn’t notice her stirring, her eyes opening. He only realises she’s awake when she squeezes his hand—weakly, still not strong—and his eyes look up from the spot they’ve been staring at and to her face.

Kim’s eyes are only half open, heavy lidded, but she’s awake and she’s looking at him. Currently, the only people who has gotten to see Kim, awake, is the doctor, the nurse and Kevin and Trudy. Adam knows he’s needed by Makayla, but he can’t help but feel envy, jealousy, that others got to have her see them and he hasn’t.

But now she’s awake, and she’s looking at him. There’s a smile dancing on her lips, soft and gentle but so, so Kim. His mind can’t help but go back to that first time she was shot again, and about the smile she gave him then, when she realised he was there, with her.

“Adam,” Her voice is barely there, dry and hoarse, coming out a little more than a whisper. But his heart skips a beat at hearing her say his name, and he knows he should calm himself, because Kim has made it clear that dating isn’t on the table—even if he thinks her reasons are nonsense—but he can’t because he loves her, because he nearly lost her, because he’s spent the last few days looking after her daughter and wishing she was his as well, because she’s awake and she’s looking at him and she’s saying his name.

“Hey, Kim.” He says again, managing to catch himself just in time before he accidentally slipped out a darlin’ instead. Her eyes glance down before glancing back up, her smile widening.

“I like the nails.” Her smile is playful, teasing and even though her voice is still dry, he can hear the amusement in it. Adam looks down at his hands, still around hers, and he feels oddly exposed, that it’s apparent just how desperate he is for them to be a family.

“Makayla and I played princesses.” He tells her, proudly, shrugging off any feelings of desperation and insecurity. He then pulls back from her hands, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

“I took photos—if you want to see?” He offers, watching as Kim’s eyes light up. She instantly tries to move, to adjust herself so she’s sitting up more and he immediately stops her, jumping to help her instead.

Kim shifts over, encouraging him to sit down on the bed so that she can see the photos with ease. She’s been in the hospital for days, and the sterile smell clings to her, but he can still smell her, the essence that’s just Kim as she rests against him. He tries to calm his beating heart, but that’s impossible whenever Kim is around him, whenever she is on him.

Especially right now. When all he can think about is how much he loves her, and how domestic this all feels, showing her photos of her daughter, the daughter Adam’s been looking after.

Adam is showing her the photos, getting near the end of the mass he took, when he realises she’s stopped cooing. He thinks she must’ve fallen back asleep—understandable, depending everything her body has been through—but when he looks down at her, she’s still awake.

She’s not looking at the photos, but at him. There’s a softness, affection, in her expression and Adam doesn’t quite know how to read it.

“I love you.” She says then, her voice the clearest it’s been. He blinks, stunned, not expecting that to come out of her mouth.

“Kim—” He goes to say that they don’t need to talk right now, that he doesn’t need to hear this, but she continues, fixing him a look—a look that reminds him a fair bit of Trudy—telling him to be quiet.

“When I was in that warehouse, dying, all I could think about—other than Makayla—was you. I even called out to you; all I wanted was you, to have you save me. I thought I was going to die and all I could think about was how we’ve left things, how I’ve pushed you away. You’re my person, Adam. I know, now, I’m never going to want anyone else and all what I’ve been trying to convince myself about you, about us, it’s bull. I love you, and I never want to be scared that I’ll die without you knowing that ever again.”

This is everything Adam has wanted to hear for years, and exactly what he’s been desperate for ever since, right before Kim fostered Makayla, they slept together again. It’s embarrassing how many nights he’s spent lying awake, staring at his ceiling, wishing for her to say this to him but now, when it’s actually happening it, all he can do is stare, stunned, at her.

“Kim,” He says again, her name leaving his lip sounding quite like a plea. Hearing her say this, hearing her tell him this, it means more to him than he could ever describe and he doesn’t know exactly how to express that, how to express the thoughts and feelings in his mind, in his heart.

“Look, we don’t need to like. I don’t expect anything from you. I know we have stuff we need to talk about, I can’t click my fingers and make everything that’s happened between us okay. But I needed you to know this—I thought I could wait, until I’m better. But you—you let Makayla paint your nails,” It’s so much more than that one gesture, Adam can tell. He can tell from how she says the words, the way seeing his nails painted means so much to her, that it signifies something so much more important than just him having fun with her daughter. And he can tell because he knows her, knows Kim better than he even knows himself.

And he understands exactly what she means, excited what she’s feeling. When he let Makayla paint his nails, he did hope that it would show Kim that he’s taking his role seriously, taking the fact that he’s their family seriously, but that wasn’t why he let her. Adam let her because she’s an adorable child, because she’s Kim’s daughter, because she deserves to be happy. He wasn’t thinking about what he could personally gain from it, it was just something he did without much thought, something that just made sense to agree too—just because Makayla asked.

Adam can see that Kim understands that, and that’s what’s resonated with her, that’s what’s making her look at him like that, with love and adoration and utter affection, a look he hasn’t quite seen in her eyes since the day he proposed to her.

It’s the first time since Kim was pregnant and let him in that hope blooms in him; that Adam has hope that finally, finally, he’ll get his girl again.

He softly strokes his thumb against her hand, before lifting it up and giving it a gentle kiss. “I know, darlin’.” He doesn’t hesitate or hold back now, knowing that it will be received well, and Kim smiles at it.

Adam notices then that she’s looking tired, and realises that her body needs more rest. He gently puts down her hand. “Rest, now. We can talk more about this—us—when you’re better. You need to rest and recover, because I know there’s an adorable six year old who misses you very much.”

Kim smiles again and Adam’s heart warms at the sight of it. “And darlin’? I love you, too.”

She falls asleep shortly after that. Adam doesn’t particularly want her too, not ready to stop seeing her awake, to talk to her, to see her smile and hear her voice. But he’s okay with it, because she wants him and she might be asleep now, but they have all the time in the world, the rest of their lives, to be together.

A couple days later, Kim has gotten stronger and needs less wires, the bruise on her face going down and colour returning to her face. She’s still got such a long recovery ahead of her, and she still needs to be in the hospital for a few more weeks, but Adam can finally bring Makayla with him.

The six year old is very excited, waking Adam up at an unholy time in the morning, practically jumping around the place. She’s made Kim another card and several pictures—some of which includes Adam in them, which warmed his heart—and while she understands Kim can’t come home just yet, she’s still very happy she can see her.

Adam walks through the hospital to Kim’s room, Makayla on his hip—although the way she’s bouncing, squirming with barely contained excitement, it’s a miracle Adam is able to keep hold of her.

He’d have let her bound ahead, walking by herself, if it wasn’t for it being a hospital, Adam wanting to make sure she’s contained and doesn’t cause any destruction.

There are many perks to being a cop, and being able to weave through the hospital with ease just with the wave of your badge is one of them. Although, Adam’s badge isn’t around his neck, Makayla having claimed it for herself.

“Can I wear it?” She asked him that morning, when he explained to her why he was wearing it around his neck, on display. He had agreed, not only because she’s too cute to say no to, but because she’d be carried by him, which would clearly show the other adults around that he was a cop, even if she was wearing it.

“Uncle Kev!” Makayla greets Kevin enthusiastically as they approach Kim’s hospital room. Kevin’s been sitting with Kim until they arrive, and at Adam’s text that they had, he had clearly headed out, ready to greet them.

“Hey, M.” Kevin ruffles Makayla’s curls, the girl grinning as he does so. He then nods in greeting to Adam; the two men still need to have a long conversation—in which Adam knows his role will be too listen, the only words being an apology—and they won’t be totally fine until they do, but there’s an understanding between them.

“How is she?” Adam asks Kevin, discreetly asking if Kim is tired, so he can prepare Makayla for that.

“Good, getting better and better. She’s been napping all morning, so she’s ready for this little one,” Kevin ruffles Makayla’s hair again. “Now, M, Adam’s explained that Kim’s gonna need to take it slow? That it might be scary—but she’s okay, she’ll be home before you know it?”

Kevin’s years of raising his siblings is displayed in how he talks to Makayla, using a soft, but adult tone?

After Makayla nods in answer to Kevin, Adam’s walking into Kim’s hospital room, the six year old on his hip. Kim’s sitting up in her bed, ready and eager to see Makayla. A wide, happy grin overtakes her face as soon as they enter and Kim sees Makayla.

Adam puts Makayla down as soon as they cross the threshold and she wastes no time running up to Kim’s bed. She does hesitate before jumping onto the bed, taking a step back and cautiously climbing up at the end, not wanting to accidentally sit on Kim.

Adam watches this, and watched how then Kim guides Makayla into her arms, her daughter immediately snuggling into them, looking happier than she’s looked in days. The scene tugs at Adam’s heart; they really do belong together, that is clear, their bond strong and true.

“Come cuddle, Adam!” Makayla then looks back at him, smiling that grin of hers, beckoning him over enthusiastically. He hesitates, not wanting to intrude on the moment, on Kim’s reunion with her daughter, but then Kim smiles at him; a big, loving smile which invites him over.

“Kim, guess what?” Makayla turns back to Kim as he heads over. “I’m lil darlin’! And it’s not ‘cos I’m short, but 'cos I’m your daughter!”

The way this makes Kim feel is clear to Adam, her expression open. She responds to Makayla, but she catches his eye, and Adam knows exactly what she’s trying to express to him.

When he reaches her bed, Kim pats her other side, encouraging him to sit down with them. It’s a tight fit, Adam barely on the bed, but it’s nice. He lifts up his arm, wrapping it around Kim, and she leans into him, Makayla snuggling against her still.

Makayla quickly urges Adam to pass her bag to her, so that she can show Kim all the stuff she made for her. Kim’s face lights up at them, looking with awe and wonder and love but all Adam can think about is how well the three of them fit together, that they’re already like a family.

There’s so much to discuss and work out, but Adam is looking forward to what the future holds if this is even a small glimpse into what it’ll be like.

#burzek #chicago pd #cpd spoilers #<- bc it refers to a bts pic #kim burgess x adam ruzek #chicago pd fanfiction #ree writes #ree's.writing #adam ruzek #kim burgess #Makayla Burgess

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ghost-in-the-hella · 3 years

Note

73. “I missed you.” Gideon/Harrow

Took me a bit to get my head around this one, but I think it worked out well enough in the end. Consider this an AU where the Emperor never summoned the heirs of the Houses and Gideon therefore successfully escaped to the Cohort. Contains some mild spoilers for Harrow the Ninth, I guess? Kind of?

---

In the opinion of Private First Class Gideon Nav - rising BARI star of the Cohort, dirty toenail of the Emperor, ladykiller in her own mind - closing time is the best time. As much as she loves the hustle and bustle of the mess hall during its peak hours - chatting up all the uniformed honeys, filling three or four elaborate orders at a time like the coffee rockstar that she is, showing off her sick coffee-slinging skillz with style and flair rivaled by none - there’s something soothing about the quiet at the end of her shift that speaks to her soul. The mess hall empty save for a handful of stragglers and night owls. The slow work of cleaning the machines. The pervasive near silence in which every move she makes echoes in the cavernous space.

It reminds her a bit of nights in Drearburh spent jogging in the recyc mist with only the sound of her own footsteps and breath for company, and enough time has passed since those lonesome nights that she can feel a tinge of nostalgia for them even as she internally celebrates her successful escape. She thinks of the Ninth House rarely enough these days that she can indulge in some light nostalgia without immediately feeling salty about the absolute shitshow that was her entire childhood and adolescence.

Gideon’s got her back to the counter, wiping out a portafilter and whistling a jaunty tune, when she hears someone step up to the counter. She’s about to tell her unfortunate customer that she’s all closed up for the night - technically she’s still got ten minutes on her shift, but she’s already cleaned out the coffee urns and wrapped up the pastries so seriously fuck off already - when she makes the mistake of turning around. She is immediately and viscerally reminded of the Ninth House again the second she locks eyes with the young woman before her, and it’s not just because she looks like a skeleton.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus looks different, of course. She’s almost a year older, for one thing. For another, her face isn’t covered with ten pounds of ancient paint, revealing an awkwardly ferrety visage that Gideon would hardly recognize if it weren’t for the bottomless black eyes in them and how deeply they stare into her golden ones. There are dark shadows under her deeply set eyes that render her face at least partly familiar, as they echo the sockets of a skull. Her mouth is pinched, as if the stick up her ass has finally penetrated all the way to her cranium and jammed her lips shut. Her nose is thin and sharp as a knife. Her chin looks like it would put someone’s eye out if they were fool enough to try to embrace her, assuming Harrow didn’t slit their throat first for the very attempt. She’s wearing Cohort whites rather than her familiar billowing black vestments, and the uniform makes her look sallow and somehow even more painfully thin.

“Griddle,” she says before Gideon can start to wonder if she’s somehow stumbled into an alternate reality. For how different she looks, clearly Harrow hasn’t changed. Gideon rolls her eyes and returns her attention to the portafilter. “Is this how you treat all of your customers?”

Beneath her typically peevish tone there’s something unfamiliar in Harrow’s voice, something it takes Gideon a good twenty seconds to decipher. Holy shit, Harrow’s nervous. Gideon’s seen Harrow be nervous before, but previously it’s always been buried under considerably more makeup and Gideon generally hasn’t been the cause of it.

“Customer, huh? Sorry, I naturally assumed you were here just to make my life hell again. Drag me back to Drearburh kicking and screaming, something like that. I didn’t think you might actually be here for a cup of coffee.”

“Yes, well, as usual you are mistaken. I was informed that on this deck’s mess hall I would be able to find a coffee adept who’s considered something of a genius with BARI. I certainly didn’t expect it to be you. I thought surely you’d be on the front lines on some distant planet by now.”

Gideon scoffs. “You don’t expect me to believe you joined the Cohort just to get a decent cup of coffee, do you? I mean, I know it’s all ice cold sludge on the Ninth, but damn, girl.” She fetches a porcelain mug (the darkest one she can find: it’s charcoal gray, but that’ll have to do) despite the fact that Harrow has yet to place anything remotely resembling an order and begins preparing her special extra-dark brew. It’s bitter enough that it’s unlikely to overwhelm Harrow’s stunted palette, and she should appreciate its blackness.

“Of course I didn’t join for the coffee,” Harrow snaps. It’s funny: her face is much more expressive without her skull paint, but Gideon finds it harder to read. “If I’d known you were the so-called BARI star the others keep rattling on about, I wouldn’t have bothered with coffee at all. I was lured into a false sense of security by the word ‘genius.’”

Gideon grins smugly as she flips the mug expertly into place in a daredevil move that usually earns her at least a smile if not a room number. “I guess some folks appreciate my brilliance.” She braces the triple-shot portafilter against the counter with one arm and effortlessly tamps the espresso grounds with the other.

Harrow scowls, and it nearly makes Gideon homesick. “Your brilliance remains to be seen.”

Gideon locks the portafilter into place and hits the brew button, counting off the seconds in her head. “That’s fine; you’ll taste it soon enough.” As the espresso streams beautifully into the mug, Gideon adds a liberal sprinkle from the jar she’s marked Gideon’s Special Dark Mixture of Doom and Ecstasy.

“I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you here so long after your… departure from the Ninth. I assumed you would have been deployed by now.”

“I was,” Gideon says with a shrug as she flicks the espresso machine off, trying not to sound butthurt about it. “Served for nearly a week before I got injured. Caught a leg full of shrapnel defending my commanding officer. I wanted to stay in the field - it was only a damn limp - but they didn’t want to risk me losing the leg to infection.” She removes the portafilter and bangs the wet grounds out into the garbage. “They started me behind the counter here while I was recuperating, found I had a knack for it, and I haven’t been redeployed since.”

Harrow’s face cycles through several dozen expressions that Gideon can’t quite parse before settling on ‘carefully neutral.’ “How is your leg now?”

Gideon stirs the brew with a wooden swizzle stick to help the BARI blend dissolve. “I’ve got some gnarly scarring, but it only hurts first thing in the morning.” And by the end of her shift most days. And if she walks too much, or stands too much, or sits too much. “Don’t worry, though; I look even hotter with the scars.” Gideon winks while Harrow groans, and for a moment feels like old times. She sets the steaming, fragrant mug down in front of Harrow. “So. What’s your story? I didn’t think anything short of a summons from the Emperor Undying himself would lure you out of Drearburh.”

Harrow eyes the drink as if she expects it to bite her. “I have no story,” she says without affect. “I am here to bring honor to my House.”

Gideon wipes the portafilter with the rag at her hip and locks it back into the machine, then hits the brew button to run hot water through it. “That’s some classic Harrowhark Nonagesimus evasive bullshit if I ever heard it. Why are you really here? The congregation finally all die out?” She jabs the button again and the water dribbles to a halt. “Oh, shit, did they finally figure out about your parents??”

“No and no,” Harrow says firmly. She leans in and gives the cup an experimental sniff. “I have simply decided that I can serve my House better as a Cohort necromancer than as the Reverend Daughter. What better way to disseminate the gospel of the Ninth and expand our congregation than by showing the universe what the Ninth House is capable of.” She attempts to take a sip of her drink and promptly scalds her mouth.

“Careful, it’s hot.” Gideon studies her and shakes her head. “Y’know, you almost had me, but no. Maybe that’s how you rationalize it to Crux and Aiglamene, and maybe even to yourself, but that’s not why you enlisted.”

Harrow looks strangely vulnerable with her pale and naked face and her seared lips. “Would you believe I wanted to test my mettle and prove that I am indeed the greatest necromancer of my generation on the field of battle?”

“No,” Gideon replies bluntly. Harrow’s studying the steaming beverage like she can’t figure out how to drink it without injury, and she probably really can’t. Gideon still remembers how steep her learning curve was when she first encountered hot drinks after nearly two decades of nothing but cold. “Here,” she says, taking pity on her old nemesis. “You’ve got to blow on it to cool it off. Like this.” She bends and purses her lips, cascading cool air over the surface of the hot BARI drink.

The outer edges of Harrow’s ears turn pink. Gideon realizes all at once that Harrow’s not looking at her like she’s a nemesis at all. If Gideon had to classify the look Harrow’s giving her, it’s more akin to how the handful of fellow Cohort recruits she’s hooked up with since enlisting looked at her right before they hooked up. The idea of that look coming from Harrowhark of all people makes her palms sweat. “Harrow,” she says tenderly, as one peels the hard rind from a soft fruit, “Why did you join the Cohort, really?”

Harrow worries her lower lip between her sharp, bone-white teeth until it starts to tear and bleed. “I missed you,” she confesses, dredging the words up painfully like vomit.

Gideon nods as if this were a perfectly normal and comprehensible thing for her oldest - and only, really - enemy to say and not the most unfathomable thing she’s heard in her entire life. “You should aim better next time.”

Harrow turns livid at that. Rather than using her words like a normal human being (because when has Harrow ever done anything like a normal human being?), she snatches up her mug with the expression of someone who’s just taken a step out onto a tightrope only to end up tredding in flaming dogshit. She pivots with a dramatic whirl that doesn’t quite work without her flowing black robes and takes a sip of her coffee as she goes. She stops short and her eyes widen in the universal expression of ‘holy fuck that’s way more delicious than I expected.’

Gideon grins as she heaves herself up onto the counter, sliding across and landing lightly on the other side in a super cool move that would sweep any girl off her feet (even if the girl in question were a dessicated bone witch). “Oh, fuckin’ get over here,” she says, pulling Harrow into a hug that nearly causes her to drop her mug in alarm. “I missed you, too.”

#prompt fill #prompt fic #fanfic #prompt ghost #ghost writes #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #griddlehark #coffeehouse AU #Cohort AU

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polaroid15 · 3 years

Text

To Be Like You

Read on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30005406

Summary: I’ll kill you and everyone you love. I’ll kill you dead.

Peter closes his eyes to keep the world from spinning. His panic sits like putty in his throat, blocking the air from reaching his lungs. He wraps his fingers around his neck, his pulse erratic underneath like he had just finished running a mile.

Come on Peter. Come on Spider-Man.

Or, the missing scene in Homecoming after the vulture fight.

----

It’s not working out.

I wanted you to be better.

There’s sand in Peter’s eyes, in his cuts. It mixes with his blood and adds to the ache, stinging and burning every inch of his skin like fire.

It hurts, but really it’s nothing in comparison to the heaviness in his chest.

I’m going to need the suit back.

Mr. Stark. Toomes. Homecoming.

He’s not exactly sure how he ended up on the cyclone, everything in his recent memory a dark blur. One moment he’s standing in front of Toomes, the last of his energy spent in cleaning up the beach and the next he’s sitting in the sky. The air is colder up here, but he’s too in shock to really feel it. Besides, it doesn’t come close to how cold it had been on the plane.

Before he had crashed it, of course.

Or when Toomes had dropped him in the river.

I lost the internship.

Logically he knows he needs to move, that he needs to go home, but the low-burning fire on the beach distracts him and steals all his attention along with the breath in his chest. He stares and reimagines the impact of the plane hitting the earth, of Toomes slamming him into the sand. The burns on his hands make them tremble and the pain brings tears to his eyes.

If you’re nothing without the suit you shouldn’t have it.

I’m trying to save you!

He wants to go home, crawl under his covers, bury his day deep underground and let it die. To wake up tomorrow and for everything to go back to the way it was.

But he can’t, the prospect impossible.

May is home.

It’ll break her heart.

Nothing will ever be the same again and the deep-rooted sadness that accompanies the realization threatens him to tears.

You smell like garbage.

Ned could help him. Ned can help-

It’s almost enough to spur Peter into action. But then he pictures Ned at homecoming with the rest of the normal kids and a deep pain separate from his physical infirmities cuts through him like a knife.

Like a talon in his chest.

Ned doesn’t deserve it, Peter realizes bitterly, even if he is his guy in the chair. Besides, Peter can barely fathom the energy to move off the cyclone let alone travel all the way to Ned’s house.

He has no phone. He’s out of web shooter fluid.

He’s out of options.

Hey. I just saved your life. Now what do you say?

Thank you.

A low noise of anguish comes out of his throat, surprising him. Through the smoke and the fire he can see Toomes’s legs jutting out in the sand. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t tried to escape.

I’ll kill you and everyone you love. I’ll kill you dead.

Come on Peter. Come on Spider-Man.

A sob rips through him, and out of everything that has happened tonight, it’s what surprises him the most. Tony abandoning him, the warehouse crushing him, getting thrown off a plane, his fight with Toomes- it’s all too much and he can’t breathe-

Lights and sirens coax his eyes open, though the tears in them make it near impossible to see. There’s ambulances and firetrucks and police cruisers.

To clean up the mess he made.

Is everyone okay?

No thanks to you.

He’s too tired to be relieved.

He doesn’t look for Happy’s car.

Sorry doesn’t cut it.

He should go to Ned’s.

Peter tries to move. Can’t. An overwhelming chill infects his body. He feels lightheaded and woozy and somewhere through the cutting numbness he feels his entire body give up on him. It’s deep, bordering on bone dead exhaustion. When he reaches up his fingers to touch at his chest they come away painted red.

Red, like May’s hair.

Red, like Tony’s armour.

Red, like the suit he had lost.

A deep nausea starts at the base of his gut and his vision shifts like a kaleidoscope. Only now does he realize how badly he’s screwed up, how he’s going to bleed out on the cyclone of all places.

He doesn’t have his phone, doesn’t have Karen or Mr. Stark or anybody. For once his inability to ask for help is entirely his own fault. There are no plan b’s, no second chances.

He’s alone.

It’s scary.

Come on Peter. Come on Spider-Man.

A bus was thrown at him, a warehouse dropped on his shoulders. He crashed a plane and fought a man with metal wings. It had taken strength. More than he’s ever had to use in his life.

And where is that strength now?

He doesn’t even have the energy to wipe the tears off his cheeks.

Through depleting vision, he sees blurred figures approach Toomes, the lights of their flashlights hitting his makeshift prison.

It’s over, he thinks, but it’s empty and cold. It doesn’t feel anything like he had hoped it would. And maybe that’s what it means to be a hero- to feel like you lose even when you win.

He wants to go home.

But he can’t.

The beach turns black, his chin lolling down to rest on his chest.

He’s so tired.

-----

Tony hadn’t quite expected to end his night on the beach and especially not surrounded by the burning remnants of his belongings. The plane had sheared an ugly line on the coast, though the damage is admittedly nowhere as catastrophic as it could have been.

Everyone is safe, they had assured him. No casualties.

Regardless Happy is a mess, unable to look him in the eye. Tony tries hard not to be upset at him.

His friend comes up to him now. His face is pale and ashen, the panic in it accentuated by the low light of the ruin around them. Breathless, Happy gestures over his shoulder with his thumb. “We uh- we found something boss. Over here.”

Feet sinking into the sand, Tony stumbles after him. It doesn’t take long for Tony to see their destination, standing straight like a beacon through the destruction. All the valuables on the plane, everything, stacked together neatly. A man is sitting at the base of the pile. The Vulture, Tony realizes darkly.

But it’s not what has the breath stalling in his chest.

It’s the webbing holding everything together.

Peter.

World narrowing and ears ringing, Tony crosses the rest of the distance to stand in front of the criminal. He looks smug, Tony thinks, and a little more than rough around the edges. His clothes smoke on their edges. There’s blood in his hairline and under his nose.

And beside his face, stuck to the mess, a note from Spider-Man.

P.S. Sorry about the plane.

“Where is he?” Tony asks, his fingers curling involuntarily into fists. The rational part of his mind is telling him to calm down, because Peter wouldn’t have been able to clean up the beach if he were dead.

He’s okay. He has to be okay.

Toomes smiles crookedly at him, reflecting behind it some foreign aspect of loss beyond the visible world. Tony has seen it hundreds of times, feels the weight behind it. “Pedro?” Toomes asks lightly, and Tony’s blood turns to ice. “Dead, hopefully.”

Happy holds him back from slamming his fist into Toomes’s teeth, though his own face reddens with anger. “You know who he is,” Tony says instead, accusatory to cover the fear creating a sinkhole in his chest. “How?”

Smirk unfailing, Toomes shrugs as if he hadn’t just been beat by a fifteen year old kid. “He was my daughter’s date to homecoming. Too bad he missed it.”

Happy swears viciously and let’s Tony go, taking a resolved step back. Freed, Tony drops to his knees in the hot sand and wraps his fist around Toomes’s collar. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears. “Listen closely bird man. If you’ve done anything to hurt that boy I swear to God I’ll end you. You’ll never see the light of day again, you hear? Now where the hell is he?”

Toomes doesn’t flinch. Eyes reflecting fire, he returns Tony’s passion in equal measure. “He was the one so hellbent on fighting me. Besides, aren’t you supposed to be his damn babysitter?”

“WHERE IS HE?”

Toomes laughs. Laughs. He spits out blood. “I don’t know. I don’t care.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“I’d prefer it.”

Disgusted, Tony releases his grip and stands back. He looks towards the water and wishes he could hear the waves hitting shore instead of the uncomfortable buzz in his ears. “You knew he was fifteen,” Tony says, “and you still did this.”

“You did too. Don’t pretend you’re better than me, Stark.”

It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. Something rockhard, something he thought was untouchable, shatters in his chest. It leaves him feeling sick and twisted and he fights the urge to throw up.

What if somebody had died tonight? Different story right? Cause that’s on you.

And if you die, I feel like that’s on me. I don’t need that on my conscience.

“Have fun in jail,” Tony says, but there’s no heat behind it. Because criminal or not, Toomes is right. He’s let Peter down. Big time. He turns to Happy and hopes to the universe that the split in his chest isn’t visible on his face. “Leave him. We gotta find the kid.”

“Better hurry,” Toomes says, coughing against the smoke. Some of his bravo is failing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he bleeds out within the hour.” It’s said in anger but Tony is familiar enough with facades to know that Toomes has constructed one of his own. He’s worried.

And if Toomes is worried, Tony is three seconds away from a full blown panic attack. He turns away from the scene without another word, holding his breath so it doesn’t leave somewhere he can’t get it back from. Happy stays by his side, matching his strides with precision and hand outstretched should Tony need it.

“I’ve messed up,” Tony says.

“We all have.”

“I have to find him.”

Happy straightens, eyes cutting across the beach. “He could be anywhere by now.”

If his friend says anything else it dies in the sudden roar in his ears. His eyes attach to a speck of blue and red under the lowlights of the amusement park as if the gods themselves have orchestrated the connection. Even from the distance Tony knows without a doubt that it’s Peter.

I tried to tell you about it but you didn’t listen! None of this would’ve happened if you had just listened to me!

If you cared you’d actually be here.

“I see him.” His mouth is numb.

“What?”

“I see the kid.”

“Where?”

“Oh God. I need a suit.”

“Tony calm down-”

“I need a suit!”

And they’re running.

----

Peter is prodded back to existence by something warm on his shoulder. A faint murmur registers in the back of his mind, like TV static or hearing someone talking from a different room.

So tired.

“Kid? Peter?”

The surface is painful, he decides, so he sinks further.

“Parker! Open your eyes right now. That’s an order, you hear me?”

The voice is familiar. He wants to listen. He tries, but his eyes stick as if fused together with cement.

Cement. The warehouse. Thousands of pounds crushing him, making it impossible to breathe-

He gasps, his body jerking involuntarily with the movement. It makes every ache and pain in his chest triple and he can’t breathe and he can’t move and he’s being crushed. It’s cold. He sees nothing but sky and loses his grip.

And then he’s falling.

The ground rushes up to meet him in a disorienting blur and it’s only then he remembers. Toomes. The beach. The cyclone. The fact that he’s out of web fluid.

He doesn’t have the time or energy to scream before his descent is halted, the warmth from before attaching itself around his biceps and lowering him gently to the ground. Peter collapses against it, grateful, and looks up to his rescuer.

An Iron Man suit, the eyes blank and angry.

Sorry doesn’t cut it.

Something heavy rolls through him and he scrambles back, his breathing ratcheting up like clockwork. The blood on his hands leave marks on the pavement. “Mr- Mr. Stark. Oh man. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry-”

Tony emerges from the suit and it’s him, really him. Just like after the ferry. It’s surprising enough to stop his backward scramble and stare at the worried lines in Tony’s face, in the transparent fear in his eyes. He rushes to close the distance Peter had made between them, squatting down close. “Kid?” he asks, his tone thick with something foreign.

He should be angry. He’s supposed to be angry. Why doesn’t he look angry?

“I’m sorry,” Peter says again, blinking slowly.

“Don’t be sorry,” Tony says. Behind him, a sleek black car pulls up. Happy exits from the driver’s seat and Peter forgets how to breathe again.

Is everyone safe?

No thanks to you.

No thanks to me?

“I messed everything up,” Peter murmurs, backing away further until his back hits something cold and metal. “Oh man. Your- your plane. I’m so sorry.”

Everything blurs again. Distantly he’s aware of Tony approaching him but Peter must make a noise because he stops short.

“You’re hurt,” Tony says, something like pleading in his voice.

“No. I- I’m fine.”

“No, Peter. You’re not.”

I was the only one who believed in you. Everyone else said I was crazy to recruit a fourteen year old kid.

I’m fifteen-

No. This is where you zip it! The adult is talking.

“I said- I said I’m fine.” As if to prove it, Peter struggles to his feet because he doesn’t need their help. Tony walked away. Happy ignored him.

These are the facts.

Standing is harder than he anticipates and he can’t help but cry out against the new pain it brings, swaying when it makes him dizzy. Something warm trickles down from his chest and back. He sees double. “I’m okay,” he pants, “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not fine!” Tony yells.

Peter flinches.

Tony does too.

He wants Ned. He wants May. He wants everything to be okay.

It’s not working out. I’m going to need the suit back.

“I gotta go,” Peter mumbles, but the world is dissolving. He tries to walk away, to show them that he’s as independent as they want him to be. “I gotta go home.”

He doesn’t even make it two steps.

Tony catches him when he falls and Peter doesn’t have the control or strength to push him away.

I just wanted to be like you.

And I wanted you to be better.

“Help me get him to the car.”

And like a mountain of cement crashing down over his head, everything turns dark.

-----

Peter collapsing chalks up to be one of the most terrifying experiences of Tony’s life. It’s worse than when he had fallen off the cyclone just minutes before, worse than finding Peter strung up between a divided ferry.

He catches the kid before his head hits the ground and promises himself that from here on out, it’s a permanent part of his job description.

Together they manage to haul Peter into the back of the car. Tony crawls in beside him and brings Peter’s head onto his lap, pressing shaking hands down against the worst of the bleeding. Happy scrambles to the driver’s seat, tires kicking up smoke as they peel out of the lot.

Peter looks terrible.

He looks dead.

Pale and bloody, his eyelids bruised and tear tracks cutting through the ash and grime on his cheeks. He’s wearing his original suit. Pajamas, as he had first referred to them as. They’re ripped to shreds, charred and stained with crimson.

I’m going to need the suit back.

Tony’s hands are red. He did this.

“Drive faster,” he says.

“I am.”

“Driver faster!”

“Tony-”

“Just do it.”

Peter’s head lolls with the movement of the car. He looks small and weak and fragile. He looks exactly how Tony never wanted to see him.

He should be at homecoming dancing with his friends. Not here, not hurt.

Your fault, his mind screams at him. This is on you.

“How much farther to the Tower?” he asks, throat constricting.

Happy’s sympathetic eyes find him in the rearview mirror. “The Tower’s empty, remember? We’re going to the hospital. Ten minutes tops.”

Christ. Of course it’s empty.

Because he left. He walked away and took Peter’s only protection with him.

Your fault. All your damn fault-

“Make it five.”

Peter moans, scrunches his eyes before opening them. Tony pats his cheek lightly in hopes to rouse him further. “Underoos?” he prompts. “You back with us?”

Cloudy eyes meet his own but don’t connect.

“M’ St’k?”

“Y-yeah kid. You’re going to be okay.”

Peter’s breath hitches, speeding up. “I’m sorry,” he whispers in anguish. “‘M so s’ry.”

“Peter don’t-”

“Wanted to be better,” he slurs. Weak and uncoordinated fingers latch onto Tony’s sleeve, leaving smudges of red. “‘M sorry. Wanted to be better.”

Happy stiffens. Tony forgets how to breathe.

“It hurts Mr. Stark.”

He’s out of his depth, drowning in the deep end.

“Comfort him!” Happy snaps from the driver’s seat.

Tony feels dizzy. He pats Peter’s head once, twice. More blood transfers onto his palm. “It’ll be okay bud. We’re getting you help. It’ll stop hurting soon I promise.”

Peter closes his eyes. “W’nted to be better.”

Happy accelerates.

----

Happy Hogan’s defenses are crumbling.

Cracking, tumbling, like Humpty Dumpty on his goddamn wall.

Because it’s Peter, and it’s the plane, and none of this would’ve happened if he hadn’t been such an idiot.

Everything after pulling up to the hospital is a blur. He remembers parking behind an ambulance, remembers his hands shaking too badly to twist the key out of the ignition. He remembers Peter tucked against Tony’s side in the back seat, dead quiet as Tony hyperventilates.

“He’s- he’s not waking up Hap.”

“He’s going to be fine.”

“He’s- he’s-”

“Breathe Tony.”

And then they’re inside, carrying Peter between them like a ragdoll. He doesn’t make a sound, lax and broken and it’s all his fault.

It doesn’t take long before Peter is scooped up by a team of doctors. The loss of the kid’s weight leaves Happy feeling cold. He stands in the middle of the hall and watches as Tony follows the staff pushing Peter along on a stretcher. Even from his position he can hear Tony talking frantically about NDAs and giving Peter the best treatment they’ve ever given anyone in their entire careers or so help them-

Eventually Tony can’t go any further. He stops at the swing of a double door, his palm resting on the glass as Peter is whisked away.

The hand curls into a fist.

Crimson smears under the movement.

Happy finds the strength to move. One step, two, until he’s at Tony’s side. He’s scared to touch him, to break something else, but finally works up the courage to lay and hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s sit down,” is all he can manage.

Tony doesn’t say anything, looking nearly as pale as the kid had been. He allows Happy to steer him into the waiting room and flips off other visitors as they gasp and stare. They find a quiet corner and sink into separate chairs.

They don’t speak for an hour.

Cho finds them at the tail end of the time. Happy is surprised to see her and figures somewhere in this whole mess Tony reached out to her. Her hair is windblown and her eyes are wide and alert, ready to jump in and intervene.

“Where did they take him?” is all she asks.

Tony moves for the first time, pointing towards the doors of surgery.

As quick as she had appeared, Cho is gone.

“Damn it,” Tony whispers, sinking low into his chair. The blood on his hands is dry now, flaking off his skin when he reaches up to rub tiredly at his face. It’s only now that Happy realizes his own hands have Peter’s blood on them too.

“It’s not your fault,” Happy says. The walls are closing in, the temperature seeming to increase by ten degrees.

“It is my fault. I dragged him to Germany. I gave him a suit, I gave him protection, and then I just yanked it all out from under his feet. I didn’t even have the guts to wait and see if he stuck the landing.”

Happy swallows. “Peter is stubborn. We both know that. You did the right thing-”

Tony shakes his head violently, throwing up a hand to cut him off. “No, no. You don’t understand. That kid is fifteen years old!”

“I know, Tony.”

“He should be at homecoming with his friends right now.”

“I know.”

“He’s bleeding out in a set of glorified pajamas because I was too scared to trust him.”

“We’ve all made mistakes here.”

Tony is quiet, looking at him with red rimmed and bloodshot eyes. “He’s just a kid, Hap. He didn’t even call for help. He doesn’t- he doesn’t trust me anymore. And he still saved all my crap. Do you know how much damage that stuff would have caused in the wrong hands?”

Yes. Stomach sinking, Happy looks to the doors Peter had disappeared through. He wishes for the kid to come cartwheeling out in his usual energy, in one piece and alive. Bragging about churros and bike robberies and Star Wars-

“Happy?”

Tony’s voice is disant.

“Happy.”

“What?” His throat is dry.

“What are you not telling me?”

Pretending not to feel the blood on his hands, Happy shifts uncomfortably in the cheap hospital chair. “I was stressed about the move,” he says slowly, “and you know what the kid’s been like. Calling and texting about every little thing since Germany.”

Tony is silent, the tension between them thick enough to cut.

“His friend called tonight. Before the plane went down. To warn me, I’m sure.”

“And?” Tony prompts, but the tone of his voice tells Happy he already knows the answer.

“I didn’t hear him out. I hung up. It’s my fault Peter had to do this alone.”

Keeping his focus anywhere but Tony is easy but it doesn’t save him from the reaction. He hears a sharp intake of breath, a muted curse. Tony stands, towering above him. He walks away, disappears, and for a moment Happy thinks it’s over. He hangs his head between his knees.

Then Tony’s shoes come into his field of vision. “We all made mistakes here,” he says.

And that’s it.

Tony sits back down and Happy holds his breath until Cho comes back through the doors. She approaches them quickly, her face completely neutral.

She looks at Tony and Tony alone, his face pained enough to know it must be the priority.

“Is he-?”

“He’ll be fine.”

Tony sags against the chair and covers his eyes with his hands, gasping for breath as if emerging from deep water. Cho waits patiently for Tony to collect himself and it gives Happy equal opportunity to blink the relief out of his eyes.

He’ll be fine. He’s okay.

“Thank you,” Tony says, his voice cracking on the end. “Oh God. Thank you.”

Cho’s expression turns into something gentle, her voice even more so. “He’s young,” she says.

“I know.”

“He sustained a lot of injuries. And though he’ll heal fine on the surface,” she pauses, taking a step closer, “just remember that there are wounds that you can’t see.”

Tony straightens, jaw setting.

It feels like a mantle being set.

“I’ll make sure he’s okay,” Tony promises.

“Good.” Cho stands straight and pulls the clipboard that had been hanging at her hip in front of her. “Before I let you see him, there’s something I think we should discuss.”

Happy holds his breath again. It sits heavy in his chest.

“What?”

“Peter received a variance of injuries. Puncture marks, burns, a concussion, a fractured wrist, multiple bruises and lacerations, the list goes on. All seem to coincide with the plane crash and following fight with Adrian Toomes.”

Tony stiffens, his fingernails splitting the wooden armrests of his chair. “And?”

Cho shuffles on her feet. Happy has never seen her nervous, but she looks it now. “There was something else too,” she says. “Deep bruising around his torso with several of his ribs fractured or broken. I believe something else happened to Peter, perhaps before he got on the plane.”

Happy clears his throat, finally finding the energy to enter the conversation. Tony is sheet white, eyes blank and unblinking. “What’s your best guess?”

Sympathetic, Cho dips her head. “In my best opinion, I would say he was crushed under something with a substantial amount of weight, probably for an extended period of time. There was concrete dust all over his clothes.”

Tony sucks in a shallow breath and doesn’t release it.

“But of course it’s all hypothetical. We won’t know anything for certain until he wakes up.”

“Which will be when?” Happy asks.

“With his metabolism I can’t be sure. Most likely within a couple hours.”

“Can I see him?” Tony asks, voice small.

“Of course. Follow me.”

Tony stands and doesn’t ask for Happy to follow.

He figures he deserves it.

So he sits alone, staring at the ceiling and wishing with every inch of his soul that he hadn’t hung up his phone.

----

Tony sits in the small hospital room.

It feels like failure.

It feels like relief.

Peter is small against the sheets and blankets, the tubes and wires. He’s pale and marred with dark bruising but at least he’s not covered in blood anymore.

He never wants to see Peter covered in blood again.

The kid doesn’t stir and Tony almost wishes that he’ll stay that way, that he won’t have to face reality and fess up to his sins; that Peter will remain safe and whole and better off without him interfering.

After a long hour of collecting himself, he calls May and asks if he can take Peter to an impromptu conference for the weekend. She sounds uncertain but ultimately caves, telling Tony to have Peter call her when they get here.

He thanks her and tries above everything else to keep his voice steady.

Hangs up and stares at the phone in his hand.

Hears the machines breathing air into Peter’s nose.

Hears other machines tracking his heart, reassuring it’s still beating.

He lays his head onto the bed and cries bitterly.

It’s quiet. His chest constricts.

Your fault.

He isn’t sure when he stops. He’s exhausted.

The heart monitor changes. The blankets shift.

“M’ St’k?”

The voice alleviates some of the pain in his chest. Slowly Tony raises his head, feeling slightly embarrassed the kid has found him hanging over him like some mother hen. He covers it with a smile and hopes it conveys a confidence he doesn’t feel. “Hi kid. How’re you feeling?”

Peter’s breath hitches. He looks up at the ceiling with glassy eyes, bottom lip trembling. “The roof,” he slurs, “‘s it gonna fall?”

Confused, Tony looks up. “What?”

Becoming more agitated, Peter grabs Tony’s wrist. The contact burns, makes acid rise up through his stomach. “Gonna fall. We gotta- gotta leave.”

Tony shakes his head but feels otherwise frozen. His mind is working double time trying to process that Peter’s hand is latching onto him, looking at him in a way that signals the difference between life and death. “The roof’s not going to fall,” he says. “You’re okay. Everything’s okay now.”

Unconvinced, Peter lays his head back and squeezes his eyes closed, his grip on Tony unfailing. “No. Falling. Hur’s.”

“I’m so sorry kid.”

“Plane fell too. Plane. Fire.”

“Peter-”

The kid’s eyes grow wide, impossibly so. There’s no coherence behind them, only drugs and pain and fear. “Mr. Stark. My- my parents died in a plane crash.”

Tony feels his eyes sting, his throat tighten.

“Thought I was goin’ die. See them.”

Words are impossible.

“Hurts.”

And then Peter relaxes, closes his eyes, goes limp against the covers with a low whine. His hand is still curled tight around Tony’s wrist. He stares and stares and stares.

Then he pulls it away, stumbles to the trash can in the corner of the room, and throws up.

-----

The next time Peter wakes up he’s more lucid, but barely.

“May?” he breathes, his face pinched in pain.

“I handled it,” Tony says.

“The plane?”

“Everything accounted for and safe. All thanks to you.”

Deep breaths. “Happy?”

A sharp pain. “He’s okay, Peter.”

A tear. “Liz?”

“Who’s Liz?”

But Peter doesn’t answer, his eyes closing against another dose of drugs.

The pain leaves his face in an instant.

----

Thirteen hours later and Peter is eating jello, eyes drooping and paler than Count Dracula. Tony sits in the corner, quiet and unsure, unable to stop watching his every move. He catches the kid throwing him hesitant looks and tries not to think of the implications behind it.

“You can go,” Peter says after his jello is gone, setting the empty container aside. “I know- I know you're busy.”

Every inch of Tony’s body goes cold. “I’m staying right here until you're better.”

“I feel better.”

“I’ll let Cho be the judge of that.”

Peter sighs and sticks out his bottom lip. “Fine.”

None of this would have happened if you had just listened to me!

“You should get some more rest.”

“Alright Mr. Stark.”

Something in the kid’s eyes is dark and sad.

And Tony isn’t brave enough to address it.

-----

Tony doesn’t sleep.

Peter does. A lot, though largely in part to the drugs still being pumped through him. It should be a peaceful sleep. God knows he deserves it.

But he twitches and flinches.

Whimpers.

Cries and wakes up gasping.

Tony sits by Peter’s side like a guard dog and talks to him after each episode until he falls back into a restless sleep. He looks at Peter’s bruised hand and is tempted to hold it like his own father never had, to assure in extra measure that everything is going to be okay.

But he doesn’t, wishing instead he were strong enough.

Peter doesn’t reach out for him either.

“It’s okay,” he says, feeling powerless and unsure if Peter can hear him half the time through a panic undesigned for fifteen year old kids. “I’m here. You’re okay.”

It helps a little. Peter apologizes over and over, and Tony tells him not to.

“I wanted to be better,” is the core of Peter’s delirium.

It feels like a knife to the gut.

-----

Sleep is difficult, a plague of concrete dust and sand.

Of not being able to breathe.

Of hitting the ground so hard he thinks for sure all his teeth rattle out of his skull.

He dreams about Mr. Stark standing in front of him, telling him he doesn’t deserve the suit. Of walking home in Hello Kitty pajamas.

He dreams of Toomes pulling a gun on him in his car.

Of the ringing in his ears after the plane had hit the ground.

Darkness. Dust.

It’s not working out. I’m going to need the suit back.

An impossible weight landing on him, grinding him to dust.

Help! Please! I’m down here. I can’t move!

I’ll kill you and everyone you love. I’ll kill you dead.

He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe-

“Peter!”

The darkness changes, shifting to a light glow. It’s an unfamiliar room with unfamiliar sounds and smells. A heartbeat, loud and erratic.

“Peter it’s okay. Wake up. You’re safe.”

“Wha-”

He gasps for air, certain there’s none despite the pressure of an oxygen tube against his nose. He claws at his chest and feels the distant sting of cuts.

“Peter you gotta breathe.”

It’s Tony. His face swims in front of Peter, looking just as panicked as Peter feels. Why is Tony here? Where is here-

“Breathe, bud. Listen to me, okay? Use those freaky spider powers to listen to me breathe.”

“Mr. Stark-”

“It’s okay. You can do it.” Peter flinches when Tony grabs his hand. He brings it flush against his chest, rising and falling in exaggeration. “Follow this, okay? You can do it kid.”

He tries.

After a while, he succeeds.

Air has never felt so good.

Peter falls back against his pillows but Tony doesn’t let go. He feels exhausted, chest and ribs burning, his mind foggy. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles through numb lips. “What- what happened?”

Tony’s grip tightens. “You were panicking.”

“Oh.” Something in Tony’s expression tells him that it might not have been the first time.

“How are you feeling now?”

Peter shrugs, eyes fluttering but remaining open. Everything comes rushing back to him now. Toomes, falling off the cyclone, being brought here. Tony, for some reason, refusing to leave his side and bringing him jello. “Mm. Tired. Sore.”

“Do you- do you want to talk about it?”

No.

He shrugs.

Tony is quiet for a long time. “I’m really sorry Peter,” he says. His voice is different, heavy in a way Peter has never heard before. “I should’ve never let this happen.”

The pain returns to his chest and Peter smiles in an attempt to dispel it. He tries for humour, a language they both share. “I’m the one that screwed the pooch, remember?”

Tony stills.

“Peter look at me.”

He does.

“You definitely did screw the pooch,” he agrees, “at the ferry. But nothing after, you hear? That was- that was all on me. I screwed the pooch too.”

Peter furrows his brows, shimmying up his stance against the pillows. It hurts, but this is more important. “What? You did nothing wrong.”

“I took away the thing I specifically designed to keep you safe. We didn’t listen to you. We let you go through that alone. You should’ve been at homecoming, Pete. You shouldn’t have had to go through what you did.”

“Toomes was my date’s dad,” Peter admits, then laughs hysterically. It really is funny. “He pulled a gun on me in the car and then-” his mouth goes sour.

Tony’s eyebrows raise. He isn’t smiling. “A gun? Peter- God. Then what?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

Peter sighs. Closes his eyes. Wishes none of this ever happened.

“He kind of dropped a warehouse on me. But it really wasn’t a big deal, I promise! I got out before he got to the plane and everything was fine-”

“Fine?” Tony chokes. “Peter Parker that is so astronomically far from fine!”

To his left, Peter hears his heart monitor double. Tony must notice it too because he visibly relaxes, though a vein pulses at his temple.

“It was scary,” Peter admits, “I- I couldn’t move at first, or breathe. I thought I was going to die.” He pauses, eyes widening, because it’s true. He shakes his head to make the faint ringing in his ears leave. “It’s okay. I got through it.”

Tony’s heart is beating rapidly. Peter can hear it. He doesn’t have the strength to look at the expression on his mentor’s face. “Is that what you dreamt about earlier?” he asks quietly.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

Peter lets his shoulders fall. He picks at a string on his comforter. “Yeah,” he says softly, “it was part of it.”

Tony curses, shifts away. It feels like a gaping distance that Peter doesn’t know how to bridge. “I never should’ve taken the suit away. Your AI would have alerted me. I could have helped.”

If you’re nothing without the suit, you shouldn’t have it.

“I get why you did. I was being irresponsible. All those people on the ferry could’ve died. I get it Mr. Stark, really.”

Tony is quiet. “If we hadn’t found you at the beach-”

“You did though,” Peter assures, even though his voice cracks. “Everything’s okay.”

But it’s not. It’s really, really not.

Tony collapses. Peter thinks he isn’t going to say anything more on the matter. Then, “I’m sorry.”

Tears well up in Peter’s eyes. “I’m sorry too.”

And then Peter is sobbing. He can’t help it. Everything since the ferry crashes over him, drowning him. He tightens his hand over his mouth and tries to hold in the noise, turns away from Tony who is sitting shell-shocked in his chair.

“I’m sorry,” Peter gasps between sobs, “I’m sorry-”

And then Tony is hugging him.

That’s not a hug. I’m just grabbing the door for you. We’re not there yet.

And it makes him cry harder.

“You’re okay,” Tony says into his hair. Confident this time. Sure. “Breathe, Pete. Things will get better. I promise you.”

“It was all so scary,” Peter whispers. For the first time it doesn’t feel like weakness. “The- the warehouse. The plane. I thought- I thought it was going to hit the city. And- and Toomes. He said he was- he said he was going to kill everyone I loved and it was- it was so scary Mr. Stark.”

“You’re allowed to be scared. Hell, I was scared too.”

Peter regains control over his breathing and manages to hug Tony back. They stay like that for a while before separating.

Peter pretends not to notice the shine in Tony’s eyes, too.

“I didn’t know Iron Man was scared of anything,” he says, only partly serious.

“Well there’s not much,” Tony agrees.

And then he laughs.

And Peter laughs too. It’s stilted and disbelieving and relieved.

“No more sorrys,” Peter begs between breaths. “Okay? We’re even.”

“Deal.”

They sit in a short silence. Warmth enters the room.

“You deserve the suit,” Tony says. “I mean it kid. You did good. You did the right thing. You deserve it.”

“Mr. Stark-”

“Nope. Don’t want to hear it. My decision is final. If you proved anything tonight it’s that you’re meant to be Spider-Man. It’s who you are, kid. I’m not going to stop you from that.”

The warmth from the room moves into Peter’s chest. He stays perfectly still to prevent disturbing it. “Thanks,” he whispers, because it’s all he can manage.

“Help me upgrade it,” Tony says. It’s an invitation, but it sounds more like a plea. “Come over to the compound on the weekends. I’ll show you the mechanics of it. We can work on it together.”

“What? Are- are you sure?”

“More than anything.”

Peter smiles as the aches and pains in his body seem to disappear. “I’d really like that,” he says.

If you cared you’d actually be here.

And he is, Peter realizes. Maybe he had been all along.

He’s here. And for now, it’s enough.

-----

A month passes.

It’s one of the best in Tony’s life.

Peter heals and springs back like an elastic band. He smiles and talks enthusiastically about Star Wars and May and acing algebra tests.

His scars fade. He talks to Tony on the bad days when it hurts to breathe.

He gets help.

They’re together now, squished side by side to peer into a magnifying glass. Peter’s leg is bouncing, lips pressed into a determined line as he tinkers with the mask under the table. “Like this?” he asks.

Tony nods, though he doesn’t look. He already knows the kid is doing it perfectly. “Just like that.”

It hits him then, how much the kid means to him.

Though really he knew from the very first day. From the first second.

“Kid?”

Peter looks up, his concentration slipping into an easy smile. “Yeah?”

It looks like trust, like family.

“I’m just proud is all,” Tony says quickly. It’s important. “I wanted you to know that.”

“Oh,” Peter says, pink coloring his cheeks. “Thanks Mr. Stark.”

“It’s Tony, kid.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Stark.”

God. This child will be the death of me. He rolls his eyes and ruffles Peter’s hair, an odd display of affection he never would have thought himself capable of. “Fine, have it your way Mr. Parker. Now get back to work already.”

“Yes sir.” His smile is wider than Tony’s ever seen it.

The kid.

Peter.

He could live a lifetime of this, he thinks in content.

And maybe, just maybe, he will.

47 notes · View notes

certifiedskywalker · 4 years

Text

Love to Last - Ben Hargreeves

AN: Yes, I know the title is cheesy! Just go with it! This is based off of a request from maddiepratt and the idea stuck!

You had been close with the Hargreeves siblings for years; despite the wishes and will of Reginald. Without care, you would sneak them out of their training routines for donuts and intertwine the thread of your life with theirs. Though, it was Ben was the one that permanently tied your fate to the Hargreeves. He fell in love with you and you with him. So when he died, you mourned with his siblings, Klaus especially. You followed him, them, as they were your last connection with Ben. Or so you thought.

“Well, that went better than expected.”

“Did it?”

“We’re alive aren’t we?”

“Is that better?”

“Y/N,” Klaus turned and you felt his hand grip yours. “Hey, it will be-”

“He’s still….he’s really gone?” Klaus squeezed his hand and you found the courage to meet his sad eyes. His green eyes studied you with worry and you felt your gut twist with guilt. “Sorry, I just...was hoping for a different answer.”

Klaus frowned and nudged your shoulder with his. “What song said that if you do things over and expect a different outcome you’re insane? There’s some wisdom in that.”

“I think that was Albert Einstein and that’s not exactly what he said.” Klaus shrugged and gave your hand another tight squeeze.

“Potato, potato! You’ll drive yourself crazy if you keep asking and, Ben, he wouldn’t want that for you. That a selfless bastard.”

“Y-Yeah,” you whispered as you turned your eyes back out to the snow-laden field. You tried to remember the last time you enjoyed the snow. It had to be years back, when you were young and still helping the more rebellious Numbers of the Umbrella Academy sneak out of their prison-like rooms. Distant, hazy memories of snow ball fights and hot chocolate and Ben.

If you closed his eyes you could still see his smile. You could feel his gloved hands clasping yours with warmth and care. Ben was always careful with you. It was almost as if he were scared of breaking or scaring you. He told you once that he would live up to his moniker ‘The Horror’ in the worst ways. Perhaps that was why he was so kind or maybe it was simply the way he was, goodness etched into his bones.

Whatever the case, you fell for him. There were times that you felt as if the drop would never end. Until, one day, Ben caught you and kissed you like nobody was watching. How sweet it all had been, untainted even by Reginald’s cruelty. Ben made sure his father’s vileness never once chilled the warmth of your shared love. Together, you built and lived in a perfect little world full of hopeful kisses.

Then Ben died. The Umbrella Academy crumbled, the numbers splitting apart and into their own lives. You stuck with Klaus for selfish and unselfish reasons. Like Ben, you worried about Klaus and his less-than-savory habits. At points after Ben’s death, you even lived with the strange man. You were there for him and he was there for you.

There was the added bonus of Klaus’ power. When he was sober enough, he could act as a sort of middle man for you and Ben. It wasn’t the same as before, but it comforted you in knowing that Ben was still around. At your loneliest, you imagined that you could feel the bed dip as Ben laid by your side, unseen by you but there nonetheless.

But now that comfort was gone. Ben had saved you and his siblings, the world, but he was gone. He was truly, really gone.

“You did it though,” Klaus’ voice cut through your thoughts and memories. You turned your gaze away from the snow to look at him. His green eyes were pensive, distant as he looked out at the horizon.

“Did what?”

“You and Ben were the exception to the Hargreeves love rule. You guys, you were strong and if it wasn’t for…you would’ve lasted....”

Klaus trailed off and shook his head. Tears welled up in your eyes when you noticed the frown on his face. You leaned your heavy head on his shoulder and took a shaking breath. When you closed your eyes, you could feel the wet tears fall and run down your cheeks.

“I miss him,” you whimpered. “I don’t know how to do this without him.”

“I know, I know.” Klaus’ voice trembled as he spoke. “We can do it together. We’ve made it this far, the time-traveling, the conspiracy hunting, the…”

You opened your eyes as he struggled to find the words. In the hopes of feeling better you added, “the cult creating?”

Klaus let out a small, breathy laugh, “yes. And the cult creating. He did help with that though. To give him credit.”

“I don’t think he would want credit for that.”

“You’re right, but he helped anyway,” Klaus leaned away from you to look into your eyes. Like yours, his were rimmed red with tears but there was a smile on his face. “You did too, Y/N. I can never thank you enough for being there with me.”

You felt another tear slip down your cheek before throwing your arms over Klaus’ shoulders. “You don’t need to thank me. When I gave Ben my heart, he gave me a family.”

As the sentiment fell from your lips, any tension Klaus was holding fall away. His arms tightened around you, holding you impossibly close. Klaus’ hugs were lingering, almost desperate, but in them there was the same softness Ben held for you. When you pulled away, wiping at your eyes, you heard someone shout in the distance.

You and Klaus looked over to see Five, briefcase in hand, waving the two of you over. With a sigh, Klaus got to his feet and stretched. You spared one last lingering glance at the already melting snow and stood as well. Before you could speak up, Klaus extended a hand to you with a gentle smile.

“You ready to go home?”

You thought of Ben, his old room at the Umbrella Academy. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Oh sweet precious, twenty-nineteen! I will not take you for granted,” Klaus announced, arms stretched up the foyer ceiling in relief. You and the Hargreeves siblings were back, finally, in your time. It had been so long yet the Academy looked as if no time had passed. Any evidence of the first apocalypse that drew you into the mess was gone.

“Careful,” Five warned, “we don’t know if the world is exactly the same as we left it. I landed us hours before Vanya blew up the moon.”

“Either way, we deserve a drink,” Diego quipped, following Klaus into the living quarters. The thought of the bar was appealing and so was the idea of lying down on the couch. Eager to rest, you followed the siblings further inside.

The scents of old books and flame reached your nose, thrusting you back into sweeter memories. Nights, evenings that felt so long ago now, spent wrapped up with Ben while he read to you. Longing overwhelmed you as you stepped past the shelves of tomes. For a moment, you were so awash in fondness that you nearly ran into Diego’s sturdy frame.

“Hey,” you said, nudging his shoulder. When he didn’t budge, you looked up to his face. His attention was turned towards the fireplace, mouth open as he took in the scene. As you turned to look as well, you felt Klaus grab your hand.

“Ben?” Your eyes studied the painting hanging against the wall. The man in the portrait looked different, with longer hair and colder eyes; but there was no mistaking it. Captured on canvas and in oil paint was Ben.

“Five, what hap-”

“And who are you?”

Laced with a cruel chill, the voice was immediately recognizable. You and the Hargreeves siblings turned your eyes to the bar to find Reginald looking at you all, wide eyed.

“Dad?” As Allison asked, you felt Klaus’ grip on your hand tighten.

“Dad? No. Who are you?” Reginald leaned towards you all and, under his frigid gaze, you felt your chest tighten. Even in this seemingly parallel world, Reginald Hargreeves was still the sort of man that Ben would protect you from.

“Your kids,” Luther chimed in, “and Y/N. We’re the Umbrella Academy. We’re home.”

“No, you’re at the Sparrow Academy.” With a flourish, Reginald lifted a bony hand up to the second level of the living quarters. You followed the movement and found a group of shadowy figures looming like ghosts shrouded in the darkness. One stepped forward with a confidence you once saw in Luther; Reginald had a new Number One.

However, when the figure’s face was hit with light coming in from a window, you lost all sense of coherent thought. Those features, those eyes once kind.

“Ben?”

You heart ached at the sight of him. His hair was daringly close to covering his dark eyes but it wasn’t enough to obscure him. That was Ben, just not your Ben. Klaus gripped your hand a bit tighter and you met his wild gaze. This wasn’t what Klaus meant when he said that you and Ben would last.

But what if it was a second chance?

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hellisheuphoria · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2: Silence

The MC has a rough day, and finds comfort in a certain individual.

[Nothing much to say here, except thank you for reading, and don’t hesitate writing any constructive criticism to me or pointing out mistakes, ily all <3]

Morning arrives, and your eyes still barely open from the exhaustion of last night. You wished you had never woken up, far too tired for the day ahead.

You can tell it is early in the morning- just before 6 am. There is no sun in the Devildom, and so you have had to adjust your internal clock to the eternal darkness of this world.

No light creeps into your room to remind you that there is a new start to another day. That the past belongs in the past- yet your mind just can not correspond with that. It feels like everyday is the same.

It is eternal and infinite, yet you are mortal and weak. Despite possessing pacts with the most strongest rulers of the Devildom, you wield no strength. You possess no magical power. You’re useless.

If a demon wished to devour you right this very second, you would be gone. There is no power within you to perform any spells, and so you are defenceless.

Already in a depressive state, you will your weary bones to move. In order to avoid your housemates, you would need an extremely early start to the day. Meaning, now.

You freshen up in the bathroom, noticing your horrible features on your face. Your skin is pale and hollow, dark circles have comfortably edged themselves under your eyes, your eyes are hollow and lifeless and your hair thin and dead. You look like a zombie.

Your RAD uniform is crumpled and messy from having thrown it on the floor the day before, not giving a single care for it in the world.

You quietly walk to the kitchen, with your school necessities and belongings in your bag that has been slumped over your shoulder. You grab a small carton of yoghurt to eat and walked to the door, making sure to be quiet so as to not wake any of them up or alert them.

There are barely any students by the time you get to school, but they are almost always the nicer demons, the over achievers of the school. As they say, the early bird catches the worm.

You walked to the courtyard, where many beautiful plants and wildflowers resided, making it a truly wonderful and bright place in RAD. You sat down on one of the benches and took out your yoghurt, peeling the plastic off.

Someone tapped your shoulder from next to you. The white hair gave it away immediately; Solomon.

”Hello, MC. You’re quite early, today.” He greeted you with a lovely smile, but you could tell something was going on if you looked deeper into his eyes. He held onto a secret of some sorts.

”Hey.” You responded, nervous and flustered at the same time. You two didn’t talk often, despite being the only two human exchange students in the Devildom. He was very handsome and you would find yourself staring at him during class, enraptured.

He was also a very powerful sorcerer, having made pacts with more than 72 demons- Asmodeus included.

But he was nice, and hadn’t hurt you at all. Well, yet. You hoped he wouldn’t, you actually liked him.

”You look tired today. Had a rough night?” He observed you closely, his eyes still looking around your face as you slowly went red.

”I-uh, you could say that. I woke up sort of early and couldn’t sleep.” It wasn’t a total lie, but it wasn’t the entire truth either.

”Huh, alright.” He was still smiling at you, his lips perfectly complimenting his beautifully sinister face.

Your cheeks reddened and you turned away, choking the rest of the yoghurt down. You were feeling way too nervous for your liking- you felt as though you were supposed to act a certain way around him.

You breathed in slowly. “Uh, I need to get to class now.” You adjusted your bag on your shoulders and stood up to walk away, when he called out behind you.

”Have a nice day, MC.” You didn’t look back, but responded. “You too.”

For the rest of the day, you spent your time avoiding everyone, especially Mammon. You knew he would be extremely pissed at you, but you didn’t care. Today was not a good day.

As cute and clingy as he was, you just needed to get away from everyone- you really did. You could understand why Lucifer was frustrated at them half the time- they can be quite a handful.

As the day ended, you were in your last class, the Devildom history. You only had Satan, Asmo and Solomon with you in this class. They sat away from you, but you could hear Asmo’s whispering from miles away. He was being seriously loud.

“You know what happened today? I tried talking to MC, and they literally ghosted me! I think there’s something up!”

Satan agreed with him, “You’re right. Mammon wouldn’t stop complaining today about how he couldn’t find MC.”

Solomon didn’t talk, but you could feel his stare from your spot in the class. You could almost hear his thoughts from how hard he was staring at you.

When the class ended, you packed up as fast as you could and almost ran from how fast you were, you didn’t want to talk to anyone at all.

You could hear Asmo and Satan yelling behind you, but you ignored them and ran away. You didn’t want to answer any of their questions, you don’t want to talk to them.

Your outburst yesterday with Belphegor made you wary of everyone else. You were worried if he had told them what happened, and then they would want to talk to you about it.

You didn’t want to talk about your feelings, you would break if you did. It scared you witless, it terrified you. You didn’t wanna ruin their relationship with Belphegor or you. You didn’t want to be selfish and hurt them with your stupid fear.

The minute you ran into the house, you could tell it was empty. There were no shoes lying around, and nobody was arguing. Perfect, you were by yourself, and there would be no one to bother you.

You kicked off your shoes and got to your room. You locked your door, put away your bag and slithered onto your bed, not having taken off your uniform. God, you were tired.

You wrapped the blankets around you and eased into the mattress. This way, you would feel better. You wouldn’t feel as bad as you usually did, you would feel great when asleep, you were able to finally escape from your wretched world. The world soon became indecipherable, indifferent.

You zoned out and fell asleep.

You woke up to the sound of chattering, laughter and arguing close by. The light creeped in from under your door and ended right at your face. Your room was extremely dark, a change from when you first got home.

You were still groggy and tired, but if you slept any longer then you wouldn’t be able to sleep for the rest of the night.

You were feeling pretty lonely, but to be honest? It may just be better this way. You wouldn’t feel hurt when the program ended and you had to go home, and you wouldn’t ruin a relationship that could last for thousand of more years.

You didn’t leave your room, but you kept your door locked and turned on the light. You decided you would pass the time playing Mononoke Land, a game that Levi introduced to you a while back.

It was quite interesting, and the time passed by quickly, but only by an hour. It was about 6 pm, so you still had a lot of time before you would need to sleep.

You felt jealous of everyone sitting in the living room, enjoying their evening. Asmo was probably painting his nails, Satan could be trying to read a book despite Mammon’s blabbering.

You snickered a bit at the thought of Mammon being yelled at by Satan while Beel ate in the background, and Belphegor-

Oh. Belphegor would be napping, like always. You were jealous of that, as scared you were of him. You wanted the ability to sleep at any time you wanted to, despite the setting or time. It would be really convenient for right about now.

You could feel yourself getting sadder by the moment, but you didn’t know how to deal with it. You were lonely and scared, but you didn’t know where to turn to.

A ping from your DDD shook you from your thoughts.

Solomon- Hello, MC, do you have a minute?

MC- Uh, yeah. Why?

Solomon- You left something behind at school and I forgot about it until now. I have your notebook with me, you forgot it at history.

MC - OH, shoot. Should I wait for you tomorrow or come now? It’s only 6 pm.

Solomon - The Devildom can be quite deceiving when it comes to the seasons, but it’s winter right now, and it’s dark. Don’t worry, I’ll be at the house of Lamentation soon. I wouldn’t want you to have your soul eaten.

You felt your cheeks turn red, he didn’t want you to get hurt.

MC - Thank you, Solomon, I’ll be waiting. Text me first, don’t ring the doorbell.

Solomon - Got it.

You shut off your phone and stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds, wondering about Solomon. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all, not that you thought he was. After all, he cared for you enough to not risk you getting hurt. How sweet of him.

You messed around on your phone for a bit while waiting for Solomon. You hanged around in your room idly, doing nothing in particular. You then got a notification from your phone. As it turned out, that new feature where you can look at other group chats that you’re not in got activated again.

In the group chat, there was a picture of Mammon on the front page news of Majolish, a fashion magazine. He was modelling again.

Asmo rambled on about him, surprised that his ‘scummy’ older brother got into the first page of Majolish. Honestly, snooping on them was kind of fun. You’ve probably got more than dozens of blackmail from this feature.

Solomon- MC, I’m here.

MC - I’ll be out soon.

You wrapped yourself in a jacket, still in your uniform. You would have to wash that soon, you probably sweat a lot in it.

You tried your best to avoid everyone, making yourself as quiet as a mouse, you hoped. The floors creaked slightly, but they were all probably too preoccupied to notice.

You got to the front door and silently opened it, seeing Solomon outside. He was wearing his casual clothes, but still had that same look on his face. Handsome, too.

”Hello, MC.” He took your notebook out of his pocket and held it in front of you, with his arm stretched. You reached out to grab it, but he snatched it away and looked at you smugly.

”Let’s have a little chat, first. You owe me, don’t you?”

You dumbly stood there, gaping at him. Of course- this was Solomon we were falling about. He’s as sketchy as it could get.

”Oh- fine!” You said, trying your best not to sound pissed.

You put on your school shoes and walked out the door, making sure to close it quietly. Solomon walked with you, not saying a word but you could guess your notebook was still in his pocket.

You sighed, “Look, Solomon, if you’re not going to give it back to me, then can I just go back home? I’m tired.”

He looked at you with a side glance. “I could tell. You’re still in your uniform.” Pausing for a second, he continued. “Why were you acting weird today? I wouldn’t have expected our dear MC to run off like that. So I assumed that something must be up.”

You looked at the ground, clenching your hands in your pockets and keeping your eyes off him. “What’s it to you?”

He stopped walking, and so did you. He chucked, “As a fellow human exchange student, I only want the best for you.” He took your notebook out of his pocket, placing it in your hands. “If you ever find yourself in need, I will be there, no matter the scenario.”

He pat your head, then walked off, calling behind him. “Good evening, MC.”

You stared at his back, confused. He has never been this close to you, why now? You glanced down at your notebook, where he seemed to have placed a little ripped note on it.

Tear-rible mistake on your behalf, leaving your notes behind.

-Solomon :)

It was a horrible pun, really, but that didn’t stop you from laughing out loud in the middle of the street, facepalming yourself. You turned and walked back to the House of Lamentation, trying to contain yourself.

Seeing the house in your view calmed you down a little, and you knew you had to be quiet to avoid Lucifer’s wrath. He could have probably heard you laughing from miles away if he tried hard enough.

You walked up the door and slowly opened it, wincing a little when your shoes scraped the carpet, leaving a little scuff mark. But he was an extreme perfectionist. He would notice that right away.

Panicking, you half ran to your room and locked it, sliding down the door in disbelief and relief. You really needed to find a better way to sneak out.

Your phone buzzed at the same time you thought it, almost as if in agreement.

452 notes · View notes

padfootagain · 3 years

Text

The King And You (XII)

Part 12 : Heaven Sometimes

Hi everyone! I'm back with a new chapter for this fic of mine! I know it's been forever since I updated it (and any fic for that matter) but my mental health is not great rn, so I'm struggling a little to write. Now, that being said, here is a new chapter and I hope you will enjoy it :)

Only fluff for this one! Tooth-rooting fluff all over the place! Enjoy ;)

Pairing: Caspian x Reader

Word Count: 2534

The light was perfect. One of the reasons why you loved your flat was the view from your window, down onto the busy streets and, in the distance, the skyscrapers tickling the sky. And this afternoon more than ever before the light that came in from your window was perfect. Yellowish and yet bright. Charged in dust just enough to create rays falling onto glistening rooftops. The sky still blue was starting to turn orange around the edges, a line along the horizon that became golden.

You let out a satisfied sigh as you mixed the pigments and the oil with a brush, studying the painting you had started a couple of hours before. You still had some work to do, but the shapes were beginning to change into what you wanted to represent, the buildings now for the most part recognizable by anyone who would look by your window.

A record was playing in your living room, an old hippie music filled with soft guitar ballads that breathed of sunshine and spoke of love. Soft, calm, sunny. The music felt like the light bathing the city that afternoon. And from time to time, the soft rhythms were disturbed by shuffling sounds coming from the couch behind you.

Caspian was sitting on your sofa, he was reading one of your books he had picked up from your shelf. But he didn't seem very interested in the story, as he spent most of his afternoon watching you.

The way you moved your pencil across the canvas, and the little frown that settled upon your brow as you focused on your task, the hues staining your fingers and your old t-shirt as you made a mess, the way the light danced across your features and changed the colour of your eyes as time ran by… Yes, his view from the sofa was much more interesting to him than the piece of fiction he had selected from your collection. A dreamy smile brightened his features as he studied you, as if he were in a museum admiring an ancient statue. Not only through your beauty was he reminded of the feeling, but by the peaceful feeling that settled across his chest too. This soft and quiet peace of mind and heart that creeps through anyone who looks at a piece of art and can't look away, wondering whose hands had carved the stone to create them, or bathed the brushes in the right hues. There is a ceremonial, almost holy feeling that hovers over art pieces of that kind, a sort of respect that both draws you in and pushes you away from their world. Caspian felt exactly this way as he stared at you, like he had found the piece that moved him to his bones and yet that was unreachable, a kind of beauty he longed for and echoed through his soul, and yet he would never deserve.

You knew he was staring at you, and had it been anyone else, you would have felt extremely uncomfortable if subjected to such scrutiny, but coming from Caspian, it merely brought warmth to your cheeks.

None of you were talking, hadn't uttered a word since lunch over four hours ago, but none of you were bothered by the silence that filled the room. It was a soft kind of silence, the comfortable one that could only appear in a room filled with people in love. Affection sometimes makes even nothingness beautiful.

A few days had passed since your confession in the park, and a few more remained before you would both travel to London, but the journey ahead of you was for now out of your thoughts. For now, all that mattered to both of you was to spend as much time as you could together. To the excitement and happiness that came along a new relationship slowly coming into blossom was added the knowledge that, no matter how happy the two of you were and how right being together felt, Caspian would soon be gone. Your days together being counted, you didn't want to waste away the time you had left together by worrying. Instead, you chose to live your love for him day by day, you would take whatever the wind would blow your way in the end. For now though, you painted the street you had drawn a thousand times before with a new softness showing in every shade you chose and every stroke of the brush that you applied. Love has a way of making art better, after all.

Caspian seemed to have chosen the same path as you, and had not mentioned again the trip to London, nor what would happen there. You were both locked in a bubble that you knew would explode soon, but protected you for now.

Eventually though, Caspian stood up and walked over to your spot in the room, wrapping his arms around your frame to press your back to his chest. He kissed gently the top of your head, before resting his cheek right above your ear. His gesture made you chuckle, a grin appearing across your lips.

"Do you need something? Or are you just being clingy?" you asked with a playful giggle.

"I guess I am clingy," Caspian admitted with a chuckle of his own that made his chest vibrate against you.

"You're a hopeless romantic, that's not surprising," you teased.

"Maybe I am. Or maybe you are turning me into one. Although, I should point out that so far, you have not protested against this part of me in the slightest, and have rather encouraged it, in fact."

"What are you insinuating? That I'm as sappy as you?"

"I'm afraid so, my love."

You hummed contently, forgetting about the subject of the conversation completely as you settled more comfortably into his embrace.

"I like it when you call me like that."

"My love?"

"Hmmm… yeah, I love it."

Caspian chuckled, kissing your temple.

"Who is being a hopeless romantic now, huh?"

"Oh, shut up!"

Caspian tried to fake outrage, but could only smile instead.

You checked your watch, for the first time in this afternoon, realizing at last that time had been flying by faster than you had realized. You heaved a sigh, but put down your brush.

"I'm gonna prepare dinner, what would you like?" you asked Caspian, who tightened his hold on you as a response.

"Wait for a little longer."

"Aren't you hungry? It's quite late."

"Yes, I am. But… If you move away, it will mean that the afternoon is over and… this moment is too nice to end just yet."

You rested your hand on his over your shoulder, intertwining your fingers with his and drawing silly patterns of stars and circles over his knuckles with your thumb.

"You're right. Five more minutes, then."

You closed your eyes, and were quite certain that you had fallen asleep when Caspian moved away from you, although not without placing one last chaste and tender kiss on the side of your head. He walked over to your shelves filled with books, and seemed to be bruising across your collection. You guessed that the one he had picked earlier really wasn't to his taste, and the thought made you chuckle as you shook tenderly your head at him. You left him to his search for a better story to get lost into in favour of preparing a meal, your stomach now painful with hunger. You were almost done when Caspian came to join you in the kitchen, helping you to set up the table.

"Did you find an interesting book?" you asked as you brought the pasta dish you had prepared to your tiny table.

A mischievous and yet saddened smile appeared on Caspian's lips.

"You can say that," he elusively answered.

He was standing by the table, and by now you were used to having him not sit down before you. Some kind of extra-politeness, you guessed. He pulled the chair for you when you walked to your side of the table, and you thanked him with an amused smile while he was sitting down himself.

"Why so mysterious?" you insisted. "What book did you get?"

"Oh… huh… something about… robots? It's some kind of… machine, that… lives? Very strange but… interesting."

You shook your head at him, surprised that he would be curious about something so different from the world he knew. But then, he kept on surprising you a little more every day.

Caspian glanced at the clock up on your yellow wall, that seemed to glimmer in gold as the sun was setting, ending its course beyond the tall buildings of New York City. He heaved a sigh before speaking again.

"I should go back to Agatha's after diner, it will be quite late already by then."

"Oh… you want to go back there?"

Even if you had spent most of your time together for the past few days, Caspian had always spent the night at Agatha's, and you were fine with that. After all, it had been but a few days since your kiss in Central Park, and a few weeks since the two of you had met. And despite your time together being limited, you didn't want to rush into things either. You wanted to take things slow, wanted to simply enjoy the moments you had with him.

And maybe, despite how abundantly clear Caspian had been, there was a little part of you that still held to the hope that maybe all of this was just a misunderstanding, that perhaps Narnia, despite the odds, wasn't real at all. And then, if that was the case, Caspian wouldn't have to leave.

So you wanted to take things slow, but still, things were going so well with him, and there wasn't any denying that your new boyfriend was extremely attractive. And maybe you were ready to do a little bit more than hugging him and talking with him for hours.

Meanwhile, Caspian stared at you with a puzzled expression.

"Well… I hardly have any other place to stay."

"You… you could… stay here," you hesitantly stuttered.

Caspian considered your offer for a moment. He did want to spend more time with you, but your sofa was really too uncomfortable, and he knew he wouldn't be able to get any sleep if he had to settle there for the night. And that was even without mentioning that the knowledge of having you sleeping down the hall would make it impossible for his mind to calm down enough to succumb to slumber.

He offered you a warm smile, a little teasing, with one end of his mouth turned upright and an amused glimmer shining in his brown, almost black eyes.

"Thank you for your offer. I do have to admit that it is tempting, we would spend more time together this way. But – and I hope you don't take this remark badly – your sofa is way too uncomfortable for me to stay there all night."

He was expecting you to laugh, maybe to shyly get a gulp of your water to hide this divine smile of yours. But you didn't. Instead, you were frowning at him, as if you didn't understand what he meant.

"The sofa? Why would you spend the night on the sofa?"

It was his turn to look at you with puzzled eyes.

"Well… where else would I sleep?"

"I meant… I meant to ask you if you wanted to stay the night… with me…"

It's only by the look in your eyes that he finally understood what you truly meant. And his reaction was to fiercely blush, all the way up to the tip of his ears.

"Oh… I… I…"

"It's okay if you don't want to or… if you're not attracted to me or…"

You let your sentence suspended in mid-air to hover over the room. You were all shy now, closing yourself from him, and Caspian could recognize the signs of your uneasiness. Maybe he wasn't reacting to this the way he should…

"I… I can't…"

He took a deep breath, remembering that you were from another world. And so, he adopted a different attitude.

"Is it normal in your world? To… be this… intimate before… marriage?"

You frowned at him again, but seemed to make the same realization too that, despite the two of you getting along so well and understanding each other to such a degree, you were not from the same world, and your two societies worked differently.

"Yeah, it is… not… for you?" you asked back.

"No. No, it isn't."

"Oh…"

"It… it would be… disrespectful if I…"

"I understand. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable."

"It's okay. I… I just… I don't know…"

"Caspian, you don't have to justify yourself. I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable."

You seemed to be the one who was uncomfortable then though, and you stood up to clean your plate even if you hadn't finished your dish. Caspian followed suit though, not allowing you to simply drop the subject and flee so easily.

"Y/N… I…"

"It's okay, Caspian. I promise you, it's okay. I just… I guess I feel a little stupid to have offered to take a… a new step when it's not something your people does."

You seemed fragile then, your confidence quite shaken. Caspian heaved a sigh, forcing you to stop cleaning your plate as he took your wet hands in his.

"It is not our way. But I… I want you to know that… I… you are beautiful, Y/N. This is not the problem, here. But I was raised with the idea that being this intimate with a woman one is not married to is disrespectful. And disrespecting you is the last thing I want to do."

You nodded, notably relaxing, and when you looked at him again, there was a spark of mischief shining in your gaze.

"I understand. And I would never want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable or disrespectful to you. But… please, tell me your people don't condemn cuddling, because I love your hugs too much to give up on them."

Caspian let out a laugh, although he was blushing fiercely once more. He pulled you closer to him, capturing you in this brown stare of his you had quickly learnt to recognize like home.

"I cannot say that it would be… accepted without a few rumours and judging glances but… I will happily pay that price. To be honest, I could not resist holding you even if I wanted to."

You giggled in the most adorable of ways, hiding your face in his shoulder.

And as he breathed in the scent of your shampoo, sugary and delicate that reminded him of afternoons spent walking through the gardens, with the air filled with the fragrance of wildflowers, Caspian knew that he wouldn't have any rest tonight. How could he waste any minute he could spend with you?

His back would kill him the next day, but a few hours on your uncomfortable sofa were a small price to pay to have a chance to hold you close.

#Caspian #Caspian X #caspian x reader #king caspian #caspian x you #caspian imagine #caspian fanfiction #caspian fanfic #caspian series #narnia #narnia fanfiction #narnia fanfic #narnia imagine #imagine #series #fanfiction #fanfic #writing

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 3 years

Note

Hi I dont know if you want jercy requests at the moment but i had an idea for one :

Dark percy murdering calligula as a revenge for jason

Hello angel! Whew this request was willldddddd and I had soo much fun with it. There isn't any jercy per se (in fact Annabeth and Percy are together in this) but Percy is furrrrrious about Jason and he exacts a very twisted sort of revenge for his friend's honour. Basically this was an excuse to write dark!percy and by gods I hope I delivered!

CW: revenge driven, grief, graphic depictions of violence

Burning Maze Spoilers

he used to be nice.

He used to be nice.

Percy had been digging around the weapons room when his name had been shrieked like a dying animal. He had been looking for protective gear to give to little demigods in his sword-fighting class, when a scream like broken bones cracked through his body. He had been starting another calm, routine-controlled day at camp half-blood when he heard the news that made him snap.

*Two hours earlier*

“Jackson,” Annabeth knocks at his cabin door. He hears her voice carry through the open windows, and over the continuous sound of the ocean. “Pers, we have breakfast in half an hour and you have a sword class to teach today.”

The event had been printed on her wall of “to-dos” so that neither of their adhd brains would have the chance to forget. But he groans at the reminder, not wanting to escape his warm bed, or the duvet that wraps around him like a hug, or the pillows that hold his head as if he is a god. Sometimes he wishes he was a Hypnos kid. Their whole thing is sleeping . The knock sounds again.

“Seaweed Brain, come on,” His girlfriend sighs, “You promised we’d talk to Chiron about the—"

The loud and obnoxious cry of a harpy sounds somewhere in the distance and whatever she says next is drowned out completely. He knows though. Knows what she’s going to say and what they have to do. So he drags himself out of bed, like the last sack of potatoes on the crate. Heavy and bruised and discarded for the most desperate of the lot.

“I’m up,” He manages to rasp. He doesn’t like talking to people till he’s brushed his teeth, and eaten something, and spent at least half an hour staring at an empty coffee cup. A New Yorker through and through he supposes.

“Okay,” He hears Annabeth call, “I’ll see you at the dining hall then.”

He makes a sound half way between a grunt and a yawn and hopes she understands because that’s the best she’s getting out of him. The morning routine is quick, even done at the speed of a stubborn toddler. Soon he is sitting at the Poseidon table, scarfing down eggs and toast, and washing it done with a second cup of coffee. The buzzing in his veins is completely normal. And he’s definitely not speaking at a thousand miles an hour. This is how he always talks. Why on earth they allow coffee in a camp full of adhd kids, he’ll never understand. But it works in his favour so he isn’t going to complain.

By the time him and Annabeth are done talking to Chiron about introducing therapy to the camp, he feels like his eyes are moving faster than his sensory receptors can process and his thoughts are moving faster than his ability to process at all. So when his girlfriend, smiling at him about something, stops outside their training room he looks at her with furrowed brows and asks, “What are we doing here? Are we training for something?”

She frowns, “How much coffee did you have this morning?”

“Only three cups.” He shrugs, and clenches his hands in his pockets as if she can see through the fabric to the shaking body underneath.

Her grey eyes widen as if she’s about to scold him, a petulant child being chided by their ever tired caregiver. It makes the part of him still attempting to function slightly wild. He squishes that part down with the force of a thousand ships. Someone calls Annabeth’s name so with a quick peck to the cheek she leaves him in front of the training room and jogs towards the middle of camp and out of sight.

He stares at the room, trying to get his brain to stop focusing on things he doesn’t need to focus on right now, like the three lines of a song he heard at the grocery store a week ago that he hasn’t been able to get out of his head.

He used to be nice.

Entering the training room he scans the schedule and sees he’s teaching a class of small people, campers younger than ten who are just learning the ropes but should disaster ever strike will be ushered to the Cabin 9 bunkers to wait out the storm. It is a rule that no-one under the age of twelve be subject to war if they need not be. And he will make damn sure the need never ever surfaces.

He gathers swords of various shapes and sizes, along with a few daggers, and the straw dummies that have seen better days. It boggles his mind that they’re at a camp for children of literal greek gods but somehow there’s no funding for basic necessities like extra cots in the Hermes cabin, and better dummies to stab.

Muttering to himself he moves aside metal and stacks of straw, trying to find protective gear in the pile dumped at the corner of the training room. When he doesn’t see any he lets out a long suffering sigh... he has to go to the weapons room, which is more of a broom closet with deadly devices than anything else.

The room smelt musty, and the reek of rust slams into his nostrils at dizzying speeds. It reminds him of blood, and it made his skin itch with the need to get out. But still he bends down and searches through the mess of celestial bronze, and gold and—

The scream cauterizes his happiness. He is panic and pain and death and everything brutal in a single awful instant.

“PERCY!” His name has never sounded so full of agony, each syllable holds the stages of grief.

He is running towards the anguish before he’s even fully realises what’s going on. But what he sees when he crests the hill is enough to make the warmth of his heart run burning cold.

Annabeth is curled on the ground, tears like rivers of woe streaming down her cheeks and a purple flag clutched tightly in her fists.

“What happened?” His voice is soft. If he hears himself too loudly he’s going to shatter.

Annabeth cries harder, her whole body shuddering. Grief is overwhelming. Grief is all consuming. Grief will make itself known like thorns in your thumb or bullets in your heart.

“What happened?” He repeats.

And someone, far away, right next to his ear, inside his head, says, “It’s Jason, Jason Grace. He’s dead.”

He used to be nice.

It takes him three days. Three days of non-stop travelling, by foot, and air, and sea, to reach Caligula’s home. A palace. A grave. It is three days too long. Too long for a murderer to be walking free as if there are no consequences to his vile actions. But still he is here now and he will see the fall of a great, and watch how he bleeds just like everyone else. Not gold, the colour of the emperor’s one true love, but red, the colour of his victims.

Percy's eyes are almost black with violence, green so dark it reflects the night sky. His hands clench and unfurl as if practicing to wrap around a throat and squeeze till the symphony of breathing plays its last note. His body is strung taut, a bow string waiting to release. He is murder. He is nothing. He is your worst nightmare.

“Caligula.” He scrapes. It is the exact sound of a sword sparking against stone. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

Nothing but scared silence greets him. He can feel the fear coating the walls of this burial ground like a fresh coat of paint. He will make a playground of the blood he spills, will invite all manner of creatures to use it as a park. He will revel in the slaughter he is about to participate in.

“Caligula!” His voice is the sharp edge of a small knife. Unassuming but deadly. ‘“It is no use hiding. There is no place you could go where I couldn't find you.” He feels the earth sway underneath him, and he grins. Oh this is going to be fun.

“Fine Emperor, if this is how you want to do it.”

With a shrug, he flings out an arm and turns three columns to dust. He watches the stone crumble, feels the sand on his palm as if he was crumbling the columns in his hands like soft cheese. With a small stomp of his foot a crack rivaling the river Thames splits the marble floor in half. The entire structure shudders, creaks right above him. His grin only gets wider, more dangerous.

“I will level this place to the ground. I will erase it from history as if it had never been. You will not exist Caligula, because you will go with it. Will be crushed under the weight of your own wealth.”

“You’re a fool,” A voice, reedy and nasalled in a way that has his soul curdling, shouts from somewhere on the far side of the room. “You will crush us both."

Percy laughs. He laughs and the sound widens the cracks in the floor. It is deep, and wild, but in the way a wild thing is caged: snapping at it’s bars, hissing to be free. He laughs.

“You are a fool Caligula. A fool if you think i am not willing to die if it means you suffer. A bigger fool still if you think it will not give me great pleasure to spend my last moments watching the life leave your eyes,”

The distant sound of bubbling starts to fill the room. Percy wonders if he can make blood boil. His mother has certainly said so enough times.

“Leave now half-blood,” The Emperor spits. There is still something of arrogant, misplaced bravery in his voice. It amuses Percy. “Leave now and you will not face the consequences.”

“And pray tell,” He contemplates, “Who you think will deliver your consequences if i leave?”

A scoff that echoes into the pathways of his brain comes from the back of the room. “I do not need consequences dealt. I have done nothing to deserve them.”

The sound of bubbling is getting louder. He looks curiously at the cracks still spidering around the room. “Ah Emperor,” He tuts, “That is where you are wrong. People who deserve consequences hardly ever get them. It is those who don’t think they deserve them that become the unlucky bearers.”

“What are you going on about, boy?” He snarls.

The bubbling is loud enough now that Percy almost checks to see if a small brook has carved its way through the floor. There is nothing there except ever growing cracks, turning to rifts and canyons before his eyes.

He used to be nice.

“We can do this one of two ways Caligula.” He starts, honey bees with a sting a little too sharp to be defence. “You can apologise and I’ll kill you quickly, or…” His smile is sickening. “And this is my preferred method, I could watch you die slowly, watch the life drain from your body and into the soil of blood-crops that will grow here, and your dying words will be the mercy you will inevitably beg for.”

The bubbling spills over the cracks, leaking salty water onto the dying marble floor.

“Better choose soon oh dear Emperor,” He giggles, “I am the only thing holding this room together. As soon as I let go the floor will split like your loyalties. You will be crushed to death by your own greed. And if that doesn't happen you will surely drown.” To emphasise his point water starts gushing from the floor, no longer a bubbling stream but a raging river. His laughter is carried along the ripples that hit the walls, already leaking with the all encompassing ocean. “Wouldn’t it be a pity Caligula? To drown in your own home, surrounded by all the things you killed for, watching as they drown with you?”

“Shut up half-blood,” He screeches, “You do not have the power it takes to kill me. You are nothing compared to the centuries I have been alive.”

“Do you know who i am honouring Caligula?” He asks softly, a stark and terrifying contrast to his smile a moment before. “In all your centuries can you remember but one demigod, a dear friend of mine, but just another victim of yours?”

“Does it matter?” He scoffs, “They are all the same in the end. All bleed, and cry, and piss, and die the same.”

The grin Percy lets loose starts hurricanes. It is the absolute wrong thing to say. ‘“If it is all the same to you Emperor,” He becomes terror. “Then i think i’ll spill your blood at his altar.”

And before the doomed emperor could react an invisible hand wraps around his throat and he was being dragged to the middle of the room. His eyes wide, popping out of his head; hands clawing at his neck as if trying to remove the grip they cannot feel; feet flopping helplessly underneath him.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.” It is a command.

Caligula glares, attempting to spit at his feet.

Percy tilts his head and with a single crook of his finger he slams the emperor into the wall. The crack is deafening. It makes him grin.

“Apologise for killing Jason Grace.”

Caligula produces an ancient roman gesture, passed through time as if centuries cannot dismantle the insults of humans.

Percy twists his wrist and the emperor’s body contorts into something unrecognizable, bones snapping and shattering to fit their new mold.

“Apologise for killing my friend.”

“Fuck you,” He manages to choke out.

A wave of ocean water alarming in its beauty rises behind him. He is its god. And with a wink he shoves all of it down the emperor’s throat. The column of that pale neck bobs as if attempting to take the water down. He can see the body trying to retch it all up, unable to handle the sheer amount, the salt that comes with it.

“Watch Caligula,” He motions to the palace sinking under the weight of his ocean, “Watch as everything you have ever cared to love drowns.”

Percy grabs a shard of mirror, uncaring of the gash it sweeps across his palm. He holds it up to the ancient powerful Emperor, who is convulsing into nothing. “Watch.”

He used to be nice.

Sometime later when Percy Jackson walks up a hill, and into the fading sun there is nothing but content mania lining his features, and behind him where a grand home once stood, is a trickling river and a single spear carved with the words, “Neo Helios”. The only sign that Caligula, Emperor and murderer, ever existed,

He used to be nice.

Until someone killed his friends.

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[image id: printed text that reads, "I used to be nice." end id]

#Percy Jackson #Jason grace #Annabeth Chase #Caligula #PJJG fanfic #He used to be nice #Firerose requests #PJJG asks #burning maze spoilers #toa spoilers #trials of apollo spoilers

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cupcakemolotov · 3 years

Text

Fall With You

I ended up pinch hitting for the exchange! It was fun, if slightly wild 48 hours to put this together. Written for the lovely @queencarolinemikaelson. I’m really glad you enjoyed it since it ended up being a fluff fest of roommate co-hab. Also a big thank you to @bellemorte180 for putting this graphic together!

I put the first but under a cut, bit under a cut, but the full story is almost 9K, so the link to the story is at the bottom. :)

Summary: When life throws her a curve ball in the form of her good looking, yet moody roommate, Caroline takes it in stride as best she can. Her living situation was a favor, after all, and rent is anything but cheap in NYC. Its the part where she actually starts to like him that she can't quiet figure out how to manage. Lust was one thing, but feelings?

Warnings: Alternate Universe; Alternate; Universe - Human; Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates; Minor Character Death; not otp; Family Drama; Family Dynamics; Fluff and Humor; Domestic Fluff; Tooth-Rotting Fluff; Mild Smut; Human Caroline Forbes; Human Klaus Mikaelson; Living Room Picnics; Wine; Dates That Aren't Dates; They Could Really Get Their Shit Together Faster; but not really; Making Out; Some petting; NSFW just to be safe

It was almost three am, her feet were killing her, and her key was stuck in her front door.

Seriously, what was with her luck today? The door had always been finicky, but until earlier this week the lock had been behaving itself. It’d gone from not wanting to turn properly to straight up mutiny in four days. It was an easy fix, unlike the door, but it also required a trip to the store and she just hadn’t had time. Amazon could have delivered the powdered graphite, but she was on a budget and believed in shopping local.

Her two year savings plan to finish her degree would not manifest itself if she bought things simply because they were convenient.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Caroline seriously considered just leaning up against the door jam and spending the night outside. It was early summer, and the air had cooled to a balmy sixty-five degrees, leaving the usually stifling hallway almost comfortable. If only she didn’t smell so heavily of beer. Shifting her weight, she winced as her shoes squelched, a reminder of the truly spectacular ending to her night. Her eight hour shift had almost doubled when the night shift manager had called in sick. Usually that wouldn’t have been a problem, but the only other person with keys was out of town leaving Caroline holding the bag to close.

She knew from experience that she had about an hour before she crashed, the rush from kicking out the lingering guests who had been clearly on an epic brawl crawl having mostly faded after the hour long subway ride home. Right then, the only thing keeping her upright was the fact that she was starving, her dinner had been rushed and only half eaten, and the knowledge that if she made it into her apartment she had the next two days off. Tomorrow she could sleep in, and if she was really lucky, her roommate’s night had gone well enough he could be coaxed into making pancakes.

Cheered by the thought, Caroline dug out her cell phone from the backpack she’d slung over her shoulder and checked it for a response. She hadn’t been sure if Klaus had beaten her home or if he was still out celebrating, but either way, he hadn’t bothered to respond yet. Her lips compressed into a thin line.

Usually, she could depend on Klaus to be awake when she finished a night shift, her roommates' hours were only reliable on how sporadic they were and depending on her schedule, hers weren’t much better. But with his big event tonight, she had no idea what he had decided to do. Honestly, would it kill the man to respond to her texts?

She’d expected him to ignore her rapidly typed apology and well wishes she’d sent in-between bites of food. Klaus wasn’t particularly good at handling sentiment of any kind and supremely anti-emoji, and she’d made a point to send several of them. She’d hoped it’d give him something to be annoyed about that wasn’t his evening plans. He needed to schmooze, and a scowl-y Klaus would not accomplish that at all.

He could be charming, when he wanted to be. She’d seen it. He just didn’t deploy full dimples unless he wanted something. Her reminders the night before that he needed to earn his half of the rent without getting carpal tunnel hadn't impressed him.

Too bad. She’d been right, and he’d known it.

He had mentioned a couple of his friends were trying to talk him into drinks afterwards, back when she had thought she might be able to join him. Usually, she would be thrilled that he was getting out and actually seeing people instead of trying to live off granola bars and tea. But right then she really wanted him to be home and grumpy so he could unlock the door. She wondered if texting Marcel with an S.O.S would be rude?

Things were a lot less complicated when she only liked Klaus for the rent he helped cover. Wanting him home, even just for a lock-related emergency wasn’t a thought she would have had even six months ago. Klaus was not what one would label as a comfortable roommate for most of the time. He was far too prickly for that, and he could be snarly in the mornings. Which fair, so could she, but the moodiness. Caroline hadn’t been one to spend much time around the art scene, either at Uni or in high school, but she’d spent the last year learning that there was a lot to be said about artistic temperaments, most of it unflattering.

She was fairly certain Klaus had been born a contrary grump, his winning personality had nothing to do with his chosen profession, she could certainly see how he’d been drawn to the lifestyle, talent aside. Most people immediately laughed off his acerbic tongue once they learned he was an artist, his behavior brushed aside as temperamental. His goods certainly helped his cause, and his accent added a layer of charm that otherwise might not have existed.

She was not so forgiving.

The first few months of their co-hab had not been easy. Klaus was messy, absent minded, and had ruined three of her towels with paint splatter before she’d blown her lid. The apartment was small enough that avoiding each other was nearly impossible, and her preferred kind of stress relief had to be timed for when she was alone, and so they’d been forced to deal with their annoyances. To Klaus’ credit, while he’d been snappish in return, he’d somehow managed to keep a lid on the worst of his temper.

They’d argued, multiple times, they were both stubborn and used to being right, but they’d eventually found some kind of middle ground. Snapping had softened into bickering, and Caroline had stopped nitpicking him about his notebooks being spread across the house and the incorrect way he rolled his toothpaste, and he stopped leaving towels on the floor and made a point to contain his absentminded mess to his room.

And then they started to talk, sometimes about work, sometimes about art, and she’d realized she kind of liked him as a person. She’d started dragging him to her group lunches on her days off, much to Rebekah’s despair, and they might have become something like friends. Except for the part where every so often, she’d look at him and something about the way he stood, the angle of his jaw or the line of his throat left her wanting to jump his bones.

It was really frustrating, when her existence didn’t even seem to phase him.

So she’d done her best to ignore whatever that little spark was between them when it flared up, and not upset the status quo. Because the past year had been better than she could have imagined. Before her mom had died, she would never have considered the life she found herself living now as a good one.

She’d just wrapped her third year at NYU, had exactly 24 hours of classes left before graduation, and had managed to wrangle her schedule so that her final semester would be a cake walk of classes. The cherry on top had been the kick ass internship she’d lined up for the summer. Her five year plan was perfectly on track, her excellent grades gave her a shot at graduating with honors, and she couldn’t wait to show her mom around New York City from the eyes of a local. She’d spent three years putting together a binder, collecting menus from her favorite places to eat and brochures from all the museums and the jam packed tourists locations to offer her mom some variety.

Then she’d gotten that phone call that had thrown everything into a tale spin.

Blowing out a breath, Caroline bounced on her toes and debated best her course of action. She could probably get her key out of the lock if she was very careful, though the past twenty minutes said her luck wasn’t great, Forbes women were nothing if not stubborn, but there was also a chance she would break the key off in the lock and she could already see the little smirk on Klaus’ face if she did. Her hand tightened on the strap of her backpack. He still hadn’t forgiven her for being far more comfortable with power tools than he was and her perfectly reasonable gloating probably hadn’t helped much, if she was honest.

She kind of didn’t regret it. Poking Klaus sizable ego was a favorite past time of hers, and he seemed to enjoy their back and forth as much as she did. Her mental tally had her up two points this month, and she wanted to keep her lead.

Unfortunately, things weren’t really going in her favor just then. Sighing, Caroline tucked her phone back into her bag and admitted defeat. She’d have to figure this one out herself. Either Klaus’ event had run long and he had actually taken her advice to schmooze people or he was home and had drunk enough that he was sleeping like the dead.

Either of those options would not help her now.

Her best bet now was to go and eat a giant piece of pie, drink her weight in caffeine, and trudge her way to the little mom and pop shop that sold a little of everything, including graphite, once it became a reasonable hour. She’d fix her lock and then crash for the following eight hours of hopefully uninterrupted sleep, and leave a very pointed sticky note on the coffee pot so Klaus knew not to disturb her.

Satisfied with the makings of her plan, she shifted her backpack to her other shoulder, mentally reviewing the pie menu, and paused when the elevator dinged from behind her. Sliding her teeth between her lip, Caroline turned and blew out a breath when she recognized the tumble of ruffled curls stepping into the hall. The hallway was dimly lit, so it took a moment for her brain to really understand what else she was seeing.

Klaus was wearing a tux.

Logically, she’d known he was going to be wearing one. His event that night had been important, his work had finally made it into a gallery tonight and it was a Big Deal. His first real show outside of the fancy art school he had attended, and he had spent months fretting over his work and brooding silently in his room as nothing met his incredibly exacting standards. Klaus had even brought home a couple of canvas to work in the questionable light of his bedroom instead of the small studio space he and five other artists pooled their money to share.

Much to her annoyance.

No amount of febreeze really removed the scent of acrylics and turpentine, and she’d been worried if she tried to burn her stash of scented candles something would catch on fire. She’d held her tongue though, because Klaus was never nervous. He was in fact annoyingly difficult to rattle even in the most ridiculous of situations, the man had absolutely no shame, and the way he’d almost jittered had been weird and kind of enduring. Since he’d seen her in numerous states of frantic and alarmed, it was nice for things to end up on a little more even ground for once. She’d done her best to force him to eat something that looked like actual food every so often, and tried to stay quiet when she knew he was working in his bedroom.

She’d even helped him pick out the tuxedo from the catalogue he’d brought home from the store he had planned to rent from. There was a fancy evening gown that she’d rented hanging in her closet that Caroline had planned to wear to go with him before work had made that impossible. But knowing all that, and actually seeing him in that tux were not nearly the same thing.

Caroline blinked rapidly. Her paint speckled roommate, with his surly attitude and annoying dimples, was wearing a tux. And he looked really, really good. He’d undone his tie so it hung loosely around his neck, and his jacket was loose and unbuttoned around his waist, his curls still somewhat tamed along his forehead. Something very much like arousal jolted through her as he looked up, the low light highlighting the scruff along his jaw and the length of his neck. For a moment, he just stared at her, as surprised as she and then his head tipped and his brow arched, lips tugging up at the corners.

“Waiting on me?”

The rest can be found here: A03

#my fic #klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #exchange fic

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