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#and some days he has to really control his urge to rip a new hole in the universe just to mend his broken hearts
henrycavillobsessed · 3 years
Text
Captivated
Henry x first person reader 
Words: 2377
Summary: You and Henry have a “friends with benefits” situation going on,  but you’ve caught feelings, and so has he. Everything comes to a head when you see photos of him out with another woman. 
CW: Angsty smut! Sex, male and female oral giving and receiving; female ejaculation. Bad language. Anger and slight violence (struggles).
Notes: Hope you all enjoy this smutty, angsty one! I really enjoyed writing it :)
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Looking in the mirror, I smiled widely. Damn I look good, I thought to myself. It was Henry’s turn to visit my house, and I knew he’d love the new lingerie set I’d bought that day; a scarlet babydoll with matching lace panties. Pulling on a silk robe and stepping into a pair of black stilettos, I quickly checked my makeup and hair was still perfect and then I left my bedroom. In the kitchen, I pulled out a chilled bottle of white wine from the wine cooler and set it on the table with two glasses, and then lit the scented candles and dimmed the lights. Looking at the clock I saw that I still had half an hour until Henry arrived, so I took a seat on the table and turned on the TV that was mounted on the wall. The showbiz news was on, and funnily enough the newsreader was talking about Henry and his new movie. I smiled to myself. It always amazed me whenever I saw Henry on TV, or in a celebrity magazine, knowing that I was sleeping with him, and had been for the last six months. It had started off as a one-night stand after I met him in a club on a night out in London, and it soon turned to a regular “friends with benefits” situation. The secrecy was what made what was already hot sex even hotter, and we regularly met up, taking it in turns to go to each other’s places for the evening, always leaving in the early hours to avoid the paparazzi. It was a complete no-strings attached arrangement, with both of us knowing it would never go any further, although recently I had started to look forward to our evenings more and more. I suppose you could say I missed him when I wasn’t with him, which was dangerous territory to be in. I needed to keep a check on that. Shaking my head away from these thoughts, I reached for the wine and poured myself a glass, glancing up at the TV. 
“… and speaking about Henry Cavill, could there be a new lady in his life? Known as one of Hollywood’s most eligible bachelors, Cavill was spotted today in Kensington enjoying a drink with an unknown, but incredibly pretty, brunette…”
A photo flashed up on the screen, and there he was. Sat at an outside table of a wine bar, holding a large glass of red, Henry’s head was thrown back in laughter. The woman next to him was also laughing, her hand resting on his forearm. They looked incredibly cosy. It was obvious they were on a date.
I felt like someone had literally grabbed my heart and was crushing it. My stomach plummeted, and I went icy cold. I gasped for breath, my hand flying to cover my mouth to try and stop the sob clawing its way up my throat from escaping. Tears sprung to my eyes, spilling over and streaking my mascara. Where was my phone? I grabbed it from the counter, opening Google. Typing his name in the search bar, I cried out as photos of them both popped up immediately, all with speculative captions asking who this mystery woman could be. I threw the phone across the room. My breathing was too fast. Grabbing the wine, I drank the whole glass in one. 
“What the fuck!” I whispered to myself. What was this reaction? I knew this would happen one day. He was Henry Cavill for fuck sake, I was lucky to have managed this far having a secret fling with him. Of course he’d end up with someone for real one day, probably an actress or a model, not a nobody like me. But if I knew what was coming, then why did it feel like my heart had been shattered? Why did it feel like I’d just lost him?
“Fuck!” I said again, louder this time. I poured myself some more wine, trying to get my bearings and control my breathing. As I was drinking the second glass of wine, slower than the first, I heard a key turn in the front door. Shit. I forgot he had a key. Usually he’d knock and I’d answer the door, giving him his first view of whatever lingerie I’d chosen for that night; he’d barely make it through the door before his mouth was on mine, his sexy muscular arms wrapped around me, a hand reaching down to
Jesus Christ, this was not the time to get horny over memories! What was I going to do? I stood up, wobbling slightly on my heels. I pulled them off, and turned to face the window so he wouldn’t see my tear-stained face when he entered the kitchen.
“Hi! I did knock but you didn’t answer, I hope you didn’t mind me using the key,” I heard him call as he walked down the hallway. 
I could smell his aftershave as he came into the room; he smelled absolutely delicious. I hastily wiped the black streaks from my face, using the dark window as mirror, and turned around to face him. 
“There you are!” Henry beamed, and then whistled. “Wow. You look breath-taking. But hey, um, before we, erm, begin, I need to talk to you about something…” 
Something inside me snapped, anger replacing the devastation I’d felt at seeing those photos. Who the fuck did he think he was? Did he honestly think that I’d still get on my back for him after he’d told me about his new woman?!
“Oh, I know what you’re going to say,” I said, my voice low. 
“You do?” Henry looked taken-aback. “But I-“
“I saw the photos, Henry.”
He stilled. I walked slowly towards him, seething. 
“How long has this been going on then, huh? Have you only come here to tell me because you knew I’d see the news today?”
I stopped in front of him, wishing I’d kept the heels on. He towered over me, his male scent overpowering my senses. 
“Listen, it’s not-“
“It’s not what I think it is? Ha, spare me,” I spat, my voice louder now. The anger was bubbling up to the surface; I couldn’t control it. “What have you come here tonight for, Henry? One last fuck before you move on with your brunette?” 
His face clouded over with anger of his own. He stepped closer to me. “Y/N, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
I laughed humourlessly. “Oh I think I do! That’s all I ever was to you, wasn’t I, a hole to fill- literally! – until you found someone better! Well, fuck you, okay! I’m a human being, with feelings! Didn’t you know I’d end up-“
My hand flew up to my mouth again, halting the words before I said something I’d regret. Henry frowned. 
“You’d end up what?” he asked. He walked towards me as I shook my head. 
He didn’t stop until he’d backed me up against the wall. 
“Nothing, just forget it-“
“I asked you a question.” His voice was dangerously quiet. 
“I said it was nothing!” I pushed against his chest, trying to get away from him. I’d have had more success pushing against a brick wall, but I didn’t stop. 
“Y/N!” he shouted, grabbing the tops of my arms.
“Get off me!”
“Not until you answer me!” 
I struggled against him, and he growled, the sound echoing in my sex which traitorously clenched in response. He was all male, and I was completely captivated by him.
“For fuck- I love you Henry, okay? I love you don’t you see that?” I angrily wiped the fresh tears from my face. Henry let go of me, finally, and stared at me, an indiscernible look in his eyes. 
And then his mouth was on mine, our lips crushing together. One of his hands grabbed the back of my head, and mine wound up behind his neck. His other arm was around me, holding me tight against him as we made out passionately. He growled again, and I could feel his erection straining against his jeans. He picked me up one handed and kicked the door behind him; we fell into the living room. He threw me down onto the sofa, and pulled off his t-shirt, his perfectly sculpted chest and abs coming into view. I was panting, and so fucking wet; my legs clenched together for some relief as he ripped off his shoes and scrambled to take off his jeans and boxers. He impressive cock sprung free as he stood there naked, eyeing me up like a lion does his prey. Then he bent down and threw open my robe, his breath hissing as he saw what I was wearing. He stretched his body out over mine, and kissed me again, hard, and then moved to my neck, biting down. I cried out, raking my nails down his back; I was sure I drew blood. He moved further down my body, taking one of my nipples in his mouth and rolling it around with his tongue. I arched up, the onslaught of pleasure taking over. I was desperate for him to touch me elsewhere, my pussy pulsing with need. After giving attention to my other breast, he moved down, looking me dead in the eyes as he tore the delicate lace panties off me with his teeth. And finally, his attention was on my clit, and I nearly came there and then just from the first lick of his tongue. He thrust two fingers into me, and fucked me with them as he ate me, and the first orgasm exploded around him, as I squirted hard, causing him to groan erotically; he licked my juices up, looking up and licking his lips when he was done. I sprung up, twisting him around and down so that he was sitting on the sofa and I took his dick in my mouth, sucking him feverently, licking up and down the velvety warmness, tasting the exquisite salty flavour of him. His threw his head back, a vein popping on his neck. He came quickly, and hard, the onslaught of ejaculate flooding my mouth. I swallowed it down quickly, wiping my mouth. Henry reached out and grabbed me, pulling me down towards him. I knew what he wanted. I mounted him, taking all of him in one, and then I was riding him, hard, his hands grabbing my hips, urging me to go faster, harder. We didn’t speak, our breath coming out in pants and gasps, both of us racing to climax. I screamed as I came again, ferociously, almost painfully, tightening around him, milking him as hot spurts of his cum pumped into me as he roared his release. 
As far as last fucks went, it was spectacular. Wait. Last fuck. The argument before came back to me, and I gasped, the pain in my chest returning. I got off of Henry quickly, grabbing my robe and covering myself up again. I could feel tears choking my throat and I did nothing to stop them. 
“Y/N, wait, I-“
“I didn’t need your pity, Cavill. That was a mistake.”
“For fuck sake, Y/N!” Henry cried, getting in and stepping into his boxers. “That wasn’t about pity!”
“Then what was it about?”
“I love you too! There, I said it! I fucking love you too, alright!” Henry thrust a hand through his curly hair, pacing around the room. I stood rooted to the stop, speechless.
“But… but what about that woman, your date?” I asked when my voice returned. 
“She wasn’t a date! She’s a new director, we met for a drink to talk about a potential project!”
Realisation began to dawn on me. “So when you said you needed to talk to me about something…”
“I wanted to tell you how I felt, how I truly felt about you! Because I saw the paparazzi at lunch, I knew that there would be photos, I knew you’d see them. And then I thought, if it had been the other way around, if you had been seen out with another man and I saw photos of that, I’d be consumed with jealousy. The mere thought of it made me rage.” He stopped pacing and turned to face me. 
“I know we have a “friends with benefits” thing going on, but it isn’t enough for me anymore. I love you. I want more. I need more.”
I looked at him incredulously; I can’t believe how wrong I’d gotten it. 
“You actually, really love me? Like I love you?” I asked, daring to hope.
“Yes!” Henry laughed. He picked me up, and spun you around. “I really love you!”
We both laughed together. It was like the beginning of the evening hadn’t even happened. When I thought I’d lost him…
“I thought I’d lost you,” I said, voicing my worries. “Not that I was yours to begin with, not really…”
“I think you’ve always been mine Y/N, and I’ve always been yours. I’ve been captivated with you from the moment I first saw you, first kissed you. I couldn’t even look at anyone else. It’s always been you.”
I started crying again, the whirlwind of emotions I’d felt since seeing that news report completely overwhelming me. Henry smiled indulgently, opening his arms. 
“Come here, baby.” 
I entered his embrace, taking in his scent of expensive aftershave and sex. Being in his arms felt so familiar, like I was always meant to be here. 
“What’s going to happen now?” I asked, looking up at him. “Am I going to be seen as the “new lady” in your life?”
He responded by gifting me with the most gentle, loving kiss. “Hell yeah, baby. Now I’ve got you, I’m not letting you go, and I want the whole world to know.”
He kissed me again, and we went upstairs to spend the night as we’d originally intended. But now our true feelings for each other were out in the open, it was like the first time all over again. Plus I didn’t feel like a nobody any more. I was Henry’s, and he was mine. And I couldn’t wait for the whole world to find out.
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shootybangbang · 3 years
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[Talking Bird] Ch 16: In which the plot finally makes an appearance
[Ao3 Link]
[Content Warning]: suicidal ideation, mild gore
[Note]: this fic has gone through some serious revisions — mostly expanded scenes/dialogue. The chapters most heavily affected are 1, 2, 3, and 7, but I’ve added a changelog to the end notes of each previous chapter detailing the edits that have been made. To save you some time though, here are the three main things to note:
The reader character does not have the bonds
The reader character refers to Arthur by his last name due to unfamiliarity
The horniness from last chapter has been moved to a future chapter. sorry!
This chapter is also pretty long in comparison to the others. From here on out, the chapters will probably be 2000+ words.
———
You look out into the plains, at the last pale band of light disappearing beneath a horizon of prairie grass and dark, looming buttes. The shadows of the scant trees stretch long and thin, their branches like a thousand spindly fingers grasping, searching. The landscape is dimmed to a tableau of reds and blacks, anything not illuminated by the fire slowly sinking into the featureless canvas of night. All of it blurred and indistinct behind a curtain of rain.
It’s a prettier sight by far than any you’ve had in St Denis. Or San Francisco. Or anywhere else you’ve lived, really.
And yet it hangs like featureless gauze behind the endless reel playing out over and over behind your eyes, spinning round like the printed images on a zoetrope.
The O’Driscoll’s hands wet with blood and mud. His eyes wide and uncomprehending. Trying to put himself back together the way one might a broken toy, sieving his viscera between his fingers and scooping it into the cavity of his chest. That initial, stunned bemusement giving way at last to the dawning horror of his own end.
And accompanying it, the numb realization that what bothered you more was the bare abstraction of the act. The burden of this sin weighing heavy with all the others, its addition tipping some moral scale, and —
“Hey.”
Morgan’s voice, jarringly brusque against the murmurings of your own private judge and jury, is almost mercifully irritating.
“What do you want?” you snap.
“Get up,” he says. “Start strippin’ the wet bark off the firewood.”
“For chrissakes, at least give me a second to catch my breath.”
“Why, so you can keep sittin’ there feeling sorry for yourself?” He leans one hand against the stone wall of the outcrop and drags himself back to his feet. The barest shadow of a grimace flits across his face as he straightens his back. “C’mon. Sooner we get set up proper, the sooner we can get back to ignorin’ each other. Then you can sulk all night in peace.”
The cottonwood branches are covered in cracked, ash brown bark that scrapes rough against your palms and fingers, rasping the skin raw as you hold the wood firm for carving. One of the downsides of living easy for so many years, you suppose — all the protective calluses atrophy to nothing, and what remains becomes susceptible to old and familiar hurts. But habits run deeper than skin, and what the mind forgets the body keeps.
As you work your way through the firewood, Boadicea nickers and paws impatiently at the dirt.
“I’m sorry girl,” you hear Morgan say. “Been a hard day for us both.”
You snort contemptuously. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he unhooks the horse’s bridle and lifts away the saddle, then starts grooming her with a battered looking brush, brushing with quick, circular motions, going against the grain and fluffing up her coat to dry out her fur with a solicitous measure of care that seems wholly unfitting of a man of his temperament and occupation.
Boadicea makes a low, rumbly noise in the back of her throat that sounds almost like a purr. She dips her head down and chomps at the yellowed prairie grass lining the floor of the outcrop, tearing up mouthfuls with a sedate contentedness that makes you sorely wish you could share in her circumstances.
A sense of fatigue more complete than any you’ve ever felt before settles over you like heavy snow. For the moment, you feel blank and washed out, stripped bare of all pretense.
“Morgan,” you admit. “I don’t have the bonds.”
“Yeah,” he replies. “I know.” He unpacks his canvas roll and yanks free from it the saddle blanket of coarse, undyed wool, then unfurls it over the horse’s back, pulling it over her flank and adjusting the fit. “Figured as much before we left Strawberry.”
“Oh.” At this point, you haven’t even the energy to be surprised. “Huh.”
For a long while, the only sound is that of the knife scraping against bark and the intensifying patter of rain, fat droplets coming down hard and fast.
In a small voice, you ask him, “You’re not really gonna sell me to a brothel, are you?”
He scoffs. “What makes y’think that ?”
“Thought you seemed too… too decent to do something like that.”
“Me? Decent?” Morgan lets out a low, disbelieving whistle. “Thought you’d know better by now.”
He turns partway to face you. In the dim light of the fire only half of him is lit bright enough to see, the rest tapering sharp into dark silhouette. For the lapse of a heartbeat it’s as if all the irreverence and bravado has been ripped away like a sheet of paper, and underneath a viciousness, a suppressed violence that you’ve been too blind to see.
This whole time you’ve been treating him like a dog, when the teeth at your throat are those of a wolf.
Your mouth goes dry and your fingers tighten around the knife in your hand. You stare up at him like a deer caught in his sights — blind panic rising up in your chest and throat like cold water. You swallow hard and try to force it down so you can maintain at least a semblance of control.
“Mr. Morgan…?”
“You ain’t been half as scared of me as you should be,” he says. “holed up with a wanted man, nobody around for miles. Some of the men I’ve run with, they…”
He lets the sentence trail off, the implications clear enough without him saying so. Then he shakes his head, and there is a weariness in him, a kind of cynical exhaustion that ages him far beyond his years. “Girl,” he says. “You keep at this line of work, I guarantee you’ll be dead in a year.”
Morgan slicks his fingers through his wet hair to keep rainwater from dripping into his eyes, and you can see that the hangdog look is back on his face, all his suggested cruelty vanished like smoke. He shifts his attention back to the saddlebags. “No, I ain’t decent,” he continues. He pulls out a tin cup and the individual components of what looks to be a collapsible grill. “But I ain’t so far gone that I’d hurt a woman. Or sell one.”
“But you’d ransom one.”
“Figured it out, did you?” he says. “Thought you might.”
He sits back beside the fire and pieces the grill together, twists its winch tight and positions it over the fire. Then he fills the tin cup with water from the canteen and sets it atop to heat.
“If you don’t hurt women,” you say slowly, your right hand still holding the knife tight as a vise. “Then what’re you going to do to me when you find out I’m not worth ransoming?”
“Doubt that’s gonna be a problem.”
“Why not?”
“Had a brand new Mauser on ya. You know how much those things cost?”
Mentally, you kick yourself. Looks like begging the gunsmith to lend you the best pistol he had in stock has come back to bite you in the ass.
“The gun’s not mine,” you say quickly. “It’s a loan.”
“Those bloomers in your room were real silk. You gonna tell me those were a loan too?”
“You — my bloomers?! Why were you going through my bloomers, you fucking degen—”
Of all the things you’ve accused him of today, somehow this is the one that actually rankles him. “You think I like rummaging through women’s underwear? Had to go through ‘em to get to your billfold.”
You flush hard enough that even the tips of your ears feel hot. “I… I saved up for those bloomers. Not that I’d expect you to understand the importance of—
“That shirt’s custom tailored, ain’t it? Those boots, too. And that’s good leather right there. Far too good for your typical drug mule. Either you come from money, or you got rich friends.”
There’s not much you can rebut here. All you can manage is a lame, “You don’t even know who I am .”
“Got a friend not too far from here who’s plenty familiar with St Denis. He’ll know.” Morgan holds his hand out towards you. “Gimme that knife a second.”
The knife is the only scrap of protection you’ve managed to grab hold of through this entire ordeal. You squeeze its handle tight.
He lets out a short, impatient sigh. “If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it by now. So c’mere and hand it over.”
You’ve known men who take a certain vicious pleasure in abusing women. Merchants with cringing wives. Clients with kind faces who’d leave working girls battered and bruised. There’s usually a certain mien about them that sets you on edge and that Morgan, brusque as he is, thoroughly lacks.
You brush the wood shavings off your lap and approach him. When you reach his place beside the fire, he tilts his head upwards to meet your eyes, the look on his face calm and expectant. A self-assured confidence that you’ve seen many times before, in the guises of many different men. It sends a familiar shiver of resentment down your spine.
You could cut out his eye right now. You could sink the blade into the thick cord of his neck. And he’d shoot you dead just for trying it — oh, you’ve no doubt of that — but it’d be quick and it’d be painless, and here comes that pathetic urge again, that little whisper coaxing you deeper, deeper towards the welcoming dark —
But equally pathetic is the nagging insistence that always stays your hand, that strident, desperate plea born from bodily instinct. The shared fear of all life from the inevitable. Cowardice — that’s what it is. A cowardice you’ve never been able to shake, a resentful, stubborn tether that you’ve bitten and clawed at over the years, but that still stays looped firm around your neck.
( And what about Mei? What about her son? )
You hand him the knife, and he receives it without incident.
The water in the tin cup is boiling. Morgan slips the point of the knife through the cup’s metal handle, and delicately removes it from the grate to cool. As you stand there, wet and cold and resentful, but not sure what else to do, he saws the top off a can of beans and sets it on the grill to warm, then pulls something out of his satchel and tosses it in your direction.
Somehow, you manage to not fumble the catch. It’s a can of peaches.
“Don’t eat ‘em yet,” he says. “I wanna take a look at your arm first. Roll up your sleeve for me.”
You grimace. One of the pros of tailored shirts is having sleeves that actually fit. “It doesn’t roll up that far.”
“Then I’ll cut it off for you,” he says, putting the knife to the shoulder seam.
“Like hell you will. This is my last decent shirt.”
Morgan shrugs. “No way around it, unless you wanna take it off.”
A shirt nice enough to present a veneer of respectability costs at least $4. Your usual tailor’s fee runs about $2, plus tip. That’s $6 total: the equivalent of two week’s worth of food for Mei and her son. Good food — white rice and cabbage, maybe even a bit of pork belly. Not the bits of offal scrounged from the butcher and wilted produce she’d resort to otherwise.
You hold out your hand and say, “Give me something to cover myself with.”
Your time spent reading Ovid in college would have probably been better served learning to dress like him, you think to yourself as you try and try again to wrap Morgan’s blanket around yourself like a toga.
“I said I’d give you a minute to yourself,” he says. “It’s been more than three now. I’m gonna turn around.”
“Just ten more seconds,” you respond, hastily tucking the corner of the blanket into the horizontal swathe pulled taut across your torso.
The sheer amount of irritation he manages to convey in the sigh he lets out is really quite impressive. In it, you can somehow hear him rolling his eyes.
When you finally let him know you’re ready, he takes one look at you and has to stifle a laugh. “You could’ve just wrapped it around your chest. Woulda been more practical.”
“Oh, excuse me for wanting to preserve what’s left of my dignity,” you snap, keeping one arm pressed against your chest to keep the whole improvised garment from falling apart.
“Alright Caesar, c’mere. Let me see.”
The cut looks like an angry red furrow ploughed through the field of your skin. Its edges are ragged and torn, separated like poorly cut cloth. In between, the wound itself gleams red and raw, with particles and fibers mixed in with blood and indeterminate tissue.
Earlier, when you’d gingerly untied the makeshift bandage and taken off your shirt, you’d taken a silent moment to survey the damage, wondering with horrified fascination if it was perhaps your own muscle you were glimpsing, that particular facet of your body surfacing through its dermal barrier for the first time.
“I’m gonna hold your arm,” Morgan says. “That ok with you?”
You nod, a little dumbfounded that he of all people would have the foresight to ask for permission.
He lifts your arm towards the firelight so he can better examine the wound, and in doing so handles you with more care than you can remember any lover ever giving you. You tell yourself that it’s a rebuke of your own terrible taste than an indication of any extraordinary kindness on his part, then forcibly dredge up the memory of his gun at your back for good measure.
“You’re gonna have a hell of a scar after this,” he says, running his thumb along the unbroken skin below the cut. “No inflammation, which is good. I’ll patch you up the best I can, but we’re still gonna want to check on it every couple hours to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”
He gets up to rummage through his saddlebags and returns holding a roll of gauze and a bottle of clear liquid. “You’ll be wanting this,” he says, handing over the latter. “This’ll hurt.”
You take a swig and nearly choke on it. “What the hell is this?”
“Grain alcohol.”
Grimacing, you bring it to your lips again and take in two more mouthfuls of the stuff before handing it back, gulping it down quick to get the burn of it down your throat and off of your tongue.
Morgan hovers his hand over the tin cup to test its temperature. “This needs to cool down first. Gives you some time for that liquor to set in too.”
“I think it’s going to my head already,” you admit.
Heat is spreading from the warm pit of your stomach to your neck and face, branching through your veins as sure as blood. The thud of your heart, previously an imperceptible thing, now asserts itself like a metronome.
He glances over at you and whistles low. “Not much of a drinker, are you?”
“Not usually.” You press your palm against your cheek. “Am I turning red?”
“Gettin’ there.”
It’s strange, settling into this oddly comfortable limbo between cordiality and aggression. Your sustained caution of him is beginning to wane so steadily that you have to consciously remind yourself the only reason he hasn’t shot you dead or at least seriously injured you is due to the fact that you’re worth more intact than otherwise.
“So,” Morgan says. “What’s someone with silk bloomers doin’ all the way out here runnin’ opium to Strawberry?”
“It’s a very long and stupid story.”
“Then give me the short version.”
You stare at the ground as though it’ll offer you some way to condense the sordid affair of your life into a couple easy sentences. He’d asked the question with what sounded like genuine curiosity instead of interrogation, and for once you feel inclined to blurt out the whole of it, like a girl in confession.
You want to tell him about how small the missionaries had seemed when you’d waved at them through the train’s grime-smudged window, not knowing it’d be the last time. The tweed jacket tossed carelessly onto the floor, and the cool, smooth sheen of mahogany against your skin. Feng fishing you out from the dark water lapping at the docks. The money, the opium, the blood.
The sight of the Heartlands for the first time, its blue horizon impossibly vast.
“I owe someone a lot of money,” you say finally, fiddling with a piece of grass between your fingers, tearing into halves and halves and halves. “He said it was either this or the brothel.”
“And you chose this. Runnin’ dope to those poor bastards working the railroads.”
It’s not the first time you’ve heard this particular tone of voice. The kind that implies its speaker’s higher moral ground as it categorically condemns you. But coming from him makes its sting especially hard.
“I don’t force them to buy it,” you say hotly. “It’s not just me that’s at fault here.”
“You ever seen a dope addict? They ain’t got a goddamn choice —”
“Well, d’you know what the average lifespan of a Chinatown whore is?” You don’t bother waiting for a response before plummeting to the answer. “Two years. After that she’s either dead from syphilis or suicide. At least with the opium I’ll die out here in the open and not in some squalid closet of a room that smells like piss and men.”
The liquor is starting to hit hard , and a part of you is fiercely grateful for it. It’s been a long time since you’ve been given an excuse to scream out the inequities of your life to someone, and a man who’s holding you for ransom seems as good a target for your vitriol as any.
“You think that just ‘cause it’d be better for the greater good or some shit, they should get to fuck me over? Is that what you think?”
Morgan seems a little taken aback. “I didn’t say th—”
“I don’t give a shit about the addicts. I don’t give a shit who’s life I’m ruining, as long as it isn’t mine. I don’t… I don’t care about anyone else because I’m a terrible excuse for a human being. That’s what you want to hear me say, right?” At this point, you realize that you’ve transitioned into a hysterical rant, that you don’t properly mean half the things you’re saying, but saying it out loud feels good nonetheless, like sucking venom from a festering wound. “But people like you don’t get to tell me so. Because at least I don’t hold people at fucking gunpoint . I don’t rob banks or kidnap women or beat debtors. I’m not a fucking murderer like you—”
The last statement barely clears the air before the image of the dead O’Driscoll, sprawled across the ground with his belly torn open, flashes through your head. You immediately clap your hand over your mouth, as if doing so will let you swallow back your words.
“No,” Morgan says, “You ain’t a murderer. And that’s why you won’t last long.”
“Good,” you seethe. The hot sting of tears begins prickling again at the corners of your eyes. “I don’t want to.”
He raises his eyebrows and regards you with a vague, detached kind of pity that makes you almost wish he’d just outright condemn you instead, then touches his fingers to the tin cup. “Water’s cool enough now, I think.”
You feel like a petulant child who’s just thrown an ineffectual tantrum. Rendered self-conscious and obedient for the time being, you allow him to secure your elbow with his hand and begin irrigating the wound with warm water.
“Jesus fucking god,” you hiss. You reflexively try and jerk away, but he holds you still and tells you to stop squirming, his grip firm as iron.
It’s the worst pain you’ve felt in years. Like a lick of flame passing over your skin, echoing its progenitor again and again as he washes the cut with a series of short, measured trickles of water, flushing away the combined grime of dried blood, dust, and lint.
“You think this is bad,” he says, unscrewing the bottle of grain alcohol. “Wait’ll I sterilize it.”
If the water was flame, then the alcohol is a streak of molten lava, wet fire soaking through the wound in a rush of white-hot burning pain. You don’t scream — you let out a weak, choking sob so pathetic that you cover your mouth again in an attempt to stifle it.
But you’re a little drunk and your subconscious recognizes this as an excellent excuse to cry, and so it lets flood the tears you’ve kept stoppered up for hours now. You whimper, meet his eyes briefly, then start bawling.
Your crying before hadn’t seemed to bother him, but now he looks almost comically alarmed. He must think it’s the physical pain sending you into hysterics, because he starts trying to comfort you the same way he did Boadicea when he’d led her into the river.
“You’re doin’ good,” he says, cajoling you in a soft, affectionate voice. He sets the bottle of alcohol on the ground and pats you awkwardly on the shoulder. “Just a little more to go, and we’ll be done.”
Another agonizing, scorching splash of fire. He doesn’t chide you this time when you try to pull away.
“Shhhh… I know, I know. Hurts like a bitch, don’t it? I’m gonna give it one more rinse, and — yeah, there we go. You’re alright.”
Morgan wraps the bandage over your arm with deft, practiced fingers, and you wonder briefly how many times he’s had to do this for himself, with no one to soothe him. Though better that than the shoddy job you’d done on him six weeks ago, frantically patching him up with just the barest idea of what you were doing.
He ties off the bandage, then picks the can of peaches off the ground, pops open its metal lid with the tip of his knife and proffers it to you like a peace offering. “Here. You’re hungry, right?”
It’s very hard to cry and eat at the same time. You decide to concentrate on the latter.
After tapering your sobs down to a series of quiet, resentful sniffles, you begin gulping down mouthful after messy mouthful of sliced peach. It’s the first morsel of food you’ve had in over ten hours, and you wolf it down so quickly you hardly taste it. Just an impression of cloying sweetness mixed with something faintly aromatic (cinnamon, you think) lingering as an aftertaste.
The old instincts of hunger are hard to shake off. All decorum thoroughly discarded, you raise the can to your lips and drink down what syrup remains, tilting it nearly perpendicular to the ground to get at the last few drops.
“My god,” Morgan says. “I seen dogs with better manners.”
“If you’d fed me earlier, then I— what’re you doing.”
“What’s it look like I’m doing?” he asks. He holds his bandolier in one hand. The other is working at his shirtcollar. “I’m gettin’ the hell outta these wet clothes.”
You clutch at the empty can of peaches as his union suit reveals itself in a revelation of blue. A blue which, you admit to yourself with an uncomfortable surge of appreciation, suits the shade of his eyes extremely well. But when he begins unbuckling his belt, you quickly avert your eyes. “Really?” you ask. The scandalization you probably ought to have felt from the very moment he’d begun undressing finally begins to surface. “Your pants, too?”
“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’m keepin’ the union suit on.”
“Are you usually this brazen with the women you kidnap?”
“D’you usually sit around half-naked with the men who kidnap you?” he asks, jabbing his thumb towards your own discarded shirt, which you’d spread out neatly beside the fire to dry.
“That’s different,” you hiss, knowing very well that it isn’t. “I had a medical reason.”
“Yeah, and so do I. I don’t wanna get pneumonia.”
He has a point. You look down at your own sodden trousers, which cling to your skin in a cold, wet embrace, and your internal scale of comfort versus propriety tips decidedly towards the former.
“Turn your back again,” you tell him.
“What for?”
“I’m gonna take my pants off too, and I don’t want you trying to sneak a peek at my bloomers.”
He laughs, then winces and gingerly splays his fingers across his ribs. It’s the first sign of real levity you’ve seen from him. “Oh, that is the last thing on my mind right now, girl.” There’s a tired grin on his face, and were it not for the events of the day, you might have almost found it endearing. “Besides, you ain’t hardly my type.”
“Well that’s good to hear,” you reply, a little offended. “Because I’m not interested in men with terrible taste.”
But he does as he’s told, and when you’re satisfied with the oblique angle of his range of sight, you let the borrowed blanket fall from your shoulders and pull the ribbon securing your braid free. You rake your fingers through your hair until it hangs loose, then gather the ends of it in one hand and twist it tight to wring out the rainwater. Only then do you pull the blanket back over your shoulders and begin to undress.
First, your boots. Then the knee-length woolen socks, which have left their cable-knit weave as an imprint on your skin. After glancing at him one more time to make sure his face is turned discreetly away, you unbuckle your belt and wriggle your way out of your trousers. It takes some maneuvering, and some thoroughly indecent posturing, to finally get them off. You leave your cotton bloomers on, figuring that the warmth of the fire will dry the thin material soon enough.
When you look back at Morgan, you find that he’s since turned back towards you. Not to gawk, but to get a better look at his own wounds in the firelight.
His union suit is half-unbuttoned. Most of his bare chest is visible, and along with it, the bruises from the ricocheted bullet. A mottle of blue and violet, like a spill of ink that radiates from the negative imprint of the flask that took the impact in his place. And right below it, a glimpse of your own handiwork.
When you’d first found him, the cut had spanned diagonal across his torso, trailing shallow from his chest and biting deep near the ridge of his hip. Most of it’s healed over since, but the edges are angry and inflamed still, and you can see the fading marks of your inexpert stitches laid like railroad tracks over the land of his skin.
“Don’t worry, I ain’t looked at you,” Morgan says. He probes gently at an indigo patch and inhales sharply. “Too busy lickin’ my own wounds.”
If you look closer, you can see the remnants of multiple scuffs and scratches. A history of violence storied across his body, told in the pale lettering of scars, many of them recent. An unwelcome pang of guilt settles itself low in your belly. It looks like he’s been on the road for a while, healing sporadically through long stretches of hard journeying. Hard journeying made worse, no doubt, by your theft of his bonds.
“You… uh. You want me to keep carving off wet bark?”
“Nah,” he says distractedly, still trying to determine the depth of the damage left behind. “Should be fine leavin’ the rest of it to dry out by the fire.”
You draw the blanket tighter around your shoulders, then root around your head for something, anything to talk about. Anything to get this burgeoning sympathy for Arthur Morgan out of your head.
“Your friend in St Denis,” you say finally. “He’s not gonna know much about me if he doesn’t speak Chinese.”
Morgan absentmindedly scratches his chin as he begins buttoning his union suit back up. “Wouldn’t put it past him. I know he’s had dealings with ‘em in the past.”
Something clicks in the back of your head. Long overdue recognition like puzzle pieces fitting together. “What’s his name?”
“Josiah,” he says.
“Josiah,” you echo. The spark of some fit of emotion is beginning to rise in your throat. “Josiah… Trelawney?”
His bewildered face is enough to confirm your suspicions. Relief, anger, confusion — all of them flood you at once with such intensity that you have to take a moment to squeeze your eyes shut. When you open them, you take a deep breath and swallow hard. “Josiah Trelawney’s the son of a bitch I sold your bonds to.”
———
Massive thanks to @reddeaddufus for editing not only this chapter, but the entirety of this fic. This whole thing would be a lot more disjointed if it weren't for her.
Definitely give her fic Red Dead Pursuit a look. The main character is extremely compelling, the plot is fast-paced, and the porn is A+. Her writing style is also a delight to read.
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yellowsuitcase · 3 years
Text
Christmas Morning // Ron Weasley
A/N: Hello! Happy first of December! I thought a great way to start off this month would be by posting a Ron Weasley fluff. (In this fic, Voldy doesn’t exist. ) Enjoy, and Happy Holidays!
Summary: Y/N spends Christmas at the Burrow with her boyfriend Ron.
Warning(s): None.
Word Count: 2.3k
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Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light streaming in from the Burrow’s windows. She sat up slowly and stretched her arms up to the sky, letting out a soft groan. Once she finished waking up her muscles, she glanced around the room and noticed all the décor. It’s Christmas, she remembered. Through the floorboards, she could hear that the Weasley’s were already downstairs. Mrs. Weasley was yelling at Fred while White Christmas was playing on an old fashioned radio. A few weeks ago, Mr. Weasley had found it at a muggle consignment shop, Ron had told her. Y/N pulled back the red and orange bed sheets on Ron's bed and touched her naked feet to the floor. It was cold to the touch, so she walked over to her bag and pulled out fuzzy white socks her mother had gifted to her before she left to spend this Christmas at the Weasley’s. She slipped them on her feet and headed for the door. 
Y/N failed to contain her excitement as she practically skipped down the steps until reaching the bottom floor. She turned the corner, passing the warm fireplace and sparkling tree, and walked into the kitchen where the entire family was digging in. Upon noticing her arrival, Mrs. Weasley smiled and stood up from her chair. “Happy Christmas, Y/N!” she said brightly, opening her arms up for a hug. Y/N eagerly embraced her, laughing as she did so. “Happy Christmas,” she replied. 
“You’re just in time for breakfast; we’ve saved you a plate right next to Ron,” Mr. Weasley notified her. Y/N gave her thanks to him and sat herself down next to her boyfriend. Ron leaned in for a sweet kiss. “Good morning, darling. Did you sleep okay? I didn't wake you, did it? It was hard to maneuver myself out of bed,” he chuckled. Y/N blushed and nodded. “I slept wonderfully, thank you, Ronald.”
“Eat faster. I want to open presents,” Fred said impatiently. “Fred! You’d better watch your mouth, or you won’t be getting any presents. Besides, Y/N just got here, let the girl get some food in her stomach,” Mrs. Weasley scolded. Y/N smiled softly, trying not to laugh at Fred. He glanced up at her and shot her a wink. “I’m only joking, Mum,” he replied. Mrs. Weasley scoffed as she sat back in her chair. Y/N started to eat her food. She, just as much as Fred, was excited to open presents. Ron, beside her, was nearly done with his plate. It only had a piece of toast left on it. He picked it up, folded it over, and shoved the entire thing in his mouth. Y/N promptly bent over with laughter, causing everyone’s eyes to turn to her. 
“Ron Weasley, I know you did not just put that entire piece of toast in your mouth.” Ron furrowed his eyebrows. “What?” he asked with his mouth full. Y/N shook her head in disappointment. “He can’t control himself, that boy,” Mrs. Weasley mused as Mr. Weasley nodded his head in agreement. “Yeah, the amount of times Mum has had to do the Heimlich on him is staggering. He used to choke every other day when he was younger,” George informed Y/N. Ron, who had swallowed his bread, spoke up. “I did not. And besides, it’s not like I set off a smoke bomb in the middle of dinner, just for a laugh,” he fired back. 
“That’s enough, boys. It’s Christmas; no arguing allowed. Now, take your dishes to the sink and let's gather ‘round the tree, alright? Y/N, dear, take all the time you need; we won’t start without you,” Mrs. Weasley told Y/N. The Weasleys put their plates away and headed for the living room, leaving just Ron and Y/N.  “Oh, no worries! I think I’m done. I want to save room for your delicious Christmas dinner that I’ve heard so much about!” Y/N replied happily. Mrs. Weasley blushed and waved her off. “It’s nothing. Now go on, you two, I’ll be there in a moment.”
Ron took Y/N’s hand and led her to the living room. They settled onto the couch and threw a blanket on top of their legs. Ron turned his head to look at Y/N. “I’m really excited for you to see what I’ve gotten you,” he told her before pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” she said quietly. Ron shook his head, adamantly. “Nonsense, you’re my girlfriend, of course, I got you something.” Y/N sighed but rested her head on Ron’s shoulder and squeezed his hand lovingly. Shortly, Mrs. Weasley came into the room and sat down in the wooden rocking chair next to the tree. It was drowning in colorfully wrapped boxes. “Ginny, dear. Why don’t you open one of your gifts first?” she suggested. Ginny nodded and grasped the closest present with her name on it. Y/N felt Ron shift uncomfortably next to her. “You’ll get to open yours soon enough, Ronald. So impatient,” she whispered. Her boyfriend responded by slightly shoving her, eliciting a little giggle from her lips.
Their antics were interrupted by Ginny gasping. In her hands were brand new quidditch gloves. They had red accents around the base to match her Hogwarts house. “Thanks, Mum! I needed new ones,” Ginny said. Her mother smiled proudly. “I’m glad you like them. I even embroidered the red bits on it, did you see?” Ginny nodded and placed her gloves tenderly beside her. She then grabbed a small box and looked at the tag to see who it was addressed to, but was stopped short by Mrs. Weasley's sharp inhale. “I forgot! Ginny, would you grab that large bag back there? It has gifts for everyone.” Ginny did as her mother asked and handed the bag to her. Mrs. Weasley, one by one, pulled out each gift and gave them to their respective recipients. Once everyone had their package in their hands, Mrs. Weasley smiled and urged them to open it. Y/N ripped the red colored paper eagerly, while Ron opened his unhurriedly. He knew what it was going to be, as did the rest of his family. Y/N, however, didn’t know what to expect. But when she pulled out a dark green sweater with her first initial knitted onto the front. She gasped and immediately pulled it over her head. “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley! It’s so cozy,” she gushed. Ron smiled at his lover. He and his brothers and sister had received one of these sweaters every year. But for Y/N, she had never gotten one. And to receive one meant his mother regarded her as part of the family. This filled Ron with pride. And on top of that, she looked absolutely adorable in it.
After everyone put on their sweater, they continued with presents. “Dad, here’s one for you. It’s from Y/N,” Fred said as he passed his father the box. “Y/N, you shouldn’t have,” Mr. Weasley said lightly as he shook the box. “I wonder what it is,” he said while ripping the wrapping paper to reveal an electric razor. But it seemed as though Mr. Weasley didn’t know what it was just by the picture, so Y/N filled him in. “It’s an electric razor. You flick it on, and that way, you don’t have to go through the hassle of rinsing the normal little one. Does that make sense?” she asked. Mr. Weasley’s eyebrows were knit together as he opened the box and lifted up the small mechanism. “I think so, but I’m not sure.” Y/N chuckled. “I’ll go over the instructions with you later if you’d like,” she offered. He smiled and placed the razor back in the box. “What a curious little thing this is… Yes, that’d be great Y/N, thank you very much.”
Y/N snuggled close to Ron. She loved watching people open gifts; it made her feel fuzzy inside. They continued opening presents. Fred got a new scarf as well as a gobstone set. George got a scarf too, but instead of gobstones, he got a fanged frisbee. The twins were rather excited about that one. Ginny, along with her gloves, got a necklace with six rings to signify quidditch hoops. A large pack of chocolate frogs was gifted to Ron and another Chudley Cannons poster to slap on his wall. Mrs. Weasley got a new knitting basket full of supplies, and Mr. Weasley got a set of ties. Y/N got a large basket full of prank items from the twins, a makeup palette from Ginny, and a wallet from Mr. Weasley. She was extremely pleased with her gifts and promised each giver that she’d try them out as soon as possible. Once all the presents were gone, everyone began to scatter, some to test their new items and others to get properly dressed. Regardless, this left Ron and Y/N on the couch.
“So, are you ready for your present?” Y/N asked. Ron smiled, “I am. Where have you hidden it?” he asked. His girlfriend laughed. “It’s in my bag; hold on.” She wordlessly summoned the gift. It landed in her hands, and she passed it off to Ron. It was wrapped in red and silver striped paper and had a gold bow on top. Ron gingerly removed the bow and tore the paper. He was now left with a simple black box. When he opened it, he breathed, "Wow." Inside was a wooden wristwatch with walnut colored straps. Ron took it off the little pillow and studied it intently. Inside the face were various small holes, almost like the moon or perhaps a sponge. He unhooked the latch and wrapped it around his wrist.
“You like it?” Y/N asked nervously. “I love it, darling," Ron assured her. "Thank you. Could you help me latch it?” he asked. Y/N nodded and leaned over his wrist, her fingers nimbly pushing the prong through the hole and fastening it tightly. When she pulled away, Ron’s hand touched her cheek, and he drew her in for a kiss. She sighed softly, melting into him. “Now, it’s your turn,” Ron murmured after pulling away. He stood up from the couch and walked over to a shelf where he opened the top drawer and drew out a long, slender box wrapped in blue paper. He remained standing and handed Y/N the box. She looked at curiously, wondering what could be in such a skinny box. But when she removed the cover and saw what was inside, her face broke out in a genuine grin. Inside was an elegant red quill, spotted with gold flecks. Y/N ran her finger along the center, feeling its smoothness. She picked it up and held it in her dominant hand just as she would any other quill. It felt perfect. “Ron, this is beautiful. I hope it wasn’t expensive…” Ron smiled and awkwardly rested his hand on his neck. “It was a bit pricey, but I knew you’d love it so I had to get it,” Ron said with a blush on his cheeks. Y/N set the quill back in its box and stood up to face him. “Ron Weasley. I love you so much.”
Suddenly, the radio went silent, catching their attention. The pair turned their heads towards it, wondering why it was quiet. But then the telltale sound of winter bells filled the air. “Silver bells...silver bells... it’s Christmas time in the city…” Y/N averted her attention back to her boyfriend. He smirked at her and held out his hand. “May I have this dance, Ms. Y/L/N?” Y/N giggled at his playfulness but took his outstretched hand nonetheless. He pulled her close, gently pushing her head to lie against his chest. Her hand was still in his as it too rested on his chest. Ron’s opposite hand landed on her waist. They began to gently sway back and forth, letting the music fill their ears. After a few moments, Ron even started to hum along. The vibrations from his chest lulled Y/N’s eyes closed. She felt so happy, so peaceful in his arms. 
“Happy Christmas, Y/N. I’m really glad you’re here,” Ron whispered in her ear. Y/N took her head off his chest to gaze up at him. “Happy Christmas, Ron,” she replied. The couple’s dance was interrupted by the sound of a loud click. They froze in place as they snapped their heads in the direction from which they heard the noise. There stood Molly Weasley, a camera in her hands. “Oh, I’m sorry, dears, but you two looked so sweet, I had to capture the moment. You can have the photo; it’s already been printed,” she said excitedly as she passed the image to Ron. He brought it towards him while shaking his head at his mother. Y/N grasped his wrist and pulled it down so that she, too, could see it. There they were, pressed against one another, swaying back and forth. Then the Y/N in the picture lifted her head to look at Ron. Real-life Y/N had to admit that the photo was definitely worth it despite their moment being cut short. 
“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. This is the best Christmas gift, being here with you and your lovely family.” The red-headed woman blushed. “Of course, dear, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. I’ll leave you to it now, sorry for interrupting.” She scurried back to the kitchen, once again leaving the couple alone. Ron scoffed. “Can’t believe that woman,” he said. Y/N lightly whacked his shoulder. “Hush, you. Because of her, we now have this wonderful photograph,” she scolded. Ron sighed and brought the picture closer to his face. “It is a really nice photo,” he admitted. Y/N laughed at him, grabbed his face, and placed a tender kiss on his lips; he returned it eagerly, relishing in the feeling of his girl in his arms.
“This will probably end up being one of my favorite Christmases,” Ron said when she pulled away from the kiss. Y/N rested her head against his chest yet again, breathing in his comforting scent. “Yeah, I think so too.”
Taglist: @cutie1365​ @orangecrayon​ @sambucky8​ @emilianamason​ @raplinethereal​ @dixiethemorab24​ @prongsandprancer​
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medicallyinevitable · 3 years
Text
Medically Inevitable
Chapter 15:- Hopeful Happenings
Characters:- Arielle Valentine, Ethan Ramsey, Ines Delarosa, Kyra Santana
Pairing:- Ethan Ramsey x Arielle Valentine
Warnings:- Slight mentions of cancer
Word Count:- 1700+ words :)
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General PoV:-
As the sun shines bright in the late morning, Arielle parks her car and heads straight towards Edenbrook’s locker room, a to-go cup in hand from Starbucks instead of Derry Roasters not wanting any chance to bump into Dr. Ramsey, despite knowing that he’s her boss. Making her way to the nurses’ station, she picks up her charts and textbooks and heads toward the cafeteria.
Arielle’s PoV:-
You keep at your textbooks, scouring the pages for anything that could explain Nigel's symptoms, and the tidal wave of self-doubt doesn’t help either. You let out a sigh, "Maybe Dr. Ramsey's right. Maybe I really don't belong here..."
"Mind if I join you?" A cheery voice snaps you back to reality.
You turn around to find Kyra. Dread fills in you as you see her. "Kyra, what are you doing here? Is your cancer back? Is something wrong?", you start asking.
"Woah! Dial down the doom and gloom there, Dr. Sob Emoji. I'm in remission." Kyra beams.
"What?! Oh my god congratulations! I’m so happy for you!" You envelope her in a warm hug which almost melts all your tension away.
"Just had another check-up. Will be coming a lot for those," she catches you up with her remission plan as you two sit. "No offense but I definitely look in better shape than you!"
"Ugh I know. I'm exhausted.” And just like that, all the tension fills your mind as you give her the details. " My shift ended like five hours ago, but instead of going home I am sitting here and reading till my eyes bleed."
"You should probably get that looked at." Kyra's face morphs into something serious but genuine as she continues.
"Look, I don't want to be that cancer survivor… but it did make me realize that life is too short." You give her a sad smile knowing how painful it must have been for her.
"We only get so many chances you know? But maybe you need that lesson more than I do," she continues after pausing for a moment.
"Is it that obvious?" You raise your brows.
"Let's chalk it up to my incredible intuition." Kyra smiles," Anyways there's an amazing ice cream shop nearby. They make an triple chocolate gelato that's literally to die for," she jokes, " You can take my word for that." "Why don't we visit that place? It'll give you a distraction and a much needed break."
You look at her and then your textbooks, not understanding what to do. All you can see is blurry lines. the words and concepts swim around in your very exhausted brain. You close the textbook with a slam after your answer is crystal clear.
"How can I say no to chocolate gelato!", you say dramatically.
"That's more like it!", Kyra beams. The two of you collect your belongings and make your way out as you tell Kyra everything about the dilemma with your latest patient.
"This place is pretty cute.", you say as you look around.
"Try nauseatingly adorable. I want to make it tiny and keep it in my bookshelf," Kyra replies. You laugh.
"You collect tiny shops?" You ask as the two of you made your way to the counter.
"I collect many sickeningly adorable things," she laughs before turning her attention to the boy behind the counter. "I’ll have the large Death by Chocolate please. And my absurdly attractive friend here will have…”, she nods for you to continue.
You roll your eyes at her before placing your order. You take a look at their menu before deciding to have the same one as Kyra as it's the most chocolatey one.
“I'll have the same.", you smile at the server.
The server scoops your gelato into two big cups and slides them across the counter while Kyra rummages through her bag for her wallet.
"I'll pay.“, you say getting your card out.
"No way!", she stops you by swiftly taking your card from you. You whine but to your dismay she doesn’t budge.
"This was my idea. Besides I didn't get out much during recovery. I've got months of dining-out budget to blow."
The next minute she's handing the cash to the server and then guiding you to a booth. As you two take your seats, Kyra hands you your card.
She takes a spoon full of her Death by Chocolate and sighs blissfully.
“Mmmmmm…”
You smile at her antics. "That good?" You ask before taking a bite.
"Orgasmic. I never used to eat junk food before my diagnosis."
She takes another bite and you take your first. You can't help but let out a moan as the chocolatey silkiness melts on your tongue. Kyra smirks and gives you a smug look.
She then continues, "I was super into exercising and calorie counting. I never did anything I wasn't supposed to." She smiles sadly. "And I still got lung cancer. At my twenties!"
"You must have been so strong!", you reply.
"Everyone keeps saying that but-", she pauses, "I don't know. I just went to the doctor to see why I was breathing weird."
She sighs. "Then suddenly I was going for all these tests, and then I had cancer."
She laughs humorlessly. "Life went from jogging and juice every morning to chemo and puking."
You can almost feel the pain as she speaks about her experiences even when you’re aware you’ll never truly understand.
"But I didn't do anything," she says, " Those things had to happen , and I had good insurance, so I did them. And it's not like I had any alternative."
"I think you should give yourself more credit.”, you reach for her hand and squeeze it in a comforting manner.
"You faced death with a smile on your face. I'll always remember you cracking jokes on the way to surgery-", you stop for a second before adding,"You are the strongest person I know Kyra."
Kyra blushes, a little embarrassed. "Well you can laugh or you can cry and I chose to laugh.”, she shrugs with a smile on her face.
"And like I said, I don't want to be that cancer survivor but it does put certain things into perspective."
"That kind of clarity must be nice.", you reply.
"Well yeah, you have to get some kind of consolation price for nearly dying, right?" She then shakes her head.
”But enough about that. If we keep talking about this you'll always see me as a girl who beat cancer."
"I'll never, Kyra." you say truthfully. "That's not how I see you."
"Oh yeah? And how do you exactly see me?" She asks playfully.
"I think you are inspiring."
A blush creeps on her face as she’s caught off guard, but quickly retaliates with a sassy reply. “If you keep giving me compliments then I’ll never let you hear the end of it.”
“We’ll see about that.” You both dissolve into fits of laughter as Kyra fills you up on the hospital gossip...
“What wait?! Seriously?! I can’t believe it!”
“Me either, but you know how gossip is!”, she replies with a shrug.
Just then your phone chimes. You pull it out to see it’s a reminder for your shift.
“Crap, I have 10 minutes till my shift.”
“Oof, you better hurry!”, she replies.
“We should do this again, this was really nice.”, you say as you gather your things.
“We should! Besides there would have to be 12 different things wrong with someone to turn down Gelato!”, she jokes.
“..12 different things wrong….. oh my god, Kyra, you’re a genius!”
You scramble to your feet and quickly throw away your cup.
“I like to think I am but what did I do?”, she asks.
“I’ll explain later!”, you yell.
“Ookay…” You rush back to the hospital, typing out a message on your pager as Kyra sits there in utter confusion.
“Well I guess I could get another scoop of gelato…”
————————————————————
An hour later, you take a deep breath before entering Nigel's room to find Ethan and Ines already inside.
“Well what are you waiting for?”, Dr. Ramsey says. Pushing back all of your invading memories of him, you continue with your explanation.
"I spent the last two days trying to figure out the one thing causing all of Mr.Platt's symptoms.”, you say as you stand beside Nigel's bedside.
"And?", he asks. For a split second, you can see a slight look of hope in his eyes, but it passes as quickly as it came, leaving you to believe it was a mere delusion of yours.
"That's when I realized nothing was causing all of them-" But before you can continue, you’re interrupted by Nigel.
"Are you calling-", he burps, “me a liar?", he asks, rude as always.
You control the urge to roll your eyes. He could've at least let you finish your sentence.
Ignoring him, you continue what you were saying," Mr.Platt has been experiencing tingling and hair loss but also cold sensitivity and some hearing problems." You pause for a second before continuing,"All of which point to hypothyroidism caused by Hashimoto's disease easily treated with levothyroxine."
"Go on." Ethan orders in his usual cold bossy tone.
"I couldn't fit in the constant burping and the chest pain… because it was completely separate." You explain. "I ordered a barium swallow X-ray and detected a hiatal hernia in the esophageal hole through the diaphragm."
"The treatment?", he asks, motioning you to continue.
"I have already booked a laparoscopic surgery to repair it.”, you answer with a touch of pride.
"Good work Dr.Valentine." Ines smiles at you.” You return it with a nod and a tentative smile.
"So ... I'll be cured?" Nigel asks.
"Yes-“, you calm yourself down before you rip him apart and then continue.
"You'll be good as new." you say instead with a forced smile.
"Good... because I don't want to spend a -" he burps, " second more in your hopeless company."
Your blood boils at this point as you bite your lip to control yourself. “The audacity! Ugh, he's a patient, Arielle. You have to be nice to him.”
"Mr. Platt, might suggest viewing this as a new lease on life. Perhaps a life where you don't make everyone around you miserable.”, Ethan's stern voice retorts, shocking you and Ines.
“No way...he did not!”
"Dr. Ramsey!" Ines exclaims with a shocked expression on her face, which you’re quite sure your face resembles.
"I'll report you! I want to talk to your manager," he says more angrily than before.
"Go ahead," Ethan says with a sarcastic smile." Maybe she can't talk to you like this but I sure as hell can."
You look at Nigel who looks like he's about to say something but just then Bryce struts in. He winks at you playfully as he passes you.
"Someone called for a laparoscopic surgery?"
"Oh great, first Barbie and now the damn Ken doll!” You don’t even attempt to hide the disgust on your face as you roll your eyes.
By the time you’ve finished your consultation with Bryce, Ines and Ethan have already left the room. Pleased with yourself, you take a left in the hallway without noticing Ethan standing leaning against the wall.
"Rookie..." His velvety baritone voice calls out, pulling you out of a haze.
Wincing, you stop dead in your tracks as the memories of the previous day replay in your mind. Still embarrassed with your encounter, you turn around but never meet his eyes. You’re sure you look like a kid, standing before him with your feet crossed, one hand fiddling with your hair as you bite your lip.
"So, you figured it out in the end. And you kept things professional.”, he nods, barely visible.
"I guess I just needed a… push.”, you reply in a timid voice laced with embarrassment.
"Maybe you aren’t so hopeless then.", he says.
Unlike yesterday, his voice isn’t filled with disappointment and malice.
So mustering up some courage, you look up to meet his eyes. Relief washes over you as you don’t detect a hint of disappointment in his eyes. He isn’t smiling but something in you tells you he isn’t angry. You don’t realise you’ve been staring into his oh-so blue eyes until his pager beeps, shaking you out of your reverie.
“..Uh- I’ll see you around, Dr. Ramsey.” You can almost swear that you see longing etched into his chiseled features as you lose yourself in his eyes once more.
“Likewise, Valentine.” With that, he turns around and stalks away.
You sigh and lean against the wall, the events since you started your residency swirl around like a hurricane filled with memories.
“What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
******************************************
And this concludes Season 1 of Medically Inevitable!
Authors’ Note:- Hey everyone, hope y’all enjoyed this chapter! As you’ve probably seen before, this is the last chapter of Season 1! Season 2 will be out soon, as soon as we work out the kinks and pump out a few chapters with different moodboards and title themes! Season 2 will be much more eventful, more drama, angst and shocking cliffhangers mixed in with the string of festivities that Thanksgiving and Christmas bring! Stay tuned and check our blogs and Instagram’s (same handle) for more updates! And lastly thank y’all so much for all the support, we are extremely grateful.
Love,
@drariellevalentine & @mysticaurathings
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hypnoticwinter · 3 years
Text
Down the Rabbit Hole part 25
“Jesus,” Erica breathes, “you weren’t kidding,” and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.
I’ve managed to keep my heartrate under control all the way down to the barrows but now that we’re here I’m able to let my breath out and relax a little, ironically. The place is a graveyard, a grisly butcher’s workshop of stinking ichor and dismembered copepods. It is unearthly quiet, even down here in the middle of the Pit’s guts, with the only sound being the dripping of glutinous white phlegm-like vital fluids and occasionally a far-off groan from the Pit’s musculature.
The copepods are everywhere, strewn all over the place like ragdolls, and very few of them are intact. The majority have had their arms ripped off and a ragged hole bored straight through the middle of their armored faceplate that looks like it goes several feet deep at least. Here and there there are dead leeches, the only trace of the leechman, the only thing giving any clue as to what might have happened her. I briefly wish that I still had my camera with me.
Saying goodbye to Elena had made me acutely aware that I may not have been prepared for what I was getting myself into. I had helped her out of the cot and she had stumbled and cried out and then I caught her, prepared for the worst, already starting to panic – had I done a bad job? Had I hurt her somehow while I was tending to her wounds and only now was she able to feel the effects of it, getting up and moving around?
Elena had looked at me, lips already curling into a sheepish grin, and then she must have seen the look on my face and stopped, stood there straight without any assistance from me and then put her hands on my face and cupped me to her and kissed me so long and so hard that I felt a little faint. Erica had coughed behind us, a little uncomfortably, but when we finally broke apart I really had eyes only for Elena, I couldn’t stop staring at her, at the freckles across her cheeks, at the way one of the corners of her lips lifted slightly higher than the other when she smiled, at a dozen little things like that that I wanted to fix in my mind.
I don’t think I really knew, not consciously, at least, why I made such an effort to keep a clear image of her in my head then, to get every detail down in as complete a manner as I could. It only became apparent to me once we had walked out to the Cord and Elena had opened the door and turned around and waved to me before disappearing that I had been so concerned with her safety that I had had no concern at all for mine.
The door clanged shut and Marcus had spun the wheel to seal it tightly and then Elena was gone. Before she left we had hugged again, there in Oyster’s Shame, amid the glistening walls and the sounds of more of the tiny pearly deposits falling here and there like a soft distant rain. “You come back to me,” she had growled, right into my ear, and I could feel her leave a wet spot on my cheek from where she had begun to cry, and I wanted so badly to go with her but I didn’t see any way I could.
“Well,” I had said to Erica, forcing myself to sound brighter than I had felt, “let’s get this over with.”
So we did.
Marcus kicks one of the dead leeches and it rolls a little. It looks like it has some weight to it, some heftiness that isn’t immediately apparent from how slender it is. It’s about the length of my arm. “What the hell is this, E?” he asks, looking up at her, and Erica shakes her head, getting down on her haunches to examine it.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she says. “It’s a little bit like a gastric bristleworm but not as…I don’t know, bristly.”
I’m standing there in the back with my arms folded, waiting. Next to me is the stinking corpse of a copepod; this one has been crushed, its insides, ropy and white, flooding out in a great mass from its burst sides. Even with the helmet up I can smell it; Erica and Marcus must have cast-iron stomachs. Erica does, anyway; when we first made it down to the barrows we’d had to stop for a moment to let Marcus vomit.
The tracking PDA had lead us almost exactly the way we’d gone the day before, back before everything had gone to hell. I still don’t know exactly what had kicked it off to begin with; my best guess was that the Leechman had showed up and gone on a rampage just after we’d left with the crystal, and the copepods, they must have assumed that it was our fault, that we’d drawn it here or were somehow working with it. Did they know what it was? Did they recognize it? I wish the Big Guy were still around to ask but we had passed his desiccated, punctured corpse, recognizable only by the stump of one of its wrists, as we had made our way through the central chamber. Marcus is carrying the Sergeant’s slug rifle but he does so nervously, as though he’s afraid of it. He clearly isn’t familiar with the thing. I wonder what’ll happen if he does have to fire it, if it’ll just put him on his ass or if it’ll actually break a bone.
The two of them have been decent to me so far. Erica seems genuinely regretful about hitting me earlier; she doesn’t look at me most of the time, and if she does need me for something, mainly to use the suit computer to look at a map, she asks for me politely and in a soft voice. I thought that Marcus might curse at me or harbor some kind of ill-feeling; after all, Elena – after all, my girlfriend attacked him, and I have no doubt that if she had been able to get away with it she likely would have shot the both of them and washed her hands of it.
The thought makes me shudder very slightly, but not of fear or anger but just vague baseless exhilaration, of minor and muted joy that things are finally happening, for better or for worse, for good or ill, that great capital-letter THINGS WILL CHANGE finally rolling over and putting muscle behind its epitaph.
I had been terrified on the way down that the copepods would have torn us apart, would have eaten us. I had no confidence in Erica and Marcus’ ability to protect this little illicit expedition. They have no plan, no notion of what might be waiting for them. And I don’t know what they intend to do if they do actually manage somehow to get their hands on the crystal. Break it? But that’d be counterproductive, wouldn’t it, as if what Erica’s saying is right, that’d just give us that psychic illness.
If I don’t have it already. Was that dream a dream or the start of it? Is it –
No, stop. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the perfectly normal sort of dream to have when you’re under this much stress, in these conditions. Once you’re out of here, once you’ve – Christ, I don’t know, gotten Elena some vacation time or sick leave or whatever the hell and spent the rest of your savings taking her to fucking Tahiti or somewhere, if you’re still having the dreams then, you can worry about it.
I could tell them, I could tell Erica and Marcus. It’d be easy. I could just say something like, ‘hey, uh, so there’s this giant fucking ogre made out of leeches wandering around down here and it’s got the crystal you’re after, and it killed all these copepods. Oh, and the crystal weighs about a ton and we had to get a robot to carry it, which I notice you guys didn’t bring with you. No, you can’t use our robot, it’s probably smashed to bits somewhere.’
They wouldn’t believe me. There’s no way in hell they’d believe me. Even if I did want to save their asses, which at the moment is not very high up on my priority list. I’m still maintaining the faint hope that they might actually find the damn Leechman and try to get into a fight with it, which would be my cue to run like hell.
“Roan,” Erica asks me, again using that mildly infuriating soft and considerate voice, “have you seen one of these before?” She’s holding the body of the leech out to me, grasping it like one might hold a snake, right behind the head. Its mouth gapes insanely wide and round and the body hangs limp. I can’t stop myself from taking a step backwards.
Goddam it, Erica.
“Leechman,” I say, and then I cough. Our eyes meet for the first time in a half hour. “The leechman’s here.”
Erica’s eyes seem to grow instantly deeper. Her mouth is open slightly, and she stares at me in silence until Marcus nudges her, his eyes flicking between her and me. “What’s the leechman?” he asks, and Erica, broken out of her reverie, licks her lips and glances over at him.
“Nothing,” she tells him, getting to her feet quickly. “A fairy tale. Like the boogeyman.”
Marcus doesn’t believe this; I can tell from the way he looks at her, but he doesn’t question it, just gets to his feet as well and follows her as she pulls out the tracking PDA, taps at the screen a few times, and then points down at one of the darkened vents. “That way,” she says, and where she points we follow.
We make our winding way through the ass-end of the barrows, the part we hadn’t gone through yesterday, and then the trail takes a corkscrewing, winding path downwards. We are very clearly in a section of the Pit that people have not been in very often. Even in the sections leading up to the barrows, where the flesh of the vents is left bare and uncovered, there are still lights strung here and there, little radio repeaters and every now and then a tiny, cramped-looking ranger station, mostly mothballed and closed-off, but still evidence that someone had come before us. In the barrows, though, this stopped entirely. There were little trails of cleat-marks here and there, but I think the majority of them were from us stomping through earlier, they looked too fresh, too new.
We only saw a couple of copepods, and these from far off, across vast chasms of flesh, scarred here and there like cliff-faces. I couldn’t divine their purpose, just – anomalies of anatomy, no meaning, no clear analogue I can draw. Just places where the flesh falls away and vague misty nothing takes its place. As I stand on the precipice looking over and down into darkness, watching the way my flashlight beam peters out depressingly soon, I swear that for a moment I can see something moving around, something large, fluttering and flapping and swooping like some kind of giant bat, but if anything was there, it vanished so quickly as to not leave an impression on me other than a brief glimpse of size and frantic motion.
I turned back to see if Marcus or Erica had seen any of it but they were huddled together, deep in conversation, hunched over the PDA. After a moment I traipsed over to join them. With each step on the way down I had felt my weariness building, both in my body and in my heart – I had shoved so much out of the way down somewhere inside of me where I didn’t have to feel it, and it was only now that it was beginning to creep back out at me.
We’d passed some things I’d recognized from the rest of the squad – there was a torn piece of a suit there, in a small knurled corner, dirty and speckled with red matter that might have been blood or bits of flesh. I didn’t look closely enough to check. A boot, cleated firmly into the ground. Nothing as definite as a body; the closest I saw was a great foaming gout of blood splashed across the floor and up part of the wall of the vent, but no indication as to whether it came from a person, from a member of the team, from Klaus or Euler or – or Peter, or whether it was just natural, some artery in the floor being clipped during the fighting and spraying everywhere until capillary action cut it off.
If I think about it I won’t be able to go on. I can’t bear to –
Alright, Roan. Easy girl. Deal with it later. Right now just focus on staying alive. Get back to Elena and then you can cry about things. God, poor Peter, though; and poor Makado, waiting for him. How would I feel if it had been me up there and Elena down here?
I think of her, alone, making her way up the Cord, no weapon, still hurting, probably, as the painkiller starts to wear off, and I bite my lip, hard. Goddam it, I’m not going to cry. Not down here. She’s fine, she’s going to be perfectly fine. She knows how to handle herself.
I focus instead on the ache in my knees, in my back, in my arms. We’ve been going for so long, it feels like; hours upon hours. I’d check the time on the wrist computer but these damn gloves - !
Erica and Marcus look tired as well, at least. Maybe they’ll want to rest soon. We’ll be able to eat, sleep perhaps…they have to have some kind of tent, or sleeping bags, or something, even if it’s not one of the fancy hexagonal ones the squad used. I think about pointing out that we’re all dog tired, we might as well take a break before we go further, but I nix that idea quickly – I don’t want to seem weak. Erica’s given the impression that she won’t push me but Marcus is still a wild card, I don’t know him, how he handles stress, how he’ll act in a couple of hours when he’s even more tired and hungry.
They gesture and lead on, and I follow, dead on my feet but still forcing myself to continue.
And then, after fifteen minutes of walking, down treacherous polyped inclines, past outcroppings of redundant, keratinous spines, we find, laying in a slump with his neck at an awkward unnatural angle, his eyes terribly bright and aware, Euler.
I cry out when I see him; my stomach makes a horrible lurch as I take in the gnawed markings dotting his once-bright ranger suit, round and puckered and blood-crusted. The leeches have been at him but left him alive for some inscrutable reason. He coughs as we shine our lights on him and shifts feebly but he is unable to move more than an inch or two – his spine is clearly broken.
I hadn’t expected to find any bodies; somehow I had guessed that one way or another, anyone lost down here would be utterly irretrievable. But there is Euler, the one person I would never have expected to survive – I guess I underestimated him.
Or perhaps his current condition isn’t really surviving in the main sense. Once I’ve gathered my senses I rush to him and kneel there beside him. I have nothing to offer him, no painkillers, no first aid, nothing besides companionship, but it’s better than standing and gawking as Erica and Marcus seem to be satisfied with. I wipe his forehead with my gloved palm lightly, the sweat shining on the rubber in the wake of my flashlight, and Euler’s eyes shift up to meet mine and he croaks out my name in a hoarse voice. He says it wrong, like it were one syllable, but hearing someone I care about even infinitesimally say it is like breathing after being underwater.
“Euler,” I tell him, and my voice breaks just a tiny bit right at the end. I lick my lips and try again. “Euler, what the hell happened to you?”
“I’m – it’s bad, Roan,” he says. Rone. Should have changed my name in that rebellious phase, added that accent mark I always longed for. There’d be less ambiguity. I smile to myself in spite of everything and he grins at me, just a little bit, but his eyes stay wide and frightened. They flick over to Erica and Marcus, and I look back at them as well, and then give an exasperated sigh.
“Don’t you two have any damn medical things? A first aid kit?” They glance at each other. “Anything?”
“I thought you might…” Euler coughs. “Might have come to rescue us.”
I frown. Us?
“Euler, are there…more people from the squad down here? Hurt somewhere?”
He shakes his head minutely, then winces. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know where to touch him without hurting him. I tear my glove off with my teeth, just lay my hand against his cheek. It feels like an awkwardly intimate gesture but I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how else to help. If it were me I think I’d – I think I’d want human contact, something skin to skin. I think it might be a comfort.
“What happened?” I whisper.
“The Leechman,” he says, “it – it grabbed me and then it –“
He cries out, gently, and I move my hand downward and grab his. He clutches at me desperately. The last time I had seen him the leeches had been streaming into his open mouth, writhing against him, wrapping him like a hundred pythons at once. I bite my lip and glare back at Erica again. “Will you two fucking do something?”
“He’s clearly past any help we could give him,” Erica says, and Marcus nods.
For a very brief moment I am so intensely angry I feel as though I might burst into flame. Euler cries out softly again and I realize I have squeezed his hand too hard, and I jerk my hand back from his, muttering a stammered apology. He shakes his head.
“They’re right, I’m done for,” he tells me. “You should – you’re going down further?” he asks, frowning, and I nod.
“Those two want the crystal,” I tell him, lowering my voice a little.
“It went…that way,” he says, glancing to the right, further down the vent and into the Pit’s depths. We sit there in silence for a moment longer and then finally work up enough nerve to ask him the question I wanted to.
“Are you in pain?”
He thinks about it for a moment. “It feels like I should be but it’s just dull.” He breathes heavily. “I’m afraid.”
“Euler, don’t –“
“I’m going to die down here,” he says, and there is a terrible layer of finality in his voice that makes my heart fall.
“No, Euler, you’re not –“ I start, but then cut myself off. Because he’s right, isn’t he? I can’t argue with him, there’s no way in hell that we’re going to be able to get him out of here. If he has a broken neck there’s no fucking way we could stabilize him well enough to carry him out of here, and even if we could, I’d need Erica and Marcus’ help, which they don’t seem incredibly inclined to give me. I look back at them and start to get up, but Euler catches the cuff of my suit and I stop, hunkered over awkwardly.
“Roan, I saw – “
He coughs; I can see his chest heaving. I wonder about those leeches; I know I saw them flooding into his mouth, forcing their way down his throat…what would have –
“I saw inside it,” he tells me. I frown.
“Inside what?”
“The Leechman,” he says. His eyes are boring into mine with a horrible intensity, practically bulging outwards. “I saw inside it and – and it was so bright –“
“Euler, I don’t know what you –“
“Don’t leave me down here,” he says quietly, and then lets go. There is a pleading in his eyes that stops me dead. I’ve let my mouth fall open slightly, but there is no mistaking what he means, there is no ambiguity in the quiet desperation in his tone. He wants me to –
I get up quickly. My hands are shaking and my arms and legs feel like I’ve been whipped with a coil of lightning. I walk over to Erica and Marcus, and Erica nods at me. “You ready to go?” she asks, and I shake my head. I open my mouth and try to talk but I choke a little, then cough and try it again.
“Erica, Euler, he –“
“What is it?”
I shut my eyes. “Kill him,” I tell her. “He asked me to but I can’t – I can’t do that. He’s scared and he doesn’t want to have to lay down here unable to move for a couple more days before something fucking eats him or he dies of exposure. Please.”
Erica’s eyes are very dark. She glances at Marcus, then back at me, before she reaches down to her belt and unsnaps the holster there, then hands me the revolver. I nearly drop it; it’s heavier than I had expected. “Do it yourself,” she tells me. Her voice is like glass. “We’ve wasted enough time here already.”
“You – “ I start, but I choke it back. She’s trusting me giving me the revolver; this means something to her. This is a test. But what am I supposed to do? Can I –
But you already did once before, some part of me whispers at the back of my head. Remember Rey? He’s dead because of you. And before that -
Marcus is covering me with his own slim little pistol. I swallow hard and try not to feel the imprint of its muzzle, covering me from five, seven, ten feet away from me, my back itching as I half-expect to hear a report and feel a sharp shock –
But nothing happens. I make it to Euler; he’s watching me, his eyes rolled upwards in a manner that somehow distinctly reminds me of a dog, somehow, and I hate myself for thinking so, but he’s looking at me in the same way a dog will look up at you, not moving its head, its eyes wide and hopeful.
I thought the gun might feel better in my hand after I’d had it there for a while, but it’s still awkward and heavy and purposeful. It’s much heavier than the pistol they’d given me to practice with during qualifications back on the range a few days ago; that one hadn’t even felt like a gun, it hadn’t felt real. This one most certainly does.
Euler nods at me infinitesimally. “It’s…alright,” he says. He seems to be laboring a bit more now; maybe he hadn’t been expending very much energy until we came across him. I certainly didn’t hear any cries for help on the walk up. If he’d been there the whole time, for hours, listening to the Leechman and the copepods duke it out…
“Euler,” I say, “what did you mean when you said you saw inside the Leechman?”
“Roan,” he says. His eyes are fixed on the revolver. I’m stalling, I realize; I’m putting it off so that maybe somehow this responsibility will be removed from me. The inside of my mouth is very dry and I swallow hard, willing some moisture to return to it.
“Okay,” I say quietly. Okay, I think to myself. I take the revolver, hold it in two hands, one on the handle, the barrel resting in the palm of my other hand. I look at the cylinder, fumble for a moment before that trip all those years ago with my dad comes back to me and I find the catch and swing it outwards. Erica hasn’t reloaded since she shot Elena, I note, some dull part of my mind logging the information without any further comment. I can see the tiny mark of the struck primer on one of the cartridges. But I won’t find any salvation here, there are still five more shots that are perfectly serviceable.
I click it shut, remembering, as my dad told me, not to flick it closed, not to spin it. You aren’t a cowboy, he’d said to me gravely, pressing the gun into my chest. It had smelled like oil and metal, like something functional, like when you open the hood of your car. And I had trembled then as I am now, and I had looked out across the flat open expanse of grass –
Even then I couldn’t bear to think of it after I’d done it.
I’m stalling.
Goddam it, Roan, goddam you and your willingness to stick your neck out.
Euler makes a small noise beneath me and I look down at him. “Are you sure?” I ask, willing him to say no, to rethink it, to give me a reprieve. He nods.
“Just do it,” he says. “They won’t come get me, they won’t care. Just do it.”
“Okay,” I breathe, and then I hold the gun in two hands – why does it come back to me so easily? – and put it up very close to his forehead, and Euler shuts his eyes, and I shut mine as well. I inhale and then exhale.
Five minutes later I hear feet squelching up behind me and then Marcus is crouching next to me and prying the gun from my nerveless hands. “It’s okay,” he says, not unkindly, and then he is gently pushing me out of the way. I get to my feet, not knowing what else to do. I meet Euler’s eyes and I start to say something, then I stop. There is no blame in them, or maybe I don’t want to see blame. So instead I turn around and hunch myself against the wall, and when the gunshot finally sounds I flinch, and then I finally let myself cry.
When I turn back around I can’t bring myself to look at him. I instead watch Marcus hand the revolver back to Erica, watch Erica slip it back into the holster, watch Marcus shove his pistol into the waistband of his heavy-duty jeans. I blurt out the only thing that comes to my mind and tell him that he shouldn’t carry one in the chamber like that, it’s dangerous, and Marcus gives me a pitying look and says nothing. When I meet Erica’s eyes they are lighter than before and I realize, with a shudder as another wave of tears rolls soundlessly down my cheeks, that whatever test there was, whatever reason made her give me the revolver, I passed.
And then we stomp off into the darkness and leave poor Euler behind.
 * * *
 The next day I feel better. I slept better than I thought I might have, sandwiched between Erica and Marcus in their tent, cramped and with not enough air mattresses or sleeping bags, but I managed. They shared some of their food with me, MREs scavenged from some surplus store somewhere, which I found faintly comforting, and then the next day, when someone’s alarm blared and woke us, I was disconcertingly and surprisingly fresh-feeling. All the pain and sorrow I thought might have come boiling out of me when I let my guard down never did, and instead it was replaced with a calm, warm, faintly comforting deadness. I was, I realize now, preparing on some level to die. I had arrived at a zenlike state that had me convinced I was either dead or dreaming, a fragile state of mind that I had tried so hard to reach at that dojo in Oklahoma but which constantly eluded me.
Since Friday I am complicit now in two murders, one arguably and one less so. When I think of myself the person I am is thorny and sharp-edged and armored and I do not recognize her when I hold her in my arms. I blow out a breath and pop my eyes open as Marcus nudges me and hands me a cup of bootleg espresso made from two freeze-dried pouches, and I take it gratefully and even manage to smile at him. I feel…clean.
We’ll see how long that lasts.
More walking, more bypasses across stinking rivers of digested slurry, more crawling across meter-wide cords of banded muscle. The anatomy gets stranger and stranger, more open, more wild. Nerves like waving cilia, waggling at us like anemones, retract at lightspeed at our approach. Everything is luminescent down here, everything glows, but what glows brightest of all is the rectangular blocky backlight of Erica’s PDA, guiding us forward like a north star. She seems less certain of it, less sure; she stops and consults with Marcus every now and then and I feel fairly frequently like I have simply been forgotten, like I am an insurance policy for the return trip, a hostage kept in waiting to be revealed and used as leverage later on.
Will Makado care, I wonder, when she knows that they’ve taken me? I hope she will. I think we got close enough that she would. I think she likes me.
Does she like me enough to send a team after me? I’m sure there’s some kind of tracking device in this suit but will it even function this deep down? I don’t know.
I stub my toe on a bloated adipose swelling and it belches a gout of rank, sticky fluid on me. We pause again for Marcus to vomit.
Eventually we make it to a curled, winding passageway, a tight intestinal-feeling loop that circles in on itself over and over again, the tissue struggling against us at every turn, that we have to claw and scrape and crawl through but that the PDA swears is the right way to go, the simplified arrow logo spinning back around and directing us back in every time we think of turning around and trying someplace else. We push through and through until finally it vomits us out, breathing hard and covered in blood and strands of pale-white membrane, and then we stop, eyes wide, staring up and up and up at the space we’ve found ourselves in.
It’s enormous, the size of a stadium and at least twice or maybe three times as deep, great gnarled coils of sparking nerves weaving in and out of the fleshy, irregular walls casting macabre light in regular snaking patterns across the broad flat plate of bone that divides the space nearly in half, knotty and bulging and thick, honeycombed and dripping with thick resinous marrow.
There are things moving, I realize, on the far-off floor of the chasm, great writhing worms or – no, no, they have legs. Squat lizard-like figures, then, moving in fits and starts, their flesh a glistening pale sickly color, like milk that’s gone off. They must be simply enormous for us to be able to see them from this distance. I glance back at Erica and Marcus; their mouths are open, dumbstruck as well – they must not have known this was here. Could we be the first to find this place?
I watch a shadow, a patchy midnight cutout, detach itself from the bone plate and fall swooping to the floor of the chasm, and then it wings its way back up, one of the lizards caught in its claws, dangling beneath like a rabbit caught by a hawk. I watch, overwhelmed, as the – the thing, whatever it is, I want to call it a bird but it can’t be, it simply can’t be – flutters ungainly and graceless back to the bone and vanishes with its prey into a whorled hole in the side, ragged and uneven.
“What is this place?” I mutter to Erica, after I’ve regained enough of my senses to think to speak, and she shakes her head faintly.
“I have no idea,” she tells me, but before I can say anything else I hear a noise from above us; a subtle noise, like a whistling, drawn-out swoosh, and when I look upwards I can only see a diving, dark-furred silhouette with outstretched, foot-long claws and a hungry, slavering mouth.
I don’t have time to scream.
Continue with Part 26
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savnofilter · 4 years
Text
Kinktober Day 9
kistune!mirio
warning(s): branding, possessive nature, bad waitressing
genre: smut, holiday special
read more: kinktober(uary) | part two
summary: a simple meal for one, to a shared meal between two, ends up with you being owned.
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“That smells really good.”
“Ah!!!” You scream, turning around and pointing your spatula at the intruder behind you. “Who the fuck are you?!” The catlike male raises his arms in surrender, grinning at you.
“Woah there kitten, you don’t have to get antsy like-”
“I said “Who are you?!” You ask again, practically tripping over yourself to the other side of the kitchen, eyes crossing as he disappears for a second to appear in front of the stove and taking the fish out and eating the fish from the pan. You shriek in disgust, watching as he eats it without a care and humming happily as she slice digests in his tummy. 
“Mm~ A human that can actually cook good!” He exclaims, turning to you with a bright grin versus your surprised glare. He pays no mind, discarding the leftover bones in the trash near him. 
“I- That was my dinner!!” You whine, shoulders slumping as he gives you a questioning look. 
“Then just make more? Humans make everything so complicated…?” He mumbles, thumb resting on his lip as he starts to go into thought -- seemingly forgetting your presence as a whole. Your stomach grumbles in protest to your growing hungry, face growing sour as you sit at your table with tears streaming down your face.
His feline eyes snap towards your sulking face, head propped up by your hand as you glare down at the table hungrily. 
"What's wrong-"
"You stole my dinner! It cost a fortune!" You exclaim angrily, crossing your arms like a child throwing a tantrum. He was lost as to why you'd be so upset -- couldn't you just get more? "Can't you just get more?" He asks, his long nail scratching at his cheek as he ponders a solution. The fish was really good though. But he could tell that you weren't satisfied…. 
"... Well then how I fix it? Sorry I get excited and forget personal space." He chuckles nervously, vibrating into thin air then appearing in front of you making you stare up at him in shock. 
"How-How did you…?"
"Don't worry about! How about I take you to one of those… Dinner places-"
"Restaurant…?"
"Restaurant! And I can make it better?!" He smiles brightly, placing his hands on his hands hips proudly. "I should have a few change left so it's really no bother~" He shakes his head, grabbing your hand holding you close. Your body is pressed up against his making you blush before the overwhelming need to throw up hits you. You turn around, hand covering your mouth but your eyes catch the change of scenery as well.
When did you guys get here?! 
You were at the Ai's Ramen Restaurant, not too far away from your apartment. Your eyes scanned the area before the hostess smiles at you, almost like she didn't even see the cat ears and the multiple tails protruding from his body. Although it wasn't too odd when there's a world full of all different quirks.
"Are you guys ready to sit?" She asks, leading you guys into a room and sitting with your legs crossed dumbfounded but not saying anything as she situates you. 
Minutes passed as you guys wait, you were in a better mood since you were getting dinner but you still were mildly sad over you fish. He says from your mood, his new mission to cheer you up.
"Well my name is Mirio!" The male, now identified as Mirio exclaimed, smiling brightly at you. He sticks one of his nails into the Spring Roll presented in front of you, opening his mouth wide enough to fight the whole thing in his mouth. You're at a loss of words watching him eat so… wildly? You shake your head letting yourself ignore it.
“(Y/N) -- you don’t mind me asking what's with the get up?” You motion to his ears and swishing tails making him tilt his head in confusion. 
“Huh?”
“The lively ears and eight tails-”
“Nine actually.”
“My point is, why did you break into my apartment, eat my food and then take me out to dinner?”
He grins at your answer and question, crossing his arms as he sits criss cross applesauce under the horigotatsu you guys sat at.
“Cause I felt like it -- also I’m paying!” He reassures, taking and eating a spring roll like he did the first time. You watch in wonder as he does, shaking your head at his statement.
"What?"
"I'm a kitsune." Mirio beams, smiling as he gets comfortable in his seat once again. "We're free roaming spirits, I don't stay around for long unless you really miss me." He chuckles giving you a wink in return your cheeks glowing light red. You highly doubted that the money was even his. 
It almost felt like your were saved by the bell when the waiter came and arrived with your food. You thanked him sighing as the panels shudder closed, the room feeling want and cozy. You shift under the mats started to eat quietly and almost forgetting that Mirio was even across from you. You looked at one the decoration foods on your plate, silently saying "fuck it" and taking the food into your mouth and eating it. You chew as the burst of flavour enters and fills your body making you hum in delightment nodding as you take another piece.
Your new mood gains Mirio attention along with the other thing urging him to watch you. He was glad to have brought up your mood, but your scent was sending him into a drive he didn't know how to deal with it. 
He watches as your skin starts to dew and your face gets slightly hot. You place your chopsticks down, puffing out your shirt and swallowing thickly. You chuckle nervously making eye contact with him before he realizes your blown pupils and finally dissected the cause of your shifting and his sudden arousal. 
"Hey (Y/N), that wasn't by any chance dragon fruit?" He asks tilting the container, face draining at your nod. He sighs over on you in an instant, pulling a gasp from you. You grip onto his muscular arms, legs wrapped around his waist. It was almost like your hands couldn’t control themselves and his couldn’t either.
His face was in your neck, sharp teeth nipping and biting at the small spots on your neck and pulling off your clothes -- the same with his. Soon enough you were both naked, skin dewed with sweat before even starting. Before you knew it, his lips were on his and you were kissing back. You wrap your legs around his muscular waist  moaning softly as he presses his tip against your lips. He practically slams his cock into your tight hole, ripping out a moan to leave your lips. He didn't leave space for you to adjust, his primal instincts taking over. 
His hand was over your mouth to keep your sounds down, hips pistoning into you like there was no tomorrow. His feline like teeth bit and broke skin like second nature, lapping up the different spots of your neck and skin exposed to him. His hand that was using your hips to rock into him dug into your skin and created thin precise lines on the skin of your hip. His hand leaves your mouth to wrap around your throat, his mouth moving up to whisper roughly into you ear.
“This’ll hurt but someone has to remind you who you belong to now.” He gruffly explains, the hand on your neck moving to create a scratch on your shoulder, leaving a red burn making you silently cry out. 
You didn’t know whether it was the scratch that made you cum or the thought of someone “owning” you or just simply that it was the damn the dragon fruit. Either way, you didn’t care. Your tongue was too tired for words and the thing only thing you body could communicate was the need to have closer, to have his cum deep in you. Your hands seemed small in ratio to his body, hands clinging onto his as he fucks into you with more vigor than before. At some point you had either fainted or blanked out -- because the next moment you found yourself waking up in your bed, the sun spilling into the room.
You peel your eyes open, an annoyed moan spilling from your lips and moving to snuggle closer into your sheets. A low purr makes your skin crawl and spot on your neck burn. Your hands grip the sheets and Mirio pulls your body closer to his with a happy but menacing hum.
His nails trail your goosebump-skin, moving to the spot between your legs that was slick and hot. A small hiss leaves your lips followed by a whimper. His hands rubbed at your clit, his hand moving with your hips; trying to get away from the sensitivity from last night and felt like maybe this morning as well.
"I'm so glad you're awake, I get to remind you that you're mine now~"
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angelobi-wan · 4 years
Text
Easy (nsfw)
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2.6k words
“hi!! can you do #22 w Tony Stark? and some kinky/rough stuff PLS? ty :))“
#22: “What, you scared I’ll kick your ass again?”
You kicked the workout dummy one last time, letting out a frustrated sigh. You leaned down to grab your water bottle, chest heaving with exhaustion. You wanted - no, you needed - to train yourself back to normal. A few months back, you were on a mission that had ended up going awry. You were sent out with Steve and Bucky, and being the only one present without the ability to crush someone’s skull with your bare hands, you received the bunk of the injuries. 
It was supposed to be an easy mission. Find the men selling illegal guns using dangerous alien radiation, take their weapons, and come back. Unfortunately for you, once the men found out the only power you had was the ability to fight your little ass off, they automatically knew their main target. Steve and Bucky meant to help you; They truly did. Only, they were a little too busy trying to not get blasted by high tech alien guns. Steve was stunned with one of them. All you got was a mean knife to the lower back. Bucky, meanwhile, was able to get the three of you out of there scot-free. He felt bad about it, and you can tell. That would explain why he’d been training and nursing you and Steve back to tip-top shape. 
Steve was mostly fine, though the radiation made him constantly drowsy. You on the other hand, had a long healing process ahead of you. When Tony had done a check up on you and found out the knife was three inches away from paralyzing you, he insisted on pulling you out of the game until you proved you were ready to get back to the fight. You’d thought you were ready to jump headfirst back into the action way before you were actually ready - and Tony was on your ass in a heartbeat. “No. Absolutely not.” He didn’t even look up from where he was tinkering in his workplace when you first approached him.
“Tony, I’m ready. I’ve been training my ass off for the last month! The stab wound only lasted four months to heal completely.”
“I said no.” 
“How long is this going to keep me off of my feet? I’ve already been out of combat for five months. I don’t have the healing factor or the superhuman strength that others here were blessed with-”
“Which is exactly why I want you home. You’re not ready,” he finally looked up at you. “You’re just some anxious kid wanting to get back into the action. The incision was three inches away from the base of your spine. You could’ve been paralyzed. Then what help would you be?” He walked closer and closer to you until your noses are practically touching. “Get back in the training room. Do your stretches. Do your workouts. Five months off your feet is going to take more than just a month to get your body ready for battle again.” 
“I’m not a kid. I’m a soldier.”
He took in your determined eyes and desperate stance and sighed. “The only way I’m allowing you back into the fields is if you win me in a hand to hand battle.”
“That’s easy, old man.”
“But,” He held his hand out, and the iron hand flying to fit on him like a glove. “I’m gonna be wearing these.”
Fuck. Not that easy. 
“Fine. Still easy.” 
He raised a challenging eyebrow at you, before smirking. “Alright, Eye of the Tiger, go rest up. Tell me when you’re ready.” You immediately left and head back to the training room. You had to prepare.
The next time you addressed Tony was a week later. You’d been training every single day, even outlasting the two fully healthy supersoldiers. “You should take a break, kid,” Steve had said one day. You didn’t even look up from the punching bag you were obliterating. “She’s gonna take herself out before Tony has a chance to even try,” he’d whispered to Bucky as they exited the room. Bucky let out a heavy sigh.
The day you were ready to jump in the ring finally arrived. Tony leaned against the door frame as he watched you stretch. “I love the view,” he spoke as he finally stepped up on the mat. “By all means, don’t let me interrupt.”
“Shut up, old man.” You smirked, feeling nervous but confident. You looked around and quirked an eyebrow. “Where’s Sam? He wanted to see me kick your ass.”
“On a mission. Everyone left today.”
And you were here alone. Great. You really wanted to fight your ass off so you could be along with him and everyone else the next time a new hot shit supervillian decided to terrorize the city.
The two of you got into a fighting stance. You lurched forward to throw a jab at him, but he blocked it. He returned with a blaster, which you jumped away from. This continued for a while, the two of you dancing around the mats. You began to feel very tired, already sore from the nonstop fight you’d put yourself in the last week. You reached out and grabbed onto him, preparing to land a knee into his stomach, but were stopped when his blaster hit your thigh. You let out a heavy gasp as you toppled down, Tony following suit. His body was plastered against yours as your chest heaved with heavy breaths. 
“You alright, kid?”
“Best two out of three.”
He chuckled breathlessly and gave you a hand to help you stand back up. You leaned down to inspect your thigh, giving him a view of your breasts in your tank top. You looked up at him and quirked an eyebrow at him causing him to let out a cough. “What the fuck is this?” You gestured to your leg, where there was a rip in your leggings. The skin where his blasters hit you were red and warm - as if someone held a flame too close to your skin for too long. 
“I modified my blasters. Ripping another hole in your skin would defeat the purpose of this trial, wouldn’t it?”
You scoffed, though he made a lot of sense. “Stop taking it easy on me.”
“Fine. Then focus more on defense than you are on offense. You’re gonna get yourself killed one day because of that.”
You rolled your eyes and got back into a fighting stance, him following quickly suit. The second round lasted shorter than the first did since you were already winded. You followed his instruction on defending yourself more, but you were slowly being drained of energy, and you were growing more and more frustrated. The only thing that could be heard in the large room was your grunts and groans as you exerted more and more energy. Tony saw you were falling out of it, and fast. He began taking turns shooting at each of your hands as you struggled to punch out more and more, all while walking you back into the wall. You could feel tears begin to grow. You were losing. You were gonna lose. Your hands burned, they felt like they were on fire, and you were going to lose.
You still punched recklessly, growing more frantic, and losing your control. He’d won. But you didn’t stop.
“That’s enough.” He tried to dodge your weakened punches, trying to wait for you to snap out of it. “Stop it. Stop!”
He attempted to grab at your hands and hold them to his chest all while lodging his leg between yours to hold you down until you regained your cool once again. But his grip slipped, and you fell, right onto his leg sandwiched between your thighs. You don’t know if it was the lack of energy or the adrenaline rush you’d just gone through, but you moaned. Loud. Right into his ear.
You both stopped and stared at each other. Every pant you took sent you moving against his thigh still pressed into you. “(Y/N)?” He whispered, not wanting to scare you.
You surged forward, kissing him. You tried to move your hands to his hair, but he thought you were gonna try and fight back, so he gripped them harder, moving them above your head. You let out a surprised but delighted groan, into his mouth. He pressed his thigh even harder into you, beginning to rock you slowly. You let your head drop to his shoulder, letting out a moan. “I only put you through this because I care about you.” He spoke into your ear, before kissing along your shoulder. His kisses became harsher, throwing small bites and licks as you moaned. You rocked your hips into his knee. “You’re our newest fighter, and you’re still young. I worry.” 
“I know.” You say before kissing him once again, knowing you’d grow more emotional if you continued the topic. 
“(Y/N)-”
“Just kiss me. Please. Just keep kissing.”
He looked into your eyes, looking for any uncertainty. He then let go of your arms and picked you up. With your legs wrapped around him, he walked into the middle of the mat, and slowly let the two of you down on the ground. He grabbed your thigh, keeping it wrapped around his hip. He ground into you, and the two of you moaned together. He was still going too soft - and this frustrated you. He was treating you like you were delicate, which is exactly the opposite of what this session was for. You brought him down harder with your leg around his hip, pushing him down into you. With your hands now freed, you went straight for his hair and tugged on it. 
He let out a groan of pleasured pain, before grounding into you, hard. You moaned out, pushing your hips up to meet his. You could cry at how bad you wanted it, to get rid of some of this pent up frustration in you. You went to tug at his pants, needing him. You wanted him so bad. His pants - ridiculously tight for a man his age - wouldn’t pull down over his bulge. He was so hard. 
You tugged at his hair harder this time trying to urge him to take his pants down. He groaned, mostly in pain this time, before he bit down harshly on your neck. You let out a hiss. “Oh, fuck,” You kissed him roughly translating your neediness into it. “Fuck me, Tony. Please.” You rocked up into him a few times, going slightly dizzy from the need. “Please, please, please!”
He finally leaned back and tore his pants down before looking back at you. “Take your fucking leggings off, now.” You rushed to pull them down, only getting them to your ankles before he pushed you back roughly. He grabbed your thigh in a bruising hold, before lifting your hips up and angling them. “God, you’re so needy.” He moved your underwear and slowly pushed into you, stretching you. Your head fell back in a loud moan that resonated around the room. He groaned at how tight you felt. He began thrusting into you slowly. “You’re so goddamn tight, kid.” 
You let out whimpered moans. “You’re so big.” He growled at those words, and your voice saying those words and began to speed up his thrusts. Only a little. You were beginning to grow restless, needing more. Your hands wandered to his hair, getting ready to tug, and his hands immediately intercepted them. With one hand, he held yours above your head, while the other started a bruising grip on your hip. 
“You want me to speed up?” You whimpered and nodded feverishly. “Ask nicely.”
“Tony, please fuck me. Please.” He just smirked and slowed down. “Oh, fuck! Pleasepleasepleaseplease-” He finally slammed into you, speeding his thrusts up. With the hand on your hip, he lifted you up just slightly so he could hit- “Oh my God! Right there! Right there!”
He pushed in deeper, faster, grunting. Jesus, he felt drunk at the wetness surrounding his cock. You were sucking him in deep like your body knew you needed him. Seeing your eyes roll back was like a dream come true. You were babbling on his cock, and rightfully so. He squeezed your hands, still red hot from his blasters, tight enough to sting, and leaned down. “Keep these hands right fuckin’ here, kid. Okay?” You didn’t respond, still moaning with your eyes rolled back. He moved his hand from your hands to your throat and gave a quick squeeze. “Answer me.”
You moaned even louder at that and nodded your head up and down. He squeezed again, longer this time, and raised an eyebrow. “Okay.” You whimpered. 
He trailed that hand down farther, and farther until it reached your clit. He started off with soft circles, still rocking into you until you started crying again. “Please make me cum, please, please…” He began jackhammering his hips, putting more pressure on your clit in tighter circles. The hand on your hip raised up until it met your hair. He began tugging, giving you the same treatment you gave him. A pleasured cry ripped from your throat. You were getting close, he could tell by how you were starting to clench around him. He wrapped that hand around your throat, applying pressure but no longer squeezing. 
“Come on, baby. Cum for me. C’mon.” You began rocking back into him desperately, crying out as your climax hit you harshly. Your moans were choked off as the hand around your throat closed just a little more as Tony hit his high. “Oh, fuck.” He let out a growl. The two of you rode out your highs, his grip on your neck loosening, as he slowed his thrusts eventually coming to a stop.
He pulled out and rolled next to you. The two of you caught your breath. He looked over at you. “Choking, huh?”
“Shut the fuck up, Tony.”
He laughed to himself before pulling his boxers back on with a slight grimace. Yeah, he was gonna need a shower. He reached over to you and grabbed your hand - softly this time - before inspecting your knuckles where the blasters hit you. It was beginning to bruise. He kissed them softly. 
“Let’s go put some ice on these bad boys.”
The two of you were in his bathroom fresh out of the shower. You sat atop of his counter as he rummaged beneath it, looking for some cream to apply to you. “Tony, I want back in.”
His movement faltered for a moment before he continued his search. It was silent for a moment. You inspected your bruises, trying to hide your disappointment.
“You can get back on the team,” Your eyes widened, a smile breaking out on your face. “IF you train with Steve until he decides you’re ready.” Your smile faltered dropped. “Don’t give me that look,” he said without even looking up from the cabinet. 
He raised with a tube of cream in hand and reached out for your hand softly. “Why not Bucky?” You pouted slightly. 
“Barnes feels bad and responsible enough that you’re here in the first place,” he applies the medicine softly. “You’d be in and out in three days tops.” He switches to your other hand. 
“Whatever. As long as we don’t have to battle again like we’re in ancient fuckin Greece.” 
Tony chuckles. “What, you scared I’ll kick your ass again?” he asks as he closes the tube and begins to wash his hands. 
You pull him towards you after he dries his hands off, and trail kisses up his neck. “Not if it gives me an excuse to do that again.” You mumble seductively. 
“Alright, Sparkplug. You need to rest after that ass beating you took. Let’s watch a movie before the rest of the Brady Bunch come home and wreak havoc.”
Well, you can’t say no to that.
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horrorslashergirl · 4 years
Text
A Chromeskull/Jesse Cromeans x Preston Fanfiction
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I don‘t know what I just wrote, but cut me some slack. I wanted to try and write some more male x male and ended up using #1 slasher Jesse. Plus I wanted to experiment some on their ‘mysterious’ relationship.
They say that some things should stay hidden behind closed doors and Jesse was a very discrete man; been a wealthy CEO with a secret killing organization took some talent and Jesse was that kind of man, but even the most gruesome killers have hidden secrets, excluding the hobby of murdering and snuff-filming these crimes.
Now, Jesse was known by his past partners and sadly deceased wife, that he had a very high libido, and loved young, pretty women, but he also liked to play for the other team. The ones in his organization never questioned or dared to make fun of his sexuality, unless they had a death wish or fetish on themselves.
Preston was his second in command next to Spann, her being more of an assistant to the tall and bald man. Jesse and Preston had known each other for a long time, probably in their earlier twenties when little by little Jesse put the legs together of this now billions of dollars organization.
What started as a fool around and joke of misunderstood sexuality, turned into something much deeper and ended up between bedsheets.
It was kind of funny to picture this two together, always at each others necks in a constant competition of who’s the best killer or who’s the manliest.
The first time started as any other night of no killing piggies. Preston joined Jesse into a night of drinking at his house, discussing the possibilities of new piggies to hunt, until they started an argument of no reason. It was full of tension, getting into each others faces, Preston being much smaller than Jesse, eyes glaring into each others, lips pulled into a snarl and it was too much, until Jesse grasped Preston by the back of his neck, pulling the smaller male into a kiss full of anger, lust and tension that you can cut it with a knife.
When the kiss ended the black haired male had his eyes wide open, mouth parted, not knowing what to say.
“Boss...This is....I didn’t knew.” Now, Preston wasn’t a shy man, much like Jesse he had women at his feet and how could he not? Slicked black hair, dark eyes that could make you shiver, handsome smirk, sharp jawline...the whole package.
‘Don’t question me. Do you want this or not?’ Jesse signed, his breathing matching Prestons.
None could picture the headstrong Preston as gay, and he always made that clear when some of the organization questioned his relationship with the boss, but now? He didn’t knew; call him bi-curious, but he had to admit that the temptation of being bedded by his boss and also very good friend of a long time was getting to him
Prestons reply was simple, he pulled Jesse into a kiss, his hands grasping his black dress-shirt. Now that was a surprise for the taller male, he knew Preston very well, but he never knew that he would drop the wall and let him has his way.
Neverless, Jesse was happy and reciprocated the kiss with vigor.
The next few hours were a blur for mostly; both of them undressed, leave for their black dress shirts open as Jesse had Preston on his lap, their lengths hard, the bald mans hand wrapped around their cocks, rubbing them together and smearing the precum on the heads.
Jesse’s brown eye took in the blushing and pleasure-filled face of the man on his lap, usually always trying to be intimidating, trying to play the alpha male title. How wrong Preston was; if there was an Alpha male, Jesse was it.
“F-Fuck...Boss.” Preston groaned, his hands on the others broad shoulder.
Jesse pulled away from their lengths so he could sign.
‘No. Call me Jesse. This is not work.’
He will give Preston this luxury, of calling him by his first name.
Next Preston found himself on his knees between Jesse’s legs, sucking the bigger male off or at last trying to fit what he could into his mouth. Jesse’s hand rubbed on the black hair atop of the smaller males head, urging him to suck.
It was the first time Preston saw what was his boss packing and he understood why all the females Jesse had bedded came stumbling and complained the next day of soreness.
Jesse was big, so much bigger than Preston, girthy and veiny, plus the tattoo flames at the base of his dick made it all the more intimidating. All that Preston worried about was how? How was he going to fit that inside him.
Like he read his thoughts Jesse pulled him away, stopping his sucking.
‘Don’t worry about it. I’m gonna make it fit.’ he signed. Well, that didn’t relaxed him.
The preeping was a little weird at first, been bend over Jesse’s desk with all his clothe off and legs spread wide, Preston felt vulnerable, especially when he felt the others man hand on his back, rubbing the tense muscels. Jesse spread the black haired males buttcheeks, seeing the puckered and small hole. Yes, its gonna be a long ride, but he knew it would be worth it; having Preston surrender completley to him.
The 30 minutes of preparing went more like hours, being lubed and having Jesse stretch him with his fingers was making him groan and moan, even whimper, sounds that he had never made in his life during sexual activities.
Then he felt nothing and that only scared Preston more. He turned his head over his shoulder, seeing Jesse lube his own cock and he gulped down, feeling the head of his boss cock rub onto his puckered hole, pushing against the tight muscels.
He grinded his teeth, feeling the head slip inside, then the rest, slowly and gentle, so unlike Jesse. It made him wonder if it was really Jesse who had him being fucked.
Both of them stilled as Jesse managed to fit everything inside, he had to control himself or else he would destroy Preston and it would be nothing benefic, for neither of them.
It all started slow, pulling out and pushing in, one pair of hands grasping the edge of the desk, the other pair grasping hips. From afar you could confuse this as making love, but it wasn’t love, not in Jesse’s opinion; it was pure ownership and male domination, only Preston didn’t realized that.
When he felt the other relax he started to pick things up, with each thrust the power he send into Prestons body was more intense. The black haired male felt himself closing in, but it was ripped from him as Jesse pulled away from him, picking him up and walking out of his office and upstairs to his bedroom.
Prestons eyes widened as he saw them approach the big double doors that lead to Jesse’s master bedroom and the king-sized bed that only the luckiest had ever seen. He was thrown on his back on the bed, his eyes taking in Jesse’s form, so intimidating, the tattoos shining with sweat over his body, chest heaving up and down.
“W-What?” his voice was rasped, feeling weird in his boss bed.
‘You’re mine now, little bitch.’ Jesse signed, glaring down at him, then pulled his legs apart, showing himself back inside, making the male underneath him choke on a silent scream.
The next minutes were intense and he felt so dizzy, being mounted by Jesse, his hands pinned on either side of his head, their eyes looking into each other, then he felt it, the most mind-crushing orgasm of his life, jets of cum painting both of their torso in white.
Preston was ready for Jesse to pull out as he felt him twitch inside him, but his eyes widened as he felt a warm feeling deep inside him, something that made his toes curl. He just came inside him.
“W-Why? P-Pull out.” Preston tried to say, only for his jaw to be grasped tightly by the Alpha male. A warning.
Jesse let his jaw go, so he could sign to Preston.
‘I don’t think you realize in what situation you are, but let me clear things up for you. I own you and if you want to have a smooth life in my organization I suggest you learn to know your place...That includes being underneath me...from all points of view.’
That’s maybe the first time Preston was really scared of Jesse and he realized it now. Being bedded by Chromeskull always came with a price.
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hellreads · 4 years
Note
Do you any super angsty fics like angsty angsty
hi there love, as I was checking my shelf for some angsty angsty fics to recommend I ended up pulling 50+ gvjhakgsdhjgsdjfk so I highly suggest you just check the angst fics I read here, but I will still be recommending the ones that I find really angsty, the ones that tear a hole in my heart, the ones that made me cry buckets of tears out of heartbreak and pain, the ones that haunt me and pull out all the sad feels from me whenever I’m reminded of these stories. 
p.s. I will sort this by member and will try to just list at least three or maybe five, okay five it is per member ~ the ones that made me feel very very angsty and very very emotional T_T | 🍒
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Kim Namjoon
❥ Cut by @chimchimsauce➴ Anti-Soulmate!AU | Namjoon x Reader | One-Shot➴ Namjoon always hated soulmates.
❥ Covenant by fringesofsanity➴ Arranged Marriage!AU | Namjoon x Reader | Series➴ You are betrothed to Kim Namjoon, the heir of a real estate mogul. To say that it was a fairytale romance would be erroneous. You’re instead loped in the sad tale of the rich and melancholy.
❥ Ride or Die by @jungcock➴ Bestfriends/Road Trip!AU | Namjoon x Reader | One-Shot➴ Jungkook was a terrible boyfriend, always abandoning you on the side of the road midst your many road trips. Thankfully, you had Namjoon to come pick you up every time he did and it was about time you reward him for it.
❥ Nothing Like Us by @chiminiemoans➴ Exes/Lovers!AU | Namjoon x Reader | Two-Shot➴ Your ex hears about your new toxic relationship and that is the jump start to get him going out to look for you. With the worry and jealousy he feels consuming him whole, he questions if he made the right decision in letting you go in the first place
❥ Not The One by @personawife➴ Soulmate!AU | Namjoon x Reader | One-Shot➴ There’s a fault in the cosmic system.
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Kim Seokjin
❥ Epiphany by @floralseokjin➴ Exes!AU | Seokjin x Reader | One-Shot➴ Sometimes it’s best to remember the past is just a memory…
❥ 2,561 Days by @gossamie➴ Marriage/Divorce!AU | Seokjin x Reader | One-Shot➴ Two years of marriage could not stop the relationship from falling apart. As an attempt to seek closure before the divorce, Seokjin and you retrace your seven years together.
❥ Seven Seconds in Heaven by @jimlingss➴ Married!AU | Seokjin x Reader | One-Shot➴ In the moment of your death, Heaven drops the hammer of punishment; making him travel back in time to relive memories that can never be changed. Seven memories. Seven minutes in each. Seven seconds before they are ripped away.
❥ Currents by @yeoldontknow➴ Arranged Marriage!AU | Seokjin x Reader | One-Shot➴ Jin thinks he’s loved you since the moment he saw you, back when you were teenagers; Jin knows he’s been in love with you, the soul burning kind of love, since he saw you on your wedding day. He doesn’t mind that you don’t reciprocate on his level, he’s just happy to show you he cares. Until one day, he simply can’t anymore. Until one day, you realize you need to show him you care, too.
❥ Bad Guy by @sweetbunnykook➴ Married/Mob!AU | Seokjin x Reader x Hoseok x Yoongi | Series➴ After a brutal attack in Hong Kong, your marriage with Kim Seokjin cracks as secrets begin to surface and a series of betrayals find their way into the veins of the Hidden Tigers. Although Jin’s devotion endures, in his own definition, the reality of being a mob wife may be too much for you to bear.
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Min Yoongi
❥ Please Be Naked by @floralseokjin➴ Rebound!AU | Yoongi x Reader x Namjoon | Series➴ You find it’s easy to become addicted to a distraction…
❥ Wildest Moments by @joonbird➴ Infidelity/F2L!AU | Yoongi x Reader | Series➴ “Min Yoongi is forbidden territory. And although you both know better, the two of you just can’t seem to stay apart.”
❥ Dead Leaves by wrienne➴ Married/Detective!AU | Yoongi x Reader x Jimin | Series➴ In which you (reader) are a homicide detective about to face the biggest hurdle both of your career and life.Married to probably the kindest but most boring man you’ve ever met and living in a town where nothing ever seems to happen means life for you is dull. Dull enough to drive you crazy with boredom and dissatisfaction. However, life changes abruptly when your old boss retires and a new man takes his place - a man you used to love (and sleep very regularly with) more than a decade ago. Especially when your husband comes home smelling of perfume, you’re unable to resist your more carnal urges and dead women start showing up across the city with unnerving frequency.
❥ Cheating by @jhspetitegf➴ Married/Infidelity!AU | Yoongi x Reader x Jimin | One-Shot➴ Married too young, too fast, the temptation is too great when an alluring stranger shows you the attention you crave.
❥ To Be Without by @serenililly➴ Producer!AU | Yoongi x Reader | Series➴ Funny how the world can shift in an instant. How you approached your bedroom with excitement only to walk away with a life forever changed.
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Jung Hoseok
❥ Piece by Piece by @underthejoon➴ FWB/F2L!AU | Seokjin x Reader x Hoseok | Drabbles | Series➴ You’re in love with your best friend but you’re using someone else to forget. love triangle.
❥ The Gentlemen’s Club by @brookelegend➴ Gentleman/Club!AU | Hoseok x Reader | Series➴ You’ve been in a dating drought, more specifically, a sex drought. Your best friend has the perfect remedy for your problem: The Gentlemen’s Club.
❥ Ask and You Shall Receive by @floralseokjin➴ Sugar Daddy!AU | Hoseok x Reader | Series➴ Your sugar daddy says you don’t have to sleep with him if you don’t want to…trouble is, you do want to. You’re just nervous and a little inexperienced, but he catches on quick and begins to teach you the true pleasures of sex, and boy, are they good…
❥ Fake Love by @aquaminwrites➴ E2L/Fake Dating!AU | Hoseok x Reader | One-Shot➴ Every year, your family spends the holidays at your parents’ cottage in the country. Freshly single and not wanting to be picked apart by your family for being alone, you decide to recruit one of your friends to pretend to be your boyfriend.The only available volunteer? Your brother Namjoon’s roommate, Hoseok. Only problem? He absolutely hates your guts.
❥ Call Out My Name by @hobiwonder➴ Exes!AU | Hoseok x Reader | One-Shot➴ Hoseok needed closure.
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Park Jimin
❥ Ineffable by fringesofsanity➴ FUBU!AU | Jimin x Reader | One-Shot➴ You’ve only bared your body to Jimin, mostly silent after the act. The one time you do, you find yourself baring your soul to him, far more than you bargained for.
❥ Right Person, Wrong Time by @mortaljin➴ Fuckboy!AU | Jimin x Reader | One-Shot➴ Park Jimin is a name that holds no significance in your heart right now. But it is a name that will haunt you for years.
❥ Slight Changes by @chiminiemoans➴ Idol/Infidelity!AU | Jimin x Reader x Taehyung | Series➴ Taehyung gets caught.
❥ Everything by @kpopfanfictrash➴ Arranged Marriage!AU | Jimin x Reader | One-Shot➴ It’s funny how there are certain moments in your life which define you.
It’s funny how when you’re asked what was memorable to you in a year – the first things you think about are an odd, assorted jumble which make absolutely no sense out of context. People, faces, random speeches and words that moved you. I, for some reason, always think of a book. Last year, it was 1Q84. The year before that, it was The Name of the Wind.
I always think of a book – and then of Jimin.
❥ We Have One Hour Left to Live by @gossamie➴ Lovers/Apocalypse!AU | Jimin x Reader | One-Shot➴ The world is ending soon. How will you and Jimin spend your last hour on this earth?
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Kim Taehyung
❥ Dichotomy by @kpopfanfictrash➴ Arranged Marriage!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series➴ You hate him. He hates you. It’s a fine line though, isn’t it – between love and hate?
❥ When You Least Expect It by @johobi➴ F2L/Lovers!AU | Taehyung x Reader x Jungkook | Series➴ You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.
❥ Who Cares by @floralseokjin➴ Lovers/Infidelity!AU | Seokjin x Named OC x Taehyung | Series➴ What happens when Taehyung falls for someone who’s already taken? Can he control his feelings or will they take over and render him powerless? In the end is it all her fault or his…?
❥ Clandestine by @ditzymax➴ Assassin!AU | Taehyung x Named OC x Jungkook | Series➴ As a professional assassin, Kim Kinsoo has many shrouded secrets in her life. Some of them she shares openly with her loving boyfriend, but there are other things he must never know.
❥ I Must Still Want You by @filmflowersbangtan ➴ F2L!AU | Taehyung x Reader | Series➴ //
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Jeon Jungkook
❥ Right of Way by fringesofsanity➴ Infidelity!AU | Jimin x Reader x Jungkook | Series➴ In theory, things were simple: your best friend was Jungkook’s girlfriend while your boyfriend, Jimin, was Jungkook’s best friend. In reality, things weren’t always that simple. And mutually exclusive.
❥ Only You by @sweetbunnykook➴ Stalker/Lovers!AU | Jungkook x Reader x Seokjin x Namjoon | Series➴ Jeon Jungkook, your wedding photographer, helps you escape on your big day upon learning about a secret your groom-to-be kept hidden. You soon fall for this young, passionate photographer. However, you underestimated just how much he was willing to reciprocate that love. Maybe, you think, he’s loving you just a little too much.
❥ Euphoria by @btssavedmylifeblr➴ Time Travel/Married!AU | Jungkook x Reader | One-Shot➴ At the end of your life, you are given one day to live again with the man you loved. A lifetime’s love story told in a single day.
❥ 2U by @sokiijk➴ Surrogate!AU | Jungkook x Reader | Series➴ You were simply trying to make a living and give the opportunity of having children for the women who couldn’t. You meet a couple who plans to have a steady life — you being the last puzzle piece for it all. But you acknowledge the boyfriend, Jungkook, who questions if he actually wants it.
❥ Animal by @cutaepatootie➴ Boxer!AU | Jungkook x Reader | Series➴ //
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~ so that’s it! I hope you enjoy these recommendations, I do have a lot on my shelf so check them out if you want more, some of these stories are angsty through and through while others have this calm before the storm vibe and the angst will hit you hard it’ll hurt, prep a box of tissues (especially for those Jin fics, I cried the most reading them T_T) 
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lotusss-flowerbomb · 4 years
Text
Do You Forgive Me?
Summary: Sebastian has been away filming and decided to hang out with his friends before coming home.
Sebastian Stan x reader
Warnings: NSFW, A Few Curse Words, Smut (m/f oral, penetration), 18+
A/N: This was request from @beingonpointe. Sooo this was hard, because I’ve learned that fluff is not my strong point, but I hope you like it anyway! 
Word Count: 2,090
You put on the finishing touches of your makeup, gave yourself the once over in the mirror and blew a kiss at your reflection. You took a quick look around the room and down the hall to make sure all of the candles were lit and rose petals were in place. Sebastian had called and said the movie he was working on was wrapping earlier than expected for the first installment. That was two days ago, but that 48 hours felt longer than the entire month he’d been gone. You put your silk robe on over the red lacy lingerie you’d bought for the night and sipped on some champagne while you waited. His flight landed at 8pm and it was just after 8:30pm, so he should be walking through the door at any moment.
Any moment turned into an additional hour. You’d had half the bottle of champagne before calling to make sure he was okay. When he pick up, you could hear the music in the background.
“Sebastian, where are you? I thought you were coming home?” You asked.
“I’m here, but I ran into a few of the guys at the airport and we decided to come out for a drink.”
“When are you coming here?” You tried to hide the disappointment in your voice as best you could.
“As soon as we’re done I promise. I missed these knuckleheads,” he said. You could hear a collective we missed you too in the background.
Without saying anything else you hung up, blew out all of the candles and swept the rose petals into a pile before changing into sweatpants. He missed his friends more than he missed you? That one stung.
You slid on your shoes and headed to your car. You made a phone call to a friend and asked for a favor as you made your way back to your house for the night.
********
The next morning, you sat on your couch and flipped through the latest issue of some fashion magazine. You heard the handle jiggling on the front door.
“Y/N? Y/N, come open the door my key won’t work,” Sebastian knocked.
You sat there staring at the door and let him call your name until the knocking became loud banging. You opened the door and placed your hand on your hip. Not a single attempt to move out of the way, so he could come inside.
“Can I help you?” You asked with an attitude. How dare he blow you off to hang out with his friends after he hasn’t seen you for a month? And to make matters worse, he looks good enough to eat standing in front of you with a full beard and that perfect hair. The nerve of him to come to your house looking so good when you’re trying to be angry.
“My key won’t work,” he said confused.
“That’s because I changed the locks,” you shrugged.
“Changed the locks? When?”
“Last night,” you said dryly and turned to walk away.
He followed behind you and sighed, “You’re mad about last night. I saw the candles and rose petals. You should’ve told me you had something planned, I would’ve come right home.”
You turned to look at him and placed your hands on your hips. “Well, isn’t that something? I have to tell my boyfriend that I have something planned after he’s been away from me for four weeks, so he won’t go play with his friends as soon as he gets off of a plane.”
“No, that’s not what I meant –”
“Cut the shit, Seb.” You flopped down on the couch, “and I’m busy, so you should go,” you said before putting your ear buds in and picking the magazine back up.
He turned to leave. You did your best not to look up at him as he headed back towards the door. You were so busy trying to ignore him that you didn’t see him swipe one of the new keys from the side table by the door.
********
You’d been giving Sebastian the silent treatment for two days. It didn’t stop him from calling, sending I love you texts or having I’m sorry flowers delivered to you.
Truthfully, you missed him and was probably suffering much more than he was, so you decided it was time to stop the petty games and forgive him. You hopped in the shower and changed into more lingerie. This one was a black sheer crotchless one piece. You looked through the closet for the perfect coat to go over it.
You became distracted when you heard loud music coming from outside.
“What the hell?” You grabbed your fluffy robed and went to the window to peek out. Your jaw dropped when you saw Sebastian standing outside with the speaker raised high in the air. You opened the window. “What are you doing?” You yelled.
“I’m trying to get my girl back!” He shouted.
“By disturbing the peace?”
“If I have to,” he started to sing very loud and way off key.
People started turning on their lights and coming outside. Heads were sticking out of windows to see what was going on.
“Please stop! Just come inside,” you laughed. He turned the music off and headed towards the door. “I’m sorry!” You yelled to the neighbors.
“I’m not!” He hollered. “I’ll do it again if I have to.”
“Just don’t sing,” you heard one of the neighbors shout back.
Before your could get to the door, he was already walking in. You scrunched your face up.
“How’d you get in here?” You questioned.
“You left the keys by the door.”
“So you stole my key?” You lifted a brow. He took the key from his pocket and sat it on the table while telling you that you could have it back. “I’m not an idiot. I know you made a copy.” You stuck your tongue out at him.
“Where are you going?” He asked when he noticed the shoes you had on. Red high heeled sandals with straps that tied all the way up to the thigh. Shoes he’d never seen before, but they screamed fuck me.
“I was on my way to your house actually,” you replied.
“Uh huh, and what are you wearing underneath that robe?”
You undid the belt and let the material pool at your feet. He gave your entire body a once over. By the time his eyes landed back on yours the cool blue pools were black.
He walked closer to you and hooked his hands around your thighs and scooped you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist and crushed your lips to his. He walked you over to the couch and sat you down, so he could hurriedly pull his shirt over his head.
“Oh no, no, no,” you pushed him away when he tried to kiss you again.
“What’s wrong?” He looked confused.
“You’re not getting off that easy. On your knees,” you said as you stood.
“What?”
“On your knees,” you said again.
He complied with your demand. You put your foot up on the table revealing your already wet pussy and buried your fingers in his hair to bring him closer.
“Eat.”
Sebastian stuck his tongue out and swirled it around your clit. You threw your head back as you moved back and forth on his tongue. This was exciting, he never let you dom and it was making your pussy even wetter. You heard the zipper on his pants go down and he pulled out his throbbing cock.
“Don’t,” you snatched his head back, “I didn’t say you could touch yourself, did I?”
He shook his head no. 
You could tell he was getting pissed off, but continued to indulge in your antics. You smiled and pushed his head back in between your legs.
He sucked your clit into his mouth. The pressure from his tongue became harder as he licked you. You moved him out of the way and told him to lay back as you pushed the table back with your foot a little and placed it on top, then lifted the other foot up on the couch and lowered yourself into a full split above him.
“Fuck,” he lifted himself up on his elbows and admired your dripping slit just before putting his tongue inside of you. You braced yourself on the floor as you bounced your ass up and down over him. “This is in my way,” he said just before reaching up to rip the hole in the crotch even larger.
His dick was pointed right at you and you couldn’t resist the urge to taste him. You swirled your tongue around the leaking head lapping up all the precum he had to offer. He moaned when you took him into your mouth expertly bobbing your head up and down. He pushed his hips up trying to go deeper into your throat.
“Do that again and I’ll stop,” you pulled back.
“Fuck this,” he slid from beneath you, grabbed you and turned you towards the couch on your knees. He pushed his pants down to his ankles and pulled them off, he was back on you before you could move.
“What are you –”
“Shut up,” he pushed your face into the cushions as he roughly entered you from behind. He fucked you so hard your ass rippled with each thrust. You clutched onto the material of the sofa. He brought his hand to your throat and arched your back towards him.
“Did you really think that I was going to let you deny me of my pussy?” He said just before biting your neck and sucking the spot hard. You mewled beneath him as you felt your orgasm building. “You gonna cum for me? Hmm?” He fucked you harder.
“Yes, baby,” you nodded.
He kept going until he saw you clawing at the material even more and your pussy started to squeeze around him.
“No, baby,” he said and pulled out just as you were getting ready to pop. You screamed out of frustration. “This is my show now, baby girl.”
He sat up on the couch and motioned for you to sit on his lap. You lowered yourself down onto him until you sheathed him completely. He did his best to keep it quiet, but you felt the vibration of the groan in his chest. He held you in place, so you couldn’t move. You smiled at him. You knew he was trying not to cum.
You tightened your pussy around him earning another groan. He clamped down on your nipple with his teeth and you yelped.
“Stop it,” he commanded.
You let out a frustrated sigh, he held you there for a few more agonizing seconds until he felt like he’d regained control.
“Let’s go,” he said with a loud smack to your ass. 
You happily bounced up and down on his dick. He held your ass in his hands as he licked and sucked your nipples. The sensation of his tongue teasing you through the material was driving you wild.
You felt the fire building in the pit of your stomach. Your pussy started to clench around him again. He brought one hand around to your clit and rubbed with his thumb. You grabbed the back of the couch and rode him faster.
“Yeah, that’s my girl. Cum all over me,” he whispered.
“Please, please, please,” you begged, afraid he’d pull out again. You grabbed his jaw and looked into his eyes just before kissing him. He brought his arm around you waist and fucked into you as he felt his own body on the brink of explosion.
“Fucccckkkk!” You screamed as your body finally gave in. He rubbed your clit faster as the orgasm washed over you.
Seconds later, he dug his fingers into your thigh as he filled you with his seed. You held on tight around his neck as he emptied his love into you.
You both panted out of breath as you came down from the euphoric sexual high. You could feel his dick still throbbing inside of you. You tried to move, but he tightened his hold and held you on his lap.
“Do you forgive me?” He asked into your throat as he planted soft kisses there.
“Was this your official way of apologizing?”
“Mmm hmm,” he replied.
“Well then,” you pulled back from him, “I think I want another apology.” You grinded onto him.
You felt him hardening inside of you instantly.
“I’ll apologize as many times as you want,” he flipped you onto your back.
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porkchop-ao3 · 4 years
Text
A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 59)
Split
So this chapter’s a little different (it’ll be back to normal next chapter if you don't like it so don't worry). It contains graphic descriptions of violence and injury, mention of sexual assault (none actually takes place, it is only mentioned), lottttsss and lots of conflict and betrayal. But we aren’t seeing it through the eyes of our girl... 
Tagging @emily-strange ❤
(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)
-
Jet huffed and grunted beneath me as I urged him forwards at a gallop. The day I'd had was long and full, and all I wanted was to crash land by the campfire, eat some meat and have one of the beers I'd snuck into my satchel. Just lay back underneath the stars and have a warm body come up beside me, the finest company I could imagine. 
I thought about the events of the day, about Eagle Flies, how he'd been captured by the army. How Dutch had somehow had me leaping off a cliff into brutal rapids with nothing but faith, it must've been pure luck that I didn't land on a rock and snap my neck, or hit my head and drown. I remembered Dutch's bullshit about change and gravity, his words seeming flowery and empty, in a way I couldn't believe I hadn't heard before. In my mind I saw Bacchus Bridge collapse over and over, mindless destruction with the wishful purpose of making noise and somehow helping us lot out of here. Dutch's bidding. Nearly got me and Marston killed, flattened by a damn train, though what was new? 
Every day I seemed to find myself at the brink of some other gruesome death. Every day I seemed to be pushing my luck further and further. Soon enough my luck would run out, but I had to do my best. I had someone worth surviving for and goddamn it, I wasn't gonna let something kill me before I'm old and grey with her at my bedside.  
I saw a glow across the river as I approached Brandywine drop. I followed the trail 'round, over the train tracks and across the water where it was shallow enough to pass, and made my way closer to the occupied spot. I assumed that was our camp for the night, and I saw the tent pitched, but no person, and I figured she was inside, sheltered from the wind that was a little stronger that night than normal. 
I dismounted as I got close enough, leaving Jet next to where Rayna was already stood grazing. I gave the big girl a pat on the neck as I passed her, and she huffed and flicked that makeshift cotton tail of hers, braided into the short length from her dock. I spotted a sketchbook laying open on the ground, a half-finished sketch of the Ardennes on the page. 
"Hey sweetheart, it's me," I called out, my footsteps crunching through twigs as I approached the tent, expecting to see a pair of boots poking out, frowning when I saw none. I crouched a little, carefully pulling the flap of the tent back, only for it to be empty. "Sweetheart?" I called louder as I straightened up–
Snap.
I spun around, hand going to my revolver, drawing it.
"Woah, woah, woah, easy now, Mr. Morgan, you might not want to do that," said some smug looking bastard in a suit and a bowler hat, reeked of Pinkerton before he even introduced himself, "we're with the Pinkerton Detective Agency."
"Yeah, no shit," I spat through gritted teeth, eyes darting as four more of the bastards emerged, surrounding me. Every one of them had their sights trained on me. "What've you done with her?"
"Your lady friend? Oh, don't you worry, she's fine. Got a couple of the boys keeping an eye on her as we speak," I didn't like the way his moustache twisted with his smirk and I kept my hand closed around the revolver.
"You think I won't kill every last one of you? I swear to Christ if that lady has a single hair out of place when I find her, I'll string you up by your ball-sack and drag you all the way to Armadillo behind my horse," I spat, knuckles turning white around my gun.
"You won't get the chance to, you're surrounded, Mr. Morgan. Drop the gun or we'll be forced to shoot."
"I get it, you want me. That's fine. You got me," I began, loosening my grip only slightly, lifting both hands up, still not letting the weapon go, "but let the lady go, she ain't done nothing wrong. She's just been tagging along since she fell on hard times."
"Drop the gun," he repeated.
My eyes closed, I thought for a moment. If I let them have me, there was no telling what they'd do to her. I highly doubted they'd let her go, and I didn't trust any of them not to take advantage. I couldn't leave her under their control. I couldn't leave her.
"Okay," I breathed, "I'm gonna put it down," I began to bend my knees, getting low, leaning forwards in a way that shielded most of my torso, and made me as small a target as possible. It would be an absolute miracle if I got out of this without a bullet in me, and I could only hope that they'd miss my head. But I had to give it a shot.
I lowered my hand towards the ground, my eyes fixed on the main agent's face. He was smirking. A flash of rage gave me the push I needed, and I swung my arm up fast, locking onto him, pulling the trigger and catching a glimpse of the cloud of blood replacing his head as I lunged sideways in an attempt to dodge the bullets that instantly began raining down. I grunted as I collided with the ground, chest taking the brunt, but I couldn't stop to catch my breath before scrambling towards the nearest thing I could call cover. A tree was the best I was offered, but I took it, hissing as the outside of my ribs felt as though it'd been kicked by a horse, then began to burn hotter than a branding iron.
"Shit!" I growled, dragging in a sharp breath before pushing myself to twist around the tree – sending further pain flourishing across my chest – to fire at the men while they had to reload. I fired twice in quick succession, ripping a hole in one guy's throat and another in someone else's chest. They both went down with a mix of cries and gargles.
More bullets flew past my head, and I sucked everything in, panting and cursing under my breath as I turned sideways, praying the tree would be thick enough to shield me as they tried to land a shot. With two left, one made a run for me, spraying wildly with his gun like a maniac, allowing me to shoot him through the side of his skull just as a bullet splintered through the treebark right above my head. A puff of air left my lungs and a sound akin to a whimper went with it. My chest throbbed and I tentatively pressed a hand there, it came away smeared with blood. 
It was silent. There was one Pinkerton left, unless there were more hiding in the surrounding areas. I couldn't think of that though; I had to focus on the ones that I knew existed before I worried about anything else. He wasn't shooting though. I didn't know where he was. I carefully peeked around the edge of the tree, catching a glimpse of him before a bullet soared past my head; the bastard was crouched behind a rock, his gun trained on me, just waiting for me to move. 
I sighed and looked up towards the sky. 
"Alright!" I called out, taking a gamble on the assumption that if there really were other Pinkertons around, they'd have shown themselves by then, "I surrender."
"Drop the weapon," he called back.
I held out the gun so he could see, then threw it aside.
"Empty your other holster," he added, and with a sigh I tossed my secondary pistol aside. "Keep your hands up and come out from behind the tree."
"Alright, alright, jus– just promise me you ain't gonna shoot," I pleaded.
"You're worth more alive," he responded, "but no funny business, or I'll plant one right between the eyes."
"Okay. I'm coming out," I said, gingerly stepping out from behind the tree. 
"Come here, stop right here," he ordered, pointed towards a spot on the ground a few steps before him. He emerged from behind the rock as I did as I was told. He crept closer to me, his eyes wide; he looked like a rabbit, all twitchy and nervous. He let go of his repeater with one hand so he could reach for his cuffs, but he still had his finger precariously on the trigger, the butt of the gun balancing against his chest like he'd never held one before. It was clear he was out of his depth, taking me alone.
I took the opportunity as soon as he was close enough to swing my leg up, kicking the gun clean out of his hands. Then I pounced, tackling him to the ground as he shouted out in surprise. He wrestled with me for a while, grunting, landing a punch to the wound at my ribs. I growled in agony but kept my weight on him, quickly regaining my power over him. With a hand clamped over his throat, I slammed my other fist into his face, once, twice, over and over until my face was speckled with his blood and his struggles and cries died down beneath me.
Discarding his limp body, I got up breathlessly and shook out my aching knuckles, quickly marched over to my weapons and picked them up from the ground and re-holstered them. Panting, I looked down at my torso, pulling my shirt out of my jeans, lifting it and ripping open the bullet hole in my union suit to get a look at the damage. A bullet had torn past my side, taking a chunk out of me just beside my ribs, but luckily missing any organs. 
"Jesus," I breathed, inspecting my bloodied hand, unsure of how much was mine and how much was his.
Jet had bolted during the gunfight, so I whistled for him. He came trotting from between some distant trees, Rayna loyally following him. My hand shook as I wiped it on my trousers, and I took unsteady steps towards the horses. I was about to mount, had my foot in the stirrup, when I paused; my body seemed to sag, exhaustion suddenly hitting me out of the blue. I took a moment to steady myself, pressing my forehead against the saddle, gripping my side with my hand. Five seconds of rest was all I allowed myself, breathing deep and catching my breath, then I pulled myself up into the saddle.
But where was I going? 
I swivelled my head, looking around. My mind was blank. I didn't have a fucking clue what to do. Where was she? I had to look for her, right then, but with no idea where to start, no idea how many Pinkertons were guarding her, and with a hole in my side… I was useless. With a sharp sigh, I pulled on Jet's reins, riding him back towards Beaver hollow as fast as he would go.
The lather on Jet's coat was the thickest it'd been since running after the Valentine Bank heist, but I arrived at Beaver Hollow in good time, as half the camp was starting to bed down for the night. Charles was on guard duty, and he called out to me when I arrived, demanding I identify myself.
"Charles! It's me, I– I need help," I yelled back, halting Jet a few steps away, clutching my tender side. 
"Arthur! What the hell? Your horse looks like it's– you're hurt," his eyes bugged wide when he stepped closer and saw me better, trained on the blood smeared on my fingers and soaked into my shirt. 
"I'm fine, it's the–"
"You're not fine," he glanced behind me at Rayna who walked to join the other horses, "shit, where is–"
"She's been captured by Pinkertons. They was waiting at our camp when I got there, I killed 'em, was lucky they didn't send too many men, thought I'd co-operate pro'ly, considerin' they have someone important to me," I told him breathlessly, my head dropping down as the pain in my side drained the energy from me. Charles stared at me with wide eyes for a moment, frozen.
"Arthur, get down from the horse, let's look at you," he reanimated, speaking carefully and reaching his hand out.
"What's happening over there?" John's voice carried over to us, and I looked up to see more people noticing my arrival.
"We gotta go, Charles. I need help, I can't save her alone, not with this," I gestured to myself.
"John, go get Susan. Arthur's hurt," Charles turned and called.
"No! There ain't no time. If she's been captured we've gotta go find her before they– they–" I stammered, shaking my head, leaning away from Charles' outstretched hand.
"We'll go as soon as we've done something about that," he pointed to my wound, "you're no good to her bleeding out." 
"Arthur! What are you doing?" Dutch yelled, marching across camp with Micah in tow. I sighed heavily, slid down off of Jet and met Charles' eyes for a moment. 
"It's the Pinkertons. They found our camp and they took… took…" I sighed, frowning to myself. "I don't know how they even knew about her and me."
"I'm sorry?" Dutch frowned as he got closer.
"They knew we were together. They took her so they could capture me but how'd they even know I'd be bothered?" I thought aloud. 
"Arthur," Charles' low, quiet voice sounded as he touched my arm. I lifted my hand away from my wound and helped him pull up my shirt to inspect it. 
"I'm fine, just grazed." 
"Arthur, you haven't exactly been subtle these past weeks, running off with her and camping out together. Someone was bound to see you sooner or later," Dutch called out. I frowned for a moment, dread settling deep in my gut. I pushed it out of my mind for the moment, though.
"Dutch, I need some folks to ride with me, to go find her–"
"Son, you know that's exactly what they want," Dutch tilted his head at me, brows arching sympathetically but even I could see the emptiness behind his eyes, "they're banking on you turning up, with or without a couple others, so they can take you in." 
"No shit, Dutch, I know that's what they want. That don't mean I'm gonna sit back and do nothing!" I raised my voice, and I felt Charles look up at me. He didn't seem too concerned about my injury, and dropped my shirt back down.
"They'll let her go soon enough. They ain't got nothing on her, don't play their game, Arthur," Dutch warned and I stared at him, mouth agape.
"He's right, Morgan. They can't keep her for long, all she's guilty of is knowing us," Micah chirped, widening his arms to gesture to the group. More people crowded 'round, listening in. "Leave her. I'm sure she'll understand," he added, his mouth coming up into a twisted smile.
"Are you serious, Dutch? You're saying I should leave her there in the hope they'll just… let her go in what– a few days? Weeks? When she ain't got no more teeth left to pull or fingers to break? You know they'll do whatever they damn well please to try and get her to talk!" I yelled, taking a brisk step forwards only for Charles to stop me with a hand on my shoulder. He was wise to do that.
"No they won't, she's a woman! They ain't gonna hurt an innocent woman–"
"No, you're right, she's just a woman," I began softly, my voice turning sharper for the next part, "they probably won't rip her teeth out but they might just line up one by one and have their way with her! Come on Dutch, you ain't as naive as that."
"You're catastrophising, just calm down!" Dutch held his hands up to me and glared.
"Yeah, anyway, let the girl have a good time, if that's what happens, then it happens," Micah added, and even Dutch turned to look at him for that one. I wasn't in control of myself when my hand swung up and somehow my gun was in it.
"You test me again, fucker and I'll blow your head clean off, I promise," I yelled at him, my hand shaking where it held the gun trained dead on his face, my finger dangerously tense on the trigger. It would be so fucking easy.
"Calm. Down!" Dutch shouted, his voice breaking with its volume. Charles gingerly touched my arm, pushing it down. I took a deep, shaky breath, not once taking my eyes off of Micah. 
"I'm going to get her, Dutch. Damn what you say, I'm sorry," I muttered, shaking my head. I holstered my gun then turned and climbed back up onto Jet's back.
"I'll come too," Charles said, sticking his fingers in his mouth and whistling for Taima.
"Charles–" Dutch went to protest, only for John to mount up, capturing his attention. "John!"
"I'm coming too," he said, meeting my eyes. "If this was Abigail, I know you'd do the same."
I glanced to where Abigail was listening, expecting some sort of plea for him to stay, but she only smiled softly.
"I'll come," Sadie called out from beside her. "That girl saved my life once, it's fitting I return the favour."
"People! This is your goddamn funeral! Do my warnings only fall on deaf ears?" Dutch growled, his face reddening with rage. He was ignored as Sadie mounted up, and my three companions trotted over to my side. I turned Jet, and we set off up the path immediately, not looking back.
My blood thrummed in my veins and made me feel like I was being boiled, the adrenaline in my system dulling the pain as we galloped away from camp. I lead the group, hearing the thump thump thump of hooves at my side and behind me, like we were moving as one cloud of fury and determination. This felt different to all the times I'd ridden together in a group with Dutch up ahead. I couldn't describe it. 
"They took her from our camp at Brandywine drop," I yelled out to them, "my thinking is we head back there and look around, try and see if we can find some tracks."
"Might be difficult if there's a busy path, but we'll try," Charles replied.
"I can't believe Dutch was just gonna leave her," John started, and I glanced over my shoulder at him. "Actually, I can. He didn't even wanna help me."
"Exactly, I should've known he wouldn't show the barest of concern," I replied.
"Speaking of concern, you're bleedin' some, Arthur. You sure you're okay?" Sadie questioned. I couldn't think about myself. As injuries went I'd had much worse and come out just fine. It would wait. 
"Ain't that bad, Sadie. I'll be fine. This is more important," I told her. Nobody argued with me. "Thank you, all of you. I can't tell you– this just means a whole lot, you being by my side."
"Any time. You've helped with the things that are important to me in the past, those Bison in The Heartlands? And today with Rains Fall? I thought it was about time someone showed you the same willingness to help," Charles told me, and I nodded.
"You're my brother, Arthur. You know that," John added. "And she's… I guess that makes her my sister, in a way. And it's like Dutch says, never leave love aside," he said with a satirical laugh.
"We can't start leaving people to rot," Sadie called. 
"It's all talk with him. Spoutin' nonsense about loyalty and sticking together, but he don't give a damn when one of us actually needs help. Why he ain't no better than the likes of Cornwall, using people for his own gain, and cutting them off when they stop being of use," I muttered, my jaw clenched tight. All I felt when I thought of Dutch was rage and bitterness. It was a feeling I never thought possible. "If he thought I'd roll over and leave the one person who's ever really seen me–" I stopped suddenly, clamping my mouth shut. 
"We'll get her, Arthur," Sadie assured me.
"I'm done being his fool," I spat.
"You and me, both," John agreed, "how'd they find her anyway?"
"The Pinkertons have been patrolling this whole area," Charles noted. I frowned and shook my head.
"Yeah, but they ain't been nowhere near us. And even if they did, how'd they recognise her?"
"She was at camp when the Pinkertons showed up at Clemens Point," John said, and I released a sigh.
"Sure, but that was two fellers who saw her for a few seconds, just… just seems unlikely, is all," I muttered.
"Whatever the case, Dutch had a point when he said they don't have anything on her. She hasn't got a bounty or any real crime to her name. They really are just using her to bring you in, Arthur. I don't think they're gonna hurt her or punish her," Sadie called, and I tried my hardest to believe her.
We approached Brandywine Drop, dashed across the water and slowed before we reached the camp. We each dismounted and grabbed our weapons, on high alert in case more men had been sent. When we arrived the fire was dwindling, just faintly glowing embers. Everything else was untouched; the tent was still there, the five bodies still remained, cold and bloody. Her sketchbook still laid open on the ground; I picked it up, carefully closing it and sliding it into my satchel next to my own journal while the others looked around.
"Which way did you ride in?" Charles asked, inspecting something on the ground by lantern light. I approached him. 
"I came in the same way as we did, left that way too," I told him, squinting at the ground in the poor light.
"I think there's some tracks here. Looks like a couple of horses," he told me.
"That'll probably be them, then, come on. It's the best we got," I said, waving my hand to Sadie and John. We all walked back and mounted up again, though Charles stayed on foot. Taima followed the group as we slowly made our way away from camp, heading West, parallel to the train tracks.
"I don't think it leads to the main path," Charles said, pointing to the trail that ran some distance away from the railway, "looks like it's following the line," he looked back down at the tracks.
"Walking along the train tracks? Where're they heading?" John queried roughly. 
"Wherever it is, they weren't in a hurry. These tracks don't look like they were galloping. Maybe they didn't have far to go," Charles wondered.
"Maybe they wanted to be easy to find," Sadie pointed out, and I glanced at her. She was right. "How many men d'you think they'll have waiting for us?"
"I don't know. They had five at our camp, they were expecting to take me from there, I reckon. There can't be that many with her if they only had five waiting for me," I guessed, and Charles made a quiet humming sound.
"Here's hoping," he said.  
We were following the tracks for barely two minutes before we came upon a small shack with light glowing from between the decrepit wooden planks barely holding the thing together. Four horses stood outside, gathered like a small little herd, grazing. All of us stopped.
"That's the old trading post," Sadie said. 
My heart began to race, the blood flow making my side ache and throb, dampening my shirt more. I pressed my hand against it firmly and clamped my lips together, releasing a shaky breath from my nose. I tried to pull myself together, reminding myself that I'd had far worse.
"I bet they're keeping her there," I said.
"Looks like it's where the tracks lead. Not too many men," Charles mused and John let out a sharp exhale of a laugh.
"Ain't too smart, are they? They think they can take you in with just a handful of men?"
"They're expecting me to be alone. And distracted," I offered, "maybe they didn't think it'd require that many. So they put, what– ten men on the job?"
"Ten against one. That should've been enough," Charles snorted. "So how're we doing this?
With my eyes on the trading post, my ears strained to make out any sound. I could just hear distant voices, but by the tone they appeared to be all male.
"Alright, there's one way in, but plenty of windows and holes in the walls," I began as the others looked to me for guidance, "I suggest that I go in first, unarmed, and see what kinda situation they have her in. We don't wanna go in all guns blazing in case they– I don't know," I shook my head, not wanting to dwell on any possibilities. 
"Okay, and the rest of us?" Sadie nodded.
"If you surround the building, take cover by whatever openings into the building you can, then you can cover me if anything happens. I do plan on shooting every last one of 'em, but only if I know she's safe," I explained, and each of them nodded. "I'll… I'll try to get her out of there somehow. Only start shooting once she's out of the way."
"And if you can't manage to get her out of there?" John asked. I looked at him, blinking.
"Then you better aim real damn carefully, Marston," I deadpanned.
There was a beat of silence.
"Alright, are we ready?" Charles breathed. Each of us nodded.
"Ready," I said.
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asinglebraincell · 4 years
Text
Bella And The Great Goodbye
Okay ya’ll i’ve written the first part to this absolutely heartbreaking fic that’s been bouncing around in my head. This is my first fan fic i’ve ever written and i’m not that strong of a writer so bare with me! It is NOT a happy story. 
Major TW warning. S*icide, D*pr*ssion, Intr*sive thoughts. It’s a long one. Third person narrative because that felt natural for me. 
I maintain that this fic is less about Jacob and Bella and more about Bella herself. I didn’t want to involve the tribe anymore than I HAD to so they’re barely mentioned. I think that EdBella are the end game that makes sense bc they’re just as awful to those around them and deserve each other. 
I’ve placed it two years after her 18th birthday. Her and Jake are in a relationship but it’s not going well. Bella has her own apartment in Forks, goes to the community college near there and works at the Newton’s store. We pick up after one of Jacob and Bella’s fights. I hope you enjoy it and if you read it and hate it please let me know.  If this triggers you in anyway and need to talk, please reach out. I’ve taken quite a lot of Bella’s depression from my own. 
I hope you enjoy! 
What rotten luck, Jacob thought as his VW rabbit stopped dead in the middle of the road. This day just gets better and better. First I spend hours fighting with Bella and now my car dies?
Jacob had been having a very unpleasant day. He kept his anger under control with Bella earlier. It was hard but he knew that he couldn’t lose control around her. So he fought to keep the anger from exploding out of him. He felt even angrier now. And since no one was around he could blow off some steam at least.
He jumped out of his car after putting it in neutral and began pushing the rust bucket to the side of the road. He engaged the e-brake after putting it into park, just in case. It wouldn’t hurt him too bad if the car started rolling but he couldn’t bear the thought of his baby getting hurt. He popped the hood and began trying to figure out what was wrong now. He couldn’t afford a new part so hopefully, it wasn’t something major.
He had just begun his diagnostics when he heard someone clear their throat.
He wasn’t paying attention to who it was, just that they were human. He had noticed the sound of the engine that pulled up in front of him but he wasn’t paying attention. He turned around and didn’t have to look down to find their eyes. The slight but well-muscled woman grinned at him. She had a round face with high wide cheekbones. She had freckles lightly covering her nose and cheeks, they weren’t super noticeable as her skin was as dark as his own and they were just a shade or two lighter. She had her wildly curly black hair pulled back into a bun with a cotton strip. She smelled like car grease and sandalwood.  As he met her gaze, he felt something.
Like the whole world had a big red curtain in front of it and it was suddenly ripped away. The strings that held him where he was suddenly shifted like he was a puppet or something. He felt the pull this stranger had on the strings. Not that she was controlling him, but that she was helping him move. Holding his hand almost to help guide him through life. The fact that she was a stranger made Jacob feel uneasy.  His wolf told him that this stranger was the only person in the world he could ever want or need. The strings that tied him to the pack shifted too. They used to be the strongest bond he had. Not anymore. Suddenly, he would fight his pack family for this woman.
He knew from Sam’s internal thoughts about Emily that he had imprinted on this poor unsuspecting woman. Oh crap! He thought ruefully.
“ Uh Oh! Looks like your wabbit needs a carrot!” The woman said, “I’m Cass. Do you need a hand?”
“ I think she’s a lost cause for right now. Thanks, though.” He said with a returning smile. Jake was never really formal but he reached his hand out to shake hers, “I’m Jacob.”
“I can take a look if you’d like. I’m sort of an amateur VW mechanic.”
“By all means. I’m not sure what you’d find. I rebuilt her myself so it’s not up to original manufacturer quality.” He said apologetically while he stepping out of her way. She just laughed. What a laugh Jacob thought. And then he mentally kicked himself for being weird.
“Then I’m sure I’ll probably find a lot wrong.” She said as she looked under the hood.
Just as Jacob had said she couldn’t track down the issue from a glance but offered to drive him wherever he needed to go. They spent the short car ride to Jacob’s house chatting about cars. She gave him a card of a guy she knew with a tow truck. She had written her phone number on the back of the card in case they needed to swap parts sometime soon.
When he was sure she was out of sight, he phased. Desperate to figure out what the hell to do.
Bella knew something was wrong. She could feel it. Jacob was slipping away from her and she couldn’t stop it. They’d be on the rocks lately and she knew it was her fault. Jacob had left in such a fuss that she wasn’t sure where they stood. The hole in her chest felt bigger, threatening to give way at any moment.
He was sure that she was overreacting, as usual. But that didn’t do anything to calm her down. Just made her mad. She had spent the last few hours replaying their argument. He had been getting tired of her insecurities. And there were a lot. She felt guilty because she knew Jake deserved better. And that he needed to walk away. But he wouldn’t give up on her. And she needed him more than she admitted. He filled the hole in her chest for a while. It wasn’t a perfect fit and things slipped through often but she felt more whole than she ever had without Jake. She had once told him that she wasn’t a car he could just fix-up. He seemed to beg to differ.
When it seemed late enough that he wouldn’t call, she went to bed. Slipping on a t-shirt he left on the back of the small chair in her apartment’s living room. It made her feel a little better. Like the Jake she loved was there. Not the Jake she had forced him to be. She tried not to cry but it was hard.
She felt a little bit worse for wear the next day. Jake still hadn’t called her. She wouldn’t call him first, she was hurt by him being so quick to dismiss her feelings. Her worry over losing him turned to anger at herself. She was pushing him too hard. She knew she was. But she didn’t know how to stop it. She felt desperate to fix it all. She didn’t have work today so she had time to focus on her pain and let it simmer for a while.  
At around 2:30 in the afternoon, she heard a knock on the door. Knowing it was Jake by the type of knock. They had made a system for which knock he would use so she would know who it was. She had a bout of paranoia when she first moved into this apartment.
She was still in bed and hadn’t bothered to lock the front door last night. Even if Jake didn’t have a key, he could’ve gotten in.
She heard his footsteps get louder as he walked down the hallway to her little bedroom. She covered her head with the blanket. Childishly to not see his face.
“Bells? Come out from under there.” Jake said with a tone she hadn’t ever heard him use before. It was so..formal. It made her shudder as she thought about who that tone reminded her of.
She peeked out from her cocoon at him. He was standing next to her bed, jacket still on. That was a bad sign. He wasn’t planning on staying long. She had to fight the urge to hide further under the covers. This was the bad feeling she’d had yesterday. Her instincts for pain and heartbreak had warned her.
She sat up and didn’t look at him. Choosing to try to find patterns in the quilt she had gotten from Renee last Christmas.
“I need to talk to you.” He said. That formal tone was still there, but there was sadness now.
“Go ahead.” She said just above a whisper. The pain coated her throat and it came out rougher than she intended. He sat next to her on the bed then and hugged her.
“So….you know that miserable and crazy way Sam and Emily got together?” He said with a lot more sadness and anger bleeding through the calm and formal façade. Bella’s stomach dropped. She knew exactly what he was getting at. Imprinting wasn’t something to be ignored. It was too powerful. She suddenly felt a lot of..pain for Leah that she hadn’t before. She knew the story. Sam and Leah were high school sweethearts until her cousin Emily came to visit.
She felt the hole break wide open. She fought hard against the overwhelming pain. Tears welled up in her eyes but she held them back. Because she knew. It wasn’t his fault he had found his person. It’s not his fault that he was just another person to leave her.
“Bella listen to me, please. This doesn’t mean I’m going to just leave and never come back. I’ll still be here for you. I just…nothing makes any sense right now. I don’t know how to explain.” He hurried through the words to comfort her.
“She’s the one for you…I understand. It’s not your fault. Just hurts that I’m not the one. I’m…happy for you.” The tears threatened again and she won against them again. If this was her goodbye to her second love, she would make sure he could go be happy without a fight. They’d done enough fighting.
“It hurts me too. I don’t want to have to do this. I don’t want to hurt you like this. I know you need me. I love you, Bells. I do.” Jacob said quietly as tears rolled down his face.
“S’not the same, though, Jake. I know. The pack explained it pretty well. And I know you won’t just leave my life entirely. You’re still my best friend no matter what.” She said with her zombie Bella tone. She hadn’t had to use the false inflection in over a year. Thanks to Jacob.
He kissed her softly. His and her tears made the kiss wet. It was like the tears were dissolving her tie to him in this way. When he pulled away she could see the pain this had caused him too. She reached out to put her hand on his face.
“Don’t worry about me, Jake. Just be happy. It’ll make me happy to see it. I know I haven’t been making you happy for a long time.” She said sternly
“Bella, that’s not true. I’ve been happy with you. Being your boyfriend was every teenage boy’s dream.” She cringed, knowing it was a lie. It was most definitely not a dream.
“Is that all you needed to talk about?” She said ignoring his attempt to make her feel better.
“I don’t suppose you’d wanna know about her, huh?” He said as he stood up.
“I need time, Jake.” She said with pain marking her entire body. She couldn’t hide it anymore. She had given him up without a fight. She could wallow in her pain now.
He left without another word. She thought it was because he knew she needed time alone. It still hurt him to leave her hurting like that. But he was the one doing the hurting.
Bella seemed to lose track of the days after that. Just barely registering anything that was happening. She had been going through the motions of work and school. Her college workload was light and she only met once a month in person at the tiny community college in Forks. She stopped registering the passage of time again. Just like when…she couldn’t allow herself to think about them. She would surely just end it all then if she did.
Bella had gotten better at hiding her pain. She didn’t want to be the cause of any worry. She was tired of being around anyone. But she put on the almost perfect façade of a happier Bella for Charlie and Jacob.Their friendship was hard at first. Jacob was constantly with Cass and he didn’t want to flaunt this in her face. But they found a healthier rhythm and she even met Cass a few times.
It made Bella happy to see Jake happy. Cass was the perfect person for him. She was an amateur mechanic like he was. She was warm and friendly and made Bella comfortable to be around. Like she had found another human sun. They fit together so much more than he and Bella had. He looked so happy that it hadn’t hurt Bella as much anymore. They drifted more and more as he spent more and more time with Cassie. Bella found it hard to be nice to either of them as time went on. She started getting angrier with their constant optimism. She started declining their invitations places so she wouldn’t have to deal with this newfound aggression towards them. She was just bitter that they were able to be with their soulmate, at least that’s what she told herself.
One day after work as she was driving home, she found herself just driving aimlessly at first. Until she found herself at the spot she and Jake went cliff diving at early on in their relationship. She shivered as she remembered the first few months with Jake. The happiest she had felt in a while. She didn’t get out, though the urge to cliff jump was strong. The adrenaline rush was something she became more addicted too as their relationship blossomed and her depression manifested in ugly ways. Jacob had put a stop to the more death-defying stuns she tried to pull. She got hurt too easily and he persuaded her to try other things that were just as fun.
She turned back down the narrow road to the main highway and drove home. She couldn’t allow herself to remember the happier times because she knew that there wouldn’t be any more for her.
She had resigned herself to being alone and barely human again. She didn’t live with Charlie anymore and only saw him now and then. She hadn’t remembered the last time she spoke with her mother. She didn’t care that she couldn’t remember. Renee was happy with Phil that’s all that mattered. She didn’t have to pretend to be anything at home. She could scream, she could cry, she could die and no one would know for a while. Her neighbors had gotten used to her nightmares.
Die. A small voice broke through to the forefront of Bella’s mind. The small voice turned louder as she got closer to her little apartment. It seemed like it was screaming at her as she walked through her door.
This was new. She didn’t have intrusive thoughts before. Maybe it was a sign. She had finally snapped.
She took three long looks around the small living room. There wasn’t anything left. Nothing keeping her here. She didn’t want anything anymore. She couldn’t even bring herself to read anymore. Her books sat in piles around the wood bookcase in her living room collecting dust. Her favorite stories couldn’t take her away anymore. She couldn’t bury herself in the worlds she had once reached out to for comfort in her young life.
The agony of living and being constantly reminded that she wasn’t good enough to be in anyone’s life was too much. She couldn’t find her place anywhere. It used to not bother her but as she got older, she realized the reason she couldn’t find her place. It was her fault. No one wanted to put up with her. Destiny made up a very convenient excuse for Jacob to cut his losses and leave her. The family she had once hoped to belong to decided she wasn’t worth risking their existence for. Her mother had never really wanted a child. Bella had just tied her down for all those years. Charlie had his own happy enough life without her.
Everyone was better off without her.
Bella found herself two days later on her small tattered couch. Her apartment was packed in boxes. She had four sheets of paper on the coffee table in front of her. The sobs started again. She hadn’t fully stopped crying in the past few days. Hoping that she would cry it all out. But she couldn’t find an end. She wanted it to all end. To never wake up again. To have some relief from the knowledge that no one wanted her. No one ever would want her. She wrote letters to Charlie, Renee, and Jacob before she turned to the last piece of paper.  She let herself feel again. Releasing all of the pain she had kept locked away. The family she wanted to join came to the forefront of that pain. Emmett, Rosalie, Jasper, Carlisle, Esme, Alice…Edward. The family she lost because none of them wanted her. Their names burned in her brain. She didn’t need to write one to each of them. Just one of them. The one she wished she could’ve been good enough for the most.
She didn’t think about whether or not Alice would be watching. She didn’t think it would be very likely. Bella had more than enough close calls with death in the past two years. And Alice never came back. She didn’t care about her. Just like everyone else.
Her hand shook as she penned everything she had wanted to say to her lost love. Her anger at him, her hopes for him, her love for him. Still, after all this time and even with the distraction of Jacob, he was the only true love she had felt. The only place she felt at home. When she was done writing she placed the letters in separate envelopes, leaving them on the coffee table. She had her truck and motorcycle keys laid out on the table neatly next to the letters. She stared at the table for a long while. Thinking the same question over and over again. Was it selfish of her to take herself out of this life? No, she had caused enough stress and heartache for those that she loved. She thought over all of the people she loved, leaving Edward for last. Savoring the pain it gave her.
The light from outside was fading and Bella felt a peace she hadn’t felt in two years. Almost as if he was there with her giving her the strength she needed to follow through. She sat on the floor of her bathroom in the doorway, holding the tool she would use to end her pain. It was probably one of the more slow deaths but it was the one she knew would work.
She hadn’t realized that she was slipping away until she heard the front door open.
“Bella!” A high shrill voice like an angel called out to her. Alice.
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thewritingandroid · 4 years
Text
Learning to be Human // Part 2 Calculations- Connor
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A/N: Here’s part 2/(?)! If you haven’t already guessed by the title, this story jumps between character P.O.V.’s chapter to chapter. It’s been a really interesting experience for me to write this way and I’ve enjoyed the results thus far. I hope you all enjoy this chapter!
Word Count: 2566
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5
"It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light."
-Aristotle
“Connor!”
“Officer Chase! Good to see you. I thought you were on family leave until next week?”
“No rest for the weary,” he grinned, “Tell you the truth, no one wants this job with your sorry ass, so they had to pull me back a week early.”
“Is that so? You should file a complaint.”
Officer Chase was one of the guards assigned to escort me to the station. He’s young, maybe 27 years old. He just had his first kid. He’s one of the only officers who will talk to me, and he's one of the only ones to be nice to me. 
“Well, what will it be today Connor, walk or ride?”
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to walk.”
“You sure? There’s a storm coming.”
“Yes, I’m a little earlier than usual and I don’t want to make anyone at the station uncomfortable for longer than I have to.” I look around, “Where is Jones?”
“Called in sick today. He got that stomach virus that’s been going around, poor bastard. It’s just us today.”
“Maybe we should take a car.”
“What? You don’t think I can protect you?”
“I don’t doubt that you could protect me, Chase, but the protestors seem extra agitated today and I’d hate for anything to happen because I made a selfish decision.”
“I didn’t know you knew how to be selfish, sir,” Chase teased and I shot him a look. “Alright, we’ll take the patrol car, although I think I’ll sit you in the back to give those protestors a show.”
“I don’t think that would be a wise decision officer.”
“It was a joke Connor, learn to take one. Come on, I parked the car just inside the border. You’ll at least get a short walk.”
It wasn’t terribly cold outside, but there was a chill in the air. I followed along behind Chase. I could feel the eyes of the other androids on me. I saw a few of them peering out of their windows at me. No matter what Markus said, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I didn’t belong here. That I was some kind of ticking time bomb waiting to go off.
The shouts of the protestors grew louder as we approached the border. Fewer and fewer androids stayed in this part of our territory. They were scared of the protestors, and rightfully so. I was there when they killed their first android. His name was Peter. He had gotten a job as a grocery store stocker. He was so excited to have a paying job. I remember him telling anyone who would listen how he was making five dollars an hour doing something as simple as stacking boxes. He thought he was getting a good deal, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him he was being ripped off.
For the first few days, he would wait until he got to work to put on his uniform, but he was just too damn proud of his job. He put it on before he left the house one morning, and when he tried to cross the border… I watched as they pulled him apart. There were no police here yet, there hadn’t been the need. I remember people holding me back as I watched. I remember fighting, trying to get to him before it was too late. Sometimes when it’s quiet I can still hear his screams. 
Eventually, someone got Markus and he showed up with North, Josh, and Simon and pushed the protestors back enough that they could retrieve what was left of Peter. I remember sinking to the ground, numb. I remember wanting to side with North when she said we should fight back. I remember Markus asking me if Hank would be able to get the police involved to help us. More than anything though, I remember the rage I felt when the Captain explained to me and Hank that we couldn’t charge the protestors because the law still regarded androids as property. I don’t think he’s ever fixed the hole in his wall that I put there. I’m not entirely sure he wants to.
Officer Chase stops so abruptly that I almost bump right into him.
“What-?” I start to ask.
“Shhhhh!” He holds up his hand, the other one reaching for his gun.
I stand silent, listening. “Chase, I don't hear anything,” I whisper.
“Exactly. We’re less than 500ft from the border and we can’t hear the protestors? Why?”
“Get behind me.” I move to step in front of him but he stops me.
“No Connor. It’s my job to protect you, not the other way around.”
I can hear footsteps now, from behind us. I hear breathing, ragged, fueled by rage. I spin around. A group of protesters had entered the android territory and were now blocking our way back. I hear officer Chase click the safety off his gun and risk a glance over my shoulder. Another group of protestors stands in front of him. We are surrounded.
‘Markus’ I reach out, hoping that he is within range, ‘Markus I need your help. I’m in Northwest sector 4, protestors have entered our territory. I’m surrounded Markus, and I’ve got a human officer with me. We need help.’ 
‘Are they armed?’ He answers.
‘I don't know.’
“Don’t come any closer!” I hear officer Chase call to the protestors. 
“Chase you need to get out of here.”
“I’m not leaving you, Connor! I have to protect you!”
“They don’t want you, Chase. Drop your gun, tell them you hate androids, tell them anything so they let you through, and then run for the border and get the other officers.”
I slowly raise my hands and address the protestors, “Please, I’m the one you want. Please let this officer go.”
“Drop your weapon!” One of the protestors hisses and I hear the sound of Chase’s gun hitting the ground.
“Let him go, please,” I urge, staring at the protestors ahead of me.
“Get on your knees android filth,” one of the men spits at me. I obey slowly. 
“Please, let this officer go.” 
I watch as the man who spoke to me before sizes up Chase from behind, “Now why would I want to let a droid lover like this fucker go?”
“He’s done nothing to you. Please if you’d just-”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP” The man explodes. “I WILL NOT HAVE SOME FUCKING DROID TELL ME WHAT TO DO!” 
“Alright,” I raise my hands slowly, “alright.”
I hear him before I see him. “You are trespassing on android land.” Markus. He sounds so calm, so confident as he rounds the corner. North and Josh are with him, as well as several others. 
“Android land?” one of the women in the group scoffs, “What a fucking joke.”
“I’ve already sent someone to alert the officers at the border.” He was still calm. “If you leave before they get here, I promise this won't become a problem.”
“I have another idea,” The man from before spoke, “how about we just kill you all.”
At his words, all of the protestors drew weapons. Most had handguns. 
“Chase,” I whispered, “kick your gun into my reach, discreetly.” 
A second later I felt the cool metal brush my fingertips. I gripped it slowly.
“This doesn’t need to come to violence,” Markus pressed, “we don’t want to hurt any of you.”
My finger is on the trigger. The lead protestor’s back is towards me as he’s facing Markus. I have a clear shot, but shooting him will only cause chaos and make the other protestors open fire. As of right now, the people I care about only have a 37 percent chance of survival. I have a gun. North probably has a gun too, but I don’t think any of the other androids carry one beside her. Markus might, but he won't want to use it. Our best chance for survival is to wait, and hope that the other officers get here in time.
I need to stall. 
I was made for negotiations and investigations, to protect human lives. The protestors behind me are slowly inching closer, I need them to stop. I tuck Chase’s gun into my waistband, where it's hidden behind my jacket. I can see Markus watching me. Slowly I move to get to my feet, I need to be able to see the other group of protesters.
“Stay down droid!” I hear one of the ones behind me order. The lead protestor whips around to face me. I have one foot planted, ready to stand, the other knee is still down.
“Your fight is with the androids,” I call to him, slowly pushing myself to my feet, “Let this man go.”
“So he can go and alert the other officers? I don't think so!” He scoffs and raises his gun, a shotgun, aiming at my chest.
“The other officers have already been alerted, letting him go will get you some goodwill when they arrive.”
He pumps the shotgun and shifts his aim to my head, “Shut up!”
“If you start shooting and he is injured, public opinion will only turn against you. You have no fight with him, only androids.” It’s working, but not fast enough. I can see the other protestors becoming agitated, their fingers twitching on the triggers. I need to try another tactic. I run a quick simulation through my mind. My odds aren’t great, but everyone else’s are. I raise my hands into the air. “If you let him go, your people will be able to take me with no resistance from me or the other androids.”
I can see Markus tense as the man thinks it over. North is staring at me like I’m something she’s never seen before. The other androids shift uneasily as they watch, waiting for a sign from Markus. His eyes meet mine and I try to look like I’ve got everything under control. He nods, short and quick, and the other androids step back.
“Alright. The officer can go.”
“Head for the border, Chase. Don’t stop, okay?” I can’t see his face, but I know he’s looking at me.
“Don’t do anything stupid Connor,” He whispers, “if you get hurt Hank is going to have my head.”
I hear him run off towards the border as the rest of the protestors behind me move towards me. Two of them grab my raised arms and force me down to the ground, pushing my face into the dirt. I feel a gun press to the back of my head.
“Easy!” I hear Markus call out, “You don’t need to hurt him. That’s not going to get you anywhere.”
“I’d listen to Markus if I were you.” A new voice. I couldn’t see the speaker, but there wasn’t anyone else it could be.
“Took you long enough Lieutenant,” I call, and then I feel one of the protestors hit me in the back of the head with the butt of their gun. My vision goes fuzzy.
“Drop your weapons,” Hank orders, “And walk away from this.”
The gun is back against my head. “Drop yours or we’ll shoot this fucking thing right through its metal head.”
“Well I suppose you could do that, but then I would have to order my men here to shoot to kill because you assholes were stupid enough to kill a police officer.” 
“It’s not a police officer, it's just a stupid android.”
“Drop your guns and back away from him.” He paused, “Markus, take your people and leave. If this comes to a shootout I don’t want anyone innocent getting hurt.” 
The protesters flip me on my back so I’m looking up at the barrel of the gun. One of my arms is pinned underneath me, but I can still reach Chase’s gun. 
‘We’re falling back Connor, If you have a clear shot, shoot to live.’ 
Markus’s voice rang in my head as I gripped the gun. I could shoot the one on top of me and maybe five more. Once I started shooting though, so would they. Hopefully, they’d shoot at me, giving Hank and his men time to get cover and shoot back. Maybe Hank and his men were already in cover, so they would be able to shoot back immediately. Either way, I was probably going to die. Great. 
“I’m giving you scumbags one last chance to drop your weapons before I order my men to shoot.”
“You won’t be able to shoot all of us before one of us gets him.”
“I don’t think that’s a chance you really want to take though, is it? You can still walk away from this. All of you. I know you have families, and I would hate to have to go knocking on doors tonight telling them you were dead because you killed a cop.”
I have a firm grip on the gun now. The man above me is looking at Hank and I can see unease on the faces of the protestors behind him. A few of them shift back.
“This is your last chance,” Hank called. “Anyone who wants to go before things get ugly, go now.” 
Most of the protestors disappear from my vision. The man on top of me and a woman with a shotgun stay. I can hear the leader screaming that they’re all cowards.
“Do you still think you can win this fight with seven men?” Hank is giving me the details I can’t see, “Two on Connor and the rest of you staring us down. This isn’t a fight any of you are going to walk away from.”
The woman with the shotgun is looking away from me. I have my shot. I can’t see the five behind me but based on what Hank said they aren't looking at me. If I move fast enough, I can get both the man and the woman and get my hands on his gun without being shot. 
“I’m gonna give you to the count of three. One…”
I move on two, pulling my arm out from under me and shooting the man in the shoulder, grabbing his gun as he falls and shooting the woman behind him in the hand with it, forcing her to drop her shotgun. Gunfire erupts behind me and I jump to my feet, spinning around to face it. One man is already down, and I shoot two more in their shoulders before I’m suddenly flying back. I hit the ground hard.
“Connor!” I hear Hank call.
“I’m okay!” I respond. I look back just in time to see Hank shoot the leader, the last one standing, in the head.
I let my head fall back to the dirt as I try to assess where I’ve been hit. It had been a shotgun blast, and it had taken a pretty sizable hole out of my right side, but luckily no essential systems were damaged. I would be fine. Hank is kneeling over me when I open my eyes again.
“I’m alright Lieutenant,” I inform him, “No essential systems were damaged.”
“Connor you have a gaping hole in your right side.”
“About that Lieutenant, I think I may have to miss work today. Do you think the Captain will mind?”
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shadedrose01 · 4 years
Text
Burning Hope
Ship: none. Parental/Paternal relationship between Tony Stark and Harley Keener
Summary: Tony goes to visit a boy that he met, and discovers something he shouldnt.
Tags: Alternate Universe - Medieval, medieval times, Knight Tony Stark, Future King Tony Stark, Kid Harley Keener, Even though hes not named at all during the fic, Its him i promise, Magic, Magic-Users, Alternate Universe - Magic, Mages, Mage Harley Keener, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Bad At Summaries, Febufluff, Day 20, Butterflies, Fire, Magical Fire, pyrokinesis, Pyrokinetic Harley Keener, Cliffhangers, Badish ending?, Unhappy Ending, sorry :/ - Freeform, Tony Stark Acting As Harley Keener's Parental Figure
Day 20 of Febufluff: "Butterflies"!
Part 2 of the "Devil's Backbone" series
Note: This is apart of my Devils Backbone series. There is a oneshot already written that's apart of this series, but you do not need to read that to understand this one. This fic happens way before that one does, in the past. You can read that oneshot here, but please be mindful of the tags if you do <3
Also this is really bad (especially compared to the oneshot), I'm sorry.
--
Tony walks towards the stables, the tall grass surrounding him swaying into the light summer breeze, and crunching under his weight. His horse, Friday, a beautiful tall brown horse with a blotch of white on his nose, nickers to him in greeting, Tony running a hand up and down her face in response, from her muzzle to her forehead. He takes one last glance at the sky, seeing the sun blazing down on them from the middle of the sky, before he gets to work.
He grabs his leather, hand sewed saddle made for him by his lovely wife, and heaves it into place on Friday's back, making sure its snug into place, before checking the knapsack he had brought with him, ensuring hed have everything he needed for the remainder of the day. Water for him, and some extra, some arrows, some string, some rope, a sewing kit just in case and strung over his back, two separate bows, one significantly smaller than the other. One he had created, hand crafted just the other night. With everything checked off his mental list, he slings the sack over his shoulder, opens the gate in front of Friday, and saddles up onto her, his muscles straining with the effort, even after the countless times he's done this.
He gives her a squeeze of his thighs, and she on the move, galloping out of the stable and towards the town with a steady trot. He passes the stone houses quickly, giving a wave or two to the few people that recognized him, before picking up the pace as they ride towards the woods, towards the edge of the territory.
Towards where a small, rickety straw and mud house stood, cracked and old, deteriorating with time and age. Towards where a little boy stayed, all by his lonesome.
He shouldnt be going this way, shouldn't be getting involved, getting attached the way that he is. He should have left it alone when he found the boy a few days prior, on a random excursion of the edges of the territory. He should have let natural selection take it's course, no matter how cruel it could be. Hell, he didnt even know the kid's name. But, there was something tugging at Tony, twisting up his insides every time he thought about leaving the poor boy alone, to die no less, and it overwhelmed him. He felt compelled to help, felt the knowledge of knowing, knowing that this boy no older than twelve years of age had a part to play in the future of their kingdom, that he had a destiny of some sort. He could feel it, feel it with all of his heart, in the depths of his bones as if God himself had whispered it in his ear, written it into his heart, and sealed it into his brain.
So, he kept returning to the boy, to the house at the edge of the woods, of the world, getting attached to someone he should have never known, hoping that one day he'll understand why. Why he had been lead there, why he had stumbled upon the boy, why he continued to help. Until then, though, he will continue on the path God laid out for him and put his faith into His hands, knowing He would never steer him wrong.
He pulls back on the reins, Friday slowing to a stop as they pull up on the old, worn down structure, the wind whistling through the cracks and holes. He dismounts the beast, rubbing and patting her as he tells her to stay. She shakes her head, puffing air out of her nose in response, as if the idea insults her, making Tony snort in amusement as he walks past her, glancing through the cracks as he goes.
He freezes as soon as he does, eyes widening before he rushes through the door, the creaking wooden slab slamming against the wall, splintering as Tony gapes at the mystical scene in front of him.
What has to be about a hundred or more butterflies are scattered around the room, their wings, their bodies, their being made of a neon, artificial blue fire, flooding the room with harsh light and a sweltering heat. Some are perched around the room, around the structure, but more are flying, flying in some sort of cyclone, some sort of tornado formation, practically swarming around one central point in the middle of the room. One person, one kid sat in the middle of the building, sitting on his legs, eyes closed in concentration, hands held out in a cupping gesture, holding a ball of flames, of fire in his small, small childlike hands.
As soon as the bang of the door echoes, the kid flinches harshly, head swiveling to stare with wide, bright, neon eyes, neon eyes that Tony's only seen a few times, only seen on- no, no he couldn't be a- couldnt be- and all of the butterflies flare up, their flames growing brighter, stronger, before they disappear completely, flickering out into flairs are fade as soon as their formed, the flame engulfing his hands disappearing to. Kid's mouth drops, and he rushes to stand, hiding his hands behind his back and looking absolutely terrfied. "M-Mr. Stark! What- What are you-?"
"You're a mage." He breathes out, his mind reeling with this new information, and the kid flinches back as if stricken, his lighter blue eyes (but not neon blue, not anymore, that having left when the butterflies did, when the magic did) widening even further, looking like the ceramic plates his wife had gotten Peter was born, around eight years ago.
"N-no, I'm not!"
Tony narrows his eyes at the smaller boy, only afew years older than his son seemingly, incredulously. "I saw you, child. With your magic, the butterflies, the- the fire!" He flairs his arms out. "I saw it! I saw it all. You truly expect me to ignore it, and pretend I saw nothing? This is-" he runs a hand through his hair, and starts to pace slightly. "Dangerous, child, this is dangerous! If the town caught whiff of you, much less the guard-"
"Don't tell anyone!" The kid blurts, his eyes looking like oceans, swimming with clear tears and flooded with petrifying fear. "Please, you can't! Momma said if-if anyone finds out, they'll-they'll-" He sobs, his tiny body shuttering, sniffling as hands press up into his face, wiping away the liquid now running down his face. "I'm sorry! I wont do it again, ill- I'll try to control it- I swear!"
Tony feels a rush of adrenaline, a parental, paternal urge rearing his head until Tony's moving forward before he can think, kneeling in front of the trembling child and shushing him gently. "Hey, hey, it's okay, it's alright."
He carefully grabs at the boys hands, covering in dirt and filth, all scuffed and scabbed up, covered in cuts and scrapes, fingernails black, and, ignoring the flinch the boy gives, slowly pries them away from his face, similarly dirt ridden, his entire face marked with brown's and blacks, the only clear part of his face being the trails of tears still running down his face. He looks him dead in the eye, and, even though his mind is screaming at him, says firmly "I won't tell anyone, I promise."
Won't tell anyone?? Is he mad? He needs to tell someone, he's about to become a part of the royal guard! He has to tell the soldiers, the knights, the king, it's a part of the law, now, it's what he's supposed to do, as a man soon to be knighted-
But he can't. He knows he can't, as he feels this fierce wave of protection for this child he doesn't know, this child that isn't his, as he feels the same foreboding feeling as before, as he feels, knows, that this is what hes supposed to do, that this is what's right.
Especially when hope brightens the kids baby blue eyes, the raging storm brewing behind his irises turning into a calm, overcast summers day, and a smile grows wide on his face. "Really?!? You won't tell 'em?"
Tony shakes his head, giving the kid a small smile as he rebrates himself internally, before suddenly letting out a huff as the kid practically knocks him over, embracing him tightly, his tiny, lithe fingers grasping the back of Tony's tunic with a strong hold, almost ripping it in his excitement. "Thank you, thank you, Mr. Stark!"
Tony's nose scrunches up as soon as the kids stench waves over him, but he ignores it, choosing to wrap one arm around the kid's back, patting it awkwardly, feeling his jutting bones through the big, loose shirt the boy is wearing. Over his shoulder, Tony watches as another butterfly forms, the blue fire lighter, wispier than the others were earlier, watches as he flaps its wings a few times in front of his face, the flames licking at his nose, his chin, before it takes flight, flying around the pair once, twice before sprialing upwards and squeezing through one of the cracks in the foundation, flying away, its neon flames blending into the sky.
Tony's smile widens at the unconscious act, at the innocence and purity of it, and wonders, wonders why people believe magic is so bad, why mages are so awful, when they can create beauty like that, at the snap of their fingers, without even a second thought? He wonders, and throws his other arm around the kid, fully embracing him, holding onto the warmth of the moment for a few seconds longer, while he still can. While he still has hope.
A few days later, Tony is send to war, serving his kingdom as a knight. A few months later, he comes home a king, the memory of warmth, of butterflies and of hope vanished like a dream.
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Ohkay. 2, 4, 5, 9, 11 for Can Your Friends do This?
2: What scene did you first put down?
Death and Hari sitting in the cell in Ch. 1 and Them offering to kill everyone who ever opposed her.
4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?
This Sasunaru moment from Ch. 11.
"You're an idiot."
"Sasuke!" Ino hissed, glaring at him for probably the first time in her life.
The Uchiha ignored her and instead, looked Naruto dead in the eye. "You feel guilt over ridding the world of those pieces of trash? They were trying to kill us. For a grudge they held against a man long dead. You used a power you mostly have never used before, in order to save our lives, and are beating yourself up over not having enough control necessary to stop a creature that can't even be killed. As if a little Genin such as yourself has power over the most powerful Biju in existence."
Naruto and Ino were both gaping and though Kakashi would never admit it to anyone, he was as well.
"If you weren't strong enough to control it this time, get stronger so you can control it next time. Your father entrusted you with this burden for a reason. Remember, that everything you learn as a ninja, is just like a double edged sword. It can be used to do harm and can be used to stop harm. How you use it defines who you really are. It is not what you are that matters, Naruto, it is who you are."
This training from Kakashi from Ch. 16.
Naruto wanted no time in scaling the wall and entering through the bathroom window. The memories of his one Bunshin let him know where to go. He crawled along the wall instead of using the stairs. He didn't know what sort of condition they were in and didn't want to deal with the possible creaking.
The lounge was decorated nicely in shades of blue and brown. So even though the outside was a mess, the inside was decent enough. Naruto recognized the civilian immediately when he glanced around the corner. She was an avid, anti-demon supporter. In other words, she really hated Naruto and made her dislike of him very well known over the years. A few stones may have thrown a few times as well.
He was overcome with the urge to do some damage to her property. To pay her back for being such a horrible person over the years. However, there was just a small voice inside that was telling him it was wrong. He was there for a mission. He was supposed to be training, and his emotions should not be interfering on said training mission.
But even more important than that, were the words of his nee-chan. Hari insisted that a prank was never meant to hurt anyone. Pranks were supposed to be funny and done in good humor(unless they were revenge pranks like he did to an old Academy sensei). She had told him stories of her twin friends who played pranks but didn't do so with the intent to hurt people, unlike her father and his friends who became bullies in school because their pranks went far enough to hurt others or worse.
Naruto didn't want to be a bully. And he didn't want to be a bad person. Just because the civilian was horrible to him, didn't mean he should lower himself to her level. If she was too stupid to see him for who he truly was, that wasn't his fault. She'd simply learn her lesson when he finally became the Hokage. One day she would see.
Until then, it was not Naruto's job to play judge or jury. Being mature sucked.
Huffing to himself, Naruto slipped through the room, sneaking up behind her chair and taking the remote off the table beside where she sat. She never even noticed either. He stuck his tongue out for good measure, and then fled because his time was almost up.
"Here you go, sensei!" he said when he returned to his team, well within the time limit, offering the remote to the man.
Kakashi hummed and accepted the offered item. "Well done. You showed some admirable self-control as well, Naruto. I'm proud of you."
He flushed. Apparently his sensei had known the type of person that had lived in the house. It wasn't necessarily a mission for him to prank, but for Kakashi to see his temperament. He wanted to know if Naruto could put the objective of the mission before his own wants and desires. He wanted to know if Naruto was capable of understanding when revenge was necessary and when it wasn't.
And he probably just passed a very important test in the man's eyes, which made him beam with pride. And to think, if he hadn't had Hari-nee-chan in his life, he probably wouldn't have made the decision to be the better person in the first place.
Sometimes, Kakashi could be pretty cool.
"Naruto, wait ten minutes and then go put the remote back exactly where you found it. It'll be enough time for her to notice and get agitated. Your time limit is thirty seconds this time. If you get caught, not only do you fail and end up with horizontal training all day, but you will have to dig yourself out of the hole you fell in."
He sighed. Kakashi was still evil though.
This Hari/Kakashi scene also from Ch. 16.
The silver-haired man hummed. "Since you're training is finished for the day, would you care to help with my training?"
She sent him a bland look. "I am not sparring with you any time soon. While the last time was humorous enough as it is, I don't feel like getting wet at present. It's a bother."
"How sad!" Kakashi sighed dramatically. "Koneko-chan doesn't like it when I get her wet and bothered."
The woman flushed at the suggestive words, but did not answer his taunting. She would not let him see the results of his words. She was better than that.
"No you aren't," said Death. "You give into his teasing all the time. You like it."
Shut up!
Anyway, back onto the subject at hand. "What kind of training and what's in it for me if I do help you, Koinu-kun?"she asked in a sickly sweet tone, batting her lashes repeatedly in hopes of annoying him or at the very least creeping him out a bit. Because that wasn't her normal attitude and obviously it would be weird, right?
It didn't work. He merely seemed amused. Perhaps all the other odd Jonin he knew raised his tolerance for wonky shite. "Mah, I figure that if you could help me with this, then we can both read this lovely book I own, that you have yet to get a copy of." He held up said book. The one from the time in the kitchen. When she had him set the table while she messed around with the book and Jiraiya gaped like a fish as they argued over his porn.
"And how would we both read it if we're working?" inquired the woman doubtfully.
"Simple. I place it on the ground, and as I do my push ups, you sit on my back and read over my shoulder. You can then use your Kekkei Genkai to turn the pages. Both of us will be getting something out of it then."
She had sat on Anko's back a few times when the woman trained, but never anyone else. And this was Kakashi of all people. He wanted her to sit on him and read erotica with him, while he exercised. He she had been anyone else, she might have thought he was trying to be a pervert, but she knew better.
While it could have suggestive themes, it was a practical request and both would indeed benefit from it. He for exercise and she for new reading material. And he didn't ask her to read it aloud, which kind of negated any assumptions of him doing this out of a desire for sexual anything.
"Okay," she found herself agreeing, wanting to read the damn book. "How many push ups will you be doing?"
"One thousand."
Merlin.
"Speed run, or taking your time?"
"Taking my time."
He was suddenly even more impressive. And Hari was going to be sitting on his back for the next however long, reading erotica. She ignored the small tingle in her belly, and shrugged. Not sexual despite the content that would be involved.
"Let's do this."
Kakashi got into position and Hari gazed at his arse only for a few seconds. It wasn't wet this time so the fabric didn't cling as much, but it was still a nice view. Probably a result of the hard training he put himself through for years. Pert and firm. Nice.
"Go ahead," he urged her, and Hari was careful, throwing a leg over him and ending up straddling him. She shifted a few times, before shrugging and laying down instead. Sitting would be uncomfortable since he was ripped and she was pretty thin herself. So her butt would end up hurting. But laying on him was far more easy, and brought her face closer to the book. And if her head rested beside his own, neither acknowledged it.
And yes, she realised that this was not the position he'd spoken of, but it was just better for both of them. Besides, he was longer and wider than she was in frame, so she was easily able to lay on his back and not cause him any discomfort. Her hands couldn't even touched the ground from how her arms dangled over his sides. So it just made sense. Also, her weight was more evenly spread out this way.
"Chapter one," she announced unnecessarily, flicking a hand and watching as the page turned. "Just tell me when you're ready for a page flip."
And so went the next hour of Hari trying to divide her attention away from the rippling muscles of Kakashi's back, to the book that the both of them had managed to get twelve chapters into. It was difficult, and she only slightly regretted the position, especially when she was left feeling warm and fuzzy in the lower portion of the body.
How dare he be attractive and strong. And shame on her body for being so damn weak in finding obvious displays of strength, sexy!
5: What part was hardest to write?
All the battles during the Rebellion Arc.
9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?
I briefly considered pairing Naruto and Gaara but my sasunarusasu heart said nope!
11: What do you like best about this fic?
Changing things little by little and yet those small changes making BIG changes later on thanks to the butterfly effect.
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avidfanficwriter · 5 years
Text
Spoken in Silence (Chapter 1)
Characters: Clint Barton x Tony Stark
Rating: Rated M.
Warnings: Cursing, Possible suicide attempt, depression, PTSD, self-doubt, angst, Cheating, Secret life, mentions of torture, romantic interest, one sided attraction (Kinda), bonding over pain, mentions/references towards child abuse not explicitly explained, Spoilers for Endgame in later chapters, (MORE TO COME AS UPDATED)
Summary:  Let it be known that nothing happened between Clint Barton and Tony Stark, nothing. Technically, speaking. It was just longing glances and unspoken words but they both know it’s there. They both know there’s a clear line of how far they’re caring towards one another can go without going to far.
READ ON A03
Nick Fury invited Tony Stark to the lab-to be more correct Fury demanded that Tony be present at the lab because he was tired of Tony breathing down his neck asking what was going on, it was easier to give him a taste rather than wait for Stark to discovered everything on his own. It’s a ruse, Tony knows that long before they arrived at SHIELD headquarters, he was sticking his nose somewhere it didn’t belong and Fury was getting antsy. “We show him the basic stuff. Things that won’t get his Stark brain running.” Was the original plan but things quickly went to shit. The damn tesseract, the cube they had spent forever searching for was creating problems conveniently when Tony was around. As Dr. Selvig put it: “She’s misbehaving.” with hidden concern masked in his voice.
“Did you buy her a drink?” Was Tony’s unhelpful response.
Everyone in the room was clueless, it’s a mystery as to what created the power surge even more so was trying to find a way to stop it. The tesseract flickers, blue lights emitting around the room mimicking the way fire acts as the building shifts again. The ceiling is crumbling, falling beneath their feet as Tony finds his way to a computer monitor hoping he can help but also taking the opportunity to insert his own flash drive into their systems. A large deep blue light fills the room, creating a portal behind the cube and Fury knows this day is only going to get worse.
A man appears within the light, long jet black hair with swollen red eyes dressed in a gold and green outfit with a terrifying smile on his face. His hand is tightly holding a spear that only worsens the fear sinking into everyone’s body, the look on his face, the threatening stance, he’s no friend.
Tony is suddenly picking himself up off the floor, his vision blurred and a high pitched ringing sound filling his ears. His memory is vague, the last thing he remembers was Fury shouting, curses spilling from his mouth, the sound of gunshots, blue glow and then darkness. A trail of wet cold blood falls down his forehead that he swipes his fingers at, he doesn’t remember blacking out, hurting himself or being so close to the wall. His body aches, head is pounding and he’s searching for Fury whose focused on another man, Clint. They’d met moments before chaos broke out.
Tony barely knows the man, didn’t remember his last name or his position, just a colorful moniker: “This is the hawk.” The man is trying to fight against the unknown assailant only to fail, he feels his chest constrict and lungs struggle to pull in enough oxygen.
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Tony watches the man become a hostage and the pain he feels is unbearable. It’s as if his own heart is being viciously ripped from his chest, rips torn aimlessly and fingers clawing at his flesh to retrieve it. He was helpless, no suit at his dispense, his legs unable to move, he’s forced to watch. The man becomes a victim and soon after a monster.
It’s magic, Tony’s least favorite thing. Magic wasn’t fair, the magician can simple wave their fingers and the fight goes in their favor.
There’s a tinge of deep blue that melts into Clint’s eyes, a startling change in his behavior is evident. He stands straight, arms at his side and gun holstered. Tony should be trying to aid those who tried and failed to take on this villain but he can’t move. His brown eyes are glued to Clint as the man speaks, “I am Loki… of Asgard.” Is all he can make out clearly. He’s to focused on what’s going on with– or the lack of what’s going on with Clint. He’s frozen, oblivious to the anything around him. His eyes glowing and chest raising peacefully as he breathes. He’s been compromised.
Clint stands just a few feet away from everyone who could save him, bodies of the agents before him who tried to take on the villian lay motionless around him. The gun is still in his hand but he can’t move it, he can’t find the strength to make his finger pull the trigger, this spear that’s touching his chest is changing him. His vision blurs, his body changes and his brains fills with thoughts that are no longer his own. A voice echoes through his mind, “You’ll listen to me. Do what I say. What i ask for.” The words are on repeat, filling every orifice of his mind and threatening his very existence. He’s losing his grasp on reality, loosing who he is. He manages one last look around, the faces of his colleagues burn into his brain, it’s bad. The look of fear etched onto each of their faces says what’s happening to him is just as bad to witness as it is to experience it. His eyesight falls to Tony, the billionaire who moonlights as a superhero with over moussed hair and facial hair trimmed to perfection, even his face is morphed into pain.
It’s paralysis, Clint begins to realize, he’s unable to move or speak but his mind is still active. He can hear what Loki demands him to do but he’s not the one responding. He’s not the one controlling his body. Every decision and move is controlled by Loki, even the sounds of his voice is wrong. This voice, the new voice is deeper and dry.
He’s in a prison, he soon realizes, trapped inside of his mind while his body is forced to carry out horrible acts of violence. He can see it all, every order her carries out, every person he victimizes all play like a broken record. The lives he took and the people he hurt, he sees it all and worse, he remembers it all.
It’s Tony alongside his new/old friend, (He’s not entirely sure where they stand as of right now) Natasha that have the hardest time dealing with the events surrounding Clint. Tony can’t sleep or continue his day knowing that man was sacrificed and Fury isn’t doing a damn thing about it. His mind torments him with pleas to rescue Clint. It’s escalated since Tony’s met Loki’s brother, Thor. He’s interacting with this man who grow up with a monster, a being who believes he is the true ruler of man and nothing will stand in his way. “What the hell are we going to do about Clint?” Tony shouts at Fury as he enters his office. Fury seems to be the only person unfazed by Clint’s behavior.
“What does that mean, Stark?”
“Barton, he’s Loki’s bitch.”
Fury sighed with a shrug of his shoulders. “Barton was aware of the risks.”
Fury had pissed Tony off in the past, putting him on house arrest for starters was one time but now, refusing to help one of his own agents was more than irritating. “That’s what we are to you? Expendable assets?”
“Each of you is aware of the risks.” Was all Fury said turning his attention back to his work. “If any of you have a problem, you know where the door is.” It takes all the strength inside of Tony to not lash out on the man. He tries to let it go, tries desperately to forget what he said but he can’t.
Clint’s falling further down the rabbit hole as the days pass, the last remaining pieces of him are starting to betray him. He’s forgetting names and memories, it’s getting harder and harder to recall who people are. There were moments of the day, where suddenly he can’t remember where he is, how he got there or who the person who has his bullet inside of them is. It’s as if he’s sleepwalking. This his worst nightmare comes true, he’s fighting not alongside but against, his friend, his family Natasha Romanoff. Punching, kicking, weapons are involved, anything they can get their hands on is used against the other. He tries to fight it, tries to do everything in his power to prevent this from continuing. That this power Loki has over him can be beat. He can win. He has too. If he doesn’t, he’ll kill her.
It’s luck or an act of God when a metal clang reverberates through his ears and after what seems like years of fighting, he’s free. “Natasha.” He thinks he says but he’s not sure. The severe throbbing in his head is moving around his head like gel, slowly covering all areas of his brain and clouding his hearing. The last thing he sees is Natasha standing before him out of breathe, her fiery red hair glowing in the light and her fist coming straight at him.
The virus inside of his brain is gone, Loki is gone but he’s left with a wrath. A headache so bad, his vision is going in and out, his body feels as though he’s swaying and he can’t seem to focus on one thing for too long. Natasha saved him, “Cognitive recalibration… I hit you really hard in the head.” She explains with a smirk.
Clint’s thankful, more than thankful, he’s indebted to her.
The redhead leaves him with well wishes and small kiss to his forehead, reminding him he’s not responsible for his actions while under Loki’s control. The moment the door closes behind her, the memories haunt him. Screams and pleas to live, Loki’s damned voice demanding orders. He closes his eyes, clenches his jaw and tries to fight the urge to scream. He killed innocent people without a second thought, he become a criminal.
A voice pulls him out of the darkness, Tony Stark’s voice. The genius who graduated M.I.T. at some insanely young age and is in the news every day for some crazy antic as Iron Man is standing before him. He met him earlier, before his brain was shaken and stirred. Stark referred to him as Fury’s underling when they met and shared a few sarcastic jokes. This time, Tony has no wise cracks or comedic tone, it’s conversation he doesn’t know to react to.
“Brought you these.” Tony says handing him a small plastic cup filled with water and two white pills. “Romanoff said she cracked you in the head.” He lets out a small sigh and sits on the chair near the bed. “How are you feeling, Barton?”
No nickname again. It’s just Barton. it feels respectful, the notorious playboy is actually treating him equal. “Like a broken toy.” Clint responds in a groggy voice.
“You good to keep going?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to keep going?”
“Of course.”
“Good. We need all hands on deck for this one.” Tony reaches out and rests his palm on Clint’s shoulder, there’s no weight to his touch as if Tony doesn’t want to invade his personal space. Clint meets his eyes, his head still pounding and vision starting to come back. “I’m glad you’re good, Clint.” Clint swears and maybe it’s the pain in his body that is convincing him of this but the next thing Tony does and says has to be imagined. “I’m sorry it took us so long to save you.” He whispers and lets a quick smile across his face.
He nods, brows furrowed and lips pressed tightly together. It’s the drugs, he tells himself or the splitting headache. The painkillers kicking in or the sedative they gave him wearing off. Tony didn’t mean it. Tony probably wasn’t even there. He imagined it… he has to of. It doesn’t make any sense.
It’s the first moment, Tony realized he cared more about Clint than he should have. His heart speed up when he found out Clint was saved and his heart broke at the sight of him strapped to a chair while Natasha takes him off a ledge. His emotions were on high and he wanted to soothe pain that was radiating off of the archer. If Clint was a machine this would be easier, a complete reboot, a new circuit board along with a fresh coat of was, he’d be as good as new but with a person, Tony was clueless. How do you fix a person? How do you fix a person you barely know? How would he even start? They don’t know one another and Tony’s record with people isn’t a highlight reel.
Clint discovers an odd feeling burrowing in his chest for Tony Stark during their battle of New York, their all hands on deck moment. The first time the Avengers are together in battle. It’s a terrifying moment but it told Clint that he cared more about him than he intended on.
A nuke originally sent to save the world from alien destruction was now humanity’s biggest threat. It was a selfless act, one Clint probably would have done if he had the resources too, a one way trip. Certain death with no way out. In a split second, Tony grabs the Nuke and guides it into the wormhole. He was gone. Tony Stark, Iron Man was both the victim and the savior.
“Clost it.” Clint head over the ear piece.
“What about Stark?’ He shouts.
Clint can’t get his emotions under control as he watches the scene play out.  A ear piercing, "No!” finds it’s way past his lips. Panic fills his body as the wormhole starts to close and Tony is nowhere to be found. Tony wasn’t flying back to earth, he wasn’t cheering or demanding a beer for his accomplishments, it’s silent. Blue eyes search for Tony’s shining gold and red armour, silently praying he’s safe.
By an act of God, Tony was back.
Clint can recount every detail, down to the last second while he stood helplessly on the roof of a building and watched as Tony plummeted to earth. His breath caught in his throat, his skin crawled and his blood ran cold. The grip he has on his bow tightens threatening to break it as he holds back the tears. He’s going to watch Tony die.
Tony’s lifeless body, the lack of movement, it sends shockwaves through his heart.
He wants to jump off the building. He wants to do something. His brain has came up with hundreds of scenarios of how he can help but they’d both fall to their death. The archer remains on the building shutting his eyes, unable to bare witness to the scene any longer, he waits. Waits for it to be over. Waiting for someone over the line to say Tony had died.
The crack of Tony’s suit hitting the ground never comes, there was no call from other team members, the coms were silent. Until he heard the roar of the Hulk followed by a loud crash, he opened his eyes and saw the Hulk placing Tony onto the ground. “Is Stark okay?’ He asks once Captain America and Thor surround Tony.
The sight is horrendous.
Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours.
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"He’s fine!” Cap says in a rushed tone. Clint lets out a breathy chuckle, ripping out his ear piece and tossing it to the ground with a heavy sigh. Tears fall from his eyes as he struggles to catch his breath, Tony is safe. It’s a strange feeling nestled inside of Clint’s chest when he finally watches Tony rise to his feet and take a few unsteady steps, the Iron Man suit reflects the glimmer of the sun as he grips Captain America’s shoulder. He’s safe. He tells himself, he’s fine. Breathing and okay.
“Worried about me birdman?” Clint hears Tony’s ask over his discarded ear piece.
Clint lets out a quick breathe as he picks his ear piece up off the floor and puts it back on. “Just worried about who’s going to pick up the bill for dinner. I’m feeling like steak.” Clint tries to hide the agony in his voice, the knot formed in his throat is slowly starting to dissipate but the racing of his heart has yet to cease.
“Have you ever tried shawarma? There’s a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don’t know what it is, but I wanna try it.” Tony says in an all to happy voice for someone who just nearly died.
Clint laughs, using his free hand to wipe the tears the streak his face. “Ye-yeah. That sounds good, Tin man.”
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