#Also ignore how uneven his eyes are in the middle drawing:| | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sprout-fics · 1 year

Text

Speak Now

(Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F! Reader)

Read (Here) on AO3

Rating: Teen and up Word count: 4K Tags: Angst, Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Confessions, Mutual Pining, Blood and Injury, Happy Ending Warnings: Graphic depiction of blood and injury A/N: My blog needs more Gaz love. It also needs more Gaz whump, so here, have both. (Special thank you to @moondirti for her inspiration with this story!)

When the smoke clears, all you see is him.

The catastrophic explosion of the mine still thunders in your ears, a ceaseless reverberation that your heartbeat mimics in a poor mockery. The ground shakes under your feet for what feels like eons, and somehow you remain standing, immovable amidst the chaos like a flagpole under artillery. Dust and debris sifts downwards from the solemn grey sky like ash from a distant wildfire. It clogs your nose, sticks to your throat even as your lips part, eyes widen in horror. You can taste the chalky acridity of it across your tongue. Noxious, ruinous. An omen.

Then you see him.

Laying on his side, weapon tossed feet away from him. There's shrapnel stuck in him, jutting like stalagmites from his flesh. You think the dust has settled like a thick layer over his form, dark and dusty. It takes you too long to realize it's clotting to where blood oozes from his flesh, seeping past his form and into the cracked desert ground.

He's not moving.

You scream.

You feel the air leave your chest, a gale that rises up towards the sky, but you don't hear the sound. Not when the world is falling around you like the sound of shattering glass, fragmenting into silvery, piercing shards that rip at your soul.

"GAZ!!"

Heedless of the danger, you race forward, eyes frantic, breath caught in your chest. The sane, trained, logical recess of your brain screams in protest. There could be other mines, the sound has almost certainly given away your position, there could be hostiles waiting-

An arm settles around your middle like a band of steel, catching you mid-step and hauling you backwards even as you thrash and cry out.

"NO!" A voice bellows in your ear, commanding, cracking, devastated. Price.

It doesn't make sense. He's right there. He's not moving. How could the captain stop you? You can see him breathing.

"Gaz!" Price calls, grunting as he tries to keep you from racing forward and possibly setting off another mine. "Kyle!!"

Yet Gaz doesn't respond. You see him, see his chest rise with a sharp, wet inhale before he shudders once, goes still.

Price curses, but you don't hear him. He's barking at someone you can't see because your eyes are locked on his form, on the blood trailing from the cut above his ear. His face is slumped to the other side. You can't tell if his eyes are open.

You can't tell if he's alive.

"Rookie? ROOKIE!"

Your eyes snap to the captain's, and there's fear there, barely concealed under the unflinching resolve of a leader, of the man who has to make the hard decisions to spare the rest of you. The wound of his voice is warbled, uneven, tilted in a way you don't understand. Your ears are ringing, it's too loud.

"Look at me." He orders, and you do despite the urge to let your eyes wander to the fallen form of your teammate, of Gaz. "Look at me."

He shakes your shoulders, and the jolt is enough for the rest of the world to come rushing back all at once. His face is drawn, grim, brow wrinkled in focus and distress that he's tamping down on with all his strength. When his gloved hand settle on either side of your face he pauses, draws away his fingers from your ear. There's blood.

"We're going to get him." Price tells you, ignoring the stain left it only panic you futher. You desperately try to let his words register in the hollow inside you. "But we need to stay focused, you understand me? You need to be paying attention. To me. No fuckups. Not right now, you understand?"

You nod, and the harsh, unyielding clip of his words is enough to give you the air needed to swallow down the rising panic and blink, focus on your captain. Price nods at you only once, seeing the frantic despair dimming behind your gaze. He releases you and raises his weapon, pausing just long enough for you to fall into his shadow.

"Gun up. Weapons hot. Sweep for hostiles."

You do, and the effort it takes to not let your eyes drift to Gaz's bloodied and broken body as you both approach is immense. Your footsteps fall exactly where Price's are, an instinct bred by countless hours of training overtaking you in a near-primal resolve. Your scope is clouded by smoke and debris, but there's no motion you can see even as the dust clears.

When Price seizes Kyle by his vest and drags him back to safety it leaves a grotesque, abstract smear against the ground. For a moment, your eyes linger over it, forgetting your mission and instead allowing panic to once again rise within you.

There's so much blood.

Gaz doesn't make a sound, and that's even more horrifying than if he'd been screaming, crying, whimpering from the pain. It's only once he's concealed behind a low wall that you drop your gun back to your side, hands reaching, seeking, staining with his blood. You follow Price's instructions blindly, resorting to a part of you that acts entirely automatic. Yet you can't stop looking at his face. It's drawn, ashen, eyes closed even as his chest rises and falls under your hands. There's warmth between your fingers, his heartbeat in your hands, the thrum, the gush of blood oozing past your palms-

"Rookie!!"

Price's voice feels like it's the dull, distant thrum of churning ocean waves beyond your senses. Yet you turn your eyes to him anyways, the response trained in you to stop, to listen to your captain, the lighthouse in the squall.

Yet there's a flash of something in Price's gaze you don't recognize. It's a distant, churning emotion you feel reflected in your own stare. In him it's muted by age, years of experience, the weight of knowledge. You recognize it all the same.

Fear.

You don't hear the chopper until the dust around you billows, coats the inside of your eyelids. There's hands raising you, escorting you by your arm forward towards the waiting door. It's wrong, you know. You aren't injured, you don't deserve to be on the craft. The mission is still calling for you, but it's Price who's relieving you of your weapon, giving you a firm shove into the arms of the hel-evac medic.

"Keep him alive." He bellows over the sound of the blades, and you can't tell who he's talking to, if the words are meant for you. You catch his eyes for all of a moment, and there's an acceptance, a grief there you don't understand. You raise your voice, try and reach for him, but he's gone, and the ground under you fades, shifts as the choppers vanishes into the dull, overcast sky.

---

It takes seven horrible, long, excruciating days for Gaz to blink his eyes open.

They rush him back into medical the second you are on the ground. You hold his hand up until the moment he vanishes behind the steel doors. There's an asymmetric thump of your heart you don't recognize, one summoned by the ashen pallor of his face, the way his hand goes limp in your palm.

When they take him back you're left alone behind him, standing in the far too sterile hallway of the military hospital and somehow longing for the endless familiarity of a battlefield.

You don't know if he'll make it out.

It's only hours later, when your ears stop ringing and you remain glued to a rickety metal chair just outside the operating room, that a doctor in a blood-stained apron appears before you. The look in his eyes is grave, settled with a bone deep fatigue that burrows even more severely into you as he speaks.

"He's lucky." He murmurs tiredly, lips moving as you make out the words. "Very, very lucky."

You cry, and it's only then that you realize you can barely hear your sobs.

You were less than ten steps behind him, and the blast was severe enough to have left you with a burst eardrum. A small, insubstantial wound that's treated quickly by a medic and then left alone to heal. It's nothing.

Nothing compared to him.

Shrapnel embedded on his left thigh and forearm, blunt force damage to his lungs, his spleen. His leg is broken in three different places below the knee. It's nothing short of a miracle that he didn't lose it. The blast was enough to toss him over two yards. The concussion he's suffered is impossible to gauge while he's asleep. He's lost his hearing, you think, but the doctors assure you it's only temporary.

Just as long as he wakes up.

You hardly eat. Hardly sleep. Shellshock, you're told. It's not the truth, but you don't argue. You're far too trained to let a mere mine blast unsettle you. It lets you stay with him, keeps you by his side for just a little longer. There's a part of you that gnaws at your thoughts. A guilt for allowing yourself this. You've been trained to compartmentalize, to tamper down on behalf of the mission.

For you, Gaz is the mission.

Price, the others come by. You put on a face for them, but they see it in your eyes, see that you're changed now. Now that you could lose him. Soap makes jokes, but they're cracked in his throat, bitter. You smile at them anyway. Yet Soap's eyes linger over his friend, intubated, prone, his heart a small, distant beep on a monitor.

You're dozing off when he wakes up. Hand holding his, the sound of the chopper blades and your own scream echo in your thoughts. You see him, the single breath he took before going still, the stain left by his body poisoning your dreams. When you scream you don't hear the sound, reaching for him as the chopper pulls away from his dying form laying abandoned in the beige, dusty oblivion.

He twitches in your hand, and you almost don't feel it until you hear him take a deep breath before he speaks, his voice an arrow that pierces through the mirage of your dreams.

"Hi, doll."

---

You ask Price to approve your leave.

He eyes the paperwork with a wrinkled brow, gaze hovering over the medical excuse that is nothing more than a obfuscations lie. He sees through it. You know he does, but he only nods once at you, a quiet acceptance of the truth you keep hidden, the one he doesn't speak.

You aren't ready.

Not when Gaz is barely upright and eating on his own, when your eyes threaten warmth every time he laughs and then grimaces in pain, how you hear him whimper at night when he thinks no one can hear it. It's too soon. You're too shattered, broken at the edges and raw, fumbling blindly in the dark for a balance that's abandoned you.

"We still need you." Price tells you even as he signs the paper. "-But take the time you need. Get your head on straight."

You only nod, trying to ignore the stab of guilt you feel for being so selfish in asking for this. Yet Price is right. You can't focus, you're constantly distracted, shivering at the memory of Gaz's heartbeat in your hands, pulsing red and alive with a fatal, aleatory rhythm.

Even when you're beside him it haunts you. He's getting better every day, injured, tired, but alive. He smiles every time you visit him, smile tugging on his lips, teasing and jovial in the way he is only with you. There's a tenderness beneath it you long for, craving like a wolf does the moon, letting its gentle halo shine down onto your lonely heart.

"Hi, doll."

You put on a smile for him, one that doesn't reach your eyes. He listens as you talk about Price and the others, about the idle changes at the base, of your own recovery- things that are easy, mundane, that restore a needed sense of normalcy to both your lives.

You never talk about the nightmares, the ones that flicker over your waking gaze when his face contorts in pain as he moves.

About a week in, you start bringing books for him, relish the way his eyes light up with excitement at the wrinkled paperback covers. Often you both sit in comfortable silence, involved each in your own novel, absorbing the other's presence in a steady comfort that settles the ache deep in your bones.

He turns to you one day, his hand settling over yours and you want to curl into it, bring it to your lips and whisper your fears there, confess the plague of your dreams where he no longer exists.

"Read to me?" He asks, and there's a shy, almost hesitant smile there on his lips that allows that same tenderness to seep through once again.

"I-I've got a headache." He follows, eyes averting, shoulders tense. "It's a good chapter, I want to know how it ends but I-"

You take the book from him silently, the pads of your fingers brushing delicately over his knuckles and you ignore the way he shivers.

Gaz leans back into the hospital bed, looks up at the ceiling as your voice winds words around him like a lullaby. You try your best to contain your voice over a word on the page, tracing it with your forefinger.

Grief.

---

When Gaz is finally discharged, it's like the team has won a war.

It's at a bar, quiet, solitary. You and the others take up most of the space there, with a gratuitous supply of drinks and teasing, joyful laughter from the others. Mostly it's Soap, however, trying to fill the long gaps that linger in the conversation, the constant, darkened 'what if?' that hangs over you all like churning storm clouds.

Laswell herself makes a rare appearance, and she offers Gaz a hug like she would if he was hers, long and hard and conveying more meaning than she dares to speak aloud.

Thank God. It seems to say, the sentiment echoed in your own heart. I'm so glad you didn't leave us.

There's a victory between you all, a triumph at all of you emerging whole once more. Yet you all ignore the way it's clouded with regret, a sting that's summoned every time Gaz shifts and hides a wince that you see despite his effort to conceal it.

You could have lost him. They all know. It's a reality within your work. You as soldiers glow like firecrackers. You burn brilliantly, illuminate the darkness with scorching, radiant light. Yet in the end there's a fizzle, a singe until there's only embers, pulsating red and warm until there's nothing left at all. Sometimes you're there and gone in an instant, leaving only an iridescent afterglow that lingers in the back of your eyelids.

Now Gaz seems to glow, his smile warm and pleased as the others offer him pats of congratulations, another drink, small gifts of gratitude for the simple act of staying alive.

You slide a package over to him, the wrapping paper poorly taped over, the miscut edges hidden under a bow. He opens it to the silence of the others, and you try to ignore the way their gazes hover over you knowingly, the way your eyes melt into his smile.

A book, one of your favorites. The hardback is glossy, shiny with the metallic edges of the pages and he holds it up to the light, his smile even more radiant than the glint of the golden trimmings.

"Thanks, doll." He tells you, his grin crinkling his eyes. "Dunno what I'd do without you."

You don't want to think about it, don't want to again consider a future where he's not there.

---

When you get home, off base, it's too quiet. Empty.

There's no drone of a hospital here, no beeping monitors or rapid gunfire, no whirring choppers or incoming missile strikes. It's silent in the stillness of your apartment, the air hovering, frozen as if waiting for you to breathe.

Your mind fills the void. Your dreams chase you as you wake the next morning, seeping red and hot over your fingertips, dyeing them a shade of scarlet that reeks of permanence, an unavoidable ending. Phantasma clings to the back of your nostrils, stinking of iron over the smell of candles you use to obscure it with no avail.

Outside is overcast, like it was that day, when you saw the tickle of Gaz's smile under his grim, focused expression as he stepped one foot forward-

You reach out for him in your memories, haul him back to safety within your embrace, face pressed into the hollow of his shoulders and whispering there a confession you've kept secret for far too long.

As darkness descends you're alone once more, trying to find your footing in a place you're desperately unfamiliar with, one that longs to reach out and touch him. You wander your apartment as if chasing ghosts, expecting there to be phantoms when you flick on the lights and instead realizing they're inside of you where the glow doesn't reach.

It's then that your phone pings. A message, from him.

"Can I come over?"

He shows up less than an hour later, holding aloft a bag of takeout in his uninjured arm, his face mirroring the cheesy yellow smiley face on the plastic.

"Hi doll."

You settle on the couch, watching an old spy movie that you follow with a distant gaze. Boxes of food litter the coffee table before you both, the smell wafting pleasantly enough to dull the imaginary taste of blood on your tongue. There's silence again, but it's buoyed by the steady reassurance of his presence at the other end of the couch. Your feet are propped on his lap, and the gesture feels far too intimate for the state of your wounded heart. It's an indulgence you take part in nonetheless, his hand resting on your calf, fingers drumming in an uneven beat against your form.

When the movie ends his eyes shift, he offers you a conciliatory smile.

"I guess I'll be going then." He offers, turning to excuse himself, reaching for his jacket-

Your hand catches his shirt. Gaz freezes.

"Stay." You whisper, so small you wonder if he's actually heard it. "Please."

When his brown gaze turns back to you, the only thing you see is relief, a sadness he at last bares to you, as wounded and broken as you are.

Like two small children hiding from shadows, you curl into your bed together, the sheets crumpled under both your bodies. Facing each other, you entwine your souls along the frayed edges, silently weaving yourself together within the comfort of each other.

He talks about it at last, confesses to you in the darkness the fear, the confusion, the haze of memories clouded by crimson heartbeats.

"I heard you scream." He tells you, and even now he tries to mask the crack in his voice, afraid and desperate under the resolution of a warrior. "I thought it would be the last sound I ever heard."

Your thumb brushes over his knuckles, eyes unable to meet his gaze. Warmth threatens your blinking stare, emotions simmering, boiling higher in your chest.

You're scared.

You almost lost him. If you say what you're going to, if you confess to him this secret, then you could lose him all over again. Able to touch him, able to feel his heartbeat but never again basking in that tenderness that feels too much like moonlight, serene and blissful, pale and erasing shadows.

"I thought..." You begin, voice wavering, chest catching on your next inhale, the one before the world changes around you once more. "I thought I lost you, that..." You swallow down the taste of blood, try to replace it with the sensation of your imagination, a future where his lips at last meet yours.

"I would never get the chance to say I love you."

He blinks. You don't breathe.

Then, in the silence that follows, you burst into tears.

Like the final flake of snow that summons an avalanche, you shudder, let the weight roll of off you and into your cries. Tears, hot and wet, spill freely down your cheeks, not noticing as Gaz shifts, draws you into the warmth of him to shelter you there. His hand settles on your hair, pressing you forward into his chest, where you feel him tremble. You don't see his eyes, the way they water as he tries to speak, to summon the words he needs to tell you all that he's kept hidden in the tender confines of his heart too.

Instead he shudders too, lets you cling to him like he's a raft at sea and you're lost in the violence of regret, unable to feel him around you with the simple grace of his touch.

It feels like he's dying all over again, the way he doesn't speak and instead holds you, lets you empty your sobs into his waiting palms. You think for sure that this is the final, bitter end, that he'll at last pull back, give you that sad, regretful smile, an apology, and then vanish into a future where you can no longer bask in his gentleness you dare to dream is only for you.

Instead, when your sobs fade to hiccups, when you've soaked his shirt through with your tears, Gaz at last lets his voice fills the darkness.

"You can say it now." He whispers, voice cracking with emotion. Then, after an unsteady heartbeat. "...Please."

You feel your hiccups stutter to a stop and you tense in his embrace, trying to stare through your watery gaze and process his words.

It feels like a future you never considered, one you were unable to see, so convinced were you of his fate that you didn't even dream of the possibility. Yet now his words seem like a prophecy, an omen that summons blessings, a beautiful future where his smile is met with your own.

You shift in his arms, raise your head to look at him, at last see the tears clouding his beautiful, beloved brown eyes.

"I love you." You whisper into that future, drawing it closer with every shuddering exhale. "I love you, Kyle Garrick."

That same smile, as gentle and graceful as goddess Selene, washes over you. It bathes you in radiance, summons tranquility into the fractures of your wounded heart, fills them with pale moonlight like the drape of a silvery veil.

He whispers your name, and again the world shifts around you, blurring into a kaleidoscope of color where the axis revolves around him.

"I love you too." He murmurs, his voice cracking with an unnamed joy. "I love you. I love you so, so fucking much I can't stand it."

You laugh. It's a sudden sound, one that echoes out into the midnight where you both bathe under starlight, caught in the current of each other's embrace. His lips catch against it, pressing it back into you with a tenderness that melts the core of you, threatens tears all over again.

"Say it again." He murmurs against your shuddering gasp when he pulls away.

"I love you." You tell him, your smile like the brilliance of a sunrise that dawns over a new future. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

His hand snakes down to your waist, pressing you full against his form like he's trying to eclipse you. When he kisses you again you think you taste joy on his lips, his smile curving against you and he laughs.

"I never want to leave you alone again." He tells you, and there's a longing there you recognize- a choice between both a love and duty you share. It's for a different time, a future that will come inevitably, but one you'll face together.

"Then stay." You whisper to him, and he surges into you once more, drowns you both in the benediction of adoration where war no longer exists.

#kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle 'gaz' garrick #mw22 #cod mw22 #my fics #my writing #oneshots

492 notes · View notes

mammor0n · 3 years

Text

human | solomon x reader

based on lesson 46-12, so spoilers if you’re not up to it. if you know u know 😉 MC is gender neutral ✌

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: softcore smut, not rly explicit and it doesn’t rly start till abt 1k words in but it’s still there. also like one swear word. plus it’s nearly 2am so if there are typos etc. pls forgive me, i’ll give it a read through when i wake up to fix ‘em (probably)

____________________

You awake to a shuffling sound in the corner, and a year of living with seven demons has left you with more sense than to just ignore it. Still half asleep, you squint into the darkness and sigh an incoherent mumble.

“...oh, sorry. Did I wake you?” Solomon asks, voice barely above a whisper.

It takes you a moment to remember where you are; in a cramped motel room in a world that doesn’t really exist, undertaking a trial for your goddamn magic license, which somehow did exist, and the master to your apprenticeship waking you up as though this circumstance wasn’t the stuff of a fever dream already, or some twisted fairytale that slipped the works of Hans Christian Anderson.

“Mm… it’s fine. What’s up? Can’t sleep?” you sleepily slur.

“No… it’s weird, you know? After all that walking we did today, I should be really tired.” Although his voice is even, Solomon’s face echoes a vestige of sadness; loneliness only exacerbated as he continues. “As I watched the twins earlier, I couldn’t help thinking… they’ve always had each other. It’s just natural for them. And even though they don’t say it outright, you can tell how much they trust and rely on each other… it must be nice, you know? To have someone like that in your life. I guess even if you live for centuries on end, there are some things that can always elude you.”

Blinking away remnants of sleep, you push onto your knees and crawl a little closer to him. He sits on the edge of the bed, and you hear it creak as it dips beneath him, the motion pulling you towards him like gravity itself.

“Hey… you have me. You always will, okay? You’re not alone… you have people who care about you,” you protest, and Solomon chuckles.

“Thanks, MC… you really are nice. I’d like to have people I care about, and who care about me… especially if one of those people is you.”

You exchange a smile lit only by the dim streetlight spilling through the weathered, yellowing windows. Solomon’s eyes don’t leave you, and there’s a softness there you’re not accustomed to.

“Hmm… you know, going to sleep in an inn room and then suddenly waking up in the middle of the night is another staple RPG scenario, isn’t it? And usually at times like these, you can expect some sort of really important story event to take place. So what do you think, MC? Is that what’s about to happen here..?”

His eyes find yours, capturing you in a warm a gaze you wouldn’t dare to break; you become all too aware of the sound of your shallow breathing, and rise and fall of your chest, the lump of your thrumming heart in your throat. The air smells like dust and ash, with remnants of smoke from the fireplace curling around the ceiling as the tendrils creep into the cracks between the wood. Your eyelids are heavy, yet sleep has surely relinquished its hold on you.

Solomon is quiet as he looks at you questioningly; murky blue eyes seem to bore into your soul, and in this light, with his hair messy and wearing a loose shirt and cotton pants, you’re jarred by the reminder of his humanity. Now that the magic and jewellery and smirk has been stripped away, you’re left with warmth, sincerity, and something so purely human that you’d never seen in him before. It was something about his eyes, or maybe the bob of his Adam’s apple, the hints of five o’clock shadow carving his jaw, the slight flush blotching his cheeks. At this moment, he isn’t a powerful sorcerer to whom Asmodeus himself is beholden; he’s a person. A human. Two humans sitting together in an inn room with lights off, tangled in scratchy bedsheets as breeze rattles the windowsill overlooking the flame-lit cobbled streets outside. Like something out of a fairy tale.

You’re so lost in his eyes that you forget to speak, and a teasing smile slopes his lips, although the corners of his eyes are just a little too tight, his breath just a little uneven. He swallows, licks his lips…

“Does that look in your eyes mean I can kiss you?”

You reply by crossing the small distance left between you and kissing him. After a stuttered breath, Solomon kisses you back, leaning into you and deepening the kiss as his arms slide around your waist. Once he’s started kissing you, it seems he can’t stop; he presses kiss after kiss to your mouth, his tongue seeking yours, his hands squeezing and tugging you ever closer as you lose yourself in his warmth, the lavender and patchouli fragrance that always seems to follow him, in the eager grasping of his hands on your skin and of your fingers in his hair and of the taste of sleep and evening and to draw it all together, the smoky spark of magic in every touch of his body against yours.

“...I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Solomon confesses breathlessly between kisses. “But you know, wherever you are, Lucifer and his brothers are sure to be nearby. I thought maybe there was no hope. That I’d never get an opportunity.”

In his pause, you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Well it’s just you and I tonight, right? Just us.” Your breath rustles the silken hair that isn’t snagged between your fingers, and Solomon smiles.

“Then… I take it this means I have a chance, right? A chance to… deepen our connection.” He supplements the words with a lingering kiss to your throat. “Why don’t you come just a little closer, MC..?”

You sigh, lips seeking his again as you crawl until you’re chest to chest. Slinging a leg over his waist, you climb into his lap and Solomon wastes no time in stealing your breath. His lips are hot, fast, sloppy yet calculated, and he holds you until your head is spinning and you can’t remember your own name.

“Solomon…” is the only utterance you can fathom, and then he smiles against your mouth, and you lose even that.

Wandering hands trail along your waist, beneath your shirt, and shivers ripple down your spine as Solomon suckles at your throat and twists his hands in heavenly ways that curl your toes and pry any thought from your head that doesn’t centre around Solomon, and you, and Solomon and you, two humans alone in an inn room and suddenly your clothes are gone and he’s on top of you and-

Solomon groans as he sinks into you, kissing along the column of your neck, suckling on your jaw, your chest, hands caressing every inch of soft flesh as he whispers curses in languages you’ve never heard into your skin.

You can feel the magic radiating off him as he thrusts, feel your power imbued with his, the fusing of your auras as his lips meld to your skin, over and over, hot and wet and electric and then-

“Fuck, Solomon,” you hiss, head thrown back against the feather-stuffed pillows as his moans are lost in the temple of your body while his hips bruise against yours.

“Mm… you feel so good, my perfect apprentice… my… my beautiful MC…” His words come in sharp gasps out of time with his urgent motions, and you feel him collapse against you as his hips stutter and his seed starts to drip from between your legs, hot and slick as it spills onto the bedsheets. The intrusion has the tightening in your abdomen finally erupting into the shaking of your legs, into shivers of pleasure that race up your skin and draw sharp gasps from lips that Solomon stifles with a hard kiss.

“Solomon…” you manage to breathe as he removes himself from you, lays beside you with a heaving chest and sparkling eyes mirrored in your own.

“Sleep, MC… you did so well… more work tomorrow…” he manages to sigh, his arms closing around your back and dragging you into his chest as he kisses you again, and presses a final kiss to your forehead.

Relaxing into his chest, you nod, humming as forgotten tendrils of sleep begin to slink between your thoughts and numb your tongue.

“‘Kay… night, Solomon…”

You feel him smile against your forehead, and if this is a fairytale, you hope you never reach the last page.

___________________

heyo, thanks for reading! if u enjoyed and u have a spare moment pls comment and reblog, it really makes my day!!! love u hope u have a good day/night 🥺👉👈

#obey me #solomon obey me #solomon x reader #swd obey me #solomon x mc #swd om #solomon #obey me solomon #obey me fanfic #om solomon #obey me solomon x mc #obey me solomon x reader #om #smut #obey me solomon smut #swd solomon #swd solomon x reader #swd solomon x mc #swd solomon smut

687 notes · View notes

piccolina-mina · 3 years

Note

Our girl is thriving this season, but what the fuck is this Wyatt plot? I need your thinks about this one. I just knew you'd be six posts in on this by now. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

*sighs* For fk's sake, nonny. I don't even like talking about it because I get ranty.

What do you want me to say? Honestly, everything you can imagine I would feel about this, you're probably right. Because you know, I'm that b*tch always getting ranty about racism and stuff.

In short, I hate it. I think it's unnecessary, tone-deaf, random, pointless, lowkey offensive, and illogical. I legitimately find it triggering AF. And it doesn't make sense.

It's Unnecessary. There is a fraction of a chance that it will connect to something more significant, but even if that's the case, I'm confident that end result or connection could've taken place without this random reform racist Wyatt storyline. This series has struggled enough as it is properly utilizing all of its primary characters as well as providing them with decent screentime and arcs. It literally makes no sense to spend any of that time that could be used elsewhere on primary characters on a recurring guest star.

This isn't actually about Rosa, it's about Wyatt. Following up on the previous point, this specific arc caters to Wyatt. Revolves around Wyatt. Rosa is just a passive participant and vessel for this Wyatt storyline. So again, the arc itself is about a recurring character. At least when they did something similarly bringing back Cam to siphon time and arcs away from its main cast they found ways to implement it better and tied her to multiple main characters, so it wasn't a total waste.

The intended Wyatt/Rosa parallel is illogical. I know what they're intending to do with this storyline, drawing parallels between Rosa's experience coming back from the dead after ten years and trying to make sense of that and atone for things before and having this second chance to make things right and go down the right path and so forth and Wyatt losing his memory and his racist ways and having to reconcile with who he was to who he can be and all of that. I understand the concept they're trying to sell. It just doesn't work. Rosa's addiction is not equivalent to Wyatt's racism and violence. Her mental illness isn't either. It's dangerous to invite the comparasions with this storyline.

It's not successful redemption. True redemption is Wyatt knowing and remembering his actions and then trying to atone for them. It's not the convenience of amnesia wiping out his memory only giving him distance from his actions rather than really facing up to them. Because of the amnesia, to Wyatt, it's like he's hearing about another person. It's a cop out. He doesn't Actually have to do the work to redeem himself or atone or learn or grow. IF we're supposed to compare it to Rosa, she knew what she did and remembers and knows how she hurt her loved ones or whatever and she's actively trying to make amends for that as part of her program... a program that Wyatt isn't working or anything BTW.

They've contradicted themselves too much and are rewriting their own work and thus twisting everything up just to make this storyline work and it still doesn't. The timeline is all fkd up... what they established already all of it..The Longs were racist before Kate's death. Kate was racist. To suggest that a 10+ amnesiac blackout clean slates and erases all of Wyatt's racism is just wrong. As in it literally doesn't even make any sense. That is not how the amnesia works but they keep playing both sides of it trying to make it work. To sell us what they're claiming, he would have to have ALL of his memories wiped and have forgotten who he was completely.

Wyatt is behaving like he's shocked by racism in this town but they're also trying to argue that he was born into it. Wyatt was surrounded by racists and his friends come from racist families but he's acting like the very concept of him ever being ingratiated in it is some huge surprise. Wyatt looks affronted by things like Confederate flags. Wyatt being steeped in and surrounded by racism predates his amnesia period.

Kyle mentioned that line about Wyatt putting Whites Only on water fountains, and it sounded like a school prank. It also sounded like something Kyle was reminding Rosa of as if she was alive when that incident happened. Therefore, Wyatt was doing racist stuff before she died. Kyle would've been out of school by then so how else would he know that or why would he bother retaining it?

IF Wyatt and Rosa really were friends before (which holy retcon), then it makes no real sense that he would get psychopathically angry about his "friend" who does drugs getting into a car accident with his sister who does drugs. He would've mourned them both not jumped to severe racism and violence. But both he and Jasmine's family (who are MIA for all of this) did that... jumped to racism. So was Wyatt indoctrinated by his family or indoctrinated by message boards and shit? And if Wyatt and Rosa were friends than why was Kate such a racist bitch to Rosa?

They're backdrafting history JUST to make this storyline that we don't need with a character who isn't even a main one to work.

By not actually addressing that Wyatt has to unlearn racism and giving him an out through amnesia, there is the very realistic issue of that latent racism to come out at any given time. What happens when he's drunk? What happens when he's really angry at a POC?

Tying Wyatt's redemption with his clear affection for Rosa is again dangerous and irresponsible. I know we would all like to think that love is the way and through love it can heal racism, but that puts the responsibility on the disenfranchised person to be "lovable." Because if Wyatt WAS friends with Rosa once then that means the second Rosa did something unlovable she was just another *insert racist slur of choosing* right? It means that there's a possibility that if his feelings for Rosa dwindle or things go sideways in some way there's a chance that he could revert back to those racist ways. Loving Rosa(linda) and pinning all of his wanting to be better on her because of her makes his actively learning to be anti-racist conditional. Right now he's not doing this for him. He's doing it because of Rosa.

This entire storyline has placed the burden of forgiveness on Rosa, his victim. Without him ever having to actually make amends. It's this turn the other cheek BS that means there's nothing too big or harmful that can't result in forgiveness. It relies on Rosa and all that she represents to extend an inhumane level of mercy and grace to their tormentor and oppressor that was never once extended to them. It's such a consistent and problematic thing projected on disenfranchised parties that ONLY benefits the majority and makes them feel good. It's a narrative of meeting someone halfway when the playing field was uneven and the minorities are in actuality doing more work and making a longer trek. Halfway and meeting in the middle only works if both sides were even. They are not. It's the reaching across the aisle both sidesms when one side was clearly and actively more harmful than the other and than calling that peace and equity. It is not.

This storyline was meant to scintillate some viewers with this "what if" notion and teach others a meaningful lesson or be this poorly thought out gateway to exploring a complex storyline but it came at the expense of other demographics who actively have to deal with racist crap. And because of their problematic approach what is simply "just entertainment" to some who has the luxury of not having to think about it beyond that, is just gross and insanely triggering and uncomfortable to others. The others who deal with the reality of the subject at hand.

They wrote themselves into a corner with Wyatt so trying to dig him out of that no matter the cost or logic is absurd. This storyline could've worked better if Wyatt's racism didn't also include conscious, constant, extreme violence. But they spent all of this time making Wyatt the face of violent racism and now are trying to redeem him with no real effort. He wasn't just using slurs or making microaggressions. He wasn't some insensitive or aloof white person. He is a murderer. He has killed people. He technically murdered Liz in cold-blood. He knew she was in the crashdown when he shot up the place. The lights were still on. He beat up Arturo so badly he nearly killed him well after his friends even stopped. He attacked and intended to kill Rosa. And his handiwork was a constant thing, enough for Jenna to comment on it. And now we're supposed to ignore all of that because he has amnesia and has puppy dog eyes?

The fact that we can entertain (and for some succeed) Wyatt in all of his hot white dudeness' redemption after everything he has done slips into the inherent racism of society in the first place and is enraging. Because systemically and culturally and inherently society will bend over backwards to find a way to absolve a hot white guy no matter his actions. Flint and Noah couldn't get this type of redemption... So their intended storyline about evolving from racism STILL plays into the racist structures set up in society.

And because some people like it, there's this slippery territory of NO everyone who genuinely enjoys this aren't racist for enjoying it. But yes, this entire storyline and how it is playing out is at the very least racially insensitive.

In order for this storyline to work they would actually have to show Wyatt doing the work. They don't have enough time to dedicate to such a delicate storyline. It's been a C and D filler storyline with 45 second to a minute scenes. That's not enough time to explore this properly. We would've needed to see Wyatt returning home from the hospital. We would've needed to see Wyatt with his friends and it not feeling right and his discomfort. We would've needed to see Wyatt going through his yearbook and googling himself and the horror and disgust he felt. We would need to see this through his eyes. But we didn't have the time for that and we wouldn't have anyway because he's not a main character. We only get Wyatt through Rosa's eyes and they haven't even dedicated enough time to that for it to work. Rosa isn't conflicted at all. She didn't struggle to forgive him. She was reduced to a school girl with a crush and an insane level of grace and they just threw that at us with no buildup whatsoever. I don't know where Rosa's head is and how she got to this to place. Not really. And the only thing working about this is the chemistry between two actors who are allegedly dating so of course there's chemistry.

It literally feels like another instance of a favorite actor being shoehorned into a storyline just for the hell of it. Just because they didn't want to let Dylan go or something. Just to give him something else to do.

#anti wyatt long #rnm salt #roswell new mexico #rnm ask

63 notes · View notes

shootingstarwritings · 3 years

Text

Eight Pleas on a Starry Night

Eight Cups a Day

Eight Memories a Minute

All that this creature knew from the moment of its "birth," was to consume. The moment it first began to understand "itself" and "the world," it absorbed whatever was in front of it. Just as babes from the womb yearn for their mother's womb, these slimes feast upon segments of their host's brains. There was no thought and no malice behind; instead, it was pure instinct. Consume and assimilate as much as the host's brain would allow until complete takeover.

The moment this creature, now male due to his host, opened his eyes, he saw the sight of another looking at him with emotion the creature couldn't quite understand just yet. However, through pure instinct and the slight connection they shared as a species, he knew that this was his brother. “Ah, hello,” he greeted with pure innocence.

“H-Hey,” his brother responded, sounding not unlike the people the creature saw in his host’s memories. How skillful was he at hiding amongst these humans? “D-Do you know who I am? Do you know who you are? What’s your name?” Now, he spoke aggressively, but alongside another set of emotions.

Not wanting to disappoint his brother, the creature said, “I do not recall,” with complete assurance. “I seem to be quite adept at assimilating my host’s memories, unfortunately. It looks as though I cannot be a unit that can infiltrate any of these people.”

His brother shut his eyes, as though he had swallowed something harsh, before saying, “You are Nolan. Your name is Nolan.”

“Nolan. Understood.”

“And I’m F-Forde. My name is Forde.” Forde took a deep breath, his hand brushing up against Nolan’s. Then, he intertwined their fingers together. “Do you really not remember me? When we looked at the stars together?"

Nolan shook his head. “Am I supposed to? I am sorry if I am not up to your standards, brother.” Squeezing Forde’s hand—was it his host’s natural response?—Nolan said, “I will do better in the future. Do not worry.”

Forde nodded as he drew his hand back to his chest. There was an emotion on Forde’s face that Nolan did not recognize, so he ignored it.

The creature inside of Alan stared up at the summer night. He had a fleeting thought of the few stars that shined despite the town's light pollution and wondered if that was where he and his kin came from. However, he quickly dismissed that line of thought. It was not important for their invasion, so it was unnecessary. He was reeling from these useless thoughts that continued to plague him ever since the day he emerged from the sea.

Most of his brothers had perished when he had managed to infect Forde. He could only convert one person and implant his sole offspring before his brothers, unable to speak to him and cry for help, dried up. All he could do now was ignore any sort of sentimentalism that burdened him and press on forward.

“I am an invader,” the invader said to himself, floating naked on the surface of the pool. “Then, why do I have these regrets?”

Regret was a sentiment that his host, Alan, was familiar with. Words left unsaid, arguments he couldn't take back, and a life that was snuffed due to a misunderstanding. The list was long but also faded. By now, the invader had engulfed most of Alan's memories, so there was very little he could recall with any clarity. All he could see was a series of faded images.

It mattered little, the invader decided. The lingering feelings didn’t matter. All that was important was to breed and infect. That was the final purpose they had.

“Alan, there’s someone at the door.”

Ah, that was unexpected. Alan swam to the edge of the pool and pulled himself out. “Do you know who it is, brother?”

He nodded. “It’s your friend—or rather, it’s your host’s friend,” said Forde. “He texted you, and I responded, and one thing left to another...” he said, nonchalantly while pointing his thumb to the front of the house. “And now he’s here. You gonna…?”

“I’ll have to infect him,” said the invader as he dried himself off. “There’s nothing else that can be done.”

“Right, well Nolan is by the door if you need any assistance.”

The invader raised an eyebrow. “Will you not help me?”

“I'm sorta tired if we're being honest. Maybe some other time?" Forde said with a shrug and a grin.

The invader narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything in response. He walked past Forde, but stopped right before crossing the doorway. “You are my offspring, and yet you are so different from your brother and myself. Why is that?” There was far too much personality, whether from the host or from the possessor itself. It was odd.

Forde’s gaze grew distant. “I wonder why myself,” he muttered. “But never mind that. Your friend’s in the front, and Nolan’s in position to help you infect him.”

“And your family? The ones who own this home?”

“Won’t be back until Monday. We’ve got plenty of time.”

The invader had suspicions rise, but he pushed them to the back of his mind. There were more pressing matters to attend to. “Please, watch over your siblings.” The invader didn’t wait for a response. He processed the information carefully and he dried off and dressed.

“Alan, hey!” Forde was right. A friend of Alan, a great deal younger—about middle-aged—stood in front of the doorway. The invader could not access much of Alan's memories, so the man was a stranger to him. However, he was knowledgeable enough to recognize the glint in the man's eyes.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Came as soon as I could,” the man said, smiling brightly as he spoke to Alan. “Said you needed my help? Say, what’s this place anyway? How come you’re here?” With narrowed eyes, the man leaned in and whispered, “Ain’t that kid a li’l too young for you? Seems kinda weird if you ask me.”

Alan shook his head. “He’s a family friend. Said he needed help moving a couch. Could you help me?”

The suspicion in the man’s eyes cleared, and he eagerly nodded. “Sure! I’ll give you hand. Lead the way.”

[LINE BREAK]

Forde was panting by the time he entered the house again. What he walked into didn’t surprise him, but he still had to fight the urge to gag.

“Hello, nngg, Forde!” Nolan greeted him as he fucked Alan’s convulsing friend. “This one has almost finished his conversion. Would you like to assist me?"

“I think I’ll pass,” Forde said, grimacing. His eyes lingered on the man before turning over to the sleeping Alan on the couch. “Alan’s asleep?”

“Yes, mmm. He-fuck—s-said creating so many offspring has left him exhausted. Will probably sleep until the party tomorrow.”

The party…

Forde took a deep breath, trying to calm his breathing. “Nolan, when you’re… finished, meet me in my room, all right?”

“Which—“

“The one closest to the bathroom. You can’t miss it.”

“Right."

Forde lied back on his bed, attempting to erase the image of Nolan happily plowing another man’s ass out of his head. There was no doubt that what he had seen was the truth, but it carried such wrongness to it that he couldn’t help to wind back to it. Nothing about Nolan seemed to have remained. The chipper friendliness and eagerness to please was something that would have disgusted Nolan and now it disgusted Forde. Not even the memories were there. At most, the one possessing Nolan could remember some family members, last name, and his street address.

Everything else, including that night under the stars, was gone.

“Is this my punishment?” asked Forde, unsure if God would answer the pleas of a parasite. “Is this what I deserve for killing Forde?" That sin would remain with him for the rest of his life. It didn't matter if he believed he was Forde and inherited the name, the body, and the memories, the original was gone. If Forde ever left this body, it would remain a hollow husk. The organs would function, but there would be no brain activity. It would be no different than a vegetable.

Yet, Forde could not deny his greedy nature—as a parasite and a man. I still want to be happy, he thought. God, Alan, and the world itself can shame and hate me for it, but I still want to live a happy life. He knew how shameless that desire was, but did not care. The pain and pleasure that he has known in his short time as a human only stroked the hungry flames that burned in his heart.

The door opened, and Nolan walked in, still naked. “I am here, brother,” he announced, as though it wasn’t obvious.

Forde drew the sheets back and scooted to the side of the bed. “Close the door, and lie with me.”

“Hmm? Will we be sleeping on the same bed?”

“Yeah. Keep me company for tonight, will ya?”

“I see no reason to decline.” Without any shame, Nolan lied right next Forde. Their bare shoulders were touching, but only one of them understood the implications,

“Nolan, do you remember what happened when we went camping that night?”

“I do not.”

“Yeah, I figured,” said Forde, preparing himself. His hand was trembling, and he was sweating all over. Why couldn’t he calm himself? “Could you… Could you do me a favor, br-brother…?” When Nolan said yes, Forde nearly sobbed. After a deep, uneven breath, he said, “Please, gather yourself in your host’s mouth. I have to show you something.”

Unquestionably, Nolan did so. He opened his mouth, the blue slime lying on top of his tongue. Even in that form, he looked completely innocent.

Forde ripped over the packet of salt and poured it on his own tongue, cringing from the taste. Then, he leaned over and kissed Nolan’s lips before swiftly drawing back, the aftertaste of the salt lingering in his now empty mouth. The effect was immediate.

Nolan’s body began to violently convulse. “Wh-What did you d-do?!” Nolan cried out, spitting out the salt and now bits of foam. “Br-Brother?!” His eyes rolled to the back of his head and spat out more and more foam—the remains of his desiccated body. Forde shut his eyes and covered his ears.

Just like snails and slugs, their species would dry out when their real forms were exposed to concentrated amounts of salt due to osmosis. Even though they originated from the ocean, the intense amount of salt would still kill them. It only due to Forde’s biology degree that he could figure that out. And because of that, he knew that there was a chance Alan didn’t know that, either. This was his only weapon… the only thing he had to stop the invasion.

And yet…

Forde jumped as Nolan grabbed his arm in desperation. He opened his eyes and the image burned itself into his memory. He was dying. Nolan, the slime, whatever, was dying. Because of him. Because of what Forde did. He’s just a parasite, a murderer, Forde kept thinking as the convulsing began to cease. “I had to, I had to...” he kept muttering to himself, even as tears trailed down his cheeks.

He was a murderer just like me.

Now, he was staring at Nolan’s still-breathing body. There was no life in his eyes, but his chest still rose and fell, and his mouth was still agape. The slime, his brother, was gone. And Nolan was gone too. Two more lives that Forde had snuffed out, and tomorrow he would have to do it again.

He tried to smile. “Nolan...” he said, embracing the brain-dead husk. “Nolan, Nolan… Nolan… I love you,” he said, caressing Nolan’s unmoving face. “I saved you, I did it… you’re okay now.” Forde pressed his face on Nolan’s left pectoral. His heart continued to beat despite how empty it was. “You’re free, you’re okay. I k-killed the parasite, I did it for you…! So, you’ll forgive me, right?” There was no response, no matter how much Forde pleaded. However, he continued. "Please, please tell me you'll forgive me. You and Forde will forgive me, right? Please, please, for the love of God, please help me...”

Neither God nor Nolan answered him that night.

#male possession #slime possession #DILF possession #eight cups a day #eight memories a minute

113 notes · View notes

chyanxrene · 3 years

Text

Car wash

♡ Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Y/N

♡ Summary: Draco buys a new car and has other plans on how to enjoy it with his girlfriend Y/N

♡ Warning(s): Pure smut, 18+ only, degradation, car sex, minors DNI

Everyone knew that Draco Malfoy was a show off. He enjoyed— no, he relished in flaunting his wealth. From the jewels he owned, the houses, the land and most importantly, his cars.

It was an addiction to him, whenever a new car was made, he had to get it. He loved cars of course, but the true thrill he had from purchasing them, was that fact that he could show them off.

Whether he drove to the supermarket, down the motor way. The faces muggles made when he drifted past them fuelled his ego even further.

So when he found himself parked outside Y/N's apartment, he became excited to show her his latest car.

They were due to have their weekly date, but Draco wasn't on time, which was unlike him. But when he was informed three hours ago that his car had been delivered to the showroom. He had to go, surely Y/N would understand, he assumed.

He honked his car horn a few times, receiving frowns from random onlookers. His response? Throwing up his middle finger at them and rolling his eyes.

Draco waited for his girlfriend to step out of her building, he noted that there was a bit of dust on his dashboard so quickly wiped it off using his jumper sleeve.

"For fucks sake Draco— must you always cause a scene," the sweet, melodic voice came from beside him.

He had his front window wound down, as it were a cool, summers evening— there was no need for air conditioning on these types of days.

Draco turned his gaze towards his lover, taking in her features. He loved how she looked all the time, but the summer made her glow differently.

"Darling," he smiled, opening the car door and stepping out.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, inhaling the fresh scent of her hair. She was an angel to him, so pure, not an ounce of darkness ran through her. Her white summer dress confirmed his thoughts on her.

"You're late," she huffed, leaning her head back at a tilt to glare into his grey eyes.

He kissed her forehead and sent her an apologetic expression, "I know, and I'm sorry— I ran over time," he explained.

Draco unwrapped his hands around her waist, and leaned back onto his car, "well?" He smirked.

Y/N scanned the all black vehicle in front of her, it was larger than what he would usually go for. But nevertheless, still screamed Draco Malfoy.

Y/N hummed, crossing her arms, "it's definitely you alright,"

This caused Draco to frown, even if he bought it for himself, he still liked having her approval, "what's that supposed to mean,"

"It's a little big for you— not what I was expecting," Y/N admitted.

"Shut up, anyway— get in we're going on a date," Draco rolled his eyes, slightly disheartened from Y/N's opinion on his new car.

He'd spent quiet a lot of pounds on it, not that he cared but, the more expensive the item, the better— right?

"Let me drive it?" Y/N chirped, raising an eyebrow up at him.

"Very funny," he dismissed, turning to get back into the car.

"I'm being serious, can I drive it?" She asked again, still standing in the same spot she was in. Draco knew there was not winning this battle, but he needed to stand his ground.

"No,"

"Please?" This time her voice came out more whiny, almost child-like.

"No,"

"Please Draco, don't be so boring," she stepped towards him, raising her head so she could plead with not only her words but her eyes too.

"No Y/N, you almost crashed my last car," he shook his head, reaching for the car door handle.

"That bus nearly went into me, it wasn't my fault— and it was a year ago Draco," she mumbled, the truth was, she hadn't looked in the side view mirror so didn't see the double decker bus pull out beside her.

"Y/N," Draco said sternly.

But when he looked down, the doe eyes she had put on, and the fake pout she had forced her plump lips into. He knew the battle had been won, by her— again.

"Fine," he muttered moving out of the way, "I swear, if you even think about fucking around— you'll sit in the backseat every time after this,"

"We will see," she smirked, pushing him out of the way.

She hopped into the drivers seat, inhaling the fresh leather. Draco's cologne had already filled the car, marking it with his signature scent.

Y/N ran her hands down the steering wheel, not a single scratch on it or thread out of place. She adjusted her seat to sit closer to the steering wheel.

Draco had a tall frame, but also enjoyed driving with his seat tilted at an angle. So adjustments were necessary.

The door slammed from beside her, "for someone who spent quite a lot on this car— you don't seem to have any care for it already," she laughed.

Draco's arms were crossed, as he stared outside the car, ignoring Y/N's comment.

"Such a child," she muttered, fixing the rear view mirror.

"Shut the fuck up," he spat, turning his body so he faced the passenger window directly.

"Put your seatbelt on," Y/N requested, waiting for him to do so, before she could drive off.

Draco cursed under his breath and flung the material over his shoulder, "how could I forget— I don't want to die this early,"

She checked all mirrors before pulling off the curb, the car was smooth, she couldn't feel the uneven roads of London through the car.

Even though Draco was sulking, he had to watch her, he had to make sure she didn't mess around. So he did, and he did intensely.

Despite him hating being in the passenger seat, he was always in awe the way Y/N drove, with such delicate movements— and always relaxed.

She was tiny compared to this car, which made Draco want to watch her further. The way her fingertips clasped around the steering wheel, the way her eyes flicked to each mirror every now and then.

He could watch her all day— but he'd never tell her that.

"So where to?" She spoke, pulling him out of his trance.

Draco cleared his throat, turning on the radio, "I— just keep driving," he mumbled.

"Really? Fine," she responded, she turned towards an empty road, no speed cameras, no on coming vehicles, just a straight road— to go as fast as she pleased.

"Don't you dare," Draco's eyes widened, but it was too late.

She had already pressed her foot down on the accelerator, both her hands were on the wheel as she sped down the road. Draco was forced to hold onto the handle above him.

The wind pushed her hair out of her face, flowing behind her. Her smile bright as ever, as she felt the adrenaline rush through her veins.

Draco had just fallen in love with her all over again.

The road came to an end, which forced Y/N to slow down. She let out a puff of air, and a breathy laugh, "that was fun," she smiled.

Draco nodded, shifting in his seat, he directed her down a few roads. But his mind was distracted, he didn't expect to be turned on by this— but he was.

She drove effortlessly, gliding the large car through small gaps with ease.

He placed his hand on her bare knee, feeling the sudden urge to touch her. But Y/N didn't think much of it, she looked at it as a sign of comfort. So she continued driving, listening to Draco's simple directions.

Draco's hand slid further, he silently thanked her for her choice of attire. He sprawled his finger tips around her upper thigh, flicking the dress out of the way beforehand.

He gave it a squeeze, and noticed how Y/N had suddenly stilled beneath his touch. He held in his laugh, and every now and then continued to flex his grip on her thigh.

Y/N let out a gasp, the rings that decorated his fingers digging into her skin deliciously. The cold metal, contrasting against her thighs that were warm from the summers air.

"Relax my love," Draco whispered, his finger tips pushed her thighs open, giving him ability to run them along the sensitive area.

"Draco," Y/N frowned, trying to close her thighs, but his hands were too strong, and she knew she needed to concentrate on driving otherwise they'd both be in a problem.

She heard his seatbelt click, and shuffling from beside her. She quickly glanced over to his side, to see he had turned fully to face her, his hand still wedged between her thighs.

He kissed her jaw, and then moved down to her naked neck. He used his left hand to keep her legs open, and the right to draw circles close to her pussy.

"You look so beautiful driving this big car," he whispered against her cheek.

His mouth continued to kiss along her neck and down to her collarbone, leaving purple marks on the way.

"You're so small and fragile— my innocent angel, you'll be a good girl for me won't you?" He asked, moving his head back an inch to wait for her answer.

She nodded quickly, "yes," she breathed.

"Perfect," he smirked, he ran the tip of his tongue along her jawline, and nipped at the skin.

He removed his right hand, Y/N let out a noise which he laughed at. She quickly looked at him and saw him dip his middle finger into his mouth. He went all the way up to his knuckle before pulling it out.

His hand found the area again, and wasted no time pushing her underwear to the side. The moistened finger now brushed her clit lightly, the shockwaves shooting through Y/N's spine.

"Draco," Y/N tried to force out a stern voice but it ended up coming out weak.

He ignored her, and resumed circling her clit with his finger. He watched her reactions, the way her fingers tensed, the blush pink shade that now covered her cheeks, he loved it.

"Concentrate on the road darling, can you do that for me," he breathed. His dick was hard, painful and straining against his boxers.

But Draco liked to tease, and would rather do this, then receive his own gratification.

Y/N nodded again, catching her bottom lip between her teeth to stop the light moans that threatened to escape.

His middle finger was replaced by his thumb, the pad of it now stroked it smoothly. The middle one ran down her slit, coating itself in all her arousal. He teased her entrance, before dipping his finger in halfway.

"One foot out of place and I promise, I won't let you cum, do you understand?"

"Yes,"

His lips pressed onto her cheek before he moved his finger. Y/N unknowingly accelerated faster as she felt his finger slip into her, but Draco noticed. He also noticed how she clenched around his slender finger, a sign of eagerness— just as he liked.

He moved his finger slow, missing her g-spot every time on purpose. He knew and so did she, that he could make her cum within minutes, but Draco wasn't in any rush today.

"Fuck," Draco rasped, each light thrust he gave her, forced more arousal to surround his finger.

"You like that don't you Y/N, you like getting off, knowing anyone can see us— fucking whore,"

"Please— Draco," her moan came out strained, her knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel so tightly.

He brushed her g-spot, curling his finger inside her to give her what she wanted, his thumb never stopped pleasuring her clit.

Draco pushed in his ring finger, the angle was awkward but Draco could make anything work.

He used a scissoring motion, stretching her— almost preparing her for what he had in store.

The wet sounds could be heard over the light music in the background, the ongoing traffic was muffled. Both Draco and Y/N could only concentrate on what he was doing to her.

"So fucking wet, you're making a mess on my seats darling," he laughed, usually Y/N would feel embarrassed about the noises and how wet she became so easily— but she was currently too turned on for any sort of embarrassment.

Draco thrusted his fingers quicker, the wetness of her cunt almost forcing him out of it, resulting in him having to push them in deeper.

Y/N was nearing her orgasm, the sensation too much to concentrate on the road. Her vision became dotted, everything was too much.

Draco's silent praises mixed with the relentless pleasure he gave her, drove her to the edge.

Her mouth opened, the palms of her hand becoming clammy. Her mouth was dry and her throat had closed, she licked her lips quickly, trying to bring back a sense of normality.

But it didn't work, she could hear Draco's heavy breaths, and in the corner of her eye, she could see him palming himself through his jeans.

The motion all came at once, she felt herself about to cum, but noticed the amber light switch to red first. She slammed her foot on the breaks, Draco's hand reached out to prevent himself from falling.

All movements stopped, the coil in her stomach slowly unwinding as Draco removed his fingers from her cunt. She sent him a scowl, however her eyes pleaded with him.

He tutted, raising his fingers towards her mouth. His middle one, smothered her arousal across her lips. The ring finger slid into her mouth, which she welcomed automatically.

Draco glanced at the current road, seeing if he had enough time to kiss her. Which he did, he took his fingers from her mouth and tangled them into her hair.

He dragged her head closer to him, and darted the tip of his pink tongue out, running it along the curves of her mouth.

Tasting her, he hummed, her arousal mixed with the peach chapstick she had on made her taste even better than she already did.

She stuck her tongue out, and opened her mouth. Draco raised an eyebrow and smirked, gathering the saliva in his mouth before spitting directly onto her tongue.

Y/N swallowed quickly, her eyes still begging him to finish her off. A silent beg, but ever so loud to Draco, he nodded, looking at the area they were in again.

It had become noticeably darker, he guided her towards an empty side road, filled with dirt and gravel.

The tension between the pair was thick, Y/N's breathing was laboured, each hump she went over making her sensitive cunt even more wet.

"Pull over here," Draco ordered, the windows had closed. He switched the car off, making his way first, into the back seat.

Y/N watched as he climbed into the middle back seat, his large frame almost covering the centre of the back window. He patted his lap, gesturing for her to join him.

She let out a shaky breath, reaching over to him as he helped her join him. Draco leaned forward, forcing both of the front seats forward— well as far as they could go.

Y/N adjusted herself in his lap, his erection pressing directly in alignment with her soaked thong.

Draco's hand grabbed her throat, pulling her mouth into his. His kiss was wet, and sloppy, tongues dancing with the other. She couldn't help but roll her hips against his.

His grip only tightened, the rings digging into the side of her neck, pinching and scraping against the skin below it. Draco pulled back, his thumb pulling down Y/N's bottom lip and letting it go with a pop.

"Draco," she whined, forcing herself further onto him, he held her hips in place.

"You almost crashed my new car angel," he taunted, brushing the loose strands of her hair out of her face.

"I— I'm sorry," she whispered, trying to lean forward and kiss him, but he pulled away and raised his eyebrow.

"You're sorry?"

"Yes, I— I lost control," she admitted, her chest rising and falling heavily. Draco's hands snaked around to her ass and squeezed harshly.

"Are you sure," he asked, a playful tone now laced in his deep voice.

Y/N nodded, "yes, I'll make it up to you,"

"Good— then make me cum," he ordered.

Her mouth fell open, but her eyes filled with determination. She cupped his cheeks, pulling him into a kiss, she controlled it, as he let her.

But it wouldn't take long before he took over again.

She reached between the two, fumbling with his belt and button. Once she had them both undone, she tugged on his jeans, signalling him that she wanted to push them down.

Her mouth was still attached to his, Draco raised his hips, and pulled his jeans and boxers down.

His cock slapped against his stomach, the tip leaking with pre cum. Y/N wiped her thumb across it, the pad of her thumb now covered in his own arousal.

She tasted him, swirling her tongue around her thumb— the slightly salty taste made her want more.

Draco sucked in a breath as he watched her with heavy eyes, now darker and filled with lust.

Draco grabbed her hand, cupping it in his before spitting on the palm of it. Y/N used his saliva to lubricate his dick, running her hand up and down until it became easier to fist.

"Stop playing with me, Y/N," Draco growled. His hands clenched beside him. He was forcing himself not to take control, she had to make it up to him herself.

Y/N raised herself on her knees, pushing her underwear aside and lining his tip with her entrance.

But she decided to tease them both, running his tip up and down her slit. She mixed her own arousal with his, the small sensation made the ache more apparent.

Draco's hand slapped harshly against her ass, "don't make me tell you again,"

"Or what?" She knew she shouldn't of replied that, but she couldn't help but get under his skin.

But her bold move, infuriated Draco, he grabbed her hip, and forced her harshly onto his cock. The two lovers both letting out strangled groans.

Draco didn't give her any time to adjust, before he started thrusting into her deeply— mercilessly, he didn't care at all.

Y/N held onto his shoulders, the pain shooting through her as she was given little to no time to adjust to his size. But she knew it would subside quickly.

The stretch was unmatched, although it didn't feel as bad due to Draco already preparing her.

Draco's heavy grunts filled the car, perspiration covering his forehead as he pounded into her, the sound of their skin slapping together was music to his ears.

She struggled to breathe, Draco had now put his hand back around her neck, his thumb pressing against her pulse point. She was in a state of bliss, and Draco loved watched her get to that stage.

Her head was flung back, as she clawed at his shoulders, he could feel her fingernails scratching through the cotton jumper.

"Touch yourself," he choked.

Y/N did as he asked, reaching her clit with her index finger and rubbing it quickly.

"Oh— fuck," Draco moaned, his fingertips digging into her ass, which would leave bruises the following morning.

"Your cunt, is perfect," his thrusts grew sloppier, showing he was close.

"I'm— I— shit," her orgasm flooded through without any warning. She knew Draco would be mad, but she couldn't help it. The pleasure was too much— too intense for her to hold it.

Her pussy squeezed around him, which led to him reaching his release. His cum flowed inside of her, just as he liked, he thrusted a few more times before stilling completely.

The windows had fogged up, by their heavy breathing and heated bodies, any onlookers couldn't see through. But that didn't matter as the windows had been tinted to the darkest shade of black anyway.

Draco's eyes were squeezed shut, he gulped heavily and fluttered them open, "you like my new car then," he chuckled deeply.

The vibrations of his laugh, made her tense inside, "yes," she smiled.

"Well it's filthy now," Draco noted, looking at the their cum mixing between them and leaking onto the base his dick.

Y/N hummed, "car wash," she laughed.

"Car wash," Draco agreed, pulling her into a kiss.

#Draco Malfoy #dracomalfoy #draco smut #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x reader #draco x y/n #harry potter smut #dracomalfoysmut #Smut #18+

160 notes · View notes

bowieandqueen11 · 4 years

Text

Luke Crain Headcanons

Request: Hi🥺I’m usually not to good about making request but I’m trying to breakout of my shell on that cause you are an amazing writer and I love everything you write!! But can I request a Luke Crain headcanon where you guys grew up together but distanced while he was in rehab but you came back together after what happened with Nellie! Thank you so much you’re an angel🥺💛

Thank you SO much @cathrinexxxv I LOVE LUKE CRAIN! Also I’m so ready to binge watch all of Bly Manor tomorrow!! <3

You and Luke first met when you were very young. As in, really really little. To this day, you’re still constantly teasing him and making him blush smile about his huge magnifying pair of glasses and his obsession with bowler hats.

You and your family used to live in the small village which was a fifteen minute walk away from the looming heights of Hill House, so when a rumour started spreading down the houses that a new family full of children were moving in for the summer, you, naturally, were intrigued.

One night, when you had heard from your mother that the new family had moved in, you sneaked out your back garden on a warm afternoon before dinner, cutting through the dark and dingy forest until you reached the outskirts of the property. Seeing a boy around your own age sitting on his own on the burnt grass, you waved to Luke from behind the branch of a nearby, crooked oak tree. He was startled, to say the least, but as he watched you hide slightly behind the bark, he was surprised to find he wasn’t scared in the slightest.

He felt as if he almost knew you already. As if this was always meant to happen, that you were meant to find each other here.

Nudging his glasses back up the bridge of the nose, he shyly waved back. Once he finally realised that you weren’t going to budge from your hiding place, nervous from the stories your neighbours had told you about this house, he decided to pick up his crayons in one fist and his paper in the other, before he sets off half stumbling, half stomping along the uneven ground towards you.

When he finally reaches the trunk, he stops and looks at you kind of funnily, tilting his head slightly before he decides the right reaction was to smile at you.

‘My name is Luke Crain. Do you want to play with me? All my siblings ignore me and they don’t want to draw with me.’

The two of you spent the rest of the afternoon huddled under the shaking leaves, sitting on the roots of the tree, Luke tracing out a picture and you giggling as you tried to bump his hand out of the way to colour it in.

From then on, the two of you were inseparable. Nellie loved you of course, and saw you as her honorary best friend as well, as did the rest of the siblings (even though Shirley would never admit it, and Theo was too stubborn to), which meant constant sleepovers at Hill House.

Hugh would always chuckle and shake his head when he peeked into Luke and Nellie’s room, seeing Nell asleep on a red bean bag with a half open bag of sweets lying deserted by her feet, and you and Luke sprawled out on the mat by the iron railings of his bed, snoring.

You were also the only one he allowed up into his treehouse. Although, sometimes he was too embarrassed to let you, or his siblings, in, because he had stuck pictures up on the wall of the drawings he had tried to do of you.

Growing up with Luke also meant having to calm him down after he starts seeing the tall, floating ghost. Sometimes you would try to climb up the ivy outside of his bedroom window, only to topple into the house headfirst when you start to hear Luke’s high pitched screaming coming from under his bed. Although Olivia would come running in, she would always end up comforting sobbing Nellie, as Luke would only grab onto you, the two of you sitting on the edge of his bed as you remind him the rule.

‘Breathe in and out Luke, that’s it. In and out, seven times - that’s what keeps you safe.’

‘Eight’, he would say with a trembling breath. ‘Eight times. You’re my family too.’

The two of you were gutted when Luke had to move away, but your parents could already see how close the two of you were, and so decided that a move away and a new school for you, perhaps, wasn’t the worst idea. Especially, they decided, since you had been there that night as well.

Although the two of you were close for the whole of your childhood, it takes Luke until he’s eighteen years old to realise just how long he’s really been in love with you. It takes some nudging on from Nellie, pointing out how you would run up to his locker during breaks between classes and just fill him in on how your day was going - each break, no matter how long it had been, without fail. Luke was the only person you wanted to talk to, and from the look of pure delight on Luke’s face as he leans against his locker door and gives his full, undivided attention to you, you’re the only person he wants to listen to.

Or how, Nellie would continue, you would come round to their house for dinner, and although Aunt Janet tried to separate the two of you by sitting you opposite each other, you would just spend the whole dinner ignoring whatever Theo was talking about and giving each other funny looks as you kicked each other in the shin.

Or, when the two of you got a bit older, and you would sneak out of your dorm to visit him in the middle of the night, throwing little rocks at his window until his curtains would rustle and the window latch would be thrown open, his grinning face peering down at you. Despite having spent the whole weekend together, reading to each other in the town’s local library, or just lying shoulder to shoulder watching movies, the two of you would sit out in his garden, on the dewy grass, constantly craving each other’s company. You made him blush one night, when you suddenly grabbed his hand and intertwined his growing fingers over your smaller ones, pointing up at the moon, and the glowing stars, not realising the little side eye, euphoric look he would give you.

That’s when he finally realised how immensely, and terrifyingly in love with you he was.

It scared him, to realise this, but deep down he knew it had always been you.

He has so many nightmares though. So many nights are spent with his head lying heavy in your lap, as you brush through his golden hair, trying to shush him and calm him down, or rocking him as he cries into your shoulder because of the nightmares he has about his mother, or about Abigail.

As the two of you start to escape your teenage years, and the wishful chasing after each other that came with it, your relationship becomes slightly more strained when he starts using. You choose to move in with Nellie for a while, once he finally goes to rehab. When she gets married, and you're forced to find somewhere new to live, you think you'll never hear from the Crains again - you get the odd visit from Nell, or Theo, but they're so busy enjoying the newly wed life, or studying for their degree that it's not enough - nothing fills the hole that comes from missing Luke.

It hurts that he never comes to see you, but little did you know that he used to sit at his little beige desk every night, underneath the barred window, just staring up at the moon as he bit on the edge of his pen, a feeling of such wistfulness and loneliness and longing weighing down his chest.

He used to write you a letter, every day, just pouring out all the feelings he was too afraid to tell you, but he always crumples them up and throws them away, too scared to send them.

When Steve phones you up to tell you the news about Nellie’s passing, you told him to immediately come and pick you up.

You're terrified when you open the door and walk out into the bone chilling night to hug him, your heart thumping in your chest when he tells you about how Luke has left rehab again and is somewhere out on the streets, probably using. It breaks your heart, but you know you have to be the one to find him, to bring him back.

When you reach him, and see the man you've loved since you were a child wandering, shoeless and shivering along the freezing, cracked pavement, muttering to himself, you can’t help a tear slip out as you unbuckle your seatbelt and hop out of Steve’s rental.

Luke is so terrified, he doesnt recognise you for a second. It’s only a second, though, before his eyes widen and he pounces on you, wrapping you into him so familiarly, his frame looming large above you but yet feels so fragile in your grasp as he buries his head into the side of your neck and starts crying.

‘I’m so, so cold, Y/n, and my arms are s-s-so stiff, and I’m s-so sorry, I’m so sorry-’

You can’t bear to tell him the news, so you just hold the nape of his neck and pull him tight against your chest, hating the way his whole body shakes in your hold.

On the day of Nell’s funeral, he doesn't leave your side once - it’s as if the two of you had never been separated at all. As everyone files in through the main door, ignoring the sour face on Shirley as they wander into the reception area, you and Luke just sit knee to knee on the couch opposite the entryway.

‘I tried to write to you,’ he starts, as he fumbles a cigarette from out of his breast pocket and tucks it away behind his ear, trying to busy himself with anything so he doesn’t have to meet your confused eyes, and so you don’t have to see the guilt ridden in his. ‘I want you to know that. Nellie kept on telling me off, but i just didn't know how to say what i needed to say to you.’

‘Luke, its okay, i understand how difficult it was for you-’

‘No-no, Y/n, no more excuses! You mean so much to me and i- i cant... i can't lose anyone else. Just-’

He's so gentle when he finally reaches over and kisses you, trying to shake off his fear and just show you what he meant instead. His suit rumples against your chest as he smooshes himself against you, cupping your cheeks softly with his large hands as he tilts you to the side to meet him in a needy, a desperate, a long anticipated kiss.

He doesn’t pull away - he can't - until you finally break for air, and only then does he finally concede and places his forehead against yours with a soft thud, just closing his eyes in both agony and bliss.

‘I’m sorry that took me so long to do.’

‘It was worth the wait. Although, I have to be honest, your timing has always been rubbish.’

He chuckles, his deep voice vibrating against your chest as he rests his head on your shoulder like a lost puppy, gazing up at you with those wide, lost eyes, and for the first time you can finally see the adoration and awe and just pure love that’s always been in them.

For the rest of the reception. before he tells you of his plans to go back and burn Hill House to the ground, is spent with the two of you escaping from his siblings by stepping outside and sitting on Shirley’s porch. Your arms stay linked tightly together, as if afraid to let go again, and his coat is wrapped around both of your shoulders as he rests against you, just content to be surrounded by your presence.

434 notes · View notes

atlasbarnes · 3 years

Text

helicopter ; bucky barnes

based on maisie peters’ song, “helicopter.” also inspired by this lovely message i got from a sweet anon, ily! i’m now obsessed with this entire album, ty for the recommendation! tws: strong language, mentions of blood, injury and mortality.

masterlist.

You’re always doing a hundred things a minute, or at least that what it looks like to Bucky. One minute you’re organising a party for Tony’s birthday, the next you’re surprising him with his favourite breakfast for no reason. You always look like you’re in the middle of doing something, but you always have a spare second for Bucky. Sometimes, he feels like a helicopter. He’s always hovering near you, to make sure you’re okay.

It was another day, another mission. Or that’s what you told Bucky, you told him not to worry, it was a simple extraction plan and that you and Nat would be able to handle it. So he tries not to worry, emphasis on the try. The entire time you were gone, he spent it in the gym with Sam, trying to occupy his mind.

When Fridays tells him that your jet just landed, he makes his way upstairs to greet you and ask how it was. He wasn’t expecting to walk into his living nightmare.

Natasha is panicked, speaking a hundred miles a minute to the medical team and doctors who were wheeling someone - not just someone, you - into the medical wing. All Bucky can see is blood, blood where blood shouldn’t be. Bright red, staining your hands and face and skin.

“Bucky.”

He hears his name, but all he can see is you. Barely alive, fading away.

“Bucky!”

Turning, he sees Natasha beckoning to him. When he looks back at you, you’re gone. He can hear the doctors and nurses in their hushed tones down the hall and he has no choice but to follow Natasha.

“What happened?” He asks, collapsing onto the chair across from Nat. She was holding her side, wincing in pain as she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

She sighs. “It was supposed to be a simple extraction. We were meant to go in, get the fugitive and leave. But, there was a hostage. A girl, we don’t know where she came from but the hostage was screaming and Y/N did what she thought was right, she rolled the dice and traded places with the hostage. He shot her but didn’t stop there. I didn’t even know she needed help, her comms went down. I found her, bloody and bruised.”

Natasha stops and takes a breath and Bucky thinks he’s heard the worst of it. But she carries on talking. “When I found them, I heard him break her ribs. She stopped screaming then. I shot him, he was dead before he hit the ground. But I had to drag her out of there.”

Bucky can’t see straight. He’s never been this angry before, his hands are shaking, his breathing is uneven and he can’t think of anything apart from you.

“She told me to tell you that she was sorry,” Nat whispers.

The first thing you feel is pain. The pain that erupts across your middle, spreading to your arms, legs, head, every part of you feeling heavy.

“Fuck,” you mumble, slowly opening your eyes.

Bucky was half asleep in the chair next to your bed, snapping into action the second he heard you. “Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey,” you mumble back, unable to speak any louder.

You wince, the pain in your torso increasing each time you took a breath. “Lemme guess, broken ribs?” You ask, having seen so many of your friends go through similar injuries, you knew what the signs were.

“Broken ribs, concussion, sprained ankle, broken wrist and about a hundred bruises and flesh wounds,” he answers, not meeting your eye.

“Yikes, guess I’m not gonna be up for our morning run tomorrow,” you joke, smiling at him. He doesn’t smile back. “What is it, Buck?”

He sighs, his hands in fists in his lap. “Why’d you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Trade places with the hostage.”

Sighing, you ignore the pain in your ribs. “She was so scared, Buck. It was an easy decision.”

He shakes his head, still not looking at you.

“I’d rather it be me every time than an innocent victim.”

“But that doesn’t mean you’re expendable!” He exclaims. “I know you were doing the right thing, and I can’t blame you for that, because I like to think I would do the same thing. But you act like you’re immortal, you throw your mortality around like it’s nothing.”

“Bucky, I-.”

“You don’t see how many people are affected by you. Everyone in this tower, Nat, Sam - me - you’re not expendable. Not at all.”

Bucky hadn’t had an outbreak like this in a while.

“James,” you breathe, voice tired. “I don’t think I’m expendable. Every time I leave this tower, my only thought is coming back to you. How I can come back in one piece and together. But leaving that hostage behind, letting her die, I wouldn’t have come home in one piece. Not mentally at least. I did what I had to do, believe me, getting beaten half to death was not in my plans for today.”

Bucky finally draws his eyes up and looks at you. “You’re just, humans are so fragile. You don’t regenerate cells like I do. You take one bad hit, one bullet, and that’s it. That’s not fair.”

Reaching for his hand, you slowly intertwine your fingers with his metal ones. “I know. I know, my love. It’s not fair, but I promise you that I will always do everything I can to come back home to you. And I am here, aren’t I? I’m back home?”

“I just - I can’t lose you,” he whispers.

“You won’t.”

Bucky likes to act careless. Or, at least, to you he does. He doesn’t cross at crosswalks, he doesn’t always wear his seatbelt and he likes to walk around in the middle of the winter with no jacket. Maybe careless is a bit of a strong word, but he does scare you sometimes.

You’re walking with him down the street, hand in hand. He goes to cross the road and for once, you don’t let him cross in the middle of the road. Gently pulling his hand, you shake your head and indicate for him to cross at the crosswalk a little up the road. He doesn’t argue, he follows your lead.

Later that day, you see him flipping a knife in his flesh hand as he waits for the coffee machine to brew. You know that his hand is covered in little scars, ranging from knife wounds to worse. Carefully coming up behind him, you take the knife from his hand and place it on the counter, kissing his cheek and leaving him confused.

By the time you crawl into bed, you’re convinced you’ve spent the entire day hovering over Bucky. You had never noticed before how many times during the day he does little things, small things that scare you.

“You were acting a bit weird today,” Bucky observes, his hand mindlessly tracing circles on your skin.

“Hmmmm, I never realised how nonchalant about things you were,” you reply.

“Nonchalant?” He repeats, confusion apparent in his tone.

“Yeah, you don’t always look before crossing the street. And you play with knives like you don’t know how sharp they are. It’s like your fight or flight, your sense of danger, is rusty.”

“Well, I am over 100 years old,” he laughs. “I never noticed before. No one’s ever noticed before,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.

“I didn’t mean to act weird, I just worry about you,” you shrug.

“No, no, it’s okay. I’ll try and be more careful, I should be more careful.”

“It’s because I love you, that’s why I hover too close sometimes. I want you to be safe,” you whisper.

Bucky, in his 100 years of living, had never had anyone care this much about him. Love him this deeply. Someone to watch his every move, to notice things like this. To pick up on his habit of playing with knives (something he himself had tried to do less of, he was sick of the constant nicks in his skin), or to notice how he often didn’t cross the road in the right place. He had never been this important to someone.

“I love you too. I am safe, I promise. I’m always safe with you,” he replies, his voice heavy with emotion.

“Good. You’re my favourite person,” you mumble, voice thick with sleep. Bucky hears you fall asleep, your breathing even out. The words ‘favourite person’ bury themselves in his heart, threatening to overwhelm him with emotions.

So this is what it felt like to be loved.

#hmmm the ending??? we don't know her #but this was so much fun to write! god i love bucky #bucky barnes fic #bucky x you #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x reader #marvel fics #Marvel writing #marvel fluff #marvel imagines #bucky fluff #writing

64 notes · View notes

notabloodmage · 3 years

Text

Even then. (DA2 fic)

doin some writing on my canon version of the Hawke family!! this is kind of messy but i needed to get some ideas down ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ anyway listen to me there is nothing in canon that says malcolm hawke couldn’t be an elf @ bioware let me have this

They hadn’t planned to settle in Lothering. Leandra was five months pregnant, the plan was to keep pressing towards the wilds, in hopes of finding a band of Chasind or Avvar that wouldn’t be so opposed to Malcolm’s magical abilities. The prospect frightened Leandra, but Malcolm insisted it was their best shot at a Templar-free life.

The storm had caught them off guard.

The torrential downpour was on them suddenly, and all at once. Malcolm had enough mana remaining to protect them from lightning, but there was no way for him to subtly shield them from the cold that was creeping in through the wet. Ferelden was not always an easy place to live, but it had to be better than Kirkwall.

At least that’s what Malcolm repeated to himself as he scooped his firstborn child up into his arms, trying to ignore the way his back ached from days upon days of travel. The long nights of sleeping on the cold hard ground probably weren’t helping either.

They’d passed several small settlements on the road, but they always tried to avoid contact with other people. People didn’t even need to suspect him of being a mage--being an elf was bad enough for a lot of the country folk. He couldn’t take five steps in a town without being accused of stealing, it seemed.

They always tried to sleep beneath the stars if they could, or in a tent if they thought it would be well hidden enough. Leandra had accused him of being paranoid, now that they were already so far from home but as far as Malcolm was concerned you couldn’t be too careful.

He had done so much--sacrificed all of his ideals-- just to get them this far, and Maker be damned if he was going to be caught now.

Still, in a storm like this exceptions had to be made, and Leandra had spotted an old farmhouse on the horizon. Malcolm, while hesitant, grew more and more at ease as they approached. It seemed to be abandoned.

The couple trudged through the rain hand in hand. The land surrounding the farmhouse was uneven, muddy, and completely overgrown. Malcolm prayed that the rain would cover their tracks as they made their way to the

It was a little worse for wear, looking like it had been sitting untouched for years which was a blessing in disguise because all it took was a swift kick (combined with a bit of mana, of course) to break the rusted padlock.

Malcolm guided them in cautiously, scanning the room for any threats. Abandoned didn’t mean safe. He wasted no time setting up wards to protect them-- but Malcolm was tired too.

Perhaps he’d missed a spot, perhaps he hadn’t been as thorough as he’d thought. Perhaps his wards were weak with his exhaustion as he joined his wife and daughter on a bed of stale hay. Perhaps he’d been distracted with casting a quick warming spell to ensure the most important people in his life slept soundly. Perhaps he’d given in, for a moment, to the sense of hope burning brightly in his chest as he pulled his family close. He slept far too soundly that night. Better than he had in months.

The high-pitched creak of the barn door swinging open jerked the three of them awake.

Rays of sunlight were streaming in through the rafters--had morning really come so soon?

The sight was so peaceful that Malcolm nearly didn’t register the clunk of boots on the wooden floor, and the wide figure stepped towards him, fiddling with the trigger of a small hunting crossbow. Malcolm scrambled back, drawing Leandra closer with one arm while the other fumbled for his staff--lost in the hay.

“Hold still now, friend, I’d prefer not to use this--”

“Stay away from my family!!” The stranger was interrupted by his daughter’s tiny voice.

She had leaped out of the shadows beside them, brandishing the pocket knife that Malcolm kept strapped to his belt.

How did she-- Malcolm didn’t have time to finish the thought. He rushed forward, intent on yanking her back by the shirt collar. He’d been in such a deep state of sleep that he hadn’t even registered her absence. Then again, she was always so sneaky. Malcolm hadn’t the faintest clue where she’d gotten it from, but she had a way of sinking into the shadows and completely disappearing.

She was only four, and a tiny little thing at that-- shaking in the little booties Leandra had made her. Leaping to defend her family with a .

So brave, even then.

“Minerva NO!!” Leandra was shrieking. “Don’t shoot, serah--please!! Minnie get back here--“

For a moment Malcolm thought that all was lost. He pictured himself in chains, being dragged away by Templars-- leaving his wife and daughter alone and penniless in a foreign land. He’d let them down. He’d failed.

The atmosphere of the room changed entirely, however, when the stranger began to laugh.

It wasn’t a bad laugh.

Not condescending. Not cruel.

It was light and youthful, despite the obvious late-middle-age of its owner. It rang through the morning air like a Chantry bell on the breeze. It was the kind of pure laugh that can only be created by the innocence of a child. In that moment the light in Malcolm’s chest returned, soothing his racing heart. He paused, studying the face of the stranger in the barn doorway as he raised his weapon in mock surrender, humouring the child.

“Oh my! Be careful with that, little dragonling!” The stranger smiled down at the child warmly, crouching down to her level to look her in the eyes, before his gaze rose to her fathers, noting the matching eyes that seemed to burn with something he couldn’t quite name. Malcolm saw what he hoped was understanding in the old man’s eyes. “Put that there knife away, and settle down. We can talk this out, I promise.”

Malcolm hurriedly ushered Minerva behind him-- the child kept her eyes glued to the intruder, even when she began to cling to her father’s pant leg. Malcolm could feel her trembling, so he reached down and carded a comforting hand through a mop of brown curls that matched his own, trying to be as brave as his daughter.

A tense quiet had settled over the barn as Malcolm tried to appraise the man before him, who was doing the same. They must’ve been quite the sight--all clinging to each other, covered in hay. Malcolm didn’t dare reach for his staff, he just prayed that wherever the damned thing was it was out of sight.

Finally the stranger huffed, standing and leaning back on his heels.

“Name’s Barlin,” The stranger jutted his chin at Malcolm, crossing his arms casually. “Sorry for bargin’ in on ya.”

“Malcolm…” He held his head high, meeting Barlin’s eyes as he introduced himself. “Malcolm Hawke.”

“Quite the little bodyguard you have there,” Barlin’s voice was genuine. Warm.

Malcolm’s mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile.

“Small but mighty,” He could feel Minerva nodding against his thigh, as well as the tears she was smearing into the fabric of his trousers.

He called her that a lot, especially when she was little. Such a simple little phrase, but it always made Minerva feel big, in a way.

“Look, I was just checkin’ to make sure you all weren’t bandits, or bears, or something.” The man shrugged disarmingly. “I didn’t come here for a fight. Lothering’s a peaceful little town, and we like to keep it that way.”

“Peaceful? What’s that like?” Malcolm’s sarcastic question slipped from his mouth before he could stop it, and Leandra squeezed his shoulder tightly in warning.

Barlin merely chuckled, smiling at him wryly.

“Y’all don’t look like the type of folk who are accustomed to peaceful.” He observed. “I’m just glad you got out of the storm-- it was a good one!”

Barlin took a step inside, eyes travelling upward, surveying how the roof sagged and leaked. The old building had fallen into disrepair, but it wasn’t unsalvageable.

“Look, this place ain’t even mine. It was my brother’s before he moved to Denerim for work. Place hasn’t seen any life in aside from rats and the occasional nug in a while, as I'm sure you’ve noticed.”

The old man paused for a moment, gaze landing on the family before him. He’d later told Malcolm that he’d had a good feeling in his gut about them, and his gut was just about the only thing he trusted.

“I run the tavern in town, why don’t you all come back with me and let me fix you something to eat.”

Minerva perked up at that, and even Malcolm couldn’t stop his mouth from watering at the prospect of a hot meal. Leandra looked cautious, but when he met her gaze she nodded slowly. Barlin smiled at that.

“Come on, while we walk, why don’t you tell me what you know about farming?”

Malcolm would find out through gossip in the years to come that Barlin had been trying to get rid of that property for years, but that didn’t change the kindness. He didn’t ask anything about where they’d come from or why they were running. He asked Malcolm what he did and he’d told him he was an herbalist--which wasn’t a lie, and he suspected Barlin could tell.

“Herbalism? Farming? Sounds like the same thing to me.”

The old man let Malcolm pay him back for the land over time after they’d settled in and started earning some money. He’d also scoffed at the notion of charging interest.

The farmhouse was rotting and falling apart, but with a lot of hard work (and a bit of hidden, domestic magic) they turned it into a home. Minerva grew up toddling around the gardens and helping Malcolm till the fields. She’d climbed gnarled tree in their front yard to watch the sun rise every morning since she was six, regardless of weather, much to Leandra’s chagrin.

His eldest child had grown up far too quickly for his liking, and couldn’t help but blame himself. He knew it wasn’t fair to place her in charge of her siblings, especially with the added responsibility of protecting Bethany--but Minerva would insist that she could handle it. She’d lead the twins on adventures in the fields and forests surrounding the little town-- quests, she always called them.

They had to work hard, but Malcolm had taught her to always try to make it fun. The children would race each other home, Minerva usually in front, although Carver would occasionally shove his way past her. Bethany was a lot quicker than she looked too--and always smarter than she let on. Malcolm would never forget the looks on Minerva and Carver’s faces the time he’d taught Bethany how to freeze their feet to the ground, nor Bethany’s own wide grin as she’d crossed the finish line (their garden gate), cheering with victory as Carver swore and Minerva laughed alongside her.

His children were adventurous-- all three of them. Malcolm had lost count of the amount of times Carver and Bethany had burst through the door, shouting that Minerva was in trouble. She had a habit of getting stuck in trees, that girl... Bethany claimed to be the least so, favouring staying inside to study most days, especially as she got older, but even she couldn’t resist the call of a bright summer day.

Minerva always knew exactly what to say to coax her out of hiding, too. Be it a promise to stop by the Chantry for one song, or spinning a scheme so grand that even Bethany couldn’t resist. Bethany was more competitive than she let on, and Minerva was always too clever for her own good. The eldest sister got herself and Carver into heaps of trouble throughout their youth. They were so rambunctious, and Minerva was always pressing Carver’s buttons on purpose, but never in a way that pushed the lad too far.

Always so precise, even then.

Malcolm had had to come down hard on her only once. She’d set off a tar bomb in barracks of the local Templars, bringing the Knight Captain huffing and puffing to their doorstep, completely unaware that he was in the presence of not one, but two apostates. Leandra was beside herself, disguising her frantic panic for Bethany’s safety as being furious at the tar tracked all over their home. Andraste’s Mercy, she had given poor Minerva an earful. Malcolm knew it was mostly for show-- so the templars could believe it was just a well-meant prank by some kid. Malcolm had a reputation around town for being good around a cauldron, and he promised to supply the knight commander with a free shipment of potions, and assurance that Minerva would clean up the mess. Minerva had inherited his alchemic ability. but not his connection to the fade. He’d taught her the recipe himself, so she could help him fix the thatching on their chicken coop.

He was mostly just mad he didn’t think of this himself--he would’ve done the same at her age. He couldn’t tell her that, though, could he?What he did tell her was that she was old enough to know better, he’d said. Perhaps that was too harsh… For the Maker’s sake she was only ten...

He’d come up to her guiltily that evening, offering her a glass of her favourite tea-- a recipe they’d invented together. She was gazing up at the stars, before she mumbled an apology and he did too.

He made it up to her by telling a story about a similar prank he played on the templars back at the Gallows.

“I know they’re the worst, but provoking them won’t do us any favours, Mighty Mini,” The nickname made her giggle. “It’s not your fight.” That made her pause.

“But…” She looked up at him, eyes full of concern. “They make things just awful for you and Bethany!” She protested. “You shouldn’t have to hide your magic! Magic is good!” She said it with childlike simplicity. He’d taught her well… Maybe a little too well, if he was being honest.

“I know, Min, it isn’t fair, but that doesn’t mean you should go out of your way to cause problems for the templars. You don’t want their attention. Think of Bethany.” He gave her shoulder a firm squeeze.

She stilled, gazing at her feet.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He took her up into a tight hug. “It’s just not fair...”

Always seeking justice, even then.

Malcolm was far from the perfect father, but, Maker, did he try. At the very least, he was always there when his children needed him. Even years later, he cherished every moment spent outside the walls of the Gallows.

He was able to give his kids the childhood he’d always wanted-- more or less.

On (idk what the dragon age equivalent to Sundays is but That LMAO) Minerva and Carver would spar for hours, using swords carved out of sticks they’d found exploring woods, while Malcolm, Bethany, and Leandra would go into town. Malcolm would take care of the shopping for the week and the two of them would head to the Chantry for the service. Bethany always tithed her allowance at the Chantry, even when her siblings teased her for it. She was always such a sweet, gentle girl. She wanted to help, and the cloister in Lothering was vastly different from the Kirkwall Chantry. They were a peaceful folk, down to earth.

Once their farm was in its prime the revered mother even asked to buy some of their harvested herbs for their healers on a yearly basis, and Malcolm given it to her for free--inspired by the kindness of his youngest daughter. He knew the gift of magic weighed on the poor girl, and he wished he could take the burden from her.

He would’ve preferred they not have to worry about hiding his and Bethany’s magic at all, but he figured that this was as good as it was going to get.

And it was good, indeed. For a time.

Minerva grew up with a Father who could coax her down from the trees she’d get stuck in, and catch her when she fell. Bethany had a Father who could guide her in the ways of the Fade and teach her not to fear her power, but to control it with ease. Carver had a Father who encouraged his study of the blade despite having no combat experience of his own.

Whatever made them happy, as long as they were safe, just, and kind. That was who their father was.

Malcolm Hawke died too young, and too suddenly.

The fever came when Minerva had just turned seventeen, and the twins were only twelve. The illness swept through their entire family, but it took her Father with it when it left. He was buried beneath the apple tree in their garden as a free man. Not a mage, just Malcolm Hawke. His children worked in tandem to carve a headstone themselves, nestling it with care between the roots.

Lothering wasn’t the same after Malcolm died. Minerva did her best to fill the void, standing in as her Sister’s keeper, trying to smile her way through the tears the way her Father taught her to.

Carver left to join the king’s army as soon as he turned sixteen, prying himself out of his mother’s arms with a groan. Leandra drew her daughters even closer in his absence, especially Bethany. The young mage became even more reclusive, afraid to wander too far from home by herself. She became convinced that the Templars in Lothering suspected something, no matter how many times Minerva assured her of how careful they’d been.

Then, Carver was back, and the Blight was upon them. They’d only had a few short days on the run to cherish their brother’s return before the darkspawn ripped him away from them once more, this time for good.

The farmhouse in Lothering never received a proper goodbye from the family that had inhabited it for all those years. The Blight fell upon them far too suddenly for them to grab anything more than their most precious of possessions before running for the hills.

Barlin visits it sometimes, finding the tombstone beneath the trees. The old man hasn’t died yet, even though he’s buried many of his juniors. He chats to the stone as he clears it of moss, pulling out a book with a dwarvish name on the cover.

The eldest Hawke child--the little dragonling who’d stood her ground in that old farmhouse brandishing a knife while shaking like a leaf all those years ago had done quite well for herself, it seemed. Barlin was glad of it. He hadn’t known Malcolm was a mage, but it certainly made a lot about the strange elf make sense.

Barlin wonders sometimes if the Champion of Kirkwall knows how proud those few that survived Lothering are of her.

#barlin is an icon ok i love that dude #he's just a crazy old man who like poison and i can respect that #anyway here's some Emotions #Hawke #bethany hawke #carver hawke #the hawke family #amell #leandra hawke #leandra amell #malcolm hawke #elf malcolm hawke #rogue hawke #dragon age 2 #da2 #da2 fanfic #minerva hawke #handers #if you squint

16 notes · View notes

alittlewhump · 3 years

Text

Unbidden - Act 1, chapter 4

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: fantasy violence, death mention, fantasy religion

They had travelled for another half a day before reaching the remains of the little town. It had been thoroughly sacked, most of the buildings now just burned out husks. Blaise was staring down at the body of what had presumably been one of the inhabitants. Morgan could tell she was distressed, and she was also sending signals of anger. It was becoming apparent that anger was a standard underpinning of most of her other emotions. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides.

"He was just a kid."

Morgan didn't know how to respond. The boy had been prepubescent, the small size of his body accentuated by the large and ungainly prosthetic leg still partially attached under one knee. The forces of darkness did not discriminate, equitable in their ruthlessness. That would not be the correct thing to say right now. He ventured a soft "Yes," to which Blaise did not respond. He raised a hand, thinking to lay it on her shoulder in a gesture of sympathy he'd seen many times, but then let it fall back to his side. She would likely only take offense, not comfort, from that action. He didn't particularly like touching other people anyway, if it could be avoided.

Morgan squinted instead toward the ruined town, looking more with his mind than with his eyes. There were more like the boy, all adults but recently deceased, their bones partially scattered above the ground. It was most often undead that left their victims this way, torn asunder carelessly. They were slow enemies whose movements were easy to predict. Should be simple enough. Hopefully the scholar they sought had been fast enough to hide himself away or make an escape.

Morgan's skeletons turned in unison, raising their swords in challenge. He often relied on their perception to fill in the gaps where he wasn't paying attention. There was a yelp, and a small red demon scampered out from behind a ruined building. It didn't make it far. Before the skeletons had a chance to charge, Blaise had planted an arrow between its shoulders. Its dying cry echoed through the remnants of the town, prompting a rush of activity. It seemed a number of demons had settled in. The undead had simply been scavenging, then. That could complicate things.

Morgan urged his skeletons forward, taking a step back as he started on a clay golem. He'd managed to get the time down to about thirty seconds, but it was evident that wouldn't be fast enough for most combat situations. He would have to keep working at it.

Blaise was proving to be an extremely skilled archer. Her shots were both quick and accurate, devastating to the smaller demons. It wasn't just the imps, though; there was a group of larger demons as well, goatlike bipeds wielding wicked-looking glaives. They moved to flank the invading humans, but Morgan spotted the maneuver and commanded his minions to intercept the closest ones. Their awareness was reasonably comprehensive, but his own let him down. If the goatman behind him hadn't bleated as it raised its weapon to strike, it could easily have finished him with a single blow.

He twisted sideways, narrowly avoiding the strike. Drawing his sword was easier from the far hip after all. He plunged it blindly into the demon's middle before it had a chance to raise its weapon a second time. Accuracy wasn't paramount at the moment, just so long as he got the point far enough in and wrenched to the side with sufficient strength. He jumped back, avoiding the spray of viscera that followed his blade as the demon fell.

He should have been checking for other threats instead; if he had, he might have noticed the small one creeping up behind him, emboldened by the presence of the stronger demons. It swung its blade with a battle cry, slicing into the flesh of Morgan's thigh. He cried out in surprise and pain, lashing out with his shield to gain some distance. The demon was already backing off, its fit of courage fading. It was watching him so intently that it didn't notice the skeleton behind it. A single well-aimed thrust saw it fall with a gurgle.

Morgan pressed a hand to the cut on his leg. The blade hadn't severed anything crucial, but the pain would hamper his mobility and the wound was deep enough to warrant treatment. He ordered the skeleton closer as he felt around in the pouch on his belt, fingers seeking a familiar shape - there. He uncorked the small bottle with his teeth and downed its contents. The taste of the potion lingered on his tongue, but it was mildly sweet and herbaceous, not at all unpleasant. It would only be a few minutes before the injury was fully healed. It already felt a little better.

The few remaining demons had incapacitated the other skeleton but they were fleeing now, not that it was doing them much good in the face of Blaise's arrows. She was merciless and efficient. Morgan could see why Kashya had chosen her for the task. Something was amiss, though. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. He looked around again, and his eyes fell on one of the deceased civilians. That was it - the body showed signs of undead interference, but they had slain only demons. The two types of creatures often coexisted peacefully, so it wasn't likely that one group had driven out the other.

"That's the last of them," Blaise announced, lowering her bow. "Now let's hope we can find this guy quickly so we can leave. I don't like this place."

"It looked like there would be undead, so be - oh, look there-" Something was stirring, far enough away that Morgan couldn't make out exactly what it was, but the movement wasn't promising. He pointed with his sword, his minions already on their way to investigate. Blaise nocked another arrow and raised her bow.

An enormous zombie staggered toward them. Had it been... hiding? Or just somehow unaware of the skirmish? It was surprisingly fast for its size. It was also unexpectedly strong, Morgan realized as it shattered the skeleton's skull with a single powerful strike. Blaise was on the retreat, peppering it with arrows that didn't seem to be having much effect. The clay golem made it stumble with a blow to its side, but it struck out in retaliation with such force that the construct crumbled to pieces. Morgan weighed his options quickly. It was too fast for another golem. A new skeleton might be fast enough, but it would only be able to serve as a momentary distraction. With his injured leg he wouldn't even be able to outrun this one if he fled, never mind what that might mean for Blaise. He had to find a way to separate the head from the body, or destroy the brain. Not ideal, given his limited physical capacity, but then again neither was dying.

Blaise called out, "Some support would be nice!" Yes, it - oh, she meant from him. The zombie was focused on her as the only aggressor. He did have the weaponry better suited to dispatch it, if only he could reach its head. He struck the hilt of his sword against his buckler and shouted, hoping the noise would get its attention. It did not. If it was going to ignore him, maybe he could use that to his advantage.

Morgan darted in, intending to strike at the zombie's knees. Joints were always vulnerable, good targets for incapacitating an enemy. He was too slow - it finally turned toward him with a fierce swing of its arm. He managed to get his shield up in time, but the blow still lifted him off his feet. The uneven terrain and his injury made for a poor landing but an idea sparked as he stumbled, falling into a crouch with one hand braced on the ground.

He sent a tendril of magic shooting forth through the soil, just a small one for the sake of speed. If this didn't work, he might not have the time for a second try. The earth in front of the zombie rose up and curled back to cover its feet. It was not coordinated enough to avoid the crude trap. Morgan picked himself up as the undead fell to its knees, finally bringing its weak point within range. He quickly positioned the tip of his sword at the base of its skull and gave it a hard thrust, pushing with the force of both hands. There was a snap as the spine gave way, and the body collapsed.

That had felt a little too close for comfort. Morgan summoned another skeleton and sent it to scout for any more undead. Another surprise like that would be disastrous. If he kept a steady trickle of magic flowing between himself and the skeleton, he would be able to tell immediately if it had been damaged or destroyed.

"All right, now let's look for your man Deckard. Carefully. There had better not be any more of these big fuckers lurking around." Blaise nudged the body gingerly with her foot.

They moved through the town warily at first, growing more relaxed as it became apparent that they had fully cleared out its new inhabitants. A few of the buildings had cellars dug out beneath them, but they had all been empty. It was starting to look like there had been no survivors at all when Blaise spotted something.

"Wait, is that him?"

Morgan followed her gaze to a crudely constructed cage leaning up against a building. He had assumed the prone figure inside it, half hidden by rags, had been another body. But when he reached out, first with his mind alone and then with an extended arm to better direct the magic, there was no response - no bones he could use, unlike the rest of the unfortunate townsfolk.

"That one's not dead," he said, moving in closer. The pale figure was unconscious, yes, but still living. It looked like it might be an old man.

"How do you - ugh, I don't want to know, never mind." Blaise made it to him first, reaching through the bars of the cage to check for a pulse at the old man's throat. She must have found one, since her next move was to shake his shoulder gently.

He startled awake, eyes wide. "Back! Back, foul demons!" he cried out.

"Whoa, hey there, it's okay. Don't worry, my name is Blaise and I'm here to help you. The demons are gone. Are you all right? You hurt at all?" Her voice was reassuring, soothing. Her features had softened into an expression of genuine concern.

"You... oh, thank heavens! It's so good to see a friendly face. No, my dear, I'm a little worse for the wear but I'm not injured. I don't suppose you might have some water to share, would you? I'm absolutely parched."

Morgan had reached the cage by that time, and passed his waterskin through the bars. Blaise moved to examine the lock on the cage, giving it a very brief examination before fishing out two slender metal tools from her pack. "I'll have you out of there in no time," she reassured him as she began working at the lock.

The scouting skeleton hadn't encountered anything of note, but the earlier surprise was still troubling Morgan. He decided to raise another golem to join the perimeter guard, just to be on the safer side. To his surprise, the old man brightened as the shape began to take form.

"Ah, geomancy! It's been a rather long time since I've seen that particular school of magic. And so sombre, too - would I be right in guessing you to be followers of Rathma?" The old man pulled himself upright, leaning on the cage bars for support as the lock cracked open in Blaise's hands.

"Just me."

"Just him."

Blaise seemed surprised by their response in unison, but it didn't appear to faze the other man at all. "Well," he said, "whatever your origins, I'm grateful for the rescue. My name is Deckard Cain." That was excellent news. A stroke of luck that the sole survivor was the man they had been looking for. He kept talking as he stepped out of the cage. "When the demons descended, I was sure I was not long for this world. I can't imagine what possessed them to lock me up in there, but it certainly saved me from sharing a fate with everyone else here." He looked sadly at one of the human bodies, a woman who appeared to have died in the street, reaching toward the door of a house. "I only wish there was something I could have done to prevent this tragedy. These were good people. They didn't deserve this."

"I could give them their final rites," Morgan suggested. Nothing could undo what had happened, but at least the dead could be laid to rest properly. It might give some measure of comfort to the old man as well. All things considered, it felt like an acceptable delay.

Cain laid a hand on Morgan's shoulder. He flinched only slightly at the unexpected contact. "Thank you, friend. It is kind of you to offer, and I can think of no one better than a priest of Rathma to lay these people to rest."

Blaise coughed. "Are you sure about that? You... you know what they do with skeletons, right?"

"My dear, I assure you there are none more suited to care for the dead. I visited a temple of Rathma once for several months in my younger days, far to the southeast..."

Morgan half listened as he stowed his shield. It was a simple enough line to draw, though it seemed unlikely that Blaise would be interested in the particulars: bodies that had been consecrated, no matter the particulars of the faith that informed the process, felt different than ones that had not received that treatment. They were easy to sense and avoid, and besides that, they were considerably harder to raise. Powerful practitioners were capable of such feats, but despite their reputation, priests of their Order gave the dead every courtesy they would afford the living. It wasn't uncommon to meet resistance even in the dead that had passed on unremarked; in these cases, a necromancer could either leave the spirit be or pass it through the veil as they deemed appropriate. Morgan preferred the option of assisting with the passing on, though he hadn't ever personally had the opportunity. It felt like it would be better than just leaving them to linger.

The first stages of preparation for this particular ceremony didn't require much concentration, just some physical effort to collect and lay out the deceased. Including the boy from the outskirts of the town, there were six bodies to inter. There was a good spot near the central part of the town, likely once a market of some sort. It seemed unlikely that anyone would be rushing to rebuild the town any time soon, he reasoned.

"Excuse me, young man." Morgan stopped to look at Cain, who was wearing an apologetic smile. "I hate to be a bother, but..." He gestured toward the remains of the enormous zombie. "This gentleman is... or was, rather... Griswold, the town blacksmith. Stone deaf but a heart of gold in him. He did great things, in life. Is there any way you could include him as well?"

"Yes, of course." Morgan considered the body for a moment before calling his golem back over from where it had been patrolling the area. Even with its help, it was difficult to maneuver the corpse over to the others. But they managed eventually, making him the seventh in the line. Cain chattered on to Blaise the entire time, but clearly he was also paying some attention to Morgan.

"That's everyone," he confirmed before Morgan had even opened his mouth to ask. "It saddens me to see this lively town reduced to so little. Rest well, my friends."

That was a recognizable cue. Morgan began by consecrating the zombie, drawing a small phial of oil from his chest pocket and anointing its head and hands. The oil glowed faintly as he said a brief incantation, an ancient prayer. The first step completed, he switched to a different oil and drew a simple sigil on the forehead of each of the deceased. This anointment was to help guide the spirits up to Anu. As he recited the liturgy, he was surprised to hear Cain's voice joining his own during the repeated segments. He filed that away to consider later. Right now he needed to concentrate.

Seven was a lot of bodies to inter, but if he let the constructs fall and paced himself he could probably manage. He knelt by Griswold and touched the earth. Carefully, slowly, it parted beneath the giant of a man. Once the body was several feet deep, the dirt filled in on top of him, leaving a small mound on the surface. The effort left him slightly winded. It had been a good idea to start with the largest. The next two were easier, but the cumulative strain was growing faster than he'd anticipated. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead and he'd lost his breath again. Better to pause now than to have to stop in the middle of an interment, he decided.

He took a small bottle from his belt, uncorked it and tossed back the bitter bluish liquid in one motion, kneeling again before the dizziness set in. The familiar buzz of magical energy crackled through him. It itched under his skin. He would have preferred to rest instead of taking the potion, but interrupting the ceremony was not an option. The whole point was to respectfully lay them to rest; stopping for a break would have felt disrespectful. He had to press on.

Despite his measured approach, Morgan was trembling with exhaustion by the time the last body was safely entombed. Seven had turned out to be too many. The potion had helped, but its borrowed energy left as suddenly as it came, and the body shakes it left in its wake were uncomfortable. He fell into a cross-legged position, elbows braced on his knees, head hanging as his chest heaved. Meditation wasn't going to cut it after this. He was going to need real sleep. Still, it was satisfying to feel he'd done a good job of the burial ceremony. He was also grateful that Blaise had elected to keep watch during the proceedings. He'd been forced to abandon his minions to save energy. Had he been alone, safety would have been a serious concern.

Blaise cleared her throat. "Not to kill the moment or anything, but we need to start going before it gets dark. It's a long way back to the Sisterhood."

"Perhaps I can help with that," Cain said. Morgan raised his head to see him produce a small scroll from the pockets of his robe. "This is a scroll of town portal. Have you ever used one before?" Blaise shook her head. "Oh, it's very simple. You just need to picture a place in your head as you read it, and it will open a portal to that place. It only works for human settlements, and the place has to be within a certain distance. But if your description is accurate, as I'm sure it is, the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye should meet those requirements." He held the scroll out for Blaise to take. "I must admit I've never visited, so I can't use this to get to our destination."

Blaise took the scroll and opened it, peering at its contents. Nothing happened. She turned it sideways, then upside down. No portal materialized. She looked up at Cain. "Am I missing something here? I thought this was supposed to be easy."

He frowned. "It should be. Let me look - no, no, the scroll is in order. It should work for you if you're following the instructions. Unless - well, there are a few reasons it might not be working. It could be a matter of lineage, for instance. Were your parents both human?"

Blaise stared at him as though he'd just grown another head. "What else would they be?"

"I've used those scrolls before," Morgan said, rising unsteadily to his feet. He had used the portals fairly regularly, running errands during his training. A throbbing ache was building behind his eyes, and he wanted very much to rest. He was seriously considering curling up in one of the ruined buildings at this point. But that wouldn't take the other people into consideration. Assuming the portal scroll worked, it would be the best course of action to take.

Blaise held it at arm's length. "If you can make it work, go ahead. But if not, we start walking."

Morgan took the scroll, scanning the familiar runes. It wasn't reading, exactly, but they started to glow all the same. He thought about the rogue encampment, focusing on the spot just outside the gates where he'd first waited for Blaise. A shimmering blue circle materialized in front of him, the image of the camp faintly distinguishable in its centre. It stretched until it was big enough to walk through. No problem with the scroll, then.

"Magnificent!" Cain clasped his hands together. "It will be wonderful to be amongst people again. Please, after you."

Morgan would have preferred not to be the first one out of the portal, but Blaise wasn't moving to enter and he didn't have the energy to try to sway her. He stepped into the portal. It was like walking down a short hallway, the distance to the destination collapsed into a few steps. As he stepped out of the portal, he found a sword pointed at his face. His hands came up automatically in a gesture of surrender. Of course the rogues would be suspicious if they weren't accustomed to using this type of magic. That was precisely why he hadn't wanted to lead.

"Oh, it's you." Kashya lowered her sword. "Where's Blaise? Did you find Deckard Cain?"

"They are following," he said, letting his hands fall as he stepped to the side of the portal. He hoped they were following. He was too tired to explain if they weren't.

Sure enough, Cain emerged a few seconds later, peering around. "So this is the Sisterhood of the Sightless Eye! I've heard much about you. I wonder if you would indulge an old man's curiosity. I have some questions for you..." He had honed in on Akara without hesitation, taking her by the arm. She appeared surprisingly amenable; something about him seemed to put people at ease.

Blaise came through shortly after, straightening when she spotted Kashya. "Ma'am."

"Give me a full report."

The commander turned on her heel, going back into the encampment, and Blaise followed her. Good. That meant nobody wanted to talk to Morgan, and he could get some rest. He tore the scroll in half, disrupting the magic holding the portal open. Only living humans could use these portals, but it still felt safer to close it behind him. Unlike the others, he did not enter the encampment. Now was not the time to solicit an invitation. He'd noted a large, sturdy willow tree outside the northern corner of the rogues' camp. He dragged his weary body over to it, nestled in against its trunk, and promptly lost consciousness.

#my writing #story: unbidden #fantasy violence tw #death mention tw #fantasy religion tw

12 notes · View notes

witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

Text

Good as Gold pt.11

[part ten] | [part twelve] [prostitute!jaskier masterpost]

Geralt wakes in the middle of the night to something soft and hot pressed against his side. He realizes he's in Jaskier's bed, remembers falling asleep next to him - well fuck and exhausted. The warm body next to him is Jaskier. He's fine. He's safe.

A cry breaks through the stillness and next to him, Jaskier shudders. Immediately, Geralt is alert, instinctively checking the exits before looking Jaskier over. But no one is in the room and Jaskier is still asleep. A nightmare, he realizes and he reaches out to wake him but Jaskier players himself to Geralt's side. He drapes a hand over Geralt's thigh and a soft gasp is pulled from Geralt's lips as Jaskier rolls his hips, pressing the firm line of his erection into his hip. Not a nightmare, then.

Jaskier moves again, long languid rolls of his hips that have Geralt wide awake and biting back a moan. A spark of arousal shoots up his spine, and he wants to roll over, tangle their legs together, and let Jaskier take his pleasure from him. But it isn't right. Jaskier fucks him for coin, sure, but he's unconscious right now and this isn't something they've ever discussed.

Carefully, Geralt extracts himself from Jaskier's limbs, careful to touch him as little as possible. But Jaskier still stirs, stretching his legs before turning onto his stomach. He tips his head to look over at Geralt and smiles sleepily. When Geralt doesn't immediately respond, Jaskier pulls himself up onto his side to face him.

"What's wrong? Can't sleep?"

"You were -" Geralt starts but finds he doesn't know what to say, "you're aroused," he says and Jaskier friends for Moment before realization dawns on him. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you, I was just-"

"Oh gods, I'm sorry Geralt, I didn't realize -"

"Trying to give you space."

Jaskier stares at him for a moment, stunned. "Trying to give me space? Geralt I was the one rutting against your leg."

"Did I not satisfy you?" Geralt asks, "I could if you want." Jaskier's face settles and the spike of worry in his voice is gone when he speaks again, replaced with something soft and comforting.

"Kind of you to care, Geralt, but that's not the case. You were wonderful tonight, as always." He tips forward, kissing the curve of Geralt's shoulder. "It was a dream, that's all."

He knows he shouldn't ask, that he probably doesn't want to know the answer, but Geralt's curiosity gets the better of him and he shifts to prop his head up on his arm.

"What did you dream about?"

Jaskier huffs a laugh as a pink tinge spreads through his cheeks. He puts a hand to Geralt's shoulder, shoving him onto his back and ducks his chin.

"Don't pretend like you don't know."

Geralt settles into the sheets, turning his head to face Jaskier without moving. "Tell me anyway?" Jaskier quirks an eyebrow at him. "Unless you don't want to."

"I probably shouldn't," Jaskier purses his lips, "but I will because I like you, Witcher. I dreamt about you, as I’m sure you can guess, about having you under me."

"We do that all the time," Geralt frowns, unsatisfied.

"Not like this. I had you...Have you ever been tied up in bed? "

"No, is that what you dreamed about - being tied up?"

"Not exactly," Jaskier meets his eyes for a moment before focusing on his chest. His scent changes, sours with the tang of fear and Geralt draws back to look at him properly, but Jaskier keeps going. "I had you tied up," he admits, "totally open to me. Do you know what that feels like? Knowing someone like you would willingly give up control? It's intoxicating." He speaks quickly and Geralt realizes the fear comes from this admission.

"Tell me?" he asks, eager to assure Jaskier he has nothing to worry about. In return, he gets a small smile and Jaskier meets his eyes again.

"You looked so beautiful like that. I had you on your back so I could see you and I knew you'd be able to get out of your restraints if you really wanted but knowing you'd let me in the first place was overwhelming."

"You like tying people up?"

"I like doing different things with different people, but yes, on occasion, I like having my partner bound - if that's what they want, too. In my dream you wanted it and I don't know if you know this Geralt, but I have a very hard time denying you anything. I wanted to see you like that all open for me, wanted to feel the way you reacted to each touch not knowing what was coming. It's about giving, about letting them have something they want. I like tying them up because I like the way they react to it not because I like controlling them."

"And how did I...?" Geralt's breath catches in his chest and he hangs on Jaskier's words. He's been taught his whole life never to let himself be caught, that being bound is all but a death sentence if you don't know how to get out. But listening to Jaskier talk about it makes him want to try. He shifts to cover the way his cock swells at the idea and if Jaskier notices, he doesn't mention it.

"React? Incredibly well, darling. You never disappoint."

Geralt groans. His cock twitches where it's trapped and he has to force his voice to remain steady. "And in your dream," he asks, "you fucked me like this?"

"That was the plan. But I was interrupted."

"Hmm. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Jaskier smiles, reaching up to cup his jaw, "you had the best intentions and it was only a dream."

"You're still hard," Geralt mumbles, forcing back his own arousal as he presses closer, "do you want me to help?"

"You don't have to do that, darling. It's late, you should get some sleep."

He turns away from Geralt, settling on his side with his arm under the pillow. Geralt reaches out to him without thinking, brushing his fingers along his arm and Jaskier shudders under him. If he feels anything like Geralt does right now, he'll never get to sleep. But he doesn't want to push, so he keeps his touch light, not straying past his arm.

Jaskier sighs and presses his shoulders back and Geralt can't help but press his nose against the back of his neck. He's drowsy and thoroughly turned on and the combination makes him reckless, slow to reason, but Jaskier doesn't seem to mind. He presses back a little further and Geralt lets his hand slide forward over Jaskier's stomach.

"If you wanted me, you just had to ask," Jaskier teases, tipping his head back with a soft sigh.

"When was the last time someone made you feel good without expecting something in return?"

"Hm? I don't really know. I spend most of my own time composing or writing so..." he shrugs like it really isn't that important but Geralt moves closer, carefully angling his hips away from Jaskier's body.

Immediately, he can hear Jaskier's heart rate pick up and his breath catches as Geralt's hand slips down his chest. When Geralt's hand wraps around him, Jaskier groans and his hips buck. Geralt's own cock throbs at his enthusiasm, but he ignores it, determined to make it good for Jaskier. And judging by Jaskier's reaction, it is. He rocks his hips in time with Geralt's hand, breathing heavily and pressing back into his chest. It does nothing to ease Geralt's own arousal and he buries his face in Jaskier's hair to stifle a groan.

When he can feel him getting close, when Jaskier shudders against him and his thrusts get shaky and uneven, Geralt shifts, pressing his free hand down Jaskier's spine and over the curve of his ass. Jaskier pushes back encouragingly and Geralt presses between his cheeks, sliding his fingers against his hole. He's still slick and loose from earlier and Geralt slips two fingers into him with ease, testing him with slow, short thrusts.

"You don't have to," Jaskier huffs, but the following moan belies him and when Geralt presses a third finger into him, he buries his face in his pillow with a whine. His hips jerk back as Geralt pushes deeper.

"Good?" Geralt breathes and Jaskier just whimpers. It takes longer to get him there this time, but Jaskier squirms against him, mumbling about how good he feels and fuck, Geralt I don't deserve you- He cuts himself off with a moan as Geralt crooks his fingers and Jaskier shudders before he stills completely and then he's coming, spilling over Geralt's fist.

A little of Geralt's control slips at that and he fits himself right up against Jaskier as he fucks him through it, thrusting his fingers into him until Jaskier's thighs are shaking and he collapses back against him.

"Geralt," Jaskier hums. He shifts backward, accidentally pressing against him and Geralt's cock jerks against him. Whatever it was Jaskier was going to say is forgotten and he reaches back between them, brushing his fingers along Geralt's erection. "Why didn't you come?" he asks and Geralt just grunts. He doesn't have the energy to think up a response and also keep himself from rutting against Jaskier's ass.

"If you're trying to prove something, darling, there's nothing for you to prove." Jaskier reaches back, curling his arm around the back of Geralt's neck. He rolls his hips back, pressing his ass against Geralt's cock and Geralt's whole body jolts with the relief of it. "You always treat me so well," he breathes, "always make sure it's good for me, too. You have nothing to prove to anyone. And I want to make you feel good. Not because it's my job or because you're paying me but because I like you, Witcher, and if no one else is seeing to your needs, I can sure as hell make sure I do a good job of it."

And that is... well, it's too much for Geralt to know what to do with right now. So he presses his face into Jaskier's neck and pulls his hips close. Jaskier arches against him and Geralt gives in, pressing between his cheeks and rolling his hips slowly against him.

"Oh, fuck. That's it, just like that. Come on, Geralt, that's right."

Geralt shuts his eyes, barely aware of the motions of his own body as he rocks up against Jaskier, pulls him close and holds him there. His head is foggy with sleep and lust and all he can focus on are Jaskier's words next to his ear. The last thing he catches before his orgasm overwhelms him is a soft, whispered good boy and then he's coming, pinning himself against Jaskier's back as he spills his release between them.

He doesn't remember moving, but when he opens his eyes, Geralt is on his back with Jaskier draped over his chest. He hums and runs a hand up the back of Jaskier's thigh, smiling at the little sounds Jaskier makes in response. For a few minutes, he's content just to lie there and drift off; Jaskier is warm and soft against him and Geralt's body is loose and satisfied and sleep is already creeping up on him again.

But his mind snaps back to what they were talking about before, what woke him up in the first place. He shifts, making himself more comfortable and lets his fingers dance along Jaskier's skin as he considers what he wants to say. He has to do it now or he knows he'll lose his nerve.

"I'd like to try," he says bluntly and Jaskier tilts up to look at him.

"Hmm?"

"What you were talking about earlier. In your dream. I'd like to try. If you want to."

"You seem to have gotten confused again about who's in charge here, darling. You don't have to submit to my fantasies."

"I want to," Geralt says and he knows it's not wholly selfless, but he does like the idea of letting Jaskier have his way with him. Jaskier settles back against his chest, pressing his lips to his sternum.

"Gods," he whispers, "you're going to ruin me for anyone else, you know that?" Geralt just hums and brings his arm up to Jaskier's waist.

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #the witcher #good as gold #prostitute!jaskier #rex writes

161 notes · View notes

boxboysandotherwhump · 3 years

Text

The new boy in town.

Tags: @salamancialilypad @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee @comfy-whumpee @ashintheairlikesnow @haro-whumps @moose-teeth @vickytokio @yet-another-heathen @orchidscript

Chapter 2

CW: body-shaming/ insults, discrimination/ dehumanization of mutants, an insect gets hurt, a nearly fistfight ensues

Heat thrummed through Gideon’s bones and throbbed in unison with his building headache. His patience had shriveled up like dried fruit under the torrid summer sun while this horrible lavender scent clung to his hair, his skin, his clothes, making him dizzy.

It became stronger on the village outskirts, Gideon realized as he hurried after Director Sahin. The man ascended the crooked stone staircase effortlessly, his moss-green robe billowing behind him. His artfully decorated spear swayed with every step he took, not brushing a single leave. The only thing rustling through the underbrush was the wind and the creatures living there.

A twig caught in Gideon’s black curls, while the Director rambled on about the virtues of disciplinary work. How it encouraged the growth of one’s character, or some shit. The twig broke off with a quiet snap, painfully pulling at his scalp. Gideon’s mood dropped even lower. It was going to be a nightmare to fiddle all those shitty branches and leaves out of his hair later on.

He was seconds away from losing his barely-held composure.

The only thing keeping him from bursting at the seams was the promise he’d whispered into his brother's grave, a last farewell bedded beside a corpse.

Gideon had come to this godforsaken village to learn how to fight and survive in the forest, not to become some obedient little soldier boy! But in order to do that, he had to get cleared for training again and out of suspension.

If he had to play the director’s errand boy for a day to achieve that, so be it. He had endured worse.

“Haaah, here we are.” Director Sahin inhaled deeply, arms falling wide. “Finally. My dear friend’s farm. Tell me, young Gideon, is it not simply beautiful?”

Gideon shrugged. “‘S’ okay.”

Granted, the house did look cozy, resting encircled by giant roots with its warm brick walls, but those gigantic snails everywhere sent a shudder down his spine. If he had to touch those slimy monsters he-

The farm’s sliding doors opened before he could utter a protest, and a fine-boned, middle aged woman emerged, followed by a huge man with a greying beard. A boy, probably his own age but significantly shorter, held the door open for them.

The older woman’s lips curled into a crooked smile as she caught sight of Director Sahin, whose whole face had lit up. Dark eyes shining.

“Moira. My darling. Please do not tell me you are about to leave? Not when I looked forward to seeing your beautiful face again.”

Gideon suppressed a gag. Moira crossed her arms, smile growing sharper. Her eyes held a warm twinkle as she spoke. “Eric; charming as ever.”

The man behind her stepped closer and huffed: “M happy ‘ter see ya too, Eric.”

“Oh Ansgar you flatter me. But I must confess, I am not here solely for tea and a chat-“

The Director rattled on and Gideon’s focus wandered to the girl that had stepped out the door behind a blonde woman. A fancy grey blouse hung off her thin shoulders, nearly covering the lace trim of blue silk short. A stark contrast to the more practical attire favored by most villagers. But that wasn’t what caught Gideon’s attention, no, he had seen all sorts of fancy getups up in Berlin -in the city's upper ring that is- what drew his eyes to her, was her face.

Its left side was oddly deformed, her pale skin uneven like a creased silk sheet, drawing her left eye down and her full lips up. She mouthed something to the boy, smiling, earning a smile from him in turn.

“Ah yes may I introduce: Gideon, my newest student.”

Having lost most of the adults’ conversation Gideon tuned back in just in time, to give them a curt nod.

“I will send him to collect the salve after the feast, then,” Director Sahin announced, please as can be.

“Wonderful.” Moira clapped her hands. All back to business brusqueness. “Sahar will appreciate not having to deliver it for once. Right?”

The other boy snapped to attention, green eyes wide and fingers twitching like the hands of a pianist. A grateful smile rose to his face and he nodded.

Oh great, so Gideon had to take the trip up here twice.

They descended the stairs, lined up one after another on the narrow path. Sahar right in front of him, following the strange girl. He had avoided Gideon’s eyes as he squeezed past him, careful not to touch, probably scared off by his uniform. The school’s emblem, embroidered on his stainless white shirt, proudly declared him a scout in training. Deadly. Fearless. The little farm boy definitely did better not to mess with an insect slayer like him.

The girl came to an abrupt halt, frozen in the woodland’s shadows before it gave way to the dusty hill road. Gideon nearly collided with Sahar, when he heard it.

A primal, bone chilling hiss tore through the hot afternoon air, rattling through his very core.

Every hair on his body stood, muscles tensing, on edge just like his fraying nerves.

He knew that sound.

Even though he’d heard it only once before. On the crusade from last-stand-berlin to the village, where he had seen the beast it belonged to lurk on the riverside, watching them.

He would never forget a spider’s hiss.

And there one stood, right in front of him, its eight thorny legs towering high above its ugly head. The spider’s giant yaws worked, rubbed against each other in agitation. Its razor sharp fangs glistened in the sun.

A man sat atop its massive, hairy body, scar-faced and clad in a straw cape that was fastened to a beetle’s shell armoring his left shoulder. Shimmering in iridescent hues of blue and green. The man did not smile as he glanced down at them. A silent challenge was edged in the hard lines of his rugged face.

Tense static filled the air, an almost tangible thing that bit at Gideons fingers. It wormed its way into his bones, crawled over his scalp.

He almost, almost, flinched when Director Sahin shouldered past him, spear drawn and followed by the other man. Both planted themselves right in front of him and the others.

The intruder’s scar stretched with the rise of his eyebrows, eyes slitting in a lazy half-grin.

“Hey, there. Hold your horses. Before someone does something he regrets later.”

“That a threat?” Ansgar grunted.

Moira ducked past him, face twisted in a furious scowl as she spit. “Oh, something other than entering our village on a damn wolf-spider you mean?!”

The corded muscle in her boney arm flexed as she shook her fist at the man, unveiling a wrath behind her primly dressed form that no one would have wanted to fall victim to.

He, however, just leaned closer, smile stretching into a shark-tooth grin. “Gutsy, are we? I like that.”

Director Sahim stepped up beside her, spear held in a steady grip. “How could you make it past our InD-Units with this monstrosity?! God show you mercy if you did something to-”

“What do you think I am?!” the intruder drawled, hands raised in mock offense. “A monster?! Only reason I got past your insect defenses was this baby here.”

Gideon had to stand on his tiptoes to catch a glance of the small round device that sat embedded into the spider’s head, partly hidden by the man’s straw cape. A little red light blinked in a steady rhythm above three buttons, which the man was careful not to touch as he rapped his knuckles against it.

“Renders her absolutely obedient. All natural instinct turned off. See?”

He unsheathed a knife from a holster strapped around his leg and its steel blade shimmered in the sun before he rammed it in one of the spider’s eyes, plopping it out with a nauseating plitch. The spider endured its master’s violation in utter stillness, only its yaws twitched, creating this awful hiss in their never ceasing movement.

“She’s docile as a lamb.”

“And how exactly is that supposed to work?” the girl inquired, meeting the man’s stare with a calculated cold composure. She ignored the incredulous look the blonde woman gave her, as she mouthed: “Charlotte, what are you doing?”

The intruder's mouth twitched.

“Man, what do I know, Missy?! I’m a mutant hunter not a scientist.” He leaned closer, eyes narrowed, fixed on the girl's deformed face. Venom spiked his words, dripped from his tongue like acid. “My expertise lies in chasing down freaks.”

The condescendingly cruel way in which he spoke, wielding words like a weapon meant to pierce and twist where it hurt most, reminded Gideon oddly of his father. Anger welled up in his chest, buzzed down his legs and made them move. He planted himself right between the girl and the intruder.

How dare he compare someone to mutant scum?!

“Tsk. Mutant hunter?! You’ve ever even seen one? Or are you just talk? Threatening girls?!”

“Gideon.”, Director Sahim hissed, squeezing Gideon’s shoulder in warning as he tried to pull him back.

The man gave them a wry smile. “No no. Let’s hear him out. Have you ever seen one boy?”

“Yes.” Gideon spat, unable to reign his emotions back in. “They’re hideous monstrosities. And I’m going to find and kill every single one of them.”

The man burst into violent laughter, shoulders shaking and head thrown back, nearly losing his balance under the force of it.

“You do have guts, I give you that. But also lots to learn. Do you really think a girl can’t be a mutant? Monster’s come in all shapes and sizes, boy.” His eyes wandered back to Charlotte. “Just ugly, that’s the whole lot of them.``

The blonde woman gasped, searching for words to shoot back, but falling silent as she noticed Charlotte’s expression.

Red blotches burned on her face, rage twisting it into a vicious scowl. The afternoon sun set her copper curls on fire. Ready to spew fury and flames, she opened her mouth but Sahar was faster, his small voice piping up.

“Char- Charlotte is… is no- no mutant and and and she’s neither ugly nor weak. And and and people who talk about, talk about killing others for no- no, no reason are… They’re the- the real monsters.”

His fingers fiddled with his shorts, tapping and twisting in the dark, worn linen as he stumbled over his words. His big green eyes jumped from the rocky street to the spider’s fangs, lingered on the intruder’s face before landing on Gideon. They narrowed as he all but spat the last words in Gideon’s face.

“The hell you just said?!” Gideon’s nostrils flared. How dare this little runt run his mouth about things he didn’t know shit about!

Crossing his arms, Sahar forced himself to hold his ground against Gideon’s furious, wide eyed stare. “You you, you heard me.”

Gideon heart hammered in his throat, pumping liquefied fire through his veins. His hands twitched.

“I give you one chance to take. That. Back.”

The boy’s trembling fingers dug into his forearms, knuckles whitening as he lifted his chin.

“Never.”

A roar tore from Gideon’s throat as he leapt forward. Rage burned through him like a wildfire, ready to ignite everything his fist would come in contact with.

Beating the selfritousnes out of that stupid stammering farmboy was the only thing that mattered now. Everything else blurred to background noise. Even the stranger on his shitty spider.

In that frozen second between charge and impact, Sahar’s feet moved. His body tilted to the side. Dodged Gideon’s blow. Effortlessly. He bounced back. Landed on the first stone step and uncrossed his arms. Ready to defend himself. His fingers had stopped twitching.

That little runt had nerves!

Gideon broke into a sprint.

“You sure are good at dodging!” He swung his arm back. “Try to handle this!”

Muscles flexing Gideon readied for impact, only for his arm to be janked back. A large hand had wrapped around his wrist. Stopped him mid punch. Craning his neck, Gideon stared up into Ansgar’s stern face.

Fuck he’s fast?!

“Looks like ya still got lots t’ learn about respect ‘n self-discipline, young man.”

Director Sahin sighed, eyes still locked on the intruder, who watched the spectacle with a lazy kind of interest.

Ansgar released Gideon’s hand and turned to Sahar. His grey eyes glistened like ice shards. “Same goes for you. Ya disappointed me, Sahar.”

Sahar blinked up at the man, eyes round and full of disbelief.

“Wh-what- what, what do you, do do do do- what do you mean?”

“I haven’t trained ya to run off ‘n start mindless fights. I tried to teach ya discipline ‘n how to survive these woods.” Ansgar’s voice did not waver and every word made Sahar shrink into himself. His fingers tapped a hectic distorted rhythm over his leg

The intruder snickered, “someone’s a stuck up,” earning Moira’s venomous glare.

“But- but I didn’t- he he he he he was, he was the one who-“

“Enough,” Ansgar thundered. “Don’t argue with me. If ya want a beatin’ so bad I’ll give ya one later. And now back t’ the farm. Ya grounded for the week. No fest. No nothin’!”

Sahar crumbled under the man’s anger, head ducked between his shoulders as the first teardrop fell. It trickled down his trembling jaw, painting a glistening path on his warm skin.

Voice reduced to a shaky exhale Sahar nodded, “yes, sir.”, and stormed up the stairs.

He had just vanished between the thick bushes, when the intruder broke out into a new laughing fit.

#whump #whump writing #mutant whumpee #crying whumpee #insults #fighting #post apocalypse #post apocalyptic #whumpee #some flowers have teeth #sahar #gideon #charlotte #sahar tries his best #gideon the angry bean

30 notes · View notes

illfoandillfie · 3 years

Note

uhm if you still need and want a benny boi request: hiking with him and soft sex by the fireplace to warm up 🥺 or in the tent bc it's probably pretty cold ngl

(@queenmylovely)

God you bitches get me. These prompts are wonderful and came in about 30 seconds apart lmao so i hope you like what I did with them!

warnings: smut but its like super somft and fluffy, also a lil bit of arguing

Blurb Advent: Day 16

The trip wasn’t exactly what you’d imagined it would be. Initially you’d been planning to get away during Summer, maybe head to the beach for a couple of weeks, spend your time relaxing in the sun, hitting the waves. But the timing never quite worked out and the whole idea of going away was put on hold until it had cooled down again. And of course, once it became clear the trip would be in winter, you had to stop thinking of the beach and find somewhere new to go. Luckily (you supposed) a family friend of Ben’s had a cabin in the woods that he was happy to let you use. You weren’t quite as thrilled with it as you would have been a little beach side cottage, but you really just wanted some time for you and Ben without other distractions and he wanted to get out of the city. And neither of you wanted to wait another six months for the break. So the arrangements were made and early on a Friday morning you grumbled your way out of bed and into the warmest clothes you owned, packing everything into the car, ready to head off on your holiday.

The cabin was cute, surrounded by tall trees and the promise of picturesque views. A generator had been installed a few years previous to allow access to electricity and there was a large rain tank to collect water for all the plumbing systems. You had been warned that in dryer weather you may need to seek out the nearby well to collect water for drinking and cooking. There’d been a lot of rain in the previous month so you didn’t think you’d need to worry about it but, all the same, you kept it in mind, adding a few metal water bottles to your essential supplies (which included things like food, the makings of tea and coffee, toothpaste and condoms). On top of the essentials you also made sure to pack Ben’s guitar and your travel paint set in the hopes that the seclusion and nature would inspire you both.

The first day was mostly spent getting there and unpacking. When you arrived, you had to carry all your gear up a short incline that the car couldn’t access but it was worth it when you saw the scene. It was gorgeous, the surrounding woods a little damp with fresh rainfall, the cabin looking cozy and warm and perfect for a romantic getaway. You spent the morning putting food in the fridge and poking around the cabin, getting the doors and windows open to let in some air and natural light. In the afternoon you checked out the store of firewood and decided to collect some more so that it would have time to dry out under cover before you needed it. Together, bundled up in warm coats and gloves, you walked around the immediate area, collecting any logs that looked large enough as well as smaller sticks for kindling. In the evening you made dinner together and settled in for a night on the couch, wrapped in as many blankets as you could get your hands on. Things had been so busy lately you almost didn’t know what to do with yourself now that you were taking a break from it all. But the chaos you’d been living in had meant you didn’t get much of a chance to talk to Ben properly so that was what you did. Snuggled up on the couch and talked, finally able to just be together.

The next day Ben suggested you check out the surrounding area, follow the hiking trail up the hill and see what was out there. There were practical reasons like finding the well just in case you did need it, but mostly it was just for fun. You each filled a backpack with a water bottle and some food as well as a grabbing a small first aid kit, some bug spray to combat the mosquitos you’d noticed the night before, and your paints. Ben slung his guitar over his back and you set off. The walk itself was fine though there were a few steep places on the trail. Ben used them as an excuse to hold your hand, getting a few steps higher and then offering his to help you follow. It was silly but cute and you found yourself giggling whenever he did it. It was quiet too, which was nice. You didn’t meet any other people on the trail but that meant you could stop and point out creatures that crossed your path or pause to take photos of interesting plants and pretty views you might like to paint later.

At the top of the hill was a little lookout area with a park bench. Since you seemed to have it to yourself you unpacked your bags and ate lunch looking out over the tops of the trees below. As you ate you pulled out your sketchbook and started to draw things you could see, going over some with paints and leaving others as just the outline. Ben pulled out his guitar and found a small spot to lean against a tree and play softly, his eyes closed as he plucked at the strings. It was tranquil and peaceful and perfect. Or nearly perfect. You hadn’t noticed it as much while you were walking but now that you were standing still you realised just how freezing cold it was. For a while you tried to ignore it but eventually you had to speak up.

“Benny? Are you getting cold? My fingers are starting to freeze, maybe we should think about heading back?”

Ben dropped into the seat beside you and grabbed your hands in his, “I’ll warm them up for you.”

“That’s cute,” you smiled, not mentioning how unhelpful of a suggestion it was, “But I’m serious. The walk up here took a while anyway, might be best to start heading back down now, before it starts getting dark and even colder. Plus I don’t like the look of those clouds,” you pointed to a dark patch of sky off in the distance.

Ben eyed the rainclouds and thought for a moment, “Alright, you make a good point. Let’s pack up.”

As quickly as you could you packed everything back into your bags and began to make your way back down the slope. Walking did help warm you up again though you couldn’t help but mention your need to defrost in front of the fire. And your discomfort only got worse as the rain began. The trees protected you a little but not enough and before long your teeth were chattering and your toes felt numb. Ben was just as unhappy, his hair dripping onto his face as he snapped at you to hurry up. He got particularly cranky when you paused to take a photo of the pretty haze the rain had thrown over one of the scenes you’d photographed on your way up, the roof of your cabin just visible through the trees.

“All your fucking complaining and now you want to stop to take pictures? Jesus Christ.”

“Hey, if it wasn’t for me you’d still be sitting up at the fucking lookout twiddling your thumbs.”

“You’re so fucking full of it. And slow! Could you walk a little faster please!” Ben tried to grab your hand and pull you along but you shook him off.

“It’s not my fault my feet feel like ice blocks. I didn’t even want to come out to this stupid cabin.”

“You’re the one who was practically begging for me to take you somewhere.”

“Yeah but not a fucking cabin in the middle of nowhere. This is the start of a horror film Ben. You brought me to a horror film.”

“Y’know this isn’t exactly what I wanted either. I was hoping for something a little more romantic, a little less bitching.”

“Well I think you’ve put paid to that.” You spat back, dropping your eyes to your feet so you could watch the terrain you were walking over, not wanting to slip in case Ben decided to walk ahead.

You were surprised when Ben held his hand out to you, offering his help to get down a particularly uneven patch of the path, but you took it all the same.

“Sorry,” he said softly, keeping his hand tight around yours, “I know this isn’t ideal.”

“It was lovely up until the rain,” you shrugged, “Sorry I stopped before, and that I’ve been winging so much,”

“Hey, you’re allowed to winge, especially when your idiot boyfriend gets you stuck freezing to death in the middle of nowhere,” he squeezed your hand reassuringly, “but maybe he can make it up to you when you get back to the cabin?”

“How?”

“I’m thinking we get the fire going and sit as close to it as we can until we’re warm. I can make us some hot chocolate and then maybe we whip up a curry for dinner? Something really hot.”

You chucked and nodded, “Sounds good. Can I make one request?” “What is it?” “Can we cuddle? While we’re in front of the fire?”

“The cuddling was implied. It’s the most romantic thing I can think of so of course we’re cuddling.”

“You’re not an idiot Ben. And walking in the rain is kind of romantic, especially when there’s a fire to go back to.”

Ben pulled your hand up to his lips, kissing the back of it as you walked.

By the time you got back to the cabin you were damp through, though your shoes felt completely soaked. Ben was true to his word though, peeling off his jacket and bending over the fireplace as he told you to go and get changed. You dug out clean, dry clothes, throwing Ben’s hoodie over the top. You grabbed all the blankets you could and came out to a fire coming to life as Ben hurried off to change. While he was gone you dropped the blankets on the floor, a little back from the fireplace, creating a sort of nest for the two of you.

“You stole my hoodie,” Ben pouted.

“Can’t blame me, it’s so warm and soft and I look cute in it,”

He chucked as he took his place beside you, wrapping his arms around you, “all of that is very true.”

For a while you just sat together, letting the feeling come back to your fingers and toes. Ben asked to see the photos you’d taken, pointing out scenery he thought would make nice artwork, and especially anything you could hang on the walls at home.

“I hope your sketchbook didn’t get too wet”

“I don’t think the rain got into the bags too much. What about your guitar?”

“It should be fine, it’s been in worse weather. Sorry I was short with you before,” he said quietly, his nose bumping your cheek.

You turned your head towards him, “It’s alright. I’m sorry too.”

He kissed you softly, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek.

You sighed against his lips and shifted to better face him, discouraging him from moving away.

Ben kissed you slowly and deeply, as if he intended to just keep kissing you all night. But gradually his hands began to wander too, fingertips lightly tracing patterns over your sides as they slipped further down. You hummed at the touch, mirroring him, trailing your fingers down his chest and stomach. Slowly, he inched the hem of the hoodie higher until he could pull it over your head. You didn’t mind, plenty warm from the fire and Ben’s embrace.

“This okay?” Ben asked between small kisses along the corner of your mouth, his fingers already tugging at your shirt.

“Mmhmm, very,”

He nodded and lifted your shirt over your head, keeping his arms up so you could do the same to him.

He didn’t rush, leisurely following the line of your throat with his lips, humming in response to your whimpers and mewls. You were already wet when he wriggled his hand under the band of your leggings, exacerbating your arousal as he stroked along your slit.

Once he had your pants off he rolled you onto your front, making sure you were comfortable amongst all the blankets, the heat of the fire washing over you. Gently, he hooking his fingers into the top of your underwear, pulling them down your legs, leaving soft kisses on your lower back and arse and thighs.

“Give me two seconds, babe,” he whispered, tugging his own pants off and leaning over to grab one of your backpacks.

“What’re you doing?” you asked, looking over your shoulder at the noise.

“Might have thrown a couple of condoms in here, just in case.”

“In case? In case of what?”

“I don’t know. In case the view made you super horny or we wandered into a fairy ring and ended up kidnapped by pervert fairies. Just, y’know, in case.”

“You’re so stupid,” you laughed, tapping him with your foot as you lay down again, your arms folded under your head.

“I was just preparing for any eventuality.”

“Mmm well, you might want to hurry up and prepare or else I’m gonna fall asleep here. It’s very comfortable,”

“Don’t do that, hang on,” You heard Ben tear at the wrapper and then swear and then tear it again as you laughed into your arms.

“Alright, ready. You still awake,”

“Surprisingly, yes,”

“Good,” his voice was close to your ear as he lay over you, cocooning you in his warmth as he entered you from behind.

You moaned into your arm as he slowly rocked into you, his chest against your back as he braced himself on arms either side of you. There wasn’t much scope for anything fast or hard but it was intimate, his cock pressed against your g-spot so that every slight shift of his hips sent a jolt of pleasure through you.

Ben kissed your shoulder and left his lips there as he mumbled, “feel good?”

“Mmhmm, fucking incredible,”

“Mmm, you feel incredible too.”

You pushed your self up and looked around for Ben. Within seconds he was kissing you again, tongue dragging over your lips as another jolt shot though you and you gasped.

For a while you stayed like that, your movements lazy and slow. But it wasn’t enough to push you over the edge, even with Ben groaning in your ear or sucking at your pulse point.

“I need more Ben,”

“Alright, babe, if I pull out are you good to roll over?”

You nodded, catching him in another kiss to show your appreciation.

Once you were on your back, leaning on your forearms, Ben adjusted his position, his legs falling between yours as he lined himself up once more. He wasn’t much deeper but the angle was different and you felt Ben hit a spot he hadn’t reached before as he leaned over you and attached his lips to your neck again.

“Fuck, Ben,” The fire was still burning, heating your opposite side as you threw your arm around Ben, digging your nails into his back as he gave an experimental thrust.

“This better?” “Yeah. You make me feel so good,”

Ben smiled and lay you back further, so he didn’t have to hold himself up with his arms, instead allowing him to slide one hand between you to softly play with your clit.

You grasped at his back as his hips snapped against yours harder, his fingers constantly rubbing at your clit.

“C’mon, babe, you’re close aren’t you.”

You nodded again, feeling as if you’d lost the ability to form words as your back arched. Everything was warm and comfortable – the fire and the blankets and Ben’s low voice, mumbling encouragement between kisses – and before you fully comprehended it was happening, your orgasm washed over you, pulling Ben’s name from your throat. He mirrored you a few seconds later, groaning your name as he stilled, his forehead falling to meet yours.

Carefully he rolled off you and you shuffled around to lean your head on his chest, still mostly tucked up in your blanket nest.

It was quiet for a moment as you both settled, your breathing falling into sync as you watched the fire and listened to the rain that had only gotten heavier while you were wrapped up in each other.

Suddenly Ben spoke, his tone more than a little braggy, “How’s that for romantic.”

#my writing #my blurbs #smut blurb #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy smut #ben hardy imagine #cant believe you made me yearn so fucking much #but here we are #guess those canada goose pics really fucked us all up huh #ohladymoon #blurb advent 2020

60 notes · View notes

tiramisiyu · 3 years

Text

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: Main Story 6-26 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Video

Chapter 6 – Tiger’s Accomplice Ghost (Parts 1, 2): 6-1 / 6-3 / 6-5 / 6-7 / 6-9 / 6-11 / 6-13 / 6-15 ♦️ ♦️ 6-16 / 6-18 / 6-20 / 6-22 / 6-24 / 6-26 / 6-27 / 6-28 / 6-29

Information on the Chapter title (helpful to know): Wikipedia | My notes

Abandoned Archive Library

Just when I wanted to get in touch with Zuo Ran about going to the archive library to investigate, Zuo Ran called me with perfect timing.

He had also been pondering the whole time about the location of the target, and with unplanned similarity, we thought about this archive library.

Zuo Ran: The people monitoring Fu Qiao tonight lost him. On his side of things, Leader Yan is dispatching people on search.

Zuo Ran: Leader Yan has also already dispatched people to rush towards the few suspicious art galleries nearby, and they’ll be investigating at the same time as us.

MC: If we can find Chen Hanzhang’s secret location one step ahead, then this case can be solved earlier.

Zuo Ran: Coming to a pitch-black place like this in the middle of the night – are you scared?

MC: Lawyer Zuo, you’ve forgotten – I’m not scared of ghosts to begin with.

At our law firm’s last team building exercise, Zuo Ran and I went to a haunted house together.

Hearing me say this, Zuo Ran relaxed and smiled, obviously also remembering the experience in the haunted house.

Zuo Ran: In a moment, follow me closely and walk behind me. You must be careful of what’s under your feet in particular.

MC: I understand.

I took flashlights out of my bag and handed one to Zuo Ran.

MC: I’ve brought two flashlights, so we can each have one. Let’s head out.

Zuo Ran led me to the abandoned archive library’s front courtyard. Here, the ground was piled thickly with fallen leaves, as well as all sorts of decorative garbage that nearby residents had tossed here.

I basically understood why the police ruled out this place after a simple search… Looking at the shattered glass windows on the outside and the useless door, this place really did not seem like a place to store important products.

Inside the Archive Library

The lighting in the archive library was better than we’d imagined. Light from the streets shone in from the street-facing windows, so we didn’t really need to turn on the flashlights.

MC: The first and second floors are completely deserted – they’re empty with only some abandoned furniture left.

Zuo Ran: The conditions on the third floor might not be that similar.

MC: Eh?

Following the stairs, I looked towards the third floor. At the same time, Zuo Ran turned on the flashlight and shone it towards the third-floor staircase opening.

There was an electronic password door that had been opened.

MC: This archive building was built at the beginning of last century, and it belonged to a private collector.

MC: Though the first and second floors are abandoned, it’s evident that the remaining furniture is in last century’s style.

MC: This electronic door is clearly a product of recent years.

Zuo Ran: It indicates that this place has been changed by someone.

Zuo Ran: Most of the old buildings of the north district are private properties, and some of the property owners are even foreigners, so the houses have sat idle for many years with no one to manage them.

Zuo Ran: In the past few years, cases about the occupation of old buildings by lawbreakers have also appeared. This may also be the case here.

MC: No wonder the police didn’t notice any suspicious locations from checking through the properties under Chen Hanzhang’s name.

MC: If she occupied an old building in the north district that seems like it has no inhabitants, the police wouldn’t be able to find it at all.

Zuo Ran: Let’s go up and look – careful on the stairs.

Zuo Ran walked in front of me with the flashlight on. We arrived at the stairway opening and carefully looked over that electronic password lock.

Zuo Ran: It doesn’t look like it was opened by force. The password lock is still operating like normal.

MC: Is there someone in the building right now? It doesn’t seem like it…

From a bird’s-eye view, this three-level building was in an “H” shape, and each level had four large rooms. If we used the staircase’s location as the centre, the locations of the four large rooms were northeast, northwest, southwest, and southeast.

Zuo Ran and I had looked in every corner of the first and second floors just now, and we didn’t notice a single person. The entire building was also completely quiet – you could even hear the sound of a pin drop. We didn’t hear movement sounds of anyone else.

Zuo Ran: The third-floor design isn’t the same as on lower floors.

Zuo Ran’s flashlight swept over the floor.

Zuo Ran: It seems like the floorboards here were given specific soundproofing treatment. The audiovisuals room at my house also has a similar setup.

MC: Which also means that, as we can’t hear sounds of movement upstairs, this door might have been ignored by someone who came before…

MC: Another possibility is that the visitor is still here and hasn’t left.

When I thought about this, I couldn’t help tensing up my back.

Zuo Ran: Don’t be afraid. I’m right beside you.

My slightly cold fingers suddenly fell in the middle of warmth – it was Zuo Ran, holding my hand.

MC: Lawyer Zuo…

Zuo Ran: Hold onto my hand… th-this way, it’ll be a little safer.

MC: Mhmm…

Like this, as I shone my flashlight, Zuo Ran led me onwards as I walked side-by-side with him…

The moonlight tonight shone brightly, passing through the window and spilling over Zuo Ran’s body, outlining his straight and handsome profile.

I originally thought that people like Zuo Ran would probably look cold with moonlight on them. But I never would’ve thought… that there would actually be a sliver of a different kind of warmth.

I had never looked at him from this angle, under moonlight like this. Inexplicably, at this moment, I wanted to keep looking at him like this…

Zuo Ran: Why have you been looking at me the whole time? Is there something on my face?

MC: There isn’t…

MC: It might be because it’s too quiet that I haven’t quite adapted…

Zuo Ran: Then talk a bit, although you must be somewhat quiet.

>Select: Face

Zuo Ran: If there’s time, would you like to go to the haunted house again?

MC: With you, Lawyer Zuo?

Zuo Ran: Of course.

MC: Sure then. I heard that the themed amusement park’s haunted house has changed to a new story recently, so it’s perfect timing for us to try it out.

Zuo Ran: Then let’s wait for the weekend.

>Select: Neck

MC: Aside from cufflinks, tie clips and collar pins, it seems like I rarely see Lawyer Zuo wear jewelry.

Zuo Ran: Watches also count as jewelry, right?

MC: Oh right, they also count.

Zuo Ran: If I attend certain special occasions, I will dress up, and I’ll occasionally accessorize with jewelry.

MC: Could you give an example?

Zuo Ran: I participated in a costume party in university, and I wore earrings for it.

Zuo Ran: Mm… it felt a little uncomfortable, and I couldn’t really adapt to it.

>Select: Hair

MC: Under the moonlight… it looks like your hair has been layered over with silver light.

Zuo Ran: Do you mean… a hair full for frost?

MC: …

Zuo Ran: Frost with moonlight is imagery that often appears in literature and movies.

Zuo Ran: What often follows this is a beautiful woman who hopes for return.

MC: Waiting? If it is a happy ending, it will be worth it no matter how long she waits.

Zuo Ran: We don’t know how many people can return before the moonlight runs out – only the moon rocks with longing, lighting the forests by the river…*

Zuo Ran: If it were me, I would not make the person waiting for me wait too long.

Zuo Ran: I would rather be the person waiting.

TL Note: Please see the full translation of the poem that Zuo Ran recited a line from here! The translation I used also comes from this site.

>Select: Ellipses

MC: Lawyer Zuo, it seems like there’s a room in front of us.

A door appeared in front of us.

Based on its position, this was the room in the northwest direction.

>Open door

Artwork Display Room

MC: Seems like this place… is a place for the collection of antiques and artwork.

Zuo Ran: This password lock is not turned on. Looks like this room was originally in use, but it was later abandoned.

MC: Lawyer Zuo, look at that crystal bust. Does it look like… Chen Hanzhang?

Most of these things in this room were placed in complete disorder. The hung pictures on the wall were crooked, and there were also piles of artwork and porcelain pieces on the ground.

Only this half-bodied crystal bust was placed safely in the display case.

Zuo Ran: It’s very much alike. You could say that it’s a perfect imitation.

MC: This expression really is… a perfect replication of Chen Hanzhang’s classic smile.

Proud, confident, and it even hid a bit of fierceness.

MC: Was this thing given to Chen Hanzhang?

Zuo Ran: It’s not very common to see half-bodied busts like this used as gifts.

Zuo Ran: Perhaps it has a special commemorative meaning.

When we turned the bust upside down, we saw two rows of words on the bottom.

Zuo Ran: “From the beginning to the end, regardless of how you change, you are still you…”

MC: On the bottom-right angle, are those numbers?

MC: It looks like someone deliberately ground it off.

On the bottom-right corner, there probably had been a long line of numbers originally, but aside from the first digit “1” and the last digit “4”, there was no way to identify the rest.

I touched the base of the bust, and felt that the side of the base had an uneven area.

MC: Rose?

I found that place and noticed that a four-petaled flower had been carved there, with the single English word “Rose” on the side.

MC: The rose has four petals?

Zuo Ran: Perhaps… this does not point to a rose in the general meaning.

MC: …

>Select: Hanging drawings

I shone my flashlight at the hanging drawings on the wall. I could only see that it was an oil painting, and I couldn’t distinguish who the creator was.

Zuo Ran: These drawings may have been purchased by Gu Wei.

MC: How did you know?

Zuo Ran: Look here. There is a row of little words on the bottom-right corner.

I sidled over and carefully looked them over, and only then did I see what the little words that Zuo Ran was talking about were.

MC: “Gu Wei, year of 2010 at Qinlun Auction House…”

MC: Lawyer Zuo, your eyesight is way too good – you were even able to see this with a glance.

Zuo Ran: I typically drink liver-cleansing, eye-clearing tea. Perhaps it was fruitful.

>Select: Piles on the ground

MC: These drawings and porcelain works have been piled here like garbage. The porcelain’s all broken.

Zuo Ran: Regardless of who their past owner was, it’s obvious their new owner was not interested in them, even feeling disgust.

MC: There’s even a fairly sharp hammer left here. Looks like it was used when smashing the porcelain.

Zuo Ran: Careful, don’t get cut by the porcelain shards.

>Select: Bust

MC: (If it were a present, who could it be that sent it to Chen Hanzhang? Gu Wei…?)

MC: (What exactly was the relationship between them like…?)

>Select: Ellipses

Zuo Ran: We probably have found the right place – otherwise, why would this place have Chen Hanzhang’s bust.

MC: …

[Got Crystal Bust!]

MC: There aren’t any things like blackmail crime evidence or illegal drugs in this room. Let’s go somewhere else and see.

…

We continued to search on this floor.

>Select: Suit

MC: Will it be hard for you to walk around, wearing your suit here, Lawyer Zuo?

Zuo Ran: After returning home, I didn’t have time to change clothes before I came out again.

Zuo Ran: But it’s alright. If it hinders my movement later, I can take off the suit.

>Select: Face

Zuo Ran: After getting off work and returning home earlier, did you already wash up?

MC: How did you know?

Zuo Ran: Hmm… the scent on your body should be that of shower gel.

MC: Mhmm, I can relax from taking a hot shower.

Zuo Ran: Working as my partner, you might often encounter these kinds of sudden situations, which will upset your original lifestyle.

Zuo Ran: Same for joining NXX.

MC: But it’ll also bring me different life experiences – I like that a lot.

Zuo Ran: Mhmm, I also like it a lot.

>Select: Eyes

MC: Lawyer Zuo, you read so many books, yet you actually don’t wear glasses.

Zuo Ran: My mother works so much that she doesn’t have time for anything, yet she is able to make time to concern herself with my health, especially my eyesight.

MC: Eh?

Zuo Ran: My mother said, with an ice-cold personality like mine, there definitely wouldn’t be any girls who like me in the future.

Zuo Ran: If I also wear glasses and end up looking like an old fogey, it’ll be even more so…

MC: I didn’t think that Professor An was such a humorous person. Though she cared about the students in my impression of her, she always looked very serious.

Zuo Ran: My mother was actually joking around. It’s just that the time she spends interacting with me is little, and she doesn’t know how to express her concern.

>Select: Ellipses

MC: (I’m walking through a building like this in the middle of the night, yet I actually don’t feel scared.)

A door appeared in front of us.

Based on its position, this was the room in the southwest direction.

>Open door

Drug Storage Room

This room also had not been locked, but on the door, the electronic lock’s indicator light was lit up, indicating that this place was not abandoned.

When we pushed open the door and entered, a familiar scent assaulted our senses.

MC: They’re the drugs!

Zuo Ran immediately took out his phone to take photos and sent the photo and archive library location to Yan Wei.

Zuo Ran: Be a little careful. We should do our utmost to not bump or break anything in here.

MC: Understood!

Just like if when people find a large stash of cash in a money-related case, where to avoid suspicion, every single person on the scene will avoid the stolen cash until the police arrive.

MC: Though the area here isn’t small, it seems like it hasn’t been filled with drugs.

>Select: Further cabinet

Zuo Ran: This row of drug cabinets has things on them. The scent seems to be coming from this direction.

MC: There are no marks on the drugs – it seems like we have no way to identify that they’re Chen Hanzhang’s.

Zuo Ran: Look at the logo on this shelf – it’s Wiley Financial’s.

MC: Now we’ve caught both the person and the goods!

>Select: Nearer cabinet

MC: Looks like this row of drug cabinets is empty.

Zuo Ran: If this room was filled with drugs, then this would be a large case that would shock the entire nation.

Zuo Ran: Although, to be able to make so much storage space specifically for the drugs, Chen Hanzhang’s ambition is not small.

>Select: Panel

MC: This is the control panel to control the room’s internal temperature, moisture, as well as oxygen levels.

MC: I originally thought that Chen Hanzhang was using the equipment that the archive room originally had. I didn’t think she’d install a completely new one.

Zuo Ran: This equipment has requirements for ventilation and humidity piping.

Zuo Ran: Aside from new houses, if old buildings want to install them, they must have reserved space to begin with.

Zuo Ran: It’s within reason for Chen Hanzhang to choose an abandoned archive library for modifications.

>Select: Ellipses

Zuo Ran: Don’t go in yet. Wait until Leader Yan comes.

MC: Okay.

…

We continued to search on this floor.

>Select: Face

MC: Lawyer Zuo, are you a little too tired and slightly overheated recently? I see that your lips are peeling.

Zuo Ran: I…

Zuo Ran: That might be, I drink less water when going out on work.

MC: Tomorrow at work, I’ll buy you a lip balm from the downstairs convenience store. I know a really good brand.

Zuo Ran: Okay, thank you.

>Select: Sleeve

MC: Aside from shooting and swimming, do you like other sports, Lawyer Zuo?

MC: I remember that during university, to stay fit and look good, lots of guys would learn things like mixed martial arts.

Zuo Ran: I’m not skilled at sports like these. Aside from shooting and swimming…

Zuo Ran: Does bridge count? An exercise of mental strength.

MC: Lawyer Zuo, you know how to play bridge?

Zuo Ran: When relaxing, I sometimes go to bridge clubs to play.

Zuo Ran: Playing cards actually comes second – what’s important is chatting with friends and relaxing.

MC: If there’s a chance, could you teach me? I’ve heard that bridge is very interesting.

Zuo Ran: Sure.

>Select: Ellipses

MC: (I never would’ve thought that Lawyer Zuo knows how to play bridge.)

A door appeared in front of us.

Based on its position, this was the room in the southeast direction.

>Open door

Special File Room

The door to the room was opened, but the door’s password lock was still working, and the electricity normal.

MC: Look, what’s that?

Facing the door was an indomitable-looking, transparent… closet?

I didn’t know how to describe this thing. It looked a little like a water tank or standing closet used by magicians to perform escape magic.

The closet had an electronic lock on it and was currently in locked state. The dashboard on the side displayed the oxygen levels in the closet.

The entire closet was partitioned into two parts, both different from each other. Both sides had a lever, and I didn’t know what they were used for.

MC: Lawyer Zuo, can you tell what this thing is used for?

Zuo Ran: I can’t imagine it.

Zuo Ran: Although there might be what we’re looking for in the file cabinets on these two sides.

>Select: Cabinets

Zuo Ran: Li Gang, 2 million, redeemed…

Zuo Ran: Xue Fan, 4.7 million, redeemed…

Zuo Ran: What’s placed here should be the case files of the “redeemed” people Qing Zhian talked about.

MC: There are only paper document records – there isn’t any other evidence… looks like the so-called blackmail leverage really was destroyed.

Zuo Ran: Whether it’s Gu Wei or Chen Hanzhang, once they’ve set up the rules, they must comply with them.

Zuo Ran: Otherwise, the Tiger’s Accomplice Ghosts might as well surrender to the police and go to jail, and the methods that they use to control the Ghosts would become invalid.

>Select: Cabinets (2)

MC: Cheng Kaiyuan, August 20th, 2017, died from car crash…

I flipped through the materials on the second file cabinet. Here, all the records were of those who had already died.

Zuo Ran: There are only paper document records – looks like the related person’s physical evidence has already been destroyed.

Zuo Ran: For those who have passed, keeping their blackmail leverage is useless.

Dong—

Suddenly, a muffled sound came from outside.

MC: Someone’s there?

I lowered my voice.

Zuo Ran: Don’t panic.

We silently waited for a moment. No other sound came again.

MC: Maybe the wind knocked something over?

Zuo Ran: Act carefully, don’t lower your guard.

>Select: Glass closet

MC: (What is this closet used for?)

MC: (From a safety perspective, I shouldn’t touch it.)

>Select: Ellipses

Zuo Ran: Fu Qiao’s crime evidence is not here, and neither is Qing Zhian’s.

MC: Let’s keep searching.

…

We continued to search on this floor.

>Select: Tie

MC: Lawyer Zuo, when did you learn to tie your tie?

Zuo Ran: Why did you want to ask this? I remember it was… when I was in middle school.

MC: This early?

Zuo Ran: Mhmm, I participated in a school event, and it just so happened that the attire was dress shirt and tie.

MC: I noticed that I can tie a tie for myself, but when I tie it for others, I always get it wrong.

MC: When swapping directions, it seems like everything is different.

Zuo Ran: Perhaps you will get used to it after finding more chances to practice.

>Select: Face

MC: Actually, Lawyer Zuo, when you smile, you really look especially handsome.

Zuo Ran: …

MC: If you typically smiled more, the colleagues at the law firm probably won’t fear you that much.

Zuo Ran: That’s also true.

>Select: Ellipses

MC: In front, over there – that should be another room, right?

A door appeared in front of us.

Based on its position, this was the room in the northeast direction.

>Open door

MC: This door is closed – we need the password to open it.

Zuo Ran: Password… how many digits?

I looked at the password lock’s digit prompts.

MC: 1, 2, 3… it requires 12 digits. This design at the end… it feels like I’ve seen it somewhere.

Zuo Ran: It’s the four-petaled flower design on that crystal bust.

MC: Could the riddle’s answer be on the bust?

MC: Could the text on the bust be the riddle? Are the ground-off numbers the password?

Zuo Ran: It’s very possible.

MC: If it’s guessing riddles…

>Take a picture and send it to Xia Yan >Ask Zuo Ran

MC: Xia Yan is the most skilled when it comes to solving riddles. Let’s go to that display room and take a picture of the bust to send to Xia Yan.

Zuo Ran: No need – this riddle is very easy to solve.

>Take a picture and send it to Xia Yan >Ask Zuo Ran

MC: Lawyer Zuo, do you have any ideas?

Zuo Ran: This riddle isn’t hard. I’ve already got the answer.

Zuo Ran: The answer to the riddle should be 1634 8208 9474. It just so happens to be the same as with the ground-off numbers – the first digit is 1 and the last digit is 4.

MC: Lawyer Zuo, how did you figure it out this quickly?

Zuo Ran: Have you heard of the four-leaf rose number?

Zuo Ran: It refers to a four-digit number. The sum of each digit to the fourth exponent equals the number itself.

Zuo Ran: There are three numbers like this. Individually, they are 1634, 8208 and 9474.

MC: So the four petals and Rose on the bust were hinting at the four-leaf rose numbers?

Zuo Ran: Not only that, but that poem-like text also meant this, and it also hinted at the order of the numbers.

Zuo Ran: “Regardless of how you change, you are still you” refers to exponents.

Zuo Ran: “From the beginning to the end” indicates that the order goes from small to large.

MC: Lawyer Zuo, you really are too amazing. Are you really a law student? Your science grades must also have been great.

Zuo Ran: They’re just things that I got interested in and read about for middle school math. Typically, I’m not able to use them, and they’re not worth bringing up.

Zuo Ran: I’ll input the password. You stand behind me, a little far away.

I knew that Zuo Ran was afraid that the password lock had other safety mechanisms…

I heeded his arrangement and stood behind him, although it was not too far – it was a distance where I could reinforce him at any time.

Beep beep beep—

Right after Zuo Ran pressed the confirmation button, a quiet sound came from the door lock.

Zuo Ran: It’s open.

We pushed open the door and looked in. This was a file room again.

#tears of themis #tears of themis translations #未定事件簿 #zuo ran #mihoyo #weiding shijian bu #tot translation #this part actually kinda drove me nuts #like are you two rly gonna go in the dead of night #without fighting ability and equipment #to a potential criminal hideout #and when i first read it i was half expecting someone to pounce at us every time we opened a door #rly made my heart rate go up down up down up down #also i felt so baited with the xia yan thing :')#anyways next part is kinda sad and kinda messed up so buckle up

20 notes · View notes

angellissy · 4 years

Text

late night adventures

Based on this request by my lovely friend @darkrosekuwonu : Hi me again situation kisses 6 screams jj energy so much idk how to handle it when you have time pls feel free to fuck me up with it💕 6.Needing to kiss to hide from bad guys JJ Maybank x Reader A/N: First and foremost, I have gained some new followers and I just wanted to say a big thank you!! I am actually pretty happy with this imagine, I hope it turned out okay according to the situation :) Remember that I am open for request, either from the prompt list or just whatever ideas you might have. I love to write so just hit me with em’. Your hand was clammy if it was from the adrenaline rushing through your veins or from the fact that your body was pressed against your boyfriend’s, you didn’t know. Most likely a mixture. His uneven breath was warm against your neck, sending tingles through your whole body. One of his arms was wrapped around your shoulders, he was pushing the two of you lower to the ground. “Can you explain one more time why we are hiding behind a bush?” You whispered, he turned his head towards you, grinning widely at your confusion. “We’re here on a secret mission.” A small sigh left your lips, of course you were. “On whose behalf?” “Humanity.” His fingers slipped into yours, and once again he turned to look into your eyes, a small smirk still playing on his lips. “Why are your hands so sweaty? Nervous to be around me princess?” You scoffed at him while rolling your eyes. “Maybe because my boyfriend dragged me out to a random house in the middle of the night.”

“It’s like ten pm, you’re telling me you had better things to do?” His response made you playfully nudge him, however, due to lack of balance, it caused both of you to fall down on the grass. Droplets of water from the last storm still hanging on to the green straws made your light blue jean shorts turn a shade darker. “Why’d you do that?” He groaned, propping himself up from the grass and then holding his hand out for you to take. “I didn’t mean too silly, I just forgot that we were on a top-secret mission.” His warm fingers wrapped around yours as he pulled you up, his other hand soon traveled down to your legs, wiping of all of the excess dirt. “JJ.” You warned him as his hand found it’s way to your ass. “What? Your pants were dirty.” You swatted his hands away and rolled your eyes at him. “Hmm, sure thing.” “Listen carefully now, we are gonna sneak into the party.-” You narrowed your eyes at the house in front of you. “There’s a party in there? It looks dead.” Your interruption made him let out a heavy sigh. “That’s what they want you to think, but you have to listen in order for this plan to succeed.” “Okay, okay officer.” He gave you a weird look when you said that and you had to stifle the laugh that was threatening to slip through your lips. “JJ please tell me that you didn’t get turned on by that.” He holds his hands up in defense “Am I supposed not too? My super hot girlfriend just called me an officer, that does things to a guy princess.” You were pretty sure that only applied to him, but you would let him have it. Maybe because he had just called you super hot, and frankly that made you feel some things too. “The plan is that we are gonna go in there, pretend we know people there and then we’ll steal the weed.” His words left a confident smile on his lips, one you did not return. “And this is why we let Pope plan everything, but please enlighten me on why you are going to steal weed?” He looked at you through furrowed brows and brought a hand up to his head, setting the red cap back to place. Fuck, why did he have to look so good in the simplest of things? You bit your lip, unbeknownst to you, that made him think the exact thing too. “They stole it from me, some stupid kooks at the last party thought they could just take it. So we’re gonna take it back, and I heard from some very reliable sources that they would be partying here tonight.” You groaned at his explanation, nothing of this made sense. There was no way that a bunch of kooks was partying in a worn-out house almost in the middle of the woods. But when you looked at JJ, determination shone through his eyes, and you didn’t want to take this adventure away from him. No matter how stupid it might be. You trudged forward, pulling his arm to make him come with you. He gave you a small smile “That’s my girl.” You shook his head at him, trying to ignore the blush that crept up onto your cheeks. The closer you came to the house, the more apparent it became that there was, in fact, a party inside those walls. Loud music was blasting through speakers, and you were sure that you could hear people chanting. Your grip on his hand became just a little bit tighter, making sure that he wasn’t gonna leave your side once you stepped in. “I’m not gonna leave you all alone in a room full of random people princess, don’t worry.” He gave you a reassuring grin just as he stepped into the house, dragging him with you. Oh boy, you had really been wrong before. This place was bigger than what it looked from the outside and it was filled with kooks, pogues, and everything in between. You recognized some people, it wasn’t surprising since everybody’s paths seemed to cross every once in a while. JJ said hello to some people, no doubt trying to blend in before putting the plan into action. The two of you came further and further into the crowd, elbows and hands were digging into your sides. A small “ouf” slipped past your lips as you walked straight into JJ’s chest, seeing as he had stopped walking. His arms snaked around your waist and he started to move to the beats of the music. “Why are you slow dancing to a hip hop song?” You yelled, trying to make your voice heard over the loud song. He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m blending in and trying to spot the dudes that stole my.-” A flash of panic suddenly clouded his eyes. “Kiss me!” You were taken aback by his words, so you simply let out a “What.” “Those dudes, I think they’re looking at me and I need you to kiss me so they don’t see my face.” He pulled you closer, his hands were drawing circles on your lower back. You didn’t know if he noticed that he did that, but from your observations, it seemed to be something he tended to do when he was getting stressed out. “I thought you wanted to find them?” His face was moving closer to yours, and the butterflies in your stomach started going crazy. You had been dating for almost a year, but whenever he came close to you, your body just reacted. “Yes, but I didn’t want them to find me, and I don’t wanna risk getting into a fight. Gotta take care of my girl right?” Your hands found their way around his neck, pulling him close enough for your lips to finally touch. When his lips brushed hers, she could feel the taste of her own strawberry chapstick. The taste must have lingered since the last kiss they shared. His fingers dug into her back, trying to intertwine their bodies even more. JJ Maybank was like the sea, glistening and beautiful on the outside, becoming even more gorgeous as rays of sunshine grazed the surface. But he was also mysterious and complicated, the depth of his feelings seemed to go on forever. That didn’t stop you from diving right in. So when his tongue found it’s way past your lips, you curled your toes. Just as you would’ve done if you had been standing knee-deep in the sea, toes curling against the sand, trying to stop you from losing balance and tumbling right down. Still, when he deepened the kiss further, waves of various feelings crashed into you, and so you lost your balance and tumbled right into the sea that was the boy that held your heart. You tilted your head back, gasping for air, though he saw it as an opportunity to plant kisses on the bare skin of your neck. “I think they are gone now, we should continue with the plan.” You whispered, still trying to fill your lungs with the air they lacked. His lips came closer to yours “Fuck the plan.” He breathed before reattaching your lips, the air in his lungs mixed with yours, making you hold onto the kiss longer. That’s the thing, everything was better when shared, no matter if it was adventures or kisses that made you lose your footing.

#jj maybank #jj x reader #jj maybank imagines #obx jj #jj imagines #obx #outer banks #outer banks imagine

284 notes · View notes

harcourtholmesii · 3 years

Text

A Turn Of Fates (Part 1)

Based on the prompts by @connor-sent-by-cyberlife, specifically the ‘Friend and Enemy’ prompt, but is going to be an ongoing story. This is not necessarily for the list, but I felt the need to upload this one in reference to it, since it was the second story inspired by the prompt. Part of why I wrote it, aside from the inspiration of the prompt itself, was the fact that, in the highway chase between Connor, Kara and Alice, I felt a little disappointed with all the different outcomes, and wanted to add one of my own, one which I felt could lead to a deviating storyline (see what I did there ^^ hehe (I’m pathetic)).

Pairings: Light HankCon / Hannor / Hank X Connor (May Be Updated In Future)

Warnings: - Android Gore - Near Unknowing, Attempted Suicide - Violence - Mentions and Implications of Abuse - Major Character Death

Words: 1770

Enjoy!

‘Do NOT go after them, Connor! That’s an order!’ Though Hank’s words pressed him to stay, clinging to the chain link fence and awaiting the inevitable, Connor felt his arms and legs beginning to move, as if on their own terms. He couldn’t let them get away; if they succeeded in crossing the highway, he would fail. If they failed to cross the highway, and were destroyed in the process, he would fail.

‘Connor! Goddammit!’ He would pre-construct the best explanation later, but he had to do this. He couldn’t allow the deviant, the AX400, and the YK500 to be shattered in pieces across the road. It would not aid their mission, and a small piece of Connor’s mind was hard-wired to call out. As if his words alone might halt them from crossing the road. It was a small strain, but a desperate one that pulled at the back of his head. He ignored t, drawing closer to the road.

Before him, the AX400 had taken a few glancing blows to the body and arms, but had prevented any damage to YK500. Spatters of thirium dotted the road from where the trucks and cars had briefly collided with it. Of course, no vehicle would slow down; no android would ever just cross the road at a busy highway. Instead, the self-driving vehicles that made up the majority of the oncoming traffic, had been input with sensors to determine the presence of living creatures on the road.

The cars would not stop for androids.

He made it to the road, felt the wind of a passing car tear through his synthetic skin. If he had been human, perhaps it would have stung, but he barely noticed it. His HUD was an explosion of colour, detailing what paths to take, error signs blaring as every other car came just slightly too close. The wet of the rain made it hard to calculate exactly what he needed to do to avoid being damaged, every minor slip causing him to nearly lose his leg or more of his body.

There was a rush through him, one he didn’t quite understand. Whilst his thirium pump was beating aggressively within the cavity of his chest, it wasn’t like the ‘adrenaline’ he was familiar with. It was a painful, claustrophobic feeling across his body, every time a car or truck came just that little too close for comfort.

The deviant tripped over the second guardrail, its female face in a puddle of rainwater created by a minor pothole. It turned to the child-like android, as the little one made its way over the guard rail and attempted to help the deviant to its feet. Connor leapt over the first and raced up the thin island of grass and the only safe spot in the centre of the road.

From how close he was now, Connor could scan the androids. The YK500 was missing its LED; a sign that, perhaps, whoever had owned it, didn’t wish to be reminded of its artificial nature. It was unlikely that the LED was removed by the AX400, as the process, whilst not painful, could trigger a reaction in the YK500 akin to ‘fear’. It was made to act like a child, after all, and most sharp tools directed to one’s own temple tended to cause a distressed reaction in most androids.

The clothes, on both the androids, was too large for them; an adult’s clothes, but nothing tailored or overly expensive. Simply store bought from one of the many malls in Detroit.

There were the finest traces of thirium close to the surface of the YK500’s, located just beneath the right eye. As uneven as it was, it would suggest ‘bruising’, caused by a blow to the head. Considering the AX400’s demeanour to protect the ‘child’, Connor doubted that their most recent witness to deviancy, a mister Todd Williams, was entirely telling the truth about what occurred the night he was ‘attacked’.

Despite the strange, claustrophobic feeling in his chest, Connor also felt as if his blue blood was boiling. He didn’t understand it. He didn’t question it. Not now.

‘Instability; Increased.’

He leapt over the final guard rail, and Connor was upon them in an instant. The AX400 had pushed the smaller of the two androids across the remaining stretch of concrete. The YK500 stood in the dirt and mud, watching as Connor and the deviant grappled in the middle of the highway.

Another truck passed by far too close, and Connor felt his thirium pump seize for all of 3.06 seconds. He was managing to hold the deviant close, his strength far greater than that of the housekeeping android. Tried as it might, it couldn’t loosen his grip. He opened his mouth to speak when he heard the wind whistling past his ear and felt the sudden there-and-gone pressure of a rear-view mirror. It scraped across his chassis, ruining part of his uniform and tearing it enough that the synthetic skin had retreated from the damage.

His own thirium spilled across the highway, and his arms opened on reflex in an attempt to cover the damaged area.

As he released the android, there was a cry from the other side of the road; a child’s voice calling out in distress. Connor’s optical units zeroed in on the AX400’s gaze, where the head had turned as a reaction.

‘Watch out, Kara!’

By then, it was too late. The deviant’s limp body was swept up by the hood of a driver-less vehicle. Her body went high into the air for all of several seconds before it fell to the road. The legs had been snapped off at the knee joint, thirium spilling out in all directions. Connor watched with that sense of claustrophobia growing, as if something was clenching tightly at his biocomponents.

Its head had snapped around to face him when it hit the pavement, the neck joint split in four places from the landing. The equivalent of a human’s neck breaking. Connor’s eyes widened on the sight, and a heavy pit weighed down his body, optical units watching with dread as the YK500 stepped onto the road.

‘K-Kara…?’

When the second screech of tires came racing down the highway, Connor didn’t hesitate this time. He raced forward, as fast as is long, impaired legs could manage. He reached out, feeling the wet coat through his fingers, as he pulled the child to him, and half-tackled them across the road. He curled his body up, and with his velocity, carried them into the safety of the mud and grime. A truck, that would have shattered its fragile body on impact, continued its route onward, undeterred by the obstruction of the body on the road, and the androids safely sat on the other side.

Connor couldn’t tell if it was the child who was trembling, or himself. He peered at the damage on the road, watching as the next car and then the next, continued to spread what remained of the deviant across the road. He could feel the child’s small hands beginning to bat at his chest, attempting to push him away, but Connor simply held them closer.

He could see the stress levels increasing in the child, how it had, without realising, attempted to self-destruct by running out onto the road when the deviant had been hit. To recover it from self-destruction, all Connor could do was hold it until Hank and the other officers got to their position.

Peering up at the chain link fence he had climbed to continue the chase, he could see Hank was gone, and the sound of sirens and muted Knights of the Black Death could be heard crossing the bridge above their head.

‘Kara!’ The cry was muffled in his uniform, a desperate, anguished plea so akin to a wounded or upset child.

‘Instability; Increased.’

Artificial, thirium based tears, had created a minor damp in his uniform by the time Hank was racing down the uneven hill. Connor watched him with wide eyes, and as the officers had begun setting up a small, blocked off space of road, so they might retrieve what they could of the deviant. Hank approached his side, and though it seemed as if he might strike Connor, the anger in his eyes softened at the sight of the trembling child. A paternal, instinctual reaction, as he raised a hand to the child’s head and attempted to soothe it.

As Hank pressed closer to Connor, in an attempt to create a smooth transition from one person to another, expecting the RK800 to pass him the android, there was a moment of surprise from both as Connor simply hugged the child tighter. Her fists were bunched up in his clothes now, and something about letting her go failed to diminish his ‘concern’.

Eventually, it was decided that Connor would be the one to transport the android to Hank’s car so they could return to the precinct. Connor followed Hank’s orders, holding the stressed little one tight to him and not letting them go, even when he had entered into the car. He watched through the windows as the traffic was redirected around a series of police banners and pylons, allowing the tech and investigative team to pick up the literal pieces of the chase.

Hank seemed about as shaken as Connor felt, and took a moment to breathe deeply once he had entered into the car. His eyes turned to the child in Connor’s arms and to Connor himself, leaning over just enough to raise one hand to Connor’s face. His thumb swept across Connor’s cheeks, revealing a wetness between the tips of his thumb and fingers. Connor was ‘crying’.

‘I didn’t think androids could cry.’

‘We can’t. Not really…’ Connor returned, lowering his head to rest his cheek atop the YK500’s hair. It was soft, despite it being a simple visage. Wet from the time in the rain, and with the smell of soap from the hotel tub. He felt he couldn’t breathe, even though androids didn’t have to take in oxygen, it felt as if his breath was caught in his throat. He let out a sound he did not recognise.

‘Connor…’

‘Let’s just head back to the precinct, Hank.’ His voice was a strained kind of stern, Connor attempting to hide the strange feelings by pressing them back behind walls of coded security. The child shifted in his arms, and Connor could tell she was entering into a stressed stasis, her body attempting to recover from the emotional shock.

‘We finished the mission.’

‘Instability; Decreased.’

#Detroit: Become Human #DBH #RK800 #RK800 Connor #Connor DBH #Hank Anderson #AX400 Kara #Kara DBH #YK500 Alice #Alice DBH #HankCon #Hannor #Fanfiction #Fanfic #HarcourtHolmesII

13 notes · View notes