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prismartist · 2 years

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A Stew and Dance

part 4 of To break bread, the series about soulbounds and food.

Ao3

–––

“Me-nu-do.” Jimmy pronounces each syllable carefully. “Is that like, Italian?”

“Spanish, actually. Well, the actual dish is from the Philippines. It’s a tomato stew, kinda. It’s got potatoes and carrots and pork.”

“Oh my gosh, thank goodness, I was starting to get sick of beef.” Jimmy turns to pat one of the cattle. “No offence.”

Tango grins. “I don’t think they’ll be offended that you’re not eating them, Jimmy.”

Jimmy laughs. “True, true.”

The noontime light streams through the windows, washing everything in a comforting golden warmth. Jimmy softens as he watches Tango, who hums as he drops pork into a pot of water, covering it afterwards and leaving it to boil on the furnace. He then takes the garlic and crushes it, peeling the broken skin off and depositing it in their compost bin—a leather bag—before chopping the cloves. The rhythmic sound is satisfying as Tango expertly and quickly minces them up, and Jimmy can’t help but admire how easily he seems to do it.

The whole atmosphere is… nice, really. It's the most relaxed Jimmy's felt in the two weeks he's been here. It's definitely a nice change of pace from the… well, the arson. But it seems Scar's had his satisfaction for now, so he and most of the server are dormant or too caught up in their own petty squabbles. Jimmy's sure the time will come when chaos will break out again, but for now, it's him and Tango, peacefully cooking menudo. It’s very nice. He definitely knows that Tango needs the peace.

…wait he should probably help Tango shouldn't he.

Pushing himself off the fence, Jimmy sheepishly walks up to his soulmate, and asks, “Hey, can I help?”

Tango turns to him, wide-eyed. “Oh! Oh yeah sure, uhh here.” He grabs an extra knife and hands it to Jimmy, who barely stifles a squeak upon seeing the sharp blade come at him. Tango notices, and tilts his head in amusement. “Don’t tell me you’re not used to chopping food,” he teases.

“N-no, I’m plenty familiar with it. I’m also just…” Jimmy gingerly takes the knife, “...very careful.”

Tango chuckles and turns back to the garlic. “Fair, fair. You can chop the onions.”

“Oh… okay.” Jimmy adjusts to the knife’s weight, then takes an onion. He peels it, cuts it in half, and starts to chop.

The sting comes soon enough.

“Ohhh, no,” he mutters as his vision goes blurry with involuntary tears. He tries to fight through, using what remains of his vision to keep chopping, but it feels like his eyeballs are on fire.

“Jimmy?” The warble in Tango’s voice makes it clear that he’s also feeling it. “Don’t tell me you did what you just did?”

“I’m sorry, I just-” Jimmy carefully puts down the knife and raises a hand to wipe his eyes.

“NOOO!” Tango grabs Jimmy by the wrist and drags him over to the sink. “Wash your hands first, then wash your eyes! You’ll get more onion in them if you do that.”

“Auuuouuughhhh,” replies Jimmy, who at this point can’t see a single thing. His head starts throbbing from the dehydration and how hard he’s shutting his eyes.

Jimmy washes off all the remaining residue on his hands, and Tango takes it upon himself to wash his eyes. He slowly waits for his vision to return and the pain to fade.

Tango sighs. “I’ll do the onions, okay? You can do the carrots.”

As the wooden walls and Jimmy’s tired reflection in the water comes back into view, he sighs. “Yeah, maybe that’s fair.”

Tango explains later that the trick is to cut the onion in half, and then place the inside part facing down, so the fumes don’t waft up. Jimmy swears, swears, that he did do that, and Tango just smiles and says he believes him.

So the onions are chopped, placed on a plate well away from Jimmy, along with the garlic. Tango busies himself with the potatoes, Jimmy the carrots. He carefully peels and dices them according to Tango’s instruction. He looks over to the pot, where the water has been boiling for a good couple of minutes; Jimmy’s aware because he’s right next to it, and has been uncomfortably feeling the steam slowly warm the right side of his face. He notes that the pork has greyed considerably. He informs Tango, who goes to drain the pot and transfer the pork to a bowl. He tells Jimmy to stir the garlic, onions, and tomato sauce in the now-empty pot, and Jimmy does so. Soon the fragrant scent fills the room, thankfully overpowering the smell of the cows. However Jimmy’s arm is starting to get a bit weary, and though the task is nice, it’s still mundane enough for his mind to start drifting.

It drifts to a song, a jaunty pop tune, which starts looping. Absetmindendly, Jimmy starts humming it, then, quietly, sings the first lyrics.

“Heeeyy,” he sings in falsetto, “Hey, baby. Ooh, ah.” He smiles. “I wanna know…”

“If you’ll be my girl.”

Jimmy whips his head to look at Tango, who stares back with a wide grin. “‘Hey Baby’, right?”

“I- uh, yeah!” Jimmy grins back. “You know it?”

“Of course I do.” Tango takes a breath, and continues as he scoops up the diced pork and deposits the pieces in the pot, “Hey, hey baby!”

“Ooh! Ah! I wanna-”

“Hold on, hold on, what’s that part?”

“What?”

“The ‘ooh, ah’ thing, what is that?”

Jimmy pauses his stirring to give a puzzled look. “It’s part of the song.”

“Not in the version I remember. Also, don’t let the pork burn, it’ll stick to the pan.”

“Oh right, sorry.” Jimmy resumes stirring. “It’s in the DJ Otzi song! Don’t you know it?”

“DJ who?”

Jimmy gapes. “The guy who- wait, how’d you know the song, then?”

“Bruce Channel? The guy who first sang it in the sixties?”

“It’s from the sixties??”

Tango looks beyond aghast. He turns away, to the bowl of pre-prepared water, waving a hand. “Just- stir the pork, I need to process this.”

“You don’t mean that,” Jimmy says, indignant.

“How do you not know it’s by Bruce Channel, it’s a classic!”

“Surely I’m not at fault for this!”

Tango simply pours in the water in silence, and Jimmy sighs.

After a short amount of time has passed, with Jimmy stirring and Tango putting in seasoning and the rest of the vegetables, Jimmy smirks.

“Ooh.” He giggles with a shit-eating grin, and Tango groans, though a smile starts to form on his face. Jimmy barks out a full laugh and continues, “Ah!”

“I don’t even know why you’d include tha-”

“I wanna know!” Jimmy continues singing at full volume, throwing a hand into the air. “If you’d be my girl!”

Tango finally drops the act and beams, singing back, “When I saw you walking down the street.” He starts to bop his head, just slightly. “I said, that’s the kind of gal I’d like to meet!”

“She’s so pretty, lord, she’s fine—” Jimmy yanks the ladle out of the stew and puts it near his mouth, making Tango shriek at the splatter, “—sorry! I’m gonna make her-”

They sing together: “Mine all mine!”

Jimmy starts to step back, shimmying a bit as he does, and Tango follows with eagerness as they sing, “Hey, hey baby!”

“Ooh, ah!” Jimmy can’t help but keep in, giggling at Tango’s exasperation.

“I wanna know, if you’ll be my girl.”

Jimmy reaches out his free hand, and Tango takes it. “Hey, hey baby!” he starts again. They guide each other in an impromptu freestyle, something vaguely reminiscent of a boogey. “I wanna know, if you’ll be my girl.”

“Pretty sure there’s supposed to be just one chorus there?” Tango asks.

“Is there? I dunno, just go with it.” He holds the ladle closer to his face again. “When you turned and walked away, that's when I wanna say-” he moves the ladle to Tango, who smiles wider at the prompt.

“Come on, baby, give me a whirl.” He leans closer to the “microphone” as he sings louder, “I wanna know if you'll be my girl! Hey-”

“No, it goes ‘I wanna know, I wanna know’-”

“It does not!”

“Yes it does!” As a distraction technique, Jimmy throws Tango into a twirl, and Tango yelps with surprise while Jimmy quickly moves into the next part. “When you turned and walked away, that’s when I wanna say, come on baby-” He moves closer to the now-exasperated Tango, crouching a bit so he’s just under eye level, swinging his shoulders to the beat as he looks up at his partner. Tango smiles as he does so. “Give me a whirl!” He moves the ladle between them, and Tango jumps back in.

“I wanna know if you’ll be my girl!”

Tango drags Jimmy in closer, catching him off-guard, but he quickly adjusts, their position now more reminiscent of a traditional partner dance. Jimmy still holds up the ladle, however awkward. They step and sway to the tempo with unfaltering energy. “Hey, hey baby!”

“Ooh, ah!” Tango adds, and Jimmy gasps.

“You said the ooh ah!”

“Sure did!”

Together again: “I wanna know, if you’ll be my girl.”

As revenge, Tango twirls Jimmy, who only shouts “Hey!” and laughs.

“Hey, hey baby! Ooh, ah, I wanna know, if you’ll be my girl!”

They continue singing the chorus for a while, both forgetting how many times it’s repeated, as they dance together around the room with wide grins, throwing each other into a twirl everyone once in a while. At one point, Jimmy dips Tango, who squeaks in delight.

(He asks Jimmy how he learned to do it; Jimmy can’t remember, but he remembers flowers.)

It’s a bright scene, golden light streaming over the boys as they sing until their throat becomes sore, and the delicious smell of menudo growing ever stronger.

Hold on.

“The menudo!” Jimmy exclaims, and Tango only yells as they both scramble over to the pot. Jimmy quickly dips the ladle back in and stirs, marvelling at the rich red colour it’s accumulated. He feels his heart sink a bit upon seeing that the stew at the bottom had stuck slightly and turned a darker colour, but upon scraping it off easily, it seems fine.

“Is it good?” Tango asks. “Quick, taste it.”

Jimmy does, blowing a bit on it before taking a sip. It was still a bit watery, but Jimmy hums pleasantly at the flavour, the pork clearly having been assimilated into the tomato sauce. He scoops up a piece of pork as well and tries it. The fat easily shreds and melts on his tongue. “It’s good!” he reports with delight, and Tango makes a relieved sound. “It’s on its way, dude. Here, try.”

Tango hums too upon tasting. “Oooh, dude that’s great!” He grins wide, his eyes glimmering. “I’ll add a bit more salt and pepper, but hey, that’s not bad!”

Jimmy nods, taking back the ladle and continuing to stir. He takes the moment to calm his breath—he hadn’t realised how much the spontaneous dancing had taken out of him. Tango watches serenely as he starts to put away the knives and plates for later cleaning. While he does so, he hums.

“Hey, hey baby. Ooh, ah.”“I wanna know,” they sing together, quietly in the afternoon warmth, and harmonies wafting with the menudo’s scent, “if you’ll be my girl.”

#double life smp #dlsmp #tangotek #solidaritygaming #jimmy solidarity #rancherduo #rancher duo #mcyt #double life fanfiction #dolesmp #prismatic writing

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namixart · 1 year

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Crossing lines, hand in hand, ch. 8

Read on AO3!

The one good thing about being stuck in the Gold Saucer was the Ghost Hotel. Not the general aesthetic of it, or the many cheap scares hidden in its halls—Cloud had never particularly cared for horror or generally spooky stuff, and he wasn’t about to start now—but the free apology stay in single rooms was nothing short of a blessing after months on the road.

As Cloud let himself fall heavily on his bed, he almost had to remind himself that he was supposed to be annoyed at the time they were wasting. But then he thought about Barret’s snoring and Yuffie’s constant tossing and turning, and remembered there were actual walls between him and them, not to mention an actual bed instead of a sleeping bag under him, and the annoyance melted away completely. He sighed deeply.

He so needed the rest.

He was more tired than he had been in months, with his limbs heavy and his brain foggy and slow. Dio’s arena had been rough: Cloud had been sent flying through the air more times than he could count, been badly burned all over his arms, and narrowly avoided getting skewered by a tiny green… goblin thing holding a kitchen knife. He’d even missed Dio finally forking over the Keystone because, after he’d cleared all eight rounds, he’d had to sit down with Aerith in a side room so she could heal all his burns, bruises, and cuts.

It was odd: more than once, he’d found himself looking around for his friends as he fought, only to remember he was the only one there. He couldn’t trust Barret to keep the enemies at bay while Cloud backed down for a second to catch his breath; there was no Tifa to help him keep the pressure on the monsters; Aerith couldn’t clear out the battlefield with a flick of her hand or keep Cloud safe from where she sat up in the stands. It had been just him down there.

A few months earlier, he wouldn’t have batted an eye at the prospect of facing down a slew of monsters alone. But things were different. So many things were different. Cloud furrowed his brows as he took a deep breath. Was it a good thing, that he’d started to rely so much on his friends in battle? Or would it eventually come back to bite him while fighting alone?

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door, a rhythmic and cheerful rapping that could only be coming from one person. Cloud smiled as he sat up. “Door’s open.”

After a beat, Aerith entered the room accompanied by a creepy screech that was for sure a feature of every hinge in the Ghost Hotel. She took a few steps forward and linked her hands behind her back with a smile. “Heya,” she said.

“Heya.” Cloud stood up, ignoring his sore… well, everything. “Need something?”

Aerith hummed. “Sorta. First, I wanted to check on you. Feeling okay?”

“Sorta,” he parroted with a half smile, slowly rotating his shoulder. “Still feels like I got run over by a truck after I ran a marathon.”

She winced sympathetically. “Ouch. Well, I guess… The other thing’s probably a no-go, huh?” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, looking a little crestfallen. “Another time.”

Cloud furrowed his brows. “What other thing?”

Aerith nodded towards the door. “Well, I just figured… We’re stuck here anyway, right? Might as well go have some fun and check out the park.”

“Oh.” Cloud bit his lip. He’d really been looking forward to an early night in a real bed, but… “I’m not that tired,” he said slowly.

She looked at him for a moment, then huffed out a laugh. “You don’t have to do that. Just rest up, okay? You don’t need to force yourself to go out for my sake. I probably shouldn’t have asked, anyway. I’ll just turn in early as well.”

Cloud furrowed his brows. “What? What about the others? Did everyone say no?”

“Oh.” Aerith giggled. “I haven’t told anyone else. As much as I love our friends, I was kinda asking youout on a date.”

Cloud stared at her. She calmly held his stunned gaze with an amused smile on her face.

He blinked. She waited.

“Huh?” he said eloquently.

“A date,” she repeated.

Cloud looked away. “Yeah, I—uh—I heard that.” Although he’d thought he’d heard wrong because what!? “It’s just—a date? Y-You? With me?”

Aerith hummed as she rocked on the balls of her feet. “Yup.”

“…Why?”

Aerith burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. Cloud took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest, feeling his ears burn. “Hey, don’t—”

“Sorry, sorry,” she wheezed, waving a hand in the air. But she was still giggling. “It’s just—why?” She covered her mouth as another chuckle spilled out. “Sorry, gimme—gimme a second here. I swear I’m trying to—why!”

Cloud waited for her laugh attack to pass, drumming his fingers over his arms. “Alright, alright, I get it,” he muttered. “I’m an idiot.”

Aerith straightened up with a deep, shaky breath. She was slightly red in the face and her eyes were still full of mirth “Whew. Wow, I’m sorry about that,” she said, panting a little bit. “You just caught me by surprise. No one’s ever asked me why I wanted to go on a date with them. Though I guess there were a couple of jerks who asked why I thought they would want to go on a date with me. So, like, screw them, right?”

Cloud nodded slowly. “Right.”

“Anyway,” she continued, putting her hands on her hips. “To answer your question: first off, I still owe you for your bodyguard services.”

Oh. Right. Cloud hummed, hoping the disappointment didn’t show on his face or in his voice.

“Second, I like spending time with you,” said Aerith. Her expression softened into the fond smile Cloud had discovered in Cosmo Canyon, and his heart skipped a beat. “You talk more, when it’s just us. About stuff other than the mission, I mean. And you smile more too. I like that Cloud.” She giggled. “And maybe I wanna keep him all to myself for a while.”

Cloud nodded slowly, then blinked twice and shook his head. Shit, he was supposed to reply. And also breathe. “I—uh, I mean—” What was he even supposed to say? To pinch him because there was no way this was real? That he needed several moments to process the fact that she wanted to go on a date with him? That he was completely, desperately, and embarrassingly in love with her? How could he tell her any of that without coming off as the creepiest weirdo to ever walk the Planet? He cleared his throat and averted his gaze. “Like I said. Not that tired,” he muttered. His face was on fire. Damnit. “We can go out, if you want.”

Aerith tilted her head to the side. “You sure?”

He nodded.

She didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, so Cloud hazarded a look at her. She was smiling softly, eyes gleaming with affection. “You’re so sweet,” she said. She reached out to take one of his hands out of its nervous arms-crossed-knot and squeezed it. “It’ll be fun, I promise. What say you we grab a late-night dinner?”

“Yeah. Sounds good,” said Cloud, and let her lead him by the hand out of his room and into a date.

The park was as crowded at almost-midnight as it had been in the afternoon. Aerith caught Cloud’s perplexed expression and giggled. “It’s Enchantment Night,” she said, dangling their joined hands between them. “All the rides are free.”

Cloud hummed. “So that’s why you picked tonight to pay your bill,” he said. It was a bit easier to talk about the fact that they were on a date if he was teasing her.

Aerith laughed and stuck her tongue out at him. “Unlike some people, I’m not a cheapskate. It’s just a coincidence.”

“Uh-huh.”

She pulled a faux-offended face and let his hand go to cross her arms. “Well then, maybe I’ll just call the whole thing off. That’ll teach you.” But she was trying to stifle a smile.

“You wouldn’t,” said Cloud, looking away from her. “You have a debt to settle.”

Aerith hummed. “I wouldn’t, and I do. And I’m a woman of my word. Hey, I think that over there is a diner. Sound good?”

Cloud nodded and followed her as she walked ahead towards the diner, her braid swishing behind her. He kind of missed the contact of her holding his hand, but he couldn’t very well just reach out and take hers back. Aerith led them to a small table at the back of the diner, which was right by a large window overlooking a big arena with a stage to the side. It was slowly filling with people, and someone was on stage talking into a microphone, but Cloud couldn’t make out a word they were saying from behind the glass.

“Dinner and a show, huh?” said Aerith, gathering her skirt under her knees as she sat down. “Shame we can’t hear any of it.”

Cloud hummed. “Maybe there’s a later showing? Um, if you want to go.”

Aerith tapped her lips in thought. “I think I saw posters about the show, but I don’t remember the times. Oh, well. Are you hungry? Now that there’s food around me, I’m kinda starving.”

“I could eat,” said Cloud, eyeing a server weaving through the crowd while carrying two large pizzas. A low grumble came from his stomach, and Aerith giggled. “A lot. I could eat a lot,” he amended, feeling his cheeks heat up. “I actually don’t think I had anything after Dio’s Battle Square.”

Aerith clicked her tongue. “Well, that won’t do.” She waved to a waiter to get their attention. “Just hang in there.”

Only a few minutes later, the waiter returned with their food—a pizza for Cloud and a very well stacked burger for Aerith, plus a large plate of fries to share. She squealed happily when the server set the plates down in front of her. “Oh, I love food,” she said, clasping her hands together.

Cloud chuckled as he took off his gloves and grabbed the very blunt pizza cutter from the cutlery box. “Who doesn’t?”

She giggled. “Fair enough. By the way,” she said, grabbing two fries from their sharer plate, “this is familiar, isn’t it?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess.” Cloud hummed. It seemed so long ago. “You’re not gonna pass out on me, are you?”

“Absolutely not,” said Aerith, popping the fries into her mouth. “Dates aren’t for passing out. Which, shame about that time in Wall Market, ‘cause other than the dizzy spell it almost was a date.”

Cloud furrowed his brows. “It was a rescue op.”

She shrugged. “As I said. Almost.”

He rolled his eyes and Aerith giggled. “Come to think of it,” she said with a sly smile, “last time we were here, too. Very date-like.”

Cloud frowned. “Last time…?” He shook his head. “I was trying to cheer you up.”

“And you did. With date-like activities.” She waved a fry in the air. “We went to see a Chocobo race, we went to a fair… you even won me a plushie! Very romantic, I must say.”

He planted his eyes on his pizza. What is she saying? “That’s not—”

“Of course,” continued Aerith, with a mischievous glint in her eye, “we could say the same about Wutai too.”

“Wutai?” Cloud crossed his arms. “You wanted to teach me gardening!”

Aerith waved a hand in the air. “But I didn’t! We just hung out in a lovely flower field and talked while I turned you into a human bouquet. It totally counts! Remember what I said in Wall Market?”

He pursed his lips. “You said… a lot of things.”

She laughed. “It’s not a trick question.”

“I just mean that you talk a lot.” He gave a half laugh at Aerith’s faux-offended gasp. “Wouldn’t know where to start.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “Meanie. I was talking about the date I promised you.”

“You mean this one?”

“Yeah—well, no, not at the time.” She leaned forward with her elbows on the table. “I said I’d take you somewhere nice and surprising. Like… a pretty meadow in a foreign country? And that there’d be lots and lots of flowers.”

Realisation dawned on Cloud. “…Maybe a pocket flower,” he said, echoing her words from so long ago.

Aerith hummed, satisfied, and sat back in her seat. “See? Totally lines up!”

“I, uh… I didn’t know those were… dates.” He inwardly cringed.His clinical awkwardness would be the death of him.

She shrugged. “Well, neither did I. But they could’ve been. We could just say they were.”

He looked up again and furrowed his brows. “We could?”

“Sure.” She winked. “Who’s keeping count, anyway? The dating police?”

That got a laugh out of him. “That’s a thing?”

Aerith winked. “Let’s not tell them, just in case. So?”

“So what?”

“So… were those dates?”

“Oh, um…” Cloud scratched the back of his neck. “I, uh…”

Aerith pouted. “Oh, no, don’t do that. You were doing so well. You forget to get flustered when you’re being argumentative.”

Cloud frowned, but only to suppress a smile. “So what, you want to fight?”

She laughed. “Yep, just like that.”

Cloud rolled his eyes. When he looked at Aerith again, she had her hands linked under her chin and her elbows resting on the table. She was still waiting for an answer. He swallowed. “I, uh,” he started, “I don’t think they count. As dates.”

Aerith lifted an eyebrow. “Oh? How so?”

He averted his gaze. “Well, neither of us knew they were.”

She giggled. “Why does that matter?”

“Because if they were, we’d have been dating for, what, months? Without realising?” Cloud huffed. “That’s dumb.”

Aerith burst out laughing. “It really is. And yet.”

He frowned and crossed his arms. “No. Absolutely not. This is our first date.”

Her smile widened. “First? You mean you want more? My, how direct.”

It was like she’d stolen the air out of his lungs and then taken a lighter to his face. He ran a hand over it, vaguely wishing he could wipe off the flush. “I—I, uh…”

Aerith laughed again. “You know,” she started, reaching out to gently pry his hand from his face, “in all of this very normal conversation, we’ve never once asked the one thing that matters.”

Cloud hazarded a look at her. “What’s that?”

“If we want to be dating. Do you?”

It was a point of no return. He could lie, and save himself the rejection. Or he could be brave.

He closed his eyes and nodded.

He wasn’t brave enough to trust his voice.

Aerith giggled and let go of his hand after giving it a final squeeze. “Great! Me too. Now, finish your pizza before it gets cold—I’ve got an idea for later.”

“H-huh?” Cloud blinked dumbly at her. “That’s it?”

Aerith hummed as she took a bite out of her burger. “Sure. Sometimes things are that simple. You ask someone out, and they say yes. What were you expecting?”

Rejection. Barring that… More coherent words out of my mouth. Telling you I’m in love with you. Kissing you.

Cloud shook his head. “Never mind,” he said, picking up a slice of pizza. It was going kinda cold.

Aerith levelled him with an amused look, but didn’t tease him any further.

They ate more or less in silence for a little while after that. Aerith would make little comments about what was apparently going on in the play—some kind of fairy tale? There was a dragon and someone dressed as a wizard—or about the people around them, light-hearted and casual. She was smiling the entire time, though, even when they were just eating in comfortable silence, so maybe Cloud wasn’t the only one who couldn’t stop thinking about their conversation.

It was astonishing how much and how little seemed to have changed with the simple change in status of their relationship—from “friends” to “dating.” Aerith wasn’t acting any differently, and yet there was a shift in her tone, her eyes, her smile—little changes that all added up to… not much of a change after all. Or maybe it was just Cloud being hyper-aware and over-analysing everything. It got him wondering if maybe she’d been onto something with her claim that they’d been dating for a while.

They were dating. In a relationship. And it had happened with only an awkward conversation and a simple question. There had to be a catch. But, glancing at Aerith, he couldn’t help but think that it was safe to trust her and everything she said. He was safe with her. He silently vowed that she would always be safe with him as well. And, maybe, someday he would find the words to tell her.

He shook his head, and found her looking at him.

“What?” he asked.

Aerith smiled. “I know you were tired tonight,” she said. “But thank you. I’m really glad I’m here with you.”

Cloud nodded slowly. “Uh, sure. I told you, I—”

“Wasn’t that tired—I know.” She rolled her eyes playfully. “Still, thanks. Hey, you done?” She shoved the last two fries in her mouth. “If we hurry, we should make it just in time.”

Cloud had finished his pizza a little while earlier—his mom’s complaints that he ate too fast were still fresh in his mind after all those years—so he nodded. “Where’re we going?”

Aerith stood up and held out her hand. “Surprise!”

Cloud took it and followed her—only stopping to pay for the dinner.

Once out of the diner, Aerith pulled Cloud through the crowd, weaving between families and couples like a woman on a mission.

“You sure you know where we’re going?” he asked, ducking to avoid a man’s enthusiastic gesticulating. “This place is a labyrinth.”

Aerith nodded without looking back. “Don’t worry! We’re almost there.”

Suddenly, she pulled him in front of her, pushed him into one of the chutes—he didn’t see which one—and got in after him. They stood close to each other in the small space, panting slightly from the run. Aerith was smiling and her face was flushed, and Cloud was hit by the almost overwhelming need to kiss her, to run his hands through her hair, to hold her—but the chute arrived at its destination and both of them stumbled out onto a small platform. A woman in uniform standing by a wooden kiosk eyed them disapprovingly.

“The chutes are single-person only unless you’re accompanying children,” she recited, frowning.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Aerith, straightening up. “We didn’t mean to. It was crowded at the Terminal and I kinda got pushed in too,” she lied casually and, judging from the woman’s unimpressed glare, unconvincingly.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “You here for the gondola? We close in ten minutes.”

Finally, Cloud realised where they were. Just beyond the kiosk was a small cabin suspended from a rail whose path Cloud couldn’t make out past the first bend, as it looped back around the main body of the Gold Saucer.

Aerith rocked on the balls of her feet. “Did we make it in time?”

The woman shrugged. “Barely. Get on.”

Aerith beamed and grabbed Cloud’s hand again to drag him to the cabin. The inside was even more cramped than it looked from the platform and, with the two of them sitting on opposite sides, there was barely any room between their knees. The attendant secured the door and then headed back to the kiosk. A second later, the cabin shook slightly and began to move.

Aerith gave a soft squeal and peered out of the window to her left. “I saw the gondola ride above the theatre, earlier. It goes over the whole park!”

Cloud hummed. “How did you know we were cutting it close?”

She shrugged. “Guessed. It is getting pretty late.”

Cloud vaguely remembered spotting a clock in the Terminal Station. It had read one in the morning. “So much for our early night, huh?”

Aerith giggled and leaned back. “Yeah. Still, I’m glad I’m here.”

“Me too.” He smiled.

The gondola rose higher and higher up in the sky while they sat in comfortable silence for a little bit. Cloud had half expected to have to hide the nausea, but for some reason the ride didn’t bother him at all. Maybe it was because his stomach was way too tied up in knots already to even think about getting sick.

Aerith was leaning with her elbow on the windowsill, watching the view. Fireworks had started to go off, and the light they shone on her was colourful and gorgeous—like the flowers she loved so much. Like her.

She sighed, and Cloud realised he’d been staring. “Thank you for tonight,” she said. “This is… so beautiful. I’m glad I’m sharing it with you.” But she didn’t look glad. She was smiling, yes, but with a sad tilt to her lips, a wistful air in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” asked Cloud. He thought about reaching for her hand, resting on the windowsill, then thought better of it.

Aerith shook her head. “Yeah. No… Yes—it’s complicated. Ah, it’s nothing. Don’t mind me.”

He furrowed his brows in a silent question. Aerith sighed again. “I’m so, so happy I’m here with you,” she repeated. “It’s just… at first, you reminded me a lot of someone. Someone who’s… not in my life anymore. It bothered me a lot, at first.”

“Someone?”

Aerith waved a hand in the air. “Someone. You had all these little things in common—in the way you move, or talk…”

Cloud looked away. “That bad?”

She smiled a bit. “Not bad or good. At first, I thought maybe…” She shook her head. “But no. Things are different. You’re different. And I’m happy I’m here with you. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

She reached out to take Cloud’s hand, and gave it a little squeeze. He squeezed back, feeling his cheeks heat up a bit. They smiled at each other, but hers was still stained with sadness. “But…?” he asked.

Aerith huffed a bit. “When did you get so observant?”

“You’re not as sneaky as you think you are,” said Cloud, shrugging. “Something’s still bothering you. You, uh, don’t have to tell me, though. If you don’t want to.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. I don’t know if any of this’ll make sense, though.”

He gave a half smile. “Try me.”

Aerith sighed. “It’s just… Sometimes, I look at you, and it’s like I can’t focus my eyes right. You’re here, but I can’t find you.”

Cloud furrowed his brows. “But… I am here.” I’m with you. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. What does she mean?

She giggled. “I know, I know. I told you it didn’t make sense. Don’t worry about it, I’m just being weird.”

He hummed after a second of hesitation, then leaned back in his seat. Aerith sighed, shook her head, and turned to look at the fireworks again. “Tonight isn’t for sad memories or vague premonitions. It’s for appreciating all the wonderful things happening right now.” She glanced at him. “Like the fireworks, like our friends. Like you.” She took his hand again.

Cloud hesitantly entwined their fingers. “Like you.”

Aerith didn’t turn to look at him, but she smiled softly as she stared up at the sky, at the fireworks dancing across the stars and painting pictures of light. Cloud wanted to keep that image in his memory for the rest of his life.

I could kiss her right now. She’s right here, we’re on a date. I could…

He pressed his lips together. “Aerith…”

She turned. “Hm?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. His resolve had evaporated the moment she’d turned her big, curious eyes on him. He shook his head. “Uh, never mind.”

Aerith cocked her head to the side, then gave a perplexed smile. “Okay? Oh, no, look.” She pointed out of the window. “I think the ride’s almost done.”

She was right. They were right back in front of the rollercoaster they had started from. Cloud swallowed his disappointment and regret. If only he wasn’t such a lovesick idiot. A bell rang as the gondola wobbled to a stop. The attendant from before hastily opened the door and motioned for Cloud and Aerith to get out of the cabin.

“Looks like our magical ride is over,” said Aerith. “That was really special. Thank you,” she said to the attendant.

Her sour expression softened a bit. “Yeah, yeah. Enjoy the rest of your stay at the Gold Saucer.” She waved her hand in a shooing motion. “Now scram. I gotta lock this place up.”

Aerith giggled and took Cloud’s hand again as she made for the chutes.

“Only one person per chute!” yelled the attendant.

“We know, we know!” laughed Aerith.

She trailed to a stop in front of the doors to the chutes, still holding Cloud’s hand. “See you at the Terminal Station?” he said.

Aerith hummed. “Can’t wait.” Neither of them let go of the other.

“Can you two take the flirting somewhere else?” called the attendant. “Some of us wanna go to sleep.”

Aerith giggled and finally let go of Cloud’s hand. “Sorry, sorry.” She waved at Cloud. “See you in a minute.”

Then she stepped inside the chute. Cloud watched the door close behind her and took a deep sigh.

“Whipped, huh?” said the woman behind him.

He turned around and shot her an annoyed glance. She shrugged. “I calls it like I sees it, Blondie. Go on now, don’t make her wait. Be disgusting somewhere I don’t have to see it.”

He rolled his eyes. “Roger that.”

When he stumbled out of it at the almost-empty Terminal Station, Aerith was right there waiting for him, rocking on the balls of her feet with her hands linked behind her back.

“Missed you!” she said with a smile.

Cloud huffed good-naturedly. “It’s been thirty seconds.”

Aerith put a hand on her chest. “Longest thirty seconds of my life.” She giggled, then cleared her throat and smiled fondly. “I loved tonight. Really. Thank you.”

He nodded, then frowned a bit.

Aerith cocked her head to the side. “What’s wrong? You didn’t have fun?”

“No, no. That’s not it.” Cloud looked away. “I was just… thinking about what you said.”

“Which part? I talk a lot, remember?” She winked.

Cloud rolled his eyes. “On the gondola. About… not being able to find me.”

Her eyes went a bit wide, and she waved a hand in the air. “Oh, that. Really, ignore everything I said. It’s nothing.”

But Cloud shook his head. “It’s not nothing. It’s bothering you.”

Aerith was silent. Cloud pressed on. “I… don’t really know what you mean. I don’t know how I can be here and far away at the same time.” He scratched the back of his neck. “But I wanna fix it. I wanna try. I… I don’t wanna be far away from you.” He swallowed a knot in his throat. “You’ll always find me right here. Whenever you need me, wherever you need me.”

A long moment passed. Aerith was looking at him, eyes wide and full of wonder and surprise. Cloud held his breath.

Then she laughed. “Oh my god, Cloud… How do you always know what to say?”

He let out a huff. “What are you talking about? Have you met me?” He felt the tips of his ears burning.

“Okay, fair, maybe you don't.” She slipped her hand in his and looked up at him. “Maybe you're a flustered hot mess who stumbles over his words when he’s trying to be nice. But it's okay. I can hear what you're really saying.”

“Oh?” Cloud swallowed a knot in his throat. “What am I saying?”

Aerith smiled and stepped right up into his personal space. “You're saying, ‘I wanna make you feel better,’” she said. “You're saying, ‘I care about you.’” She leaned up until their faces were just a breath apart. “I wanna kiss you.”

Cloud was glued to the floor, pinned in place by her gentle hold on his hand and the pull of her eyes, so close that he could count the specks of brown and gold in them. “I—I'm saying that?” he stammered, like an idiot.

Aerith giggled, but she didn't step away. “You tell me, mister,” she whispered. “Are you?”

Thankfully, the answer was simple and short—no chances of messing it up. “...Yeah,” he breathed.

“Awesome.” Aerith's smile widened. “Me too.” And then she finally closed the distance and pressed her lips to his.

It still caught him by surprise. If not for Aerith’s warm hands cupping his face, he would have instinctively recoiled back and regretted it for the rest of his life. Instead, he tentatively brought his hands to her waist to nudge her closer as he kissed her back.

Gently. Softly. Afraid to mess up.

Aerith giggled quietly on his lips, and the vibrations shot down to his chest like electric shocks.

“Been wanting to do that,” she whispered, stepping back just enough to speak.

Cloud nodded a bit shakily. “Yeah. Me too,” he said, and kissed her again.

Finally.

He kissed her until, in a display of pure evil and poetic parallels, a loud boing sound effect played and the two of them sprung apart to spot Cait Sith standing at the other end of the Terminal Station, holding something that greatly resembled the Keystone Cloud had just fought so hard to get from Dio.

#final fantasy vii #cloud strife #aerith gainsborough #clerith #my fics #my writing #my stuff

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secretwhumplair · 2 years

Text

Wound care

1,281 words | The monster of Lindborough (sequel to Going home, pt.2)

Content | Werewolf whumpee, fighting injuries, painful wound care, dehumanisation, painful restraints, mentioned: death wish

Notes | Some all-around healing :)

Taglist | @whump-cravings @inkkswhumpandstuff @wolfeyedwitch @whump-blog @whumpsday @myhusbandsasemni @whumpzone @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @briars7 @local-cawcaw @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question

Alastor left to look after his own family once he could no longer help, and now it was just William and the wolf.

Only yesterday, sitting next to the unrestrained creature would have terrified him. Now, he was only torn on whether it was wise to wait for the morning before he cut the arrowheads out, despite everything.

But he had to be sensible. He didn’t want to get bitten, and the wolf couldn’t seem to understand.

He just continued running his hands through the thick fur, waiting for dawn, the wolf melting into his touch despite the pain it must be in.

He could hear noise outside, but no one came to bother him, and he hoped Alastor would keep the rest of the townsfolk in check until he could leave the wolf’s side long enough to explain his actions.

The hours crept by until finally, dawn rose. William pulled back from the wolf just in time before it whined in a new sort of pain, then shifted, the crack of its bones filling the room.

The boy was crying before the fur was all gone, the injuries exposed even more when it was, the bandages coming loose. As soon as he could move, he turned to stare at William.

»Please - please-« He choked the single word out, over and over, seemingly unable to say anything else, terror written plainly across his face.

»Pup.« William tried to interrupt him, but he wasn’t sure the boy even heard.

»Please - please don’t let them - please, please, I’m sorry-«

»Pup.«

»Please don’t - please, if - please, I’d, I’d rather die-«

»Boy.«

The boy opened his mouth again, but then just stared, making no sound, and William wished he’d thought of that before. Why hadn’t he? How couldn’t he?

»You saved my life.«

The boy sobbed in agony; William couldn’t even tell whether it was more physical or emotional.

He didn’t know what to say or do. »It’s going to be alright.« They seemed such silly, empty words. He wished he could have simply patted the boy on the head, like he had done with the wolf, but that would have been silly, too.

The boy continued crying, but at least he’d stopped begging.

»Listen, we need to get these arrows out of you.« He picked up the knife again, and the boy’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move away like the wolf had done. »Alright. Bite on the blanket or something, this is going to suck.«

And so it did. William wasn’t exactly a surgeon - no one in the village was - but he worked as quickly and efficiently as he could, trying to ignore the boy’s cries and moans, trying not to think about whether a mere human could even have survived these injuries.

His hands were covered in blood, but finally, he had finished bandaging, the weapons removed, the blood-flow stopped to what seemed a survivable rate.

The boy’s eyes were closed, and his breath was shallow. William wasn’t sure he was conscious anymore, but he still told him, »That’s it. It’s going to be alright.«

* When Joy came to, his body was still wracked with agony. And underneath it, still, terror clawed into his heart. It’s going to be alright, the smith had said, but that was easy for him to say.

Boy, the smith had said.

Slowly, the world around him came into focus as well, albeit blurred by tears he couldn’t stop - everything hurt so much. He was on the bed - the smith’s bed.

The smith sat next to him, his eyes on him.

He had no way of knowing how much time had passed, whether he had been unconscious for minutes or days. The smith looked tired, but then, neither of them had slept that night.

»Boy,« he said, again, when he noticed Joy open his eyes. »Are you there?«

»Please, sir,« Joy whispered past lips that barely obeyed him, the weight of what he had done crashing down on him. »Please, I’m sorry. Please, I c-can’t do that again, I’d rather…« He couldn’t say it - had he really said it out loud earlier? But it was true. He knew he would be put through the ritual again - he had to, when its primary purpose had failed, when they knew he could shift forms at will - and he couldn’t, he cou-

»You’ve saved my life. No, listen to me.« The smith leant in, looking earnestly into Joy’s eyes. »You saved my life, and probably a few dozen more. You have nothing to be sorry for. No one’s going to hurt you, not while I have anything to say about it.«

It sounded too good to be true. He knew it was to good to be true - he was a monster, and he had just proven it, and- »I could have killed you,« he sobbed.

The smith remained unfazed. »Well, you didn’t. And without you, I would be dead. You made a hard choice.« He breathed a soft sigh. »I get why you’re afraid. But it was the right one, and I’ll argue that with anyone who doesn’t want to agree.«

Joy found no words to say, but maybe this time, there simply were none.

Some precious moments passed in silence, and Joy tried to wrap his head around what the smith had said. He was safe.

He was safe, as long as the smith had anything to say about it.

But would he? Wouldn’t the others simply think he had gone mad? Was he risking them both; should Joy talk him out of it? Kill it, a fearful voice echoed in his mind.

Before he could bring himself to speak, the smith did, his voice even softer. »Those hurt you, don’t they?« He was pointing at the manacles.

It took Joy a moment to figure out an answer. Why was he being asked? Of course they hurt; was the smith worried they didn’t work anymore either, now that the ritual had been proven to have failed? But that didn’t line up with anything else he’s said so far, and Joy didn’t want to believe-

»Yes sir,« he finally whispered, truthfully. The pain was constant and unrelenting, and it had been so long it became a part of his existence - he was a monster, and monsters had to suffer, had to be reminded of their place.

»Right.« The smith hesitated for a moment, then pulled open the drawer in the nightstand, and took out a key.

Joy whimpered when the smith reached for his wrist, his mind refusing to believe what was happening, and so fearing the worst as the smith’s hand, warm and rough-skinned, shifted the manacle slightly, renewing the pain.

The smith threw him a glance, then opened the manacles and let them fall to the floor. The clinking as they hit the wooden boards seemed over-loud, as if Joy were listening with wolf-ears.

They were gone.

He couldn’t believe it. They were gone.

The pain didn’t disappear entirely - his wrists were rubbed red and sore; he had never even noticed over the horrid burning. But the relief was instant, and being as weak as he felt now, he couldn’t hold back a sigh, couldn’t stop tears from rising to his eyes.

The smith eyed his wrists for a moment, then leant back in his chair. »There, that’s better. Get some rest now.«

Joy’s eyes flickered to the window, to the outside, where the rest of the village, no doubt, was assembling to finish off the monster in their midst, only waiting for the right moment to strike-

»It’s alright, I’ll keep watch over you. You need to rest, you’re badly injured.«

Joy was too exhausted to doubt.

#whump #werewolf whumpee #whump writing #my writing #the monster of lindborough #joy wilson #william smith

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evsalonyx · 2 years

Text

In Which Mai Starts a Fight And Zuko Gets a Letter

This is a Zutara piece I'm working on, hopefully the whole chapter will be on Ao3 soon. Let me know what y'all think!

Edit: Here is the link to chapter one, thanks for the likes!

Under the Southern Moon (3061 words) by Evsalonyx Chapters: 1/7 Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Aang/Toph Beifong Characters: Katara (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar), Sokka (Avatar), Suki (Avatar), Aang (Avatar), Toph Beifong, Hakoda (Avatar), Mai (Avatar) Additional Tags: Zutara Summary: While struggling to lead the Fire Nation forward in the midst of his own stormy relationship with Mai, Fire Lord Zuko gets an invitation to the wedding of an old friend, and he couldn’t be happier for the couple; but when the longing for an old flame long hidden emerge, he must find the courage to defy the path put before him before he loses a chance at his true destiny.

“We don’t need another tax hike, we need to cut spending!” Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. “I shouldn’t have to remind you all, once again, that we don’t need troops in every corner of the globe anymore, so there’s no reason we can’t afford this!” The heat of his anger rose in his throat. He would rather walk the entire length of the Earth Kingdom on foot than to address the room of stuffy old Fire Nation representatives yet again.

“Fire Lord Zuko, your majesty,” The man resembled a mean spirited parrowkeet at his seat around the large map in the throne room. “with all due respect, paying reparations to the Earth Kingdom I can understand, but paying out funds to Southern Ice Savages, when they had so little to begin with...”

The flames around Zuko’s throne rose even higher. “You dare speak that way about my friends?”

The man’s eyes went wide. “No-no sir!”

Zuko came down from his throne and extinguished the flames with waves of his hand. “Song, if it were not for the chaos that would ensue, I would have thrown out you and your warhawk friends the moment I was crowned. Remember your precarious position the next time that you think to insult friends of mine. Understand?” His long black hair fell over his shoulders, and he made for an intimidating figure despite his average height. The senator backed down, grumbling into his chair. “I know many of you feel similarly, even if you have the sense to word your opinions in a better way. We are approaching 10 years after the war, how many reparations need to be paid?” He paused, and looked to Mai, who sat with her arms crossed in the chair. Her scowl was as strong as ever. “Ten years of reparations is nothing compared to the devastation we caused by the war, and they have been a large cut into the budget, our economy is booming after a short recession, we are almost at war level production in our factories, and no one is dying for it.” He walked over the map of the world in front of him. “The reparations are the way the Fire Nation shares its true greatness with the world.”

The meeting adjourned quickly after that. Zuko made his way through the dark red halls to his own chambers. He heard soft footsteps behind him. “Mai.” He looked back and smiled. Ten years had done nothing to soften her stark beauty. “You know that eventually they’re going to get tired of dishing out cash to the commoners, right?” Her voice was as sharp as her blades.

He sighed. Mai taking her father’s place as senator had just resulted in more fights for them.

“I don’t care.”

She slipped her hand into his. “Well, you should. One day some unhappy war hawk is going to put a knife in your side.”

“I’d get rid of every single one of them if I could.”

“And replace them with what? They’re still the most powerful people in the fire nation, it’s not like you can bring in random poor people.” She laughed dryly. “If you’re not careful they might cut the fruit tart and palanquin budget, and we’ll have to go without.”

He turned to her with a half smile. “Is that all you really care about?”

“Of course. Just wait till I’m the Fire Lady, I’ll allocate half the budget to sipping mango margaritas on the beach.” She grabbed his chin to pull him in for a kiss. “Seriously though, when is this charade of reparations going to end? It’s not as if the Southern water tribe has a lot to rebuild, and we could really use a honeymoon palace. This place is too musty.”

He sighed. He was glad she was passionate about something, but that was such an inadequate something that it failed to relieve the growing tension between them.

A stinging pain seared through his scar. He held up his hand as his vision became blurry. “Is everything ok?”

“Just peachy, I think I need to lay down, I’ve got a bad headache.” It wasn’t a total lie, but he wanted to be alone.

She snickered and scrunched her nose. “I know the cure for that, but you have to make me Fire Lady.”

He cracked a smile. “You’ve learned better negotiating techniques since becoming a senator.”

She rolled her eyes at him.

“We really need more windows in this damn building.” He said as he climbed the stairs towards his chambers. “It’s creepy.”

“I like creepy.”

Suddenly loud footsteps sounded down the hallway.

“Fire Lord Zuko.” He turned to face the servant. “Yes, Choi?”

“A message has arrived from Master Sokka of the Southern Water Tribe.” He held the blue scroll out towards the firelord.

Zuko grabbed it, secretly hoping for a reason to be far away from the palace, even if it was only mentally.

“It’s a wedding invitation!” He laughed out loud. “He’s finally marrying Suki.”

“Guess he never patched things up with the Moon.” He thought with a chuckle.

He turned to his servant. “Prepare the airship, and tell Lord Iroh that I wish to speak to him. I will leave tomorrow morning if it can be arranged.” The servant bowed deeply and sprang into action, quickly making his way back down the long hallway.

“You’re not seriously going to the South Pole are you?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Because it’s cold, and it’s just a dumb water tribe wedding, it’s not even anything important.”

He felt his damaged eye strain to widen. “Sokka is one of my closest friends!”

“He hasn’t been here in, how long? Come on, you’re the Fire Lord, you don’t have to go to a peasant wedding.”

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.” That had come out more harshly than he had meant it to. Her eyes widened.

“You mean you want to go without me? I’m crushed.”

“I didn’t say that. Of course I want you there.” He was beginning to feel like he couldn’t win for losing.

“Just say that you want to go fuck some tribal whores, that’s ok.”

“Mai-”

“Forget it, Zuko.”

“Mai, please come with me.” He was pleading at this point.

She sighed. Her striking beauty was evident even in the low fire of the hanging lamps.

“Fine. I’ll go, but don’t expect me to enjoy it.” She gave him a kiss and disappeared down the hallway.

Zuko entered his chamber and shut the door. He threw off his armor and disrobed, welcoming the warm bath that a servant had drawn for him. Nervousness began to replace the happiness in his stomach. “I haven’t seen them in so long.” His thoughts drifted as he put a hand to a now familiar star shaped scar on his sternum. “I haven’t seen Katara in so long.” He corrected himself. He hadn’t seen her since before she left with Aang for the Southern Air temple five years ago, and then only sporadically. Ten years had done little to stem the thoughts of what they had almost had. He put his hand on his forehead and sighed. It would be hard to see her again, it was always painful to see her with the Airbender.

“It wasn’t like she had much of a choice.” He reminded himself. Any possibility of eventually being with ‘the avatar’s girl’ had been extinguished from the moment that he saw the ember island play. Aang had gotten so jealous. For Katara to be with him, they risked upsetting the peace they had fought so hard to achieve. He tried to drown the thoughts away by dipping lower into the bathtub.

#zutara #zutara fanfiction #zuko x katara #anti maiko

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cosmictyto · 2 years

Text

I feel like I’m on a roll with art so I’m milking this phase for all its worth, lol (also, omg. Somewhat decent looking humans. I never thought I’d get here :,) )

Anyways, my Fable 2 brainworms have reawakened so I finally designed the Sparrow I’ve baked in my brain for years now. This is her post-game during what are her late 30s, early 40s.

Feel free to ask about her if you’re interested/curious about anything!

~ TWs! Mentions of EDs and light mentions of ableism and PTSD ~

“Clover ????,” A.K.A. Sparrow, the Hero of Bowerstone/the Hero of Bower Lake, (occasionally) Ranger - she/her - single - sexuality: it’s complicated - Alignment: Lawful good (with some sins, as a treat)

Final choice - Sacrifice

“Oggie” - Loyal companion - Breed: good boy

Current Residence - Brightwood Tower

Other Owned Properties - Brightwood Farm & Reaver’s Manor

Abilities

Mainly utilizes Skill & Will styles, but is also tough and handy with swords. Her preferred spells are Time Control, Vortex, and Blades. She used to use Inferno, but has since fallen out of using it in combat.

Stealth - After several incidents where she’s been caught off-guard (mainly the Thag & Howling Halls incidents,) she prefers to come into situations with as many advantages as she can. Taking an almost sneaky, rogue-like approach to missions and fights. Her full combat outfit includes the gloves + mask to hide her active will lines as much as she can. If she can’t take enemies out from a distance she’ll use crowd-control spells to turn the tide of the fight in her favor.

Survival Skills - During her youth, part of her hero training involved getting dropped off into the deep woods to hunt and forage alone with nothing but a knife (well, not completely alone. She had her dog.) As an adult she’s developed a respect and admiration for the wilds and would rather take roughing it in the woods over any crowded town. There’s a peace to the forests and coasts of Albion that she’d never found in a city.

Personality

Shy and introverted, mostly. She doesn’t really care for being around people and hates the pressure that’s on her whenever she’s in town. She could especially feel the hundreds of eyes on her whenever she entered any major city and it’s always put her on edge. These are thoughts/feelings she needed to push aside during her campaign against Lucien, but now that her “job’s” been done she’s allowed herself to mostly recede out of the public eye.

She’s somewhat serious and doesn’t want others to see through the walls she’s put up. If you’re lucky, you might see a smirk if you’re amusing. However, she does have a slight wild streak if you can coax it out of her. Mainly through drink. Hammer’s the only one who can really get her going while sober, though.

Despite her tough exterior, Sparrow has a gentle, generous, and kind side to her. During her early years she’d spare whatever extra coins she had to any orphans, travelers, or beggars she came across. But, once Theresa claimed the Spire and Sparrow bought Brightwood Farm from Giles, she found herself offering her home to those in need. The farm’s become a sort of mix between orphanage and abuse refuge where people Sparrow trusts can rebuild their lives out in the forests of Brightwood. Just like Sparrow did during her childhood within the Dweller Camp near Bower Lake. However, the place’s gotten full. So crowded that she moved over to the tower so she could get some peace and quiet and visit with the others when she’s prepared to.

As she’s gotten older, though, she’s just felt tired and worn down. Lonely, even. During her hero days she at least had Hammer. And even when she didn’t she had her mission to focus on. But with no mission and the other three heroes gone she doesn’t have anyone she can relate to. Most people find her too intimidating to talk to, or they’re star-struck and don’t fully see her as a person. There was a brief period where her loneliness grew too strong. The time between her final encounter with Lucien and when she got her dog back. After that fateful trip to Knothole Island.

Conditions:

Her Stutter - Sparrow’s had a stutter ever since she was little. Rose did her best to help her sister by writing stories, teaching her to read out loud, and remembering to be calm and supportive when practicing. But, because she was a child (and in, what? the equivalent of the 1800s?) she never had much progress. The other kids teased Sparrow so much for her speech issues that she grew embarrassed each time she spoke. One day, she just stopped. Save for one or two short words. When Rose passed, Sparrow spent the rest of her adolescence mute. As an adult, she’s healed some and opened up more to others. But, really, only around those she trusts. Mainly Hammer.

She mainly struggles with syllable repetition as well as prolonging sounds. The hardest sounds for her are mainly consonants like hard Ds, Ts, Bs, and Ps and will even drop these if they’re at the end of a word. Example: “Do-do-don’ go tha’ way.”

Regarding sound prolongation, it’s the “sh,” “s,” and “w” sounds she gets stuck on. But it’s less common than syllable repetition. Examples: “Sssssure, I’ll have some.” “Ssssometimes it’s frustrating.” “Wwwwhere di-did you go?”

When concentrating on getting a word out she’ll tilt her head, furrow her brow, close her eyes, and her jaw will start to tighten. Also, if she’s standing, she sways in place a bit and will fidget with whatever’s in her hands/whatever’s nearby. But those aren’t specifically secondary characteristics of her stutter, but rather self-soothing techniques from the anxiety spike she feels when really getting tripped up.

She’s not sure why, but she doesn’t stutter when she sings (it uses a separate part of the brain but she doesn’t know that. 1800s and all.) Singing/songwriting has been one of the few pleasures discovered post-Lucien as she finally feels like she’s found a way to express herself without much grief from herself or others. Her favorite thing is to head down to the pond next to the tower, sit by one of the large oaks, and just sing with Oggie snoozing nearby. (For a voice comparison, I imagine she’d sound similar to Ryn Weaver with that kind of neat warbley sound.)

Food insecurities - Growing up on the streets as an urchin rarely ensures that you get a consistent meal. Again, Rose did the best she could, but there were so many nights where she had to tell Sparrow stories just to keep their minds off of their cramping stomachs. As an adult, Sparrow’s… weird about food. Mainly going through periods of hoarding food and barely eating only to later binge the larder before it goes bad. The idea of food being left uneaten makes her skin crawl. On the bright side, she can make a mean bone broth from whatever meat she gets her hands on.

As she’s gotten older some of her issues have settled as she’s maintained a more steady stream of food. Gardening’s helped somewhat as seeing the produce actively grow reassures her that food will come. And living in Brightwood does mean hunting/foraging opportunities. But, she does still have occasional fast-binge periods (mainly in winter) and struggles to overcome them.

PTSD/general trauma - I don’t feel like I need to get into this too much as it’s pretty much a given that Sparrow would have some form of deep trauma from all the shit you go through in-game. Most of her nightmares are based around the loss of control she’s felt. Her inability to save her sister, how she couldn’t stop falling out of the castle, how she couldn’t stop the murder of Hammer’s father, how the Spire tried to warp her, how she couldn’t even save Barnum (one of the last living fragments of her childhood.) The list goes on from all over her life.

#fanart #my art #my ocs #(clover) sparrow #hero of bowerstone #hero of bower lake #fable hero of bowerstone #fable sparrow #fable #fable 2 #character sheet #fable fanart

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 2 years

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Exile || Oscar, Ariana, and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Kaden’s apartment PARTIES: @letsbenditlikebennett and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Oscar crashes wine night with Kaden and Ari. CONTENT WARNINGS: None!

Over the years, the high that followed a good hunt was something that never got old to Oscar. The adrenaline still had him feeling like he was on a high a few days later when he made his way up to White Crest again. Virginia had been a good time and helping a friend kill an entire pack had been nothing short of exhilarating. That sleepy little town would be all that much safer now that it was rid of those beasts. He knew he could hunt for years on end and White Crest and there would still be no shortage of beasts, so he made his way back. He couldn’t let Kaden have all the fun.

The hallway decor had always come off as tasteless to Oscar, but it was still much nicer than places he’d stayed in over the years. As he made his way to Kaden’s door, he felt a familiar feeling creeping under his skin, like small bugs crawling around inside him. He grit his teeth and tried to ignore it. It wasn’t as if he could bombard someone’s apartment and kill them while they were in their human appearing form. If they did live in the building, that feeling had to drive Kaden nuts. It only got stronger as he stood outside Kaden’s door. He gave a quick knock before letting himself in. He was surprised to find a teenager on the couch drinking a glass of red wine alongside Kaden who looked like absolutely shit.

The girl looked up at him and back towards Kaden and asked the younger hunter, “Were you expecting company tonight?” She had her brows raised and had the audacity to look at him like he was the one out of place here. Oscar felt his fists clenching at his side and had to fight the instinct to immediately grab his knife. He looked at Kaden with scrutinizing eyes. “Why the hell is there a werewolf in your apartment,” he asked with an air of disgust.

For some reason, Ariana had declared that night would be his education in Taylor Swift, whoever that was. Kaden would never admit it, but he was thankful for the company and he didn’t quite hate the music, either. Well, some of it. He could definitely do without a few of the songs. Not that he could name a single one. When there was a rap on the door, Kaden damn near assumed it was coming from the door across the hall or something. There was no way anyone was showing up here. Who the fuck would do that? His brow creased when the lock turned and the door swung open. Kaden was too stunned to register who it was walking through his door at first. Ari said something, but it didn’t register, the ranger was already sitting up in his seat.

Oscar. It was Oscar.

His stomach plummeted to the floor. Kaden stood up faster than he had in weeks, putting himself squarely between Oscar and Ari. “Why the hell are you in my apartment?” The question felt like a kick to the gut as it left his lips. This was Oscar, for fucks sake. This was the man who raised him after his parents died. Hell, even a little before that, too. He realized the kick was really guilt shooting through him. He couldn’t say what was causing it just then, though. Probably everything.

Evermore still played on in the background, but the mood of the room shifted very quickly. Ari glared at the intruder who was acting like she was the one out of place here. As if she hadn’t been the one stopping by every day to look after him even though she was falling apart. Before she could retort, Kaden was up and between the two of them. The protectiveness shouldn’t have surprised her, but her fists curled all the same, itching to punch something or to feel something hit her. She was too tired to distinguish these days. Her glare stayed level on the older ranger as she spat out, “This werewolf is in his apartment because I’m his friend.” Her eyes snapped back to Kaden. “Who is this guy anyway?”

The werewolf child seemed to possess far more nerve than was appropriate for the situation. Everything about it disgusted Oscar. How could this beast just act like she had every right to be in Kaden’s apartment? To call herself his friend? His jaw tensed as he stared between the man he considered a nephew and his pet wolf. Kaden had taken a protective stance in front of her which would imply he wanted the wolf to live. Gave way to the fact that what the monster said just might be true, especially paired with the lack of welcome he was receiving from the younger hunter he once took in. His eyes turned stony as he looked at Kaden. “What do you mean why am I here? I just got back into town and assumed I’d be welcomed just as I’ve always been, though if this is the kind of company you’re keeping.”

He nodded his head toward the wolf who still looked to be a child which really begged the question of what had gotten into Kaden. His eyes flicked back and forth between them and contempt settled into his face. “So it’s true then, this monster is your friend,” he spat out with disgust.

“My uncle,” Kaden answered without taking his eyes off Oscar for a second. It was hard to hold onto his anger the longer he faced off with the other ranger; it felt wrong. Kaden felt like he was being torn in two. Somehow standing across from Oscar made him feel like he was a teenager all over again, lost and without a real family left. Funny how even though it felt like everything around him changed, he was still in the same situation. “You are, but–” Kaden didn’t know what to say, how to solve this problem. Of course Oscar was welcome here, in his life. But not if he threatened Ariana. And he knew his uncle better than that. He felt like he was on the precipice and no matter what his decision was, he was going to fall. It was all a matter of which direction, backwards or forwards. His heart ached to have both. He lost so much already. Standing there he knew he was going to lose something else tonight. It was seemingly up to him what that was. They were both what he’d consider family. How the fuck was he supposed to choose that?

“She’s not a monster.” Kaden swallowed back, hoping somehow it might slow his rapid-fire heartbeat. What was worse was knowing that every single one in that room could fucking hear it, too. Putain. “Look, she’s just a kid. And she’s in control. You can’t just–” He wasn’t sure why he was arguing this with his uncle. “She’s a person. Ariana is a person. They’re all–” His mouth snapped closed, afraid of what his uncle’s reaction would be, fearing that it might be the exact same as what he would expect from his own parents.

The word monster made Ari visibly recoil. The voice was different, but the message was the same one that haunted her every night and started bleeding into the days, too. It was said with such vitriol and she couldn’t even blame him. All she could do was look down at her wine glass and try to keep the nightmares from trying to seep into the moment. That wouldn’t help the situation. Then Kaden was defending her, saying she was a person and not a monster and something in her broke. She felt the lump in her throat and heard the rapid beating of Kaden’s heart. She needed to get out of here. She clumsily jumped up from her spot on the couch and awkwardly croaked, “I’m just gonna– I’ll take Abel for a walk.” She motioned for the dog to come over before hooking on his leash and rushing out the door.

Oscar blinked slowly as he tried to wrap his mind around what the hell was going on here. His nephew still stood firmly between him and the wolf, as if he thought Oscar would try to attack her at any moment. He’d been at this long enough to know he didn’t want to create a situation where there’d be a body to take care of, but his hand stayed firmly on the handle of the silver blade he had tucked away.

Kaden was actually calling this wolf a person. Sure, she looked like one right now, but Oscar knew better. Kaden was supposed to know better. That “kid” turned into a beast that would rip apart anything in her path at least three times a month. As she jumped up from the couch, he tensed and his knuckles turned white around the knife he hadn’t been able to let go of. This Ariana was walking Kaden’s dog now? His eyes followed her until she was out the door.

“Care to explain yourself,” Oscar ground out between gritted teeth, “And why there was a werewolf sitting on your couch like it’s something she does all the time? You can’t seriously be calling her a person.”

Kaden’s eyes didn’t leave Oscar even as Ari jumped up and took the leash off the hook and clipped it to Abel’s collar. He knew his uncle wouldn’t kill her right then and there, not in Kaden’s apartment of all places. Still, he worried that Oscar might try to hurt her or follow her. Maybe. Not that it would be like him to do that here and now in front of him but Kaden knew damn well that anger fueled stupid decisions.

The relief he felt when the door closed again, the dog and the werewolf no longer in the apartment, didn’t last long. Ari might not be in immediate danger anymore but that wasn’t going to make any of this easier. As he stood there, staring at his uncle, Kaden felt like he was shrinking, like he was getting scolded like a school child or, more aptly, like he was back in his hunter training when he was younger. “No,” he shot back. Putain, he really did feel like that fucking petulant fifteen year old again, trying desperately to feel like he had some sort of power or control over his life. It all felt eerily similar to the discussion they’d had after Kaden tried to take down the Krieg wolf the first time and nearly got himself killed.

Only now that he’d succeeded in his revenge, it was all so different. And he wasn’t fifteen anymore. He was an adult, not under anyone’s thumb. He could state his own opinions. Right? And some small part of him had to hope that Oscar might understand, as much as he knew there was no shot. “Her sister was a ranger,” he started to explain. Stupid, he shouldn’t have to fucking explain that. “And she is a person. They–” He sighed and finally looked away from Oscar. “I killed the Krieg wolf. Alcher. That was her name.” He tried to swallow but his mouth felt dry as a desert. “I killed her. Shot her. Point blank. Felt a lot like murder.”

None of what Kaden said made much sense to Oscar and it was a lot to take in. It was a fucking relief that damn Krieg wolf was finally dead, but the rest? It was all wrong. Kaden was supposed to feel closure and justice, not whatever the fuck this was. Scheisse. He looked around, even though the state of the apartment seemed all wrong. Not entirely messy, but there wasn’t a weapon in sight. “It doesn’t matter what her sister was, she’s still a wolf and she will hurt someone.”

His eye returned to where the little wolf was just sitting moments before. “Unless this is some tactic to catch her on the next full moon, this isn’t okay. This isn’t what hunters do.”

The word murder hung bitterly in the air between them. Oscar couldn’t believe Kaden had even said the words. That wolf had killed his family and many others. It wasn’t murder, it was what he was born to do. “Glad that hündin is dead, but what is this about murder? That thing was a beast, you can’t murder a beast.”

“She won’t,” Kaden rebutted without even thinking, without remembering the truth. That she had hurt someone. Possibly even killed them. Probably. It didn’t matter. Not in this context. It didn’t compare to his own blood stained hands and killing her sure didn’t feel like it was going to fix shit. Kaden would never let it happen, that was for damn sure.

“Yeah well maybe I’m not a hunter, then.” The words fell from his lips before he could stop them. He clenched his jaw shut, bracing for the backlash and trying to make sure he didn’t say anything else without thinking. “I’m not killing her. And you’re not touching her, either.”

Kaden wished like hell he could just go along with what his uncle was saying, that he could continue to believe the lie he’d told himself for years now. “She sure didn’t look like one when the bullet went through her chest.” The silence hung in the air. “I’m not saying she wasn’t a piece of shit or a killer or– But what the fuck makes me any better? What makes us any better?”

“So what, you’re babysitting it every full moon then,” Oscar asked with annoyance further creeping into his tone. This had to be a joke, but Kaden had never been one for elaborate jokes like this nor had Oscar’s arrival been expected. That meant he was in fact serious and completely unrecognizable from the kid he’d always known. A far cry from the fifteen year old who had been fueled to destroy wolves after his parents’ death.

The younger hunter was right about one thing and that was that he wasn’t in fact a hunter. Oscar knew there was no in between for them. That was far too dangerous a line to teeter on. “If you’re not killing her, you’re right. You’re not a hunter anymore.”

This line of questioning was not something Oscar would tolerate. If he couldn’t see how what they did was different or necessary, then there was no hope for him. Maybe he failed Kaden by being away for so long, but it was too late now. “We slay beasts to protect people. They do it because they’re monsters. Will always be monsters. That Krieg wolf was a piece of shit and you did the world a favor by getting rid of her. If you don’t see that, I don’t think there’s anything more I can do for you.”

The word “it” crawled under his skin almost like the way his hunter senses tended to. Only this felt worse. “I watch out for her, yeah.” Not a total lie, Kaden did watch out for Ari whenever he was out on the full moon in the past, making sure that she didn’t wander too close to town and hurt anyone. It wasn’t babysitting, that was for sure. Didn’t matter.

It was one thing for Kaden to call himself a failure in his own mind, to say he was a shit hunter. It was entirely different hearing it from the mouth of the closest thing he had to a father figure. It cut through him, severing his past from his present more definitively than he thought was possible. He was on the other side of the divide now, he could feel it.

A lump sat in his throat. He swallowed it back before repeating the words that hadn’t stopped ringing in his ears since that day in the woods. “It takes a monster to kill a monster.” His heart ached even as it was pounding in his chest. Oscar wouldn’t really leave him, right? He wouldn’t just abandon him now. Not after everything.

The emphasis on the word her wasn’t lost on Oscar. It seemed Kaden was in far too deep now, that he cared for this monster he was supposed to hunt. Even the fact he was told to stay away from her was indication enough. Maybe he’d been too soft on the teenager after his parents died. Somewhere along the line, he messed up and failed the closest friends he’d ever known. Charles and Lauren wouldn’t even recognize the Kaden standing in front of him.

“You care for this werewolf,” he said solemnly. He didn’t want it to be true, but all the evidence was too glaringly obvious to ignore. Kaden had given up on his purpose, given up on everything they were supposed to stand for. “I shouldn’t have left you on your own for so long,” he said with a heavy heart.

Oscar didn’t want to do what he’d have to do next, but Kaden couldn’t have it both ways. He couldn’t be part of the hunter world they’d grown up in all while treating wolves like people, while feeling guilt over killing. He thought both of them to be monsters. He shook his head, “If that’s what you really believe, then I should go, and you should stay away from hunter haunts. You can’t be part of this world while protecting a monster.”

Kaden had felt like a disappointment for a while now. Oscar confirming it all but solidified that. He was a failure. A bad hunter, a bad person, a murderer. He was stuck somewhere in between it all. And it seemed like it was only going to get worse. “What does that mean?” was all he could ask. The petulant part of him wanted to say that he didn’t want to be there anyway, that he wanted nothing to do with them, but he wasn’t sure that was true. And he didn’t want to draw out this conversation much longer if he was being honest with himself.

Kaden had always had a lot of emotion brewing under the surface. Oscar had never seen it as a bad thing until this very moment. When he was younger, it drove him to fight harder, faster. It was the reason he lived to see into his thirties. Now, he was seeing the cracks in his foundation from how much heart he had. Even now, he looked as if he was bracing himself. But he had to do it. If Kaden was ever going to get his priorities together, he had to decide where he stood on his own. His chest fell as he sighed. “That means I’m leaving and won’t be coming back. And don’t bother going to the Bullet or any of our other hunter connections. If wine night with a werewolf is how you spend your time now, you have no business being part of our community.”

With a final solemn nod, he turned to leave. Oscar hoped being cut off would bring some sense back to his nephew, but either way, there was no way he could have the best of both worlds.

The door closed for the second time in the span of a few minutes. Kaden was alone. Completely alone. He thought about taking a step forward, telling Oscar to wait, call his bluff, find out it was all a joke or some misunderstanding, but his feet stayed planted like bricks at the bottom of a lake. The apartment was quiet. And empty. He wasn’t sure when the music had stopped or when Ari was coming back. And if she did, if she would stay. It wouldn’t make a difference. He was alone.

He’d never felt more alone in his life.

Yes, he had Ari who somehow became like the little sister he never asked for, and that wasn’t nothing. But he had lost Regan. He had lost Oscar. And he had lost his ties to the whole hunter community. The community that had helped raised him, kept a roof over his head and his belly full after he’d lost his parents. As gruff and harsh as so many hunters could be, the ones within his family’s circle, they helped each other, looked after one another without question. It was how he was able to travel, it was how he found places to land when he was in trouble. Hell, he’d even found that in White Crest. He would have been dead a while back if Adam Walker hadn’t saved him with that vial of phoenix tears. Hunters looked out for one another. It was the unwritten code. Because at the end of the day, who else did any of them really have?

But Kaden wasn’t a hunter anymore. And as he collapsed onto the couch with his head in his hands, it was clear that he wouldn’t have a family anymore either.

#writing #wickedswriting #chatzy #ariana #letsbenditlikebennett #oscar

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skirmishafray · 2 years

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The fight was long and the bandits were nasty, but in the end, the cowboys kept the ranch and their lives. Angelo and Willie hadn't been much hurt in the fighting, so they were stuck with burying the three less lucky bandits. Just shallow graves right now, as they waited for someone better qualified to take the remains.

As they worked, the gentle clink of Willie's bandoliers and the thump of Angelo's pistol on his thigh kept time.

Willie sighed heavily, "I don't reckon this will stop them."

Angelo paused shoveling for a second to look at her.

"I mean, losing a few men would stop me," He said.

She shook her head, slow and tired.

"People are getting mean and desperate. Working is about as dangerous as raiding right now, so why stop?"

Angelo dug a bit more as he thought through her words.

"I guess we'll still be here as long we keep looking out for each other."

Willie let out a little laugh.

"All right, you shoot over my shoulder, I'll shoot over yours, and we'll be here as long as hefe keeps paying for the ammo."

She and Angelo shared a glance, and like that, he knew she meant it.

After a few more minutes of digging, Willie let out a big "whew", and put down her shovel.

"I'm going for some water, I'll be just a spell."

Angelo nodded and kept working.

Alone now, he was left to contemplate the dead before him. Under their facial hair, blood, or general unkemptness, they were unspectacular, just people not so different from himself. He scanned their bodies, half-unconsciously looking for some sign of the kind of folk they used to be. There, on the body of the whisker-free bandit, was a small knife, ordinary and unornamented, but exceptionally clean. It seemed a shame to let that touch the dirt. Almost unthinking, Angelo pulled it off the bandit, and tucked it into his belt near his pistol.

Maybe he should have realized Willie was taking too long, but he didn't stop until the bandits were fully buried. He walked back to the nearest well. To his chagrin, Willie had fallen asleep against the nearby tree, a half empty bucket of water beside her. She snored loudly, as she always did.

Now, the fight had cleared out most of the ammunition in Willie's bandoliers, only a few shells resting near each shoulder. This gave Angelo a rascally little notion.

He picked up a small rock, and delicately stepped near Willie, then slid it into the bandolier. Her breath seemed to catch for a second, then she went on sawing logs. Angelo let out a breath, and smiled.

Not one to leave any job unfinished, Angelo set about filling each vacancy with a rock or stick. As he looked for something to fill the last space, Angelo glanced at the knife in his belt again. It fit just barely in the final slot.

Satisfied that Willie would have a little cleaning to make up for the job she shirked, Angelo walked back to the ranch house.

Willie's expectations had proven true. It wasn't more than a week later that the bandits returned in force. The ambush had just about scattered the cowboys as they fought.

Angelo was alone, fumbling to reload his revolver. Bullets whizzed about, pinged off the rock he hid behind. Suddenly, one of the bandits stepped backwards into his line of sight, but he didn't yet spot Angelo. Whoever he was shooting at kept him occupied.

Angelo closed the cylinder quietly, aimed and…

Click.

The gun jammed, the bandit turned, Angelo braced himself. But before a single shot went off, a grimace crossed the other man's face, and he collapsed. In his back, the odd little knife Angelo took a few days ago.

He looked up to see Willie. She just nodded, and it was like a spell broke. The chaos of the fight was replaced by the chaos of the bandits' retreat.

Though he tried to hand it back, Willie never took the knife again, even when she came to see Angelo leave for greener gentler pastures.

#yeehawgust #bandolier #death #gun tw

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eristic-kaleidoscope · 1 year

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Hold my Sprite- | Erik A | Trial 1.1 | Re: Byrne, Erika L, Just Erika

Erik A was, frankly, completely exhausted at present, though his energy was somehow still at it’s usual level despite this. There were even slightly more prominent bags under his eyes than usual, though just as well hidden by his glasses as there usually were unless someone looked at him closely. He was no stranger to long nights with little sleep though, so tired as he was, he was still sure he could get himself through this sort of trial.

The elevator door Actually opening up to a new room though catches him momentarily off guard though, making him blink for a moment before his brain caught back up to working.

He nods to Azr first just to acknowledge him, and then grins to Erika L and points dramatically in no particular direction! He’s got this shit on lock B)

“Exactly! Since the popcorn machine was off at the start of the investigation but still hot, it had to have been because the culprit circled back around to it, placing them in the trampoline room not long before the discovery and meaning-”

Oh, Just Erika’s words registered belatedly to him about turning the popcorn machine on, and he pauses mid sentence as his brain reboots for a moment. (Processing, processing…)

“…Nevermind! Unless we think the culprit got stabbed too or otherwise stole it away from her, I’m also betting on them being the culp being the one holding the knife and cutting stuff when shit went south at the very least, with Paislene understandable panicking and getting the fuck out after she was stabbed, leading to that blood trail heading towards the spa. It doesn’t look like there was too much of a back and forth fight, since she got where she was without so much as chipping a nail.”

Paislene??? Guess he’s settled with combining names here, with the lack of Marlene herself to clarify which name she’d prefer. He hums for a moment though, then continues with a bit more.

“But on to testimony shit for now, can confirm my part of shit while with Byrne, at least…! I don’t think he did this either. To wind things back up from the start though, it was me who was in the movie theater starting around 3am or so because I forgot that I couldn’t turn it on myself again. Just hung out for a bit, had a sprite, then managed to catch Erik walking by in the hallway a bit before 4am, who agreed to help me out and turn on a movie I could watch. He didn’t stick around too long though and was outta there by 4am, and I enjoyed Spiderman 3 all to myself.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t turn it off when it was done, again, because of my restriction, and apparently that shit just keeps playing on loop if you don’t, so I let it be and left around 6am. Saw Erika N as we both went through the elevator door, and spotted Arakiel entering the Eatery. From THERE, I tried to get Erisu to let me into our shared room since I couldn’t open it myself, but she was either passed the fuck out or already out of the room and wasn’t answering. Eventually I got Byrne to let me into his room around 6:10 or 6:15 or something instead and we hung out there for awhile, jamming and even getting to hear my sick singing skills again~” Oh no-

“Finally, I left again at like 7:20, I think?? I remember seeing the clock briefly at least, since that’s when I found Erisu in the dorm hallway and got her to let me in so I could finally sleep. Passed out and don’t remember anything else from that until the discovery.” …My god, he had a single hour of rest-

#Erik A #chapter1 #trial1 #submission

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sukirichi · 3 years

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black magic [01]

REQUEST. arranged marriage + enemies to lovers (sukuna is a simp and lowkey a housewife)

CONTENT/WARNINGS. some suggestive scenes, but overall fluff and romance! slight crack fic, I guess? I was laughing when I wrote this lol

NOTES. I NEED A HUSBAND! SUKUNA I’M GOING TO CRY GOODBYE THIS HAS ME SOFT. also anon i’m not sure if you wanted something with more ~sexual tension~ since this is kind of just comedic, but I hope you like it anyway!

part one | part two (nsfw)

“This is new,” you comment with a glare, your ankle propped on Sukuna’s knee.

“Shut up,” he rolls his eyes, pushing your skirt aside to clean the wounds you attained through exorcising curses. You’ve taken a particularly strong curse today and you’re caught off guard, barely finishing the mission unscathed. Limping all the way back home isn’t easy especially since you live on top of the darned mountain, but if Sukuna’s going to kneel in front of you like this...maybe it wasn’t too tough a journey. “You should stop going to missions you’re not ready for. Look at you, all wounded and bloody.”

“You sound like you care.”

“You’re my wife,” he huffs while dropping the bloody towel on the floor. Sukuna wraps the bandage around your ankle and carries you bridal style even though you’re perfectly capable of walking, but he shoots you a silencing glare. You’d have knocked him in the face any other day, but he’s particularly warm and smells nice today – plus you’re beat – that you bury your face in his chest, ignoring that stupid fluttering in your stomach. “Of course I do.”

You snicker, mind tracing back to your earlier years of this dreaded marriage.

It definitely wasn’t the best – the memories blurring between strangling each other to making out as if breathing was never a thing – and it felt like forever ago when you first met him.

You’d never say it out loud, but... you don’t regret this arranged marriage. Not when Sukuna is tucking himself beside you on the bed, your head above his muscular chest a place similar to home. He covers both your bodies over with a blanket, pulling your body closer to him with a strong arm, his lips pressing onto the crown of your head.

Ugh, you think to yourself, giving in to the need to cuddle your husband after a long day of work. You still refuse to say it out loud, though, and you irk him further by muttering, “That’s not what you said two years ago.”

“I wasn’t in love with you then.”

“I refuse to be married to you!”

Sukuna fights back the urge to cover his ears. Ever since your clan decided to visit his land and started exorcising curses one by one, his life has been nothing but hell. Not only are your relatives the most arrogant people ever with a consistent god complex, they just had to let their little mortal child be in charge of taking on the stronger curses. Seriously, what were they thinking, sending you – who’s barely even out of their training bra years – to deal with curses like him?

Everyone knows Sukuna is a no bullshit man. He won’t hesitate to cut your head off the moment you came raging at him, but then he sees how young you are and decides to send you back to your family.

Expecting that everyone would just call it a day and he’d get offerings for his unexpected mercy, Sukuna is beyond stupefied when they send you back to his temple, all dressed pretty with a basket of fruits and flowers braided in your hair. He remembers growling because you look adorable, but that’s easily wiped away when you open your mouth, your voice scratchy against his ears as you stomp your feet like the young mortal you are.

Sukuna pushes a thumb to his forehead to ease the impending headache, and that’s just from your presence. Something inside him tells that you’re going to be a bigger pain than you look.

“You don’t have much of a choice. You should’ve thought of that before deciding to run rampage over my land,” he reminds, turning boredly to his lone servant from above his throne. Sukuna isn’t impressed, to say the least, especially with your clan’s audacious proposition to gain his favour just this once. “Is this really the woman you bring me – the one they insist to be my wife?”

“She is their best fighter, my Lord.”

Well, he can’t disagree to that. You did, after all, single-handedly give him a cut on the cheek. “She’s feisty indeed.”

“Don’t talk as if I’m not here!”

“Mouthy too,” he mumbles to himself, but your sorcerer senses are sharp and easily picks up on it. He sees you flush angry again, looking immensely adorable with your tiny fists clenched like that and he snorts, waving a hand in the air. “Whatever. Get the wedding over with,” he nods to his servant, his sigh loud and tired as he makes his way to you.

You don’t stiffen at each haunting step, his eyes only glimmering harder with entertainment. It’s rare to find a mortal that doesn’t quiver at the sight of him, the urge to break you only growing stronger.

Even as he cups your face, making sure to not let his claws dig into your precious skin, Sukuna smirks. You’ll be entertaining indeed.

So Sukuna makes a promise, four eyes surveying the way your body is starting to fill in curves at the right places, the swell of your flesh just perfect in his hands... He chuckles to himself, daunting you further as he leans down to your ear, taking pleasure in the slight way your breath hitches. “Maybe then I’ll get to teach you a lesson or two.”

You’re definitely something else, taking advantage of each presented opportunity and not wasting any time before you make your move. Right after the wedding and everyone’s left, leaving you alone with your new husband behind closed doors; you push him until he’s on the ground, legs straddling each side of his hips while you growl above him – the sound similar to a battle cry.

Sukuna merely smirks, barely moving a muscle as his large hands come up to rest on your hips to steady you. “I’ve imagined countless ways you’d be on top of me like this,” his eyes light up with humour upon feeling the cold blade on his skin, “None of them included a knife on my neck though.”

“Shut your mouth. I will kill you myself,” you warn, pressing your knife harder until it draws a slight tinge of blood.

You hardly look threatening above him like this, dolled up to look the best in your wedding with this cursed being. If anything, you look more divine than deadly, and Sukuna thinks that perhaps your beauty could be your best weapon. You are bewitching, after all.

“I refuse to be your Queen and sit next to your throne.”

“Then why didn’t you stop the wedding?”

“I—”

Sukuna’s teasing grin grows wider when you pull back, trying so hard to not trip over your words. It takes all of his self-restraint to not take you right then and there, but he does a good job of holding back, enjoying this view above him instead. “Could it be you’re attracted to me after all, hm, little one?”

“Do not test me, Curse. I’m more than capable of exorcising you myself.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. You’re the strongest in the Gojo clan, are you not?” he prompts to appease you, “I don’t even want to see what you’re capable of, but maybe, just maybe...” just as his eyes darken, the edges of his lips turning up into a smirk, Sukuna digs his claws into your thigh in a possessive show of ownership, a painful reminder that you’re his now. “...You could put on a little show for me?”

“I hate you!”

Experienced and strong as you are, you’re nothing compared to a thousand year old curse who’s killed a lot more people faster than you could blink. Sukuna immediately notices the animalistic way you draw your blade, arm swung back with rage written all over your face. Before you could so much as bat an eye, he easily switches the positions until you’re under him, using only one hand to pin your arms above your head, your blade effortlessly thrown to the other side of the room.

“As I thought, you’re a lot prettier under me like this,” he observes, roaming his eyes shamelessly over the fabric clinging prettily to your body. You’ve fallen silent at his unconcealed attention, your compliance enticing him to lean closer just to inhale your intoxicating scent.

“Not so feisty now, little one? Where’d all your hatred for me go?” Sukuna pulls back with widened eyes, “Oh? Am I hearing it wrong or is your pathetic human heart beating so loud right now?” You refuse to look at him, wriggling your hips in an attempt to leave, completely unaware that the mere movement is hypnotizing the curse above you. Sukuna grips your hips in warning, not wanting to destroy you – not now, anyway. “You know all you need to do is say it. I’d gladly take you right here and then.” His words spoken with that deep, throaty voice immediately sends a wave of heat down your core, but you turn away from him, breathing hard and nervously; something Sukuna picks up on in an instant. “Little one...have you never had a man hold you like this before?”

“N-no...”

“I see. Pure and innocent behind that ferocity, huh?” He surprises you by pulling away, smoothening his white robes down as he leaves you panting still on the floor. “Fine. I won’t touch you unless you ask me to.”

“I’d rather die before that ever comes out from my mouth.”

“We’ll see about that,” he smirks, winking at you before he shuts the door. “Little one.”

There’s a lot of weird – and utterly inconvenient things – about being Sukuna’s wife. The man eats everything, absolutely everything, and it doesn’t help that he sucks at hunting too. For a man so huge and burly, he sure is lazy, preferring to do the laundry in the riverside instead while you go out every day to prepare your meals.

You actually don’t mind, but it’s very fun to complain around him.

You’re on your way back to the temple when Sukuna grabs at you, making you drop the freshly caught birds onto the ground. Your brows furrow, about to scold him for being too eager again when Sukuna stares at your arm, his lips pressing into a thin line.

Following his line of sight, your lips form an ‘o’ shape. There’s blood trickling down your forearm from his claws accidentally cutting you, guilt written all over his face. Another weird thing about Sukuna is that he babbles a lot when he’s emotional, and you’re too tired to hear him beat himself over it that you just drag him inside your room, sitting his ass down before taking a clipper.

Sukuna scoffs when you start cutting his nails. It irks him that you don’t even bother wiping the blood off first and he tsks, eyes narrowed at you. “You should have thicker skin.”

You roll your eyes as you file his nails; you’ve been married to him long enough to know it’s his way of saying sorry. Not wanting to let him wallow in guilt any louder, you pad kisses over his knuckles before swiping the black ink off your desk, using a pen brush to colour your nails instead. Sukuna hovers behind you, head tilted to the side as he watched you. “Are you painting your nails black?” he utters in disbelief, trying to ignore the fact he feels...proud and even a little smug. “Not so fitting for the angelic sorcerer now, isn’t it?”

“I’m only doing this so you don’t feel left out.”

“Maybe I’ll add markings to your pretty face too,” he cups your jaw to make you turn to him, landing a solid kiss flat to your lips which makes you sigh, pretending to be annoyed but leaning over for another peck anyway. Sukuna laughs and pulls you onto his lap, kissing your neck this time around, a little annoyed that you don’t stop in brandishing your nails. “Wife, what do you think?”

“I have work, Sukuna. You flirting with me doesn’t change the fact I need to go.”

“Come home safe for me, at least?” he breathes down your neck, his touch sending shivers down your spine. You’ve definitely changed since the first time he’s met you, starting from a mean (although he stands strong that you are still mean to him sometimes) temperamental little one to a mature, stronger sorcerer who’s secretly weak for his wife.

Unable to resist him as always, you turn around once you’ve finished painting your nails, rubbing your nose over his until your strong, scary husband is turning into putty at your hands. “Of course I will,” you peck his lips one last time, Sukuna’s eyes closing as he dives in for a deeper kiss. “I’ll always come back home to my handsome husband.”

If anyone were to ask how it’s possible that the King of Curses is actually very soft for his sorcerer wife, everyone would claim it’s impossible and a heresy – but if you ask Sukuna, it’s probably just black magic doing its wonders.

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wearywinchester · 3 years

Text

Regrets

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When a fight leaves you both having some regrets, a little space brings some clarity.

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: angsts, injury, mentions of death, guilt, comfort, fluff

The tension swirling around in the car was nearly unbearable, thick and heavy as you sat pressed to the passenger side door. You’d been doing it out of spite for the older Winchester, feeding off each other’s anger, each other’s huffs and puffs. He’d noticed just how far away you were sitting and it had him tensing his jaw because he knew exactly what you were doing and it was working.

It was working and he absolutely wouldn’t admit it.

The hunt had gone all kinds of wrong, couldn’t have gone worse apart from one of you dying. Actually, you almost did and that was the problem. That was every bit Dean’s problem and the very thought of it sent his anger from a simmer to a boil in the pit of his stomach every time it crossed his mind. To be more specific, it’s the only thing he’s been thinking about this whole time. But in true Dean Winchester fashion, the fear and concern eating away at him didn’t come out so clearly.

His vulnerability was mostly expressed through anger. Yelling and shutting down, mumbling strings of curses— it was anger in its truest form just to hide how scared he really is.

It was quiet, no radio no nothing save for the occasional clear of his throat or a heavy exhale coming from either one of you. It was quiet and you couldn’t wait to get out of that car, couldn’t wait to be back at the and take up residence in your room, maybe even one of the spares just to be farther from him. You have plenty of them to choose from. You felt like you’d scream if you spent even so much as another ten minutes with him.

You’d gotten hurt that day, gotten hurt and it wasn’t unlike other times. It wasn’t ideal how the hunt should have gone, ideally you wouldn’t have been a ghost’s kebab as she stuck her hand right through you and around your heart. Ideally you wouldn’t have been thrown against a wall without care for where you landed by Casper the unfriendly ghost. You almost sealed your fate that day all for the sake of getting the job done. All for the sake of saving lives.

That was his problem.

But, his problem wasn’t expressed in the best of ways. It was expressed in shouts and running his hand through his hair, in telling you he never wants you hunting again and a tightly clenched jaw. You argued back and forth for the better part of half the trip home, that lump still sitting heavy in your throat as you suppress your tears.

You were dying to be back home, in fact, you weren’t waiting another minute.

“Let me out,” you said, tone angry as you spoke.

His brows furrowed, looking at you for a moment. “What?”

“Pull over and let me out.”

“Not a chance, it’s ten at night and it’s about to freakin’ rain, Y/n. Who knows what’s out there,” he says, his voice raising.

“I know what’s out there, Dean, we hunt it for a living. Let me out. I’d rather walk than spend another minute listening to you huff and puff.”

“No.”

He pretended that it didn’t sting as much as it did, he pretended it didn’t make him swallow thickly and hid it with a little more tension in his jaw. They were just words. Just words spoken out of anger much like all of the things the two of you had spoken in the last half hour.

You could hear the frustration in his voice, in the single word, could see the tension in his jaw and just how tightly he gripped the wheel. That crease between his brows was deeper than ever and it showed each time a car passed you by.

“Dean.”

“Do you like throwing yourself in danger, Y/n? Is that what it is?” He asked.

You rolled your eyes, breathing out a huff that’s more than dramatic as the anger you feel only gets worse, both your anger is. You’re both feeding off of your own frustrations at this point and you can bear another second of it.

“Pull the damn car over or I’ll jump out myself,” you grit out, because if you talk any louder your voice just might fail you.

In a matter of seconds he veers off to pull over as you insisted, braking with a little more force than necessary as he stared ahead at the road. You were blind to the incoming storm, and Dean definitely wasn’t, couldn’t have been. But he pulled over anyway just like you wanted him to.

“You hate me so much, fine, you’re free to go.”

You pause for a moment, gaze narrowed at him before you grabbed your bag. “Yeah, well, maybe I do.”

Without another word from either of you, you got out, missing the way he looked at you as you did and the way he bit the inside of his cheek. And you missed the look on his face when you slammed the door shut, slinging your bag over your shoulder. After a beat of silence he pulls away, tires screeching against the pavement as he sped off down the road with the rev of his engine muffling the farther he gets.

You swallow thickly as you tighten your jacket around yourself, gaze narrowed as you watch the red of the tail lights disappear. Your anger still simmered as your heart raced, but that lump in your throat became near impossible to suppress as you walked along the gravelly side of the road by yourself. But that’s just it—you were by yourself. Those tears you fought so hard to hide glossed over your eyes now, spilling over your cheeks now. All of that built up frustration was seeping it’s way out.

You didn’t have to be so stubborn now that you were all alone, didn’t have to keep that front you put up for the sake of looking strong in front of green eyes.

Gravel and fallen leaves crunched under your feet as you walked along, the noises almost uncomfortably loud in contrast to your surroundings. You felt like an easy target for whatever is out there, felt like all eyes were on you despite the very real fact that you were all by yourself. But a part of you didn’t care at this point.

That adrenaline from the hunt still coursed through you, fueled by dwindling frustration that came and went in waves. It was seeping out in the form of tears, in the form of you kicking rocks in your path and throwing caution to the wind as you walked with heavier footsteps.

You weren’t that far from the bunker, not really. You had your knife tucked in your boot, you could handle yourself. You’re not as weak as you felt in that moment, and the emotions running wild through you was enough to have you putting up a good fight should you need to.

But you needed space. Needed space to keep any more words of regret from spilling past your lips. Needed space before you felt like your heart would burst right out of your chest.

You stuffed your hands in your pockets as you sniffed, tears running hot down cold cheeks as you watched the way your breath puffed out against the cold air. You tried to ignore the drizzle of the rain, tried to ignore it as you put your hood up, only for the wind to blow it right back down once more and after a few hasty battles with Mother Nature you decided to give it up. Decided to toss away your comfort as the icy droplets fell down on you heavier and heavier as the seconds passed.

You settle for picking up your pace as you walk down the road, the one that’s never been ideally lit for as long as you can remember. You weren’t that far, not really, you could make it back.

You tried not to think about your wavering anger, and the way it wavered more and more each time you thought about your conversation in the car. You tried not to think about how comforting one of his flannels would be, or the warmth of his arms. You shook it from your mind because you had yourself convinced you had to be angry at him.

What happened that day wasn’t just some run of the mill incident on a hunt. It wasn’t scraped knees or busted lips, it was sprained ankles or bloody noses. You almost bit the bullet and hunted your last hunt that day. You still felt that pain in your chest despite the threat of that ghost being long gone and put to rest. You still felt that jarring fear, that shake in your hands, and you still felt that urge to cry over it despite your overwhelming need to feel like you’ve got to be tough even when you don’t.

It was all still there, and now you’ve gone and had a screaming match with the older Winchester. Now you’ve both gone and spewed more than enough things you regret.

You didn’t know what was worse, the regretful anger sitting heavy in your stomach, or your overwhelming desire to get out of this awful weather so you could sulk in the warmth of the bunker. To get rid of that heavy sense of feeling vulnerable walking by yourself even though you’d insisted on doing so. You insisted and you got what you wanted.

But you picked up the pace once you reached that familiar stretch of road, once you spotted home tucked in that hillside. You picked up the pace despite the fatigue you felt telling you to slow it down.

You were cold, you were wet, you were miserable.

Meanwhile, Dean was back at the bunker stewing in his own regret unbeknownst to you. He’d debated a million and one times on turning back and going to get you. He could’ve handled you arguing with him, could’ve handled you hating him. Well, you’d gone and said that you did and he doesn’t know if he really could handle it as much as he’d like to act like it. But you were angry, you were angry and so was he and nothing good ever came out of arguing.

You snagged the key from where the three of you kept it hidden and sniffled once more before you pushed the door open, shutting out the terrible weather behind you in favor of the sheltered warmth of the bunker.

The place seemed empty despite the fact that you knew it wasn’t. Sam should be back after a hunt with Eileen, and surely Dean was around here somewhere. You knew he was judging by the fresh tire tracks in the gravel but you tried not to think about it. You tried to think about going unnoticed until you could get a change of clothes. He didn’t need to see how miserable you looked, how right he was about the rain, how right he was about how scared you truly were after that day.

If he knew that, then that tough guy act you put up after all this time would crumble to pieces in an instant.

You may have been able to snag a dry change of clothes without being seen, may have been able to sneak off to the bathroom without it either. But he knew you were here, and he knew you had to have been worse for wear and it had his guilt and regret simmering in a frenzy.

He saw the wet and slightly muddy footprints in the hall, he saw your rain soaking jacket on the coat rack, heavy with the accumulated rainfall. He saw the way those footprints first went to your shared room, tracked them all the way down the hall to a room that’s farthest from his own. And in there were more wet clothes, cold and heavy as he gathered them to toss in the hamper, in there were soaked leather boots with mud caked on the edges.

You were stubborn as hell and so was he.

But that anger was beginning to wash away with the cold as you cleaned yourself up, as you tried your hardest to have the day roll off your shoulders. But that pain in your chest was only a dreadful reminder of its events. You wanted to be angry, and a part of you still was, because being angry was better than facing Dean Winchester in that moment.

You swiped that dampened wash rag over your face once more, too tired to go so far as to take a shower. Too tired to do much more than sulk and stew in a heap of emotions as you changed your clothes into dryer, warmer ones. They only comforted you so much with the feelings you’ve got weighing you down.

You didn’t know how much time had passed since you exchanged some less than desirable words with him, didn’t know where he was as you walked down the hall and slipped into the room you’d claimed that night. You didn’t notice the pile of wet clothes that’d gone missing, but you saw the extra blanket on the bed. It could’ve been Sam, could’ve been, but deep down you knew it wasn’t.

There were plenty of things you would’ve noticed had you come home a little bit earlier. But you didn’t.

He cleaned up the books he’d swept off one of the tables in the library out of his own frustration. He’d righted the chair he kicked, cleaned up the mess of anger and frustration he’d made in his room. He picked up the pieces of his regret for letting you get out of that car at the dead of night.

You got in bed, you switched off the lights and climbed under the covers as you let out a sigh, one that was just as shaky as ever as your tears decided they were quite done with you. As you lay there on your side you fail to see the shadows of the boots on the other side of your door, standing there for a moment before they’d disappeared once more.

You were tired as ever, physically fatigued and emotionally exhausted as you lay there in a bed that’s worse for wear as the springs dig into your side. The room didn’t feel quite so welcoming, didn’t feel quite so comfortable as yours did because a certain green eyed hunter wasn’t on the other side of the wall. He wasn’t on the other side of the mattress.

That anger and that hurt still coursed through you, but it wasn’t scorching and hot, it wasn’t singing your actions like they had been a while ago. You tried to push it out of your mind, trying your hardest to convince yourself that a good night’s sleep would be the best answer to all of this, that it would keep you from saying anything else you surely would regret saying as soon as they’re spoken.

But you know you’re far past doing that.

You try anyway, try to tuck yourself further under the blankets and close your eyes. You were beyond tired, the day robbing you of any energy, stripping you of a good mood for a good long while. You tried your hardest to fall asleep and put the day behind you like you know you probably should. Things were said and done and there was no changing it, so the most you could do was sleep and restart the next day. But you couldn’t.

You tossed and turned on that mattress for a good half hour, riddled with discomfort and your mind plagued with just one thing, just one person. You knew he’d be awake, that was something you were certain of even if he pretends to be asleep like he sometimes does.

Indecision weighs you down as you sit on the edge of the bed, feet pressed to the cold concrete floor. It tugs you in every direction as you walk to the door with reluctance and ultimately step into the dimmed hallway. It was quiet as ever as you walked, footsteps much quieter than the squeak of your rain soaked boots.

It took some walking before you saw the light in the kitchen streaming into the hall, heard the clatter of a few dishes. You made it to the doorway, made it all the way there before you froze. You paused and waited, waited to work up the nerve. It could have been Sam, it very well could have been him but the thud of his boots answered that for you, a sound that drew closer and had you turning and walking away.

You didn’t get very far.

“Y/n?” You froze once more and paused, waiting a moment before you turned around. His gaze was on you as you looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “It’s raining, isn’t it?”

You sigh, shifting on your feet. “No, not really.”

“You’re wet, Y/n.”

“I took a shower,” you counter, too fast for your words to be true. It’s quiet as he nods, completely unconvinced by your words and he hears the edge to your tone.

His mouth opens and closes a few times with words he doesn’t even know are on the tip of his tongue. There’s too many things he wants to say at once, namely the bang up job you did at cleaning that scrape on your cheek. Or the way you look like you’re chilled to the bone. Or maybe a spew of words of how much he regrets listening to you, how he hates himself for listening and letting you go like that.

But he finds he doesn’t have the opportunity when you find yourself doing the same, only you do find words to say.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you say, looking at him for a moment before turning away and walking back down the hall.

You don’t see the way his hand reaches out, or the way it drops back to his side because you’re too busy rushing back to that miserable spare bedroom with another regret to add the the hefty and ever growing pile. It grows heavier when you hear that door close down the hall. It grows more and more as the seconds pass, as the minutes pass in that less than comfortable stupid spare room.

It’s laughable for you to think you’d make it a night on your own in there, not with the way you’re wiping angry tears away. It didn’t feel good to be at odds with him, not when it’s fueled by nothing more than stupidity and stubbornness at this point. There was no good reason to avoid him, no good reason to leave him standing there like you did.

You couldn’t take another minute.

You were quiet as you slipped out of that room with the intention of never returning to it, quiet as you padded back down that dimly lit hall towards your true home, rather the one that resides in that room. You’re timid as you twist the knob and open the door, finding green eyes laying on his side of the bed, the lamp switched off.

You swallow thickly as you stand there timidly, your lip between your teeth in a nervous habit. You let the moments pass as you stand there unsure of yourself, waiting a moment more before you close the door behind you. You circle the bed and climb in quietly, under the blankets before you turn and lay on your side too, your back to him.

It’s tense at first, tense for a good long few minutes with nothing other than the sound of the two of you breathing and the sound of the blankets rustling when one of you moves. But that tense quiet is melted as you feel his arm draped over you, tugging you closer and closer until you’re pressed to his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin, soft but enough for you to hear.

You can hear the regret in his hushed tone, can hear the guilt weighing the two words down. At first you’re quiet, staring ahead as your lip wobbles under your emotions. You don’t say anything but after a little while you turn around, face to face with the expression that matched the words.

You look at him for a moment, gaze bouncing over every inch of his face. You swallow as you look at him, quietly mulling everything over that you wish you hadn’t said that day. But there’s one thing that keeps coming back, one thing that weighs heavy.

“I could never hate you,” you murmur, soft and embarrassed.

You see the way he nods softly, see the way the corner of his mouth quirks upwards in a half smile as he reaches up and traces the tips of his fingers across your cheek, along the curve of your ear. He nods until he rests his forehead against yours, noses bumping.

“What do you say we take a break from hunting for a little while,” he says softly, eyes falling closed as his breath puffs warmly against your lips. “Just for a little while.”

He’s sick of the close calls, doesn’t want to think about that day for a while even though he knows he won’t ever stop dwelling on it. This was too much and he desperately wants to have a break from the fear of losing you for a little while.

You take a breath and nod, you nod and you kiss him softly and it settles the nerves rumbling around within him.

“Yeah, yeah I’d like that, De,” you whisper, kissing the tip of his nose down to his lips in a lingering kiss.

That tension of regret still hangs heavy in his shoulders, still hangs heavy in your heart no matter how many times the two of you apologize. He knows you’ll never blame him for pulling over like that, you insisted after all. He knows he’ll never let himself off the hook either. But he doesn’t want to bring it up, not now that you’re safe in his arms once more.

He doesn’t want to bring up just how much he wishes you wouldn’t play tough guy after hunts like these, just how much that day bothered him. And you feel like you could tell him a million times over just how much you love him but he knows, even if you’re beating yourself up for what you said in the heat of the moment he knows it’s just that.

You were home, he was your home. Past the arguments and huffs and puffs and words spoken out of anger. None of that mattered in that moment.

You could apologize all you want another time and surely you would, but you keep yourself in that moment.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes @agalliasi @campingmonkey @deandaydreaming @lanea-1 @akshi8278 @kidd3ath @taikawho @lyarr24 @happyt0exist

#dean winchester #dean winchester angst #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic

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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Finders Keepers

the long awaited (sorry!) zombie au. hope y’all enjoy

Seijoh 4 x female reader & Miya twins x female reader

TW Blood, gore, angst, um... toxic relationships?

“Let me see.”

It’s little more than a murmur, but in the quiet stillness of the night your voice carries. It hardly matters; Oikawa has you close, tucked under his arm with his injured leg stretched out between the two of you. He could stop you if he really wanted, but he only watches, those tired, wary eyes fixed on your face as you reach for his pants.

“It’s fine,” he grunts out, yet he can barely get the words out before he’s hissing through his teeth – a knee jerk reaction to the scrape of rough fabric against his wound. His fingers are digging painfully into your arm, and it doesn’t make a difference how gentle you try to be, how many stammered apologies fall from your lips, your fingers are stiff and clumsy and his pants are caked with dried blood and grime, hindering the process.

Pursing your lips, you glance up. “This would go easier if you took these off, you know.”

He cracks a smile at that, strained and tense, but your chest still flutters at the sight of it. “If you wanna get my pants off so badly, cutie, all you had to do was ask.”

“Tooru,” you begin, but he sighs heavily and that brief flicker of mirth glimmering in his eyes fades. Reaching over he picks up his hunting knife, pressing the handle into your palm and letting his fingers slowly curl around yours. The weight of it feels unwieldy and foreign in your hand, and you can’t quite say for sure if the way your breath picks up and hitches is due to your nerves or the way Oikawa’s watching you, his warm hand still wrapped around yours.

“Cut it, then.”

The knife helps, shearing through his pants like butter, but the wound itself is messy – torn threads plastered to congealed blood and dirt – and blunt fingernails sink into your skin and Oikawa grits out a curse when you try to gently ease them free.

It’s worse than you’d thought. A lot worse. Raked over his right knee, five gouges, jagged and gruesome, raw flesh and muscle exposed beneath. Your stomach roils at the sight of it, bile creeping up your throat, and for a moment you’re astounded by how calm he is, sitting there beside you.

If it were you, you’re fairly sure you’d be rolling on the ground howling by now, but the only hint of pain Oikawa’s face betrays is the tightness of his jaw, teeth clenched even as he looses a shuddering breath.

“I-I’ll go see if I can find something to…” to what? Clean the wound? Stitch it? You’re not an idiot, unless this little cottage has an incredibly well stocked first aid kit, you know you’re in trouble. And even if it does, beyond the very basics of clean, disinfect and bandage, you don’t know how the hell you’re supposed to fix this.

Iwaizumi was always the one to stitch up their wounds, muttering obscenities under his breath and glaring at them the whole time. It was their own idiot faults for putting themselves in a position where they could get hurt in the first place, he’d say, they could deal with a little pain while he fixed them up. But as you stare at the grisly mess of Oikawa’s knee, there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach that this might be beyond even Iwa’s level of expertise.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because Iwa isn’t here.

Makki and Mattsun aren’t either.

And strangely enough, it’s not the fear of the creatures lurking in the woods that’s gnawing at your gut. It’s Oikawa’s injury, the blood and mangled mess that you can’t even begin to fix, the thought of the trap that’s awaiting the others back at the sanctuary. It’s that feeling of helplessness that’s tightening around your neck like a noose.

“Hey,” Oikawa calls, snagging at your wrist when you try to pull away. “They’ll find us, have a little faith.”

Swallowing down the lump in your throat, you nod. “I know.”

You don’t have the guts to tell him that that’s only half the problem.

Making do with vodka and some old bandages you’d scrounged up from a first aid kit under the sink, you do what you can for Tooru’s knee. Working by the light of a few flickering candles, your hands shaking like a leaf, it's a job easier said than done, and you can’t help but wince at every pained hiss and grunt that escapes him.

It’s a hack job, a bandaid over a gaping wound, but he thanks you for it anyway, pressing an affectionate kiss to your temple as he drags you closer once more. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he murmurs, and the words hang heavy over the both of you; a promise and a sobering reminder in one.

Tucked up in his embrace, you shut your eyes and will yourself to fall asleep.

Yet the moment you do, you’re right back there again: the hallway doors bursting open and the undead pouring through. Rotting and snarling, the sound of panicked shrieks tearing through the sanctuary in their wake.

Tooru’s hand in yours, yanking you along as he ran. Your heartbeat, pounding in your ears as you gasped for breath, your chest burning. And the fear, the horror that threatened to choke you as the others fell behind, their frantic pleas turning into agonised screams.

Everybody else first. The words spoken before any one of them left the safety of the sanctuary; you’d always assumed it was a grim kind of joke between the boys, a good luck charm. How many times had you heard Mattsun laugh it, clapping Iwa on the shoulder, or Makki for that matter, or Oikawa?

‘Come home safe’, you’d thought it meant, not ‘rip the guns out of other survivors’ hands and throw them back into the path of the oncoming undead’.

And then you’d stumbled, tripping over your own two feet. You remember Oikawa cursing, the pain that radiated up your knees and the palms of your hands as you hit the floor hard, and the absolute, bone chilling terror that surged through you when you looked up and saw one of the undead creatures lunge for you; jaw hanging loose, more ripped flesh and gristle than an actual mouth–

Oikawa was too far away, too slow, and even if he wasn’t, you’d just witnessed the lengths he’d go to for self preservation. You’d screamed for him anyway, squeezing your eyes shut and praying you’d go quickly when those fingers and yellowing teeth dug into your flesh and ripped you apart.

And in the space of a single petrified heartbeat, three shots had rung through the air, a warm wetness splattering against your cheek. Tooru was there, kicking the rotting corpse away from you and hauling you back to your feet, back safely against his side.

But the next one was quicker, leaping over the husk of its fallen friend, snarling and bloody and savage, and then it was Tooru who was screaming, undead fingers sinking into the flesh of his leg, ripping as it tried to claw him back.

Heart pounding viciously, your eyes shoot open in the darkness.

Even with the reassurance of Oikawa’s frame pressed up behind you, his breath warm against your skin, sleep doesn’t come easy, and the dawn brings little reprieve.

Stupidly, you’d hoped – prayed – that somehow through the night he might’ve gotten better. It was early in the morning when you’d felt him start to shiver against you. You’d tried to roll away, to give him space so you wouldn’t accidentally knock his leg, but Tooru was having none of it, burrowing in closer, his grip tightening.

And when you’d felt him start to sweat, his arms becoming sticky and clammy, his shirt dampening at your back, that slow, cloying sense of dread took root inside of your stomach.

Under the first rays of morning light, the true extent of Oikawa’s condition is unignorable. Without the luxury of being able to properly close the wound, blood’s seeped through the bandages overnight, leaving them a mottled, macabre red. His face is pale, a thin sheen of sweat dotting at his brow and with every shallow, rattling breath he takes, his body trembles.

It’s more than just simple blood loss.

You think for a moment that he’s unconscious, long lashes fanned out over flushed cheekbones, but the moment you reach for the bandages, his eyes snap open. “Don’t,” he rasps.

You frown, “Tooru–”

“No,” he says. “It’s fine. Leave it alone.”

Between him and Iwaizumi, and to a certain extent, Makki and Mattsun, you’ve never had much of a say in how things are run. You’ve never questioned that they’re the ones in charge, Oikawa most of all. They’re the ones who’ve kept you safe, kept you alive all this time, and all they’ve ever asked of you is that you do what they say.

And you have. Always. Because without them, you’d be dead. You don’t have to pick up a gun and fight, because they do it for you. You don’t have to go on supply runs because they take care of it, they take care of you. And it’s never mattered whether it’s just been the five of you out there alone, or if you were banding together with other survivors; that’s never changed – no matter how many dirty looks it earned you from the others.

You are their responsibility, but in return, you do what they tell you without question.

But this–

This isn’t like that. This isn’t you begging Iwaizumi to take you with him on perimeter patrol because you’ve been cooped up for what feels like weeks, or pouting because they’re deliberately keeping things from you again.

And maybe they have kept you in the dark, but you’re not blind and you’re not stupid. The reality of this situation hasn’t escaped you.

The sanctuary’s overrun, and if – when – Iwa, Makki and Mattsun make it back, they’ll be walking into an ambush. Even if by some miracle they do manage to all make it out unscathed and somehow figure out a way to pick up your trail, there’s no telling how long it’ll take for them to find their way back to you.

(You can’t bear to think about the possibility of them not coming home; you won’t.)

Right now, it’s just you and Oikawa, stuck in some abandoned cottage in the middle of nowhere with nothing but a rifle and a baseball bat between you. You have no food, no supplies and he’s getting weaker by the minute.

You’re terrified.

And you don’t have the luxury of sitting back and letting somebody else take care of you anymore. You don’t stand a chance of survival without Oikawa, and right now he doesn’t stand a chance without you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you shake your head. “Okay, I won’t touch it, but I’m not just going to sit here and watch you get worse.” Smoothing your palms over your lap, you take a deep breath in through your nose. “There’s a prison–”

“No.”

“Tooru–”

“I said no,” he snaps.

Biting back a sigh, you try again, “Tooru, there might be supplies there,” you plead. “Painkillers, antibiotics, something that might help–”

“I don’t need antibiotics and you’re not leaving. We need to stay here where it’s safe until the others find us,” he grits out, eyes narrowing dangerously.

Normally, this would be the point that you’d back off, running off to lick your wounds before he decided to get mean, but even as some part of you cowers at the mere thought of upsetting him, this time you don’t back down.

He watches warily as you lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek, gently smoothing damp brown locks back from his sweat slicked forehead. “I don’t know when Iwa’s coming back,” you murmur. “But until he does, the prison’s our best chance, if I can just–”

“No!” he snarls, cutting you off once again.

His eyes are manic now, blown wide and glazed over, he’s shivering, his breath a faint rattle – but his grip is iron, long fingers clutching at you desperately when you jerk back with a gasp.

“You don’t leave me.”

You don’t want to.

It’d be easy not to, to sit and stay with him and pretend that your world isn’t falling apart and he isn’t dying. You’ve never been a fighter, always too soft, too weak, too naive to survive out there on your own. The thought of setting one foot outside of that door without him by your side fills you with absolute terror, but what other options do you have?

He might not like it, but you’re out of time – this decision isn’t his to make anymore.

“Tooru, I-I have to, you know–”

“No!” he snaps, dragging you closer. “You’re not leaving me, I won’t fucking let you!”

Your hand trembles when you reach up to take his, easing it from your shirt and bringing it to your lips. Tears spill from your lashes, falling in heavy droplets against the back of his hand as Oikawa makes a pained sound.

“Please don’t go.”

You both know he can’t stop you.

“Keep the gun,” you tell him, mustering up a tight, watery smile. “Anything but Iwa and our boys comes through that door, shoot it.”

—

It seems a cruel, twisted joke that you find a perfectly good truck sitting a little ways up the driveway, just begging to be used – with no way of getting it started.

Mattsun always made hot wiring look so easy, tossing you a wink when the engine rumbled to life, as if it was a neat little party trick he’d pulled out just to impress you. He did it so quickly, so smoothly, ripping the wires out and sparking them like it was second nature, but he’d never bothered to actually explain what he was doing to you.

And why would he? Between the four of them, there’d always be somebody else to take care of it for you. It’s the same reason they never taught you how to shoot, never taught you how to fight beyond the very basics of self defence.

Now, trudging along the side of the barren road with nothing but your baseball bat and a canteen of water slung over your hip, you find yourself wishing you’d paid a little more attention. Ten miles hadn’t seemed that far on paper – it was less than the trek back into town and you’d figured a safer bet, but walking around in broad daylight without any kind of real protection feels like you’re begging to be preyed upon. Yet by some stroke of luck (and despite that persistent nagging sense that you’re being watched) you manage to make it to the perimeter gates without coming across another soul, dead or alive.

The towering brick walls topped with spirals of barbed wire that line the prison complex are as imposing as they are unbreachable, and for a moment, standing there staring up at them, you feel a crushing sense of disappointment. You’ve walked over two hours, left Tooru in pain and alone for nothing. There’s no way in hell you’re gonna be able to scale those walls, and without any kind of bolt cutters or firepower, you’re not sure how you’re supposed to get past the front gates.

Iwa would’ve known that. Iwa would’ve been better prepared.

But as you draw closer to the guardhouse, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that it’s not a problem. The heavy wrought iron gate’s already unlocked and open, creaking in the breeze. And really, that should have been the first warning sign, but you’re too busy thanking your lucky stars as you slide on through to pay attention to things like that.

The courtyard is just as deserted. The crunch of gravel underfoot echoes too loud, setting your nerves on edge as you make your way towards the imposing structure. It’s quiet, eerily so – even the birds seem to have disappeared. Is this how all raids feel, you wonder as you climb the steps towards the door. This sense of foreboding dread that settles in your stomach, the goosebumps that prickle down your arms?

Your grip tightens around the handle of your bat and you press gingerly against the door – just like the guardhouse gate, it gives under your touch, swinging open wide. It’s dark inside; you hadn’t thought to bring a torch and with the absence of any windows lining the corridor it’s near pitch black. Your heart hammers inside your chest, every cell in your body screaming at you to turn around and run back to Tooru, but you’ve come this far already.

The undead flock to fresh, living meat. It’s been months since the outbreak began; anyone unfortunate enough to have found themselves trapped inside when it happened is probably long dead, and any of the undead likely long gone.

It’s just a little darkness.

Steeling your nerves you creep through the black, clutching tightly at your bat, toeing your way down the corridor waiting for your eyes to adjust to the dim. Every breath you draw in feels too loud, every step too obnoxious. Deserted or not, the sooner you can find the med-bay, get what you need for Oikawa and get out, the better.

The layout’s simple enough – five looming multi-storied wings breaking off like fingers from the central watch-tower, but you don’t have a clue which one holds what you’re seeking. Your only option is to search them one by one and hope for the best.

You’d expected steel bars and heavy locks, but the prison reminds you strangely of a school instead; long hallways lined with doors, each with a tiny window to peek through. They’re all open now of course, whatever locking mechanism keeping them shut having failed when the generators ran out. The first few are empty, barren and stripped of everything but soiled mattresses – it should be a relief.

There’s nothing waiting for you in the darkness but empty halls and emptier rooms. If the others were here, they’d be teasing you for sure. Or Makki and Mattsun would, at least. You always were such a scared little baby – their scared little baby – you’d jump at your own shadow if you didn’t have them around.

And it’s easier to keep going imagining them there by your side, the jokes they’d crack, the warmth of Iwa’s hand in yours, or Makki’s arm slung over your shoulder. You’d feel safe with them. You wouldn’t need to feel afraid.

But no amount of pretend comfort is enough to allay the heavy sense of dread that’s sitting in your stomach, growing harder and harder to ignore with every passing minute. And the problem, you realise, with the prison being so deadly quiet is that every noise, no matter how quiet, echoes.

Climbing the stairs in the dark, you don’t notice the slickness on the walls either side of you, the red handprints smeared messily over white paint. You don’t see the broken, bloody fingernails littering the steps beneath you.

You hear it though, when you reach the landing. It’s soft. A quiet, wet squelching, ripping–

There’s no screams accompanying it like there were back when the sanctuary was overrun, but it’s not a sound you’re gonna be able to forget any time soon. In the dark you freeze, not daring to so much as breathe as you peer down the endless corridor, trying to pinpoint which of the cells it’s coming from.

In the end, you decide that it doesn’t matter.

They’re quicker when they’ve fed, stronger too, and there’s not a chance in hell that you’re going to be able to fumble past in the dark without drawing that thing’s attention. The wooden bat in your hands feels heavy, your palms already slick with sweat. You weren’t quick enough back at the sanctuary; without Tooru, that thing would’ve eaten you. And suddenly it seems laughable that you came out here, that you genuinely thought you could handle this – fight one of them off if it came down to it.

Tooru needs those meds, you know that, and you might be useless and weak and absolutely paralysed with fear, but you’re not stupid. You can’t help him at all if you’re torn apart by one of those creatures.

Your pulse racing, a potent mix of adrenaline and sheer, unrelenting terror coursing through your veins, you draw in a quiet breath, slowly lifting your foot to back away. It hasn’t heard you yet, and so long as it’s distracted–

“Oi, hurry up! I know what I saw, she came in this way.”

“Jesus, just shut up for a sec, wouldja! Ya don’t need to keep yellin’ at me, I’m comin’!”

Through the grate at your feet, you see two beams of light break through the darkness, the sound of loud, heavy footsteps echoing down the wing. Icy claws tighten like a vice around your heart and you still once more, squeezing your eyes shut as you listen, praying…

The squelching’s stopped.

Grip tight around the handle of your bat, your entire body quaking with fear, you watch with wide, stricken eyes as one of the doors halfway down the block slowly creaks outwards.

For a heartbeat, there’s nothing, and you try and convince yourself it’s just the wind, that you’re imagining things and your mind is playing mean tricks on you–

A feral snarl rips through the air, and before you can so much as scream it’s crashing through the open doorway, head swivelling as it searches for the source of the disturbance. In the dark you can’t make out much, only that it’s huge, half its flesh torn and decaying, smeared with blood and filth – but you see it when those white, cloudy eyes fix on you, its rotting mouth bared and salivating.

And this time you do scream. You scream for Oikawa, for Iwa, for Makki and Mattsun and the faceless strangers on the floor below as you cast your bat aside and run. You don’t dare look over your shoulder as you take the stairs two, three at a time, slipping and slamming into the stairwell wall, a sharp burst of pain radiating down your shoulder – you can hear it giving chase, the rabid growls and snarls too close for comfort.

Tears flood your eyes, your chest heaving with every desperate breath as your feet hit solid ground once more and you take off.

“Please!” you sob as you run, blinded by the brightness of the torch beam as it’s shone in your direction. “PLEASE HELP ME!”

You can’t outrun it forever. Even now, you hear it gaining on you, its hot, foul breath puffing against your back – it’s just like back at the sanctuary. It’s gonna catch you, rip into you and feast while you choke to death on your own blood and screams, and this time you won’t have Oikawa here to save you. You’re going to die in agony, torn apart and devoured, and it’s all your own stupid fault.

Your throat tightens, more tears springing free. You can’t see anything beyond those two blinding lights, moving now, dancing across the field of your vision. “PLEASE!” you shriek, desperate and hoarse as the undead creature behind you readies itself to pounce.

Please don’t leave me here to die.

And for one heart wrenching second, you think back to your boys, and the words they’d said before kissing you goodbye. Everybody else first. Maybe this is some kind of divine retribution, you think. Maybe when the world went to hell people became cold and selfish and you deserve this for sitting back and letting others die in your place.

“Get down!” the voice yells, and you don’t even stop to think before you drop, sliding across the floor. There’s another blinding flash, a shot fired into the dark and all you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hug your knees to your chest as the creature snarls in anger and jerks backwards, a gruesome spurt of blood spraying over you.

“Ya fucking missed! How could ya fucking miss?!”

The gun cocks and reloads, another deafening shot ringing out above you and you flinch, your nails biting into the soft skin of your palm–

But this time the bullet hits its mark. The creature crashes to the floor with a loud thump and doesn’t move again.

You don’t waste a second scrambling to your feet, launching yourself into the arms of your saviour. You don’t care that you’re crying, that you’re covered in blood and filth and god knows what else, you cling to him like he’s a lifeline, sobbing into his shoulder. And instead of pushing you away like he probably should, he lets out a short huff that sounds almost like a laugh, his arm curling around your waist.

“I’m the one who shot the damn thing,” the other mutters sourly.

The man holding you snorts, “Nah, yer the idiot who missed.” Belatedly, you realise that he’s still gripping his gun, the brightness you’d assumed to have come from a torch actually from a light mounted to the barrel. He slings the rifle carelessly over his shoulder, drawing back slightly to appraise you. “Now, wanna tell me what a sweet thing like you’s doin’ all alone in a place like this?”

With your eyes now adjusting to the light, you can see that the two of them can’t be much older than you. They’re both tall, broad shouldered and handsome, the same jawline, the same slope to their nose, nearly identical hooded eyes – brothers you decide, maybe even twins. And they’re both smirking at you, not with the relief of just barely escaping a brush with a particularly gruesome death, but with an odd sort of lackadaisical amusement, as if this – skulking through dark, abandoned places, killing the undead – is nothing out of the ordinary for them.

And from the ease with which they carry their weapons, maybe it isn’t.

Oikawa warned you about men like them. Men in general, really. Even the ones who smiled at you back at the sanctuary, the ones who offered to help you move heavy supplies when they saw you struggling – at least, until Iwa or one of the others stepped in with a poisonous glare. Anyone who wasn’t them was dangerous, a threat, just waiting in the wings to take advantage of a pretty, dumb little thing like you.

And maybe he’s right, but when the one holding you instead drags you closer, wraps an arm around your shoulders and begins to lead you back towards the guard tower as his brother falls into step on your other side, you don’t shrug him off.

Oikawa isn’t here, and they have just saved your life. That has to count for something, right?

“I-I thought it’d be safe,” you confess breathlessly, trying not to focus on the thumb sweeping over the curve of your shoulder. “Well, empty at least. I didn’t have a choice.” And they listen, sharing glances in the dark as you tell them about what’d happened at the sanctuary, about Oikawa and the desperation that’d led you to leave him and walk miles alone to try and find some kind of medicine–

Until a snicker interrupts you. “Sorry,” the blonde mutters, though he doesn’t look all that sincere when your eyes flash to his. “It’s just…”

“Anythin’ worth taking woulda been snatched up months ago,” the darker haired one interjects.

“There ain’t nothin’ here but the occasional idiot tryna set up camp an’… Well, ya saw how well that turned out.”

It hits you like a gut punch, forcing the air from your lungs in a harsh, gasping breath. There was never anything here, everything… all of it was a waste. You came all this way, left him feverish and screaming himself hoarse for you, risked your life, almost died and–

It was all for nothing.

Fresh tears sting at your eyes, they’re still talking but it’s just white noise washing over you. You don’t even realise they’re leading you back outside until you’re walking through the doors, the sudden burst of sunlight making you flinch. But it doesn’t matter. None of it matters anymore.

You’re an idiot.

A naive, dumb little girl who was stupid enough to think this half cocked plan was gonna work. That you would make it back to Tooru in one piece, medicine in hand to save the day and prove you weren’t the helpless damsel they’d pegged you for.

You’ve wasted so much time, for nothing.

There’s no drugs, no food, nothing that’s gonna help either one of you make it through the next few days and suddenly you’re drowning under a wave of hopelessness and bitter disappointment. You fall to your knees in the dirt, taking both your saviours by surprise, and let out a painful, heart wrenching sob. And once you start, you can’t seem to stop. It’s overwhelming, every emotion you’ve bottled up and shoved aside over the last two days suddenly forced into the light. You cry for yourself, for Tooru – for Iwa and Makki and Mattsun. You cry until it feels like you can’t breathe anymore, and then there’s rough calloused fingers brushing your tears away.

You look up through wet lashes to find the dark-haired man crouching before you, his expression sober. “Ya don’t need to cry, sweetheart, we’re not monsters y’know.”

His brother chuckles behind you, “We’re not about to leave some pretty little thing all alone out here to starve to death.” His hand’s resting atop your head now, smoothing down the hair at your crown. It’s soft and soothing, and you’re so attuned to seeking comfort that you can’t help but lean into it, eyes momentarily fluttering shut. “We’ve got some friends nearby, a nice little hideaway stocked full of all kinds of shit. Everything ya could possibly need.”

“Y-you mean it?” you ask, wide eyes flickering to the dark haired one, who smiles at last. “You’ll share them with me?”

“‘Course we do. Meds, food, weapons. Whatever ya want, it’s yours.”

You take the hand he offers to help you stand, your limbs trembling once more – but this time it’s not from fear or exhaustion, but the overwhelming rush of sheer relief. You could kiss him, kiss them both, but you don’t.

Instead you settle for throwing your arms around them once more, breathless thanks falling from your lips faster than they can catch as you hug them tight. They don’t seem to mind though, sharing almost identical smirks as the three of you head out to an old, beat up camaro parked out by the entrance to the prison. While the blonde slides in the driver’s seat and his brother takes the passenger’s side, you climb up into the back seat.

“Is it far?” you ask as he kicks the car into gear and peels out onto the deserted road. Hopefully it’s not, the sooner you can get back to help Tooru the better.

“Nah, not too far. We’ll be home before ya know it.”

Of course, they’re driving you to their friends, but they haven’t promised anything about driving you back to the cottage and Oikawa–

Which is perfectly fine! You’re not going to push your luck, they’re already doing plenty for you. More than they really have to. You don’t even need that much – just some medicine for Tooru and enough food for the two of you to get through the next few days, and you’ll be fine. Whatever you can carry, which, admittedly isn’t much. There’s still a few hours of daylight left, if you’re lucky you’ll be able to make it back to him before nightfall.

Things are gonna be fine. You’ll bring the medicine and once he’s better, the two you can head out to find the others. Everything’s gonna be okay. You’ll be better when you’re all back together, the way things were meant to be.

You need them, if anything this little venture’s proven that much at least.

They’d promised that it wasn’t far, and maybe it’s just the exhaustion of the last few days creeping in, or the gentle hum of the engine as the car drives along the long, narrow stretch of road, but your eyelids start to droop, your breath evening out as sleep beckons.

And you’re just dancing on the edge of consciousness when a hushed voice breaks through the comfortable silence, dark eyes flickering up to watch your slumbering form in the rearview mirror. “Ya think Kita’ll be pissed?”

There’s a snort, “Nah. He’s always had a soft spot for strays, ‘specially the pretty ones.” He’s quiet for a moment, almost contemplative before he opens his mouth to add, “‘Sides, we’re gonna take real good care of her, ain’t we, Samu?”

The only reply he gives is a soft grunt of acknowledgement.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa x reader #yandere atsumu x reader #yandere osamu x reader #yandere iwaizumi x reader #yandere matsukawa x reader #yandere hanamaki x reader #tw blood #tw gore #angst #toxic relationships #i honestly do not know how to tag this #at this point it's practically sfw #if you ignore all the blood and injuries and zombie stuff

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koqabear · 3 years

Text

hit me with your killshot, baby (C.YJ)

Summary:

It was a small, quiet town you had decided to move into. One that you could help with any healing or magical needs. What you didn’t expect, however, was to face a demon too powerful for your own good. The worst part? Seems like he’s gotten attached.

Yeonjun x reader/ demon!yeonjun x witch!reader

Genre: fantasy, enemies to ?? thriller(?), angst if you squint me thinks

Word count: 3.0K

Warnings: general physical fighting/violence, mentions of scars, burns, bones breaking, knives, blood, fire, descriptions of pain (let me know if I should add anything!)

a/n: This might get another part if it gets a good response <3 Writing fantasy is rlly fun for me as well, I’m so glad that this is the story that got me out of my writers block lmao

comments and reblogs are always welcome and much appreciated, hope you guys enjoy! <3

Disclaimer!! Absolutely nothing about this story is accurate or real, anything and everything that mc the witch does is made up!

It was about three in the morning when you got the call.

“Hello?” You said, eyes squinted as you had just been woken up from your sleep. The line remained silent for a moment, leaving you to wonder if this was a scam caller. You spoke again, only to hear hasty footsteps becoming louder, presumably running towards the phone.

“Hello?!” The voice called out, the loud exclamation causing you to jolt awake. “Oh my god, oh my god!” Their exasperated voice rang through your line, and you stood to get properly dressed, already anticipating their request.

“Where do you live?” You asked sharply, grabbing the keys to your car and waiting for their answer. They stuttered out their address, the sounds of the rain coming into your ear. They were now outside.

“Please come quick, this spirit has been bothering me for weeks now, I could have sworn they were harmless-“ they cried into the phone, only to get cut off by your stern command.

“Leave your home. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

They agreed, their voice quiet and shaky, and you hung up, beginning to drive to your new task.

It was no secret your town had a problem with the supernatural. That was the whole reason you lived here.

‘The town witch’ was what they called you. You remember moving to this small town the moment you turned eighteen, the rumors of the paranormal town beckoning you to help. With potions and incantations by your side, you were the best damn thing this place had ever gotten. But that was six years ago, and you were young and naive. The scars and burns that riddled your body only served to prove your progress, marking your place in this town permanently.

You sighed, your grip on your steering wheel weak. You were, after all, the only help these people had. Late night calls like this were beginning to become much too common recently, leading you to wonder if something, or someone, new was beginning to pester this poor town.

You arrived at the house, the thunderstorm only helping to provide a stereotypical atmosphere for you to work in. You got out your car, pulling your coat tightly against your body, the wind around you strong enough to hinder your footsteps.

The two story home before you rattled in protest, the front door swinging open the moment you got close enough. You felt your heart begin to race, beginning to question if this was truly worth it. It seems that whatever had been pestering the homeowner was no small ghost. Walking inside, you were met with the dark and empty home, the hardwood floor beneath you creaking in protest as you carefully walked around, the house seemingly calming the moment you entered.

You breathed in slowly, attempting to steady your mind as you surveyed the house, recalling what the homeowner told you before hanging up. This had been going on for a while, but it seems that it only recently became too much for them. Whatever was in this home really liked the attention.

Before you were able to take another step forward, you were thrown off your feet, slamming into the wall to your left, the many picture frames and decorations falling before you with a loud crash. The door slammed shut, and you covered your head, bracing yourself as you felt the glass shards begin to be directed towards you.

It’s here, and it’s angry.

Just as the chaos around you finally dulled down, you were met with the sight of the trophy shelf in front of you beginning to shake, your eyes widening as you began to run. You muttered a quick incantation to help shield you, the dull sounds of impact that began to pound against your shield only serving to make you run faster.

The hallway in front of you suddenly seemed never-ending, it’s violet wallpaper becoming harder to see the more you ran. Was the house layout always like this? The hallway suddenly ended, leading you to an open room, quickly recognizing it as the living room. The lights suddenly flickered on, disturbing your concentration as you noticed a shadow walk past one of the doorways.

Seemingly knowing you perfectly, the spirit took this small wavering to throw a book in your direction, narrowly missing your face as you ducked to the side, only to get knocked to your knees as you felt a kick to your back, your disturbed concentration causing your spell to be broken.

You turned around in a haste, summoning your shield once more as you unsheathed the knife you had in your coat pockets.

“Show yourself!” You barked out, standing up as you surveyed the room. “I know you’re here.”

Silence.

The howling wind outside stopped, the flickering lights suddenly still at the sound of your voice. You gripped the handle of the knife harder, trying to not let the exhaustion seep into you. The lights began to slowly dim, a lit ember flickering in front of you, only to be followed by many more, swirling into a raging fire directly in front of you. You jumped back at the heat, the familiar sight making you frown in anticipation.

“You look tired,” the voice said, as smooth and elegant as you first remembered it, “Maybe I could fix that.”

Standing in front of you was no other than Yeonjun. Clad in black, his dark eyes stared into yours as he towered over you, his platform boots shining underneath the dull lights, his hair slicked back and pushed away from his face save for a few strands that hung to frame his face.

“Yeonjun.” You said, a feeling of anger stirring inside you the longer you stared at him

“It’s so nice to hear my name come from you again,” he sighed, taking a step toward you, only for you to step back in retaliation.

Yeonjun was none other than the first demon you tried to expel when you first came here. You had fought with every single potion and spell you spent years perfecting, only to leave hospitalized and unsure that he would return. However, as the years passed and no sign of him appeared, you had assumed that you had succeeded in your battle against him, any signs of hauntings or poltergeists disappearing after that day.

“You,” you snapped, everything finally piecing everything together. “You’re behind everything that’s been happening recently, aren’t you?” You took another step back as he began to laugh, throwing his head back as if you had just told him the funniest thing in the world. Slowly, he calmed himself down, his eyes playful as he took his sweet time responding to you.

“Maybe, why?” He said, beginning to walk towards you slowly. You held your ground, concentrating on keeping your shield steady, they grip on your knife tightening. He stopped centimeters away from it, the aura of the shield humming as his clothes grazed the perimeter, shocks emitting on impact.

“I missed you, you know,” He muttered, head leaning towards you teasingly as he stood just far enough to not be blasted away from your shield. “It wasn’t fun hopping from town to town, trying to mess with other witches that resided there. They were just too…”

“Weak.”

You were barely given a moment before the sight of Yeonjun’s bright eyes filled your vision, the feeling of a scorching heat overtaking your senses.

Yeonjun had trapped you in a ring of fire.

A pretty small one, too.

Slightly panicked, you looked around for any place you could escape, the memories of the last time you got so close to Yeonjun warning you to get as far from him as you could, only to find that it was just you and him, trapped in a space that wouldn’t even allow you to shift backwards.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice taunting as he waited for your next move, “Claustrophobic?”

The weapon in your hand began to heat up, your mind working its hardest to form a plan that would work and let you come out alive. You already knew what this fire around you would do; It wasn’t a simple flame, and the scar on your chest that throbbed painfully in this demonic presence was enough proof of that.

The moment you had healed from your first encounter with Yeonjun, you had put all of the knowledge you had acquired from experience and older, more experienced witches into putting a weapon that would help you with violent demonic problems like him. It had taken you weeks of pure isolation and meditation to engrave the correct energy into the weapon, afraid to make any mistake that could lead to something drastic. By the time you were finished putting the last few touches on the weapon, (a protective incation; the words engraving themselves in fine print letter by letter as you poured the last of your energy into it,) you could barely stand, landing yourself at the house of a medic that specialized with witches.

“You’re lucky that you managed to come out of this with just drained energy,” He had told you one day, standing next to your cot and handing you a homemade medicine; its taste was horrendous, but it did the job.

“I’ve dealt with witches, succeeding or not, that had come out in a much worse condition. You’re very powerful, that much I can tell.” He confessed, his face sobering as he remembered why it was that you were there, “Whatever it is that you’re dealing with, I wish you luck.”

And now here you stand, the results of all your hard work and patience vibrating the more you concentrate on defeating the demon in front of you.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to try and hurt me with that,” Yeonjun laughed, watching the way your grip tightened the moment he landed his eyes on it, your knuckles turning white with the force, “You know your little knife can’t hurt me, right?”

While it was true that regular knives were nothing more but toys to him, you knew that what you were holding was not a regular knife.

But he didn’t.

You remained silent as you stared at him, quirking a brow to silently challenge him. He scoffed, rolling his eyes at your demeanor.

“Giving me the silent treatment now?” He said, pausing for a moment before looking back at you, “Fine. You think you can hurt me with that little kitchen knife?” With a single movement of his hands, the fire dwindled, going down until it was no more,

“Go ahead. Give it your best shot.”

You suppressed a smile.

Yeonjun was a lot of things. Strong, powerful, smart, hell, he was a bit attractive too.

But above all, he was cocky.

Slowly, and as subtly as you could, you adjusted your stance, your eyes never leaving his, ready to let your shield down to attack him.

“No games?”

His lips quirked up, his hands coming up to his sides to show you his full vulnerability.

“Fair and square. Here, I’ll even let you make the first move.” His pitch black eyes twinkled with his signature playfulness, his thoughts displaying to you loud and clear;

I thought you were smarter than this.

You fought the urge to scoff, and instead surveyed him for a moment, stepping back to give yourself a bit more room. He watched intently, his body language open and relaxed, clearly not threatened by you.

You lunged forward.

Before Yeonjun could move away, you swung your knife towards him, your stomach sinking as you missed your target, his neck, and sliced at his face instead. His head turned to the side, a hiss emitting from him as he turned back to you, the slash on his cheek burning into his skin, going deeper into his face as he began to bleed.

Except that wasn’t blood that came out of his face.

A thin liquid, pure black and mixed with the poison of your blade, trickled down his face. Slowly, he brought up a hand to his cheek, touching tentatively at his wound, observing the black substance that poured out of him, before turning back to you.

“Come on, you little vixen,” he groaned, the nickname that he called you from your first meeting rolling off his tongue smoothly, “Not the face!”

Cocky bastard.

But now that your first move was over, Yeonjun took a minute to crack his neck, the black liquid trailing down to his neck as he slowly rolled his head back, pausing for a second before straightening up, smiling at you sweetly.

“My turn.”

Right as you were going to activate your shield once more, Yeonjun ran to you, landing a solid punch to your stomach, sending you flying to the wall behind you, the wind being knocked out of you on impact as you crumbled to the floor. Looking up, you saw him lunge at you once more, mumbling your incantation for your shield, successfully knocking him back at the last second. Tumbling backward, Yeonjun layed on the floor as you slowly got back up, using the wall behind you as support, the wild and unhinged sound of Yeonjun’s laugh echoing off the walls.

“Oh, my little vixen,” he began, sitting up as he watched you regain your composure. “I missed this. I must admit, you have gotten stronger.” Standing back up slowly, you felt the room slowly heat up. You shifted, knowing what it was that he was about to do next.

“It’s exciting.”

Running towards him, you did your best to avoid the trail of fire that was now after you, ready to swing your knife at him as you got closer. Just as you were close enough to him, you swung towards his neck once more, the predictable movement allowing Yeonjun to step aside, only to get a kick to his chest, successfully knocking him down and allowing you to dive down, the fire that was about to pierce the center of your back flying instead to the wall in front of you, the loud boom barely covering Yeonjun’s scream as you dug your knife into his shoulder.

“Fuck!”

You towered over him, straddling his waist and putting as much weight as you could to keep him down. His hands immediately reached up to clasp over yours, attempting to pull the weapon out, only to have you retaliate by digging it into his skin more, his cursing filling up your ears as he struggled against you.

Your jaw clenched and you felt yourself begin to sweat, the same ring of fire from before beginning to enclose around you slowly with no signs of stopping. Your hands began to burn underneath Yeonjun’s touch, obviously his doing as he seemed to concentrate on attempting to scare you off with the same fire that landed you on the brink of death from your first encounter.

But you refused.

You refused to allow the demon to live any longer, to continue to terrorize innocent and defenseless people in your town, or in this world at all. And now that you had him under your grip, your hands struggling to successfully behead him, you weren’t going to let a little bit of pain scare you away.

Your hands began to numb under the heat of his skin, popping noises emitting from under his iron grip. He was attempting to break your hands, to render them useless, but with the adrenaline coursing through your veins, you pushed on, biting back your own groans of pain and trying to concentrate on your current task, and nothing else.

“Come on my vixen, give it up,” he said, his voice laced with pain and false confidence that he attempted to use in order to make you believe that he remained unaffected. But as your knife inched towards his neck, piercing through his skin and emitting a loud sizzling sound, you knew that it was all a bluff by the way he winced, a low grunt of pain escaping him.

“I really don’t want to hurt you, you know,” he confessed, the ring of fire snapping angrily at your legs, the heat making you want to faint from overexertion. But you continued to push on, much to Yeonjun’s annoyance. “Fine, you asked for it.”

He screwed his eyes shut, the ring of fire slightly calming down, along with his iron grip on your hands. Just as you were about to take this chance and behead him, you felt something coming.

You turned around.

A ball of pitch black fire, resembling a pure void, flew towards you.

It all happened so fast. Throwing you off of him, Yeonjun staggered away from you, watching silently as the void of black washed over you, your screams of agony causing him to look away, the slightest bit of pity washing over him.

This was it, wasn’t it?

You couldn’t move as this void of fire washed over you, a feeling as though every bone in your body was being broken and you were being turned inside out coarsed through your system, your screams ripping through your throat, the wish for death appearing in your heart.

But right as you felt as though you were going to black out, it stopped.

And Yeonjun stood over you.

He watched as you lay there, completely paralyzed with pain. It took a bit before you began to breathe again, your chest barely rising, the air flowing into you causing you pain. Slowly, you opened your eyes, Yeonjun’s face inches from yours, the dark liquid from his wounds dripping onto you.

“I almost feel sorry,” he whispered, his lips grazing yours. You tried to hold on, to finish your job, but the very effort of having to breathe exhausted you beyond belief. Slowly, he pressed his lips to yours, the kiss more of a half hearted apology as he lingered there for a second, his lips still against yours. His mind reeled at the feeling, and he pulled away, a soft smile on his face as he slowly brought his hand down, hesitating before caressing your exhausted face slowly, spreading his own blood on your face.

He grinned.

“I look forward to our next battle.”

And he was gone.

Tears pricked at your eyes, and you collapsed.

#txt fanfic #txt imagines #txt ff #txt fanfiction #tomorrow x together #yeonjun fanfic #yeonjun imagines #txt reader #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #yeonjun ff #yeonjun x you #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x y/n #fanfic #reader insert #txt oneshots #yeonjun oneshot

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imkylotrash · 3 years

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Touch Me In Ways That Can't Be Seen

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader

Request: Reader gets hurts instead of Inej. Kaz gets really worried but doesn't know how to help because of his touch phobia. And before they get back to Ketterdam in the last episode, he talks to her and makes her promise to take care of herself because he cares for her. @intoanothermind

TW: Blood, wounds, swearing

Tagging: @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody @shadowhuntyi

You're limping by the time you meet up with the others. Every step sends shooting pain up the entire left side of your body. Your hand comes back bloody after clutching your side. You lock eyes with Kaz first who immediately comes to stand next to you.

"What the hell happened?" he asks, hands twitching to help you but his need is overshadowed by his fear. You try to give him a reassuring smile, but you're not sure just how reassuring it is when you're also covered in blood.

"That Inferni bitch tried to kill me," you say feeling like you might pass out any minute. You'll have to close the wound, and it has to be soon. Jesper lets you rest your arm across his shoulders to keep you on your feet, and you don't have to look at Kaz to know he's jealous. It's not the first time, his fear has kept him from helping you but you've never once blamed him for it. You all have things you struggle with.

"I took care of her," you add looking over at Inej, who looks on the verge of tears. Something you hardly ever see. But she knows that she killed her brother and that's the only reason why the Inferni was so keen on killing all of you. But you could never fault her for saving Kaz. In your mind, you owed her this.

"It's times like these where I miss Milo," Jesper sighs and when he sees your raised eyebrows, he's quick to add, "he helps calm me down." You start laughing, but the throbbing pain makes you stop immediately. You breathe deeply trying to remain conscious, but the blood loss is blurring your vision.

"We need to find cover," you state. This Kaz can do, he can find somewhere save where you can get fixed up. This is the thing he's good at. In no time, he's found an abandoned barn where you can get a fire started.

"Knife," you say holding out your hand to Inej. There is no time for pleasantries.

"I'll need that brandy you keep hidden," you say looking over at Jesper. He fakes being surprised knowing full well that everyone is aware of that pocket-size bottle he manages to save no matter what.

"I am appalled that you would thi-"

"Just give me the bottle, Jesper." Begrudgingly, he hands you the bottle. The next part almost knocks you out cold. The alcohol hits the flesh, and you feel like screaming.

"That is disgusting," Jesper gags. His face turns green as he watches you hold the knife over the fire for a few minutes before placing it on the wound. The smell of burned skin spreads in the barn, and Jesper hurries outside holding one hand over his mouth.

"I'll make sure he's alright," Inej comments looking over at Kaz before she heads outside. You're too tired to try and make sense of the look she gave him.

"Inej could've stitched that," Kaz says looking torn between running away and moving closer to you.

"I will not have a needle go through me several times unless I'm out cold," you say letting your shirt fall down and cover your abdomen. It's these moments where you wish you could just reach over and comfort him, but you don't want to push him. And you know he'll be worried enough about you as it is. You don't want to make anything worse by touching him.

"You scared me," he whispers looking straight into the fire.

"I know."

"You can't do that again."

"I know."

"If something ever happened to you, I'd-"

"Kaz, I know." Finally, he looks at you, really seeing you. Those blue eyes are enough to make you feel your cheeks burn. You've always known that he cares for you the same way you care for him, but this is the first time he's ever been close to admitting it. Feelings don't come easy to Kaz Brekker, but he doesn't have to show his emotions for you to understand them. You see his affections every day in the way he holds open the door for you, his instinct to protect you during a fight. Kaz shows his love every single day, and he doesn't even realise it.

"What are you doing?" you ask noticing his hands fiddling with his gloves. He stands up and moves to sit next to you - now gloveless.

"They say practice makes perfect. So, maybe if we just took it second by second. One day, I might..." He tries to catch his breath, and you can't help but imagine how he already feels the panic set in. Kaz has every reason to hate being touched, but here he is willing to try for you.

"You don't have to. I don't need you to touch me to understand," you say with a smile. Your body has long gone forgotten the exhaustion of today's events.

"But I want to. You're the first person that's made me want to," he admits clenching and unclenching his fists.

"Then I'll sit completely still, and you take all the time you need." Minutes pass before he moves. You're terrified of moving yourself in case it freaks him out. Painfully slow, he takes your hand in his holding on for just seconds before letting go.

"It's okay. It's okay," you whisper, knowing how disappointed he is in himself. But it doesn't matter to you if you can touch him or not. You just want him close.

"Practice," he says with a tiny smile. God, you love his smile.

"Practice."

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker blurb #kaz brekker #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone blurb #shadow and bone #jesper fahey #inej ghafa #sab blurb #sab imagine #sab #tw blood #tw wounds #tw swearing

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immersed-in-mischief · 3 years

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Prince Charming (Loki x Reader) - Part 7

Part 6 was pretty rough but 7 is a little better and everything wraps up in 8! I can’t thank everyone enough for all the love and support I have received this week. I was nervous to post any my writing but I have felt so very welcomed in the Loki Fandom. Much Love!

Summary: Loki has to deal with the consequences of his words and actions. When you start to pull away from him, he finally starts to notice what was in front of him all along.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Mischief Makers: @ruiningthe1975 @valiantvoidpoetry @nms224 @youlightmeupfinn @salempoe @lokiprompts @oasiswithmyg @saltandapepper @chwlogy @clockblobber @locht3ssmonster

Loki was looking forward to the mission today. It was an excuse to take his mind off her for a little while. He was only half listening to Rogers when he said he would be paired up with you. He looked over at you to find a panicked look on your face. Nat quickly cleared her throat.

“Steve, I was actually thinking about having the kid shadow me today. She’s been wanting some extra training.”

The Captain quickly agreed, and Loki looked back at you just in time to see you share a look with Natasha. Wanda had done the same thing two days ago when Tony had picked the two of you to team up on a project. When the meeting dismissed, he caught your arm in the hallway before you ran off.

“Darling, is something wrong?”

You refused to turn and face him.

“Of course not, Mischief. Why would something be wrong?”

“For starters, you aren’t even looking at me, Bug. You also haven’t spoken a word to me in days. Have I done something to upset you? Is that why you refuse to work with me? We’ve always done so well together. My lucky charm, remember?”

Over the last few days, the pain had morphed into anger. You pulled your arm from his grasp stronger than he had expected before nearing sprinting down the hall. He no longer had the privilege of seeing you cry, if it would even bother him to be quite honest.

“I’ve got to go, Lohk. Nat’s waiting for me.”

Loki stood there absolutely stunned as he watched you walk away from him. He had assumed that your absence was due to the man you had been seeing. Based on your coldness towards him as of late, he started to wonder if the problem was with him.

The entire ride in the jet, you didn’t look his direction. Not once. Since the post you and Natasha had been assigned was across the compound from him, he didn’t see you until the team met back at the jet. You had your arm wrapped around Natasha’s shoulders as you limped up the ramp.

“Ladybug! What the hell happened?!”

Your head tilted down as he approached but Nat reached out to stop him.

“I’ve got her, Laufeyson. She just twisted her ankle. She’s fine.”

Again. Not a single word from you. He watched from afar as Natasha rested your foot across her lap with an ice pack against it. Wanda whispered something into your ear and hugged you. Something felt terribly wrong. He felt like he was losing you and he didn’t understand why. Pacing the floor outside med bay, he waited for you to appear. The sight of you on crutches broke his heart. Just as he opened his mouth, you cut him off.

“Just save it, Loki. I’m not in the mood for this right now.”

He was tired from the day and let his frustration slip.

“You’re angry with me. That is obvious. Will you just tell me what I possibly did wrong so we can move past this, Bug?”

You stopped in your tracks and let out a soft chuckle that was surprising menacing. The glare you gave him when you turned to look at him sent a shiver through him.

“How could you possibly be this blind, Lohk? I really thought you were smarter than this. I guess I’ve just given you too much credit over the years. I’d say figure it out on your own, but I don’t hold much hope of that happening. You’re on your own now, Mischief. I’m done…”

Done? What was that suppose to mean? The two of you had fights before, but you had never said you were done. This was bad.

Over the next few days, you weren’t at the morning briefings and never left your room. He tried stopping by your room several times, but Wanda and Natasha wouldn’t let him in to see you. Trying to talk things out with you seemed hopeless. The last thing you said to him was that you were done and you seemed to have your mind set on him no longer being a part of your life any longer.

Loki went on several missions without you and tried to adjust to not having you beside him. It always seemed to go faster and smoother when he was paired with you. He missed how the two of you never needed words. Working without you was a struggle, but the void you left in his life outside of work was massive and it swallowed him whole.

He returned home one night to find you sitting in the living room with a few others. You no longer had your ankle bandaged and the crutches weren’t in sight. He stood frozen in place as he watched you smile at something that was said. It felt like forever since he saw you smile, especially at him. For years, the two of you had spent nearly every waking moment together and in the blink of an eye you were a stranger to him all over again. Your eyes flicked up to him for the briefest of moments before continuing with the conversation. Respecting your wishes, he turned and walked away.

Loki stood in the kitchen and tried to make himself a sandwich like you always made but it just didn’t taste the same. He had been trying to replicate it, but it was useless. Everyone in the living room erupted in laughter, but one laugh in particular stood out.

It was her laugh…

Loki quickly turned to find the source of it. His Princess was in the room at that very moment. As his eyes scanned around the room, they landed on your face.

It was your laugh.

Everything began to click into place. Memories of that night on the balcony flooded him all at once and he saw it clearly now. Your voice. The way you said “Mischief” and said his name. Your eyes. Your vague answers. Feeling invisible and unseen. A shapeshifter and many people at the same time. You were his best friend. His partner. The person that knew how to make him laugh. The one he had shared everything with. The woman he loved…

Loki let the butter knife in his hand drop to the counter with a loud clank before running from the room. If you were out here, then you weren’t locked up in your bedroom anymore. He needed answers and he knew exactly where to find them…

#loki smut #loki fluff #loki laufeyson #loki angst #loki fanfic #loki fandom #tom hiddleston smut #tom hiddleston fluff #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston fanfic #tom hiddleston fanfiction #marvel #prince charming #friends to lovers

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