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notquitecanon · 4 months

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Call Me... // Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen's favorite late night nurse, but he's been avoiding your fire escape since an unfortunate accident. You both miss each other just enough for some emotions to slip through the cracks. You don't even know his name, but you'll settle just to know he's alright.

TW: blood, canon typical injuries, kind of hurt comfort, Matt's a self sabotaging martyr as usual, kinda sunshine!reader??? maybe if you squint

Bolded line is from a prompts list from several months ago so I lost the link. If it's yours let me know and I'll link it!

"I haven’t seen you in weeks… I’m worried you’re in another dumpster somewhere. Just call me back…please?" You whispered harshly into the phone’s receiver, burner cell jammed between your ear and shoulder as you fumbled with your keys.

It was true. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen hadn’t graced your apartment in weeks after three months of near nightly visits. At first it was serious stuff, stab wounds and splinted bones. It took two weeks for him to crack a joke. But once that stone cold exterior cracked, it was shattered. He was kind, sweet even. Every few visits, he’d bring by supplies to replenish your kit and, usually, with a bottle of wine in the bag. Emergencies turned to what he called ‘urgencies’- wounds just barely deep enough to justify stitches and dislocated joints. Which then turned into stopping by at the end of his nights for a ‘check up’, where he took advantage of your central heating, warm beverages, and warmer presence. Then, some Yakuza jackass appeared on your doorstep three weeks ago, fortunately your devil hadn’t been far behind. He took care of him, and you figured the thug, now minus fifteen teeth, would have a hard time telling anyone where to find you. Nevertheless, you found the ‘available apartments’ section of the newspaper taped to your seventh floor window. That had been the last night ’the devil’ had paid you a visit.

"Anyways… I guess I'm asking for a sign of life? Something? Please? Bye." You pleaded, voice kinder this time as you managed to finally unlock the door and slip inside. Locking the knob, deadbolt, chain, and newly installed jam that had been mysteriously delivered not too long ago. With a huff, you discarded your keys, and bag in the entry way before delving deeper into your dark apartment, flicking lights on as you went.

"You really need to start locking your windows." A deep voice sounded as you rounded the corned into your living room. Heart jumping to your throat and stomach dropping, you let out a yelp as instinct took over. The familiarity of the voice didn’t register as adrenaline flooded your system.

"SHIT!" You shrieked, flinching backwards so fast that the hallway runner rug caught under your feet, sending you careening into the wall. Without thinking, you put the Yankee’s starting pitcher to shame as you pitched your phone at light speed towards the voice. Of course, the shadow effortlessly caught it.

"Shit!" The intruder mirrored at your fall, and it was then that you realized who it was. As you collected yourself a slew of curses slipped out, looking into the dim living room to find the Devil of Hell’s kitchen slowly rising off the couch, he was already sans black shirt and mask, "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you."

"Yeah, well, mission failed." You muttered, pressing a hand to your chest as if that would still your pounding heart. Slowly, you finished your shuffled into the living room, flicking on the overheads as you went. "Shit, you could have called. Sit back down."

You could have used the heads up, the gash across his chest looked serious, and not in the cute excuse to see each other way ’serious’ had meant last month. He breathed a sarcastic laugh, tossing your phone back to you before producing a shattered burner cell with a… bullet hole?

"You have a funny way of saving my skin when I least expect it." He tried a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes, picking up your pace as you retrieved your first aid kit from under your kitchen sink, "Consider this a sign of life?"

"A sign of barely alive, more like." You answered, rounding back around the couch to sit across from him. Harshly pulling on a pair of rubber gloves and splaying out an array of supplies both his lap and yours. "You’re unbelievable. Almost a month of no contact and then you just appear and leak blood on my couch."

"I’m sorry." He breathed, face angled to where your knees now touched. You rolled your eyes, ripping into a packet of gauze and setting to work dabbing the blood. And he sounded sorry, pitiful even, looked it to. His unseeing eyes stared straight past you and yet somehow straight through you at the same time, mouth settled in a puppy like frown. He told you once that he was catholic, and you now wandered if that’s why he was so good at looking guilty.

"If it wasn’t for the newspapers, I would have thought you were dead." You drove your point home, with a small voice, too angry to be a whisper and yet too concerned to be a hiss. The evidence of his activities was written across his bare torso in older cuts, new and fading bruises, and a couple of bandages that he’d obviously applied himself, "And you’ve obviously been busy."

"Figured out how the Yakuza found you. Handled it. Didn’t want to lead anyone else back here." His explanation was strained, pushed through gritted teeth as you applied antiseptic to the largest, freshest gash. You cooed small apologies, irritated as you were with the vigilante, you hated being the source of his pain. You picked up a suture kit, quickly threading the needle.

"Well, as far as excuses go, that’s not the worst." You muttered, half joking and half touched he’d go through this for you. You’d known he was a walking martyr from the moment you’d met him, but still. He’d taken the beatings so you’d sleep safe.

That was something else, "Lean back, gotta stitch you up."

He complied as you stood, using your shoulder to nudge the floor lamp so the light was better for you. Even then, you position on the coffee table wasn't cutting it as leaning forward cast a shadow over his chest. Neither was kneeling in front of him, as the gash was too far up his chest for your position to be adequate. You muttered a quick apology as you flitted around him, trying to find the best place to plant yourself. Beside him on the couch might work, but you’d be straining to hold yourself up at that angle and keep your hands steady.

Bloody-knuckled hands found your waist with amazing precision for a blind man, easily lifting you and placing you over one thigh after he spread his legs a bit wider. He held you steady, angling his eyes to the ceiling to give you the broadest view of his chest. One of your knees pressed into the couch cushion between his legs and the other pressed into the outside of his thigh, caging the his black-clad thigh between your own like a seat. If your weight bothered him, he gave no indication. He did however turn his ear ever so slightly towards you and smirk ever so devilishly, "How’s that?"

"Very convenient, thanks." You forced your voice to be flat instead of the breathlessness you felt. Stupid charming vigilante. To his credit, it gave you the perfect access without blocking the light. And if you got to feel ever twitch of his insanely muscular thigh between yours? Added benefit. The devil, even bruised and bleeding, was insanely warm and smelled like something out of a terribly sinful romance novel. The manly small of musk and sweat should have been revolting, but the way it mixed with a fading aftershave would have been distracting if you weren’t so focused on the drip of crimson down his toned abdomen. Before your train of thought could derail again, you gave a quiet warning watching your patient steel himself before you began running the needle and thread through the torn skin. Other than an initial hiss and the clenching of his fists against your waist, he went silent as you worked.

The two of you sat in an almost tense silence. He could feel how close your face was to his chest, the waves of breaths washing over his skin, the smell of shampoo in your hair faint enough to know you’d put off washing it, the sound of your heartbeat slowing back down after he’d gotten you excited, the slight sound of your teeth worrying the inside of your lip. He knew he shouldn't be here, Claire could have patched him up, probably would have if he asked really nicely. He probably could have if he really tried, but he’d just missed you. Between Fisk and the Hand and the law firm… everything was messy. You were still simple and sweet and far more caring than he thought he deserved, a balm just to be near you.

"Could you talk to me?" He asked, so quietly you almost missed it in your focus. You tied off another knot, seeing him wince.

"Hmm?" You hummed, pausing to look up from the half stitched wound. His eyes lowered to your face, his clenched hands at your waist loosening to rub the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. You always wore such soft things, he wondered if you’d be so soft underneath. You took opportunity in the pause to wipe some of the blood from his skin.

"I’ve missed your voice, even if you want to yell at me or be upset with me, just let me hear it." His voice was like a prayer, so sincere it made you shift on his leg. What was in the holy water at his church?

"I’m not going to yell at you, honey. I’m not going to kick a man when he’s stabbed." You shook your head, rearranging yourself to get that optimal view again, grazing a gloved finger over a purple bruise on his ribs, "Besides, someone beat me to it."

He chuckled at the lame joke, leaning his head back against the back of the couch again as you began stitching once more. Instead of scolding him, you caught him up on all the details and minor drama that he’d missed over the last few weeks. The funny things and annoyances from work, things your family had sent you, what your friends had been up to, your opinion on current happenings in the city. He listened to you like it was the most interesting thing he’d heard all year, chiming in with questions and quips of his own. You’d missed his voice too, not that you’d boost his ego by telling him that.

"There." You finally finished, tying the last stitch and taping a bandage over it. The vigilante under you didn’t make a move to leave, instead his hands kept you still on his lap. You breathed a laugh, moving on to everything else. You removed the old bandages, giving half healed wounds a thorough cleaning. You applied comical Disney bandaids to the more minor cuts on his hands and were even brazen enough to kiss his split knuckles. The vigilante seemed to preen under you attention as you cleaned and applied Vaseline to his busted lip. As if it was too good to be true, his lip twitched downwards as his eye brows furrowed. His face angled away from yours, his unseeing eyes falling on the window he’d come through.

"You know, the burner phone's been broken for two weeks now. Took the bullet not too long after the yakuza paid you a visit. Couldn't bring myself to throw it away, a little piece of you." He admitted, a pitiful smile twitched up before pulling downward again. He groaned, starting to shift you off his lap, “I shouldn’t be here, it’s not right.”

You allowed yourself to fall to the cushion beside him, but snatched the black shirt away from him before he could make a move for it. He’d been too busy letting his hands linger on your waist.

“Why not?” You asked sternly, tucking the shirt behind your back as if the vigilante in front of you couldn't probably drop you six ways to Tuesday if he wanted to. Not that he could ever consider raising a hand to you, “You got hurt, I patch you up. Seems right to me.”

The devil tensed, first leaning away and then leaning really close. His freshly bandaged fingers tapped your knee as if to emphasize his point, “I don’t deserve this kindness. And even if I did, if I could, if I was good, I would stop coming here so you could live in peace.”

You were a silent for a moment, wanting to make sure your response was exactly how you wanted it to come across.

“The third time you fell through my window, you told me that if I ever wanted to be left alone, all I’d need to do was change the candle I keep by the window.” You recounted his words. You hadn’t known about his senses at the time, he was still cryptic and mysterious. But you’d never changed the candle, buying new ones of the same scent when it would burn out, “You warned me what might happen. You gave me an out, one that I continuously chose to ignore. You did everything in your power to protect me when that choice had consequences. That was good, because you are good. And good people deserve kindness. You put too much on yourself, honey.”

As you spoke, you laid your hand over his on your knee, giving it a slight squeeze to convey your own point. The crimefighter listened to your voice, your heartbeat, the quickness of your breath, finding no deceit and even if he didn’t believe you words, it was nice to hear them. Your kindness washed over him, letting him relax for just a second before he shook his head, laughing sarcastically to deflect the dangerously sappy emotions you stirred. You called him honey like it was his name, and part of him wondered that if you knew his name if you would still call him honey.

“You barely know me, sweetheart.”

His own nickname slipped out by accident, usually just something he called you in his head when he allowed fantasies about telling you everything, coming home to you as the vigilante and the lawyer, seeing just how far your good grace could take him. His lips quirked up in time with the uptick of your pulse and the way your breath caught for a moment.

“I know enough to know you deserve some good.” You whispered earnestly, reaching up to graze the Star Wars bandaid you’d stuck across his the cut on his cheekbone. Almost instinctively, he leaned into the touch. You smiled softly, maybe you’d both missed each other a bit. The combined concern for the other and the time between his last visit making you both a little sappy, or at least more honest about it, So, you breathed a laugh, making another lame joke just to earn one of those chuckles you loved so much, “Besides, I know you well enough to have your blood on my hands.”

But he didn’t laugh, instead, he pulled his face from your palm, his own bandaged hands taking your bloodied gloved hands in his own. Gently, he pressed your hands together, your loose fists creating almost heart like shape as he pressed reverent kisses to each bloody hand. The vigilante was kind always, flirty and joking, occasionally flirtations bordering on something else. But this? This was different, it was new. Intimate. You’d almost feel like a voyeur for watching the scene if it you weren’t playing a starring role. Your mind flashed to those romance novels you’d thought of earlier, this put all of them to shame. So much so that your hands started trembling against his lips.

He held them tighter, but not in a constrictive, cage like way. More in a ‘let me hold you together’ kind of way before gently peeling the dirty gloves off and, again, kissing your clean hands underneath. His face angled to yours, nothing but sincerity lacing his features.

"You know my blood better than my own heart does.”

“God…” You whispered, letting your head fall against his shoulder, your nose nudging his collarbone and your eye lashes fluttering against his neck. His stubbled cheek fell to the crown of your head. You cleared your throat again, "I know your blood, but not your name. For someone I care so much about, that’s kind of sad.”

It was the first time you’d ever admitted it out loud in such certain words. The vigilante ran gentle hands up and down your arms, silent as a million thoughts went through his head. You heart was racing, not from lying, but in anticipation. Despite your racing pulse, you seemed almost totally at ease with you skin against his, one of your hands pressed to a bandage on his ribs and the other holding purchase at the waistline of his black pants. Nothing sexual, just the perfect place for your soft hand to land.

Despite the million thoughts, he really had two options. Keep his secret, and keep you at an arms length, to keep things sweet and simple and not too deep. Or. Let you in a little deeper, he'd swim oceans to keep you afloat. Enjoy your sweetness, even if things were complicated. He kept still, holding you as gently as you had touched him, a promise to himself that he could be gentle and soft, just as he could be lethal and ruthless. Two sides of a balanced scale.

Your heart had slowed down again, the soothing motion of his hands on your arm lulling you. You had been worried about his response. You’re confession had gotten too real, you were worried he’d jump out the window and disappear again. And you’d be left with nothing but bloody gloves and the thought that maybe you’d just imagined the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen.

"Matt.” His voice was quiet, just barely above a whisper, “You can call me Matt. Just don’t stop calling me."

#matt murdock x reader #Daredevil x reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil x you #daredevil x female reader #matt murdock x y/n

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thatrandomwriter · 1 year

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Be Right Back

Ghostface Stu Macher x Reader

Warnings: Threat of violence, underage drinking, kissing

Summary: Ghostface follows reader into the basement at Stu’s house party, but reader has an idea about who might be behind the mask

“I don’t know what you did, Sidney, but on behalf of the entire student body we all say thank you!” Stu had swooped in to walk with Sidney, Tatum and I, presenting us with flowers. He winked at me, and I rolled my eyes. He clutched his chest as if this was the most heartless action I could’ve taken. I laughed.

“Drop it, Stu,” Tatum said as Sidney looked down at the ground, but Stu was not put off.

He slid between me and Sidney, slinging an arm around each of our shoulders, “Ya know I say, impromptu party tonight, my house, celebrate this little siesta. What do you say?” I could smell his fresh cologne, feel his warmth next to me.

“Are you serious?” Sidney asked, unconvinced.

“Sounds like fun - might be good to take your mind off things?” I said.

“That’s exactly right,” Stu piggybacked off my reasoning, flashing me a grin. I felt my face heat up slightly, “If Tatum doesn’t invite the entire world, we’ll be fine. Intimate gathering, intimate friends,”

“What do you say, Sid? I mean, pathos could have it’s perks,” If Tatum was on board too, there was no way Sidney was saying no.

“You’ll be totally protected. Yo, I am so buff. I got you covered, girl,” Stu made a show of removing his arms from around us to flex them exaggeratedly.

“With Stu as your bodyguard, no-one is getting anywhere near you,” I said, and Sidney smiled.

“Come on, Sid. For me? It could be fun,” Tatum appealed.

“Okay, whatever,” Sidney caved in.

“Yeah? Cool, you guys bring food, alright?” Stu said, leaving to walk in another direction. I turned to wave goodbye, catching him doing a triumphant air guitar.

“Save that energy for the party,” I called back to him.

“I’ll be at the top of my game, don’t you worry,”

I was a few hours and a few drinks into the party. Stu had disappeared a little while ago, and embarrassingly, I was disappointed that he wasn’t around to hang out with anymore. Instead, I was sandwiched between Sidney and Tatum, sunk deep into the squashy sofa, someone’s legs across mine.

“I’m getting some more drinks - anyone want anything?” I asked, feeling more claustrophobic than thirsty. I was met with a general consensus that just about everybody needed another beer “I’ll grab whatever I can carry,”

Tatum removed her arm from my shoulders, and I struggled up from the sofa.

“Thank you!” Tatum grinned up at me.

“Be right back,”

I was still getting used to the size of Stu’s house, managing to open two wrong doors before I came across the basement - dark and steep stepped. I fumbled for the light switch, hand patting down the wall, until finally I felt it and flipped it on, lights flickering into being.

The fridge was impressively stocked - full of as much beer as could be crammed into it, bottles and cans stacked haphazardly, threatening to fall to the floor if I made one wrong move. I wiggled a few free, grabbing bottles by the necks in an attempt to fit more in my hands. It would be a miracle if I made it back to the party without dropping any of them, but one trip down into the spooky basement was enough for me, especially with a killer around; I would not be making a second trip if anyone ended up without a drink.

I reversed with the beers, shutting the fridge with my foot and nearly toppling over, stumbling backwards until I hit a wall. No, not a wall - a person, soft and warm.

“Sorry, guess I’m more tipsy than I thought,” I laughed, turning to see who I had fallen into. A white mask, mouth open in an exaggerated scream stared down at me. A ghostface mask. “Shit, you scared me,” Was this just a tone-deaf joke? Perhaps someone had meant to catch Sidney down here to really freak her out. Or maybe this was the real deal - I fought the urge to laugh. This could not be how I died, fetching beer at a trashy highschool party.

“I’m just gonna-“ I moved to walk around him and back up to the party, but he side-stepped, making me walk into him again. Something about him seemed familiar - his height, the way he stood, his smell … I realised then exactly who it was. I had smelled Stu’s cologne when he had put his arm around me earlier, and I could smell it again, now.

“Stu?” I let out my laugh, relieved. He had a tendency to take jokes too far, this was just an instance of his somewhat unsympathetic sense of humour.

Stu shook his head, mask turning from side to side.

“Come on, I know it’s you. Let’s go have a drink,”

Metal gleamed as Stu revealed a knife from inside one of his long sleeves.

“That’s not funny, Stu,” Was this part of his joke? Would he really take it this far, or was I somehow mistaken about the identity of whoever it was behind the mask?

The person tilted their head to one side, as if he were analysing what I was saying. For a moment, we were at a silent impasse. Then, Ghostface lunged for me with the knife. Beer slid from my arms, shattering on the basement floor, and I made no effort to hold onto it as I ducked. I shoved at the body in front of me to put some distance between us. I was trapped between him and the shut garage door - all I could do was try to evade his attacks. Part of me was still convinced that it was Stu, another knew that surely he was not capable of murder. He stabbed at me again, and this time I gripped onto his arm, but the knife was aimed for my chest. I was weaker than he was, and despite all of my efforts, the knife was still closing in on me. I knew in that moment that I was not going to win this fight, so instead, I turned my attention to the mask. I managed to push his arm to the side, stepping away from it so that he stumbled forward. Before he could recover, I grabbed onto the mask, yanking it away from his head.

“Stu?” The reveal floored me. I had been expecting this, I had known it was him, but still I was shocked. Stu regained his footing, taking advantage of my shock to shove me backwards and into a wall, a real one this time, knife at my throat. I was breathing heavily, from a combination of fighting him, fear, and, ridiculously, what felt like nervousness twitching in my chest at our proximity.

“How’d you know it was me, huh?” He pushed the knife further into my skin for a second, punctuating the question.

If it was anyone else, I probably would not have figured it out, “I just … recognised you,”

“You did? Well, I have to say, I’m very flattered - what are you, a stalker?” Stu was teasing me, laughing at me, with a knife to my neck. He stepped forward, even closer to me than before, almost touching me. I could still feel my chest rising and falling heavily.

“You’re flattered?” Part of me thought that maybe playing into this attraction could keep me alive, even just long enough for someone to notice that I had been gone too long from the party. Another part was shamefully intrigued as to where this was leading.

“Of course I am - don’t you think I’ve noticed you too?” he leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Who would’ve thought a knife was the way to get your attention?”

When he pulled back, I couldn’t help but glance down at his lips, how close they were to mine. As soon as my eyes were back on his, I knew that he had noticed. My face grew hot, but something shifted in his expression, becoming less playful and more serious as he surged forwards to kiss me. I tilted my head up towards him, my eyes shutting as his lips moved against mine, fast and hungry and full of desperation. I was pressed between him and the wall, the coldness behind me a stark contrast to the warmth in front. One of his hands found my neck, replacing the knife, thumb grazing my throat in a gentle caress meant to remind me that I was still entirely at his mercy. The feeling made me groan slightly. His teeth nipped roughly at my lower lip, hard enough to sting. I parted my lips for him, and he delighted in sliding his tongue into my mouth, leaving me somehow even more breathless than before.

His hands were on my hips, “Jump up,” Stu broke away from me only for a second, as I jumped up to wrap my legs around his waist. He used the wall to hold me up, one hand snaking back up to my neck, the other resting on my hip, fingers grazing the skin just beneath my top. He used the hand on my neck to pull my head to the side, kissing down my jaw until he reached skin soft enough to leave a hickey. Stu bit at my neck, sucking soft skin between his teeth, making me wince slightly which only encouraged him. When he was finally satisfied, he looked up at me, grinning, “You’re my masterpiece,”

The doorknob jiggled, before a knock on the door made him turn away. “You alright in there? I came to see if you needed help carrying the drinks,” Sidney’s voice sounded down into to basement.

I looked to Stu. Now would be the time for me to scream for help, “All good, I think the door locks when you shut it too hard sometimes,” I said. She would never make it through the locked door in time to save me, I told myself. But Stu was kissing my neck, nuzzling into me, and I knew the real reason.

“If you say so,” Sidney said.

“Yep, I’ll be up in a minute,” I struggled to keep my voice steady, but my reply seemed to satisfy Sidney, as there was no other sound from upstairs.

“How do you know you’ll be back?” Stu asked, finally removing himself from my neck to look into my eyes.

“I don’t, but I thought you’d want me to get rid of her,”

A smile widened across his face at my compliance, and his thumb caressed my throat once again, “Aren’t you clever?”

“Will I be back?” I asked; he was carefully evading answering his own question.

“I haven’t quite decided yet,” his hand had strayed to the knife which had been resting on top of a chest freezer, “But I’m sure you can figure out a way to make keeping you alive worth my trouble,”

#imagine #oneshot #ghostface #ghostface x reader #scream 1996 #scream fanfic #stu macher x reader #stu macher #matthew lillard #sidney prescott #tatum riley #slasher x reader #reader insert

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hamsterclaw · 8 months

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Untouchable

Yoongi lets you know exactly how he feels about upsetting comments you've received. A Vows story, read the rest here.

Pairing: Yoongi x f! reader

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Sex, swearing

Word count: 1.5k

You jerk upright from where you’re slumped over your computer screen when you hear your husband’s voice.

It takes you a moment to regroup, gather your scattered thoughts from the tunnel you were in.

Yoongi’s walking around your desk, and he’s not visibly hurrying, but he’s rounded the curved edge to stand beside your chair before you can say anything, let alone close the window you were looking at.

He glances down at the screen, and for a single panicked moment, you want to fumble for the power button, send the cursor to the x in the corner, anything, just so he won’t see.

You’re too late.

Your face burns as he reads over your shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything, just reads the comments quietly.

She’s just some privileged chick, no one likes or respects her.

She’s shit at her job but you don’t have to be good when you’re working for one of daddy’s companies.

I can’t believe he went out with Park Gyuri and ended up with her instead.

I’ve heard she’s being investigated for fraud. I doubt she’s smart enough to fool anyone 😂

JFC

I fucking hate people like her

You say, staring at a spot on the wall just beyond the screen, ‘I’m fine.’

Yoongi says, mildly, ‘You’re more than fine.’

‘It’s stupid,’ you continue.

You risk a glance up at him to find him looking at the screen, lip curled in disgust.

He says, without looking at you, ‘stop reading this shit and come have dinner with me.’

‘Yeah,’ you agree.

You turn your screen off and follow him to the kitchen.

It’s your housekeeper, Mrs Gye’s night off, but true to form, she’s prepared food for both of you.

Yoongi fixes you a plate and you fall into the routine you’ve adopted lately.

You fetch wineglasses and pick up the uncorked bottle Mrs Gye’s left by the wine rack.

Yoongi says nothing as he watches you gulp down a half glass of wine before you’ve even sat down.

He sets your plate down in front of you with a murmured, ‘Eat.’

It’s only three mouthfuls in that you realise he’s looking at you carefully.

You tilt your chin up. ‘Take a picture, it lasts longer.’

Yoongi raises a brow. ‘Do you have a social media manager?’

‘Not right now,’ you hedge.

‘One of our interns is looking for a job. They run most accounts for our 18-25 demographic. They’re excellent. You should consider hiring them,’ Yoongi says evenly.

You mull this over as you chew.

‘I don’t need you to save the day, Yoongi,’ you say.

You regret your spikiness as soon as the words leave your mouth.

Old habits die hard.

You still haven’t learned how to talk to your serious, cold, husband in a non-defensive way, pillow talk notwithstanding.

Yoongi shrugs. ‘Seems funny to me that you’ll happily make me come apart in that sweet mouth of yours but won’t let me reciprocate.’

You stare at him. ‘You reciprocate plenty.’

Yoongi looks amused. ‘Do I please you in bed, love?’

He takes a sip of his wine. ‘Let me please you outside of it too.’

You sip your wine, trying to think.

What’s Yoongi saying?

He sighs, and it’s more familiar than anything else.

Your impatient husband.

He stands, picks up his glass and the half-full bottle.

‘Come on.’

You follow Yoongi to the bedroom you now share.

The balcony doors are open, a cool night breeze making the curtains sway.

He walks right up to balustrade and turns to you.

His shirtsleeves are rolled up, unusual for your usually conservative husband.

He looks so beautiful leaning against the balustrade, his hair gently ruffled, his eyes dark and serious as he looks at you.

‘I hope you don’t need me to tell you not to worry about what anonymous idiots on the internet think,’ he says.

His expression is difficult for you to read, but his voice makes you feel warm.

‘I don’t care what they think,’ you say. You put your empty glass down and position yourself next to him, facing out at the gardens on the Min estate.

You look over at him.

‘I don’t care what you think,’ you say, your defiant streak rearing its head again.

Yoongi turns his face to you.

‘My stubborn little brat,’ he muses.

He closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and unbidden, you step between his legs, pressed against his front.

He doesn’t move except to slide his arm around your waist.

‘I care,’ he says, eyes still closed.

Your eyes fly to his face.

‘I care what you think of me, and I care that some assholes had the audacity to bring that shit to our door.’

His eyes open, and he tilts his head to yours. He stops when your foreheads touch, so close his lips brush your cheek as he speaks.

‘You’re a Min, you’re part of me,’ he murmurs.

His lips part again. ‘You’re fucking untouchable.’

You’re already tilting your face to kiss him when he slides his warm palm around your cheek, cupping the back of your head.

His kiss is slow, languid, but somehow you’re still breathless when he finally pulls away.

He presses his lips to yours again, and this time his tongue licks into your mouth.

You melt into his arms. It still surprises you every day how your husband can make you burn for him.

Heat licks through your veins as he nuzzles against your neck, nudging your chin up so he can lave your skin with his tongue.

‘Yoongi,’ you whisper, trying not to moan as he sucks the skin of your neck.

He chuckles, low, the vibration of his breath on your neck making heat pool low in your belly.

‘Do you care what anyone else thinks, jagiya?’

He licks a stripe up your neck. ‘Or do you care what I think?’

He grasps your hand. ‘Touch me.’

You reach out, unbutton his shirt, and when it’s fully unbuttoned, slip your hand underneath.

Yoongi’s quiet as you explore the planes of his back, as you unbuckle his belt and undo his trousers to feel more of him.

‘Do you like this, Yoongi?’

‘I like it very much, jagiya.’

He’s still, letting you stroke over his ass, hissing as you wrap your fingers around his length.

You lower your lips to his cock, and he closes his eyes.

His throat bobs as he swallows.

You take him in your mouth, tongue pressed firmly to the underside of him.

Yoongi’s hand comes up to hold your chin.

He’s hard inside your mouth, throbbing, but his voice is remarkably calm when he speaks.

‘Only you can get me like this, jagiya.’

He strokes your hair back from your face. His fingers tighten in your hair as you start to move on him.

He moans.

‘Don’t stop,’ he pleads. ‘You feel so good.’

His thighs tense beneath you. When you look up you realise he’s watching you intently, pupils blown, lip tucked under his teeth.

You grasp his hand, slide it around your back to your bra hooks.

Yoongi’s only too happy to help you undo your bra.

He runs his thumb over the indentation between your breasts from the edge of the underwire.

‘My poor girl,’ he says, his breath quickening as you move on his cock. ‘Mark so easy.’

His hand curls around your bare breast, taking the weight of you.

He fondles your breasts as you lick his cock, murmuring his approval as you tug on his balls.

His hand hesitates on the back of your head, until you pull off him just long enough to say, ‘go on, fuck me, Yoongi.’

Yoongi groans, bucks his hips up into your face. He pushes you down on his cock, shouts your name, and a moment later you feel him spurting into your mouth.

‘Come here,’ he says.

He pulls you up, into his lap. You can feel his heart pounding against your face, pressed to his chest.

Yoongi puts his hand between your legs like it belongs there.

He slides the tips on his fingers into you shallowly, stretching you, palm over your clit.

You grasp his wrist when he tries to pull out.

Now you’re the one pleading.

‘Don’t stop,’ you moan.

You bury your face in Yoongi’s neck as his fingers move inside you. You can feel yourself getting wetter, the slide easier, as he curls his fingers inside you.

‘Yoongi,’ you cry, so close now you can’t bear it.

‘Come, jagi,’ Yoongi urges. He scissors his fingers, pounding into you hard, and you squeeze his wrist as you come.

Yoongi stays still until you let go of his wrist.

‘Did I hurt you?’ you ask.

Yoongi snorts. ‘You let me shove my dick down your throat and you’re worried about my arm? You’re unbelievable, baby.’

He steadies you with an arm firmly around your waist as you climb off him.

‘Maybe I’ll take up your offer,’ you say.

At first you don’t think he’s heard you, then he nods.

‘That’s a good idea. At least I don’t have to execute plan B.’

‘What’s plan B?’

‘Tracking down those assholes and fucking them up,’ Yoongi says, blithely.

You’re pretty sure he’s joking.

#yoongi smut #yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoongi fic

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cyberchronics · 4 months

Text

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

satoru gojo + reunion (pt. 2)

[pt. 1]

★ pda, pathetic needy gojo (ofc), switch gn reader (s to d), gojo calls your chest tits once, dirty talk, fingering, penetration, marking, dumbification, unprotected sex, creampie, lil overstim, cute ending ★

✩∘₊ ✩*✯☆⃟⃟⃟✯*✩₊∘✩

after your little stunt, satoru is frustrated for the entire rest of his work trip. exorcising the curse he was called to get rid of was nothing in comparison to the thoughts of you plaguing his mind. every time he closes his eyes the image of you lying pretty in his shirt is projected on his eyelids, yet you remain out of reach. this is torture, satoru thinks.

as soon as you two are back together, he can't help but want you. what's meant to be a sweet kiss in the airport becomes making out in the middle of a crowded terminal, people looking away out of sheer embarrassment. both of you know it's inappropriate, but satoru honestly has more important things to worry about. like the sweet way you whine his name as you finally manage to pry him away for a second of air.

he can barely keep his hands to himself on the ride home, slender fingers reaching over every other second to knead your thigh until you dismiss them once more with a light brush of your hand. despite the long flight he just got off. satoru can't seem to sit still... and can you blame him? with the way he's been missing you, even the smallest touch is like you've been teasing him for hours already.

he's just gotta have you now.

∘₊ ✧───────────────────✧₊∘

Unsurprisingly, Satoru has zero self-restraint. He barely waits until you've opened the door to pin you up against the hardwood, lips crashing against yours in a passionate kiss as he starts feeling you up. His hands messily grope you through your clothes, swallowing your words of protest about how the neighbors can definitely see this through their windows and stifling any noises with his tongue.

He does eventually give in, pulling away slowly and admiring the string of spit that follows behind. If not to save you from embarrassment, so that he can take his time sliding off each garment of clothing separating your skin from his own. And as much as he'd love to just rip through your shirt, popping buttons and ruining yet another outfit, you've already complained enough for one day.

By the time you've made it into the bedroom, the only thing left on is your underwear. You're pushed onto the bed, door left wide open as busy hands reach to pull at your waistband. Satoru is practically drooling once he removes the garment. You're already leaking all over your thighs, clear fluid displaying just how much you want him. "So needy..." He mumbles, although he fumbles over himself to grab the half-empty bottle of lube on the nightstand and immediately gets to work stretching you out.

"Feels better than yours, right?" Satoru grins to himself as he watches his fingers pump in and out your wet entrance, lewd noises only adding to his enjoyment. Pale fingers scissor you open relentlessly, only pausing momentarily to spread your hole and admire the strings of lube that cascade down thanks to his hard work. "Fuck... yeah, baby. 's good."

He feels his dick twitch at how whiny you sound, suddenly deciding that you don't need any more preparation as he pins you down and presses messy kisses over your lips. His hand holds you firmly while he begins slipping out of his boxers, trying not to lose control as he lines himself up with you and partially glides in. Being back inside you after so long is like heaven, especially when you inflate his ego by wrapping your arms around his neck and complaining.

"Too big, 'toru... need you to go slower." The sight of you tearing up over his cock, walls fluttering desperately around him while trying to make space has him leaning down to groan in your ear. A line of kisses is pressed against your flushed skin until he meets your chest. "Teasing me like that when you know I'm a day away from you..." His hands squeeze the fat that lies there, lips pressing against your nipples in a soft massage. "I bet you were playing with these cute tits, too."

Satoru practically makes out with your chest, pressing open-mouth kisses against it while his hand slides down to massage your thigh as he eases himself further inside of you. It's a welcome distraction from the girth that fills you entirely, though fat tears still stream down your heated cheeks. Eventually, when he bottoms out, you're gifted a moment of reprise to catch your breath. "Pretty body missed me, huh?"

A long finger travels lower, tracing the border of where your bodies intersect as he hums lovingly. Smooth hands grab your thighs and guide your knees to hook over his shoulders. "That's okay. I missed it too." He leans down to bite your neck, replacing the fading hickeys from before he left. He loves marking you up, staking his claim on you so anyone who looks can see that you're taken. The way dark red fades into purple as the days pass, eventually fading and leaving a blank canvas for him to paint with his teeth once more.

Once the room goes quiet, only filled with the sound of short breaths, he starts to move. Shallow thrusts are given in earnest as he gets you ready, already struggling to hold himself back. "Squeezing me so tight... must want me to ruin you." Satoru pants into your ear, but he's already falling apart at the seams. His mind is becoming hazier the faster he fucks into you, your body sucking him in and making him go dumb. The way you laugh softly in between moans isn't helping either, especially when you hold his hips still and reach up to cup his face.

"Is it too much?" Even when you're getting fucked into the mattress you're still so considerate of him, stroking his cheek and giving him another messy kiss. "Let me take over, okay?" He agrees with a small nod, pulling out slowly and rolling over to lie on his back. It's a little pathetic, giving into pleasure as quickly as he does, but Satoru couldn't care less. Not when it means you'll climb into his lap, lining his leaky tip up with your entrance and sinking down.

It's so sexy to watch you ride his cock like a pro when five minutes ago you were crying over it being inside. You don't even need him to guide you, the hand he places on your waist is only for decoration as you work to drive both of you over the edge. It's obvious he's gonna be the one who cums first, short nails leaving shallow marks in your skin with every roll of your hips. "C'mon, baby. Wan' it inside."

Soft lips attack his body and leave love bites at his collarbone, just low enough that he's still capable of hiding it with a shirt. The change of angle has Satoru scrambling for purchase along your back, rolling his hips up and moaning freely as he cums deep inside. His mind is blank as he's pushed into overstimulation, stuck watching as you use him to chase your orgasm. After a few seconds, you follow behind him, liquid painting his chest before you promptly slump over on it, not bothering to pull him out.

It takes a few minutes for the two of you to recuperate, a stupid grin on Satoru's face when he regains his common sense. He uses his thumb to get rid of your drying tears, pressing a kiss to each cheek and gaining a sense of satisfaction when you smile at him. "Love you, 'Toru." A tender kiss is pressed to your lips, thumb still stroking your face as he takes your breath away. It's an intimate moment, the shiny red cherry on top of your perfect reunion. "Love you too."

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

a/n: im actually really happy with this? feels like the first time ive put this much detail into a fic but im so into it // expect a few more fics before val's day <3 i have a few things in my drafts that im pretty excited for ♡

#jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #🌀#💍

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the-lady-writes-what · 1 year

Text

You spend Christmas alone until Keigo finally appears after midnight. He sees that you have spent the holiday alone, and is determined to make things right by you by giving you a Christmas present of his that you'll never forget.

Content: lingerie, oral (female receiving), fingering (female receiving), praise kink, table sex, breeding kink + mating press , Keigo is a consent king

Word Count: 2252

Everything was perfect. The penthouse looked like a rom-com Christmas film set, mistletoe and all. But the table was set for one. You didn’t get your hopes by thinking Keigo would be home before midnight. Not when villains and criminals didn’t take a holiday. The Commission didn’t let him rest despite achieving something so mundane as getting a girlfriend. However, you had your suspicions that his bosses were doing this because of you and not simply despite you. The minutes ticked by and turned into hours. You ate room-temperature turkey and some pie it could hours for you to prepare and make. Fairy lights twinkled in the windows as you stayed up whenever everyone else in the world was probably turning in.

You were slumped on the couch when the penthouse squeaked open. You’d been resting your head on a pile of pillows, eyes shifting to close. The battle against sleep was an uphill battle that you were losing. You nodded off mid-movie when the sound awakened you. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes as Keigo’s tired form made its way to the living room.

“Hey there, baby bird.” Keigo cross the room and kissed your forehead. “I hope you didn’t stay up all night just for me.”

“I wanted to see you,” you murmur.

“You need to get your beauty sleep. You look exhausted.”

“I could say the same thing about you,” you replied.

Keigo’s face bore the unmistakable signs of exhaustion. Bags and a slight redness to his eyes, smudged eyeliner, and a wariness to his face. A bit of stubble managed to regrow without his care. He left in the early morning before dawn even cracked. You missed his presence when you awoke in bed with his side cold as the frosted window.

Keigo yanked off his thick gloves, threw off his coat, and fumbled his way to the couch. Exhaustion weighing him down, he flopped over. His head landed on your lap. Your fingers patted his head and threaded through his messy hair.

“Hard day at work saving the world?” You asked.

Keigo hummed in response while nodding his head.

“That’s my hero.” You smiled.

“You’re so warm,” said Keigo.

“Well, I’ve spent all day inside. I made myself dinner, but there’s plenty of leftovers if you’re hungry.”

Keigo’s head perked up. “You made dinner? And you ate alone?”

“I mean…yeah. I didn’t want to go anywhere and most of the shops were closed. I wanted to be here when you got home.”

“Show me.” Keigo sat up.

“What?”

“Show me how much work you put in just to spend Christmas alone. Let me see.”

You let Keigo take you by the hand. You walked into the kitchen for him to find the dining room table still decked out in holiday colors of red, gold, and green. The green and white china plate was sitting in the kitchen sink, grease and gravy still smudged on its face. A single wine glass stood next to the sink with a bottle one-third gone. A white and gold tablecloth with bright crimson poinsettias was dressing up the table. Strings of fairy lights twinkled in the windows. Nobody would see them from the penthouse, but they weren’t meant for onlookers who’d wait downstairs in the lobby just to get a glance at your boyfriend.

“You did all this even though you knew I wouldn’t be home until late?” Keigo’s brows furrowed deeply; his shoulders slumped forward.

You let go of his hand to cradle his face between your palms. “Don’t give me that look, Keigo, please. You can’t help it if your work gets in the way. All that matters to me is that you come home to me in one piece.”

Keigo took one of your hands and kissed your palm. His eyes met yours for a moment. In a split second, his lips were on yours, stealing your breath away. Keigo’s fingers were still cold when he put them against the back of your warm neck. Tingles ran down your spine as his tongue played with yours and explored your mouth. You grabbed Keigo by the waist. Fingers tugged at the skin-tight shirt Keigo wore part of his hero costume. You dug your hands beneath his shirt. Keigo’s skin was chilled to the touch, and he kissed you like you were going to warm him up from head to toe. Your fingers grazed his waist and trailed over his abs. Meanwhile, Keigo moved you carefully to the dining room. A growing stiffness in his pants made it impossible to reach the bedroom. He stopped as soon as your back knocked into the table.

Keigo broke up the kiss just long enough to say, “Hop up.”

Keigo’s strong hands helped you onto the table. His hands dug into the waistband of your leggings and began tugging them down. You lifted your hips to help him roll them down. Keigo pulled the fleece-lined leggings all the way down. He knelt on the floor to shuffle them off your ankles, giving him an excellent view of your special present you’d been waiting to let him see.

Beneath your leggings, you wore the fanciest, most expensive pair of red lace panties. Bright red flowers dotted with tiny crystals covered your sex and tied at the hips with pretty little bows. Riddle with nerves all of a sudden, you tugged at the bottom of your oversized sweat and bit your lower lip. Keigo’s eyes lit up.

“Y/N, baby, are these…did you wear these for me?” He asked.

You nod.

Keigo kissed one ankle and trailed his lips up that leg. Goosebumps rippled over your flesh with his chilled hands making his way to your thighs. Though the rest of him felt cold, his lips were somehow warm. Keigo kissed and licked his way to your inner thighs. He placed your legs over his shoulders. When he reached the apex of your thighs, Keigo looked up and looked you straight in the eye before sucking on your clit through the thin fabric.

Your head fell back. Keigo sucked on your clit so hard that your body shuddered. Your arms, which had been holding up your weight, buckled from the intensity. You laid back on the table with your hands wringing the once neat and tidy tablecloth.

Keigo played with the bows at your hips but opted to lift your sweater instead. He stood between your legs bucking his hips against yours and rocking into you. Keigo pulled the sweater up and over your head. His breath hitched in his throat once his eyes laid on the matching bra. In the center was a bright red bow waiting for him to rip it open like a present. His fingers went to work untying the bows at your hips. Keigo cinched a dangling ribbon betwixt his teeth and pulled. Dexterous fingers loosened the bows securing your panties. The ribbons fell loose and Keigo peeled them off. Once he gained full access to your cunt, he turned feral. He sucked, licked, and played your clit with his skilled tongue. He looked up to meet your gaze as he suckled on it some more. One hand stripped the limp bra from your breasts while the other pumped two fingers into your cunt.

Keigo spelled his name on your clit. Your legs shook with great violence while on top of his shoulders. Your grip on the tablecloth tightened as you bucked your hips against his face. Your back arched off the table the faster his suckled on your clit and pumped his fingers inside of you. Keigo curled his fingers inside of your cunt, which made your eyes roll back. When you were nice and wet, he pulled his fingers out and ate out your sopping pussy. Judging by the sounds he was making, he could’ve died a happy man between your legs.

You screamed his name until your voice went hoarse. You rocked your hips against his mouth. You felt yourself leaking all over his face and the tablecloth beneath. Your hands tugged at the cloth fisted in your hands until you pulled it off the table.

“Fuck!” You cried out.

Your body crumbled as you climaxed. Keigo left you boneless there on the table where you at a few hours ago. He seemed comfortable where he knelt as he didn’t get up for some time. It appeared Keigo was content to live between your thighs. Your inner thigh was wet and slick with your juices. When Keigo finally pulled his face away, his mouth and chin were covered in you. His lips were slick and glossy with your cum.

“You’re so beautiful when your blissed out like that. You should see yourself right now. You did such a good job coming on my tongue, baby bird. You’re too good for me,” Keigo cooed.

He kissed you, letting and making you taste yourself on his lips. Keigo rubbed his hard cock against your soaked pussy. He was still fully clothed even if his shirt was pulled up enough for you to ogle his well-sculpted abs.

“Can I?” Asked Keigo.

Slowly, you nod your head. You got wet just thinking about his cock buried to the hilt inside you. And you knew he’d go that deep. The look in his eyes, that predatory hawk-like gaze, proved he was just as desperate to be inside you. Keigo couldn’t unfasten his belt any faster. He shoved his pants and boxers down in one go. He gave his cock a few strokes, just enough to get pre-cum leaking out of the tip. Keigo spread your legs a little more and rested the back of your knees once more on his shoulders. Lubrication wasn’t needed when you were soaking wet from him eating you out moments before.

“Baby bird, you feel so good. No need to squeeze me, you’re all stretched out for me, huh? I made you feel really good, didn’t I? Now you get to make me feel good, right?” Keigo rolled his hips.

You could barely nod your head in response this time. Keigo fucked you into the table fast and hard. His hips worked at a desperate pace; his cock never left you empty for too long. You moved your hips in. time with his despite exhaustion creeping up on you. Keigo had stamina for days. He could fuck you like this for hours, but after working on patrol for most of the night, he couldn’t last much longer. You tightened your legs behind his back and locked your ankles between Keigo’s shoulders. Thank goodness you lived in the penthouse suit otherwise, neighbors were complaining to management, about the thud, thud, thud of the table as Keigo fucked you.

“I’m so close, baby bird. I’m so fucking close. Where do you want it? On your stomach or…”

“Inside. Please, cum inside me, Keigo. I need it, please. Please, don’t pull out,” you cried.

Keigo looked at your teary-eyed, frantic face.

“You want it bad, don’t you, baby?” Asked Keigo.

You bit your lip and nodded.

“I’m not wearing a condom, you know. You can still get pregnant if I cum inside you like you want. What do you say? Wanna have my baby, sweetheart?”

“Yes!”

Keigo wrapped his arms around you to pull you into an embrace. Your nails grazed his back between his wings while he pushed your legs to your chest. The stretch was uncomfortable, but bearable. You didn’t feel the tightness in your muscles for very long while Keigo pummeled your cunt. Your bodies were pressed so close together than his cock had nowhere else to go but deep inside your pussy. The mating press Keigo pressed you into let his cock bury itself so deep you felt it brush against your cervix though not enough to cause pain. Keigo screwed his eyes shut while he got lost in the sensation of thrusting his cock in and out, deep in your cunt. The man was pussy drunk. He gripped you tight and bucked like a wild animal.

Your eyes rolled back as your cunt spasmed around him. Heat seared down your spine the moment you reached a blinding orgasm. Keigo’s pace fired up after feeling you come around him. A creamy ring formed around his cock. He thrust against you. His fast pace faltered then stuttered to a halt. Keigo buried his cock to the hilt and made sure not to pull out even an inch. You felt your lower belly fill with warmth as rope after rope of Keigo’s cum filled you up.

Your legs turned to jelly the moment Keigo unpinned you. You lay on top of your ruined tablecloth, your and Keigo’s fluids leaking out of your pussy. Both of you were covered in a layer of sweat. Keigo, without pulling out at all, leaned on the table. The muscles in his arms bulged as he gripped the edge. His body was taking forever to come down from his high.

“Marry me, why don’t you?” Keigo asked.

It took your brain a moment to register what he just asked. Keigo Takami, your boyfriend and number two hero in Japan, asked you to marry him. Didn’t he?

“M-Marry you? Are you serious? Do you…do you really mean it?”

“What? You don’t want to be Missus Keigo Takami?”

“Keigo…yes!” You answered and hugged him.

“Good. Because I already have the ring picked out and I’d hate to waste a pretty diamond for anything else,” said Keigo.

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angellayercake · 9 months

Text

Save a cowboy, ride a cardinal

Cardinal Copia x @ramblingoak happy birthday to yooooou 🎂🎂🎂

Copia attempts some roleplay fun for his favourite lady's birthday

‘Can I have this blind fold off yet?’ The ghoul didn’t answer, leading you down the gravel path only telling you just in time about the steps in your way so they have to catch you when you stumble. When Copia had mentioned blindfolds, surprises and your birthday this was not what you had imagined. You can hear buzzing voices ahead of you and the distinct sound of ragtime piano. ‘Where the hell are we?’ The ghoul ignored you again, continuing to lead you forward, the distinctive sound of doors being opened and then swinging shut behind you. There was only one place where all those things would be all together that's the new western themed bar that had opened in town. You loved westerns, LOVED them and had even been considering coming already. Unfortunately your friends at the Abbey had turned up their noses at a themed bar so you had given up any hopes of going, but it seemed Copia had been doing some snooping.

You reached what you assumed was the bar, the ghoul helping you get sat on a high stool and then finally they removed your blindfold. There was almost too much to take in at first. Every table was full, being served by wait staff all dressed up in old west themed costumes. The walls were covered with vintage photographs, American flags, taxidermied cows and a hundred other themed trinkets, not quite authentic but the amount of history crammed into this place made you feel a bit giddy. In one corner a piano sat on a small stage, the source of the chipper ragtime you had heard on your way in. But dominating the middle of the room was a large empty space surrounded by a barrier, lined with padding and in the centre the unmistakable shape of a mechanical bull. It was still at the moment but you imagined things got a lot more rowdy when it was up and running.

‘Well howdy there little lady,’ you hear behind you and a smile is spreading across your face before you even turn on your stool. You are about to reply when you register what he is wearing. Gone are his cassock and his perfectly tailored suit and in its place he is wearing jeans, you didn’t even know he owned a pair of jeans, but the dark blue denim clings to his thighs. Or at least what you can see underneath the black suede tassled chaps. You manage to tear your eyes away from his thighs, to his black shirt, the sharp piping his signature shade of red and then there was the hat. He had gone all out with what looked like a custom stetson. His put on smirk falters when all you can do is stare at him and he starts to fidget with his outfit nervously.

‘Did I not do it right? Aw shit,’ but before you can reassure him the barmaid interrupts.

‘And what can I be getting you tonight?’ You switch your attention to the bar taking in the rows of bottles. Glancing at Copia you see him still fussing over his clothes so it looks like it's up to you to make a decision.

‘Two beers please.’ She nods, quickly setting out two tankards and filling them at the vintage looking beer pump. This place was everything you had hoped, you only wished you were dressed for the occasion. If only he had given you some notice you could have pulled together a great bar wench outfit. When the full tankards were slid on the bar in front of you he snapped from his anxious haze and began fumbling for his wallet, struggling to get to it under the chaps. Just before you took pity on him he squeezed it from under the waistband with an adorable ‘ah ha’. He hands over some notes, refusing the change with an awkward wave of his hand, as she turns away happy.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says with a sigh slouching down against the bar. ‘I tried to find the outfit like ‘The Cardinal’ but I couldn't find the jacket and then I wasn’t sure what the hat looked like and.’ You rub his shoulders where he is slumped over on the bar.

‘Copia,’ he raises his head from the bar, his hat knocked askew so you straighten it as you look into his disappointed eyes. ‘Your outfit is great! The best dressed cowboy in the joint.’ He perks up after that explaining to you how he had noticed you reading your cowboy romances, how he had heard your friends talking about the new place opening in town and how he knew this would be the perfect place to celebrate your special day.

‘Calling all cowboys and girls,’ The loud speaker crackles interrupting your conversation. ‘In just a while we will be unleashing the bull into this here restaurant. So we are calling on some brave folks to try and tame this beast! Come on down to the ring to volunteer andsignawaiver.’ You see the idea form in his mind and before you can vocalise all the reasons this is a terrible idea he is up.

‘You will see now amore, I will be the best cowboy si?’ He practically jumps off his stool, his eyes shining.

‘Wait, Copia, you already are the best cowboy.’ But he is already halfway across the bar. You watch him waiting bouncing on his heels at the front of the queue. You soak up the atmosphere while you wait for him to read through the probably substantial terms and conditions and when he hands over the clipboard and enters the ring you wander over with your beer. You edge your way to the front of the small crowd just as he is getting seated on the bull. He spots you giving you a nervous grin, the expression on his face screaming what have I got myself into.

‘All set?’ The assistant checks in with him and he gives them a slightly frantic nod and then he is alone in the padded ring. ‘Our next challenger is Copia, a first timer, so let's see what he can do in three, tw, one,’ he calls over the loudspeaker and then it is set in motion. It starts slowly rocking forwards, then backwards, side to side. You admire his strong thighs tense as they grip to keep him seated. When it spins him back to face you, you can see his grin has lightened up and he mouths, ‘this isn’t so bad’ at you before he is whipped around. The bull picks up pace jolting back and forth and this time when he is brought back around all you can see is his wide round panicked eyes. You cover your mouth with your hand to stifle your laugh but it quickly becomes a gasp when with a sudden jolt forward and to the left he goes flying face first onto the mat.

You shove your beer into the hand of the person standing next to you and rush around the barrier as he is sitting himself up. He groans as you help him to his feet, red faced and rubbing at his back. You pick up his hat where it had fallen next to him and dust it off before placing it back on his head.

‘Amore, why didn’t you stop me?’ He moans as you support him across the bar back to your seats. ‘I am too old for this nonsense.’ Between you you hobble back over to the bar only to find your stools had been taken. He sighs, wrapping his arm around your shoulders more firmly. ‘I’m sorry, I had a whole plan and now it's ruined and.’ You squeeze his waist and turn him towards the exit.

‘Nothing has been ruined silly.’ You push open the swinging doors and help him out into the cool evening air. Stretching his arms over his head he groans again and even though he is aching and slightly covered in dust you can’t help admiring the view. ‘And anyway you looked damn good up there on the bull, very powerful.’ He looks at you in disbelief but let’s you wipe some of the dust from his shoulders. ‘You even looked good all laid out on the floor.’

‘Oh you think you could have done better?’ He tickles at your side until you fall against his chest. ‘Shall we go back in? Do you want to have a ride?’

‘I have been thinking about riding tonight. Not the bull though’ You toy with the collar of his shirt, sliding open the top few buttons, if he was wearing jeans he may as well be even more casually dressed.

‘Is that so amore?’ He backs you up against the wall, leaning on his forearm and boxing you in. ‘Perhaps we should start this evening again?’

‘Ok,’ You take a second to neutralise his expression so you can play along. ‘Hi.’

‘Howdy,’ He pulls his cowboy smirk off perfectly this time and it makes your knees weak. ‘What’s a pretty lady like you doing in a dive like this?’

‘I was looking for a handsome cowboy but I think I might have just found one.’ He closes the distance between you but doesn’t go straight for your lips. He kisses your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Slow soft presses of his lips that have your breath catching in your throat in anticipation. Finally he kisses you, and all his reservation dissolves as your lips finally touch, his full body pressing against you as his tongue slips past your lips to tangle with yours. The sudden swinging of the saloon doors snaps you both back to reality. You break apart but only just, partially hidden in the shadows of the porch.

‘Take me home Cardinal,’ you whispered against his swollen lips. He growls diving back in for one last aggressive kiss that had your stomach flipping and almost made you reconsider letting him have you there and then. But you manage to pry yourselves apart for long enough to get back to the car, where the ghoul was waiting to drive you both back to the Abbey. You can’t keep apart for long however and you end up wrapped up in his arms.

‘I think this has been one of my best birthdays ever,’ you sigh contentedly. You run your fingers over his chest, following the lines of red piping until you can reach into the unbuttoned neckline of his shirt.

‘Only one of the best?’ He glares down at you,some of the strict Cardinal you had first met coming out. In the past that look would have cowed you but now you just smile up at him fluttering your lashes.

‘Well if it’s the top spot you are after, I have some ideas.’ He raises his eyebrows at you but starts running his fingers from the small of your back up to the nape of your neck.

‘Ok let's hear it then,’ He tips your chin up, ghosting his lips over yours. You try to resist, well aware of the game he is playing. You close the distance this time, it’s your birthday you can take all the kisses that you want. Only when you are both breathless do you pull back.

‘Tonight the chaps stay on,’ and after a moment's thought. ‘And the hat.’

‘That I can do. Anything for my Principessa.’ And he pulls you into another searing kiss.

#HAPPY BIRTHDAY OAKIE #i love you and i hope you have had the best day #copia x oakie #but also #copia x reader #the band ghost fic #my writing

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inhibitionfreewriting · 6 months

Text

Right Person, Wrong Time (pt 3)

:) enjoy!

part 1 / part 2

🌠🌠

You didn't reject his hand this time, rubbing your back gently as you tried to catch your breath. It was an angry, ugly cry where your throat was dry and tight, coughing all the usable air away. It didn't help that you were absolutely still drunk which only caused everything to be more intense than you could handle in the moment. His hand left you and he glanced in the back seat, reaching for a water bottle.

"Please, drink." You could hear the seal break when he opened it, handing it to you and putting a hand back on the steering wheel and the other on your back. You went back to thinking about other lives and various what ifs. The worst timelines converged to form this one, didn't it? One where neither of you would be happy without the other, a binary star doomed to collide instead of dance infinitely. The water settled in your stomach uneasily along with the silence in the car.

You couldn't ever remember a time where it was this quiet, the air constantly filled with conversations. Maybe that's why you were still clinging onto the frustration of him breaking up with you in the first place. You two were always talking about everything, down to things that bothered you in the moment with each other. It was a strength to be able to vocalize how you were feeling and only did it click to you now that you had lost that ability.

You couldn't even in bad faith blame your ex. It was your fault and you knew it. Hasan had hurt you and you put the argumentative part of you aside, just wanting someone to love you, willing to mold yourself so they wouldn't have a reason to leave.

Hasan was frustrated by the silence, knowing how many other things he wanted to say. Starting with another apology to you for making you almost throw up from how upset you were. He was thankful that you were letting him rub your back gently as you calmed down. Maybe it was selfish but to be able to make you feel better made him feel a little better too. Will didn't have to tell him that he was the last person to be asked, he knew he was, but he genuinely just wanted to get you home in one piece.

Time stretched in the silence. Hasan's hand eventually steadied and just sat comfortably somewhere in the limbo of on your back and neck. You didn't forgive him, that wouldn't come with one good deed. Maybe it never would. As time (and traffic) trudged forward you stole long, tired looks at Hasan, trying to put into words the chaos swirling in the fog of your brain. The idea of going to sleep and speaking in the morning with more eloquence crossed your mind, but eloquence was hard to bargain for. It was getting hard to stay awake - crying was hard work.

"Hey," Hasan's voice was soft as it hit your ears, eyes fluttering open to the familiar outdoor lights of your home. Oh. "Where are your keys?" You gestured towards your feet where you had thrown your things when you got in the car, not having the energy to sit up and grab them yourself. He disappeared again past your line of vision that's still blurry with sleep. Only a moment passed (or maybe it's been many, but you can't really tell) when he arrived back at your side and hesitated to unbuckle you. It was sloppy but you managed, your head lolling with a small smile on your face, you think.

" 'can do it," the tiny nod you gave him was slow and meticulous, hands fumbling to get the buckle untangled from your limbs. He rolled his eyes and watched you swing your legs and body to face him. You shrugged and gestured at him. "You're in th' way... move." Despite the severe lack of authority in your voice, Hasan stepped back and held his hands out so you could steady yourself as you exited the vehicle. You grabbed them without thinking about it, knowing from the first foot to hit the ground that you'd rather not land on your ass and be any more humiliated that you had to get saved from an ex by another ex.

You heard the door shut and he walked you towards your home, your hands clinging to his forearm. The front door felt like an omen, not wanting to face the reality that he was going to leave after he laid you down. If you stayed out here on the small concrete pathway to the front door, you could live in this moment forever. He stopped when you did, squinting his eyes a little in confusion.

"Are you o-"

"Jus' wanna stay here."

"... Outside?" Yes, but no, you thought, shaking your head in response slowly as not to knock yourself off balance.

"Here," you said again, giving his wrist and forearm a gentle squeeze. In a vacuum, she assumed, they'd be able to make it. With no other influences or things to consider, they could make it and live happily ever after and make out and get married and have babies and grow old together and-

"With me?" Sometimes he could be so stupid. Yes yes yes yes yes, you could feel your heart screaming inside your chest. You thought you were over this, over him, the growing realization of how bad of an idea tonight was made you sick. Regrets piling haphazardly in your brain. You stood there with your eyes closed tightly, trying to steel everything inside of yourself to not go through with whatever half-assed idea you were getting on the dark side of your mind.

Yes, but no. In another life, you told yourself, slowly finishing the strides towards the front door. Once inside, despite being as drunk as you were, felt routine take over. Shoes off and into the corner, trying to take off the imaginary jacket once or twice before realizing you weren't wearing one, attempting to put the keys that Hasan had in his pocket into the dish on a counter. He had locked the door behind you, right? Surely you heard a click. Hasan's hands came to your shoulders as you blinked away the bleary vision.

"Let's get you to bed." You didn't have fight left in you, so you nodded and let him walk you towards your bedroom. Hasan sat you down on your bed and you watched as he opened your drawers, finding you pajamas and going to hand them to you. His voice was hesitant when he spoke again, almost nervous about the answer even if he already knew what it was, "do you want me to help you change?" Your face scrunched up.

"No, g'out, I can do it, sssshooo," you waved your hands to usher him out of the room. The gesture was weak but he listened, backing up and leaning in the doorway but facing away. In your stupor, that was good enough, pulling the fabric from your body to replace it with the non sweat in clothing. Had you been sweating this entire time? You felt like you reeked and you could use a shower... but the bathroom was so far away. Tugging on your pajamas, you ran your hands through your hair. " 'Kay."

Hasan turned around and mimicked your motion from earlier, shooing you into your bed like you were just an unruly child. He threw the blankets over you as you settled and watched you as you watched him, even though he wasn't quite sure your eyes could really focus on him or not. Before he could finish turning away you reached out for his hand, swiping it instead of being able to actually catch it. You saw the way the fingers twitched as he paused his exit and looked at you.

Don't go. Your hand grabbed onto his.

Please. Don't leave me. A tug towards yourself.

Want you to stay. Your eyes up to his, peering through your lashes, a pathetic sight if there ever was one.

"Get some rest," Hasan ran a hand over your forehead gently and through your hair, the motion alone nearly enough to put you straight to sleep. Just for a split second he even entertained the idea of giving your forehead a kiss, but you had already had so many... interesting moments this evening, did he want to add another one that you probably weren't going to remember?

#rpwt #hasan x reader #hasanabi x reader #hasan piker x reader #hasan #bunny writes #tw angst #lmao i think

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alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer · 1 year

Text

build yourself a citadel amid the foothills of regret

surprise i actually wrote something! maybe the dragon is coming out of its thousand year sleep maybe this is just a one-off, we'll see, though this is just one fic I have planned for a series of COT codas loosely inspired by "how to rest" by the crane wives. anyways, enjoy!

content warnings: alcoholism, alcohol withdrawal, mentions of toxic relationship

Masterlist | AO3

As the dust settled around London and the way of things began to return just as they’d stopped, Alastair left the others to their tearful reunions. He wasn’t sure what to call them, not after they’d survived the end of the world together. Compatriots? Comrades? Perhaps, if he even dared to think of it, new friends?

Sona was still in Idris, Cordelia had joined James in recanting their experiences to his parents, and Thomas had returned to his family to share in their grief. Thus, Alastair returned to the Institute. All of their careful work boarding the windows and doors would need to be removed, but that wasn’t his concern at the moment. Instead, he found a glass bottle filled with a tincture he’d created the night before while Thomas was resting, and set out to find someone else who seemed to have retired from the battlefield a bit early: Matthew Fairchild.

He found him in the wing of the Institute that the group had claimed, back before Tatiana had arrived and turned the world upside down. Alastair knocked gently on the door.

“What do you want?” Matthew groaned.

Alastair took that as an invitation to enter. Looking Matthew over, he was glad he came. In all honesty, he was surprised that Matthew had held himself together so well until the battle was over. Now, he paced back and forth across the room, his skin pale and sweaty, dark circles settling beneath his eyes.

Alastair held up the bottle. “I have something that might make you feel better. Or at least help you sleep.”

Matthew narrowed his eyes.

“I asked Grace to find Christopher’s notes on what he was mixing for you. I figured you must have run out fairly quickly in Edom.”

Matthew’s hand shook as he took the bottle, but he managed to open it without much fumbling. “I- You did this, for me?”

Alastair didn’t know how to respond. He wanted to say that it was Thomas’ idea, which was a lie, or that he only did it because of how Cordelia and Thomas cared for him, which was also not completely true. But the truth was dangerous. The truth was that he cared, but at heart he was still a child terrified of being rejected. So, he said nothing.

Matthew took a weak sip and sat down on his bed. “I don’t understand you,” he confessed. “You bring me this, you save me from a certain, spearful death, you stand outside my apartment all night long in the middle of January-”

“I told Thomas not to tell you that.”

“He didn’t. Did you think I lived in a building that lacked Sighted security?”

Alastair shrugged. “I figured you’d chosen it simply because it has the most arrogant and atrocious architectural design in all of London.”

Matthew rolled his eyes. "It seems as though I've been allowing your poor tastes to color my judgment of you."

"It's an easy mistake, what with all the brain damage that wretched pink siding must be causing." The conversation was reminiscent of their earlier ones back at school, but this time, neither of them meant any true malice. They were bantering .

"Thank you," Matthew said genuinely.

"It was nothing," Alastair deflected. "All of the ingredients were already here-"

"I don't just mean Kit's sedative. Thanks for having my back at Westminster Abbey."

"Anyone would have done it.”

“But it wasn’t anyone, it was you.” Matthew hesitated before continuing, “I’m starting to see what drew you and Thomas together, he is also wretchedly awful at accepting gratitude.”

Alastair hadn’t spent enough time with Thomas to know that about him yet, but remembering how sheepish he’d become each time he complimented him, he could easily imagine it.

“By the Angel, you’re really in love with him, aren’t you?”

Alastair’s shoulders tensed. “What?”

“You’re grinning like a madman, and all I did was mention his name! You’re standing there like a lovesick puppy- Raziel, I’m going to be sick, and it’s not even from the alcohol this time.”

He did his best to avoid Matthew’s gaze. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I mean, Thomas is wonderful, of course, but I don’t- We’re not- It’s not-”

“Why won’t you let yourself be happy?”

Alastair couldn’t think about it for too long. Memories flooded his mind. Elias, telling him he was worthless, a burden, a pitiful excuse for a son. Charles, convincing him that he didn’t deserve to be treated as anything more than an afterthought. There were memories of school, too, of cruel boys mocking him and hurting him and tearing up the letters his sister sent him. Happiness was never worth the risk of someone looking to take it away.

He didn’t have the words to explain it. “I’m trying to- I’m trying.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll quit being a thorn in your side. You can go. I know you’re just doing this because I remind you of your father.”

“That would make sense, wouldn’t it? But you’re wrong. You don’t remind me of Elias; you don’t even remind me of Charles, though the Angel knows your bone structure is nearly identical.”

“If this is your way of flirting with me, you should know it’s never going to work.”

Alastair rolled his eyes. “I’m doing this because you’re a person, and all people deserve to rest, even you.”

“Now, where was this basic human kindness back when we were schoolboys?”

Alastair considered explaining that he always understood the way that his words cut. He knew, but it didn’t matter, because he had just been a boy drowning in an endless ocean, and as the salt water coated his throat and began to fill his lungs, it hadn't mattered to him who he might be pulling under the waves in an attempt to break the surface for another gulp of air. It was instinct, and he was sorry, but he couldn't change the past.

“I’m not looking for forgiveness from anyone, much less you,” Alastair said finally. “You don’t believe that you deserve rest, that you deserve peace, do you?”

Matthew didn’t respond.

“Well, I doubt I’m going to be the one to convince you, but I’ll try anyway. After Charles and I broke up, he sent me letter after letter, he cornered me at every social gathering, and for the most part, all I wanted was for him to leave me alone. But some deeper, more twisted part of me wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to hurt the way that I had hurt, and I know that he’s your brother, but I won’t apologize for saying it.

“And then he did. He nearly died and he was lonely and in pain and it was everything I should have wanted, but it didn’t make me feel any better. It didn’t erase any of my own suffering. It was just more pain. And I think I learned two things. First, that Charles is awful and I am never going to let him back into my life. And second, that a selfish person is just a person. And no person deserves to suffer.

“I think that once you’ve accepted that everyone deserves peace, even your worst enemies - especially your worst enemies - it becomes easier to accept that you yourself deserve peace, too, no matter what mistakes you’ve made.”

“That…” Matthew’s voice trailed off, searching for a quip that he could not find. “That seems wise.”

Alastair nodded towards the bottle. “You should get some rest before your family comes looking for you. You look like something your dog chewed up and spit out on your doorstep.”

Matthew grinned sleepily, the sedative finally setting in. “There’s the Alastair I recognize.”

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this, I would love to hear your thoughts (or even just that you liked it!) I really appreciate it!

taglist: @life-through-the-eyes-of @astriefer @justanormaldemon @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @all-for-the-fanfiction @amchara @ddepressedbookworm @wagner-fell @imsoftforthomastair @queenlilith43 @stxr-thxif @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @sheisbeautyweareworldass @ikissedsmithparker @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @sapphic-in @fortheloveofthecarstairs @tessherongraystairs @thewarthatsavedmylife-blog @grace-lightwoodd @rainingpouringetc @thomastaircompassrose @kiwichaeng @yozinha-z @skirtsandsweaters @goodoldfashionednerd @have-a-holly-jolly-angstmas @who-beingloved-ispoor-blog @lightwoodsimp @americann-idiot @thomaslightwood @cant-think-of-anything @ibrushmyteeth-donttellanyone

#alastair carstairs #matthew fairchild #the last hours #tlh #fanfic #fanfiction

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bulletproofbanditsorbust · 1 month

Text

Bulletproof Bandits, chapter 5

Feb. 28th, 2023

Characters: oc!Russell Davon, oc!Dylan Harley, oc!Frankie Blair

Word count: 3696

Warnings: groping; russ generally being a creep; implied drinking of ethanol

Summary: Russell and Dylan save Frankie from the cops, and manage to escape in the sewers. How will the two behave with their new “friend”?

A/N: you guys arent ready for this lmao – also thanks again to arnold for writing a lot of this chapter and giving me advice!!

“You hear anythin’?” Dylan whispered. He and Russell were pressing their ears to the slit around the manhole cover, listening intently. Cops had been all over the alleyway where they dragged the blonde’s body, barely managing to put the cover back in place before their only way of retreat was discovered. They spent the last twenty minutes listening with bated breath, afraid to shift or make a sound. They only managed to escape the kerfuffle they caused at the square thanks to the unexpected nature of their attack. They wouldn’t be able to fend off a dozen of already alerted cops, with only two guns and a handful of bullets between the two of them.

“No. No footsteps or voices.” Russell rose on his tiptoes and slowly, carefully lifted the cover an inch or so above the ground to look around. “Yep. No one. I think we’re clear. How’s your arm?”

A deep gash stretched from Russell’s nose to his temple, but the bleeding had already stopped, unlike Dylan’s forearm that got grazed by a bullet. The wound seemed superficial, though, and only scraped off the top layer of skin.

“I’ll live,” Dylan whispered back, wincing upon feeling the edges of the wound. “Still need to bandage, though, I don’t have your magic blood clotting abilities. Did we put the first aid kit in your bag or mine...?”

“Mine.” Russell fumbled around in the dark until he came across the bags they left at the entrance. “Which, upon further consideration, was a real stupid move. It’s you who usually does the patching.”

“Well, it’s your turn to cure me of my ills,” Dylan forced out a weak chuckle. “Or, at least, to not give me any more ills. You haven’t drunk the ethanol in there, I hope?”

“No,” Russell murmured, suddenly extremely interested in the slimy moss growing on the wall. “Maybe just a bit. There’s still plenty left.”

“Do you want to go blind? Because that’s how you go blind,” Dylan scolded him, snatching the small bottle out of Russell’s fingers. “I swear, one day your body will get back at you for everything you do to it. Gimme a bandage.”

“Here.”

Dylan poured some of the ethanol onto the folded bandage and, hissing and cursing, dabbed the edges of the wound with it. Then Russell clumsily bandaged up his forearm. His first knot was too tight and the second too loose, but eventually he got it right.

Dylan took another bandage, poured some more ethanol on it and handed it to Russell.

“Your turn.”

“My turn to…?”

“You serious? Your mug got ripped in half, man! You leave that as it is, it’ll get infected.”

“What are you- oh.” Russell felt his face, genuinely surprised to see blood on his hand. “I didn’t notice.”

“Don’t play tough at me, you won’t get anywhere. This must be hurting like hell.”

Russell shrugged. “I’m always hurting like hell. It’s how I live.”

“Yeah, and that’s exclusively your fault,” Dylan himself was somewhat surprised at the anger that was building up in his chest. “You overestimate your capabilities, don’t let your body heal completely, overexert it… no wonder you constantly feel like shit.” He shoved the piece of bandage into Russell’s hand. “Go on, do it.”

“Fine, fine, just leave me alone!” Russell wiped the blood off the gash in a sweeping movement. Dylan watched with delight as he fought for his life to hold a tough expression on his face, and ultimately failed. “Ou-ch. Ouch-ouch-ouch.”

“Maybe you should watch and learn when I patch you up,” he grinned. “Next time try to just dab on the edges instead of slapping ethanol right onto the meat.”

“You bastard! You should have warned me!” Russell shoved him in the shoulder. Dylan staggered back, tripped over and fell onto something soft. He didn’t realize what that was until that something began groaning.

“Oh shit!” He sprang up from the blondie, who he landed on so carelessly. They’ve been lying there lifelessly since the two of them rather roughly dumped them there, only slight quivering of their nostrils indicating that they hadn’t kicked the bucket yet. At least they weren’t actively getting worse. “I’m sorry!”

“She- he- can’t hear you, dude.” Russell crouched beside the lifeless body and began fumbling under their jacket. Then he looked at Dylan with a dirty grin on his lips. “She.”

“Have some shame, would you?” Dylan kicked him in the thigh. “Wait a little, I’m sure she’ll be all over you when she wakes up anyway. Girls always fall for their saviors.”

“Oh, so you’re not in the game anymore?” Russell arched an eyebrow. “I don’t mind sharing, y’know. With you, at least.”

“Really?” Dylan’s heart sank into his stomach. “Is it just me or is that, like, your thing?”

“Man,” Russell put his hand on Dylan’s shoulder, sending goosebumps down his spine, “I would love to talk to you about my… things, really, but I gotta be way more buzzed for it. Unless you can give me that ethanol back-“

“Back off, you alcoholic!” Dylan jumped back, hurriedly stuffing the bottle into his own bag.

“You’re a real bore, you know that?” Russell grumbled and demonstratively plopped down next to the girl. “I ain’t gonna hang out with you anymore. I’ve got a new friend right here.” He checked her out again, but this time kept his hands to himself. “By the way,” he said casually, “she’s coming round.”

“N-not she,” Dylan then heard a breaking, whisper-like voice. The girl opened her eyes, foggy and bloodshot. She still seemed rather out of this world, but at least she could talk now, because they had a lot of questions.

“Not she?” Russell frowned. “But I’m pretty sure I’ve felt them- wait, lemme check elsewhere.” This time he reached for the zip on her jeans, but didn’t get it down farther than an inch before Dylan pushed him back.

“Russ!”

“What?” Russell looked at him with such innocent yellow eyes Dylan almost forgave him that one. “I don’t have a preference, but I do like to know what to expect, y’know.”

“At least wait until she can respond to your advances. Wait, not ‘she’. He then?” Dylan turned to the blondie.

“They.” The blondie was struggling to turn onto their side now, their arms still too weak to hold the weight of their body. Russell and Dylan watched them pant and fall over for a while until Russell finally broke the awkward silence.

“You could really use some help with that, y’know.”

Blondie shook their head, and that movement drained the remains of their strength, forcing them back onto the ground again.

Dylan and Russell exchanged looks.

“Yeah, sure. It’s not like we’ve got things to do or something,” Russell grumbled. “And we don’t mind spending the night in here at all, too. Isn’t it just lovely here? Look at all that waste dripping down the walls! God, I wonder why they ain’t renting this out. You could get rich on that.”

“Done bitching?” Dylan raised an eyebrow. Russell huffed and crossed his arms on his chest unwaveringly. No longer paying him any mind, Dylan approached the blondie and crouched beside them. They stopped struggling and now just lay on their side, gaze absent, but once Dylan came closer they focused on him, if with a little delay. “Listen, girl- I mean man- I dunno, is ‘dude’ alright? Yeah? Good. Listen, dude, I respect your striving for independence, I really do, but we gotta get going like right the fuck now. We already wasted too much time waiting for you to wake up – and you can’t even sit, let alone walk. We’ll have to carry you until you can.”

“I d-don’t-“

“You don’t really have a choice in the matter, sweetheart,” Russell told them matter-of-factly, crouching next to Dylan. “We almost got killed getting you out of that square. You kinda owe us now.” With that, he pulled at the blonde’s arm, but Dylan swiftly slapped his hand away.

“I’m gonna carry them. You go first and make sure nobody tries to stop us.”

“Hey, I want to carry them too!”

“Yeah, to grope them some more? Knock that off, dude. Besides, I’m stronger and you’ll get to show off your shooting skill should anything happen.”

“You’re stronger? Since fucking when? When we get back, I’m challenging you to a wrestling match! The winner gets blondie. Deal?”

“Just go already.” Dylan waved him off, hoisting the small, trembling body up and flinging it over his shoulder. The blondie was unexpectedly light, their skin cold to the touch. They mumbled something protesting into Dylan’s back, but that seemed to be the extent of their capabilities at the moment.

He expected Russell to keep bitching, but, to his surprise, after a short hesitation his friend just glared at him, then without a single word hauled both their bags onto his shoulder, unholstered his gun and set off into the sewers. Dylan sighed and sped up to match his step.

As they moved towards the outskirts of the city, the waste piled up and the stench grew worse. The blondie was light but not weightless, and Dylan soon began to tire, especially because Russell refused to slow down his pace even after Dylan asked him twice. The blondie was growing restless too, breathing hotly into Dylan’s back and occasionally trying to shift their position. Dylan had a feeling that docility on their part wasn’t for long, though.

His feeling turned into reality sooner than he expected. At an intersection with a grating at the ceiling the blondie started kicking like crazy and raining blows down Dylan’s torso. And while there was hardly any strength in that feeble body, the intensity of the assault made up for that.

“Hey! Stop that!” Dylan managed to enclasp their legs with his arms and pin them to his body, but that only doubled the attack on his back. Russell, the bastard, didn’t make a single move to help him, only stood there and grinned shamelessly.

“Put me down!” he heard a muffled response from behind his back, accompanied by another avalanche of blows. “Put- me-“

“Fine, fine!” Dylan rather roughly dumped the blondie onto the ground, making them gasp in pain. “You could just ask like a normal person! It’s not like I’m enjoying hauling you around!”

“You chose this yourself,” Russell reminded him sweetly. Dylan ignored him.

“You kidnapped me!” The blondie still seemed somewhat clumsy, but definitely not as lethargic as before. The eyes, while still bloodshot, were no longer foggy, sparkling with rage in the light coming through the grating. Dylan liked them that way much more, and Russell moved closer too, eyeing the blonde with interest. The blondie, unfortunately, seemed to be of a completely opposite opinion of them both.

“No, we didn’t!” Dylan stepped forward and stretched out his hand, trying to soothe the blonde, but they crawled away from it until their back hit the wall.

“Well, we kinda did,” Russell murmured thoughtfully somewhere in the background. “I’d even say, that’s exactly what we did.”

“What do you want from me?” The blondie slowly rose from the ground, grasping at the wall. Their knees were trembling, but Dylan wasn’t sure if that was fear or the aftertaste of their fit.

“Oh, we’d love to tell you,” Russell stepped forward, a dirty grin widening on his lips, “but not here. At a table, maybe, with candles, a couple bottles of wine, a joint or two-“

“Oh my god,” the blonde whispered, growing pale, “you’re mutants. You’re gonna eat me.”

“What?! No, we- wait!”

The blond, seemingly losing the last remains of their reasoning, dashed past Dylan and into the darkness of the tunnel, only the stamping of their sneakers indicating their presence in it.

“Damn it!” Dylan rushed after them, but Russell was faster, disappearing in the darkness before him. Now Dylan could hear stamping of two pairs of boots, and then – a thud and a shriek cut short.

“Fucking hell,” he exhaled, charging after them into the darkness.

A shove from the back threw Frankie onto the ground, shredding the fabric of their jeans on one knee and the skin on the other. A scream rising in their chest was cut short as they crashed into the ground, the hit pushing all the air out of their lungs. They couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, but they didn’t need it to know there was someone behind them. A mutant. One of their kidnappers.

Frankie tried to crawl forward, away from him - it was useless, of course, but they couldn’t just lie there awaiting their fate - but a hand grabbed their ankle to keep them in place, and then another on their forearm forcefully flipped them onto their back. God, of course it was that red-haired one – those were undoubtedly his eyes glowing in the dark, yellow, with cat-like irises. From the start he instilled some sort of animalistic fear in Frankie – his movements were too precise, too quick, and his expression reminded them of panthers from animal documentaries they watched at home out of boredom – indifferent, even lazy at the first sight, but with endless hunger deeper within.

“Let me go,” Frankie murmured, trying to tear away the fingers digging into their skin, but the grip only got tighter. The redhead straddled them, immobilizing the lower part of their body. “Leave me alone!” they screamed - or rather tried to scream; the words that came out, however, only resembled a whimper. An attempt to punch the mutant in the face was also unsuccessful – he caught their fist mid-air and pinned it to the ground. Frankie still had the other one, but they didn’t get to use it – a click in the dark, and then something cold touched the skin of their neck. A switchblade.

“Just you squirm any more – I will slice your damn throat,” the mutant hissed. “You’ve been a real pain in the ass today, y’know. I’ve got no more patience left.”

Frankie’s heart was racing so fast it could just as well rip through their chest altogether, blood was pounding in their ears, they were suffocating under the weight of the mutant. He was gonna kill them, for sure, and then eat together with his dark-skinned friend. And there will be nothing left of Frankie, and nobody to remember them.

“Hey!” The voice of the second mutant echoed through the tunnel. “You better not kill them, Russ!”

The redhead turned towards his friend. “Don’t worry, I wasn't gonna. I just wanted to let them know what fear feels like.” He said, looking at Frankie, pushing the blade against their neck. “Don’t you love it? The adrenaline rush when you know you’re about to die?”

Frankie swallowed, staring at danger in the eyes, paralyzed in fear.

“If you keep this going, they’re gonna really think we’re gonna eat them! You’re making matters worse!”

The mutant turned towards the dark-skinned one, then he looked back at Frankie. He hesitated, but eventually let go of them. “Fine. But don’t you dare try to pull a fast one on me again, blondie. Understood?”

Frankie nodded.

Russell – that was his name, right? – got up, leaving space for Frankie to get back on their feet.

“Now,” said Bandanna boy, “Just follow us and no one will get hurt, okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Is all what Frankie managed to say.

“We’re gonna get you out of here, got that?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And we’re not gonna eat you, I promise.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Great. Now, let’s go.”

The three marched through the tunnels.

As they walked among the waste, Frankie kept asking themselves what could possibly be the reason behind their kidnappers. They said they weren’t mutants, but Frankie was convinced it was a lie. Why would they be honest with their prey? It was just a way to keep them calm, so they wouldn’t run away again. Or was it for money? Were they raiders of the desert? Frankie heard terrible stories about them on the TV news. Or was it for…? Frankie didn’t even dare to finish that thought. The prospect was too horrifying to even think about, it was even worse than death.

I’m going to die, Frankie thought. They’re going to feast on my body. They’re going–

“Shit.” Russell interrupted their thoughts. “Hold on, I think we took a wrong turn.” He was looking at a map, while holding a flashlight.

His friend exhaled. “Please don’t tell me we need to go back–”

“Well if someone didn’t run away because they thought we were mutants, we wouldn’t be in this mess!”

“Don’t blame me!” Frankie gasped. “I saw your eyes glowing in the dark! Human eyes don’t work like that, so you must–”

Russell turned towards them. “For the last time, we are not mutants.” He pronounced the words slowly and clearly.

“Then prove it!”

Without hesitation, Russell took off his leather jacket and shirt.

“Uh… Russ, what are you doing?” Dylan chuckled nervously.

“What blondie wants, blondie gets.” Said Russell, untying and pulling down his pants. “Take a look! I am sculpted by the gods, baby!”

Dylan could feel his cheeks getting flushed. Thank God the lighting is awful here, he thought, looking at the drainage hole.

“Hmm… Alright, you’re not mutants.” Said the blond, squinting their eyes. “Although… I’m not sure about this bulge you have between your legs. Maybe you need to get that checked by a doctor, or something.”

Russell was visibly embarrassed.

Dylan bursted out laughing.

“Hey! Don’t laugh!” Said Russell, frantically pulling up his pants.

“Yeah, sorry dude, I… It’s not funny. Not funny at all.” Dylan managed to say, in between fits of laughter.

Russell glared at him while picking up his clothes.

“What… What did I say that was so amusing?” Asked the blond.

“Uh… Nothing, nothing…” Dylan wiped away a tear from his eye. “Besides, I didn’t catch your name.”

“Frankie.”

“Nice to meet ya, Frankie!” Dylan reached out with his hand. “I’m Dylan. And he’s Russell.”

Frankie had their arms crossed. “I wish I could say the same.”

“C’mon. We’re friends now! No hard feelings?”

Frankie hesitated. Then, they squeezed Dylan’s hand, without saying anything.

“Are we done talking? The bikes are waiting for us.” Blurted out Russell, impatiently.

Him and Dylan picked up the pace, and Frankie walked behind.

As the sun shined bright in the sky, Russell, Dylan and Frankie came out of the sewers.

“I can’t believe we got lost in there!” The lanky guy said, while adjusting his bandanna.

“I can, actually.” Russell beat back, brushing his jacket. “Place’s a damn labyrinth!”

“Well, you were the one with the map.” Dared to say Frankie. “You led us astray!”

The boy glared at them. “Don’t make me pull out the switchblade on you again, blondie. I really don’t want to slice your pretty face open.” He said, the curve of a smile on one angle of his lips.

Frankie stared at him, in silence, unsure if wanting to break his nose or to run away from there more. The possibility of escape was slim, but they were more worried that the guards at the gates of the city wouldn’t let them in, even if they proved their citizenship. Besides, they didn’t like Liberty City. But still, better there than with these…

“Hey, don’t get any weird ideas inside that little head of yours.” Russell prorupted, as if he was reading their thoughts. “You are with us, now.”

“Oh yeah?” Frankie went closer to Russell. “What do you think is stopping me now from clocking you in the face and running away?”

“Nothing, I guess.” The redhead shrugged.

Frankie blinked in surprise.

“Except…” Russell started to play with his switchblade, throwing it in the air and rotating it in his hand, diverting momentarily his attention from Frankie. “Your honor. You owe us your life. We saved you from the pigs. Do you have honor, Frankie?” He looked at them with the last question, pronouncing their name slowly.

A chill went down Frankie’s spine, as Russell called them. It felt unnerving hearing it from someone they hated so much at that moment, almost demeaning.

They didn’t know what to answer. Or actually, the answer would’ve been very easy: yes, but I don’t need to prove it to you. The thing was, Frankie felt like the words were choking them, stuck in their throat.

Russell pointed the blade at the blond, his yellow eyes glistening. “Answer me. Where is your honor?”

“I don’t need to prove it to you.” Frankie finally said, through gritted teeth.

The boy slowly lowered the knife. “Fine. You’re probably gonna starve out here, or worse – become dinner for the monsters, but…” He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Hey Dylan, let’s go.”

Russell and Dylan began walking.

“Wait! Mo– monsters?!” Frankie quickly followed the two.

“Oh, changed our mind, have we?” Russell scoffed, while lighting up a cigarette.

“There are mutants here?!” Repeated Frankie, catching their breath.

“What, are you surprised? Look around you, for fuck’s sake! It’s a wasteland! Or have you forgotten about it, just like you libertians forgot about my people?”

“Your people? Wait, where do you come from?”

“Rhinestone City, up north from here.” Said Dylan.

“Rhinestone City?! I thought…” Frankie felt their heart sink. “I thought no one survived the war…”

“That’s what they want you to think.” Said Russell, while puffing smoke. “No time for that, though. We need to get to our bikes.”

#bulletproof bandits

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comfyswitcherblanketfort · 2 years

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Deserving Makes No Difference

I felt feelings and got really fucking annoyed with how people still hold vesemir up on a pedistal even tho hes big abusive but dont give the female characters the same respect. so i wrote something about it

big big thank you to @jaskierswolf for betaing, your comments bring me great joy

CW: past child abuse, realizing past child abuse, geralt sees too much of himself in ciri and has some realizations, some good trauma talks with the bestie past midnight, geralt is a cycle breaker and thats extremely sexy of him, jaskier is the friend we all need when we fall back on our trauma bonding.

also on ao3

____________________

Training Ciri shouldn’t have been so hard. She was a fantastic student, pushed herself so hard that no one else needed to, and even enjoyed the work. No, she wasn’t what made training so hard on Geralt; it was the memories of his own training.

He never thought about it after it was over, save muscle memory and the occasional story between the other wolves. But now that he had Ciri… the memories of belts and evenings without supper and wooden canes suddenly seemed horrific rather than a bonding memory with his cohort. He’d gone all these years thinking that was just the way it was, that he deserved it, that there was only one way to train an unruly and explosive little brat like himself. And every time he watched Ciri fumble and explode in nearly the same spot he had decades before, he flinched. No harm ever came to her, he made damn sure of it, but he was still prepared for a blow.

After a few weeks of this realization, he told Ciri she would need to focus on controlling her chaos for the time being.

“You said it yourself,I need to be able to protect myself. That making me better and faster and stronger is how you’ll protect me. How am I supposed to improve if I don’t train?”

The guilt trip almost worked, but Geralt needed a break, needed to think, “You can drill at the end of the day if Yennefer hasn’t completely drained you. But only if Cohen agrees to supervise.”

Ciri scrutinized him before falling in step next to him toward their dinner, “Why not Lambert?”

“He’s more childish than you,” Geralt snorted.

“And Vesemir?”

Panic flooded Geralt as he did his best to keep his posture neutral, but every fiber of his being screamed not to let him near Ciri, “No.”

“Why not? He trained you. And Jaskier said he saw you cut through forty soldiers without breaking a sweat.”

Geralt took a deep breath and forced a smile, “Jaskier’s full of shit. Cohen only.”

Ciri rolled her eyes but muttered a begrudging, “Fine,” before splitting off to dig into dinner.

When he mentioned the schedule shift to Yennefer, something sad and lonely crossed her features before she masked it with a surprisingly kind smile. He hadn’t expected her to take issue, but he was almost angry that she seemed… understanding? Empathetic?

“Must be harder for you,” Yennefer’s voice would sound condescending to someone who didn’t know her, but Geralt heard the melancholy edge, “I have no memories in this place and still it aches.”

All he could give her in response was a grimace and terse nod.

It was slightly comforting knowing Yennefer was at least in a similar position, but she seemed just fine. The other wolves seemed just fine. Hell, he was the only one of them to take issue with anything they’d been through. From the trials to the disgusting way Vesemir mourned his lost ability to inflict the same soul-crushing pain on more innocent boys, Geralt seemed to be the only one concerned with the way anyone was handling, or better yet not handling anything.

That night he sat on his bed, polishing his swords as he tried to wrap his mind around how he’d got there.

Sometime after midnight, his door was shoved open by Jaskier holding a bottle of something far too strong for a human and managing to yell at him while still whispering, “Right. Put the perfectly sharp blade down before I use it on you. I swear to fuck if you scrape that whet stone more time, I’ll lose the one fucking marble I have left. And I need that one! It makes me money!”

Stunned out of his meditation-like repetitive stupor, Geralt carefully set his things aside as Jaskier made himself at home on Geralt’s bed, “Didn’t know anyone could hear.”

“Yes, well, these doors are shit, and I’m right across the hall,” Jaskier waved his hands as if Geralt should have caught on by now before uncorking the bottle and holding it toward Geralt, “What’s running round in that big boarish head of yours?”

Geralt gave him a sad excuse for a smirk and took the bottle, staring at it as he whispered like he was giving some heinous confession, “I’m… I can’t imagine intentionally harming Ciri.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow with an air of cautious optimism, “That’s good.”

He didn’t understand. Not that Geralt should expect him to, but they hadn’t spent as much time together recently. It used to be easier to talk like this with Jaskier, the bard was able to put together the broken fragments of a sentence Grealt couldn’t bear to say aloud much faster when they’d been attached at the hip.

Frowning as he took a pull from the bottle, Geralt slowly dug the words out from where he’d buried them long ago, “But no one thought twice about beating or starving us… for the same mistakes she makes. She’s just scared…” Geralt took a deep breath and slowly forced it out, sneaking the words in on his exhale as if his pride and fear wouldn’t notice that way, “We were just scared…”

For a long time, neither of them said a word; they both just stared at the bottle in Geralt’s hand. The air was thick and breathing too deeply felt dangerous somehow, like a sigh could break watever fragile balance they’d set up. Geralt’s mind raced, as it had been all night, reminding him of horror story after horror story that had been so normalized he and his fellow wolves had laughed as they exchanged them over meals. They almost made him sick as he imagined any of those words coming out of Ciri’s mouth.

Finally, Jaskier spoke up, his voice soft and careful, “Is that why she’s training with Yen more?”

Geralt found himself nodding before he realized, an odd tightness behind his eyes and in the back of his throat, “It made sense before. We were nightmares, but Ciri can be worse, and I couldn’t dream…”

“You didn’t deserve it either,” Jaskier reminded him, taking the bottle from his hand and taking a conservative swig before cris-crossing his legs.

“Deserving and not deserving makes no difference. Shit still happens.” Geralt grumbled, reciting a line he’d rehearsed plenty of times before, only now it felt hollow. He didn’t believe it anymore, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

The soft, almost proud smile Jaskier wore when Geralt risked a glance toward him was confusing, but the bard’s words were far worse, “We finally tricked you into giving a fuck about yourself,” When Geralt frowned harder at him, Jaskier continued, “Hell, Geralt, you called yourself a tool- no! Weapon when I first met you. It has taken decades to humanize you to yourself. Decades and a daughter apparently…” he trailed off with a shrug and another sip from the bottle.

“I thought I was a selfish twit,” Geralt huffed, reaching for the bottle before bringing one foot onto the bed to rest his elbow on his knee. He didn’t think Jaskier was wrong, but he didn’t want to accept it either. Too much about how he moved through the world would change.

“You are,” Jaskier smiled, giving a fervent nod, “You’ve great range.”

Rolling his eyes, Geralt couldn’t stop the tired smile spreading on his face, “Don’t sign me up to give a monologue.”

“Now that I have the idea…” Jaskier gave him a mischievous wiggle of his eyebrows and dodged a light backhand to his shoulder.

The liquor was starting to do its job, Geralt's limbs feeling heavier and his mind foggier. He took another long bubbling pull from the bottle before setting it on the floor, Jaskier giving a sigh of relief. It was a satisfying enough explanation for why the training grounds bothered him all of the sudden, but as he stared at a hole in the hem of Jaskier’s trousers, something kept eating at him.

“I can't trust the people I called family,” the whispered words were out before he realized he’d spoken. Something in him calcified and died as he said it. He’d been thinking it for weeks, especially since Vesemir’s latest stunt, but it felt final, speaking the fact into existence.

Geralt could just barely see Jaskier nodding his head as he spoke, “Me neither. Rotten, isn’t it?”

“Fucking brutal.”

“Yup,” Jaskier popped the ‘p’ and rested his chin in his hand, staring at the same hole Geralt had been staring at, “What are you going to do about it?”

The question pulled Geralt up short, “The fuck can I do?”

It had been a long time since Jaskier looked at him like he was a fucking idiot, but it still had the same effect, “Tell them? Ruin their week? Lay down rules?” As he made his list, Jaskier shuffled till he was laying diagonally across the bed with his head on the pillows and somehow he still had the effect of making Geralt feel like a dimwit, “For fuck’s sake, Geralt, that's your daughter. You focus so hard on protecting her from armies and monsters, don’t forget about your own family just because no one else has given a fuck all these years.”

“They wouldn’t starve-”

“You just said you can’t trust them. Why defend them?” Jaskier was staring him down with a challenge in his eyes and Geralt couldn’t argue with the logic.

Sliding his hand down his shin and resting his chin on his knee like he did when he was a boy, Geralt closed his eyes and whispered, “We were raised to need him. It’s a shitty habit.”

“I know,” Jaskier let out a long sorrowful sigh that reminded Geralt he really did know, “Maybe talk to Lambert first?”

Geralt shook his head and felt a little dizzy for it, letting himself plop over onto his side so he was curled into the little triangle of space Jaskier had left him, “He’s too angry. Probably accuse me of mutiny… Eskel would have understood.”

Jaskier’s hand flopped to his side and clumsily found its way to comb through Geralt’s hair, “Yeah?”

“You would have liked him,” Geralt mused, again feeling that enraging sting behind his eyes, “He’d have already torn into Vesemir. Was always ready for a fight…”

Voice softer, almost like he was singing a lullaby, Jaskier hummed, “I probably would have.”

For a moment Geralt thought he’d be okay, he thought he could tell Jaskier just how betrayed he felt by the people he thought he could trust the most. How Vesemir was supposed to protect him and how he’d broken the promises he made when Geralt was too little to understand he couldn’t keep them. But all that came out were soft stuttering breaths and tears rolling down his face.

Continuing to run his fingers through Geralt’s hair, Jaskier whispered, “Let’s sleep. You’ve done enough thinking for one night.”

Geralt sniffed and raised his head with an embarrassed grimace and nodded. Instead of a pillow, Geralt laid his head on Jaskier’s stomach, letting the bard’s slow and rhythmic breathing in tandem with the steady thrum of liquor in his veins lull him to sleep even if he dreaded the morning.

#the witcher #geralt #vesemir #lambert #eskel #jaskier #yennefer #ciri #cirilla #the witcher fic #dilf geralt #good dad geralt #jask is the best bestie and i will take NO questions #(except i will bc i could go off on this)

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philliamwrites · 2 years

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SWYAATL 11: The Forest of Hands and Teeth (pt.2)

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x fem! Reader

Warnings: description of a decomposing body

Summary: “If anything,” Eren says, and you can hear Armin’s quiet plea “Please stop talking, Eren,” because he knows Eren better than he himself, and if there is a chance to resolve the conflict without it blowing up, Armin will always throw himself in as canon fodder, “if anything, she got fucked up because you tried to run away. Because you tried to abandon us.” Jean goes still beside you like a statue. The glass shard nearly slips from your cold, clammy fingers and you bite your lip, tasting dried blood on your lips. “At some point,” Eren continues, “you’ll have to stop making excuses and stop running.”

Notes: [01] || 10 | 12

Words: 8.2k

A/N: like i promised, i'm baaack!! used my off time to finally finish AoT manga and let me just say I was pretty disappointed :)

the story still remains one of my absolute favourite, but I fell out of love with some characters the same as I fell in love with others.

i really missed uploading and i really missed you guys ♥ thank you for everyone who kept sending me messages about the story!! it makes me so happy to see how much you're enjoying it and yes, some may have figured out the secret! any ask gets a tiny snippet from the story hehehehe i can't not share the stuff with you, especially the smut ehehehehehe. enjoy! (also hmu if you want to join the taglist!)

Chapter 11: The Forest of Hands and Teeth (Pt.2)

The words shake the foundation of your world, open up the ground beneath your feet. Lying under the surface, where you always thought there was benign soil, you discover a pit of bottomless black, yawning wide, waiting to swallow you whole.

All the way, the men herd you like lambs for slaughter away from your camp to a tree where they tie you up. You stay silent, fighting off a crushing waterfall of thoughts and fears and burning tears—everything that is at once vicious and violent. It is only when they are done that your conscience arises from the murky, dark waters of slithering thoughts and ruining imaginations.

Ropes bind your hands together behind your back, biting painfully enough into your skin that all feeling slowly begins to trickle away. Shoulders pressed against shoulders, thick ropes cut into your upper arms tying you against the skin-scratching, rough bark of a tree.

You blink dazedly when after all the commotion there is suddenly nothing but silence—silence and a sharp pain in your closed palm sending shocks of tiny pinpricks up your arm. The men have left, decided that with nothing to break you free from your binds, you are just a bunch of harmless teenagers unable to either save Christa, whom they’ve taken for leverage, or get your equipment back and put up much of a fight.

The silence that mutes you is a savage beast, sharp-toothed and snarling as if it is just waiting to sink its dreadful talons into whoever manages to summon the courage to speak first.

It is no surprise that it is Eren who shows the beast his own fangs and claws sharpened by seething fury.

“We … we could have done something.” He’s sitting between Jean and Connie, too far away from you to see the emotion on his face, but from the tone in his voice, it has to be hot contempt. “If we attacked as a team, we could have shown those bastards, you fucking cowards!” His voice booms over the quiet of the forest, startling birds and squirrels from their slumber.

There’s no reply. The events replay once more behind your closed eyes, quick flashes of pictures, your skin remembering the pressure of a cold rifle barrel. You take a deep, shuddering breath, and fumble with your fingers until the sharp pain relents from your palm. You couldn’t have done anything earlier. But you are not helpless now.

With your arms shaking from the strain and the uncomfortable angle, you begin to cut at your ropes binding your wrists with the shard from the broken whiskey bottle you picked up during the quarrel earlier.

And then of course, because as long as Eren Jaeger lives, Jean Kirschstein will stand against him.

“That’s your opinion,” Jean mumbles, and then louder he continues, and you can feel from the way his shoulders turn hard as stone that the rage in him circles and collects at the centre of his lungs from where he can just spit it out. “I don’t agree. Actually, because of your crazy behaviour, everyone was at danger. [Name] almost fucking died because you acted up.” And quieter, he says, “Victor did die.”

You can hear Eren’s sharp inhale. Marco, ever the diplomat, quickly intervenes, “That wasn’t his fault. It was nobody’s fault, and you know it, Jean.” His voice is thick with an emotion you don’t know how to take apart to unravel the core. “You know it.”

“If anything,” Eren says, and you can hear Armin’s quiet plea “Please stop talking, Eren,” because he knows Eren better than he himself, and if there is a chance to resolve the conflict without it blowing up, Armin will always throw himself in as canon fodder, “if anything, she got fucked up because you tried to run away. Because you tried to abandon us.”

Jean goes still beside you like a statue. The glass shard nearly slips from your cold, clammy fingers and you bite your lip, tasting dried blood on your lips.

“At some point,” Eren continues, “you’ll have to stop making excuses and stop running.”

“Fuck you,” Jean spits, but he’s looking away, shaking slightly, and you know he’s fighting hard not to cry and it cracks something inside you open and now that it is spilling, you have nothing to mend the broken pieces and stop it from spreading.

“If you two could just shut up for a second,” you say, feeling the ropes come loose but also the glass turning slippery in your fingers from new cuts, bleeding and stinging, “maybe we can get out of here faster and make a plan.”

“What—what are you talking about?” Jean shifts, and almost drives the sharp point of the shard right into your wrist. “What are you doing?”

When the rope finally snaps, your arms jolt right into Jean and Connie sitting to your left and right. You bring your arms forward, presenting your unbound hands but also the cuts and slashes on your hands, the bloody shard glinting in the sharp, silvery moonlight. “I,” you say, and the only reason you grin is probably because you’ve lost so much blood you can’t think straight, “am getting us out of here.”

Jean sucks in a sharp breath. Connie makes a relieved sound that is close to a whimper. From the other side of the tree, Mina’s soft sobs have finally stopped and Sasha demands, “What’s happenin’? What’s she doin’?” You doubt she’s realised that she’s allowed her formal speech to slip from all the agitation.

“That’s from Victor’s bottle,” Connie realises, awe-struck. “God, that—he is saving us in a way, isn’t he?”

Lips pressed together tightly, you begin to work at the thick rope tying you all to the tree. It gives you enough reason not to think about how true Connie’s words are, and that even after everything Victor has done, he did not deserve to die such a gruesome death.

You change the shard from hand to hand whenever it hurts too much, but after five minutes, it finally becomes loose enough that a hard pull from everyone else rips the rope apart and it falls in your laps.

“Here, cut me free,” Jean urges, turning his back to you. “Let me take over.”

You don’t argue. When Jean is free, he immediately snags the shard from you, making you jolt away. He’s sickeningly pale, his eyes too big for his face. “Shit, sorry.”

Your response is weak, and he notices. “I’m fine.”

“Nothing about this is fine.” But instead of arguing, he turns away and begins to cut the ropes off Eren’s hands. It doesn’t take long until finally everyone is free, and the mirror expressions you are all wearing says the same: What now?

Mina has come around the tree and kneels before you, gently pressing a piece of fabric she has torn off her shirt against your bleeding palms. You have always noticed how tiny her hands are, how cute and slender her fingers dance whenever she’s excited and claps her hands. Now they are surprisingly strong, yet gentle, as Mina puts them under your chin and inspects your busted nose after cleaning most of the blood away as best as she could.

You can’t stand the worry edged deep into the lines of her face, the dimples around her mouth. “Am I still pretty?” you ask, the smile on your face feeling like those wonky grins children slice into pumpkins with jagged knives for All Hallow’s Eve.

Mina sighs. “Always,” she mumbles, and she doesn’t smile but her eyes do light up a little and it’s the little victories that count for you. “I don’t think it’s broken, so that’s good.”

“There goes my idea to skip cleaning the gear shack for the next couple of weeks.”

“Dude,” says Connie, and if Connie Springer of all people has to reprimand you, you know you’re balancing on a thin tightrope.

It’s Marco’s tight voice, all business-like, that puts a lid on your next light-hearted words. He’s sitting on the ground, cut ropes coiling around him like a thick snake. “What are we supposed to do now? We can’t continue this exercise, it’s over.”

No one objects. Over Mina’s shoulder, you watch Jean mumbling quiet things to Armin who has started shaking once more like aspen leaves in high wind. When he meets your eyes, he immediately looks away, his throat working.

How much do you remember? The words notch into you, cutting deeper than the shard ever could. You’ll get your answers, even if you have to retie him against something and drag them out of him.

“Are we abandoning Christa?” Eren’s voice is quiet. He stands tall and strong against the slithering darkness, but from the way his shoulders are drooping you can tell he is not fine. He looks almost forlorn, surrounded by the looming shadows of the tall trees.

“No, no, by the Walls, we aren’t abandoning anyone.” Marco rakes his hands through his black hair, staring down at the ground between his feet. “But with just us, what can we do? We should head back and ask the instructors—”

“What if we don’t make it?” Eren cuts him short. He finally turns, though his body sags in defeat, you can still see fire burning in his eyes. “I’m not just gonna stand back and retreat. I’m going to save Christa.”

Armin tries to stand but his knees buckle under his weight. Jean quickly catches him before he can fall. “Wait, Eren—”

“Wait for what?!” Eren snaps, and when Armin startles, he either doesn’t notice or ignores it. “Wait to find others who can do the shit that we can do now?! Those fucking pigs won’t hesitate to … to—” His sharp eyes find yours as if that is statement enough.

Oh, you realise suddenly. Before, when the man with the potato bag over his head wanted to have his way with you, it wasn’t Jean screaming not to lay a hand on you. It was Eren.

Now, he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll go alone, if I have to,” he says now. “Before they hurt her. Or kill her, too.”

“You stupid idiot, do you really think you can do anything on your own?” Jean scrambles to his feet, rises to meet Eren’s glare.

“Guys, please.” Mina’s voice beside you is so quiet. “We can’t afford to be at each other’s throat right now. Things are bad enough.” She seems frail, all of a sudden. Thin and transparent, like she might disappear any moment. You feel an overwhelming urge to just hold her.

The sound of protest clawing its way up your throat, already resounding from Armin to your left, is squashed by Marco’s hand resting gently yet affirming on Armin’s knee. He’s looking up at Jean, and there’s something flashing in his dark eyes you can’t read.

“If I won’t do it, no one will!” Eren screams back, and even though his voice is so loud, like that itself should be enough to drive his point across, he seems small as if he’s moments away from caving in.

“And how are you going to find her?” Jean’s voice has a veneer of calm, but beneath you could hear the vibration of some very different emotion. “All our horses were released, we got nothing on us. You think you can catch up to them on foot?”

“I can’t just stand still and do nothing.” Eren is seething with anger. His hands, balled into tight fists, shake by his side as if he’s about to take on the whole world all by himself and Heavens, what a heavy burden that is. What a lonely pursuit. It makes you want to tug him away, somewhere to a safe place where he doesn’t have to fight all the damn time.

“We won’t,” Jean says, quietly at first, and then louder, “we won’t. I’m coming with you.”

Eren opens his mouth, closes it. He looks at Jean as if he’s seeing him for the first time.

“We’ll go together,” Jean continues, “and we’ll get Christa back.”

“Christa and our gear.” Slowly, Marco climbs to his feet. Determination turns the lopsided smile of his mouth into a formidable line. There’s little hesitation when the rest follow Jean’s declaration, vow that they won’t let Eren alone.

If you’re looking closely enough, it almost seems as if Eren is about to cry.

“It’s settled then.” Jean brushes dirt off his pants. “We’ll go together, stay together. That’ll give us a better chance at surviving this.”

“And we can’t head back first? Only … only for a moment,” Mina says, making everyone turn to her.

“Why?” Jean asks. You startle a little when he leans forward and pulls you up to your feet, a hand around your arm. “We don’t have time to get back and pack up.”

Mina is quiet for a moment. “To bury Victor.”

Someone makes a very small, plaintive sound. Armin’s eyes widen when you all look at him, and he hurriedly brushes Eren’s hands away, who is trying to inspect the little scratches on his face. After he had stumbled over his own feet earlier, one of the men had yanked him up roughly.

His small hands lay balled into tight fists on his lap. “They had one horse pulling their cart … for so many people and all that equipment, I doubt they’ll make it far. Which means they’ll have to stop, maybe take stock of their yields.” Armin’s lashes flutter like the wings of an anxious butterfly. “It’s the only chance we’ll get to catch up to them.”

“No turning back now.” Eren at least has the decency to look apologetic towards Mina. Her answer is a raised chin, a confident nod. You all have to deal with this later.

“So, how are we gonna do this?” asks Connie. He’s dragging his sleeve over Sasha’s face, wiping off any remaining snot from her nose. “We might not make it even if we split up.”

“And if we keep following that path they took without really knowing where they went, we might get lost.” Jean’s face is grey and hollow, as if cut from living rock.

“How about we climb to a higher place?” offers Sasha. “When you get lost in the mountains, climb upwards. If you get lost in a forest, climb a tree. That’s what my Pops—I mean father always told me.”

“Okay. First, we find high ground, then hopefully some signs of those fuckers. And then …” Jean looks around, as if he’s just remembered you’re all stuck in the woods in the middle of the night and maybe there are more things you should be scared of. “Well, we’ll figure out how to deal with them once we find them.”

“We stick together, we take care of each other, okay?” Marco says, sharing urgent gazes with each one of you. “You see, hear, smell anything weird, the whole group has to know.”

“Yes, sir,” you chorus as one, and even though you don’t like to think about how you unload this on Marco’s shoulders, it feels good to have him still stepping into the leader’s shoes and trying to keep you all together and at least pretend everything is under control.

He turns to you and makes sure the worst of the bleeding has stopped before he uses Mina’s tattered fabric to bandage your hands. “You remember the map? There’s a rock overhang nearby that should give us a good outlook over the whole forest.”

“It’s south-east from our camp,” you say and try not to flinch when the fabric burns against your cuts. “But I … I didn’t pay attention to where exactly they led us, and where we are now.”

“It’s fine.” Marco gives your wrists a quick, encouraging squeeze. “You did enough already.”

He turns to the others, explains where you’re going, and moves to the very front to lead. You move in the quiet of the night, a small group of hunched people one could easily mistake for malformed animals. The order is nonsensical, Marco and Mina at the front, then Connie and Sasha, and once you begin the ascent of the rock formation, Eren is glued to Armin’s side and helps him whenever he stumbles or just needs to take a quick breather.

You can’t tell what exactly it is Jean’s been waiting for, but when he falls beside you, he sticks to your side like a shadow. He’s silent for a moment, but he can’t keep the words inside him for too long before he needs them out. “How are your hands?” he starts with something safe.

You spread them before you, wiggle your fingers slightly. “The bleeding’s stopped. Didn’t cut too deep, thankfully.”

They fall back to your sides, but Jean quickly reaches out and takes one in his. You see him gnawing at his bottom lip as his fingers graze the bandages, lingering for a moment at the dark copper spots where the fabric has sucked in your blood.

“I’m sorry,” he says. His thumb brushes your knuckles, and you feel thrown back to another time, inside the infirmary where he said he would protect you from exactly this.

“What for?”

Jean lowers his head. “I ran away.”

You can’t help it, laughing a little. “You didn’t make it far.”

“I mean it,” he says, and the urgency in his voice makes you both halt. “I’m the last one who would agree with anything that suicidal maniac says, but he—he was right. All I could think of was saving my own ass. Well, getting away to get help, but ultimately.” He shakes his head. “And even then, after the—” He swallows hard. “—the shot. After the shot, you tried to come for me. You still tried to help.”

You hum, open your mouth, and the memory hits you so hard it gives you whiplash.

Crossing your arms, you cock your head towards him. “Bold that you think I’m sticking around here and wait for you.”

Emil snorts but he looks almost pleased. The crown is almost done. “You’ll be here. And I’ll come back to you. I will always come back to you.”

You bite your trembling bottom lip, press the corners of your mouth further up into a smile even though it wavers and threatens to disappear. “Oh, come on,” you say, punching his arm lightly. “You know I’ll always come back for you, Jeanbo.”

Even in the darkness, you can see him flushing hard. His shoulders shake when he takes a deep breath in, deep breath out, then blinks up at the moon. You pretend you don’t see the tears at the corners of his eyes.

“Same,” he says, and his grip around your wrist is borderline painful, but you don’t pull away. You let him hold you and reaffirm to himself that you’re safe and here. “I’ll come back for you, [Name]. We’re a team, we’ve always been a team.” He points at you, then at himself. “Pot. Kettle.”

You bump into his side.

“Heya, right now is literally the worst time to flirt, you two!” Connie calls down to you, peeking over a ledge. They’re all much further ahead than you’ve expected, getting so lost in your conversation with Jean.

Jean flips him off, and you can hear Connie’s grunt as he laughs to himself. When he turns away, you spot Eren staring down at you, but you can’t read his expression from down here, and before you can call up if everything’s alright, he’s turned away and you only see his retreating back.

You ignore how your heart shrinks to the size of a walnut. This will have to wait for later, when you can find time and peace to entangle the muddle of thoughts still occupying your mind without worrying to get shot. Or worse.

Before Jean can start the excruciating climb up the rocks, you latch onto the hem of his jacket. “What did you mean with your question?” you ask. “Earlier, I mean. What … what am I supposed to remember?”

Jean throws a quick glance up to the others, and you know there’s no time and you have to hurry. But something, even if it’s crumbs, has to appease the hunger to know inside you before this black hole swallows you. If Jean knows something, he owes you that much.

“God, it’s been so long.” Jean wipes a hand over his face. He looks exhausted. “All I remember is my parents talking about it, and asking, well…” He waves a hand in your direction as if that’s supposed to make you understand. “They asked me not to mention it so it wouldn’t trigger some unpleasant memories. Apparently someone…,” Jean trails off. He braces himself. You’ve only seen him take on that posture when he’s about to swing at Eren during an argument.

“Jean.” You tug on his jacket, feeling your hands go clammy. “I need to know. Please.”

“Someone kidnapped you, when you were little,” Jean says slowly. He falters for a moment, squeezes his eyes shut, like the memory of that conversation with his parents is still too close, too painful, excruciating. “You weren’t gone too long, they had found you on the same day. Some old fart had locked you up in his house while going about his day. It was your Dad … your Dad who found you. When I asked my Mom, she only said that your Dad made sure that guy would never steal little girls from their parents again, and I thought that meant the Garrison, or Hell even the Military Police took care of him.” He focuses on you fully now, and you wish he would stop talking. Your guts clench like someone has kicked you in the stomach.

“Your father killed that man when your captor swung a knife at you two. The Military Police ruled it self-protection and closed the case from what I overheard my parents say. You had blacked out during that fight, but when you came over to visit after that, and my Mother accidentally slipped up … you acted like it had never happened.”

You stare at him, throat tight, the cold sweat sensation of dread spreading slowly through your limbs. “How old was I?”

“Ten? Or eleven, I think?”

“And what … what did that man do to me?”

Jean’s voice is frighteningly quiet. “I don’t know.”

You feel sick. “So it could have been anything.”

“Or nothing,” Jean replies fast, sharp. “Your Dad found you really fast, I know that much. Or I mean, that’s what your parents told mine.”

You stare past his shoulder at a dark spot in the sky where black clouds have hidden away the stars. “So, my Dad saved me.”

It makes sense. The room you remember, the green wallpaper with golden flowers strewn across, the weight of an imposing man behind you. You calling for your father’s help.

And yet.

The feeling is all wrong. You have a vague remembrance of that feeling, and it was not relief at knowing your father was on the other side of that locked, heavy door. Rather, it is closer to … harrowing, horrific fear.

As if he had left you there.

You try to shake the feeling of dread away, to push all these thoughts to the far back of your mind. If you had really lived through such a traumatic experience at such a young age, maybe you had simply suppressed those memories out of shock.

Though that doesn’t explain why you still see the fall of Wall Maria vividly as if it is the very same day, every event a clear image burnt into the backside of your closed eyes.

And why … why of all things … why had Emil never said anything to you? You would have noticed his behaviour changing—he would have worried himself sick about you.

“When we’re back in Trost, I’ll have to ask Ida about it. About everything. She should have told me at … at some point.” Not anger pangs through your chest, hot and sudden like a bullet, but an urgency that is nearly as frightening. You need to know every single detail. Right now it feels as though you are grasping for sand as it slips through your fingers, using it to rebuild the very foundation of the person that you are.

“I’m sure she, and Dad, didn’t see a point in it because you didn’t remember.” Jean juts his chin up to where the others are still waiting and continues the ascent, you hard on his heels. Quieter, he says, “Why make you scared when you were better off not knowing? They thought it kinder to spare you that.”

“Because it would have been honest.” You give him a long, hard look. “Maybe not kind, truth isn’t kind. But it is the truth.”

He turns around at that. The milky-white slant of moonlight catches in his hair, his eyes. Jean gives you a nod, easy and simple, and it weighs more than any promise he could have made.

“Let’s try to make it out of these woods first, okay?” Jean says when you’re almost at the top. “And then we can think about everything that’s happened. And write Ma a letter.”

“Yeah.” Deep breath in, deep breath out—resettle the beating of your heart and remind yourself you are not alone. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

He gives you one last, fleeting look, then turns to assert the situation before him: Armin is greedily finishing up the rest of water from Mina’s field bota bag, Sasha and Connie huddle together, lost in their own quiet, private conversation. Marco and Eren perch by the edge of the cliff, both facing the forest stretching out before them.

You join them right in time when Marco whips out his binoculars to survey the area ahead.

“Found anything?” Jean asks. He kneels beside Eren, eyes roaming the horizon. Eren, in the middle of them, steals a glance at you, first at your face, then at your bandaged hands. You wiggle your fingers in his direction to show you’re alright, all fingers are still working. He purses his mouth, looking as if he doesn’t really buy it. You make your point by flipping him off good-naturedly, which at least makes the corners of his mouth twitch a little. Another small victory.

“Smoke, right there.” Marco points into the distance at a thin trail of grey smoke curling into the night sky. “Armin was right,” he continues, handing Jean the binoculars. “They’re currently camping out and loading the carts. Christa seems fine.”

“For now,” Eren bites out.

“So, what are we gonna do?” Jean lowers the binoculars. “We won’t make it in time, even if we head out immediately.”

“And unlike us, they can defend themselves.” Marco looks grim. “And I don’t want anyone else ending up like Victor.”

“I … I might have an idea.” You all turn at the timid sound of Armin’s voice. He’s wiping his mouth dry quickly, and hands Mina’s flask back. He looks over at you sharply, his eyes glinting with steely determination. “But I need your help.”

Suddenly, everyone is looking at you as if you owe them something. You want to take a step back, but there’s only a cliff and a steep fall waiting behind you. Literally.

“Okay.” You pull at the loose threads coming off the bandages. “Shoot.”

“We might have to head back to camp anyway to get some of the stuff we’ll need, but I want to be sure just in case, and you’re really good at memorising maps. How many wide exits are there in this forest?”

“Wide exits?”

“Wide as in wide enough to let them pass through with multiple carriages.”

You turn, take a good, long look at the forest with its tall reaching green peaks like gnarly fingers waiting to snap at whatever dares to come too close. You recognise some landmarks from the map: two giant rock formations facing each other, a smaller one right behind them—the points of a triangle. Mountains encircle the forest, high in the east, dipping down a little and rising again towards the south.

You point a finger towards them, and say, “That’s the closest exist in this area. The other two wide enough for them to leave are in the opposite direction. I’m pretty sure the road over there divides into two routes after you clear the forest.”

“Then that’s where we’ll ambush them. Once they enter the wider exit, we don’t stand a chance, so we have to lead them back into the forest.” Armin turns to Sasha. “Can you lead us there? We’ll have to head back to camp first, get ropes and some other things. But can you bring us over there?”

Sasha takes in the area, lips puckered in concentration. She grins. It isn’t a pleasant sort of grin; too many teeth, too feral. It makes you want to kiss her.

“No problem,” she says at last. “I can get us there fast enough, even without horses.”

Armin heaves a relieved sigh, but his expression quickly turns sour at the sight of having to climb the mountain all the way down again. When Eren notices and offers to give him a piggy-back ride, Armin declines vehemently.

“Okay, so what’s your plan exactly,” Jean asks halfway down the mountain. Whenever he stumbles or trips on loose rocks, his hands shoot out to hold onto Marco to steady himself, which is cute, or onto you, which is annoying because you can’t even carry half his weight.

“We block off the route leading to the wider exit by putting a tree in their way. That’s where the ropes come into play. Three of us will stay at the road fork and detour the carts. The rest will wait ahead until they arrive. I think it’s best only two hide in trees and jump onto the carts to attack them.”

“I’ll go,” Eren immediately says.

“I’ll go, too,” Jean quickly follows up. You want to catch his eye, but he’s staring ahead stubbornly.

“How do we figure out which carriage are Christa and our ODM gear are in?” you ask. Little rocks give away under your foot, but before you can slip, Jean has a strong hand around your arm and hauls you up.

It is Marco that answers: “The ODM gear should be easy. The roads leading back into the forest will be rocky and bumpy. If we hear a rattling sound, we’ll be able to tell.”

“The leftover cans at camp,” Armin says. “We can use them to give the sign.”

Marco nods. “If the equipment is in the first carriage, I’ll pull once. If it’s the one after, then twice. If it’s both, I’ll pull three times.”

“Okay, that’s a fucking great plan,” says Jean. “But let’s hurry back, or else we’ll never catch up to them.”

With every step closer back to camp, putting foot before foot becomes more difficult, as if your limbs are heavy with lead. You don’t want to see Victor’s corpse and be reminded of what happened earlier, but as you move on, with no chance to stand still, you brace yourself for the worst.

The worst you have imagined, it turns out, is still tame compared to the actual sight. Within minutes after he’s died, blow flies have arrived and now swarm around Victor’s blown head. Even from a good few feet away, you see them scurrying around, diving into the openings of his body and the big hole at the side of his face to lay their eggs into his rotting meat.

You try to swallow around the lump in your throat, noticing the sour taste of rising bile spreading inside your mouth. Quickly, you turn away before yesterday’s meal comes back up to greet you.

The sudden movement of you turning around startles Eren, who has crept up behind you, and out of instinct, you guess, he grabs your shoulders to steady you, probably worried you were about to pass out.

“Woah, easy there.” He has to lower his head a little to get to your eye level. “You okay?”

The look on your face must be answer enough, because he winces at his question. “Right, sorry.”

His eyes drift over to Victor’s body, and as you watch him you are surprised there isn’t any strong emotion on his face. No disgust, no sorrow, like having the dead remains of a former comrade—even though he was a bad person and not very kind—is a completely normal thing.

“Uhm, Eren.”

He still isn’t looking at you. “Hm?”

“You can let me go now, I’m good.”

“Oh.” Eren’s eyes sweep over at you. His hands loosen their grip on your shoulders, but instead of falling back to his side, they slowly slide down your arms—as if they have a mind of their own, confused and a little lost without your shoulders as anchors to hold onto.

Eren blinks, gaze darting to your mouth, and then quickly away. “I think that was the first time.”

You roll your shoulders, still feeling the touch of his fingers as if they have seared their imprint through the solid fabric of your jacket right into your skin. “First time for what?”

“That you called me by my name. Not Jaeger.”

“Oh. Well. Almost dying together earns me that privilege, I think.”

He gives a little, dry chuckle. Somehow, you feel that as long as he can laugh, everything is going to be okay. Eren looks at you, slow and hard, and then smiles. His green eyes light up. “Then I have earned it as well,” he says. “[Name].”

You have never thought about your name much before, but when he says it, it is as if you are hearing it for the first time, and suddenly you are aware of how intimate calling each other by the first name is, and how much you like the sound of your name on his lips. Your breath is very short when you repeat, softly, “Eren.”

“Yes?” Amusement glitters in his eyes.

With a sort of horror you realise that you have simply said his name for the sake of saying it; you haven’t actually had a question—you just craved another taste of his name in your mouth. Hastily, you stumble over the words even though you don’t know where they might lead, “When Victor got shot, there was an owl. Wasn’t that weird?”

If he finds your sudden change of topic strange or suspicious, he doesn’t show it. “Weird how?”

“That it was there at all. I didn’t know they’d be so close to the ground when people are around.”

Eren shrugs. “Nothing weird about it. It was probably just looking for food.”

You don’t know much about owls, but that doesn’t seem right. Feel right. You rub your heavy eyelids, feeling a dull throb crawling along the back of your head. Was it all just bad timing? Fate? You don’t know what would have happened if it had been you spinning to the bottom of the Wheel of Fortune.

“We’ve decided you’ll stay with Marco and Armin to give us the signal when to attack.” Eren’s voice is suddenly close as he dips his head to you as if he’s sharing a secret. You blink up at him, ready to argue which he reads in your face as if it is an open book. “[Name], think about it. You’re hurt. Marco is right, you’ve done enough.”

It is hard to argue against this, with your palms cut open and still hurting. Still, somehow you feel like there is more you can do, should do. You move away from Victor’s body, scanning the ground for empty cans. Eren sticks to your side.

“We only get one chance at saving Christa,” he continues. “If we mess it up, she’s as good as dead. Our gear will be gone. But there’s no way we’ll mess this up. We got three cadets from the top here, we’ll save her.”

It’s sweet that he tries to comfort you, thinking your hesitation is because you’re scared of failing. You should just thank him and catch up with the rest.

Instead, you blurt, “Do you like Christa?” and immediately regret having opened your mouth.

Eren blinks as if he’s been knocked off his feet and he’s still trying to understand what has hit him. “She’s a comrade, so … yeah?” He frowns as if you’ve spoken a different language and he’s realising maybe his answer is completely wrong. “I mean, sometimes she creeps me out with all that holier than thou, being super friendly. All that benevolence has to drive her insane at some point. And it’s creepy sometimes.”

That wasn’t what you meant but you’re not too keen to explain what answer you actually want from him.

“Maybe you’re having a hard time understanding her,” you say, noticing how much easier it is to fall back into teasing banter and light-hearted jabs, “because you don’t know how to be nice.”

“I can be plenty nice if I want to.” He narrows his eyes at you, and it feels like there is more behind this; as if there is something else layered in his words but you are missing the respective key to unlock the door and get behind the meaning.

Before you can say anything else, Connie wedges himself between you two. You didn’t even notice how close you and Eren stood.

“Hate to break ya up, but we’re leaving,” he announces. Eyes half-closed, he’s wearing this expression you’ve come to associate with Conny being tired of some shit—you just never expected to get the brunt of it.

He has probably known it long before you.

Everybody has known it long before you, but you were oblivious to the signs, maybe even a little scared to pay them too much attention.

It will still take another two years until you finally find the courage to tiptoe closer to the edge, only to have Eren yank you down into the void with him.

Armin’s plan worked out splendidly, which was a surprise to no one.

After Christa’s heartfelt plea to spare the men, held at blade-edge by Mikasa and Annie who managed to find your group after Armin had used Sasha’s signal flare, Thomas and Bertholdt had rode out to inform the instructors of what had transpired and where the remaining recruits were holding the attackers captive until reinforcements arrived.

Once their headwear was off and you had a good look at the faces of your assaulters, it was easy to see them for what they were: miserable men trying to get by with any means necessary. Thieves and beggars, left of any other civil option to provide for their families.

You couldn’t say it out loud then, but there was no ounce of pity for them inside you. Everybody seemed to simply agree with Christa’s noble spirit, that killing them was wrong; that making them pay for what they did was not the solution. It didn’t sit right with you. Only one look at Eren was enough to tell you he might be the only one sharing that sentiment.

A quarter of a day was all it took for Shadis to arrive, with him the Military Police soldiers from Trost. They took the men away in police carriages, sending them to the inner Wall where they would be judged and locked away. You didn’t want to think what that would mean for their families, the very reason they got into this in the first place. Maybe there are worse things than death.

Depending on how many recruits passed away within three months after the last, obsequies were held at the end of the third month. Because Victor Hoffmann had been the only one, the instructors deemed it sufficient to simply cremate his remains and send them back to his relatives in a simple wooden box with his possessions. Shortly after that, both his friends Albert Kleinstein and Edmund Rowe left the military service. All three, gone. Just like that.

A day after, you had sent a letter to Ida and Felix, asking for every detail from that day seven years ago when you were kidnapped. It was weird, how while you were sitting down and forming the words on the paper, each ink stroke unravelled the tight knot in your stomach—all of a sudden it all had seemed not important anymore. What could you do with that information?

Seven years later, with the villain of your little story dead, and your hero as well. Would knowing change anything for you? Why did it feel as if all the threads and weaves holding you together suddenly became unknitted and the person you see in the mirror every morning appeared to slowly turn into a stranger.

At least the ring hanging on the thin golden chain always remained the same. At least there was one part of your past that remained a constant and steady point around which you rotated—a sun to your star system.

That concludes the low-risk Wasteland Excursion, one you’re sure the instructors will tell every following cadet corps in the years to come.

“Low-risk my ass,” Jean mumbles. His dirty hair falls into his eyes as he leans over his lap, fumbling with a loose screw on his turbine. The tip of his nose is red and his words come out in little puffs and dense clouds. Winter is approaching, fast and hard, and you couldn’t be happier for Ida’s care package to arrive in two weeks with hopefully a new scarf and a warm pair of gloves. Gear maintenance is all that’s left for today, then you’re allowed to hit the showers and call it a day. “Every single one of us should get a fucking medal for putting up with those thieves and catching them.”

“I can already imagine what Shadis would say to that.” You lower your voice. “Are you chipmunks going to expect us to give you a medal every time you return from a fight? Get back after you killed some real Titans and maybe I’ll give you a pat on the shoulder. Now scram.”

“That was a good impression,” Jean allows. “But he would never call us chipmunks.”

“I love chipmunks,” is all Marco contributes before he dives back refilling his gas cylinder.

“I think at least Marco and Thomas should get bonus points for holding the groups together.” You glance over at him, noticing how his hair has grown and how he always brushes it behind his ears whenever he is flustered. “You guys were great leaders.”

“I don’t know if I should have accepted the leader position, to be honest.” Marco smiles sheepishly at you. “But thanks.”

“Why not?” Jean breathes on the metal case of his housing, polishing the surface. “You did a good job. I think it fits you.”

Marco tugs his hair behind his ears. “Nah, I’m not suited to be a leader. You’re more up for that job, Jean.”

At that, Jean looks up. They share a look that seems like a dare. Eventually, Jean goes back to work. “Why’s that?” he asks.

“I don’t think you’re ready to hear it yet. But someday, I’ll tell you.”

“Am I ready to hear it?” you ask.

Marco grins and leans over, his voice very quiet and very deep in your ear. “I just really enjoy looking at him from behind.”

Oh.

He leans away, giving you a quick wink. Your little secret. You’re pretty sure your face is on fire right now.

“What did he say, tell me,” Jean demands.

You mimic sealing your mouth shut and throwing the key away. Jean kicks at your foot in a half-hearted attempt to make you talk. He points a finger accusingly in your and Marco’s direction. “You’re ganging up on me. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Leaving me out? Dear God, don’t make me have to befriend Jaeger.”

“Eren can’t stand you,” you point out.

“Armin, then.”

“Armin’s too smart for you.”

“Keep talking and I’ll dunk your head inside a latrine.”

Marco laughs, but it quickly trickles away into a somewhat sorrowful smile. “Do you guys think we can spend all our days like this?”

“Together?” you ask.

“Mocking each other?” Jean offers.

“Yeah, together.” Marco looks at you two, and he somehow looks much younger and older at the same time. “Jean and I want to join the Military Police and you’ll go to the Garrison, but maybe we can still … you know.” He shrugs a little helplessly. “Still hang out.”

“I think [Name] and I are ready to broaden our horizons, open the gates.” Jean claps his hands, then spreads them wide as if he is a pastor ready to absolve Marco. “Let someone new in and become a trio.”

He wiggles his fingers, looking at you and Marco expectantly. Marco scoots closer, allowing Jean to leisurely throw an arm around his shoulder. Now they both look at you expectantly.

“I’m good, guys,” you say, blowing off fine iron dust from your hooks, satisfied with the result. “There are more priorities on my list, sorry.”

Jean rolls his eyes. “Like what?”

“A long, hot shower.”

Marco sighs, but he is in no hurry to untangle Jean’s arm from his shoulders. “She’s got a point.”

“You can’t run from the Jean-Marco-[Name] sandwich forever,” Jean says, pointing at you. He then turns to Marco. “And to answer your question, no. I don’t think we’ll stay together forever. We grow up, we find our own things to do. But what’s important is that we’re in each other’s hearts … or …. some shit … like that,” Jean finishes quietly at the baffled gazes you and Marco level him with. It takes only one second for his face to become the colour of the red roses on the Garrison soldier’s uniforms, and he quickly tries to hide it behind Ida’s scarf she knitted him two years ago.

“That was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever said, I think,” you say in awe. “Who are you and where is the real Jean?”

“Shut up and go take a shower.” He pushes you off your stool. “Try not to drown or whatever.”

You laugh until the muscles in your face strain, until your belly hurts. You laugh, because it is easier than finding the words that you too wish the same.

All three of you don’t make a promise on it because you know that would be too cruel.

❀❀❀

When you call to me asleep, up the sandy hills I scramble. A single thread hangs limply down, and I breathe, “Not now, not now.” I find you all unwoven, trying desperately to sew. And I know the kindest thing is to leave you alone. Yet I am selfish. I want every part of me to crash into every part of you, and I swear that is how stars are born.

When your seams have come unknitted, and you cry out to the sky, I’ve run out of my words, my song, just let me die, me die. The rockrose and the thistle will whistle as you mourn. I could try to calm you down, but I know you won’t.

All the pins inside your fretted head and your muttered “Whens” and “Hows;” all your mother’s weaves and your father’s threads, let me rob you of them now. Because I will darn you back together when you think that you’re bereft, and you’ll wail, you’ll scream, but I will never stop, because you are all that I have left.

I awake and hear you calling, and up those hills I climb. And I find you with a thimble weeping; “May I”, I ask, “may I?”

And you gently gift it to me because you have no clue how to sew.

And I know the kindest thing—I pray to both our Gods, it is the kindest thing … I know the kindest thing is to never leave you alone.

Rockrose (also cistus of the Cistaceae plant family) in the Victorian language of flowerssymbolizes imminent death.

Thistle: In Celtic countries, the associations are positive, and the flower symbolises resilience, strength, determination, protection and pride. The flower’s purple and pink colours represent royalty. In Victorian England, the thistle signified pain, aggression and intrusion.

These whole last part in cursive are the lyrics of Rockrose and Thistle by The Amazing Devil. I’ve changed a few words to make it fit, but I don’t take credit for this poetic master piece.

***

A/N: y’all, connie knows

so yeah, we got a little more! i'm so eager to hear everyone's thoughts and theories! especially the last part, this song/poem plays a huge role in explaining why Reader (doesn't) remember(s) certain things, or other people recall them differently… interesting, isn't it. i'm happy to be back and can't wait to give you more!! stay healthy everyone!

#aot x reader #aot x you #aot x y/n #snk x reader #snk x you #snk x y/n #eren x reader #eren x you #eren x y/n #eren yeager x reader #phill.stay #swyaatl #eren jaeger x reader

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lumierexfics · 10 months

Text

Chat Name : I am the pretty thing that lives in the dragonfly trunk.

CW : Stockholm Syndrome, Violence, Power Imbalances, Self-deprecation.

Online Users: The Collector, Victim!Reader

<<AO3 Continue?>>

A/N : Elena & Lucello use ASL and it will be in “italics.” And first time writing for The Collector which will make him ooc!

Days, months, possibly even years… The cramped space of the void caused chewing on your fingernails, he didn’t—he was punishing you. Knees pressed against your chest, while your throbbing fingertips felt the emptiness of the trunk. It was your fault, only your fault that he punished you in the trunk. Away from the golden house that held the sun, your former residence whenever he decided that you were good enough to feel the sun and to be embraced by him. It was open.

The fluorescent lights twinkled through a crack, carefully pushing it open. Seeing a girl holding a scalpel, unharmed and shaken.

You slithered around the dragonfly designed trunk, accidentally revealing parts of skin marred by scars and a perfect attempt of scarification underneath the neatly bandage that was exposed. Hands trembling as you tried to calm down the quarrel of thoughts.

“Who are you?” You stammered out. “How did you get out? Did…did he let you out?”

“I’m Elena, who are you?” She replied. “I let myself out. He didn’t.”

“[Name]..” you added, still cautious of Elena.

Your back ran across the cold wall to touch the bottles of makeup remover to wipe it off, seeing your reflection in the shattered mirror. Your trembling hands held the rag that smelled of makeup remover and wiped away the badly painted mask that he had painted on your face. A replacement, she’s your replacement is what spiraled through your head.

Elena managed to crack through your repeated haze of rubbing off the makeup.

“We need to get out of here.” She added, stepping forward towards you. “Do you know your way around here, [Name]?”

“No.” You whimpered out, frantically trying to shrink into yourself and stepping back into the corner. “We can’t…We can’t just leave this room, Elena.”

Her soft hand held out for you to grab, soft melodic voice reassured the distressed state.

“Come on.” She added, attentively.

Each step outside of your room felt terrifying as it was comfortable to let go of Elena’s hand as you trailed behind her. She somehow managed to ask small questions to ease your overwhelming worries.

“What was your life before this?”

“My life,” You said with a light smile, ”was nothing special. He saved me.”

Wallpaper was in tatters with each step while your answer had started the uncomfortable silence. Elena stepped to grab the rusted door knob but you chimed,” You don’t—You won’t like it in there.“

Your eyes darted to the tripwire that Elena was going to step on, she glanced down to the tripwire then up to the chandelier like a bear trap instead of lights were replaced with machetes that threatened to swing down if Elena decided to open the door.

“Thanks, [Name].”

She pulled back from the door as she continued to guide through the never ending maze. Only a few steps away from the bear trap chandelier. An abnormal feeling pooled in your stomach, were you getting sick or did it feel nice that someone was calling you by your name?

Elena flinched, immediately fumbling to fix her hearing aid to stop the high pitched frequency.

“Is something wrong?” You see Elena stop to fix her hearing aid. “Why did you stop?”

“It’s nothing,” she added. “We can continue walking after this, [Name].”

Silence was penetrating through your fragile mind, the crunching of dust and drywall debris on your shoes stopped. You stared at the back of Elena. She is your replacement. He was getting disinterested in your forced behavior. He needed something new to mold and break because it wouldn’t get it from you since he’d broken you down many times where it became aggravating and predictable.

“[Name],” she whispered, urging you to come forward, “come on. We are almost at the end of the hallway.”

“You’re going to replace me.” You stepped back, legs trembling. “I don’t want to be replaced. He will get rid of me, I don’t want to…”

Elena stepped closer as your shoulder touched the peeling wall. You didn’t want her touch—didn’t want the touch or soothing words of the replacement.

“You weren’t even supposed to get out!” You cried out.

“Shh..” Elena trembled out, pushed her hands to push down to lower your voice. “Be quiet, okay?”

“He’s testing me, again!” You tugged at pieces of clothing or hair. “Get away from me!”

You slapped her while your hands trembling and quiet sobs left your lips, seeing that you caused a cut on her cheek. You were no different than him. She held her bleeding cheek, eyes widening at him. Familiar crunch of drywall underneath his black boots, causing you to slide down and hide away from him within yourself; mirroring a shell. You trembled, remaining in the same spot as he continued down the hallway with ease to chase after Elena. Moments later, he returned; empty handed.

“My dragonfly,” he hummed, kneeling down to your curled up position, “you aren’t behaving like you should. Don’t you want to go back to the golden house, only good bugs get to go there. Remember?”

You nodded while your tearstained face looked up at him. Eyes that were pitch black almost like mirrors, reflecting your misery back to him for him to drink up. He was close while your shoulder could touch his chest. You dusted yourself off to follow him, he stopped letting you pass him while you heard voices talking about Elena.

Unsteady feet while you tried to steady yourself and covering your eyes from the bright light that shined against your face and looking at the two men who were at a distance.

“I know where she is,” you said. “But you’ve got to get me out of here.”

“Elena,” the man in the black long sleeves asked, “Is she alright?”

“I don’t know,” you replied. “We got separated by him.”

The man in the black long sleeves begrudgingly gave his name which was Lucello and the man always had a worried expression on his face and wore a dirtied gray tank top also begrudgingly gave his name which was Arkin.

He cautiously allowed you to guide them to where Elena was while the gun that he held was pressed against your back to ensure full loyalty and honesty. You led them to a part of the hotel where it was dark and the only light that guided the path was the moonlight as it shined revealing wires and extension cords forcefully turning a corner.

“That way.” You pointed to the darkly lit hallway.

“Are you sure?” Lucello asked, stepping in front of you and aiming his flashlight to the hallway.

Lucello stepped forward as you and Arkin were about to follow till a scream echoed from the other hallway. Lucello turned around to walk towards the other hallway.

“No. No, no, no,” you pleaded, desperately.

Your pleas went unheard. Arkin’s hand replaced Lucello’s gun, still forcing you forward. Up the stairs as your legs trembled, the screams echoed throughout the abandoned hallway. A seed of doubt seemed to be growing in Lucello’s head.

“It’s not Elena.” Arkin said, softly. “It’s Paz.”

The wallpaper peeled off more with each step, Lucello stopped walking forward and backtracked a few steps down as the doubt carefully etched onto his injured face.

“Where are you going?” Arkin asked, repeatedly.

“It’s a trap,” he explained. “He’s trying to lure us away from Elena.”

“And you’re going to let Paz die?” Arkin asked.

“My only objective here is to save Elena.”

“Stop with the objective,” he stated. “Don’t you hear that?”

Almost on cue the cries of Paz became unbearable, strengthening the words of Arkin. Lucello handed Arkin a switchblade from his pocket.

Lucello guided the passage to the room, decorated with mannequins with hats or wigs and sometimes with blood. The metal door shut, the window fogged up enhancing the rows of cube designs on it. Wind pulsated the foggy tarps as it mirrored a beating heart. The hallway that eerily had no door and where the screams continued.

“Stay with them,” he ordered. “Stay with them.”

Each rumble of drywall underneath Lucello’s boots couldn’t quiet the rising melody in his chest. Each tarp that he pulled back would guide him closer and closer to saving Paz.

You watched Arkin, he noticed the cords attached to the mannequins and how they led to where Lucello was. The screaming of Paz was cut short by Elena’s voice who reassured her. Your hands trembled, tightly holding onto Arkin’s forearm and watching Lucello’s back hit the metal netting, carefully rising and untangling yourself from Arkin.

“That way,” you said.

Arkin took the first steps as Lucello ushered you forward. You heard the desperate pleas of Paz as Elena's voice would try to help and unbind her wrists but it didn’t seem to work. Watching from the shadows, you couldn’t bring yourself to go towards the group. After, what you did to Elena’s face. You saw Elena and Lucello hugged, almost wondering how it felt to be embraced by someone that cares.

“You’re safe, Elena,” he stated. “I’m here. We will get you out of here.”

”But,” she said,”what if—“

”No,” he interrupted. “No, what ifs. You’re going to make it out and you’ll go home to your father, Elena.”

You carefully emerged from behind the door frame to embrace the light, your worried eyes scanned the room seeing how everyone was trapped in their own little bubble. Your eyes accidentally caught Elena’s.

Elena pulled Lucello’s sleeve to get his attention.

“They are a bit irrational, Lucello..”she added. “Just keep a close eye on them.”

”Right.” He looked at you, intently; seeing your clean clothes that were hiding or revealing the punishments that he inflicted.

You noticed the eyes staring at you, which wanted you to cower away from the room.

“I think I know a way out,” Elena chimed out.

Elena guided the way to a different room which caused you to shiver yet surprisingly it wasn’t as worn down like the other rooms. You distanced yourself from them, your back touched an exposed wire that was connected to a camera trapped inside of a stomach of plastic babydoll which caused you to flinch. You covered your ears from the bullets of Lucello’s gun. It was getting more loud and unfamiliar to you. Your stomach turned and twisted, hands trembling.

“I’m going to lock the door,” you admitted, softly. “So he’ll have to find another way in…”

Your veins burned while you clinked the lock close. At this point, there was no point of return, it slipped from your fingers. You wanted to cry out to alert him but for some reason, your voice couldn’t be cracked out. The plastic light bulbs on the chandelier flickered and completely stopped. Your eyes darted to the immediate creaking of the double doors to where he stood. Your hands tightened the grip on your ears while you curled up on the red carpet, hearing the screams and struggling of Elena as she was taken once more by hi—The Collector.

You wept softly, not wanting to stay in the room. Arkin grabbed one of your shoulders since one of his arms was in a cast that was stained with blood.

“I should’ve never left the trunk,” you mumbled to soothe yourself. “It’s my fault, all my fault!”

“Hey,” he carefully shook your shoulder. “Look at me! You’ve got to stay here! You’re in this room, not in a trunk. Now, where are you?”

“In,” you said,”in this room…I’m not in the trunk anymore.”

Arkin slowly nodded, as you repeated his action of slowly nodding. Your watering eyes drifted towards Lucello’s hand that held the trigger to shaking spiked claws. Paz opened the double doors as you stayed with Lucello to try and help him.

“You look familiar,” he stated, nonchalantly. “What’s your name?”

You handed him the severed hand of a near decayed body to use as the replaced weight for his hand.

“It’s [Full Name].” You replied.

Lucello looked puzzled for a bit then a light of recognition washed over his face as he heard your last name.

“[Last name] case?” He asked.

You covered your ears hearing the immediate flesh of Lucello’s hand being ripped as he quickly responded by putting the severed hand on it before the spiked claw dropped down and chomped down on the hardened floor. You ripped strips of your clothing to act as a bandage for Lucello’s wound.

“You have family—“ he said, before you interrupted him.

“No, I don’t.” You tightly wrapped and tied the strip of cloth on his hand. “They died, he killed them. I don’t have anybody.”

You and Lucello walked fast paced in the hallway, reaching the collector’s prized collection of macabre artwork that he painstakingly worked hard on. Some jars held live arachnids, perfectly pinned butterflies hung on the wall. Your hands trembling, rubbing your knuckles; remembering earlier how you refused to enter the dragonfly trunk, The collector had detested this act of disobedience from you. As his response was to repeatedly slam close the trunk till you pulled back your hands. But it was your fault, you knew that his anger was palpable. You should’ve listened to him.

Your eyes darted to the struggle of Arkin and the Collector then your eyes darted to the fresh corpse of Paz lying down while the fresh blood spilled from the fatal wounds on her back. Elena clutched her side while banging on the metal doors. It was clear that Arkin was losing his fight against the Collector. Lucello snapped, seeing Elena holding her bleeding side.

You sneaked behind the macabre artwork, hoping that they would act as an outer shield. Macabre artwork that were perfectly severed limbs stitched together to form insect-like statues; praying mantises, hair that to mirror that of butterfly wings. Help, help him. Your brain gnawed at each slice, each punch that Lucello managed to get on The Collector. But you could notice something beautiful in the struggle of survival that they’re movements almost mimicked a dance. The dance reached its peak as Elena’s screams were the soft instruments of the dance and where the Collector ended the dance on his own accord by repeatedly stabbing the fallen Lucello. The collector wasn’t done, he was far from done, he needed to fix the corrections in his museum.

The flames burned brighter, more invasive. Your hands flinched back, accidentally touching the flames. It was turned for the worse, Arkin was on top of the Collector, repeatedly punching his masked face. He couldn’t die. Arkin purpose pressed on the open wounds that Lucello left.

You crossed the fiery paths, your arm was pulled back into Elena’s grasp. Elena desperately tried to ground you to the present to help her bang on the door to get the attention of the ever so distant firefighters. You turned around to see how the struggle between Arkin and the Collector continued as a hoarse scream left your lips, seeing Arkin push the Collector down the ruined laundry chute before ripping a piece of his dirtied gray tank top, watching him throw the lighted piece down the laundry chute.

You watched as Hotel Argento’s flames were secured and put out. You dried your tears for the collector while the paramedics added stitches to minor injuries that he inflicted. It was comforting feeling the cold breeze on your skin. You watched Arkin walk over to the open three trunks, stained with blood except for your dragonfly trunk.

“Which one was yours?” Arkin asked, trying to somewhat brighten the mood as he lightly kicked the red trunk. “This one was mine.”

“It’s not here,” you responded with a smile plastered on your face. “It has a dragonfly pattern on it. He loves me.”

#the collector x reader #the collector (2009) x reader #the collector (2012) x reader #asa emory x reader #slasher x y/n #slasher x you #slasher x reader

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postwarlevi · 2 years

Note

You and Jean are bee keepers!

How does it go? Do you sell just honey, or do you make things with it and sell? What's your shop looking like?

Beekeeping?! Ohhhhh, I got a lot to learn on that!

Also I know I told you but I went doing research so that's why it took me a minute to get to this haha! Thaaaank you! OMG I had fun with this!

But it makes sense (I think) cause we have some new fruit trees and bushes that would love bees help and vice versa, and a small sunflower and lavender garden. And if I've learned one thing from going to the market, it's bees love sunflowers!

So, Jean and I read up on it and decide we can do it! Get our supplies and set up 6 hives to start with (we read as a hobby 20 is manageable for 2 people but we're just getting started!) and contact another local keeper to get some bees!

We let them be at first and in no time at all they're showing up around the garden. There's a huge space for them to go so usually don't see more than a couple at a time in one spot.

I'm kind of afraid at first even with the gear on so kind of watch Jean from afar fumble his way through checking on all the bees and have a mini panic attack when he asks for my help. Yes Jean, I knew what we were getting into, but no, I didn't now what we were getting into!!

But we do it! From what we learned we only check on them every week or so and don't take honey too early, so instead focus on keeping everything in order and if there's overcrowding start more hives. We get up to 10!

I get less afraid over time and with more practice we both feel comfortable and I love how the bees are affecting our garden! Not to say I haven't gotten stung once or twice. My fault, I'm sure. Thankfully neither of us are allergic!

Eventually it is time! These really are busy bees and we learn how to harvest from the hive and are not too efficient at first and only get through half in a day before it gets too late, and finish the next day. Though it's safe to eat the honey right from the honeycomb we learn to filter it and separate the honey from the comb and save it for wax!

We start looking into all sorts of things to do. Honey is the obvious and we think about our garden and how much it's thriving and figure out how to make lavender infused honey! With the beeswax we learn to make lip balms and hand salve!

We save some things for ourselves and pay to get a small tent open at our local market and call friends we know to come down and we are sold out by mid day!!

We have filtered honey, honey lip balms and hand salves, all with or without lavender.

We are totally over the moon and would like to continue. We both decide a little more hard work will pay off and double our hives. We are careful not to bother them though so only commit to once a month at the market, and by month three need a bigger stall.

New products are raw honey, honey and beeswax soap, with or without lavender, lavender candles, and this yummy sunflower seed and honey wheat bread. People call ahead to request it, and thankfully it doesn't use much honey and we have LOTS of sunflower seeds! Our lip balm is also a big seller.

Sometimes we have to switch out what products we have and start a website with when we'll be at the market and what we're selling that week. We let people order ahead to be prepared with how much to bring. The candles get requested for birthdays and people as if we do gift baskets. Those could be on the way!

And we're looking to expand even more! First with the types of honey we have with a citrus, either orange blossom or lemon, and also blackberry. Then small bottles of lavender essential oil, and bottles of sunflower oil. We're also looking into a honey and coconut oil face wash and a natural deodorant.

Everything in our garden is for the bees, and it's because of them, that we are so successful. Our garden is growing with more space and the new fruit trees/bushes. We still have our regular jobs but this is making us a pretty penny to put aside :)

#jeliza #self ship #beekeeping #please i tried #if i got anything wrong i'm sorry #and it's just for fun #this seems so amazing!#I want a stall at a market with Jean now!

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admhawthorne · 1 year

Text

“You want to know who I made it here?” Kiryu snorted as he leaned back in his chair and glanced amusedly around his plush fortress. “Alright, in the beginning, I was confused because it shouldn’t have worked. The goddess who sent me here told me I’d develop powers and abilities as I leveled up, but there it was. I’d somehow managed to enable God Mode through the most well-known cheat code humans from our world have ever known. That had to be some Celestial programmer’s idea of a joke, but I took it.”

Nodding for the adventurer to sit in one of the conformable seats nearby, Kiryu chuckled. “Don’t look so surprised. You’re not the first the Celestial Temple has sent here, and neither am I.” He poured two glasses of wine from a freshly opened bottled, set one down for the adventurer, and began to slowly sip from the other. “The first thing I did was max everything out include my gold, bought the finest armor and weapons, and purchased all the maps so I could get a feel for the world instead of rambling blindly through it. It took me a couple of days to make it to the final boss’s lair, and, when I made my way inside, I quickly realized this was going to be a cakewalk.”

The adventurer took a cautious sip of the wine, decided it was fine, and took another, larger sip. “But why?”

“Because I was severely over leveled. I was ten levels above the final boss. It would’ve taken me a decade or more to grind enough to hit that level on my own.” Kiryu finished his wine and set the glass down. “I one-shotted him, which brought the goddess immediately into the world. She praised me for my heroics, talked about her confusion in how I’d accomplished everything so quickly, and then she told me I could ask her one question before she took me from this land and into the afterlife.”

The adventurer swallowed hard, flinching at the cold look in Kiryu’s eyes. “W-what did you ask?”

“I asked her if this world would cycle through this whole huge evil destroys peaceful civilians until an adventurer comes to save them thing, which surprised her. Evidentially, it was something she’d never been asked. I assumed she’d say no because that would make sense. After all, I had just taken out the boss, so the world should be fine. Instead, she told me yes.”

“Yes?” The adventurer nearly fumbled their wine glass. “B-but why?”

Kiryu’s hands flexed in and out of fists. “Because this was her world, and she had decided it was one she would use to test the might of humans as she saw fit. Of course, I was appalled. There are real people living here; they’re not pawns in a goddess’s cruel games.”

Nodding, the adventurer seemed to be thinking very hard as they stared at Kiryu. “You’re telling the truth.”

“You must have the lie detector ability. Good. Use it as much as you want. In fact, here,” Kiryu waved his hands and several mana potions appeared, “to keep up your magic so you can continue to see I’m telling you the truth.” He stood and began to pace about his study. “I was this world’s hero, its savior, and I’d just learned that its goddess was also its biggest enemy. I couldn’t stand by and watch her keep doing this to these poor people over and over again, so I did what I thought was just.” He turned to face the adventurer. “I killed her.”

“So, you did kill a goddess!” The adventurer stood to face Kiryu, hand slowly going to their sword.

“No, I killed the final boss, and now you have to make a decision. Do you listen to the Celestial Temple and believe them when they say I’ve committed a heinous and unforgivable act, or do you side with me and remain here to continue protecting this world from the Celestial Temple’s cruel games? Which is it, Dawn. Choose wisely.”

Dawn could see Kiryu was still speaking truths, and she knew the Temple was often manipulative and self-serving. She’d spent a lot of time with the people of this world, and they were good, kind folks who didn’t deserve to be used as fodder. Sighing, she sheathed her sword.

“I can’t go back. They’ll either kill me or wipe my memory,” she stated sadly as she slid back down into her chair.

“You’re welcome to stay here. There’s plenty of room in this fortress for the both of us. Help me protect this land and its people,” Kiryu offered as he held his hand out in a gesture of welcome.

“I’m not like you, Kiryu. I’m not strong enough to hold up against a fight with gods,” she defeatedly replied.

He shook his hand at her, urging her to take it. “But you could be. Agree to stay. Pledge to protect this world, and I’ll tell you how.”

Looking up at him, she slowly took his hand and stood. “Alright. I pledge myself to protecting this world and its people until my dying breath.”

He smiled at her, his eyes dancing with excitement. “Good. Now, let me remind you of the Konami code…”

#admhawthorne #tumblr writing prompt

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911nmg · 2 years

Text

Bring me out of the dark

YThis is the second chapter of a Bucky/Nat normal life au fic I’ve been writting.

The complete series can be found on AO3.

The themes are quite dark so this are the trigger warners for this chapter:

TW: Implied/Reference torture

TW: PTSD, flashbacks

Can’t sleep! Can’t breathe!

Bucky’s POV

The alarm finally went off, marking another sleepless night. The wait was over, I had given it my best shot, done everything I was supposed to, and it had still backfired.

Either way, I had to get going. Steve was going to be here in a couple of hours, and getting ready on one arm definitely took longer than it used to with both.

I brewed myself some coffee and fumbled with the plastic knife, trying to both keep the bagel in place and spread jam over it was still hard, no matter how many times I practiced with the occupational therapist.

He hadn’t managed to teach me as many new motor patterns as we both would have liked, turned out I was a complete lefty, so turning to my right hand was nightmarish, however Clint was definitely a master when it came to adaptations. From weighted plastic cutlery, to squeezable bath product bottles marked with different shaped gomets, even the meal delivery service I was subscribed to had been his idea!

He had said it was a blessing with two kids under five, and he swore by it. I definitely could see why. Nutritious food made in five to ten minutes in the microwave. It had been hard dealing with the beeping in the beginning, but now it saved me so much frustration and time.

The pang started on my missing fingers, then made its way up. Awoken by the single beep the machine emitted, or maybe the slightly burnt smell of the bacon.

- Fuck. Not again!

There was no arm anymore, just a big scar following my collarbone and a patch of scarred leathery skin. Yet the hot pain radiating from my nonexistent wrist up was a daily occurrence.

- There's nothing there - I repeated the useless mantra, closing my eyes and rubbing at the air, as if I could get my muscles to relax - There’s nothing there, there’s nothing there, there’s nothing there...

I proceeded as usual, pushing the white, hot, pulsating pain to the back of my mind, and placing the bacon on the other half of the bagel. Bitter, sweet and savory, the best combination of tastes for a breakfast if you asked me.

Taking my pajamas off was another thing I still struggled with. Well... the dressing and undressing in general, even with adapted clothing. Clint had made a joke about seeing me naked more than his wife, but to work through the frustration was the only way out, right?

Showering was another task that had changed quite a bit. It had to be done in the dark, since looking at my body just... I was swinging there. My arms numb and my body exposed. A canvas for their anti american sentiments. Blades, knives, razors, even scissors...

- You are safe - My ragged breaths hurt my insides - You are home.

Name five things! Five things... White tiled floor! I took a long breath of air and kept it inside. Navy towels, wicker laundry hamper... I allowed the air out, exhaling as slowly as I could. It still came in short ragged breaths. Then repeated the process. Dirty mirror, gomet coded bottles, Steve’s red toothbrush still on the cup...

Once my breath had evened out I showered quickly: in, shampoo, soap, rinse, conditioner, comb, rinse, out.

Spray deodorants were the best, no caps to fumble around. Boxers were hard to slide up with only one hand and not looking down, it could be done. Socks though were the death of me.

I had started using a contraption where you slid the sock on, then lowered it to the ground and pushed the foot through. It was one of those teleshopping things I’d thought useless before the war, but it was surprisingly effective.

A soft gray t-shirt followed, it was new, something Peggy had bought for me at Decathlon for its breathability. The empty long sleeve hanging limp at my left side felt disconcerting, so I just yanked at it until the stitching gave up. Better.

Then came jeans, he had graduated out of his joggers a month back, they still had to contain elastic though, and they’re closed with a big snap hidden underneath the metal button.

Finally shoes, I checked the alarm clock, 8:10, the time was close to Steve’s arrival. I had changed to slip on sneakers and zipped boots, I’d rather forget how expensive my wardrobe change had been, hadn’t it been for Pops inheritance I’d have had to rely on the charity of my friends, burdening even more. Not that it was unexpected, the army didn’t treat his veterans exactly well, not even those with a bunch of medals. Had learnt it the hard way when the colonel came back from Iraq.

There were steps up the creaky stairs. Knocking followed - Bucky. It's me, Steve. The key turned on the lock. I stared at the door, willing myself to stay seated on the bed, as calm as possible, as my friend used the spare key to let himself in.

- No knife? - He teased - What a boring welcome.

I had finally managed to stop standing guard, knife in hand any time someone came near my door, or knocked, it felt good, him acknowledging my progress in a lighthearted way.

Steve came every saturday morning to help me with the house. Some things weren’t possible on my own anymore: riding my bike or playing guitar were the ones that hurt the most, however, on a scale of usefulness it had more to do with changing my sheets and sweeping and mopping the floors. He also took me to therapy, unsure I’ll go if left to my own devices, and kept me company afterwards, in case I became a fucking mess of nerves.

- Here - He throws a stack of papers at me - Read through and tonight you can ask Tony for any clarifications.

- What’s this?

- The Bionic project, you are in, if you want.

The NYU logo occupied half of the page, then were the names: Stark, Banner, Strange, and a bunch of medical organizations. I could have an arm again?! A functioning one?

- I thought severe PTSD disqualified me.

- Tony has his ways - He started rummaging around the house, finding every speck of dust and fighting any dirt with his usual obsession. A given when getting sick as a child could mean dying at any time.

I skimmed through the pages, I could grasp the basics of the science behind it: intramuscular electrodes would be placed at the base of my neck, circumventing the damaged area, then connect to a fixed metal plate that would act as a processor and allow access to my injuries, then a complete bionic arm would attach to that.

Risks: worsening of phantom pain, complete paralysis and even death.

- How come they’ve founded this? The risks are severe...

- They had success with under the knee, over the knee, and along the arm amputations so...

- Do you trust this?

He smiled softly, warmth coming through in his voice - I’ll trust Tony with my life.

- Then it’s done - I searched for a pen, and in a blurry penmanship I signed my name at the end of the informed consent formulaire.

- Maybe you should talk it out with doctor Sullivan before making a rushed decision.

- You have too much faith in that woman.

- And you, far too little.

He grabbed my leather jacket and pushed me to the door and into the car. The ride was smooth and quiet, interrupted only when I realized - Wait? Did you say we’re meeting Tony tonight?

- We’re going to the ballet. All of us. It’s Natasha’s debut as Giselle, and as a principal dancer with the company. Tony got us tickets at the front box.

- That must be expensive.

- Don’t think about it.

- Stevie, you’ve all done so much for me this past year, I... I don’t want to be a burden - I stared at my feet, guilt had its way of turning my stomach, as if someone had stabbed me at the gut. A feeling I could definitely pinpoint with accuracy.

- This is what friends are for - He retorted.

- I’m such a fuck up...

He squeezed my thigh, hard, stopping the shake in my body - You haven't slept in a while, have you?

- Not really.

- You start spiraling when you stop sleeping.

- Do I?

He gave me a pointed look - You aren’t taking the sleeping pills.

- I get nightmares with those.

- Then get Sullivan to change them!

- You don’t get it...

- You’d rather stay awake than face the memories, I get it. But your body is going to give out eventually, Buck.

I promised to think about it and entered the old building. Sam worked there during the week, in the child protection department, that’s how we got to meet the doctor, and his double duty as both a psychiatrist and therapist. “Global approach to trauma therapy” was Sam’s pitch to Steve, and he had forced me into it ever since.

- James - She called softly, trying not to startle me, as if I hadn’t been listening to the muffled voices, her armchair moving and the door opening.

- Tense already? - She closed the door behind us, again with minimal force, and I struggled with having her in my blindspot - I haven’t even started to prood at you for information yet.

Sarcasm, that was the only reason I had stayed on therapy with her, I couldn’t take a sympathetic shrink with a “poor you” approach.

She sat on a comfy armchair opposite me, taking her black notebook from the side table and placing it over her crossed legs.

- How’s your week been?

- Good.

She sighed - This is not going to work if you are not honest, James. You know it. Stop wasting both our time.

- It was relatively good - I insisted, because it had been - I went to OT twice, had my three meals a day, manageable phantom pain.

- Did you go out with friends?

- Tonight.

She seemed kind of impressed, her softly wrinkled face keeping a smile in check - How about showering? Has it gotten any easier?

I nodded no, she took note.

- Are you keeping the stump clean? We don’t want you taking antibiotics until we create a new super resistant bacteria, do we?

- When I shower I do wash it.

- When? Aren’t you showering everyday, lieutenant?

I seethed at that - Do, not, call, me, that - I knew I was being disproportionated but I didn’t care. James Buchanan Barnes, the hero, discharged with honors and a raise through the ranks, recipient of a purple heart. That wasn’t me.

- Don’t raise your tone with me, young man - She replied, scolding me as if I were a kid.

- Sorry - I got back on my sofa. When had I risen from my place? - Shouldn’t have threatened you.

- Shouldn’t have triggered you, either - She shrugged - I have to, though.

She pondered the following question with care - Are you refusing to take sleeping pills because you think of it as a sign of weakness?

- No! - I scoffed at the idea - I just don’t want to sleep!

- I know your dad was diagnosed with PTSD as well - So she had decided to push my buttons - He refused treatment, didn’t he?

- The colonel did what he thought best.

- Drank himself to sleep?

I found my fists rolled up and tried to relax, slow steady breaths - I’m here. And I’m not falling for that.

- So you are getting how many white nights a week?

- Four, maybe five - I squirmed in my seat - They tend to come together, three nights in a row, then I sleep for one or two, then I stay awake again for a couple days.

- We can search for a medication that helps with the nightmares, James - She tried to coax me softly - You’re doing so well in other areas, but we can’t make progress if you don’t get to sleep.

- I’m fine.

She resigned herself, pushing her back to her seat, widening the distance she had shortened between us.

- Have you been able to see yourself naked?

My brows might have reached the ceiling, because she bursted out laughing at my shock - What? Are you prudish, James?

- Didn’t expect the question. And no, I’m still showering in the dark and dressing without looking down.

Honesty. I couldn’t watch the scars and stay present, no matter how much I tried.

- How about cutting your hair.

- No buzzing, no scissors.

- We could try it here, you know? I could cut your hair while we work on grounding techniques, that way I can see if you are applying them correctly.

- You? You want to cut my hair?

- I want you to face the trauma in a controlled environment. If you’d prefer a striptease is fine by me.

That time I did laugh. Seemed like a good compromise.

- How about we try? We can stop at any point.

- Now?! - I keep a pair of scissors in my bag. Come here.

She made me sit on the carpet in front of her and started chatting. What would I be doing that night, had I watched any good tv series lately, anything to keep me grounded.

Yet, the moment the scissors closed near my ear and its sound registered, I went back. I was going to die. Another shiny metallic object impacted against my back, lodging itself between my shoulder bones, a sharp cry. I was going to die. Someone slashed through my abs, warm sweet blood dripped onto my pants and the concrete floor. I was going to die.

- James - She sounded as if we were underwater - James, look at me - She slapped my face lightly until I locked eyes with her - You are home, you are safe, say it.

- I... I’m home, I’m safe?

- You are. You are safe - She promised, nodding with all her might - Say it again.

I’m home, I... I’m safe.

- Come on, sound convinced!

- I’m home. I’m safe.

- Good - She kept rubbing circles in my back until I stopped shaking, forcing me to repeat the words again, and again, and again.

- I’m such a fuck up... - There were tears rolling down my face.

- You need help. That’s it - She sentenced.

- What I need is a bullet through my brain.

She grimaced but said nothing, she didn't seem to find it as serious as previous times because she didn’t call for a psychiatric hold at the nearest hospital. Maybe knowing Maria had taken my gun also helped.

- It’s quite probable you’ll crash in a while, panic attacks tend to strip one of energy - Still, please, go out tonight. And take this - She placed a prescription on my hand.

- I bet a hundred dollars that if you take them every night, next week won’t be as hard. But you have to take them. - Easiest hundred bucks of my life - I accepted, letting her help me from the floor.

She had been right, as fucking always, I had crashed just after lunch, but Steve had followed her instructions and woke me up. I appreciated it. And Steve was ecstatic at the chance to show me the huge banner occupying the side of the building. It was a photo of a waifish woman in a long white tutu, red hair in a bun, pained eyes barely looking at the camera, soft arms raised above her head and a splash of freckles across her skin. She was gorgeous. Natasha.

You can read the whole work here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/41646183/chapters/104463261

#winterwidow #buckynat #bring me out of the dark #normal life au #chapter 2 #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes

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