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ceilingfrogs · 4 months

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(Based on this prompt)

“You taste like how wet dogs smell,” Chiara complained, retching into the pink bucket they usually reserved for cleaning. She was sitting her coffin, head close to disappearing within the bucket so as to avoid any unwanted spillage. The satin lining her coffin was a bitch to clean after all.

“OK. First, rude. Second, that makes no fucking sense,” Devin said, standing in the doorway of the dark room, his large bulk blocking out most of the light from the hallway, the smell emanating from the bucket keeping him well away.

“You gave me food poisoning!” She hissed at him, fangs extended, eyes blood red.

“You tried to eat me!” Devin squawked back, hands raised in exasperation.

“I only wanted a snack,” Chiara moaned in between retches.

“That’s what the blood bags are for.”

“But they never taste as nice,” she spat out the last of her bile into the bucket. Amazing how much vomit such a small person can expel. “It’s not like I would have killed you,” and then under her breath, “Maybe.”

“Heard that.”

“Stupid werewolf hearing,” she muttered to herself and, subsequently, to the werewolf.

“No,” Devin said, “You’re just a terrible whisperer.”

Chiara hissed again, fangs gleaming under what little of the hallway light managed to sneak past Devin’s mass.

Devin was unimpressed. It’s hard to be intimidated by a vampire cowering her coffin because she’s got a bit of a tummy ache.

“I can’t believe you never told me,” Chiara said, making sure to infuse as much betrayal in her voice as she could.

“Honestly, I thought you knew. I mean, what the fuck do you think I was doing every full moon?”

“I don’t know. I just thought you were PMSing or something.”

“PMSing?” Devin asked, more bewildered than exasperated now.

“Some people’s cycles can get very violent,” Chiara said defensively.

“I don’t think going into the woods to slaughter innocent rabbits to satiate one’s bloodlust is a very common symptom of PMS.”

“Goes to show how much you know,” Chiara huffed and finally done retching, placed the pink bucket on her coffin-side table.

She bundled herself up under layers and layers of deep red blankets, not dissimilar in colour to the blood red satin of her black, ornate coffin which paired nicely with the red and black floral wallpaper. Chiara had a theme and she stuck with it admirably.

“Though that would explain all the raw steaks you consume,” Chiara said, after a moment’s reflection, “And your hatred of the postman.”

“Maybe if Rony were better at his job, I wouldn’t need to hate him.”

Chiara sat up suddenly, dozens of blankets pooling into her lap.

“Wait. Are you the one who’s been digging holes in the garden?”

Devin thought about defending himself, thought about outright lying, but he’d never been very good at that, “I needed somewhere to bury all my bones,” he finally admitted.

“You arsehole! You blamed it on the neighbour’s pomeranian.”

“Sprinkles is hardly innocent; she is an equal participant in the excavation work.”

Chiara was about to retort before she leaned over the coffin, only just managing to get her head over the bucket in time for more fluid to spew out of her mouth.

She groaned as dramatically as she could in her state, and threw her covers over herself, burrowing into the fabric until there was nothing but her deep red eyes and a thin sliver of her pale face—paler than usual—peaking out.

Devin did feel a bit bad about the whole thing, mostly because Chiara was looking especially pathetic and especially small in her oversized coffin (she needed the XL coffin because, apparently, she liked to stretch out during her slumber; Devin thought she just liked to be ostentatious).

“Why don’t I go and find you a nice human you can eat? Would that make you feel better?” Devin asked.

“It might,” she said, her voice muffled. She peered out from underneath the blanket. “Could you get me a type O+?”

“Okay. Type O+.”

“And a virgin?” She asked, pushing her luck.

“Alright, a virgin,” he sighed, rolling his eyes.

He turned away and made to close to the door only to stop when her small voice emanated once again from the pile of blankets.

“Could you clean the bucket before you go?”

“Of course,” Devin stepped into the room, breathing through his mouth.

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astrognossienne · 2 years

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scorpio: a rich conspectus

*the zodiac sign of Scorpio, Luigi Gonzaga (1500/2-1532), with inscription: Qui Vivens Laedit Morte Medetur (Who wounds when alive, heals when dead).

The aforementioned phrase is all you need to know about Scorpio. They will cut you down to size for seemingly no reason only to build you back up when they see you down and out. This is the Pluto in them. They’re not designed to make sense - hell, I’m sure they don’t even understand why they do the things they do. Scorpio is the zodiac sign that is possibly the most unnecessarily calculating and sneaky yet they’re intensely irrational and emotional as well. They are always on guard expecting someone to cross them which makes them paranoid about betrayal. The paranoia leads to the sneakiness. It’s as if they always have to stay ahead of you just in case you do something to betray them/their trust. I enjoy watching their emotional and mental gymnastics most of the time, because I can’t understand why that behaviour is necessary and I wonder if they ever get tired. They’re the ones who confide to their closest friend their guilt over the shitty way they’ve treated their family/friends/love interests. This is the only zodiac sign represented by an INSECT...a poisonous one, but an insect nonetheless. Like the scorpion and the frog, it’s in their nature to sting. Since they’re so full of venom, they feel the need to distribute it on others and/or self-immolate on their own bile. You see, even if their perfect match fell into their lap, they are too controlling, self-destructive, reactive, and stupid to not destroy it. It’s funny hearing Scorpios call themselves “loyal and honest” yet they are constantly playing the game of not revealing, and leaving things unsaid, to people they claim to “love”. Very passive aggressive. But of course, unlike everyone else, there's separate laws for them because they are “super sensitive and scared of being hurt” LOL. It’s funny that they brag about being “super-tough” annihilating machines, yet are such snowflakes that they demand special treatment and require protection in case they get hurt. Fascinating.

Scorpios honestly think most signs find them “sneaky” and “mysterious” but the reality is that they just don’t feel inclined to tell their business to everyone. They feel that they have to stay one step ahead because they feel like they can pick up on certain patterns and behaviours from other people. Like Virgos, they do overthink, but they’ve literally predicted the future when it came to certain situations, believe it or not. I don’t find them particularly mysterious, especially if you start observing them. After a small amount of time you can tell what their triggers are because they’ll start to act from their shadow side (shit talking, shit stirring, manipulating, backstabbing, etc). Scorpios, like Cancers and Virgos, are primarily a defensive sign - they generally don't come at you unless you come at them first. Where it gets tricky is if you're dealing with an unevolved and/or insecure Scorpio (of which there are MANY, hence the hate this sign gets). Those people don’t just go for the defense, they are equally as offensive as they are defensive. Those Scorpios tend to be toxic people who confuse someone outshining them or not falling in line kissing their ass as an attack, they’re like all the other fixed signs (as well as Sags and Virgos) that way. Further proof of how pathetic they are is the feigned indifference to being hated and also felt the need to summon other Scorpios to defend what's left of their deservedly shit reputation. Cancer and Scorpio are the signs for survival/self-preservation. If they feel their survival is at stake, even the nicest Scorpio will hit overdrive and do their absolute best to evade or shut down that threat. Remember, like Aries, Scorpio is also ruled by Mars. However, that warrior Martian spirit is intensified by the presence of Pluto. The two planets together (and both rule Scorpio) can be really destructive - and Pluto makes sure the damage lasts. Pluto is an abysmally RUTHLESS planet.

Like the rest of the fixed signs (Taurus, Leo, Aquarius) Scorpios have a HUGE ego but they also tend to be about value. Evolved Scorpios value authentic, preferably intense, emotional interaction and connection. Devolved Scorpios value obsession, worship, sadism, and sycophancy. This is a sign of passion and extremes. Moderation is not in their makeup and the balance embodied by the previous sign of Libra is the anathema to their very being. So that means if Scorpio discovers that another person has used that connection or those interactions to play them for a fool...it can get ugly real quick. Their intensity cuts both ways. It's a violation of one of Scorpio's primary values. Hence they, the sensitive water signs that they are, get hurt to the core. It hurts. And so they take protective measures. That could mean severing the connection with you. Why? Because they valued that connection and it's been exploited. They don’t know how to live with that. Hence they cut you off. It may seem unfair. But that usually is because the person Scorpio sees as exploiting the connection, didn't value the connection. It could also mean an aggressive, combative interaction with them - although interestingly enough, that's actually kind of uncommon with healthy Scorpios. It's hard to explain. It's not like Aries, the sign whose Martian association they share. When Aries blows, it's destructive but they get over it really quickly. Scorpio does NOT. It generally takes longer for a healthy Scorpio to blow and when they do, it's more like a volcano erupting in that whatever happens, however things are resolved, the landscape of the relationship is permanently changed. Aries is a destructive storm that blows over. Scorpio changes the landscape. From what I have seen, if anything, despite their sneaky ways, oddly enough they're some of the realest signs in the zodiac. They're like Sags because they’re blunt and don't like to sugarcoat anything and that's what I like about them. But then again, I don't like overly fake, pc people.

Scorpio takes all that Martian energy and weigh it down with the destructive lead weight of Pluto. Incidentally, lead is the metal associated with Scorpio; iron is Aries’ metal. Lead is softer than iron. But lead is also toxic. It can poison you very easily in small amounts. It also is one of the few sure containers of radiation. If a toxic level of radiation is coming your way, you better jump behind some lead real quick. It will block and protect you. But if that lead container is opened, you get exposed to a level of damage that can't be cleaned up, at least not easily. If you get wounded by an iron weapon and aren't killed, you can most likely be fixed. However, if you get poisoned by lead...well, you better act fast cause if you don't, you’re toast. In other words, Scorpios can be TOXIC. And as self-aware as they like to think themselves as, they have fixed-sign delusions of grandeur and they won't necessarily see that they are toxic. About the vengeful part: yes, they also make a mission out of seeking revenge. This is a misuse of Scorpio energy, and too many of them do it. Scorpios should always avoid that behaviour as best they can because, like Saturn (planet of karma) -ruled Capricorn (and unlike Pisces, as well as a lot of the fire signs - damn, you people get away with murder!), Scorpios always pay for their misdeeds, sooner or later. And it's usually kind of ugly. Deservedly so. So it’s best for them not to dish it out.

If you don’t know who you are, they will ruin your life if you let them get close enough to you. They're good as acquaintances if you're looking for someone to have a good time with and keep it real with you about certain things, but I wouldn't advise the insecure to get too close to them. Needless to say, I've never had my life ruined by a Scorpio but I've observed what they've done to other people and I definitely keep my doubts about Scorpios, as well as my distance; again, they only ruin someone’s life if they think that person is weak (nice, very understanding, give a lot of grace, etc.). When they meet their match (usually a Gemini, Aquarius, Capricorn, or a fire sign) they're total cowards. They’re like Virgos because they think that they know everything and will tell you what you need to do in a heartbeat but can't listen when you tell them the same. They will tell their business, but not everything and when you find it out, you had no clue. Unhealthy Scorpios are always best avoided - and you'll know them by their tendency to always be bullying, underhanded, controlling, dirty, lowdown, abusive, hateful, mean-spirited, scathing, draining, willfully destructive, miserable, don’t like themselves, vengeful, irritable, nitpicky and, mostly, to have a need to control every little thing and every person in every environment they are in. They’re wayyy crazier than Cancer is made out to be. However, their “sexy” and “dark” archetype along with their courage/fixed-sign audacity and compulsion to take things to the limit makes them exciting/interesting to others, hence others turn a blind eye to their antics and ways.

If others have had the unfortunate experience of dealing with an unhealthy Scorpio, I don't blame them for being wary of all members of the sign. But it just might be a good idea though to remember that evolved Scorpios (eagles) are actually really good to have in your corner. They'll have your back, they'll recharge you, they'll show up to help in times of trouble. Like the other water signs and Leos, Scorpios are other people's power chargers - they tend to power up the people they love and value. They tend to recharge people. That's why folks so often ask them for advice or help. And if they love you, they will help you. A lot of times, you may not even see them every day, and then all of a sudden trouble hits you and there they are, sleeves rolled up and ready to dive in. The recipient may not realize it until they do something that damages the relationship (connection) and then they sever it. Suddenly, you've got lower energy levels and you can't figure out why. It was them, charging you up, and now they’re gone. Cancer, Taurus, Capricorn, and Scorpio are the main signs that have a lot of internal power - which must never ever be willfully misused. But with the Plutonic/Martian Scorpio, it’s imperative that they don’t misuse their internal power, because it always comes back to them. With great power, comes great responsibility. Like I said, their intensity cuts both ways. And even if you fail to understand the value of your connection and violate it to the point that a Scorpio cuts you off, a healthy Scorpio will not take vengeance. They know better. As with Cancers, just don't threaten their survival and you'll be fine.

previous tea: capricorn • aquarius • pisces • aries • taurus • gemini • cancer • leo • virgo • libra • scorpio

#end of the season tea #drink well children #scorpio #mine #forgot about them tbh lol #and as per usual the typical responses are coming in 🤪🤣#they’re so predictable

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asunnydog · 9 months

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🎼💿📗

🎼What is your opinion on how music, art, and culture has changed?

"I kinda feel like people traded the event of alotta art fa tha convinence of it: and I ain't hating, but I do still love maself live venue stuff. The streamed stuff don't have the same vibe.

And I dunno, it feels like everything is so fast nowadays, ne? In ma time ta get a full story ya had ta dedicate a whole day fa a play, now people do that in like 2 hours. Art doesn't take weeks of blockprints and painting, ya can type up a story and get it sent out ta world in a snap, and anyone can make videos, which is crazy ta me.

...I dunno if I could keep up, honestly. From a once a week and some books on a shelf ta more entertainment uploaded every minute than someone can go through in a lifetime."

💿What is one (or more) inventions you’re thankful exist in your current time?

"Medicine and Fridges! Thank the gods above fa medicine and fridges! I love long road travels, especially humble train rides, but everyone's mood sours when tha foods start ta.

There were ways ta preserve it, but nothing worked quite so well as fridges and freezers do now. It still tastes the same after ya take it out!

And Medicine! We can now tell whats wrong with ya and how ta fix it, and have a good survival rate! Couldn't say that for a looong time. Had friends who would rather tough it out than go see a healer. Ya would die more often in tha recovery room than whatever was ailing ya.

It ain't perfect, but it is 100 times better than blood, biles, mucus and miasma."

📗What is one of the most valuable things you’ve learned?

"That's hard ta pin down, ne?... I guess that everyone needs love; just as much as a flower needs ta sun. Life can end up being rather seperated these days, but tha need fa other people has never dwindled."

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dragontag420 · 2 years

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I'm curious about Harrison's boyfriend!! what killed him? how'd he become undead? did their relationship suffer at all due to the whole dying/undead thing, or did they meet after the fact?

Ah!! Mallon!! The horrible, wonderful [Mallon]!! ;;

Mallon actually belongs to @evanium! He's also based off of a non-fr counterpart but much like Harrison his lore has been entirely overhauled instead of adapted.

Mallon and Harrison were together BEFORE Harrison ended up in the Ward! I'm not entirely sure why he died tbqh, I don't remember if we ever actually had a solid reason 🤔 but he died pre-ward and it was very hard on Harrison.

He's an absolute piece of shit emo motherfucker who in his original iteration was literally the god of Ailment (which I feel says a lot). [See figure on the Right]

It hit Harrison really hard when he died. The only person who'd ever truly understood him and treated him right.

Luckily though, in the town of Torean (also belonging to evanium) a delightful little doctor decided to play Frankenstein and picked up some fun pieces to use. Mallon- once a lovely little skydancer- became an awful little veilspun full of puke and bile and vitriol and a desire to bite and hate anything and everything in sight.

The disgusting little barf bag managed to escape custody a few times (pieces falling off along the way, of course) and at one point was lucky enough to intersect with just a whiff of his boyfriend from his living years (Harrison). Evading capture and arriving in nearly 20 pieces, Mallon found the Ward and pressed himself through some very confused and concerned gaolers into his lover's arms. It took a moment, but even with different vocal cords, there was no mistaking the rasping hiss of his name which came from Mallon's new throat. Stranger things had happened- and sometimes you're so very very desperate to believe.

It's actually been a bit of an interesting thing, Mallon showing up. It led to a lot of changes, and concessions being made. It turns out that Harrison was NOT very ready to let someone take Mallon away from him and that perhaps his wardens were NOT ready to deal with the fallout of such an event should it occur. Mallon, unfortunately, is a Creation and is perpetually falling apart. He had to go back to his town of Torean and still lives there, though is allowed to come visit so long as he is accompanied by the doctor's assistant when he comes. (An awful little [nurse] who is now dating the world's [smallest gaoler], another occupant of the Ward. don't worry about it.)

Initially the thought was that no, you obviously can NOT have someone just coming in and out to visit you, that makes NO SENSE- but [Mother] (one of the 3 heads of the ward, and honestly the most respected), decided this was beneficial to his long(er) term internment and proposed an agreement of sorts with the exceptionally reluctant doctor. It's a bit like a split custody thing- where they get a weekend a month and only if the court mandated therapist comes along to maintain the father's interests.

This is too long already without even getting into the meat of what it was like and what it meant and all of the fuckin.... shit regarding the Ward and Harrison's time there and how his jailers feel about it. Because he's been there a while. And maybe certain people have different ideas on how he should be treated and understood but y'know.

#anyway ty for your interest i am big big 👉👈#mallon is disgusting and LITERALLY just barfs everywhere sometimes #he's a wonderful little terror #harrison loves him /so fucking much/#literally like the only thing that makes him actually legitimately happy #ty ty for ask #i hope you enjoyed

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write-ur-wrongs · 3 years

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The Death of Me

Pairing: Geralt x reader

Word count: almost 4K - big whoops!

A/N: This was totally meant to be a drabble / blurb, but the story got away from me! A huge thanks to the sweet anon who submitted this prompt - I was beyond inspired and chuckled warmly throughout the entire writing process. This baby isn’t proofread so thread lightly!! I sincerely hope y’all enjoy this one :’)

Prompt: Heya! I saw your post about wanting to practice writing short stories so I have a small prompt for Geralt! What about: the reader and Geralt have always had a difficult relationship, always running into each other at the most inconvenient moments and hence disliking each other. However, while Geralt is passing through a village the reader comes barging into his room bloody and near death, only getting a chance to say “I didn’t know where else to go” before collapsing. I would be honoured if the idea inspired you :3

____________________________________________________

You’d never considered yourself unlucky but lately life had a funny way of throwing you for a loop, or rather, throwing you to the wolves. One wolf, actually. A damn, irritating, and arrogant white wolf.

At first, it was all business. You’d arrive in a village itching for a contract, only to find that a “legendary witcher” had already come through and taken care of every monster within a two-days ride. Furious, hungry, and broke, you set out determined to get as far as you could and as quickly as possible. Your determination got you far enough that you’d managed a full three months of contract work, but not far enough it seemed.

You’d been on your way to collect payment from your latest contractor when you’d heard the buzz on the street; a witcher had come through asking about work, and had been told to wait and see as someone else (a woman! A human woman!) had already committed to the case. Apparently, he was either incensed or bemused at the idea – the brute was very hard to read, so say the town gossips – but it didn’t matter to you. You beat him to it and now you get to eat. When you finally met with the contractor to collect your coin, you couldn’t help but swell with pride as they thanked you, eyes wide, for taking care of a monster no human ought to be able to handle. You could have sworn your pride had given you wings as you floated out of the inn.

That is, until you heard them mumble under their breath, “Thank Gods that lass was able to handle it! Had it been the witcher, I would have had to pay triple!”

“Thank heavens for cheap labour!” whispered their partner, raising their glass to cheers their big victory.

Suddenly whatever weightlessness you felt transferred onto your coin purse. Biting hard on your cheek you pushed up your chin, determined to remain dignified. But then you saw him.

Impossibly broad chested, rippling muscles evident beneath his leather armour, with golden eyes that reflected back to you with a cruel playful nature that made bile rise in the back of your throat. He held your gaze and raised his own tankard to you as you walked past him. His deep voice rumbled through you as you pushed the door open.

“Cheers to cheap labour,” you heard him say, and swore you could hear the smirk on his full lips.

Groaning furiously, you pushed the door so hard it swung back and slammed shut behind you with such force a flock of birds took off somewhere in town. Undeterred, you stomped off towards your horse and set off at a gallop.

I’m going to make sure I never cross his fucking path ever again, you thought searingly.

You were wrong it turned out, but how were you supposed to know that?

You’d gone years without actually seeing him again, but that didn’t mean you were free of him. You’d alternated winning and losing contracts to each other, and the pressure of beating him to the next one stressed you so fiercely you developed ulcers. That alone would have been enough to push you to murder had you not heard from another witcher that their brother, the great white wolf, was losing sleep trying to keep up with you. Knowledge of this fact spurred you on; after all, if you couldn’t beat him, it’s best to be even, no?

The next time fate brought you two together, though, you could not have been farther from on top. What made matters worse, is that you weren’t even in battle when your paths crossed. Your literal paths just simply… crossed.

You’d been riding east for many days and just as many nights. You were tired, sore, and somehow still soaked to the bone despite the fact that the rain had stopped at least a day ago. You were so tired, your muscles seemed heavy in your limbs, and you had to keep blinking hard to bring the spinning world around you back to its axis. As you rode through an intersection on the trail, the sun peaked out from behind the thick curtain of clouds just long enough to pull you fully into sleep, and right off your still-moving-horse’s saddle.

You honestly didn’t remember falling asleep, or off the saddle. You also had no memory of the moment another traveler, who was riding towards the intersection on the other trail, leapt off his mare just as you started your descent and caught you before you could split your skull open on one of the many rocks sprinkled throughout the street. You had no memory of the way he’d pulled you off the path, leading both horses behind him as he’d carried you over his shoulder. Zero recollection of him laying you down on a bed grass, tying your horse to a nearby tree, lighting you a campfire, or filling your pack with some bread and meat.

What you did remember, was the arrogant look on his face when you finally woke up. The condescending tone he took as he reminded you that you were ‘only human’ and had to take care of yourself accordingly was also seared into the annals of your memory.

You hated that he’d saved you almost as much as you hated the fact that you’d been asleep around him. Completely vulnerable for God knows how long and he’d been there to witness it all. Whenever the memory of the look on his face or the way he’d crossed his arms and tilted his stupid head as he condescended your humanity came to you, you couldn’t help but cringe even months after the fact.

***

Your saving grace came a full six months after your damned damsel in distress moment on the trail.

Well fed, well worked, and well travelled, you were taking your time enjoying the market in your town of the week. The work you did wasn’t glamourous, but it did allow you the means to afford a few luxuries every now and then. This time, it just so happened that your coin could buy you the sweetest gift of all: revenge.

The market was busy as ever, you could barely hear yourself think over the cacophony of voices and animal bleats bouncing around the square. Had it been anyone else, the conversation would have been lost among the noise around you, but when that voice came rumbling through the mess of shrieks and shouts, you couldn’t help but seek out the source. You didn’t know why you cared or why you were so surprised to find that the voice’s owner was none other than the White Wolf himself.

“You good?” you asked, making sure to tilt your head, hands on your hips, the same way he’d done the last time you’d met.

“Fine.” He practically barked, not even turning his head fully to address you directly.

The merchant, none-too-concerned with your arrival on the scene, continued as if uninterrupted. “I’m sorry Mr. Witcher, sir, but I can’t go any lower. This is the best I can offer.”

“I can’t pay that much,” he grumbled, hands closed into tight fists.

“I’m sorry-”

“Is this enough?” you interjected, knowingly offering forward far too many ducats.

“Y-yes!” breathed the merchant, looking quizzically at Geralt before picking three coins from your open palm, “thank you, madam...”

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself with a warm smile and a nod.

“Y/N!” Geralt hissed, at the same time, reaching out to push away your hand a fraction too late; the vendor was paid, and you’d won this round.

“What is it, Witcher?” you teased, as the vendor took his sword back for repairs, “been on vacation? Why so skint?”

“Been low on work lately,” he replied coolly, cat-like eyes boring into yours, “not as many contracts as there use to be.”

“Well, I’ll be,” you said, cocking your head to the side and pursing your lips in mock contemplation, “I can’t imagine why that’d be the case! Seems I keep running into monsters to kill.”

“Mmhm.” He hummed, narrowing his eyes at you.

Refusing to let him have the last word, you quickly turned on your heels and high-tailed it out of the market, shouting over your shoulder to the blacksmith to give any change back to Geralt before disappearing back into the crowd.

***

Being even should have brought peace between the two of you but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Your last interaction only fanned the flames of your rivalry. As the months turned to years without coming upon each other again, you still found yourself filled with unreasonable anger whenever you saw a mop of white hair cross you on your travels.

And not that you’d know it, but it turned out that Geralt wasn’t faring any better; finding himself frustrated and acting recklessly whenever he’d come upon anything that reminded him of you.

You were both completely obsessed with one another. Thoughts of the other constantly on the mind. Whether in waking or in dreams, you were both equally afflicted by an intense need to outperform, out run, and also, inexplicably, to impress the other.

It was that need to impress each other that led you to accept a contract you should have never even considered taking. You honestly wouldn’t have even considered it had the circumstances been any different but you’d been hearing about this monster for weeks on your travels. Tales of the mighty griffin tearing people to shreds had been circulating far and wide on this side of the Yaruga, and honestly, with every retelling you’d expected to hear that a witcher had handled it, but that never happened. You’d somehow managed to arrive at the village at the source of these stories before him and had an opportunity to literally rob him of this victory.

Granted, you were the only one who’d been attributing him with this win, but that didn’t matter, not to you. The only thing you cared about when accepting this particular contract was the knowledge that by taking it, you were preventing him from having it, and that was more than enough.

The shock on the villagers faces when they saw you accept the contract only added to your already inflated confidence. The sheer size of the griffin’s wingspan humbled you a little, though, and whatever grand illusions of an easy victory you’d carried into the forest were squashed along with a couple rib bones only moments after engaging the beast. In short, you were fucked.

Some might say that coming out of it alive was enough of a win. Those people would be morons, you thought as you stumbled clumsily back towards the lights of the village, clutching your split abdomen with both hands and blinking back blood dripping from your forehead. Every step you took came with the stabbing pain of additional tearing around your wound. You could barely think, your ears were blocked and caked with dried blood and dirt, your tears stung as they fell across the gashes on your cheeks, and every breath in felt like it could be your last. You’d never admit this out loud, but a part of you wished the creature had finished the job.

Perhaps the only saving grace here was that in your condition, you couldn’t hear the villagers as they pointed and gossiped. You didn’t hear the “told you so’s” or the lewd shouts coming from the drunk men as you stumbled into the tavern. You could barely hear the disappointment in the inn owner’s voice as they reprimanded you for accepting a contract, they knew you couldn’t complete. Rolling your eyes, you pushed your way towards the stairs as quickly as possible – which, as it turned out, was not so quick, praying that someone would call you a healer.

“… and to think a witcher arrived only hours after she went off to kill herself! Tsk-tsk!”

You stopped dead in your tracks, drops of blood falling across your brow as you interrupted the momentum you’d been building. “W-what?” you croaked, turning towards them as much as possible to make sure you’d hear them correctly.

“Yeah! And not just any witcher, lass, the Butcher of Blaviken no less! Checked in with us just as you head out. Had you waited half a day you could have saved yourself a world of – ‘ey! Now where’s she off to?”

As you registered this news, something inside you snapped. Before you knew what was happening, you’d made your way upstairs and started pushing your full weight onto every door you passed. The great White Wolf, the Butcher of Blaviken, was certainly arrogant enough to leave his door unlocked. You might have been wrong about the griffin, but you’d be damned if you were wrong about this.

Fortunate or not, you weren’t wrong about this. As you pushed your shoulder against the last door with whatever strength you had left, the door swung open with very little resistance. The heavy wooden door slammed loudly against the wall at the exact moment that your limp body crashed onto the floor.

“WHAT the fuck!” Geralt howled, leaping off the bed and onto his feet. His wild eyes assessed the situation in an instant, and he bound to you in barely two strides. “What the fuck did you do? What happened?” he asked as he flipped you over, so gently you were sure you’d already passed out and were now dreaming. Or maybe the blood loss was finally catching up to you and you were full-on hallucinating.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” you breathed, barely above a whisper, before losing consciousness in his arms.

Regaining consciousness was a slow, painful process. You’d come in and out of it a handful of times throughout the night, and flashes of what you’d seen before you lost it were coming to you in an almost dreamlike haze; terrifying images of the furious griffin, its blood-soaked talon shining in the setting sun as it reared back to strike you again, and warmer visions of Geralt, shirtless, running towards you with – could it be? – genuine concern in his eyes.

Now as the rising sun cast its glow across the room, you squinted painfully against the light. Your head felt as though it was full of cotton; heavy, and scratchy, and unnatural on top of your shoulders. Hesitantly, you ran your tongue over your teeth and were equal parts relieved to find them all there and disgusted at the acrid, mineral taste the blood left behind. Blinking slowly, you tried to bring up your hand to rub at your eyes, but stopped short as you felt the large bandage draped across your forehead.

Slowly, you started to register the other bandages, on your arms, your cheek, across your abdomen. Your eyes grew wide as you finally registered the man facing away from you in the far corner of the room. Geralt’s broad strong back was hunched away from you as he rifled through herbs and small glass vials looking for something. Inexplicably, you found yourself disappointed to see he’d put his thick black tunic back on. Horrified by that realization, you literally gagged, startling Geralt and pulling his attention squarely onto you.

His big dumb beautiful face was all hard lines as he looked you over, stern eyes flashing to meet yours before dropping back down to the vial in his hands. You couldn’t help be notice the way the muscles in in jaw rippled and tensed as he sighed. He was oozing disappointment and anger, and that infuriated you.

“Am I dead?” you ask, squinting at him a little theatrically as you squirmed and winced in your bed.

“No.” he practically growled, his body tense as he made his way towards you slowly.

“Oh,” you breathed, bringing your eyes up to his before adding, “this isn’t hell?”

To your immense satisfaction, his stern eyes widened into shock, but then something unrecognizable flashed across his features – wait, was he hurt?

“Why, because I’m here?” he shouted, as if in confirmation of your hunch, and slammed the damp cloth he’d been holding back into the basin.

“No, jackass,” you retorted, pleased that despite the position you were in, you still had some semblance of an upper-hand, “because a griffin fucking fileted me like a fish and some poor drunk is probably downstairs slipping in a pool of my blood right now.”

You’d kind of hoped that he’d laugh, or at least have a comeback geared up for you, but Geralt just stood there staring at you, his mouth in a tight line, nostrils flaring.

Uncomfortable by the intensity of his stare and the silence accompanying it, you decide to continue to poke the bear.

“Come on, what’s with the face, Geralt? Pissed I’m still alive? You know you could have just closed the door over my body, let nature finish the bloody job.”

“Fuck, no! Y/n!” he screamed, startling you out of the attitude you’d put on, “I’m pissed because you’re an impossibly difficult woman hellbent on killing herself! I’m pissed because you don’t seem to fucking care about what happens to you! You can’t keep doing this Y/N! Because one of these days you’re going to get hurt and you’ll be too far away from me and I won’t be able to fucking save you, again! I am pissed because I am losing my mind spending every god-awful day wondering if you’ve gone and gotten yourself killed! Fucking hell, woman! If you didn’t find me – I-if I wasn’t here, with these herbs – Damnit Y/N!”

You just sat there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. You couldn’t believe it. You didn’t know what to say. This man, your nemesis, was in front of you pacing back and forth, breathing heavily, looking like a maniac. His nostrils were flaring more than the monster that almost killed you just yesterday. Part of you wanted to correct him and demand he never address you as ‘woman’ again, but his wild earnest eyes kept you quiet. My god… was he crying?

Before you could say anything, Geralt sighed gruffly, ran his large hand over his face and stormed out, mumbling something about needing to get you more water.

Left alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t stop yourself from spiralling. You’d expected him to be angry – hell, you wanted him to be angry! You’d humiliated yourself twice over, enraging him would ease the blow – but this was… different. He seemed genuinely concerned about you. And what was with his whole speech? He spent every day thinking about you? Worrying about you? There’s no way.

Sure, you thought about him daily, but that was out of spite! You hated the man! Why else would your heart race whenever you thought you spotted him in a crowd? Why else would you actively seek out the most dangerous contracts? What, like you were hoping these contracts would draw him out, and therefore, closer to you? As if!

Your ridiculous inner monologue was interrupted by Geralt’s return. The horrible brute knocked gently on the door before stepping inside, and your heart had the audacity to skip a beat.

Oh, you thought, fuck.

“I need to change the dressing on your wounds,” he grumbled, not meeting your eyes. You nodded wordlessly as he settled onto the chair next to you. You watched him work in silence, praying he would attribute your insane heartrate and flushed skin to a pain response from his work.

“Geralt?” you tried, chewing nervously on your cheek, as was just finished up with the last of your dressing.

“Hm?” he hummed, keeping his eyes cast down as he fussed with the bandage on the gash across your abdomen.

“Thank you… for saving me.”

He finally brought his gaze up to meet yours, but said nothing in return. He merely grunted in acknowledgment. You didn’t know why, but his silence in combination with his inscrutable gaze encouraged you to keep talking.

“I honestly only took this contract because I didn’t want you to have it,” you admitted bashfully.

“What the fuck? No one was taking it because they weren’t paying nearly enough! Hell, and you’re just a human,” he fumed, throwing up air-quotes as he said it, “so what – they offered you a third of nothing?”

Laughing lightly, you shoved him with your elbow, “they offered me three whole ducats!”

“Oh, wow,” he laughed, low and rumbling, “so a big pay day for you, eh?”

“Shut up,” you gasped as pain rippled through you with each peal of laughter, “knowing I could screw you over was payment enough!”

“Well congratulations are in order, you did manage to screw someone over,” he chided.

“Me,” you stated dryly, gesturing widely at your busted up body.

“You,” he echoed with a sigh that seemed to deflate him.

He suddenly looked so small, sitting there next to you. You watched him as clenched and unclenched his jaw, rubbing his large hands up and down his thighs – was he anxious? You mind raced as you felt his eyes travel slowly up your body. You held your breath as he worked up the nerve to finally bring his eyes up to yours.

The moment his eyes landed on yours, something shifted. Whatever had been lodged uncomfortably between the two of you all these years had finally clicked into place. This change, albeit small, was palpable. His eyes dropped to your lips and lingered there. He was looking at you like he’d never seen you before. Like he was afraid he might never see you again.

Without speaking, Geralt inched himself closer to you and reached a tender hand to tuck your hair behind your ears before cradling your face.

“You’re not allowed to die, do you hear me?” he whispered, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb.

You gave him a quick nod and brought your hand up to his, nuzzling into the warmth of his palm before giving his hand a quick kiss.

“I need to hear you say it,” he begged, bringing himself even closer to you.

“I do,” you breathed, trying to sit up to bring your face closer to his. “I’m not going to die, not on your watch, but I’m also not quitting.”

“Y/N –”

“No! If I quit, you’d get lazy. Who’d push you? What would be your driving force?”

“Wow,” he scoffed, looking at you incredulously but fondly, “you’re so fucking arrogant.”

“And yet…” you said, quirking a brow flirtatiously as you pulled him closer by the collar.

“… and yet?” he murmured, letting himself be pulled closer to you. His eyes half-closed and his lips slightly parted.

“You love me.”

“I love you.”

And then he kissed you. His mouth claimed yours urgently but his hands were ever gentle, ghosting over your bandages and caressing your skin with a feather-light tenderness that would have brought you to your knees had you not already been bedridden. Any hesitation or doubt melted away under the heat of his touch as all those years of tension sprung apart catastrophically. The knot you had carried in your stomach unfurled into flittering fireflies, their heat traveling up your stomach to your chest as his hands worked their way into your hair.

You didn’t know when they’d fallen, but you let out a shaky laugh as Geralt kissed away the tears on your cheeks, his thumb swiping at the tears his soft lips failed to catch. Breathing heavily, he rested his forehead against yours; his hands cupping your face as yours captured his.

Gods – this man was going to be the death of you.

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Debt Collection. Yan Childe x Reader [SMUT]

Tags: Mild dubcon ?, hate fucking, power bottoming, creampie, dirty talk, AFAB reader and degradation. Word count: 1.6k. Note: this could be considered apart of contractual obligations universe or something on the side. i’m not sure where it’d officially line up in the stories tl, i just wanted to write some sin .

This is the only plausible option left.

That’s what you told yourself when you walked into his office, what you told you told yourself when removing your clothes and when you climbed into his lap. He called it special treatment. Whispering huskily into your ear that you should be grateful he likes you so much, that anyone else would be dead in your position. The Fatui are not known for their leniency with debts. People go missing, their neighbors too frightened to question what might’ve happened to them.

Childe seems happy enough to remind you of this like it might make you feel better somehow. It doesn’t. All you want is for the stress on your business to be alleviated, for things to go back to how they used to be before him, even if it is wishful thinking.

Whatever his feelings are for you, you don’t care in the slightest. You’re doing this to get it over with.

“Mm, just like that,” Childe hisses out through clenched teeth, fingernails digging harshly into either side of your waist. “Take all of me in.”

Everything is so warm. His fevered touches, your face, every inch of your bare body. You do as he tells you, biting your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Sinking down onto his dick, you despise the lascivious noises it makes from how terribly wet he’s made you. Childe’s gaze never falters from your own, watching unblinkingly as you take in every inch of his throbbing length. His grip on you tightens, steadying your trembling body, harsh pants leaving both of you.

You’re grateful for his lack of comments, already humiliated enough as is. The silence doesn’t last when he fills you completely, your walls slowly adjusting to his length. Even with the proper preparation, his considerable size causes mild pain. Each deep breath you take does little to steady your nerves. The weight of Childe’s stare is impossible to ignore.

Why is he looking at you like this? Why can’t he just silently get off and let it be over with? The passion burning in his ocean blue eyes is unmistakable, the waves of it threatening to drown you.

“Good girl,” he exhales, affectionately running a hand through your tousled hair. You let him do as he pleases. The odd intimacy behind what’s meant to be a tumble in the dark isn’t lost on you. “Now, you remember what I wanted, don’t you?”

“Y-yes, I do.” You confirm breathlessly, more blood rushing to your face upon remembering his vulgar instructions. Childe cups your face in his hands and presses a chaste kiss to your lips, pulling on your bottom lip with his teeth when he moves away. This is the first time he’s kissed you, you realize, lips tingling. He does it with such ease, as if the two of you were lovers. The thought alone is enough to make bile rise in your throat.

“I’m afraid my memory is failing me. Be a dear and remind me of what you’re going to do.”

Of course, he’d make this as difficult as he can for you, you shouldn’t have expected anything different. The lascivious words discussed during your agreement reverberate in your head, and you push past your hesitations to repeat them. “I’m going… going to fuck myself on you.”

You feel his cock twitch excitedly inside you and shiver. He urges you on, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “And?”

“And… I’ll make you cum inside of me.”

“Get to it then.” Childe leans back into his chair, pleased so far with your submission. You take a deep breath, raising your hips up, wincing at how he stretches out your walls. When nothing but the tip of his dick remains inside you, you slowly sink onto him again, earning a low noise of approval. He really isn’t going to help you, is he? While full of him, you gyrate your hips, getting yourself more accustomed to his size. Childe’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly, looking down at you through thick eyelashes.

“I didn’t expect for you to take your time like this,” he chuckles breathlessly, voice guttural and husky. “Not that I’m, ngh, complaining, I could watch this all day.”

You furrow your eyebrows, indignant at his comments. That’s the last thing you wanted...! You wanted to get this over with, to push past the embarrassment he’s inflicted on you. Spurred on by his comments, you raise and lower your hips onto his cock faster, the sensation of being stretched less painful than before. Childe lets out a breathy moan at your increased pace. No longer willing to hold himself back, he thrusts his hips up, throwing his head back at how good you feel around him. You can already tell the area he’s gripping will leave bruises. Hopefully, they can be covered up so questions don’t arise.

“Do you… do you know how much I think about you?” Childe breathes out, each word more strained than the last. The sound of skin on skin fills his office, a far cry from the normal business that goes on in here. Not that he cares in the slightest. You don’t want to know the answer, honestly, but he gives it to you regardless.

“Mm, I’ve thought about it even when we talk,” Childe confesses, head throwing back as he bucks himself up to meet your hips. “What you’d feel like… all the cute little noises you’d make when I made you pleasure yourself on my dick.”

Childe’s words strike a chord deep within you, your face getting even redder than before. You feel yourself getting closer to a release and feel frustrated by your lack of self-restraint. Childe’s chest rumbles with a low moan at how your walls tighten around him. He’s half wanting to fuck you against his desk, losing any shreds of patience that he’s somehow managed to hold on to. But knowing that you’re working oh so hard to make him cum is too tantalizing to pass up. He sees your reluctance fade into desire, no longer able to deny carnal pleasure. You’re enjoying this as much as he is but just don’t want to admit it.

He leans forward, wrapping his soft lips around your nipple and biting it gently, laughing breathlessly at the noise you let out. Childe’s hand that was on your hip goes to your chest, greedily playing with the soft mounds of flesh. He adores how you taste, how lovely and exposed you are before him now. All of the efforts that went into procuring you earned him such a ravishing sight.

Spurred on by his touches, you can no longer hold yourself back. Your movements get sloppier as you chase your own release, chest bouncing as you hold onto him for balance. Childe lets out a content noise at this. His strength is commendable, your hazy mind notices, as now he’s the one lifting you up and bringing you back down onto his cock. Strength all but gone, you lean forward, hoping to muffle your moans against his glistening neck. Your walls clench around him, a high pitch noise leaving your lips when you cum.

Childe wants nothing more than for you to remember this. For you to remember him. “That’s... right, [First]. Don’t ever forget that I’m the one who made you feel this good.”

You can barely register his words, mind far too foggy to think of anything. Curses start to leave his lips, from a foreign tongue which you assume to be his native language. His cock thrusts upwards inside you as Childe desperately seeks out his own release. Your energy is all but gone, leading you to feel silently grateful that he’s capable of getting himself off inside you without much help. A surprised yelp leaves your lips as he tugs your hair back, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“I want you to see this,” Childe manages to get out through gritted teeth. A throaty groan leaves him, hips stuttering. “Watch me as I cum inside you.”

Childe releases himself inside you, thrusting up as far as he can before stilling himself. You feel his hot seed fill you up, Childe intent on dumping all of himself as far inside you as he can. He pulls you further down onto him, head thrown back and panting as your walls milk his throbbing cock. You wince at the foreign feeling, the implications of him cumming inside you nerve-wracking. Finally, he lifts his head, a slight flush on his own face.

The room is silent, save for your panting. He keeps one hand on your already bruised hip and moves the other to cup your face. Childe’s eyes soften as you try your best to regain yourself.

It feels hot, sticky, and humiliating. You look around, looking anywhere that isn’t at Childe. He lets out an airy laugh at your obvious embarrassment, much to your displeasure, and you shoot him a hopefully threatening look. It has the opposite effect as intended. Childe coos at the endearing sight, tracing his fingers over your body.

“That’s... all you wanted, right? Can I go now?”

Childe shakes his head and you frown. “Mm... not yet, no. I’d say this only covers a portion of the debt, sweetheart.”

You knit your eyebrows together, indignation flaring, and go to slap him against your better judgment. Childe snickers, catching your wrist with ease and places unexpectedly soft kisses against your knuckles.

“Relax, relax, I was kidding,” Childe winks and you roll your eyes. “Just know this won’t be the last time I fuck you.”

“You’re... utterly shameless.”

“Maybe I am, but what can I say? Now that I’ve gotten a taste of you, I might just be addicted.”

#idk if this is really considered dubcon but i tagged it just to be safe #childe #childe x reader #yandere childe x reader #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #yandere tartaglia x reader #genshin impact #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #tw: dubcon #not sfw #my stuff

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littlesniggy · 3 years

Text

Prisoner

I started with Whole Cake Arc a little while ago and I must say I kinda like the Vinsmoke brothers (except their dad. Asshole). So here is a little something for my fellow Ichiji and Niji hoes.

Warning: 18+, nsfw, smut, prisoner, dubcon, voyeurism, degrading, name calling, violence

Word count: 2.5k

Your shoulders and neck were aching, your feet barely scraping over the cold ground beneath you. Your wrists were chained to the ceiling above you, leaving you in a more than uncomfortable position. You’ve been left like this for at least four days now, only occasionally getting food and water. The cell reeked of feces, stinging in your nose. But there was nothing you could do about it. Unless they decided to either kill you or let you go you had to deal with it.

Dark bruises decorated your naked body, your lip was swollen and bloody, and you were sure one of them had broken one of your ribs or at least injured it badly cause it was hurting like a bitch. You were glad you haven’t caught a cold yet due to the low temperature down here. But maybe it would be for the best if you got sick and maybe died due to it – though you knew they’d never let you die until they got the information they wanted.

You heard footsteps – at least two people – and your body tensed up. Usually, when there was only one pair of footsteps to be heard you knew one of the servants was coming down; but more than one pair meant theywere coming down for a visit, as they liked to call it.

“Wow! How can one person be so disgusting?!” you heard them before you saw them. “Ignore the smell. That’s just what low lives smell like.” You clenched your jaw but stayed silent. When they appeared from around the corner your eyes never left them like a lion stalking its prey – though you were the prey.

You saw Niji’s huge grin plastered on his face and Ichiji’s arrogant smirk. God, how you hated them! You grimaced at them in disdain, making them laugh at you. “Why do you look at us like this? You should be thanking us for keeping you alive.” The older brother mocked you and opened the cell door before entering, closely followed by his brother. The chains around your wrists rattled when you tried to bring your hands down out of instinct, trying to cover yourself.

“Fuck off!” you hissed, spitting in the red-haired face. Ichiji stopped dead in his tracks. He lifted his hand to his face, wiping away your spit with the back of his hand. Even though the cell was barely lit you could see a vein popping on his forehead. The punch to your stomach didn’t come unexpected but you had no means to defend yourself against it. “How dare you spit in a princes’ face, scum?” He wiped the back of his hand on your face, smearing your spit on your cheek. Your body was slightly hunched over, not being able to curl yourself up all the way. You spit out a little bit of bile that was forced out of your stomach by his punch, loudly gasping for air.

Niji emerged from behind his brother, grin still on his face. “And here we came to see if you’ve changed your mind. But apparently not.” He chuckled, punching your side with full force. Your body was dangling over the ground, your eyes went black for a moment before more pain shot through your body. “Fucker!” you hissed, glaring at the younger brother which made him laugh once more. “Such a dirty mouth.” Another punch by Niji, followed by one from Ichiji. You groaned in pain, head thrown back, eyes closed and one tear running down your face.

“How long do you wanna keep this act up, scum? You love the pain that much?” Ichiji grabbed your chin and yanked your head back down, facing him. You bit your lip, eyes glaring at him, wishing he’d just go up in flames and die. “You should’ve just told us then.” “Screw you!” you wanted to spit in his face again but this time he was faster, pressing his big hand in front of your mouth and nose, taking your ability to breathe. You tried to move away but your restraints wouldn’t let you. The lack of oxygen made your head feel dizzy. Ichiji was watching you fight for your life, the smirk never leaving his face.

Your legs kicked at the prince in front of you but he didn’t seem to mind, your kicks too weak to actually hurt him. “Do you want me to let you breathe again, little vermin?” your voice was muffled against his palm. “What was that?” Niji laughed, punching you again. Your eyes were closed in pain, your lungs desperately trying to take in the much needed air to no avail. Ichiji’s look never left your face and you knew you had to make a decision – live and humiliate yourself or die or at least pass out. Your mind screamed to not give in and die but your body was not convinced and so your mouth answered on their own. “He hoo!” you tried to say in hopes he understood you. Your eyes were turning red and you panicked. Your body squirmed, legs kicking even more than before and you repeatedly tried tell him to let go.

The two brothers obviously enjoyed your little ‘show’ and finally Ichiji showed mercy and pulled away his hand. You took in a deep breath, eyes wide open. You started coughing violently but were glad you could breathe again. “Pathetic. That’s what low-class citizens look like.” You didn’t seem them move but suddenly your chains were loosened and you fell to the ground, right into your own feces. You pulled your arms to your chest slowly, easing the tension in your shoulders and neck. You looked up but only found Niji in front of you. But behind you Ichiji started talking.

“Like a pig wallowing in its own feces. Disgusting.” He stepped closer until he stood right behind you. “Get up. We’re gonna have you cleaned.” He said and you looked at him in confusion. “What?” you asked in disbelief but promptly got kicked in your face, head clashing with the dirty floor. Your vision was blurry and you had to blink to get them focused again. “He said get up!” Niji reprimanded you, hands on his hips like a parent scolding their child. “Don’t rush her, Niji. Scum always takes a while to understand what royalty wants from them.” Ichiji chuckled. You suppressed the urge to talk back and just got slowly up instead. Your legs were shaky but you managed to support your weight and not fall to the ground again.

It was humiliating, to say the least, to walk through the castle naked and you kept your head low the whole time. When you entered a bathroom you lifted your gaze for the first time and looked around. It was a bathroom indeed, you were surprised. Honestly, you expected anything but a bathroom. Niji pushed you forward roughly and you stumbled against the opposite wall where the shower was. Ichiji closed the door behind him and leaned against it, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“What are you waiting for? Get clean.” He demanded. You looked from one brother to the other, confused. Weren’t they gonna leave? But you needn’t to ask because if they actually planned on letting you shower on your own they would’ve left by now. Reluctantly, you turned on the water and jumped to the side. It was cold but slowly turned warm. The warm water felt good on your sore muscles and bruised skin and you closed your eyes, forgetting the two princes for a moment.

“Turn around.” You heard Ichiji ordering. You swallowed hard but obeyed, turning towards them but not making eye contact. You felt their eyes wandering your body and it made you feel uncomfortable. The dirt on your body was soon washed away and your skin was clean again. “Almost looks like a human.” You heard Niji snicker. “C’mon! Wash your body!” he yelled amused. Your face turned red of anger and embarrassment but you followed this order as well. You grabbed the body wash, poured some in your palm and started to let your hands wander your body.

Immediately, the air around you changed and you stopped in your movements. You looked at them and a cold shiver ran down your spine. You couldn’t see their eyes but you were sure they were watching your every move hungrily like a starved animal. “Keep going.” Ichiji said with a calm voice but the aura around him was making you want to flee. Niji was no different. You didn’t dare look down to their private area cause you knewwhat would await you. “Did I stutter? I said keep going!” Ichiji sounded impatient and your hands started moving again; over your arms, over your breasts, over your stomach, and finally your legs.

The water washed away the soap and you hoped this would be the end. Oh, how wrong you were. “Wash it again. I think you missed spot.” Ichiji said, Niji’s grin growing wider at his brother’s words. “W-what?” you asked. “Wash you damn body, scum! Or do we need to show you how to do it properly?” Niji yelled, obviously more impatient than his brother.

You grabbed the soap again, letting your hands wander over your body once more. When you wanted to wash it away again, Niji stalked over to you with an angry expression on his face. “Good-for nothing…can’t even clean herself properly.” He said. You stumbled back against the cold wall behind you, your arms stretched out to keep him away from you. Needless to say, it was fruitless.

He pushed your hands aside and grabbed your breasts, massaging them in his palms. You let out a moan but shut your lips tightly afterwards. “See, that’s how you do it.” He laughed, his good mood coming back. His hands moved down to your sides and back up again, his thumbs stroking your nipples. He was definitely a tits man.

Ichiji was still leaning against the door but his curiosity got peaked even more after his brother started fondling your breasts. “Her body consists of more than just her tits. You must clean everything.” The way he said everything made your insides tingle. What was going on? Why was your body enjoying this?

Niji’s hands moved down your sides once again, grabbing your ass and pressing your body against his. Your wet skin pressed against his wet clothes, teasing your sensitive nipples. He massaged your ass roughly. You could peek over his shoulder and saw Ichiji watching the both of you. Your cheeks flushed red and you averted your gaze. “Look at me.” Ichiji demanded and you were surprised but followed his orders. So, while Niji was massaging your ass and rubbing his crotch against yours you were looking at his brother.

Small moans could be heard from you, every time Niji rubbed his clothed crotch against your clit. “You should fuck her, Niji. She seems to be enjoying it.” Niji laughed against your skin, his right hand moving from your ass to the front, unbuckling his belt and opening his pants deftly. “Who wouldn’t enjoy a royal cock?” he purred into your ear. His hand lifted your leg by the thigh, his dick lining up with your entrance. You panicked a little, trying to push him away but he was too strong. “No need to worry, scum. It’s a royal cock after all. You’ll be overwhelmed.” He said before thrusting into your hot core. You clawed at his shoulders; eyes pressed shut tightly. You panted hard, trying to relax but he didn’t give you time to get used to it. He started snapping his hips up, burying himself inside of you over and over again.

“I said look at me!” you heard Ichiji from afar and opened your eyes. He still looked so relaxed, watching you and his brother fuck like it was nothing. Him watching you had you moan in pleasure though. It made you feel all excited to be watched like this while Niji was fucking you in earnest. It felt good; too good. Niji moaned next to your ear, water running down your bodies. You didn’t think when you hoisted yourself up and wrapped your legs around his hips, your arms around his neck. Surprised, he stopped. A hard slap on your wet ass had you moan in pain and pleasure.

“Who told you you could act on your own accord?” he wanted to know but started moving again, apparently not minding it too much. You kept eye contact with the red head, biting your lip or licking away the water. Niji’s rhythm became more frantic and you could also feel your orgasm coming closer. Your moans got louder and you moved against him as good as possible. He grunted and you felt his muscles tense under your grip. Before he came, he pulled out and is cum shot out, mixing with the water on the floor and disappearing in the drain.

He panted heavily and put you down. You protested and tried to get some friction on your clit. You were so close! You wanted to cum as well! Niji looked down at you, a sadistic grin on his face. “You wanna cum, slut?” he asked cockily. “Yes..please….” you answered, hoping he would push you over the edge. Ichiji appeared from behind him and you thought that now was his turn. You bit your lip again, rubbing your thighs together. Your eyes wandered down and saw the bulged in his pants. A gasp left your lips and the tingling inside your belly came back, anticipating his cock.

“Who said you were allowed to cum?” Ichiji’s question caught you off guard. He moved closer, the water now soaking his clothes as well. He took your chin between index finger and thumb and had you look at him. You whimpered, your arousal way too present for your own comfort. He leaned down so you noses were almost touching. “Let’s make a deal…” he started. “You tell us everything you know and in return we make you cum so hard that you will never think about another man’s dick again.” You swallowed at his words, chest heaving. “What do you say?”

As if to empathize his offer even more his other hand moved between your legs and started rubbing against your clit, making you moan. You knew you shouldn’t agree but your mind was clouded by his skillful fingers which were making your knees weak. You whimpered even more, moving your hips against his touch.

“Deal.” You whispered. Ichiji looked content and looked over his shoulder to his brother. “Go get Yonji. He wouldn’t wanna miss what’s about to come.” Niji’s grinned at his brother, not bothering to close his pants before he left to probably het their brother. Ichiji looked at you again, his fingers pressing inside your pussy.

“Then, let’s start. Tell me everything you know. The sooner you do the sooner you’ll get fucked.”

To be continued (?)

#one piece #op #vinsmoke niji #vinsmoke siblings #vinsmoke ichiji #vinsmoke yonji #ns.fw #read at your own discretion #vinsmoke brothers x reader #vinsmoke Ichiji x reader #vinsmoke Niji x reader

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robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Note

Prompt: NHS non-fatally qi deviates. How do NMJ and the others take that?

ao3

Untamed

It had always been something of a behind-closed-doors debate – a chicken-and-the-egg problem, what came first, what was the cause and what was the symptom.

Was the Nie sect’s atypical cultivation method the reason behind the notorious Nie temper? Or were they born with the temper, and the cultivation method merely built upon that? Which one was the reason for their clan’s tendency towards early qi deviations?

Nie Huaisang usually threw his money on the “blame the cultivation style”, almost entirely for the sake of pissing off his brother.

He was starting to think, though, that he’d been wrong.

Aituan wasn’t even anywhere nearby, after all, when he started bleeding out of his qiqiao, his qi disordered and violently raging inside of him and still somehow, somehow not enough to assuage the rage in his heart, in his head –

“Nie-xiong! Nie-xiong! Nie Huaisang!”

Nie Huaisang turned with a snarl, but Wei Wuxian was already holding up his hands in surrender, Jiang Cheng quickly following suit a second later, and in the end he wasn’t really angry at them.

“I’m pretty sure you’re done,” Jiang Cheng said cautiously. “You’re – you are done, right?”

“I dunno,” Wei Wuxian muttered. “I don’t think Wen Zhuliu is entirely paste yet – there’s still a few bones Nie-xiong hasn’t crushed down into dust…”

“Shut up.”

“I will not.”

The familiar bickering was soothing, like slipping into a hot bath at the end of a tough day – like arguing with his brother about silly things, scoring a clever point and getting one of his brother’s rare smiles. Nie Huaisang felt his shoulders relax a little, and he lowered the stick –

“Why am I holding a stick?” he asked blankly, looking down at it. He didn’t remember picking it up at any point. “And why is it…uh…”

“Covered in the blood and guts and possibly brain matter of your enemy?”

Nie Huaisang swayed, suddenly light-headed. “…that,” he agreed, voice weak.

He slowly became aware that there was something squishy and wet under his feet, soaking into his shoes, and he very carefully did not look down.

“What happened?” he asked faintly. “What did I – actually, on second thought, don’t tell me.”

Jiang Cheng’s expression was a strange mix of being impressed with him and pitying him, and honestly Nie Huaisang preferred the pity. No one was impressed with him, not ever, and in retrospect he rather liked it that way, if the alternative was…

“You defeated the Core-Melting Hand in one-on-one combat,” Wei Wuxian said. “Congratulations.”

Nie Huaisang gaped at him.

“Don’t you remember?” Jiang Cheng said, blinking at him. “He said something about your brother, and you suddenly lost it –”

Nie Huaisang remembered, suddenly, and he felt a sickening lurch in his stomach as his vision flickered red around the edges again, and he imagined he could hear Aituan shouting his name from thousands of li away. How dare that man, that stone-face bastard who looked so long-suffering and yet underneath it all was so cruel and unfeeling – how dare he say such a thing about his da-ge –

Nie Huaisang had been angry the entire time he’d been here at the indoctrination camp.

Really angry, not the silly little temper tantrums he usually threw back at home or the occasional shouting matches he had with his brother to vent steam. He hated it here. He hated the fact that he was here in the Nightless City, the one place his brother had always refused to bring him no matter how embarrassingly impolitic it was, the place Sect Leader Wen had murdered his father over a stupid dinner table conversation. He hated the fact that his brother had tried to protect him, and failed only because he’d gotten distracted by Meng Yao of all people.

(He hated the fact that he’d had to learn that fact from one of his retainers, weeks too late and him already gone to the Nightless City, too late to apologize or make it up; hated the fact that the last words he’d said to his da-ge on the subject were cruel ones, blaming him for sending away his friend, when in fact his friend had torn off his face to reveal something dark beneath. He hated that his brother had just taken those cruel words from him, suffered under his accusations, without defending himself from them, because he blamed himself for – for what? For being just, the way he was supposed to be? For protecting him?)

He hated the Yin metal, the vile corruption he could feel for all that they were in a different part of the palace. He hated Wen Chao making them memorize and recite, which he was terrible at, and he hated him for making them do it outside in the hot sun and the hot earth until he fainted from heatstroke, his weak golden core insufficient to protect him the way the others did them.

He hated Wen Ruohan, he hated Wen Chao, and he hated, hated, hated Wen Zhuliu.

Most of the boys at the indoctrination camp had gotten the idea that he wasn’t that bad, for all that he was terrifying, because he always looked so bored about everything, like he was having to fulfil all of this as a torturous duty instead of a pleasure, but he’d been the one to carry Nie Huaisang back inside after he’d fainted and he’d said some things about his brother then, when Nie Huaisang was too weak to do anything, and today he’d come by, watching Nie Huaisang struggle to set up the small tent he’d been given for their travels, and he’d said them again…

“He wanted to steal my brother’s cultivation,” Nie Huaisang said through numb lips. His hands were clenched, quivering with rage that was impossible to bury down in his heart – was this how his brother felt all the time? No wonder he was so straightforward about most things; forget scheming, it was amazing he could even think. “He wanted – he didn’t even think of him as a person. Just dirt beneath his feet, fruit ripe for the plucking, some animal he could slaughter as a prize to give to his wretched master –”

He’d even said, today, that they could use what was left over as a corpse puppet, and chuckled when he thought of what the great Chifeng-zun would have thought of that.

Nie Huaisang had been angry ever since they’d arrived, full of bile and choler and rage.

His family never did handle their rage well.

“You had a minor qi deviation,” Wei Wuxian said solemnly, looking at him. “You’re still bleeding – your eyes, your nose, your ears…We need to get you to a doctor.”

“We need to hide the body before anyone finds it, that’s what we need to do,” Jiang Cheng said.

“We can do both! Multitasking!”

He was very lucky to have such good friends, Nie Huaisang thought to himself, and toppled over.

He woke up back in the sorry excuse for a camp, with Wen Qing acting as his doctor and Wen Ning as her assistant, taking care of him (it had taken an embarrassingly long while before Nie Huaisang remembered their names, for all that they’d come to lessons at the Cloud Recesses, too, both of them, and even though they’d all gone on a whole mission to the village with the goddess statute together afterwards, but in his defense he was really bad at memorizing - anything), and while Wen Qing kept herself nice and professional, Wen Ning kept shooting him extremely impressed looks that Nie Huaisang didn’t think he deserved.

He hadn’t actually defeated the Core-Melting Hand in one-on-one combat, no matter what Wei Wuxian said. He’d launched a surprise attack at the back of a man who wasn’t expecting it, because no one ever expected anything from Nie Huaisang.

“You have remarkable arm strength,” Wen Qing said (she had looked amused when he asked about her name, blushing with shame), sounding casual but clearly fishing a little. “It’s hidden by your thin frame, and even further minimized by your choice in clothing, but actually you have significant muscle there.”

“Saber practice,” Nie Huaisang explained. “Sabers are heavier than swords, and rely more on brute force. At home, you train a lot with heavy things even before you get your own saber, just to make sure you can wield it properly – you have to have a good arm.”

He’d been barely mediocre by his sect’s standards, and even that level he’d only achieved through years of nagging, threatening, and occasional bribery on his older brother’s part. He shouldn’t have been able to win, but Wen Zhuliu hadn’t even been looking at Nie Huaisang when he’d said what he said, hadn’t seen the moment he’d snapped and attacked, his disordered qi giving him extraordinary strength even as it turned against him to destroy him internally, and if there was one thing that saber style taught you it was not to let someone who’d fallen to your blade get up again.

(Had his brother brought out Baxia against Meng Yao, before deciding to let him go? He couldn’t help but wonder – it was bad luck if he had, a severing of the relationship in an unfixable way, but he wasn’t sure his brother would be strong enough to resist trying to repair it if Meng Yao ever came back. Where was Meng Yao, anyway?)

Attacking a man from behind wasn’t really honorable, he thought glumly, and he thought he understood for the first time why his brother was so strict about such things: it didn’t feel good to have done it this way. It felt like cheating, made every approving gaze feel like a lie, like something he didn’t deserve.

“So what happens now?” he asked, and Wen Qing shrugged a little helplessly. “Does, uh…”

“Wei-gongzi and Jiang-gongzi are hiding the remains,” Wen Ning volunteered. He looked way too cheerfully when he said ‘remains’. Possible budding mass-murderer? Or maybe he’d just been a doctor’s assistant for too long. “Wen-er-gongzi hasn’t noticed yet – he’s still with Wang Lingjiao.”

“But he will notice,” Nie Huaisang said.

“As long as he doesn’t blame any of you, does it matter?” Wen Qing said.

“…if you have an example of Wen Zhuliu’s handwriting, I can probably forge it to look like a note saying he was summoned back by Sect Leader Wen.”

Wen Qing and Wen Ning exchanged looks he didn’t quite understand, but they brought him what he needed, and by the time they got trapped in a horrible underground cave with a gigantic man-eating Xuanwu the next day, Wen Chao still hadn’t figured it out, though he’d been in an awful mood the entire time.

“Why are you sitting down?” Jiang Cheng scolded him even as he dashed around fighting Wen sect soldiers, and see, this was why Nie Huaisang didn’t ever fight. It only made people expect him to do it more – Jiang Cheng hadn’t scolded him at all for hiding behind things before…

Before.

“Leave him alone,” Jin Zixuan said. He hadn’t been there, so he still looked disdainful and dismissive; it was amazing how much of a relief that was. “He can’t help anyway.”

“But –”

“My head hurts,” Nie Huaisang said plaintively, and it had the benefit of being both true and working very effectively to get Jiang Cheng to head as far away from him as possible in a sudden rush. After a while, he got up and picked up one of the swords some unfortunate Wen sect retainer had dropped.

“I have no idea what I’m doing with this,” he said, very seriously, to yet another unfortunate Wen sect retainer, before lifting it and bringing it down, saber-style, the way his brother had all but beaten into his head.

That one didn’t seemed like he was expecting it, either, even though Nie Huaisang was right in front of his face and everything.

It felt a bit better, though – Aituan didn’t like the Wen sect one bit, he thought a little muzzily, and wondered why he’d thought that, since after all Aituan was all the way back at home – and he was a little less ashamed to stand with the rest of them as they tried to figure out a way out of the cave.

“You probably shouldn’t do that,” he said to the Lan disciple who picked up a bow and was trying to aim it at the Xuanwu. “You’ll miss.”

The Lan disciple glared at him.

“Not as bad as I would, mind you,” Nie Huaisang said, looking at it. He felt as though he was standing behind a pane of glass and nothing could touch him - not pain or fear or anything, anything but rage. “I’d probably miss the turtle entirely. I’m just saying that it’s angry now, so the shot’s a lot harder to make; maybe five people could make that shot.”

“Lan-er-gongzi could make it.”

“Yes, well, Lan-er-gongzi isn’t human,” Nie Huaisang said, quite seriously, and the Lan disciple’s lips twitched. “Seriously, don’t waste your time – or your arrows. If you’re anywhere good enough at archery to even think that you could make that shot, you need to keep them to protect me.”

“Are you in need of protection?”

“Oh, always,” Nie Huaisang said blithely, the way he always did, then paused and grimaced. “Most of the time, anyway. I got sick, earlier.”

He was pretty sure the Lan disciple didn’t understand what he meant by sick.

“You don’t really want me to protect you,” the disciple said, frowning. “Do you?”

Nie Huaisang wanted everyone to protect him. He never wanted to fight again in his life.

But the Lan disciple looked like he was a little pleased to have been asked, like no one had ever asked him before, and Nie Huaisang suddenly felt a sudden stab of empathy hitting him straight in the heart.

“I do. I’m pretty sure all the other Nie disciples here are short-range fighters –” His brother had sent as few of them as he could manage, and only sent any at all because he wanted someone there to keep an eye on Nie Huaisang. To protect him. “– and they’re mostly hotheaded idiots –” That was definitely true. “– and I really, really don’t want to end up in another situation where I get sick again, because my brother will never forgive me. So I could use an archer.”

“…okay,” the Lan disciple said. “I’m Su She.”

Nie Huaisang nodded. “I promise to apologize to your sect later on for taking up your time.”

He managed not to be sick the entire journey home.

Maybe it was an aberration, he thought, maybe –

When he got home, his brother was holding Aituan in his hand instead of Baxia – she was in her sheath on his back – and he rushed over to him at once, presenting the saber to him before he did anything else; confused, Nie Huaisang accepted his saber, wondering if he was going to need to go practice or something, and the second his hand wrapped around the hilt –

Oh.

His head abruptly cleared, the fog he hadn’t even realized was there finally lifting, the rage draining out of him and back into Aituan – not an especially angry saber, as they went, but still a Nie saber with all that entailed. His qi finally, finally straightened out, stabilized, and he felt like he could breathe again, his mind free and clear now that he had a saber in his hand.

Like all the other Nies before him.

Doomed.

And then he was in his brother’s arms, being held tight.

“Oh, Huaisang,” his brother said, and his voice sounded raw and broken, almost as if he’d been weeping. “I never wanted this for you.”

Nie Huaisang hugged him back.

“It’s okay,” he said, and the buzzing in the back of his head that was Aituan agreed with him. He’d been there the whole time, ever since the first incident; it didn’t matter how far away from each other they were. “It was a small one, it passed, it’s fine…”

It wasn’t fine, and they both knew it – Nie Huaisang might not know the details of all their clan secrets, but he knew enough to know what it was he was so carefully not knowing – but what was there to say?

It was still his family. It was still his heritage.

(He wondered what Meng Yao would say, if he knew. He wondered if he would pull his saber back the way his brother had, if Meng Yao ever betrayed him.)

“At least I can help fight now,” he said, joking, and his brother glared at him.

“Not a chance,” he said. “You’re going to go somewhere safe. You can go with –”

“Su She.”

“– with Su She back to the Cloud Recesses; it’ll be more secure there than here.”

It was about what Nie Huaisang had expected.

“Okay,” he said. “But not now.”

His brother’s eyes flickered down to his saber. His lifeline.

“No,” he said. “Not now.”

#mdzs #nie huaisang #wei wuxian #jiang cheng #su she #nie mingjue #wen ning #wen qing #my fic #my fics #I actually wrote this before the other Su She one #funny to see how things develop over time #Anonymous

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angelguk · 3 years

Text

this prompt: jock!jaykay and namjoon running into each other at a party or sth and namjoon being like ‘you finally grow a pair and ask oc out yet?’ and jks just like 😧 and joons like ‘seriously dude? 😑 i’ve been waiting for you to ask her out since before i even dated her’. but make it more angst!!! namjoon is kind of an asshole here. there’s smoking, drinking and jk getting a brief lapdance. oc is a LIAR. jaykay deep in his feels tbh. roughly 1.5k. listen to all i wanted by paramore

Jeongguk's crossed too many paths with people during his life to remember every face his eyes have ever seen. But there’s one he will never forget, no matter how hard he tries to scrub the memory from his brain, ignore the muted forlorn twang in his heart, the low ache that ebbs from the base of his skull. It sparks up again despite years of never seeing the individual who caused the problem. How could he forget those broad shoulders? The sharp analytic eyes. The man whom you’d attached yourself too for a good chunk of your joint high school careers. It surprises him, honestly, because Jeongguk’s got a girl grinding on his lap but his eyes are locked on Namjoon, ears trailing after the sound of his deep laugh instead of the sweet nothings Nayeon (or Naeun, or Nayoung — he can’t fucking remember) is murmuring into the hollow of his neck.

For one, he’s fucked out of his mind. Taehyung probably laced the joint; he liked doing that shit even when it messed up Jeongguk’s trip. He should have known not to take a hit, but he was already ten shots in and nothing sounded better than smoke in his lungs. Maybe not nothing. This girl feels good in his hands, responds to the lightest of his touches, moans in his ear like she wants him to fuck her.

He could. He has before. Probably. She knows exactly where to nip his neck for this to have not been a repeat hook-up. But in the haze of the low living room lights and the spinning headiness of the drinks he’d downed, he couldn’t make out her face. It’d shift and twist and turn into an image that almost makes him want to cry because, at some angles, when the shadows form right, he thinks he can see your face. It could be you in his lap, you whimpering whenever your crotches aligned just right, you clinging to him like the sun hangs onto the evening sky.

But it’s not.

And for some unfathomable reason, Jeongguk’s ruined mind recognises that sucks.

Because it should be you.

He doesn’t know how he gets that girl off. Probably some lie that he needed to pee. In reality, he needed to breathe, because those thoughts surface with malicious intent, purposefully drawing him closer to deep dangerous waters. If he’s not careful he could easily drown, suffocated by desires he can’t even string together into a comprehensible sentence.

The night air hits sharp, seeping through his loose shirt. It grounds him enough for his steps to stabilise, feet following a slow trudge to the edge of the balcony. He doesn’t even know whose house this is. Somebody he’s probably never met honestly. But he wanted you to come. Everyone was coming out tonight. Even your elusive roommate Sohee was somewhere in some bathroom with a head between her thighs. You probably are doing that too, to be far. Even the name evokes bile from his throat, bitter and violent, full of jealousy he’d never really learnt to contain.

Lee Eunwoo. A graphic design major. Slightly taller than Jeongguk (only when Jeongguk is having a bad day) and somehow he can make you giggle like he’s getting paid for it.

You’d mentioned it so softly that Jeongguk didn’t even hear it at first. But then your cheeks had heated up, that stupid sparkle melting through your gaze. You wanted to spend the night with him, take advantage of an empty apartment, perhaps watch a movie or two.

It's obvious that you were going to sleep with him. The thought itself irked something visceral inside of Jeongguk. But he’d given you an easy smile, laughed at the modesty of your demeanour and wished you well with a tight hug. The same low buzzing of frustration that he got when you were with Namjoon was already waning through his system as he completed his sets at the gym with more force than needed.

Which is why he can’t help but release a bitter laugh into the night. Ironically, Namjoon was here while you were getting your back blown out by another idiotic guy Jeongguk did not like.

“What’s so funny?”

He can’t spin around to face him, Jeongguk knows he’ll throw up if he does. But he can’t forget a timbre like that. Not when you nearly wrote a poem about how wonderful Kim Namjoon’s voice was. A poem which you recited to Jeongguk before he begged you to rip it to shreds and never talk about again.

(Subconsciously Jeongguk had adopted a deeper voice whenever he talked to you since then. It came out more when he was drunk, but it’s not like you paid any attention anyway).

“Nothing,” he returns. He hopes Namjoon gets the hint and goes away. The bastard joins him on the balcony instead.

“No, seriously, what’s funny? You look like you’ve got a lot going on in your head.” Namjoon was always so concerned in talking about emotions and putting your feelings into words. It’s one of the reasons why you loved him and probably reason one thousand why Jeongguk hated him.

“Hello to you too, Kim Namjoon. Don’t you think we should catch up on the pleasantries before you start psychoanalysing me?” He retorts, forcing his gaze onto the other man. Namjoon looks good; golden skin, broad shoulders and his hair cropped short. There’s an ease to him that Jeongguk could never replicate no matter how hard he tried. Perhaps that’s what happens when you’re born sure of yourself. Like Namjoon was.

The laugh he receives is empty. Namjoon is busy rifling through his pockets, fingers emerging with a joint and a lighter. “Nice to see you too, Jeon. Didn’t think I’d ever bump into you after high school but the universe works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it?” The jay slips between his lips, followed by a swift flick of the lighter before a deep inhale that Jeongguk swears he feels in his lungs. The smoke floats out pretty, fading into wisps of nothing but grey as the breeze sweeps it away. Namjoon offers it cordially, a simple raise of his defined eyebrows and even though Jeongguk’s legs are melting through the floor he can’t say no.

“You sure?” The doubt tinting his tone makes him take it. His overestimation in his maintenance capabilities leads to a rather rough inhale, and an even worse hacking cough that he wants to be mortified at because Namjoon fucking laughs. But he can’t when the world feels like air in his fingertips, slowly slipping away. Almost like you feel at times.

“You should stop taking the shit Taehyung rolls. I don’t even know what he slips in there but last time I smoked with him I thought I was on Mars.”

“Taehyung offers, I never ask.”

“You never ask for anything to be frank.”

“What?”

“You heard me,” Namjoon returns, smoke falling from his lips.

“Yeah, I fucking did. I was giving you the chance to pretend you didn’t say it.” Jeongguk’s all in his space in an instant, the itch to smash Namjoon’s face tingling beneath his skin. Namjoon doesn’t even back up, gracing Jeongguk with a quizzical look that leaves him bewildered. “You don’t fucking know me—"

“I do.” There’s a scoff that riles him up even further. Namjoon’s still incredibly unbothered as he talks. “You think being Y/N’s boyfriend I didn’t hear everything and anything about you? Jeongguk this! Jeongguk that! You know that’s the reason we broke up, right?”

That halts him, a lag in his brain as he attempts to process the words leaving Namjoon’s mouth. The older man just stares at him, the sigh that drifts in between them bordering on pity.

“She didn’t tell you that, did she? Y/N lies about a lot more things than you think, Jeon. Where is she by the way? I’ve seen all her friends but I haven’t seen her.”

“Why would you know her friends?” It’s a stupid question but in the jumble of his thoughts it’s the only thing his mind is capable of plucking out. A question that doesn’t leave him bare and vulnerable like the other one’s racing through his head.

“We don’t have each other blocked on everything. Sometimes we talk,” Namjoon supplies easily. And just like that Jeongguk crumbles. He’s not even aware of it but the first crack spears deep enough to leave the rest of him unstable, wavering as he falters away from Namjoon. You never told him any of this. As far as Jeongguk knew you ended the relationship hating him (a thought that briefly consoled Jeongguk if he’s being truthful). But apparently, you felt comfortable enough to share your life with the person Jeongguk thought hurt you the most.

“Man, fuck you.” It’s a release, to say it. Because honestly fuck Kim Namjoon. In the span of a few short sentences he’s tipped everything he’s ever been sure of upside-down, stomped on Jeongguk’s heart like it was bendable and ducked his head right into the ocean he was afraid of diving it, keeping it under until the water filled his lungs and Jeongguk ceased to function.

Namjoon shrugs, not even looking as Jeongguk stumbles back to the door. He needs to find you, ask how much of Namjoon’s words were true. He doesn’t care if Eunwoo is over he’ll kick him out if need be.

But then Namjoon opens his mouth one more time, the final nail in the coffin.

“You should have asked her out. I was waiting for you to it — she was probably waiting too.”

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #yeah yeah this is bad but um! i tired #sorry i took away the wholesome couple trope... i think jj oc and jk have shit to work out tbh #au: jock!jaykay #thank u for the prompt annonie!!#bts x reader #bts angst

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cellsshapedlikestars · 3 years

Note

Hon' if you are accepting prompts (and only if you are!) can I have some spooky Sansa and Jon? I'm still not over them in spooky scenarios so I would love to read anything about it.

And for something a little more specific (in case that helps): maybe ghost!Sansa and Jon moves to her place and she is not happy, but also she loves his dog?

Or maybe Addams AU!

Or maybe Jon is the ghost and Sansa moves into his place?

Or they are talkshow hosts or something and a ghost is trying to get them together?

Or maybe YouTubers AU and their followed bug them until they agree to a Collab and it's Halloween or something like that?

Okay I went all over the place and clearly have too many ideas, but feel free to choose any of you do choose something!

First of all, I guess I'm sort of always taking prompts? I'll never turn them away, though they may also sit in my inbox forever (I'm looking at you, the last anon prompt from when I asked for them back in December...)

Second, spooky prompts! ❤️👻❤️👻❤️ If there's anything I love in this world, it's the supernatural/paranormal. And it may be the middle of summer, but I'm already longing for spooky season and I've been trying to vibe with it but it's hard when the days are so long, hot, and humid. (I desperately want to be able to go outside and not feel like I'm breathing soup, thank you very much.)

Before I get to the prompt itself, because I'm too wordy for my own good - your one prompt of Sansa/Jon is a ghost and the other moves in to their place... well, I've read that fic! It's actually locked on AO3 and I don't know if that means the author doesn't really want people finding it/linking to it, so I won't, but I guess DM me if you wanna know what it is?? I don't know the protocol for that. There's also Haunt Me, Then by the lovely @ode-to-an-inkwell which I read back when I was lurking and I loved it. It's the same base premise, but with a ton more plot!

The prompt I have chosen is the youtuber collab! Because I also love writing about/dissecting social media, apparently.

Sansa breathes – deep and even – and tries to stay centered in the middle of her group (away from the edges, away from the dark corners and the sounds coming from them and the people she knows are waiting for her there).

She wishes with all her strength that her followers had never found out that she's related to Robb. It's not something she was hiding, necessarily, but when she started her channel, she'd kept a lot of her personal life private. And honestly, she never thought it would get to this point – the point where she has millions of followers and Robb and Theon have millions of followers and those followers inevitably found out she and Robb are siblings.

A collab had been unavoidable. She just wishes it were any other activity than... this.

She lets out a strangled scream as something crashes to her right and she stumbles left, straight into the other person who's been dragged along tonight – Jon Snow. He catches her arm and keeps her upright and she almost thanks him until she hears him let out a laugh. It infuriates her and she rips her arm out of his grasp and sends him a glare, though it's short lived when she sees what looks like a jar of eyeballs on a shelf behind him and bile twists in her stomach.

She hates Halloween - she hates horror movies and jump scares and gore, and she especially hates haunted houses. But what else should she have expected for this collab? Robb and Theon have a dumb prank channel, of course they'd bring her – notorious wimp Sansa Stark – to a haunted house for the video. She thinks Robb got permission to film, because Dacey and Olyvar are flanking them with cameras to capture everyone's reactions.

“It's all fake,” Jon reminds her, though she barely hears his voice over the din of sound effects echoing through the dark corridor as they pass from one room to another.

“I know that,” she hisses, heart pounding wildly. They approach a doorway and – sure enough – right as she passes through, there's a person with heavy special effects makeup waiting on the other side to grab at her (another thing she resents – this is one of those places where the actors can touch you. They'd had to sign a waver). She screams in the actor's faux-bloody face and she swears he laughs at her.

In front of her, Robb and Theon are being obnoxious as usual. She doesn't really condone their prank channel and has often had to reign them in from doing something that would get one of them needlessly hurt (or would be considered, you know, illegal). Jon is usually an unwilling participant in their videos, and he has his own woodworking channel that has nowhere near the viewership that her makeup channel or Robb and Theon's prank channels do (she's told him, over an over, that if he showed his face on camera, he'd get more viewers, but he insists that he wants the focus to be on his work, not him). Jon walks next to her, calm, like nothing in this place fazes him, and she sort of resents him for this.

She understands it's all fake, she's not stupid, but that doesn't stop her fear response from kicking in every time something jumps at her, every time lights flicker or go out. It doesn't stop her stomach from turning whenever she sees the needlessly gory scenes like that doctor cutting a girl open, her fake intestines spilling out as the actress screamed.

“It'll be over soon,” Jon leans in close so she can hear him better, and for a moment a sense of calm washes over her. She loses it, though, as he moves away to give her space and she panics and reaches out and grabs his hand, tugging him back close to her.

A strange look passes over his face, but he doesn't say anything, just lets her grab onto his arm as they continue through the haunted house. She can't explain it, but with Jon next to her she feels... safe. She knows none of this is real, she knows none of these actors will actually hurt her, but it doesn't seem to matter, and it doesn't seem to matter that Jon won't actually have to protect her (though she somehow knows that he would if he ever had to, and that's a strange realization to have as she's walking through a room of terrifying clowns).

When it's finally over and they're outside, she breathes a sigh of relief and she feels muscles that she hadn't even realized were tensed relax.

“That was awesome,” Theon nearly shouts at one of the cameras. He and Robb talk loudly and animatedly for the cameras about the house, summarizing it for their audience (she knows they're likely to cut out a lot of the extreme scares and gore, since a good portion of their audience are kids and young teens).

“You good?” Jon murmurs to her and she realizes she still has a death grip on his arm.

“Oh,” she breathes with a forced laugh, “yeah,” and she lets go of his arm and immediately wishes she could have it back. (And then, some part of her brain whispers that she wishes she could have his arm wrapped around her instead, but she pushes that thought out because where did that even come from?)

Jon brings a hand up to scratch at his beard and shifts on his feet and she wonders if its because he feels awkward on camera. Jon's never liked being on camera, not really – it's why Robb and Theon always have to catch him off guard and why his videos – at most – only feature his hands and forearms (the comments on his videos about how attractive his hands and forearms are had been one of her main arguments for showing his face, but Jon had gotten weird after that and so she'd dropped it eventually).

“Hayride next?” Robb asks, which brings her back to the present.

“There's more?” she whines, twisting her face into a pout that always got her out of trouble when she was a kid, but Robb and Theon are already making their way towards the next attraction.

“You can sit next to me,” Jon offers, and she feels relief flood through her. “I'll be on the outside.”

She feels herself smile for the first time all night and nods and she's even more pleased when he – after a moment of hesitation – holds out his arm for her to take. She does so, curling her own arms around his and hugging it to her, keeping herself as close to him as possible as they walk through the fairgrounds to the haunted hayride.

They arrive right behind Robb and Theon and when Robb sees the way she's basically clinging to his best friend, there's a look that she can't figure out – it flicks from their joined arms, to Jon, then back to their arms, then to her, then back to Jon again and she feels Jon stiffen up next to her. Something silent passes between them and Robb looks almost... concerned? But then Jon shakes his head so subtly she thinks she's not supposed to see it and Robb nods back and turns around to face Theon and the cameras and Sansa's left more confused than anything.

The next tractor and wagon pull up to the entrance and the previous riders disembark. She waits with Jon, and though there's a slight fluttering in her stomach, she's not terrified like she had been right before the haunted house. Jon keeps his word and as they climb onto the open-topped wagon, he lets her sit in the middle and he takes the outside so she won't have to deal with the actors that run up to them during the ride. She settles into the hay and, without thinking, leans her head on his shoulder, arm still linked through his.

“Thank you,” she says.

“Robb and Theon shouldn't have made you do this,” Jon says back and his voice sounds a bit shaky. She can't see his face, she's too comfortable resting her head against him to look up, but she wonders why he sounds nervous. Maybe he's more scared of all of this than he was letting on? He hadn't seemed nervous at all in the haunted house.

“Don't worry, I'm going to have so much fun giving them a full face of glam makeup when it's time to make the video for my channel.” That's the point of this collab – she does a video for their channel and they do one for hers.

Jon lets out a soft laugh as the tractor starts up and the wagon lurches forward, heading into the dark forest. “Can I watch?”

“Definitely,” she says as she squeezes his arm tighter, her heart jumping at a noise off in the woods – a signal that the scares are about to start. “You should let me do your makeup,” she continues to try and distract herself. “I think glam makeup would look amazing with your beard.”

“Sure,” she can feel his shoulder lift into a shrug, and that does make her lift her head up and look at him.

“You would? I thought you hated being on camera?”

He shrugs again, but whatever response he was going to give is cut off as an actor takes a running leap at the wagon, latching onto the side and pulling himself up, and the passenger nearest to him (right in front of Jon) screams. Sansa sucks in a breath and tries to calm her racing heart (and out of the corner of her eye, she sees Dacey with a camera pointed right at her and Jon, a smirk on her face).

She spends the rest of the ride (and all through the haunted corn maze), hanging onto Jon for dear life and she swears his calm presence is the only reason she survives.

(And when she finally gets home to her little apartment and gets into bed, she tries desperately not to think too hard about why that is. She tries not to analyze the safety she felt with him or the way her heart had been fluttering during the car ride home, sitting in Robb's back seat and staring at Jon's profile illuminated by moonlight in the front seat as he and Robb talked and joked around. She tries not to obsess about the way he'd told her to call him if she ever wanted him to be in one of her videos, tries not to read too much into the look Robb had given Jon when he said it.)

(She tells herself that the reason she can't sleep that night is because of the haunted house.)

(It's definitely not because of Jon.)

#ask #prompt fic #jonsa #jonsa fic #spooky season baby #we're starting early #though really #does spooky season ever end?

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sunflowersteves · 3 years

Text

alive and well || b.f.

summary || whoever was in the familiar green armor before you was about to feel your wrath for stealing what wasn’t theirs.

author’s note || this is my first boba fic so pls go easy. it was also way longer than i intended and very sad but i hope you all enjoy!

warnings || angst, sadness, fluff, soft!boba

masterlist

You never thought you would be back in the place you dread most. You hated it—your body filled with pure contempt as your feet trudged across the hot sands. Jabba’s Palace looked almost exactly the same as you remembered it. The red rusty metal gleamed against the blazing suns of Tatooine.

You could feel the bounty hunter’s eyes behind you, making sure to escort you into the large building. Everything was dark, with no light or windows to pave the way in front of you. The bounty hunter pushed you forward, and you let out a groan, almost falling onto the ground. Despite knowing that they can’t see you, you still send them a glare.

The aura took no mercy on everyone around it; cruelty and greed were highly regarded above all else. There was always someone on top, someone that ruled over others. Someone always had control over the forsaken land and its people.

And that was currently Bib Fortuna.

After that day, you wanted absolutely nothing to do with that place. Bib tried to convince you otherwise, but you sneered at him and spoke in a venomous tone.

“There will never be a day when I’ll want to come back to this wretched place.”

So having one of his lackeys come and ask for your presence had confused you. He was aware of what would happen if you came back, of what would happen to him if you came back. You blamed all of them for what had happened on that day, and you would make them pay.

The bounty hunter pushed you slightly for what felt like the hundredth time, hinting for you to get a move on. You want to squeeze your eyes shut at the familiar stairwell, bile rising in your throat. You thought of him and those brown eyes staring back at you. You thought of his lips and how they felt against your cheeks. You thought of his skin and how it felt flushed against yours, the heat radiating off onto you. You thought about his hand clinging to yours, feet dangling in front of the Sarlacc pit. You thought about those soft words that poured through the modulator of the helmet.

“It’s okay, little one. It’ll be okay. Let go.”

Your boots touch the hard ground of the cantina area, the music loud with dancers floating on tables and customers chugging Spotchka. Your eyes trailed from table to table to watch everyone with a sneer.

You knew you shouldn’t have come back to this place, a wave of disgust washes over you. Your eyes follow to the center of the room, right where the throne is. You expected Bib Fortuna to be sitting there with a smug expression while he whipped one of his slaves. You expected Bib Fortuna to want something from you, to exploit your services for his own gain.

But what you weren't expecting was to see him. No, his armor. There was no possible way that that was him. You had watched him die. You had watched him fall into the depths of the Sarlacc pit, the tears stinging your eyes as he let go.

So who the fuck is this?

The newly painted armor shined against the dim lights; it looked brand new. It didn’t have the chipped paint that you remember or the small bits of rust packed on the side. The visor was locked in your direction; whoever was underneath your riduur’s helmet was staring at you.

Before you could even really think, you pointed a blaster straight at the helmet. The whole room becomes dead with silence, anticipation leaking from the walls. The amount of respect held for the thief before you had surprised you quite a bit. Bib Fortuna only had Jabba’s reign that kept him at the top. So whoever this being was, they were highly regarded and feared by others around the cantina.

The mercenary next to them immediately reacted back with a blaster now pointed directly at your head. But it didn’t phase you. You held your ground and spoke with pure venom against your voice, “Take it off.”

“What did you just say?”

You didn’t look at the mercenary that spoke. Your eyes set right on the black visor. Honestly, you straight up ignored her, and the blaster pointed at you. You didn’t care, not when someone was wearing his armor.

“That armor doesn’t fucking belong to you. Take it off.”

“That armor does belong to him.”

You wanted to give her an exasperated look. You know who the armor belongs to, and it wasn’t them. There was no possible way that it was theirs. “No, It doesn’t. He probably found it somewhere. Kriffing—take it off.”

She smirked. “Or what?”

Your eyes finally flick over towards the mercenary with your hardened gaze never wavering. You spoke your next words carefully, making sure that every syllable was articulated. You wanted everyone in Jabba’s Palace to know just exactly who you were.

“I peel it off his dead body.”

Her fingers pressed against the trigger, you mentally prepared yourself for the mistake you were making. The entire cantina was full of people who would shoot you in a split second. She was almost about to shoot when a booming voice rang against the walls.

“Everyone out!”

You almost had to double-take at the sound of that voice. You knew that voice. You knew that voice better than your own. You could spot the click of his tongue and the shake of his vocal cords. Your gun only lowered slightly as you try and decipher whether or not your ears were playing tricks on you.

It took some convincing for the mercenary to leave, but everyone filed out as quickly as possible. The helmet, however, stayed right on you. He never wavered or faltered as everyone rushed out of the room. Your hand reacted quickly at the movement of his hands; the blaster pointed at his head again. He lifted his hands before slowly reaching his helmet. Once he saw that you weren’t going to shoot him, he started to lift his helmet. The hissing sound lifted into your ears as he slowly showed his face and the scene before you made your heart stop.

It was him.

He was alive. He even looked well.

Your riduur was sitting right in front of you on a fucking throne. He was much different, that much you saw. There were new scars that were scattered on his face, and he didn’t have the fluffy black hair you once remembered. There were small wrinkles that deepened his smile lines, and his eyes had a sense of void in them.

Before, they were lively and spirited. Before, they shined bright against many suns and glowed in the depths of moons. But now, they seemed duller, more broken.

You lowered your gun ever so slowly. Was it really him? Was the love of your life really standing before you? You didn’t know how many moments had passed that had been spared from the time you had been staring at him. You even didn’t know how long it had been since you started crying, the tears soaking your cheeks and dripping down your chin.

“Boba, is—is that really you?”

The soft pillows of your voice struck his ears, and he could’ve sworn it was the most beautiful sound he had heard in quite some time. Tears pricked the corner of his eyes as he thought about the days, weeks, and years you went through, knowing he didn’t make it on that day. But, you were here. His little one was right in front of him, flesh and blood.

“It’s really me, little one. I’m here. I’m alive.”

You were closer to him now, having taken a few steps onto the throne. A part of you wanted to reach out and touch his face, to hold him and never let go. However, the other part didn’t want to pressure him. What you had was in the past, far away from the surface of what once was.

Before you could even make a decision, Boba grabbed you so desperately into his lap. The cool metal your body felt made you ache, pure fire burning through your body as he quickly took off his gloves. He needed to feel you. He needed to feel the soft crevasses of your skin, the rough calluses that grew beneath you, the edges and rounds of each and every part of your body.

Your hands immediately went to rest on his cheeks, a gasp leaving his lips at the sensation. You didn’t waste any more seconds and pressed your lips against his, mouths colliding and mushing against one another. His hands roamed your body in desperation, his fingertips tingling at the familiar feel of your silky skin.

In between each kiss, you both sputtered out sweet words, grabbing and twisting at every waking moment. “I missed you. I’ve never stopped missing you.” He let out a breath, “you were always on my mind, little one. There wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t think of you.”

You never thought that this moment would come to life—you had dreamed of it many times. You never thought you would ever see him again except for your memories. But he was here. He was right in front of you—kissing you, loving you. “I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you. You are my alit, my one true love.”

“I love you, I love you, I love—” You cut him off with another kiss, begging for those lips to never leave yours. Your hands ran down his chest plate, the hard surface struck upon the pads of your fingers. Your lungs screamed at you for some type of relief, but you never wanted to give in.

“Never leave. Never leave me again. Never—”

“I’m never leaving. For as long as you want me, I’m yours.”

You shook your head slightly at yourself, “I should've looked for you. I should’ve gone there to save you. I should’ve held onto you tighter. I should’ve tried harder—”

He quickly grabbed your hands and held them tightly against his chest. His mouth pressed kisses against your cheeks and nose before diving back to your lips again.

“Cyare, there was nothing you could’ve done. I was dead. I was gone. By luck, I was saved, and I knew you’d come back to me. I always knew.”

Your cheeks were still wet from the buckets of tears that had poured out of your eyes. Your hands shook slightly from the pure shock of the moment. But none of that mattered. All that mattered was that you were home. You were with him, and that’s all you could ever ask for. Your riduur found his way back into your arms.

Star Wars: @marvelous-capsicle @fandomsandxfiles @mudhornchronicles @cutebubblylmp @3strogen

Permanent Taglist: @captainchrisstan @angstysebfan @teenagereadersciencenerd @rebekahdawkins @hailmary-yramliah @stardust-galaxies @wiccanmetallicrose @keithseabrook27 @hereforthesunrise

#boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett x y/n #boba fett #star wars #star wars fanfiction #star wars fandom #sw #boba fett imagine #boba fett fanfiction

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lrissa · 3 years

Text

I Hate You

requested by @bighopenat165

summary: after breaking up with levi you secure your citizenship to the surface but not without reopening an old wound

warnings: vomiting, mild violence

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

Walking down the dirty stone pavement you held only a small bag of groceries, just a loaf of bread and two variations of cheese. Hungry gazes followed your steps while you walked, whether it was because you had food that they starved for or because you were simply just a woman walking alone in the underground. But fortunately for you, Levi had taught you self defense and insisted you carry a dagger with you no matter the circumstances. Of course, you agreed.

Stepping up the crumbling stairs to your house you passed by young men as they stuck their grimy hands out to touch your soft skin, a hard glare meeting their gaze before their futile hands could even caress an inch of you. Opening the door to your little house you quickly shut it and observed the room, Levi wasn’t home yet. Sighing quietly you walked to the table and set the bag down, anxiety crawling up your nerves as you wondered why he hadn’t made it back yet.

Taking out your bread and cheese, you made little slices of bread and cheese together. Sitting down on the couch you silently ate, your stare locked to the door as you waited for your boyfriend's arrival. Succumbing to sleep you felt your eyelids shut and your body lean on the couch arm, still in an upright position while your arms were crossed over your chest. Until eventually, darkness wisped you away.

The hard bang of the door made your eyes flutter open in shock, your boyfriend entering the house as he seemed to be mentally struggling, gripping his hair. Blinking, you slowly stood. Drowsiness still coursing through your veins as you almost tripped when walking towards the raven head. “Levi, what’s the matter?” You asked softly and reached your hand out, taking his hand while he snapped his head up to you. He grunted and pulled you to the couch, sitting you down while he leaned on the table.

“I got a job, but it's different this time. I don't know if i’ll come back.” He stated with his arms crossed over his chest, staring down at you with his stoic eyes. You met his eyes with worry in yours, “What do you mean.” Beginning to fiddle with your fingers excessively, he noted this and turned his head to the side, he really didn’t want to do this but he believed it was best.

“We can't be together anymore.” He stated flatly while your eyes widened in shock, standing from the couch instantly as you approached him. Levi turned his head back to you, they held no remorse or sadness. “You’re being irrational Levi.” You snapped and stood in front of him, eyes boring into his as he scowled. “You don't know what's good for you yet, brat.” He stepped away from the table, walking around it as he headed for the door.

Truthfully, Levi was dying from the inside out. More than nothing, he wished to embrace you in his arms and take you on the mission. But it was more than dangerous, life threatening. He had been given a deal from a man with high superiority to kill Erwin Smith and that the pursuers would be coming to get him, Isabel, and Farlan soon. If you had even gotten one hair on your head touched from his doing, Levi was afraid he’d never forgive himself. So instead he took it upon himself to break up with you and sever all ties, breaking both hearts in the process.

“Levi. Do not exit that door.” You commanded and stood abroad, eyes glossing over with tears as you watched your world, lover, your everything take your heart and rip it apart. “Levi..” You croaked out as he stopped for a moment, his hand mid-reach for the handle to turn it and never look back. His fingers shook violently, the urge to grab your face and kiss you was strong. But he couldn’t, he couldn't risk your life for his self desires. Without even saying a simple goodbye he shoved the door open and slammed it on his back, maybe he hoped to see you again, a goodbye rested uncomfortably with him.

You dropped to your knees and sobbed loudly into your hands, your shoulders shook recklessly as all you could do was cry, cry for the lovely times, cry for all the future memories you had wished to have with him, cry for Levi. You had known his lifestyle was going to interfere with the relationship but never had you expected this from him. It was so bizarre that you thought it was a joke, a little tease he was playing on you.

But there you were kneeled down. Tears never seemed to stop as they poured down your cheeks onto the wood boards below you.

──────────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────────

You had done it, you’ve finally gained citizenship and coughed up enough money to go to the surface. It's been years since you had last seen your ex boyfriend, honestly you were still in love with him even after all the heartthrob he had caused you. But as you stepped up the stairs to the blaring sun all you thought of were new beginnings, a new hope fluttered in your chest as you clutched onto your small bag of belongings.

Conveniently, today was also the day Levi was returning from the expedition.

Breathing in the fresh air you stood, eyes staring at the beautiful sky before you. It surpassed your expectations tremendously. Walking along the unfamiliar road you felt the stares of the civilians, your clothing was very different. Dirty and disheveled while they were clean and perfectly perfect. Finding what seemed to be the main road you saw people standing on either side of it, some were sobbing as they awaited their child, although they didn’t know what was left of their kid it was almost a given it would come back cold and lifeless. As others were staring in shock or longing, their dying wish was to be a part of the Survey Corps and live a heroic life, so naive.

Pushing past the civilians you weeded through the crowd, grumbling apologies as you did. Then began the rumble of the floor as the large gate began to pull itself open, revealing horses with battered and horror stricken soldiers. The tired trot of the horses as the hooves clanked against the stoney path. As they moved along their open pathway, carts full of bloody bags filled with mutilated bodies crossed the gate.

Time went short as the cart of bodies passed by your vision. Seeing the missing half of one's face as the remains of their brain was drooping out of the gaping hole. Blood splattered the face while the eyes were wide with fear and their mouth had been mid scream before they met their doom. Bile rode up your throat abruptly, clasping a hand to your mouth as you began to shove through the crowd, pleading to unsee that terrific event.

But in your haste had someone’s eyes gazed at you. The familiarity of the hair and back profile striking a place in their heart so suddenly he almost fell over.

You ran to a back alley, placing a hand on the wall to give support as the bile had tipped over. Puking up any remains of the lunch you had just hours earlier. Heaving air as your chest rose and collapsed in shuddering breaths, tears pricked at your eyes as you shut the tightly, trying to erase your memory.

A man stood at the entrance of the alley, his heart clenching in loving memories as he stared at the woman he’d abandoned. “Y/N.” A man stated from behind your vulnerable figure. You had frozen, there was only one man you had met with that voice, it was Levi. Your fingers began to shake as memories that you shared between each other came crashing down onto your heavy heart.

With trembling steps you willed yourself to turn, to face your fear of seeing him again. Painfully, you looked back to him. He almost looked the exact same, his face still had a passionless look but it was stronger now. His haircut had stayed the same throughout the years. Unbeknownst to you your heart played against you and pang with love, strong enough love it could support two of you.

“Levi..” You whimpered softly as tears unwillingly began to flow one by one down your cheeks. The urge to punch him was strong, you wanted him to feel guilty, to feel sorry for leaving you down there by yourself. Levi’s eyes widened at your tears, he had expected you to lash out and scream not crumble before him.

The raven head began to walk forwards, your tremble only increasing as the man neared you. Seeing you like this struck his nerves and tore his heart even more. His arms began to extend out to you, slowly and shakily they enveloped your shaking frame. Sobs left your lips and you clenched your hand into fists, beating on his chest weakly, “I hate you…” You cried as you continued your futile attempts in hitting him.

Levi frowned and brought you closer to his chest, his own eyes glazed over as he shut them tightly, his hands gripping your shirt in clumps as he held onto you as if you’d slip through his arms again. “I'm sorry.” He said softly, tucking his head in your hair as you stopped your vain attempts and held onto his shirt. Your tears left stains but in the moment he’d forget about it.

“I hate you..” You wept again, his embrace only tightening, “Don't do that ever again…” You choked out. Levi let small tears slip past his eyes, finding themselves suited in your hair. “Never.” He whispered gently, pulling back from the embrace gradually as his hands went to your face. His eyes roaming every place they could, he had missed you so much.

Cautiously, he leaned down and shut his eyes with you following suit. His lips found yours, he still felt the same on your lips, as if you were molded only for each other's warm kisses. The kiss was long overdue, your hands on him relaxing as they moved to his shoulders. Leisurely you pulled away, resting your forehead on his whilst his thumb coated your cheek and rubbed your tears off tenderly.

Both hearts mended back together that day. Starting new beginnings.

#aot fanfiction #levi ackerman #levi aot #levi heichou #levi x reader #levi x y/n #angst #aot #aot imagines #aot x reader #levi angst #captain levi #aot anime #snk x reader #snk #snk anime

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heir-less · 2 years

Note

Jason Knauf just got quoted in an article about Kate and it was full of digs at Meghan. It just felt so personal like he really hate her. I don't think he's done with the royals.

Ugh, can someone link me to that? I'm going to be reviewing all of these Kate at 40 articles. Can't wait for more bullshit!

Honestly, I think he's on his hate Meghan grind because that's what's profitable in his circles. Maybe it's also just a deep personal dislike of her as well. But for the most part, I think he likes the money and attention. I don't think he's loyal to the Cambridges, I think he's a fraud who will flip on people like it's nothing. I think blowing smoke up their asses is what keeps him relevant, if that changes who knows what will come next from him?

He was Harry's most trusted aide at one point. He was the one who helped Harry with the first statement when he was dating Meghan, and he started out helping Meghan and Harry with the Thomas Markle letter. It was his job, but they clearly trusted him with a lot of shit. And look at how he treated them. It was after they left that he started spewing bile and abuse at them. If I were Will and Kate, I'd keep tabs on him at least, he seems like a rat. Who knows how the royal reporting scene will change in the next few years?

#answered #anon

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danny-chase · 3 years

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Delirium - read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Batman (Comics), Titans (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne & Dick Grayson, Roy Harper & Lian Harper, Lian Harper & Dick Grayson, Lian Harper & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Roy Harper, Tim Drake & Roy Harper Characters: Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Roy Harper, Lian Harper Additional Tags: Hopsitals, delirious, Anxiety, Panic, POV Tim Drake, Canon Divergence, Good Sibling Tim Drake, Damian Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Tim Drake is Bad at Feelings, Hurt Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson is Batman, Tim Drake is Red Robin, Damian Wayne is Robin, Lian never died, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Dick Grayson gets a forehead kiss, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Caring Batfamily (DCU), fluff at the end, Teen Titans as Family, Tim Drake emotional whump, Damian Wayne emotional whump, Lian Harper is a ray of stubborn sunshine on a cloudy day, gunshot wound, Head Wound, Coloring Books Series: Part 4 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

The one where Tim has to be the oldest for like five minutes and decides he doesn't like it (but does a good job anyways).

Full story under cut

“Alvin? Alvin… Draper?” A nurse called from across the room. Tim pulled his head out of his hands, careful not to jostle his fake moustache. “This way please.” She intoned, waving a hand towards a bustling hallway.

Damian nearly leapt out of the stiff plastic chair, and he slowly followed suit, trying to act causal. He doubted he was fooling anyone; his legs shook as he walked forward, and he was pretty sure he left a ring of butt sweat on his seat. Taking deep breaths to calm his fraying nerves, he concentrated on taking steady steps forward – he didn’t care much for Damian, but there was no way he’d let a child go through this sort of thing alone. Especially one who probably had never visited someone in the hospital (let alone been in one) before.

He’d gotten a panicked call from Barbara a few days ago. Gotham in ruins, streets in chaos… the usual. Bruce was gone. He couldn’t miraculously pull them out of these things anymore. The first Batman was dead, and this time… they could lose the second.

“Report.” Damian demanded, his harsh tone penetrating Tim’s thoughts. He was suddenly aware of the chaos of the hallway, of people jostling them as they rushed by, a cacophony of machines squealing and loud voices, and bright lights illuminating tacky flooring. He’d fallen a pace behind and quickened his step to stand firmly next to his… little brother.

As much he’d tried to deny it, at the end of the day, that’s what bound them. Fealty to a dead man, he’d once hoped they could be something more – but this family was ripping apart at the seams and Tim had to wonder what even kept them all here anymore.

Though – that wasn’t hard to figure out.

Dick was in trouble, and he came running. He’d been in trouble and Dick had come running. They were brothers in every sense of the word, without Bruce tying them together. His stomach clenched at the thought that it might all be lost to him forever, and he swallowed the bile burning at the top of his throat.

Dick had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world – when you talked to him, he listened, gave advice, and would drop anything to help. He quickly crawled his way into your life, cementing you as family. Things were never perfect, and they’d had their fights, but Dick always bent first, forgiveness freely given rather than earned. Tim had needed that. And from what little time they’d spent together, he knew Damian did too.

Panic. That was the only way to describe how he felt. He couldn’t be that for Damian – he couldn’t be Dick. He let out a shaky breath – Dick had to be fine – he couldn’t – not after Bruce – he couldn’t do this again – he was on the verge of shattering after finally picking up all the broken pieces of himself and –

“I said, report.” Damian squeaked. He jolted back into reality, steading his breath, and replaying the last few minutes, his mind trying to catch up.

The nurse seemed unamused, her nostrils flaring and brow tight as she glanced back. “Sorry, my brother’s a little uhh… stressed…?” He stammered, not wanting to offend Damian – or worse, start an argument in a crowded hallway. But he didn’t flinch at the comment, a testament to the seriousness of the situation they found themselves in.

Dick was shot in the back of the head, and Tim honestly had no idea if they’d gotten him medical attention in time. He could be comatose for the rest of his life, would never breathe on his own, never talk to them again, never walk, never think, never… god… he’d never talk to Dick again, and it was all his fault for being too late, too unprepared, too much of a failure to-

“The operation went well, we need to keep him for observation, but we’re hopeful he’ll make a full recovery in a month or two.” Tim blinked back tears as a weight lift off his shoulders, bringing a hand up, covering his eyes for just a second. He looked up to find Damian frozen; too stunned to move. He gently placed an arm around his shoulders, tugging him along so he wouldn’t be swept up in the tide. Surprisingly, that much was allowed today, the child’s thoughts were elsewhere, so Tim focused his thoughts on him.

Damian was only ten. And he’d almost lost Dick to a fate worse than death, after seeing him shot before his eyes, helpless to stop it. They didn’t have hospitals in the League, it was kill or be killed, and then there were the pits. Had he ever watched someone recover naturally?

“He’ll be okay.” Tim hissed, in a tone that only Damian could hear. Damian startled back into the present, glaring at him briefly, shaking off Tim’s hand, and storming after the nurse. He kept his expression carefully out of view.

They turned into a private hospital room, pulling the door shut behind her, and winked. “Timothy Drake-Wayne and Damian Wayne, I presume.”

He could feel the kid freeze beside him, his own heart threatening to escape his throat.

“Oh, sorry - don’t panic, I’m with STAR Labs, we’ve worked with Richard and his team for years.” Damian huffed in annoyance. “Your identities aren’t compromised; Oracle made the arrangements for our team to take over when he arrived.” She passed her clipboard to Tim. “The walls are soundproof, you can stay as long as you want, I trust you can get out on your own, and it’s not like I’m going to stop you if you decide to stay longer than I recommend.” She sighed. “Just, don’t distress the patient, he’ll be confused when he wakes up, it’s normal. Call if you need, our monitoring systems are top notch, we’ll be watching – but not listening of course.”

And with that, the nurse turned on her heel, exiting as fast as she’d arrived, leaving Tim opened mouthed next to a wide-eyed Damian.

He watched as the door slowly turned on its hinges, picking up speed until it slammed shut. Almost immediately it popped back open. “If he tries to get up, don’t let him escape.” She rolled her eyes. “You human patients are always the worst.” And with that, she was gone. A few awkward, silent moments passed.

“Are you coming, Drake?” Damian’s voice had lost its normal edge, as he determinedly stared at the windows. He couldn’t see Dick from where they stood, but he could make out the edge of the bed, a pure white sheet neatly tucked under the edge.

He shifted, hesitantly - he always hated this part. But regardless, he took the lead, striding forward, and allowing Damian the comfort of walking in someone’s shadow. Because even if he wouldn’t say it, there was no way the kid wanted to do this alone. He couldn’t replace Dick – was thankful he didn’t have to, but this – this was the least he could do.

Hospital beds have this way of making the people inside them seem smaller. Tim braced himself as he stepped into view, and well, it could be worse. Dick was out cold, drooling on his pillow still hooked up to a few monitors, which steadily droned and beeped in the background. A lump of gauze and bandages swathed the base of his skull.

Damian flitted past his side to sit in the chair next to the bed, and Tim sprang into action, taking the chair next to the window. He flipped through the charts without really reading anything, and the two sat in stony silence. Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through dozens of missed calls and unanswered texts before shoving it back in his pocket.

He spared a glance at Damian - he was curled up in the chair, grimacing and staring at the wall. He didn’t dare try saying anything more, lest they start fighting in Dick’s hospital room. He contented himself with staring out the window, watching the dawn break, violets and purples dancing across the sky. The sun rose with pinks and oranges blossoming soon after.

Things would be okay. They had to be okay. He slowed his breathing, focusing on the sky rather than the scent of disinfectant. The steady beep of machines slowly fading into the distance. Closing his eyes, he could pretend for a moment, that this was normal. He was in a hotel, maybe on a vacation, in some city that wasn’t destroyed every few months. There had to be a place like that still out there.

A little chickadee hopped around on the windowsill, fluttering back and forth, before flying off again. “Bye.” Tim snapped to attention, whirling around to find Dick squinting out the window. Damian sprung out of his chair. “Bruce?” He asked confusedly, frowning at Damian.

Panic flickered across the kid’s face, and he recoiled, stepping back. “No. I’m Damian, don’t be foolish.” His voice wobbled at the end, and Tim’s heart throbbed painfully at the way Damian stiffened, meticulously shutting off any signs of vulnerability.

“Remember what the nurse said, he’s going to be confused for a bit.” Tim reminded, striding over to sit at the edge of the bed. Dick went back to looking at the now closed window. “Dick, you with us?” He leaned into Dick’s line of sight, trying for a smile, and waited for a minute before leaning back. “I’m going to take that as a no.”

“-tt-” Damian stepped forwards again. “Don’t bother him, Drake.” He spat.

Tim didn’t really know what to say, so he didn’t say anything at all. Damian climbed back into his chair, tucking his legs up to sit crisscrossed, his back stiff and upright. Tim grabbed his chair, pulling it closer to the edge of the bed. He placed a hand over Dick’s, rubbing a finger over his knuckles, taking comfort in the fingers twitching slightly under his own.

Dick was alive. He would live. Would recover. He hadn’t lost his older brother.

“His name’s Tim.” Dick mumbled after a few minutes. Damian rolled his eyes. “Tim.” Dick repeated, his eyes glassy as they gazed through Damian’s forehead.

“Yeah?” Tim lightly tapped Dick’s hand. He didn’t move from his focus.

“Tim. Tim. Tim. Tim.” He continued repeating Tim’s name, staring up at the ceiling.

“Why is he doing that?” Damian demanded, jumping out of his chair. Dick obliviously repeated the word, seemingly unaffected. “Drake, she said the operation went <em>well</em>.”

“I dunno.” He sighed, Dick probably had no idea what was going on, nor would he remember this. “Look, he’s delirious, he’s going to be messed up for a bit. He got shot in the head.”

“I know that. I was there. But if the operation was successful, then why-”

The door opened, and they fell silent, footsteps approaching. Roy Harper poked around the corner; a phone pressed to his ear. “Okay, he doesn’t look too bad, all things considered. Hey, you, kid, you should actually answer your fu-fudging phone.”

“That’s a dollar for the swear jar.” A little girl, Lian, he presumed, materialized at his side. She carried a bag with her and zoomed over to Damian. “Daddy says you like to color, so I brought crayons.” She grabbed a pack from her bag and shoved them at him. Damian looked mildly disgusted but took them anyway. “Say thank you.” Lian demanded.

Damian opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Tim glanced at Roy, he winked, doing his best not to laugh as he finished talking with whoever was on the phone.

“Thank you.” Dick replied, patting Lian’s head. His eyes seemed to find hers before darting away to stare at the ceiling.

“Not you.” She groaned. “Him.” She pointed at Damian.

“Thank you.” He repeated. Lian cracked a smile, giggling.

“Don’t laugh, it isn’t funny – he’s delirious.” Damian replied harshly, eyes narrowing. Lian shrugged, turning, almost sizing him up. She was only maybe an inch shorter than him, if he had to venture a guess.

“Uncle Dick is always happier when you laugh.” She pointed out. “It’s contagious.” Sure enough, a wide looping grin had materialized on Dick’s face.

“But we’re in a hospital.” Damian looked outraged; his hands balled in little fists.

“Daddy says laughter is the best medicine.” She retorted, crossing her arms. Roy tossed his phone (it landed perfectly in the center of the little dresser next to the bed), and scooped up his daughter in a big hug, sweeping her off the ground.

“Look, kid.” He looked down at Damian. “I know this is scary and it sucks, but my kid’s got a point.” He kissed the top of her head, prompting more giggles. “She’s a smart cookie, and this isn’t exactly her first rodeo.” Damian’s ears flushed, his face unchanged, but his ears beet red.

“This is not my first rodeo, and if you were more competent, than-”

“If Dick was a dumb-, I mean, if he was more competent, we wouldn’t be here.” Roy pointed out, speaking over Damian. Lian smacked his face lightly.

“Daddy, that’s rude.” Roy rolled his eyes. Dick started speaking in a language Tim vaguely recognized, looking displeased at the argument.

“Sweetie, I’m trying to make a point.” He set her down, ruffling her hair. “Why don’t you get out the coloring book and let Damian pick out a page.” Damian opened his mouth to comment, but Roy cut him off. “Look, you should see how happy Dick is when Lian gives him coloring pages. I think he’s earned one from you.” Damian closed his mouth. His brain seemingly compiling the information. “What she said isn’t wrong, he’ll recover faster if he’s happier, Timbo, you’re a bat-nerd, back me up here.”

“Well according to a study done in-” Roy held up a hand.

“Point made, don’t put me to sleep.” Tim rolled his eyes, remembering why he used to avoid hanging out with (some of) Dick’s friends. For now, he joined Roy in staring down Damian, Lian gazing at him too, an unlikely team up in a battle of wills.

“Only if Drake makes one too.” Damian miraculously relented after a few minutes. Tim nodded, peace from Damian was worth doing some coloring. Dick would be incredibly happy – these pages would likely be framed; it would be worth it to see the smile on his face. It was worth it now to see Lian’s face light up, as she rushed to unpack her things.

“Oh, and I brought Uncle Dick a stuffy.” She pulled out a stuffed elephant and placed it in the crook of his elbow. “Say thank you.” Dick replied – still not speaking anything he could place, and Lian smiled, Dick smiled back.

“What’s he been saying?” Tim asked, looking to Roy, as Damian slid to the floor, selecting coloring pages with Lian. Roy sat on the side of the bed, carefully leaning Dick forward, to get a better look at the back of his head. He whistled, ignoring Tim for a moment.

“You really did it to yourself this time, jeez Dickie.” He muttered to himself before turning back. “He’s speaking Navajo, he was counting to ten earlier, and he told Lian thanks.” Roy rolled his eyes. “Would you believe his pronunciation is always better when he’s like this?”

“No, that seems on brand.” Tim mused. “Apparently my French gets exponentially better the less I’ve slept.” Roy shrugged, and turned back on Dick.

“Quit rubbing off on the kids, you don’t want them to turn into you, yah? Bunch a’ weirdo bat-nerds.” Dick was apparently, not listening, and was more into petting the plushy.

“Zitka.” He replied, showing it to Roy. Roy patted his shoulder.

“Yeah buddy, I know. Isn’t she cute?” He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Dick’s forehead. Something seemed to click in Tim’s brain, as Dick garbled on, fascinated by the toy.

“How many times have you done this?” He asked, watching as Roy leaned back, taking the seat next to the bed. He shrugged.

“I stopped counting after Blood fried his brains, back when he ran around in a V-neck.” Tim cringed, that was before he even became Robin. “Don’t look like that, he didn’t die.” Not that time, or this time – but things had been too close for comfort more times than Tim wanted to think about. Roy’s fingers drummed against the armrest. “I don’t know, Garth tried out the elephant thing a while back. It keeps him happy.” He pulled a book out of Lian’s bag, starting to flip through the pages. “Take nap kid – you look deader than him. Lian and I got this covered.”

Tim leaned back in his chair, tucking his legs up with him. He watched as Dick happily turned the toy over and over in his hands, blearily blinking at the world. Damian was quiet where he sat on the floor, inspecting each of the colors. By the time he put his first stroke to paper, Tim was already fast asleep.

#bad things happen bingo #batfam #titans #dc comics #batfamily #batman #batman and robin #dick grayson #tim drake #my writing #roy harper #lian harper #damian wayne #red robin #canon divergence #tw hospitals #tw anxiety #tw gsw #wrote this one just for me lol self indulgent

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