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love-toxin · 7 months ago

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MEAT - thomas hewitt (leatherface)

a/n: i had to be a little silly ehe <- delusional

(cws: fem!reader, DDDNE, extreme violence, blood, gore, broken bones, a whole array of weaponry, domestic abuse, forced relationship, evolution of victim -> perpetrator, psychological torture, mentions of very dubious consent, breeding, huge size difference, ownership marking, protective tommy, implied cannibalism, unnamed victims of the tcm.)

wc: 10.7k

Lungs burning in your chest with the humid Texas heat, you forced the corn stalks aside as you stumbled through them in a frantic sprint. Each leathery pod whacked against your shoulders, your hands, your chest, and your bruised-up legs, but you wouldn't stop for nothing.

You couldn't stop. The people you'd hitchhiked with were all dead, or at least very well on their way to being so–they had been hunted one by one, by bear traps and shotguns and hay hooks, and you were sure you were the only one the family were left hunting. It'd taken all night to spread you thin and weaken you all with sadistic tortures of every kind. Now your group was down to one. You. Hauling ass was not enough to describe how frantically you were tumbling through the crop field, practically hand-over-foot crawling with how dizzy you'd gotten. Blood loss and a few hits to the head would do that to you.

Finally, the maize parted one last time to spit you out into the dewy grass, the labyrinth of sameness finally coming to an end. But when you tilted your head up to the starry night sky, your heart dropped into your feet at what laid before you. The farmhouse. You'd run in the wrong direction. Warm light glowed from within the drapery behind the windows and you spotted the older woman standing on the porch, a rag tucked between her hands as she called out a name. Terrified and hoping for the blessing of going unseen you army crawled your way right back to the corn–

Thunk. Only halfway there, the grass split with the force of a sledgehammer dropping into it. A boot stepped into view right by your head; attached to it was an enormous calf, and your eyes trailed upwards slowly to reveal the whole of that crazed maniac you'd seen manhandling the others into that house of horrors across the lawn.

Greasy hair hung down in long tresses, wary eyes pierced into your skull, an apron sat snug around his midriff stained with dark blood. Up close, you could listen to the way he breathed heavy through the mask that obscured his lower jaw, only the bridge of his nose and his forehead visible through it. He stunk of sweat, rot, and fresh meat. His weighty hand tightened round the handle of the hammer he'd set down, veins popping out with the sheer size and strength of his enormous, hulking body.

“Tommy!” The woman's voice cracked out in the night, the name finally ringing clear enough for you to hear. His head whipped around to the source and he stared in her direction; you watched her turn a blind eye to your predicament in the grass and step back inside the house. It felt as though your heart might burst in that moment, the fear and tension running through you like a taut wire about to snap in two.

The giant grunted overhead. You looked back at him again and squeezed your fists against the dirt, expecting him to lift that hammer and crush your skull into the ground with it. But upon resting his palm on the blunt end of it, the monster instead used it to lower himself to one knee. With a hand outstretched, he slowly, carefully brushed your damp hair aside, and pressed his fingertips firmly into your cheek. You shuddered as they moved downwards, probing around the soft spot beneath your ear and the curve of your jaw. He tilted your chin back and slid his whole, grubby hand down your neck…and with the most tentative squeeze around your throat, you swallowed and he all but jumped back. Your skin ran cool again as his warm hand ripped away from you, but with just as much hesitation he grazed your lips with his knuckles and trailed them across your forehead, leaving smudges of wet blood behind.

“Tommy!” A harsher voice tore through the quiet night, yanking his attention away from you again. The sheriff–the fake sheriff, that is–came stomping up from around the back of the barn, the shotgun hanging at his side causing you enough panic to scramble to your knees. But you wouldn't get far. Not even a couple feet. Your body hit the earth within moments of you climbing to your feet, and you heaved out a pained moan at the mountain of weight that pinned you down and crushed you underneath him. The giant had thrown himself forward and taken you down without thinking twice; his beefy arm came around your neck and tightened, his muscles flexing under the coarse fabric of his shirt for him to hold you in place.

“Attaboy, Tommy.” The older man came around his side as you struggled, clawing at the bicep that was crushing your windpipe with barely any effort. The sheriff kicked your flailing leg with a holler, cackling at the way you squirmed under his nephew's brute strength. “Stupid bitch. Gonna learn your lesson now, aint'cha?”

Dying squeaks for mercy escaped your throat, your words barely tinged with any discernible syllables. Thomas’ grip only grew tighter. Your arms went slack, then your legs slowed to a trembling halt…and before long your head slumped forward as you passed into unconsciousness, hoping to god this would be the last time you woke up in this sweltering Texas hell.

Clink. Clink. Clink. The chatter of voices melted into the gentle clatter of silverware. It wasn't the sounds that stirred you from your sleep rife with nightmares, though–it was the sliver of a sunbeam cast through the window that shone gently on your face. You blinked blearily as your head lolled in a stuttered circle, slowly and quietly coming to. Clink. Clack. Eyelids cracked half-open, you raised your head up despite the weight of a pounding headache, and watched a pair of wrinkled hands set down a teacup on a saucer in front of you.

Although there was much to see, you instantly turned your gaze to the woman you'd seen on the porch. Your nerves jittered and you flinched as she reached out to touch you, but it passed with her gentle shushing as she tenderly caressed your cheek. The age showed in creases all across her face, her eyes soft but wet with something terribly uneasy behind them.

“Such a pretty girl,” She crooned, a smile like nothing had happened plastered across her face. The eagerness with which she watched you unsettled you to your very core, but it would be second to the nightmare that was waiting to explode on you across the table. “I always wanted a little girl. Never seen one so pretty.” Despite the sweetness of her words, a shift of your hand rattled the chair you'd been tied to; both wrists buckled under the tough ropes used to bind you, indented where you could see dry blood crusted over the fibers. Either you moved a lot in your sleep, or someone really wanted to punish you for trying to get away.

As tenderly as if she was your own mother, the lady brought your teacup up and tilted it for you to drink, which gave you a moment to let your eyes wander. With a glance around you took a mental sweep of the place. Your chair sat at the end of a dining table, and aside from the woman you spotted two other older men; the frightening man with the shotgun, and an elderly man in a wheelchair. Framed photos hung around the room against peeling wallpaper, and aside from a decent amount of clutter and antique decorations of a house long lived in, nothing struck you as out of the ordinary from the cutlery to the frayed rug that cushioned your bare feet.

The aging woman tottered around the table to pick up a plate and slid a few eggs on from a saucepan in the middle. That and a few strips of bacon made their way down to your placemat, still sizzling.

“Why're you givin’ this bitch special treatment, mama?” The fake sheriff glared you down from his seat at the head of the table, spitting off to the side with his hands still clasped in front of him. “Already got enough mouths to feed.”

“Hush.” She finally snapped, and gestured with the spatula still in hand. “This is your fault. You wanna play sheriff so bad, Charlie.”

“It's Hoyt, mama, for god's sake!”

“Don't you cuss at me!” The old woman warned, aiming the spatula right at his chest.

“U-Um,” You whimpered softly, and drew the attention of all three of the frightening strangers, who turned their heads in your direction. The focus on you made you falter, but the problem at hand was far more pressing than fear. “Th-The rope…please..” You managed to squeak out, and only then did they seem to notice your hands were changing colours. They were so tight the blood wasn't circulating, and you feared even a few moments more of the ache would result in something very unpleasant in the near future, especially when you knew there was a chainsaw floating around here somewhere.

Just then, the floorboards creaked at your back. Too afraid to turn your head you only shifted your gaze, and in your peripheral you saw it. Two thick, fat-fingered hands reaching downwards to tug at the binds round your wrist. For someone so huge, he made short work of untying you even without the aid of one of the knives scattered round the table settings. The rope loosened and dropped to the floor in a coil like a dead snake, but as he reached over you to undo the other–and you got a whiff of soap amidst his sweat in the process–the man naming himself Hoyt grumbled and slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the plates and silverware.

“Goddammit, boy–what'd I say? We ain't keepin’ her, for Christ sakes!”

“Watch your mouth!” The woman–mama–shrieked, and her fist shook as she dumped the spatula down on the table with a thunk. The other cuff came loose and you released a sigh of relief as you touched your wrists, wincing at the open cuts that had only half dried over. And while the two continued to bicker about one thing or another, a great shifting of clothes and a thump beside you caught your gaze. Thomas, the giant that you'd watched haul the others off to the slaughter, had knelt down by your chair like a dog and still came up to eye level. God, he was just massive. Somehow it made him less intimidating though, since he looked at you like he was waiting for scraps from your plate. It was somewhat pathetic, but…endearing? Was that a word you could even consider using for a maniac like him, or was it beyond all common logic to even think of him in such pleasant terms?

“A-Are you…hungry?” You whispered, only to be met with a slow shake of his head. Thomas raised a melon-sized arm and pushed the plate closer to you, as if to say ‘eat up, it's getting cold’. Emboldened by his tender gesture, you shakily plucked your fork off the placemat and leaned in to examine the bacon. It looked like…bacon. Hot, crunchy, cut in strips like you would see any day in the supermarket. Still, you tentatively went for the eggs first, and raised the tiniest bit to your mouth as the two older ones finally managed to settle down whatever argument they'd been having.

“Boys, time to say grace.” Suddenly flushed hot with embarrassment, you lowered your fork in an instant and followed their lead. You bowed your head with them, listened to mama say her standard prayers of thanks–and then, when everyone else began to eat, you cautiously lifted the bite to your lips and chewed thoughtfully. It felt like forever for you to discern whether or not it was normal, if it tasted like it should, but after a while of chewing you had to relent to the fact that it didn't taste abnormal, so it was about as fine as you could expect. You ate in silence alongside them, but just when you pondered whether the food might be drugged or other awful possibilities, the sheriff cleared his throat and drew your attention to him once again.

“Now,” Mama scowled at him, but he continued to speak nonetheless. “You got two options here, kid: eat, or be eaten. Them's the laws of life.” He reached up and scratched the back of his neck, readying himself to say more, but an interruption came with a grunt from your side. Hoyt raised a hand and waved the wordless concern off. “Don't you mouth off, boy. Gettin’ to it.”

You shifted your gaze to Thomas, who only nudged your plate closer to you to urge you into eating more. Something gnawed at the back of your mind. Their behavior was so strange, the looks exchanged even stranger–there was something that wasn't being said, like a plan was brewing right under your nose.

“See here, this is how it is. You got choices. Now, my nephew here happens to like you,” His honeyed southern drawl couldn't hope to mask the hopelessness that stirred in you at those words. “Ugly as sin, but he's a good enough boy, ain't that right?” He looked to Thomas, but the ‘boy’ in question stared right at you when he nodded. “So you choose. You wanna eat-”

“I'll eat,” The answer flew from your mouth without hesitation, so much so that even the most uninterested of folks around the table caught your gaze. Your breath hitched in your bruised throat. “I'll eat, I swear. I'll eat.”

“Mm-hm.” Hoyt eyed you and nodded. Something about the way he watched you made you feel overexposed, like your skin had been stripped raw from the bone and he was peering into every inch underneath. “Fine then. Whore's all yours, Tommy-boy.”

At those words, your world shifted with a violent blur of motion. Before you could even gasp there were huge, strong hands under your armpits, and you were lifted out of your seat like a child who weighed less than nothing. You'd be thanking yourself later that you at least polished off most of your plate, because aside from an accidental thump of your foot hitting the table on the way by, you wouldn't be touching the rest of your breakfast again. Thomas slung you over his shoulder and cradled your lower half in the crook of an enormous arm, and with a shriek you felt yourself being carried off by the giant and taken away into another world.

The basement.

It had been a month and a half since you'd been taken in, now. Life had gone on despite you vanishing from the world you knew, and regardless of whether or not you woke up each morning and wondered why you were still kept alive, the earth continued to turn. Time went on and you adjusted, albeit shakily, to the routine of a life in the backcountry of rural Texas. You learned to help on the farm and Luda Mae, or momma as you were taught to call her, passed on her generations-old knowledge of cookery and cleaning and caring for the household. Sometimes you'd get driven out with momma and one of the uncles to tend the store, but that was on the rare side since they didn't trust the locals not to mess with you. Pretty things like you didn't come by often and you had values to uphold, now.

Plus, you had a man at home. Tommy was the reason you survived that awful first night, but now it was expected that he was also the reason you kept on living.

The rest of the family kept out of your business together for the most part, but you'd long been perplexed by the dynamic that had ensued since you'd first arrived. For as hulking and strong of a beast he was, you came to find out that Tommy's appearance was a shell that sheltered a soft-natured, sensitive boy at heart. His penchant for murder was not so, rather it was a duty carried out regardless of will in the service of a family he was lucky to have, despite you certainly thinking otherwise. He liked to work, and eat, and make things. His rage could certainly be a problem, but it was a rare thing that only cropped up once in a great while. He would endure more than ten times a normal person before he finally snapped, and even then he wouldn't ever let you see it. The few times he got mad, he would stomp out to the barn or head to the now-abandoned slaughterhouse, and take out his aggression on the thing he knew best. Meat. And most of the time it was a beating from Hoyt or a few too many bouts of yelling before he felt the need to get away.

After all, it wasn't anger that led his interactions with you. It was odd; he'd pointed you out specifically as the one he wanted to keep, but he seldom showed any entitlement in taking whatever it was he wanted from you. He'd lean in for kisses but most of the time he missed anyways. You weren't exactly sure what you could call your one occasion of intimacy with him that you recalled, because he didn't ask if you wanted it, but you didn't really tell him outright that you didn't. Would it have even mattered? Maybe not. But he barely managed to find the hole he was looking for anyways, and by the time he did it was obvious he had no clue what he was doing. Fumbling hands and a bit of awkward thigh-humping later and he'd finally left you be, albeit soaked and sticky with sweat and the residue he'd clumsily left behind on your bare stomach. Since then, it'd been just a few fingers on your thighs and some tame through-the-mask kisses, nothing more.

Not that you should really be questioning the love of a serial chainsaw butcher, but as the days passed it grew harder to see him in that light alone. You witnessed too much of the deformed, mentally-disturbed man who refused to eat before you did, who wouldn't lay a hand on you like he'd had laid on him all his life. Thomas showed affection in odd ways but they were more endearing than you thought they would be, from picking you flowers off the side of the road to cleaning up the small room you shared so you'd feel more at home. Sometimes his arousal would grow against your back while you laid in his arms, but a bit of shuddered hip-rocking through your pajamas while he thought you were asleep and the moment would pass. He was pretty easy to please.

There came a time when new visitors drove through town, however, and you knew what was going to happen as soon as Hoyt came home and called for Tommy to come upstairs. You stood at the sink washing dishes while you peered through the window; out in front of the same cornfield you'd crawled out of nearly two months ago, a van sat parked next to Hoyt's stolen Dodge. You watched with your breath held tight in your throat as five people hopped out the sliding door one by one, all seemingly chipper for where they were. Three girls, two guys. Their sunbleached hair and fancy beach clothes said all you needed to know about what type of people they were. One of the girls had a pendant hanging round her neck that caught the light just right, and you found yourself staring at it as it jostled against her sweat-soaked collarbone.

Chnk, thuuunk. At the sound of the basement door sliding open you turned your head, and there stood Tommy in the kitchen. Quiet as ever he came walking up and placed his thick hand on your head. The look in his burning eyes said it all. “Everything's okay. Don't fret.” He touched your hair a moment until Hoyt's voice rang out again, and with a silent huff he stepped away and made his way out to the lawn.

The light in each and every one of their eyes left the moment they spotted him approaching. One of the girls even grabbed her friend’s arm, stepping behind him halfway out of fear of the hulking giant that couldn't sleep without cuddling you at night. A dish slipped from your hand into the sink and splashed you, but as you pulled a rag from your apron pocket to dry the counter a bang and a high-pitched scream cut through the peaceful din of your quiet afternoon. You hopped up to see what was happening, but struggled to piece together the aftermath of the last five seconds.

On the ground lay one of the girls with a cavernous opening in the back of her head, collapsed in a steadily-growing pool of her own blood. Her lifeless eyes stared through you from across the lawn, they pierced into your very soul as she choked listlessly on her own blood, and you dropped to your knees behind the counter. Hands clamped over your mouth, you heaved each breath and hoped not to puke all over the freshly-mopped floor. Momma would have a fit if you ruined your own hard work.

Blind to whatever senselessness resided in their screams, you held back the churning of your stomach on your own bruised knees while the two of them took care of the rest. Within a few minutes you'd managed to pull yourself back up on shaky feet and finish washing the dishes. Within the hour, Tommy and Uncle Hoyt had gathered up the remaining survivors and taken them in. Two in the barn, one in the guest bedroom…and one locked up in the basement.

“Momma?” You called out softly into the hallway, wiping your fingers on your apron. Your chores for the day were finished, and the sun was starting to set on the horizon. Now would usually be the time you headed out to the chicken coop to lock it up, but with new visitors around, you didn't know the protocol. The last time this happened was…well, you didn't like to think about it.

“Down here, darlin’.” Luda Mae popped her head out from the living room, and you hurried down the hall with your skirt fluttering around your legs. All your dresses were pretty modest and most of them were out of a trunk stored up in the attic, since momma had a whole collection of clothes she'd worn in her younger days that she figured would suit a young lady just fine. When you stepped in, you weren't expecting to see what you saw lying on the couch near uncle Monty's favourite spot.

It was one of the guys from the hippie van. His long hair had been soaked with blood and he was gagged, his face sporting bruises from an undoubtedly rough encounter with uncle Hoyt, who stood on the opposite side of the living room glaring at him.

“Fucker tried to escape.” He sniffed, nursing a bloody nose with a hanky as he spoke with momma. “Other one's putzin’ around somewhere. You two keep an eye out, you hear me?” He pointed in your direction and you nodded out of instinct. Your eyes flicked towards the bound man on the couch as he made muffled noises of panic, but he was soon silenced by Hoyt whacking him over the head with the butt of his shotgun before he left to continue the search. Meanwhile, uncle Monty sat in his wheelchair unbothered, listening to the radio as it played on the windowsill and reading without a care in the world.

“Momma-” You tried again, but she turned to you with gentle eyes and gripped your shoulders lightly.

“Go clean up the kitchen for me, sweetheart?” She asked in earnest, and the plea you had to beg her not to make you take part died on your lips.

“Yes, momma.”

“That's my good girl.” Your hands fell at your sides, while she petted your hair lovingly and turned you away from the scene, patting you on the back as she ushered you back towards the kitchen. Blowing your hair out of your eyes, you resigned yourself to at least being a bystander to the horrors that were about to come, and made your way down the hall with your arms crossed over your chest in contemplation. Was there nothing you could do? No way to get out of playing a part, or at least ensuring they wouldn't ask? You had no doubts that you didn't have the stomach to do anything to the visitors, but then again, momma didn't have to do much either. Maybe you'd be saved by the tradition that dictated the six generations-deep household, and be regulated to the homely chores you'd tended to since first becoming a part of the family.

As you pushed through the door that led into the kitchen, the sounds of pots and pans clattering already grabbed your attention. It would be too late to do anything, however–because before you could even take a breath, someone's chest hit your back and there was a knife pinned to your throat.

“Don't you fucking move!” An unfamiliar voice whispered harshly in your ear. Your fingers scrabbled for purchase on the hand he had at your neck, but he jolted and the blade sunk deeper into your skin, causing you to cry out–and immediately be hushed by the stranger now holding you hostage. The bruising grip he had on your wrist now moved to clamp over your mouth, his body moving with you as you struggled in a momentary panic. Despite his warning, you brought your elbow backwards and loosened his grip on the knife as he choked in pain, throwing his arms off you as you stumbled forward and tripped over one of the dining chairs. Your skirt ripped as he tried to grab ahold of you again, but in his scramble to pick his weapon back up you kicked it away; and that was when fear truly started to pulse through your limbs like a heartbeat, when he glared daggers into you with a murderous rage, and you cried out the one name through tears that came to mind.

“Tommy!” You sobbed, crawling away and trying to use the table to hoist yourself up, only to be kicked down again with a harsh shoe planted in the middle of your spine. Coughs ripped through your lungs as they seized in desperation, the wind having been knocked clean from your chest, and the sticky wetness of blood started pooling under your chin from hitting the floor face-first. Your nose wept with scarlet-red blood into your trembling palm, but that realization couldn't come close to the terror you felt at being grabbed by your hair and painfully lifted up off the ground.

“You fucking bitch!” He screamed, voice hoarse and frighteningly loud so close to your face. “I'll kill you–I'll kill all you psycho motherfuckers!” He brought the knife so close to your heart you felt it cutting through the air–but before he could bring it anywhere near your skin, a muffled thump from close by yanked him right to attention. He turned his head frantically towards the source, and you took the opportunity afforded to you. You brought your foot up hard into his groin, and released his grip on you for the second time for you to drop to the floor in a heap. Your dress smeared the blood you'd left on the pristine, freshly-mopped floorboards as you shuffled away from him, fearing the worst of retaliation from the panicked, indignant captive.

That is, until the thumping grew so loud you heard it clearly coming up the stairs, and without so much as a hint of ceremony your savior burst through the kitchen door; his eyes wild, his fists clenched with indomitable rage. His gaze swept over the scene to you, so small compared to him, huddled in the corner between the cabinets with a blood and tear-stained face. What could only be described as a growl erupted from his broad chest, and he grabbed the legs of your hunched-over assailant and dragged him closer between his feet.

“No!” He cried, but it was far past too late. Tommy grabbed him by the back of his head, yanked him upwards to the height of his shins, and slammed the guy's head so hard into the floor that you could hear the sickening crack of his skull. Dazed but still semi-conscious, he fumbled for the knife he dropped or for anything that could save him, but it wouldn't be enough even so. With his nose ten times as smashed up as he'd done to you and his eye sockets bruised, Tommy's grip trembled on his head like he was considering whether or not to end him right here, right now. Evidently he figured that would be too easy, and before your very eyes he hauled the man up and carried him screaming down into the basement, where you heard the thwacks of him being cuffed down to the workbench before footsteps came echoing back upstairs. He found you in the same spot, still shaking like a leaf, and pushed the table aside to waste as little time as possible getting to you.

“Tommy..” You winced, touching your own face for your fingers to come back bloody. He knelt down like a mountain sinking into the sea and felt around your neck, his concerns for the shallow slash you'd gotten in the struggle that you hadn't even noticed was bleeding. He grunted in reply; one hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, while two meaty fingers lightly pinched the sore bridge of your nose. Knowing what he was about to do wouldn't make it hurt any less, but you still gave him the go-ahead to do it anyways–he forced the bone back with a gut-churning twist, and you squealed out in pain, but it was momentary and the ache that followed was a dull one, thank god.

But still, you sat with a face full of blood and bruises and cried, half out of pain and half out of pure misery. This wasn't the life you wanted to lead, and you hated that you had no choice in the matter. You wanted to go but you knew it would mean the end, and you hated that whenever you thought of all the things you despised about this life, your mind would always wander to Tommy and you'd feel guilt over hurting him or leaving him behind. You hated it all, but somehow you couldn't really hate him, and it left you trapped in this cycle that you loathed to think would never, ever end.

While the tears continued to streak down your face, Tommy took to patting your cheeks gently. He held them and squeezed them carefully, so tender and cautious when it was you that was the meat between his destructive hands. He moved in close, his breathing hot and stifled beneath the mask he never took off in front of you. His head tilted, tongue wetting his lips in anticipation, and he-

“Boy!” Uncle Hoyt roared as he burst through the kitchen door, alerting you both and tearing Tommy's reverent gaze away from you. He stood fast and took you with him, your elbows cupped in his rough hands as he hauled you singlehandedly to your feet. “You find that fucker yet?!” He swung his shotgun around and you flinched at the way he aimed it so carelessly. The ‘boy’ in question tucked you under his arm out of habit and shielded you almost entirely with the sheer enormity of his titan-esque frame. Wordlessly, he gestured towards the direction of the basement door with your trembling self still pinned tightly to his chest. The pseudo-sherriff narrowed his eyes at the both of you, namely the blood caking your otherwise pretty face, and scoffed. “Hose her down, Jesus almighty..” He muttered that last blasphemy under his breath as he moved past out the back door, leaving the two of you wide-eyed and uncertain; his arm squeezing you tight against him, and your calloused fingers digging into his dirty sleeve as the crickets chirped outside the screen door.

“You..” You swallowed dryly. The words came to you when no others did the same justice. “You're a good boy, Tommy. You did a good job.”

Your praise hit his ears just right, as it always did. Tommy nuzzled his face into yours just so gently, barely grazing your skin with the damp leather as he tended to your wounds. With your broken nose already re-set, he rummaged through the drawers around you without taking his hand off your arm, sparing little time before his hand clasped around a roll of familiar gauze and he nudged the drawer closed. Though it was shallow enough to have stopped bleeding already, he wrapped some around your neck for the cut that would surely leave a scar, and used a clean rag to mop up your face with a bit of water from the tap. As he moved down your body to your waist, clearly concerned by the generous bloodstain marring your pretty, cotton dress, something caught his eye that froze him in place and sent a throbbing anger right into his dense fists. Worried, you set your hand on his shoulder, but it would do no good at comforting him after what he saw.

Your skirt. Torn like it had been yanked apart, desperately, and it had. Was he worried you'd be upset over the damage? You wondered for a passing moment, but as his fists shook with rage and your dresses’ hem balled within them you knew it to be a different reason entirely. He thought–

Oh. So that's what he thought. You sought to comfort his fears but he'd had enough. Your delicate hands tugging at his mammoth arms made barely a dent in his intense march towards the basement, your begging too saccharine to even reach his ears. He walked with purpose into the hallway, wrenched open the sliding door with a force that bent it slightly, and with a palm outstretched to ward you off from following, he slammed it shut with an enormous bang that rattled the whole house. Standing there in shock and horror, you listened to his footsteps pounding the stairs before turning away and heading back towards the kitchen.

You had quite the mess to clean up in there, and there was nothing better to distract yourself from the howling screams of agony that would persist until dinnertime.

Maybe this was exactly how awkward it was when you'd been sat in that familiar chair. You remembered little of your first meal, the very first breakfast of many you would share with the family that had adopted you in to their home.

This was a lot less…friendly, though. Out of the five people who had arrived, two of them were dead. The one that had attacked you in the kitchen had grown silent in the basement. The other two–the hippy with the long hair and a redheaded girl–had their wrists bound to two chairs diagonal from each other. The guy sat at the very end where you'd once been, and the girl to his right with tears streaming down her cheeks, sobbing softly as you filled everyone's bowls. Luckily for you, Monday was chicken soup night, so you had no worries over what kind of meat Hoyt would want to prepare for the special occasion. You'd been the only one to stir the pot, and the only one who made it at all for every Monday that rolled around. It had quickly become Tommy’s favourite, hence why he was only a few minutes late to arrive outside the dining room for dinner. Though you could tell that he'd barely cleaned up, his apron and his pants still soaked liberally with clotted blood.

“Hands?” You questioned, your ladle poised over the pot of hot soup, and waited until the hulking giant tentatively stepped in the doorway to hold out his massive hands for inspection. When it was your turn to cook, you learned that you held the authority over the table for that evening. So you rarely followed the lead of uncle Hoyt or the others, and wouldn't wait until after grace to invite Tommy into the room. You checked over his knuckles–bruised, but scrubbed clean–and only then did you nod towards the seat you saved for him and waited until he settled uncertainly into the chair to pour him a bowl and set it down in front of him.

If not for the whimpering captives at the table, it would be a better-than-average night. You'd improved on your recipe with a bit of creative seasoning, and the night had cooled off considerably to offer a bit of respite from the oppressive heat. You led grace, and smoothing out your fresh dress to fan out under your thighs as you sat, the table commenced with clinking spoons and bread being buttered that you thanked the stars hadn't gotten stale yet. Though of course, the unexpected visitors weren't so keen on your homemade cooking and didn't so much as look down at their bowls.

Tommy was too distracted to be frustrated by it, though. With his head dipped down to the table like a mutt, he slurped up his soup through the mask and chewed noisily on bits of chicken and corn. You'd saved the biggest roll for him and he tore into it like it was nothing, ripping chunks of bread off with his teeth and enthusiastically gulping down broth to wash it down. You hadn't even had time to butter his bread for him first like you usually did, but it pleased you to see him enjoying your cooking even more than usual.

“Please,” A wobbly voice pricked at the tense silence. The redheaded girl pulled at her restraints again, shaking the table in the process. “We didn't do anything…please, please, let us go!” She sobbed, wailing even louder as she thrashed against the stiff arms of the old chair.

“C'mon, man! We won't tell anyone, swear!” The hippie chimed in, only for Hoyt to slam his fist down on the table to silence the whining of his two captives.

“Shut the hell up!” He snarled, whipping out a revolver from his holster to point at each one of them. “Had enough of your shit today. Shut your mouths.” He motioned towards his still-bloodied nose, and endured yet another scolding from momma for cussing at the table as he tucked the gun back into its place. You peered over at the two of them, but regret came immediately when the hippie's green eyes locked on yours like he saw a glimmer of hope within them. You forced your gaze back down to your bowl. You couldn't be their saviour, no matter how much they wanted you to be.

“Lovely soup, sweetheart.” Momma smiled over at you, while uncle Monty nodded quietly in agreement.

“Mm-hm. Momma taught you all her secrets, eh?” Hoyt added with a slurp off his spoon, the irritation from earlier having vanished. You thanked them politely, keeping your pride to yourself at the coveted praise directed your way. In a household where anything could go wrong at any time, you had to hold the good things as tight to your chest as you possibly could.

From beside you, Tommy lifted his head from an empty bowl and sighed softly with satisfaction. The remnants of spilled soup dribbled down his mask and his grimy neck, so with your own cloth napkin you reached over and did the job that was normally momma's; you wiped his face clean with a gentle hand, and he sat still for one of the only people he didn't flinch away from when you touched him.

“Good, Tommy?” He wasn't used to being asked his opinion, much less on something as scarce as food, when you didn't have much choice on what you ate. He nodded slowly, looking at you like you held the world as you finished wiping up the mess he'd left on the table.

Just then, one of the captives–maybe both of them–kicked their legs out in frustration, and shifted the table with a jolt that sent hot soup splashing out of the pot. The redhead's bowl tipped over and dumped her untouched meal all over her lap, but the porcelain shattering as it hit the floor wasn't what had Tommy rising out of his seat.

Wasteful. That's what they were. Insulting your cooking. You saw it in Tommy's eyes as anger overwhelmed him again, and for the second time tonight your reassurances weren't enough to halt him in his tracks. His chair legs scraped the floor loudly as he got up and maneuvered around the table, the tense quiet peppered by the screams of the girl as he grabbed the back of her head and slammed it down into the slick tabletop. Not nearly as hard as he'd done to the other guy, but enough so that he brought her back up with a nose gushing blood and a harsher sob on her lips.

“You teach her a lesson, Tommy!” Hoyt eagerly encouraged the violence, but you reached your hand out over the table and pressed your palm flat against her forehead. At the resistance you gave her, Tommy's grip grew slack and a look of panic came over him at the distress etched clear on your face. He looked conflicted, peering over at Hoyt and then back at you. Was he being bad, or being good? Was what he was doing right, or was it wrong? Hoyt started shouting and cussing at you for stopping him, but Tommy skirted back around the table to your side and put himself between you and his furious uncle. A swat to the back of the head wasn't totally uncommon for you, even if it didn't happen often, but the punishments Tommy received were always far worse. The belt or a two-by-four were considered light work in Hoyt's sadistic mind, but after what you'd been through today you were certain Tommy wouldn't be keen on letting you endure any more pain. He would take punishments and beatings for you whenever he had the chance–sometimes Hoyt had even asked him what he preferred, and not once had he put you up for the chopping block if he could take it for you.

“Enough of this shit!” Hoyt finally roared. He jabbed his thumb in the direction of the basement and shoved both you and Tommy towards it. “Take these sons a’ bitches downstairs, and don't come up until they're meat!”

Both of the captives shrieked and flailed in their chairs at his demand, but you managed to undo their binds despite the struggling and let Tommy haul each one up in his arms; one over his shoulder, and one tucked up under his armpit. Your heartbeat thudded in your throat as you followed Tommy's lead towards the stairs, and when it came time to shut the door, you had to swallow your fear with a gulp as the metal scraped on metal and a heavy thunk pitched you into darkness.

The only times you'd watched Tommy work before was when he'd taken you to the slaughterhouse. It was an aging, now-abandoned building that had seen generations of hard workers come and go, and despite it no longer being in business he still came by to do some work when he wasn't needed for chores at the house. You weren't sure why he didn't usually take you along or why he decided to on those few occasions, but regardless of the stench, the blood, and the intensity of chopping and cleaning meat, it was easy to tell that Tommy was good at it. Real good.

It was a little different today. About a week had passed since the visitors came through town, and by now all five of them were taken care of. You'd barely eaten since you couldn't stomach the fresh meat, and with you excusing yourself to throw up that first dinner after you'd had guests, the rest of the family had been looking down on you. Momma was sad for you, and Monty was mostly indifferent when he wasn't straight up disappointed in you. But Hoyt was vindictive and angry. He thought you were turning your back on the family, judging them, acting “all high and mighty” and worst of all, risking your family's safety. You'd gotten caught leaving the locks loose on the two survivors' shackles, and they'd nearly escaped out the basement before Hoyt caught both of them in the cornfield and finally shot them dead.

You swore it was an accident. Hoyt thought otherwise. He would've killed you right then and there if Tommy hadn't stepped in for you, and even then the air had been strained in the house ever since, as uncle Hoyt demanded you be properly punished for your sins.

That's why you'd been dragged along with Tommy to accompany him to the slaughterhouse. By the end of the day, Hoyt wanted a proper apology–one in the form of a bloody limb, an organ, or maybe just your head on a platter as recompense for betraying your family. And worst of all, he wanted Tommy to be the one to do it, to decide what would be a fitting price for you to pay. To ‘grow some balls and be a man’, as Hoyt put it so delicately.

But since morning, he'd just been chopping meat. Tommy hadn't even looked at you the whole time you'd been here, not even on the walk down the side of the road to get here in the first place. He'd picked you up under your arms and sat you up on the table behind him, and then he'd turned his back to you as he brought down his cleaver on the piles and piles of dripping meat. Sometimes he would turn around and hand you chunks to wrap up in butcher's paper, but for the most part he indicated nothing towards the task he had primarily been sent here to do. Somehow it just made it all worse; you felt on the edge of snapping from the anxious terror that tightened up all your muscles, wondering what on earth Tommy would do to you before the day was done. Was he just procrastinating? Because if he arrived back home with nothing to show for it, it wouldn't save you in the end–it would just make it worse for both of you when he got punished too.

“Tommy.” You gnawed on your bottom lip. He brought the blade down on the chopping block with a thunk. With the bone separated, a squelch hit your ears as he slid the sections apart and dragged over another hunk to slice through. “I'm sorry.”

Thunk. Not even a passing glance over his shoulder. And it was hard to tell if he was mad when he wouldn't even look at you.

“I didn't want to get you in trouble…”

Thunk.

“I was just scared.”

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.

“Tommy-”

The slow escalation of his measured cuts finally culminated into an uproarious clatter, his cleaver smacking down on the soaked table before he turned himself to face you. Blood marred the clothes you'd taken off the laundry line for him that morning, apron slick and sticky with viscera as it almost always was. Sweat poured down his arms and his hairy chest and beaded at his dense forehead. Every inch of him was dirty, and yet you didn't cringe away from it when he closed the distance between you and came up harrowingly close. The stench of blood and meat wafted off of him from barely an inch away. His hips edged in between your knees as you sat on the lip of the counter, keeping personal space far from his mind when he grabbed your arms and dwarfed them under his massive fingers. Each breath heaved beneath his mask like swallowing a bubble, ready to pop.

This time, Hoyt was nowhere around to interrupt him. Momma wasn't there to scold him. Nobody would hear for miles what he would do to you, and you had no idea what he'd had brewing in his mind since he'd choked you out in the cornfield that first meeting. That intense stare of his was like a bear honing in on a rabbit, and if you had the thought to run, it was already too late.

Thick fingers clamped down around your neck, dug into the scar that had formed from the asshole that had sliced you, and you felt your heart stutter as Tommy pulled you along the length of the table and slammed you down into it by the throat. This way you were laid out like a cow would to be butchered, plenty of room for him to work as he held you down and reached over to pull a leather strap over your midsection. He affixed the buckle tight to the opposite side and tightened it more when you squirmed against the pressure, but not quite enough to be as painful as the ropes that dug into your wrists at your first family meal. With that in place he didn't need to hold you down to keep you pinned against the table, and although you whimpered in fear and fought against the bindings he paid your resistance little mind, instead looking through his tools on the cutting table to find a decently-sized paring knife–drenched liberally in blood–for him to hook under the neckline of your dress and make a cut down the middle. Once he hit the tough leather over your stomach, the tool skittered across the table as he abandoned it in favour of ripping your skirt apart with his bare hands, the thin layer of cotton offering no resistance to his brute strength.

Why did it make you so wet? You couldn't shake the feeling of arousal from how animalistic he was behaving, nor the sheer, overwhelming musk of man and sweat and blood. Tommy was never rough with you but he was certainly making up for it now; you flinched at the firmness of his fingers digging into your skin, leaving trails of thin blood and dirt behind as he tore your cotton bra into loose pieces. His hands trembled at the sight of you exposed like this, too much skin to handle, and such soft flesh that filled out his palms when he cupped your breasts in each eager hand. A hitch of breath was enough to show him that you liked it, whether it was the attention itself or exclusively because it was him touching you. It didn't matter.

Tommy massaged each one with such eager reverence, his handwork clumsy compared to the ease with which he handled so many other forms of meat. He wasn't keen on ripping these off your body and eating them; although he did want to test how they would feel in his mouth, especially those plum, soft nubs of yours that perked when he brushed his thumbs over them. By now you weren't completely certain he wasn't going to butcher you, but you had a pretty good idea that this was his plan B–take out that inner aggression on you that would not make his god-fearing family proud.

A deep, weighty groan slipped out of him at the taste of sweat on your skin. Every bruise he left with his teeth would have to be covered up and powdered, but god, god it was so easy for him to undo every vestige of purity you'd put on for show. Your back arched and your worn shoes squeaked against the steel table as you wiggled, the globes of fat he held in his palms jiggling with a mesmerizing glow every time you moved. As much as you wanted to wrench yourself free in some moments, in most others you couldn't bear the breaks he took to catch his breath, leaving your chest prickling with goosebumps as a draft hit your spit-sticky skin. He squeezed and kneaded to his heart's content and took a twisted glee out of making you squirm, especially when you made those gurgly noises that were so traitorous to the pristine image you painted for momma. She'd made it clear that you weren't to go off messing with boys when they came strolling up to the store's counter, or return any of their flirtations no matter how many times they called you pretty.

Obviously she didn't think her son would be the one you had to keep from tempting, but that train had long left the station now. Thomas’ index finger tore through the thin fabric of your panties with a swipe, and there you laid bare and naked to his wandering eyes while he yanked the shreds of them down the rest of your legs. He probably didn't know what positions were which and how girls had their periods, but he knew enough to slide those thick fingers through your folds and to keep going when you moaned like a dying animal. “Tommy, Tommy, Tommy”, it was a mantra that hit his ears just right and urged him into clambering on top of the table with you with wild eyes. They drank in every inch of your sweltering body, the pulse of your heart through the hole he was jamming his fingers into, and on instinct he was guided to push down his waistband and throw off his apron as he knelt back on his haunches.

You might've thought he was nothing but hair if he wasn't so thick. Clearly he'd never shaved in his life with the erroneous bush he sported, curly hair matting down his thighs and his belly too once his shirt started riding up. But that fat, drooling knob of his swayed to hit his thigh, and you got an eyeful of pure, veiny, gut-smashing terror that you were sure would kill you if you didn't manage to relax. The further he leaned over your body, the more you felt like he was going to crush you as soon as he lined himself up with the hole he'd be stretching out like a little homemade cock sleeve. His hands slid under your knees to prop them up, but rather than sling them over his shoulders he bent them back and pinned them to your chest. An aching burn raced up your thighs but he paid no mind to your trembling; Tommy knelt over you and settled between your legs, and without warning, started sinking slowly into that hot opening he'd been dying to get deeper inside.

“H-Hold–wait, T-Tommy, hold oh-!”

Were you really so convinced he would play nice with you? Maybe you'd become complacent with the gentleness he showed you at his best, because when Tommy finally pressed in past the tip, he was gone. Forcing your knees back even further, he let out a groan and pushed himself up higher over you; all just to settle himself into your deepest pits and trap you in a violating mating press. After doing nothing but enjoying your heat, smushing his hips down against yours in a grinding motion, he soon seemed to realize he could move–and move he did, drawing back just to crush your hips with a deep, stomach-punching stroke.

“Unh,” What most resembled a moan fell from his scarred lips, and he fumbled around the back of his head to unclasp the leather from his face. This was the first and only time he'd ever felt safe enough to take it off since you'd met, and it was when he'd finally listened to his body and acted on his need to force every inch of him inside you. To be one. Now you finally were, and his synthetic face dropped on your chest before slowly sliding off to hit the floor.

If your jaw hadn't already gone slack from his violent thrusting, it would probably fall from the realization of what hid under that mask day after day. The sallow, sunken nose, the scars, the jagged skin and self-inflicted wounds…why wasn't it as scary as you thought? You figured, in the moment, you'd just gotten too used to him in personality, or maybe because you were just too distracted at the moment, but…

“Tommy-!” You squeaked out. The wet smack of his balls on your ass stuck in your ears, the strings of creamy slick linking you flesh-to-flesh as he went to town on your pussy. If he truly was losing his virginity to you, then all that pent-up frustration must be the source of him absolutely ruining any semblance of tightness you might've had. “A-Are you tryin’ to–you wanna gimme a baby? S'that it?” You slurred, slowly losing your good sense the longer he showed you your place.

Though you thought it would be to your horror, his slow nod only sparked something dark and tremulous within your loins. Something more than sweat and slick and the vile squelching of his seldom-washed dick rubbing up to your womb. It hit you then; this was your punishment. Every clap and sticky smack of flesh on flesh was a promise, an urge fulfilled to tear your meat from the bone and thrust a new purpose unto you. A homemaker. Tommy's little bride. A momma. Make his momma a grandmama like she was always praying for.

Shluck. Shluck. Shluck. Shluck. No doubt in your mind that was exactly what he was doing, and exactly why he brought you all the way out to the slaughterhouse to do it. The leather strap over your stomach kept you from wriggling away, but that would only be if you could somehow get him to pull out, and that for sure wasn't happening. He didn't bother with long strokes and leaving the tip in, your cunt was a home for him to bury himself in and he wasn't about to waste a second of this. His thick thighs trembled over yours, and he ground the swollen head of his cock deep against your cervix. So deep it was painful, but why would he care? He was doing a good thing. He was being a good boy, giving you what uncle Hoyt told him all women wanted, even if they didn't say it out loud.

Tommy's moans grew to a higher pitch once he affixed his hand like a necklace round your throat, swelling with the faster, faster, faster pace of his thrusts downward. He pressed his other meaty hand into your knees and shoved each one further apart, which made you whine but gave him easier access to pound you into greedy, delectable mush. Whereas it might've turned off weaker men, your nails digging deep, long scratches up his back made Tommy groan and tilt his head back in delirious pleasure. His knees kept you pinned at your sides and his weight–his stomach squishing into you from above–held you down where you belonged, where you'd be the most beautiful and of best use. Beneath him with a womb spilling over with cum, sown by his seed and his seed alone. His picturesque, pretty little wife. Hewitt property. He wouldn't stop, and you wouldn't beg him to even if you weren't being choked of any air you had left, and the world started to spin as the ecstasy took hold and Thomas was squeezing your moans out of you with trembling fervour. It felt as though your lower half exploded and left you with a warm, full, tingly sensation, marred by pearly-white globs of a load he'd had saved up since birth.

In contrast to the violent lovemaking he'd just shown you he was capable of, you were slowly brought back to life by small, soft little pecks. Kisses like the fuzz of a bumblebee brushing by your cheeks, pressing into your lips with a sweetness you weren't used to. This felt like Tommy again, like the gentle touch he used when nobody was around to laugh at him for being so sweet on you. He shuddered with bliss as his cock pulsed with your heartbeat and milked him of what little he had left, but with his chubby fingers rubbing at your jaw and brushing your sweaty locks aside he managed to drag himself off of you. Slowly, like molasses on a cold day, he brought himself back down off the table and let his feet hit the floor, having to brace himself against the table to keep from stumbling to the ground. Click-shuuunk. The leather belt snapped back into its holder as he released it, which left a sizeable indent across your abdomen that you'd have to hope would be covered enough not to show bruises. All you could do was watch as Tommy did up his pants on his way around the table, only to return to your side with the biggest, sharpest knife you swore you had ever seen. You flinched away and nearly cried out-

Shlip. With a strand pulled taut, Tommy made quick work of separating a lock of your hair from your head. Just a short one, so as not to make much difference–but he held it to his face and sniffed deeply, and it ashamed you to say that the gesture in itself just made your clit throb with need you thought you'd been completely overdosed on. Despite that, you laid still while Tommy reached over and retrieved his mask, tucking the tuft of hair inside it so he could smell it all the time. To calm him down, to cool him off, to just enjoy…all the things that you brought to him when no one else did, or could. From his pocket he produced something small and shiny, and dangled it over your face to show you before he set on fixing it around your neck. The pendant you'd seen that girl wearing a week ago now hung against your collar, the gleam of gold in it polished clean of the blood spilled to take it.

You barely let out a moan as he set on rearranging your limbs, turning you over, letting his cum spill down your thighs and all over the table like the blood from a fresh cut of beef. His calloused digits traced down your spine and up again til he found a sweet spot, and padded down your springy flesh that separated bone from his fingers. The carving knife had tinged when he'd sharpened it but he didn't show it to you–that would be too much for you, given what he was about to commit to.

Every arc, long and curved or short and straight, burned. The tip of the blade dug into your flesh like a red-hot needle, but Tommy's warm palm on the back of your neck kept you from moving out of his reach. He needed to start and to finish and his hand was already unsteady, mostly from the way his breath still hitched and his cock stirred all over again at the sight of your writhing body. Your blood turned him on. He hadn't touched any of the victims before you, not in that way, but you weren't really the same as them–no, you were special. If you weren't, Tommy wouldn't be carving those words into your back, and putting on display his ownership over the one and only thing he would ever see as more than meat.

If you didn't get pregnant this time, then this would surely be enough for the family to forgive. The letters scrawled in bloody ecstasy that would heal over, scar, wounds to be reopened over and over again.

Tommy's girl

forever

#thomas hewitt #leatherface #thomas hewitt x reader #leatherface x reader #slasher x reader #spicy writing #texas chainsaw massacre #texas chainsaw massacre: the beginning #tcm 2006 #slashers #ellie writes #10k

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moonstruckme · 6 months ago

Note

It is I, person who asked about the bad car crash one. I have read the one you said! And while yes I think the car crash you described is bad I was wondering if you could do one that's... Worse-? Idk 😅 if not I totally understand lmao.

No I think I get you, thanks for requesting and hope you like it!

cw: car accident, concussion, mention of blood, I already know this is not very accurate, but I did not have it in me to do all the research when I wrote this. Sorry and hope it doesn’t hinder your reading experience </3

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

Your own breaths are the loudest sound, which can’t be right. Surely there should be alarms, or screaming, or something. Up until a second ago, the screeching of tires and metal was loud enough to deafen you.

Your car door squeaks brokenly, a sad echo of the racket from before. The air around you shifts as it comes open, and a moment later there are cold fingers pressing into your jaw.

You make a low whining sound. “Hey,” you complain. Your lips move oddly, murmuring where you mean to speak.

“Hi,” a voice behind you replies smoothly. “I’m Sirius, I’m with NHS. Is your neck or back hurting at all, gorgeous?”

“No. You’re cold.”

“Lovely. This is my friend Remus, he’s going to push on your hands.”

A head appears in front of you, upside down and shooting an exasperated look towards the disembodied voice. You don’t understand how these people are moving around so quickly, without you noticing them coming.

“Hello.” The other man’s—Remus’—gaze softens as he meets your eyes. “Can you tell me if you feel this?” He prods at your hand.

“Yeah,” you breathe. Your heart is starting to move in your chest, thudding against your ribs like it wants to hurt you.

“Alright. Can you try pushing up on my hands, please?”

You do. He nods approvingly, giving you a little smile.

“Good girl. We’re good, Sirius.”

The cold hands release your face, and you breathe a sigh of relief. It makes your chest ache dully.

“Beautiful. We ready to move?”

“Yup.” That’s a third voice, distinct from the others and somewhere you can’t see it. “We’re all set.”

“Let me just—” Remus’ hands come up around your waist and back, his grip firm, near to bruising. “Okay, I’ve got her. We’re going to unbuckle you and lift you out, okay? Just stay nice and still for us.”

You’re confused as to what he means, but apparently your silence is consent enough. You feel the buckle of your seatbelt click, and then you’re falling up, Remus’ hold tightening further as he stops your ascent to lift you sideways.

It’s not until you’re out of the car that you realize you were upside down. Your head feels better, though not by much, and the sun glares at you like it’s punishing you for a wrong you don’t remember having committed. Your arm, suddenly and to your horrified surprise, is in agony.

A pitchy scraping sound tears from your throat, what would have been a scream if you had the air for one.

“Here we go, just—yeah—” the third voice speaks as something comes up under your back. “There we are. It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re alright.”

“We’ll get you on pain meds in just a second, doll,” Sirius promises. Someone adjusts your legs so they’re both on the cot, careful of your searing arm, and then you’re moving, the sky shifting above you until you’re looking up at a gray ceiling instead. Time is an odd, fluid thing, marked only by actions and various pains.

“When did you get here?” you mutter, to no one in particular.

The third voice is the one to answer you. It’s accompanied by a thick pair of glasses and a sweet face, eyes flickering between you and some equipment he’s messing with. “Just a few minutes ago.”

“I don’t…I didn’t hear the sirens.”

He smiles like you’re funny. “Yeah, I think you might’ve been unconscious for that part.”

You wrack your brain. You don’t remember falling asleep. Only the screeching on the road and then being in your car. Then again, you feel half as though you could be dreaming right now.

Something sharp bites into your hand. You whimper, the pain small but only adding to every other hurt that’s already far over your threshold.

“I know,” Sirius shushes you, sticking something to your hand. “I know, babe, but this is going to help soon. You’ll see.”

“So far I’ve got a concussion, open fracture of the wrist, several lacerations to the face and chest, and bruising around the knees.” Remus’ voice is an odd combination of soft and businesslike. You have a creeping sensation he’s talking about you. “Am I missing anything?”

“Possible bruising around the chest,” Sirius says. “She was breathing funny earlier.”

“Right. Hey, love,” Remus voice gentles as he addresses you, “I’m going to move your shirt down to see if your chest is hurt, alright? I’ll be careful, it won’t take long.”

“Okay,” you manage weakly.

“Thank you.” He uses both hands to stretch the collar of your shirt, tutting quietly to himself at whatever he sees. He lifts a stethoscope from around his neck, rubbing the metal on his hand for a moment before setting it to your chest.

You don’t know what he’s listening for, but you’re distracted when the third paramedic—the one with the glasses—starts running what feels like a wet wipe over your forehead.

“Just cleaning you up a bit,” he says brightly. “Figure we ought to have you looking your best for whoever ends up stitching you up, yeah?”

“James.” Sirius’ tone is somewhere between chiding and joking and fond, an entanglement of meanings you quite can’t wrap your pounding head around. “Don’t talk like she’s not already stunning. You can hardly improve upon perfection.”

“Too true,” the other boy agrees readily.

“Take a breath in for me, please,” says Remus, seemingly ignoring the other two and seemingly also used to doing so. “Just as deep as you can.”

You try. You do your best, and as your lungs expand the dull ache worsens and worsens until a sharp pain pierces your middle. The air whooshes out of you in a dry sob.

The stethoscope leaves your skin, and Remus fixes your shirt collar, putting it back in place. Your chest radiates a terrible, throbbing hurt.

“It’s okay,” James says. His finger brushes your cheek, swiping at wetness you didn’t realize was there. “Oh, honey, it’s okay.”

“At least a couple of broken ribs,” you hear Remus mutter to the others. Somehow, impossibly, it makes the pain worsen.

“What’s happening?” you choke out.

“You’re in an ambulance,” James tells you kindly. “You were in a car accident, and I know you’re in a lot of pain right now, but we’re here to take care of you. We’re going to make sure you’re okay, and then get you to the hospital so they can finish fixing you up. You’ll be alright.”

The explanation takes you a while to process, but even then your tears don’t seem to want to slow. Your chest pangs with each hitch in your breathing. Eventually Sirius starts talking you through taking slower breaths, trying to calm you down.

Someone wipes at your face with a small square. It stings, and it comes away light red with your blood and tears.

“I know it’s scary,” Remus murmurs, “but you’ve already done so, so well. We only have to splint your arm so it doesn’t move and clean some of your bigger cuts, and then we can go to the hospital. Can you let us do that, please? Will you be okay?”

You take in a ragged breath. “Yeah,” you reply.

“There we are.” James takes your head between his hands. Something about his grip reassures you. He touches his lips to your forehead, like it’s natural, like it’s nothing. “You’ve got this, sweetheart. Just need you to be brave for us a little while longer.”

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mingoooossii · 2 months ago

Text

Little things you do that makes ATEEZ feel soft.

Ateez!maknae line x reader

Warnings: fluff and just the boys being whipped <33

A/n: i kinda let this marinate in my head but I think it's been too long. Also the song, not inspired but I was listening to it while making this.

Hyung line. Ateez masterlist. Masterlists.

San.

Tugging his sleeve.

• ok so, ik this is a bit confusing but hear me out.

• this is a thing you do often, grabbing his sleeve for a sense of comfort, to get him to come with you to somewhere

• or simply just...to get his attention.

• for you it's a habit that brings you a sense of familiarity and security that is so comforting.

• you don't even notice it when you do it, it just feels so natural.

• but for him? He never felt so soft before.

• he knew this was a sort of comfort to you and was glad that he could provide it to you.

• and god, you were so adorable.

• that cute expression you wear when you seek for him and that small smile that find its way to your lips when you find him?

• *internal screeching*

• dies a little inside everytime you do it and the next thing you know, he's pulling you into a bear hug.

"Damn it! Why are you so cute?!"

"???"

• good luck trying to escape him now.

Mingi.

Covering him when he's about to bump into something.

• as we all know this man can get quite clumsy.

• so it is not uncommon that he bumps into stuff, especially the kitchen counter corners, and gets bruises.

• he doesn't even notice it most of the time.

• you, however, do notice it and gets worried.

• you tried to tell him before but to no avail, he never even noticed.

• so you made it your mission instead. Covering the sharp corners with your hand whenever he was about to bump into it.

• you did it so often that it was almost instinctive now.

• he, however, took a while to notice this

• and when he did, he was so touched 😭

• he felt like those female leads from those kdramas

• he felt so so special like-

• and now, he sometimes does it intentionally to see if you'd react the same way.

• and gets giddy when you do. (Imagine him giggling with his crescent eye smile 😭 I'm gonna cry-)

"I have something to confess. I'm in love with you."

"... Mingi, we're literally dating."

"I know and I love you."

Wooyoung.

Listening to him.

• this isn't new information but he loved to talk.

• it just comes naturally to him, wanting to share anything that makes him happy.

• now, he knew that not everyone might like this habit of his but it didn't really matter to him.

• not when you looked at him like he put the stars in the sky.

• And you weren't the most extroverted person.

• it just... wasn't your thing so you appreciated him doing all the expressing for you.

• now, he knew you genuinely liked to listen to him (even if it's something random, you'd still listen to it like it's the most interesting thing)

• but he was curious. Why exactly did you like it so much?

• he asked you this one day and you responded,

• "You look happy when you talk, so i wanted to listen because it makes me happy too."

• ...he swore, he just fell deeper in love with you.

"I'm gonna marry you."

"...?!"

Jongho.

Giving him little gifts.

• more specifically, hand-made gifts

• you were big on crafting

• knitting, origami, bead making whatever it is, you loved doing it

• and you also love giving it to him. Whenever you two hang out, you always had something to give him

• and he loved it.

• Even though he pretends to complain abt it at times

• you had often found him staring at your little creations with a soft smile

• though he had always denied it whenever you tried to confront him

• you know that he truly appreciates it

• to him, these were little tokens of your love and that is enough to melt him

• he always has one of your little gifts on him like a charm (because it makes him feel like he's with you even when you two were apart)

• he's also kind of protective over it

• never lets any of the members touch any of the charms (que the members teasing him for it) but he doesn't really care

• he loves you so that's all that matters

"... It's been...a while."

"Admit you love it, then I'll make you another one."

"...I don't know what you're talking about."

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venuslarkspur · 2 months ago

Text

Teen Hero Shenanigans

Part 2

We Were Written In The Stars, Boyfriend Of Mine.

Summary: Your Damian’s Twin Sister, after arriving 3 years after your brother, you never excepted to take the Robin mantle, until your brother runs away and you volunteer to take his place. Damian eventually returns and you are discharged from the role, after bottling up your anger you decide to go solo by running away and stealing the Batgirl. But you’re not alone, your sort of boyfriend joins you. The main problem is the boyfriend in question is your brother’s best friend, Jon Kent.

Pairing: Jon Kent x Batsis!Reader on this one. Mentions of platonic batfam and reader.

Notes: Sorry this took so long and it’s shorts I have an exam in 2 days 😢 - ONLY HALF PROOF-READ IM SORRY. Just pure Jon and Reader today

Warnings: Mentions of past child abuse, vomiting, derogatory language, cuts and bruises. Reader has some childhood ptsd.

Words: 1.6k

This morning was significantly quiet, sitting on the windowsill of what was your new home you hadn’t heard a scream in the last 12 hours, no petty purse snatching in sight. There were some clouds in the sky, it was never this nice in Gotham, too much pollution. But the harsh breeze against your skin reminded you of what life was like in the mountains training with your grandfather, it really made you think of how ironic it was that you always got Damian’s sloppy seconds. First being heir of the league of assassins, then being Robin, but now you have something that’s yours; the sleeping boy in the bed. Next to you. Even though he was technically Damian’s first, he doesn’t get to see him this way.

You dabbed your wounds again and let out a disgruntled noise upon hitting a bruise, you grabbed some honey and dabbed it on the dried up cut. You had gotten into a confrontation last night and you weren’t expecting for the low level thug to have some backup. Long story short, he had a ridiculously big group of goons and Jon had to come and help. Let’s hope they all had health insurance for the beating you both gave them. But you couldn’t lie, without your father or siblings there you felt like a rogue, even when you were fighting crime with Jason you never felt this out of place. You felt like you would relapse at any moment and forget your new ways. You never took pleasure in killing, it’s just how your grandfather taught you. Nobody taught you about redemption, you were just explained the world in black and white.

Luckily, you had Jon if you ever nearly slip up. You hadn’t looked at your phone in 3 good days and you had been happy that way, you missed them, even your father to an extent but you also knew proving yourself was important. The highlight of all of this was Jon, sure breaking a few scum noses was nice too. But nothing beats the adrenaline of going on patrol together and the press wondering when you two became an item, you leave as quickly as possible though; you can’t risk your family coming to get you or Jon’s for that matter. It was a bit easier for Jon, his parents trusts him and loves him. Your family loves you too, but if Bruce trusted you then why fire you?

“Ouch.” You murmur after hitting a particularly sensitive bruise, deciding that’s enough and wanting to spend some more time with Jon before your patrol, you slip back next to him; ruffling his hair and trying to shuffle as close as humanely possible, the more you shuffled the more healed you felt by the moment, not just physically but mentally as well. There was so many things to tell him, about your overbearing mother? Or maybe almost being disowned by your grandfather? But you didn’t wanna tell him things he wouldn’t know what to do with. So you embrace him and he gets the message and pulls your waist around him, which made you hope the morning would never end.

————————

“I received a call from Clark this morning.” Bruce said sternly to almost all his children, they all sat on the couch, “Clark? has he found her?” Stephanie spoke up first, her eyes widened with hope as Barbara placed a hand on her shoulder. “Steph..” she said whilst rubbing her back to comfort her. “Well, what did he say?” Barbara asked, Bruce let out a sigh and faced his kids.

“You all remember Jon right?” They all nodded in unison and mutual confusion, “Well, recently Jon has gone off too, they think around the same time as your sister.”

“What are you saying?”

————————

“You okay?” Jon asked as you searched the knocked out drug dealer in front of you. “Absolutely nothing, no leads.” You replied, you’ve been trying to find the boss of a local drug cartel but you’ve had no luck. “Babe, I was asking about you.” He looked down at his shoes before moving over to you. His glowing features making you forget about the filthy, rat infested alley. “Ups and downs, some days I really miss my family.” You look down and don’t realise the thug under you has woken up and has now broken out of his restraints. “I’ll get you for this you slu-“ he lunges at you seething with anger; but you swiftly move out of the way and restrain his hands before Jon hastily pins him to the ground again, using his weight against him. “You brats..” you role your eyes and gesture Jon to walk away with you, and you nearly did until for the first time you lost sense of self.

“You fucking cunt! Look at me!” The thugs screams and you pull Jon along, nothing he can say to you can do anything, you’ve heard it all, well until he reopened some old wounds; emotional wounds. “You are nothing bitch!” You stop dead in your tracks, Jon looking at you with extreme concern and wondering what changed. Immediate memories flood in, Damian leaving, your grandfather working you to the bone after his disowned, former heir left. Harsh days that ended in you holding your stomach and trying to keep your breakfast from coming up, which didn’t always work and wasn’t always pleasant. Vomiting blood was the worst of it after you were hit a bit too hard and were left clenching onto your stomach for dear life.

“On your feet.” A grating voice that resembled your grandfather spoke, were you having a panic attack? All you knew is you were reliving you worst memories. Please I don’t want to remember! I won’t. “Do you want to be meaningless? Pick up your sword and face me, I won’t allow you to fail.” You wondered if your mother even cared, she would carefully ogle your hands at night, commenting on how your once porcelain, delicate, hands were now ruined. But she did nothing about it, you wanted to be the heir; but not like this. You risked being disowned too if you even asked about your father or brothers, so you didn’t. You just didn’t,

“Babe? Are you okay?” A familiar voice said, you were now acutely aware you were out of the alley and lifted into your boyfriend’s arms. “You were in a daze..I couldn’t wake you up I’m sorry.” He looked down whilst placing you guys atop a nearby building, “it’s okay, I’ve never had anything like that happen to me before.” Jon offered you and sympathetic look before taking one of your hands in his, “I wanted to show you something to make you feel better.” You tilted your head, wondering what he had planned.

“Come.” He said and slowly lifted his feet of the group flying upwards, you were also gently lifted off the ground; surprisingly, no strain, only his gorgeous features. “Only a little longer now.” He said as he went further up in the sky only a bit stray of the clouds, he quickly shifted you upwards into the bridal carry. “Sorry if this isn’t a comfortable position, I wanted you to be facing me; since you’re my equal and everything..” he spoke in a shy tone, without hiding the faint blush on his face. Your heart was melting, he might as well take it for himself. But you wouldn’t say that to him, could ruin the mood. “I’m plenty fine here.”

“Good we are here.” He took his fingers and lifted your chin upwards; you were met with a vast sea of glowing stars, because of the pollution in Gotham; you never saw this many. You had never felt so loved in your life, so validated, so cared for. You started shedding tears and hugging into his chest, “Shit-oh sorry I didn’t realise this would-I’m so sorry-“ Jon said scrambling to rub your back and pepper your forehead with kisses to repay you. “No, Jon, happy tears I promise.” You say softly and his calms and he places his chin on the top of your head, “This is why you’re the only person I’ve ever let into my heart in this sort of way..” You utter and Jon has to hold back some tears of his own, “Thank you.” You move in closer and grab his face to kiss him, and it seems like it lasts forever before you both pulled away gasping for breath.

“I think I-“ you scramble to get your words together, feeling everything so intensely, until your finally get it together. “I love you so much Jonathan Kent.”

“I love you.” You finish, staring directly into his eyes, “I love you too.” He said, matching your gaze. “I love you so much more.”

Tag list: @waterwyne @venusmorning @planetlotus @sugarrush-blush @skepvids @dreaming-of-the-reality @otterluver05 @godoreo22 @earth-to-name @krys0210 @jisnothere

It wouldn’t let me tag a few people so please check your settings if you asked to be a tagged and weren’t! (Sorry for the inconvenience)

Thank you for all the lovely support <3 it’s definitely helped me finish this part off and it’s very appreciated. 💕

Next Part: Robin Vs Batgirl (yes it’s getting dramatic in this one.) NEXT PART IS OUT.

398 notes · View notes

andvys · 1 year ago

Text

Dancing with our hands tied | Prologue

I knew there was no one in the world who could take it I had a bad feeling

Warnings: mentions of injuries, bruises and scars, mention of the upside down, this is post s4, enemies to lovers. mentions of death and the upside down. readers features are not mentioned, besides the accident with the hair dye in the past

Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Summary: You and Steve have never seen eye to eye, and it never changed, not even when you were pulled into a world of monsters and risked your life to save him. But tension had always been between you both, something that neither of you ever wanted to admit -- but how much longer can you take it when the pull between you gets stronger and stronger each second you spend by each others side?

Word count: 3.6k+

Author's note: A new fic and another shoutout to my queen @hellfire--cult 🤍 thank you for working on the ideas for this story with me, I'm so excited for this one!

You’re running through the darkness, barefoot, the soil feels wet and slippery beneath your feet, twigs and branches scratch your skin open, the air feels icy cold, the wind blows through your hair and goosebumps arise on your skin, though not because of the cold but because of the growling behind you, the creatures that reach for you, that scream for you, that want your blood and your flesh.

Your lungs feel on fire and so do your legs, but you don’t stop running.

You run faster and faster, hoping to find shelter though this forest seems so big and never ending, there is no way out of this, no way out of here.

There is no shelter and there is nowhere to run – and yet, you don’t stop, you don’t let them get to you, you don’t let them touch you.

Rain starts falling, thunder rumbles through the woods and the ground beneath you suddenly starts shaking, making your knees buckle.

Desperation clings onto you, you can’t fall, if you do then you lose.

The sky becomes redder, shining angrily, the lightning now comes for you, crashing down on the ground right before you, causing you to yelp in surprise.

And that is all that it took, an obstacle thrown into the path that was destined for you to stay on. It caught you off guard, you no longer looked at the way before you, you slowed down and you slipped on the muddy ground.

You can feel yourself falling and it feels as though it takes forever for you to crash, you can feel the breath getting knocked out of you, you can feel the tear running down your cheek, you can feel the darkness taking ahold of you and despite knowing that you are going down, the fall still startles you, making you whimper in pain when you hit your head on something, your vision blurs and your skin aches and despite it, you push yourself up but it’s too late.

The vines are wrapping itself around your body, like snakes that are about to poison you. Panic rises in your chest and your eyes widen when you lift your head to see the creatures running towards you, getting closer and closer.

“No!” Your own voice sounds so unfamiliar to you, so filled with fear and desperation.

You struggle against the vines, though they hold you down so strongly. You try kicking against it, you try fighting against it but nothing helps, nothing will help you, nothing will save you.

Suddenly, you feel something sharp in your skin, in your legs, in your calves, in your arms, everywhere. You scream in pain – in pain and in anger. Tears stream down your face, blood seeps from the ripped open skin, the metallic taste now lingering on your tongue and that will be the last thing you will taste, the last thing you will see is the blood red sky, the last thing you will feel is how you’re being ripped apart.

But even now, as you’re slipping into a cruel death, all you think about is him.

You’re awaiting the darkness, the void – though it’s not what greets you when your eyes close. Light greets you. Bright, disgusting light that makes you want to close your eyes again. Fuck. You forgot to close the curtains last night.

A groan falls from your lips and you pull the blanket up higher, hiding your face from the sun that shines directly into your room. You pay no mind to your racing heart or the fear that still lingers from the dream you just woke from – you ignore it, as you always do.

This one was unlike all the others that have been haunting you for weeks now. Instead of hands around your neck, and the cruel blue eyes staring into your soul as he tried to kill you, it’s been the creatures that wanted you dead this time – and somehow they caused you less fear than he did.

You sink deeper into your mattress, enjoying the comfort and warmth of your bed.

Nothing awaits you today, absolutely nothing.

With a sigh, you lift your blanket and sit up, rubbing your eyes before you squint them open. You pull your legs up to your chest and prop your chin up on your knees, looking out your window as you get lost in your thoughts.

You are taken back to your dreams when the sun gets brighter, reminding you of the lights that surged through the red sky when the creatures – the monsters ripped you open. Not shying away from digging their teeth and claws into your delicate skin. – And to think that you once thought that Tommy and Carol were monsters.. Now you know what real monsters look like, feel like..

They never got under your skin like the monsters in your dreams did, not even when they thought they did. They threw cruel words at you, made up rumors about you that circled around school but as entertaining as it was to some of the students of Hawkins High, you just didn’t care what they thought of you, what they whispered about you whenever you passed by the gossiping girls or the boys who would smirk whenever you would walk through the hallways.

Just like all the other new freshman girls, you were fresh meat, a little lamb in the midst of a lion's den, ready to be ripped apart – or at least, that’s what you were meant to be. The first time Kelli Robertson approached you in order to intimidate you and to make it known who she was, she walked away with a split open lip after she tugged at your pigtails and made fun of the way you dressed. She never approached you again after this and neither did her friends.

You were no violent person but it had always been easy for you to lose your temper around girls and boys who loved to think that they were better than anyone else, that their status in school was something deemed special and meaningful outside of it, that they could push around the ones weaker than them.

Maybe you weren’t better than them, you gave them back what they gave to others, but at least they deserved it. And with them, you had the power to fight back whenever they came at you.

But when it came to him, you didn’t have much power to fight back – only luck was on your side, that night. A battered house you were supposed to die in, saved you. It’s ironic, really.

It’s been a few weeks since the evil had been defeated and you had won – since your friends had won, but not without scars and bruises.

Eddie almost died.

Max almost died.

And you, you almost died too.

Maybe you should have.

You drag yourself out of bed, like every morning, ignoring the sharp pain in your side, the ache that still lingers in your neck – you wonder if it will stay there forever now.

You hate to look at yourself in the mirror, but you still do.

You wash your face and brush your teeth and you stare at your reflection, hating what you see. The bruises that have not healed yet, the ones on your face and on your neck, the scar that he left for you to always look at.

With a sigh, you turn away and leave the bathroom. You make yourself a cup of coffee and sit on your windowsill. You pull your knees up to your chest, closing your eyes for a moment, you enjoy the way the sun feels on your skin. You missed it, the warmth, the smell of spring in the air and giving yourself this moment of peace every morning.

You feel the beating of your heart, the kind that fills your body with fear – the fear that will always linger now.

You can’t stand it.

And you can’t stand that the only way to get rid of it is to be around the person who hates you the most.

The one that ripped your heart out more than once, with nothing but cruel words.

You should stay away, but you can’t.

And besides, your words are just as cruel.

Walking into Family Video, a small smile tugs at your lips when Steve’s frown greets you. He is leaning against the counter, a pencil in his hand as he works on the crossword in the newspaper. He instantly straightens up when he locks eyes with you, a sigh already falling from his lips.

He has been seeing you more often than usual in the past few weeks – every time you walk in here, he ignores the relief in his chest and the pain when he sees those fading bruises on your skin.

By the look on your face, he can tell that you are up to no good.

You’re wearing a sweet smile on your face – one that could never be directed at him. An iced coffee in your hand that you got from the shop across the street, he sees you walk in there, every afternoon.

“Hey Steve,” you smile as you walk up to the counter, placing the cup in front of him. “I got you a coffee.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at you, glancing down at the coffee, not quite believing you or the sickly sweet tone in your voice, you even called him by his name, something that never happens.

“What’d you put in there?”

You chuckle, shrugging at him. “Nothing, I figured you could use some coffee and some company, you look bored.”

The store is empty and he already stacked up all the new tapes. Yes, he is bored but he doesn’t believe you for a second. You’re here because you are bored.

You tap your manicured nails against the counter, tilting your head and looking at him oh so sweetly – your lashes flutter, your lips are curled into a soft smile, you’re wearing a pretty blouse underneath your denim jacket and heart shaped glasses on your head, you smell like cherries. If you weren’t you, he would be flirting away already but unfortunately you are you.

The girl he cannot stand, even now, after you risked your life for a person that means so much to him, after you almost bled out and died fighting someone who was ready to kill you.

He ignores the pang in his chest when he looks at the faint bruises around your neck, you almost got matching wounds now – only his were caused by bats, yours were caused by someone else’s hands. He redirects his eyes to your face instead, not bearing to look at the marks any longer.

He looks into your eyes for a moment, trying to figure you out the way he always does – though you will always remain a mystery to him.

Tempting, he thinks – the coffee, not you, definitely not you.

With a sigh, he reaches for the cup and just as he goes to wrap his hand around it, you beat him to it, snatching it back.

“Oops, I changed my mind.”

You wrap your lips around the straw, keeping your eyes on him as you drink the coffee that you definitely did not order for Steve.

He clenches his jaw, eyes flashing with annoyance as they lock with yours again.

Satisfaction fills your chest, you love teasing him.

“Robin isn’t here, so what the hell do you want, Blondie?”

At that, you clench your jaw.

You can’t stand the stupid nickname that he hasn’t stopped using since Sophomore year.

You wanted that blonde you saw on Dolly Parton in the magazines, only for a bright yellow to end up on your head. You begged your sister to let you stay at home, but she pointed to the door for you to face the consequences of getting hair dye without her permission.

And since then, you went back to your natural hair color, not touching a dye in your life again.

Steve won’t let you live it down, always bringing up the nickname he knows you hate so much.

Though you don’t know whether he gave you the name because of the yellow hair you once sported or because you love the band so much.

“Well, I wanna rent a movie,” you shrug as you play with the straw. “I figured you could recommend one to me. You know, since you work here and everything.”

He rolls his eyes, “just get The Breakfast Club and leave.”

You put your hand over your heart, feigning pain. “Are you trying to get rid of me, Lego head?”

He clenches his jaw harder than before, you can tell that he is trying his hardest not to roll his eyes.

“I watched that movie last week. I wanna watch something else now. Give me a few recommendations or I’ll speak to your manager,” you tease him.

He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he walks around the counter, nodding his head at you to follow him.

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

You follow him, sipping on your coffee as you look down at the way his jeans are hugging his ass.

“How about Teen Wolf?” He asks as he walks into the horror movie section, he reaches for the movie and turns back to you, gripping the shelf as he gives you a fake smile.

“Hmm,” you scrunch your nose up as you pretend to think. “No thanks, I got enough Teen Wolf in front of me.” You gesture to his hair and the chest hair that peeks from his unbuttoned shirt.

You try to not look at the scar around his neck, the vision of him being held down against the ground while the bats tried to bite chunks of flesh out of him still pains you and makes shivers run down your spine.

With a snort, he rolls his eyes and puts the tape back on the shelf.

“What do you want, horror, action, rom-com–”

“Do I look like I’d enjoy a shitty rom-com?”

“Right,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck as he looks you up and down. You actually do look like you’d enjoy a shitty rom-com. Besides the constant glare or the frown on your face, you actually look like a sweet and approachable girl – that’s where he was wrong. You are unapproachable, you always have been. You’re rough and you’re mean, you never bite your tongue and you don’t shy away from fights or arguments, that is something that caught him off guard the first time he talked to you. The pink skirt, the bow in your hair and the innocent look on your face was a disguise for the little devil that was hiding behind those pretty eyes.

Your looks still don’t match your personality. – Even now, after the horrifying things that you have been through only weeks back, you are still you. Still the same mean girl he always knew you to be.

There was a shift in your behavior after last summer, something had changed in your eyes, a sadness lingered in them, one that hasn’t been there before, he doesn’t know what happened, if you had gotten hurt or if you had lost something or someone, but even if, that clearly wasn’t enough for you to change either.

Nothing seems to change you.

You are just cold and unreachable in your emotions – for the most part.

“Alright then no rom-com,” he sighs.

He continues to offer you movies, ones that you keep saying no to. He can feel himself growing frustrated the longer you do this, knowing damn well that you aren’t here for a movie, especially not for tonight, you’re hanging out with Robin tonight.

Once you make it to the last aisle, Steve is officially fed up with you. He leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest while you innocently look at the movies in the thriller section. You are sipping on your drink, eyeing some tape that you just reached for. You put it back and sigh, pretending to be bored.

While Steve had been trying to be less harsh with you than he was weeks before, he can’t help but roll his eyes at you.

“Why are you here?” He grumbles. “We both know you don’t want to rent a movie.”

You turn your head, eying him up and down before you start making your way over to him.

“How would you know?”

“Because I know you,” he mumbles as he takes a step closer to you. “I know you’re here because you’re fucking bored.”

You smirk, tilting your head up as you look into his hazel eyes.

“Get a job and let me do mine,” he rolls his eyes and finally brushes past you, making his way back to the counter.

“I don’t need a job, I have enough money to do… uh.. well nothing for the rest of my life. Just like you, Harrington. Why don’t you take that hush money we were gifted with and get the hell out of here?” You ask, curiously as you follow him. “You could be relaxing, traveling through the country, staying in fancy hotels, taking out hot chicks.”

“How fun,” he snorts as he stops by the register. “You go do that, if that’s what a dream life looks to you. Or get a freaking boyfriend or something and stop getting on my goddamn nerves, Blondie.”

“Who would keep your life so entertaining if I got too busy with a boyfriend?” You ask. “You’d die of boredom.”

Steve picks up the pencil he dropped earlier, trying to ignore you as he continues working on his crossword but you don’t let him obviously. You place the drink you teased him with, in front of him and lift yourself up on the counter, making yourself comfortable next to him.

He rolls his eyes, looking up at you through his bangs to find you looking at him already, a smirk lingering on your lips. You’re close enough for him to smell the perfume on your skin, sweet and flowery, another misleading thing, you’re not sweet, not in any way.

“You really think you have that much of an impact in my life?” He asks. Like the bruises on your body don’t anger him, because he couldn’t help you when you were fighting for your own and someone else’s life. Like he didn’t hold your hand when your cold body was laying in the hospital bed. Like he didn’t pray for you to make it out alive.

You bite the insides of your cheeks, blinking as you continue to look into his eyes.

You nod. “I think you would miss me so much if I was gone.”

He glares into your eyes, taking deep breaths as he moves his tongue along his bottom lip.

How can you speak of such things when you almost lost your life? He wonders.

“Yeah, you would definitely miss me,” you smirk and reach for your drink, only to be stopped by him when he reaches for it first, smirking back at you as he brings it up to his lips, wrapping his lips around the straw – not caring that your lips have touched it first.

Your jaw drops a little, only a little, though enough for him to be amused by the shocked look on your face – that is rare.

He takes a sip of your coffee, humming. “Mhmm, Vanilla? How’d you know it was my favorite?”

You purse your lips, squinting your eyes at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’ll give me the wrong idea and make me think that you have a crush on me or something.”

What an idiot.

“You wish, Lego head.” You snort and jump off the counter, letting your face drop into your regular expression.

He chuckles, tilting his head at you. “Right, I forgot, you don’t have such a thing as feelings.”

You blink, cracking your knuckles as you meet his eyes again.

Yeah, you heard that before and it stung, really badly.

“Not when it comes to you.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, looking at you with a bored expression.

“I’m so wounded.”

Nothing you would say or do could ever hurt Steve Harrington.

Not even the cruelest words from you would hurt him.

Because you don’t have the power to hurt him.

You don’t have an impact in his life.

You wouldn’t leave a void in his life if you just disappeared – not like he would in yours if he were to disappear.. But he doesn’t need to know that.

He couldn’t care less about you, he surely wouldn’t care if you left this town like you should have a long time ago, he surely wouldn’t care if you had died that night. You would have been long forgotten by now, a faceless someone in his memories.

“Heidi or Summer or Kayla will surely patch those wounds,” you smirk as you walk towards the door. “Or are you still getting over Nancy… you know after she rejected you… again?”

He nods at you with a glare, clenching his jaw at the reminder.

You chuckle and turn around, you open the door and step out.

“Look both ways when you cross the street, Blondie!” He calls out to you. “You don’t wanna end up in the hospital again!”

You flip him off, rolling your eyes at his chuckle that you hear before the door closes behind you.

The afternoon sun is shining down on you, leaving a warm feeling on your skin, a smile pulls at your lips as you glance at the growing flowers next to trees.

The sky is blue, no cloud in sight to hide the sun, it’s quiet, peaceful – almost too peaceful.

This is how it should be, right?

The war that was fought in secret is over.

But, there is still one upon you.

You and the man you just walked away from.

Will you make it out alive this time?

Or will you be left more broken than before?

I'm only doing taglists for friends & mutuals so please don't ask to be tagged! It's too stressful for me to keep track of that.

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#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington series #steve harrington enemies to lovers #stranger things angst

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surielstea · 5 months ago

Text

“Forgive me, Darling.”

Based on this request.

Pairing: Rhysand x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Rhys undermines Reader in front of the Hewn City, Reader makes him grovel before she accepts his apologies.

A. Note: This was really an excuse for me to write some Rhys smut… RhysandWeek got to me I fear, half of it is smut so enjoy 😼🙏

4.7k words

It was an effort to sit next to the High Lord tonight. Even with Winter Solstice so steadily approaching we couldn't stop being at each other's throats for the past week. The others in the Inner Circle were sick of our tedious bickering by now, and the rest of the Court might as well be too.

It was clear to the citizens of the Hewn City that we weren't getting along the best when we sat in our own separate thrones, while I typically opted to sit in Rhys' lap or he on the armrest while I took the main throne.

But it was the citizens of the Hewn City themselves that had cleaved our relationship right in two. While I was a natural sympathizer for these people, Rhys seemed to have half a thought about their well-being.

It drove me mad how easily he could cherish and love something, then turn around and loathe something else with the same fierceness. It was manipulative and vexing.

"Your grace," Keir drawled with a low bow and Rhys lifted a brow at Morrigan's poor excuse of a father.

"What is it?" The High Lord mused, the perfect mask of bored coldness in his violet eyes.

"The court was wondering if you'd be donating to the gift drive this season, all funds would go directly to the orphaned children of course," Keir said with a tone that sent shivers down my spine.

Rhys opened his mouth to say no, but I spoke first. "Of course Keir. We're not monsters," I say, tossing my mate a lethal glare.

"Are you mad? No," He looked to Keir. "I will not be donating, but you can tell them their queen will have a heavy chunk coming from her paycheck," Rhys bit back and the verbal assault immediately bruised her, tearing her down for speaking over him in a place like this was one thing but, in front of Keir? Using him as a device to get under my skin? It was a new level of low.

I bit back a snarl. "You're both insufferable," I stand. "And you bore me," I step down the dais with a careful queenlike elegance that came with only decades of practice. "I'm going home, perhaps finish some last-minute gift shopping," I shrug, my black gown shimmering like the stars in the sky with each move I made.

"I'll join you momentarily," Rhys said with a hand up as if to pause me. I didn't wait for him to finish before I winnowed back to Velaris, alone.

I was born in the Hewn City, and though I knew it was best if Rhys put on a mask in front of that court, it was hard to watch my mate who had one of the biggest hearts I'd ever seen be so cruel, be exactly what those citizens had expected him to be. A monster. A shiver went down my spine at the thought. It was a part of my role as High Lady to back whatever Rhys decided, but it was a part of his role to do the same with me. And when it came to the children of the Hewn City I drew the line, they had done no wrong, and half of them were too young to even realize that their king was a halfbreed, much less why that meant he was seen as lesser. They were innocent, doomed for failure since the beginning because of who their parents were. I sympathized with the orphans and knew exactly how much a donation would've mean to me because I used to be one of them.

Rhys winnowed into the sitting room, writhing shadows feathering off of his dark tunic as he whirled towards me, brows drawn.

"What'd you do that for?" He frowns at me and I mirror it.

"Children Rhys? Should I even dare ask when it might end?" I prop my hands up on his hips and he sighs, rubbing at his eyes.

"You know how I handle those things, I tell Keir no and then donate anonymously," He explained, annunciating every word like I was hard of hearing. The tone set me off. He was right, that's how we did it every year for solstice since Rhys became High Lord.

But tonight was my breaking point after weeks of needless arguments. "Yes, Rhysand. I know." I grit my teeth and his frown deepens as he hears me use his full name, something I always did unconsciously when I wanted him out of my face.

"Then why did you say we'd donate?" He lifts a brow and my shoulders are practically up to my ears with the tension building.

"Because, Rhysand, I'm so sick of you pretending to be someone that you're not," Again, the name makes him flinch. "I know how much you're capable of loving, and I understand you trying to protect us but I can't bear seeing you so ruthless to those people," I explain and he lets out a long sigh.

"You don't seem to understand the impossible situation I'm in." He closes his eyes, needing to rest them if only for a moment.

"What don't I understand?" I grab his jacket, gently gripping it as I stare up at him. "I've been beside you every step of the way, talk to me Rhysand. Or this isn't going to work," I gesture between us and his back shoots ramrod straight, at the underlying threat of taking a break from each other. He loathed the idea, and would rather argue for the rest of his life with me than not have me in his life at all.

"Don't say stuff like that," He murmured, his voice clipped like he couldn't quite breathe right.

"Then think twice before undermining me in front of a male like Keir," I scowl. "Hewn City or not, you're not allowed to silence me." I brush past him, my shoulder ramming into his bicep as I stalk down the hall to our bedroom, shutting the door with a resounding thud, but Rhys remains pinned in the same spot, cursing himself over and over again for his foolish behavior.

Over the next few days, Rhys had done everything in his power to apologize. Giving me countless gifts, and heartfelt monologues about how sorry he was, he even donated a good portion of his gold to the Hewn City orphanage. But I didn't forgive him, because I was certain he had yet to understand how much this truly meant to me. Besides, a small part of me liked watching him grovel.

At dinner with the rest of the inner circle later that evening, the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. Rhys had reached for my hand beneath my table twice now and I shook him off both times. We had both silently agreed on pretending everything was normal between us in front of the others, not wanting to worry them about the health of their high lady and lord relationship. So I put on a mask, as he often did, and pretended everything was fine.

"I'll see you in a few days for solstice eve," I hum as Morrigan gives me a hug while standing halfway out the door in the cold.

"I got you an amazing gift!" She beamed while backing away and I gave her an incredulous look. There was no arguing that Morrigans gifts weren't unique and personalized, but they were far from amazing.

"I'm sure you did," I hum. "Goodnight, Mor," I lean against the archway of the foyer and she gives me a wave before slipping out the door. Once everyone was officially gone I turned back to the sitting room where Rhys was sitting, staring at me curiously like I was a thing to be analyzed. "What?" I bark, my smile dropping.

"You keep calling me Rhysand," He stands from his seat, looking at me with furrowed brows, his wings drooping slightly, nearly dragging on the floor as he strides towards me but stops an arm's length away.

"That's your name, is it not? Or would you like to argue about that as well?" I arch a brow and his frown deepens.

"No, I just— It's Rhys. It's always been Rhys between us, in fact, you're the reason everyone calls me Rhys." He claims and I cross my arms over my chest, narrowing my gaze on him.

"This is what has been bothering you? This? Out of everything that has been going on, me saying your full name has gotten under your skin the most?" I scowl, unbelieving of his childish behavior.

"I'm sorry." He whispers, defeated.

"I know," I state.

"Then why?" His voice wavers. "Why can't I be forgiven?" He takes another step forward, nearly closing the distance between us if it weren't for his height.

"Because I don't think you've learned your lesson yet." I snarl and his brows crease, his familiar violet eyes glazing over.

"No please, I have darling," He cups my cheeks in his hands. "I have. I'm sorry." His hands were so gentle when holding my face as if I might break if he was any rougher.

I debated giving in for a moment, if only because my desire to feel his lips on mine again would be comparable to heaven— but I stayed strong, my own pride willing me to break away from his touch. "I know," I repeat, before walking down the hall and into our bedroom, closing the door behind me loud enough for him to get the hint that I didn't want to see him again that night.

A few days had passed and it was solstice eve, I was in the midst of getting ready for bed when there was a soft knock on my door. I didn't turn when the door opened, I knew who it was before he was even down the hall.

Rhys doesn't say anything, just stares as I take out my earrings and unlace my dress. I didn't mind him looking as I stripped down and changed into a soft, midnight blue nightgown, perhaps I was rubbing in the fact that he couldn't have me. Once I was finished I walked over to my vanity and began to comb through my hair.

"I can feel you staring, Rhysand." I finally spoke and I swore he growled at the name. I ignore it. He pushes off the doorframe and enters the room.

"What can I do it make it better?" I turn towards him to find him directly behind me, looking down at me with beseeching eyes. "I'm begging you," He whispers, our proximity so close that his nose was brushing against mine.

"You're begging me?" I raise a brow.

"Gods, yes darling. Do you want me to get on my knees and plead?" He suggests and I just stare at him as a reply, waiting.

His brows raise a fraction when he realizes I'm serious, and I cross my arms impatiently. It takes him a moment, but eventually, he drops down onto his knees.

His hands come to my hips and he looks up at me, his chin propped up on my stomach as he lets out a soft, "Please."

"Please what?" I place my hands on his shoulders, one of them finding its way into his dark, midnight-black hair.

"Please, forgive me." He murmurs. "Please, don't make us take a break." He continues, his hands on my hips tightening slightly. "And please, let me love you the way you deserve."

He had once told me he'd only ever fall to his knees for his crown, yet here he was, bending for me with only sincere affection in his eyes and regret forever making me feel like he deserved this.

I grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him up, crashing his lips onto mine. I kiss him, deeply, with the passion and desire that had been building up for the past week. I had forgotten how addictive he was and didn't realize how badly I needed him until he leaned into the kiss and filled the gaping void inside of me with warmth.

"I missed you so damned much, darling," He sighs and I smirk against his lips.

"Yeah?" I slip from his grasp and take a seat on the bed. "Why don't you come over here and show me?" I purr, letting my legs fall open as he prowls towards me and again, gets down onto his knees.

I smile devilishly at him as he begins kissing and nipping at my thighs, beginning to make amends with his mouth rather than words.

His covetous hands slip beneath my short nightgown, gripping my hips and pulling me to the edge of the bed. I lay back onto my elbows, propped up enough to watch him as he made his way up my thighs.

Ever so gently, he pulls at my undergarments and I lift my hips for access so he can further slip the panties down my legs. With reverence his eyes flick down to my glistening core, then back up to my eyes, his gaze holding a certain emotion I don't think I've ever seen the High Lord hone before.

I nod my head and he wastes no time before placing an open mouth kiss to my folds, then dragging it through my slit in a slow, savoring lap. I let out a soft moan at the feeling of his warm tongue finding my clit with a languid stroke. My fingers weave into his hair as he begins to suck on the bundle of nerves, sending me into a spiral.

I looked down at him but he was already staring up at me. But once he sees my lustful expression he can't seem to control himself before he dips down and spears his tongue into me. I release a breathy moan at the intense feeling. How could I have ever robbed myself of this for so long? Gods it was evil the things he could do with that mouth.

His fingers dug into the flesh of my hips as he devoured me like a man starved, his tongue-twisting and curling against a sensitive spot that sent me closer to the edge. I was unable to stop myself from grinding up onto his face, and he let out a guttural groan as I did so, because he knew then that I wanted him, that he was making me feel this good.

I maintained eye contact with him as he continued to drive me wild, violet irises filled with both apologies as well as desire. He draws one of my legs over his shoulder to deepen his access and I pull at his hair.

"That's it, gods yes," I gripe as his tongue toys with the sensitive area nestled deep inside of me.

My head falls back to look up at the ceiling as he brings one of his hands down and his thumb begins to roll over my clit. I whimper at the stimulation, my toes curling as he begins rubbing tight circles. I buck my hips at the intense feeling and he groans against the feeling of me tugging on his hair, the sound reverberating up my spine. "That's my girl," He purrs as my release steadily approaches. "Come on my face, fall apart for me my darling," He says, his voice tender as he coaxes your climax to draw closer.

I couldn't deny his demand, my pleasure too high to even debate it. My peak reaches and with a cry, my body convulses and an intense wave of pleasure crashes through me. He supports me, his arms around my thighs grounding me, his eyes never leaving mine as he removes his tongue from my entrance and softly laps up my dripping folds, his mouth shimmering in my essence. But it was only pride in his eyes as I came down from my high that I recognized, pride and, something far more primal than human.

"I forgot how good you taste," He whispers against my core, cleaning every lost drop from me with his mouth.

Slowly, he backed away, licking his lips that were glistening in my arousal.

"I want to ride you," I confess and his brows shoot up with carnal desire. Yes, that was exactly what I wanted.

I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down onto the bed, his head falling into the pillows as I flipped over him and began working at the buttons of his shirt.

His hands joined mine, helping me by thrashing it off. I smile and attach my lips to his tanned skin, my tongue running over the lines of his tattoo while he frees himself from the confines of his pants. My mouth waters at the sight of his hard cock already leaking with need. I bite at my lower lip as I grip his length, spreading his pre and using it as a natural lubricant. I pumped him once, then twice. My grip was rough and tight, his head fell back into the pillows as he groaned in pleasure.

"Oh, my darling," He sighs out as I press my thumb to his sensitive tip.

His hands come to my thighs as I lift onto my knees and begin dragging his cock through my folds, prepping him for an easy entrance. I swore he got harder the moment my arousal met his.

He looked back at me, his eyes low-lidded. "You look like a goddess," He breathes, his voice husky with restraint. I knew he wanted to push me down onto him, to take dominance and flip me onto my back. But he reigned in his control and kept himself at bay for now.

I smile devilishly at him as I aligned his throbbing cock with my entrance. His eyes flicked down to the view and I froze. "Look at me," I direct and his violet eyes flick back up to my gaze, and I watch his expression as I sink myself down to him so very slowly, inch by inch.

His face contorts into a mix of pleasure and agony. "This is torture," He hisses, his fingers digging into my thighs in an effort to keep restraint. "Please, darling," He whispered the plea and I couldn't help but fold under his yearning gaze.

"Please what?" I say through a soft moan, the stretch of him painful at first yet turned into pure pleasure moments later.

"Please, take all of me and move, now baby," He pants out and I smirk.

"I'm barely halfway down and I've got you this worked up?" I tilt my head demeaningly and he lets out a low, guttural growl.

"You know exactly what you're doing to me, so please, you can take it," He begs and I smile.

"I know I can, but can you?" I murmur, tracing lines along his torso, following his dark tattoo.

"Oh I can," He sighs, his eyes glinting with amusement and I realize he wasn't strained from needing more, he was in agony because his control was thinning. "But if you don't take all of me right now, I'm going to flip us over and fuck you until we both forget our own names." He warns and I smirk, leaning forward— in doing so making him slip deeper inside of me, the new angle eliciting a soft moan from me.

"Is that right?" I purr, my nails trailing down the side of his neck.

"Last chance, baby." His jaw feathers. "Sit down or I'm taking over," He snarls, gripping my hips tighter, prepared to make true of his threat. I smile, leaning closer and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

I do as he says anyway, not wanting to take any chances. I let gravity make my last movement and allow myself to take all of his length, every last inch until he was fully sheathed inside of me and I was seated on him fully.

He lets out a long, deep moan, his head falling back into the pillows. "Gods, such a good girl," He praises, taking a few deep breaths and regaining his control.

Slowly I begin to rock my hips back and forth over him and he jerks at the movement, his hands tightening on my thighs as he begins to guide me over him, showing me exactly how fast he wanted me to go.

He lets out a string of curses as I set a pace, rolling and grinding over him, my thighs already burning with the movements. "Keep your eyes on me, yeah?" he says and I nod, as he slowly lifts me up on him, then pushes me back down, sending me into a rhythm. I began to bounce up and down on him, his thick length burrowing deep inside of me with each descent.

I keep eye contact with him, tears welling in mine as he lifts me faster, my breasts bouncing with the movement, and his captivating eyes don't miss it. "So beautiful," He whispers softly, his voice hoarse and strained as a string of moans escapes me.

"You like that baby?" He purrs, his gaze only sultry. I reply with a moan and a wicked smile forms over his lips as he pushes me to go faster, slamming me down into his hips, his tip brushing over my cervix.

He was enjoying this far too much, he was savoring the way I sounded, the way my body reacted. So desperate for a second release. I lean down, changing the angle and allowing him to hit my most sensitive point with the thick head of his cock.

"Gods, you feel so good wrapped around me like this," He purrs, his breath hot against my neck as his canines scrape against it.

I continue to fuck myself on him, my vision blurring as he abuses that sacred spot inside of me. "I'm close," I grunt, clenching my hands into fists as he spears into me, lifting his hips to help me reach that high.

"Yeah? Going to come, love?" He purrs into the shell of my ear and I nod, tears now slipping down my cheeks despite all my efforts to be in control.

"Yes, I can't control it much longer," I mewl, burying my nose into the crook of his neck.

He smiles, wrapping his arms around me. "That's okay, come for me darling," He allows and I find release, I finally meet my second orgasm.

"Rhys," I moan loud enough for the next room over to hear. Not Rhysand, but Rhys. The male's length twitches at the sound he so desperately had been needing to hear for the past week.

He didn't let me come down from my high for even a moment as he flipped me over onto my back, taking full control as he guided my legs up to my sides, folding me into a mating press.

"I'm not done with you yet, darling," He drawls huskily and my heart pounds against my ribs hard.

He pulls out to his tip and for a moment I'm gifted a kernel of relief, but it quickly ended when he pushed into me, spearing hilt deep as his heavy balls slapped into my ass. Arousal dripped down my thighs as he continued the movement and I turned into a moaning mess.

"You're so tight," He grunted out between thrusts. "Say my name again," He orders and I open my teary eyes to see him above me, his dark wings spread over us. Gods, he looked like a fucking devil like this. "Rhys," I plea and he smiles wolfishly.

"That's my girl, taking me so well," He praises, continuing to piston inside my puffy, overstimulated cunt.

He reaches down and I swear my heart stops as he makes contact with my pink clit. I whimper, my bottom lip wobbling as he pushes me towards yet another orgasm. "Come on baby, squeeze my cock," He demands and I writhe beneath him, clenching every inch of his length as he brushes my cervix repeatedly. His words and groans are a constant stream of encouragement as I hurtle toward my third orgasm.

I let out a loud, broken cry as my climax rips through me, each one more intense than the last. "Please, please tell me you're close," I beg as he lets out a choked groan, his movements becoming more and more erratic as control slips from his grasp. "Fuck, I am baby, I'm close," He pants out and I mewl his name desperately.

"Rhys, Rhys," I murmur like a chant, my mind too fucked out to think of anything else, just him.

"Look at me, I want you to watch while I come inside of you." He purred and my stomach twisted at his filthy words. My hands come around to his shoulders and I dig my nails into the muscle, clawing them down his back at the intense, unrelenting thrusting.

With a feral, desperate groan he buries his nose into my neck and finds his release, his warm seed spilling inside of me. He shakes and trembles at the weight of his climax, he collapses down onto me, his body heavy and spent. His face was still buried in my neck as he regained his breath. "Fuck, I love you so much," He confesses as the sounds of our breathing fill the room.

"I love you, too," I whisper hoarsely, my voice shot from screaming his name. He nuzzles into my neck, placing gentle kisses along my collarbone slowly guiding my legs down and pulling from my entrance. "I'm sorry baby, I know you wanted to be in control but I— I can't help myself around you," He murmurs and I smile, pulling him into me for a loving kiss.

"Don't apologize, felt so good," I murmur tiredly. "Maybe we should argue more often," I add and he frowns at the idea and I giggle. "I missed you."

His eyes light up with pure adoration. "I missed you too," He hums, easing into the bed beside me and gathering me into his arms. "Now let's get you cleaned up."

The rush of solstice has passed and everything has returned to normal— well, almost everything.

The Court of Nightmares was teeming with its usual negative energy, the air thick with it. I had been seated in my own throne again, not quite ready to take up Rhysand’s lap in front of all the subjects again.

“My Lord,” Keir bowed low before the dais, then turned to me and gave me a simple bow of his head. Rhys gripped the arms of his throne at the action but remained calm all the same.

“What?” The high lord snarled.

“The price of the renovations of the homes in the slums are steadily increasing, to something far greater than what we can afford with the money you’ve so graciously given.” He hums and I sit up. I grew up in the slums, I would’ve taken a man’s life for the opportunity to proceed with the renovation plans I had given Rhys a few days ago, would’ve taken a lot more than a life to give to that community, actually.

“Then we’ll triple the funds,” I state and Keir casts me a glance, then looks back to Rhys. I wanted to rip his face off. I was seated on a throne before his people, I had the power to tear this entire court down and yet he treats me with such disrespect and contempt.

“Why are you still here?” Rhys asked the steward. “My High Lady has just answered your issue, did she not?” Rhys tilts his head with creased brows.

“Of course, my lord,” Keir bows to the male, and something in his spine locks and I know, know that Rhys’s talons had captured Keirs mind and was prepared to shatter it, until Keir turned to me and bowed at the waist, then lower, nearly falling to his knees.

“Dismissed.” Rhys hummed, waving his hand and releasing the males mind.

I smile as I watch him leave, and settled a little deeper into my throne. Oh, I liked this a little too much.

A flicker of Rhysand’s darkness curled caressed up my neck, to trace the contours of my jaw. I turn to look at him and give him a wicked smile, he mirrors it and we turn back to the Nightmare of a court we ruled over, together.

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lady-ashfade · 1 year ago

Note

so this one i stole again lol from your list. “Please go on a date with me.”

basically percy notices the reader and tries to impress her by doing crazy ridiculous things but she’s not interested because she thinks his ego is too big. finally she comes around when she sees he got hurt doing something for her to notice him. i hope that makes sense.

Falling for you- Percy Jackson x Fem!Reader

-£ words: 900 words

-£ Warnings: Short story, Simp Percy, cute crushes, reader being a bit mean to him, percy get it hurt, fluffy fic

-£ taglist: @kazurami14 @anonymouslyawesome25 @american-idiot21

the son of poseidon was persistent.

no matter how many times you told him off, or set him running with his head running, or you leaving him alone. he always kept coming back. Percy was often knocking his opponent down in training hoping you’d see him. he did everything to try and get your attention.

his back legs curled around a tree branch where you normally took your daily stroll, he was hanging down with a huge smile on his face and his cheeks glowing red. “percy.” you greeted with a uninterested tone. he just kept that annoying big smile, “lovely day isn’t it?” the only thing you did was roll your eyes and continue to walk down the dirt path. “And you’re ruining it.”

when he first arrived at camp, he already had some sort of glory after defeating a minotaur. he just kept finding his way in danger and saving the day, time after time. but his stupid smirk or smile told you he was too full of himself. he’d making the lake waves move, or make them a shape of something. no matter what, he was showing off.

and boy did you hate it.

somehow he find his way to you and that annoyed you, it was just too much. honestly you didn’t even realize he was trying to get your attention and just thought he was showing off to everyone. and certainly you didn’t know he had a crush on you. all you noticed was his ego.

but he noticed everything about you.

the way you walked, if you held your head up high or at the ground. how pretty your face shined when the sun shined on it, and how your smile shined even brighter. he was constantly chasing after you, he was craving to get your attention. most of the time he just did what popped up in his head which for someone like him, and you, was always dangerous and over the top. he lacked self control.

how someone could be so beautiful he couldn’t understand. even when you fought, he was entranced. you could be the worst fighter and he’d stare at you like the stars in the sky. his heart belonged to you.

but this time, he had gone to far.

“you’re a idiot,” you push his head under the water as you clothes get wetter by the second of sitting in the water. the bruising on his skin and the cuts going along with it only made your heart ache worse. his stunt didn’t go so well this time, hints his fracture wrist. he took a deep breath as he came back up even though he could breath under the water. he just wasn’t thinking straight.

sitting yourself back down on the sand you click your tongue. he had challenged you to a fight with that same attitude, the same smirk, the same slick tone. he got a little to distracted near the edge. he walked backwards with his sword held pointed at you, “look at us spending time together, we should do this more often.” he really should have watched his steps because his foot finally slipped and he took a tumble down onto the rocks. you watch him slide down, his grunts of pain and the way his body sounded made you cringe

lucky he landing on the shore line and only a few feet away from the water. which is were you two stay now catching your breath and thinking to yourself. why did you care if he was actually hurt or not? not like he would die or stay injured because he always got back up. why did his smile finally get to you back then?

and why was your stomach sick.

as you thought to yourself percy watched again like he always found himself doing. he loved the look on your face when you were deep in thought. and now that your face was wet and hair hanging down he couldn’t stop himself from falling deeper for you.

“please go on a date with me.” his words cut you out of thought.

your eyes grow bigger and look at him shocked and startled. you couldn’t believe your ears. he just asked you out on a date…percy jackson asked you out. the cocky, dumb, arrogant demigod was talking to you. Why, you hate his guts and always made fun of him. he jumped up from the water and you saw his teeth pinch the inside of his mouth anxiously.

“Sorry,” he sighed. “it just came out. I’ve been trying to ask you out for weeks but i couldn’t work up the courage to ask you out, I’m not good at this type of thing.” percy jackson lacking courage? that made you laugh. you looked up at him, the sun shining behind him as his hand now extended to you offering to help you up. any other time you would have smacked it away and cursed at him to leave you alone.

“I know you probably think I’m a total idiot which is true but, I really like you. If you really don’t want anything to do with me then I respect your wishes.”

but now you realize that you actually enjoyed his company. he made camp fun and exciting. and boy, was he handsome now that you really look at him. “alright, beach boy.” you grabbed ahold of his hand as he pulls you up. your body pressed into his and knocked him back a bit but his arm grabbed ahold of your waist to steady you.

inches away from his face your lips curled in a small smirk, “You got yourself a deal.”

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #book percy jackson #book Percy jackson x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson x fem!reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #fluff

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lunajay33 · 1 month ago

Text

Suppose to be You Part.2

•🖤🍑🏹🧟‍♀️•

Summary: You’re Shane’s girlfriend but when the apocalypse hits you find him changing and find yourself leaning more towards the only person who gives you the time of day, also you’re Rick’s younger sister

Pairing: Shane x f!reader, Daryl Dixon x f!reader

Warning: Shane’s a cheater obvi, harsh words, Merle

Part.1

•Masterlist•

It’s been a week since I moved into a tent at Daryl’s small camp site, he’d usually keep me company when he was hunting and just in case Shane came around, but when he had to go hunting I always got so nervous, Shane wasn’t the same anymore and without Daryl around I don’t know what he’ll try to pull with me

Daryl left me with one of his hunting knives this morning before he left hoping for a deer, some of the others had already left for a scavenging trip into the city so only a few of us were left to deal with the camps duties, I decided to head down to the quarry and clean some of mine and Daryl’s clothes, even though he groaned about it not being a big deal I know he needs these sleeveless shirts clean

Peacefully I got to work when I heard the rocks behind me crunch under heavy footsteps

“Now a pretty lil lady like you shouldn’t be out here all alone” I turned around quickly recognizing the voice is that sick man, Ed

“Do you need something Ed” I spat out with malice

“Just here for the show” I sighed with disgust as I gathered mine and Daryl’s clean clothes and threw them in a basket, hoping to avoid a scene and head back to the camp, I try to walk past him when he grabs my arm

I’m really sick of men thinking they can just grab me, shook out of his grip and pushed him back

“You think you’re better than me bitch” he yelled before smacking me hard across the cheek

I fall to the ground holding my sore cheek, breaking my fall on the basket

“You better watch yourself” he flicked his cigarette to the ground and walked off

How safe was this camp really? I feel like I’d be safer out alone against the walkers than the men here, atleast I know what I’m getting with the walkers

I try to get myself together again, I suck in a deep breath as I feel the burning in my face, I pick up the basket and head back up to the camp with my head hung low, even though no one saw I’m completely embarrassed, did I have a sign hanging over me or something that put a target on me?

I quickly went back to my tent and stayed in there for the rest of the day, folding the laundry and reading a book I had packed, just praying Daryl was making it back early today

The sun was getting lower in the sky when I hear a car siren broke me out of my thoughts, I left my tent seeing a red sports car pull up and everyone is freaking out

“The hell is going on around here?” I hear from beside me, that southern accent that always made me feel safe, I turn throwing my arms around him

“Oh thank god you’re back”

“Did somethin happen?” He asks his brows furrowed as he pulls me back to check me over, his eyes landing on the blooming bruise that’s forming on the left side of my face

“Who did this to ya?” He growls gentle tracing his thumb over my cheek

I don’t know what it was about him but I felt so safe and vulnerable with him, feeling my bottom lip tremble I look down before he leads me to look back up at him, his eyes asking me again

“It was…..” I was cut of when everyone was making a ruckus again

“Come on out helicopter boy” I took Daryl’s hand and ran over to see the commotion

My heart stops seeing who I never thought I’d see again, I drop Daryl hand and run as fast as my feet can take me crashing into Rick, my brother, his arms tight around me as we both cry

“How is this possible, Shane said you were dead” that bastard lied

“I found you” he sighed before Carl came running over screaming for his dead, I stepped aside letting them have their moment, looking over at Shane seeing him in shook, just seeing him makes my blood boil, I stomp my way over pushing his chest

“YOU LIED, WHY DID YOU LIE TO ME” I scream seeing the shook fade into that rage he’s had lately

“This ain’t the time” he groaned as I felt two arms wrap around me and lead me away from the group

“He lied” I whisper as we sit down on the logs around our camp fire

“Ya wait here, relax a bit, this is a lot ta take in, even though Shane’s an ass”

•

After everything settled and the group that came back from the city started talking it caught our attention

“Wait a damn minute where the hell is Merle” Daryl groaned as he started looking around, with me not far behind

“Your brother was a danger to us all, we had to do what he had to do” Rick stepped up always trying to take the blame

“He alive?” I can hear the emotion in his voice

“I locked the door to the roof, no walkers should get through it” t dog said

“Just tell me where he is, I’m gonna get him my self”

“Wait you can’t go by yourself Daryl” I stop him with a hand to his chest

“Rick will go won’t you Rick” Lori glared, she really drives me insane, acting like Rick trying to help would be a crime as if she isn’t hooking up with her husbands best friend

“Yes I will, we’ll get a group I won’t let a man die” they all started getting ready to go back to the city, Daryl at our tents getting together his cross bow and arrows

“Daryl please don’t leave me again, I’m not safe here alone, maybe I can come with you” he stops in his tracks and looks at me with this expression that was torn between staying and going

“I ain’t risking ya out there, I’ll come back ta ya”

I step closer

“But what if Ed or Shane come after me again”

“So it was Ed……listen I’ll deal with them when I come back, maybe stay with ol grandpa in the trailer…..I’ll come back ta ya peach, I promise” I take a deep breath nodding knowing he wouldn’t lie to me

“Please be safe” he nodded before he left to the van, starting to get everyone to go, I like how he was a redneck hot head with everyone else but how he was so gentle with me

The little group including my brother I just got back we’re gone driving off down the dirt road

I sit next to some of the other ladies that were gathering around a fire that just got started, just needing girl talk or something to get my mind off of everything, Ed hitting me, Shane just being Shane, and now my brother is back and my feelings for Daryl are growing everyday, it’s just a lot

“Honey what happened to your face looks like you fell and landed right on a rock” Jackie asks as she hands me a bottle of water

“Oh umm…it’s nothing just ran into a tree” the lie bothered me, why am I lying, it’s definitely not to protect that son of a bitch Ed

“Was it that Dixon, they’ve been nothing but trouble since day one” Lori intervened with a scowl

“NO…….daryl would never touch me, do you know how screwed you’d all be for food if he wasn’t always out hunting for this group that only sees him as a low life?” Nobody spoke after that until the others still left around the group came and circled the fire as the sun dissapeared under the horizon, Shane came and sat down next to Lori as usual and I just couldn’t handle it so I got up and left back to my own camp site and lighting my own fire

It was a nice distraction just to watch the fire and just not to think about anything that’s been going on, I can’t think about the two men that are important to me right now are out there risking their lives

As I hear the distant chatter of the group I hear a blood curdling scream followed by another until all I can hear anymore is panic and mayhem

I run back over seeing people down being ripped apart by walkers, others sticking close together, and the few left trying to protect to group, I go to grab my knife when a weight is pushed down on me and I know by the snapping of the jaws it’s a walker, I manage to turn quickly and try and hold it back, it’s rotting flesh invading my senses, my hand slips and it tackles me to the ground, I can’t help but cry out and beg for someone to help me

It’s jaws mere inches from me, so close to biting my skin until it goes limp and I see an arrow through its head before it’s pulled and thrown away from me, Daryl standing over me like a knight in shining armour, he leans down and pulls me up into his comforting arms, holding me close

“I told ya I’d come back” he whispered as he held my waist tighter

“Please don’t leave me again” I cried into his shoulder

“I ain’t going no where peach, seein ya like that…..I never wanna see again”

•

Do you guys want a part 3?

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o0sleepingdead0o · 9 months ago

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Prepared for Anything Pt. 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5, MasterPost

Danny folded his arms beneath his head where he lay on the desert floor. The sky blinked with stars and he was so happy he took a trip out of Gotham to do this. He liked Gotham, it felt kinda like home. But it didn’t have stars. It didn’t have the expanse of clear black pinpricked with dazzling, little lights and constellations.

It was handy being able to pop in and out of hemispheres any time he pleased.

“DANNY?!”

Oh.

Danny rolled his head to the side to see a few violently shivering vigilantes coming around a scraggly, rocky outcrop. Robin, Red Hood, and a black and blue one Danny hadn’t encountered before, wrapped their arms around themselves tightly. They changed directions to walk towards him.

“Oh, hey guys.” Danny raised a hand to wave lazily at them and tucked it back in place. “What are y'all doing out here?” He asked amicably, though surmised they must be on some sort of mission. What a coincidence.

Hood and the one coloured like a bruise spluttered. “US?” Hood cried a little frenetically. As they got closer, Danny could see all their teeth were chattering and their lips were starting to turn blue.

Oh. That wasn’t good. He had been sad Orphan wasn’t here. Maybe it was better that she wasn’t.

Hood and Robin stormed closer while Bruisy followed at a slower pace. “WHAT-T A-ARE YOU D-DOING OUT H-H-HERE?! H-HOW D-DID YOU GET OUT H-HERE?! I M-MEAN. . . .WHAT?!” Hood gestured his arms bewilderedly at him. “W-WERE T-TEN C-COUNTIRES A-AWAY F-F-FROM THE S-S-STATES!”

Danny stood up and reached under his t-shirt. “Here.” He handed Hood, Robin, and Bruisy large, reflective blankets, throwing Hood off from his rant.

“. . .wha. . .” Bruisy said. The vigilantes seemed slightly confused, but didn’t hesitate to unfold them and throw them around their shoulders.

“So?” Danny raised an eyebrow.

“Our p-plane w-wrecked.” Robin grumbled venomously.

“. . .and ex-exploded.” Hood added.

Danny hummed sympathetically.

Robin opened his mouth again. “How are you—“

“Have you contacted. . um. . . your associates?” Danny wasn’t really sure what the vigilantes called each other or what their relations were like, but they acted like teammates. They should help each other out when things like this happened, right?

Bruise sighed. “N-no signal.” The man seemed particularly tired and out a little out of it. That really wasn’t good.

“A-and all the s-supers are o-off planet.”

“The what are where? Nevermind.” Danny waved his hand dismissively and reached over his shoulder. He ducked his head a little as he withdrew a three foot metal rod from the back of his shirt.

“Uhhhh. . .” Bruise said.

Danny pulled another rod from a sleeve and a third from his pant leg.

“H-how, dude, j-just. . .just w-why?” Hood said.

Danny didn’t answer and reached underneath the back of his shirt to pull out a fourth. He stuck them in the ground straight up, making a square.

“W-what are y-you d-doing?” Robin asked.

“Building a cell tower.” Danny said and reached into his other pant leg, taking out another rod. And another. From his pocket, he pulled out a screwdriver and some screws.

“. . .N-nothing a-about you makes-s s-sense.” Hood commented.

Danny snorted.

“Y-you’re n-n-not aff-ffected by the c-cold. W-why?” Robin’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Uhhhhh. . .” Danny attached more rods together and screwed some screws. “I, uh. . .I was working out. Warmed me up a lot.” He lied. He knew it was bad. He was still going to drive it into the ground if they questioned it. “And I haven’t been here that long.”

Danny fished a large spool of wire from his back pocket and a pair of pliers from the other.

Robin watched him do it. He stared at him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing further. “Meta-human.”

“Gesundheit.”

The reply seemed to take the vigilantes by surprise, but said nothing of it. They were too busy shivering and huddling on the ground, trying to warm up. At least they didn’t seem to be getting worse.

Danny pulled rod after rod from his clothes. He began to retrieve them from the dirt and sand before it became too many to say it was physically possible to have this many pieces on his person. He had to have limits somewhere.

“. . .How d-did you k-know those w-were th-th-there!?” Hood said.

“Umm. . .I come here often. What if I got stranded and needed to call someone? Or I spotted a UFO and needed to make contact? I buried these in the sand so no one would steal ‘em.”

“. . . W-were in the m-middle of t-the d-desert. I d-don’t think you n-need to w-worry about th-that. . .”

“You found me, didn’t you?”

“. . .”

Dannykept attaching, and screwing, and wiring, and plier-ing, until he was finally at the top of a twenty-foot tower, and affixing transceivers to it. With the ectoplasm Danny infused into it, it should be powerful enough to work.

He had considered making them a jet, but that might take too long. This way they could get help from the nearest civilization while they waited for pick-up.

Danny climbed back down.

Even with their masks, the baffled astonishment was clear on the vigilante’s faces. “What the heck. . .” Bruise said faintly.

Danny ignored him and flicked a switch. “Give it a go.” He encouraged the vigilantes who looked to be shaking a little less.

They shared doubtful glances and checked their tech. “It works!” Hood exclaimed and immediately sent out an S.O.S.

Danny made an offended noise and held a hand to his chest. “You doubted me?”

“Yes.” The three said in unison.

“It’s a cell tower.” Hood continued. “How do you even know how to build that?”

“Eh.” Danny shrugged. “You pick a few things up when your parents have a lab in their basement for you to play around in growing up.”

There was a long pause.

“That is highly concerning and explains almost nothing.”

Danny’s brows furrowed.

“Seriously. How are you here?”

Danny shrugged again. “I walked.” It wasn’t a lie.

Despite explaining he had a way back to Gotham, the vigilantes wouldn’t leave without him. They slept most of the way back.

Tag List: @okami-love @whataspectaclebear @thomasdimensor @observerblock23 @stargazer-luna

#dpxdc fanfic #danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc au #danny fenton #red hood #nightwing #robin #dimension travel

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farfromstrange · 25 days ago

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One Soul | Matt Murdock x Reader

Matt Murdock Masterlist

Summary: Matt gets hurt, badly, so you have to do the one thing you promised him you wouldn't: take him to a hospital.

Warnings: Angst, life-threatening injury, blood, temporary Major Character Death (he comes back, don't worry), mentions of CPR, religious imagery, conflicted relationship with religion, Reader is described as an atheist but Mad At God, prayer, hurt/comfort

A/n: This is a little angst piece I came up with yesterday. For me, personally, my atheism isn't always black and white. I know I don't believe in God, but I have found myself cursing him in the past because it was easier than cursing something I did not understand (like the death of a loved one). And I just know that being with Matt, chances are he will get himself hurt badly enough one day to the point he has to be brought to the hospital.

Read Me On AO3!

The heart monitor beside the bed signals at a steady eighty beats per minute. You follow the many lines of tubing from the machines to his frail body, your eyes lingering on the purple bruises adorning his pale skin—deadly pale, it is.

His cheeks, once so full of life, are hollow now. His eyes are swollen, his pretty lips cut, and there is blood stuck to his hair, still, soaking through the bandage they applied. You’ve never seen him so broken, so utterly weak and fragile that you wouldn’t dare touch him. The tears refuse to stop falling.

Years ago, you made a promise. You promised never to take him to a hospital, to protect his identity and him. Hell, he survived the collapse of Midland Circle, albeit with a scattered mind. He had broken bones and a broken spirit, locked away at Clinton Church for weeks, and still, he survived.

Tonight though, for the first time, you felt his heart stop. It wasn’t one of those ghastly nightmares that have been plaguing you ever since you locked Fisk away and he finally came back to you. It wasn’t a product of your imagination; you felt his heart stop. Hands covered in blood, you watched as the life drained from his eyes and he breathed out without breathing in again.

You swear you can still feel his ribs breaking underneath your fingertips. “Don’t do this to me,” you cried. “Don’t you dare do this to me, Matthew! I can’t lose you. Please, come back. Come back!”

And you prayed to a God you don’t believe in not to take him from you. You begged for a chance to hear his heartbeat again, just one last time even if it kills you.

You looked to the sky and swore you’d make a deal with the devil if you had to. You’d do anything for this man; this reckless, stupid force of a man you are so in love with that it hurts sometimes. You would’ve let God crucify you for the whole world to see just to get a chance to look at your beloved Matthew one last time, to know he’s alive. And perhaps God did answer your prayers, or maybe the CPR you’d never done before did its trick for he suddenly took a breath, and his heart started beating again.

You cried over his body like Mary over Jesus. You shielded him as if that would heal him, and he clung to you when he realized what had happened. He coughed, and he was bleeding, and you were paralyzed with the fear of losing him again.

What else were you to do but take him to a place where he could be fixed? If you hadn’t brought him here, he would have died. You shouldn’t feel guilty. It wasn't selfish. Yet, the fire within you keeps burning, and your soul keeps hurting as you watch him like a hawk, wondering what he’ll think of you once he wakes up—if he wakes up.

“I know I’m not… religious,” you murmur, eyes directed at the ceiling now. “I’m not a good Catholic, far from it. I’ve done things… well, you know. And I don’t pray. Matt prays. I don’t,” you say. “I just wanna understand why.”

Another tear rolls down your cheek. The coil in your throat is tight enough to strangle the air from your lungs. One of the shards of your broken heart is stuck, and now you’re bleeding. Your soul is laid bare for everyone to see.

It’s pathetic, you think, for an atheist to pray. Because you don’t believe, you never have. Matt believes. He has faith. You’re just… angry? Yes, you are furious, and even more now than ever you feel like it’s all a lie. Where’s the hope? Where’s the faith now?

“Why do you keep letting bad things happen to him?” you ask, your voice breaking. “All he’s ever done is try to please you because he thinks you gave him some kind of purpose. That accident… he thinks it happened for a reason. Going blind, losing every one. After all the hardships and the trouble he got himself into, he thinks he’s some kind of soldier. Even when he was at his lowest and stopped believing, he eventually came back to you. Like a dog on a leash.”

If Matt heard you, he’d be deeply offended. Religion is so important to him, but tonight, he almost died. He almost died before, but it never felt as real as it did tonight, and the thought haunts you like a restless ghost.

“I want to be supportive, I do. I mean, everyone’s beliefs are valid, in a way, but it almost killed him tonight. If you’re up there—if you’re truly listening—how can you just let that happen to someone you claim to love, God? I don’t–” You shake your head. “I just don’t understand.”

The heart monitor keeps beeping. The lights keep flickering. His chest keeps rising. No answer. The disappointment cuts you deep. Is there perhaps a part of you that does want to believe? Or are you just looking for someone, something, to blame? Instead of the men who did this to him, instead of the men who quite literally took him apart, you’re turning to the one thing you can’t touch. But you know it’s not what Matt would want. He’d want you to have hope.

How does one go about that when everything seems to be going wrong? When your very heart is lying in a hospital bed? How does even an atheist not curse God out of pure and utter desperation?

Matt lets out a soft groan, and your eyes flick to him. Your heartbeat accelerates at the same time as his.

“Matt?” you ask, inching closer to the edge of the bed.

He stirs. Every muscle and bone in his body is filled with a dull ache. First dull, then sharp. The stitches in his abdomen pull at the tender flesh with every breath that fills his lungs, the oxygen so rich and concentrated it almost sets him alight. The plastic tubes weigh heavy on his nostrils.

His eyes pulsate, and there is this obnoxiously loud beeping in his ear. It’s screaming, almost. Beep, beep, beep. Faster and faster, and faster. But his eyelids are so heavy he can’t open them. There’s nothing but fire, and for a moment he forgets that he hasn’t been able to see for decades.

In his head, he’s eight years old again, his head wrapped with a bandage that itches his skin so terribly, and the world around him screaming. It’s the same room, it seems, cold and dark and terrifying.

Matt reaches for his eyes, fingers brushing against the bruises that resemble the shape of a fist—no light. He can taste copper on his tongue. The beeping gets louder and his ears are ringing, and why is the blanket made of sandpaper? He wants to tear the skin off his weary bones.

“I can’t–” he breaks off at the foreign sound of his voice. Another trace of his fingertips against the bruised skin. “I can’t see,” he chokes out.

“Matt!” you say a little louder, your hand finally touching his, and it’s as if the bubble he’s in bursts.

He recognizes your voice. He remembers he’s blind. He remembers going out last night and kissing you goodbye. He was in good spirits then. But something went wrong. Somehow, his opponent had weaponry that could easily break through the protective material of his suit. He stood no chance against the number of men coming at him. They sliced and they hit, and he thought he saw God, but it was just the swinging ceiling light inside the abandoned factory building. It smelled of mold and water.

He fought until he couldn’t bear it anymore. Until the opportunity to flee presented itself, and so Matt crawled home to you. With every last ounce of strength, he honored his promise to always come back home to you.

He doesn’t remember much more, only falling down the stairs to the rooftop access to the living room. The crash. Your gasp. Your heartbeat. And then, nothing. Nothing but the comfort of darkness.

“Hey,” you smile through your tears, “It’s me. You’re okay.”

He whispers your name, and you squeeze his hand.

“I’m here. Try not to move,” you tell him. “You’re at Metro General.”

The word makes his breath stutter. “The hospital?” he inquires.

“Yes. You were hurt… badly. They had to take out your spleen. Fifty-something stitches. Some brain swelling. I don’t know, it’s a lot.”

“I told you,” he grunts, “no hospitals.”

Matt Murdock is not an ungrateful man. However, his words cut deep. You can’t take much more.

“You promised, no–”

“You died!” you cry out. The echo bounces off the walls and resonates in his ears like the sound of a bomb going off.

“You died in my arms and I had to–” You look at your hands, stained with blood, “I had to break your ribs to bring you back. Your bones… breaking,” you cry. “You died and I thought I was gonna lose you, for good. You can blame me for breaking a stupid promise, but if I hadn’t, I’d be preparing a funeral now!”

His head tilts in his direction—you’re serious—and his defenses fall like an iron curtain, shattering like glass. The sound of your voice in such a state of disarray, death by a thousand cuts.

He almost died. Or, he did die, and you brought him back, but the things you had to do for that… you brought him back, but it hurt you. He hurt you. He swore he would never do so again, only over his dead body, yet it was his dead body that almost broke you.

Matt never wanted any of this to happen. The love of his life, traumatized. What kind of man does that? Surely the kind of man that no one but the one person he never deserved mourns when he’s gone.

The silence drags on, suffocating you. “Do you get that?” you ask, barely above a whisper. “Do you get that I’d die without you?”

“I’m so sorry,” Matt whispers. “I don’t remember…”

“Of course, you don’t. You’ve never been this hurt.”

“Sweetheart.”

“I would’ve traded your life for mine if I could’ve. I tried, Matt, I did. I prayed to God and told him to take me instead while I was trying to get your heart beating again. And I blamed Him for doing this to you ‘cause I didn’t know who else to blame.”

His fingers brush against the back of your hand. A nurse kindly lent you clothes from the lost-and-found, but you can still feel the sticky substance on your skin, crawling like a parasite.

You shudder. “If you hadn’t woken up, I–“

“C’mere,” he says.

Beep, beep, beep, goes the heart monitor, and sirens wail outside his window.

“I can’t,” you whisper back.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Sweetheart, you could cut out my heart and I’d still want you.”

A shiver runs down your spine, settling in the pit of your stomach. You feel so sick, so detached from everything and everyone, but the piece of you that you almost lost is right there, and he’s alive.

He’s alive.

You have to keep reminding yourself of the fact. His heart is beating. His lungs are filled with air. Those last few hours might have felt like a proper nightmare, but you made it through. He made it through.

“Please,” he pleads. “I… I need you.”

It’s different now. He’s not asking to hold you for your comfort but his own, and without another second thought, you climb into the tiny hospital bed with him.

Matt seeks out the comfort of your chest, but he’s aimless in his agony. You gently guide his head to your heart. Touching him, feeling him so close to you, melts away the last of your fears.

“You scared me,” you confess.

He exhales. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just… promise you’ll live for me.”

The silence wraps a noose around your neck. But then, “You own my heart,” he says.

“So?”

“Yeah, I’ll live for you.”

Those four words mean more to you than a promise to die for you if push comes to shove. Because what are you supposed to do without him? You’d rather he try everything in his power to live for you than leave you.

“If you live for me, too,” he whispers then, and a tear runs from his cheek down your chest. You can’t survive without him, that much is certain. That may sound like a state of unhealthy codependency, but when two people share the same soul, every breath one breathes sustains the other. There’s nothing you can do about that, nor would you ever want to.

“Without you, I’d–” he cuts himself off.

Without you, he’d be lost. Without you, even in death, he would not be able to find peace.

“I promise,” you manage to say, although the words come with a fresh flood of salty tears that mix with the ocean of his.

He relaxes into you. “Thank you.”

As he falls asleep in your arms that night, you find yourself staring up at the ceiling again.

“Don’t fail him,” you whisper. To God, to the universe, to the moon and Saturn, and to yourself.

matt murdock angst tag list: @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @thatonegamefish @amberritonicole @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @winkev1 @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @xnatyx @zomtart @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @mochie-is-a-librarian @buckyssugarchick

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fluff #hurt/comfort #daredevil #charlie cox

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luimagines · 4 months ago

Note

... Reader goes Fierce Deity for the boys-

REVERSE IT ON THEM-

Alright, I will!!

Masterlist

Immediate Reader, boys under the cut! ***

It was storm of arrows, raining down from the blackened skies- leaving nothing in their wake of destruction.

You ran, keeping your shield over your head.

You were covered in cuts and bruises. You were tired. Weak. Your group was scattered. Lightning struck across the clouds, illuminating the trees above you.

A pause.

A breath.

Another torrent of arrows that knock the shield from your grasp as you duck to hide yourself in the flora of the forest.

Arrows change to horns.

Their cacophony of sound threaten to blow your ears out if the thunder hadn't done so already.

You were frightened.

Where were the others? Where's Link?

Isn't there usually the sounds of battle at this point in time?

You kept running. Deciding to cut your loses and leave your shield in it's place, you wipe your face of the rain, opening your eyes to see into the dark ahead of you in an effort to look for safety.

Nothing.

You start running again.

There has to be something. There can't just be nothing but trees and rocks but with nothing to actually stop the onslaught of attacks. Another round of the horns, this time followed by thunderous horses.

They're getting closer.

Another lightning strike. Something white catches your attention in the distance. You run to it, thinking that perhaps it can lead you to wherever Link might have gotten off to.

You need his help.

Your heart sinks instead. You recognize the item. Time had told you that it was incredibly powerful and while he never put it on, he never let it out of his sight.

It almost pulses in your hands.

It's incredibly powerful. There's no way Time would have dropped it on purpose. Which means something else happened to him. Just like the other boys.

The horses and the grunts of the monster that ride them get ever closer to where you are. Desperate and curious, you put the mask on.

The world flashes in tandem with the lightning, blinding you temporarily with white light.

hello little one. everything will be alright now.

***

Wind

Wind was hiding in a hole in the ground. It was small but so was he. Something of his size had to have dug it before hang but he wasn't sure he knew what animal could have done it. He heard that foxes sometimes dug in the ground but then again so did some monsters. Whatever did it was no longer here though. They had to have fled earlier with the upcoming monstrosity that was the storm above him.

This storm was new and strange. He wasn't sure what to make of it. Of all the storm he was to face alone in the middle of the Great Sea he had never seen the sky as dark and as bleak as this.

He could barely see what the monsters were coming from.

Separated and concerned (not frightened), he wasn't sure what to do next. Wind got used to having people around to help him and this was way beyond what he was used to doing.

He wanted someone to help him.

The horns in the distance don't exactly inspire confidence and Wind covers his ears to shield himself from the blaring sound of it all.

He's shaking.

The horns sound a second time and they're much nearer than Wind would have thought they would be. His heart rate spikes and he begins to perspire despite being soaking wet from the rain.

A whimper leaves his mouth before he can stop it. It shocks him out of his own mental state.

What was he doing? Hiding in the ground?! He was no coward. He was a hero! He was the one that went out to fight and that wasn't going to change today!

Wind takes a deep breath and climbs out of the hole, struggling to get past the growing mud puddle he was sinking into. He grabs his sword, using it as leverage to get out and pulls with all his might.

Lightning strikes again, and in his panic, his footing slips and he cries out in shock.

The monsters hear him.

He knows it.

They start approaching him when a large cry of agony can be heard from just beyond the hole he was in.

Wind gets to his feet rather quickly given the circumstances and looks around. He a monster explode in the tree line and rushes to the scene.

Then he screams.

A massive blade, one he recognizes, nearly takes his head off. Ducking in time to avoid it, Wind rolls further into the mud and looks up in shock. The monster he had missed dies behind him in a instant.

You stand above him, proud and stoic and not at all the way he remembers you. Your name leaves his lips before he can stop it.

You look down to him and hurriedly pull him to his feet.

The rest is a blur. You're quickly checking him over for injuries and other causes for concern before you snap back into action and slaughter the monsters that had gotten closer in the time this all took place.

Wind tightens his grip on his sword and lets out a battle cry worth praising as he charges into the fight.

Answers will have to wait.

He has to face this head on. No more hiding.

Hyrule

Hyrule called on Thunder and let the magic spew from his fingertips. It angered the sky and heavens but he couldn't care less.

He can hear nothing over the sound he creates and the sound of his own pounding heart. He thinks he can taste blood.

Unsurprising.

He watches at the monsters fall around him, struggling to stand under the weight of the storm and his magic.

These creatures like those he had never seen before. He would have asked where they came from but there's no one around him to answer that question. He's just going to have to deal with the hoard on his own and with nothing but his wits about him.

Somewhere along the line he thinks he gets cut and inwardly curses. The monsters simultaneously pause and all snap their heads towards him.

Perfect. Just what he needed.

He tightens his grip on his sword and casts a large flame to send them all flying backwards thirty feet from him.

He's getting tired.

Hyrule rushes the monsters and cuts them all down while they try in vain to pat the flames off of their bodies.

A blade suddenly imbeds itself into his shoulder blade.

Shouting in pain, Hyrule falls to his knees and turns. He can't take it out and the smell of his blood only riles the monsters up more.

"Come on then!" He growls, conjuring up the last of his magic reserves. "Fight me!"

Thunder rolls off of his fingertips. The monsters spasm again. Many of them explode into a familiar cloud of purple smoke. But many does not mean all. The rest get up again and position their weapons in their hands.

An arcing white light knocks the monsters down to their knees and they explode on contact.

Hyrule pauses, feeling side smacked. Where did that come from?

You jump next to him, swinging your blade again to finish off the remaining monsters before they can recover from the previous attack.

You reek of power and magic. It's enough to make him recoil.

He tries to at least, but the blade in his shoulder makes it difficult to any moving at all.

Trying to come back to his senses take smore work than he thought imaginable at first. He's more tired than he gave himself credit for. Another scream is ripped out of his throat before he can stop it.

You had taken the blade out.

"sorry"

He shudders. You sound... wrong.

Hyrule gasps down his next few breaths, forcing himself to look up and see what you have become. Your hair is white and there's war paint on your face but the corners of his vision is turning dark.

Hyrule outwardly curses this time.

He can't stop it. He can't hold on.

His world goes black.

Legend

This was embarrassing.

Part of him was glad that there was no one else around to see what had happened to him.

It was dark and rainy and storming like the goddess were having a cat fight. And frankly, Legend was having none of it.

It would be a lot easier to state his displeasure if he wasn't stuck upside down... hanging from his ankle... and stuck in a tree.

Lightning streaks across the sky as the sounds of the damned scream throughout the forest around him. He has no idea where the others are and he hasn't been able to make out a single sign of life aside from the very things that want him dead.

He chokes on a bit of his hair that flies into his mouth as the wind picks up. He plucks it out and fights to get control of his tunic so he could properly see where he's stuck so he could get out.

He's not going to like the fall. He's at least twenty feet in the air and there's not exactly a soft padding waiting to cushion is fall once he's set free.

He hears the horns of the monsters to his left and struggles to pull himself up.

Strangely, they ride right under him, not bothering to look up to see his dangling form in the trees.

His hat smacks him in the face and in his reckless attempt to clear it from his face he accidentally knocks it off of his head.

It falls to the forest floor.

"Oh come on!" Legend growls and fights the air for a moment before he deflates.

His ankle hurts more now.

He tries to twist himself up and out to at least try to grab the branch that holding him hostage. What he doesn't see however, is the individual running below him, pausing to pick up his fallen hat in peaked interest.

They look up.

Within seconds, while Legend was distracted and no doubt using all the core strength he had to still not reach the branch, something cuts it and he finds himself falling. He yells in shock but he's caught and settled on the forest floor without much thought.

"safe."

"...Oh sweet merciful heavens." Legend's throat locks up when he sees you in front of him. "....What did you do?"

"we must hurry. the others will be in need of assistance." you pick him up again and begin to run.

Legend can do nothing but hold on for his life. He has half the mind to at least try to look at you and try to figure out what on earth that familiar mask had done to you, but maybe this was all a bad dream.

Maybe if he closes his eyes tight enough, he'll wake up and it'll be sunny and bright and he'd get to groan and be melodramatic about getting up and starting another day of seemingly pointless walking and joking with the people he was quickly considering family.

But that doesn't happen.

And you keep running.

And the nightmare doesn't stop.

And there's no song that'll stop this dream. He's already tried.

Warrior

Somehow he had managed to find himself in the middle of the the thick of it once more.

Part of him wants to blame his hubris. He knew better than to run off again but to do so without the protection and power of the Blade of Evil's Bane? You'd think he'd learn from the first time.

Then again, the others have proven to be of a similar mind frame as he, and yet, they're nowhere to be found.

He curses under his breath, beginning to lose steam. The torrential downpour had caused his scarf to weight him down significantly. The mud underneath his feet causes him to slide. But he wasn't known as the Hero just because he looked pretty and could hold the sword in his hand.

Warrior moves his body to account for the added momentum and strikes as many monsters as he can in one swing before gearing up for the next.

The monsters keep coming. He's never seen these kind before. It's almost like they blend into the shadows and dance amidst the whispers of the forests breath. Something pierces him between the shoulder blades.

A scream rips out of him. The arrow had plunged deep but it wasn't enough to knock him off of his feet.

Warrior curses no longer under his breath, but with a wild air of fury and indignation that it was enough to turn the air blue. An arc of light shatters the figments of the shadows before his very eyes, giving him but a brief moment of respite.

Another wave quickly approaches, but is silenced as quickly as the first. The bodies explode and crumble with little sound, which allows Warrior to take into the account the numerous injuries he's already received.

The arrow in his back is minor. The slash on his leg is beginning to scream at him but he's more concerned of the potential of broken ribs. Not that it's enough to take him out of the fight, but he was beginning to grow tired.

However, Warrior wasn't sure if it was the blood loss of simply the loss of steam. Which would have taken him out first, he presumes.

A familiar power crackles in the air. His vicinity goes eerily still as backup arrives.

Warrior pants aggressively, putting hand back on the hilt of his sword. "You promised me you wouldn't wear that acursed thing again!"

He turns and nearly swallows his tongue.

You stand there, tall and confident. 'you're injured."

"...No..." Warrior whispers. "...Where are the others?"

You stay silent, letting him fill in the blanks.

If anything, you step closer and closer. Warrior can only watch in blatant horror. Many questions sit on the tip of his tongue but none of them come out. Something in the air commands him to be still and be silent, and like any mortal man, he submits the forces above him.

You pull the arrow from his back.

Another scream rips through him before he can even register what happened.

"calm yourself. you will be alright." You gently sooth his hair away from his face. "we must keep going. come. you are injured. follow me." And... well... someone had to come save his sorry hide again. What else is there for him to do but to follow and pray that the others are alright?

Sky

Sky had taken refuge behind a large boulder as the storm raged on around him. He was out of breath and while the sword in his hand was ready, there was hardly anything he could do.

He panted and coughed, nearly keeling over in his attempt to catch his breath.

Thunder exploded from the heavens, showcasing the displeasures of the goddess above that had no doubt thrown him and his brothers in arms into some sort of endless abyss.

The forest didn't seem to have to an end.

And neither did the up coming monsters.

So far, he had managed to get away but there was another pressing issue. He had no idea where his group went.

They hadn't been together long before everything went south.

Did they even arrive together at all? Had they all seperated?

Sky can only remember walking through the portal and the beginning of this absolute tempest. Then the beasts came.

He pokes his head around the rock to check his surroundings. Clear. At least that's what he thinks.

Thunder cracks everything in twain once more and Sky gets enough courage from the briefly provided light to move away from his hiding spot.

He hears a battle cry like none other.

His hairs stick up on the back of his neck and goosebumps erupt all over his flesh. "By Hylia-"

He takes off running.

Sky inhales more water than he intends to, but that's not what has his attention. Coughing fit aside, he nearly drops Fi when he comes close to the scene.

That's nothing short of power.

The fighter spins and takes out countless monsters in a single swipe. Sky nearly ducks, feeing the power behind the blade despite his distance away from it.

Sky rushes closer, giving a testament to his title. The Hero of Courage.

He joins the battle with ease. The Master Sword is and always has been a formidable blade. The hoard stands no chance.

Once given a respite, Sky turns to the new person. Their dietic powers were nothing short of curious- by the three, have mercy.

Sky drops your name as a forbidden whisper and drops Fi in the same breath.

You stand tall but not proud. You're shaken to the core.

"there is still so many of them"

"I know." Sky finds himself whispering. You voice had boomed with all sorts of quiet intentions. Do you even recognize yourself right now?

"there is still so much to do."

Sky picks up Fi again and puts her properly in her sheath. "Then let's keep at it."

Four

Four pushed himself out of the puddle, gasping for breath as he choked on the mud. He was running and has fallen face first into what had to be one of the biggest puddles thus far. He counted hi lucky stars that it wasn't a sink hole, otherwise this would have been a whole other issue for him.

He wipes the muck from his face and forced himself to keep going.

"If it rains for any longer, this forest is going to be a marsh by the end of the day." He all but shouted into the turbulance.

Rolling thunder has answered in reply, almost knocking him off of his feet once more from the force of it alone.

Horns blared in the distance but Four didn't feel the need to stick around much longer to figure out what was causing the commotion. He was fine with just getting cover from the rain and getting out of the way until he could find his friends again.

However, it was dark enough that Four couldn't see that far in front of him. He wasn't even sure what the hour was.

Suddenly, he hears a cacophony of footsteps. Or at least, that's what he thinks. It sounds more like a raging herd.

Coming directly towards him.

Four groans loudly and picks a random direction to run in instead. He doesn't have the time nor the energy to pick a fight. Not in these conditions. He knows better than to try and hold them off.

That will have to be a battle for future him to decide (preferably when he is dry and full and not about to keel over from how tired he is of searching with no results to show for it).

He slips again.

"OH come on!"

"blacksmith."

Four feels himself be picked up from the back of his shirt and placed on his feet once more. He looks up and his jaw drops. "...What did you do?"

"i've been looking for everyone."

So has he, but he hasn't seen even the barest hint of anyone. Four gulps, attempting to wring out his hood with little success. It's a comfort gesture at this point. "Find anyone?"

"i found you"

Four presses his lips together in a thin line. That doesn't answer his question, but it tells him everything he needed to know. With a slight hiss, he brushes off the mud from his tunic rather haphazardly. "Well... it could mean that they're no where near this storm... Or those monsters."

You nod and stand up taller. Four hadn't even registered that you were nearly squatting just to talk to him. How much had that mask affected you?

"i've been fighting the monsters. there are many."

Four gulps. "No time like the present then, huh?"

You nod again and pick him up. Four is two seconds from telling you to back off before you start to move. His breath gets stuck in his throat as the trees begin to blur around him.

He holds on to you like a life line, suddenly understand why you put him on your shoulder instead of letting him walk by your side.

He's nervous to see what else is in store.

Time

Time was struggling to get out of the metal armor that weighed him down. He was running through the forest, sword strapped to his hip for a change as the storm raged around him.

He heard the horns, knew that he was losing precious time. Anxiety riddled his body as he tried to think of a solution. He hasn't heard anything from the boys in a while.

He's worried about them.

But he's of no use to anyone if he's caught by lightning while in this armor.

It fights him every step of the way.

He hears the sounds of battle occurring off in the distance and curses under his breath. How more useless can he get?

He eventually gets his armor off. He's sweaty and over heated by the end of it but the rain does a good job at cooling him off. It'll be a pain to fix his armor if he leaves it here later but he has no other choice.

Suddenly a wide arc of light sweeps through the area, illuminating the forest for a split. The cries of the slaughtered monsters follow suit quickly- choking on their own fluids as they cease to exist within seconds.

Time feels his stomach drop to his feet. He recognizes that power.

"No..." He gets up and runs, taking up the sword that would be the easiest to handle as he races through the mud. "No, no, no..."

Another beam of light silences the remaining monsters.

Time stops dead in his tracks. He sees you from behind. Tall- imposing. Your hair grew longer- changing the colors to match that of the god who's power you currently wield.

You turn to him and relax.

Time didn't think the deity could ever look so relived, even if the mask is borrowing your face.

You must have been terrified. The Fierce Deity must have been extra gentle with you to allow your emotions to show on the otherwise stoic nature of the mask.

Time shakes his head clear of the shock and run to you, wiping his free hand over his face to clear it of the water. "You're ok."

You kneel, getting to his level and gently, very gently run your hand over his hair. "where are the others?"

Time can only shake his head.

You continue to look distraught at the lack of answers his provides. "then we go find them."

Twilight

Wolfie was faring non to better with the storm.. He shook his pelt again, desperate to release the constantly growing water weight.

Feeling lighter once more, he takes off in a run, disheartened from the lack of scents he was picking up. He could most certainly smell the rain and the fauna that naturally called these forests home but not a lick of those he was looking for.

He can hear the rolling gallops of approaching horses so he gathers that the enemy is gaining speed. Twilight can only hope that no one is caught in the cross hairs.

Deciding that the wolf was currently of no help to anyone, he shifts back and quickly takes out his bow. Epona is no where to be found but Twilight trusts in his girl's instincts. She'll be safe.

His current idea, however, would be easier to do if he had her at his disposal. Otherwise this might as well be a suicide mission.

Twilight takes to running once more, this time, towards the sound of running horses. Once he thinks he gain enough distance, he climbs up the nearest tree, no thinking of the currently lighting or the storm.

He takes out his eagle mask and positions his weapon.

He sees them.

He takes the shot.

Again.

And again.

The monsters shout in agony, exploding from their injuries once they hit the forest floor. The galloping horses trample their remains with ease.

Twilight aims to take as many of them out as he can while trying his best to not be spotted.

Suddenly, a fighter collides into the massive hoard of monsters. Startling the horses, the monsters were flung off and trample even further. In the flurry of movements, Twilight struggles to see what's happening.

The numbers against them scatter quickly.

Eager to help and to get to know this mysterious being, Twilight climbs down and charges towards the fight, taking down the remaining ones that had been missed by the horses' hooves.

"rancher."

His whole body freezes.

That was a voice of power, yet one that he knew all too well.

You're there, wear the mask of the Fierce Deity no doubt. Twilight drops his sword in shock. You walk towards him, putting a hand on his shoulder as you look him over.

His mouth goes dry as his heart races in his rib cage. "...I couldn't find anyone."

You hum, but it's more profound. Not manly, just... powerful in a way his mortal brain struggles to comprehend. "i've been looking. there have been many monsters."

"I believe you." Twilight reaches to squeeze you hand, wanting to you that you're real. That this is real.

"come." You say, opening your palm to him. "we will find the others."

Twilight nods, putting his bow away at last. "I'm with you. Lead the way."

Wild

This was bad.

"It was my pleasure."

But at least now it hurt less.

Wild pushed himself out of the way before horse hooves can come down on his head. Somewhere in the distance he can hear fighting. There's someone who's out there alone in the storm and holding their own. Which is more than he could currently say.

He groans and holds a hand over a wound that has since healed.

His sword hasn't broken yet but he can tell that it doesn't have much life left in it to give.

Wild slashes the beasts anyway.

His sword breaks right after.

Choking on a curse, he rolls out of the way again and takes off running.

They gain up to him quickly. There was no contest.

A pissed off horse comes to his rescue, body slamming her frame in to the approaching threats. They scatter and give them both a bit of breathing room before making a come back.

Wild takes the opening as it is and gets on Epona's back. "Come on girl. We have to go. We have to get to the others."

While he is not her rider, Epona takes to the task at hands and runs to lead them both to safer ground.

The monsters give chase once more but Wild wasn't going to let them have their way with them so easily. Trusting Epona to steer herself, Wild takes out his bow and begins to fire at will.

A large blur of white and teal, rushes by their side, startling Epona and getting her to hitch up legs in self-defense. It's unnecessary but the action nearly throws Wild off of her back.

The blur all but bulldozes its opponents down and sends their remains scattering like bombs that had no chance of having their fuses snuffed out.

Wild focuses on calming Epona down before he ends up underneath a third set of hooves this day. His attention is split between the horse and the fighter who's taken on the hoard like (for a lack of better words) a champion.

The simile is a bitter pill in his mind.

Epona stays put after she calms down and the monsters have been dealt with. Cautiously, he urges her towards the figure as it catches its breath.

Wild's hitches.

Without thinking of the ramifications, Wild throws himself off of Epona and takes of running, you name on the tip of his tongue before he screams.

You had heard his footsteps coming toward you but didn't register that it was him.

Your blade ends up by his throat.

"champion... you are weakened..."

Wild falls backwards. The water from the rain loosened his footwork but at least your blade is no longer at his neck.

"are you in need of potions?"

Wild shudder and shakes his head. What happened to you?

You nod and pick him up without question. You whistle a familiar tune at the same time and Epona comes closer even though she is also untrusting of this new development.

"to safety then." You begin to walk away.

"Wait-!" Wild struggles in your hold. "What are you doing? Let me go!"

"be still hero. it will all be over soon."

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #linked universe x reader #lu x reader #i put it in the same order as the other one :D #this wasn't exactly what i had in mind when i started writing this #i thought it was going to go in a different direction #and then it didn't #i know Wild doesn't have the powers anymore but *shhhh*#let me have this

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leclercsbunny · 1 year ago

Text

maybe if you loved me ♡ c. sainz

part six ♡ masterlist

f1chai sainz and ricciardo allegedly got into a scuffle, sky news report. the two have come up on recent news due to their involvement with yn, as both drivers have been closely linked with the spanish socialite. the f1 management is reportedly investigating this matter, and are adamant to deal out swift and just penalties for both drivers involved. neither teams have expressed their side regarding this matter.

username i would pay good money to see them fist fight

username and nobody caught it on their camera ?? LAMEEEE

username see i would have screamed world star‼️

username hmmm arguing who's the daddy

username will forever be astounded of yn, bagging these men in the same breath

username yikes

username penalty for ocon!!

username don't let these men back on track fia (10392)

username so... private school fighting? pointing at eachother and then screaming?! 🤔🤔🤔

username "sainz and ricciardo had to be separated by several staff in a fit of blind rage."

username "the australian driver emerged with an upset expression, a bruising prominent on his jaw and a crimson eyebrow. the spaniard later on followed suit, an expression of annoyance evident, armed with a busted lip and a limp to his gait."

username so a fight FIGHT. they were scrapping to scrap 😳😳

username oh i know they were just swinging wildly

username ten bucks daniel would have laid carlos on his ass

username disagree. have you seen carlos's hands? he's punching to knock some sense into daniel

username yeah but daniel has the force of justice behind his blows

username not if he's the father. screwing your mate's ex girl while they're on the rocks?

username what do you mean on the rocks?? he cheated on her publicly. then they broke up. then partied like his life depended on it? 🙄🤨

f1chai daniel ricciardo adds fuel to the fire by posting a shady instagram story amid the controversy surrounding him today. several news outlet reports that the australian pilot have been fined a sum of 5,000 euros for recklessly behaving and have been reprimanded alongside sainz. to waive the penalty, the pair were urged to make ammends, and publicly acknowledge their wrongs for disrupting the peaceful atmosphere present in f1. his response is as follows; "i won't apologize."

username ATEEEEEEEEE

username stop playing with him 😳😳😳

username yeah that will tell them🤦🏻‍♀️😂

username they keep letting these men buy their way into being a decent human being... they'll cash out everytime !!

username i love when men are shady

username DANIEL WE ARE ALL ROOTING FOR YOU

username what if they used chairs ?? would that be atleast 10k ??

username that's spare change for these men 😭😭😭 who assigned these amount?

username it's a minor misdemeanor, it's already blown out of proportition🤭

username yeah but that's like what?? one tyre and a steering wheel ?? 😭😭😭

username so close !! steering wheels could go up to six figures 😂😂

username i stand corrected

username daniel: ... so can i pay in advance to throw hands? 🤔😂

f1chai both sainz and ricciardo have declined to elaborate regarding their public spat, and have expressed very little about their issue. no direct apologies were addressed to eachother nor was there any indication they regretted they came to blows. new reports claim that the reason of them being tight-lipped had everything to do with the paternity of yn's alleged baby, and although at odds with eachother, both sainz and ricciardo are adamant on maintaining her privacy at this delicate moment.

username enemies 4 life

username awww yn's boys🥲🥲

username the boys you speak of would push eachother on the track if given the opportunity🥰

username yeah boys‼️

username daniel probably talked maaaaad smack

username only reasonable explanation

username not necessarily, i would have been throwing hands regardless. like wym you've been comforting MY girl?!

username they broke up though

username on a break** this has been yn and carlos' dance since forever

username man shut up. yn deserves better than a man who has a very fickle sense of loyalty.

username he has some serious issues

username ALLEGEDLY okay ALLEGEDLY daniel took a swipe at matteo's parentage and said something along the lines of "you're gonna fuck up another kid's childhood just because you can't keep it in your pants?" non verbatim 😳😳

username YOOOOOOO

username that's WILD to even comprehend, imagine hearing it directly.

username ngl i would have been throwing hands with daniel aswell

username nicki type of line

username who's matteo's mom anyways 😭😭

username i know we're all mad at him but look at him 😩

username yn this isn't you‼️

username look away we can do this!!

1K notes · View notes

letstalkaboutshtufff · 10 months ago

Text

In another life

Pairing: Gojo x reader

Summary: Reader is transported to another dimension where nobody knows her.

Warnings: Language, mentions of blood and minor injury.

Hope you guys enjoy, I actually found this deep in my drafts and said what the hell and posted.

Next Part

It was just another typical day where Gojo and his students were walking to the destination of their next mission.

"Why do curses have to cause trouble on hot days, ugh what a pain" Nobara groaned shielding her eyes from the scorching sun.

"I told you to bring a hat" Yuji pointed out, somehow unbothered by the tortuous weather.

"But hats are so tacky!"

"Then don't complain" Megumi sighed annoyed as usual.

"Don't worry, we can get some nice cold ice cream after we exorcise the curse, in fact I know the best spot! It's a little hole in the wall place but they have the best- huh?"

Gojo suddenly whipped around at the sudden burst of curse energy he sensed.

"What the hell is that?!" Yuji shouted as he stared at a hole crackling in the sky getting bigger and bigger.

"Not sure, but I don't like what I'm sensing. Everyone be ready..”

"Right" they all tensed and got into attack positions.

What they didn't except though was to see a head pop out of the warp, followed by a body. A woman seemingly limp, began to plummet from the warp. Which promptly closed the second she had left.

"What the hell?" Nobara squinted trying to figure out if the figure looked dangerous.

Gojo didn't feel any malicious energy anymore now that the warp had vanished so he sprung into action and caught the woman before she became a pile of mush on the ground.

"Sensei what if shes dangerous?" Yuji frowned.

"Hm" he kneeled down still holding the woman. He eyed down her figure. She had some scratches and a few bruises but other than that she seemed ok...

So what was a human doing falling through a warp in the sky.

"I don't believe shes a threat, not that I can sense anyway..."

"The energy from that warp felt seriously freaky" Nobara shivered.

Gojo was about to respond when a glint made him freeze. His brows furrowed when he grabbed the girls hand and brought it closer to his face. Now that was definitely peculiar…

"Mm" the group suddenly all jerked to the form now rousing in Gojos arms.

The womans eyes began to open slowly. It took them a moment to adjust to the light but then when they were fully open they suddenly became full of life.

"Eh?! What happened??" Her eyes widened as she looked around, becoming aware of her surroundings. "T-toru!!" No one was more shocked than Gojo as the woman launched her arms around their teacher as if her life depended on it.

"Are you alright? He didn't hurt you did he? Ah Of course he didn’t what am I saying…?! I-I'm sorry you had to come save me again, I don't know how he even snuck up on me!" the woman pulled back only a bit to face him, but still held on. "I promise you can train me as hard as you want from now on and I won't complain anymore"

(From now on you are the woman)

You paused noticing his bewildered expression. "What Is it Toru?"

"Um… not to sound rude or anything but….who are you?”

Your face twitched in shock, "Um Toru, now really isn't the time for jokes you know" you pouted slightly.

It was when he took your arms off of him that you felt something was majorly off.

"I assure you I'm not joking" he gently pushed you off and you shakily got to your feet and so did he.

"I don't...I don't understand...Toru, what do you mean you don't know me?" You tried to quell the panic that was rising. Surely he was just playing a prank right?? Right?!?

"You know who I am it seems…" he stated, eying you curiously.

"Know who you- Satoru Gojo if this is a joke you better stop it right now or I swear I'm going to eat all the kikifuku you brought back yesterday! It's not nice to confuse me after being so close to death you know!!"

He only quirked a brow at this, "Listen lady, you just fell from a hole in the sky, If anyones confused its us..."

This caught your attention, "Wait…What did you say?"

"He's right, you fell from this big hole in the sky miss. It closed right away after you came through". Your eyes drew to the new voice and you realized the others were here too.

"Yuji..." his eyes widened and he pointed to himself, "You know me?"

You felt your panic rise more, "Of course I know you! All of you, Megumi, Nobara you're all like family to me, why don't you know who I-" you froze. A cold fear overtaking you. The hole. His technique. You got caught up in it. You weren't saved. Satoru hadn't made it in time.

"I t-think, I u-um" you felt your breathing begin to quicken and forming words seemed impossible.

"I t-think I got t-t-transported by the curse I was f-fighting" you felt your whole body shaking and tried to control your breathing.

"Hey calm down, we'll figure things out soon enough" you stepped back abruptly knowing what that tone and outstretched hand meant.

"D-don't knock me out, you promised you wouldn't do it anymore.." although you supposed that this Gojo had no idea.

He seemed troubled at what to do but sighed a moment later.

"For now why don't we just head back to the school..." you reguarded him for a moment then hesitantly shook your head.

"Alright..." you silently followed everyone, feeling more nervous with every silent step.

The quiet was maddening and you were grateful that Yuji spoke up finally,probably becoming aware of your borderline panic attack "Don't worry, weird things are always happening here. We'll figure whatever this is out ok?" You managed to crack a little tired smile.

"Yeah".

*************************************************

Of the many times you had been sat across Yaga, this was the first time you were ever intimidated.

"Start from the beginning" was all he said as you fidgeted in discomfort. Gojo stood beside Yaga, leaning back on the wall, while Yaga sat imposing as if he was dealing with a curse.

You took a deep breathe and recalled what had happened just before all this madness.

"Well I was just leaving my house to go to the school... I recieved a message saying I needed to report there immediately and I didn't hesitate, thinking maybe something bad had happened...but on the way I was attacked by a curse. I'm not really much of a fighter but I am a little skilled at barriars, so I was able to shield myself against his attacks. The curse became frustrated when he realized he couldn't land a major hit and before I knew it he had sent a huge blast in my direction. I shielded but it didn't matter, I remember feeling really hot and then the next thing I knew I was waking up in Satoru’s arms..."

You peeked at Yaga and saw he was deep in thought. Finally after painful silence he finally spoke, "This curse you fought, what did it look like?"

"He looked kinda like that tree curse thing that the kids fought back at the exchange event, except his presence was..." it was then something struck you. You recall feeling something was off the entire fight. Something oddly familiar and it had just hit you what that was. The smell the energy the odd aura.

"Wait…” both men perked up at this.

"What is it?"

"That's why he felt so familiar!" you said more to yourself in your horror.

"Who are you talking about?"

"The curse...he felt familiar because I've sensed that same presence before..."

They waited for you to continue, "Back when Toru and Megumi first recovered that cursed object...and had me place an extra seal on it...but Toru never mentioned it was stolen? Why didn't he say anything...unless it wasn't stolen but then how did he get unseal- shit"

You ran a hand over your face, "You were right about the spy after all Toru..."

"How can you know all this- the exchange event, who we are, private information if we don't even know who you are?” Yaga eyed you suspiciously.

"I think I can answer that" all eyes snapped to Gojo.

"You mentioned a curse being unsealed, one that megumi and I brought in correct?"

You nodded

"Its a just a theory but I have a hunch I'm correct, tell me, what was the curses name?"

"Ah um...lemme think, it was definitely...uh...ama...amamoo, amamee, uh wait...."

"Amamotetsu?" Gojo offered which promptly made Yaga flinch in shock.

"Yeah that's it!" You jumped up.

"Amamotetsu-! But how?!" Yaga tensed shooting up.

"I'm not sure how he got unsealed but...this isn't the first time I've heard this type of thing happening before.."

This caught your attention, "What do you mean?"

"When Megumi and I first retrieved the curse, we teamed up with Nanami. He was the one who told us about this curse's history... apparently this particular curse is known for transcending through times and universes-"

"W-what?" You felt your body slump down. What did that mean?? Did that mean you- that you were in a different universe?! How-what- you felt your whole body begin to shake.

This was the first time Yaga seemed to let down his guard because he now was beginning to understand you weren't a threat.

You felt something warm being placed on your shoulders. You looked up at Yaga through blurred lenses.

"Yaga..." your voice broke as did the dam holding back your tears... how could this have happened?! What were you even supposed to do?! And Satoru, what was he even going through now?!"

"Listen, theres no need to panic, we'll figure it out alright?" He assured you, but it wasn't quite the same knowing he didn't know you." You nodded anyway.

"Satoru, why don't you call Nanami, we'll see what more he can tell us...in the meantime it would help if we knew some more about you and the curse." You nodded and braced yourself for the onslaught of questions.

"First off, it's quite clear you're close to us, so are you a teacher here or something?" You a teacher? If you weren't so upset you'd laugh

"Teacher? No, I actually work in the city..but I do help out occasionally at the school when I'm needed.."

"So then how did you get involved with us in the first place?" you looked over to where Satoru was finishing the call with Nanami.

"Well...Satoru helped me fight off a curse one time, that's how we met. He basically saved me and then convinced me to train with him...since then I've always kinda been around.." you twiddled with the ring on your finger, more specifically the ring he gave you on that special day.

Yaga must've of noticed your hesitance. "Something tells me there's more to the story.." you looked up with sad eyes, then over to where satoru was also now tuned in, phone in his pocket. You took a deep breathe.

"No it's just, it's finally sinking in ya know..." you decided to keep that part about your relationship quiet for now. You were already overwhelmed and just wanted to lie down for awhile. Your injured although mild still hurt and you were now feeling the true exhaustion settle in.

Yaga looked at you sympathetically then nodded, "Why don't you rest for little, Satoru?" He got off the wall, "Nanami will come by tonight, for now I'll take her to Shoko. Yaga nodded then patted your shoulder gently, "Try to get some sleep, we'll figure all this out" you thanked him quietly then followed Satoru out the room.

You quietly trailed behind him in the dim hallway. His back had never made you feel so lonely.

You didn't even realize you were crying until you felt the coldness on your cheeks. Satoru pasued a sec to turn around.

"Hey, there's no need for tears, didn't you hear us? We'll figure it out"

You nodded despondently.

"C'mon, have I ever let you down before?" He smirked.

You smirked through the tears, "Always so confident, no matter what universe huh" you wiped away your tears with your sleeve and walked next to him.

"Well I am the strongest, I'm sure any other version of me would no doubt be the same"

"Yeah maybe arrogant is the better word.."

"Awe don't be mean now, after all for you to be so casual around me, we must be friends yeah?"

"Yeah you could say that..." you absentmindedly twirled the ring around your finger. Remembering the way he proposed all those years ago.

"And here we are, Shoko!” He called busting inside without knocking.

"How many times have I told you not just to barge in here?”

"Well it's an emergency of sorts"

"Huh?" She finally looked up from her work.

You waved shyly.

"And who's this?"

"Well now that's a bit complicated..."

**************************************************

"Take it easy alright, and if you need anything here's my cell"

"Thanks Shoko, oh wait my phone!" You suddenly remembered and frantically patted your body down.

You sighed in relief pulling out the device, seemingly unharmed by some miracle.

But then your brows furrowed seeing the blue case instead of your own and a sticky note with a tongue sticking out. *Bring this to me at work will you baby, then I can see your beautiful face*

You felt your irritation rise, "Of all the days Satoru you had to switch our phones today!? Ugh" you ripped off the note, usually you loved these little pranks but now you wanted to kill him.

"Huh what did I do?"

"Sorry not you, other you.." you clicked the on button and tried a variety of passwords.

Dammit satoru

"Wait is that my phone?" He peered over your shoulder.

You perked up, "yeah it is! Do you know the password?”

"Hmm lemme try" he grabbed it out of your hands and you waited anxiously.

"Got it"

"Wait really?!"

"Yep, All great gojos think alike-" he suddenly froze.

"What's wrong?" You eyed him curiously but he just stared at his phone dumfoundedly.

"How close did you say we were again...?"

Shoko curious leaned over and her eyes went wide.

"What do you mean, what are you looking at?" You moved next to him and gasped at the saved screen. A picture of you asleep in bed in something strappy, barely covered by the sheets and toru leaned over kissing your cheek.

"AH DON'T LOOK" you tried snatching the phone away but he held It above his head.

Ugh his stupid tallness!!

"Satoru wait!" You reached helplessly as he started scrolling through his camera roll. You were mortified to learn that most of them were candid shots of you. Some appropriate and some not.

You excersizing bent over, your sillohette behind the shower curtain, you licking a lollipop, you wearing a shirt of his on laundry day…

"Geez were you stalking her or something" shoko commented disturbed.

"Satoru! please!" Finally he let you snatch the phone back. Your face hotter than the sun.

"So I guess that's what you were hiding..."

you sighed knowing you couldn't keep it hidden much longer.

"I guess that explains a little why you have my grandmothers ring..”

this got your attention.

"Wait what??" Your eyes widened.

"This is you're grandmothers ring?!"

"You mean you didn't know...?" Shoko asked.

"No...you just gave it to me, but you never said it was hers" You felt a rush of warmth knowing how much she meant to him. Probably the only member of his clan that actually cared for him. Sadly she passed when he was young. The truth is this was the ring he gave you when he proposed- or more like told you he was gonna marry you and you didn't have a choice- not that you were gonna say no to the cocky idiot.

"So what's your relationship with other Gojo then?" Shoko asked.

"Well uh...that's a little...." You hesitated wondering if you should say.

"Might as well say it, I mean obviously other me and you are pretty close" he motioned to the phone.

sigh

here goes

"I guess some might say...well if you look at it one way...um... I guess legally and technically other you, and me are what some might call...married"

"What no way?! Gojo actually settled down!?”

“Hey don’t sound so surprised! Although to be honest.. I’m finding that a little hard to believe myself..”

“Well you weren’t exactly a one woman guy when I met you..”you recalled all his various flings in the time before you were dating.

“The other me must be worried then huh?”

I sigh, “I wonder if you’ve figured out what happened yet..”

“Don’t worry, I’m really smart, there’s no way I wouldn’t know”

“Cocky bastard” I let out a tired laugh.

BZZZT BZZZT BZZZT

“Huh?”

“Wait is other gojos phone ringing?”

“Yeah it says “Wifey is calling..”

“What no way!? How?!” I jump to grab the phone and answer the call. Not knowing really what to expect. Maybe the tower got mingled weirdly.

“H-hello??” I call out anxiously.

“Y/n? Where are you!?”

“T-Toru!!!” I can’t help but cry out.

“Are you ok? What happened?? Why can’t I sense your energy in the city?”

“T-Toru I was attacked on the way to the school! I think that curse- amamama got free and he sent me to another dimension!!!”

“Babe..have you been drinking?”

“I’m serious Toru! That curse! The one you and Megumi brought for me to add a seal to! He sent me to another dimension! I’m here with another version of you!!”

“…is this payback for because I said your ass got bigger? Because you know I meant that as a compliment.”

“Y-you idiot!! I’m serious!!”

“No kidding? You’re being serious?”

“Would I joke about something like this?”

“… hold on a sec” a woosh sound emits from the speaker

“Shit..”

“Toru?”

“I just transported to the road. I can sense the residual energy…I see blood, were you hurt?” He sounds more serious now.

“I’m ok.. Shoko fixed me up..”

“So what…you’re in a dimension parallel to ours?”

“Not exactly… I guess I don’t exist here.. or at least I’m not apart of everyone’s lives..”

“…don’t worry alright? I’ll figure this out, have I ever let you down?”

I give this gojo a knowing look,

“Never.”

“Plus my birthdays coming up, and you promised to do that thing I like as much as I want so how can I let you be in another dimension for too long?”

“Ah Toru you’re on speaker you know!!”

“Hey other me you there?!” Your gojo suddenly shouted.

“Uh yep I’m here..”

“This is definitely a first.. ahem well anyway until I get this sorted out take care of our girl alright?!She’s pretty weak so keep an ey-“

“Hey!”

“As I was saying, keep an eye on her. Also make sure she gets iron pills from the pharmacy since hers are here. Oh and she’s allergic to tuna and if she stays out in the sun too long she’ll get this weird rash-“

“I’m hanging up” you reached for the button.

“Hey cmon I’m not there-well I’m kind of there but I just wanna make sure my baby is taken care of!!”

“I’m an adult not a child! You don’t need to say all these things, I can take care of myself here just fine!!”

“Pfft says the one who made me transport home in the middle of a mission to kill a cockroach.”

“IT HAD WINGS”

“Alright alright, I know you’re a big girl. Let me go so I can figure this all out quickly and get you back.”

“Yeah..ok”

“Hey, no crying ok?”

“Ok.. I guess I’ll talk to you later? We are meeting Nanami here because he has knowledge about the curse apparently. I’ll let you know how that goes..”

“Alright, later then.”

“Love you Toru…”

“Not as much as I love me”

“Pfft asshole”

“Heh, there’s that laugh I love so much. love ya sweetheart, be careful ok?”

“I will”

*click*

For the first time since your arrival you felt some relief.

You awkwardly looked up to the pair and found Shoko dumbfounded and satoru scratching the back of his head.

“Still can’t believe it…”

“Um well that was definitely a first…”

“So what now?” Shoko took a drag seeming bored already.

“Now we go and see if Nanami can make sense of this. Come on, he’s waiting for us.” He motioned and you followed with a bit more hope now.

The power of two Gojos with one goal? Yeah you’d be home before you knew it.

Should I continue this? Make it into a series? Lemme know:) thanks for reading!

Part 2

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obitos-whore · 3 months ago

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SFW Alphabet for Gaara

────────────────────────────────────

A = Admiration (what do they absolutely adore about you?)

Gaara adores his s/o's voice. Especially the way they pronounce his name makes his heart flutter like crazy.

B = Body (what is their favorite part of your body?)

It's hard to pick a favourite part when his partner is the literal definition of perfection. But if he had to choose, it'd be your hands. He loves the feeling of them intertwining with his and especially the way they caress his face.

C = Cuddling (how do they like to cuddle?)

Despite still struggling with physical touch due to all the neglect and childhood trauma, Gaara really enjoys being the little spoon. Feeling someone holding him close and protectively makes him feel safe and truly wanted.

D = Dates (what does their ideal date with you look like?)

Being the Kazekage requires a lot of time and also comes with the cost of losing even the tiniest bit of privacy. However, this doesn't stop him from having weekly date nights with you. Most of the time, you two stay at home and cook together and either watch a movie afterwards or take a stroll through the outskirts of the village to go stargazing.

E = Emotions (how do they express emotion around you?)

He's not the best with expressing his emotions and often struggles with them and instead tries to describe how he feels, making it sound surprisingly poetic. But what he lacks in words, he'll make up with sweet, subtle gestures and expressions. Brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear here, a deep, longing gaze there. Another way for him to express his feelings is by making use of the "flower language" and giving you certain flowers to emphasise these emotions of his.

F = Family (do they want one? If they do, when?)

Gaara doesn't necessarily need to start a family with you. But he wouldn't mind if you want to. Though deep down he's afraid that he might end up like his father, even if it's subconscious. Plus, being the Kazekage means less time for you and your children and leaving you to care for them mostly on your own.

G = Gifts (how do they feel about gift giving? What are their habits when it comes to this?)

Gaara is very thoughtful with his gifts and will make sure to give you something that's either very useful, or fits your style and taste. He also doesn't shy away from spending a big amount of money on the gifts. After all, you're his beloved, his heart, and you deserve only the best.

H = Holding Hands (when/how do they like to hold hands?)

Gaara is rather shy when it comes to pda, especially as the Kazekage. However, if he and his darling are by themselves, for example while taking a stroll under the starlit night sky in the desert, he doesn't mind holding his beloved's hand. Just the feel of their fingers laced with one another makes his heart skip a beat.

I = Injury (how would they act if you got hurt?)

If it's only a small cut or bruise, he'll be very calm about it and gently tend to your wounds. If it's a stab wound or a deadly injury, he'll try his best to remain calm and stop the bleeding himself while trying to get you help asap. His voice will be a deep, demanding roar tinged with desperation as he calls for a medic. And rest assured, whoever did that to you, will pay greatly for what they have done.

J = Jokes (do they like to joke around with or prank you? how?)

Gaara is very selective when it comes to whom he shares a laugh with. Fortunately, you, as his s/o, happens to be one of the few people he feels comfortable with, though he has a bit of a dry humour, which is definitely not everyone's cup of tea. However, pranks are definitely not something that humour him. Quite the opposite actually. He would never play a prank on his beloved, because that would require him taking advantage of his s/o's fears and vulnerability. And that's definitely something he does not stand for. And he would greatly appreciate it if his partner refrains from playing pranks on him as well.

K = Kisses (how do they like to kiss you?)

His favourite spots to kiss you are your forehead, palms and of course your lips. However, if his s/o is shorter than him, he will also plant a tender kiss on the crown of their head. And if his s/o happens to be taller than him, he will place featherlight kisses under their ear and where their jaw ends.

L = Love (how do they show you they love you?)

Gaara primarily shows his love to his partner by making time for them, as the lack of it is the biggest con of your relationship. For example; when his partner brings him his lunchbox to his office, he asks them to stay and eat with him. Another way of showing his love are acts of service as well as gift giving. He's meticulous when it comes to these things and also puts a lot of thought behind his gifts.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings are usually very calm and serene. Gaara is an early bird and usually wakes up at daybreak. He normally stays in bed for a few minutes and watches you sleep or snuggles up to you for some lazy morning cuddles, before he gets out of bed to have a warm cup of tea and get himself ready for the day. If you're an early bird like him, he will have breakfast with you. But if you happen to be the complete opposite, Gaara will have breakfast all by himself before heading off to the Kazekage's office, leaving you a sweet little note wishing you a good day and letting you know how much he loves you.

N = Nightmare (what is their worst fear?)

His worst fear would be losing you, either by death or you not loving him anymore. If you leave him for someone else, he will spend months and even years asking himself what he did wrong to make you lose your feelings towards him. He won't resent you of course, but seeing you happy with someone else hurts him immensely and makes him want to rip out his heart and bury it deep within the desert alongside his memories with you.

O = Oddity (what is one quirk they have?)

Whenever he hears someone say your name, a small smile subconsciously adorns his face and his eyes get that soft, adoring look. His siblings often tease him about it.

P = Pet Names (what do they like to call you?)

Aside from the classical "Darling" and "Love", Gaara will call you his little "Desert flower". The reason why he calls you that is because your love is the beauty that was able to grow even in the harshest conditions (his past and imperfections).

Q = Quality Time (how do they like to spend time with you?)

Gaara is a sucker for anything that includes spending time with you whenever he gets to. Being the leader of an entire village is a very time consuming job, so even spending ten minutes with you are comparable to a paid, six week vacation to him. But one of his all time favourite ways to spend time with you is when he's caring for his cacti and you helping him.

R = Remember (what is their favourite moment in your relationship?)

His most treasured moment in your relationship is when you reassured him in such a heartfelt and sincere way about your love for him, after he had voiced his concerns and doubts about him being worthy of someone as kind, amazing and loveable as you.

S = Secrets (how open are they with you?)

Gaara does not like having secrets from you and he especially hates lying to you. He has been lied to the majority of his life and could never do the same to others. But he also knows that, in order to understand him better, he needs to communicate openly with you, no matter how sensitive the topic may be. He's good at keeping your secrets though, so you can tell him literally everything about yourself and he would take them to his grave without even an ounce of judgement.

T = Time (how long did it take you to get together?)

It took a good while, because Gaara always lost his confidence last minute before confessing his love to you. He would mentally chide himself for his cowardice, reminding himself that the worst you could say was "No". But that deep rooted fear of rejection and potentially losing you forever just kept messing with his head and hurting his heart.

U = Upset (how do they act when you’re upset?)

Depending on whether he is the one responsible for upsetting you, accidentally of course, he would either be calm and collected, offering you comfort and a shoulder to cry on or just vent to. Or he would unintentionally act like a kicked puppy, apologising to you profusely and trying to mend things by making or ordering your favourite food, buying you a huge plush animal, offering you to yell at him to get your emotions out of your system, etc.

V = Vaunt (what are they proud of? Do they like to show you off?)

Gaara is proud of many things regarding you. But if he had to pick one thing, it would be your resilience and undying devotion and love towards him. He's well aware that there are still people who don't trust him and think you're too good for someone like him. And seeing you defend him and stay by his side through it all without wavering makes him feel both proud and humble at the same time.

W = Warrior (how do they feel about you fighting? Would they fight for you, beside you, etc?)

Gaara knows you're an independent and resilient human being and therefore lets you go on missions and engage in battles if that's what you want. Of course he feels stressed and anxious about you potentially getting hurt or worse, but he has faith in you and will refrain from treating you like a fragile egg. But he will definitely fight alongside you if possible.

X = X-Ray (how well are they able to read you?)

He's perceptive by nature and picks up on a lot of things, like the way your eyebrows furrow when you're thinking about something, or the way your lips purse when something or someone bothers or disgusts you. He's not perfect by any means and there are still some aspects he struggles with, but he's a fast learner and will mentally take notes of every single thing you do, no matter how little it is.

Y = Yes (how would they propose to you?)

Since Gaara prefers to keep his personal life as private as possible, he would resort to a cute stay at home dinner, followed by a nice, quiet walk around the village at night. He would take the time to gather his courage and rehearse his speech over and over again in his head while taking you to his private garden where he will propose to you under the silvery light of the full moon.

Z = Zen (what makes them feel calm?)

Your voice and general presence are a safe haven for the often tired and stressed Kazekage. He knows, no matter how exhausting or stressful the day may have been, as soon as he's with you, he can unwind and relax. Preferably in your arms, or with his head nestled comfortably in your lap while your hands run through his messy red hair.

#gaara #sabaku no gaara #gaara x reader #gaara x you #gaara imagines #gaara headcanons #kazekage gaara #sfw alphabet #My writing

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feyascorner · 1 year ago

Text

9 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. Rather than taking offense, he merely smiles. “You’re so harsh, love.”

“I wouldn’t be harsh if you didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m aware.” His voice lowers. “Though I rather like it when you’re cruel to me.”

You blink.

Has he always looked at you like this?

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. officially in act 2 so there's like a few weeks of a timeskip!!!! finally getting to that blurry line between hatred and...wtv they are

also praying the tags work this time

“Wake up,” you whisper. “Wake up, Astarion.”

His body shakes as you pull him closer to your chest, ignoring how cold his skin feels against yours. There’s nothing out here except the two of you and the blissful gaze of the moon glimmering against all the other stars in the sky. Here, it’s as if nothing else exists.

Yet, the nightmares continue to haunt him.

“Cazador, he’ll come for us. He’ll come for you. He’ll make me watch as you die and laugh at my agony before he tosses me into that damned prison again for another year. Maybe even more,” he rasps. “Gods, you were so–there was so much blood—your blood—and all I could smell was–”

You shush him, running your hand through white curls. The sensation seems to calm him just the slightest. “He’s not here. I’m alive, and so are you. See?”

Gently, you raise his palm to where your heart rests and wait patiently for him to come back to you again. He melts into the steady thumping of your heart, shoulders slowly relaxing. It takes some time, but eventually, his panting slows, and he slumps into your touch. When you pull him close again, he shakes his head.

“I’ll kill him for what he’s done to me and what he could do to you.”

You answer him by intertwining your fingers with his own. In response, he tightens his arms around your waist.

“I’m going to love watching him scream.”

Crashing onto the ground does little for your already trembling knees.

“Again.”

Weeks have passed since your last uncomfortable encounter with Astarion, and you’d much prefer to keep it that way. And while things have mostly smoothed over with your companions, the obvious issue of the spawn remains a concern, though the murders have decreased significantly in passing times. You’re grateful there aren’t as many bodies, but it also makes you wonder what’s preventing them from killing as many as they did. Fear it, even.

Lae’zel’s wooden sword wipes you off your feet again, and you land face-first into the grass. Embarrassment floods your cheeks despite there being nobody else in the park.

“You’ve gotten rusty, istik.”

Clambering onto your knees, you grip your own sword to stabilize yourself. “Are you sure you’re not the one who’s gotten significantly better?”

“Flattery won’t save you on a battlefield, bard.”

“‘Was-bard,’” you correct her, using the sword to bounce back onto your heels. “And I think it’s saved us more than a few times. Remember that time I persuaded Yurgir to kill all his friends before we killed him?”

“A silver tongue has no use if the enemy is deaf,” she lunges at you, and you barely manage to stumble out of the way.

You hiss. “Why the hell would I be fighting a deaf enemy? And can you please warn me before you try to stab me?”

“There are no warnings in a real battle.”

“We’re not in real battle!”

She ignores you and lunges once more without warning.

You land on your ass again and again until you’re sure there’s a nasty bruise on half of your legs. There’s not enough time to register the soreness spreading to your knees, however, because by the time you’re up, she’s already coming at you again. It’s hopeless, you think, blocking another attack. Just as you’re about to give up and admit defeat, you see an opportunity in her stance. Seemingly laid back with how miserably you’re failing, you take it as a weakness and practically pounce at the opportunity to launch at her in return for your own bruises.

By some miracle, it lands.

She doesn’t fall as pathetically as you did, but she stumbles.

“Have you lost your touch, Lae’zel?”

You whip your head around to the voice where Shadowheart is under the shade of a tree, a letter gripped in her fingers. She paces closer to you and your opponent, raising a brow at the state you’re in. “Was it really necessary to beat them so harshly?”

“It worked, didn’t it? They managed to hit me,” Lae’zel scoffs, a hint of pride in her tone.

“Well, as wonderful of a time it is to watch you fight one another like beasts,” Shadowheart rolls her eyes, lifting the letter. “Tav and I need to get new clothes tailored, it seems.”

Lae’zel snatches the letter before you can take a look, her eyes scanning over the words before shooting to you. “A celebration?”

“A ball, more like,” the cleric steals the sheet right back, handing it to you. “In our honor, of course, for defeating the elder brain. About time we received something in return.”

You only briefly glance at the words printed on the letter. “This is too much.”

Both heads turn to you inquisitively. “I thought you’d be ecstatic for something like this. I recall you always used to sing about the songs people would make about your adventures.”

“That was ages ago,” you sigh, but Lae’zel doesn’t seem much happier either.

“They choose to celebrate while the city’s citizens are being picked off like prey by spawn? No wonder its inhabitants have turned out so puny,” she glances at you while she speaks. You contemplate rolling your eyes, though you’d rather not get knocked on your ass again.

“You and Gale can go tomorrow. I made reservations at the tailor for all of us, but Figaro says he can only take two a day,” Shadowheart tells Lae’zel. “You wouldn’t mind if I took your punching bag for a few hours, would you?”

“Tchk. I have the wizard as another target if need be.”

She tosses her braid over her shoulder as she nods. “Great. Let’s hurry then.”

They don’t give you much room to protest in the matter, already having made up their minds—not that you were going to object in the first place. You’re honored, really, that the city finds you impressive enough to throw a celebration in your honor, and you know your companions are more than deserving of it, too. But it’s as Lae’zel said.

There’s another battle brewing under the city, in its shadows, and in plain sight, yet you can’t do anything about it. It’s not like the elder brain. Killing the brain itself was enough to rid of the mind flayers, but in this case, killing one spawn only leads to hunting 7000 more. Most of which are being lied to by Astarion’s siblings.

You shake your head to rid of the thoughts. No. You deserve this. You went through hell and back with that bloody parasite in your head, so hells be damned if you can have one bloody night to yourself. One that doesn’t consist of consistently worrying about whether another body will drop dead while you sleep blissfully in the walls of your own home. You need this after all you’ve been through.

Still…

The silence as you walk alongside Shadowheart makes you cringe.

It’s not like she’s angry at you, nor are you at her. You understand her reactions toward Astarion, and you like to think that she does too. But with how things ended with him last time, your interactions with the cleric have grown increasingly curt, with short conversations baring down to the bare necessities. You’ve tried to speak with her, but each time the two of you are alone, the guilt gnaws away at your stomach—your confidence along with it.

This time, you swear. This time you’ll apologize.

“Shadowhea-”

“I shouldn’t have done it.”

You blink. Twice.

She doesn’t look at you, continuing to stride through the city streets. “It was unfair of me to blow up at you for letting Astarion feed. It wasn’t my choice, and I know that. I was only…”

You wait for her to continue, increasing the speed of your footsteps to catch up.

“...It was a selfish reason,” she mutters. “I did not want to lose you to him again. I’ve seen you the last time he hurt you, and you were practically a stranger to all of us. Even with defeating the elder brain, you didn’t seem happy in the slightest. He ruined so much that I—-I instinctively tried to make a decision that I have no control over.”

“It won’t happen again. Lying, I mean,” you blurt immediately. “I’ve learned, as hard as it might be to believe. I don’t want to drift from you again, either. I’m just sorry it took so long to bring this up.”

“I’m in no place to complain. It took weeks for me to understand how in the hells your thought process seems to work…And how you manage to make such bad decisions that somehow have a knack for working out,” she purses her lips. “I still don’t understand. Not completely. But I do also trust you know what you’re doing.”

You don’t know what you’re doing, but you think it’s better to avoid telling her that.

She smiles, and you already feel lighter. “It’s a miracle I’m alive, to be honest.”

“It really is. Trust me, I’d know,” she snorts in return.

“I do have quite the skilled healer at my side, which helps.”

Shadowheart stops in front of Figaro’s store, glancing back at you. You hadn’t even realized the two of you had walked this far, but she shrugs with a smug grin as she pushes through the door.

“Whatever would you do without me?”

You’ve searched the Blushing Mermaid at least a dozen times over now, in case you missed any of Dalyria’s things that might aid you in your search for the other siblings. Despite the tavern owners blocking the entrance, a simple mage hand or two was enough to pry open the wooden boards nailed to the basement door. It’s been nearly three times now that you’ve come up empty-handed, but what harm could a fourth try do? Sure, you’ve scrummaged her desk seven times alone, but perhaps you might have missed a drawer or two…

The stillness of the night is disturbed as you lift the hatch leading to the basement, waving away the dust that flies into your face. You pocket Dalyria’s journal and begin your descent downward. The humidity hits your cheeks, and you sigh, swallowing your distaste for the crumbling lair to resume your investigation without any distractions. You expect another endless night of useless rummaging through the Hag’s old things and some of Dalyria’s own belongings, but doing nothing would weigh too heavily on your conscious.

Just as you enter the actual lair, you find that you are not alone.

A blond man stands on the other side, his back turned to you as he searches the desk you’ve already looked over multiple times.

Petras.

Sure, you’ve been searching for him for quite a while now, but for him to just waltz into you like this? You’re not sure if you’re insanely lucky or simply unlucky for not having stumbled into him until now. He remains unaware of your presence, and you take the opportunity to reach for your knife, willing your footsteps to feel lighter to avoid detection. Another skill a certain rogue taught you at a certain point, but never mind that.

The floorboard creaks under your weight.

Dammit. You’ve never been as good as he was.

He whips around, immediately on the defense. But as soon as he spots you, his shoulder relaxes, a scowl falling as he blinks. “Oh. You.”

Embarrassment burns in your cheeks, feeling like a child who’s been caught stealing an extra sweet from the cookie jar. Still, you straighten your back, shifting so he can’t see the knife clenched in your hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I was wondering when I’d see Astarion’s pet again,” he ignores your question, stepping away from the desk toward you. It makes your body tense. “You’ve been up to quite a lot since the last time we spoke, haven’t you? I hear you nearly captured my sister.”

“I’m not his pet,” you snap, more harshly than you intended. He raises a brow.

“Fine. His blood bank.”

Your sharp glare is enough to send him your sentiments.

“Not a very willing blood bank, I see.”

“What are you doing here, Petras?” you finally snap.

He ignores you again, and this time, you contemplate chucking the knife at his head. “How’s my brother doing? Horrible, I hope.”

“He’s fine,” you retort through gritted teeth. It’s the nicest thing you can conjure up at the moment. “We would be doing better if you weren’t making a bloodbath of the city.”

“You nearly killed my sister as well.”

“Your sister is the one that attacked us after she said she was going to kidnap Astarion like he’s some sort of object. What was I supposed to do?”

“Well, I can’t blame you. She’s always been stubborn,” he shrugs. “But I am disappointed you chose to take my brother’s side after all he’s done to you. I would pity you, really, if you hadn’t gone and killed almost four of us already.”

“You can’t blame me for self-defense.”

Petras frowns. “Tell me, why didn’t you take our deal?”

“What?”

He paces a few steps toward you, standing at the platform of the lair while you stare up at him in bewilderment. “We’ve been watching you for an extended period of time now. We offered you everything you could possibly gain from a deal like this one, and you still rejected it. You’d get rid of us and keep the city safe. All the while, you’d never have to see my brother again. Dalyria says it barely seemed to phase you. I want to know why.”

“It’s—” you trip over your own tongue. You don’t even know why you feel obligated to answer him. “It just felt right at the time.”

“What kind of half-baked answer is that?”

“I answered your question, didn't I? Now answer mine.”

Petras furrows his brows, glancing at Dalyria’s desk behind him. “I take it you know what we plan to do?”

You purse your lips, and it’s enough of an answer for him.

“I wanted to take Astarion by force, personally. But Leon and Dalyria…they’ve grown considerably soft after Cazador left,” he rolls his eyes at the thought, crossing his arms. “...A shame. That kind of fragility won’t get them anywhere in this world. Those fools are destined to die or to live at the bottom of the barrel, forever feeding on city rats.”

The way he speaks of his siblings makes your stomach churn.

“You’re a bigger fool if you think I’m going to let you go through with the ascension,” you hiss. “You’ll kill all those spawns. They’ve put their trust in you to lead them, and you’re lying straight to their faces as if their lives aren’t worth the crap on your shoes–”

“And how did things turn out the last time you tried to stop the ascension?”

This makes your throat go dry.

“Take this as our last warning, bard. Or else we’ll come and take him ourselves.”

“He’s your brother,” you blurt in exasperation, waving your hand in disbelief. “You can’t possibly want to kill him, even if he’s an asshole from time to time! Cazador is gone. You’re free! There’s nothing else to run away from!”

You don’t know why you’re defending him.

But it pours out of your chest, and you already know trying to choke it back up won’t reverse what’s already been said.

With your words seemingly going in one ear and out the other, Petras clenches his fist at his side and glowers down at you with a sharp inhale. Despite his attempts to appear composed, you can see the vein bulging from his forehead, threatening to burst if you push him any longer. “He stopped being my brother the second he tried to ascend.”

“Still—”

“He attempted to kill the rest of us for the sake of his own wellbeing. What makes him any different than Cazador himself?” he argues. “Cazador always took a special interest in Astarion. I see now that it’s because they’re so similar. In life or in death.”

For some strange reason, this makes your blood burn.

You can hear Astarion’s gasps as his master’s nightmarish toll awoke you both on those starry nights when the parasite still swam in your heads. How cold he’d felt in your arms, rasping into your chest as you calmed him. White curls brushed against your hand as you pulled him close. You’ve never wished to the gods for much, but in that moment, you begged them to let him forget. To give you something—anything—to soothe the trembling of his hands.

Astarion could have been like Cazador. He’d come dangerously close to becoming the very monster that tortured him for centuries, but he hadn’t. Whether it was voluntary or not, it doesn’t matter because, at the end of the day, he isn’t Cazador. And you plan to keep it that way as long as your fingers can still clutch your blade.

“I was planning on paying you a visit,” Petras says, catching your attention once more as he slips out a scroll from his sleeve. “Though I suppose you’ve made this easier on the both of us…especially if you die here.”

You take a step toward him, heels digging into the ground. “If you think I’ll just—”

“If you’ll only get in my way, then I have no problem with watching you perish.”

With a shout, the scroll glows a lime green, and a long groan echoes from the bodies scattered throughout the room.

Shit.

The spawn adjusts his hood back around his head, sparing you a pitiful stare. “You’ve chosen your side, and it's the one that's destined to lose. Good luck, bard…I hope your death isn’t as painful as it could have been at Astarion’s hands.”

And just as the undead begins to crawl toward you with an agonizing screech, he puffs up into a cloud of red smoke and vanishes.

You need a bath. Terribly.

Barely scraping out with your life, you can’t say you’re a pleasing person to look at with the dirt and blood smeared across your body. The sleeve of your shirt is torn open, and while a few healing potions have done the trick to heal most of your injuries, the more minor splits and cuts remain an insistent reminder of the war you’ve just declared with the vampire spawns.

Well, they’re the ones who declared it, but the point stands.

You manage to wash out a lot of the blood by the time you return home, praying your disheveled state can’t be seen with the effort you’ve put in to look presentable. Your worries are put to rest, however, when you realize just how late it’s gotten into the night, as all your companions remain blissfully asleep as you limp into the house, barely able to stand upright.

Everything is a blur. How you managed to fight off a dozen undead is a mystery to you, but it’s not unwelcome. At least there’s nobody here to scold you.

But even that, you realize, is a false sense of security when you sense him from the stairs. You’ve learned not to anticipate any creak in the floorboard when he’s the one pacing on them. Rather, you’ve learned to expect a concerning bloodthirsty presence and two eyes boring into the back of your head as if you’ve grown another head. It eventually becomes easy to sense his aura even from across the living room.

You hope the darkness conceals the bruises on your body. “What do you want?”

“You’re bleeding again,” he says, and it’s not a question. “I could smell it from upstairs.”

A scoff. “What are you? A dog?”

Astarion doesn’t bother responding to your snide comment, coming closer. You can finally see his expression in a daze as he approaches your vicinity. He’s present, but not really, as his focus shifts from you to your hand to your face again repeatedly as if he’s unsure what he’s even doing here.

You’d recognize his mannerisms anywhere.

“Are you drunk?”

“I recall you saying you were visiting the tavern.”

“I was at the tavern.”

He barks a laugh. “My dear, you can tell as many pretty lies to the others but not to me. I can see right through your little game like an open book.”

Curse him.

“I asked you a question first,” you opt to change the subject, remaining firm. “How much did you drink?”

“I didn’t break any rules, as far as I’m aware,” his words slur messily as he leans against the wall, a pink hue spread across his cheeks. “I just drank…a tiny bit more than usual.”

He’s most undoubtedly tipsy, at the very least.

Astarion pushes himself off the wall and toward you, where he squints down at you with what you assume to be some variation of curiosity. His eyes do not hold the usual hostility they usually do, somewhat clouded in a mist of relaxation that’s dangerously close to overflowing. You inch backward.

“Your turn,” he breathes. “Why are you bleeding?”

While you were out risking your life, the bastard must’ve been having the time of his life if the unsteadiness of his steps is any indication. You bite the inside of your cheek bitterly.

“I met Petras just now…more like ambushed, actually,” you respond, pacing the kitchen to wipe off the dirt staining your elbows. You pour yourself a glass of water, but the second it touches your lips, you flinch, the split on your lip still too new to be challenged. So, instead, you set the glass down, eyeing the way he mindlessly stares at you without a thought running through his mind.

Still, he’s giddier than usual, snorting at the state you’re in. “You couldn’t have possibly lost to my brother. He has muscle but barely any wit.”

You remain silent, and his smile grows wider. “Oh! You really let the bastard get away. Well, isn’t this a surprise! Excuse my error; perhaps you aren’t as invincible as I pegged you to be.”

“He caught me off guard.” Hot discomfort courses through your veins.

“Pish posh,” he waves you off, teetering in your direction. “It’s no good if you refuse to admit defeat, my dear. It’ll come back to bite you in the behind later.”

You watch with half-lidded eyes, unmoving from your spot beside the counter as he scrummages around the cabinets for nothing other than the very substance that’s reduced him to this pitiful state. Ironic, you know, considering the tavern had practically been your home only a few months prior. “How did you even get drunk? There isn’t nearly enough blood here for that.”

His face brightens when he finds what he’s been searching for. He uncorks the glass bottle and inhales the stench of blood. While it makes you scrunch your nose, he sighs dreamily, shoulder going slack. “Gale accompanied my hunt again, and I managed to find not one but two bloody bears. One of which was oh so gratefully already wounded. You can be smart when you want to be; I’m sure you can imagine the rest.”

You don’t want to imagine it, actually.

“I think you’ve had enough,” you pluck the bottle from his hands, and his expression immediately falls. He almost looks like a kicked puppy. It makes your chest swell with pride.

“Why? Would you rather I drink from you?” he tries to reach for it, but you step out of the way. “As enticing as that sounds, I’ve already had my fill of exotic blood for tonight. All I need is the dessert to top off the feast I’ve had, and I’ll be satiated for at least a few days.”

You glare at him. “You’re already drunk, you don’t need anymore.”

“But I want more,” he slurs again, and you attempt to move the bottle behind your back, but his hand is already expecting this maneuver. With embarrassing ease, the bottle slips into his grasp, and he takes a long sip of blood while forgetting how you remain caged against the counter, arms blocking any sort of exit you can take to slip away.

You can count his eyelashes from this distance.

He lifts his hand to wipe at his mouth, and much to your relief, you manage to escape the suffocating feeling of being surrounded by him. His scent, his voice, just everything. You close your fists, itching to retreat into the comforts of your own bedroom rather than continue to watch his focus zone in and out until narrowing down on you. “Are you done?”

“Mm, it’s sweet, but not sweet enough. It’s not quite a dessert, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t even like sweet things,” you scoff. You don’t know why you remember this. You shouldn’t remember this. It’s not even your concern anymore.

He stares at you. “I make exceptions.”

Unwillingly to figure out the implications of his words (and whether or not it comes off as a threat), you run a hand through your hair and sigh. “Petras seems hell-bent on kidnapping you.”

“Let him try. The poor fool wouldn’t stand a chance against any of us, much less all of us simultaneously. At least it’ll make for quite a show.”

“And let him kill more people in the process?”

Astarion tilts his head, albeit only slightly. He lacks the usual polish of his charm. “Ah, we couldn’t dare allow a few unlucky souls to perish. It’s not like the inevitable fate of death is waiting for them anyway.”

Sarcasm dripping from his tongue, you decide he’s not nearly sober enough to talk about this. He’s barely keeping himself upright with his arms perched on either side of the counter. He’s close enough that the scent of blood muddles all of your other senses. The softness in his eyes makes you squirm, and the small voice in your head that is your intuition screams for you to get away before…well, you’re not sure what, but it’s what it’s telling you.

“Go to bed,” you order him, though it sounds more like a plea. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“The night’s only begun, though.”

The answer spews out immediately. “I miss to see where that’s my problem.”

Rather than taking offense, he merely smiles. “You’re so harsh to me, love.”

You open your mouth to respond, but the nickname catches you off guard. It’s one he hasn’t called you since…everything. One that you’ve learned to bury into whatever corner you can find in your memories, hoping never to see them again. For a split moment, you can feel your resolve falter. Still, you refuse to show him what a simple word does to you and steel your will to leave this for a proper time when you’re both not nearly delirious. One from blood and the other from a battle.

“I wouldn’t be harsh if you didn’t deserve it.”

“I’m aware.” His voice lowers. “Though I rather like it when you’re cruel to me.”

You blink.

Has he always looked at you like this?

He’s not just drunk, you reason. He’s completely wasted.

“Astarion,” you lean away. “You’re drunk.”

He ignores your warnings with a click of his tongue. “My mind is clearer than it's ever been after I got that damn parasite out of my head.”

His delirious expression says otherwise.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh irritably. “Whatever game you’re playing, I want none of it. I’m tired, so just leave me be, will you? Get out of my way.”

“I could say the same to you.”

“You’re the one blocking me from leaving!” you fume, pointing at his arm.

“That’s not what I mean. You’re…” he sighs, dropping his head wearily. “…you’re no different than that parasite, come to think of it.”

Appalled, you just gawk at him, jaw agape. “Please tell me I did not just hear you say that.”

He laughs, throwing his head back as he straightens his back. His arms fall back to his side, providing you just enough space to squeeze out of the way, but you find yourself staring up at him as he recollects himself. “It’s rather frustrating. I suppose, at the very least, unlike that worm, you’re a pretty thing to look at.”

What in the hells is going on?

First, he calls you a parasite and then proceeds to flatter you barely two seconds later, having nothing but hazy blurs in that thick skull of his. You wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to kill you again next. In fact, you think it’s probably best to retreat now when you can—even if he’s gazing down at you as if he expects an answer to his previous statement.

You should leave.

Your legs remain rooted in place.

You should definitely leave.

“Call me that again, and I’ll install bars on your windows,” you grumble, only half meaning it. Mainly because it would be a hassle to build. “Just go, Astarion. I don’t want to speak with you.”

“Convince me.”

You quirk a brow. “What?”

“Convince me that you don’t want me here,” he says firmly. “Then I’ll leave.”

Gods, has he lost it?

“Are you serious?”

“Am I ever not? I may deceive you, but I always take you seriously. You must know this.”

Barely stopping yourself from punching that smug smile off his face, your brows furrow. And with gritted teeth, you hiss. “Well, for one, you stink of blood.”

“What a pleasant fragrance indeed.”

“Two,” you continue. “You’re barely standing on both feet, which tells me you aren’t in any position to discuss what I want to right now—which, by the way, is your own damn brother.”

He hums.

“Three, you’re an asshole.”

“Very convincing, darling.”

“So I’ve heard,” you snap, rolling your eyes. “Do I need to say more?”

Astarion steps closer, making your shoulders tense. “Tell me more about how I’m an asshole.”

The blood he drank must contain some sort of drug, surely.

“You leave bottles all over the living room,” you begin, and slowly, the words begin to spill out as if they’ve been waiting to be thrown at him for a while now. “You don’t help clean at all. You make jokes only you find funny. You fight with Shadowheart all the time, and it makes everyone uncomfortable. You walk around at three in the morning and scare the crap out of me just because I wanted some water.”

He nods. “Go on.”

“You’re always sneaking out, even though we tell you not to. You don’t even tell us where you’re going and then get surprised when Lae’zel wants to execute you again! You come home at bizarre times, and the hallway smells like blood all the time, and—and—-” You’re rambling now, you realize, but you’re too exhausted to give a rat’s ass about it. So instead, you push a finger into his chest pointedly, scowling. “---you’re just not pleasant to be around. You’re the biggest asshole I’ve met, and trust me when I’ve met a lot of assholes. I’d rather all of them than you.”

Astarion’s lashes flutter as his gaze flits across your face. “Is that so?”

With narrowed eyes, your fists tighten. “Hells, I don’t even know why I’m here with you because I should’ve been at the tavern sleeping with some other random bastard by now if your damn brother didn’t-”

Suddenly, the breath in your lungs is knocked out as the back of your hips bumps against the counter, knocking over your glass of water.

Before you can discern whatever emotions are being evoked by his lack of awareness, the already minimal distance between the two of you closes as he smashes his lips against yours. It’s harsh. Fueled by hatred, it’s by no means a pleasant show of affection. It burns, sending sparks throughout your entire body as you sink into his touch, feeling the full force of the smallest of movements; he seems dangerously close to what you might describe as desperate.

Unable to fully process what’s happening, you only stand there, stock still.

Your eyes might fall out of its sockets with how wide they are.

He’s kissing you.

Astarion is kissing you.

And instinctively, your body, if for a split moment, kisses back.

What. The. Fuck.

Thankfully, you’re quick to realize what’s happening, and you abruptly shove him away, stumbling in the process. It seems he’s sobered up on his end because he appears just as shocked as you are, the blood staining his pretty lips being the only proof that the kiss did indeed happen. He blinks rapidly, first trying to take in your expression. You don’t think you’ve seen him this lost in ages. But that's not your concern right now.

He starts. “Darling, I–”

Your fist punches into his stomach, and he reels.

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