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staycalmandhugaclone · 5 days ago

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Fool's Errand Pt 11

Part (11) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

It is 1am. I stayed up waaayyy to late to finish this, but if I didn't get it out now, it would have to wait until Monday, and I really didn't want you make ya'll wait.

This one's a little rough, loves; so grab an emotional support cock(tail).

Btw - little aside! For anyone who no long wants to be tagged, feel free to shoot me a dm or you can submit another taglist just saying to be untagged. For those that want to be tagged, please remember to give me your tumblr name. I've received a few email addresses and several names that don't seemed to link up to anyone. Sorry, but there's not much I can do with that ❤️

Warnings: heavy into medical procedures; a lot of grief, guilt, thoughts of self-doubt; near-death experience; blood; gore; needles; cpr; body horror; eye injuries; profanity. I think that's is, but, As always, please let me know if I've missed tagging something!

WC: 3,867

I used to love forests. Agamar boasted a rich abundance of biomes, but the farmlands where I was raised were far from anything so wild; thus, the thought of finding myself lost in unending stretches of trees so tall and numerous as to grant an artificial night to those trapped within their shadow was mesmerizing in a way that forgave any thought toward what danger those shadows might conceal. I knew better now.

I’d lost Emmy while flying over a forest; the scent of campfire smoke dancing just beneath that suffocating tang of fuel. I’d nearly lost Tech to the dangerous fungus thriving in the rokna trees of Endor. And then my brother… No. Forests no longer held that tantalizing mystique. They were beautiful. And they were deadly. And, as I stood between two of the countless, towering trees mere meters from the still forms atop the ramp of the Marauder, I realized how much I’d come to hate them.

My entire body was shaking with adrenaline and fear and rage, wide eyes darting from the dark armor to the crying girl, pistol still clenched in her trembling hands.

“Sweetie… I need you to put down the gun. Okay?” I murmured, the thin vail of calm forcing my words into something far removed from the desperation simmering beneath them. Her gaze darted to the weapon held before her as though just as terrified to find herself still holding it as she was at the thought of letting it go.

“It’s okay. You’re okay. Just… just set it down.” I pressed, some ancient, feral instinct forbidding me from shouting at her hesitation. One hand slowly pulled away from the grip, but it was the other one that still had a finger pressed far too snugly against the trigger, and I wondered if she’d ever held a gun before.

“That’s good… You’re doing great… Look at me, honey.” I whispered, surprised at how quickly her attention snapped back to me. “It’s okay. Just put it down.” Her fingers began to loosen. The instant the weapon that looked far too large in her hands began to fall, I darted forward. I wanted to scream at her; to berate her for what damage she might have caused, for the delay her fear had forced between my men and the care they desperately needed, but I didn’t. I raced forward and instantly locked her to my chest, quiet shhh’s leaving on barely controlled breaths as I carried her rapidly into the ship, stopping only when the outside world was hidden by those worn, metal walls and quickly settled her atop Hunter’s bunk.

“Alright, baby; I want you to stay right here for me, okay?” It wasn’t quite an order, but it was far from a request, hands shaking as I swept the hair from her face to ensure she was looking at me. Snot covered her upper lip as tears flooded her cheeks, her entire body convulsing with sobs, but the small nod she managed in response was enough for me to quickly press my lips to her forehead before turning on my heel and sprinting back outside.

It was Hunter’s pistol. I kicked the damn thing inside if only to get it out of my way before dropping to my knees beside them, searching for signs of blasterfire or crushed plastoid or breath, and finding neither.

No. That wasn’t right. Crosshair’s torso was still shifting beneath short, jilted gasps. But Hunter…

“Hunter? Hunter, can you hear me?!” I didn’t wait for a reply I knew wasn’t coming as I struggled to untangle them, belatedly realizing he’d collapsed while carrying his brother up the ramp.

“Cross? Hey-hey, you with me?” I asked, begged as I eased him onto his back, but his body merely flinched with shallow breaths, faint grunts far too akin to whimpers catching on trembling lips. But he was breathing. He was hurt, but he was alive. My heart jolted as I quickly threw myself at Hunter, fingers slipping beneath the sharp notch of his jaw as my other hand quickly yanked at his helmet.

Numb. There’s a quiet that comes in moments like this, born of hard-learned necessity as even a taste of the emotions hiding just beyond the distant storm would bring with them doubt. Hesitation. And when even a second of such hesitation could be the difference between life and death, if takes very few mistakes to learn how to hide oneself in that quiet, to let hands move and thoughts rage with a careful detachment.

My body no longer shook as I wrestled the heavy chest plate from his limp form. I didn’t look at the deathly pale skin that gleamed beside the faded half-skull tattoo, nor at half-lidded eyes that were so violently wrong without laugh lines dancing at the corners or that brooding intensity as his mind raced to find solutions to impossible problems. In that moment, he was a number. He was a list of vitals and pre-existing conditions and a rapidly evolving treatment plan. He was patient 1, triaged and assisted and listed by priority, and if I held to that as I should have, I would have let him die, but I watched with a pointed lack of emotion as I finally freed him of that damned armor, his body falling back to the ramp with a thud I couldn’t bring myself to worry over in the wake of how wrong that stillness was.

It was a thoughtless action, the way my fingers twined together as my hands stacked atop each other above his chest. I needed to move them – both of them – out of the risk of enemy fire. Hell, I needed to move for that same reason; needed to get Hunter on level ground to maximize the efficiency of my compressions; needed to check for lung capacity and inevitably insert another chest tube; needed to see just how bad the chemical burns still eating into Crosshair’s eyes were and try to figure out some way to help him. I could still hear the girl crying and wasn’t surprised to see her standing at the very corner of the hallway, peaking out just enough to watch us, and I’d never felt so impossibly, irrevocably alone.

Curses spitting from my lips, I abandoned the half-completed count of compressions and threw myself to my feet. Couldn’t get deep enough… The tantalizing wealth of muscle I’d so shamelessly admired every time he’d see himself into my bed beneath the guise a massage that we both knew had nothing to do with pulled muscles or stiff joints, that breathtaking display of power that saw him so effortlessly through the endless missions and struggles of this war left his chest too stiff to readily yield beneath the too weak thrusts of my palms.

If I could get him inside – get him on a flat surface, then I could push harder, I could force his damn heart to beat and chase all threat of that encroaching chill from skin I so clearly remembered feeling like fire against mine.

“Honey, there’s a button on that interface, there. Can you press it – close the ramp?” I asked breathlessly as I began dragging Crosshair inside as well. A slightly louder groan caught in his throat making my heart drop. I barely noticed the girl dart forward, tiny hand nearly slamming onto the controls as movement returned to those long limbs.

“Shh, Cross, I’m right here, okay? I’m going to take care of you, but I have to help Hunter first.” If he heard me, if he heard the crippling apology that threatened to rend my breath into hiccuped gasps and rob me of that blessed detachment, he was too lost in a growing agony to offer any form of a response. My hand shifted beneath the desperate need to reach for him, to somehow ensure he knew I was there, but that would waste precious seconds I didn’t have, and I quickly spun back to Hunter, jaw tensing anew at the utter absence of life before me.

Airway. Breathing. Circulation. It was rote. Mindless. But something in me still died at how cold his lips felt against mine. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. And I nearly broke at how much effort it took to push even a whisper of breath into his lungs. Crosshair was starting to move, clawed hands reaching toward the black visor I only just realized was shattered, deep crackers spider-webbed across the dark crescent. If I looked, I could just make out slivers of skin between some of the larger cracks, but I couldn’t see enough to even guess toward the damage hidden within as I wrenched the medpack from my shoulders.

Hunter’s body rocked listlessly beneath the force it took to shove the chest tube between his lower ribs, expression void of the pain I’d never been so eager to see on his handsome face. What poured from the fresh wound was dark and thick and filled the small room with the heavy scent of copper and sick, and I refused to even look at it as I dragged the sheers down the front of his shirt, half ripping the fabric away in my haste.

I didn’t hesitate before arching my body over him and slamming my elbow into his chest, ignoring how the sound of ribs cracking beneath the strike was enough to make even Cross flinch, ruined helm shifting uselessly toward me for just a moment before that pain overruled his attention once more. My knee pads scrapped loudly against the metal grate as I pushed myself up enough to straddle Hunter’s waist, cupped hands returning to their position over his sternum.

“Crosshair… Cross, if you can hear me, you need to try to get that helmet off.” I panted, voice undulating with the rhythm of my entire body beating quickly against his brother’s chest. His head shifted again, the movement jerky and only barely noticeable, and I couldn’t imagine how the wet crunch, crunch, crunch that so perfectly marked the passage of time must have sounded in the dark, eyes surely blinded by whatever cruel thing had been used to cripple him.

“I know; I know, baby – I’ll help you as quickly as I can, but I need you to help, too.” I pressed on huffed, rapid breaths, relieved when his shaking fingers began groping at the rounded ridge following his jawline, but I couldn’t ignore how quickly that trembling was getting worse, the sound of air hissing through clenched teeth breaking between barely restrained groans that so wanted to be screams, and I realized that Hunter must have given him something stronger – something that managed to knock him out before I reached them, and it was rapidly fading.

But I couldn’t do anything for him. Not yet. Not until I finally managed to force some bit of life back into the man below me. Kriff, was I just wasting time? The longer I worked on Hunter, the more potential damage Crosshair suffered… I could only guess toward how much time had passed since his heart… how long he’d been down before I reached them… and the longer he’d been like this the greater the risk of…

No. No, no; I couldn’t think like that. Scowling at the way my hand was just beginning to shake again, I reached out to check for a pulse, straining to mediate my own breaths enough for me to actually feel for his heartbeat over the frantic racing of my own. Nothing… I quickly leaned down to push two more breaths into his lungs, wincing at the way his nose cracked slightly between my fingers as I pinched his nostrils shut.

“He’s… i-is he…” I could barely make out words through how shaky his breath was, and I instantly found myself wishing I hadn’t heard him at all.

“I’m doing everything I can for him, Crosshair; just focus on getting that helmet off, and I’ll try to get you more meds soon.” There was that careful detachment again, automatic response unhindered by the grief and panic I tried so hard to ignore.

“To-… told ‘im t… l-l’ve m…” I couldn’t think about the sob that robbed the strength from his voice, nor the hiccuped gasp that followed as his hands clawed over his ruined visor, my teeth grinding into the inside of my cheek to keep my own breath from breaking.

Still no pulse. The precious few seconds it took to dig into my bag once more made my skin crawl, some wretched whisper in the back of my head telling me everything that could go wrong, everything that I’d done wrong; that I wasn’t fast enough, strong enough; that I was killing him – that I was killing both of them.

Guilt made my stomach churn as a small drop of crimson marked where I’d nicked him with the razor as I rushed to clear enough hair for the electrodes. It was stupid. Such a tiny wound… and yet my eyes kept trying to return to it, as though I hadn’t just shoved a tube through his side, as though I hadn’t just broken several ribs to allow adequate compressions, as though the man beneath me wasn’t, by all medical standards, already dead.

The small device let out a warning trill, and I quickly jumped clear of him, waiting anxiously for the timer to finish. Hunter’s body seized beneath the violent surge of electricity, torso snapping up, spine locking in a tight arch. And then he crashed back to the metal grating, rocking listlessly from the momentum.

I didn’t wait for the AED to finish reassessing, fingers reaching for his throat the instant his back hit the floor. Whatever momentary lucidity had granted Crosshair the clarity of mind to mumble those heartbreaking words was gone, crushed beneath an agony no longer muted by whatever drugs Hunter had given him. His legs dragged uselessly against the metal beneath him, deep, keening groans occasionally breaking into a barked scream as he writhed in pain. And, still, there was no sign of life beneath my fingertips.

One more… I’d grant myself only one more moment of denial, one final attempt to bring him back…

“Dammit; come on, Hunter!” I didn’t mean to let the words escape me as I pounded against his chest. “Don’t you do this – don’t you kriffing dare do this!” I remembered the first time I’d performed CPR on a real person. “We need you, dammit! Come on!” The patient had already been pronounced. “Come back! Please, please, come back!” But residents were encouraged to “practice.” Knowing they were already dead, however, did nothing to relieve me of the sharp rush of adrenaline, the desperate urgency to somehow do better – be better… to save them… That knowledge did nothing to rid me of the consuming guilt of failure when I finally walked away.

I couldn’t silence the sob as I pressed my lips against his one last time, pushing the air from my own lungs into him with every unspoken plea and promise and curse forever forced into a silence I feared I’d regret until my heart stopped as well.

Something beeped. Doubt robbed me of recognition. Fear forbade me from even looking. Barely ten percent of patients come back from something like this. Some horrible, broken part of me had accepted his death the instant I’d realized he had no pulse, but denial had granted me the strength to try anyway. Now, that denial refused to let my eyes fall back to the small device connected to his chest, but Crosshair was screaming, and the Senator’s daughter was crying, and there was too much at stake for even a moment to be lost for something so useless.

Still, I couldn’t understand the dancing line steadily making its way across the monitor. I’d seen it countless times before, but…

My chest bucked in a sharp gasp, body finally remembering how to move. In an instant, I was at Crosshair’s side, hands grabbing at his in an enraging struggle to finally rip that damned helmet off.

“Crosshair! Cross, baby, I’m going to help fix it, but you – ugh! – you have to… stop… fighting me!” I grunted, finally trapping one of his hands beneath my arm long enough to grab the ruined bucket. His scream turned desperate the instant the light reached him, and my stomach dropped. The skin around his eyes was scalded, red and oozing, and how could I possibly give him any words of reassurance that might offer even a breath of comfort in the face of those wounds?

I offered no warning before jabbing a hypo against his neck. He didn’t notice it anyway, lips wrenched clear of teeth gnashing around hitched gasps and feral cries he couldn’t begin to restrain.

“I’ve got you, Cross.” I murmured as those frenzied movements began to fail, one arm wrapping around his back to help guide him carefully to the floor while the other snatched for my med scanner with some futile hope that it might be able to identify whatever toxin was searing into his flesh. “That’s it, love; just breathe for me; okay?” I wasn’t sure if the drugs helped, or if they merely left him too weak to thrash anymore, and I wanted to shout apologies until my lungs gave out, but I didn’t turn away from the small scanner, eyes quickly studying every word that scrolled across the screen before dropping it to snatch my comm.

“Tech! Wrecker! Do you copy?!” I shouted, already pushing myself to my feet and sprinting toward the medbay.

“Yeah,” Wrecker answered barely a second later. “They okay?”

“I’m working on that,” I nearly cringed at the exhaustion in my voice, but quickly moved on. “I need something to neutralize an acid. Are you in a position where you can look this over?”

“Do you have an approximate idea of what the substance is?” Tech asked, words breathless in a way that made my guilt spike. I shouldn’t have to ask them… I should be able to figure this out myself… but the chemical equation dancing across the scanner was far too complex for me to work through in time.

“I’m sending it now.” I replied, fingers already flying over the scanner to share the readout.

“Oh.” I wasn’t surprised to hear the dread in Wrecker’s voice, but if he recognized the chemicals, then there was hope that he knew how to safely wash it away. “Yeah… think I can tell yuh what yuh need.”

Tech didn’t interrupt him. This wasn’t hardware or trivia or anatomy. This was chemistry. And, while I wouldn’t have second-guessed a word the pilot may have said, Wrecker’s knowledge was a matter of passion. The same interplay of atomic bonds and volatile reactions manipulated to detonate a building could be used to form acids powerful enough to melt through entire ships, and I trusted his word without a moment’s doubt. Still, the time it took to prepare the solution was torture, and I couldn’t run back through the ship fast enough to begin to ease that crippling guilt.

He was barely moving when I got back, shivering body curled onto his side, one hand clutching at his eyes while the other was locked around Hunter’s arm, and I felt the tears threaten to suffocate me as I realized he was too disorientated to recognize the steady rhythm still singing from the small monitor, to understand that his brother was alive.

“Crosshair; hey-hey-hey, listen to me.” I murmured quickly, satchel of equipment dropping carefully to the floor as I rushed to his side. “He’s alright. Hunter’s alright, but I need to take care of you now.” If he heard me, he didn’t respond, and I didn’t waste additional time trying to explain.

My heart was racing, anticipation searing through my nerves like lightning. He wasn’t going to like this. Kriff, he wasn’t going to like this…

He barely flinched when I gently laid my hand on his forehead, but the instant the first drop of liquid touched his cheek, whatever illusion of weakness the meds granted was gone. His limbs lashed out in a frenzy of panicked rage, kicking himself away while his arms swiped toward me in a vicious attempt to push me back. Cursing, I spun out of his reach just long enough to regain my footing.

Any other day, I’d have no hope in holding him down, but the body can only withstand the degree of agony he’d been subjected to for so long before even his muscles began to fail, so when I pinned his arms at his sides, my own legs quickly wrapping around him in a powerful hold, I had just enough time to empty that first syringe entirely, flooding his face with the neutralizing fluid.

I knew it would burn at first, and my face twisted into a sympathetic scowl at the fresh cries of a hurt I couldn’t imagine ripping through his already raw throat, but by the time I was halfway through the second, his thrashing began to ease, jaw hanging open around sputtering coughs as he spat out what trace amounts of fluid accidentally slipped past his lips.

“Good.” I murmured, hand once more settled atop his brow in an effort to carefully keep him still. “I know; I know it hurts, but this is helping, right? It’s getting better?” I expected no response, and he offered none, but he didn’t need to. I could feel the tension slowly fading despite the occasional twitch and choked grunt.

“Honey, I need to help you open your eyes, now. I need to make sure we rinse all that gunk out.” I warned, and my heart ached at how quickly that tension returned. “I know, but we’ll go slow, okay?” Voice quiet, gentle in a way I could only hope he might understand, I whispered to him, thumb already moving to pull at his upper lid as my thighs tightened at the way his arms wrenched against me. His head thrashed, desperate to escape my touch, but I followed him with ease, relentless until a dozen empty syringes lay strewn about the cabin, tossed aimlessly that I might hurry on to the next.

“Almost done.” I breathed, but he’d already begun to fade, body only occasionally managing a weak flinch as I pushed the last of the solution over his other eye. That redness was still there, and only time would tell how well his eyes would heal… but the danger was over. I quickly coated the abused flesh in a generous layer of bacta before securing thick pads over his eyes with bandages.

They were alive. I could still see the steady rhythm of Hunter’s heartbeat scrawling atop the monitor beside him, and the cruel acid used to incapacitate Crosshair was neutralized. They were okay… Even the little girl had stopped crying, wide eyes watching me with an emotion I was far too exhausted to try to name as I staggered to my feet. Couldn’t leave them here… I’d get them to the medbay… get them settled… then I’d let myself breathe…

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kyleoreillylover · 1 year ago

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Protectors

Jey Uso x Sami Zayn x Fem!Reader

Summary: As the youngest on the roster, you are used to the protective antics of the older members of the WWE- specifically Jey and Sami, who took you under their wing and see you as their little sister, who deemed themselves as your protectors- despite you thinking you can take care of yourself. But tonight, after wanting to experience being a normal teenager and sneaking out to a party you get ditched and stranded at, you call them for help. And Jey is not happy with you.

A/N: This is very self-indulgent. Not that I get stranded at parties, but I wish Sami and Jey were some of my college besties, especially as a first year, and could comfort me, don't we all 🥹 Hope ya'll enjoy!!

tag list: @southerngirl41 @venusesworld @jeysbae @reci1996 @tbonesteakwithasideofmashngrav (if you wanna be added to the tag list just lmk!)

Word Count: 4,631

The rational part of your brain knew it was a stupid idea ever since your friends suggested it- you had to be stupid to not think that -but the irrational part of your brain wanted to finally act your age and have fun with the friends you barely saw ever since being called up and constantly on the road 300 days a year.

As a college student who also happened to be a WWE superstar and the hottest act on WWE.

And at a mere 18 years old.

Any other person your age would have jumped at the chance for a wild night out. And you finally wanted to live up to your age.

Which is why you didnt tell anyone on the roster that you were planning to attend the party. Sneaking out from the tour bus was easy enough, slipping away from the watchful eyes of your older colleagues who often acted as your guardians whenever you were on tour. You were grateful for their protectiveness, but tonight, you craved a taste of freedom, and you weren't gonna get that with them breathing down your necks.

But now, with the bitter cold air biting at your skin, and the distant sound of music fading behind you, you found yourself regretting your decision. You hadn't anticipated how quickly everything could turn sour. Your friends had scattered away a few hours ago to god knows where, leaving you stranded and uncomfortable in a sea of drunk idiots (there was no way you were trusting the drinks of a bunch of college boys) that were either trying to get in your pants or trying to get you into their friends’ pants.

And to make things worse-you got recognized. An over-zelous frat boy took one look at you from across the room and literally screamed out your name over the loud music, which in turn made his other over-zelous frat boy friends turn towards you with recognition in their drunken-hazed eyes and run over to you and wrap their sweaty arms around you and beg you for selfies, which in turn made everyone else realize you were there and do the same thing.

You quickly dipped before shit could hit the fan and managed to slip away and run far away from the house without anyone following you, but now you had no idea where you were, it was getting colder by the second, and you were nervous that a fan would eventually find you.

You navigated through dimly lit streets, shivering in the cold, desperately trying to remember the route back to the main road to get the hell out of here. The unfamiliar streets twisted and turned, leading you deeper into a residential neighborhood you didn't recognize. Panic began to well up within you as you realized you truly had no idea where the fuck you were going.

You groaned as as frustration mixed with the cold night air. You had two options now. Either suck it up and keep walking, hoping to stumble upon a familiar place with using google maps, or call one of your friends for help.

You started mentally weighing the pros and cons of each option to call. Cody was finally spending time with his family, you weren't close enough with Seth to ask him for help, Rhea would chew you up and spit you out for being this stupid and leaving without telling her, Bianca was spending time with Montez and busy dealing with Damage Control, Nia hated your guts…which left you with two options...

You reached for your phone, feeling the chill of the night biting at your fingertips as you dialed the numbers of the two people who you defineltey felt the most guilty about not telling about your plans because they were the closest to you and the most protective of you, but you had no choice now. The phone rang, each ring and every second you waited for an answer amplifying your anxiety.

After a few agonizing moments, the phone finally finally clicked, indicating that someone had picked up.

"Why the hell you calling at 1 am? I ain't getting you no food uce." Jeys groggy voice greeted on the other end of the line, sounding slightly annoyed at being awakened. "Hey...." You answered back nervously, knowing he'd be even more irritated.

"Jey, be nice." You heard Sami's equally tired voice chastise Jey. Sami was always the sweetest between the two of them, even though Jey was also syrupy sweet with you and being protective hell over you. Sami was always spoiling you despite Jey's teasing and gruff exterior. You were like the little sister they never had.

"But why are you calling at this time, kiddo? Shouldn't you be sleeping or something, all that teenage angst catching up to you?" Sami teased lightly.

You let out a nervous laugh, the sound slightly shaky from the cold, your breath visible in the chilly night air. "Uh, yeah, about that...I kind of need your help," you admitted, rubbing your arms in an attempt to generate some warmth.

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before Jey spoke up again, this time more alert. "What kind of help? What the hell you do?" Jey's voice was filled with concern yet tinged with a hint of scolding.

You let out another nervous laugh, knowing he was going to get more angry. "Don't get mad..."

"Don't get mad?" Jey's voice rose a notch, and you could practically hear the skepticism in his tone. "What. Did. You. Do?"

"Well, you see, I may or may not have snuck out to a party without telling anyone, and now I'm kind of lost in the middle of nowhere," you confessed immediately at his demanding tone, cringing at the admission.

There was a moment of silence, followed by a deep sigh from Sami. "You did what?!" Jey's disbelief was evident, and you could almost picture him running a hand through his hair, a habit he had when he was stressed or frustrated.

"I know, I know, but I called you now, shouldn't that count for something?" You babbled out in a rush to quell his frustations, your teeth chattering slightly from the cold.

Jey let out a frustrated growl. So much for quelling his rage. "You should've not done this shit in the first place, that would've counted for something! You know better than to do this shit-"

"Alright, alright, let's not make her feel worse than she already does." Sami interjected, his tone softer as he put a hand on Jey's shoulder, trying to calm his friend down. "We'll figure this out kiddo, okay? Just send us your location."

You quickly fumbled with your phone to send them your location- hoping they wouldn't notice you turned it off, but Jey's angry growl indicated that he probably caught on. "And you turned off your location, didn't you?" Jey's voice was stern, and you winced at the disappointment you could feel emanating from him.

"I...uh, didn't want anyone else to track me down," you admitted sheepishly, knowing it was a feeble excuse.

Sami sighed. "Look, just turn it back on so we can find you. We'll be there in a few minutes."

You followed Sami's instructions, turning on your location sharing. As you waited for them to arrive, you couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and anxiety. Relief that you wouldn't have to be in these cold, unfamiliar streets alone and would have company soon and anxiety about facing the inevitable lecture from Jey and Sami.

True to their word, Jey and Sami showed up shortly, wearing sweatpants and hoodies, looking more like they were ready to sleep than to show up and get you.

Jey's face was etched with anger, disappointment, and concern, while Sami's held a more understanding and sympathetic look, but also had a tinge of disappointment in his face. They both stepped out of their car, and Sami pulled you into a tight, protective hug. The warmth from his hoodie was a stark contrast to the chilly night air, and you couldn't help but sigh in relief.

"Are you okay?" Sami whispered, concern evident in his voice as he pulled away to examine you. You were wearing a low cut black dress that was definitely not suitable for the cold weather, and Sami's worry deepened as he noticed your shivering.

"I'm fine, just cold," you replied, trying to brush off the concern, but the chattering of your teeth betrayed your attempt.

Jey, who had been standing there with his arms crossed, finally spoke up, walking over to you and giving you a jacket."We're taking you back to the bus. This was a stupid idea, and you should know better. Now get in the car."

You nodded solemnly, slipping into the jacket, but Sami frowned at Jeys stern tone. "You don't have to yell at her, Jey. She's already scared and cold." Sami shot Jey a disapproving look that Jey shot right back at him. "Then what the hell am I supposed to do, Sami? Be happy like you that she's almost a grown ass adult that decided to play hide and seek in the middle of the night in some random neighboorhood?"

Your frown turned into a glare as you looked between them, understanding where Jey was coming from but nonetheless still hurt by his words. "You're right. I am an adult, so I shouldn't have to listen to you yell at me like I'm a child," you retorted, crossing your arms defensively.

Jey scoffed, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, your such an adult that you got yourself lost in the middle of the night," he muttered under his breath, but Sami shot him another warning look.

"Enough, Jey. Yelling at her won't change what happened. Let's just get her back to the bus and talk about this when we're all in a warmer, less public place," Sami suggested, guiding you towards the car.

You were about to go into the car, but a voice yelling out your name made you freeze in your tracks. "Y/N!!" The three of you turned to see a big ass frat boy running towards you, phone in hand, with a wide grin on his face.

"You didnt listen to me ask you for a selfie earlier!" he exclaimed, clearly still drunk. "So now that I finally found you, are you done being a bitch and will take a selfie with me?" He barely finished his sentence before Jey grabbed the collar of his shirt and lifted him off the ground, a low growl escaping his throat.

"You need to learn some damn manners, you fucking fool!" Jey snarled, his grip tightening on the guy's shirt. "You talk to her like that again I'ma stick my foot up your ass and make sure you can't talk at all, uce."

"Jey, let him go!" Sami intervened, trying to pry Jey's fingers off the frat boy. You watched, wide-eyed, as the frat boy stammered out an apology, fear etched across his face as Jey chocked the life out of him. "Nah, he gotta learn to keep his fucking mouth shut!" Jey's grip tightened on his throat as he pushed him against a nearby car. "You wanna talk that shit to her, you deal with the consequences, uce." Jey's tone was deadly serious, and the frat boy nodded frantically, struggling to catch his breath.

"Jey, seriously, let him go. We don't need trouble," Sami pleaded, still attempting to calm his friend down.

"Jey please, let him go. We don't need you getting suspended for hurting a fan over me." Your voice softened as you approached, placing a gentle hand on Jey's arm. He turned to you, his expression still filled with anger but softening slightly at your touch. He listened to you and released the frat boy, who stumbled backward, coughing and trying to regain his composure.

"Get lost," Jey growled at the frat boy, who nodded vigorously before stumbling away, casting frightened glances over his shoulder.

Sami shot Jey a disapproving look, but Jey just shrugged it off. "You didnt have to fight him. You could've just ignored him," Sami scolded gently, shaking his head at Jey's temper.

"I ain't gonna let anyone disrespect her like that, Sami. You know that." Jey replied, still seething but slightly more composed now. You took a step closer to Jey, looking up at him with a mix of fear and love in your eyes. "Thank you, Jey. I'm sorry for causing all this shit." You looked away from him guiltily, not waiting for a response as you crawled into the car, missing the way Jey sighed heavily, his anger slowly dissipating as he met Sami's gaze, who was giving him a knowing look. "Lemme guess, now you are feeling bad and wishing you listened to me?"

Jey sighed again, running a hand through his hair in frustration. 'I fucking know, okay? I shouldn’t have blown up on her like that." Jey admitted gruffly, his voice laced with guilt.

Sami placed a reassuring hand on Jey's shoulder. "I know, man. But now, let's bring her back to the bus, make sure she's good, and then you can talk to her, okay?”

Jey nodded a mix of concern and remorse on his face as he got into the drivers seat, Jey's grip on the steering wheel tight and Sami sitting quietly beside him, occasionally shooting concerned glances at you in the backseat, where you were shrunken back into your seat, scrolling on your phone to avoid the tense vibes in the car.

The silence was thick, only broken by the occasional sigh from Jey and the sound of Sami shifting in his seat. You glanced up from your phone just in time to see you pull up to the tour bus.

As soon as the car stopped, you hurriedly exited, hoping to avoid the tension inside. You were met with the chilly night air once again, and you wrapped the jacket tighter around yourself, then felt anther arm wrap around you and looked up to see Sami by your side. He gave you a gentle squeeze, silently comforting you as you stood there, feeling the cold night air prickling against your skin. "You'll be okay," he murmured softly.

As you turned to head towards the tour bus, you noticed Jey lingering behind. His expression seemed torn between frustration and worry, his hand running through his hair as if he was battling an internal struggle. His eyes met yours briefly before he turned away, heading towards the bus after you and Sami, making your heart drop in guilt.

You sat down on the couch, pulling the jacket closer around you, trying to shake off the chill that had seeped deep into your bones, the heat emanating from the tour bus a welcome relief. You glanced up as Sami settled down next to you, offering a warm smile in an attempt to ease your n nerves as Jey stomped to the kitchen, his movements tense and agitated. He was trying to mask his concern with a facade of indifference, but it was evident in the way he kept glancing in your direction.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, breaking the silence, your voice barely audible. Sami's face softened at the sadness in your face. "I didnt mean to make you guys scared, or worry you both, or try to prove that I am independent. I just wanted to have fun for once."

Sami gently placed a hand on your shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze.

"It's okay, kiddo. We understand that. But you have to realize, sneaking out alone wasn't the safest way to have fun," Sami replied, his voice calm and understanding. "Jey and I were worried sick when you called. You are like our little sister, and we care about you, and we want you to be safe."

You nodded, feeling guilt weighing heavily in your chest. "I know, and I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to cause so much trouble."

Sami paused for a moment, his gaze sympathetic and filled with concern. "I know. And I know the pressure can be overwhelming, trust me, I can barely handle it and I am twice your age. But are you not having fun? Are you not happy with Raw and Smackdown? I don't want you to crack under the pressure this young just because you feel like you have to prove something to yourself or others."

You sighed softly, feeling a mix of relief and guilt wash over you. "I am, Sami. I really am happy when I'm with you guys. I'm happy with everyone. I am happy with me life. It's just... sometimes I feel like I'm missing out on being a regular teenager. Everyone else my age is out having fun, and I'm constantly on the road, living this extraordinary life but missing out on ordinary things."

Sami's expression turned into an understanding and his eyes had a pensive glint in his eyes as he pulled you into a tight hug. "I get it, kiddo. I do. I know how tough it is, but I also know that you're strong enough to handle it. You accomplished so much that others can only dream of doing, and youre being a badass while dong it."

You giggled softly at Sami's attempt to lighten the mood, and he smiled back, happy to have finally made you turn back to your normal self. "But you shouldn't be worrying about what you are missing, you should be proud of what you've achieved. You're not missing out on life; you're living it differently, and that's okay."

You smiled into his neck, his words and warm embrace being exactly what you needed. Sami was always so sweet to you. "I needed to hear that. Thank you, Sami.”

Sami pulled back slightly, giving you a warm smile. "Anytime, kiddo. Besides, who else would I be able to spill drama and gossip about with you're not here? Sami chuckled softly, trying to lighten the mood further.

You giggled again, nudging Sami playfully. "You have Jey to gossip with."

Sami laughed heartily, the sound echoing through the bus. "Ah, he's got his moments too, but you know, you're the one who keeps things interesting around here."

The two of you turned towards the kitchen when you heard a clang, seeing Jey, rummaging through the fridge with unnecessary force, his back tensed.

Sami turned back to you, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Look, we'll talk more, but I think Jey needs a moment. He's just worried about you, and it's his way of showing it. He needs you more than I do right now."

You nodded your head understandingly at Sami's words; Jey might've had a hard exterior, but underneath all that he needed you right now, needed to make sure you were safe.

"I'll go talk to him," you said softly, standing up from the couch. Sami gave you an encouraging nod as you walked over to Jey, who had his back turned to you, who was aggressively fixing things in the kitchen. You approached him cautiously, knowing he was on edge.

"Jey?" You spoke softly, hoping to get his attention without startling him. You saw his back stiffen, but he didnt turn around. You took a deep breath and continued, knowing he was listening to you. "I'm really sorry about what happened tonight. I didnt mean to worry you or cause any trouble. I just wanted to..." You trailed off, unsure how to express your feelings without making things worse.

Jey finally turned to face you, his eyes red and tired, but full of concern. He didnt say anything at first, just observed you with a mix of emotions flickering his face. His expression softened slightly as he took in your nervous stance, and he let out a heavy sigh.

"Look sweetheart," Jey began, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the frustration lingering underneath. "I ain't mad at you because I wanna ruin your night or make you feel bad. I'm mad because I care about you. We care about you.

He gestured toward where Sami was sitting, still looking in your direction. "You mean a lot to us, and seeing you like that.." He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "You're not supposed to be sorry, you know? You're supposed to be safe and sound, not running around in the middle of the night and scaring the hell out of us. And you like my sister, so of course I'ma feel some typa way about it."

You felt your throat close up at the genuine concern in Jey's voice. You moved closer to him, reaching out tentatively to touch his arm. "I... I understand, Jey. I didn't mean to cause so much worry. I just... I wanted to let loose for a night, to feel like a regular teenager, " you admitted, your voice wavering slightly with emotion. “I won't do something stupid like that again, I promise." You looked up at him, sincerity shining in your eyes.

Jey's expression softened at your words, and he sighed, pulling you into a hug. "You better not, or I'ma beat your ass," he said, his tone serious but laced with affection. You giggled into his neck when he lifted you up slightly in a bear hug, your laughter easing the tension between you both. "Okay, okay, I promise! No more sneaking out without telling anyone," you assured him, hugging him back tightly.

"And no more partying alone somewhere you have no idea about."

"Okay!"

"And no more hanging out with friends that ditch you."

"Okay!!"

"And no more stealing my snacks from my locker room when I go out for a match."

"Aye, now you doing too much!"

You both chuckled at your comment, and you pulled away from the hug to look up at Jey.

"I love your protective ass, you know that?"

Jey smirked slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. "Of course you do. Who else is gonna keep you in check, huh?" You nudged him playfully, smiling up at him. "You and Sami are the best. I don't know what I'd do without you guys."

Jey's smirk softened into a genuine smile, and he squeezed your arm affectionally. "We got your back, always. Just promise me you'll have ours."

You smiled back at him, your eyes softening with gratitude at having the greatest support system ever. "I promise, Jey. I'll always have your back, just like you have mine."

Jey nodded, a sense of relief washing over him, his demeanor shifting back to his usual protective yet playful self. "Good. Now go back and sit with Sami, your hot chocolate will be out in a minute."

You raised your eyebrows at his words, a grin creeping up on your face. "Hot chocolate? You're spoiling me now, Jey," you teased, feeling a sense of warmth spread through you despite the chilly air outside.

Jey chuckled, pushing you playfully out of the kitchen. "Yeah, yeah, just go before I change my mind."

You grinned and hurried back to the couch where Sami was waiting, a smile on his face as he watched your interaction with Jey. "I take it everything's okay?" Sami asked softly as you sat back down next to him.

"Yeah, everything's good," you replied, leaning against Sami's shoulder. "Jey's just being Jey, you know?"

Sami nodded, wrapping an arm around your shoulders comfortingly. "Yeah, I can tell." He paused for a moment before continuing, his voice filled with warmth. "Jey may not always show it in the best way, but he's fiercely protective because he cares deeply. We both do. You're like family to us."

You smiled gratefully, feeling a surge of emotion at Sami's words. "I'm lucky to have you guys. Don't tell anyone, but when I got called up to the main roster… I was scared. I didnt know anyone, and everyone was so much older and experienced, so I thought to just shut myself off and focus on wrestling. But you guys… you made me feel welcome, like I belonged."

Sami's smile widened at your confession. "Aw, kiddo." He pulled you into his arms again, holding you close. "You fit in right from the start. I saw potential in you from before Cody introduced us, and I knew you'd be something special. You've proved that and more. And don't tell Jey I told you this…"

Sami leaned in to your ear conspiratorially. "But he told me when we first met you that he thought you were the most talented person he had seen in a while, and that it was crazy NXT didn't capitalize on you when they had the chance." Sami pulled back to see the surprised expression on your face, chuckling softly at it.

"He really said that?" You asked, surprised and touched.

Sami nodded, his smile warm and reassuring. "Yeah, he did. But don't spill the beans, he has a reputation to maintain." You laughed as you leaned back onto the couch, smiling up at Sami gratefully. "Thank you for telling me that. And don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

Just then, Jey came into the room, carrying three mugs of steaming hot chocolate. He handed each of you a mug and settled into the seat across from you, a small smile on his face. "Here you go, kid. Don't burn your tongue," he said in a teasing tone.

You rolled your eyes at his teasing, taking a cautious sip of the hot chocolate, reveling in its warmth. "Thanks, Jey. This is perfect," you said, shooting him a grateful smile.

Jey leaned back in his seat, taking a sip of his drink and shooting a knowing look between you and Sami. "So, what'chall taking 'bout?" he asked casually.

You and Sami exchanged glances before chuckling nervously. The two of you were the worst liars on earth. "Oh, nothing, just catching up on some stuff," Sami replied smoothly, trying to cover up the conversation.

Jey raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Ya'll were talking bout me, weren't you?"

You were a little worried Jey had caught on, but Sami was quick on his feet. "Of course not, man. Why would we talk about you when we have more important things to discuss?" Sami flashed a mischievous grin.

Jey squinted at Sami, clearly not convinced. "I know when you're lying, Sami. spill it."

You chuckled nervously, deciding to take the plunge. "We were just talking about this hot guy from school hitting on me at the show one time." you said, trying to divert the conversation with a playful grin.

Jey raised an eyebrow, looking between you and Sami skeptically. "Hot guy, huh? Should I be worried?" he teased, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

Sami laughed, playing along. "Oh yeah, definitely. He was so into her, it was unreal. I had to swoop in and save her from his charming ways," Sami joked, nudging you lightly.

You giggled, grateful for Sami's quick thinking. "Yeah, Sami's my hero," you said with a wink, trying to keep a straight face.

Jey chuckled, shaking his head at your antics. "Yeah, in your dreams, cause ain't no way mans took a look at Sami and got intimidated." Jey smirked, taking another sip of his drink. You laughed at the offended look Sami wore, his hand over his heart in mock hurt.

And as you sipped your warm hot choclate, your heart felt even warmer. You might not have been a regular teenager, but if being a regular teenager meant you couldn't have these friends looking out for you and having your back, then you didn't mind missing out on regular teenage normalcy at all.

BONUS

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everythingelseisextra · 1 year ago

Text

No Harm

Part Twenty: Scar Tissue

Part Nineteen of Twenty-One Description: I don't know how to describe it without spoiling it. Just trust me and read it (if you can handle the trigger warnings. Don't push yourself if you don't want to) Warnings: references to rape, heavy implications of sexual assault, copious blood, violence, possibly bad writing (we'll see what ya'll think), references to drugging/drug use, PTSD, unedited, no children reference Word Count: 6234 Tag List:

@theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @dreamy-caramel @ce1iat @algae-tm @dragonsondragons @trentknd @nothingofsimplicity @babayaga67 @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28 @look-at-the-soul @notalxx @chaengist @cookiez56-blog @skxawngs @h0neylemon

But come here, fear.

I am alive and you are so afraid of dying.

Joy Harjo- I Give You Back

You are an animal.

Terrified, backed into a corner, tearing out your own hair, hissing and spitting and trembling. There’s blood dripping from broken skin, bruised, and handprints on your wrists, your neck, your hips.There’s a throbbing burn branded onto your neck, which will be used to identify you, if you were to escape again. There are no clear thoughts in your mind, just the primal terror of reliving a twisted childhood, of your body abused and used for the pleasure of men who laugh when you scream. Aching pain shoots through you with every breath, left over from the fight, from the battle you lost, from the autonomy you had no choice but to let them steal. It took four of them to hold you down.

The date-rape drug they administered slowly wears off, and you know that, soon, there will be a man. Or two, or three, that’ll enter this room where you sit with your legs curled up to your chest and your back pressed against the joint of two walls, and take you as they want. You know this. You know that most ‘clients’ want the women conscious, but not enough to fight. You know that, once it’s over, they’ll send you back into that drowsy, paralyzed state, or, worse, get you hopped up on cocaine or some other upper, so that you rely on them, so that you can’t leave.

You don’t think about why you did this. You don’t think about the man you love, that you saved, you don’t think about the boy and the maid, the innocents. You don’t think about how they could’ve fought for you, would’ve fought for you to the grave, until everything around them was burnt to the ground, just to keep you safe. You don’t think about how, either way, there would’ve been a sacrifice. Your mind is static that you cannot hear through, and you are small, so small, insignificant compared to the great, monstrous fear that steals you from your body and sits you on your own shoulder to watch the violence take place. Once again, your skin grows far too thick for your soul, your consciousness, and all the pain echoes out towards emptiness, not towards you.

You would like to be able to make something beautiful out of this, to twist your suffering into something bright and bold and brilliant, but you can’t. Some things are just too dark to reflect brilliance. Some things absorb the light you try to bring to them.

There’s no light in this room. You blink blankly through the darkened space, the bed next to you cleansed from its last bloody usage. From beneath the closed bathroom door, some light shines, flickering from a candle inside, lit to fend off the scent of sweat and sex and terror. False sweetness wafts out to you, your curled body still shaking. Your senses don’t seem to be working, shut down by the pure overwhelm, your eyes wide but unseeing. But, still, every little noise, every footstep in the hallway, every creak of the wooden floors, every murmur of voices through the thin walls sets you on fire, your whole body tensing, so scared it’s painful.

You don’t believe in God, but you pray anyway. Some part of you, beyond the static, moves your lips in soundless begging. You want to die before it happens again. You want the pain to stop, and you want to feel clean again, to feel whole and free, like you did before. Before this.

Your eyes flick to the bathroom door, the light shimmering at the crack on the bottom. Chills slide down your back and you shiver as the faint sound of someone trying keys in the lock on your door reaches you. You only have a moment.

You stand on trembling legs and stride awkwardly over to the bathroom, your body flaring in too many places for you to truly feel all of them. Inside, sitting serenely on the vanity table across from the standing tub, the candle burns inside a glass casing. You blink at it, a twisting of emotions squeezing your guts in your abdomen. It feels like mercy.

You lift the candle and, quickly, as the door opens behind you, crack the glass on the tub. A shard falls into it, and you reach down wildly to grab it and hold it up. Thick, sharp. You glance down at the candle, and, for good measure, throw it at the wall behind you, hoping, praying, that the fire catches. That the other women hidden in this hotel are given the chance to run free, perhaps from one tragedy to another, perhaps not even. Perhaps the only thing you’ll be given them is a way out of their hell, a slow, melting death, or a look at the night sky before being brought back into captivity.

Then, slowly, you creep out of the bathroom, the blade of glass held in one hand, the edges cutting into your palm. There, standing in the darkness, silhouetted by the light of the bathroom, is a large, looming man, his eyes on you. He steps back, looking to the door, and opens his mouth, about to sound the alarm. In that moment, something in you switches. You change from prey to predator, from victim to inflictor, from slave to slaver. With two quick steps, you clear the distance between you and lunge at him, one fluid movement, and send the shard of glass into the one target you can fully see; his eye. He howls as you shove it into the socket, trying to shatter it inside of his eye. Hands grab at you and you find yourself being thrown bodily to the ground. You look up to see him lumbering around, one hand tearing at the glass in his eye, the other reaching out to support himself on one of the walls.

You skitter backwards, dragging your exhausted body across the ground like a woman possessed like the old days, and retreat once more into the bathroom. There, a fire blooms, bright and undying, licking up the corner of the room and eating at the wooden walls. You reach into the bathtub and grab as many shards of glass as you can, holding them to your chest like you would a baby, cradling them as they cut into your skin. Now armed, you stand, look out into the room where light now floods from the open front door. More men.

You tear out of the bathroom, a wild thing bewitched by the need to survive and self-defend, and take one of the shards of glass in your dominant hand, wielding it like you’ve known your whole life how to kill. Which, in a way, you have.

There are two men in the room. The first comes at you, his hand going to a holster on his hip, and you react without thinking. You throw your entire body weight on him, pushing him to the ground with a running start, and, suddenly, you’re hacking at his face with the glass. It breaks into pieces in your hand, but you don’t feel the pain, don’t feel the slivers sliding deeper into your skin.

The second man grabs your shoulders and pulls you back, shouting something you don’t understand, and, suddenly, you’re underneath him, his fist drawn back. He must’ve missed the glass held to your chest, for you grab one and stab up blindly. His fist comes down on your face regardless and your nose cracks; he hits hard and fast. You scream, a feral sound, and, as he draws his fist back a second time, you stab again, and this time, you meet your mark.

He falters, and you take the opportunity to slip out from underneath him and start for the door, only to slow to a stop at the sight of the first man with the ruined face, twitching with a pool of blood around him on the ground. The fire crackles behind you, beginning to spread outwards, and you make your decision. Scampering over to him, you kneel down and rummage through his clothes, looking, seeking, trying to find it. Your hand lands on cold metal and you yank.

You stare down at it, then look up as the second man stumbles towards you. A shard of glass sticks out of his abdomen, blood dripping around it, his white dress shirt dyed, and, before you think about it, before you consider the consequences, you smile, point, and pull the trigger.

He drops, and so do you, unused to the recoil. You rise quickly, your chest roaring with pain, and stumble to the doorway. Your nose throbs and blood cascades down your front, but you wipe at it with the back of your hand and steady on. The fire follows you, loyal and tame for now, but soon to become a monster, a cruel, mindless killer.

Shouts fill the hallway; they heard your gunshot. Hoping against hope that you have enough ammo to fight your way through, you start down the hallway, choosing to go left at the chance that, maybe, that’ll lead to an entrance. And hoping that you don’t find yourself in a deadend.

You breathe slowly, trying to calm your pounding heart. You’re the one with the gun. You fought your way out of your cage and are out, wild once more, prepared to fight again and again to keep your freedom. Or, if not, if you find yourself in a corner once again, you’re the one with the gun. You can take yourself out, if that’s what it takes, if that’s what you must do to keep yourself out of entrapment.

Up ahead, a group of men wander out of an opening to your left, and your heart sinks. Too many of them. Far too many of them for you to take down on your own. Even if they’re not affiliated with the slavers, you stand out, blood dripping down your body, glass shards stuck out of your hand, arm, and bits of your chest. You put your head down and fall still, closing your eyes for a moment, then, slowly, you look up.

What does one do, then, when facing a goliath? What do you do when you’re scared senseless, pushed far beyond what any person should have to endure? What do you do when you know you can’t win, when you know it’s a losing battle, when you know the other side won’t listen to your screams?

What has humanity always done, when we face the impossible? When we looked to the room and wished to land in the stars. When Gods clashed and people sobbed, when David faced his opponent with next to nothing to defend himself with? When wars ravaged the world and dreamers died and the sky met the sea in a flare of raging fire?

What do we do when the surrender is obvious, but hope still lives?

We fight.

Tooth and nail, we fight. Until the end, when there’s nothing left to fight for, we clash and refuse to go quiet into that good night. We rage against the will of fate and show it that the human heart endures more than anything anyone could possibly imagine. We scream into the face of God and tell them to try us one more time, try again, see what happens.

We fight.

And so will you.

You let out a breath, and you savor it, and for a moment, you belong to yourself again. For a moment, you’re so wrapped up in ferocity and hope and despair that you claim your body back. And you will not let it die here, and you will not let it be taken back.

Your younger self stands in the fire behind you, watching as you walk slowly towards this group of men, blinking up at you with terrified eyes as you stand and protect her, as you fight for the freedom she never got to have, as you give back all the terror and confusion and awful, horrific pain that you felt growing up. Your younger self will watch as, one way or another, you find deliverance.

You hold the gun up, aim, and prepare to pull the trigger as the first man sees you. His eyes widen and his lips move and they fall still, staring back at you in silence. Some of their gazes drop to the ground. Some of them step back. And others simply watch you, quiet and soft, with simple looks of respect on their faces.

You pause, your finger resting on the trigger. The first man slowly shakes his head, then, glancing at the others, slowly leans down and places his weapon on the ground in front of him. A surrender. The others follow suit, almost seeming to bow to you as they place their guns on the floor. The first one looks over to you once more, chest rising and falling slowly, as if in a sigh or meditation.

You won’t drop your weapon. You won’t give up the only thing you have to protect yourself. You won’t give away your liberty so easily. What does it say about the world you live in that the only way to earn your autonomy is to carry a gun? What does it say about you that you have to fight so viciously to keep yourself safe? Were you simply chosen to be this rabid dog, this creature with claws and teeth, this monster? Or is this what it means to be alive?

But you lower it, just slightly, to try to meet his eyes. A tremble shoots through you, then another, and suddenly you’re shuddering, the adrenaline you had slowly running out. Your injured body wants badly to give out, to crumple to the ground and surrender. But you can’t. You sway on your feet, your shaking body unstable, and catch yourself. Your head hangs again, but you stare up through your hair to face them.

“We’re friends,” the first man says, stepping towards you.

You shake your head and stumble back towards the fire, lifting the gun again. Crackling heat flickers on your back, and warms the aching muscles that whine relentlessly.

“We’re sent by Tommy. By Alfie.” He speaks to you softly, in the same voice you use to soothe a spooked horse. “We’re friends. We need you to come with us. You’ve made our job a whole lot easier.”

You find yourself stepping back again, and the heat grows harsher, almost painful on your bones. It brings light to the shards of glass stuck in your body, tiny fires shining in them, and you think that, if you were to die, burning would be suitable. Your whole life, you think, you’ve been burning one way or another. One way or another, you’ve been alight.

“Please.” He puts his hands up, palms facing you, trying to show himself to be weaponless, free of anything that could harm you. “Let us help you.”

Again, you shake your head. You’ve seen how these men coerce women into their trust. You’ve seen the soft words and casual conversation, the charm and the chivalry, the humor. You’ve seen others get drawn into this underground hell you’ve known for too long. And you’ve seen how easy it is for them to seem so kind, so easy-going, so helpful.

You will not be manipulated.

He glances back at the other men, who watch him warily, then he raises a hand and sends them off with a swift gesture. They turn and walk away, leaving him standing alone.

You, surrounded by fire, and him, at the end of the wooden hallway. Darkness and light. You can’t let him win, even if it means being consumed.

“I— I don’t want to use force, but I will.” He steps towards you again.

Your jaw tightens and you raise your gun again, staring over it at him, ready to pull the trigger at any sign of him moving closer. It’s a broken kind of fear you feel, that forces you to hurt others. Kill or be killed.

“Please. Please. I know— They told me that you like horses, right?”

You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue, second-guessing every word he speaks.

“Right, well, Tommy had them taken care of yesterday, he said Iris is improving, I— I don’t know, please. Please come with me.”

At the name of the horse, you lower your gun. They look into the women they take, yes, but they would have no way of finding out the gray horse’s name unless it came straight from you or Tommy. No one else was there to witness his naming, no one else was there to know he was given to you in such a way.

“Yes. Yes. It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. We won’t hurt you. Just— we’ll get you out of here. We’ll do our jobs and then we can all go home, right? We can all go home.” He steps towards you once again. “Just put the gun down. You don’t need it. You won’t need it.”

You shake your head, your shaking hand tightening on the grip of the gun. There’s a heart beating in your throat and a shuddering sensation running through your muscles, like you’re about to collapse.

“Okay. Okay, you can keep the gun, just— let’s go, okay? Let’s just go.”

The fire surrounds you. You step forward, shying away from the extreme heat, and before you give yourself full permission, you’re moving towards him. You hold the gun up, the barrel pointing at his chest, an extra precaution to soothe your staticky mind. He nods and backs away, still facing you, then, after a moment, he turns and starts down the hallway.

It’s a winding, maze-like building. You were brought in fighting, squirming and biting and scratching, doing anything you could think of to keep them off of you, out of you. You don’t remember the way out. For all you know, he could be leading you somewhere where he can keep you trapped, keep you compliant. He could be leading you to an ambush, where they’ll take you across the country and hide you somewhere you’ll never be found.

Instead, you find yourself passing wooden doors, and seating areas, and even a phone sitting on a small table, and then, finally you end in the lobby. There’s people pushing to get out the door, trying to escape the fire you started, their shouts and exclamations filling the small room. The man in front of you pauses, then steps sideways, out of your way, to allow you a view of the full room. You expect to see the group of men who you’d seen before, but, instead, you find cold blue eyes locked onto you. In front of the chaos of people shoving out the door, dead still despite the racket and riot, he stands and watches you, expressionless, as if painted, frozen in a moment. And you stare back, trembling, still a creature of panic and violence. The room around you seems to fall silent, the rush of people flooding out slows. Your pain throbs. Your vision blurs. You shake. Red blood drips from your wounds and stains you from the lives you’d taken in a feral, terrified mania. And there isn’t a drop on him, no sign of a fight on his end, just a pristine blue three-piece suit.

A lump forms in your throat. You take a deep, shaking breath and watch fearfully as he approaches you, his steps slow, his eyes on you, trying to read the expression on your battered and blood-covered face.

Before he reaches you, there’s a gunshot, and all the motion and sound comes avalanching back onto you. Tommy stumbles, falling momentarily to one knee before staggering back to his feet. He turns to face the men who stand at the other entrance to the lobby, one of which holds the gun that shot the bullet that ripped through his shoulder, for the second time in two days.

Now there’s blood on him, soaking the fabric into a deep, liquid purple. Your hand grips the gun in your hand and there’s a burning sensation in your veins, in your muscles, in your mind, propelling you to step forward and fight for him, but the moment is gone, and the man with the gun is speaking.

“Put your hands above your head, and we’ll talk.” He gestures with his gun, moving it upward in a fashion that doesn’t beg for questions.

Tommy does as he says, slowly moving his hands upwards. “There are men who have orders to return here if—”

“Then we better make this quick.” He smiles a toothy grin. “We know where you live, Mr. Shelby. There are men positioned at your property, ready to trigger an explosion that’ll wipe your home off the map. You leave here, call off your men, and we’ll do the same. No one will need to know what happened here. Or…” he tilts his head. “Or we let you take that monster of a woman, and you get halfway home before you find yourself dead in hell, where you belong.”

Tommy’s hand is pressed down on his injured shoulder, trying to stem the blood that gushes wetly. “That’s quite the plan you have.”

His words come unbothered, unworried. Casual, almost.

“You have a choice. Make it now.”

Tommy nods and opens his mouth to speak, but, as he does so, footsteps behind you steal your attention. You whip around and find two women, dressed as staff of the hotel. Your eyes flick over them, and your heart skips a beat. There’s bruises hidden beneath their sleeves, a pallid, drawn look to their faces. Eyes wide and pupils blown large, it’s clear they’re not fully aware of their situation, perhaps new, perhaps too drugged to be lucid.

You speak for the first time since you were taken. “Go. Go now. They’re distracted.”

They stare at you blankly, then look at each other. One of them, a young, pixie-ish woman, nods and speaks in a language you don’t understand. The other nods back, and the younger one looks to you again..

“You should come with us,” she says, voice faint and accented. “Come. While you can.”

You shake your head, looking back at Tommy, who wavers where he stands, face paler than usual. Losing too much blood. “I can’t. You go. I’ll be okay.”

“For a man?” She scoffs. “You’re as stupid as we were.”

“No,” you murmur. “You were never stupid.”

After a moment of silence, they pass by you, heads ducked, heading for the door. Your attention turns back to Tommy, and you realize with horror that he’s been stalling, waiting for something that might never happen, for the time to come for the men to return.

He hasn’t learned the way you have that no one, no one, is ever coming to save you. You have to do it yourself.

And, worse still, you see him fall to his knees, unable to hold himself up any longer, too dizzy from pain and blood loss. Without thinking, you walk slowly, languidly, and step in front of his knelt form, a shield between him and the men. You look up at them, find their eyes on you, and smile faintly. The gun is warm in your hand.

There’s laughter from a few of them, while others move towards the door, bored with the interaction. Disorganized, you think wearily. There’s probably no one at Arrow House. There’s probably no danger for Charlie or Frances. But you can’t bet on probably.

So, instead, you make a gamble of your own. “Liszt is coming.”

The quiet laughter goes silent. You hold your gun up, consider it, then, slowly, you hold it to your own head. The barrel presses into your hair and skin, warm. Beneath you, you hear Tommy let out a short breath.

“Liszt is coming. He and Alfie are old enemies, and he’s brought him back to Birmingham.” You’re lying as quickly and smoothly as you can, making things up on the fly, trying to base every phrase in some form of truth. “I don’t think he’d like to find his regained prized possession dead when he gets here, now, would he?”

“You’re holding yourself hostage.” The man laughs. “And you think we’ll believe you?”

“I might be lying.” You smile and tilt your head, moving the gun with you. You must be an image, blood-stained and bruised, dressed in ripped clothing, holding a gun to your own head.. “Then again, I might not be.”

He hesitates, his eyes flicking from you to Tommy behind you and back to you again. He shakes his head, then lifts his gun, pointing it directly at you. “I’ll kill you myself, then. I’ll fucking kill you myself. What’ll Liszt do? What’ll he—”

“He’ll kill you.” Your blood goes cold and you widen your stance, begging the universe that you’ll get your message across. “He’ll kill all of you. There’s no law for him.”

“Not if I kill him.” he gestures at Tommy. “If I kill him, I’ll be rewarded.”

You shake your head and move the gun off of your head, looking down at it for a moment, then aim it at the man. “I guess we’re at an impasse, then.”

Tommy crumples behind you and your lip twitches into a tiny smile before you can hide it. You watch the man’s finger on the trigger, watch it shift, watch the faint gesture of a tensing muscle preparing to shoot.

And the crack of a bullet flying fills the air and the world goes black.

—

No one is really sure how both you and Tommy made it out alive that day. You know two things: that the first bullet sent came from the ground between your legs, shot to kill the man in front of you, and that, when the rest of them came upon you, the last thing you saw was the two women from before rushing towards them to hold them off.

You’re lying in a hospital bed, about to be discharged. Light filters in through the windows, much brighter and cleaner than Tommy’s hospital when you were first getting to know each other. Strange, how he seems to care so much more about you than he does himself. There are other beds around you, but the curtains block your view of them. Some of your wounds, acquired through violent rape, were too private for your curtains to be open at all. Everywhere you look, there is white.

The brand on your neck has been bandaged and cleaned, the glass has been removed from your skin, and your broken nose has been set. You’ve refused any painkillers, and you’ve been unable to move for the ache of it, the sharp shots of feverish pain through your muscles and skin too intense. And the bullet that dug deep into the area just underneath your collarbone has been removed. Any further down and you’d be dead.

Every time a man enters your curtained space, you begin to shake. You remain calm and collected, your heart shuddering violently in your chest and your breath stolen by fear, but you don’t show it. You smile and speak as though nothing has happened, and the only thing that gives you away is the innate show of terror. Trembling, shaking, no matter how hard you try to still your aching bones. So, they send women. Nurses, mostly, soft spoken and smiling. They know what you’ve been through. Everyone who looks at you now will know, given the mark on your neck, the soon-to-be welts of painful burns branding you a victim.

A blond nurse who’s seen to you several times in the last day returns, sending you a small smile and a quiet greeting. She checks your vitals one final time, then helps you stand. You clutch at her hand to steady yourself, trying to get used to the pain that burns through your thighs, your abdomen, the bandaged wounds on your arms and neck and hands. You’re a mess.

She leads you down the hallway, down the stairs, and out into an unwelcoming world. This is the cleanest area he could’ve found to hospitalize you at, the best possible doctors serve here, and yet, you find your teeth chattering despite the warmer weather. You can’t fend off the shock of the sunlight, the innate fear of seeing people walking the streets, the overwhelm of senses as cars drive past. And, most importantly, you can’t stop the pure panic at the idea of seeing him again.

You’ve refused to let him visit you since the night before, when you returned to consciousness. The idea of being alone with a man, even one you trust, scares you more than you care to admit. There’s this feeling of being the only prey in a world of predators, like you’re a target to everyone you see, like the earth is covered in patterns of blood that only you can see. You’re terrified. Truly, you’re terrified.

And, thus, the shaking starts again as you’re led to the Bentley, sitting quietly in front of the hospital. And there he is. He gets out of the drivers seat and walks over, and you step back unconsciously, trying to create space between you, to get out of arm’s reach. His eyes flick to you, emotionless, and he opens the passenger side door. You slip inside, the hair on the back of your neck raising, chills running down your spine.

He gets in, and suddenly, the world feels far, far too small. You’re trapped in a small space with someone who could easily overpower you. You close your eyes and let in a breath that sounds a little more like a gasp as the car pulls away from the hospital. You try to stop the shaking, try to subdue yourself, wishing that you could be sedated somehow, wishing that you could be calm. You know him. Better than you know anyone. He would never hurt you.

You open your eyes, and you stare straight out of the windshield, refusing to look at him. Your blood is running cold, the feeling of light-headedness coming back to you as you struggle to breathe. In your line of sight, you see him, see his eyes flicking to you and back to the road, and then to you again. You see his eyes fall to your hands, bandaged and pulling on each other in your lap. You see him track the pattern of your shivering, the ebb and flow of motion that forces you to be in constant unease. You feel guilty. This is not his fault, this terror, and you know he feels like it is. You know he thinks you’re afraid of him specifically, not the rest of the world, not the unknown, not the pressing walls of the car.

You drive in silence for some time, moving at a slow, steady speed. He makes no quick movements, smokes no cigarettes, shows no sign of emotion but for the slight tenseness of his jaw. The hand nearest to you is on the wheel, the one on the other side resting on the seat next to his thigh. You reach the countryside. The sun hovers high above the low grass, bringing it from green to slight brown, and you feel the summer coming, the death of the greenery around you for the sake of warmth.

Your eyes are closed when the car falls to a stop. Your blood freezes over, and you don’t open your eyes. You haven’t driven far enough to have reached Arrow House. This, you think, this is when your fear is confirmed. No, it can’t be, it’s Tommy, the only person you’ve allowed to touch you in literal years. But, still, you fear the consequences of your vulnerability, you fear how easily he could take advantage. He would never. But he might. He would never. But he could. And you could do nothing about it.

“Let’s walk.” He slips out of the car, walks around to open your door. “Come on.”

You stare at him, your shaking intensifying with the proximity. “What?”

“Let’s walk,” he says again.

“Okay.”

His tone tells you nothing, no hint of his intentions. You awkwardly lower yourself from the car, wavering as your feet touch the ground. On instinct, it seems, he reaches out to steady you. You flinch away, almost violently, and his jaw tightens. Without another word, he turns and walks off. You take a moment to calm yourself, then follow, each step aching where you were torn and bruised and battered.

“Tommy,” you croak out. “Tommy, please.”

He slows to allow you to catch up, but you keep a distance between you regardless, too worried to close the gap. He watches you expectantly, his eyes flicking over your face, reading you like an open book. Your heart is on your sleeve; he can see everything, all the fear you feel, the panic and the guilt. And, still, you shake.

“I’m sorry,” you gasp, wavering in place, trying to hold yourself together. “I’m sorry. I’m— I don’t know— I don’t know what’s happening.”

He steps towards you, his mouth opening slightly, one hand lifting, then falling by his side. You’re so fragile, you think. You’re so damn fragile that he’s scared to break you, scared to touch you. As he should be. You really are close to an edge that you don’t understand how to back away from.

You take a deep, shaking breath, your body stilling for a second, maybe two, before trembling again. “Please, don’t— don’t leave me. Don’t walk away. I’m— It’s just so fresh, Tom, I don’t know how else to be. I’m trying to calm down and I can’t, I’m just so scared and I can’t control it. I can’t control it. And it’s not your fault, it’s not, and I can’t even look at you—”

You break off in a small, hiccuping sob, then shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the emotion. You wrap your arms around yourself, begging the world or whatever God will listen to help you, to make him understand.

He’s quiet for a moment before speaking. “You remember when I called you. When I needed help.”

It’s a statement, not a question, but you nod anyway.

“I needed a reason. Something to hold onto. Some kind of fucking hope in a hopeless world. And then you came into my life.” His voice softens. “I don��t know how to help you, my love, but I promise you I will try. In any way I can, I will be there. It is my fault, some of it. So, no matter how you change, no matter how fearful you become, I will stay by your side. I will do you no harm. Remember?”

You nod again, lip trembling with the rest of you, holding back tears.

“Tragedy seems to love you as much as I do, eh?” There’s a faint smile on his lips, a sad one, almost as shaky as yours is.

Finally, you manage to look at him, meeting his eyes. They’re blue and cold but inside, deep inside, there’s something of a fire, of a star, consuming itself to burn. For the first time, you understand, that star burns for you. That light is there because you are, and as long as you’re with him, you’ll get to see the beauty of it.

You like that he looks at you like no one else could ever compare. It almost stills your trembling, at least for a moment, and you sigh, relieved.

Slowly, tentatively, like a newly gentled horse approaching a human for the first time, you walk towards him. Your gaze is on the ground, your heart in your throat. You’re battered and broken and deeply, deeply hurt. There are scars in places you didn’t know you had, buried deep in the halls of your mind, but somewhere in there, there’s a matching ember, a matching star to his.

Hope, you think. That’s what it is. That’s what you give to each other. You are two people who inspire each other to keep living, to keep moving on, and that’s the closest definition you can think of to love.

You reach him. His eyes flick over your nose, now bumpy and held in place by a brace, and the bandage on your neck, then find their way back to your eyes. Then he nods, and starts to walk again, slowly this time, allowing you to keep pace. You stay with him, eyes on the horizon, and you feel yourself leaning instinctually towards him, despite the shaking of your body, despite the lack of breath in your lungs.

“Can I hold your hand?” The question comes under his breath, barely spoken.

You reach out and take his hand, yours battered and bandaged and painful, his callused and scarred. And you walk towards the blue horizon, and slowly, your shaking starts to still.

Always. Always, you’ll walk together like this.

Hand in unlovable hand.

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cocomochicakes · 1 year ago

Text

I WAS THROWN INTO A FANTASY WORLD AND NOW I'M A SORCERER [CHAPTER 1]

A/N:: WOW YA'LL! This is my first FF in over 6 years and it was inspired by @nim-arts and this post to write and create a BG3 Isekai story. I had to give it a title like a play on so many Isekai anime where it's exceedingly long and ridiculous bc why not? This may be a tad cannon divergent toward the end but it's pretty close to at least the original story (I tried my best). Please let me know what you think!

(And if you wish to be tagged for updates, please comment below!)

RATINGS: T-M (may change)

WARNINGS: Adult language, Crude Humor, Sexual comments, Implied sexual interaction

PAIRINGS: undecided

SPECIAL TAGS: @susstardust @mushi42 @underdarque

[Chapter 2] [Chapter 3]

Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap.

A mess of tousled hair stirs beneath coarsely woven blankets and furs with a groan, turning the mass of fabrics and sending a pillow tumbling off of the bundled mass.

"Gooood morning sleepyhead! Time to rise and shine and slice and dice and all that fun stuff!" a loud feminine voice bellows somewhere nearby. It's close, too close.

Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap.

The bundle stirs and once again groans begrudgingly at the foreign sounds that have suddenly become all-too grating, grasping at a well-worn blanket before violently pulling it over the splayed mess of brown hair that has become entwined in the chaotic heap of pillows, pelts, and blankets and letting forth an unintelligible slew of words.

“Oh come on! You have to get up, we agreed to be up and out by midday! Gale even made you extra eggs this morning,” the voice says with a hint of enticement upon the mention of eggs. The bundle mumbles another slew of words lost beneath the layers of blankets as a shuffle of footsteps on gravel and dirt approaches. Gravel and dirt. The bundle shifts uncomfortably patting the hard ground beneath their blankets as the fog of sleep begins to dissipate and the mental cogs begin to turn slowly towards an uncomfortable realization. “I’m on the ground….I AM ON THE GROUND. Why am I on the ground?!”

There’s a sensation of panic bubbling up within her bowels and threatening to boil over.

Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap.

The fine hairs on her body begin to stand skyward and her eyes shoot open underneath what she now realizes is not her blanket and this is most certainly not her bed. Her heart is racing and her breathing begins to escalate as her mind floods with thoughts. Was she kidnapped? Is she being trafficked? Did someone break into her apartment and is now suddenly holding her hostage at an unknown location and is using her for ransom? In the midst of her spiral, the forgotten footsteps have suddenly stopped.

An irritated huff.

It’s mere feet away and she’s trapped under an unknown blanket without anything to defend herself and there’s a stranger in her vicinity. She curls up ready to flip over and run as fast as she can.

“Okay since you’re not getting up on your own, I’m coming in! Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

There’s a rustle and suddenly, the warmth and comfort of the pelts and blankets is gone and staring down at her is a giant red woman with golden eyes and horns. Horns. There’s a moment of confusion as the blanket that was violently tossed from her body settles off to her right before a scream of terror escapes her lungs.

“OH MY GOD THIS IS A DREAM” she screams as she scurries on all fours beneath the giant red woman with horns and golden eyes, her hands grasping for purchase on coarse dirt and rocks before she is able to bolt upright and face the woman who is now staring at her confused with both hands raised before her to indicate non-threat.

“It’s okay Soldier, it’s just me, Karlach. Sorry to startle you but I suppose you were having a bad dream. It’s okay, you’re safe” she coos softly, her bellowing voice dropped to a gentle lull as she crouches over and slowly approaches.

“By the gods! What the sweet hells is all this ruckus?” an irate voice calls from behind.

Slowly removing her eyes from the woman in front of her, in a frozen state she cautiously turns her head and torso in a singular languid twist and sets her sights upon a man in a loosely ruffled white shirt with eyes as red as rubies and delicate white strands of hair curling around a set of pointed ears.

Pointed ears?

Pointed ears.

POINTED. EARS.

She halts her movement. Her breath stills before suddenly her body grows limp and the sky turns black behind her eyes. The last thing she remembers is an ache deep within her skull and a flash light on a screen.

••••••

“Oh no! Is she going to be okay?!”

“Karlach, what the hells did you do!”

“I didn’t do a think Fangs, I swear it! I just went to wake her up and then she-“

“Make some space!” a woman commands. “Tav can you hear me? Can you wiggle your fingers to let me know you’re okay?” the soft feminine voice says from above her as a sudden flood of comforting warmth undulates in waves over her body. Her head and shoulders have a dull ache that is slowly subsiding as the warmth passes over her body and she carefully opens her eyes, her blurred vision becoming clearer as the seconds pass.

“What…what happened?” she asks, blinking, her eyes remaining fixated on the sky above. Her mind feels fuzzy and her fingers and toes feel numb.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. We all heard you scream and the next thing I know, I hear Karlach and Astarion calling for me and you’re on the ground collapsed.”

She shoots upwards and her head nearly makes contact with the head of a woman with green eyes and black hair whose hands were glowing. Glowing.

Hazel eyes dart back and forth as her heart hammers inside her ribcage and her chest begins to heave. “Wher-what, h-how? This can’t be real, there’s no god forsaken way this is real. Is this my voice? WHY DO I HAVE AN ACCENT?!” She can hear the words spill from her lips but the voice sounds foreign and her tongue is contorting against her teeth in an unfamiliar manner. She begins to mutter words under her breath and no matter how hard she tries, they don’t come out the way she intends them to. Her o’s are long and her a’s are hollow. This isn’t her voice. Hazel eyes are blown wide like a deer in the face of death and she can feel herself spiraling into a panic attack, chest tightening as her breathing begins to increase rapidly.

“Tav, I need you to breathe for me” the woman with green eyes and black hair says.

Tav?

Who’s Tav?

Unmanicured hands grasp at an all-too-loose linen shirt before they begin to pat over a chest that doesn’t feel like hers with calloused hands covered in fresh bruises and scratches that surely do not belong to her. Kicking her legs and rocking into a standing position, her eyes dart around her. Her chest is heaving. There’s a river, a lake, ruins, tents with knick-knacks and mirrors. Mirrors. She breaks out into a sprint toward a mirror resting upon a table at a red tent. What she sees suctions the breath from her already compressed lungs: glowing hazel eyes, a dainty pointed nose, light freckles dusting her cheeks, and beneath a messily braided mop of chestnut hair, two slightly pointed ears.

“Oh no…oh gods…OH GODS” she says in horror, her hands patting and touching at the expanse of her face and pinching the pointed tips of foreign ears that were somehow attached to her face.

“Tav, are you quite alright? Wyll, Laezel, and I have just returned from scouting ahead and we heard you yelling?” a man with warm brown eyes, dark brown hair peppered with grey, and a finely trimmed beard says placing down a basket of various plants.

“Gale…YOU’RE GALE!” she practically yells, her body leaning backwards onto the damaged wooden table. He tilts his head befuddled, his brow knotting itself deeply as he eyes her suspiciously.

“The one and only but I feel as though I have clearly missed out on an event that I might need to be privy to. Shadowheart, can you please enlighten me on why our resident leader is looking at me as if I had already sprouted tentacles?”

“While I would like to say it’s the tadpoles, your guess is as good as mine to be quite frank with you.”

“Hmm intriguing…” he trails off, crossing his arms in front of his chest and resting his chin between a thumb and finger as he glances over and evaluates Tav, who looks like a hare corner by a predator.

“Oh come now Gale, Tav looks terrified. Maybe we should give her some space for a moment?” a man with dark skin, massive curled horns, and mismatched eyes says.

Gale exhales before stepping back, firmly crossing both arms and shifting his weight to a leg before he tilts his head quizzically. “Yes I suppose you’re right Wyll,” he acknowledged “and apologies Tav! I merely am concerned since you seem quite…alarmed.”

She closes her eyes and takes deep, focused breaths. In, one, two, three, out, one, two, three. Her heart beat slows to a calm flutter.

Suddenly, the sound of scraping metal rings out from her left. “Her mind is slipping and she is but mere moments away from losing herself to madness! Move out of the way before she turns into a ghaik!”

Wyll races to move towards the woman with green skin whose eyes are set in a murderous rage “Laezel she’s not turning this has to be something-“

No sooner than he steps in front of her to speak, she is shoving him to the side with her forearm and quickly encroaching on Tav’s heaving form slouched against the wooden side table. Just as Tav finally succeeds in bringing her breathing into a normal rhythm she looks up and no sooner than she does, it’s as if time slows. A blade is swinging downward toward her body and whether it be by chance, instinct, or pure fear, as she puts her hands out in front of her, a buzzing sensation wells from within her palms and two mysterious words tumble from her lips: dolor.

In a flash of radiant red light, she feels the air part from her hands and a thunderous echo radiate across the cliffs behind her, a flock of birds cawing and screeching fearfully departing in droves from a nearby treeline. There’s a palpable vibration slowly fading from her hands and as she opens her eyes and unclenches her jaw, a shocked silence washes over Tav.

There before her and everyone in the camp lies the groaning form of Laezel blown some distance away, her sword cocked off to the corner a significant length from her hands. Tav looks to her hands in awe and then again at Laezel, who appears disoriented grasping at her head and wobbling to a very unsteady standing position.

“ISTIK HOW DARE YOU! I am saving you from misery!” Laezel shouts, her voice rasping. However her angry yelling falls upon deaf ears as Tav is lost staring at her hands and the buzzing electricity she feels sprinkling into her fingertip from her palms. She just did magic. SHE. JUST. DID. MAGIC. Tav is vibrating out of her skin.

“Oh my god I did magic…I DID MAGIC!” she yells in excitement before her mind switches to Laezel’s form being held back by a pleading Wyll and a Karlach who had rushed over whilst her mind was in limbo. It then hits her that she just blasted Laezel directly in the chest and the excitement once again turns to fear and panic, her voice stammering “OH GOD I’M SO SORRY! I-I-I don’t know how I did that I didn’t mean to hurt you like that!” Tav is power walking to Laezel to apologize profusely before Gale clears his throat to interject.

“Tav while that was a fantastic Eldritch Blast, I do believe we all best avoid further animosity first thing in the morning before we head to the Goblin Camp. Our energies are best spent on actual enemies, not each other.”

Astarion huffs and clicks his tongue at Gale’s commentary, crossing his arms dramatically “Oh dear old Gale, aren’t you simply just the biggest spoilsport. And here I was getting my hopes up for a little fight to the death first thing in the morning.”

“Hmm I must side with Astarion on this. It really would have made for a fine show and one less headache down the road” Shadowheart admonishes, a single brow quirked and her lips pursed in displeasure. Laezel clicks her tongue and growls low in response, shaking off Wyll and Karlach before stomping over to get her sword.

“I really am sorry. I honestly don’t know how I did that,” Tav says, her hands together at her front, eyes downcast. Her mind is reeling. Should she tell them the truth or should she lie and try to pretend? Pretending would have been great but she knows she’s already blown her cover with some of the things she had said as well as her panic attack moments earlier. Internally Tav weighs her options in silence as her companions begin to bicker amongst themselves. She considers her current predicament and comes to the conclusion that perhaps the truth would be less stressful for her to endure than lie and keeping up false pretenses, especially knowing that she is capable of accidental explosive magic in moments of intense emotion.

In one, out two, Tav breaths until she can finally look towards the band of misfits before her. She’s thinking about how to form words and tell these people her identity however, before she can recall even her real name, a pain strikes the side of her temple, forcing her to the ground with her head in her hands. The shock subsides and before she even opens her mouth to speak, the pain strikes her down again with equal ferocity. Her skull is pounding behind closed eyes and gritted teeth.

No one speaks, but a concerned Gale is immediately at her side, a hand on her back as he kneels down beside her. As he is about to speak, Tav waves her hand to shush him and suddenly it’s as if a celestial nebula crashes through her mind, memories exploding and overwhelming her senses. She sees flashes of books, a home, a grey sky beneath steel wings, illuminated letters clicking under her fingertips, a hall of statues and paintings. No sooner than the images collide and implode upon one another in her mind, her body stills, the pain fades, and the images cease.

Tav lifts her eyes to Gale and then to everyone who has come closer to surround her. “I…I think there’s something all of you need to know. I can’t tell you my real name or the name of where I come from but what I can tell you is that this is not really me. I am not the ‘Tav’ you think I am.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfics #bg3 companions #gale #gale of waterdeep #astarion #bg3 headcanons #baldurs gate #karlach #lae'zel #shadowheart #wyll

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seeker-ophelia · 3 months ago

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OK, this is mostly for the lols, but... I honestly couldn't help it. Ya'll wonder why all I do is repost beautiful art, is cuz I am WELL AWARE how difficult and skillful it is. and how bad I am at it

You asked for this @nadas-dirthalen

I want to tag @pinacoladamatata to share with us their Rook. Their art kills me and I love them to bits.

Behold, My Rook:

Name: Danivas Aldwir

Nickname/Alias: Dani

Pronouns: she/her

Lineage: Elf (City)

Faction: Veil Jumpers

Class: Mage (Spellblade)

Potential Romance: Probably Davrin but Taash is a close second

Potential Friendships: Bellara (already bffs), Harding (likes her spunk), Davrin (appreciates his sacrifice, ride or die for Assan), Taash (reverent awooga), Varric (likes listening to his stories), Lucanis (if he will teach her that cool thing he does with his blades)

Potential Rivalries: Neve (she's too cool, literally) Emmrich (he’s too nice, she doesn't trust him at first and thinks Mortalitasi are creepy, no, not scary, she’s not scared of him don't be ridiculous she isn’t afraid of anything stop SAYING that she just doesn’t like dead things, NOT AFRAID stop saying that! *screams when Manfred chortles behind her.)

Tattoos/Scars: Elgar'nan on half her face only

Notable Appearance Details: Blonde, bob, side undercut - spitting image of Gwen from the spiderverse. Prefers tight fitting clothing that doesn’t get in the way when she gets up close in combat. Binds her breasts. Hates the Dalish concept of footwraps, put some cursed boots on already.

Anything Else You'd Like To Share: Dani was born into slavery in Minrathous. She started gaining the notice of her masters when her magic manifested, gaining even more attention when she hit puberty, her blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes making her exotic in Minrathous. The Shadow Dragons rescued her when she was a teen. She had the option to work with them, but wanted to try to connect to her Dalish heritage. Bellara was nice to her once and now is a huge role model for her. Where Bell is soft, Dani is hard, where Bell has curves, Dani is edges. Dani loves her very much.

She took Elgar’nan’s vallaslin but asked for it only on half her face as a reminder of where she came from.

Her masters used to call her Damni (Damno is latin for condem, and also for fine), but she took back the name when she left, taking Elvhen Dana (to break) and Vas (chains), making her new name Danivas, breaker of chains (Elvhen Lexicon Elvhen, not cannon).

She is young (I'm thinkin 23), hotheaded, a purple/red rook combo. She has a lot to learn, and is going to get a big smack in the face when she realizes that sometimes her mouth and her temper are going to get her (and those she cares about) in trouble. The world is very black and white to her, and she’s going to have to accept that there are a multitude of shades of grey.

She hates Solas immediately, the concept of any one individual having that much power makes her squirm, but doubt creeps in when she hears a rumor that The Dread Wolf was freeing slaves from the Imperium.

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mistressoftheelderitchwhorehouse · 2 years ago

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Shaking Hands at Midnight

Author's Note: Ya'll mind these tags. It's no joke.

Triggers: Guns, Escalated typical Dazai Suicide, smut...

Kinks: Gunplay (Does it count with Dazai?)

Characters: Port Mafia Dazai × AFAB Reader

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Dazai looked up at her with adoration in his eyes. Her chest heaved, dark curls plastered to her face due to sweat, and her eyes were screwed shut as she rode him for all she was worth.

The grip he had on her hip tightened when she faltered, and a labored moan escaped her lips. "Baby please. I-I can't."

"What happened to all that bluster before, Belladonna?" He sat up and gripped her chin, his smirk widening when fear tinted her gaze. "Don't tell me it's all gone now. It would be quite the shame, all things considered."

"Dazai please, I said I was sorry."

"You did."

"And I said I wouldn't do it again."

"That's also true."

Her fingers skirted up his bandaged chest, leaving a trail of warmth that normally would have had him sighing her name. She eventually cupped his cheek, her touch light against the violet bruise from where she had slapped him.

Dazai couldn't actually blame her for the violence. He had threatened her first, maybe pushed her pride closer to a cliff even. In his experience with prideful individuals, they tended to get upset whenever such a thing happened. A bruised cheek was a surprise, but not entirely out of character for her.

But what could he understand about humans?

"I know! Why don't we play a game?"

He ignored her questioning gaze as he dropped his hand and reached for the bedside table, only to stop and reconsider.

"Hey, close your eyes."

"O-okay."

When he was sure she wasn't peeking, he snatched an item off the table and entwined her fingers around it. Her eyebrows furrowed. Her eyes opened. She screamed.

"Now, now. Just calm down. Didn't I say we were playing a game?"

"You didn't say it involved a fucking gun!"

He grabbed her wrist and pressed the cold metal of the pistol against his temple, his cock twitching against her walls.

"The rules are simple. Don't pull the trigger. If you do? Well..." He turned his head and pressed a lingering kiss to her wrist. "Either way it turns out pretty great for me."

Any word of reproach was swallowed as he wrapped an arm around her waist, and canted his hips upwards, elicitbg a strangled yell from his lover.

Despite all the protests and whining her walls still sucked him in deep, her fingers trembling on the trigger. Every time he felt the metal slide against his skull it made his abdomen tighten ever further.

"D-Dazai!"

"Are you-fuck- are you coming, Bella? Are you going to reach your high?"

He felt her body shake, and he snaked a hand between them to pinch her clit.

"Ah!"

Bang

Dazai squeezed her closer, his cock twitching even as dust and plaster rained down on them like cursed rain.

When he finally could breathe again, he pulled his head from her shoulder, drinking in his lover's horrified expression.

"You did lovely, Bella." He grasped her shaking hand, the gun long having dropped on the bed, and placed it over his rapidly beating heart. "So close to giving me my heart's desire... Let's do it again."

#osamu dazai x you #dazai x black reader #dazai x y/n #dazai headcanons #dazai x fem reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs #dazai smut #bungo stray dogs headcanons

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xxavengingangelxx · 1 year ago

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Long Way From Home 3/?

YA'LL, trigger warning again:

For the love of God, please read the triggers and tags. I'm gonna go ahead and add: Dead Dove. Minors DNI. Smut starts!

TRIIGGERS: Implied/attempted suicide, self-harm, torture, brainwashing, physical abuse, mind fuckery, threatened rape, EXTREMELY dubious consent. If I miss, any let me know, please! DARK FIC

This fic is taking away from my COD MW playing time, ya'll ;)

Probably not important but this fic was born and continues to be created with the Inception soundtrack blasting through my headphones.

Phillip Graves's track? Dream is Collapsing. That track is so evil sounding and fits him well!

Chapter 1:

Chapter 2:

You found yourself back on that concrete floor and against that same cold concrete wall. Lying in a bed for however long you did made the floor feel almost painful. Days passed. Or you guessed days passed.

And of course, there was Graves again. It was like the man never left you alone.

“What’d you want?” you whispered.

“How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know,” you replied. “You’re using all kinds of sensory deprivation.”

“10 days,”

When you heard Graves say you’d been there 10 days you almost had a complete mental breakdown. 10 days?! You sat up.

“No way,” you met his gaze. He was kneeling in front of you again.

He pointed to the wounds on your chest and signaled at your left wrist. The bastard had the audacity to say that you must’ve blacked out when they stitched up all the cuts on your body because it was done with no pain control whatsoever. Your left wrist was still bandaged so that couldn’t have happened too long ago.

You heard him say that you screamed when they stitched you up.

He added that they’d had to put you on an IV line 2 days ago because you refused all liquid and food intake. That’s not something you remembered.

“You don’t remember ripping the IV out of your arm and saying you wanted to die?”

You did not.

You then realized that you weren’t even wearing your uniform anymore. Just a long-sleeved hooded shirt and simple black sweatpants. At least they’d let you keep your boots.

You were obviously losing it. You had huge periods of time missing and it was freaking you the hell out. Who knows what the fuck else they’d done to you that you couldn’t remember. And what had you told them, if anything?

“You’re lying,” you glanced up at him as he smirked in front of you, still kneeling to meet your gaze. You couldn’t even hold his gaze anymore. That’s how broken you were.

You pulled up the sleeves of your shirt and sure enough…along your right arm were IV track marks. On your left arm there was a bruise that ran from the crook of your elbow and followed a vein until the bruise disappeared under the bandage on your left wrist. It was obvious that the action of ripping an IV out had bruised you horribly and lacerated your skin. It was sure to scar. That laceration? 3 inches of sutures.

You were really starting to feel hopeless, helpless…where the hell was 141?

Your impulsive and intrusive thoughts won and you lunged at him. He shot to his feet as did you.

“You’re lying!” You yelled.

“Getting violent with me isn’t gonna do you any favors, darlin’,” Graves warned. “That’s a guarantee.” He stepped closer and you shoved him. Or tried to. You were nowhere near big enough or strong enough to even make him budge.

“Next time you put your hands on me I’m gonna break your arm,” he warned. He sounded serious and you believed him.

He again stepped towards you. And fearfully you said, “Don’t get any closer.” You were on edge and if you were completely honest you were on the edge of losing your sanity.

“When did you get here?”

You did the math in your head. 10 days would make it…

“I’ll prove it,” Graves said. He was trying to hide a smirk and that just reminded you of how sadistic he was. He unlatched the military watch from his left wrist and tossed it to you. You caught it.

10 days. It had been 10 days. He hadn’t been wanting to play mind games with you. He was telling you the truth. 10 days, about to be 11. You’d spent almost two weeks being tortured and tormented all for information you prayed you wouldn’t reveal.

“Havin’ a rough night?” There was that smirk again. He easily plucked the heavy watch from your trembling hands and put it back on his left wrist.

“Tell you what,” Graves started, “Come hang out with me tonight,”

Your horrified gaze must have told him everything he needed to know. You were terrified of him. And he knew it.

“On my life,” Graves stated. “I won’t hurt you.” He paused before adding, “Unless you try somthin’ or get violent.”

You were desperate to get away from the freezing cold room you had associated with pain and torture and pure misery. He really hadn’t lied when he said that if you didn’t cooperate you’d suffer. You couldn’t keep this up.

“You won’t let them hurt me, either?”

“Who?” he started walking towards the door but still didn’t dare follow him.

Your exhausted, terrified look must have told him everything he needed to know.

“My boys?” he scoffed. “Nah,” he shook his head. “They don’t do anything unless I tell ‘em to.”

You still weren’t convinced.

“And I’ve told them hands off when it comes to you.”

That was all you needed.

So you walked next to him.

You had no clue what the hell he wanted with you or what the hell mind game he was trying to play here but if you could get away from this room and the horrible isolation for a few hours and get away from physical pain, you’d take it.

You followed him like a puppy. “You got 141’s puppy? That cute little thing?” Shepherd’s voice echoed in your head. So did that mean you were now Graves’s puppy? Graves’s cute little thing?

You assumed the room he led you back to was his. It was neat, clean. It smelled like a combination of gun oil, fresh laundry, and cologne. It was a much nicer smell than the smell or that tiny room they were keeping you in. That room smelled like a hospital: so cold and sterile.

You glanced in his direction, almost flinching when you heard him close and lock the door.

“Relax,” he chuckled. “We’re not doing anything you’re not comfortable with.”

Why the sudden nice guy routine? Did he know how desperate you were to feel anything but pain? How desperate you were to escape the isolation from that tiny room? Had you revealed information and didn’t remember?

And in your completely unstable mind, you did the last thing you ever thought you would do. It was the last thing on your mind since you were taken. When you were first taken, you had the mental power to plot a plan to try and get Graves into bed and then escape. But the almost two weeks of sleeplessness, torture, pain, and suffering had totally ruined your decision making ability. You obviously weren’t getting out of here any time soon.

You walked forward to where Graves was, placed your hands on his vest, and used it as leverage when you got on your toes to kiss him. You hadn’t had any pleasure, any real rest, since before Las Almas.

He wasn’t completely caught off guard which made you think maybe he had planned this. But you didn’t care. You’d do anything for a gentle touch, for pleasure, for the ability to sleep in a bed instead of a hard concrete floor.

He placed his hands on your hips at first before tracing his fingers up your arms, and into your soft hair. He kissed you back and you moaned. Because you were frantic for a gentle touch.

Graves clearly didn’t need to be told twice. He moved one of his hands to his mouth, where he used his teeth to pull his glove off. He repeated the action with his other hand. He then easily broke off the kiss, reached for your shirt and pulled it over your head before tossing it aside somewhere. His calloused, rough hands ghosted over your ribs. You glanced down and saw you still had blue and yellowing bruises from the beatings you’d taken, from the bullet your vest had stopped almost two weeks ago.

Again desperate, even more so, you leaned forward again, got on your toes again, and kissed him. He tasted the same as the last time you’d kissed him. It was his turn to moan into your mouth and his hands worked quickly to untie the waistband of your sweats. You kicked your boots off. He hoisted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. Just like old times. He trailed kisses and teeth down your throat and you gasped, your breaths coming hot and heavy.

You were dropped onto a bed and it was so damn comfortable. You felt him climb over you, and he was quick to slide your pants off followed by your underwear. He straddled you, his knees on either side of your hips.

Graves’s lips fell on yours, hot and heavy and his tongue swept your mouth possessively. His rough hands were kneading your breasts and it was one of the most pleasurable things you’d felt in your life as far as you were concerned. So much better than pain and torture.

You heard the sound of Velcro ripping and saw as he lowered his vest to the floor next to the bed. Velcro ripping from a Kevlar vest had to be an aphrodisiac for you. His hands left your body for a second and he quickly unbuttoned his shirt before getting rid of that, too. You heard him unbuckling his belt hastily and it wasn’t long before you felt him at your entrance.

His cock was replaced by his fingers and when you felt him penetrate you with those coarse fingers you gasped and moaned. He worked you open, his fingers curling inside of you like he’d never forgotten you. He knew exactly how to touch you.

Graves’s sharp blue eyes met yours. You could barely see the blue as his pupils were blown wide with lust. He withdrew his fingers and despite yourself you almost whimpered at the loss. His eyes were almost asking for permission.

While you weren’t entirely sure this was entirely consensual. You were clearly mentally unstable after having learned how long you’d been held with Shadow Company. But you’d decided you needed this. You needed pleasure to balance out all the pain and suffering you’d suffered for almost the past two weeks. Besides, you’d been using sex as a coping mechanism and escape mechanism since you were a teenager.

Apparently your eyes communicated everything he needed because that was when he started pushing himself inside of you. And fuck if you didn’t almost moan his name because hell that was so much better than torture and sleep deprivation and pain. So you did moan his name. And you remembered that he preferred hearing his last name when he fucked the common sense out of you.

His hair fell on his forehead as he eased himself into you. It was his turn to moan and he did as he bottomed out inside of you. As he leaned forward to catch your neck and breasts in his hot mouth you felt his dirty blonde hair further stimulate you as it brushed your skin. It was sending tiny electric shocks through your body.

Those hot lips finally brushed yours and you felt his short gasps before you met his lips and kissed him. He, of course, took control and possessively swept your mouth with his tongue. You fought for dominance but it was no use. Just like all those nights before this one, he loved being in control. He got off on it.

You wanted more. You wanted these sensations to make you forget about all the suffering you’d endured in the last two weeks. So you placed your small hands on his broad shoulders and met his thrusts. He was going too slow and it was making you desperate.

He chuckled, the bastard. You were almost certain this had been planned.

You saw him about to reach up and pin your wrists down like he loved doing before but he stopped himself and you wondered if he stopped himself because it might feel too much like rape, like he was using force given the current situation that you were his hostage and he was your captor.

So he placed his arms on either side of you and continued his deliberately slow movements.

So you then wrapped your hands around his shoulders and scratched him. You full on scratched his shoulders, hearing him groan and making his thrusts stutter. He’d always liked women scratching his shoulders enough to make him bleed, or so he claimed.

He picked up his pace and you met him thrust for thrust. He was hitting that spot inside of you and his thrusts were picking up pace. You squeezed his cock with your muscles, prompting him to whisper, “Fuck.”

He then abruptly stilled his movements. You groaned in annoyance because damn it you’d been building up a momentum and you had just started to feel that heat, that heaviness deep inside of you that signaled you were close to climax.

Graves ground himself against you, rubbing against you clit in a way that made you see stars. And then he reached towards your chest and he dragged light fingers over the cuts he himself had inflicted almost 2 weeks ago. It was almost creepy but then again your hypersexualized, unstable mind thought of it as hot seeing as he had marked you as his.

The blue in his eyes were barely visible due to his dilated pupils, and as a result the only blue visible was a thin circle. And then he seemed to catch a second wind. His hands grasped your hips as he pulled you forward and before you knew it your face was inches from him and you were in his lap, straddling him as he and you both sat up with you on top.

Graves’s bruising grip in your hips continued and that was all it took for you to grasp his shoulders and ride him. It wasn’t long before you were both breathing heavy and sweating. Your breasts rasped his chest and it only added to the cacophony of pleasurable sensations. You ground against him, getting stimulation from your clit and from deep inside you as you felt him meet your thrusts.

His breath came in short, hurried gasps and his grip on your hips was almost painful, almost tight enough to where his fingernails cut into your skin. And it was with all those sensations combined that you let yourself go, giving in to him completely. You moaned your release but he was quick to cover your mouth with his.

In pursuit of his own orgasm, he shoved you back down on the bed, climbing over you once more. He lasted half a dozen sloppy, desperate thrusts before he spilled inside of you, riding out his own climax with shuddering gasps.

“Fuck,” he repeated. “You’re as good as I remember you.”

You tried catching your own breath and that was when the pain came back. You felt it in your arm, in your wrist, your ribs, and around your knees, elbows, and palms, which were scratched raw and bleeding from all the time you’d spent on concrete.

And that was when Graves did something surprising. He led you to lie down, told you to relax.

It wasn’t something you were expecting and it only confused you further.

You had your first hot shower. All the other showers before had been freezing cold and after you got dressed, from what you could remember, they’d toss you back into that tiny cement room that only seemed to get colder and colder. You wanted to relax and enjoy, to let the warmth ease your body it but something was nagging at you. Why the sudden change in treatment? Had you finally broken under all the torture and given them something? What if you betrayed your team…your ex-team? You couldn’t help it if you thought of them as your ex team, right? You’d been here almost two weeks and you were starting to feel abandoned.

Plus almost every time you moved somewhere deep inside your body you’d be reminded of what you’d done only an hour before. Sleeping with the enemy, Valdez, really? What would 141 think? They’d probably label you a traitor and a whore. A small voice in your mind told you that no they wouldn’t, that they would understand you adapted and had to do what you had to in order to survive. But that small voice was getting quieter and quieter.

And another, louder voice was taking hold. Graves was only following orders, right? Orders were orders in the military. If Shepherd have given orders, Graves had no choice but to follow them, right? Was he really that bad a guy?

You look at yourself in the mirror for the first time in almost 2 weeks and you almost didn’t recognize yourself. Stitched cuts on your chest from that first night they took you. A laceration on the left side of your face from where Graves had struck you with his firearm when trying to find out that rendezvous point that you refused to give up, also that first night. Your knees? Scraped raw. Your elbows? Also scraped to the point of bleeding. The palms of your hands were also raw and red.

You ran a gentle hand over the cut on the side of your face and you wondered if it would scar. That tiny voice was trying to scream to blame Graves, that he was the one who’d mercilessly struck you across the face with a fucking firearm, his sidearm, when you refused to break that first night. You face had other injuries but those looked mild. You looked exhausted.

You torso was laden with bruises. Some were yellowing while others were fresh and blue and purple. You had marks on your body from where they’d forcefully held a Taser to you again trying to draw out information. You had no idea how long ago that was but the marks were evident. Some memories, unfortunately, were coming back in pieces.

You were still putting up a fight despite being exhausted and sleep deprived and in pain. They had come into your tiny room right as you were dozing off. Graves stepped through the door first of course. Three Shadows, one commander made 4 men and one of you. Your small stature and build had been useful in the past, for reconnaissance and intel gathering but you hated it now. There was no way you could fight them off.

As a woman you feared the worst. That Graves was going to make good on his threat to rape you and then let the other three pass you around.

You started crying as you tried to push them back, all to no avail. One of them damn near broke your arm restraining you.

Graves was asking you what the code was to get into 141’s homing beacons so they could track where 141 was. You said no.

The next few minutes, hours, or days were all the same. Electric shocks from a Taser being buried in your ribs and in your chest. They would let you doze off at times only to wake you up and do it all over again.

You startled easily one time and so swung at a Shadow from a sitting position on the floor. He easily dodged it and laughed at you.

Graves then reached out and smacked you so hard you woke up curled up on the concrete floor, bleeding. You were sure how long you’d been out but Graves’s voice brought you back to lucidity, back to the living hell that you were now convinced was going to last forever.

“You don’t swing at my boys, you understand me?” Graves snapped. He knelt next to you as you tried to catch your breath. He grasped your hair so hard you cried out, raising your hands to where his was tangled in your hair, desperate to get him to release you. “They might not have directives to put hands on ya yet but they can certainly defend themselves.”

And that was when that tiny voice faded away and that louder voice took over in your head. All the pain you’d gone through. It was your fault. You’d refused to give them what they wanted…what they needed. So you’d brought that torture on yourself. Besides, even if you had given up the rendezvous point, Graves said he wasn’t going to kill anyone, right? He wanted to recruit them.

And for all the torture you’d suffered Graves had never really hurt you badly, did he? He’d just hit you. Not once had he inflicted pain himself since you were brought there. And for all the times Graves had hit you, he’d never once punched you. You’d seen him in close combat and knew he could almost break someone’s neck from the punches he delivered.

He’d never really hurt you, right? And he sure as hell hadn’t killed you. He’d spared your life. So didn’t you owe him?

It still bothered you later. You assumed it was night but you were back to not knowing what day or what time it was. Graves’s bed smelled like him and you found it somewhat intoxicating. You’d missed him. You really had.

As always, open to feedback! Let me know what ya'll think of this dark fic :)

#phillip graves #cod mw2 #cod mwii #phillip graves x reader #graves x reader #mw2 141 #task force 141 #cod 141

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wildlife4life · 1 year ago

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WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @spaceprincessem @exhuastedpigeon @spotsandsocks @devirnis @lover-of-mine @sibylsleaves @hoodie-buck @loserdiaz @daffi-990 and @ladydorian05 Thank you all so much! I look forward to all your fics!

Alright, so yesterday I asked basically for permission to work on my Halloween fics instead of NFL Buck and many of you said to do it. So just for a short time, I will be pausing on NFL Buck. I promise it is still being worked on a bit, but most of my concentration will be on my Halloween fics, which I really hope I can actually get done before Halloween.

Also, I cannot promise that I will be posting much more for tag games this weekend. My daughter is having minor surgery on Friday that we are going out of town for (hospital where I am was a year out), so I will be making most of the weekend taking care of her. I will try my very best to post something, but no promises.

Now that I've caught ya'll up, I know I mentioned a possible werewolf buddie fic. Well that is not this today. Instead I am bringing back Jigsaw Buck, my serial killer fic based off the Saw films. Previous post can be found here.

Warning below the cut. Description of grotesque death and also Devon's suicide. ENJOY!

Pretending to care, to have those emotions that make him approachable and later ignored, is hard work. Buck slipped just a little once. After losing Devon on the roller coaster. Of course, Buck wanted him to fight for his life, to see how much better it could be after the game was won, but in end, it wasn’t enough. And that was on Devon. But his old fire captain somehow took his quick acceptance as a form of shock and sent him to department therapy. Buck hated therapists. They were of the few who had the power to peer past the layers, rip off the masks, and see the twisted bloody hunk of flesh that resembled what remained of his dead brother-in-law. Cold with no emotion to be found; just the void that demands the retribution of others. Thankfully (and somewhat unfortunately), Dr. Wells was too distracted by the shiny layer that is firefighter Buckley to actually do her job. Sadly, she abused the small amount of power she held in her delicate, manicured hands and tried to sexually exploit the man she was supposed to help. When Buck dug around a bit and found her many other victims, well it was a good thing Dr. Wells had such a precise schedule. It was almost too easy grabbing her in the blind spot of her office’s cameras. Too bad the therapist spent most of her given time, screaming that she did no wrong. That those she exploited wanted what she forced upon them, that she didn’t abuse the power she held. And when those last few precious second ticked away, Buck stepped into the room, saddened by her reluctance to take the second chance, learn her lesson. “Game over.” He told her bluntly then turned away, unable to witness his masterful contraption drill into her skull. The whirring tool flung ringlets of bone, blood, hair, and brain matter across the room and onto the floor. The key to her freedom, sat unused in a box just a mere two feet away. The price…a single hand, relinquishing the power she held in it and a tool of her neglect.

Dr. Wells isn't the first or the last of Buck's victims. Spoiler: Eddie will be a subject to Buck's games as well. Mwhaha.

Tagging (no pressure): @callaplums @elvensorceress @eowon @rogerzsteven @hippolotamus @disasterbuckdiaz @thekristen999 @theotherbuckley @wikiangela @giddyupbuck @watchyourbuck @buddierights @cowboy-buck @jesuisici33 @fortheloveofbuddie @forthewolves @try-set-me-on-fire @eddiediaztho @eddiebabygirldiaz @thewolvesof1998 @lizzybizzyzzz @shortsighted-owl @homerforsure @monsterrae1 @911onabc @adiazhalloween @housewifebuck @honestlydarkprincess @bvckandeddie @arthursdent @glorious-spoon @bigfootsmom @athenagranted @rainbow-nerdss @gayhoediaz @gayedmundodiaz

#wip wednesday #tag game #my wip #halloween fic #911 abc #911 show #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #dr. wells #serial killer buck #jigsaw buck #detective eddie #gore #saw movies #blood

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firstprincehornyramblings · 9 months ago

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'I Want to be Yours'

So this is a prompt that I got that requested some smut for something where Nick is noisy, and terribly embarrassed by it, so Taylor finally lets him know how he feels about that. It was so fun and it got a little squishy and cute because I'm incapable of not. There is some gratuitous Taylor speaking Spanish in this, because let's be honest, Nick clearly has a thing for that. - Now is when I clarify I don't speak Spanish, I too just learned some because of my ex girlfriend. Hopefully I remembered enough to pull this off. Shoutouts to both Chloe (@doublecheekedkinard), for screaming with me, and Jon (@bigassbowlingballhead) for helping me with some music choices. Ya'll the best. <3 Tags!: Taylor Topping From the Bottom x Nick Being the Most Submissive Top Ever,Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Blow Jobs, Oral Sex, Mutual Fingering, Anal Fingering, The Love is Requited They're Both Just Idiots

#taylor zakhar perez nicholas galitzine #nick galitzine smut #nicholas galitzine smut #nicholas galitzine #first prince smut #my fic #smut #taylor zakhar perez #taylor zakhar perez fic #rpf smut #DANI ACTUALLY GETS A FIC OUT ON SUNDAY????

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ruinmegently · 1 year ago

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WIP INTRO — These Barren Wilds

A mysterious figure spat up from the sand journeys with a fortune seeking cutthroat looking to sell him to the highest bidder.

- GENRES - dystopian • magical realism • lgbtq+

- THEMES - friends to enemies • enemies to lovers • post-environmental-apocalypse • classism • oppressive government regime • disability representation • dark themes • redemption arc • found family • unrepentantly queer • journey through foreign lands

- VIBES - your wheelchair has crab legs and it's still a bitch to handle • i'm not a cowboy i'm a cowperson tyvm • eat sand and die trying • cooing at your serrated blade because it's the only child you'll ever have • loving the unlovable • not quite a western but eh close enough • byoa (bring your own anarchy)

oh shit that's me. hey writeblr! you can call me ruin. i'm a 32 year old college dropout, unpublished, who was on track for a B.A in English with a concentration in Creative Writing, like, back when dinosaurs rode men. i'm a nerd for The Process (even if The Process often corners me in a dark alley and beats me up for funsies).

#these barren wilds has been living in my head for months now, and ya'll inspired me to finally try to write it. mostly gonna be posting world building, character development, and rough unedited snippets on here, under the tag above.

if you're writing something similar, or if this genre just vibes with you, you are always welcome to spam my ask box so we can geek out about our ideas together!

anyways, i never know how to end these things, ily k bai.

.oo1 — july 31st

Big man lays an old hag flat on her face. Roughs her up with a boot on her hand. Whole crowd hears the crunch, unappetizing, but that doesn’t stop their steady procession shuffling single file to cash in the day’s food vouchers. The lines stretch farther than eyes can see, occluded by a dusty afternoon haze. Vouch Shops close in a couple hours. Sad saps at the back won’t make it before they lock up.

The big guy twists his heel in the lady’s hand. Who knows why. She screams and no one in my line turns but me, like the sound digs actual nails through the back of my skull, so jarring I can’t help but watch.

Hope she shuts up soon.

Ain’t uncommon to see Bruisers at market anyways, but they’ve been showin up more and more. Enforcers sent from way out in Wave came last month to train the dustbloods lucky enough to get a Career Shift Card. To keep the peace, they said. Too much gang activity. Too many deserters.

Right.

The Enforcers are bad enough, but when they send the dregs of Wave to train the dirtiest of Dust, well. You don’t really get new Enforcers outta all that.

“Next!”

“Hey Pops,” I say, elbow on the cracked sandstone counter of the Vouch Shop my line leads to. Gotta bend in half just to plant myself down. Casual, easy, like me and Pops are old friends. Met the guy last week but sure, friends fits just as well as anything else.

“You have it?” Pops asks, beady black eyes squinted against the glare of the sun.

His shop’s west-facing. Most face north or south. I asked him why he wanted to go and stick out like a sore thumb, our first meetup. He told me out west’s where hope’s found, if you can drag yourself far enough onward to find it. He likes the view. He likes knowing there’s more out that way. I told him you gotta scale the walls first, or blunder through em, unless you’re lucky enough to get a new job with a fancy CSC. But then you’ll always be a dustblood, won’tcha?

You can leave the desert but the desert never really leaves you.

#writing #writeblr #ruinwriting #these barren wilds #tbw snippet #wip #writing wip #wip intro #writeblr intro

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two-white-butterflies · 2 years ago

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therese | d. targaryen

Description: You are famous for acting in films that gain critical acclaim, but much of your life remains secret. In where, your private life becomes public. Pairing: millionaire!daemon targaryen/lowkey-actress!reader Tags: established relationship.

Daemon wasn't the kind of person who'd stay secret about something he was proud about. He wanted to scream your name into the crowds - without any fear of their judgement. He was proud, and you were the opposite of that.

"Which one do you want, baby?" he asked while pointing at the two bags held by the sales associate. One was black, and the other one was white. They were the same brand - the same hardware and everything, but in your eyes they were different from each other.

"You don't have to do this babe," you lean your head on his shoulder. He presses a kiss on your forehead, smiling proudly as you continued inspecting the items in the shop. "It's not everyday that my girlfriend is nominated for an Oscar," he boasted while placing a pair of sunglasses on the sales associate's hands. "- you've been ranting about this bag for weeks. I'm buying it for you, princess." he asserted.

"I'll take the black one," you smiled, entwining your hands together as you continued strolling down the store.

He was extra when it came to everything. You'd tell him that you wanted a smoothie and he'll bring you all the flavors - you'd tell him that you were nominated for an academy award and he'd rent out the entire mall. It was impressive to see the lengths of what his money could provide, but it was more impressive to see his efforts.

"I'm so proud of you," he whispered, keeping his arms around your waist. "Thank you for doing this, babe." your smile deepened. He spots another store in his periphery - and he wastes no time in leading you inside.

"- and the winner is therese!" the hosts announce your stage name, and the tears began flowing out of your eyes.

You finally made it!

Your manager presses a kiss to your cheek, before helping you gather your gowns and walk to the stage. The hosts give you the award - muttering a few words of congratulations.

You walk up the podium, staring at the faces of your peers. A decade ago, you were the one watching them on the screen - and now you were one of them.

You stare at the camera, with tears still flowing down your eyes. "Daemon, baby we did it!" was the first thing you said, and the crowd erupts into a second round of cheers.

"I want to thank everyone especially the academy, my co-workers, the directors, the writers and the producers. I couldn't have done it without you." you thanked, wiping the tears away from your eyes using a small handkerchief.

"I want to thank all of my fans for supporting me. I'm so sorry, I didn't prepare a speech because I thought Meryl Streep would win. I'm just really glad to be among these women today." you smiled, knowing that he was watching you from the screen.

theresesupporter NAUR cuz who tf is Damon?

MicheleTheMonsterFromHell not ya'll acting shocked that therese has a bf, we didn't even know her real name until last year 💀

SullyFarts_8: IMAGINE SHE'S MARRIED WITH KIDS - MicheleTheMonsterFromHell: I wouldn't be surprised 💀

Therese_Ismy.mommydom My #1 suspect as therese's bf

BenjaminButtons_11: OR Daemon Targaryen - Therese_Ismy.mommydom: Who?? - BenjaminButtons_11: The guy who basically owns half of the trade industry 💀 he's famous in europe/south america cuz he acted in that one telenovela as a teen - Therese_Ismy.mommydom: nty i think it's matt damon 😁

Daemon settles down beside you with a pout on his face. "What's wrong?" you ask while editing his face on the body of a Pokemon. "Everyone thinks that you're dating Matt Damon," he huffs while browsing through his Ipad Air.

A loud laugh escapes your mouth.

"#DamonandTherese, #ThereseDamon," he continued reading the trending hashtags on Twitter. "- you should've said my full name." he pouted, and you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. "Daemon Targaryen, I love you." you hum, placing your phone on the table and wrapping both of your arms around him.

thereseupdates: Matt Damon and Therese in 'Adjustment Bureau'.

TygaTyger: 💀 I THOUGHT IT WAS A JOKE

therese: 💜

Missusssususus: I don't think it's a joke anymore, also THERESE HAS AN INSTA!! WAR IS OVER

therese: my first instagram post ! (first pic: after the haircut/vacation) (second pic: before the haircut/pre-vacation) taken by @helaenas_photography

234,890 comments 5,782,105 likes

DaemonTargaryen: Now, about that Matt Damon guy...🧐

thereseupdates: OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OGM

puppygogo "Daemon Targaryen is currently worth $900 Million" CHILEE mom get the bag 💅🏻

part two

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kyleoreillylover · 9 months ago

Note

Can you please go back to writing for Carmelo🥺🥺 we need it!

Stand on Business

Carmelo Hayes x Fem!Black!Reader

Summary: You think you have no stand in your friends life now that he betrayed Trick and has turned heel, but Carmelo makes it very clear what you mean to him, and stand on business when it comes to you.

tagged: @southerngirl41 @venusesworld @jeysbae @reci1996 @tbonesteakwithasideofmashngrav @hope4more @selena-tyler-564 @saintaquarius @whatdoeseverybodywant @raya-hunter01 @empressdede @judgementdaysunshine @beeposts

a/n: I got you boo <3 not my best work but I hope ya'll like this!!

warnings: cursing, wrestling related violence, a bit of angst, a lil spicy towards the end. Carmelo is 😩

"Fuck!"

Carmelo heard your screams of anger as you came to the back from the ring, your eyes red and tears streaming down your face. He and Trick, who were in conversation, watching the TV, hurried over to you, concern etched on both men's faces as you limped down the hallway.

"Yo, chill out, chill out." Trick went to you first, much to Carmelo's dismay, and went to steady you, but you shrugged him off, your frustration boiling over.

"I can't chill out, Trick! Did you see what happened out there?" you snapped, wiping angrily at your tears. "I had that match won, I had it, and then Tatum interfered and screwed me over!"

You kicked a nearby trash can, sending it clattering across the floor with your good leg, but forgot that your other leg was injured from the match. You winced in pain as the movement aggravated your already sore muscles.

Carmelo rushed to your side, gently placing a hand on your shoulder. "Easy, easy now," he said, his voice calm but firm. You let him guide you back to a nearby bench, where you reluctantly sat down, still seething with anger and frustration.

The night had gone to a complete shit show in your eyes. You lost your title to Lyra, Trick and Carmelo lost the dusty cup finals to Bron and Corbin, and now your leg was fucking throbbing with pain.

Trick slightly pushed past Carmelo to get a closer look at your injured leg. "Damn, that looks bad," he remarked, a sympathetic expression on his face, not seeing Carmelo side eye him as he touched your injured leg. You winced again as Trick's touch sent a jolt of pain through your body.

"Yeah, no shit," you muttered, gritting your teeth against the pain. "I'm sorry you guys lost your matches too. Tonight just… sucked."

Carmelo sighed, crouching down in front of you. "Ay, we good. You gon' get that title back, and Trick…" He turned to Trick with a nod, acknowledging their shared disappointment in the night's events.

"We mighta lost, but you gon' whoop Ilja and win the NXT title tonight, aight?" Carmelo's reassurance brought a small glimmer of hope to your eyes, despite the pain and frustration still coursing through your veins.

"Yeah, you're right," you said, taking a deep breath and trying to push past the negativity. "I'll get my rematch and take back what's mine. And Trick, you better believe I'll be cheering you on tonight. Ilja won't know what hit him."

Trick grinned, a glint of determination in his eyes. "You know how it is. I just wish you were there to cheer me on in person, but I understand you need to take care of that leg." He patted your shoulder before bringing you into a quick hug. "But don't worry, I'll make you proud."

Carmelo's eye twitched as he watched Trick's display of affection towards you, but he quickly composed himself, offering a supportive nod. Trick was acting like a lovesick puppy with you, and it was embarrassing. "That's right, Trick. We got your back no matter what," he said, his tone firm and resolute.

You felt a surge of gratitude towards your friends, despite the disappointment of the night's events. They were always there for you, through the wins and the losses, the highs and the lows. And tonight was no different.

"Thanks, guys," you said, managing a small smile despite the pain throbbing through your leg.

You went to speak again, but the speaker crackled to life, interrupting your conversation. It was the sound of the ring announcer's voice, calling Trick's name as his match was about to begin in 15 minutes.

Trick shot you a determined look before standing up and clapping Carmelo on the back. "You gon' be out there to cheer me on though, right? I need my brother to support me."

Carmelo nodded, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Wouldn't miss it for the world," he said, his tone filled with confidence. He turned to you, his eyes filled with concern and something else you couldn't quite decipher. "Want me to take you to medical and then walk you back to the bus? I ain't want you getting hurt any worse than you already are."

You gave Carmelo a appreciative smile, butterflies forming in your stomach as he grabbed your arm to help you stand up. "Yeah, that would be great, thanks," you replied, leaning on him for support as you gingerly put weight on your injured leg.

As Carmelo helped you to your feet, you leaned on him for support, grateful for his steadying presence. Trick gave you a thumbs-up before heading off to prepare for his match, leaving you and Carmelo alone in the hallway.

A couple minutes later, your leg was wrapped in a cast, and you were leaning on Melo as he walked you back to the bus.

Carmelo was acting… different, to say the least after his match with Trick. He seemed more protective than usual, and there was a tension in the air that you couldn't quite put your finger on.

As you limped down the hallway with his arm around you, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves in your stomach. Maybe it was just the adrenaline from the match, or maybe it was something else entirely.

"Are you okay? Did you get hurt too tonight?" You blurted out before you could finish your question, Carmelo cut you off with a small chuckle. "Nah, I'm good, just a little sore from the match. But you, on the other hand…" He glanced down at your injured leg, his expression softening with concern.

"I'm fine, Melo. Seriously." Despite your words, you leaned on Carmelo more heavily, your injured leg protesting with each step. He tightened his grip around you, softly tracing his thumb along your arm, making your skin tingle with awareness. You couldn't help but notice the warmth of his touch, the way his presence seemed to envelop you in a sense of safety and comfort.

As you reached the bus, Carmelo helped you settle into a seat, making sure you were comfortable before taking a seat beside you. The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the sound of the bustling arena fading into the background.

"Thanks for walking me back," you said, breaking the silence. "I appreciate it. Don't think I could have walked here without your help."

Carmelo shrugged nonchalantly, a small smile playing on his lips. "No problem. Just looking out for my friend, you know?"

Friend. The word echoed in your mind, sending a pang of disappointment through you. You had always harbored deeper feelings for Carmelo, feelings you had never dared to voice out loud. But now, as you sat beside him, you couldn't help but wonder if maybe there was a chance for something more.

Before you could dwell on the thought any further, Carmelo leaned in closer, his voice lowering to a hushed tone. "Listen, I know tonight didn't go the way we wanted it to, but I want you promise me something." He paused, his dark eyes locking onto yours, a mixture of determination and something else flickering in their depths.

You felt your heart skip a beat as you met Carmelo's gaze, the intensity of his stare sending a shiver down your spine. "What is it?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the air between you suddenly charged with an unspoken tension.

Carmelo's expression softened, a hint of vulnerability and darkness flickering on his features. "Promise me you'll never leave me, no matter what I do, no matter what happens."

His words hung in the air, heavy with emotion and unspoken longing. You searched his eyes, seeing a rawness that mirrored your own hidden desires. Without hesitation, you reached out and took his hand in yours, intertwining your fingers with his.

"I promise," You whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. "I'll never leave you, Carmelo. No matter what."

A sense of relief washed over Carmelo's face, his features relaxing as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He squeezed your hand tightly, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your skin.

"Thank you," he said softly, his voice filled with emotion. He leaned in closer to you, and you held your breath as he brushed the hair out of your face, his touch gentle and tender. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as you lost yourself in the intensity of his gaze.

But before anything more could happen, the loudspeaker crackled to life once again, announcing Trick's match was about to start. Carmelo reluctantly pulled away, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer before he stood up.

"I gotta go support Trick," he said, his voice slightly strained. "But just promise me that you'll always remember what I said, okay?"

You nodded, feeling a sense of warmth spreading through your chest at Carmelo's words. "I won't forget," you promised, watching as he made his way towards the exit of the bus. As he disappeared from view, you couldn't help but feel a surge of hope mingled with uncertainty swirling inside you.

And then that hope turned into anger as you watched him pummel Trick's knee with a chair, beating his best friend to the ground before storming off, leaving Trick writhing in pain.

Shock and betrayal coursed through you as you struggled to comprehend what you had just witnessed. Your mind reeled with conflicting emotions, torn between loyalty to your friend and the undeniable bond you shared with Carmelo.

You watched on the TV as Carmelo sat on the chair he used to pummel Trick, a look of smug satisfaction on his face as Trick writhed in pain.

"I'm the guy, Trick! I'm him! I'm the one for her, not you!" " He shouted, his voice filled with anger and bitterness. He licked his lips at the mention of you, standing up, a fierce determination burning in his eyes.

You felt a shiver run through you as he winked at the camera, no doubt in your mind that it was directed at you. An angel face with a devilish grin, Carmelo smirked at the camera, his gaze piercing through the screen and sending a chill down your spine.

You honestly didn't know what to do. Should you confront Carmelo about what you saw? Should you stand by Trick's side despite the betrayal? The weight of your decisions hung heavy on your shoulders as you watched the chaos unfold on the screen.

Realization suddenly dawned on you as you realized that Carmelo's actions weren't just about Trick or his vendetta against him. They were about you. You were caught in the middle of a rivalry you never asked to be a part of, torn between two friends who both claimed to care about you.

But as you watched Carmelo's cold, calculating demeanor on the screen, you couldn't help but wonder if you truly knew him at all. Was he the loyal friend you thought he was, or was there a darker side to him that you had never seen before?

You snapped out of your stupid as you saw Melo leave the ring, and went to get up, but realized the cast on your leg made it difficult to move. And you didn't have crutches, Carmelo told the docs that he would help you with whatever you needed. Anger flared within you as you realized Carmelo had purposefully withheld the means for you to leave the bus, trapping you there to witness his betrayal unfold on the screen.

You tried to get up anyways, wincing when you put weight on your injured leg. The pain shot through you like a lightning bolt, and you plopped back down onto the seat with a frustrated sigh. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you struggled to make sense of everything that had happened.

"Why, Melo?" you whispered to yourself, your voice barely above a hoarse whisper. "Why would you do this?"

But deep down, you already knew the answer. Carmelo's actions spoke volumes, revealing a side of him that you had never seen before.

And as much as it hurt to admit it, you couldn't deny the truth staring you in the face: that you understood where Carmelo was coming from; you could sense the underlying currents of jealousy and possessiveness that had driven him to betray Trick and hurt you in the process. But that didn't make it any easier to accept.

Exactly 10 minutes later, your door handle was being jerked open, but you found yourself unable to look Carmelo in the eye as he entered the bus.

His footsteps were heavy, weighted with guilt and regret — not for hurting Trick, but for possibly hurting you — as he made his way over to you. You could feel his presence looming over you, but you refused to meet his gaze, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor.

"Don't be shy now, baby." Carmelo's voice was soft despite the arrogance laced within it.

He sighed as you refused to acknowledge him, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Look, I know what you saw out there… and I know it probably doesn't make any sense right now. But can you at least look at me?"

"No, get the fuck out of my face, Carmelo," You spat out, finally mustering the strength to meet his gaze. The anger in your eyes burned brightly, mirroring the fire within your chest. "You betrayed Trick, you betrayed me. I don't want to hear your excuses."

"I didn't betray you, I betrayed him!" Carmelo interrupted, his tone defensive. "So you're just gonna turn your back on me too?" he continued, his eyes searching yours for any sign of forgiveness.

You shook your head, your frustration bubbling over. "You think this is about Trick? It's about you, Carmelo! You hurt him, and you hurt me by doing it. I don't even know if you're gonna attack me next either. You've changed, and I don't know who you are anymore."

Carmelo's eyes burned a whole through you at your words. "You really think I would hurt you? That I would betray you?" he questioned, a mixture of anger and hurt flashing across his face.

"Uh, yeah, considering you just attacked Trick and left him writhing in pain," you shot back, your tone dripping with sarcasm. "Here, let me make its easier for you."

You propped your leg on the nearby seat, displaying the cast and the pain etched on your face. "I'm injured, vulnerable, and you use that to trap me here and force me to witness your little display in the ring. Real classy, Carmelo."

"You think I planned for you to get hurt so you could witness that? You think I'm that cruel?" Carmelo's voice softened, genuine concern replacing the defensive tone. He took a step closer, but you held up your hand, signaling for him to stay back.

"Don't act like you care about me now. Whatever we had, it's gone," you declared, your voice firm. "You need to leave, Carmelo. I can't be around someone who would do what you did."

Carmelo scoffed at your words, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "Oh, you gon' act like I never cared about you? After everything we've been through?" he retorted, his frustration boiling over. "You think I did this just for kicks? You mean more to me than you know."

Your heart sped up as he moved closer to you, his eyes boring into yours so intently the it almost felt suffocating. "Stop looking at me like that, Carmelo."

"Like what?" Carmelo's voice was barely above a whisper, his breath warm against your skin as he leaned in closer. You could feel the tension crackling between you, a magnetic pull drawing you closer despite your better judgment.

"Like you don't hate my guts," you replied, your voice shaky but defiant. "You can't just switch gears and expect everything to go back to normal after what you did out there. You attacked Trick, and now you're standing here acting like it's no big deal."

"Because it's not a big deal, not when it comes to him. He was never the one for you, and I needed to make you see that," Carmelo confessed, his eyes searching yours for understanding. "I care about you, more than I should, and seeing you with him… it drove me insane. And I had to do something about it. The only thing I regret is hurting you in the process."

You let out a bitter laugh, disbelief coloring your expression. "You… like me?"

Carmelo smirked at your incredulous reaction. "Yeah, I do. More than I should, and more than I ever intended to admit."

His gaze softened, and he took a step towards you, the tension between you two reaching a breaking point. You couldn't deny the conflicting emotions swirling inside you, a mix of anger, betrayal, and a spark of something else that you didn't want to acknowledge. "And I know you like me too, deep down." His face was mere inches away from yours, his eyes searching for any sign of reciprocation.

Your mind raced as you grappled with the revelation. Despite the anger and betrayal, there was an undeniable attraction between you and Carmelo. The air crackled with tension, and you could feel the pull, drawing you closer to him. His lips were dangerously close to yours, and you felt a magnetic force urging you to bridge the gap.

But the images of Trick writhing in pain on the TV screen flashed in your mind, grounding you in the harsh reality of the situation. You couldn't ignore the hurt he had caused, the trust shattered in a single, calculated act.

"No, Carmelo," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I can't… I can't just forget what you did. It's not that simple."

Carmelo's expression shifted from desperation to resignation. He sighed, stepping back and running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know you need some time, and I get that. But don't think I'm giving up on you, on us. I'll give you all the time you need, but don't think for a second that I don't care about you."

You remained silent, processing the whirlwind of emotions that had unfolded in such a short span. Carmelo turned to leave, his footsteps heavy with the weight of the situation. As he reached the door, he paused, casting a final glance in your direction.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words hanging in the air between you. "I never wanted to hurt you. But I'm too selfish to let you go. Just remember that, baby."

The door closed behind him, leaving you alone in the bus with a mix of conflicting emotions. The images of Trick's pain and Carmelo's betrayal played on a loop in your mind. The pain in your leg seemed to pale in comparison to the ache in your heart.

But the fact you still wanted Carmelo made you question your own feelings and judgments. Why do you still find yourself drawn to him despite the hurt he caused? Was there a part of you that couldn't fully let go of the connection you shared?

Only time would be able to tell.

--------------------------------------------

Over the next few days, you ignored Carmelo's calls and messages, determined to give yourself the space and time needed to process the whirlwind of emotions. The tour continued, each day bringing new challenges and distractions, yet the weight of the recent events lingered in the back of your mind.

Trick, too, had been distant since the incident. The camaraderie that once defined your group seemed to have shattered, leaving an awkward tension hanging in the air. It pained you to see the friendships unravel, all because of a tangled web of emotions and betrayal.

You told all of this to Lash and Jakara, your fellow wrestlers and best friends, the next week at NXT, and you knew they would be honest with you.

"I just… Carmelo's been calling and texting me, and I don't know what to do," you admitted, looking at Lash and Jakarta with a mix of confusion and vulnerability. "I can't shake off what he did, but at the same time, there's this part of me that wants to understand."

Lash and Jakara exchanged glances before Jakara spoke up. "Look, I'ma be real. You ignoring him cause you understand where hes coming from and you mad at yourself for not being able to fully push him away, right?"

You sighed, nodding in acknowledgment. "Yeah, it's like I know he messed up, but there's this weird pull. I can't explain it."

Lash leaned forward, her eyes filled with concern. "Y/N, sometimes we're drawn to people who are bad for us. It's like a magnetic force that's hard to resist. You just gotta either fuck his brains out and see how you feel after or cut him out completely. There's no in-between when it comes to guys like that."

You couldn't help but chuckle at Lash's straightforward advice. "I don't think that'll work, but thanks for the advice, Lash."

"Oh come on, we see the way ya'll eye fuck each other." Lash teased, earning a playful shove from Jakara. "But seriously, Y/N, you gotta figure out what you want. If Carmelo's worth the risk, then go for it. But if he's just gonna bring you more pain, then it might be best to cut ties and move on."

You nodded, grateful for your friends' honesty and support. "Thanks, guys. I'll think about it. But for now, I just need some time to clear my head."

Lash and Jakara nodded in understanding, offering you comforting smiles before you left, bumping into a rock solid figure as you exited the locker room.

"Oh, I'm so sorry-" You went to apologize before realizing it was Carmelo standing in front of you. His eyes searched yours, a mix of hope and apprehension in his gaze.

"You look good." He commented, and your own eyes looked him up and down, taking in the way his leather jacket made him look so fucking hot, and his dark eyes held a certain intensity that you found both captivating and unsettling. Guess this is what Lash meant when she said you both eye fuck each other.

You took a step back, creating a physical distance between you and Carmelo. "We need to talk," he said, his voice low and earnest.

"I don't think there's much left to say, Carmelo," you replied, crossing your arms defensively. The memories of his betrayal and Trick's pain were still fresh in your mind, making it difficult to fully trust him.

"You said you needed some time. I gave you that time." Carmelo spoke, his words carrying a mixture of frustration and vulnerability.

"Yeah, a few days don't magically erase what happened," you retorted, feeling a surge of anger bubbling up. "You can't just expect everything to go back to normal after what you did."

"You think I'ma hurt you?" Carmelo studied your expression, the intensity in his eyes never wavering before realization kicked in. "You think that cause I betrayed Trick, I'ma betray you too?"

You didn't respond immediately, unsure of how to put your conflicting emotions into words. Carmelo's expression softened, and he took a step closer, a desperate plea in his eyes.

"I would never hurt you. Anybody but you." He knew you had trust issues, that you had been hurt before, and that's why you were hesitant to fully let him back in. But he was willing to fight for you, to prove that he was worth the risk.

You sighed, feeling torn between the lingering hurt and the undeniable attraction you still felt towards Carmelo. "I want to believe you, but I can't."

Carmelos' gaze darkened even more at your words, determination burning in his eyes. "Then I'ma show you that you wrong. That you tryna pretend like you don't still care about me, but I know you do." He stepped even closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I know you feel it too, that spark between us that never truly went away."

You swallowed hard, feeling a mix of apprehension and longing swirling inside you. "Melo…"

But Carmelo's hand interjected, gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from yours, internally smiling. You called him Melo again.

"After tonight, if you still ain't sure about us, I'll respect that. But I promise you, that you won't be able to ignore what we have." His voice was barely above a whisper, his breath warm against your skin as he pressed himself against you, his lips tantalizingly close to yours.

For a moment, you were frozen, caught between the pull of desire and the fear of getting hurt again. But then, you felt it—the undeniable chemistry between you and Carmelo, the magnetic force that seemed to draw you closer together.

Then Carmelo pulled away, a smirk playing on his lips as he took a step back, leaving you breathless and wanting more. "Think about it, baby," he said, his voice low and husky. "I'll be waiting."

With that, Carmelo turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, your mind racing with a million thoughts and emotions. You watched him go, feeling torn between the familiar comfort of what you had with Trick and the electrifying attraction you felt towards Carmelo.

As you stood there, lost in your thoughts, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held for you and Carmelo. Would you be able to move past the hurt and betrayal, or would you continue to be drawn to him like a moth to a flame?

You tried to find your answer in Carmelo as you watched him make his way to the ring, a chorus of boos following him as he stepping into the ring, sitting down into the same chair he used to attack Trick. The crowd expressed their disapproval with loud jeers and boos.

As Carmelo sat in the ring, a smirk playing on his lips, he glanced up at the screen, his eyes locking with yours for a brief moment. You could feel the intensity of his gaze even from across the arena, a silent promise lingering between you.

"The villain is the villain in the story if the hero is telling the story." Carmelo smirked into the camera, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "But what if the hero ain't telling the whole story? What if there's more to it than meets the eye?"

The crowd erupted into a cacophony of boos. But as you watched him sit there, a smirk playing on his lips, you couldn't help but wonder if there was truth to his words.

Maybe Carmelo wasn't the villain you had made him out to be. Maybe there was more to his story, more to his actions than you could ever understand. You thought you could never understand someone that would betray his best friend, but as you watched Carmelo in the ring, a flicker of doubt crept into your mind.

Maybe, just maybe, there was a side to Carmelo that you had never seen before. And maybe, just maybe, you were willing to give him a chance to prove himself.

He continued to gloat and smirk, eyes a flame with confidence and defiance as he addressed the crowd, his words carrying a weight of truth that sent a chill down your spine. He looked so sexy like that, leaning back in his chair, his dark eyes smoldering with intensity as he addressed the crowd. Despite the overwhelming boos and jeers from the audience, Carmelo remained unfazed, his confidence unwavering as he spoke his truth. It was like he was talking to you directly, his words piercing through the noise of the crowd and reaching straight into your heart.

"Trick, you were always my hype man. But Y/N, you were my heart. Trick, you were not on my level. But Y/N, you were always my equal." Carmelo's words echoed in your mind, resonating with a truth that you couldn't deny. Despite everything that had happened, despite the hurt and the betrayal, there was still a connection between you and Carmelo that ran deeper than words could express.

The audience started to boo even louder, making Carmelo laugh sexily, a deep chuckle escaping his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he addressed the crowd with a smug grin.

"You think Trick is gonna come out and whoop me! I whooped him once, I'll do it again. but Y/N, you know better than anyone that he was never the one for you. He was just holding you back from what you truly deserve." Carmelo's eyes locked onto the camera, his words a direct challenge to both Trick and, seemingly, to you.

The crowd's reaction intensified, the boos and jeers reaching a deafening level. Carmelo seemed to revel in the chaos, his confidence unwavering as he continued to speak his truth.

"Y/N, you deserve someone who's on your level, someone who can match your intensity, someone who can give you everything you need. And deep down, you know I'm the one who can do that for you." Carmelo's voice dropped to a seductive tone, his eyes burning with a fiery passion that sent a shiver down your spine.

You licked your lips nervously, feeling a surge of conflicting emotions coursing through you. Carmelo's words struck a chord deep within you, stirring up feelings and desires that you had tried so hard to suppress. Despite the hurt and betrayal, there was a part of you that couldn't deny the truth in Carmelo's words.

You saw your phone buzzing, and Trick's contact popped on the screen, but you declined the call. You knew what you needed to do.

And when Carmelo came back from his promo, all confidence and swagger, you made your decision.

You approached him, grabbed him by his jacket, and kissed him passionately, the electricity between you igniting into a fiery passion that neither of you could deny. Carmelo responded eagerly, his hands finding their way to your waist as he deepened the kiss, his lips moving hungrily against yours.

The world seemed to fade away as you lost yourself in the intensity of the moment, the heat of Carmelo's touch searing through you like a wildfire.

Despite the chaos and uncertainty surrounding you, there was a sense of clarity in this moment, a knowing that you were exactly where you were meant to be. He might be the villain of the story, but he was your villain, and you were ready to embrace whatever the future held for you and Carmelo.

You moaned into Melo's mouth as he bit your lip, the kiss growing more passionate by the second. Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. It was like a wildfire had been ignited between you, consuming everything in its path.

"I.. told… you." Carmelo mumbled against your lips, trying to get a sentence out, but it was hard with you kissing him so passionately. You pulled back slightly, a mischievous glint in your eyes as you smirked at him.

"Told me what?" you teased, enjoying the way his breath hitched as you trailed kisses along his jawline.

Carmelo's eyes darkened with desire as he gazed at you, his hands gripping your waist possessively. "That I'm the one for you, baby. Always have been." With that, he crashed his lips back against yours, the kiss igniting a firestorm of passion between you.

You giggled against his lips, feeling a surge of excitement coursing through you as you lost yourself in the intensity of the moment.

"Then prove it to me," you challenged between kisses, your voice breathless with desire.

Carmelo's lips curled into a wicked smirk as he pulled away slightly, his dark eyes burning with a fierce determination. "Oh, I intend to," he replied, his voice husky with desire.

With that, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you towards the nearest private room, his lips trailing hot kisses along your neck as he whispered promises of passion and pleasure.

Let's just say... he definitely proved himself to you that night, leaving no doubts in your mind about his feelings or intentions.

141 notes · View notes

2dmenenthusiast · 2 years ago

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Last Night on Earth Pt. 3

(Ethan Winters x Gn!Reader)

Me? Finally posting a chapter? Why, it couldn't be! I hope ya'll enjoy!

Also, lemme know if anyone would like to be tagged in this series!

Warnings/other info: references to injury, grief

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5 Pt. 6 Pt. 7 Pt. 8 Pt. 9

It was cold. The frigid air seeped in through the windows and circulated around the large room. You laid curled up on your bed, knees to your chest. You’d be warmer if you got under the covers, but you didn’t feel like moving. Didn’t feel like showing weakness, which was all you felt the past three days. Weak and helpless.

“Do you know why you’re being punished?”

You turned away from Sister Jude, arms crossed tight against your chest.

“You can be silent all you want. It won’t change the outcome.”

With a huff, you sat up, a glare aimed at the older woman. How could she treat you like this? When it wasn’t even your fault!

You could feel your nose start bleeding again, and you quickly wiped at it. Sister Jude sat on the bed next to you and reached out with a tissue. You slapped her hand away, and she sighed.

“Why must you be so stubborn?”

“I don’t know. Why can’t you punish the jerk that smashed my guitar?”

“Well, maybe it has to do with the fact that he’s currently getting a cast on his arm! Why didn’t you come to me? To any of us?”

You scoffed and stood from the bed, pacing around and throwing your arms out in frustration. “Like you would’ve done anything! All I’d get is another rant from Father O’Neil about ‘being patient’ and ‘forgiveness.’ Screw that!”

“So that means you can just go ahead and start breaking limbs whenever someone upsets you?”

“Like they haven’t done worse to me,” you mumbled under your breath.

She remained for a moment, her eyes searching your face before she sighed and stood from your bed.

“I’ll expect you at confession. If this behavior doesn’t change, you know what will happen.”

When she turned her back, you raised both middle fingers at her and resisted the urge to scream, teeth painfully clenched together. Your eyes stung as you laid back down, hissing in pain and clutching your ribs.

No, you couldn’t tell her about how the other kids dragged you into the bathroom and kicked you until you were bleeding. You couldn’t tell her about the vile and awful things they called you, the notes they stuck on your back when you weren’t looking. Because it would only get worse if you did.

***

“Well, that’s mildly disturbing.”

You’ve seen more than your fair share of disconcerting things while being trapped in your family home. The occasional decapitated limb, the entrails of the hopeless victims your mother stored in the fridge like it was last night's leftovers. Oh, and not to forget the seven foot tall mold monsters brambling around the property.

Surprised to say, “mummified child corpse” was a new one on the ever growing list.

“That’s underselling it I think,” Ethan muttered, and you took a close look at the paper stapled to the lid.

D-Series cranial nerve

D-series peripheral nerve

“What kind of freaky shit is this?

For how long you’ve been trapped, you feel as if you know about as much now as you did when this all first started. You were completely left in the dark, scrambling for answers like a blind, helpless child. The only clue you had was Mia’s hastily scribbled note she left you before she passed out. But she could barely remember her own name most days, let alone what Evie and her minions were all about or where they came from. Was she even a good person if she was involved in all this from the beginning? Did Ethan really know the woman he was married to?

And what the fuck did she bring to your home? Your family?!

The lid slammed with a loud BANG!, shaking the table underneath and the candles meticulously placed around it. You would’ve picked it up and thrown it through the window if the phone hadn’t interrupted your rage induced fit.

You gripped the phone and put the receiver to your ear. “Zoe, I swear on this god given green earth, if you’re not back inside the fucking trailer—”

“Jesus Christ, would you cool it? I’m back. I’m safe.” She sighed on the other end. You could tell she was exhausted. “You found a serum?”

“No. But we found out how to make one. Had to get through Momma and her bugs to fuckin’ get to it.”

“Yeah, could’ve warned me,” Ethan said, raising his voice so Zoe could hear him.

Your sister chuckled as you raised your hand and pushed Ethan back, stilling him with your stare. He raised his hands and shrugged, turning his back.

“We need a D-series head and an arm. Which the creepy factor in this case isn’t surprising at all.”

“A head? I think I got one around here somewhere.”

Your eyes closed, and you pinched the bridge of your nose. “That’s such a comforting and normal thing to say, Zo. Thank you,”

She laughed, and the sound made your lips twitch. It’s been a while since you heard her actually laugh. It was a comfort to know she was still able to.

“Meet me at the trailer once you get it, alright? And don’t get yourself killed.”

You told her to do the same and hung up, relieved to know that your sister was safe. At least for now. With a huff, your back thumped against the wall, and your eyes met Ethan’s. How long has it been since he first got here? Four hours? Five? It felt like an eternity if you were being honest. Time going by at a snail's pace as you both fought tooth and nail to try and stay alive.

This serum better fucking work!

“You alright?”

Your chest heaved with a breath, and you watched Ethan’s hand twitch at his side, like he wanted to reach out to you just to make sure.

“I will be.”

You moved to step away from the wall, but Ethan was in front of you in an instant, the intense concern in his eyes freezing you to your spot. His hand raised, and you instinctively flinched away. You knew rationally that he would never hurt you. He didn’t seem like the type. But that lingering paranoia, that smidgen of fear that remained, it lurked like a cold shadow over your shoulder. A constant presence and reminder of things that once plagued you so many years ago.

Your tensed shoulders slowly fell, a small indication that Ethan could continue, and his fingers gently brushed against the base of your neck. A dull pain throbbed where he touched, and you grimaced at the quick reminder of your mother’s hands around your throat.

Squeezing.

Choking.

Killing.

“Does it look bad?”

His hand came to rest on your shoulder, thumb gently sweeping over your collar bone and catching the chain of your tags. The cool metal dragged against your chest, goosebumps rising on your skin. His touch was so careful. Considerate. Something you haven’t experienced in a long, long time. And maybe you shouldn’t be craving more of it, because by god, this was a married man and you certainly were not some fucking homewrecker. But a part of you ached when he pulled his hand away, missing his warmth and the comfort that accompanied it.

“I think you’ll survive.”

A smirk tugged at his lips, and you tore your eyes away from him before any other intrusive thoughts were planted in your brain. Your hand rubbed at the back of your neck once Ethan stepped away, smothering the heat that spread over your skin.

You hate that you react like this. It makes you want to claw at your skin. To scrub at it until it’s raw and bleeding. You don’t want to feel like you need anything from Ethan, especially something he couldn’t give you.

Shaking your head, you immediately attempt to disperse any remaining inappropriate thought, steeling your expression and turning towards the small set of stairs leading towards an unsearched part of the house.

The cluttered room you step into is almost comforting, homey even. If it weren't for the rotting rat stuffed in the basket at your feet.

Your lips curled downwards in a grimace, casting the sight out of your mind as you gently ran your fingers over the piano keys. They moved into a familiar position, gently pressing down until a few gentle notes clinked through. The sound immediately sent you back to a time more pleasant than what you were facing now. A time of gentleness and care.

"You play?" Ethan wondered from behind you.

You shrugged, turning to him. "Momma did. Taught me how to play a few songs. I don't remember much."

He didn't say anything after that, but he could see the heartache in your eyes at the mention of the person your mother used to be.

You quickly moved on, turning the corner and coming across another lantern and another locked door. You experimentally pushed on it, the solid weight under your palms not even giving an inch. You glanced at the lantern on the uneven scale when it hit you.

Son of a-

"We have to find her."

Ethan's eyes were wide, silently asking you what the hell you were implying. "What?"

"It's the only way to get through. Take the light and find the ingredients. You got me?"

“She’s going to slaughter us!”

“Do you wanna get the serum or not?!”

Ethan sighed in defeat, fingers pressing into his eyes. It wasn’t the smartest option, but it was the only one you could see. That, or stay here for the insects to burrow into your skin and fester.

“I’m not gonna go back to the trailer and lick my wounds when we’ve come this far. You told me we could do this, right?”

Ethan finally looked at you, brows pinched and jaw clenched. You reached out, placing a hand on his arm and squeezing.

“Then let’s get it done.”

There was a monstrously heavy and bleak presence that loomed over you once you made your way back to the hole in the floor. You could feel it clawing at your back, breathing down your neck. It sent your blood pressure spiking, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as you looked down into the soggy pit. The water had drained, leaving mud and squiggling bugs in its wake, and Ethan reluctantly descended the creaky ladder.

You followed once he made it all the way down and cursed when your foot slipped against the wet wood, fingers tightening their grip. But, Ethan was already there before you could fall, hands on your legs to stabilize you.

“You alright?”

Gulping, you nodded. The warmth of his palms through your jeans seared your skin, and his touch only left you once your feet hit solid ground. Muttering a soft ‘thanks,’ you gingerly pulled away and looked down the muddy cavern beside you.

What you saw forced a breath out of your lungs from shock. Your mother was scuttling ahead on all fours, her limbs an abnormally long length like a gangly spider.

“Huh. Well that’s special.”

You glanced at Ethan with raised brows and shook your head. At least he could find humor in the situation.

With your gun raised, you took the lead, Ethan right on your heels with his shotgun clutched tight in his hands. Sweat dripped down your forehead, the thick and musty air clogging your lungs and sticking your shirt to your skin. Once you finally made it out through the manhole, you greedily sucked in the fresh air, your sore throat and burning skin grateful.

“Fucking—” You shoved your pistol aside and gripped one sleeve of your shirt, pulling until you heard the satisfying rip of fabric. Doing the same to the other, your muscles tensed and flexed under the cool air, a pleasant shiver running up your spine as goosebumps covered your skin. Ethan looked on with curious eyes, but you soon had the solid weight of your weapon back in your hands and were already moving on.

The crushing reality that you might just have to kill your mother was finally starting to seep in, and it felt like a cement brick had been dropped right on your chest. You had accepted the reality long ago that your mom died the day Evie infected her, and she was too far along for any cure to work on her. But… this thing. This fucking monster, it wore her face, spoke in her voice.

But she wasn’t your momma. Not anymore.

The decrepit house she took shelter in felt like it was going to collapse any minute, the wooden beams holding it up practically chewed through and the foundation sliding.

“Try not to fall through the floor again, yeah?” you said, ascending the rotten steps.

Ethan spoke up, but he was interrupted when the window in front of you shattered and long limbs stretched out towards you.

“Come on now with me! We’re gonna settle this!” Marguerite screeched.

Ethan reacted faster than you would’ve given him credit for, firing off his shotgun as you pulled the trigger on your pistol. She screamed and crawled back through the window whilst you scrambled to your feet and raced up the rest of the stairs, Ethan hot on your tail.

Boots skidding across the floor, Ethan’s body practically slammed into yours as he tried to dodge your mother’s oncoming attacks. Her hand seized through the floor and gripped his ankle, his gun going flying as she yanked him down.

“Fuck!” He scrambled for you, and your gun went off in your mother’s face.

“Agh! You son of a bitch! I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you hear me?!

“Let. Him. Go!”

You shot again, and she finally released her hold with a scream, crawling off to somewhere you couldn’t see. Ethan pulled his foot out of the floor with a pained hiss, blood soaking his pants and large splinters of wood piercing his skin.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded, limping over to his shotgun, “Let’s go kill that fucking bitch.”

You could make out your mother’s yelling and cursing from the floor below, and you attempted to maneuver the upstairs without falling through the huge gaps in the floor. The smell of gunpowder and smoke was heavy in the air, shots booming and Marguerite’s screams ear piercing. Ethan tried to stay close to you the entire time, whether that be because he was scared or he was trying to protect you, you didn’t know. But you weren’t complaining, either.

The vile cracking and shifting of your mother’s limbs caught your attention, and you watched with horror as she jumped all the way from the bottom floor up to where you stood. She swiped an arm out and caught your side, and your body slammed into the wall before you slumped down against it. Ethan cried out your name, making a beeline for you when Marguerite snatched the back of his shirt and threw him towards the opposite side of the house. He crashed through the wall and landed harshly on the ground, rolling onto his back.

“Ethan! No!”

He wasn’t responsive, lying prone as your mother stomped towards you. Fear gripped at your spine, chest heaving with stuttering breaths and your body so tense it felt like you were made of ice. The monster in front of you breathed heavily, her limbs dangling at her sides and her disgusting, slimy belly peeking through her dress. She looked like something out of your nightmares. A horror story the kids in foster homes would use to torment you.

You tried to stand, bracing your hand against the wall, but your leg and side screamed in pain. She got closer with every long stride, and soon, she was right in front of you, a boney hand clutching your neck and lifting. She dangled you over the giant hole in the second level, your hand coming up to grip at her arm as she bared her disgusting teeth.

“You fucking good for nothing, bitch. I wish I never became your mother!”

She screamed the words, spit landing on your face and mixing with the tears that rolled down your cheeks. There was a quiet click, and cool metal pressed against her forehead.

“My mother—” you gasp for breath, finger squeezing down on the trigger, “is dead!”

BANG!

You were floating. Falling. And then the ground meets your back like a speeding train. Your mouth opens, but you can’t gasp for breath because it’s being forced out of you. Your ears ring, and you can’t hear. Not even when Ethan is by your side, grabbing your shoulders and mouthing something you guess is your name.

Finally, your back arches with a deep intake of air, coughing on it violently before you can manage to breathe again. Ethan is there the whole time, his hands gently holding you and trying to talk you through it. When your head lolls to the side, you see your dead mother’s face right next to you. White crawls over her skin until her whole body is calcified and frozen.

And then she breaks and falls apart.

You can hear her crumbling, her face falling away until you can no longer recognize her. It hurts. More than you thought it would.

She was so beautiful once.

“Hey! Hey, can you hear me?”

Ethan shakes you and you groan out in pain. He immediately apologizes and brushes your hair out of your face.

“Come on, you gotta get up. You’re okay. You’ll be okay.”

There’s desperation in his voice you’ve only heard once before. When he begged you to help him find his wife. And you don’t bother to question why it fills you with a bit of warmth.

You're pretty sure you fractured a rib, and it’s still incredibly hard to breathe, but you sit up anyway with his help, gripping his arm when the pain makes you seize up.

“I’ve got you. You’re alright.”

He’s got you.

Once you feel like you can deal with the pain, you shift onto your knees with a bit of difficulty, and look down at the pile of dust that was once your mom. Your hand slowly sifted through it, grabbing a handful and letting the dust fall between your fingers until a golden band rests in your palm.

She’s gone.

She’s really gone this time.

Your fingers curl around the ring and you hold it to your chest, body wracking with violent sobs. Ethan is next to you in a heartbeat, his arms carefully wrapping around you and tugging until you fall back into him. He mutters apologies and comforts into your ear, and all the while you’re screaming at yourself in your head for you to stop.

Get a grip! She was a monster!

Then why does it hurt so much?

“Hey. I know, okay? But we gotta go,” Ethan muttered, his hand gently rubbing your shoulder.

You knew he was right. You had to leave before something else came looking for you. With a sniffle, Ethan helped you stand to your feet and grabbed the lantern with his other hand, gently shaking the dust off of it. You never felt more hopeless than in that moment, injured and practically falling over if it weren’t for the man next to you. And while you’d normally detest at the idea of someone practically carrying you to safety, you wouldn’t put up much of a fight this time.

Still, you tried not to put all your weight on him, knowing he was hurt too. You leaned away a bit, but the second he felt your weight slightly lean off him, he pulled you right back against his side.

“Ethan, I can—”

“Don’t. I got you.”

“You’re hurt too, asshole. I’m not— Agh! I’m not lettin’ you do all the heavy lifting.”

Ethan chuckled and relented, letting you take a bit of his struggle. “You’re so damn stubborn, you know that?”

You smiled, and it was less painful than you thought it would be. “Is that what you were gonna tell me earlier? Back at the old house?”

“Something along those lines. Maybe a bit meaner.”

“You’ll break my heart by the end o’ this, Winters.”

The hand on your side gave you a light squeeze.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

#Ethan winters x reader #ethan winters #resident evil 7 #resident evil biohazard #ethan winters imagine #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil #re7

71 notes · View notes

mareenavee · 1 year ago

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WIP Whenever~

Hello! It's Wednesday again and I AM ON TIME!? ME? yes, yes I am. Thank you to @thequeenofthewinter and @rainpebble3 for tagging me, you both are glorious and lovely people :D

Tagging the most esteemed @paraparadigm, @changelingsandothernonsense, @thana-topsy, @elfinismsarts, @snippetsrus, @orfeoarte, @kookaburra1701, @gilgamish, @tallmatcha, @archangelsunited, @rhiannon1199, @friend-of-giants, @saltymaplesyrup, @dirty-bosmer and @polypolymorph and YOU, yes you, if you see this and want to play along. Just tag me, because I have, invisibly, and with my entire heart, tagged you, too. Below the cut for pieces of Chapter 28: Never Quite Awake. It's long because a) I have no chill and b) I couldn't decide between the first half or the last half to share so ya'll get both halves. Some of you have seen this in various states, some might be new content, some might have updated.... :> Either way, I hope you enjoy it!

Breathe. Just breathe.

She blinked away the tears, and the phantom faded to nothing and nowhere. Her bones ached. She was so, so tired. Her muscles screamed. She was back in her body. Somehow aware of her own skin again, she found she was leaning against something solid.

No. Someone.

“Nyenna, please cease your thrashing.”

“She can’t,” said another voice, exhausted, exasperated.

Teldryn.

His voice echoed in her chest from behind. It was his arms that held her now. Her own limbs felt numb. Everything was still on fire. The fatigue of her thrashing crashed over her in a wave. She slumped back with a long exhale. Her throat burned. Teldryn did not let go.

Neloth floated into her vision as the terror faded and the edges of whatever hell she’d been in fully disappeared. His face twisted with the effort of holding a particularly powerful Healing spell over her. It chimed in her ears, and she realized the sound of it had been there the whole time.

“Sixteen attempts, and that was by far the most unsettling,” Neloth said solemnly. He dropped the spell rather abruptly. He swayed and a hand shot out to steady him.

“No kidding,” Teldryn drawled. He sighed and shifted just so to speak over her shoulder. A headache was blooming behind her right eye. He gently touched the side of her face. She glanced sidelong at him as she realized he was asking her a question. “Do…you recognize where you are?”

It hit her like a boulder. She remembered waking up here before. An era ago. More. She’d been lost for so long.

“T-tel Mithryn,” Nyenna said. The words felt false in her mouth, spoken as if from memorization. But still, she spoke and recognized the sound, the language. Teldryn inhaled sharply and nodded at Neloth. She felt the tension in his arms as he returned to hold her as he had in the dream, like she was falling apart. Perhaps she was.

The old wizard’s eyebrows raised in surprise — a look that was far too strange on him. He’d normally been so level and confident. He reached for some kind of ledger and a chunk of charcoal and noted down a few things in neat, though overlarge, Dunmeris. He put the book on his lap and reached for her. She instinctively backed away, but Teldryn made a soothing noise and rubbed her arms.

Neloth snorted and took her chin in his knobby, overlong fingers. His skin was papery and dry, scribe’s calluses obvious and strange. He tilted her head back and leaned in close to check her eyes. She gave him a puzzled, questioning look; he did not find it necessary to respond. He had dark circles under his eyes, like sleep or rest of any kind had long eluded him. His frown settled like it had been etched there a millennia ago.

“Pupils are fine this time, which is promising. She seems properly alert. No nose bleed.” Neloth jotted these notes down as well. He looked past her, quirked an eyebrow. “Have you been keeping track of time?”

“No,” Teldryn answered flatly.

Neloth sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, leaving a dusting of charcoal there.

“I will check on her again in ten or so minutes,” he said, enunciating each word with a pointed glare at Teldryn. “Get her some water. Make yourself useful.”

“I’ve been useful,” Teldryn retorted, though his voice was without its normal force. He was tired. It was obvious.

Nyenna sighed. Neloth did not find his outburst worth acknowledging. He got up and set his ledger next to her, reaching instead for a Magicka potion set on the bedside table. He walked away, sipping it like wine. Teldryn did not leave her as he’d been instructed. She focused on his breathing. It steadied hers. As before, everything still hurt — only, this time she didn’t feel like she was being pulled under water. Sleep did not claw at her this time.

A thousand questions spun through her head. Instead of speaking, because she was not yet ready to, she freed an arm from Teldryn’s embrace and turned Neloth’s ledger toward her. His writing, of course, did not wax poetic. The words twisted themselves as she tried to understand them, eyes too tired to translate. She felt tears welling as she read a word or two here or there, something regarding a Healing spell and sharing a pool of Magicka. Of pulling at filaments, real or imagined, to stitch her back together. Like she had been torn from herself. Sundered. She’d been all but unmade by her own Shout. She flipped a page back, careful not to smudge the writing. The ledger was almost full. The entire book held notes about her condition.

She paused toward the beginning. The word ‘death’ was written more than once. Warnings. Observations. Not just observations, but predictions…about Teldryn. About his death. She gasped. Why had he done this? Something seared in her brain — the feeling of Magicka pouring down through her, through the world around her and the fading. She felt Teldryn tense, noticing that he’d been reading over her shoulder.

“I could have killed you,” she whispered, pointing to a specific diagram on the page that Neloth had notated in tiny scratches of shorthand. She shifted as much as she could and turned to face him. “Is this true? Did we — ” His eyebrows knit as he searched for an answer. She held her breath, and behind the noise of her own heart hammering in her chest, she heard it again — the echo. Damn it. What had they done? “Teldryn…why?”

“It was already done. Back in the fight with the Atronach. Neloth found a way to make use of that connection,” he said, though it seemed he forced the words out, uncomfortable. “I didn’t know. And neither did you.”

That was a lie. A lie she felt tear through her like a jolt of Shock magic. She remembered clearly her last act out of desperation to survive the Daedra. She willed the Flames spell toward him, purposefully and with every fragment of concentration she could muster. And he had reached and pulled the spell through himself. She knew, just not what the implications would be. She could have killed him then, had her own Magicka pool not been so drained. Her hands were shaking, and Teldryn held her tighter. The echo was making her nauseous. She pushed his hands away from her and tried to slide off of the bed. He protested and lurched after her. Her legs didn’t feel real as she stepped once, then twice, then collapsed onto the floor.

Teldryn was by her side in a second. He was speaking again, but she couldn’t hear him over her breathing, over the echo. She wanted to scream, to sob, but she could manage neither. Instead, she let her arms fall limply to her sides and stared up at the cobwebs sprawling across the corners of Neloth’s neglected room. She didn’t protest as he dragged her back into his arms. Maybe he really did believe she was going to fall apart. She felt she already had. Eventually she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“I’m sorry,” she said, voice small. She’d run out of tears at some point. She felt hollow. If one thing had gone differently, she’d have another ghost to trail behind her in the chaos she’d wrought. If she’d even have survived the battle at all. Why was it always like this? And why did he still follow with all the destruction in her wake? Had he no sense of self-preservation?

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Teldryn said. She wanted him to leave. To get as far away from her as possible, if only so she would stop hurting him. If only so she wouldn’t lose another person who meant too much to her.

“You could’ve died. You almost did.”

“But I didn’t. We’re still here,” Teldryn said. He sighed and leaned his chin on her shoulder, hunched over quite far. “It’s strange, sure, but it happened and now it’s over. And we can move past it.”

It’s not. She didn’t know if she could ‘move past it,’ or what this would mean moving forward. The echo was bothering her, like a half-memory of something she forgot to do; like leaving the hearth lit and leaving the house anyway. Like a guarantee of destruction, of losing everything over one oversight. This was more than an oversight. She’d done this.

“You have to let go of me,” Nyenna said. She’d been hit with another wave of nausea. She felt dizzy. Her hand flew to her throat. Teldryn did, at least, let her go. He stood as carefully as he could.

“Let me get you some water,” he said, sounding unnerved. There was a certain dread in his voice, the exhaustion back in full force. “Just stay still, please.”

He walked away and called for Neloth, glancing warily over his shoulder. Nyenna scooted up against the nightstand and leaned her forehead on her knees. The world was spinning, even as she squeezed her eyes shut. Teldryn had wandered far away but she still tell exactly where he was. It wasn’t unlike a Detect Life spell, though it never faded, never quieted. It was there, always in the background, an awareness she’d forged without thinking. Neloth’s notes had classified it not only as a thing not done, but also as a type of powerful magic difficult even for masters of such rituals. And the risks… She’d heard of necromancers who used the magic inherent in others’ souls to bolster their own power, with the intent on destroying their target. This magic connected rather than destroyed — if it worked. Otherwise, was it not the same thing?

She didn’t understand how she even managed something like this, not least because her training had been very straightforward and practical. Basic, more or less. Farengar had taught her to ward off intrusive magic like Fury or other such Illusions. She could see straight through most of them, as could most competent-enough mages, unless one didn’t want to — and there were uses for that, too. He’d never said anything at all about any of…this. He’d mentioned old magics but never gave her further instruction. She’d studied, of course, but to what end? Nothing Farengar ever offered to teach her even bordered on this madness.

And it was madness, wasn’t it? She kept her eyes closed and focused on the echo. In her mind, the connection appeared like shining thread. Filaments — like Neloth had noted — of pure starlight, glimmering in what should have been the calm darkness of a still mind. She tugged at the thread, which felt just like pulling Magicka for a spell.

The effect of this decision was immediate.

“Nyenna?” Teldryn called from the other room, sounding startled. As he spoke, part of the thread in her mind’s eye gleamed, as if in response. “Everything okay?” His voice sounded almost confused. Damn it.

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