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forfucksakesniall · 1 year ago

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"Car's Outside" - part 1

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Driver!Reader

Summary: You're a struggling Formula 1 driver who joins Lewis Hamilton's family on a holiday, discovering unexpected connections and a sense of belonging that transcends the track and redefines your perspective on family and racing.

Word Count: 3090

Trigger Warning/Content Advisory: Contains mature content and explores complex themes. Please be aware that it may also include scenes of high-speed racing, accidents, intense emotions, emotional conflicts, personal growth, and intimate moments. Reader discretion is advised.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Masterlist

You're a driver for the Mercedes AMG Petronas F1 team and your teammate is Lewis Hamilton. Lately, you've been experiencing a string of bad races with incidents like DNFs and collisions with other drivers. It's been frustrating for you and affecting your performance, and it's becoming apparent to everyone around you. After the worst race of your life, you're heading back to the paddock.

"For fuck's sake, why does it always have to be me?" you mutter.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice Lewis's dad, Anthony Hamilton, waving at you on your way. You walk right past him until someone grabs your arm. Irritated, you shoot them a glare, but your eyes soften as you realize who it was.

"I've been calling out to you from a mile away. Where were you?" he chuckles.

"I'm not sure... I've been distracted by something," you respond, avoiding mentioning what happened earlier.

"Do you have a moment to talk?" he asks, seeming eager to share something.

"Um, yeah, sure," you reply, not fully engaged in the upcoming conversation.

He extends his arm in a gentlemanly way, and you take it, walking together toward the paddock. He leads you to a table where you both sit down.

"So..." he begins, looking at you and rubbing his hands.

"Um... hi?" you greet with a smile, unsure of what's happening.

"I know you've had a rough start, and I was thinking I could offer you some help."

"Oh, I'm fine. I don't think I need anything... um... yeah," you respond, feeling embarrassed and frustrated that Lewis Hamilton's dad has to address this with you.

"I can see it's been challenging for you, (Y/N). It's not about more training or spending time on the simulator. It's about finding a genuine love for what you do," he explains, pausing briefly and then smiling at you.

"What I'm saying is... I'm inviting you to join us for a little break from everything. It's Easter soon, and I know you usually prefer to have some time to yourself, but wouldn't it be better if you got closer to your teammate and have a change of view?"

You and Lewis have never been close friends, perhaps due to the chaos you've caused on the track or because you weren't good enough to be on the team, making him not even acknowledge your existence. You've never had a conversation or even exchanged a nod. Everything people see online is just PR to avoid any controversy.

What confuses you is the fact that you're being invited to their family holiday. You! Someone who has no connection to them whatsoever. Well, you and Anthony had formed a father-daughter bond. He would motivate and encourage you during race week. Your own family has never been close or supportive when it came to racing. Since then, you've worked hard for everything you have and have become independent, not relying on anyone.

You simply blink at his offer, lost for words.

"Lewis!" Anthony calls out as Lewis enters the paddock. "(Y/N) and I were just talking, and I invited her to join us on our holiday."

Lewis looks at his dad, eyebrows furrowed. "Um... Did you ask her, or are you taking her hostage?" He glances at you and then back at his dad.

"You can say no, you don't have to do everything he says," Lewis tells you without even looking in your direction.

"Um... yeah, I don't think I should disturb your family matter," you say, standing up and making your way to your driver's room.

Anthony lets out a disappointed sigh upon hearing Lewis's comments. "I told you she needs our support," he tells Lewis, his eyes filled with sadness.

"You don't know her well enough to know what she needs," Lewis retorts sharply, then turns and heads to his room.

✧*̥˚ Timeskip *̥˚✧

As you prepare to leave and head to the parking area, a smiling Anthony calls out to you from a distance. You jog over to him, not wanting to keep him waiting.

"Hey, I'm sorry for turning down your offer. I thought it might be awkward for..." you begin to explain.

"Oh no, you're coming!" Anthony interjects.

"What?"

"We're leaving right now," he informs you.

"Huh?"

He gently puts his arm around your shoulder and guides you towards a van. You spot Lewis sitting by the window, and Anthony nudges you to get in, making you sit between the two Hamiltons.

Initially, your thoughts race:

Wait... Where did he say we were going?

I don't have a bag with me...

Wait... Where is my passport?

Lewis remains silent, engrossed in his phone as you sit beside him. Anthony wears a smug smile, satisfied that his plan is unfolding as intended.

"Um... Thank you. I guess, for having me... I'm still not sure what's happening," you express, uncertain.

Anthony chuckles in response.

"Here." He hands you your bag. Opening it, you find your passport and other essential items for the airport.

"We are leaving?" you ask, staring at the contents of your open bag.

"But I don't have any clothes with me," you point out to him.

"I've already taken care of that. You'll get some once we arrive in London," he assures you.

"London?"

He smiles at you once more.

You glance at Lewis, who continues to ignore you, still fixated on his phone, unwilling to address the situation.

You take a deep breath.

Well, at least I'm getting a free getaway, you think to yourself.

You arrive at the airport, a crowd of flashing cameras blinds and disorients you. Unsure of where you are standing, someone suddenly appears behind you, guiding you through the airport. Despite being trailed by a swarm of cameras and paparazzi, you manage to make it inside. Curiosity pokes you to turn around and see who helped you.

To your surprise, it's Lewis, and you hadn't realized how close you were standing to each other. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as the realization sinks in, and you take a step back. Both of you lock eyes, and he gazes back at you with disregard. The words fail to escape your mouth, leaving an awkward silence hanging in the air.

Should I say something?

He probably wouldn't care if I thanked him.

"Alright, that was one step closer to home," Anthony exclaims, breaking the uncomfortable silence, his words drawing attention away from the awkward encounter.

You all boarded the plane, found your seats, and finally allowed yourself to relax. You settled in, trying to create a cozy space for yourself, determined to block out any distractions or disturbances around you. It was time to take a well-deserved rest after everything that had happened.

You round the corner, fully focused and determined, a sudden jolt of impact from behind throws you off balance. The unexpected collision shatters your concentration, and the car swerves off its path, rushing toward the barrier at an alarming speed.

Then, your car slams into the unyielding concrete barrier in a sickening crunch. The impact is overwhelming, causing the car to jolt violently. The immense force propels you forward, pressing your body against the seatbelts and contorting you under its unrelenting pressure.

You awaken from the nightmare, your throat dried and your back drenched in sweat. Gasping for breath, you gradually return to reality, only to find Lewis sitting in front of you, a concerned expression on his face. You scan the surroundings for a water bottle, but none is within reach. Unexpectedly, he offers you his bottle—the one he always keeps close, guarded from anyone else's touch.

You hesitate to accept it, but the dryness in your throat triggers a fit of coughing.

"Just take it," he insists. Reluctantly, you grasp the bottle, bringing it close to your lips, and you glance at him again. His gaze remains fixed on you, carefully observing your body language.

"Were you dreaming about the crash again?" he asks you, his tone empty of emotion.

"Why would you care?" you snap, a touch of bitterness seeping into your words.

So now you can talk?

He simply stares at you, his silence carrying a weight of its own.

"Yeah," you finally admit, looking down at your lap, feeling the lingering pain in your head from that fateful day, as if it wants to force you to relive. You place your hand on the back of your head, swallowing and exhaling deeply.

Lewis abruptly stands up and departs without uttering another word.

Hmm... He left me his beloved sippy cup, you think to yourself.

Finally, you arrive in London after what feels like forever, and you retrieve your suitcase, realizing that you'll be spending a considerable amount of time with the Hamiltons. On the way to the car, you find yourself once again sandwiched between the Hamiltons.

I can't escape this situation anymore. Well, I'll be surrounded by them regardless, so I might as well get used to it.

Sitting there in silence, it dawns on you that you haven't bought anything for them, feeling a pang of embarrassment. "Um... Anthony? Is it okay that I didn't bring any gifts for your family? It's already embarrassing enough to join you on this holiday. I could have at least gotten you guys something..."

"Oh, don't be silly," he reassures you, a warm smile on his face. "You are part of the family now, so don't worry about those things."

His words bring a smile to your face, and he reciprocates the gesture.

Gazing out of the car window, you take in the sights of Stevenage, London. The vibrant town envelops you, with a blend of historical and modern buildings lining the bustling streets.

The journey through the streets of Stevenage, London immerses you in a sensory delight. The blend of sights, sounds, and scents creates a vibrant tapestry of city life. Every step fills you with a growing excitement and curiosity, as you eagerly explore the streets, eager to uncover the hidden treasures that lie within.

Arriving at their house, you're greeted by a charming, quaint home with a small garden decorating the front. You can't help but admire the beauty of it all, puts a smile on your face.

"Let's go inside," Anthony invites you, breaking you out of your trance.

Before taking another step, you turn around, quickly checking yourself in the reflection of your phone. You make a few adjustments to your hair, brushing off any specks of dust from your clothes. Taking a deep breath, you give yourself a pep talk, “Don’t be awkward or say anything weird, okay?”

You hear a chuckle behind you and turn to find Lewis smirking at your words. "Can't be helped," he remarks casually.

Wait, did he just make a joke? You're taken aback, his demeanor seemingly different from what you expected.

He walks into the house, leaving you standing there with your mouth slightly agape. Lewis appears to have a new side to him.

You step into the house and are warmly welcomed by Anthony's wife. She greets you with a hug and expresses her hopes that you will enjoy your stay. Grateful for their hospitality, you thank her sincerely.

"Come in, come in," she invites you further in. As you make your way through the hall with your luggage, you enter the living room. There, you see Lewis playfully interacting with his niece and nephew, laughter filling the air. The room is decorated with family photos and cherished remembrances, giving you a glimpse into their close bond.

The children catch sight of you and excitedly run toward you.

"We know you!" they exclaim. "We see you on TV all the time!"

Surprised and touched, you engage with them. "You watch the races?"

"Yeah! We see you and Sir uncle all the time!" they happily reply, embracing you tightly. Their genuine affection warms your heart.

"You guys are too sweet," you say, unable to contain your smile. They giggle mischievously before returning to play with Lewis.

Anthony appears from the corner of the room. "Alright, would it be alright if you stayed in Lewis's room for tonight?" he asks.

"Oh, umm... sure. But where will-"

"Don't worry about him, he's a grown man," Anthony reassures you, leading you to Lewis's room. He opens the door and gestures for you to enter first.

"This isn't his room, but since he visits us often, we call it that and some of his stuff are here," Anthony explains.

"Anthony," you pause, looking at him gratefully.

He meets your gaze. "Thank you for having me stay here. It's nice. I promise I'll make it up to you."

"You better," he responds, playfully teasing you.

You chuckle, appreciating the lightheartedness of the moment, and walk around the room, ready to make yourself at home in this new environment.

At night, the Hamilton family has a nice dinner together. The room looks cozy with soft lights. The table is set nicely with fancy dishes, shiny silverware, and colorful flowers.

The food smells delicious and makes you hungry. It tastes great, with different flavors from juicy roasted meats to tasty sides and salads. Everyone is happy and talking, creating a joyful atmosphere.

The Hamiltons are excited about their upcoming trip to Bali. They talk about the beautiful beaches, nature, and culture there.

You see how close the family is and how they take care of each other. They listen and understand each other, showing the importance of real relationships. Being here teaches you that family is more than just blood. It's about the connections we make with people who appreciate us. At this moment, you feel like part of their family, embraced by their warmth. Seeing their passion and support inspires you to pursue your interests. Their belief in you boosts your confidence.

In this special moment, You vow to nurture and cherish the connections that bring care and passion into your life. As you feel accepted at this table, you realize that you're never truly alone because a family can be found in the hearts of those who care for you unconditionally.

"What does your family do on holidays?" one of the kids asks you.

"Oh, umm..." you begin to respond, but Lewis interrupts you.

"You don't need to answer that," he says, tickling the child to divert their attention from the sensitive topic.

"It's okay," you say, smiling at Lewis. "Well, usually I go on solo holidays because my family is usually busy." You still cling to that excuse, even though deep down you know your family wouldn't care as much.

"Where did you go last time?" the children ask, their innocent eyes filled with genuine curiosity.

"I went to Japan, and it was absolutely beautiful," you reply convincingly, even though they are just children who would believe anything you say.

They continue asking you questions, and you answer them sincerely until...

"I heard from the TV that you got in an accident," they say, unaware of the weight of their question.

Suddenly, your ears ring, and your hand instinctively goes to the back of your head.

"Okay, I think it's bedtime," Lewis declares, diverting their attention.

"But she hasn’t told-"

"Time to go," Lewis effortlessly carries them out of the room.

✧*̥˚ Timeskip *̥˚✧

You find yourself sitting on the bed, possibly due to jetlag or simply because you're in the room of a seven-time world champion. A mischievous thought crosses your mind, urging you to snoop around, while another voice suggests taking something valuable and selling it on eBay. The conflicting thoughts leave you undecided.

Realizing your phone battery is low, you desperately search your bag, hoping to find a charger. However, to your dismay, there is no charger to be found. Frustrated, you grab your luggage in the hope of finding a charger there, but your search proves wrong. Defeated, you let out a sigh.

Perhaps someone is still awake and you could borrow a charger from them. With a glimmer of hope, you open the door and notice light coming from the living room. Your spirits lift momentarily, only to deflate when you see Lewis sitting there with his laptop, absorbed in who knows what.

"Hey, umm... I forgot to bring my charger. Could I borrow yours?" you ask Lewis, keeping your gaze on his laptop.

"How do you forget your own charger?" he responds with a hint of sass.

"Well, I didn't know about this trip until recently," you sassily reply.

"And someone else packed my bag for me," you add, realizing that arguing won't get you anywhere when you really need that charger. He reluctantly hands it over and returns to his laptop.

As you turn to leave, the tension between you both becomes real. In a moment of vulnerability, you express your concerns to him, "I know we aren't friends, and maybe you hate me or something," you begin, your voice filled with a hint of vulnerability.

"But I hope I don't make this trip uncomfortable for you. If you want me to leave, I will, so I don't disturb your holiday..."

Lewis pauses for a moment, surprised by your unexpected words. The honesty in your voice catches him off guard, making him reconsider his preconceived notions about you.

"No, it's okay," he responds, his voice softer now. "I don't hate you, and I don't want you to leave. We can try to make the best of this trip, even if things are a bit awkward between us. Let's just focus on enjoying the holiday."

You nod, a flicker of relief crossing your face. "Alright then. Let's try to make it work."

With a small smile, Lewis bids you goodnight and retreats to his room, hoping that this newfound understanding will help ease the tension and be comfortable for the rest of the trip.

You return to your room feeling baffled by your conversation with Lewis as if you were speaking to someone entirely different. Nevertheless, you lie back on the bed and plug in your phone to charge. You can't help but think about selling this charger later.

As fatigue sets in, you gradually drift off to sleep, caving to the embrace of slumber.

🌟 Attention, fellow readers! 🌟

You have the power to shape this story too! Share your questions, predictions, and ideas. Let's dive deeper into this journey together.

🌟Taglist:🌟

@omgsuperstarg @copper-boom @notleclerc

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formerlycookierunauprompts · 10 months ago

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Oh I got a good one!

Remember AU prompt 5? Well Imagine all the other fallen take an interest in the reader and they all begin fighting over them?

Request Prompt #33 - ✦💓

You couldn't be in any more of a pickle now. Apparently, you've figured out since we last left off from, that this is a seal dimension. A dimension specifically created by the witches in order to contain some very specific beings. And to be honest? You were currently considering just crumbling on the spot from anxiety. Because out of all the cookies you've seen here( aka, like, five you think?) you're the only one that's normal sized! How fun. ( Disclaimer: it is not fun, you are fucking terrified. ) You can already hear two of them fighting, well, so far it's only verbal so at least you aren't in too much danger. All you have to do is stay hidden... stay hidden... stay hidden. You open your eyes, the forest around you has changed again. You also could no longer see the other two cookie's arguing, you're pretty sure that their names had been Burning Spice and Mystic Flour? You weren't sure. But you did know that they were arguing about you. Or more specifically, how you got here. You sneak out from your former hiding place, the forest had definitely changed your location. It just... did that sometimes, that's why it was so easy for you to get lost. Whenever you hid from something in the shadows there was a good chance that the forest around you was going to change again. " Oh I'm terribly sorry for the wait, little star." You heard a voice echo through the forest. You froze up- what the heck forest? Weren't these strange teleports supposed to get you out of danger? I mean, that's what they did before, right? You were immediately seize with a gasp by a large hand made out of shadows, it slithered up speedily into the tree where it deposited you into the equally large hand of a certain individual. You cast your gaze up into the gigantic eyes of Shadow Milk Cookie, which stared at you with interest and amusement. In hindsight, maybe you should have stopped hiding in the shadows. " Aw, what's the matter little star?" He cooed, poking at your cheek. " Are you not happy to see me? That's very disheartening, you know?" He spoke in that kind of tone that you'd use with a baby or a small animal, you know the one. " I don't think I'd be particularly happy to see any of you." You retorted, earning a cackle from the gigantic jester. You knew more about the beasts than you did when you arrived here after all, and you knew that Shadow Milk was basically embodied deceit so you barely trusted a word he said. And yet, he seemed to have a genuine interest in your safety... If not only for his own personal goals. At least, that was your reasoning as you figured that if he was the one triggering the teleports, then he'd at least be looking out for you, right? You heard him sigh. " You know, you seem to love making things more complicated for yourself, hm? Now all the others know about your existence within the seal, and that's making things more rough for you, riiight?" He drew out that 'i' sound just to tease you, but you knew there was at least some truth to what he'd said. You nodded in reply, flinching at the sharp grin he gave you. " Welll~ It turns out I have just the solution for that! If you stick with me, then you'll be safe! No more of that 'running away' business." He offered, but you knew there'd be a catch. " But! In return... You have to help me get free and back out into the world, 'kay?" You hesitated, you'd doom the world as you knew it if you let him out, right? Did the world out there even exist as you knew it now? You have no clue as to how much time has passed since you zapped yourself in here. Shadow Milk was looking at you expectantly, and you didn't want to find out what would happen to you if you rejected his offer. " O... okay, I will."

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #crk #cookie run au #shadow milk cookie #cr kingdom #cookie run au prompts #beast yeast #shadow milk cookie x reader #mystic flour and burning spice are only mentioned so i wont tag them

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dead-boys-club · 6 days ago

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† memories : katsuki.

❥ scenario: i wish that you would stay in my memories. ❥ no triggers; not rated. ❥ no betas. ❥ requested.

it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

you hadn’t planned on running into him again - not after everything, not after the way things ended back in ua. but here he was, standing in the doorway of your kitchen with his familiar presence filling the space, making it feel smaller and too quiet all at once.

what was he even doing?

katsuki didn’t say anything at first, just leaned against the counter with that same intense expression you remembered from years ago. it was the look he used to give you when he was trying to hold something back, wrestling with words he didn’t know how to say. part of the reason you weren't together anymore - his inability to communicate.

the silence stretched on, heavy with everything left unsaid, until he finally spoke, his voice low and rough. “you’re still… here.” The words hung in the air, not just a statement of where you were standing, but an echo of the past he’d never fully let go.

you were struggling to keep it in the past.

you tried to keep your voice steady, folding your arms to create some barrier, any kind of shield between you and the memories that threatened to surface. “yeah, still here. you too, apparently.”

he nodded, glancing around, his gaze lingering on the little details that hadn’t changed since the days you’d spent here together, laughing, arguing, and just… existing in each other’s lives. back then, the kitchen had been your shared refuge, a place where he’d let himself soften, where you’d sit on the counter while he grumbled about his day, cooking you dinner.

he occasionally stayed up to pack you little lunches.

“things… look the same,” he muttered, barely meeting your eyes. His voice was softer, almost vulnerable in a way that katsuki bakugo rarely allowed himself to be. “it’s like nothing changed.”

but you both knew it had. the years had shifted you in ways that made even simple conversations feel different, edged with a mixture of nostalgia and lingering pain.

you looked away, swallowing the ache that rose in your throat. “People change, katsuki. things end, whether we want them to or not.”

he flinched at your words, as if you’d struck him. the line between his brows deepened, his frustration clear. “i know that. doesn’t mean it doesn’t still… mess with my head, alright?” his fists clenched at his sides, a habit he’d never grown out of. “sometimes i feel like i could walk in and… like you’d still be here, waiting.”

the admission hung between you, raw and unguarded, and it made something inside you twist painfully. he’d always been so determined, so sure of himself, but now there was a crack in his armor, a glimpse of the hurt he never let show.

“katsuki,” you said quietly, finally meeting his gaze. “we’re both different people now. you’re a hero. you’ve got your life, your work. And me… i’ve moved on.” the words felt hollow, even as you tried to convince yourself that they were true.

his jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with something fierce and unspoken. “have you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of his words crashed over you like a wave.

he had always been able to see straight through you.

you wanted to say yes, to give him the closure he needed, but standing here, with the ghost of your past filling the air around you, the answer felt so much harder to hold onto.

he pushed off the counter, stepping closer, his presence intense and overwhelming, as it had always been. “i just… i can’t stand thinking of someone else here,” he muttered, his voice laced with an anger he could barely contain. “thinking that this could’ve been us.”

the words cut deep, stirring the memories you’d tried so hard to bury. in his eyes, you saw the reflection of what could have been - a life you’d once dreamed of, a love you’d thought would last. but the years had taught you that some things weren’t meant to be, no matter how much you wanted them.

with a shaky breath, you took a step back, creating a space between you that felt both necessary and agonizing. “kat… you know we can’t go back.”

he looked away, his shoulders slumping in defeat. for a moment, you saw the boy he’d been back in ua, the one who’d held you with a fierceness that made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. but now, as he turned to leave, you knew that part of him was as lost to you as you were to him.

and as the door closed behind him, you were left in the silence of a kitchen that still held the echoes of a love that neither of you had ever truly let go.

#mha imagines #mha imagine #mha #mha x reader #bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #bnha x reader #bnha #katsuki bakugo #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader

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concussed-to-pieces · 11 months ago

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Wolves At The Door; Epilogue

Fandom: Resident Evil [Village]

Pairing: Karl Heisenberg/AFAB!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

Summary: It was a little comforting to have a nightly ritual once more, however. Before it had been you and Karl discussing anything that struck him after dinner, and the silence continued to yawn around you at mealtimes.

A/N: Welcome all, welcome to our final installment! I'd like to thank you all for reading, and for having faith in me to see this through safe and sound. Never fear, you will always have your happy ending 💚 Enjoy!

Tag List: @cookiethewriter @amneris21 @topgirl17 @vodkafolie @a-smol-witch @clockworkmidnight @calwitch @silver-quinn01 @velvet-paradox @hijackser @mrs-wolfwood @nonstop-haikyuu @mic-sunderland @somethingthatsaysbubbles @fullofmoonsandstars @stargazerofgoldenwords @imthegreenfairy86 @karlskitten @nitrogennightmare @chunnies @thirstworldproblemss @highly-unknown @tartimaar-bloggeth @thesmartbiscuit @spoopyredacted @crowtrobotx @kotall-ohh @doggydale @jackie-loves-yalls-writing @simplysolo @teeheemax

x. Prelude

1. Indebted

2. Blood On Your Hands

3. Brush With Death

4. Come To Bed

5. Smells Like Snow

6. Hot Iron

7. Turnover

8. Backslide

9. Tender Gray Light

10. Hubris’ Weight

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains mentions of blood, canon-typical violence, graphic depictions of mental and physical duress and sexual acts between two consenting adults. Stay safe!]

You hadn't been counting, but if you had, it would have been sixty-seven days. Sixty-seven days since Karl had vanished, sixty-seven days since you had heard another human's voice or even seen another person.

Sixty-seven days. You weren't counting.

Spring was fully upon the forest, buds erupting on the trees and the river swollen with runoff from the melting snow. It was one of your busiest times of the year between scavenging fallen trees, resetting the snares and sorting through your seeds to plant. You were extremely busy and you didn't think about it at all.

Not even when the Duke made his first appearance of the season.

…

“It brings me joy to see you once more, my dear! This winter was long and harsh.” The large man exclaimed, mopping his sweaty face with a handkerchief. “I'm wondering if you might assist me with a small problem. It seems someone may have suffered a bit of an incident, a turn of bad luck.”

Despite this being the thing he always said when he had found an animal for you to nurse, your heart still gave a traitorous little jump in your chest. That is, of course, until a small doe limped around the rear of the cart.

“What's wrong, my dear?” The Duke queried, and when you glanced at him his expression was strangely stoic. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“No, I…” You hesitated. “I guess not. What's happened to this little girl?”

“She claims that she got her fore left leg caught in the fork of a tree. The woods have been so peaceful as of late though that, aside from the pain, she wasn't scared,” the Duke mused thoughtfully, a swollen hand resting gently on the animal's head. “Apparently her leg would have been broken had she panicked. She had to remain still for several hours to get free.”

You were always entertained by the way the merchant acted like he could understand the woodland creatures he brought to you, but if nothing else he clearly had a way with them. The black horse that drew his cart, for instance, had never balked or shied away in all the times that the Duke had rattled his wares around behind the creature's head.

You squinted upwards at the Duke. “So I'm salving and wrapping her leg?”

“Indeed, a simple fix.” He bent down, giving you a look so intent it made you a little uncomfortable. “And I'll give something to you as a token of my appreciation.”

“Huh?”

He simply winked, then gestured at the doe.

You were burning with curiosity. What could he be granting you? And for free, no less! Ablaze with possibilities you didn't dare hope for, you nonetheless dutifully tended to the small scrape on the deer's thin leg.

“A familiar task for you, I'd wager.” The Duke finally spoke again, cigar smoke wafting around his head like a cloud. You gave him a confused look, quirking your brow, yet his face remained amicably bland.

You eventually settled back onto your haunches, wiping a few beads of sweat from your brow. While the weather had yet to truly warm up, the sunlight was beaming through the still-leafless trees.

The doe staggered to her feet, bleating at you loud enough to make you jump. The Duke laughed as if in reply, that large hand landing on the animal's head once more. “Off you get now, little hind. You know the way home.” He murmured, giving her another pat before she departed. “She said thank you, by the by.” The large man informed you almost absently, already searching through his pockets for another cigar.

“Oh of course,” was your dry response, making him chuckle. “What's with all this cryptic stuff, though?”

“Ah, to business.” The Duke rubbed his hands together, his rings jangling discordantly as he did. “A favorite subject. Regrettably my gift is nothing really physical, it is instead a message.” His keen eyes felt suddenly sharp, as though he was seeing through your soul itself. “That iron horse does not forget its master so easily, especially one so gracious as you, my dear.”

You stared up at him blankly. Horse? What? What the hell is that supposed to mean?

The Duke seemed entertained by your bewilderment, the man grinning and leaning back on the bench of his cart. “Perhaps it would be more apt to dub him the feral mutt you've brought to heel. After all, kindness and a warm meal are lures potent enough to drag in even the most stoic of men.”

“That's not funny.” You said in a curt tone, hating that you could feel your lower lip quivering slightly. “I…that's not funny, Mr. Duke.”

He was abruptly serious. “I don't jest lightly, my dear.”

“Then why would you say that?!” You snapped, getting to your feet and dusting off the knees of your pants. “I didn't help out just so you could sit up there and make fun of me-”

“My dear I assure you, I'm as sincere as the day is long.” The Duke insisted, knocking some ash from the end of his cigar. “Call it a…perhaps a merchant's intuition. After all, it's important to have a certain level of foresight, to be able to read the ebbs and flows of the market and adjust to demand ahead of schedule. How else would I keep my clientele?”

“You're not making any sense.” You growled, now frustrated with your corpulent visitor.

He tipped his head back, expelling another waft of smoke upwards. “Have a little faith, will you? Creature of habit that you are, have faith in the unseen, the unknown.” The Duke jabbed his cigar at you. “Or continue to wallow in your discontent, counting the days that you claim mean nothing.”

You recoiled physically as if he had struck you, taking in a deep breath to deny his words. But instead all that came out was a soft, pitiful, “I miss him.”

The Duke nodded, oddly sympathetic all of a sudden. “Have faith, my dear.” He clasped your hand between his own enormous paws, eyes sincere. “The spring is upon us, and new life grows eternal in these woods. Keep your lanterns lit.”

…

Damn, it's quiet.

It echoed in his ears, a looping nothingness like static. Abruptly his heartbeat interrupted it, thudding deafeningly in his skull. What the hell had the good-for-nothing organ been doing before that?!

The beat was slow, much slower than it ought to be. His thoughts were barely there, sluggish and disjointed.

Rain hammering what was once his face, the boom of thunder and the grinding shriek of metal–

No, no, he had dealt with that already. Where was he? It was so frustrating not being able to think, to string along a process to its conclusion.

He flexed his right hand, confused by how numb it was. Pins and needles lurched down the limb in a wave, making him shudder and grunt. That shudder dislodged…something, a huge, sharp something that, from what he could struggle to put together, was what had pinned him to the wall he was currently pressed against.

It didn't seem to matter if he opened his eyes or kept them closed, either way he was effectively sightless and plagued with vertigo. Had he gone blind?

A groan rattled dryly out of his throat. The skin on his lips cracked with the exhale, and he felt liquid begin to dampen them. His tongue flicked out on reflex, the man tasting rust and dirt. Unbidden came a warm flash as if from a dream, cinnamon and brown sugar, plum spice cake.

Standing was a challenge. More of a slow, creaking shift into what could be vaguely considered an upright position. Fingers scratching at the mud around him, the man levered himself off the ground with the help of what was left of his enormous hammer. The handle of it felt more brittle than he had expected, the scent of rust filling the air when his fingers gripped down.

How long has it been?

And then, a new thought occurred, one that seemed to fully shock him to life. Have I just been dreaming this entire time?

Had you just been some vivid hallucination? Had the Duke even scraped him off the ground and brought him to safety, or had he just crawled back into his burrow to die once the saga of he and Winters’ fracas had played out?

Was any of it real?

The ground squelched wetly beneath whatever was left of his boots as he staggered forward, but it also crunched in a grim manner. He didn't want to think too hard on that, instead focusing on sending out pulses of his power. He couldn't truly see, but at least he knew where metallic objects were in proximity to him and he could use that knowledge to keep from toppling over.

He wasn't certain how long he meandered through the sunless wreckage. Was it hours, or weeks? Slowly, painfully, one shuffling foot in front of the other, he continued on aimlessly. He wondered to himself if this was how earthworms felt, wriggling through the cold earth in search of sustenance and never deigning to see the sunlight.

He barely even noticed when it started to become brighter around him, reasoning that he must simply be imagining it when faintly from far, far above came a distant dawn chorus of birdsong. The man paused, straining his eyes to see in the dim light, and he could only just make out a faint glow in the distance. His legs, all but atrophied from disuse, protested mightily when he tried to up his pace, so he was forced to maintain the speed of a snail moving through cold molasses.

It was a long, hard trek. The rubble-laden floor angled slightly upwards to the…hole? cave in?, leaving the man to simply flounder and scrape his shins on the detritus he was too weary to lift his legs over.

As the light strengthened, he came to the sudden realization that he was all but naked. What was left of his clothing was in ribbons, caked with ichor, old blood and mold. His boots seemed to be coming apart at the seams, blooming white patches of mold eating into the remnants of the leather. He then shivered as the first bracing breeze of the outside world graced his lungs, and the coughing spasm it startled out of him seemed to dislodge more than it should have.

When he finally was able to straighten back up, his spine settled into place, releasing an earsplitting pop! as it did. Relief flooded his body, the pain dulling to a manageable throb. He took a few more tentative breaths, noting as he did how much brighter his surroundings had become. Had he been walking through the night, and just reached the entrance at dawn?

It doesn't really matter, he decided, squaring his shoulders. The only thing that matters is…

“I have to go back.” He grimaced at the rasp of his own voice, swallowing and trying again. “I have to…make sure it wasn't all in my head.”

I have to see them. And when I do, I…

His heart lurched painfully in his chest. What if it had all just been a dream? Some wild wish-fulfillment of a gentler, kinder existence while his body slowly repaired itself after his glorious defeat at the hands of Ethan Winters?

His empty stomach felt like it was caving in, fear and resignation warring in his gut, but after a moment of hesitation he shook the hair out of his eyes and stepped out into the cool yellow light of a spring morning.

The first thing he noticed was no humanoid footprints, to his absolute delight. No wolf prints, no footprints, nothing. At least he hadn't failed in that regard. Unless he had imagined it and those fucks who put up the fence had also been the ones to eradicate the lycans and their pets.

Gods, his head hurt. The sun, just barely over the horizon now, seemed like it was burning his retinas clean out of his skull. He shaded his eyes with his palm, grimacing in pain. He would go check the bulkhead he had entered through, he decided. Check the bulkhead, see if it even existed, then check for fresh tracks there. And then…and then…

He slumped against the rubble of the caved-in factory wall, running a hand over his face. His facial hair was extremely unruly and matted with grime, and he doubted the rest of him looked any better. Once he departed the village, put some distance between himself and this…malodorous valley, he would have to clean himself up. If you were real, if he hadn't imagined you in a fit of self-indulgent madness, he doubted you would be overly impressed with him showing up half-dead, reeking of stale sweat, mold and wet dog.

To say nothing of the fact that his clothing was in tatters.

It was a slow, zig-zagging walk back to where he had descended into the factory previously. At least he knew for certain that the bulkhead existed, the man reasoned with himself while he scrutinized the ground around the bulkhead that hadn't caved in. Again, nothing. No fresh marks, no scrapes, no scuffs. Not so much as a sparrow's tiny claw marks graced the ground. Seemingly the local wildlife gave the valley a wide berth, which made sense. Between Miranda's crow forms and the various nightmarish denizens of this place, it was only logical for normal creatures to avoid it.

He straightened up, squinting against the sunlight once more. He could only just make out that ridiculous fence way off by the outskirts of the valley, and if he remembered the fence…

The man gripped the remains of the haft of his hammer and began walking. It had only taken him a few hours of running to get here before, but after his…rest, it would seem that running wasn't in the cards for today. Or ever again, if the screaming in his calves was anything to go by. So walking it was, doing his best to ignore the tremor in his legs as he went.

He mainly left his attention on the ground, familiar enough with the valley that he could afford to do so. Back around the swamp he went, nearly losing the sole of one of his boots to the sucking mud that surrounded the area.

He had to get to you. He had to know whether you were real. The fear and hope cycled in his head, back and forth, round and round, and he wondered hazily if he had snapped (or snapped more).

Climbing the rise felt like an impossible task and yet eventually he stood at the top, sweating and panting but there.

Without an ounce of finesse, Karl Heisenberg gracelessly tore open a section of the fence and made his escape out into the forest, never once looking back at the village that had been his home for so many years. No, all that his thoughts could stay latched onto was the memory of plum spice cake and the way you had looked at him that night.

He had to get to you. He had to make sure that you were real. And…

He had to apologize.

He had to make this right.

If you hated him, that was fine! It was your right. He would hate him. What he had done was stupid. You made him feel something that he didn't understand, and for someone as self-assured as Karl, that was terrifying.

Cut them off at the source. More like run from a problem he didn't think he could handle, like some cowardly bitch. The man snarled at himself in discontent, his pace picking up to some sort of lumbering jog. Deer fled before him, nimble bodies flitting through the undergrowth as he did his best to retrace his steps. At least he had the river to follow, if nothing else.

Speaking of which.

Karl knelt beside the rushing water, grateful that he couldn't see his reflection. He had a decent imagination, he didn't need to confirm it.

It was cold as ice, the chill of it taking his breath away. Karl took another breath and shoved his head underwater, closing his eyes to keep…whatever was in his hair out of them. The man then flipped the soggy hair back over his head, finger-combing it away from his face.

Karl proceeded to drink greedily from the river, the frigid water a shock and blessing all in one. He hadn't realized just how thirsty he was, the man finally sloppily wiping his mouth and beard and then getting to his feet once more. The handle of his hammer remained on the ground beside the river, forgotten, as Heisenberg continued onward along the bank.

He felt like he was actually awake now, like he'd emerged from some kind of dream (or nightmare) into these woods. His footing grew more sure, atrophy fading as his muscles warmed up both from use and from the strengthening sunlight streaming through the trees.

He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry. The day was so young, the sky overhead a vibrant blue and the moss beneath his boots a lush, fluffy green. It was honestly beautiful and Karl had no idea how he had never seen it before. Had he been wandering through life with his eyes shut until now?

No, he thought firmly, he had only begun to open them when he met you. You had done that. You had been worth it, had been worth him taking actual notice of the world around him.

You had to be real. You must be. None of the other phantoms he had encountered in his life had any substance to them, but you…

Heisenberg clenched his fists, urging his body to move faster.

…

Keep your lanterns lit.

And so you did. The Duke had left you with a physical gift despite his claims to the contrary; a sturdy metal lantern with a large cutout shaped like a horse. Every night as the sun was setting, you went out to where it hung on your front gate and lit the candle inside it, which, curiously, never seemed to get any shorter. You, admittedly, didn't have much faith, you just assumed the Duke had been trying to comfort you with some platitude.

It was a little comforting to have a nightly ritual once more, however. Before it had been you and Karl discussing anything that struck him after dinner, and the silence continued to yawn around you at mealtimes. You would take what you could get. You often lingered out by the fence for a while, telling yourself you weren't really listening as you strained your ears to hear anything, anything at all. You knew it was futile and you weren't actually expecting anything to come of it, yet still you persisted in wasting time by the front gate.

With the lengthening days you were occasionally out past dusk, cutting wood or finishing house repairs. On one such day, a floorboard on the porch that had begun creaking in the winter finally annoyed you enough that you decided to attempt to fix it.

You spent most of the day carefully foraging drips of pine pitch from nearby trees, intending to make a batch of pine tar in the evening. Board couldn't creak if it couldn't move, right?

You set up your highly-technical ‘refining station’, which definitely wasn't just an old beans can nestled down into the dirt beneath your fire pit, a slightly-larger tomato can with holes poked into the bottom of it resting on top. Then, after dropping all your resin in the upper can, you carefully built the fire up, placing a rock over the top of the can to act as a lid. The melting process could take a few hours, depending on the fire, so it was after sundown when you began to cautiously sift through the charcoal. You would need a few good, clean pieces to mix in with the now-filtered resin, in order to ensure some pliability remained.

You had interrupted the task at sunset, moving in an automatic way from the firepit to the fence to light the lantern. You could see the glow of it now out of the corner of your eye, even while you pored over the char.

Maybe it does nothing but make me feel a little less alone.

You stared down at your gloved hands full of blackened wood, blinking furiously when tears began to blur your vision. You continued, albeit a bit more clumsily, to separate out the cleanest chunks of charcoal, doing your best to make a neat little pile.

A boot abruptly landed squarely in the middle of the pile and you couldn't help the terrified noise that left your mouth, scrambling to try and get to your feet. Before you could, though, the person dropped to their knees and wrapped their arms around you, trapping you in place. Wiry unkempt facial hair scuffed your cheek while you just sat there, frozen stiff with fear.

“Sugar.”

Karl.

Your breath caught in your throat. You felt his entire body shudder. “I couldn't remember if you were real.” His voice cracked. “I followed the light, but I couldn't–I'm…I'm so sorry, sugar. I'm so, so sorry, I don't know if I can ever make it up to you, I-I just-”

You silently returned his hug, sure that you were leaving charcoal stains on his clothes but not able to find it in you to care all that much. Karl stopped trying to speak after a few moments, the man sagging against you with his forehead resting on your shoulder. “Tell me in the morning, okay?” You whispered, relieved when he nodded. “Let's just get you inside.”

It wasn't much of a struggle to get him indoors, and he bedded down on his old cot without so much as a peep of complaint. He was filthy, but now wasn't the time for your hygiene regiment. He was clearly stripped for energy and worn out. Better to let this particular sleeping dog lie, at least for now.

…

Karl woke suddenly, whatever dream he had been having rapidly fading from his mind. He stared up at the ceiling, momentarily perplexed. Pine truss beams running lengthwise, the pattern of knots and wood grain achingly familiar.

Sugar.

He shoved himself into a sitting position, body still heavy from sleep, and saw you.

You weren't really doing anything all that impressive. The stove door was ajar and you were busily tending the fire. But at that moment, Karl was certain he had never seen a more beautiful sight. “Sugar,” he rasped, voice gruff and drowsy.

You turned to look at him, your eyes softening upon meeting his own. “Hey, Karl.”

Oh, he could fucking cry. Heisenberg huffed out a breath, feeling his heart twist in his chest. You lugged over the basin of water that had been sitting next to the stove (maybe to keep it warm?), toting a washcloth and the bar of soap as well. “Talk with me once you've sponged off.” You said, not unkindly. “You kinda’ smell like BO and dead animal.”

“I doubt it's a kind of level of smell.” Karl admitted wryly, making you snicker and nod. “Sorry about all this. You tend to smell like death if you're dead for a little while, after all.”

“I don't know if I would call two months and some change a ‘little while’. Also, dead?” You raised an eyebrow.

Karl stared at you. Two months. Over two months. Gods almighty.

You, seeming to register that the news was a shock to him, patted his knee. “Y'know what, worry about it later. Focus on the first thing and we can go from there. I'll make us some lunch.”

“Lunch?”

You nodded, turning your wrist so he could see your watch. It was indeed a little after one in the afternoon. “Get washed up,” you reiterated softly.

So Karl attempted to do so, flushing a little once he'd stripped and realized just how dirty he actually was. “Sugar?” He called, using the remains of his clothes to cover his groin just in case you turned around. Sure, sure you had seen him entirely naked before, but…

From the kitchen you replied, “yeah?” He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed that you didn't look at him.

“I'm just going to throw myself in the river. I don't think this glorified bucket is going to cut it.” He reasoned.

“Okay, you know where the towels are. Just make sure you go downstream a ways.”

The freezing water in the river was a far cry from the lukewarm comfort that the basin had held, but Karl was a little more certain in his cleanliness once he emerged, teeth chattering and body pink from scrubbing, from the pool that swirled and eddied alongside your far fenceline. Spreading out the worn towel once he had mostly dried himself off, Heisenberg took a moment to lay back on the riverbank and examine the new scars.

The cadou had healed him, of course, but now he was riddled with scars. He'd prided himself previously on his ability to guard quickly, to be able to adjust during a fight and use his powers to shield himself. But that many lycans, vârcolaci, in essentially total darkness…

He knew he was lucky to be alive at all, and that he shouldn't be so unsettled by a few new marks. He still couldn't help the sinking feeling in his stomach. He had never worried about his looks, it had never crossed his mind. His confidence in his abilities was so all-encompassing he hadn't considered the possibility, but what if you had only been attracted to his looks? You had vocalized interest in his appearance, after all.

Karl frowned, rubbing a hand over his face and noting even more unfamiliar raised areas. Maybe he would feel better once he got his facial hair under control. Once he looked like himself again, or some sort of approximation of it. First things first though, he would need to beg some clothes off of you.

…

You tore into a thick slice of bread, slathered with a little of the precious squirrel fat you had left and a healthy sprinkle of salt. Karl had vanished into your bedroom with the haircare kit, stating that he “felt more human, but could use a shape-up”.

He looked much too good for someone you had convinced yourself to be mad at. Truthfully your confusion and anger at being…well, abandoned, in your own terms, had ebbed substantially upon his arrival. He had seemed–breakable wasn't quite the right word. Maybe fragile? He had clearly been through hell, if nothing else. At that moment, you had decided to be merciful. You would hear him out. If you didn't like his answer, you could always show him the door.

Another bite was crammed into your mouth, and you focused on chewing furiously before your thoughts could wander any further. Cool it, hotshot, you scolded yourself mentally. Try to be normal about this.

Once Karl emerged from your room he gingerly settled into the seat across from you at the table. Wearing some borrowed, slightly ill-fitting clothes and sporting some uneven edges to his facial hair, the man didn't exactly cut an imposing figure.

God, you had missed him so much.

To your surprise he entirely ignored the food in front of him, instead reaching across the table and clasping your free hand between his own. The look he leveled at you made you want to break eye contact, but stubbornly, you refused. He owed you this much, you reminded yourself with more than a touch of irritation.

“I'm sorry.” His voice was still raspy, but it seemed to be from disuse. “I…sugar I fucked up. I own that. I was scared.”

You gaped at him, thrown entirely off balance. The man who had faced down a horde of lycans, the man who could control metal with a look, a gesture–

Scared?

He wasn't done clearly, his grip on your hand tensing as he leaned in with an earnest expression. “You deserved better than what I did. You were–gods, you were so kind to me. Opened your home to me when I didn't know who I was. Opened yourself to me.”

Were you blushing?! Dammit!

“I know we didn't mean fuckall to one another, I get that it was…I guess a convenience, using each other for mutual benefit. But I-” Heisenberg paused, leaving you reeling. It was true though, wasn't it? Convenience. No emotions involved in it. “-I don't know what the hell happened.” He finally admitted, his voice soft. “I don't know when it changed for me. Whether it even changed at all, or if it was always like that and I was just ignoring it. I'm, uh, not exactly experienced here, and I guess I can blame it on that.”

“‘Experienced’ how?” You managed to ask, a hysterical giggle escaping you when he stuttered and fell silent. “Seriously?”

“This isn't how I-look, sugar, I figured me dying, me wiping out all those lycan freaks and probably dying in the process–I mean it wasn't great, but I thought I could at least be useful. I'm not…good.” His voice faded to an awkward mumble. “Good, like how you are.”

One thing at a time. You could process that later. “All the lycans?” The woods had been peaceful the last few months. You hadn't really thought…damn.

Karl nodded, his jaw set in a grim line.

“You…You really thought you were gonna’ die?” You felt a little nauseous when he nodded again. “How? You're so tough!”

“I'd never fought the horde on their turf. They holed up in my factory after-” he gestured at himself. “-everything.” The man sighed heavily, rotating his shoulder. “Brought the house down on top of them and me. Not sure how long I fought them before then.”

“You've got to be shitting me.” You planted your palms on the table, shoving your chair out behind you from the force as you stood. “You went back there and nearly got yourself killed-”

“Yes.” Heisenberg cut you off. “I did, sugar, and I'd do it again.”

“Why though?” You exclaimed, incredulous.

“You really don't know?” He asked, sounding just as incredulous. “You try coming to a realization like I did when you're fucking–balls deep in someone!” His eyes widened, the man dropping his head to thud against the table after a moment of stunned silence. “Dammit,” he snarled, his voice muffled.

“W-what realization?” You knew you should probably leave it alone. It was an invasive question and, despite the intimacy the two of you had shared, an apology was already on your lips when it was cut off by a loud groan from Karl.

“That I–that you–” the man floundered, then suddenly jerked his head up to fix you with an appropriately-intense look. “I think I love you.”

What.

What?!

Your shoulders dropped, hands slack on the tabletop. You stared at Karl, but all he did was stare back at you, his gaze one of weary resignation.

I think I love you.

“S-So–” Gods, when had your mouth become so dry?! “So you don't know?” You half-squeaked, half-choked on the words.

“I've never felt this way before,” was his blunt reply. “I can only infer from the evidence.” He didn't seem thrilled about the circumstances, but maybe that could also be chalked up to his lack of experience.

“Is it…are you okay with it?”

Karl's brow furrowed, and then he offered you a slow, firm nod. “...yeah. Had a lot of time to think during my walk back. Even if you…I mean, if you think I'm gross-looking now, that's okay. I'd understand.”

You blinked, entirely baffled. Gross? Sure, he had a few new scars on his face. They only stood out to you because the tissue was still pink, unlike the silvery lines that had littered his visage before. But that wasn't gross, not to you anyway.

Karl was still talking however, and it seemed that he was picking up speed. “Sugar, I showed up, an unknown, a starving wolf at your door and yet you showed me kindness, even if it was just a favor for that fat bastard at first. You fed me from your own damn plate, let me take comfort in you.” His words hitched momentarily when he continued, “I was just so–so twisted and broken, I didn't understand that you could offer with open hands. I didn't understand what you had given me and then I realized as I was throwing myself at the lycan hive that…I was an idiot. It wasn't that I wanted to die, I wanted to live! I'd never wanted to live so much in my damn life, so I could get back to you, so I could apologize, so I could–” Heisenberg's fists clenched, the man soldiering on doggedly, “so I could tell you how I…felt. How I think I feel.”

“So you could tell me that you love me.” You were reeling.

“Yes.” His broad shoulders caved a little, the man shrinking into himself. “And now you know. Now I know. But I don't know what to do. I've never…this hasn't happened before.”

You picked up your glass of water and drained it in one long gulp, attempting to buy time while your brain ran through a million possibilities at once. Your main takeaway, however, was simple. He loves me. A warm sensation flooded your body, tingling down to your fingertips. He loves me. “Want me to offer some input?” You asked, your steps light as you rounded the table.

Heisenberg nodded dully, his eyes fixed on the bowl of stew in front of him. You gently brought your hands up to cup his chin, tilting his face so you could meet his gaze. You found no regret in that stare, only apprehension, which was immensely heartening.

“Next time you have a realization like that, talk to me.” You said in a sweet tone, the ‘loving’ pat you gave him on the cheek not quite a smack. “Don't pull something like that again…and I'll let you stay with me.”

“You…what, seriously?” Karl demanded, his eyes widening. “You'll let me stay here? Even after-”

“Don't push your luck,” you warned, blowing a raspberry at him when he began to laugh incredulously. “This isn't a vacation, after all! You'll need to fix holes in the roof, help me with the supplies every year, check the traps-”

Karl swept you up in a hungry kiss, effectively cutting off your eternal to-do list. “That all sounds wonderful, sugar.” He murmured against your lips. “Let me finish lunch and I'll get right on it.”

Thoroughly flustered, you stammered out in protest, “i-i-it's not going to be easy, Karl! Don't agree to this unless you understand the burden of responsibility you're taking on.”

“I do.” He insisted around his first mouthful of bread. “I pr’mise.”

…

He wasn't certain where your underwear had gone, but he was immensely grateful for its absence. You leaned forward, taking his dick out of your mouth for a second to catch your breath and Karl forced your knees to slide out on either side of him with his forearms so he could draw his tongue along your cunt. His thumbs spread you open, the man rumbling when he felt your breath hitch. Then, Karl delved his tongue into you, making you moan and whimper around his dick while he slowly, slowly ate you out.

Karl could feel his heartbeat in his neck when your thighs suddenly snapped shut around his head, hips rocking back and forth as you ground yourself against his mouth. Finally, someone who could be as greedy as he was.

His own hips bucked upwards, driving his cock into your throat mercilessly while you continued to attempt to crush his skull. Your thighs were trembling, body undulating helplessly. All Karl could do was urge you onward and that's exactly what he did, his voice a low burr against your cunt as he demanded that you come for him. It didn't matter that you'd already come before, it didn't matter that you were still sloppy and fucked-out from his previous, extremely enthusiastic efforts. Karl wanted more and he knew you did too.

Your pelvis lurched abruptly, breath coming in sharp little gasps as you began to climax. The former Lord growled in satisfaction, clasping his hands up over your thighs to pin you where you were as you rode out your orgasm.

“Mmm, told you that you had one more in you,” he hummed, grinning when you whined your annoyance at him. “Shh, no complaining sugar, or I'll wring another one out of you for fun.” As if to prove his point Karl slid a finger into you, using it to massage your still-trembling walls. You whimpered but made no attempt to wriggle away from him, so Heisenberg simply carried on gently stroking his finger in and out of your entrance. “One more, sugar, c'mon, match me.” The man teased, his eyes half-lidding when you took his dick in hand once more.

“You're ridiculous-” You panted. He could hear the laughter in your words despite your evident breathlessness. “I love you.”

“Love you too, sugar.” Karl patted your leg, guiding you to turn around and slide back down to straddle his thighs. He then sat up slightly, meeting you halfway in a hungry kiss. “I love you,” he sighed, finding his eyes still searching your own for reassurance.

But then you smiled at him, knocking your forehead gently against his own. “And I love you, Karl.”

I love you.

“‘Course you do,” Karl breathed, half to himself. You rolled your eyes at him and your wry chuckle was music to his ears, as was your singsong reply.

“Of course I do.”

#karl heisenberg #lord karl heisenberg #eventual romance #fix it fic #au #resident evil #re 8 #re 8 village #resident evil village #resident evil karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg imagine #re 8 karl heisenberg #slow burn #epilogue

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deepreviewvoid · 1 year ago

Text

- Trust has no value -

pm Dazai × gn Reader!

Genre: Shenanigans,,

Synopsis: a game of two truths and a lie in an abandoned warehouse quickly turns into a dangerous game of trust.

Background: Reader is also a mafioso, and has known Dazai for a good while after being recruited under his wing, but time alone establishes nothing mutual, especially in a place like the port mafia.

Triggers: this is the port mafia, really, what else should I say? (Knives, Suicide mentions, Blood)

The mafia is a cruel organisation, that is an understatement, it is nothing short of a demonic one that reaps its privileges forcefully without second thought. You didn't have any bright plans in mind, or even a clearer line of morality, so you decided to join for the benefits, the money, and the thrill.

Climbing the ranks wasn't awfully difficult, you were smart and knew your way between the thugs and the knives, sure you've had your scoldings, but each sharpened your will and hardened your tenacity untill eventually, you were recognised by one of the executives, who later took you to work under his team.

He had weird subordinates...to say the least.

An orange haired kid with an attitude? apparently, he manipulates gravity and its the strongest ability known out there. It would be a random beautiful day, but not for Chuuya because he'd always curse the fact that he and Dazai worked almost too perfectly together, infact so well that they were known among the mafia as Double Black, or something like that. He instead preferred to talk about wine and motorcycles, and both topics never interested you, so really, you and Chuuya never found common ground unless it was a battleground.

Then there was Akutagawa, he was quiet, tense, and with a comical amount of temperament. His ability had a personality of its own, which safe to say, it stems from his deepest core which is filled with pure loathing. After working with Dazai for a while, you pretty much realised that Akutagawa was like an orphan he picked and made a punching bag, no wonder he's traumatised.

Anyone would be naive to think that Dazai cared about these two with any possible shred of genuine concern, empathy or even bondship, no.. no no, you'd be gravely mistaken, Dazai intentionally dug out his heart long ago, thus, he solely relies on his mind, his thought process and wit that has kept him alive, and will soon make him the next Mafia head.

You are no exception, you knew that he doesnt trust you, and you never trusted him either but this is the mafia right? We're not here to make friends and share our woes as we cry our hearts out in loving trust. Yes, we're one big family, but that's a metaphor, afterall, we're a family armed with guns, everyone has a gun, anyone can play the game.

You knew the rules and you played the game, you only focused on your tasks and nothing else, however, you also kept one eye out at the suicidal executive, human nature was a personal interest of yours and you couldnt just ignore the opportunity to study how that man works, from afar, of course.

It's been months since you've been here, and today you learnt something new, Dazai has a little something for abandoned warehouses.

________________________________________

"Thank you for joining me tonight y/n!" Dazai said with a hint of sarcastic cheerfulness as he sat crossed legged a top of an empty shipment container, it was practically rusting everywhere.

"I was quite bored, think nothing of it" you were leaning on the container from bellow, staring at nothing in particular. "now why did you actually even bother inviting me is what I'm interested in" you didn't bother making eyecontact, the empty warehouse was already doing its job at echoing your voice loudly enough.

"How should I word this?-" he flipped the pages in his book as his eyes scanned the pages with the help of the dim moonlight. "Think of it as an opportunity, for the both of us" he said in a deadpan voice, not curious or interested, just simply stating.

When Dazai speaks of opportunities, its always about his opportunities. You're not going to get anything out of it, and you knew that too well, so you simply rolled your eyes.

but ... you were willing to play his game.

"Tell me more" you asked, and he replied almost immediately, "do you trust your superior?" and you replied bluntly, "orders are orders so yes, but if we were to sit in a room as strangers with one gun, I don't think so".

And so, you two lashed out in a series of questions being asked by him, to be immediately answered by you.

"Feeling is mutual with the latter, next question, where do your loyalties lie?"

"To the Mafia's prosperity and continuous succession"

"Guns or Knives?"

"Knives, give or take"

Dazai made a sound close to humming just for the notion of the conversation, the page of the book he was holding made a sound as it turned once more, but then the book was abruptly shut right after, as if the new page's contents were boring.

"You know, you're such an interesting person to strike conversations with!" You rolled your eyes at his comment before blunting replying "Do you call this one sided conversation really interesting?", he was the only one asking, but then again, do you even dare ask? There's no guarantee that this man won't play around it.

"Don't get me wrong y/n, I value honesty, you may go ahead and strike me for this ground to be fair" his voice echoed from above the container, and soon enough, he jumped down gracefully to impose direct eyecontact. It was always his way of intimidation, but you also knew your way around, so you burned more fuel into the game by throwing the dice.

"Guns or Knives?"

"Guns are more reliable, they're the embodiment of aiming your will at who you choose to kill, I did notice that you're more of a knife type of person..." his answer ended on a question, and for the sake of this, you didn't entertain him the pleasure of giving an answer, instead you pushed for another question, which made him faintly smirk at the realisation.

"Are you a masochist?"

He chuckled lowly "I don't take pleasure from pain, infact I hate it... and you already know about these" he lifted his arms, "they're just suicidal tendencies, is all"

You took in his words as you both made unwavering eye contact, Dazai was almost always confident in his words, they're a result of his trusty mind afterall. "I'll take my turn now, what do you think of my prowess as an executive?" He said.

"You get things done effectively, your manipulation skills are intimidating and you know how to control the pawns, out of all executives, it seems that you have the least casualties among your men"

"How astute of you, I must say it's even quite flattering" he dramatically raised a hand in fake admiration.

It's your turn now~

"Tell me more about Ango and Odasaku, from my observation, I know that you spend a lot of time with them, what about them? do you trust them?" You didn't break eyecontact as you asked.

"Ango is an informant officer, secretive but rely on him, Odasaku is a great drinking buddy, dont underestimate his low ranking" he effortlessly answered a vague answer, without giving a single hint of doubt in his half assed answer.

At this pace, there's no way you can use this chance to learn more about him, so why not make things more interesting for the both of you? "Do you want to play a game, executive?", his single eye showed signs of intriguement for a moment before a smile ever so faintly crept on his face, he likes games doesn't he? "a magnificent proposal"

"Let's play two truths and a lie, simple, and i'll do you the honors by going first" you smirked slyly as you imposed your three sentences, to which one was a lie.

"I trust you"

"I prefer knives over guns"

"I'm completely loyal to the mafia"

You wanted to play that game, you wanted to make the answer obvious, so you chuckled and nodded when he chose the first statement to be the lie. He found this entertaining, it's entertaining when a game losses its rights to be called a game, because the answers are already there from the start. This was unusual for him, most games he played were of cat and mice in real operations, but this harmless game? Oh it was something else for him, so he proceeded with his three statements.

"I trust you"

"I prefer guns over knives"

"I'm a suicidal"

You both were practically staring daggers at each other when you chose the first answer, and when he revealed it to be the correct one... You both chuckled in quiet irony, the warehouse sending your eerie voices echoing around.

"Chuuya is not as half as entertaining, unless I make him to be, this is more fun, I must confess" he said first between his laughs, and you replied right away with your own confession.

"I agree, Akutagawa hates my guts, I can't even start to have a proper conversation before he lashes out rashoumon at me" you replied dryly, also between your laughs.

Two people just confessed that they don't trust each other and there they are laughing like a bunch of maniacs. What kind of insanity is this? You asked yourself, but in reality, you asked him something far more unusual...

"Then humor me, since we don't trust each other, would you be willing to take a dare from me?" Dazai gave you the most unhinged look for a couple of long seconds, probably out of an act of suspense, he agreed in the end. "If you humor me as well with the same request, then gladly"

Dare for a dare, eye for an eye. You can ask him to do anything and he can do just the same, what enticing possibility should you choose? Knowing yourself, you were already going to choose something psychological, the excitement was apparent in your voice as you placed your dare on the table.

"Close your eye for ten minutes, ten minutes of pure truth where you'll answer any questions I impose with atleast some material honesty"

Without hesitation, nor comment, he closed his one remaining eye as he stood infront of you ever so casually, it was like you're staring at a corpse if it wasn't for his chest heaving as he took his long breaths and his brown locks that were fluttering in the gentle wind of the open warehouse, it made him a pinch more alive.

The executive is already committed to the dare it seems.

"So, how does it feel to close your last eye?" You crossed your arms as you stared at him, making sure to not move yet, as that will give him some hints.

"I would be lying if I said I'm closing the bandaged one, but don't worry, I see nothing" he chuckled, "some people think I hurt my eye, but I didn't, and I wouldn't go far as to visually impair myself. I only wear this patch to switch between my left eye when I'm in a darker environment"

"So you wouldn't go far as to visually impair yourself, but you jump in rivers? Seriously.. Hirotsu made me fish you out before because that old man's back couldnt swim" small cries of laughter escaped your lips as you giggled at the memory.

"Don't question a suicidal, what if I told you that my true love in life is a fine rope?" He said in amusement, sighing also in mock amusement.

Now that's entertaining, you thought. But hey, let's press for more questions, so far his answers are genuine, or atleast appear to be.

You made an intentional sound of shuffling as if to grab something from your attire to give an illusion, to let his mind wander. You approached him untill you were only two steps apart, he stood unflinching.

"Tell me, what's your mind thinking?"

"Two things, you're attempting to psychologically trick me, and what the hell is y/n doing, honest" his lips curved unto a high smile, a sly one.

"It's kind of hard isn't it? You always trust your mind and the judgements it provides because your eyes play a crucial part in providing sources, but without your eyes, what can your thoughts even produce?"

"You know, a blind man can still become a mafioso, they can strongly rely on their other senses to produce judgements that are just as accurate as someone with perfect vision. I don't think there's a difference in my judgement, but I must confide in the fact that I enjoy this test nevertheless"

"What if I told you that I'm holding my knife?"

"That's a lie"

"How could you tell?"

"By sound..., oh, now you're holding it~"

And it was true, this time you were holding your favourite little knife, you ended many lives with with one. It surprised you, but then again, it shouldn't surprise you that he was able to tell the tiniest sounds that a normal human wouldn't hear, that's because our ears don't focus on the little things in life, unless we force them to do so.

"So what about my knife? How do you feel about it?" You made a show, only to yourself of course, by masterfully flickering the knife around, it obviously made sounds as it cut the air.

"I've always liked the shape of your knife's handle, it's very grotesque, which is why I like it. I'm also thinking of all the ways you could stab me right now, it's exciting, can you believe that there are over a hundred of ways to stab someone?!"

You rolled your eyes yet again tonight, he was way too enthusiastic in his mentions of suicide and harm, you probably already know atleast half of his most read book by now, the complete manual of suicide.

"Well? What's the liberty of the knife holding?" He asked, still unhinged, and still he stood in the same position and posture since the ten minute clock.

You shrugged, "it's fun to swing it around", your knife deviously coming close to his own body, you were also enjoying this...

He was only smiling during the whole thing even as you brought the edge of your knife over his non-bandaged cheek.

"So it's true, you really don't fear death" you whispered, as you glided your knife over his cheek, in truth, this knife was a dull one, not your sharp one that you usually kill with so really, It was a pathetic knife that you held so dear, it was a knife uncapable of hurt, it didn't even spill one drop of blood,

unless you applied more pressure,

which you did.

"You know, I don't think I'll prefer to have a bandage on my good side, try not to make it too ugly", his skin tingled with a familiar feeling, the feeling of being cut. "Bandages on both sides? Really?" He sighed at this trouble as if it concerned him greater than the fact that you're running a knife across his cheek, and that a drop of blood is begining its race to his jaw.

He didn't stop you, and this was too prexpeling that you forced yourself to stop.

You wiped it off the drop with your finger, the wound is too weak to spill more than two drops anyway, and you seathed your knife back to its place. You noticed yourself unable to stop staring at him, your stomach slightly flipped at how morbid a human can really be. It fascinated you, but at the same time, you realised you were dealing with a challenge...

This man doesn't tick like a clock, because there were never batteries to begin with.

"It won't scar" you said while looking at your finger, wiping the blood away in your clothes, ah, the privilege of wearing black clothes, you took a few steps back, he's the same, he didn't move since the start. He's an executive.

"That's good to hear" he let out a huff, "what a dull knife you have, why do you keep it with you? If I had to guess, its because it holds intrinsic value."

"Hey, you don't get to ask questions here" you said in mocking sarcasm, he immediately refuted "I get to, ten minutes have passed-" he opened his eye again with a faint smirk.

Already? How long have you been staring? How long have you been trying to stab his cheek? And does he count time just like that? You didn't dare check your phone, you knew he was right when you estimated the time and went over the events in your head, you gave up and sighed.

"Welcome back to the world of the living, hooray" you said in a stern tone, almost mocking him once more. Dazai doesn't hold grudges much, in fact, this guy is a sucker for insults, especially when the enemy insults him.

He simply smiled mischievously "now close your eyes for ten minutes, and answer my questions truthfully" of course, that freak chose the the same dare and you can't complain at your own game, so you immediately shut your eye lids, and the last thing you saw was his face, a finger that he swiped across the little cut you gave him, and a smile.

"Tell me, if I were to do the same, would you let me? Would you flinch?" You thought of the question, and truth be told, an answer immediately popped in by heart, so you answered truthfully.

".. no, not really, eye for an eye I suppose"

"Why do you think that I don't trust you?"

"We've worked together before, we both saw what each of us are capable of, even one of the most valuable lessons you've taught me is the fact that evil expects evil from others"

"Astute, but not the answer I seek"

"Wait, let me guess again"

He let out a huff, you could imagine that he was smiling, "go ahead" he said as if he'd be patient for eternity, even if you took two minutes out of the previous ten.

"Perhaps because trust is a weak word... Does it even have any value to you?" You realised that you just asked him a question, so you didn't keep your hopes up for an answer, however.. he replied.

"It's hard to say, trust is a personal debate of mine, that said, 'trust no one' is a motto some live by, but in reality, if one were to never to trust anyone, then no real progress would pursue. As much as I despise it, Double Black is based on trust, and as much as the head of the mafia despises it, he too must rely on his executives." Dazai's answer was nothing short of well thought and well constructed, still it left you puzzled even more, what was his stance? Is there anyone he trusts?

But alas, don't push your luck is what you've convinced yourself in this moment.

"Over to you now, why don't you trust me?"

"I don't think anyone should trust you, truth be told and I be damned for saying this"

"Oh? Don't worry, do continue, I want to hear your reasoning"

"With all due respect executive, you're awfully good at manipulation, nothing short of a master manipulator. I don't think you'd blink twice before picking up a card and discarding another, you choose not to be a piece in someone's game but always to be the player in everyone's game."

Dazai chuckled darkly, almost too darkly for this. Suddenly, this game has went ten degrees colder. "This is too good" he said a simple sentence, but who knew what it implies, even worse, you can't tell what it really implies when you can't see anything.

Then you heard his footsteps, the sound between each step was consistent so he took normal strides... about four steps, you already estimated that he's one step infront of you, too close.

"I told you, we have the most interesting conversations" he said in a cheerful tone which was now closer. "Do you remember that operation that sent us flying?" His voice wavered a little as he quietly chuckled "the bomb situation at one of our warehouses, it was a chaotic one"

That time, an enemy gang placed a bomb at a mafia warehouse, unknowingly, and unluckily, you and Dazai happened to be near the explosion radius, it was one of the worst casualties that the mafia had in years and after it, came in days and days of endless work to amend the losses and seek revenge.

"That happened almost two months ago, yet I almost forgot you still have that bruise" you can feel his eyes trace that place you know well, there was originally a glass shard that impaled your skin dangerously at the backside of your neck.

"I broke an arm and your neck was bleeding like no tomorrow, yet we held our ground. I'm still surprised you didn't pass out that day" you felt some air on your nose, it didn't take you long to realise it was his breath. Needless to say, he smelled terrible.

"What are you trying to say?"

"Just saying my thoughts out loud, by the way, ten minutes have passed" you waited a few seconds to open your eyes, he was already back where he originally stood.

"Fair game executive, fair game" you smirked at him, sure, he's mysterious, witty and suicidal, but the past hour has been the most interesting thing you'd done since you joined the mafia.

He let out a crooked smile before taking out something familiar, your dull knife. "Do you remember? I asked you if this knife had any intrinsic value to you..."

Once again, you rolled your eyes, of course, he swipped it off you earlier. "What's got you so hooked up on that knife, Dazai?"

"You did just cut an executive's cheek, what privilege already!" He joked tauntingly as he swung the knife across his fingers in a careless manner.

"Says the executive that would let anyone murder him~" I cooed as I slugged ny shoulders.

"Come on, quit blabbering, I deserve an answer" he pouted dramatically.

Eventually, you just let him have what he wanted, he was like a kid demanding candy, and that was scary enough.

"Fine, this is the oldest knife that I have, that's all there is to it. I found it on the street too"

This is also the knife that got you first blood.

"Oh, so that explains why it's so ugly" he flipped it left and right observing it once more, as if the new information provides a whole new picture to the knife.

You sighed before swiping it off his fingers, "Seriously- gimme that" he let you take it, but his smirk was forever plastered on his face for somereason. "Don't even get me started on your taste in river spots!" You seathed the knive back into your little leather holder before looking back him with a teasing taunt, it's almost baffling how he manages to flip between kid and executive.

"You choose the spots that are next to port- I repeat- next to port- that means murky water, contaminated with oils and rust. Is that what you really want to fill your lungs with? In that case, I'd consider suffocation, or even lethal poisoning instead of drowning in pollution. Have some self worth atleast for your dead body"

Dazai didn't say a word, at first which made you second guess you existence, but oh well, he broke into giggles, little by little, into a full blown laughter, even holding his chest with his hands as a form of dramatic flare or perhaps it was genuine. You couldnt hold yourself back, why did that sound come from your mouth, why were you laughing too over suicidal methods? You couldn't help it, you knew half of his damn book.

Eventually, you both calmed down from the hysteria.

"I still don't trust you" he crossed his arms, turned his head slightly away, still in eye contact. "so that means, I can't trust your choice in suicide methods"

"I don't trust you either" you copied his exact same posture, also crossing your arms. "I can't trust your judgement in knives"

"Drink with me tonight?"

"Only if you'll humor me with another dare?"

"Deal".

-End

And that's how pretty much Dazai introduced you to his go to bar, Lupins.

A/N: I'd really appreciate feedback since this is my first. Thanks :) that was fun to write.

#dazai osamu #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazai headcanons #bungou stray dogs #bsd fanfic #port mafia #dazai x y/n #dazai x you

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dnalt-d2 · 9 months ago

Text

(TW for racism/xenophobia, as well as what's going on with Cellbit right now. For anyone who wants to know about that, I put the documents he put out in the replies for the post, as well as TWs for what it contains)

You know, I gotta say I'm really glad I'm hardly on twitter and BARELY know how to navigate it. Because I never actually SEE any of the drama going on over there, I just hear it from tumblr people coming here from over there, and that's definitely the case here as well as well

And I know I haven't really talked much about QSMP Drama before, but what's going on right now is hitting me a little harder than I would've thought, so I do wanna give my two cents on it

For starters, I read through the entire document that Cellbit put out and I feel absolutely horrible for what he's going through right now, and for what he went through in the past. Especially since I've been through something similar to one of the things he mentioned. Not to mention the fact that I'm also most likely asexual as well. (This is kinda why I wanted to talk about it at all, if I'm being honest) I really hope things get better for him, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart

And as for the apparently rampant xenophobia that's been targeted towards the Brazilian community, I honestly feel absolutely terrible that this has been happening. And I really hope that people can come here and find a better part of the community to interact with, if they choose to stay at all. Which I can certainly understand anyone choosing to leave, however unfortunate that is. Either way, I'm really sorry this has been happening to you guys, and it never should have happened in the first place (And anyone else who's experienced this, you have my sympathy as well, even if I know it isn't really gonna help much)

For anyone that stays, I'm really sorry things have been so shitty. Obviously there's not gonna be any place that's completely safe and tolerant, but I certainly hope things over here are better than on twitter

QSMP has been an amazing experience for me, and the fact that I've learned so much about so many different cultures has been absolutely incredible. I'm not the kind of person who can just learn this kind of stuff by reading up on it, so this has really been a great way to learn about things that I either never thought to look into, or just wasn't able to understand for whatever reason

Anyone that sees this sort of project, which has been connecting so many different communities and cultures, and decides to still be so intolerant and hateful, are just a special kind of awful. And frankly, they're the ones losing out on something incredible

(Btw I'm not sure what all to tag this as, since again, I don't really talk about drama stuff all that often, so if anyone wants me to tag a specific trigger or anything else, please let me know)

#qsmp #qsmp drama #I'm not sure what specifically to tag this with honestly #cellbit #qsmp cellbit #xenophobia tw #racism tw #drama

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bunnies4steven · 11 months ago

Text

Dark!Jonathan Levy x AFAB!reader

╰┈➤ WARNINGS : NSFW, SMUT, BREEDING KINK, NON CONSENSUAL BREEDING, AGE GAP, PROFESSOR! JONATHAN LEVY, ORAL MALE RECEIVING, DD/LG DYNAMICS, IMPACT PLAY, P IN V SEX, PET NAMES (SWEET GIRL, BABY, HONEY, SLUT, COCKWHORE), UNPROTECTED SEX, NON-CON, DADDY KINK, PRAISING AND DEGRADING KINK, ROUGH SEX, CO-ERCION, DARK THEMES, MDNI.

˗ˏˋ✎ part one, part two, part three,

𓆩⚝𓆪 caution: this fic is very dark and contains themes of non-con and blackmail. if these things trigger you I advise you to not read this and click off.

Originally Jonathan planned to break it to you sweet, but he felt like you were trying to run away like his wife did during this moment. He needed to have you now. Seeing a few tears leave your face made his cock erect. He knew he shouldn’t feel turned on by your tears, but fuck did you look so pretty.

“I d-don’t want to.” You weakly protested.

“You don’t have a choice, sweet girl.” Jonathan mockingly cooed.

You nodded no as in denial with him and yourself. You felt stupid for thinking that he gave you these compliments, gave you these opportunities, and wanted you to perfect your writing skills with him just on the pure basis of education. You felt disgusted with him and you felt humiliated with yourself.

“Take off your clothes and get on your knees, honey. I could always tell your boss at the internship you weren’t as good as I thought you were or I could even take a couple points off the assignments I graded.” Jonathan threatened with a gentle voice.

You then dropped your bag out and gave in and he praised you “Good girl.”

You took off your sweater and shirt. He bit his lip as your white lacy bra became visible, he noted that it would be something for him to personally keep along with your panties. You then took off the rest of your clothes and garments.

Your nude body looked even better than he would’ve thought. You then got on your knees as he walked towards you. His hand gently caressed your cheek as you looked down on to the floor. He lifted your head up and murmured,

“So fuckin’ pretty.”

Jonathan then unbuckled his pants and they dropped. He took off his boxers and his thick cock hardened. You moved your face away from his cock and your expression curled into disgust. Jonathan roughly grabbed your chin in offense.

“No, no, no fuckin’ look at me baby.” Jonathan ordered.

He wiped the tears from your face as you tried to protest “Professor I don’t wanna-” Jonathan interjected your words by slapping your face. Your eyes widened from the stinging pain and you gasped.

“That’s not my name. What’s my name?”

“Your name is Jona-” Smack!

“Wrong answer.” He responded in a monotonous voice.

You were completely shocked because you thought you had answered right. You then cried out to him in pain and shock “But y-your name is Jon-” Smack!

You sobbed from the pain. Your sobbing made his cock so hard and made his pre-cum leak so much. Jonathan leaned down and said lowly “My name is daddy. You will keep calling me daddy.”

He then kissed you. You could feel his prickly beard on your chin. The way he kissed you was filled with hunger and lust like he has been waiting for this. He then roughly pulled away from the kiss and a string of saliva was apparent.

Jonathan grabbed his cock and tapped it on your plump lips. “Here’s what's gonna happen. I’m gonna fuck your pretty face and you’re gonna take it like the perfect cock whore you are, mkay?”

Before you could respond he shoved his thick and lengthy cock in your mouth. You gagged as his cock reached the back of your throat. His veiny hands wrapped around your hair as he started thrusting his cock inside your mouth as if it was your pussy.

“Look at you, baby. Sucking my cock so good, like a little slut.” Jonathan praised.

You made gagging noise and gurgle noises as you were forced to suck his cock while he thrusted it in your mouth. Jonathan chuckled and groaned in pleasure. He thought you must have had so much experience to be such a good cock sucker.

“Fuck- baby. Such a good fuckin’ cock sucker for daddy, huh? You used to suckin’ off the boys on campus?” He mockingly asked.

Jonathan enjoyed seeing the tears fall down your cheeks, the drool dripping from your mouth to your tits, and seeing forms of spit circle around his cock and your mouth. You looked like his whore and he loved that.

“Such a dirty little girl letting daddy use your throat like this.” he moaned.

As he continued fucking your throat he was coming close. His moans and groans got louder and breathier. His thrusts were getting sloppy and the pleasure that was building inside of him was aching for him to cum.

“That’s it, fuck- i’m gonna fucking cum down this little slutty throat, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Jonathan growled.

His seed then released on your tongue and he groaned in pleasure. His cock left your mouth and you coughed and tried to gasp for air. As he saw you coughing he stopped you, saying “No, no, no swallow my cum, honey.” You obeyed and then he made you get up.

“Now bend over that desk baby, like a good little girl.” Jonathan ordered.

You bent over the desk and he smacked your ass which made you yelp. He rubbed his cock on your clit which made you whimper. Despite knowing you were being violated your pussy couldn’t help but drip wetness.

Jonathan then took your slick with his fingers and smirked “So wet for me, baby. You’re so excited for my cock, hm?”

“No.” You denied as more tears fell down your face.

“Baby your cunt is dripping for me. I didn’t even fuck you yet and your pussy knows it belongs to me.” Jonathan countered.

He then positioned his cock near your pussy. Jonathan then entered his cock inside of you which made both of you gasp. The feeling of your warm, wet, and tight walls surrounding his shaft made him throw his head back and relax his posture.

“So fuckin’ tight.” His shaky voice praised.

Jonathan started thrusting. His thick cock was stretching your pussy and you gritted from pain and pleasure. Your nails scraped on his desk as his pelvis met your ass. He then grabbed your hair and pulled your head back so you could face him.

“I’ve wanted you ever since I’ve fuckin’ met you, but I didn’t go after you because I was with Mira.” He began and he started thrusting faster which made you whine in pleasure “I was too fuckin stupid to notice you were better.”

“You’re so much sweeter. cuter. fucking tighter.” Jonathan emphasized his last words by syncing them to match with his thrust,

You were moaning and your body was betraying you. You couldn’t help but feel good as he pounded your little pussy. Jonathan loved your facial expressions and how much pleasure was expressed by your moans, sobs, and whimpers.

“Daddy is makin’ you feel so good, right sweet baby?” Jonathan cooed.

He then moved you and him back and continued pounding your pussy from behind. His finger pad reached your clit which made you whine. “Tell daddy that he’s making you feel good, and you love him, and you'll never leave him.”

He made you feel so good but you refused to for your pride and dignity. You were close to orgasming and he noticed the way your pussy tightened on his cock. You were sobbing from pure pleasure.

“Say it or you won’t cum.” He said,

You felt yourself coming close to your orgasm and at this point your pussy was making the decision for you rather than your mind was. You repeated his words “D-Daddy is m-making me- ahh! F-feel good, n’ I-l-love him, and I’ll never leave h-him!”

“Good fucking girl!” He growled.

Your legs then trembled and your vision went white. You screamed as you orgasmed and he continued pounding his cock into you trying to chase his high and pro lasting your orgasm. His lips kissed your forehead as his cock hit the deepest parts of you.

“M’ gonna fill you up baby. Gonna fill this pretty pussy with so much cum!” He moaned “This pussy feels so good. It was made for me, baby. I deserve this, I deserve you.”

As he was coming close he growled in pleasure “F-Fuck, fuck, fuck! M’ gonna cum in this pussy. Gonna breed you baby.”

His thrusts got faster and once he finally orgasmed he grunted. His thick cum filled your pussy and you both groaned. Both of your chests heaved and you both panted from exhaustion. His cock slipped out of your stomach and he gave you one last kiss.

He deserved you and he finally got you.

#nini.fics #oscar isaac #dark! jonathan levy #jonathan levy x reader #jonathan levy #jonathan levy smut

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stardewlegends · 7 months ago

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[Part 2] The Day After The Day Before | Sebastian x Reader, Platonic!Sam x Reader (Angst, mild Fluff)

Category: Angst, Fluff (Mandatory) Age: 18+ Trigger Warnings: Implied non-con, implied sexual assault, physical violence, blood, miscarriage, forced pregnancy, physical violence, verbal abuse, bleeding, head injury, hospitalisation, explicit language Ship: Sebastian x Reader, Platonic!Sam x Reader, implied Sam x Sebastian x Reader Summary: She'd heard so many good things about her best friend, Sam's, father, Kent, and it was true, he was lovely! Right up until he wasn't. How was she meant to tell Sebastian? Sam? The answer is simple: she couldn't. But apparently she couldn't hide it either. Request: N/A Contains Spoilers for: N/A Word Count: 6k

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Almost six months have passed since the day (Y/N) learnt she was pregnant with that monster’s child. She decided to keep the baby. It was a hard decision, unsure whether she’d permanently be traumatised every time she looked at her child but thought about it more prominently as Sam’s brother than Kent’s son or daughter.

Sebastian and Sam, as promised, supported her the whole way. It’s not like she had anyone else. Harvey and Maru were judge-free too and have been helping her throughout the entire process.

Sebastian and Sam moved on to the farm with her, Sam occupying the spare room whilst Sebastian shared hers. It was fun. They helped her grow once again into the bright, chatty woman she once was before he took it all away.

Jodi never welcomed Sam back into their home after that Godforsaken day. She spread rumours about Kent’s beaten up face. Said that Sebastian had gaslighted Sam into abusing the family. Said that Sebastian was the one who raped (Y/N). Oh, yeah, a real likely story. Robin and Demetrius tried to get answers out of Sebastian about what actually happened, but he didn’t give them any information. He simply told his mother that he was moving onto the farm with (Y/N) and Sam to support her as she’s pregnant. Clarified it wasn’t his child. Robin didn’t interfere much more than that, Demetrius making snark comments at the boy which is just ignored.

Abigail regularly came by when she could, but Caroline forbid it. Naturally, Jodi opened her mouth and made the farmer the talk of the town. No one really gossiped about it except Jodi. She would do anything to protect her husband, and if that meant making everyone in Pelican Town hate the little bitch who took over the farm then so be it.

On the farm, Sam absolutely adored her chickens. Who knew the skater boy enjoyed farming so much? Sebastian enjoyed collecting fruit from all the trees, being sad in Winter when that wasn’t something he could do. They always went out foraging for some crystal fruits though. The pair made sure that she didn’t have to lift a finger anymore. Not whilst pregnant.

“I wanna go to the saloon.” (Y/N) admits one Friday night as the trio are watching some grid ball game on the television.

The two men look at her with surprised expressions on their faces.

“You serious?”

She nods but keeps her eyes on the screen across the room.

“I miss playing pool on Friday nights. I miss Gus and Emily listening to my boring farm talk, I miss Clint telling me about what cool shit he managed to forge together out of the leftover ore I had, I miss Willy’s voice shaking the place as he tells Clint all about some huge as Scorpion Carp he found…” The woman trails off. “I miss being normal.” “Then let’s go to the saloon.” Sam states. “People are gonna stare…” The woman trails off. “Let them; you look stunning.” Sebastian tells her, watching her blush and curl into him. “He’s right.” The blond adds, smirking and flashing a wink. “Come on, you’ve got me and Seb by your side - nothing will happen to you. Besides, as much as my mom is capable of opening her huge fucking mouth, the town adores you too much to listen.”

(Y/N) wishes she believed him. She’s trying to.

Sam calls up Abigail, asking her to come down and meet them at the saloon. She’s never been so excited to watch the boys play pool.

They walk down, basking in the late-Spring breeze that surrounds them.

“I’ve missed town.” (Y/N) sighs, smiling at the sight of the buildings around her in the town square. “I dunno why, it’s shite.” Sebastian remarks, the trio chuckling at the sarcasm.

They come to a halt outside of the Stardrop, the two men patiently waiting for the woman to be ready to go inside.

“It’ll be okay. My family don’t even come in here.” Sam reassures.

She nods and they finally enter. Peoples heads turn to acknowledge whoever has just walked in and the chat immediately dies down.

(Y/N) wonders if Sebastian is nervous, knowing the rumours were that he’s the one who knocked her up without consent. He doesn’t seem phased. The truth is he isn’t. The people who matter know the truth, and anyone who believes the lies aren’t worth having around.

The farmer’s convinced everyone heard her gulp.

Sam and Sebastian don’t falter, the latter reaching for the woman’s hiding and offering an encouraging smile. He’ll take anything that is thrown her way. Both of them will. She knows it. She’s grateful.

As Sebastian leads her into the pool room, Elliott’s voice speaks up.

“(Y/N),” He calls, the woman freezing. Sam and Sebastian do too. The trio turn to look at the man sitting at the bar, everyone’s eyes on them. “It’s good to see you back.”

The tears that well up in her eyes are staining her cheeks before she can even attempt to hide them.

Elliott smiles and stands up, Leah admiring his confidence, approaching the farmer, opening his arms for a hug which she graciously accepts.

“Thank you so much.” She whimpers into his burgundy jacket. “No need, little lady. We’ve missed you more than you know.”

The red-head offers a smile at the two men whom the farmer walked in with, them returning it with a nod.

“How many weeks are you now?” He asks, admiring the prominent bump under the woman’s dress. “Twenty-four.” She whispers, naturally resting her hands there. “You know if it’s a boy or a girl yet?” “Keeping it a surprise.” “Nice.”

Elliott heads back to the bar, taking a seat by Leah, and (Y/N) continues her path toward the pool table with Sebastian and Sam.

The tension is already gone thanks to Elliott and the night is pretty relaxing. Abigail joins them shortly after they arrive, her constantly talking to the baby bump as if it’s gonna respond.

“I’m gonna go order a drink from the bar - I wanna chat with Gus and Emily.” (Y/N) states, her three friends nodding and smiling in admiration. “Okay, doll; we’ll be right here.”

She nods at Sebastian with a smile before heading over to the bar, standing beside Elliott.

“Hey, Gus,” She greets, the bartender offering her a warm smile. “Evenin’, farmer. Good to see ya face again. What’re ya havin’?”

She giggles at his attempted farmer’s accent.

“Just a blackcurrant and soda water, please?” “Comin’ right up, ma’am.” “It really is good to see your face again, (Y/N).” Elliott comments, turning to face the woman once again. “I appreciate it so much.” She whispers, tearing up again.

He smiles and wraps his arm around her before picking up his drink.

“Ladies and Gents, if I could have your attention, please,” The red-head begins, (Y/N)’s eyes widening. “I’d like to raise a toast to our sweetheart of a farmer who joined our wonderful town and naturally made it a better place. She hasn’t been able to have our support lately but I’d like everyone now to raise a toast to this little lady in congratulations of the wonderful baby they’re carrying.” He announces, eyes locking with everyone in the bar. “To (Y/N)!”

And everyone does toast. Drinks in the air. Everyone cheering. Hell, even Clint does and he’s as quiet as anything.

The woman hides her face in Elliott’s jacket in embarrassment. He chuckles and strokes her back.

There’s some fun chat and banter throughout the bar as (Y/N) catches up with everyone, quickly feeling a lot more welcome in her local despite what her worrying thoughts warned her about.

So much fun going on that she doesn’t acknowledge the saloon doors opening.

“Well, well, well, this all looks awfully friendly.”

(Y/N) freezes up at the voice. She’s stood at the bar talking to Emily, the door directly behind her, along with the wife of that monster.

“Surprised the whore actually decided to show her face again.”

The farmer’s eyes clench shut as she fears everything that’s about to happen. Sam and Sebastian hear the voice and stride over to the archway that connects the pool room to the main bar.

“I presume you’ve also fucked the bitch by now, Samson.” Jodi snarks, turning to look at her son who stares her down.

Sebastian looks ready to kill.

“Jodi, I’m afraid if you’re going to be rude, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Gus states, trying to remain professional.

The woman smirks.

“Why do I have to leave when that little rat has been spreading her legs for everyone in order to ruin my life!?”

(Y/N) is trembling now, hands gripping onto the bar as if it’s keeping her from collapsing.

“Jodi,” Elliott speaks up, giving the woman a glare that tells her not to start. “Gus asked you to leave.” “Are you all stupid!?” “Mom-” “Don’t you dare call me your fucking mother!” Jodi instantly interrupts her son, pointing her finger.

Sam gulps but is prepared to fight this battle.

“And you!” The woman continues, pointing at the dark-haired boy standing beside her son. “You manipulative, gaslighting little shit!”

Sebastian doesn’t falter at her words. She’s delusional.

“What did you think you’d gain out of making my own son hate his father!?” “Kent did that himself.” The boy remarks, Jodi’s eyes flaring up with more anger. “You’re sick. You’re fucked in the head.”

Sebastian’s convinced that if his mother was here, she’d have lost her shit at Jodi by now.

“Perhaps, but my husband didn’t rape someone half his age whilst still married, so I guess I’ve got that going for me.”

The tension in the room is suffocating. People’s eyes widen as they acknowledge the truth in Sebastian’s words. Kent was the one who got her pregnant.

“Let’s just go.” (Y/N) manages, turning to look at her two best friends.

Jodi scoffs.

“Yeah, that’s right, run back to that petty little farm that you can’t even run properly so drag those two down with you. My son had a future before you fucked him up!”

The farmer sighs and turns around to finally meet Jodi’s glare.

The woman’s eyes widen at the sight of her belly and (Y/N) very rapidly realises that Jodi didn’t know.

“You have got to be fucking joking me.”

The woman at the bar freezes, shaking once more.

“I’m just gonna go home.” She manages, taking a step forward and turning toward the archway where her two best friends are standing, but that’s when Sebastian screams.

“NO!”

Everything happens too fast.

(Y/N)’s head whips back around just in time to see Jodi lunging for her, shoving the farmer with enough force to send her stumbling back into the bar, knocking the wind out of her, before falling into the bar stools and to the ground.

Sebastian and Sam dove forward but weren’t as fast as the silent man in the blue Joja jacket who grabs Jodi by her throat and slams her up against the wall of the saloon.

(Y/N)’s breaths are heavy, moaning in pain, hands wrapping around her belly as her two best friends drop down beside her, along with Elliott and Leah.

“I was always taught to never hit a woman but you’re no fucking lady.” Shane all but growls as Jodi gasps for breath, hands clawing at the man’s hand in an attempt to alleviate his grip. “Shane-” She gasps, eyes wide. “I could fucking kill you, you know that?” The man warns, grip not faltering. “You had the audacity to tell everyone in this town that Sebastian touched her without permission when in reality it was your shit-eating husband.” “Shane…” Marnie’s voice manages to reach his ears. He forgot she was here, to be honest. He doesn’t care.

Marnie isn’t telling him to stop, no. Marnie agrees wholeheartedly with his actions. He knows that. She’s warning him to be careful. To not get caught.

With another shove into the wall, Shane drops the woman, Jodi dropping to her knees as she gasps for breath once more. The man spins around and acknowledges Sebastian and Sam helping the pregnant woman stand up.

And that’s when he sees it.

“Get her to Harvey.” He states, eyes wide. “Yeah, no shit.” Sam manages, not intending to come across harshly. “No, seriously,” Shane adds. “Guys…” Elliott speaks up, Sebastian and Sam looking down and seeing the red stains on the floor where (Y/N) was lay.

The same red stains at the bottom of her dress. The same red stains leaking down her legs.

The two boys’ eyes widen and they look at one another before looking at the girl they’re holding who’s eyes are also on the mess.

“No…” She whimpers, legs giving in but Sebastian and Sam catch her. “Come on, baby, we’ve gotta get you to Harvey. The dark-haired boy manages, heading toward the door. “No, no, no, no, no, please!” She’s screaming. Sobbing. Her heart is shattering and everyone can see it.

Shane opens the door for the boys, sprinting ahead and banging on Harvey’s door.

“HARV, OPEN UP! EMERGENCY!” He yells, Sam and Sebastian slowly approaching with the screaming woman in their arms. “FOR FUCKS SAKE, HARVEY, OPEN UP!”

The doctor sprints to the door scared that Shane has relapsed once again, but this is so much worse.

“She’s bleeding.” They’re the only words Sam manages as he meets the scared gaze of Harvey.

He nods and ushers them inside, quickly preparing a bed for the woman where he injects her with some substance or other to knock her out, her screams dying down.

Sam and Sebastian are stood by the bed, bloodstains on their clothes, eyes wide as Harvey begins to work on the woman.

“Guys, come on, you’ve gotta let him work.” Shane attempts, they listen. They stare at the woman with lost eyes but let Shane lead them outside of the room.

They’re lost. Sam and Sebastian. Shane is talking to them both but neither of them can understand any of the words he’s saying. They simply manage to find each others’ gaze and cling onto each other in a bone-shattering hug.

Shane’s breaths are heavy. He isn’t exactly best friends with the farmer but she’s the only one who never judged him. She would always sit with him and have a drink. Buy him a pint or two. Saved his life when he hit an all-time low. He saw her as a friend, and she saw him as an equal. That was more than enough for him.

When he heard the gossip that Kent was attacked by Sebastian because the soldier threatened to expose that the quiet emo both was a rapist, he didn’t believe it. How could he? (Y/N) treated Sebastian with the same amount of care that she treated himself with. Now he knows he was right. Sebastian isn’t a bad guy, but that fucking asshole…

Hours pass. How many? Neither of the men are sure. Sebastian told Shane to go home after he calmed down. Thanked the man for defending (Y/N). Shane could only apologise that he wasn’t quick enough to stop the initial hit - Sam and Sebastian told him it wasn’t his fault. He wishes he believed them.

Harvey’s footsteps echo across the surgery, Sam and Sebastian immediately up on their feet and looking at the man with so much anticipation

“She’s still out but will probably wake in the next hour or so.” The doctor begins, the men somewhat nodding but awaiting the more important information.

Harvey sighs and removes his glasses from his face and ruffling his hair.

“Gents, I’m sorry, but the baby didn’t make it.”

Sebastian’s body starts to shut down. He remains frozen, eyes staring lifelessly at the brunet in front of him.

“Seb,” Sam whispers, noticing the absence of life in his friend.

The blond’s heartbroken. He’s crying. Not only was that his best friend’s kid, it was his half-brother.

Sebastian’s face turns to look at Sam, still remaining stoic.

“Why her?” He whispers, Harvey tearing up at the question. “What did she ever do to deserve this?”

Sam lets out a sob and shakes his head, looking around the room for the answer that doesn’t exist.

“She didn’t deserve this.” Is all he can whisper.

Another two hours pass. The two men are sitting on either side of her bed as she stirs. No words have been said between them.

A groan rumbles in her throat as the blinding light of the hospital room takes over her vision.

Sebastian is holding one hand whilst Sam is holding the other.

“Take it easy.” Sebastian whispers.

When the room finally starts to make more sense, the woman glances over at Sebastian and Sam.

“Hey…” It’s muffled against the oxygen mask covering her face. “Hi, gorgeous.” The dark-haired boy murmurs, forcing a smile despite his painfully obvious tear-stains.

She takes a moment to remember everything that happened but the gasp that escapes her follows a number of beeps from the monitors she’s hooked up to.

“Woah, hey, hey, hey, baby, calm down,” “Woah, (Y/N), it’s okay!”

Sam and Sebastian are both up on their feet trying to calm the now frantic woman down.

“Breathe, baby, breathe.” Sebastian attempts, watching her head drop down and hands jump to her, now, flat belly. “No, no, no, NO, NO, NO!” She’s ripping the mask off of her face, tearing at all the wires in her body, throwing the bedsheets off of her as she gets a better look at her stomach.

Sebastian wraps his arms fully around the woman, cocooning her against him, whilst Sam stumbles back and throws his head back against the wall. His fists are clenched as silent tears pour down his face.

It took the woman months to come to terms with her pregnancy and decide she wanted it, picturing the perfect life with Sebastian and Sam by her side, but it's been ripped away from her.

“WHERE’S MY BABY!? WHERE’S MY BABY!?” She’s screaming, Sebastian sobbing and trying to keep her trapped against his body to stop her flailing about. “(Y/N), doll, shh, it’s okay, it’s okay, breathe for me.”

Harvey comes sprinting into the room and sees the state of the woman who’s just woken.

“SOMEBODY TELL ME WHERE MY BABY IS-” The woman’s screams fade out as Harvey injects her with some sort of drug to knock her out. “I’m sorry, I was upstairs organising some files.” The doctor utters, Sebastian pulling back from the woman so Harvey can fix up her wires.

The two boys don’t respond.

“What do we do, Harvey?” Sam whispers, still leaning against the wall, staring aimlessly at the unconscious woman. “She’s going to take a while to recover but with the right support around her, I think she’ll be fine.”

More silence.

“Can she ever get pregnant again?” Sebastian manages, voice barely above a whisper. “Yes.”

It’s barely enough to relieve either of the men.

“Can she have sex?” The darker-haired boy continues to ask as many questions as possible, wanting to be ready to answer everything the woman may have when she wakes again. “Yes, but I would recommend waiting a couple of weeks before inserting anything into her vagina. Her cervix is open so she’s prone to infection.” Harvey answers all the questions with explicit professionalism. “Is she gonna be in pain?” Sam manages, his eyes flitting to Harvey for a moment before returning to (Y/N). “Some pain in the lower abdomen, similar to menstrual cramp pain, is quite common after a miscarriage,”

Sebastian’s eyes clench shut at the word itself.

“This should only last a couple of days really; if there’s any noticeably bad pain then you can come back to me and I can offer painkillers, but I won’t let her out of here until she feels up to it anyway.”

They both manage a nod.

“Is there anything we can do for her?” “She needs to continue to eat and drink plenty even though she may not feel up to it. Try and stop her doing physical work on the farm, she needs rest.” The boys continue to nod in understanding as Harvey speaks. “She will probably struggle to sleep for a while honestly.”

There’s silence after that as Harvey switches about the wires and tubes in the woman’s body.

“If she wakes up again, press this button and I’ll be right in.” “Thanks, Harvey.”

It’s an hour later when the doctor returns with a knock at the door.

“Sorry to interrupt, gents, but Robin is here and has asked if she can see you, Sebastian?” Harvey states, Sam looking at his friend, curious for the response. “Is she welcome in here?”

Harvey nods.

“Of course.”

A moment later, another knock followed by Robin’s entry. She looks like she’s going to cry when she looks at (Y/N)’s, practically lifeless, body laying on the medical bed.

“Hi…” She whispers, looking at her son with uncertainty.

Sebastian stands up and hugs his mother in that moment.

“Oh, Sebby…”

A sob escapes the boy’s lips.

“She didn’t deserve any of this, mom.”

Robin remains silent for a moment, glancing over at the blond across the room who’s staring at the floor, crying once again.

“What’s gone on, Sebastian?” She whispers, hands stroking the back of her heartbroken son.

The pair pull back and sit down, Sebastian’s eyes returning to the unconscious woman.

“(Y/N) and I have had a ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement for a little while now - discussed dating and stuff but decided we’re not quite ready for it,” The boy begins, Robin holding his hand and stroking it. “I know full well I’ll never love another woman the same way I love her.”

He pauses, trying to find a starting point.

“When you and Demetrius were away on your anniversary trip, I had Abigail, (Y/N) and Sam over to play some video games and shit. Everyone left except (Y/N), but she was packing her stuff as if ready to leave; she normally stays the night. I wrapped my arms around her and asked if she was leaving already but she froze.” He pauses, remembering the exact moment he held the woman he loves in his arms and she froze up like he just made the worst mistake of his life. “Like, really froze. It scared me. I let go. She said she had some farm stuff to take care of and started heading toward the door but I grabbed her wrist - not hard! But she fucking screamed. Stumbled into the wall and stared at me like I just burnt her.”

Robin doesn’t tell the boy off for swearing on this occasion.

“She ran out after that. I was scared shitless. I saw it in her eyes that she was fucking traumatised. She’s never been like that - certainly not with me. She loves physical affection and shit, she would never react like that. Anyway, I sat and thought it over for a while, worried about what the fuck I’d done to make her so fucking scared of me, and realised I hadn’t done anything, and even if I had, she would’ve told me. We’re best friends, she tells me everything…”

Robin is tearing up as she listens to what her son has been through whilst she’s been completely oblivious.

“I decided to deal with it later cause it was late. Next morning I call by Pierre’s to ask Abby for her help, grabbed Sam too, and told them what had happened. Sam immediately suggested that someone’s hurt her, agreeing that it’s not like her to turn down physical affection, especially screaming from a touch. We went to her place - she was still in the same clothes she fell asleep in which worried me too. We asked her if someone had hurt her and she lost it. She broke down in tears as we asked her more and more questions trying to get to the bottom of whatever the fuck had happened.”

Sebastian pauses as he sniffles and wipes the tears from his face.

“She told us she was raped; admitted it was Kent. Said she didn’t wanna tell us because he’s Sam’s dad. She didn’t want Sam to lose the father he’s been waiting years for.”

Robin’s eyes turn to the blond across the room, seeing his eyes clenched shut, fists tight, tears falling.

“Sam didn’t believe her first - I don’t blame him, but I knew (Y/N) would never lie to us, especially about something like this. Sam stormed out and gave Kent a hefty punch or two, I followed - scared Sam might take it too far.”

He fucking deserved it. Those are Sam’s unvoiced thoughts.

“He fucking deserved it though.” Sebastian voices his thoughts anyway. “I went in and Kent was mouthing off some shit about how she was asking for it and shit-talking her, so I lost my fucking cool and gave the guy a good hit.” “Or ten.” Sam quietly remarks, a very brief smirk on his lips. “The asshole deserved it. Anyway, I was stopped because (Y/N) and Abby turned up and I didn’t want her to see that. She passed out after Kent spat out some more utter bullshit. I carried her up to ours since you guys were away - figured she could do with somewhere away from her own house and that fucker’s.”

Robin is crying but lets her son finish.

“I just let her rest for a few days. She didn’t say or do much, we just watched some TV, I read to her, made her food, bla bla, then one day she asked if she could speak to Maru as she realised she could have damage, infections, possible pregnancy, which I hadn’t even fucking thought about.” “You can’t beat yourself up over this, Seb.” Sam manages, sparing a glance at the dark-haired boy.

Sebastian gulps but continues.

“I asked if she was sure and she said yes, so we spoke to Maru who got us in with Harvey that very evening. Found out she was pregnant. We slept on it since she was unsure what she wanted to do. Sam came over the next day to see how (Y/N) was doing - and because Jodi and Kent kicked him out, Jodi losing her shit and saying I was gaslighting them both or some dumb fucking shit,” He takes a deep breath, trying to remain calm. “We eventually agreed to move to the farm, all three of us, and she decided she was going to keep the baby - wanted to try and get something good out of this whole shit show.” “So when did Kent actually…” Robin trails off, not wanting to break her son even more. “End of Spring - like, a fucking week after he came back to Pelican Town.” Her son confirms. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ve heard the drama of what happened in the saloon. (Y/N) decided she missed going out. We were all very aware of Jodi spreading utter bullshit in order to protect to darling husband and whatever, so we’d all been on the down-low for a while. We decided to go to the saloon, Sam and I very ready to protect her from any bullshit thrown her way, but Elliott grabbed our attention as we came in and said she’d been missed. Later in the night, she was chatting to everyone, Elliott raised a toast to congratulate her on her pregnancy, it was really nice to see her smiling again.” “She was glowing.” Sam whispers, Sebastian managing a momentary smile. “Yeah. Anyway, Jodi turns up at like eleven PM, starts shit-talking (Y/N), me, Sam… You probably would’ve smacked her.”

Robin attempts a small chuckle.

“(Y/N) says she’s just gonna leave and doesn’t want to cause any drama, but Jodi obviously wasn’t aware she was pregnant and lost her shit, shoving her back into the bar. She fell down, smacked her body on the stools and her head on the floor. Sam and I were too far away to fucking stop it. Shane stepped in though, pinned the bitch up against the wall and threatened her. (Y/N) was bleeding… a lot. Shane helped Sam and I get her here, but she, uh, the baby didn’t make it.”

Silence.

“And now we’re here.” “What time even is it?” Sam manages. “Just after one PM.” Robin confirms.

The boy nods.

“I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t talk to me about all this. I can’t even begin to imagine how hard this has been on you. Both of you.”

Sebastian attempts an appreciative smile but it barely lasts a second.

“Come here, Samson.” Robin adds, standing up and opening her arms for the boy. “Robin, thank you, but-” “Come here.” She doesn’t take no for an answer, simply smiling and accepting the embrace. “You’re always welcome into my home.”

He squeezes a little tighter.

“Thank you.” “You and Sebastian have always been like brothers anyway.”

He pulls back and smiles

“He drives me crazy like a brother.”

She manages a chuckle.

“He drives me crazy like a son.” “I’m right here.” It’s a sarcastic remark from the dark-haired boy. “Has she woken up yet?” The carpenter asks, taking a seat back beside her son. “Yeah, but she realised her bump was gone and lost her mind; Harvey had to inject her with some anaesthetic or something to knock her back out.” “Oh, bless her.”

Some time passes and Robin says she’ll head off, not wanting to intrude when the woman wakes up once more. What she doesn’t tell either of the men is that she’s going to add some renovations to the woman’s farm, free of charge, to help accommodate all three of them, and a baby in future if she wishes to try again.

Sam stands up and walks over to sit beside his best friend, taking his hand.

“I’m sorry, Seb.” “Do you think she’ll be okay?” Sebastian whispers, not taking his eyes off of the girl.

The blond pauses, contemplating his answer.

“We’ll make sure she is.”

Another forty-five minutes pass before the woman begins to stir, Sebastian immediately noticing the way her eyelids twitch. He presses the emergency button to contact Harvey straight away, praying that they can keep her calm enough to stay awake this time round.

The running footsteps resound in the small medical room the three of them are occupying, Harvey unlocking the door with worried eyes.

“She’s twitching a little - stirring - I think she’s gonna wake up; I figured I’d get you here first.” Sebastian briefs, the doctor nodding and checking over her machines and stats once again.

The woman groans, feeling exhausted, which is bizarre given that she’s waking up. Her body feels like it’s got the weight of Lewis’ truck resting on it.

What the hell?

“(Y/N), can you hear me?”

Is that… Harvey’s voice?

“If you can hear me, love, can you try and give me a sign? Wiggle your fingers or toes?”

Why the hell wouldn’t she be able to hear him? He sounds like he’s right beside her.

Nonetheless, she complies and attempts to move her digits.

“Perfect. Okay, (Y/N), I’m going to tell you a few things but I need you to remain calm, okay? Despite everything I’m reminding you of, you’re one-hundred percent safe right here right now.”

She’s clearly in the hospital.

Another mining accident? She usually can hear Marlon nagging in her ear by now though about how reckless she is.

“You’re in the hospital due to getting hurt when in the saloon. You were pushed and fell to the floor. Do you remember?”

Who in the hell of Stardew Valley would push her?

“(Y/N)...”

Sebastian?

“Can you hear me, doll?”

Attempted finger movements.

She also tries to turn her head toward her best friend’s voice but her eyes aren’t assisting just yet.

“Hey, pretty girl,” She fails to see the soft smile on Sebastian’s face, perfectly paired up with the tears staining his cheeks. “You remember Sam’s family?”

Vincent?

Jodi?

Oh, fuck-

Jodi.

Kent.

Another gasp and she feels multiple hands on her body as if pinning her down.

“Breathe, doll, it’s okay.” “(Y/N), remember that you’re safe.” Harvey inputs. “Don’t panic, you’re okay, I promise.”

The pet name ‘baby’ is on the tip of Sebastian’s tongue, but there’s a time and a place for that…

“Just focus on staying calm, doll, or else we can’t help you.”

She was pregnant.

The saloon.

Elliott.

Jodi was pissed.

Jodi didn’t know she was pregnant - how!?

She was pushed.

The blood.

Bleeding.

Her baby…

“Try and stay calm, (Y/N).” Harvey’s voice interrupts her thoughts once more; it’s then that she realises how obnoxiously loud the beeping of her heart monitor is as it gets faster.

With struggling efforts, the woman manages to move one of her hands across her body to her flat stomach.

She lost the baby.

There’s no way she had the baby - she had two months left.

Is that possible?

Perhaps this was the way it was meant to be.

With strain, she manages to open her eyes, the blinding hospital lights barely hurting in comparison to the loss of her baby.

“Welcome back, (Y/N).” The doctor greets, but she hasn’t even looked at any of the men in the room yet. “Just to make you aware, I’m in the room along with Sebastian and Sam.”

Sam…

“Hey, (Y/N).” The blond comments.

She doesn’t respond.

Eventually, she manages to turn her head and acknowledge the doctor beside her. He offers a reassuring smile and waits patiently for her to feel comfortable.

She then rolls her head around and sees the two boys standing side by side, both crying and looking like they haven’t slept in days. Or showered. Or eaten.

With slow, mechanical movements, the farmer reaches up and slowly slides down the oxygen mask covering her mouth. She licks her lips and moistens her mouth, feeling just how dry her throat is.

“You two look like shit.”

Sam can’t help the laugh that erupts from his throat, mixed with a sob or two. Sebastian simply smiles and shakes his head.

“Missed you too, gorgeous.” The latter mutters. “You’re not lookin’ too hot yourself, farmer.” Sam adds, jokingly.

She attempts a smile before turning to look back at Harvey.

“How long have I been out?” “Eighteen hours-ish.” The doctor confirms. “You woke up about ten hours ago but weren’t doing so good.”

She nods.

“I lost the baby?”

The anguish on Harvey’s face is enough to know.

“I’m really sorry, (Y/N). I tried everything I could.”

She simply smiles and nods before turning to look at the two boys on the other side of her.

“Are you mad?”

The men's faces contort into confusion and shock.

“Mad? Why on Earth would we be mad? Of course we’re not mad, doll, we’re just glad you’re okay.” Sebastian assures the woman, resting a hand on her matted hair. “(Y/N), I’m just glad you’re alive and breathing.” Sam adds.

Harvey answers every question the woman has, brings her some food and drink, and leaves the trio to chat amongst themselves.

“I love you both very much.” “We love you very much, pretty girl.” Sebastian smiles. “My mom came by earlier, by the way - I told her everything.”

(Y/N) nods.

“Does she hate me?” “Of course she doesn’t hate you, (Y/N).”

Silence.

“I want to go home.” “We can go home whenever Harvey says so.” “Will you both stay with me?” “(Y/N),” “Doll,”

Sam and Sebastian begin at the same time, (Y/N) giggling at their synchronisation.

“I think I can speak for Sebastian as well as myself when I say we don’t plan on leaving your side for the rest of our lives.”

It was at that moment that (Y/N) looked at Sam in the same light she looks at Sebastian in.

Love.

Adoration.

Romantic?

But three’s a crowd.

Right?

Sebastian sees the conflict in the woman’s eyes and it makes him grin.

“We’ll figure it out, pretty girl.” The emo boy comments, flashing a wink as she realises he can read her like a picture book. “I love you both.” “We love you too, farmer.”

#harvey stardew valley #sebastian x reader #sam stardew valley #sebastian stardew valley #sam x reader #stardew valley #stardewvalley #non con #stardew valley non con #miscarriage #abigail stardew valley #shane stardew valley #marnie stardew valley #elliott stardew valley #stardrop saloon #gus stardew valley #emily stardew valley #alcohol

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neonbrutalism · 1 year ago

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Jefferson really saw some guy in his 20s going through it and struggling with adulting but also acting like an older brother/mentor to Miles and said "I guess I have two kids now"

Jefferson thought those two idiot kids should have guessed he'd be waiting for them, and yet when Miles and Miguel swung on to the roof of their apartment, they seemed surprised to see him. As if he wasn't a cop with access to the police scanner. As if he didn't have a TV and could watch the BREAKING NEWS, SHOTS FIRED AT SCENE OF ATTEMPTED ASSAULT IN CENTRAL PARK, SPIDER-MEN SEEN IN VICINITY. As if he couldn't connect two dots between the radio chatter of somebody saying they "shot the big guy but he just kept going".

"So," Jefferson, crossing him arms over his chest, "You had an interesting night."

"Did ... we?" said Miles.

Miguel just shrugged.

Jefferson's done that move before, back when he and Aaron had been up to some bullshit and were trying desperately to avoid consequences.

"So - nobody shot either you?"

"Okay, what were we - " Miles started. Miguel cut him off.

"Everything is fine, Mr. Morales. Miles isn't hurt, the woman in the park is safe, the two headed rat-man is back in his mother's custody."

"And nobody shot you four times?"

The dark lenses on Miguel's mask narrowed a little.

"My suit can't be penetrated by bullets of this time period."

Jefferson glared. It didn't seem to do much to Miguel - dammit, he should have brought a chair to stand on so he could do the dad-glare, it didn't work on somebody so tall.

"Miles, go downstairs and get changed before your mother catches you," Jefferson said. Miles nodded without saying anything and scrambled over the edge of the building to his bedroom, eager to get away from this confrontation.

"... I have a police scanner. I know you got shot."

Miguel's stiff postured relaxed with Miles gone - Jefferson got that, there was a certain pressure of trying to remain an Adult-Mode-Adult around a kid, "And Miles didn't."

"And you did!"

"I'm not hurt."

"You could have been!"

"Look - even if I'm ... Miles will be fine on his own too. He's good at this."

Jefferson grabbed his head with his hands and groaned, "That isn't what I'm talking about! I don't want you to get shot because I don't want you to get shot, kid! I'm worried about both of you!"

"...Why?" said Miguel.

"Because you - you - you're 27! BARELY 27, I know, because that orange lady mentioned you were born in September and it's November - and you have nothing in your kitchen but old yogurt and coffee! You have cat t-shirts and apparently pass out on your floor often enough that it's described as good-for-convalescing!"

Jefferson started a little when he realized Miguel had taken a step back, his posture oddly guarded and defensive, the dark lenses on the mask wide. ... He should calm down - he'd seen people react like this enough to know the yelling was probably triggering something in the kid's brain that was processing badly.

"Kid - Miguel," Jefferson conceded, "Do you ... uh, do you want me to get you a coffee or something? A granola bar? Rio made some Arroz con Pollo, I could put some in a tupperware -"

"That's ... not necessary, Mr. Morales," said Miguel, the fight-or-flight leaving his posture.

"I feel like you probably don't have any food -"

"I'm fine, Mr. Morales, I can -"

"I would really feel better if you'd please take some goddamn chicken."

"... Okay. Thank you," Miguel said, his voice suggesting he was at like a peak stress level. Jefferson could relate.

"Okay, just - wait here - uh, Layla? Orange lady? Don't let him open a portal while I'm, uh."

"Okay, Jefferson," LYLA said from Miguel's watch. Miguel glared down at it and Jefferson hustled downstairs. He gave silent thanks that Rio was working an overnight shift so he wouldn't need to explain why he was packing food up at 11pm.

"You can bring the container back, uh, next time you're here," Jefferson said, handing the container over.

"Sure. Thank you, Mr. Morales."

Miguel turned stiffly and opened a portal back to his home dimension.

"You can call me Je -" Jefferson called as the portal snapped shut.

Stupid goddamn kid.

#Mostly Intact #Across the Spider-Verse #fanfic #Spider-Verse AU #Miguel O'Hara #Jefferson Morales #Miles Morales #Every notice how every fic in this series ends with Miguel awkwardly leaving the dimension? That's gonna keep happening #i just think it's funny that he just gets uncomfortable and does the dimensional equivalent of jumping out a window.

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itsa-me-cavaradossi · 1 month ago

Text

Having joined Tumblr less than a month ago, it's only just occurred to me that there's no reason *not* to post some of my older fic here. So I thought I might as well do a giant post on all of the other Tosca fic I've been churning out over the better part of the past year, in case folks are interested! I'm Ladybug_21 on AO3, by the way, for those of you on Operablr who don't already know me from that context.

Because we love a good, dramatic Castel Sant'Angelo pic!

Fix-It AU Series

Have you ever grumbled to yourself that the body count in Act 3 of Tosca was two bodies too high? Then you might enjoy this Tosca fix-it AU series, premised on the idea that Floria and Mario survived the ending of the opera! Everything is rated T or lower, and the only content warnings are for a canonical suicide attempt (something something "o Scarpia, avanti a Diiiiiiooooooooo"), depictions of depression, and a lotta Scarpia-related PTSD.

This series really exists thanks to @oldshrewsburyian, whose Yuletide 2023 request included prompts for both "pre-canon fluff" and an "improbable fix-it" for Tosca. As always, I can't thank you enough for giving me reason to do a deep dive into a fandom that has come to mean so much to me! ❤️

recondita armonia (5,910 words): Pre-canon meetcute backstory for Floria and Mario, based heavily on certain aspects of Victorien Sardou's play. May contain author-typical levels of nerdery about Renaissance art and the politics of the Repubblica Romana.

sempre il sogno mio d'amore (7,280 words): The improbable fix-it in question, in which Floria and Mario conveniently do not die at the end of the opera, and instead they escape to Paris and figure out how to move on with life from there.

sale, ascende l'uman cantico (5,710 words): Set in Paris circa 1820, this story is told from the perspective of Floria and Mario's teenage kids, who are unaware of everything that happened in Rome, and thus have no clue why their parents are reacting so strangely to various things that trigger memories of their mysterious past.

l'alba vindice appar (6,100 words): It's 1832, and Floria and Mario's son—being a typical Cavaradossi—has gotten himself caught up in a long-running hit Broadway musical an infamous Parisian student rebellion, leading our faves to reflect on their past experiences with failed political heroism.

pe' quante foje ne smoveno li venti (8,250 words): Floria and Mario finally return to Rome to confront some old ghosts and reunite with some old friends, over three decades after fleeing in June 1800.

Gli Amori degli Dei, Galleria Farnese, Palazzo Farnese

Musings About the Baddie

I actually find villains really interesting to explore, so I've written a bit about Scarpia and what makes him tick, for anyone who dares open that rancid can of worms. As a fair warning, most of my thoughts about Scarpia come with a giant side of Shakespeare references, which is the inevitable (?) result of Scarpia's casually referencing Iago within, like, 5 minutes of appearing onstage.

Soliloquy (700 words): The shortest thing I've ever written for this fandom, which is to say, a mini character study mostly based on the idea that Scarpia is kind of a self-aware Shakespearean villain.

bring this monstrous birth to the world's light (9,000 words): A backstory about Scarpia's childhood and young adulthood that aims to explain how he ended up exactly as twisted and horrible as he is, even while not excusing him a jot for his behavior. This fic is rated M and includes all sorts of warning tags I rarely need to use in my writing—graphic depictions of violence, murder, mutilation, abusive parents, underage involving a teenager (very consensual, but still squicky), references to offscreen rape/non-con (I mean, Scarpia)—so, proceed with caution.

Cappella Barberini, Sant'Andrea della Valle ... not pictured here is a little placard on the grille that describes it secondarily as the Cappella della "Tosca"!

Some Love for Various Minor Characters

If you know me at all as a fic writer, you'll know that I'm one of those authors who always gets super distracted by That Person Who Turned Up For Three Seconds, and Tosca is clearly no exception as a fandom. Accordingly, a bunch of fic about random side characters, all rated T or below:

Chiaroscuro (4,210 words): Featuring Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Opera—and thus naturally one of my absolute faves—Giulia Angelotti, aka, the Marchesa Attavanti. This is a missing episode from just before opera canon begins, exploring why Giulia might have risked everything to spring her brother from prison. (CW for Scarpia making Scarpia-typical threats.)

ben celato (23,300 words): ... uh, so, have you ever wanted to read a history textbook about the Repubblica Romana (1798-1799) that's cleverly disguised as a character backstory, with plenty of gay pining added in for good measure? Well, then, look no further! Cesare Angelotti is my other low-key fave from this opera, and I clearly have waaaaaaaaay too many thoughts on him and his political aspirations and his relationship with Mario, down to why they're still addressing each other using "voi" at the start of the opera even if this fic imagines that they were VERY close at one point. (CWs for brief parental violence against a child, as well as for canonical character death.)

e lascia stare il santi (1,900 words): This story started out as a joke between @rayatii and myself, but then somehow became an actual exploration of the general mood in Rome immediately following the events of the opera. If you can guess from the title who the POV character is, then congratulations, this means you too probably know this libretto way better than is strictly necessary.

Simulation (1,350 words): This somehow is even more Sir Not-Appearing-In-This-Opera than the aforementioned Marchesa Attavanti fic, because it's a character study about the final hours of—you guessed it (you totally didn't)—Palmieri. As in, the guy whom Scarpia and Spoletta reference for three seconds towards the end of Act 2. This fic *probably* makes the most sense in the context of my very long Angelotti fic, given that Palmieri pops up once or twice in that, and thereby gains some characterization that informs this narrative. (CWs for indirect descriptions of torture, and also an execution.)

Miscellaneous Scribblings

And the random grab-bag of things that didn't fit cleanly into any of the above categories!

vivacissimo con violenza (5,000** words): The Tosca high school AU no one asked for, although I am (not so secretly) very proud of it. This modernized little riff on these characters is told entirely through text messages, social media, emails, and other ephemera, as exemplified by the above-pictured excerpt. I and my co-author BloodyMary5667 had WAY too much fun spitballing ideas back and forth for this, and considerably less fun yelling at the very long HTML/CSS code to just *work* already. Innumerable thanks to @april-rainer for patiently teaching me how to debug everything, because who ever said that fandom wouldn't sometimes leave you with some useful real-life skills. (**The word count reads as 5,000 words, but a lot of those words are part of the code that is hidden if you read on AO3 with "Show Creator's Style" on, so the visible text is actually far shorter.)

spasimi d'ira, spasimi d'amore (4,840 words): This is for those of you who were looking for straight-up E-rated smut fic within this fandom (OK, with a little historical political angst thrown in, I can't resist). The first chapter recounts the night that forms Mario's recollections in "E lucevan le stelle" and is all about very consensual, communicative, romantic sex between two people in a loving, committed relationship who are absolutely wild about one another and just want to make each other happy. And the second chapter is the flip side of this, which is to say, Scarpia thinking super creepy thoughts about Tosca elsewhere on the same evening—so, if that is not something you want to entertain, *definitely* stop reading after the first chapter.

toute l'immensité du ciel dans une goutte d'eau (3,790 words): Opera crossover fic alert! This story probably hits hardest if you already know and love Francis Poulenc's Dialogues des Carmélites, as it imagines Blanche de la Force having her wedding portrait painted by teenage!Mario Cavaradossi in Paris, in the pre-Revolution months leading up to the start of Dialogues. It was a fun way to explore how Mario's perspectives on religion and faith and martyrdom might have developed, based on the backstory Sardou gave him in play canon. (CW for canonical character deaths, plus major spoilers for the end of Dialogues.)

And that's all for the moment, but I keep thinking I'm done with writing for this fandom, and then I end up writing more for it. Needless to say, if anyone has any requests or plot bunnies, or even if just wants to scream about this opera generally, please don't hesitate to reach out, I'd LOVE to chat!

#opera #opera tag #operablr #opera fic #opera fanfic #opera fanfiction #tosca #cavaradossi #scarpia #puccini #giacomo puccini #Ladybug_21 writes

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forfucksakesniall · 1 year ago

Text

Teaser Trailer

"Car's Outside" - A Series | Inspired from the song by James Arthur

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Driver!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Masterlist

"For fuck's sake, why does it always have to be me?" you mutter.

"I've been calling out to you from a mile away. Where were you?" he chuckles.

"I'm not sure... I've been distracted by something," you respond, avoiding mentioning what happened earlier.

"Do you have a moment to talk?" he asks, seeming eager to share something.

"Um, yeah, sure," you reply, not fully engaged in the upcoming conversation.

He extends his arm in a gentlemanly way, and you take it, walking together toward the paddock. He leads you to a table where you both sit down.

"So..." he begins, looking at you and rubbing his hands.

"Um... hi?" you greet with a smile, unsure of what's happening.

"I know you've had a rough start, and I was thinking I could offer you some help."

"Oh, I'm fine. I don't think I need anything... um... yeah," you respond, feeling embarrassed and frustrated that Lewis Hamilton's dad has to address this with you.

You simply blink at his offer, lost for words.

"Lewis!" Anthony calls out as Lewis enters the paddock. "(Y/N) and I were just talking, and I invited her to join us on our holiday."

Lewis looks at his dad, eyebrows furrowed. "Um... Did you ask her, or are you taking her hostage?" He glances at you and then back at his dad.

"You can say no, you don't have to do everything he says," Lewis tells you without even looking in your direction.

"Um... yeah, I don't think I should disturb your family matter," you say, standing up and making your way to your driver's room.

Anthony lets out a disappointed sigh upon hearing Lewis's comments. "I told you she needs our support," he tells Lewis, his eyes filled with sadness.

"You don't know her well enough to know what she needs," Lewis retorts sharply, then turns and heads to his room.

✧ ･ﾟ : * ✧ ･ﾟ * ✧ ✦ ✧ * ✧ ･ﾟ : * ✧ ･ﾟ :

As you prepare to leave and head to the parking area, a smiling Anthony calls out to you from a distance. You jog over to him, not wanting to keep him waiting.

"Hey, I'm sorry for turning down your offer. I thought it might be awkward for..." you begin to explain.

"Oh no, you're coming!" Anthony interjects.

"What?"

"We're leaving right now," he informs you.

"Huh?"

He gently puts his arm around your shoulder and guides you towards a van. You spot Lewis sitting by the window, and Anthony nudges you to get in, making you sit between the two Hamiltons.

Initially, your thoughts race:

Wait... Where did he say we were going?

I don't have a bag with me...

Wait... Where is my passport?

Lewis remains silent, engrossed in his phone as you sit beside him. Anthony wears a smug smile, satisfied that his plan is unfolding as intended.

"Um... Thank you. I guess, for having me... I'm still not sure what's happening," you express, uncertain.

Anthony chuckles in response.

"Here." He hands you your bag. Opening it, you find your passport and other essential items for the airport.

"We are leaving?" you ask, staring at the contents of your open bag.

"But I don't have any clothes with me," you point out to him.

"I've already taken care of that. You'll get some once we arrive in London," he assures you.

"London?"

He smiles at you once more.

You glance at Lewis, who continues to ignore you, still fixated on his phone, unwilling to address the situation.

You take a deep breath. Well, at least I'm getting a free getaway, you think to yourself.

🌟 Welcome to the series! 🌟

You have the power to shape this story too! Share your questions, predictions, and ideas. Let's dive deeper into this journey together.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton blurb #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton fanfics #lewis hamilton fanfiction #lewis hamilton fic #f1 lewis #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #sir lewis hamilton #mercedes f1 #lewis hamilton series #lewis hamilton imagine

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ghouly-boiiiii · 6 months ago

Text

My Name Is Cooper

Chapter 3 Of Ferals and Centaurs

(Lucy x Cooper Howard / The Ghoul)

<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>

Tags: angst, fluff, romance, humor, banter, femdom, alcohol and drug use, eventual smut

In this chapter...

“In fact, while we’re on the subject…” The Ghoul said as he shifted his feet a little. “And since we gonna be spendin’ some time together, I figure I ought to tell you this now too...” He took a somber breath. “If it ever so happens that I run outta vials and collapse like that again... and I lose consciousness... you gotta shoot me before I wake up. You got that?”

Lucy blinked, then looked up at him again. “Why?” She furrowed her brow and frowned. Even though she didn’t like him very much, she also didn’t like the idea of having to kill him either. Not unless she absolutely had to, and was sure of it. "...When you wake up… would you be feral?”

He just looked at her and pressed his lips together.

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2,400

SPOILER WARNING: Contains all the spoilers

No trigger warnings except eventual sexy time with a zombie man.

Inside the vault, there wasn’t really much of note. Even though there was still power, it was quite dark. Many of the light bulbs had either been broken or gone out over time. The place was ransacked. There were dead bodies strewn about. Some were wearing vault suits, others looked like raiders. Whatever happened here, Lucy didn’t really care. Normally, she would have wanted to know. But after everything that’d happened, her mind was in other places.

Between The Ghoul and Dogmeat, she didn’t have to do much. Dogmeat took care of the roaches, and she was rather shocked by how quickly her ghoul companion swept through each room. Like he knew exactly where to look, exactly what to look for. Although she realized she shouldn’t be surprised, she still found it impressive. And he even gave her some tips and tricks along the way.

“Check that box there.” He pointed out to her a yellow ammo container.

Lucy went over and tried to open it. “It’s locked.”

“Mmm…” He rummaged in his pack a moment, then handed her a bobby pin.

She looked at it questioningly. “Umm… what’s this for?”

“To pick the lock.”

The former vault dweller blinked. “I’ve never picked a lock before.”

“Well… it’s a good time to learn.” He said. “Go on now. Give it a try.”

She blinked again, then took the pin, kneeled down in front of the box, and stuck it in the hole.

After feeling around a moment she said, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You’ll figure it out.” The Ghoul said, then leaned against the wall casually and tilted his head as he watched her.

“Ugh… okay…” She said, frustrated but determined. As she kept at it, she had to say something to fill the dead air. Apparently, The Ghoul had gotten tired of talking, because now he was just standing there watching silently.

“So… about your name.”

“Ahh…”

“What if I take a guess?”

“Drop it, Vaulty.”

“Is it… John?”

“No.”

“What about Nick?”

“Even if you guess it, I’m not gonna tell ya.”

“Okay. What if I give you a name?”

“Sweetheart, I ain’t your fuckin’ dog.”

“So I take it you’d be opposed to being called Rover?” She joked.

“Ugh…” The Ghoul rolled his eyes. “You want me to open that?”

“No. I’ll get it… I think I’m… getting the hang of this.” She said, furrowing her brow in concentration.

“Ehhh…” The Ghoul exhaled. “So, Vaulty... How did you take out that Super Duper Mart anyway?”

“Well, uh…” Lucy smiled sheepishly as she twisted and turned the bobby pin. “Actually, it was… kind of an accident.” Then her expression got sullen. “I… I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt…”

“You’re the one that got ‘em to release all them ghouls, huh?”

She glanced over at him and he started to laugh.

“Well, ain’t you a good samaritan.”

“They were being held captive! I couldn’t just leave them there…” She huffed and looked over at him. “I mean, I got you those vials, didn’t I? Are you gonna make fun of me for that too?”

“Well… I just hope you learned something from that experience.” He said, tilting his head down and raising his eyebrows. “You don't mess around with feral ghouls.”

“Yeah…” She said as she put her arms down a moment to give them a break. “I got that...”

He just looked at her and pressed his lips together.

“But the other ones, they… they didn’t lose consciousness. They were… very awake when they…”

“Well, everyone’s different, sweetheart…” The Ghoul said. “Not everyone turns in the same way. And truth be told, I’ve never gotten that far. To where I lost consciousness, I mean. So I donno what would happen when I woke up. But that’s not a risk you wanna take, darlin’.” His tone was very serious and strangely soft. He was starting to sound like a mentor. Like the tone she would take with her students back home. “So if that happens, you either better shoot me or run as fuckin’ far away as you can, as fast as you can. Because if I do go feral, I will kill you.”

Lucy blinked again, looked away in thought, then back. “Well… isn’t that a good reason for me to know your name...? Those other ghouls, they were… saying their names over and over again. Don’t you think it’d be good for me to know it? In case you do start going feral? So I can help, you know… remind you…”

He shook his head and scoffed. “That don’t help nobody… It’s all just sentimental bullshit... Nice try though.”

Lucy thought for a moment about her mother. She swallowed hard, then went back to the lock. “So… is it... Nate?”

“Sweetheart, if you don’t stop askin' me I swear I’m gonna…”

Suddenly, there was a click and the box popped open. “Ha!” She exclaimed in triumph.

“Huh…” The Ghoul said, almost sounding surprised, before he strolled over to her.

Lucy opened up the lid and looked inside, where there were several boxes of ammo, a couple stimpacks, and some rad-away.

The bounty hunter leaned over her as she pulled out their prizes. “Well… nice job, Vaulty.”

After some time, The Ghoul decided they'd done enough scavenging. The vault was huge - as all vaults were - and they didn’t end up getting through the whole thing. But he seemed happy with what they found. Which, aside from what was in the locked box, included food, cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey, and a few other medicinals. As they headed back to the entrance, Lucy eyed something they’d passed before. It was a Mr. Handy. Broken, but it still had its fusion core. Which meant there’s a chance it could still be operational.

“Hey, Asshole.” Lucy called out ahead to him.

The Ghoul looked over his shoulder, then flashed her a smirk before he turned and started walking towards her. “You say my name?”

She smirked back. “Sure did… Come look at this.”

The old bounty hunter immediately frowned when he realized what she was pointing at. “The robot?”

“Do you think we could use it?”

“What the hell for?”

“Well, I donno. Might come in handy .” She pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh, then looked up at The Ghoul to see if he got the joke.

Slowly, he turned to look at her with nothing but a blank stare.

“Ha…” Lucy let out a brief laugh, then bit her lip and looked away awkwardly.

The old bounty hunter kept his eyes on her a moment, then blinked and slowly shifted them back over to the robot, shaking his head a little. “Well, I hate to tell you this, Ms. Handy MacLean. But Bartholomew here appears to be kinda fuckin’ broken.”

“That is true. But. I’m pretty sure I can fix him.”

“Well, if you want a little robot friend, you go right on ahead. I ain’t gonna stop ya.” He turned and started back down the hallway again.

She shrugged and was about to follow when Dogmeat started to growl at something in the darkness behind them. An unsettling sound emitted from down the hallway. A low, gurgling, but almost human sounding groan. And it sounded like it was coming from something that was much… much bigger.

Lucy froze in fear, then watched as The Ghoul turned around and his eyes got wide.

“Lucy! Get down!” He shouted and she dove for the floor as something lashed out above her, just missing her. Dogmeat barked frantically as The Ghoul pulled out his gun and started firing. She heard the gush of spilling blood and torn flesh and the creature screamed out in pain.

In a panic, Lucy started crawling towards the Ghoul. After getting a few feet away, she flipped onto her back, grabbed her gun and started firing as well. After getting in a few shots, her eyes got wide with horror as she absorbed what she was looking at.

It looked like a giant humanoid mutant. But instead of having arms attached to its shoulders, it crawled on six below the waist, attached to a lower body that looked like the thorax of an insect, but made of human flesh. There were bones stick out from its shoulders where the arms should be, and around its stomach. It was grotesque, covered in tumors and pustules. And it had three long tentacles protruding from its mouth. Just the look of it made every hair on her body stand up on end.

Lucy began to scream as she continued to fire. Then, suddenly, one of the tentacles lashed out, wrapped itself around her angle and started dragging her across the floor.

“Shit!” The Ghoul exclaimed and ran towards her, dropping his pack on the ground. Dogmeat barked and gnawed at one of the monster's six arm-legs, but it didn’t seem to phase it.

The former vault dweller kept firing until she ran out of bullets, and so did The Ghoul. But the thing was so huge it was almost just absorbing their fire. The bounty hunter grabbed his knife and jumped between Lucy and the beast, sawing and hacking at the tentacle that had a hold of her. Once he had her freed, the creature screamed out in pain, then threw its other two tentacles around The Ghoul’s face, knocking off his hat and pulling him in.

“Arrgh–!!! Mmmph!” His shout was muffled as he struggled against the mutant.

“Asshole!!” Lucy called out the only name she had for him.

The horrifying monster was strong and pulled the bounty hunter towards it with ease, engulfing his head in its slimy, wiggling grip. Dogmeat barked and growled fiercely, tearing and gnashing at the beast flesh. Lucy fumbled to get more ammo in her gun, fearing this would be the end for her companion if she didn’t free him as soon as possible.

With a growl, The Ghoul took the knife and started stabbing the beast in the face, over and over. Again, the creature howled in pain, but didn’t relent. Dogmeat cried out as one of the six legs got in a forceful kick, throwing her back against a wall.

But then Lucy remembered something...

She had a grenade.

Quickly, she reached in her pack and pulled out the explosive. Then jumped up and, after considering her options for a moment, ran around to the back end of the creature. She hesitated just briefly, then shoved that grenade right up its ass.

Trying to ignore the shit and slime now covering her arm, she bolted back towards the front and took cover.

A moment later, the thorax of the beast exploded into a horrifying slush of red, green, brown and yellowish mush and chunky body parts. The front end let out one last gurgling death groan before finally dropping her ghoul companion and slumping to the floor.

“Gahhh…” The Ghoul growled as he picked himself up and started wiping the mucus off his face. “Motherfucker...” He cursed and spat. “Fucking centaurs.”

“What the hell was that thing!?” Lucy blurted out, still shaking as she stood up from where she had been crouching.

“Goddamn mutant.” He said simply. “Just like them gulpers. Only uglier.”

Lucy stepped up next to him, looking down at the freakish monster in horror, but also relief.

The Ghoul searched around for his hat, then quickly retrieved it and put it back on.

In a bit of a daze, the former vault dweller looked up at him. “You... saved my life.”

"Yeah. And you blew up its ass and saved mine.” He glanced back at her as he spoke, almost sounding appreciative, then sneered in disgust as he tried to wipe off the muck and slop that had splattered all over him. “You alright?”

She nodded, still shaking.

He looked past her and spotted Dogmeat, then quickly stepped over to the canine and kneeled down. “Damn… son of a bitch got you too, huh?”

Dogmeat whined as she limped closer to him, holding one of her back legs up. The Ghoul scratched her cheeks and behind her ears. “It’s alright… you’ll be alright…”

Lucy blinked as she watched him, surprised that he seemed so concerned about the dog.

“Hey… what time does that pip-boy a yers say it is?”

Lucy looked down to check. “It’s… almost seven.”

He stood up and exhaled, then nodded. “Might be best if we stay here tonight.”

“What? Here?? ” The former vault dweller said in disbelief. “After that? What if there’s more of those... things!?"

“Eh… if there were more, they’da already come runnin’.”

“How can you be so sure?”

He looked over at her and tilted his head, appearing a little annoyed. “I’ve been out here a long time, sweetheart. Trust me." He reminded her, then retrieved his gun from the floor and put it back in it's holster. "But if it'll make ya feel betta... I'll do a clean sweep after we find a safe spot fer you two...”

She blinked, then looked away, letting out a little huff. “...Okay… Fair enough.”

“It’s always safer to stay the night indoors, if you can…" He said as he grabbed his pack off the ground and slung it over his shoulder. "Besides, Dogmeat’s gotta rest her leg.”

“Can’t we just give her a stimpack?”

“That’s anotha lesson you gotta learn, darlin'... Don’t waste yo stimpacks on minor injuries that can heal on they own... Ya never know when you might have a real emergency.” He turned towards the pup and she whined as he slung her over his shoulder as well. “Come on. We’ll hold up in one a them units. There’s bound to be one that ain't got somethin’ dead in it.”

To be continued…

<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>

#ghoulcy #vaultghoul #lucy x the ghoul #cooper x lucy #lucy x cooper #cooper howard x lucy maclean #cooper howard #fallout #the ghoul #lucy maclean #my posts #my fanfiction #ghouly-boi

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mikhailwrites · 8 months ago

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Soaring Ever Higher 5 - Ghoap/Ace Combat 7 crossover

Previous chapter | This Chapter on AO3

Maybe you should manage your expectations befor the one-night stand? Yeah... someone should probably tell Ghost...

AN: I've put together a companion post with some explanations and whatnot so if you're getting a little lost, you can give it a shot, might help you.

They lay in bed, side by side. For a long moment, they don’t speak. Then Ghost asks what he considers an easy question. “So, what’s with those three strikes on your plane’s tail?”

“What’s with the skull mask?” John retaliates. Apparently, Ghost’s question was much less innocent than he thought. Fair enough.

“Touché,” Ghost smiles without elaborating further. However, he does change the topic. “How about your jet? You said you rescued that thing. Why?”

“Actually… I needed it. I had a mission that required stealth beyond the usual means. Americans were willing to lend us a Raptor, but it didn’t cut it, especially since I also required something faster, with greater range but capable of carrying heavy payload. The YF-23 was the only thing in existence that fit the bill.”

“The hell did you do?” Ghost turns his head, clearly interested.

“Classified,” Trigger shrugs, then gives a sly grin and elaborates a little, “but it included a submarine.”

“Wait a second… you’re… not serious. That was you? The madman that sank the nuclear sub with a jet? Singlehandedly prevented another World War?” Simon’s brown eyes are wide as he stares at John. Shit, he had no idea.

“I can’t neither confirm nor deny…,” John’s smile is confirmation enough.

“Alright, you needed that thing then. How about now? Is it even safe to fly it?” he did hear the mechanic back on the base. Now, Ghost might not be all that knowledgeable about fighter jets, but he does have some experience with using prototypes. They’re very rarely reliable.

“It can be… challenging. It’s still a prototype, it has its issues, and the maintenance costs a fortune, especially since there’s only a handful of engineers familiar with it. Still, I happen to have the best engineer on the base,” Trigger confirms much of what Ghost suspected.

“Right. Well,” Simon gets up and starts to gather his clothes, “be careful out there. Would be a shame to lose you.”

“Shame for RAF or yourself?” Trigger smirks, stretching on the bed, and displaying all that impressive physique.

Ghost smiles as he shakes his head. “Why not both?”

“Where are you going, anyway? Have somewhere better to be?” John frowns as he watches Ghost dress.

“Look, this has been nice and everything, but I know how it goes. Don’t wanna wait around for things to get awkward,” Ghost says casually, putting his boxer briefs and socks on.

John looks at him momentarily like he’s some puzzle waiting to be figured out. Then, snorts in barely contained amusement. “We’ve seen each other naked; I think we’re way past the awkward point, Simon. Stay if you want to. Or I can go if you want to spend the night since you paid for the room.”

“You okay with me staying?” Simon cocks his eyebrow, pausing with a tee in hand.

“Nah, I’m just the sort of lad that does things he’s uncomfortable with. Get back here, you English cunt,” he outstretches both his arms in open invitation.

Ghost looks at him with feigned offence, but he climbs back onto the bed and pretty much tackles MacTavish with his sheer bulk.

They stay the night. Curled around each other, shagging once more in the wee hours of the morning. It’s a slower and gentler affair the second time around, and the touches and kisses afterwards make something in Simon’s chest resonate in a manner that has him concerned. He doesn’t panic; such a thing was trained out of him. Instead, he pauses his thoughts and inspects the feeling and the whole situation. It doesn’t look too good.

He doesn’t really know Trigger; what he does know damn well is that he cannot form this sort of attachment. Especially since they’re both military, most especially after one bloody night together, that would be just stupid. So, Ghost doesn’t. He acknowledges the feeling before he wills it away. His mind is clear and focused as he falls asleep again, with John’s arms around him, his hot breath on his neck, and the faintest smell of campfire and cologne that’s too nice for men like them hanging in the air.

Trigger returns to the base and earns some wolf whistles as he walks on the tarmac. He’s got a reputation and staying in the city overnight means he scored some. Which, to be fair, he did, it’s just that the lads haven’t got the faintest idea.

John walks into the hangar, not in the least surprised that the lights are already on and there’s a clicking and clanging of a mechanic doing their job.

“Did you even sleep?” Trigger asks when she puts away the welding gun. He recognises the part she’s working on: it’s a wing flap.

Avril straightens where she stands, taking him in. “Sure, but I like to start early, you know that. All the tools are still in place, so I can pick and choose. But… I get a feeling I should be asking you the same. Are you gonna enlighten me? Who is he?”

Trigger is suddenly very occupied with checking the non-existent scratch on the stealth coating. “Who is who?” he feigns ignorance.

“Oh don’t play dumb with me! Who’s Mr. Six-foot-two?”

“Just an acquaintance, we met briefly on the last mission. I helped him out, he promised to buy me a drink as a thanks, so he did,” John shrugs.

“Well, seems like that’s what he did... thanked you. Properly, not just with a drink,” she chuckles and dodges a dirty rag Trigger tosses at her.

“Christ, what’re ye, twelve?” John shakes his head and fastens a bolt that really doesn’t need it.

“Look me in the eye, John MacTavish, and tell me you did not, in fact, fucked him. Then I’ll rest my case,” Avril puts her hands on her hips and looks at him expectantly.

“Och what are ye on aboot? Cannae the lad go for a drink?”

“Did you, or did you not?”

“Well..,” he pauses. It’s not worth lying to his friend. “Kinda.”

“What? What do you mean, you muppet? Kinda?”

“We... och hell’s bells... we... aye, we did.”

Avril’s face blooms into a shit-eating grin. “I knew it! Damn, he looked like a good lay. You gonna see him again?”

“I dinnae ken, maybe? He’s SAS, not exactly an everyday occurrence his sort working with us.”

Avril whistles. “SAS? Damn, so... was he a good lay?” she nags at him, all smiles and winks.

“Yer not gonna leave it, will ye? Okay, fine. Aye, he was good. Better than, actually. Happy?” John rolls his eyes, feeling the slight heat as blush creeps on his face.

“Yeah, I’m happy now. And you’re, too, that’s what I like to see. Does the SAS man have a name?”

“He does, but... I can’t tell you, it’s not common knowledge. But his callsign is Ghost, and aye, I’m serious. Couldnae make that shit up if I tried.”

Avril looks at the landing gear cover, at the Gray Ghost. “Funny,” she says, but the tone of her voice is thoughtful when she returns back to her work. “Got a feeling it wasn’t just a one-night stand.”

Trigger doesn’t deign that with an answer. But truth be told, he has the same feeling.

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghoap #ghost mw2 #soap mw2

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seventh-district · 4 months ago

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I Don't Care If You're Contagious

He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

When he comes home bloody and drained from a job you regret missing out on, you and Matt both find comfort in one another, unorthodox though it may be.

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat - Minors DNI

Pairing: Matt x Reader

Word Count: 11,154

Contains: [spoilers for The Malenkee Saga (Jimち ASMR)] [not canon compliant] [SH / NSSI] [Reader's gender isn't specified but they're kinda implied to be fem] [blood] [blood consumption] [blood play] [comfort] [consensual, but not safe or sane] [descriptions of food and eating] [domestic? maybe?] [gun] [first kisses] [implied murder/death] [implied SA & violence] [needle play] [pet names] [praise] [PTSD] [scars] [traumatic memories/flashback] [unnatural abilities] [you and Matt are both criminals, mentally unwell, and so, so in love with each other 🖤]

Note: This fic is a sequel to this one, and while it isn't required reading, I'd recommend that you do if you want to have the full context going into this one.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fantasy and fiction, and should be regarded as such. I don't condone replicating the acts depicted. If you're interested in this sort of play, please educate yourself, take the appropriate precautions, and use the correct tools.

The delicate scent of freshly chopped vegetables simmered in broth fills your small kitchen. Taking it in with a deep breath as you slowly stir the pot, you smile, content in the peaceful moment. Bringing the ladle to your lips, you blow away the rising steam with a few unhurried breaths.

Once it’s a tolerable temperature, you sample your work, and hum a quiet note. It’s… on the bland side, to put it mildly. If this pot were for you alone, you’d be reaching for the spice cabinet post haste. It isn’t, though, and you don’t even find yourself lamenting that fact, given the company you’re soon to be sharing it with.

When you’d first begun attempting to feed Matt, you started with something you considered quite basic and mild. A simple bowl of oatmeal. Forgone were any of your more extravagant toppings and mix-ins, you were sticking to the bare minimum. Oats, water and milk. A pinch of salt, a small spoonful of sugar, and just a dusting of cinnamon. It doesn’t get much more basic, (or flavorless…), than that.

Or so you thought.

The memories of his favorite cuisine must've fallen too far into the back of your mind. Mixed in and tucked away with all the other parts of your past you’d rather not dwell on, the taste, or lack thereof, of his signature “soup” was hardly the worst of them.

It was hardly the best either.

Rather unremarkable aside from the bizarre circumstances of its initial presentation, it wasn’t the taste that you found so off-putting. It was the texture. Clumps of bread that’d grown far past soggy, nearly turning to sludge amidst the watery broth, it was just… unpleasant.

You could never wrap your head around Matt’s apparent genuine enjoyment of the dish. In the beginning, before you knew him better, you’d thought he might just be fucking with you. Surely no sane person could like it at all, let alone name it their favorite. But therein laid the error in your reasoning. You weren’t dealing with a sane man at all.

When you once questioned him on it, he gave you a vague yet sincere answer. “Oh, it’s an old family recipe.” The words had rolled off his tongue with ease, and your brow furrowed. He rarely spoke of any family, hell, you weren’t sure he ever really had one. When you pressed further though, his answer quickly fell apart. When required to actually try and recall any detail as to this supposed family, he drew a blank.

It wasn’t that surprising, in all honesty. It didn’t make you doubt him much, either. Even less so nowadays, with your approximate knowledge of just how old his idea of “old” is. The mind can only recall so much, can only reach so far back before everything starts to fade.

Sometimes you mourn the amount of his memory, his history, that’s been lost to the unrelenting passage of time.

Sometimes you wonder who he’d be mourning, if their memory still lived within him.

You blink, and pull your eyes back into focus.

You stir the pot on the stove before you.

Best to keep yourself grounded in the here and now, you suppose.

Regardless of Matt’s supposed love of that awful soup of his, you weren’t too keen on it yourself. You’d been far too afraid to tell him so the first few times he fed it to you, and you were hardly in a position to decline. But time passed as it always does and you gradually turned from his captive into his companion. You learned that you needn’t fear a disagreement so trivial. Eventually you brought it up, letting him down slowly so as to not insult his… family’s cooking.

He took it far better than you’d feared, only seeming a bit… saddened, that you’d exaggerated your initial assessment of the dish. You weren’t sure if his sadness stemmed from your newfound dislike of his soup, or from the reminder of your initial fear of him. You never asked.

You couldn’t imagine that eating nothing but bread and water could be good for him, but then again he’s shown great enough feats of survival that you suspect he may not even need food at all. The black scars on your wrist suggest that you may now share that trait too, but that doesn’t mean you’ve lost your taste. You still crave food, and if the two of you are going to be eating together, you’d like it to be something you both can enjoy.

That’s how you found yourself presenting him with an innocent bowl of oatmeal, figuring it wasn’t that far of a step away from his preferences.

You quickly gathered that you’d underestimated his palate’s sensitivities.

You’d tried not to stare as he pulled the bottom of his mask up, the sight still relatively rare to you then. With bated breath, you watched him take a tentative bite of the benign breakfast food. To his credit, he didn’t cringe, or gag, or any other outrageous reaction you’d feared. He just… frowned. And your heart sank a little. Had you used too much water? Not enough milk? Too much salt? Not enough sugar?

Your inner worries were soon quieted as he politely questioned you, holding another spoonful up in front of him. “Why is it… spicy?”

It took everything in you not to laugh, both from pure surprise, and at the meme he was unknowingly quoting. “I… is it? It’s spicy to you…?”

He took in a second thoughtful bite, and nodded. “Yeah… kind of? It’s a little thick… and has this… I don’t know.” He brought his hand up to cup his exposed jawline in thought. “It’s… hmm… no, not dirt, oh what’s the word… earthy! Like… spicy… wood, or something.” You bite back a smile at his explanation, and catch how he mirrors yours when his eyes land on you. “I… I think I quite like the sweetness of it though.”

You quickly gathered that he was awfully sensitive to- well, just about every flavor, the more intense ones especially so. And his baseline for “intense” was adorably low. It made enough sense you supposed, given you’d no idea how long he’d been eating that same flavorless glop of his. It did raise a brief question in your mind though, the answer which you’d silently searched for when you were next alone.

A brief search in your phone’s browser shut down your fleeting line of thought that perhaps he’d never been accustomed to such flavors. It seemed quite the opposite, in fact, given that apparently Britain had taken over the cinnamon trade during the 1800’s. So, it was unlikely that the spice, and similar others, weren’t available to him in some capacity then. Well, if your attempts at surmising his origins were correct, that is. It didn’t seem to be considered a rare commodity by those times either.

Shaking the tangling web of thoughts from your mind, you dismissed it in the same way you’d learned to treat his many other anomalies. Perhaps he’d lived in… unique circumstances even then. Perhaps the true extent of his “old family recipe” has simply been lost to time, leaving him with memory of nothing but the utter basic ingredients. Perhaps your rough calculation of his true age was incorrect. The variety of reasons were plentiful, multiplying, and eventually, overwhelming to your tired mind.

Best to not dwell.

You were appreciative of his continued willingness to try your offerings, having not been too badly put off by his first impression of your “spicy” oatmeal. You began modifying your simple recipes, removing more and more flavor until you were left with the tamest possible versions of them. He came to enjoy your oatmeal, once you’d upped the water and forgone the cinnamon. He’d quite enjoyed your vegetable soup, too, once you parted ways with your beloved garlic and onions.

It wasn’t a hard sacrifice to make, in all honesty, because the satisfaction of finding something, anything else he liked to eat, far outweighed the loss. Besides, the omissions only applied to the initial recipe. Nothing stopped you from seasoning your own serving after the fact, which you often did. One would think you were eating Carolina Reapers with the way his eyes widened at the sight of you seasoning your food.

You never considered yourself to be much of a genuine spice lover, you just liked some flavor in your food. It became a lighthearted joke between you both. He continually balked at the sight of your heavy-handed garlic powder pour, and you gently poked fun at him over his bland taste. Watching him contentedly eat his watery oats, you once playfully remarked as much, affection lacing your quiet words as they crossed the kitchen table. “Matthew, you’ve got to be the whitest man I know.”

You doubted he’d get the reference, which only made his honest response infinitely funnier in retrospect. In the moment, though, it just made you a bit sad. “…You know other men…”

It wasn’t a question, nothing more than a quiet, trailing statement with a jealous undertone. He seemed saddened by such a reminder, and you quickly felt the urge to remove the frown settling on his lips. Rising from your seat and closing the space between you, your hand found his shoulder as you bent down to his level. After planting a long kiss on his temple, you reassured him softly. “None of them have ever held a candle to the ways in which I know you.”

You recall the feeling of his muscles relaxing beneath your touch, and you smile.

Using the edge of your ladle, you gently press it down and part a soft carrot slice in two. Nodding to yourself and giving the pot one last stir, you reach out and return the range’s dial back to its vertical off position. It’s then, in the otherwise quiet room, that Matt’s heartbeat grows noticeably louder in your ears.

It took a little while to adapt to at first, this new constant pulse in the background of your mind. When he first explained it to you, you’d had a fleeting fear that it would grow to annoy you, but you’re relieved to have found that to be far from the case. It’s comforting, above all else. A soft, constant reminder that he’s still alive, and still with you, even when he isn’t physically with you. And like any constant sound, you grew accustomed to it. Before you knew it you found it fairly easy to let slip from your focus when you so desired, and just as easy to tune back into when you wished.

Even when you weren’t paying specific attention to it though, it was always unmistakable when he first came home. Its volume being based upon your proximity, the steady beat always made itself re-known when he drew close. He was an otherwise quiet man, the many years spent in his particular occupation lending him an innate degree of stealth that he carried with him everywhere. He could never sneak up on you again, though. Such was the price he paid for giving you his heart, and he’s never seemed to mind.

So it wasn’t the silent unlocking of your door, nor was it his silent footsteps through the short hall that told you he was home. It was the steady thump of his heartbeat, catching your attention as it grew louder.

Smiling, you turn away from the stove to face the doorway just in time to greet him as he’s rounding the corner. “Welcome ho-…-ome…” The disheveled sight of him then causes your face to fall. You falter for a moment as his exhausted voice greets you in turn, making his way to the kitchen table and pulling out a chair. Reaching a hand inside his jacket, he pulls out a thick wad of cash, dropping it on the table with little fanfare as you make your way over to him.

The heavy scent of iron lingers on him, and your hands hover for a moment before gently landing on his upper arms. Catching his gaze, you question him in urgent concern. “What- what happened? Are you okay?”

He pulls his gloves off, tossing them onto the table next. “Of course I am, doll…” His unconvincing statement is punctuated by a quiet groan as he lowers himself into the chair. Your hands slip away from his arms, and when you register a cold wetness on the left, your breath hitches. Your eyes flick down to assess your palm at the same time as his preemptive reassurance hits your ears. “It’s not mine.”

The blood that soaked his jacket tints your hand a shade of red, not black, and you release your breath.

Reaching for a hand towel and wiping it away without a care, you resist the urge to put your hands on him again. You want to feel, want to search his pitch black clothes for any patch of blood that might not be red, but you refrain. You don’t ever want to overwhelm him.

Turning behind you and pulling your own chair near, you release his name in a shaky breath. “Matt…” You have to ask. “Did it… go south?”

His elbows thunk lightly against the table as he props them there, leaning forward. “Only…” He sighs. “Only a little bit.” He eyes the cash on the table. “I still got the job done.”

You follow his gaze, and frown. Reaching out, you lift one end of the stack with your thumb, watching the hundreds flicker past as you riffle through them. Pulling your hand back and crossing your arms, you voice your doubt. “Was it worth it? I don’t ever want you taking a job for the sake of the-”

“This wasn’t about the payment.” He gently cuts you off, shaking his head slowly. “That’s not why I took this job.”

“Was it… personal, then?”

“…Not quite.” His gaze drifts up from the table to stare out the small window above the sink. “It was… a moral thing, I guess. If I’d passed on it, there was a risk of it becoming personal. But- even if there wasn’t… I’m not the type to let a man like that walk.”

You question him gently. “…Like what?”

He glances at you for a moment, hesitating on his words. “He… had a reputation. Real big, strong, the cocky type. Liked throwing his weight around, starting fights…” Matt laughs. “He was so overconfident in himself, that- word was- he never even carried a gun. Thought that his sheer strength, “street smarts”, whatever, would be enough to carry him through anything.”

You roll your eyes at the notion. “Sounds like a real prick, yeah. But still, that’s not enough to get a bounty put on himself… right?”

You can’t see the way the edge of Matt’s lips tug up in the slightest smile at your words. It fades fast regardless though as he continues talking around the dark truth of the matter.

“Fist fights weren’t the only way he liked to… throw his weight around. He also had a penchant for targeting people that he knew couldn’t stand a chance at fighting back. He… enjoyed taking things that didn’t belong to him.”

The dark, disgusted edge that Matt’s voice has taken tells you that he’s not talking about material possessions. Your stomach drops. “…Oh.”

“Yeah.” His gaze locks onto the table. “There are… certain lines that you just don’t cross. He quite enjoyed crossing them. I quite enjoy killing those who do. So, no. It wasn’t about the money, doll.”

You uncross your arms, taking a deep breath. The metallic sting of the low-life’s remains wafts off of Matt and hits the back of your throat. The two of you sit in thoughtful silence for a few moments, and you come to a conclusion. “I wish you’d have let me come with you.”

You can hear the frown in his voice. “Like I said this morning, love, it was too dangerous-”

“Don’t you know how much I’d have loved to get in on a job like that?”

He breathes. In, and out. “I… do. I do. But I couldn’t risk it. Not this time.”

To his credit, he was often quite lenient with your requests. As much as he’d sometimes like to keep you here, safe, tied to the bedpost to never leave again and subject yourself to the cruel, dangerous world outside… he doesn’t. He’s come to recognize the strength that resides within you. He knows you can hold your own. He usually does let you accompany him on these jobs. He can even admit that you two make an excellent team.

That’s why you didn’t argue this morning when he insisted that he handle this one alone. The both of you have come very far. If he has reasons for wanting to work alone sometimes, you’ll step aside. But seeing him now, looking so worn down… knowing the type of revenge you missed out on, even if it wasn’t yours to take… it’s hard to stomach that you could only sit back and wait.

Your silence doesn’t sit well with him, so he continues to explain. “I know you can hold your own. As much as I hate to see you have to do it, I know. I know. But against a man like that, if there existed even the smallest chance that we could be overpowered and you could be subjected to… him.” He shakes his head, resolute. “No. I won’t ever risk that. I couldn’t live with myself if he’d so much as laid a finger on you.”

His eyes meet yours, and to your surprise, they’re almost pleading.

You hold his gaze for a moment before responding, letting the air’s tension ease. “…I get it.” You sigh, but it’s mostly one of acceptance. “But Gods, Matt, you look like you could collapse. How big of a fight did he put up, anyways?”

The old wooden chair creaks beneath him as he leans back, giving it his full exhausted weight. “He was a good fighter, I’ll admit. Strong too.” He reaches beneath his jacket again, this time retrieving his gun from its concealed holster. He points it skyward, finger thankfully off the trigger, tapping the end of the barrel a few times against his temple. You note the edge of unhinged pride in his voice. “He’d never met me though.”

The few remaining shreds of your sanity beg you not to find the display endearing. They lose in the face of your love for him.

Smiling, you shake your head, trying to reprimand him still. “You’re reckless, Matthew. Utterly reckless.”

“C’mon, poppet…” He lowers the gun to rest on the table, pointing away from you. “You can still hear my heartbeat, can’t you?”

You nod.

“Did you ever hear it stop?”

You shake your head.

“Then there you have it. I’m just fine.”

His idea of reassurance could use a little work.

“Are you though? For- for all I know he could’ve hurt you fifty different ways, you healed on the way home, and I’ll be none the wiser! It’s not like I can just strip you and look for myself, I have to take your word for it!”

He’s grateful for the mask hiding the way his cheeks flush at your sudden mention of stripping him. He tilts his head to the side, searching for a more convincing answer.

The way his head moves causes the fabric of his mask to stretch out across his cheek. Not much, but enough. Just enough for your worried gaze to catch the tear in the fabric and the way it pulls apart, exposing a sliver of skin beneath.

You bolt up, leaning in close to him before he can even understand what you’re staring at. His wide-eyed gaze flicks toward you, but he doesn’t pull back. “…What is it?”

You reach a cautious hand out, giving him time to stop you, and he doesn’t. Pinching the material of his mask between your finger and thumb, you wince when you feel that it isn’t dry. Gently pulling down, you part the fabric far enough to get a better look beneath. “You have a tear in your-”

You can’t see much through the hole without tearing it wider, but the smeared black stain on the otherwise pale skin of his cheek causes you to falter. “…It’s not a tear.”

You pull your gaze away to look into his eyes. “It’s a cut.”

Recollection seems to hit him at your words, and he raises a hand to meet yours, his fingertips blindly assessing the area. When he pulls them away they’re tinted black.

Sheepish laughter escapes him as you release your hold on his mask, your frown deeper than ever.

“What can I say? He, eh… he brought a knife to a gun fight.”

You don’t laugh. “He cut through your mask. He hurt you.”

At your tone, Matt scrambles to do damage control. “It was barely a scratch! You- you know- one thing about big guys like him? They’re not all that nimble- or- or- agile like me. He hardly even landed any hits on me!”

Your eyes widen. “‘Hardly’? Are there more!?”

He shakes his head, hands held out in a placating gesture. “No! I- I mean- I don’t think so! It’s… kinda hard to tell… y’know? I was so caught up in the moment, it’s… easy to miss something as small as the sting of a blade.”

You stare at him, mouth agape for a moment in incredulous silence. You eventually close it, bringing your palms up to drag them down your cheeks in exasperation.

You suppose for a man who’s been shot as many times as he has, the pain of a cut would hardly even register by comparison.

His name comes out as a whine this time. “Matthew…”

“I’m sorry, love…” You can’t read much of his expression, but he sounds guilty.

You force yourself to take a calming breath.

“…No, no… it’s not your fault that he hurt you.” You could argue that it’s his fault for taking the job alone in the first place, but that’s hardly fair of you to say. Not when you know how much of his motivation was to keep you safe.

“You… don’t have to show me, if he hurt you elsewhere. Not if it isn’t vital. But please, at least let me help somehow. I can- I can wash those clothes for you.” Your gaze roams across the cut in his mask. “And I can mend that hole.”

“You don’t have to do any of that, doll, I-”

“I want to.” You cut him off with conviction. “I’ve- I’ve got food for you too… if you want it…” You add, gesturing to the pot on the stove with less conviction.

His gaze lingers on you as your tense shoulders fall, and his own tired muscles relax in response. Thoughtfully, he slowly begins to shrug off his jacket. “Yeah… yeah. Okay. I’d like that.”

You stand, coming around to lift the fabric from his shoulders. His voice grows soft. “…Thank you.”

With soup in your stomachs, Matt’s freshly washed clothes tumbling in the dryer, and himself currently in the shower, you release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you set a freshly rinsed bowl in the drying rack. Retrieving the nearby hand towel from the counter, you admire what you can see of the sunset from your kitchen window, sifting through the thoughts and emotions cluttering your mind.

Matt’s order of operations this evening were strange, but hardly anything about him isn’t, so you don’t think about it too hard. Whatever compelled him to eat before his shower makes no sense to you. But hey, everybody’s got their preferences, you suppose.

Thankfully, his mask and jacket seemed to be the only two things that had any significant amount of blood on them. He let you take them off, what with you so eager to get them in the wash and rid your kitchen of the metallic scent. You imagined his shirt and pants didn’t come out completely unscathed, but with his penchant for an all-black wardrobe, it was hard to tell. You weren’t about to have him strip right then when it seemed all he wanted to do was take a nap right there at the table. It was fine, the rest could go in the wash later.

Returning from the washroom to the kitchen, the sight of him smiling at you, politely requesting soup with blood still smeared across his cheek gave you pause. When you questioned him on it, he blinked at you with tired eyes, stating that your cooking would give him the strength to go shower afterwards. You figured he was mostly saying that in an attempt to lift your spirits, surely he wasn’t that hungry. Nevertheless, it made you smile.

Pulling your mind from the past and your gaze from the purple-orange sky, you drape your towel over the oven door’s handle. With the kitchen back in order, you close the curtains, kill the lights, and make your way to the dryer.

You interrupt the machine and pull the dry mask from the drum before shutting the door and allowing the remaining larger, thicker, still-damp fabrics to finish out the cycle.

You flatten the balaclava in your hands as you make your way to the bedroom. Matt’s humming escapes from the crack beneath the bathroom door, along with the sound of running water as he continues his shower. Thoughtfully running your thumb over the slit across the mask’s left cheek, you stop at your dresser. Pilfering through the top drawer for your little sewing kit, you decide to make good on your offer to mend the hole.

Clicking on your bedside lamp, you kick your slippers off and settle atop the sheets, laying your supplies out in front of you. Analyzing the fabric, you pick out what you’ll need. It’s a pretty clean cut.

You push aside the quiet question of how sharp the man’s knife had been.

Should be easy enough to mend it close to new with some tight, careful stitching.

You push aside the quiet question of if any part of Matt might’ve needed stitching.

Cutting a length of black thread, you ready the needle, and set to your quiet work.

You shake your head at the prior thought, finding that it won’t leave you be. There’s never any need for stitches when it comes to Matt. The same likely holds true for you now as well. You both heal too quickly for that to be necessary.

You find yourself wishing that’d been the case for you back when you had a knife stuck in your gut, countless safety pins pushed through your skin, and a maniac cornering you, intent on bleeding you out the hard way.

“Death by a thousand cuts.” He’d told you.

Long as you may live, you don’t think you’ll ever forget it.

You try not to dwell on those memories, but it’s hard not to lament what could’ve happened. How differently things could’ve gone if you’d had the power that you possess today. How you’d have pulled that blade from your stomach without fear and shoved it through his throat so fast he wouldn’t have seen it coming. How you’d have torn that hideous white mask off of his face just to watch the shock and pain contort his features as you twisted the blade.

You watch the needle push through the fabric in your hands in a rhythmic, repetitive motion, your body on autopilot as your mind lingers in the past.

Maybe if Matt hadn’t had to show up and save you that day, things could’ve gone differently. Maybe the two of you wouldn’t have had to part ways afterward. Maybe your next meeting wouldn’t have been handcuffed together in an unfamiliar room.

Who knows. It’s a waste of time to wish you could change the past. And if things hadn’t gone the way they did, maybe you’d have never seen him again at all. Maybe there’s a reason for everything happening exactly how it did. Who knows.

An unknown force suddenly jostles you and you yelp, startled out of your thoughts. You immediately hear Matt apologize, and you turn, quickly gathering that the “unknown force” was nothing more than him, plopping down on the bed next to you. You open your mouth to respond, but you’re interrupted when you go to move your hand and an instinctive hiss of pain comes out of you instead.

Looking down, your eyes widen at the sight of your sewing needle, pierced straight through the pad of your left index finger.

“Oh, no!” Comes Matt’s shocked voice from beside you after his gaze follows yours. “Ohhh, no, no, no. Did I make you do that?”

You assume your fingers must’ve slipped when he startled you, but you aren’t about to blame him. You struggle to find your words as you stare at the tiny impalement. “It’s… it’s fine, honey, I was just… zoned out. Didn’t even notice that you’d left the bathroom…”

You gather Matt’s mask in your free hand, unable to put it down given that it’s still attached to the thread, attached to the needle, attached to you. Pinning the fabric between your wrist and your chest, you twist your body and hold your hand out under the lamp to your left. The thread attaching you to the mask grows taut, tugging lightly at your new piercing, and you feel your mind slipping.

You don’t feel yourself in your bed anymore, and you don’t see your nightstand in front of you. You feel yourself pinned to a wall, and you see that awful man pushing another pin through your skin. He’s rough and careless, pressing them deep to catch on more than just skin, tugging them back up to fasten them and make sure this hurts as much as possible.

Tears well up in your eyes as you feel someone take hold of your wrist. You instinctively pull away, and their soft grip tightens.

You hear that awful, wet, sputtering voice in your mind, muttering its nonsense, growing louder, angrier. You try to make sense of its repetitions. You shut your eyes tight and all you can see is blood. All you can hear is the blood spilling from his lips… his tongue. Tongue. That’s right. Someone cut out his tongue. Who? Was it you? Have you forgotten that too? Is this your punishment for such a crime? But- no- why would you do that? Did you do that? Did you do that? Do you deserve this? What did you do to deserve this?

What did you do?

What did you do, child?

Matthew’s voice cuts through the noise at last, shouting your name.

When you open your eyes, you meet his through a watery gaze.

He lowers his voice, but his heavy, serious tone remains as he begins to ground you.

“It’s over. He’s dead. He’s dead, and gone, and never coming back, and you didn’t do anything. You never did anything to deserve that. Not any of it.”

You’re tempted to close your eyes, wanting his voice to be the only thing you can perceive, but he stops you. “Ah-ah-ah- no, no, poppet, stay with me. Want you to keep your eyes on me, okay?”

You nod, raising your free hand to wipe at your eyes. He keeps one hand around your other wrist, holding your injury steady as he tugs at the collar of his bathrobe. He then reaches for your free hand with his, and you hardly have time to be confused before he’s slipping it beneath the thick fabric of his robe, bringing your hand to rest on his bare chest. The bold move shocks you halfway out of your mind’s haze, and for a brief, blissful moment all you can focus on is how warm he is.

Guiding your hand, he settles it directly over the part of his chest where you’d planted his last two hearts. “Do you feel that?”

The steady twin thumping against your palm aligns with the rhythm of his pulse in your mind. You nod. He rests his hand atop yours, a silent invitation to keep it there.

“Good. Focus on that for me, okay? Focus on that while we breathe. Just follow my lead, I know you can do this.”

He patiently guides you through a few long minutes of breathing, until you’re able to match his measured breaths. As soon as you feel able, you try to apologize. “I’m so sorry, Matt, I don’t know what came over me, I just-”

He gently hushes you. “Pumpkin, c’mon, none of that. You don’t have anything to apologize for, okay? Just breathe. In…” You copy him again. “Aaand out…” You manage to let your shoulders drop on the exhale this time, and he smiles. “Good. There we go.” His hand slowly leaves his chest, and you wordlessly slip yours out of his robe, not wanting to overstay your welcome.

You risk another glance at your injury, and to your relief it doesn’t make your head swim this time. Matt still tries to distract you from it, leaning in to break your line of sight. “You don’t have to worry about that, doll, I’ll take care of it-”

You nod, but still cut him off by tugging your hand closer for a better look. “You can- I’ll- I’ll let you, I just… wanna see.”

He allows it, his careful grip on your wrist remaining. “See what?”

You turn your hand under the light. “How deep it is.” Your stomach turns a bit as you stare, but you’re relieved to find that it’s not that bad. The needle simply slipped through the soft pad of your fingertip, not hitting anything else. You feel silly for caring, what with your body’s capabilities, the risk from something like this is as trivial as a paper cut. You suppose you just haven’t gotten used to living in a more resilient body. All of your old fears still linger, unnecessary as they may be.

Regardless, you look away as you allow him to take your hand back. “…Okay, Doc, have at me.”

Matthew chuckles. “Me? A doctor? Goodness, what is this world coming to…”

Attempting to keep the mood light, he playfully considers your minor injury as he steadies your upturned hand on his knee. “Now, this is a pretty cool piercing, I’ll admit. But it’s also a pretty inconvenient one, isn’t it. So as- uh- oh, what do the kids say these days… hardcore as it looks, I’m gonna need to remove this, alright?”

You nod, laughing beneath your breath, and he finds himself satisfied with the small smile he manages to bring out of you.

“I’ll make it as quick and painless as I can, yeah? Want me to count you down?”

You close your eyes, shaking your head. “Nah, it’s fine. In your own time.”

“Alright, love. Deep breath in for me?”

You inhale, and one short, mildly uncomfortable moment later, you’re freed from the painful intrusion.

“There we go.” You open your eyes as he takes the needle with its attached thread and balaclava out of your hold. Playful as ever, he scolds the offending object as he sets it aside. “Bad needle, bad! No one hurts my poppet, not even you.” He shakes his head, and you huff a laugh at his commitment to the bit.

As sweet as your partner is being, your focus still shifts to your sore finger, held in your own lap now. You watch two little beads of black blood form on both ends of the puncture wound. They swell, and slowly begin to roll down your finger as Matt returns to kneel in front of you.

A half-baked thought occurs, and you act on it immediately. Holding your finger out to him in offering, you feel a sense of déjà vu, recalling the first time you made an offering like this. His eyes widen at the sudden presentation, and far be it from him to presume, he questions you.

“Would you… like me to go grab a bandage for that, dear? It should… stop bleeding on its own very soon, but, I don’t mind if you-”

You shake your head. “That’s not necessary. I, uh… I’m offering.”

His brows raise. “Offering?”

“Y-yeah. A taste. If you want it.”

His tongue briefly pokes out to wet his lips, a minuscule movement, but you catch it. “Are- are you sure? You were just pretty upset, I don’t want to make anything worse…”

You nudge your hand closer, an odd sense of desperation fueling you. “I’m sure.”

Conflicted but clearly craving it, he brings your finger to his lips carefully. You take in a breath, nodding. Painfully slow, ready to stop himself at any second, he finally tastes you, and you exhale involuntarily. When he pulls away, there are already two little dots, tiny twin scars adorning both sides of your finger.

Damn, you sure do heal fast.

Why does that disappoint you?

You catch him eyeing the twin trails running down the length of your digit, and you encourage him to do what he likely considers too obscene. “Go ahead, if you’d like, love.”

His unsure gaze flicks between you and the remaining blood on your finger several times, before eventually giving in when you don’t waver. His tongue peeks out again, chasing the trails down the length of your finger, and his cheeks are burning red when he pulls away.

You feel lightheaded at the sight, in the best way possible. Sighing out a breathy “There you go…”, you take your hand back, admiring the pinprick scars.

“Thank you… you, uh, certainly didn’t have to offer that…” Matt’s appreciation goes in one ear and out the other as you quickly find yourself in the grips of a brand new idea. A newly born desire.

A stupid one? Maybe.

A dangerous one? Perhaps.

A weird one? Certainly.

You turn and pitch it to him before you can think any better of it.

“Can we do that again?”

He blinks a few times. “…Pardon?”

You reach for your sewing kit. “Can we…” You fish out a pin-filled cushion and present it to him. “…Do that again?”

You imagine the gears in his brain stuttering and shifting as his face cycles through several different expressions. “You want… to do that… again? All of it?”

You nod, a slightly less than subtle smile on your face. “Uhuh!”

“You want to pierce yourself again? On purpose this time? Because I- I promise you there’s easier ways to draw blood-”

“It’s not that different from a cut.” You interject. “And I… certainly don’t have to be the one to do it, but I can be… if you… don’t… want to.” Your voice is barely audible by the time you get the full sentence out.

“You want me to do it?” He reaches up, placing his palm on your forehead. “Are you feeling okay?” His question is mixed with disbelieving laughter, and the sound is contagious.

Now laughing too, you nod, pulling his hand away and taking it in yours. “Matt, I’m high on endorphins right now, I’m better than okay.” You squeeze his hand. “And I’d quite like to make this last.”

What remains of your rationality pipes up, reminding you that perhaps he doesn’t want to. You sober up a bit at the thought. “That- that is… only if you want to.”

He shakes his head. “No, I- wait that’s- that’s not a no! I mean- it’s not a yes either- at least- not yet! I…” He sighs. “I just… don’t want to bring up bad memories again.”

You alleviate his concern with admittedly shady logic at best. “We can make new ones! Re… I don’t know… re-route the association.”

He frowns, clearly skeptical.

“I promise you, Matthew, I wouldn’t do this if I thought it would upset me.”

You squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back.

“How can you know that it won’t?”

“I… can’t. Not for sure.” You place the pin cushion gingerly on your knee, and you crack a smile. “Not unless we try.”

He considers you for a long moment, and you release your eager hold on his hand, reiterating your prior point.

“It’s really okay if you don’t want to.”

He takes the cushion in one hand and slowly pulls a random pin out with the other. He asks you a very serious question.

“Will you tell me to stop, the moment you don’t like it anymore?”

Surprise paints your features. “Of course.”

He sets the cushion aside. “You’re sure you’d rather I be the one to do it?”

Your breathing picks up. “I’m sure.”

He notices, because of course he does, and he smiles, voice regaining a playful edge. “Well then… what kind of doctor would I be to leave a patient in need?”

You hate to admit the effect such a silly statement has on you, but from the way he’s watching you like a hawk… you probably don’t need to admit anything.

You ask one more time. “You’re sure you’re okay with this? Don’t let me pressure you…”

He toys with the tiny, sharp instrument, rolling it between his fingers.

“I’d be lying if I said the idea of this doesn’t… entice me.” He gently pokes at one of his own fingers, testing the waters. “And having you put this level of trust in me?” He meets your gaze. “It’s nothing short of an honor.”

“Then…” You feel heat rising to your own cheeks, and flex your fingers before offering him your left hand. “Please?”

He takes it in his, and pauses with a question. “Are you sure this is where you want it? Other areas would likely be… less sensitive. L-less painful, I mean. They… might also bleed less though…”

You nod. “Yes. I want it all, pain included.”

He smirks, running his thumb along the length of your middle finger. “You’re a little crazy, you know that?”

You pout playfully. “Only a little? …Gotta step up my game then…”

He shakes his head, laughing beneath his breath. Focus returning to your hand, he requests your preference. “Through the fingertip, like the first one?”

A rush of excitement tightens your chest. “Yeah, uh… the middle one, this time, please.”

He holds the appendage steady, readying the pin. “So polite…” He glances up at you. “A countdown this time, or no?”

You shake your head. “No… uh, again, in your own time.”

He picks up on the slight nervous edge in your voice. “You don’t have to watch, love.”

You consider it, and close your eyes. “Just… for this first one.”

You feel the tiniest point of pressure against the pad of your finger.

“No second thoughts yet?”

Your lips curl up at the edges.

“None.”

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until he mentions it. “Breathe for me, doll.”

You obey.

“In…”

Your lungs fill.

“Out…”

You breathe out, slow at first, and then hard, as you feel the thin metal pierce through your sensitive skin. Your free hand grips the bedsheets and a sudden heat washes over you. Matt’s calm voice is quick to fill your ears.

“Good, good. There you go, you’re okay.”

You open your eyes and sure enough, he’s mirrored the first injury. Not too deep, just enough to hurt, and draw blood when removed.

His thumb rubs distracting circles into your palm. “How are you feeling now?”

Your shaky breath turns into quiet laughter, and you feel a little unhinged as you look him in the eye. “Good… really good.”

Relief softens his features, and warms his smile. “Good. You did very well.”

Your cheeks heat from the praise, the feeling mixing deliciously with the slight throb of pain. “You-” You take in a breath. “You can take it out now.”

He shifts slightly in his position beneath you. “You sure? I’m in no rush, doll, we can take our time with this.”

“I know, I know… but I want it to bleed.” You unfurl your right hand from the sheets, reaching out to rest it on his left shoulder. “Besides, I hate to make you wait for your reward.”

His brows raise. “Reward?”

“You didn’t think I’d have you pierce me just to keep the blood all to myself, did you?” You grin. “It’d be an awful waste.”

“That’s…” His own breath grows slightly heavier, and you revel in it. “…Very generous of you, love.”

He takes the end of the pin between his fingertips, careful not to tug on it. His eyes ask for permission, and you grant it with a nod. You don’t close your eyes this time. You do squeeze his shoulder, though.

Slowly, gently, he pulls the pin back, and you watch in rapt fascination as it moves through your skin. Your breath hitches the slightest bit when it slides fully out, and comfort spills from Matthew’s lips. “Sh-sh-shhh, you’re okay, you’re okay… it’s out now.” The mixture of comfort, pain, and praise that he’s giving you is enough to make you dizzy. You love it. Maybe too much. A brief thought passes that you may never get enough.

It fades when he looks up at you, and you see the restrained desire in his eyes. It mixes with surprise. “Oh-oh! I didn’t know you were watching that time…”

You raise a brow. “Is that okay?”

A beat passes, and he laughs, soft and breathy. “Of course. Of course it is.”

Blood is already beading at your fingertip, so you raise it up in offering. “You’re really good at this.”

He eyes your fresh little wounds and a faint sense of satisfaction blooms deep within him. “…Am I?”

His eyes close as he takes the tip of your finger between his lips, and you bite back an embarrassing noise when you feel him apply light suction. “S- shit- you sure are...”

Your lidded eyes graze across his features, and they catch on the new scar adorning his cheek. They remain there even after he’s released your finger, and as you allow that hand to fall to your lap, you reach out to him with the other. He doesn’t pull away when you cup his cheek, but he does comment after a quick breath to collect himself. “Like I said earlier… ‘s just a scratch.”

You gently brush over the raised line with your thumb, a pout turning your lips down. “Scratches don’t leave scars…”

He cups a hand over yours, blinking slowly. “I’m okay, truly.” Tongue poking out from between his wet lips again, he smiles. “Feeling better than okay right now, thanks to you.”

You look from his scar, to his eyes, and back to his scar a few times as an urge blooms within you. It’s a familiar one, often fought back, and re-emerging with renewed intensity every time.

You let it win tonight.

Leaning down toward him, giving him ample time to stop you, you move to press a kiss to his cheek. He makes no attempt to object.

His breath catches, almost imperceptible if you weren’t so close, as your lips meet his freshly scarred skin. You linger for a moment that feels like forever, before pulling away. When your eyes open and meet once more, the room feels warmer.

…Maybe it’s just you.

His eyes flutter closed again as he leans into your touch, still cupping his cheek. His other hand finds yours, joining it on your lap.

As the two of you bask in your respective little highs, you feel uncharacteristically bold. So when a question arises, you don’t dismiss it as you’ve done in the past.

“Matthew?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you ever think about kissing me?”

His eyes blink open.

“I… do kiss you?”

You smile at the innocent confusion.

“Not… not like I just did. Not on my cheek, or my forehead, or my hand…”

Your thumb brushes past the corner of his mouth.

“On my lips.”

His eyes widen.

“…Oh.”

You didn’t think his face could grow much warmer, but it does.

“I… well…” He seems reluctant to answer, and you wonder what’s holding him back.

“It’s okay if you don’t, love. I just… wonder, sometimes.”

He closes his eyes for a moment, seeming to come to a quiet conclusion. “…I do, though.” His words suddenly have a desperate edge to them. “I have, and I do. But… I feel like I shouldn’t.”

Your head tilts to the side. “Shouldn’t think about it?”

“N-” He falters. “…Yes… that’s… part of it. I do feel like I shouldn’t sometimes. I don’t ever want to push that sort of affection on you. I- I’d be okay if we never… went there. Honestly. Just… having you- the honor of calling you mine. That’s more than enough for me.”

Your eyes threaten to water from the effort of containing your emotions. “That means a lot to me, you know? That you don’t want to push me. But… I’d like to put that inner conflict of yours at ease. Because I think about it too.”

“You do?” There’s genuine disbelief in his voice.

You nod. “I sure do. Ha… honestly, I fear it’s a bit… obvious, sometimes.”

He shrugs, shaking his head slowly. “I mean… I never want to assume. I’m not always the best at reading people…”

“Well, what if I make it clear, hm?” You lock in on his gaze. “I want to kiss you too, Matthew.”

Flustered by the direct confession, he trips over his words. “I- ahaha- well, wow. Uhm- I mean, you see…”

Your voice is soft. “What is it, love?”

“I’m…” He closes his eyes. “Afraid.”

You first try the lighthearted method of easing his fears. “I promise I won’t bite…”

In spite of his apparent inner conflict, he laughs. “Not, uh, not of that… but thank you. It’s, eh…”

“You can be candid with me, honey.”

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t want to… get you sick.”

You blink. “Do you… feel a cold coming on, or…?”

You move your hand up to feel his forehead, but right now he’s flushed all over, so… oh. Oh, maybe you’ve been misinterpreting that.

Mirroring your earlier exchange, he pulls your hand down with a small smile. “No… not that kind of sick. I mean…” He toys with your fingers as he finds his words. “Sometimes I feel like there’s something inside me. Something dangerous. Something bad. I’m afraid of passing it to you.”

You glance at your wrist, and its slowly growing collection of black lines. “Honey… I think that whatever lives within you is already in me too.” You tap a few times on your chest, right over both of your hearts. “You know?”

“Yeah… I do.” His gaze lingers on your chest, but you can sense that it’s innocent. Honestly, it’s almost like he’s looking more through you than at you. From his next words, you can tell that his mind’s a little far away. “Still, though… I fear that there’s more. Something worse. Something that wouldn’t serve you. I… I don’t know what it is.”

You mull his words over, and come to a rational conclusion. Well. As rational as you’re capable of being in your current state.

You reach out to place a finger beneath his chin, your thumb dangerously close to his lower lip. It doesn’t take much more than that to bring him back into the here and now with you. “Even so. I’m not scared. I wouldn’t be here with you today if I was afraid of taking risks.”

His lips part slightly as you pause, but he doesn’t interrupt you.

“If you really don’t want to, I will not pressure you. I won’t bring this up again unless you do. But regardless- I need you to know this, Matthew.”

For once, he’s the one holding his breath.

“I don’t care if you’re sick. I don’t care if it’s contagious. Hell, I’d kiss you even if you were dead.”

His tongue darts out to wet his lips again. A subconscious thing, you figure.

Satisfied that you’ve made your stance clear, you move to release your gentle hold on his chin.

His hand flies up to stop you.

“Please.”

You freeze.

“Please… what?”

His tone is full of quiet desperation.

“Kiss me. Please. I want it too, I do, I do.”

Your breath grows shallow.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

You allow your hand to slide until it’s cupping the back of his jaw, and you lean down slowly. He rises to meet you halfway, you both close your eyes, and together, you give in.

It’s desperate and clumsy, trembling breaths and shaky hands. Your uneven positioning doesn’t lend itself well to the action, and your shared inexperience makes itself quietly known.

But it’s passionate, it’s intimate, vulnerable, and honest.

It’s far from perfect. It’s real.

Neither of you would change a single thing.

Breaking apart, you both descend into fits of quiet giggles. Eyes still closed and foreheads pressed together, you lean into each other, catching your breath.

When you’re calm enough to speak, you pull back, squeezing his hands in yours. “You’re so warm…”

He laces his fingers between yours. “You’re so soft…”

He shifts in his half-kneeling stance at the bed beside you, and it suddenly hits you. “Gods, how long have I kept you like this?”

The sudden question pulls him halfway out of his post-kiss daze. “Like what?”

You laugh, embarrassed. “On the floor in front of me! I’ve been so caught up in… in- in you, I didn’t even think about it, I…”

He shakes his head, tone completely unbothered. “It’s alright, doll! Really, it’s…” He stares up at you for a moment, and exhales. “It’s far from a bad position to be in.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “Even so, you can’t be comfortable. C’mon, we’re getting you back in this bed with me properly.”

You move to encourage him to stand, and he puts his hands down on the edge of the bed to support himself. Only, instead of standing, he flinches with a quiet “Ow!” When he pulls his hand back, you’re mortified to see the pin he’d used on you earlier sticking out of his palm.

“Oh, fuck- Matt- here- let me see.” You reach for his wrist, and he lets you take it.

You sigh in relief once you hold it in the light. It’s not buried to the hilt, just about halfway. It hasn’t pierced through his hand completely, but the sight still makes you cringe. Guilt is quick to wash over you. “Matt, I’m so sorry, this is my fault.”

You hear the smile in his voice before you see it. “It’s okay, poppet. It hardly even hurt, just took me by surprise more than anything.”

You throw him a skeptical look, and he doubles down. “Honest! And anyways, it’s not your fault that I left it lying on the bed.”

You frown. “I distracted you…”

He shrugs. “I’d say it was well worth it, given the type of distraction.”

Shaking your head, you cradle his hand in yours. “I’m still sorry.” Looking at him with worried eyes, you make an offer. “I can take it out, if you want me to. Or- or you can! I mean- whatever you’re comfortable with…”

He nods, his smile soft. “You can do it, doll. You won’t hurt me.”

The confidence- (or is it trust?)- in his words surprises you. It shouldn’t, you suppose, given that this is nothing compared to the whole heart-transplant-thing. He wasn’t quite conscious for that, though…

Still, you don’t take the job lightly. Carefully steadying his hand, you reach to grasp the end of the pin. “Do you want me to count?”

He mirrors your words from earlier. “No, it’s okay. In your own time.”

You hold the pin steady, and pull. Not too fast, not too slow, you try to mirror how he did it for you, and it’s out in no time. He doesn't even flinch. You frown at the offending object as you place it on your bedside table with purpose. “Bad pin, bad.”

Chuckling, he flexes his hand in your hold. “It’s really alright, you know? I’m not upset.”

Your focus returns to his palm, watching blood bead up out of the tiny hole. Apparently deciding to continue acting out your prior exchange in reverse, he offers it up to you. “That’s yours, if you’d like.”

You raise an eyebrow, skeptical. “…I’ve hardly earned it.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not something to be earned. I’m giving it willingly. You’re welcome to any part of me… whenever you want it.” He catches your downcast gaze. “Always.”

Flustered by his sincerity, you try to let go of the guilt nagging at you. Focusing on the blood collecting in his palm, you recall the taste from last time.

You crave it.

Leaning down, you kitten-lick at the tiny puddle. Once you catch a taste, though, you’re quick to lave your tongue over it in earnest. He watches you closely.

Shutting your eyes, you savor his offering, but it’s quick work nonetheless, his injury healing as fast as yours had.

Once his hand is cleaned, you thank him, feeling fire on your cheeks.

“Hmm. I feel like I should be the one thanking you.” He remarks while moving to stand. Surely his knees are killing him, but he voices no complaint. He’s far more content than you’d seen him all day, actually.

He stretches with a yawn before falling into step and making his way around the bed to rejoin you. He combs his fingers through his half-damp hair, feathering it out. You watch in quiet admiration as it drapes across his shoulders.

The man has nicer hair than you do, you think to yourself for the millionth time since knowing him. Not in true jealousy, of course, but it has always surprised you. In your early meetings, you’d only ever seen a hint of it, peeking out from beneath the neck of his mask. He keeps it tied back and tucked away when he’s working, so it wasn’t until the two of you had some genuine alone-time together that you’d been graced with a proper view of it.

Milk-chocolate brown, silky-smooth, and pin-straight. He had the type of hair you’d once envied, seemingly effortless to care for. He never had to do much to make it look nice. But of course, he’d always brush it off when you said so. Seeming almost flustered, he was often unsure of what to do with your compliments, especially in the beginning. You did your best to lay them on easy.

The bed shifts once again beneath his weight, and this time you don’t flinch at all. Sitting back against the headboard, he shuffles up beside you. You lean into him as the mattress dips and he stretches out his left arm, wrapping it around you.

“Comfy?” He asks.

“Mmmhm.” You hum.

Reaching out for his hand, you pull it toward you. You love his hands, and he knows it. Luckily, he’s never seemed bothered by your penchant for hanging onto them. Quite the opposite, if you were to guess. You aren’t oblivious to his possessive nature, after all.

Idly manipulating his fingers, you quietly admire them for the thousandth time. You’ve made yourself quite familiar with every scar, callus, and crease on these strong hands. With one thought as to all that they’re capable of, it still baffles you how gently he handles you. He always has.

That doesn’t mean it’s never hurt. Sometimes pain is necessary. Or, at the very least, it’s unavoidable. But he was always gentle about it. Injuring you, bandaging you, feeding you, caring for you… hell, even that time he prepared to kill you, he was gentle about it.

You can hurt someone gently.

You can pleasure someone roughly.

…There may be a few wires crossed in your brain. You laugh to yourself softly.

“What’s funny, love?”

You shake your head before resting it on his shoulder. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just thinking.”

Even when he was scared, or angry, his gentle touch never faltered.

You sometimes wonder if it was fear, or rage, that caused his hands to tremble after your encounter with Mr. T. Was it fear of losing you? Was it anger at what the man had done? Honestly, it could’ve simply been the adrenaline rush of having just finally killed the man.

…Regardless. It wasn’t lost on you how hard he tried to keep himself composed, diligently removing pin, after pin, after pin.

That’s the only part of that awful memory that you don’t mind.

Well, that, and the confession of his feelings for you. That was certainly a highlight too.

Manually curling his fingers one by one into his palm, you run your thumb over the symbol of Venus, tattooed on his middle finger. Every time you see it, you hear his voice in your mind, answering your inquiry as to its meaning.

“Because I’m a feminist.” He’d stated matter-of-factly.

You pull his hand up further, and plant a kiss on the reminder inked into his skin.

He turns his head, planting one on the crown of your head in turn.

Using your thumb to push his fingers back out, you frown at the sight of the new scar on his palm. It’s a tiny thing, honestly. Unnoticeable unless you’re looking for it.

You huff, and plant another kiss there anyways.

Matt breathes his laughter into your hair.

“Y’know, I’d been planning on piercing myself anyways, and offering you my blood in turn. That little accident with the pin really just cut out half the work for me.”

Your eyes widen and you lean away to turn and look at him directly. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean- you were so generous with me today… it only felt fair.”

“I wasn’t expecting… you… you didn’t have to do that.”

His hand comes to life, turning the tables and beginning to gently play with yours.

“Okay… okay, I’ll admit.” His thumb taps thoughtfully over the black dots adorning your fingertips. “Fairness wasn’t the only motivating factor.”

The undercurrent of suggestion in his tone sparks your interest. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” He thoughtfully hums.

“Well, if you had further plans, I certainly never meant to interrupt.”

He considers it, softly pinching your fingers between his own. “Well. You did seem to imply earlier that you wanted more than one piercing. I’m still very willing to help.”

At the prospect, you grow a little bold. “Would you be willing to let me return the favor? You shouldn’t be doing all the work.”

He smiles, playful. “Haven’t had your fill of me yet, hm?”

You reach out to your nightstand, retrieving the pin once more. “I don’t think I could ever get enough, love.”

The two of you settle in, taking a few turns carefully piercing one another and nursing the blood. You keep the focus on your hands, for tonight, at least.

At one point, his palm brushes across the stub where your left pinky once was, and a shiver runs down your spine. His voice slips out, low and apologetic. “Sorry, poppet.”

“It’s alright… ‘s just sensitive sometimes.” You’re willing to move past the moment, but he lingers on it.

“I really never wanted to do that.”

“I know. I… it could’ve been a lot worse.”

Pain and regret seeps into his voice.

“It shouldn’t have happened at all. But they… didn’t give me much choice.”

You recall the hammer he held that night, and how he set it aside instead of turning it on you.

“You bent the rules as far as you could without breaking them. I know that.”

“I told you how I went back and made them pay in the end, right?”

You nod, but still, you question him, wanting to hear it again.

“They suffered?”

His left arm tightens around you.

“Absolutely.”

You relax against him, nodding in approval.

“Very good.”

He holds his own left pinky out for you, and you pierce it slowly.

When you’re both comfortably high off of one another, you will yourself to move one final time to set the pin safely aside.

As you curl back into Matt’s side, you notice his latest wound, still smeared with a small amount of congealing, black blood. Bringing it to your lips without hesitation, you mumble to yourself. “Getting sloppy with my work… shame on me.”

After cleaning up the mess and kissing it better one final time, you let your head fall back against the pillows. Matt regards you with lidded eyes and a soft laugh, reaching down to cup your cheek. You question him with a soft sound, and his voice is low when he answers you.

“You’ve still got my blood on your lips.”

Having lost your brain-to-mouth filter several piercings ago, you pose a bold solution.

“How about you help me clean it off then?”

You hear his heart pick up its pace at the invitation.

“Oh, I’d love to.”

Bringing his lips to meet yours for the second time tonight, you both melt into the kiss. It’s slow, and lazy, neither of you in a hurry to pull away. Even through your shared haze, when his hand finds the back of your neck and his fingertips press softly into the muscles there, it sends a jolt of pleasure through you that makes your head spin.

He pulls away to keep from laughing into the kiss. “Sorry, love. Didn’t know that would… affect you so strongly.”

Your tired eyes flutter open, and you speak between heavy breaths. “Don’t be.” You snake your hand around the back of his neck, and pull him down into you once again.

When you’ve both exhausted your air and energy, you roll over, wrapping yourself around him. As you lay there, head on his chest in the cozy, quiet room, a distant thought occurs to you.

“…Damn.”

“…Hmm?” His questioning hum reverberates in your ear.

“I never got the rest of the laundry out of the dryer.”

He huffs a laugh, pulling you in close.

“What’s so bad about that? The machine turns itself off.”

“Yeah, but… the laundry will get wrinkled…”

You trail off, and after a moment of thought, you both come to a decision together, voicing it aloud in sync.

“Ah, fuck it.”

Tiredly giggling at the jinx, the two of you give up the fight against sleep.

In the dark, beneath the sheets, your hands find each other, and you lace your sore fingers together, squeezing gently.

A/N: If you'd like to read my thoughts in regards to the process of writing this fic, as well as the musical inspiration behind it, you can find all of that over here, in the end-notes on Ao3! Header Image Sources: x - x - x (they're from Pinterest again, i know i know don't yell at me) My playlist and pin board for Matt. Lastly, of course, here's the link to The Malenkee Saga, and here's a link to Matt's videos if you're just looking for him.

#Jimち ASMR #Malenkee Saga #fanfic #horror #blood play #needle play #blood drinking #my writing #🧷 Matt 🔨#dead dove fic #dead dove do not eat #gun mention #blood mention #cw sh #implied sa #cw implied sa #cw blood #cw injury #cw body horror #cw needles #i didn't mean for this to get quite so long but. listen.#sometimes you sit down to write a needle play fic and end up spending the first 2k words writing about soup #it's alright we got there in the end. as uh. tame as it may have been #listen it's their first time they're not gonna do a full back piece or smthn #anyways this is the first thing i've written in a few months and i'm pretty content with it. felt like a good warmup #it also feels good to finally have written the sequel that i mentioned wanting to make after writing the first Matt fic last year #this feels like i finally reached the point i was aiming for when writing the first one. it feels like a more comfy/satisfying ending #i don't rlly mind that it took two fics to get there though. dunno if i'll ever write a 3rd it just depends on if inspiration strikes #i had fun revisiting this old blorbo of mine though! he's always there with the rest living in the back of my mind <3

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