#before I move on to continue writing and ignoring the parts of canon I don’t like
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the-bi-space-ace · 9 months ago
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Okay I’m going to talk about cutting off Crosshair’s hand because while I know plenty of people see a lot of symbolism in it and think it was a good decision I have things to say about it.
I have CPTSD which has a lot of different symptoms. One of them is trembling or shaking. There’s a lot of complexities tied up in it but I’m not going to go into more detail because it’s not a fun thing to talk about.
What I liked about Crosshair’s trauma was that it impacted him not only mentally and emotionally but also physically. It’s very representative of what it’s actually like dealing with symptoms from something like PTSD and CPTSD (there are differences between these two that I won’t go into rn). I loved that we got to see a physical symptom of something psychological. It’s so rare that it’s handled well. Because yeah meditation and safety will help, certainly, but oftentimes it’s not the end all be all. I’m safe. I’m protected. I take care of my mental well being. But I still have symptoms that say the opposite. Because it’s not as simple as ‘no longer in the bad situation therefore the symptoms will stop’. I’ve made my peace that it’s lifelong and, honestly, Crosshair’s symptoms would be lifelong as well.
Cutting off his hand…
Here’s the thing.
The show really makes it seem like cutting off his hand is something he needed to move forward. He needed to be rid of the symptom because it was a physical reminder and it was holding him back from moving on. Cutting off the hand means no more shaking which means he’s healed. No more shaking hand=no more trauma. He can finally move on with his life.
And to that I say ouch.
There’s been plenty of times my symptoms are inconvenient to myself or others. Times when I wish I could just make it stop. Times when I’m terrified that it’s holding me back and I’m screwed up and that’s all I’ll ever be: broken. There are plenty of times I know people wish i could just knock it off and get over it and cut it out but that’s not how it works. Like I said. I’ve made peace with this thing that’ll be with me forever.
It was refreshing to see him try to adapt to dealing with it instead of ignoring it or trying to get rid of the part of him that was hurting. I loved that. It was such a freeing thing to see. Someone who will live with the hurt and the symptoms and it doesn’t make him any less. It just makes him have to do life a little different.
I hate that they cut off his hand. I hate that it wasn’t handled with any sort of nuance or delicacy. And I hate that this thing that made me so proud of him, so proud to share something with him, just got cut off for… what? Shock? To ‘fix’ him?
If we had gotten more time with the loss of his hand maybe I’d feel differently. Hell, I’d love to see how Crosshair adapts to losing his hand, see how he learns to accommodate. It would give him and Echo something to bond over and talk about, finding healing with each other. I think this could’ve been done well. I’d still be on the fence about it but I would’ve held my breath and saw how it played out.
I fully expect people to roll their eyes at me here. I expect that people will say that I just don’t get it or that this isn’t what they intended. I’m sure this isn’t what they intended. At least I hope it isn’t. But what they intended doesn’t change how insensitively this was handled after a whole season of him unpacking his hurt and trying to learn to adapt to it. No one reacted to it, not even Crosshair, and we got no unpacking of what happened. I’m not happy with this but it is what it is I guess.
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dyk3tastic · 6 months ago
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can’t have both
victoria neuman (the boys) x reader
genre: angst, tension
summary: set during 4x07 of the boys. you, a member of the boys, run into victoria at tek-nights whilst looking for hughie. danger leads to a brief moment of vulnerability between you two.
warnings: blood, violence, canon-typical threats of violence, language, non-con touching
a/n: my first post on my new blog :p. been obsessed with her and needed somewhere to dump this sexy headpopper brainrot. lmk if you’d like me to write more of her or any other hot ‘evil’ women (shes not evil, just misunderstood (ignore all the homocide)). haven’t posted ff in years lol im being sucked back in. written off an edible at 4am excuse any spag errors. (heya, this is shy from the future, you can now read part 2 & part 3 of this if u fancy :p )
she has you pinned, strong lithe fingers wrapped around your neck, squeezing. the other gripping firm across your jaw, sure to leave a bruise, keeping you quiet. you think all this is unnecessary, you don’t have a death wish; screaming, drawing any attention to yourself, in a house full of supes and nazis wasn’t exactly high on your wishlist. you glared up at her deep brown eyes, they were as collected as she always so desperately tried to appear, the only hint of panic setting along her tight jaw. looming over you in her heels you loved so much, you’re eyes see her mouth moving but no words register. you wonder how she can even cope at things like this, how she can stomach this disgusting parade of privilege and abuse. the victoria you knew would fucking hate this, but you didn’t know her, not really.
its only her tightening grip on your jaw, making your teeth scrape against each other, pain shooting through your skull that brings you back.
“you’re a fucking idiot” she gritted through a clenched jaw. she took a deep, shaky breath. if you didn’t know better you’d think she was nervous. “pull any of your usual shit on me right now and i swear to god i will paint that pretty face of yours across the room”. her voice was barely above a whisper, inches away from your face her warm breath prickled against your skin, stray strands of her soft dark hair brushing against your cheek. you don’t think you’ve been this close to her since you found out, your heart pounded in your chest, body thrumming with nerves and tension. she released her hand from over your mouth, “what are you doing here?” she spat out, with that familiar patronising yet pitiful victoria stare that tells you you’ve once again made a bad decision, the wrong decision. you gasp for breath, she loosens her grip on your neck, but still keeps her fingers settled over your pulse point, a reminder of who’s in charge.
you try to keep your voice even as you rasp out a “hughie”, throat still throbbing from her grip. “your pal tek-night has got him locked up here somewhere”. continuing to cough out you snarl “you remember hughie right? your friend who you lied to and manipulated for years?”. hot piercing anger was rising through your body whilst something deep sunk in your stomach, settling in a twisted concoction of desire and disgust, a needy pit of betrayal. overwhelmed and once again underprepared, you fingers inch towards the syringe in your back pocket. before you can even swing for her neck your arm is pinned, blood running from both your nostrils, dripping over your lips, down your chin and neck, her grip around your neck tight.
“what did i fucking say?” she sighed, disappointed.
“i thought we were-“ your voice fails you, your anger clouding any chance of vulnerability, of reconciliation.
“i wanted to tell you” a beat of silence. “i did. and hughie. i wanted to tell you both.” she lets out a sad, tired half-laugh, grip not faltering from your neck. “i wanted to trust you but i didn’t want to lose you.” she swallows. “and i didn’t think i could have both, i’ve never been able to have both”. the slip in her mask of cool confidence, the crack of vulnerability, makes you feel slightly sick as you are unable to squash the warmth of empathy in your chest. you flinch at the melancholy that swims below her beautiful features, that deep sadness painting her eyes that made her so fucking irresistible. you felt sick again.
“just get it over with vic.” you choked out, mouth filling with blood. she frowned in response, taking a moment as she felt your heart beat, blood pumping fast and heavy through your body, she could tell you were scared. feeling the heat from your skin, she knew her closeness was having an effect on you, she let a smirk tug at the corners of her full lips.
“i’m not going to fucking kill you.” she dryly chuckled. letting go of her grip on your neck and wrist, she swiped the pad of her thumb over your lips, dragging down across your chin. as she stepped back from you your traitor body instantly missed her presence looming over you. you were free to make a run for it, yet there you remained, paralysed before her knowing stare. she raised her thumb to her mouth, licking off your blood in what can only be described as a terrifyingly erotic gesture that was perfectly victoria. both a display of power and some twisted form of tenderness. your breath hitched as you broke eye contact, not daring to say a word for fear of what might come out. she smiled again, this time without that signature smugness, but with a softer expression that she reserved, rarely, for very few, desperately sincere. before you could even allow your seriously lagging brain to formulate a response victoria was striding out of the room without looking back, leaving your blood to dry across your face.
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dottores · 2 years ago
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HELIOTROPES
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pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments
summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.
genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.
warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine, reader gets a bit hurt in this chapter but only briefly.
notes: y'all we are officially 50k words in omg what a milestone. we are almost there--they are going to meet soon... but technically.... well you'll see. there are THREE special cameos in this chapter
A WARM WELCOME
“Now is not the time, doctor.”
Pantalone didn’t even raise his head to look at Dottore as he scribbled away at whatever parchment he was writing on. Dottore pressed his lips together, eyes cold beneath his mask as he watched Pantalone, unmoving. The windows of his office creaked against the winds outside, fireplace crackling to keep the room warm but other than that, silence rang loudly between the two of them.
Finally, when Dottore made no move to leave, Pantalone looked up. “What is it? I have a week to prepare for the induction of the Eleventh. I don’t have time for petty complaints.”
Dottore should be insulted, he could feel his irritation rising at the man’s comment but he forced himself to push it away. He had more important things to deal with, notably, his soulmate and as much as he hated to admit it, Pantalone’s resources were necessary if he wanted to find her before someone else did… before she got herself and by extension, him, hurt.
“You offered me resources a few years ago,” Dottore finally said, watching Pantalone carefully for a reaction. “I would like them now.”
The Regrator was a sharp man. Dottore did not have to go into detail for purple eyes to flicker down to his thumb, where the red thread connected him to his soulmate. He watched as Pantalone’s brows furrowed, as he tried to figure out why the sudden change after years of Dottore denying her very existence to him. 
“You have terrible timing, doctor,” Pantalone murmured, pushing the parchments aside as he leaned back in his seat to look up at Dottore. “My resources have been all but expended between the upcoming event and trying to track down that menace to the east who has been slaughtering our underlings.
Dottore’s lips twisted. “It is not my timing that is terrible,” he said coolly, Pantalone raised his eyebrows and Dottore exhaled. “It’s hers. I believe she is here. In Snezhnaya.”
Pantalone exhaled, turning his head to the side to look out the window. “That’s not good,” he murmured. 
“I know that,” Dottore said shortly.
“Why not send one of your segments?” Pantalone asked after a moment, pen tapping against the wood of his desk in an unsteady manner that had Dottore’s eye twitching in annoyance.
“They’re busy,” Dottore answered tensely. 
A lie. Both Epsilon and Rho were back in Snezhnaya City with nothing to do until Dottore decided what research he wanted them to continue on after finishing a round of successful experiments in Archon residue down in southern Liyue. Dottore just didn’t want to send them after her. 
Epsilon was Epsilon. He could not trust that the segment wouldn’t do something foolish driven by the emotions that the rest of them did not have or were not capable of understanding. He was the one that Dottore worried about the most ever since the thread appeared, fearing that he would do something that would irreparably strengthen the bond… like forcing Dottore to meet her because he thought it would be best for them.
And Rho had been the one most vocal about at least letting the kids meet her and if the kids met her, he knew it would inevitably lead to Dottore meeting her and that was the last thing he wanted. 
He had a feeling that Pantalone could read right through the excuse if the unimpressed look on his face had anything to say about it but Dottore did not waver, raising his chin and staring down at where the man was sitting. 
“Unfortunately, I don’t have the resources to look for her right now,” Pantalone finally said, shaking his head and scooching his chair back to ruffle through one of the drawers of his desk. “If you can send one of your segments to take out the threat in the east, I might be able to conjure some up and have them keep an eye out but right now my hands are tied.”
“Fine,” Dottore said sharply. “Give me the information you’ve gathered. I’ll send a segment to track him down and kill him.”
Pantalone raised his eyebrows again, this time not even bothering to ask the question that Dottore knew was dancing through his mind: I thought your segments were busy, he could hear the mocking words just through the man’s expression. 
Instead, Pantalone just slid a thick folder across the desk to give to Dottore. He snatched it and tucked it under his arm, intent on passing it off to Rho before he returned to his labs, waiting for Pantalone to confirm that he would look for her.
“We don’t want him dead. We want him captured,” Pantalone warned. “Pierro wants information from him… then I’ll convince him to pass him off to you. Another test subject, you’re welcome.”
Dottore only smiled thinly. “And the girl?” he pressed.
“I’ll do what I can,” Pantalone said. “What do you know about where she is? Western or Eastern Snezhnaya? The border? I need to be able to narrow down the search, I can’t send men all across Snezhnaya with the upcoming event. I need them in the city to prepare for the arrivals of the aristocrats.��� 
“I know that she is in Snezhnaya,” Dottore told him. Maybe he would know more if he would swallow his pride and reach out to her, but that simply was not an option. 
Pantalone stared at him, irritation thinly veiled behind his purple eyes. “You do not like making things easy, do you?” the corners of Pantalone’s eyes crinkled in annoyance at Dottore’s words before he finally sighed, shaking his head. 
“I’ll see what I can do,” he finally repeated, “but with nothing to go on, I can make no promises that I’ll find her before someone else does… so, for all of our sakes, I suggest you try to narrow that down.”
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It was cold. 
You knew that was something you should have expected and you thought you prepared adequately for it but now, you thought that no amount of preparation could have made you ready to face this. As soon as you had crossed over into Snezhnaya, the temperature had plummeted, the sheer cold was beyond anything you had ever felt before--cold enough to crack the stones of the buildings in the small villages littered throughout the countryside, cold enough to freeze you from the inside out.
Traveling during the night simply wasn’t feasible, as soon as the sun crossed the horizon, the already bone-chilling temperatures plunged further. You had been lucky the first night when you were traveling down the main road deeper into the northlands--you had bumped into an older man traveling back to his home from the one of the villages, he had ushered you back to his place and he and his wife had looked after you, warning you that you wouldn’t live through the night without shelter in Snezhnaya.
Since then, it’d been a game of survival. The deeper you got into Snezhnaya, the more winding and confusing the roads became, the harder it became to track down villages to find inns to stay at and the more nervous it made you about finding shelter for the night. You thought that Snezhnaya was a trap laid out for foreigners, only those who were born and raised there knew how to navigate the lands without meeting an untimely end. 
The tundra of the east appeared endless, a daunting venture you dared not make, and the forests of the west were dark and maze-like with dangerous creatures prowling about and the threat of getting lost and not making it to an inn before night fell was high… but the forest was the only way through to the mountain range south of the Snezhnayan capital city. If you wanted to get to the heart of the Fatui, you would have to trek through the forest and pray you stumbled upon one of the villages before the sunset. 
You exhaled, leaning back in your seat at the bar of the inn you were staying at as you swirled your empty glass between your fingers. You had reached the end of the main road, the only way further into Snezhnaya was through the forest now but the thought of entering it made you anxious. A part of you thought you might be better off heading back home. 
“Another?” the bartender questioned as he walked by you but you only shook your head, thanking him quietly as you remained lost in your own thoughts. 
You couldn’t turn back. Not now, not yet. You had promised yourself and your father that you wouldn’t return home until you had ample evidence to bring this to court… unless you died trying to get it.
Your grandfather didn’t want you going north. He thought that no amount of evidence would be worth you risking your life for but you disagreed. You didn’t think there was any world in which you’d be able to live with yourself knowing you didn’t even try. 
From the corner of your eye, you noticed that he was looking at you again--the man sitting at a table in the corner of the room. You couldn’t see his face, there was a hood masking it from view but you could feel his eyes on you, he’d been watching you for nearly thirty minutes now. A part of you wanted to confront him, grab your stuff and head over to his table and demand to know why he kept staring at you but… the more logical part of you knew you shouldn’t. You didn’t know why he was staring at you and all of the worst possibilities were running through your head:
Does he know what you’re here for?
Is he Fatui?
Is he planning on attacking you?
Your vision vibrated from where it was hidden beneath your cloak, warning you to prepare for a battle but you were not the battle type. You had never learned how to wield your vision in a combat manner and you didn’t know if he had a vision or not, you only knew that he had a large claymore set down on the seat next to him and all you had was a small blade that couldn’t even be called a sword. You had only learned to use your vision in the way your father and grandfather taught you when you were younger and it was not something you enjoyed doing to people. 
Finally, you forced yourself to stand up. Your gaze caught the window on the far end of the room as you rose to your feet--it was dark already, night had fallen and the hazard of the cold had become even more real. 
With a sharp inhale, you turned on your heel to make your way over to the table the man was sitting at. You watched as his head turned to follow you as you approached him and you watched as his body tensed, gloved fingers gripping the edge of the table tight as you slid onto the bench across from him.
“Is there a reason you keep staring at me?” you finally asked. You leaned back against the wall that the bench was placed against, feigning ease, but your legs were tense, ready to move at the first sign of an attack.
“You’re not from here,” the man said after a moment of silence, you caught a glimpse of red beneath the hood he wore. His accent was foreign--unlike the Snezhnayan dialect you’d become used to throughout your travels. 
“Neither are you,” you retorted. He shifted back in his seat, the lighting of the inn revealing equally red hair hanging in his eyes, cold and empty with something dark thinly veiled behind them that made your skin crawl--eyes that had witnessed massacre, eyes that promised vengeance. Vengeance for what? You didn’t know. You weren’t sure you wanted to know, you knew it would lead to nothing good. 
You suddenly felt as if you had made a mistake. 
“There aren’t many foreigners this deep in Snezhnaya,” he noted cooly. “Just merchants… are you a merchant?”
Somehow, you felt as if ‘yes’ was the wrong answer. 
He was accusing you of something, you could feel it in your bones but you didn’t know what he was accusing you of. Being a spy? Was he Fatui? 
“I’m not a merchant,” you said, taking in a small puff of air when you caught the blood smeared across the man’s chin and neck as the hanging lights in the middle of the tavern swayed a bit. His lips pressed together subtly at your words and your vision was becoming even more erratic--danger, danger, danger, it warned you.
Somehow, you knew now that ‘no’ had been the wrong answer too. 
“It’s hard traveling through Snezhnaya without knowing what paths to take, you can get lost easily… all of the paths on the old maps have been snowed out,” he responded. “How’d you make do?” 
“An older couple living off the main road pointed me in the right direction,” you told him. “How about you? Are you a merchant?”
You knew he wasn’t. No merchant traveled with blood staining their faces and a weapon the size of the average person. He had no goods that he had arrived with, he’d shown up at the inn a little after you had with only his sword in tow and his eyes were unfriendly and glacial, unlike the faux charisma that painted the expressions of merchants as they tried to get you to buy their products.
The man stared at you for a moment and then he said, “No,” with no further explanation.
The Fatui usually traveled in groups or as pairs. He had a foreign accent. He wore no mask or sigil that affiliated him with the organization as they usually did. Who the hell was he?
And then you remembered the hushed whispers of the elderly couple you had stayed with--warning you that the Fatui had become more active in their area because of a belligerent wreaking havoc throughout central Snezhnaya who had been spotted at a nearby inn. They told you to take care because they didn’t think that the Fatui would take kindly to any outsider in the area so long as the hostile remained terrorizing their strongholds but…
Was this…?
You watched him carefully, trying to figure it out without having to ask. You were several miles from where you had been staying with them now and it had been two and a half days. Traveling through Snezhnaya was slow and arduous, the wind fought you with every step and half of the time you were dragging yourself through snow that reached your knees. 
If this was him, then maybe… 
You didn’t even have a chance to finish the thought, head snapping to the side as the door to the inn slammed open and cold air rushed through the tavern at the entrance, blowing out half of the candles keeping the room lit up. Your stomach churned uncomfortably and from the corner of your eye, you watched as the man you were sitting with reached for his weapon. 
Who the hell was traveling in the dead of night?
Your throat felt tight as you watched another hooded figure step into the inn. You couldn’t make out his features in the dim lighting, you couldn’t even tell if he was armed or not but there was an odd vial that glowed blue even in the dark hanging from his right ear.
The bartender had paused in making a drink for one of the other patrons of the tavern, a wary look visible on his face that you caught as the chandelier swung dangerously beneath a harsh wind. You let out a shaky breath, the cold from outside was already creeping beneath your cloak and freezing your skin. You wondered why no one was shouting at him to close the damn door like they did to other people who arrived until the bartender finally spoke up, voice shaky: 
“Lord Harbinger,” he breathed out. “How can I-”
The man’s head turned in your direction--no, you realized, not your direction, his--and that was the only warning you got before the world around you exploded. 
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The entire right side of his body felt like it was on fire. Dottore let out a spew of curses as his hand spasm and he dropped the vial he had been studying right to the ground, watching as the glass shattered and the silvery liquid splattered all over the floor, dissolving the tiles and eating through the ground.
Dottore exhaled, briefly shutting his eyes before looking down at the mess on the floor. His lips twisted in annoyance as he realized he was going to have to restart what he had been testing but the annoyance very quickly faded, instead shifting into confusion as the pain persisted. His gaze drew over to his arm--nothing was wrong with it on the surface level but it was a blinding type of pain that had him gritting his teeth, like a jagged blade was tearing through his bicep.
It was…
He hadn’t felt anything from her in nearly two weeks. No anxiety, no fear, no anger or sadness and certainly not any pain. He stared down at his arm, where the pain was coming from, and not for the first time since the accursed thread showed up, Dottore had no idea what to do. He thought that he should reach out to her, figure out what was going on and get a general idea of where she was so he could send one of his segments to find her. The pain was more than anything he had ever experienced through her and he wasn’t sure if it was just because she had a low pain tolerance and he was feeling what she was, or if it was because the pain was actually that bad. 
Neither boded well for her. 
But if he reached out to her, if she was fighting someone, it could distract her. 
Dottore’s teeth grit together. He didn’t know what would happen to him or the segments if she died. He didn’t know how it would affect them. Logically, he thought it shouldn’t affect them at all. They hadn’t met her yet and if the bond worked anything like how they believed it did, it shouldn’t take effect until after they met, which wasn’t going to happen… but after two weeks of silence, Dottore was unsure. Every day that passed, an odd, unfamiliar feeling expanded through his chest. He didn’t know how to describe it besides overwhelming and unwelcome but he knew it was because of her silence and the lack of communication through the bond. It caused an emptiness that made him question everything they had learned about the bond. 
And if mere silence could cause that, he wasn’t sure he wanted to risk knowing what her death would cause.
Are you okay? 
He asked it before he could decide against it, taking a seat back down at the lab table he had been working at as he waited for a response. Each second felt like an eternity, he could hear the silver liquid still eating through the ground below, sizzling and cracking as the floor dissolved wherever it touched the substance. 
He wondered if she would just ignore him like he did to her for years on end.
But then, his forearm stung--a familiar feeling that he hadn’t experienced in two weeks now. He hated how that empty feeling he hadn’t been able to get rid of since he had pushed her away immediately disappeared. It made him feel weak… as if he had no control over his own emotions like a puppet on a string being commanded by a stranger. He glanced down at his arm, red eyes flying over the words that had appeared.
Does it feel like I’m okay?
At once, he rolled his eyes, regretting reaching out to her. He rose to his feet again, pacing across the room to get the tools he needed to clean the mess of his mistake but before he even got halfway there, the pain tripled and a creeping fear began to spread through his chest. He grimaced as he leaned on a nearby counter, trying to regain control over himself but he found that he couldn’t--her fear and pain was simply too intense.
What happened? 
He slid down against the counter he was leaning on until he was sat on the floor. He watched the silvery liquid from the corner of his eye, watching as it ate through the ground closer and closer to him as he waited for a response from her. He despised how he couldn’t compartmentalize her feelings. He had learned how to separate them from his and the other segments but he had never figured out how to store them away and convert them into something that was easier for him to process. 
Attacked. 
Dottore felt cold. His gaze drew over to the window on the opposite wall of his lab--it was dark out, the sun had long set and the wind was harsh. He wondered if the coldness was a result of the damning realization that she was in trouble or if it was because she was outside. Either way, Dottore needed to act--if she was still being attacked, he had to get one of the segments there and if she was stuck in the cold running after being attacked, she would die to nature.
Dottore tried to push away the rising anger--the fury that never failed to appear whenever he was put into an impossible situation because of this bond, whenever he felt like the gods were looking down at him and laughing as he played right into their sick games. 
Who attacked you? Where are you?
He shot out questions to her at a rapid speed, the pain was getting worse on his end. He could feel a light-headedness and a fuzzy feeling beginning to seep through his body and mind. She had to be losing blood and too much of it. If she passed out, that would be the end. She’d be killed by the attacker or she’d be killed by the cold, there was no other fate that awaited her. 
Don’t know. An inn at -------
Dottore stared at the indecipherable words branded onto his forearm--he wasn’t sure if they were scribbles or an ancient language that he just couldn’t understand, another way for the gods to laugh at him by dangling the answer wants right in front of his face but making it so that he couldn’t understand it. 
What do you mean you don’t know? Figure it out.
Dottore wondered if she could sense his irritation at her response. He didn’t really care if she could, maybe it would make her think harder. 
Fatui, finally scrawled itself on his forearm and Dottore thought he might want to throw something because he had called it the moment that he had realized she might be coming north, he knew that between her being a foreigner and their subordinates being anxious over the masked hostile running through their camps that something would happen. They called him Lord Harbinger. 
Dottore stared at the words trying to piece together what was going on. Lord Harbinger? Pulcinella and Pantalone were rarely, if ever, sent on missions that would end in combat. As far as he was aware, Brighella was at Zapolyarny Palace working with Pierro on something. Capitano was traveling north from Natlan for the initiation of the new Harbinger in a few days, he’d be on a boat traveling the western sea. Scaramouche? It could-
He had a blue earring, it was bright.
A blue earring, he was acutely aware of the one hanging from his own ear, mind racing as he tried to remember where each of the segments were. Lambda and Theta were in Sumeru. Zeta was in Mondstadt. Delta and Iota were on the Fontaine border. Gamma, Epsilon and Kappa were all hanging around his labs. 
Rho, it dawned on Dottore suddenly. He had sent the segment south to track down the belligerent because their subordinates had proved incapable. He had mentioned that he was closing in on the man. Had she gotten caught in the crossfire? Was she traveling with him? 
No, that wasn’t possible. All reports had claimed that the hostile was traveling alone.
Rho, Dottore spit out, reopening the connection with the segment, intent on having him find the girl and drag her back across the border into Fontaine. Where are you?
Not now, Rho responded, voice cold and angry. It took a lot to anger Rho, he had tight control over his temper unlike the Theta and Delta segments. Dottore could feel something stinging his cheek, a cut--he wondered if the hostile had actually managed to land a blow on him, no matter how small. It would explain why he was so angry. 
Get back to where you came from. Now.
Now? Rho demanded, livid. I’m on him. 
She was there. At the inn. The reaction was instantaneous as Rho’s resolve wavered. If she dies because of you, you won’t even get the relief of deactivation.
Dottore rose to his feet again once he was certain that Rho had turned back, pacing across the length of his lab, careful to step over the melted ground where the substance had fallen. 
Once he found her, this would all be over. He’d have Rho bring her back to Fontaine whether she liked it or not, and once he knew where she lived, he’d make sure to send one of the other segments to keep an eye on her so something like this would never happen again.
Finally, he would have some semblance of control over the bond for the first time since it appeared. He’d no longer be hanging onto her whims, he’d no longer have to stress about her getting herself hurt or killed and how it would affect him, he’d no longer be bound to this mess and he’d never have to worry about accidentally running into her because the segment would keep her confined to the city and he would stay far from it.
He’d send the Zeta segment. He couldn’t send Theta because he didn’t trust him not to do something rash. He couldn’t send Delta, Rho or Epsilon because the younger segments were attached to them at the hip and they would press to meet her. Lambda was an option if he could ensure that the segment wouldn’t try to ‘handle her’ as he threatened to already. 
Relief began to inch its way through him—too soon.
He had jinxed himself.
She’s not here, he heard Rho tell him. I don’t know-
Dottore closed the connection, biting back vile curses as he pressed his fingers to the bridge of the nose and tried to think. 
Where could she have gone? It had only been a few minutes. She was hurt. She couldn’t have gotten far. 
Where are you? He finally decided to ask her and he waited, and waited, and waited for a response but was only met with the empty silence he had become accustomed to the past two weeks. 
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“Where am I?” 
Your eyes followed the cloaked figure carefully, trying to keep your breath steady as the pain coursing through your arm gradually subsided. Your gaze flickered to the side, watching as the red, bubbling skin of your right arm began to smooth and clear beneath whatever substance that had been smeared over the burns. 
“What is this stuff?”
You had a lot of experience with using elemental energy to heal wounds. Fontaine City had some of the best medics throughout Teyvat--Wriothesley’s family’s special trait could call upon hydro energy to heal even the most fatal and grievous of wounds. He had never been able to wield it the way his family wanted him to but his grandfather was the best of the best, he had helped you when you had broken your arm and leg ten years ago after falling down the steps of the clocktower when exploring with Wrio.
This was not elemental energy. It was odd and cool, like gelatin, but it worked as fast as any medic--in no time, the pain was gone and the burns had vanished, leaving the skin of your arm unblemished again.
“Old magics,” the person responded. Their voice was low, androgynous. You couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman.
“Why did you help me?” you asked. “Who are you?”
You didn’t know where you were now--it was a dark room, a stone building with a fireplace on the opposite wall. The last you remembered, you had been in the snow. You had started to lose consciousness, the cold and the pain too much for your body to bear. You could barely even remember what had happened: you could picture the hooded man who you had been sitting with brandishing his claymore and the man that they had called Lord Harbinger meeting him blade for blade, pale fire coating his weapon and eating away at the wood of the inn, burning through your cloak down to the skin. You could hear the screams of the other patrons of the inn as they got caught in the crossfire of the battle between the two men. 
And then you were here, in this room… with this person. 
“Who are you?” you demanded, more insistently this time when you didn’t get a response.
Finally, a reaction from them. The flames flickered across their face as they turned to face you and finally, you got a glimpse beneath the hood… but it was not a human face that stared back at you. It was a mask, dark with a spade-like pattern around the eyes, a smile painted onto the plastic. 
“No one,” they replied, “just a trouper.”
What? You thought to yourself, confused. Your nose wrinkled and your brows furrowed as you mulled over the word. A trouper? Like the entertainers at the Grand Theater? 
“Why did you help me?” you tried again, raising your chin to meet the two voids in the eyeholes of the mask. They hadn’t tried to bind you or restrict your movement, they hadn’t even taken your weapon--just a bit of concentration and you could put yourself in control of the situation. 
They tilted their head to the side, you couldn’t see their eyes or expression but you knew they were smiling, “Is that how you treat someone who saved you?”
You hadn’t even moved, you stared at them, unmoving, forcing your body to relax. How had they known what you were thinking? You weren’t a person that was easy to read--if you were, you would’ve been put on trial for treason a long time ago. 
“Why did you save me?” you asked slowly, not letting them get out of answering the question. 
“Because I want to help you.” 
Yet again, they evaded the question. Your lips twisted in frustration, “Why?”
“Because I think we can help each other.”
There it was, you recognized, taking in a sharp breath. They wanted something from you. The air around you suddenly felt cold, as if the fire across the room had been snuffed out even though it was still burning bright. They were eerily still, almost like a statue as they watched you, waiting for a reaction. 
“Why do you think that?” you asked carefully.
“Do you really think you can infiltrate the Fatui on your own?”
You were on your feet in an instant, reaching for the blade sheathed at your side but your eyes widened when you realized it wasn’t there. You only had half of a second to react before you found yourself backed up against the wall, a forearm pressed to your throat and the tip of your own blade pressed to your side, threatening to puncture the skin.
It had just been on you. How did they get it?
“Well?”
Well what? You wanted to scream, mind panicked and racing as you tried to force yourself to calm down and think but it was hard to concentrate with your air being half-restricted and a blade pressed to your ribcage. 
They wanted you to answer their question, you realized, about infiltrating the Fatui.
“Yes,” you said but you weren’t even sure you believed it yourself. You kept telling yourself that you would figure out a plan once you got to the city and had a scope of the area and more information available to you but you had a feeling that nothing would change even once there. Zapolyarny Palace would be impenetrable. 
“How?” they murmured, not letting up on you. You wanted to turn your face away, unnerved by the proximity of the mask, but you thought that would show you as weak and you couldn’t afford to show weakness, not right now. “Do you plan to storm the palace? Face the Harbingers and demand retribution for your father? Do you think you will fly under the radar of the Knave’s webs of spiders? That you can simply walk past the automatons of the Marionette prowling the streets of the capital city? You will find yourself a victim of the Doctor’s twisted experiments or the Friar’s sick games before you even hope to find the evidence you seek.” 
You couldn’t mask your expression, not after hearing that. You stared at them, lips parting as if to speak but no words left them. You felt like a fish out of water--for the first time in a long time, you were fumbling for words, your tongue felt twisted and heavy.
How were you going to do it? The question laid atop you like a crown of thorns, tearing through your skin and scarring your face. You didn’t know. You didn’t know how you were going to do it. You used not being in the city as an excuse, convinced yourself that it was the only reason you haven’t thought up a plan yet but the truth was branded right on your face as you stared at the masked person: you simply didn’t know.
“I can help you,” they whispered, leaning in impossibly closer. “I can give you your in, the chance you need to find the proof.”
“How do you know all of this?” you finally asked and you hated how your voice cracked over your words but you were scared because if this person knew all of this then it could spell your end, just like that. All they had to do was send word to the Fatui and you’d have hell bearing down on your doors.
And if they knew about this…
“I know a lot,” they said cryptically. “Would you like me to help you?”
… did they know about your soulmate?
You let out another shaky breath, staring ahead. You didn’t know what to do. If you didn’t accept their help, would they sell you out to the Fatui? Or would they laugh and watch as you fumbled your way through Snezhnayan courts and fail to acquire what you had traveled all this way for? You could feel the pain ricocheting through your head, you could barely even think straight, much less come up with an answer. 
If you did accept, you finally forced your head back on track, what did they want in return? That was what you needed to know.
“What would you want in return?”
“We don’t know yet,” they said quietly but their tone was not hesitant--if anything, it was amused. Finally, they released you, taking a step back to watch you. The eyes staring down at you were empty, like looking into an abyss.
A dangerous, dangerous gamble. It gave them too much power.
“No, I want to know what you want in return.”
We. You suddenly recognized how they referred to themself--we, not I, they were not working alone. You felt all the more suffocated at the realization. 
“Then I guess we have no deal,” they said with a sigh, making a move to leave the room the two of you were in. Your heart leapt to your throat. “I cannot tell you what we do not know. Take the deal as is or fail, you will not succeed without help. You have no way of getting into Zapolyarny Palace. It is impenetrable.”
You should take that as a challenge, tell them fuck off and make them watch as you succeeded. Your blood boiled at the condescending tone and it took all of your willpower to not snap at them. 
This was not the time for pride. You had to abandon all vices and virtues if you were to get the evidence to condemn your stepfather, if you were to bring justice to your father… and if this person were to offer you the chance you desperately needed… then maybe it was worth whatever price they wanted you to pay in the long run. 
Committing injustices in the name of justice, the thought rang through your head loud. Wrio would love the irony. 
“You can get me into Zapolyarny?” you finally questioned, hiding the way your hands were shaking behind you as you sealed your fate. 
They hummed in agreement, “You will be on your own once you’re in there. Take care not to anger the wrong people… or draw too much attention to yourself.”
You could do that, you told yourself. Once you got in, you needed to find a place. Weasel your way in as an attendant so you could search for the evidence you needed. 
“Okay,” you finally agreed. The air suddenly felt heavy and oppressive, you thought that if you looked up, you would see the blade of a guillotine dropping on your neck. “Okay, we have a deal.”
You didn’t have to see their face to know that they were smiling, the voids staring down at you glimmered cruelly, you swore you saw red deep within the eyeholes of the mask.
“Welcome to the game, spadille.”
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rbs appreciated!!
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thatgiraffefromtlou · 8 days ago
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UPPER HAND
‼️men dni‼️
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literally just smut. not canon like in the slightest. reader finally gets to top ellie! readers body type, race, etc is not specified at all except for being a girl cuz.. ellie’s lesbian.. duh.. 🫶🏻
warnings?: bondage(? kinda? she’s cuffed to the bed idk) uh reader uses ice. praise, decoration if you squint. idk bro reader just teasing fr. not proof read.
word count: 1.8!
if you like this lmk and i will post part two. i just don’t wanna go in head first and yall think its cringe and hate it 😭 first actual like smut post ever- i had a wattpad but thats NOTHING compared to how i write now.. 🧍🏼
also had this ‘sexual content’ banner saved a while ago and forgot who i got it from please lmk if you know 🫡
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Ellie lays in nothing but her underwear and a white wife pleaser, her toned body tensing under the pressure building in her cuffed and outstretched arms.
You love when she wears that shirt, you like how it leaves little to the imagination but still doesn't give away everything. You gaze at her body before you, the way her breathing is a little off and her freckles peek from where the hem of her shirt lays just above her prominent hip bone.
You could drool at the way her muscles look right now in the dim light of her room. She is beautiful in a way you could never truly describe. No matter what you say it would never do her beauty true justice, physically and spiritually. You almost begin to blush, the corner of your lips holding the ghost of a smile in appreciation for the girl sprawled out in front of you.
You quickly snap out of it, if Ellie catches even the smallest slip-up in your dominance you know she'll use it to her advantage. You crawl back off the bed, placing your feet onto the floor at the foot of the bed. Ellie watches your every move, like a predator stalking its prey. She agreed to the arrangement surprisingly easily—almost too easily…
The arrangement being getting to tie her up and do whatever you pleased. It was something you just mentioned in passing really and her response was "why not?" You figured she was just being cocky, like you couldn't make her whine and beg for your touch like she had done to you countless times before.
You had already been at this for a good 15 minutes at this point, undressing, kissing, biting, teasing, and whispering dirty things but she is still not giving in.
Not breaking eye contact, you begin taking off your t-shirt, slow and methodically as she watches. Her grip on the restraints tightens in anticipation, tugging at them, wanting to set herself free.
"Already?" you mock as your shirt finally falls to the ground, leaving you in only your panties.
"Come on… let me undress you.." she smirks with her words, emphasizing the *me* as she stares intently at your half-naked body.
"Hmm.. thought you'd hold out longer… throwing in the towel already?" you tease, enjoining Ellie's look of lust she has plastered on her face.
You watch her face for a moment, making sure she is okay with this. When there is no indication that she is uncomfortable and she doesn't say the safe word, you continue. You turn around to her closet and grab an old sleep mask she had tucked away a long while ago. You make your way to her and lean over her body, putting it around her head and covering her eyes to block her sight.
"Look at you.. getting creative," she comments, knowing full well those words turn you on. You ignore her words though. "What's the safe word?" your words are stern but still soft, a check-in that is a necessity. "Grey.." she answers softly. You smile and kiss her lips before pulling back.
"Not another word, Ellie. Be a good girl and just enjoy it, yeah?" you proudly say, the words pouring out of your mouth like an uncontrollable river. You know she likes praise as a top so why wouldn't she now?
She smirks at your words as they turn her on more, almost proud of you too. This almost ticks you off. You want her to be flustered, for you to have the upper hand, but it gives you an idea. You briefly leave her side, causing her to be a little confused before arriving back with a cup filled with ice cubes.
You walk back to the bed and place the cup onto the bedside table, causing them to bounce off each other making a clinking noise ring through the room. Ellie tilts her head towards the sound in curiosity. You get on top of Ellie and straddle her hips, making sure she can feel the heat from your core just below her navel.
You slowly rake your hands up her body, bringing her shirt with you till the fabric bunches above her breasts. You take your time as you let your hands roam, running your thumb along her nipples, feeling them harden as her breathing picks up slightly.
You smirk at her mouth siting slightly agape, glad she's finally shutting up. You lean over and grab an ice cube from the cup, placing it between your lips before you lean your head down to her body and gently drag the ice cube down the centre of her stomach.
She suddenly jolts upwards at the sensation, the head board hitting the wall slightly as she yanks her wrists away from it. She lets out a small grunt while doing so, before letting out an exhale as you lift the ice cube off of her body once more.
"Yeah?" you coo behind the ice, a smirk glued to your face.
You scoot down a little and your eyes meet with her navel. You slightly graze the ice cube over her hip bone down to the center of her waist band. Her stomach slightly dips in, her back arching and her hips swiveling away from the cold a little. The sensation heightened without her sight, causes her breathing to become louder and more fast now.
Unfortunately, the ice cube is about halfway gone at this point, you drag the remainder of it back up her body, leaving a wet trail beneath it. She lets out somewhat of a breathy moan, still holding back from letting you win.
You turn the ice and let it run over her left nipple, causing her whole body to writhe slightly with a faster and louder moan. You honestly would never have expected that, but you don't complain either.
"Shit.." she exhales making you lift your head up with surprise. Her moans are so soft yet echo so loudly in your head, you can feel your pussy twitch at each sound, but you have to keep your composure.
You crush the half melted ice cube between your teeth, leaving tiny fragments on your now bitterly cold tongue. You grab her jaw and tilt her head up, meeting Ellie's neck with your lips, running your tongue over her pulse point. Her hot skin melts the ice left in your mouth, turning it into water as you begin to suck and kiss the side of her neck.
"Babe.." she groans in your ear. "I don't think I can take much more” she admits in something close to shame, though you still weren’t satisfied.
It just wasn’t enough for her to admit defeat, you needed to see it. Actions spoke louder than words anyways.
"Sounds like a personal problem" you mumble as you continue to mark her.
You slowly drag your fingertips down her toned stomach as you readjust, moving from straddling her hips to just her thigh, one knee going between her legs. You bring one hand to the waistband of her underwear, grazing one finger underneath it as you trace the elastic against her skin. She lets her head fall back in frustration as her lips part again, breathing heavier than before. She lets out a small sigh of relief once your fingers move down to brush over her clothed pussy.
You palm it over the top of the thin cotton, feeling her pool of wetness under your gentle touch.
"You're already this wet?" you lean down to whisper into her ear, grazing your teeth against her earlobe.
"Fuck..." her cheeks begin to flush for the first time, her pale freckled skin finally dancing with a slight pink color.
You move your lips to meet hers, kissing her a little more hungrily than you had initially planned, but you couldn't help it. Your tongue finds hers instantly as she still fights for dominance.
Though you soon win because your hand keeps at its lazy pace over her neglected clit, enough to get her dripping more, to lose herself in her own desperation, but not enough to truly get off to.
Your other hand wraps around her throat, a move she loved to pull on you. She lets out quiet groans at your actions, her mask truly starting to slip with every brush over her clit and swipe of your tongue over hers.
You pull away from the kiss and Ellie lifts her head, searching for your lips again but you don't give it to her. You push your hand into her throat and her head falls back onto the pillow with a sigh. You slowly remove your other hand from between her hips, watching her face. Well watching as much as you can with their eyes being covered.
"Come on doll... don't make me beg for something I know you want too," she smirks. You could tell, if she wasn't wearing a blindfold she would have the same dark look in her eye she usually did.
"That so?" you breathe, feining pouty tone. You draw your index and middle finger up her slit with more pressure than before, earning a soft groan from Ellie.
"Think you might want it more than me.. no?" you retort cockily, taking your finger off once again. You both knew it wasn't true, you probably did want it more, but you also knew you had to go slow, drag it out as much as possible.
Her head turns to whisper in your ear, with a tinge of neediness, "Such a tease."
"Yeah? You want more, Els?" you question in a soft voice as you plant one gentle kiss on her collarbone.
You could feel the effect her name on your lips had. "Yes..." she almost groans in a low tone.
"Oh come on..." you draw out. "You can do better than that..." Your voice is sweet, a stark contrast to what the words were actually saying, much how she would speak to you in bed.
Her brows furrow under the mask, evident by the small creases on her forehead. "Please... touch me..." she practically whines, her wrists tugging at the headboard, her mask actually gone now.
"Tell me how bad you want it, love... I wanna hear you say it..." You could feel the sexual frustration inside her from just the way her jaw clenches and the deeper breaths she has to take.
"Need you to touch me... please..." You smile in approval and begin to trail soft kisses down her body.
You move both of your knees between her legs, her legs widening to make room while her head falls back in relief. You could feel her muscles still tense in anticipation under each kiss left on her skin.
You graze your fingers under her waistband. "Lift..." you whisper against her skin, and she does, lifting her hips enough for you to pull them down her legs before discarding them on the floor.
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lmk if you want a part two 🤭🤭 (i will fully finish it in part two i PROMISE I WILL! i already have it written so you will NOT BE LEFT WITH NOTHING PLEASE
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Text
The Perfect Christmas Setting (Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x Reader)
Summary: It's officially your first Christmas with your boyfriend - long time coming - so you'll need an appropriately decorated house.
AN: I took part in a Secret Santa fic swap run by @bunnyreaper and my Secret Santa is @piratesfromspace! Hope you enjoy this fic that ignores MW3 to write my own canon and was kinda inspired by “Me and My Husband”.
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Content warnings: 2nd person, some hurt/comfort, mostly domestic festivity
Masterlist
You had never invested so much of your paycheck into decorations. Tinsel, baubles, Santa statuettes, all in clashing colours and combinations, the Christmas paraphernalia were contained by several bags and sat now in your sitting room, brimming with as much cheer as you were with pride.
Johnny was teeming in the corner, arranging lights around the blue spruce you’d chosen as the main event in your household. Several photos of Johnny hauling it into his truck filled your phone, plus a video of him grumbling about how “the prickly bastard” kept poking him in the face, dangerously close to taking an eye out. You’d only known you were getting a tree for a few hours at that point. Johnny had woken you up early – the morning after his arrival from a lengthy excursion with work. He looked like a kid on Christmas morning as he told you about his old traditions, showing you a few old photos his sister had dug out of a family album. Then he proposed his idea for the rest of his leave: forging your own Christmas traditions for your first holiday together.
The transient nature of his job meant he’d seldom celebrated in his own home in the last decade. It wasn’t your first year as a couple either; unfortunately, your history with Christmas had been one of separation of many thousands of miles. Maybe, if you were lucky enough, you’d get a quick call with Johnny. But this year, you were your own family unit and able to celebrate Christmas on the actual date. That meant you could do whatever you wanted together, and what Johnny wanted was the full shebang.
Warm lights (the icy ones would be saved for decorating the house) displayed their varieties of settings whilst Johnny fidgeted with the dial, switching back and forth between flashing and . Meanwhile, you unpacked the tree trimmings, ranging from traditional red and golden orbs that reflected a cartoonish version of yourself in the glitter and glass, to a Colin the Caterpillar bauble that Johnny spied and subsequently adopted on your behalf.
You started hanging them up, humming along to the Christmas tunes, thankful that you’d talked Johnny out of going carolling. Meanwhile, he was squinting at the lights before he tugged at your sleeve.
“You don’t think there’s a weird gap here?” His hand waved vaguely around the torso of the tree.
“It’s grand,” You reassured him, rubbing between his shoulder blades as he bent in half to double check the spread of decorations up close. Attempting to match his focus was impossible but it was helping you ignore how he could be called away at any moment. That was the other hidden reason for going all out on the Christmas decorations: Johnny wanted this place to be as cosy and as Christmassy as it could be, like it would comfort you in the instance he wasn’t here. Part of you wished that his job could be as predictable as the so-called most wonderful time of the year. However, the rest of you accepted that it wasn’t and let you continue untangling the endless yards of tinsel to wrap around the banisters later.
Eventually, Johnny tired of peering at the lights and joined in organising where each bauble should go. You suppressed a few giggles whenever he moved a few around so that there was an even (ish) spread, no two decorations put near one another like divorced parents at a family reunion.  
“D’you think we should’ve gone with the silver and blue set? Might’ve looked more together, more on theme,” Johnny placed his hands on his hips, clearly conjuring up a variety of variations of what your sitting room could’ve been.
Instead of replying, you finished hanging up the red ceramic heart near the top. Then, from your back pocket, you withdrew and fixed a slightly-too-large Santa hat on his head, adjusting it by the snow white fur trim around his furrowed brow.
“You’d make one hell of a Sexy Santa,” You said when you were pleased with the outcome.
Johnny’s absorption in the festivities broke up in a smile, “Not got the beard for it yet.” And, to prove it, he wrapped his arm around you and forced you to endure his stubbled chin rubbed against your forehead. “Now answer my question please.”
“It looks great,” You insisted, “More personal, less IKEA showroom.”
“Don’t act like you don’t pretend to live in every showroom we come across.”
“That’s all pretend though. This is real, our first real Christmas.”
He kissed you, very sweetly, which didn’t prevent you snorting against his loving lips as you realised his suggestion of silver and blue decorations might have rendered your home appearing more Scottish that him. It struck you as quickly as your next train of thought, your body leaping out of Johnny’s embrace at the eureka moment.
“Oh! We haven’t even-” You and your voice faded down the hallway, words too muffled for even Johnny’s keen ears to decipher. He waited patiently for your return and was rewarded for his patience with you carrying the rest of the bags you just remembered existed, dragging them into the sitting room to complete the claustrophobic crowd of Christmas content.
“Darling, we said we’d wait until we finished the tree first!” Johnny said with no real exasperation in his voice.
“I can’t wait! Don’t make me!” You pleaded, as if you weren’t already opening the little reindeer statues to line up on the window sill. Johnny couldn’t deny you, not with how your face lit up brighter than any collection of bulbs covering your tree – like when he suggested ordering a twerking musical Santa toy. You clapped eagerly at his assent and began humming the opening to "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" whilst placing down each respective model along the ledge.
Just as you were placing Rudolph at the helm, the music came to a halt and the sound of a ringtone took over the speakers, accompanied by Johnny’s phone buzzing on the couch arm. Balancing on one leg as he reached over, his face went stiff and he began to make his way out of the room.
“One sec,” He said, bending down to bestow a kiss on your head as he went past.
Instantly, you connected your own phone to the speaker and turned up the music, knowing Johnny would go straight to his office for the duration of the call as to not be disturbed. But the nature of the call was already disturbing your fragile peace. Your stomach was swirling and promoting a greasy queasiness. Already clumsy enough, the circumstances made it harder for your hands to wedge the batteries into the glowing sleigh.  
Trying to tune in to the next song was impossible when there was a lull between the two songs. Your brewing panic took advantage of it and accelerated your noisy thoughts, hitting a crescendo with the footsteps returning to you in ominous timing with your sinking heartbeats.
At least you might have time to put the star on top of the tree together before he went.
“Everything ok?” It came out strained, and the first syllable caught in your throat.
As you looked to see Johnny nodding, you noted there was no bittersweetness hiding on his face.
“Yeah, Price just approved my annual leave. So no more work calls.” A flick of the wrist landed his phone squarely down the back of the couch cushion and retrieved from behind his back - “Ta-da!” – a vermilion and forest green elf hat that he arranged it upon your head before he took your tense body up and spun you to face the mirror over the fireplace.
“What do you think?” He spread his arms out as wide as his grin, glowing over your shoulder with his efforts (and also the ugly jumper he insisted on wearing), both of your reflections surrounded by countless bits of yuletide tat that you’d unpacked but not yet organised circling the half decorated tree. This elf hat likely wasn’t hard to hide a secret purchase amongst all of that. Bells tinkled softly by your ears as you tilted your head.
Effects of emotional whiplash took hold of you and the glowing sleigh dropped from your hands, spewing the three AAA batteries under the couch and into the tinsel pile. You locked yourself around Johnny’s middle with all the strength you could muster. Hard muscles beneath the gentle woollen caress of his jumper were solid enough to ground you back in your holiday paradise, his firm squeezes slowing your heart rate until it was at a regular pace again, his subtle cinnamon cologne (bought special for this time of year) thawing your fears in the hearth of his love for you. You only drew back to bop him on the nose with the bobble from his Santa hat and deliver your answer.
With his rosy cheeks close enough to warm your own, you whispered with teary eyes, “It’s perfect.”
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exceedinglygayotter · 2 years ago
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Before TotK came out I was thinking about how many people were probably going to write the logical continuation of all those “the champions came back to life after BotW” fics by writing fics where they’re around for the events of TotK, but after having beaten the game I’m honestly not sure how that would even work, narratively speaking. Nearly every part of Breath of the Wild is intrinsically connected to the Champions, while TotK is so totally disconnected from them. TotK was so dead-set on moving on from the Champions that combining the two just feels unnecessary and contrived, even for a fanfic.
The Divine Beasts aren’t just gone, they’re completely absent, without even a hint as to why they’re missing. If it weren’t for Symin mentioning them during the history lesson you could almost argue that they’d been retconned. Mipha’s mentioned by name a few times, Urbosa only in Riju’s diary, Revali only on the sign for Revali’s Landing, and I don’t think Daruk’s name is said once. Daruk’s Protection is also just missing despite Yunobo having it in the last game, as is the scrap of Daruk’s Champion cloth he wore around his neck.
And from a narrative standpoint, the new Sages make the Champions mostly redundant. That’s kind of the point of them, they’re the successors to the Champions -- even their mechanics are echoes of how the Champions worked in BotW. If you tried to have them both be in the story of TotK you’d end up with Link having four companion characters, and then another four companion characters who do basically the same things. It’s not impossible to still give all of them distinct and interesting narrative roles, but I feel like most people who try to write something like this would just make half of them stay behind and not do anything while the other half sticks with Link. Which, y’know, works, but it’s not really a great solution.
The only ways I can think of to really make this idea work well are to totally rewrite the plot of TotK, or write Age of Calamity fanfic where the Upheaval in that continuity happens a century before it does in canon (which would still require rewriting most of the plot of TotK due to almost none of the same characters being around and Hyrule not being ruined yet.)
I guess you could lean into how out of place they are, how the entire world kind of moved on and left them behind a century in the past, but that only works if they get resurrected after TotK happens or right before it, since if they come back right after BotW then they’ve already been adjusting to that world for several years by the time of the Upheaval.
Honestly I’m probably just going to be writing fic that ignores TotK entirely. I can’t really imagine any stories I want to tell with these characters that would be improved with the addition of the events of TotK.
I might just be unimaginative and a bad writer though, who knows. There’s probably going to be a load of people who will have a go at the idea and do it really well, and I look forward to seeing those.
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spnregular · 24 days ago
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pls do a commentary on the altar
the altar is the first destiel fic i wrote for the spn fandom!! i had a vague idea of wanting to do prayer kink and it sort of spiraled out into exploring what a lack of faith could do to a couple of severely lonely guys. i still like this fic a lot but it doesnt reflect my current spn writing priorities. i AM tickled pink that you asked for this anon because it holds a special place in my heart.
for those of you who havent read it, this one is my longest spn fic (over 6k words) so this commentary will be a little long. i havent ported the whole fic in (same as the other commentaries) just the sections i wanted to say something :)
This church must have been something to see back in the day. Paper archives said it burned over a decade ago but no one wanted to fork up the cash for demolition. Dean leaned back against the crumbling, raised altar and let filtered sunlight warm his face. 
The eaves had fallen in on all sides and a cross breeze flew through, carrying the heady smell of a midwest summer. It did little to mask the burning carnage before him. Dean’s eyes lingered on a plaster bust of the Virgin Mary, painted tears still visible on her crumbling face, and tried to remember if he ever attended a full mass. 
So there’s that post about how kripke not being christian is part of what makes spn hit. The winchesters are outsiders when they're in religious settings. Churches and family homes are analogous to haunted houses, alienating and rotting. Dean’s never been part of a traditional family and he’s never attended mass. I also think a lot about how Dean and John basically canonized Mary all the time too.
Dean sighed, deep and heavy, wincing from the pain. Sam was away on another hunt, meaning Dean would have to patch himself up tonight. He palmed his side to assess the damage, fingers moving slowly and carefully. The amount of blood didn’t surprise him, nor did the evidence of broken ribs and a sprained wrist. It was the sort of regular shit that happened to guys named Dean Winchester. 
Dean is a glutton for punishment and he legitimately cannot see a life for himself outside of it. He tried! He tried his picket fence lavender marriage and like he was of course mourning sam, but also he didn’t like it. And because he didn’t like living in a nuclear family, obviously that means he should always suffer right?
“Hey, Cas,”  Dean said, continuing to limp forward, not noticing the rotten wood of the steps to the dais or even how his boot crashed right through them. 
Cas’s arms were around him before he could even register falling. Dean sharply inhaled through his nose, his own bloody hand gripping Cas’s coat as he struggled to regain his balance. He hissed through his teeth before he felt the cool touch of Cas’s fingers on his face, followed by a wave of grace.
So Dean sort of ignores many problems in his life even if theyre glaring. He ignores his controlling behavior over Sam, he ignores his glaring homosexuality, he ignores the ways in which he really hurt lisa and ben. Guy who cant face his feelings or else he’ll kill himself you know? But this leads to ruin every single time! (steps falling apart under his boot) Thankfully Dean does have an angel looking out for him.
Cas narrowed his eyes even further and gestured to the hall around them, “There are three dead demons here, Dean. This was foolish behavior.”
“It was a job,” Dean said, his voice louder than needed, “And it’s done. ‘Sides, don’t you have bigger fish to fry upstairs?” He could feel a headache coming on, the perfect cherry to this shit sundae. He needed a drink, a cigarette, both, and some fucking quiet.
“I do,” Cas snapped, “Which is why I need you to exercise basic caution and self-preservation.” With a flick of his hand, the bodies and smoke were gone leaving the church ruins hollow and bare.
Dean atp does not care lmao. This has been a horrible year. Im envisioning this scene is slightly before sam gets his soul back so dean feels like he has no one and nothing. And dean so crucially does not exist unless he has someone to attach his entire essence to. Sam is not sam, lisa doesn’t want him around, his effin grandad is the worst, everyone’s been lying to him. He’s more isolated than he’s been since the stanford era.
“Have you ever confessed, Dean?” Cas asked, turning back to Dean. Dean lost his breath as those blue, blue eyes were turned back on him, searching thoroughly. 
“‘Course not,” Dean scoffed and brushed past Cas to walk down the aisle, “Ain’t nothing I need to tell some guy in an ugly dress.” 
You know Dean, he keeps his marbles in a lead box eye roll emoji. But Cas, Cas wants to confess so so bad lmao. Angels arent supposed to lie, Angels are supposed to follow orders.
“But you do pray,” Cas pointed out.
Dean’s steps faltered and the back of his neck felt hot, “Yeah, but that… that’s just to you. You— you’re real.” He turned back to look at Cas, struck by how the light through the stained glass curved around the proud line of his jaw.
Dean really doesn’t like having faith in cas but he kinda does in his weird way. And it’s a weakness. autisticandroids has great meta on why Dean doesn’t like his special feelings for cas and yeah there’s the gay thing which is so hard for him to swallow but also having real feelings is like terrible. As much as dean craves being seen and heard and loved, that shit is frightening. 
“I suppose I was never taught to pray, to confess,” Cas said, “Angels aren’t meant to do anything that requires confession. All acts are pre-ordained and sanctioned.”
“‘Course. Father knew best,” Dean said, clenching his jaw and stuffing his hands in his back pockets. He pulled out a mostly empty pack of cigarettes. 
Dean and Cas’s shared daddy issues of course!!! And I had dean smoking in this fic because i was in the midst of quitting smoking for like the fifth time lmao. It makes me feel better lol.
“For most of my life I would have prayed directly to God,” Cas continued, “Then I think I would have prayed to my brothers and sisters.”
“Huh,” Dean said, taking the first drag of the cigarette, “Don’t think I’d be prayin’ to Sam.” Dean picked at the frayed edge of his flannel. 
Cas looked down at the dirty floor, “I would not fault you, considering recent circumstances.”
Dean hasn’t had faith in Sam since like they were kids and even then it was shaky. Sort of breaks my heart but it’s the truth. And Cas, at this point, doesn’t care for Sam that much. He may have pulled Sam out of hell but I dont think that was borne of any true affection for sam, it’s more of a “doing the right thing” sort of deal that he would have picked up from dean.
“No,” Cas said, “No, I still have faith.” His lips curled in a small smile. 
“Oh?” Dean responded, “Must be nice.”
“It is,” Cas said, “And I have faith that it isn’t misplaced.”
“Who’s the lucky guy?” Dean asked, a smile splayed across his face, eyebrows waggling. He ignored the way his gut clenched.
Cas turned fully to look down at him, the sun casting long shadows across his face. His eyes narrowed and head tilted, “You.”
Me when i lie…… so the summary of this is that Cas has faith in dean, but lol he really doesn’t. If Cas had faith in Dean he would have been honest, he wouldn’t be lying. This is straight up manipulation. :) cas doesnt have faith in ANYTHING atp
“That’s a lot to say to a guy,” Dean said, taking his feet down from the pew. His leg bobbed fast, “And I’m not gonna tell you how to live your life, but maybe– Maybe you should pick somebody else.”
“I don’t think I will need to ‘pick somebody else’,” Cas said, finger quotes and all, “I have faith in you, in your ideals and teachings. I have no reason to falter.”
The thing is that cas does believe that Dean is a role model (crazy) and he also believes he’s learned a lot from Dean. He admires Dean and, well, craves Dean, but he doesn’t actually think Dean would believe in him atp.
“Christ,” Dean said. 
“I’ve never felt the need to pray to him,” Cas said. 
Dean snorted, though it didn’t clear the tension coiling in his gut. “Of course you didn’t,” Dean said, still laughing. The sounds echoed through the church and dust fell from the rafters. It really was a beautiful place underneath the wreckage; carved, tall, burnt buttresses and tarnished brass finishings. Dean tried to focus again on the plaster Virgin, sitting so far away from them now. Her broken hands were clasped around some kind of flower that Dean couldn’t make out. 
Dean feels so far from someone you could have faith in. He thinks he’s the worst. Kinda like the church, there used to be something in him, something around him that one could believe in and it looked really good, like it looked strong and beautiful. But now? It’s over, it’s donezo.
Dean kept his focus on the back of the church, his face breaking out into a nervous smile “Dude, you’re kneeling in front of me in a church telling me you like, I dunno, believe in me?” Dean chuckled and shook his head, gaze flicking down to his boots. They were covered in blood and ash. 
Like a wedding….
“I suppose, I already pray to you,” Cas continued before Dean’s mind could catch up with his heart, “As it is your name I invoke when a battle seems too long or when I think I may fail. I think of you, your ingenuity, your cleverness, when I’m trying to bolster my ranks. I tell my soldiers stories of your valor and courage. Of your conviction.”
Cas has yet to try real prayer but he sure does think about dean a whole lot. That’s sort of like prayer right?
“Cas– that’s, that’s enough I get it.” Dean tried to find somewhere in the church to rest his gaze, but somehow, every cracked saint, every burnt effigy, stared back. 
“Do you?” Cas asked.
Dean nodded, keeping his gaze pinned to the floor, “Yeah, I uh. I’ve been there. Like you said, I pray to, uh, you.” His jaw clicked from pressure. 
Getting a lil gay here….
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, eyes finally snapping up to look at Castiel. He flicked his finished cigarette away, his hands and lips already missing the feeling of it. He knew what to do with a cigarette, where to focus his physical attention; who knew what to do with an angel professing their unwavering faith. 
I love when dean fidgets btw, such a physical guy having a cigarette is the perfect way to look cool and calm without trying to hard.
“When you pray,” Cas said, “It is one of the only times I can feel you being honest with yourself. It wasn’t always the case. At first, you were mocking, insincere. But, over time, you’ve let yourself bleed into them. You pour yourself, your desires, your needs– all into your prayers. It is… admirable.”
“I’m honest with myself!” His voice was louder than intended. 
“Not the way you are when you pray,” Cas said, eyes unwavering in their attention to Dean, “Your prayers are beautiful, Dean.”
Getting too gay!!! But yeah often Dean prays to castiel as this like last resort and he’s desperate and he totally lets his guard down. Cas may have seen his soul but it’s incredible for him to feel dean actually baring himself to cas. It’s willing (in the way that angels perceive willingness).
“I wonder what you’d think if you could hear my prayers,” Cas said, “I doubt you’d find them as pleasing as I do yours.”
Heat pooled in Dean’s groin. He licked his lips and made himself keep eye contact with Cas. If he wasn’t standing in a church, he would say he was drowning. 
Gay thought have caught him… rip
Dean clenched his jaw. His mind was full of every thought and secret he wanted to keep tucked away. His fists clenched at his sides. It would be easy to reach a hand out and run it through Cas’s black hair. It was mussed enough already that no one would ever know. Maybe it was soft.
Cas’s eyes fluttered shut and a deep breath came through his nose, “Even when you try to keep them from me, they’re beautiful. Can I show you how it feels, Dean?”
So i spent a lot of time in the mxtx fandom and i LOVE tgcf and prayer kink. I’ve sort of self-plagiarized the idea of receiving prayers as an erotic experience from my fic you, my antagonist. I think angels get so overwhelmed by prayer and for Cas to receive prayers from Dean, the bug he doesn’t even realize he’s in love with? It’s orgasmic.
Dean could say no. Dean could walk away knowing that an angel believed in him, wanted him to know what that belief could feel like. He could live the rest of his life pretending not to know what Cas meant. He could pretend like he hadn’t tried to hold this one prayer back. 
“Sure, buddy,” Dean croaked.
So like i said before, this is a wildly lonely and low point in dean’s life. Right now, Cas is the only thing that kinda seems real. And well, he can pretend he didn’t know what was going to happen. Sort of. 
Cas nosed along the length of Dean’s still clothed, and rapidly hardening, length and said, “I would pray that you’d understand the choices I make, have made, are for you. For everyone.”
Dean licked his lips and let his head fall back to stare at the ceiling when he felt Cas fumble with his zipper. It looked like it was painted once, with angels and clouds. Classic stuff. A sigh escaped his lips as Cas’s fingers brushed through the coarse hair above his waistband. 
So im big on atmosphere in writing, i like settling into how a character perceives the space around them and how they see themselves reflected in it. Once it was probably really nice…. Now…. well…..
“I would pray for your understanding and forgiveness,” Cas said, pulling Dean’s in the waistband down to expose Dean’s dick. He ran a hand down the shaft and Dean shivered, stifling a small noise.
“Forgiv–?” Dean was cut off when Cas took Dean’s dick into his mouth without preamble. Dean groaned and braced himself with one hand on a pew, his eyes rolling back into his head. 
Cas could have confessed right there! And again, he wants to so so bad.
Didn’t seem like Cas had a gag reflex to worry about, his stubble rubbing hard into the crook of Dean’s hips as he bobbed his head back and forth. For all that Cas’s hands cooled Dean’s body, the heat of his mouth felt like a world of its own. 
How long had it been since someone looked at Dean softly like this? Since someone touched him without fear or apprehension? When was the last time someone who knew him, down to his core, down to his darkest fears, breathed into his skin? Below him, Castiel’s touch expressed no inhibitions or caveats. Cas’s touch was absolute. 
In the original draft, i had name dropped lisa because she and ben are Dean’s biggest failures in this season. My beta at the time convinced me the detail sort of killed the mood but i feel like i should have kept it in. also im big on lisa being scared of dean. I think everyone should be scared of dean tbh. She says that being with him was the best year of her life, but i bet the wild ups and downs were INSANE. Stream my girl’s in the next room for more of that.
He let himself grab at Castiel’s jacket, the stupid fucking coat he never took off. Would his shoulders look just as wide if he did? It was dirty now, from Dean’s blood, the soot of the Church. Dean twisted his hand in it hard, shuddering as he felt the musculature of Cas’s shoulders, his back. He was solid under this fucking thing, but would Dean ever see any of him?
Dean wants to know everything about the people he loves and he knows he doesn’t know everything about cas but how can he? Cas is always in heaven doing other shit when he should be with dean!! Duh!!!!
As though Cas knew what he needed, Cas shoved his hand up Dean’s shirt to grab at Dean’s waist. Dean shuddered a sigh. It shouldn’t feel like relief to have Cas’s hands hold him tight, to have his tongue run along the underside of his dick. It shouldn’t feel like he was being pulled apart and reassembled when Cas’s eyes open to look up at him through his eyelashes. Those tired eyes that have seen more than Dean will ever know, those eyes that saw him in Hell.
Atp cas has not yet learned to fear dean’s capricious and mercurial nature. He still has so much spunk and agency but he CHOOSES to come back to dean. That’s crazy for dean.
Dean’s eyes darted around, looking from his boots, to the door, to Cas’s face. He tucked himself back into his jeans and asked, “You… uh, what about you?”
Cas tilted his head, “Me?”
“You good?” Dean asked, “You want me to…?” Dean gestured with his chin towards Cas’s crotch. Cas’s slacks were obviously tented. The sight of it made Dean’s mouth water. 
Cas looked down and shook his head, “That isn’t necessary. You give me enough with your prayers.”
“Oh, okay, cool,” Dean mumbled and looked towards the open door. He shoved his hands in his pockets and balled them into fists. His blunt nails dug into the rough skin of his palms, enough to maybe bleed. “Then I guess I’ll, uh, see you around?”
“Of course, Dean. Please keep risking your life unnecessarily to a minimum,” Cas said. The telltale flutter of wings followed. 
“No promises,” Dean said to the empty church. The crumbling saints around him said nothing back.
So this is a miserable moment for dean bc he was vulnerable w cas and it just made him feel more alone than ever. Cas doesn’t get that. He barely gets how important that was for dean. He knows that sex can be used to engender camaraderie with someone but he has no concept of afterglow. He barely even understands that this was something he wanted, that closeness with dean. I also just love the image of Cas walking around with such an obvious erection and he sees no issue with that.
There are no other sounds within the universe to compare to the sound of Dean Winchester’s prayers. Once, an eon ago, on a planet made entirely of dry loam and ancient bones, Castiel was privileged enough to hear the sound of its first rain. He was there to watch the first clouds form, and to watch the first pressure system crackle with thunder and pink lightning. The sound of water hitting the parched, desperate ground could have come close. 
Perhaps it was his vessel that reacted so strongly to these prayers. Perhaps it was the bond they shared, forged with hellfire and love. All Castiel can be sure of is that Dean’s prayers cut through the carnage and wreckage of war unlike any others. 
Cas does not know that he has been in love with dean for a hot minute. He’s not even picking up on his own metaphor here.
“Do you fear me, Dean?” Cas asked.
Dean’s eyebrows raised, and he cleared his throat. Cas watched his Adam’s Apple bob before flicking his eyes back to Dean’s. “‘Course not,” Dean said and smiled, turning his head to look at Castiel. It was the same smile he used on female bartenders in low cut shirts, the ones who knew how to smile back. He managed to pull a box of cigarettes out of his jacket and shook one out. He took it in his mouth and said, “I know you’re one of the good guys.”
Dean doesn’t actually know this but he wants it to be true so so bad bc even tho atp sam has his soul back, dean is still alone. He cant really relate to sam and now sam is teamed up w bobby against his friggin special little angel guy! What the hell! AND to make things worse lmfao dean had cas wipe lisa and ben’s memories. No one knows dean and only cas didn’t judge him for making that decision. (a terrible decision dean is insane for this)
Dean leaned over to elbow Castiel’s arm. When their arms touched, like a tectonic plate, the tone shifted.
Dean’s smile faded and he turned his face back to the road. His eyes flickered back to Castiel, lingering in Castiel’s lap, maybe on his hands, before snapping back to the dimly lit road. They hadn’t spoken about the church, but Castiel felt its memory well up between them. Dean caught Castiel’s eyes again, so briefly, and he licked his bottom lip. Even in the dark of the car, the wetness of it shined and another aching note of longing wound its way into Castiel’s heart.
Two guys with crippling loneliness…. What could possibly happen…..
It was so dark, the only source of light being the waning moon overhead. Behind them, the lights of the closest city twinkled, well over 20 miles away. Castiel could still make out every inch of Dean’s face. He knew Dean couldn’t do the same. 
More of me playing with the idea that dean is in the dark about cas hehe im so artsy hehe. I do want to emphasize that this makes cas feel bad tho.
“You know, you can tell me… stuff,” Dean said, “We’d work it out. Been through enough together that we’d find a way.”
“Stuff?” How long would Dean keep believing him? How far could Castiel take this?
Guy who doesnt believe in dean…. Guilt really setting in
“Things that maybe, I dunno,” Dean shrugged, “That Sam wouldn’t understand, or maybe that you feel like you gotta keep locked up.”
Castiel said nothing.
“I could help you,” Dean continued, “I could make good on all that, uh, stuff you said a while ago.”
“A while ago?”
“The church.”
So dean does NOT know how to say what he really wants. He’s been sitting on this one moment of intimacy that was also not quite satisfactory but wondering if there could be more.
‘Castiel, please tell me. Talk to me.’
Dean like horny  praying during sex. So just like his prayers, i think dean can be honest with himself (to a certain degree) when sex is involved. He’s not totally uninhibited but he gets loose. The combo is like crazy for cas.
“Yours too,” Dean let go of Castiel’s coat to undo his trousers, pulling out Castiel’s swollen cock, “Together.”
Castiel nodded before wrapping his fingers around them both.This wasn’t something he thought to experience, not even in his wildest dreams. This wasn’t supposed to happen like this.
Cas wanted this to just be about reassuring dean that he’s ultimately on his side. If cas derives any real pleasure from this, then he’s really a villain, because here dean is being so sweet, so open. He wants to touch castiel and be touched and cas is fucking lying to him. 
The way Dean’s long eyelashes fanned out across the freckled apples of his cheeks made Castiel forget himself. He leaned in to brush his lips against the highest point of Dean’s cheekbone, quick and soft. A condemning touch. Dean let out the most beautiful sound when it happened, scrabbling higher to grab more of Castiel’s trenchcoat, fingers tangled in the collar, grazing against the nape of Castiel’s neck. Dean knocked their heads together and rocked hard into Castiel’s hand, hooking a leg around Castiel’s backside. 
I kinda wanted to play around with the line from s7 “the very touch of you corrupts” because well, cas is seeking that corruption. He’s not thinking of it as such, the condemnation here isn’t necessarily damning. It’s more of a “shit, im kinda boned” moment for cas because he cant lie to himself, he cant lie that hurting dean like this doesnt cut him to his fucking grace.
“But you, Dean, you, ah, ah–” Heat pooled in Castiel’s belly and his testicles tightened. He bit his own lip to keep himself in check, mouthing at the unkempt stubble along Dean’s jaw. “You pray for everyone other than yourself Dean. Even now, your prayers for me to speak… You believe it will relieve my burden.”
Dean moaned his name. Exquisite.
Cas is like overwhelmed lol. What he’s saying is true there is no one like dean to him, no comparison. And he’s losing himself in it which he cant afford.
 He sucked and bit hard, feeling Dean’s moan under his lips, and fucking against Dean hard as he rode out his orgasm. The kiss would leave a mark.
Cas loves to do this, he’s a FREAK.
He tried to lean back, up and out of Dean’s space, but was jerked back down when Dean’s hand grabbed the lapel of his jacket one last time. Dean pulled himself up into Castiel’s space and crashed their lips together, teeth clacking uncomfortably and noses bumping. Castiel grunted into the kiss, softening as Dean persisted. Dean worked Castiel’s mouth open and pushed his tongue inside, sweet and slow. They groaned into each other, tasting each other finally, for the first time. They stayed affixed to one another until Dean pulled back, chest heaving.
“Sorry, man,” Dean said through heavy breaths, “I know you didn’t want– But, you’re gonna leave, again, and I–”
Castiel’s hand cupped Dean’s jaw as he pressed another kiss to Dean’s mouth. Castiel kept his eyes open to watch Dean’s eyes flutter shut and his brow furrow.
So cas avoided a kiss because he didn’t see the need for it, it seemed so personal. In his experience a kiss was what the truly intimate did. He knew about couples and he had seen Anna and Dean kiss and well, that wasn’t something he was meant to have. (Remember Anna and Dean kissing in front of Cas………. Dreamy sigh) but Dean CRAVES intimacy more than he wants sex. He wants to feel close and he is an honest to god romantic. And a kiss would make this real and Dean wants it to be real because if it’s real then cas isnt a liar right? A guy who love him like that would lie right????
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immeasurable-depths · 1 year ago
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Sooo I had to write something when Laura made it canon that Imogen has seen Jester’s bug. This is pretty bleak in the beginning but Laudna makes everything better in the second part I promise 🖤
Suddenly she isn’t lying on the couch staring at her fingers - her mind explodes into the memory of standing beneath the darkened canopy of the stable eaves, magic bursting purple and white out of her fingertips in a terrible flash. With a wave of revulsion, Imogen feels the ripple of energy coursing through her fingertips, illuminating those lightning streaks into iridescent purple as they glow and lightning erupts from her. The bright light puts the silhouettes of the townsfolk into stark contrast with the rapidly sinking sun behind them, suspicion and anger etched on their hardened faces. Another flash: she sees the look of pain and resignation plastered across her father’s face, feels the wave of disappointment, of hurt. The suffocating thoughts of history repeating billow off him like storm clouds, battering Imogen’s consciousness with their intensity and anguish, threatening to bowl her over. Another flash, and in her mind’s eye, she sees him shake his head slowly. Another flash, and he turns his back, disappearing into the night to trudge back through the fields towards the empty farmhouse. Defeated. Alone.
And through it all, Imogen’s fingers shine with that spectral purple glow.
She jolts back to consciousness with a quiet whimper. That damned sofa is still scraping against her skin as she draws in a shaky breath.
Must have fallen asleep again, Imogen thinks to herself. She tries to ignore the tears that slide silently from between her clenched eyelids, hot and wet and stinging as they spill over the bridge of her nose and splash into the scratchy fabric below her.
Need to stop doing that. Drifting off.
Still.
What else is there to do?
She isn’t sure which is worse, at the moment. The disturbing dreams of red dust that sneak in at night; the feeling of panic and loss of control as the wind picks up and threatens to whisk her away. Or the crippling, yawning numbness she feels during the day - especially when Laudna is away.
Imogen is pulled unceremoniously back into her body by a faint tickle across her forehead. She is torn from her dark reverie with a jolt: her eyelid flinches instinctively, and she realises the tickling is caused by the legs of a tiny insect across her cheek. She swats at it half-heartedly, too slow to catch it but stirring the air enough that it takes flight. The buzz of tiny wings permeates the air and Imogen flinches again, irritated. Her eyes track its flight path from where she still lies, horizontal, to where it lands on the dilapidated staircase a few feet away. Iridescent wings fold neatly on its back and it begins its trek, skirting along the grain of the partially rotted wood. Imogen realises it is carrying something on its back: a crumb of bread from the meagre meal they’d had the night before, clenched precariously between two microscopic front legs. It clambers along the horizontal before pausing, readjusting its vice grip before hauling itself vertically up the step. It continues, painfully slowly, but relentless.
Imogen stares, unable to take her eyes off it. The crumb is bigger than the length of its body, but it persists, heaving it up and along and up and along.
What are you doing? You’ve got wings, you dumbass. Why don’t you just fly up?
It takes Imogen a moment to register that she’s reached out instinctively with her mind. Blearily, she realises it doesn’t have enough of a consciousness to answer her.
Oh. I’m talkin’ to a bug.
Great.
She drifts.
———
The happy part is on AO3 ☺️
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crimsonnsstuff · 11 months ago
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So in love with your Kent stories and I’m so happy to be able to connect with someone that adores him as much as I do. It’s so hard finding Kent fans out here.
Could you please write a Kent x fem reader “new boy next door” story that’s just a little smutty but more fluff and Kent’s both wholesome and a little sassy/snarky but the fem reader is sassy back? The way that dynamic just kills me every time. And maybe Tyler could be the fem reader’s brother (we’re ignoring the canon and giving them a normal home life. lol.) because Tyler is my other favorite character.
You can also pick what you want from that and totally freeform. I’m just excited to see what you create. 💜
Sure!! I hope you don’t mind I do a little twist onto that.
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New boy next door
Kentxreader
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WARNINGS : smutty… reader has sh scars AND STRETCH MARKS!! JUST KEEPING IT REAL. Fem reader. Short actual smut part (sorry) dom Kent. Overstimulating.
Summary: your parents make you go to dinner with the new people who moved in next door.
You were sitting on your bed under your blanket scrolling on your phone. You look over at your clock on your bedside table. 7:19. You hear your phone go off. You look back at your phone. It was a Snapchat notification from your best friend , Wednesday. She was asking if you wanted to go house hunting with her. You texted back yes. You hear a knock on my door.
“Come in!” You shout still looking at your phone. You look up from your phone and see your mom standing there. “What do you need?” You ask.
“You know the new neighbors?” My mom asks. You give her a confused look. “The ones that moved in yesterday? Yeah, why?” You ask her. “Well..” you could tell she didn’t want to say what she was going to say. “Well, dad talked with them yesterday and we learned that they have a son-“ you cut her off. “Okay? What are you getting at here?”
She sighs before continuing. “Well, since you guys are the same age we thought that you two could be friends, since you don’t really have any-“ your Mom knew you had a hard time making friends. “Mom! I have Wednesday!” You shout at her.
Suddenly your brother Tyler comes into your room. “What about Wednesday?” He questions. “Get out of my room, Tyler! And stop being so obsessed over Wednesday! She doesn’t want you!” He rolls his eyes and walks out.
“Okay, well, get ready because we are having dinner with them!” Your eyes widen. “Mom!” You shout. “No! Don’t argue with me! We are gonna be nice neighbors and that is final!” You slouch down in your bed. You guys just stand there and look at each other for a minute. Right when she goes to walk out you stop her. “What’s his name?” You ask her. She stops in her tracks. “Kent.”
You stare at her for a second. “Kent?” You ask her. She nods. “Okay.” She walks out of your room and closes the door behind her. You rub your eyes. You really didn’t want to get out of bed and your sweatpants. You put on a cute outfit.
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You look into the mirror at your outfit. You smile as you see how you look. You see the dark scars engraved into your inner thighs. You sigh and pull your skirt down a bit just to cover your thighs.
“Y/n!! Let’s go!!”your mom yells from downstairs.
——————————————
You guys go into your neighbors house. They weren’t done cooking yet so you had to help them. “Y/n, right?” A girl with blue eyes asked. “Uhm..yeah. What’s your name?” The girl smiled at you “I’m divinia.” She said softly. “Your really pretty..” you said looking at her in awe. “Thank you. Uhm, can you go stir the pasta, please?” She asks. You nod your head. You go into the kitchen to stir it.
You bump into somebody. It must’ve been Kent. He looks at you. He had long hair, for a boy, and it was brown. He had ocean blue eyes. He was really pretty. You lock eyes. “Your y/n..right?” He asks. “I-uhm-y-yeah..” you say, nervously.
“Your k..Kent, right?” You ask him. He gives you a warm smile and nods. “I better get to stirring..!” You say awkwardly. “Oh, okay!” He says before going upstairs into his room.
You quickly go stir the dinner. After the dinner was done you all sit down at the table. The adults and divinia have been talking but me and Kent have been staying silent. You and him have been locking eyes. You guys are sitting right across from each other. You feel his leg on yours. You drop your fork on the table.
Everyone goes quiet. “Are you okay, dear?” Kent’s mother asks you. “Uhm..yeah sorry..I just..stubbed my toe..” she nods. You look back over to Kent who is trying to hide a smile on his face.
You give him an angry look. ‘You know you like it’ he mouths as his leg moves up to more intimate areas. You hands start to shake. You try your best to not drop your fork. Your hand were shaking.
After the dinner your parents start to get up. “Uhm, mom?” You say. “Yes dear?” “Do you think I could stay and hang out with Kent for a bit?” She smiles at us. “As long as his parents are okay with it.” She looks at his parents for permission. “Yeah, that’s fine. Divinia and us were just about to head out to go to sams club anyways. We will probably be gone for a while, if that’s okay with you.” His mom says. “Yup! Sounds good!”
After they leave we run upstairs. As soon as you get into his room he grabs your waist and closes the door with his foot. He leans in for a kiss. As your lips connect his hands explore your hair. You moan a bit. After a while he pulls away. You guys were forehead to forehead.
“More..please..” you moan softly. He lets out a low chuckle. “Don’t worry, baby. You’ll get more” he says before going to kiss your neck. You guys back up towards the bed. “Lay down..” you lay down slowly. He then crawls up to your face. He leans in for a kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth. He pulls away and you whine at the loss of his mouth on yours.
He kisses down your neck. When he gets to your collar bone he just sucks on it for a little. You let out a soft moan. You feel him smile against your skin. “Sit up, baby” he says in a low soft voice. You sit up slowly. He takes your shirt off then your bra. He smiles as he sees your tits. He take some in his left hand and another in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around your bud. He pulls away with a popping sound.
He crawls down to in between your legs. He looks up at you in awe. “Do you mind if I take these off?” He asks, pawing at your pants. “No..” he slowly pulls down your pants and underwear at the same time. As the cold air hits your core you close your legs. “Hey, it’s okay” he says before looking up at you and giving you a warm smile. It was more reassuring tho.
As his mouth connects with your core you moan softly at the new feeling. He groans against you. You moan loudly at the vibrations. He slowly starts to suck on your sensitive bud. You try to push his head away as it is to much. He just holds you down. Your legs were now shaking and your legs were closing. He grabs your legs and cranks them back open. “Kent!” You moan out. “I’m gonna cum…” he smiles against you. “Do it, cum on my tongue”
You release on his tongue. He licks up every last drop. He crawls up to your face. “Was I to rough?” He asks. “No..it was perfect” you say still panting. He hugs you tightly. God, you could stay like this forever.
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Bonus Oliver pic!!
Also I’m sorry I took so long to post this😭 I’ve not really had the motivation recently. IM ALSO REALLY SORRY THAT THE ACTUAL SMUT IS SO SHORT. Also, if you guys have any story reccomendations just tell me and I will try my best to write them. Also I’m gonna pick a random song off my playlist and put it at the end of everyone of my stories✌️✌️
Hope you guys like this one!!
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adenei · 2 years ago
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Blank Space
3rd Submission for @cruelsummer-ficfest
Era #2 / Album: 1989
Ship: Romione
Song: Blank Space
Summary: Even their darkest moments, Ron will always defend Hermione. HBP Missing Moment, Canon-Compliant.
TW: language and some crude/underage insinuations
Read on AO3
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So it’s gonna be forever
Or it’s gonna go down in flames
You can tell me when it’s over, mmm
If the high was worth the pain
‘Cause we’re young and we’re reckless
We’ll take this way too far
It’ll leave you breathless, mmm
Or with a nasty scar
Boys only want love if it’s torture
Don’t say I didn’t, say I didn’t warn ya
“Oh, my god, look at your face,” Dean comments when Ron walks into the sixth-year dorm. Seamus and Neville crane their necks around their respective four poster beds to get a look.
“She’s fucking mental, mate!” Ron heads straight for the mirror to get a better look at the damage. He aims his wand at the various marks across his face and mutters incantations under his breath until something works to ease the pain.
Seamus curves his hand around his mouth and leans back with wide eyes. “Damn. I knew Lav had an easy streak, but that looks like some kinky shit. Someone’s a beast on and off the pitch.” 
“What’d you two do, Weasley?” Dean asks, part teasing, part genuine curiosity.
Ron pauses and swivels around to face his dorm-mates. “You think Lav did this to me? Like what, with her nails or—ew, that’s fucking gross. Nevermind, forget I asked.”
He shudders and turns back to the mirror but Neville interrupts him again.
“You mean Lav didn’t do that to you? Then what happened?”
“Yeah,” Seamus adds. “Did you get in a fight with one of the armored suits? They hit you with some shrapnel or something?”
“Very funny.” But there’s no humor in his voice.
The boys wait for Ron to elaborate and when he doesn’t, Seamus prods him further. “Let’s see…if it wasn’t Lav, who could have done it?”
“Forget it, Seamus. It doesn’t matter.” 
Despite the pain and physical damage that’s been done to his face, Ron refuses to give up the name of his assailant, which strikes all three boys as curious. And while Seamus and Dean are a bit slower on the uptake, Neville solves the puzzle almost immediately. There are few people Ron would protect above anything, and only one has the potential to destroy someone’s face. She’s done it before, and she’ll do it again, apparently.
“It was Hermione, wasn’t it?”
Both Seamus and Dean smack their foreheads and let out a prolonged ‘ohhhh’ in unison. 
“Fuck off, Neville.”
“Oi, Ron, you can’t seriously be defending her right now? She messed your face up! I mean, at least it doesn’t say ‘sneak’ on it. What, was she trying to carve out ‘cheat’ instead?” Seamus cracks himself up at his own joke.
Ron holds up a crude gesture and continues to ignore them, but the boys aren’t done prying for information.
Dean presses first. “How did she do it?” 
“Doesn’t matter,” Ron growls.
“I think the better question is what made her do it?” Seamus asks, but doesn’t wait for anyone else to chip in a response. “Oh, wait! Is Granger jealous?”
Nobody’s noticed that Neville has quietly bowed out of the conversation, choosing to lurk instead. He’s not dumb enough to test Ron’s temper.
“Of course, she’s jealous!” Dean agrees. “She’s had him to herself for five years and now other girls are interested. Probably didn’t take too kindly to Lav making a move.”
Seamus sniggers. “Yeah, like anyone would choose Granger anyway. I don’t know why you and Potter keep her around. It can’t just be for the grades, can it?”
“Watch your fucking mouth.”
“Wonder if she’s got an opening on her short list now. Think she’ll write my name on the blank space you’ve lef—”
But Seamus is cut short by the sound of Ron’s fist colliding with his jaw. “Fuck off!”
Neville scrambles off the bed to pull Ron away before he can do more damage as Dean restrains Seamus, who looks ready to return the punch.
“You’re insane, Weasley.”
“Fuck you, Finnigan, you asked for it.”
Seamus wrenches himself free of Dean’s grasp and rubs his jaw. “Didn’t realize you couldn’t take the piss.”
“You weren’t taking the piss and you know it.”
“Whatever. I’m going to bed.” Seamus crosses the room and flops on the mattress of his four-poster, then yanks the curtains shut around him. 
Ron glances at Dean and Neville, waiting to see if they have anything to add. When neither speaks up, he goes back to tending the cuts on his face. 
So much for celebrating Gryffindor’s victory with the rest of the team. Now, he’s stuck on the receiving end of his former best friend’s rage, and left with a girlfriend he’s not even sure he wants.
But what he doesn’t realize is it’s only going to get more insane from here.
Cherry lips, crystal skies
I could show you incredible things
Stolen kisses, pretty lies
You’re the King, baby, I’m your Queen
Find out what you want
Be that girl for a month
Wait, the worst is yet to come, oh no
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thelocalmuffin · 2 years ago
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Asoryu kissing them awake!!
Hello anon, sorry this took me a moment. I'm having some IRL conflicts that have really chipped into my writing. I hope you like this snippet.
Title: Future
Tags: Minor DGS spoilers, flash fiction, post canon, fluff, cuddling
Summary: Kazuma wakes up after a restless night. Realising what time it is, he decides to wake up Ryunosuke for work. About 500 words.
It’s another weekday, the sun rising to let Kazuma know that it is yet another morning. Yet, he tries to ignore it, trying to cling unto any precious sleep he can get. Though, eventually, the natural sunlight forces him to finally open his eyes after a restless night. He rubs his eyes, trying to process his surroundings. Around him, his adolescence room is the same he left it last night. Before he left for London.
Though there’s one change. A very welcomed one.
Someone else is in his bed, exactly right where he should be. Ryunosuke’s head is buried into Kazuma’s chest, his body has cocooned into a comfortable position on top of Kazuma’s whole frame.
Kazuma had offhandedly mentioned it once that it would be nice to have Ryunosuke lay on top of him since he actually is a stickler for physical touch…
Now he's here, it's perfect.
Ryunosuke had decided to stay the night at the Mikotobas after dinner. Though they have a guest room he could have stayed in, the two had spent the night talking about their future. They both must have dozed off when they got comfortable.
Their future. Not his. Not Ryunosuke’s, but their shared path.
If it weren’t for the fact Ryunosuke had to get to work early, they probably would have set up the move in plans for their shared spaced. It won’t be happening soon, after all, they still have a lot to unpack emotionally, but Ryunosuke said last night he wanted to be part of Kazuma’s future…
Though as the sun creeps over the horizon, Kazuma knows he needs to focus on the present. Speaking of someone who probably does as well…
Kazuma is about to shake him off, but decides to test if a little peck will awaken him. He leans down, pressing his lips to his forehead. He is still pretty warm, but it’s not an alarming heat. Ryunosuke does stir, but only nuzzles his head in with a faint smile.
“You got work.” Kazuma reminds him.
Ryunosuke groans in protest.
“Come, how are we both supposed to save up for our own place if we snuggle all day?” Kazuma whispers.
Ryunosuke pouts, then mumbles in his groggy tone. “Always straight to the point with you…”
“I’ll be back when you’re done.”
Ryunosuke dramatically groans in his chest, then nods. “I guess I’d be letting Susato-san down if I don’t go in as well.
“I was going to bring that up next.” Kazuma hums, running his hair through Ryunosuke’s hair. “If it’s not me who gets you to work, she’ll drag you there.”
“I know, I know. Just a minute. It’s just a nice moment.”
"Alright, but I'll keep you to that." Kazuma continues. "It’s a shame life goes on, but we can pick up where we left off tonight.”
“Promise?”
“Of course, Partner.”
This time, Kazuma wholeheartedly means it.
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whumpbby · 1 year ago
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Maybe it’s just me, but I’ve never used an anti tag before and I’m not sure why they’re so determined to protect that tag that they try and tell people off from using it wrong as opposed to just blocking and moving on. I’ve blocked most of them, a new one always seems to pop out of the woodwork every once in a while, but I can’t help but think it would be more fun to make content they like then bitch about content they don’t. They’re now saying the Jiujiuween event is meant to drown out WWX’s bday as if there won’t be a hundred other fan things going on on that day. They want to spam it and I’m so tired of people just not staying in their lane.
It's only ever about attention.
If they made their own tag, like 'bitching about jc' then people would block the tag and continue to use the app as usual.
But they need to be a pain in someone's ass, because if JC enjoyers don't get pissed and interact with them, then what other excuses do they have to keep writing their essays about how bad he is?? Writing for a group of like-minded antis doesn't have the same endorphin kick as being "right" against the "enemy". How will they feed their presecution complex if the worst people do is ignore them??
And, like, it's an actually an easy mechanism to grasp looking from the outside - kids do it all the time, being assholes for attention. And adults too - it's the Elderly Conservative Relative effect as I call itxD If no one mentions a controversial subject they have things to say about during a family meeting, goshdarnit, they will start the conversation themselves and keep it up until everyone else is uncomfortable and wants to leave! Someone will argue back at some point and, by god, they have their arguments locked and loaded!!
But at least they get attention and engagement! It's much easier to keep vomiting the same tired arguments and rewrite canon time and time again to support them. It so much easier to be performatively angry at fictional characters and to make up wild insinuations about strangers. It's the internet, after all.
It's easier than, say, making art or writing fic of some quality. Or even coming up with fun headcanons or ideas more interesting than "Lan Zhan and Wei Wuxian wuv each other so so so much!!!" repeated ad nausea, because their poor little conservative brains cannot step outside of the idea their OTP has to perfect and moral and good to be at all enjoyable. Hehe, sometimes they even have, gasp, sex!>.<
It's easier than writing actual researched meta that looks at all characters and multiple povs, takes cultural and medium tropes into consideration to provide an actual worthwhile critique.
When your main lense of interacting with a work of art is through hating it's integral parts, it's telling, imho.
That is to say, they are simple people. The modern equivalent to an evangelist shouting at the people at a street corner. Not interested in anyone's opinion but their own.
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coolcataetheryte · 9 months ago
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Say You Love Me series (1, 2, 3, 4)
Pairing: ThancredxJoker(mWoL)
Tags: angst, separation, a lot of crying
Note: Mild spoilers for post-ARR Takes place right before Heavensward actually begins. When everyone has to split up. Just felt like exploring how Joker would have acted based on how I imagine his character plus the AU elements.
Background info: This is a series of snippets of Joker’s life with Thancred and G’raha in my Magical Heroes AU, during any part of the entirety of the game. The AU elements may not be entirely prominent in all stories, but know that they do take place in an AU, and so some things may be different from canon. Not every part will be in chronological order. I’ll just be writing them as they come to me. I’ll always give a bit of context of when it takes place. It isn’t necessary to read the previous ones, but they may help with understanding some things, such as specific gestures, or phrases they do/say to each other.
Word count: 788
“Thancred and I will hold them off.”
Joker's heart sank at Y’shtola’s words. He couldn’t breathe and everything was muffled in his ears. He didn’t catch any of the next words exchanged between Minfilia and the others. It was only when he felt Thancred’s hand on his cheek that he came back to himself.
“I’m not going to leave you,” Joker said, holding Thancred’s hand to his cheek. “I’m not going to do that.”
“You have to,” Thancred urged. “You and Minfilia have to make it out.”
“Then promise me you’ll make it out, too,” Joker was nearly crying, desperately trying to hold himself together.
Thancred moved his hand from Joker's cheek to hold the long braid hanging by Joker’s shoulder, then stroked his fingers down its length, gently brushing over the ribbon tied around it before placing a kiss against the end. With the other hand, he tangled his fingers into the shorter locks of soft blue hair. He pressed their foreheads together, ignoring Joker’s circlet digging into his skull.
“Say you love me?,” he said, calling back to the saying that accidentally became so special to them not long ago.
“Thancred, promise me,” Joker demanded.
“You need to hurry,” Y’shtola rushed. “They’re almost upon us.”
“I want those to be the last words I hear from you,” Thancred said.
Joker bit his lip hard enough to bleed, willing the tears not to fall. He managed to choke it out. “I love you.”
Thancred kissed him passionately, pressing their bodies fully together. He briefly tasted Joker’s blood as their last connection, then shoved him along. “Go.”
Joker did as he was told. Running as fast as he could with Minfilia at his side.
It wasn’t long before she, too, bade him to continue without her. He could only grit his teeth and watch as she transformed into her magical warrior garb, something she so rarely did. He knew there was no point in arguing with her if she had deemed she must transform, and no time. He reluctantly moved on.
From there it was a blur, and he hardly registered his place on their savior’s carriage. He was too focused on keeping his emotions in check. Alphinaud was distraught enough as it was. He was the last pillar of strength for his young friend.
Keep it together. Keep it inside. Don’t cry. Don’t think about him. Don’t cry! Damn.
As soon as his last moment with Thancred flashed through his mind, there was no stopping the tears. He could feel the dried blood on his lips. He could still feel Thancred pressing them together in that nearly bruising kiss in his attempt to pour every ounce of love into him before they parted. The feeling of Thancred’s hands stroking through his short hair and gently tugging the braid lingered. The ache from Thancred shoving him away..
He wasn’t sobbing. It was quiet, and his face showed very little, but the tears were a steady stream. His body was tense, long ears pinned almost flat against his head. He felt Alphinaud slump further into his hands beside him. Damn.
He was on autopilot. He didn’t even know when he’d de-transformed. He was in his banquet attire once more. He barely heard Cid speak when they met with him, if he’d commented on his appearance, Joker didn’t notice or respond. He wasn't aware of their destination.
All he could do was rub the ribbon in his hair between his fingers. Thancred had given it to him. It was all he had of him now, unsure if he’d even survived. His mind was blank. The ribbon was the singular lifeline holding him to this plane of existence.
When he felt the bitter cold of the Coerthan Highlands, he finally regained some semblance of alertness. His dress shirt did absolutely nothing against the icy winds. He didn’t have the energy to transform again. The magic of his warrior glamour would have at least given him longer sleeves and enhanced endurance, but alas..
Once they were dropped into the freezing snow, he held Alphinaud close to him. He had to get it together. He’d had his moment, and now he needed to protect his friend. His tears were frozen against his cheeks.
When they reached Camp Dragonhead, he eased Alphinaud into a chair and hurried to speak with who would hopefully be their host for at least the night.
Haurchefant’s warm welcome was like sunshine. Joker couldn’t stop himself from hugging their friend tight, finally shedding tears in hope rather than despair. Haurchefant held him without hesitation, shedding a tear himself.
Joker was unsure what would lie ahead of them, but knowing he still had more friends on his side, the future felt less bleak. With Haurchefant’s optimism, even Alphinaud was able to cheer up. Joker began to feel less heavy.
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imaginedisish · 3 years ago
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Someone Great (Steve Harrington x Reader)
A/N: Hey guys! Here is my first Steve Harrington fic! I hope y'all like it. This is based on all of the “Steve talking about having kids with the reader” requests! It’s a bit angsty, and I’m just gonna say it now...SPOILERS AHEAD FOR SEASON 4 VOL 2!!! Please be careful LOL. So this one is based on Someone Great by LCD Soundsystem, but I also listened a lot to This is Me Trying by Taylor Swift while writing this. Anyway, here is some angst to fluff, enjoy y'all.
Summary: (SPOILERS AHEAD) As Steve’s best friend, you think you know everything about him. But you don’t know about his dream to have a Winnebago filled with Harringtons, and that you’re in it. 
Warnings: SPOILERS INCOMING FOR SEASON 4 VOLUME 2!!!!!!! Canon divergence! I literally ignore Nancy and completely replace her in the Winnebago scene LOL. Cursing, character deaths from season 4 volume 2 mentioned below the cut so beware! Canon mentions/depictions of violence and death in general, friends to lovers. Also, probably tons of grammatical errors. Takes place the day before that “two days later”...
Word Count: 2,048...kinda short for me.
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The past week, or the past few years, rather, had been far from normal. Battling inter-dimensional monsters had become somehow…commonplace. But it never got easier, and neither did losing those around you. 
It was a day after you, Steve, Robin, and Nancy had narrowly escaped Vecna and the Upside Down. You knew things weren’t over yet, far from it. You knew this was just the beginning. The destruction of practically all of Hawkins, despite your attempts to destroy Vecna, was enough proof of that. 
Your ears were still ringing, your heart was still pounding against the walls of your chest, and your head was still spinning. Your mind went back and forth between Eddie and Max, refusing to quit, engraving fictional images of their limp bodies in the very foremost part of your memory. It had been impossible to shake. 
And you knew it always would be. 
All of this would be eternally impossible to simply shake off. This was the type of shit that would continue plaguing you with nightmares thirty years down the line once you’ve settled down with a family of your own. 
 In search of some semblance of peace, some inkling of hope that maybe this could all get better one day, you take your bike down to Lover’s Lake. 
 You find your way down to the dirty dunes of the beach, and you sit down on the cool damp sand. Your eyes focus on the water in front of you, reflecting the bright blue sky and the glimmering sun above. It feels unfair, how beautiful of a day it is. You wanted the world to stop, to comprehend what the fuck had just happened. You wanted to force the universe to grieve with you, even if it was just for a brief second. Eddie and Max deserved that. You knew they deserved more than just that, but it would suffice for now. 
 Instead, you sat alone on the beach of the lake. You remember summer days when your parents would take you and Steve down to the lake. Your parents had met Steve’s parents when they first moved to Hawkins, and the couples clicked instantly. Still, your parents noticed how absent Steve’s parents were, and they quickly began taking Steve on your family day trips. It was here, on the beach of Lover’s Lake, that you and Steve developed your life-long friendship. It was over a stupid little sandcastle that you and Steve had pinky-sworn to always help each other, no matter what. 
 After demo-dogs, evil time bending wizards, and a massive Mind Flayer, it was safe to say you had each held up your ends of the bargain.
 You would never admit it out loud, but you desperately wished he was here with you now. It felt selfish to need him. He was probably just as traumatized as you, after all. It doesn’t help that you’ve been pining over him for the past few years. You’ve watched him hop from girl to girl, to Nancy, and back to girl to girl again. But now, that seemed like the smallest of your problems. 
 You try to push your thoughts of Steve out of your head. You squeeze your eyes shut, as if you were hard resetting yourself. But all you can see is Steve in that stolen Winnebago, staring deeply into your eyes from the driver’s seat. 
 “You? A big family?” You questioned, dumbfounded at Steve’s confession. 
 “Oh yeah,” He smirks softly, briefly musing over his response before continuing. “I’m talking like a full brood of Harringtons…like five, six kids…”
 You cut him off, eyes wide with shock. “Six kids?” A smile tugs softly at your lips as he glances over at you. 
 “Yeah, six little nuggets. Three girls, three boys…” He trails off, eyes on the road again, the corners of his mouth turned up. 
 The thing was, you could see it. You could see each part of Steve’s dream as he explained it. You could see him, surrounded by six children tackling him down on the sands of some beach town in California. You could see him propping up one of his daughters onto his shoulders to get the perfect view of the Grand Canyon. You could see him pitching up a tent at Yellowstone all because the kids begged to sleep outside, to actually feel like they were camping. 
 But most of all, and possibly worst of all, you could see yourself there with him. And God, you desperately wanted to be there with him. 
 You turn towards Steve. His gaze was already set on you, as if he had asked you a question and was awaiting your answer. You search his eyes as your smile widens. 
 “That’s beautiful, Steve,” Your voice is barely above a whisper, as if your words had gotten stuck in your throat. “Really, it sounds like a dream,” You force the words out this time, loud enough so that he knows you really mean it.
 Because you did. 
 And you still do. 
 You could feel the tears welling in your eyes. All of this was becoming unbearable. You could feel yourself waking up from the shock of losing Eddie and practically losing Max. What are you even supposed to do in a situation like this? How are you supposed to go back to college in the fall? How are you even supposed to go home now? Nothing felt like home anymore, not after all this. 
 The only thing that felt like home was him. 
 Steve. 
 But that didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. He was still in love with Nancy, and if your friends weren’t dead yet, they were certainly still in danger. 
 A chill runs down your spine as the wind whips off the lake and across the sand. You shudder under the touch of the breeze. You shut your eyes, tears freeing themselves as they fall down your cheeks. You bring your legs tightly into your chest, your arms reaching around them to hold yourself in place. Your head falls against your knees, the tears becoming uncontrollable. Your sobs grow louder, the heaving of your chest growing quicker. 
 In the near distance, you can hear tires screeching against pavement, and a car engine suddenly turning off. You sniffle softly, ignoring the car. You didn’t care if someone saw you like this. You deserved to cry, to break down. What else were you supposed to do?
 What are the options?
When someone great is gone
When someone great is gone.
 You could hear someone calling out a name, and as the voice becomes closer, the name the person is calling sounds a lot like yours. Suddenly, there’s a hand on your shoulder. The touch is familiar, warm, welcoming.
 Steve.
 You glance up, your face wet, your eyes bloodshot. The sight of you makes his heart stutter and clench painfully. He immediately falls to your side, wrapping you in his arms. 
 “Hey,” He whispers into your ear. “It’s me, I’ve got you now, it’s okay.” 
 You heave into his chest, your sobs echoing across the lake. 
 “It j-just keeps coming,” You stutter. “A-all of this, it’s n-never gonna stop, it’s never gonna…” You trail off, pressing your face farther into Steve’s chest. 
 And it keeps coming
And it keeps coming
And it keeps coming
Till the day it stops
 You’re in Steve’s lap now. His hands rub softly against your back, his fingers drawing shapes against any exposed bits of skin. He shushes you, cradling you in his arms. 
 “We’re gonna be okay,” He reassures as one of his hands travels up to the nape of your neck, gently combing through your hair. “We’re gonna get out of this, I promise.”
 “But what if-,”
 Steve immediately cuts you off. “No what if’s,” His voice is firmer now. He pulls you away from him for just a second, as if to solidify his point. His eyes stare into yours. “You’re getting out of this, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to make sure that happens.” 
 You swallow harshly, his words burning into your skin. You shake your head. “But you have to get out of here, too,” You insist. “You gotta get a nice girl and your six kids and that Winnebago,” You say, your voice shaking with every syllable. Even as kids, you always put Steve’s happiness before your own. If he had a shot at leaving all of this behind, you wanted him to take it. 
 Steve scoffs, looking off into the distance. “A nice girl?” He questions, his hands still firmly pressed against you, caressing you. 
 You nod as you struggle to keep yourself together, images of Steve starting a life with Nancy flashing through your mind. “Yeah,” You say, taking a deep breath. “Someone great, like Nancy.”
 Steve looks at you incredulously, and then looks back out to the lake, searching for the right thing to say. 
 “That thing, about the Winnebago and the kids,” He whispers, his eyes frantically taking in all your features. “I wasn’t imagining Nancy when I told you all that. I never have…” He trails off, his Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat. 
 “I imagined you.” 
 Those were the words that you had always wanted to hear, the words that made the sky open up, the words that made the world melt away. 
 Steve’s grip moves down to your waist, his fingers pressing into the exposed skin between your t-shirt and your jeans. One hand remains in your hair, pulling your face closer to his. He’s just inches away from you now. You can feel his breath tickle your nose as he parts his lips. 
 “I’ve imagined being with you for as long as I could possibly remember,” He confesses, his forehead pressing against your own. “The kids, the Winnebago, the vacations, it all means nothing if I’m not doing it with you.” 
 His lips ghost over yours. You breathe softly against him. “Steve I-,”
 He cuts you off. “And I get it if you don’t feel the same. I get it if the six kids thing sounds crazy. I don’t want to ruin our friendship and I don’t want to scare you away. It’s just that-,”
 “Steve,” You cut him off this time, a smile making its way across your face. “I want that. I want you, and your brood of Harringtons,” You giggle at the last bit of your confession, your face lighting up for the first time in what feels like an eternity. 
 “Oh thank fucking God,” Steve mutters, somehow pulling you closer to him. 
 His lips press firmly against yours, capturing you, securing you, and simultaneously freeing you all at once. It feels like for just one second, not all is lost. It feels like there’s a future out there where you and Steve and the kids save Hawkins. It feels like there’s a future out there where all of these deaths and battles aren’t in vain, that they mean something. It feels like there’s a future where you and Steve make it, like there’s a future out there where your little Harringtons are fighting each other to be Steve’s first mate in the front seat of a Winnebago. 
 The kiss is languid and smooth. His body moves carefully against yours, as if he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in front of him, as if you’ll crumble and he’ll have no way to put you back together. It’s clear, even in just this kiss, that he’s afraid that he’s going to lose you just as soon as he’s finally gotten you. 
 And you can’t help but feel the same. 
 When his lips finally part from your own, you can’t help but want more. It wasn’t enough. The cool breeze that comes off the lake whisks between the two of you, causing Steve to grip tighter onto you. 
 “We’re gonna get that future, I promise,” He whispers. 
 “Good,” You whisper back. “Because I’ve got some names in mind.” You grin widely. 
 “Oh yeah?” Steve grins even wider than you. “You gotta tell me then. Spill.”
 You knew it wouldn’t be like this forever. But for a moment, just a moment, things seemed perfect, safe.
 We're safe, for the moment
Saved for the moment…
906 notes · View notes
mermaid-trash · 2 years ago
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Russian Into Love - Pt 1
Pairing: Alexei x fem!reader
A/n: (pls ignore the pun title, it was meant to be just a working title but I can’t think of anything better 😭) soooo this is the first part to a slow burn fake dating/marriage thing that I’ve had in my head since watching s3 of Stranger Things, I’m gonna be playing fast and loose with canon and idek if the s4 plot will be in this buuut I’m having fun writing it :)) pls feel free to comment and tell me what you think bc I personally love this and I want you all to love it too ❤️
(All Russian translations were taken directly from google translate so pls don’t attack me, attack mr google instead)
Wordcount: 2.9k
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You were certain that you were going to lose your mind. It had been days since you had really looked at the sky, watched the clouds roll by like passing trains, and you were convinced that another day spent staring at the same faded floral wallpaper would be the death of you.
“Y’know, Murray, I’ve been thinking…” You began tentatively, not raising your eyes from the gossip magazine you had been pretending to read for quite some time.
“Sounds dangerous. Try not to do it again.” Murray dismissed without even looking up from the book he was wasting away his own time with. Ignoring his quip, you continued as though uninterrupted.
“I think we should go to California with Joyce and the kids.”
The idea had been playing on your mind for days, ever since you had learned that Hopper was gone. And after 4 days hiding in a motel room with Murray and the quiet Russian scientist, you were desperate for any opportunity to get out and as far away from these four walls as possible. Murray’s head snapped up from the book he was reading in the old armchair in the corner of the room, and Alexei’s eyes left the TV playing Loony Tunes to watch the conversation in interest.
“Oh? And why’s that?” Murray asked, his voice tinged with the familiar condescension that you had come to expect from him.
“Well, first off, if we have to stay in this motel much longer I think I might snap and start killing people. Secondly,” your tone softened slightly, “I’m worried about Joyce, and I think we should try to be close by.”
As Murray pondered your words, Alexei watched you both patiently while waiting for a translation. Murray knew as well as you did that with everything that had happened in the Starcourt mall and the subterranean Russian lab, Joyce had a lot to deal with right now, and while you both knew that she was capable of looking after herself, you just couldn’t stand the idea of her moving away on her own.
“As much as I may agree with you, we can’t go anywhere until Alexei’s green card situation is resolved.” Murray argued eventually.
“в чем дело?” [What’s going on?] Alexei asked, but before Murray could respond to him, you continued.
“Yeah, well, there is an easy way to deal with that. If Alexei wants to.” You said, and Murray’s head snapped up to look at you in obvious surprise.
It wasn’t the first time the idea had been brought up; Murray had mentioned marriage as a solution to Alexei’s citizenship situation on the very first day of your captivity, but it had been dismissed quickly because finding someone to marry Alexei would prove difficult, perhaps even impossible. So, Murray had moved his attention onto finding other ways to solve the problem, whereas you had been unable to stop thinking about it; it was such a simple solution, you were willing and as long as Alexei was too, you could soon see the other side of the motel room door.
“There is. Are you volunteering?” Murray asked with a cocked eyebrow.
“If it gets us out of this room, sure.” You replied, crossing your arms across your chest determinedly and trying to ignore the nervous pounding in your chest.
Murray’s gaze fixed on your face only intensified, his eyes narrowing as he regarded you closely from behind tinted glasses.
“I don’t think you’re taking this as seriously as you should be. Marriage is a big deal for most people, you know.” He explained with a frustratingly soft look on his features.
Wordlessly, you stood from your spot on the garish floral bedding and crossed the room to peer through a crack in the blinds. Both men watched you as you made a show of peering from left to right across the mostly empty car park.
“Nope, just as I thought, there’s no queue of men waiting for my hand in marriage.” You sighed dramatically and flopped back down on the bed, while Murray scoffed at your dramatics.
“Murray, что она сказала?” [Murray, what did she say?] Alexei asked again, and this time Murray answered.
“она предложила выйти за тебя замуж из-за грин-карты. и она хочет переехать в Калифорнию.” [She offered to marry you for your green card. And she wants to move to California.] He explained, and Alexei’s head spun quickly to stare at you, eyes wide behind his glasses.
“если мы поженимся, я стану гражданином США?” [If we marry, I’ll be an American citizen?] Alexei spoke, his eyes never leaving you.
You toyed anxiously with a loose thread on the bedding while Murray explained your idea to him. Alexei’s approval of this plan was the only thing coming between you and your escape from this room, so while being rejected by him wouldn’t be the biggest hit your ego had ever taken, it would mean staying here for longer. With the man that had rejected you.
“да. но вы также будете женаты на ней.” [Yes. But you’ll also be married to her.] Though you didn’t understand Murray’s words, you couldn’t miss the disdainful tone at the end and so you shot him a venomous look. Alexei looked thoughtful for a moment, still staring at you.
“это было бы не так уж плохо.” [That wouldn’t be so bad.] He said finally, and Murray let out a hearty laugh.
“What’s so funny?” You asked, jaw clenched at the sigh of Murray’s glee.
“He thinks it’s a good idea.” He stated, causing your heart to leap. It had been surprisingly easy for Murray to convince him, you thought absently. “I’m not taking you to buy a wedding dress, though.”
—————————————————
So just a few days later, after what you were sure must be the fastest, most pragmatic wedding ceremony ever held in Hawkins, you, Murray, and your new husband piled into Murray’s van with what few belongings you still had, and set off for California.
You were admittedly beginning to grow nervous about your plan; once you arrived in California, you and Alexei were moving into a small home under the half-correct guise of being a newly-wed couple moving into their first home together, while Murray had found a new base for his own work somewhere nearby. The nervous pit that bubbled in your chest had nothing to do with the prospect of living with Alexei, you had been living with him in that horrid motel room for over a week at this point and despite the close quarters, he had been a wonderful roommate. Instead, your nerves were flaring up the idea of being caught in the ruse you had agreed to live in for the forseeable future. Or at least, until Alexei met someone he wanted to really marry.
But as you watched the scientist eagerly watching the scenery go with his forehead practically pressed against the windows of the van, you felt your worries fade a little. His smile was infectious, and just existing around him was easy, as natural as breathing. Not to mention the fact that his English was improving steadily; faster than your Russian, luckily.
Just then, Alexei turned towards you and caught you staring. His face split into an ecstatic grin that you couldn’t prevent your own from mirroring.
“это так…тепло.” [It’s so…warm.] He said with a small chuckle, gesturing out of the window.
Even though you didn’t understand his words, his joy was simple and genuine, and you couldn’t stop yourself from grinning along with him. You didn’t even realise you had been staring at him until Murray coughed pointedly, drawing both of your attentions to him.
“Now, I know that this is all very exciting, but you two need to remember that to your neighbours, and friends, and coworkers, and everyone except for me and Joyce, you two are married.” Murray reminded for the hundredth time, enunciating his words with annoying precision as though you were rowdy children. He glanced past you at Alexei, and translated. “Вы должны вести себя так, как будто вы на самом деле женаты. Понять?” [You have to act like you’re actually married. Understand?]
With a glance in your direction, Alexei nodded. Murray turned his gaze on you, one eyebrow raised in that universally understood question: well? You huffed, avoiding his gaze.
“Yeah, sure. Are you gonna give me strict instructions on how to do that? A list of my wifely duties or something?” You questioned snarkily, and Murray tutted in response.
“No, actually, I thought maybe California might melt that icy heart of yours and you can figure out how to be affectionate on your own.” Ignoring your indignant noise, he continued. “Look, I’m not asking you to consummate this faux marriage, just try not to act like our comrade here repulses you too much.” He explained firmly.
“He doesn’t repulse me.” You replied entirely too quickly. Embarrassed heat flared in your cheeks and you ducked your head in the hopes that Murray would not notice; the chuckle he let out told you that he did notice.
When the van finally pulled into the driveway of your new home, set against the late afternoon sky, you hopped out of the back of the van excitedly. It was a relatively small two-story house, with houses on either side that looked like the epitome of suburbia; beige buildings with pristine gardens, even complete with a white picket fence. The mundanity made you want to retch, but instead you focused on your own home and allowed yourself to pretend for a moment that it was real, that it could ever be real for you.
Suddenly, a large hand was in yours, and it raised your hand to Alexei’s lips for him to press a kiss to the back. You stared at him in utter confusion for a second, before he nodded surreptitiously behind him, in the direction of a neighbours house.
In a window at the front of that house, you could see a tanned, blonde woman peering through her curtains, watching your arrival as subtly as she could. Sending her a friendly wave and a smile that you hoped looked genuine, you scoffed lightly.
“Nosy neighbours. Fantastic.” You murmured, mostly to yourself. Alexei watched you with a faint smile, before pulling you eagerly towards your new home.
Together, though no longer holding hands, you explored the house; Alexei was simply delighted by the small pool in the backyard, and you were pleased to find the kitchen already equipped with a fridge and oven. Then you ventured up the stairs and found four doors, behind which were a linen closet, a hideously beige tiled bathroom, and thankfully, two bedrooms, both already furnished with basic double beds.
You glanced at Alexei and he met your gaze with a half smirk, both of you seemingly grateful to not have to share a bed in order to protect your newly-wed image. He entered one of the rooms wordlessly and you entered the other, one with a window overlooking the back yard, and dropped your backpack on the floor at the foot of the bed. You couldn’t help the sigh of relief that slipped past your lips; all things considered, the house was nice. Murray had really showed you some mercy with the two bedrooms, too. You had almost been expecting him to make this as uncomfortable as possible, just to spite you for being a constant thorn in his side.
“Alright, lovebirds, I’m leaving!” Murray called up the stairs, and you stepped out onto the landing to see him standing at the bottom of the staircase.
“Wait, we don’t have any groceries and I’m starving, you’re leaving me here without food on my wedding night?” You asked in faux incredulity, to which Murray rolled his eyes.
“There’s a flyer for a pizza place by the front door, will that be adequate for the blushing bride?” He asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” You waved off his snide comment with a dismissive scoff. “You’re coming back tomorrow though, right?”
“Yes, I’m coming back tomorrow to take you and loverboy to buy a car. Hopefully, that’ll stop you from bugging me to take you places.” Murray replied with another roll of his eyes.
Before you could respond with a quip of your own, Alexei stepped out of his bedroom and onto the landing beside you. He and Murray exchanged words in quick fire Russian, before Alexei nodded, and brushed past you with a gentle smile into the bathroom.
“I just told your dearly beloved to be ready to go at 10am tomorrow. You’d better not make me wait.” Murray explained, waving a finger at you as though you were a naughty child.
“Would I do that?” You asked as innocently as you could, fighting back a smile as Murray began to walk away.
“You would and you have, repeatedly. Don’t make me leave you behind.” His final warning, only intended half jokingly, rang out as the sound of the front door closing signalled Murray’s departure.
Breathing out a slight chuckle, you tried to ignore the ache in your chest that already missed Murray and his quick wit; although you had always argued with him and seemingly done everything within your power to irritate him, you and he both knew that it was all in good fun. After years spent alone, you both had found verbal sparring partners within each other, and the few short years you had lived with him had been the happiest that you could remember.
You remained in place on the landing, absorbed in your thoughts, until the sound of running water reminded you of Alexei’s presence in the bathroom. The realisation that he was there, just on the other side of the dark wooden door beside you, and presumably about to shower, sent a cold jolt though your veins and before you could think about it you were darting away from the bathroom door and bolting down the stairs as quickly as you could.
Since your living room was totally devoid of furniture, you elected to sit outside in the back yard beneath the late afternoon sun as it slowly dipped towards the horizon. Lying on your back on the warm ground, you kicked off your shoes and allowed your feet to dangle in the pool, relishing in the coolness of the water around your ankles as you gently kicked your feet. With your eyes closed, you allowed yourself a single moment of peace and serenity before what you were certain would be a busy week, with your new house to be fully stocked and decorated.
The only thing that signalled Alexei’s arrival by your side was the shadow that he cast over your face, the sudden darkness prompting your eyes to open. He stood, towering above you, with damp curls and that same cheery smile across his face.
For an evil genius Russian scientist, he sure does look friendly, you found yourself thinking.
“Hi,” You said, peering up at him as a smile began to unfurl across your own face.
“Hello.” He said, his accent distorting the word slightly.
Carefully, he lowered himself to sit on the ground beside you, his own feet dangling in the pool beside yours. For a moment he was silent, and you attempted to settle back into the peaceful moment you had found just before, until you were again disrupted by a gentle prod to your cheek.
You opened your eyes to see Alexei, now propped up on an elbow so that he was almost lying beside you, holding a flyer in front of your face. After some squinting, you recognised it as the pizza place flyer Murray had mentioned, for a place called Surfer Boy Pizza.
“You’re hungry?” You asked, tilting your head up towards him. He nodded.
“Da.”
“Alright,” you replied, happy with the simple exchange, and unfolded the flyer to read the menu, “let’s order something then.”
As you were reading through the topping options, Alexei leaned further down over you to point a finger at one of the pictures on the flyer, a picture of a fresh, greasy, pepperoni pizza.
“Say?” He said, looking down at you intently.
As you looked back up at Alexei, his face was cast in shadow from the late afternoon sun behind him, making his features difficult to make out clearly, but you were fairly certain that he was staring intently at your lips. You froze, fixed in place by his watchful gaze. The whole world seemed to stand still for a long moment before you regained the ability to speak.
“P-pizza?” The word came out as a question, and heat flared in your cheeks as he grinned.
“Pizza.” He repeated.
Oh. The pronunciation.
“Y-yeah, pizza.” You repeated, breathing a slight sigh of relief when he finally turned his attention away from you again. “Um. Okay.”
You rose shakily to your feet, the flyer trembling in your grip.
“I-I’m gonna, uh, just, um, go? Inside? And…order pizza? Yeah, um…okay.” And with that, you darted back into the house without a glance back at the man sitting, looking very confused, at the edge of the pool.
The cool indoor air did nothing to soothe the burning in your cheeks after your unbelievably awkward exit, though it was a relief to no longer have Alexei staring at you. The memory of his attention focused so intently on you made you want to curl up in a ball; it had been as though he was the first person to ever truly look at you, and it had made you feel vulnerable in a way you hadn’t in a long time, not even with Murray.
Before you could allow your thoughts to delve too far into what that could mean, you snatched the phone from the receiver and punched in the number with more force than strictly necessary.
315 notes · View notes
minervadashwood · 2 years ago
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Scars and Stitches, Chapter 20: Walkers in the Closet Daryl X PlusSize!Reader (she/her)
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Series Masterlist | Daryl x Reader Masterlist
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Chapter Summary: Glenn finally tells the group about the barn. Includes canon divergence :) Word Count: 2,500 Chapter Warnings: : Sexist and anti-fat language, fighting.
Note: This will likely be my last Thursday update. I'm headed back to work this month, and I won't have as much time to write. I plan to update at least by every Tuesday. Thanks for your patience!
Divider by @firefly-graphics.
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The next morning, Daryl woke you up, and not just to say goodbye.
You smiled at him, still groggy from sleep, and he said, “Goin’ huntin’. You wanna come?”
Despite your early morning sleepiness, you grinned widely. “Really?!”
He chuckled. “Yeah. You can wait at the camp, and I can teach you to skin whatever I get.”
You sat up on the bed. “Are you sure about this? Don’t you enjoy your time alone?”
Daryl glanced at his feet before saying, “I miss ya. Be nice to spend the mornin’ with you, like we been.”
You nodded, and Daryl helped you from the bed. He put one hand at the small of your back, and the other on your jaw. He looked into your eyes for silent permission, which you gave, and he kissed you heartily. You leaned into him, all of your curves pressed against his solid wall of muscle, whimpering as he worked his tongue past your lips. You threw your arms around him and clutched his tank top. 
Daryl pulled away all too soon, but he gazed down at you with such gentle eyes, they pierced right through you. When he looked at you like that, you felt, strong, beautiful, and loved. Not that you or Daryl had ever called this love. But you knew he cared for you. Even if the words never came, he showed you in other ways.
After you briefly parted each other’s company to dress for the day, the two of you left the farm just as the sun was rising.
For the next few hours, you trudged after Daryl, carefully following in his literal footsteps to make as little noise as possible. Along the way, he picked fruits and berries for breakfast. He even found a wildflower that complemented your eye color and tucked it behind your ear. He was quiet for most of the journey, and you didn’t mind. It was only an hour into the hike that you even felt awake enough to have a coherent thought of your own. Following Daryl, with the sounds of the forest the only noise around you, was such a lovely change of pace, especially after yesterday. Your walk was leisurely, filled with breaks and and whispered conversations, which were mainly Daryl pointing out trees and clusters of roots that you could use as landmarks.
For the next few days, every morning was like this. He went hunting on his own, while you continued to clean up the hunting camp a little each day. You did end up learning about gutting and skinning squirrels, as well as other small game. His lessons helped you improve your dexterity with your knife and bolstered your understanding of anatomy.
Then one afternoon, you and Daryl returned to the farm just in time to hear Glenn tell everyone the Greene family’s secret.
Walkers. In the barn. Not even thirty yards from where you slept, night after night. It was like living next door do a minefield. You looked around for Rick, but he didn’t seem to be there. It was the worst possible time for him to be off with Hershel.
Glenn’s confession had half the group shocked into a stupor, while the other half—led by Shane—was scrambling to deal with the new threat. Shane lugged around the bag of guns, handing them out to everyone. Andrea got a handgun, Glenn a rifle, Daryl a shotgun. As soon as each of them were armed, they began forming a firing line in front of the barn doors.
Dale and Lori were both shouting for Shane to stop, but he ignored them and headed for you, where you stood next to the clothesline.  He shoved the gun you’d practiced with into your hand. Unlike the others, you didn’t move. You watched, frozen, even as Lori, Carol and the kids sought safety on the porch of the farm house.
A few weeks ago, your place would be with them, but the gun in your hand made clear your new role in the group.
Still, you didn’t follow Shane. Not even Daryl’s beckoning you to his side could move you from your spot.  Everything about this was wrong. Shane should wait for Rick, or at least Hershel, before doing this. Not even Maggie, the Greene closest to your group, was here to approve.
You weren’t against taking down the walkers, but you were against this chaotic way of doing it.  Hell, the barn was padlocked, and Hershel probably had the only key. If only they would wait, Daryl and Glenn could set up better defenses, perhaps even a trap to make it safe to kill the walkers one by one. It would save ammunition and be much quieter.
You lurched from your spot and grabbed the back of Shane’s shirt. “Shane, just wait a minute. I know we need to do this, but at least wait for Rick.”
Shane turned, and the look he gave you was so intense, so full of fury, that you involuntarily took a few steps away from him. 
He snarled at you. “Look, you uppity bitch, you’re goin’ to open that lock and protect what’s yours. I ain’t askin’.”
You shook your head. “I won’t. Not unless Rick tells me to.”
Shane lunged forward and grabbed your forearm. His grip, white knuckled and bruising, reminded you of the first time he hurt you. The pain shooting up your arm forced you to drop your gun, and despite your efforts to be brave, you couldn’t help shuddering and cowering, full of fear as you thought of all the ways this man was the most dangerous person you’d ever known. 
Before you realized what was happening, he was dragging you toward the barn. His surge of strength snapped you into action. Instead of resisting, you did just what Daryl had taught you. You leaned into Shane’s pull and let yourself land squarely against his body. He didn’t expect it, and his moment of confusion gave you the opportunity to whip out your knife and hold the blade at the side of his neck.
"Let me go. Now," you ordered.
Shane released you and stumbled backwards; shock written all over his face.
Suddenly, a blur of red flannel flew into Shane from behind and tackled Shane to the ground.
"Don't you fuckin’ touch her!" Daryl yelled.
Andrea screamed at Daryl to stop. Where was that anger when Shane was hurting you?
Of course, Daryl didn’t listen, and he and Shane rolled around on the grass and dirt, each of them trying to get the upper hand. Soon, you felt Glenn put his hands on your shoulders, trying to pull you away from the fight.  You trembled with fear and unspent adrenaline, Daryl’s grunts and groans only worrying you more.
"Shane, what the hell is wrong with you?" Lori demanded. No one answered her.
It wasn’t long before Daryl managed to pin Shane beneath him. Punches started flying, the sound of impact sickeningly loud and wet. Daryl grunted while Shane only whimpered and whined.
It was clear Daryl had stopped the man, but your boyfriend didn’t let up, not even a little.
"I’m okay Daryl,” you told him. “You can stop now.”
At your words, T-Dog stalked forward, and tried to pull Shane and Daryl apart, but all he got for his efforts was an elbow to the jaw.
You looked on helplessly. Daryl still had Shane pinned to the ground, punching the man again and again. "You think I don't know what you done?” He shouted. “You sick fuck!”
“Oh. thank God,” T-Dog murmured. "Rick's finally here.”
Daryl slowly stood up, spitting on Shane as he did. "You go near her again; I'll finish what I started."
Daryl backed away, wiping blood off his face. You ran from Glenn to Daryl, grabbing at his ripped shirt with trembling hands.  You tried to get a look at his face, but Daryl wouldn’t let you by. He kept you entirely behind him, shielding you from Shane, who was slowly getting to his feet.
You watched from behind Daryl as the murderer struggled to stand. Most of his face was purple and red, along with cuts that dripped blood. One cheek was swollen, the eye above it unable to open.  Still, he had the nerve to scoff over at you and Daryl, and then at everyone else.
"Fine. Y'all want them walkers to kill you in your sleep? Have at it."  He spat blood on the ground, and everyone stared at him silently. Carl and Sophia were whimpering and holding tightly to their mothers.
You could barely breathe, barely think.  You'd never seen such violence between two of the living, and it scared you how much you approved of it.  Like one of the children, you cowered behind Daryl, wanting to burrow into him, to let him make all this go away, to make sure you were safe again. You didn’t care what happened to Shane, the man could die for all you cared. The thought sickened you, but you were tired of being gracious to Shane Walsh, tired of ignoring all the warning signs, tired of him putting you and your new family in constant danger.
You wrapped your arms around Daryl and buried your face in his back. He reached behind you with one hand, holding you close to him.
Andrea made her way to Shane’s side, and T-Dog, bless him, stood between Daryl and Shane. Glenn soon joined him.
Their show of protection let you relax a little. You slipped from standing behind Daryl to face him. First you took his hands in yours, inspecting his bloodied knuckles.
"You're hurt," you mumbled, dropping his hands to inspect a cut on his lip. He looked no where as injured as Shane, however, and it was clear who won that fight. A perverse sense of pride came over you. Of course, Daryl won, he was Daryl.  You’d never known a fiercer fighter than him, and if you had any doubts about his ability to keep you safe, they had been obliterated.
Daryl gently swatted your hands away from his jaw. Tenderly, he lifted the arm Shane had grabbed. "I'm sorry I let 'im get ya. Shoulda listened to you."
"That's not important now." You glanced around the group, all of them tense and watching Shane pace in front of the barn, T-Dog and Glenn warily on guard.  You slid your arm around Daryl, hugging him from the side, and he held you close, his body still simmering with rage.
Rick and Hershel were quickly approaching. As they did, the more agitated Shane became, and soon Daryl was pushing you behind him again. 
Walkers. Rick and Hershel were leading walkers to the barn.
Carol and Lori kept the kids on the porch.  The rest of you looked on warily as Rick tried to explain everything, tried to defend what Hershel was doing. You left Daryl’s side for just a second to find the gun you dropped and to retrieve Daryl’s shotgun.  You both needed to be ready. Just in case.
Hershel made no sense. You'd seen the brain scans, the imaging, all the medical evidence of what turned a person into a walker.  None of them would ever be human again.  But you trusted Rick; you had to trust him. He held your group together; he took on the burden of leadership when he didn't have to. He'd done right by all of you, and then some.
Shane’s fury seemed to have died down, and it took little effort for T-Dog and Glenn to pull Shane away from the barn. This allowed Rick and Hershel to make their way to the wooden structure. Jimmy used a key to open the barn doors, Between him, Hershel, and Rick, the two stray walkers were soon locked in with the rest of the dead.
Once Hershel finished his speech about the walkers being friends and family, Rick told your group to remain calm. No one else protested. Either they were still shocked by the whole ordeal, or they agreed with Rick.
Tense silence reigned for a few minutes. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, Shane tried to go after Daryl again. He was no match against T-Dog and Glenn, but that didn’t stop Shane from running his mouth.
"We gotta lock Daryl up, man," Shane insisted, pointing to his face. "He's crazy. No tellin' what he'll do next."
You tore yourself from Daryl's arms and stalked toward Rick. You told Rick about Shane and his determination to take down all the walkers in the barn. "Shane tried to make me pick that lock," you explained.  You held out your arm, another bruise already blooming there.  "It's not the first time he's hurt me, Rick."
Daryl was next to you again, putting his arms around your shoulders, holding you steady in front of him.
Rick furrowed his brow, gaze flickering from you to Shane.  "He...he was the one...?"
Lori shouted from a few yards away. "She's telling the truth, Rick."
All the color left Rick's face.  He gazed at Shane in utter confusion.  "Why would you hurt her?"
Shane shook his head. "It was an accident, man, just a misunderstanding. We worked it all out."
"You nearly broke her arm, you lyin’ fuck!" Daryl yelled, tightening his hold around you.
You took a deep breath. "Shane was doing something he shouldn't have, and when I tried to stop him, he put me in a wristlock."
Rick said, "What was he doing?"
You held your breath, waiting for Lori to explain. But she remained aggravatingly silent.  
"What's it matter?" Daryl grumbled. "He's the one who left her bruised up for weeks. He was tryin' to do it again. I won’t let there be a third time."
Shane smiled around his swollen face. "Rick, buddy, all I did today was ask her to help protect the camp. She's been harping on about that. Then, that fat bitch pulled a knife on me."
This time you growled deep in your chest. The gall, the absolute gall of him. Daryl breathed heavily, the rage flowing off him in waves. You knew if Daryl weren’t holding you, Shane would be getting a few broken bones of his own.
Rick pinched the bridge of his nose.  "Okay, okay. I'm going to talk to Shane. The rest of y'all get back to camp. Stay away from the barn."
Rick watched you with tired eyes. "You really pull a knife on him?"
You squared your shoulders, proud of what you'd done. "Yes. He wouldn't let go of me when I told him to. I was only defending myself."
“You two...just...keep away from him and stay together, alright?"
You nodded.
Daryl grunted and you watched as Rick studied Daryl for a long moment, the two of them having some silent conversation you weren’t privy to.  All you knew was that Rick looked at Daryl with relief, not suspicion. 
The way Rick looked at Shane sent shivers down your spine.
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