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silkendress · 2 months ago

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Bitten Bullet

First Chapter (You are here!) Next Chapter

-ˋˏ➛ Chapter 1: Biting The Bullet

-ˋˏ➛ Call of Duty

-ˋˏ➛ Suggestive

-ˋˏ➛ Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

-ˋˏ➛ Strangers to Lovers, Civilian Reader, Slow Build

-ˋˏ➛ 8k Words

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You’re rather unremarkable, and what is there to be remarked isn’t anything flattering. Naïve, slow on the uptake, socially inept.

But that was precisely why you intrigued him.

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Read on AO3

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Keep in mind that the rating will increase to explicit as the story goes on.

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The world was cloaked in an inviting, auburn hue.

You’re still trying to blink the sleep out of your eyes when the convenience store comes into view, rubbing your eyelids with your thumb when that doesn’t work.

Your jacket protects you from most of the chilly autumn air, but your hands are still shivering in your pockets. A symphony of crackling leaves fill the soothing silence, they dance across the pavement with the wind.

Your grocery list is short, but you make a little tune out of the items in your head to keep yourself from forgetting.

The store is a bit warmer than the outside, but not by much. The clerk behind the cash register gives you a nonchalant wave. You don’t know her name, but you’ve seen her often. You give her an equally as casual wave of acknowledgement.

You first fish out your wallet to open it and make sure you remembered to bring your ID—a nervous habit you picked up recently after you went to pick up wine for your mother and forgot it at home—Then you pick up a nearby shopping basket and cut through the aisles, singleminded.

A few minutes later you have almost all of the things you came here for. Except for one.

You stand on the very tips of your toes at the back of the store. Your fingers brush over the box of cereal you’ve been craving for weeks, but every attempt to grasp it only pushes it further back.

Distantly, the doors to the store open then close.

Your brows pinch together and your lips form a frown. You weren’t going to be deterred. You rest on your feet for a moment, shifting your weight on your heels, your lips push forward, almost a pout.

You hear footsteps. What makes you notice them is how heavy and loud they were. Loud meant the source was close.

There’s a shadow that wasn’t there before in your peripheral.

You flinch, barely containing a shriek, stepping away from the shelf and whipping around to face whoever was there. You were about to mumble out an apology for being in another shoppers way had your blood not ran cold.

The man is wearing a hoodie, black, somewhat loose. Yet his torso and shoulders filled out what should have been empty space, he was muscular, sturdily built. He is far taller than you.

What makes your muscles twitch in fraught anxiety is the fact only his ink colored eyes are visible, he’s wearing a mask with a skull motif. You feel the air has became static in your lungs, your pulse a frantic rhythm as if preparing you to bolt into a sprint.

Then his eyes drift down. Your eyes follow. Between his alarmingly thick index and thumb is a card.

“This must be yours, then.”

His voice is gruff, accented, and musing aloud. A chill goes up your spine. Something about the sentence made his presence real. He made the aisle seem much narrower than it truly was.

You felt half panic-striken, but in the moment it only felt natural. Not just justified but sensible.

When your eyes dart back up to his face you find he’s already looking at you, catching your eyes with his. A deer in a bear trap.

He extends his arm out, presenting the card to you. There is a stilted pause. He cocks his head imperceptibly, lightly jostles the hand holding the card as if to say ‘take it already.’

The movement snaps you out of your paralysis. It is then you realize it’s your ID.

“O-oh,” You must have dropped it when you opened your wallet earlier.

“Yes, that’s mine.” You clear your throat, forcing your legs to move forward to take it from him.

There’s an electricity in your limbs that makes them feel wobbly, your skin feels like it’s vibrating. It only intensifies with every step closer, and as you close the gap you become acutely aware of just how large the man is.

You don’t approach any further than strictly necessary, you reach your hand out, long and awkward; the card slips from his fingers with no resistance and into yours.

A pause, then, “Thank you.”

You’re caught between staring at your feet and watching him for any sudden movements.

He only grunts in reply. The sound makes your eyes snap up to him on reflex, and you are hit with the realization of just how far your neck had to crane up.

His eyes linger. You don’t think you’ve seen this man before. Or maybe you have—not like you would have known, what with the mask and all, you don’t think you were being rude.

Then his dark eyes drift upwards and behind you. Namely to the box of cereal you were trying fruitlessly to grab. You feel a pinch of heat on your cheeks. He probably saw your valiant effort to get it.

He keeps staring at you.

You blink at him. His dark eyes don’t move an inch, firmly trained on you, you were unsure of the last time he blinked. You swallow thickly.

You thought brown eyes were supposed to be comforting, not piercing.

“…I’ll be going now, thank you again.” You manage to say, your eyes darting around the imposing man. On anywhere but his face, or what little you could see of it.

Another moment ticks by and you feel like freezing and fleeing all at once, an ancient and primal urge; only instead the instinct of fight is replaced with paralysis. You knew you couldn’t take on a man that large and that tall.

Then he hums, gruff and clipped. The noise itself wasn’t loud, but it was sudden enough to make you flinch. He notices. You’re too nerve-wracked to look up at him properly to make out his expression.

“Goodbye.” You choke out, hastily stepping backwards and turning on your heel to walk fast out of the aisle and to the cash register. Your fingers aren’t just trembling from the cold.

You’re quick to pay and get out the store entirely. Resisting the very strong urge to glance over your shoulder all the while, only comforted by the fact you didn’t hear heavy footsteps trailing behind you, the memory of which echoing in your mind like a deafening cry.

The adrenaline wears off by the time you get home and feel safe behind your locked door. The few items you bought are put away and you’re curled up in bed in the largest shirt you own and pajama bottoms.

Your mind thinks back to the strange man you met in the store. You can’t help but feel a bit guilty now. Maybe you were judging that him too harshly. But every time you try to reconcile you remind yourself of the skull mask he was wearing.

The day goes by in an unremarkable blur. You get a few chores done and feel accomplished. You just wait for the day to be over, which had become an unfortunate routine.

You sink into bed by sunset and remain there until you drift off to sleep.

You fly awake with a short yelp.

A loud, booming sound resounds outside of your bedroom. Your heart races, you’re sitting up on your bed before you know it.

Your mind doesn’t realize it’s a revving of a motorcycle until a few moments later.

You sigh in exasperation, chuckling a little at yourself. Your room is dark, almost pitch black save for the night light plugged into the outlet by your closet.

You lay back down, and don’t drift off until an hour later.

“I just think you should go.” You’re holding your phone between your shoulder and chin, one hand balancing you on the wall while the other slips a loafer onto your foot.

A coworker at the bookstore you worked at had invited you out to go drinking with her this weekend, and you had just offhandedly told your mother about it during your daily phone call.

“I don’t even drink, though.” Your phone switches shoulders, you put on the other loafer.

Your mother sighs on the other end, you can practically see her run her hand across her face. “I know that. I just want you to…”

Your phone is in your hand now, you stand upright, waiting for your mother to find the words.

“I just want you to be happy. You know? Get out there, meet people.” You frown. She sounds almost melancholic.

You never had any friends before—not in real life, anyhow—and your mother spent the better part of your upbringing reassuring you that friendship wasn’t the end-all be-all of youth. It was odd hearing her seemingly change her stance. But then again, you weren’t so obviously distant and sad back then.

“I know it’s hard for you. But moving out was hard too, and look at you! You did that and more.” Your heart twists up, a lump in your throat has to be swallowed before you can reply.

“I don’t think people would want to be friends with me.” It takes you much longer than you would have liked to choke that sentence out.

“What? How could you say that? You’re one of the most bright and fascinating people I know.” Your frown deepens with every sincere word she speaks.

“I think you’re just in your own head too much. I think you should just bite the bullet and go. Just like how you bit that bullet when you moved out, when you got your first job.”

“I’m not doing anything special.” You blurt out before your mind could think better of it.

“Honey,” Your mother says after a moment of uncertain silence. “Your life has barely started and you’re beating yourself up over achievements you haven’t even given yourself time to get.”

Wetness rolls down your cheek, you wipe it away with more force than is necessary.

“It’s not a bad thing, being hungry for success—hunger is good. It keeps you from wasting away. What isn’t good is this, dear.”

You can’t answer because your fighting sobs from coming out your throat.

“I think you should go with her. Even if you don’t like it, just go.”

Which was how you found yourself standing aimlessly across the street from the bar, staring at it like if you did so intensely enough you would feel more in place.

The wind blows past the street, making you curl inwards on yourself. The orange and yellow leaves are pushed across the pavement yet again, the sound of crackling a cacophony. The stars sparkle indifferently.

Swathes of people walk the streets, each time someone nearly bumps into you makes you shrink further and further back until eventually you’re standing nearly pressed against a building, hoping that if you take up as little space as possible you’ll be invisible.

You’re unsure if your coworker, Chloe, is inside the bar already or still on her way. The thought of entering the bar alone makes your palms sweaty. It’s not like it’s a shady establishment, you’re just nervous.

You’ve waited for a few minutes. You never confirmed anything with Chloe, you could still go back home. But you don’t because the mere thought of it fills you with bitterness.

Stubbornness wins out in the end and you cross the street, your face half obscured by your fluffy scarf and your hands tucked away in the pockets of your coat. You should really buy gloves sometime.

You stand awkwardly to give people space to walk past you, almost running into one person and stammering out an apology to her with a painfully tight smile, then you’re finally past the door and inside.

You glance around. The bar is lively tonight, people are laughing, drinking, watching the game on one of the televisions hooked up and suspended over the bar counter. You don’t see anyone that looks like Chloe from here, so you walk around further.

An irrational fear that everyone can somehow see you’re out of your element takes root in your heart. You comfort yourself with the assumption that most are too caught up in themselves or their company to pay you any mind.

You try to be casual about it, but you’re looking a bit too frantically around. Maybe Chloe wasn’t here just yet. You decide to sit on the far side of the bar on one of the many stools. When Chloe walked through the door she’d be able to see you, at least. It also gave you a great vantage point of the primary entrance.

You’re almost able to become invisible back here.

You sit for about two minutes, your hands twitching in your lap and eyes darting uneasily around. At some point the tension within you simmers down and your thoughts are instead filled with musings of how this night out with Chloe would go.

The bar ambiance is drowned out in your head. Some groups of men are cheering on whatever game is on tonight. There’s some women gossiping amongst themselves, laughing brightly. Chatter and banter. A man attempting to grab a woman’s attention; no doubt looking for a companion for the night.

“Hey. Little lady.” Your head snaps up, he speaks with the mild irritation of having to repeat himself. You didn’t realize the man was talking to you.

You look at him and instantly your stomach clenches with unease. He looked average to you, but you were sure he was used to women falling head over heels for him; white and straight teeth, decent yet casual clothes, tall.

The man didn’t look nor sound drunk yet; but his face had a bit of a redness to it. Perhaps he had a few, maybe he just knew how to hold his liquor.

The grin he gave you reminded you of a wolfs snarl.

“Um. I didn’t realize you were…” His smile grows bigger, a glint in his green eyes. You feel nervous, a pit forms in your stomach. You swallow thickly to try and regain composure.

“…Didn’t think you were talking to me.” The man’s laugh is loud and sudden, it makes you flinch.

“Of course I’m talking to you,” You think he’s trying to sound nice, but it comes off as condescending. “I only see one sweet little thing at this bar.” He leans almost conspiratorially towards you.

You lean away.

“So, where are you going after this?”

“Home.” You blurt out, fast and somewhat panicked.

Green-eyes clicks his tongue. “Alright. Is this seat taken?”

You didn’t like where this was going. Your palms feel sweaty, your knuckles tense against your skin as you grip the fabric of your skirt to steady yourself.

“Uh—”

“It is.” Another, much deeper voice interjects.

Your heart leaps in your throat, you almost jump and fall out your seat.

It’s the large man from the convenience store, you wonder in dismay if he remembers you. You recognize his skull mask and the shape of his brown eyes, you notice his lashes are blond. He’s easing his weight on the counter, the other hand resting on his hip. Nonchalant. The hoodie he wears this time around is a dark blue. He’s wearing gloves with the design of a skeletal hand on it.

The masked man eclipses green-eyes, not only in width but in height. His eyes are black and burning, his brows furrowed together in a warning.

The other man stiffens, “Sorry about that.” He mumbles something about wishing you two a good night before slinking off.

The masked man remains resting on the counter, his eyes a heated glare directed towards the other man until he is out of sight.

He isn’t anywhere near close enough to cage you in, but his sheer size and presence certainly makes it feel that way. Silence lingers for half a breath.

You’re at a loss for words.

His rich eyes land on you. “You alright?” He asks, gruff.

Your mind finally gets back into gear and you nod. He hums in acknowledgment.

“Thank you.”

A pause, then;

“You’re in my seat.”

“Oh.” You whisper. He doesn’t sound upset. He actually almost sounds bored.

“Sorry, I didn’t—“

“Don’t worry about it.” His voice isn’t argumentative, but it leaves no room for retort. Commanding the flow of conversation without making much of an attempt. You blink and he takes the stool right next to you instead. He leans forward, resting his arms on the table.

The scent of nicotine hits your nose, it’s wrapped around him like a cloak. He must have just went out to smoke. You feel lucky that he came back just in time before that situation could escalate any further.

The fabric of his hoodie stretches across his muscles, expanding and shifting with the movement. One of his sleeves roll up just barely enough to reveal a peek of a black tattoo on his wrist. Too little of it is exposed to tell if it goes all the way up his forearm or not, but you think you see the beginning of a skull design in swirling ink. It’s missing its lower jaw.

You stare aimlessly in front of you, avoiding eye contact with the man. Yet his presence in of itself is incapable of being ignored. You silently hope the bartender comes over so that there will be some kind of buffer between you and him, some kind of reprieve from the silence that so oddly wants to be filled.

“You ever get that cereal?”

You are so taken aback by the attempt at small talk that your head whips around to look at him. You even think you hear a fraction of dry wit in his tone. So he did remember you.

“No.” You reply, deadpan. Unsure of what else to say. You weren’t a very witty or snarky person, you could barely keep up a conversation—a bit of a paradox, considering your desperate longing for human connection.

That was why you were here, to make a connection. With Chloe.

He grunts indifferently.

Before another awkward silence could form the bartender comes around. The masked twice-met stranger next to you is quick to speak.

“Whiskey. Neat.” He might as well have been speaking in morse code.

The bartender understands him, however.

“And for you?” It takes you far longer than you would have liked to realize the man behind the counter was talking to you.

“Uh. Nothing.” You mumble quickly, looking down at your hands.

Thankfully, the bartender doesn’t press further, your skittishness must have been apparent. He leaves.

You exhale a small sigh of relief. It is short lived though, you can see your unintentional bar companion—whom you don’t know—shoot a look at you unabashedly.

Your face heats.

“Just came here to sit?” And again, there’s that almost teasing drawl to his rough voice.

“I don’t drink.” You blurt out, feeling your face grow hot with pinpricks as soon as it comes out.

It’s this that finally makes him fully look at you, his head turning over towards you in one smooth swivel.

His inky eyes squint, the lower lids pushing up as if he is smirking under there. The tone in his voice confirms it.

“That so.” He exhales a bit once the words leave his mouth, it almost sounds like a scoff.

There’s a glint in his eye that wasn’t there before, it’s gone as soon as you notice it. You’ve given him something, you’re not certain what.

“So if you’re not here to get pissed, why?” He’s stirred on regardless. He cocks his head at you as the question leaves his lips. There’s a strange sort of nonchalance to it. He wants to hear your answer, but wouldn’t care if you chose not to give him one at all.

Though now that you thought of it, you supposed you were also intrigued by him in your own way. Talking to him couldn’t hurt. It wasn’t like many men spoke to you, let alone just to banter. This was a bit of a novelty for you.

“I’m waiting for my coworker to show up.” He leans forward a little on his elbows—the muscles there flexing—trying to hear your soft spoken words over the revelry and noise in the bar. A heat crawls up your neck, you clear your throat and dart your eyes away.

He considers you, thinking.

He doesn’t let you know what conclusion he reached. “Where do you work?”

His question is framed with the same indifferent cadence as before, but the fact he inquires at all clues you into his mild interest.

Mild. Indifferent. Despite his outward appearance he was rather calm and muted. And for some reason was exchanging words with you, of all people.

He seemed alright enough. A casual back-and-forth at a bar couldn’t hurt. You were still acutely aware of his size and strength—his form spoke to hard manual labor and practicality. Not to mention he was still a stranger, but…

Talking should be fine. You don’t remember the last time you spoke to anyone new.

“At a bookstore.”

He hums in acknowledgment, a low and deep rumble emanating from his chest.

Before you could ask him the same question, the bartender comes up and places a glass of whiskey on the counter before leaving. His gloved hand moves fluidly to take it up, his hand dwarfing it.

“What about you?”

He stills, and you know that you’ve said something wrong somehow. He pauses, and you find yourself freezing with him. You want to blurt out an apology, but the static in the air keeps your mouth shut.

His eyes become hollow, dark and empty holes. Your palms grow sweaty. It’s gone the next time he blinks.

“Military.” The word is spoken almost unnaturally. It’s clipped and concluding, an edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. So much spoken just from how it was said.

You weren’t going to pry about it. You weren’t rude.

You couldn’t think of how else to change the subject, so you decide to tell him your name. Tacking on a ‘by the way,’ at the end to make it seem more casual.

He takes the change in subject in stride.

He repeats your name, slowly, trying it on his tongue. Like he needed to know how it’d sound out of his own mouth. His accent curls around the words, the inflection thoughtful. His index finger runs languidly across the rim of his glass so incrementally that it would be easy to miss it was moving at all.

You become aware of the increased intensity of your heartbeat after your name leaves his mouth. You finally reckon with one of the thoughts you’ve been pushing away ever since he first sat down and began speaking with you.

His voice is very nice.

You want to put a name to him, too.

“What’s your name?” His finger stills. He isn’t quite looking at you. His eyes are on your face, but he isn’t looking at you.

You don’t know what he’s looking at, or looking for.

What you do know is that it takes such a long time for him to reply that you’re about to apologize and insist that he didn’t have to tell you if he didn’t want to.

Your mouth opens—

“Simon.”

—And is promptly shut.

“Simon.” You repeat, thinking it only fair to see how his name sounded on your voice, too. It’s quick and hushed, but no less experimental.

Simon’s eyelids droop. It’s slight, but it’s there. The pinch in his brows has smoothed out. His eyes don’t leave you. Yours don’t leave his. There’s a wordless understanding in the air that you can’t name or explain even if you tried.

In the gaussian blur of movement and color, a particular arrangement of shape and tones catches the corner of your eye.

It’s Chloe.

…It’s Chloe.

You blink. Mentally chastising yourself for feeling an odd wave of disenchantment. You see her look around aimlessly for a moment until your hand almost instinctually shoots up to wave at her. In the background of your awareness Simon’s eyes widen imperceptibly, he tracks your sight.

“Your coworker.” It’s more of a statement than a question.

“Yes.” You nod, already getting up out of your stool. You wanted to talk to him longer. Perhaps solitude made you very receptive to any change, to anything new, but you couldn’t help it. It was how you felt at the moment.

You smooth the wrinkles out your ankle-length skirt in a nervous habit. You try to ignore how Simon is still so big even when he’s sitting and you’re standing.

You don’t want to leave Simon so abruptly. So you turn to face him, clutching at your hands in an anxious fiddle.

“Thanks for talking with me.” He blinks at you, seemingly not expecting you to thank him for such a thing.

“No problem.” He murmurs eventually, monotone.

“Have a good night, Simon.” You make yourself spit out before ducking your head and scampering off to Chloe.

Simon’s eyes stay on you until you become obscured in the crowd.

By Monday you still are thinking about Simon.

That’s how your mind worked, it was nothing new; you grasp at the mere idea of potential camaraderie and clutch it fiercely until it’s squeezed dry. Even if it amounted to nothing in the end, you couldn’t help but think of Simon.

It was small things. Naïve and harmless in nature.

‘I wonder if he always goes to that bar.’

‘I wonder what he looks like without the mask.’

‘I wonder why he wears the mask.’

It was normal for you. Chloe was also once a topic of your mind when you first began working at the bookstore. It was unnoteworthy. Perfectly mundane.

You and Chloe had ended up going bar hopping that fateful Friday night. She barely drank and by the time the night was over she wasn’t even tipsy. You enjoyed her company far more than you thought. Sure, you found yourself walking on the occasional self-imposed eggshell—you clammed up and danced around the subject of school—but the time spent was pleasant.

It was odd, going bar hopping with someone who didn’t like alcohol, but if she minded she didn’t show it. Maybe she was like you in that strange way. It was this that made you hopeful for an actual friendship.

The week goes by too fast yet too slowly all at once. Before you know it the day was Friday. And just like the Friday before, you are lingering across the street from the bar you encountered Simon.

Your arms are crossed, half in a self soothing gesture and half an attempt to warm your bare hands.

You had no clue what had gotten into you. Maybe your mother’s words of encouragement worked a bit too well.

That said, you were unsure if you had the bravery to go inside all alone without the comfort of someone to come be with you. You didn’t even know if Simon was in there or not. And even if he was, it would be a rather ridiculous thing to do now that you truly thought about it.

You didn’t drink. You told him as much. And you didn’t have a coworker you wanted to bond with as an excuse to make yourself go to a bar. The question would inevitably come up and you wouldn’t have an answer.

Just as this realization crosses your mind, you see a towering yet vaguely familiar figure come out the bar. Simon has a box of cigarettes in his hand already.

You of course choose flight. You hope Simon didn’t see you standing there aimlessly across the street and turn on your heel and make the walk home.

You clutch your arms around yourself, your nails digging into your palms like rose thorns. The more you think about it the more embarrassed you get, which makes you chastise yourself even more.

It was ridiculous to think a man such as Simon would actually want to spend time with you. It was a one time, random occurrence.

You realize the journey back to your home had you more on edge when you were by yourself. You avoided it whenever possible and the latest you stayed out was until sunset due to your paranoia.

The previous time you walked home at night was last weekend, and Chloe was with you. The closer you get to your residence the less people are out on the streets with you until eventually you realize you’re alone.

You pick up the pace, your body tense and your footsteps rapid.

The back of your neck prickles, a cool sweat sweeps over your body. You whip your head around over your shoulder every now and then, an action that only soothes you for a short while until you have to look behind you again.

It’s a reflex, except this time you look over and your heart leaps in your throat.

Over on the other side of the street, silhouetted by the warm yellow hues of the streetlight, stands a large man. He’s looking at you. It is then you realize you can’t see his mouth, or his nose; nor a skull motif. A panic rises in you.

Your eyes flick down to his forearms which were thankfully exposed, the sleeves of his jacket rolled up, it is there you see a skull donned in a crown in black ink on pale skin, missing its lower jaw. You also note his tattoos do extend further up his arm—perhaps even the entire length—all in black ink.

You release a breath you weren’t aware you were holding.

It was odd to take comfort in a man such as him, but it was better he than a total stranger.

Simon still was a stranger, but a stranger you had encountered twice; he returned your ID and had scared off a man who couldn’t take a hint. You still were a bit on edge, but it was eased somewhat. It appeared he foregone the skull mask tonight.

A pickup truck passes by, and Simon finally crosses the street. His hands are still tucked in his pockets, he isn’t moving hurriedly, but his steps were sure.

You cock your head at him, your heart rate increasing as you take a hesitant step back. He comes to a stop a few feet away from you.

“You look just about ready to bolt.” You swallow thickly, not certain how to respond. The rough timbre of his voice was accented with an almost imperceptible lilt, a half tease. Your cheeks itch uncomfortably with heat.

“I didn’t recognize you for a moment, there.”

It’s subtle, the tilt of his head. If you weren’t staring directly at him, watching his every move, then you would have missed it. Simon’s eyes pinch subtly. You wonder if it’s from a smirk you can’t see, if he found your indirect admission of finding security in him interesting.

His rich eyes dart around your face. “You don’t look the type for midnight strolls.” It’s a musing that’s muttered aloud.

You shift awkwardly on your feet, once again at a loss for words. You wonder where he was going so late, but the question dies in your throat.

You want to break eye contact, to turn on your heel and walk back home, but something keeps you still.

He doesn’t make any move to get closer to you, but his eyes are laser-focused on you. You can’t read his expression, not just from his mask but not from his eyes, either. They’re just as unknowable as they’ve always been.

Simon has to say your name to snap you out of your thoughts. Your mind races to piece together what it was he said to you while you were getting lost in the depths of his eyes.

“Going home?” He had said.

“Yes. I am.” You stammer over your words. You feel embarrassment, biting and acrid. The conversation could be over now. But you didn’t want it to be.

“Do you live around here, too?” You toss the question out there offhandedly.

“Not around this way.”

You blink. And then you blink again.

“Oh. Huh.” Is all that comes out your mouth. You don’t like the conclusion you’re coming to. It must be written all over your face, because Simon’s speech is far too nonchalant.

“I saw you at the bar. You didn’t come in.”

Your conclusion was the correct one. Of course he saw you. You truly couldn’t catch a break.

“Oh.”

You had never wanted a meteor to strike you down so fervently before.

He lets the silence hang, as if he’s giving you a chance to explain. He waits and waits, insistent and stubborn. He only speaks again when it’s clear you’re not going to budge.

“You like going to bars a bloody lot for a woman that doesn’t drink.”

His flat delivery cuts the tension a bit. You find yourself huffing out a small, breathless laugh. His next question catches you a bit off-guard, however.

“Waitin’ on someone?”

You stare at him for a moment. “No.” You eventually reply.

He nods, and it fascinates you that he seems satisfied with your answer.

A cracking of a branch makes you jump and yelp, the sound echoing down the street. A squirrel skitters down a nearby tree and disappears into the foliage.

You exhale heavily, a palm over your heart. Simon doesn’t huff out a laugh like you’re expecting him to. The rough edges to his voice have been sanded down when he speaks, at first you’re not sure if you hear him right.

“Need a chaperone?”

Your mind is caught between ‘don’t lead a man you don’t know to your house where you live alone’ and ‘just bite the bullet.’

You consider it heavily, even as you shift on your feet Simon doesn’t falter or betray even a hint of anxiety over your answer. He stands there, immovable.

To his credit, he does eventually utter something that you think was meant to be comforting. “Not that type of man.”

It’s firm, resolute. And you, perhaps foolishly, believe him.

It wasn’t surprising that he knew the source of your hesitation, it was common sense. It would be more off-putting if he hadn’t noticed the proverbial elephant in the cobblestone street.

You weren’t close to your house just yet, it’d still be a decent walk all on your own. You would be lying if you said the presence of a big and well-muscled man accompanying you didn’t bring you some comfort.

“Yes.” It comes out so fast you barely process that you’ve said it.

Simon nods only once. You turn stiffly and continue onwards.

The heavy footsteps trailing behind you begin a moment after, the sound of his boots landing on the cobblestone.

You shoot a look over your shoulder. His height gave him longer strides, he was approaching a bit faster than what you expected. His shoulders were straight and firm, as were his steps. There was an aura of self-assuredness around him, one that was earned and justified.

You snap your eyes away when he comes up and starts walking next to you. The stars are out and sparkling dauntlessly, glitter across the night sky. You catch yourself glancing up at it every now and then. You almost trip in the uneven pavement but catch yourself quickly. All Simon gives you is a single, somewhat bemused glance.

“Thank you. For walking me home.” You murmur, wanting to fill the silence somehow. He only grunts in reply.

The quiet becomes comfortable after that. Simon’s presence is a constant, he keeps an appropriate distance away while walking beside you but his broadness made him feel closer than he actually was.

Even as you become increasingly at ease with every step, The acknowledgment of him, his company, of Simon, never fully fades away to half-awareness.

“Long walk just to turn around.” You find something out about Simon; he could be persistent if he wanted to be.

You can’t say anything other than a quiet hum.

“You make a habit of that?” Very persistent.

“Oh, no.” As soon as the response leaves your lips the muted follow-up question of ‘why tonight, then?’ Is so loud that Simon doesn’t even need to speak it, he just shoots you a single look.

“I couldn’t sleep.” You settle with a half-truth. His eyes shift to glance at you again, lingering there for a second longer than you expected before breaking eye contact.

He doesn’t say anything else and neither do you. Despite the desire you have to replace the comfortable quiet with comfortable conversation. You can’t think of anything to say and you didn’t want to run the risk of annoying him when he was technically doing you a favor.

Your hands were trembling a little with the cold, you felt a chill on your nose and cheeks. You tuck your hands in your pockets. Simon notices, but says nothing.

Eventually you get close enough to your home for you to walk the rest of the way yourself. You still didn’t want him to know exactly which home you lived in, nor the precise route to get there, after all.

“Okay, I can walk the rest of the way now.” You try to sound confident, but it comes out hushed and sheepish. When you meet his eyes you’re once again hit with the reality of your neck craning up and how he towers over you. You turn your head away to glance at a tree that looks particularly interesting all of the sudden.

“Alright.” He replies, indifferent. You feel your nerves ease a little.

You shift your weight idly on your feet. “Thank you for…” You wave your hand in place of a word you can’t decide on.

Simon nods regardless.

You stand aimlessly there for a second that’s too long even on its own.

“Good night, Simon.” You mumble softly, hoping your gratitude was evident.

You make yourself turn to go home by yourself, this time without a second pair of heavy footfalls to accompany you. You get a few feet away until you hear Simon, his voice raised only just enough so that you could hear him.

“Good night,” he says your name. It takes a surprising amount of willpower to not look over your shoulder, to not give him one last glance.

“We should definitely go.” Chloe is resting her chin on her arms, which were slung over the chair she was sitting backwards on.

You were both on break, and the day was slow. Which lent itself to chatter.

Chloe brought up the topic of a festival that would be taking place in just a few days. It was too far for you to walk.

You were scrolling through the event page website on Chloe’s phone. It looked like something you’d enjoy, but…

“I would love to, but I don’t have a car—or a license.”

“That’s no problem. I can drive us both.” She replies as easy as anything. You look up at her with wide eyes. She’s beaming at you. You smile back with all your teeth.

Two days later, you wake up to your phone ringing.

“I’m really sorry—“

“Chloe!” You admonish, “Please don’t apologize. This is more important than any festival. Let your sister know I said congratulations and that I give her well wishes.”

Chloe laughs, the sound watery. They are happy tears. “Thank you. I will.” She sniffs.

As it turns out, Chloe’s sister was pregnant—you had no idea she had a sister, let alone a pregnant one—and she entered labor early. Of course, Chloe rushed out to the hospital to be with her sister until her and the baby were all settled.

This meant you didn’t have your now acquainted-with coworker to spend breaks with or just chat while there was a lull in customers. It was fine, you could handle it.

The sky was a reddish pink, the sun sinking ever lower over the horizon. The bookstore would be closing soon.

You were currently in between shelves, a small box half-open at your feet full of books. You were restocking. It was a repetitive, monotonous task, which led to your mind wandering.

You actually let yourself think about the last time you ran into Simon.

Simon saw you. And he then followed you to walk you home.

You wondered if he was hoping you’d come back to the bar just like you were hoping he was there. But you nip that thought in the bud as soon as it begins to sprout. It never ended well when you got too attached to people, best not to look too deeply into things.

Maybe he was just the chivalrous type.

You hear the entrance to the bookstore open and close, you slide the last book into the shelf.

You hear the footfalls of whomever entered wander around the store. It sticks out to you that the steady beat of footsteps never stall or pause for even a moment.

You carefully step out of the shelves just enough to peek your head out. Your eyes go as wide as dinner plates.

Simon combs through the aisles a few feet away from you, on the other side of the store. Like a man on a mission. His eyes scan his surroundings methodically.

He’s far away, and hasn’t seen you yet, but you couldn’t mistake his gait nor his size. Not to mention, he’s wearing the skull mask again.

You are frozen in place, genuinely surprised you would run into him again—at work, no less.

Umber eyes land on you, he pauses, then takes a step forward in your direction. He crosses over to you in a few quick strides. Before you know it he’s standing right in front of you.

“Hi.” You softly greet.

Simon looks down at you, his expression unreadable. He remains silent for a beat too long for it to feel natural. Instead of replying he fishes something out of the pocket of his jacket.

In his large hand is a pair of gloves far too small to be for himself. You stare at it, wordless. Simon pushes his hand out further for emphasis, wordlessly directing you to take it.

You do.

“Oh, Simon. You didn’t have to…” You whisper, looking up at him in disbelief and gratitude.

“Wanted to.” He replies simply.

You look down at the gloves in your hand, they feel soft.

You hear the shifting of fabric again, and when you look up you see a small deep green book with gold lettering on the cover within Simon’s hand. “Wanted to buy this.” He grunts out.

You blink, then smile widely up at him. “Of course.”

You tuck your newly gifted gloves into the pocket of your jeans before taking the book from him and heading to the register with Simon following behind.

You close the doors to the store and tug on them for good measure to ensure you locked them. You are quick to put the gloves he got for you on your hands, already feeling a bit of a nip from the cold in your fingertips.

When you look up you see Simon is still outside leaning his back against the building. You wonder if he waited for you to be done closing up before leaving.

You give him a small smile and a little wave. He acknowledges you with a single nod. Instead of going his separate way like you assumed, he walks up to you.

You stare at him quizzically.

His broad shoulders rise and fall with measured breaths. “Need another walk home?”

“Well, I was going to go to a festival.” You weren’t sure how the conversation shifted to this. One moment Simon was asking you what you did in your spare time other than linger around bars—you couldn’t suppress the snort of laughter that came out of you from his monotone delivery—which led to you talking a bit about your hobbies.

Then hobbies turned into activities.

“When is it?” Simon didn’t let up with his questions. Fortunately for him, you didn’t mind answering them. As long as he would answer yours in return, of course.

“Three weeks from now.”

Simon hums thoughtfully, then; “Changed your mind?”

It takes you a second to realize what exactly he’s asking.

“No. I can’t drive to get to it, my coworker—“

“The one from before?”

“Yes. She was going to take us both, but something important came up.”

There’s a small pause before Simon asks you, “Don’t have a car?”

“No. And even if I did, I couldn’t drive it.”

This makes Simon’s eyes dart over to you.

“No license?” His tone was almost incredulous. You feel your cheeks become warm.

“No license.” You mumble sheepishly.

You’re quick to change the subject. “Well, what about you? Any hobbies?”

Simon goes silent for longer than you expected. Almost like he truly had to consider anything that would be suitable for an answer.

“Motorcycles. I like ‘em.”

Your eyes gleam with interest. “You have one?”

“I do.” You are reminded of the sound of a motorcycle that would sometimes be heard at night. You wonder if any of those nights it was Simon.

“That’s really cool.” You state with a grin. You think that particular topic of conversation had reached its natural conclusion until Simon speaks again.

“You could be on the back of it.”

You almost choke on your own saliva.

Your mind is racing and so is your heart. His already rough voice was lowered an octave and you did not imagine it. Innocent observations you’ve made of him become honeyed and blazing. His size, his voice, him. Your tongue is like mercury in your mouth.

‘He probably meant nothing by it, get a hold of yourself.’ You desperately wrangle your thoughts in check. “Hah. I’d probably be a bad passenger, I…” You clear your throat. “I’d be terrified.”

There isn’t any change in Simon’s expression—which was just his eyes, really—nor his demeanor. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, if anything at all.

“I’d go slower for you.” Heat pools in your belly and crawls up your neck. You couldn’t read his tone at all. It was just as dry and flat as it usually was.

You mentally chastise yourself. ‘He’s just making conversation,’ you insist to yourself; but it does little to cool the fire rising in your cheeks.

‘…But is he, though?’ Neither paths of thought help your increasing body temperature.

It wasn’t like you and Simon had ever met up intentionally. And while he had walked you home twice now—counting this time—that could mean nothing. Maybe he was just being polite. Maybe it was that chivalry theory you were going with.

You don’t know what to say, but you know you don’t want to remain silent for too long.

“Oh. Then that could be fun.” Is what you end up going with. You force a stiff laugh out your throat, trying to dissipate the tension rolling off of you.

Simon’s eyes remain in front of him. “Yeah?”

You feel your heartbeat in your stomach. “Yeah.” You mumble in reply.

Eventually, you reach the point on your journey home where you last told Simon you could walk the rest of the way. He stops in his tracks first.

“Thank you for the gloves, Simon.” You turn to him, trying not to stammer. “And for walking me home. Again.” You add on hastily.

Simon only nods. Something keeps your feet planted.

After a pause, Simon calls your name. Your eyes widen a little when you see him beckon you with two fingers.

You spend the rest of the day trying not to think about how fast you walk back up to him.

“Yes?” You prompt when you near him. “Did you need something?”

“Depends. Can I have your phone?”

You blink up at him in surprise. He stares down at you unflinchingly. “Need to make a call?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

After a moment of hesitation you retrieve your phone from your pocket, opening up the app to send and receive calls for him. The screen is prompting him to type a number when you hand it to him.

You watch him wordlessly as his thumb swipes across the screen, inputs a few digits, and then—

He hands it back to you.

“See you around.” He says gruffly, turning around and walking away before you have a chance to comprehend what just happened.

You stand motionless until Simon’s figure goes out of view. Then you finally look at the screen in your hand.

In your contacts is a new number, named ‘Simon.’

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

I wanted to post something that felt seasonal, so I ended up with this! (I got bored and wound up getting interested in Call of Duty.) I still am unsure of the length of this story exactly, but I think it won’t be too long. Right now I’m aiming for 2 chapters, maybe 3 chapters at most.

I decided to post the first part on its own because I realized I wouldn’t be able to finish this entire thing before October was over…

In addition to the rating increasing as chapters get added I will be adding new tags as well.

Once again I find myself finishing stories for characters that aren’t my favorites, but that’s just how it goes sometimes haha. (If you’re curious, my favorite character is Kyle/Gaz 🫶)

I haven’t played the game before so I ended up watching a few lets plays and videos. I tried to do my best with characterization, let me know what you thought of it!

I didn’t feel the need to type out the entirety of Simon’s accent, I feel like most people already know what he sounds like and I feel like doing that can be distracting at times for me personally. ;;o;;

The location/setting is vague because I was hesitant to specify lest I got it wrong somehow but hopefully that can be overlooked and the story itself is still enjoyable enough!

Tags will be added as the story continues.

Feel free to let me know what you thought!

Thank you so much for any likes or reblogs! It means a lot to me. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost cod x reader #x reader #reader insert #⤜stories #⤜Call of Duty #⤜Simon Ghost Riley/Reader #⤜Suggestive

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luvrodite · 2 months ago

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in the in between (1019)

gn!reader, selfship coded, brief mention of soap washing reader's hair, no reference to hair texture or colour or skin colour

The car drops him off in front of his house just as the clouds open over his head, sunset gold cutting through the drizzle to the upstairs window of the house next door. Johnny stands there for a moment, bones leaden, staring up the path to his home. The lights are off, windows darkened and still.

Next door, however, the shadows shift and move. There's warmth trapped behind the glass panes, spots of orange glowing against the twilight settling in around him. It promises repose, shelter beyond just the rain.

Twin gates stand side by side in front of him, the paint on his peeling from the years away, the breaks spent trying to catch his breath. He unlatches the other and trudges up the path.

The spare key is amongst the shrubs as you said it would be, in a little lockbox he has to wrack his brain to remember the code for. He blames it on the fatigue. It'd been a long haul, a longer mission still – it's nearing summer and the frost had just been rolling in when he'd seen you last.

0-2- Ah, what had you said?

He figures it out eventually and lets himself in, setting the opened lockbox on your sidetable with a tired sneer.

It smells sweet, he notices, once he's set his bags down. You'll likely scold him for leaving it in the hall, but for now they remain there, discarded in favour of searching for you. Something like warm sugar hangs in the air, faint, as though lingering from days past. He lets it roll over his shoulders, invisible shroud that slips beneath the film of dust that seems ever present on his skin.

The light is on in the kitchen when he steps in, a single bowl and spoon in the sink. On the stove, some sort of pasta in a pan, strips of meat in another that he spears, savouring before moving on, tugged forward by the movement upstairs.

There's a low hum that grows as he climbs the stairs, a faint ringing he wonders might not just be the bells in his ears. Violin strings slip beneath the closed bathroom door to greet him on the landing, coiling around his legs and coaxing him forward.

You don't look surprised to see him when he pushes the door open, glancing over a bare shoulder to peek at him through lowered lids. Plumes of steam curl upwards from the bathtub, the warmth he'd glanced at from outside concentrating in the confines of your little bathroom.

He fills the space awkwardly. He is not as tall as his squadmates, not like Ghost, who folds himself through doorframes to enter rooms, or his captain, a bear of a man – but Johnny is larger than life itself, it feels like, sometimes. He shuts the door behind him, conscious of the stillness he's interrupting, of the way the air seems to shrink with his entry.

He lowers himself to sit by the tub and you watch him all the while – utterly fey, water trickling down your temple, dotting the slope of your neck and shoulders. A glossy film swirls over the bathwater, not unlike an oil spill, the bottle it must have come from set aside on the ledge above your head.

You pass him a small tub wordlessly and he accepts it, cupping a hand to pour water over your crown before working the product into your wet locks. The scent of honey clings to the air, thickening in the steam. Drops of water roll down his wrist when your fingers stay his hand, leaving him to cradle your skull, circles drawn into the softness of your neck until you release him.

You shift momentarily, draining the tub for a moment to make room for a rush of cold water, the water erring on the side of too warm, your pulse hummingbird quick beneath his fingers. He grumbles something, a murmuration about the water bill which is met with a soft reminder over your shoulder – I pay the bills here, MacTavish.

The thought he has – You wouldn't have to, if – is cut off by a sidelong glance, like you'd heard it. But there is no heat in your stare, only a dreamwrapt sheen, regarding him carefully.

Johnny likes the way your lashes flutter when you lean into his touch. You're in the in between, tonight. There's a silent request in the arch of your brow, the tilt of your head when you swivel to look at him, water surging around you, rising to meet the lip of the tub and falling short.

Won't you get in?

You would've screamed bloody murder at him a few months ago for letting himself into your home without the excuse of an emergency. Now, you sit in the water and watch him wash the filth off himself in your shower, arms folded against the porcelain to categorise every movement. He reaches for your bodywash and towels himself off with a swathe of blue terrycloth – new, he notes.

You rise to meet him when he exits and his throat dries. Water streams down your bare form, Nimue risen.

The in between, indeed. There's tenderness in the lines of your mouth, the brush of your hand over his face.

He doesn't remember moving into the bedroom. He's standing at the edge of your bed, a window open to let the balmy air in. You, dreamy eyed and quiet, make space for him in your bed.

The sheets like verbena, the laundry detergent he's caught a peek of in your shopping cart before clinging to the linen. You're warm against him, pressing close against his skin, permissive when he dares to loop an arm around your waist.

Sleep finds him easily, in the slow strokes of your hand over his back, nails grazing a gentle path up and down his spine. Unconsciousness draws closer with every breath you let out.

In the in between, he feels it, a ghost of a kiss pressed to the swell of his chest, right above his heart. He slips under before he realises it.

me when i'm supposed to be working on the kinktober fics i missed this weekend and last weekend but instead am writing for a different blue eyed j name fictional character. anyway. thinking bout him (that's that him espresso)

#this is unedited sorry guys !#divider by isisjupiter #jasonsmirrorball #141 tag #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #x reader #ro 🧼#johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap mactavish x reader

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idrawfunkythings · 2 months ago

Text

DCAtober Day 20: Trapped

Words: 2,000+ Summary: The daycare is on fire, and you don't know where the attendant is

The daycare is already being consumed by the fire when you get there.

You’d held out some semblance of hope that maybe it would have been protected by the many doors between it and the basement. That since it was basically a fortress, it would stay unharmed, at least long enough for you to run in, grab Sun, and run out.

Instead, you’re greeted with a roaring fire, already eating away at the netting around the soft play area. The stars that Moon had hung from the roof in party room hallway have dropped onto the charred carpet, piles of star shaped ash blocked by the rapidly approaching flames. One of the jungle gyms, the one furthest from you, has already been crushed by one the beams holding the nets up from the roof.

“Sun!” You shout. “Where are you?”

There is no response.

Going down the steps and through the door was a bust. If you had to guess, you’d say the fire had breached the daycare through the door in Kids Cove, the only part connected to the atrium. Luckily, the slide was still intact. You just had to hope it would remain that way long enough for you to get in and out again.

The lights flicker, and then go out, leaving you with no light but the torch at your belt, and, well, the fire. It must have eaten away at the power switches below, cutting off any power that would have been diverted to the daycare.

You grab your flashlight and switch it on, sweeping the beam around to regain your bearings. The slide remains unscathed, the bright letters beckoning you to slide into fun.

You’d seen this slide so many times before. Never like this.

Before you can second guess yourself, you jump down the yellow tunnel and land on your feet in the ballpit, scrambling out as part of the metal grid on the ceiling crashes down at the other end, where the castles are, and allow the flames to creep into the “river”.

Some parts of the soft play area have been set alight as the fire finished with the netting, and has jumped onto the plush matted floor. The security desk is already a husk, with frayed wires sparking dangerously bright, still active thanks to the generator below the desk.

You couldn’t focus on that right now. “Sun!” you yell, your hands cupped around your mouth. “Moon! Are either of you here?”

There’s no response yet again. Another part of the roof drops, thankfully near the party rooms and not down where you are. “SUN!”

It’s hard to hear anything over the crackling of the fire, but you swear that just for a moment you hear a quiet groan coming from the collapsed play structure. Parts of it are covered in orange flames, but one corner remains intact, one with a yellow tube the kids liked to hide in for hide and seek.

You sprint over, doing your best to ignore the fact the other outer structure is creaking and moaning as the supports start to dribble onto the ground. You reach the tube as it crashes to the ground, the reverberation making you trip and fall over one of the round tubs that Sun liked to stack.

The other tubes have been knocked over, which does not help your state at all, because it meant Sun hadn’t stacked it up before you came.

You stumble over to the structure, scouring it desperately, and would breathe a sigh of relief when you catch sight of Moon’s hat on the floor if not for the fact that he’s pinned to said floor with a metal beam.

The beam is resting across his chest, crushing one arm below it while the other lies lifeless beside him. He’s scrabbling with his legs, trying to slip out from below it, but finding no purchase. Despite their immense strength, he’s unable to lift it.

“Moon!” you begin to pull the play structure away, thanking the lord that corporate was cheap enough to build it with metal poles light enough for you to chuck them away without too much effort. He looks up at you, red pupils finding yours.

“It’s past your bedtime,” he cackles, glitching halfway through the sentence and spasming.

“Shut up,” you command, continuing with your excavation job until you have enough space to focus on how you’re gonna get the beam off of Moon.

“Rulebreaker.”

“Is that seriously your biggest concern right now?” Something crashes behind you. You don’t look to see what.

Moon, despite whatever the hell is wrong with him, seems to acknowledge you’re right, and shuts up.

You grunt as you push against the beam, straining under the weight, but it barely moves an inch. You kick it in frustration, swearing and hopping on one foot after feeling the effect on your toes.

Moon follows you with his eyes. “What?” you say aggressively, returning to your attempt to get the beam off.

“Go.”

“No.” You continue your efforts.

“Go, now.” Moon looks at the fire that is much closer to you than it was before. Despite the mats in the daycare being coated in fire resistant covers, they can’t hold out forever. “Not safe in here.”

“What about you two, dumbass?” You use the floor as leverage to press your back against the beam, groaning with effort.

“Go.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You will die.” The fire is getting closer. It’s lighting up Moon’s face.

“So will you.”

“Not like you will.” Moon fixes his gaze on you. “You will die in agony.”

“Can you shut up and help me get this beam off?”

“Can’t.” You look at his lifeless arm. “Connection severed.” Your back is starting to sweat.

“What if I restore it?”

“Takes too long. Go.” Part of the ceiling collapses to your left.

“No.” You switch positions so your on his other side, sorting through the ripped wires and sockets poking out of his shoulder joint. It’s getting too bright for your comfort. The smoke is beginning to make you cough.

“Pointless. Leave us.”

“I’m not.” You say through gritted teeth as you begin to twist wires together. “Leaving you.” You cough, choking on the embers. Your face is getting hot. The metal is starting to warm to your touch. You can hear Moon’s fans despite the noise of the fire, attempting to cool his body down.

“Stupid.”

You ignore him, plugging rubber coated wires back into his shoulder joints, and using the tape that’s patching up the play mats to hold it in place. Once again, thank god for Fazbear being cheap. If they had fixed the mats while the daycare was out of order, you’d be screwed.

Moon’s finger twitches. Your brow beads with sweat. You tape up a few bare wires, knowing they won’t hold for long, but what other option do you have. His pinky moves. His elbow bends and unbends. Your skin is getting uncomfortably hot.

There’s still a few wires without partners, but the press of your palm to the metal beam tells you there’s not enough time to figure out where they go. You jam Moon’s arm into the socket and lock it in place, securing it with the last of the shitty tape.

“Moon-”

It’s not Moon anymore. It’s Sun. The fire is so close that it’s not dark enough for Moon to stay out anymore, which may have made the situation worse, because now you’re going to have to find a way to get them out and calm him down at the same time.

“Oh, my goodness!” Sun cries, wriggling as he takes stock of the situation. “We really are stuck? I thought… But… oh Moony!”

“Sun!” You have to yell for him to hear you, but the effect is instant. He locks onto you like you’re a raft, and he’s a drowning man, which you guess is the right reaction in this moment.

“Please! Please get us out! Please, friend!”

“I know, I know, Sunny.” You point to his shittily repaired arm. “I need you to help me get this off.”

“Yes! Yes, I can do that.” Sun tests the arm out, using some of the precious time you have quickly ticking away to get it to operate under his control. The heat has gone from uncomfortable to unbearable, making your skin ache and sting.

“I’m going to lift it now,” you say, reminding him that, hey, you really have to go like right now. Sun nods firmly and begins to lift the beam, while you do your best to help.

The arm strains, and you swear you can hear a wire or two rip again (because Sun falters slightly when that happens). More parts of the roof begin to rain around you, falling on the fire and biding you precious time as the flames have to consume the metal to continue to advance.

Somehow, you’ve both managed to lift the beam enough for Sun’s other arm to slip out and be freed. It’s definitely seen better days, but the wiring isn’t exposed, and he can move it somewhat well, so he enlists it to aid you in the mission. Part of the outer casing is slightly melted, as is one side of his faceplate, but it’s working. Your hair is singing, and his rays are retracted into his head to stop them from being set alight as fire dances dangerously close.

With the extra strength, Sun grunts and shoves it off of his body, letting it clang onto the ground. You pull him up instantly, jumping away from the flames and retreating to the center of the daycare.

Okay. Okay, one step in your absolutely shit plan was done. What now?

Sun is staring wide eyed at the daycare. There is no resemblance between this room and what it once was. The playplaces are collapsed, the walls and party rooms and blackened with ash and scorched, and the netting has come crashing down like a spider web of fire.

“Friend,” he says softly, and you have to strain to hear it over the roaring and your thoughts. “Why are you here?”

“For you,” you respond, searching for any escape you could take. He places a shaking hand on your shoulder.

“You could die,” he gets out, horror evident on his face as he realises what situation you’ve put yourself in.

“Is there still a tunnel in the theatre?”

“Friend!” Sun grabs your arms with two hands, squeezing you much harder than a robot with two barely functioning arms should be able to. “You have put yourself in direct danger! You may die! You shouldn’t have come here!”

“You two were in here!” You shoot back angrily, still looking around the playmats of you. “I wasn’t going to leave you!”

“We’re robots. We won’t respond the same as you do to fire.”

“You’d have died, Sun!” You shout, finally looking at him. “Stop saying ‘robots’ like your life means less than mine! I wasn’t going to leave the two of you to become melted endos!”

“YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED OUTSIDE!”

“I’m not dealing with this right now!” You counter, pointing to a gap in the flames where they’ve burnt themselves out. “Look! We have to get to the theatre.”

Sun is standing in the middle of the daycare, wide white eyes staring blankly out into space. He seems to be at a lost. “I… I can’t find my fire protocols.”

“What?”

“The fire protocols. They have the escape routes listed. I can’t…”

“Then we’ll figure it out!” You grab his arm. “Come on, Sun, we have to go!”

He looks around him again, an utterly hopeless expression on his face. “I don’t…”

“Sun!”

He takes your hand and leads the way through the fire, walking like he’s in a daze. His pants catch alight at one point, and you have to smack it out with a charred piece of playmat. He doesn’t say anything as you fight through the fire, and maybe later, you’d wonder why.

For now, the daycare is on fire, and you still need to find a way out.

#something something this is the last time sun will be in the place he spent his whole life #his dreams of freedom never ended like this #i don't think i wrote sun right but we can work on that #fnaf sb #sunshine and nightlights #fnaf security breach #fnaf sun #fnaf #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moon #fnaf fic #dcatober24 #security breach #five nights at freddy's security breach #my writing

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cheerful-sixears · 1 year ago

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TF[RiD’15]: Steeljaw X G/N canine/wolf-bot reader

•Fandom: Transformers: Robots In Disguise [2015]

•Theme: Steeljaw x G/N Canine-bot reader

•Title: "Freedom Awaits"

•Rating: PG; [mentions of clawing and typical Steeljaw behaviors] pretty sfw

•Notes: A rewrite of an old fanfic. Comrade used for G/N comfort. Steeljaw is just being a desperate loner looking for pack mates. Might be a part two of this if there is any interest. [fic below the cut]

"Most would say that fate whispers to the wolf; you cannot withstand the storm, but this wolf whispered back....I am the storm," Rushing through soon-to-be clawed up trees with talons lashing and frantic panting, you recited the quotation within your troubled and frantic mind, having learned it somewhere in the past but unaware of the real source. You strode on hind and front paws, then on two legs after exhaustion began to kick in. You'd been on the run from the autobot, "Bee" for what seemed hours. You only knew a portion of his name because the ignorant, red painted, flamboyant bot with him was obnoxious and crude when obviously and simultaneously failing to follow orders.

You soon stopped behind an aged, large tree, panting, and yet, as You tried to muster up the fuel supplies to get up and attempted to run...to no avail. Your joints and coils trembled in your exhausted frame, which resulted in a dramatic collapse before miles and miles of more forest. Your pointed, lupine audial gave a sudden twitch and swiveled around when you picked up the slightest sound of moving debris: a twig or branch snapped beneath what sounded like a large, robotic life-form, "A possible ally?" You whispered with glistening fangs readily apparent to snap as you heaved and panted for air. Your glossa hung from your lower jaw like that of an over-exhausted canine, "Show yourself..." You spoke within raspy breaths. Your optics glowed within the dim lit low lights of the sun falling beneath the trees.

Your audials fell back and your muzzle formed into that of an almost crooked smile with fangs exposed. A fearful gesture, and yet when you were ready to ward whatever it was off with a fear-inducing growl, you were suddenly whacked across your chassis with something sharp and searing. Instead of the growling, all you could muster up was a soft whimper of sudden shocked pain and discomfort, "Who are you? Why would you do that??" You continued to pant and bare your fangs as you backed yourself further into the tree. Your assailant's optics became visible in the impending darkness provided by the clustered trees and their foliage. Claws dug holes into the Earth and rake-marks into the tree's tender hide. You became so frightened that you hadn't noticed your own tail between your trembling knees.

After several moments of taunting from the intruder amidst the shadows, it finally spoke aloud, "Fear makes the wolf bigger than he is, you know," The seductive, almost soothing tone seemed quite eerie and disturbing behind the darkened visage of the night. The sudden sound of raking against the bark of another innocent tree struck your audio receptors enough to create a small spark of static and disruption, "Dear...comrade, what are you doing so exhausted and lost in the wilderness of this...backwater planet? Have you endured the same torture? The rude welcoming committee, and worst of all...the Autobots?" The figure stepped toward the small patch of light before you and revealed himself. His appearance was familiar, but you knew not his scent.

"Who are you?" You asked as your voice cracked under anxious pressure, "I will not fall prey to another-" Your words were cut short as a clawed digit pressed itself up against your maw.

"-Trap? No need to fear dear comrade, I bear the same marking as you. We are both-I assume-two cons' trying to make a living on a new planet. A new home to call our own without being treated as...criminals... and morseo...equals," He nodded his head as you glanced down at the deep claw marks through your chestplate. You winced at the still-lingering pain, "I'm sorry about that, loner. I was merely covering your tracks. You'd have probably been caught by now and stuffed back into one of those...stasis pods, again,"

"Thanks....I guess," You crossed your servos over your chassis and glanced away from your assailant, but you glanced back without hesitation, "Who are you?" You raised an eyebrow and rose off of the ground slowly-the tree supporting your still-weakened knees, "I would like to know the name of my...savior," You faltered at that final term, but kept the same, almost blank expression as their optics met.

"My name is, SteelJaw, and no need to thank me, comrade...all I ask is that you join me..on the hunt for more comrades; brothers and sisters...just like us," He clenched a fist and thrusted it to his chassis, showing confidence with every fluid motion of his being, "Again, will you join me, co-"

"My name, call me by my name," He glanced at You, seemingly startled by your retort, with a raised brow and leaned against the tree in which he clawed into shambles, as if he awaited your reply, "It's, (Y/N; first part)" You cut yourself short momentarily, not wanting the devious wolf-mech to catch your full name. You were an extremely cautious Decepticon/Autobot as odd as it seemed, and you were so tired of the rash betrayal or being hunted down by other Decepticons or even being turned in by undercover Autobots.

"...what? You seem to have...come off a bit short?" A sly grin formed on the maw of the wolf-like muzzle sported by SteelJaw. His razor-sharp fangs were visible to you as you shifted and swallowed hard before offering a reply...

"(Y/N; last part)," With defeat in your chords, you lowered your audials and glanced over at the wolf’con, who seemed to be rather amused by your strange behavior and body language, "Don't tell anybody else about my name....or me," Your pointed a claw at least inches away from Steeljaw's chin as he chuckled with utter amusement at your newly delivered threat.

“(Y/N), my dear, why would I do that...Join me. Join my...pack as it would seem I am but one..." He seemed to be playing a rather pitiful card as You saw through his pack of lies rather confidently, "I just might accidentally alert the nearest autobot of your whereabouts...unless you stick with me to...avoid that scenario, don't you think?" The sly lupine con bore his fangs in a gnarled grin as he knew he'd won. He approached you much closer, almost muzzle to muzzle, "I take that as a...yes?"

"....Yes,"

End Part

#kdrabs[✏️]#steeljaw rid #steeljaw x reader #transformers x reader #rid15 x reader #tf x reader #steeljaw #steeljaw tf #x reader #x reader fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #transformers #tf rid 2015

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muffinsin · 1 year ago

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Hiiii! Could I ask for fluffy hc between Bela and Cassandra? When Cassandra feels under the weather and is hurt after a hunt but is too embarassed to tell anyone but her older sister? I luv the dynamic between them you indirectly referenced in your other fluff hc post^^ about their family dynamics^^ (especially about Bela knowing as the only one that Cassie paints)🫶

Thank you so much if you decide to do it! Also take your time^^ and lastly- I wanna say I really luv your posts and it’s amazing how fast you get them out!

Absolutely! Mommy issues are hitting soooooo imma randomly give them to Cassandra because why not, hope you don’t mind! XD😬

thank you hon! I’m glad you’re enjoying my posts and appreciate the support immensely! :)

Let’s get into it! :)

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

Cassandra curses quietly under her breath when her leg gives in every few seconds. She bites her lip to keep from crying out in pain, as well as shedding a tear.

It isn’t much farther to her room.

She swarms brokenly, flies disoriented due to the pain she’s in. Blood drips down her ankle and runs down the side of her heel. Cassandra then hisses and whimpers under her breath.

Upon finally reaching her room, she closes the dark, wooden door quickly. She can’t make it quite to the bed even as she swarms, and instead falls to the floor.

Red, angry bite marks hug the pale skin around her ankle. Stupid bear trap! And stupid her for stepping into it!

Cassandra whimpers as she attempts to clean the dirt from the wound. It hurts more than it should, in her opinion.

Then again, she knows she’s always been squeamish. Something she is very adamant about keeping to herself

She thinks for a moment, as pain shoots through her entire body again: maybe she won’t need to clean it out? No matter, she decides. A new problem already caught her attention.

Upon undoing her corset and lifting the ripped stomach piece of her dress, she winces. There is a large bruise decorating her torso, and another, smaller one, next to it. Purple rings adorn both

She grits her teeth as she moves to sit up. It hurts!

She should’ve gutted that damn deer for kicking her this hard instead of merely cutting its head and dragging it with her

With a jolt, Cassandra’s eyes widen and her hands tap the wooden floor next to her. The head! She had dropped it when she stepped in the bear trap!

For a moment she felt tears welling up in her eyes, frustrated how all her injuries are in vain. She is fast to dig her sharp nails into her own arm- a bad habit she has never quite grown out of- to stop herself from doing so

At last, she feels around her shoulder blades, hissing when her fingertips catch the cuts and thorns in her backside from when she fell into the rose bush

Today really isn’t a good day for her!, she thinks pitifully.

Cassandra feels overwhelmed as she attempts to plug one of the thorns out, yet seems to only push it in further. It hurts when she brushes her fingertip over her irritated skin.

For a long while, she sits in silence. Then, to her relief, she hears a familiar hum from down the hall. Bela! Cassandra didn’t expect the woman to be in her room, instead off doing Mother’s business somewhere in her office or the dungeons. She feels relieved to hear the woman nearby.

The brunette considers her options for a moment, eyeing the ugly, purple bruises and feeling the prickle of sharp thorns in her skin, hissing as she brushes over the swollen, red part of her ankle.

At last, she decides. Bela won’t tell anyone if she comes to her- she knows this. She trusts her.

On wobbly legs she pulls herself up, hissing and whimpering as she pulls her dress down properly again. She brushes any tears that slipped from her eyes away from her cheeks, then focuses her remaining strength on swarming out her room.

Bela jumps as her door is pushed open, her humming pausing momentarily as she notices one of her sisters move in her room.

As the door is closed behind the swarm of flies, she turns her back to it again, resuming her book eagerly. A small smile plays on her lips as she hears Cassandra’s shy “Hi”. The blonde is quick to set her book down again, slipping her bookmark inside to mark the page.

When her sister turns around, Cassandra can’t help but blush in embarrassment.

“Cass?!”

She feels Bela’s hands on her immediately, wide, golden eyes scanning her. The older woman smelt the blood even before she saw her sister’s injury. When she does, she gasps loudly, which merely adds to Cassandra’s embarrassment.

“It’s n-nothing bad. Not a huge deal”, she grits out in pain.

Yet, tears of relief well in her eyes when Bela kneels down, gentle hands cupping her lower leg as she takes a look at her wound. Clearly, her sister isn’t impressed with her fake reassurance, and Cassandra is silently thankful for it.

“How did this happen?”, the blonde asks, golden eyes set on the wound. It’s dirty and at a high risk of infection, dirt and dried blood sticking to it. Cassandra avoids her sister’s eyes even when the blonde looks up at her. “Bear trap…”, she mutters quietly, yet it is loud enough for her sister to hear.

“Did you go out hunting on your own again?”, Bela scolds softly, and Cassandra nearly feels tears dropping at this. The blonde notices her younger sister’s sudden tension. She sighs, bright golden eyes meeting Cassandra’s dark golden ones.

“It’s alright, we can fix this.”, she says instead. “Don’t tell Mother”, Cassandra pleads quietly. The blonde nods once, acknowledging and confirming this. The brunette knows her sister dislikes keeping things from Alcina, ever the Mommy’s Girl, but feels pride and happiness within her as she knows Bela will keep her promise.

She feels her sister drag her heel from her injured foot, and whimpers when the woman gently blows on the wound, removing the small dirt and sand that sticks to her skin.

“We’ll need to clean this out, Cass’”

She tenses. “Are you sure? You know we heal fast! We won’t need to-“

Bela’s stern look has the brunette shut her mouth again.

She watches silently as her sister moves about the room, collecting tissues and rags, disinfectant and water.

She allows herself to relax. Bela will help her- Bela will take care of her. She feels partly embarrassed for needing her big sister to take care of her- it’s been long since Bela had to look out for Cassandra and Daniela this way. Still- this feels nice…

Cassandra jumps when her cheek is cupped gently, but eagerly leans into the warm touch. She would never admit that she purred quietly as Bela stroked along her bloody cheek, comforting her despite the pain Cassandra was in.

“I’ll be right back. I’ve got to get some more rags and bandages”, Bela speaks softly, adamant on keeping her sister calm and comfortable. After centuries of living together, she has learned how to deal with her siblings.

Cassandra nods, watching as the woman flies off.

She looks around her sister’s room instead, her fingers sliding alongside Bela’s soft, red bedsheets. She remembers curling up here during thunderstorms as she was younger, Bela’s calm voice lulling her to sleep as she read Cassandra a story.

She blushes when she finds the portrait peeking out of Bela’s closet- she recognizes it immediately, it’s a portrait of the eldest sister, drawn by her ages ago. She had lifted it to her with the small plea of keeping it a secret. Knowing her sister keeps it in a secret, yet common place has Cassandra feel pride in her chest yet again- Bela must like her painting so much, she looks at it every day, yet keeps it hidden away in case Daniela is to walk into her room and find it.

She smiles at this.

On her table, a book is sprayed out. Cassandra can’t make out the title, nor does she care.

She reaches backwards, hugging one of her sister’s large pillows to her chest. The pain is becoming a lot, her ankle aching and burning. She forces back another wave of tears.

As she holds the pillow close, and inhales the blonde’s scent on it, a raw, almost forgotten need spreads within her: for a moment Cassandra wishes she was little again, able to simply hide away with her older sister protecting her.

Now she is an adult, and a fierce huntress at that. She can no longer expect her sister to look out for her, it would be embarrassing!

Yet, she yearns to cuddle up with Bela again, feel so safe and protected as she normally just used to feel as a child in Mother’s arms.

She smiles involuntarily when Bela returns, hands full.

“You like that? Dani too, I had to steal it back from her”, Bela comments with a small laugh, pointing at the pillow in Cassandra’s hands. She doesn’t seem to mind the blood her younger sister smears over it; or at least doesn’t show it.

Cassandra doesn’t answer, although giggles a little. It sounds just like Daniela to sneak off into their rooms and take what she likes.

She watches curiously as a bucket is placed under her leg. When bela lifts a glass of water and pours it gently down her ankle, she can’t help the surprised yelp of pain.

The blonde grips her fidgeting sister’s leg, gently, yet firm.

“Cassandra, we need to wash away the dirt. If this gets infected, we will need to tell Mother”, she argues. The brunette grumbles for a moment, yet stops squirming. She instead squeezes the pillow tighter as Bela continues pouring the water down her ankle, and with it dirt and some of the dried blood.

After a few minutes, the blonde seems done. Instead, Cassandra feels her gently dab a cloth against her ankle, mindful of the swelling and the angry marks the bear trap left behind. She whimpers in pain occasionally, yet stays still for her sister.

Another memory crosses her mind;

They were barely children, and Bela already was the most mature out of the three. Cassandra was crying as she clutched her crystallizing elbow. She had stuck it out the window for just a second, just to see what would happen. The pain was unbearable.

Yet, Bela was there, holding her in her arms as she put her own hands over the elbow. Cassandra wasn’t oblivious to how it made her sister’s palms crystallize a little bit as well. Eventually, all was well again. “Promise you don’t tell Mama?”, she whispered, to which she only received a small smile and a nod.

Bela had never told.

She is brought back to the current moment when she feels soft gauze wrap around her ankle. Bela’s movements are steady and gentle. The bucket and rag stands in the corner of the room.

When the ankle is wrapped, her sister rises from her kneeling position, smiling at the brunette.

She can’t help but whimper, alerting Bela something else was up. She can’t help but want her sister to take care of her other wounds too. Cassandra has no idea what is up with her, she craves the comfort the eldest sister offers, and had always offered.

Bela frowns at the mute woman. Without a word, Cassandra raises the broken part of her dress, exposing the purple marks underneath. Yet again Bela gasps at this.

“Deer”, Cassandra answers her silent question. Her lip wobbles as her sister hugs her. Despite the pain she feels at having the other woman’s hands right on the thorns, she embraces the comfort and love she is given.

“Can you lay on your back? I’m sure I’ve got some cream somewhere…”, Bela asks, worry written all across her face. What has her little sister gotten herself into?

Cassandra considers this for a moment. Strangely enough, she doesn’t want to disappoint Bela. At the same time, she knows the blonde wouldn’t be happy if she laid down with the thorns poking deeper into her.

“My back kind of…”, she trails off, unsure what else to say.

Bela raises an eyebrow at this. In the blink of a moment she swarms behind her sister, gently pulling her hair to the side to access the zipper of her dress. Cassandra blushes as it’s removed with ease and Bela studies the thorns in her back. She holds the front of the dress to her chest to cover herself.

“You’ve got to be more careful, Cass’”, Bela whispers. She sighs as she stares at the many thorns inside her sister’s soft skin. Some peek out a lot, others will take more to take out. She knows Cassandra won’t enjoy those.

Still, the blonde knows how to deal with the younger woman.

“Can you hold this for me?”, she asks gently, guiding another of her pillows to Cassandra’s hands. The woman nods eagerly.

Cassandra, would she not feel so safe and protected, would surely scold herself for being so vulnerable and soft around her sister. Yet she can’t help it. She knows Bela won’t hurt her, will always look after her the way she always has.

Cassandra, to her greatest shame and embarrassment, wishes she was a child again, able to hide away in her sister’s neck after a scary storm. She knows she isn’t supposed to act this way anymore, expected to be more mature now. Yet, she can’t help but feel so small and safe, vulnerable and happy with her older sister.

She barely notices when the blonde begins her work, sharp nails carefully pulling thorn after thorn from her back. The ones sticking out are easy. Bela drops them on the pillow held by her sister.

16 in total, she had counted; nine out already. There wasn’t a lot more to go!

The seventh was a tricky one. Cassandra squirms and whimpers, but eventually gasps happily when the little devil is out and dropped on the pillow too.

“Just six more, bug”, Bela promises when she notices Cassandra’s distress. The woman freezes for a moment- it’s been centuries since her sister used this nickname for her.

She feels comfortable and safe yet again. Cassandra had forgotten how dearly she missed being this close to her older sister. Bela was so often so busy with the wine business now, she missed spending time together. All three sisters are inseparable, yet Cassandra likes to think Bela likes her better.

When asked, the blonde insists she likes both her sisters in a unique way, how she treasures them differently based on their qualities and talents.

Cassandra doesn’t notice when number six and five are removed.

Tears fall down at number four and three, and she bites down on the soft, large pillow on her lap at number two.

Only one remains, the one she had accidentally pushed deeper. She whimpers as she feels Bela’s sharp nails dig in her skin for a mere moment. Then, with a triumphant smile, the blonde holds the last of the little bastards between her fingers. Cassandra smiles relieved. She allows Bela to clean her back too, purring quietly at the nice feeling of a warm rag against her. She blushes when Bela is kind enough to press a quick kiss to the wound number #1 left.

At last, Cassandra lays on her back, her dress pulled up, the bruises on her stomach and torso exposed.

Like promised, Bela retrieves and applies cream to it even as Cassandra laughs at the ticklish feeling.

“Is there any other wound, Cass?”, She asks, worried eyes taking in Cassandra’s body and searching for anything out of the ordinary. The brunette smiles tiredly. “All taken care of”, she promises. Her eyes feel a little heavy.

A question sits at the tip of her tongue. The blonde can tell; her patient eyes are set on Cassandra, until the younger woman eventually spits it out.

“Can I sleep here tonight?”, she questions. The blonde confirms this. “You know you and Daniela are always welcomed here, Cassandra”, Bela confirms for her again. She removes the pillow with thorns and smiles as the younger woman moves in her bed properly.

“Will you also…cuddle me?”, Cassandra asks quietly. She wishes for once there was a loud rainstorm in sight. It should embarrass her to ask for her sister’s comfort a lot more than it does. Bela agrees to this all too happily. She’s missed using her little sisters as teddy bears, hearing their silent purrs when they felt so safe and happy.

It’s such purrs that she receives when she turns off the lights and climbs in bed too, Cassandra’s head on her lap, her fingers in brunette curls. “Scratch”, Cassandra whispers, as she often did as a child.

Bela laughs at the fond memory, her sharp fingernails settling against Cassandra’s scalp as she scratches gently. The woman’s purrs increase in volume.

“You’re not bad with the whole bandaging stuff”, Cassandra says awkwardly. Thankfully, the older mutant understands. “You’re welcome, Cass”

#cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #I’ll go ahead and say Cassandra has mommy issues-#and Bela full on triggers them sometimes #Cassie just loves and appreciates her older sister sm ;-;

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lupunsus · 2 years ago

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another hybrid au brainrot but with Pantalone

hybrid au based on the writings of @cinnamonest

gn Akita Inu hybrid reader, bad writing 😔

I think that Pantalone would definitely have a hybrid whose main purpose is to stand next to him and look pretty. Like a trophy spouse/wife/husband or something along that path.

Of course, with how rich he is, it would be easy to acquire the most expensive hybrid on the market. But where's the fun in buying goods that's already trained? And of course, there could possibly be an issue where being treated so highly because of how valuable one is can lead to issues with dealing with bratty behavior. So, in this timeline, Pantalone acquires a hybrid without spending money.

It's been stated that bear traps are illegal, but who's to say that they weren't modified to be less dangerous? Some people still have issues with actual wild animals getting too close to their property, so if the trap isn't strong enough to cut off a foot, it should be ok, right? Just enough for the animal to be dissuaded, but still walk it off! So it should be fine. There's also the bear traps that were set up way before it was declared illegal and lost due to the weather and nature, so both parties could get hurt. Plus, nobody remembers if they set traps too far from their house, so traps that are set off in a distance to where no house or property is close avoids having to take responsibility and aren't held accountable.

And with snow being able to pile up continuously, it's not long before someone unknowingly steps in it. It's one of the main reasons why Pantalone sticks to paved roads. The other reason is not to dirty his shoes.

So when he's out appreciating one of his many gardens, it doesn't concern him when he hears a scream off in the distance, thinking someone caught themselves in one of the forgotten traps. It isn't until he hears a cry that's between a whine and a howl that he decides to investigate the poor creature that stumbled upon the trap.

He thinks it's adorable how you growl at him while the trap makes itself at home on your leg, even more so when you drop the tough act and whine pathetically for the help of a human.

Now, as an akita inu, formerly living life on its own and fending for themselves, well, history explains itself when his servants are ordered to run a bath. Of course, he removes the trap before bringing you to his abode to show that only he can make bad things go away and even bandages you up to boot. Since it's him, you manage it. But with his servants, it's all struggles and biting. It's fun to listen to their concerns, but he promises a hefty pay to whoever successfully manages to bathe you.

You, who's sitting naked in the middle of a washroom, next to the tub. It would be an adorable sight if your fluffy tail were wagging accompanied by the classic lopsided smile that dogs normally have, but unfortunately, your ears are pinned back and tail swishing dangerously as you bared your teeth to the onlookers and made it very clear that no, you will not be touched by anyone except the person that made your leg feel better.

The competitive atmosphere disappears completely, and everyone huddles together on how to split the money between them. At first, they let a servant with a hydro vision attempt to rinse you off, but alas, they were only compensated for almost losing a hand. Well, at least it was something, but now you have a faint idea as to what people with visions can do.

Well, in your line of sight, you didn't see the vision itself, but it wasn't hard to pick up that some people could spray water on you.

It was impossible to even coax you to eat a treat (that would put you to sleep) as you could smell something was off, and you didn't trust them. "Why couldn't our master bring in a trained animal?" Was what everyone was collectively thinking as they watched you wander around the room, pawing at different things and knocking them over. Some of those things were expensive and hard to obtain, which prompted an unfortunate soul to tell Pantalone that the task he assigned couldn't be done, and there was some collateral damage that would probably affect the surplus of funds he had already.

Of course, having as much money to spare (he funds Dottore's experiments, obviously losing a couple of gold bars and diamonds won't affect him), he orders everyone out of his washroom and takes a look at the mess you made. Training you will be a bit hard, but oh, will it be so rewarding. I like to think that Pantalone has an eye for rare things, so even if you're dirty with mangy fur and looking like some kind of lower breed, he just knows you're worth millions just by appearances alone.

Luckily for him, he saved you from someone who carelessly left out a bear trap, so questions about the legality of obtaining you will be stomped out and replaced with praises of how benevolent and generous he is to have rescued you.

Anyway, he bathes you in 20 minutes.

Of course, not trusting him completely, you growl and snap at him when he touches sensitive areas, and he actually avoids them. But he'll remember for later, when you come to a point where you're eating out of his hand. He decides to let a professional groomer take care of your fur, allowing someone else to muzzle you when you start biting again.

It would seem like he ordered them to do it, but since he comes back with gifts and a worried expression when seeing you all muzzled and tied so you wouldn't scratch or bite anyone, and gently removing them from you, it only strengthens the belief that he is the only one you can trust and be loyal to. After all, he saved you and takes better care of you than anyone else, so he's obviously a good person.

But not good enough to trust with food.

It isn't like he would poison you, but after being used to living in the wild and hunting for yourself for so long, it's hard to accept things that are just offered to you. Especially when handed to you by those suspicious servants. They've been looking your way and pointing a finger, even huffing and moving their mouths to produce weird, low barking sounds. Pantalone teaches you common phrases at first. Basic commands given to dogs, but you wouldn't think they're commands since he always has his eyes closed and mouth all weird when doing it.

Eyes being closed around someone indicates trust, but you don't know any animal that makes a weird curve with their mouth.

But it's easy to repeat small, simple words, and often, you're given a treat for saying the name he gives you, and whenever you call him Master. After a while, he only started to give treats when you'd say "[Name] eat" or "[Name] sleep." Short phrases but positive reinforcement when it comes to speaking works wonders.

It's only when you say a word he hasn't used towards you (because you're such a good dog to him!) that he looks disappointed. And it's scary.

"[Name] is bad?" Paired with droopy ears and an innocent and confused gaze, Pantalone wanted to ask why you'd think of such a ridiculous thing, but hybrids only pick up things said around them. And he's never uttered that sentence even after you almost attacked that lamb Scaramouche adores. It was that puppet's fault for letting such a thing wander around to deliver items for him.

"No, [Name] is good." Along with what you learned was a way to express good feelings (smiling) and ear rubs, you cuddled up to his leg, tail wagging like crazy.

For the servants who have loose lips, they had the choice to end their life or live in debt for 3 generations.

When Pantalone has you wrapped around his finger just the way he likes it, it doesn't take long for him to start training you in how to behave around people. At first, he didn't really mind how overprotective you were when it came to his co-workers' hybrids, but because of his image, he has to at least make sure you behave appropriately for any and all events he must attend.

He's rich, but due to your previous wild nature, he opts to train you with the disposable oversized t-shirts first. If you thought the collar was uncomfortable, the clothes were definitely worse. At least the collar had a soft material on its inside so it wouldn't hurt after wearing it, but the shirt felt suffocating and weird. Weird enough to flop over with a vacant expression and remain that way for a good 5 minutes. Treats were given if the shirt wasn't ruined and you didn't make an attempt to bite at it, but it was still hard to resist the urge.

But the treats were delicious, so you supposed it wouldn't hurt to suffer for a little bit.

But then you saw how that bear hybrid wears jack shit and became really pouty. "[Name] want freedom! Nothing on me!" Ah, how disappointing then. If that's what you want so badly, then Pantalone doesn't mind giving it to you. Of course, this means no more roaming around when he has guests over, staying home when he has to go out, and, of course, not being able to leave the mansion without your collar.

It's okay though! He respects your wishes, and these rules go into effect immediately. Part of him wishes that you'd be more obedient and let him dress you up prettily, but another part is amused and wants to see how long it'll take before you're begging for him to clothe you.

To me, because of how he was born into poverty and became the richest person we know of today, I think Pantalone would have no issue training a wild hybrid into an obedient servant who's loyal and willing to die for their masters. Fortunately for him, akita inus are said to be loyal hunting dogs who do just that.

#genshin hcs #genshin x reader #genshin x gn reader #pantalone #pantalone x reader #.lurots #hybrid au #genshin au

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eleganthologramcolor · 11 months ago

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I hope this isn't too far niche BUT....

Fantasy based COD AU, with any kind of traveler!141 x mythical!reader

(This one will be knight!Ghost x satyr!reader. Other magical critters will be assigned to the other members!)

Warnings: hybrid elements

No pronouns used.

Old fashioned, a classic, but starting off with Ghost as a knight, or maybe a simply a traveling warrior. When he wasn't busying himself with a quest in exchange for his place to stay, he found himself wandering along the edges of one of the largest forests in any of the maps he owned. There was a clean path worn down in the grass and flowers from many others who'd traveled through there, but he found himself itching today. Itching to see what was in the dense center of the tangles of branches and vines, past the clouds of mist and gnats that hung over the ponds and creeks that delicately lined the worn trail. With heavy and careful steps, still in his armor, he steps over the trickle of cold water and into the tall grass, cutting down his own path so the way back would be clear.

The deeper he travels into the trees, the more he regrets not stopping at his hidden alcove before making the trek, at least to remove the armor and gear underneath. The air is sticky, and even if the sun is filtered by the trees, they only serve to trap the heat beneath them. He's about to turn back when he hears a sweet call.

It's not unlike a bird call, but it's more, deliberate, almost clumsy. He would ignore it, except it's most definitely unlike any bird he's heard before, it's more melodical, sweet, and he steps forward slowly to prevent his plating from scraping against itself too suddenly when he sees you.

A pure sight, a wild critter, playing in a glade he can only just barely make out through the trees, your ears perked and a fluffy tail wagging behind you.

Ghost had never seen a satyr before, he knew such creatures existed, yet seeing one off the yellowed pages and frolicking over the wildflowers and buzzing insects, trilling oh so sweetly as you bounce playfully alongside the smaller critters you happen to frighten out of their hiding spaces.

Your body is bare, a sweet forest dweller like you doesn't need to be bound in fabric during weather like this! With soft, furry legs and a body softened by a cozy life under trees that offer you comfort and bearing armfulls of ripe fruit. With the bright flicks of color from the flower petals clinging to your legs and the plush of your belly, something stirs in his chest, and when you tumble during your play, his heart jolts and he swears that the damned thing was beating out of his ribcage and against the plating over his chest, because you suddenly turn, spotting him through the trees as well, and all is still until you scamper away, shy of the stranger in your safe haven.

In very universe and every life he finds himself craving what he is not. His heart aches to feel something soft against its own hardened vessel, for something smooth, plush and unharmed to fill in the gaps and ridges adorning his body, for curious and loving hands to practice mental cartography over his scars. He unknowingly stumbled upon an empty heaven, only to discover it to be a stage for a fluffy and sweet angel.

Ghost doesn't know how he'd do it, but somehow he has to return to the hidden clearing and coax you out of hiding, maybe if he'd offer treats from the bakery in his village? He suddenly finds himself fantasizing about holding a pastry out at arms length, crouched down to appear smaller, holding very still as you approach oh-so-cautiously, flinching at every breath he takes, yet not shying away, taking slow and gentle steps towards him. He'd coo and reassure you, and return every day with another treat for you, refraining from spoiling you until the day you clamber into his lamp, chittering up at him sweetly, waiting for your daily snack with pretty, glossy eyes and ears perked atop your head, inquisitive and sweet.

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #knight!ghost x satyr!reader #fantasy!141 #first ever post here please be kind #i will be doing the rest of 141 do not worry!!

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whumping-valentine · 1 year ago

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🦌 Fawn and Hunter - Part 2 🦌

"Hunter's Cabin"

Content: hunter whumper, whumpee caught in bear trap, carewhumper, creepy / intimate whumper, non-con touching (non sexual), vegan whumpee forced to eat meat, whumper has Killed People

About 1,400 words

I have no idea where all my inspiration for this mini series came from but I'm obsessed and it broke me free of my writer's block, so I'm going to make the most of it! I literally have 30 parts planned for this and shit is going to go OFF THE WALLS. I dare you to predict what's going to happen. Do it. You'll never guess it right.

I'm determined to write a part a day, so excuse my writing quality. I view this as a challenge! 30 days to write (or at least draft) a novella.

But anyways, here's part 2! It'll be typical whump stuff for a while before the wild shit, so enjoy! Once this mini series is complete and off my chest, I'll finally post stuff on Valentine, Vittoria and Rosa!

The deathly quiet woods caused whumpee's heart to drop, and a chill ran through their veins. The forest running quiet was no good sign, and always meant grave danger... So, where was it?

Whumpee could only stare down at the leaves that scattered the ground as the hunter carried them off through the woodland. The weight of the trap bore down on them and their poor ankle, pulling and shifting with each step whumper took. As time ticked on, they turned their head to the side, and spotted a disheveled wooden cabin. Whumper approached the building, unlocking the old door with a set of jangling keys.

The door creaked open, and the rancid stench of meat and death filled the air. Paired with the present scent of cigarettes, it caused a less than favorable array of smells. Whumpee tried their best not to barf down the hunter's back, pinching their nose and covering their mouth. Flies were all over the house, buzzing and zipping around, landing on the deer carcasses that hung on hooks from the ceiling. Throughout the wooden walls were all kinds of guns and mounted animal heads on display. Whumpee felt like they were suffocating… but maybe that’s just because they were holding their breath.

Each step the hunter took caused the wooden floors to loudly creak and crack, some of the only sounds next to the flies. Finally, they turned on a lamp with a click, then set whumpee down on a hard wooden chair. Whumpee’s face was flushed from tears both from pain, and from irritation from the smell and air quality. Whumper sat in a chair across from them.

Using tools, they pried the heavy metal trap free from their leg, causing a built up breath of relief to leave whumpee as silent tears continued to fall from their cheeks, their heart racing. Whumper removed their torn, bloodied boots and socks, and rolled up the pants of their overalls. They proceeded to wipe their still bleeding wounds clean, which went deep, even cutting into bone. Whumpee braced themself as they saw the hunter pull out disinfectant, wincing as the chemical sting burned into their flesh.

“Healing hurts, doesn’t it?” The hunter broke the silence, their tone almost malicious, just like the slight smile that crossed their face.

“I… I guess?”

Whumper chuckled at the response, “How cute. Hold your leg up.” They said, and pulled out a roll of cloth bandages, wrapping it around their foot, ankle, and leg, finishing their work with a pat, causing a jump and a yelp from whumpee, and another chuckle from whumper. They stood up from their chair, not looking away from whumpee as a small smile stayed plastered on their face. It almost looked… admirable?

“Why… why do you keep looking at me like that?” Whumpee asked, looking up at them with wide, big, scared eyes.

Whumper tilted their head, “Oh how could I not? Have you looked in a mirror lately?”

Whumpee was so frightened they couldn’t move. They were always told they were cute, but they never thought the same. They've always hated their appearance. They would've never thought they’d be practically kidnapped over it…

Their hair was a soft, muted auburn color, a mix of red and brown. It was short and messy, in the awkward mullet stage of growing it out. They had big, green eyes and wore circular glasses atop a blushed red nose, their cheeks covered in freckles. They were wearing a baggy brown sweater, which was now drenched in sweat and covered in dirt and leaves. They were only about 5 feet tall, but under whumper’s watching gaze, they felt even smaller.

Whumper was much taller than them, maybe even a whole foot taller, and it made whumpee very nervous. Their hair was long, dirty, and greasy, and whumpee wondered when the last time they showered was. They had lots of greys in their hair, and big, dark circles underneath their brown eyes.

“You seem frightened,” whumper said, a slight tilt to their head, "what's the matter?"

"What do you mean what's the matter? Y— you— you— you've— you—!"

"Don't hurt yourself, now." Whumper condescended, "Though I will say your jitteriness makes you look extra cute."

“Well… it… it's not my fault, I— I have GAD… Like— you know— anxiety. And— and I have to take medication for it— and—!” Their hands started shaking, their fingers twitching. The nerves in their palms flared, and they tried to massage the feeling away with their thumbs.

Whumper grabbed their wrists, causing whumpee to let out a gasp. They sat down in their lap, and moved their hands from their shaking wrists to their shoulders, pushing them back firmly against the chair.

They whispered in their ear, “You should feel lucky that you’re pretty, else you wouldn't be breathing."

A shiver went down their spine. "What... what do you mean?" They asked, heart continuously racing.

"I don't take kindly to strangers is all. But I think I could to the cute ones like you."

Whumpee stared at them, confused as they furrowed their brow, "Who even are you?"

"Who knows? Not you, that's for sure. You'll call me Hunter. I'll call you Fawn. Sound fair?"

“I— I have a name...”

“I don’t care.” Hunter said, firm but not harsh. "I'll call you whatever I please. I think I've earned the right to name you, no?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, you stepped into my trap, did you not? I think then, by the rules, that makes you mine. So I get to name you."

"You— you're crazy!"

"I've lived by myself in the woods for 10 years, I'd be shocked if I were sane." They said, then stood up, and ruffled the captive's hair before fixing it. They brushed their hand down their face to their chin, forcing the stiff, tense Fawn to look up at them. "You hungry?"

"… No… not… particularly." Not in these circumstances.

"Mm, that's too bad. You'll be eating once a day regardless, but it's hardly time for dinner yet. You can help me make it in the meantime, wouldn't that be fun?"

Fawn wanted to argue back and say no, but couldn't find the strength nor bravery to let out a single word. Hunter grabbed them by the wrist and pulled them to their foot, making them hop to the kitchen where they sat them in another chair. Thankfully Hunter's definition of "help" seemed to be "sit and watch me do it" but that didn't mean the scene in front of them didn't disgust them.

Fawn was forced to watch Hunter skin a deer, cut it up, and cook it. A thousand things flew around there head, but among one of them was their earlier statement. If Hunter hadn't found them attractive, would they be in the deer's place? Were there others before them who were?

They were so lost in thought they didn't realise Hunter had tried to talk to them. They looked up at them, "Huh?"

Hunter looked displeased, and repeated themself, "It's time for dinner," they gestured to the table.

"Oh. I, um. I— I don't eat meat."

"Well, you're either going to eat it, or you're going to slowly starve to death." Hunter stabbed a piece with their fork, and held it up to Fawn's face, "Which will it be?"

Fawn stared at their captor before reaching out for the fork with soaking hands. Hunter pulled it away.

"Ah-ah-ah! Nope! Hands down."

Fawn blinked their eyes and reluctantly pulled their hand back. They were flushed red with anger and embarrassment as Hunter fed them. The taste on their tongue nearly made them barf on the spot, nevermind having to chew it. Hunter sat down with them, satisfied. Bite after bite, sharing the same fork, the both of them slowly worked though the plate in front of them.

"That wasn't so bad now, was it?" Whumper cooed as they fed them the last bite, relishing in delight at the disgust and shame that covered their captive's face. Fawn refused to speak.

"Well, it's getting late, little fawn. I think it's time we get you to bed." Hunter said, standing up. "Lift your arms." They commanded, and Fawn obeyed. Hunter picked them up like they were nothing more than a toddler, carrying them towards another door. To Fawn's dismay, it was a door to a basement. They felt Hunter's grip on them tighten as they felt them tense up.

Hunter's heavy boots stomped down the stairs as the two went down into darkness. Fawn was suddenly dropped from their arms, letting out a scream as they collided with a firm, tattered mattress that sat on the concrete floor.

Hunter caressed their scared face, leaving a kiss on their forehead before leaving, going back up the stairs, shutting the door. Fawn hears the click of a lock, and is left in both total silence and complete darkness, all alone.

A/N: Fawn having GAD and being on meds is 100% self-inspired. I have no idea how I ever functioned before medication, anytime I forget to take them I feel like I'm running a marathon. Also does anyone else get in anxiety in their hands? I never know how else to describe it, I just know people look at me like I'm nuts when I say "my hands are anxious" lmao. I also get "nose-freezes" rather than brain freezes.

#whump #whump blog #whump community #whumpblr #my writing #whump writing #whump story #hunter whump #fawn and hunter #creepy whumper #intimate whumper #carewhumper

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galaxysharks · 1 year ago

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NO WAIT THIS MAKES THE ASHLYN MADDOX BOUNDARY SNIPPET HURT SO MUCH MORE OW??????????????????? OH MY GOD MADISON CAN FUCK RIGHT OFF I HATE THAT BITCH

This was weird.... Or it's not weird, and Maddie just doesn't know it....Madison didn't act like it was weird, she would have told Maddox, she likes telling her when she misses things.

But God why is she sore? Her muscles keep flexing and she can't stop them, all over, again and again, her arms and legs are exhausted. She's never been sore after color wars.

Whatever, she just needs to hit the showers, she feels like her sweat from earlier has turned into crystals on her skin, trapping dirt, and making her feel gross.

Wait, she has to grab her script from the office first..

Changing directions, Maddie walks off the path through a tree thicket, cutting the 7 minute walk down to 3, perks of knowing the woods.

Opening the door, she hears the sound of someone startling, and as she enters, she sees a somewhat sheepish Val holding her phone.

Maddox can help it, "We're not allowed to have our phones Val....".

Val blinks, and gently smiles as she drops her phone back into the bucket without looking, eyes fixed on her new companion.

"Hi Maddie, I know, I'm sorry. Hey, where'd you go earlier? We missed you at dinner. We thought you'd gone to find Madison, but she came in about halfway through and you never showed." Val scans Maddie as she talks, classic CIT training kicking in. 'Have to make sure all your little campers are safe and sound!' Right Dewey?

Maddie must have caught her at a bad time, she seems nervous and worried about something. Maddox should ask, a good friend would ask, but she's so tired, and the faster she gets her script, the faster she can shower and get some sleep.

"I, uh I was out by the shrine.... looking at the trees...." why didn't she just tell her, normal teens talk about these things all the time, hell she's talked to Val about this before....but it wasn't her that time, and it doesn't feel right, and she doesn't want to fight with herself right now....

"did the California sun finally get too hot for you too?"

What? Oh right, Maddie's still in her undershirt, which Val's seen before, but only in the brief seconds of the morning when Maddie gets dressed.

"ha, uh.....yeah, too hot.....hey did I leave my script in here? I need to grab it for tomorrow"

Val stares for another minute, and looks like she wants to talk about something, and God Maddie's such a bad friend. But then Val seems to sag before casually opening the drawer to the Stage Manager's desk and pulling out Maddie's copy of the script with all the blocking and cue notes.

Maddox grabs the booklet, and turns to exit the cabin, missing Val's reaction to the smattering of bruising along her upper back. She heads out to the Honeycomb.

Back in the office, Val is puzzling together some things. Madison had wandered into the barn halfway through dinner, cool as can be and smug. This in itself was a bit odd this year, with Mad and Mad having been inseparable all week.

Val had made EJ switch spots with her, so she could watch better. Madison had evidently jumped right in to some grand tale, laughing and gesturing all the while.

Eventually EJ and Ninis conversation died down a little, and she could hear the next table a bit better. Madison was bragging about some 'battle wound'? Rolling her sleeves and showing off what was......definitely not an animal bite.....

And now, Maddie comes in looking like she'd tangled with a bear and like she was two steps away from taking one of her 'long hikes' they all pretend are normal nature walks.

Even without the mounting evidence, I didn't take a genius to figure, Madison has always liked displaying her affection to Gadget's neck, and right now she looks like the survivor to a Friday the Thirteenth film.....

Maddie seems uncomfortable, but Maddox's face doesn't always line up with what she means or how she's feeling..... truthfully, Val really didn't think she was all that into intimacy, but she supposes the last time they'd talked about it she'd been a little distracted....

Well regardless, she needed to talk to Madison about private moments and what shouldn't be so freely shared. It's wonderful that she's so open, but Val is certain Maddox would be uncomfortable with everyone knowing her business, hell no one even knows her last name, or anything about her outside of camp.

The next day Val couldn't seem to get a hold on either of them, Maddie having evolved onto her yearly whirlwind a day early, and Madison deciding to 'help' every pre-prom activity, relay style.

she did see Crash give Maddox a High Five for 'beast taming', to which she confusedly returned. And Val added him to the list of people to talk to.

#hsmtmts #hsmtmts maddox #high school musical the musical the series #hsm the series #hsmtmts season 4 #hsmtmts jet #possible #tw dubcon #not really but its alluded to

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warmbloodcomic · 1 year ago

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Warm Blood: Girls Mode

Written by Josh Tierney

Photo edit by Caitlin Soliman

Pt. 8

Penny and Eve found themselves in a dark, covered, mazelike alley that was packed with old vending machines, where the only light came from the dim, sometimes flickering display lights.

“Where’s Maaya?” Eve wondered. Penny gave Eve a concerned look that told her she didn’t know.

Are you in the creepy vending machine alley? Eve texted Maaya.

Her phone vibrated in response almost immediately, and she eagerly checked the screen, only to be deflated by a Failed Delivery message.

The girls looked around, unable to get their bearings.

“What is this place?” Penny asked.

They checked the nearest vending machine, which, unlike all the other machines they had come across on their trip, sold beetles. Penny and Eve could not tell if the beetles in the display lineup were real or fake, though they certainly looked impressive, with strong-looking horns and pincers.

The vending machine beside that was even more confusing, with cans on display that were wrapped in white paper and had kanji written on them in tiny characters, so that it seemed entire paragraphs, or perhaps even short stories, had been scrawled on them. Eve tried using the translation app on one of the display cans, but the English text it spat out was largely gibberish, except for a message from a person wondering if they would ever be forgiven by their mother.

The next vending machine was dark and busted, its broken display window devoid of items.

The girls heard a nearby metallic scraping, and turned their heads to another wall of vending machines, the sound seeming to come from behind them. Penny’s overactive imagination placed the sound as a serial killer dragging a metal bat against the pavement, the killer clearly on their way to their next victim. She spared Eve that thought, though Eve’s imagination wasn’t much more pleasant.

Eve checked the GPS on her phone.

“We’re in Akiba,” she said. “The GPS doesn’t list this vending machine area, though. It just shows us as being on the first floor of a small apartment complex.”

“I’ll try to get us out,” Penny said with some determination. “Follow me.”

“Okay,” Eve said, smiling as she put her phone away.

There was only enough space between the machines for one person to move at a time. Penny believed she could make use of her Shin Megami Tensei experience, the games often forcing the player to navigate labyrinthine and trap-infested dungeons.

The traps in the alley were plentiful, including poison panels that the girls narrowly avoided stepping on. The lack of random encounters did little to put Penny at ease – as they were the only people in the maze, it made it feel that much creepier.

Eve cut her legs on a piece of metal jutting out of one of the vending machines, though thankfully she had already received a tetanus shot from the last time she had accidentally cut herself on a random piece of metal. She put some saliva on her finger and smeared it across the cut, then gave Penny a thumbs-up while winking.

“You don’t have a Band-Aid or anything?” Penny asked, gesturing to the star bag Eve almost always carried with her.

“I heal really fast,” Eve said proudly.

Penny nodded, though she was still somewhat concerned. Then she turned her head to face forward again, and found herself staring at an oddly-shaped silhouette standing a few feet ahead of her, close to the exit of the maze.

Eve’s hands landed on both of Penny’s shoulders, making her jump.

“Just let him mug us!” Eve pleaded. “I don’t want to go back in the weird maze.”

It took a hell of a lot for something to unsettle Eve, so if she didn’t want to go back in the vending machine maze, Penny knew she would have to suck it up and go forward.

“Here goes,” Penny said, closing her eyes and taking a few forceful steps, all while making a sound like a cat stuck on a curtain.

“Are you here for the vending machine graveyard, too?” she heard a youthful male voice ask them in English. The voice sounded pleasant enough, so Penny risked opening her eyes, and saw before them a Taiwanese-American boy of around 16 or so.

The boy was wearing a bright yellow rain jacket that was translucent enough for his simple, unassuming clothing to be visible underneath, the type of clothes Penny used to see in church. He had his hood up – that, along with the stiff material of his rain jacket, was what had given his silhouette its odd shape. The jacket also had a high collar in front that covered his mouth.

“‘Vending machine graveyard’?” Penny parroted back, her eyes widening. “That is where we are! We ended up here by accident.”

“I didn’t see you go in,” the boy said curiously.

“That’s why it was an accident,” Penny said, somewhat losing patience with the boy’s overly familiar questioning.

“I’ve been waiting here an hour,” the boy explained, “to see what comes out.”

Penny and Eve looked at each other, as if to telepathically decide whether they should ignore the boy or not, and then Penny tried to lead Eve past him by sidling up against the right wall. The boy turned to face Penny, his back against the left wall with no space between them.

“My name’s Leslie,” he said.

Penny looked at him in slight discomfort, then turned her head and kept going. Eve was next, though she at least said “hi” with an awkward smile as she passed by. Leslie turned his head to watch them go.

Penny and Eve made it out onto the street, finding themselves near a river. There were some large restaurants and pachinko places nearby, but also some dark spots, the shadow of night enveloping any buildings that weren’t covered in lights and signs. It was lightly raining, which felt nice after being in the stuffy maze. They felt like they could finally breathe again.

The girls looked up the street, and saw with some relief that they were only a couple blocks away from Akihabara’s bright and busy core.

Leslie jogged out of the maze, taking a sharp turn to place himself in the girls’ line of sight, and then continued jogging in place as he smiled awkwardly at them.

“I was told that the vending machine graveyard leads directly to a portal of lost maids,” he said, taking a massive gamble on whether that sentence would make any sense.

Penny and Eve looked at him, not knowing what to say. If they hadn’t seen, heard and experienced everything that had happened in the past few days, they would have already been walking past him.

“But you don’t look like maids to me,” he added.

“If there was a portal, why would it matter?” Penny asked. She said it almost dismissively, but was in fact somewhat curious.

“Because the lost maids are the ones causing all the strange shit in Akiba,” Leslie said.

Penny and Eve looked at each other again.

“Who are you?” Penny asked.

“I’m Leslie,” Leslie reintroduced himself. “A maid afficionado. I have a TikTok all about maids.”

Penny and Eve stared at Leslie, once again regretting interacting with him.

“It’s lit,” he said, defending himself with a smile. “Seriously. I have like a million followers.”

“We have a YouTube channel,” Eve said, finally chiming in. She was already thinking about how it might benefit them to know someone with a million followers on TikTok. “It’s about gaming and fashion and stuff.”

Eve flashed Penny an imperceptible look that said “we should keep talking to this guy.”

She then turned back to Leslie, though for him she had never looked at Penny at all.

“I’m Eve,” she said.

“Nice to meet you, Eve,” Leslie said.

He looked at Penny.

“Penny,” Penny said without opening her mouth.

“Are you two here on vacation?” Leslie asked. He stopped jogging at this point, as if its hypnotising effect was no longer necessary.

“Yes,” Penny answered as succinctly as possible.

“Same, I came to Japan with my parents and sister, covering the whole trip with sponsorships. Me and my dad will be in Japan for two months, so that I can generate as much content as possible. He sometimes helps record my videos.

“My moms and sister are just here for the free trip. They’ll be gone soon.”

“We’re here because Penny always wanted to come to Japan,” Eve said, placing her hands on Penny’s shoulders and smiling widely. “She plays like every game that’s been made here. Her expertise is one of Girls Mode’s secret weapons!”

“‘Girls Mode’?” Leslie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s our YouTube channel,” Eve said. “But we’re thinking of branching out to TikTok soon.”

Were they? Penny tried to think back. They must’ve entertained the thought at some point, but all signs pointed to Eve being fascinated by this stranger’s success. Penny decided she would just go with the flow, since Eve was the one who handled uploading the Girls Mode videos, as well as posting on social media to try to get people to look at them.

“It’d be really cool to do a collab video,” Eve offered boldly.

“Have you been to any maid cafés?” Leslie asked.

“We sure did! We’ve been hanging out with one of the maids from it. She was just with us . . . I should check to see where she is.”

Eve couldn’t believe that she had been so wrapped up in networking that she forgot to try checking in again on Maaya. She resent her text to Maaya somewhat anxiously while trying to hide her anxiety. Penny and Leslie both went from looking at Eve to looking at each other.

“I’m a 16-year-old boy who speaks extremely limited Japanese,” he said. “I’ve never thought about what it would be like to be friends with a maid. Maybe part of that is not wanting to spoil the illusion. I’ve just been interested in that whole world – who wins, who loses, and what happens to the winners and losers. Why it’s worth fighting a war to serve lonely people.”

“Yeah,” Penny said, though without any meaning.

“Even me, I’m not the only maid enthusiast, or maid café influencer, or whatever you want to call me. The first time I went to a maid café, it was a place in a Japan Town in another country. I was only like 6. The maids called me ‘Master’. I took that very seriously. As I grew up, I kept wondering: what makes me ‘Master’? Am I still a ‘Master’, even though I hadn’t been to that café in years?

“The answer was to keep going to maid cafés. I became a TikTok celebrity at 14, posting reaction videos to café tours and rating maids I came across. My parents helped me arrange virtual reservations at different maid cafés, where I’d be a tablet propped up on a table, and the maids would come with their perfect smiles and take my orders from a million miles away.

“It was genius. Different cafés ended up sponsoring me, since they saw a tangible boost in foreign customers. It helps me and my family take trips here.

“But, sometimes, when we’d try to visit the cafés, they’d be gone, like they vanished into thin air. Where did they go?

“‘They lost,’ a maid said once, without looking at me. She had overheard me talking about it with my dad. The maid was in the middle of collecting dishes from the table next to us. I looked at her, but she wouldn’t make eye contact. My dad just laughed.

“‘They lost’? What the hell did that mean? I started investigating. I feel like I learn a little more every time I’m here.

“I think I see them sometimes, when I’m lost in thought: maids without faces. One time one of them bumped into me, and I looked down, and I was holding a teacup on a saucer.”

Penny tried to stare at him with a neutral expression, but Leslie could tell she was trembling slightly.

“The tea was hot.”

Leslie stopped talking, instead looking at Penny with the eyes of someone who had fallen deep down into a rabbit hole.

“Maaya’s fine,” Eve said with a relieved smile. She was still in the middle of texting Maaya, and seemed to have missed out on Leslie’s entire monologue. “She ended up somewhere else, really far away, and is just gonna head home now.”

Eve then put her phone away and smiled apologetically at Leslie.

“Should we get some tea somewhere?” she asked. “Maybe talk about the collab?”

“Do you think we’d be able to involve Maaya in some way?” Leslie asked back, implying that he would only collab if Eve’s maid friend joined them.

“I can ask!” Eve said enthusiastically.

Leslie nodded a little, the wheels in his head already turning as he thought up questions he could ask Maaya.

“There’s a maid café that specialises in fried chicken,” he said. “Want to check it out?”

“Sure, but we’ll just have tea,” Eve answered for both of them, knowing Penny wouldn’t be able to resist the offer of fried chicken even this late at night.

Penny flashed Eve a quick, imperceptible look of betrayal, her mouth opened as if she was about to argue.

The three of them walked in the light rain together, Eve and Leslie doing most of the talking as they shared their experiences as YouTubers and TikTok influencers. Penny mainly watched the reflections of neon signs and anime billboards in the puddles ahead of them, though the more she looked, the more she was worried something might show up in the reflections that shouldn’t be there.

Penny looked up just as they reached the building with the fried chicken maid café. It was located on the second floor of the building, above a more traditional maid-less restaurant. The café’s sign depicted a chibi maid waving around a golden-brown drumstick like a magic wand.

In 3 Mins by 34423 was playing in the stairwell as they ascended to the second floor.

#Warm Blood #Girls Mode #web novel

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geewintg · 1 year ago

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Fandom: GenshinShip: Rosaria x Eula Commissioned by @lost-but-with-coffee Thank you once again for commissioning me!

The smell of booze and sour pinched the air. The ever low-lighting of the tavern lost its patreon in sense of time. A lot fell victim to its capitalistic nature, where they'd be merrily yelling 'one more' at the top of their lungs with no care in the world, trapped in the enticing delusion of intoxication. It is one's getaway to life's problems. And sometimes those problems weighs from someone's past, haunting them of their entire being.

"Oh here ye~ Oh here ye!

To the mellow songs of jubilee~

For the past of when she danced with beloved thee,

Now cold in her arms as she wept her mournful plea…"

And there goes the renowned bard, rosy cheeks and delirious eyes singing with his already-nasally voice, completely drunk in euphoria. The sourness popped in the air as bubbles fizzed from the cup that was being poured for Eula. She watched it with a glazed expression.

The songs of the tavern were unlike what she was used to. Unlike the refined, well-mannered melodies of placid strings in cultures of noble houses. The bard's ballads are like the temper of the wind. On a slow afternoon, it would dapple your cheeks with its loving caress; then on some windy days, it would be a playful child, slightly pushing you and messing with your hair; but on nights accompanied by thunder, it would clap, hammer down on your window like a crazy neighbor ready to hunt you down. His melodies would prickle Eula's skin, hearing the ballads of how Mondstadt regained its freedom the second time. But to the Lawrence clan, the tyranny by the nobles being brought to justice was a fall from grace. Proud and noble, they were. Insufferable and vengeful, they are now.

To Eula, they are nothing but a great burden. A stain in her being no matter how far she is from it or even if she has forsaken her family and their obsession of the past. The blood of those sinners—will no matter what—run in her veins.

“Heh-hey! Why a beauty such as yourself doin’ alone out here, huh?” Eula was in a dark corner and no one would usually bother her. But one of the briskly men came up to her looking for trouble, ostensibly a random citizen who’s too drunk to distinguish someone of her bearing.

Eula scoffed. Just when she was in a bad mood as well… but she was willing to let this inexcusable behavior slide just for this one night. “Sir, the only thing you should be hitting on was the door. You may see yourself out,” she coolly replied.

This made the already-reddish face of the man darken. “You—!” He pointed at her. “I know you! You’re from that filthy Lawrence clan. That bitch who got the galls to join the Knights of Favonius even after what your family did and you still have the audacity to show your face here?!”

Because of his shouting, all attention turned to them. As much as it displeased her, she can’t act on it because it would only show that what they’ve been saying about her would only prove to be true—a trap. That is what they wanted. One minor slip up is all it takes for the tower she built thus far for herself will crumble.

So she stood up and crossed her arms, remaining level-headed. She had a fairly decent height of above the average so when she looked down to meet his gaze, this took the man aback and clearly wounded his ego. “Wh-who are you trying to intimidate, huh?”

“Huh?” She tilted her head in a languid manner, shifting her weight on another leg to state her lack of amusement. “When was I trying to intimidate? I was clearly drinking on my own when you decided to interrupt my alone time.”

“Cut the crap!” He jabbed her, causing her to slightly step back. “I’m still wondering how the acting grandmaster even allowed you in when you’re doing all of this so you can bring the nobles back to power. Well, guess what! We’re not going to fall for that same stupid crap you keep telling us about justice and righteousness. You can crawl back that mansion of yours and never show your face again!” She held his wrist, stopping him from doing it over and over again. But before she could even speak, he slapped her hand away and shoved her. “Don’t touch me! I knew it—! I knew it! You were gonna harm me because all I said was true, right?! You people never change! You took away our freedom and you will always will!”

Eula was caught off-guard and stumbled backwards, causing to hit someone from behind who was sitting and minding their own business. “Hey—!” The person complained.

She panicked in her head. Not another one… the previous one was already hard enough to deal with. But she was left wide-eyed when the woman stood up and threatened the troublemaker.

“Can you stop yapping with your freedom speech? You’re starting to get annoying.” Her voice was sultry yet dangerous. Her finger claws clinked against the metal handle of her dagger when she twirled it like warning. “Or I’ll shut you up myself.”

At this point, the whole air of the tavern was quiet. Some were knocked out, some including the bard who was singing merrily just a while ago, while the rest were watching intently. The guards that were usually stationed are no where to be found. This is when the bartender stepped in. “Pardon me. But Master Diluc would not be too happy if he found out there was a ruckus that took place here.”

“Then take care of him. Isn’t that your job?” The woman gestured to the drunken man who’s quivering like a deer in headlights, pale-faced having to meet someone like the woman who didn’t seem to have an ounce of hesitation to remove him. “Or if you want me to take care of him. Then by Barsitobas’ name, he’d be gone by sunrise. Just tell me.”

“Wait… did someone say my name…?” A certain drunk green bard roused from his stupor state but his head fell back down in an instant.

The troublemaker shook his head in terror. “N-no— I- I’ll remove myself.” The bartender also helped him out which he was too fear-stricken to decline.

The woman scoffed as she hung the dagger back in her belt, rolling her eyes and went back to sit on her chair. "Would you mind moving aside?" Eula blinked when the woman stood in front of her, impatient as she swayed her weight from one heel to another.

"Oh, um, pardon me." Despite the behavior, Eula felt indebted, so she added, “Let me buy you a drink as a thank you for your help.”

"Sure. But you know, you could sit down. It’s tiring to see you just standing there," the woman said, her claws clinking against glass as she played with the rim of her cup. Her sharp eyes lazily raking the aristocrat woman up and down.

“Can I get one more here?” Eula called out to the bartender and the drink was sent to their table swiftly. She did as she was told, albeit she had no idea or what to say in this situation. There was this odd feeling that's bubbling inside her, it's like the sour pop of the alcohol that leaves a bitter taste in the mouth if she doesn't wash it for long.

Does she not condemn her?

"Don't be too stiff. I'm not going to bite," the woman assured her, not looking as she took another gulp from her drink. "But I'm curious. With your status as the Knights of Favonius, why didn't you just knock them out? Surely, your skills are not all just empty praises from people's lips."

"I can't..." Eula said with hesitation. "You saw what happened. The moment I do, they use that against me even if it’s a means for self-defense."

"—because you're what? From those pompous nobles that took away this city's freedom?" The woman huffed with mockery. But seeing how Eula's features—who always looks sharp and rigid—be dampened, her smile fell. "Look, lineage doesn't matter much in the grand scheme of things. Our past doesn't define our future neither do the people who raised us. In the end, we choose our own fate." Just like how she felt indebted to the people who gave her a second chance, to instead fight for harm, she does it for a good cause, even if she were to lurk in the shadows.

Eula cracked a smile. "It sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"We all have our own thing here and there." She snorted, a rare amused smile on her lips. Eula now remembers, this woman was the odd sister of the church—Sister Rosaria. There wasn't much known about her and despite being a sister, she was also rarely seen during church activities. It is the reason why whenever Eula meets the beloved idol of Mondstadt, it's nothing but "where's Sister Rosaria" or "have you seen Sister Rosaria". And to think you'd find a sister here drinking, truly odd.

There was silence—an apperception.

“I was raised by thieves. I had to kill my foster father—the one who taught me everything I needed to know. To survive. But is that what you truly call a father? I don’t know,” Rosaria mused. She wouldn’t normally talk about her past like this, much less to a person she just met.

“I forsook my family,” Eula sighed, grabbing the same cup Rosaria had been drinking off when she was offered of it. “My family was close to disowning me when they found out that I’ve joined the knights. But they saw this as an opportunity and tried to use it. I know about their true intentions and ceased contact from then on. It was… elevating.”

“Elevating?” she chuckled. “Like finally free of it, huh?”

The aristocrat woman hung her head however. “No. Not at all. Even if I cut ties with them. Their flesh and blood still run in my veins. I will forever carry the sins of my ancestors. And I will be forever remembered by the people of Mondstadt as the scar of their dark history.”

“Well like I said, it shouldn’t matter,” Rosaria waved her hand in dismissal, grabbing the handle that was still in Eula’s hand and taking a sip out of it. This left the aristocrat woman a little flabbergasted of Rosaria’s crass attitude.

“How dare you—!”

“That is still my drink, remember?” she smirked which deepened the frown on Eula’s face.

“You could have given a warning.”

“Hmm… too bad.” The other just shrugged her off.

She slammed her fists against the table, albeit in act, following along the silly banter. “I will not forget this! Vengeance will be mine!”

“Try me. I’ll be waiting.” Rosaria’s eyes glinted in mischief as her fingers drew the length of her dagger hung on her thigh. After exchanging knowing looks, the two snorted.

“Perhaps, we should spar sometimes. I’d like to see how a sister can hold up against the Knight of Favonius. Would we be too lacking I wonder?”

Rosaria crossed her legs and placed her chin on her hand. “Then the rumors of the knights being unreliable would be true. To submit defeat to a sister of the church would be too humiliating.”

She crossed her arms and tilted her head in taunt. “Who says I’ll be submitting defeat? Just make sure you’re with bite, not all bark.” She could feel the coldness of her breath when she leaned in.

“Ice bites. Don’t tempt me for you to feel it.” The icy thorns craned her neck.

“I take ice baths in the morning. Don’t assume I’m not used to the cold.” She bit as well. “Well, let’s just see who’s has more frost for the other to handle, shall we?”

Rosaria hummed dangerously low, amused by the offer. “Shall we?”

Commissions are still open! For more details; for more example of my works

#writing #genshin #genshin impact #creative writing #commission #open commissions #writing commissions #eula #rosaria #rosaria x eula #my commissions are still open

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alkasden · 30 days ago

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Eyes everywhere seem to Follow Alaks at every step. Chatter grows at every second, getting closer and closer.

One car, parked around the corner of the street with the door open, had two hellhounds waiting on the side of it, smoking red cigarettes. A familiar scent was easy to feel from afar. Soft and sweet like a gentle caress.

It all is cut but a loud clunk under Alkas' feet, a bear trap closing in on her leg, sinking on her flesh and sticking to her bone. Connected to the trap, a chain that was tied to the car that quickly starts its engine.

Wandering her way through the alleyways, Alkas was frustrated and her breaths heavier with each step. Her phone finally showed up and the string of messages came flooding in which she was certain were from Valentino after she had shut it off. Already she felt that craving stinging at her throat and making her shake. That damned potion was still clinging on, making her wonder if it was causing permanent effects. It was so hard to tell, trying to flick through the messages and… not looking out where she was going.

SNAP!

The sickening crunch comes and the pain shoots through her before she hears the metal teeth of the trap dent through her skin and into her metal leg bone. Her phone drops and she chokes on a scream, the shock leaving her locked up for only seconds before a blur in her sight casts down to what had even happened.

He’s here!

A bear trap she stepped into was latched onto her leg and dug into her calf so deep the oil that replaced her blood poured out from the edges of it. Her bone being made of steel did not make it entirely undamaged, dents into the metal coming from the sheer force of the sudden clam down onto it.

Now came the pained panic, trying to violently yank her leg only to shiver in agony that shot up her spine from her leg. Another scream leaked from her enough to bite her lip to stifle it. The trap stayed attached, firmly clamped into her leg and the chain rattling attached it. Her ears shot up when she heard the start-up of a car, trying to follow the lead of the chain to the source.

“Fuck,” she curses out knowing she was about to be in for the worst ride of her life, the chain attached to the vehicle. She should not have left Prin’s side.

#alkasask #alkasden [chained dreams]#cw: violence

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yohohonabottle · 1 month ago

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📿Back to directory || Next chapter >> | Latest

Surprise attack

[!]TW: Violence, kidnapping.

Clear sunny day, the scorching sun beating down on the dry, cracked canyons of the Ashen Wastes without mercy. A few tumbleweeds rolled from time to time, blown to and fro across the wasteland of the desert by the leisurely winds along with kicked up sand.

Nestled in an oasis, the youth of the thriving Uru tribe enjoy the time of peace and more laid-back day. Some frolic and play, others relax in the sunlight or near the lake, each to their own interests.

Still, there was one member who wasn't resting.

Soren, ever vigilant and wary, couldn't simply stand by idly. Someone has to keep watch over the settlement's perimeter for intruders-- Even though Alsa keeps insisting there's no need. He, as secondary chieftain and in-charge of their clan's defense, has taken it upon himself to scout their territory regardless. Better to prevent any unwelcome guests from getting in from the get-go than having to scramble for damage-control. ...Little does the clan protector know he'd be proven right and wrong at the same time.

Soren still blames himself for that day, for not being strong or fast enough.

How did those damned Quicksand claws manage to stealthily settle on his clan's perimeter without him noticing or seeing them-- He doesn't know. They'd likely have laid low on the rock formations surrounding the oasis, ensuring the wind doesn't blow their cover by letting him catch their scent.

It's the only logical explanation he can think of that makes sense. How else, would those scoundrels, those bastards, have sneak past him? And it's not like he can just run those towering rock formations up and down like some mountain goat every day, just to check or when the mood strikes him. ..Still. How the hell did they get up there?

More importantly, how did they get down without dying like idiots from fall damage?? Their terrabirds would've died along, no matter how much the animals flap their feeble, tiny wings.

He'd soon find his answers in the shape of a smug annoying Adamant Syndicate group in Alkali. Turns out the rotten weasels have their hand in all kinds of markets in the underground, including potions-dealing.. as well as smuggling and traffic. Someone from the Lightbearer Empire had placed a bounty on him, demanding him captured and brought alive.

Anonymously.

It was late in the afternoon when the Claws struck, their trap springing and chaos ensued.

A single gunshot was the prelude, the thundering of terribirds' feet striking ground from all directions and gleeful cackling accompanied by sharp whistles and jeers was the last 'warning', kicking up sand as they run in circles. A dense cloud of dust, making it hard to see what's happening behind it. Soren's ear twitches and he whirls around sharply with wooden club held tightly, freezing up for a split-second out of shocked surprise.

Snapping out of his wide-eyed, startled and horrified stupor, he makes a run for the cloud. One of the ruffians leaps at him out of nowhere with a taunting, smug toothy grin, cutting off his path and jabs him in the stomach. The scoundrel had likely been waiting close-by but he was too overwhelmed to notice. Frowning in annoyance and stepping back with a grunt, Soren quickly recovers and strikes back in vicious retaliation. Try as he might, the bandit kept dodging. A cheap stall and divergence tactic.

Eventually he does finally land a hit, swinging at the terrabird's leg to make it topple with a shrill agonized squawk, knocking down its rider. Swinging again, the secondary leader brings his club down hard, a sickening crack resounding as the the Fennec fox's skull is split like watermelon.

Two jabs follow right after by improvised spears- One in his left side in his ribs, and as soon he whirls to deliver a blow of his own, another pierces his right side.

Angered, the bear-like Mauler swiftly grabs onto the first Quicksand claw's spear and yanks harshly, knocking the crocodilian bandit off the terrabird and onto the ground. Death was swift. The other one meeting the same fate. But right as the Uru warrior kills those two, three more seem to sprout and take their fallen comrades' stead like hornets. One zips past him on a board and slashes at his back with a dagger as it zoomed by, one shooting with a gun from a small distance and missing his head by a hair's breadth- the bullet wheezing past his right ear- and the other one charging at him with a makeshift club.

—"Soren!"

Alsa's alarmed cry barely pierces through the bandits' calls and laughter. At first he'd assumed they're after the children, closing in on the clan rapidly- So he did what was best at the moment.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, a low growl rumbles in his chest as Soren dashes towards the cloud of dust to join his sister and the kids, abandoning his scuffle with the three Claws. In a matter of seconds with incredibly high adrenaline screeching loud in his veins, the young man grabs Alsa by the wrist in his rush with the terrified kids following, running at the front. Gunshots echo after his and Alsa's back, the bandits hot on their heels.

—"Get in. Stay inside." -The ursine humanoid grits out sternly, restrained fury and desperation cracking in his urgent voice that narrowly teeters on a snarl, ushering them inside his tent. Alsa, hugging the children close and tight, seemed like she wanted to object but the grim, hard look her brother levels her makes the blond pangolin-like young woman give up.

Hugging the terrified kids tighter to herself as they huddle together and lay low inside Soren's tent for safety instead, the chieftain's lips press into a taut line. Her lower lip quivers, fiery-colored eyes pleading and well with tears. But Alsa knows her sibling well.

Her older bother won't change his mind, and let her come along into the line of fire. Soren would rather die out on the battlefield, battered, bruised and bloodied, than to let any one of his family get hurt.

That stubborn, reckless, hot-headed, not-thinking, no self-preserving...foolish..idiot of a brother..

It takes everything in Alsa to keep a brave face and not break down sobbing as she holds herself back from going against Soren's order and lets him go, watching him charge at the enemies. Screwing her eyes shut tight, she clenches her jaw, keeping the clan children close and forcing on a strained reassuring smile, murmuring gentle words of consolation to comfort them. ...The noise from outside is muffled. Wish I could belive my own words...

He'll be okay.

Don't cry, Soren will be back. Our brave big brother will defeat the bad guys.

He'll be okay.

With each word– it becomes harder for the Uru clan's chieftain to keep her voice warm and soothing, steady. The smell of bloodshed– No. Soren will be okay.

Outside, Soren stands tall with club clutched in hand, bleeding and his chest heaving. There are many limp, bloodied bodies around him and at his feet, his eyes focused on the Claws standing before him. Holds his ground, resolute and fury in his deep brown gaze--The promise of death simmering in his irises. You won't touch my clan.

Many arrows and bullets are embedded into his back, forearms and legs. Slashes, bruises and cuts littered all over his toned frame, his bristled fur matted with blood and covered in sand. The injuries sting. The eldest tribe member harshly wipes the blood from his bruised lip and nose with the back of his free hand.

—"It's over, boy." Soren's eyes narrow, frown deepening but doesn't back down or respond. Only lets out a huff, lips pressed into a thin line firmly– the corners upturning into a short, sneering smile. Ha. Sure. Out of the corner of his eye Soren sees more bandits-- A backup group that had stayed out of battle on the preliminaries. His nostrils flare, eyes locked into a stare-down with the bald eagle-man once again. Smile gone, slowly straightening out to full height, no longer catching his breath.

Meeting the battered warrior's heated leer evenly, the ruffian holds the reigns of his terrabird. Lifting a wing, he signals for the others to halt, scratchy voice breaking the somber, heavy and tense silence. The approaching gang members pause. Outnumbered and cornered. Any more hits could bring him one more step to bleeding out. Both the boy and him know it. The young warrior can't stop them from killing him and taking away his clan--This, too, they both know all too well.

Stamina eventually runs out, spite isn't enough.

—"Give up and come quietly, or your sister and the kids will come with us." 'Dead or alive' hangs unsaid. "You come with us, and not a hair will fall from their heads. I guarantee it. Put a bullet in my head if I cross my word."

The youngster grips his weapon even more tightly, jaw clenching and looks ready to lunge...

His shoulders slump, says nothing.

"Good."

Looking over to his fellow gang members, he nods with his head and turns back to Soren. Alsa's eyes snap open and widen, watching as her brother is approached with chains. Doesn't resist. More tears well in the pangolin-woman's eyes as she stares in horror. Soren restrains himself from tackling the Claws, keeping his teeth grit as they wind the thick iron ropes around his torso, tie his hands behind his back. No, his cold leer flickers to them then fixes on the eagle.

—"You better keep your promise." The warning comes hissed out in a low growl. A collar is snapped around his neck. "Don't you dare touch Alsa and the clan."

—"I won't. I don't guarantee willy-nilly." –The bandit leader drawls out in reassurance, holding his death-glare calmly. The inkling of pity, sympathy goes unnoticed by the furious brother bear. The wagon waits patiently. "Although I should mention one more thing–They won't get hurt, so long you stay in your new home."

—"What?" Disbelief, fury flaring stronger. A blindfold covers his eyes, tied tightly at the back. Soren shakes his head, binds rattling as he struggles. Bellows in rage hoarsely, lips pulled into a snarl. "This isn't part of our terms!" A few of the back-up lackeys join in holding him back.

"You bastard! You changed your terms!" The rest of the young Mauler's heated accusations get muffled by the rag in his mouth. It digs into his skin.

—"Aight, that's 'nough. Get onboard. Redhorn, help me out a bit."

—"Gotcha." The red-horned buffalo roughly seizes the thrashing bear, hauling him up the ramp and gives a strong shove. With a heavy 'thud', Soren is sent rolling onto his side in the wagon, a low muffled groan of pain slipping from him. Still struggles to sit up. "Be good boy and don't make me dart ya, capiche? You won't like it." Climbing onto the back of the cart as well, Redhorn takes some of the sturdy lasso coils, giving a thumbs-up to her subbordinates. The hooded Fennec fox pads to the wagon's front, hopping up and takes the reigns.

Tapping the bulky lizard on the neck with a foot, Fang steers it to get going. A sharp, simple cheery whistle, calling out "C'on Grumps! Let's go!"

The ironjaw lets out a low rumbling groan-like roar, and shakes its massive head as it begins to move. Its thudding heavy steps echo, growing duller and quieter the farther it walks from the tents. Alsa's sobs and breath lodge in her throat, voice lost as she helplessly watches the hulking lizard leave the settlement. Only deep-set footprints and dust are left in its wake, soon swept away and covered with sand by a wind.

One of the kids shifts, Karun, the wolf's ears lowered in worried uncertainty. His little voice breaks the deafening silence, big brown eyes looking up at her with mournful, strained hope for reassurance.

—"Alsa.? Where's Soren...?" Alsa sinks to her knees onto the bedroll, weeping. The children gather around her, wrapping their little arms around her in a hug. They all heard the eagle's words.

Big brother Soren won't be coming back.

#afk journey #fanfic #afk journey fanfic

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bh-writingdump · 4 months ago

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C@ve Sl@ve

Harpy v Trap

[1st draft]

Another frigid breeze races over the hills. It shoots across your legs, sending a shiver up your spine. You shudder, thankful at least for the jacket as you pull up the fuzzy hood. Meanwhile, the oversized rat sniffs out the area ahead for a third time.

After the first bear trap, sure, it made sense but this was getting old. All the traps were so obvious! Anyone would notice them! Plus, the crossword wasn’t even that hard.

You crouch down in your oversize jacket so it covers your legs. It made you feel like a flea market garden gnome.

“Can we move already? It’s too exposed out here.” You envision people descending from above but get nowhere sighing, you ignore the wolf’s vision of remaining on your stump. You cross from the “safe” patch of earth to the new. Thick leaf litter crunches beneath your shoes as you brush ferns aside with a stick.

A new blister pops in your shoe. You grumble, favoring your right. You get a couple feet before wolf races up to you. Banking until you tumble over. A net trap, springs up, tossing what would’ve been you far into the sky before snapping you against a thick tree branch.

So shook, you barely move when wolf picks you up by the hood, careful not to let your feet drack until you were on “safe” ground. Your dropped on the log.

You brush them off, trying to get a better look at whatever is lining the rope. “Did they seriously??? Nails? And glass. Who does that?! I’d already have been dead.”

They knock you to the ground, biting your shoulder, you cry out. In a instant, you’re begging for them to release you. They do but only once your pleading turns into a whimper. Then he lets up.

It wasn’t hard enough to do more than holes in your jacket, didn’t have to be, you’d played this game before.

You try to get up only to be knocked over again. They growl, ready to bite. You whine preemptively which seems to pacify him.

The wolf return scouting out the paths, only looking to you if they wanted you to move forward. Anytime you get shoved into the ground. They don’t even need to nip you. By the fourth time you fall on your ass on your own.

“See? No hands, boss. You shake your hands and feet in the air.

The wolf huffs, stepping to the side only to get a net snapped over their snout. It gets stuck in their teeth, making them snort and thrash widly. Even their paws can’t manage to get it off.

You burst into laughter. “Damn, who thought you’d be the next greatest catch?”

The wolf snarls at you but any bit it had was lost on improvised muzzle. “Don’t worry, bet the harpies will make a good boy out of you yet. You taunt, standing up. You send a vision of them fetching and sitting obediently for a pack of harpy treats.

Next thing you know, nothing comes. You stare back at Wolf who’s still struggling to get it off. “Ugh, really? It’s not like that hard.” As you approach, you notice there’s barbs in the rope that scowers the wolf’s face, sending little rivulets of blood down.

“Jesus, you really got your work cut out for you. Stay still.” You try to cut but they’re throwing their head so widely knocking you on your ass.

In a growly voice, you bark. “I said STAY DOWN!” You grab them by the snout hole and yank them down. It’s enough to earn a near bite. “AY! AY! HEEL!” You hold steady, waiting patiently for them like they do for you each time they clean your cunt. It takes a while of growling but eventually they drop their snout, letting you cut through the ropes.

This time, when they need you to hang back, they give you a warning growl until you sit back.

“Are you sure this is good way to this temple?” You muse to yourself. “It’s not like they covered the whole mountain with this, right?”

The wolf snorts and for a second, you wonder if they understood you but then they sneezed so yeah, maybe not. As the areas clear, you forage for food where you can. Unlike Sans, the wolf showed you how to dig for tubers, find the best berries, shuck pine nuts and the like. It takes a couple hours but you eventually find enough to call it lunch.

While searching a nearby bush for berries, your mind distracted by how a bush could have berries in spring only to be distracted by a cry from the wolf’s direction. Their foot caught in a trap. Great. You sigh, marching over to undo the steel trap with a press of your foot only to hear the snapping of branches. You look up just in time for a massive log to bow into the wolf’s side, plowing them into a tree with a sickening crack. Their body goes limp and doesn’t get up by the time you rush over.

Your heart skips a beat as you clamber over logs and around thorn bushes only to hear another crack of branches. You barely catch the log swinging toward you. Next thing you know a big blue blur slams into you, knocking the air out of you, depositing you high up on a branch. You cling to the thing, gasping, looking down as vertigo hits you being so far off the ground. You burry your face into the soft feathers… feathers.

“Of all the traps they had to set, it had to be the log pin. I told them not once, not twice that those could DUST someone. Unlike a good axe, at least they can heal from those. Whose healing if they’re dust? Nobody, that’s who!” They look down as if just now noticing you. “Oh dear, I entirely forgot to check up on you. Any breaks or scrapes?”

You stare up at them, their gigantic wingspan easily cocooning them in place against you.

“Oh no, you must be concussed! Never fear, I have a candy that will work in a pinch. Let me see…” they pick around their satchel before yanking up a sky-blue orb. “Open up!”

They shift their wings, helping you lean against the trunk. Your heart flutters as you teeter close to falling off the branch, you gasp, clutching onto them.

Next thing you know, their mouth’s pressed up against yours, so stunned, you barely have time to shove out the tart candy that bursts hitting your tongue into a sweet paste that dissolves by the time the harpy breaks the kiss.

“How do you feel?”

You blink, the pain in your feet and back gone. “I’ll cause indigestion.” You murmur. Your body too tense to raise your voice any further.

“Good to know.” They boop your forehead with theirs. “But enough of that, the Great Jay must get you to safety.”

“What? No, I’m going down.” You say while clinging to the tree trunk for dear life.

“Nonsense, your mate’s in no state to take care of you. Look at them.” Blue Jay lets you have a look down. the vertigo alone nearly makes you puke where you see Wolf chasing after a harpy, bones erupting from ground, slashing one while another wolf bites in half.

“Chartreuse!” Blue Jay darts at Wolf, clawing at his eyes until he follows Blue Jay over a nearby hill. The smaller harpy, covered in blood eyes you. You stiffen, halfway up a tree, there’s no way you’d jump and be able to make it. Much less the idea makes you think you’ll faint before you do.

“WOLF! I’M HERE!” You cry out.

Wolf bursts back through the underbrush. Just as the harpy flies at you, bites it out of thin air, a puff of dust hangs in the air where the harpy once was. Wolf circles the tree, pushing at it, making it shake.

“Wait! Wolf! Don’t!”

Their teeth cleave straight through the tree.

It falls. The impact throws you off, rolling into a pile. “Wolf, you stupid piece of shit!”

Eyes light engorged as they growl, stalking toward you. You stomp toward him, yelling obscenities. But he doesn’t register them. Growl doesn’t even change, does he see you.

Have his eye lights ever been that wide?

You take a step back, suddenly unsure.

You try but something digs into your shoulders. You scream as your yanked off the ground. Wolf leaps into the air, their claws missing you by inches. They bite at your heels until your well above the canopy.

“Brother!” Blue Jay Shouts. You wrench your eyes shut. The vertigo enough to fill your mouth with upchuck. It’s then you feel yourself slipping.

You scream. “Don’t drop me!”

You fall, watching the canopy rush up. You drop through a layer of branches before another body slams into yours, yanking you up again, more claws digging into your shoulder blades.

“Put me down! Put me down! Please.” You cling to the harpy’s claws. “I’ll do anything! just put me down.”

“s’ okay, hun, were talking you down.” Blue Jay takes one wrist while Ham shifts to the other. Each adjustment of claws a new cut. Warmth spills over you. You try not to think about it. With your eyes closed, you can almost pretend you took a bad fall.

Distantly, you hear a wolf’s howl.

“Make it quick, bro.”

Blue Jay guides you back into the cave. Your body still feels like its flying. Your set in a pile of moss and leaves. It smells fowl like wolf’s magic. Blue Jay shoves you into it, rolling through the musk and bits of dried saliva despite your protestations. You try to shove him away.

“Don’t worry. Soon as your smelly as your mate, he’ll have no choice but to accept you back into his pack.”

His pack? Do they think Wolf is Red again?

Those deranged eyes didn’t look like the Wolf you knew. “Wait-wait, you can’t leave me here.”

“It’d be easier if we took zem.” Ham mutters.

You glare at him. “exactly!”

“Not like he’s been feeding zem.”

“Never mind! I’ll make my own way.”

“Gotta be someone’s, might as well not a psychopaths—”

“Ham! Red got hit in the head. You’d be confused if you were on instinct too.” Blue Jay sighs, “Sorry about my brother. He can be very… sensitive. I’ve known Red for quite a while and I’m 99% sure he’ll recognize you.”

“time to split, bro.” Ham eyes you almost hopefully.

You move to leave the cave, avoiding Ham and Blue only for Blue’s wing to block you. “This is the safest place for you, I promise.”

You gravity tug you to the ground. Ham nudge’s Blue to go. You can hear Wolf’s growl.

All of a sudden, the weight’s gone and Ham and Blue dart into the sky. You rush out only to see Wolf at the end of the clearing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You rush up the hill, up over the cave. If you’re smart about it, there’s a smaller narrower cave that Wolf won’t be able to get into. With a little luck, you’ll find a way out of this.

The crush of branches and thrash of trees comes from behind you. Your arms burn, legs coming up short too. You barely make it to the smaller caves, getting part way into one before your slammed into a nearby tree.

Not on my watch.

You stumble to your feet. Growling as deeply as you can. You stand where you are, too weak to move without falling.

Wolf pauses, growling inches from you only to knock you over.

A paw lands on your face, putting pressure down. You can’t muster more energy than a whimper.

You freeze feeling them sniff along your back, your ass, legs.

They sneeze.

What little strength you had is taken over by terror. You can’t even breathe, feeling the world going sharp and narrow and patchy.

A tongue rides along your head. you tense, ready to be eaten only for them to keep licking. You turn slightly only to get a face full of tongue. You spit and try to shield your face in the earth against the onslaught.

By the time you’re a slobbering mess, they pick you up in their jaws, carting you back before tucking you beneath them again. trying to lick your face again. you shield most of it with your arms but some gets through.

The connection between your souls flow open all of a sudden. Relief along with a dozen other emotions you can’t identify comes through. So strong fuzzy feeling in your head that you pas out.

[CS] Harpy v Trap [2] pg --->

#c@ve sl@ve #cs1.2

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