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calaofnoldor · 3 years

Text

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis @carryonmywaywardbucky @swiftlymoniquesblog @moosewinchester @sams-sass @thinkinghardhardlythinking @jotink78 @winifrede @writingforthelonelysoul @turtletaylor98 @lyarr24 @deanwanddamons @peridottea91 @tvdspngirl314

TEAM MOOSE: @paulaern

if you’d like to be added (or removed) please let me know!

#sam winchester x reader #mads300madones #333 badass followers #spnfluffbingo2021 #Girl Next Door's Make Me Feel Bingo #sam x reader #sam winchester x female!reader #sam winchester smut #enemies to lovers #sam winchester fluff #secret dating #sam winchester x you #sam x y/n #spn #supernatural fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #text

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aalbedo · 3 years

Text

tartaglia x injured!reader

request: Hello! How about scenario where character offers help to injured!gn!reader, who is very mistrustful of and reluctant to accept it? I smh love the dynamic "no I don't want your help or anything to do with you but I don't really have a choice". And yeah, I feel like Tartaglia fits it well though you may choose whoever you feel like T v T

format: two-parter (part two here)

ship: tartaglia x reader

tags: reader is the traveler-ish (a completely separate character from aether and lumine, but still the traveler, does that make sense?)

warnings: blood, mildly graphic depiction of injury, stitches and needles

words: 1951

notes: this request awoke something in me, i feel like i could’ve written an entire 70k words fic on this if i had the energy. im sorry anon but i kinda went off the rails with this one hfjdkhfd i hope you still enjoy it. also yeah the header is mildly fucked up because i don’t have the energy to find a better png ok.

You fell to the ground, placing your hands right in a small puddle of your own blood, while a ruin hunter laid on the ground, defeated. Your legs had given in, as a sharp pain hit you through your entire left thigh. There was a large cut on your pants, through which you could see a long, bloody, wound on your skin left by the mechanical monstrosity. It wasn’t too deep, but damn if it hurt.

You squeezed your eyes closed, and let out a loud groan. Reaching a hand into your bag, you pulled out the antiseptic solution you always brought with you, and found out that the bottle was empty. You rummaged more through the bag, looking for a numbing cream, an analgesic potion, even just a remnant of a bandage, anything that could help. Nothing.

Panic started settling in your chest, you were completely alone, in the middle of Lisha, where Hilichurls could attack you at any moment, and you were injured just enough that you wouldn’t be able to walk, let alone run away or even fight. You laid down with your back to the ground and covered your face with your hands, as your palms suffocated another loud groan.

You would have to crawl all the way back to the city, or until you found someone willing to help you before fainting from the slow, but consistent, loss of blood. Or worse, dying from shock.

Suddenly, you heard a voice in the distance yell “hey!” Then a second time, with a clearly worried tone in their voice. The pain in your leg made it almost impossible for you to focus on recognizing who that voice belonged to, but it didn’t matter - you were about to finally get some help. You kept your eyes closed as you raised a hand and waved it, showing whoever your savior was where you were.

As you didn’t move from the ground, you heard steps, quickly getting closer to you, until you could feel the presence of someone right above you.

“Oh thank the Archons, I’m completely out of-” you opened your eyes and were met with two bright blue irises staring into yours, and all of the sudden you recognized the voice from before.

“Did that ruin hunter hit you?” Tartaglia was perched right next to your injured leg, already starting to open a backpack that you didn’t recognize as his. He moved his eyes to your thigh and reached out a hand towards it. You swiftly moved the leg away from him, forgetting that it would make it hurt even more, and whimpered when the pain grew.

“I don’t want help from a Harbinger, least of all you” you spat out as you slowly sat up and used your hands to back away from him.

“Stop moving, or you’ll make it worse,” he said plainly as he stood up and followed you, while you kept backing away ignoring the pain through your leg.

“I’ll lose a leg before I let the fatui help me.”

“Alright then, I guess I’ll just watch you crawl all the way back to the Harbor.” He crossed his arms. Oh, he thought he was being funny?

You kept backing away with your arms, until you felt something hard hit your back. A rather large rock was blocking your way, and you would have to crawl around it, and the young man laughed, slowly walking towards you as he took his gloves off and put them in a pocket. You tried moving sideways, but he was quick to crouch down and grab you by the ankle, the one on the injured side, right when you moved.

You inhaled and closed your eyes as a sharp pain shot through your leg. “Are you out of your mind? That hurt!”

He kept your ankle pinned to the ground. “Don’t move,” he ordered. He used his free hand to carefully move the ripped fabric of your clothes out of the way, and get a better look of your wound. You started to feel lightheaded as you saw him tear the fabric further.

You felt some sort of damp cloth on your skin,figuring it was being used to clean the blood off your injury. Tartaglia was being so careful that you could barely feel it, it seemed like he had done this a million times before. You closed your eyes, placing a hand over them, and tilted your head forward, suddenly feeling overcome with dizziness.

“You’re losing a lot of blood. If you hadn’t moved, it would not be this bad right n-” he interrupted himself and he called your name. “You still with me?”

“Mh- huh-uh” you started feeling uneasy. You opened your eyes slightly and caught a glimpse of the wound and immediately looked away. So much blood.

“Stay awake, don’t close your eyes again.” You heard a ruffling of fabric, the damp cloth wasn’t on your skin anymore. “Tell me about the Archons.”

“What?”

“Tell me all of the Archons’ names and their elements,” he repeated. You couldn’t figure out why he wanted you to tell him, but you followed his order, keeping your eyes away from your wound, and instead fixating on the grass beneath you. You were feeling too dizzy to protest, your only choice was to trust him, despite all of your instincts yelling at you to get away from him.

“Okay, there’s... Barbatos, god of Anemo.” You heard more fabric rustling coming from him, but you refused to look at what he was doing.

“Yes, then?”

The dizziness was still overwhelming, but you managed to keep talking, “Morax, god of Geo.” Clinking of glass, probably bottles. “Tsaritsa, goddess of Cryo.”

“Mh-mh.” He sounded… focused. What was he doing?

“Baal, goddess of- Fuck!” The skin around the wound started burning, and so did the wound itself. You bit your lip hard and groaned as the burning kept going on and on, your skin was itching and for a split second it was almost unbearable. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Antiseptic potion,” he replied plainly. “I had to find a way to distract you or you wouldn’t have let me use it.”

“Bastard.” Your skin kept burning, but you slowly got used to the pain as you watched the clear potion sizzling over your still open wound.

He barked a laugh, “I’m trying to help you over here, you’re very welcome.”

You looked at his hands as he skillfully kept cleaning your wound, now there was way less blood coming out and you were starting to feel slightly more at easy. He lifted his head and looked right into your eyes.

“It’s not too deep, but it would probably be better if I stitched it.”

“You sound like you’ve done this before.”

“Of course I have, you think these healed themselves?” he asked, pointing at the seemingly long scar that started from the base of his neck and went down under his shirt. “At some point you have to learn how to stitch them up yourself.”

You exhaled deeply, still keeping your eyes on his. You realized that his irises resembled the starconches you had seen laid in the sand of Yaoguang Shoal’s beaches.

“Do you have an anaesthetic something to make the stitching hurt less, at least?”

He looked into the bag, moving things around, as if he had no idea what was actually inside the backpack. So it definitely wasn’t his.

He shook his head, pursing his lips slightly. “No, sorry.”

“It’s…” you pondered over it. You would probably have to go all the way to Bubu pharmacy to get an anaesthetic, and on the way there you might lose even more blood. “It’s okay.”

From his backpack, that you hadn’t realized was laid on the ground by your feet, he pulled out a small tin box, and from the box he took out an interestingly shaped needle, recurved like a crescent moon, then a pair of tweezers and a thread so thin you could barely see it.

Just by looking at the needle, you felt uneasy again. “Are you sure we can’t go to the Harbour and get help there?”

“We can do that, if that’s what you prefer, but I would have to carry you - I doubt you could walk at all right now.”

Somehow, the embarrassment of other people seeing you being carried, bridal style, by Tartaglia was stronger than any pain you might have to go through to get these stitches done.

“Fuck it, do it. But be quick.”

“I will try my best,” he said, and his tone sounded genuine to you. You still couldn’t believe you were trusting him like this, after everything he had done to you. “Try to think about something else, focus on anything but the stitches, it’ll hurt less.” He passed the thread through the needle’s hole with surprising skill.

“Okay, uh-” you watched him hover the needle over your skin, probably thinking about the fastest and least painful way to do the job. You moved your gaze from the open would to look at his face, and his expression seemed calm enough to put you somewhat at ease.

His lips were slightly parted and you noticed that he was biting his own tongue, the amount of focus he was putting into helping you was so intriguing to you, you could have never had imagined that he would be so… caring. At least not to you.

You suddenly felt the needle prick through your skin and you whimpered slightly. “Sorry,” he quickly said, before using the tweezers to make the needle pass through your skin and grab it again on the other end.

He repeated the process a few times, slowly pulling the thread every now and then to make the stitch tighter. You observed him the entire time, his eyes quickly darting from one spot to the other, his nose and mouth breathing at a steady pace. You saw him scrunch up his nose a few times, probably to release tension.

Each stitch hurt, you could feel the entire needle pass through your skin and come out again every single time, but you didn’t protest at all, and instead focused on counting the freckles on Tartaglia’s nose bridge, watching the muscles under his skin move every time he swallowed, and carding your fingers through the grass, accidentally ripping some every now and then.

“Done,” you heard him say in an unexpectedly cheerful tone. “I have some bandages, but I don’t think they’re enough for this large of a cut. Though, now that it’s stitched up, it’s probably safe for you to move, and I can help you get to the Harbor where you can buy some numbing potion and bandages.”

You looked down at the wound, and to your relief the stitches looked like they would hold together pretty well. “Sure, I think I can hop for a while, if you hold me.”

He picked up both his and your bag, putting them over his shoulder, then reached out a hand towards you and you realized just how bloody his hands were, as well as his clothes. You grabbed it with your own bloody hand and slowly stood up, placing your weight on the healthy leg. He placed your arm around his shoulders and put his own behind your back, holding you up.

“Ready to go?”

“Mh-mh.” You started walking in the direction of the Harbor, hopping on one leg while Tartaglia held you up.

“Whose backpack is that?” you tried asking.

“Honestly? No idea.”

“What were you doing here in Lisha, anyway?”

“Just some Fatui business, don’t worry about it,” he quickly dismissed your question.

“Always so secretive.”

#reblogs and comments very much appreciated !!#pats my own back #yeah this is good #tartaglia x reader #childe x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin impact #tartaglia #genshin tartaglia #genshin childe #childe #so many fucking tags #blood tw #needles tw #injury tw

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bakubub · 3 years

Text

In which racer!kuroo is your roommate, and seems to only like it when you treat his wounds... (word count: 1.9k)

Ngl quite proud of this one!!

Warnings: 18+, a whole lot of swearing, a whole lot of blood, innuendos and implied nsfw, reader almost vomits (NOT from pregnancy chill, I know we're all scarred but its going to be just fine) and if you're squeamish perhaps skip the scene where reader stitches his wound?

Also bit of a disclaimer: I am in NO WAY a med student and literally all of my knowledge is from movies and other fics... so if you acc know what to do in this situation this may be a torturous for you :D

All due credits go to @aikk00 for this AMAZING fanart!!!!

I watch as my roommate enters the penthouse, once again scratched up and bleeding, covered in so much blood there is no possible way that it was all his- if it was he would not be standing.

I launch myself off the couch- where I was sitting for the past hour nervously waiting for his return- and slip my arm under his, supporting him as we inched towards the bathroom.

"I can do this by myself you know," he grumbles, his grimace revealing just how much pain he was actually in.

"Mhm, I'm sure you can. Just like you boiled that poor egg by yourself last week, hmm?" I say sarcastically, trying to keep my mind calm and clear, because oh my god it looks really bad this time...

"Oi, its not my fault it fuckin' exploded," he mutters, voice laden with pain.

"You put it in the microwave because 'the shitty water wasn't doing its job.' Of course it would explode," I say, gently seating him on the closed toilet seat and taking out my supplies that I unfortunately have become rather accustomed to using. He's made it a habit to get himself injured.

"Where's the injury?" I ask, setting down my half-empty bottle of antiseptic and box of bandages. He peels off his shirt, cringing at the pain it brought him as the fabric was stuck to the gash that went from his left pectoral down to the middle of his chest.

"Pissed off a bidder after winning a race, fucker took out a knife once he realised he couldn't beat me up," he huffs out, arrogance still lacing his tone even with sweat dripping down his brow as he leans the back of his head onto the tile wall behind him. His Adam's apple bobs down his bloodstained neck as he speaks, and I quickly look away, focusing on the injury at hand.

Not his blood soaked, but nevertheless well defined pectoral muscles, nor the abs that my hands occasionally brush up against and know how hard they really are, and definitely not the trail of black hairs that lead down, down, down...

"What's wrong, the view too hot to focus on the work at hand?" He asks suggestively, raising his pierced brow, even in this state.

I'm quick to reply, having gotten used to his flirtatious remarks from the second I moved into his penthouse, "nope can't even see the view from that massive head of yours. Not to mention your permanent bed head."

He huffs out a laugh, then proceeds to flinch from the pain it must have caused.

"Stop moving, idiot. You're going to exacerbate the cut!" I say, quickly grabbing a damp towel and beginning to clean up his abdomen, whilst simultaneously pressing another rag to his wound to stop the bleeding.

“At least you admit that there is a hot view,” he says in his low voice, gazing at me from his position.

I simply roll my eyes.

No falling in love. That was the deal we had made on the day he offered me a place to stay in exchange for my services as a maid and apparently, a nurse. I cook, clean and basically keep the house running while this moron goes out and acts like the idiot he is. In my defense, dorms are expensive as hell, and his penthouse is nearby. Plus, I don't have to pay rent. It's a win-win situation.

But the feelings stirring up inside my heart might just ruin the dynamic we have going on and simultaneously take out a whole lot of cash out of my pocket.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Once his skin isn't completely saturated in blood, and the wound has (thankfully) stopped bleeding, I add some antiseptic onto a make-up pad and begin to dab at his wound, earning winces and slight grunts from the massive man.

"The cut looks deep, Kuroo. You need to go to the hospital," I say, worry lacing my tone as my eyebrows crease and earn yet another huffing laugh.

"Do you want me to rot in prison for the rest of my life?"

I roll my eyes at his response, deliberately dabbing just a little harder which earns me a yelp and an attempted glare in my direction.

"First off, illegal street racing won't send you to prison for your entire life, just for like, half a year. Second, this wound needs stitches, and believe it or not, I'm not a fucking licensed medic. In fact, the only experience I have is with you!" I say, immediately regretting my choice of words as I wait for his remark.

"That's what she said," He says, chuckling at his own innuendo.

I sigh in frustration, pouring more antiseptic to make sure there was no chance of infection from whatever grimy ass knife stabbed him, and beginning to gently scrub the wound with a soft towel, so as to make sure there was no debris left in there.

"You're gonna have ta do it," he mutters, his hazel eyes boring into mine.

"I- I can't Kuroo, you can't possibly think-"

"Fine. I'll do it. Go get me a needle and thread," he states, struggling but nevertheless, sitting upright on the red stained toilet.

I stare at Kuroo in disbelief as he utters these words. Was he dumber than I thought? Does he have some sort of head injury too?

I examine his face and all I come up with is unnerving determination. I exhale out of my nose sharply, "fine, dammit. I'll sew your fucking wound shut."

I am extremely handy with a sewing needle and thread, used to really be into embroidery back when I had the time so...it should be fine.

He just shrugs, leaning his head back against the tiles and closing his eyes.

"Fucking asshole. Can't believe I'm saving your damn life," I mutter, leaving the bathroom to dig through my wardrobe for my sewing box and taking out a gold silk thread that I was saving for a special project.

Well, I guess that will never happen.

"Hey, I found some silk thread. It's literally known for its strength and durability in high temperatures, so it should work like a charm!" I say, walking back into the blood stained bathroom and trying to psych myself up.

He grunts in response. I sigh as I begin with mopping up the excess blood and sanitising the needle and thread before chucking on gloves.

I wipe the antiseptic over the wound once more, and examine it carefully.

Well, if his condition worsens, I can always knock him out and call an ambulance...

I decide, screw it, and thread the needle, pretending it was just another embroidery project.

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, I chant as I puncture his skin with the thin needle.

Kuroo gasps in pain, and I place a hand on his knee, telling him to suck it up and deal with it, half talking to him but also to myself.

To my surprise, he listens, stretching his head back once more and gritting his teeth.

"Don't do that, here put this in-between your teeth," I say, grabbing yet another towel and shoving it into his mouth.

He obeys as I continue to stitch. I feel my gag reflex kicking in as I think about how stitching skin feels as though I am stitching leather, it feels hard and tough while pushing the thin needle through.

Must hurt like a bitch.

Once I've completed my neat stitches down the wound, without vomiting, I tie it off as I would with any embroidery, and clean the area free of any remaining blood. After rubbing some antibacterial ointment over the gold stitches, I stick on a particularly large bandage over the wound and start tidying up.

"Thank you," Kuroo mutters, still seated on the toilet seat and practically panting for breath.

"Ah, the criminal knows his damn manners!! Now get up and get in the damn shower. You ruined my pristine bathroom!" I complain, putting the last of the materials away before walking to the door.

"Wait, I- I can't get up." I turn around and look at him incredulously as he utters his next few words, "will you... shower me?"

My eyes just about pop out of their sockets at his request. "Are you insane?! I'm not your mother, nor your wife! Call your pudding haired friend and tell him to come shower you!"

He shakes his head, a rare pleading look taking the place of his usual arrogant smirk, "Kenma's too lazy to shower himself, Y/n, please!"

I contemplated it for a moment. Sure, I've seen him naked before, accidentally of course, and so what if I have to scrub him clean. God knows he can't do it himself with that damn injury.

Fuck this shit.

"Fine, get up right now." I bark at him, leaving to change out of my blood soaked pjs into a pair of shorts and a tank.

"...I just said I can't."

---

"Ow, y/n, you're scrubbing too hard!" He complains, his exfoliating glove around my hand as I rub his toned back clean of any dead skin-cells and blood remains.

"But look how much stuff is coming off!" I say gleefully, enjoying this a little too much.

Kuroo, seated on the built-in bench in the open shower with his red boxers on, looks back to see the satisfaction dripping from my features.

"Are you secretly a sadist?" he whispers. In response, I begin to rinse off his raw back with hot water, causing him to screech like a cat.

"It burns, it burns-”

“Shut the fuck up, moron! It's 4 in the morning, you’re going to annoy our neighbours. I tried very hard to get in their good graces, and Mrs. Suzuki still doesn’t like me! She definitely thinks I’m some kind of hooker…” Kuroo laughs at this, and I can’t help but watch as his whole face brightens up from his usual emotionless expression. I find myself smiling in response.

I grab his expensive shampoo and pour some into my hands, beginning to massage it into his scalp. With wet hair, his raven strands are for once flat on his head and reach down to his defined jawline. Kuroo groans under my touch, leaning into my fingers. I snatch my hands back and pour hot water over his head.

"ARGH! Y/N!" He screams, hastily getting up and wetting me in the process.

"Ah- what are you-" I don't get to finish my question as he grabs my arm and yanks me next to him under the hot water, soaking my clothes and my hair.

"You asshole!" I screech as I reach up to pull his hair in defiance, but he only grabs my arm and hooks it around his neck, leaning down to look directly into my eyes.

Our noses brushing against one another, he mutters, "You look pretty with your hair wet and your shirt see through."

It takes me a moment to get past the compliment and to hear the perverted comment that he just uttered.

He sees my look of confusion and laughs, bends over, clutches his stomach and laughs, before bellowing in pain because of his injury.

Smiling smugly down at him as he grimaces, I force him to sit back down and continue massaging the shampoo into his hair, warning him that if he so much as moaned I would leave him in here, dripping wet and in pain.

"That's what he said," is his reply.

I smack his head in response.

Notes, interactions and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

#kuroo x reader #haikyuu drabbles #racer!kuroo #kuroo tetsuro scenarios #haikyu fics #haikyuu!!#kuroo x y/n #kuroo x gender neutral reader #kuroo x gn!reader #kuroo x you

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daisys-gard3n · 3 years

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I'd b yandere Jonathan's perfect victim bc I feel my life purpose is to be loved, and if he loved me I think I'd be happy forever.

Also I'm super into dollification so if he wants to pick out my clothes and everything I'd be more than happy to comply.

ugh, yandere gaslighting overbearing jonathan my beloved

Jonathan loves you so much and he has made that abundantly aware to you. You're so cute and delicate, the outside world might crush you into dust in mere seconds! Don't you think it would be safer inside with him? He can take care of you, he has more money than what to do with. And it's not like he leaves you alone in the house, ever, unless it's severely baby-proofed. Nothing sharp or flammable, so no cooking for you darling. He'll provide the meals. No sewing, you'll get cut or pricked with needles! No scissors, you might cut yourself! Everything is severely baby-proofed to where you can only do a certain amount of things with Jonathan's supervision. He's just worried about you and he wants you to be safe.

When he sees you melt visibly when he shows you affection and love, it makes his heart flutter. You lonely thing, you need him to keep you company! You need him to be with you no matter what! Jonathan would do anything for his sweetheart.

He'd love the chance to let you turn off your brain and let him take care of everything. Jonathan practically does it, but now he can fully do so when you fall into 'doll space'. He'll treat you so tenderly and carefully, putting you in such cute outfits and even making some himself to make sure his cute doll is in nice clothes all the time. He'll do your hair and put all sorts of accessories that match with your outfit as much as he can. Jonathan's large hands lifting up your small ankle and pulling up stockings and putting your shoes on like Cinderella's glass slippers. His large hands dragging throughout your body as he ties every bow, knot, pulls ever piece of fabric, and so on to make you so beautiful. Jonathan likes to set you up and play tea parties with you, or to just simply have you sit by him in silence while he does other things like read or work. You're so cute in this quiet and still state, you finally let him take care of you like he dreamed of. Although, Jonathan isn't all too innocent. He'll take advantage of your escapism. When you lay still and have eyes equivalent to a dead fish, Jonathan would kiss all over your body and slowly start slipping his hands into the clothes he oh so carefully picked out.

"Oh, my sweet doll. Won't you let me play with you, tonight?"

You can't answer, and he takes advantage of it. His thick cock stuffed into your tiny hole and holding your limp legs to his hips as he uses you as his personal cock sleeve. If you weren't so deep into your escapism, you would hear all the obsessive pleas and words of love as hearts were literally in his eyes as he fucked you and used your hole to cum into. He was just taking care of you, people have needs. No need to thank him because he's here to take care of you when you're his little doll.

#yandere jonathan #not sfw #yandere #jjba confessions #dollification #'tw' noncon #dead dove do not eat

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fan-written · 3 years

Text

So I just realized I have a bunch of sewing knowledge as a seamstress which might be useful for all of us Miraculous Ladybug writers. I've tried to keep it sort of relevant to what people would be able to use in writing.

Here's a quick list of things that happen when working with sewing machines:

- You can't hear a door bell or a knock on the door.

- Machines that are well cared for are quieter, but there's still noise. If you have music on you won't hear anything else. It's very easy to get in a zone.

- Needles break. All. The. Time.

- Needles break on sequins, gems, metallic thread, if the fabric is too thick, just because.

- They just break. We keep maybe two full packs of needles on hand just in case.

- If you use a needle too thick for your fabric it can make the fabric run, like tights.

- if you have a quilting/freehand mode on your machine you can sew lace on that way instead of by hand.

- Multiple fittings are needed for bridal gowns. Especially if that gown is covered in lace.

- Lace on wedding dresses is usually hand sewn.

- Hems don't take that long to do, unless the dress is huge.

- An iron is used almost as much as a sewing machine. Most of my injuries come from burns, not needle pokes.

- A clothes steamer is a must if you have a heavy workload. It halves the amount of time ironing out wrinkles, especially in large dresses and heavy suit coats.

- Steam burns are shiny, and peel kind of like a sunburn but hard like a scab. It's also almost impossible to continue steaming after getting one. They hurt.

- There's special markers they make for marking clothes. One is a disappearing ink that fades after a period of time. The other is an ink that washes out easily with water

- We use the disappearing one for quick fixes, Hems,taking in the sides or shoulders. Things you're doing right then.

- The other one is used for semipermanent work. Like a new neckline, where to put lace, if you have to show a client Everything right then.

- Fabric can be layered to match another color.

- Thread is almost harder to match than fabric.

- There are about twenty different companies that say they sell Mauve and none of them actually match another's shade. (Or any of their colors really)

- Buttons are easy compared to lining up a hook and eye.

Um, that's all I can think of right now. This is a lot longer than I thought it would be. Let me know if you have any questions!

#miraculous ladybug #miraculoustalesofladybugandcatnoir #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #sewing things

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hongism · 3 years

Text

mists of celeste ➻ 37.5

➻ characters: yeosang, wooyoung, yunho ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst ➻ word count: 3.6k ➻ rating: M ➻ warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba chapter specific warnings: past abuse and dubious consent are discussed - no graphic depictions of any of the above, depictions of piercings and needles. this interim deals with heavy topics relating to a whorehouse and it is not required to read this interim to understand the rest of the story. it is an optional chapter as all interims are, so please skip over this one if you are not comfortable with the warnings tagged ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒ | masterlist

✧✧✧ act five ➻ part 4.5

“I’d like you to give me more piercings.”

“I—”

The blunt statement catches Yunho a bit off-guard, moreso than he would like to admit, and as much as he tries to hide that shock, it still slips through nonetheless. He blinks back at Wooyoung with some wonder in his eyes, enough to make the other man tilt his head in question. Yeosang stands beside him as well though the Elitist’s eyes remain unfocused and noncommittal. It’s been quite some time since Yunho gave Wooyoung any piercings — god, how long has it been? Two years? Maybe three? Surely that can’t be right… — and the doctor is absolutely no stranger to the reasons why Wooyoung would be asking for such a thing now. However, because he tries to be a good and fair doctor, Yunho never goes through with the piercings unless he and Wooyoung have talked things through.

And by that, he means therapy, basically. Checking in on where Wooyoung is at mentally and emotionally before doing anything drastic. Yet that also brings more challenges than anything else because out of everyone Yunho has ever treated in his years being a doctor, Wooyoung is by far the more difficult. He doesn’t like talking about himself, his experiences, his feelings; he despises the thought of sharing intimate and vulnerable parts of himself outside of Yeosang, but according to the Elitist, it’s near impossible to get Wooyoung to speak even when it’s just the two of them together.

Yunho would call it a phenomenon of trauma but frankly, it makes a perfect amount of sense.

Given what Wooyoung has been through and experienced — between being a slave and suffering at the hands of not one but two cruel masters — Yunho truly cannot blame the young man for being so hesitant to talk about his feelings. But, as he said, he knows vaguely how Wooyoung must be feeling if he is coming to Yunho for more piercings now.

“You hardly have any room left on those ears for more piercings, Woo,” Yunho comments through a slightly strained smile. Wooyoung opts to simply wave a hand through the air in response. Yeosang glares at the floor. “Take a seat.”

There is a large amount of struggle in this for Yunho. On one hand, he wants to be firm, stand his ground, and say absolutely not until Wooyoung opens up a little. On the other side of things, Yunho understands that this is what Wooyoung needs to cope with whatever trauma he experienced while being held captive. Yunho doesn’t know all the details, of course, he merely knows that Wooyoung was held in a cell on a ship with San and Mingi for several days before being sold to a whorehouse in Lynder. Then he stayed a few days in that whorehouse. He no doubt had to work against his will, no doubt gave in and didn’t fight what he was told to do even though he didn’t want it, and it no doubt brought back horrid memories from his time as a slave. Yunho isn’t stupid. Such a thing would be taxing for anyone.

The other thing Yunho is grossly over aware of is the fact that pain, to Wooyoung, is nothing. He still has a hard time wrapping his brain around that. Wooyoung… feels pain to a certain degree like any other person would but he has conditioned himself into not feeling it the way others might. The slice of a knife against his arm would be nothing but a pinch of a needle on his skin and wouldn’t bother him one bit; all it is to him is a small pinprick. He asks people to go harder on him when sparring. He punches closed fists against his thighs when he’s upset. He enjoys getting piercings after going through something that would otherwise be traumatic for others. Because it doesn’t hurt. Yunho recalls asking once about it because at the time he didn’t understand that either.

“Why do you ask for piercings as though you want to be hurt? If you don’t really feel that pain? What do you gain from it in that case?”

“Because it’s a pain that I get to choose. All my life I’ve been subjected to pains that are not my own doing or that I didn’t ask for. But in asking for a piercing and choosing where it will go and when it will happen… I get to choose that pain. Getting to have that after suffering pains I didn’t want feels liberating in a way. I enjoy it, as bad as that sounds. It helps me cope with what I’ve been through. Like, for every pain they force on me, I choose a new piercing. Eye for an eye but… on myself, I suppose?”

“Where would you like them?” Yunho inquires, shifting over to shuffle through his cabinets in search of his needles and barbells. “Just one or are we doing more than that?”

“Two this time, I think,” Wooyoung hums as he sits down on the edge of the first bed in his vicinity. Yeosang falls down on the bed next to him without a noise, still staying silent even though Yunho can clearly see how much this bothers him. Which part of it bothers him exactly is a mystery to Yunho because it could be any combination of things. The doctor wants to ask Yeosang if he’s okay with this but that would be a tragic mistake on his part so he bites his tongue instead. It would seem too much like giving Yeosang all the power in Wooyoung’s decisions, and doing such a thing to a former slave would only be detrimental to long-term progress. Besides, he doesn’t need the verbal confirmation when he can clearly see how much Yeosang does not want Wooyoung to do this.

Yunho’s hand hesitates over his growing collection of piercing rods, and he glances back at Wooyoung once more.

“Where are you wanting them?”

“Nipples!” The combination of Wooyoung’s blatant enthusiasm as well as Yeosang’s far too deadpan expression sends Yunho reeling, and he chokes around nothing but air before truly processing Wooyoung’s request.

“A-Ah, I see, of course. One moment,” Yunho murmurs, blinking down at his collection with a bit of bewilderment before picking out what he thinks to be the right size barbells. He’s not unfamiliar with these sorts of piercings — ones on the body that is — and he has found himself well acquainted with certain body parts of the crew to a point where he is no longer uncomfortable with doing things like this for them. Wooyoung is one of the few (the others being Yeosang, Seonghwa, and Y/N) who Yunho is not well acquainted with in that way, however, so this does come as a bit of a surprise. “Your shirt… would you mind taking it off?” Wooyoung strips himself of his top in the next second, and Yunho watches the way the fabric catches on his metal collar before springing loose. Then his eyes settle on the expanse of freshly exposed skin. It elicits a sharp gasp from Yeosang as well, one that Yunho matches in intensity because… well. Yeah. Yunho isn’t sure how to phrase what comes to his mind then.

“Wooyoung,” Yeosang exhales as he balls his fists around the sheets. Wooyoung stares forward at Yunho with a certain expectancy, like he’s challenging the doctor to not breathe a word about the sight before him, but Yunho would rather lose that challenge right now.

There are… bruises against Wooyoung’s waist. Vaguely shaped like large, manly hands that press the outlines of fingers into his tanned skin. They wrap about the young man’s lithe waist and leave little to the imagination about what sort of scenario and position Wooyoung must have been in when receiving such bruises. The sweeping sensation in Yunho’s gut is so strong that it nearly makes him sick on the spot. Yeosang just looks angry at this point, and Yunho cannot blame him all too much for that. With a sigh, the doctor sinks onto his stool and presses closer to the bed until his knees bump against Wooyoung’s.

“Wooyoung, we need to talk about… this.” Yunho motions to the other’s torso, unable to peel his gaze off the ugly marks.

“What is there to talk about?” Wooyoung sounds almost genuine when asking the question. “We all know the nature of working in a whorehouse. There’s nothing to discuss.”

“That’s not — you didn’t — Wooyoung.” Yunho may or may not be bordering on desperation when he exhales this time. He has dealt with a lot of different scenarios and situations as a doctor, but something of this degree is far out of his wheelhouse.

“I asked them to be rough,” Wooyoung admits through a whisper so quiet that Yunho at first thinks he misheard what the man said.

“W-What was that?”

“I said I asked them to be rough.” Wooyoung’s repetition doesn’t make it any easier to hear. Almost worse. Definitely worse. “I told them to rough me up a little, make me hurt some, I asked them to treat me that way.”

Yunho spares a pleading glance in Yeosang’s direction, hoping that the man will have some insight on this part of Wooyoung since that is far from Yunho’s specialty. He doesn’t know… intimate details about Yeosang and Wooyoung’s more physical relationship, but Yeosang would surely be the person to ask for confirmation about this side of the man. Instead of a small nod of approval or some sign that this is normal, all Yunho sees is a horrid scowl.

“You — did you want them to be this rough with you?” Yunho asks, tone falling into a more quiet one now.

“I asked them to make me hurt, Yunho.”

“That wasn’t the question, Wooyoung. Did you want them to do that?”

“I came here to get my fucking nipples pierced, not to be interrogated pointlessly,” Wooyoung snaps back. This time he pushes some venom into his tone but it rolls off Yunho’s shoulders without sticking one bit. “I like pain during sex. I like when Yeosang pushes me around and hits me some even when I’m fully in control. I barely feel it anyways so why should it matter at all? Now are you gonna do this or not because I’m sure I can do it myse—”

Wooyoung moves to push up off the bed and make for the door but Yeosang is quicker to wrap his hand around Wooyoung’s wrist and pull him back without a word.

“Did they do anything you didn’t want?” The Elitist asks through tightly gritted teeth.

The hesitation and silence speak volumes, Yunho is hurdling towards a conclusion he does not want to hear, and he is ready to cry by the time Wooyoung finally opens his mouth and answers the question.

“No, they didn’t. I got lucky. I got fucking lucky, Yeosang. All my clients in those days were fucking kind and only did what I told them they could because the workers knew I was fresh meat. They knew people like me needed to be treated gently for the first few weeks so they only sent clients with good and safe track records to my room. Those clients only ever did what I told them to, only did what I said was okay, didn’t touch me if I said no. I got lucky.” Wooyoung spits the words like he hates himself for speaking them, and Yunho thinks somewhere in the back of his mind that the man was not as lucky as he says he was. He should be relieved, grateful even that he got lucky, but he only sounds enraged.

“Were there…” Yunho starts but his question dies a bit early on his tongue. He swallows around nothing, pulling a pair of latex gloves off his workstation and working his fingers into them as he mulls over his next words. When the last of the latex snaps around his wrist, he finally speaks again. “Were there ones who weren’t lucky?”

“Every fucking night after my clients left, I got to listen to the prostitute next door sob alone in a room with no one to help him. And the very first night I tried to talk to him through the fucking wall and ask him if he was okay and if he was hurt, and he told me I was lucky to be fresh meat. That they would listen to me because I was new and still had some hope left in my eyes. While he didn’t get that chance, he didn’t get to dictate what he wanted or didn’t want because people just took it from him for so long that he lost the will to ask. So yeah, there were ones who didn’t get lucky. There always are.”

Yunho opens his mouth but closes it just as quick, expression a cross between blank and just flat out dumb because he doesn’t know what to say if there even is something to say.

“That’s not your fault, Wooyoung,” Yeosang says instead, but his grip on the other’s wrist releases. “What happened to him is not your fault.”

“What was it that your mother said when you picked me out of a line of slaves? That I was lucky to be picked? But why did I get to be lucky while others suffered? Why did I get to choose not to be hurt or in pain while that prostitute was stripped of that choice? We were all whores for sale in that place so what did I do to deserve being treated better than him? What did he do to deserve being treated worse?”

“Woo…” Somehow the Elitist manages to sound genuinely saddened by the words.

“The very least I could do was ask to be treated the same as him, was it not? But I couldn’t even have the courage to ask for that? The only thing I could do was ask them to hurt me even though I knew it wouldn’t really hurt. How lucky I was, right? If I’m not hurt, then it doesn’t matter who else gets hurt in the process, does it?”

“Wooyoung.” The edge in Yeosang’s tone pushes forward, bordering on threatening, but Wooyoung is hellbent on speaking his mind right now and any threat from Yeosang won’t stop him. Yunho has the thought to intervene and stop them but he knows — he knows how badly Wooyoung needs this right now. If this will help him cope with what he had to go through then Yunho is in no place to stop him.

If this is what he needs to make Yeosang cope with it too, then Yunho again is in no place to stop him.

“How does it feel, Yeosang? Knowing that the only reason I was hurt in there is because I asked for it? Do you still think we got lucky?”

“Don’t ask me questions you don’t want the answers to.”

“No, because if it had been you in there, things would have been different. Because you — you are lucky, Yeosang. You always have been and you always will be. Yet no matter how many times I tell you that, you still refuse it. You—” Wooyoung stabs his index finger hard against Yeosang’s chest, voice coming out a bit choked and wet now “—could have sat there for weeks and listened to that boy next door cry and sob without an ounce of sympathy. Because that’s what an Elitist would do. That what you were raised to do, that’s in your blood, how your brain works. But it’s not how mine works. So you don’t get to sit there and tell me that I made the wrong decision.”

Perhaps Yunho is too used to conflict and gross distortions of communication because when Yeosang stands down rather than fighting back against Wooyoung’s words, he’s overwhelmed. Simply put, he is overwhelmed. He doesn’t know how else to describe the swell of emotions in his chest. But Yeosang just lets his shoulders sag and his face falls flat once more, anger ebbing out of his expression like Wooyoung has a tight grip of control over him. Yeosang isn’t a person to stand down so easily; he’s stubborn, has a short fuse and even shorter patience that causes issues more often than not, and he hates when things don’t go his way. Yunho merely assumed the same would apply to his relationship with Wooyoung.

It doesn’t, as it seems.

“Then what would you have me do, Wooyoung? Let you bend until you break without batting an eye? Watch as you blame yourself for something that happened to a person you didn’t even know? Who had been there well before you? Letting you torture yourself for things that are out of your control is not logical or fair; I don’t need to be an Elitist to realize that.”

“You can be as upset as you want, I don’t mind if you’re upset, that’s not what this is about!” Wooyoung argues back, voice climbing in volume a bit. Yunho takes it upon himself to lean away from the bed a bit, and he does his best to make himself seem as insignificant as possible while prepping his clamps and needles. “It doesn’t matter if it was my fault or not. What matters is that he suffered while I did not. And even asking to be hit and pushed around and bruised wasn’t enough because I was still asking for it. I’m… I’m not saying that I wanted my choice taken away — I would never ever ask for that or want that in any capacity. That’s the worst possible thing that could ever happen to a person. No one deserves that. No one. It just didn’t feel fair enough even though it was all I could do to make it feel fair. So yeah, I got fucking lucky, I guess. But he didn’t do anything to deserve to be unlucky.”

“I’m not saying that he did, Woo,” Yeosang whispers to the space between them. “I’m certain that he was a good person who got a bad hand in life, and I’m sure he deserved much better than what he was given. You always ask me to consider your thoughts and feelings on matters. You tell me that it’s because I’m an Elitist that I can’t understand you. You say I just have to accept things and move on, but you don’t — I’m not some emotionless husk, Wooyoung. Being an Elitist doesn’t make me not feel anything. Just because I think with logic more than emotion doesn’t mean that I can’t have emotions. For every fucking night you were gone from my side, I suffered too. It felt like I was losing you to the fate you wanted to fight together, and there was nothing I could do except wait. I was lucky too. Lucky that I didn’t have to wait longer or fight harder to get you back. Lucky that we got you on the first try. Lucky to have you even sitting before me now. It’s not… the reason I keep saying that we got lucky isn’t because I think everyone else in that whorehouse deserves the fate they were given. It’s because we had the chance to fight what fate gave us and took it.”

Yeosang manages a shaky exhale. He blinks down at his hands without saying anything for several moments, but doesn’t look back up at Wooyoung even when he decides to talk again.

“For the first time in over fourteen years, I didn’t get to be your shield. I wasn’t at your side. It wasn’t as simple as coming home from a mission and having you by my side, in my bed, or being in your arms. None of that was even an option because it wasn’t a mission and there was no guarantee of if you would ever come back. I have dedicated my whole life to protecting you because I promised to never let you be hurt again. So you want the answer to that question? How does it feel knowing that the only reason you were hurt in there was because you asked for it? It feels like you’re fucking spitting in my face, Wooyoung, and taunting me for my failures because I wasn’t there to stop you.”

That causes Wooyoung to backtrack in an instant. Realization sinks through his skin, and Yunho doesn’t doubt that it hurts more than any pain that he could inflict on himself. Because that’s the thing about love — it can simultaneously bring you the greatest joys in life as well as the deepest ruin.

And right now?

Yunho can clearly see the ruin in Wooyoung’s features as much as he tries to contain the emotions. Yeosang doesn’t stop there, and it’s with a small shake of his head that he lifts his chin to look Wooyoung in the eye again.

“I’m not blaming you, Wooyoung. I know the kind of person you are, I know how deeply and strongly you feel, especially towards injustices and unfairness like what that boy experienced in there. I know you did what you thought you had to, and I’m not blaming you for making those decisions. But do not ask me to love you even a fragment less than I do now. I knew a boy who was in that very same position once too. Who didn’t have a choice, who couldn’t make any decisions for himself, who didn’t get to choose his pain. I knew a boy who sat on the other side of a metal divider in a bed too small for his body and cried because of how unfair life was to him. And I promised that boy I would get him out and save him and keep him safe from harm at any and all costs. I can’t keep that promise if you won’t let me.”

The breath of silence that ensues after Yeosang speaks is thick enough to choke Yunho, and he pauses his movements in the wake of that quiet because it just feels utterly wrong to even move right now. Wooyoung is dangerously still, perhaps more still than Yunho has ever seen him before. Then a tear escapes the corner of his eye and rolls down the ball of his cheek to pool at his jawline before dropping to the bed. It breaks the dam of the frozen atmosphere, and Wooyoung careens forward to smack his fist against Yeosang’s shoulder.

“You stupid little — how can you say cute shit with that stupid lovesick look on your face? And I’m supposed to be okay? God, I’m gonna suck the soul out of you later for that, you absolute sap. Then ride you until you cry for good mea—”

“Um, too much information, hello!” Yunho intervenes before Wooyoung can even think about finishing the thought in front of him. “Listen, I’m all for sex but I do not need to hear those kinds of details. Just… practice safe sex and wear protection. That’s all I need to know about your sex lives, please!”

“I’m just trying to show my appreciation here,” Wooyoung argues through a wet sniff, wiping at his nose with the back of his hand.

“Yes, well, save the appreciation for later. I’m still piercing you, am I not?”

“Was that enough talking for you then?” Wooyoung offers a small laugh that sounds more pitiful than anything else, but Yunho isn’t about to call him out on such a thing.

“You tell me, Wooyoung.” Yunho shrugs a bit and glances over to where Yeosang is sitting, watching the way the Elitist folds a hand over Wooyoung’s without hesitation. “This is about how you’re feeling and where you’re at mentally and emotionally. I’m not the person who gets to determine whether it’s enough or not.”

“No, i-its — I feel… better getting to tell someone that. And getting to reassure you guys that it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Even if I still feel a bit of guilt about it, I know I couldn’t change it even if I tried. But yeah, talking about it — that helped.”

“I’m glad,” Yunho hums through a smile of his own. “I know you’re probably sick of hearing me say it over and over, but my door is always open if you’d like to talk more about it. That goes for both of you.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, Yun, don’t worry! But right now I’d like for you to put that needle through my nipples so I can get on with choking on Yeos—”

“Nope, okay! I’ll put this needle through your tongue to shut you up instead, how about that?”

✧✧✧ a/n: okay so!! i felt like this chapter was kinda necessary? considering what we saw wooyoung go through and i didn’t want to bury what he went through or act like it didn’t happen but bec of the heavy nature of the topics i wanted to make sure that it wasn’t absolutely crucial for anyone to read this and feel like they were missing out. these are serious things, they are important things, and as always i tried my best to represent those things as best i could and as realistically as possible to avoid any romanticizing of these topics so i hope i was able to convey that and the feelings the characters had well. please please please take care i love u all as always be safe and stay healthy !! i’ll see you guys soon with another chapter!

also it’s been a minute but this survey is always open for you guys to take whenever you like!

taglist: @faeriewoobin @sugarrimajins @atinyinwonderland @sparklychangbin @jeong-uwu @jeonartemis @anothershorthuman @xxbluestrifexx @haotheheckk @noonawriter @lostscenarios @nlost21 @mirror-juliet @okokokok123-45 @purple-aeon @theoinkypiglet @toothlessshiber @atinyarmyx1 @simpforhyunjin @hwangwoosan @softyubi @drumboydowoon @chatsgotmytongue @just-a-starfruit @babydolljo @scintillating-souls @khjssss @rawrrainn @hewwo-from-the-other-side @icekdy @eggteez @bangtanxberm @uglychildd @lucymultistan @revehosh @choistan @vampyrejimin

#mists of celeste #abuse tw #blood tw #interim #not tagging as usual bc of the heavy nature of the chapter!

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awkwards · 4 years

Text

Kinktober Day 5. Aphrodisiac : Pleasurable Test | Overhaul

Day 5: Aphrodisiac

Title: Pleasurable Test

Pairing: Overhaul x F!Reader

Count: 2.2k

Summary: You needed to make ends meet, and so you go to subject yourself to a testing center that will pay. Turns out, you’ve signed yourself up for way more than you expected. You should really read the fine print.

Warnings: Noncon, syringe, aphrodisiac, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, yandere, sadist overhaul

Note: It’s finals week and definitely starting to hit me. Also, thanks for all of the support! If you’d like to be tagged for my kinktober fics, dm me! My inbox is open~

You snarled behind your gag at the man in the lab coat, who was currently coming at you with another needle. When he stepped close, you managed to kick the shot away.

“You can’t even handle one little girl. Pathetic.” A voice you haven’t heard before chides. A man wearing a plague mask and rather large coat with purple feathers stepped in. You could barely see him from where you’re restrained on the operating table. He snaps gloves onto his his, his eyes glaring at the subordinate. “And now that needle is filthy.”

“I’m so sorry sir!” you could see the sweat from the doctor, his face pailing. “She kicked me and it went flying!”

“Begone. I do not wish to hear your excuses.”

“Yes sir.” The guy practically runs from the room.

The man levels his gaze on you, judging.

You quirk an eyebrow at him, challengingly.

You’ve been here for a week. It was supposed to be one test, in which you got paid for. You took it because money was tight and you needed to pay rent. Little did you realize they would keep you kidnapped and subject to their devices because you were the “perfect candidate”. Your fear has practically been pushed aside by your anger. For a week they’ve been sticking you with needles, running “tests”, keeping you on the edge of functioning. All you had left was your anger and attitude.

“What a nuisance.” The man sighs. His dark eyes scan your barely clothed body.

Quicker than you can move, the man has your legs pinned down, fastened in place just like your arms and neck are. A gasp of shock careens past your lips, silenced by the gag.

“That’s better.” He moves over to the counter where the equipment lays. He turns his back towards you. “Do you know who I am?”

“Well, I assume you’re the one in charge of these monkeys. Do you know who I am?” You bite at him.

“I am Kai Chisaki. You will address me as Overhaul.” He turns slowly, an intense look in his eyes that makes your skin crawl. “I know plenty about you. You are a quirkless individual. Your blood type is AB negative. You’re allergic to penicillin. You’ve lived in this city your whole life. I know you were adopted at the age 5. You had a kidney transplant at the age 12.”

“Your parents were brutally murdered when you were in high school by a villain attack. I know that the villain attack was actually a target for your father’s brother because he made some bad deals with the yakuza.” He grabs a needle and begins to mix a mystery pink liquid into it. You’re shaking by now. How does he know so much? “You dropped out of high school quickly after, and less than two years later sold most of your adoptive parent’s belongings, and then the house.”

Overhaul takes deliberate and slow steps towards you, tapping the air bubbles out of the needle. “You moved into a seedy little apartment in the middle of town. You work at a small bar across from the noodle shop in the bad part of town because it was the only place that would hire you. This month you couldn’t make ends meet so you showed up here.”

A gloved hand drops onto your arm, thumb soothing over the prominent vein of yours. “And most importantly, I know your name isn’t actually Nakaya Kosuke. You, Miss (y/n), have quite the extensive history.”

You jerk hard at hearing your birth name. No one should know! Only your adoptive parents, who as he stated were dead, and the lawyer that erased your identity knew.

You try to speak through the gag, your words hushed.

An amused dark chuckle falls from him. “Oh, my apologies, did you want to speak?”

You nod your head.

His eyebrows raise, as if debating it. Finally, he unties the back of your gag. You spit it out, breathing in deeply. “Careful now, say something I don’t like and I’ll put it back on. Or I’ll remove your tongue.”

“Why am I here?”

He hums. “You are special. Did you know that your blood type is extremely rare?”

You clench your teeth, glaring at this cocky son-of-a-bitch. “I did.”

“Well, fortunately for us, your blood type was exactly what we’ve been looking for in our experiment. It’s extremely hard to come by a willing participant, too.”

“I’m not willing. I signed up for a test. One.”

His chuckle is light, and his eyes are wide with sadistic mirth. “No. You actually signed up until there was one successful test. So far, none of them have been such. It would appear someone didn’t read the fine print.”

Oh. Oh god. Did you really?

“No worries. You will be fully compensated. Well-” His eyes narrow. “If you live.”

Overhaul begins to prep the vein in your arm. “See, quirks are filthy. Those heroes parading around their quirks are but vermin on this earth. Pathetic. But you - no, you’re corrupted like those who roam the streets. Your blood is pure. Your genes are clean. You and I are far more similar than you might think, y/n.“

“What are you going to do to me?” Fear is fully controlling your mouth now. You shiver as he sanitizes the area he plans on injecting you.

“I have reason to believe that your blood will be the perfect capsule to carry my new invention. It’s a device that will remove the quirks of those who come in contact with it.” The look in his eyes turned wild, excited. You shiver. “My parents were ripped away from me, too. Those heroes did nothing to save them. Yet, they parade around the world as if we, the common folk, owe them. Not for long. Now, don’t make too much of a noise; I’d rather not have to remove your tongue.”

The prepped needle’s cap comes off, and the metal slides into your skin. You whimper, looking away as Overhaul begins to press its contents into your bloodstream. As quick as it began, it ended. He wipes away the lone blood drop before pressing a bandaid against you.

“Normally I would never dream of coming so close to an individual. But you are different from the filth filling this world.” Gloved hands grab your chin, turning you to look into his eyes. “You’re pure. Perfect. And I plan on taking full advantage of that, my sweet Y/N.”

Tears burn your eyes, your lip trembling. You finally let your body relax. This time you were truly fucked. He pulls his hand away, throwing away the needle tip of the syringe. You watch him walk away, back to the counter where he removes his gloves and washes his hands and arms.

A warmth began to fill your system. You shoot a concerned look at Overhaul. It was like your body was warming up from the inside out, your blood beginning to boil. A feverish sweat was spreading over every inch of you. “Something’s wrong.” You croak out.

Overhaul turns back to glance at you, sweaty and blushed. A mild look of intrigue covers his face. “Oh?”

“It’s burning me.” You whine.

Your body is completely uncomfortable now. The warmth feels … different. Wrong even.

“Explain to me what is happening.” He dries his hands leisurely, watching you from across the room before putting on a new, clean pair of rubber gloves.

“I’m hot. It feels like my blood is boiling. I -” you whimper as the slightest movement of your head increases the feeling tenfold. “Please make it stop.”

Overhaul takes his time as he walks back over to you. He runs a finger over your pulsepoint. The single touch sends a wave of pleasure crashing through you, a moan following. “How interesting.”

You’re mortified and confused. You wish you could rub your thighs together at the uncomfortable feeling between them.

“I see now. The molecular constructs of those two vials creates an aphrodisiac.”

You pinch your eyes shut as his single digit drags down your arm, over the hospital gown you have. The thin fabric is too much. It feels as if it’s weighing you down and making it that much harder to breathe.

“I suppose I should relieve you. It’ll be the only way to collect your blood at the right molecular compounds,” He muses to himself, talking out loud as if you’re not there.

Overhaul pulls off the glove on his left hand. “If I hadn’t reassembled you already, I would let you suffer until the side effects wear off. But, because of me, you really are clean. You should thank me.”

Not knowing what to say, you watch the man through your watery tears. He presses his bare hand on your stomach. If you weren’t being restrained, you would have arched into his hand, moaning loud as pleasure floods your core.

When he removes his hand, your whole body shivers as air nips your bare skin. How? “Wh-what?”

He chuckles. “My quirk.”

You watch as Overhaul steps around your pinned body, coming close to your wet sex.

“What a mess you’ve made. Disgusting.” Despite his words, he runs his gloved hand up your right leg, stopping at the stop below your belly button. You can feel your walls flutter.

A choked out “Please,” tumbles from your lips. You’re so turned on it hurts. Your brain can’t think straight anymore.

You moan loudly as a single finger strokes your dripping lips. You roll your hips as best as you can to get more friction. He lets out a proper laugh at your discomfort, sliding his single digit past your folds.

“So needy. What would you do without me? If I wasn’t here to relieve you?”

Your walls flutter around his digit as he runs his finger against your inside. The burning in your blood only seems to increase at the slight relief. “Please, Overhaul please!”

At your pitiful begging, he slides another finger in, stretching your walls. He works the two digits in a slow and methodical pace, scissoring you. You whine and cry, grinding your hips into his fingers. When he curls the two fingers and strokes the spongy spot inside you, a coil snaps, and you cum hard around him.

He doesn’t stop, continuing to pump his fingers inside you. You moan as you come down from your high.

The heat inside dims for the barest of moments before firing back up with a vengeance.

“Did that make you feel better?” He mocks, putting more force behind his motions.

You gasp as the coil of pleasure begins again. “It hurts! I need more, please!”

“Patience, little one. You’ll get your release. Soon, you’ll be begging me to stop.”

As if to prove his point, he uses his thumb to stroke your clit hard. Your walls flutter and drip around his gloved fingers as you feel yourself close to the crest again. “Oh - Oh, oh please!” You wail.

“Cum again, pet.”

You do. Your walls spasm as you tip over, shaking in your restraints as a sigh leaves you.

He doesn’t stop. The fire inside is rapidly dwindling, and you flinch at the touch.

“Oh, are you sensitive already?” He muses. “It won’t last long.”

True to your words, the fire picks up again. You sob as his touch hurts. It hurts yet is relieving you too. Tears stream down your face as you’re overstimulated, but the heat is still there.

“It's almost over. Hold on just a bit longer.”

Overhaul fingers you faster, making the coil of pleasure twist quicker and harder than the last two orgasms. You sob as you near the edge again.

“Last one. Give me one more. Cum over my fingers.”

“I can’t!” You cry out, rocking your hips into his fingers despite what you say.

“You can. And you will.” You can hear the squelching as his fingers target your g-spot, his thumb rolling your clit hard. “Cum again y/n.”

A scream rips from your throat as you’re forced over the edge of another orgasm. Your entire body tenses, and white fills your eyes. Overhaul drags his fingers out of you slowly, making you wince from the overstimulation. He tears the glove covered in cum off of his hand before sliding a new set on.

Panting hard, you come down again, body relaxing. Your blood no longer feels like you’re being boiled alive.

You flinch as a syringe is forced into your arm, and watch in sick curiosity as he draws blood from you. Even the touch of the needle makes you quiver, your entire body too sensitive for touch.

“Shh, it’ll be okay. You did so well.”

You moan, shaking as he places a bandage over your skin again. Your head swims as black dots at the edge of your vision.

You look up at him, and can tell even from behind his mask that he’s smiling. “I’ll be back tomorrow. Rest well, pet.”

Tag list:

@ofthedewthesunlight

#kinktober 2020 #awkwards kinktober #bnha #bnha smut #bnha x reader #bnha overhaul #yandere overhaul #sadist overhaul #tw : noncon #tw : needles #tw : aphrodisiac #tw : overstimulation #tw : multiple orgasms #tw : yandere

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 25

Y/n puts an end to everything.

@dovahdokren @deadman-inc-bikeshop @lov3vivian @wisesandwichshark @scpdragon

⚠️HUGE⚠️ trigger warnings: rape, drugging, sex trafficking, VERY graphic descriptions of violence, physical violence (please let me know if I leave anything out)

Hannibal could walk through a valley of human suffering and not even flinch. You couldn't tell if that made him subhuman or superhuman. You, however, were just human.

You wanted to be a badass. You wanted to kick the door down and make a scene. But one woman was enough to break you.

She was wearing only a large t-shirt. A cloth bandage covered in blood covered her pubic area like a makeshift pair of underpants. She laid limply against a stone. Her arms were punctured where needles had been.

"I don't..." she mumbled, clearly intoxicated beyond function. "...don't make me..."

You knew you couldn't afford to stop. But compassion kept your feet firmly on the ground in front of her.

"What is Chase making you do?"

"I can't-" She said, pressing her forehead against the rock. "I can't be an unwoman-"

She began to slam her head against the rock with clear intent to take her own life. Without thinking, you grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her into the grass. She sobbed, a bloody, but thankfully, survivable, gash on her forehead.

"Tell me your name." You demanded, squeezing her shoulders.

"...Tiffany." She said with a sudden lucidity.

The name unlocked a memory in you. It was the still image of a sunny young girl, immortalized on a faded missing person's ad hung up at the grocery store. Tiffany Rose Pierce, it read.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, Tiffany." You whispered. "I'm gonna get all of you out of here."

"Vanguard won't like that." She said, slipping back into a state of minimal consciousness.

"Stay here." You instructed, pushing yourself back to your feet.

You readied your gun and slowly, carefully pushed the cabin door open. Suddenly, the stained glass window was the least of your worries.

The entire area was lined with cheaply-constructed bunk beds, like an overgrown henhouse. Women with distinctively long hair were shackled to the lower bunks. Their shaven counterparts, the unwomen, were forced to be the slavedrivers. They held the chained women down.

You heard the rattling of chains coming from the right. It was accompanied with screaming and wet slapping.

"Take daddy's cock you filthy fucking broodmare." A familiar voice grunted.

The only way you could look at him was behind the barrel of your gun. He was exactly how you pictured him while listening to his voice in the car. Unremarkable, middle-aged and serpentine.

"Pastor Armitage!" You yelled.

To hear someone call him by his title in the midst of violating a person was enough to send him into a panic. He sputtered and his entire face turned red.

He didn't suffer for long, though. A 12 gauge shell right through the face took care of that. Fragments of his head, his blood and brain matter splattered everywhere. His knees buckled and his limp body collapsed.

The room fell silent. Smoke trickled out of your barrel.

"Where's fucking Chase?" You asked the room.

Someone weakly pointed up the stairs. You met her eyes and nodded.

"Sorry about the mess."

Now you knew how Hannibal felt. Blowing someone's head off made you acutely aware of your own head on your shoulders. You held it higher. You felt no remorse as you ascended the staircase with your gun blazing.

You came across a room with some words etched in the door. 'Skin room'. You launched your foot squarely into the door, causing it to violently swing open.

You examined the room from behind the gun. Chase had done a hell of a job dressing up this cheap cabin bedroom like a hotel suite, but the smell hit you before you could be fooled. A brick chimney, a wine cooler and a mahogany desk were positioned so the eye would gravitate towards the luxury while the nose picked up the brutality. The stained glass window was suspended in front of the real window, absorbing the mid-morning light and giving the room an eerie sepia tint.

You cocked your gun to announce your presence. You heard the sound of running water, and then a side door swung open.

“You’ll forgive me a couple minutes to freshen up.” Chase said, shaking his hands dry. “Cleanliness is close to godliness, after all.”

You said nothing. You didn’t want to dignify him with a conversation.

He bent over and pulled a bottle of wine from his cooler. He placed it squarely on the desk. You looked at it, then did a double take. He grinned sadistically.

“Is that...” You leaned in to get a closer look. “1907 Heidsieck Monople Gout?”

Chase shrugged. “You tell me. You’re the wine expert.”

You’d heard many a conflicting story about the legendary 1907 Heidsieck. Some said as many as 2,000 bottles were pulled up from the depths of the freezing Baltic sea. Some said a single bottle could go for half a million dollars. With that kind of precedent, you never thought you’d ever have to worry about it. Yet, there it was. Right in front of you.

“I’m saving it for a special occasion.” Chase said, suddenly reminding you where you were.

You returned to your gun. “For when you kill me?”

“For when I save you.” Chase smiled, his unnaturally white teeth glistening in the sepia light. “See, Miss [F/N], you survived two of my attempts on your life. God has smiled down on you.”

“Or, maybe,” You interrupted. “You’re just horrible at killing.”

Chase raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"A knife through the hand hurts like a bitch, but it isn't fatal." You shrugged. "And you didn't do a good enough job beating the fear of death out of Catherine. Else she might have actually gone through with it. Maybe if you'd sent Tiffany-"

"God loves you." Chase interrupted before you could poke more holes in his attempts on your life. "Why you're still alive when so many less deserving of death have died is beyond me, but god works in mysterious ways, doesn't he?"

"She sure does." You smirked.

Chase cleared his throat. You'd pegged him as the type to get irrationally angry at the implication of god being a woman, so his reaction surprised you.

"Well, let's get down to business, shall we?" He gestured to a seat across from him.

You narrowed your eyes. "I don't think so."

"Pity." He pouted. "Not even for poor Mr. Graham?"

It dawned on you that he probably still thought he had Will, and you could use it to your advantage.

You held your gun at your side and hesitantly sat down in the seat. A gluttonous smile spread across Chase's face.

"So it wasn't wine after all." He said. "It wasn't even your own life. You're only willing to save your soul for the sake of your precious Will Graham."

"What do you care?" You growled through your teeth. "This is just a power grab for you. You wouldn't know what genuine empathy for another person feels like."

He grinned, as if someone had just flipped his 'on' switch. "Jesus does."

"Did Jesus use his influence to lure teenage girls into a sick breeding ring?" You sneered. "I don't remember that from VeggieTales."

"Genesis 1:28." Chase said. "And God blessed them, and God said unto them, be fruitful, and multiply."

"I suppose you also don't eat shellfish or wear mixed fabrics." You rolled your eyes.

"It's always the same arguments from you atheists." Chase scoffed, adding a distinct bite to the last word. "When are you going to show some actual proof that the bible isn't an infallible model for human morality?"

"Maybe when you stop eating shellfish and wearing mixed fabrics." You repeated.

"They are minor sins at best." Chase grimaced. "I have gotten right with Jesus. You, on the other hand, oh, you. Your sins are weighty."

"I did just blast a rapist's head off." You admitted. "And it's going to be two very soon if this one doesn't get to the fucking point."

"I know about your exploits." He squinted. "With Mr. Graham and the man with the Nazi accent."

"He's actually from Lithuania, which, if you wanna be technical," you corrected, just for the sake of being annoying. "Is an ex-Soviet state, but whatever."

Chase tensed up at being corrected. "I know about your hedonistic sexual activities with two men, your exploration. But in the bible, Satan approaches these two people called Adam and Eve..."

"No he didn't." You shook your head. "It was a serpent. The devil wasn't a concept when Genesis was written."

Chase gritted his teeth. "God made one man and one woman. Each to fill each other's sexual desires, within the context of marriage, entirely-"

"But Adam had two spouses, didn't he?" You cocked your head and smiled. "Eve wasn't even the first woman in Adam's life. That was Lilith."

Chase heaved a frustrated sigh. "How do you know that?!"

"I was raised catholic." You said in the tonal equivalent of smacking him upside the head. "I was forced into religion at a young age and brainwashed to hate myself."

"See, that's where we agree." Chase tented his hands, thinking he found a genuine point of connection. "Organized religion is a cancer on society. Christianity is fundamentally about a relationship with god."

You laughed. It was the first real, good laugh you had in a while.

"Don't laugh." He scolded. "I am sorry that that was your experience with religion and that the Catholic church modeled a false teaching of who god is and what he wants. Not all christians-"

You wiped a tear from your eye. "Homie, you killed four people in front of me."

He placed his hand over his heart. "And christ forgave me. And he can forgive you too."

"Alright, this has been fun and everything," you said, standing up. You aimed your shotgun and cocked it. "But, I did come here to kill you, so, open wide."

Chase put his hand squarely over the barrel and pushed it out of the way. "You don’t have the guts to pull the trigger."

You pulled the trigger and blasted his hand clean off. Any hope of reattachment was shattered, as bits of his hand painted the walls and floor.

You opened the gun and let the two empty shells fall to the ground while Chase screamed in agony.

Instead of going through the motions of reloading, you smashed him over the head with the gun. He wrapped his good hand around the barrel and attempted to wrestle it away from you. You took this as an invitation to corner him against the wall with the still-hot barrel against his neck. He smashed his forehead into your nose, sending you tumbling backwards.

The shotgun fell to the ground. You pinched the bridge of your nose to control the blood flow. Chase wrapped a champagne towel around his stump and picked up a small revolver on his desk. He let off a shot, which lodged itself into your shoulder. By the time he let off the second shot, you were on the ground. The third shot didn't fire, just let out a flash and a bang.

"Goddamn blanks!" He cursed.

He tore open a drawer and rummaged around for bullets, giving you a window to come up from behind and gouge your fingers into his eyes. He screamed, dropping a handful of bullets. He flailed aimlessly, then charged backwards, slamming you into the cheap drywall.

He felt around for the bullets without the advent of eyesight. You knew you wouldn't be able to take aim with your shotgun with a bullet lodged in your shoulder, so you dove for the revolver.

Chase grabbed you by the ankle and dragged you down. You hit the floor with a thud, the collision making the bullets jump. Chase grinned, using the sound to place them. He turned around and reached for one, while you scooped up another that had rolled under the desk.

You scrambled to your feet. Chase's hand was just centimeters from the revolver. Thinking fast (but not so thoroughly), you grabbed for the revolver. You wrapped your hand around the barrel, putting yourself at a disadvantage if he fired off another blank.

Chase, however, wasn't that forward-thinking, and opted for a childish game of tug-of-war instead. Knowing he had the brute strength advantage, you waited for him to pull back and released your grip. Chase tumbled, cursing on his way down.

With no thought on your mind but ending this, you launched your foot into his sack, causing him to scream and drop the gun.

Just as you thought it was over, just when the gun was in arm's reach, he kicked your knees backwards and you fell. You swallowed the pain and army crawled for the revolver.

"I don't think so." Chase spat, smiling like a maniac. He grabbed your face with his good hand and his fingers slithered down your throat.

"Choke..." he demanded. "Choke, demoness."

Strengthened by animalistic instinct, you crushed his fingers under your teeth. The sound of snapping bone filled the inside of your head and a sudden rush of blood flooded into your mouth. He withdrew his hand, leaving a finger behind to limply fall down your throat.

You coughed and gagged while Chase screamed. A single bloody digit dislodged itself from your windpipe, flew across the room and landed on the desk.

Chase sputtered something resembling a laugh. "Maybe you're not such a dumb bitch after all."

You grabbed the gun and pushed yourself up with the help of the desk. The finger stared up at you as you loaded the single bullet.

You positioned the finger onto the trigger and guided it with your gloved hand. Then you aimed it at his forehead. Dead by his gun, by his trigger finger. Bleeding on the ground in his private bunker while the empire he built collapses around him. A coward's death. It was poetic enough an end as he deserved.

"You want to say a prayer before you meet god?" You offered.

"My soul is saved." Chase said through ragged breaths. "My place in heaven is secured."

Bang. One bullet, right between the eyes. A bloody fingerprint on the pistol. You dropped the revolver and collapsed. You just laid there, listening to your phone buzz.

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #the sommelier #will graham #will graham x reader #will graham x you #hannibal x you x will #hannigram x reader #hannibal x will #tw violence #tw grape without the g #tw sex abuse #tw sex trafficking #tw christianity

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the-huntress · 3 years

Text

Little Moth - Chapter 4 - As The Snow Fell

[Thank you so much to everyone that has read, liked and re-blogged the chapters and master list of my fanfic so far, I really appreciate all the support!]

Masterlist

Y/N Protagonist, female. Reader X Karl Heisenberg. [18+]

Summary: You’ve barely even set foot into the village and have already had a taste of the unusual residents and otherworldly beings. Is there anyone that you can trust?

Trigger Warnings: Threat, theft.

Soundscape Ambience Suggestions:

Medieval Ruins Ambience

Quiet Tavern Ambience

[Photos are my own]

You woke with a start, the white canvas of the morning sky blinding you as a crow cawed from above. You cast you gaze about bleary eyed, taking in your surroundings. You were back at your camp, but mightily dishevelled, half your clothes on, half off, and various parts exposed to the elements. The last embers of the fire burned, soft wafts of smoke dying down.

What the hell happened last night? You wondered, casting your thoughts back and rubbing your face, feeling almost as if you had a hangover. Fixing your clothes, you turned your attention to your equipment and the camp. Anything that wasn’t necessary to have on you today you bagged back up into your luggage bag and pushed into the hollow of the tree that you had camped against; mostly some clothing, sleeping bag, tarpaulin… you paused as you got to the bow that the Duke had gifted to you, eyeing it up. As much as you felt safer with it, today you would have to try to be inconspicuous, and this weapon was not going to help with that. You stuffed it hastily as far bag into the hollow as you could, hooking it on a knot on the inside of the tree so that it hung safely, completely out of view, and then threw leaves over the bag.

The distance seemed shorter this time going towards the cliff edge that overlooked the village. You took out your binoculars from a pouch on your hip and got down onto your stomach to scout the area. From where you were you could easily see the castle with its spiky turrets in the distance, slightly shrouded by a fine mist at this hour. If it weren’t for the whole situation that you were in and the very obvious unease that this place was already causing you, you’d have maybe even called this gothic monster ‘beautiful’. Leading up to it were many small houses, each made slightly differently to the next, but somehow all similar. Some with thatched roofs, some tile, some metal. You were only at the brink of this village, but you could sense poverty from here, being used to living in a modern world and never feeling like you’d had to struggle too much for food or material needs. Your eyes were drawn to a route that should give you access easily into the village by way of going behind some of the closer buildings, and with a quick sweep, checking that no one was currently about, you decided to go now.

The village had a spattering of snow, less than a foot for sure, and for the most part it had been trodden down and thinned. Coming up to the first house you crouched down behind a small brick wall, which looked as though it had started to tumble over. Again, you couldn’t see anyone here, but you could definitely hear livestock; a pig and maybe some chickens. Peering over the top of the wall towards the house you noticed a washing line, its contents bouncing slowly in the slight breeze. There were yellowed white briefs, a petty coat, bonnets, a dress made out of material that looked itchier than it looked practical, and also a hooded cloak. You pondered for a moment if taking an entire line of clothes to disguise yourself was a good idea or not and then decided against it; you whipped the cloak down, it being very dull and drab in both colour and fabric, with no distinguishing features, and threw the large hood up over your head. It was big enough even to hide your eyes, the swells of fabric wrapping around your arms and body, providing more warmth as well as what you hoped would deter anyone from making too much notice of you. Your boots and trousers were visible, from the knee down, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Nearing the centre, you started to hear the sounds you’d expect to hear in a small village like this. The day was light enough to see everything clearly; a statue of a lady holding a sword and shield. Something about it sent a shiver down your back. It wasn’t that it looked creepy, it just felt… familiar somehow. This looked as though it was perhaps the centre of the village; a woman sat on a bench knitting, a couple of children played with a stick and hoop. That felt weird too. It was the turn of the millennium, and yet here children were playing with really outdated toys. A little way up you could see a hill rising with some gravestones dotted here and there to the left of it. Already you could feel the eyes of the children staring at you and the quiet clacking of the knitting needles had stopped. Keeping your head down, you carried on walking, your feet choosing to take you up the small hill, past the gravestones. You passed a strange wooden shine on your right, not daring to turn your head to look at the details right now, for you’d hoped that they people here might assume that you were one of them thus letting you become invisible. You’d had undercover jobs before that you’d excelled at, but things felt very different here. Every step you took made the feeling of foreboding grow stronger in you. Up ahead was a door depicting two characters, one looked like a woman, the other, you weren’t too sure, but it looked sturdy and as though it might lead to the great castle, so that didn’t seem like you’d be unnoticed if you tried that door. To the right a long alley way, but it looked to lead away from the village, and to the right again the iron gates into the grounds of a small church, with a bubble of people emerging from its doors now. Yes, you had to lay low and try not to turn heads, but you also needed information, maybe if you passed through this crowd as if you were going somewhere you could eavesdrop some clues.

You made your way over and saw a man dressed like a vicar of sorts standing at the church doors while the villagers left, his hands raised in the air and a grin on his face. His eyes were eerily shadowed with darkness, but this didn’t seem to deter his congregation.

“Thank you for coming to today’s assembly to pay our respects to our beloved saviour, Mother Miranda. Volunteers and the Heretic’s Judgement are to be held tomorrow at Mother’s church.”

Just then you accidentally bumped right into someone emerging from the crowd, the impact making you both exhaled audibly, and the villager dropping their item to the ground.

“I’m so sorry, are you ok?” You asked, seeing her face as she looked up to see whom she had bumped into. You mentally kicked yourself for being automatically nicely mannered when you could have just trundled past. Instead, you stopped to pick up what you saw now to be a small bouquet of flowers, seeing her smiling at you as you handed them to her.

“Oh yes, I’m quite alright.” She said warmly. She looked to be in her forties with grey blue eyes, mousy brown hair and bangs. “Are you?”

You were taken aback for a moment; you didn’t expect anyone to ask how you were. In all honesty you’d been better. “No damage done.” You smiled, making sure to pull the cloak over any item of clothing that might give you away for being from further afield than the next village or so. The church doors had closed, and the rest of the crowd had now disbanded into the rest of the village.

“You look to me like you could do with a hot meal and a warm bath. If you beg my pardon for saying so.” She took a step back and extended her hand. “I’m Luiza by the way.”

“Y/N.” You replied, shaking it. Is this a good idea? You asked yourself, but you couldn’t help but trust the woman.

“I was just about to lay these down in the cemetery, if you’d like to join me Y/N.” Luiza offered, indicating to the small bouquet. There was a look in her eyes, like she was trying to tell you something.

“Yes of course.”

The two of you made your way a little past the church and through some more iron gates, this time into a space that was on a slight slope with a couple of crypts and tombs. Checking around her to make sure that no one else was around, Luiza turned her eyes back to you slowly.

“You’re not from here.” She stated. You swallowed.

“No, I’m from the next town over, I’m passing through to –“

“Please. You’re not from here, your accent, your boots… but your eyes, your eyes are what really gave it away. If you’d ever lived near here, you’d never have the damn nerve to even come.” She waved a hand in the air, and yet looked remorsefully subdued. You didn’t quite know what to say.

You looked down to the ground, shame seeping in as if from the snow at your feet.

“I’m searching for a friend.” You said solemnly. “He’s here somewhere, at least, I think. I think that he came here on a lead; whether he’s here to help someone or it’s to do with something that concerns us… I’m not sure. But he’s been gone a while now, and I’d like to get him back home.” Saying it made it all the more real, and you could feel your throat growing tight. The whole time that you’d been speaking Luiza had listened intently, yet her face remained soft. Something twinkled in her pale eyes, a knowing.

“Do you have a picture, of your friend?” She asked.

“Yes.” You unzipped the RPD bag hanging at your side and carefully pulled the photo from the wallet inside. “His name is Leon, Leon Kennedy.” Luiza took the photo into her own hand carefully, studying it and then handed it back.

“You should come over for some dinner tonight Y/N. See that gate over there?” She pointed back towards the church but the opposite side from which you’d entered. “Through that gate, turn left and all the way up the hill. My husband and I are having goulash tonight, if that might tempt you.”

“With dumplings?”

“I can do them if you’d like.” She smiled, turning away to face a small gravestone. “Come after nightfall but be careful on your way.”

“I will.” You started heading back towards the church and then turned to ask, “Who is it? That you’re visiting I mean.”

“My daughter.” She replied.

You left Luiza at her daughter’s grave and felt your stomach rumble. The last 24 hours had been gruelling on your body, you were cramping with no pain relief, nor for your knee, which was already aching, a reminder of the stress you’d put it through the day before fighting that… beast, and then you remembered; the dream… what had happened? That was the same beast as the one you’d slain. But what, you’d resurrected it? You wondered what it meant, and then you started to recall what had happened after. Your cheeks burned red in an instant, spreading over your neck and ears. Confusion ultimately taking over. Well at least I’m warm now, you sneered at yourself, and then felt another rumble. I need food.

Luiza seemed like she could be a good ally to have here, and something told you that she recognised that picture of Leon; even if she was the only person that would help you out you felt happy that you had at least something potentially to go on. You headed back into the centre of the village, with the intention of heading back to your camp for another preserved snack and then it hit you; the smell of eggs and bacon. It was drifting up from somewhere a little way past the statue to the left and you followed it around without a care.

“The Fat Goose” The sign read above the door. It looked to be a small inn of sorts with a few townsfolk coming in and out, and in seemingly good spirits. You made sure that your hood was pulled back up over your eyes and made your way in. It was like many other humble pubs that you’d frequented here and there, mostly when visiting back home in England. A long bar at the back of the room, a door leading somewhere at the back, and the clientele sat hunched over round tables upon stools, leaning close to the fire, or shouting above one another at the bar itself. It wasn’t the busiest, but it seemed to be where the majority of the village had decided to spend their day if they did not have work to be done. You could see a couple of the villagers did indeed have meals here of all sorts; chicken, bread, cheese, and most importantly eggs and bacon. You could feel yourself salivating.

Keeping your head low you approached the barkeep, the Lei ready in your hand, and slid it across the surface towards him. “Eggs, bacon and ale, thank you.” You pushed your coin over to him. You’d been lucky, upon meeting the Duke he’d brought up local currency and exchanged what you’d made the mistake of purchasing at the airport.

The barkeeper was quietly suspicious, evident in the way that he eyed you up, taking a moment to pause cleaning the tankard in his hands to take the money and gave a nod back.

“We’ll bring it over to yer table.” He said, turning back to what he was doing. You chanced a glance around the room and decided to take a seat at a vacant table by the window. It felt like a safe spot; you could see the door and the bar, but you were also tucked into a corner out of the way, the only light cast by the fire on the other side of the room and a couple of candles over head in brackets.

The ale was with you in no time at all. You’d never actually drank ale before and weren’t expecting it to be the tastiest of drinks, but there wasn’t much choice here. The eggs and bacon shortly followed, filling the room with a smell that made you stomach growl again.

The door flew open and you suddenly noticed the difference between the warmth of the inn with the bite of the outside air. The chill swept into the pub with the figures of two men, both tall and brawny, but one much larger than the other. They seemed to be deep in conversation but trying to keep their voices to a murmur that they could only hear between themselves.

They were dressed similarly; the taller man’s clothes had more of a darker and subdued palette. He had a head of grey hair, and a beard to match, a broad forehead, kind eyes and a nose which looked as though it had been broken at least once. The shorter of the two, but by no means lacking in height had a similar long coat but in more earthy tones. His face was hidden by a dark brown leather hat of sorts, well-worn with a mess of dark hair streaked with grey. The other patrons went quiet as the men entered and then began nodding at them, some even tilting a hat, before going back to their business.

Something began stirring in your stomach and you looked down at your food, maybe the eggs were off? You looked up again, unconscious of being unable to stop watching them, or more specifically, the man with the hat. He definitely felt your gaze right at that moment as he slowly turned his face over his right shoulder to look at you from behind dark, circular shades hiding his eyes from view. Time seemed to stop. He was really looking, and you felt as though you were tumbling backwards down through the biggest chasm carved into the stars.

“Oh boy.” You breathed as the man suddenly turned his head back to reply to something that his towering friend had said, who in turn, then noticed you, glancing over his friend’s head. The feeling in your stomach had grown so intense that it felt as though it had now pummelled its way into your chest too. This felt like danger and sickness all wrapped into one. You had half a mind to leave now, but you knew that not only would that rouse more suspicion, you just also didn’t want to.

“Urias, Karl.” The bartender came over to the two men at the bar, “What can I get you?”

Sometime later a beautiful, red haired girl came to take your plate away. Despite being so hungry when you first came into the establishment, once the men had entered, you’d felt so nauseous that you’d barely been able to manage another bite. You tried to channel your thoughts, calm the storm in your stomach and ease your breathing. You were getting there, managing to ground yourself, but every few minutes your eyes were drawn back to that man, was he Urias or was he Karl? Which name suited him most? Urias sounded strong and noble, well he certainly looked strong. He pulled out a cigar and lit it, suddenly emitting raucous laughter from something that his friend said which shocked you out of your trance; and then he fell silent, starring at the other man so intensely that it scared you.

“You’re fucking kidding me?” He asked. The pub fell silent. You were so focused on the scene, as was everyone else that you neglected to notice the way your tankard had started to slowly drift up into the air along with everyone else’s.

“I’m sorry my friend, I am not. I am going to marry her.”

“God fucking damnit Urias!” He bellowed, slamming a fist down on the bar. Everything fell with a bang, ale sloshing over the tables and with that he stormed out of the pub. Urias rubbed a giant hand over his face, the skin gathering in mounds between each finger. The bartender brought over a new tankard, about three times the size of the regular ones and let it thud down in front of Urias.

“On the house, chief.”

Urias took it in his man-paw and without hesitation turned towards you, walking over.

“Are you going to tell me who you are then, fabled traveller. I can tell you come from very far away.” He sounded like how you imagined a talking bear to sound, deep and rumbly. He had a big, square chin, his jaw jutted out slightly, strong teeth, big lips and kind eyes. He poured a little of the ale from his giant vessel into your own, indicating for you to stay put. No one else in the pub seemed to be paying attention, at least not with their eyes, this man must have some hold or power over them.

“My name is Y/N, and I am looking for my friend.” You told him truthfully, face down, but eyes looking up at him. You were scared, for sure, but you wouldn’t let it show. You were here for a reason, you’d come this far, you weren’t going to leave without Leon, and you meant it. You slid the photo across the table to him and he took it tenderly, bringing it closer to his face, all that way up to take a look. He tilted his head to the side.

“Have you spoken to anyone else?” He asked, eyes flitting between you and the photo.

“One other.” You replied, not mentioning who.

“Y/A my name is Urias, as you might have heard my friend eloquently let the world know earlier. I am the chief of this village. My brother and I-“ He paused and looked down at his hands. “My brother and I came from a mountain clan, our blood line has been chief there for generations, but we wanted to see more of the world and make our mark, learn trades and earn our keep. We came to this village when we were both merely men grown, that was a long time ago now.” He had a faraway look in his eyes, turning now to look out of the window, it was already beginning to grow dark and a drift of snow had begun to descend once more. “We climbed the ranks here, doing what we could to help protect the village and its population…” He paused again in thought. “To help, however we could. It’s just me now, but I still want that, I still want to do what’s right for my people”

He took a deep drink from the tankard, which now that you were looking at it closely, looked more like a small barrel with a makeshift handle.

“Y/N I will help you however I can, but please understand this; this is no normal village, there are things at work here even I can’t quite explain. Tensions are very high, and an outsider coming in looking for a missing friend,” He tilted his head and gave a small chuckle, “Well, that’s not going to go down so well with some of the villagers, and especially not with the higher ups.”

“You mean Mother Miranda?” You asked bluntly. He swung his head to look you dead in the eyes.

“How do you know her name?”

“I did my research before I came; I don’t know much about her Urias, but I have a bad feeling about her.” Your cheeks burned from being so forward.

He laughed again, “You’re not the only one.” He muttered, casting you a careful sideways glance, taking you in some more. He looked like he was pondering or considering something. “There are a seldom few here that you can trust, so be careful. You can find me at my house, some of the folk they call it ‘the chief’s hut’, or else I’ll likely be here, at least for now.” His mind seemed to trail off somewhere else.

Noticing that night had indeed now fallen you bid your farewell and shook the giant’s paw and made your way outside into the chill of night, thankful for the stolen cloak wrapped around your frame.

You started around the side of the pub, back towards the route that would take you directly to Luiza’s house when something wrapped around your throat and shoved you against the wall. The breath was choked out of you upon impact and your hood fell, your hair falling down in-front of your eyes as you blinked them open, trying to see what had happened. Pain started spreading in your body; the cuts on your torso, your knee blazed and the cramps starting up again like knives. The thing around your throat was a hand, larger than your own but not huge, nails digging into your flesh.

You tried to say something, a warning a threat, but whoever it was, was closing your throat.

“Don’t pretend I didn’t see you making eyes at me in there darling,” A man’s voice drooled. “We don’t see tourists all too often around here, but I’m sure an outsider like you will be carrying something of value.”

You didn’t recognise the face in front of you at all. A man in his twenties, maybe, fairly non-descript with short mousey brown hair and some stubble. He absolutely reeked of alcohol. Your right hand shot instinctively towards your knife and he twisted your wrist anti-clockwise immediately disarming you, shoving you back against the wall with the force of his body and then reaching for any other weapons. Of course, he found the pistols, kicking one aside and holding the other to your temple.

“These will bring me a pretty Lei or two, I’m sure the Duke would be happy to pay me handsomely. What other souvenirs have you got under that cloak of yours?”

You scrabbled against his hands, trying to execute the self-defence you’d been taught for situations such as these. You tried to get to his weak points; wrist, elbow, knee, balls, but he had you at his mercy. The number of tight spots and situations you’d come up against in your time and you couldn’t do a damn thing if someone had you pinned when their strength was greater than your own. Your hands gripped against his arm, legs kicking.

“Hand it over and I won’t hurt you. Much.” He pressed the cold of your pistol harshly into the skin under your chin.

“No!” You rasped, suddenly being thrown down for a second but caught by something before you hit the ground. Strong, hot arms held you up from falling.

You dared to open your eyes, looking over the arm at the man’s fate. He was sprawled on the ground, blood gushing from his nose and mouth.

“Get the fuck out of here.” A voice rumbled from above you. You looked up. It was Karl. You winced again and the younger man tore off into the darkness without looking back. Your body trembled from pain, cold and something else.

You looked up again. Although you still couldn’t see his eyes you could see some sort of unearthly glow behind the glasses. His skin looked fairly tanned, smooth but worn, tired maybe, and small scars scattered here and there. You were still in his arms, entranced, and so warm.

“Thank you.” You breathed. He swallowed hard and blinked, turning his face away from you, he let his arms drop now that you were on your feet, but you were still close against his body, which now felt so tense. Was he shaking?

“Go.” He exhaled. You faltered, putting a hand to his arm, he flinched, his breathing deepened. “Please.” He shut his eyes. What was this man fighting?

You gulped, stepping back, not understanding, pulling your cloak around you, and stooping to retrieve your weapons.

“Karl, Y/N what’s going on?” Urias lurched out of the pub doors, “What was that commotion?”

A couple of moments passed where you were staring at Urias, holding your cloak to you and expecting Karl to answer, but nothing happened. You turned around to look at Karl, but he wasn’t there.

Urias offered to escort you himself to Luiza’s from there. You told him what happened and although he was furious at what had happened, swearing he’d try to find the culprit and have them punished; he did not seem surprised by Karl’s sudden disappearance. To say you were shaken up was an understatement, but you at least felt safer being with this humungous man of the mountains as you made your way through the snowy night.

Song Suggestion: ‘Stumble and Pain’ by Joseph Arthur

#Karl Heisenberg #karl heisenberg fanfic #karl heisenburg x reader #karl heisenberg fluff #karl heisenberg smut #resident evil #resident evil fanfic #resident evil smut #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #resident evil heisenberg #resident evil karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x you #resident evil urias #resident evil luiza

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writer-panda · 3 years

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The Hit on the Groom and What Became of It - Chapter 4/I’ll never let you down (in an open casket)

Chapter 1 -|- Previous -|- Next

The Hit on the Groom and What Became of It - Chapter 4/I’ll never let you down (in an open casket)

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As she hanged up, Marinette rushed to the doors and let her mother in. The previous night she spent mostly on working with Kwamis to prepare. Most were in agreement that she needed to act and not leave her kitty’s fate to chance. Tikki protested for a bit, but in the end, she saw that there was no changing Marinette’s mind and joined in on scheming. Except she had no way of tracking Adrien. Not… until she received the call!

Except now her mother entered. Sabine greeted her daughter by giving her a bone-crushing hug.

“I was so worried! When the police called I couldn’t just sit there and wait!”

“Maman. It’s alright. I’m okay. See?” The girl did break away from the hug and smiled.

“I know. But I couldn’t help but worry.”

“Maman… Adrien’s been kidnapped.”

“I know.” Her mother’s expression didn’t reveal any emotions now.

“I… he’s been miserable ever since that wedding mess, and now this.”

“I know.” Again, nothing.

“He’s my friend.”

“Not the love of your life?” Sabine questioned with a bit of amusement in her voice.

“No. He doesn’t need another fangirl. He needs a friend. Someone who can support him. I… I wasn’t a good friend before this…” She didn’t reveal that she wasn’t a great partner either. Chat hid things well, but from time to time his shell cracked. She should’ve seen the signs. She could’ve done something. Or at least do something with Lila. She had connections and Lila deserved a lawsuit or five.

“Oh, sweety. You were a great friend. You are a great friend. I’m happy to see you’re not about to chase after some misguided love, but after friendship.”

“I know I’m only… wait, what?” Marinette.exe stopped working. If the problem keeps repeating itself, please contact customer service or the nearest Kwami.

“When I was fifteen, I dropped out of… school to explore the world on my own. It wasn’t until a few years later that I met your father.” Sabine said in a bit dreamy voice like she was reminiscing. “We had several adventures across Europe before finally settling down in Paris.”

“But… Papa’s a baker.” Marinette protested. “I thought he was always a baker, like his father.”

In response, her mother chuckled. “No. Your father had much more in common with your Nona than with his father. I met him when he was fighting in an underground cage-fighting club.”

“Whoa…” Marinette’s eyes widened. That was a story she never heard before. “So how did you two got together?”

“I will tell you some other time. The point is, I know that even if I took you to Paris with me, you would’ve run away to look for your friend.”

“Maman!” For a moment, the girl wanted to protest. But then she decided that there was no point. “Yes… you’re right. But I can’t just let it happen! If the police find him, he will end up back with his father!”

“I know. And what’ll you do about it?” Her mother had this mysterious smirk on her face.

“I guess… I need to be the one to find him. I will get him situated somewhere safe. Maybe stay with him for a bit. He’s smart. And a quick learner.” He mastered being a superhero faster than I did.

“Good. Then you have my blessing.”

“I can’t just abandon-” Marinette.exe stopped working again. Contacting the customer service might be in order. Technically, Sabine kept hinting about it. Practically, Marinette would miss a clue even if she was holding a gun to its head. “I have your what now?”

“You can go. Save him. Find yourself. And maybe kick some asses while you’re at it.”

“Most parents would be worried sick about their not-yet-adult children running off to an adventure.”

“You wanted to know how I met your father. The answer is I was the first to beat him in that cage.” Sabine’s smirk was replaced with a serious expression. “Of course I will worry, sweety. I’m your mother. But holding you back now will not help you. You’re a strong young woman and to be fair, I’m not sure how we could hold you down. You have steady access to the rooftop and two years of parkour training.”

“What now?”

“Did you honestly think we wouldn’t notice you sneaking off through the balcony?”

“And you didn’t even tell me?”

“It would be hypocritical of us.” Sabine defended. “And if the worse came to happen, I had several… souvenirs from our travel around the world.”

“Thank you, Maman. I promise I will come back; And call you often. Well, maybe not too often.” Marinette already dashed to start packing.

“Of course you will. And don’t get into too much trouble. I would hate to have to go and find you.” Sabine threatened with a bright smile on her face.

“I’ll try, Maman.” The girl was only half-listening now. She couldn’t waste any more time. She learned how to trace the call about one-and-a-half years ago when she was still a bit ‘stalker-ish’.

Sabine watched her daughter with amusement. So many memories returned to her now. Youth mostly well-spent if someone asked her. The ‘mostly’ part came to bite her just that moment as her phone pinged. She quickly checked the message and frowned.

“I’m sorry, my little cupcake, but I need to go check it. An old friend turns out to be in town.”

“I’ll call you later!” Marinette called from where she was furiously working on her laptop.

When Sabine left, the kwamis swarmed her immediately.

“Your mom is so cool!” one of them cooed.

“And she’s one bad-”

“Roaar!” Tikki scolded the tiger kwami.

“What’s the plan, pigtails?”

“Adrien’s call was made from within Gotham City. He’s still here for now. I also managed to track him to Burnley.”

“Didn’t that mercenary you called mention some Lawton?” Trixx offered.

“Yeah. I did try to search him up, but the only one with that name that I managed to find is Zoe Lawton. Wait. There is more!” She beamed up. “An old article in some Mexican newspaper.” She clicked on the link and read it aloud for her co-conspirators “Floyd Lawton, also known as Deadshot, was recently arrested after an assassination of a small group of smugglers. It is yet unknown if it was a hit or was it personal.” The article went on, but there was nothing more of interest.

“So the guy’s a mercenary too? That’s good. He’ll bring Adrien to you.”

“Not so fast. I remember hearing about him. Deadshot is one of the few mercenaries who try to keep some resemblance of a code. He’s also noted to be soft around children.”

“Isn’t Adrien almost an adult though?” Kaalki asked rather uncaring.

“Have you met the guy? He’s a literal ray of sunshine!” Plagg protested.

“So… he won’t deliver him and won’t return him.” Seeing that some Kwamis didn’t understand her logic, she clarified, “I don’t think that if he learns how Gabe treated his son he will be in any hurry to return him.”

“That makes sense.” The little being all nodded in agreement.

“So what’s the alternative?”

“He could adopt him,” Ziggy suggested.

“Please.” Marinette dismissed the idea. “He’s not Bruce Wayne.”

“He could smuggle him out of the country.”

“No. Everyone’s looking for him.” Roaar countered. “He would try to lay low somewhere.”

“Burley is large and full of potential safe houses.” Marinette started to think. “But there is also a large concentration of organized crime. Alone, we would have a hard time, but if we got them to help…”

“Is it wise to involve more criminals into your schemes Marinette?” Tikki asked skeptically.

“Don’t worry, sugarcube. To catch a bird you need wings. To catch a criminal you need crime.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“What’s the worse that could happen? I will go there as Seamstress. I won’t even appear in person. Right, Trixx?”

“You can count on it.” The fox kwami grinned.

“But… but…” Tikki wanted to scream her head off. Why did the previous guardian choose a juvenile criminal for her holder. Marinette used to be such a sweet girl. Where did Tikki go wrong?

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It was dark when an eerie mist filled one of the less-than-legal clubs in Burnley. From among the smoke, a figure entered. She was wearing a godet-type black dress with a side-cut that reached to her belt. The dress was overlayed with a very visible deep-blue corset that pronounced her blue eyes. It had some intricate laces on it. She also wore a puffy-sleeved blazer (also black, but with a dark blue finish) with large and very pronounced cuffs. Around her neck was a white double jabot fixed to a choker with a large black gem surrounded by diamonds. Her long deep-blue hair was let loose and hung over her shoulder. A simple black-and-white domino mask hid her features.

As she marched, one of her legs shifted the fabric to reveal she was wearing dark-blue socks reaching above her knee and black leather boots. A knife was strapped to the right one and several leather strips around her thigh and knee suggested she had more weapons on her.

One of the men whistled.

“Looks like the entertainment arrived, boys!” Several cheered at that shout. At least until the man who dared to say it ended pinned to a wall with a rather large needle holding his jacket in place. It was also uncomfortably close to his jugular.

“I’m not entertainment.” The Seamstress hissed.

“Then you’re not invited.” Several men got up, many were holding now-empty bottled which they turned into impromptu weapons.

“You will help me find what was taken from me.” She demanded.

“Yeah? Or?” One of the men laughed before charging at her.

What followed next was perhaps the strangest carnage Gotham City has seen in years. The Seamstress danced between the attacks with almost unnatural grace and agility while stabbing the attackers in various places with large needles. None of the hits were life-threatening and most would heal within hours. The wounds were meant to incapacitate with minimal long-term damage.

By the time she reached the far end of the bar, almost every man was laid out on the ground groaning in pain or scrambling in fear.

“I am not asking. You will be rewarded for your obedience.” She then disappeared into the back alley. One brave/foolish enough who still had some fight left rushed after her, only to find the place completely empty.

On the rooftop, Marinette let out her breath. She didn’t use any miraculous for that one, but she kept Plagg’s ring on. Chat Noir wasn’t seen in some time, so it would’ve been easier to explain that the ring was stolen by a criminal. She would really need to thank her mother for all the training she forced on her ever since the Akumas started to appear, as well as the lessons during her childhood. Those were all only the most basic grunts tonight, but she got their attention. One of them would run to their boss. There, she could actually do what she planned.

--------

Just like she predicted, some of the less injured guys left the bar in hurry and drove their bikes to another part of the district. They disappeared into a three-story building. The windows were boarded, but some light seeped through on the top floor, so that is where she climbed. Indeed, by hanging on the edge of the window sill, she was able to hear the panicked screams inside.

“...and then she just disappeared! It was like that damn Bat, only much more terrifying. She was so small, and yet there was this… this… aura of power.”

Thank you Chloe for being queen B. Marinette stifled a laugh. Mimicking Chloe was the right choice.

“Probably another one of his useless brats.” The boss dismissed them. Marinette decided that it would make the best impression if she contradicted him right now.

She wondered for a moment how to enter the armored building. She could rip the boards away and enter that way, but she was aiming for ethereal, not brute. In the end, she pulled a pair of glasses and put them over her mask.

“Kaalki. Would you please help me break into headquarters of a criminal organization to scare them into serving me?”

“How many sugar cubes is it worth?”

“Ten. No more, no less.” Marinette had a small window of opportunity.

“You’ve got a deal.”

“Kaalki! Full gallop!” The light enveloped Marinette. When it died down, she was still in her outfit, only now the blue accents were brown instead. The gem on her neck held the symbol of a horse miraculous. “I love magical clothes. So easy to maintain the image.” Marinette muttered before a blue portal opened before her and she entered.

Inside, the five men (two who came to report, the boss, and his two guards) watched as the blue portal opened before them. The mist started to pour through it as well as through the boarded window. A figure calmly stepped inside.

“I didn’t expect the Gotham criminal organizations to be so… cliche.” She commented. Two needles sailed through the air and pinned the guards to the wall. Her horseshoe weapon waited patiently on her back should she need to use it.

“Who… who’re you?”

“Me? Oh. I’m The Seamstress. I had business in Gotham, but a fool dared to double-cross me. I need to find him.”

“Why… W-why shou-should w-we help… help you?” One of the guys from the bar asked.

“Oh. I’m not asking. I’m telling you that you’ll help me.” She informed. “I’m about to make you an offer you shouldn’t refuse.”

The boss was now shaking. Damn city with its damn overpowered supervillains. They think they can simply run things as they want. First Red Hood took out most of the top brass of the underworld and then this? Working on his father’s farm was sounding more and more appealing. Then there was the shouldn’t. The reference to the classic movie was not lost, but she said shouldn’t. Not can’t. Once more he remembered how Red Hood took over. Submit, or die. This was the same. She clearly wouldn’t hesitate. He liked to think he could see those things.

“I’m waiting.” The lady growled. “I’m not used to waiting.” Channeling Chloe is actually fun here.

“Fine. You can have my seat. I’m going back to dad’s farm. Just let me go and you can have them.” The boss stood from his seat and motioned for her.

Marinette.exe is not responding. Do you want to execute the process? Not yet.

She managed to keep enough cool to smile and take the seat, although she didn’t even register what was that.

She would panic later. For now, tracking Adrien. “I need to find where Floyd Lawton, also called Deadshot, is hiding with my… asset.”

“It… I will see to it, Boss… lady.” One of the guys from the bar nodded very fast before rushing out of the room.

“I… will bring you the list of current assets.” One of the guards informed and walked somewhere. They were used to aggressive takeovers. This was their third. Boss change, guards remain. This was honestly the first time the previous boss managed to escape with his life.

Meanwhile, Marinette finally realized what just happened. She really wanted to hit her head on the desk, but she was too afraid to show any signs of weakness. Why did she end up in this mess again?

----------

Sabine Cheng was waiting for her plane back when an airport guard approached her.

“Lady Cheng?” Sabine’s blood froze for a moment, but she refused to show any outward reaction at her past codename. “There is a man who wishes to discuss some… past debts.”

Damn it. And here she thought that bald bastard would forget about her. He had several more suitable people. He knew the risks of angering her.

Then again, she knew not to anger him either.

“Lead the way.” Her face was stone cold as she stood up.

Inside a comfortable private lodge sat a blad man in a suit more expensive than the yearly revenue of her bakery.

“Ah… Lady Cheng. I’m so happy you could’ve joined us.”

Sabine looked around and noticed that there was another man there, standing slightly in the shadows. A man she came to despise just as much as Luthor. Standing there was Gabriel Agreste.

“I can’t return the pleasure, Luthor.” She snarled, not letting her gaze drop from Agreste.

“Figured you’d say that.” The billionaire laughed. “But it doesn’t change that you came.”

“Be quick. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

“About that.” Lex smiled. “I’m afraid you won’t be on that plane. I need you to do something for me.”

“Sadly, my calendar is full for the foreseeable future.” She retorted coldly.

“Then you will clean it. Unless that is, you want me to tell my good friend the president about your little assignment for me twenty years ago. If I recall, your pardon didn’t cover that particular crime.” The man chuckled.

The only upside of this whole situation to Sabine was that Agreste finally realized exactly who she was. Or at least how dangerous she was. The deal she made ensured that Lady Cheng disappeared from everywhere but some people’s memory. To her dismay, Lex didn’t forget. And he still had that damning evidence.

She also knew exactly what was the job.

“I don’t do jobs involving kids, Luthor.” She seethed through gritted teeth. It wouldn’t matter, but she hoped it would at least give him a pause.

“Adrien Agreste was about to be married. I think that can calm your conscience. He was all but adult.” That despicable man dismissed her concern, as she predicted.

“I’m a little rusty. Don’t you have someone younger? Someone who would actually want to do this?” Sabine deadpanned. She kept true to the deal she made for her and her husband’s pardon and didn’t do any… extracurricular work.

“Alas, the fact you’re unwilling is why I need you. You see, the client, whoever they are, picked Agreste Jr. as a target in a… battle royale of sorts. It quickly stopped being about the ludicrous money reward. It’s now about proving who’s the best. And they won’t stop until they deliver him to that mysterious Seamstress.”

“So what do you want? I’m sure you could’ve bought some of them to drop the glory part.” She really didn’t want to do this.

“I offered to pay five times the price, but most of the competent ones want a shot at whatever that job is. A mysterious benefactor with no history, nonexistent in any database in the world, paying a small fortune for a simple job and offering further work? Doesn’t it sound familiar?” Lex reclined in his chair and smiled.

“One job only. I want everything you have on me. And ten times the bounty.” She noted his discomfort. “Don’t give me that look, Luthor. You can afford it. My daughter’s about to start a university.” Sabine turned to Gabriel. “I must thank you for the idea. Homeschooling really helps when one is gifted.”

“I’m sure we can come to an agreement,” Lex grumbled. If he didn’t know the quality of her works, he would’ve laughed at the price. Except he foolishly revealed that he was desperate.

“Oh, I’m sure we can.” Sabine smiled. She was like a cat that just caught a mouse.

#maribat #miraculous #ladybug #miraculous ladybug #mlb #mlb x dc #dc #DC comics #dcu #batman #Hit on the groom

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saphirered · 3 years

Note

Was wondering if I could request a Dorian x Rogue Reader where the reader’s never really taken part in any sort of pageant event before and needs some guidance from the party’s resident performer? Love your writing by the way! Have a great day!

Thank you and I hope you like this one too. Have a nice day! 😘

Everyone’s picking out outfits, talking about the pageant and having fun doing so. Orym and Fy’ra have gotten out of participating in the pageant but you weren’t as lucky. Wether it’s because Opal is very convincing, you’re easily tempted, the prospects of a shiny crown or Dorian’s persuasion, you don’t know. Might just be all of the above but you’re apparently in now and will be participating and find yourself playing the part of dress up doll for Opal who’s put you in a grand total of twenty-seven outfits varying from big voluminous dresses to nice suits, some of which including some impractical but pretty armour.

Awkwardly you leave the dressing room. This dress she’s put you in is so poofy you can’t even lower your arms to your sides as the sheer volume of tule keeps them at an angle. You’re pretty sure you look about as comfortable as you feel. The only good part about this humongous ballgown is there’s loads of places to hide weapons and stuff you could possibly lift from people’s pockets among the yards upon yards of fabric. Opal is fawning over you, pulling at the fabric flouncing it up to adjust the layers. Dorian notices your feelings about this twenty-eighth outfit and steps in to save you from the pageant expert.

“Maybe not this one? It doesn’t really do much for their figure, wouldn’t you agree?” Opal taps her lips at Dorian’s suggestion. The genasi has a point. The majority of your features get lost in the garment and no amount of accessorising can fix that. She scrunches her brow and nods. You let out a breath of relief hoping to be done with this. Not like you mind shopping but dressing up in this many outfits is exhausting and you can’t wait to be done. Why can’t you just pick a random one off the rack and call it a day? Lesson of the day; never go pageant shopping with a pageant girl. You’ll be at this for hours.

“Yeah. Too much volume. Maybe we should go back to something more formfitting. I think I saw a couple of outfits that would work much better.” Opal’s words make your breath hitch and you keep in a groan at the mention of more things to try on as the girl scurries off to find the things she saw and you’re left with Dorian. Turning to him as you finish staring after Opal and praying to the gods these new outfits she’s looking for would just spontaneously combust before they made their way back to you, you grab the genasi by the cloak, both hands clutching on tightly.

“Save me, Dorian. Please have mercy and save me from this hell.” You beg. Dorian presses his lips together tightly as to not let the laughter escape. He’ll have to admit it’s very funny to see you so completely and utterly out of your element but he also feels for you.

“I reckon we have about ten minutes before Opal returns. Only way to stop her is finds something you like and suits you well. Blow her away with whatever you find. As long as you look as uncomfortable as you feel, She’ll keep coming with the outfits.” Dorian’s right nothing will satisfy Opal as much as you feeling as comfortable and pretty as they know you are, regardless of you admitting it or not. The problem is, you don’t even know where to start looking. This shop, it’s all just a needle in a haystack for you.

“You have to help me find something and quickly! I don’t think I can take another hoop skirt or waistcoat. I might just faint.” Dorian clasps your hands over his and releases your grasp on his cloak. He offers you a confident smile that somewhat eases your fears of the intimidating woman on fashion spree. Dorian pulls you along to the racks, using one hand to browse while holding yours tightly clasped in the other giving it a soft squeeze whenever you look over your shoulder and around to find Opal and her growing heap of clothes.

“So we’ve eliminated any big skirts and traditional suits. How do you feel about something fitted and flowy?” Dorian brushes his fingers over the shoulder of a smocked shirt. You stare down at the poofy mess you’re still stuck in like a butterfly in a net.

“Uhhh, as far away from any ballgowns as we can get please. I don’t mind a bit of a cinch.” You say as Dorian picks up something akin to a corset with set in with decorative chainmail pieces. He holds it up to your body, purses his lips and puts it back not the rack. Not really your style. You need something fierce and practical, something that shows off your features just right but won’t be wearing you and will still make you feel comfortable in your own skin.

Then he spots it. This will look perfect on you. A dark navy blue fitted top with a deep v-neck nearly down to the bellybutton, and fitted sleeves. The matching leather pants also are fitted and somewhat resemble what you normally wear, though these are much less weathered. Over this all goes a very long trained chiffon robe rhinestoned like the night’s sky held together by an ornate silver clasp at the waist. When Dorian pulls it from the rack and holds it up to you you don’t know wether to fear or feel relieved at the look he gives you. Before you know it you’re being rushed back to the dressing room. Dorian helps you out of the monstrosity of the gown you’re in and leaves you to change into the new outfit as he distracts Opal long enough before she can return with the pile she’s gathered.

You never doubted Dorian to have style but this takes it to a whole new level. This is perfect. It fits in all the right places and whatever he said about it showing when you feel uncomfortable in a garment, it’s true as when you see yourself in the mirror that fully disappears and instead you feel confident. It may not have any protective properties like your usual armour does but it sure feels like you could take on the world right now. You’re badass, beautiful and confident.

When you step out of the dressing room you can already see Dorian mid argument with Opal who wanted to barge in, arms filled with clothes of all kind and the shop assistant being with whatever she couldn’t carry, huffing and puffing under the weight of it all. Their attention turns to you. Dorian’s attention turns to you and he doesn’t know how but you take his breath away. You look absolutely stunning. You look like a deity from the stars themselves, the energy you radiate does you justice and if he ever even had an ounce of doubt (he never did) it only shows your natural beauty more than ever.

“Oh. My. Gods.” Opal exclaims as she drops all the fabric in her arms rushing over to you, inspecting your new outfit, gushing about how it fits and how you should style your hair, maybe do some makeup to match the ‘star-effect’ of the robe for cohesion. You can’t even keep up anymore but let her ramble on. She tells the assistant you’d found your outfit and the assistant exasperatedly begins picking up the pile she dropped to put back on the racks. No more fittings for you. Opal’s satisfied and you’re safe. You offer Dorian a look of gratitude and he winks back, not daring to interrupt the fashion tyrant dressed in pink.

——————

Backstage before your turns in the pageant you get a moment alone with Dorian as the two of you watch the other candidates. You’re panicking as Dorian pulls up your hair, adding a comb to keep it in place and add some flare. You have no idea where he got it nor dare you ask right now, just thankful he’s been doing what he can to ease your nerves. This is not your thing. Prancing around like some trick pony is not your thing. You stick to the shadows, at most mingle with society using honeyed words to get what you need or want but this is a whole new world and you feel as if your skills are useless in this environment.

“You’re going to be okay. All you have to do is answer the question. It doesn’t take much more than a charming answer to persuade the judges. No different than persuading a shopkeeper to give you a better deal.” Dorian adjusts the comb before removing his hands and taking a step back to inspect his work. He taps your shoulder and has you turn around. It doesn't take a genius to see you’re nervous and the jitters are clear through your bouncing leg as you sit staring up at him, panic in your eyes and breathing hitching high in your chest visible through your partially exposed collarbones.

“Yeah but getting a better price on potions doesn’t have a crowd a few hundred large to witness it. What if I say something wrong? What if they don’t like me?” Dorian kneels in front of you, stroking your cheek and hand on your shoulder.

“Deep breath.” You do as you feel his thumb run across your cheek, the gesture alone calms your nerves a little bit and pulls you back to this world. You nod to signal you’re good.

“This is no different that the real world. If you say something wrong, own it. Make them think it’s intentional. There’s very few things you could say that you couldn’t own or turn into something funny.” Dorian assures you. You place a hand over his on your cheek and press a kiss to his wrist as a thank you as he continues.

“As for them not liking you, I don’t see how the couldn’t instantly be mesmerised. You are gorgeous, intelligent, resourceful. If they don’t eat you up and admire you for who you are they don’t deserve you.” The next candidate is called to the stage and both of you know you’ll be up soon. You’re glad Dorian’s pep talk is working and you can feel the affection from him. If only he knew how much it means to you to have him here. Then again, you’ve told him plenty of times how amazing he is.

“Why are they walking all weirdly getting on stage?” You raise an eyebrow as the next candidate places one foot directly in front of the other, walking on their tiptoes more than their full feet.

“Watch the hips.” You do as Dorian says and you can see their hips swaying as they walk adding just a little bit more flare to that strut. You have to say, it kinda looks good. Maybe you should give it a try?

“Could you, I don’t know teach me? I know how to sway hips but this, this goes beyond me.” You gesture to the candidate stopping at Ruby to answer the question. Dorian looks a little taken aback but rises to his feet pulling you with him. He never thought he’d ever be teaching anyone how to walk the walk and is pretty sure he’ll get some weird looks from the others but he doesn’t really care if it makes you happy and more confident about this whole pageant. He puts his hands on your hips as you stand facing each other but keeps a bit of a distance between he two of you so you can still take the steps as you would on your own.

“Okay, so first things first. You want to keep your steps on the same line. See it like walking on a narrow ledge or a tightrope. You want to stick to balancing on your toes and keep a bounce in your knees. Don’t lock them too much. Light on your feet.” Dorian guides you forward as he steps backwards with you guiding you along, tapping whatever hip is swaying next. Your movement is a bit rigid at first but before you know it you’re doing it and Dorian steps away to let you strut without his help. You’re a natural. He gives pointers as you turn but you have the walk down in no time.

Then your name is called. The panic returns for a second but is overshadowed by your newfound confidence. You look the part, you got the act down so act the part too. Confidently you strut down to Dorian, give him a seductive look as you stroke his cheek following his jawline. He’s gotta say, he likes this look on you but can see the glee break through your seduction.

“What would I have done without my handsome hero in blue?” You smile and give him a kiss.

“Still be stuck in that dressing room with Opal probably? You look stunning. Go show them exactly what you’re made of.” Dorian encourages you, a hue of purple spreading lightly across his cheeks as he watches for any witnesses to your moment. Holding on to his cheek as long as you can stepping backwards you offer him one last wink and blowing him a kiss before you turn and strut onto the stage ready to play. Who knew pageants could be fun after all.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #exu x reader #exandria unlimited x reader #dorian x reader #dorian storm x reader #critical role #critrole #exu #exandria unlimited

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hanniiesuckle17 · 4 years

Text

Love > Shame

A/n: im hoping i got the request right! Hope you all enjoy! (this is not thoroughly edited srryyyyy) also like frick ^^this video his vlog is the most boyfriend thing ever

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: cussing, partial nudity

Requested by: @ann0325441904

Tag List: @distrikt9 @mini-meanhoe @poeticallyspaghetti @hanstagrams @desertofdessert @yangomangos @hoes4hoseok

Summary: Sometimes timing isn’t the best. With tensions high at work for Jisung and your time of the month really kicking you in the ass, a fight breaks out between you and your boyfriend leaving you completely alone in a country far away from your old family and friends. Misunderstood problems turn to jealous and catty fights. Is there any way the two of you can come back together?

Genre: romance, angst, fluff

◈

Pain shot through my abdomen. It was like someone was sticking eight thousand needles into my stomach repeatedly for the sole purpose of fucking with me. Fuck womanhood. The pain meds I took earlier were doing nothing to help. This was putting me in a terrible mood.

The sound of shower running floated from behind the closed door of the adjoining bathroom. My longtime boyfriend, Jisung, lay just beyond it. It was easily one o’clock in the morning, but I always waited up for Jisung to return home from practice. He had also come home in a rather sour mood.

Deciding that the leggings I was wearing were far too constricting to sleep in with cramps, I got up and waddled my way over to our big closet. Jisung and I both had enough clothes each to fill an entire apartment so when we were apartment hunting, a big closet was a must.

I threw the pants in the hamper and grabbed one of Jisung’s t-shirts from his side of the closet. The soft black fabric fell around my thighs. Why Jisung bought shirts four times than his actual size was still a mystery to me. The pressure on my stomach lessened but still remained.

The door opened to reveal a shirtless Jisung emerging from the bathroom. A pair of gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, the fabric making a swishing sound as he walked. It was clear he was still upset. Jisung roughly towel dried his hair, rubbing the cloth over his dark locks. “You still upset, babe?” I asked looking over at him. It took all my willpower not to snap out the words. He shook his head and looked over at me with a pointed glance. “You wanna talk about it?”

Again, Jisung shook his head. “Ji, it’s not healthy to keep this bottled up. I think you might feel better if you would talk about it.” An aggravated sigh left his lips and he laid back on the bed.

“Y/n. I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it.”

It was hard to watch Jisung so upset. I walked over and laid next to him, trying to ignore the agonizing pain. My fingers traced random patterns against his stomach. The action usually calmed him down. However, he simply turned his head away from me tossing the towel somewhere else in the room. “Jisung, its not good to go to bed angry-”

“Babe, just leave me alone and stop being such a clingy bitch.”

I froze, hand hovering over his stomach. Silence hung heavy in the air. It seemed Jisung had no intention of taking back what he said. He didn’t even seem like he regretted it. “Excuse me?” I said sitting up in disbelief.

I felt like screaming. Crying. Throwing everything in this room at Jisung’s little pimple head until it popped. “What?” He said rolling his eyes. Wet black hair hung in front of his vision.

“Did you just....”

“Just get over it. I want to go to bed.”

“Get...over it?” I scoffed getting up from the bed.

“Yes. You’re overreacting. Just get over it.” I shook my head in disbelief. This was not the Jisung that I knew. This was not the Jisung I was in love with. The boy who ran in the rain with me just to capture the perfect kiss on our first date. The boy who sent me love notes every day for two months until I agreed to go out with him. The one who stayed with me when my aunt died and I was too heartbroken to leave the bedroom since I couldn’t fly home for the funeral. The one who never went to sleep until he told me how much he loved me whether I was awake to hear it or not.

“Look I get you’ve had a shitty day. But I’m not just someone you can push around Jisung. You know that.”

He sat up, clearly annoyed. “I’m not pushing you around!”

“You called me a bitch!”

“Well, you’re kind of acting like one!”

“Well, you’re kind of acting like an asshole.” Jisung rolled his eyes, pushing himself off the bed. Anger started to bubble up in my chest. “What the fuck, Ji?”

“Look- I don’t owe you anything okay! All I wanted to do was come home and get to sleep. I don’t want to deal with all your nagging.”

“Jisung I care about you. I love you! I’m just trying to help.”

Nothing seemed to make it better. Eventually, I stopped trying to be the good guy. I stopped trying to keep my voice quiet. If he was going to yell at me, then I would yell back. He couldn’t just walk all over me. My emotions broke loose along with the rest of hell.

“I WORK ALL DAY! ALL YOU DO IS SIT ON YOUR ASS AT HOME ON YOUR COMPUTER. I’M TRYING TO PROVIDE FOR THE TWO OF US Y/N!”

“SIT ON MY ASS? I’M TRYING TO GRADUATE JISUNG!”

“Listen I can’t deal with you anymore.” He said turning his back on me and looking out the window. The muscles in his back were tight and tense. “Just fuck off, Y/n.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. The pain in my stomach was just making me even angrier. “That’s it. Get out.” Jisung turned around in shock. He started stuttering and trying to form a coherent sentence. “You heard what I said. Out.” My finger pointed to the door furthering my stance on the situation.

“Y/n-”

“Get out, Jisung! Go sleep at the dorms.”

He started gathering his things, tugging on a random hoodie and slipping on some socks from the dresser. “This is is exactly what I was talking about.” He mumbled. Jisung stood up, clearly pissed off. He started towards the bedroom door but stopped and turned back until he was standing right in front of me. His wet hair was covered by a beanie, pushing it all in front of his eyes. “You know what, Y/n? Call me when you decide to stop being such a heartless bitch.”

My hand flew across his cheek before I could even think. What surprised me...what hurt me....was that I didn’t regret it. Jisung stood in front of me, shocked, his eyes looked hurt. His doe eyes which I loved so much always told me what he was thinking. But, as they stared back at me, I didn’t recognize them.

“I hate you...”

He sighed seeing a tear leak onto my cheek. His long fingers wrapped around my wrist, but I pulled away before he could get to close. His cheek was starting to turn red from when I hit him. “No...you don’t.” I looked away not wanting him to see me cry. Of course, he knew I was lying. There was nothing he didn’t know about me.

“I should....I should hate you...” He made no effort to reach out to me again. In all honesty, I didn’t know if I wanted him to right now. I wanted to push him away, but I also want him to hold me until everything was okay again. “Just go.”

After a moment, he nodded and I followed him to the front door. He picked up his keys and walked out into the hall, leaving me standing in the doorway. He turned back to me, like he was going to say something else, but stopped when he looked into my eyes.

“Don’t call me,” I said, the last tear falling down my cheek as I shut the door.

◈

Two weeks had passed. It looked like Jisung and I were on a break. Whether it was temporary or for good I didn’t know. My hand brushed over Jisung’s side of the bed. The sheets were cold. They were never cold. Sunlight streamed in through the large glass window in our bedroom. Well...it wasn’t really ‘ours’ anymore. I sat up waiting for arms to pull me back down under the covers. Arms that never reached out.

Mornings like these were usually spent in Jisung’s arms staring out at the skyline trying to convince him that he did indeed have to go to work. Lazy kisses, sleepy whispers even though no one else was in the room but us. There were no calls. No texts. Not even a fucking post on Instagram. Nothing.

All my friends were back home. I was alone in Seoul. No one but Jisung. There was a knock at the front door. Dragging myself out of the queen size bed, my feet trudged over the wood floor in the apartment. I looked through the peephole only to find a huge stuffed bear looking back at me.

“The fuck...” I mumbled. My fingers switched open the locks and opened the door. The teddy bear moved aside to reveal a face that made me burst into tears. “DANNY!” I screamed wrapping my arms around him.

Daniel had been my friend practically since birth. We grew up next door to each other. Our parents even bathed us together. Daniel hugged me tight spinning me around in the hallway. It felt so good to see him again.

I would not have made it through high school in my home country if Danny hadn’t been with me. I had missed him so much. As most old friends did, we had dated for about six months in senior year but decided we were better off as we were before. Daniel was a sight for sore eyes.

“How are you here?” I asked cupping his face.

He smiled down at me. Even though he hadn’t had a growth spurt since the ninth grade it seemed he had sprouted another five inches. “I’ve been planning to surprise you! With finals coming up I knew you’d be busy, so I came down so we could party beforehand.” He ruffled my hair and moved past me into the apartment. “So, where is he? I want to meet the man officially!”

Daniel looked around the quiet apartment before turning back to me expectantly. Jisung. He was looking for Jisung. Just the thought of him made me sad. Danny’s smile fell seeing my expression. “Y/n, what’s wrong?” He brought me further into the apartment and closed the door. “Did I say something?”

I shook my head and ran a hand through my hair. “Do you want some tea?” Looking for anything to distract me I moved to the kitchen and put a kettle on the stove. Before I could turn the switch, a hand came over mine.

“Y/n, did something happen with you and Jisung?”

He sighed watching me nod. The silence only lasted a moment before Daniel pulled me into another warm hug. The feeling of his arms around me was comforting, but not fulfilling. There was something missing about the way he hugged me.

My hair. Every time Jisung hugged me, one of his hands would always hold my head to his chest. His fingers would stroke my hair, lingering at the base of my neck. It was a small thing. A very Jisung thing. But, a small thing I missed none the less. I felt empty without his fingers threading through my hair.

“You know what we should do?” I hummed in response as he pulled away, keeping his hands on my shoulders. “Let’s go drinking!” Daniel was always dragging me on wild adventures. He could never sit still. That’s probably why we never worked out. While I loved a good adventure, sometimes I wanted to just sit with a good book, or just lie in bed listening to the rain.

“Fine. But, you’re paying.” He cheered and rushed off to go change and I found myself doing the same. Hopefully, I could get Jisung off of my mind.

◈

My eyes looked across the room from over the rim of a martini glass. The heels of my shoes lay firmly hooked over the bottom of the bar stool. “What happened anyway?” Daniel said over the thumping music. He sat next to me at the bar of the nightclub we were in, taking a swig from an overpriced bottle of beer.

A sigh floated past my lips. My fingers traced the base of the elegant glass. “We got into a stupid fight. I regret almost everything. If I wasn’t on my fucking period I probably wouldn’t have acted so rashly. It wasn’t all my fault though. He’s the one who called me a ‘heartless bitch’.” Daniel spit out the beer he was currently drinking.

“He what?!”

“He was just angry.”

“That’s no excuse.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “If it helps I did slap him.” Daniel let loose a little smile and took another sip from his drink. “He had a really bad day. He wouldn’t talk to me. I was just trying to help.” I watched Daniel’s brows furrow. The base of his beer bottle was rolling around the bar top as he thought.

“Do you remember in sophomore year, I had just gotten into a massive fight with my parent about school and I wouldn’t tell you anything about it.”

“Yeah. It pissed me off. You clearly needed to vent. You ended up punching Marty Finch in anger the next day.”

Daniel laughed before turning towards me again, eyes serious. “Well, I was too ashamed to talk to you about it. Then, I mean. You were always much better than me in school. I didn’t want you to think less of me because I was having so much trouble with something so simple.” I stared into the clear liquid in my glass. “What I’m saying is...he may have felt like you would have seen him as less of a man if he told you how he was feeling at the time.”

Daniel reached over and took my hand in his, laying it on the bartop. “He still didn’t have to call me a bitch though,” I said with a sad smile on my lips.

“Yeah, no. That was a fucking asshole move.” My friend glanced down at my now empty drink. “Another gin martini, dry.” He said to the bartender, who removed my empty glass. Daniel scanned my face. It was hard to hide the depressing way I was feeling. “You really miss him don’t you?”

I nodded, looking away from him and out into the club. “I really do. Danny, I miss him so fucking mu-” I froze. I must be imagining things. My eyes must be lying to me because there was no way I was looking at Jisung sitting on the other side of the club. His arm was draped around a girl with dyed hair. Her hand was squeezing his thigh as he whispered something in his ear. His eyes met mine.

There was a flash of something. Sadness? Guilt? Longing? But, it disappeared before I could question it. Daniel followed my gaze, tapping his finger against the back of my hand. “What’s up? Who is that?” Anger started to boil in the pit of my stomach. Maybe not anger. Anger wasn’t a good word. It hurt more than it made me angry. Jealousy. Jealousy is what was eating away at my insides as his hand played with her hair.

Danny looked over at the man who used to be mine with a curious gaze. “Jisung,” I whispered, turning back and downing the new martini in one gulp. The alcohol burned the back of my throat distracting me from the stabbing pain in my heart.

Daniel started to get up, fury in his eyes burning like white hot flames. My hand stopped him from doing something he would later probably not regret at all. “Y/n- are you kidding right now? I’m gonna kill him!”

“Danny, stop. Let’s just go.”

I took his hand in mine and dragged him away from the bar. The air around me felt heavy. Like I was up on a mountain. Pushing away the pain in my chest I dragged my friend away from the club, not feeling the pair of doe eyes on my back.

◈

The drone of the television played through the apartment. It was raining outside. It had been raining since the night of the club about four days ago. Daniel sat on my couch, my legs across his lap. A half empty bottle of wine sat on the coffee table and a fully drained one lay next to it. Much alcohol had been consumed in the past few days between the two of us. Daniel; to make me feel better. Me; to forget about the hurt I felt in my chest.

A light buzz was hovering in my brain as I took another sip from my wine glass. “I know that now is probably not the time,” Daniel said, changing topics. “But, I had a question to ask you about Marin.”

Marin was Daniel’s girlfriend. She was quite possibly the sweetest person I had ever met. Daniel was lucky to have her. “Oh no. What did you do? You didn’t run here to escape from your fuck up did you? Danny, she’ll kill me! I like being alive!” He laughed patting my leg a few times.

“No. Don’t worry. I wanted your advice.”

“Hit me with it, baby,” I said drinking the rest of my glass dry.

Daniel set the glass on the table, turning to me. “Is two and a half years too soon?” I pouted my lips and looked out the window. The view was still immaculate without Jisung next to me. It just felt...lonely even with Danny here.

“Too soon for what?”

He sighed, that familiar cheeky grin popping onto his cheeks. “I want to ask Marin to marry me.”

“GET OUT OF TOWN!” I screamed. He laughed when I started squealing. My hands slapped at his shoulder. My little Danny was going to get married.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I came to Seoul to ask for your advice. And also to ask if you’ll be my ‘best man’ of sorts.”

“Are you kidding? Of course, I will!” I jumped up from the couch and poured us both more wine. “Have you asked her dad?” He nodded taking a sip of the sweet alcohol.

“So you think I should do it?”

“Fuck yeah, I think you should do it!” I stared at Daniel with a smile on my face. I could remember when he had gotten his long-legged ass stuck in a baby swing at the park for three hours before we had to find a pair of bolt cutters and run off with the swing. “I cannot believe you are getting married! My little Danny!” I said leaning over and wrapping my arms around his neck, carefully making sure not to spill my wine.

The sound of the front door opening had me pulling away from my friend. My eyes widened as Jisung stepped through the door, keys in hand. His stare moved from me to Daniel then zeroed in on my hand still on his neck.

“Jisung-” I shot up on my feet setting the wine on the table.

He scoffed closing the door, shoving the keys in his back pocket. “Don’t let me interrupt your date. I just came to get some things.” Jisung’s voice sounded like music to my ears despite its cold tone. He wore a pair of old ripped pair of black jeans I hadn’t seen since we started dating and a baggy white shirt. His usual noir beanie covering his dark hair.

Daniel awkwardly tapped on his wine glass and watched as Jisung traveled into the bedroom. He looked and me before nudging his head towards the door. I mouthed a few choice words to him which resulted in a silent argument.

“One of us is going to go in there, and if I do he’s walking out with a black eye and some missing teeth.”

“Oh please. You know he could kick your ass with his hands tied behind his back,” I whispered.

“Why can’t you date less athletic people? I’d like to be able to defend your honor.” He started pushing me towards the bedroom with his foot. He groaned when I resisted. “Y/n, it’s obvious you're miserable without him and he doesn’t look too happy either.”

Taking a long deep breath, I turned towards the open doorway. My whole body went numb as I took the short steps into the room. Jisung stood at our closet, a bag open on the bed. His head turned hearing the door close behind me.

“Don’t worry. I’m just getting some clothes. I didn’t think you’d be here.” He tossed a hoodie into the bag, not meeting my eyes. I watched him pack for a moment. He clearly felt uncomfortable under my stare. “I’m going to be out of your hair soon. You don’t have to watch me like a hawk.”

“Don’t leave,”

His movements stopped, his back away from me towards the closet. An almost perfect replication of the night he left. His fingers twitched as if he was debating putting back the shirt in his hands.

“I’m a little tipsy, but I’m sober enough to know that if you walk out that door....I’m going to lose you forever.”

My eyes searched for any sign for me to continue, but his face stayed hidden from me. Jisung dropped his head but stayed silent. I watched his fingers tighten over the fabric in his hand.

My hand reached out, afraid to touch him, but longing to feel him again. His head turned feeling the brush of my palm on his arm. “Jisung,” He sighed hearing his name. “Please don’t leave.”

Jisung turned around, looking down at me. “I saw you.” He whispered. I saw tears pricking at the edge of his eyes. “I saw you. At the club. You were with the guy in there. I saw you walk in together.” He searched my eyes for something I did not know.

“So did I; I saw the girl.” He sighed, head falling into his hands. “Did you-...God I can’t even say it.” He winced when I tried to laugh through the awkwardness. “If you did-...we were technically on a break so... I have no right to be mad at you.”

“Even if I did, I would feel terrible if you weren’t.”

Jisung looked at me with sincerity. “You didn’t sleep with her?” He shook his head, staring down at me. Just one look into his big doe eyes told me he was telling the truth.

“She kissed me after you left, but I stopped her.” I couldn’t help the smile slipping onto my face. Jisung nodded towards the door before speaking again. “Is that your new boyfriend?”

“Danny? Hell no. He’s my best friend from back home. He came to visit.”

“Oh, thank God,” Jisung said in one breath. His hands reached for my cheeks smashing his lips against mine. My fingers gripped the fabric of his shirt tugging him closer to me. Jisung kissed me as if he was afraid I would disappear the moment he let go of me. His lips danced against mine, desperate to be with me again. I pulled away resting my forehead against his.

“Well...I mean technically...we dated in senior year, but that was a long time ago.”

He nodded, fingers threading through my hair as his lips returned to mine. I was just as hungry for him as he was for me. He smiled feeling me push him backward, without breaking our kiss. He laughed quietly when I moved him into the open closet instead of a wall. Jisung straightened himself up before taking control and pinning me up against the doorframe.

“Wait,” He said breaking the kiss, smiling as I chased after his lips. “Didn’t you say you lost your virginity your senior year.” He asked looking into my eyes, brows furrowed.

“Umm...shhhh. This is about us, yeah?”

Before he could say anything else about Daniel, I kissed him again tugging off his beanie and running my fingers through his soft locks. He broke away and nuzzled his face in my neck, arms wrapped tightly around my waist. “I’m so sorry, baby. I was a total ass. I should never have said those things.”

“No, I’m sorry. I regret everything that happened. My emotions were all wack because of my period.”

“Well...I did deserve that slap.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Hey!” He laughed, letting me know he wasn’t really offended. My thumb brushed over his cheek as I looked up into his eyes. “Y/n, I’m so sorry. I was too ashamed about what had happened that day to talk about it and I took it out on you. Can you forgive me?”

Leaning up, I kissed him gently savoring every moment. “Jisung, I love you. You never have to be ashamed to tell me anything. I love you unconditionally. Even when you leave coffee mugs all over the house. Even when you forget to pick up groceries when I ask you eight times in an hour.” He laughed resting his forehead against mine. “My love for you is greater than any mistake you could make or problem you have.”

“You are so cheesy.”

“You love it.”

“I love you,”

Jisung tilted his head, leaning down for another kiss. This one was slower, more careful. A knock on the door pulled us apart. Danny stood in the entryway, drinking from his wine glass. “So I’m assuming you will need a plus one on the wedding invite?” He said with a smile.

“Jisung?” He closed his eyes and smiled hearing his name from my lips. “Would you go to a wedding with me?” He nodded, kissing me on the cheek.

“Would love to, baby.”

Daniel walked over and reached over to shake Jisung’s hand. “Nice to finally meet you,” He said with his goofy, lopsided grin. Jisung warily looked him up and down but smiled and shook his hand. “You want to be a groomsman?”

“Depends. Did you fuck the love of my life when you were eighteen?”

“JISUNG!”

“WHAT?”

◈

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upsteadhq · 3 years

Text

attempts

*same warning for the last two parts. this is whump and contains whumpy things, angst and blood*

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Part Three

The more time went on, the more tired Jay could feel himself getting. The only thing keeping him awake was the previously fired gunshot still ringing in his head. He could still hear the echo of the bullet of leaving the chamber, of the body dropping to the ground and the ting that came after as the casing dropped on to the concrete.

It kept playing in his head as if it had just happened.

He was just praying the unconsciousness would take him under it’s wrath, maybe for good. He couldn’t go on without Hailey, there was no point.

In his delirious state the realization of the fact he couldn’t hear the shell casing hit the floor when the actual bullet rang out didn’t hit him until moments later. The first bullet had shot on the opposite side of the building, the other ones were getting closer. He swore they were getting closer.

But then all went quiet. No gunshots. No whispers. No footsteps. No, no, no. It was silent.

Jay tries moving, slowly starting to turn on to his shoulder so he could investigate the sudden silence but the stab coming from his abdomen stopped him, causing a pained groan to rise up the back of his throat and expel into the air. He allowed gravity to work and it took him on to his back and that’s when he assessed the damage done by the offender, seeing the large stain growing bigger by the second, now being able to feel the blood pooling out of the hole left by the bar.

He then catches the sound of footsteps coming toward the door again, which was now slightly pulled-to, and he braces himself for the next beat down, for the next set of punches and kicks.

He doesn’t even bother to open his eyes when he hears a voice calling his name, a familiar voice he knew in the back of his head.

“Jay? Jay?” The voice drew closer and then the person behind the voice calls over their shoulder. “Sarge! He’s in here!”

The sudden weight of hands against his abdomen brings another ached cough into the outside world, getting the voice’s attention again.

“Hey, Jay, look at me, you’re okay, we got you,” they say frantically and then in the corner of his eye Jay can see another figure appear in the doorway, this person looking down to him. The first voice then looks to the second. “We need another ambo here like five minutes ago, he’s dumping blood.”

The second one disappears out of the door again, and Jay could hear the gruff voice fading away, leaving him alone with the first.

Jay finds his own voice, speaking it through coughs. He stumbles the first few times, unable to get the full word to leave his mouth and the person hovering over him pushing down on his stomach shakes their head, telling him to save his energy. But he kept going, one thing on his mind and he needed an answer. “H- Hailey?”

The voice nods. “She’s fine, a little beaten up but she’s fine.”

There’s a momentary feeling of relief that comes over him as he knows Hailey is okay, enough to wash away all those anxious thoughts that had been keeping him awake. Now he knew she was okay he could fall asleep.

His eyes started dropping before cold hands slapped the side of his face gently. “No, Jay, you gotta stay awake, just stay awake for me.” The voice says, and Jay swears he recognizes it, but he can’t see the face of the person behind it. He couldn’t focus on figuring it out, all he wanted was to sleep.

Another tap to the side of his face. “Jay, please, just stay with me, you have to.”

But Jay could just feel his eyelids get heavier, the exhaustion hitting him over and over. He needed the nap.

He had been busy all day, no wonder he was tired. Surely this person should understand that, surely they should know he needs a rest, and that they should just let him have it.

Jay was getting more drowsy, everything fading away from around him quickly. The last thing he hears is the voice shouting his name, and it’s almost enough to pull him back into the dark, cold concrete hell-hole but it isn’t enough, and everything goes quiet, cutting to black.

xxx

When Jay finally opened his eyes again it was to the sound of a rhythmic beating echoing throughout the room. He was blinded by the bright overhead lights that filled the room, a huge contrast to the blackness he had seen for god knows how long and to the dim lighting he had been in for hours before that.

He rolls his head across the pillow, an ache started to throb through his head as he rubbed a newly-healing scar against the fabric, but the dull pain was nothing compared to what he had been feeling earlier that day, and he takes it the needle stuck into the back of his hand had something to do with that.

A voice from inside the room makes him move his head back to where it had been before, back in the direction of the origin of the noise. “Jay?” They called his name again.

Through squinted eyes he makes out the figure of the familiar red-head sitting at his bedside and Jay let’s out a grumble.

“Why’d they send in you? I would have preferred anyone but you.” Jay’s dry voice mumbles into the room, making his older brother chuckle.

“It’s nice to see you too,” Will remarks, leaning forward in the chair so he got closer to the bed. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

Jay brings a small upturn to his lips, the numb pulling on his cheek making anything more than that sore. “You were worried about me.” He says in an amused way.

Will would have reached forward and smacked Jay for that one, for the playful hint in his voice, but after the day he had had, Will decides it’s best to just leave it alone. “Of course I was worried about you, dumbass, you’re my baby brother,” he says, causing Jay to roll his eyes. “And I will always be worried about you,” he adds before a smile comes up on his own face. “You are aware of the fact you’re not a cat, right? You do know you don’t have nine lives, so stop acting like it, you might not be so lucky next time.”

Jay shrugs. “I can be a cat.”

Will’s eyebrows furrow before he looks up, seeing the IV still dripping into his brother’s hand. “That’s the pain meds talking, why don’t you get some more rest?”

His younger brother then shakes his head. “Where’s Hailey?” Jay questions.

The red-head isn’t exactly surprised by Jay’s question, in fact he was quite expecting it. Over the past couple of months Will had noticed the drastic change in Jay. He was happier now than he was just a few months ago. Will had also picked up on the more obvious flirting between Jay and Hailey that happened at Molly’s after they had had one too many drinks. That and the constant absence from the apartment, Jay spending nights somewhere and coming back first thing in the morning to change before work. But as not to overstep into his brother’s personal life he pushed it off, nodding along with Jay when he used the “stayed late at the district doing paperwork and doesn’t have clothes in his locker” or “crashed at Adam’s after watching the game” card for the third time that week.

“She’s downstairs.” He replies, sparking another question from Jay immediately.

“Is she okay?”

Will nods. “Scrapes and a couple bruised ribs but nothing a bit of glue and time can’t fix.”

Jay tries to sit up, only to feel a sharp searing pain in his abdomen. Will jumps from the seat and pushes him back down on the bed fully, shaking his head quickly.

“You’ll pop the stitches, don’t move. You need to rest.”

Jay’s breathless now, the stinging taking his wind away and it was slowly coming back. “What stitches?”

Will points to the covered torso. “Those stitches. Just be careful.”

The vague memory of the attack from the offender then rushes back to Jay, telling him why he needed the stitches, the memory of one of the jagged ends of the bar cutting through his abdomen coming back to him.

He sighs, allowing himself to sink back into the uncomfortable pillow, starting to feel his eyes close again as the pain meds do their job. “I have to see Hailey.” He mumbles quietly.

Will taps Jay’s shoulder before sitting back down in the chair, noticing the tiredness coming over his brother again. “Once you’ve had a bit more rest,” he says, gaining an argumentative grunt from Jay in return. “We’ll get her up here for when you wake up again.”

There’s another complaining noise that comes from Jay as he tries to fight off the drowsiness but he doesn’t get the chance to voice his dissatisfaction over that before he’s out.

xxx

When he comes to again he’s still half-out if it, the pain meds still coursing through him, making everything hazy. He groggily looks around the recovery room he was still inside and sighs. All he wanted was his own bed at home, not the uncomfortable hospital bed with a needle stuck into the back of his hand. Although he was grateful for what the needle was doing to him, taking away most of the pain from earlier, so he guesses it can stay.

As his eyes travel around the room he spots a figure sat in the chair again and he doesn’t think too much of it until he realizes it wasn’t the figure that had been sat there what felt like moments before. He spots the loose blonde locks draped over her shoulders then notices the red cuts plastered up with steri-strips and bruises that littered her face. His heart sinks at the thought of her having to go through what he did, with the games and attacks, at the sight of what the offenders did to her too.

“Hey you.” She says through the small smile.

Jay was still half-asleep but he tries to mimic her expression, however he definitely doesn’t do it properly. “Hey.”

She stares to him for a moment before tilting her head to one side. “You look great.”

“I’ve looked better.” He says through a chuckle which he immediately regrets by the stiffness felt in his ribs.

“Actually I don’t know, I’ve kinda got used to you with all the cuts and scrapes. I think it suits you.”

Jay slowly shakes his head. “Well after these heal maybe I’ll get another set.”

Hailey let’s out a scoff, swiftly shutting down the idea. “Uh-uh.” She tuts.

They fall into a silence as Jay looks around the hospital room again. He puts his eyes on the pole sat beside his head, the one where the IV bag was hanging.

“Are you running low?” Hailey asks and he catches her slowly moving on the chair in the corner of his eye.

He looks back to her. “No, I don’t think so,” Jay replies, watching her sit herself back into the chair with a small grimace and his heart aches again. “You okay?”

Hailey nods, using her arms to sit herself up straight against the back of the chair instead, ditching the sliding back plan. “I should be asking you that question.”

Jay goes quiet again, watching her and he doesn’t notice how his face drops sadly but Hailey does, furrowing her eyebrows toward him.

“Jay, what’s wrong?” She asks and then Jay realizes the tears that had started stinging in his eyes.

He brings one of his hands up, the one that didn’t have the IV stuck into the dorsal side, and wiped his eyes, clearing his throat as he did and shaking her question off.

The more he sees her sitting there the more he thinks back to when he was lying on the cold concrete floor of the warehouse, that gunshot going off and ringing through his ears and that momentary dread he felt sit on his chest when he thought it was Hailey that had been hit.

Despite having just sat back, Hailey scoots forward again and leans toward the bed, grabbing hold of his free hand, lacing her fingers with his and the rule about keeping it professional at work - or anywhere else where one of their colleagues could walk in unannounced - flies out the window. “Jay, talk to me.”

His voice was dry and cracked and the multiple attempts to restore it back to normal doesn't work. “I don’t know, it’s stupid,” he sighs. “I thought it was you. When that gunshot went off, I thought it was you and I had just been stabbed but that didn’t bother me. All I could think about was how I didn’t want to carry on without you because I’m in love with you, Hailey, I have been for a long time and I don’t know what I would do without you,” he spills, not realizing what he had said until it was too late. He sees her reaction and his words play over in his head. They had only been dating a few months and he curses at himself for letting it blurt this early. “I didn’t actually want to say that to you for the first time in a hospital room. I’m so sorry if I overstepped.”

Hailey stops him before he could say anything else, squeezing his hand lightly as she slowly moved herself close enough to him. She ended up leaning over him on the bed, putting a soft kiss against his lips. It wasn’t anything more than that, it was intimate, delicate and it didn’t need to be anything more than that. After a beat she pulls away and looks past the bruises surrounding his eyes and scars scattered across his forehead and cheeks, moving past the evidence left behind from the events of today and just meets the gentle look in his eyes. “I’m in love with you too.”

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