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ray-venous · 4 days ago

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ch 2: liyue's uncut jades: seeds of war we sow

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wc: 4204

this fic is recommended to mature audiences. this fic has omegaverse, bitching, and nsfw themes. please consume only if 18+ and if you like some dead doves. Diluc confronts the Jewels of the Harem, a trio of three omegas who lead the Harem from the top as the Emperor's prized Consorts. Diluc beings learning some potentially important information from his less than appeased servant Xiao Yu before being called back into the Emperor, Morax's, clawed hands.

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“Second Attendant, wait!” the little beta called after him with a rush not exactly seen around the consort village. Diluc had no care though. After waking in a cold bed, the redhead’s temper simmered. He needed a break, something to let off energy. He hadn’t been able to expel this energy before, or not in the way he wished. For the past few months of being transported to the Emperor’s palace, he had been either tied or some way captive. Before that, he had been a general with a war to win. Such energy was easy to expel with simple drills. Now, with this newfound freedom, Diluc would test it to the limits.

Unfortunately for Diluc, the Village’s gardens were quite too clean for his liking. After much searching, he found what he was looking for. A sturdy tree branch lying unseen between bushes from under a tree. He picked it up and held it in his hands for a moment. The rough bark is possibly a hazard, but that was for another day. It was still too light for his liking, nothing like a sword or his preferred claymore. But, with many weeks of captivity, he was better to start light. He rolled it through his hand, letting the branch succumb to gravity before it rolled over the back of his hand in a clever sleight of hand trick. At this point, his little servant had caught up to him.

“Second Attendant Diluc…!” he panted, hands clasped over his knees as the little beta attempted to catch his breath. “You can’t…the gardens are for viewing!”

“My energy is restless,” Diluc stated as a matter of finality. Perhaps, he could tie a leather strap around the branch to at least protect his hand from the rough bark. However, once many years ago, he had trained on wooden swords. He fell into old stances, beginning his warming.

“Then, let us take a walk around the Village!” the beta watched, too afraid to actually get in front of the warrior. The three servants that had been gifted to Diluc by the three gems of the harem obviously had been warned that Diluc was a dangerous man.

It was odd waking up to the three servants in the wedding chamber. One, a tall beta woman, had spoken up first claiming to be his head maid of the household. She had been sent from the Noble Consort. Her name was familiar, but most of the Liyuen names had blended together at one point. Li Feng, though she had preferred to call her Meimei. It was a bit too intimate for such a standoffish and strict woman. She introduced the other two with her, claiming each had been sent from another of the consorts, the Pure Consort and the Virtuous Consort. Xiao Yu had been from the Pure Consort and Cheng Yi had been from the Virtuous Consort. Each of them had been quick to wash and dress him for the day. It was when Li Feng instructed Xiao Yu to give a tour of the Village to Diluc while she finished the rest of the preparations for his own quarters.

Unfortunately for all of them, Diluc was in no mood for a quick tour. He couldn’t quite place the feeling, but the Emperor being so distant was confusing for Diluc. He wasn’t exactly put off by the idea. In fact, it made his life easier. Perhaps it was the blatant lie told to his face that put him so off.

Diluc continued through the sword forms, his boots kicking up grass as he ran through the motions. Xiao Yu had given up trying to change his mind on running through such acts in a place of tranquility. If the Emperor wanted him to be subdued, he would have to enforce it with chains. Occasionally, servants walked past, staring and whispering to each other as they passed. Diluc paid no mind to them as he did to his own servant. The little beta only twiddled his thumbs and watched the servants walk by with anxious eyes.

It was only when Li Feng approached herself to collect Diluc did he end the swordplay. His muscles ached wonderfully. Exhaustion was welcomed considering it was a normal exhaustion. He gave the makeshift weapon to Xiao Yu with explicit instructions to keep it safe. He’d rather have something to work off this excess energy. The beta jumped as it was placed in his hands, terrified even though it was not a real weapon.

“But, Concubine–” the timid beta attempted to argue but was cut off.

Li Feng was more stern with her order, “Xiao Yu, please place the limb in Concubine Diluc’s quarters. I will take him to freshen up and get him ready to meet the three gems.”

“Yes ma’am,” the beta was quick to scurry off, and into the hedges as Diluc was led in another direction.

“Cheng Yi will meet us at the bathhouse with appropriate clothing. We will finish prepping there as we don’t have time to do so at your own quarters,” the slight smoke from the beta’s muted scent gave Diluc all the clues to know she was not pleased with his side tracking. “We cannot be late. It is already breaching typical norms by not bringing a gift for the host, though there is not anything for you to gift given your…means of arrival.”

It seems to be well known of Diluc origins and the way he was brought here. Blood has remained under his nails up to the point he was presented to the dragon. He had been thoroughly and roughly bathed in some bathhouse outside the city limits. Afterall, even a beast needed to look presentable to an Emperor. Diluc didn’t want to remember the day Mondstadt’s offensive line fell, so he focused on the buildings ahead of them.

“As I am sure you are aware, this is his Majesty’s harem. There are over a thousand beauties rumored to be in these Village walls. It’s thankfully not my logistical nightmare to manage. Not everyone is graced with the Emperor’s approval. Many have not even met the man,” she pauses in her step to look at him, “not even on their marriage night.”

She continues forward not waiting to see if he is following along, “This puts you in a more precious situation. Not only are you a prisoner in a rose garden, you spent a night with the Emperor. Many will be jealous, some may act on such jealousies, but you should not worry. Being a war prisoner has already ruined your reputation here. There is no reason to curry favor.”

They arrive at the bathhouse soon after. Diluc is left with a lot to think about as he is pushed into a private bathroom. Li Feng follows, stripping him quickly with nimble fingers that prod at sensitive scars. There’s a comment made about them, something Diluc ignores. Though, he guesses, his body is not his own anymore. His body is scrubbed clean of any sweat, hair and scalp scrubbed in a much deeper cleanse than he had gotten that morning. Conditioner and hair oils were rubbed into his hair, making his curls form with simple treatments. Body oils were spread onto his skin and after his body once more dried roughly and dressed.

He was dressed in much more plain robes with more layers than he appreciated. Li Feng cinched his waist tighter than a corset with Cheng Yi covering his scent glands with a makeup puddy. It was almost immediately itchy. As it dried, Cheng Yi quickly brushed it off and into a small paper in their hand. With his hair in a simple half up-do, he was escorted out with an urgency.

And, once again, Li Feng was off to her rants, “The Gems are three omegas of the highest rank. Each of them have given birth to potential heirs. Noble Consort Guizhong is the highest ranking Consort of the Village. She has the highest potential to be the Empress. Next is Pure Consort Baizhu and following him is the Virtuous Consort. The position of Imperial Consort is still open due to the previous Consort Havria having passed away during childbirth. The ranks following these are all concubines. You are the lowest of the rankings due to you being a prisoner.

“Greet each of them in that order. Do you know Liyuen?” Diluc knew a bit, enough to get him around a base of operations or enough to hack into a Liyuen file to steal. But conversational? Diluc knew a simple hello, and that was all. “Greet them in Mond then. Lady Guizhong knows the language well. I will translate for Consort Baizhu.”

“Is there a specific reason for this?” Diluc felt too restricted in the tight ties and heavy layers.

“You’re greeting the head wives of His Majesty. If you want an easier time here and to be treated as more than the prisoner you are, you best attempt to play nice with these omegas,” her eyes snapped to his, a glare that felt more like a reprimand than her words did. “Walk a thin line. You are an unwanted alpha in their nest. I’m sure you have heard horror stories of this such scenario.”

Perhaps not exactly this scenario, but many knew how territorial omegas were. An omega’s nest was a sacred part of their individuality. To be invited into an omega’s nest was a sign of respect and loyalty. Inviting yourself into their nest was an insult. Diluc could not imagine how they felt considering they nor he invited himself into their domains.

He didn’t get much time to dwell. Soon, they were upon the Noble Consort’s palace. A blue flower was planted throughout the courtyard yet none of them had bloomed yet. Their petals remained tightly pressed together. Little ponds laid scattered about in a tasteful manner with occasional floral accompaniments. There were very few trees, but all were wonderfully taken well care of. Everything felt tranquil, a place of peaceful silence. Diluc looked to the lilies, unfortunately feeling quite akin to them.

“Those are glaze lilies. A personal favorite,” a woman’s voice spoke, causing Diluc to snap to attention. Her voice was gentle, but not soft. Strength remained behind her words, somehow loud yet gentle enough to not scare Diluc too much. He still jumped, causing the woman to raise a sleeved hand to her face to snicker. She was dressed with the same lilies embroidered on the silken sleeves she wore, though these were fully in bloom.

“Noble Consort Guizhong, I assume?” Diluc gave a small bow, purely out of respect for the omega. Diluc’s anger was not towards her nor any other omega within the confines of the palace.

“Correct,” each syllable was pronounced with a perfect annunciation. “Please come join us in the pavilion.”

Diluc nodded, following along after her as Li Feng came into step behind him. He could tell from his servant’s face that she was displeased with the breach of standards, yet, there was a familiarness to her exasperation. A common occurrence than. Diluc easily clocked the vibe that Guizhong was much more than frilly rules and politics. She led them across a small bridge over a pond to a smaller pavilion. There were two other’s seated, one dressed in more of a green and purple, though the details were too far away to see. The other was a woman dressed in gold and whites with a small pipe in between her fingers.

“...have told you time…Lady Ningguang,” the green one spoke with a clipped voice and fast Liyuen. Diluc could barely pick up on the words. “Smoking…will…lead to health…”

Lady Ningguang which means the one dressed in green and purples–or was it more of a blue? the color was so rich–must be the Pure Consort, Baizhu. Rumors suggested he was a high ranking physician before he was indoctrinated into the Village. He was much more of a wild card to Diluc considering he was given unrestricted access to the imperial physician’s stock. Poisons were a specialty of his. Lady Ningguang, the Virtuous Consort, was still a risky woman. She looked at him with a pair of red eyes. They seemed to look deep within him, causing Diluc to break eye contact with her quickly.

“This is him?” Li Feng translated quietly into his ear as both of them bowed to the other Consorts. Again, Diluc bowed only enough to give them the respect they deserved, but no further. “Hm, perhaps he could work.”

“This one is…Concubine Diluc,” the word was gritted out between his lips. His status being reduced to a mere bed warmer after a defeat had his pride hurt. Being announced or having to introduce himself as such made him admit his own defeat. But, Mondstadt lives on with his own sacrifice. “Greetings to the Noble Consort, the Pure Consort, and the Virtuous Consort.”

Li Feng was quick with her translations, speaking loudly for the other two consorts before speaking lowly only for Diluc to hear. Lady Guizhong directed him to a seat, sitting him on the other side of herself, though his back was open to the doors. Distasteful. Li Feng poured his tea, using a silver needle to test it for tonics, though that only caused Baizhu to laugh.

“Testing a tea blend I made? Almost insulting Ragnvindr,” as if they all didn’t have their own tea pots. Diluc accepted the cup from Li Feng, thanking her with extra care with an eye on Lady Baizhu.

“Quiet,” the word was said with a finality from Guizhong that had Baizhu only hiding his smile behind the cup of tea. “Thank you for joining us, Concubine Diluc. We are aware of your status and would like to extend a welcome even if the previous ones have been less than desired.”

Ningguang, in a surprising manner, spoke with a thick Liyuen accent, but her Mond was still impeccable, “We are aware of most things within the Garden. As such, we have noticed Dianxia has shown great interest in you. Ending a war for yourself? I advised him differently, but alas, he only took half of my ideas.”

“Speak in Liyuen,” Baizhu placed his tea on the table to be repoured. “Are we not in the land of our Lord? He must adapt to his new kennel.”

“We are being kind. Perhaps it would aid you well to do the same, Consort Baizhu,” a small bicker between Ningguang and Baizhu began, the two talking fast Liyuen that Li Feng could not keep up. Therefore, Diluc was lost to the words being spat across the table. However, Lady Guizhong was quick to place her tea down and cut the argument with her own words.

Her Liyuen was just as graceful as her Mond if not a bit more clipped and sharp with her annoyed tone, “Are we not a united front here? Take your bickering for the bath houses. I wished to show our guest a certain sense of hospitality. Baizhu, if you do not behave yourself, you may excuse yourself to your Palace for the evening and return at dawn for your apologies.”

The man did not show his displeasure openly, but with the way he raises his sleeve to cover himself drinking his tea, it was evident he was upset with being called out. Diluc paid no mind even as Li Feng whispered the words into his ear. Diluc merely sipped his own tea as he watched the politics play out before him. It was no surprise that Guizhong had easily commanded the harem. She was quick witted with her words and snappy when needed. On the other hand, she was soft and motherly. She was everything Diluc was not. His reason for being locked in a garden of thorns had yet to be revealed.

“Concubine Diluc, we apologize for the display here. This is not at all how we are typically. As the Consorts of the harem, it is our duty to keep order between all concubines. We all share a husband, thus, time with Dianxia is quite valuable. I am sure your maids have explained, when Dianxia flips our tablet, we are to respond. If Dianxia comes to our palace, we serve him. You have been graciously given the previous Empress Dowager’s palace. I apologize in advance for its state. While I have ordered its restoration, many have objected to your arrival. It is not in the best state for a concubine, but I have high hopes you will be able to restore it to its former glory.”

Diluc only nodded. Evidently, from her words–though she seems to be impartial considering her previous actions–Diluc was very much unwelcomed. Diluc could only say a quick thank you.

“There is more to this conversation,” she spoke again, not giving him his dismissal yet. “Your designation has you as an alpha. As such, you are not allowed to be alone with any omega of the harem. The last we need is scandals to occur. Your presence is one to begin with, one his Majesty is quite adamant on keeping. Your servants will help you when needed. You are still a prisoner here as well. You will not be allowed to leave the Village. Eunuch’s will escort you to any public event. You are to obey the words of the Emperor. This is your punishment. Do you understand?”

Diluc stays silent for a moment, the piercing eyes of the consorts on his being, “I clearly understand my situation here, Consort Guizhong. I would be a fool to believe this was anything less than a humiliating punishment. However, I am a respectful man. I will not speak poorly of your husband in front of you.”

“His punishment should be harsher,” Baizhu spoke, placing his teacup back onto the table harshly. A servant was quick to refill it.

“We are aware that torture would be a more…normalized punishment here. However, it is not what Dianxia has willed, is it?” Ningguang spoke with a clipped tone. The conversation seemed to want to turn back into another argument. The arguments–or more like disagreements it seems–were more of spiteful words than yells. Diluc had never experienced anything of the sort considering he and his brother tended to fight like cats when a disagreement came up. Diluc tended to ignore those who disliked or disagreed with his thoughts.

“Hmph,” Baizhu turned his head away, yellow eyes now meeting Diluc’s. The red haired man only stared back, meeting his gaze and not looking away. “For your own benefit, I hope the Emperor loses interest quickly.”

The conversation died quickly. Diluc had been informed of the same rules he had been told earlier that day. Dismissal had come quickly. Diluc was barely allowed to have a few sips of his tea, though not that he had wanted to. He had merely wet his lips in lew of being courteous. However, he did not consume any of the tea. His cup was left cold and full as he was directed out of the palace.

Now, Diluc was swept away to the quarters that were meant to be his. The previous Empress was apparently a very stern woman. Her personality was very familiar to her son’s. Akin to stone with words harsher than her hands. She was well known for commanding the harem with a fierceness many consorts wished they had. It was the reason the previous Emperor had wedded her. It was uncouth for him to marry someone of his choosing as law had dictated that the omega who gave the Dynasty an alpha first would become the Empress. It was a competition between omegas attempting to woo the husband they were meant to please. Petty tricks were played, many wanting to rise by kicking dust behind themselves. However, one could not climb a ladder with a cut out rung.

Diluc observed this behavior as he approached the previous Empress's Palace. Once, it would have been grand. Now, red paint flaked off the sides, weeds overgrown throughout the once beautiful gardens. Dust covered many shelves and furniture. Evidently, Consort Guizhong had not lied when she mentioned that no one had attempted to clean up.

“The Empress would be upset that her home was left in such a disarray,” Xiao Yu said with an almost sadness to his voice.

“Why was it left like this?” Diluc ran a finger over the mantel over the fireplace. Ash.

“Ahh…it’s purely speculation really…” he’s reluctant, continuing to sweep the floors. Diluc was busy with a wet rag wiping down the shelves and mantels. The four of them had split up the rest of the work. It seems that at least his servants were willing to assist in bringing the home back to life.

Diluc wrings out the rag, moving to another piece of the mantel. He would see how much his apparent funding would allow him to buy a few stains for the wood, “The silence is loud, Xiao Yu. A story would be nice.”

He’s silent for a few moments before Xiao Yu speaks, “People say Dianxia disliked the Empress Dowager…”

“His own mother?”

“No. The Empress Dowager was not his birth mother,” Xiao Yu speaks small as he sweeps his smaller pile to the larger one by the door. He doesn’t want his words to be blown to the Emperor’s ears. He walks away from the door and begins sweeping again before he speaks, “His mother was another of the Harem.”

This was all too confusing for Diluc. He pauses in his cleaning to turn to Xiao Yu, “What do you mean?”

It’s then that the third of Diluc’s servants makes an appearance. Cheng Yi steps into the room, “Xiao Yu, we must make dinner.”

She then turns, speaking no other words besides the few to Xiao Yu. Diluc is left abandoned as Xiao Yu scurries off after her. Her clipped tone and her prompt arrival seemed deliberate. Xiao Yu was a good source of intel. Cheng Yi realizes that. Diluc would have to question him alone, then. The man returns to his cleaning with only the ghostly silence to accompany him.

Dinner is served late as the sun begins to set. The air is still warm, though a breeze chills the air. Not quite the end of summer yet. Diluc is served in the now clean dining area. It was one of the prioritized rooms of the palace. The kitchens, his quarters, and the servant’s quarters had also been completed. All other rooms would take a bit more TLC before they could be considered saved. Diluc sits alone with his small meal alone at a table seemingly meant to host a household.

With the day having slipped through his fingers–and perhaps a purposeful distraction–Diluc feels the homesickness begin to settle in. A small ache presses in his chest right under his sternum. For a moment, he begins to turn to his left to speak to Kaeya. Yet, the blue haired man is nowhere to be found. His servants eat elsewhere. Diluc is left alone in the quiet room. It reminds him of the first few nights without his father. He had been placed at the head of their family table. The head of their clan, the King-to-be. Diluc only took three days of the treatment before he declared he would not step into the King’s position. Abdication was his first thought, but Kaeya had fiercely declined. At a loss, Diluc merely pushed his coronation back.

“There will be no celebrations until we celebrate the end of this war,” he had declared nearly three years ago. “No state held functions or galas. No coronations, nothing till we celebrate the end of this war.”

Diluc hadn’t realized at the time that he would never be there for any future celebrations. However, his order had been accepted under the pretense that all funds should go to wartime efforts. Secretly, Diluc began his own ploy.

His dish was barely touched when Li Feng came to gather him, “A messenger has arrived to deliver a decree from Dianxia. You must be present to accept. Come quick.”

A decree? Diluc rises from his seat to enter the receiving room. The messenger was a higher ranking eunuch who seemed very displeased to be in Diluc’s presence. Or, perhaps it was the dilapidated palace they were in. Diluc was sure it was a mix of both. He is forced to kneel as he hears the eunuch’s message from the Emperor. Humiliating, but his attendants all kneel with him. Obligatory or not.

“Second Attendant Diluc, one delivers this message from His Highness: Tonight, Second Attendant Diluc’s tablet has been flipped. This Second Attendant must fulfill his marital duties. His Highness expects your prompt visit this evening. Does this Second Attendant accept and hear this message?”

Xiao Yu whispers the translation in his ear, though Diluc had already known what this entailed. His face is sure to show his displeasure and by the reactions to the guards beside the eunuch, it was not a pretty one. However, he grits out the acceptance between clenched teeth, “This one accepts.”

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#zhongluc #seeds of war we sow #the plot thickens #anyways I broke my tailbone between this chapter and the last. hahahahahaha #diluc #zhongli #genshin impact #genshin #gi #baizhu #ningguang #guizhong #rex lapis #morax #I wrote this on a broken tailbone.#thats why it took a whole month and a half...

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pureva · 1 month ago

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i love winning 🥰🥰🥰

#2 games in a row...... wouw............#i may have hurt my tailbone again tho. perhaps. i don't think it's broken tho it doesn't hurt That much it's just annoying #also i forgot my water bottle. FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER........but we won...........?#do i have to now keep forgetting it & buy a blue powerade from the rink every home game

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powerfulkicks · 3 months ago

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my head hurts and body hurts but in new fun ways

enrichment for chronic pain people fall through a ceiling every now and then to unlock new pains to collect

#i prefer a kinda achy soreness honestly #bc like #this is weird #you can push on it and make it worse #like stretch your limbs or poke bruises #and then when you go back to how it was passively it isn't so bad #i try to do that with chronic pain by popping my joints all the time but it doesn't really work #i guess if i had actually broken things i wouldn't be so glib about it #and to be fair my back hurts super bad #well my tailbone #worst bone to break by the way you just have to deal with it #and get a special pillow #and it's your butt.#idk if i broke it but broke is similar to bruised and they're treated the same anyway so shrug

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clown-demon · 11 months ago

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((Bro my butt hurts so bad.

#Ti speaks #I'm in P A I N cuz my tailbone hurts so fucking bad #everytime I move an inch it tells me to fuck off and flares up #I've broken my tailbone before a long time ago #so idk if that has anything to do with it #it's flaring up REALLY bad

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rambling-robot · 1 year ago

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My Bones Hurt

#anyways kids. broken tailbones can lead to chronic issues.#my brain says it’s my hip but I know the truth. I know what’s happening.#I was goofy once and now I can’t be on my feet for long periods of time #hey is. is that like. does that qualify as ‘disabled’ or is that just. like. idk. normie.#I know it’s bc of that time I fell. it was literally never an issue like this until I fell.#it’s a specific and consistent pain when it’s triggered so I know what it is

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bowieandqueen11 · 6 months ago

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Exchanging Pleasantries / Cooper Howard Imagine

Request: Could you please do hurt/comfort with The Ghoul? Like, maybe you got hurt during a fight with Raiders and he's being mean while stitching you up. Thanks pookie bookie ily

Omg bb @itsyellow ily too I couldn't wait to write this!! Hit me with that hurt/comfort that's my jam son

Also did I make this full of unresolved sexual tension? Frick yeah I did

As always, if you enjoyed please drop a comment to help me out and let me know!

Warning: slightly NSFW/ making out, mentions of injury and violence, slight mention of a choking kink? and some strong language!

(I do not own Fallout or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @goodsirs.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

'Y'know, you may be one of the stupidest goddamn people left on this planet. And I've seen a hell of a lotta stupid people.'

You know better to think that the one and only Ghoul: the slinking shadow that steadily tails and entraps every inch of the starkly barren world he can reach, the infamous bounty feared in every town, from Philly to Rivet City, would be one for pleasantries. Yet, even during your brief period travelling with the man across the wake of the formerly 'glorious' West-coast America, his callousness often left you wishing for the sweet silence of a Nuclear Winter.

Even Cooper Howard himself recognises the fact that he doesn't exactly, well, radiate off anything that could be called close to a succouring nature. Hell, he would be happy to radiate off anything that wouldn't have you spending his valuable time making detours to wandering doctors holed up in blood-splattered tents to use his hard-earned money in bartering for caps off your next bottle of Rad-X. He supposes, as you had shaken the bottle in front of his frowning face and wandered back off into the crowning desert sun, that if he could work himself back up to being unenthused, he would be able to count it as his first win in over two hundred years.

'Well, if you tried to stop fighting every single person still left out here I wouldn't have to risk my ass stupidly running in to save you', you retort, gnashing your teeth and trying your best not to squirm against his chest as he rips a fragment of broken plate from the back of your shoulder.

It wasn't often that you were allowed to light a fire in the wilds of the Wasteland: far too many radroach nibble bites littered your legs, far too many gash-covered tentacles slashes from the repulsive Centaurs marked your outer arms. However, as the two of you had spent your seemingly so lovely afternoon out on the highway being ambushed by a group of bloodthirsty Raiders, you had browbeaten the Ghoul into allowing the two of you such a special treat. An empty bottle of Nuka Cola lies by your faded makeshift floor covering that acts as your mattress, and you sigh in relief as the warmth of the flames licks across your tired arms.

Your soon drawn out of your repose by the feel of The Ghoul's cowboy boots thumping against either side of your legs; he awkwardly tries to leave enough room that he's not straddling your back, but his legs won't quite dip down enough to be more than halfway off the floor.

It leaves him having to scrape himself forward until his groin is nearly pressed against your tailbone, and you can feel the hem of his hat brush up your neck as he idly surveys the extent of your injuries. As he fidgets the strap of your vest down past the joint of your shoulder, you have to breathe in sharply to stop yourself grunting at the sharp scratch of his glove's rough seams as he drags his hand down.

'You're right', he runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, dragging a strip of musty cloth out of his satchel bag and pressing it against your oozing wound. 'Your ass really is fucking stupid if you think that you were helpin'.' You grimace as a flash of stimulation and mortification flashes through your body; whether the pain in your gut is from the flesh wounds or from the clutch of thick leather as the Ghoul tantalisingly rakes his fingers up the tender skin of your shoulder and grips, you're too distracted to try and find out.

Sweeping your eyes over the fire-brushed ground that cracked and and crumbled underneath your heel, you can understand his frustration at you. At the world. Scorch marks litter the dusty ground around your make-shift campsite, the plasma rifles and energy weapons the Fiends had managed to barter, steal, and smuggle out from the Van Graffs stock lying in blasted pieces around the fragments of rusted metal once shielding the long gone diesel pumps. The violence - the anger, it always seemed never ending. Gosh, what you wouldn't give for a canopy right now: to stop the sun burns from blistering your face, to hide the sudden hush of shame and embarrassment that rose flush up your face like a mushroom cloud.

'Yeah, well, I did come running- you're welcome, by the way-', you start, but the Ghoul, as venomous a man as he is, cuts short your reply by prodding the point of one of the needles holding the tail edge of his coat together into the hanging flaps of your skin. Your hand balls into a fist as you feel the sharp tip scrape over muscle; you try your best not to whimper as his poison slits through your veins and slithers down to corrode your very soul, but the relief. Oh, god, corruption has never felt so good as the Ghoul's free hand sliding down to cup your ribcage. His middle and ring finger took turns tapping against your waist, a slight huff coming from his mouth and tingling against the shell of your ear.

At first, you think the Ghoul is mad at you: pissed off that if any of the Raiders had survived and scampered off back to their chem-den to frenziedly retell their confrontation with a certain duster-clad gunslinger, a certain ruthless reputation - a certain long upheld persona, would be tarnished. That he was aggravated in having to waste his dwindling supply of bullets in wasting the spiky-hair fiend that had sprung out from the door of the thought abandoned Red Rocket Truck Stop just as you were busy body slamming his friend to the ground. That he was embittered at the fact that you had the incredibly anserine idea to stop off in the middle of goddamn nowhere: somewhere straight off your Pip-Boy map to nestle down for the night on your route to the New Vegas strip.

Enraged, indeed, by the fact that he may have to admit that he wanted to save your life.

'You call that running?', he puffs out a chuckle, unceremoniously wiping the blood of the needle by using the back of your vest. 'I call that leaping up yonder head over ass across that Nuka-Cola machine.' He lets go of your side, much to your disappoint, and looks at you disapprovingly as you turn around to face him. He's waving the syringe edge of a stimpak in your general direction, and you make sure to slap his hand extra hard as you grab it off him.

'You know, cowboy, you were the one that asked me to tag along. Not the other way round', you groan in exhilaration as you stab the needle into the knife wound on your thigh, and that first hit of the Stimpak courses through your muscle. Cooper has to clench his fingers into the leather of his fist to stop himself from going feral right there and then. He sniffs loudly, scrunching up his nose and casting his gaze to the fireside to try and hide his displeasure.

'Well', he manages to choke out between clenched teeth, gripping onto his own leg so harshly he wonders if he's drawn blood between his claws, 'you are such delightful company.'

For the first time in his life, Cooper Howard wants to just... ride away from his problems. That's all you were supposed to be: a solution. A resource. Another object to exploit, to foist upon his own callous needs so that he may survive another day in this merciless hell pit. A life for a hundred and fifty vials felt like a mighty fair trade in the disintegrating shit-show of post-apocalyptic commerce.

It had been easier that way, luring you away from the only small shack left among the rubble of the underground Subway Station that the Fiends hadn't left splattered with blotted rivers of crimson and half-mangled body parts. It had been so much simpler, as he had shoved the still fresh bodies of the murderers and cannibals off the side of the Metro escalator, that he was here to save you. That he had no knowledge of the bounty held over your head by the Enclave, or of the reasons that you had become so... acquainted with the New California Republic during your month long travels for the Crimson Caravan Company. As the door had groaned open, he was left pointing his pistol in your face: a towering penumbra, larger than life, that seemed to swallow every inch of swinging lamplight around your doorway in a veiled sinfulness. He had found it so much easier, as he peered down at your gloomy face and smirked as the unmistakable sound of a Ripper reared closer to his head, that he was here to be your saviour.

That's right. As he had offered you protection: a safe route away, a constant presence, your second shadow on your journey back to the Strip for only a measly few caps, he had found it so much easier to pretend that this wasn't personal. That the way you shook his hand hadn't made his skin prickle, hadn't been the first thing his nerves had alighted at since the last fading memory he had of caressing his wife. That the way you had strapped your leather armour pauldron around your left shoulder, and pulled up the hem of your trouser leg to strap a hidden knife to your calf didn't have him unconsciously dragging his tongue along the cracks of his bottom lip, and left him staring in bemusement. The incredulousness that had his eyes glazing over and the bottom of his stomach clenching as the two of you pried open the doors back up to the surface, and he had nonchalantly inquired as to who had... disposed of the Fiends before his arrival here. You had just shrugged, throwing a smirk at him from behind your shoulder, and he couldn't help but feel his own mouth twitch up to mirror your reaction.

It had been so, so much easier to pretend that you were just another bounty. That you were the first person, since he had lost Janey in another life, that had made him feel something other than contempt. Or worse, nihility. Nothingness. Just a hodgepodge script of fabricated and fictional lines that he reeled off as if it were more than just second-nature; an amalgamation of everything hollow and horrid that he had spent so much of his long-lost life trying desperately to bury.

But Cooper knew better than anyone, that nothing, and no one, could stay buried forever.

And with every returned smile: every lingering brush of some Caravan Trader's fingers on your arm as they tried to sell you some over-priced snake oil, every repulsive simper of a NCR trooper as they tried to buy you a bottle of vodka during your rare stops at some remote barrack, had the rot he had constructed within his soul become that little bit more mutilating.

The silence between you is deafening. And so you do something really stupid: you decide to ask him about his dirt-stained outfit.

'So', you drawl, turning yourself around so your legs are crossed out by your side, doing your best to stay firmly seated between the tensing muscles of the Ghoul's thick thighs. He draws his spurs in a line across the sand, but to your astonishment, and wild delight, he doesn't pull his legs open any further. 'Did you rob a real cowboy or something? I didn't think they were real. The only ones we ever saw were those rugged, way too contrived looking ones on those old movies.'

Your fingers curl over the edges of his collar, tentatively letting your fingers drop to rest against the sharp gap against his breastbone.

A muscle in Cooper's jaw jumps.

Oh. Oh. You'd never seen him actually angry before, behind all that cowboy western shooter charade.

For a moment, you're worried you've offended him somehow; a faraway look seems to draw him into the pale billows that smoke up from the orange flames, and a look that you've never seen before- never could even contemplate drooping the face of the suddenly so haggard looking man sitting by your side flitted across his scrunching face.

Forlorn. He looked so forlorn.

Neither of you are sure if he's even conscious of his arm moving, snaking itself across the small of your back to clutch almost painfully against the meat of your hip. His thumb strokes against the outline of your bone: probing, testing, clawing and pinching as if he had repeated the action over and over and over again in his mind.

'This? This is as old as the dirt and the worms.'

He doesn't react, doesn't move the frozen stone of his stoic face when you hesitantly grip onto his fingers, and slowly... god, so slowly, pull his glove off and drop it on the ground. Suddenly feeling so exhausted, your droop your head down against the dried sweat on your neck and watch yourself place your hand gingerly over his own, holding him in a wary vice against your side.

'What... what's a worm', you tentatively ask, your eyes wide open in worry that your question might break the provisionary affinity of this moment.

Cooper actually... snorts, a smirk threatening to break across his face as he looks out of the corner of his eye at you. 'An 'ol creature that used to live under the soil.' His eyes burn a hole into your irises, and he finally cracks out in a sallow grin as he contemplates the fact that he has your whole, enraptured attention. 'In fact, almost a whole lot like you.'

You smack his shoulder, but he only tilts his head back with an inquisitive gloat on his lips. He tips his head down, moving his other free hand to grab and squeeze the other side of your waist, making you woefully buck back against the bottom button of his shirt as the pit of your bottom begins to thrum with a devastating heat.

'Now', you can hear the teasing in his voice as he dips his spine down to hover over the shell of your ear. 'The real question is, where in the sweet hell would you have seen such heinous films such as those?'

His hand crawls like sweet spiderwebs across to your bellybutton, taking your breath away as he cups his palm against your skin and carts you back till your resting against the side of his chin, entangling you against the last vestige of the man he's entombed within the Stygian shadows.

'My ma used to show them to me and my brother if we had been extra good. She spent a whole three months saving up whatever metal scraps she could scavenge to go trade over at the General Store in Goodsprings and buy ourselves a real life television. The picture was blurry as shit, and we only had one holotape that I swear I ended up being able to quote back to front by the time I was sick of watching it. But hell, if we didn't crowd around the floor in wonder and dream about being a mysterious, rifle swinging stranger that roamed around the wastes saving people.'

Cooper purses his lips, swallowing thickly as he lassos your words in a whirlwind around his mind. After what seems like an eternity of listening to the soft whistle blow through the cartilage of his nose, of noting the quiet scurry of Bark Scorpions barbing through the pale tufts of faraway brushes, and the sound of your own heart hammering against your ribcage, each hit cracking your ribcage open with a sledgehammer, Cooper grumbles a reply.

'Y'know, there's an old saying back where I'm from - one that those folks in those movies you... respected use' to say. Feo, fuerte y formal. It means you're ugly, strong, and dignified. And shit, I can say for sure that you've got ugly ticked off that list.'

'You cheeky shit-', you start, but you can't help but shove your hand against your mouth to stop yourself from laughing. With a jolt forward over your stomach, you wince at the pain that flashes through your body at your only recently closed wounds. The Ghoul snarkily utters a tut tut, making you actually fucking whimper aloud this time when his hands grab your love handles, lifts you up, and slaps you down atop his lap. A faint slip from the curve of your buttocks sliding down to settle against his inner thigh has him hissing against the back of your head.

Even though there was no chance of it ever occurring, the Ghoul loosely clenched his fingers around your throat and tilted your head back until your throat went dry, as if daring you to move away from him again.

'Ain't your fault darlin'', he twangs out in that hoarse voice of his, his tongue flicking as smooth as molasses against the shell of your ear: his pointed edge darting a sticky trail up to your inner ear. 'It ain't your fault that you look like a molerat.'

You snort, and Cooper finds himself smiling at the sound of a noise he hasn't heard since his daughter was... since his daughter was...

'You remind me of someone I used to know, you know that? She was... she was far too sweet. Far too good for all this shit too.'

'Aha, there he is.' You wrestle out of his grasp and turn your head disbelievingly. The Ghoul looks almost taken aback, before he draws back into himself and fixes himself to stare you down. 'Finally making an appearance after all this time, are we? Good to see I'm finally getting through to you.'

'Now what the hell is that supposed to mean?', he bares his teeth, gnashing them together almost instinctively.

'I mean, I think that was as close to an honest exchange with the man inside you I'm ever going to have.'

That makes him start.

Pensively, he watches you, assessing and appraising the quirks and emotions that wander across your face as he waits for you to finish your accusation.

'And unless you stop sticking your blaster in the face of every creature that walks and talks, probably your last as well.'

The Ghoul swallows thickly, doing his best to seem as straight laced as usual, but growing more and more discourteous in his manner by the almost sinful way he's darting your eyes down to your lips and allowing them to hover there. 'Now darlin', I'm only exchanging pleasantries.'

'Is that really what you'd call yourself? And here I thought it was cantankerous.'

'Considering the literal crap-hole you grew up in I'm surprised you even know that word, now.'

'The sewers are empty, Cowboy - I'd say there's more piss on you from Dogmeat than down there. Besides, I lived in a Subway Station... asshole', you spit out at your feet, hitting the fragmented remains of one of your assailants helmet spikes.

A jab pokes at your inner thigh; the clenched thumb of the Ghoul branding into your skin as he finally looks you dead in the eyes with a cold stare. 'And there you are.'

And yet there's something. There's something lingering there, in the dark. In the swirl of his irises. In the only part of his body that still remains fully intact. Fully him. Something valorous. A convolution of steadfastness and pride. An imploringness.

'Suppose...', you inhale sharply, not realising that the two of you have managed to claw and scrape and crawl inch by inch closer to each other during your... showdown. 'Suppose', you buck your knees forward until you have enough leverage to haunch yourself up and turn, using the exertion to swivel yourself round and straddle the Ghoul's legs. Your gaze dips down to watch the purse of his strangled lips, his head slowly raising itself to unmask itself from the murk. 'That we aren't so different after all.'

Before you have time to regret your words, the stout pressure of clashing thumbs and fingers have jerked against your chin and pulled you down to smash against Cooper's mouth. Gnashing teeth pull at your bottom lip without a moment's warning, slicing down to draw blood. Cooper pulls back to snarl, before diving back in and licking away the thin trail of blood driplets that dribble down your chin dimple with the flat edge of his impoverished tongue.

Your chest rises and falls in quick succession as the man leaning his weight eagerly against your stomach ravishes you, growling as he reaches down to pull at the bottom of your thighs, and raise your knees up so he can cup your ass and knead the sweet flesh.

Part of you wants to rip his clothes off him right there and then, part of the recesses of your mind worries about the impending danger of the Wastelands: a roaming gang of looters, the unlucky shimmer that forewarns the arrival of a Nightstalker, but all of you wants to slam your hands around the side of this man's face and knock him straight to the ground with the ferocity of your kiss.

Before you can even make it past the squishing his cheeks phase, you’re distracted from your plan by the pressure point of his fingers teasingly prodding against the outline of your inseam. You can't enact your plan - you can't, not when you can feel the tip of his finger run slowly... slowly... god! So agonisingly slowly up your inner thigh. Can feel the warm, almost ruinating nibble of his top teeth against the pulse point of your neck, before he leaves an apologetic slide of his inner lip against it: something bright and burning and beautiful making the nerves of his body scream as it gnaws away at their rot.

Perhaps, perhaps there was still time for the Ghoul to exhume the mouldering remains of Cooper Howard after all.

#fallout #cooper howard #the ghoul #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard imagine #the ghoul imagine #the ghoul x reader #fallout imagine #fallout show #cooper fallout #cooper fallout imagine #cooper fallout x reader #fr though why are there so many plates in this game

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comatosebunny09 · 7 months ago

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Bodyguard!Leon talks you through it, and I will not be convinced otherwise.

“Dirty, dirty girl,” he croons against your neck. Hot and open mouthed with your nipple trapped between his fingers whilst the other set plays between your pretty pussy lips.

You gasp, head falling back into the pocket of his shoulder, lids shuttered, lips parted and wet. Instinctively, you grind against his digits, chasing that sparkling rush of pleasure he invokes. Grip his quads a little tighter, his name coming out in a broken staccato from your mouth.

He chuckles something abrasive, rolling his pelvis in tandem with the lazy undulation of your body. Hot and hard pressed against your tailbone, and he’s leaking pretty beads of pre-spend into his slacks just for you.

“All for you, baby. Fuck. What would your father think if he saw you like this?”

The thought of it draws a whine from you, and your pussy clenches. Being caught by anyone like this makes your blood burn hot.

“Mmm, his sweet baby girl fucking my fingers like this.” Leon taps your pussy, and your body surges off his lap in pursuit of that feeling again. “So fucking wet for me.”

He takes to running meticulous circles around your clit as an apology, and your legs shake. Leon nips your shoulder, breath hot and ragged on your damp skin. “Right there, baby? That the spot?”

You nod swiftly, your voice corked in your throat.

“Yeah? You like fucking my fingers, don’t you, baby?”

“Yes, yes,” you chant mindlessly, body trained on the feel of his fingertips playing at the sticky bulb of your clit, and the dangerous gravel of his voice. If he keeps on like this, you’ll be spilling over the edge in no time.

“Keep your fucking legs open,” he husks, tapping your pussy again in warning. “Or I’ll stop.” There’s an edge to his voice; something sinister swimming beneath the soft undercurrents. You’ve no choice to obey.

You don’t want him to stop. You never want him to stop.

“That’s my girl. My princess. So good for me.”

You sigh sharply when he teases the milky, slutty mess of your opening, occasionally teasing his fingertip inside. Your body stills, anticipating the inevitable, and—

#leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #i have no excuse for this #other than depravity

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symbiomancy · 11 months ago

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MASSAGE —ryomen sukuna

summary: Step-brother Sukuna is good with his hands. Why not take advantage of it when no one's home? It's just an innocent massage, after all.

cw: stepbrother!sukuna, stepcest, grinding/thigh riding, pet names

wc: ~1,1k

also on ao3

“You’re good with your hands,” you say one afternoon when it’s just you and him. Your mother and his father are at work, Yūji is meeting up with friends to go to a movie, hell, even the neighbors might have left town—it’s just you and him.

Sukuna looks up from his phone, face impassive.

“My back hurts. You’re good with your hands. Simple math.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen how you sleep; how do you even bend like that? It’s unnatural.”

“I’m very flexible.” You hold out the bottle of massage oil to him and shake it impatiently. “Please?”

He considers it for a moment, then rolls his eyes and places his phone on the small table next to the couch armrest. You grin, bright and wide as he accepts the bottle.

“Sit,” he says, spreading his legs, half-expecting you to pull out the ottoman underneath the coffee table. Instead, you straddle his thigh, facing away from him. He jostles his leg for good measure and you almost tip over, latching onto the thigh you’re sitting on to not fall. A laugh bubbles from his chest, low and smooth and rich.

“Dickhead,” you mutter, sitting up straight again.

“I can refuse service if you’re not nice to me, you know.”

You sigh, long and drawn out. “I’m sorry. Please, can I get a massage?” Though you don’t wait for his reply and hike your flimsy shirt over your head, draping it over his other thigh.

Sukuna allows his fingers to skim the length of your spine, from your tailbone up to the base of your skull, feeling the grooves and dips of the vertebrae under his fingertips. He maps out the beauty marks littering the expanse of your skin, tries to commit it to memory.

“Where?” He tips a small amount of massage oil onto the palm of his hand and rubs it around his palms. It smells like vanilla.

You place your hands on your waist and press your thumbs on either side of your spine. Sukuna makes a sound of confirmation in the back of his throat and pushes your hands away, placing his thumbs where yours just were. He presses down, hard, and you make a sound, somewhere caught between a hiss and a moan, hands clamped around his thigh again for stability.

He begins working the knots in your lower back and then you moan, actually, audibly moan—it slips from your lips so freely and he likes it, he wants to hear more of it, drawn out and loud. He needs to hear it again like he needs water. The sound sends a jolt straight to his cock. It twitches beneath the layers that separate it from your pretty pussy. Oh, it’s pretty, he just knows it.

His hands slowly glide up your sides until his fingertips ghost the curve of your breast. He hears the hitch in your breathing—like music to his ears, he wants to hear it over and over and over again until it's committed to his memory—but he doesn’t withdraw his hand. Instead, he lets his hand explore further, cupping your breast from below, a finger swiping over the nipple. You buck against his thigh with a low whine.

“You like that, baby?”

“Y-yeah.” Your voice cracks and you hastily clear your throat.

His other hand finds your other breast and he swipes a thumb around and then over each nipple. A small, broken gasp escapes your lips. Your back arches, grinding your covered pussy against his thigh. Sukuna stills, flexes his thigh muscles, and eyes the not-so-subtle circling motions of your hips.

“Yeah?” He palms your tits, pinches the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. You recoil, back arching even more, pussy dragging against his thigh, nails clamping into his flesh so hard Sukuna sees white for a fraction of a second. He can feel the damp patch on your panties and he breathes in slowly to keep his composure from slipping, from pouncing on you like an animal in heat.

He repeats the motion and he’s rewarded with another gasp, this one half a whine, and you fall back, resting against his shoulder.

Sukuna adjusts himself and leans his chin on your shoulder. His mouth rests at the shell of your ear now.

One hand dips from your chest, travels down towards your navel, dragging the massage oil along. He can feel the stutter in your breathing in the still and tacky summer air. He doesn’t stop, goes lower, lower, lower, stops where your skirt begins.

His hand finds purchase on the plush of your thigh, fingers sliding up, under the fabric, and stop just shy of your underwear. You buck your hips again, desperate for any friction.

“What?” He teases, his hot breath caressing the side of your cheek. “Need something?”

“Please.” You nod rapidly. “Please.” Your breaths are heavy, eyes bleary, mid fuzzy with desire.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear.

Your cheeks warm at his words—so warm and so close he can feel the warmth radiating from your skin. His fingertips ghost over your clothed pussy, just barely applying any force, then over the hem of your skirt, up your body, dragging along the grooves, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His hand finds its place on your breast again, so soft and plush and he breathes in the sweet scent of your strawberry body wash, nose pressed into the junction between your neck and shoulder. Fuck, you’re intoxicating. His cock twitches in his pants, throbbing like he’s about to cum in his shorts—

Voices.

Strange voices draw him from his reprieve. They filter in through the open windows, a female voice arguing with Yuji’s.

Then there’s a key jiggling in the lock on the front door.

Sukuna snatches your top from his thigh, presses it to your chest, and gently pushes you upright. You stand on shaking legs for a moment before the click of the front door’s lock sends you dashing towards the stairs across the room. You reach them just as the door swings open, three voices filtering inside.

“Dickhead!” You shout before you disappear up the stairs and slam your bedroom door.

Yūji pauses as the door falls shut behind him, Nobara, and Megumi, and crosses the few steps from the hallway into the living room. He looks at Sukuna, lying on his stomach on the couch, scrolling through his phone. “What did you say this time?”

Sukuna scowls and grabs a decorative pillow to chuck at Yuji’s head. “Mind your own business, brat.”

banners from @/cafekitsune

#jjk x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

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noctxj · 4 months ago

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hanahaki disease “… in which the victim coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the victim dies…”

part i / part ii / part iii / part iv

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

“have you considered trying to make your feelings known?”

all things considered, the bed agent was sitting upon was more comfortable than what the barracks’ had.

but not as cozy as kyles’ chest—

“i can’t,”

the doctor frowns, pausing his tapping on the tablet, his eyes looking up to search agents face; not staring at him, rather just across from them.

a blank canvas—in pain—but nonetheless a perfect mask of apathy—

“why not?”

“i just can’t, doctor.”

agent sighs, turning their sober gaze to the doctor. simply put, agent would not have been able to take their rejection— their disgust, their hatred, their bellows to leave and never come back, once they realised an outsider who did not even belong within the same scope as the taskforce would develop such frivolous feelings such as love. agent would never be able to witness them renouncing the contract laswell carefully pieced together, watch their backs turn on agent for the last time, visibly see the trust delicately built over the past several months to crumble away into nothing, as if it never existed, as if they never existed, as if they never touched agents life in a way no other had been able to.

the doctors eyes remained steadfast on agents, a silent urge to continue.

“… i know that… that i wouldn’t be able to bear their… rejection… but this, this procedure?”

diverting their gaze to their lap, swallowing back the familiar metallic taste on their tongue.

“this... this i know i can endure”

i’ve been through worse—

the silent words allowing agent to meet the doctors eyes again.

you’ll see eventually doctor, all my scars: permanent reminders. reminders born from miscalculations, wrong decisions, torture—

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

the same scars the taskforce were mistakenly exposed to. an undercover mission with agent used as bait for their target within a gala. a mission that wondrously ended up with the back of agents’ strapless dress ripped all the way down to their tailbone— stupid man with his stupidly gaudy rings— a furious agent using one hand to clasp the front of their dress lest they flash the idiotic target, and a handgun in the other, pointed at said idiot dazedly sprawled on the floor with a bloody (broken) nose.

agents’ back to the door as the taskforce spilled through, following agents’ signal for backup, only for agent to hear them pause by the doorway, their breaths collectively inhaled at the same time—

“who did this to you?”

simon’s gravelly voice asked— no, demanded. agent turned their head, handgun still pointing at the (idiot) target, confusion written on their face, brows furrowing as instead of responding, stomped over until he was looming over agent.

“ghost, now is not the time—“ the captain tried to reason as the air seemed to get tighter and tighter.

“who. did. this. to. you.” not a demand anymore, but an order. one of simon’s gloved hands sweeping over the raised discoloured scars running along agents back; a pattern of scars resonant of whip marks, some of cigarette burns and others as if skin was gouged over and over and never allowed to heal properly again.

agent who blinked, once, twice, before slowly turning their head forward again, avoiding simon, john, kyle and johnny’s faces’. handgun slowly lowered till it was facing the ground, a hollowness seemingly eating at agent from the inside out—

“it doesn’t matter. i killed all of them anyway.”

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

agent could only imagine the bleeding cracks that were appearing on their carefully placed mask, the madness that had been chasing them their entire life finally being able to swallow them whole. another soulless killer… assassin… spy… murderer, feeding off of rotting corpses just to survive another day, another assignment. agent was able to taste happiness and love for the first time, an addiction they never could have prepared themselves for; never could have foreseen it leading to a solution providing more pain— more pain to just to remain in all of their lives for just a little longer.

“and what if you’re wrong?”

… what if? my entire life has been nothing but timing and precision; the notion of “what if” is equal to failure and death—

“what if they return your feelings?”

agent could feel a plume of flowers unfurling at the base of their throat.

“… i wouldn’t deserve them.”

could feel them slowly fluttering their way up their throat.

“doctor, i’m by no means a good person; have never pretended to be. i’m not someone worthy let alone deserving of love.”

but i’ll rip myself apart over and over just to be around you all for just a little more time—

⋆.✧̣̇˚.

“now, if you could count to ten out loud for me please”

“one…”

everything will be okay—

“two...”

agent could feel a tangled swath of thorns and petals pushing themselves up their throat—

“it’s okay, just keep breathing. keep counting for me.”

“… three…”

once this is done, i can return to them. they don’t have to know, they’ll never have to know—

“… four...“

agent could feel their mind slow down, their thoughts feeling nonsensical; the effort almost pointless as everything began to flicker in and out of focus, blurry at the edges.

“… f-five…”

in the distance, agent could hear a loud commotion coming from behind the closed doors. what was that? their eyes fluttering, noticing the nurse holding the mask sending a questioning look to the doctor, his attention turned towards the door.

agent could hear… yelling? they— more than one, had deep, masculine voices.

why did they sound so familiar?

agent took a hold of the nurses’ wrist, their attention snapping back to them; communicating to ease the mask off their face as thunderous reverberations of heavy footsteps grew louder and louder, until there was a split second of silence— and then the doors to the surgery room swung open with a resounding crack as they slammed back against the walls.

four large bodies barging through the seemingly small doorway, blurred masses of power—

it was them.

they—what?

how—?

agent could feel their eyes blink in surprise, the panic slowly filtering in through the fuzziness of their brain.

nononono—

theyshouldntbehere—!!

despite agents mind racing, the small amount of anaesthetic had already taken effect; only seeming to slacken their grip of nurses’ wrist, agents’ finer motor skills out of reach—

—including the effort of swallowing back the vicious thorns and bloodied flowers now erupting out of agents mouth in a painful choke; blood spraying against the mask and now the nurses’ hands as they are ripped away—by simon??

a skull mask with such dark eyes—so close— reaching out to grasp their shoulder to turn their body to the side, his familiar scent of dark whisky, and just simon invading agent’s senses as they follow the direction of his pull. another pair of warm gloved hands on their back and hip assisting in the turn—kyle? his calming earthy scent that reminded agent of the heat of the sun, wafting to their nose. with another familiar—and safe— scent seemingly punching through the mix of simon and kyles— johnny? an addictive smell of sweet cinnamon akin to one of his addictive bear hugs that he often followed up with a playful ruffle to the head, now instead gently cradling agents head forward.

agent couldn’t stop the onslaught of mixed emotions and painful hacking up of blood, flowers and thorny stems spilling out onto the cold floor. confusion, helplessness, fear— a concoction that only seemed to encourage another heaving of blood and flower petals.

i-i-icant-thisistoomuch—

the beeping of the bp monitor now frantically blaring out in a staccato rhythm, agents’ panic mixed with their chocked hacking reflecting their suffocating agony.

ithurtstoomuch—

the hand formerly gripping the nurses’ wrist left flailing in the air, until a heavy set of hands grasp it and hold it against a prickly—john? agent trying to focus their tear filled eyes onto the blurred figure kneeled before them. the captain whose rough and calloused yet gentle hands encompassing theirs against his mouth; puffs of his breath hot agents’ cold trembling fingers, his smoky scent swirling around agent in a dizzying trance.

“it’s okay little love, were here.” john lowly murmurs against their fingers, the plush feeling of his lips and prickly beard sweeping across agents’ knuckles so lovingly.

as if it was following a command from their captain, agents’ tense body finally relaxed back onto the sheets (and their beloveds’ gentle embraces). feeling safe and secure for the first time in weeks since leaving the taskforce; the distant beeping of the monitor slowing down in its rhythm—

only for agents eyes to finally close in exhaustion, as the last of the crimson petals drop from between their bloodied lips.

˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚. ˚. ✦.˳·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚.

tric’s notes

i love how i keep saying to myself like yeah this’ll be the last part aND THEN IT ISNT (ಥ‿ಥ) peak clownery. the amount of dialogue keeps increasing (as is the word count) per chapter but uhh oh well.

had a lil flashback midway there, i may write short? drabbles of little peeks as to how their relationship developed from the day agent met the taskforce = a potluck of more angst and pining!! yaayyyy !!!! but dw there will also be fluff and shenanigans to heh (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

part iv will defs be the last one of this series ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ̀ˋ

thanks for reading this far!! ♡︎♡︎

crossposted on ao3 (same username!)

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