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yanderenightmare · 8 months

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Can we get one of my man geto 🫢 just him getting turned on by seeing the way he makes you cry.

Geto Suguru

TW: yandere, dubcon/noncon, punishment, Geto using the word monkey, reader has no cursed energy

gn reader

He unleashes gross curses on you every now and again when you get bratty with him. Harmless but effective – the ones that swallow up half your body and make you scream for him to help you.

He sits peacefully, elbows on his knees with his head resting in his palm – one eye closed and the other observing you in amusement with a tiny smirk playing on his lips – watching you squirm.

Your whiney whimpers make him chuckle as he lazily gets up. Letting it get to your throat before leisurely lifting a large hand, exorcising it with a single simple swipe.

It disperses without a fight and you stumble to the floor trembling, breaths chocked and eyes wild while he crouches down to your level, cradling you as you shiver with hitched sobs – still feeling hundreds of wet tongues and curious fingers fondling every inch of your body, ears ringing with the distorted lustful utterings of all the things the filthy curse was planning on doing to you.

“Gonna behave for me now, monkey?” He questions softly, his smirk having relaxed into a gentle smile as he tucked a loose lock of hair behind your ear – seemingly affectionately.

But there’s no doubt he has zero respect for you, you think, remaining silent while looking up into those slitted eyes of his – feeling like a mouse being toyed with by a cat, lying wounded in its claws.

He lays his warm palm against your cheek, and you flinch with a sharp intake – offering but small whimpers as he holds your face and those big peeled eyes that look up at him in pure terrified dread. Only returning your cowering with a soft-spoken threat. “It’s either me or more monsters.”

“No-” You gulp, urgently clutching the drapey sleeve of his yukata. “I’ll behave- I promise- I’m sorry- please… no more monsters.” You cry against his chest, muffled with tears while burying your face, yet still coherent enough to make him gently pat your head in response.

“Alright then.” He hums soothingly, pleased – his smile only widening when scooping your legs up, lifting you from the floor, and carrying you back all those confusing hallways you’d just run down. His steps – unbothered and slow – are satisfied in a sense as he holds you to his chest, returning you to his room, where he sets you down on the bed like before.

You sink down in it, your face damp from the tears. Raw and still choking back sniffles, your lips quiver in comprehension as he curls a finger beneath your chin and lifts your head to receive his lips.

He gives you tongue, and you accept it with a weak moan, dropping your back against the duvet in defeat while feeling him crawl over you. Bed creaking under the weight and sending shivers through you.

His hand, big and warm, brushes over your thigh, lifting your tattered nightshirt on his way to rub circles into your midriff with his lips still caught on yours, licking at the sweet salt of freshly fallen tears slipping down your cheeks – groaning at the taste.

He undoes the knots to his layers and lets it all slip to the floor unceremoniously, revealing pale muscles before he bears back down against you – mouth open and clashing against yours with a hungry growl.

His lips soon slip from yours down your neck, nibbling on your collar before leaving suckling kisses on your chest, and you’re reminded of the offending mouths who'd been licking your skin only a while ago – feeling his hand knead the flesh of your thighs, exploring the space between them, quite like the horny digits who'd earlier been exploring you just the same…

And you’re left to wonder if there’s really any difference at all.

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certifiedsev · 1 year

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•Tanjiro x reader one shot•

fluff fic i wrote at 2 a.m

Tanjiro stumbled into the nursing room, his breathing constricted and his clothes torn and ripped. He collapsed onto the bed, groaning in pain as he tightly clutched his side.

His girlfriend, y/n, rushed over to him, concern drawn on her face. She was a fellow demon slayer who also doubled as a nurse on her off days for the corp, and has been dating Tanjiro for several months. She knew way too well the dangers of their line of work.

“Tanjiro, what happened?" she asked, her voice gentle and soothing.

"I got injured while fighting some low rank demon in battle," Tanjiro said through gritted teeth. "But I'll be okay. It's not too bad."

You could see the pain illustrated on his face and the sweat seeping from his forehead. You quickly got to work, tending to his injuries while making him feel as comfortable as possible.

As y/n worked, she kept up a constant conversation with Tanjiro, trying to keep his mind off of his injuries. She talked about their past battles, their training, and even their plans for the future. Tanjiro listened, his eyes closed as he leaned into her warm touch.

You couldn't help but feel a slight feeling of sorrow for Tanjiro as you seen how distressed his injuries made him. You had always admired his strength and determination, but seeing him vulnerable like this made your heart ache.

Y/n found herself wanting to hold him close, hoping by some miracle, that she could instantly take away his pain.

As the night progressed, Tanjiro's pain began to subside, and he fell into a restless sleep. You stayed by his side, watching over him, with your hand resting on his chest feeling his steady heartbeat. You laid next to him, mimicking his breathing pattern with your own. Before you knew it, your eyes began to close and you drifted off into a light sleep next to him.

The following morning, you awake before Tanjiro and decided to sit up on the bed and read as you waited for him to wake up. Once he did, he instantly turned towards you, looking you directly in your eyes, as a small smile displayed from his lips.

"Thank you, for taking care of me and everything ," he said, his morning voice in a raspy whisper.

You leaned over and gave him a soft, gentle kiss, feeling his arms wrap around you in return.

"Of course, my love," You said, smiling. "You know i’ll always be here to help you”.

Tanjiro began to get up, his wounds only barley healed. You insist for him to lay down and get more rest but he assures you he’s fine (even though we all know he’s not, he literally just got patched up last night but anyways).

"I couldn't have made it through last night without you”. Tanjiro says turning towards you. “ And I just want you to know that I'm so grateful for you."

This made your heart surge with emotions. “I’m just doing my job”, you say in a soft joking tone.

“Y/n-“, Tanjiro starts but pauses for a moment.

He sighs and continues in a steady tone, “I love you”.

You look over at him with a gentle smile, your heart pounding and your face lightly blushing. “I love you too, Tanjiro”, You respond.

Tanjiro's face lit up with joy. He pulled you in close and kissed you passionately, feeling immediate satisfaction as his arms wrapped around you tightly.

#tanjiro kimetsu no yaiba #tanjiro angst #tanjiro x y/n #tanjiro fluff #demon slayer tanjiro #tanjiro smut #kimetsu tanjiro #tanjiro x reader #tanjiro x you #demon slayer #one shot #yandere tanjiro #tanjiro kamado

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sopiao · 8 months

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DISDJUSBS OMG. THERE’S THIS PRICE BOT

AND OH LORDY DID THIS FLUFF GIVE ME CAVATIES FROM HOW SWEET IT IS.

anyways. reader (shark) taking care of Price while he’s injured. these r just lil snippets of it 🤭

Out on a mission, Shark had a nice clean shot of the target. It seemed to clean, too clear. He picked a space that would seem hidden only to a blind man, it was like he picked a spot to look like he was hiding but was so obviously out in the open. But, whatever, fuck it. Seemed too much of a waste of time overthink a quick shot to get the mission over with.

But Price saw it, he saw how they lured them into a specific spot that made it look like it would be a perfect spot for them. Long story short (mainly cuz i’m too lazy) he ended up taking the trap for them. It took a couple hours until he could be safely taken to base to get his wounds checked out. He has to stay in that wing for 2 weeks to recover. Critical condition.

Shark felt guilty that they fell for such an obvious trap to get it over with, and he ended up getting hurt. So, they decided to be the one to take care of him. Shark gets to pay their self-debt to him, and the medics don’t have to worry so much about him and who’ll have to monitor him.

“Alright. Got ya’ a grilled cheese aaand a blue Gatorade” Shark entered the room with a paper plate that held the sandwich. Price immediately sat up, ready for his snack but also excited to see them. They set the plate on his lap and the cold blue gatorade on his bedside table.

“Weird combination, but okay” Shark muttered quietly, causing him to chuckle, sitting back on their seat next to his bed. Price hummed deeply after his first bite, the savory taste making him momentarily forget about how sore his body feels.

The fresh scars and stitches on his body were visible. Old ones mixed with new ones. Across his chest was a type of gauze, bandage, and a large patch on his side. The medic suggested that he kept his upper half bare to prevent the fabric from rubbing against the freshly sewn stitches to prevent irritation and prolong the healing process. Fortunately for Shark ,’:)

“Mmph— Never thought a grilled cheese would taste so good” Price groaned, leaning back on the bunchy and wrinkled sheets of the bed, finishing his sandwich and gulping down his Gatorade. Shark slumped back in the wooden chair, propping their feet up on the edge of his bed, flipping through the shitty romcoms on the TV.

It was silent, but not the weird and awkward silence that makes you wanna bury yourself alive then be there. The comfortable silence where you can just space out and just enjoy each other’s company. They were already pretty close, comfortable with each other. They sparred together, ran together, sometimes raced, exercise and eat together.

��

“You’re an ass” Shark laughed, fake punching Price in the chest. He fell back on the bed with a fake pained expression and a over dramatic ‘ow!’. He stayed laying down, turning his head to show them his soft smile that only seemed to appear when Shark was around. He noticed it, everyone noticed it, just not them.

“Ahh— Fuck” Price groaned immediately sitting up and his hand clutching at the center of his chest. A sudden, uninvited, pain rushed from his back to the center of his chest, bursting out. Shark immediately sat up, worried that their fake punch maybe actually did hit him. One hand on his shoulder and the other on his hand that laid on his chest.

“Oh, shit! Sorry— Uhh. Fuck. What do I do?” Panicked and confused. They didn’t know what to do to help, or what to do at all. Price would chuckle at their reaction if his mind wasn’t occupied with how much is chest fucking hurt.

“No— Ngh.. N-no. I’m fine. The doc said it would be like this because of my rib” Price tried his best to explain through short, shallow, breaths. Sucking in long breaths of air through this teeth to try and bear through the pain. It was like getting stabbed all over again.

“Shit— Uh. Is there anything I can do? Water? Pills? Anything?” Shark asked frantically, looking around quickly for anything that speaks out to them to try to help. He only shook his head, too weak to form a sentence, but he wanted to reassure them that he was okay, he wasn’t, obviously.

“Could-could.. you.. uhh” He spoke up, having to concentrate really hard to try and get the words past the stabbing pain and out his mouth. Shark’s head immediately perked up, looking for any way to assist. They saw his other hand was open, palm up, and towards their direction.

Shark was a little taken aback at his request, their captain was a strong and unaffectionate man. So, seeing how he requested for their hand, something to help him push through it. Shark willingly accepted his hand, his large and scared hand somehow seemed softer than it looked. Finding comfort in their touch. Every so often they’d feel him squeeze their hand when the pain got too intense.

—

As much as Shark wanted to stay and watch over Price he didn’t wanna see them leave. They had other duties they had to attend to. But when they came back to visit Price, the doctor immediately took their attention and asked, practically begged, them if they could feed Price soup since he hasn’t been eating much lately, claiming he’s feeling nauseous which doesn’t help the feeding process.

Shark looked down at the warm bowl in their hands, chicken soup. They chuckled as they walked back to his room. They don’t know how they were gonna get him to eat, but they’d at least give it a try.

“Heard you was giving the doc a hard time” Shark chuckled, closing the door behind them. Price let out a soft laugh and rubbed the back of his neck as if he was caught.

“I told him I’m not hungry” Price shook his head, hand laying on the side of his neck, as if that would persuade them not to make him eat. He laid back on his elbows, flashing his playful smirk.

“The longer you refuse to eat, the longer you’ll be stuck in here” They shrugged, using their sleeves to stay between their hands and the hot bowl so it doesn’t burn them. He rolled his eyes and blew a raspberry, plopping back down.

“Feed me?”

“Huh?”

“You heard me”

Shark searched on his face, any sign that he was just joking around, waiting for him to just laugh it off. Yet he stayed the same, pushing himself up, waiting for them to feed him. Eventually they gave in, signing before sitting up from their seat and standing at his bedside.

They grabbed a spoon full of the meat and warm broth and slid the back against the rim of the bowl to prevent it from dripping. They can’t believe they were doing this, but it was for the health of their captain. Holding it up to his mouth to which he happily took, humming satisfyingly.

“You have arms y’know” Shark pressed another spoonful up to his mouth, eyes fixated on his lips when he slipped the spoon into his mouth, looking back at his eyes. Price shrugged and took a second to chew before answering them.

“I don’t see you stopping” He tilted his head up at them, resting back on his hands and smiling up at Shark.

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slidersimp · 3 months

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So for the Top Gun Songfic Fest I originally wrote like 10k words of pure whump until I realized not only was it not finished, but it wouldn't fit into the 5k word limit, so I had to write something new. This is a snippet from the original whump fest, trigger warnings for what initially appears to be a suicide attempt, but actually isn't.

----

When Ron pulled up to Pete’s house, the driveway was empty. Tom’s car was gone, and Goose’s old Bronco, that Pete had been taking care of for Bradley to drive when he was older, lived in the garage with Pete’s bike. The house was dark, which was to be expected at two in the morning, but when Ron knocked, there was no response. He knocked again, harder this time, hoping that he would see Pete hurrying down the hall, exhausted and pissed at him for being woken at such a late hour, but Pete didn’t come. Ron fumbled with his keys.

He found the key to the house after only a moment, given to him for emergencies, but Ron had taken to carrying it with his own when Tom had left for Virginia. He was supposed to only be gone for three weeks, but three had turned into five a couple days ago and Ron felt himself wearing thinner and thinner with every moment Tom was gone. Pete was unraveling and struggling to hide it, but Ron could see through him. He fumbled with the locks, then pushed open the door.

“Pete?” He called inside, his voice raised. He shut the door behind him and locked it again, pausing to listen to the house around him, hardly daring to breathe. A choked, gasping sob met his ears, a weak cry sounding just after. They were both muffled, far away from Ron, sounding through doors and thin walls. “Pete?”

He rushed deeper into the house, his hand on the wall, he navigated the darkness with wide eyes, rushing towards the master bedroom at the back of the house. The bed was empty when he made it inside, the blankets askew like Pete had rushed from them in a hurry. Inside, he could hear Pete gasping, wheezing around sobs and soft cries of pain. The bathroom door was open and Ron practically ran for it.

He flipped on the light as soon as he entered and his stomach plunged down to his toes, terror flooding him so fast he almost felt nauseous. On the bathroom counter was an orange bottle of prescription medication, the cap missing, the contents spilled out over the counter. There was vomit in the toilet, the acid stench filling the bathroom air. The little trash can had been knocked over, the floor mats askew and curled on the tiles, laying on his side and clutching his leg as he sobbed, was Pete Mitchell.

“Oh my god.” The words rushed out of Ron’s mouth. For a moment, he was paralyzed and still, then he lunged forward, snatching the bottle from the counter and throwing himself down at Pete’s side. Ron reached out to grab Pete’s shoulder and his friend flinched so hard he hit his head into the shower door behind him. Ron hardly noticed in his panic.

He held the empty bottle in front of Pete, gripping his shoulder tight. His hands were shaking.

“Pete, Pete, tell me you didn’t take these.” He felt like he was pleading, his mind rioting through scenarios. He needed to call an ambulance, get Pete to the hospital before the medication could kill him, he needed to call Tom, he needed to— “Tell me you didn’t—”

But Pete said nothing, his eyes shut tight against the light, his hands still wrapped around his thigh on either side of the gash on his leg, the wound in its last stages of healing.

“Pete, look at me.” His voice came out like a demand, a little shake of Pete’s shoulder and another sob broke out of Pete’s chest. Ron watched him curl in on himself even further. “Did you take—”

“I didn’t take them!” Pete cut him off, his voice a high cry, muffled as he shoved his head into his knees, his bare shoulders shaking under his sobs. “I didn’t—”

“Okay,” he breathed, “okay, I’m sorry.” He loosened his grip on Pete’s shoulder, his panic suddenly releasing the vice grip it had on his lungs. Still, Ron felt it simmering in his veins, and he didn’t let go of Pete’s shoulder.

Dressed only in boxers, there were goosebumps on Pete’s skin, and Ron watched as he shook and sobbed. Ron watched him shift, drawing his left knee to his chest and wrapping his arms around his leg so tight his muscles flexed. Ron ran his hand over Pete’s back, reaching up to hold the back of his head, letting his fingers slip into Pete’s hair. Tears forced themselves out of Pete’s eyes and Ron felt his throat tighten, watching him choke down a gasp.

Ron turned over the bottle in his hand, reading the label. Prescription pain medication, he realized, likely prescribed to Pete for the injury he was hugging now, the deep gash in his thigh that nearly had him bleed out in Ron’s arms a little more than a month ago.

#pete maverick mitchell #ron slider kerner #top gun #top gun fic #top gun slider #slidersimpfics #slider really do be out here hijacking my fic again #let it be known this is so whumpy and sad #but bitches like that #it's me i'm bitches

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sunnyy3d · 5 months

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Nightmare| Thomas Thorne x Reader

Warnings: death, implied suicide, angst

A/N: Please feel free to give me requests!!!

He is in the field. Oh God. What is he doing? I am running, but my legs aren’t carrying me fast enough. I will never get there in time. I am trying to scream, but nothing is coming out of my mouth. He does not need to do this. Whatever was said is not worth dying over. We have not even been able to get married yet; we are only newly betrothed. He cannot die! I am too late. I am at the field when I hear Byron’s gun go off. I was so close. Finally, I can get the words out of my mouth, “Thomas!” “My love,” he replies, holding his wound. “He shot early, we did not get to twenty paces.” “It is okay, Thomas. Someone, get a doctor!” I scream while clutching onto him. I am already sobbing when Francis walks up to us. I do not even notice until he puts his hand on my shoulder. “Get off of me and go get a doctor,” I command. Francis sighs, “There is nothing a doctor can do. The bullet hit too close to his organs.” “You do not know that. You are not a doctor, so go get one,” I yell at him. I hear Francis walk away. I hold tightly onto Thomas, “Thomas, you cannot die. I will not allow it. You cannot make me live without you, I simply will not.” Thomas raises his clean hand to my face, pulling me in for a sweet kiss. “I did this for you, my love. You shine brighter than the sun, and I could not let those charlatans get away with speaking ill of you. I would say I’m sorry, but that would mean that I have regrets, and I do not. It only saddens me that I will not get to spend more time with you. I love you, dear. Do not ever forget that.” “I love you, too, Thomas. Please do not go. We could have so much more time together,” I sob. I hug him, not caring if I get blood on my dress. Why has Francis not come back with the doctor? I pull away from the hug, hoping to get another good look at Thomas’ face. Maybe he can tell me something poetic, anything to prove he is not dying. But I get the opposite of that. Instead of a happy and alive Thomas, I see a pale and dead one. I start screaming and sobbing, gripping his shirt in my fists. After a little bit, Francis finally comes back. “Where were you? You let him die!” I yell, shoving him. Francis grabs my wrists and pulls me into a hug, but I quickly push him away.

I sprint back to the house, running into my room. What am I to do? I cannot live without Thomas. I pace in front of my bed, contemplating. I cannot live without him, so I shan’t, and I start devising a plan. I put on my best dress and fix my hair. I would look the prettiest I have ever been, if my face did not look so sullen. After ensuring everyone is asleep, I grab a candle and sneak out of my room. I head back into my room after grabbing the main step to my plan. Now, all I need to do is make sure that everything is in order. I place the letters down on my desk in a neat row. There is one for each member of my family that I am leaving. All I have to do now is go to bed. I lay down, trying not to think of my fate and the death of my love, but of the happy times I have spent with him and my family. Eventually, I drift off to sleep.

I wake up with a start, tears streaming down my face. I look around, spotting Thomas. Quickly, I hug him, sobbing into his chest. I hold him like I would die if I ever let go. He groans, waking up due to the sudden change. After realizing what is going on he sits up and grabs me, “What is wrong, my love? What has happened?” “I had a nightmare. It was of the day it occurred,” I explain, sniffling. Thomas pulls me in for a hug, shushing me and rubbing my back. “Oh, it is okay, dear. I am here now. It is all in the past. Nothing bad can happen to us anymore. Look, let us lie back down and sleep.” I let him bring me back down to the bed, not faltering on my grip. I lay my head on his chest, “Can you just talk to me?” He soothingly rubs my back. “Of course. Anything for you, my love.”

#mathew baynton #x reader #thomas thorne #fanfic #thomas thorne x reader #bbc ghosts thomas #bbc ghosts

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philistiniphagottini · 2 months

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wordless ways to say I love you #15 w ryou bakura? 🥺💗 (Also yes I am the last anon that requested bakura before, I just love him and I swear I'll request other characters one of these days 😭)

Yay, I'm so happy you came back and requested for more :D I don't mind, you can keep requesting the same character all the time if you want, I'm happy to write. I hope you enjoy :)

Prompt 15: Calming them down when they have a bad dream.

You stirred in the early hours of the morning to your partner’s restless tossing and turning. The sun had yet to peek over the horizon and when you finally struggled to peel your eyes open, you were greeted to the familiar darkness that surrounded your bedroom. You groaned softly, rubbing the sleep that clung to the corners of your vision as your mind was slowly dragged into the waking world. You gazed to your partner huddled on the other side of the bed, blankets thrown across their body haphazardly as they continued to dream. A sharp gasp tumbled from their lips and you could have sworn your heart nearly jumped up into your throat at the sight of them.

Beads of sweat dotted Bakura’s brow, soft, fluffy strands of snow-white hair damp with sweat and clinging to his forehead. A jumble of incoherent noises tumbled from his parted, bruised lips in a breathless whisper, eyes dancing wildly beneath the lids as he struggled to breathe. You immediately scooted closer to his side of the bed, leaving the warm confines of your blanket as you hovered closer.

"Bakura?" you called softly.

Your hand gently grazed his bare shoulder, the muscles tensing under your touch like your fingertips had suddenly burned him. Another concerning noise bubbled up the back of his throat and you were quick to realise that he was having another nightmare. Your heart sank at the thought of how frequent his dark dreams continued to haunt him, even to this day. Old wounds that may never be healed. You gently shake his shoulder again, trying to softly coax him awake yet terrified of causing further harm. His face pulled into a grimace, body trembling as he slowly started to curl into himself. His fingers clutched the bedsheets tightly, jaw tense as a soft hiss whistled through his teeth. You couldn’t bare the sight any longer and you redoubled your efforts.

"Ryou, come on, wake up" you whispered, jostling his arm. "You’re having a bad dream. Just follow my voice."

The violent tremors wracking his body slowly started to die down as he called your name. Pale lashes fluttered against his cheeks as his eyes abruptly snapped open. He jolted awake, body rigid as his senses slowly started to crawl back to him. Your touch was like a soothing balm as you rubbed your hands along his arm, calming his racing thoughts. His body slowly sank back into the mattress, a huff of air blowing past his lips and ruffling the wisps of hair that fell into his eyes.

"A dream" he muttered. "Just a dream."

A small sigh of relief tumbled from your mouth; heart settled back into your chest as you swallowed around the small lump in your throat. Thank the stars he was awake and calming down. His gaze flicked in your direction and even in the dim lighting he could see the concern tugging at your features.

"I’m sorry love, did I wake you?" he asked, voice dry and throat parched.

You shook your head with a soft smile. "It doesn’t matter. You’re awake now."

You tentatively reached for his hands, a soft gasp falling from your lips at the cold touch of his fingers pressing into your palms.

"Your hands are freezing, Ryou" you said, voice laced with concern.

You cradled them to your chest, desperate to work back a spark of warmth to his deathly chilling skin. A soft smile tilted Bakura’s lips, his heart fluttering at the thought of how much you cared for him. You huddled closer to him, snagging the blanket and dragging it closer to both of you as you threw it over your bodies. You lay on top of Bakura like a protective blanket, trapping him in a bundle of warmth. He chuckled softly, lips brushing against the tip of your nose.

"Thank you."

"Are you alright, Ryou?" you asked, settling into his arms as they circled your waist. "Do you want to talk about it?"

A small hum stirred in the back of his throat. "Not right now. Perhaps in the morning."

A moment of silence fell between you as you hugged Bakura as tight as you possibly could, hoping that it could help make him feel better. You broke the silence with your next question.

"Do you want to go back to sleep?" you asked.

"Not particularly."

"Oh…I could stay up with you?"

Another soft chuckle blew past his lips. "It’s okay. You get some rest. You look like you need it."

"I’m not that tired" you grumbled.

As soon as the words left your lips, you were stifling a yawn. A fond smile stretched Bakura’s lips as gently pat your back.

"I’ll be fine. Holding you like this is enough for me."

#my writing #anon #yugioh #yugioh dm #prompt game #ryou bakura #ryou bakura x reader #x reader #gn!reader

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thewarriorspecial · 9 months

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Drive Me Crazy

*Archive Edition* Previously only linked to AO3, full work now available under the cut.

Rating: Explicit

Guy Gardner/Kyle Rayner

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Sex on a Car, car talk, Blow Jobs, Masturbation

Guy is supposed to be resting and recovering, but he'd rather pass the time working on his car than laying about. Kyle's not much help for letting him rest.

Read on AO3

Drive Me Crazy

Guy was a really unfortunate combination of hard-working and short sighted. If he would ever just use the damn ring or ask for some help it wouldn’t take so long for his latest combat wounds to heal. The closest he managed to come to something resembling resting his body was when he dropped face-down onto the mattress after several rounds of sex or entirely too many beers.

“Alcohol is a blood thinner, you know,” Kyle said, pushing sweaty hair out of his face.

“Mruh,” Guy responded, neither acknowledging nor denying the information.

Instead of icing his battered knee or kicking back in bed to let his ribs knit themselves back together, Guy decided to distract himself with some neglected work around the garage. He pushed the gold Trans-Am into the open bay door instead of driving it because, “The clutch is too soft. Don’t wanna plow through the wall.” Whatever that meant.

So Kyle watched his partner grunt and drip sweat in the morning sun. An excellent way to start the day, Kyle thought to himself as he raised his mug to his lips. The heat of the fresh coffee pooled in his belly along with other things. Kyle’s fingers wandered under his waistband as he thought about Guy’s big, powerful body. He knew he should be better about insisting that Guy rest and maybe not enable his bad behavior. But Guy had needs. And he had needs, too.

The cheery sunlight put the dips and curves of Guy’s muscles in sharp contrast. His huge basketball shorts rode up as he planted his feet and pushed the obnoxiously painted vehicle forward. The backs of Guy’s black and white hi-tops were crushed flat from sliding them on without untying them a hundred times. Kyle’s eyes traveled the taught line from Guy’s Achilles tendon along the rippling calf to the middle of his bulging thigh. Big thighs, shapely ass, back like a mountain range—everything tensed, everything heated and sweaty.

Kyle bit his lip and imagined how good that damp, sun-warm t-shirt smelled. He would definitely abscond with that later. Guy’s grunts and curses made it easy for Kyle to imagine those sounds coming from above, Guy panting, sweat dripping. Kyle could feel the soft brush of chest hair against his throat, the rasp of stubble against his temple.

“Big fuckin’ bitch,” Guy coughed out, as he patted the trunk affectionately. He lifted the bottom of his shirt to wipe his face. Kyle needed to put his own face in the molten center of Guy’s hot, sweaty chest immediately. Still in his pajamas, which is to say Guy’s clothes from yesterday, Kyle shuffled his feet into some sneakers and headed out the front door.

The big, gold Pontiac gently rocked against the parking brake as Guy lovingly worked the drain plugs out of the differential. He checked the plugs for any metal debris and ducked the arc of brown, draining fluid with practiced ease. He lifted the wet plug to his nose and smelled it. No sign of contamination or overuse. He loved that smell—real 75 weight mineral oil. It smelled like hot summers on the drag strip and cavitating pumps at the amusement park.

“I’m not the mechanic here,” Kyle said, leaning on the garage door-frame, “but I’m pretty sure that’s not how you change oil.”

“You’re right. I’m juicing the pumpkin,” Guy’s voice came from under the rear end of the car. He began the quick work of refilling the gear oil and returning the plug to its proper position and torque.

Kyle scrunched his lips to the side, wondering how a pumpkin had gotten stuck under the car. He pursued his seduction head-on without questions. “Thank goodness I have a big strong man to take care of my car for me.”

Guy’s upper body came into view as he rolled the creeper out from under the car. He raised a suspicious eyebrow in Kyle’s direction, “My car.”

Kyle sighed and pushed himself off of the door-frame, “I just wish there was some way I could repay you for all of this.” He walked towards the front of the car and leaned his hip on the front quarter panel.

“Never paid me before.” Guy’s eyes roamed slowly over Kyle’s body. He was more than happy to have a booth bunny posing on his ride.

“Isn’t there something I can do for you? Something you’d like?”

“I…you’re fine?” Guy pulled the shredded remains of an old towel out of his overalls and wiped some of the grease off of his fingers. “I was gonna do this anyways?”

Kyle’s chuckle is devilish. He changes tactics, “I want you to show me how your machine works.”

“Oh? Oh! Well in that case,” Guy began, excitedly pushing himself off of the creeper and onto his feet. He pulled the fallen strap of his overalls onto his right shoulder once he was on his feet. If any of the movement caused him pain, he didn’t show it.

Guy walked to the open hood and rested his hands at the front of the engine bay. His eyes swept over Kyle’s long legs and then the the fruits of his labor. “I wanted to keep as much of it as OG as possible, ya know? But she needed some work, that’s for sure. I was running her way too hard—cracked the rings, gouged the cylinders so I had to bore ‘em out.”

“Bore them out. Sure,” said Kyle, expression wide-eyed and lips pressed together.

“The cylinders. They gotta be smooth so I had to drill em out. Widen the holes.”

“Oh.” Kyle moved to lean next to Guy, under the hood. He liked the sound of that.

“Ended up doing a forty overbore—whole new stroke kit, torque plate, the works.”

“Stroke?” Another one of Kyle’s favorite words.

“Yup, more stoke means bigger parts to fill the bigger displacement.”

“Bigger’s always better.”

Guy squinted at Kyle’s enthusiastic nodding, “And then ya gotta balance the rest of the car out to handle that kinda power. But I could only go so far because I ain’t got another transmission and I don’t want to give up my four speed. Wally came by with a custom cam and main caps, too. Really brought the whole thing together.”

“Ah,” Kyle’s face pinched in a frown at the mention of one of his least favorite people. That explained where two bags of Doritos and an entire cheesecake had gone.

“And since I was already doin’ a whole teardown I figure well, gonna need a bigger crank so might as well do a new timing set which let me replace the fuel pump drive so I don’t have to stay carbureted. Lotta guys really like that sound, ya know? Got a certain smell too but long term, you know?”

“Classic, of course,” Kyle knew better than to try and speak man-car to Guy. He’d tried to keep up with the guy-talk once to horrific results. He enjoyed Guy’s gruff voice and his excitement. He just couldn’t understand how anyone actually enjoyed that amount of tedium and suffering to only drive around under very specific conditions. The subway was right there.

“I want her to last. I ain’t no racer. I wanna drive her as long as I can. Springs were rustin’ to hell so I went ahead and put coil-overs on. She sits a little lower but most people wouldn’t see the difference. New control arms, tie rods, you know, the little things. Got her aligned and shined. Upgraded the exhaust so you can still hear that loping rumble. She’s still got it,” Guy said, voice soft as he started to walk around the driver’s side. He let the tips of his fingers trail gently along the aggressive angle of the A-pillar. “Solar Gold Y88, special edition with the T-top. Only the ’78 Trans Ams. She really is…gorgeous. One of a kind.”

“Gorgeous,” Kyle echoed.

“Men like pretty things,” Guy said over his shoulder as he continued his appreciative walk around the vehicle. His piercing blue eyes stayed on Kyle as his fingers follow the curves of the car, “whether they say so or not.”

“We show it in different ways, I guess.” Kyle stands, crossing his arms and cocking his head as he watches Guy prowl.

“You’re an artist. You get it, don’cha?” Guy’s hands worked their way up the passenger side of the car.

“Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder and whatnot.”

“Lucky for me,” Guy grins. He presses himself into Kyle’s space, steps in until they’re nose to nose. His hands flex with the urge to touch more.

“You don’t think you’re beautiful?”

Guy scoffs. He turned away suddenly, reaching for the hood strut. He lifted the enormous gold rectangle and tucked the hood strut into the engine bay. “Kid. I know I’m not,” he says as he drops the hood with a bang.

“Do you?” Undeterred, Kyle stepped behind Guy, crowding him against the front bumper of the car. Feather light, he ran his hands down Guy’s back, gentle with his tender ribs. He let his arms drape around Guy’s waist. He pressed his face between Guy’s shoulder blades and breathed, “You smell good.”

“Psh. B.O. and diff fluid. That’s the manly stuff right there.”

“It is. I like it. I like you sweaty and dirty.”

“You like my dirty hands?” Guy asked, as he laid his greasy hands over Kyle’s paint stained fingers.

“I like what you do with them.”

“Do ya?” Guy smirked as he turned in Kyle’s arms. His hands balled up in the hem of Kyle’s—his—shirt as he roughly tore it over Kyle’s head. He tossed it aside with one hand and grabbed Kyle around the back of his head with the other. He didn't give Kyle a chance to think, much less speak, as he sealed his mouth over Kyle’s. He was done talking.

Kyle let Guy’s grease spattered hands roam as they pleased.

“So? How much a’this little visit is about what I want, and how much of it is about what you want? Hm?”

“Depends how much you’re up for, old man.”

“Oh I’m up for it. I’m always good for it. How ‘bout you, kid? Are you down?” Guy asks, as he shoved Kyle roughly backwards, forcing him to fall onto the hood. Kyle startled; he half expected Guy to freak out about scratches or dents. “Let’s take ya for a little test ride. See what’s gotcha so hot and bothered.”

“You,” Kyle smiled.

“Let’s test that theory. Do a little diagnostic work.” Guy unsnapped one of the straps of his overalls, the look in his eyes heated and predatory.

“Since when are you a mechanic?”

“Since I got tools and shit, how bout that?” Guy’s brow furrowed.

“Tools?”

“Yeah! Lemme go get my new sniffer n’sniff you out.”

“Your what?” Kyle sat up on his elbows, alarmed.

Guy had already stalked away, steel-toed boots thumping a path over to the toolbox. He pulled a few drawers open, metallic clanging and clattering punctuated his search until he found what he wanted. It looked a bit like one of those book-reading lights—a long flexible new protruded from a plastic, oval body and a little rubber tip was affixed to the end.

“What’re you doing with that?”

“C’mere,” Guy surged forward, pinning Kyle to the car and poking him relentlessly with the tool.

“What the fuck! Knock it off!” Kyle laughed, eyes bright as he tried to wrestle the thing out of Guy’s eagle talon grip.

Guy clicked the switch on the side. A little red light flashed and the tool beeped twice. “Oh! Looks like we got a read here, Spock.” Guy held the tool up with exaggerated thoughtfulness, still keeping Kyle pinned down effortlessly with one arm.

“Well, what is it?” Kyle demanded in mock anger.

Guy clicked his tongue and sighed, “Chronic horny, I’m afraid.”

“Is there any cure, doc?” Kyle asked, honey-sweet with a rock of his hips.

“I fuckin’ hope not!”

“You think you’re the guy for the job? You gonna fix me?” Kyle asked as Guy was already popping the button on his jeans and yanking them down.

“I’m gonna fix you real good, you’ll see.” Guy ran his tongue over the big, red ‘W’ tattoo on Kyle’s hip.

The metal hood was cool against Kyle’s heated skin. He let Guy press him down, folded an arm behind his head to keep the hood scoop from digging into his skull. It felt special, being allowed to touch such a valuable car and to be the center of Guy’s focus despite the sun-gold paint and man-sized decal.

Guy’s big hands squeezed Kyle’s thighs as he lavished Kyle’s hipbones with teeth and tongue. He mouthed the bulge in Kyle’s underwear, blue eyes blazing as he stared up and into Kyle’s panting face.

“Yeah,” Kyle growled, taking a rough handful of Guy’s short, copper hair and pressing him down.

“Like that?” Came Guy’s muffled retort. “Yeah I fuckin’ do. And so do you.” Kyle’s rucked-down jeans rustled in the quiet garage as he wrapped his thighs around Guy’s head. He yanked Guy’s hair again, harder. The sound that came out of Guy was as much a growl as it was a raspy chuckle.

It was a lot of power for Kyle to push around—two hundred and twenty pounds of sex and fury, and both with a hair trigger. Like feathering the gas in a tight turn, Guy’s responses were forceful and immediate. And Kyle loved being the one behind the wheel.

Impatient, Kyle hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his underwear and kicked the last of his clothes off. Guy leaned back to give Kyle some room and divested himself of his shirt and dropped the overalls to the floor. Sharp blue eyes drank in all of Kyle’s tanned, tattooed skin one slow inch at a time.

Against the gold paint, the warm undertones of Kyle’s skin shone beautifully. His body was framed by the wings of the firebird decal, giving him the look of a Greek deity on an ancient mural.

“Gorgeous,” Guy said softly, reverently. He thought of how many times his phoenix had been reborn. “One of a kind.” Guy leaned down and his big, warm hands clamped around Kyle’s naked hips.

Kyle felt suddenly unnerved so he shoved Guy’s head down again, “Now take care of me, so I can take care of you.”

“You gonna take care of me?” Guy half-whispered, dragging his stubble along Kyle’s thigh and flattening his tongue against the base of Kyle’s cock, “Gonna go to work, and pay for dinner, and take real good care of me?” Guy flicked those dangerous blue eyes up at Kyle again, “Daddy?”

Talk about shifting into a higher gear, Kyle thought as he yanked Guy’s mouth open with his thumb and shoved his cock in. Maybe their interests weren’t so different. “Yeah, baby,” Kyle hissed. His fingers dug into Guy’s skull as he started to move his hips, “My good boy.”

With a groan, Guy dropped to his knees. His body ignited and relaxed all at once at the praise. He couldn’t stop the soft little sounds that worked their way out of his mouth every time Kyle’s dick hit the back of his throat. He hollowed his cheeks. He dug his fingers into Kyle’s squirming hips.

“Fuck,” Kyle pushed against Guy’s shoulders, “Guy, fuck, I’m gonna…”

Guy grabbed Kyle’s thighs and closed them tight around his head.

“So fuckin' good, you’re so fuckin' good for me, baby,” Kyle’s head tipped back and he stilled.

Guy greedily drank down everything he was given.

Kyle tried to sit up but he kept sliding in his own sweat. He reached his hand up and laughed, “Here, help me up. Switch me.”

Guy was biting his lip, pondering the lovely sight before him.

“What?” Kyle asked. “What’s that look for?”

“Can I just, you know, look at’cha?”

“You sure?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Okay,” Kyle shrugged. He leaned back into his comfortable position with his arms over his head again.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” Guy sighed, taking himself in hand.

Kyle found himself unable to look away from the motion and felt his cheeks heat up. Watching Guy work himself was powerfully masculine and erotic. Kyle could feel his entire body coiling with desire again at the sight. He raised his legs up, running the arches of his feet along Guy’s calves.

Guy ran his fingertips over the tattoo on Kyle’s thigh—a row of the solar system’s planets. “When’d ya get this one?”

“Long time ago. It’s kinda like those bumper stickers people get every time they visit a land mark. I did each planet. The first time I went there. When I was a new Lantern.”

“Nine of em?” Guy panted out.

“Yup. Pluto counts.”

“Good, “ Guy smiled. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, “N’at one?” He asked, gesturing to the cartoon skull and crossbones on Kyle’s bicep. “Hm. You wanna talk about another man touching me right now?” Kyle teased.

“I dunno,” Guy replied, surprisingly unfazed. His eyes were dark with desire, “Is he hot?”

Kyle couldn’t hold in his laugh. He was not discussing Roy on a scale of 1-10 right now. No way. He started to laugh in earnest and covered his face.

“Don’t do that,” Guy panted, “Tell me later. Come back.”

Kyle dropped his hands to his waist, where he twisted his fingers together awkwardly. “Is this one your favorite?” He asked, trailing his fingers along the ‘W’ on his hip. Guy’s hand started pumping faster.

“Yeah.”

Kyle let his hands trail slowly over his body. He watched the way Guy’s eyes followed the motion. He played with his nipples, pinched them, and smiled at the way it made them both hiss.

“Look at me,” Kyle said, “Keep your eyes open for me.”

Guy grunted in response, but did as he was asked. When he came he nearly lost his balance. Kyle sat up, reaching his hands out. Not thinking, he gripped Guy around the ribs. When Guy twisted away, he jerked back immediately.

“Shit! I’m so sorry! You okay?”

“I’m good,” Guy said with a dopey smile. “All good.”

“You haven’t taken any of your medicine today, have you?” Kyle frowned.

“Psh, what do I need Oxycontin for when I got all this oxytocin, huh?” Guy smiled. He reached out and pinched Kyle’s cheek, “My little drug dealer.” He chuckled and stretched—gingerly as he had forgotten about his ribs again already.

“You sure you’re good?”

“Everything’s good when I got you, baby.”

#*myfic #guykyle #peace love and guykyle #i love cars so much sorry

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mostthingskenobi · 8 months

Text

CASSIAN'S RECKONING - Chapter 7: The Salt

CHAPTER SUMMARY: Jyn needs a minute to herself. Tarkin is more ruthless than ever. All I can say is poor Cassian.

(I have to laugh at my own mediocre photoshop job on that cover photo LOL!!!!!)

I would say this is probably one of the more brutal chapters…

READ THE FIC ON AO3

THIS IS A WHUMPY FIC W/GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE. PLEASE HEED THE TAGS ON AO3.

——————–

CHAPTER 7: THE SALT

Jyn had an hour to kill while the mechanics finished fueling and loading the Patrol Craft into a bulk cruiser. She had checked her gear and then made the rounds with her crew, making sure all the necessary elements were in place. Now the worst of it began, the waiting, the second guessing. Her imagination ran wild with worry as visions of Cassian in pain snuck into her consciousness. She hated that her mind could come up with such awful scenarios, but, ultimately, she knew whatever she imagined was nothing compared to what he actually endured.

She made her way through the base, retracing the steps she and Cassian had walked a few days prior. She wound a course past the barracks, into a dark, narrow passage that led to the higher-ranking officers’ quarters. Privacy on Yavin was scarce; most of the grunts, Jyn included, slept in a giant room filled floor-to-ceiling and end-to-end with bunks. Rogue Squad had a little corner where they all slept near each other, except for Cassian. Due to his rank and position in Rebel Intelligence, he’d been assigned a private room slightly larger than a maintenance closet.

Jyn went there now, pausing at the door and looking around to make sure no one saw her before she punched the access code into the keypad—only she and Cassian knew it. Being inside without his permission felt wrong, like she was violating his privacy, but she needed to feel him, be near his energy to clear the fear from her mind.

Nothing untoward had ever happened in this tiny room; it had simply become a place where they retreated to sip booze or play cards or talk when Scarif nightmares made it impossible to sleep. Rogue One was the family Jyn needed; she loved each member for different reasons, and would lay down her life to protect them. But Cassian’s friendship had become something deeper, something nourishing, comforting, familiar, nonjudgmental, easy, trustworthy. The whole crew had been through a lot together and had seen each other in their darkest moments. But when Cassian wrapped his body around her on Scarif’s beach, whispering that he would hold her until they died, her heart had been pierced. She had never felt so afraid and so safe at the same time.

Jyn and Cassian’s bond was forged in kyber and blood and brutal truth. They shared an unspoken trust that was more meaningful to Jyn than any romantic overture. And though they were both too afraid to confess anything deeper than friendship, too afraid to disturb the private good they shared, she knew she would care about Cassian Andor until she took her last breath.

His brown Corellian-cut field jacket lay tossed across his neatly made bunk. She reached out and clutched it into her hands, her fingers closing over the familiar, sturdy fabric. She traced the transponder sewn into the chest where she knew Cassian concealed a “lullaby” suicide pill. He would never use it, she thought. Though right now he probably wishes he had brought this with him.

The thought made her lightheaded. Jyn felt a chill run up her spine and she quickly sat down on the bed, overwhelmed with the sense that she could feel Cassian through the universe’s ether. The kyber crystal her mother had tied around her neck suddenly felt warm against her skin. A vision flashed through her mind and she saw Cassian’s long eyelashes fluttering as water poured over him, burning cuts on his body.

Her fists tightened around the jacket, squeezing it until the frightening sensations drained away. I’m coming, she thought, willing the message across the galaxy to wherever her friend was suffering. Don’t let go, Cassian.

She looked down at the jacket in her hands, her knuckles white and bloodless from crushing it in her grip. Jyn hesitated for a moment, as though afraid someone might see her, before pressing the jacket to her face, breathing deeply. It smelled like his aftershave and fresh air, flooding her with a hundred tiny memories.

The balm fortified her resolve. Jyn was going to get Cassian back, or die trying.

——————–

When Tarkin, the IT-O droid, and the death troopers returned, they came with an air of bloodthirsty savagery. Cassian knew he’d seen his last shred of mercy.

The troopers circled him and each took hold of his body in a different spot—his feet, his hands, his neck and face. Their gloved fists tightened and Cassian clenched his teeth in anticipation.

“I’ve had a chance to review your interrogation footage,” Tarkin launched in without prelude. “I noticed something quite interesting.”

Cassian refused to take the bait, biting back a retort, determined that fear would not get the better of him.

“You swallow your pain.” Tarkin’s brow arched severely with amusement. “You almost never scream.” He strode forward until he was towering over the rebel. “What kind of man endures relentless torment with nary a sound?” He hooked a finger under Andor’s chin and forced his head up. “We created you, didn’t we? Hung your father in the town square. Sent you to prison as a child. Let your mother die as our suffocating grip tightened around Ferrix. And countless other perceived wrongs not in our official records.”

Cassian burned with rage at the mention of these painful memories and the casualness with which the Grand Moff paraded them out like afterthoughts. His youth had crumbled with each loss, a childhood, a family, stolen by the Empire. Andor began to shake with emotion, with a fire he had never been able to fully stamp out. He couldn’t hold it back any longer.

His father had hung in the Ferrix snow for weeks. Cassian had to walk by the body nearly every day on his way to school.

And his mother, her love as sharp and enduring as her pointed opinions, had died cold and alone, without her son by her side for comfort.

Tarkin’s nostrils flared as he nearly bared his teeth like a predator. “You, the Rebellion,” he said, revulsion dripping from every word, “you’re a by-product, an inevitability. The Empire is creating order out of chaos, and as we contract our hold, collateral damage is certain.” He grasped Andor roughly by the chin, barely containing his own rage. “You think your righteous anger exempts you from stepping into the new order. No more. It’s time for you to learn your place.”

He released Cassian and stepped back, nodding to the death troopers. Their gauntleted hands instantly tightened, twisting into the rebel’s flesh, ripping open all the wounds the IT-O droid had made the day before. They rubbed his face and neck, scraped over his chest and hands, until each thin cut bled afresh, dripping down his skin in rivulets.

Cassian cried out, desperately trying to pull away, curling inward as much as his restraints allowed.

The troopers retreated as Tarkin approached once again. He gripped a fistful of the prisoner’s hair and wrenched his head up. “We will eventually tear a scream from your throat,” he snarled.

The young man glared at the Grand Moff, his body still shaking. Tarkin seemed to have forgotten that Maarva Andor, speaking from beyond the grave, had inspired the insurrection on Ferrix. Her barbed rhetoric lifted a community long exploited by the Empire. And Tarkin obviously didn’t know her son had been there to witness it. Maarva’s words came back to Cassian now as he looked into his oppressor’s eyes. “The Empire is a disease that thrives in darkness.” His voice was strained but he spoke with conviction. “It is never more alive than when we sleep.”

Tarkin’s lip curled. “Flood the reservoir with sea water,” he barked at the droid.

Cassian’s eyes widened, knowing the agony that was coming. He felt the blood dripping from his wounds and imagined rubbing salt into each one. “It's easy for the dead to tell you to fight,” he continued, anger building in his heart.

“Tell me the names of every rebel with you on Scarif,” Tarkin demanded.

“Maybe it's true, maybe fighting is useless.” Cassian refused to look away from the Grand Moff, refused to break eye contact. He felt Maarva’s spirit rushing through his veins, renewing his strength. “Perhaps it's too late. But I'll tell you this...”

“Last chance, Captain Andor.”

“If I could do it again, I'd wake up early and be fighting these bastards from the start. Fight the Empire!”

Tarkin released him and moved far enough away to avoid getting soaked as the IT-O droid activated the water nozzle above the rebel.

When the salty sea water seared across his wounds, Cassian screamed.

——————–

END NOTES

NEXT CHAPTER IS CALLED “THE POWER" - Cassian tries to mentally spar with Tarkin but is nearing his breaking point. Jyn receives special instructions from Draven right as she's about to leave on her rescue mission.

Thank you for reading!

Likes, comments, and reblogs are very welcome!

Much love!

——————–

READ IT ON AO3- Kudos and Comments Welcome :-)

READ CHAPTER 1 “The Razor”

READ CHAPTER 2 “The Scythe”

READ CHAPTER 3 “The Cold”

READ CHAPTER 4 “The Expendable”

READ CHAPTER 5 “The Truth”

READ CHAPTER 6 “The Detritus”

READ CHAPTER 7 "The Salt"

READ CHAPTER 8 “The Power”

READ CHAPTER 9 “The Betrayal”

READ CHAPTER 10 “The Ruse”

READ CHAPTER 11 "The Reprieve"

READ CHAPTER 12 “The Ghosts”

READ CHAPTER 13 “The Redemption”

READ CHAPTER 14 “The Spoils”

READ CHAPTER 15 “The Interrogation”

READ CHAPTER 16 "The Rogues"

READ CHAPTER 17 “The Absolution”

READ CHAPTER 18 “The Reach”

READ CHAPTER 19 “The Hologram”

READ CHAPTER 20 “The Divide”

READ CHAPTER 21 “The Cost”

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bigoldonnielee · 2 months

Text

Story WIP! CW: Panic attack

I sigh, taking a bite out of my muffin and pulling out my phone to mindlessly doom scroll. Dog, cat, call out post, dog, genocide, dog… I look up to see Samson starting to roll around in his bed, and then I’m back to the screen. This time, with a notification waiting for me.

From my mother.

“Hi, sweet May May! How's your little working dog doing? Listen, we need to talk about these payments and how you need to get a job. I know you have problems, but everyone does-”

That’s all I’m able to read until I close my eyes, drop my phone, and start shaking. I sit helplessly as nothing I do stops the immediate swell of panic in my chest, the sweat on my skin, the tears in my eyes. I start to rock as my thoughts pick up and my mind goes a mile a minute. Am I unsafe? Will she stop helping me? I’m doing all I can, and I know it’s not enough, but I’m trying. What will happen to me? Samson? I want to work, I want to so badly. I hate needing so much help. I hate relying on my parents’ money. They don’t understand how awful all of this makes me feel. I didn’t ask for this. I want to like people, be around people, interact with them like a normal person. But I can’t, I just can’t and I can’t do anything and I know I’m no good and I should just give up and I should just die and-

My thoughts stutter when I hear a gentle whine, and I feel my dog jump on the couch, and onto me, pushing me down slowly so he can press his warm weight on top of me. I inhale sharply, finally breathing for the first time in what felt like minutes, maybe hours. A choked sob escapes me as I clutch tightly to Samson, pressing my face into him as he cranes his neck to give me puppy kisses. I’m coughing, mucus and tears draining down my throat and face, as I try to force my breathing to calm, desperately working on the coping skills my therapist had beat into me.

Slowly, so slowly, I stop shaking, and I stop rocking. I pant, fingers still wound tightly in Samson’s fur, eyes clenched shut. He doesn’t move or get off of me, merely whines and licks my fingers, gently coaxing me to loosen my grip and relax. It takes me much longer to start to let go, and to be able to open my eyes, but my sweet boy only lays on me, giving me affection, worrying about me.

Once I fully relax, I notice the sun has gone from hanging lowly in the sky to being firmly tucked away with the moon on full display. Hours had passed, but how many?

I don’t dare to look at the direction of my phone, keeping my breath steady. I look at Samson, who looks at me in turn, his head tilted to the side as if he’s asking if I’m okay.

“Oh Sammy,” I chuckle tearily. “Thank you, Sammy baby. I don’t know what I would do without you.” Samson merely gives me another wet kiss, huffs, and plops his head on my shoulder as I hug and pet him.

#panic attack #horror #horror writing #wip wednesday #wip #writeblr #writers on tumblr #dog #service dog #Dogthology

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aries-writingblog · 1 year

Text

Enemy Fire: 8

Summary: There’s a new kid in town, and she’s got a city to usurp.

Pairing: Jason Todd x F. Reader

Word count: 1.4K

Warnings: language, threats, violence, gunshot wounds

AN: photos are from Pinterest

Jason sat in a chair at her bedside, his legs spread wide. He’s been sprawled there for hours, waiting.

He was mildly impressed with her, yet again. She had managed to distract him enough to actually steal something off his belt.

The street rat in him couldn’t believe it.

And for that, he was pissed.

So he was waiting for her to wake, so he could kick her ass.

But he had been there since Dick called him and no change. She still hadn’t woken.

He had sat for hours, examining her face. Her full face. He had never seen her without the domino. Now, able to see all her features, he couldn’t deny she had an eerie beauty.

A new scar graced her cheek, the skin still looked irritated and raw.

His fingers came up, carefully touching his own scar that lashed angrily across his throat.

Batarangs never dealt too much damage. Just enough to leave a permanent reminder.

YN groaned, her lungs felt pressured, like they had been filled with water. Her body was heavy. Aching. Her eyelids were in much of the same condition.

Her vision was bleary and blurred as her eyes finally cracked open. Where the hell…

“Good morning, Princess. Mind telling me why and how you lifted that nifty little device?” Jason asked. He tapped his fingers against the chair’s arm.

She blinked groggily, rolling onto her side. Jason cocked an eyebrow.

YN groaned, the stitches in her skin pulling irritably. Her eyes quickly found the figure sitting beside the bed.

He wore regular clothes: a light blue T-shirt with dark jeans, combat boots on his feet. A signature, brown leather jacket layered over it.

Black hair tussled perfectly, the white streak nearly positioned in a perfect question mark— almost begging her to ask. Obscuring his identity, a black domino lay across the bridge of his nose, whiting out his eyes.

But just beneath the mask, a cruel, curved scar began at the corner of his lip and traced a path across his skin.

She didn’t even have to guess.

This was Red Hood. Or at least, what he was comfortable showing her, with how much she had caught him off guard.

Pushing the thick blankets from her body, YN groaned again, a vain attempt to keep herself quiet. She made it to her feet shakily, wincing at every harsh tug of her stitches.

Jason sat up, realizing she was committed to escaping.

“Where the fuck are you going?” He barked. Anger flushed his face, red hot heat in his cheeks. He shoved the chair back, rushing toward her, standing in front of the door. “I’m speaking to you.”

YN shoved at his chest; The force was weak, she nearly toppled over from the exertion. If only she had been freshly hospitalized when he first met her, he felt he could’ve taken her a lot easier.

“I have to get home. He’s coming.”

“Not ambiguous at all.” Jason griped, under his breath. He leaned back against the door. Blocking the only way out— unless she broke through the window, which she was seriously considering. “I’m gonna help you but you have to be clear with me here.”

YN laughed, the action made her stomach ache but she ignored it.

“Oh, you’re gonna help me, are you?” She snarked. Her face settled into faux gratitude before it was broken by a vicious sneer. “When did I ever ask for your help?”

“When you stole my pager.” Hood retaliated.

YN’s mouth closed, her lips pressing together. Jason scoffed, chuckling darkly under his breath.

“I didn’t know what I was stealing— it looked like a taser.” She lied, shrugging one shoulder.

Jason rolled his eyes.

“You’re not gonna make it far like this.” He gestured to her injuries.

“I’ll go as far as I need to.” She heaved out, her hand absentmindedly clutching at the wound on her side. “I’ve been on my own for years, Hood. I’ve survived worse.”

“Sure.” He droned. Jason finally pushed away from the door and stepped aside. Holding his hand out, presenting her exit. “When you pass out in a few miles, I’ll be right behind you to gather your unconscious body.”

YN shoved past him, as soon as it was available. It didn’t matter in the moment that she certainly didn’t own the shirt or the purple sweatpants she wore, or that she was only in socks. Or, most importantly, missing her domino mask.

She had to get out of this place. For more than one reason.

“What’re you gonna do with it? Bury me in the backyard?” She shouted back, hobbling as fast as she dared down the hallway.

“Well, actually, there is an unoccupied grave back there.” Jason admitted.

YN rolled her eyes, scoffing quietly. She pressed her hand to the wall, keeping herself upright.

The carpet underfoot was soft, the furniture nearby lavish. Where the hell was she, anyhow?

“It’s so hard to see why you’re still single.” She grumbled.

Jason sighed, watching her struggle passively.

She definitely didn’t look like the same person that attacked him and nearly destroyed him twice. She looked more like an injured animal, trying to hide herself away until she healed.

She looked more like himself.

Jason bit down on his lip. He was gonna regret this.

He moved forward, stepping in front of her again. Blocking the path. She leaned her shoulder against the wall with a grunt. Nearly breathless from her attempt at escape.

“Whoever’s hunting you, whoever you’re worried about, you can’t face them like this. You’re hurt.” He insisted, trying to keep his face neutral.

“And you just want to keep me here where you know where I am.” She clarified, putting a hand on his chest. His muscles were soft— a healthy layer of fat over the strength lurking beneath his skin. He took care of himself; A strange realization to come to, but a realization nonethelesss. “No thank you. I’ll be in my lair, plotting my evil domination.”

She pushed him away, continuing along the hallway with her hand pressed to the wall.

He pursed his lips at her stubbornness.

“God, you’re such an asshole.” He declared, turning to watch her fumble down the stairs.

She only shook her head; Jason was sure she was grumbling under her breath at him.

Dick emerged from the living room, upon hearing commotion from upstairs. Standing at the end of them, he watched as the mysterious girl came down, her face screwed up in anger.

“You’re awake.” He smiled in greeting. YN blew right past him, forcing herself out of the door as soon as she opened it. He turned back to see Jason halfway down the stairs. “What did you do?”

Jason snatched the mask from his face, giving Dick a glance that read ‘are you kidding?’ Shoving his mask into his pocket, he stared at the retreating figure down the driveway.

“Trust me on this one,” Jason grumbled, his hands came in front of him, rubbing his fingers over the mostly healed but still raw skin on his wrists. “She’s psychotic.”

Dick glanced down to his movements before glancing back up to the driveway.

She had left in a hurry— no shoes, none of her clothes, only the borrowed ones she wore.

This whole situation was becoming increasingly more confusing.

“Where’s she going?” He questioned.

It seemed strange that Jason was unaware of this girl’s possession of his pager. Even more suspicious that this random girl, somehow connected to Jason, ended up with two gunshot wounds in an alleyway.

“She left.”

“Did she tell you who shot her?”

Jason shook his head, turning on his heel. Dick followed quickly.

“No, but she knows.” Jason threw the door open to the study.

Opening the door behind the desk, he dragged his fingertips along the wall. They caught on an uneven section and he pushed inward. A set of spiral stairs led down, into the dark.

“Who was she?” Dick asked.

Jason groaned at the constant barrage of questions his brother lobbed at him.

He supposed this was his punishment for keeping them all out of the loop, but this was his problem to solve and he didn’t need the help of his older brother.

Lights flickered on as Jason stepped on the first flight . Dick went to follow, but Jason placed a firm hand on his chest and shoved backwards.

Dick’s mouth fell open with incredulous offense.

“I’m about to find out.”

#jason todd x f!reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x reader #enemy fire

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caesurah-tblr · 11 months

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AO3 isn’t allowing me to post so I’ll do it in the morning. For now, enjoy the 2nd chapter of Try Not To Lose Your Head here on Tumblr :)

TWS- SUICIDAL IDEATION, MEDICAL RELATED TRAUMA, PTSD, AND PANIC ATTACKS.

Charlie lays on his side, tucked underneath his old desk. They couldn’t stay there, out in the open, so he had lead them to the one place he felt safe anymore- his office.

He looks at these people he’s supposed to know and just feels sad. They seemed to care so much- they came looking for him, and now that they’re here, they refuse to leave even after the things they’ve seen. The thought brings him a little comfort.

“Are you okay?” One of them asks. Charlie shrugs.

“I don’t know.”

That’s a lie- he feels like shit. He’s almost completely covered in blood, his arm and abdomen ache something fierce, he’s starving, exhausted, and constantly on the verge of getting sick. He’s the only cast member to be alive, but he doesn’t feel like he should be. Instead of fighting, wouldn’t it be easier to just join them?

The one that spoke moves toward him, interrupting his thoughts, and reaches into his backpack that’s at his side. “I found this while we were on our way here. I thought it might be empty, but there’s actually some good shit in here.”

He pulls out a bright red case- a First Aid Kit. “Your arm looks pretty bad. I don’t really know what I’m doing, but you should let me patch it up a bit.”

Charlie curls tighter into himself, clutching his wounded arm to his chest. No way in hell is he letting this guy close to him with medical supplies. Never again.

“Dude, Charlie, just let me help you. That’s why we’re here. Because you’re our best friend.”

“I don’t even know your name.” He looks at the three of them. “I don’t know who any of you are. If we were friends, I’d know you.”

“My friends call me Condi.” The man with the First Aid kit says. “That’s Bizly and Grizzly. We’ve all known each other for a very long time. We have a podcast.”

“A podcast?”

Blink. Blink. Blink.

“A dnd podcast!” Bizly speaks up. “We’ve been doing it for a awhile.”

Charlie sits up, still curled protectively around himself but less stiff. It sounds… familiar. The podcast, the names. It feels like safe.

“I… I love dnd.” He says it shakily, but it pulls smiles from the other three anyways.

They take turns telling him things about himself he can’t remember- where he’s from, his parents, his girlfriend (oh god, he has a fucking girlfriend-?), and despite something in the back of his mind telling him something is wrong, he believes them because it’s all he really has left.

Condi asks for his arm again and this time he allows him to wrap the wound. And he’s perfectly fine until he feels the sting of an alcohol pad, then-

The room smells both sterile and musty. He’s strapped down in a hospital bed. His mouth tastes like blood.

There’s a figure above him, apologizing profusely, and he’s so confused he doesn’t understand why until he feels the sickening feeling of his own skin being ripped apart. He screams, but Ranboo doesn’t seem to hear it. He hears something about a toy car, but the rest of it is drowned out by sinew tearing as shaky hands remove his organs one by one. And all he can do is beg for his life, then for the end of it.

He slams himself back against the desk, away from the horrible feeling. Charlie has to swallow rapidly to keep himself from vomiting in his mask.

His vision refracts, and suddenly he can feel his heartbeat in his ears. He’s gasping for breath, but the mask doesn’t allow clean air so he claws at it to try and pull it away, but it won’t budge. The figures in front of him shift again, and their faces are replaced with white for a moment before-

He wakes up.

Charlie isn’t sure how long it’s been. He sits up, hands feeling his chest for blood or maybe his organs spilling out of him, but he finds nothing. He’s still intact.

His arm is bandaged. It throbs slightly, but otherwise feels fine.

“Charlie?” A voice calls out to him. It’s Grizzly, who is leaning against one of the large slime plushes. The other two are sleeping nearby.

“What happened?”

“You had a panic attack.” Grizzly sits up. “The mask kept you from taking deep breaths so you passed out. We tried to take it off you while you were out, but it wouldn’t budge.”

Charlie reaches up, fingers grazing the metal mask. The bridge of his nose stings terribly, and it’s easy to identify the feel of old blood on his cheeks. He’s pushed the skin too far, and if he keeps pulling on it, it’ll cut him down to the bone.

He pulls his hands away from it and instead reaches down to clutch the bundle of cloth still in his hands. Right. This is about Ranboo. His own shit can wait- find Ranboo, kill Hetch, get the fuck out of here. He takes a deep breath.

“Here. Found a straw in one of the drawers.” Grizzly hands him his water bottle and a straw, which Charlie quickly drops in the drink. He drains the whole thing in a few gulps, desperate to get the taste of bile and blood out of his mouth. He’s also handed a couple of granola bars and he eats those as well.

“Thank you.” Charlie gives a grateful nod. Grizzly smiles.

“Anything for a friend.”

They make small talk, and eventually Grizzly dozes off as well, leaving him to his own devices.

So he thinks.

Obviously Hetch is still in the mall. He has to be in order to play this finale he wants so badly. The question is where?

He needs a map. Not a directory, but a map of the actual building itself. Do malls have basements?

There’s a notebook in one of the drawers of his desk. He doesn’t remember why it’s there, but it’s empty when he opens it so it doesn’t matter anyways.

Charlie writes down everything he knows. It’s not much- just that he maybe grew up in a cabin but mostly likely didn’t, that Hetch was a backstabbing motherfucker, that he’s sorry he couldn’t save Ranboo, and that he never even had the chance to save Sneeg.

Security. Oh fuck.

How had he forgotten the seven foot tall wire monster that was most likely roaming the mall at this very moment, ready to rip anything to shreds that it’s path crossed?

Charlie pulls out the paper he had taken from the Showfall employee and uses it to draw a rough map of the floor they’re on. It won’t do much, but it’ll be useful to have at least something to work with in the future should he need it.

He guilty goes through the pockets of Ranboo’s jacket as well, and is surprised when he finds a few pieces of folded up paper.

One of them is torn from a notebook with the words THE LOSTFIELD INCIDENT? WHAT COULD IT MEAN? TAPES WERE LOCATED IN [REDACTED], BUT CONTAINED LITTLE INFORMATION I COULD DECIPHER. MUST FIND OUT MORE. written in red ink on the page.

“The Lostfield Incident?” Charlie doesn’t think he’s ever heard of a place called Lostfield, but if Ranboo had the paper on him it has to be important, so he tucks it away as well.

The next three are missing posters, and even with the black lines going through their faces, Charlie recognizes himself, Ranboo, and Sneeg.

MISSING! PLEASE CALL [REDACTED] WITH ANY INFORMATION. REWARD: 10,000 It says underneath each of their pictures. In the corner is the Showfall logo.

Had they gone missing at some point? Charlie doesn’t remember ever leaving. What if they had gotten out, but Showfall had found them? He wonders what the outside is like for a moment before flipping his own paper to see if anything is on the back.

The backs of each poster are covered in binary code and impossible for him to decipher without help. He folds the papers and tucks them inside as well.

When the others wake, he’ll be ready. He has to be.

I’m coming, Ranboo.

_________________________________

Charlie’s Poster:

01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110110 01101001 01101100 01101100 01100001 01101001 01101110 00101110 00001010 00001010 00100000 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01001000 01100101 01110010 01101111 00100000 01101111 01100110 00100000 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01101111 01110111 01101110 00100000 01110011 01110100 01101111 01110010 01111001 00101110 00100000 01000100 01101111 01100101 01110011 00100000 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01101100 01111001 00100000 01101101 01100101 01100001 01101110 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110010 01101101 00101100 00100000 01101111 01110010 00100000 01100100 01101111 01100101 01110011 00100000 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110111 01101001 01110011 01101000 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01110011 01100101 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101111 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110010 01110011 00100000 01100110 01110010 01100101 01100101 00111111 00001010 00001010 01000100 01001111 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010100 00100000 01010011 01000101 01000101 01001011 00100000 01010100 01001000 01000101 00100000 01010100 01010010 01010101 01010100 01001000 00101110 00100000 01001001 01010100 00100000 01010111 01001001 01001100 01001100 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010100 00100000 01010011 01000101 01010100 00100000 01011001 01001111 01010101 00100000 01000110 01010010 01000101 01000101 00101110 00001010

Ranboo’s Poster:

01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01001000 01100101 01110010 01101111 00101110 00001010 00001010 01001000 01100101 00100000 01110011 01100001 01110110 01100101 01100100 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100111 00101100 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01110011 01100001 01110110 01100101 01100100 00100000 01101000 01101001 01101101 00101110 00100000 01000001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01101100 01111001 00100000 01100001 00100000 01101000 01100101 01110010 01101111 00101100 00100000 01101001 01100110 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100100 01100101 01100001 01110100 01101000 00100000 01100001 01101110 01100100 00100000 01100100 01100101 01110011 01110000 01100001 01101001 01110010 00100000 01101001 01101110 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01110111 01100001 01101011 01100101 00111111 00001010 00001010 01010100 01001000 01000101 00100000 01010100 01010010 01010101 01010100 01001000 00100000 01001001 01010011 00100000 01001111 01010101 01010100 00100000 01010100 01001000 01000101 01010010 01000101 00101110 00100000 01010011 01000101 01000101 01001011 00100000 01001001 01010100 00101100 00100000 01000001 01001110 01000100 00100000 01010010 01001001 01000100 00100000 01010100 01001000 01000101 00100000 01010111 01001111 01010010 01001100 01000100 00100000 01001111 01000110 00100000 01010100 01001000 01001001 01010011 00100000 01010000 01001100 01000001 01010101 01000111 01000101 00101110 00100000 01000110 01010010 01000101 01000101 00100000 01010101 01010011 00101110 00001010

Sneeg’s Poster:

01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01010100 01100001 01101011 01100101 01101110 00101110 00001010 00001010 01010100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01101100 01100101 01100110 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100100 01101001 01100101 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101111 01101110 01100101 00101110 00100000 01010111 01100001 01110011 00100000 01101000 01100101 00100000 01100101 01110110 01100101 01110010 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01101100 01111001 00100000 01101001 01101101 01110000 01101111 01110010 01110100 01100001 01101110 01110100 00101100 00100000 01101111 01110010 00100000 01110111 01100001 01110011 00100000 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101101 01100101 01110010 01100101 01101100 01111001 00100000 01101101 01100101 01100001 01101110 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100010 01100101 00100000 01100001 00100000 01101101 01100101 01101101 01101111 01110010 01111001 00111111 00001010 00001010 01000100 01001111 00100000 01001110 01001111 01010100 00100000 01010011 01000101 01000101 01001011 00100000 01010100 01001000 01000101 00100000 01010100 01010010 01010101 01010100 01001000 00101100 00100000 01000110 01001111 01010010 00100000 01001001 01010100 00100000 01001001 01010011 00100000 01010111 01001001 01010100 01001000 01001001 01001110 00100000 01011001 01001111 01010101 00101110 00100000 01000110 01001001 01000111 01001000 01010100 00101100 00100000 01001110 01000101 01010111 00100000 01001000 01000101 01010010 01001111 00101110 00100000 01000110 01001001 01000111 01001000 01010100 00100000 01010100 01001111 00100000 01010011 01000001 01010110 01000101 00100000 01010101 01010011 00100000 01000001 01001100 01001100 00101110 00001010

Happy solving!!!

#generation loss #genloss #here we go again another chapter wooo #Caesurah writes

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merlinisnotover · 6 months

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Emptiness

Whumptober Day 31 tw: major character death

Merlin was no stranger to death. He had watched men die of illness, wounds, and self-sacrifice. He’d seen innocents put to death that he couldn’t save. He’d seen knights fall in battle, baring their teeth against the pain. He’d seen Lancelot give his life gladly for Camelot, despite Merlin’s protests. He’d laid his king to rest and the tears had not stopped for weeks. He’d returned to Camelot to find Gwaine gone as well and been inconsolable.

But this?

He couldn’t do this.

Hunith lay on her bed, only a trace of the strong woman he was raised by. She had been sick for months and Merlin had moved back to Ealdor to care for her.

His magic had been useless, even with all of Gaius’ books at his disposal, Court Physician in his own right now, and it soon became apparent that it was only a matter of time.

“Merlin,” Hunith whispered, and he fell to his knees at her side in an instant.

“Yes?”

“You’re a good boy,” she said. “I’m proud of you.”

Merlin’s eyes began to tear again and he blinked them away. He was so tired of crying.

Hunith coughed suddenly, and Merlin rolled her to her side to help clear her airways.

“I’m not ready to say goodbye,” Merlin whispered when she had recovered.

“I know, cariad. None of us ever are.” She patted his hand on the mattress, papery skin over boney fingers. “It’s time though. You can’t fight time.”

“I want to try,” Merlin admitted. “I wish you’d let me move you to Camelot. We could find something to help —.”

“I know,” Hunith said again. “But this is my home. I belong here.”

Merlin nodded glumly, not wanting to waste time having this argument again. “I know.”

She lifted her hand and cupped it around his cheek instead. “You’ll be fine. You’re a strong boy.”

Merlin laughed wetly, the tears pressing at his eyes again. “I don’t feel very strong. I feel like a small child again.”

Hunith patted his cheek. “And you’ll always be my small boy, my magical boy. All grown up and Court Physician like my uncle. I’m so, so proud of you.”

“I love you,” Merlin whimpered, clutching at her hand.

“I love you, too, cariad. More than I can ever say. But I have to go.”

“Not yet,” Merlin begged.

“Merlin, I know you can feel it, too.” Hunith looked up at him with sunken eyes.

“Yes,” he whispered. “You should rest.”

Hunith smiled again, her dry lips cracking.

Merlin pulled the blankets up over her too-thin chest and stoked the fire to make sure she was warm, then settled into the chair beside the bed to keep watch.

The rattle of her chest began sometime past midnight, startling Merlin from his thoughts.

“Mum?” he knelt beside her again, taking her hand, but she didn’t stir. It would be soon, then. The dying always knew.

He sat with her for hours, her breathing become more and more shallow as the night dragged on. Just as the dawn was beginning to break over the village, she took a breath in, out, and did not draw another.

Merlin turned her hand and felt for the pulse at her wrist, but none came. She was gone.

Falling back onto the floor, Merlin sobbed until he couldn’t breathe. His eyes ached as they produced more tears than he thought possible. And his heart constricted around the empty space his mother left there.

Merlin was alone.

#hunith #bbc merlin #whump #major character death #whumptober

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ethereal-inquisitor · 2 years

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Chapter 9: Velvet Promises

a/n: More heartache, Thorin without a shirt (that's' definitely its own warning)

Previous Chapter

He stopped a respectable distance from you, obviously not wanting to crowd you or make you feel trapped. He clasped his hands behind his back, waiting for you to say something.

“What do you want me to say, Thorin?” you asked awkwardly, clasping your hands together to keep them from shaking. “I wasn’t lying to Dwalin. I do forgive you.”

He was just far enough away that you couldn’t make out the more detailed nuances of his expression, but you watched a frown tug at the corner of his lips. “I don’t...” he started, then decided against whatever it was he was going to say. He took a deep breath and tried again. “After what I did, I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I just wanted to tell you that I’ve done my best to take care of the issues around Erebor. You will not be tormented or harassed anymore. I also wanted to thank you. You had every right to tell us to deal with our problems on our own. I am grateful that you did not.”

When he took a step closer to you, you tensed but did not move. He reached down to gently take one of your hands, calloused thumb swiping along your palm gently. Sparks tingled along the path of his thumb, and he brought your wrist up to gently brush his lips along the back of your hand. His eyes glittered in the light of the moon, and for a moment you could almost pretend as if this past year never happened. “Thank you for that.”

‘Thank Mahal I did not lay with you. No self-respecting dwarf, commoner or king, would want a repulsive creature like you in their bed. I can’t even stand the sight of you.’ The warmth in your belly soured at the memory of his hurtful comments.

The words echoed loudly through your head, flooding you with humiliation and self-doubt. You jerked your hand from his grasp as if his touch burned you. “Stop,” you whisper hoarsely, clutching the hand to your chest and pressing it against the sharp pain that clutched at your heart. “You don’t have to do that. I’m already here, it’s a sure thing I’m going to help you. Don’t pretend it’s something it’s not.” You turned from him, starting to move back in the direction of camp. This conversation was over.

“And if I am not pretending?” he asked, suddenly right in front of you. You had forgotten how fast he could be when motivated. “If I tell you that while we were in the elf’s palace all I could think about was ripping his head off his shoulders because he touched you. He showered you with gifts that I wanted to give you. He cared for you, clothed you…” He took another step forward and you backed right up into a tree.

He was close, his arms caging you in as he leaned against the tree. ”You smell of him, and it is taking every ounce of strength I have not to remove his scent from you in the most primal of ways.” His voice was little more than a growl against your ear, and you drew in a slow, shuddering breath.

You had forgotten how violently your body reacted to his voice, especially in situations like this. The velvety baritone of his voice had a direct line to your nethers, and that hadn’t changed in the year you had been apart.

“It’s just soap,” you whispered, not meeting his gaze. “Helps repulsive creatures like me to be a little less repulsive.”

He cupped your cheek with his rough hand, gently turning your face so you would look at him. Many emotions passed over his face, and you tried not to think on any of them. “I regret every word that came out of my mouth that day. It rips at my heart that I was the one to wound you, and I have no illusions that I irreparably damaged what we had.” He slid his thumb along your cheek to catch the tear falling there.

Every word he said tugged at your heart, causing your chest to ache. You reached up to take his hand off your face, holding it for a moment longer than necessary before letting it go. “I already said I’ve forgiven you.” You sniffed, wiping angrily at your face. “I….I’ll see you back at camp, okay?”

You slid around him and headed straight back for the camp, muttering angrily to yourself every step of the way.

~*~

You didn’t speak to anyone once you were back in camp, heading straight for the little area you had claimed for yourself. You grabbed your blanket and didn’t even bother setting your bedroll up, instead choosing to curl up in the long, warm fabric like a ball and use your pack for a pillow.

Thorin came in a few minutes later, dragging Dwalin out of the camp bodily. Moments later you heard the clanging of swords, signaling that the King and his Captain were sparring. It was always a beautiful sight to behold, but you didn’t think it would be appropriate to stare at this point. Burrowing deeper into the blanket, you didn’t hear Bilbo come up behind you until he cleared his throat.

“So… uh… that didn’t go so well?” he asked, sitting with his back up against a nearby rock.

“I’m already here,” you said angrily. “Why would he even pretend to…? I know he doesn’t want me. I don’t need any hope that something different is going to happen.”

Bilbo cleared his throat again, obviously uncomfortable. “Did it ever occur to you that, maybe, he isn’t pretending?” The hobbit held his hands in front of him and waved them frantically when you glared at him. “Just a thought!” You stewed in your blanket for a few moments while Bilbo tried to rephrase his argument. “Also, just for the record in general, there is no way that dwarf is faking any feeling he has for you. I know that he hurt you, and I’m not excusing that one bit. But there is a chance that he lied, you know, back then. About his….preferences and whatnot. There were times during our trip where I would catch him looking at you, and they were not looks of disgust or horror. They were the looks of a man so desperately in love with a woman that he would do anything for five minutes alone with her.”

You sniffled, pulling your blanket over your head so he couldn’t see your tears. “He’s a very good actor, then. Dwarven politics and all.”

Bilbo scoffed, patting your shoulder awkwardly. “Thorin is a terrible liar,” he said with a short laugh, “you know that as well as I do. Just terrible. I honestly believe that he is trying to make amends in the dwarvish way. Sometimes it doesn’t translate well to other races.”

You grunted in reply, listening to the clashing of swords in the background. You were a ball of raging emotions, and you didn’t know what to do with them. A large part of you wanted to tackle him to the ground and show him what he was missing. Ride him until both of you were unable to walk straight for days. The other part of you strongly disagreed, insisting that maybe he was telling the truth in his moment of rage. Maybe dwarves didn’t find human women like you attractive at all. Maybe it explained why you were never able to go beyond heated kisses in the woods.

Ugh, you thought, sinking deeper into your blanket. That was a depressing thought. Add to that the fact that you pretty much threw yourself at him anytime you were alone….

Stop.

This line of thinking was getting you nowhere. Whatever it had been no longer matters since you and Thorin were no longer together in any sense of the word. You were going to get this done. You were going to save Erebor again, and then you were going back home.

And if some elf king wants a roll in the proverbial hay, you might actually be amenable to it. You did a quick calculation in your head, counting silently to yourself. Gods, it had been almost five years since you’d had a lover. FIVE.

“Gods, I need to get laid,” you said to no one in particular, not realizing you’d said it loud enough for Bilbo to hear it.

Bilbo cleared his throat. “Oh, well… uh…”

You turned beet red. “No, I don’t mean! I was just calculating and it’s been a while, and…” you sputter, your voice rising an octave, which of course, caught Bofur’s attention.

The dwarf peeked over the rock you were curled up against. “What’s been a while?”

You bury your head deeper in your cocoon like a turtle. “Nothing!”

Bilbo tilted his head, looking at you thoughtfully. “How long has it been?”

“How long has what been?!” Bofur pressed, looking from you to Bilbo.

“Five years,” you mumbled, deciding to never come out of this blanket for as long as you live. Maybe another portal could just open underneath you and swallow you whole.

“Okay, now I’m really confused,” Bofur whined. “Someone tell me what’s going on.”

“Did someone say they needed to get laid?” Kili asked, his head poking over the rock right next to Bofur’s. Bofur looked from the prince to Bilbo, and from Bilbo to you. He put the snippets of conversations together, and his eyes widened like saucers.

“Five years?!” Bofur parroted, looking horrified. “Oh, lass, we have got to fix that. We all thought you and Thorin...well… never you mind! I’m sure we can find a strapping lad to….” He paused, realizing at that moment that Kili was sitting next to him. “Aren’t you next in line for Thorin to spar with? He doesn’t like it when you’re late.”

Kili’s eyes narrowed, but he moved away from the rock. “Fine. No juicy plans until I’m back, though!”

Kili wandered off to the area Dwalin and Thorin went to spar, and you sighed heavily. “Next time I’ll just announce my sad love life to the entire forest,” you grumble.

Bofur snorted. “It’s no’ all that bad, lass. All a girl like you has to do is walk into a room with dwarrow, men, and elves and you’ll have them all eatin’ out of the palm of your hand. That’s a fact! Five years,” he scoffed. “We are goin’ drinking when we get to Erebor. Oh, and shopping. You definitely need a drinkin’ dress….” He clapped his hands together gleefully, looking quite excited at the prospect. Bofur said nothing else to you, heading straight for Gloin with mischief written all over his face.

“Seriously, Bofur! Not a word!” you hissed at him, glaring daggers at him. Bofur paid you no mind, leaning in to whisper something to Gloin. The red-headed dwarf looked surprised; eyes wide as they stared at you until he let out a belly-laugh that echoed through the camp.

“A right menace, you are,” Gloin chuckled, elbowing Bofur good-naturedly. “That’ll definitely light a fire under ‘im. I’m in.”

You rolled your eyes up to the sky, pleading with whatever god that could hear you to just strike you dead now. If Thorin hears even a peep about this conversation, you were going to kill Bofur. With his hat. Instead, you burrowed deeper into your blankets and glowered at no one in particular.

Dwalin walked back into the camp not long after, looking a little winded but otherwise alright. Kili stumbled after Dwalin, holding his sword arm gingerly. He gave you a pitiful look and hobbled your way, obviously in need of some healing.

Thorin, however, had apparently decided at some point during the sparring to remove his coat and shirt. There wasn’t a scratch on him, though you let your gaze slide over his glistening skin… to make sure. That there wasn’t a scratch on him. He walked over to his bedroll and grabbed a towel, using it to soak up the droplets of sweat that were slowly dripping down his abdomen. Damn him. Damn him and that towel that was slowly tracing along his abs and then a little lower….

You really needed to get laid.

“…its dislocated…” You blinked back into reality, turning your gaze from Thorin to Kili.

“Huh?” Heat crawled up your neck, finding its way to your face quickly. Of all the dwarves to catch you staring at Thorin, it had to be Kili.

He grinned, glancing back at Thorin before turning back to you. “I said, I think Dwalin dislocated my shoulder. Could you fix it for me? If you’d rather finish the show first..” He waggled his eyebrows. “It can wait a few minutes.”

You quickly slide out from underneath your blanket sanctuary and stand. “Shut up. And shirt off, please,” you mumble, moving to help the youngest Durin with his tunic. You winced at the purple bruise that was currently taking up most of his shoulder, carefully examining it. “It looks like it slid back in--”

“Tha’s right it did!” you hear Bofur snicker, and you glared daggers at the offending dwarf before turning your attention back to Kili.

“So I’m just going to take away some of the discomfort.” You cup both hands around Kili’s shoulder, and warm magic passed from you to him, knitting back together all the things that were torn in the sparring session. “You guys need to be careful,” you chided, “what if I hadn’t been here? This arm could be permanently damaged.”

“But you are here,” Kili said softly. “Just like old times.”

You smile sadly and kiss his forehead. “Still doesn’t mean you need to get yourself hurt. Now, be careful on it for the next hour or so, okay?”

Kili made it back to his bedroll, and you let out a small sigh. You missed these days more than you could say. Travelling with the dwarves and Bilbo was the literal highlight of your life, and it was all coming to an end. You’d be in Erebor tomorrow, and that massive hell-hole was not something you were looking forward to dealing with.

Wrapping your blanket around you, you put your head on your pack and stared off into the forest. Your thigh twinged with pain, and you winced as you shifted positions. You made a mental note to check on the bruises in the morning, letting your eyes drift closed as the exhaustion of the day washed over you.

Next Chapter

#thorin x fem!reader #thorin x reader #underneath the fireflies #the hobbit fanfiction

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