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dr-felitas · 2 months

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wish you were sober

synopsis: in which you drunkenly confess to aventurine and he doesn’t believe you, rather believing that he’s not worthy, less even deserving of your love. despite that, his insecurity, you're under the belief that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. love - something that you want to introduce to him and show him “what it means to love you.”

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 2.3k (i’ve gone insane) | content & warnings: hurt/comfort, alcohol; they're both drunk, insecure aventurine, unestablished relationship, they label themself as friends but reader barely knows anything abt him LMFAO, dual pov, DO YALL GET THE REFERENCE IN THE SYNOPSIS LMFAO??, rushed ending icl, half assed-ly proofread; oneshot

a/n: yesterday i listened to wish you were sober by conan gray and was like “damn.. this’d fit sunday” but then i asked azul what he thinks cause i couldn’t decide between su**day and <aventurine3. and they replied with that it’d be so much more angsty with aventurine (okay not quote on quote but you get the msg) and i dislike su**ay anyway!! so boom! (y’all are still getting another sunday fic..yay..ig.....)

tags: beloved @azullumi <3 and @cherieiu (stop punching me)

“i love you.”

your confession doesn't come over as surprising for aventurine, he anticipated it. just like how the ebb awaits the flood, yearning for it but disappearing as soon as it arrives. missing out on each other for just a split second, as the other party sweeps and slips away from the grasp of the other. nevertheless aventurine is glued to his seat on the rich sofa.

colorful poker chips are splattered around the rich mahogany floor tiles, bottles of vodka and wine, some already with their cork removed and empty, others who haven't even been opened yet. a chandelier adorning the ceiling of the big room, its lightbulbs glowing dimly in the caliginous room, illuminating it.

one of the lamps flickers while the others continue to shine brightly - too brightly aventurine thinks, if he were to watch them any longer he’d feel like melting. the closer he got to you the sun, the deeper he'd fall into the bottomless pit he managed to crawl out of.

the room reeks of alcohol. is the temperature rising? he feels like every time the last number on the digital clock changes the warmer it gets. his blond bangs stick to his forehead and beads of sweat are running down his flushed cheeks - that answers his question.

it’s hot - humid even. he's not sure if he's able to bear the heat in this narrow atmosphere any longer. he tries to blow the sweat away by waving at his face with his hand, trying to cool off his face - a futile attempt. god, what's this a/c even good for, if it can't do it's damn job.

he opens his mouth with the intent of wanting to say that you're lying, that you shouldn't say stuff like that when you're drunk and that you'll regret later. but he doesn't, he refrains from doing so. instead he gulps down the words immediately, letter for letter. they're a bitter pillow to swallow. flowing down his throat like the wavering water running down a stream - intoxicating, similar to the alcoholic liquid you've downed.

the blond looks at you through half lidded eyes. you lift yourself off the ground, he takes notice that you have a hard time doing so, legs slightly trembling as you remove them from the floor tiles. (you've always been a lightweight he thinks)

as you make your way over to him, standing up and wanting to sit yourself next to him on the large black leather sofa. you clumsily bump against one of the almost empty shot glasses that still lies on the floor. tripping over the small glass as your foot comes in contact with it. the glass that still contained some of the red wine you've poured in, not too long ago, tumbles as easily as a domino tile, falling upon the smallest touch. making the flimsy piece immediately meet the ground.

it breaks into a few sharp shards and the remaining alcohol starts seeping out of it, staining your once white socks with crimson colored alcohol. “ah m’sorry!” you mumble as you quickly bend down to gingerly pick up the fragments, placing them in the palm of your hand carefully, so that they won't cut you and leave slits.

aventurine takes another peek at you as you tidy up. your face is flushed, your cheeks tinted in a bright red and you let out incoherent sorrys, blabbering incomplete phrases. he wants to tell you that it's alright. that he feels the same and reciprocates yours feelings, that you don't have to apologize and he'll help you.

but he freezes.

the words that he wants to tell you, the ones he's been longing to say don't leave his mouth. neither does he move. instead he coughs, continuing to watch you while you clean up. a tissue has found its way into your right hand, helping you soak up the alcohol. (its his hand that should be intertwined with yours, not the tissue)

his throat hurts.

(he's not in the right mindspace to acknowledge if it's because of you - the unsaid words that he didn't reveal to you yet or because of the alcohol.)

it's dry and lacks any kind of refreshing liquid that'd quench the drought that occurs in his throat. he contemplates, thinking about the choices he has. swallowing down his own spit isn't worth it, it makes his throat burn even more.

he comes to the decision to pour himself another glass of alcohol. (debatably his worst decision until now.)

twirling the almost translucent liquid in his glass, before fully gulping it down in one go. a bit of the alcohol escapes the depths of his mouth, running down his chin and messily staining his porcelain-like skin.

he doesn't like the bitter taste, he can't seem to befriend himself with it. (neither can he befriend him with himself) although it's not the worst, he's just not able to find a reason to like it. after all, after a single sip it starts to sting as it enters his mouth.

the scent isn't great either, it smells strong, too strong for his liking, a scent that reeks of cleaning detergent and not to mention, it prickles on his tongue and burns as it slides down his throat when it makes its way into his blood. but there's one thing aventurine can't deny: it's efficiency.

it fulfills its purpose well making him lightheaded and dizzy, to the point of forgetting everything.

all sounds are drowned out. even the lame pop songs playlist you turned on because you insisted that “it'll set the right mood” is barely audible for him now. his ears hurt hellish, he wants to put his hands over his ears to escape the white noise. the sound that plays in his ears is similar to the one of when an airplane starts boarding - an unpleasant noise.

the only sound that remains for aventurine’s slightly drunk state is your voice. it echoes through his ears. your drunk confession playing over and over in his mind like a broken record, anticipating the day it'll be fixed, so the misery it is in ceases.

his sloppy and sluggish movements - the way his hands tremble as he pours himself another glass, the nervousness that forms inside his body and the blush that spreads as quickly as a wildfire on his cheeks - they're tormenting him, and he blames none other than the alcohol for it.

“a drunk mind speaks a sober heart, drunk words are sober thoughts, when you're drunk you reveal your true desires” his ass. the both of you are just friends. friends that are acquainted through work, nothing more, nothing less. aventurine couldn't bear to lose his only friend, after all he's already lost everything.

(anything he'd never want to lose will eventually be lost. it is as if fate had decided that everything that is worth wanting, everything that he wants to have and keep, will be lost the moment he gets his fingers on it. to aventurine there’s nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life that is full of anguish.)

his father whom he never got to meet, his mother and sister whom he was forced to leave behind and kakavasha, his younger self. all will be lost - everything was lost. if he wasn't careful now, one slip up on the thin ice or feet accidentally trampling over the floor full of eggshells, he'd not only lose himself in the process, but you too. his one and only friend.

crossing this line he set for himself, as he drew it along the earthy ground with his calloused fingers, trembling as they traced over the mud.

walking past the border that was created to keep everything and everyone distant from him, as he stood on the other side turning his back from the world, walking away and waving, to bid his goodbye from them.

the wall he built around him to shield him from the world, protecting everyone from the ugly thing that was kept inside , protecting himself from the people that only want to torment him.

forgetting all of these things, leaving them behind for you would mean showing you who he really was. a frail human being that hides himself behind a mask. the theater curtains revealing the person who played the role of the man who had called himself aventurine for the past years. placing him in the spotlight and giving the audience a show they'll never forget, like the fool he is.

aventurine doesn't think that he is loveable, that he's undeserving of love - your love.

you think that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. providing him with said love, embracing him and showing him how pure love can be.

the blond caught your eye right away. he was charming, funny and handsome. aventurine turned into your little work crush, your motivation to convince yourself just to see him.

the road was rocky and full of obstacles, set up by none other than aventurine. it gave you a better perception of who he really was and it intrigued you even more. why does he hide himself away from the world? why does he convince himself to not get anyone close to him even though he longs for the touch of another person? who is aventurine, really?

you can't answer any of these questions and neither are you certain if aventurine really can but that doesn't stop you. you continue to climb up all the way to know who he is, who the person you fell in love with really is.

love, is weird isn't it? it comes in all different shapes and forms.

if someone were to ask you why you like him, you wouldn't know how to answer, because neither do you know.

but nevertheless you still like him. why? how come you like someone that you don't even know, someone that is foreign to you, almost like a stranger. even though the both of you label yourself as “friends.”

you're not sure what the color is that infuses his irises, he keeps them hidden beneath his glasses. despite that, you long to stare into his eyes and let all the plain and dull parts of your life get painted in the same colors of his hues. a color that brings you comfort and cures your sorrow. it's the hues that you want to stare at as you tuck a golden strand of hair behind his ear, in return he grants you a small but genuine smile.

a smile that you want to see more often, one that you want to keep for yourself.

as for his scent, every person has their own unique and special scent. you plead to the gods above that he’ll let you bury your head into the crook of his neck and absorb his smell so it becomes the only scent that lingers around your nose.

there are so many more things that you want to know about him but you're unaware of. one might say that you're odd for liking - no, loving someone that you barely know.

a stranger, a foreign person whom you know little about to almost nothing about, is the person that you love. absurd isn't it? but love is weird, love can be pure and ridiculous, but it can also be painful and heart wrenching. love is a feeling that not only brings joy to oneself but also causes pain. but it's a feeling that you never want to get rid of - not until you introduced aventurine to it. showing him what love has to offer and has in store.

in the iridescent light aventurine remains to look as ethereal as ever. a scent of vodka lingers around aventurines figure, the smell is strong, but you couldn't care less. his hair is disheveled but nevertheless continues to shine in the dazzling light. he lets out a tiring yawn and you couldn't imagine aventurine any more beautiful than in this moment.

vulnerable and for your eyes only. making it unable for you to tear your gaze away from the sight before you.

he's like a shooting star, if you don't continue to watch and follow it and blink, even if it's just for a single moment - it's all over and you'll never see it again.

“stop looking at me like that.” aventurine mumbles quietly, almost whispering. upon hearing that, you make your way over to him, glass shards long forgotten as you place them on the small coffee table in front of the sofa.

your arms reach out to aventurine, clutching your hands on his shoulders. your grip is sluggish but you don't falter and continue to hold him. “like what?” your lips are slightly parted and your gaze is drowsy as you counter aventurine's question with a question of your own.

“like that.” he placed the hand that just rested on his thigh, on your cheek, slightly caressing it. “you're just gonna hurt the both of us if you keep this up any longer.” he's not sure where the boldness came from, he blames it on the alcohol once again; it finally seemed to kick in.

“‘m not lying” you hiccup. tomorrow i’ll tell you how much i love you, no matter if it's once” a cough exits your throat “or a hundred times.” the words that leave your mouth are slurred, they're incoherent and muddled up. your grip on his shoulder weakens, hands slipping off and head falling against his chest.

..did you seriously just black out?

aventurine can only sigh at that. a small smile finds its way onto his face. he snakes his arms around you waist, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck and hugging you with the remaining power he had left before falling asleep. guess there'll be a lot to unpack tomorrow but for now he allows himself to indulge in this shared moment between the two of you.

e/n: hope yall enjoyed this as much as i hated writing this!! (i wanted to throw up) i acc hate how i wrote this. it's not as choppy as when i started writing it but it still feels so rushed and so idk.. anyway reblogs with comments are very much appreciated! >< ALSO that one paragraph written in brackets..guess whose speech it was inspired byyyyy (hint: bsd!!)

#toorurs #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail fluff #hsr fluff #hsr aventurine #aventurine hsr #aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine angst #aventurine imgines #aventurine headcanons #hsr imagines #honkai star rail imagines #hsr headcanons

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cinnamongorll · 4 months

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a fragile line - chapter 28

read on ao3! (125k words) | previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female OC

Series tags: extreme slow burn, age gap, older man/younger woman, protective joel, jealous joel, hurt/comfort, pov third person, mutual pining, angst, sexual tension, friends to lovers, canon-typical violence, feral joel, parental abuse, eventual smut.

Series synopsis: three years ago, Juliet escaped her father's religious survivor camp, ending up in the Boston QZ. Juliet created a life for herself in Boston, desperate to forget the trauma of her upbringing. One day, Juliet arrives home to find a mysterious letter which forces her to return to her home town. Juliet can't travel the harsh post-apocalyptic landscape alone, so she enlists the help of the grumpy and, at times, frightening man she works alongside: Joel Miller.

Word count: 7.5k

Chapter 28:

Juliet's POV:

3 weeks later...

Juliet’s bathroom mirror had a crack in it.

The edges were jagged, creating a black slash across her face whenever she peered into it. Juliet ran her finger along the gap, allowing the razor edges to glide across her skin, as she examined the way her features split in half.

The steam from the shower had begun to dull the mirror’s clarity, surrounding Juliet’s body in a strange fog. One thing the mirror had yet to dilute, however, was the burning red outline of her father’s possession.

E.M. reflected back at her with precise clarity.

Juliet didn’t flinch anymore when she saw it in the mirror; the reminder of her father and his burning hot poker had faded to a constant screaming in the back of her mind.

The scar appeared to her now like a stain to be removed, one which she itched to run her hand over and erase.

A sense of hollowness began to invade her bones as the shower’s steam gradually coated the glass, turning it opaque. Her father’s brand began to fade into a dull red glow and Juliet released a slow breath.

She turned and stepped under the stream of blazing water, which instantly scorched her skin and another sigh of relief eased from her parted lips. Recently, the burning of the water was the only thing Juliet truly allowed herself to feel.

She tipped her head back under the water and ran her fingers through the soaked strands of her hair, tugging gently as she loosened some knots. For a moment, her own hands were replaced by rough fingers and a tight grip and she let go immediately.

He lingered everywhere: in her hair, on her cheek, her lips, her thighs…

Joel was a stain she could never wash off, no matter how hard she tried.

It had been three weeks of hiding her tears behind closed doors and gasping awake in the middle of the night reaching desperately for him and finding nothing but an empty mattress.

On the darkest of those nights, Juliet imagined herself leaving her house, walking to Joel’s door and taking up the offer of his meaningless touch. Juliet imagined that just the feeling of his hands on her might ease the ache a little… but she knew it wouldn’t fix the fractures he’d left.

Joel had split her open and all that was left was a scarred girl with no one to pull her back together.

She turned the shower off and stepped onto the bathmat. Juliet’s body began to shiver as the warmth of the water left her, and she quickly changed into her clothes and braided her wet hair down her back.

Juliet hesitated when she pulled her shirt down over the brand. Today was her final check up before she could be cleared for Jackson’s patrol and Juliet prayed that Charlotte deemed her whole enough.

When Juliet first arrived in Jackson, she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to step foot outside the fence again… but claustrophobia sets in fast when you’re trapped in a town with a man who has seen the entire rotten mess of your soul and wants absolutely nothing to do with it.

Above all, Juliet wanted to earn her keep. She’d been on medical rest since she came to the town and the weight of her debt to the townspeople was crushing her. Juliet knew how to shoot, she knew how to ride a horse, and she knew how to fight. Patrol was the best fit for her.

She just had to prove that she wasn’t completely falling apart.

Her footsteps were heavy on the stairs as rushed down them, desperate to avoid being late for her appointment.

“You ready?” Ethan called from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Juliet shouted back as she pulled on her boots.

She’d invited Ethan to come with her and get to know the clinic a bit more. He’d been the medical prodigy of her father’s town and Juliet knew that he was itching to get back to practising medicine, he just needed a push.

Juliet straightened as Ethan rounded the corner into the hall. She only had a second to plaster a somewhat convincing smile on her face before he was in front of her, scanning her up and down.

“Are you okay?” he asked with a frown.

Ethan asked that a lot in the past couple weeks.

“I’m fine,” she assured him as she tilted her chin up, “just want to get this over with.”

Ethan nodded with a weak smile, and his eyes lingered on her face for another moment before he turned to grab his jacket from the hooks beside the front door.

As Ethan shrugged his jacket on, Juliet squeezed past and reached for the khaki coloured canvas jacket.

It still smelled like him.

The reminder of Joel was imprinted in the material and Juliet was forced to breathe in the memory of his presence every time she pushed her arms through the sleeves.

She could have found a new jacket, if she’d tried. Juliet could have traded something and added to her ever-growing debt, it wouldn’t have been too difficult. But how could she? When this was all she had left of him.

Juliet should be angry, she should be furious and disgusted, but she wasn’t. Juliet just felt hollow, like all the emotions she should feel towards Joel had been gutted out and all that was left was an empty pit where her heart used to be.

She pulled the jacket off the hook a little too forcefully and the entire structure shook. Ethan’s head swung towards her but Juliet kept her eyes to the ground and held her breath as Joel’s jacket engulfed her body.

………………………..

The walk to the clinic started out rough, as it always did.

Juliet tried not to look towards his house.

She’d gone through multiple methods to stop her eyes from straying towards it: First, Juliet attempted to cut through the back garden of another house, but she got stuck between a very large tree and a very high fence. Next, on a particularly rough day, she walked past with her eyes squeezed shut, but didn’t get very far before she tripped. Juliet had quickly dusted herself off and darted away, praying no one had seen her. She didn’t even turn back when she thought she’d heard the sound of his door open and footsteps rushing out onto the porch…

Juliet had decided it was just the wind.

This time, Juliet threw herself into a conversation with Ethan as they strolled past. She watched his eyes brighten as he talked about the meal they shared the night before. Juliet smiled back, but it wasn’t real.

She would pretend, though, for Ethan.

For Ethan, Juliet would fake a smile and pretend that she wasn’t entirely numb to the kindness of life in Jackson.

Joel had stripped her of that luxury… but how could she truly blame him?

His only crime was not loving her, and the more she thought about it the more she understood why he could not: she’d bribed him, lied to him, and forced him into a situation where he had to save her life.

Juliet had thought there was something there, glimmering beneath his furrowed brow, clenched jaw and rough commands. Juliet had thought he felt something for her.

She blinked away the threat of tears and tuned back into Ethan’s chatter. Things had been better between them; Juliet remembered how comfortable it had been, with him by her side. He was still the same man after all this time and, as the trauma of the last few weeks started to chip away, Juliet remembered why she had fought so hard to save him.

They walked down Jackson’s mainstreet at a quick pace, smiling at the residents who passed by.

“No one ever smiled back home, did you ever notice that?” Ethan observed in a wistfully sad voice.

“Yeah,” she answered as her head turned towards him, “there wasn’t much to smile about.”

Ethan let out a cold laugh as he stuffed his hands in his pockets.

“Guess that’s true,” he replied, “people here have something to live for, I suppose.”

Juliet caught herself before she flinched, but her skin still pebbled beneath her thick jacket as Ethan unknowingly repeated the words Joel had whispered to her in that dark forest.

“You just gotta find somethin’ to live for,” he’d said in a voice so low and lips so close that his breath had brushed over her forehead.

How could she? Juliet wanted to scream at him now… how could she, when he’d left her standing alone in the cold?

……………………….

“Charlotte!” Juliet called when she opened the door to the clinic. The heat from the fireplace hit her immediately and a flush began to build on her cheeks. She stripped her jacket off immediately and hung it on one of the hooks by the door. Behind her, Ethan did the same as his eyes roamed the room.

“In the back!” Charlotte called back.

Juliet turned to Ethan and raised her eyebrows before they followed the sound of Charlotte’s muffled voice into one of the back rooms.

“Hey,” Juliet said carefully as she stood in the doorway. She was conscious of frightening her new friend as she sat hunched over precariously balanced bottles of some strange liquid.

Charlotte’s head swung towards them and her face lit up. “Hey! Give me two seconds, I’m just finishing up,” she said in her permanently cheerful tone. Juliet nodded and turned to Ethan, ready to gesture that they would go wait in the hall … but Ethan’s eyes were glued on Charlotte.

Juliet watched as Ethan followed the movement of Charlotte’s hands. She must have noticed too, because she called over her shoulder: “Are you interested in medicine?”

Ethan straightened in surprise. “Yeah,” he said, then cleared his throat, “used to practise but it’s been… a while.”

Juliet didn’t miss the way his voice quietened at the reminder of the last few years.

“I take it you were the one to dress Juliet’s wound before y’all arrived?” Charlotte asked over her shoulder as she continued to fiddle with her equipment.

Ethan looked to Juliet before responding, his eyes had taken on a haunted look as they dipped to her stomach then back over to where Charlotte sat at her desk. “Uh, yeah, that was me,” he confirmed in a rough voice.

Charlotte finally looked away from her work and stripped off the gloves in her hands, then carefully dropped them into the bin on the floor. Her eyes lifted to Ethan’s as she reached up to tighten her long blonde ponytail.

“You did a good job,” she said earnestly, then paused and tilted her head slightly to the side, “we’re always looking for help around here, if you’re interested…”

Charlotte trailed off as Ethan began to nod enthusiastically, then she smiled and clapped her hands together. “Fantastic! We’ll talk,” she answered with a wink.

Juliet watched with a hidden smirk as a flush rose on Ethan’s neck.

“But first, Juliet, shall we?” Charlotte said, nodding towards the examination table in the corner of the room.

It was metal with a thin mattress over it, and Juliet had found herself lying on it more times than she could count over the last couple weeks. It turned out that her injuries were more severe than she had realised. Having grown up with bruises as a permanent feature on her skin, Juliet never took her pain seriously. Even in the QZ, her hands were littered with burns that went untreated.

When her father told her every day that the marks he left on her didn’t actually exist, Juliet began to adopt her pain as second nature and question if her tears were worth anything at all.

Charlotte had treated the bullet wound on her shoulder, the bruises and burns on her wrists and ankles, the slash from her father’s bible on the side of her face, and his white hot initials on her stomach… along with various other aches and pains from untreated wounds over the years.

After Charlotte sent Ethan into the hall, she read out the list of treatments Juliet had accumulated over the past few weeks… and it wasn’t surprising she was banned from patrol.

“Okay, so, let’s see if you’re ready to get on a horse,” Charlotte said softly as she rolled up Juliet’s top.

Charlotte’s fingers were icy and goosebumps travelled across Juliet’s skin. She bit her lip and kept her gaze levelled on the ceiling as Charlotte peeled off her bandage. It was terrifying, the thought that she might still be too weak to step outside the town and do something with the abundance of time now on her hands.

In the QZ, the days were long and brutal, and Juliet would stumble back to her dingy apartment with smoke covered hands and blackened lungs before passing out on her moth-eaten couch, preparing for another gruelling shift the following day.

In Jackson, life was much slower. Everyone worked and contributed to the community and there were no enforcers, no men with guns and bats tasked with keeping people in line. People worked in Jackson because they wanted to; the residents were fueled by their gratitude to the town and their willingness to work together.

Juliet wanted, so desperately, to be a part of that. She wanted to find something to get her up in the morning after long nights spent haunted by the memory of rough hands and cold eyes.

“You’re healing nicely, I’m going to recommend to Tommy that you’re cleared for patrol,” Charlotte declared as her hands left Juliet’s torso.

“What?” Juliet coughed out and she used her elbows to lift herself up on the table, just enough to see Charlotte look down at her with her eyebrows raised.

“I said you’re good,” she repeated slowly, “I mean, you’re still healing but I don’t see any risks of infection.” Charlotte clasped her hands together and tilted her head to the side as her eyes softened.

“I know you’ve had a rough time of it the last few weeks… with Joel” Charlotte said in a quiet voice.

She was frighteningly perceptive.

Juliet’s eyes left Charlotte’s as she sat up and swung her legs off the table, cringing slightly at the pull on her stomach.

When she turned to her again, Juliet shook her head and feigned confusion. “It wasn’t like that,” she assured Charlotte with as much conviction as she could muster.

Charlotte scanned her face for a moment, then stepped backwards with a knowing smile. “Just don’t do anything reckless, it won’t make you feel any better,” she warned as her chin tilted downwards. “I’ve spent weeks trying to patch you up, don’t spoil my good work,” she continued, her voice friendly and teasing but with a soft undercurrent of concern.

Juliet feigned an exacerbated eye-roll and let out a long breath. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied and Charlotte shot her another quiet smile.

Juliet thanked Charlotte and left the room. Her heart raced and her body had stiffened slightly as Charlotte’s words sunk in…

Was patrol just another one of her distractions?

Self-destructive behaviour was not new to Juliet, but patrol had nothing to do with Joel, surely. She just wanted to prove herself, right?

Her mind felt clouded as she walked into the waiting room, ready to join Ethan by the fire for a moment, but her steps halted when she entered the room.

The front door swung open and Tommy entered, rubbing his hands together as the heat hit him. “There you are,” he said warmly as his eyes focused on her, standing stiffly next to Ethan’s chair.

Juliet blinked. “Hey”

“How’d it go?” Tommy asked as he walked closer, running a hand through his long wavy hair, “you cleared for patrol?”

Juliet straightened and a sudden feeling of dread began to burn in her gut. “Yeah,” she said quietly, “Charlotte said I’m good to go.”

A relieved smile took over Tommy’s mouth. “Thank god, a couple guys had to leave patrol when their wives had their kids, so we’re needin’ some fresh recruits,” he explained enthusiastically.

Juliet didn’t reply, she just nodded awkwardly and crossed her arms over her chest.

Tommy’s stare cut suddenly to Ethan, who sat quietly in the armchair by the fire watching their conversation with his usual curious look.

“What bout you?” Tommy directed towards Ethan. “Heard you can shoot too, you interested in patrol?”

Ethan’s eyebrows shot up and he shifted in his seat.

“Tommy Miller, are you tryin to steal my new trainee?” Charlotte exclaimed in mock surprise as she squeezed into the room behind Juliet with a gentle touch on her shoulder.

Juliet’s mouth twitched as Tommy’s eyes shot to the ceiling.

“New trainee?” he asked, looking between Charlotte and Ethan.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, “with doc doin’ so many house visits, I need all the help around here I can get.”

Tommy looked contemplative as Charlotte’s head turned to Ethan. “Plus, I think he’s already had some medical training. Is that right?” she asked, tilting her chin down at Ethan, sitting in his armchair.

Ethan stiffened as all the eyes in the room swung on him at once. “That’s right,” he confirmed roughly as his gaze found Charlotte’s.

Tommy raised his hands. “Fine,” he said, admitting defeat, then he caught Juliet’s eye and nodded. “Let’s head over to the stables, I’ll introduce you to your patrol partner.”

Juliet didn’t say anything for a moment. The weight of her decision grew heavy on her shoulders, but there was also a glimmer of excitement within her. She imagined herself getting on a horse, armed with every weapon she needed to protect the town.

It would be good to protect a place like this, a place that actually deserved it.

Her eyes caught Charlotte’s and the weight eased as Juliet returned her warm, encouraging smile.

She turned back to Tommy, who watched her with a curious look. Juliet might have thought there was guilt swimming in his gaze if she didn’t know any better.

Eventually, Juliet nodded sharp and quick. “Let’s go.”

………………………..

Juliet hadn’t stepped foot in the stables since that first day, when burning relief was her most prominent emotion.

Now, Juliet wasn’t sure what to feel.

Tommy showed her around, pointing out all the things he hadn’t needed to on that first day. Juliet listened intently, wishing she had brought a notebook with her. It was the first job she’d ever cared about and she didn’t want to fuck it up.

Juliet was very conscious of the fact that she had no ties to Jackson or Tommy, and that she and Ethan were allowed to stay purely because of the kindness of the residents.

Once the tour had ended, Tommy and Juliet circled back to the entrance of the stables, where they waited for her new patrol partner to arrive. Tommy assured her that she wouldn’t start until the following day, but he wanted to make sure that she met her partner before then.

They chatted quietly about Jackson’s weather, and the snow which was very possibly arriving the following week, when the barn doors opened with a long sharp whine of the hinges.

Juliet’s head swung in the direction and her stomach dropped to her feet.

She would have prepared herself if she thought it would have been him. She would have donned some armour, strengthening her defences and at least attempted to plug the gaping hole in her chest.

But Juliet hadn’t expected to see him, so the sight of Joel Miller struck her like the most painful blow.

When her eyes finally focused, the first thing she noticed was his new jacket.

It shouldn’t have caused her stomach to drop even further, but it did.

It was a dark brown leather, with the collar slightly turned up over his throat and Joel tugged against it as he entered the chilled barn.

Juliet swallowed rough and shifted on her feet as she forced her eyes to focus on Tommy, but she knew the exact moment Joel’s stare found her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watched his stride suddenly stop and his body physically stiffen.

“Joel,” Tommy said, greeting his brother with a tight smile.

Juliet kept her stare pointed on Tommy’s face but goosebumps grew across her skin as she felt Joel move closer.

“Ready to head out?” Joel asked his brother, his voice low and stilted.

Tommy nodded and crossed his arms over his chest as his eyes darted to Juliet.

“Yeah, soon, just waiting to introduce Juliet to Matt,” Tommy explained, as he tilted his head down to check his watch.

“Why?” Joel demanded in a voice so devastatingly dark. She felt his hot gaze find the side of her head and Juliet knew she had to turn around and face him, but his uncaring stare still stained the inside of her eyelids when she tried to sleep at night and Juliet worried that she might see that coldness in his eyes again.

Tommy looked taken aback as his head turned between them both. “Juliet want -”

“I’m starting patrol,” Juliet said, cutting Tommy off as she finally faced Joel.

Joel’s eyes were like the heaviest anchor, dragging her down into the depths of her sadness. Juliet had once thought he was the weight that kept her afloat, but she was wrong; she was merely a passenger in his life before he pushed her off the edge, back into the dark murky waters.

“You’re what?” he growled. Joel looked down at her with a face like cracked stone, where his rage simmered out of each jagged edge.

Inside, Juliet’s heart was hammering against her chest, but on the outside, she forced her spine to straighten and she wiped her face clean of any shock or surprise.

“I’m starting patrol,” she repeated, slower this time with a harsher edge to her voice.

“No, you’re not,” Joel argued gruffly, but his voice didn’t invite a response, it was a command.

Juliet blinked and looked to Tommy for assistance. “Charlotte just cleared me?” she replied, confusion evident in the crease between her eyebrows.

“Joel, you said it yourself, Juliet is highly skilled and we need that on patrol,” Tommy interjected, shifting on his feet.

Joel said that?

Juliet reached up to rub the back of her neck as her irritation grew. Joel was cruel that day outside her house, she hadn’t imagined that… but was she now imagining the way his eyes shone with concern?

“You’re not ready, it’s too dangerous, you’ll hurt yourself,” Joel challenged. His words spilled from his mouth in a distressed ramble which made the confusion in Juliet’s chest twist painfully.

Juliet shook her head and tilted her chin up to meet his flared pupils.

Her mind flashed back to the Joel she knew three weeks ago, who had looked so guarded and frigid, and then she focused on the Joel standing in front of her with a turbulent combination of fear and anger darkening his eyes.

Juliet should be outraged at his insistence that she couldn’t take care of herself, but she couldn’t help the part of her who clung to him on dark nights, and looked up at him like her protector, from viewing Joel’s words with optimism, with some sick hope that maybe he really did care after all.

He must have seen it in her eyes; Joel must have watched her gaze shift into something softer, something kinder. And so, just as he had three weeks ago, Joel crushed any hope still living within her.

Joel’s eyes narrowed as he turned to Tommy, ignoring Juliet altogether. “She’s not ready, she can’t protect the town.”

It was like her heart was shattering all over again.

Juliet’s eyes turned glossy despite her best efforts to push down the ache in her chest. Joel just had this keen way of finding the part of her which hurt the most and driving the knife in deeper.

Tommy stepped back from his brother, rage now rippling across his face.

“Go sort the horses Joel, we’ll leave once I’m done here,” Tommy seethed, and Joel’s eyes widened.

“You can’t be serious,” Joel ground out when he turned on Juliet, “after everythin’ we went through to get here, you’re just gonna go back out there?”

Juliet winced. “You’re on patrol, why can’t I?” she bit back, standing her ground.

Joel’s jaw clenched with teeth cracking intensity as his dark eyes roamed her face. What he was searching for in her expression, Juliet didn’t know, but she wasn’t planning on relenting anytime soon. In fact, Joel’s presence just made her more determined to find time beyond the fence.

Everything about being around him hurt. It hurt to look in his eyes, knowing the way he used to look at her. It hurt watching his mouth curl into a cruel snarl, knowing the way he used to reluctantly laugh when she least expected it. But most of all, it hurt to hear the bitter words from his mouth as she remembered how warm they had once sounded against her skin.

“That’s different,” he argued as he sharply turned his head back to Tommy in a desperate attempt to find some agreement in his eyes. But his brother said nothing, he was the one to approach Juliet with the offer of patrol and he wasn’t budging.

“Joel, just go,” Tommy interrupted with a hand on Joel’s chest, holding him back from god knows what. Juliet hadn’t realised until Tommy broke the spell that Joel had moved closer, towering over her as he almost growled his words.

He took one last look at Juliet, scanning her face with such intensity before he pushed past his brother and headed further into the stables with his shoulders tight and his fists clenched by his side.

Juliet blinked and felt her race redden.

“I’m sorry bout him,” Tommy sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s fine,” she replied quickly. It wasn’t though. She just couldn’t understand it. Joel and Juliet fought their way across the country together; he knew she could shoot, and protect herself, so why would he be so against her joining the patrol?

Maybe what her father had done to her changed the way Joel saw her… maybe he saw her as weak, maybe that’s why he wanted nothing to do with her…

Juliet swallowed roughly and coughed away the lump in her throat. She couldn’t afford to think like that. If she started to imagine why Joel had backed away, Juliet would spend the entire day ripping herself apart.

“Hey!” a new voice called from the entrance to the barn.

A smile approached Tommy’s mouth as a man Juliet hadn’t seen before stepped into the stables and headed over towards them.

“Matt, I’d like you to meet Juliet - your new patrol partner,” Tommy said, gesturing towards Juliet.

Juliet’s eyes finally focused on him and she stood up a bit straighter. He was handsome, with messy brown hair and a friendly smile which prevented any tendrils of fear from growing in her chest.

But it was his eyes which helped ease Juliet the most. They were kind eyes, the sort of eyes which echoed every smile on his face.

“Juliet,” he echoed, now staring down at her, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Juliet wasn’t sure how to reply. Her mind was still caught up in the mystery of Joel, so she opted for a quiet smile and raised eyebrows.

“Heard you’re a good shot, will be good havin’ someone like you watchin’ my back out there,” Matt said with a friendly wink.

How did everyone know so much about her? Only Joel truly knew the extent of her survival skills but she couldn’t imagine him singing her praises around town, he could barely look her in the eye without scowling.

“When do we start?” she asked, pointedly ignoring Matt’s comment out of mild embarrassment.

Matt crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Tommy. “We’re on the schedule for tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah, bright and early,” Tommy confirmed.

Juliet nodded and looked between the two men. “Perfect.”

…………………………

Two days later, Juliet had regrets. Not enough that she would swear off patrol forever, but she definitely had her doubts.

She walked into the stables for her second shift just before dawn with her hood up and her sleeves pulled down over her fingers. The barn was empty and she could hear the soft thuds of her footsteps hit the straw covered ground as she made her way over to her horse.

With everything in her, Juliet tried not to think about the day before or the fresh, thick ring of bruises around her wrist… if she did, she might start to think that maybe Joel was right, maybe patrol wasn’t for her.

But she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Matt went first through Jackson’s gates, leading his horse with an air of confidence about him while Juliet tugged on the reins of her own horse and followed behind with sweaty palms and a racing heart.

The first hour or so was fine, boring even, as Juliet and Matt travelled towards a nearby abandoned town they’d been asked to clear. Juliet had her gun loaded and her knife ready. She wasn’t frightened of the infected, it was always the people to look out for.

She eyed Matt on the horse next to her. He seemed nice, making an effort to keep the conversation up even if Juliet only responded with vague answers and quiet pauses. His smile never faltered, it was inspiring actually. But Juliet hadn't seen him fight yet and she worried that his skills might not match his confidence.

When they reached the array of houses, they stopped and slid off their horses in silence; only communicating through hand signals and exaggerated looks. Within minutes, Juliet and Matt had their guns positioned in front of them as they approached the first house.

Their backs were pressed against the rotted wood, listening for any infected groans or hushed whispers. Juliet breathed a sigh of relief when they heard nothing, but the rigidness of her shoulders didn’t ease; they still had to clear the houses, which meant actually going in them.

Juliet swallowed and closed her eyes, she allowed the weight of her task to fall down on her tense shoulders and then waited for herself to get used to the feeling. Juliet was beyond the fence and she had neither Joel nor Blake standing by her side to protect her. Despite Matt’s gentle presence, Juliet felt like she was facing this alone, and with that thought came a feeling of pride. She could do this, she was doing this. Juliet pushed Joel’s harsh words to the back of her mind and strengthened her grip on her gun.

When she opened her eyes, Matt turned her way and he signalled to split up and enter the house through different doors. Juliet’s eyebrows furrowed a little at the mention of splitting up, but, despite hardly knowing him, she trusted that Matt knew the ways of patrol and decided to follow his lead. She nodded back fast and sharp.

The thud of hard footsteps startled Juliet from her memory and her head darted towards the source of the sound.

As soon as her eyes brushed over the muddy leather jacket she froze and squeezed her eyes shut. Shit.

That was not Matt.

Juliet swallowed down her panic and shrunk behind the wall near the back of the stables, where the shelving was kept. Maybe if she stayed here, Joel would get what he needed and leave. He wasn’t scheduled for patrol this morning.

She heard him head over to his horse and Juliet allowed her head to fall back against the wall in relief.

The front door made no sound as she turned the handle, not even the signature shriek of over twenty year old hinges. The initial stabbing of fear in her chest lessened as a small bit of relief flowed through her.

Juliet walked into the house with the softest footsteps she could manage, barely even putting weight on the wooden floor as she made her way through the hall and into the living room.

The house was a massive, practically a mansion, it was bigger than any house Joel and Juliet had come across on the road and there was a lot of ground to cover. Matt had entered from the back door and Juliet watched as he silently headed up the stairs before she rounded the corner into the living area.

The room was a time capsule. With the layers and layers of dust on everything Juliet assumed that nothing had been touched since the world changed. It was strange to come across a house that hadn’t been pillaged but Juliet assumed being positioned deep in Wyoming would deter any visitors.

The realisation allowed Juliet’s muscles to ease even further but she continued to hold her gun tight in her hand with her finger hovering over the trigger, just like Ethan had taught her. It was her first time on patrol and she wasn’t taking any chances.

There was a door across the room so Juliet headed there next, still making sure to keep her steps light and fast. She kept listening for anything amiss upstairs but heard nothing, Matt must have been fine, just silently sweeping the untouched rooms.

Juliet was struck by how cold the handle was as her hand curved around it. She should have taken it as an omen, but the thought hadn’t even entered her head as she angled her wrist and turned the handle.

“The hell you doin’ back here?” a gruff, startled voice demanded.

Juliet’s eyes shot open and her head turned to Joel, now standing beside the wall she leaned against. She straightened instantly as her heart started to speed in her chest. Juliet could tell herself that he had startled her, but her body reacted this way every time she met his dark brown eyes.

“Just waiting for Matt,” Juliet answered as she continued to shake herself from her memories.

“Behind a wall?” Joel asked, amused.

His mouth didn’t have the same sharp edges to it, but Juliet knew not to be fooled.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, her face reddening slightly, “was just uh resting my eyes for a second.”

“Sure,” Joel replied slowly, with raised eyebrows.

Juliet shifted, suddenly feeling unsteady. She hadn’t spoken to Joel since the day before last, when he had very publicly questioned her survival abilities.

She wrapped her arms around her middle, making sure her hurt didn’t spill out from the hole he left in her chest.

“Why are you here?” Juliet snapped, “you’re not on the schedule.”

Joel blinked and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked down at her with eyes that didn’t match the memory of his apathy that day outside her house and Juliet struggled to keep her defences secured.

He cleared his throat and his jaw shifted. “Just grabbin’ some ammo,” he answered, nodding at the shelving behind her.

“Oh,” Juliet breathed. She realised that she was standing in his way and a horribly enticing image of him brushing against her as he squeezed past flashed into her mind. Juliet swallowed and decided to avoid any more close proximity, lest her defences fail entirely and she fall for the hint of decency he was showing her in that moment.

“I’ll grab it for you,” she said quietly and turned. The shelf of ammo was quite high up so she had to stand on her tiptoes and stretch her right arm up to grip the small box.

Behind her, Juliet heard Joel’s sharp intake of breath as her sleeve fell.

The handle turned with ease, it wasn’t even stiff. Somehow, Juliet had been fooled by the silence of the house and its lack of immediate threats. That’s why, when the door inched open and the infected’s peeling face filled her view, Juliet froze as her shock choked her. Her hand paused on the handle, she didn’t dare make a single movement.

It was strange, looking back on it, that the infected hadn’t made a single sound to announce its presence. Not a click or a grunt or a screech.

Peering into the windowless room, Juliet hadn’t known it was lurking in the dark until its decayed fingers were wrapped around her wrist, as her hand continued to grip the freezing cold handle.

With the first touch of its wet, torn flesh on her skin, terror struck Juliet, wrapping around her throat with the same vice-like grip of the infected on her wrist. She might have screamed, she wasn’t sure, because the infected had finally decided to make its presence known, shrieking violently into Juliet’s ear.

The infected gripped her wrist so forcefully that she couldn’t pull herself from the door handle, so she did the next best thing: Juliet tightened her hold on the door and pulled with all her strength to slam it closed on the infected.

It worked. Kind of.

The infected was jammed in between the door and its frame, with its hand still squeezing down harder and harder against Juliet’s wrist and its head pushing through the gap.

Juliet was definitely screaming as the infected’s teeth snapped against her arm. Joel’s jacket wouldn’t protect her from the force of the infected’s bite. Panic flooded her bloodstream. Juliet couldn’t think, she couldn’t strategise, because what if the infected’s teeth had already pierced her skin?

What if this was it?

If she was bit, Matt would shoot her in the head and Juliet would never see Joel again.

Even in what might have been her final moments, as she struggled against the infected, Juliet still thought of him.

She would die, and never get to tell him how she really felt.

Juliet knew he wouldn’t care, that some confession from her would only be met by emotionless eyes and cutting words, but she couldn’t let go… she couldn’t forget how she felt, and how he had once made her feel.

Thankfully, her sanity returned as the milliseconds ticked by and Juliet started shooting the infected’s arm, desperately attempting to force it to release her wrist.

She heard Matt rush up behind her, shouting her name, but she just kept shooting until a bullet finally landed itself in the infected’s head.

Matt caught her as she fell backwards, still kicking her feet and continuing to scream even as she watched the infected fall to the floor, mostly behind the door with only its arm and leaking head in sight.

“It’s okay,” Matt repeated over and over as Juliet struggled against him.

“No, get away” she gasped as terror poured from her, “I might be infected.”

Matt didn’t let go, even as Juliet began to punch his arms. It had to have hurt but he didn’t budge.

“Calm down, we’ll check, okay?” he said breathlessly as Juliet’s punches grew weaker. “Please, just let me have a look.”

Juliet slumped against him, breathing heavy. She couldn’t bring herself to glance at her wrist.

Matt held tight against her until for another moment before he cautiously reached towards her arm. Juliet could feel the rapid beating of his heart against her back.

Her eyes were squeezed shut when she felt his fingertips on her wrist, her skin was almost numb from the force of the infected’s grip, but she still felt Matt slowly trace her skin, searching for her death sentence.

Tears leaked from the corner of her scrunched eyelids when he pulled her sleeve down further and Juliet wondered how long the infection would take to set in. Was she starting to feel it now? Or was the shaking of her body just the remnants from her adrenaline rush?

The seconds stretched beyond all understanding of space and time as Juliet waited for Matt to confirm her fate.

“You’re clean,” he whispered softly as his fingers left her aching skin.

“Juliet,” he said, raising his voice a little to grab her attention. “You’re clean, it didn’t get you, I swear.”

Juliet felt his voice rumble against her back as she continued to slump against him and she waited for his words to register. When they did, she sat up and, with a spinning head, examined every inch of her skin.

“I’m clean,” she confirmed under her breath as her wide eyes trained on the rapidly developing bruise on her skin.

The following day, the bruise had only grown worse. It was almost black and wrapped around the entirety of her wrist in the shape of the infected’s rotten fingers.

Juliet’s entire body stiffened as she felt the sleeve of her jacket brush her raw skin and reveal the evidence of her stupidity, her inability to protect the town.

She’d got herself caught by an infected, she could have got Matt killed.

Quickly she gripped the worn cardboard of the ammo box and dropped her arms, swallowing rough before she turned around.

She knew how Joel would react. He would tell her that he was right, that she wasn’t ready to go on patrol -

“Who did this to you?” Joel seethed in a voice so viciously menacing that Juliet couldn't help but flinch. He stalked towards her and grabbed the ammo from her hand, throwing it on the low shelf behind her, before he lifted her wrist with surprising gentleness as his fingers slowly pushed back the sleeve of her jacket, revealing the extent of the bruising.

His eyes left her arm momentarily to meet her wide eyed stare.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded again, slower this time, like every word choked him.

Juliet’s lips parted as her eyes darted between Joel’s intense stare and his fingers softly brushing over her wrist.

His mouth was bloodthirsty but his eyes were pained, like the sight of the dark ring of purple around her wrist bruised him too.

“Nobody, It was -”

“Don’t lie to me,” he nearly growled. “Was it Matt?”

Juliet’s stomach dropped. Joel said Matt’s name as though her were some mass murderer.

“No!” Juliet said nervously, “It was -”

“If he fuckin’ touched you,” Joel raged, shaking his head ever so slightly.

“It wasn’t him!” Juliet breathlessly revealed. “It was an infected.”

Juliet expected Joel’s rage to burn out when he realised Matt had no part in her injury, but for some reason it looked as though the muscles in his body grew even tighter.

“An infected did this?” he breathed, hovering his thumb over the dark purple.

Juliet nodded slowly, not trusting her words.

Joel was touching her and she could think of nothing else other than the calloused edge of his fingertips brushing so delicately against her injured skin.

“You weren’t bit?” Joel asked softly, already knowing the answer or Juliet wouldn’t have been standing in front of him.

“No,” she whispered hoarsely.

“You could’ve been killed,” he ground out as a muscle jumped in his very tight jaw. Joel was so close to her now, his breath touched her forehead as she looked up at him.

She was pressed against the shelving, with nowhere to escape him.

His other hand reached up and cradled her cheek as his eyes scanned over her face, watching as her lip trembled.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Juliet had been drawn in, caught in the spell of Joel’s close proximity; exposed to the intoxication of his smell and the magnetism of his eyes.

But his words struck her in that deep, dark hole in her chest, and she was thrown from his orbit.

Why didn’t she tell him?

Her eyes darkened.

“Why the hell would I tell you?” Juliet almost snarled.

Joel drew back as if he’d been slapped.

For a brief moment, Juliet imagined she saw hurt blazing in his eyes, before they hardened.

“We haven’t spoken in weeks, and you all but told me you couldn’t care less about me,” she bit out, pouring every bit of her anger, shock and sadness into each word.

“Why would I tell you anything?” she continued, her voice cracking.

A million emotions flashed across Joel’s face, and Juliet couldn’t seem to grasp at any.

She was breathing heavy.

His hands released her slowly as though he had to force himself to pull away.

Joel took a deep breath and Juliet held her’s as she waited for him to take back every cruel word he threw at her and rescind the way he made her feel.

But his eyes scanned her face and the breath slowly left his mouth, with nothing to ease the ache in Juliet’s chest.

“It’s a miracle you’re alive,” he said quietly after a moment, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

Juliet said nothing, all the fight in her was gone.

She’d expected Joel to argue back, to fight her accusation of his indifference towards her.

But, instead, she watched as all the shutters in his mind slammed closed once again.

With one last lingering look, Joel turned and stormed around the corner without his ammo.

Juliet closed her eyes and felt tears leak down her cheeks, cleansing her skin of the memory of Joel’s heated touch as she heard his hard footsteps march out of the barn.

_________________________________________

@amyispxnk @http-paprika @shotgun-shelby @weeping-werewolf

(I'll proofread this properly tomorrow, sorry if there's any random formatting or grammatical errors lol)

thanks for reading ❤️

#joel miller #joel miller angst #joel miller x female oc #joel miller x reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #joel miller fic #ao3 fanfic #joel miller hbo #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal #tlou #joel tlou #the last of us #tlou hbo #Spotify

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l0sercat · 5 months

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Omg I am I'm love with this gif 😍 As much as the movies are hated on I thought they were good and I fell in love with him the moment I saw him 💕 Am I back on my Wesker bullshit, lol?

MDNI with this for your safety and mine 🫶🏻

CW: NSFW, blow jobs, some praise and some degradation;)

Wesker x reader

You were on your knees before your boss, Albert Wesker. He called you into his office 10 minutes ago you thought he would reprimand you for heaven knows what. But instead he admitted that you had caught his attention. He proposed you a deal that you couldn't refuse. So here you were before him about to take his aching cock in your mouth.

How it twitched and ached to be touched. The angry red tip practically begging for you to put your mouth around it. You licked your lips and then slowly dragged your tongue up the base and to the tip. You gave it a light kiss and the another before fully taking it in. Wesker groaned and let out a shakey sigh, his right arm was propped up and his fist clenched while his head rested on it. With other arm was laying on the arm rest and his fist gripped the chair.

You looked up at him and blushed at the scene before you. He still had those glasses on but you could see something glowing red behind them. You wondered what it was but focused on how he was breathing slowly through his mouth. You suckled on the tip a bit more before going down to take more of him.

He was bigger than at you had so taking him proved to be difficult. You were only half way down and your eyes started to water. Wesker reveled in this and a sadistic grin formed on his face. Your pace was slow as you slowly took him but as you got farther and his cock hit deeper in your mouth you gagged. It hit the back of your throat and you had to relax your mouth before finally setting a pace.

You bobbed your head up and down his length and your tongue traced his veins. He groaned out your name "That's a good girl, your doing so well taking my cock like that. Almost seems like you've done this before hm? Heh-" he sucked in a breathe when you released him from your mouth and the cool air hit him.

You smirked up at him and your hand pumped him cock at a fast pace. He moaned and his face flushed at the sound he made. "You such a filthy slut, hah~" he grinned "Do you enjoy taking your bosses cock?" His free hand landed on the back your head and forced you back down on him. Your eyes widened and you gagged hard. Salvia dribbled around your mouth. You moaned at the sudden intrusion and your hand fell to your side into your lap. You glared up and him and his chest puffed up in amusement.

You let him fuck your face even though you had a hard time breathing. His pace was fast but never sloppy. His trusts were timed and always hit that certain spot in your throat to have you gagging. Your saliva coated him and soon he was a groaning mess. He slipped up and moaned you name. His cheeks flushed and he adjusted himself.

He gripped your head tighter and his pace got faster. Your eyes widened and he shut his eyes "Just like that slut mm taking me so well!-" he clenched his teeth before letting out a inhumane groan and shooting his load right into your mouth. His cum spilled down your throat and he didn't release his grip until your swallowed ever drop.

He removed his hand from your head and placed on his thigh. He smiled and looked at you "tsk tsk such a mess you made why don't you clean it up" you blinked up at him and smiled "Of course sir~" you practically purred. You licked up his length and around making sure cum or salvia was left. You gave it a little kiss before tucking him back into his pants. "Good girl~" He laughed "You may return back to whatever you were doing" you stood up and bowed "Yes sir" you walked out of his office flushed and a mysterious stain on your cost.

#x reader #gender neutral #gender not specified #gender neutral reader #albert wesker x you #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker imagine #albert whiskers #albert wesker #Albert Wesker live action #albert wesker resident evil #movie Albert Wesker #resident evil movies #resident evil #resident evil wesker #resident evil albert wesker #blow jobs are my favorite<3

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yeahspider · 8 months

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LIGHT SHOWER 🫀

Ve’s note - this is part two in a three( maybe four) part series . mdni this is smut . you don’t have to read both parts but i recommend. y’all i’m sorry this gets a lil out there . so i’m gonna split this off into another part . part one is available here . slightly proofread okay ? enjoy <3

now usually you didn’t do this . you deemed sleeping with customers a bit below you . but with the way this man was looking at you . eyes holding your own , it was hard to say no .

taking ahold of the wrist holding yours you smiled at him .

“how much ? how much do you think a night with me is worth ?” you asked him as he led you back to the chair in the room . chris gestured to one of his men , whose presence you forgot , following the man’s actions you watched as he placed ten bands in the space between you and him.

“will this suffice as a start ?” . you were willing your jaw not to drop . you could really use that much money at the moment ….and he was promising more .

“is that enough ? here .” and then another ten bands were in his lap . chris grabbed a twenty and placed it in the waist band of your bottoms . grabbing your chin with one hand and rubbing the dollar into you hip bone with the other .

“be mine for the night yeah ?” earning a nod from you . which wasn’t confirmation enough for his liking . bringing his lips over yours but not quite giving in .

“words pretty” earning another nod and a breathless yes from you .

“good girl” he’s said before crushing his lips on yours . chris kissed like you were the only glass of water left in the world and he was parched . fully commanding the kiss . gently biting on your bottom lip when he wanted you to open . trying to maintain a semblance of control yoh deny him . which just earns a smack to your ass . his tongue explores every inch of your mouth . once he’s satisfied he starts to kiss down your neck . kissing wasn’t necessarily the right word for it though . he was marking you . you could feel the bruises forming in your skin cooling the sting with the flat of his tongue .

“i want you to do something for me .” he whispered over on particular mark on your collarbone . he grabbed one of the rolls of money and parted your legs more , placing it on top of his very visible boner .

“ride it .” at first you were confused until he gently gripped your hip and guided them to grind on the money . eliciting a moan out of both of you due to the friction . once he deemed you had to hang of it he let you pick the speed and rhythm as he got to work on your chest . removing your boobs from your top and pinching them slightly . causing you to whimper .

“so sensitive.” he murmured to himself as he kissed around your left nipple before nipping at it . rolling it around between his lips as his right hand groped your other boob . giving equal attention to both as he switched back and forth .

“you’re doing so well pretty just keep going yeah ? maybe yourself cum . let me see how pretty you look when you cum all over your money . keep earning it . good girls work hard for what they want .” chris chanted to you like a prayer . all the praise making your brain swim as his hand made it way to your throat and lightly squeezing . with your air flow cut off he laid a smack to your clothed pussy and you came with a scream . body slumping onto him as you rode out your high . once you came down . you watched as chris removed the roll from under you and licked . your cum staining the bill and now his tongue .

“you taste divine. i’m gonna need another serving. ” he said with a smile . promising more orgasms as the night continued .

“now strip and lay down let’s see how many times i can make you cum .”

#stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids headcanons #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #yeahspider #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #bang chan drabbles #bang chan angst #bang chan imagines #bang chan fanfic #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut #bang chan fluff

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christopher-bangnaldoskzz · 1 year

Text

Soft Dom Bangchan x Female Reader Sub!

Genre: 🌶️🌶️🌶️

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: No warnings yet, however, I am going to say this is strictly 18+ MDNI fan fiction.

Summary: A sub needs a dom, a dom wants a sub but what happens when feelings overlap with contracts and love creeps in? Will a contract remain only a contract? Or are emotions like love too hard to keep in check?

A/N: would also like to dedicate this story to @daceydeath, thank you for always putting up with my deluluness, also thank you for putting up with my drama fill life honestly. I wouldn’t be still writing if it wasn’t for you encouraging me. Also thank you so much for writing my summary xx

"Don't be stupid, Grace," you say to your friend. Surely she is joking. She wasn't serious, right?

"Yes, I'm serious." She was your only friend in the BDSM world, and she was a dom as well.

"What!….noooo, king, please, I'm not looking for one at the moment" that was a lie. You did want a dom however, what you didn't like was finding a random dom on the internet. Grace knows your past experiences with doms. Unfortunately, the last don you were with was a pit too rough for your taste.

"I have found a guy I think you will like...he classifies himself as a soft Dom," she said, pulling out her phone to show you a picture of the guy on the screen.

You look closely at the profile photos. He definitely takes your fancy. "Grace, please tell me you haven't messaged him?" You watch her mouth move into a shit-eating grin.

"He's here right now." She was such an asshole for doing this to you. "Okay, behave," she says through her teeth, and the young man walks over to the table.

"Umm, hi," he said with his hand behind his neck. You glance up, and there in front of you stands a 5ft7 man with brown hair and the most striking brown eyes you have ever seen. Your heart flutters as he awkwardly chuckles and sits down.

He smiled, setting up his chair as he introduced himself to you. "Hi, I'm Chan ... It's nice to meet you". As he did, the glass of red wine your friend ordered fell onto his black suit.

"Oh shit," he said, lifting the glass up in a hurry. The waiter rushed over to help with the cleanup.

"I'm so sorry, sir…we will get you another glass," the waiter said, signing for the bartender to come over.

"No, no, it's okay, all my fault. I don't need another glass, thanks…but maybe miss-"He looked at you for confirmation of your last name.

"Y/L/N", you smiled. "But no, thank you, I don't drink," you said before the waiter turned the bartender away.

You could hear a soft "good girl" as Chan wiped the wine off his jacket.

"Wait, don't rub, dab….please allow me," you said, leaning over. He lifted his eyes to look at you, your cleavage in his line of sight.

He slowly hands you the jacket. "Thank you, but you don't have to" by the time he had finished, you were already dabbing his coat with the napkin and water in your glass.

He gazed at you. "It stops the mark from spreading."

"Well, this is off to a swimming start…I shall be heading out," Grace said, closing her handbag and starting to walk out of the restaurant.

"I'm sorry she made you come all the way here to meet me," you said, tucking your hair behind your ears, so they stopped blocking your view.

"I'm not," he mumbled.

You look up, and he just stares at you wide-eyed. "Here… you'll have to put some stain remover on it when you get home. Let it sit for 20 minutes, then soak it" you pass the jacket back to him.

"Stain remover…then soak, got it, thanks", he smiled, placing the jacket behind him.

"So, have you been here before?" He asked, itching his shoulder blades.

"I'm going to cut to the chase," you said, leaning in. "I know Grace told you I'm looking for a dom…but honestly, I don't think we are suited."

Chan scoffs, "Oh really?…what makes you think that?" The sudden change in his confidence was such a turn-on.

"Well, for one, you can barely keep it together", you giggled.

"Well…. You might just have to keep it together for both of us," he smiled, looking down at his menu. "Should we start over?" you asked the man. He doesn't back down easily.

"Sure….. I'm Y/N" you suck your hand out for him to shake.

"Chan…or you can call me Chris for now" he made eye contact with you as he squeezed your hand. "So tell me, Y/N…..what do you like to eat… it's on me, obviously", he smiled, feeling proud of himself.

"Hmmm, your paying?….. I think I might get the lobster," you grin. He chuckled as he ignored you and kept looking at the menu.

"Are you ready to order?" The same waiter as before announced

"I'll grab the eye fillet, please….medium rare", Chan said, smiling and looking up and over towards you.

"And Y/N will have the lobster, right?" The fact that he was actually willing to pay for your $100 lobster meal was exciting.

"Oh yes, please" you smile sweetly at the waiter, who nods and writes down the meal.

"You honestly didn't have to order me lobster…I could have picked something else," you said, leaning in.

"The truth is… I'm secretly hoping you don't eat it all so I can have some," he too, leaning in, whispering like it was a secret. You like the way he has settled in now. It's not so awkward.

"Maybe Grace was right about you," you say, taking a sip of your water.

"Oh, you think so... hmmm, interesting….why did you leave your last partner?" He said, sitting back in the chair with his fingers locked together.

“He uhhhh…..he was a sadist….I left him because he burnt me pretty bad" it was such a long time again, yet it felt like yesterday.

"How severe?" He sounded a little too intrigued.

"Like I have terrible scars on my back."

"So fire is a definite limit for you, then?" He was, of course, trying to get your limits out without triggering you.

"Yes, absolutely", you smile as you begin to warm up to the idea of having Chris as your master.

"Noted," he said, folding his arms, "had he ever spoken to you about being into sadism?"

"No, not at all. I would have never agreed to play…he started off sweet. Still, the more we continued our relationship, the more he became obsessed with sadism play."

"I'm sorry he did that to you," Chris said, reaching for your hand. "But if you choose to be with me…I will never put you in that position." He looked deeply into your eyes.

"But it's your turn…why did you leave your last partner?"

"She left me...there were just certain things I could not overcome what she wanted from me...so we thought it would be best if she left" this worried you a bit, so you dug deeper. "Basically….I wasn't firm enough for her" he became nervous again, pulling his hand away from yours, and right as he did, the food was being served.

"Excuse me, sir…do you think you could just place both meals in the middle" again, you smile sweetly at him while he agrees, setting the stake and lobster into the middle of the table.

"Thank you so much. I appreciate it" he gave you a smile as he turned around and walked the opposite way.

"Here, allow me," you say, taking a lobster tail off the plate and placing it on the side of the stake. You cut the stake in half, the other half moving to the lobster plate. Then, put lobster tails on the half stake and pour your lobster sauce on top. Once you have completed the meal, you serve the dish to Chris, who is mesmerised by your actions.

As Chris snaps out of his daze, you chuckle, "I believe they call it surf and turf."

"Thank you. I'm going, to be honest with you right now….I would really like to offer you a contract."

CHAN POV

"Chan, come on, you have to get over Vanessa," Changbin said as he flopped down on the studio couch.

"I am over her", I scoffed.

"Well, what's the big deal about going on this date?" Changbinin shuffled to the side of the couch.

"I'm nervous, bro… what if she doesn't like me…she doesn't even know it's a date," he said, packing up his headphones.

Changbin was looking at me with a confused look on his face.

"It's someone Grace set me up with," I said, not wanting to get too deep into it.

"Oh, your hot friend Grace," he said with a smile. If only he knew what she looked like, she would eat him alive. "When are you planning to hook me up with her?" he continued.

"I'm not… you're not her type" I mean, I wasn't lying. She liked women.

"You just want her all to yourself," he said, looking down.

"Anyway," I replied, looking at him, "what should I wear? It's a really fancy restaurant."

"Your black suit is stylish."

……

This leads me to "I would really like to offer you a contract" shit, Chan, why are you like this? She just met you, and you are already making a fool of yourself. I couldn't avoid the advice about the stained shirt because she shared her food with me. If I don't take this opportunity now, I'll never meet another sub like her again.

"I'm flattered…but don't you think you should get to know me a bit better first?" again, tucking her loose hair behind her ear.

"I'll be right back." I knew Vanessa always kept hair ties in my car. After a short walk to my car, I found them in the glove compartment. "Perfect," I say, locking my door and returning to the restaurant.

"Here, please….take this hair tie." I could see her eyes light up.

"Oh wow, thank you…I umm forgot to bring mine," she smiled awkwardly.

"My ummm… my ex used to keep them in the car. I forgot they were there until you started struggling with your hair." I smiled, cutting into the stake.

"Well, thank you", she said, doing the same.

She ties up her hair. God, she looks so beautiful with her hair in a ponytail. "I like you with your hair up." I started to blush as she smiled at my compliment.

……

I looked down at my watch and realised it was getting late.

"Well, Chris….I should get going" she reached over and grabbed my hand.

"I'll walk you to the car" I paid for the bill on the way out, walking beside her as I escorted her to her car parked around the corner from the restaurant.

"Thank you for tonight….I assume Grace gave you my number" she laughed as she knew Grace well.

"Yeah, she...textted it to me at dinner", I laughed.

“Well…call me please… I'd love to discuss your proposal" did I hear that correctly, or did she just say she wanted to discuss a contract with me?

I wanted to show her what it would be like to be with me. I tried to kiss her so desperately. However, I was mindful that it might scare her off.

"You can kiss me, Chris", she smiled, placing her hand on my chest. I lift her chin so her eyes meet mine. I move my lips in, now hovering over hers "I will when you sign that contract missy"

Y/N POV

You couldn't believe it, but Grace was right. He was indeed a suitable fit for you. You smile to yourself as he walks off to his car.

Ting Ting

Unknown number

"Meet me at my office on Monday at 9am (address included)....we will discuss the contract terms then - Master."

Y/N

"Yes, sir, I look forward to it."

………

Sunday morning

You wake up to someone banging on your door. "Jesus Christ", you say as you get up and open the door.

"Oh good, you are up," Grace said, walking in. "How did the date turn out with Chris? Isn't he delicious?"

"He is nice", you smile at her as she lets herself into your apartment ", but he's an absolute mess" you continue walking over to take a seat on the couch.

"Look, I know Chan....he was nervous….he is a very sought-after dom in the community….he doesn't look for many submissives.... if he's offering you a contract, I'd be taking it," she said, plonking herself down on the couch.

"What makes him so special?"

"Excuse me….he is the perfect dom…as far as soft pleasure doms go, he's one of the best."

Suddenly, you ask yourself, "Wait, he's a pleasure dom?". It is difficult to come by pleasure doms in the community these days. It is no wonder that he is in such high demand.

"Oh, big time…he hasn't had a sub for over eight months…. I've never seen him so nervous about meeting someone….he must really like you…. When does he want you to discuss the details?"

"Tomorrow," you said, turning towards her. Suddenly you feel nervous. What if you can't please him like he wants.

"Shit, he's working quickly," she said, shocked. "Look, no one knows Chan like me…he wouldn't just ask a girl he met to sign a contract."

"Well? What should I do, Grace?"

"Listen to me….hear him out, okay…do you trust me?" She said, lifting your chin up.

"Yes," you reply, staring into her eyes.

"Good girl," she said seductively.

………

Monday

"Why am I so nervous?" you asked, looking at yourself in the mirror while you curled your hair.

"Okay, Y/N…. You've done this before…just strike out what you're not comfortable with," you talk to yourself as you grab your handbag, ready to exit your apartment.

I walked out of the building, and in front of a black Range Rover was Chris. "Oh good….I was afraid you wouldn't show up", you chuckled.

"So you came to pick me up?" You said, walking over to him.

Chris stepped to the side and opened the car door "after you." What the hell did this man do? He had his own driver.

Sitting in the car with Chris was awkward until he reached over and grabbed your hand, locking his fingers with yours. "You don't have to be a nervous baby girl."

"I can't help it," you said, shaking your legs.

"Spot that," he said sternly, looking directly forward.

As soon as you see Chris, you sit still, looking forward, not speaking for the rest of the drive to his office. "Jyp entertainment," you said, looking surprised.

He chuckled as he opened the door, hopping out.

"Here, allow me to help," he said, extending his hand out to help you.

He locks his fingers with yours and leads you into the building. "I've booked a meeting room for us," he smiled. On the other hand, he had a briefcase. "This way," he smiled, leading you to the elevator.

The doors open, and you step in with him, his hand sliding along your lower back. God, his touch feels so comforting.

You both go up to the 10th floor, and he walks you to the meeting room. You sit as he pours you a cup of water. "Sit....have some water", he commands.

"You're not my dom yet, Chris…..I don't have to listen to you," you say cheekily.

He leans in so he's inches away from your face. "Do you want to repeat that?" He whispered in your ear.

You take a sip of water to appease him. "That's my good girl," he says, placing a soft kiss below your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

"Okay…now shall we get started?" he said, sitting down next to you and opening his briefcase.

He pulled out two contracts. "Let's start with the limits." He says, handing one to you and flicking it open in front of him. "I took the liberty of striking out fire."

"Okay, also animal and age play…strike that out," you say as he glances up at you. "Also put in here…I will not refer to you as anything other than Chan, Chris, Master or Sir."

"Okay yeah, that works for me", he smiles. "Sooooo noooo", and he raises an eyebrow at you.

"No use of the word Daddy", you frown.

"Okay, okay, that's fine with me," he says, putting both hands up.

"What is this down here….am I meant to move in with you?" You say, leaning closer to the paper.

"Oh, uhhhh only if you want to," he says, going to strike it out before he can. You grab his hand a squeeze.

"How about we start with just weekends, okay….besides, I have to work," you grin. Chris looked happy with you making the decision.

……

As time passed and you read deeper into the contract, you became more at ease. Chris read had thought of everything. "How long have you been a master?" You say, trying to spark up a conversation.

"5 years now", he smiles over at you "before that, I was a sub", he looks back down.

"Oh, okay what made you change?"

"My dom….she made me want to become just like her…she was smart, beautiful but had a wicked temper", he chuckled.

"Is that what I can expect out of you?" You pressed your legs together tightly as you got excited about his answer.

"I try my best to be fair….but I will warn you to know…I only give one chance for things before I punish….and I don't take chat back lightly," he smiles. He can tell from your behaviour that you have a bratty side.

"Oh really?….hmmmmm….have you ever tamed a brat before," you say seductively.

"I have…. don't think just because I'm a soft dom, I'll let your attitude slide," he says, still flicking through the contract.

"I wouldn't dream of it, sir" Chris pauses at your use of the word Sir. "I would love to view your house before I sign the contract."

"Of course…do you have time right now?" He said, gripping the paper.

"I actually need to go to work", you smiled. Very convenient timing.

"Perfect, I'll drop you off" this shocked you because, well, you worked at a sex shop and didn't really want him to find out this way.

He escorts you down to the car, opening it and letting you get in first. You give the driver the address, and Chris's eyes widen. "You mean the sex shop on the corner?"

"Yeah, is that a problem?" You giggle at his response.

"Nope….not at all" you could tell he was trying to play it cool.

Your work is about 20 minutes away. You pull up outside the shop, and Chris undies his seatbelt. "What are you doing?" You say, panicking.

"I'm coming in….I want to see….might get some stuff for later when I pick you up."

"Don't you dare" Chris shoots you a look, and you sit back quietly in your seat.

"Let's go," he says, getting out and offering you his hand.

"Fine," you say, rolling your eyes as you hop out of the car.

CHAN POV

"Did she just roll her eyes at me?" I thought to myself. "Careful, Channie.... she's not yours just yet", I repeat as I walk with her to the shop. I would love nothing more than to punish her for how disrespectful she is now, but that will have to wait.

As she walks towards the store, I grab her hand, locking my fingers with hers. She stops for a moment, and then she starts to lead me inside the store. "Good morning, Noah," she says as she enters the store. I glance over at Noah, who is a rather attractive young man. He has long blond hair and bright blue eyes.

"Morning Y/N…. Who's this?" He says, extending his hand to me.

I share it making sure I grip a bit tighter than I usually would.

"This is my friend Chris" she smiles up at me.

Is that all she sees me as a friend? I would love nothing more than to show her what kind of "friend" I am. Y/N walks behind the counter and places her bag under the counter.

She walks back to me "okay, you can leave now" using my index finger, I pull her chin up, "ill pick you up at 5" I lean in and kiss her soft, plump lips. I smile as I pull back. I glance over at Noah, who is in shock.

I walk out of the store and back to the car, "that will show him….. she's all mine," I say to myself as I sit back in the car. "Okay, could we go back to the company," I say, opening my phone.

A/N : thank you all soo much for reading😁 any like reblog or comment is muchly appreciated

Taglist: @9900z @armystay89 @nightrayseishina @jisungiexx

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brrrkdslek · 9 months

Text

MY SOMEONE.

❒ psh x gn! reader

❒ comfort, angst

❒ mental illness, pills, arguments

❒ 0.6k

❒ new theme spoilers!

"why won't you listen! i didn't even do anything-" "stop blaming your sister! it's not her fault you're lazy and irresponsible!" you screamed in frustration and slammed your door in your mother's face. curling into the corner of your bed, sobbing into your arms.

feeling a familiar warmth engulf you, you look up to see seonghwa, your best friend, hugging you. pushing him away slightly, you rubbed your eyes, "what are you doing here?" he tilted his head, "what do you mean," he rubbed the tears staining your face with his sleeve, "i'm always here, aren't i?" tears filled your eyes at his loving words as you broke apart in his arms.

you cried as he stroked your hair, comforting you with his gentle touch and loving words, "it's okay, i know it's hard right now," seonghwa kissed the top of your head, "i know it's hard, but you can do this." he held your face in his hands, "i know you can. you're so strong and talented and even if you aren't, i'm so proud of you for getting through the day."

"did you take your medicine today?" you sniffled, "n-no..." seonghwa sighed and nuzzled his chin into the top of your head, "and why not?" removing yourself from him, you gripped his arms while more tears spilt from your eyes, "because i won't see you anymore..." seonghwa's eyes narrowed at your words, "but, my love," he whispered, "i never existed in the first place..."

you silently cried, "but i need you-" "no, you don't." seonghwa held your cheeks with his palms, watery eyes gleaming with a hint of sadness, "you always think you need me but you don't. you do just as well without me..." you closed your eyes as seonghwa puts the pill bottle into your hand, "but i don't want you to go..."

seonghwa rested his forehead against yours as he sighed, tears streaming down his face too. "but i need to," he gripped your hands which held the bottle, "otherwise you'll never get over me, your imagination." he took your hand and twisted open the cap, taking out a single pill as you bit back a sob.

you stayed frozen as you stared at the white pill, eyes blurry from the tears the keep threatening to spill. seonghwa returned with a glass of water, you shook your head as he grabbed the pill from your hand and tossed it into your mouth. he used your hands to grab the glass while you drank from it, sobbing the entire time.

as you finished the water you pass it to seonghwa, only to hear it shatter and break on the ground. looking around, you realised he was gone. you cried out in pain as you wanted to throw the pill bottle away. but no matter how hard you tried, your grip never loosened. is it seonghwa? was he trying to help you? save you? why was-

no, he never existed. you should forget about him, that's how you'll grow and learn.

you stay seated on your bed as your tears continue staining your pillows and blanket, pill bottle still tightly engulfed in your hand. all the memories you and seonghwa had made together ever since you were a child suddenly appeared as the small children played hide and seek, running through your wall and door.

even if he never existed, he felt real. he felt like the realest person to you. and maybe, just maybe in another lifetime, park seonghwa was real. so real that he went to school and he succeeded at becoming an idol. and maybe, just maybe he would be someone to you, just as he had been for you.

©BRRRKDSLEK 2023

#brrrkdslek 📁: oneshots #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #mingi x reader #san x reader #seonghwa x reader #jongho x reader #yunho x reader #wooyoung x reader #yeosang x reader #park seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #atz seonghwa #seonghwa x you #seonghwa x y/n #seonghwa angst #ateez angst #ateez comfort

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floridaboiler · 7 months

Text

What Is The Main Ingredient of WD-40?

Before you read to the end, does anybody know what the main ingredient of WD-40?

No Cheating.....

WD-40 ~ Who knew!

I had a neighbour who bought a new pickup.

I got up very early one Sunday morning and saw that someone had spray

painted red all around the sides of this beige truck (for some unknown

reason).

I went over, woke him up, and told him the bad news.

He was very upset and was trying to figure out what to do ....

probably nothing until Monday morning, since nothing was open.

Another neighbour came out and told him to get his WD-40 and clean it off.

It removed the unwanted paint beautifully and did not harm his paint

job that was on the truck. I was impressed!

WD-40 who knew?

"Water Displacement #40".

The product began from a search for a rust preventative solvent and

degreaser to protect missile parts.

WD-40 was created in 1953, by three technicians at the San Diego

Rocket Chemical Company.

Its name comes from the project that was to find a 'Water

Displacement' Compound.

They were finally successful for a formulation, with their fortieth

attempt, thus WD-40. The 'Convair Company' bought it in bulk to

protect their atlas missile parts.

Ken East (one of the original founders) says there is nothing in WD-40

that would hurt you.

When you read the 'shower door' part, try it. It's the first thing

that has ever cleaned that spotty shower door. If yours is plastic,

it works just as well as on glass. It's a miracle!

Then try it on your stove-top.

It's now shinier than it's ever been.

You'll be amazed.

WD-40 Uses:

1. Protects silver from tarnishing.

2. Removes road tar and grime from cars.

3. Cleans and lubricates guitar strings.

4. Gives floor that 'just-waxed' sheen without making them slippery.

5. Keeps the flies off of Cows, Horses, and other Farm Critters.

6. Restores and cleans chalkboards.

7. Removes lipstick stains.

8. Loosens stubborn zippers.

9. Untangles jewellery chains.

10. Removes stains from stainless steel sinks.

11. Removes dirt and grime from the barbecue grill.

12. Keeps ceramic/terracotta garden pots from oxidising.

13. Removes tomato stains from clothing.

14. Keeps glass shower doors free of water spots.

15. Camouflages scratches in ceramic and marble floors.

16. Keeps scissors working smoothly.

17. Lubricates noisy door hinges on both home and vehicles doors.

18. It removes that nasty tar and scuff marks from the kitchen

flooring. It doesn't seem to harm the finish and you won't have to

scrub nearly as hard to get them off. Just remember to open some

windows if you have a lot of marks.

19. Remove those nasty bug guts that will eat away the finish

on your car if not removed quickly!

20. Gives a children's playground gym slide a shine for a super fast slide.

21. Lubricates gearshift and mower deck lever for ease of handling on

riding mowers.

22. Rids kids rocking chair and swings of squeaky noises.

23. Lubricates tracks in sticking home windows and makes them easier to open.

24. Spraying an umbrella stem makes it easier to open and close.

25. Restores and cleans padded leather dashboards in vehicles, as well

as vinyl bumpers.

26. Restores and cleans roof racks on vehicles.

27. Lubricates and stops squeaks in electric fans.

28. Lubricates wheel sprockets on tricycles, wagons and bicycles for

easy handling.

29. Lubricates fan belts on washers and dryers and keeps them running smoothly.

30. Keeps rust from forming on saws and saw blades, and other tools.

31. Removes grease splatters from stove-tops.

32. Keeps bathroom mirror from fogging.

33. Lubricates prosthetic limbs.

34. Keeps pigeons off the balcony (they hate the smell).

35. Removes all traces of duct tape.

36. Folks even spray it on their arms, hands, and knees to relieve

arthritis pain.

37. Florida 's favourite use is: 'cleans and removes love bugs from

grills and bumpers.'

38. The favourite use in the state of New York , it protects the Statue

of Liberty from the elements.

39. WD-40 attracts fish. Spray a little on live bait or lures and you

will be catching the big one in no time. Also, it's a lot cheaper than

the chemical attractants that are made for just that purpose. Keep

in mind though, using some chemical laced baits or lures for fishing

are not allowed in some states.

40. Use it for fire ant bites. It takes the sting away immediately and

stops the itch.

41. It is great for removing crayon from walls. Spray it on the marks

and wipe with a clean rag.

42. Also, if you've discovered that your teenage daughter has washed

and dried a tube of lipstick with a load of laundry, saturate the

lipstick spots with WD-40 and rewash. Presto! The lipstick is gone!

43. If you spray it inside a wet distributor cap, it will displace the

moisture, allowing the engine to start.

My discovery, Ants don't like it..................

P.S.

As for that Basic, Main Ingredient.......

Well.... it's FISH OIL....

Now This Is Definitely Worth SHARING!!

#WD-40

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knightedmoon · 1 month

Text

As someone that was on tumblr from 2013 to 2018 that exodus'd after the Great Purge, tumblr is a place I no longer recognize after attempting to come back several times in the last 2 1/2 years.

It's like you come back to your childhood home. It used to have original wood finish, stained-glass windows, oak cabinets, and crown molding, only for the house to now look like a gutted white/beige minimalist wasteland. Everything is too bright and shiny, the layout is completely different, the furniture is firm and probably not made to sit in.

You go back to your old room only to find someone living there. It's a completely different room with completely new items, and all of your old things were stuffed into a closet. You used to be able to open your bedroom window and talk to your next-door-neighbor and chat about shared interests and personal accomplishments. Now when you open it, an entire Rube Goldberg machine activates to shoot flames into your face via flamethrower.

The doorbell rings and you are met with a Jehovah's Witness there to greet you, and you think, "How did you people find this place? This used to be a closed community." Their 'good book' reads "bakudeku dni". There used to be a welcome mat that was fashioned in the stile of satanism and witchcraft. Matter of fact, this used to be a walkable community, now it's gated with an HOA.

You go into the kitchen for a simple glass of water, but nothing is placed where it used to be. Once you finally find a decent cup, you arrive at the refrigerator for ice. Before, the refrigerator was a standard two (2)-door white fridge/freezer. Now it's a silver, stainless steel behemoth with a smart-screen and strange symbols in the water/ice dispenser. There's a poll on the smart-screen: "where do the vegetables go? In this drawer or in that drawer?"

You walk down a long hallway full of photos you don't recognize. At first. As you walk on, they begin to get more familiar, however dusty and light-damaged they are. As you near the hallway, you find a very busted, dusty framed photo of the Onceler. Beside it in a similarly damaged frame is a photo of a skeleton in a blue hoodie. The final photo in this hall of fading memories depicts the clock from "Don't Hug Me, I'm Scared".

You reach the basement door. Curiously, the door itself is the same even if it's just been landlord-painted white. When you open the swollen door, you are hit with a cloud of dust that makes you cough. The light switch you flick on and off produces no light, so you return to the kitchen to scroll around in the drawers for a flashlight. Once acquired, you brave the dark basement. It gets hard to breathe, between the dust and the thick air. Quickly you realize everything you knew before has been stored here. You shine the light upon a box with scribbled sharpie. "Voltron".

You shudder.

More and more boxes and piles look familiar. "Danganronpa". "Vampire Diaries". "Dan and Phil." Upon the well windowsill is a novelty box with the words "Rise of the Brave Tangled Dragons". The farther you go into the basement, the more battered the boxes are. All of them are homes to some kind of spider.

And there... in the very darkest, furthest corner of the basement, is a mountain of boxes, all labeled, "SuperWhoLock".

As you've taken in the house that is no longer the home you know, you stand on the front porch. A single tear falls from your eye. Why come back?

As the wind blows, you hear a jingle. You look up and see an old wind chime that hadn't been removed. Along with the metal and the beads, the charms on the ends depict a feather, a bow, and a pair of glasses with a handlebar mustache attached to them. Another tear falls when the wind blows again and the chimes whisper,

"Just girly things."

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gtunesmiff · 2 years

Text

WD-40

I had a neighbor who bought a new pickup.

I got up very early one Sunday morning and saw that someone had spray painted red all around the sides of this beige truck (for some unknown reason).

I went over, woke him up, and told him the bad news.

He was very upset and was trying to figure out what to do... probably nothing until Monday morning, since nothing was open.

Another neighbor came out and told him to get his WD-40 and clean it off.

It removed the unwanted paint beautifully and did not harm his paint job that was on the truck.

I was impressed!WD-40 who knew?

"Water Displacement #40".

The product began from a search for a rust preventative solvent and degreaser to protect missile parts. WD-40 was created in 1953, by three technicians at the San Diego Rocket Chemical Company.

Its name comes from the project that was to find a 'Water Displacement' Compound.

They were finally successful for a formulation, with their fortieth attempt, thus WD-40.

The 'Convair Company' bought it in bulk to protect their atlas missile parts. Ken East (one of the original founders) says there is nothing in WD-40 that would hurt you.

When you read the 'shower door' part, try it. It's the first thing that has ever cleaned that spotty shower door. If yours is plastic, it works just as well as on glass.

Then try it on your stove-top. It's now shinier than it's ever been. You'll be amazed.

WD-40 Uses:

Protects silver from tarnishing.

Removes road tar and grime from cars.

Cleans and lubricates guitar strings.

Gives floor that 'just-waxed' sheen without making them slippery.

Keeps the flies off of Cows, Horses, and other Farm Critters, as well.

Restores and cleans chalkboards.

Removes lipstick stains.

Loosens stubborn zippers.

Untangles jewelry chains.

Removes stains from stainless steel sinks.

Removes dirt and grime from the barbecue grill.

Keeps ceramic/terracotta garden pots from oxidizing.

Removes tomato stains from clothing.

Keeps glass shower doors free of water spots.

Camouflages scratches in ceramic and marble floors.

Keeps scissors working smoothly.

Lubricates noisy door hinges on both home and vehicles doors.

Removes that nasty tar and scuff marks from the kitchen flooring. It doesn't seem to harm the finish and you won't have to scrub nearly as hard to get them off. Just remember to open some windows if you have a lot of marks.

Removes those nasty bug guts that will eat away the finish on your car if not removed quickly!

Gives a children's playground gym slide a shine for a super fast slide.

Lubricates gearshift and mower deck lever for ease of handling on riding mowers.

Rids kids rocking chair and swings of squeaky noises.

Lubricates tracks in sticking home windows and makes them easier to open.

Spraying an umbrella stem makes it easier to open and close.

Restores and cleans padded leather dashboards in vehicles, as well as vinyl bumpers.

Restores and cleans roof racks on vehicles.

Lubricates and stops squeaks in electric fans.

Lubricates wheel sprockets on tricycles, wagons, and bicycles for easy handling.

Lubricates drive belts on washers and dryers and keeps them running smoothly.

Keeps rust from forming on saws and saw blades, and other tools.

Removes grease splatters from stove-tops.

Keeps bathroom mirror from fogging.

Lubricates prosthetic limbs.

Keeps pigeons off the balcony (they hate the smell).

Removes all traces of duct tape.

Folks even spray it on their arms, hands, and knees to relieve arthritis pain.

Florida's favorite use is: 'cleans and removes love bugs from grills and bumpers.'

The favorite use in the state of New York, it protects the Statue of Liberty from the elements.

Attracts fish. Spray a little on live bait or lures and you will be catching the big one in no time.

Use it for fire ant bites. It takes the sting away immediately and stops the itch.

It is great for removing crayon from walls. Spray it on the marks and wipe with a clean rag.

Also, if you've discovered that your teenage daughter has washed and dried a tube of lipstick with a load of laundry, saturate the lipstick spots with WD-40 and rewash. Presto! The lipstick is gone!

If you spray it inside a wet distributor cap, it will displace the moisture, allowing the engine to start.

And FYI - the main Ingredient is - FISH OIL.

1K notes · View notes

corvidrogue · 9 months

Text

PROXIMITY: wherein vash avoids touch as much as possible, until he can't. a vashwood character study loosely settled somewhere within the Stampede timeline.

Ao3 link

Full fic below.

The first time is an accident.

“Stop fidgeting,” Nicholas snaps, hands chasing after the elusive ball of fluff that is the bleeding head of Vash the Stampede. “Let me look at you – can you even see straight right now?”

“I told you, I’m okay,” the blonde insists, the thin veneer of cheerfulness quickly wearing away to expose irritation – real, genuine irritation, and the cranky note is an almost welcome reprieve from Vash’s constant fucking benevolence . From the constant softness of his face, of his empty smile; like a martyr painted in stained glass and gold, too willing to get his skull caved in if it means preventing anyone else from taking a hit meant for him.

“If you’re okay, then stop bobbing and weaving and prove it.” There’s a hard edge to Nicholas’s voice as he gives up and grabs for what he can reach: fistfuls of crimson jacket, the fabric rough with grit against his calloused palms and knuckles pressed into stark collarbones. It takes everything in him not to slam Vash against the wall of the grungy back alley where they’ve taken cover, but Vash settles abruptly.

Good. Maybe he’s finally gotten through that thick skull.

“I can see straight. Well. I mean, the blood’s making things a little blurry.”

Vash’s tone is light, expression carefully trained into reassuring cheer once more even as his left eye waters in an attempt to clear itself of the running redness. He’d removed his glasses when the lens got too smeared to see through and now he levels naked crystalline blue at Nick, underscored with dark circles and streaked with blood and still he acts like everything is fine .

Nicholas could hit him. Instead he reaches, catches that thick skull in the pads of his fingers–

“Don’t fucking move–” he bites, when Vash flinches again. It doesn’t seem like he’s struggling to keep his balance, coordinated enough to squirm and dodge all over the place the way he is. His eyes seem clear – aside from the blood, at least – and focused enough, searching Nicholas’s face. Something shuttered moves behind them, a silent question perhaps but Nicholas is too busy parting the unruly blonde mess above Vash’s temple to analyze it, let alone answer.

The wound isn’t deep but it’s ragged. The falling steel beam split Vash open when it glanced off his head, leaving an ugly tear in his scalp that crosses his hairline and rips the fair skin of his forehead. Nicholas tugs his cuff down to messily blot the area clean(ish, enough), then skates his thumbs along the edge of the lurid bruising. There’s a bump. There will no doubt be an even bigger bump in an hour, but the bleeding is already slowing to a sluggish ooze.

“Okay,” he finally admits. “Looks like you’re gonna live, needle-noggin. Beats the fuck outta me how, though.”

Nicholas doesn’t realize that Vash is leaning on him until he starts to let go. His hands lighten their pressure, only for Vash’s forehead to sink forward – and Nicholas realizes that his eyes are closed.

“Hey,” Nicholas hisses, suddenly doubting the clarity he saw in those summer-blue eyes just a minute ago. Vash’s head lolls, one cheek warm against his palm as Nicholas pats the other briskly and smudges more sticky blood across his cheek. “ Hey. ”

The effect is instantaneous, startling; Vash jerks upright, eyes flying open, and he nearly clocks the back of his head against the wall in his apparent haste to get away from Nicholas’s hands. He doesn’t look disoriented – if anything, he looks… embarrassed? As if he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“S-sorry–” Vash stammers, and yeah, he’s definitely blushing. Nicholas’s palms, his fingertips, feel cold with the sudden absence of warm skin beneath them. His charge is already edging away, getting out from between Nicholas and the building to head for the mouth of the alley. “See? I told you, I’m okay. I’m sturdy.”

There’s an undercurrent of nerves when he laughs, though, that sticks with Nicholas for the rest of the day.

—

The second time is hardly more intentional than the first.

They’re arguing – it seems like they’re always arguing. Either that, or getting shot at, which Nicholas is just starting to think would be less aggravating than trying to convince the Human Fucking Typhoon to commit one single sensible act of self-preservation – when he sees the glint of a gun barrel shine from an upper window across the street.

Nicholas doesn’t think; muscle memory and training kick in before his higher mind, and he swings. He hooks Vash around the waist and snatches Meryl up by the scruff of her oversized jacket, hurling the three of them toward the front door of the inn on whose porch they’d been squabbling. Gunfire rings out as Meryl crashes across the threshold like a tossed kitten; Vash stumbles in step with Nicholas. Roberto brings up the rear but, well, Nicholas only has two arms.

Of course, Vash grabs for Roberto, shoving him and Meryl ahead of them even as Nicholas plants his hands on that slender back and herds him toward the kitchen. The front windows blow out and Nicholas hears Vash screaming for the downstairs bar’s patrons to take cover, feels him fighting to turn back toward the source and draw the fire away like the magnet that he is.

The Punisher thuds against Nicholas’s back, shielding them both from the smattering of shots that might have hit their target. Nicholas feels one catch his calf, doing more damage to his pants than his skin, but the graze burns almost immediately. When Vash tries to twist free Nicholas hooks him again and drags; through the kitchens, out the back door – it’s too predictable, they’ll expect it, but no one seems to have circled around yet and Roberto’s split to the left, dragging Meryl around someone’s thomas pen toward a basement hatch–

So of course Vash splits right, away from the journalists; he’s still focused on drawing whatever fire will come their way next, as if Meryl won’t come scrambling after him like the infuriating little firecracker that she is.

Someone should teach her to handle a gun. Maybe she’d shoot better than she drives.

Vash is fast, but Nicholas is determined, and before he can blow their cover Nicholas spots a supply truck with its rear door ajar. He grabs hold of Vash again, body-checking him toward the vehicle and all but tossing him through the narrow gap before diving in behind him.

“Ow, watch where you stick that thing-” Vash complains, as the Punisher rams his shoulder. It drives him further into the truck, though, so Nicholas won’t apologize. Instead he just heaves the crossgun behind some crates and firmly obstructs Vash’s path out of the vehicle.

“This is exactly what I was talking about,” Nicholas growls. “Sticking your nose into people’s business gets you shot at.”

Vash opens his mouth to argue, only to let out a muffled mrrp when Nicholas’s hand slaps over it – there’s a voice outside, at the rear of the truck. His hand drifts toward the Punisher, but Vash’s prosthetic flashes out to grab his wrist.

“Next town is seventeen iles north.” It’s a quiet voice, familiar – the owner of the inn where they were supposed to stay the night, supposed to be comped fully in exchange for clearing her son with that loan shark. Through a gap in the crates Nicholas sees her work-worn hands close around the rear door, pushing it shut. He barely hears her over the groan of old, rusty metal on older, rustier metal. “We’ll send your friends along after ya... Thanks, Stampede.”

The door slams, but there’s a grate between the cab and the cargo hold and it lets just enough light in for Nicholas to catch Vash’s expression. He’s frozen, eyes round over the edge of Nicholas’s hand and, interestingly, the hand that doesn’t have a deathgrip on Nicholas’s wrist is fisted in the front of his jacket. Slender fingers tangle in the fabric, a minute tugging sensation carrying through to the seams. They’re very close, Nicholas realizes. He’s practically straddling one of those long, skinny legs, and he can hear Vash’s quick breath, feel that soft face getting warmer under his hand. Vash's jaw clenches against Nicholas's fingers when he swallows.

“...I don’t wanna hear it,” Nicholas grumbles preemptively, petty in the knowledge that the exact thing he was scolding Vash for not even five minutes ago is the thing that’s saving his ass now. He drops his hand, twists free of the prosthetic grip with a deliberately nonthreatening motion, and pushes away to land heavily on his ass next to Vash.

The truck rumbles into motion, turns, and they lose some of their meager light in the changing angle. Nicholas digs around in his jacket, pulling out his lighter and a slightly wilted cigarette. Surprisingly, Vash doesn’t say anything, doesn’t defend himself or even complain about the smoke. When Nicholas steals a glance at him, he can see just enough to fill in the details of that blank, faraway look Vash gets sometimes.

He can also see that Vash’s fingertips are resting against his own lips in the near-darkness.

—

The third time it’s on purpose.

Ever since that day in the back of the supply truck, ever since the image of Vash’s long fingers pressed to the impossibly soft skin of his lips burned itself into Nicholas’s brain, he’s been paying much closer attention to the Humanoid Typhoon.

To the way that he moves, effortlessly swaying out of proximity of anyone around him, never in danger of bumping an elbow or stepping on a toe. To the way he’ll fall into a group of strangers like an old drinking buddy, but any friendly arm slung over his shoulder slides off after a moment as easily and harmlessly as sand off a tin roof. Human contact seems to put Vash on edge, seems to be something he’s unnaturally adept at avoiding – except.

Except for the time that Roberto absently ruffled his hair and Vash nearly tripped over his feet, an entire array of emotions washing over his pale, pretty face before he managed to clamp down on them. What was left was one of the most genuine little smiles Nicholas had seen from him – and he realized, with a sour taste in his mouth, that Vash had turned several of those smiles onto Nicholas himself.

Except for once when Meryl had too much to drink and threw her arms around Vash’s waist, wailing into his (deceptively muscular, Nicholas now knows) chest that he’s just so nice, and she doesn’t understand why everyone is so mean to him.

Nicholas was about to clue Meryl in to some very unkind knowledge about very kind people, but he stopped when he saw Vash get a look like all of the air had gone from his lungs. Instead he stayed quiet, watching mismatched hands settle on Meryl’s petite shoulders. Hesitate. Grip briefly, tight for just a moment like they never wanted to let go – and then Vash was gently shushing her, shooing her, extricating himself from her clinging grip.

Vash ended up on Nicholas’s side of the booth somehow, sitting close on the worn-out bench, and Nicholas tested. He just…tested; just leaned forward, elbows on the table to mimic Vash’s posture as he reached for his glass, and his arm and leg brushed against Vash’s. Nicholas didn’t look but he listened, heard the soft intake of breath, felt the moment of hesitation before Vash somehow moved away without moving at all.

Except – the next time their legs brushed, Vash didn't pull away. By then he had a few drinks in him, and Nicholas could tell that he was distracted by the contact.

After that night, Nicholas kept testing, formulating the theory in his head, both hungry for confirmation and loath to question why. It’s suddenly far too important to him that Vash accept Nicholas’s touch, his closeness, that he stop constantly slipping away like a mirage. It’s a nudge of knee to knee here, a leading arm around the elbow there, a gradual press until he’s in Vash’s space more often than he’s out of it.

And Vash… well, for the most part, he takes it. He tries not to show how much it ruffles him, but Nicholas is pretty good at picking people apart and he can see the pieces that shiver apart in Vash’s expression, in his body language. The more Nicholas puts himself in Vash’s space, the longer it seems to take for Vash to react and pull back enough to give himself a buffer, until two weeks later he’s actually allowing himself to slump into the corner of another booth, at another bar, gangly legs thrown over Nicholas’s lap and arms crossed in his oversized coat.

This is the fourth time Nicholas has touched him and Vash hasn’t immediately swerved and deflected it.

"Feels sprained to me,” Nicholas says quietly, gently palpating the swollen, bruised mess that is Vash the Stampede’s bare foot. His normally scrawny ankle is thick with fluid, vivid purples already painting his heel and the side of his foot. “Saw a lot of these at the orphanage, one wrong roll and it’d keep a kid off his feet for six weeks.”

Vash doesn’t respond, but judging by how quickly the vicious gash on his forehead knitted itself into a thin silver line, he won’t need six weeks – hell, he might not even need two.

“We can splint it,” he continues, glancing over to assess Vash’s face. “I know you’re not going to stop running around on it like a maniac.”

One palm is still levered against the arch of the gunslinger’s foot, keeping it bent at a 90-degree angle, but the other hand is easing gentle pressure up the back of Vash’s calf, fingertips pressing into overwrought muscles. He knows it’s sore, even if Vash hasn’t complained once; he saw the wince at the corner of those blue-green-blue eyes when Vash put weight on it earlier.

Those eyes look especially green today, pitched against the redness surrounding them from lack of sleep, and they’re glued to Nicholas’s hands, the expression around them vacant and slack. He’s in his own world again, one that seems to center around the contact of calloused fingers and bare skin as Nicholas’s middle finger finds the edge of a scar trailing up into the cuff of his pants. His cheeks are pinker than their usual sunburned tint, Nicholas can’t help but notice.

“Needle-noggin.” Nicholas squeezes the wiry muscle under his hand, careful not to jostle the ankle. It’s uncharacteristically gentle, but then, hasn’t he been uncharacteristically gentle all morning? Is it so wrong to be gentle with Vash, who doesn’t seem to know what to do with it?

Shouldn’t someone be gentle with him, if he won’t do it himself? With everything he's been through and everything coming his way?

No. This isn't a line of thought that Nicholas can afford to follow.

“Hey. Vash.” Another squeeze and this time he gets through; Vash blinks, the mesmer broken, and seems to pull himself up from somewhere very deep and realize that he’s not where he’d like to be. “I’m gonna splint your ankle.”

“You don’t have to–” Vash starts, predictably, infuriatingly, trying to swing his legs out of Nicholas’s lap. He falters when the hands on his calf and foot don’t budge at all. “I’ll go easy on it, it’ll heal up fine.”

“Like the rest of you?” Nicholas retorts sharply, then immediately feels a wash of unsettling guilt when Vash droops like a kicked puppy. He shoves at the feeling, distancing himself from it, because he’s right and he knows it: he’s seen the gunslinger shirtless, seen the tapestry of scars and patchwork modifications that hold Vash’s body together. He’s seen the price that this man pays for his pacifism and his pathological inability to ask for help.

Vash doesn’t seem to have any fight left in him. Nicholas wonders how much of it is their sleepless night, and how much of it is related to the way he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of Nicholas’s hands.

“...Okay,” Vash murmurs, crystalline turquoise eyes raking over Nicholas’s face for an answer that Nicholas isn’t sure he wants found. “You can splint it.”

—

The fifth time, there isn’t really a choice. There are so many ways in which it’s simply the only option.

“Come on, don’t be silly.”

Nicholas is shucking off his jacket, kicking out of his suit to change into softer clothes for sleeping. It’s not technically his turn on the floor, but Vash went through the windshield of a truck today and he needs the bed more than Nicholas does.

“Don’t you ever accuse me of being silly again,” Nicholas scolds, wagging a mock-threatening finger at the puppy-eyed heap in the double bed. Vash is stripped to a pair of worn sweatpants, shirt discarded in favor of a haphazard array of gauze pads and bandages across his back. The wounds will be scattered pink flecks by this time tomorrow, but there’s no sense in leaving them exposed in the meantime to collect dirt and discomfort.

“I won’t if you’ll quit giving me reason, ” Vash huffs, sitting up and throwing his arms – well, arm, as his prosthetic is laid carefully next to his gun on the bedside table – wide. “You said it yourself, I could sleep in a milk crate. There’s plenty of room for you on the bed.”

He’s no longer self-conscious of his scars, not after Nicholas has reinforced several times that he could not give less of a fuck. What Vash doesn’t realize is that Nicholas always ends up distracted by how soft his hair looks, flopping over his forehead and ears after a shower, damp and free of product; or how long and soft his fingers are when stripped of the shooting glove.

“There’s even more room for me on the floor, and I’m perfectly okay with that.” He’s already shaking out the spare blankets, kicking his shoes aside to make a bit more room where he wants the pillow. There’s a long pause, and Nicholas is about ready to consider the subject closed when Vash’s voice breaks through the quiet.

“Nicholas, please. It’s… it’s gonna be freezing tonight.”

It’s the way he says it. It’s the care, the way Vash’s perfect, soft mouth wraps around each syllable of his name, making the simplicity of Ni-cho-las sound like something valuable. He doesn’t use it much, seems cognizant of the fact that it does something to Nicholas, but perhaps that makes it worse: there’s no forced exposure, no way to acclimatize.

There’s just Nicholas, somehow stripped bare by the simplicity of Vash’s full attention.

“...Okay.”

Even Vash seems surprised at how easily Nicholas caves. Nicholas doesn’t dwell on it, chooses not to dwell on it, stooping to snatch the pillow back up and toss it onto the mattress before dropping down after it.

Vash is right. Rather, he’s quoting Nicholas having been completely correct, as usual. Vash the Stampede, the Humanoid Typhoon, the six billion double-dollar man, smiles and curls up like a kitten on his side of the bed. In a matter of seconds all of that length, all that broad-shouldered lank, folds into a compact ball of limbs tucked around the empty socket of his stump.

“Only because you’re a fuckin’ furnace, ” Nicholas grumbles, punching his pillow a few times before settling into it. There’s still space on the mattress for him to sprawl comfortably but he can feel the radiating heat of Vash’s bare back against his arm, even without touching him.

He can’t help but look at the body curled next to him, eyes traveling along the sharp slope from tiny waist to curved shoulder, cataloging the map of textures and tones composing the fretwork of Vash’s scars beneath the bandages that decorate his body; can’t help watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, relaxed, somehow at ease with showing his back to Nicholas of all people, comfortable with the idea of taking his fucking arm off. Leaving himself vulnerable.

Nicholas can’t help but wonder if that would even make a difference, if he were to pull a gun. If he were to try right now to put a bullet through the back of that fluffy head.

“Don’t kick me,” Nicholas mumbles, wrenching his gaze back to the ceiling and pulling the bedsheets up over both of them. They’re not very thick, but they trap the warmth nicely.

“I don’t kick,” Vash murmurs. Nicholas can hear the laughter nipping at the edge of the words.

Turns out, Vash does kick. He kicks hard, actually, and it has Nicholas snapping awake in the middle of the night, reaching for the pistol on the bedside table and looking for the fight, looking for the problem, looking for the threat–

There’s nothing in the room. The moons cast their shadows across the floor, the window is still securely shut, the bathroom door still wide open. For a moment, fingertips pressed to the cold metal of his gun, Nicholas is confused about what woke him.

There’s a whimper from somewhere near his hip.

Vash.

The gunslinger has rolled over, still curled small but facing Nicholas now. Instead of a comfortable crumple, there’s an electric sort of tension winding through his curled form, from the way his face grinds into the pillow to the hand gripping at his stumped shoulder…to the long leg jutted out across the bed.

“Son of a bitch, you do kick,” Nicholas hisses, the understanding dawning that he’s just been roused by one of the sharpest knees on Noman’s Land. The ire fades as quickly as it rose when Vash lets out another pathetic little noise and twitches like he’s touched a live wire.

“Hey, blondie, hey. ” Nicholas drops back onto one elbow, reaching for Vash – trying to slip his fingers in between the thin hand and the skin it seems to be trying to pull up – but he gets no response, just another harsh twitch. Like a hypnic jerk, except it doesn’t wake Vash up.

He’s muttering something, strained and under his breath. Nicholas tips closer, listens as he works to dig the gunslinger’s nails out of his own shoulder, and his gut shakes when he recognizes a slurred string of sorry, sorry I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

“Vash!”

The hand comes free, clamping tight around Nicholas’s own, and Nicholas’s other hand buries itself in that flyaway blonde – this wasn’t how he wanted to feel Vash’s hair clean, wasn’t how he wanted to discover that it’s light and thick and soft like something unbelievably expensive, but Nicholas doesn’t know what else to do. This isn’t the first time he’s been roused by Vash mumbling or moving in his sleep, not the first hint that the guy’s baggage comes out to bite him in the form of nightmares, but this is the first time Nicholas has seen him try to claw himself open. It’s the first time the mumbling has sounded so helpless – the words of an apology, but the desperate cadence of a plea.

“Vash, wake up. Vash. ”

Several things happen at once.

One: Nicholas once had his hand run over by a larger kid on a bicycle and fractured several of the bones. What Vash does to his hand now feels like that did then.

Two: Vash’s body jerks hard away from him, feet planted in the mattress, but the crushing pressure on Nicholas’s hand drags him along and he narrowly avoids collapsing right onto the panicked gunslinger.

Three: Those blazing blue eyes snap open and dart around the room. They glow with the shimmering filigree of Plant bioluminescence, fixing on Nicholas for only a moment before sliding away.

Four: Vash begins to hyperventilate.

“Easy, easy,” Nicholas shushes hastily, overcoming the initial shock of he’s glowing, Stampede is GLOWING again to hurriedly press his palm to Vash’s cheek. He’s sweating now, shaking and wheezing. “You’re okay, blondie. Look at me, you had a nightmare. You’re okay. You tried to rip your goddamn stump off, but you’re okay now.”

He’s expecting Vash to realize how close he is at any second, to shimmy away and hastily slap those sunny, reassuring walls back up. He’s expecting embarrassment, maybe, though there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s expecting Vash to rubber-band snap back to the shallow, cheerful normalcy that he clings to like he’s trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.

What Nicholas is not expecting is for Vash to yank on his hand, somehow managing to cling to Nicholas’s whole forearm with just one of his own. The stump of his severed arm moves in a heartbreaking attempt to reach, to grasp, with no hand attached to help it.

Nicholas doesn’t see another option. Carefully, gingerly, he maneuvers his captive arm and pulls Vash up into a bear hug, pressing him close.

“Breathe, blondie, listen to me and breathe,” he murmurs, and God in Heaven it’s been way too long since Nicholas tried to offer someone real comfort. He’s stretching way back into the depths of his own brain, to toddlers and scraped knees and Livio clinging to his shirt; trying to apply that to an inhuman, incomprehensible creature suffering from a pain that Nicholas can’t place and probably isn’t able to soothe.

But the creature – Vash – squirms and shakes and sobs against him just like a child, clings just like one. He only has one arm to squeeze with and Nicholas still feels like he might cough up a lung from the constriction.

Both hands free now, Nicholas puts one between Vash’s jagged shoulder blades and one back into the incredible softness of his hair. He’s still talking, just nonsense really, anything to keep Vash’s attention and give him some sort of hook to ground him. It feels so important to ground him, to get him to look up and no longer be wearing that shattered, vacant look. Nicholas lets his hands wander, soothing over ruined skin and through silky, cowlicked hair, blunt nails scritching through the close-shorn fuzz at the nape of Vash’s neck.

There’s no clock in the room. No way to tell how long they stay like that, wrapped up in each other in the middle of the bed. Somehow, Nicholas doesn’t care. He only cares that the wretched little noises slow, quieting into a gentle, sparse hiccuping. The wet spot on his sleep shirt stops growing. Vash’s arm loosens to leave a sweat-damp band of overheated skin in its wake – but from the feel of it, remains caught loosely in the back of Nicholas’s shirt.

Vash takes a deep breath, starting to speak. Nicholas knows what’s coming and pushes that stupid, pretty face into his chest, but all it does is muffle the words. He can’t stop them.

“I’m sorry,” Vash murmurs thickly. Because of course he is. Because of fucking course he is.

“Don’t,” Nicholas warns, gripping tight.

“Woke you–” Vash starts, but the rest of the sentence comes out on a stiff wheeze because Nicholas has squeezed his arms hard enough around Vash’s ribcage – just for a moment – to force the air out of him.

“I don’t care,” he growls, cutting off any attempt to continue. “I don’t care, I’d rather be awake than leave you to deal with that alone.”

Vash draws in a sharp breath then, but he doesn’t respond. And… he doesn’t pull back, either. He hangs there, heavy and warm in Nicholas’s arms, for a few more minutes before he starts visibly piecing himself back together. When he finally does pull away – slowly, gently enough that Nicholas’s hands are left to drop into the tangle of their legs – the bone-deep weariness that he usually masks so well is naked on his face and in the heavy slump of his shoulders. His eyes are no longer glowing, but they’re wet and red-rimmed against the lingering clammy paleness of him.

Nicholas can’t help but be reminded that this gangling slip of a thing is far older than he is. Older than any human.

“Why are you doing this?” Vash asks quietly, voice shaking and thick in his throat. He’s scanning over Nicholas’s face with those bleary, tired eyes, like he’s struggling with a puzzle and starting to suspect that he’s missing some of the pieces.

At first Nicholas isn’t sure how to respond. He doesn’t have to be doing this. He could get up now, should get up now, go have a smoke and leave Vash to collect himself. Maybe slink back to the floor, get some space between them and write it off as begrudging the gunslinger for having said I don’t kick and then knocked a dent in his leg.

He should put the correct distance between a guard dog and its charge.

He doesn’t do any of those things. He picks up his hand and, after a moment’s hesitation, slowly reaches out to push back the hair sticking to Vash’s sweat-damp forehead. Vash sees it coming, watches it, doesn’t move. Nicholas’s palm presses against his forehead and Vash’s eyes fall shut; it slides to his temple, down to his cheek, and Vash turns his nose into Nicholas’s wrist. He leans into the contact like he’s starved for it, like he’ll die if Nicholas pulls away, barely breathing.

“You’d do the same for me.” It’s a cop-out answer, murmured on a slow exhale, but it’s true. Vash blinks at him blankly but there’s no way he can refute it: he’d do it for anyone. Any stranger on the street.

Nicholas, on the other hand, wouldn’t.

“...C’mon,” he murmurs, breaking contact only for long enough to tug his cuffs down and start wiping the sweat and tears from Vash’s face. There’s some snot too, Nicholas is pretty sure. He ignores it while Vash blinks at him in something that looks uncomfortably like awe, lets himself be mopped up and then nudged back down onto the mattress.

This time, though, Wolfwood shuffles down right behind him and when he pulls the blanket up, he slips his arm beneath Vash’s head as well. He can feel the solid structure of Vash’s spine, the tense sweep of his ribs, drawn against Nicholas’s side by the slight sag of the old mattress. Despite the palpable nervous tension thrumming through Vash’s body, he's been shockingly compliant.

“This better?” Nicholas murmurs, and when he tips his head Vash’s hair is right there under his nose. He can smell the faint synthetic floral scent of the shampoo they pocketed three motels ago and under that, a gentle tangy sweetness that's distinctly Vash. They’re so unbelievably close. It’s not exactly cuddling, but there isn’t another word that quite describes the way their bodies have slotted together so neatly, the way Vash's back fits against his side. Nicholas folds his arm over his own stomach, knuckles brushing Vash’s bare skin, and smooths the pad of his thumb down that ridged line of vertebrae; feels Vash sink in on himself like a deflating balloon at the slow touch.

“...Yeah,” Vash breathes, barely audible. Nicholas feels a smile tug at the corner of his mouth uninvited.

“Thought so."

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun fanfiction #my writing #vashwood #ao3 link #ao3 fic #sorry idk how to fics on tumblr anymore #i will learn

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ilovefandoms102 · 2 years

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Royal Flush-Part 4*

Pairing: Mafia!Ransom Drysdale x Plus Size Reader

Summary: No one messes with the Drysdale family and lives to tell the tale…

Note: I’m sorry this part took so long to get out 🥲but anyways I hope you guys enjoy 😁

Warnings🛑: mafia!au, soft!dark!ransom, mentions of violence, mentions of firearms, use of firearms(not by reader), mentions of murder (not by reader), mentions of sexual acts, arranged marriage, forced relationship, manipulative relationship, graphic violence, mentions of torture, mentions of kidnapping, smut(unprotected vaginal sex)

Please make sure to read the warnings before continuing, you’re responsible for your media consumption.

Part 3 Part 5

“Find whoever did this, bring them to the warehouse. I’ll meet you there after I get my wife home and secure.” Ransom ordered, a stiff nod from Hector came before they separated.

Ransom got you home safe, watching you carefully as you entered the house while he was on the phone with god knows who. This feeling of defeat sat deep in your chest, that shop meant everything to you. It was your home away from home, now destroyed with bullet holes and broken glass.

You trudged up to your bathroom taking a look at your horrid appearance. Hair a mess, mascara stains down your cheeks and around your eyes, puffy face. Sniffling, you grabbed a cotton round and some makeup remover and got to work. Tears slowly kept raining down no matter how much you swiped at them.

Ransom watched from the doorway, his heart breaking. He knew how much this meant to you and it made him a million times more angry at Franelli for making his girl cry. He would pay, they would all pay for every single tear coming from your eyes.

“My love,” Ransom whispered, closing in as he turned you to face him.

“Will you hold me?” you asked, gripping tightly to his biceps.

Ransom didn’t hesitate and pulled you tightly into his arms, wanting to keep you there for the rest of your lives so you’d always be safe. He was in love with you, he knew that now. He remembered in the beginning when you two swore not to fall for each other, yet it took less than a year for his heart to belong to you. Maybe it had always been you, Ransom could recall how much he flirted with you when you two were teens.

Now, as you stood weeping in his arms, he vowed to do anything and everything to destroy the Franelli’s once and for all.

Gently, he took your face in his hands, brushing away the tears that had now stained your cheeks. Leaning down, Ransom brushed his lips against yours in a sweet kiss. He didn’t stop as he laid kisses to your cheeks, nose, forehead, even your closed eyes. You wanted to forget everything, to be completely consumed by him, your Ransom.

He pulled away only to reach and turn on the shower, proceeding to remove his clothes then helping you with yours. The hot water streamed on your tense muscles as you stepped in with Ransom following behind. Turning, you faced the handsome man before you.

“Ransom?” you murmured, running your hands down his chiseled body.

“Yes my love? I’m here.” he assured as he drew you in closer.

“I need you, please.” you whimpered, laying a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Sweetheart, I’m-” he started, taking against your lips that kept kissing his.

“Please baby,” you begged, reaching one hand to his dick that was already semi hard.

“Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me.” Ransom groaned, smashing his mouth back to yours.

Suddenly, you were in his arms with your back against the tile wall. Your hands and his were everywhere, touching, groping, feeling each other’s wet, slippery skin. Lips caressed anywhere possible of reaching, tongues explored and teeth clashed.

Ransom couldn’t wait any longer, giving himself a few strokes before entering inside of you. A breathy gasp escaped your lips, loving the stretch that warmed you to the bone.

“Ransom, baby, I-” you moaned, head tipping back bumping into the wall.

“Shhhh baby, just feel me.” he smirked, slowly gliding in and out.

Ransom wasn’t fucking you, no. This was making love, something the two of you had never done. You knew once you’d gotten yourself here that this love was real. There was no other way to put it, but were you ready to say it out loud?

Hot kisses to your exposed neck brought you out of your thoughts, as well as Ransom’s thumb finding and circling your clit. You couldn’t help but moan so loud as Ransom finally picked up his thrusts, your hands pulling his face back to yours as you kissed him hard. Panting against his lips, you felt your orgasm closing in.

“I love you,” Ransom whispered, then you came so hard your legs shook around him.

Ransom met Hector at the warehouse, guards surrounding the area. As he entered, he saw just the man he’d hoped. Franelli himself was sitting bound and gagged, blood and sweat dripping down his face. Along side him were his goons that Ransom suspected was apart of almost killing his wife.

“We’re gonna make this simple, even though that’s not my style. You see, you were stupid enough to cross me by coming after not only my wife but two innocent girls employed by my wife and I. It’s pathetic really that you’d go after women just so you can prove you have the bigger dick which we can see now isn’t true…I mean it took no time for my men to find you.” Ransom explained while pacing in front of the men.

“An eye for an eye Drysdale.” Franelli spat, Ransom having enough and punching the bastard in the ribs.

Franelli wheezed, spitting more blood out on the dirt covered floor.

“Tsk, tsk,tsk…that’s definitely broken.” Ransom chuckled, picking up a crow bar.

“Now, you’re gonna hand all of your money and assets to me and I’ll be the new head of your family as your last will and testimony. Then I won’t have to kill everyone you love and I can go home to my wife and finish filling her with my seed until she has my heir.” Ransom went on as he twirled the bar.

“Fuck you and your stupid bitch!” one of the goons piped up.

Ransom grinned menacingly and winded his arms back, smashing the crow bar against the man’s face. He howled in pain, but Ransom wasn’t done. Taking the bar up again, Ransom bore it down on each of the man’s fingers until he was begging for mercy.

“Enough!” Franelli screeched, pulling against his restraints.

“Hector, please bring in Mr.Cline so we can get this shit sorted.” Ransom ordered.

“I was going to have so much fun with her, after I beat the shit out of her…I was going to take my time to show her what a real fuck is like.” Franelli gurgled, an evil smile on his bloody face.

Ransom saw red, his fists raining punches down. No one would ever hurt his wife again, no one would dare lay a fucking finger on his girl ever and Ransom would make sure that message got across.

“You sick fuck!” Ransom roared, Franelli’s blood splattering all over him.

“Ransom! Enough! We need him alive long enough for the signature!” Hector called, somehow managing to pull Ransom away.

After Ransom’s men untied Franelli, Mr.Cline slid the document to him, helping Franelli lift his hand to grab the pen. Ransom held his gun to Franelli’s head, the click of the safety being turned off made the weak man’s hands shake.

“There, you have your money! Now let us go.” Franelli huffed as the guards tied him back down.

“Now where would the fun in that be, oh no I’m going to blow your fuckin’ brains out then deliver you to your dumb ass family.” Ransom grinned, aiming straight for the center of Franelli’s head.

He pulled the trigger, then watching Franelli’s lifeless body flop.

#ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale x plus size reader #ransom drysdale fluff #ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale angst #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom smut #ransom x plus size reader #chris evans smut #plus size reader #chris evans x plus size reader #chris evans #chris evans fic #chris evans character fanfiction #chris evans characters #mafia!au #mafia!ransom

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kumeko · 4 months

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A/N: For the @amorfatizine! I screamed in Unlimited Bladeworks when Rin got Saber for a while, I was just, yes, in an AU world that could have been amazing teamwork.

…

Rin jolted awake. Half-remembered dreams flashed across her memory, hazy images she couldn’t quite grasp. A sword, a blood-stained field, a red sky—it was a memory. Somehow, she knew it was a memory. The night sky outside her window wasn’t the same as the one from her dream and it took her a few minutes to realize that she was in her bedroom right now.

Her sheets rustled as she groggily turned over, her hand groping for her alarm clock. Cool glass met her probing fingers instead—her water, she realized belatedly—before Rin accidentally knocked it off the bedside table. The sharp crash as it shattered woke her up entirely.

“Shit,” Rin swore, leaning over her bed to look at the damage. There was a dark stain next to her bed, her plush carpet absorbing the water. The base of the glass was still intact but the top was jagged from where it broke. It’d be a pain to pick out all the shards later. Reaching down, she plucked the biggest piece.

The door banged open, barely keeping on its hinges as Saber forced her way in. Her armour made a soft clank as she searched the room. “Did something happen?”

Startled, Rin flinched and the sharp glass edge sliced her palm. “Ouch.” She winced as she raised her hand, watching a thin line of ruby droplets form. “Well, now it did.”

“Let me see that,” Saber ordered.

Before Rin could stop her, her servant marched toward the bed. The glass cracked as Saber stepped on it, shattering it entirely. Rin clicked her tongue. Now it was next to impossible to remove the shards. “Look what you did.”

“That can be easily solved.” Nonplussed, Saber lifted her palm, examining the small cut. After a few seconds, she sighed, relieved. “It’s not that serious. No shard’s caught in it.”

“No kidding, I could have told you that before you crossed the room.” Rin rolled her eyes as she snatched her hand away. “Since you’re here anyways, get a bandage from the drawer. I’m not wasting magic on this.”

Obediently, Saber turned to Rin’s bedside table, turning on the side lamp before rifling the drawer until she found a small first aid kit. The room brightened enough for Rin to see that her Servant had released her armour.

When Rin had first summoned Saber, she couldn’t believe her luck. First try out of the box, she’d done it. She’d gotten the strongest servant in the war. With a Saber by her side and her own magic, wits, and strength, they had the Holy Grail in the bag.

Yet, the moment Rin had asked Saber for her name, she had clammed up. No matter what question Rin asked, Saber had remained stubbornly mute, insisting that there was nothing worth telling. It was an obvious lie—what sort of servant could become a Saber and not have a life worth talking about?

And why keep it from her partner? This vital piece of information that could literally mean life or death?

Rin glanced over her shoulder. Through her large bedroom windows, she could see the moon wasn’t out tonight. Pollution made it hard for her to see the stars, unlike the nightscape in her dream.

A spike of pain hit her, like a pickaxe to her brain, and Rin winced. As though shaken by the headache, pieces of her dream returned to her: a lone king, a blood-stained sword, an empty field. On top of it all was a pervading sense of regret and anguish.

Rin wasn’t an idiot. She’d done her research before summoning, read every text her father left her and then some. With the pact, a connection had been forged between her and her servant and sometimes memories transferred that way. Unfortunately, the memories she’d received were all fragments and she didn’t have enough information to piece it all together.

Saber was a king with a tragic past. European, based on her accent and appearance. She probably had hid her gender or Rin would have recognized her by now. There were so few women warriors in the past great enough to reach the Throne. Unfortunately, a tragic European king was vague enough to fit any old ruler. Rin frowned. An image of a golden dragon stayed with her, a crest so familiar it was on the tip of her tongue. She knew that symbol. She knew this person. If she could just pry It out of her memories—

If Saber would just say it instead of keeping it a secret. Rin scowled as her Servant sat on her bed, setting the first aid kit next to her. Saber’s touch was oddly tender as she took Rin’s hand, cleaning the cut carefully with a wet cloth. For a king, she was surprisingly used to taking care of injuries.

“You should be more careful,” Saber reprimanded, pouring rubbing alcohol on the cloth. “This could have been more serious.”

Rin’s temper flared. “It’s broken glass and a small cut. You know what could put me in more danger? Not telling me your identity.”

Saber jerked her head up. Her lips were a thin line, her jaw set. “That has nothing to do with this.”

“You can’t tell me to be more careful and then not give me the tools to do it.” Rin winced as the alcohol burned her cut. It wasn’t something new; Rin had taken care of her own wounds many times before.

Somehow, it felt different having someone else take care of it.

“You have other tools.” Saber bent her head, focusing on the cut. Clearly, she was done with the discussion.

Clearly, she had no idea how stubborn her master was. Rin glared at the back of her head. If only her eyes were powerful enough to bore a hole through Saber’s thick skull. “Who other than you can take on a Servant’s attack? Or help me win the battle? This is useful information! I can only go so far in my plans without it.”

“There’s no need to know,” Saber replied, her tone clipped. “It’s not useful. You’ve already seen what I can do.”

Rin hit her other hand against the bed, frustrated. “I’ll decide if something is useful or not. Look, I’m smart and talented enough to work around you so far, but I’m not the only competent mage in this fight.”

“You know I have an invisible sword. You know its length and skill.” Saber pulled out a cloth bandage and wound it around Rin’s palm. “What more is there to know?”

Her lips curled in annoyance as she thought of Shinji and the Einzbern heiress. “What if the others figure out who you are? Your weaknesses? How can I plan around that without knowing them myself? What if you have other skills?”

“There’s no—”

“There’s always one!” Rin threw her head back and groaned. For heaven’s sake, Saber was as stubborn as a mule. It was like talking to a brick wall. She’d thought having a Saber would make the fight easier, but all this had done was give her a headache.

For a fleeting moment, she wondered if it would have been easier if she’d gotten Archer or Lancer. Then she shook that useless thought. Rin was many things, but she refused to look back or regret any of choices. The only direction she moved was forward.

“You might even have special skills that can be helpful. Why. Won’t. You. Tell. Me?” she ground out, glaring at Saber.

Infuriatingly, Saber didn’t react. Her focus remained squarely on Rin’s hand, on the bandage as she wrapped her palm. Round and round the cloth went, no different to how this argument had gone in circles since the day they’d met.

Rin had had enough. “Saber. Answer me.”

Saber clipped the end of the bandage in place. She returned the tools into the kit. Rin opened her mouth to say something but something about her actions warned her to keep quiet. It was only when the silence grew oppressive did Saber look up, her fathomless blue eyes meeting Rin’s. “If you find out who I am, you will only be disappointed.”

That wasn’t the response she expected. Rin blinked. “How?”

Saber looked away, staring outside the window now. Was she thinking of that hill, that red sky? An ache spread through Rin’s chest.

“Because that’s what I do.” Saber’s voice was brittle, like the jagged glass on the carpet. Like if Rin pushed too far, the person in front of her would shatter into just as many pieces. “My people went to war because I was a bad king.”

Impossible, Rin almost said. The Grail picked heroes.

“Those closest to me betrayed me because I was a bad friend.” Saber’s eyes darkened, a roiling sea. “I was a bad husband. I was a bad father. There is nothing of my legacy that is worth protecting or knowing. The only thing I have left is my word.” She turned to Rin. “And I have already given it to you: I will see you win the Grail.”

Rin remembered to breathe, slowly, softly, shallowly. Quietly, she murmured, “I believe you.”

“Then there is nothing else you need to know. Because there is nothing else worth knowing.” She lowered her eyes, her hand clenching the bed sheet tight. Quietly, so quietly that Rin wasn’t sure she was supposed to hear, Saber added, “And when we win, there will be nothing to remember.”

Rin didn’t know what to make of that. No, that was wrong—she knew exactly what to make of that. The Grail gave a wish and she knew what Saber’s was: to erase herself.

The ache deepened.

Saber slipped off the bed. “I’ll go get a broom.”

Rin watched her back, her words caught in her throat, a feeling that wasn’t entirely hers flooding her senses. She didn’t know how much of that was true. The Grail picked heroes. No one who was truly that bad was filled with this much regret.

There had to be something that Saber wasn’t seeing, but without more knowledge, Rin couldn’t refute a single word.

The only thing she had was their past few days together.

“Saber,” Rin called out softly, stopping the woman before she passed through the door. “You might be right. You might be all of those things. But you’re something else too.”

Saber didn’t turn around, her hands curling into her skirt. “What?”

“You’re my Servant. I summoned you. And I never go wrong.” Rin squared her shoulders.

“This time—”

“I’m still not wrong.” Rin smirked, speaking with a confidence she didn’t entirely feel. “You’re a Saber. You saved me from Heracles. Without you, I wouldn’t be here.” Her voice softened. “Saber, whatever else you are, you are a good knight.”

Saber glanced over her shoulder, surprised.

“I still want to know who you are.” Rin kept her gaze steady. “But just for tonight, I won’t ask anything else.”

Saber didn’t quite laugh, but her lips quirked and that was close enough. With a nod, her Servant disappeared back into the gloom.

Rin reached over into her drawer and pulled out a pad of paper she kept there. Before she could forget what it looked like, she sketched the dragon and the crest. If Saber wouldn’t tell her, then she’d just have to find out herself. Her house was full of old books, full of the materials her father had prepared.

Somewhere in here were the answers she sought.

And perhaps then, she’d finally show Saber just how wrong she was about herself.

#rin tohsaka #fate stay night #artoria pendragon #saberin #saber x rin #fate series #fate unlimited blade works

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