#shit there’s been times he found me crying with fresh cuts blade still out and just wants to talk about how everyone hates him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bucknastysbabe · 6 months

Text

Docile - King Aegon II x Lady Stokeworth Reader

my eyes are animal and dumb and hold no accusation and every time i die i come right back as another little lamb because the king priest loves me so so much - @/rollercoasterwords

Rating: Explicit (read tws)

Tags: Dark!Aegon II, post blood and cheese, lady-in-waiting reader, past relationships, exhibitionism, dirty talk, TW: Aeggy Ain’t Nice, manipulation, emotional abuse, unreliable narrator, degredation, dub-con, it’s dreary at the keep, Aegon is very unstable, rough sex, pnv!sex, erotic choking, lights out orgasms, spitting, a wee bit sloppy, dacryphilia

A/N: Hey look I wrote a filthy nasty depressing Aegon fic. It felt great. Cheers🤨

Taglist: @aemonddtargaryen @lovelykhaleesiii @aemonds-holy-milk @sugarpopss @fairysluna

The cold throne sat with Aegon atop, broody expression upon his drawn features. The entire room felt lifeless and chilly. Not that it had been a warm place in what felt like years. Goldcloaks and the Kingsguard seemed to loom around every corner.

Heads were being stuck on pikes, Lord Otto brought 100 cats to the keep, and Helaena’s anguished wailing echoed through Maegor’s Holdfast. It was a dismal place. You and the other ladies-in-waiting of the mourning queen were rendered moot as of now. Aimless.

Aegon always held power over you. Since a fresh maiden coming from Stokeworth— the loyal lambs to the Targaryens since the conquest. That’s what he called you, little lamb, while chasing your skirts with that silly laugh of his. He took your maidenhead soon after, Helaena not paying any mind, oft lost in her thoughts or tending to the children.

You still felt guilt slipping about in the early days of the affair. Soon the prince grew tired of the passionate affair, finding the attention of whores easier. He had broken your soft heart at that grand feast celebrating kinslaying. He slurred, lips stained with strongwine and violet eyes glossy, “Lamb, I find this to be stifling. It’s probably best if you return to your duties.”

He had found another maiden to cavort around and deflower before everything when to shit. Funny enough, you thought it was bad then. Aegon seemed to have all life drained out of his wily nature after the horrid incident of his son. He was somber, drunk, raging. Wouldn’t see Helaena and seemed to prefer drink over the company of others. Too dangerous out on the street.

A guard nudged you out of the spiraling thoughts, bringing your gaze up to darkened eyes regarding you at the edge of the grand throne room. Aegon called from afar, voice booming in the barren room, “I said come here little lamb.” Bowing your head in obeisance, two guards flanking, the sound of your heels clicking against the marvel began to match the beat of your heart.

Now at the steps of the imposing mass of a throne you kneeled. Somehow felt in your bones it was the correct move. Aegon’s moods were sour and a tempest of late. He murmured, “Good little lamb. You Stokeworth’s were bred well. Come here.”

Gaze flicking up to his own— your mouth fell open. He wanted you to climb that monstrosity? Your heart beat faster, sweat collecting on your palms. The king sniffed, “Not very smart though, yes, get up here. To me, lamb.” He swigged his goblet and full lips curled just the slightest.

Taking shaky steps up the throne you felt as if you might cry, everything feeling wrong, the fear of being cut arising. Eventually a ringed hand reached out, Aegon’s fuller face cocking to get a look. Taking his hand, the blonde jerked you forward into his lap. You screeched in terror, eyes bugging at all the sharp blades.

Aegon’s laugh was a deep rumble, thick hands securing around your soft waist, squeezing and feeling. He hummed softly, “Just as I remembered. Meek little thing, pretty little thing, I’m not letting you get impaled lamb.”

Your eyes stared into his violet ones, tired and dull from well, everything. He looked away first, grumbling, “Turn around, I look a fright, only you ever got that. Sweet lamb. How foolish I am.” Aegon swiftly maneuvered you to sit astride his lap, back pressed against his softer chest and belly. He’d put some on with all the drink and stress eating.

He tucked his chin onto your shoulder, then moved to kiss and murmur, “I won’t let you go again. Lock you up if need be. Mine,” he bit a mark into your sensitive skin, “My lamb now. You’ll stay in my chambers. Poor sweet sister needs more maesters than ladies in waiting.”

A hand roughly grabbed your jaw, jerking your gaze to his. Aegon looked ravenous, eyes darting to and fro, licking his lips. He growled, “Open.” Your jaw lowered obediently, horrid shame crawling up your spine, heating your cheeks and cunt. He spat onto your tongue, still tinged reddish with wine. Your king smiled pleasantly when you swallowed, overwhelmed tears beginning to rise.

“Good little lamb, I taught you well did I not?”

“Y-you did my liege.”

Aegon’s hands moved upward to free your breasts, casually and uncaring, not like the room was filled with guards. Men who had seen you as a little girl. He groped and pinched at the soft flesh, giggling meanly, “These have gotten riper, gorgeous, how the guards wish they could have a piece.” You warred on whether to protest. But it felt so good to be coveted again.

Still. Everyone shall know by supper. Aegon wouldn’t let up, this you knew. He tweaked one of your nipples and the thoughts flew out of your head as you squirmed and mewled under his fingers. He laughed again, dragging his swollen cock into the soft velveteen of your dress. It was the same laugh he always had.

Just a little too high and sharp.

For some reason it dug in like the blades around you now.

His voice was a bit more ragged now, palms squeezing your tits on the side of too hard, moist lips frantically moving. You whimpered in pain, hand coming to his wrist to try to ease Aegon away. Aegon rasped, “I need you, ease my burden, take my pain will you lamb? Will you?” His blunt nails dug into your breast.

“Yes my king! Yes! Anything!,” you cried to make him stop.

Aegon sighed, fingers scrabbling at your dress, huffing, “Up, get it up, need you lamb, quit playing the shy maiden.” You blushed and helped him hoist up the fine fabric, tears welling up again as your cunt laid bare to the entire room. He swiped two fingers through your slit, collecting the gathered wetness, grinning wide.

“All that crying and you’re wet. Did you spread your pretty legs for another lordling when I stopped? Something to stop the ache I gave you hm?”

He luridly suckled your essence off those ringed fingers, moaning deep in his chest. Aegon pushed you forward, freeing his swollen cock from its confines, slapping the wet tip against your ass. He growled, “Hold your damn dress up,” he aligned himself with your soaked entrance, “I asked you a fucking question, dumb little lamb.”

Shaking your head once again, you sobbed out, “No— no! It’s only ever been you Aegon!” You shrieked in the sudden and rude entrance of his cock, stuffing your unused cunt in the worst kind of pleasure. The blonde stiffened and his hands shook at your hips, breath at a staccato pace. His voice, softer, murmured, “I- I can tell lamb, but you only address me ahh-as your king.”

He pressed a sweet kiss to your flaming cheek when you simpered, “Yes my King.”

Your cunt ached and pulled at Aegon’s cock, body alight with pleasure after so long. Closing your eyes, spilling more tears onto your heaving breasts, you begged for more. He snorted, “Get to it then lamb, show me how you used to ride.” He maneuvered your legs up jerkily, stiff prick throbbing deep inside.

Grabbing onto Aegon’s fine breeches, eyes darting fearfully to the blades so very close to your thighs, you picked up your hips in a slow drag. The king moaned in delight, gasping when you sank back down onto him with a filthy wet noise. It would only get worse.

Again and again you bobbed up and down his thick length, mewling and trying to hold down your sobs. Some of the goldcloaks watched with poorly concealed desire, the Kingsguard even taking peaks. Oh Seven above, you thought, you had become no better than those brothel whores.

Aegon finally began to fuck back, driving deep when your ass came down to meet his hips, drawing utterly shameless cries from your throat. He grabbed your throat and jerked you back, eliciting coughing and a choked sob. He licked up a trail of hot tears, groaning your true name deeply, squeezing at your tender neck. Brutally he forced himself harder and harder, a wicked burning sensation licking up your belly, your swollen pearl throbbing frantically.

You sobbed and squirmed, assaulted by all the emotions and sensations, the lack of blood flow to your head exacerbating the situation. Whimpering thinly, you pled, “Aegon, oh please- my king, I! B-be gentler!” He stilled his hips and stopped, throwing everything off center again.

The man’s lips pouted as he drawled, “You agreed to take my pain away from me lamb.” All you could do was stare with wide eyes, the picture of a scared little sacrificial sheep. Ready to have her blood smeared and sprayed all over. Aegon’s brow furrowed as he continued, “Remember when I took your maidenhead? How lovely you sang, you said you loved me.”

Eerie silence laid stagnant.

“You love me do you not lamb?,” his haunted eyes seemed to the ceremonial dagger, slicing you open for the gods and all to see.

“I love you, I always have.”

“Then hush and take my cock, I’ll spoil you later.” Back to fucking and choking he went, harder now, panting harshly through bared teeth. The noises of your coupling rose and rose to a fever pitch. His deep moans were pitching, rambling nonsense into the sweaty nape of your neck.

You were bent forward to his mercy, crying out on every deep thrust of his leaking prick. Aegon closed in on your neck, tilting you so to desperately mash his puffy lips against yours. He dominated the kiss as you fought for breath, writhing and convulsing. The fire was back in your belly, spreading upward and outward. Your former lighthearted prince ushered, “C’mon my lamb, my pretty little hole, wet your king’s cock.”

He let go of your throat to pinch at your swollen bud, the influx of air and stimulation making you see white. Hot hot white. There was the register of your howl and violent spasms, pleasure overtaking everything. You could distantly hear Aegon’s grunts and feel the inevitable load splattering the back of your once pristine dress. Imagination or not you could swear the blonde whisper, “I love you too.”

It seemed as you floated for a hours, minutes, seconds. Eventually blinking enough to see the open-mouthed guards and desolate throne room. You laid back against again, panting whilst the King seemed to be smugly preening. He spoke slowly, as if you were a dolt, “Do you need me to lace you up? Seemed I fucked any rhyme or reason out of you.”

“Please,” you sulked. Guilt and shame and remorse and love sickening filthy syrupy love crashing down. Aegon laced your tits back up and called to one of the Kingsguard, “Take the lovely lamb back to her quarters, you can open court now Lord Commander.” Criston’s dark eyes regarded you with revulsion at the doors of the throne room, the other knight escorting you on coltish legs.

You kept your head and eyes down being led away, the murmuring and gasps of the obviously defiled Lady Stokeworth circling around. While the queen mourned, her own trusted lady-in-waiting was off sating her husbands ravenous appetite. Bile rose up to your throat. You sat in Aegon’s darkened quarters, snapping at a maid to draw a bath.

Atleast you could hide from your shame in here. He seemed to care for you still after all. Even if he sought to make you just as defiled and twisted as he. You stared out the window facing the Blackwater, contemplating your fate. Long live King Aegon, second of his name.

#aegon ii targaryen #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #aegon ii x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #dark!aegon targaryen

299 notes · View notes

hobidreams · 3 years

Text

november 1869.

to remember what has been lost; to protect what still remains.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: drama. words: 2.4k contains: descriptions of blood/death, a reckoning.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 26. start from the beginning?

Before Queen Jeonghui’s tomb, you stand with hands bowed in reverence, mind laden with warm memories as sticks of incense burn above your fingertips.

“We all miss you, daebi-mama. I hope you are resting well,” you murmur, letting the smoke mingle with your breath in the air as you bow, deeply. “Happy birthday.”

A little ways away, the single guard that accompanies you is also offering his thoughts to the raised, grassy mound that the queen lies beneath. You’re glad it’s Myungho to come with you today. He’s a good man, one who allows you as much freedom as possible. He understands your need to escape sometimes. Nearby, the horses you rode here are grazing on the field, quietly snorting as their tails swish from side to side.

As you look upon the tomb, you wonder wistfully if mother has found the queen in the spirit world. If they’re playing the game of janggi they so loved in life, when both could find the rare time to continue their decade-long (friendly) rivalry while indulging in cups of strong, dark tea. The thought brings a smile to your face even as fresh tears fall at the remembrance.

In your peripheral vision, you see a swish of fabric, the sign of someone approaching. You give one last bow and slot your incense in the traditional tray, realizing it must be time to leave before it gets too cold and your limbs begin to freeze even under the layers of clothes. You must go back eventually, you know it, but that doesn’t make it easier.

But when you turn, the man that stands beside you wears royal robes — the scarlet fabric and golden dragons unmistakable.

“Jeonha?”

The king’s face holds only sorrow as he holds matching incense in his hands. Staring straight ahead, he bends into a bow, dipping his head repeatedly low, low, lower until he’s almost on the dying, waterlogged grass with it, the lit grey tips flickering in the wind as they are nearly doused from the force of his movements. He bites his lip hard, so hard he draws blood as he punishes his own legs with the bows but he doesn’t stop.

You watch him with emotion clinging to your throat, but you swallow the questions you want to ask as you swipe at your wet cheeks. Why are you here? Why did you change your mind? How are you? Are you okay? All these impertinent questions are for you, to satisfy your own curiosity, and that’s not what he needs right now.

Quietly, steadily, you wait until he has finally stuck in the incense in the memorial ash. You wait until he opens his eyes, red-rimmed as they are, and finds your gaze.

“I… decided at the last moment,” he murmurs. “You… were right. I had to see her.”

You nod. Think you understand everything else he means as well, even if he’s left it unspoken. “Me too.”

“She would have liked that you’re here.”

That simple sentence threatens another wave of nostalgia and longing. You let it pull you under. Sink yourself into it. The mourning, the grief. And the love. The love that was there. The love that still remains, the traces of it held in you both. Your fingers twitch with a sudden, daring want to take his hand. To meet your palms and find the warmth and the life pulse that beats so closely, so resolutely just beneath the surface despite all this pain and all this loss. If you could just reach out. If you could just take another risk…

“Jeonha, run!”

The scream comes from the hill behind you. You both whirl.

The head of the royal guard comes running over with his sword drawn. His teeth are grit, hair blown from the wind that sweeps through the grass, rippling. His blade is already stained with a color that makes your stomach lurch at the implication.

“Hoseok— What’s going on?” The king yells back.

“Rebels! An ambush. We don’t have enough men!”

These few seconds are all the warning you get.

An incredible roar of voices comes exploding up and then you see them. The thick crowd of men that come surging over the hill, fighting their way towards you. The unforgettable clatter of metal on metal desecrates this once-sacred ground. Your legs go soft as you panic, scrambling. You’re trying not to watch as guards and rebels alike are cut down, but the enemies are steadily advancing still. What should you do? Where should you go?

“Myungho, get the horses!” The king barks out. But one look at the steeds tells you that they’re frightened, rearing back as men descend upon them. They’re off, running away on instinct to preserve their own lives while damning yours.

“Jeonha, what are your orders?” Myungho’s grip on his weapon is tight.

“Go. Help Hoseok.”

“Yes, jeonha!”

But as the battle wears on, the dread in you only grows. The king’s men are skilled, but it seems there were only a few to begin with. They are overwhelmed by sheer numbers, yelling for jeonha to escape but he doesn’t move. You don’t know what to do. You are at a complete loss, standing beside him with fingers growing steadily numb. You have to do something. You— You can’t just let it end here, at the hands of these men bellowing with violence and anger and pain.

“Jeonha, w-we have to run,” you stutter, forcing yourself to move, tugging at the fabric of his robes. But when you look back at the opposite side, your only escape route, a throng of rebels come scattering across the grass. Cutting you off; rendering you helpless.

“Myungho, cover the rear!” Hoseok spits out as he takes down another three by himself, the quick whip of his blade reflecting a beam of sun. But even he, with two other guards in front, cannot hold all of them off, though there are less of the rebels now that remain standing.

Caught in the middle, you can only watch your allies strain and sweat. In your heart, you promise desperately that you heal them in the end, if only they will hold on now.

With an awful cry, one of the guards hits the ground and a rebel uses that chance. Breaks through the line of defense and charges right towards you both.

“Fuck the king!” He yells, his face smeared with dirt, his sword raised as his bare feet trip upon the grass but he just keeps coming somehow and you have no weapons and you have no shields but the very first instinct, the most primal one you have is to throw yourself in front of the king and take his pain for him and—

Hoseok dispatches the rebel from behind just as you move a single step forward.

“You…” The king’s voice is hoarse. His eyes are wide with shock as he stares at you, at what you just did. Then he’s shoving you aside and stooping to pick up the abandoned sword from the ground.

You realize what he means when he sweeps up his sleeves, adjusts his grip on the worn handle. “Wait, no, jeonha, you cannot—”

“Stay behind me.”

“I cannot allow you to—”

“Do not argue with me.”

Again, he leaves you with no choice but to watch his back.

Fear pounds away in your body like a thousand drums, thunder booming through the pulse of your clenched heart in your ears as the king takes a first brutal swing at an enemy. Somewhat out of practice against the towering man, he’s shoved back by the sheer force of the clash, feet skidding across the wet grass but he refuses to yield. Stubborn as he always is, he rushes in again only to be pushed back. Again.

The king tilts his blade, slices it quick only to have one sent right back at him, barely missing his shoulder by an inch. He doesn’t even flinch as he stands firm. Adapts in the moment and tries a new strategy, a new tactic that has him spinning, robes fluttering in the winter air as his shuddering breath comes out in a puff of white and ends in a fury of red. And again. And again until finally, finally, only the strongest of the rebels remain standing with the few allies you left, along with your brutal, bloodied king.

Before you, all the men are panting, open mouthed, every last one of them desperate for a victory that spells the doom of the other.

“Come on then,” the king goads, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a show of nonchalance even though he’s obviously fatigued. “Attack.”

“You little shit!”

This man is enormous, easily a head above the king and he’s strong, muscles bulging from his torn tunic as he thrusts the sword ahead with surprising speed. The quick rush of air slices through two layers of robes, splitting the dirtied fabric open as the king narrowly escapes without a new scar. But his return stab doesn’t meet a mark and he’s slow on the rebound, steps lost some of the agility he had at the start.

Please. Please, you beg to whatever god may be listening, don’t let him die. But that rebel seems to have an endless strength as he forces the king back, meets him blow for blow for blow and you are so worried, terrified you’re going to see his last moments like this. Like this you will have been with him until the end just like you once stupidly wished. You’re so caught up you don’t realize what’s going on behind you.

“Su-uinyeo-nim! Watch out!” Myungho’s voice cracks as he cries your name, but you turn too slow. Myungho’s on the ground and the rebel that beat him is sprinting towards you, savagery in his scowl, his crude axe already suspended in mid-swing, just a few more steps, just one more shove to land right across your heart and you, you who has never held a weapon before in her life, you who has lived to heal and mend instead of hurt, what can you do right now but die?

“No!”

The scream is hoarse, a furious sound matched with a rush of robes that whip past your own.

You peel open your eyes in time to watch the king take the axe blow meant for you with his left arm. Despite his bark of pain, he swings with his right in exchange and it’s enough. The rebel falls, his axe plummeting uselessly beside him. Then the king falters too, sword clattering down as he finally drops to his knees.

“Jeonha!” You scramble to him. “Oh god, oh god, jeonha, why did you do that— Jeonha, how could you do such a thing? Jeonha!” You part the stained robes, stomach churning at the raw sight of his sacrifice. “We need to fetch you help. You need medicine, oh god, oh god.” This is panic like you’ve never felt it before as you look around, as if some miracle could occur, as if it hasn’t already occurred by the fact that you’re both still alive.

To one side, Hoseok is alone, gasping hard with the enormous rebel lying prone beside him, evidently having finished him off. Myungho has a gash running down his side, but he’s crawling towards you both still with a hand pressed to his wound for pressure. There is no one else. You have to do this on your own. You have to calm the hell down.

Using the nearby sword, you force yourself to focus and stop shaking as you cut strips of the inner layer of your skirt. You have to save his arm even as nausea swims in your mind, nerves making you want to empty your stomach.

“Hah...” The king’s chest lurches as he struggles for air. His eyes are hazy but he manages to fix them on you, as if to ground himself. “You’re… safe?”

Nodding frantically, you start to wrap the cloth around him, willing your fingers not to slip. “I-It’s deep, jeonha. Your wound is so deep.” You’re quietly sobbing as you tie the makeshift bandage to stop the worst of the bleeding. How could he be thinking of you at a time like this? It must hurt excruciatingly so, yet he is still trying to be strong.

Beside you, Hoseok is carrying Myungho’s weight, using the extra cloth to help his ally with his limited medical training.

“…Hoseok.” The king sucks in another long breath. “They… Those rebels were peasants, weren’t they?”

“Yes, jeonha… I think they were.”

He accepts this knowledge silently as you finish your preliminary treatment, but lack the resources to do anything else. You stare at the fresh red seeping through the flimsy cloth and hope desperately that it will be enough for now, until one of you can return to the palace and gather reinforcements to take you home. Feeling your fingers stop, he immediately tries to move his arm but winces, bites his lip at the sudden jolt.

“Don’t move, please,” you instantly say.

The king huffs a long, exhausted sigh as he sinks into the ground. Lets the tension seep out of him, though likely not by choice. His dark eyes flicker to the tomb briefly before they slide closed, the scar ever slashed startlingly crimson across the right side. Despite his best attempts, he is still winded, depleted. Human, after all. After all of this.

You brush matted strands of light hair away from his forehead, and pat at the drops of sweat that linger and prove how hard he pushed himself to fight. He shifts into your touch like a stray animal, allowing you take care of him for once without argument until his breaths even some, settling only in your arms.

“It seems it’s been a long time,” he says softly after a moment, his eyes remaining shut.

“Since?”

“Since I’ve protected someone.”

Your pulse catches. Blood thrums through you as you whisper, “but you did.” Your voice is viscous with relief, and gratitude. “You did.”

Only now do you dare to reach for his hand, to lend him some of your strength, even though you have seen again just how much of it he already holds in himself.

Wrapped in your warmth, he squeezes back just the once. Lets you know he is here, he is here, he is here with you still.

a/n: because i could never forget the way he wielded that sword in the mv. so... how you feel about our king now?

#ficswithluv #btsghostie #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts angst #yoongi angst #historical au #moonlit throne #rain writes #things only continue to shift don't they?

884 notes · View notes

kashimos-hajime · 3 years

Text

reunion pt. 1 (5/8) | r.b.

summary: His back rises and falls against your chest as Bertholdt stands, and your voice reeks with your own loathing and despair. You just want to know— “Bertholdt, please. What did I ever do to you to deserve to die?” Or, the return to Shiganshina is even worse than you imagined.

WARNINGS: aNGST ANGST ANGST, self loathing, swearing, mentions of heavy injuries and violence pairing: reiner braun x fem!reader word count: 6.4k

a/n: here we go!!! pain express. : )

masterlist

crossposted on ao3 x

Launching yourself to the top of the Wall, you find Armin’s gaze as he steps up to you, and you shake your head.

“All I found was three cups,” you inform quickly, “and the pot.” Meeting Commander Erwin’s stare, your knees seem to lock as he turns to Armin who seems to digest the information as well. Turning away to look out on Shiganshina, your eyes sweep the torn buildings, the abandoned silence making your insides cold.

You’re here, aren’t you? Reiner… Bertholdt… did you think of me half as much as I’ve thought about you? I still want answers. Would you even give them to me? Or was Eren telling the truth when he told me what you said about us, Reiner? You surrounded yourself with incompetent fools.

Especially me.

Someone calls your name and you jerk out of your slow reverie, blinking as Armin grabs your elbow and you turn, tugging your green cloak tighter around yourself as your grasp on your ODM grips tightens. With the orders given, you split off from him and jump off the wall, iron wires shooting into the stone. Swinging down to the ground, you split off from the group to explore one of the homes built flush against the wall. Entering, your heart is rapid, pounding against your windpipe.

You try to think like them—where they’d hide, what they’d look like, trying to blend in, but as you ascend the steps of the home and fall to your knees, looking under the bed and the tables, you find nothing. You get to your feet and walk over to the window, pushing it open and shouting, “Clear!”

In response, a couple other Scouts shout their own results, all the same sa yours, and you hop out the window. Landing back on the ground, you’re about to migrate over to the next house when an acoustic shell goes off and you grit your teeth, wrenching your head up. Something inside you snaps.

Someone found them. They actually found them—

Clicking the triggers, you shoot up the wall, the wind nipping at your nose and you land easily, running over to Armin, his signal gun still in hand.

“Did you find them?” you breathe but he shakes his head as Scouts fall all around them, encircling him. Stepping closer, you feel an unheeded wave of relief wash over you followed by a flood of guilt and you clench your jaw, looking down at the stone beneath your boots.

Why? Why should I be grateful they haven’t been found? All they ever did was lie to me. All he ever did was make promises to my face and plotted to kill me behind my back—

Commander Erwin’s voice cuts through your hurricane thoughts, and you look up, receiving the new orders and splitting off from the group once again.

No. No, just stop thinking.

Wiping at your face with the back of your hand, your breath burns through your chest as your grappling hooks sink into the stone and you lower yourself down the wall beside Armin. Tapping your blades against stone, you hear the clink-clink of all the other Scouts doing the same as your eyes scan for cracks, wedges, anything.

They were never on your side.

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, descending. A strange, futile twist of your gut has you aching, exhausted despite the campaign barely beginning, and your legs feel numb as you jump lower and lower, your swords scraping against the Wall. Looking over at Armin, you catch his forced smile, and you nod to yourself, returning your gaze to the surface in front of you, reaching left and right to make sure all spots are checked.

And every time, you pray that the sound is full.

Frowning when you land in front of a cracked part of the wall, your eyes trace the spider webbed fissure before you lift your hand and tap where the cracks seem to stem from. Heart staggering in your chest, your blood chills when you hear it’s hollow.

For a moment, you stare at the rock, knowing full well the eyes you’ll see behind it, and the world slows down into agonizing milliseconds. On instinct, your hand drops the sword and reaches for your belt before you shoot an acoustic shell towards the sky.

“Hey!” you scream, voice hoarse. “This spot is hollow!”

You turn to look at Armin just as a movement catches in the corner of your eye, and your head snaps back as the portion of the Wall is removed and dull silver shoots out of the darkness. Mouth dropping open, you wrench your stare up, pinning Reiner in the face, and you see the moment he recognizes you.

His eyes widen, arm freezing mid-thrust, the tip of the blade just barely digging into your chest. Not deep enough to bleed, but enough to prick.

You forget everything you need to say. Your voice catches in your throat, and a soft, shuddering breath escapes your lips. You understand why the world seems so slow now.

For what feels like years, you look into Reiner’s eyes before they narrow into a deadly glare, and your heart falls into the abyss. A chilling poison fills his entire face as he drops his blade, hand shooting out to grab your shoulder, and throwing you in. Plunged into darkness, you collide with stone as Reiner jumps out.

Shoulder and cheek blooming with a dull ache that comes and goes in tidal waves, you whirl around, retracting your iron wires with a quick press of your grips just as a blur of green flies past the hole. Eyes widening, you scramble forward.

Captain Levi yanks his blade out of Reiner’s neck and you watch as the captain shoots himself back up the Wall.

You hear the thud Reiner’s body makes, an empty sound that echoes in your head as you push yourself further over the edge of the hole. Yellow light bursts from his chest and you cover your face, squinting and gritting your teeth against the burning glare as Levi runs to you, pulling you out. The wind tears at your clothes, stinging your fingers as the fist at your collar tightens.

“Keep your distance and stick by him,” he growls into your ear before throwing you up. Activating your ODM gear, you burst up the wall, the captain beside you. “Reiner would’ve killed any other soldier if it weren’t you. Let’s hope that nepotism lasts.”

You eyes flit to Levi who only stares up, pale eyes narrowed against the bleak sky. You wish you could tell him that he’s wrong—he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

But your chest is hardening as the seconds pass, a coldness stemming from where the tip of Reiner’s sword had dug into you.

Throwing the final Thunder Spear you have at Reiner’s nape, you reroute yourself onto a nearby roof as the explosion goes off, rattling your entire skeleton. Slapping your hands over your ears, you squint at the blast before it disappears as quick as it came. As it dies down, you blink, trying to make out the shape of the Armoured Titan but dots still speckle your vision, blurring everything. Your ears ringing, a swelling feeling blocks up your chest.

What do you want to see? Do you want to see him again? On his feet, prepared to kill us. Prepared to kill you? Or will seeing him on his knees, steam rising from his body bring you more relief?

You’re not sure. Your body is thrumming with adrenaline, every thought of fatigue chased from your mind, and as you sink to one knee, you wait.

When the smoke finally clears, you finally see him. The Armoured Titan on his knees, keeling over, and at the nape of his neck, a pillar of steam rising from his body, sits Reiner. Lips parting, you surge to your feet and wait again, wait for him to begin to move.

Reiner… get up. What are you doing? Get up!

Boots shifting against the tiled rooftop, your grip on your swords tightens when you can’t even see the slightest rise and fall of his shoulders, the sway of his body. No, he’s statuesque in his position, and your heart drops as cheers rise all around you.

“The Armoured Titan just bit the dust!”

The words pass through one ear and out the other. Rooted to your spot, a burning begins to fester in your eyeballs as something warm slips over your cheeks, into your open mouth, and it tastes salty on your tongue. Breath shuddering in your chest, your vision begins to blur again and you blink, a fresh wave of tears streaming down your face.

No, no, stop it! Stop crying for him! He’s dead! You should be glad for that! Your voice is ragged in your head as you slam the heel of your hand into your temple. Stop it! Stop it! Reiner, move! Please, don’t be dead. Shit! Teeth clenched tight, you fall to your knees as Section Commander Hange just across the street from you with Mikasa and Armin, orders for another round of Thunder Spears. Your fingers dig into your scalp as Scouts begin to move, the steam rising from Reiner’s body hot enough even from here to scorch you.

A Scout lands beside you, giving you two near Spears, and you look at them blankly, knowing you should be eager to grab them, but you just can’t move.

‘Thank you,” you murmur to him and he only nods before moving on, just as you hear metal clink and your gaze wrenches up. The Armoured Titan throws his head back, jaw unhinging, and a piercing scream shatters the air. Eyes wide, your palms slap over your ears again as the air trembles and your heart halts in your chest, the air paralyzingly still.

The tiles beneath your knees seem to shake under the force of the wail before Reiner tilts forward, steaming corpse freezing even deeper in prostrate.

Crawling forward, your eyes fix on Reiner’s shoulders. Is he… he’s…

“Everyone, move away from the Armoured Titan!” The order barely distracts you as the other Scouts flee. Chancing a glance at your comrades, you realize they’re already barrelling away from you, and you steel your nerves, squaring your hips.

And then you launch yourself off the roof.

The tile breaks as you fly through the air, landing on the Titan’s shoulder, and you grunt, planting a palm flat against the surface. With a hard swallow, you push yourself to your feet and wipe the stubborn tears drying on your cheeks with a grimace.

We can still save him, you think to yourself resolutely. If he’s still alive, we can still save him

Submerging yourself in the white steam, you ignore the smouldering at your palms as you traverse up to the nape, stepping over the shattered remains of armour.

I already lost the farm.

Waving away the hot fog, you reach Reiner’s shoulder and fall to your knees beside him. It’s all coming from his head and you look down at his arms, still submerged in Titan flesh. Eyebrows knotting together, you reach out for the patch of skin you can still see, and electricity shoots up your bones when you realize he’s still warm.

I lost Annie.

“Shit!” Your hand flies to his back and his chest, feeling for a heartbeat and you try to listen for breaths as your palms slide against green fabric.

I’m not about to lose you, too.

You crane your neck to catch a glimpse of his face but it’s still nothing more than smoke and black and blood, dripping everywhere. Grimacing, you move your palms left just as a faint pulse renders you frozen.

Then, it’s another pulse, and another, soft and weak, but still there.

The sound of ODM gear makes your head snap up and your ribs ache when you realize who it is.

“Bertholdt.” His name is ripped out of your throat as he lands on the other side of Reiner, and for a moment, you see the best friend you once knew before he’s swallowed up by whoever he is now, eyes glinting with a calm you can’t recognize. “Bertholdt, help me.“

“Reiner. Is he—“

“No, he’s still alive,” you reply back quickly. He falls to his knees, moving your hands out of the way to feel for himself, and Bertholdt’s face goes lax when he feels what you did. “Help me get him out of here, please.”

“What the—he must’ve transferred his consciousness throughout his entire nervous system. We talked about it,” he mutters, almost to himself, “but only as a last resort. To think that he would actually need to.” Your eyes trail to his arms again, and you lift your sword. You could cut him out. If you have enough gas, you can probably pull the both of them back to the Wall—

“Bertholdt!” His gaze snaps to you and your fingers wrap around the hilt tighter. “Help me cut him out. I think we can save him if we just—“

“What are you doing?” he asks flatly. Stunned, you can only look at him and he turns his gaze away bitterly. “Why are you helping him? Trying to help me?”

“You’re my family, Bertholdt.” His shoulders go rigid, as if he’s holding back a flinch, and you lower the blade to the tendons along Reiner’s arm. “I have to save who I have left. I’m not going to leave you guys like I left Annie. We can still fix this. Please, please, please help me cut him out before the Scouts finish him off.”

“You’re more desperate than I thought.” It’s not cold, but it makes you freeze all the same. “You know how this is going to go. You always knew. You’re going to die,” he tells you firmly. You reel back, stung, but Bertholdt pays you no mind. “It doesn’t matter whether I help you or not.”

“Bertholdt—“

“Reiner,” he addresses his friend again and your eyes begin to burn again as your gaze finds where the flesh of the Titan meets Reiner’s arm, the glint of your blade so bright compared to the redness of the beast. Your entire body weighs a thousand pounds, and you squeeze your eyes tight, tears slipping down your nose. “Reiner, I need you to do something for me. You’re going to have to move, just a little bit. Lie down with your Titan body facing upwards.”

All you need to do is just swing off his arm. It should be so simple.

“And if you can’t, then I’m sorry. Prepare for the worst.”

Your face lifts up to find your old friend’s, but he refuses to look at you as you grab Reiner’s shoulders, pull yourself to his side. His back rises and falls against your chest as Bertholdt stands, and your voice reeks with your own loathing and despair. You just want to know— “Bertholdt, please. What did I ever do to you to deserve to die?”

His hands roll into fists before he reaches up to pull out his hand grips, long fingers wrapping around the triggers.

“Nothing. You’ll always be one of my dearest comrades. One of my truest friends.” His shoulders fall into his back as he tilts his head to look at you out of the corner of his eye. Your blood chills when you find nothing inside his own stare except cold, hard determination. “I’m just ending a war that we were unlucky enough to be born in. It’s nothing personal.”

Without another word, he jumps off Reiner’s shoulder and you snap your jaws shut, determined not to focus any more time on him. Turning back to Reiner, you run over in your head what Bertholdt had said.

Truest friend.

You feel stiff everywhere. Even when you try to shove his voice of your head, you can’t. One word leads to another and to another, until every memory is playing back, from the times he helped you muck the stables, to the years spent training side by side—you had known about his crush on Annie. Who else had known? You’d been the only one, you’re sure of it—

“I need you to do something for me.”

Shaking your head, your eyes fix on the back of Reiner’s head.

“If your consciousness is through your entire body, then cutting you out won’t do any permanent damage, will it?” you whisper near his ear, but he gives no sign of answer and you jerk back onto your knees. But what if it does? After all, permanent nerve damage is a thing that plagues a bunch of soldiers. I’ve seen it—what if that happens to him, too? Hands trembling, your guts get up into knots and you roll your fingers into fists but even still, it doesn’t help the shaking that travels up your arms. Permanent damage and alive is better than dead.

But what if it’s like cutting off a head? This is the host after all. None of this makes any sense!

“Reiner, if you can hear me”—you lunge forward again, fingers digging into his shoulders—“I need you to tell me if it’s okay. I can’t kill you. I can’t!” The ground trembles and you let out a gasp as the muscles of his back flex against your arm. Jerking back, you feel the same movement in the Armoured Titan’s shoulders and you let out a shout as a hand clasps sloppily over you.

Plunged into darkness, your ODM gear crashes against something hard and your body is jostled like a pebble about to be skipped over water. Blades flying freely, you try to get a good grasp on the hilt before you’re stabbed and you feel the air sifting between the cracks of plated fingers as you fall backwards.

Trying to get up, you manage to stumble to your feet just as the fist you’re trapped in jerks back and sends you flying backwards. Your head crashing into a plate, white stars explode in your vision and your body goes limp as you let out a soft groan. Eyes struggling to stay open, you barely make out the shape of the Armoured Titan’s fingers wrapped all around you before a wave of exhaustion crashes on your skull, and your neck gives out.

Head dropping back against the plate, a ringing silence fills the air, and your eyes slip shut. The pulsing ache in your temple stops moments later as something warm trails down the side of your face.

You don’t recall the last time you’ve laughed so hard your cheeks ache. You never would’ve guessed it would’ve been laughing at one of Connie’s jokes six months into cadet training as they walk back to the dorms.

“Fun times today. Who knew you could be such a joker?” Connie laughs, elbowing you. You rub the back of your neck, embarrassed. “Just needed a little time to warm up to us, huh?”

“Yeah,” Jean snorts. “Who could connect Little Miss Shy over here with the same girl who danced to the busker’s music just because Connie said to?”

“Oh, shut up, guys. Take a look in the mirror. Besides, I had to make sure I wouldn’t die of insanity the instant I hung out with you, Connie. I’m never playing Truth or Dare with you again,” you say pointedly. “Get to your bunks.” The boy mock salutes you to the amusement of Bertholdt and Reiner who stand with them, and you roll your eyes before shooting Jean and Connie a smile. “Goodnight, guys.”

“Goodnight.”

“And, er, goodnight, Reiner.”

He simply dips his head to you, and you try not to let your smile falter. Reiner breaks off from their group first, with Connie, then Jean, and Bertholdt lingers behind for a moment longer. Curious, you stop in front of the door to the dorm, arching an eyebrow.

“What’s up?”

“We had a good time today in Trost,” he says. “I’m glad you came with us.”

“Thanks for inviting me. I’m really sorry I couldn’t convince Annie to,” you add and he shakes his head. “I think she would’ve had a great time.”

“It’s okay.” Your eyes narrow a bit when you see he looks away. His hand runs through his hair nervously and an inkling of an idea sprouts in your head. Oh, no way. “Maybe next time?”

“Yeah, for sure.” Stepping away, you send him a final, tired smile. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

You step through the door and spot the lone figure still inside easily enough. The other girls must be washing up or sneaking something to eat from the kitchens, but you’re too exhausted to even think about doing so. You just remind yourself to wake up extra early tomorrow if you can so you can sneak into the showers before muster. Meandering over to your bed, you make yourself known to the blonde girl.

“Hey, Annie,” you say, stretching one of your arms high above your head. The blonde in question looks up and you offer a smile as you push yourself up onto her bunk uninvited. She begrudgingly moves aside, and you lay down on your stomach, removing something from your pocket as she leans against the wall of their dorm, book in her lap.

“Did you have any fun?” she asks dryly and you nod. “Well, what do you want?”

“I brought you something. I think you’ll like it.” Setting the package down in front of her, you watch her expression carefully, glee shooting through you when you notice her lips parting, a hint of a smile twitching her cheeks. It’s taken a lot of persistent work, but being able to read Annie’s micro-expressions is a joy all in itself as you roll onto your back against her legs. “You didn’t come to our first visit to Trost today. You missed out on a lot of fun.”

She doesn’t answer and you sigh, unfolding the paper bag quietly. Flashing the opening to her, you tilt your head.

“I bought you this. I thought you might like it,” you repeat, pointing at the cream bun within, and Annie’s eyes flash to the bag, widening just a bit. She sets down her book, and leans over, legs crossing, and you pull yourself up to mirror her position. Reaching forward, the blonde pulls out the first bit of the dessert carefully, and you try to hold back your huge grin. “I know you liked sweets, and I really missed you today. You should come next time.”

“You bought this for me?” she asks, confused, tearing the dough apart and you nod when blue eyes search your face. She pops a bite into her mouth, and you wait for reaction. Eyebrows shooting up, she almost looks impressed before she rips off another piece, and offers it to you.

You take it graciously, the sweetness in the bread melting into your blood and soothing your fatigued body from the inside out. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Of course I thought of you when I saw that bakery.”

“We’re comrades,” she corrects, but even so, there’s something warmer in her tone. You wonder if she even notices. “But still, that’s… nice of you.”

“It’s nothing. Just come with me next time, and you could have them fresh. They’re even better and have all these different flavours and custards.” Annie’s eyes narrow for a moment, before she shoves the bun back into the paper bag with a sigh.

“Fine.” You turn to climb off her bunk and duck into your own just underneath hers but she calls your name quietly. Poking your head above the railing, you quirk an eyebrow. “You forgot this.” She shoves the paper bag back towards you and you frown.

“It’s for you. You can have the rest of it,” you say and her arm falters, eyebrows shooting up and lips parting in incredulity. You flash her a smile. “Goodnight, Annie.” Jumping back to the floor, you hear the soft crinkling of the paper bag and a warmth burns through your chest as you pull the covers back and shrug off your jacket. Changing into plainclothes, you slip into bed with a soft sigh, your muscles yawning in relief.

“Goodnight,” a tired voice breaks the silence, and you roll onto your side, the corner of your mouth curving up as you bury your face into your pillow. Minutes pass, and your eyes begin to grow heavy as a sort of draw tugs at you. Pulling the sheets tight against your chest, your eyelids slide shut.

Then, quieter, that same voice cracking in your newfound darkness, you hear: “Thank you.”

The world fades black for only for a moment before you jolt awake, mind scrambling. You’re no longer in your bed at the cadet corps, and you let out a sharp breath when everything around you smells like dust rather than warm candle wax.

Your entire body is on fire. Groaning, you push yourself onto all fours and rub at your cheek as the body beneath your shifts. Something wet soaks into your sleeves and you reach blindly for your swords as the hand above you falls away. Disoriented, you cradle your head.

Why… why was I thinking about Annie? you wonder to yourself as you land on the palm of Reiner’s hand and the fingers begin to uncurl. I haven’t thought about that night since Stohess.

Sunlight sears your irises and you squint against the grey sky as you look up, and a tight invisible fist grabs your windpipe, strangling out any air you might’ve used to scream when glowing yellow eyes pin you down.

Maybe because she always made me believe that there shouldn’t be too much to fear in this world. Struggling to your feet, your fists clench tighter. Maybe because she fooled me into thinking that she’d be there for me.

Maybe I miss her.

That’s always been more likely.

You turn to look at your surroundings, your eyes straining against the light still, but as you keep blinking, you realize that it’s all on fire. Face screwing up, you look down at your hands. They’re stained with red. You swallow, a nausea tiding over you when you realize what you had wiped off your face hadn’t been tears, but your own blood.

Your head jerks up as a crashing rumbles the air, and you spot a giant red figure sweeping a hand through the rows of houses, molten stone. Fire flies everywhere. Smoke stains everything you can see.

Hell has come to us, you realize. We never had to die to become devils, did we?

“Bertholdt…” At your voice, the palm beneath you shifts and you can’t breathe as you look down, trying to keep yourself upright. Whirling around, you look up to see those Titan eyes peering down at you curiously, and you brandish your swords.

“Reiner!” Your vocal cords tear and you could’ve choked on your own blood as you swallow a clot down. “Reiner, I won’t kill you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t do everything I can to stop you!” His fingers curl. You feel one nudge into your back, forcing your weak knees to give in, and you bow over, fists slamming against the heel of his hand. “Fuck.”

Your world beveled, you sway on your hands and knees as you lift your head up to look at him. Seeing twins of everything, your eyes strain as you try to make sense of what’s up and what’s down as your skin, sticky with blood, tears against the wedge of his armour.

“Fuck,” you choke out rawly, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck!”

Fingers pinch the back of your shirt delicately, and you’re hoisted into the air with a strangled gasp. Limbs flailing, you watch the ground get smaller as you’re lifted up. You’re like a limp doll in his fingers as Reiner twists to set you aside on a nearby roof.

When your knees meet tile, you let out a soft breath, your lips parted in the shape of his name.

“…Reiner?”

He does not answer. Instead, he turns your world upside down.

His hand drags through the structure beneath you. The stone gives in, cracks like egg shells, wood snaps, glass shatters into a million shards, and the ground beneath you crumbles, shakes, gives in even as you reach for him.

Suspended in mid-air for just a moment, you swear you can see him in the Titan’s face for just a moment, his eyes wide with regret, and then you’re plummeting through the debris, landing hard on your back. It punches the air out of you and your lungs spasm as you stare up at the sky caving above you. Entire body filled with a tingling numbness, shadows fall all over your face.

Crossing your arms over your head and locking them tight as you can, you turn your face away and squeeze your eyes tight as dust and stone rains down on your head, arms, body.

Ear to the ground, you go deaf from the entire world trembling with the sound of the Armoured Titan’s footsteps and it’s the only thing you can feel, even after the sun is eclipsed by wood and stone.

Connie stands over you.

His skin red with burns, he looms over you like a shadow, face pale, eyes wide as you stare right through him. Throat like ash and dry enough to scratch, your fingers twitch from where it’s trapped underneath a cinderblock and he breathes your name, shuddering and cold. Blood crumbles along your broken fingers as he shakes his head, his tears glimmering in the searing grey light. Crouching, he shifts something off your legs, lifts another block off your stomach, and your stomach flutters as you inhale raggedly.

Everything is destroyed inside you.

“C-onnie… Co-onnie…”

He works his way up your body, removing the parts of you that crush you still, and with every piece that he gets rid off, you realize that part of your body is still attached. Closing your eyes, your lips press together weakly and you swallow as he finally makes his way up to your face.

“Connie…” you whisper one last time as something warm puffs against your neck, and everything stills.

Then, hands grab your face. “Say that again!” he demands, and you let out a soft moan, brow wrinkling.

“C-Connie?”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit!”

The hands are ripped off your face as if you had burned him, and your eyes crack open as he fumbles at his belt for his signal gun and shoots green smoke up at the sky, through a roof no longer above you anymore. The shot pierces your eardrums and your entire head begins to ring as you cough, blood spilling over your lips. Your arms feel shattered, aching so deeply, muscles so twisted that you can’t even lift them as Connie crouches back over you again, holding onto your face.

“H-how?”

“Reiner told us where you were. We thought you were dead! I’m going to get you out of here, though.” Grabbing one of your arms, he tugs and you let out a shout as the debris shifts around you. Your back screams, bones clicking awkwardly and he apologizes under his breath, as he hoists you up and forward. As you’re dragged back onto the street, your legs trail unevenly over the debris, every slide and knock of your boots against stone jolting through your fractured bones.

The cold wind that sweeps over your face as soon as you break through of the ash cloud is heaven sent.

“How badly does it hurt?” asks Connie.

“Like a—a building got dropped on me,” you breathe, and he lets out a shaky laugh, setting you down and procuring a waterskin. Carefully wrapping your pulsing fingers around it for you, he helps you tilt the water down your throat and you swallow greedily, stomach convulsing after sucking down lungfuls of grated stone and smoking ashes. Pitching forward, water dribbles down your chin and he takes the waterskin back. “The others. What’s going on with the others?”

“Sasha’s out, but she’s okay,” he reports. Your knees bend and your head hangs off your neck, staring at the road as you look at your own body. Your uniform’s been torn and dirtied to hell. “Bertholdt got taken down by Eren and Armin, and we got Reiner. Hange’s interrogating him now.”

“They’re… alive?” you rasp, harsh electricity scalding your chest. Your ribs shift with every unsteady breath, knives puncturing your side and your entire world is upside down still, fresh blood coating your face. You don’t know where your skin has broken, but you’re sure the warm sensation crawling down your neck isn’t sweat.

“For now. Hold on, let me check your gear.” Your fingers get that strange dull stretching sensation that comes with poor circulation, and you flex your hands and tighten them into fists, frowning to yourself as he leans in beside you. Twisting, something inside you tears apart and your lungs seize painfully as you stretch broken fingers for the grey metal canister. Connie pulls back. “Can you stand?”

“My—my gear. It’s dented,” you mumble, reaching down to the hand grips from where they still trail on the ground behind you. Wrapping your fingers around the triggers, you try to lift your head but a sharp pain stabs into your neck and your expression screws up tight. “Shit!” Connie’s hands find your shoulders but you wave him away, your breaths coming harsh, knocking against the sides of your body like a stick against a washing board. “I can stand.”

“You’re bleeding pretty badly,” he murmurs as you push yourself up, biting on the inside of your cheek to prevent yourself from screaming. Blood bursts on your tongue as your entire right leg flares up, melting like forged metal from the inside out.

When you look down, you realize everything below your right knee looks curved and uneven, and as you place even more pressure on your right foot, hot, racing agony spirals up all the way into your hip.

“I think I broke my leg,” you finally say after a moment and Connie’s eyes fall to knee as you limp forward on your own. He reaches his arms out to scoop you up but you bat his hands away, shaking your head. “It’s fine. I can still walk. Come on.”

“I can’t believe this,” he mutters to himself, and you only give him an uneasy look before looking up at the buildings, trying to aim your gear. Head blooming, a heat swathes your body as you click and iron wire shoots out of your crushed gear. It lands awkwardly, not quite straight, but you tell yourself it has to be enough before you’re launching yourself into the air. “Follow me!”

Connie leads you through the destruction of Shiganshina, and your heart, pounding painfully against your breastbone, only quickens when you spot the pillar of steam that has to be Reiner’s body. Gas boosting you through the air, you swing towards it, your head spinning as Connie begins to lower himself down to the roof above where you see a green cape crouched by the wall.

Landing in the streets, you crash to the ground ungracefully, your right leg buckling and your left only barely managing to break your fall as you pitch forward, rolling onto your side with a restrained groan. Your ODM gear crashes jankily all around you. Your eyes burning with the pure fire lighting through you, you grit your teeth and push yourself up, gaze swinging to fix on the green cape standing beside a body,

“Hange,” you choke out and their eyes tear away from whatever they’re looking at as a new figure falls to his knees beside you.

“You’re okay.” Wincing at Jean’s rough voice in your ear, you turn your head to catch sight of a face similarly red to Connie’s. A bandaged is wrapped around his chest and arm, but he looks relatively okay as he helps you up. Your legs splayed out beside you, you push yourself onto your knees and grab onto his arms as he hauls you to your feet. “Shit, you look banged up.”

“I know. I’ll be okay.” Eyes fixing on the body still steaming, you catch sight of shadowed blond hair and, without thinking, your body sags when you realize who it is. “Reiner.” His head lifts just a bit at your voice, and you flinch back at his inflamed face, the smooth skin trying to stitch itself back together.

In one, forced breath, he barely whispers your name, and your feet move, as if he’s summoned. You nearly reach for him, your eyes fixed solely on where his eyes should be.

“Hey, stay back! We’re waiting for Mikasa’s signal,” Jean murmurs, wrapping his uninjured arm around you and your boots dig into the dirt as he grunts in your ear at your resistance. “Don’t do something stupid.”

“Jean—“

The sound of a shell firing off cuts off your words and you lift your blurry vision to the sky, making out the red smoke parting the grey just as the world begins to tremble for what feels like the fifth time today. Jean tears his arm off of you, and you whirl around as a four-legged Titan barrels towards them. He flings himself at their Section Commander, knocking both of them out of the way just as you send yourself flying up onto a roof and you twist back to make sure they’re okay.

Landing on the tile, you lean forward.

Paralyzed, you can only watch as the beast takes Reiner into his mouth and begins to run away. Rooted to your spot, your entire body locks up. Ice drips through your veins, warping your insides until you’re shivering, lips parted as you let out shuddering breaths ripe with your own blood.

Hands trembling, you watch the Titan disappear from view, and your fingers go lax, dropping your hand grips and letting them dangle off the roof like puppets whose strings have long since been abandoned.

The world seems to stop and you cannot hear anything except his quiet, raspy breath of your name.

It does not start again until Hange orders you to regroup with the others where Captain Levi is.

186 notes · View notes

lebguardians · 3 years

Text

Random lambert one shot. I plan to post more parts to the story I’m working on. I just found out I’m pregnant and morning sickness is kicking my ass.

Warnings: some angst, fluff, smut, p in v sex, kissing, cussing. Let me know if I need to add more.

Lambert paced the room in anger, breathing heavily through his nose, eyebrows furrowed, fists clinched. Angry was an understatement, he was down right furious. He couldn’t believe how stupid y/n had been. He told her to wait at the keep with Eskel. Instead, she threw herself straight into danger. The alghoul nearly biting her leg. He glanced over at her, face softening as he saw the tears in her eyes as Vesemir was wrapping her arm up in a bandage. Seeing the wound, even being a tiny cut, set him off again. Cussing under his breath, he turned sharply and began to make his way to their room. He needed a minute to take a breather before he said or did something he would regret. As he passed y/n, she reached out to grab his hand and softly said “Lambert, where-“ but before she could even finish her sentence lambert snatched his out of her reach and sharply said “don’t y/n I don’t want to fucking hear a word from you right now.”

Y/n looked down as a tear fell and nodded her head as lambert took one final look at her, shaking his head, and going to their room. Vesemir let out a sigh and squeezed y/n hand. “Give him time, y/n. You scared him. Scared all of us. He just needs time to get his head together. There all finished. I put a numbing salve so it shouldn’t hurt. I’ll redress it in the morning. Get some rest.” He told her with a small smile.

Y/n whispered a thank you before standing and going to sit in front of the fire. Eskel and geralt had already went to bed after making sure she was ok. She understood why lambert was so upset and why she scared them but she can handle herself. Lambert was about to get overwhelmed by the alghouls and she couldn’t just sit back and watch it happen. She sat on lambert’s old bed right in front of the fire and laid down. The sheets and pillow still smelled of him. She hugged the pillow close and took a deep breath of his scent. He always smelled of leather, blade oil, and the outside. She didn’t think she would be welcomed in their room tonight and decided to sleep in his old bed both to give him space and to avoid the situation all together. She couldn’t handle his disappointment anymore. Fresh tears sprung to her eyes when she thought of him ripping his hand from her grasp. She stared off into the fire and quietly cried herself to sleep hugging his pillow.

When lambert had gotten to their room, he had destroyed it out of anger. When he finally calmed down and realized it was past midnight, he decided to go back to the main hall to check on y/n. She should have been to their room already and he needed supplies to clean the mess he made. When he got there he was surprised and a little pissed off to find y/n asleep in his old bed. He thought she couldn’t be bothered to come to their room. He took a deep breath, shook his head, and grabbed what he needed to clean the mess and try to sleep himself.

Y/n woke before the rest of the keep. Which was unusual since she’s always the last to rise. She felt like shit. Her eyes were puffy and swollen from crying, her hair a mess, and her arm was starting to hurt. She stroked the fire back to life and decided to cook breakfast for everyone since she was up. By the time she finished, Vesemir had awoken, changed her bandages, and was eating breakfast. He could tell she didn’t hardly sleep but decided not to comment on it. When they heard the other Witcher’s rising for the day, he notice her slip out the door.

As soon as y/n heard the others rising she quickly left the keep and went to tend to the horses. She wanted to avoid everyone, mainly lambert. She really didn’t want to fight with him. She knew he was ultimately right and she put herself in unnecessary danger but she didn’t want to admit that. After she heard them begin training, she snuck back into the keep to their room and decided to lay down and take a nap. Hopefully short enough to find something to do to avoid lambert more.

Lambert knew exactly what she was doing. He put all his anger and frustration out in training and his usual duties that day. After finishing everything he went to their room to take a bath before heading down to drink the night away. He was surprised to find y/n asleep in bed. He took a quick bath, and then sat in front of the fire to wait for her to wake up so they can talk. He knew she should just wake her up but she looked like shit honestly so he let her sleep.

Y/n stirred awake. She stretched her limbs, feeling them pop from being in the same position for too long. She turned her head to see lambert staring at her. His face completely neutral.

“Nice to see you finally woke up” he said curtly. Y/n looked out the window to see it was dark outside. “It’s past midnight in case you were wondering”.

Y/n just chewed on her lip and looked down at her hands. “Sorry, I’ll go” she whispered, her stomach dropping to the floor at his tone as she stood to leave. Moving as fast as a Witcher does, he stood in front of her to block her path, arms crossed over his chest, looking down at her. She barely reached his armpit. “I don’t think so y/n. We aren’t doing this avoiding shit anymore. You fucked up and it’s time to sit down and fucking talk about it”. Lambert growled out quickly getting pissed off again.

“I didn’t fuck up lambert! I saved your ass! Should I have stayed with Eskel at the keep? Probably. But I’m glad I didn’t because you could have died! Those monsters were about to overrun you!” She snarled at him through clinched teeth “and then what lambert, had I not helped. You would have died!! I would have to live my life without you! I won’t sit back and watch you die!” With every word she poked his chest with her finger.

“IM A WITCHER Y/n!!! It’s my fucking job! You know that just as well as I do no Witcher ever dies in his bed! I won’t have your blood on my hands because you decided to do something fucking stupid. I love you! Now quit poking my damn chest.” He replied grabbing her wrist to stop her from poking him.

Both of their chests were heaving in anger. The others could hear them arguing all the way in the main room. It was a stare off at this point. Neither wanting to give in. Y/n wrist still in his hand. “Oh you know what” lambert growled out, grabbed her face and kissed her hard. Y/n let out a squeak in shock but quickly pulled herself together and kissed him back, grabbing onto his shirt with her free hand. It was rough, noses and teeth clashing. Lambert began kissing his way down her jaw and neck, leaving marks in his wake. Y/n began growing wet quickly, tugging his shirt over his head and pressing herself as close as possible to him. Lambert ripped the clothes from her body, rid himself of the rest of his clothes, and walked backwards to lay her on the bed, pressing himself against her. Y/n let out a moan and ground her hips against his, desperate for some sort of friction. He quickly held her hips down, before crashing his lips to hers again. Y/n wrapped her arms around him, one hand on his shoulder, the other in hair, her nails digging into him. He let out growl at the feeling of her nails and took one breast in his mouth, nipping and sucking on the bud while he massaged the other one. Y/n was panting, desperate for some sort of relief. She could feel him hard against her thigh. She desperately needed him in her “please lambert, please please please” she begged him. Her hands tightening. He released her breast before slamming his lips to her again as he lined himself to her entrance. He suddenly slammed into her, letting out a loud groan in her ear. Y/n mewled, trying to find some sort of grip on anything. “Fuck lambet please” she begged him. Without giving her time to adjust to his size, he began thrusting into her groaning at the feel of her walls tight around his cock. “Fuck, yes y/n.” Both of them were panting, moaning, the headboard banging against the wall. Y/n was relishing the feeling of him inside her, her orgasm quickly approaching at his harsh pace he had set. She was clinging to him, her head tucked into his neck, breathing in his scent, whispering to him how good he felt and that she was sorry. Lambert sat up and grabbed her thighs, setting an impossibly faster pace. His chest heaving and a light sheen of sweat covered him. She loved the sight of him like this, completely loose not constantly worried about her. He reached a hand between them and rubbed her nub in circles. She quickly was hit with her orgasm. It rushing in like lightening. Her back arched, breath caught in her throat, legs shaking. Lambert leaned back over her as his release hit, pressing his chest to hers, letting out a shout as he released into her. He guided her through her release, whispering for her to breath and saying “good girl, I love you, and I got you. As soon as they both came down to earth. He rolled off of her and gathered her in his arms, her head on his chest. She mindlessly traced patterns into his scarred chest before everything hit. She silently cried. “Why are you crying did I hurt you”lambert whispered in her ear, worry flooding him. She shook her head no and took a deep breath and sat up to look at him. “I’m sorry”, she whisper I should have listened and stayed at the keep. The worry wiped from his face and relief filled its place. Letting out a sigh, he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t say these things because I don’t think you’re capable y/n. I say them because I love you and I can’t loose you” she smiled softly at him before places a kiss on his forehead. “I love you too lambert”

#lambert #vesemir #the wild hunt #eskel x reader

87 notes · View notes

aliceindiamonds · 3 years

Text

Ghostface x Reader

“Boo!”

I opened my mouth to scream as the locker door flung open to reveal him. Ghostface. Standing there tall, and broad, and dark, like the shadow of a monster.

Not half a second later, his gloved hand clapped against my mouth to silence me. “Shhh, doll. It’s just me and you,” he waved absentmindedly behind him with his other hand. “The others are dead. No point wasting those pretty little screams…” I felt bile rise up in my throat, knowing the pain they must have gone through.

Seemingly spotting my change in demeanour, the Ghostface tilted his mask and examined me. “Oh, but I’ve upset you now. I’m sorry, baby. Would it make it better if I told you it was quick?” It must have been. We’d not been in the trial long. I hadn’t even been hit once.

Terrified, I breathed heavily and quickly through my nose, almost choked by his fingers and by the sickening, metallic smell of blood on his glove. The last time I had been alone with this man he had tortured me to death. My stomach lurched in anticipation.

He withdrew his hand from atop my mouth but didn’t step back, choosing instead to hang lazily into the locker. His mask drew closer, staring and spectral, and I pressed myself as far back as I could to gain some distance. “Have you missed me, doll?”

I didn’t answer, inhaling and exhaling shakily and quickly. This didn’t please him.

In a second, his knife was drawn. He plunged it into the back of the locker, directly at the side of my face- nicking the edge of my cheek.

I heard him exhale behind his mask. “Fuck, doll. I didn’t mean to hurt you. But it’s rude to ignore it when someone asks you a question.”

I gulped. The scrape on the edge of my face was thin and shallow, but a sparkling row of crimson droplets wept from it anyway. I was always a bleeder. Vaccination? Paper cut? Sliced my finger cutting vegetables? It was as if my body was over dramatic, responding in the extreme to any slight damage. “What do you want me to say?” I managed, shakily, forcing myself to look at the two black holes where his eyes were hidden.

“That’s a dangerous question,” Ghostface hummed, stepping back from the locker. “Come with me.” It might have been a command, but he gave me no chance to follow it. His arms reached around me and he lifted me over his shoulder, as if I weighed nothing. I didn’t try to struggle free. I had never been a fast runner.

I closed my eyes, feeling tears barely stay at bay. Killers were killers. I could handle murder now. I could handle these trials. It hurt and it horrified me but I knew the drill. This though? This left me in the dark. Total unknown. Ghostface frightened me like I’d never been frightened before.

What felt like minutes later, I was lowered, somewhat gently, onto a couch. I recognised where we were as the centre of the empty lodge in Ormond. The fire was crackling to the right of me but it didn’t fight the chill I felt when I looked at the man that had carried me here.

A moment later, I found a voice. “When are you going to kill me?”

Silence. Ghostface hovered over me, unblinking and threatening in his black attire and plastic mask. Then: “Soon, I think.”

I nodded, taking in the situation I was in. “I see. Well, can we get it over with?” I asked.

“Why?” Ghostface asked in response, and I frowned.

“Because I don’t want to be tortured?”

“But if it’s not me, it will only be someone else.”

“They just kill me- you do something else.”

“Oh, and what do I do, doll?”

“You take sick, weird pleasure in it.”

Ghostface laughed, I think. He leaned in close to me again, and used his thumb to lift his mask slightly. I saw his chin and jawline, sharp and square and manly, and then felt the wet heat of his tongue at my cheek. Licking the cut he’d given me earlier. The action made an obscene noise. I squeezed my legs together, mortified by the throb I felt below my abdomen.

Close to my ear, he clicked his tongue softly before whispering, “You’re right, I do take pleasure in it, baby. And I’ve taken a shine to you.” He withdrew, and dropped to his knees in front of where I sat. His mask was level with my face and I swallowed loudly, looking at the human features he’d revealed. “Want to see?” he asked, a smirk on his pink, full lips.

I didn’t nod, but he could surely see it in my eyes. I was curious. In response, he reached up as though about to push the mask up. At the last second, he stopped. “Too bad, beautiful.” He pulled the mask down, and with that the shutters closed, the hint of humanity I’d seen disappeared. “We’re just not there yet. And there are some other things I’d rather do first.”

I tried not to let my face betray the disappointment I felt, and looked at the floor. Seconds later, a soft whistle told me to look up, and Ghostface held his knife again. “Now, now. We’re gonna have a little fun.” In his black gloved hand, the knife descended, slowly and carefully to my chest. He stopped when the tip just barely grazed my flesh. “Make your pretty noises for me again, and I promise I’ll reward you, doll.” His other hand rested at my waist, and he stroked my clothed skin with seeming reverence.

With a slash, his silver hunting knife sliced a deep cut across the bare chest revealed by the top I had on. I gasped at the way it stung, fresh and sharp and agonising. The blood spilled almost instantly and began to pool between my breasts, staining the nude bra I wore. He didn’t stop there. Far from it. In fact, his carving was incessant- not too shallow, not too deep, quick, deliberate- as if he were creating a pattern across my flesh. I didn’t beg for mercy, but I felt the tempo of my breathing quicken and slow and slow and quicken and I whimpered softly, surely, melodiously. I let myself cry but didn’t sob. At the sound, the man behind the mask moaned roughly and leaned closer to me.

“You’re perfect,” he groaned as his knife penetrated, slowly, through the jeans I wore and into the thick flesh of my thigh. I felt the blade pierce my skin and delve deeper, deeper, hotter, searing, torturous pain. I cried out, biting my lip and squeezing my eyes shut. “Fuck, don’t close your eyes, look at me-” he twisted the knife until I looked at the black mesh covering his eyes.

With the knife still in my leg, I tried in vain to regulate my laboured breathing. In, out, in out, in out. Ghostface withdrew, settling between my legs on the floor. He leaned his head against the thigh he hadn’t run through before speaking. “Your blood is like something out of a movie, you know,” the man murmured, sultry and slow and dreamy. His breath felt hot against my leg, but that might have been my imagination. Surely my brain had no space to process any more sensation than the pain of being stabbed. “It just pours. Like wine. Shit, when I pull this knife out, you’ll probably go dizzy from blood loss. Fuck…”

“You’re sick.” I managed weakly, feeling pale and tired.

Laughter. Smooth, sexy, sultry laughter. “I’m Danny, actually.” He grabbed the hilt of the knife and ripped it unforgivingly from my flesh.

#ghostface x reader #ghostface dbd #ghostface #dead by daylight fanfiction #dead by daylight #writemebb #okay #so I wrote the other ghostface one yesterday #and I haven’t stopped thinking about the sexy sick fucker all day #so here we are

82 notes · View notes

genderfluid-insomniac · 3 years

Text

"I can't anymore" ~ Asra Alnazar x reader

words: 1.7k

TW: cutting, self harm, depression

You held the small blade in your hand as the light flickering from the candle reflected off the small shiny object. Sighing as you triedly closed your eyes to quiet the thoughts that pushed you to this point and told them to shut up, not that it would help.

Cracks and pops sounded from the candle as you flipped the blade over in your hand debating whether you should or not. It had been a couple weeks since the last time you cut and somehow you had gotten to this point. Well, not somehow, you knew how.

Asra had gone to gather some supplies for a client and you had been cleaning around the shop, bumping into a bookshelf causing a scroll to fall off the top. You picked it up and unfurled it, not understanding what you saw.

It was a sketch of you and Asra were together holding hands and smiling at each other, anyone could tell the two people were head over heels with the other. But you never remember being present for this sketch and looking at the details a bit more closely, Asra looked a bit younger and your hair was a lot different to what it was now.

This must have been before the accident at the Lazerat.

You wouldn’t have been bothered by this but you’ve never seen Asra this happy before. It seemed like he was the brightest he’s ever been and you had never seen him like this as far as you can remember. There obviously was a difference between who you were then and who you were now but maybe it might have been better if you had died then.

The white haired magician wouldn’t have had to give up half his heart and none of that chaos would have happened. Yes, you would’ve died but everything seemed to go wrong right after you started getting your memories back.

Maybe Asra would’ve been happier if had gotten over his grief totally instead of bringing you back and then no one would have had trouble with the magic realm. You wouldn’t have screwed everything up and Vesuvia would be like it was, the plague would have ended and yes people would have died but both realms wouldn’t be risked.

It was all your fault. Seeing your tears hit the sketch and rolling it back up to avoid getting it ruined, placing it carefully back where you found it. You finished cleaning up the shop quickly and headed up stairs to where you both slept and locked the door, snatching a small blade you used to protect yourself with. Ironic.

This is where you are now, struggling to hold back tears as they cascade down your face, sniffling and trying to steady your shaky hand as you make another cut. The cold blood trailing down your hot skin, dropping onto a black blanket you had placed below not to make a mess or leave traces of what you were doing. Running the small knife against your arm again, cutting your arm for the fourth time and recounting a memory of every time you fucked up.

Why did Asra keep you around if you just kept fucking up? You would just make more mistakes and he probably knew. It did more harm than good. Maybe he didn’t want to hurt you, it seemed like something he would do.

Cut.

It was a stupid mistake bringing you back and it costs Asra half of his heart. Why did he risk something that important over a nobody like you? It made no sense. You weren’t worth anything and you would never be the person you were. It was impossible.

Cut.

More tears fell as you choked back sobs, your hand trembling as you held the blade, blood falling onto the black blanket beneath you. The room was only lit with a single candle by the window but you were sure to stay away from it. Not like anyone could see from the height it was at but just in case. The blankets and pillows around you forming the only comfort that seemed to embrace you, the colors fading in and out with the flame.

A part of you wanted to go to Asra but you felt like he would just lie to make you feel better or cover it up. You couldn’t go to anyone else but they would get worried, no telling what Muriel would do if he saw you like this. Letting your tears fall onto your arm stinging as it mixed with the blood and made more streaks.

Hearing the shop bell ring, you jumped. Asra was back. Shit. Shit Shit. He couldn’t see you like this. Not right now.

You hurried to roll up the blanket and carefully wiped your arms with it to wipe it of the excess blood, stuffing it in the corner of the room. Footsteps came up the stairs towards you and you heard the curtain move.

“Y/N? Darling, you here? Thanks for watching the shop while I was out-”

He went quiet as he noticed it was dead silent upstairs and you weren’t anywhere to be seen but saw that the door to the bedroom was shut. Guessing that you had taken a nap and were just sleeping, going over to check up on you.

The blood wasn’t stopping but you could only hope it would slow down. Grabbing a cloth you took from the kitchen as you went to wrap your injured arm. You hissed softly when the fabric touched the cuts and bit your lip, wrapping most of it when you heard a knock and the door handle shift.

“Baby you okay? Why is the door locked?”

You glanced around and tried to look for something to hide while you thought up an excuse, trying to hide the quivering in your voice. “Oh- I didn’t know you were back. I was just preparing some herbal tea but it must have been too strong because I started to feel faint, so I had to lie down.” Frantically searching for anything that looked normal to cover your forearm with.

Asra frowned, knowing you lied because the kitchen had been left untouched since he left and becoming more concerned trying to open the door, eventually using magic to get it open. Standing in shock when he saw the sight before him.

There you were tears streaming down your face and shaking lightly, holding your cloth covered arm tight to your chest. He rushed over to you as you moved farther away from him, pressing your back against the wall,

“Y/N- What- What happened? Are you okay-” Asra shook his head and let Faust down from his shoulder as she made her way to you. “That’s a stupid question, of course you’re not okay. What’s wrong sweetheart?”

His eyes never left your as you let the snake coil around you and nuzzle you, flicking her tongue at your tears. You looked up at Asra to see tears falling down his face as he shakily reached out a hand towards you and silently asked if he could touch you.

You couldn’t take it anymore. Collapsing against him and sobbing against his shoulder as he rubbed circles on your back, feeling him start to cry as well. Faust slithering around the both of you, and being there to support you the best she could.

“I’m sorry-” you cried out.

“What? You have nothing to be sorry for.” Your lover said as he hugged you tightly.

“I’m sorry you had to give up half your heart to bring me back but I’m never going to be the same person I was back then. It would have been better if you hadn’t tried to bring me back, you would’ve been happier if I wasn’t here because of all the mistakes I’ve made. Everything that has happened is because of me.

I make so many mistakes and get so much wrong but I don’t know why you keep me around. Maybe you don’t want to hurt my feelings but it's better if you let me go.”

You cried harder and harder, feeling him pull you apart and lift up your chin, “Y/N, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I chose to give up half of my heart knowing I still might never see you again, but you’re still here in front of me. I know that you're not the same person you were back then but I don’t care because I love you no matter who you turn out to be.”

Asra raised his thumb to wipe away some tears that had fallen, taking your hand in his, “Don’t you ever think you’re a burden on me because I wouldn't have a reason to get up in the morning if you weren't here. I’m sorry you think that everything that happened was because of you but that isn’t true in the slightest. I love you so much and I will never stop.”

You broke down at his statement, relieved he wasn’t upset with you and your mind wasn’t right at all, but looked down at your covered arm. “Asra- I’m sorry-” You put your arm out to show him but he just shushed you and put a hand to your face.

Getting up to grab something from a nearby shelf and coming back with a bottle of herbs that you recognised to relieve pain, allowing him to unwrap the bloodied cloth.

“Y/N, We’ll get through this. You have me and Faust right here with you.”

The serpent nodded and coiled around your two hands that were intertwined. You smiled at her and leaned down to nuzzle her snout, murmuring thanks to both of them.

Watching as Asra cleaned the dried blood with a wet cloth and applying the crushed up herb to your arm, rolling a fresh bandage around your cuts. He kissed it once he finished and put away everything coming back in only a light open flowy shirt and pants.

Your violet eyed lover made a gesture causing all of the remaining light that you could see to go out and climbed into bed with you. Laying your head on his chest and pulling a soft blanket over you two, kissing your forehead and whispering one last thing before the three of you went to sleep.

“I will give up my heart for you any day.”

#the arcana #asra x reader #asra alnazar #self harm #depression

51 notes · View notes

whump-only · 3 years

Text

meal time -- Golden (vamp whump)

Part 2 of my mini vampire-whump series. Wherein Pollen tries out this whole feeding a vampire thing.

tw: captivity, starvation/hunger, light gore (description of prior injury), it/its as pronouns, manhandling, reference to broken bones, suffocation/drowning, knives + cut skin, and who can forget blood

-------

“Come on, vampy. Breakfast,” Pollen called. Or, he guessed, this was technically its dinner. Since, nocturnal, right?

The thing didn’t stir under its blanket. With a little jolt of concern and hope, Pollen wondered if the shock of having its legs broken just straight up killed it. Pollen placed the dog bowl down on the ground, with the cube of cow’s blood sliding around the bottom, already a small pool of it melted.

With one hand Pollen pinned it down, putting his weight into it. This elicited a moan so at least it wasn’t dead. Yippee. He pulled down the blanket, revealing its thick matted hair and the iron straps that held its muzzle in place. This also meant it was on its stomach, which was good. Its bound hands must be pinned below it.

Pollen fiddled with the key for what felt like far too long until the lock holding the muzzle shut dropped open. He pocketed the lock but hesitated to pull the muzzle away from its face, what if it tried to bite? But he couldn’t leave it like this… Pollen held its hair with one hand and yanked the muzzle off with the other, then swiftly scrambled up and away.

His worry was for nothing, because it didn’t react at all, except to groan. The bottom of its face looked all discolored and part of it was torn open and oozing blood or something.

Pollen grimaced. With his foot he shifted the bowl closer so it was right near the vampire’s head. He then bounded up the stairs and slammed the door shut.

——

When Pollen returned that night, the vampire was curled up away from the bowl, again tucked entirely under the blanket. Pollen checked and the cube had melted, leaving the bowl nearly full of the dark liquid.

It didn’t drink any? Pollen wondered. He stared at the bowl for a while, then finally decided to dump the old stuff and put in a new cube of frozen cow blood. Again, he pushed the bowl so that it was right near where he assumed the hiding vampire’s head was.

“Come on. Food. Drink,” he encouraged, tapping its back with his toe.

It growled from under the blanket.

Pollen left hastily.

——

The next night Pollen managed a few hours of sleep but still woke and lay awake for hours before getting up to check on the vampire.

He felt a sense of relief at seeing that creature right where he left it. But the bowl was also exactly where he left it, untouched.

Was it too sick to eat? That was really possible considering its almost catatonic state. Pollen figured it’d only get even weaker if it didn’t eat soon. It was strange that Hyde hadn’t mentioned this… His skin crawled from the thought of Hyde blaming him for killing his little pet.

Perhaps the vampire just needed to smell the blood or taste it to be… inspired.

Pollen pulled its blanket down off its head, careful to draw his hands away quickly. It growled and squeezed its eyes shut angrily. It was still unmuzzled and now under closer observation, Pollen could see its mouth was all blistered and the sides were torn open, half scabbed and still open.

Pollen gagged. Trying not to look directly at it, he cupped a bit of the cow’s blood in his hands then splashed it onto the vampire’s face.

The vampire huffed in surprise and opened its eyes ever so slightly. Pollen didn’t think he imagined its nose twitching a bit and it swallowing, though it was hard to tell under the dim yellow light.

“Come on. Smells good right? Drink, it’s right there,” Pollen encouraged.

The vampire stared at him for a beat before closing its eyes again.

“Hey!” Pollen said, and splashed a bit more onto it.

It scrunched its nose and looked him over with one eye before defiantly closing it again.

“Fuck,” Pollen sighed, then turned to climb the stairs. “So stubborn…”

Pollen closed the basement door behind himself. Right there, on the counter in front of him, lay the vampire’s muzzle that he’d dropped there after taking it off.

Pollen tried to walk past it. Twice. Finally after rocking on his heels he snatched it up and flipped it over.

A silver bit. Designed to pressed into the mouth, burning lips and tongue.

Pollen chuckled emptily. That would do it.

——

Pollen trudged down the stairs. Unsurprisingly the vampire was under its blanket. Its bowl was full.

“Come on, vamp. You’re gonna starve,” he complained. Pollen knew these things were resilient but they still needed food, right?

Pollen tried to push the still-blanketed vampire onto its back but it resisted, making a low sound, not quite a growl. Pollen put a little more weight into his foot, until he was able to fully pin the creature on its back.

With his boot Pollen tapped the lump of blanket until he thought he found where its bound hands were, and then by stepping down, pinned its hands into its chest. Pollen held his breath and ripped down the blanket, revealing the vampire’s glowering stare and what looked like a scowl behind its ripped lips.

“I hate you too,” Pollen informed it, then grabbed its bowl.

Pollen tipped the bowl, aiming the cow’s blood at the creatures mouth. But the vampire kept its mouth firmly shut so the liquid splattered all over its face and chest.

“God damn it,” Pollen muttered. Was it doing this on purpose? A little protest?

Pollen stepped away to strategize. He could wait the creature out, eventually it would get hungry enough and drink. Right? But what if it didn’t? Maybe it’d had enough and was trying to kill itself. Could he could force it to open its mouth long enough to poor the liquid down? That would be hard. He didn’t want to touch its face. Did vampires even like cow’s blood?

Pollen placed the bowl on the ground, by now the cow’s blood was nearly all gone, poured out and wasted. But there was a good inch left.

Pollen got a firm grip on the vampire’s hair. It winced a bit, before he even pulled.

Pollen took a deep breath and lifted the vampire’s head and smashed it into the bowl. The vampire immediately started to thrash and cough and wail. Pollen lifted its head above the blood for two seconds, letting it gasp for air, then pressed its face down into the bowl again. He continued like this four or five more times before releasing it.

Its whole face was covered in the watery blood, but it looked more like it’d gone for a swim than for a meal. It took shuddering breaths for a while, then as if declaring itself finished, pulled the blanket back over its head.

Pollen checked the bowl. It was pretty much empty but most of the blood had probably been splashed out instead of swallowed. Pollen decided that was enough for the day.

———

Pollen returned the next morning, ready with a fresh bowl of melted cow’s blood.

The vampire whimpered as Pollen made his way down the steps, clearly less indifferent than before.

“Don’t cry at me. Are you gonna eat today? Hm?” Pollen asked it, and set the bowl down by its head.

The vampire didn’t move to drink so Pollen ripped away its blanket and took it by its hair again. It made a long, sad whine.

“I know. But I can’t let you turn to dust on my watch,” Pollen explained, then dunked the vampire’s head into the bowl, trying to keep its mouth under and nose above the liquid.

Like last time the vampire thrashed and growled. Pollen lifted its head and it seemed to cough blood back into the bowl before Pollen pushed it under again. Dunk. Breathe. Dunk. Breathe.

It didn’t seem like the blood was actually going anywhere except the floor. Pollen dropped the thing’s head to the side of the bowl and sighed. It was hopeless.

Maybe he could threaten it. Pollen got up and inspected the toolbox that Hyde had left. Many of the tools felt untouchable, too gruesome to consider, and the rest were useless. There was a little pocket knife… Pollen flicked it open.

The vampire had closed its eyes again. Pollen pointed the knife at it, accusingly. “If you don’t drink everything in that bowl, I’m gonna cut you!” he announced, testing out the words.

The vampire huffed without opening its eyes. Pollen doubted the vampire would even understand why it was being hurt, if Pollen really started cutting it. How absurd this must all be for a creature like that. To wake up one day in this nightmare. Pollen felt his resolve draining. “Shit.”

Pollen looked at his reflection in the blade of the pocket knife. The thought that entered his mind was so absurd that he laughed out loud.

And yet… Pollen chewed his lip. He couldn’t be this soft. It was a vampire. Human blood was off limits. Didn’t Hyde say that? Right? Pollen wasn’t sure.

Maybe a little bit of human blood would make it less… sick. Less depressed too.

Pollen rolled his eyes at how much of a pushover he was for this. He’d never tell Hyde.

Pollen crouched over the bowl that still had the cow’s blood. He took a few deep breaths then lightly pressed the blade into the pad of his pinkie finger. He hissed as it sliced open the skin but just as quickly the pain faded to a throb. A bead of blood welled up and slid off his finger, into the bowl, one drop of human’s blood lost in an ocean of cow’s blood. Plink.

Pollen glanced at the vampire and his heart skipped a beat. It was staring directly at him, eyes alert and wide. Its irises were an undeniably beautiful color. Gold was rare for vampires.

Pollen grinned in triumph even though his heart thrummed in his chest from its hungry attention. “Yeah, you can smell it right? You want this?”

The vampire’s nose twitched a bit, as if to confirm.

Two more drops landed in the bowl. Plip. Plip. He’d really captured its attention now. It really was a beastly thing, so hungry for human blood.

Pollen pressed his thumb just below the cut, pushing out a few more drops of blood. Plip. Plip plip plip. Plip. It seemed the vampire breathed a little faster, imperceptibly strained toward the bowl. But it made no moves, no sound.

Pollen stuck his hurt pinkie into his mouth and stood up. He nudged the bowl toward the vampire, until the bowl touched the thing’s forehead.

“Come on. I know you’re tempted,” he whispered.

The vampire’s nose still twitched but it somehow still didn’t move.

Pollen took a seat on the bottom stair. They were both out of each other’s reach.

The vampire glanced at him, sizing him up, then the bowl, and Pollen thought he could see the gears churning in its brain.

Finally, it shifted. Pollen held his breath as it laboriously got up on its elbows and lifted its head. It gave the blood a sniff and at last, lowered its mouth to the liquid and took free swallows. It even licked the bottom of the bowl.

Pollen waited until it was finished before getting up. It startled, shooting Pollen a glare.

But Pollen was just amused. “Good job today, Goldie,” he said, remembering Hyde’s nickname for it.

#vampire whump #whump writing #golden the vamp #captivity #starvation #gore #it/its pronouns #manhandling #broken bones #drowning #suffocation #knives #blood

80 notes · View notes

kaiparker-avengerssmut · 3 years

Text

Their Doll 11

Silent scream

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis: y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: y/n gets shut up

Warnings: mentions of violence, swearing

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

"Fuck you." I snapped, mustering all the saliva I could before spitting it at his face. He flinched back when it splattered over his cheek, his fingers swiping through the spittle before he was shaking it from them and standing back to his full height.

"It appears this one is never going to cooperate. If she won't give us information, why let our experimentations on her possibly...benefit the girl the the future?" The general spoke menacingly to the guards behind me. "How about way find a way to shut her up?"

My heat thudded so hard in my chest it was like someone was punching me from the inside, all air knocked from my lungs before I was being hoisted up to my feet again with two rough grips on my upper arms. My chest heaving, I coughed a ragged breath before composing myself. The glint of the silver blade in the corner of my vision sent my eyes bugging out of my skull and my mind into a flat panic.

So, I did what any rational person with my capabilities would do. I began to hum the deep melody - one a seldom sung - and a smirk crawled its way onto my now curved lips. Clearly, the general was prepared, but the two guards behind we weren't so lucky.

A desperate cry pierced my tune, harmonising with my voice as I heard the havoc I was causing. This was the first time I'd enjoyed a kill, the very first time I'd wanted to use my powers for such a horrific reason. I'd only ever used this part of my power a few times, but this was the only time I'd been fully lucid whilst doing so.

Some people want nothing more than to blow their enemies' brains out, and trust me when I tell you; It felt good.

However, luck was never on my side, and the General had come full prepared. He wasn't even affected, it must've been something to do with the funny earpiece he was wearing.

As my eyes met his, the General's face held non of the cocky, smug tones that I'd expect. No, the only word I could use to describe his old and crinkled features was pure ire, and it was directed at me.

"You conniving, vile little bitch!" He snarled, the flash of silver weeding a sense of utter and complete dread, tangled with fear inside of me, uprooting my confidence. I don't remember a lot after that, to tell you the truth. I know the blade sliced along my throat. I know everything was rained black. And that's about it.

...

Awakening with a gasp was the last thing I expected to happen. The sight of the blade risen in front of the general burned into my mind, almost as if it'd been scorned against my flesh. But here I was: awake, gasping for breath, completely surrounded by doctors I'd never seen before.

My hand instantly flew to my neck, a stinging sensation pulsing from the delicate skin. I hissed as my sweaty palm made contact with the bandage, the material corse and scratchy against my skin. As a doctor waddled over to me, needle in hand, I flailed desperately, a silent scream ripping from my throat.

Hang on a second-

Silent scream? I tried again, the shrill noise that should be tearing from me simply vanishing as it hit my throat. My eyes widened with the realisation, my bottom lip wobbling as I suddenly pieces together what had happened.

He said he'd have to shut me up, didn't he? The thought made me want to scream loudly, that the blade had touched my skin and left me with no defence.

They took away the hell they'd reigned upon me, something I'd wished I could be rid of for years, and now I was disappointed. Maybe this was their plan all along, that little voice in my head sang. The tears pricked at my eyes, which rolled back lazily as the scratch of the needle poked at my neck.

...

My calloused fingers ran over the cut tirelessly, trying to itch somewhere that I could never seem to find. I don't know how long I was sedated for, but since waking up the bleeding had stopped and there was now an offensive red line that slid horizontally across my neck.

Every time I touched it, it coaxed a wince from me, and yet that's all I seemed to do. It was like poking a bruise, I guess. The more it hurts the more you want to do it.

They'd returned me to my cell, clearly very little need for restraints against my weakened, starved and dehydrated body. I could see the flesh thinning on my arms, my ribs pressing painfully against my skin. Not only could I see the hunger, but I could feel it.

Manifesting, biting, gnawing hunger. The type that are you from inside out, devouring everything of you until the only thing you could think about was eating. Huh, I guess I was already at that stage then.

My eyes remained locked in place, glossy with the endless tears as I stared at the floor. If I really looked hard enough, the still wet blood smeared over the floors of the hallway resembled something close to strawberry jam. The thoughts of the sickly sweat substance spread over a perfectly toasted piece of bread, accompanied with a big glass of fresh orange juice and washed down by a large coffee made my mouth water. The booming rumble in my stomach made the groan, even more drawn out than expected when I remembered all I'd get to eat today: a small bread roll and a tiny glass of water.

Sadly, the sink in my cell did not contain drinking water. The liquid was so discoloured that I purposely avoided washing me hands, preferring to possible have my own germs coating my hands than whatever they were giving me. I'm not kicking you about, I genuinely think the water was filtered through a clump of fucking horse shit, mixed with fish guts and complimented with a hint of rotting fruit. If I could help it, I'd be dodging that water like the plague (if it didn't contain one already) for the rest of my life.

I'm not really sure why, but my head snapped up in surprise why the door sprang open, a single guard entering.

"The general requires your presence." He deadpanned, eyes cold as eyes and sharp as a knife as they stabbed through me. I wanted to fight back, stay glued to the spot and snap back some snarky remark, but in my current condition I almost couldn't bring myself to care where I was about to be taken, or why for that matter.

I stood without a word, silently following the man until we reached an unfamiliar metal door. I found it almost laughable, really, that they'd reduced my strength so much, that no one even considered putting me any sort of restraints anymore.

The door was pushed open with a child-like whine emitting from its rusty hinges, the metal scraping over the concrete floor painfully. The guard simply grabbed my arm before tugging me into the room, letting the door shut behind his with a hollow thunk.

"Ah, she has arrived!" The general's voice exclaimed, a deviant smile spreading over his thin lips. "And just in time to meet Mr Pierce, too." He said menacingly.

I felt embarrassed, exposed, stood before the room of men. My hair was a mess, tears streaking my reddened face, eyes puffy from crying and the only clothes a wore was a now-battered hospital gown. My eyes darted around nervously, trying to avoid the blonde man sat before me, chin resting in his palm as he surveyed me.

"Why is this one...important?" The man asked, eyeing me up and down before his eyes seemed to fixate on my neck. The scar.

"This," the general spoke, but Mr Pierce kept his eyes on me, "is Miss y/n Stark." Mr Pierce's eyes widened ever so slightly, but it was barely noticeable.

"As in Tony Stark?" Pierce pondered.

"The very same." The general smirked.

"She seems awfully...quiet, for a Stark." Pierce said with almost a hint of disgust, eyes still glued to my shaking frame.

"That's because we shut her up." The general snapped, awfully harshly.

"Is that the scar? How fresh is it?" Pierce jabbed his questions, curiosity clearly becoming him in the moment.

"Indeed. Our doctors here are very good, Sir. They had her all patched up and out of bandages in just three days." The general bragged, shoulders back and head held high as if he was posing for a portrait.

"I see." Pierce mused, brows furrowed in thought. "What do you plan to do with her? Now that she can't tell you anything?"

"Oh, trust me, sir. She wasn't giving anything up either way," he paused, striding over to me and yanking my head back with a fistful of hair, my back mow pressed to his chest and his mouth at my ear, "isn't that right, sweetheart?"he clarified, and I didn't hesitate to nod my head as much as his grip would allow.

"So why isn't she dead?" Pierce gritted, seemingly annoyed. "It's not like Tony's attached to her, he never looked for her and I've never even heard him mention her."

"But then they'll keep coming. I don't want the avengers on my back, and I'm sure you don't either." Pierce hummed in agreement. "She's with them - her and that Captain America guy arrived together - so why not use her to send a message?" The general suggested.

...

That's how I found myself tied up, wrists bound and gun to my head as I sat shakily in a chair in the middle of the quinjet. I had no clue how long I'd been since that day, but I do know that I had been sedated once again. The flimsy hospital gown allowed a shiver to chill me, skin forming goosebumps as I sat before the open door or the quinjet.

"You will tell them exactly as I just did. Got it?" The general pressed, pushing the gun into my head hard enough to make by head throb. Tears biting at my eyes, I nodded furiously, now determined to live with the promise of being free again. "Good. Soldat, make sure she gets back to New York without being seen, I'd hate to have to spill more blood than we intended." The general demanded, a figure rustling its way out of the shadows at the edge of the room. A gasp tore from my throat at the sight of him - clad in black leather and arm as silver as the moon. The soldier - my soldier.

But he simple stared through me, eyes blank and clouded in a coldness I'd never had directed at me from him before.

"And make sure you don't fail this time, soldat." The general snapped. The soldier nodded solemnly, the echoing of boots thudding filling both their ears as the general walked off the ship.

213 notes · View notes

cringelordlikesplaz · 3 years

Text

Ocean’s Eternity

So. I’ve been thinking about the end of Obsidian Age a little too much. Basically this is the 3000 years Plastic Man spent on the bottom of the ocean. I might do a follow up to this later.

When he woke, everything was dark. There was a sensation throughout his body which felt like suffocation, and there was this... itch. All over. But it was mild. It wasn't important compared to the other, more pressing matter at hand.

He couldn't move. He couldn't see. He couldn't feel or hear or smell or taste or do anything.

Well, that's not true.

He could wait.

~~~

He was on the ocean floor, this much he knew.

~~~

He wasn't being saved. After waiting for however long he'd waited, that was becoming clear. His team was most likely all dead. That was the only scenario he could see where they didn't save him.

He was in the thick of it, that was for sure.

~~~

He was going to be stuck for a long, long time.

~~~

He mourned for his team. He would have cried if he'd had eyes, but he didn't. Not like the ocean needed any more salt water. He mourned for a lot longer than he should have, honestly. But it wasn't like there was anything else to do but sit there and be sorry.

What finally got him to stop, however, was the fact that they all probably went somewhere nice. Excuse his pun, but there was no way in Hell that the Justice League didn't go to heaven.

~~~

This couldn't be fixed.

~~~

He wasn't sure how long he'd been there. It had been a long while.

He'd taken to counting the seconds, unsure if he was anywhere near correct. No one really concerned themselves so much if the space between beats were too long or short enough. Maybe the Flash, actually. But even he didn't count the seconds.

Or maybe he did. He didn't know. He couldn't ask.

He was going crazy.

He was going very, very crazy.

He knew this. He was pretty sure crazy people weren't supposed to be so aware of their craziness. But when you are aware of nothing else but your mind, he supposed you had to be self aware.

~~~

Every once in a while, he'd have something happen to him that felt like a seizure. It was painful and sudden and sharp and he begged any gods that would listen to let him be. And maybe something out there listened. Maybe something took pity on this wretched thing on the bottom of the sea because when the seizure ended, he'd black out.

Peaceful oblivion.

~~~

He was mad. In more than one way, he was mad. He was pissed, would be the more correct term in this situation. He was mad at his team. At the Justice League. He was so, so angry. How dare they. How dare they?!

They talked shit about him. Sometimes behind his back. Sometimes to his face. They never gave him an ounce of respect. They never gave a damn.

And then they had the audacity to die and leave him there, on the bottom of the sea. Forever. With nothing to do but count the seconds which was probably wrong now that he was so worked up. Great job, Justice League, you made me lose count!

He fumed and raged and plotted and didn't scream because he had no mouth.

~~~

The itching was bad. It was really, really bad. It was so, so bad. It was the only thing he could feel. It was consuming every memory of every other sensation. He didn't remember what sunshine felt like, or the rain. He couldn't even feel the coldness or the water or the pressure that was certainly around him.

He could only feel that damned itching.

He hated it. He hated it so much.

He wanted to turn into a monster and rake his claws across the Earth, he wanted to pull up the land and have magma flow out like the world's life blood. He wanted to shriek and yell and cry and tear his brain out of his skull and slam it into the center of their planet and then maybe- just maybe- he could finally die.

Or maybe he'd infect the planet with his strange body, and then the world and everyone on it would know his pain, know this madness that crawled like a million spiders made of razor blades just under skin that wasn't there.

~~~

His dreams offered no reprieve. His dreams were too lucid, nowadays. Too much time alone in your head would make you a master at your subconscious, he supposed. Except he was still very very very crazy, and so he wasn't quite a master at anything.

But sometimes- sometimes.... his dreams weren't lucid. Maybe he wasn't even asleep when he dreamed, anymore. Maybe it didn't matter. But sometimes, his mind finally calmed, the insanity put away for a few hours, minutes, seconds, all would be soft.

His dreams, the not-lucid ones, whether he was awake or not, had a common theme.

He would be spending time with his son. Whose face, despite so much time alone and insane and in pain on the bottom of the sea, had remained clear as day.

He would be holding someone's hand, and despite how he can't remember the warmth of the sun or a fireplace or a hug, would be warm anyway.

He would be smiling, calm, and happy. He wouldn't be so alone.

When he woke, the madness usually got worse.

~~~

He was no longer mad at the Justice League. He'd finally calmed down. He was still mad, he was certain of that, but that was in the sense that he was insane. He was no longer angry at his old, dead team.

Because rational thought, something he thought had died within him, had found a way to resurrect itself. Like some shambling zombie, it crawled its way up from the bottom of his soul and started to whisper facts to him.

And he was so, so tired of being mad.

They didn't put him here. They would save him, if they were alive. They'd pull him from the depths of this dark Hell and they'd put him back together, piece by piece. They would take away the pain and the darkness and they'd give him back his sunshine and his family and his heart.

Because they were the Justice League. And they were good.

He mourned for them again, because they deserved to be remembered, even if the only thing that could remember them was the dust at the bottom of the world.

~~~

He was no longer mad. Probably. He wasn't in the best position to tell, honestly. Oh, and he means mad in the sense of insanity, this time.

He was no longer crazy.

It lost its appeal, strangely enough. If he was correct with his counting, it had been around a thousand years. Maybe more, maybe less. Maybe he was completely off. It didn't matter.

What mattered was that, even though he was sane -saner- his mind was still a wreck. In the expanse of his mind, he stood, hands on his hips. He surveyed the damage. Memories shredded, emotions lost, fear and despair and loneliness on a rampage.

He cracked his metaphorical knuckles.

It was time to start picking up the pieces.

~~~

Slowly, very slowly, he pieced together his memories. Some were beyond repair. He tried to fix them anyway. With patience and care and all the time in the world, he glued his old life back together. His name was Plastic Man, Eel O'Brian, Patrick. Huh.

He was a thief. A hero. A father.

He had a son. He remembered his son. He never forgot his son, despite it all. But his son's memory did get warped- he'd have to smooth that out.

But, he noted with no small amount of pride, he'd remembered his son's face. Not his height or his age or his voice, but he remembered his face.

He also remembered that he wasn't a very good father. That came with much less pride.

~~~

In the wake of his madness came clarity. Acceptance. He made his peace with his eternal damnation. Some sort of thousand-year long five-stages-of-grief thing. With a lot more insanity than was usually recommended.

He wasn't going to lie to himself: it sucked. There was nothing good about his situation. But there was nothing he could do, and going mad had only made things worse.

In the wake of his madness came clarity, and with clarity came the realization that he was lonely. Eternally so. He was lonely and regretful and sad. He had so many things he wanted to do. So many places to go, people to see. He had wanted so much.

He didn't know if he deserved it.

He probably did.

~~~

So he was probably still a little bit crazy. Not like before. He was, what he considered, a healthy amount of crazy.

Just enough to pass the time. Talking to yourself was never considered 'sane' anyway.

~~~

He was still counting the seconds. It helped things stay in order. He was counting in his dreams, in the deepest part of his subconscious, he counted. He had built quite the internal clock for himself, it seemed.

~~~

Sometimes, he'd stop for a while. Not counting, of course. He had probably forgotten how to stop counting. But everything else. Sometimes, everything else would stop.

His mind would be ever so slow, and nothing truly mattered in those moments. He simply existed, pieces of plastic on the ocean floor.

And it would take a while to come back. He didn't really want to go back, but he always did. And when he did, he'd laugh.

He was plastic in the ocean. He'd been polluting the waters before plastic had even been invented.

It wasn't very funny, but he'd laugh anyway.

~~~

He was in the middle of replaying a baseball game in his mind for the nth time when something happened. Another seizure. Hadn't had one of those in a while.

But something- something was off. It-

He woke up.

~~~

His thoughts were sluggish. There was- noises and- lights? Pressure. He must have really gone off the deep end now.

And he felt like a pile of mush- of goo or slime- and-

And the itching wasn't there.

The itching was always there.

And he could move.

He may have freaked out a little bit.

~~~

"Plastic Man, you need to calm down!" Superman yelled.

He snarled, "Don't tell me what to do! You're not even real!"

"We are real! Please, we need you to listen to us-" Martian Manhunter was cut off as he wrenched up a metal panel from the floor and chucked it at him. It phased through the martian, of course, but it did seem to surprise the green guy. His hallucination was very convincing, he'd admit.

The sensations being too loud and painful and too much. The light too bright, the air too fresh. He didn't even know he'd remembered how to breathe.

Suddenly, Superman was in front of his face and was- well he was petting him. It was kinda weird.

But- but his hands were warm. Not only that they had- they had texture and he could feel how tense Superman was, but as the seconds passed and he calmed, so did the tension leave Superman's hands.

"Oh." He whispered. He reached up and took Superman's hand, inspecting it. It was strong, like steel, and he could feel a pulse beat just beneath the skin.

"Oh." He said, interlocking his fingers with Superman's. He gave a light squeeze and Superman squeezed back. He looked up at the man of steel, noticing for the first time he'd shrunken back down into a reasonable size.

A pressure was draped across his back- A black cape had been wrapped around him. He looked over to see Batman kneeling beside him, a hand on his shoulder. He touched the cape on his shoulders- it was heavy and thick and made of something smooth on one side and soft on the other.

He dragged his fingers across it, reveling in the sensations.

Martian Manhunter was there too, now, and he reached out and gently touched the martian’s face. J'onn allowed him to do that, his eyes shut.

"Oh wow," He said, his voice strange to his own ears.

"...Is this real?" He asked, finally pulling away to look at his hands. They were melted slightly. His entire form was melted slightly. He was also naked. He hadn't even noticed. No wonder Batman covered him up.

"Yes." Batman said, his grip tightening like he could convince him through sheer force of will. Maybe he could.

"...Oh," He said, letting his hands fall.

He swallowed.

"Oh my God." He said, his voice cracking. He buried his head in his hands, feeling his body melt even further.

Someone hugged him. He wasn't sure who. He rested his chin on their shoulder. They put their arms around him and somehow that helped his body stay stable.

And everything was still too much and too close but it was real. It was real.

He was back.

The Justice League saved him.

~~~

He knocked on the door. He stood there, anxious. The sky was dark. It was dusk. Clouds covered up the sunset. Smog was in the air. Cars drove in the street and the wind howled overhead.

He couldn't stop staring at it all. It was real. It was real. Real in a way he'd forgotten. Real in a way his mind couldn't replicate, not in 3000 years. Though it had come very, very close.

The door opened.

"Patrick," Angel greeted, "How nice to see-"

She paused, taking him in.

"Did something-?"

"Yes." He said, his voice hoarse.

She opened the door for him, and he stepped inside.

"Where's Luke?" He asked.

"Living room." she said, "Come."

Their apartment was small. But not too small.

Luke sat on the couch, cartoons playing on the TV.

"Dad?" Luke said, brightening. He jumped up from the couch and hugged him tight. He returned the hug, stretching his arms out of his sleeves and holding his son close.

"Dad!" Luke said, pulling away, "You're back!"

"Yes." He said, "And I'm here to stay."

He turned to look at Angel.

"If that's alright...?"

"Of course." She said, smiling softly, "But I'm going to need help around the house."

He smiled at her, and nodded.

"Dad?" Luke said, weary, "What happened? You and the Justice League saved the day, right?"

"Yeah, Luke. We did." He said, "But I'm not a part of the Justice League anymore."

There was a pause. Angel sat down in a chair.

"Did they kick you out...?" Luke asked.

"No, son, they didn't. I didn't do anything wrong, either. I just-" He choked back a sob, "I can't go back."

Luke hugged him tighter.

"I love you, Luke. With all my heart." He said, failing to keep the tears at bay.

Luke nodded into his chest. He thought he could feel his shirt getting wet.

"So I'm going to stop being Plastic Man."

#plastic man #patrick o'brian #eel o'brian #jla obsidian age #obsidian age #jla #fanfic #fic #my wrtiting #fanfiction #luke o'brian #superman #batman #martian manhunter

30 notes · View notes

waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 3 years

Text

The Green-Eyed Monster

This is a sequel to Water Seeks Its Own Level, although you probably don’t have to read that one for this one to make sense. It’s set a few months after the events of that story. I originally intended to write for someone new but I am just totally smitten with Eddie. He called me back to him.

Pairing: Eddie Kingston x OFC

Word count: 3,836

Content advisory: a healthy dose of smut and cursing

“Son of a bitch!” You jerk your hand back, wincing in pain and you smack the side of the toaster oven, as if it’s the appliance’s fault you haven’t yet figured out that food coming out of the oven is hot. To make things worse, you actually feel a little guilty for taking your anger out on the inanimate object. You’re in a bad mood. The toaster oven is just the latest thing to make your day worse.

You run some cold water on your hand before you go back for another attempt at removing the leftover pizza slice that you don’t even want but you figure you should eat something because you’ve poured a couple of beer down your gullet and if you don’t eat something, you’re going to get a headache.

So you gnaw joylessly at your pizza slice, trying not to notice that reheating it has not made it taste fresher than the three days it’s been in your refrigerator. None of this would have happened, of course, if you’d just gone out with the rest of the crew like you’d assumed you would. There was a Korean barbecue place that a few of the AEW gang had heard good things about and finally someone had taken it upon themselves to get a side room reserved so that you could all go together and have a good time. You’d been looking forward to it.

But earlier in the day, you’d found out that the group that was going included Eddie, along with his new so-called family: the Butcher, the Blade, and the Bunny, also known as Andy, Braxton, and Allie. It shouldn’t have bothered you. They’d known each other a long time. You knew them all well. They’d all been bugging you to come along whenever they were going out together, or at least they had until recently.

As things too often did for you, it came down to Eddie. After he’d shown up in AEW, the two of you had rekindled the fuck-buddy thing you’d had going when you were both on the indies. The problem was that now you weren’t just hooking up when you happened to be on the same tour or show: you were together every week, living in the same city, working the same schedule. So your casual, no-strings-attached thing had become a very frequent thing. It had become a leaving stuff in each other’s apartments thing. It had become a casual understanding of at least one night of the weekend together thing.

What it hadn’t become was a relationship, at least not in the articulated, public, monogamous sense. You didn’t have anyone else in your life. You didn’t want anyone else in your life. You’d spent years telling yourself that Eddie was just someone you could go to for a good time in the sack, and even though you were aware that he always stirred up feelings in you that went beyond a fallback booty call, you kept telling yourself that was all it was.

Now that the two of you were actually stable in terms of work and living space, though, you’d started to wonder if maybe you did want things to be a bit more stable with Eddie as well. Although you’d never discussed your status, you didn’t have anyone else in your life and you didn’t want anyone else in your life. Even though you were surrounded by beautiful people at work, people who had their shit far more together than Eddie Kingston ever would, it was like they didn’t really exist. You didn’t say that to him because you didn’t want to risk embarrassing yourself. If it was going to happen, it would come out naturally, by which you meant that he’d have to get around to bringing it up.

Things had been fine until recently, until Eddie had taken it upon himself to reunite Braxton with his estranged wife Allie, the Bunny, so that they could have each other’s backs. At least, that’s what he said he was doing. But it actually seemed that Allie was spending most of her time with Eddie. He was the one on television calling her “the beautiful Bunny” and taking credit for wooing her back to the fold. He convinced her to join them. He was the one she seemed loyal to. Even backstage, when the four of them were around each other, Allie always seemed to be hanging off Eddie’s arm, laughing extra loudly at his jokes, and insisting that he come along wherever she was going. It made your blood boil.

You didn’t say anything because it wasn’t like you had reason to think that Eddie wasn’t going to have anyone else in his life. And you were even sure if he did, because cuckolding his friend right in front of his face would be bold even for him. You’d gone out with the group of them a couple of times but you’d felt nauseous from jealousy, watching him talk about how great it was that they were all working together again.

So you’d ended up begging off and just spending time with Eddie when you could be alone. More recently, you’d just started avoiding him because thinking that he was leaving your bed to have a quick shower and then run off to another woman had you crying your eyes out on several occasions. You never said anything, you just stopped returning his texts and stayed clear of him at work. And after a while, he’d stopped messaging and trying to talk to you. Things were over.

You throw the remainder of the pizza in the garbage. Thinking about everything that’s happened in this weird, hopeless thing with him makes you feel rejected and miserable all over again. You miss him. A lot. But now it’s pretty clear that he doesn’t want anything more with you, that he wants to keep things open, and you know you can’t deal with that.

The doorbell cuts through the fog of frustration and self-pity, startling you so much that you give a little yelp. You old place had one of those systems when the bell was hooked up to your phone but this one had a buzzer that sounded like an aircraft engine and you didn’t feel like you were ever going to get used to it.

“Hello?” You mumble, hoping that it isn’t another homeless person looking to sleep in the hallway downstairs.

“It’s me, can I come up?”

He doesn’t even have to say his name because you’d know that almost cartoonish accent anywhere. It figures that he’d just show up unannounced after eleven, like nothing had been weird between you. Maybe for him, things hadn’t been weird at all.

“Yeah, sure.” You press the release to open the front door and wait, pacing a little and trying to stay calm until you hear a knock on your door.

And when you open it, there’s Eddie, his face and jacket sprinkled with rain, sporting a fresh-looking bruise on his left eye that he turns to try to hide it.

“We haven’t hung out in a while,” he grunts, his eyes a little suspicious and resentful.

“True. Guess we’ve both been busy.”

You motion for him to come inside, quietly pleased that he remembers to take his boots off. You reach over to take his jacket so that you can hang it up and he looks almost offended.

“I know where it goes,” he snaps, opening the closet and putting it on a hanger himself.

You grip his jaw and turn his face so that you can get a better look at the damaged eye.

“What happened?”

He steps back, pouting like a child who’s been caught doing something he knows he isn’t supposed to.

“We went out to a bar after the restaurant. Archer offered to buy me a drink, and I said I wanted to buy him a drink. I guess it got out of hand.”

“Two friends try to buy a round at the bar turns into a fistfight. That is so you.”

You can’t help but laugh at your own joke because it is such an Eddie thing but he doesn’t seem amused.

“You got something I can put on this?” He grumbles.

“I have a couple of ice packs in the freezer. Come on.”

He follows you over to the open kitchen with its little breakfast counter while you start lifting frozen entrees out of the way to find the artificial ice.

“So how come you didn’t come to dinner?”

“I don’t know,” you lie. “My stomach was a bit upset and I probably wouldn’t have been much fun.”

He gives a low cackle. “You just don’t like it when you can’t have me all to yourself.”

You pause from digging through the back of the freezer to shoot him a scornful look.

“You just want me there so you can have a larger audience,” you retort, standing and producing the ice pack.

“Who said I wanted you there?”

You slap the cold pack into his cheek, giving a cruel little smile when he winces at the impact.

“Thank god you never decided to become a nurse,” he growls.

You can feel his eyes digging into you, searching for an opening. He knows all your fault lines so well, but he knows that there’s something going on with you that he hasn’t seen before. Your body twists under his scrutiny, trying to make it less obvious that you’re avoiding meeting his gaze.

“So what’s up with you anyway?” he asks, still studying you too closely for comfort.

“Not much. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine with me.”

“What?” You finally look back at him, eyes wide with fake surprise. “Did I say something that made you think I was pissed at you? Did I do something to get you pissed off?”

“Come on. You know what I mean. You barely talk to me at work, you never go out if you think I’m gonna be there. You won’t answer when I message you, or it’s two words long like I’m annoying you. I thought things were going ok with us for once.”

“They were. They are,” you counter desperately.

He places the ice pack on the counter and arches his brows at you. When you reach to remove it, he grabs your wrist and pulls you between his body and the counter, shaking his head as he presses it hard against yours.

His hands graze down to your hips and under your shorts, gripping both of your ass cheeks hard and you feel yourself melt against him, as you always do. You incline your head forward until your lips are against his, your arms winding around his neck, and you let yourself fall into the kiss you’d told yourself you were going to avoid. Everything that Eddie does with that mouth of his is magic and every second you spend locked in that embrace, you get drawn further in.

“I missed this,” he growls softly, giving a hard squeeze for emphasis.

It’s almost painful to pull yourself back from what you want so much but if you don’t extricate yourself now, you’ll be going crazy over him forever, so you force yourself to do it.

You try to pivot a little but he has you locked in place.

“Please, just let me put the cold pack back in the fridge.”

“No,” he whispers, giving you an evil little smile before nipping at the skin of your neck. “That’s gonna stay right there and melt and make a mess until you tell me what’s going on with you.”

“That’s not fair!” You whine, trying fruitlessly to reach back so you can at least throw the stupid in thing in the sink.

“Kinda seems like the Princess has decided she’s too good for me again.”

His lips lock onto the base of your throat and you main loudly. He’s doing it on purpose, tweaking your sensitive spots with his caresses and his words.

“You know that’s not true, Eddie.”

“I don’t know. I thought maybe you were afraid someone might find out that I was your dirty little secret.”

“It’s not that, I don’t give a fuck who knows.”

That draws a guttural laugh from him and the sound makes your stomach flip. You don’t offer any resistance when he eases your tank top over your head and trails kisses down the center of your chest.

“So tell me,” he insists, twisting a nipple hard between his fingers, “why I haven’t been getting any of this.”

“Why does it have to be something wrong with me? You’re the one with your new faction or family or whatever, making all sorts of plans and wooing Allie to join you.”

He lifts his head and as soon as you see the smirk on his face, you know you’re done for.

“Wooing Allie?”

“I don’t know what you call it. You got her to ditch what she was doing and go back with you guys.”

“I call it talking to my friend’s wife and making her work things out with him. That’s not what most people would call ‘wooing’, princess.”

“Whatever, I just meant that you’ve been busy so maybe I’m the one who should feel neglected.”

You fold your arms in front of your chest because the only thing worse than trying to salvage your stupid comment is trying to do it half naked while he gives you that amused look.

“I don’t believe it. You’re fucking jealous.”

“No,” you whine.

“Oh yes you are. You think there’s something going on with me and Allie.”

“I guess it seems like you have a bit of a thing for her, at least. You’re always talking about how beautiful she is and all that.”

“Princess, has anyone explained to you that not everything you see in wrestling is real?”

“It doesn’t matter. I just said that you’d been busy and-“

He kisses you again, little ripples of laughter coming out as he does. You return the kiss, diving in and hoping that you can just shut him up and make him forget what you’ve said, and to shut yourself up before you say anything worse.

“I like this,” he chuckles. “You’re jealous because you think I’m hot for someone else.”

“Fuck off, I never said that.”

The two of you continue kissing, more passionately and hungrier than before, but the next time he pulls back to catch his breath, he goes back to his new favourite subject.

“I am never letting you live this one down.”

“You can leave any time, you smug asshole.”

He chuckles again, his hand sliding under your clothes, between your legs. He buries his face against you, his lips pressed against your ear as he drags one finger, ever so lightly, from the back of your slit all the way up to your throbbing little nub, repeating the gesture and using his hip to hold you still and stop you from thrusting against him to get more friction. He just keeps up with that ghost of a touch, humming with pleasure the more he can feel your frustration.

“You want me to go? Really? Because it feels like maybe you’re not so sure.”

You just whimper in need, while at the same time trying to force the desire you’re feeling out of your body.

He lightly strokes and taps at your clit as he whispers to you, “I like that you’re jealous. But you need to tell me these things, not deprive both of us, ya silly brat.”

His attention then shifts, two thick fingers swirling at your entrance while the two of you bite and lick at each other. You hold out as long as you can, which isn’t long at all, before begging.

“Don’t do that. Stop teasing.”

“Well what do you want me to do?” he rasps, grinning as you thrust against him, trying to force some more pressure.

“Fuck me. Stop talking and fuck me through the mattress and into the goddamned floor.”

He lifts you up by your thighs, smiling when you wrap your arms around him to secure yourself as he carries you to your bed. As he places you down, he removes the rest of your clothing in one smooth movement before discarding his own. You kiss playfully for a moment before you tap his thigh.

“Get up here,” you order.

And he is most happy to oblige, kneeling over your body and letting you take his thick cock in hand, easing the swollen tip past your lips, sucking and licking while you slowly move your hand along his shaft, occasionally letting your thumb flick delicately along the seam, relishing the yelps this gesture never fails to elicit from him.

“So you want that even if I’ve been giving it to another woman?”

You growl but the vibrations only increase his pleasure and he starts to thrust a little, pushing himself further into your mouth and throat.

“Aw, don’t worry,” he purrs, “I’ll always have some use for you.”

At that, you punch him hard in the hip and rake your nails down his ass. He eases down your body, sparkling, mischievous eyes meeting yours. It’s like there’s nothing else in the whole world for you but you know better than to say so.

“You know what you need to do, Kingston? You need to shut the fuck up.” You push on his shoulders to direct him where you want him to go, and while he takes his time getting there, the journey involves him working his way down your body, like he’s worshipping you.

“This what you want?” he asks, licking at your soaked flesh.

“Mm-hmm.” You squirm in anticipation, suspecting that he might try to draw this out longer, so when he dives in and starts fucking you with his tongue, lips and teeth, you let out a loud moan and clench at the bedsheet with both fists. You’re already so close.”

“Lucky for you I have such good stamina,” he hisses. “So I can handle all of these women I’m fucking.”

“You’re still talking,” you groan. “Why are you still talking?”

He gives a harsh bite on the inside of your thigh. “Look at me.”

You glare down at him but immediately feel a little unnerved by the deadly serious look in his eyes.

“You know damn well there aren’t any other women. I haven’t fucked another woman, haven’t kissed- hell I haven’t even beat off thinking about another woman in months. So let me enjoy this for a few hours until you go back to thinking you’re too good for me.”

With that he goes right back at it, letting you feel the full skill of that constantly moving mouth. You let yourself go, feeling for the first time in ages like you have exactly what you want, what you need, right here in your bed doing everything to make you happy. Your whole body trembles in ecstasy, the tide rising steadily within you, your whines and moans growing ever louder.

“I love you.”

It slips out so naturally that you almost don’t notice that you’ve said it until he pulls back.

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Get back down there!” You push his head but he shakes you off and now you’re aware you have a problem.

“Oh no, I want you to repeat what you just said.”

“I don’t remember,” you whine.

“Sure you do.” He moves to his side next to you, running his fingers over your skin so that you stay worked up, frustrated, and desperate.

“I fucking hate you.”

“No,” he scolds, “that wasn’t what you said.”

You exhale in exasperation.

“Let me get you started. You said ‘I’... come on, repeat after me.”

“What makes you think I even meant it?”

“Well you have to tell me whether you did or not, don’t you, princess?”

His finger traces a curved line between your hip bones that only accentuates your overwhelming, unmet need.

“I’m not hearing anything,” he coos, flicking his tongue over your nipple.

“Fine!” you roar, hitting your breaking point. “I said that I love you, and yeah, I meant it.”

Grinning, he moves back down your body.

“Now was that so hard?” he asks just as he buries his face between your legs again.

You’d love to give a sharp retort but the second he’s giving you what you want, every other thought leaves your mind. You are one pulsating nerve waiting for release and he is expertly guiding you there. Within minutes you’re screaming his name, tears leaking from your eyes as you come down from the best orgasm you think you’ve ever had.

By the time you can open your eyes, he’s hovering over you, the tip of his cock throbbing against the lips of your pussy.

“Say it again.”

You groan a little and push against him but it doesn’t work.

“Say it again and look at me this time.”

His incredible eyes bear down on you and it’s very different than before. This time, you can’t hide the truth of it behind sarcasm and annoyance. This time he can see into you. You’re vulnerable.

“Come on.” He prods at your face with his nose and lips before once again locking you with that killer stare. “Let me hear you.”

“I love you,” you stammer, trying to read his reaction and more than a little afraid of what that might be.

He moans a little and pushes himself part way inside you, rocking his hips slowly.

“Again,” he rasps.

“Don’t be like this. I said it. I said it twice. What the hell do you want?”

He grabs a handful of your hair and thrusts his face even closer to yours. “Five years. Five fucking years I’ve been waiting for you to come around. So I want to get the most out of this that I can.”

“Eddie Kingston, I love you.”

He lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and thrusts into you harder.

“Are you going to say it back?”

“Sure,” he laughs. “When I feel like it.”

He pounds into you with increased vigor, laughing more when he sees your face contort somewhere between fury and ecstasy, your pussy contracting involuntarily around him.

“You are such a bastard,” you yell, fighting the second orgasm that’s about to overtake you.

The phrase is barely past your lips when your whole body spasms, pulling him right along with you.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he pants after a couple of minutes. “I am a bastard. But you finally managed to figure out I’m the bastard you want.”

You can’t help but laugh, wondering if he really did know ages before you did that you were in love with him, or if he was just hopeful. You run your hands over the back of his head and pull on his earlobe a little with your teeth.

“God help me,” you whisper.

#eddie kingston fanfic #eddie kingston imagine #aew fanfiction #aew imagine #wrestling fanfiction #wayward wrestle writing

94 notes · View notes

the-sympathetic-villain · 3 years

Text

L’Appel Du Vide - Chapter 2

AO3 | First | Previous | Next | Masterpost

Description: Logan has been captured by a government agency who researches human with supernatural powers. Able to manipulate the world with his mind and tell what others are thinking, Logan finds himself in one of the most high security government prisons in the country that's run by a sinister Dr. Emile Picani. After several long months of deprivation and torture at the hands of Dr Picani, a devilish-looking man with scales on his face will break into the prison looking for Logan's less than friendly bunkmate, but will he be too late? Prompt by @LoganIsACoolTeacher on AO3

Endgame pairings: Lociet, Intruality, Prinxiety

Word Count: 3323

Chapter Warnings: Blood, Crying, Depression, Casual Suicidal ideation, Depriving someone of food, Captivity, Solitary confinement, Knife, Threats of violence, Swearing, Mentions of abuse/torture, Injuries, Panic Attack, Food (Let me know if need to add anything!)

---

The first night, Logan screamed himself hoarse well into the middle of the night. His body ached with misery, as he yelled and pulled at his restraint. His wrist was bruised and he could feel a this stream of blood dripping from where the metal had cut into his skin but he kept fighting until his body collapsed with exhaustion and he was forced into a restless sleep.

Agony burned in his chest as the long hours dragged by in absolute silence. Being alone was a rare experience for Logan and one he adamantly avoided. While the sound of the constant chattering of strangers thoughts would probably sound nightmarish to the average person, he'd grown accustomed to the comforting presence of others' thoughts. He was used to the white noise, and though he knew it was irrational, the sudden silence growing nearly painful with every hour that passed.

The second night, the isolation started to dig its claws into the corners of his mind. The restraint on his wrist limited his movement to only a few feet around the bed and so far, he'd spent hours staring into the empty window on the far side of the room. Anger twisted in his stomach at the thought that he was likely being watched through the one-way reflective surface and he felt like screaming at his silent observers until his voice gave out, but the previous night’s experience had already proved that effort would be futile. Expending the energy would only make him hungrier.

All he could do was wait.

The third day, he'd woken to find the restraint on his wrist had been released while he'd slept. He blinked, unsure of what this new revelation meant for him. Rubbing his sore wrist, he sat up to scan the quiet room. The door remained closed, and likely locked, but somehow a container of water has found its way into the room. He stepped off the bed, glancing cautiously at the one-way mirror as he approached the glass jug sitting at the base of his door. He was aware of the danger. Tampering with his water supply would be a simple way to entrap him or drug him, but his thirst quickly overrode any hesitation he had. They were his only access to resources and he knew he'd have to give in eventually or risk simply dying of dehydration. Not to mention, quite frankly, if the people in this place decided to kill him, he had little recourse in stopping them. No amount of bargaining would change that fact that he was at their mercy.

Next to the water, he found a fresh change of clothes. The sight of fresh white hospital-like clothing brought a bitter taste to his mouth as memories of the night before came rushing back. He hadn't seen a hint of another person since the doctor had left him, taking with him the only people who might be even remotely sympathetic to his situation. He brushed his thumb over the stiff fabric picturing the faces of the two other prisoners who'd been dressed in the same sterile uniform as he now held in his hand. Still, he changed his clothes, feeling a new level of numb as he changed in front of the window.

Numbness had settled in fully by the fourth night. The hunger left him too weak to stay focused on anything for long. The water provided for him sustained his body in only the barest sense and he could feel his willpower draining away as he spent more time curled in his bed, mind blank as he succumbed to the silence. That night, a particularly sinister breed of depression had taken root in his mind, pushing him toward the precipice of giving up. Dark, self-destructive thoughts clouded his mind as finally drifted off to sleep, making his abrupt awakening all the more jarring as he opened his eyes to find a sharp blade pressed to his throat and a shadow with glowing purple eyes looming over him.

“Move and I'll slit your throat.”

Pure adrenaline flooded over Logan at the familiar voice. The man who'd nearly strangled him the first night straddled his chest, silhouetted against the dark room by the eerie red light. Logan swallowed, barely breathing as he as he pressed himself backward, tilted his head away from the blade.

“You will answer my questions.”

A whimper escaped Logan’s lips, but he forced a small nod, hardly daring to move under the delicate pressure of the sharp blade.

“Why's Picani interested in you?”

“I don't kn—”

“Find a better answer.” The man's hiss sent chills down his spine as the knife moved up Logan’s neck. “The other night, you blew me back into the wall like a goddamn ragdoll. What’s was that?”

Logan sucked in a shallow breath as he struggled to keep his weak body breathing. “Tele—telekinesis.”

“Do not fuck with me right n—”

“I’m not—” Logan breathed, closing his eyes. “I can move things with my mind—”

The blade pressed against his throat with a preciseness just short of drawing blood. “If that were true, why haven’t you blasted me again?”

“I—I don't control it. I never learned how.” Logan blinked, surprised as the blade released a touch of pressure. He blinked, staring up at blank expression on the man's face as he continued.

“Picani’s guard said you'd feed on me.” The man growled his disbelief as he glared down at Logan. “Explain.”

“I don’t know what he was—"

“Not good enough.” The man's deep voice growled above him as the blade returned to his throat. "If you don't start talking, I'll—"

“Please—” Logan whimpered as the sharp nicked his throat and a thin line of blood dripped down his neck. “—It's not what you think.”

“Then explain,” The man’s eyes flashed dangerously as he continued but the pressure of the blade eased slightly. “before I start to get impatient.”

Logan swallowed, feeling a wet streak trail down his face. “Others’ thoughts—I hear them.”

“Are you telling me you feed on my thoughts?”

“No—“ Logan whispered as tears flowed freely down his face. “Please, I don’t know how it works but I can’t—It doesn’t hurt anyone. I wouldn't hurt anyone. Please—”

Logan clenched his eyes shut, stifling a terrified whimper as the blade moved up his neck. His heart pounded in his chest until the blade lifted slightly from his throat and a wet sob escaped his throat. He sucked in a breath as the man leaned back, knife still pointed in Logan's direction as he continued in a hushed tone.

“Are you listening to my thoughts right now?”

“N—no,” Logan breathed, avoiding the man's eyes. “I'm too weak. I can’t—I can’t do anything.”

The man was quiet for a long moment, eyes glinting in the red light as he stared at Logan. “What'd he do to you?”

“Who?”

“Picani,” The man's voice softened slightly. “The doctor, I mean. What's he done to you?”

“I—I’ve been kept alone and—” Logan bit his lip, uncertain about sharing the true depths of his weakness. “—and I haven’t eaten. Anything that fuels my power, he's taken it from me. I can't—I can't hurt you."

The silence hung in the air for a long, tense moment before the man spoke again, knife still inches from Logan's throat.

“Close your eyes.”

A chill crept up Logan’s spine at the seriousness in the man's voice. “Please, don't—”

“Don’t argue.”

Logan swallowed the lump in his throat as the glisten of the blade pointed at him inches from his face. Stilled trembling and tense, he let his eyes flutter closed.

“Move your hands where I can see them.”

“I'm already blind—”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“Fine.” Logan muttered as he rested his head back on the pillow, lifting his hands in apparent surrender. After a moment, he could feel the bed shift as the man climbed off the bed in absolute silence. Logan strained his ears, but he was unable to trace the man’s careful movements after he stepped onto the flow. He slowed his breathing and forced himself to remain still, unsure of how the man would react to even the smallest twitch.

“If Picani finds out I have a knife because you rat me out, I will not hesitate to kill you with my bare hands.”

Logan bit his lip, body shaking as he gave a stiff nod. “U-understood.”

“Telling him won’t protect you.” The man continued gruffly. “It will only put me in danger.”

“I won't tell him.” Logan swallowed. “You have my word.”

“Your word doesn’t mean shit to me.”

A bitter from twitched at the corner of Logan’s lip. “The man dropped you back in here in the middle of the night, while I was weak and defenseless, knowing full well that you'd already made one attempt on my life. I'm not so much of a fool to believe him my ally.”

“Picani was hedging his bets that you'd appeal to my good will.”

Logan let out a huff, dropping his head to his chest. “Well, it appears he made a miscalculation.”

“Perhaps.” Virgil sighed quietly after a moment. “Or perhaps not. You can have this, but I want you to give me back the wrapper, so I can hide it later.”

A small object struck Logan’s chest, causing him to flinch back with a sharp breath. His muscles tensed as his eyes cautiously fluttered open to reveal the ominous sight of the stranger’s eyes glinting at him through the darkness. Slowly, he sat upright, maintaining eye contact as he turned his head down to stare at the protein bar in his lap.

“Don't make a mess.”

Glancing cautiously up at the other man’s stiff form, Logan leaned forward to tear at the wrapper. He wasn’t sure what had brought about the sudden change of heart, but he wasn’t about to waste his first chance for food in three days. His hands shook as he attempted to tear into the difficult piece of plastic, growing desperate as the man above him tensed.

“Hey, be careful!” The man held up a hand, stopping as Logan flinched at his volume. He paused, giving Logan a quick sympathetic look before edging closer. “Listen, hand it over for a second.”

Logan hesitated, gripping the bar tightly as if his life depended on it.

“Listen, dude. It's all yours, I swear.” The man whispered with a wary smile, holding up his friends as he dropped down on the side of the bed. His movements were slow, as if he was suddenly deliberately making an attempt to be non-threatening. “Just let me open it for you so you don’t make a mess. I don’t want to get backlash for helping you out. Okay?”

“Okay.” Logan whispered after a moment of tense silence, keeping his head bowed from the man's gaze as the man took the bar from his hands. “Thank y—”

“Don't thank me.” The man cut him off sternly. He made quick work of tearing the wrapper open before offering it back to Logan. “What's your name?”

“Logan.”

“Okay, Logan. Mine's Virgil.”

The man whisper filled the air as he waited patiently for Logan to take the bar from the wrapper. Logan took a quick bite, watching the man in his periphery as he chewed the small offering of food slowly. His body ached for him to finish faster, but he didn't want to be caught off guard if the man suddenly changed his mind.

“Listen, I'm sorry.” Virgil muttered as Logan took another bite. “I know I must have scared the shit out of you just now.”

Logan blinked up in mild surprise at the man's change in tone, still wary of the man's anger as he swallowed his first bite.

“You were being cautious.”

“That doesn’t suddenly make any of this shit okay,” Virgil muttered as he crumpled the wrapper into his pocket and stared at his lap. “The way I reacted is straight fucked, but you got to know that Picani only keep his most dangerous subjects this deep into the labs. You're not the first piece of fresh meat Picani’s dropped in my bunk—And when I heard the guards talking about you feeding on me, I panicked.”

“I assume the doctor has given you plenty of reason to be wary of newcomers.” Logan whispered, still slightly unnerved by the man's choice of words. “H-how long have you been here?”

“Long enough that I stopped counting the days.”

Virgil absently ran his fingers through his hair as Logan took in the sight of the man for the first time. His white attire seemed dirtier than before, especially next to the stark white color of Logan’s matching attire. Logan’s eyes tipped up to the man's face. Fresh bruises covered his face and arms and large pieces of gauze appeared to have been haphazardly applied to his head and around his elbows in a poor attempt at first aid for whatever injuries he sustained over the last few days.

"W-where did they take y—”

“Don’t ask.” Virgil interrupted abruptly, glancing at the fearful look in Logan’s eyes as he cut him off. He paused, briefly considering the harshness his words before looking up at Logan. “You'll find out soon enough and trust me, you'll wish you never found out.”

“The doctor—He hurts you because of your powers.” Logan observed, curling his knees to his chest as Virgil’s dark gaze turned back to him. “Doesn't he?”

Virgil blinked up at him. "How did you—"

"I saw you starting to turn invisible before the doctor walked in on us." Logan bit his lip, looking shyly at his lap. "Just after I blew you back into the wall."

"Huh, well, its not invisibility." Virgil huffed, dropping his shoulders as he pointed up at the red lights. "I can manipulate light. It's the reason for all of those."

"What?" Logan furrowed his brow, glancing at the strange lights.

"I can't shift red light as easily as the rest of the spectrum." Virgil muttered bitterly. "They put these in here to make sure that Picani always knows where I'm at."

"And he hurts you because of these abilities?"

"He runs tests." Virgil blinked, looking up a the fear Logan was barely concealing behind his eyes. “Picani’s a bastard and this—” Virgil muttered, looking disgusted as he stared at his bandages before glancing over at Logan. “—is nothing. He's done much worse to me when he gets worked up. He says its about figuring out how I do it, but if you ask me, he just gets off on hearing me scream.”

Logan's skin tingled with fear and he could feel tears growing in his eyes as he swallowed past the lump in his throat and nodded. “I felt like that might be the case.”

“He owns us. We’re not even people to him.” Virgil’s words fel from his lips absently as he rambled. “And when Picani gets a new subject, he's miserable. He a whole new level of sadism and miser—Shit.”

Virgil paused as Logan sucked in a sharp breath, shaking from the overwhelming series of events from the last few nights.

“Hey, don't panic.” Virgil jolted upright, turning to rest his hands on Logan’s shoulders. “Wait—No, no, just breathe with me. Don't panic.”

Logan sucked in a ragged breath as Virgil rested a hand on his chest, applying a gentle pressure to help ground him. His throat ached as he tried to suppress another sob and Virgil curled an arm around his shoulder.

“You are going to get through this, Logan.” Virgil hushed him urgently. “God. I'll help you but you need to stop. You can't lose it now.”

“I—I’m sorry.” Logan felt himself tugging on his hair as he whispered between ragged breaths. " I'm s-s-sorr—"

“It's okay.” Virgil whispered insistently, tightening his grip on Logan’s shoulders. “You're going to be okay. Just get your breathing under control.”

Logan nodded, body aching as he suppressed the overwhelming panic seizing his muscles. Slowly, through Virgil’s gentle touches and kind words his breathing returned to normal and his muscles started to relax.

“There you go.” Virgil let out a sigh, leaning back. "You did okay."

“I'm sorry.” Logan whispered between pained breaths. “I'm being irrational—”

“Don’t do that to yourself. Your reaction is the only thing that makes sense in this godforsaken place,” Virgil’s eyes tipped sympathetically towards Logan in the dark, flashing with the knowledge of their grim reality. “but you can’t afford to be emotional here. You'll get hurt if you do this around the wrong people.”

Logan paused, feeling his breathing slow a bit at the kind look in Virgil’s glowing purple eyes. “Thank you for your help.”

“I mean it. You can't react like that with the doctor.” Virgil whispered, roughly wiping away the streaks of tears off his cheeks. “The doctor will exploit every fear you show him. You have to be stronger than him.”

“O-okay.” Logan whispered, still trembling as Virgil talked him through his panic.

“Find a place in your head that you can disappear to when you’re in his hands.” Virgil stated with a pitiful smile as he stared at Logan’s distant stare. “Whatever you do, don’t show him what you’re feeling.”

“I will—um, thank you for the advice.”

“It's nothing.” Virgil muttered quietly. “Consider it an apology for waking you up with a shiv to you throat. Alright?”

Logan sucked on his lip, curling his knees to his chest. “It's fine. I realize now why you acted in such a manner.”

"It's not fine, but whatever." Virgil shrugged as his lip twitched with guilt. “but either way, you look like shit and I think you should get some rest.”

“I'm not sure if I’ll be able to sleep at this point.”

“You need to try. You need whatever energy you can get to get through tomorrow.”

Logan blinked up at the serious tone in Virgil’s voice as he slid up on the bed and faced the door.

“I'll keep an eye out and wake you before Picani and his goons show up. Okay?”

“S-sure.” Logan whispered, chilled by the seriousness in Virgil’s voice.

“You can trust me on this, Logan.” Virgil paused raising an eyebrow at Logan. “There’s not much I can do to protect you, but at the very least, I won’t let Picani catch you by surprise.”

Logan let out a breath as Virgil patted the bed next to him. Stiffly, Logan slid over to him and slipped underneath the thin blanket. Uneasily, he rested down on the pillow next to where the Virgil perched, staring at the door. “Thank you, Virgl. I—I know you don't have to help me.”

“I want to.” Virgil muttered under his breath almost to himself. His voice was so quiet Logan nearly didn’t catch the end of his statement. “I never meant for anybody to get hurt.”

Logan blinked, considering Virgil’s words as a deep exhaustion crept over him. He leaned his head back on the pillow, staring up at the distant look in Virgil’s eyes as he stared at the closed door of their cell. He sighed. Falling asleep next to the stranger who'd had a knife to his throat only minutes seemed like an impossible feat but only a few short minutes had passed before the exhaustion began to outweigh his anxiety. He could feel his eyelids dropping even as his heart fluttered with fear of the man next to him. This had to be a mistake and Logan was well aware of that fact. Yet, as his mind drifted off to sleep, he found himself easing to sleep with the madman with the knife next to him anyway.

---

Author’s Note: That’s it for now, but hopefully it won’t be too much longer before we get to here more about these poor boys. Thanks for reading, and again, if you want to be on the taglist, all you have to do is let me know!

General Taglist:

@justanotherhumanstuff @im-an-anxious-wreck @shadowyplaidpurseegg

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #ts logan #logan sanders #ts virgil #virgil sanders #tw weapon #tw abuse #tw food #L'Appel Du Vide #villain writes

21 notes · View notes

scarofthewind · 4 years

Note

Michael, Jason, bubba, and Thomas reacting to their s/o self harming

A/N: Hello all! I hope you enjoy this and thank you for all the support coming through. Also, the requests y’all have are brilliant! I will be working on them as I can. I am taking summer college courses and I am also leaving this week for a vacation (don’t worry I will update as I can). TRIGGER WARNING, mentions of self harm.

Leatherface (Bubba Sawyer): He had left the house for an hour at most to scare off some teenagers who were harassing the territory. When he walked back in the house, the shower was still on which concerned him. You usually were quick when showering.

Making his way to the bathroom he heard soft cries coming from the other side of the door. Gripping the doorknob, he tried to enter but found it locked. “(Y/N).” He panicked, twisting the knob furiously until you called back to him.

“I’m fine, just give me a second okay?” Bubba made a whining sound but sat by the door and waited. His pulse quickened at the negative thoughts that ran through his head. Why were you crying? Did he do something wrong? Did you want to leave him? He fidgeted in his spot and after a couple more minutes he heard the door be unlocked.

You barely had time to back up before he swung it open and grabbed you in a hug. “Sorry.” He repeated over and over until you forcibly pushed him back a bit.

“Sorry for what? Bubba, you didn’t do anything wrong.” You pushed some hair from his eyes and he caught sight of the swollen marks on your arms. Fresh and beaded with blood.

“Did I-” He paused and you caught an understanding of what he was talkin about. You tried to tuck your arms behind your back but he grabbed them and pulled them closer for inspection. You felt guilty seeing the look in his eyes; the confusion and pain. He thought that you hurt yourself because of him and tat hurt you more than the cuts themselves.

“My fault.” Bubba whispered and you shook your head, cupping his face in your hands.

“No it is not your fault. I just...I needed to do it. I couldn’t stop myself. I’m sorry.” You watched him closely as his eyes clouded with tears.

“Don’t. No more of that.” He waited until you nodded in agreement before he moved to the cupboard over the bathroom sink and grabbed some Band-Aids, trying his best to patch you up.

Jason Voorhees: Something was wrong. Call it a sixth sense of his, but Jason knew the moment you pushed him away that something was very wrong.

He sat at the foot of the bed, lips parted in concern as you sat at the other end, legs pulled up to your chin. You never pushed him away when he was trying to be affectionate. You both had been in a deep make out session when his hands grazed over your thighs and that’s when it all went to hell.

The cuts under your pants throbbed with how fresh they were and the pressure Jason had touched them with made them sting horribly.

“I’m sorry.” You said, mentally killing yourself for pushing him away like that, but how could you tell him?

Jason groaned out a sentence and you just stayed silent. Why did you push me away? What’s wrong? His eyes asked you from his spot on the bed.

“I...” You shook as you tried to find the words to tell him exactly what you did. Taking in a deep breath, you spat it out. “I hurt myself.” Jason stared at you in confusion for a moment before grabbing your ankles and pulling you to him. His eyes were dark, filled with something you hadn’t seen on him in years.

He was mad.

You almost laughed with joy at this emotion that was resurfacing, but his hands grabbing your pants and yanking them down caused you to shut you mouth. He straightened a bit, becoming tense when your pants were far enough to where he could see the cuts that formed on your skin. He lightly grazed a finger over the puffy skin, the scabs already starting to form. He could feel your thigh tense in pain as he pressed harder, his eyes snapping to yours.

He yelled at you then, anger and confusion taking over his mind as he practically threw you to the side and stomped into the bathroom, taking your razor and breaking it with his hands. The blade was put into his pocket and he turned around when he realized you were trying to stop him from doing that. To him, you were miserable and he didn’t make you happy. Why else would you have hurt yourself? Jason’s chest heaved with every breath he took, his nostrils flaring as he moved to the door of the cabin and swung it open. He stood off to the side and pointed outside.

You knew everything he was thinking which is why you walked over to him and closed the door. A soft sob escaped your lips as you turned away, making your way back to the bedroom. Jason followed, not certain as to why you were crying. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, it had nothing to do with you I promise.” Jason’s anger disappeared as he heard the pain in your voice and he grabbed you in a hug. He pressed your head against his chest and let you cry, softly rubbing your back as you did so.

Michael Myers: You’d been in the bathroom for about thirty minutes having a panic attack. The deed had been done, the blood on your arms showed exactly what you did. However, as soon as you had done it, you panicked wondering what Michael would think. Would he think you were ugly now with soon to be scars littering your arms? Would he think that it was his fault and part from you? Would be throw you away?”

Your chest heaved as you held your head between your legs, focusing on your breathing which only stopped when you heard a soft knock on the bathroom door. “What are you doing in there?” Michael asked from the other side, ready to bust the door down if he had to. You couldn't respond, only sit there in fear of what he’d say. Your mind was filled with terrifying thoughts that only made you sink further into the corner.

“(Y/N)?” Michael’s voice became worried as you didn’t answer and you heard him try for the doorknob to which you had locked. “Open the door.” You felt your vision blur as tears fell down your face, your chest tightening as every negative thought surfaced and attacked at once.

He doesn’t love you.

You are nothing.

Ugly.

Disgusting.

Stupid.

“No.” You whispered to yourself as those thoughts spoke to you.

“(Y/N)?” Michael asked again, pausing when he heard you speak to yourself.

“He loves me. Michael does love me, even if he doesn’t say it. I know he does.” You replied to the vile voices in your head who only laughed at your futile attempt to be positive.

Michael gripped the doorknob tightly and twisted it back, breaking it off the door and pushing his way in the bathroom. He didn’t know what to focus on first. The blood, your tears, or what you had been talking to. “What did you do?” Michael felt his chest tighten with fear as he knelt beside you and took your arms in his hands. He wiped the blood away from the wounds and let out a shaky breath of relief realizing they weren’t deep enough to kill you.

He turned his head to look down at you, eight different emotions running through his head at once. “Why did you do this?”

“You love me right?” You asked, watching his eyes search your face for answers. The voices were gone for now, but you needed to know. They would stay away if he agreed. “Right?” You sobbed, your eyes red from crying.

Michael stared at you for a moment before nodding. “I love you.”

You smiled to yourself, wiping your tears away and looking at the wounds on your arms. “They told me to do it. They said you didn’t love me and that you thought-”

“Who said that?” Michael asked, a sense of dread washing over him as he grabbed a wet cloth to wipe away the blood.

“The negative thoughts. They come and go sometimes.” You said, wincing as the cuts stung from the water.

“Why haven’t you said anything to me about this before?” Michael snapped, a sigh leaving his lips.

“I thought you wouldn’t care what happened to me.” Michael shook his head and pulled you into his lap, bandaging your arms and kissing your head.

“I may not say it but I will always care about you, (Y/N).” He said into your ear as he held you on the bathroom floor. “Please don’t hurt yourself. I don’t like it.” You nodded and let him slowly rub your back as you fell asleep in his arms.

Leatherface (Thomas Hewitt): “Oh shit.” You hissed as your skin was cut too deep on your arm. The blade had slipped from the blood and ended up cutting deeper than expected. You paled, throwing the razor blade in the sink and running out of the bathroom, your hand and arm now covered in blood as you tried to stop the bleeding.

“Thomas!” You shouted, tears welling up in your eyes as you heard commotion from in the basement. He was using his chainsaw so he couldn’t hear you over it and the screams of the girl he had on a hook.

You stumbled down the basement steps and stood at the bottom of them, staring at his back as he cut the girls stomach out, blood going everywhere. You could feel your arm go numb as you continued to hold it, hoping the pressure would stop the bleeding from being so heavy.

“Thomas.” You said again, when he turned the chainsaw off, you nearly scaring him half to death. He turned around and panicked.

“What happened?! Is someone here?” He asked, grabbing you and pulling you over to his table, letting you sit before looking at the wound.

“No. I cut myself.” You admitted bluntly, nearly passing out when he used a small bucket of water to get the blood off your skin.

“What?” He snapped, looking you in the eyes. “Why would you do that?”

“I wanted to feel something.” You watched as he rummaged through his desk drawer's and found a sewing kit.

He slammed the kit down next to you and you said his name, only to be pinched on the leg harshly. “Feel that. Not a fucking knife to your arm.” He sighed, looking at the wound again before dabbing at the edges with alcohol, causing you not muffle a scream by burying your head in his chest.

“Do I make you want to hurt yourself?” Thomas asked, causing you to jerk your head up and look at him.

“No absolutely not!”

“Then why do this, (Y/N)?” He yelled, looking at you. You shook your head and cried.

“I wanted to feel alive.”

“I make you feel dead? Great, that’s great.” Thomas scoffed, staring to fix your arm, the needle making you cry out in pain.

“I’m sorry it was a stupid idea. It has nothing to do with you.” You waited until he looked at you before you told him you loved him.

He clenched is jaw and continued to work on your arm in silence until it was finished. “You’re lucky. A few more minutes without help you would’ve died.” He put some ointment around the wound and then cleaned up the area.

“But I guess since I can’t make you feel alive, it would’ve been better right?” His words punched a hole in your heart and you scooted off the table and walked over to him.

“That’s not true.”

“You said it earlier. You wanted to feel alive.”

“I didn’t mean that. I don’t know why I did it okay! I’m sorry, Thomas. Please look at me.” You nudged his arm and he turned to face you, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Do you have any idea what I would’ve done if I lost you?” His voice broke for a second as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t ever do this again, understand me?” You nodded and let him hug you tightly.

#leatherface #leatherface x reader #bubba sawyer #bubba sawyer x reader #Thomas Hewitt #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #Halloween #Friday the 13th #Michael Myers #michael myers x reader #slasher imagines #🥲.angst #[✉️].request

752 notes · View notes

featherfur · 3 years

Text

Big Knife Meet Little Blind Ch.2

Xue Yang meets A-Qing before he meets Xiao Xingchen and decides he needs a disciple. Somehow he ends up with a kid, a heart, and an absolute mess of a cultivation world.

Warnings: Gore, Blood, Murder, Questionable Child Rearing, Xue Yang and A-Qing's potty mouth, Xue Yang isn't a good person and needs to get there, will eventually be SongXiaoXue

Read me on Ao3,

Read Chapter 1

Xue Yang returned home much more relaxed and even entertained the idea of taking his next day off to travel down to Yunmeng with A-Qing to let her try osmanthus cakes. She’d probably enjoy the river boats and he could afford a trip there and back if he annoyed Jin Guangyao into paying him early.

“A-Qing, are you still crying like a baby?” He called cheerfully towards the shack, kicking open the door and blinking when he found it completely empty.

The hearth was still cold and the soup from last night was gone so A-Qing had returned after he sent her off. The blankets for their bed were still made like A-Qing insisted on doing every morning, even the hidden pouch of money was still tucked in the jar of seasonings on the top shelf. Yet A-Qing was nowhere to be found.

Where the hell had the brat gone?

Had she run off because he scared her? If she could get over a fierce corpse devouring and murdering humans she shouldn’t be such a coward just because he got pissed and stabbed someone. It wasn’t like he was going to stab her. If he did that then he’d have to go through the trouble of finding another disciple and he liked his.

“A-Qing!” He shouted, mentally convincing himself that he wasn’t worried at all. After all, he could always get another brat right?

A second later the door swung open and he spun, Jiangzai already before him. Luckily for him, A-Qing was still much too small for his stab to be in her general area.

She collided with him forcefully and he was about to reprimand her when he realized she was clutching onto him.

“Eh? Why are you crying brat? Did you think I wasn’t coming back?” He snapped even as he sheathed Jiangzai and crouched down so he could look her over. She was fine beyond a few scratches and he rolled his eyes at her dramatics, he really should have killed her and grabbed an older brat. They didn’t cry nearly as much.

“Yang-ge, someone tried to break the door! They wanted to kill me.. They kept yelling for you. You weren’t here.” A-Qing sobbed, the irritation that rose in Xue Yang at her obnoxious crying was immediately flooded with the fury that anyone would dare scare his A-Qing. “You didn’t come home… I-I-I hid… I hid where you told me too. Then I heard you.”

Well atleast, some of his words had gotten through her thick skull.

“Who was it?” He barked, groaning when she just kept crying. He smacked her cheek and she blinked blearily up at him.

“Answer me brat, who was it?”

She shook her head, trying to tug herself closer to his chest and he pushed her back with a disgusted noise. She was covered in snot and tears and he didn’t want to have to wash his clothes so soon. It was disgusting and he liked to play with corpses.

She just snuffled loudly despite his glare and hold on her shoulders, still reaching out to him.

“I don’t know, I promise I don’t know.” She swore, grabbing hold of his forearms with a vice-like grip. It would have been impressive if she wasn’t so damn annoying.

Xue Yang stared at her, wondering if he could smack her again to make her shut up but she just blinked her white eyes at him with unwavering trust. An unfamiliar feeling built in his chest and he released his grip on her shoulders.

She rocketed into his chest with a fresh wave of sobbing, clinging onto him with a strength that surprised him. He fell back onto his ass, crossing his legs under him as A-Qing curled in his lap.

He pulled Jiangzai out as a precaution, wondering if A-Qing would panic like before. To his pleasant surprise, as soon as the blade was resting on his knee in easy reach she finally started to calm.

Her small fingers were tangled in his robes and he reached up to pat them in a move of comfort that completely surprised himself. Then again, he didn’t like breaking his own toys so treating them properly was the best way to make sure they survived. Even if he was confused by his own actions, A-Qing had started to calm and her obnoxious crying had finally ceased so Xue Yang counted it as a win.

Still, a steady wave of anger was still sliding through him. Someone had tried to break into his house and scared what was his. Even if her own clumsiness was what caused her scratches, she wouldn’t have had to run if it wasn’t for those bastards. They owed him.

Xue Yang was going to get even, tonight. He’d had a really bad day and it was time to make it someone else’s problem.

He waited for A-Qing to fall asleep before he moved back to his feet, keeping one arm under her so she could rest against his shoulder. With a child on his right and Jiangzai on his left he stepped out of the house and started to make his way around the house.

There were indeed footprints that weren’t from him, two sets in fact leading back to the local village. They weren’t familiar to him, but that just meant it wasn’t anyone from the Jin sect. There were plenty of others who wanted him dead or beaten black and blue.

He returned to the house to drop A-Qing off but she woke the moment he put her down.

“Yang-ge, are you leaving again?” She asked, her bottom lip wobbling and he poked her cheek to startle her.

“Don’t start that crying shit, got it? Yes I am, stay here.”

Rather than listening she just bolted forward to hold onto his leg instead.

“Yang-ge don’t leave me, take me with you.”

Xue Yang kicked her off, waving Jiangzai between them to keep her from trying again. Yet she still just wobbled back up to her feet with that stubborn streak that made him take her in the first place.

The temptation to give her a reason to fear Jiangzai was almost irresistible, a few more cuts wouldn’t do anything other than scare her after all. Xue Yang was good at swordsmanship, a few slices like paper cuts would be perfect for getting her to remember her place. He flicked the sword up with a twist of his wrist and was about to slice down across the reaching hand.

“You’re… going to kill them… right?” She said and Xue Yang paused long enough for her to grab his robes again and reach up towards Jiangzai. “Like earlier.”

“No, not like earlier. I’m going to kill them myself. Now let go or I’ll kill you first.” Xue Yang warned with a growl but she barely even blinked.

“Take me with you.”

That made him lower the sword with curiosity, tilting his head down at the dirty little brat he’d stuck in his house. There was a sudden panic in his mind, like when he’d come home to find A-Qing missing, at the idea of her being anywhere near murderers. She was tiny! He could kill her with a half kick to the head and she wanted to go with him?

“Why?”

“You left and it was scary.” She said simply, letting go of his robes to hold her arms up to him. “Take me with you.”

“Little Blind,” He said ignoring her scowl, “you do know I’m going to kill. Like the man before. You cried like a little bitch not even twelve hours ago.”

He remembered that she was roughly five when she just blinked up at him and waved her hands. Right. She’d watched last time.

The panic started to drain quickly and he shrugged.

Whatever. If she died then fuck her, he’d burn her corpse or bring her back for his experiments. Oh that was an idea.

He hummed to himself as he bent just enough to swipe her legs out from under her with his arm and leave her perched on his hip and elbow.

If she died she could make a wonderful little subject to see about finally recreating a conscious corpse like the Ghost General. It really was too bad that he was completely loyal to Wei Wuxian, Xue Yang could have used a babysitter.

“If you start crying I’ll leave you in the chest cavity after I break it open.” Xue Yang threatened her and she just gave him that same confused blink. He scoffed and grabbed a cloak to toss over her and made his way out.

He was going to have to fix her poor vocabulary soon. She was great at playing a beggar for a kid, but she really missed the point of his threats and that wasn’t going to stand.

“Do you remember what the bastards sounded like? The ones who came looking for me,” Xue Yang added irritably when she continued her blinking habit. That jogged her memory and she nodded, looking out towards the approaching town.

Night had already started to fall and the last rays of light were quickly disappearing as lanterns were lit instead. Xue Yang grumbled to himself as he realized the footprints would soon be invisible but he couldn’t risk putting A-Qing down for a fire talisman or to sheathe Jiangzai even for a few seconds.

“He… He sounded like the… the…” A-Qing pouted as she tried to remember and Xue Yang suddenly understood why people found kid’s cute. If she wasn’t so annoying, A-Qing would be adorable for a little stray, she was just like a cat that never shut up.

“The pig man!” A-Qing finally declared happily, smiling at Xue Yang and lost the adorable look when Xue Yang just felt annoyed instead.

“I thought you said you didn’t know who they were.”

“I don’t. One of them sound like the pig man… He wasn't the pig man.”

Xue Yang jerked his arm to make her squeal in fear of being dropped. Then he realized what it was that she was saying.

“You mean he has the same accent as the butcher?”

Right, Xue Yang thought as she blinked blankly at him, she’s five she doesn’t know what accent means.

“You have the ugliest face.” He finally told her, grumbling when her thin fingers shoved into his cheek.

“Yang-ge don’t be mean to A-Qing.” She admonished like it was bath day and not a trip to kill a man.

“Okay brat, I get it, keep your hands off my face or I’ll bite them off.” He snapped his teeth in her direction and she retracted her hands quickly with puffy cheeks and pouty lips. The second time wasn’t nearly as adorable but when she reached to wrap her arms around his neck again he let her without question.

Honestly he was waiting for her to fall asleep on his shoulder so he just evened out his footsteps and made his way through the back alley’s to the butchershop.

“Don’t make any noise unless I tell you too.” He warned, waiting until she nodded that she understood before he finally stepped behind the shop itself.

The candlelight wasn’t very bright so Xue Yang slipped closer, peering through the window at the small group. At first he only recognized the butcher himself, then he realized he did know the other two.

They weren’t anyone important but a few years ago Xue Yang had gutted their sister for smacking him, he hadn’t realized he’d been seen at all. They must have been hunting him since then and only just now caught up after he got stuck long-term in this damned town. He would have to clean that up eventually anyways.

Talk about two birds with one stone, he thought to himself and turned to lower A-Qing to the ground.

“Are you going to help me? Or do you just wanna watch?” He whispered and she shrank down against the wall of the house before reaching out to pat the hilt of Jiangzai. “Good girl, wait right here for Yang-ge.”

He straightened with a grin, patting her once on the head before sliding open the door silently and strolling through.

“Hello you two, I heard you were looking for me.” He chirped excitedly, holding up the well-known blade. “Really, you could have just left a note.”

“You.” One snarled.

“Xue Yang.” The other said and Xue Yang rolled his eyes, chuckling at their posturing.

“Don’t dirty my name, I’m rather fond of it.” He hummed, almost seeming to glide over the floor towards them as they stumbled back. “Actually, let me correct myself. You should have just left a note. Then I’d maybe be able to bring myself to be a bit merciful, Jin Guangyao’s been teaching me all about it.”

“Will you just- Shut up!” The butcher’s voice joined the mess and Xue Yang glanced at the knife he was wielding.

A loud laugh bubbled up as he saw it, swinging Jiangzai to point at the taller one.

“You really think you can do anything to me?” In response the knife came flying at his head and he sighed softly. A simple lean was all that was needed to leave the blade well out of range of his head and it struck the wall behind him instead.

“Now, I need a volunteer.” He said with another step forward. “See, my kid’s still new to all of this but she needs to learn, so who wants to help me teach her the different arteries to cut? The other two I’ll kill a little faster.”

“You killed our sister, after we kill you we’ll get your little brat and return the favor.” The youngest brother yelled in outrage, brandishing his own sword. It wavered in the air almost shaking as much as his owner was.

The smile disappeared from Xue Yang’s face and he flashed forward. With two strokes blood spurted from the two others’ throats. He left only the youngest to cower with a scream that was silenced a moment later when Xue Yang’s fingers grabbed his tongue and with a single slice was tossed behind him. The wail was easily stuffed out with a handful of the bastard’s own robes, forcing them down his throat until he choked and gagged.

“Found my volunteer.” Xue Yang pulled him to his knees by his hair, waiting impatiently for the neighbors knocking to cease. When no one answered they dispersed with mumbles about rowdy visitors and summoning the guards to complain.

Xue Yang dragged the man through the bloody mess on the floor, glancing back at the corpses with a mournful air.

If only I hadn’t brought A-Qing, then I’d have two new subjects to play with.

He hummed as he stood in the middle of the room, realizing that this was one of those moments that Jin Guangyao had told him about. Ones where Xue Yang should have planned better before jumping into slaughter.

He wanted to take his time and teach A-Qing a thing or two, but the bastard crying on the floor had warned everyone. If Xue Yang brought him back home to teach, then he’d have to deal with the smell of blood in his house and the potential of Jin disciples finding the body.

Jin Guangyao should be proud, Xue Yang thought proudly as he dropped the man on the ground and promptly sat on his stomach, I’m thinking it through and everything.

“A-Qing, come here.” He called, waving her forward and holding his arms open to tempt her even further. As expected, she bolted into his arms without a care for the carnage around her.

“Good girl, now, I’m going to show you this trick.”

A-Qing flinched slightly when the man they were sitting on wailed against the robe. Then she scowled and leaned over him to smack his cheek like Xue Yang did to her earlier. This one was much harsher than Xue Yang had been but it still managed to make the man freeze.

“Good girl,” Xue Yang cheered, the vicious mood from earlier seeming to dissipate as he squeezed her cheek. “Very good, now, listen to Yang-ge.”

A-Qing nodded her head rapidly as Xue Yang moved over the struggling man to trace a nail over his carotid artery with a rather proper explanation of death by exsanguination if he said so himself. He followed the man’s neck down to his windpipe, explaining how to slice it properly. The man still writhed so Xue Yang clamped down on his throat, squeezing it until the body spasmed and stopped moving.

“And that is choking. Don’t worry about that right now, you’re too tiny to do it.” Xue Yang said, tilting his head to listen to the slow moving footsteps of whatever the villagers had managed to gather for a guard to check. He sighed, resigning himself to bringing her to one of his experiments later and scooting her off to stand.

He twirled Jiangzai, humming to himself as he felt its blood lust, and held it against the unconscious man’s neck.

“Well? Do you remember what I just taught you?”

A-Qing glanced back and forth between the two of them with visible hesitation. Xue Yang supposed this could be a little fast, she’d only seen her first murder earlier in the day after all.

I’ll read those damn child raising books when I get home, maybe I should wait until she’s atleast six before committing human murder. Jin Guangyao said that was harder for most people to do.

Even as he planned to kill the man himself, A-Qing’s hand moved to Xue Yang’s and held the hilt of Jiangzai. She pushed carefully until the sword was just over the artery just like Xue Yang had taught her, then she plunged it forward.

Her white eyes were glowing with fascination as blood bubbled around the wound and, when Xue Yang pulled out, the way it sprayed before Xue Yang covered her from it with his black sleeve. Still, she moved to peek over his arm when it finally stopped spurting over them. She blinked in her curious way at the corpse then scowled over at Xue Yang.

“Your robe is all dirty. It’s bath day.” She said seriously, just like Xue Yang would say when he came home to find her filthy.

Xue Yang was in such a good mood he could only scoop her up as he sheathed Jiangzai and laugh as he skipped to the door. He paused midway through and bounced back to grab the purse on the butcher and the package before bolting as the acting guards started to bang on the door.

“Oops.” He hummed, looking around the alley before kicking off to land on the roof next door. Perhaps he didn’t think things through like he thought he did.

Whatever, He slipped the purse into his robe and started back towards home. He jumped on three more houses before deciding that was good enough and leaping to the ground to walk the rest of the way.

“Yang-ge?” A-Qing said sleepily against his shoulder. “Can I go to work with you again?”

“Sure, kid, I’ll bring you again later.” He hummed to himself, cheerfully waving the package of whatever he’d stolen through the air. He debated on chucking it against a tree just to see its contents but A-Qing’s sleepy snuffles distracted him instead.

She’d done so well already, this disciple shit really was working out a lot better than he thought it would. He was surprised she hadn’t even sobbed but then again, he hadn’t cried after his first kill either and he was only two years older than her then.

He glanced down at her as she promptly passed out, completely comfortable and safe in the arms of a murderer.

So this is why people have kids, they’re actually kind of cute when they listen.

He would have to figure out something about leaving her alone in case other enemies showed up, but maybe if he dug at the Ghost General enough he would finally get that ghost babysitter.

He almost turned to head towards the experimentation compound but a single glance at A-Qing’s sleeping form made him turn back towards home.

That can wait until tomorrow, A-Qing needs more sleep than me.

#mdzs #the untamed #Xue yang #a qing #xiao xingchen #song lan #xuexiao #songxiaoxue #songxiao #songxue #fanfic #canon divergence #cw: murder #cw: character death #cw: gore #cw: blood

11 notes · View notes

mxvladdy · 3 years

Text

More than just a flirt

John Hancock X OC

Hi hi! My smut hand be rusty but nothing like completely self indulgent OC smut to bring me back :)

So I’m still new to tagging and the like but my Fallout 4 OC is GN but I do insinuate female genitals. Soooo ye *finger guns*

If ya read it I hope a like it!

John was a flirt; that’s all he ever could be. He was charming. He was witty. He was an adventure covered in an oversized trench coat. What bed partners he had came for one thing. The experience. The ability to boast loudly about fuckin’ a ghoul. Like it was a damn badge of honor. His whole life had been a stream of one night stands, and cold beds. That's all he ever could be. That’s all he ever would be.

So then why did he wake up so warm?

Cracking an eye open John reached behind him searching blindly for what was heating his back. His burned fingers were a complete contrast to the soft flesh that greeted him. Slowly, he traces down it, following the flow of the dark muscular till he is holding on to an arm wrapped around his middle.

“Morin’.” His bed partner huffs in his ear. Chestnut curls tickle his cheek as they hug him closer. Whiskey and melon sweet breath bringing back memories of their lips against his. Last night clicks in place. Ophelia. John rose quickly as if burned. This was wrong, they are a friend. A good friend, a trustworthy hardworking leader. They deserved better than-than…

“John?” Ophelia rose uncaring of how the blankets slipped from their arms. Old fabric pooling around their bare waist. They rub at their eyes wearily. “You ok?”

He froze at the edge of the mattress. Long fingers reaching for his pants on a very recognizable floor. He was in Ophelia’s room; or rather this was their hotel room. Damn. He couldn't remember a thing from last night. What did he take? Fuck. He could kick himself. Of all the one-nighters, he wanted to at least remember this one. “Ye doll, sorry...just didn't wanna wake ya.” He smiles, covering his momentary panic.

Ophelia frowned, sleepy hazel eyes narrowing into a familiar piercing glaze. They size him up. Reading him better than anyone ever had before. John couldn’t help but squirm. They looked at him just like when they had first met. Strong jaw tense and their chin high, silently calling out his bullshit.

“I'm fine, honest. Didn't expect to see you is all.” Hancock tried again tugging on his pants.

“In my own room?” His friend snorts, rising to go open the curtains. “Where else would I be?”

John is silent. “I don’t know. Not here-with me.” He keeps his back turned. It was stupid to linger. The warm tingling of their soft body seeps down into the floorboards leaving him aching and cold. Staring at his irradiated hands he could almost cry. Almost- his tear ducts had been scarred shut years ago.

“John?” Ophelia comes within arms reach. He could sense their hand hovering close to his own boney shoulder. They drop it moments later. “You sure you’re ok? You coming down from a bad trip or somethin’?” John chuckles humorlessly. Was he that predictable? Stepping away from them he finishes dressing.

“Ye sunshine. Don’t worry about it. Ain’t my first time and sure as hell won’t be my last.” He tosses out over his shoulder. “I’ll give ya a minute ta get ready and meet you out front.”

If Ophelia had anything to say after that they kept between their pretty little lips.

“I think we should head for shelter.” Ophelia says, looking up from the fallen mutant. Their arms filled with loot. John follows their gaze. His black eyes reflect the eerie shade of green growing in the sky. Rad storm. Looked like a big one too. He lights a cigarette and sticks it between his grimy teeth before helping collect a few more useful items.

“Closest place is probably that supermarket couple o’ klicks back.” He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. If they hoof it they could probably get there and pick off any ferals before the worst of the storm hit. Ophelia sighs, John knew how much they hated backtracking. The decision was made for them when their pip-boy starts clicking in warning.

“Well-” They frown, throwing a glance back at the ghoul. “You alright with taking two steps forward and ten steps back?” John laughs, tipping his tricorn up to flash them a quick wink.

“Shit doll- You just summed up my life in a sentence.” Offering a hand he helps the sharpshooter over some loose rubble. “You keep an eye out K? I know you’re low on ammo so I’ll take point.” Ophelia nods. Their sniper rifle slung uselessly across their back. Readying his shotgun John follows behind.

The storm hit just when he had expected. Dropping rain and hunks of debris on the two as they struggle to close the supermarket doors against the high winds. Thanks to their combined dumb luck the place was empty. The sentry bots long since destroyed and even a few tins of food were still scattered about the aisle. Ophelia left him to collect some and scout out any hidden lock boxes, leaving him to set up the sleeping bags and start a small fire. Cracking open a room-temperature beer he stares idly into the flicking flames. It grew steadily as he fed it bits of cardboard and kindling. The yellow glow touches his skin and starts to dry his drenched clothes. John contemplates his predicament while he waits for Ophelia to return. The memories of last night slowly start to come back to him in the silence. The tastes, and smells of washed sheets and sweating skin permeate his senses. Ophelia’s sweet mewls and gasps echo around in between his ears. Who gave them the right to make his name sound so sweet?

Shit-He knew he shouldn’t dwell on it. First rule of one-nighters is to live in the moment then walk away clean. But damn if he wasn’t the worst at following rules.

He relives it all the best he can, parts still blurring and blocked, like a scratch in a holotape. But he’ll take it. He’ll take the phantom feel of strong, sure fingers mapping his body. The ghost of a tongue slipping against his. Washing away the taste of mentats and cheap drinks. He can’t remember the last time he had felt so warm and wanted. Made the sudden distance he put between them hurt even more. Fuck him for getting greedy.

John flicks the butt of his cigarette into the roaring flames and searches for another. He grumbles in irritation as each pocket bears no fruit. “Here. I got some.” A familiar red and white box appears in his peripheral. Ophelia’s chipped yellow nail polish clashing with the old carton.

“Thanks, sunshine.” He rasps, taking the box. He can’t bear looking up for the crumbled container. The thought of making eye contact with them while his blood and brains were living in his trousers seemed unholy. Pulling out the least damaged cigarette of the lot he lights it with a practiced flick of his wrist. “Found anything good?”

They shrug, putting a few cans of beans and corn in the growing amount of embers around the fire pit to heat. “Some ammo and super glue. Also-” They grin, forcing him to look up. “Got you a present.” They pull a bottle out from behind their back to brandish it at him triumphantly. He stares. Not at the bottle, but at the way that little pull of muscle brightens up their whole face. That signature gapped tooth smile warming him better than the beer and firelight combined. He reaches numbly for the bottle. A Nuka-Cola Quantum, the chill of the bottle a welcomed surprise.

He and the rest of the crew had learned over the years not to reject a gift, no matter how valuable. MacCready nearly had a heart attack when he was gifted with a shiny new sniper rifle. That pretty little custom piece came with all the bells and whistles. Not to mention a few boxes of specialized ammo. John had zoned out when the other man started rambling rapid-fire over specs clutching the gun to him like a newborn. Each of the core companions got some good shit from time to time. He had some absolutely sinful blades and an old bottle of pre war bourbon tucked away in his office. Valentine had gotten some fantastic upgrades to his hardware and repairs to his offices. Hell- Curie got a whole bloody body.

Can’t beat these job perks.

“What’s the occasion?” He pops the cap off with the blunt end of his pocket knife, taking a pull from the bottle. The rush of sugar and god knows what else damping his headache.

Ophelia shrugs from across the pit. Pulling off their worn boots to warm their feet by the fire. “I remember you said they perk you up after a particularly bad crash.” They pause, face closing down for a moment, before looking up in horror. “I would have thought- I mean. I- you-I hope I didn’t do anything last night that upset you. I know you were a bit buzzed and I was way past tipsy. But, if I stepped out of line you would tell me right ?” John looks at them beyond confused.

"What?" He asks dumbly.

" Is," Ophelia waves vaguely at the distance between them. Normally when they camped together they were thick as thieves. Joking and nudging at each other's shoulders. Others used to joke about them getting a room. Now it felt like a great chasm had opened between them. "all of this about last night."

"Oh. Nah. Don't gotta worry none doll." John shrugs. Best to rip the bandage off now then later. "It's in the past, best leave it there. " He lies. It burns his throat worse than jet, but he has to. If only to protect his crumbling pride. One day he'll believe his own words. Hopefully.

"Well I am worried. How 'bout we start over. What’s wrong?" Ophelia jabs.

John feels heat rise under his thick skin. Just pokin’ a fresh cut tonight huh..."Kinda hard to start over after having someone's dick down your throat." He tosses it out carelessly. A shit attempt to derail the coming train wreck. Ophelia doesn't even flinch.

"Well, it's a damn good thing we both know how flexible I am then.” They rebuttal smoothly. “So, I'll ask again. What’s. Wrong?" The ghoul shrinks under their heated look. He was never keen on being hit with these eyes. Meant another kinda storm was brewing.

John throws his hands up in frustration. Had they never heard the phrase 'read the room'. "What, ya never had a one nighter before?" He regrets it the second the words leave his lips. He'd never seen someone flinch from words before. "Look, doll, I ain't one for making things awkward. I know the rules so let's just forget it and move on."

Ophelia deflates. Their signature look that could pin a super mutant in fight extinguished just like that. John watches them mouth over his words slowly. Clearly hating the taste of them as much as he did. "Is- was that what you wanted out of it?" Ophelia sighs. They dig a hand through sweat tangled locks. The tight coils of their hair protesting the drag of their fingers. His own fingers itch watching them, remembering the feel of their hair wrapped around his hand as he pulled them in for a kiss.

"What did you want out of it?" He asks, feeling dumber than a radroach.

Ophelia mimics him, throwing their hands up with a short laugh. "John, I thought it was clear. I don't go sleeping around with my friends and colleagues for shits and giggles. Who do I always ask to join me on travels?"

“Dogmeat?” John jokes, the knot in his stomach loosening with hope. It's unimaginable really- and yet. Were they serious? The past couple of times out they had always come to him. Even when they would be at a strategic disadvantage for whatever crazy scheme they had brewing. Only time he wasn’t Ophelia’s top pick was when some Minutemen tasks needed to be done. Even then He could always expect them at his front door the moment their feet landed on safe ground. A bottle of liquor in hand and an unbelievable story to tell.

“Not funny.” They chastised him scooting until they were seated next to him, knees brushing. "My idea for this morning was to maybe get breakfast and a semi decent cup of coffee. But I guess this is fine." They scrunch their nose in distaste at the cans warming in the fire pit.

“Shit doll,” John reaches out, wrapping a wiry arm around their waist. “Can I make it up to you? For being such an ass?” They hum in jest covering his hand with their own. The kiss that follows was unlike anything that he expected. It was slow and sweet. So different from the fast pecks he would get with others he slept with. He deepens it greedily, not ready to part just yet.

“You’re lucky I find you attractive.” Ophelia whispers into his mouth tossing his tricorn to the side and straddling his narrow hips. “We are going to have a talk about all this. Just-later-much, much later. I need a repeat performance of last night now that we are both sober.”

John groans letting them push him down. “Damn-you got it. You got whatever you want if you mean it.” Ophelia scoffs, ridding themselves of their baggy jacket. John can’t help but marvel at how beautiful they were backlit by the roaring flames. The orange glow of the light wrapping around their dark skin much like he craved to do. The flicking of it lapping at their smooth skin. Flashes of last night coming back to him of his tongue traveling down the same areas. He would have to remap them.

“As if I could ever lie to your smart ass.” They scoff grinding down on the growing bulge hidden in his rough pants. “But you have been lying to me and yourself it seems.”

He grunts in acknowledgment eyeing the way their ass moves. “You are absolutely right.Fuck- how can I make it up to you?”

Ophelia smirks cupping his cheeks. Their eyes meet. Rich hazel meeting cold black. The moment digs dip under his tough hide. The raw emotions in their stare makes his throat dry. “Put that mouth to good use- hmm? I know it’s good for more than some self-depreciation.”

Spurred by Ophelia’s words he flips their positions, placing the sniper down on his bedroll. John sinks lower, kissing and nipping at their hip bone. Mapping out all the sensitive parts of their body. His tongue tracing the silver little streaks on their belly. Ophelia’s stomach twitches at the feel of his warm breath on their stretch marks, cursing quietly as he finds their slick core. Their nails score his scalp, dragging a hiss of pleasure from his lips. He licks with gusto, taking full advantage of their isolated positions to make them scream.

“John-” They mew clawing at his shoulders to pull him back up to their kiss swollen lips. He goes leaving a trail of kisses in his wake before giving them a surprisingly chaste kiss on their lips.

“You sure ‘bout this doll?” He didn’t know what would happen after this, but it felt so different compared to his other recurring bed partners. He did want to see them again. He wanted this relationship to bleed into every aspect of his life. If he could relive that morning wrapped in their arms till his brain was splattered out on some dusty alleyway then he would. Without question.

Ophelia nods, reading in between the lines of his multilayered question. If there was one power figure in this wasteland they trusted, it was him. Wrapping a strong leg around his strong waist they shimmy off their tactical pants. Their eyes lock onto his pants as if the ratty briefs offended them. John chuckles and casually loosens the draw strings keeping his pants up. Ophelia takes it from there scooting the rough material down his legs. They pur, grasping his erection and stroking it. Their dexterous fingers play with his head drawing out a healthy bit of pre.

John sighs and rests his forehead on Ophelia’s brow breathing in their naturally clean scent. It reminded him of the rare times he could get freshly washed laundry mixed with the springtime. Shen the wild plants strong enough to brave this cruel world sprouted. He kisses them, nipping at their chin and collarbone while they drive him wild. “Doll, please.” He gasps, back arching into their touch. “You’re killin’ me ya know.” Ophelia chuckles returning a deep kiss.

“Good, consider it penance for thinking I couldn’t love you.”

John heaves, lost for breath as their words hit him. He pulls back floundering. “You mean that?” He sees the rapid fire thoughts racing through their wide eyes. Shock that they let slip that dirty little secret, fear of what he would do, then a stark resolution.

“Of course.” Ophelia nods through their embarrassment. Their sharp cheeks beginning to warm under his gaze. They say it like it’s an obvious statement. Like he should have just known. In a way he did. He just couldn’t believe it.

John takes the initiative now. Dragging Ophelia down to his scarred lips preening when he feels them sigh into it. Their tongue teasing his telling him point blank what they wanted. Grabbing onto their plush hips John grinds down on them, rubbing his stiff erection through the seam of their thighs and wet entrance. The moans that elicited from them made his radioactive blood boil with need. He had to have them again, last night was a dud. He would savoir this time.

Positioning themselves over John’s cock Ophelia shoots him a sultry wink before sinking down onto him slowly. “Oh fuck me.” He groans, dropping his head to his pillow. Their body was feverish around his, soft, pliant and so willing.

“That was my intention.” They grab onto his shoulders for support. Eyelids fluttering heavily. “If I’m not getting that across now, perhaps I should quit while I’m behind?” They joke as they ride him. Their hips move in slow tight circles. It’s enough to drive him wild.

John digs his fingers into the supple flesh of Ophelia’s hips. With any luck he’ll leave bruises. Excellent. Ophelia couldn’t stop John as he flipped their position. He pinned them roughly down on his sleeping bag. “Don’t worry Doll. You got your point across very well. Don’t need to go putting yourself out like that.”

“You’re one to ta-” John thrusts into them cutting off their snark. Taking devilish delight in flustering them. Setting a fast pace he drives in deep revealing in their cries of pleasure. God damn- this was almost enough to make him wanna go sober. How did he ever think one night would be enough?

“Fuck! I don’t deserve you.” His hisses cutting through the wet slaps of skin on skin. Ophelia does nothing but groan. Neither of them last long. Much to John’s chagrin. He finishes with a choked shout, hips and stomach twitching as he spills himself on their thigh. Ophelia doesn’t fare much better. They bite hard at the rough skin of his neck, nails scoring his back with a perfect mixture of pleasure and pain while they came undone beneath him.

“Do you mean it?” He asks, cupping the back of Ophelia’s skull. They wrap an arm around his neck nuzzling close, draping their body across his.

“Ye- but if you talk down about yourself again I’ll have to feed you to a deathclaw.” John chuckles feeling his eyelids getting heavy. He wouldn’t put it past them.

#Fallout 4 #john hancock #john hancock x sole survivor #it's smut #it's angsty #it's oc time #crusty boi is best boi

69 notes · View notes

infernwetrust · 3 years

Text

Luke Langdon [Michael Langdon x Fem Reader] Pt 3.

PART 1

PART 2

Summary: The one where you and Michael have a child together, but like most relationships, there are parenting differences.

Warnings: angst, swearing, blood, mentions of cutting

WC: 1.4k

A/N: Last part of this 3 part series. I enjoyed writing this very much. Part 1 is important to understanding this final part. Thank you for reading! -Juno

"Daaaaaaaaaaaddddddddyyyyyyyyy!" the young bright eyed girl screamed as she ran into the house, eyes full of panic. You and Michael sat on the brand new couch he had gotten you for Christmas. He watched how you eyed it in one of your monthly magazines that you got in the mail. Luke had just turned 16 a few weeks ago and was thriving more than ever, until today that was. The both of you were use to your 13 year old daughter's, Kayleen, screams. Usually her and Luke would get along during play for the first hour before something went down between the two.

"Same old, baby girl?" you asked, eyes not darting away from the television. Your favorite show was on and you didn't want to miss a beat.

"Whatever it is." Michael chimed in, eyes not looking up from his laptop as he continued working. "You and Luke will figure it out. No games today, hmmm?"

"He's laying there! Not moving! I don't think he's breathing either!"

"Oh like he always does?" Michael glanced up at her, becoming a little bit more concerned when he saw her facial expression. There were tears in her eyes and she looked pale.

"I lifted up his eye lids and his eyes are like.. red! I know you said that black eyes were fine, but they're red. And dad he's really not breathing!"

"Shit." Michael said, tossing his computer to the side and flying out of the chair. You followed behind him quickly, Kayleen still a crying mess. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

Making his way outside, Michael was no stranger to what his son had done. He glanced at the giant sigil of baphomet that his son lay almost lifeless in, but he could still hear a faint heart beat.

"I told him about fucking trying that spell without me." Michael said, quickening his pace to reach his son, unbuttoning his shirt and stripping from it along the way. You froze, shocked at the fact that your first born could be dead and then you lost it. A screaming mess, you were. Michael quickly dropped to his knees, retrieving his blade out of his pocket. He wasted no time cutting into his skin, dragging the blade up his arm, causing him to bleed. He did the same to his other arm, clenching his jaw. Overwhelmed by the sight, your daughter fainted and that caused you to only scream louder, much to Michael's annoyance.

"Y/N PLEASE!" he shouted. "Luke will be fine! Kayleen will be fine! Go back into the house if you can't keep it together long enough for me to even attempt to do this!" You hushed, your loud screams now becoming just muffled whined as you kneeled down next to your daughter, placing her head in your lap. Michael then did the same thing to Luke's arms and after rubbing his hands with his own blood, he mixed it with Luke's before firmly placing his hand on his son's chest. He fell silent for a moment, his eyes going black as he desperately searched for and tried to communicate with his son.

"Come on..." Michael breathed out. "Follow my voice, baby boy. Follow my voice." A tear fell from his eye. Luke was in such a bad place. Why would he even think of trying to go back to some place like this. The Murder House? What could he possibly be searching for there. "My sweet little stupid boy... why?" He was almost to Luke, his heart beat growing stronger, when he was knocked out of it, his eyes turning back to normal and his wounds closing.

"No." Michael said. "No no no." He stood up, hands in a fist. "YOU WILL NOT TAKE MY FUCKING SON FROM ME." He dragged Luke out of his sigil that he created, laying him to the side before creating a fresh one. He dragged Luke's body into that one, falling to his knees once again.

"I'm not gonna let you go, boy. I promise." Michael choked, trying to hold back his tears, knowing that his window was closing and that he had limited time. He cut himself up the arms again, this time, taking it a step further, drawing a mini sigil on his chest with the blade, doing the same for Luke. Grabbing his son's hand, he pressed it to his chest, him doing the same. "Come on. Come on. Let me in." His eyes turned black again and he found himself back in the same spot, his closest to Luke he's been. All you could do was watch in horror. The sigils, all the blood, your daughter who was still passed out in your lap.

"Please..." you whispered as tears continued to fall from your eyes. "Please not my son..." You rocked back and forth, holding your daughter close to you.

"Follow my voice, Luke." Michael said. "Come on, son. You're almost out. You're almost out." And then bam, Luke shot up, choking on his own blood and gasping for air. "Ssssh. Ssssh. It's okay, I'm here." He threw his bloody arms around his father, clinging to him for dear life. He already knew that he was going to be in a world of trouble. Michael never liked to discipline the kids when he was angry. He would wait until he calmed down and then he would hand out punishments.

"Im s- ss sorry, dad." he said, choking on his tears as well. "I k- know you told me not to, but I just wanted to see it all. The past. I wanted to understand you better. I was just trying to learn about you that's all. I'm so sorry."

"Hush." Michael said, helping Luke to his feet. He waved his hand over his body, immediately closing any wounds and then doing the same to himself. "We'll talk about this later. Go to your room."

"But dad-,"

"Now." He didn't question it any further, scrambling to his feet, running to give you a hug before darting in the house and into his room. Michael rushed over to you and Kayleen, kneeling beside you.

"I'm getting real tired of being on my knees for the wrong reasons." he chuckled at you, hoping to relieve some of the stress that you were under. He put his hands against Kayleen's forehead and was met with a sigh of relief. "She'll be okay, Y/N. I promise. Nothing a little cold compress and some tea won't fix, yeah?" You were speechless, staring at the ground blankly. You can't believe what you just saw, but Michael understood. He gave you a kiss on your forehead before scooping his daughter up into his arms and bringing her inside to her room where he laid her down, applying a cold compress to her forehead before tucking her in.

When he came back outside, you were still speechless. He lifted you up off the ground too, carrying you bridal style back into the house.

"Y/N." he called out to you, trying to break the trance you got stuck in. He called out to you multiple times and when they failed he had to resort to his magic to snap you out of it. "Hellooooo. Earth to Y/N."

"Huh?" you asked, looking around frantically, about to start screaming again. Michael could sense that and immediately put his hand to your mouth, listening to your thoughts.

"Everything is okay." he said. "Yes, the children are fine. Kayleen is resting and I told Luke to go to his room. I'm going to take my hand off of your mouth now, but you have to promise me that you will not scream or do anything to alert the kids." You nodded and watched as Michael slowly removed his hand from your mouth. You immediately jumped up, wrapping your arms around him in a deep hug, face nuzzled into his chest.

"I thought we lost the both of them, Mike. I can't lose my babies.. not because Luke wants to be so hard headed."

"I won't let the boy kill himself. That I can promise you, my love. As long as I live and boy do I plan to be around for a long time, nothing will ever happen to our kin. Plus, the boys a fighter. He got that from me."

"Not funny." you said, shoving him lightly in the chest and wiping away at your tears.

"Seriously, Y.N. That's another one of my promises to you. I will protect you and our children." He kissed your forehead, running his hands through you hair before pulling you closer to him. "Cry no more. It's okay now."

And you'll rule the world. They'll bow to you and attend to your every need That I will make sure of, Luke.

Taglist: @jimmason @angelicmichael @whatcodysaid

#cody fern #michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #ahs #ahs apocalypse #american horror story #american horror #michael langdon x reader

54 notes · View notes