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ganymede-princess · 3 days

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A Hazy Shade of Winter | Angus Tully (Pt. 2)

PART 1

ship: Angus Tully x fem!OC

warnings: Discussions of loss and grief, descriptions of dissociation.

summary: Carol gears up for her first night at Barton.

word count: 1767

a/n: Thanks so much for all the love on part one! I hope you enjoy this one. More to come soon.

written by @ganymede-princess

Carol’s fingers felt thick and unruly as she dug through her suitcase, scattering her belongings over one of the spare beds that she had designated as the closet. She fumbled with her hairbrush for a moment, the smooth plastic slipped through her fingers and scuttled across the floor. With a rush of loathing, she dove at it and threw it against the wall where it thumped weakly and fell onto the blankets. Underwhelmed by the result and full up with a bone deep weariness, she stooped over the bed and rested her weight on her open palms, trembling at the elbows. As she caught sight of herself in the hand mirror that laid at the bottom of her case, a stray tear slapped against the surface of her glasses, casting a wobbling splotch across her vision. Perhaps that was how the old man saw through his bad eye. Something must have gone wrong in the womb, she thought; some pressure that misshaped it. Maybe it was the same pressure that popped the connection in her brain that would have allowed her hands to work in tandem with her eyes.

She took off her glasses and set them aside, laying back on the prison mattress with her hand mirror above her. She watched herself with vision slightly blurred without her glasses, but still in focus. The face staring back was familiar, but she felt no ownership of it. Half hidden under the shag haircut she chose on her last out-day to Portland, streaked with tears, flushed at the extremities, hollow brown eyes glaring in defiance to the brokenness inside. It was the way she should look, but it wasn’t her. It was too pretty and too human. These days she was a fractionation, barely managing to act like a fully formed person in front of those boys. Grief clouded around her like moths, eating up her brain like a forgotten overcoat and tying the loose strings around the back of her tongue to stifle her speech. Jason had made her feel something like her old self for a few precious minutes, then Angus paid her the favour of shoving that part of her back into the box. Perhaps she should thank him. After all, she was closest to Elias this way.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She pushed herself up and took a shivering breath, and spoke in a voice that grated in her throat.

“I-it’s open.”

In waddled Mr Hunham, his unfocussed eyes clouded with pity. He adjusted his bowtie, then let his hands rest awkwardly by his round body, like a little brown penguin.

“Hello, Carol.” His smile was stilted, and overly toothy.

“Hi, um… Mr Hunham.”

“Please.” He hesitantly stepped toward her. “We’re in private. Just call me Paul.”

“Oh.” She paused. “U-uncle Paul?”

His eyes widened, and for a moment Carol thought he must be horrified at the suggestion, but soon he clasped his hands in front of him and smiled more genuinely than before.

“Sure. Uncle Paul.”

He just stood there for a long, awkward moment.

“Can-” She cleared her throat, willing the warble in her voice to still. “Can I help you?” She bit the inside of her cheek as punishment for stumbling on her words.

“Ah. Well, I was just seeing how you’re holding up.”

“I’m fine.” Her hand moved against her will to wipe a stray tear that tickled her cheek.

“You’re crying!” He hurried over, already wild as a bull. “If one of those reprobates said something to-”

“No!” She said, though her ribs still stung as though Angus had punched her right in the spleen. “No, nothing like that. I-I’m just… thinking about… Eli.”

“Ah.” Tentatively, he lowered himself onto the end of the bed. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through-”

“Please.” She put her hand up to absolve him, not sure if she would handle hearing any more sorries. “You don’t need to say anything.”

“Oh.”

They sat in silence for a while. Carol contemplated apologising, though she was not sure for what, so she stayed silent.

“I can’t imagine what you must be going through,” He repeated, eyeing her dubiously. “But I may know someone who can. After dinner tonight- if you want to, that is- I’d like to introduce you to Mary, our head of catering. She lost her son.”

“Oh.” She pinched her forearm, avoiding his line of sight as guilt chewed her up. “Sorry. I-I thought you were going to say… I don’t know, um-”

“I know what you meant.” Paul said gently.

“Hm.” She wiped at her face and finally met his cross-eyed gaze, darting her eyes between each of his before settling on the one that focussed on her. “Losing a child must be the hardest thing in the world.”

“I would imagine so.” He sighed. Hesitantly, he reached out to her and let his hand rest on her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, Carol. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the opportunity to entertain a guest, let alone family. Now, I know the circumstances are not ideal, and that we said we’d be staying in Boston, but-” He let out a frustrated huff. “I’ve been unfairly targeted by my pompous asshat of a superior, so we’ll just have to play the hand we’ve been dealt.”

“I don’t mind.” She said, minding it very much. “I’m not sure now is the right time for Boston.”

“I understand.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze and stood up to leave.

“Uncle Paul?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Thank you, for-”

Paul bolted upright like a meerkat as a loud thud came from the boys’ rooms, followed by the squeaking and shuffling of rubber soles on linoleum and the unmistakable grunting of two teenage boys locked in battle. He cast a wide eyed glance at her, stuttered an apology and dashed away. Carol sighed, gathering her strength and her glasses, and followed. She kept her distance as she approached, holding her arms around her waist in the old familiar protective stance.

“They weren’t fighting!” She heard Alex exclaim unconvincingly.

Peering past the younger boys she caught sight of Angus, his back pressed to the wall like a caged animal. He met her eyes with a look of such wild desperation that it knocked her off kilter with an overwhelming wave of sympathy, untempered even by her disdain for him. Then, she saw Teddy, standing with feet apart and arms raised from his sides as if poised to pounce back into the scrap. It made her skin crawl to see such malice written bold across his face, and felt validated in her immediate suspicion of him. There had been a strange glint in his eye when he rushed to shake her hand that afternoon, like sunlight on black ice. Jason stood between them, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and hair ruffled. The eye contact between them was brief; his eyes darted between her and her uncle, she raised a questioning eyebrow, he shrugged almost imperceptibly, and then it was over.

“I see.” Her uncle deadpanned. “And who started it, the ‘not fighting?’ Mm? Mr Tully? Perhaps you could shed some light on the subject?”

Carol stepped forward, intrigued. The boys stayed quiet, as she expected. All teenagers adhered to an unspoken code: don’t fink. Fink and you’re dead. Angus and Teddy’s eyes met in a silent challenge. Teddy jutted his jaw and glared like a petulant child.

“Mr Kountze? Mr Smith? Mr Ollerman? Mr Park? Alright then, we’ll do it like the Roman Legions.” Carol picked up a tinge of delight in her uncle’s voice. “Absent a confession, one man’s sin is every man’s suffering. For every minute the truth is withheld, you will all receive a detention.”

“I thought all the Nazis were hiding in Argentina.” Angus muttered. A barely contained laugh threatened to spill from Carol’s mouth, to her horror and confusion.

“Stifle it, Tully!” Mr Hunham checked his watch. “Now, in the first of said detentions, you will…” He paused as if thinking on his feet. “...clean the library. Top to bottom. Scraping the underside of the desks, which are caked with snot and gum, and all manner of unspeakable proteins.” Jason met her eyes, pleading silently ‘do something!’ “Ahh, on your hands and knees, down in the dust.” She felt a protest bubbling up in her chest. “Breathing in the dead skin of generations of students, and dessicated cockroaches-”

“Mr Hunham!”

“It was Kountze!” Little Alex blurted out, drowning her own exclamation. As he pointed desperately at Teddy, she caught Angus throwing him a look that landed somewhere between pity and disgust.

“Bravo, Mr Ollerman. Bravo!” Mr Hunham exclaimed sardonically, eyes shimmering with malignant joy. “As it stands, you've all had two hearty meals today, so I’m sure going without supper won’t hurt Mr Kountze too badly. We’ll be meeting in the dining hall in one hour, where you-” He waggled his finger at Teddy. “Will sit aside and watch us. I suggest you all take this time as an opportunity to study, and, uh, gentlemen? Break it up.”

With that, he waddled out past Park and Ollerman, raising his eyebrows as he caught sight of Carol waiting for him.

“Ah. You caught that, I assume?” She said nothing, just nodded and fell in step beside him. “I’m sensing some disapproval?”

“Well.” She bit her lip, unsure of how bold she should be. But then again, this Christmas couldn’t get any worse, right? “As a history teacher, I’m sure you’re familiar with the Geneva Convention.”

“Yes, I am.” Paul chuckled. “And I know what you’re getting at, too.”

“Well, personally, I’d rather not be subjected to any war crimes over my Christmas break. Plus, I’d rather not be in the position to agree with Angus Tully on something.”

“You’re off to a rocky start with him?”

“You could say that.”

“He’s a bright kid, in spite of his determination to act out and destroy his own potential.”

“I believe you.” She contemplated his words for a moment. “Maybe, and don’t take this the wrong way, if you, say… cut them some slack, the morale would be higher and everyone would get along a whole lot better. It’s Christmas.”

“Trust me, Carol, the last thing those boys need is leniency. They already think they can get away with murder, and I’d hate to see what comes after that. If you’re ever in the sorry position of a teacher, you’ll understand what I mean.”

“I suppose so.” She sighed, feeling thoroughly deflated. “See you at dinner.”

#angus tully #angus tully x reader #dominic sessa #dominic sessa x reader #the holdovers

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phantasmalduelist · 20 days

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Thanks for the tag @i-mybrunettelady!!!😊 I did it for both my commander and wayfinder & if you're reading this and want to do it, you're tagged (and please tag me in your post! So I can read).

-- B A S I C S

name: Penelope Starbinder (formerly Ry). age: 34. She was born on November 1 (Season of the Colossus/Scorpio. I picture her with an Aquarius moon and an Aries rising!). race: She had two mothers, one is Canthan and the other was a Mist Being with draconic blood. gender: NB femme (she/her). orientation: Lesbian. profession: Holosmith and Commander/Champion of Aurene.

-- P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

hair: Currently a copper orange. eyes: Right now her eyes have a purple and yellow hue which is impossible in-game, but that's the kind of shade. skin: Tanned. tattoos/scars: She has a tattoo on the base of her neck, it's supposed to represent her title of Starbinder. I haven't designed it yet because I haven't had the opportunity to draw her back AJKFJSF but yeah. Scars: one on her left breast/shoulder from when Bangar shot her.

-- F A M I L Y

parents: Mimi Ry (deceased) and Nvaa (deceased). siblings: Her twin sister Deanna Starlighter (formerly Ry). grandparents: Unknown. Her human mother had no family of note. in laws and others: Jormag - not officially married, but… honestly they have 6 children together so. It makes the Elder Dragons family ig. LMFAOOO. pets: Starry shiba inu.

-- S K I L L S

abilities: Proficient in engineering and holosmith skills; on the same level of Canthan engineering. She would be classified as a genius (she just doesn't use it like asura do, so it's never really commercialized). Great eye for strategy and making small talk with just about anyone. Good at solving things quickly and has a stellar sense of direction. She can't cook good food or sew or anything like that; that's Jormag's thing lol. She doesn't have a hobby or other skills that aren't related to being a commander and she should rethink that. The burnout is real.

-- T R A I T S

most positive trait: Easygoing, extremely loyal, dependable. most negative trait: Martyrdom, impulsiveness, speaks without thinking at times.

-- L I K E S

colors: Purple, gold, cyan. smells: Lavender, coconut, beach. textures: Soft fur/hair, warm skin, weighted blanket. drinks: Energy drinks, cocktails, fizzy soda.

-- O T H E R D E T A I L S

smokes: Not usually, but she has. drinks: Yes. drugs: Nope. been arrested: Well yes, canonically so. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

-- B A S I C S

name: Badri the Starstorm (alter ego: The Starfall Ego). age: Unknown, but definitely over 150. race: Unknown. gender: Cis lady (she/her). orientation: Lesbian. profession: Wizard and Wayfinder. Chronomancer. (Alter ego: crazily powerful elemental cosmic magic).

-- P H Y S I C A L A S P E C T S

hair: Mousy blonde, very soft and shiny. (Alter ego: very light lavender/iridescent). eyes: Pale with a golden sparkle. skin: Pale purple-blue. tattoos/scars: None.

-- F A M I L Y

parents: Unknown. siblings: Unknown. grandparents: Unknown. in laws and others: Isgarren is her father figure and Peitha is her toxic yuri. Isak and her share a pretty strong sibling bond even if they are not related at all. pets: Her moth skyscale, Belle, is very much like a cat to her.

-- S K I L L S

abilities: Learned chronomancy from her teacher Basira & her skills are pretty good. She learns any kind of magic pretty easily and with efficiency. She can cook, sew, dance, play instruments, sing, and many other stuff. She's like a swiss army knife of skills. She devoted most of her time to hobbies and reading because she wasn't allowed outside the tower.

-- T R A I T S

most positive trait: Cheerful, tooth-rotting sweet and attentive, caring. most negative trait: Selfish, passive-aggressive, sheltered.

-- L I K E S

colors: Jade, lipstick, periwinkle. smells: Strawberry cake, peppermint, scented candles. textures: Velvet, encrusted gems, embroidery. drinks: Green tea, cocoa with chunky marshmallows, smoothies.

-- O T H E R D E T A I L S

smokes: Nope. drinks: Nope. drugs: Nope. been arrested: Nope.

#guild wars 2 #gw2 #Penelope Starbinder #Badri the Starstorm

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sangoqueenkoko · 2 months

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IL DOTTORE

I don't want realism; I want magic

angst, fluff??

MAIN MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

Prologue | Next, Part 1

Synopsis: Being with Dottore for some time is enough to drive some insane. But what about living with him? Thick and thin. Sweet and sour. Love and hatred. Lust and chastity. It all burns passionately. Wrapped around each other's fingers.

Warnings? This is an experimental series. Also contains the mention of inner body parts, blood and gore.

In the ethereal realm, where the boundaries of reality blur and emotions intertwine, a tale of snow, death, love, and chastity unfolds. It is a story of enchantment, where the forces of passion and purity guide the delicate dance between life and death.

But purity isn't always present. If at all.

In a land draped in a pristine white blanket of snow, the air hung heavy with an eerie silence. The winter's icy grip held everything in its frigid embrace, encased in snow and ice, as if the world itself had been cast into a deep slumber.

Deep within the heart of this mystical realm, you found yourself caught in a turbulent storm of emotions. Your heart, once filled with the innocent joys of youth, now ached with a sorrow they could not comprehend. You had witnessed death, a sight that had forever changed your perception of the world. Even if you were the one to take some lives away.

But you would slowly get used to it, as this was how you lived your life. A purity that surpassed the boundaries of mortal understanding to the point that it didn't seem so pure anymore. Your devotion to virtue and chastity made you a soft candle-like light in a world overshadowed by darkness. But now, as you navigated the treacherous path of grief and broken families, your heart yearned for solace.

As a break in the forever snowstorm arose, you sought refuge in Zapolyarny Palace that guarded the archon of Cryo and her subordinates, as well as you.

Unbeknownst to you, a figure would somehow be watching you from a distance. He was no ordinary being, for he possessed an evil that surpassed human comprehension. Some even questioned if he was even human at all. His presence exuded an aura of death as if he carried the weight of countless lives lost at the hands of himself.

This… perplexing figure, known only as il Dottore, had witnessed your unyielding commitment to your responsibilities and work. Your so-called innocence captivated him, drawn to her like a moth to a flame, but his perspective would change as he saw you in action. Yet, he knew that his own existence was intertwined with the very essence of death.

He was like a crow, and you were like a dove. Crows are associated with death, as is he. Doves are often associated with purity, as are you—sort of, always glistening with some blood somewhere on your person.

Crows like shiny things, hence all the things the bird had collected, but in his words, you are one of his favourite shiny things.

But once they were in each other's presence for the first time, they were forever in each other's presence. As your eyes met, a connection sparked between your souls. It was a forbidden love destined to be tested by blood and restless winds.

taglist: @jqnehr • @rain-soaked-sun • @mmeatt •

please fill out the Google form on the series masterlist if you want to be added! :3

#gender neutral reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x reader #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore x you #dottore angst #dottore fluff??

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rachalixie · 2 years

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drunk minho!!! my soulmate!!!

a/n: @isilentprincess mentioned drunk minho being soft and here we are !!!

warnings: both characters have been drinking, and there is one kiss but with full consent!

let’s set the scene - it’s 11pm, you’re snuggled with your favorite blanket on your couch with a glass of wine in front of you. you’re wearing a pair of fuzzy socks with little bunny faces on them (a gift from your boyfriend) and the great british bake off is playing on your tv. the lighting is dim, and you feel more relaxed than you have in days.

that is, until a knock on your door startles you out of the almost dreamlike trance paul hollywood’s eyes have put you in. you groan, hiding your face in your blanket. maybe whoever it is will leave?

not likely, based off of the scratches you now hear against the door. you roll your eyes, getting up out of the comfort of your blanket cocoon to pad to the front door, footsteps almost silent from how thick your socks are. you open the door to see minho on the floor, back against the door frame and legs sprawled out in front of him. his hand is raised in a claw towards where the door used to be before you swung it open. he blinks up at you with owlish eyes before smiling so brightly you almost have to look away from fear of losing your eyesight.

“aren’t you supposed to be at chan’s?” you ask, wrinkling your nose at the smell of peach soju wafting off of him. if he was going to come here, couldn’t he at least have drank a flavor that you liked?

“jaaaaagi,” he drawls, voice high and happy in excited surprise. “how did you get here?”

“i live here baby,” you say with another eye roll. you swear, this boy is going to make your eyes roll right out of your head one of these days. his lips form into an ‘O’ as he takes in his surroundings, realizing that he did not walk himself to his own apartment, but rather, yours. he smiles again, making a pleased noise, and gets comfy up against the doorframe. no, this won’t do. you pull him up, muscles straining with his dead weight, and pull him inside. there’s no need for your neighbors to see how annoying, albeit adorable, your drunk boyfriend is.

you deposit him on the couch where you were nice and comfy not even five minutes ago, and turn away to get him some water. before you can get far, his hand sneaks out to grab your wrist, causing you to twist and fall right into his lap. he snakes a possessive arm around your waist and nuzzles his face into your back.

“mine,” he says, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. you melt a little, enamored, but don’t tell him that or else he’ll never let you live it down. he starts giggling, high pitched and bell-like, and you have to slide off his lap onto the couch next to him so you can see his face. he lets you, moving the hand that was around your waist to your hand instead, intertwining his fingers with yours. he doesn’t often look this open, walls down and vulnerable, and you have to take advantage of the opportunity and drink it all in before it goes away for a while.

“kiss?” he says, puckering his lips a little, and you’re gone. why is he even asking? doesn’t he know you would do anything for him right now? your lips are drawn to his like a moth to a flame, and you press a few chaste kisses there before snuggling into his chest, ear pressed to where his heart is. the previous comfort you were feeling creeps back, and you close your eyes, comfortable and content-

“can you get me some water?”

—

soft hours

#stray kids imagines #stray kids fluff #minho imagines #lee know imagines #soft #lee know #stray kids x gender neutral reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know skz #lee know stray kids #lee minho stray kids #lee minho skz #lee know x you #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fic #fluff

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lunargrapejuice · 2 years

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ahh this is a cute idea? how about fall gold yellow with Thoma please? 💛

ahh thank you for requesting love! i was so excited to write this, i hope you like it🥰💕

thoma x fem!reader

color drabbles | main masterlist

it was impossible to not pick out his voice amongst the hustle and bustle of the kamisato estate. even if all others were to speak louder than thoma, your ears would hear his sweet tone and your feet would practically float to bring you next to him. since the moment you parted ways this morning you’ve been longing to see him and when you hear his laugh, catch a glimpse of his blonde hair rustling in the small breeze as he rakes up the fallen leaves around the estate, you’re drawn in like a moth to a flame.

your heart beats with excitement and love when his figure fully comes into view. how did he always have this affect on you? even when you couldn’t see his adorable face he had your heart doing somersaults. his back is turned to you as he works to clean up the remnants of summer slowly turning into fall; red, gold and orange leaves blanketing the ground like brightly colored snow. they look striking against his outfit and porcelain skin and you swear you could stare at him forever but your body is tingling at the thought of his arms around you.

“thoma!” you call, your feet picking up the pace the closer you get to him.

he turns at the sound of your voice, his emerald eyes widening in surprise when he sees just how fast you’re moving towards him, with your arms outstretched and a lovely smile on your face. he knows what you’re up to and goes to speak “wait, y/n be caref- oof-” but he’s too late to get the rest of the words out or to steady his body before you’re jumping into his arms and sending you both into the pile of leaves he was working on.

the leaves crunch under your weight and go flying in all directions as they cradle you, keeping you both from hitting the hard ground below. though thoma would ensure you never got hurt and his strong arms wrapped around you, holding you against him, tell you as much. you swear you can feel the heat of his cheeks against your neck as they turn into a lovely shade of pink at the sound your unstoppable giggles, his own soon joining the lovely melody of your laugh.

after a moment of basking in your joy, with your legs straddling his you sit up, brushing the leaves stuck to your clothes back onto the ground. thoma follows after you, slender fingers resting against your hip while his other hand reaches for your face.

you stop your movements and watch his sparkling eyes as he pulls a golden leaf from your hair, ensuring not to pull a single strand as he untangles it from your silky locks with a lovestruck smile tugging at his lips. you feel your own cheeks growing warm when his eyes finally meet yours, they are eyes you love so much and they only grow softer the longer he stares at you, like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and to him that is without a doubt true.

“welcome home pretty girl,” he whispers as he closes the distance between your lips.

#color drabbles #thoma x reader #thoma #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact fluff #lovely moots <3

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foomoosworld · 3 months

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Stars Too Far

Chapter 2 - Blinkey

Pairing: Mandalorian X Fem reader

Summary: The Mandalorian chases a bounty onto a deadly planet and finds himself stranded with a mysterious woman

Please note: this episode contains fluff, smut and violence so minors DNI.

The next morning Din was woken up by a warm beam of light from the dusty, circular window in the loft. He managed to sit up and slowly and rigidly, grasping his stiff, bandaged ribs then make his way down the loft ladder into the main room.

The ship engine parts stacked on shelves floor to ceiling made the room smell of old oil and must. There was only one window.

“Hello?” He called out as he slowly limped and turned to look around the room to see where you were. It was completely silent in the cabin. That was when he heard the faint muffled splashing of water from outside.

There was a small window over what looked to once be a working sink that was now over flowing with rusty wires and other assorted knobs and buttons gathered from ships. He walked up and looked out into the pleasant daylight sunshine that drenched the forest as if to make it less deadly. It was a beautiful day outside and though he realized the sunshine was creating a false sense of hope for the actions of the day that had to be completed, he took the lie at face value and smiled under his helmet. Things, at least, in that exact moment, in the sunlight and bright green forest and colourful flowers, were simple.

His problem,was simply,that he looked right rather than left.

When he turned his head to the right to find the source of the splashing sound he paused then diverted his eyes as if a bomb had gone off in that direction.

It was you. Bathing in a small hot spring.

He shamefully took a step back. Then couldn’t help but jerk his eyes back up for another glance.

You were waist high in the steamy water, scrubbing away the dirt from the previous day and revealing your blush pink skin, now trailing with slow streams of lathery bubbles from the soap. You lathered your hair in your long, perfect fingers then paused and slowly descended into the water to rinse off. A moment later you came up with a gasp, rubbing the water from your eyes.

Din looked away shamefully.

His body was betraying him. He was suddenly hard against his flight suit,

This had never happened before. He had his needs and they were usually filled with one night stands or brothels. Usually they had to do something to get him aroused. He was taken aback that all he had to do was look at you and he was uncontrollable. From 50 feet away.

“This is a problem” he thought and moved away from the window. Din limped through the room, gingerly still feeling the throbbing of his wounds and yet, more engulfed by the throbbing in his loins. He saw a flimsy wood door slightly ajar and pushed it open to find the cabin’s Fresher. He quickly shut the door behind him and went to turn on the fresher but nothing but whining pipes and a spurt of dusty air came out from the shower head. He sighed in frustration and palmed the sink with both hands, shifting his weight against it and stared up at himself in the mirror, covered in cobwebs.

The sight of your ivory breasts and pert rose nipples flashed in front of his vision. He gruffly reached down and palmed his hard cock overtop of his flight suit. He needed to take care of this.

As perfect timing would have it, he heard the front door of the cabin creak open and slam shut with your entrance.

“Hello?” Your voice echoed through the cabin.

Apparently, now would not be the time.

He slowly opened the fresher door and stood like a guilty child staring at you in a moth-eaten blanket you were using as a towel to cover your naked body.

You both stare at each other in a stand off across the room at each other for far too long.

“Did you see me?” You finally ask.

Din hesitates, crossing his arms and cooly leaning up against the door frame of the fresher.

“See you what?” he asks.

You pad across the room in your bare feet and stop in front of him, still clutching the blanket, looking accusingly, but teasingly, into his visor, then simply grab the ladder next to him on the wall and expertly clamber up towards the loft with your blanket falling to the ground without a word, but a sly smile.

As soon as you disappear into the loft Din releases his rigid stance and sighs relief and frustration.

“The fresher plumbing here doesn’t work anymore.” You call down to him as you change into your clothes out of his sight.

“Uh… yeah…I noticed.” Din says, still trying to stomach how flustered he was.

“The underground pipes collapsed after the ground was softened in a flood and I didn’t know how to fix it. All of the couplings and pipes have been smashed. You could literally grab a pipe in here and yank it out of the ground. My father was the plumber around here and he had passed at that point.” You explain, “But there is a hot spring pool right outside you can bathe in. It’s not toxic. We’re far enough away from that crash that the water wasn’t affected in this hot spring.”

You expertly slide down that ladder as if you had done it a million times before and thump heavily on the ground next to Din.

“The water is poisonous?” Din asks.

“Darling,” you smile, “This is Sypar. Everything is poisonous here… but yes, some of the water is drinkable…If I tell you it is. However, a tie fighter crashed in a bog not far from here in a large hot spring. The ship’s toxic power cells leaked into the ground, which boiled and then sent hazardous chemicals into the air. The thick canopy from the trees soaked up the radiation. The trees became poisonous and exuded poisonous oxygen rather than filtering out Co2 like trees normally do. Essentially, it’s made poisonous gas trees, with poisonous hot springs. If you go through that part of the jungle and breathe in the air you won’t die immediately, but will have a slow and painful radiation death within a few days… weeks if you’re lucky. But if you try to cross the swamp on the rocks that lead to the crashed X-wing the radiation is too high there and you’ll die instantly. So best to give that swamp it a real wide berth.”

“Dank Ferrik…” Din whispers in horror.

“You’ll get used to it.” You smile.

You pull down a drafting desk and ship parts clamber down onto the floor, that you don’t appear to care about, revealing a crude map that you’ve drawn. Parts are in charcoal, parts are in crude crayon. You sit down on a rickety chair and pull another one up next to yourself. When Din doesn’t immediately sit down you pat the chair with an impatient look. Din sits down.

“This,” you begin proudly, “Is my map of Sypar. I’ve been making this map since I was 8 years old… hence some crayon in some parts. But I think it adds artistic flair.” you joke and look up to Din with a grin. He turns his helmet and stares at you emotionless. “Ooookay then. Not an art fan…” You continue, “This will show you where all the major dangers are, which is everywhere.” You point to the map where there is a crude drawing of a Tie Fighter in a bog, “There, is where the poisonous bog is I told you about.” You look up to make sure he’s paying attention and he nods at you in understanding, “This, is where I found you, where the Harkmon den is. They don’t generally migrate out of this area unless you really piss them off. If you see them, stab them in their functioning eyes. They will often have numerous eyes because once one is damaged it becomes milky white, unusable, but they will grow another eye in another random area of their body to compensate for it. The upside is that the very aggressive ones, usually have eyes in areas not very conducive to actually seeing straight since their original eyes were blinded. The bad news is that they have some basic and crappy sonar radar and can navigate their rage quite well without seeing at all.”

“That’s what you saved me from?” Din questioned.

“Yes. That’s a very aggressive one I’ve battled numerous times. I call him ‘Blinkey’”

Din stopped and turned his head to you in disbelief, “Blinkey?” He questions kind of disturbed.

“Sometimes trauma and loneliness makes weird friends.” You say diving right back into the map. “Here, here and here are vine bogs. That’s what your Twi’lek friend succumbed to. Here are dart cacti fields, and here are aphrodisiac daisies.”

“That’s the entire map.” Din says in disbelief.

“Yes… have you not been listening when I said ‘everything here will kill you?” You stated. “I know what you’re thinking, how do we get to your ship in order to fix it? Plantlife here hibernates at night except for phosphorescent algae. So if we don’t use lanterns or any light source to get to where we need to go, we’re golden! If we’re quiet and ensure we stay out of the Harkmon Den we should be able to transfer parts in the cover of night and fix your ship without a problem.”

“I was in that jungle for 45 minutes and I got completely turned around in daylight. We don’t stand a chance with no light at all and at night.” Din argues.

“Phosphorescent algae.” I nod to him. “It makes the whole jungle glow in the dark. We’re going to be fine. We’ll find your ship.”

You jump up from the chair and move towards the front door of the cabin.

“I need to check my traps for food for tonight and tend to the garden. Remember, do NOT go past the open field during daytime. Clean yourself up in the hotspring and I’ll help you put on new bandages when I return in about an hour.” You salute him and leave, slamming the door behind you.

Din stands up and takes a look at the crude map drawn partially in toddler-like crayon and seems to evolve over all of it’s scrawl into proper writing and pictures. This was a portrait of your trauma through the last decades. He didn’t even want to think of it as your life. You had lived in constant fear of everything with no contact from people other than your father. That was when Din noticed a flower drawn amongst all of the horrid bloody animal depictions. It said “Clara/Shay Roe Garaman” and it was within the boundaries of the cabin.

He pulls his eyes away from the map and peers across the room at the window that oversees the small hot springs. Gingerly, he begins to peel off his old bandages and readies himself to bathe.

………….

You’re crouched in the crook of the trunk of a giant tree and it’s branch, seemingly hugging your body with its sharp bark. Cautiously you look stories down to the ground where you see a large dead rodent caught in one of your traps. Straightening your spine as the wind softly blows, you sniff the air.

“I don’t smell you, you fucking twelve eyed whore.” you whisper to yourself.

Slowly, you clamber down the tree, grab the trap, and strain to pull it’s metal teeth away from the rodent.

“You’re a fat one, aren’t you?” you praise the dead catch as you heave up it’s pear shaped, furry body to inspect it.

A strong roar reverberates from the distance.

“Dank Ferrik…” You whisper in shock and straighten up then take off running through the brush.

It sounds like a furious tidal wave is crashing through the trees behind you as you twist and turn and leap through the tangle of jungle trying to outrun the crashing and deafening sound. There is one last ear piercing roar that radiates through your chest and knocks you from your footing before you are pounced on and skidded across ten feet of swamp land.

The Harkmon towered over you as you struggled to dislodge yourself from the maze of vines that had woken up and were now slowly constricting you.

“No!” you screamed pulling out your knife. The Harkmon lashed it’s teeth at you and you tried to stab it’s closest eye, but it was milky white and no longer functional. “No!” you raged again as you tried for another eye, but again failed to stab the correct one. It raised a giant, matted, muddy leg full of talons and leaned in and breathed out a sudden whirlwind of angry breath upon your face as if to taunt you.

“Fuck you.” You snarled and spat into one of it’s useless eyes. It’s talons came racing down upon you.

The Harkmon suddenly jolted back in pain before it could sink it’s claws into you. You’re confused at first but then see The Mandalorian flying in the sky above it with one of the Harkmon’s eyeballs on the end of his vibroblade.

The Harkmon shrieks in pain and retreats with earth-shaking foot falls to the cover of the forest.

Din lands next to you panting, shaking the eyeball off of his vibroblade. He frantically places his hands on you, “Are you okay?” he pants.

“Yes. Yes. I’m fine.” You jolt out in terror trying to calm yourself.

After a few breaths, Din asks,

“Blinkey?”

“Yeah…” I say holding my knees and catching my own breath, “I told you they’re vindictive.”

“You’re sure you’re not hurt?” Din questions again as he holds out a hand and helps you to your feet.

“Just my ego.” You moan shamefully and pull yourself to your feet. However, as you take your first step you wince back in pain.

“Looks like more than just your ego.” Din crouches down and pulls up your tattered pant leg. As he gingerly touches it you wince again, “I think it’s just a sprain.” Din puts his arm around your shoulder as you slowly start limping along out of the jungle.

“Wait, can’t we just use that cool flying gadget of yours?” You ask looking over your shoulder at Din’s jet pack.

“It runs on fuel and I used it all on the way here. I don’t have enough to get us back.”

You sigh and continue to limp, grasping Din as he helps you along, “I hate it here.”

“Yep.”

Both of you walk the short way back to the cabin.

You sling the large rodent carcass you caught on a hook just outside of the cabin door and slice it so the blood drains into a large steel pot below. You step inside to see Din collapse with an exhausted sigh into one of the two rickety chairs.

“That thing is edible?” He asks suspiciously.

You shrug, “Well, I don’t know if ‘edible’ is the right description for a Rous but it’ll do.”

Din shakes his head in disappointment then takes off his chest plate and drops it heavily on the ground beside him. With a slow and calculating hand he grasps the fabric of his flight suit shirt and pulls it cautiously up. He tries to look at his wound from the previous days but can’t quite swivel enough to see it.

“Your wounds aren’t dressed.” you say looking at his lack of bandages.

“I was cleaning them when I heard you screaming.”

I nod. “Come up to the loft. I have some bandages and I’ll help you bandage up. You’re not going to be able to reach them on your own.”

You help Din up to the loft where you instruct him to lay down on the bed. As you go to reach for the bandages in an upper cupboard you realize you have Rous blood all over your sleeve from carrying the kill back to the house. “Oh,” you say looking down at yourself with some disgust, “Let me just change my shirt.” Before Din could look away you pull the dirty shirt off over your head and reach for a clean one. His eyes widen and breath hitches in his throat as he looks you up and down as you fumble on your knees in the short loft with the clean shirt. You look up and see his head turned and looking at you intently. No helmet could hide the fact that he was taking in the sight of you shirtless and enjoying what he saw.

You tilt your head down to try to hide your blushing and nervous smile behind your long tangled hair then pull the clean shirt over your body. Reaching next to you, you grab a large bowl and fill it with some warm water from the sink by the window and prepare a solution of warm water, saline and local plant medication and soak some homemade bandages in it. Slowly and carefully balancing the large bowl of steaming water you crouch next to him with the warm-soaked bandages. His breathing is laboured and stuttering, you note, even through the helmet.

“This won’t hurt.” you soothe him with your voice. “I have put a local plant salve in the mixture that will numb the pain.”

“I’m not worried about the pain,” Din says and reaches up to touch your cheek. “I’m worried about you.”

Again you smile and try to hide it.

“I-I’ll be gentle…” you stammer quietly. He nods and pulls his shirt off exposing his broad, tan chest that is spotted with old scars that are now fading into a slightly lighter color than his skin. He shuffles closer to you on the bed and you almost back off out of instinct at his imposing presence, then shake your head and reach forward with the bandages. Smoothing the bandages over his wounds on his chest, the warmth of the solution and antiseptic properties seem to put him at ease. Even though the bandage was now in place you couldn’t help yourself but let your hands graze over his chest.

You’re startled when his gloved hand gently grasps your arm and strokes smooth and calming circles into it with his thumb. You look up at him as he sits leaning against the headboard of the bed. He reaches down and pulls the pants of his flight suit off and cocks a leg at the knee as he sits in his boxers and angles his hip up slightly so you can access the wound on his inner thigh.

Taking a deep breath in you straddle him with a damp bandage in your hand. His arm slides smoothly against your back and pulls you closer as he keenly stares through his visor at your eyes. His embrace is firm and strong as if he’s worried you may flee if he loosens it. He wants you nowhere but with him in that moment.

Placing the bandage on his inner thigh you slowly circle your hands across it to affix it and wipe up the droplets of water that streamed down his thigh. You see him hard beneath his boxers and your eyes flick from his hard cock to his helmet looking for any sign your slow trailing touch leading to his cock could be unwanted. As you finally feel how full and hard he is he lets out a moan and his head lulls back and rests against the wall. A small smile tweaks your lips and you lean down and begin kissing his neck. His chest is heaving with broken breaths of passion and you feel his crooked leg wrap around you and effortlessly flip you over onto the mattress.

You let out a small, surprised yelp then once you’ve settled, look up at him through lustful eyes.

“Good girl…” His low voice whispers as he caresses your face.

His hand creeps slowly down to your hips then in towards your pussy and like a supernova your body explodes with pleasure as he lightly circles your clit.

“Yes, Mando…” You sigh as he tilts his head, closely watching you in wonder as you spiral further and further towards your orgasm. He leans down next to your ear and murmurs,

“Are you going to come for me?”

All you can muster through your sweat and bucking hips is an open mouthed nod and as if that was his indication to bring you even higher he picked up the pace and sent you pounding towards your orgasm. Just before you came he stopped. Your eyes open with a sad and needy look in them. As you open your mouth to beg for him to finish you off he gently shushs you and lines his cock up to your entrance.

Slowly he pushed into you making sure you can adjust to his girth. He smiled gently behind his helmet feeling some pride as he heard the occasional lust-filled tiny whimper coming from how full he was making you feel. He returned his hand to softly stroking your cheek as he bottomed out in you.

“Are you ready?” he asked carefully watching your sweat glistened face.

“Yes. Please… yes.” You beg quietly.

He gently and slowly makes his first thrust and you are sent into a new level of pleasure you’ve never felt before. Your legs wrap tightly around his waist as you exhale a shuddered moan. He begins picking up the pace and you feel your walls stretch and slowly accept him as your slick drips and smears all over his cock inside you.

Din is moaning now with every buck of his hips and he can no longer contain himself to being gentle. You can tell he’s getting as close to coming as you are. Your walls flutter around him as you tumble head long into your orgasm and the feeling has Din chasing his own right with you. Your loud moans turn to cries of ecstasy and fill the tiny cabin as you embrace your hot and sweaty bodies tightly together. You feel thick, strong ropes of cum spill inside of you and then with hard breaths you both begin to fall slowly back down to earth in eachothers arms.

You look up from your position, curled up next to Din. He tilts his helmet down at you for a moment to take in your sleepy and comfortable face. His arm around you pulls you in tighter and thumb gently strokes the skin on your arm as you nestle in closer and find yourself drifting into a deep sleep.

………………

You wake from your slumber and find Din is no longer in the bed next to you. With a questioning and concerned expression you begin pulling on your pants and tunic then peer over the edge of the loft into the large main room below, however, still can’t spot him.

You step out of the cabin, letting the door slam shut behind you, your head on a swivel trying to place where he could have gone.

“Mando?” You call out into the open field. Your head is spun around when you hear the sound of metal clanking loudly from inside of your old rusted-out Razor Crest. You turn and jog towards the ship.

The ship was severely damaged, there was a giant hole ripped into it where the hull ramp would have been and inside was in shambles. Even with your attempts to try to frankenstein parts from other ships together in order to fix it - it was a repair attempt that now seemed futile and frivolous. The ship was so old now that brush from the jungle had reached across the short way from the edge of the field and was trying to engulf it back into it’s wildlife.

You push vines and severed wires out of the way, carefully stepping over debris in the dark, heading toward the cockpit when you see flashing coming from up there, “Mando?” You call out quieter now, unsure whether you should raise your voice in case it happened to be an intruder. You peeked through the sliver of bent cockpit metal sliding door and saw Din hunched over in the pilots chair using a laser torch to cut a bent panel open then grab at some wires and parts inside.

“Hey handsome.” You smile and lean with your arms crossed against the janky and lopsided cockpit doorway. Din turns around and nods at you, “Just thought you’d rip my ship apart without asking?” you smile

Din stops and turns around to make sure you weren’t being serious.

“It was mostly ripped apart to begin with,” He said, tossing a broken part onto the ground. “This ship will never get off the ground. It’s too far gone. The best bet is to strip the parts I need from here and transport them over to my ship and repair that one.” You flop down and swivel in the co-pilots seat peering around the dilapidated cockpit.

“What are you talking about? This is the damn lap of luxury here!” You exclaim sarcastically then reach forward at one of the levers and pull it back to which the gentle pressure snaps the lever off in your hand. Your eyes flick up to Din, “We didn’t need that part, right?”

Din shakes his head and goes back to using his laser torch and for the first time since you had met you could have sworn you heard a gentle chuckle from underneath the helmet.

“Unbolt that panel over there and get to work pulling the navigational circuit boards out.” Din says handing you a socket wrench. You shrug and take the wrench and get to work pulling parts from the cockpit.

Hours later into the evening, you're both exhausted and seeing double from all of the parts you’ve pulled, stripped and organized and gotten prepared for the transport to Din’s ship. You wipe the sweat dripping from your forehead with your forearm, leaving a long smear of oil across your face. Flopping down in the copilot chair next to din, who is soldering a circuit board in his hand, you say with a deep exhale, “I need to stop.” You rub your eyes with your fists tiredly, “Besides, we should eat something. We’ve been at this all day. I can prepare that Rous for us.”

Din stands up and stretches then places the circuit board that was in his hand onto the pile of parts next to you. He reaches down, tilts your head up to look at him and gently wipes the oil off your face. You slide an arm around his back and fall into his stomach with an exhausted sigh.

“Do you think we’re gonna make it off this planet?” You ask staring into the distance out the windscreen at the jungle, your face still pressed against Din. Din is looking down at you gently stroking his gloved fingers through your hair. You can feel him breathing through his armor.

“I know we will.” He says matter of factly.

You look up to see his visor trained down on you and you smile tiredly.

“Okay,” You say with a sigh and a grunt as you get up and dust off your pants. “Food time.”

“I’m going to stay and work a little longer but let me know when the food is ready and I’ll come join you and call it quits for the night.” You throw your lanky arm loosely in the air with a “thumbs up” as you stumble out of the ship.

Din takes a moment to watch you leave, feeling a sense of security with you he recognizes that he’s never felt before. He shakes himself out of his thoughts and reaches back into the cockpit control panel, grabbing two wires and tugging at them to try to gain more slack. As he does this, the stripped ends of the wires touch and to his surprise, let off sparks. He jumps back and as he does hears the sound of a metal panel sliding open. Turning around he tries to identify where the sound came from and can’t see in the darkness at first. He turns the light on his helmet on and spots a hidden compartment behind the pilot’s chair that has slid open. His heart jumps to his throat when he realizes what he’s looking at.

“No. It’s not possible…” He trails off, his heart in his throat.

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#mandalorian #mando #mandalorian smut #mandalorian fluff #razor crest #mando x reader #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #star wars #mandalorian fanfic

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kimwedlock · 1 year

Text

In The Heart of Winter

Estimated reading time: 17 minutes

Hmmm...a crackling hearthfire... It's quite a thing when the world outside is white, isn't it? Any other time, fire is something to be feared, something destructive, consuming...but now...heh, well now we adore it, don't we? We gather around it, we feed it, we welcome its warmth and the colour it casts over the cold, bleached world; it brightens even the wood of this old, dreary inn, glitters across these dented tankards, makes that tattered, ale-stained rug there seem a little less moth-eaten. I daresay even the woodworms are marvelling. But the cold...it hasn't truly gone anywhere, has it? After all, a simple fire can't stop a season. And yet...knowing that winter is still lurking outside makes these flames seem almost friendlier, doesn't it? They don't seethe and spit, they laugh and flicker. But...I wonder...would we hear that at all if not for that very cold? ...Heh, forgive an old bard her musings. Winter always slows me down, gives me too much time to think. Come, sit beside me while I tell you a story. There's plenty of room. And bring me a mulled cider on your way, there's a good neighbour. Actually, just bring the whole pitcher. Now, take a glance out through the window while you warm your hands over the hearth. What do you see? It's a silly question, I grant you; what else is there but the snowfall? Drifting flakes of pure winter, floating like feathers and coating the world so absolutely. 'Smothering it', some of you might say; 'blanketing it' say others. But whether all seems dead, or all seems asleep, nothing but time can move winter away. No fire can hurry it out, nor any amount of wishing or yearning. Nor can it hurry it in. "Why would you want to?" I see the words on your lips. But please, keep your comments to yourself for the moment. For 'Summer Smiles, Winter Woes' - are they not, as many other things are, down to perspective? Association? Temperament? Heart? This is an old tale, one forgotten but still familiar, as stories go: a wish against reason, a commitment to something impossible and irrational, powered by nothing more than the blind hope swelling in one's chest. It involves a knight, of course - one of the usual breed: chivalrous, formidible, romantic, determined to the point of raising serious questions about his intellectual wellbeing. He was the Champion of House Aestas, with ancient ties to the summer, and he carried many titles, accolades and honours in their defence. He was a fury on the battlefields, a breeze in the courts, and an artist in his own spare time. But despite his allegience, it was always in the quiet solitude of the winter, when the world slumbered and war was forgotten, that his heart felt most at peace. It had taken only one moment for that to change. His mount had been lamed on their lonely patrol one December evening, a treacherous fault in the road hidden by the depth of the snow. The stirrup had trapped the knight's foot as they'd fallen, and his leg had been crushed under the horse's weight. With no shelter and no help in reach, the soft, gentle, numbing touch of the cold had almost taken him. Never in his battle-hardened life had the knight truly been so close to death. From that moment on, winter's tranquil cloak had been replaced by something else - but it was not, as you might well expect, woven of anxiety or fear. Though it was also no less powerful.

Five winters after that fateful eve, the knight clicked a younger horse along that very same snow-shrouded road, acutely aware all the while of its edge. The world glowed white around him, clouds puffed from the beast's muzzle and through the grate of his visor, and as he breathed deep the crisp air, an anxious shudder hummed in his chest. And when the road soon vanished and the thick, glittering, snow-muffled wilds closed in, it grew to a raging pounding fit to shatter his ribs. Knight and steed descended white valleys, crossed slippery fords, passed unmounted through the black and white tangles of trees, until the wilds finally opened out and a frozen lake stood still and silent at the centre of the shimmering glade. The knight stopped there, at the edge of the ice, and waited. His breath puffed a steady rhythm while his heart hammered at six times the pace. But it took only a moment for the radiance he awaited to appear. A young woman stepped out from the frozen falls, a vision of youth and tranquility. She had hair of silver, snow and ice, skin of the purest ivory, and eyes as blue as the deepest glaciers. She was like a fragment of the landscape itself. And as she moved towards him, her frost-woven gown tinkled a somber melody, and glowed in the thin winter sun like diamonds. And her smile, a smile just for him, was like the rise of the sun itself. The knight's heart blazed like a pyre, just as it had on that December evening five years ago, when her impossible magic had revived and nursed him back to health, and the ache in his soul overpowered him. He surged towards her, threw off his helmet, and they kissed with the passion of lovers kept apart for a lifetime. The chill of the air around her crept over his skin, but he held her only tighter. When they finally parted, the knight heaved a cloudy sigh and cupped Winter's chin in his hand. "Three seasons apart is too long." "You shouldn't wait for me," she whispered, her voice as quiet as the snow. But the knight shook his head, just as he had every other time she'd said it. "I will always wait. I could never love another." "Then Spring," she said sadly, nestling her ivory cheek into his gauntlet, "will always pull us apart." He could bare no other words, and drew her close again. In three months, he knew, she would be gone with the frosts, back to her own realm, while he remained in the plane of man and mortal. And he would not see her, hold her, kiss her, nor love her again for nine. But neither would he hold, kiss, nor love another. Every day, the knight dutifully tended to his master's wishes, and came back to her every evening. He slept in her arms, and she in his, and they walked, talked, laughed and sang together. With the snow flurries, her heart was warmest, her smile most joyful, and when the sky was as crisp, blue and empty as a glacial lake, her mind and demeanour calmest. And in every one of those moments, his own heart was at peace. But all too soon, the season passed, they kissed for the last time, and she faded with the thaw, just as he'd known she would. And he returned obediently to his master, his world and his life, rigid of shoulder and dead of eye, and worked through the spring, the summer and the autumn, until he could hold her again. The cold took an age to return, and, as things yearned for often do, passed in the blink of an enraptured eye; again she faded, the snow melted, the sun rose higher, and the flowers peeked and bloomed. And while the world awoke, his heart returned to its benumbed sleep. But it was after the eighth winter, the eighth parting, the eighth ride back to the world that was his and held nothing for him at all, when his heart refused to quiet. He spent that year trapped in a relentless longing, mindless, just waiting for the return of the chill so he could brush her lips again. He arrived at the lake one week ahead of the ninth winter, and watched the waterside every night, waiting for the first frost to creep and crackle over the ground. He gave her no chance to fully form when she rose from its fingers on that fifth night. But despite his haste, she saw how drawn he'd become, and the dim, faded flicker of the usual light in his eyes. The night sky clouded, and her voice scathed like an ice storm. "I told you not to wait for me." "I will always wait for you," he replied with a weak, crooked smile. "The wait will destroy you. You're withering." He said nothing. He knew it was true. He merely watched her instead. And she saw the thought in his eyes, a thought he refused to voice - a thought he feared would be set alight like a funeral pyre should even half the words come out. And a thought that screamed even louder for that fear. She shook her head with all the regret of the stars and moved up against him, draping his arms around herself. "I can't go with you, my love. I won't survive beyond the reach of the cold." "You control it," he reminded her hollowly. But she shook her silver head again. "I am a slave to it. I can't leave its reach. It will kill me." And how brightly that pyre burned. The pair stayed together through the winter nights, walking, talking, laughing and singing, sleeping in each other's arms. But all the while, the inevitable dogged him like a spectre. A year spent yearning, and the season itself spent in fear. Knowing they would part, three months wasn't enough. It could never be enough. The wretched world began its thaw, the sun chased out the frost, and with that final kiss, the knight's heart sank into his boots. And she saw the thought brimming in his eyes again. "I cannot go with you," she repeated in a whisper. But this time, her words didn't cut like a blade through his chest. Instead, he fixed her with a stolid look. "I know," he replied, taking her hands in his. "So take me with you." Winter's ivory skin drained truly as white as the snow. "No," she replied in a panic, the sky turning from azure to thick, ominous grey, "I can't, you'll die if I do; you cannot survive in my realm any more than I can away from it!" But the knight's eyes didn't waver, as firm as the steel that encased him. "You know this for certain?" Her hesitation was enough. He squeezed her fingers as the condemning sun crept higher through her clouds, she pulled him close against her, and with a kiss that was far from final, the world around them faded with the last of the winter's frost. The chill overtook him in a heartbeat. His lips became numb against hers. But it was a familiar chill - her chill. A chill that grew as he felt her body move back from him. He opened his eyes to find her again, his heart leaping in a panic, but the gleaming landscape stunned and blinded him. He winced and searched for her hand instead. But she'd already taken his. Slowly, his eyes adjusted, and he stared at the landscape, cautious first, then struck by awe like the kick of a horse. He took in the white hills, the crystalline pillars, the frozen lakes and bridges, the trees built from snowflakes; he watched the diamond dust shimmering in the air, the light glancing across the huge silver spheres that floated just inches from the ground, and the huge great bands of silver filigree that moved slowly across the sky, casting elegant shadows across the snow. Their fingers laced as he took a slow step deeper into her world, his skin prickling despite his furs, and relief, comfort and wonder eased out in a single, mindless laugh. He breathed the crisp air, drawing it in as deep as he could, unlike any he'd tasted before. It filled his lungs and reached deep into his soul, clearing his every fret. With another breath, it seeped into his veins and purified his blood. With a third, it lined them. With a fourth, it splintered them. His mind turned white, his fingers slipped, and he crumpled to his knees while his heart began to freeze. His rasping throat begged him to cough, his cracking chest begged him to breathe again, his numbing legs begged him to rise and run, to find heat. But he couldn't. Every motion burned in his tightening, seizing muscles. And while panic's frozen grip pierced deeper into his heart, he heard her voice beside him, roaring and chiming like an ice storm. Her hands grasped him, arms squeezed around him, and the world about him warmed. The knight lay on the thawing ground, staring up into the spring morning sky. Alone. Alone, but for the voice that trailed on a tendril of cold, frozen air. 'Wait for me no longer.' The knight didn't return to his duties that spring. Instead of service in war, he scoured libraries. Instead of mingling with courtiers, he hounded intellectuals. Instead of pursuing the arts, he bargained with witches. And only in the dead of autumn did he find what he needed. A legend within a legend, perhaps, but such is the way of things. Either way, the pellar answered his hopes. First bright beam Of winter's moon, Owned by glass Like glacier hewn; Housed and cradled, Of time-attuned, Proud heart 'comes Enchant-immune. It was a long moment that the knight watched the pellar in his dark little hut, while the old man stared back in expectation. "What does it mean?" He finally dared ask. "I must capture the moon?" The pellar answered by taking a glass jar from one of his many cabinets, a jar thick and crackled, but whole. He pressed it into the knight's hands as though it had always been his. "I catch it in this?" He asked, his misgivings tumbling over the glass. "How will this help?" "The first beam of winter's moon, cradled until season's end, will break the spell of winter's realm, and frozen hearts will mend." Understanding soothed the knight's haggard face. "It will protect me from the cold of her world... Tell me, pellar: what do I owe you?" "What can you afford to spare, my lord?" "Everything." And so the knight gave the pellar his entire estate. He wouldn't need it again. When the tenth winter neared, he left for the lake, jar in hand, and captured the first beam of moonlight to grace the frosting ground. The light swelled as he jammed the cork in place, and, for a heartbeat, the glass glowed like Winter's own eyes, before fading to a subdued little pulse. When she rose from the frost a moment later, she could see something had changed. He was aged and weary, but hopeful, and his smile dragged hope into her chest. "I told you not to wait for me," she said as he enveloped her. "And if I hadn't?" He showed her the jar, and explained the pellar's plan. Misgivings moved through her eyes, but she voiced none of them. Together, they nurtured the light through the season, they kept it covered, kept it glowing, and it charged them both with hope. And when that tenth winter began to fade, on the morning of the first day of spring, the knight opened the jar, coaxed out the tame moonbeam, and let it melt through his armour, his furs, his skin, and wrap itself around his heart. And again, Winter took a gentle hold of him, and the world faded and brightened to the realm of silver, snow and ice. His eyes adjusted, the chill touched his skin, but he stood tall at her side this time, and looked again across the crystalline pillars, the frozen lakes and bridges, the diamond dust glittering in the air, the trees built from snowflakes, the huge silver spheres and the bands of filigree moving slowly across the sky. And again, his skin chilled despite his furs, and he breathed deep of the crisp air. And still he stood tall. It filled his lungs. It lined his lungs. It splintered his lungs. And, again, the knight dropped to his knees while his heart began to freeze, and his wretched hope shattered like glass. His lips couldn't curse. His chest couldn't heave. His fist couldn't pound the snow. Every motion burned in his tightening, seizing muscles. And again he could hear her voice, roaring and chiming like an ice storm. Hands seized him. The world around him warmed. And he lay on the thawing ground, staring up into the spring morning sky. Helpless tears finally sprung into his eyes. "It didn't work..." The voice didn't feel like his own. He couldn't feel his lips move. But as his blurred eyes adjusted onto the shadow half-obscuring the sky, he found Winter kneeling over him, and he watched her form flicker, the sky itself shining through. Desperate urgency clasped his hands tightly around hers, and he dragged the pair of them back to their feet. "We can't be together..." "No." Her voice was already growing distant. "We can't be apart." Her lips pressed against his, her cold fingers brushed across his bearded cheek, and as irrational understanding gripped him, he pulled her closer and steeled against the ice splintering through his skin from her touch. The pair of them froze at the edge of that lake, and as their hearts beat their last, the knight's moonbeam surrounded them, the cold light of a winter moon warding off the warmth of the spring sun. When the next winter came, they awoke together and ushered the season in, and they walked, talked, laughed and sang as they oversaw it as one. The snow drifted with their joy, the skies cleared crisp more often, and storms were nary seen. And when Spring inevitably arrived to revive the world, Winter's final kiss froze them again under the shield of the knight's moonlight, until Summer's Woe passed, and Winter's Smile reigned once again. *

The next time you look out through the window, warmed by a hearthfire's glow, what will you see, I wonder? Smothering, death and woe? Or the soft comforts of Winter's heart? ...Would you mind refilling this? The cider's run dry.

---

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briskofmisery · 9 months

Text

A CONCERT SIX MONTHS FROM NOW

TW: Death, depression

“I'm a slave to my emotions, to my likes, to my hatred of boredom, to most of my desires.” — F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise

I’ve gotten used to how hushed promises whispered that clouded skies would soon be covered by a blanket of white flakes, like tales of disappointment and desires that filled with life’s dualities. The air turned crisp from the touch of the first frost, creating a tapestry of black stars that painted stories of galaxies and dreams. I could hear faint cries echoing in the silent night, chasing midnight’s breath.

Perhaps, in the end, I’ve turned prisoner in this slow dance to a most sorrowful death. The vicarious starvation clung to me like a delirious melody between stars and constellations in the sky. Nightmares have a clever way of keeping me from surrendering to tiredness; each breath I take became a departure from the very mortality I had been seeking. Instead, I find myself trapped beneath the weight of this lifeless illusion, yearning for a glimmer of hope.

The sound of glass shattering had become familiar, as my mother’s cries enveloped me in her distress, baring her soul to me as she fell apart at the seams. Sweet and endearing, yet too cruel for her own good, she had painted me as the martyr, deluding me into believing I was the savior steering the course to my personal doom. But I was nothing more than entangled within her intricate strings.

In the stillness, both body and mind succumbed to the somber haze of sanctified air, as her silhouette emerged like a ghost in the wind. A devilish creature turning sweet dreams into fragile whispers. The strong scent of decaying flowers in springtime concealed the notion of death my mother left behind, petals fallen across cold cement floors. Her laugh was like a bloody mirage — A haunting sonnet, orchestrating nostalgic reveries from when I was young. But her ignorance and youth got the best of her, my mother. I thought by autumn, I’d resigned myself to the guilt and betrayal she left behind in her wake. As December embraced its first snowfall, darkness loomed over every one of us, strands of detrimental haze ruining our paths.

“You don't want to make a scene,” My mother punctuated each word softly, as the afterglow from the living room cast a shadow over our heads. Autumn’s golden, crisp leaves hid the harsh aroma of death, her stern tone reminding the heavy rain that follows the changing hues of mid-October. “Please, Mother, if a scene was what you were avoiding, then perhaps you wouldn't have fucked the bellhop in the supply closet like a dirty, little whore.”

“Darling, how does it feel, to be nothing but a disappointment?”

I confess. I’m a pagan for the good times, beneath the cosmic illusion of anticipation. An envelope of catastrophe that hardly existed before. But words are like daggers to the heart when there is nowhere left to escape to — nowhere except a labyrinthine garden of death, separated by taunting whispers and closed doors in the night. Isolated by hearts where once-vibrant flowers now withered amidst the changing seasons.

Her abrasive shadow cast itself as a moth to a now broken flame. “You’re such a Goddamn fool, Elliott,” She slurred after a few too many glasses of whiskey, causing a glass sculpture my father bought at an Upper West Side auction to collapse, the sound reverberating through Mother’s annual Christmas party. She had always been mine to lose – A dead girl walking. Deep down, I wished to put her out of her depraved misery just this once. Then I could prevent myself from any defiled agony. Perhaps of all the hushed lullabies, the ones I told her were my deepest regrets.

Hope is a myth in this bed I made just for me. I slip further into my subconscious, the taste of guilt and decay lingering on my tongue. I caused these shattered delusions, a promise of panic and disillusionment.

Dreams can easily be disguised as nightmares if we surrender our minds to them. The mind’s detachment can lead to unspeakable things when you least expect them to. Yet, she continued to haunt my dreams, even long after her passing. I tried to drown in a kaleidoscope of snow-draped pine that decorated the wintry winds – Self-destruction and ill-fated misery. A cruel creature of habit. Yet, the envelope of fading flower petals brought a perpetual coldness, a consequence of my impudence. Violent terrors returned, shortly after the weight of reality took hold. I was no angel myself; I was the product of my mother’s cries for help.

Leaves wore a fresh coat of white frost, while bare trees hung icicles as though they have grown weary after a long day’s work. A moment when the forest fire has departed, and there is a rebirth of hopeful festivities.

“Elliott, wake up, it smells of snow.”

I awake on the edge of delirium, breaking free from an eternal dance with death in my dreams. Hands soaked in blood, the taste of guilt and decay lingered as illusions of muffled gunfire that felt an awful lot like a bad dream. I’d managed to keep my mind at bay until then, chasing the midnight air forever as if it was to be the final breath I’d take. Her blood spilled stains the tile floor, corrupting the air with a metallic scent. Red bloodshot eyes burned from the glare of flashing lights when I took a deep breath. A stranger in the eyes of the beholder.

I stood up, finding myself trapped in the confines of these four walls. I ruffled through the printed pages of my sins, before sprinting outside where I was greeted by the white skyline and the smell of snow – this season I used to call home. Memories of snow angels and Upper West Side dreams enveloped me, a reality that had become a nightmare. Yet still, it was mine.

“Elliott, what the hell are you doing?” The sound of a woman’s voice is engraved in my mind, gradually harping off to a cross dissolve. I stared out the front door, the coldness seeping through my flared-up nostrils in surprise when the blackness consumed me. “It’s not even Christmas morning yet. Don’t you want to open your presents?”

I don’t remember there being laughter or Mother’s angel wings. It was the first snowfall of the season, a mere pull of autumnal grace that had allowed winter to begin. And all I remember is how she cried in vain.

#original character #writing #fanfic

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ayamturd · 2 years

Text

tired│technoblade

summary: you’re so tired, but you can’t sleep; techno reminds you that you have to breathe

prompt: (requested) “platonic techno w the prompt of the reader being really tired but unable to sleep n techno offering some comfort?” and “having a nightmare and Technoblade comforting them please?”

warnings: angst to fluff, emotional distress and panic

pairing: in-game c!technoblade

a/n: this took longer than expected, but i hope you enjoy!

wc: (2.0k) - m.list

It was quiet, save for your restless breaths and the silence of fallen snow outside.

As you laid, wrapped warmly in your comforter, you gasped when the pull of consciousness forced your eyes open. You were awake, but simultaneously too numb to hold much awareness beyond the panic that restricted your air. Sweat pricked at your sensitive skin despite the cold environment, your senses active and alert in a moment of unwanted fear.

Seconds after your harsh awakening, your lungs began to burn from the panicked inhales you failed to release. Eyes wide and jaw clenched, you griped the fabric of your top pathetically, trying to ground yourself and remember what was real.

You were safe, and that wasn’t real.

Eventually, your breathing evened and you were able to relax your tense shoulders. Like a weight had finally been lifted from your chest, you felt dizzy from how light everything felt in contrast to before.

It was exhausting to admit how familiar the feeling had become.

With a tired sigh, you sat up with hands pushed deeply against your eyes, frustrated at the unwanted thoughts that still haunted you in your peace. Your palms were notably wet with unshed tears, your hands beginning to shake from the pressure you unknowingly increased.

Closing your eyes only incited the fears again, the fears of helplessness and inevitable failure as they clawed at your throat.

You seeked comfort from your environment instead.

Darkness greeted you like an old friend, the room hidden under the blanket of night. Although your window remained covered by thin curtains, light still peeked through, the Arctic snow reflecting the winter glow.

Like a moth to a flame, you found yourself suddenly before the window still, curtains drawn to stare across the open scenery. The film of sleep had yet to leave you as the mountains grew blurry beyond the tree line, the imperfect white of snow bordered by Death’s forest around. While you loved your home and the profound beauty it held, something about it now only felt restricting. Claustrophobic.

The world was infinite past the SMP lines, yet something within you screamed that no matter how far you ran, crawled or flied, you would never escape the demons that plagued your mind; the nightmares that twisted the past into the mistakes you would never resolve; or the ghosts that called your name in final dismay.

You were a coward that couldn’t hide from your failures. You were unsafe to the fears you created.

The cold seeped through the wooden floors and drove needles into your skin. The growing pain grounded you once more and pulled focus away from your vulnerable state.

It was cold. You were cold.

Glancing back, your bed no longer offered the comfort it once did and you refused to stay confined in the dark any more than you had to. Although you tried in mind in fast haste, you walked painfully slow to the door.

The small hallway echoed your light footsteps, gentle creeks in the crafted wood reminding you of your presence despite the empty void of reality you danced in. While you had no destination in mind, your feet carried you down the narrow stairway, the sounds of cracking fire paired with flushed heat.

You blinked and were met with a soft gaze.

“Y/n?”

Technoblade was sat near the fire, a book in hand with loose hair falling from his braid. His usual cape was gone, likely draped on Steve as he slept in the kitchen, and his sleeves rolled past his elbows. He was relaxed, reading, and you had disturbed him. The thought made you curl into yourself further, your hands squeezing your arms firmly.

While you looked away in shame, Technoblade noticed your uneasy and hummed. As he rose to his feet, he let his glasses hang from its chain, before making his way to you.

A warm hand cupped your face gently, patient eyes searching your face for something to answer for your disheveled state. He called your name again, prompting you to finally face him directly.

“What’s wrong?” His words were faint, almost drowned by the watching fire that burned the judgmental shadows away. He waited, calmly, until you released a shaky sigh.

There was a dam, it was supposed to be strong—

“Tired.” The mumble was pathetic and quiet, useless to fully convey what you truly felt. At his awaiting study, you bit your lip anxiously.

The dam grew cracks, water trickled through.

“I’m so tired,” you admitted, tears filling the corners of your eyes.

The dam was weak, and the pressure grew.

“Why?” he asked, a thumb carefully rubbing the trails of rain away. You closed your eyes and bowed your head in confession, a sob trapped in your throat.

“I… I—” you choked, overwhelmed, and cried. “I don’t know.”

The dam had broke, and water flooded the ruins below.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, broken.

You cried, you cried desperately as emotions from all the nights prior built onto another, growing with every weep you let out. After so long, thoughts trapped in a bottle that only filled in the veil of night, you were given the space to let yourself feel as helpless as you felt.

Blinded by the tears and sorrow, you fell into ready arms that held you steady, attentive hands stroking your backs as a shoulder came to support your head. You cried, for all that you could, until nothing was left to wail.

As you eased further into his arms, Technoblade effortlessly maneuvered around you, reaching down to carry you. With his hands under your legs and back, you burrowed yourself into his neck and breathed in his soothing scent.

He was warm, the smell of aged wood and stray pine needles paired with the fresh smell of soft flowers. He was constant, he was safe.

Gently, he set you down on the sofa across from his own armchair, reaching to tuck you under the toss blanket nearby. As quickly as he was to comfort you, he immediately left.

The sudden lack of company was jarring compared to seconds earlier. You barely had time to register his leave, tears brewing, before he crouched in front of you with a glass of water to offer.

You stared, dazed, until he broke your trance.

“Drink,” he commanded softly, “you need to hydrate yourself.”

Nodding, you gripped the cool glass with both hands and sipped on the water, replenishing the parched throat you didn’t know you dried. While you focused on drinking, Techno’s cough called your attention.

His brows were furrowed, his lips turned down in a frown, and he interrupted any interpretation you could make from his displeasure.

“You were hurt,” he observed.

“I wasn’t,” you croaked, denial leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. Even your own lie felt foul to tell after such a breakdown.

“You were,” Techno restated, “you were hurt, and you were sufferin’ alone.”

Glancing down, you grimaced at the fact you believed. “I am alone.”

There was a loud silence that followed your claim. It grew as Techno had left it bare, and while you chose to live in the words you spun, his abandonment had left you more vulnerable than you could dare admit.

With you eyes locked down at the glass in hand, it felt like hours of suffered silence until a hand reached in your peripheral. Techno’s hand moved towards the cup, and wordlessly, removed it from your hold. You had no time to question before an unexpected pain struck your forehead quickly.

He flicked you.

“Ow!” you whined, whiplashed and confused. The betrayal was evident in your shocked features, yet all the same, ignored by the man in question.

“That,” he narrowed his eyes, “was stupid.” You dropped your mouth at the insult, hand falling from where it guarded your face.

“You—” Techno spoke over you briskly.

“And we don’t tolerate stupid under this roof.”

The pure audacity of the man made you speechless in turn. While you continued to gape up at him, lost for words from his mean rebuttal, his expression softened. Techno looked down, and your eyes followed his, surprised to find his hands fidgeting with the empty cup he took from you.

He coughed, then spoke lowly.

“I don’t know what happened, what could’ve caused the pain,” Techno paused momentarily, the sound of your racing heart replacing the quiet space, beating loudly in your ear, “and I’m not going to pretend I understand.”

You swallowed grimly, the confrontation more than you were able to handle. He continued in spite of your raw silence.

“But you aren’t alone,” he firmly asserted, voice strong and certain as if truth above. “You will never be alone. Not to suffer, not to hurt, in silence or in retribution.”

Doubt filled you instantaneously, the frown sketched on your lips growing with every passing word. How could anyone promise something so wholeheartedly? How could anyone help when the problem was you?

Techno seemingly read through you, he always did, and poked your forehead with his finger. Like a parent scolding their child, he found your eyes and refused to let you believe anything other than what he preached.

“You were never weak to begin, you were never a failure to the things you couldn’t prevent.”

A small scoff escaped you, prompting you to look away. It was small, and you hadn’t meant to, but it was a scoff regardless. While you gave up on conveying your feelings with the difficult man through words, you were unguarded to the emotions that drowned you earlier, and in turn, an open book to your weak mindset.

When you realized Techno had yet to respond to your disbelief, you found his hands reached out to you, patient and open for you to take. With a kind tone, he spoke not of pity, but of genuine promise.

“Disagree all you want, but you will never suffer alone if I have any say on it. Which I do, by the way.”

Tears gathered in your eyes, but they were good. They are were good tears, emotional, because he cared. You had been suffering alone in your own retribution, yet so afraid to admit of the pain you forced yourself to endure. He was here, and he didn’t make you suffer alone, didn’t let you.

You met his hands halfway and gripped them as firmly as you could, a shuddered breath with a thankful smile.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, return the favor by letting yourself feel.

“We can’t escape the monsters we create, but we can battle them each time they pass with company.”

Irregardless of what he said, you couldn’t stop yourself from giving your gratitude, squeezing your joined hands.

“Thank you.”

“Breathe, Y/n. That’s all I ask.”

You nodded, sniffing, and breathed.

“Will you…”

Your words trailed off, but the question was there. Will you read to me?

Wordlessly, Techno nodded and rose to his feet. You had forgotten he was practically caring for you on his knees. That he stayed by your side without question.

The thought warmed you greatly, and sleep pulled at your conscious as you relaxed further in his presence. You situated yourself more comfortably into the large cushion, nestling into the large blanket, and waited until Techno’s strong voice echoed throughout out into the still cabin.

“The Chorus sings, but Aegisthus replies,

‘These insults too will bring you plenty of pain. Orpheus’ voice, they say, made all things tame, tamed beasts of hell; which your beat just provokes.’”

The final line is read quietly, yet you were already asleep to either notice or hear.

“We’ll break you yet. We’ll see you in the yoke.’”

Techno smirked at the irony of the words, the tragedy which yours would not follow in vain.

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

#technoblade x reader #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #dream smp x reader #technoblade imagines #technoblade x you #mcyt x you #dsmp x you #dream smp x you

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moonlit-han · 4 years

Text

stray kids reacting to you having bad cramps ↠ all members

genre: reaction, fluff word count: 3.5k warnings: discussion of menstrual cramps, pain, etc., swearing request: yes (anon)

a/n: hey, anon~ sorry this took me so long to write for you;;;; I decided to try a new style—it was nice to write this because I got to imagine how I’d like to be taken care of. (wow, can you tell I could use some cuddles right now?) I hope this is comforting to you! stay cozy✨

✧ masterlist in bio ✧

bang chan

bad cramps are a normal thing for you

and chan knows this all too well

but sometimes just explaining something doesn’t do it justice

your cramps are so bad that, a lot of the time, you can’t even get out of bed

bad enough that you can’t even scream

chan probably wouldn’t show his concern too much because he doesn’t want to worry you

he would be really concerned the first time you had horrible cramps around him, though

he’d slept over after a movie night and woke up to you curled around a pillow, whimpering

the first thought he’d had was that you were having a nightmare

and so he just gently rubbed your back a little to calm you

but you’d kept whimpering and occasionally curled more closely around the pillow

aaaand you’d finally managed to explain that you were having cramps

and couldn’t exactly move…

chan had quickly drawn a bath for you

(and added a rubber ducky just because he could aljhadfjlkshfjkh)

you’d kinda squeaked when he picked you up, not expecting to be lifted bodily out of your blankets

chan would just kiss the top of your head as he carries you to the bathroom and then gently help you out of your pajamas

the bath would be extremely hot but that was perfect (♡‿♡)

hhhhhh and he’d even add rose bath soap to the water since it was your favorite

(you’d end up with a tiara of bubbles on your head heheheh)

chan would wash your hair and rub your back, massaging your sore muscles

even though the pain is only in your low back and abdomen, you still manage to hold tension in the rest of your body

and then he’d join you in the shower to help you rinse off

he’d hold you because the pain is just so bad and you can barely stand

and if you needed more than just a massage, he’d be happy to oblige

sometimes the release of pleasure helps ease the pain, too

chan just wants you to feel good and to be relaxed

after helping you dry off, chan would bundle you into warm clothes

it was always important, you’d said before, to stay warm

he’d even brush and braid your hair (if you have long hair, that is)

the little tingles that shoot through your scalp when he plays with your hair feel amazing

chan would kiss your cheek and your neck as he works his fingers through your hair

he insisted that you needed to stay hydrated, sometimes having to cajole you into drinking water because you could barely move

he’d want you to be as comfortable as possible

he’d make a blanket nest for you

he’d even put a heating pad or hot water bottle in there for you

pain meds and water would be close at hand

and whatever food you were craving

and he’d be extra affectionate

so many hugs and cuddles

just hugs all day long

maybe it’s just because you’re in pain

but chan’s hugs when you’re having horrible cramps are somehow different from his usual ones??

like he just envelopes you even more than usual and doesn’t let go

you’d just burrow into his arms even further

he’d give you one of his wonderfully big and comfy sweatshirts to wear

it smells like the soap he uses and just his general chan-ness

in other words, the best smell e v e r ㅠ_ㅠ ( ◡‿◡ ♡)

and just having him there with you would make everything better

lee minho

he would also be really loving and caring

and totally calm, not at all surprised

he’s just so even-keeled, you know?

would probably insist that doongie, soonie, and dori sleep with you

minho: “cats are totally medicine! their purring will help!”

they’re super snuggly anyway and just hunker down next to you

and minho is just a fourth cat, honestly

he kinda just curls up with you, massaging your low back if you have cramps that ache there

or just resting a warm hand on your belly to help soothe the pain

he’d get you a fluffy blanket and some orange juice (for the vitamin c to help your muscles relax and to reduce the inflammation!)

and definitely a heating pad or a hot water bottle

if you have two hot water bottles, he’d make a sandwich out of you and the water bottles

(so he could eat you up later ;) )

minho would insist that you take naps, holding you to his chest so you’d fall asleep more easily

he’d also queue up episodes of a show or several movies for the two of you to watch if you were home for the day

if you were at work and had super bad cramps, minho would bring you whatever food or pain meds or anything you’d need

he’s the kind of person who would just drop everything to take care of you, you know? (((we know, lee know alfkjafkjshjhk i’m so sorry i had to)))

he’s just a little ball of love and would want you to feel better

he’d kinda rock you back and forth in his arms if you have a particularly bad spasm of pain

like chan, minho would also get you into the shower to help you feel better

he’d have to convince you to even get out of bed, tho...

“come on, y/n. you’ll feel better if you take a shower. i promise”

“hhhhhhh i don’t wanna get up”

“y/n…..”

“mmph”

*minho grabbing your hands and tugging* “sweetheart, please.” *tug* "UGH why do you have to act like dead weight now of all times. geez, y/n.”

“...........”

*tugging intensifies* “get! up! i’ll drag you into the shower, you dork. you know i will”

“fiiiiiiiiiine”

he’d still have to pretty much drag you to the bathroom

AJDFHKGDJFGK

minho gently stripping you out of your clothes would kinda be like trying to dress a baby, since you wouldn’t want to move

he’d just hold you in there, rubbing soap over your body and shampoo through your hair

the hot water and minho holding you, honestly, works as well as any pain med

thank goodness ｡ﾟ(ﾟ∩´﹏`∩ﾟ)ﾟ｡

and at any time whatsoever, minho’s gentle smile would just make your day so much better

and you know he’d pepper you with kisses all over

(i mean all over)

bc it just always make you feel the most contented ever hhhhhh

and you deserve to not be thinking about pain

bc pain fucking sucks;;;;

and he’d just tell you how much he loves you so much you don’t even know how to respond

and it kinda makes you wanna cry

but from happiness

alkfjhskjhsklhjs

VERY SOFT

seo changbin

changbin would be pretty calm and would know exactly what to do

just matter-of-fact about taking care of you

you’d told him you get really bad cramps before

but the first time you had really bad cramps around him, he was a little freaked out

he hadn’t realized that period cramps could be that bad

you’d come home and pretty much collapsed on the couch

he’d thought you were just tired

but when you let out a strangled scream, changbin was;;;; um;;; a bit worried

okay not just worried

c o n c e r n e d (⊙ __ ⊙);;;;

maybe even a little scared??

he didn’t want to let on that he was worried about you

hearing you kinda just whimpering and crying out in pain tore at his heart

changbin would give you all the stuffed animals you have

(gyu would also make an appearance)

just pile them up around you “for emotional support”

and then he’d wrap his arms and legs around you to cuddle you close

definitely your basic case of:

“binnie please let go”

“no”

“binnie i can’t breathe…”

“oh,,,” *loosens hold slightly*

akjfhgaljkhajkhg

he’s literally just a cuddle bug hhhhhhhh

and I MEAN

THE BIGGEST CUDDLE BUG EVER

OH MY GODS

he’d rub your belly or your back, depending on where it hurt

and just want to make everything better

changbin would be the one to give you a full body massage if your cramps are bad

he’d insist on doing it, actually

even if you’re whiny and complain, he knows that once you’re relaxed you’ll feel a million times better

he’d concentrate on your low back, pressing his wonderfully warm hands into your muscles

and slowly but surely you’d feel the pain and tension release

hhhhhh he’s probably really good at giving massages ｡･ﾟ(ﾟ⊃ω⊂ﾟ)ﾟ･｡

ALSO!!! can you just imagine how warm binnie would be cuddling?

HHHHHHHH

you wouldn’t even need a heating pad

he’s all the warmth and comfort you’ll ever need

aldfjkahjlskhsl (♡‿♡)

and his muscles would be the comfiest

they’re all so big but would be so squishy when at rest

hhhhhh just imagine it

laying your head on his chest with his arms around you

the softest oh my god

changbin is so kind and gentle that he’d just want to make sure you’re okay and be really soft

HHHHHHHHHHH

once you were feeling a bit better, he’d probably tickle you a little

just so you’d release your tension

what a cute goofball

UGH HE’S JUST SO SOFT

he’d sing you to sleep while threading his fingers through your hair

and his low raspy voice would be so calming and lovely

binnie’s go-to medicine is just literally just all the cuddles ever ((well, and pain meds, etc., of course, bc cramps are horrible and evil))

hwang hyunjin

this boy would be just a little panicky

ya know, jUst A litTtLE

you’d suddenly doubled over while you were out shopping

for matching couple sweaters

(you know, the horrible kind that could only be worn ironically or by people so pretentious that they don’t know the meaning of irony)

and hyunjin is all

“OH MY GOD Y/N (＠_＠) (」ﾟﾛﾟ)｣

BABE

ARE YOU OKAY

HHHHHH

WHAT DO YOU NEED

WHAT CAN I DO;;;;;;;;;”

he’d kinda flutter around you like a moth

all worried eyes and nervous energy

he really wouldn’t know what to do

bc FUCK???!!

CRAMPS??!!!! ┗(｀ﾟДﾟ´)┛ﾟ

not his forte

“i just need to go home, jinnie. i’ll be fine”

((yeah... lie thru your teeth y/n;;;; ))

he’s still panicky as fuck

when you get home you kinda just collapse on the bed

hyunjin’s all “OOOOH CUDDLE TIME YES”

which was okay for like 2 mins until a g o n y

“jinnie, i need pain meds. NOW” (x﹏x);;;;;

hyunjin would bound off the bed all “I got this, babe!

and then realize that he had no idea where you kept the pain meds strong enough to deal with menstrual cramps

“uuuuh where are they . . .” (⌒_⌒;)

*y/n flailing in the general direction of the medicine cabinet*

so once he found them, he’d get you a glass of water and help you sit up to take the meds

all better?

NOPE

you’d need a hot water bottle and blankets

oh and chocolate. lots of chocolate

hyunjin would be so damn determined to make you feel better

to do anything he could bc you seemed in so!! much!!! pain!!!!

ten minutes later you’d find yourself practically swaddled in blankets on the couch with Hyunjin curled around you like a fucking squirrel or something

just let him take care of you

he’s doing his best;;;

he’d want to make you all the food you’d ever want

but would keep getting distracted

bc all he wants to do is just kiss you a bunch

and tell you how cute you are

bc, let’s face it, y/n, you’re pretty cute aldsjfhgsjfkhalhg

even though he isn’t sure what to do at first, hyunjin is actually quite good at taking care of you

if you’re at his place, you’d definitely end up with kkami on your lap

bc why wouldn’t you want a sweet pup giving you all the love when you’re in pain?!!

hhhh so sweet

han jisung

oh jisung, my sweet precious squirrel boy

jisung would probably be a lot like hyunjin alfjahkjdfh

kinda panicky bc he doesn’t know what to do

really surprised that someone could have cramps that bad

it’s clear to him that, while he’s felt pain before, it was nothing like what you’re dealing with

how the hell do you do this every. single. month.

keeps telling you you’re badass

but,,,,, um;;;;;

Y I K E S

*queue fluttering, panicky hands*

“hhhhhh baby what can i do;;;;;”

y/n: *indistinct pain noises* “i’m fine”

“yoU’rE NOt fiNe!!!”

“ji really it’s okay. i’m used to this”

(you say as you’re curled on the couch, clutching just below your belly with a look of concentrated pain on your face)

“HHHHHHHHHHHHHH”

he’d end up bring you soup and some water

bc soup helps everything, right?

and all the pain meds he could get his hands on

there would be like 10 random bottles of every kind of pain relieving medicine tumbling out of his arms

“i didn’t know what would work;;;;;”

he’s just a sweet lad

what else was he supposed to do?

you’d manage a weak smile before another stab of pain would decide to hurtle through you like a fucking bullet train

at this point, jisung would definitely be feeling sympathetic pain

(not fun;;; )

he’d help you sit up and take the meds

then c u d d l e s

literally just all the cuddles in the world

jisung would hold you tightly, arms and legs wrapped around you, stroking your hair to get you to fall asleep

not that you’d be having any trouble with that, since you would be snuggled by

The Master of Spooning™ himself

even though he’s comforting you and helping, jisung can’t help but be glad that he gets to cuddle you for a long time

and when you felt angry at your body for giving you such horrible pain he’d hold you even tighter

then find some way to make you laugh

laughter is very important in jisung’s world (and, therefore, your world)

and you do find that it takes your mind off the pain, if only a bit

it’s almost like clockwork when you get bad cramps

same time of the month, same kind of pain

(you’ve definitely cursed every single god you can think of for this)

so he knows in the small, secret recesses of his mind, that he’ll get to cuddle the heck out of you at those times

he’d just smother you with kisses to wake you up to make sure you’d take more pain meds

okay;;; he’d smother you with kisses all day, too

and, like a cat kneading, he’d massage your belly and back to relax your muscles

you’d felt a little better after that

resting your head on his chest and hearing his heartbeat would be incredibly calming

by the end of the day, jisung would just hold you on top of him

like you’re a little otter and he doesn’t want to lose you

alkjfghakjlfhahjfgaklhga (●´ω｀●)

lee felix

felix would be amazingly casual about the whole thing and just ready to go

like;;; this boy would just immediately pick you up, kiss your forehead, and carry you to bed

need pain meds?

he’s already put them in the drawer of your bedside table as soon as you’d started your period

need a heating pad?

he’s got like five—all different shapes, sizes, whatever you need

(you’re not quite sure where or when he gets all this stuff, but you’re not complaining)

all he’d want is to just cuddle you

he’d turn those big, soulful eyes on you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen

((which you are (≧◡≦) ))

and even if you’re curled on the bed in mildly stinky pajamas

he’d still just curl up with you and try to make everything okay

felix would just ramble on about anything and everything to try to distract you

yes, you’d probably be witness to Felix’s Interpretive Dance Time

.....whether you wanted to or not

(you secretly like it when he’s that silly alkfsjhajkfh)

and, of course, felix would make you breakfast (even if it wasn’t morning)

an absolutely delicious meal of all your favorite foods, even if they’re not normal breakfast food

((but honestly, what even is normal breakfast food??? just eat what’s yummy!))

since he’s been practicing baked goods, he’d also make you a lil cake just to cheer you up

and would try to ice it, which would come out really cute

he’d put “to my smol bean: UR CUTE ILY”

bc we all know felix is a cute dork who’d totally put something like that on a cake

hhhhhhhhhh

would probably call chan or changbin just to make sure he’s not forgetting anything for taking care of you

he wouldn’t forget anything for you, anyway, bc he’s just that committed to making you feel better

oh and you’d definitely watch like 15 children’s movies in a row (okay maybe not in a row, but still)

bc what’s better than laughing at the antics of various animated characters?!

and singing along to the songs would be really fun and take your mind off the pain

it would make you breathe properly and relax!

yay!!!

felix would probably act out some of the scenes to his favorite movies beside the screen just so you could check his accuracy

AALKJFHGAJFH

and if all you wanted to do is sleep, felix would curl up with you on the bed or couch

and run his fingers through your hair and down your back to soothe you

and give you smol sweet kisses before falling asleep

kim seungmin

seungmin is also quite practical

when you told him that you get excruciating cramps, he immediately went and researched everything about menstrual cramps

potential causes for especially bad cramps

what to do for someone who’s having bad cramps

what not to do when someone’s having bad cramps

and he’d immediately gone out and bought what seemed like a year’s supply of pain meds, chocolate, three heating pads, and three hot water bottles, as well as extra pads and tampons

so the first time you were together and you kinda just went “aaghhh” in pain, seungmin immediately ran to his closet to get All The Things

you’d given him a quizzical look when he came back into the living room

he had a bag that looked, somehow, Official

although, most of seungmin’s things look Official~

(he’s just that organized and meticulous alkjfhsjfghsh)

so when he’d opened the bag, you had to stifle a giggle

in the bag, seungmin had put everything you’d need for when you had your period

hhhhhhhh what a sweetheart (✿´ ꒳ ` )

and if you need space, he’d just be in the other room minding his own business until you demand cuddles

he’d just absentmindedly give you head pets while the two of you watch a show or something

or he’d read to you from whatever book he’d been reading

or that you’d been reading (▰˘◡˘▰)

would make you tea~

you’d probably end up cuddling his little puppy stuffed animal at some point

um;;;; seungmin’s potential fathering instincts would probably come out a little bc he just feels so much affection for you

and is just in CARING MODE

if you’re out together and you have cramps, you’d find yourself whisked back home for a day of rest

if you can’t go home, seungmin would just get you the proper pain meds and some water

he probably keeps meds for you in his wallet (´ω｀♡)

all seungmin wants is for you to not be in pain

bc it hurts his heart

he doesn’t exactly show it a bunch on the outside to other people

but he’s really caring

most of all with youuuu~~~

he wants to ki— kick whoever decided that cramps could be this bad

like what the fuck, man;;;;;

he’d be very encouraging as he talks to you, since he doesn’t want you to worry or anything

he’s knows you worry enough about why you get bad cramps

whenever the pain would get so bad that you want to cry and feel like you’re going to lose your mind, seungmin’s bright smile would bring you back to earth

he’d reassure you that everything’s okay

and kiss the top of your head as he holds you (*/ω＼)

yang jeongin

jeongin’s remedy to cramps is stuffed animals

all the stuffed animals

all of them

e v e r

you both have a propensity for stuffed animals, characters, random objects, etc.

you even have a stuffed strawberry that’s the size of your torso

so jeongin would just pile up all the stuffies and a bunch of pillows

and settle you in them

you’d feel like you were drowning in stuffed animals ajkfshgkjfhg

like felix, he’d probably secretly call chan just to check that he’s doing the right thing for you, too (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄)

jeongin would make you tea and bring a pot of it to your bedside table

(just herbal tea, not caffeinated bc he doesn’t want you to get dried out)

he’d bring everything you could ever want in tea:

honey, milk, lemon, sugar

the tea would be reeeeeally yummy

and the warmth would help calm your nerves that had been on high alert since the night before when the cramps had started

jeongin would curl up with you and just stroke your hair

he’d turn on a show the two of you had been watching

a comedy, of course

why would you want to watch anything else while in pain??

okay so as calm as all this seems, he’d be fucking panicked as hell inside

like how is supposed to deal with this???

welp….. might as well just pretend it’s any other day

and you just happen to need more cuddles

he finds it really cute when you are b a b y

and when you’re having horrible cramps….

yoU ARE B A B Y!!!!!!

the cutest ever

like holy shit

jeongin would be completely floored by how cute you are

you’d just kind of nuzzle into his stomach as you curl up next to him

of course, he’d also make sure you remember to take pain meds and all

sometimes he’d be a little annoying about it but not by much~

just enough to get you to WeAR sOcKs Y/N!!

he’d totally be the one to kinda pounce on you and carry you outside to sit on the lawn

not one but two blankets would cushion you from the grass and any bugs~

he’d probably bring all the stuffed animals he’d piled on you earlier outside

“they’ll get lonely!!”

…….right

definitely not an excuse to throw the radish plushies he got you at your head…..

((you’d get him back, though, with a few well-aimed charizards or something))

but if you needed him to be serious, he would be

bc, really, he cares about you so much he feels like his heart’s gonna burst (*♡∀♡)

2K notes · View notes

abbysfrenchbraid · 3 years

Note

hi! i love all of your writing, especially your abby fanfics. i know you’re in the middle of your eivor series right now, so pls disregard if you don’t feel like writing this request or don’t want to write for abby, but i was wondering if you could maybe write a hurt/comfort type imagine where abby either comforts the reader when they’re sad or after they have a nightmare. i get really frequent nightmares and love to read fanfics like this but totally understand if you’re not into the idea. all the love and i hope you’re doing well; merry christmas if you celebrate!

so this is half a year late, but I finally have a little more time to go through my requests so here it is! this is also the first time I've actively avoided gendering the reader as I've gotten a few requests for a nonbinary or genderfluid reader. This is not a cop-out on that, I definitely want to write an explicitly nb reader but I figured this would make the reading experience better for quite a few people!

Summary: The reader has recently lost a family member and stranded with the WLF. They struggle with frequent panic attacks and nightmares. Abby notices and tries to take care of them.

CW for loss of a family member (sibling), death and grief, heavy trauma, panic attacks, anxiety, nightmares, and struggling to breathe. The nightmares are also fairly violent and creepy so please watch out for yourselves and only read this if you're in a good state of mind <3

I've Got You

The truck rattled as Leah drove it up the road to the WLF stadium. It had been a particularly rough day on patrol. You and the other wolf had run into a group of freshly infected that seemed to have been three families once. The children had been the worst. The youngest had probably been about ten years old before she had turned, her eyes bright blue and her blonde curls matted with dried blood. You had taken care of them all, of course you had. But it had been horrible. You folded your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking.

You had joined the WLF a few months ago after losing your team and your little sister in a clicker-infested cellar you had set up camp in. It had been so fucking stupid, so careless. But everyone had been tired, you hadn’t seen any infected in days, and so only one of you had kept watch. He barely had time to scream before the clicker had ripped out his throat. It had been chaos, madness, everyone scrambling to escape into the network of damp corridors and storage rooms, more and more clickers being drawn to you by the noise.

Leah raised her hand at the armed guards at the gate and they opened for your truck. The sun was setting behind you and most people were inside the stadium now, eating or spending time with friends. Both of you were quiet. Leah’s legs were covered in slowly darkening blood and the smell was nauseating. The tall wolf pulled the truck into its designated spot and took a deep breath.

“Y/N?” You looked up at her. The circles under her eyes could compete with yours, but her face was still as kind as ever.

“Yeah?”

“You take care of yourself today. Take a long shower, get something to eat. I’ll let Martha know to give you a double portion for dinner.”

You smiled faintly at her. This was how it was here. All the wolves had seen terrible things and probably done even worse. They all chose to let it out in training and then leave it behind them. No sense in holding on. You nodded.

“Thanks, Lee. See you in the gym tomorrow.”

The brunette grinned and patted your thigh.

“6 am sharp!” She jumped out of the car and gave back the keys at the checkpoint, then she vanished inside the stadium.

You stayed in your seat. Your fingers had cramped up and you were scared to unfold them, scared you would never be able to stop them from shaking again.

Sierra had held your hand all the way, not letting go as you dragged her through the darkness, fought off four infected, stumbled up stairs you had not come down on, and found yourself in a ravaged theater. You had run all night and only stopped when you were unable to go a single step further. When you had found a small pawnshop that you could lock up safely, you had made a bed of your jacket and a moth-eaten blanket from the theater. Sierra had started to cry. You would never forget the way dread had started to creep into your limbs, seeping into your skin and stretching dark tendrils toward your throat. You had rolled up Sierra’s sleeve and there it was. A relatively small mark, just the puncture wounds from two teeth turned into mean scratches as Sierra had pulled her arm from the jaws of a clicker and kept on running. But it had already begun to fester, the edges of the wound an angry red contrasting the white blisters forming around the site. It felt like the ground had been pulled from below your feet. You fell and fell, unable to speak, to do anything, just staring at the thing that meant the end of the world. The end of your baby sister.

A shout caught your attention - another car had returned to the stadium and was pulling into a spot a few paces away. It was Manny and Abby, everyone’s favorite duo. The attractive joker and the stoic warrior. They were among Leah’s best friends and she had introduced them to you a while ago, all of them welcoming you warmly. It had been strange, being part of a group again, a team. Your heart was still too sore.

So you had quietly pulled yourself out of most of the group evenings, the film nights and game nights and arm wrestling tournaments and what else there was to do. Manny had tried his luck flirting with you a few times and one time you had even joined him for a dance, but after realizing he wouldn’t land with you he had respectfully backed off and now treated you more like a little sister. Mel and Owen had been nice, too, both very secluded when they turned up together, but Owen was funny and enthusiastic and always yelled your name across the cafeteria or the training course when he saw you. He was one of the few people who could make you laugh no matter how hard you tried not to.

Nora was a whirlwind, the smartest person you had ever known and unfaltering no matter what the universe threw at her feet. She liked poetry and hard rock music, big men and even bigger women. You had often wondered whether she and Abby had ever hooked up. But you weren’t sure of anything concerning Abby. Always the stony face, the impenetrable wall, the arms-length smile and polite nod in the hallway. It could be infuriating at times. Especially because despite it all, against all your better judgment, you could feel yourself growing more and more interested in her, constantly looking for her in a crowd and sneaking side glances to see if she was listening to you or laughing at the same things.

The car doors banged and the sound echoed through the small space. Manny was laughing about something Abby had said and walked with a bounce in his step as he approached the counter to hand back his keys. Abby looked like she always did, khaki cargo pants and a black cutoff, her green backpack slung over one muscular shoulder. Some strands of hair had escaped her braid and curled up at the back of her neck, slightly damp from her sweat in the hot summer air. Trying to calm down and distract yourself, you let your gaze wander up her strong build, freckled biceps flexing as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. And then she looked straight at you. You didn’t move, stayed frozen as you had for the last few minutes, wishing you were invisible.

Your face felt hot and suddenly there were tears blurring your vision - what was happening?! Your knees started shaking as well, bouncing uncontrollably as your nails dug into the backs of your hands. Your throat was closing up and your bottom lip was quivering. All you saw were specks of grey and green, all you felt was your body resisting every command and rebelling against you, trying to hold you in place and suffocate you silently.

Suddenly the door opened beside you and a soft, deep voice said your name. You tried to blink the tears away but your vision wouldn’t clear up, panic blinding you further. You began shaking your head as your chest convulsed in a desperate attempt to draw breath.

“Fuck, Y/N, okay.” Abby’s voice was determined and suddenly her hands were on your wrists. Her skin was warm and dry, her grip firm. She softly shook your clasped hands and somehow moved so her face was in front of yours, a mess of green and brown and there, soft pink where her lips moved, speaking quietly and telling you to breathe with her. One hand stayed on your wrist and her thumb massaged the cramped up muscle there, digging painfully into your flesh but pulling you back to her slowly. One hand came up closer and a calloused thumb brushed the tears from your cheek before her hand landed on your shoulder, fingers pressing into your upper back.

“Hey, look at me, look at me, Y/N, you’re okay, I’m here. Can you try to breathe in with me on three? Just stop fighting for a moment, count with me and then we’ll breathe in together. Okay? One.”

You tried to sit up straighter and stop the erratic twitching of your chest, still choking on your breath as you waited for her commando.

“Two. Three.”

Her hand pressed between your shoulders from behind and suddenly you could breathe again, a loud gasp that turned into quiet sobs as you fought to release the air from your lungs before breathing in again.

“There we go, you’re doing so good,” Abby’s hand was on your cheek again, “so good, Y/N, breathe with me, that’s right.”

Your vision slowly returned to you now, though it was still distorted by tears. Abby had half-climbed into the truck, one foot between yours and one dangling out of the open door, her weight held up only by her right leg as she pressed her back against the dashboard. A wet laugh escaped you. Abby shot you a confused look, paired with the hint of a relieved smile.

“What?”

“You’re gonna get a cramp as well,” you rasped, “if you keep that up.”

You slid further to the inside of the broad seat, making room for Abby next to you. She grinned and sat down, one hand still on your wrist. Her eyes went down to your trembling hands, your knuckles still white from your iron grip.

“Okay, let’s take care of your hands, hm?”

Her fingers wandered softly over yours, then she rested one hand over your tangled fingers and pushed her other thumb between your palms, gently loosening your hold. She pulled back each finger slowly, starting with your thumbs and stroking each one as they relaxed. Finally, your shaking hands lay freely on your thighs.

“You’re doing so well, Y/N, don’t worry.” She took one of your hands in her lap and started massaging the inside of your palm. “Wanna tell me what got you there?”

You sighed, breath still shaky with tears.

“Um.. We ran into infected today. Runners. Families, it seemed.”

Abby sucked in a breath and gave you back your hand before taking the other and starting the same gentle procedure.

“Those are the hardest. Kids?”

You nodded and Abby made a soft noise. You took another rattling breath.

“I… I lost my little sister. Back when… before I came to you.”

Her head shot up and she stared at you, shock and sympathy playing over her features.

“Fuck, Y/N, you never said…”

“I know.” You lowered your head.

When you had stumbled out of the woods around the WLF stadium and begged them to let you in, they had stripped you and searched you before bringing you to their leader. After hours of questioning to make sure you weren’t a spy for any other group, he knew about your team and everything you had done in the last three years, but you hadn’t mentioned Sierra once. It wouldn’t change anything anyway. They had brought you to Nora who had patched you up, examined you, and fed you before showing you to your new room. It was a small closet on the base level of the stadium, with only a tiny window letting in some light. You were thankful for a roof over your head and the armed posts surrounding the stadium.

“I didn’t want to talk about her. I didn’t lie to Isaac or betray you. It wasn't anyone's business.” You gave Abby a fierce look. Nothing would change your mind about this. She just nodded, her eyes wide. You sighed, brushing your hands against each other.

“She was bitten. I see her every time I close my eyes. It wasn’t fair.” You dropped your hands into your lap. “I just don’t… I can’t -”

Abby’s hand was on yours again, her fingers sliding between yours.

“Hey. I won’t tell anyone. But I’m here, okay? If you want to talk.”

You scoffed.

“No one ever talks here. You’re all made of stone.”

Abby contemplated this for a few seconds, then she squeezed your hand.

“My dad was murdered a few years ago. Almost all of our families are dead.” Now it was your turn to be shocked. Fuck. You had been so insensitive. “By us, I mean Owen, Nora, Jordan, and me. Owen lost his parents to infected and his brothers to the scars just last year.”

Abby leaned back and stared out of the windshield, the garage now dark except for a few small lamps at the exits.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. Of course, I’m in no place to tell you how to deal with it.”

“No, it’s fine. You’re right, you know. We don’t talk about those things.” She looked at you, her gaze so intense you almost pulled back. “Would you like to?”

You forced yourself to hold her gaze.

“I think I would. Now that it’s all… further away.”

Abby nodded, squeezing your hand again.

“Then we’ll talk. You can tell me all about your sister. And… I haven’t talked about my dad in a long time. I think I’d like to tell you about him, too. He was great.”

A small smile played around her lips and you felt a rush of gratitude for this wonderful woman. You could practically see the memories playing through her head behind those green eyes. She blinked, looking back at you.

“Wanna get something to eat? You must be starving. I know I am.”

“Sure.” You shared another smile and exited the car together, fingers still intertwined as you crossed the lot and Abby held the door open for you.

Dinner was already over, but Leah had kept her word and the elder woman at the counter gave you both gigantic bowls of beef stew with thick, coarse bread. You told Abby about your patrol that day and she hummed sympathetically. She knew what it felt like to deal with infected children. After a while, the door to the cafeteria flew open and Manny came in, sleek black hair still wet from a shower. He grinned brightly as he made his way over to you and sat next to you on the metal bench.

“You coming along tonight?” he asked you, drumming his fingers on the table. You raised your eyebrows.

“What’s happening tonight?”

He tutted at Abby and gave her a theatrical frown.

“You didn’t invite Y/N? It’s Mel’s birthday! Owen got his hands on some prime hooch. You celebrating with us?”

You smiled at your plate. The last thing you needed was to get wasted and completely lose any shred of sanity you had left.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I’ll join you. I still haven’t showered and I had a terrible day. I’m just gonna read a bit and pass out, I think.” You gave him an apologetic shrug.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. Read and pass out? It’s a special occasion! You sure?”

“Yeah, but really, thank you for inviting me. Maybe next time.”

He sighed heavily, then he clapped his hand on the table and stood up.

“Abby, you need to get moving, girl. We’re meeting in 20 and you stink.”

Abby just raised her eyebrows and shook her head, finishing her stew. Manny's laughter echoed through the empty room as he left.

“Do I really smell that bad?” There was a twinkle in her eye, a conspiratorial smile on her lips. You smiled back.

“Not at all. He probably smelled me.” You grabbed her empty bowl and placed it in yours. “Go have fun, I’ll clean this up. See you at training.”

Abby cocked her head to the side, seemingly not sure what to do. You gave her another encouraging smile.

“Really, I’m fine. Thank you for taking care of me, I owe you. Go celebrate!”

The tall blonde stood up slowly. She still seemed hesitant.

“I’ll come check on you later if that’s okay. And you can always come over and talk to me if something’s wrong, alright?”

Your chest felt tight all of a sudden, but not in the way it had earlier. It was the feeling of reaching for something knowing you’d never have it, of wanting something so bad and only being able to admire it from a distance. It felt like being homesick. You thought of Sierra again and how she had been your home, the only anchor in your life. Fuck, not now.

You shook your head as if to get rid of your thoughts and gave Abby a brave smile.

“Okay. But I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“Okay. See you later, then.”

“See you.”

Abby gave you a last look over her shoulder before exiting the cafeteria and you made your way over to the kitchen. The cooks had already left and a lanky red-haired boy was the only one still there, washing dishes and listening to music on an mp3 player. The metallic sound in his headphones echoed through the peacefully quiet kitchen. He almost jumped two feet into the air when you approached from the side, bowls in your hand.

“Fuck, you scared the shit out of me! Jesus Christ.” He pressed a wet hand to his chest, the suds leaving a dark print on his shirt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how not to scare you, music and all. Sorry.” Both of you had to laugh and he held his dripping hands out for your dirty bowls.

“Don’t worry, I just wasn’t expecting anyone this late. You just come back from a mission?”

“Just a patrol run.”

You leaned against the counter and watched him clean the dishes.

“Anything exciting happen?” His eyes were bright and excited. He was even younger than he had looked at first, he couldn’t be older than 15. “My brother is on patrols too. Maybe you know him, his name is Danny.”

You crossed your arms and tried to remember the face that matched that name. Danny had been on patrol with Owen for a while when you had first arrived, but now he was stationed on some outpost and you hadn’t seen him for a long time.

“Yeah, I think I do. He’s not here at the moment, right?”

“He’s at the Serevena Hotel. I may be able to visit him there soon, depending on how my training goes.”

You raised your eyebrows.

“Training to be a soldier?”

“Of course.” He stood up straight. “I want to do my part, protect our people. Fight the scars.”

You didn’t really know how to respond to that. Even though you were thankful the WLF had taken you in and even though you had also participated in rigorous training from the first day on, soon being cleared for missions, you didn’t really have the same loyalty and faith for the organization. The seraphites were your enemies now, of course, but they were just people. You all were. Sometimes you wondered how it could have come to this - so few people left on this earth and here you were, slaughtering each other.

“I hope you can visit your brother soon.” You let your arms fall to the side and turned to leave. “Thanks for the dishes.”

“No problem,” he mumbled, putting his headphones back in.

You were in no rush to get to your room and so you took a few detours, passing the gym which was filled with quite a lot of people getting their training in after work. You looked into empty classrooms, trying to decipher what was written on the board. Would Sierra have studied here? Sat in the front, eager to learn the things you hadn’t been able to teach her? What if you had come here earlier, before it all happened? Could they have protected her better than you had? She would probably be walking next to you now, telling you about her day.

When you finally arrived at your room, you just quickly grabbed a towel, a clean shirt, and some shorts and headed for the showers. The hot water seemed to help somewhat. You wondered what Abby was up to right now. Probably getting drunk and having fun. Was she the type of person who danced? You had never seen her dance before. Maybe Nora would persuade her. There it was again, that heavy, pulling feeling. You turned the water off, got dressed, and went straight to bed. Enough heartache for one day.

You woke up confused, not knowing where you were at first. It was pitch black and there was some kind of noise outside. You reached around you and finally found the flashlight next to your pillow, turning it on and trying to wipe the sleep from your eyes. What was going on?

It had to be after midnight. The lights in the stadium were only on from 5.30 am to 10 pm in order to save power. You untangled yourself from your sheets and got on your feet, swaying a little. There it was again, that strange scratching noise accompanied by a quiet mumbling sound. It wasn’t directly at your door but seemed to come from further down the corridor. There were a few other people living down here in storerooms and sectioned hallways.

Yawning, you walked to the door and opened it ever so slightly, pressing the flashlight to your thigh in order to keep the light down at first. You couldn’t see anything, so you waved the flashlight around the corridor. Your stomach dropped.

At the far end of the hallway, a small figure stood in front of one of the doors, trying to open it to no avail. Small hands scratched at the wood, quiet brabbling reached your ears. This was wrong. Very wrong. The figure hadn’t noticed the light yet. It went on to the next door, trying the door handle and whining in frustration when it didn’t open.

Why didn’t the people inside wake up from the noise? You stood frozen as the figure tried the next door. It was a child, dressed in dotted pyjamas. Its blonde hair was shoulder length and tangled in knots. You slowly pushed your door open wider in order to step out into the corridor. Suddenly, the hinges squeaked and the sound echoed through the hallway.

The child slowly turned toward you. Blood was dripping from its mouth, its eyes were cold. It took a step toward you. You looked down and realized you were holding a gun. Oh. Right. Infected. You were supposed to shoot them.

As the kid made another strange brabbling sound, more blood ran down the front of the cotton pyjama shirt. You raised the flashlight with shaky fingers and aimed it right at the child's face.

Your blood froze in your veins. No. This couldn’t be. You had taken care of her, you had made sure she wouldn’t… wouldn’t turn into one of these… No, you had given her a peaceful ending.

“Sierra.” Your voice was raspy, quiet with terror. “Sierra, what are you doing here, baby?”

She growled. A horribly wrong sound, coming from someone so small and so lovely. Only she wasn’t lovely anymore. She was sick. Infected.

“Sierra!” You spoke louder now, your voice pleading. “Baby, please don’t do that. It’s me, see?” You raised the flashlight to light your own face for a moment. When you put it back on her, she had stopped walking. Her face was a mask of ice-cold fury. When she spoke, her voice rattled like nails in a metal box, rough like chalk on board.

“Y/N… Why?

You sank to your knees.

“Oh baby, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know what to do. I’m so sorry Siri, I was so helpless. I didn’t know, I didn’t…”

“You… killed… me.”

She was getting dangerously close now and all of a sudden you could smell her, too. Foul, dead, vile. The smell of sickness and decay. You raised the gun, a war raging between your head and your heart.

“Sierra, stop. Stop.” Tears were streaming down your face. “Please stop, Siri. Don’t come any closer. Stop, stop! Please stop!”

Your little baby sister was so close that you could have reached out a hand and brushed through her hair. You stood up and took a step back.

“I’m gonna have to shoot you if you don’t step back. You’re infected, Siri. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but you can’t, please Sierra. Don’t, please don’t…”

She hissed at you and lurched forward. A shot rang through the air and the girl fell to the floor right before you, her tiny body at your feet, blood slowly pooling around her head. You dropped the gun and it clattered on the concrete floor. You clapped your hands to your mouth and screamed into your palms, crying out again and again, trying to gasp for air. It felt like your heart was being torn in two.

Suddenly there was a hand on your shoulder. You whirled around, but there was only darkness. You let yourself fall to the floor and kept weeping into your hands. Someone gripped your wrists and shook them slightly. You opened your eyes.

Abby was sitting on the side of your bed, her face right above yours and full of worry. You shook your head, frantically looking around your room for any kind of danger. The room was almost dark, light just seeping through the crack under the door. It was still early in the night.

“Y/N? Hey, hey. You’re okay.” Abby slowly let go of your wrists. “You had a nightmare. You’re okay now, I’m here.”

You were still too terrified to speak, so you just scooted further to the side and grabbed Abby’s hand, giving her a pleading look. She understood immediately, kicking off her shoes and climbing into bed next to you, holding out her arm for you to crawl into. You pressed yourself to her side and rested your head on her chest, feeling yourself tremble in her arms. She just held you for a while, letting you listen to her heartbeat until your own body began to calm down.

“Hi,” you whispered into the dim room. Abby stroked your hair while she held you tightly.

“Hey there,” she mumbled back. “Feeling better?”

“Not really.” You looked up at her. She smelled faintly of alcohol and something sweet. “How was your party?”

The corner of her mouth twitched.

“It was absolute chaos. I had to escape from there before it could consume me. And I also had someone to check on.” She squeezed your shoulder. You cringed at the thought of her finding you like this, writhing and talking in your sleep, crying out or even fighting her without knowing who was in front of you. You had always had horrible nightmares and Sierra had taken the brunt of them, waking you countless nights and trying to stay brave when you yelled at her or shoved her away in the first moments of consciousness, not yet fully back in the real world. Now that she was gone, they were a hundred times worse. You pressed your forehead to Abby’s shoulder.

“Did I scream?”

“Not really. I just knocked a few times and then I heard you talking, and you sounded so panicked that I thought I should make sure… I’m sorry I just came in like that.”

You shook your head.

“No, don’t. Thank you for waking me. It was… God, I hate this.”

Abby’s fingers combed through your hair, massaging your scalp. It was heavenly.

“Does this happen a lot?”

You snorted involuntarily.

“Every night. Several times. I never sleep through and I never sleep enough.” You wiped a hand over your face. “Sorry, I know I’m not the only one and it could be worse. It’s just… hard.”

“Excuse me?” Abby’s tone made you look up at her. “You’re telling me you have several panic attacks in your sleep every night but it’s fine because others have nightmares, too?”

You frowned. Panic attacks? You’d never thought of it that way.

“Y/N, you’re allowed to complain. To me especially. Remember, we wanted to talk about our problems? Be open about all this?”

She was right. You pressed yourself closer to her.

“I guess, yeah. Thank you for… for being here.”

“Wanna tell me about your nightmare?”

You held onto Abby’s shirt, clenching the fabric in your fist as if she might be ripped from you at any moment.

“I don’t know… I mean, why not. Well…” How were you even supposed to explain all this? How would you ever talk about your sister without freaking out again?

Abby pressed a kiss to the top of your head and you felt the tension in your stomach dissolve. You took a deep breath.

“I can never tell I’m dreaming. This time I thought I heard something in the corridor and I went to see what it was. A little girl was scratching on doors, trying to get in. She looked like the… like one of the infected we ran into today. But I made a noise and when she turned around she was... She was -” You gasped for air, trying to keep your calm. Abby hummed softly, stroking your back and giving you time to think.

“She had the face of my sister. Sierra.” You hadn’t said her name out loud in so long, only in the nightmares. Maybe it was time to rid her name of that terror, that fear, and grant it the love and warmth it deserved. “Sierra was my little sister. We ran with a group the last few years, stayed with them after our mom died. But she was bitten and I had to… I had to let her go.” You swallowed hard. Abby’s thumb drew circles on your back.

“So in the dream… the girl turned around and she was her . And I didn’t know what to do. I begged her to stop, to not come any closer because she was infected, she was bleeding, and -” You drew in another breath and buried your face in Abby’s chest. “She asked me why I’d done it, why I had… and she kept coming and then she attacked me and I - I had to, I had to shoot her.”

Hot tears were burning in your eyes and your throat was impossibly tight again. Abby gently placed a hand on your cheek and turned your face up toward her.

“I’m not gonna tell you it was just a dream because I know it's more complicated than that. I get them, too, sometimes. But what I can tell you is that I’m here, that you’re safe now, that your sister is in a better place and that one day you will be able to speak about her without feeling like you’re falling apart.”

“You think so?”

“I’m sure of it. And now you're with me. We can heal together. I’m here, I’ll always be here for you, okay?”

You raised your head from her chest and turned a little in order to get face to face with her.

“Abby?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you doing this? Why now? I didn’t even think you liked me. You don’t have to take care of me.”

Abby’s features softened and she huffed out a silent laugh.

“I don’t know. I really… You were right when you said we keep everything to ourselves. But some of us do it more than others. And I guess I’m the worst when it comes to showing what I want.”

The sentence hung in the air for a moment. Abby took a deep breath.

“I like you, I really do. I just thought you needed more time. I know what it’s like to suffer and to feel like you can’t breathe. I wanted to give you space. But then I saw you in the car and I immediately knew what was happening. And I finally realized that I wouldn’t make things better by staying away.”

She held your gaze and you felt something shift between you. Her hand on your back came to a halt. You smiled softly.

“I always thought you didn’t find me interesting enough to talk to me. I was so jealous of the others for being this close to you and for making you laugh. I wanted that, too.”

“You’re the most interesting person that’s ever walked into this stadium,” Abby said softly. “God, I’m so sorry. I never wanted you to feel left out.”

You rested your head back on her shoulder.

“You made it up to me already. Really, you saved me today. Twice.”

Abby chuckled.

“Just wait until I have my next breakdown and then you can return the favor. Shouldn’t be long, they get to me every few days.”

You wrapped your arms around her torso.

“Well, then you’ll just have to stay close by.”

She hesitated, holding her breath for a second. You waited.

“Do you want me to stay? Tonight?”

You smiled to yourself.

“Would you?”

“Of course.”

You kept talking for a while. Abby told you about the party and about the cook Nora was currently hooking up with, and you told her about the boy in the kitchen. She recalled training with Danny when she first joined the WLF, laughing about how he had boasted that he wouldn’t lose to a girl and how she had him on the ground in a headlock in about two seconds.

At some point you must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew you were in the truck again, sitting in the passenger seat as the car flew through Seattle at top speed. You looked over and in the driver's seat there was the red-haired boy from the kitchen. His face was determined, a hard mask of concentration. He was panting hard, driving as fast as he could. Arrows were flying around you, soaring through the broken windows of the car and missing you by mere inches. A horse was whinnying. Scars. You immediately pulled out your gun and started shooting at everything that moved outside, hitting at least three people and a horse.

“Sorry,” you whispered as you reloaded. Animals weren’t fair.

You looked up and suddenly there was someone standing in the middle of the street. A small girl, brown-haired and in a red dress. Her back was to you. You screamed at the driver, but it was too late. The truck hit the child and it was thrown against the windshield, making a horrible noise as it cracked the glass and rolled over the roof to the back of the car where it fell to the ground. The truck came to a shrieking halt and you jumped out, gun drawn. The scars had vanished. You and the redhead ran back to where the girl was laying in a heap on the street, so small and fragile. Blood was running through the cracks in the pavement.

You turned the girl on her back and froze when you saw her face.

“Sierra! No, no, no, oh god no, what have we done - Sierra, Sierra, baby, look at me!”

“Y/N!” You heard your name but Sierra’s lips weren’t moving. “Y/N!” You whipped your head around and woke up.

It was dark and Abby had an arm wrapped around you, the other was holding your cheek. You swallowed and struggled for air.

“I’ve got you, hey, just breathe for me, I’ve got you.” Abby’s voice was sleepy and rough, something you'd have never thought you’d have the privilege of hearing. It calmed you down instantly. You dug your fingers into her arm, strong muscle flexing beneath your touch.

“Shhh, that’s right, just hold on. You’re okay.” You melted into her arms, hands and legs still shaking. She made a quiet humming noise in the back of her throat and pressed another kiss to your scalp. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you. I’m here.”

“You’re here,” you whispered and she hummed again in response. You rested your head against her chest and listened to her breaths as they slowly became more regular, chest steadily moving against you. Her heartbeat thumped softly in your ear. Cocooned in the wolf’s arms and serenaded by the quiet symphony of her sleeping body, you finally drifted off to sleep again.

#abby anderson #abby tlou #abby tlou2 #abby anderson fic #fanfiction #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst/comfort #angst/fluff #manny tlou #wlf #washington liberation front #abby anderson / reader #abby/reader

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chiwhorei · 3 years

Text

who prays for the headsman?

paring: k. kyoutani x fem!reader

genre: angst, smut, 18+ minors dni

word count: 3.2k

warnings: size kink, crying, oral (f. receiving), major character death, pseudo-incest, stepcest, violence (not a gorey depiction), stabbing, a mention of blood, medieval beheading, angst okay this is sad you have been warned

a/n: Hello! HQHQ monthly collab time, sinners! I’m super excited to share this with you all, it was truly a work of love. All of the other amazing fantasy collab pieces can be found here!

hymns: murder song (5, 4, 3, 2, 1) - AURORA, the judge - twenty one pilots

“The girl’s mother and I are to be wed with haste,” Kyoutani Kentarou’s father pats his small head, smoothing down the blond locks, “Be sure to make y/n feel comfortable. She isn’t your blood, but she’s your family now, son.”

From the moment his father brought you and your mother home, still wrapped in thick mourning veils and tears, his cross to bare was you.

You needed barely an introduction before melting into the comfort of Kentarou. Wrapping your small hands around his middle and burying your face against his neck. Your stiff black dress crinkles against him. The contact was a magnetic, instantaneous spell. Like moth meeting flame, and Kyoutani would burn for it until the next lifetime. The bubbling, itching hellfire marring his tanned skin for two decades.

It’s easier to see the resulting moments in pieces. Shiny, silver blade raised high and gleaming in the light, a sharp swipe of the weapon through the stale air, and finally a thump of weight against the ground below. Still, quiet, and absolute. There’s no escaping the headman’s blade.

The virgin light of dawn rouses Kyoutani from a fitful night of sleep, he stretches his arm out to find your form and only catches the empty shell of blankets you’ve left behind. You’re always awake to greet the cresting rays of light as if they need your permission before ascending to greet the rest of the townspeople. You are the end and beginning of each day.

He finds you sat by the stone fireplace, nightdress hanging off of your shoulders and shawl wrapped tightly to keep the winter’s air at bay. You’ve always preferred the springtime. Even so, the smile that turns at the ends of your lips warms his body like the pouring of melted honey. He basks in you for a moment from afar, as close as he ever feels worthy of being.

“How did you sleep?” Your hand reaches out as he moves farther into the cottage’s main room, touching the warmth of his bare chest. Kyoutani pulls you into him, pressing a kiss to your temple and folding your head against the crook of his neck. Your question goes unanswered, as you both already know: there’s never much rest gifted to the headsman.

A tall wisteria tree sits just outside of town. It’s branches are long and decaying. No flowers bloom on a tree the gods have forgotten. But that doesn't deter you from airy footsteps carrying you to it’s base.

“There’s nothing you can do, y/n,” Kyoutani presses, reaching his arms out to ensure you don’t fall, “there’s no fixing rotten roots.”

You scoff, bunching up your skirt at the ends and kneeling at the large trunk.

Where you bound forward without care, your Kentarou is always there to catch you. As you stoop down by the lifeless tree, his stern eyes narrow. You lay your hands against the rough bark, rubbing upwards and back down. All you need is the notion of life. Your eyes shut in concentration, fingers dancing along the coarse texture. It’s there, deep inside, waiting for you to tug at and rouse back to life. You can see it just behind your eyelids, purples and long flora hanging down, surrounding you in it’s beauty.

“H-how did you do that, y/n?” Kyoutani is cemented in shock behind you, where naked, ghoulish limbs once sat are now filled with swaying, violet life.

“I dunno, I get a tingling feeling in my hands. Here,” You pull him down to sit on the ground, pressing your palms to his cheeks. Your touch is like balm on a wound, he closes his eyes and leans in further. His forehead presses against your own. Your hands cradle the sides of his face, thumbs tracing over the soft skin in soothing patterns.

This is wrong, even as a boy no taller than prairie grass; he knows how wrong this feeling is.

“Do you feel it, Kenta?”

Kyoutani’s job isn’t to decide a person's fate, but the blood still soaks his hands all the same. His walk home is always to the beat of heavy, warning footsteps. His figure is looming, shrouded in thick leather and chain medal. The faulted axe hangs by his side, gripped tightly and weighed down with the heavy smell of iron. He counts his sins every night, prays for absolution but still scrubs the blood of strangers off of his arms and wraps you up in them.

“You fucking bastard,” a strangers voice sounds behind Kyoutani like a siren. He hears the rustling of critics followed by the feeling of a stone thrown against his back.

“You murdered my brother. He was a good man and you killed him.” Kyoutani sighs deeply, he knows the blame will fall on him with every swing his blade makes, so any retort is swallowed. There’s never much reason to quabble, as word travels in a small town like water through a sieve.

“I know who you are, Kyoutani Kentarou. Your father was a good man, and your sweet little sister grew up to be quite the-” All reason shatters under Kyoutani’s boot in an instant, feet carrying him in his hecklers’ direction. His clenched fist meeting the man’s eye socket with deadly force, vision blurring and reason fleeting. He shouldn’t be handing out home brewed justice, but there’s no rationale exercised when your name passes through a strangers mouth.

Kyoutani is a strong man, but fighting three against one would be a losing battle no matter what. No matter how noble his intent is, a sharp knife to the stomach is impossible to ignore. The stranger twists the dagger, bringing his face to Kyouatani’s ear.

“Say hi to your dear ole’ dad for me, eh?”

He hears the man’s snide voice against the pounding in his head. He feels cold and far away, falling down a tunnel with no bottom.

“They’ll be coming for you, y/n,” Your lover's voice lilts against your back, but you don’t turn to meet his eyes just yet. Your hands busy themselves against the familiar grooves of bark. The wisteria’s flowers create a sanctuary from the cruelty of the outside world. It’s a sanctuary, but this spot is one of original sin. The first brush of lips sealed fate years ago that will be actualized by daybreak.

“I know, Kenta-” Your soft voice usually calms the blonde man in front of you, but under the plague of circumstance, your words are sharp spikes against his heart.

“Why did you do it then? How could you be so careless? The mark of a witch means only one thing.” Kyoutani’s stern voice cuts you off, holding you in place, “You never think about the consequences of your reckless heart. Look at me, woman.” His body towers over you, broad chest against your back. His hand finds your jaw, pulling it harshly to force eye contact. Darkened brown eyes fall upon your watery ones and his angry facade shatters like pottery in the small space between your two bodies. You sniffle in his hold, fat tears run down your cheeks as you stutter a response.

“I couldn’t let you die, you’re the only family I have left. I- I love you, Kenta.” A sob rips through you, the declaration isn’t a new one, but it’s context is uniquely heartbreaking. Kyoutani pulls you into him immediately, wrapping strong, scarred arms around your shoulders. You cling to him, a piece of history repeating itself as it likes to do, wrapped in each other and the royal purples of wisteria.

Your lips quiver an inch away from his, stained with salty tears. Kyoutani feels the warmth of plush skin dangled in front of him, there’s an urgency rushing through him where he’s usually hesitant. There isn’t much more time. Without consulting the angel on his right shoulder, two large hands cup your face and pull your lips against his own.

Your cries are muffled by the sloppy pull of your own tongue into Kyoutani’s mouth. As his traces over yours with a chorus of nips and licks, his hands fall to your waist to bunch up the fabric against your hips. The action causes your body to press flush to his crotch.

“We have one more night together, Kenta. Please.” Your words don’t need much appraisal, you could ask Kyoutani to pull the skies down with his bare hands and he would tear the blankets off of any gods above without a second thought. One more night.

Kyoutani unwraps himself from around your form to sit down on the spongy grass below. The terrain is soft and forgiving despite its location in the dense forest. He watches you above him, angelically outlined in the soft moonlight. The personification of virtue and goodness glimmering off of you like an aura. The purest beauty to ever exist, and he’s at the helm of it’s destruction.

The sound of your dress pooling at your feet pulls him from mulling over his past transgressions. His eyes follow a line up from said garment to where your bare cunt is nestled between hip bones. His gaze climbs farther, lacerating the memory of every dip and curve so they scar against his heart. He needs to remember everything.

You join him on the soft grass, knees swung on either side of his large thighs. His hands find your hips again, pressing into the flesh as you begin to rock lightly against him. Your movement is disastrous to his resolve, the tension in his body delivers harsh oval bruises against the skin of your ass.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” Your confessions are accented by kisses against Kyoutani’s cheeks and lips. Your soul, your heart, your everything are each other’s; and tonight is the final assemblage.

Kyoutani’s touch is like scarlet fever against your body, burning in its journey to grope any flesh he could reach. His fingers have to cement this feeling into his fingerprints, after tonight only the phantom pains of you will remain.

“You feel so good Kenta. S-So right.” Your mewls rattle around against his skull, as one palm comes down to meet your heated pussy. The most morally abject sin he’s committed- even counting the heads that roll by his feat every day- is you. But still; he can’t argue the morality of your body writhing naked above him when his cock is already straining angrily against the leather of his pants. His fingers trace down from the hip bone to where your puffy lips sit. It’s amazing how sweet, how soft you are. Where Kyoutani is calloused and harsh, you are smooth and silken. Perfection. Depravity.

As one thick finger proads against your hole, your hips buck with new resolve. You crave more than just fleeting touches and stolen glances. You want him to let go completely, something he’s only done a handful of times. You need him to.

“I’m not made of ceramic Kyoutani. You treat me like a child, but I’m stronger than you seem to believe.” You use your family name for punctuation, but the sentence comes out melted on the edges when he sticks another digit in to join the first.

“Don’t you think I know that, y/n. Fuck. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known,” a resounding slap meets your ass, jolting you farther against his fingers, “but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t protect you. That’s my job, damnit.” His thumb finds your swollen clit with ease even within his flustered state and presses down, “I failed you.”

You don’t trust your own voice to answer, you know nothing you could say would ease his heart. All you can do is push forward in hopes that one night can make up for the life he’ll have to live without you. Your hands move down to loosen his suffocating pants, wobbly knees digging against the ground as he eases the leather down his legs.

Your hand grabs a hold of his hard cock, stroking from his thick base to reddened tip. The touch is familiar. Something that wracks him with guilt but fills his soul with warmth. It’s always been your touch. Similar to the sparks rendered from striking flint, your touch lights up his every nerve

Kentarou’s fingers move back to work you open for him, your head falls back, causing the fat of your tits to bounce against his chest. His other rough hand comes up to palm your breasts, pinching your hardened nipple and pulling down. You cry out in pleasure at the attention, senses overwhelmed by your lover’s ministrations.

“Please, please do something.” Your voice is desperate against the shell of his ear, pleading for more. More of Kentarou, and naively, for more time.

With a swift, practiced movement, the blonde moves you to lay against the grass. He removes the blood-stained shirt from his chest and kicks off his pants. His body eclipses yours, shielding you from view. You’re surrounded by him, the heady scent of sweat, the sound of the racing heart against his ribcage like a trapped songbird. It’s all Kyoutani, it always has been; your home, your confessional, the safest reprieve and your most vile secret.

Kyoutani’s cock is freed from its confines to slap deftly against his stomach. Your mouth tries to swallow as if filled with dried tea leaves, his size isn’t always the most accommodating. Even so, you lift up on one elbow to curl your fingers around his shaft and groan once again when your pointer finger and thumb don’t meet. Kyoutani opens his mouth to speak but you answer before the words fall.

“Don’t be gentle, Kentarou, ” your dwarfed hand tugs him towards you, creating a dizzying pressure, “I can take it.”

There’s no room for argument in your words, so he dips down to kiss your lips once again. “Let me taste you, y/n. Just one more time.” His eyes hold flames but regard you as softly as possible. You nod in agreement. His lips running down from your neck to your hips, you feel the chapped skin against your own. With each peck, a path of tears follow in tandem. His shaky cries are hidden behind the moans being pulled from your lungs. You don’t acknowledge it, for doing so would just make the wracking pain even worse.

There’s no use speaking of your combined suffering, it’s already dug it’s blade into Kyoutani’s vertebrae.

Once his mouth reaches your wet pussy, there’s nothing left of his conscious. Where guilt usually lies, madness replaces. The first swipe of his tongue is painfully slow, he has to savor this taste, your taste. Your soft, swollen lips are the gods’ manna and he’s been given one last chance to indulge. Kyoutani’s tongue finds your clit and flicks upward, just the way that’s always made you squeal. You’re coating his chin in slick, and nothing else will ever quench his thirst like this again. He could stay in between your legs for the next century, but rips himself away from your dripping cunt.

Your mouth is captured in his again, tongue and cheeks coated in your own arousal. The feeling distracting you from the reddened tip prodding at your tight hole. You suck in a sharp breath as you’re worked open. Every vein and ridge tugs against your snug walls. It hurts, it always does, but there’s nothing that’s ever felt better either. You bite his collarbone in a feeble attempt to keep quiet, nails cresting small shapes against his back as he slides farther and farther in.

“My pretty girl, so perfect for me.” Kyoutani’s hips meet your ass, giving you a moment to acclimate. You’re pulled taut around him, cock dragging against you as he pulls back. He remembers your previous words. I can take it.

His hips slam against you with ferocity. Every expanse of fat on you bounces. Thighs, tits, ass- all moving with the pace he sets. His cock is begging for release with every union of his tip to your cervix. A litany of cries and pleas fill the surrounding air, lilting around to bounce against the drooping flowers.

“Please Kenta, I’m- I’m going to.” Your sentence breaks off at the end but he puts them back together. He coos you, “I know, little one. Let go for me.” He presses two fingers against your clit once more to rub tight circles.

Your toes curl against the grass below you, body locking up as the blood running through your veins is replaced with gooey syrup. Years of tension and shame pull tightly against your body and snap in an instant.

Kyoutani can’t hold off his own orgasm any longer, not with the vice grip you have on him.

Not with the sound of the constable's horses drawing closer to the old wisteria tree.

It’s easier to see the resulting moments in pieces.

Kyoutani’s blade is sharpened meticulously. “A dull axe is worlds more painful.” Even as his heart is being torn from under his breast bone, webs of muscle and tendon snapping like sewing floss the closer he walks to your kneeling form, he remembers his father’s words.

The ringing in his ear drowns out the sound of your sentence being passed, it’s better he doesn't hear the official crimes you are posed with, lest he swings his weapon against the priest instead. He wants to reach out, to untie you and run away, to find a new world. A world where he hears the pattering of little footsteps and sees chubby hands clinging against your apron. A world where he wakes up to your wrinkled cheeks and graying hair.

Shiny, silver blade raised high and gleaming in the light, a sharp swipe of the weapon through the stale air, and finally a thump of weight against the ground below. Still, quiet, and absolute.

There’s no escaping the headman’s blade.

The wisteria tree is the beginning and end. Long, purple flowers sealing fate. Kyoutani pulls reluctant feet to the tree's base, his forehead pressing against the bark. He turns around and slides down to sit against the trunk. His hands roam against the texture of the grass beneath him. He remembers the spindly branches and decaying wood from years ago when he closes his eyes, he remembers your hands clawing back it’s life from the lowest level of hell.

When his eyes open again, they are met with yours. Soft, beautiful, and achingly familiar. You smile, lips turning upwards and teeth peaking out slightly. Your hand reaches out to cup his face, a dull crackle of warmth reaches his skin where forest fires use to smolder. It’s not the same, but it’s you. He knows it’s you somehow. Whether it be a cruel trick from the gods or his brain succumbing to madness. It’s still you. Your warmth is surrounding him again, and it feels almost right.

“Do you feel it, Kenta?” Your voice is warped and echoes like a hollow drum, he can’t help the tears falling in thick streams. It’s you. He reaches out to touch you, but his hands remain empty and cold. You disappear in a second, your face vanishing from where he swore he could almost feel your lips against his own.

You leave him once again and take the bright flowers of wisteria with you.

#kyoutani x reader #kyoutani smut #kyoutani kentarou x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #kyoutani kentarou #kyoutani kentarou smut #hqhq server collab #tw: stepcest #tw: death #tw: pseudo-incest #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: stabbing

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vodkassassin · 3 years

Note

Hello supreme overlord, ruler of all, writer of the most amazing of sentances and of the nicest of words, could you please write SQQ and SQH interacting in public and forgetting where they are so they just share friendly touches (like touch-starved millenials do) which ppl see and loose their minds over? Like SQH casually throws his hand over SQQ's shoulder and the other just looks pleased youdon'thavetoifyoudon'twantto Ty <3

Moth babe I swear to god

Here’s some platonic cucumberplane for you guys! @overlordmoth

Shen Yuan has been in the body of Shen Qingqiu for seven months. Seven warm months of early spring, a beautiful, gorgeous summer befitting of a xianxia world, and a colorful yet mild fall.

He’s been so busy with worrying about the plot, about dismantling the OOC function, about what this exasperating, crazy world (or the System) would throw at him next, that he hasn’t really had the chance to concern himself with the smaller things, like the weather. Especially since those smaller things have been content to be rather wonderful and non-problematic.

Until now, that is. It’s the beginning of his eighth month in this ridiculous place, and it seems winter is finally here.

Yesterday, now that Shen Qingqiu has the belated gift of hindsight, he realizes that all the trees — usually so full of brightly colored leaves in warm tones of oranges and reds and yellows and even some pinks — they’d all gone completely skeletal, very abruptly losing all those final leaves at once. And, seemingly overnight, three feet of snow apparently fell to blanket the mountain sect — because it’s a mountain! Lots of snow! Who’s grand idea was it to build the sect high up on a mountain range? Fuck you, Airplane! — while Shen Qingqiu was asleep, and now….

Shen Qingqiu kicks the door that obstructs his way open with his foot, and Shang Qinghua flinches back in his seat across the room.

“I’m sorry! What? Oh! U—Um, hey bro, what’s —?”

Crossing the office, Shen Qingqiu takes a brief, self-indulgent moment to loom over his fellow transmigrator and watch him sweat, before he whips open his fan and presses the tip of one of its spokes to his mouth in contemplation.

“Scoot over.”

“What?” Shang Qinghua asks, and squeaks when Shen Qingqiu doesn’t wait any longer before plopping down directly beside him and leaning over to burrow into his side. “Sh-Shen bro—?!”

“It’s fucking cold,” Shen Qinqiu hisses, “and I am wearing silk. And I own nothing but silk! Who’s idea was that, huh, Qinghua?”

Shang Qinghua doesn’t make a sound for a few long seconds, but Shen Qingqiu can feel the man trembling. He can’t tell, however, whether it is because the man is nervous or laughing at him.

“I-I would have assumed it was Shen-shixiong’s idea, seeing as how it’s his wardrobe,” Shang Qinghua finally says, voice shaking, and clearly talking about the original goods, whose character and wardrobe he had written himself!

It sounds enough like mocking that Shen Qingqiu gives into his urge and snaps his fan closed, using it to jab his friend — yes, his friend — in the ribs. The shorter man yelps.

“Ow! Bro, c’mon—!”

“I’ll kill you.” Shen Qingqiu tells him in a stage whisper, lifting his eyebrows up to show how serious he is about it.

“You would never.” Shang Qinghua sounds so sure of himself. “You love me too much, bro!”

“Would you stop squirming?” Shen Qingqiu huffs in irritation as the other peak lord’s movements makes him slip off his shoulder and slide down to land in his lap instead. “Shang Qinghua!”

“I didn’t do it!” Shang Qinghua wails, nonetheless teaching out to wrap an arm around Shen Qingqiu’s shoulder and tugging him up a bit to rest against his chest instead. “There, is that better? You know, you interrupted me. I’m trying to work!”

“You can still write with me here, stop whining,” Shen Qingqiu gripes, and leans forward to shove his frozen nose directly against Shang Qinghua’s neck. The man jerks back and whines.

“Stop! You’re cold!”

“I know, that’s why I’m here! Order me a winter wardrobe right now!”

“I don’t have the right forms for that at my desk!” His friend says, a brush dripping ink still held aloft in one hand. “I’ll have a disciple hunt them down for me and do it later!”

“I’ll turn into a popsicle before then! Bitch, do I look like Captain America to you?” Shen Qingqiu demands.

“You ain’t nearly blonde enough,” Shang Qinghua huffs, setting down his brush and rubbing some warmth into his bro’s upper arm. The other sighs slightly and leans even more of his weight into him. Neither of them are very heavy, though, so it doesn’t make much of a difference. “You wanna borrow one of my fur-lined robes until I get you your own?”

“I could kiss you for that,” Shen Qingqiu admits. “Please.”

There’s a loud, strangled sound from the doorway.

Both of them whip their heads around to stare in surprise at the utterly befuddled Yue Qingyuan that stands in the doorway. Slightly behind the sect leader, a red-faced Luo Binghe stares at the two cuddling peak lords with wide eyes. A few seconds tick by in complete silence, before the boy turns away and flees.

“Uh,” Shang Qinghua says smartly.

Shen Qingqiu withholds a groan and smacks his friend on the shoulder with an open palm, burying his face into Shang Qinghua’s neck so that he doesn’t have to look at the still-staring sect leader. “Well, shit.”

“I—” Yue Qingyuan attempts to speak, but his voice fails him immediately, and the three peak lords are left in a stifling, awkward silence.

Shang Qinghua clears his throat. “M-Maybe sect leader should come back later?” He asks.

Shen Qingqiu is suddenly hyper-aware of the arm that his friend has wrapped around him, and the way he’s sitting across Shang Qinghua’s thighs, and mentally swears again. This is a little bit too much for ancient China xianxia sensibilities, isn't it? Fuck.

Yue Qingyuan tries to speak again, but no words come out. After a second, the man settles for giving them a sharp nod. He then turns on his heel and leaves without a word.

Shen Qingqiu and Shang Qinghua stare at one another in silence.

“Awkward.” Shen Qingqiu eventually manages, burrowing even closer against his friend. Honestly, he’s just too fucking cold to be overly concerned about the consequences of this blunder just yet.

“I hate you.” Shang Qinghua says, reaching a hand up to hit him. There’s absolutely no power behind it at all. “This is your fault.”

“It absolutely is not,” Shen Qingqiu denies. “You’re the one who gave me an entirely silk wardrobe. Fuck you.”

“Fuck me yourself, you coward.”

“Please,” someone whimpers, and they turn to see Shang Qinghua’s head disciple cowering in the corner of the room, beet-red face buried into both his hands. “Please, stop.”

“Haha, whoops,” Shang Qinghua laughs nervously. “Sorry, A-Kao! Why don’t you take a break?”

“I’m never coming back,” the disciple says, emotionally. He pushes away from the wall and high tails it out of the offices faster than even Luo Binghe had fled.

The two of them are silent as they watch him leave.

“God dammit,” Shen Qingqiu sighs tiredly. He slumps even further against Shang Qinghua, and the other man adjusts his grip on him. “The System is going to kill me for this later.”

“Not if we kill it first,” Shang Qinghua says, a malicious light appearing in his eyes.

Shen Qingqiu looks up at him. “... I’m listening.”

They both ignore the neon red, flashing warning screens that only they can see.

#svsss prompts #scumbag system #cucumberplane #shen qingqiu #shang qinghua #yue qingyuan #luo binghe #vodka answers #vodkassassin fanfiction #overlordmoth

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

Loving You is a Losing Game

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/Reader

Word Count: 2,602

Warnings: Gore, loss of limbs/appendages, medical procedures, implied experimentation, big Reader whump, Marcus is depressed, this is 99% angst, I’m sorry in advance, I promise it has a happy ending.

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell

Two weeks before he was going to propose to you, you disappeared from Marcus’s life. With no idea where you went or who took you from him, Marcus devotes himself to finding you, even if it costs him his life. Meanwhile, you’re struggling to keep alive in a cell, wishing you had your hero by your side. What must you lose to reunite with Marcus?

A/N: An anon asked me to write some Reader whump with Marcus after I posted my Marcus whump, and boy oh boy did I deliver! I hope this satisfies you, anon, because I’m oddly proud of it.

Every second that passed was agonizing. Marcus was pacing up and down and up and down, waiting for Miracle Guy to return from his mission. To see if they’d caught sight of you.

You’d been gone from him for six months now. You’d missed his birthday, and Missy’s, and even your own. He’d been planning to ask you on your birthday, the ring heavy in his pocket even now. But you’d been taken, kidnapped by an unnamed threat that hadn’t shown itself again. He had been inconsolable for weeks, but dragged himself to work on the hope that one day there would be news. And today was that day. Or at least, he hoped it was.

“Marcus.”

Marcus looked up. Miracle Guy stood in front of him, worried, holding a piece of paper. A photograph. He surged forward, moved by instinct and instinct alone.

“It’s all we could find,” Miracle Guy said softly, handing over the photo. “They did DNA tests. It’s theirs.”

The photograph wavered dangerously as Marcus took in the contents. Three fingers, bloodied at the ends, lay on the pavement, the blood long since dried up into the ground. They were old.

“Marcus? Are you okay?”

Marcus shook his head. They had you. They’d injured you. They had no fear of hurting you. Would they kill you?

He looked up, vision blurry with tears and anger. “They’ll pay for this.”

Marcus didn’t rest for days. He was fueled only by coffee, anger, determination, and fear. Even Missy, who had mourned your loss as much as he had, was worried for him. He was killing himself to find you.

Finally, he found a lead.

Well, technically someone else found it. A smashed VHS tape found near the fingers. It took Tech-No days to fix it properly, but when he did, no one liked what they heard.

There was no image on the tape. The camera had been angled towards the blank wall, the faded patterns of bricks grey and fuzzy. The sounds though. Oh god the sounds.

It started with suppressed sobs. Marcus clenched his fists, trying not to scream. That was you, sobbing, shuddering breaths so full of fear. Heavy footsteps entered the room, and your breathing picked up, racing quickly to full panic mode.

“No, please,” you begged, voice thin and weak. “Please!” You sounded desperate, and there were rough sounds, the sounds of skin on stone. A sliding noise, like metal on fabric, and then a sound so loud and shocking that everyone in the room jumped.

You screamed, high and bloodcurdling. Frenzy entered your voice as you shrieked and shrieked and shrieked. Marcus was frozen, the complete terror and pain you were conveying with a single noise making him incapable of movement. He vaguely registered someone throwing up behind him, but all he could focus on was your continued screaming.

Finally, the tape stopped, cutting off one of your screams. Tech-No stepped forward, a bit paler than he’d been before he showed the tape. “Given recent evidence, we can safely assume that tape was of them removing three of (Y/N)’s fingers.”

Whoever had thrown up heaved again, the sick splattering sounds tame in comparison to what everyone else had just heard.

Marcus was the first to speak. “We’re finding them. Right now.”

———

You had lost all sense of day and night, and your only indicator of time was when your single meal arrived. A metal tray shoved under a flap in the thick metal door. Your food was typically meager and rotten, but you ate like a man starved. Mostly because in the beginning you had been.

As you crawled towards the tray, the chains binding your thick leather collar to the wall clinking, you tried your best to keep the weight off your left hand. Two weeks ago, the cruel men who’d kidnapped you had cut three of your fingers off and left you with nothing to fix the bleeding stumps. You’d eventually resorted to ripping up a pant leg to bind your hand and staunch the bleeding.

Today’s meal was a few bites of stale bread and a quarter serving of stone cold soup. You kept pace in eating, knowing that scarfing it all down would result in vomiting. And in the first months, it had. Your cell still stank from how much you’d thrown up in there, but it was buried among the other smells. Not that you could even smell it now.

You drank half the water they gave you, and used the other half to wash out your hand. It was the first major injury they’d given you, and you’d tried to take care of you. Despite your tending and the daily washings out, the hand was swollen and red, the site of the injury a sick sort of yellow with spots that were actually turning brown. It was burning hot to the touch and oozed something that reeked, even in the disgusting cell. You’d be lucky if you’d be able to keep the hand. Hell, you’d be lucky to keep the whole arm at this point.

“I’ll be lucky if I don’t die here,” you said bitterly to yourself, ripping another long strip of fabric off your discarded pants with your teeth and slowly wrapping up your hand, biting back tears. The only fingers left were your index and thumb, and they didn’t look good.

When your body succumbed to exhaustion, you curled up on the threadbare mattress and used the single moth bitten blanket to preserve body heat. Sleep was easy and dreamless now, and you often woke at the smallest of sounds. Like the man walking past your cell every so often, maybe every half hour? You wished you had a watch. You wished you had many things. Shivering beneath your blanket, you curled closer into the corner and wished for Marcus.

Marcus was not there when your eyes opened. You woke up to the harsh scrape of the door opening and two men grabbing you to drag you out. You kicked and screamed, but it did nothing. The men were stronger than you, and in your starved state, you were too weak to do much more than flail.

A rough scrap of fabric was tied around your face, killing your vision. A second one followed quickly, sitting uncomfortably between your lips and silencing your voice. Your feet didn’t want to carry you, so the men did it for you, carting around your dead weight as if it were nothing.

Just as suddenly as they’d lifted you, the men put you down, and you whined as harsh lights filled your eyes when the blindfold was removed. You were at the start of a long white hallway, branches of the hall snaking out and around. Had they put you in a maze?

A harsh jolt around your ankle sent you shrieking, kicking your feet to attempt to dislodge the heavy ankle bracelet you wore. It didn’t move, and a sharper stab raced up your leg as you danced around like you were possessed.

Finally, you started to run, racing down pristine white corridors and working yourself dizzy. You unwrapped your hand, hoping the dripping blood and pus would help guide you, like a gory version of Theseus’s yarn. But all it did was confuse you until every hallway was filled with smeared bodily fluids and you had no way to turn.

You had no idea how long you were in the maze. Hours? Days? Time was irrelevant here. Whenever you tried to stop, to rest or to find reprieve from the stabbing pain in your feet, the ankle bracelet would shock you harder and harder until you moved again. The blinding lights never dimmed, and finally, finally, your body gave out.

The anklet shocked you once, twice, three times and then yet again for good measure. All you did was twitch, lying exhausted on the floor, the world underneath you spinning like an out of control carousel. “Marcus,” you croaked, your dying voice a harsh scrape in your throat. You hadn’t had water in hours, was it hours? Spots swam through your vision as two people in white coats came to collect you, putting your limp body on a stretcher and wheeling you away. You were tossed into a cell, this one whiter and lighter than your last one. You had no time to investigate the new room as one person, the woman, poured water down your throat while the other shackled you to the wall again. The woman checked your vitals and wrote down some numbers while the man used white bandages and soft gauze pads to cover the ruin of your left hand. You weren’t coherent enough to tell if he’d put any disinfectant on the wound, but you could guess that he didn’t. No one here was that kind to you.

“Rest,” the woman said, putting a hand on your head in what you assumed was her idea of comfort. “We’ll try it again later.”

You couldn’t even argue as your body shut down, plunging you into the darkness of your dreamless sleep.

When you woke, it was not to the scientists or the bad men. It was to faint gunfire and a large figure bursting into your new cell. You scrambled upright, immediately tossing your hands up to protect your face, knees hugged to your chest to make yourself small and heavy. But no blows came, no rough hands touched your skin. Only soft shuffled footsteps and labored breathing. Braving a peak, you saw a man silhouetted by light, the familiar outline of katanas over the person’s shoulders breaking your heart.

“Marcus,” you said weakly, uncurling. As your eyes adjusted and the door slowly began to close, you were able to take Marcus in fully. He looked a wreck, exhaustion written all over his face and a broken expression twisting his usually kind features. He fell to his knees, and you crawled forward to meet him, throwing yourself into his arms and letting yourself be wracked by sobs for the first time in months. Your malnourished and anemic body shook violently, but you had never felt more steady, cradled in Marcus’s embrace.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Marcus breathed, voice unsure and wavering.

You shook your head. You had no words, no ability to speak right now. Instead, you just pressed yourself tighter to him, tears ruining his shirt. You could barely register Marcus cutting through your collar and discarding it on the floor.

Marcus stood, cradling your broken body to his chest. He carried you out, past other heroes who all fell silent at your current condition. Marcus lay you down on a stretcher once you were outside and rode with you to the hospital, holding your unruined hand the entire time. You focused only on his grip, grounding yourself to it. You would be okay as long as Marcus Moreno was holding your hand.

The next few days were very fuzzy. You were in and out of an operating room, usually asleep and always drugged. After so long in pain, the gentle numbness of not being hurt was worrying. You had been right, half of your left arm had been too badly damaged to salvage. Below your left elbow now lay nothing, no hand to hold and no fingers to squeeze. Marcus held your right hand instead, pressing kisses into your palm and slowly running his thumb over your knuckles while he read.

Aside from the arm, your injuries had been few and far between. A couple scrapes that needed disinfectant, a broken rib that had healed incorrectly and needed surgery, and the rubbed raw skin of your neck that had been healed. You’d slowly begun to gain weight again, no longer skin and bones. Your hair, which had been greasy and matted, had been shorn off and was now regrowing. Your body had finally begun to rework its circadian rhythm, your sleeps lining up with the rise and fall of the sun.

Marcus took a breath beside you, his thumb absently circling over your index knuckle as he read. He’d been touching you in some way ever since you’d been found. Gentle hands touching yours while he watched TV, shoulders pressed together when he told you about Missy, the softest of kisses against your temples when your head hurt. You smiled, turning to Marcus and blinking slowly. He’d been working for weeks to restore your smile, and now you had it back, albeit shaky and nervous.

“What’s that look for?” Marcus asked, turning to you, one corner of his mouth rising slightly in amusement.

Your grin only grew. “You,” you said. “I love you.”

Marcus leaned forward, turning so he was fully facing you. “The day you were taken,” he said softly, taking your right hand in both of his. “I was so scared. It was two weeks before your birthday, remember? And I had been bursting with joy, because we were going to spend the evening together, just you and me.”

“Marcus,” you interrupted quietly. “What are you saying?”

“Hush dear, indulge me,” Marcus insisted, moving one hand to trace his knuckles across the curve of your cheekbone. “That night, on your birthday, I was going to ask you something. Something that would’ve changed our lives forever. I’d spent months planning, making sure the night would be perfect, and then the universe stole you from me.”

You sighed, wishing you could cup Marcus’s face in your hands. Instead, you settled on resting your only hand on his right shoulder. He put his hand against yours, the warmth seeping into your skin. “Now,” he continued. “I wish I could ask you as easily as I had wanted to. This has all brought to light how precious you are to me. How much you make me happy. Darling, my light and my love, I want to be beside you forever, and I want you at my side. We will stumble, that I’m sure of, and there will be days where we will hate the very ground the other walks upon. But I’m willing to risk the fleeting bad for the abundant good.” He reached into his pocket and produced a slender ring made of twisted silver and shining gemstones. “Will you marry me?”

You had no words. Looking at Marcus, who was so sincerely pouring his heart out, you felt some kind of shame that you had no response except shock. Not shock that he was proposing, because you two had briefly talked about marriage. No, you were shocked at his emotion. His heart wrenching tone. The look of worry on his face as you sat there, silent.

It took a minute, but you finally managed to compose yourself long enough for a very strangled sounding “Yes.”

Marcus’s face brightened as you nodded, both of you tearing up. “Here,” he said, sliding the ring onto your ring finger. “It’s beautiful.”

You smiled, pulling Marcus close and hugging him as tight as you possibly could. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Marcus breathed, embracing you as firmly as you had him. “I’m so glad I get to say that to you again.”

The pair of you spent the rest of the day pressed against each other, Marcus getting into your bed with you as you drifted in and out of sleep. While he watched some horribly violent fantasy TV show, you dozed against his shoulder, the gentle hug of the ring on your finger a constant reminder that no matter what threats came your way, you would always have Marcus.

#we can be heroes #marcus moreno #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

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