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#But past that I just wanted to draw some blood and a head wound over one eye is quite a look lol
angelfic · 9 months
Text
— CALM AFTER THE STORM
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pairing: remus lupin x reader
summary: the 4 times you hate each other, and the one time you don’t. alternatively, remus lupin is a pain in your arse and yours alone.
warnings: enemies to lovers, swearing, kissing, mention of blood and wounds, some bad writing as always which is unedited
author’s note: just a little e2l fic for my own indulgence as its my fave trope and its criminal how i barely have any e2l fics… also haven’t written anything in ages soooo enjoy!
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when he just has to be controversial
The sun was beaming, colourful rays reflecting over your book through the stained-glass windows of the Gryffindor common room as you lounged on the sofa with your head in Lily’s lap. You were barely paying attention to the chatter of your friends around you, choosing to focus on your copy of ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ and Marlene’s soft guitar playing. The lazy afternoon is a welcome break from the increasingly stressful N.E.W.T lessons that have had you all so exhausted, you’re not sure if Peter is asleep or dead from his curled-up position on the rug.
You don’t even realise someone is saying your name until Marlene tickles the sole of your socked foot with her guitar pick, making you yelp and draw your legs in from where they were previously tucked in between Marlene and her guitar.
“What was that for?” you grumble, nudging her arm with your foot.
Marlene smirks, nodding over to James. “He told me to get your attention. Didn’t specify how.”
You roll your eyes and turn on your side to face the boy in question, his grin unfaltering as he multitasks polishing the handle of his broomstick and talking to you. “Not my fault you’re dead to the world when you’re reading,” he says, matter-of-fact, continuing when you raise your eyebrows in impatience. “I was just wondering how you could look so interested in that book. Remus said he’d do my homework for a month if I finished it the other day and I couldn’t get past five arse-numbingly dull pages.”
You scoff, adjusting your position again to face Remus as well. “And why was Remus betting you to read my book, exactly?”
“It was my copy,” Remus replies, scribbling away on his parchment, cross legged on his chair, to undoubtedly finish the Potions essay that Slughorn had set yesterday. You’re transfixed on the way his hand is moving across the page for a second, unable to fathom how someone can have such messy handwriting. You aren’t surprised in the slightest that the next words coming out of his mouth are ones you disagree with. “I wanted to see how long he lasted reading the slowest-paced book in the world.”
You abruptly sit up at this, shutting your book and forgetting plans of relaxation.
“Hey, watch it!” Lily exclaims, lifting the bottle of black polish she’s using to paint Sirius’ nails from its balanced position on her thigh to avoid you spilling it all over her white top. “If you’re about to argue, please refrain from throwing things until after I’ve done the second coat of nail polish.”
You pointedly ignore this and narrow your eyes at Remus who, infuriatingly, still hasn’t lifted his head from his essay. “I’m surprised you found it hard to read such a slow book. Thought that’d be perfect for you.”
“Look what you’ve started, Prongs,” Sirius sighs, examining his nails.
Seeing the corners of Remus’ lips pull up into a slight smile at your comment just spurs you on in defence of the book you were previously enjoying. “Besides, it’s about a real-life teenager with real-life struggles, not The Hobbit on his latest adventure.”
“Who’s Hobbit?” James mumbles, scratching his head in confusion as Marlene just shrugs, equally oblivious.
“It’s overrated,” Remus insists, finally setting down his quill to look at you. The amused expression still hasn’t left his face and you make a noise halfway between a scoff and a high-pitched squeal of indignance. “Even James agrees.”
“Oh, and James’ opinion on literature is the standard now?” You raise a brow, tutting when James starts to protest. “The only book James has finished in the last six years was Quidditch Through the Ages.”
The way James slowly slides the aforementioned book under one of the sofa cushions doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone. Sirius starts snickering, much to Lily’s annoyance as she tries to control his hand. “She got you there, in fairness, mate.”
Sirius’ chortling seems to stir Peter from his sleep and he opens one eye to peer at you. Seeming to catch sight of your irritated expression, he frowns. “Are these two arguing like an old married couple again?”
“Merlin help us if these two ever decide to get married,” Marlene utters under her breath, bent over her guitar and avoiding the weight of your glare.
“Yeah, he wishes,” you grumble, shuffling around on the sofa to get back into a comfortable position with your book. Remus’ smile has only widened in response and he seems to enjoy your discomfort as you overcompensate for showing your annoyance by wriggling about.
“I dream about it every night,” Remus replies, dryly and Peter giggles below you before turning over to sleep again.  
You overcompensate a little too much by moving around, because Lily huffs from beside you and starts scrambling around for a tissue. “What did I say about the second coat?”
“I didn’t throw anything this time!”
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2. when he won’t let you give someone a black eye
Defence Against the Dark Arts is your favourite N.E.W.T subject for a lot of reasons. You enjoy the lesson content, it’ll be useful in future years, and it’s the one lesson you share with every single one of your friends.
You’ve gotten used to James and Sirius messing around while Professor Marigold recites fact after fact about spells and creatures and wizards of dark nature. Its like soothing background noise to you and your classmates who all concentrate in silence most of the time.
Which is why your quill stops on your page and leaves a growing ink blot when you hear snickering and whispers from the other side of the classroom rather than from in front of you where the marauders sit in a line.
The scoffs of disgust coming from Snape and Mulciber are loud enough to attract the attention of the rest of the students and even the teacher, who eventually sets down her piece of chalk in the middle of talking about Wolfsbane potion with an impatient sigh.
“Is there some sort of pressing issue that can’t wait until after class to discuss, boys?” Professor Marigold asks with a tone of ire that would impress Professor McGonagall. “Even Black and Potter have decided to give it a rest today.”
She’s not wrong, you think, noting how they’ve been less disruptive than usual for this lesson, probably tired out from setting each other’s robes on fire in Charms the hour before.
“The pressing issue is werewolves,” Snape mutters quietly, as though he doesn’t want to make a big issue but can’t stop himself from speaking up. “We should be learning more about how to kill them and less about the price of potion ingredients.”
Lily gasps from beside you and Sirius and James tense up at his words. Remus doesn’t lift his head, but you absently notice how his grip tightens around his quill when Peter nervously turns to him. Peter isn’t one for conflict and he’s always been nervous around this particular group of Slytherins, so you’re not surprised he’s anxious.
“Werewolves are still people, you can’t just go around killing them!” you find your mouth moving on its own, before your brain can catch up. When Snape turns to direct his scowl at you, its matched by your own as well as Lily’s disappointed frown. “They didn’t ask to be werewolves, they physically can’t help it! How would you feel if people wanted to kill you for not being able to control being such an arse.”
“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor Marigold warns, setting her stern eyes on you. You’re not one for disrupting lessons or getting into trouble, so when Remus turns around to look at you with a raised eyebrow, your cheeks start to warm and you stubbornly don’t look his way again.
Snape ignores her to continue glaring at you. “I don’t have the capacity to kill people in a feral rage now, do I?” His gaze flits from you to Lily and Marlene and then lingers on the boys. “Of course, you’re defending werewolves. It’s no surprise considering who you choose to associate yourself with.”
“Mr Snape.”
“You have no need to fly into a feral rage to kill people,” you reply, voice steadily rising in volume. Sirius and James turn their heads back and forth like they’re watching a tennis match and you know the only reason they haven’t piped up to agree with you is because they’re too entertained watching the way you’re about to jump out of your seat to pounce on Snape. “All you need to do is show someone your face for them to die of fright–”
“ENOUGH!” Professor Marigold’s booming voice cuts through the laughter of everyone on the Gryffindor side of the classroom and when you turn to look at her, you see even Remus’ shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. You’re not sure why this pleases you, but it doesn’t last long enough for you to figure it out before Marigold waves her wand in the direction of the door and sends it flying open. “Both of you will wait for me outside the classroom until the lesson has finished so I can discuss your appalling behaviour.”
You gape at her for a second, before relenting and grabbing your bag, not wanting to argue with her authority. Your friends have different ideas.
“That’s not fair!” Marlene exclaims, standing up in protest. “She didn’t even do anything wrong.”
“Yeah,” James agrees, also standing up. “Snape’s the one who was being an annoying pri–”
“Sit down, everyone,” Marigold cuts him off, pursing her lips. “Everyone except Mr Snape and Miss Y/L/N. Do not even think about speaking Mr Black, or I won’t hesitate to suspend your and Mr Potter’s Quidditch privileges until further notice.”
Sirius shuts his mouth after a nudge from James and you shoot your friends a grateful smile before making your way out of the classroom, followed closely by Snape.
The door shuts behind him and you don’t bother sparing him a glance before dumping your bag on the ground and leaning against a wall to focus your gaze on a suit of armour for the next five minutes. You’re about half a minute in when you notice that one of the hands are slightly wonky and the classroom door suddenly opens.
Remus, of all people, enters the hallway to join the two of you and quickly shuts the door.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, furrowing your brows and getting up from against the wall.
“Yeah, what are you doing here?” Snape sneers at him, and you give him a scathing look before turning to Remus for an answer.
Remus pointedly ignores him to stand next to you against the brick wall. “I just pointed out to Professor Marigold that you both have your wands and she may not have two students left out here by the end of the lesson.”
“I can defend myself,” you snort, folding your arms. You aren’t sure if you’re annoyed that Remus is insinuating otherwise, or if you’re touched that he doesn’t want you to be hexed into oblivion by Snape. “Especially from him.”
“Oh, I know,” Remus raises both hands in surrender as his tone becomes grave. “It’s not you I’m worried about, trouble.”
“Ha ha,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes at the nickname. He started it around a year ago when you got your first ever detention for helping Sirius and James Charm the Slytherin chairs to throw them off every time someone sat. Your friends had kept quiet about your involvement, but Peeves had spotted you, the nosy bastard. The nickname stemmed from the fact it was the first time you had ever gotten into trouble and it never failed to irritate you. “You better be careful I don’t hex you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of annoying you,” he says, but the serious tone of voice is ruined by the way his lips are twitching in an attempt not to laugh at you. “After what happened when I said I didn’t like that one Jane Austen book? Forget it.”
“Hey, you insulted one of my favourite characters,” you point out, resting a hand on your hip. “What did Emma ever do to you? You had that hex coming.”
“I had pink hair for a week,” Remus narrows his eyes at you, but you can tell he isn’t really angry. Although he refuses to admit it, you know for a fact he didn’t hate the pink hair considering how good he looked with it. An annoying indiscretion on your part. Remus looks behind you for a split second before leaning in a little to whisper. “I won’t get in the way if you want to turn Snape’s hair pink, though. Preferably a very bright shade of flaming, hot pink.”
At risk of your own cheeks flaming up from how close he is – really, what’s the need? – you shake your head let your hair fall into your face. Almost having forgotten Snape is also there, you start when he scoffs (for what you think is the millionth time this afternoon) and you sigh before facing him begrudgingly. “What now?”
“Couldn’t handle the content of today’s lesson?” he asks, tiling his head. You’re about to ask him what the hell he’s talking about before you realise, he isn’t actually talking to you, but to the boy behind you.
“Uh…” you trail off, not sure how to respond. All three of you currently standing in the corridor know that Remus is smart enough to tackle any type of content, especially something as memorable and interesting as werewolves.
Remus’ amused demeanour has been wiped away and you can’t determine his exact expression, but his voice is cold when he talks to you. “Just ignore him.”
“You and your group of friends can’t help themselves when it comes to defending strays and all sorts,” Snape continues, much to your confusion. “It’s not enough that you’re a group full of blood-traitors and mudbloods…”
Remus tenses up behind you and you find yourself frozen for a second.
The next thing you know, you’re lunging at the greasy-haired Slytherin with every intention of hurting his face with your fists, wand long forgotten. Your fingers barely brush his robes, however, when you feel yourself being hauled back by strong arms that wrap around your middle.
“Let go!” you snarl, enjoying the way Snape has backed away, eyes wide and worried. “Did you hear what he said? Remus, let me go.”
He doesn’t relent, still holding onto you when he leans down to speak in your ear. “You’ve already gotten into trouble. You’ll get into a whole lot more when everyone walks out to see Snape with a black eye and you with bruised knuckles.”
“Worth it,” you grit out, still pulling away from his grip and throwing daggers with your eyes at Snape. After a few more seconds of pointless struggling, you relax very slightly just to turn in his arms so you can direct your next words to him more pointedly. “Not only is he a slimy, blood-supremacist twat, but he also wants to kill a poor bunch of werewolves. We should be throwing him into the bloody Black Lake!”
“I know, I-” Remus is cut off when the door opens and students start flooding into the corridor to provide a barrier between you and Snape, indicating the end of the lesson. Remus finally lets you go when he realises you’re in direct view of Professor Marigold who stands behind her desk, waiting for you. “I had no idea you were such an advocate for werewolves.”
It’s the last thing you expected him to say and you immediately look up at him and frown. “Again, they’re people. They don’t deserve to be victims of prejudice just as no one does.” He doesn’t respond, staring at you with an unreadable expression and a hint of a smile. Your frown deepens in confusion. Was he… laughing at you? Especially after you had just gotten along. “I’m so glad you find me amusing,” you say, scowling and storming back into the classroom and away from Remus.
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3. when he's too good for flower crowns.
“Tell it again,” James insists, grin wide as ever plastered onto his face despite the withering look you send his way. “Getting a glimpse at even the possibility of Snivellus getting pummelled by Y/N would have made my entire year.”
“The galleons I’d give up to have been there,” Sirius releases a wistful sigh, closing his eyes as he lies down, facing the sun.
You hand him the daisy chain crown you just finished and he dutifully dons it. “I’ll alert the Ministry of Magic to order in a time-turner for an issue of utmost urgency,” you say sarcastically as you start on the next daisy chain. Sirius merely winks at you.
“I think you should’ve let her have at him, Remus,” Marlene states, unapologetic. You nod vehemently in agreement, a little too enthusiastically as you end up splitting a daisy down the middle.
Lily tuts, adjusting her own flower crown as it slips against her silky red hair. “I’m glad you didn’t. Godric knows what Professor Marigold would have done,” she shudders at the thought, ever the diligent student.
“Forget Marigold,” Peter chimes in. “Imagine what Professor McGonagall would have done.”
You don’t miss how he looks over his shoulder in case your head of house is taking a stroll along the grassy grounds.
“She would have combusted when you called him an ugly arse,” Remus pipes in, unhelpfully might you add, from where he sits slightly away from the group under a tree, reading.
The comment sends Marlene, Sirius and Peter into a fit of laughter – James is too busy staring at the way the sun is making Lily look ethereal and she’s too busy pretending not to notice while being secretly pleased. Doing a quick survey of your friends, you see everyone now has a flower crown except Remus. You make your way to the tree he’s resting against while the others chat, and sit yourself down with purpose.
Remus lowers his book very slightly to peer at you and your too-sweet smile. He raises a sceptical brow. “Should I be scared right now?”
You drop the fake smile and hold up your flower crown expectantly. “Everyone has one, but you.”
“How observant,” he says, setting his book down to look at you in mock astonishment. “Have the Aurors at the Ministry caught wind of you yet?”
“Don’t be a pain,” you groan, dropping it onto his open book. “I want everyone to wear one for the picture!”
Remus sighs, looking at the large camera over by your bag. You had saved up all summer to buy a magical camera to be able to take pictures of you and your friends in your final year at Hogwarts. The time you used your own muggle camera was a disaster of sparks and broken bits of plastic that took hours to mend. “I already agreed to your incessant picture-taking,” he reminds you, acting like it’s the most painful thing in the world. “The flower crown is not happening.”
“Fine, you miserable git,” you flick a handful of grass at him, sending him sputtering. “Now come and sit for the photo.”
You return to the group with Remus behind you and get everyone in position before hunting down someone to take the photo. Glancing around, you spot a close bunch of first-years and send Lily to use her Head Girl credentials (and warm and inviting personality, of course) to rope one of them into coming over.
“Okay, smile everyone,” you order, plopping down on the grass next to James. You elbow him in the ribs, not even having to look at him to know what he’s doing. “Stop looking at Lily and look at the camera.”
With a couple of mutterings and some nudging, the nervous first-year Hufflepuff girl shakily takes the picture and hurriedly hands you the camera in the middle of the picture sliding out of it. James and Sirius go back to playing with a golden Snitch while Peter watches, while Remus returns to his book.
Lily looks at the picture and coos over how cute everyone looks at the same time as Marlene complaining about her hair. You impatiently take the picture back to slide it into your photo album and something catches your eye.
Sirius is making a peace sign behind Remus’ head. His head that wears a flower crown.
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4. when he bleeds out on you.
You’re not sure what time it is – either very late at night, or very early in the morning. You do know, however, that you want to finish your Herbology essay so you can enjoy tomorrow (or today) and cheer your friends on in the Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw Quidditch game. You only have the conclusion left and you’re confident it’ll be done in the next ten minutes.
If you can find your damned quill, that is. You could have sworn you had it ten minutes ago, just before you snuck down to the kitchens to persuade the house-elves to give you the strongest cup of coffee they could make. You take a quick sip and grimace at the lukewarm temperature before setting it down and getting up to search. After turning every sofa cushion upside down, you go to crouch behind the sofa.
You hear the door to the common room being swung open and the hushed voices of the Marauders enter, but you don’t take too much notice as you squint for your quill. It isn’t unusual for the boys to be roaming around the castle at odd hours of the night, but a hiss of pain grabs your attention at the same time you spot the quill.
“Can you guys manage taking him up to the-” Sirius cuts himself off when your face pops up from behind the sofa. He freezes in his efforts to hold up Remus, who you notice is leaning on him and James and Merlin’s balls he’s covered in blood.
“What the fuck happened to him?” Your voice comes out weak as you walk over to the boys. Remus has deep, bleeding slashes over his chest and an assortment of little cuts on his face and hands. He seems barely able to keep his eyes open but when his gaze meets yours, he winces. He isn’t the only one hurt and you realise Sirius’ arm is damp with blood and trembling, the same going for James’ thigh. “What the fuck happened to all of you, oh my God…?”
“Peter, you were supposed to keep watch,” James hisses at the boy who looks like a deer in headlights. He looks a lot better than the others, with only a couple of small cuts scattered around his face and arms.
“She was behind the sofa!”
James’ leg buckles and you snap out of your state of shock to dart forward and keep him steady. “Right. Shit, okay,” you breathe out, holding off asking any questions to prevent anyone from bleeding out. “James, Sirius, set Remus down on the sofa and take off his shirt. Peter, help these two up the stairs and go find a first-aid kit or something.”
“We’ve got a couple in the dorm,” Sirius says, summoning one of them down with a quick Accio and handing it to you. He hesitates for a second, probably unsure if he should stay and explain things, before deciding to turn in the direction of the stairs with James as Peter rushes to help them up. “Look after him, please. We’ll be right back, Moony.”
“Take your time, I’ve got him,” you utter, already fiddling with the first-aid box and trying to open it with shaky hands. You’re no healer, but you know enough to panic when you see Remus has had his eyes closed for the last few seconds. “Remus, keep your eyes open!”
He groans, cracking one eye open to look at you. “I’m injured and bleeding out and you still manage to yell at me.”
“I wasn’t yelling,” you frown, unscrewing the bottle of dittany and scrambling for the cotton pads. You try to avoid Remus’ gaze because you feel extremely silly about being more panicked than him when he’s the one with claw marks down his chest. “Don’t move, or it’ll hurt.”
While dabbing the liquid onto the deep gashes in an attempt to close them up, you ponder on the fact that he probably knows it hurts from experience. You’re not completely clueless.
“What are you thinking?” Remus whispers in the stifling quiet of the common room, looking unsure.
You don’t cease in your movements, changing cotton pad after cotton pad. It takes you a minute to muster up the courage to meet Remus’ gaze again and this time he looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him. “You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?”
Remus gives you an almost imperceptible nod, like he doesn’t want to admit to it. You take a deep breath.
“Who else knows?” you ask calmly, as if you’re asking him about the weather.
“The boys and Lily,” he admits, swallowing hard. “Oh, and Snape.”
“Snape?” you exclaim, halting your dabbing to gawp at Remus. “I’m not saying you had to tell me or anything, but Snape?”
 Remus winces and you don’t think it has anything to do with his injuries. “In my defence he found out on his own and hates me for it,” he rushes out. “And it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you… I-”
“It’s fine,” you cut him off, waving him off and wondering how good you’re hiding the fact you’re a little hurt. “You didn’t have to tell me.”
“No, I wanted to. I did,” Remus insists, looking earnest. There’s something in his voice that’s a little pained and desperate that has you meeting his eyes. “I just couldn’t have dealt with it if you started looking at me differently. The boys and Lily sometimes do, y’know? Like I’m made of glass or something. It’s refreshing whenever you scowl at me or call me an idiot or an arse or a stupid gi-”
“Okay,” you stop him, stifling a grin. “I get it!”
Remus’ eyes flash with relief for a second before you notice doubt start to creep in again. “You don’t need to hide it, by the way. I won’t hold it against you if… If you’re scared or disgusted, or-”
“What?” you cut him off again and scrunch your nose in confusion. “I’m not scared or disgusted. Why would you think that?”
“You’ve been a bit too calm,” he points out.
Rolling your eyes, you grab a bandage to start patching up the worst of the injuries before you move onto the minor cuts and bruises. “I didn’t want you to think I was freaking out, or looking at you differently,” you quote his own words to him with a pointed look, making him smile again. “I don’t, you know. Think of you any differently, I mean.”
His expression is unreadable as he just looks at you and you just look at him, bandage hovering over his chest before his fingers come up to brush the back of your hand. He lightly holds your hand, softly running his thumb over your knuckle as his voice drops to a whisper again. “Thank you.”
You offer him a gentle smile, holding his gaze for a second longer before focusing on bandaging him up again. His hand drops to the side and you oddly find yourself missing his warmth. The large bandage adheres to his skin and you run your fingers along the sides to stick them down, feeling him shudder under your touch.
You quickly busy yourself with looking for more supplies in the kit to hide the way your own breathing has increased slightly. “Hey, anyway, I almost walloped Snape right in the eye for you. If that wasn’t any indication of my standing on werewolves, I don’t know what is.”
“Ah, my knight in shining armour,” Remus chuckles before breaking into a wheeze as the muscles of his injured abdomen contract. “Fuck, don’t make me laugh.”
“Don’t laugh at me then!”
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5. when you’re definitely not jealous… you’re not!
Three cups of coffee. You’re on three cups of coffee. It’s also the same number of hours you’ve slept and by Godric can you feel it in every inch of your body as the muted chatter of the Great Hall buzzes around you. Your head is in your hands as you contemplate stealing some Polyjuice potion and bribing a first-year to take a dose with your hair in it so you can go to bed and they can pretend to watch the Quidditch match.
You knock back the last sip of coffee when you sense a presence sliding onto the bench in front of you. Groggily setting the cup down, you see that its Remus. It takes a second to remember why this is concerning.
“Morning, h- Wait, what the hell are you doing out of bed?” you hiss, leaning forward to avoid anyone listening in. You scan your eyes over his chest, two seconds away from ripping his shirt off to check his bandages. “How are you even standing?”
“Relax, Florence Nightingale,” Remus says, rolling his eyes at your dramatics. He does his own quick sweep of the table and sees that most people are out in the Quidditch stands already, so he proceeds to pull the neckline of his shirt down slightly to reveal an already fading scar. No bleeding in sight. “I went to Madame Pomfrey with the boys this morning and she hurried up the process like she usually does. I feel achier than a 90-year-old woman with a metal hip, but the brunt of it is gone and Pads and Prongs are good as new.”
“Okay,” you say slowly, narrowing your eyes slightly. “If you’re sure you can sit out in the stands…”
“I can once I’ve consumed every cup of tea on the premises,” he says, reaching for the teapot. An annoyingly smug smirk starts to appear on his face while he pours. “What, are you worried about me, trouble?”
You scowl instantly. “No, I just don’t want you collapsing on me in the Quidditch stands while I’m cheering the boys on.”
“Right.” He hides his grin behind his cup of tea.
“Hey,” you mumble, nodding to Patricia Holloway who looks like she’s making a beeline to your table. More specifically, towards Remus. “Bright and cheery Hufflepuff incoming.”
“Merlin, it’s too early for this,” Remus whispers, taking another sip of tea before his face breaks out into a charming smile directed at the girl who slides into the empty seat next to him. “Morning, Patricia.”
“You look good today, Remus,” Patricia rests her elbow on the table and tilts her head to look at him with simpering eyes. It’s no secret Remus is good-looking and you’ve heard a million girls talk about him before. You’ve never seen any of them approach him yourself, though. You can’t say you enjoy it. “Are you… okay, Y/N?”
You didn’t realise you were scowling until she addresses you and you rapidly smooth out your expression, clearing your throat. Remus looks amused, which makes it harder to keep the scowl off your face. “Fine! I’m fine, just a bit confused since Remus looks half asleep,” you attempt a laugh through gritted teeth and are spurred on when Remus is actively trying to fight a grin. “And his hair currently makes him look like he’s been dragged through the Forbidden Forest.”
He can’t stop himself snorting at that, but Patricia just looks confused as though unsure how to react. She settles on a nervous little laugh, turning back to him. “I can fix that for you, here,” she says, scooting closer and starts to run her hands through Remus’ hair. You poke your cheek with your tongue, marvelling at how bold she’s being and how Remus is just sat there, still looking amused as ever. “There, what do you think?”
“A hairbrush couldn’t have done a better job,” you deadpan, softening your expression slightly when Patricia begins to look a little disconcerted. “You keep doing that, I’m going to head off to the Quidditch field.”
You all but storm out of the Great Hall, exhaustion having left you completely. It’s replaced by a newfound whirl of irritation that pools in your stomach and creeps up your throat, making you feel a little sick. It must be the coffee, you think, and you’re trying to remember if the beverage has ever made you experience this when all of a sudden there’s a hand circling your wrist.
“Stop, Y/N,” Remus says, a little breathless. You didn’t realise he’d run out after you and you feel bad about his injuries before your gaze snags on his newly tousled hair. “Godric, you walk fast.”
“I didn’t ask you to catch up to me,” you snap, purposely scowling this time. The cheeky bastard still looks amused and your irritation is growing faster than ever. “Besides, the match doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. Plenty of time for Patricia to give you a whole new hairdo. Maybe she can give you plaits or– Why are you laughing.”
“You’re jealous,” he exhales with a smile, sounding positively delighted. Any feelings of concern have disappeared and are being rapidly replaced with wanting to thwack him upside the head. “Oh my God, you really are jealous.”
“Jealous, my arse,” you scoff, turning your back to him with every intention of speed walking out of the castle. His long legs keep up with you easily and he rushes in front of you to stop you going anywhere. You glare at him. “Leave me alone, Lupin.”
“Not until you admit that you’re jealous.” Remus is positively giddy with glee and you feel a flush of heat crawling up your neck. You set your jaw stubbornly and he’s incredulous as he shakes his head. “Merlin, you really have to argue with me on everything don’t you? I don’t care about Patricia Holloway and I’m glad you’re jealous. Means you’re less likely to break my nose when I kiss you.”
You barely get the chance to make an incoherent noise when Remus grabs you by the waist and presses his lips against yours, kissing you like he isn’t prepared to let you go anytime soon. His mouth slides hot and wet against your own and you gasp into the kiss when he nips lightly at your lip, your hands coming up to slide into his hair, making it unruly all over again.
Remus is the first to break apart, too soon, and you physically restrain yourself from chasing after his lips. He pulls back slightly, breathing fast to look into your eyes, searching for the answer you’re unable to speak yet.
“You… uh, I-I’m…” you trail off, dazed and breathless and head swirling with every emotion under the sun.
Remus laughs, pulling you impossibly close and leaving a soft kiss on your jaw, which doesn’t help your current speech issues. “If I knew that was all it took to shut you up, I’d have kissed you years ago.”
“Wha-!” You slap his arm, snapping out of the haze. You hide your current uncertainty behind a glare. It hit you like a ton of bricks, but you realised about five seconds into the kiss that you wanted Remus Lupin in every way, shape and form. You’re more than a little terrified, so what better defence mechanism than anger? “Why did you actually kiss me, you prick?”
“You are the densest, most clueless,” Remus begins, pausing to kiss you lightly a couple times when you start to scowl. “Most stubborn and most beautiful little witch I’ve ever known. And if you haven’t figured out after almost seven years that I love you, then I’m afraid we might have to admit you to St Mungo’s, because really-”
“Stop,” you whisper, lifting a finger to press against his lips, effectively silencing him. “You love me? You actually, seriously love me?”
He rolls his eyes and nods, like it’s obvious or something. You huff. “Then why have you been such an annoying pain in my bloody arse, Remus Lupin?!”
“Because,” he says, the word coming out muffled and you hastily remove your finger. “It was a good way to keep your attention. Plus, I like when you’re angry. It’s cute.”
You scowl without thinking and his smile impossibly widens.
“See?”
“Shut up and kiss me again,” you say dryly, pulling him in by the collar to give him a short, searing kiss. “Oh, and I guess I love you too.”
“So, no broken noses in my future?” Remus asks hopefully, softly sliding his nose against yours.
“No promises.”
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khywren · 6 months
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「 Prelude to Your Undoing 」
summary: “Why else would you come find me in the middle of the night?” She asks. “I'd be flattered if you just wanted to exchange pleasantries, but we both know that's not the case, is it?”
“Oh, come now,” Astarion says, his voice practically dripping with lust. “I can think of several reasons to seek out the pleasure of your company after dark,” he insists, his emphasis deliberate. He's deflecting again.
Tav meets him head on. “All right, then, why are you here?”
---
Tav has a way of making Astarion feel vulnerable in ways he's never felt before. He finds this new development rather disconcerting.
pairing: Astarion/f!Reader/f!Tav rating: 18+ MDNI status: complete tags/warnings: vaginal sex, blowjobs, blood drinking, porn with feelings, smut, soft Astarion, mild angst, reader-insert, unnamed reader/Tav word count: 5.5k spoiler warning: nothing outside of a small mention about Astarion's past.
a/n: written in the third person - reader is referred to as Tav but is otherwise generic and not described. crossposted from AO3.
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The first time Astarion allows himself to feel vulnerable around Tav is the first night he drinks her blood.
When she suddenly awakens just before his fangs sink into her neck, Astarion jumps back in a panic, certain that she's going to drive a stake through his chest, or at the very least alert the others who will likely do the job themselves.
But she doesn't. Instead, she hears Astarion out, listens to him confide in her just how weak he is. He doesn't go into further detail about how ravenous he is for even a drop of her blood, lest it scare her off. 
He's used to feeling powerless, but that doesn't make the admission wound his pride any less.
When Tav accepts his proposition without a second thought, he cannot help but be surprised. It's an incredibly generous thing for her to do, and perhaps one of the stupidest. But Astarion knows that, fool or not, her blood will be the sweetest he has ever tasted.
He isn't disappointed. When his fangs pierce her throat and she cries out beneath him, it only makes the warm blood that rushes over his tongue all the more delicious.
When the deed is done, she smiles sweetly at him, her blood still welling up from the pinprick marks on her skin. Astarion swipes a finger across the wound and savors one final taste of her, fighting every urge within him to sate himself on every last drop of her delicious essence.
She doesn't judge him for being weak, for practically having to beg for her blood. Faintly, he considers that she might pity him for appearing so frail, that for her, this may be something akin to nurturing a dying animal back to health.
And he hates it.
————————————
It happens again several weeks later, at the tiefling party in their encampment. Astarion lingers alone outside his tent, watching the partygoers, nursing a bottle of the most disgusting wine he can ever recall pouring down his throat. But there are far too many people here for him to even consider staying sober.
A few of the tieflings catch his eye, hoping to entice him, but he pretends not to notice. There isn't much point in seducing someone who he's never going to see again, someone whose use doesn't extend beyond a few quick moments of pleasure.
His gaze flicks across the camp, searching, before at last he finds her. Tav is sitting just within her tent, legs crossed, hair tied back and the loose ends tucked behind her ears, sketchbook in hand. 
Astarion has seen her do this before, once or twice. It's how she documents their travels, as if they're all on some merry adventure and aren't infected with Illithid parasites that may detonate their brain matter at a moment's notice.
It would almost be endearing if it wasn't so delusional.
Tonight his boredom and his curiosity get the better of him, and he saunters over towards her, drawing her attention briefly as he cranes his neck to see what she's been up to as her fingers sketch out quick lines in charcoal.
She's created a remarkably accurate image of Wyll as he dances around the fire, hand-in-hand with a delighted tiefling girl who giggles shyly and leans into his touch.
“Ahh,” Astarion drawls, “So it's our darling Wyll who's captivated your attention. How cute. I'm sure he'd dance with you if you asked him.”
Tav is immediately flustered by Astarion's teasing, covering her drawing to stop him from jumping to any other conclusions. It's adorable, really, how easy it is to play with her like this. She's far more susceptible to his playful banter than any of their other companions, and he can't stop himself from having fun.
“Oh, no, it's nothing like that!” she insists adamantly, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “He's just a very good subject, that's all.”
Astarion can almost feel the warmth of the blood that stains her cheeks as the tantalizing aroma caresses his senses. He wonders briefly if she'd let him taste her again tonight, once all the celebrations have died down. It's all he can do not to lick his lips, as if the taste of her blood somehow lingers from the last time she let him feed from her.
She's speaking to him again now, drawing him out of his reverie.
“... and anyway, it's not like he's the only one I've drawn. Would you...” She hesitates for a moment, gathering up the courage to continue. “Would you like to see the ones I've made of you?”
Astarion quirks a brow, suddenly far more interested in the conversation.
“Certainly, love. I just hope you've captured my good side. And in halfway decent lighting.”
Tav thumbs through the pages of her sketchbook, and Astarion catches quick glimpses of some of their other party members: Shadowheart performing her nightly meditations, Gale reading a particularly massive tome. Karlach playing fetch with Scratch.
Finally, she finds what she's looking for and hands the book to Astarion, who cradles the spine in the palm of his hand before studying what's on the pages Tav has selected for him.
She's drawn several portraits from various angles, each and every one a perfect encapsulation of Astarion's angular features. He hardly has time to process the fact that this is the closest thing he's seen to his own reflection in over 200 years before he notices it: in every drawing, his expression looks pensive, distant. There's more than a touch of sadness in the eyes that stare back accusingly at him.
He can't bear to look at the drawings any longer, not when they betray the emotions he has spent so long crafting the perfect mask to hide. It's so much easier to avoid prying questions if he can simply play the charmer; after all, it's what he knows best, it's how he knows how to protect himself. A few well-placed compliments have gotten him much further than a blade in most circumstances.
Astarion's brows knit together, and he grimaces reflexively. Tav chews her lip before snatching the sketchbook back and slams it shut. “I'm sorry, do you not like them?” She sounds disappointed.
“Do I always look like that?” Astarion asks instead, avoiding her question.
Tav hesitates, clearly sensing whatever internal turmoil Astarion is experiencing at this new revelation. She decides that it's best to be honest with him.
“I just draw what I see. But I still think you look rather handsome, if it's any consolation.”
Astarion smiles wryly at her and drains the rest of his wine. Leave it to Tav to try her best to soften the blow.
Earlier, he was contemplating what he might say to convince her to follow him into the woods behind their camp after everyone else fell asleep. A few honeyed words to loosen her clothes, and he'd have her wrapped around his finger like so many others before her. But now the thought of sleeping with her after she's all but exposed him for the fraud he is seems quite pathetic, and he casts the entire plot aside.
Instead, he thanks her dryly for the compliment and retires to his tent, left alone with nothing but his thoughts.
Tav knows too much.
————————————
Tonight, Astarion considers confronting Tav about what's been bothering him, to discover if her assumptions are merely innocent and baseless speculation or something deeper. The more she knows, the more difficult it will be to manipulate her into falling for his schemes of self-preservation.
He needs her to be malleable.
She's volunteered for the first watch of the evening, and as the sun sinks below the horizon, he spots her sitting at the top of the ruined tower that rises at the edge of their camp, her silhouette plainly visible against the backdrop of the stars that blanket the cloudless sky.
He climbs the winding staircase slowly, using the time to consider his course of action. He makes no effort to mask the sound of his footsteps as he typically does, and she hears him before he emerges onto the terrace, her expression questioning the reason for his sudden appearance.
“Feeling restless?” Tav asks, breaking the ice.
“Something like that,” Astarion confesses, settling himself a few paces away from her. She's found a few old cushions from somewhere around the ruins they've chosen to make camp in for the night, and they're far more comfortable to sit on than the dusty stonework that makes up most of the tower.
“I'm sure you must know how dreadful it is to be left alone with nothing but your thoughts rattling around inside your skull. If only this damned tadpole would feed on some of those, it might not be so bad.” He chuckles at the thought, but it's a hollow laugh devoid of any real mirth.
Tav mirrors Astarion's laugh and leans back, stretching her weary muscles. “Are you brooding, Astarion? How very unbecoming of you.”
“Oh, it's nothing that scandalous, I assure you,” he quips back, avoiding playing his hand too early. This is still not a conversation he wants to have, no matter how much avoiding it for so long has gotten under his skin like an itch he can't quite scratch.
“Hmm, I'm not so sure about that,” Tav replies coolly. “I think I know enough about you by now to know that nothing about you is as straightforward as you'd like everyone to think it is.”
She glances briefly at him and Astarion studies her expression, but he can find nothing to hint at her motivations in the casual look she throws his way.
“I'm curious, then,” he says after a few moments of tense silence lapse between them. “About what you think you know about me. Shall we test your clairvoyance?”
Tav tilts her head to the side and ponders the question.
“That's easy,” she says finally. “One, you have a flair for the dramatic. Two, you think heroics are for arrogant fools and those who are too delusional to know better.”
She isn't wrong, but these observations are barely more than surface level. Astarion feels the relief wash over him; it seems like he's been worrying for nothing.
“And three,” Tav continues, “... you wish you could open up to people, but you don't really know how. And I think that bothers you more than you'd like to admit.”
Astarion stares at her in disbelief, and he finds his jaw clenching before he swallows the lump that's suddenly in his throat. He forces his face back into a perfect, stoic mask before Tav says anything about it the lapse in his demeanor.
“I'll have to concede the first two points, but that last one? Darling, what ever gave you a silly little idea like that?” He slips back into his typical mischievous mannerisms, the tips of his fangs bared in a silent warning despite the smile he offers.
Tav does not heed the warning and presses on, her curiosity getting the better of her. This is the sincerest discussion she has ever had with Astarion, and it would be a shame to back out now before she's bothered to discover anything worthwhile.
“Why else would you come find me in the middle of the night?” She asks. “I'd be flattered if you just wanted to exchange pleasantries, but we both know that's not the case, is it?”
“Oh, come now,” Astarion says, his voice practically dripping with lust. “I can think of several reasons to seek out the pleasure of your company after dark,” he insists, his emphasis deliberate. He's deflecting again.
Tav meets him head on. “All right, then, why are you here?”
No going back now.
“That's what I like best about you, you know,” Astarion responds, the praise barely masking his growing anxiety. “Straight to business. Quick-witted and easy on the eyes. You're the whole package, darling.” The irony of his trying to prolong the inevitable is not lost on either of them.
“Astarion.”
“Fine,” he huffs, not unlike a petulant child. “It's not like this is an easy subject to broach. Frankly, I'd rather not do it at all, but every time I look at you, I feel... well, I don't know what it is I'm feeling, but I don't like it.” The frown on his face contorts his typically handsome features into something almost grotesque. “How do you handle it?”
“Handle what?” Tav asks.
“Being vulnerable. Weak.”
It's a backhanded remark, but Tav ignores the accusation that Astarion throws at her nonetheless. “I suppose I'm like you. I try to hide it. It's not like I enjoy feeling inadequate any more than you do.” She regards him sincerely, imploring him to hear her out.
“But for what it's worth, I don't think that having to rely on others is a sign of weakness. Other people can be your greatest strength, if you let them. Whoever - whatever - you were before the nautiloid, it doesn't have to define you any longer.”
Astarion laughs, the sound harsh and sharp. “You've seen right through me, haven't you? You know nothing, and yet somehow you know everything.”
Whatever discomfort Tav feels, she does her best to keep it at bay. Seeing Astarion in such a state is foreign, and she doesn't quite know what to make of it.
“It's not like you made it difficult,” she explains. “When you're with the others, you put on a smile and joke with them like you don't have a care in the world, but I've seen the way you look when you're on your own. How you are when you think no one else is looking.”
Astarion recalls the drawings Tav showed him once before and feels his skin crawl.
“It's okay if --”
“Don't. Don't say it,” Astarion bites the words out, his patience running thin. This whole ordeal has clearly been nothing short of a mistake on his part. “I don't need your pity.”
Tav recoils as though his words are a brand against her skin. She wasn't expecting her prying to cut him so deeply. When she looks at Astarion now, his expression is unreadable, masked both by the increasing darkness of the evening and the thoughts roiling around inside his mind.
“Then would you settle for my friendship?”
Tav reaches out to gently clasp his hand. Her warmth is comforting, and he finds his anger receding. The smile he finds himself giving her is genuine, perhaps the only truly authentic gesture he's ever offered her.
“Yes...” he says after some time. “A friend.” The word feels strange in his mouth, the entire idea of companionship without the obligation of sex something he hasn't had the clarity to consider before.
As Tav studies his face, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and the gentleness in the curve of his mouth, she feels her cheeks warming. Damn him. Even when he isn't trying, it's far too easy for Astarion to disarm her with nothing more than a simple glance.
If only she could still the rapid thundering of her heart.
“Well,” he laughs, “it's nice to know that I'm still as charming as ever. I was afraid that I was losing that particular talent, if you were any indication.”
“I never said you weren't,” Tav almost pouts, struggling to regain her composure. “I may be a lot of things, but I'm certainly not blind.”
“And you have impeccable taste, darling. Although, how could anyone blame you?” Tav is dismayed to find that he's put up the mask again. It's effortless, instinctual. No matter how much Astarion may want to open himself up, the reluctance to expose himself to further anguish is still there.
Maybe, after this is all over, he can allow himself to be completely vulnerable. But until then, he cannot silence the voice that tells himself that what he needs most for the time being is simply to survive by any means possible.
They've grown far too close in the interim and he can feel her warmth, the familiar scent of her blood drowning out every one of his other senses. It would be so easy to kiss her now, to pretend like none of this happened and let his instincts guide him.
And so he does. After all, his shameless flirting had never entirely been a ruse. Ever since he first drank her blood, he's been drawn to her in a way that no one else has compelled him before.
Tav's lips are remarkably soft when Astarion leans down to kiss her, his tongue slowly sliding over them to coax her deeper into the kiss. He half expects her to push him away, to scold him for being so thoughtless after their little heart-to-heart, but...
She doesn't.
Instead, she lets him continue, leaning into him when he cradles the back of her head to hold her steady. Astarion reaches for the buttons on her blouse, the touch featherlight.
“Wait.” Tav suddenly pulls back, face flushed and panting slightly.
“Is something wrong, love?” Astarion questions her. Perhaps he shouldn't have pressed his luck.
“No... yes... I just.” Tav stumbles over her words, the haze of her arousal clouding her mind. “Listen. It's not like I don't want this, but...”
Gods, if you only knew how much I want this.
“But not like this. I wouldn't feel right.” She averts her gaze. There is a twinge of guilt that builds within her; she doesn't want to take advantage of Astarion, not when he's clearly dealing with his own demons, and certainly not after everything that has transpired between them tonight. She doesn't want their nascent friendship to be consummated by something that will only complicate things between them.
“Of course I want you,” Tav explains. “The real you. Not whatever act you've been playing all this time.” The request is plain but hardly as simple as it sounds. She’s not even sure exactly what she’s asking of him, how much of it all has been a façade until now. She’s relying on nothing but intuition.
I don't know how to be what you want me to be, Astarion thinks, but he gives no voice to the thought, pushing it back down into the farthest recesses of his mind where it remains dormant.
She's doing it again, instinctively, reading too much into the way he furrows his brows and presses his lips together in contemplation. 
She reaches out to him and lays a calming hand on his arm. “But only if that's what you want too. After tonight, if it's easier for you, we can pretend that none of this ever happened and carry on as we have been. And when you're ready to talk, whenever that may be, I'll be ready to listen. About whatever it is you have to say. As your friend. And... if we happen to enjoy ourselves in other ways in the meantime,” she adds coyly, “it's not like I would be opposed to that. Far be it from me to squander what could be the final days of our lives.”
Astarion's expression softens as he regards what Tav has just said, the choice she has given him. If he says no, if he decides right then and there to leave, he knows she won't hold it against him. He's feeling vulnerable again, but the discomfort he feels now is less unsettling, almost as if he's grown accustomed to feeling this way around her.
In his own way, he does care for Tav - if he didn't, he doesn't think he'd be so bothered by the way she reads him like an open book - and he doesn't want to cause her any undue harm. For her, he will try. At the worst, tonight will be yet another welcome distraction. At best... well, he can't quite say, but none of the possibilities seem particularly unpleasant.
“All right,” he concedes, cupping her face in the palm of his hand and gazing thoughtfully into her eyes. He finds there's something irresistible about them like this, wide and full of wonder. She struggles not to look away, her heart racing like a caged bird beneath her ribcage. The effect he has on her is mesmerizing, and Tav almost forgets to breathe before Astarion kisses her again, slow and steady as he takes the time to savor it.
Tav opens her mouth as Astarion's tongue slides against her own in languid strokes, eliciting a few small sounds that die in the back of her throat. 
She never expected him to be so gentle.
An idea coalesces in the back of Tav's mind and she seizes on it, shifting her weight forward and pushing Astarion back. He yields to her surprisingly quickly, and Tav lays him into the cushions beneath them, straddling his hips.
He looks strangely at ease, his brow quirked as he implores her to continue. Tav is happy to oblige and leans over him, capturing his mouth in a hungry kiss. She can feel the pinprick points of his fangs as her tongue explores his mouth, eager as ever to taste him.
Astarion has never been a passive lover, and when his fingers slide beneath Tav's blouse and trace icy spiderwebs across her back, she shudders slightly at the sensation. Suddenly craving more contact between them, Tav rolls her hips against him, earning a soft moan from Astarion for her efforts.
She does it again to draw more of those delightful noises out of him; she can feel his growing hardness now, and she finds herself becoming impatient.
Breaking the kiss, Tav slides herself further down Astarion's body, pausing once she's hovering over his waistband. Astarion watches with bated breath as Tav fumbles with the ties there, before finally slipping her hand into his pants and freeing his cock, the tip already slick with precome. 
Tav flashes Astarion a sly smile and wastes no time indulging herself, swiping her tongue over the head of his cock, tasting him. Astarion bites back a groan and props himself up on his elbows to watch her, spellbound by the way Tav's mouth looks and feels wrapped around him. 
It feels even better as she slides more of him into her mouth, her tongue teasing him in all the right places. When she moans languidly against him, Astarion bucks his hips slightly, his mouth hung open as his breath hitches.
“Hells, if I had known you had been hiding this little talent, I would have sought you out much sooner.” There's humor in his voice, but Tav doesn't miss the low tone of need in his voice that sends a shiver down her spine.
He's bigger than she expected, and tears prick the corners of Tav's eyes as she bobs her head along the thick length of his cock, pushing him all the way to the back of her throat each time. She digs her fingers into his hips to hold him still, reveling in the feel and the taste of him.
“Nnngh... fuck,” Astarion groans, his eyes locked on Tav as she continues to pleasure him. When her gaze flicks up to meet his own through half-hooded eyes, he sucks in a breath, biting down on his lower lip.
If she keeps that up much longer, he knows he won't last.
He tells her as much through stuttered breaths, and Tav finally relents, sitting back on her calves and licking her lips. She looks extremely pleased with herself, Astarion notices.
“As much as I would love for you to continue,” Astarion says as he gets to his feet, beckoning Tav up with a hand, “It would be such a shame to not return the favor.” 
He makes quick work of his shirt and slides out of his pants, and Tav doesn't bother to hide her yearning for him as her eyes rake over every inch of sculpted muscle and smooth, pallid skin.
“Like what you see?”
He doesn't have to ask - he knows how beautiful he is.
“Of course,” Tav says, huffing a laugh. “But you already knew that.”
“Certainly,” Astarion responds, a wicked grin flashing across his face. “But I do love to hear you admit it anyway, darling.”
Even as she removes her own clothing and lets Astarion press her up against the cool stone wall, Tav shoots him a petulant yet playful look. “Prick.”
“For you, my love? Always.” He's teasing her again, but there's a fondness there she's never seen before, in the way he looks at her and how he runs his hands over the curves of her body, building her anticipation for whatever he has in mind. If she's not careful, she knows that she will fall hopelessly and irrecoverably in love with this man.
The thought is cut short as Astarion's hands glide over the swell of her ass, and she arches her back into him, feeling his cock pressed against her.
“Patience, patience,” he drawls, “I want you begging for my cock before I take you.”
Tav doesn't bother to muffle the lewd sounds that tumble from her mouth, her entire body alight with desire as his words alone nearly turn her feral.
Astarion rewards her by sliding his hand between her thighs, spreading her open and sinking two fingers inside her. Tav gasps at the sudden intrusion, his touch electric. She whines almost pitifully, writhing beneath him and desperate for more.
“A-Astarion...”
His name on her lips sounds divine in that breathy little tone, and he begins to pump his fingers inside of her, savoring how wet she is for him already. He leans in close, trailing soft kisses and bites down the curve of her neck and across her shoulders, amplifying the pleasure Tav feels over her entire body. 
But it's still not enough. She needs more of him, grinding her hips down to find the friction she so desperately needs. Astarion senses her intentions and slides his other arm around her waist, slipping a third finger between her legs and against her swollen, over-sensitive clit. 
Tav cries out and bucks her hips, chasing her pleasure as she grinds against him relentlessly, her arousal building higher and higher with each roll of her hips. Her legs feel weak and she's thankful for the wall, all but clinging to the worn stonework as she does her best not to lose her balance.
“Gods, yes, Astarion... fuck...” The words tumble out of her mouth, punctuated by breathy moans of pleasure. 
Astarion picks up his own pace, giving her exactly what she needs.
“Come for me, darling,” he purrs against the shell of Tav's ear, “show me how good it feels.” Tav is more than happy to oblige, pressing her face into the wall to stifle her wild moans as her climax washes over her in wave after intensive wave as she finally finds her release. 
When the intensity begins to subside, Tav finds herself breathing heavily, swallowing in great gulps of air to steady herself. Astarion places a final kiss to the nape of her neck, and Tav can feel his pleased smile against her skin.
Astarion slides his fingers out from between Tav's thighs, still slick with her wetness, and runs his tongue along both digits. “Exquisite,” he murmurs, his voice low and hungry.
“I do hope you aren't completely spent,” Astarion muses, his body sinfully cool against the burning heat Tav feels inside herself as he presses himself flush against her. “I haven't yet had my fill of you.”
Tav moans beneath him, revitalized and full of need merely by the promise of whatever else he might have planned for her. She is already so weary, but she cannot deny that she still wants - needs - more.
“Please,” she says softly.
“What was that?” Astarion responds wickedly, pressing his hips into her, his cock thick and heavy against her entrance. 
It's all too much.
“Please fuck me, Astarion,” Tav says more insistently, hardly embarrassed by her blatant desperation. “Gods, I need you inside me.”
“Much better,” he praises, lifting her leg just slightly to allow himself to slide into her with a few shallow thrusts of his hips, his cock stretching her out as he buries himself in her tight, wet heat.
She feels absolutely divine, her body molding to him perfectly as he finds himself seated fully inside her, his hands braced on either side of her hips.
“You're even more incredible than I could have imagined,” he admits out loud, partly to Tav but also to himself. Tav urges him to move, to fuck her, to do whatever will bring them both the most pleasure, and Astarion indulges her, pulling out of her almost completely before slamming back down, setting a steady pace as he finally gives her what she needs.
“Yes, yes, fuck,” she moans, bracing herself against the wall and marveling in the way Astarion feels inside her, each thrust bringing a string of oaths to her lips. After tonight, she will never think about anyone else again; he has completely ruined her.
Astarion buries his face against her neck and parts his lips, tongue tasting the sweat on her skin even as his fangs ask the single silent question. He wants to indulge himself in every part of her, and she would be loath to deny him anything when he's already made her feel so good, so complete.
“Go ahead,” she bids him between her mewls of pleasure, craning her head back to offer herself completely to him as he continues to thrust his cock deep inside of her.
Tav expects the bite to be as it always is - a sudden, sharp sting, a mild pain that settles in as he drinks his fill.
Instead, Astarion is gentle again - or, at least as gentle as he can be for a vampire. His fangs puncture her neck, but the act is far less savage than it normally is, and he doesn't drink as deeply as Tav knows he typically prefers to. 
There is something different this time, almost as if he is enjoying her blood less to sate his gnawing hunger but more for the mere enjoyment of claiming everything her body has to offer him. He seems content to lap lazily at the blood that naturally raises to the surface of her skin, even as the thrusting of his hips picks up in its intensity.
Tav can no longer differentiate between the sensations overwhelming her body; between the bite at her neck, Astarion's body pressed against her, or the punishing thrust of his cock, she feels herself yield completely to him, her body losing control in more ways than one. She's never had anything like an out-of-body experience before, but she suspects that this might be the closest thing to it.
Every inch of her body is alight with ecstasy, and all that remains is her overwhelming desire, the need to be utterly and completely overcome by Astarion the only thing on her mind.
He murmurs something incoherent against her neck and wraps his arms around her body, embracing her almost tenderly as if he can sense the struggle Tav is having keeping herself upright. Enveloped in his arms and in his scent as completely as she is, she keens against him, finding her release for the second time with his name an exhausted cry on her lips.
Astarion continues to surge into her, riding Tav through her climax before finally finding his own pleasure, burying himself with one final thrust as he empties himself inside her with a low and sensual moan.
Instead of pulling out immediately, Astarion continues to hold Tav in place, even as his cock begins to soften inside her. He is content not to end the contact between them, their minds exchanging a few shared thoughts courtesy of their Illithid tadpoles.
Neither of them can express anything but satisfaction, even as Astarion finally pulls away from Tav and helps her retrieve her clothes.
“You should get some rest,” Astarion urges her. “I can take the rest of your watch. Can you make it back to your tent?”
Tav is surprised by his kindness but accepts it gracefully all the same.
“Yes, I think I'll manage. Thank you.” She dresses haphazardly, well enough to make the short trek back to her tent but not enough to be presentable should she happen to stumble across any of their (hopefully) slumbering companions.
They merely exchange glances, both of them content to enjoy the company of their own thoughts instead. And besides, they're both far too exhausted to bother with the effort. 
“Good night, Astarion,” Tav says softly, daring herself to place a single, tender kiss to the center of his brow. If Astarion is displeased by the gesture, he holds his tongue and doesn't protest her affections, which Tav is eternally grateful for.
As she turns to descend the stairs, she throws one more glance Astarion's way, burning the image of him into her mind to preserve the memory.
He stands there, almost basking in the moonlight, watching the stars shimmering overhead. And he’s smiling.
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The Scars On His Back
Just going to slowly reupload my fics...two at a time...
Summary: Astarion has a nightmare and goes out to the forest for a breather when he runs into you.
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He’s back there again, with the feeling of a knife tearing into his back, carving up his flesh. Blood runs down his body, creating rivers of crimson on his pale skin and drips onto the floor, pooling between his feet. He can feel the stickiness of the liquid penetrating the gaps between his toes, the feeling sending shivers up his spine. His lifeblood drains with each moment, the pain overwhelms what is left of his soul and tears his body apart, sending screams ripping from his throat until his voice is hoarse but it never stops. The knife digs in again and again, the pain harshly dragging him back into reality each time he drifts off too far into the black void.
And then he wakes up with a start to the mess that is his tent, chest heaving out of habit and a sting in his eyes. His hands tremble as they reach up to wipe his weakness away, nearly causing him to nick himself. He presses his hands against his face, shakily drawing deep breaths.
He’s far far away from there now. He’s safe from him , with the tadpole in his head. He won’t have to bow and scrape to him as long as the tadpole remains. As long as you shelter him.
Hastily throwing on a tunic to cover up the scars, he heads outside his tent for some fresh air, to be away from the stuffiness that his tent brings tonight. The night air is cooling, a gentle breeze whistling through the still camp. Moonlight spills through the tree canopy, shining beams of silvery light upon the various tents pitched around the once burning campfire.
Quiet trills of nighttime creatures fill the silence, the smell of your blood wafting from…hold on. The smell of your blood? Ruby eyes widen and his feet move in the direction his nose is picking the scent up from before his mind can register anything. You are injured , his half-awake mind processes, a small pool of panic bubbling within his chest as he quickens his pace. How bad are your wounds? Have you been attacked? Will he make it in time?
He bursts through the trees, gaze frantically searching for any signs of an attack but all he sees was you. There is no sign or scent of enemies, only your lonesome figure sitting sheepishly on a rock, crimson liquid seeping through your fingers.
“Hi Astarion,” you smile, waving awkwardly.
“Y/N!” He hurries over to your side. “You’re bleeding.”
“So it seems,” you chuckle. “A small accident, really. I merely slipped on some wet grass and cut myself on the sharp edges of the stones.”
“You really are the clumsiest person I know, darling,” he shakes his head with a sigh, taking out some bandages and ointment. “Let’s treat this wound of yours before it gets infected. Wouldn’t want a small accident to turn into a big mess now, would we?”
You nod, biting your tongue before words that will ruin the mood slip past your lips. It’s better to keep to yourself how prepared he was to treat your injuries, and especially the fact that you could tell he was worried about you. Then an idea hits you.
“Since I’m already bleeding, do you want to feed on me?” The question sends his head shooting upwards, a quizzical look on his face.
“Feed…on you?”
“Yeah, like drink my blood since it’s leaking out of my body anyways, would be a shame if so much of it went to waste,” you can’t help but grin, “I can see your fangs peeking out, you know. Go ahead and drink, I don’t mind.”
He opens his mouth, moving it closer to your wound. The sweet scent of your blood hits his nostrils hard and they flare in response, hunger gnawing in his chest. You had offered your blood to him, what did you want in return? His body? His services?
Ruby red eyes search your face, waiting for you to lay down your conditions but you simply press your bleeding arm to his lips with a small smile, dabbing a sliver of blood on his lips.
“I mean it, Astarion. And no, I don’t want anything in return. I promise.”
A small puff of breath leaves his lips at your words and his tongue darts out, gently licking a stripe up your arm. When you don’t pull away, he gets a little bolder, sucking blood from the open wound. You hiss softly when his fangs dig in, drawing more blood from your body but keep your arm steady. He hungrily drinks it all in, the sweet flavour bursting in his mouth.
You don’t know what compels you to do it, but your other hand moves towards his hair, gently running your fingers through his silver curls, twirling the longer strands around your index finger. You carefully avoid touching his ears, knowing how sensitive they are and instead tangle your fingers in the hair at the top of his head.
He quietly purrs against your arm, pressing his tongue against the wound to staunch what bleeding he can before cleaning the wound thoroughly with a damp cloth, sending vibrations running up your arm. Gently dabbing the ointment on your arm, he wraps a bandage around the wound, pressing one last kiss to it before standing back up, offering a hand.
“Shall we return to camp before the others begin panicking? I doubt they can function without the both of us.” The smile on his face is filled with apprehension, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed by you.
“Astarion –”
“Don’t you worry, my sweet. I’ll repay this debt of yours as soon as possible,” he winks, pulling you to your feet. “You won’t regret it in the slightest.”
As he turns to leave, you shout.
“Astarion!”
He stops in his tracks, turning around. Muscles tensed, he tries to cover up the fear that is thrumming through his veins with a feigned smile, hoping it’d mellow out your anger. After all, you could neve resist his smile…right?
You see the way fear flashes in his eyes and immediately regret raising your voice, even if it was out of frustration directed at yourself. Taking a deep breath to clear away your anger, you hold out a hand in peace offering.
“I’m sorry for raising my voice at you. I’m not mad at you, I’m just…” Your voice trails off. How do you even justify what you just did? You know of the horrors Cazador inflicted on him, and yet you still lash out.
“It’s quite alright, Y/N,” he chuckles nervously.
You vigorously shake your head, “I really am sorry about it. There’s no way I can justify raising my voice at you, you didn’t do anything wrong. I was really frustrated at myself for not being able to convince you I didn’t want anything in return, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
Astarion searches for any sign of a lie in your words but finds nothing. You really meant it. Every word you said. Your apology, your insistence on needing nothing from him after he had just fed on you, all of it was sincere and genuine. His undead heart skips a beat and suddenly the night doesn’t feel so cold anymore.
You care about him.
Before he knows it, his feet carry him over to you once more, his hand sliding into your outstretched one. The warmth blooms from your palm and winds around his cold one as your fingers intertwine with his.
“Y/N,” he breathes.
“Will you accept my apology?” You ask softly, eyes downcast.
“Of course, dearest. I always will,” he leans in, lips hovering over your forehead. Can he kiss you? Will he taint you if he does?
You tilt your head upwards, meeting his lips with yours and he immediately melts into the kiss. Unlike his previous kisses, this one is filled with care and love, not the usual lust and passion he’s used to receiving. Your arms wrap around him, hands resting on his back where scars tell of his past and he reflexively tenses. But this time, the hands on his back mean him no harm. They lie there to pull him closer into your warm embrace, to protect him from those who seek to harm him. So he lets them rest on his vulnerable back, soaking in the strange warmness that the simple action brings.
Astarion closes his eyes, putting his own arms around you. It’s weird, hugging someone for the first time. You don’t mind his cold dead fingers resting on your back and even press closer against him, enveloping him in your warmth.
When your lips part ways, he doesn’t say a word lest his voice wavers and betrays him. He lets you do the talking, relishing in the way you hold onto his hand tightly. Not a single move is made when you lead him into his tent, only letting go of his hand to help him tidy up his bedroll. You make sure he’s comfortable before turning to leave, pausing when he calls out your name in such a gentle manner.
“Stay…with me?” He begs. Your heart aches from his tone and once more you’re reminded of how much he hurts on the inside, so you backtrack and wrap your arms around him.
“Always.”
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sophswritingthings · 4 months
Note
Mizu and her gf with a 4 or 5 year old daughter who basically plays match maker without knowing it. Reader leaves the room for a minute or two to make some more tea and the little girl just turns to Mizu and is like ‘are you gonna marry mama?’ or ‘are you my other mama now?’ and basically forces Mizu to think about her feelings for reader, but Mizu is stubborn and doesn’t want to admit it or act on it because she doesn’t think reader would feel the same way. But one day someone (who is like boss hamata) comes and forcefully takes reader because of whatever reason and she immediately shoves her child into Mizu’s arms because she trusts Mizu, and this is when Mizu realizes that she needs to confess. So then she saves reader and it’s a happy ending yippie ‼️ (if this is too much feel free to cut it down or remove some parts😭) Ps i love your Mizu fics
pairing: mizu x fem!reader
warning(s): kidnapping (this is fanfiction what did you expect), swearing, blood, mentions of injury/wounds
a/n: the child playing matchmaker and making mizu propose to you 🥹
summary: mizu lives with you, and your young daughter. one day, your daughter asks if she is going to marry you; and she takes a step back to look at her feelings and your relationship. and when your kidnapped, all of that comes into play.
word count: 992 words / 5,300 characters
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“I’ll be back,” you murmur in that soft voice; gathering yourself to your feet and exiting the room.
now, mizu was left with your daughter, one that she had promised you she’d love as her own—if you wanted her to.
mizu glanced over, seeing the toddler tugging on her clothes.
“hm?” she hummed, casting her blue gaze at the young one.
“are you gonna marry mama?” she cocked her head, hugging a small patterned crane close to her chest, “are you gonna be my new mama?”
mizu was taken aback by the question, gazing down at the little girl. she didn’t want to upset her by giving her an answer she didn’t want.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. her words were true. she, truly, didn’t know. she pulled the girl onto her lap, “do you want me to?”
the girl giggled, smiling softly as she kissed mizu’s cheek. “mhm!”
mizu chuckled, ruffling her hair. the girls words made her think—did she want that? did you want that? if she asked.. which, she wanted to—would you say yes?
she didn’t want to be rejected. god, that scared her.
she knew of your past marriage; how it failed and left you and your girl out in the cold when she was so so young.
she didn’t want to bring up past memories—bad memories, at that. and would you be comfortable ever being married again?
she had no answer to any of these questions; well, unless she asked you directly.
and she definitely wasn’t doing that. 
she sighed, looking up to see you entering the room.
“you alright, my darling?” you call to her, cocking your head as you placed the tray of tea on the ground. 
“I am… alright,” she responded, giving you a little smile as you handed her the tea.
“and how’s my little angel, mm?” you laughed, watching as your daughter reached for you with open arms. 
you took her happily, hugging her to your chest with a smile.
boom—
you looked up in shock, the loud booming coming for your door. you hugged your child instinctively, shielding her from any harm.
mizu gathered herself to her feet. she was in no mindset or condition to fight, but for you, she would do anything.
“stay in here,” she commanded, stepping out into the hallway to be greeted by many a samurai.
they were looking for her, if she could guess. the blue eyed onryō that cut through shindo dojo without one care.
she pushed her glasses up her nose.
drawing her sword, she tapped it against the ground—the sound loud and screeching. that would stop them for only a moment, a moment she couldn’t waste.
she threw herself into the heat of the battle; but was almost immediately thrown to the floor.
her head wasn’t in the right place—nor was her body.
“mizu! mizu!” your voice was shrill, screaming her name until she was able to get up from the floor and get to you. in an instant, she realized your situation, held back by the guards—your child in your arms.
that was until you shoved the girl into her arms.
her eyes were wide.
“take care of her, please, mizu,” you say through a sob, your face bloody. “I-I love you both.”
“don’t say sh— things like that like you’re dying, (y/n),” mizu hissed. maybe she was helpless at the moment; but she would rip through hell and heaven just to secure your safety.
“I very well may,” you chuckle weakly. “just.. care for her.”
and with that; you’re ripped away from her.
she watched as the guards tore you away. tore your family apart.
they weren’t here for her. they never were—they were here for you.
she had an idea what it was about—they looked like the shogun’s guards.
so—to edo she’d go. she would go to edo and rip through the entirety of that damn shogun’s army to get to you. 
It took days. days of traveling with a young child in her arms to get to edo; but it would be worth it in the end. she’d find you, and take you home, and..
maybe tell you exactly how she felt about you.
she was getting ahead of herself, though. she hadn’t even reached the castle yet.
she wasn’t sure it would take long, though, the guards were trained with methods she’d perfected and learned how to beat.
she had handed the young girl off to a woman for the night, paying her handsomely for the task.
she wasn’t bringing a child so close to something so traumatizing. to possibly see her mother..
no, mizu possibly couldn’t think like that. you were alive, she felt it in her chest.
slicing through the guards, she found herself at the mouth to the castle. and soon, she’d find herself in the heart—you tied up and beaten.
she always loved the way your eyes lit up when you saw her; but not now. you’re face was bloody, scratches down your cheeks and what looked to be a stab wound through your stomach.
the shogun was no where to be found—nor his personal guards, seeing as they assumed you weren’t going anywhere.
she walked over to you, her hands caressing your bloody face.
“my love,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead as she unshackled you—taking you in her arms. “you’ll be okay. I am here now.”
you weakly nestled into her arms, squirming at the pain pulsing through your body.
“now.. may not be the most—appropriate time for this, yet—” she took in a sharp breath, “I love you, (y/n). I cannot breathe when you are not in my arms; would you do me the honor of.. being my wife..?”
you weakly nodded, mumbling so something of an “I love you” back to her.
now all she had to do was patch you up, buy you something nice, and make you her wife. than you’d truly be a family.
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a/n: the writing got a bit sloppy at the end because I am tired
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darlingzradio · 26 days
Note
If your requests are open can I request something a lil angsty with Zayne....teeheee
Basically, the reader is feeling really hurt by his cold demeanor and all and is feeling awful about it to the point she had enough of it, confronting him about it in the heat of the moment as he's patching her up from the last hunt and she's just so hurt but done with him. She's about to change physicians and all.
Angst ❣️🤓
𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭.
PAIRINGS: zayne x gn!reader WC: 0.5k words WARNINGS: angst, hurt no comfort, pining, mild injury A/N: i've never written angst before, sorry if anything's amiss ^^; title from osmosis by origami angel.
"Shit!" You hiss as the antibiotic soaked towel presses at the gash in your leg, drawing out any possibility for infection.
The physical pain you endured was dwarfed in comparison the raging headache that was your all-consuming infatuation with the man before you, who was treating and dressing your wounds with such stoicity it made you want to bash your head into a wall.
Could he even bother to look like he cared?
You felt a boil of something in your stomach. It was a mix of anger, pity, and self loathing that just had to heat up and bubble up towards your throat and spill past your lips, and before you even knew it, you were speaking.
"Why are you like this?"
He looks up from his position knelt before you, stilling the movement of his hands treating the mess of blood and torn skin that coveted your shins. He hums briefly.
"I'm sorry?" He says, brows furrowing, "Was there something I did wrong?"
You wanted to groan in frustration. He couldn't even care to notice even the most glaringly obvious of signs. To think that your childhood friend of all people could be so out of tune with your own emotions filled you with a sort of exasperated despair that squeezed at your aching heart.
"You know what, it's fine, forget it," You mumble childishly, brushing aside your feelings as he finishes applying whatever last ointment.
He can only hum in response, and you feel yourself want to cry at his indifference. It felt as if you had sacrificed nearly everything for him. Your pride, your humility, your love and your time and for what. For him to just impassionately tend to your wounds whenever you call for him, never seeking you out otherwise. The thought had left your mouth dry with a newfound bitterness. You snapped before you had even realized the words had left your mouth.
"I'm done with you Zayne, I'll just have to find someone else who does care."
A pause.
The silence that followed was so achingly prominent that the unbreaking of it seemed near improbable. But it happens regardless. His voice was barely above a whisper, his lips having moved just the slightest bit as he uttered a soft, "What?"
"What do you mean what?" You were taken aback by his genuine perplexity.
"I'm sorry, I just don't understand what you're so worked up over."
"Are you—" You asked exasperatedly, "Are you serious?"
You felt a laugh bubble out of your mouth.
"Wow, seriously, this just proves my point. You're always like this, it's like you don't care," You say, voice wavering as tears threaten to spill over. "Or, it think it would be more accurate to say you never did."
You haven't even given him time to formulate a response before you turn heel and shut the door of his private examination room behind you. You can distantly hear a soft call of your name, followed by a desperate sounding wait!
But it's too late. Your fast on your feet, turning around a corner as you seek sanctuary in some random bathroom down the hall. You're backing up into a stall, chest tightening and heaving as you feel your throat choke up. All it took was the escape of a single tear to send you over the edge.
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Your Scars Are Mine
Ch. 3
Ch. 1
Ch. 2
LA! Mihawk X AFAB!Reader
Tags: Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Graphic Mentions of Violence, I guess that's it, I'm bad at this
⚠️ MASSIVE ASS TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠️ : Self-harm, Blood, Implied PTSD
Summary: In the few months that he has known you, Mihawk has noticed the scars on your arm. You've refused to talk about them and skirted around the subject successfully, but a trip to Shells Town throws everything out into the open in a way that neither of you were prepared for.
It didn't matter. Not the any of the questions or their answers. Right now, Mihawk had to find you, to ascertain that you were safe—both from others and your own demons that he doubted you had buried as deeply as you intended to.
He made his way out of the base and through town in long, purposeful strides, scanning around the few storefronts amd vendors he passed to ensure you weren't still shopping for supplies.
And he slowed at the docks, his sharp eyes catching sight of you on the deck of your sloop, pacing.
Crossing and uncrossing your arms.
Clenching and unclenching your fists, mumbling to yourself.
Rushing a hand back through your hair and jumping in alarm when you knocked your tattered old hat from your head.
Tou stopped in your tracks and stared down at where it had landed for several long seconds, still as a statue...before picking it up and tossing it aggressively into the captain's cabin. Mihawk watched you lean your head against the wall next to the door for another long moment, before kicking at it and storming around the corner toward the small kitchen.
You clearly hadn't seen him, but he had seen enough to be more than a little concerned. He swore under his breath and picked up his pace, pushing past a few Marines and civilians, with a sore suspicion of exactly where the vast majority of your scars had come from.
The door to the kitchen was cracked, and Mihawk saw you were leaned over the dish basin on the counter with your back to him.
Saw you, with the sleeve ofnyour white shirt rolled up nearly to your shoulder, draw the razor sharp edge of one of your daggers across your arm, just above your elbow, flinching and drawing in a sharp breath just before he reached you and grabbed your wrist. You cried out in alarm, dropping the dagger right into the empty basin, whirling around and backing into the countertop.
Your eyes locked onto his, wide as saucers, more vulnerable than he had ever seen them. In their depths swirled astonishment, pain, caution—and fear. Bold as you were, you had never once looked at him with fear in your eyes. Even the first time you had ever laid eyes on him, the first time you had approached him, you hadn't shown a single sign of being intimidated, which was not something he could say of many people at all.
But right now, you were like a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf, frozen stiff and utterly helpless.
Mihawk remained frozen for some time himself, not at all used to the jumble of thoughts and emotions swirling through his head. He wanted to shout at you, demand to know what the hell you were thinking—to pull you tight enough against him to knock the wind out if you—to down enough wine to forget about this madness, however briefly.
His eyes flickered to the blood still pouring from the fresh wound in your arm, and shook himself mentally, settling for pulling you over to the small, rounded kitchen table by your wrist and pulling out a chair.
"Sit." He was careful to keep his tone level, to keep any sharp edge from piercing through the command. Still, you obeyed wordlessly, lowering your gaze to your knees and folding your hands together in your lap, your shoulders drooping from your stiffened posture into one of utter defeat. Your breathing was short and shallow as it left your lungs, broken by a small hitch in your throat when Mihawk knelt down and grabbed a clean rag from the handle of of a cabinet behind him pressing it against your arm, carefully wiping away the blood..
Another small hitch interrupted your breathing as he glanced under the rag and sighed. It wasn't deep enough to necessarily need stitches, but they would help far more than they would hurt. He lifted your oposite hand and placed it over the rag, subtly slipping your second dagger from your belt and sliding it quietly across the counter behind him. "Keep pressure on it."
Every move he made either caused you to jolt in brief alarm or your breath to catch in your throat. Mihawk kept himself focused on the wound itself for now, simultaneously trying to gain control of his thoughts and shove them away entirely.
To figure out how the hell to address the subject of you slicing open your own arm.
Why exactly you had done it.
What the hell had possessed you to—
No. No, this had to be handled carefully. Handled in a way Mihawk was entirely unaccustomed to handling things.
He pulled the other chair over alongside your own—effectively blocking your path to the door in the process, a precaution he considered necessary—and set down a first aid box he had found tucked away in the back of one of the cabinets and a nearly full bottle of what smelled like strong whiskey. He pulled down the damp rag he had slung over his shoulder, shrugged out of his coat and laid it across the oposite side of the table to avoid getting any blood on it, and sat down, pulling your hand and the blood-drenched rag away from the wound.
It was a clean cut, considering how sharp you kept your daggers, and that alone was good. He pulled the clean damp rag down that he had draped over his shoulder and set to wiping the drying blood away from around it, glancing toward your face. Your eyes were still turned down toward your lap, your hands trembling a little now as you folded them together.
He sighed to himself, shaking his head a little.
What an absolute mess this day had turned out to be.
"Are you angry?"
The sound of your voice very nearly made him jump—he paused with the rag just beneath the shallow gash, his eyes darting back up to your face. Your voice was so quiet he might have thought he imagined it, if not for the way you swallowed and averted your gaze further away, toward the table at your other side.
"No," he said after a moment, keeping his tone level. Calm. "A bit frustrated, perhaps." You bit your lip, and gave a short nod. "And...curious as to why."
You hesitated a moment, still biting your lip. Your hands squeezed together briefly in your lap while his gaze lingered on the subtle shifts in your expression, long enough that you glanced over and your eyes met briefly.
The pain and hopelessness in yours made you look years younger—perhaps like the fourteen year old girl that had witnessed the destruction of her home and the cold-blooded murder of the woman who raised her.
Mihawk turned his gaze back to your arm after a moment.
"How much did Garp tell you?" you asked quietly.
"Far more than I bargained for," he sighed. He paused when you grew tense for a moment, realizing immediately how his words could have been taken. "Not like that," he said lightly, shaking his head. "I simply wasn't expecting anything of that magnitude." You still remained tense as he finished cleaning the wound, and kept the rag pressed to it as he picked up the open bottle of liquor. He decided to steer the topic slightly away, to attempt to ease into the main issue at hand. "I'm honestly curious how you managed to survive escaping into the Grand Line on a dinghy."
You glanced over slightly, not quite meeting his eyes. Your hands shifted in your lap, gripping lightly at the hem ofnyour shorts.
"I was lucky," you said quietly. Shrugged your other shoulder. "I was able to procure enough rations to last for a week. It was a time of year where the waters were relatively calm in that particular part of the Grand Line. I woke up the seventh morning to find a merchant schooner hauling my boat in. They saw it was a Marine boat. Discussed taking me in until I blurted out what happened and they took pity. Let me work as a deckhand for room and board and safe passage. They were bound for Loguetown. I got off there, worked odd jobs around taverns and inns that were as far from Marine territory as possible. Saved up enough Berries to purchase a sloop and sustain a comfortable lifestyle over a couple years and set out on my own."
"The Marines wouldn't have bothered you regardless." Your eyes twitched in his direction, then back down to your hands. "As Garp so aptly put it, you'll remain off their radar 'as long as the correct people remain in power and you don't do anything stupid.'"
You scoffed quietly. "Did you tell him he was wasting his pity?"
"No," Mihawk said slowly, pulling the rag away from your arm as he lifted his gaze to look at you. Not yet, he decided. You were still too tense. Too combative. "Frankly, I stared at him like he was speaking another language until he elaborated." The corner of your lips twitched the slightest bit, and your tension eased a little amid a small sigh. He lifted the bottle over, and you glanced over at it. "This is going to—"
"I know," you said. You drew in a deep breath, shifting back in the chair a bit, and held your arm out. "Go ahead."
Mihawk lifted his eyebrows a bit, his eyes lingering on your face briefly. Passing down the length of your arm, the line of scars winding down the limb beneath your newest wound, wondering for a moment exactly how many times you had done this yourself.
Then he tilted the bottle, letting the strong alcohol pour over the inflamed cut. You drew in a sharp breath through your teeth, your eyes snapping shut in a grimace, tensing up and shaking for a moment. You held your other hand out, your eyes still closed, and he handed the bottle off to you, watching you take a deep swig of the amber liquor.
You drew in a deep breath as you set it heavily on the table, and let it out in a shaking sigh, laying your head back against the back of the chair.
Lifted it and took another drink, and he plucked it from your hand as you lowered it this time—too much and you would only succeed in thinning your blood and bleeding all over the damned place again. You didn't question it, letting the bottle slip easily out of your grasp, your hand falling back to your lap as you caught your breath. Mihawk leaned back to set it aside on the counter, keeping his eyes on you. You were a ticking time bomb right now—one wrong move, one wrong word, and you were going to go off. There was no avoiding it.
There wasn't much he could do beyond attempt to lessen the blow—or simply get it over with.
It took only a moment for Mihawk to choose the former. Once you lifted your head, still breathing a bit heavily, he stretched his arm across the back of your chair.
"Did you ever intend to mention you mention you were raised by one of the most notorious pirates in modern history?" he asked.
He was a little surprised when you shook your head no, your head drooping, your chest still rising and falling heavily. "I...try not to think about her much," you replied. The pain seemed to have had something of a sobering affect on you—you spoke a bit louder now, a bit more confidently. You swallowed swallowed, running a hand back over your hair, and you turned your head, leveling your eyes with his.
"My last memory of her is watching a vengeance-crazed Marine Admiral saw her head off of her shoulders with a bowie knife."
For a moment, Mihawk could do nothing but stare in your eyes—not moving, not breathing, absorbing the toneless quality of your quiet words, the pain and anger in your gaze. After a long moment, he lifted his hand and pinched at his temples, shaking his head and drawing in a slow, deep breath. He lifted his other hand to the back of your neck and pulled you in so your forehead rested against his shoulder.
"She wasn't a pirate when I knew her, anyway," you said quietly. "I knew she had been, but she never talked about it. Not around me, at least. I think she was trying to avoid glamorizing it so I wouldn't follow in her footsteps. I probably still would have. At least she's not here to be disappointed in me." You gave a slow sigh, the breath trembling a little as it left your lungs. "Though she likely would be here if I had just done what she said and stayed out of sight."
"Don't do that." He kept his voice low but his tone firm—you weren't doing yourself any favors if your were blaming yourself for something as heinous as that. You drew in a sharp breath, and let it out as another slow, trembling sigh, your shoulders tensing a little again. He lowered his hand, wrapping his arm around them. You had a tendency to bolt any time you started to get the least bit vulnerable, and he had no intention of letting you. Not this time. "And it's not worth hurting yourself over."
"Yes it is," you said sharply. You stil didn't lift your head, but he still tightened his hold around your shoulders, just to be sure. You cleared your throat, but it didn't quite hide the hitch in your breath. "She wouldn't tell me about any of her scars." You swallowed audibly, your voice breaking as you went on in a softer tone. "She...told me they were hers to bear. Not mine. That they were reminders of her regrets and mistakes she made. I...I guess I didn't understand until I got this one." You lifted your hand to your neck, the same place Garp had indicated earlier when Mihawk had asked him about your scars. "Every time I saw it in the mirror all I could see was her. Hear her telling that goddamned Marine son of a bitch that he could do whatever he wanted with her as long as they let me go."
Your breath came in short, controlled bursts, your knuckles white as you gripped at the hem of your shorts.
"I have to remind myself. Any time I lose. Get too confident or let my guard down. Any time I make a mistake." Another deep breath, trying and failing to harden your nerve, still shaking like a leaf. "I have to remind myself that *one* mistake and I could—I could lose everything all over again."
"God dammit..." he muttered under his breath, lifting his hand to your hair and briefly lowering his forehead to the crown of your hair. You had this so deep-seated into your mind, so firmly established that it was like a law to you. A code that you had no choice but to follow, that you had no choice but to suffer for every mistake you made and trap yourself within a web of regret just to keep yourself safe.
Mihawk lifted his head from over yours, and took your face in his hands to lift your head. You swallowed as your eyes met, and for a moment the sight of the tears streaming down your cheeks made him freeze, made his chest ache, his own shoulders tense. You were on the verge of shattering like glass, and he didn't have any choice but to let it happen. He drew in a slow breath, keeping his gaze locked onto yours.
"You agreed," he said slowly, "some time ago, that you belong to me." You swallowed. "Which means that these..." He lowered one hand to your arm, and you tensed the same way you always did when his fingertips brushed across the column of scars extending down your soft skin, "...are not just yours. And that you're hurting more than just yourself— Don't," he added firmly when you clenched your eyes shut, your breath hitching, and you opened them again after a moment. "You learn from mistakes you've made and move on. You don't trap yourself inside them and live in misery." Your gaze fell from his as you bit down hard on your bottom lip, openly flinching when a whimper left you. "I personally have trouble believing that was what your grandmother intended for you when she gave her life to ensure you kept yours."
That was it—that was the straw that broke you. Your head fell, your eyes clenched shut, a torrent of tears falling from them. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you against him again, lowering his head over yours as your arms wrapped around his ribs so tightly that it was almost painful. You sobbed into crook of his neck like a child, broken apologies scattered between the sharp hitches in your breath, and he remained silent. Kept his own breathing slow and steady, cradling your head against his shoulder, letting you spill your heart in a way your solitary lifestyle had never allowed you to before.
Letting you calm down on your own terms, your tension slowly, slowly giving way until you were all but limp against him. Your breathing slowed until there was only an occasional hitch in your breath. It felt like hours had passed even though daylight still poured through the open door behind Mihawk,, casting his shadow over you while he combed his fingers through your hair.
"You won't be doing this again." You gave a small nod in agreement, not lifting your head.
"N...no stitches." He lifted his head a little at your quiet words, your voice hoarse. "This one has to scar." You sniffed, lifting your head finally and meeting his eyes. "I have to remember it so I never do it again."
He glanced down at the cut a couple inches above your elbow, and sighed. "Fine." He shifted his gaze back to your bloodshot eyes, and lifted his hand to rest it against your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears still clinging to your skin. "Fine. But never again."
You swallowed.
Nodded shortly, your eyes remaining firmly on his as you repeated the words back, your voice quiet, trembling, but unquestionable in its intensity.
"Never."
371 notes · View notes
mint-yooxgi · 10 months
Text
Lethal Protectors - Yandere!Vampires!Ateez X Reader
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Yandere AU & Vampire AU
Genre: Mature, Horror, Angst
Pairing: Ateez X Reader
Words: 6,410
Warnings: Violence and blood. Implied stalking. Past trauma and mentions of a physical assault which almost need in death. Scars. This is a Yandere story, it will contain themes such as stalking, violence, obsession, possessive natures, and just general overall creepiness and swearing. You have been warned.
A/n: Well, I never expected this to become this long, but it's based on a dream I had during a nap I took last night lol. Not much, but I hope you enjoy! As always feedback is greatly appreciated!
The trip back to your hometown was meant to be short. Nothing more than a pitstop, really. Say hello to your family, maybe even some friends, then be on your way again. You never expected it to turn into a full month. A month filled with people constantly telling you to stay away from them.
Who were they, and why did the eight of them always suddenly seem to miraculously appear around you whenever you were out? 
You’d go to the store for some food, and suddenly Yeosang and Seonghwa are bickering in the next aisle over about the prices for cereal, while San and Wooyoung gather produce. Other times, you’d run out to grab coffee in the mornings for yourself and your family, only for Hongjoong and Yunho to appear in line behind you, chatting you up about the weather the town has been having lately. You’ve ran into Mingi and Jongho more times than you can count at different thrift stores, that you’re starting to think they might be stalking you.
The odd thing is, growing up in such a small town, you think you’d remember them. It’s not that they aren’t nice people, or so they seem. You just trust your neighbour, Missus Benson who you’ve known for years over eight complete strangers.
Then, the rumours started. Your old school delinquent who’s always had it in for you wanted to ‘talk’. You know exactly what that’s code for, so you started going out less and less, being cautious to always go out with either your parents, or someone you knew to avoid running into an ‘old friend’.
Only, you weren’t the only one that noticed.
Over the past month, whether you choose to acknowledge it or not, you have been growing closer to those eight mysterious men. Yunho and Wooyoung never fail to make you laugh, or crack a smile, even unwillingly. Seonghwa and Jongho are always there with recommendations for natural remedies for sudden aches and pains. Both Hongjoong and Mingi quite enjoy talking to you about music, a topic you never really got to discuss in full with any of your other friends, and both San and Yeosang are great at giving advice, even subtly.
It’s a cold Thursday morning when you coincidentally run into Yunho at the coffee shop. He looks concerned, but as soon as you bring it up, it’s like his expression does a one-eighty.
“Just worried about you, is all.” He smiles politely. “Haven’t seen you around lately.”
The corner of your lips twitch upwards as you tense, “Been busy.”
“Is everything okay?” His brow furrows, concern immediately washing over his features.
“Yeah…” Movement outside the coffee shop draws your attention, and you’re quick to head towards the side entrance. “Sorry, Yun, I’ve really got to go. Talk to you later?”
The sound of the front bell jingling is synonymous with the side door slamming shut, the tall male standing there as he blinks in shock. Clearly something isn’t right, and when he turns back around to face front, he thinks he gets his answer.
***
It’s a misty Monday morning when you find yourself beginning to feel too cooped up in the house. Your whole mind is wound, and every little thing seems to set you off - your mother not muting her phone when she watches funny little videos, the sound of your father’s typing on his laptop. Hell, even the sound of the dog’s nails on the floor running back and forth as your sister plays with him is grating on your every nerve. 
Which is why when the mid-afternoon rolls around, you decide that you’ve had enough.
“I’m going for a walk!” You call out, not even waiting for a response as you sling your jacket over your one shoulder, and step outside.
The front door slams shut behind you, finalizing the sudden decision. You’ll take your chances traversing the familiar forest across the street. Ryder doesn’t live in this immediate neighbourhood, anyways, and it’s far too dreary a day for him to be out and about. At least, in your opinion.
Sliding your jacket onto your arms, you’re quick to cross the street. The area seems particularly quiet, but with the grey clouds hanging in the sky, the mist clinging to the air, you understand why.
A small smile tugs at your features as you pause just before the one entrance to the forest. It’s been a while since you went traversing through the woods like you were a kid again, and you can already feel the calming effects of the crisp air cooling your every sense.
Without another thought, you begin.
You walk your old path twice before deciding to sit yourself down at your favourite spot, just beside the small pond in the middle of the woods. A fallen tree provides a natural bench as you stare out across the water, some ducks swimming across the surface. 
You can hear the sounds of natural all around you: leaves rustling as the wind drifts through the trees, bugs humming in the background while animals forage for food. Every now and then, you can hear feet shuffling in the underbrush as a couple or two walk by with their dog, holding hands and smiling at you politely as you turn to say hello.
It’s been a while since you’ve fully submersed yourself like this, and to say you’ve missed it would be a huge understatement. Getting out of the house, especially on a day like today, a day with weather you’ve always been fond of, has done wonders for your mood. Enough so, that you practically forget all about Ryder for the moment. Or, at least, he doesn’t worry you as much as before. Really, what can he do to you now that he didn’t back then?
The sound of approaching footsteps trudging along the path draws your attention. Turning reveals a girl about your age with shoulder length golden locks hanging in loose curls approaching you. The closer she gets, the more you realize how blue her eyes are, and just how familiar she looks.
Her head tilts as she pauses in her steps, a curious call of your name falling from your lips. “Do you remember me?”
You smile, standing back to your feet as you face her. “Of course I do!”
She mirrors your expression as you both hug each other.
“It’s good to see you again, Gabrielle!” You comment, pulling away from her for the moment. “I haven’t seen you since elementary school.”
“You look so different!” She chuckles. “Then again, I imagine so do I.”
You nod, sharing a small laugh with her.
“I know we weren’t really close in school, but would you like to walk with me for a bit and catch up?” She offers, motioning down that all too familiar path that leads to the side roads.
“Sure!” You readily agree, already falling into step beside her.
The two of you talk for about an hour, sharing some details of your lives and what you’re up to now-a-days. Only, you see her brow furrowing slightly in worry as you approach that little pond area you first met once more.
“You mentioned meeting some new faces when you came back for a visit,” she chews on her bottom lip. “Did I hear you right when you said you’ve met Yunho?”
Your own brow furrows slightly, “Yeah. What about him?”
“He and his friends are no good.” She warns you, suddenly grabbing your arms in her hands. “You need to stay away from them.”
“Why does everybody keep saying that?” You shake your head, not quite understanding their concern. “They all seem like nice guys to me.”
“They showed up in town about two years ago, right around the time those animal attacks started happening.” She explains. “So many people have been run out of town, or have left because of them.”
“The guys, or the animal attacks?” You inquire, this being the first time you’ve heard anything about there being any sort of animal attacks nearby.
“It doesn’t matter,” she shakes her head. “They’re dangerous people. Don’t go anywhere near them.”
“No, the person I need to stay away from is Ryder.” You comment, gently removing her hands from your arms. “He still seems to hold a grudge towards me since high school.”
“He followed you to high school?” She blinks, almost dumbfounded, at you.
Quickly, you shift your head from side to side, as if checking if the coast is clear. You’ve had this sneaking suspicion that you’re being watched ever since you entered the forest, but it’s only just recently gotten stronger. Once you determine that no one is around, you motion her closer.
“Gabi, he almost killed me.” Your voice is no more than a whisper as a harsh wind blows passed. Gently, you grip the edge of your shirt, shifting slightly to raise it to about the bottom of your ribs.
Her eyes widen, a gasp escaping her lips as her hands come up to cover her mouth.
“Final year, he cornered me in the locker room.” You let the material of your shirt fall back down to cover the jagged scar on your body, spanning from below your ribs on your right side, all the way across your stomach, and almost to your left hip. “Didn’t even use a blade, but a broken piece of glass from the window he smashed to get in.”
“That’s horrible!” Her whole body trembles. “I’m so sorry that happened!”
“Because it happened before his eighteenth birthday, they couldn’t try him as an adult yet. He got two months in juvie and a slap on the wrist. I got twenty-four stitches, and six months in recovery.” You avert your gaze. “I’m assuming he’s looking for me to finish what he started.”
“But why?” She meets your gaze, tears lining her vision.
“I don’t know,” you shrug, straightening out the front of your jacket. “I never asked, nor did I want to.”
“You should get home, then!” She replies frantically, checking her watch. “Ryder and his gang enjoy hanging out at that entrance over there with their bikes in the evenings. It’s almost around the time he gets here.”
Frantically, she starts tugging your hand to lead you in the opposite direction.
Faintly, you begin to hear the sound of motorcycles revving in the distance.
“Hurry!” She tugs you along, sparing a glance behind you only for her eyes to widen. “Shit. I can just make out some of their bikes at the edge of the path. Sometimes they like to joyride through here cause it’s wide and flat enough. Let me see if I can go distract them for a bit. I’ll meet you at the front entrance in five!”
Without waiting for a response, she pushes you behind her and down the path. You can only watch as she scurries off towards the sound of revving bikes and obnoxious laughter.
Reluctantly, you part ways, looking back over your shoulder every now and then to see if you can still catch a glimpse of Gabrielle. Only, the further you get, the harder it is to tell if she’s alright. She took a big risk doing this for you, especially since you don’t really know her all that well anymore, and you both were never really close to begin with. Still, you will not forget her kindness that easily.
At least Ryder shouldn’t hurt her. From what you recall, he was always trying to impress her in elementary school.
Just as you breach the forest entrance she told you to wait by, your eyes widen. What if she did this to set you up?
No. Her shocked reaction was too genuine to fake. Besides, she was never like that before, and you do not think she’s like that now. Either way, she should be back with you in a minute.
Five more minutes pass by, and you’ve still yet to see any sight, nor hear any sound of Gabrielle. Your worry skyrockets with each passing second, and you know you’re not that far from the side road if you decided to cut through the bush. Something must have happened.
At the shriek of fear you hear faintly in the distance, you know something’s wrong. Even that creeping sense of being watched has left you about twelve minutes ago, and you don’t know what’s going on. Either way, you’re not going to leave Gabi to the same fate you suffered under at the hands of this man. If he wants you, then that’s exactly who he’s going to get.
It takes you less than two minutes to reach the entrance at the side of the road, creeping along the trees to avoid being seen for as long as you can. You turn your head left to see nothing, only to turn right and see about six males sitting around on motorcycles, Gabrielle being held in their midst. She struggles to free herself, a switchblade being pressed to her throat by Ryder who wears a smug grin as he whispers lowly into her ear.
“Ryder.” Your stern voice draws all of their attention as you step out of the woods. “Let her go.”
“Ah, there you are.” He hums, fingers tightening on the back of Gabrielle’s neck. “Took you long enough to show up. You know I don’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Let her go, she has nothing to do with this.” You keep your voice calm, hands raised defensively in front of you as you keep a fair amount of distance between you and the six men. “You wanted me, not her.”
“I suppose you took the bait easily enough.” He chuckles, shoving Gabi to the ground.
Tears stream freely down Gabi’s cheeks as she scrambles away. All the other males offer her is condescending chuckles, tripping her as she attempts to escape.
Gabrielle runs over to you, a small scrape cut into the skin of her left eyebrow. Her hands once more find purchase on your arms, soft apologies falling from her lips.
“It’s okay.” You assure her. “Get home safely, I’ll be fine.”
She squeezes your arms, rushing back off into the suddenly silent woods and out of sight.
“So, you’ve finally returned after years of staying away, huh?” Ryder scoffs, standing from his motorcycle and slowly stalking towards you like a predator would its prey. “What made you stay? I thought you swore to never spend more than one evening in this town if you could.”
“Oh, you know,” you reply casually, backing up all the while. “Lease was about to renew, landlord raised the rent, apartment flooded. The usual.”
“Convenient,” he grins, and the sight only serves to unnerve you. “Had nowhere else to go expect dear old mom and dad.”
“You should know.” You reply bluntly.
Everyone you’ve talked to has explained how much of a deadbeat Ryder is. He’s always trashing the town and causing mischief, but he never gets penalized for it. Bastard’s dad is a cop, no wonder he only really got off with a slap on the wrist when he hurt you all those years ago.
“How’s that scar?” He tilts his head mockingly. “Did wonders to improve your ugly features. Too bad it didn’t kill you.” He pauses ten feet from you, that switch blade getting flipped menacingly in his hand. “Want some more?”
You run; without wasting another precious moment, you turn and flee.
The sound of revving engines reach your ears as you stick to the edge of the road. You’ll have better chances of a car coming by than with people walking through the woods this late in the evening. So, you take your chances on a flat path, sprinting along the wet pavement as the mist continues to hang in the air.
Only, you don’t get very far, for two of his lackeys nearly run you off of the road when they swerve in front of you. The others are quick to surround you, but you don’t even have much time to think before you feel yourself get harshly tackled to the ground.
Blow after blow is given to you, blood seeping out of cuts all along your body. Ryder lets each of his men take turns beating you, saving the knife until the very end when you can no longer feel your right arm, or the left side of your face.
Slowly, meticulously, he reopens that cut he gave you all those years ago. He’s not gentle, either, and all you can think of is that this is just like the first time, only worse. This time, there are witnesses who choose not to help you, screams and pleas of mercy falling on deaf ears.
“There,” he stands back to his feet, spitting on you all the while. “Maybe if you’re lucky, someone on their morning commute will find you.” He kicks you one more time for good measure as your vision begins to fade. “If you’re that lucky, this time.”
Nothing but the sound of their maniacal laughter echoes through your mind as they rev their engines once more. The last thing you see before your world goes black is the faint glow of taillights driving off into the distance.
***
You don’t know how much time has passed, but you do recognize a few things.
One: you’re terribly cold. You can barely feel your body, and consciousness is a battle to maintain as your whole being aches with a pain unlike anything ever before.
Two: you are no longer alone.
Someone seems to be calling your name frantically, your body being held within that person’s embrace. Their caress is tender, cautious not to aggravate your wounds any further than they already are.
Groggily, your eyes blink open, whole body tensing as you hear three unnatural roars sound from just off to your right.
“Tell them to calm down!” The voice holding onto you snaps at someone to their left. “They’re scaring her.”
Finally, your gaze refocusses, and you can just make out the features of the man holding you. Your lips part, his name but a muted whisper as you attempt to speak.
“Shhh,” Yunho coos, brushing a hand tenderly over the top of your head. “We’re here now. It’ll all be okay.”
Faintly, you register the sound of someone pacing just by your head.
“This is all my fault,” a deep voice sounds from above you. It must be whoever was pacing, for they seem to have stopped for the moment. “If I didn’t leave her alone to come get all of you, this never would have happened.”
“You did what any one of us would have, Yeosang.” Another voice replies, a slight sigh on his lips. “If we all hadn’t of gotten here when we did, it would be much worse.”
“Here,” Seonghwa comes to kneel beside you, his arm shaking as he brings his wrist to your lips, “Drink this.”
You try to protest, to resist the red liquid which pours soothingly down your throat, but you cannot. You are far too weak at the moment to do anything other than obey, and besides, you’ll probably die soon. So, what’s the difference if you comply with the wishes of a strange request?
Only, the moment the warmth touches your tongue, you begin to feel strength returning to you. Your breathing is evening out with every breath you take, your wounds slowly seeming to close. The pain is starting to dissipate, and you find you are regaining feeling in all parts of your body.
Your vision clears further, and you can see Hongjoong standing off to the side, both him and Wooyoung looking absolutely livid as the sound of snapping branches reaches your ears. Shifting your gaze, you see both Mingi and San rush out of the woods far too quickly for any human to do, dried blood coating their hands as dirt covers their arms.
Finally, the eldest pulls his wrist away, wiping at the small stain of red that coats your lips with his thumb. Silently, as he does so, the six others standing around you converge.
Yunho’s whole body shakes. You can feel it trembling against you as he pulls you into his chest. His grip is desperate, clinging to you for dear life as if you may disappear again at a moment’s notice.
“Who did this to you?” His voice is calm; deadly. Like the approach of an oncoming storm.
You look down, noticing the torn material of your shirt. Your hands shake as you watch that scar you’ve had for the majority of your life finish healing, the line you’ve become so accustomed to fading into nothing.
Blood still covers the majority of your body, yet all you can do is stare at your hands for the moment. Slowly, you raise them, touching the tips of your fingers to your thumbs, and counting to twenty in your mind. You blink a few times, still debating on if this is really happening or not.
You tilt your head, almost inquisitively, “How…”
“She’s in shock.” Jongho comments.
“Of fucking course she is!” San replies, clearly exasperated as he nearly tears his hair out of his skull. “We only found her bleeding out and on the verge of death at the side of the road!”
You flinch at his tone, and they all take a step towards you.
“Watch it, San.” Mingi warns.
“Like you are fairing any better.” Wooyoung snaps, arms crossed over his chest. “Tearing out the whole forest isn’t going to catch the bastard that did this to our ma-“
“Who did this to you?” Hongjoong’s inquiry is a tad softer than Yunho’s as he crouches beside you. His blond hair is pushed up and away from his face, hiding nothing of his expression of concern as he reaches for your hands. Still, he cannot hide the tremble in his own.
Your lips part, voice catching in your throat. Desperately, you attempt to find the words to say, but none seem to want to come out.
A blink, and Yeosang comes to crouch beside Hongjoong, drawing your attention to him for the moment.
“Was it Ryder?” He keeps his inquiry low, tone even as he meets your gaze.
After a moment of hesitation, you nod. Slowly.
The males all tense around you, but none so much as the one holding you.
“He was the one-“ Yunho swallows thickly. “The one that made you flee the coffee shop that day.”
Again, you nod.
“He gave you that scar you showed Gabrielle today.” Yeosang continues, and in the back of your mind, you wonder how he knew that. Though, from the way your injuries have miraculously healed, the rumours you’ve heard, and those roars that shook the area not even ten minutes ago, you’re starting to piece two and two together. “He did this to you."
The way you swallow, quite thickly at that, is answer enough.
“I’ll fucking kill him for touching you.” Wooyoung seethes, his eyes flashing beneath the dull light of the moon now peeking through the clouds.
“Bastard is lucky to still be fucking breathing right now,” San’s chest heaves with every breath, hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides.
Hongjoong stands back to his feet, turning his back to you as he methodically cracks his neck from side to side.
Gently, Yunho hands you off to Seonghwa, who is more than happy to cradle you in his hold.
“Jongho, Seonghwa, Yeosang, take her home.” Hongjoong rolls his shoulders, only to spare a glance back at you in the next moment. He smiles reassuringly before turning to face front, the others coming to stand beside him in a line. “The rest of us are going hunting.”
A blink, and the five other males have disappeared from sight.
Words of protest begin to form at your lips as you feel yourself being picked up quite easily by the eldest from the ground. You’re still trying to wrap your head around the events that have taken place before your very eyes, but the longer you think about it, the more your head begins to hurt.
“Shh,” Seonghwa coos into your ear, turning back towards the forest and beginning to walk down the path with the other two males in tow. “Just sleep.”
You want to fight it, but at the sudden fatigue that clouds your mind, you have no choice but to fall unconscious for the second time this evening.
***
This time, when you wake, the sound of a crackling fire greets your ears. You can feel yourself being held in someone’s embrace, a soothing hand being brushed over your back as you curl into what you assume is their chest. The odd part is, even though you remember everything, you feel safe, and you certainly feel warm.
A small groan escapes you, your hands coming up to rub at your eyes. You manage to push yourself the slightest bit away from whoever seems to be resting with you on the couch, feeling their chest shake with a chuckle as you nearly fall backwards onto the floor.
“Feeling better?” It’s Yeosang.
You blink, quite a few times at him laying in front of you, just casually holding you steady so you don’t go tumbling from the couch. 
“Uh, yeah.” You clear your throat. “Thanks.”
Slowly, with his help, you sit up. He helps you wrap the blanket you had been using around your shoulders, and that’s when you notice both Jongho and Seonghwa sit in the same room as you. Each male occupies a separate armchair, gazes locked on your form as they observe your every move with nothing but worry in their eyes.
“Are you okay?” Jongho leans forward the slightest bit, fingers desperately clutching at the sides of his chair as he looks to you.
You wrap the blanket tighter around yourself as you nod. 
You stare at the floor, keeping your voice low. “How did you find me?”
The three males share a look between one another.
“We-“ Seonghwa swallows thickly, averting his gaze to the side. “We could smell your blood.”
Before another word can be said from any of you, the sound of a door opening reaches your ears. Glancing up reveals five more men flooding into the room, red coving nearly every free inch of their skin.
Your eyes nearly bug right out of your head, especially when Wooyoung comes to kneel right in front of you, reaching for you with nothing but concern on his features. Only, you cannot help but to push yourself away from him, and as far back into the couch as you can go. 
His expression droops.
“Wooyoung.” Hongjoong hisses.
“Please don’t be scared of us,” he keeps his voice low, nonthreatening. “We would never hurt you.”
“Give her some space,” Yunho drags the male back by the collar of his shirt. “She nearly died tonight, the last thing she needs to be is crowded.”
Each male does not fail to miss the way you flinch at Yunho’s words.
“I understand why people told me to stay away from all of you, now.” You keep your voice low, clearing the roughness of your dry throat as you speak.
You notice the way they all tense, expressions falling, even if only the slightest bit.
“Are you scared of us?” Hongjoong’s tone is soft, nothing but a gentle inquiry as he meets your gaze.
“Should I be?” You quirk a brow. “Because I’m pretty sure if you were half as bad as people said you were, you would have left me for dead at the side of the road.”
This time, it’s their turn to flinch at the reminder of the state they found your body in.
“Right now, I need honesty.” You spare a glance around at all of them as you curl in tighter to yourself. “Can you afford me that?”
“Always.” Mingi breathes, taking a step towards you as if he wants to comfort you.
You take a deep breath in, “You all aren’t human.”
A statement which they pick up on.
“That is correct.” Yunho nods, swallowing somewhat thickly.
“You’re responsible for those animal attacks starting around two years ago that Gabi told me about.” Again, another statement.
“Yes and no,” San grimaces. “There were a few other covens that tried to follow us here. We ran them off.”
You can feel your heart pounding inside of your chest as you continue to stare at the floor. The fire crackles to the side.
“You’re vampires.”
A stillness passes over the room.
“We are.” Yeosang confirms, and he notices how you don’t necessarily retreat any further away from him on the couch this time.
You look up, sparing a glance around the room and fully taking in the bloody appearances of the five males who entered not that long ago. Your hands tighten on that blanket around your form. 
“You killed them, didn’t you?” The words are no more than a whisper on your lips, but they all still manages to hear.
“Of course we did.” Wooyoung states, rather firmly.
You meet his gaze. “Why?”
The eight males nearly blink in surprise.
“They hurt you.” Mingi replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “He hurt you.”
“Why go through all of these lengths to help me?” You spare another glance around the room at all of them.
They all seem to blink in mild surprise.
“Because you are important to us.” Hongjoong shifts to crouch in front of you, gently reaching over to clasp your hand in his own.
“You met me a little over three weeks ago.” You deadpan.
“We’ve been searching for you for much longer than that.” Seonghwa breathes out, shifting so that he’s sitting on the edge of his seat.
Your brow furrows. “What do you mean by that?”
“How much do you know about our kind?” San asks, sitting across from you on the opposite couch.
Your eyes narrow slightly at him, figuring this to be some sort of test. “I’ll admit, I’m rather ignorant when it comes to your ways. I don’t think Twilight or Dracula are good history books.”
Mingi and Wooyoung snort, “You’ve got that right.”
“Basics are the same,” Yunho says, beginning to list off, “We need blood, or blood substitutes to survive. Strength, speed, abilities, all the same.”
“Sunlight, garlic, and crosses are all null though.” Wooyoung shrugs, plopping on the couch right beside San.
“Though, there always seem to be one aspect never mentioned for our kind.” Yeosang mumbles, somewhat disappointedly.
“No, the wolves seem to get that aspect more than we do.” Seonghwa rolls his eyes, sitting back in his chair.
“Aspect?” You spare a look around the room before your eyes settle in on the soft brown ones of the male kneeling before you.
“There are many different words for it,” Hongjoong begins. “Fated, life partners, lost souls,” his eyes flash as he watches you carefully, “mates.”
Your head tilts forward in disbelief, “You expect me to believe vampires have soulmates?”
“Believe it or not, we do.” Yunho’s voice is but a mere exhale on his lips as he looks to you, a certain type of fondness suddenly shining there that you’ve never seen before.
Your head begins reeling.
“None of our kind really know how it works,” San looks down at his hands, beginning to pick at some of the dried blood lingering there. 
“It can happen at any stage in our lives, but there comes a point where we begin to feel drawn to a place.” Seonghwa explains.
“Sometimes it’s a hometown, other times it’s where they currently live.” Mingi adds.
“We all felt that pull,” Hongjoong breathes. “To here.” He meets your gaze. “To you.”
“We spent a full year in this area before we realized you were no longer living in town.” Wooyoung’s gaze drops to his lap, a sort of defeated longing taking over his features.
You notice how none of them meet your gaze now, and realization settles in your bones. 
You inhale sharply. “You tracked me.”
“When you’ve lived as long as we have, you begin to think these stories of so called ‘fated’ are simply legend.” Hongjoong admits. “So, when we finally felt that pull, we wanted to do anything to keep it.” He squeezes your hand gently. “To find you.”
A sort of ease lifts some of the tension from the room as it settles over the eight of them
“And we did.” Mingi smiles softly at you, blinking back the tears that suddenly spring to his eyes.
“Getting to know you was the next step,” Wooyoung says, a sort of eager gleam shining in his eyes now.
“Of course, we don’t know everything.” Yunho shoots him a pointed look.
“Once we knew you’d be coming for a visit back home, it made things a little easier,” Jongho admits, his fingers beginning to dance along the armrests of his chair.
Your eyes narrow suspiciously. “That’s sweet and all, but you only talked to me because fate told you to?”
“No!” Seonghwa is quick to protest, extending his arms in front of himself as panic crosses all of their features.
“We wanted to get to know you first, before truly deciding on anything.” Yeosang says, noticing how you turn your gaze to meet his own as he speaks. He smiles shyly, averting his eyes in the next moment.
Of course, they’re not going to tell you the lengths they went to just to get you to stay at your hometown for longer than you had planned. It’s not like they planned to let you leave them. Not when they’ve finally found you. Not when you’re finally theirs.
“And do I get a choice in this?” You quirk a brow.
The males all share a look.
“Of course you do!” Hongjoong assures you. “We would never force you to be with us.”
However, sabotaging any other partners you may desire is not completely off of the table. They’ll all make sure to appear as the best options for you. Them, and only them.
You nod in understanding. Beginning to push yourself off of the couch. Luckily, Hongjoong seems to pick up on your movements, helping you up and onto your feet in the next moment.
“This is a lot to think about.” You reply, rather bluntly. “A lot has happened, and I really just want to go to sleep.”
Seonghwa stands. “I’ll show you to your room.”
Again, your eyes nearly bulge out of your head.
“No.” You shake your head. “I am going home, and then we can discuss this later. Preferably when over half of you are not covered in blood from ripping someone apart.”
“Oh, believe me, Gorgeous,” Wooyoung grins, though it serves to unnerve your more than anything, “We did more than that to that bastard.”
Your whole body tenses, and you watch as San reaches over to smack Wooyoung upside the head.
“Ow,” he rubs at the tender spot, “What the hell was that for?”
At the jerk of San’s chin in your direction, Wooyoung takes in your tense state.
You blink, clearing your thoughts. “One of you, take me home.”
Turning towards the door you’re positive the five had entered from earlier, you begin to make your way out of the room. All eight of them are quick to follow, Seonghwa offering to drive you back to your place for the evening. Both Yunho and Hongjoong offered, but seeing as they’re both still bathed in blood, you opted to decline.
The whole drive back to your parent’s house is silent, Seonghwa attempting some small talk with you only for you to shut him down every time. You’ve been through a lot this evening, and there’s been a lot of information for you to process, so of course the eldest isn’t phased in the slightest. Ever the gentleman, he still bids you a goodnight, and waits until you get inside your house, and have turned on your bedroom light before driving off into the night.
That evening, as you lay in bed, all you can do is toss and turn. Your mind swims with everything you’ve learned, yet you find yourself more relaxed than anything. It’s as if this is always what was meant to be.
With that thought, you turn onto your side, clutching your pillow firmly to your chest. Not even ten minutes later, you succumb to sleep, breathing evening out as your curtains sway in the breeze.
Silently, eight presences enter your room, completely undetected beneath the light of the moon.
“That went better than planned,” Wooyoung comments, a giddy grin tugging at his lips.
“She seems to be taking things well,” Seonghwa nods his agreement.
“It helps that she already knows us.” Jongho hums, shifting in closer to your bed until he’s right beside your nightstand.
“We still don’t know if she’ll fully accept us.” Yunho reaches out for you, only to stop himself when he feels Yeosang’s hand on his wrist.
“Let’s not push our luck tonight, yeah?” He shoots a sharp look at the taller male.
“Either way, we’ll never let her out of our sights again.” There’s a low growl on San’s lips as he says this, filling the space with a promise which is echoed by each one of his brothers standing around you in that room.
“Nothing will ever bring her harm,” Mingi kneels behind the opposite side of your bed, hand gently resting on the edge so as not to alert you of his presence. The whole time, his eyes remain locked on your figure, dead heart racing with nothing but love as he gazes at you fondly. “We’ll make sure of it.”
“That we will.” Hongjoong hums, coming to kneel as close to your sleeping figure as he can. 
Softly, he trails his gaze over your body, noticing how you seem to shiver beneath the gentle breeze that flits through your room. He pulls your covers over your arms, risking a tender caress against your cheek once he’s done. 
“We’ll watch over you, Our Precious Fated,” He whispers lowly, hearing soft growls of agreement echo once more around the room from all of them. “You never have to worry about anything again. We promise: we'll always bring you home.”
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lana-writes · 5 months
Text
Last Night Alive - AstarionxGN!Tav
Word Count: 1.9k
Rating: General
Tags/Warnings: hurt/comfort, some brief kissing, mentions of intimacy, descriptions of canon typical violence,
SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR ACT 3
Summary: The night before the final battle, Tav struggles to put the images from the temple of Bhaal from their mind as they worry about what the fight to come will bring. Their lover Astarion isn't sure how to comfort them but he wants to try. They end up reflecting on their journey together and making plans for the future.
Read on AO3 | Masterlist | BG3 Character Letters
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The fight against Orin was as bloody as they had expected. Her stone was theirs, nestled safely alongside the other two in Tav’s pack. The Elder Brain was growing restless and defiant, closer than ever to breaking free. With the Netherstones in their possession, all that lay before them was to defeat the brain itself. The end of their journey was drawing nearer by the moment and now it was almost in sight. 
For now though, Tav, Gale, Wyll, and Shadowheart dragged themselves back into the Elfsong Tavern, bloodied, wounded, and exhausted. It should be joyous news that they were so close to victory but they met their companions in camp with a mix of dread and cautious confidence. They’d defeated all their enemies thus far, save for the one at the heart of this whole debacle and it was sure to be their biggest challenge yet. 
The Elder Brain was an urgent problem to be sure, but none of them were in the right shape to face it now. A good long rest would set them up as best they could be to face it. Tomorrow they would face the greatest evil they’d ever known and they’d save Baldur’s Gate or they’d die trying. It was the prospect of the latter that kept most of them on edge that night. As they split up to rest and lick their wounds and heal themselves as best they could, a layer of unease settled over all of them. It was time to get themselves and their affairs in order, just in case.
Tav let Halsin heal the greater of their wounds and tended to their other smaller injuries herself. They settled on their bed, sitting with their back to the wall. A few of the others had already gone to sleep in the far room. A few others sat in the center of the rooms by the fire eating and talking quietly of adventures past. 
Their head leaned back against the wall as they rested their eyes and tried desperately to push the images of the Bhaal temple from their mind. They were unfortunately failing. Each poor soul whose body they saw was burned into their mind and the sheer number of them brought tears to their eyes now. They were clenching their eyes shut, trying to force the haunting images away when they felt the bed shift beside her. They knew who it was before they felt his cool hand touch theirs. Slowly, they opened their eyes and looked at him. 
Astarion sat beside them with a concerned look on his face. They could tell he was trying to think of something clever or funny to say but he was coming up short. His hand covered theirs and squeezed it a little reassuringly. He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated for a moment.
“So– how was it?” was all he could muster. This wasn’t a time for jokes or mischief, anyone could see that. Shaking their head, they blinked tears from their eyes and made a face, thinking of the stench of death and evil about the place, the sheer number of bodies mutilated and put on display, and the never ending rivers of blood. They started to speak but stopped and shook their head again. 
“It was– the most evil place,” they said finally in nearly a whisper. 
“That’s saying something,” he said, “for all the places we’ve been. Still you made it out alive and Orin is no more.” 
“Yeah,” they said grimly, pausing as Yenna crossed their mind. “At least– at least Yenna didn’t– at least I hope she didn’t suffer too much.”
“My poor, sweet pet,” he began, “I doubt I’ll ever see the world quite as you do, but it does pain me to see you like this.” They leaned into him a little. 
“I can’t mourn every child or animal or friend that we lose,” they said, sniffling and wiping their face with the back of their free hand. “We have more important things to do. There will be time after all of it is done and behind us.” 
“Exactly,” he smiled, hopeful they could put the horrors of the day behind them. “When all this illithid business is behind us, we can do as we please and go where we please, hopefully with less people trying to kill us at every turn.” They smiled a little, trying to imagine what life for them might be like beyond tomorrow but the Elder Brain loomed in their mind. They had no idea what to expect from that fight except they knew that it would be long and hard. A battle for not only Baldur’s Gate, but for Faerûn, for the whole world. 
“If I should fall tomorrow,” they began.
“No,” he snapped. 
“But if I die–”
“No,” he said a little stronger, silencing them, before continuing in a hushed tone. “No, because if you’re gone then— I am too.” They turned to look at him, shifting where they sat. He glanced around to see if anyone heard him. Satisfied that their conversation was theirs alone, he continued a little softer. “I won’t– I– Once the tadpoles are gone, I can only assume that I’ll be forced back into the shadows and that is unbearable enough but to go back to a world without light and without you–” he paused. Fear and misery filled his eyes at the thought of such a bleak world. He let them see it, let them fill in the blanks in his statement. “I’ve fought too hard to feel alive again for any chance at happiness to disappear just as I can begin to taste it,” he added, beginning to smile. “For the first time in more than two hundred years, I want to live. And I want you. A life with you. That is what I’m fighting for now.” His hopeful loving smile shifted towards something more determined and nearly aggressive, “And I will be damned if I let anything take that from me.” They smiled back at him as they let his resolve become theirs. They brought a hand up to touch his cheek. 
“What will we do?” they asked. 
“What do you mean?” 
“When it's all over. When you and I can do as we please,” they said. He smiled again with the softest look in his eyes, a look he doesn’t show anyone else but her. 
“Well, whatever you like,” he said, “And isn’t that a wonderful thing?” Their smile grew a little as they leaned into him, letting him wrap an arm around their shoulders while their own arm snaked its way around his chest. 
“What do you want to do first?” they asked. 
“I should like to have a long, hot bath, a comfortable bed in a private room, and you,” he said, leaning his cheek against their head, “ to do anything we please away from anyone else.”
“Time to rest,” they mumbled. “Time together without a ticking time bomb in our brains. That would be nice.” 
“After that,” he began, “Who’s to say? We make a good team though. We’ll find some new endeavor to put our minds to. Hopefully one that doesn’t involve the possible ruin of the whole Sword Coast.” 
“Yeah,” they agreed, nodding gently. “Maybe we’ll help Detective Valeria some more. I’m sure there’s no shortage of murders to solve in this city, or missing children to find.” They weren't serious about the idea but it was a possibility, just a thought that they had. He didn’t respond at first. “We don’t have to do that. If that’s too wholesome for you, that is…” they added. 
“No,” he said gently, almost somberly, “I think that’s a very good idea. After all, we’ve already proven to be quite good at it.” He paused and they could tell he was thinking of something else. 
“What is it?” they asked.
“I used to wonder if anyone ever came looking for me. I don’t know when I stopped. Cazador always insisted no one did and for a very long time, I believed him. I shouldn’t have but I did. I thought I was just another young soul lost to the monsters that lurk in the dark with no one left to search for me. No one deserves that,” he explained. Tav lifted their head and leaned back to look at him. A sorrowful but determined expression lingered on his face but they smiled.
“You know, the vampire I met in the wilderness would say you were weak,” they meant it as a compliment.
“He didn’t feel the way that I do now,” he replied, a gentle smile growing on his lips and in his eyes. 
“And how is that?” 
“Stronger,” he smiled, “and happier than I have been in nearly two centuries, all thanks to you.” Tav furrowed theirbrows as they listened to him. “Without you, I could still very well be wandering about in fear of the tadpole in my head or worse, I could have become a victim of the Absolute cultists or even worse still, some hunter might have dragged me back to Cazador,” he explained. “You rescued me and you helped me again and again in so many ways. You showed me that I could be different, that I could be free. You believed in me. I’m very grateful for that. And it’s because of you that I have the hope that we can do this at all. After everything that’s happened and all we’ve overcome, the end is finally in sight and I’m proud to face it with you.” Tav felt tears pricking at their eyes as they gazed back at him. They’d rarely seen him so tender and so resolute.
“I’m so proud of you,” they whispered, “the man you are, that you’ve become.” Their hand came up to cup his cheek again as their eyes locked with his. “There’s no one I’d rather stand shoulder to shoulder with tomorrow. And there’s no one else I’d rather spend the rest of my days with.” He smiled and leaned into their touch, relishing the warmth of their hand. 
“Then it’s settled,” he grinned, “tomorrow, we’ll save the world and then the two of us will ride off into the sunset together.” They let out a chuckle and leaned into him. 
“We’ll spend the rest of our days making love and rescuing the innocent from the monsters that lurk in the night,” they added. 
“Sounds like an excellent plan to me,” he agreed, leaning in to press his lips to theirs. Their hand slid back into his hair as he kissed them. 
They both knew this could still be their last night alive but if there was anything Astarion had learned from Tav and from this journey, it was that they couldn’t have achieved any of it if they didn’t think they could in the first place. He didn’t think he could be free from Cazador but he was. He didn’t think he could have ever really, truly fallen in love with someone and yet he has. Time and again, Tav’s belief in him, as well as the rest of their traveling party, led them to achieve things they thought at minimum improbable and at most downright impossible, but here they were, facing the impossible. Tomorrow, they would face one of the most dangerous entities in existence and he really felt in his bones that they would come out of it alright. More than that, they might even get the chance to live happily ever after. 
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cuubism · 1 year
Text
Enchantment
"Hob," Death greets, and Hob has never heard her voice go tentative like that - though it is, as always, still friendly and kind. "You called for me?"
"Hey, hon," Hob says, or croaks, throat dry and overused. "Yeah, I did, but I meant it in more of a do you think you could help me get out of this situation sort of way, not like, you know." He makes a slicing motion across his throat with his free hand. "Off me."
Death chuckles, crouching before him. "Yes, I see that now. I admit I was concerned, for a moment."
"To be fair, this is not exactly not concerning," Hob says, gesturing to his bound wrist, the frankly alarming amount of blood all over his body, and the situation more generally. "But what's one more dungeon rescue among friends?"
Death touches the binding on his wrist with light fingers, considering. Try as he might, despite having one hand and both legs free and considerable experience in picking locks, Hob has not been able to get it off. It must be magical in some way. "You did not call for Dream?"
Hob sighs. "Listen--" he starts, and Death snorts.
"Didn't want to be responsible for the leveling of the entire street?"
"Dream has not exactly--" Hob shifts and winces, that cuff is starting to burn under Death's touch-- "proven himself capable of moderation."
"And he won't, if the past billions of years are anything to go by," Death agrees, with the fond exasperation of an older sister.
She leans in close, studying the metal chaining his arm to the wall. "You couldn't have known, but I think you've prevented more than that in calling me instead."
"What's that thing say?" Hob asks. "I couldn't make out the language. Looked old."
Death runs her finger along the runes encircling the cuff. Hob winces again as the burning sensation flares. "It's a spell. A trap for Dream. Drawing on your connection to him."
"What?"
"I don't think it would've been powerful enough to work as intended." Death's lips purse in displeasure. "But that doesn't mean it would have no effect."
"What effect?" Hob asks, sick at the thought of Dream snared in another trap.
"As soon as he touched the binding with the intent to free you, it would have hooked into his power; the more power he used to pull away, the tighter it would have wound, like a finger trap. It is an enchantment that..." Death hesitates, "draws on emotion."
"Oh." Hob scrubs a hand through his ruined, greasy hair. "Fuck."
"It is fortunate that you called me," Death says grimly.
"It's not going to hurt you, is it?"
"No. But I doubt this will be comfortable."
Hob braces himself. "How will you break it?"
"All things have an end," Death tells him, pressing her fingertips to the runes. Hob feels each touch through the metal like a brand. "Even non-living things die. I've found the loose thread of that end, and now I will unravel it."
She twists the cuff around his wrist counterclockwise, and Hob yelps, cringing back against the wall, not entirely sure she hasn't burned his hand right off. The enchantment flares brighter than the sun, then disappears, leaving smoke behind.
She undoes the cuff easily after that.
Hob's wrist is intact, though terribly burned. That'll take a while to feel any better, unfortunately. He holds it against his chest. "Thanks, hon. I owe you a pint."
Death laughs. "No, you don't, but I won't turn it down. Do you want a ride home? I'm heading that way anyway."
"That's disturbing to think about," Hob tells her. "But sure."
He's going to have to do some cleanup here later. But for now, he'd just like to get out of this blasted place.
~~~~
"Hob Gadling."
Dream appears in his living room a few hours later, when Hob is ensconced on the couch with his laptop, trying to figure out how he's going to clean up this whole mess without alerting the authorities. Dream looks stricken, and Hob feels abruptly bad about not calling for him, even though that had been a fortunate bit of foresight, in the end.
"Hey, love." Hob sets the computer aside, and Dream comes over to him, sitting lightly on the couch at his side. He takes Hob's bandaged wrist in his hands. "Sorry about all that."
"Sorry?" Dream echoes, voice tipping up a note in what Hob can only read as the infliction of a wound. "I would have come for you."
"I know you would." Hob lays his hand over Dream's. It adds uncomfortable pressure to the burns but he doesn't let go. "I just didn't want--"
But it wasn't really about maintaining the peace at all, was it? It wasn't about Dream's overreaction, not deep down. It was only about Dream.
"Didn't want you hurt," Hob says quietly. "Not again."
Dream's jaw tightens. "Do not decide what risks I should take."
"They wanted you, did Death tell you that part, too?"
"She did. Do you think so low of me as to expect that would change my decision?"
I don't think low of you at all, Hob thinks. "That's not what I meant. Death just seemed the more... practical... choice at the time," he says, which is a weak argument, but Hob stands by his decision. Dream is safe, not trapped, and that's what matters. Outcome over intent, he's learned.
"Practical," Dream repeats. "Yes. I see my presence is unneeded. I will--"
Hob catches him by the wrist before he can stand. "Don't. Please."
"Considering you are no longer in peril, and do not wish for my help besides, I fail to see what purpose I am serving here," Dream says, still tensed like he means to jump up.
"No purpose needed," Hob says. "I just don't want to leave it like that. I know you're upset. And I know, I know, I would have been upset too if you were in trouble and didn't ask for my help, so don't even bother saying that--"
"You would?" says Dream.
Hob looks at him, both eyebrows raised. Yeah, obviously.
Dream raises a single eyebrow in return as if this is not, indeed, obvious.
Funny, Hob thinks, that silent communication. Hob is a talkative person by nature -- too talkative, more often than not -- but Dream is not and so Hob has learned to read him like this. The confusion in the way his brow pinches tighter, the way his body settles just so back into the couch, listening again, no longer on the verge of flight.
Surely he knows. Surely there's no way he doesn't know.
"I'd want you to call for me," Hob says. "I wouldn't want to leave you trapped."
"This was a trap," Dream says.
Exactly. "Did Death describe the enchantment?"
"Try to escape and tangle yourself further," Dream says. "Yes. I understand."
Do you? Hob thinks. Do you know why it would have worked on you?
They haven't actually gotten there yet. Hob can feel it approaching, though, with the inevitability of the moon reaching its perigee above the earth. He hasn't felt the need to rush it. Each careful step Dream takes towards him is a gift.
"There are many such traps in this world," Dream says, studying Hob.
Each careful step is a gift, and Hob hates the thought of that progress being used against Dream, those painstakingly untied feelings employed to trap him all over again. He can picture Dream tangled and bound and trying to pull away from him, and he hates it so much that he makes probably the exact opposite decision he should make, takes Dream's face lightly between his hands, tosses their careful timeline out the window and kisses him, right there and then.
Dream makes a surprised sound against his mouth, which means he really must be telling the truth about not looking in on Hob’s dreams because Hob has not been subtle in his dreaming. Dream wraps careful hands around Hob’s wrists, once again bracketing where the cuff had burned him. Holding Hob to him. His kiss is sweet with just a nip of fire, which is what all moments with Dream have felt like since his return, really.
Dream leans against his cheek when they part, hair brushing Hob’s temple. “When my sister told me you had called for her, it— I believe you would phrase it as ‘gave me a heart attack.’”
“I’m sorry, love.” Hob runs a hand through his hair, and Dream leans into the touch. “I would never do that to you, okay? Even if I did choose Death – which I won’t, but – I wouldn’t just disappear on you without saying anything. Alright?”
“Very well,” Dream agrees, though Hob doesn’t think he really believes it. Truly believing in Hob’s relentless commitment to life is a tall ask for Dream at the moment, but it’s okay, Hob has plenty of time to convince him.
“Believe it,” he says, and kisses Dream again.
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shebunie · 4 months
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Could you do one where reader is a samurai kid of a ruff back story facial scars or back and ringo and mizu see them fighting also huge and buff as shit 🙄🙄
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𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞
𝙈𝙞𝙯𝙪 𝙭 𝙎𝙖𝙢𝙪𝙧𝙖𝙞! 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧
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𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝗵𝘂𝗿𝘁 𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗳𝗼𝗿𝘁, 𝗶𝗻𝗷𝘂𝗿𝘆, 𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘀, 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗶𝗳𝗲 𝗮 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟭.𝟭𝗸 𝐀/𝐍: 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘁𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗺𝗲 𝗮 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗹𝗲, 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝘂𝗽 𝘁𝗼 𝗽𝗮𝗿. 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝘀𝘀𝘂𝗲𝘀
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A woman, training to be a samurai? How laughable. You were of no use, no value even when offered to a brothel. Not when your skin is imperfect, flawed, or undesirable. You were a disgrace. And so you went anew. Walked a path that shaped the person of who you are now. 
You trained, with makeshift materials that mother earth provided. You had to make do with what you had. You trained again, with more precision and confidence in your steps. From the early cracks of dawn till the bed of night, you gave every drop of sweat, blood, and tears. 
But as the days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, you discovered a resilience within yourself that you never knew existed. The makeshift training ground, surrounded by the echoes of your own doubts, became a sanctuary of self-discovery.
With each swing of the makeshift sword, you embraced imperfection as a testament to your strength. The scars on your skin became a map of your journey, a visual story of battles fought and resilience earned. You realized that perfection was an illusion, and true strength lay in embracing your flaws.
However, at some point in time, you’d give up, out of frustration, and anger. Why couldn’t the gods have given you another life, maybe spare you mercy and take you right now? 
I’m tired. Mind plagued with bitterness, sorrow, and demise. And scared.
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“How long has it been like that?” Mizu questioned as she leaned by the entrance of the abandoned hut, eyes grazing over the scars littered on your body. Watching Ringo mend another fresh wound you obtained from a fight. From their fight. 
She watched you wince and hiss, how your broad shoulders would rise and fall from behind. “Long enough.” You knew what the woman was implying. Calloused fingers of your hand trace along the scar on your arm. A constant reminder of the past. 
Heart-shaped lips pursed together, hard in thought. Mizu called out to Ringo to leave you two alone when he finished patching up the wound. 
Hushed creeks of the wooden floor and the soft thud of the sandals enveloped the silent room as the dark-haired woman came close. Standing behind you, feeling her gaze at the back of your head. She voiced
“Why risk so much of your life for us, you very well know you can’t save everyone.”
With closed eyes, you steadied your breathing as the mind flowed. You’ve always been living in this way, with the weight of the world heavy on your shoulders. It is what you are been used to — trudging on in life, putting the needs of everyone else before your own. Not a single complaint, not a single time had you griped about the unfairness of it all. Such is life, anyway, is what you always tell yourself— your mantra which often draws you comfort from. But when it all starts to get too much to bear; the burden weighing down to the bones, you finally decide to allow yourself a tiny space to breathe, just for a moment. 
Your palpitations start to cease. A few seconds pass, and then a full minute, before you feel a weight settle beside you; you know, without a doubt, a slight turn of your head, you look over at the sword wielder. “I just, I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”  
The night was heavy with the scent of impending danger, but in that moment, you found solace in the shared silence. The soft rustling of leaves and distant echoes of distant creatures became the backdrop to your quiet conversation. The sword wielder's eyes reflected the glint of moonlight as they met yours, and a hint of vulnerability lingered in their gaze.
You turn to face the dark-haired woman, and for the first time, vulnerability flickers in your eyes. The dim light casts shadows on the lines etched on your face, a testament to the battles fought and sacrifices made. You offer a weary smile, the kind that holds a lifetime of stories.
"I appreciate your concern if it was one." you scoffed your voice a gentle murmur that barely broke the silence. "But sometimes, we must risk everything for the chance to make a difference. It's not about saving everyone; it's about making the choice to stand against the darkness, even when the odds are stacked against us."
The room seems to hold its breath as you continue, your gaze fixed on some distant point, perhaps lost in memories or contemplating the uncertain future. "I've seen too much pain and loss. It's true, I can't save everyone, but if I can make a difference for even one person, it's worth it. We all have our battles to fight, and this is mine."
The dark-haired woman listens, her eyes reflecting a mix of admiration and worry. She understands the weight of responsibility, having seen the determination etched on your face during countless trials. Her fingers find solace in the hilt of the sword at her side, a silent acknowledgement of the shared burden.
"I get it, I do," she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "But what if your choices lead to your own undoing? What if the darkness consumes you, and there's no one left to carry on the fight."
Your eyes, tired and world-weary, met hers. The vulnerability in your gaze deepened, revealing the cracks in the armour you've worn for so long. "That's the risk we take," you replied, your voice now laced with raw honesty. "Sometimes, the line between saving others and losing ourselves blurs. But if we let the fear of that darkness paralyze us, then what hope is left?"
The fireflies danced in the distance, their fleeting glow a stark contrast to the gravity of the conversation. The sword wielder clenched her jaw, torn between understanding your noble cause and the gnawing fear that she might lose the one person who had become her anchor.
"I've lost too many people I cared about," she admitted, her gaze dropping to the ground. "I can't bear the thought of losing you too."
For a moment, silence reigned supreme, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the night. You reached out, your hand finding hers in the darkness, a silent promise etched in that touch.
"We can't control every outcome," you said softly, your thumb tracing comforting circles on the back of her hand. "But we can choose how we face the inevitable. And as long as I can make a difference, I'll keep fighting. For you, for everyone."
The unsaid words lingered in the air, heavy with the unspoken truth that this journey, this fight against the encroaching darkness, might cost more than either of you were willing to admit. In that shared moment of vulnerability, the weight of the world pressed down, and the looming shadows seemed to grow darker.
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ficmashup · 4 months
Text
Caretaker
A/N: I should probably put summaries on these, but I'm terrible at brevity. Clearly. But wow some people actually like this and I'm blushing and kicking my feet. :) Thanks for interacting! Sorry this one is a bit more team-based than Price-based, but honestly the way to that man's heart is through his men. He's such a dad and I love him for it.
Warnings: Vague SA references or similar trauma, stabbing, harsh language, f!reader, talk of being shot, wound care.
Word Count: 3.8k
Feral Masterlist
What really puts the team and I’s tenuous connection to the test is when Soap gets stabbed.
We’re two months in. I’m just a soldier and medic today, on the ground with the rest of the group as we clear a warehouse storing some enemy supplies that we’re…appropriating. My focus is razor sharp, easily directing my hyperactive fight or flight instinct into looking around every corner and keeping a sharp ear out for any noise. Soap and Ghost are on the other side of the building doing the same, Price pulling up the rear.
Gaz and I both hear the scuffle and stop in our tracks before Ghost’s voice comes over coms. “Soap’s hit. Eastern corner.” We start moving immediately and I slide my gun wrapped around my body to my back as we reach them, the boys already forming a circle around Soap as they watch his back. I’m on my knees at his side the second I reach him, my hand pushing down hard on his thigh as I take in the handle sticking out just above his hip.
His body is held taut and his jaw is locked, clearly trying to stay quiet and still. “Alright, Soap, I’ve got you.” I murmur while Price gives orders to the boys. Gaz and him split up, more than likely going to clear the rest of the building while Ghost stays in the shadows next to me to watch our backs.
Soap grunts. “Good to know, G.”
I guide his hand to my knee and press it there so he can squeeze when the pain gets too bad. It helps my patient and gives me a good indicator of their pain levels. My fingers are ginger as I rip his shirt a bit more, moving it and his tac vest up enough to see the wound. “Didn’t hit anything vital, you lucky bastard. I can patch you up here, then treat this properly at camp.” I’m already doing it as I tell him, my med-kit open on the concrete floor beside me. I gather two pills in my hand and reach up, tilting his chin to look at me. “Swallow.” His eyes widen a touch and he lets me slip the pills past his lips before his throat flexes as he swallows. “Good. Those will kick in and take away some of the pain on the walk back, but I can’t wait until then. So, I need you hold onto me because this’ll hurt like a bitch.”
I hold his gaze, making sure he knows I mean it and he nods. With gauze packed around the blade, I yank it out without hesitation and Soap chokes. “Fuck.” He curses and his fists clench, his fingers digging into my thigh while I move quickly to staunch the blood flow. Price and Gaz return, nodding to Ghost to give the all clear. The warehouse is empty except for us.
“And here I was thinking Scots were more creative with their cursing.” I goad him a bit to distract him and he huffs a laugh.
“If you wanted me to teach you curses, lass, you should have asked.”
“Think I just did. You going to disappoint a girl?”
Another dry chuckle leaves him and I glance at his face to see a crooked smile despite the pain. “Ah, well, awa’ n bile yer heid is Ghost’s favorite. Means go fuck yourself.” The aforementioned soldier grumbles as he slides through the shadows to settle a few feet from Soap’s head.
“Shouldn’t have gotten him started. Now he won’t shut up.” Gaz comments good-naturedly from my left, he and Price watching as I work. That’s exactly my plan. If Soap’s talking, he’s not thinking about the pain.
“Definitely seems like Ghost’s favorite. Does he hear it often?” I’m nearly done now as I make sure the bandages are as tight as I can safely make them while holding Soap’s gaze again, drawing his attention with a direct look.
He takes a sharp breath, but grins through the pain. “Often enough, eh, LT?” He teases while glancing towards the Lieutenant.
Ghost doesn’t budge from where he watches us. “Couldn’t say. I only pay attention when you speak English.” Soap chuckles at that before I rest a hand on his shoulder and glance at Ghost, tilting my head to his other side. He moves there instantly while I look into Johnny’s eyes again.
“Time to get up. Lean on us and remember that the meds will kick in. Just keep moving for me, yeah?” My voice is calm and firm. I ease him up into a sitting position while he grimaces, but nods. Ghost and I share a look as we move simultaneously to get Soap up onto his feet. He groans and I brace a hand against his bindings to make sure they hold fast. As soon as I meet Price’s eyes, he nods and we start moving out.
Gaz moves towards me to take Soap, but I give him a sharp look. I’m the medic, the sick and injured are my responsibility. I keep Soap’s arm around my shoulders and push ahead with Ghost on his other side. The whole time I keep him talking quietly, distracting him and verbally poking him to keep his mind occupied. A single mention of his favorite football team sends him on a rant for five minutes straight and I don’t think I mistake seeing Ghost’s mask twitch as he smiles.
Gaz and Price are quiet as we make slow progress forward, letting me do my work, but I feel their eyes on us every now and then. Especially on me. Things go a bit easier when the pain pills I gave him kick in and Soap is practically back to himself by the time we get back to camp. Ghost helps me lay him down while everyone else packs up. We were planning to leave tomorrow, but tonight serves just as well.
Gingerly, I help Soap out of his tac vest and shirt before taking a proper look at the wound. “How’s the pain, soldier?” I set his hand on my knee again as I check to see how much blood has seeped into the gauze.
“Three. Barely twinges.” He responds and I give him a critical look as his grip on my leg tightens just a touch as I check my work. But I don’t call him out on it.
“It’s not too bad.” I tell him honestly as I remove the bandages, taking special care to clean the wound this time even as Soap winces. “As long as it’s kept clean and the dressing changed often, you’ll heal in no time. Hope you don’t mind my company because you’ll be seeing a lot of me for a while.”
He shakes his head, a little smile on his face. “Wouldn’t mind it a bit, G, but I can look after myself.”
“Not a chance.” My voice is firm and I make sure to stare into his eyes, placing a hand with blood smeared over my fingers on his shoulder. “That might’ve been how you did it before, but I’m your medic now. No one touches these bandages other than me. Especially not you. Understood, soldier?”
He swallows, then his smile grows as he gives me a nod. “Yes, ma’am.” I nod in return and finish wrapping the wound again while his eyelids droop. “Thanks, lass.” My hand lightly pats his shoulder before I lay his shirt over his chest while I stand.
“Sleep. Move a muscle and I’ll have you strapped to the inside of the car.” He hums his acknowledgement while I stand up and walk over to the men lingering around the back of our jeep. “He’ll be fine. It’s not too deep and didn’t hit anything that’ll cause problems later. We can move out whenever we’re ready.”
Price nods. “Let’s head out then. The sooner, the better.” He receives a chorus of acceptance from me and the others. I’m quick to pack up and slide my bag in the back along with the others before we get Soap in the jeep. Price drives, Ghost sits in the passenger seat, then Gaz and Soap sit on either side of me in the back.
“How are we doing, Soap?” I ask softly as we drive across the landscape, not exactly keeping to roads and worn paths.
He grunts with a hand braced against the wound. “Really enjoying the bumps, Cap.”
“We’ll reach a road in a few minutes. Stick it out, Johnny.” Price responds and Soap curses as he hits a particularly deep crater. My hand moves Soap’s to my knee again, holding it there as a touchstone. I’d rather not give him any more pain pills to avoid him getting drowsy, but I don’t want him incapacitated with pain. Keeping his hand there will help me know if he can handle it.
“This can’t be the worst you’ve had, Soap.” I poke a bit of fun at him and he half-smiles, scoffing.
“Not a chance. Being shot in the leg was a fucking bitch.” He shakes his head before leaning it back against the headrest. His eyes slide to mine. “What about you, G? What’s your worst?” I blink, hesitating as I consider the question. Price hits another bump and Soap hisses while Gaz tries to hide a chuckle as a cough. “You fuckin’ aiming for them, Cap?” His accent gets a bit thicker and I glance up at the rearview mirror to find Price’s eyes already on me. I shake my head slightly. Soap’s question is fine.
“Depends on what you consider worst. The most painful or the one that left me the most fucked up?” I offer and interest flashes in Soap’s eyes. I’ve got him distracted, at least. “I got shot in the left shoulder, then had to fend off an assailant in hand to hand. Worked the bullet deeper into my muscle since it wasn’t clean through. Took forever to heal and it’s a miracle I still have full movement. Couldn’t raise my arm above my shoulder for months.” The men nod or grimace, understanding and easily relating.
“Thought I was going to go stir crazy every time I’ve been put on bed rest.” Soap grumbles and I don’t bother telling him that he’s going to be on bed rest as soon as we get back to base.
“That’s because you can’t stay still for five minutes.” Gaz teases and Soap gives him a grin and a half-shrug to say he’s not wrong.
“Drives most medics crazy. Hope you’re up for it, G.” Ghost comments from the front and I look pointedly towards Soap.
“He’s not going to be difficult for me, are you, Johnny?” I ask expectantly and he shakes his head immediately. The men chuckle while I glance at Price in the mirror and fight a smile of my own. There’s a new edge in his eyes, a soft one, and I find that I like seeing it there.
Gaz shifts in place, a grin on his face as he stares at Soap. “You’ve already got him purring like a cat, G. What were in those pills you gave him?”
“Shut it, Gaz. You heard her threaten that guy in the bar. I’m trying to keep my balls where they are.” The car rumbles with laughter again, mine included, although it’s too quiet for anyone else to hear. We finally reach a dirt road and the ride becomes a fraction easier. Soap eventually falls asleep while I watch over him, my hand still on top of his where it sits on my thigh.
*     *     *
After a brief argument when we get on base, I force Soap into the med tent to stay overnight for observation. There’s a nagging feeling in my gut. I wait for him to finish taking a shower after I carefully wrapped the bandages so they wouldn’t get wet. He quirks a brow when he finds me waiting for him and I wave him into bed so I can take a look at the wound one last time before everyone turns in.
“This isn’t my first, you know.” He quips as he lets me check it again.
I give him a placating look. “After so long in the business, you learn to trust your gut. Better to be paranoid and wrong than careless and miss something that kills you.” That shuts him up promptly and my lips press together as I look at the wound. It looks a little red, almost inflamed. I replace the bandages before digging through a cabinet nearby, then come back with a bottle of water and pills. “Antibiotics, just to be safe. If there was something on the blade and it’s infected, then you’ll probably get a fever in the night. It’ll get worse from there depending on the infection.”
He takes the pills and swallows them, blinking at my words before remarking sarcastically, “Great.”
I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. “I’ll be here. After I head to my room for a bit, I’ll come back with food and you’ll be stuck with me for the night so I can keep an eye on you.”
Amusement creeps back into his eyes as he sits up a little in bed. “They do have people here whose job it is to stay the night. I know you’re just as worn out as I am after the mission.”
I toss the bed’s blankets up over his legs with a firm look telling him to stay put. “Pretty sure I already told you that the only one touching those bandages is me.”
He hums, his smile widening a bit. “You know, I like this possessive side to you, G.”
“Uh-huh. You’ll like it even more when I zip-tie you to the bed if you don’t do everything I say.” I return sweetly and he swallows as I pat his foot, then head to the door. Surprise flits across my face as I see Price waiting for me and I walk over, stopping beside him and turning to look at Soap just like he is.
“Not being too obstinate, is he?” Price asks and he keeps his voice lower than usual while nurses file in and out of the tent while they take care of their own charges.
I heave a breath, but shake my head. “He’s been a good patient so far, but we both know restlessness settles in a little later.” He nods with the corner of his mouth lifting. I hesitate a moment before leaning a shoulder against the wall behind us and turning my body towards him. “My gut is telling me that it’s infected.”
Price turns towards me as well and his expression turns serious. He’s been in this business longer than me and he strikes me as the kind of man who doesn’t disregard his gut either. “Plan of action?”
My eyes cut to Soap idly tying knots with a lace pulled free from one of his boots. “I’m leaving him to have some time alone. We won’t know whether I’m right or not until late into the night, anyway. I’ll come back in an hour or two and keep an eye on him.”
He nods, pressing his lips together before he looks at me. “Alright. Keep me updated if he takes a turn for the worse. And don’t neglect yourself either.” Price gives me a pointed look that I respond to with a small smile. It’s getting a little easier to give those out, recently.
“Understood, Captain. I plan on spending an hour in the shower.” I get him to smile too as I salute him playfully, then head out to my room.
*     *     *
I keep my promise. Well, mostly. I spend a long time in the shower, then change into a tank-top and comfortable pants. My skin is still hot from my shower and I cool off a bit as I walk to the mess hall and get some food as promised before heading back to the med-tents. Soap shoves every morsel of food I give to him into his mouth and I shake my head while eating my own a tad slower. He crashes soon after and I take the time to set everything I might need on the small table next to the bed.
After that, the only thing to do is wait. I curl up in the chair next to him and get as comfortable as I can in the uncomfortable chair. There are one or two other nurses that mill around, but otherwise it’s quiet. Eventually, I find myself falling asleep. I’ve slept in worse places in my military career. I’m still on the cusp of sleep when I feel something settling over me. My eyes flash open and I look up in an instant to see the culprit. His hands freeze and his eyes widen as I find Ghost draping his jacket over me.
I sigh in relief and relax back into the chair, my eyes shutting a moment as my heart thunders in my chest. “Ghost.” I greet him with a scratchy voice before looking towards Soap and moving to get up. “Everything okay?” He puts a hand on my shoulder to hold me in place.
“Everything’s fine. Just came to check on the stubborn bastard to make sure he wasn’t causin’ too much trouble.” He says quietly, his voice gruff and low. “Didn’t expect you to be here, G.”
I relax back into my chair with his jacket tucked snug around me. “I’m here for the duration. Just to make sure everything goes okay.”
His brows furrow. His usual skull mask is gone to leave only the black fabric he wears under it. It’s nice seeing more of his face even if the skin around his eyes is still painted black. “You expectin’ something to go wrong?”
I shrug a shoulder. “It���s just a precaution. A gut feeling.” My lips purse as I look at Soap, slack-jawed and snoring softly. “It could be infected. Or I could be paranoid.” I sigh again as I lean my head back against the chair and Ghost’s mask twitches.
“Either way, thanks for looking out for him.” Ghost crosses his arms and leans a hip against the end of Soap’s bed.
I raise a brow at him. “It’s my job.”
“No.” Ghost shakes his head, eyes crinkling just a touch as I think he smiles again. “This is going above and beyond your job, G. And I’m grateful. So’s everyone else on the team.” I blink as I take in the compliment and his jacket tucked around me. It’s sweet. Terribly sweet.
“I’m glad to do it, Ghost. You all have been pretty welcoming and I know I don’t come off the warmest, but I appreciate it.” Discomfort swirls in my chest at admitting it, but he took a risk thanking me. I can return the favor. “You’re my team.” It’s a claim and a promise. I’ll be loyal, dedicated, treat them like family, as long as they’re just as loyal to me.
Ghost nods, seeing this and understanding. He understands more than the others, if I had to guess. “And we’ve got you just as much as you’ve got us, G. Even if it takes a while for you to see that.” I smile as I pull his jacket a bit closer around me. I’m coming around to the idea.
*     *     *
I fall back asleep after Ghost leaves, but not for long.
Soap’s peaceful snores fade and I wake up when I hear a grunt to find him half-sitting up with his blankets tossed off. He gives me a weak smile when he sees my eyes open. “Sorry, lass. Afraid I’m not feeling great.” I lay Ghost’s jacket over the back of my chair and I’m up in an instant. My hands smooth over his cheek, then his forehead.
“Your skin is hot.” I murmur, knowing he has a fever.
He huffs a soft laugh. “Always knew I was hot.” The corner of my mouth lifts as I help him sit up a bit more and take his sweat-soaked shirt off, then wipe away the sheen covering his chest, back, and forehead.
“It’s going to be a rough night for you, Johnny, but the only way through it is straight.” I set the small towel aside before gently pushing him back down to lay on the bed. Next, I grab two other washcloths I have set aside and head over to the sink to soak them before coming back.
“You certainly don’t sugarcoat things, G.” He chuckles as I lay one cold cloth over his bare chest, then fold the other as I pat his face with it before laying it over his forehead.
“You want me to tell you pretty lies?” I ask softly, aware of the few other patients still sleeping around the room.
His head shakes. “Never said I didn’t like it, lass. Think it’s refreshing.” He takes a deep breath and I rub the cool cloth over his chest before wetting it in cool water again and returning it. “Reminds me a little of Ghost.”
“Oh yeah?” There’s a little surprise in my voice, but I suppose I was just thinking that Ghost understood me more than the others. “He was here earlier to check on you. Based on what he and Price said, I expected a little more resistance from you.” I reach up and flip the washcloth on his forehead so the cool side is against his skin.
He gives me a crooked grin despite the fever, pain, and exhaustion I’m sure he’s feeling. “I’m a sucker for a gentle touch, lass. And I’m a little bit afraid of you.” I chuckle and his eyes light up a little. “Am I delirious or was that a laugh? Can’t wait to tell Gaz I got you to crack first.”
“It was barely a laugh. Hardly counts.” I tease and his eyelids get a little heavy. “Sleep if you can, Johnny. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”
He hums in lieu of a laugh. “Good thing I’m not tryin’ then. In fact, think someone would have to pry you out of the team’s cold, dead hands to get you away from us now.” His eyes fall shut as he speaks and I keep gently dabbing his face with the cold washcloth. I let the words sink into me along with Ghost’s earlier, feeling them tether me to the team and the men that create it. But it doesn’t feel like a weight. It feels like a life preserver, buoying me over the waves I’ve been fighting against for a while now. Finally, I take a breath without worrying about whether I’ll take on water.
“Yeah,” I whisper, resting my hand on the cloth on his chest to feel his heart. “I’m getting pretty fond of you all too.”
Taglist (oh my gosh, hi people! Thanks for wanting to be tagged, I love you. Hope you enjoy. If anyone else wants to be tagged, lmk):
@under-the-dirt @jj-ara33 @sorchateas
149 notes · View notes
ilguna · 11 months
Text
☼ the water heals our wounds (Finnick Odair) ☼
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summary; Finnick was beginning to believe that the damage done on you was permanent, but he had to try one more idea.
warnings; swearing, death mention, torture mention
wc; 5.3k
It’s too loud.
You can hear everything, between the people shouting nearby, and the consistent beeping from machines. There’s voices talking over one another, orders being barked around the room, fighting for more attention.
It’s bringing on a pounding headache, as if there’s tiny people inside of your head, slamming their fists on the inside of your skull with both hands, trying to get out. At first, it’s bearable, considering what you’ve been through lately.
And then it burns.
You fly up in the bed, eyes opening, hands reaching for the source of pain, attached to your forearm. Several people reach to grab and restrain you to keep from moving any further. You can see that there’s a needle, blood moving into a small vial.
“Miss (L/n), we’re just drawing your blood.” A nurse tells you, “You’re in District Thirteen, you’re safe now.”
“Dis—” You begin, and find that your voice is hoarse. You clear your throat, “District Thirteen isn’t real.”
“I assure you, it is.” He says, “We just had a team of volunteers rescue you and a few other victors from the Capitol.”
“The Tribute Center.” You murmur, watching as they pull the needle out, and replace it with a cotton pad, wrapping your elbow. “We were in the Tribute Center.”
“Yes, very good.” He says, “Can you tell me where you’re from?”
“District Four.” Your face twists, the headache is coming back, “Can we—?”
“When did you win the Hunger Games?”
“Sixty-Seventh. Can we talk about something else?” You look away, observing the space you’re in, “Anything else…”
You must be in District Thirteen’s hospital, judging by what you’re surrounded by. You can see a lot of people moving around, dressed similarly. The nurses and doctors look like they’re wearing different outfits than—what you can only guess is—regular civilians. There’s a few people sitting on gurneys dressed in hard armor and bulletproof vests, pockets absent of weapons.
You’d like to say that it’s not usually this busy or disorganized often, and that’s because of how the medical crew are reacting to the sheer amount of people in here. It’s crawling with bodies. They push people on gurneys away into hallways, some straight into private rooms where they pull the blinds, others are subjected to being treated in the main open room, like you.
You must not be high risk, then. 
You watch as a team of professionals wheel a gurney by, someone laying unresponsive in the bed. You look away quickly, to the next rapidly moving object, and realize that you recognize the person. You manage to look back in time to see who it really is, stomach squeezing in horror.
It’s Johanna on that bed, head shaven to the skin, scabs covering every inch of available skin. She looks disgusting, but it answers the question that’s been on your mind these past couple of weeks. You finally know what’s been happening to Johanna in the Capitol.
“Are you hungry? Or thirsty?” He asks, “We normally have to wait for clearance, but you’re alert and responsive. They wouldn’t want us to wait for permission.”
“I’d like water, if you can.” You nod, “I’m not hungry, though.”
He gives you a smile, turning to place his hand on the girls’ shoulder next to him, beginning to talk to her. You look away again, towards the doors that have just been pushed open, doors slamming against the wall from the force.
A young woman with dark hair in a braid is looking around the room quickly, searching for something. You get a glimpse of her face, and you know instantly that it’s Katniss Everdeen. 
You grit your teeth, a shudder running through your body. You grip onto the railings handles, letting out a shaky breath. You’ve seen her a lot recently, although you’ve never met her, not yet anyway. You had mentored the Quarter Quell—no, no you shouldn’t think about that.
“Gale!” Katniss shouts, starting for him.
A nurse blocks her, saying something, and you’re trying to read her lips, when a voice cuts through the noise.
“(Y/n)!”
You flinch, jerking to the other side of the bed, squeezing your eyes shut. The thoughts—the memories—of all the times he’s screamed your name, screamed at you. The morning he left, the purple bruises…
He punished you, said that it’s your fault this happened. 
“Miss (L/n)?” The nurse asks, placing his hand on yours.
You jump, swatting his hand off of yours. In the process, your eyes fly open, catching sight of him—of Finnick—coming towards you. You can’t let him have you, the last time he did—the nightmares still haven’t stopped. You can’t do it again. You need to get out of here.
You almost trip getting out of the bed, legs tangled in the scratchy white hospital sheets. Your bare feet slap against the tile floor, which is cool against your soles. You stumble a few steps to catch your balance before wheeling around, both hands grabbing the gurney.
“Get away from me!” You scream, pulling the back back a bit before launching it in his direction.
You watch his smile drop, eyebrows drawing in. He’s doing it again, the next thing you know he’ll have everyone on his side. He’s not going to trick you, you’re not going back to him this time. You’ll die before you end up in his hands. It was better in the Capitol. He wasn’t there, and you were safe.
A couple people jump to catch the gurney before it slams into him. It almost makes you want to scream at them, too, for trying to protect him. You don’t have time to, you turn around and start for the exit doors on the other side of the room. The male nurse that had been helping you tries to make a grab, but completely misses.
“Stop her!” He shouts.
You slip past several people, slamming into the metal doors, which start emitting a terrible, high-pitched scream that starts once they’re opened. You make a run for it down the long, cement hallways, feet slapping painfully on the floor. You can hear shouting behind you, pleading for you to stop.
You’re faster than they are. The further you run, the less you’re able to hear them, until their voices are gone entirely. You end up tripping into one of the side doors, leading you into a dark room. Good, they shouldn’t be able to find you here for a long time.
You drag your feet to the corner of the room, panting, struggling to catch your breath. The burning in your chest slowly grows stronger, you dig your nails into your collarbone, trying to distract from the pain.
You slide down the wall, letting out a sob, hands moving to clamp over your ears to block out the humming sound coming from somewhere inside of the room.
You hate the hospital wing of District Thirteen.
Surprisingly, it has nothing to do with the fact of how the medical team is treating you. For once in your life, they couldn’t be more considerate and caring about your feelings. It’s refreshing, considering you’ve been in and out of the hospital since you won the Hunger Games.
The Capitol didn’t catch that your immune system was weaker than it had been before. You were home for a week before you caught the nasty disease that was going around the district. You spend two and a half months in the hospital trying to recover and leave. 
You honestly thought you were miserable in the arena, but it was nothing compared to how they treated you in the Four hospital. You know it was nothing personal, that’s how they treated all their patients. It was just so odd to see so much aggression in a place of healing.
There were a few times you almost left the hospital without being discharged because you couldn’t handle it anymore. It’s difficult to deal with that behavior in such a fragile state of mind. You couldn’t sleep because of the nightmares that plagued you, you were hardly eating because every bite made you nauseous.
The only reason why you were convinced to stay each time was because of Finnick. You think you remember him telling you that you could risk putting yourself in more danger if you didn’t stay. The last thing you wanted to do after you won the Games was die when you got home.
When you told that story to the Head Doctor here—mostly the part that you hate hospitals, in hopes that he would change his mind and let you stay in your own dorm—he hung onto that story, and a certain factor about it. Like how you didn’t mention Finnick in a negative light.
Those times in the hospital could’ve very well have been Finnick drawing you in. You smelt honey each time you were around him, making you feel safe enough to land. And the second you did, he trapped you.
The doctor won’t let you leave, no matter how many times you beg him to.
Like you said, you completely understand that they’re just doing their jobs when they come to check on you, and accompany you to the bathroom, and take you for walks around the hallways. The issue is that there’s nothing more you want right now than to be left alone.
When they hover like this, it’s like they’re trying to set you back. They did this in the Capitol, hovered over your smallest movements, made you second-guess your sentences. Now, you’re always waiting for the nurses here to say something like they did, always waiting for the drop that’ll never come.
“Do you want to go around one more time?” The nurse asks.
“No, I’m done.” 
There’s no point in walking around these halls. There’s nothing to look at, no rooms to look inside of. All it does is leave you to your thoughts, because half of the time, the nurses can’t bring themselves to carry a conversation. You might as well stay inside of your room.
“You remember that you’re supposed to be pushing yourself, right?” She asks.
“He wants me to push myself to walk in a rectangle?” You snap back, looking at her, “I can obviously walk just fuckin’ fine. They didn’t break my fucking legs.”
“It’s to keep up your stamina.”
“If you wanted to test my stamina, then you’d let me walk around the entire bunker and keep your fucking mouth shut to see how long I’ll go for.” You shake your head, rounding the corner to go inside of your assigned room.
You make it two steps before you stop, eyes locked on the foreign object. Your foot moves back to get you out of there, but you know that there’s nowhere to run to, anymore. You need clearance to get through the doors, and you can’t do it without one of the nurse’s approval.
You would’ve snuck out by now if you could.
Your arms wrap around your upper body to hug yourself, fingers digging into your upper arm’s flesh to ground yourself.
It’s just a vase of flowers, it can’t hurt you. What can, is the thought of him being in here, delivering these himself. What else can be in here? What of your belongings did he touch? Is this why the nurses insisted that you get out of bed at that exact moment.
“(Y/n)?”
“Was he in here?” The words are harsh.
“No, we don’t let visitors back here, they are to wait in the lobby.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Your voice is surprisingly measured, despite the uncontrollable urge to freak out. You grip your arms tighter, “Was he in here?”
She’s silent for a few seconds, “Yes.”
“Why on earth would you let him?” You tear your eyes from the flowers, “Who approved of that?”
“Doctor Hurley did.” She says, “There’s been so much progress between you two, so he allowed Finnick to come in here on special request to deliver a gift. He picked the flowers himself this morning. He wanted them at their freshest.
You begin to take deep breaths, trying to calm yourself, “I don’t understand.”
“What’s the matter?”
“You let him in my space?” You ask, tears building in your eyes. You can’t be safe, not even back here, in an area where you can’t escape if he were here. Is he here? “The one place that he wasn’t supposed to have access to? You let him in here? What did he touch? Did he leave?”
There’s a smile that hints at the corners of her lips. He must’ve talked to her, that’s the only reason why she thinks it’s okay. He told her the same sob story that he told you to get you to stay. She’s supposed to be on your side.
You start inside of your room, one long stride after the other, hand reaching for the clear vase of colorful flowers, paired together to show the end of summer, the beginning of fall. There’s a few long leaves sticking out, giving you more of the outdoors.
You twist around, letting out a scream as you throw the vase at the nurse. She jumps out of the way, making it shatter against the concrete wall instead, glass bursting into pieces, flying in every direction. The bundle of flowers lands in the puddle of glass and water.
“I want to go to the cafeteria to eat!” You shout, hand flying out in the direction of the door, “I don’t understand why Peeta’s allowed to go and I’m not!”
Doctor Hurley is shaking his head at you, face twisted like it always is when he’s delivering bad news. Behind him stands Boggs, the head of security, arms crossed and waiting in the doorway. You demanded to see both of them today, because it would be the only way to appeal to both at the same time.
“It’s not an act of unfairness, (Y/n).” Doctor Hurley says, “Let’s say you have an episode, there’s a chance you could trigger both Johanna and Peeta at the same time too. And it’s vice versa with Peeta.”
“You really think that Peeta’s aggression could set me off?” You ask, “Peeta and I might have had the same treatment, but it was obviously done in different ways. He’s aggressive towards Katniss, and they made me afraid of Finnick.”
“Yes, precisely.” 
You turn your attention to Boggs, “Please, you know that my first reaction wouldn’t be to fight. The first thing that I’d do is run. All you’d have to do is worry about getting Peeta under control.”
“We would still have to spend time finding you after you run. That first day you came here, you only had access to the hospital wing, and it took hours for us to find you. It’ll take longer, possibly days, if you went hiding here.” Boggs says.
“Yet you were able to find Katniss each time she hid, right?” You shoot back, watching his face twist. “Yeah, I know about that because of Haymitch. And worst-case scenario, if you can’t find me, I come down from the hysteria and come out myself.” Now you look back at Hurley, “You’ve been teaching me self-soothing techniques for a reason to bring myself back down when I’m feeling that way.”
Hurley shakes his head, “This is not a time to put that to the test.”
You cross your arms, shaking your head, “Then why don’t you send Johanna or Peeta to their rooms? It’d be a fair trade-off.”
“We can’t, we’re under special orders from Coin to continue to push his progress. We need him outside of his comfort zone.” Boggs says, “And Johanna’s stable enough to mix her with the other victors. We can’t risk a third.”
“So he’s the golden one, again?” You ask, “You say that it’s not a matter of being unfair, but that’s exactly what it is.”
“(Y/n), why don’t you go down on a different day?” Hurley asks, “It’ll still let you feel some sense of normalcy.”
You slam your fists into the desk, the tray full of food rattles against the wood, “You only let them go down once a week! I don’t want to sit with people I don’t know! I want the victors, for fuck’s sake!” You scoot away from the table, back further onto the bed to give you more leg mobility. This is when you draw your leg back and kick the table so it topples over, the tray hits the floor, food splattering up the wall. “I want to see Finnick!”
The room’s silent for a good minute, while you struggle to get your emotions under control, realizing that this is exactly what they meant about you triggering Peeta and Johanna. These outbursts don’t help you, but what else are you supposed to do? They don’t listen to you. They back you into a corner and give you solutions you don’t care about. 
“You said—” You begin, wiping the tears that are forming in the corners of your eyes away, “You said that denying me things like this is a step back.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” Hurley says.
“It feels like you’re trying to keep me from moving forward, by keeping me away from them. How am I supposed to know how to act around them, if you don’t give me a chance?” You ask, “I want an opportunity.”
Boggs watches you for a few more seconds, and then he lets out a sigh, “Tell the nurses to give her a jumpsuit.”
Hurley turns to look at him, “After this?” He motions to the mess on the floor, “How do you think Peeta will react?”
“I think Peeta’s shown a lot of empathy for the people that were with him in the Capitol, recently.” Boggs says, “He’s made it a long way as well, and I’m not going to prioritize him. If there’s a step back, fine. We have another couple of weeks to work on it.”
“If you think so.” Hurley looks at you, “We’ll have a nurse bring a jumpsuit. Boggs will bring you down.”
“Thank you.”
Both of them leave, heading in the direction of the nurse station at the end of the hall. You try not to bother them too much if you don’t have to. They’ve begun to lift a lot of the restrictions they’ve put on you, which is a relief. It’s driving you crazy to be treated like a child.
While you wait, you go over to clean up the mess you made. You place the table upright, and get to work on using napkins to scoop the specific portions of food back onto the metal tray. By the time Boggs comes back, the food is relatively gone, and you can’t even tell you knocked the table over.
He hands over your new outfit, one that you’ve worn a few times before. You take it, and shuffle inside of the bathroom. You use the one hair tie they allow you to have to tie your hair out of your face, and then you change into the grey outfit. You leave the bathroom, pulling on your flats, because that’s all they allow you to have. 
Boggs escorts you out of your room, down a hall and through a pair of swinging doors. They moved you out of the first area because you stopped showing a threat of escaping. You nearly cried when they told you the news, because the nurses there are significantly meaner than the ones over here. And they’ve told you several times that they would never have let Finnick go into your room like that, regardless of what Doctor Hurley approved.
The moment you step foot out of the hospital, you wrap your arms around your body to hold in the anxiety that’s beginning to bubble inside of you. In a few days, it would’ve been two weeks since you last saw Finnick. You’re not used to him being away for so long, especially with how persistent he is. You’ve been told by the nurses that it’s because he’s working on something with Coin, Plutarch and Haymitch.
When you asked more about it, you were told that they didn’t know anything. And even if they did, they wouldn’t be allowed to tell you, because you haven’t hit that stage yet. Yes, you’re a victor, and you’ve just managed to survive the Capitol, but that doesn’t give you a rite of passage here.
Boggs brings you to an elevator, where he has you step inside, and then pulls the door down. He presses a button on a box next to him, and the two of you begin your descent to the cafeteria’s floor. The elevator’s not even close to as nice as the ones from the Capitol, those ones move smoothly and noiselessly.
It stops, he pulls the door open, and leads you to the cafeteria doors. He stops in front of them, “If you feel the need to leave, you have to let me know.”
“I will.” You nod.
“We’ll grab you a tray, and then sit down with them. Lunch just started, it should be over in thirty minutes.”
You nod again, letting him know you’re listening. He goes through the doors, and you follow behind him, hugging yourself tighter to give you something to focus on. A few people glance to look at you, but their eyes don’t linger for very long, returning to the person they’re talking to.
Boggs brings you to the short line that leads to the window where you get your food. When it’s your turn, the lady on the other side gives you a wide smile, and tells you to enjoy. You wonder how many of the people in here know who you are.
Boggs starts walking away, and you follow behind him, taking deep breaths to calm yourself, because you can no longer hug yourself. You’ve got the tray in your hands, something to focus on.
“Mind if we join you?” Boggs says, stepping aside.
You suck in your bottom lip, giving a smile to the table of victor’s in front of you.
“I was wondering when they’d finally let you out of your cell.” Johanna says first, motioning to the one open spot, “We have so much to catch up on.”
“Trust me, it was a fight to even come eat lunch down here.” You set the tray on the table, and then move to sit on the bench. Peeta scoots over to give you more room, “If it weren’t for Boggs, I’d be eating my lunch off of the floor.”
He laughs behind you.
“Lucky you.” Peeta murmurs, “You do that often?”
You breathe out a laugh, “I try not to anymore.”
You pick up the fork, twisting it in your hand, looking up to see exactly who you’re sitting with. Johanna’s sitting across from you, with one leg up on the bench, leaning into it while she eats. Peeta’s sitting to your right, his own personal bodyguards tower behind him, they must not bother him.
Katniss is sitting across from Peeta, but she’s more toward the end of the table, eating with the man you saw on your first day, the one she couldn’t see, Gale. On the other side of Johanna sits a blonde girl, twirling her hair around her finger. She offers you a wide smile.
And the last person, who was on the other side of Peeta—now next to you—is…
You swallow thickly at the sight of Finnick, feeling your heart begin to beat faster in your chest. Usually when you see him, it’s across a table, at the far side so that you’re not close. Always your request, never his. He goes along with it because he doesn’t want you feeling uncomfortable.
You have to quickly remind yourself that he won’t hurt you. Doctor Hurley and his team of doctors have been working hard to try and reverse the damage that was done in the Capitol. However, if there’s one thing that people tend to hold onto the most, it’s fear. 
Finnick raises his eyebrows, the small smile he was holding is slowly fading, “Do you want me to move?”
You shake your head, “No, I’m okay.”
“Are you sure?” He asks, “It wouldn’t be a big deal, you didn’t know—”
“I’m sure.” You smile, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. I heard you’re working on some projects with Beetee?”
Finnick’s expression transforms entirely, lighting up, “Yes, he’s showing me new trident designs. You’d love them, he made one the other day that made me think of you. It had these vines that snaked around the handle, and bright colorful flowers. It’s not practical to use, but I know how you like the prettier looks.”
“Maybe you can show me the next time we have our meeting. It was on paper, right?”
“Yeah, I think he made a small prototype, it’s plastic, so hopefully it’ll pass through the doors.” Finnick shrugs.
“That sounds nice.”
Johanna lets out a scoff, “Nerds.”
“I still can’t believe you convinced them to let both of us up here.” You say, jogging slightly to catch up with Finnick. “And alone?”
“I have a way with words.” Finnick turns to wink at you, “You’re going to love it.”
He readjusts the bag he has on his shoulder, it’s gotta be heavy. You offered to carry some of the food inside, but he told you that he wants you to enjoy being outside again for the first time in months. 
“This is the last door.” He tells you, going through it first, and then holding it open.
The sunlight streams through the door, and blinds you on your way through. You take in a deep breath as soon as you’re fully outside. It smells so fresh, lighter than the recycled air from inside. The sun on your skin feels nice, and it’s warm. 
“Johanna would love it up here.” You murmur, crossing your arms over your chest, “Do you think they’d let her out?”
“If she shows signs of getting better, they will, but she’s having issues at the moment.” Finnick shakes his head, “I wish it could be the three of us again.”
You nod, “So where are we picnicking? Right here?”
Finnick scoffs, “Are you kidding? No, I’ve got a special spot that you’re also going to love?”
“How deep?” You ask, “We shouldn’t go too far.”
“It’s not too far, I promise. It’s closeby, Katniss showed me where it is.”
“Okay,” You motion for him to go first, “Lead the way.”
Finnick begins walking along a path that has been stomped into the ground. The two of you travel through the trees, and you can’t help yourself when you touch every green object you pass. The bark, the leaves, the grass, the rocks. You pluck a white flower out of a bush and carefully tuck it behind your ear.
“Can I ask what you and Katniss passed? I heard it was some sort of test.” You pull a leaf off of a plant to fold and pull apart while you walk. “I was going to ask Johanna but I was told I couldn’t see her.”
“I can tell you, but you can’t go and tell Boggs that I did. You can’t tell anyone, actually.” He glances over his shoulder at you, eyes lingering on the flower.
“Promise.” You smile.
“Well, they’re planning an attack on the Capitol, which you already know.” He starts, “The test Katniss and I took was to see if we were eligible to join.”
You can feel the smile disappear from your face, “Why would you want to do that?”
“To help, of course.” He says, “I was placed on the same squad as Katniss, Boggs is going to be leading it. Johanna failed the test, she freaked out. That’s why she wasn’t available for visitors. I had to fight them to be let in.”
“When are you going?” You ask, fingers gravitating toward your mouth, teeth biting onto nails.
“Soon, hopefully. We won’t know more information until we ship out.”
You’re not sure why they, Katniss and Finnick, would want to go there after seeing what happened to you, Johanna and Peeta. Haven’t they learned anything from it? What happens when they get captured? They’re automatically killed.
“That’s a bad idea.” You murmur, “For either of you to go.”
“Our luck, we won’t even be able to do any of the action.” Finnick shrugs, “I could tell by Boggs’ face that we’re going to be decoration.”
You hum, “How much farther?”
“Only a couple more minutes.” Finnick tells you.
He changes the topic, talking about Peeta’s cake decorating skills from a couple of weeks ago. They threw a party and filmed it to use for propaganda. You were in a few of the shots, but not many. The cake that Peeta made had to be carried out by four people, and they were careful not to ruin the beautiful icing that must’ve taken Peeta hours, despite his skilled hand. 
You wish you had even half the talent that he does.
“We’re going this way.” Finnick begins to go down a slope, you follow, not really paying attention.
And then you hear it, the sound of running water. You pick up speed, going right past Finnick to see if what you’re hearing is correct. You’re led to a tree, a patch of shade, and beyond that, a small cliff that leads to a shallow river.
“Oh my god!” You gasp, “You knew this was here?”
“That’s what I was bringing you to.” He laughs, placing the bag down by the tree. He reaches in to pull out the blanket, spreading it over the patch of shade.
You reach to pull off your shoes, not bothering to entertain the idea of sitting down, not with something so refreshing and familiar nearby. You throw your shoes by the end of the blanket, and move on to rolling up the legs of the jumpsuit, not wanting them to get soaking wet.
“What are you doing?” He asks, looking up at you.
“I’m getting in, of course!” You turn away from him, heading to the river.
“Wait!” He shouts behind you, getting up, “What if it’s faster than you think?”
“So be it! Let me get carried away by the waves!” You laugh, sitting down on the edge before scooting in.
You’re afraid that you’re going to land harshly on rocks, but your feet sink into mud. The water is cold, but not as bad as it can be back home in Four. It feels nice on your skin, and combined with the sun… it really is a perfect day for a picnic. 
You wade deeper into the water, feeling it go up to your knees. When you turn around, you’re met with Finnick, standing at the top, staring down at you. You splash a handful of water in his direction, letting out a laugh.
“This is so much better than taking a shower and pretending it’s raining!” You throw your head back, arms out while you spin slightly, “I love it!”
“You don’t want to eat first?” Finnick asks, laughing.
You wave the idea away, “This reminds me of the summer after I won. How we went to the beach all day, forgot sunscreen and went back home burnt to hell. It hasn’t been that hot in a long time.”
Finnick’s face twists, a pout appearing for a second, before it disappears, “I remember.”
“Get in here!” You splash at him again.
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chelseypprimrose · 9 months
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The Pre-College Bucket List / negan smith x reader (stepdad/stepdaughter)
Warnings ⚠️ : voyerism (someone asleep in the room), unprotected sex, cum swapping, blowjob, daddy kink, choking
Author’s note: think this might be the longest and dirtiest thing I’ve ever wrote and I had so much fun with this one, hope you enjoy! 🤍🫡 not proof read yet!
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“Y/N! Can you chop those vegetables that are on the kitchen counter please?!” You sighed, rolling your eyes. Even in your last days at the family home, she was still expecting you to do mundane tasks. You didn’t even want this going away party she had planned for you, it wasn’t like you were going that far away anyways, only about a hours drive. More so, you knew the only reason your mom was hosting this party, so she could brag to her friends about how you had got into such a prestigious college. That’s all she ever did, never told you how proud she was of you, only ever posting on social media about it for validation from people over the internet. While you had gotten used to it now, it still stung more than you’d ever admit.
Opening the draw and taking the knife out, you started to chop the various vegetables that were in the bowl, daydreaming out the large window that showed the back garden outside. That’s when he came into view, your stepdad Negan. He’d been in your life for around the past two years, off and on again like a cringey sitcom drama. Him and your mother had broken up more times than you could count, always over some petty arguments, more so what teenagers would fall out about, never mind two fully grown adults.
He kept coming back though, each time, for what aspect of your mothers personality you didn’t know, it was no secret he was always in a mood with her, you recalled even once them managing to get into a argument during sex, over what you weren’t sure. It ended with raised voices, the threat of ending the relationship and the slamming of the front door quite dramatically by Negan.
Here he still was though, probably remaining because of your mothers crippling fear of spending her later years alone. You watched as he opened the large black grill, placing the charcoal into the bottom compartment, ready for cooking the various types of meat he’d purchased. His white t-shirt clinging to his toned muscles underneath, those damn red gym shorts he always paraded around in, even when he wasn’t working as the gym coach at your old high school. His hair slicked back with a small amount of gel, salt and pepper beard trimmed and neat as it always was. As bad as your heated thoughts were, you couldn’t help yourself. Boys your age just weren’t as attractive as the older men you’d come across in your life, boring.
Always the same pick up lines, always trying to hard to get into girl’s panties while offering nothing themselves, not even being able to give you the release you needed. Frustrated wasn’t even the word to begin to describe how most of your recent situationships had been.
His dirty mouth as well, always charming and funny, he’d make you laugh at the worst of times, so inappropriate but that’s what you liked about him. You continued on with your chopping, taking small and quick glances at his impressive frame when you could, now firing up the grill, the smoke rising. Looking down at the now finished cucumber, you reached out to grab the next bowl when you saw Negan’s arms reach to the bottom of his t-shirt, pulling it off in one motion, his slightly tanned and toned stomach coming into view, your eyes glued to his chest.
“Fuck!” You yelped out, the knife making a small cut on the side of your finger, blood flowing out the wound as you dropped the knife onto the counter. Negan’s head whipped around in your direction, taking large strides through the double doors into the kitchen. “You alright, Y/N?” He asked, placing his calloused hands over yours, slightly pulling you towards the kitchen sink, turning the cold water tap on. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine, I was distracted… wasn’t paying attention to what I was doing.” You slightly laughed, hoping he wouldn’t know the reasoning for your moment of ignorance. “Yeah, I gathered that.” Negan stated, a slight smirk coming across his face as he stared into your eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away, holding his gaze as if it was only you two who knew why. “So many distractions around us in this world, wouldn’t you say?” That knowing smirk still plastered over his features. You nodded, not wanting to further embarrass yourself.
Later on, the party was in the second hour, all your friends and family in attendance, the music playing from the outdoor speakers. Most attendees were standing around, some laying on the sun loungers placed next to the big pool and bar that was next to your house. You had a red cup in hand, with wine spritzer, sipping every couple minutes, you’d had enough food that you were feeling tipsy but not out of control. You’d rather not end up embarrassing yourself at your own leaving party, giving the small town something to gossip about after you’d gone. Having small talk here and there with different people, you could hear your mother still boasting loudly about how easy you’d been accepted into the college to various colleagues you recognised from her work place.
“How are you enjoying your party doll?” Deep voice coming from the side of you, Negan coming into view from the peripheral vision of your eye. You smiled, taking another drink of your wine. “Good thanks, not the sort of party I’m used to. Kind of…” you trailed off. “Boring? Think the word your looking for, is boring.” You laughed, looking up at Negan as he raised his eyebrows comically. “You can’t say that! It’s rude.” Your words coated in sarcasm, even though you a hundred percent agreed with his observation. “I appreciate the effort from you and mom but I didn’t really want the big celebration, I’m not moving country, I’m moving a couple hours away. Not so much of a big deal.” You took a seat on the end of the linen sun-lounger, the grey matching umbrella blocking the sunset from your eyes. Negan followed suit, your knees brushing against each other.
“Yeah, well, I tried to tell her you’d be against the big show but I couldn’t convince her. You know she’ll take any opportunity to shit on what other people are doing.” You nodded along, showing your agreement in his statement. You couldn’t deny he was right, your mother would always have to be one above everyone else, a big pissing contest. You thought it was pathetic, just a fake mask to cover over her crumbling love life and how she hadn’t moved up the career ladder in the past ten years. You vowed to yourself you’d never let your life get that way, hard work and dedication would get you to where you wanted to be. “Anything you want to do before you head off to college doll?” You furrowed your brows at Negan’s question as he took another drink of his beer, you weren’t expecting it as it had nothing to do with your previous topic of discussion.
He noted the confused look on your face as he reached into the pocket of his shorts, pulling out a piece of paper with pink lines and heart boarders. Your eyes widened with shock, it was paper from your notebook. He opened it, the words coming into view. “Quite a extensive list, some really good stuff on here dollface.” He smirked, his eyes raking over your pretty, cursive handwriting. He started to laugh, “I could help you out with some of these you know?” You thought he was joking, looking at his face you knew he was serious. You couldn’t remember what you had written, how could you? You had wrote this list a couple months back when you had first got accepted into college. He winked at you before rising to his feet, walking inside to get another beer. You looked on at the surrounding people, he could help you? What did that even mean?
Later on, people had started saying their goodbyes, voicing their congratulations to you as they headed home. “Thank you for coming! I’ll see you on Monday in the office.” Your mother waved at the last couple to leave before shutting the front door, wine glass still in hand. “Hey, I’m not that tired yet, shall we stick a movie on?” Negan suggested, weird you thought. He was normally the first one to retreat to bed after one of your mums social parties but not feeling fatigued yourself you agreed. “Yeah sure but I’ll probably fall asleep, I’m quite tired.” Your mom stated, accompanied with a yawn. You rolled your eyes, more like she’d had too much wine and couldn’t handle it. You moved to the living room, grabbing the large blanket from the first couch, covering your body.
Your mom took a place on the couch placed on the other side of the room, lying down. Negan walked into the room with a small bowl of popcorn, placing it on the glass coffee table in front of the tv. Sitting next to you, he grabbed the remote, putting on some random chic-flick. You settled down, letting your body sink into the couch. Negan’s arm raised to the back of the couch, his fingertips just slightly touching your shoulder. You kept your eyes trained on the tv, feeling your heart beating at a faster pace than before. He started mindlessly drawing small circles on the top of your skin, you felt your core getting tighter with every small touch. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, trying to calm the wave of lust that was flowing over your body. Negan used his other hand to dig into his pocket, pulling out that list again, re opening it, placing it on his knee. “What about this one doll?” He asked, pointing to one of the lines you’d written.
‘Have sex next to someone asleep, fear of getting caught might make it sexier!’
Oh my god, you thought. You couldn’t even remember writing that one, thinking back to the day you wrote it, might have a couple too many drinks. You locked eyes with him, his signature shit-eating grin on his face. “I…um. I-I don’t remember writing that one.” You trailed off, trying to find any excuse to why you’d write something so taboo. Before you could think, Negan threw the paper onto the coffee table, his strong hands grabbing the bottoms of your thighs, lifting you up onto him, the feeling of his semi-erect cock digging into you. You placed your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself, still in disbelief that this was happening.
“Remember when I said I could help you with this list doll?” He whispered into your ear, your face red with embarrassment. You slowly nodded, giving a small sound of agreement. “Do you want my help?” Negan inquired, his hands grabbing the round globes of your ass, emitting a slight whimper out of you at the rough touch of Negan. “Oh god yes, Negan please.” You softly spoke. “Gonna have to be quiet for me doll, wouldn’t want to get caught now would we?” Breathing heavily, your lips were caught by Negan in a deep kiss, your hands trailing from his shoulders to run through his hair. His hands gave another grab of your ass, more powerful, enough to leave red handprints.
“Shit doll, you don’t understand how long I’ve been waiting for this, you’re pretty ass parading around in this house, I can’t believe I haven’t gone fucking crazy.” He stated against your lips, his teeth coming down softly on your lower lip. You faintly moaned out at his confession, there was always some unspoken tension between you both, you just never thought it would come to this conclusion. You broke away from his kiss, fumbling to pull his shorts down to his ankles, lifting your lower half up to get them down successfully. His now fully erect cock gently slapped against his stomach, your hand coming down to smoothly wrap around the base of his cock, rubbing up and down. Negan let out a soft groan, his head falling back as he leaned into your hand, you made the move to the floor, up on your knees in front of him. “Oh shit honey, fuck, you are a dirty fucking girl.” He whispered out.
Your lips wrapped around his tip, peppering small kisses and kitten licks before you took it fully into your mouth, slowly working the top half of his cock. He opened his legs a little wider, allowing you to work further down as he thrusted his hips a little, causing you to gag ever so slightly. His shaft heavy on your tongue, the salty pre cum dancing on your tastebuds. A small trail of saliva leaking from your mouth, you felt your pussy getting slick with your juices, the ever growing danger of what you were doing turning you on more than you imagined.
A small creak caused your body to stop, a slight spark of adrenaline flowing through. Your mom had slightly moved from her sleeping position, turning to face the back end of the sofa. You waited for what felt like minutes, before you heard small snoring, affirmation to continue your illicit activity. Negan’s hip bucking ever so slightly, making his cock go further down your throat, you released him with a small pop, the gathered salvia making a bridge from his throbbing tip to your lips. Negan pulled you up, placing a sloppy kiss on your neck, regaining your position back on his thighs. “Shit doll, seeing you down there with a mouthful of my cock, fuck.” Negan mumbled against your neck, pulling your dress up and over your head, your arms reaching up to help.
Negan’s lips moved from your neck to the tops of your breasts, placing kisses while roughly grabbing them. The sensation alone causing you to feel tingles running through your body, he expertly unhooked the back of your bra, your breasts now free. He bit at your left nipple, sucking it slowly afterwards, his hands wandering from your breasts to your panties, pulling them to the side, exposing your pussy to the slight cold of the room. Goosebumps trailed down your arms and legs at the new feeling, the tip of his cock brushing against your clit. “You ready doll?” You enthusiastically moaned, grabbing the base of his cock to position it at your opening before slowly moving down, filling you inch by inch. You let out a moan at the fullness you felt, Negan’s hand coming up to grab your throat with slight pressure. “Fuck doll, those pretty noises are going to get us caught. You fit me like a fucking glove, so fucking tight.” Letting out a heavy sigh, Negan started to to move his hips, sliding in and out of you with slow strokes, filling you up even more.
Your hands met his shoulders again to steady yourself, your nails digging into them, a caught breath in your throat as the pressure on your neck got stronger. You met Negan’s thrusts, building in speed, strokes now hard and fast. “Shit baby, how’d you think your mother would feel if she woke up and saw you bouncing on daddy’s dick, huh?” You whimpered, the taboo nature of the whole situation caused you to grip your walls harder around his cock. “She’d be so upset daddy but you feel so fucking good inside me.”
“Damn right I do, doll.” You let out small breathless sighs, “Aw, is it too much for you to handle baby girl? Can’t take daddy’s dick as well as you’d like?” He taunted you as he thrust deeper into you. “No, I can handle it daddy. Fuck, you make me feel so fucking good!” You were getting so close, his cock coming into contact with your cervix it felt like. No one had ever made you feel this way, you thought you had died and gone to heaven. Negan could feel you clenching around his cock, knowing your release was close, he took his hand off your throat and began rubbing small, hard circles on your sensitive clit. You shallowly moaned and whimpered out, chanting daddy softly, your breath getting faster and shorter. “Go on baby, cum all over daddy’s dick.” You let your body go, your orgasm washing over your body, seeing stars behind your eyes. Body going limp, shaking as you rode out your high, the couch underneath you getting soaked with your juices, some coating Negan’s hand that was still playing with your clit.
The feeling of your orgasm caused a domino effect, Negan groaning as he came to climax as well, you felt the hot cum coating your walls, pulling out to finish, the last strips coating your lower abdomen. His fingers entered your mouth, tasting your release on your tongue, reigniting the fire you felt in your stomach.
You copied his motion, swiping the cum that settled on your naval, sucking off your fingers, the salty taste mixing with the aftertaste of yourself. Negan smirked, watching you intensely as your fingers came out of your mouth with a slight pop. A satisfied smile on your face, as you let your body flop down next to him, your mother still in deep sleep on the couch across the room. “Doll, I’m going to fucking miss you being gone, shit! We need to do that again sometime.” You giggled, bringing Negan into a kiss that showed him you felt the exact same.
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softest-punk · 1 year
Note
hey if it's not too much to ask, I know I wrote you an essay about Hob with chronic pain a bit ago... but I just got denied disability benefits after over a year and a half of waiting and getting Malpractice'd on for their investigation of my claim. at a time when my symptoms are really high due to the cold and the time of year and just. Life. so idk if you're up for it but it'd be nice to read (more) about Hob getting comfort for his own disabilities. no pressure or obligation, I just read the stuff you already wrote again because I'm sad and I was like "I love him..... :")" and I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask. I hope things are going better for you right now! happy early new year! maybe 2023 will be better
I'm so sorry to hear this and I hope another door will open for you. I am absolutely up for providing some comfort <3
---
Dream finds him on the landing, halfway up to his flat, and Hob can't help the little rush of shame that heats his otherwise bloodless face as Dream stands there, with his perfect body made of intentions that never fails him, head tilted, brows drawn.
"I'll be up in a minute," he promises. "Just need to catch my breath."
Without a word, Dream settles down next to him. They're blocking the entire stairwell now, which is probably a fire hazard, but it's only the two of them it'll matter to.
Dream's warm. He doesn't bother to be warm unless it's for Hob's benefit. Silly, to feel ashamed in front of him. It's not as though Dream doesn't have plenty of his own war wounds to work around.
Hob laughs, mostly at himself, and can't quite help it turning into a sob he has to bite down on his fist, still curled over the top of his cane, to stop.
"You are having a difficult day," Dream says.
From anyone else it would be a flat statement of obvious fact, but from him it's genuine concern.
"Bit," Hob agrees. "Do you know, someone stopped me in the street today to tell me I was too young for this," he says, lifting the cane. "How bloody old do they want me?"
"You do not quite look your age," Dream says.
"I feel every bloody minute of it right now," Hob says.
"I was not aware of an age limit on injury."
Hob huffs, and decides he feels just sorry enough for himself to let himself rest his head against Dream's shoulder. "No, I wish someone'd told me if there was. Would've told the bastard who did it I was simply too young to be kneecapped."
"I could seek out your assailant, in whatever afterlife he has found himself," Dream says.
Hob blinks.
Then blinks again for good measure.
"You know. I've had to draw a lot of blood for the sake of survival over the past six centuries. But you are outright bloodthirsty."
Dream grunts.
"That's not a criticism, I love it," Hob says. "It's fine. Outlived the bastard. The best revenge is living well, they say."
"The best revenge is revenge," Dream says flatly. "An eye for an eye is one of humanity's earliest laws."
"That's. Biblical."
"It is pre-Biblical."
"Well, in any case, I don't think we need to go about kneecapping dead men. Who knows. He might have had a hard life."
Dream shuffles closer to him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "Your old age has made you soft, Robert Gadling."
"Yours too," Hob says. "Far cry from the time I thought you might smite me for the crime of being happy in your presence."
"I have come to enjoy your happiness."
"Bit of an acquired taste for you?"
"I would not now be without it," Dream says. "This stairwell is cold. Would it pain you greatly to be carried?"
"Physically or emotionally?"
"Physically," Dream says. "You are far too wise to feel shame at receiving help. You have lived your entire life in cooperation with others. No man is an island."
"Breaking out the Donne." Hob laughs wryly. "My mood's rubbing off on you."
"Hob."
Hob laughs again. "I think it'd hurt less to be carried than to climb the second flight," he says. "If you're determined."
Dream lifts him, effortlessly, without another word.
"On my difficult days," he says. "You do not hesitate to bear me, and that is a much greater burden than the mere physical weight of one human."
Hob lets his head fall against Dream's shoulder for the short trip up to his flat, and then to the sofa, where he finds himself deposited gently, a blanket thrown over his knees, a silent I love you.
Dream follows it up with a gentle kiss, and murmurs the words into Hob's ear, and then the even more magical phrase, "I shall make you a cup of tea."
His knee still hurts. Always will. Practically always has.
But it's funny how little the hurt seems to matter, in the grand scheme of things, when there's comfort to go along with it.
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Text
The Blessing To Your Curse - Part 3 (Ryomen Sukuna x Reader)
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Hoo boy this one is a doozy, I hope you're ready because shits about to go downhill uphill and all around lmaoo. I'll try to be more consistent with this series, I'm trying to split my time evenly between this, the royal au, and just doing oneshots but it's gonna be hard with uni starting up again in a few days
Part 2 here
Warnings: blood, gore, descriptions of death, descriptions of self harm
Word Count: 3.9k
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“YUJI!”
“NANAMI!”
“ANYONE?!”
You knew it was dangerous to intentionally draw attention to yourself, but you called out for aid nonetheless. You’d reluctantly split off from the group to distract a first grade, being left alone with it before you could blink, and now you’re curled up against a wall while pressing a hand below your ribcage and desperately reaching into the well of your energy to patch the wound. It hadn’t gone horribly wrong, but you couldn’t deny that it hurt like a bitch and you were already tired.
Perhaps there was some remnant of the physical weakness you possessed in your past life after all, some chronic illness that chased you beyond death and rebirth.
“Motherfucker,” You growl, ripping at the side of your shirt to expose more of the wound to your eyes, feeling the skin stitch together as you hiss profanities through your teeth. After purging it of the last of the cursed blood you had been coated with during the fight, it seals up and you slump back, the patch of skin tingling with remnant energy.
Gotta get moving, find Yuji again. You push yourself to your feet, repeating these words as your nails scrape the wall and your hand drags past neon screens and through trails of the gross purple blood. You’re trying not to put weight on your ankle, which twisted in an awkward fall while fighting the first grade, but deciding you can’t afford to lose more time you push on until you reach a set of stairs.
Residuals of cursed energy leak up through the air in your direction, one trace you recognise to be Yuji’s, and a second trace, this one stronger, more potent and reeking of blood. You scrunch your nose at the tangy smell, forcing your feet to take you down the stairs where you find yourself amongst the remnants of a fight. “Yuji?” You call out, coughing slightly as a hint of smoke pierces the air.
You make it further down the hallway when you hear voices, and suddenly a wave of malice washes over you, forcing you to your knees. “I’ll give you one second,” You hear his voice around the next corner and crawl to press your back against the wall, making yourself as small as possible, “Move,” Heavy breathing near you catches your attention and you finally notice the two girls in an alcove across from you.
You press your hand to your mouth as they stare at an unknown figure that you’re now almost certain is Sukuna, the special grade curse that moves to stand at their side equally terrified but trying not to let it show. They’re like statues, and Sukuna’s footsteps ring out in the still air like shots from a pellet gun. Your eyes travel to the figure walking towards them and away from you, its Sukuna alright, his face stoic and empty of emotion as he approaches the group of three.
“You hold your heads quite high,” He rumbles, brushing the pink hair up from his forehead, and you watch as he takes a chunk off the top of the special grade’s head with a single thought, missing the two girls because they duck far enough to the ground. Smart girls, you think to yourself in passing, perhaps I should step in and save them.
He may be amicable now, but you know he can turn on a dime at any second. “Did you believe taking one knee would be enough? The boughs that bear most hang lowest, yes? But I guess you guys are pretty lightweight,” He looks to the girls, “You kids first, you wanted…” He trails off, his head angling slightly towards you and you see his nose twitch before he turns and you meet his ruby red gaze, “What have we here?”
Your heart is thumping practically through your chest as you drop your hand from your mouth, taking low deep breaths to try and calm yourself, “My lord,” You murmur, his power overwhelming you into submission. He’s in front of you in an instant, but you can see his unwillingness to bend down and assist you in front of an audience.
You hear a protestation in your mind at your term of address and you relax your shoulders, pressing yourself against the wall awkwardly to pull yourself to your feet, “Sukuna,” You murmur, low enough so as you cast your gaze over his shoulder at the special grade you know they cannot hear you, “Forgive me, I tried to find Yuji before anything could happen,”
He shakes his head, “No matter, I have business with these three anyway,” He looks over his shoulder, following your gaze, but you place a hand out of sight over where Yuji’s heart lies. “Spare the girls,” You whisper, looking away, “For my sake. Let me fulfil their demands,” He lets out a bark of a laugh, catching you off guard a little, “Will that leave you strong enough for what I need?”
You look back into his eyes, see the flash of concern passing through his gaze and his hand hovers over yours for a moment, the twinge in your ankle disappearing in an instant. “I will be,” You steel yourself, dropping your hand back to your side, “For you,”
After a moment of gazing into your eyes he turns and walks back to the girls, “What did you want to ask? I’ll grant you a finger’s worth of time,” He inspects his nails and then brushes them on the front of the supremely fucked up jacket that almost barely covers his torso at this point, allowing you a glimpse of the tattoos on his back, “Now talk,”
One of the girls, the mousy brunette, glances up at you for just a second, letting you see the tear tracks running down her cheeks as she speaks, “Below us, there’s a man in monks robes, with stitches across his forehead,” She mumbles. You flinch and look away, you know exactly who she speaks of, and it’s the man who’s been haunting your prophetic dreams since you were a child.
You knew through your time at Jujutsu High that Suguru Geto would turn his back, and after his death you thought it was over, but things are never that simple. “Please, kill him,” Sukuna glances back at you and you can feel his essence behind your eyelids as his manifestation enters your mind, “Is the roleplaying monk the one you dream of?” You nod, digging your fingernails into your palm as the other hand clutches at your chest.
You feel rather than see him roll his eyes as he breaks eye contact, “What an asshole,” He grunts, turning back to the girls. “And also, please free Geto,” The other girl whimpers, making your eyes water. You can still sense Geto beyond death, he may not be strong enough to free himself, and you know someone like Sukuna or Gojo or Yuta could, but Gojo is nothing but a liability when it comes to his former best friend.
“We know the location of one other finger-“ “Quit whining,” Sukuna snaps, and both girls are silent as mice, “Did you think a measly one or two fingers would grant you the right to order me around?” He pouts slightly, “How insulting, you’re lucky my queen is present, or I’d have your heads where you kneel,”
He regards them with a look you can only describe as voracious and then nudges the dark haired girl’s forehead with the toe of his shoe. She keeps her eyes firmly shut as her head is forced into a more upright position, her face turned up towards his, “You see her standing there?” He asks quietly.
The girl opens her eyes and locks them onto yours though you’re quite sure she cannot see you through the veil of her tears. “She’s the only reason the two of you are still alive, if I were you I’d be thankful and go to her before I change my mind,” His tone is mocking, he’s enjoying this, and some small part of you is too.
But you barely have a chance to protest before they’re stumbling to their feet, heads still bowed, and they’re by your side in an instant, tucking themselves behind you so you stand between them and your ferocious lover. “If you wish for them to live that badly then get them out of here, it’s about to get… a little hot,” His voice rings through your mind and you turn obediently, looking between the girls for a moment.
They appear to be equally as afraid of you as they are of Sukuna, and you have a fleeting memory pass through your mind of seeing them with Geto before the Night parade of a Hundred Demons. “Come on,” You say flatly, “It’s not going to be safe here much longer,” Not that you can claim it ever was safe for anyone but you, putting you between Sukuna’s technique and them doesn’t change a thing because his technique can’t hurt you, but you’re not going to tell them that and shatter their hope.
“Geto will die,” You murmur as you nudge them in front of you, “I have seen it,” Again, you’re not going to tell them how much time there is until the day comes, but you want to at least reassure them that something will happen. “How do you know?” The mousy brunette looks back at you and you stop walking, having made it far enough down the hallway that you would no longer see Sukuna if you were to look over your shoulder.
You meet her gaze, blinking slowly, “And why would I reveal that? What have you done besides demand from my king?” She flinches as if remembering who you are to him, “What are your names?” “Nanako,” The one who spoke murmurs. “Mimiko,” The other adds quickly, “We’re sorry, please, we thought maybe if we helped him then he would help us, he’s so strong that surely killing Geto would be nothing for him,”
You let Mimiko finish her little spiel before pushing between them and continuing to walk, remaining quiet. They don’t follow for a moment before deciding you’re the lesser of two evils and then catching up to you. “You never make requests of Sukuna,” You murmur, “Not if the fate of the world depends on it,” “What is it that you know?” Nanako murmurs.
You spin to face them, making yourself dizzy for a moment before you fix your glare on her wide brown eyes, “The last person to make a request of him and live to tell the tale beyond his grasp was the only person he ever loved, over a thousand years ago, and through no fault of his own he failed to fulfil her request,” You snap. Sometimes, now that you remember, you’re forced to relive your own death through your dreams.
The spray of razor sharp barbs hitting your back from the insect-like curses chasing you, dragging through your skin and shredding your insides like serrated knives. Your heart weakening with every beat, legs still running despite the fact there was a steady ooze of blood from around each point that cruelly stuck out from the front of your robes.
You remember you tripped on the path as his house came into view, falling to your knees, you nudged one of the barbs, it’s pointed edge taunting you with the rosy shine of your own blood. You remember the sound of your own screams drawing him from his house, only for you to bleed out in his arms, his face twisted and streaked with tears.
Tears that bound your soul to his in a futile effort to keep you alive, only succeeding in delaying the inevitable for but a few moments, allowing a proper vow to fall from his lips. You still feel the chains he put there, still feel his soul on the other side.
The girls eyes are fearful and you wish you could be sure if they know exactly what you’re trying to imply, but you won’t dwell on it any longer. “I’m going to get you to our healer, and you’re going to stay there without complaint, or I’m going to kill you myself, you understand?” They nod, eyes filled with fear as you grow deadly, feeling Sukuna’s gleeful bloodlust flood your senses.
Seething with quiet rage you escort them back to Shoko who, despite looking at you like you’ve grown a second head, lets you attempt to return to the fight. Although you aren’t entirely sure where anyone is anymore, you’ve somehow managed to get caught up in Sukuna’s domain, the slashes glancing harmlessly off your skin as you search for the epicentre.
“SUKUNA!” You shout, pressing forwards through the spray. It’s almost like rain, and you shake your head to clear your thoughts, trying your hardest to see anything. Finally in the darkness, you catch a glimpse of the shrine that lies at the centre of Sukuna’s domain, the jaws wide open and ominous as always.
This happens as the domain subsides, and you see his pink hair across from you at the edge of the destruction. “SUKUNA!” He looks towards you as you stumble in his direction, pulling yourself out of the hole as your chest heaves. “I thought I told you to get out of here,” He growls, hauling you to your feet by your upper arm.
You cough as you inhale some concrete dust, “If we want to do this body thing, now is the best time we have,” You croak, “Nobody else is around,” Sukuna smirks and looks past you for a moment, “Just wait a moment will you,”
You fall silent as he steps around you towards the hole, “Make sure to savour this for me brat,” Sukuna’s energy softly fades and you whip your head around, “Sukuna!” You growl, “You moron!” The tattoos fade and you see his hands start to shake.
Yuji grabs his face and you’re afraid to touch him, but he falls to his knees and you’re quickly by his side, “LET ME DIE!” He screams, dragging his fingertips along the rough concrete and shaving chunks of viscera off, “ONLY ME!” You make a mental note to chew Sukuna out later, this isn’t how you wanted to proceed.
 “Yuji listen to me, you made me a promise,” You grunt, pulling him back off the ground into your arms with yours hooked under his shoulders to prevent him from hurting himself anymore. “He can have my body,” Yuji sobs, burying his face against your arm, “I don’t deserve to live!” He wails.
“Don’t pull that shit with me,” You growl, grabbing his chin and making him look up at you. You know your eyes must be a reflection of Sukuna’s, you can see how terrified he is, “You promised me that you would assist me, and I promised you I would protect you,”
“Innocent people died!” He pulls away from you, “And it’s all my fault, I’m not strong enough, I just…” He trails off, breathing heavily, “I can’t understand how or why you love him, I just can’t,” Tears begin to slip down your cheeks, leaving trails through the dust and dirt, “Yuji, I…”
You know what you want to say, you want to remind him that you’re technically a thousand years old, you knew him before he was like… this… and you’re sure you can return him at least to a more docile state, but he’s like a caged wolf right now. Fulfilling an oath that has no purpose anymore other than to feed his bloodlust.
Instead, you take his hands in your own disregarding the state of his fingers to just hold him. “I will readily accept that this is partially my fault, I probably could have stopped him in the subway and I didn’t, but right now I need you to let me do this. The sooner he is out of your body the sooner your body is your own again,” You plead softly.
His shoulders droop and he nods, “Yeah, yeah, go on then,” He murmurs. You steel yourself, you hadn’t had the chance to practice this step because you couldn’t risk accidentally cloning Sukuna, so you had one shot to get it right.
You shift so you’re on your knees, still holding his hands, and using the blood from his fingers you paint a small chevron symbol on his forehead. It begins to glow as you reach deep into your soul, the well of energy within you stirring.
His eyes are full of tears as he looks at you, and you have to blink away your own again as the two of you begin to glow. There aren’t words in any language that can properly describe what exactly it is that you do, you suppose if your modern day clan had survived then you’d know what it was you were doing, but you could only follow your instincts and hope that everything went smoothly.
A trail of strange white energy, formless and malleable, pulls from the wounded tips of Yuji’s fingers, trailing out like blossoms in the wind and eventually forming something resembling a human beside you. You reach one hand towards it, maintaining your connection to Yuji and pressing your other to the pale form that is gradually taking on colour.
It occurs to you as Sukuna’s form begins to take shape before you that you have no clothes for him, you really hadn’t thought as far ahead as you should have, and Yuji averts his eyes, emptying the contents of his stomach away from the strange new body.
It takes a few more minutes and some small adjustments but soon the body is finished, and it looks just as you remember from before your death. “How the hell do we get him into the body now?” Yuji asks?” “Like this,” You turn to him, pressing your hand to the side of his face as his eyes widen.
Tattoos form on his skin and his eyes waver between brown and red momentarily, before Sukuna responds to your power and pushes forward. “You called?” He tilts his head with a smirk, grabbing your chin and inspecting the tear tracks on your face, “Did the brat make you cry?”
You shake your head, “No he didn’t, now will you hurry up and do whatever it is you have to do to switch bodies?” You murmur, exhaustion gripping at your limbs. He looks down, nodding with approval as he lets you go, “Your craft is immaculate as always,” He murmurs, trailing his fingers over the unblemished skin.
You rub your jaw, clicking your neck momentarily as you look around, spotting a somewhat intact clothing store a few doors down from you, “I’ll be right back,” You haul yourself to your feet, stumbling towards the shattered glass and into the shop. It takes a few minutes but eventually you find all the essentials to just cover him up, underwear, sweatpants, and a simple t-shirt that has a generic band logo you don’t recognise on the back.
Making sure it’s all in a larger size you lurch back out onto the street, noticing the new body sitting up and flexing his fingers, his body adorned with tattoos and his face changed, returned to the half-twisted state. Yuji is trembling on his side a couple metres away, his back facing the two of you as you return to them.
It only takes you a moment to realise what happened, Sukuna made the new body eat one of Yuji’s fingers, and you frown at him sternly, “Heal him,” You grunt, hitting his shoulder with the back of your hand. He snatches the clothes off you without responding, you fall back onto your butt and shuffle over to Yuji, “Oh Yuji,” You murmur.
“You heal him if you care so much, he’s just a brat,” Sukuna growls and you whip your head back to look at him, fury giving you a shot of adrenaline, “I just used up almost all of my energy reserves to create a new body for you from nothing, you fucking owe me, I don’t care how much you hate him,”
His face remains stoic and you stand, poking his chest viciously, “I brought you into this world, I can fucking take you out of it, I don’t care, you better not make me think I just wasted everything I had for nothing,” He rolls his eyes, pushing past you and bending down, his hand on Yuji’s side frightens the boy for a moment but he relaxes as Sukuna’s reverse cursed technique flows through him, growing back the finger he stole and healing his other fingertips.
“Are you happy now?” He growls, standing up and looking down on you. You spit off to the side, saliva mixed with blood, “I won’t be happy until you stop treating me like a fucking worm, I gave you your own body and now you think you can treat me like this? Is this how you show appreciation to someone who you’ve apparently lied to every time you’ve told them you loved them?”
His demeanour is softened the moment you accuse him of lying and you feel a momentary sting of regret, but you just spent all of your energy giving his own body. It’ll take you weeks to recover from this. If he isn’t willing to fight in your place, then what was it all for?
You want to cry again, you want to burst into tears and fall to your knees, you want to stay by Yuji’s side and just give up hope. This isn’t the man you knew, you should’ve been more careful, shouldn’t have so readily trusted him when he showed you his memories. He’s changed too much, and you’re afraid you’ll never get him back.
You do eventually tire of Sukuna’s solemn silence, slumping down on the rubble next to Yuji and apologizing softly, repeatedly. You know that no amount of words will ever make up for what he’s gone through, but as long as you stay with him he might have a chance of getting through this.
“Y/n,” Sukuna rumbles. You look back to him, he’s sat casually just beside you, “You’re the only thing I want in this world, without you I am nothing but a curse seeking endless vengeance,” You feel Yuji roll over and press his face against the side of your thigh, “You give me a purpose, and if you don’t trust me that’s ok, just…”
He reaches for you and you let him take your hand, looking up into his eyes, “You made me human again,” He murmurs, “I… I remember what it’s like to love, and I will stay by your side until you believe me and you love me too,” You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, choosing to remain silent but nodding slightly.
His eyes close and your free hand rests on Yuji’s back. It will take time, and this fight is far from over, but you’re sure that things will begin to heal. Even if you end up on the run from Jujutsu society for the rest of your life, at least you have him back. At least you can go about trying to save some of your friends.
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I think this takes the prize for my favourite chapter so far, maybe it's just the whole 'writers are their own worst enemies' thing (is that how that goes? idk) and because it's the most recent one lol
also i hope yall dont mind me saving characters who died in shibuya, but i mean it's my fic and i get to choose who lives >:)
Part 4 coming soon
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chaotic-orphan · 2 months
Text
Heroic Betrayal: part five
Read part one here
Continued from this point here
*~*~*~*~*
What kind of idiot were they to be stuck here? Hero should have told Sidekick when they got the tip about Villain… they should have told them that they were going to rough Villain up a bit, get the information they needed on Other Villain’s whereabouts and beat the shit out of them. Just a little revenge for touching a hair on Sidekick’s innocent head.
Even if they managed to catch Villain and mete out justice on Other Villain, they would have beaten the ever-living shit out of the wrong person, and that was something Hero didn’t want to think about in that moment.
That Flynn…
Their Flynn was the one who put Sidekick in the med bay.
Sidekick, who was still in the med bay, where Hero should be, but no. Instead, they were here, powerless and bleeding and it was all their fault.
Hero didn’t know how long they sat and stewed on that thought. Long enough that their nose stopped bleeding anyway. Hero tentatively reached up to their upper lip, their hand came away from it dry, the blood caked and flaked onto their face now.
“What happened to your face?” Hero angled their head down from where they stared at the ceiling to see Flynn standing on the other side of the cell bars.
“Fuck off, Red,” Hero grumbled, and fought the wince at their casual nickname for Flynn slipping out of their lips. “I’m not in the mood.”
A jangle of keys and the cell door was open, footsteps approaching Hero in their cot in the corner. Hero’s heart ached with every beat as Flynn came into their line of sight, concern drawing his features together.
How many times had they seen that same concern on his face? Told Hero it was going to be okay. Cleaned their wounds, laughed about the bruises the next day?
How much of it was a lie? — Hero wanted to ask. The question burned a hole on the tip of their tongue, but they didn’t dare speak it. They just stared up at the ceiling as best they could.
“What? You piss someone off already?”
Hero sighed. Flynn sat on the edge of the bed, moving closer to Hero, his hands going to inspect the damage like he so often did. It made something ache in Hero’s chest. Hero slapped their hands away, tears burning in the back of their eyes.
“Don’t fucking touch me, Flynn,” Hero bit out. “You don’t get to betray me and then pretend to be my friend and concerned about me.”
Flynn stared; eyes sad as he said: “okay. Guess I deserve that.”
“You deserve so much more,” Hero said, eyes burning with hatred, voice barely above a whisper. “How many of our friends died because of you? Hmm?”
“Hero, not all of it–” Flynn began then stopped, huffed out a breath of air through his nose, hand running through his hair. “Not all of it was a lie. I am your friend. I do care about you.”
“Oh really? Then you’d never use your power on me, right?” Hero demanded, echoing back Flynn’s words against him. Flynn had the audacity to even look guilty at that, and Hero leaned forwards, hands on Flynn’s as they said: “I forgive you, okay. I forgive you if you let me go. Flynn, please.”
Flynn’s eyebrows knit together, clearly conflicted but he said nothing. After a moment, Hero let out a breath of disbelief and sat back against the wall again.
“Yeah,” Hero scoffed, “we’re friends.”
“You have blood all over your face, Hero. You really want to just leave it?”
“Why the hell not?” Hero said, trying to force their tone into some form of neutrality.
Flynn sighed and stood up from the cot. “Supervillain wants an audience with you. I was sent to retrieve you.”
Hero rolled their eyes but got to their feet no less. “Of course,” they said, pushing past Flynn to the door. “God help you actually wanted to see how I was doing.”
“Hero—”
“I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Let’s just go.”
“Hero that’s not—”
Before they could get the fourth word out, Hero had whirled on them eyes blazing hotter than any hells furnace.
“Fair?!” They asked incredulously, their voice jumping two pitches at the sheer audacity of the word on their lips. “Is that what you were going to say?”
Flynn didn’t back down this time. Instead he stepped forward, looking down his nose at Hero.
“Yes. That is what I was going to say.”
“You are unbelievable!” Hero snapped matching Flynn with a step forward of their own. They held their cuffed hands up in Flynn’s face as if to remind him exactly why Hero was there in the first place. “If you’re my friend you’ll take these off.”
“Hero you know I can’t—”
Hero didn’t let him finish. Instead they placed their palms on Flynn’s chest and shoved them as hard as they could. Flynn looked about as bothered as if a fly had flown into the room.
“I can’t uncuff you Hero,” Hero said, lowering their voice to mimic Flynn’s and shoving him back again. “I can’t let you go Hero.” And again. “I can’t fucking think—” shove “for myself” shove “Hero.”
Hero glared up at Flynn trying to fight back the frustrated tears building behind her eyes. Anger was easier to focus on in the moment rather than that vast aching pit twisting uncomfortably in their gut.
“But I promise I’m your friend, Hero,” Hero mocked, shoving him back again until Flynn’s back hit off the wall. Flynn’s eyebrows curved down and it left a pang in Hero’s chest that they hated. “And then you have the gall to look hurt. As if I betrayed you.”
Hero ignored the tears that fell at the last sentence, or at least tried to. They tried to be firm and act tough, but saying the betrayal out loud, acknowledging it when it was just the two of them was too much.
“Would you trust me if the roles were reversed?” Hero asked, not even wanting to look at Flynn for the answer. The more they saw the conflict on his face the harder it was to hate him. Flynn however, didn’t take this into consideration when he put his hand on Hero’s face and tilted it back to face him.
Hero narrowed their eyes at him, pushing every ounce of anger into their gaze hoping they would turn into actual daggers and stab him.
“No,” Flynn breathed softly, thumb wiping away the tear streaks from Hero’s face. “I wouldn’t trust you if the roles were reversed, but I would hear you out of you tried to explain it to me.”
“And if I took you to Supervillain?!” Hero asked, their voice low and furious as they stepped out of Flynn’s touch. “The enemy we’ve been trying to stop for months?”
“You.”
“What?!” Hero demanded hotly.
Flynn’s gaze hardened, his face devoid of all emotion now except for his usual mask of easy confidence, smirk on his lips as if he didn’t just wipe Hero’s tears away.
“The enemy you’ve been trying to stop for months,” Flynn said again taking a step forward, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Hero matched his step with one back, cautious, hackles raised. “I mean the man you borderline obsessed over, Hero. Don’t you want to meet the genius who eluded you, the great detective, for all that time?”
“Not particularly,” Hero said through gritted teeth, with another step back that Flynn matched, getting closer and closer each time.
“That’s what you called him though, right? A genius,” Flynn teased, his grin showing his teeth. “I mean, fuck, Hero some of the moves he made you were damn right impressed with. You even said you’d have done exactly the same thing if—”
“I was in his position,” Hero cut Flynn off. Flynn’s smirk grew wider as he took another step closer, dipping his head conspiratorially.
“Now you can be,” said Flynn with a wide gesture of his hands. Hero followed his hand to the cell door that they happened to be right beside. Hero was keenly aware that Flynn was backing them towards the door the whole time. “Even just for the intellectual stimulation if nothing else.”
“Go fuck yourself, Flynn. I’m not willingly walking into the Lion’s den.”
Flynn’s eyelids fell half over his eyes. “It is less dignified to be dragged, Hero, but if you insist.”
Flynn made a grab for Hero’s arm but they dodged at the last minute, turning to shoulder Flynn out of the way. Flynn didn’t so much as budge from his spot. Instead he caught Hero by the strap of their scabbard and yanked them into Flynn’s chest.
“The hard way, wonderful. I wouldn’t expect any less of you Hero,” Flynn said, wrapping an arm over Hero's chest and keeping them close as they stepped out of the cell, pushing Hero forward with their own body weight. “Let's go introduce you to Supervillain.”
*~*~*~*~*
The orphanage roll call (tag-list): @shywhumpauthor (lmk if you want to be added/removed)
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