#That man wouldn't be able to say a word without one of them descending like a vulture | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cod-imagines-fanfiction · 7 months

Text

Jealous Alejandro kidnaps Valeria's girlfriend part 7 (3.4k words)

Summary: Now in the custody of the Mexican Army, Y/N is transferred to an incarceration facility and meets her unexpected bunkie

Warnings: LESBIAN SMUT, filth but very loving :) Note at the end Link to A03 Links to part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

The journey to prison seemed never-ending. Y/N watched the world beyond from the small window next to her, watched as they traversed past dry, yellow fields, past abandoned gas stations. Past faded, rusty signs that were littered with bullet holes. She watched the world dim as the sun fell, the soft glow of twilight as the sun dipped below the horizon. The oranges and pinks shone so briefly but beautifully on the sky right before the darkness descended. The man across from her said that Valeria was in the van behind them. If there was such a van, it was way behind them and impossible to see. She only hoped that this misery would soon be over, that the cold metal bands around her wrists would be removed and she could walk free.

Only that she wouldn't. She and Valeria had reached the point of no return, that much she knew. The life they lived before - the secluded glamour, their intoxicating, opulent love - vaporised into nothingness. They cheated the world all these years and pretended that the truth wouldn't - couldn't - reach them. That the world would forget about their queer domesticity, their illegal lifestyle. Illegal because that lifestyle was funded entirely by drug money and violence. But the balancing scales finally tipped and Valeria would get what the world believed she deserved. And seemingly, the drugs were only part of the picture. Missiles. Terrorism. You'd heard those words scattered in conversations relating to Valeria and they made you shudder. There was a darkness that, so far, had lived on the periphery of your life with Valeria. A darkness that could be suppressed, that you could pretend was not really there. You pretended that the diamond jewels Valeria dressed you in were bought with honest money. Pretend that the men brought to the tunnelled rooms beneath your house were there for job interviews, not for interrogations. Pretended that Valeria's cars were made with heavy doors because it was her personal taste, not because she needed bulletproof transportation.

These fictions were no longer tangible, no longer capable of retaining their glamour. You and Valeria would have to pay for all of it, finally. Y/N knew that one of these days her tears would fall and she would not be able to stop them.

It was all mechanical after that. The van approached a looming structure of concrete and barbed wire, of guard towers and dogs. The van was checked and allowed to enter. Y/N shrank away from the gazes of all these men. The Captain across from her, the driver, the guards, the soldiers waiting beyond. The door was opened and you were flung out, shackles and all. The Captain put his arm through yours, a precaution in case you tried to escape. It almost made you laugh. There was nowhere to run to and all these men were impossible to run from. "No papers?" A guard asked the Captain, his eyes raking over your form. You became acutely aware of your attire, the pyjamas, and how they contrasted with the uniforms of these men. Your light, thin pyjamas were built for comfort and aesthetics. And their kit, bulky and covering every inch of them, was built for battle. "No, sir. Special case. Courtesy of General Shepherd." The Captain nodded to him knowingly. It felt illegal that they would jail you without even a passport or some form of ID, but you didn't dare say anything. You weren't sure what rights you had, if you had them. The process beyond that was glaringly odd. You entered what looked like the reception of the facility. Your pockets were checked - there was nothing. You were not identified but were given an ID card and a uniform to change to.

"Am I in prison?" You asked. "No, ma'am. Temporary custody, it's like jail." You stared at the uniform in your hands, then back to the guard. "Why am I wearing this then?" He cleared his throat. "It's more modest, ma'am." "Oh," you said stupidly and changed. Thankfully, you were not searched for anything. It was nothing like the scary stories Valeria would tell you from those who were caught and imprisoned due to her operations. Of people made to kneel and cough in all their nakedness, of guards probing their bodies and leering. When you came out from the changing area, the Captain was gone, presumably because he'd handed you off to the right authorities. That's all you were to them, something to be passed off and transferred from point A to point B. Something to be processed and shelved.

The guard was waiting for you. "This way," he said and buzzed you into the facility. Greyness and coldness prevailed in this place. The labyrinthiness of it made your head spin, every hallway was the same, and every corner was like the one you'd seen before. The doors were the same, even the guards looked like the same person but multiplied. The reality of it all pressed down on you oppressingly, you held in your tears and followed the man. Your heart hammered in your chest when you heard the yells of men, muffled behind the concrete but hysterical in their intensity. The guard must've noticed the panic in your eyes. "You will be held in the private women's wing. Special case gets special privileges." He almost sounded hopeful, but you weren't sure if the final part was meant to make you feel any better about your situation. The panic did subside, however. Another gate stood in front of you and you were processed through that one, too. The women's wing, you presumed.

The women's private wing was completely empty, the cells clearly vacant by the fact that their doors were wide open. There were two floors and a guard post staring at them. No windows. Your footsteps echoed across the chamber, the silence was defeaning. "You're in here," he said and deposited you to one of the rooms. It was a small room scarcely furnished with a toilet and a metal bunk. A pillow, a thin mattress and a blanket summarised your belongings for the time being. "Do I get time in the yard or anything?" You said as you turned around but the door was slammed in your face. You jumped back. "That's not how jail works," he said and walked off. You stared through the door's window for some time, becoming self-conscious with each passing moment. Apart from the lack of freedom and the possibility of spending a lifetime incarcerated, you were troubled with the hygienic aspect of things. Can they see inside when you go to the bathroom? It was something you always wondered about when you watched crime TV and you now had a personal investment in the topic.

"Don't worry, amor. They won't peek through."

You almost fell to your knees. Your hand reached out in time to hold on to the door as you heard her voice. You didn't have time to turn around, her warm hands were already on you as she hugged you from behind. Her body emanated warmth as she pressed herself against you and you felt her frame envelop yours. Her warmth, the scent of her sweat lightly masqued by her perfume. Valeria's hands caressed your sides and travelled up and down your body, eagerly. One of her hands slithered beneath your shirt and past your bra. She cupped one of your breasts and squeezed as her face rested on your shoulder, lightly coating the side of your neck with breathy kisses. You always shivered when she did this and let out a shaky breath, carefully releasing a relieved whimper. You tried to speak but struggled to release the words coherently. Each attempt started with a pitiful vowel which was drowned by a hot kiss, it resulted in a cascade of pitiful, small sounds that were interrupted by the sound of wet lips and light moans.

Actions spoke louder than words with Valeria. There was no point in saying how much she missed you when she could show it. She squeezed your nipple sharply. You yelped as expected and she took the chance to enter your mouth with her tongue. She could feel your flustered embarrassment given your surroundings and chuckled as you tried to kiss her lightly and more quietly. She refused your demands and kissed you harder, sloppier; louder. You finally broke off, breathless. "They'll hear us," you said as she moved on to your neck without skipping a beat, kissing your jaw. "They left the post, baby," she said and moved to your ears. Valeria's tongue flickered on your lobe, knowing how ticklish her warm breath made you, how it made your whole body squirm. "Special privileges," she whispered and started nibbling on your skin.

"Baby," you pouted to her. A frenzied passion arose within Valeria. All that time she spent away from you, all that fear about your safety, the despair she felt when she thought she would never see you again; that you were hurt or tortured, that you were bullied and exploited whilst she could do nothing to protect you. All those feelings made her desperate to touch you, to feel that you really were there. To feel your soft skin and to see for herself that you were not bruised or hurt. With each caress and with each touch, she wanted to feel that you were unharmed, untouched. And with each examining touch, arousal glowed within her body, that special warm feeling intensifying between her legs. She missed you; all of you. One of her hands was blissfully busy with your breasts, moving from one to the other and eliciting many praises from your body; twitching and whimpering with all the stimulation. Unable to help herself, Valeria allowed her other hand to to caress your tummy, which she loved, and then lower to the band of your trousers, teasingly. You wiggled excitedly in her grasp, loving to see her so excited with you. "You're so crazy, baby," you mumbled and delivered kisses to her face. Her hand then went lower to your crotch, fondling that sensitive spot hungrily. You yelped in response. "What if they walk in on us, my love?" You asked her and wiggled your hips to escape her touches, fending off her wicked teasing.

"I already told you, princess," she said and continued caressing your sensitive spot with more intensity, following the rhythm of your hips. "They've all left their post." Hearing quiet noises escape from your careful control excited her even more, Valeria couldn't deny how much she loved moments where this dynamic manifested in your relationship. Her intense, playful teasing when you were not in an entirely private place. Your assertions of propriety and decency. How Valeria would persist with her argument and teasing, your eventual, blissful surrender. You remained unconvinced and so she pressed you forward with her body, making you peek out of the little window on the door. "Look for yourself, they're all gone," she said. You lifted yourself a bit higher and looked on. You surveyed the space and saw how empty it was, with no guard posted, and no cameras. You hummed to yourself as you judged the safety of the situation. You made a noise with your assent. "You're right, there's no on-", with no hesitation Valeria plunged her hand past your trousers and your underwear, her fingers reaching out to your sex. "You're happy, now?" She whispered to your ear as her middle finger found your clit and moved your wetness up and down. She felt your jaw tighten as she continued that movement agonizingly slow but with more pressure, making your hips press against her. "Use your words, princess," she whispered into your ear. "Yes, baby. I'm happy." You said quickly and breathlessly.

Valeria bit her lip and groaned quietly in your ear. "You're already so wet for me," she mumbled as her fingers moved faster. Her movements were sloppy and the contact with your skin emitted those wet noises that embarrassed you so much. She kissed your cheek and froze when she felt how wet your face was. "Baby, are you crying?" It was all too much. Everything that happened came back to you. The sudden kidnapping, the destruction of your home, the interrogation, your imprisonment and chaotic escape. You had not a moment to yourself to process anything before Valeria appeared. You loved her touch and longed for release, longed to touch her. And yet, your tears fell. "Fuck, I'm sorry." She span you around so that you were facing her. Her eyes widened with panic at the sight of tears falling steadily and silently down your face. She cupped your cheeks with her warm hands. "Too much too soon. You know how intense I am, baby." She pulled you in for a hug. You nuzzled your face in her neck and inhaled her scent, you exhaled shakily. "I missed you so much," you mumbled and held on to Valeria tightly. "I didn't understand what was happening."

Valeria cooed as she stroked your back. "I know, baby. I'm sorry." "I didn't tell them anything," you said. "I know my love, thank you." You kissed her cheek. Valeria moved backwards and sat on the bed. She pulled you close so that you were straddling her; the two of you kept hugging. It was one of the things that always made you feel better on a bad day, how Valeria would hold you like this and comfort you. How she would whisper sweet nothings in your ear as you cried or complained about whatever it was that upset you. "Did he hurt you?" You said as you lightly touched the dark circles on Valeria's neck. She tried not to wince, she knew who you were referring to. "I hurt him worse." She said and paused. "Did he hurt you?" She asked slowly, suddenly afraid of your answer. You shook your head. "No, he was just scaring me." Valeria released a relieved exhale. "You're a tough cookie, Y/N." You giggled lightly and Valeria's muscles relaxed lightly. "I knew you'd come for me," you said. "I'll always find you," Valeria said and you kissed deeply. Valeria was careful not to initiate anything given your fragile state, she only gave what you asked for. You pulled back to catch your breath and went back for a second kiss, then a third one.

You pulled back again and gazed into Valeria's dark eyes. She almost seemed drunk with her flushed cheeks and the way her eyelids hung low as if she was sleepy. But you knew better. "Is it true that you left Alejandro for me?" You asked. It wasn't the sexiest thing to say at this time, but the question burned inside you. Valeria never spoke about her romantic life before you. Even on the nights when you had a little too much to drink and felt a sudden spike of jealousy that made you ask, she never responded. You knew that if you didn't ask now, you'd be silent forever and the question would eat at you. You would gnaw on the chops of jealousy, licking your wounds for eternity. "Yes," she said in a husky, low voice. You kissed her again and moaned into her mouth; you were elated. The rumours were true! The satisfaction was so delicious and warm, you felt yourself glow from the inside like a firefly.

Valeria broke the kiss. "The day I met you...I'd never felt that way about anyone. I knew you'd be mine. You were made for me, Y/N." Her face moved close to yours, your lips almost touching. "Only for me," she whispered and your lips crashed. Your hands reached beneath Valeria's shirt and roamed across her back. You found that sensitive spot on her lower back that made her shiver and grazed that spot with your nails; she moaned. One of your hands continued roaming her back and swiftly unclipped Valeria's bra. "Did you feel like that too, Y/N? The day we met?" Valeria asked. You nodded. "It was like magic. You were so pretty..." You trailed off as Valeria removed her top along with her bra. She lowered her back so that it touched the bed and just lay underneath you, half-naked. Her nipples hardened as they were exposed to the chilly air of the cell, they looked beautiful and felt soft and warm when you touched them. "And?" Valeria whispered, enjoying how hypnotised you were by her chest. It was her favourite way of getting you quiet. "And...I was worried you wouldn't like me. You're intimidating, baby." Your voice was low as you continued touching her as you spoke.

Valeria bit her lip. "Am I intimidating now?" You shook your head with a smile. "No, you're so beautiful," you said and lowered your face close to her chest. Valeria held her breath. "I could just eat you," you mumbled and covered one of her nipples with your mouth, circling the soft bud with your tongue and lightly grazing it with your teeth. Valeria released a breathy exhale. You released her nipple and kissed the skin around it, warming up her chest with your breath and occasionally biting down hard enough to make her yelp underneath you. You circled her other nipple with your thumb. "You want to eat me?" Valeria asked so quietly that you almost didn't hear her. She sounded shy; you knew what she wanted. "More than anything," you said and trailed kisses down to her tummy.

You both fumbled with each other's clothes, you scattered everything to the ground and basked in your nakedness together. You lay on the bed and guided Valeria's hips so that she lowered her thighs around your head. It was pure, never-ending bliss. The two of you filled the room with your moans and gaps, making the metal bed squeak from the rhythm of your love. Valeria ground her sex on your mouth, one of her hands reaching down to move your mouth closer to her wetness as she sought her climax whilst the other reached back to pleasure your clit. Valeria's body glistened with her sweat, she was beautiful as she moved her body up and down, the soft parts of her body bounced ecstatically until she came and her body recoiled with pleasure. Valeria always came first, but you followed quickly after, moaning as Valeria's fingers penetrated your deepest core and sweetly hit your sensitive spot. With a muffled cry, you came on her fingers.

The two of you lay in the bed together for a long time after that, whispering in the darkness. "You should've seen the house, Y/N. It was in ruins. I thought you were gone for good...I don't know what I'd do without you." You kissed her shoulder lightly. "I'll always be with you, Valeria." She shook her head and sighed. "Fucking Alejandro. It's all his fault. I'd forgotten about him, you know. I forgot he even existed." Your mind wandered back to the moment he burst into your room. The rage in his eyes, the way he yelled as he grabbed you. "He's very scary. I can't picture the two of you together." Valeria chuckled bitterly. "It was complicated. But don't think about that now, it's time to rest." You looked at her anxiously. "What if they come in whilst we're asleep?" Valeria shook her head and tucked you in, pulling the blanket up to your chin so that you were nice and warm. "They won't, baby. Just go to bed."

You fell asleep almost instantly, the exhaustion finally caught up to you. Valeria's scent, warmth and steady heartbeat lulled you to sleep and you slept deeply knowing that you were safe in your wife's arms. Valeria stayed up and watched you for what felt like hours. She stared at your face, the way the faint glimmer of moonlight illuminated your skin and lashes. She watched your chest rise and fall. You were so trusting, so loyal. So devoted even as you hit rock bottom with Valeria, you could make the coldest jail cell glow with warmth. At that moment, Valeria really felt that she could be happy anywhere as long as you were next to her. She could sleep in the most narrow metal bed if it meant you'd be next to her. She kissed your forehead lightly before getting comfortable next to you, she did not dream of anything.

Note: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! It's my first time writing smut but I think it worked out nicely and we finally reunited Valeria with her wife :D Although this could be read as the end, I'll write one more final part to tie up the plot because you best believe Valeria and her trophy wife ain't spending the rest of their life in prison!

Tag list: @justmare @silas-222 @m0rganit3 @blarba-girl @sleepiemain @caffeineliker @ashy-kit @00ops1e @lesvii @therapyneeds @lez-zuha @starre-eyes @7smexy7diva @hello-kitty-festival @konigmeu @cassiecasluciluce @gay-ass-country-boy @starwars-theclonewhore @bi-witch-bxtch @somnoslvt @ashthepillow @b3ns0ne @idiotwrites @danart501 @deakyspuff @mistresssiri @angethehimbosimp @@sae1kie @00ops1e @yaebaal @p3arlier

#cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty valeria #cod imagine #valeria garza #cod valeria #valeria garza x reader #valeria x female reader #valeria x reader #valeria garza smut #call of duty smut #cod smut #mw2 smut

501 notes · View notes

gojoidyll · 5 months

Text

Infinity

Yandere ! Gojo Satoru x Female ! Reader

Part 10 | what is yours, is mine

Warnings | blood, gore, death, yandere satoru, yandere sukuna, etc.

Notes | this fic will be using she/her pronouns for y/n. Also this is a reincarnation fic, so Gojo's name will not be "Satoru" in this part. And please let me know if you want to be in a taglist for this series !! ^-^

Summary | And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you.

Infinity Masterlist

GOJO SAYAMI had a problem.

A problem that decided to pop up when he least expected it to.

And that problem was a grotesque monster named Ryomen Sukuna.

The first time he met Sukuna, he had married y/n, and apparently the damned man turned into a curse not long after her death. Then, as Sayu, he hadn't the chance to meet Sukuna as he had killed y/n rather quickly in that life and then was executed shortly after.

And now, as Sayami, he was wondering what he should do.

Despite being the next head in the clan, he wasn't gifted with the six eyes, in this life. Such a gift was so rare that not all of his lives were able to receive them. In other words, he wouldn't be able to fight the curse known as Ryomen Sukuna.

At least, not in this life.

Don't get Sayami wrong though, he wasn't going to kill himself or y/n to start over in hopes of getting the six eyes in the next life.

Now, even though he wasn't particularly gifted in this life, there were two things he did have. His intellect and y/n. It wasn't easy oursmarting and making the people as his stepping stones, and it definitely wasn't easy getting y/n either.

But, either way, he was finally in a good spot in his life, and he wasn't about to let the newly renowned King of Curses, Ryomen Sukuna, ruin it.

Not now. Not ever.

"So what should I do ..."

[...]

"You're quite the fool."

"Am I now? Even after I came to meet you?"

"You took y/n away from me!"

"You're still mad about that? That was two reincarnations ago, you need to learn to let things go," Gojo taunted as he stood before Sukuna's throne.

In all of Sayami's thinking, he didn't once imagine a scenario where he would actually come and greet the King of Curses himself. He was in uncharted territory. If Sukuna wanted, he could kill Gojo right here, right now.

But Sukuna wasn't like that. (Ok, he was, but Sayami was sure he would be interested in what Sayami had to offer.)

"Mad? I'm fucking livid, you took the one person I ever cared about away from me. All because you're a selfish prick who couldn't go one life without her."

Sayami saw his opportunity and took it.

"Which brings me to this ... let's make a deal, Sukuna."

The curse paused, his towering figure standing from his throne and descending the marble steps, scattered bones being crushed underfoot as he walked.

"A deal?"

Gojo looked up as Sukuna looked down at him, his eyes calculating.

"Yes, a deal. It's as you said. I'm a selfish man who can't go a single life without y/n. You see, I don't understand why she and I keep reincarnating - who knows, I probably cursed the both of us at some point. In each life I knew her, she was never mine, so the deal I want to offer you is simple... let me have her in this life and then she's all yours in the next."

"All mine."

"Of course, though, you are a curse now, so I don't know how easy it'll be for you to woo her in that regard, but I guess that'll be for you to figure out."

[...]

"I do."

To say how overjoyed Gojo Sayami was as he said those two little words would be an understatement.

Sukuna accepted the deal.

Nothing could ruin this moment.

"And do you, Y/n L/n, take Sayami Gojo as your lawfully wedded husband."

Her eyes seemed to shine as she looked at him. Her hands grasped his own, her head tilted up.

"I-"

And in a moment that happiness seemed to shatter.

It all happened too fast for Sayami. His head seemed to be spinning as he fell to his knees. His hands immediately shaking as he looked down to look at the severed arms that he was holding.

"I decided to back out on our little deal, Gojo Sayami. I think I would much rather prefer killing you and taking y/n for myself in each life that you both live."

He looked to his right. The room was a bloody mess as curses went on a rampage on his and y/n's family. Their screams were loud and clear. Blood-curdling.

"So why did you kill her?"

He couldn't bring himself to look at her dead body, cut to ribbons.

"Why? Because you tainted her. I didn't want a woman that was in love with you. Much like how you didn't want a woman who was in love with me."

Sukuna came to stand before him. His four eyes always looking down at him, "I look forward to meeting you in the next life. Let's see who gets to y/n first, yeah?"

Sukuna didn't let him reply as he severed Gojo's head in one broad stroke of his sword. The metal slicing through easily.

It was time to start again.

Infinity Taglist | @whore-for-hawks @esthelily @huicitawrites @flaming-vulpix @zeniiis @rin1802 @mrowwww @kenstarsworld @bubera974 @littleplantofdeath @fangirl-332 @thaliadoesthings @hellsingalucard18 @tamaki-simp @obsessedwithfanfiction @babygivertyrant

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #yandere gojo satoru #yandere satoru gojo #yandere gojo #yandere gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x y/n #gojo x you

233 notes · View notes

futurepastme · 1 month

Text

Before the Dawn of Man in Castles Made of Sand

For the past year i've been trying to write my first fic and I barely even started at all, but from time to time I imagine a few scenes that might or not - probably not- be included on the main story and SOMETIMES I write them down anyway I can, as fast as I can. And sometimes I actually take the time to try writing something decent.

So here is a scene that I though of that supposedly is part of the fic I'm writing but will never happen: ≈2.5k words

Three hundred-ish years ago, the first King of Camelot, King Bruta, signed a very detailed peace treaty with the King of Essetir, Éamonn. It wasn’t a ‘now-we-are-buddies’ agreement or a ‘you’re-in-trouble-let-me-help’ agreement, no, it was a ‘keep-our-shit-to-ourselves’ agreement.

Bonded by blood magic, the treaty stated that as long as a descendant of both the original kings set on the throne of their respective kingdoms, no acts of war, military or otherwise, would be allowed between their kingdoms on penalty of the immediate interruption of the lives of the current rulers and all of their living relatives.

A complete ending of the bloodline, with no one left to salvage it in any way.

The treaty was signed by both Kings and any living heirs they had, so as to make sure that the bloodline was completely bounded by the contract.

The magic, though, had an expiration date. It was powerful, ancient magic, but as the seasons change and the days turn to night, magic, too, is frail against the will of time, and as it passes it would slowly fade into nothingness.

It was stated then at the bottom of the contract, just before the fancy signatures with the swirling loops, that when the time should come for the magic to disappear, both Kingdoms’ current rulers should reunite in a meeting for the reinforcement of the spell and a renewal of the contract. ♦

Some would say that Merlin ran out of time. Which was clearly an exaggeration seeing as he still has plenty of time left. No, really, he still had like, at least five hours before things really go to shit. That’s what he thought, anyway.

But some people, well, everybody but Merlin, would say that he ran out of time a week ago, when the announcement was made; or four days ago when the party was ready to leave and Merlin sat on his horse; or even yesterday when they were still outside of the Kingdom, camping for the night.

But no, he definitely still has a few hours. The party still wouldn't even be able to see the castle for another three, and they wouldn’t reach the lower town for another half hour after that.

Merlin was out of time.

He sat on his saddle, restlessly sweating his nerves out. If Arthur could see him, he would order him to stop, ask what is wrong and call him a girl, all in a single phrase. Arthur couldn't see him, though.

If this were a simple hunting trip, Merlin would be by his side, chattering his ears off and completely disregarding every royal protocol ever written in the history of mankind. But this was a Royal Camelot Party led by King Uther himself, which, of course meant that Merlin was far off the back riding along with the rest of the servants of the Royal Household.

Which meant that he could barely even see Arthur’s stupid golden hair, let alone talk to him about anything.

So, the battle plan, now that he still had plenty of time was that he would avoid everything and everyone that has a mouth or ears or eyes, run for Arthur’s assigned chambers, tell him everything without crying at all and then pray that he could leave said chambers alive and sane. And with his heart unscathed.

It is not every day you tell your master, friend and secret crush that not only your existence is illegal in his father’s kingdom, but you are actually royalty yourself. Royalty of the kingdom they were currently at.

So, Merlin was having a great day, and a stressless week.

And it only got better when the knights arrived.

A small party of seven men, dressed in armor very similar-looking to the ones from Camelot, the only apparent difference being the blue capes and the lack of a royal crest on the chest piece, slowly approached, led by an almost completely gray-haired knight with dark eyes and an almost charming smile.

“Welcome to Essetir, your Majesty, Your Highness. I’m Sir Griogair, we are here to safely escort your Majesty and your party to the gates of the keep.” Merlin hastily pulled his hood and sank lower on the saddle.

Griogair was, in Merlin’s opinion, a slimy little man greedy with power, he has loathed the guy since the day he sat foot in Essetir, every hair on his body reacting with the man’s disgusting nature. But of course, ‘bad feeling’ wasn’t a good excuse not to knight the bravest looking guy his father had seen in years. Especially when you are only thirteen and don't know better yet.

He deserved credit, though, for Griogair was, at the time and still, a very handsome man with charms to spare. He had won over almost everyone in the keep within the week, was knighted within the month, and when Merlin left, he was one of the most high-ranked knights of the kingdom.

But now, for the looks of it, and from the few words he managed to hear all the way from the back, Griogair was not only a First Assembly Knight, and a Dragon Rider of the Kingdom, but has snatched for himself the position of War Mage.

That meant that not only the fucker had learnt magic, but it was skilled and powerful enough to be able to qualify for the position and now could use it freely on behalf of the kingdom. It also meant that, when in mission out of the keep, he would be responsible for dealing with the magical creatures and beings that lived within the borders of the kingdom, interfering as necessary.

Also, that meant that the bastard had clearly taken advantage of Merlin’s absence to ensure the one position Merlin could and would have stopped him from getting.

Anger aside, Merlin took a second to recompose himself and to try to identify the other knights that came with Slimy Griogair. He knew his father wouldn’t send a bunch of low-ranking knights to deal with burn-innocents-at-a-pyre-for-fun Uther Pendrasshole and his entourage.

The three knights that rode on the left side of Slimy Griogair he couldn’t see. Actually, he barely couldn’t see the Snake himself, which he was equally parts glad and concerned.

Of the other three knights that he could see, two he failed to recognize.

But at the front, riding almost side by side with Griogair, he caught a glimpse of curly snow-white hair. Sir Llywelyn was by far his closest knight, 5 years older than himself, the man was a true friend and a fierce knight.

Ending his quick inspection of his men, Merlin lowered his head further, letting the hood blind his vision fully and trusting his horse to follow the others. Friend or foe, Llywelyn or Griogair, it didn’t matter, Merlin had to get home unrecognized by either of them or the other knights.

♦

At this point in his life, one would think Merlin was used to things not going as planned. From magical creatures that appear from nowhere to bandit attacks, Merlin’s day never went as he expected since the day he decided to leave home and follow his magic to the great unknown. The great unknown that led to Camelot and to the unending headache that his life became.

You would think that somebody as powerful and as used to ambushes as Merlin would have been able to feel the approach of a huge flying magical creature, but he had better things to worry about then to be attacked by his own dragon.

The betrayal, honestly.

They had been on the road for another hour since his knights joined Camelot’s Party. Merlin still had his head down, but now his hooded cape had a small spell that kept his hoodie from falling unless he wanted it down.

He was bored. Not only far away from Arthur and from Leon, but he still had to ride at George’s side.

The man has been rambling on for hours about all that was known of Essetir culture and servants’ etiquette, which wasn’t much, but he somehow managed to stretch a 3 pages lost-through-time knowledge into a 40-minute-and-still-going monologue, and also somehow made it more boring than the grain reports.

It went down really fast

One second, he was on his horse, trying to not listen to George and still stay awake, and the other he was on the ground with an extremely heavy, horse-sized, white dragon licking his face.

The second that his brain took to understand the situation was enough to hell break loose.

Camelot’s knights stood on one side, weapons drawn, ready to kill the beast, while his knights tried to protect Aithusa.

There were shouts and threats from both sides, and stupid Griogair, instead of trying to appease the situation and take the unknown Camelot servant from under the huge magic creature that he should be responsible for, no, he was aggravating the situation even more.

He had to do something, now.

By the time he got back on his feet, both sides were ready to attack each other, Arthur’s arm raised slightly, ready for the first strike.

“Enough” he said, walking to put himself between Arthur and Griogair. His voice was loud and clear. A voice of command and power, a voice he hadn’t used in years. It was the strong voice of someone born to lead legions to war. Camelot’s knights relaxed a little, if by shock or relief he didn’t know, but they kept their stance as Arthur scanned him “I’m fine, no harm done.”

He turned fully toward his knights “Lower your weapons, now.”

The problem was, Merlin was still hooded and Griogair was still an asshole “Is this how Camelot’s servants speak with their superiors?” Stupid said, while grabbing Merlin by his clothes and suspending him in midair.

“Put my servant down. Now.” Arthur commanded, his voice dangerously low and calm.

“The boy might have harmed the dragon, until I say he didn’t, he stays in our custody” Griogair, the idiot that can’t read the room, said.

That’s also when Merlin decided to let his hoodie fall.

He heard a few shocked gasps, and felt more then saw his nights stand down and lower his weapons. But nothing would make him loose the amazing sight of Griogair’s shocked face as he began paling to death. “Put. Me. Down.” He said for Griogair’s ears only.

“Y-your Highness” He dropped Merlin like he burned his hands taking half a step back, Merlin would have fallen but right now he wasn’t the clumsy servant anymore, he was the Crown Prince Merlin Ambrosius of Essetir, trained in combat from a young age, and with a political situation on his hands that could lead to war.

“Forgive me, My Lord. I hadn’t realized we were graced with your illustrious presence” His head in a low bow, but his eyes never leaving Merlin’s.

“Sir Griogair”

“It is really good to have you back, Sire. The people start to talk, you see? Rumors about your death spread, but not me, Sire. I knew better, you see? I told them all; No one in the five Kingdoms have more skill or bravery or the complete…”

“Stop talking”

The amusement Merlin felt when he first saw Sir Griogair’s shocked face had slowly diminished and was long gone. Every second that he stood there, posture straight, facing his knights in his kingdom, with the feeling of the stares of another Royal Household burning his right side; the further away he was from the happy servant he was this morning, and now the phantom weight of his crown started pressing down on his head.

“I’m sure you are aware, Sir Griogair, of my reticence towards you when my father first started rising your rank within the knights”

“I’m sure I more than proved myself, Your Highness. The king himself knows; my position was more than des…”

“I’m not done” Merlin interrupted again. His posture as straight as possible, his head held high.

“I’m aware of the King’s feelings in regards of your person; and I’m sure you somehow proved yourself to him in many occasions, my father wouldn’t reward with higher ranks a man he deemed undeserving.” Griogair has stopped bowing, straightening his body and letting a smile that was meant to be charming form on his face.

“Unfortunately,” Merlin continued “I have yet to see the actions that would grant rewards such as your high ranks, and today you have, at my eyes, failed the crown and your kingdom.” His voice was loud enough to be heard by all of the Camelot’s entourage, even George and the other servants at the back.

“Your Highness, surely I can’t be blamed for the actions of a brainless…”

“What my dragon did is irrelevant, as a knight your actions reflect on the kingdom more than anything Aithusa could possibly do, you carry our colours and is responsible for the safety and well being of every living being inside our borders, not only our citizens and creatures, but our guests as well.”

“Sire! I…” He wasn’t smiling anymore; panic was back on his face.

“Unfortunately, your actions today can’t be left unpunished, and at the absence of the king, I’ll be the one to define such punishment; my decision here will be final and would only be overruled by the King himself.”

“Please… Sire!” He fell to his knees, grabbing the hems of Merlin’s cape.

“I hope you know, Sir Griogair, that despite my personal feelings towards you, I take no pleasure in punishing you, in fact, it saddens me deeply that today I have been proven right.” Merlin truly meant that, like it or hate it, the guy was still his knight, he was still his man. “You will be happy to know that, as Crown Prince, I have not the power to permanently remove your knighthood, as it was granted by the King, however I can suspend it.”

The knights started moving behind Griogair, getting into formation. Two lines with three men each, positioned by rank in a way that put Merlin and Griogair at the center. It was the same position they took when somebody was knighted.

With everybody settled in their positions, Merlin twisted his wrist and raised his finger pointing towards Griogair’s chest.

Now, everybody from the Camelot Entourage has at least once seen a knighting ceremony, and surely, most have seen how it goes when such knighthood is removed. However, none of them has ever seen one to the likes of Essetir’s

As a Kingdom with magic at its throne, Essetir’s knighthood works differently.

The king doesn’t simply stand in a pretty room, says some inspiring words, wave around a fancy sword an BAM! you’re a knight, you may rise.

In summary, the knights are essentially bound, to the crown and to each other, by magic. It isn’t the type of bound that forcefully traps them without escape; they can choose to leave if they so desire. No, the bound is connection. It is brotherhood.

When Merlin twisted his wrist, it activated the bound. Only the King and his direct heir could activate the bound in such a way.

On every Essetir Knight’s, at the right side almost on their shoulders, now set a fist-sized symbol, a shield shaped blue light, with the Ambrosius crest. The same shield now also appeared on Merlin, except his was big enough to cover his chest completely.

The pretty crests weren’t the most impressive thing, though. For when Merling flicked his wrist, his clothes, too, changed. As the Crown Prince of Essetir, the activation of the bound by his hand is considered a matter of state; and as such, his clothes must reflect his position and his rank. That is why now, at the middle of the forest stood a Merlin in expensive looking clothing, a cape matching the ones of the knights, and most importantly, a silver circlet with blue and green gemstones.

End English not my first language

#bbc merlin #merthur #if you squint #merlinfic

7 notes · View notes

ironstrange1991 · 2 years

Text

The Point Of No Return (Part III)

A fanfic slightly inspired by the play The Phantom of the Opera

Angst / Horror (just a bit)

Pairing: Sinister!Strange x Fem!Reader / Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: When a strange and dark man starts to haunt the reader's dreams her life is turned upside down and she discovers in the hard way that if you can't wake up from the nightmare maybe you're not asleep at all.

Word Count: 4,190k

Warnings: Dark themes! Psychological manipulation, Dubious consent, Mentions of abuse of medications and alcohol, Mentions of injuries and blood, Deception, Stockholm syndrome(?)

A/N: No smut this time, but don't worry it will come in the next chapter ;) This chapter digs deeper into the story and gives a direction where it will go. I really hope you like it.

---------------------------------

Past the point of no return

No backward glances

Our games of make-believe

Are at an end

Past all thought of if or when

No use resisting

Abandon thought

And let the dream descend

It was Sunday morning and you needed to get out of your apartment, you needed to distract your mind with something other than him.

You went upstairs to your room and took a hot shower to wake up and dressed quickly. It was cold, so you put on a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a sweatshirt that was big enough for you to disappear inside it. It was how you liked to dress when you were sad, as if your sweatshirt was a protective field that protected you from the world.

You put on your headphones and clicked play on your favorite playlist on spotify. You took your wallet and put it in your pocket and left without bothering looking in the mirror. You knew your appearance wasn't the best, the dark circles under your eyes were getting deeper every day, your nails were purple and brittle and your hair was weak and you noticed they were falling.

Maybe you were dead and didn't know it.

You parked in the grocery store parking lot, grabbed a cart, and crawled into the building. You hadn't bothered to make a list so you just roamed the aisles and picked up what you thought you needed without really paying much attention to what you were doing. Your head as always was elsewhere, a place beyond time and space, far from the reality you were in.

A dark, broken world, full of fear and… him. He was the center of everything.

You didn't understand why those dreams terrified you so much, maybe it was because they were so vivid. At least that's what you thought at the beginning, but the truth is that at this point there were other questions that made you question the nature of those dreams. Like the fact that you haven't dreamed of anything else since they started. Not once. It had been months and you've never dreamed of anything else.

And then there was the issue that you didn't forget those dreams. Normal dreams, good or bad, are fragile memories. Often trying to remember a dream was like trying to catch smoke with your hands, they go away, but not these dreams. You remembered each one of them as perfectly as you remembered every other event in your everyday life and maybe even more.

Last, and probably the craziest of all, you knew that it could only be in your head and the result of your sleep deprivation, but you'd realized that ever since the dreams started you'd been wasting away. Not just psychologically, but physically. You felt tired all the time, not to mention your nails and hair.

You tried to convince yourself that it was all in your head and you had a psychiatrist's number for weeks to make an appointment, but you always gave up saying to yourself that you wouldn't be able to tell the truth and the treatment wouldn't work, and deep down you had already convinced yourself that whatever was happening, no doctor could solve it.

“Maybe one doctor can fix it.”

“What did you say?” The cashier's attendant looked at you confused and you realized you had spoken aloud.

“Sorry, I was talking to myself” You smiled at her, but the woman cast a judgmental look at you.

When you came home with your groceries and stuffed them into the fridge and cupboards, you decided the idea of spending the entire afternoon alone in your apartment was unbearable, so you left again without thinking exactly where you were going.

You called Anne, but when she didn't answer you left a message on voicemail asking if she was free and if you could have lunch together. She replied a few minutes later and you arranged to meet at the mall.

“You look terrible” She said coming towards you to greet you. “Sorry girl, but something is not right with you.”

You sighed “I've been having some weird dreams and it's been hard to sleep.”

She looked at you worried.

You walked slowly through the aisles stopping at some stores for Anne to buy something. She wouldn't admit it, but she was a compulsive shopper and after the fifth store you were already wondering if it was a good idea to invite her to a mall.

You sat at a table at a nice restaurant in the food court.

“Tell me about those dreams. Does it have something to do with your father?”

You blinked in surprise “What? No. I haven't thought about my father in a long time. I'm well here away from him. Yeah.. it's something else.”

She waited for you to explain, but how much could you tell her?

“I've been dreaming about Doctor Strange.”

She laughed exaggeratedly “Oh girl, I knew that was your problem. You are in love.”

You sighed in frustration “It's not that, it's...”

She noticed you were serious and held back.

“When I see him in these dreams he doesn't look like him. I mean, he's him, but it's like he's another person, another version of him.”

“Girl, I'm going to give you some advice and you don't have to follow it if you don't want to, but I guarantee you'll feel better if you listen to me.”

You rested your cheek on your hand.

“Knock on the door of the Sanctum Sanctorum and invite this man for coffee. Everyone knows he's single and until the last time I checked the status hadn't changed.”

You blinked in surprise at her suggestion.

“Anne, I can't do that. And you're not listening to me. That's not the point. This Doctor Strange I dream about isn't in the Sanctum in NY.”

Now Anne stared at you as if you weren't talking at all.

“Listen, it's a metaphor, okay? But imagine that there is another Sanctum Sanctorum and another Doctor Strange in a different place, a dark and weird world, like an upside down version of this world.”

She looked at you confused “Now you lost me! You've been watching a lot of series, working a lot and sleeping too little. That's it, you're burnt out.”

You groaned giving up trying to explain and thanking god when your food arrived and changing the subject subtly.

You were leaving when you passed a record store and Anne forced you inside.

She was determined that she needed to buy a specific album to give as a gift to her fiancé, but she couldn't remember the name and the salesman was trying to help her.

You walked away looking at the shelf of classic albums, surprised that people still bought CDs in the first place. You smile at the coincidence when you saw Kate Bush's Hounds of Love album lost among the others. Like Max, you tried using Running Up That Hill in the last volume to try and escape your Vecna, but it didn't work as expected. You rolled your eyes to yourself. That was a terrible metaphor.

You only realized someone was on your side when you took a step to turn around and bumped into the man dropping the cd he had in his hands.

“Oh my god, I'm sorry” You said bending down and picking up the cd “I didn't see you, I'm so distracted.”

“It's okay, do not worry.” You froze recognizing the voice that answered you. You got up handing the cd into his hands. Scarred hands that shook insistently. Only then did you allow yourself to look at him.

Wearing dark jeans, a burgundy shirt and a red scarf was Doctor Stephen Strange himself standing in front of you with a raised eyebrow looking at you confused probably by the strange way you were acting.

He took the cd from your hand smiling and went back to looking at the cd stand. You turned around trying to hide it, but your heart was pounding in your chest and a shiver ran down your spine.

You couldn't explain it, but seeing him in person only reinforced your theory that Doctor Strange wasn't the Doctor Strange of your dreams.

He chose a cd and turned to you smiling and showing. It was U2's Achtung Baby.

"I've been looking for this one for a while" He said, his smile widening and then he walked away going to the cashier and passing Anne on the way. She stared at him wide-eyed and came almost running towards you.

“My God, tell me you gave him your number” She demanded, but you couldn't answer.

She looked at you worriedly “[Y/N], are you ok? I think you're going to pass out, I'm going to ask for help” She started to call someone, but you interrupted her afraid she was going to make a scene.

“I'm fine, just... give me a minute.”

With the start of the week and back to work you thought you might feel better, or maybe less worse, you even managed to eat better and the dreams didn't torment you for a few days. You knew it didn't mean they had stopped, sometimes they took a break for two or three days, but this time it was a whole week. On Friday night you were so tired that you didn't even bother to go downstairs to sleep in the living room as you had become used to, you lay down on your bed and just slept. No dreams, no him.

When Anne commented that you looked slightly better after two weeks without the nightmares you couldn't help but feel annoyed at the comment. Even you didn't understand what it was, but feeling better about not seeing him suddenly felt wrong. You could try to hide as much as you could, but you were missing him. Not the dread you felt every time you woke up in that horrible place, but the way he made you feel the last time you were with him. When you didn't resist.

You've got it into your head that seeing the real Doctor Strange in person must have helped your mind to let go of that twisted idea of him. After all, he seemed to be such a normal guy in that record store. Maybe there was nothing supernatural about those dreams, maybe it was your obsession with the man that made you create that frightening image of him. Drug and alcohol abuse may have helped. Anyway, two weeks later it had stopped and you felt relieved. You were relieved, right? You weren't sure how you felt about it. In a dark and twisted way those dreams contributed to make you feel less alone, now on the other hand you felt physically better, but emotionally you felt lost.

You were determined to understand once and for all what you were feeling, you even started therapy, but when you talked about the dreams you just said that was a strange man. You would never have the courage to admit that you dreamed of Stephen Strange. Your therapist stated that dreams were a manifestation of your mind to suppress an emptiness you felt, a lack of someone or something. The man was the ideal of the man you would like to have in your life. Of course you left out the dark and sickening things that happened in those dreams, but still you got her words in your head. Was that dark version of Doctor Strange your ideal of the man you wanted in your life?

Suddenly the therapy was helping to confuse you more than really helping you understand what you were feeling and that was exactly what you were mumbling to yourself, muttering to yourself when you left the office late at night to return home in that cold Friday night.

With your tight schedule at work, your sessions always started after 6pm and sometimes lasted longer than the combined 120mins, like that night when it was after 8:45pm and you walked around rubbing your arms to keep warm, mentally cursing for having left your coat in the car and having parked the car so far from the office.

You didn't notice that in the middle of the busy streets there was a man following you. How could you? You were too busy replaying the conversation with your therapist in your head, muttering to yourself that it wasn't helping and wouldn't help because you weren't telling the whole truth. You only realized you were being followed when you turned left into a much less busy street, practically deserted.

Your car was at the end of the street and you walked faster looking over your shoulder when the man also quickened his pace. You dug in your bag for your keys and proceeded to practically run away disabling the alarm and unlocking the car, but when you were finally getting close you saw a second man standing against the wall next to your car and your blood ran cold and your heart raced.

You kept walking, slowly now, but when you reached your car the man pushed the door closed again and stared at you with a wicked smile.

“Nice car” He said “What else do you have in that bag?”

The other man approached from behind and snatched your purse from your hand, throwing your things on the floor and grabbing your wallet and cell phone.

“You can have everything” You said, your voice shaking with fear and dread “Just let me go, I promise I won't call the police.”

The man propped up in the car door “Go away? But aren't you enjoying our company?”

You couldn't answer, the fear you felt made it impossible for you to scream, you just turned around and tried to run back the way you came, but the man who followed you there grabbed you by the waist and pushed you back. You tripped and fell to the ground hitting your head on the bumper of the car and feeling dizzy you couldn't fight it when the man lifted you by the hair and yelled at the other

“Take the keys, let's take this whore somewhere more private.”

You struggled when the second man dragged you by the hair opening the car door and tossing you into the backseat. You felt a strange wetness on your head and when you touched it you noticed it was bleeding. Your knees were scraped and bloody and your head was spinning as your mind slowly pulled you into unconsciousness. Totally unaware of the bloodbath that was taking place outside the car leaving the two attackers dead and totally disfigured on the floor of that empty and dark street.

...

He had calculated every action with surgical precision. Every encounter, every time he brought you into his universe had been thought out and planned. Even the distance of the last two weeks was calculated and as much as it hurted to be away from you, he forced himself to maintain that distance when he realized that your constant stay in that universe and consequently exposure to the absurd amount of dark magic he needed use for that was charging a very high price from you.

He could see how you were physically wasting away and he, unlike you, knew it wasn't just lack of sleep.

Yet here he was breaking every rule he'd laid out to protect you from a situation that could have been avoided if you were a little more careful and didn't put yourself in danger so irresponsibly.

He knew he was being unreasonable, but as he carried you unconscious in his arms back to his shattered universe and that damn haunted house and tucked you carefully into his bed he couldn't help but hate you.

He hated the way you made him feel alive again and filled him with poisonous hope, but mostly, he hated the fear you'd caused him when he saw you helpless in the hands of those men. A primal fear of losing you.

He knew he couldn't keep you in that universe without putting you in danger and he couldn't jump into your universe without causing another damn incursion. He hated you for making him ignore all these immutable facts and want to destroy yours and every other universe and all the lives that inhabited them just so he could have you by his side. He hated you because he loved you and because you made him see that life couldn't be lived alone. No more.

He took care of your wounds quickly, it was nothing serious, all it took was a gesture of his fingers for your wounds to close, but he didn't wake you up, he left you sleeping in his bed while he stared out the window watching as his universe collapsed on itself . He didn't know how long it had been since everything had been destroyed, he didn't count the days anymore, he just knew that it had been empty for a long time and he had no idea how much time he had left in that universe before the thing succumbed to emptiness and nothingness and ceased to exist.

He watched you sleeping, so beautiful, so pure and innocent, totally unaware of reality yet clinging to the idea that this was a dream. He knew he needed to tell the truth, he planned the moment and he felt his blood boil that you screwed everything up.

He needed you, you were the only thing that still made him feel alive, even if it was a miserable life filled with hate and an absurd need that was totally aimed at you. Still it was better than his existence before he found you.

He couldn't lose you, he couldn't free you, he needed you even if he condemned you to a cursed existence in that universe, even if he condemned you to death when that universe finally died. At least you would die together. For so long he flirted with death. Not facing it alone was almost poetic even though he knew how sickening the idea of sacrificing you was. He wouldn't give up on you. After all, it was your fault for being so perfect in his eyes, for making him fall so sickly in love with you. For giving him a breath of life.

You regained consciousness and opened your eyes completely disoriented. When you found yourself in that room you assumed you were dreaming again, but the memory of the attack you suffered filled your chest with a primal fear, you sat up in bed suddenly screaming at the nothing around you. If that was a dream, did that mean you were unconscious still in the back seat of your car? The idea was too frightening. You needed to wake up, you needed to fight for your life or at least die trying.

You were so scared that you didn't notice the man standing motionless looking out the window. Your heart raced in your chest, you knew it didn't make sense, that he wasn't the one who allowed you to wake up or not, that it was all in your mind, but you couldn't help but try.

“Please, I need to go back” You said begging as tears streamed down your face “I'm going to die if I don't wake up, you need to help me...”

He turned and stared at you with a look that was hard to decipher. He was clearly angry, eyebrow raised, but there was a sadness in his eyes you'd never seen before.

“You're not dreaming. You never were.”

You fell silent, a ringing in your ear and your vision dimming seemed to want to drag you into unconsciousness again with the shock of his words.

“I intended to do it another way” He lowered his head looking anywhere but at you “I wish you had time to get used to the idea, so you could get used to me, so you could...” He didn't finish.

You found your voice, but it came out strangled “What do you mean it's not a dream? Of course it's a dream. I was attacked, I must be sleeping.”

He stared at you “You wouldn't have been attacked if you'd been more careful!”

You looked at him offended “More careful? I was leaving for home. It wasn't even that late. Those men came out of nowhere.”

He clenched his hands into fists, purple magic emanating from them. “I killed them.”

That didn't make any sense. You were still in complete denial. That couldn't be true. As comforting as the idea of being safe rather than unconscious in the backseat of your own car, it implied that you would have to accept that this place, that man, the things you did were all real.

He approached the bed and you instinctively recoiled “Prove it!”

He sighed, gesturing with his hands, and a book he kept strapped to his waist levitated in front of him, red magic pouring out of its pages as he opened it and forming little spheres in the air. He moved his fingers picking up one of the spheres and with both hands he expanded it revealing a scene that was unfolding right in front of you.

You saw yourself walking down the dark street, saw when the two men approached you and when you were thrown into the car seat. You gasped when you saw a kind of portal opening in the middle of the street, a purple light emanating from it as that version of Doctor Strange passed through it.

He could have just stopped them, but what you watched was pure savagery. The men were armed with knives, but they didn't stand a chance against his quick movements. One of them was lifted into the air while the other tried to run and was thrown against the wall.

You looked away without being able to look at the scene, but the screams, the screams were etched in your head.

You didn't see when he made it all disappear, nor when he approached the bed and sat beside you, you just felt his hand touching yours and you gasped for air.

“I know it's hard to understand, but everything I did was because I love you.”

You sucked in air hard trying to breathe “You killed them.”

He nodded “They would have killed you. They would have done much more than that. I saved you because I couldn't bear to see someone hurting you. [Y/N], I love you. Everything I did, bringing you here... was because of my love for you.”

Tears streamed down your face. It was a lot to take in, but what scared you the most was that deep down you were relieved to finally understand that there was nothing wrong with you. You weren't going crazy. It was all real, but what would you make of that information?

“I don't understand...”

He stared at you silently as if analyzing your every expression. His lips were a thin line. He waited for you to say what you were thinking.

“... How can you be real? This place. You're not Doctor Strange, I've seen him. He's nothing like you.”

He glared at you, his face taking on a hard, angry expression.

“You're right. He's not like me.”

You didn't say anything else, your mind was a confused noise, you couldn't formulate your thoughts into words.

“You are in another universe. My universe.” He sighed and a bitterness crossed his eyes as he looked away from you and looked around “Or what was left of it.”

“Does that mean that... the multiverse... is real?”

He nodded.

“So.. are there other versions of me?”

He nodded looking at you sadly “In all other universes but this one.”

He didn't go into details and you didn't ask what that meant.

‘’I used to dream about you every night the same dream and when I woke up... you weren’t here. I couldn’t touch you. Can you imagine how it felt for me not being able to touch you?”

He sighed. “The Darkhold made it possible for me to be with you. I learned to use it, but things got out of hand, as you can see.”

He looked around and you felt a shiver down your spine realizing what he was talking about. “You cause this?”

“I was looking for a way to be with you and I found it. I would do it all over again if I had to just to have you by my side. I destroyed this universe and I would destroy many more for you.

I killed uncounted number of lives because of you and I would do it all over again.

Because I love you and no one, no one will ever love you like I do. "

He sighed " Isn’t the most beautiful prove of love you could ever get, my love?”

You felt the tears running down your face you were terrified and yet you knew deep down you felt the same. You loved him and that felt so wrong, so sick. You should run away from him, he was a monster after all, but you didn’t want to run.

Did that made you a monster too?

MASTERLIST

____________________________

Part 4 already posted. You can read it HERE

SPOTIFY playlist (Songs that inspired my stories)

Tag list @drstrangesgirl91 @polytheatrix @dragonqueen89 @newtsniffles @strangelockd @evelynrosestuff @cute-angi @aisling1985 @whiskeyho @prix1994 @graveyzxbabe @kirithadilitirio @sherlux @xourownsidee @rbymoon @kakashibabe02 @hobimysolecito @geeky-politics-46 @hobimysolecito

204 notes · View notes

virgo-dream · 1 year

Text

✨ dreamling / fluff / acts of service / mature ✨

SUMMARY: It’s been 10 days since Dream of The Endless was rescued from Fawney Rig by one Hob Gadling, who takes it upon himself to see to Dream’s recovery. While with Hob, Dream is provided with something he’d been missing even before his imprisonment: to be cared for. read ch. 02: healing waters (2,3k+ words) here or on AO3 AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thank you all so much for the overwhelming amount of love on chapter one!!! For this chapter and the next one, I wanted to try a role reversal of one of my fav scenes from @avelera's absolute masterpiece, Giving Sanctuary. If you've read that, you'll know the scene when it gets to that point. :) happy reading!

The gentle warmth of Hob's arms and chest as Dream rests on them on his way to the kitchen is a feeling like none other. It matches the warmth of his soul, the one he'd seen shine brighter than any other on a poorly lit tavern back in 1389. He lets his head rest on Hob’s shoulder, curling into the safety of his hold. It feels right, somehow, and while he’s usually able to alter his physical form in whatever way serves a situation best, he doesn’t need to; Hob is willing to adapt for him. What a lovely feeling, to not be the one reshaped for the other. And how good it feels to have Hob want to fit with him.

That was, if that was truly what was happening. Dream had misinterpreted Hob's intentions multiple times throughout their centennial meetings, and while he had a feeling that in 1889 Hob had been inching towards something more than just friendship, Dream was not Dream. He was the Lord of Dreams, King of Nightmares. Mystery shaped as a man. Here, he was as weak as any other living creature. If he'd ever had a shot at anything more than friendship, it would have been back then, definitely not now.

"...Dream?"

Hob's voice snaps him out of whatever spiral he'd been currently descending. When he looks up, it's to find a pair of worried brown eyes, with brows knit upwards and a gentle smile. "Hey there. Still with me, mate?"

Dream tilts his head to the side, nose scrunching up a little in disapproval. Was mate some sort of term of endearment now? He knew Hob had not meant it literally. The twisted expression seemed to garner a chuckle out of his strong armed friend, who still had Dream tucked close to his chest. "Alright, I won't call you that. You okay?"

"...yes." It's an effort to speak, it really is. His throat feels dry, and he'd spent so long without exercising those muscles that his usual low register now seemed more like a faint ghost of its old glory. He cleared his throat, and Hob watched every little twitch of the little muscles on his face like he was cataloguing them. Certainly to be better able to predict his outbursts. Humans acted in self preservation, always.

It was hard to keep that belief when Hob's smile of relief didn't seem to unburden him of some deep seated fear of Dream's menace, but only of worry for him. "Alright, let's get you comfortable."

Dream noticed how all of Hob's efforts in his care were all planned quite thoroughly. He might not have been sure if Dream would want to eat in the kitchen, but Hob was an optimist, and had already left the chair pulled and placed one of the many throw pillows that usually adorned his brown leather couch on the seat as a cushion. When Hob helped him sit down, it was with incredible precision, as if he had experience tending to the injured. Maybe he did, Dream couldn't know. Well, he could have. He just never bothered to. Regret seemed to pile up in his chest.

Hob then reached for a blanket to place over Dream's legs, lastly grabbing a pair of fluffy slippers that he kept in the little shoe closet in the entry hall, then kneeling down to place them carefully on his feet. "Wouldn't want you getting cold feet." He says, and smiles up at Dream before getting back up on his feet and moving to turn the stove back on.

Dream liked watching as Hob went about his human motions. He knew of those things, saw them in dreams and in the rare visits he made to the Waking. He'd never experienced them first hand, which gave a whole new meaning to having a home cooked meal made for him. Not just for him, but made by Hob for him. It made him feel warm even before the bowl was placed in front of him and the soup poured into it, before the smell of well seasoned peas and of a plate of newly made slices of toast entered his nose, so different from the violence of the smell of iron blood. It's gentle and inviting. Suddenly, his stomach makes itself aware of its own existence, and he can feel his mouth fill with saliva. Dream reaches for the spoon, fingers still a little shaky, but not without warning. "Careful not to burn your tongue. It's still hot."

As his fingers take the cold metal of the silver spoon in hands, the weight feels completely foreign. Not as light as he remembered, not as heavy as it should have ever been. Of the many inconveniences of human existence, fatigue certainly was one of Dream's least favourite to experience. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying his best to hold the spoon. How could he be reduced to such weakness? How could humans take so much from him, when all he ever did was give and give and give. Endless as he was, his patience was limited. He was limited. He could feel the shape of his sister's hands squeezing his chest, the weight of her palm pressed in the centre, sinking the bone in.

Dream?

He wanted to puke, but there was nothing in his stomach yet to fuel it. Maybe the bile of his own disgrace, burning his throat on its way up would better serve the purpose of his little pity party.

Dream…? Come back…

Far away, he could hear the sound of metal falling. Was it iron again? A clinking sound, ringing inside his ears, getting louder and louder.

"Dream. Come back to me, Dream."

Warmth substituted the coldness of the metal in his palm. It seemed to chase away the grip of Despair as well, with warm, circling motions on his back. Dream blinked, and the tears swelling on his eyes finally fell. Blue eyes as sacred as those of a doe targeted Hob. To be powerless and insist on emulating power.

"...is everything okay? Do you want to go back to bed? We can eat in bed if you'd like."

Such kindness, sweet as honey. But even honey can overwhelm the palate.

"...all is fine." A pitiful try at a lie. A merciful play of belief on Hob's part.

Hob squeezed Dream's hand before letting go, and the freezing cold that took his palm almost seemed to tell him damned if you do, damned if you don't. His caring friend let out a huff of air through his nose, trying to recompose his sunny disposition. He smiles, like smiles can wash all sins away– and maybe for him they do, because who wouldn't forgive Hob Gadling?– Taking the spoon Dream had dropped and setting it across the table. He reached behind him for a clean one on the top drawer, and turned back to Dream. Unwritten agreements. He'd help Dream eat, and wouldn't ask for permission. Dream would pretend it was for Hob's own benefit and not his own. Now in Hob's capable hand, the spoon made its way to Dream's lips, and when it finally entered his mouth, finally poured its content onto starved tongue, the dreamlord was reminded once again that sustenance is also about pleasure. He hums, and as the silver spoon escapes his lips again, he allows himself to look into Hob's eyes. The pride is there again, but Dream reads it as being proud of a job well done.

Hob finally lets a breath out; he seemed to have kept it in for a while. Humans forgot to breathe too, sometimes.

˜˜˜

Dream didn't know how many of these contracts of good faith the both of them had signed across the last 10 days. He was reminded now that it included, on Hob's part, an offering of unwavering patience and good humour, a gentleness in his motions and a carefully curated tone to his speech. Still, so much spontaneity; in how happy he'd get when Dream finished a meal, when he asked for a little more, and Hob would heat it up just perfectly, pour it in the white porcelain bowl before him. How he'd spread butter on Dream's toast, or brought a glass of fresh water to parched lips. He'd even clean the corners of Dream's mouth with as many napkins as needed, and not say a single thing about it. He didn't gloat, and he certainly didn't ask for any sort of boon. Dream's part of the contract was just this: allow himself to receive care. And while in previous days the Lord of Dreams and King of Nightmares would be offended by the assumption that he needed assistance in being fed, or in anything else, really, that's not the entity sitting on the soft chair in Hob's kitchen. It was Dream, just Dream. His Dream.

The meal, as the others he recalled having while in Hob's care, was perfectly adequate. Perhaps, more than adequate. He'd maybe fashion dreams around him once he was in shape for it, if not only to be able to keep having those meals in the Dreaming. Hob would certainly not want to cook for him forever. Dream let out a little sigh as he was finally done eating, and Hob let his shoulders relax, putting the spoon down and reaching for his own, ready to eat his own dinner. It was time for Dream to watch him, as he used to do in centuries past. Study Hob, catch up with everything he'd missed, even though he didn't have to. Even though he could have chosen to stay.

It was difficult, chasing guilt away.

˜˜˜

Hob had sat him on the armchair next to the bed, by the open window. It seemed to always be open when Dream was awake, and the suspiciously good weather would usually make the Endless feel like there was meddling of some sort happening, but this was not his own realm, where his temperament reigned supreme. If anyone was lord of the Waking, it was Hob Gadling, and if the Waking bent to his will, sunny skies and soft summer rain would be all there ever was.

Dream could feel the softness of the last rays of sunshine crawling up their place in the sky, painting the room in gentle tones of gold and orange. The gentle summer breeze caressed his cheek, and he allowed his eyelids to close, resting his tired pupils for a bit. Hob's voice brought him out of it almost immediately, or maybe he'd fallen asleep, because the bed was fully made, sheets freshly changed once his eyes opened again.

"Hello, sleepy head." There was that smile, again. Sunshine as a soul, shining from within. "Thought I heard you snoring there."

Dream crinked his nose in his usual expression of disbelief, but there was no anger behind it. Maybe a bit of confusion. He was sure he'd only blinked. "I do not snore."

Hob shrugged, and reached to brush the loose strands of black feathery hair away from Dream's eyes, a mirror of what he'd done earlier. "You said you didn't sleep either, but here we are."

He thought to refute Hob, but there was plenty of evidence that he did sleep.

"Since we're being adventurous today, what about a bath?"

Dream tilted his head slightly, unsure of what exactly was adventurous about a bath. He would certainly not drown, and there was really no need for it. "My body does not require washing."

Correction: there usually was no need for it. If Dream were to use his powers to keep his physical form clean, he'd exhaust himself and sleep for the rest of the week.

Hob's expression showed an incredible amount of lovingness, almost as if he was watching a child trying to put together the pieces of a jigsaw, but one was far out of reach and he needed to hand it over. "It's not about your body, Dream, it's about your mind. I know you're probably the cleanest being in all of existence. But your mind could maybe use a bath, right?"

How one bathes the mind was clearly beyond Dream's grasp. Humans were funny with how they bent and reshaped their words into new meanings. "...alright."

He wondered if saying yes to Hob had always brought such wide smiles out. How he wished he'd stayed to listen when he had the chance. "I'll get the water ready then!"

The excitement in Hob's voice made Dream allow himself a smile too, and it seemed to stop Hob from saying whatever it was he was following with. How terrifying it was, to be seen. The smile was gone, and Dream's brows knit close. "Have I done something wrong?"

"–No! Of course not, my friend. It's just. Nice. Seeing you feeling better."

Hob's honestly felt like a caress to the cheek, and perhaps it was the warmth of the imagined touch of his hand on Dream's face that caused it to be tinted in a soft pink shade. Maybe Hob had felt the will of Dream's hand to reach for his cheek, because it now matched Dream's in shade. "I'll. Get the water started."

Dream watched as Hob hurried to the bathroom, and maybe there was awe in his eyes. His own frail palm went to investigate the warmth on his cheeks. I need to be more careful. I would not have him think I wish to take advantage of this arrangement. Of his kindness. Hob is my friend. Hob is my friend. Hob is my friend. I am his Dream.

The sound of water running underscored the speed of Dream's overthinking, and same as the tub, there was no release for the current of thoughts filling up his mind. Dream had always been very attentive and alert to his surroundings. It had been impossible to surprise him, because surprises were never good, and there was only so little distaste he could handle in one endless lifetime. Still, he never had to exercise attention for 100 years straight. That muscle was also strained. When Hob walked up to him, it took Dream a moment to realise he was there. "Hm?"

"Bath is ready." Hob's sleeves were rolled up over his elbows, and his hair was now loosely tied in a short ponytail. He reached out to take Dream's hand. The walk to the bathroom was much shorter than to the kitchen, and Hob had said before that Dream needed to make the effort to walk, even if just a little bit every day. "If you try to walk to the bathroom, I'm granting you with left side of the couch privileges for the rest of the week. You know that's my favourite side." Dream chucked, and Hob's expression seemed to melt, again, into a loving one. "I shall accept your most generous offer."

Their hands were linked once again, and Dream felt a lightness that had been foreign to him even before his imprisonment. He felt like if he was holding Hob's hand, there was nothing he couldn't do. It was time for a bath.

#may dream #dreamling #hob x morpheus #hob x dream #dreamling fic #the sandman fanfic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 author #domestic fluff #hurt/comfort #virgo dream writes

59 notes · View notes

porkchop-ao3 · 2 years

Text

A Thrill I've Never Known (Chapter 68)

One Last Ride

Here I come again with my sparodic posts! This one is a heavy one. I'm actually very nervous about posting this because it could go either way with how it's received 😂 but, this is something I've been wanting to include for a while and after a lot of umming and ahhing over whether it was a good move, I decided to go for it. I'd love to hear your thoughts!

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

Dutch and Arthur worked their way down to the bottom floor of the building. I couldn't see them but I could hear their guns, and their shouts of warning to one another. It was surreal, having listened to their conversation, to witness them working together one last time. But I was thankful for it. I started to believe that Dutch was going to keep his word, that he'd leave Arthur in peace and he and I would be able to have a somewhat normal life after all this was over, without having to keep one eye open at all times, expecting Dutch to break down our door one night.

I had since retrieved my revolver from its holster, just in case. The men coming in were thinning out and I was lucky that all their attention was on the outlaws they knew were there. It was too dark in my hiding place and nobody glanced my way; but still, it didn't hurt to have my gun at the ready in case one did happen to spot me.

But eventually there was a break in the gunfire and the flow of enemies flooding in through the doors; long enough for Arthur and Dutch to make their way out of the building.

"Let's get out of here," I heard Dutch say from the other end of the room, followed by a shuffling of feet along the dusty floor.

"Separately," Arthur reminded him, an almost offended tone to his voice. As if he thought Dutch had misinterpreted the whole situation as some rekindling of their partnership.

Dutch scoffed, "well, of course."

The footsteps approached more quickly, closer, one of them was about to walk directly past my hiding spot and my heart hammered. I held my breath and stayed as still as I could. They wouldn't see me if they didn't glance in my direction, I just had to be quiet...

I saw Dutch first, striding towards the archway into the next room, the room I had entered through, eyes set straight ahead as he passed through a few feet ahead of Arthur, who was much closer to me. I stared at him as he passed, close enough for me to touch if I reached out between the pipes… but he didn't see me. Thank god. Of course he'd find out that I'd come here sooner or later; Charles probably wouldn't keep it quiet, nor Abigail or Miss Grimshaw, but I just didn't want him finding out there and then. I didn't know what would happen.

I watched as Dutch passed through the archway, Arthur just a little bit behind him, more voices from outside setting me on edge right before a loud noise made me dizzy from a burst of adrenaline. I flinched and closed my eyes for barely a second, mind immediately trying to work out what the sound was; some kind of explosion, but not like a gunshot, nor dynamite– then my eyes opened and all I saw was Arthur on the floor, steam filling the archway from a burst pipe. Then he was obscured by men in uniform, one yelling as he laid eyes on him.

"We got one! A white one!"

Things happened almost quicker than my mind could process; a soldier descended on Arthur, a knife in his hand. Arthur gripped his wrists with both hands, narrowly keeping the blade from his neck, and in between lifting my gun and stepping out from my hiding spot, I registered the sight of Dutch, partially hidden by steam, taking one last look at the man he once called his son, and walking away.

A gunshot sounded out, very quickly followed by another, and another; though I had only pulled the trigger once. After watching two bullets hit the soldier on top of Arthur, I spun to look behind me as a second soldier dropped to the ground. The second gunman was Eagle Flies, scanning the room for more threats, missing the one entering the room behind him. Without thinking I fired my gun twice at the soldier, missing the first shot with a cloud of dust bursting from the wall behind him, the second slicing through his neck.

The seconds after the chaos seemed silent, but it was just the numbing of my ears from the gunshots reverberating in the room, and soon the hiss of the burst pipe reappeared. I spun back around to see Arthur, shoving the body that had fallen on top of him away, rolling onto his side to lift himself up, his eyes catching mine and appearing to freeze. In fact, everything froze. Just for a few seconds.

"What in the goddamn hell are you doing here?" He yelled after time restarted, continuing his journey up to his feet.

"Well it's a damn good job I am here, ain't it? I won't hear no arguing," I growled at him with a kind of anger that I didn't ever think I'd direct at him… but it wasn't really directed at him, was it? He was just the first person in the firing line when it suddenly dawned on me, when the emotion hit me, when it really sunk in that I'd just watched Dutch leave Arthur to die.

I stormed away from Arthur and Eagle Flies when I was satisfied that neither of them were harmed and there were no more men on the way, and headed out through the archway to follow Dutch, avoiding the steam. I wasn't sure whether the intention was to stop me or protect me but I heard Arthur's footsteps follow, and Eagle Flies' too. When I emerged from the building I saw the horses had gathered, the commotion and noise putting them on edge; they had clearly sought safety in numbers. Rayna was there, Jet too, among others. Dutch had one foot in the stirrup, about to mount his white Arabian, when he realised he wasn't alone.

Dutch turned his head, his eyes betraying his surprise at seeing me there, of all people. It was enough to have him step down and turn to face me.

"What the hell was that, you evil, nasty, snake of a man?" I seethed, spit projecting from my mouth like venom with the force of the words I was spewing, "oh what am I saying, you ain't a man, you're a coward! A pathetic coward who'd let some other man do the job that you were too scared to attempt!"

"Excuse me?" He drawled, cocking his eyebrow. I saw his hand rest gently on his hip just shy of his holster. I doubted he would even have the guts to do anything to me with Arthur on my tail, so it didn't concern me. Just ask the last man who tried.

"You heard every word, you're a spineless coward!" I yelled, surprised nobody had stopped me yet. I wondered how far I'd get before there was a hand to pull me back or a stern voice to warn me.

"What exactly have I done?" He had the gall to ask and I growled in frustration before closing the gap between us, standing just a few paces from him.

"Exactly nothing! You walked away! You left him to die!"

"I did no such thing, I wasn't even aware there was any problem," he shook his head and raised his brows with an innocence that made my blood boil.

"You know what you did," I shoved him, he stumbled but remained standing. I heard the anxious whinnies from the horses but still no voices behind me. "You know damn well!" I shoved him again, he stepped back, his mouth twitched and his expression became angry.

"Arthur, will you get a handle on your woman?" He grumbled, "or I might have to do something you'll regret." The horses were definitely spooked, so on edge after all the gunfire, and the shouting wasn't helping.

"Oh, shut it," Arthur retorted, surprisingly. He seemed just as angry with him as I was. He'd been betrayed.

"Your words are so empty! You shake a man's hand and promise him peace, and in the next moment you stab him in the back," I yelled, and even Rayna was losing her cool, side stepping and fidgeting on her hooves, eyeing us up from her spot just a few feet back from Dutch. If I wasn't so livid, I would've taken notice. But I practically had tunnel vision, honed in solely on the snake before me.

"And to think he ever showed one drop of loyalty towards you," I continued through bared teeth, stepping closer to him once more. "You're lucky Arthur's as good a man as he is, anyone else would've had you in the ground already!" I gave him one last shove, harder than the rest. He stumbled badly, not expecting such force from me, and lost his footing in the soft mud underfoot. He fell on his ass, his back falling back against Rayna's left hind leg.

I knew that she had been spooked. I knew she was completely on edge and probably seconds from bolting. And I knew what horses did when a sudden threat came from behind them. But none of that information mattered in the moments I was spewing all my vitriol and rage towards a man I genuinely, truly hated. I couldn't think of the consequences of my actions; and that was not an excuse, it was a genuine failing on my part. A complete loss of control that I couldn't for one second defend in the aftermath of the argument; in those heart-stopping moments after Dutch fell against my horse, and her back legs kicked out instinctively, and her hoof collided with the side of his head with the most gruesome thump of a sound I'd ever heard.

He dropped like a lead weight as Rayna took off, the other horses scattering too. At the moment of impact not a sound escaped him, not even a grunt of pain, or a gasp of shock. He just dropped. Out like he'd been out for hours, but in a split second.

It was the kind of incident where people pitifully made comforting offerings like; well, at least there was no suffering. The kind of incident that was so pointless and insignificant, such a shame, but who could've helped it? The kind of ill fate that was met by inexperienced stable boys or poor fools who were simply victims of bad timing. The kind that would be in the papers of a small town, and the locals would tut and shake their heads out of mild sadness, but mostly indifference, and it would be forgotten before the day was out.

It was a death that was so anticlimactic, that it was almost not befitting of the infamous Dutch Van Der Linde. And yet, the man laid there in the mud, still, lifeless, just seconds after we'd all seen him talking and moving. Minutes after he cleared a whole building full of men, shooting them one by one and taking lives like they were nothing. And yet… he suffered a death even less remarkable than those who'd been shot by a criminal at large.

In a weird way… it almost felt too easy.

I don't know what possessed me to make my next move; throwing myself to my knees at his side, shaking him by the shoulders and grabbing his face by the chin, tilting his head towards me. His eyes were still open, though not looking at anything within this realm. I tapped his cheek, my fingers becoming sheathed in a sticky red coating from the bloody dent in the side of his skull. There was a lot of blood, more than I would've expected considering how little time had passed since the injury occured.

"Dutch," I hissed, as if trying to wake him from a deep sleep.

"Shit, Dutch," Arthur breathed, stepping towards us. I peered up at him and saw his expression, eyes pinned open wide, lips dry and hanging slack, all the colour in his cheeks drained away.

Eagle Flies was behind him, staring with a gruesome wince, though he seemed unsure of what to say. Unsure of what was appropriate. After all, were we to be happy or sad about the events that unfolded? Even I didn't know.

My eyes flicked back to Arthur's, by then his had met mine. "I'm sorry–" I choked, the words coming out as if I'd spoken them immediately after breaking the surface of water underneath which I'd been held to the point of almost drowning. I hadn't taken a breath since Dutch had fallen.

My next breaths were quick and ragged and I pushed up to my feet, stumbling back and looking down at Dutch again. Part of me was waiting for him to come around, to sit up and berate me for pushing him so hard, rubbing his sore head. The weird ashen tone to his skin, changing so quickly as the blood continued to spill onto the mud below our feet, was proof enough that that wasn't going to happen. I covered my mouth with my hand and turned away, I couldn't look any longer.

Arthur swallowed hard, looking back and forth between Dutch and me, the colour gone from his face, looking almost as sickly as the man laying on the ground. He made a number of quiet noises, sentences barely begun, just voicing a syllable or two before deciding that wherever it was going wasn't suitable.

Footsteps approached, hasty at first, then coming to a sudden stop. I looked towards the source and found Charles and Sadie, taking in the scene before them with unconcealed confusion and surprise within every aspect of their body; from the stiff limbs and the unblinking eyes, to the grim shape of their mouths.

"Is that– was he shot?" Sadie asked first, coming to life a little quicker than Charles, rushing over to get a closer look. Our silence prompted her to look at the three of us, standing still stunned. "What happened?"

"It's my fault," I began, rubbing my fingertips together and feeling the sticky drag of dried blood between them; Dutch's blood. "I made a mistake–"

"You shot Dutch?" Sadie's eyes narrowed, not in judgment but pure disbelief.

"That's not a gunshot," Charles observed, having come out of his shock to investigate. He crouched beside Dutch, placing his hand carefully over his eyes, pressing them down to close them and hide that empty, glassy stare.

"It was an accident," Arthur's hand momentarily brushed across the small of my back as he passed me, coming beside Charles. "The horses were spooked and he got a kickin'. We should bury him," the casual tone which Arthur used concerned me because I knew that it was false.

"It weren't an accident, I pushed him," I breathed, my eyes widening, flashing between Sadie, Charles and Arthur, searching their expressions for anger or disgust but finding only concern.

"You didn't intend for this to happen," Arthur said. Charles gave him a questioning look but wordlessly helped him lift the body.

"No I didn't but I– I pushed him, it's my fault," I said, following them closely as they carried him to Jet, carefully draping him across the horse's back. His arm slipped down, swinging like a doll's. My mouth filled with saliva as nausea suddenly threatened to empty my stomach. I swallowed it down and averted my gaze.

"It ain't your fault, I let things get out'a hand, after what happened in there I–" he began, but stopped, frowning to himself. "You saved me from a lot'a guilt."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I questioned.

"What happened in there?" Charles asked, his face screwed up in a mix of confusion and frustration, then he looked at me, "you shouldn't even have been here. Arthur, I warned her to stay hidden."

"If she hadn't been there it'd be me you'd be burying. Same goes for Eagle Flies, them two saved me," Arthur said, then cast a dark eyed glance towards Dutch, "after he left me for dead."

Quiet settled over the group as Arthur turned to his horse, adjusting the hat on his head as he paused, considered something for a while. He soon turned back.

"Charles, you go back with Eagle Flies, take him to his father. They need to move on from here, fast."

"So all this was for nothing–" Eagle Flies began, quieting at a firm hand on his shoulder, he met Charles' eyes.

"You saw what a mess this became. This situation is past saving, you know that," Charles said softly. Eagle Flies' mouth became a stiff line, his brows to match, but he stayed silent. "The army will come to the reservation, they'll show no mercy. Think about your family."

Eagle Flies closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging. He didn't say a word, but when he opened his eyes again, he gave a single nod of his head.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, then looked at Sadie, "go back to camp, start moving. I think it's time we put some distance between us and this mess. You got a plan?"

Sadie nodded, "John and Abigail have a way out of here, they've got a boat at Copperhead Landing. When we get back to camp I'm leaving with them, just to get away from here. Then I'll figure things out from there."

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement, then looked at me, "go with Sadie. I'll meet back with you all at camp."

"I'm coming with you," I protested.

"No sweetheart, I'll… I'll bury him. Then I'm coming to get you."

"You shouldn't do that alone, I should be–"

"Please," Arthur interrupted me. I knew not to argue, his eyes pleaded with me; he wanted to do this alone. I nodded, swallowing down another generous helping of guilt – and saliva – and whistled Rayna over.

She seemed to have calmed down since the incident, and was blissfully oblivious to what she'd just done. She'd achieved what most bounty hunters could only dream of with one simple reflex… I patted her on the neck with a sigh.

"Well, it looks like this is it," Arthur said. Charles stepped forwards, taking a deep breath before speaking.

"Looks like it," he agreed, "I'll leave with Eagle Flies and the rest of the tribe. I'll stay with them."

A lengthy pause occurred, before finally Arthur gave a nod of acceptance; the moment had finally come. We were separating from those we cared for the most.

"Good luck, Charles. It's been…" he trailed off. Charles nodded, and the two came together in a brief embrace. They nodded at each other when they parted, no words could've encapsulated the emotion shared in those moments, words were both unnecessary and inadequate.

Charles looked at me then, "stay out of trouble, alright? Go with Sadie, get ready to get out of here."

I nodded my head, and stepped forwards into his open arms too. I squeezed him tight, his arms practically compressing the air out of my lungs. We all knew it would be a long time before we could see each other again.

"Good luck, be careful," I told him.

"Of course. I won't say goodbye, this isn't the last time we'll meet," he responded as we parted and he turned his attention to Sadie, giving her a squeeze too.

"Of course not, we'll find a way to keep in touch," Arthur said.

"We all will," Sadie agreed.

"Now let's get out of here. Everyone keep off the main roads, keep a low profile. We don't want any more drama," Arthur said, mounting his horse.

"Where will you go?" I asked him, lunging forwards before he could think about leaving. He met my eyes and reached a hand out to my cheek.

"Don't worry about that princess, I'll come for you."

I took his hand in mine and brought it to my mouth, kissing his palm and his fingertips, before releasing him and stepping back. Arthur gave a final nod to the group, tipping his hat at Eagle Flies. "Send my regards to your father. I wish you all the best."

"Of course. Look after yourself Mr. Morgan, and I'd like to thank you for all your help. Even though we're forced to move on from here, we did all we could, and so did you," he responded, closing the distance between them and reaching to shake Arthur's hand firmly. Arthur patted his wrist and gave it a squeeze with his opposite hand, nodding.

"I just hope you can all find some peace. You surely deserve it."

Eagle Flies let go of Arthur, took a step back and looked at me. "And thank you. Don't think I didn't notice how you took out that other soldier back there," he said. I shook my head and smiled.

"Thank you for showing up when you did. I couldn't have shot them all by myself, it could've been a lot different if you weren't there."

"Well, then I guess we were both just in the right place at the right time," he said, and I reached my hand out for him to shake, which he did so with a lighter and gentler hand than he'd used with Arthur. "Although, perhaps this all could have been avoided if I hadn't listened to that traitor," he added, inclining his head towards Dutch.

"What's done is done," Charles said, and I agreed with him. "We can only look forward."

"Good luck, Eagle Flies, send my best to your father and your family," I told him, and with a smile, he responded.

"Thank you, I will. I wish you luck also."

Sadie mounted her horse and I followed suit, watching as Charles also mounted his, sharing with Eagle Flies as a number of his fellow tribe members gathered after checking the coast was clear for us to get moving. We each shared a few final nods and moments of eye contact, and it was another time where words were useless; all that could be said had already been said, we were just clinging onto those last moments together for as long as we could.

And then, we headed our separate ways. Charles and Eagle Flies in one direction, Sadie and I in another, and finally Arthur on his own path; one final ride with Dutch. A true, final ride.

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #fanfiction #atink #red dead redemption fanfic

21 notes · View notes

lunarsilkscreen · 9 months

Text

Jesus and the Law

At some point, I'm going to turn into a hippie youth pastor if I keep talking about Jesus, and I should probably stop but here we go.

Evangelicals turn away, this is gonna be an alternate interpretation you're not ready to hear. I'm not quite ready to say either. But no doubt, will regret saying anyway.

Jesus noted something important in his days. He was one who spoke of the invisible guiding hand, the machine that controls humanity, the system of which to rage against.

He was a child of God. And God was not the law.

A child born against the law, however you wish to interpret that. Rape, incest, premarital. The Bible never quite explains, but if we're thinking realistically, he calls God "The god of those Alive, not the god of the dead" the living word, the living God. And he stands law and God side-by-side.

He says that God doesn't care about the laws of man and will do as he pleases. And if not for that creation, Jesus would neither have lived nor died.

If humans were lawful, Jesus wouldn't have existed. And if they listened, Jesus wouldn't have been crucified.

He routinely talks about the things that humans were doing to each other, that society had agreed were shitty things to do, but did them anyway. Broke commandments and laws, and nobody bats an eye.

But you call people out on their transgressions, and everybody loses their mind.

The gist is this: when you give people no choice but to break the law in order to survive. Even if you offer them a livelihood through a system that makes them burnout, or a lack of freedom of thought and desire, or a lack of being able to pursue their dreams.

Then they'll pursue that which gives them that hit of dopamine their body should be giving them for free.

Think about it, you get dopamine from eating, creative thought, sex, solving problems, and exercise in moderation.

What happens when you restrict freedom? Give people too much stress? They resort to other methods in order to get the dopamine they need to get through the stress.

I can't get through the morning without coffee.

So if you take away freedom of expression, of thought, of sex, force them into hard not-moderate exercise, restrict their food intake to protein powder and water.

How do you think they're gonna get that dopamine?

It's not by wanting to keep working that's for sure.

"man cannot live on bread alone."

What kind of people resort to hard drugs? Depressed people, who don't want or can't afford children, who eat a diet of whatever is cheap and sodapop when they're feeling like splurging, who couldn't break free from the grind to do something that was actually meaningful, and was told they'd have to jump from one shitty know nothing boss to another ad-infinium until death.

Sisyphus pushing that rock up the Hill. A perpetual motion machine for others to profit from.

It's right there documented in our historical texts, that which still happens. And people at the highest level of powers have decided "you know who had It right? The ancient Egyptians, whose workers were so tired of their shit, THAT THEY DECIDED to go on strike in the middle of the desert FOR FORTY YEARS."

They went on strike for so long, their descendents still carry the stigma of being lazy to this very day, by people that keep trying to reinvent the slaver wheel.

That cycle repeats, even by people thumping Bibles, that definitely should know better had they thought to open the book.

Jesus was a lazy hippie, leader of the feral hippies, and probably hosted the first burning man festival before it was called burning man. Literally fed a bunch of unemployed lazy good for nothing's when he did that one sermon on a mount.

Jesus proved it was possible to feed a lot of people at once, that it was possible to have wine aplenty after it had all been drank, and was a carpenter, all the way up until he wasn't allowed to be anymore.

3 notes · View notes

angry-geese · 2 years

Text

Blood Ties - Chapter Thirty-eight: Some Things Cosmic

Soulmate au Choso x Reader

Warnings: heavy cw for murder and overall violence in this chapter. There are several on-screen deaths for non major characters, and also a brief mention of torture. If you do choose to skip this chapter then it shouldn't effect too many things plot wise as the major plot important things will be brought up again in future chapters

Synopsis: while investigating rumors of an exit meant for civilians, the remaining players in the culling game find themselves in conflict with one another once again

Word count: 3.7k

Prev - next

Masterlist

It doesn't take long for the air to grow muggy, and uncomfortably warm. Mallory joins him on the roof, resting her sword on the ground beside her. She has shoved her eye patch into her hairline like a headband, pulling her bangs away from her face. Her injured eye is closed.

"Who do you think has a stronger cursed technique?" She asks. "You? Or me?"

White smoke hangs on the horizon, mingling with the incoming fog. The smell of melted plastic hangs faintly in the air.

"Well to figure that out, you'd have to tell me," James says.

Figuring it out by using his Matchmaker wouldn't be impossible. But trying to use it without her knowing would be hard.

“Hm, I don't think I'm going to do that,” she says, laughing softly.

There's a knock at the door. A head of black hair pokes out. Maria. She's dressed differently today, in black slacks, and a white blouse. In her hands, she cradles a bowl of fruit; slices of apple, peeled oranges, cut strawberries.

“I know it's not much,” she says, “but I figured you’d want breakfast.”

James grabs the first thing off the top: a slice of apple. As he bites into it, the juice runs down his fingers. He must be getting sick, he thinks, all he can taste anymore are cigarettes. Food seemingly turns into ash in his mouth anymore.

"Did you sleep out here on the roof?" Maria asks.

"Only for a bit." James answers.

Although his response wasn't meant as a joke, Maria laughs. “Are you leaving soon?” She asks.

James nods, swallowing hard. From his pocket, he produces a crumpled pack of cigarettes, only to toss it aside when he finds it empty.

“We’ll head out there early,” he says. “The plan is to investigate that exit, and see if it's guarded. Hopefully we’ll be back sometime before dark.”

“We’ll leave out the back,” Mallory says. “Too much activity in one building could draw suspicion.”

“That's assuming someone is watching us,” James says.

“We can never be too careful.” She says.

He would sense someone if they were nearby. The only souls he can pick up in this area are that of the survivors, and his fellow sorcerer.

James follows closely behind Mal. Her pace is quick. A walk that should take about twenty minutes is completed in fifteen. No cursed spirits appear to roam the streets today, but their residuals linger. For winter, the day is turning out to be uncharacteristically warm. It doesn't take long for the moisture in the air to soak through James’ shirt, making it stick uncomfortably to his skin. The insides of his boots grate uncomfortably against his heels, leaving them raw, and blistered.

The sky opens up, spitting out a new player, who soon disappears behind some buildings. James pauses, taking a swig from his water bottle, grimacing when he finds its contents to be warm. The presence of a new soul makes him pause. A sorcerer. Movement in the window of an apartment building catches James’ eye. A man has his back to it, reaching down to grab something. Aside from a knife on his belt, he has no other weapons that James can see. That doesn't mean much. There's a whole lot of places he could be hiding one.

His cursed energy isn't noticeably strong, but as he's startled by a noise, he's able to extinguish it completely. The man stuffs something into his pack, before hopping put a window onto the fire escape. He descends the stairs, before knocking the ladder down, and using that to exit onto the street.

Upon seeing the two sorcerers blocking off the alley, the man’s mouth opens in terror. He stumbles, scrambling against the side of a building to catch himself.

“Hand over your points, and we’ll let you live.” James says.

"And if I do?" Talen spits. "You'll just kill me anyway!"

“It doesn't have to end that way,” James says. “You’ve been given an option to resolve this.”

To his credit, Talen does appear to consider it. He hikes his pack a bit higher up on his shoulders, before turning, and breaking out into a sprint.

James grabs ahold of the string of fate, and tugs hard. Talen is tripped by this unseen force, landing flat on his stomach. James takes this as an opportunity to pin him, sitting square on his back. Blood beads where the tip of his blade presses against his throat.

“When I was younger, a man stole my mom’s purse,” James says. “Now my step dad and uncle weren't all that happy with this. So they found the guy, started chatting him up, and eventually went out for drinks,

“They got this guy real plastered. So drunk that the bartender cut them off. Then they went back to my uncle’s house, under the guise they would keep drinking,

“Now my uncle slipped some of my aunt’s sleeping meds into the guy's drink, and waited for him to pass out. It took a while—but that didn't seem to matter to them. They could wait. When he did, they tied him up in the garage, and waited for him to wake up,

“He was there for a few days. They didn't give him anything to eat, or drink. He had to piss in the same spot he slept. Eventually, my step dad melted the guy’s fingers off with a welding torch,

“I say this now,” James says, “because I have a few creative ideas of what to do with you if you don't comply.”

He drags the tip of his knife down his neck, tracing his collarbone. James can get creative with this.

“Fine!” He wails. “You can have my points! Kogane! Kogane!! I wish to transfer my points to this player!”

Silently, a kogane appears. This one is slightly different in color than the others that James has seen, but its overall shape is the same. Instead of being orange in tone, this one is a sickly blue-green.

“Confirm your point transfer!” It says, unraveling a scroll. Talen taps his finger against the scroll, which lights up blue in response.

Fifty-three points have been added to: Whitford, James

James Whitford current points: sixty-eight.

“Now I have a few questions for you,” James says. “Whether or not you walk away from this depends on the answer you give,

“What do you know about the subway station? And the group in the center of this colony?”

“The… what?” Talen sputters as James shoves his head back into the ground. “I don't know any more than you! Just that they’re powerful, and surviving an encounter with them is rare!”

Mallory crosses her arms over her chest. “Well, he knows nothing, shocking,” she says flatly. “Are you going to kill him now?”

“Wait!” Talen shouts. “Wait! There's something weird about this colony!

“Each of the eleven colonies has something special about them,” he continues. “A relic buried deep in the center—and that relic has something to do with the strength of this barrier!”

“So we can escape if we find some way to destroy it?” James asks.

“Not exactly. These relics likely can't be destroyed. That's why they were buried.” As he swallows, the tip of the knife digs a little deeper into his throat. “I've come to the conclusion that each of the barriers is on top of a piece of land that once held religious significance—either a sacrificial ground, or a place of mass tragedy,

“And I don't know why these places are linked. But they are. And what's buried beneath them is powerful.”

“How do we know you’re not lying?” Mallory asks.

“You’ve got a knife to my neck, what do you expect me to say?!”

Strands of Talen’s soul pour through James’ fingers like smoke. It's a weak soul. An old one. And although he senses fear, Talen isn't lying.

James stands, brushing the dust off the front of his pants. Thirty two more to go. When he turns to Mallory, she has his revolver level with his head.

So this is it. This is how this ends. Not in a grand battle, but a betrayal. A fitting end to a violent, short life.

James takes a step back before his joints lock up entirely. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he says. He senses movement behind him, but in his frenzied state, thinks nothing of it.

Bang!

James covers his ears, and rolls to the side. He hits the ground hard. The skin on his elbows splits and bleeds upon making contact with the concrete. When he cracks open an eye, he expects to be dead. Or, at the very least, to be met with the sight of blood.

His ears ring. The sky has gotten so bright that he has to squint. Talen coughs a warm spray of blood into James’ face. The wound on his chest is about the size of a nickel, while the one on the back is the size of a grapefruit. A clean hit. Blood loss will soon render him unconscious. Without quick medical intervention, such a wound will prove fatal.

James isn't sure who is yelling: him, or Mallory.

“Holy shit! Are you alright?!” Mallory asks.

“Yes,” he says, dejectedly, “thank you.”

Ashes fall slowly from the air. White, like snow. A thin blanket layers the ground. More fires. They glow faintly along the horizon. Occasionally, the burned out shell of a building is visible.

Mallory turns the revolver over in her hands, offering it to James. “It fell out of your pocket when you tackled him.”

He accepts it, stuffing it back under his belt. The hot metal burns his skin.

James notices her pause, and asks "What's the matter?"

"I haven't got any points," she says. Their gazes turn to Talen, although not much has changed. He lays face down on the pavement in a pool of ever growing blood.

"He must not be dead yet." James says. "You’ll have to finish him off with a blow of cursed energy."

Her hands tremble slightly. Blood drips down her wrist, onto the hilt of her sword. Her cursed energy flickers wildly.

“Do you want me to do it?” He asks.

“No,” she says, shaking her head, “it's been a while since my last kill. I don't want to be subjected to cursed technique removal—better to be safe than sorry, you know?”

Without another word, she drives the tip of her blade into his back. As his heart stops, a kogane appears, announcing the points awarded.

Five points have been added to: Park, Mallory

It has finally occurred to James that this is the first time he’s seen her kogane. It's not all that different from his, however, he’s come to notice that the appearances of the game interfaces appear to vary from player to player.

“That shot definitely alerted other players in this area,” she says. “We need to get moving.”

From Talen's pocket, James retrieves a pack of cigarettes. Newports.

He rolls the body onto its (his?) side. Blood soaks through the front of his shirt, and coats James’ palms. Unable to maneuver his pack around his already stiffening limbs, he cuts the straps to it. Once the bag is free, he lays its contents out on the ground.

The man has nothing else of use on him. His bag contains a small cooking kit, consisting of a few collapsible pots, and some utensils. There's a firestarter, some twine, and a palm-sized sharpening stone. His other camping supplies consist of a small sleeping bag, and a white tarp. As far as rations go, he has a small bag of dried fruit, and a canteen. Empty. It still smells faintly of a factory, as if it hasn't been used yet.

“If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you that day we first met.” Mallory says.

"What?"

She motions to him vaguely. "You looked like you really thought I was about to kill you."

"I guess I did," he says, biting onto the end of an unlit cigarette.

"He pulled out a knife," she says. "And I guess I panicked. I figured I'd shoot first and ask questions later."

“I never told you this, but I was with another group before I found you.” She says. “I knew one of them from before—she and I used to be neighbors. The other I didn't know very well. They weren't from this era—or at least that's what they told me. They were looking for someone named Ryoumen Sukuna. Whoever that is,

“Is that name familiar to you?” Mal asks. “I didn't see it on the player list, but that doesn't mean anything. Plenty of people have nicknames.”

“Ryoumen Sukuna is in one of the Tokyo colonies,” James says.

Mallory, strangely enough, seems content with his answer.

Wind makes his lit match flicker as he brings it to his mouth. He cups his hand around it, but it still takes him a few tries to light his cigarette. He curses himself silently for leaving that pack back at the hotel.

“Your cursed technique makes it so you can sense other players, doesn't it?” She asks. “Talen’s cursed energy was completely extinguished, yet you noticed him a few seconds before I did. Not to mention you were able to track down Aikawa from over a block away,

"So tell me," she says, "what does your cursed technique really do?"

"Aside from my Matchmaker, there's other things I can do." He says. "If not a direct cause of being born a sorcerer, then a side effect."

Mallory holds her hands up in defense. "I'm just trying to figure you out." She says. "I know you're here for a reason, but I don't get it. It seems out of character for you."

"A lot of things have changed since we were kids." He says.

It's not until he pauses that he senses another soul.

Camouflaging one's cursed energy is one thing. Completely camouflaging a soul is another. With enough practice, many sorcerers are able to momentarily extinguish their cursed energy. For something that is invisible to the average human—and most sorcerers—the ability to do such a thing is nearly useless. Unless faced with an enemy such as the soulmate sorcerer, there is no need for it.

A single crow sits on the power lines above them.

James hasn't seen many animals around since he got here. No pigeons, rats, or even bugs. Were they teleported out alongside the other non players? Or have they been killed off already, hunted for food or sport?

"There's something weird about that bird." James says.

"Did you hit your head?" Mallory asks. Whether or not she is joking, James can't tell.

"A while ago, I met a sorcerer who could control crows." He says. "Through entering a biding vow, she'd essentially project her mind into the bird's."

She was another freelancer, like him. And you don't want to piss her off, he thinks.

“So you’re trying to tell me that someone—possibly another player—is controlling that crow specifically?” She says, sitting down on the curb. "Why don't we rest for a minute?"

Mallory’s words fall on deaf ears. "When was the last time you saw any pigeons?" He asks. "Or rats? Or—hell, even cockroaches?"

Mallory shrugs. "I dunno. I haven't been paying attention to that since I'm so busy with—you know—not dying!"

Despite Tokyo—and, in turn, much of Japan—being quite clean, it's still a city. Plenty of rodents and bugs call the place home. As far as supplies go, food isn't scarce, so that rules out hunting. Killing the local wildlife for sport is a possibility, but unlikely, as they grant no points, and therefore aren't worth the effort.

"I haven't seen any wildlife since I got here," James says. "Until now."

He points at the crow, which simply caws, before flying to the top of a nearby building. Mallory claps her hands together, muttering something about her fellow sorcerer losing his mind.

From the sidewalk, James scoops up a piece of brick. His throw misses miserably, bouncing off the side of a nearby building. The crow takes flight, before disappearing over a nearby building.

James heads after it.

As he cuts through an alley, he’s able to catch up with it. A sign above them reads "subway station" in bold white lettering. The corvid makes a sudden break for the open set of doors, heading straight down into the station. Several souls come into view all at once, and James is only able to say one word: “ambush.”

He is able to brace for the first hit, but not the second. When the blast of cursed energy strikes him in the back, he's thrown forwards. The metallic taste of blood fills his mouth.

The lights in this part of the station seem to switch off all at once. Enough light pours in from the stairs to make out the figure standing in the door, but not much more than that. Blindly he feels around for the hilt of his sword, before picking it up, and making a break for it.

Judging by the sound of loud banging, and items skittering across the floor, he’s knocked over a trash can. Someone behind him is shouting—a man. But James can't discern what he’s saying.

With his left hand, he feels along the wall, before the bricks are replaced with something smooth: a door. Much to his surprise, it is unlocked, and James slips into the empty broom closet, closing the door as quietly as he can manage. He's met with the faint smell of mildew, and cleaning chemicals.

James isn't familiar with this place even the slightest. The dark, and adrenaline isn't helping much. He can only continue to conceal his cursed energy for so long before he's too weak to do anything about it. His heavy breaths leave the air in this closet stuffy.

He holds his breath, and with it, quiets down his cursed energy. Of the two souls he senses outside the door, neither are familiar. One is old. Certainly a reincarnated sorcerer. The other is much harder to tell, but appears younger.

“It's like he knew,” one says to the other.

“It’s not the first time you’ve been followed.” This voice sounds a bit older. Both are male, and muffled by the barrier between them.

James senses their souls as they grow closer, before stopping in front of the door.

“There was another.” The younger man says. “He had a woman with him. They didn't seem to have any supplies on them so they must have a base nearby.”

“You think they’re with that other group?”

“No way to tell,” he says. “Maybe if we can catch a live one…”

He doesn't have time to think. He just needs to get it over with.

With his heel, he kicks the door open. The edge of the door hits one player square in the forehead. It’s enough to stun him, leaving him bleeding from a wound on his forehead.

Every twenty yards or so a red light is placed. Hardly enough to help light the path, but at least James can now see a few feet in front of him. His blade meets something soft. Fresh blood splatters back at him.

Ten points have been added to: Whitford, James

He's running again. By the time he spots daylight, the remaining three souls in this area have blinked out. Mallory stands at the bottom of the stairs, sweat and blood plastering her bangs to her forehead. She’s bleeding from a wound on her shoulder. She holds her sword in two hands. The blade appears dull, and coated with a dark substance. Her cursed energy pools around her heart, into her hands.

Another fifteen points have been added to James. Ten to Mallory.

There are no bright lights, or flashy sounds to indicate anything special about this part of the barrier. The tunnel simply extends out into a space so dark that the flashlight on James’ phone won't even disturb it. A lone kogane guards the tracks, sitting at its post like a soldier.

The kogane, upon noticing the two players, shoots to attention. “This exit is reserved for civilians only!” It says in its robotic, cheery voice. “Players may not leave through this exit!”

Mallory has marked off this part of her map with a circle. He sits beside her on a bench. When he offers her a cigarette, she accepts it. The flame from his match casts his face in an orange glow. Smoke hangs low in the air in front of him.

“I have plans to put a rule into place where people joined by the string of fate will be able to leave.” He says.

Mallory leans back in her seat, crossing her arms behind her head. “And your cursed technique can join people by the string of fate…” she says. “Shame. If my husband were here, I could leave.”

That explains why he couldn't find the surname Turner on the player list. She changed it.

“You don't sound particularly upset,”

“I've come to terms with it,” she says. “We’ve only been dealt so many cards, you know? I'm just playing the hand I’ve been dealt.” She coughs as she takes a drag from her cigarette.

“I heard them talking about that group,” James says. “if we don't deal with them soon, they’re going to be a problem.”

Mallory sighs, pressing her knuckles into her temples. “There's only two of us,” she says. “Attacking them would be a suicide mission. I'm not particularly eager to poke the hornet's nest.”

“I never said attack them outright—if we can cause some sort of infighting within their group, then hopefully it’ll start to cannibalize itself,” James says. “We kill off one player, pin it on another, and let them do the work from there.”

“That's a terrible idea.”

With seventy-eight points now, putting that rule into place seems more and more plausible. Only six more players to go. Unless he can convince someone else to hand over their points.

James groans as he stands. His hand moves to knead at his aching shoulder. Work isn't treating him kindly. Not now. Not ever. “If I'm to put this rule into place, I need the points from those players,” he says. “Talen’s points helped quite a bit, but it's not enough.”

“I'd hand over mine,” she says, “but I’m saving up to put a rule into place myself.”

James holds his cigarette between his pointer and middle finger, flicking the ash that gathers at the head. “Oh really? How many points do you have?”

“About eighty.” Mallory answers. “Give or take.”

Despite wanting to press further, he decides against it.

When they return to their camp, one of the civilians is dead.

#blood ties #choso x reader #jjk x reader #choso #choso kamo #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #cw blood and injury #cw murder #murder cw #originally there was a flashback to shibuya at the beginning of this chapter but i decided to cut it :/

8 notes · View notes

allthingsfangirl101 · 6 months

Text

Top Gun - Baby Mav Chapter 12: Waiting in The Worst

Masterlist

The team was directed back to the main hanger, forced to wait for any word from the emergency response team sent to Maddlyn's last location. Maverick nervously paced while the trainees sat and watched him.

It felt like a lifetime to him as he waited for the response team to find his daughter. He forced himself to sit down, closing his eyes as he focused on Maddy.

He thought about how it felt to hold his little girl for the first time. He thought about her entire life. He thought about how scared he was to raise her after her mother died. He thought about how proud he was when she told him she wanted to be a pilot. He wasn't scared. He never thought about the chance that something would happen to her.

Until F18-20.

During that flight, Maverick felt the same that he felt now; terrified. While Maddlyn was going through physical therapy, he never left her side. What's worse is the fact that he made her a promise. He promised that she would never have to step into a plane again.

And here he was, night in the same position he was three years ago — waiting to hear if his daughter was alive.

"Rescue Team Beta to Captain Mitchell."

"Captain Mitchell here," Maverick said as he jumped up, grabbed the headset, and answered the call. "Where's my daughter?"

"We found her, sir," the responder said. Maverick could tell from his tone of voice that there was more.

"Well?" He pushed. "How is she? Where did you find her? Are you on your way back with her?"

"Sir," a different responder gently interrupted. "We found her but she's in bad shape."

"How bad?"

The trainees froze at that simple question.

"We're not entirely sure, sir," the first responder stuttered. "All we know is that Lieutenant Phillip's parachute tore as she descended."

"Meaning?" Maverick pushed.

"Meaning, she landed without slowing her descent. From what we can tell, she's suffered some severe back injuries."

"We'll be there soon," the second responder said. "We've already called the infirmary on the ship. They're waiting for us."

Maverick didn't say anything as he turned off the radio and took off the headset. The group waited for Maverick to turn around and tell them, but he didn't. As much as they all wanted to know what state Maddlyn was in, none of them wanted to ask him.

A few minutes went by and Rooster couldn't wait any longer.

"How is she?" Rooster eagerly asked.

"They aren't sure," Maverick mumbled. "They're on their way back with her now."

"How long. . ."

"Clear the way!"

"Get surgery prepped now!"

Maverick spun around and the trainees stood up as the emergency response team wheeled in a gurney. Even from across the hanger, Maverick recognized his daughter on the gurney. Without thinking, he ran toward her.

"Captain!" One of the responders stopped him.

"That's my. . ."

"I know, sir," the young man said gently. Maverick watched as they wheeled his daughter away from him. "I'm sorry, Captain, but I need to ask you to stay here. I promise we will take care of her."

"So?"

The young responder jogged after the gurney as Maverick turned around. When he did, he saw the faces of trainees staring at him hopefully.

"How is she?" Rooster asked.

"I don't know," Maverick said, the events of the day finally hitting him. "They wouldn't let me see her. They said they needed to get her to surgery."

"Surgery?"

"We should. . . I think we can. . ." Maverick stuttered. "Let's go wait in the infirmary. They'll be able to tell us more there."

* * * * *

The group sat in the infirmary, waiting for any news about Maddlyn. Tensions were high and getting higher with each minute that passed. You didn't know if Maverick was more on edge or Rooster was.

"How is she?"

The tension thickened as Hangman jogged into the waiting room. Without warning, Rooster jumped up and charged him. Hangman didn't fight back as Rooster attacked him.

"Rooster!" Maverick yelled as they tried to pull them off each other.

"He did this!" Rooster yelled as Maverick was the one to get them apart. "He didn't listen and now Maddy is fighting for her life."

"I know," Maverick said as things finally settled down. "But fighting him is not going to help Maddy."

Rooster glared at Hangman over Maverick's shoulder. When he looked toward Maverick, his glare softened.

"Go," Maverick whispered. "Take a walk."

"I'm not leaving Maddy," Rooster said firmly.

"Then sit down."

Rooster hesitated before finally listening. Once he had calmed Rooster down, Maverick turned toward Hangman. Hangman opened his mouth, but Maverick interrupted him.

"Get out."

"Sir. . ."

"I won't say it again," Maverick warned. "You'll be lucky if I don't fire you."

"Sir, I understand. . ."

"No, you don't," he cut him off again. "You don't know what it's like to sit on the sidelines while some asshole's mistake almost costs your daughter her life. And I've done it twice now."

"I'm sorry, sir," Hangman said softly.

"You shouldn't be apologizing to me. You should be apologizing to Maddlyn."

Hangman looked around the room at everyone glaring at him. He bowed his head, stuck his hands in his pockets, and left.

Things slowly settled down once he was gone. Every time someone walked through the door, the group jumped. As much as Maverick tried to distract himself, he couldn't stop thinking about the small glimpse he saw of Maddlyn.

They had her covered with a thin blanket but what he could see of her face and arms was covered in blood and dirt. Maverick ran his hands over his face and slowly pulled them away. When he looked down at them, he saw how badly they were shaking.

"She's going to be okay," Rooster mumbled so only he and Maverick could hear. "Right?"

Maverick opened and closed his mouth, not sure if he could honestly say what Rooster wanted him to say.

"I don't know," Maverick said under his breath. "I hope so but. . . I honestly don't know, Bradley."

"She has to be okay," Rooster said shakily. "I mean. . . If she's not. . ."

Rooster looked over at Maverick and could see the weight pushing him down. He has a sense of deja vü as he studied his godfather. He couldn't figure out where it was coming from but when it hit him, hit him hard. There was one time he saw Maverick look as defeated and lost as he did right now - when they lost Rooster's dad, Goose.

"Hey," Rooster whispered. "She got out, right?" Maverick looked at him as he added, "She didn't hit the canopy."

Maverick took a shaky breath as the two tried to relax. "She didn't hit the canopy," he repeated.

"Captain?"

The entire group jumped up when the doctor walked over to Maverick.

"How is she?" Maverick rushed out.

"I wish I had better news," the doctor sighed.

"What news do you have?" Rooster pushed.

"When Maddlyn was brought in, I examined her and instantly found the big issue," the doctor explained. "I'm not sure how it happened but what I do know is that the crash caused serious damage to her spine."

"What?" Maverick stuttered as the pain built.

"She's in surgery now," the doctor quickly continued. "We have one of the best surgeons in the Navy. He is going to do everything he can for your daughter, Captain."

#Baby Mav #Top Gun #Maverick #Miles Teller #Rooster #original content #Baby Mav Top Gun

1 note · View note

gatzilksis-2 · 3 years

Text

A Tiny In His Company

A commission

Prologue: Accidental Awakening

Warning: This story includes adult themes, including fetishism and M/M material. 18+

Bit was a Tiny.

He was one of possibly thousands, two-to-five inch people living in secret amongst the humans. Or at least they used to be a secret. Their existence had been exposed by the Littles, the slightly bigger, six-to-twelve inch people.

The two worlds, Tiny and human, had collided. Bit had found a roommate, a human one. To him, any new building was like a city. The roommate would barely have to worry with him at all; even a studio apartment would have been more than enough space.

His roommate, Ren, wasn't just a human but one of the oversized ones. Not fat, but muscular and 6'3". He was the biggest human Bit had seen this close up. The best part of him was behind him.

That is to say, his ass. Ren's ass cheeks were round and bulbous, fat but firm, stretching the fabric of whatever bottoms they were struggled into.

Bit had never paid attention to asses much before, on Tinies or humans. He didn't know much about humans at all. It used to be a Tiny law, before they were exposed. They weren't supposed to care about human matters.

Bit definitely cared about this human's matter.

Ren was a meathead, the kind of guy who went to the gym just about every day. He was manly, and his ass...Bit had never idolized anything else as much. The ass made him feel happy, nervous, forced a feeling into his lower regions.

Three days after moving in, Bit sat on the couch in the center of a cushion. There was a horror movie on, and the TV was bigger than a cinema screen to him.

The door opened with force, and Ren swept into the house. Without checking for him or even looking back, his ass began to descend upon Bit.

The Tiny watched it inch closer. Could he do this? Did he love this ass badly enough to be crushed by it? The answer showed itself in the front of his Tiny makeshift pants.

Ren sat fully. His ass cheeks closed around Bit, trapping him in the space between them. He was wearing silver shorts without underwear, so there was little separating him from the man's asshole.

It stunk of sweat and spicy man musk. Bit had never smelled anything like this. It smelled like he thought a human man should, manly and a little rough.

Where were these thoughts coming from? This wasn't supposed to happen like this. Bit felt gross, but his millimeter member felt much differently.

The ass moved, rocking to one side. Bit was no longer trapped between the cheek, but the hole was pointed towards him.

BRRRRRAAAAAMMMMP!

The Tiny was pelted by loud, human flatulence. The air was immediately filled with a thick odor like old lunch meat and eggs. Bit winced, having felt the warm air all over his body.

There was something else in the smell...

It was like sweetness, like the amazing smell of a favorite food.

Bit loved it, and he couldn't help moaning.

Ren looked back at the sound. His green eyes widened, and he gave a chuckle. "Whoa. Sorry, Bitty Buddy. Did I just blast you?"

"Yes." Bit said it loudly, the only way Ren would be able to hear him.

"Man, that one stinks, too!" He laughed, mostly proudly. Ren carefully lifted his two-inch friend with a thick thumb and index finger.

Bit knew he had an erection, and he knew it was from the fart. However, he was so Tiny Ren wouldn't be able to tell.

The human held Bit closer to his face. Bit spoke before he could. "Do you do that a lot? The...gas?"

The word "fart" sounded strange to him, and "flatulence" was even weirder.

"Do I fart a lot?" Ren shrugged but then nodded with a laugh. "Kinda, yeah. I'll try to keep it away from you. I'm afraid the giant farts might smother you. Ha-ha."

That didn't help Bit's erection. He found the bragginess hot, for whatever reason. He was finding much more things sexy these days, things he never bothered to wonder about before.

"Oh!" Ren put a hand to his mouth, then grinned again. "That one slipped!"

The smell doubled, thick even from the Tiny's new position near his face. He wanted the man to put him back down into the blast zone. Bit wanted this new smell all in his face.

It wasn't just hot. Bit had developed an immediate obsession with a human's ass and farts.

(Get your story made here)

#eproctophilia #farts #eprocto #fart kink #flatulence #fart fiction #fart stories #gatzilksis #male fart fiction #male fart stories

247 notes · View notes

sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Text

Objections: Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: you go to a wedding as the maid of honor for your best friend, so you have to keep things proper. But there's always room to have a little fun, right? (a piece for the Gangland Collab hosted by @semisgroupie)

wc: 2.5k

tw: NSFW

masterlist

Flustered.

That's one way to describe how you're feeling while everyone is running around and making demands. You're barely dressed when the bride - and your best friend - comes into your shared hotel room with a red face.

"Y/n, my shoes won't buckle!"

You stoop to help Mizuki silently, hoping she would calm down after your assistance. But then she begins to complain bout how awful the wedding rehearsal had gone the night before, where only two out of the four groomsmen had shown up. The best man had even sat the rehearsal dinner out, claiming to have a wicked hangover—a likely story.

"There," you state, standing up and pulling your blush-colored dress straps over your shoulders.

"Thanks, y/n. Don't know what I'd do without you."

And you carry Mizuki's flowers as she rushes across the courtyard to the church, her hands full of tulle skirt. And you adjust her veil when it slips off her hair a little. All the things her mother would have been there to do, you're there for instead. Because that's just who you are.

The groom and the groomsmen have already descended the aisle, and you hand Mizuki her flowers as her father approaches her in the church's lobby. His tattoos are covered by the long-sleeved suit and buttoned-up shirt, but you know Mr. Magahara would show his tattoos if he could.

"You're the best maid of honor," he mentions, and you smile, giving him a wink.

"Wouldn't give this up for the world."

As you walk down the aisle alone, you smile at all of the family members present on Mizuki's side, knowing each and every one of them by name and function. You take your place across from the groomsmen standing behind the groom and eye the best man - a tall, black-haired fellow - with curiosity. His black eyes flick to you for a moment, linger on your appearance in the blush silk, and then turn away just as quickly as if you no longer existed. But Mizuki is coming down the aisle, and you turn toward her, placing your best "I Want to Be Here" smile on your face.

The wedding vows and ceremony passes in a blur, and before you know it - she and her white-haired groom are wedded. As they leave, you walk back up the aisle beside the best man, secretly wondering why he couldn't just suck it up the night before, but you keep your thoughts to yourself as you wait for the golf carts purchased to take you all to the reception.

"Y/n, you and Geto will get in the next one," Mizuki claims and zips off, facing the crowd while her dress flies around her and Gojo. You turn to the man as he sits in the driver's seat of the white golf cart, and he pats the seat next to him. His cuffs roll up just a bit to reveal a red and black tattoo outline when he does so. You look back up at his face, and Geto raises a brow - noticing you noticing his tattoo.

"I don't bite..." he offers, shrugging. Other people are going past you and the stationary cart as you assess the Yakuza member, but after what feels like forever, you decide to get into the cart, and he starts it up before taking off at a crawl. "Often." Before you can respond, he floors the pedal down on the golf cart, and you scream, holding onto the side rails for dear life.

It would be just your luck. You're stuck in a golf cart with a bona fide crazy man who is in the Yakuza.

When he finally pulls up a the barn, you step off the cart, dizzy, but you feel no more inclined to throw up than you did before. However, Geto gets out of the vehicle and loops your arm through his, guiding you towards the repurposed barn like a gentleman.

"Wasn't so bad, was it? Maybe four-and-a-half stars out of five?"

"Out of ten," you mutter, earning you a hearty laugh.

_____________________________________________________________

You're six toasts in and a little unsteady on your feet when Geto turns to you, watching you eat the cupcake offered to you moments before. He places his hand on his chin, examining you in the dim lighting of the venue like he did at the church.

"What?" you wonder, mouth full of icing and cake.

"Just watching you eat that cupcake. Maybe I should've gotten one, yeah?"

"Yeah," you muse, sucking some icing off of your index finger. "They're fucking amazing."

"I bet..." You think you hear him groan in his throat, but you can't be sure, so your attention goes back to the people on the dance floor, and you thumb over to the crowd.

"You don't like dancing?"

"Eh," Geto shrugs, watching the groom sway to the slow song with his bride. "No one's ever asked me to dance with them before." You stand from your chair and offer Geto your hand, praying he wouldn't embarrass you by not taking it.

"Well, Mr. Geto, may I have this dance?"

The man looks at your hand, then back up at your face, as if you were joking. But you continue to stand there, palm up, until he finally takes it, leading you to the dance floor. He pulls you into a traditional slow dance hold - one hand against your waist, the other holding your hand out - and you look up at him, laughing.

"You can dance!"

"Never said I couldn't," he chuckles, smiling down at you. "Just said I hadn't." After a few moments of this, the song changes to something fast and exciting - definitely a song that makes you want to shake your ass a little. At first, the mafia member is caught off-guard by the song, but he dances along with you, mouthing the words to the song.

"You acted like you've never been to a party before," you mention, and he shakes his head, his banging flopping back and forth.

"Always rolled up in the back and watched the festivities."

Your entire perception begins to shift, and for some reason, your cheeks heat up under his gaze. It's the alcohol, you consider. It has to be.

But as you move closer to him and Geto takes your hips in his hands, you know you won't be able to escape this evening unscathed. The DJ changes the song to a sultry and seductive song, and you follow the beat, rolling your body under the firm grip of the hands on your body. Your fingers creep up Geto's suit and rest on his chest, eyes following and resting on his face. He leans down and exhales in your ear, and you tilt your head back, hair tickling the back of your neck.

"Fuck..." he breathes, and you stifle a moan when his hands creep up to the top of the back of your dress. "Y/n, I don't know if I can keep dancing with you like this... Makes me think about--"

"Don't," you whisper, feeling the need grow in your stomach. "Don't say it. We just met, and I can't... I shouldn't..."

"I'm renting a hotel room tonight and heading back into town in the morning," he adds, ignoring your plea. "Maybe we could..." Geto leaves the ending open, and you close your eyes, hissing as he grips your ass.

"You're making a scene."

The sound of Mizuki behind you is enough to startle the both of you into sobriety. You look back, and Gojo and Mizuki raise their brows at the two of you simultaneously.

"If you're going to fuck each other, don't do it here. Go on," Gojo smirks, jerking his chin at you. "Get out of here."

Neither of you needs any more permission to take off and go back to the hotel.

"Get your things and meet me on floor ten."

You fumble with the keycard as you stumble into the hotel room you shared with Mizuki. Nothing but the thoughts of being under Geto fill your mind as you throw your things into a bag and rush up to the tenth floor.

Geto is standing in front of the elevators and scrolling on his phone, his black jacket slung over his shoulder and tattoos on full display from his forearms to his elbows. Shit.

He notices you immediately and holds his hand out for your bag, then walks you to a room at the end of the hall. The plush carpet beneath you makes you a little unsteady on your feet, but you keep your composure and step into the room behind him. He sets your bag on the couch in the room, sighing and placing his jacket over it before walking over to where you are, still standing at the now-closed door in anticipation. He tilts your chin up and smiles, leaning in for a kiss without speaking.

And you give him exactly what he wants, pressing your back against the door as Geto runs his hands over your body slowly, deliberately. "You've been driving me crazy all night long," he muses, pulling away from you and tapping your nose with his index finger. "But now I've got you right where I want you."

"Wait," you murmur, head hazy, already drunk on his essence. "I don't even know your first name."

"Suguru," he whispers against your lips. "But I go by Su."

And before you know it, you're moaning that name over and over again, his head between your legs and hands on your thighs. You can see all of his tattoos from his back to his hips, and for a moment, you're lost in the intricate patterns and swirls and animals. Your hands are tangled in his hair, and he moans when you tug slightly on it, pushing him into your cunt a little more.

"Please, Su..." you beg, and he answers your request by sucking on your clit and flicking his eyes up to watch your face change. "Oh my god." Your rock your hips against his face, and he hums loudly, bordering on a growl while his tongue flicks back and forth. "Ah!" Your orgasm arrives faster than you thought it would, catching you off-guard and making your back arch.

Suguru grabs your hips and repositions you so he's still eating you out as you cum. And when you're done, he pulls away slowly, licking his lips and peeling his pants off.

"That's a good girl," he mutters, pushing your legs up and grasping his hard length. "You ready for me?"

"Yes, please," you whine, and Suguru slides his cock up and down your pussy before slapping it with his cock head a few times.

"Wet as fuck," he groans, then slides into you, barely getting his cock past your entrance before easing up. "And tight as shit. Damn, Satoru owes me ten bucks."

You're about to ask what the hell that means, but he slides back into you, and the thought evaporates. "Oh, Su!" The man slides back out, then in, gaining a few inches each time. His hips meet yours with a slap of skin, a rhythm he maintains as your own personal initiation begins.

"Keep those hips still for me, kitten." You obey, moaning in time with his thrusts and watching his cock pump in and out of you with a milky, white ring of your cum forming at the base. "Look at that... You're creamin' all over my cock." All you can do is moan in response, feeling your body flush under his gaze. Lithe fingers dance around your collarbone before sliding back down to your breasts, toying with your nipples carefully.

"Can we..." You gasp as he leans down and swipes his tongue across your breast, the sound of your moans and groans cutting through the static in your head.

"What'd you say?"

"Can we--" Another gasp is pulled from you when Suguru tugs your right nipple with his teeth, delivering a shock of pain and pleasure.

"You keep stopping mid-sentence, kitten. Spit it out." All this time, he hasn't stopped thrusting into you, and you frown a little, trying to recall what you wanted to say.

"Su, can we please -- ah!" Suguru drives a hand toward your clit and rolls it between his fingers.

"Baby," he chastises, smirking playfully. "Didn't they teach you to finish your sentences in grade school?" You huff in response, and Suguru laughs, pulling his hand away and leaning over you. "No, really. What is it, y/n?"

"Can you fuck me from behind, please?" Suguru's brows raise, and you swallow hard, feeling him pull out slowly.

"Be my guest," he encourages you, and you flip over, scooting to the edge of the bed eagerly. Suguru slaps each ass cheek once before entering you again. "Go ahead," he murmurs, and you bounce back onto his cock, taking control. You look back at the Yakuza member and bite your bottom lip, feeling your climax build.

"Feels so fucking good, Su," you whisper, and his mouth parts at the way you look. "So damn sexy..."

He slides out of you almost instantly, pushing you onto the bed and mounting you from above. "Trying to make me cum, huh? I know your little tricks. I've got something for that." He doesn't sound displeased at all, just a little surprised, but his reaction no longer matters as he pounds into your little cunt as hard and fast as he can, pushing your hips into the bed over and over again. A hand crawls up to your neck, and Suguru latches his lips onto your earlobe, traveling lower while he fucks you so hard that the headboard begins to shake.

"The h-headboard," you cry out, but Suguru pays you no mind, keeping you in place while he thrusts into your abused cunt until you tip over the edge, choking out a sound between a wail and grunt.

"Good girl," he whispers in your ear as your hand scramble to find purchase among the silken sheets and pointless pillows. "Cum for me... just like that." A ragged inhale triggers his climax, but you're still riding your high as he rocks into your cunt, filling you with his cum. You both lay on the bed, recovering with deep inhales and exhales, and a soft moan or two.

"Shit," you breathe.

"That was fucking amazing." Suguru stays inside of you but pulls you onto your side so he's spooning your body carefully.

"You're in the Yakuza," you whisper. "Does this mean I can never tell anyone about what we did?" Suguru laughs loudly, shaking your body as he holds you.

"Everyone watched you and I leave, I don't think there's any confusion about what we're doing. And even if they didn't Gojo will tell them for sure." You groan, but Suguru pulls you in closer. "Don't worry, y/n. I won't let them embarrass you. I'll make sure to let them see you with me on dates, too."

#getou suguru x reader #getou suguru #geto smut #getou x reader #jjk geto #saturo gojo #jjk #jujutsu kaisen geto #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen #ganglandcollab

518 notes · View notes

txciaz · 3 years

Text

Hi!! So,

it's my ( literal ) first time writing fanfiction, so I'm pretty new at this stuff, but Lady Dimitrescu is all I was able to think about for weeks and I >needed< to do something about it.

( If you want some context, I wrote this thinking “what if Alcina survived?” - Alcina's pov )

———

The fall,

The end of everything you once loved

Ethan Winters.

You woke up... somehow, you woke up. The frigid air hitting your fresh wounds felt like a jolt send by reality, as if one says "you're still alive" -

- and oh how you were starting to hate that feeling.

Laying on the demolished floor of your castle, muscles twitching in pain, mouth open gasping for air... that's how you are, how you will remember yourself from now on. A defeated dragon, a crushed woman, a dead mother.

You should get up, you should let go of your carcass and crawl your way back into the warmth of your home, you should—

—you should be dead, actually. Resting on death's cold embrace along with your daughters.

Daughters.

God, your daughters.

The memories flood your mind with a painful, unbearable reminder; they're gone, dead, crystalized - gone. They're gone. Your lovely daughters, your pride and joy, the main reason you'd open up your eyes in the morning...

...Bela,

Cassandra,

Daniela....

Their names are long cold, not yet forgotten - no, never forgotten - but somewhere else, as they don't belong here anymore; not on your arms, tucking them to bed. Not on your hands, caressing their faces. Not on your lips, kissing their foreheads. Not on your tongue, as you say them.

A raspy scream leaves your throat, it sounds disturbing.

You sob, hot tears trailing down your cheeks and neck, small cries for help find their way into the wind, disappearing with less importance then when they materialized.

You cannot recall for how long you stayed at that very same position, perhaps some hours, perhaps a day, but you are certain that at some point you were overcame by tiredness and collapsed - probably the best to do for now.

xxx

And so, rises the moon and the stars watch upon your limp body, the night howling a merciful wind and singing a melodic song. Grunting, you push yourself up with your elbows, sitting up and facing the sky through the hole you've made on the roof... and the levels above...

A huge carcass sits besides you, it's wings bended on itself and it's big mouth open to whoever would like to have a peek; you probably changed back into your normal body while unconscious... Now that you can see it clearly, you notice the damage that man-thing did to you... by heavens, how were you still alive and...

Oh. The castle. You look forward, taking in the horizon - the stars look exclusively shiny tonight - you breath in, the dusty air causes you to chough a few times. Stretching your neck a bit to see your whole house, you tell yourself it looks.. fine, actually, ignoring the broken windows. The broken windows.

It's cold. You shiver harshly, panting as the air meets your bare back and rumbles through your lungs, making you hug yourself, - you're naked, you just realized - the winter in Romania is truly kind to no one.

Your legs tremble with just the thought of trying to stand on your feet. You don't rush to do it either, let the wintry breeze take in your wounds, make it sting, burn it, freeze it; freeze your body along.

“To die. To die is to live. To live without them, that's torture. To live without their presence, absent of their scents, to not hear them, nor see their faces again, that's worse than death; far, far worse. How could I ever walk into that damned house without the heavenly sounds of their laughs, the tapping of their feet as they walk free, the steadiness of their heartbeats, reminding me that my own still beats.

Beats for them. For them only.

And they're gone.

So who shall my heart beat for? Myself? No, that wouldn't do. I will rip it out from my chest if I must, sacrifice it to any god who may hear me, all so I could spend five more minutes with them. Then I'd die in peace and find them at my arms again at whatever comes after this poor life.

But I'm here.”

You still hold yourself as you stare at a castle's - broken - window, new warm tears hanging the same trail the old and now dry ones did, a silent cry.

Your intrusive thoughts were abruptly cut by a loud noise from the inside of the castle, making you jump up, gathering all your last strengths to stand and walk a few shaky steps closer to home. The more you walked, the louder the noises got; a little rustle became a bang, and your tiptoing became a sprint, you hold yourself as tight as you can, ignoring the bleeding, the cold air spiking your lungs, how insanely fast you heartbeat was. You need to get there, protect the last remnant of them you still have.

The gates felt heavy now, even for you, who would open them with one hand. Where is your strength now? The fearless dragon who'd do anything to protect her house? Perhaps she died on that fall, and now all there's left is a shadow of what you were one day.

With much pain, you open the big doors, leading to the comfort of your house; you don't get in, you throw yourself in. The warm atmosphere engulfed you like a summer kiss on a winter storm, all you needed to ground yourself to reality for now. Grabbing some sheets laying over an old counter, you wrap yourself in it – oh, that's gonna get soaked in blood, but that's not of your concern now – moving incredibly fast for someone as hurt as yourself, you follow the continuous sounds that could not mean something good. The main doors are open, the cellar is unlocked as well, that idiotic man-thing couldn't even close the doors once he finished slaughtering your home? Imbecile.

You stand at the library's door now, suddenly frozen; you know what happened in there... do you really want to get in? Are you truly ready to face it again? Maybe you should take a step back and walk away, it would be the most logical decision to take now.

But what is logic when the heart screams? What is the brain for once your emotions take the best of you? You can't walk away. Put some honor on your name. Save the last bit of your daughter that fate is still conceiving you. Your chest rises and falls completely out of coordination, your fists close around the fabric involving your body; get ready, you're going in; gather the last bit of courage you have inside yourself and blast these doors.

And so you do.

You bring those pieces of wood to the ground, the only barrier between you and the reality you couldn't accept; a guttural growl forms in your chest as you see a lycan approach your child's crystalized body; you're blind with ire, sorrow, protectorship - you name it - and it makes you shout at the top of your lungs as you dilacerate the filthy beasts you'd bat your eye at. A bloody trail of corpses marks your way through the castle grounds, your claws dripping with fresh sanguine fluid - which you can't tell if it's from the creatures or from yourself - the crimson path follows you all the way to the other wing of mansion like a spirit who must haunt you for eternity.

You scream like a feral animal, blood soaking the once white cloth around your form; the scream becomes a shriek, which descends to a yelp, ending as a furious cry. You can feel the anger leaving you, like the waters of a waterfall; explosive, big portions of water falling into a numb, deaden lake. Hopefully those waters will carry you with them, you shall fall and sink at a anesthetizing lagoon.

You kneel, eyes closed, eyebrows frowned; a loud sigh fills the deafening silence in the air, your mind is blank – better, your mind is red, scarlet red mixed with black, ire and grief. Slowly, your head lower itself so you're facing the floor.

The big Lady Dimitrescu,

kneeling on a pool of blood, defeated.

•

“Lady Dimitrescu!”

Who..? The voice was so far yet so close, you try your best to focus on the direction of the calls but your nerves just won't cooperate.

“Lady!”

Who would be calling for you? Is your mind playing tricks on you now? And since when you were laying on the floor? Too many questions for too little answers. You try to stand up, but a sharp pain on your side made you cry out and fall on your back, face knotted in pain – perhaps your adrenaline rush was keeping you from feeling what was really happening with your body, and now you feel like you're betraying yourself for that.

A small figure approaches you in a fast pace, causing you to unleash your claws one more time and snarl at the not-so-possible threat; you were hurt. Vulnerable. Letting someone close was the last thing you wanted now. The humanoid thing backs away a few steps with your aggressive reaction, hands on their chest, visibly afraid – even though your vision is quite blurry, you identify their expression: scared, desperate, sorrowful – they call out once more, almost shouting.

“Please, Lady Dimitrescu, let me help!”

Ah... Help... The now clearer feminine voice washes over you - a wave of compassion - as if hope has found its way to your house again. Well, it better go away again, or you'll drag it out yourself.

“Out.” was all that left your lips, your intense gaze locking with hers, a silent yet not so discrete warning; although you had only said one word, it was well understood by the woman, who stepped away, eyes still meeting yours, a dreadful cast hang on her face.

Still, she didn't left.

Is that girl testing her luck? It can only be. Once again you warn her: “Leave. I will not repeat myself.”

Her posture stiffens, after a moment of silence she looks at the door, truly wondering about leaving or not; her body turns around, her knuckles going white from how hard she was grabbing the fabric on her chest – she's conflicted. But why? Who is she, after all? – A long, defeated sigh leaves her, as if she knows there is no choice left.

“Allow me to help.” A failed effort on trying to sound confident; her voice is full of tears and her tone is oscillating – it makes you wonder if she has been crying – The human walks towards you, trying not to make any eye contact; you can't stand on your feet, you left hand is pressed on your injured side, the other is open and directing your now extended nails towards her.

Oh how funny it is, no?

The predator being cornered by the prey. The dragon being trapped by the rabbit. How ridiculous it is.

Her extremely shaky hands hang in front of her, trying to say she won't hurt you – oh if she only knew it's going to be the other way round. – One step closer.. Her lips and chin tremble; Another. Your claws grow bigger, eyes peering through her soul; another step, your eyebrows frown, her eyes are teary. The last step - your blood is boiling hot, your nerves on edge; you are still the predator. - a slicing sound and a half-scream saturate the air for a millisecond, just for silence to overfill it once more. Red splashes over the room again, on your face, on your chest, but mostly on the floor, where the girl was thrown at.

An agonizing scream leaves her throat - what a miracle, she remains alive - both of her hands cover her face, blood spilling all over her; what a sight, you would most definitely enjoy this very much on another situation. She cries out in despair, making you face the ceiling and close your eyes, a tired look on your face – you just want all this to end, you don't have any more patience for this. You want to crawl back into your bed and starve, you want to destroy this place, make it abandoned ruins of what one day was a home; you want to kill that damned sickening man-thing, kill this foolish girl for perturbing your grieving, and then yourself.

The woman captures your attention once again, she is kneeling, her body facing yours, her right hand presses her ripped face, the other makes its slow way up to you, although she is trembling, she manages to keep her hand steady enough to hand you a little green flask with a yellow-y label; You look closer, 'treatment disinfectant' it says... Oh you can only be joking. You feel like slaughtering the girl right this instant, but takes in a deep breath and holds the flask, her hand immediately falling along with her body. Is she dead? No, her slow yet consistent breathing exclaims that she is still alive – you honestly find it a bit offensive – You should, but you cannot bring yourself to finish the human; you should end her suffering, but now she caught your attention; and besides, she wants to help, doesn't she? then the price she'll pay is staying alive.

———

hahaaa I'm so nervous about posting this,,, ,

and yes! It is a alcina x maiden fic! I do plan it to be slow burn, and if some you liked it and read it till here, please like and/or reblog and I'll post chapter 2!

( posted on Ao3! Name: “The woman in your castle” )

( chapter 2 posted!! )

#lady dimitrescu x reader #alcina x reader #alcina dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu #help idk what im doing

130 notes · View notes

bontenten · 3 years

Text

Efficiency

Pairing: Daishou x f!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings/Tags: smut, exhibitionism, voyeurism, fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, praise, light degredation, aftercare, established relationship

Thank you so much @/bakatenshii and @/thirstyforthem2dmen for beta-reading. This is a repost from my main after it went fully sfw. Originally for the hqhq (now Anilysium) hard at work collab.

Pen scrawls and keyboard taps sound throughout the conference room as your boss goes over current client projects. Daishou is sitting across the table and you notice he's wearing the tie you gave him for his birthday last year. Looks good, you think to yourself. It's not just the tie, it's his entire outfit, and him.

Daishou notices your lingering stare and makes eye contact, granting you a cheeky grin and a head tilt. Pompous bastard. In response, you send back an expression of mock disgust before turning your attention back to your laptop.

For any newcomer at the firm, it might seem like the office is split down the middle into either your camp or Daishou's, with opinions and jabs on completely opposite ends of the spectrum. Why else is there so much spite being tossed around between the two of you, if not due to a deeply entrenched layer of grievances?

It might leave the newbie confused as to why Daishou affectionately calls you his "most significant problem". Or why you preface notes to him with, "to whom this may piss off, my royal pain-in-the-ass".

Then there comes a revelation to the newbie that you and Daishou are not mortal enemies, but rather the most wretchedly in-love couple in this skyrise building. It's a bad decision to cross either you or Daishou for any matter. Not only are the both of you perfectly vindictive, crossing one means submitting an application to be on the blacklist of the other. There's no doubt, in your humblest opinion, that Daishou, even if he'll never outright admit it, absolutely worships the dirt under your heels. And when you are in remotely a good mood, fine, you don't mind his coffee breath either.

It's heartwarming, that in this tower of cold, hard stainless steel and immaculate glass panels, there's love floating around the disinfected air of money, money, and more money. When it counts, you can be sure that Daishou will stand on the same side of the fence as you.

While the meeting goes on and you multitask with the spreadsheet open on your screen, you think you hear your name being tossed around. To your knowledge, everything is lined up already and unless there is some sort of overnight emergency, there's absolutely nothing left on your plate to take care of.

At the same time, there is also the off-chance that someone decides to drag you into hell with them and include you in a project. Now, who could possibly have the audacity to put you into the wringer with them?

"Daishou! Excellent, I'll leave this to you," the boss exclaims. "This pitchbook needs to be done by tomorrow. It's high urgency and the client just sent the numbers in."

A sinking feeling begins to churn in your stomach. You pause your frenzy across the keyboard and pay attention to the meeting to hear the rest of what Daishou has to say.

"If I may," Daishou curtly asks with a smile that's a tad too wide, "I'd like to work with Y/N on this. As you know, we work best together. It'll be done before the meeting tomorrow."

You can feel everyone's eyes turn to you in the meeting room, begging you to please say yes to the man holding titles such as your boyfriend, co-worker, and also 'royal pain-in-the-ass'. You force a smile and match Daishou's client-ready, saccharine expression. "Of course, we'll have it done tonight."

Suddenly, the atmosphere of the entire meeting room relaxes by ten notches. Bastards, all of you.

"Our firm's best duo!" the boss praises, "We'll leave it to you two then. Meeting adjourned."

It's the two words everyone has been waiting for. The moment the syllable falls, the conference room is filled with the sounds of shifting seats and scuffling feet eager to leave work for the day. With a huff, you shut your laptop and see Daishou coming around the conference table with his laptop and files tucked under his arm. He adjusts and tugs on his tie.

"Guess it's you and me again tonight," Daishou comments.

"And here I wanted to leave work early for once."

"Hey, just a special date night. It's called 'overtime', sounds pretty sexy don't you think?"

You snort and walk past him, going towards the direction of the elevator. Daishou eyes your figure strutting down the hall. The lines of your ironed shirt and the pencil skirt that hugs your figure perfectly match the echoing clack of your heels striking shiny tiles.

Even if you don't remember, Daishou's impeccable memory absolutely remembers how the last time you paired that shirt and that skirt together, it was an overtime situation very much similar to tonight. And the cock that's starting to grow hard in his slacks certainly remembers a lot more. He can feel it twitching just trying to conjure up the sensation of your gummy walls milking him in the breakroom a month ago.

"You coming or what?"

Daishou sees you holding the elevator door open and waiting for him. Daishou won't ever admit to this, maybe to you in privacy, but Daishou will rather be dead than admit to anyone else how lucky he feels to have someone as incredible as you in his life.

He takes a few quick steps and enters the elevator.

"How sweet," he coos. "I knew you wouldn't just leave me hanging and working in this dismal place all alone."

"Shut-up, Suguru," you snap, but you lean your head against his shoulder anyway. It's been such a long day already, and the night is only going to be longer.

"Stay the night at my place later? I'll order your favorite."

"Let's get this project over with first."

"I caught you staring at me during the meeting."

"Huh, is that so."

"Practically stripped me naked with your eyes. Ooh, I felt tingles all over."

You lift your head from his shoulder. "You're so full of yourself Suguru," you remark before tugging on his tie to pull his face closer to yours. "If anything, I think you're the one getting hard at work."

Daishou leans in even closer. A hand encircles your wrist and his thumb brushes your inner-wrist across the bump of the vein. Your pulse is throbbing against his fingertips. You feel your adrenaline and anticipation rushing through your body as your heart pounds harder and faster.

"Then do something to help poor lil' me out?"

"At your place later, we—"

"But I want you so badly right now," Daishou breathes out, body tight against you so you can feel his straining desires through the layers of fabric. "I want—

Ding.

The elevator opens up to the floor the two of you work at. The co-workers waiting for the lift can only see two pristine and exemplary office workers without any semblance of dishevelment walk out. Daishou even says a polite "see you tomorrow" to them.

"If only the elevator stopped working," you joke after taking a deep breath to swallow the fire building in your core. "Sly snake, no one here in the office knows your true colors."

Sometimes, you wonder just how Daishou can switch his persona so quickly. Or maybe he just likes the precarious edge of being horny at work.

"Love you too dear," he sneers.

A couple workers are still at their desks scrambling for their deadlines. You and Daishou take a seat at your work stations and begin to chip away at the urgent, overtime project. Every now and then, you'll say good-night to the other remaining co-workers finally able to go home. It doesn't take long before the halls are completely vacated and empty except for the two of you still slaving away in front of the bright monitors for hours into the night.

"Where are you going?" you ask Daishou who is returning to his seat after disappearing down the hall again. "This is the third time in the last hour. Are you shitting in the toilets or dumping all the work on me?"

Daishou comes by your desk and leans on the back of your chair. "Just making some phone calls. Want to go home now? It's getting late."

"Uh...work's not done yet."

"It's fine, let's have dinner first, we can just work remotely at my place. The bulk is done anyway."

You glance at the clock and ponder Daishou's offer. It doesn't hurt to leave a little early and continue the work later in a more comfortable setting. "Okay, let me pack."

After cleaning up the workstation and packing everything the two of you will need, you and Daishou are back in the hallway waiting for the descending elevator.

Daishou takes the heavy tote bag from your shoulders. “I’ll hold onto this,” he explains.

“Why so nice today, Suguru? First luring me over with food, the compliments, and suggestions to leave early…” You trace a finger along the line of his spine and observe, pleased with the nervous grin spreading on his face. “Someone’s losing patience, hm?”

Daishou gives you an ingratiating smile. “Princess, as fancy as our work is, we still work in client-services. What can I say, I live to serve and please.”

“Cheeky.”

The elevator arrives and the two of you enter the space.

"How long do you think we still need?" you ask Daishou.

"Must we talk about work, right now?"

"You're just horny, Suguru."

"Oh, so it's 'just' me, is that what it is?"

You shrug and admit, "Nah, I was wondering why you didn't suggest anything earlier when the office was empty."

"Baby, if you wanted me that bad, you should've just climbed on my lap."

You laugh at Daishou's retort and prepare a comeback. "I think—"

A loud screech sounds through the elevator and the lights flicker briefly before a jolt causes you to stumble. Your hand automatically flies to the handrail. Daishou also wraps an arm around you tightly to steady your balance.

"Is the..."

"Seems like we're stuck," Daishou comments.

You rapidly press the service bell button, but it's no use. "No one's picking up, it's like the signal got cut. Should've just taken the stairs!"

The cell signal is also terribly weak in the elevator space. There's nothing else to do but wait and see how things play out.

Daishou laughs dryly and smooths his hair back. "We work on the 18th floor, since when do we take the stairs?"

"There's that one evacuation drill..." you reply weakly.

Daishou raises an eyebrow, giving you a look that says, really now?

"You're right, we're doomed. Last moments and—"

"With the love of your life, isn't that pleasant a way to go?" Daishou tightens his arms around you. "Don't worry, it's all going to be okay."

You reciprocate and respond to his hug, while your brain searches for a solution. "I once saw on the internet that if the elevator drops, you have to time your jump right before the elevator hits the ground floor. Otherwise—"

"Shhh," Daishou shushes you quietly with a quick kiss. He rocks you from side to side and reassures you again that everything is okay.

"Trust me, it'll be okay. Let's just have a little fun while we're waiting," he suggests one hand already tracing up your thigh. "Maybe it'll relax all those nerves you've been holding onto."

Daishou wants to laugh. Whose nerves exactly? Do you have any idea how he’s been counting the minutes and seconds for this moment while you innocently worked on the project like the good, model worker that you are?

It took everything in him to somehow put down a few excel formulas and not shove the monitors onto the floor to fuck you senseless across the worktables. Not to mention, the pleasure of having those witty remarks that spurt out from that little mouth of yours replaced with incomprehensible whines and begs for your precious Suguru to fill you to the brim. And now that you also admit to thinking along the same lines earlier, Daishou knows the dirty little thoughts clouding into your mind already.

Some slut that you are, acting proper and put-together at work, basking in the praise from co-workers and the boss; they just don’t know how ten minutes after those morning touchpoint meetings, you are bouncing on Daishou’s cock in a hidden corner while the financial markets open for the day. It’s an art, really, the number of quicks you two manage to fit into the crevices of a busy office schedule. But that’s why Daishou is one of the best employees of the firm. Daishou Suguru works quickly. He works efficiently.

The patterns Daishou's fingers trace tickle and send shivers up the skin. His low voice and hot breath across your ear elicits a soft gasp as you press your thighs together in the tight, figure-hugging skirt, seeking some hidden relief for the needy throb inside. The scrap of fabric down there is barely able to soak up the wetness beginning to pool. You are pressed up against him for comfort and security, your breasts plush against his chest. Each inhale and exhale you take is a test of patience.

"T-there's a camera," you remind him through shaky breaths, eyes flickering to the black mechanism in the corner. This is your final thread.

Daishou eyes the camera that is staring expectantly at the tryst about to happen in the cramped space with a wicked grin. Like that has ever bothered you, but if you want to play coy, he’ll humor you. He pinches the soft flesh on your thighs. "But we both know you're an attention whore. Always wanting to be the center of attention?"

You bite your lip to stop a whimper and look away, unwilling to admit that Daishou is completely right. You're already squirming in anticipation and delight. How cute, Daishou savors before deftly undoing the first two buttons of your crisp blouse. He has all of your clothes memorized, and how to take them off in the least amount of steps. At this point, it's completely second nature, and even if it isn't, the particular outfit you are wearing today has a special pedestal in Daishou's memory of interests. He pulls the tucked fabric apart to expose your delicate neckline and the soft curves of your breasts in the bra.

Oh, this one? What a coincidence then. He buries his face into the crook of your neck and deeply inhales the scent of your lingering fragrance. His hot breath and tantalizing lips drag across your collarbone, brushing your sensitive skin.

"So fucking sexy. Let's put on a show shall we?"

The thread snaps.

You harshly tug on the Daishou’s tie and capture his lips with yours. Daishou presses his body even closer, resting a forearm right above your head to cage you against the elevator wall. You wrap your arms around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair, as you meld into the searing kiss. The zipper of your skirt is tugged and the fabric is pushed up to your waist. His hand snakes up your thigh and a thumb hooks the side of your panties, pulling the soaked scrap down.

"Step," he instructs, pulling your panties down all the way and guiding your heeled feet out. "Don't want them dropping on the floor," he says, tucking the bunched fabric into his shirt pocket.

"Touch me, please," you beg, pulling Daishou back to you. You grab his hand and lead him to between your legs, grinding yourself against his thick fingers for some relief.

“No need to rush, the elevator isn't getting fixed anytime soon," he coos, "We're not going to get distracted this time."

Daishou spreads your lips apart and rubs along your sensitive bud, coating his digits with your slick. "Fuck, you're so wet already," he marvels before slipping a finger in and then another.

Daishou pumps his fingers in and out of your sopping pussy, occasionally dragging over to circle your clit. "That's it, isn't it?" he groans, feeling your walls clench around his fingers when he finds the spot that has you falling apart into streams of whines and mewls.

Daishou withdraws his fingers and brings the glistening digits up for you to see. "How much are you enjoying this? Wanting to be fucked in an elevator, watched by who knows who behind that camera."

You whimper and watch Daishou take the coated fingers in his mouth, licking off every drop of you. "You taste so good," he breathes, before pulling you into a kiss and letting you have a taste of your own arousal.

You break out of the kiss and turn around, resting your hands on the handrail. "S-Suguru, want you in me," you beg. You bend over just enough for your Daishou to see how much more wet you've gotten from tasting yourself on him. Your glistening hole is dripping and desperately clenching around nothing.

"Patience, princess." Daishou quickly unbuckles his belt and lets the cock pressing against his tight slacks spring free. He prepares to give himself a few more strokes but you reach behind and slap his hand away, replacing the hand on his cock with your own.

"Fuck," he groans, bucking his hips into your hands. "Always the impatient one."

"Hurry...please."

The building anticipation is making your knees weak and head dizzy already. You keep both hands on the handrails for support and squirm over trying to better line yourself for that thickness you need to fill your hole.

"Shit, stop teasing me!"

Beep.

The emergency intercom you pressed when the elevator first malfunctioned finally lights up. The line connects after a moment of static and radio noise and temporarily shocks a thread of rationality into your thoughts.

"Hello? Hello? Are we connected now, finally? Hello? Can you hear me?" the voice urges from the other end.

"Ah-" you gasp out, feeling Daishou fingers draw out slow circles on your clit. You press your lips tightly together to muffle a moan.

"Ma'am? Ma'am, can you hear me?"

Daishou leans next to your ear. "Answer them, sweetheart." The tip of his cock teases the entrance of your pussy, running along the wet lips. "Do well and I'll give it to you."

You manage, with difficulty, squeak out, "Y-yes!"

"Good girl."

Your legs buckle slightly when you feel Daishou's thick cock being pushed into you, finally giving you the gratification you have been craving during Daishou's ministrations.

"Oh, careful now, don't want you falling over," Daishou's grip on your hips tightens and he groans at how warm, wet and tight you are around him. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good," he mutters under his breath.

The speaker buzzes again. "Great, finally connected. Ma'am are you doing okay still?"

"Yes!" you cry out as Daishou gives a firm and deep thrust; a wave of pleasure shoots through you.

"Don't panic, our team is already coming—" The line disconnects as abruptly.

Daishou revels at how your soft walls hug and clench around him. By all means, he didn't expect the interruption happening at all. It seems like you are not the only impatient person, he wonders, before flashing a nasty look at the camera in the corner and flipping said object off.

"Come on, princess,” he encourages and pats the side of your ass lightly. “Let me hear how pretty you sound."

"Sugu—" you gasp out, feeling the tip of his cock rocking into you. "R-right there right, ah—"

"Yea, you like that?" Daishou groans, pushing into you again feeling your walls clamp around him so tightly. So perfectly. It's addicting and all he can do is thrust in and out, over and over again. Each time seeking out the sounds of your pretty moans when you are completely filled and stuffed with him.

Lewd squelches and the slaps of skin meeting flesh fill the elevator space, along with Daishou’s grunts and your pants. Your hips meet each of Daishou’s thrusts in perfect rhythm, taking his entire length until the base. You can feel each stroke dragging along your walls, the size and length of his cock pushing against your tightness and prodding your cervix.

Neither of you can bother with any other distractions now that bliss is just teetering on the edge. Daishou pulls out and turns you around so you face him. He then scoops you up from under your ass with your legs spread over his forearms and hoists you up against the elevator wall. You feel the stinging cold from the cylindrical edge of the handrail as a dubious support against your heated skin.

"Suguru!" you squeal out, "I'll fall! I'll—"

"I got you, don't worry," Daishou reassures, "You're okay, I won't let you fall."

Once he feels your arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders, Daishou slides into you again with a loud squelch.

"We're right outside now! Won't be long before we get you two out." A loud voice calls out from beyond the shut elevator doors.

"Smile for the camera, princess," Daishou encourages before picking up the pace, chasing the high that's just around the corner. His thrusts become faster and rougher, hitting your sweet spot deep inside you over and over again making your mind spin. The countless reflected images of Daishou's unrelenting pursuit and speed, and the expression of your fucked out face collide together in a blurry, infinite kaleidoscope.

“Gonna cum! Gonna-”

All thoughts leave your mind with each ragged breath as you near your own edge. You can only cling onto Daishou tightly, nails digging into his shoulder and back. You don't hear the sounds of mechanical whirring outside the elevator. Whatever it is that the people are shouting outside does not matter. The bright lights don't make any sense to you anymore. You don't even remember what Daishou Suguru looks like.

The blank stare from the camera is the last thing you see before you squeeze your eyes shut, face tucked in the crook of Daishou’s neck, and body feeling like putty in his arms. All that's left is the euphoria sparking through and broken syllabylic babbles you struggle to utter out.

With a few final thrusts, Daishou grunts and pulls you completely flush against his hips, finally spilling himself into you. Release after a long day never feels this sweet, Daishou muses as he holds your languid body close. Each deep breath you take only pushes your soft breast against his chest, and Daishou can feel your spasming walls still hugging him. He peppers a few kisses on your sweat covered brow. So good, so fucking good.

The voices and mechanical whirs outside interrupt Daishou’s moment.

That’s right, we’re still in this damn elevator. Daishou carefully pulls out his softened and twitching cock and lowers your wobbly form down from your make-shift seat. He takes a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the drool from your face then lightly dab away the trail of mixed fluids seeping out of your puffy cunt. The overly saturated handkerchief does a poor job soaking away the mess the two of you made.

Daishou reaches for the crumpled panties he shoved into the shirt pocket, but decides against letting you wear it. In your current state, your legs are like a newborn deer, barely able to support you let alone try to maneuver into underwear.

"Once we get back to my place, I'll draw us a bath.”

The increasingly loud mechanical clamor and sounds of the elevator workers pull you out of your daze for a moment too. You try to fumble around and haphazardly button your shirt, but the buttons miss their proper buttonhole by one. You pout and look at Daishou who just buckled his belt and tucked in the edges of his crumpled shirt. He looks ready for a client meeting already, if not for the obvious smell of sex clinging into him.

Daishou chuckles at your state and helps you slip into his long coat. He kisses your brow again in apology. "Sorry baby, just bear with it for a moment."

"Hungry."

"Yes, yes. I'll order your favorite too, like I promised."

You nod, pleased with his answer.

Ding.

The doors of the elevator open, to the relief of the elevator workers outside. They were in the process of getting ready to pry the doors open, but it seems like the elevator is back to normal already.

"Sir, Ma'am, we apologize for our tardiness."

Daishou waves a hand. "Not at all, it was fine. My girlfriend," he nods to your hidden form in the coat, "a bit frazzled, that's all."

Daishou's coat is like a bathrobe and hides absolutely everything. Turn up the collar, hide your face in Daishou's neck, and no one can see the mess that you are still underneath the thick layer. If they don't look, they won't know about the cum that's already dripping out and trailing down the curves of your legs into your scuffed heels.

"Is she okay? If there are any problems, we can direct you to-"

"Don't worry, I'll take good care of her. Thanks for helping fix the elevator." Not that there was anything wrong with it to begin with.

"We'll be inspecting all the elevators in the building as well. We assure you this will never happen again."

The musty smell of sweat and sex is all that lingers in the elevator, but it'll dissipate soon enough. Maybe there are tiny puddles of your juices on the tiles but the 5 A.M. cleaning workers will wipe it all away. By tomorrow, the elevator and rest of the building will be just the way it always is again. The stainless steel is cold, and the glass panels are pristine. In the early hours of the morning, leather shoes and heels will be strutting around on the marbled floors. Phone calls. Printers. Clients. Meetings. And more overtime.

Daishou smirks to himself, supporting just about your entire weight. His phone rings in his coat pocket. He reaches for the device and answers the call. Those bastards.

"Heh, glad you enjoyed the show you fucker. And tell Kenma, 'that was a dick move he pulled back there.'"

He listens to the response from the other line.

"Yea sure, thanks for hacking the system...uh huh, tell him to cum in your dirty sock-rag then...yea whatever, go eat shit."

Daishou ends the call and shoves the phone into his pocket.

"Su-gu-ru..." you mumble.

"Yes princess?"

"...Pitchbook..."

Daishou presses a light kiss to your forehead. "Don't worry about it, sweetheart."

Even all fucked out, you still manage to not forget about corporate responsibilities, some overachieving show-off you are. After getting you cleaned up and warm, he'll finish up any remaining work. Daishou Suguru works quickly. He works efficiently.

#haikyuu smut #hq smut #daishou x reader smut #daishou smut #daishou x reader #tw exhibitionism #tw voyeurism #emi.freshtea #ch daishou #in celebration of cleaning up the main whooowheeewhoo #🍵.daishou

132 notes · View notes

justalost4girl · 3 years

Text

" If anything can go wrong, it will."

Good night!! (Here it's still night :p )

A few weeks ago I said I would do a oneshot Lorraine Broughton x F! Reader, but it got too big so I decided to follow the initial idea and turn it into a mini series. I have two chapters written and I'm going to post them here and in Ao3, I think there will be 3 or 4 chapters in total, but I'm not sure yet.

English is not my first language, so all mistakes are mine.

Enjoy!!

warnings: mention of violence, R cursing, forgery of documents (?)

Words: 4573

▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰ ▱▰

1989

Berlin, East Side

You feel in your bones, when you wake up, the consequences of last night and think that the famous Murphy's Law decided to test you. On this side of the wall few things go right, but having an order in your head two days after joining STASI's wanted list proves that nothing is so bad it can't get any worse. Courtesy of a dumb customer who messed with the wrong people and thought revealing where you find your customers would be enough information to escape death. The Local Gang (or Angels, as they call themselves) loves to eliminate competition from the market.

Now he's dead and you have to deal with the STASI AND the Local Gang (you refuse to call them Angels).

The local fucking gang that sent a team of idiots to break into your favorite bar and made you run out the back door before meeting a customer who was going to pay well. The local fucking gang who must be pissed that you shot the six dumbest members you've ever had to face in your life. No really fatal shots, but of course that won't matter as they do business with the KGB.

Sometimes you want to ignore the rules you've made for yourself, especially "never kill someone unless it's in defense of yourself or someone you love", but you think killing six agents who don't have the ability to set up an ambush of success would be a great waste of bullets. Now you know you're going to have to leave town soon and you have no idea how to break the news to your brother/partner, how do you honorably abandon a war before it's over?

Damn Murphy's Law

You know you need to sort this out, but you refuse to stay in bed crying over what's already written and decide to leave the wonderful Egyptian linen sheets you got from your favorite client last month to face the world and it's impossible to face the world without a good amount of coffee. After a quick shower with a cup of Blue Mountain in hand, your newest addiction, you sit in a robe in a nice armchair, look out the window at dying Berlin and thank heaven for the comfortable life you've earned by working with one of the greatest smugglers on this side of the wall, perhaps from all over Germany. Some desperate customers offer you valuable items from them in exchange for passports and unlike your idiot “brother”, you don't have a rule about only receiving cash. Almost everything here comes from gifts, from the sofa, pictures, bags, clothes and even some books on your shelf. You don't even remember buying that cup, or the coffee set, for gods' sake.

If he saw you now he'd complain about being soft with customers and say something about how items aren't a bargaining chip in the real world, you'd get into a tiresome discussion about enjoying the finer things in life and how bills don't compare in the importance of yours. silver chain with moon pendant that was once an amulet for more than three generations for a French family.

At the end of the day, Merkel has a large information network and an office that takes up half the block, where she keeps as much money as she has secrets, and you have a house decorated by other people where each object symbolizes someone you've helped.

Four walls don't make a house

The thought takes away some of the almost peace you feel and you decide to finish your coffee before it gets cold.

After a quick glance at the calendar you remember about the march that will take place in Alexanderplatz square and decide to go scream for Germany one last time, hopefully you'll be able to hide long enough to see the fall of the damn wall that divides this country. It's not your country, not really, you don't even like to remember how you got here, but the experiences you gained wouldn't be exchanged for anything, not even for an original Van Gogh. Also, Merkel asked you to go and bring a black umbrella, the reason was not explained and you didn't feel like asking, sometimes you think Gordon Merkel is not his name, but how to judge the man who is your only family in this end of the world? You smile when you remember that he shouldn't have an umbrella with a story as cool as his and decide to piss him off for it.

Your phone rings, and you notice you've lost track of time. Merkel was helping a blonde woman named L, he didn't give you more details other than a few stories about how she was a perfect and dangerous assassin that you should keep your distance, as few people know how to deal with her. You thought he overreacted, but you had to take over some business from him while she was in town. She seemed important considering the way he told you about her and you knew better than to deny help to the person who always supported you and declared himself a brother, you trusted him because not even the best agent in the world could fake so much sincerity and affection in claiming this title for himself.

You reach out, pick up the phone, and decide to answer it. “Hey little sister, how are you out there? I called to say that everything is fine for dinner today, but there was a mishap and the wine ran out, bring the best Bordeaux you have, I'll return the courtesy as soon as possible." A code, of course.

He needs your services ASAP. Wine is a passport, Bordeaux means two elements, courtesy involves a child.

You can combine business with pleasure "Hi brother. I'm looking forward to today, I'll take the best wine I have, don't worry. I already know how you can thank me. I need to clean the house and go to the office first, but I'll be there on time. wait for me." you say in a voice that oozes normalcy, you never know when someone's listening on the phone especially now that you're a fugitive, disgraced customer. Your body sinks into the armchair noticing the oncoming cloud of worry

Merkel now knows you need his help, as cleaning the house means getting away and going to the office shows you're in a hurry.

"Alright, do you want me to send the driver?" He asks like he's not freaking out and offering the bloody job of one of his mercenaries

“No, bro, thanks, I know the way.” You say as if you really have an escape plan besides getting a fake passport, emergency backpack and all the money you can find.

“See you later, don't forget the wine. Are you sure you don't want the driver?" You wonder if he has forgotten that knowing the way literally means everything is fine

“Relax, see you later” It takes a few seconds for him to hang up and you can hear his sigh.

He will be SO pissed.

You put the phone down as you get up to gather the passport forgery materials and put them in a briefcase. Your cookbook is already there along with some banknotes from different countries. As you pick up the black backpack of standard clothes and accessories that always waited for you in the corner of the door, you decide to wear the first jacket you bought, the dark blue jeans, the combat boots you got from a skinhead, the wristwatch you bought. you got for your brother's birthday, thick leather gloves and a thin white shirt that matches the rest of your outfit. After all, if you can die when you open the door, then die well dressed. Be sure to keep the Colt 1911 around your waist and the Russian dagger around your ankle, after yesterday you never know, Your pocket watch with the coat of arms of the Brazilian imperial family indicates that 15 minutes have passed since Merkel's phone call

You take one last look at the house you've been so proud of in recent years, snap a photo with the Polaroid you've won, and, with a bittersweet smile, close the door. One day when the wall comes down, the government changes and your face is forgotten, you can come back here, until then you will have to make do with the photo album you keep in your backpack and this photo.

Putting on your sunglasses, you arrive on the street and decide to take a taxi on the other corner, make sure you look around before leaving your home, no one knows your address, but you can't be sure the local gang is so stupid to the point of not following you after last night.

Getting a taxi was relatively easy. Neil, the driver, thanks to the boots, mistook you for a revolutionary and talked for 10 minutes about how he hoped he could take down the wall with his bare hands, you thought it was cool, but as you passed the big river that was just a few blocks away from the your brother's office, you couldn't hear a word from him.

A sign signaling that the river was closed to visitors made your eyes fill with tears. You used to go there when the day was bad, spread a blanket in a corner and watch the stars, or just laugh at the distinct reflection the water made of the moon and stars. Merkel accompanied you on anniversaries, justifying them as bonding experiences. After some freaks started swimming in the river and executions increased, STASI took over and you replaced the dark water for the restaurant's bright lights. But seeing it tightly closed gave him a feeling of anguish and rancor. You would silently curse the wall builders for the rest of the trip.

Neil seemed to notice but didn't comment on it, you thanked him, wiped your tears and left a good tip as you descended a block away from your final destination. This time you didn't need to look around because even though Merkel was super busy, he made sure to leave some security close to where your landing place was.

A tall man dressed in a red T-shirt approached you and hugged you as if he hadn't seen you in a long time. You've known him since the beginning of last year, when he arrived at Merkel's office begging for a job, and from the first moment the way he turned grief over his brother's death into a thirst for revolution made you admire the young man. The two of you walked through the great gate hand in hand as you asked about his life with genuine interest, and Klaus increasingly believed in Merkel's theory about you having such a pure heart that you didn't care about motivation or the number of lives they took, your explanation of the judgment not being your responsibility, crossed the man's head before he escorted you to the main office.

You thanked him with a smile, opened the door and stood in front of the table in the windowless room, where your brother was already waiting for you.

"What the hell happened? Are you okay? I was about to send J to get you, please tell me what happened"—he said hurriedly as he got up and pointed at the couch for you to sit on. J was one of the most dangerous women in the building and you were grateful for not wasting her time.

Putting your backpack and umbrella aside, you answered:

"I'll explain later, little brother, now let me help you. You need passports urgently, don't you?" Yes, you were stalling and postponing the conversation. He'd call you an idiot for going out on the street right after you got on the wanted list, and he'd feel guilty when he found out why you didn't tell him. Merkel wasn't going to understand that her fear of failing him was no one's fault but yourself.

Your sentence seemed to give him some responsibility back, but still, as he held out a glass of water for you, his eyes met yours with a glint that warned that this conversation was far from over.

"Yeah, I really do, but don't think I'm going to forget about it. Let's talk when this is all over. Even if it's the last thing I do today."

You accepted the glass with a bit of trepidation and stood up towards the large center table while opening the briefcase with the supplies you were going to need, if Merkel noticed the bills he didn't say anything. Once at the table, you made two passports for mother and daughter in record time. According to the clock, 10 minutes passed, faster than a car, this deserves a celebration. It would have been six if Merkel hadn't been so curious to make you waste time pulling your watch out of your pocket just for him to analyze.

Everything was going well and there was only one last detail for mother and daughter to be taken by one Percival to the other side of the wall. Percival, according to Merkel, was strange and fickle. Unreliable and extremely dangerous, you should also keep your distance from him, as this man had crucial contacts on both sides of the wall.

"He must have fewer contacts than you", you would answer

If a loud noise didn't break the silence

The annoying noise of the door creaking made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you almost missed the last signature, it made your body vibrate with irritation and your eyes follow to the offensive source of the sound. A tall man with short hair and blue eyes was holding the doorknob with a military posture and before you could release your anger and explain something about how people shouldn't be violent inside Merkel's office you noticed he was accompanied by a woman.

AND WHAT A WOMAN!

Your eyes connected to a pair of fierce, intent green eyes, surrounded by a pale skin tone and hair so blond it looked like snow. The barely perceptible frown showed she was surprised to find someone other than Merkel there, yet she looked ready for a battle. You looked into her eyes again and nodded in acknowledgment, this must be L, the woman he was talking about.

She looked at you suspiciously, but also as if she could see into your soul, and what must have been frightening, you found endearing. A few stories of murders orchestrated by her crossed your mind, but all you could imagine is how beautiful she must be when she's mad.

They say green eyes darken when we're high on adrenaline, does that happen to her?

Her analysis of the intriguing blonde ends when she notices that the man accompanying her has raised his voice and from his furious expression, it's not the first time he's repeated the question. You interrupt him before you hear him and make sure to direct the ghost of anger before him:

"Have you lost your mind? Who walks into the office without knocking? Surely you should be here asking about passports, but if it weren't for my experience and steady hands, they would be in the trash by now. Learn to be civilized. You're under two paws not four, so act human and not animal" you say in an explosive but articulate tone to make sure he understands what you say. Sometimes when you speak fast, you are betrayed by faulty diction. Not today. Today you want this man to feel every fiber of irritation that went through his body.

Hearing Merkel holding a nervous laugh, you try to relax, but judging by the cold, almost murderous look of the man in the doorway, you've definitely gotten yourself in trouble. Looking at the organized clothes, you notice it's an old police uniform, probably taken by your brother, and unless Merkel has hired new employees, you've never seen it around here. His eyes snap back to his and something inside you warns that this must be Percival. He probably wants to kill you.

Damn Murphy's Law

A brief silence settles in the room and you shake off the fear and turn away, refusing to play the glaring game with a man who almost spoils your art. On other days you might look at him at a party, but today you want to make him swallow the ink on the stamp in his hands and invite the blonde to dinner

And it's her voice that breaks the silence.

You're flipping through the two passports for failures when she says

"Sorry, miss. My friend is an unprecedented idiot. Shall I close the door and knock again? Perhaps your highness too--"

You turn her body towards her when you hear the slightest hint of irony in her tone and interrupt her with a fake smile as you look into her eyes.

"It's not necessary, I accept your apology, Miss. I always said that Merkel should have someone armed at the door to remind everyone of the need to knock on the door. Anyone who didn't knock would lose his mind as the law of my reign says. Perhaps I should start. for him, since the top head is the last thing he wears lately" you joke look at Merkel who doesn't seem offended by the statement, shrugging you look at those blue eyes again and say "the passports are ready. Let's get out of here."

You close the passports, reach for your backpack and umbrella and start moving towards the door, both agents let you lead the way and judging by the blonde's expression, she's not used to being interrupted, nor is she used to seeing someone talking like that with Merkel, but today it was acceptable. You really think she's adorable, but you know better than to let someone make fun of you, especially in front of your brother who wouldn't let you forget about it. Either she doesn't care, or she's a great actress. Anyway, that idiot is still by her side and you refuse to be the reason for his possible laugh.

Her friend probably didn't have the same acting classes and his resemblance to the local gang members, like he's going to kill you in the blink of an eye in a cowardly way, is almost frightening. If Merkel hadn't said L is a woman, you'd be scared. It makes you shiver a little and look for Merkel, but he's not following you. Looking over his shoulder you see him putting a few more piles of dollars and euros into your briefcase. With a snap of your fingers you get his attention and before you walk out the door, you hear the briefcase click closing.

Once out of the room, you look around and realize that nothing has really changed, all faces are familiar, except for three people: a couple talking to a child. After a brief analysis you find yourself facing the passport clients, mother and daughter. The man doesn't look older than 60 and has kind eyes, almost as if he doesn't live on this side of the wall.

They don't seem to notice you

Your observation is interrupted by Merkel's loud, proud voice, right behind you. Here it comes

"This is Elizabeth Loyd and Percival, two trusted clients. Elizabeth and Percival, this is my little sister, she will be on the march today, if you need anything in the future you can talk to her."

Hearing her name, you notice that Merkel really wasn't creative at all. Who would use the initial letter of a surname as a symbol? Anyone who heard the stories about L and met a loyde who knows a Merkel would make the connection. As you turn around, you swallow your nervousness and try to put on your best smile as you say your name to them. The blonde woman who finally has a name, Elizabeth, leans closer, her eyes never leaving yours, and you wonder if she can feel the jumble of emotions that is unraveling inside you.

She smiles a smile that makes you sure she does and reaches out and greets you with a firm grip, if she noticed the sweat on your hands, she didn't let on. She also looks a little more comfortable.

Maybe because she noticed you said her real name, idiot.

You hate yourself for one second and the next you want to be without gloves because it feels soft and warm.

The man, Percival, comes next and looks at you suspiciously and the smile fades from your face, you wonder if no one else can smell the strong smell he gives off, a smell of cheap whiskey and arrogance. Still, he holds out his hand and this time you thank the gods for the gloves. Make sure you don't bow your head or fail in your posture. He still looks at you like you killed his son. Useless even to pretend, for God's sake.

Merkel watches the exchange from afar and nods to Elizabeth, she responds and Percival walks away looking uneasy. You look around uncomprehendingly, feel a little left out, and wonder which computer must have Tetris installed.

You would kill for a distraction right now.

Going out on the street in a crowded march while being chased by two groups still makes you sick.

Your brother approaches and extends his hands around you. You've missed him for the past few weeks. He still wears the perfume you gave him for his birthday and it makes you sink deeper into the hug. You know he's going to be mad when he finds out what happened so you enjoy as much affection as you can

"Little sister, in addition to our conversation I need to tell you something" his voice is low in tone and you doubt you would understand the words if you weren't so close to him "but I can't do that until the march is over. Meet me at usual table at the restaurant where we celebrate our achievements, It's very important"

His even low voice is charged with strong emotion and you are genuinely worried, Merkel has never been like this before.

"I'll do it, brother, I promise. Whatever it is, we can work it out together" you say with all the certainty you can muster in your voice, because you need him to understand that this is true.

You feel eyes on you and as you look up you notice that Elizabeth keeps an eye on your exchange with Merkel while talking to the little girl's father, from the distance she probably can't understand anything and you don't know if she celebrates or cares with so much attention received. A little further away is a Percival who pretends to be busy with the coat he's wearing. He also pays attention to your exchange, but his talent for discretion is as effective as his ability to open doors.

Your eyes return to the concentrated blue eyes that are in front of you and Merkel speaks in an almost inaudible way:

"When I whistle, I need you to raise your open umbrella and stay alert. The three people we're going to cross are very important, nothing can go wrong. But if it does, I'll be at the restaurant, whatever happens find me there."

Noticing the proximity of Percival and Elizabeth, you place your hand on your brother's shoulder and smile as you speak a little louder:

"Don't worry man, it's always a pleasure to help you. I'll leave my briefcase here, then meet you to get it. Good march."

Merkel shows that she understands his strange move and smiles, you greet some friends of his that you haven't seen in a while and as you head towards the exit, you meet a pair of deep green eyes. Elizabeth is gleaming in the cold lights that are refracted by the mosaic of the gate, she looks into your eyes, ever alert, looks at the object in your hands and nods her head with a half smile, do you think the guard's idea black rain was hers.

As you wave back, you can feel that a pair of eyes haven't left your back since the moment of your brother's embrace, as the old man is saying goodbye to the family, you know who they belong to and decide not to look for them. If the STASI, KGB or local gang find you, he doesn't own the pair of eyes you want to remember before you die.

Taking a deep breath, you walk through the gate and blend into the crowd.

..........................................................................................................................

After leaving Merkel's office block, you take a hat out of your backpack and wear your sunglasses as you look around, not that a local gang member is here but because if he sees you in disguise he will ask a series of questions and he has enough problems already, plus STASI must be monitoring this area and the last thing you want is to be arrested. You decide to tuck your coat into your backpack to change your look, and while internally debating your ability to ignore the cold, your eyes catch the almost snowy blond hair in the crowd.

This signals that they are already on the march and you decide to get a little closer to them, but make sure you do this without drawing attention to yourself since the nasty man is still there. Elizabeth is on your diagonal absorbing all the extraneous details that might be a possible threat, she seems so focused on the job of passing the owner's gentle eyes in a safe way that it makes you wonder how important he is and if she's noticed you.

A few meters later a familiar noise floats through the march and you open the umbrella almost instantly, as do other protesters.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Percival taking the man's family across and sometime later Elizabeth does the same. You notice that her posture has changed and when she decides to stop for a better look, the crowd drags her and you can no longer locate her.

Her feet continue forward and as some signs are raised by the protesters, you try to find your brother. Unsuccessfully. You decide to trust their ability and hope that you can meet him again at the restaurant.

You also want Elizabeth to be okay.

Continuing on the march, after two or three long blocks you notice the familiar silhouette of one of the STASI bosses, he is watching the crowd as if looking for someone, but he doesn't seem to notice you. You notice observers on top of buildings and decide to leave the streets. Whether it's the Local Gang, KGB or STASI itself you don't know and decide you don't want to know.

Your brain tries to design routes to escape and your body mimics the movements of the closest protesters so as not to draw attention to you, but when some agents in black point in your direction and make space in the crowd, you run between people to seek shelter in somewhere you know and at every step you are sure that the day will be worse than you thought.

Damn Murphy's Law

#lorraine broughton x reader #lorraine broughton #atomic blonde #charlize theron

94 notes · View notes