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forhappysake · 2 months

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"Because I love you."

A/N - Guys I'm really into these sappy pieces recently. Pls feel free to send requests for something else if inspired. Also, I might be doing a pt.3 to Teach Me at some point, I just have to pick where the story is going.

Summary - A showdown with an unsub leaves you in the hospital. Spencer can't help but feel guilty. Could almost losing you push him to confess his love? (spoilers: yes it does)

Warnings - spencer x reader, BAU level violence, some angst on Spencer's part, fluff, and a love confession

You stared down at your hands, battered and bloodied from your futile attempts to fight back. Caught off guard during an interview with a man who was only supposed to be an eye witness, not the unsub himself, forced you to fight for your life. By the time the neighbors heard the scuffle and called the local police to come to your rescue, you figured you looked like you’d been through seven rounds of an MMA fight. Your head ached, your eye was swollen shut, and you nearly cried in agony with every breath as you were certain you’d broken a rib.

After a tense standoff with the local police, the unsub was in custody, leaving you on the floor with your many wounds. You managed to stand yourself up and walk out the door to the waiting ambulance, only to collapse into the EMT’s arms. You felt yourself being loaded in the back of the vehicle as they started an IV. As consciousness drifted away from you, you couldn’t help but wonder where your team was.

***

You awoke in the hospital to the steady sound of your heart monitor beeping and muffled conversation from outside your room. Your bloodied clothes had been traded in for a hospital gown at some point, and your midsection was bound tightly with some sort of bandages, you assumed to keep your rib in place. You managed to open your good eye in an attempt to find the source of those muffled voices. Your eyes landed on Emily and JJ speaking in the corner of the room, voices hushed.

“He can’t blame himself. None of us saw this coming,” Emily said, her voice stern but laced with concern.

JJ shook her head. “He feels terrible, Emily. I’ve seen him come in and out of here crying three times in the last two hours. He rarely cries.”

Who could they be talking about?

Emily looked at the floor in silence, trying to formulate a reply. JJ cleared her voice to speak again. “They’re partners, Emily,” JJ said, “Of course he’s going to blame himself.”

Spencer.

Deciding you’d had enough of eavesdropping, you did your best to sit up, only to let out a whimper when a sharp pain pierced your side. JJ and Emily turned to face you, surprised looks on both their faces.

“Hey, just lay back,” JJ encouraged. She rushed to the bedside, placing a soothing hand on your arm.

“How long have I been asleep?” you asked.

Emily shook her head, “Only twelve hours, which isn’t very much considering what you’ve been through. I’ll tell the doctors you need another IV and some pain medication.”

As she turned for the door, you shook your head, “Emily, wait.”

Emily turned to face you, coming to stand at the foot of your bed. “What is it?”

“Where’s Spencer?” you asked. Emily looked to JJ, the two of them sharing a knowing glance. You and Spencer had always been close, as partners and friends.

“He’s been going back and forth between pacing the parking lot and the lobby for hours. I can’t imagine how many steps he’s taken,” Emily joked. “I’ll go get him for you.” With that, she turned and left the room, leaving you and JJ to catch up on what you’d missed in the last few hours.

JJ explained what happened after you’d passed out: how the unsub was in custody, finding another victim in his basement, and the team realizing that they’d sent you out to interview the lunatic on your own. “We just thought he was going to give you some information about the case. We had no reason to think that he was the one who-”

You shook your head, holding up a hand to stop her. “I didn’t think so either. It’s why I agreed to go alone. Nobody’s at fault.”

JJ nodded, a solemn look on her face. “I’m just so glad you’re okay. We were all so worried once we connected the dots. I was telling Emily - I haven’t seen Spencer so stressed in years.”

As if on cue, both you and JJ turned to the sound of rushed footsteps coming down the hallway. Spencer’s tall frame was running (no, sprinting) down the hospital corridor. You felt a small smile tug at the corner of your lips as he burst into the room, hair danging in front of his eyes and clearly out of breath.

He approached your bedside, leaning down so he could be face-to-face with you. You could only see him with one good eye, but you did your best to smile to show him that you were doing alright. You brought a hand to his face, pushing the fallen strands of hair out of his eyes so you could see him more clearly. “Hello to you too,” you joked.

“Y/N-” Spencer started, the tears quickly gathering in his eyes, “I’m so sorry. I should’ve gone with you. I should have known that-”

“That the guy who called into the tipline was actually the unsub? Spencer, be logical. None of us knew. I was just telling JJ, nobody is at fault.”

A single tear fell down his cheek as he examined your injuries. With each scratch and bruise he found, he felt another crack forming in his heart. He hadn’t protected you. Wasn’t that what he was supposed to do? He was your partner. Your best friend. He loved you, that he knew. He’d forced that love to be as platonic as he could make it, trying to avoid ruining your perfect friendship. It was moments like this that made that more difficult than ever, as he tried to reckon with his love and his guilt.

Your bruised hand was still cradling his face. He could feel the bandages against his stubble, and he cursed himself again. It was only then that the other presence in the room became known to him. JJ stood on the other side of the bed, another knowing smile gently painting her lips. Spencer knew what he had to do. JJ knew what Spencer had to do. He looked at her, his eyes subtly asking her to leave the two of you alone. JJ took the hint with a small nod, leaving the room without another word as you and Spencer continued to examine each other.

“So, JJ’s filled me in on what I missed,” I said, breaking the silence. “Sounds like a pretty exciting half day,” I joked.

Spencer shook his head, pulling away from your hand. He didn’t go far, though, intertwining his own with yours as he leaned back from the bed. “I was worried sick,” he said.

“I can tell, Spence,” you said, trying to prop yourself up with your pillow. “You really shouldn’t have been. You know I always come out of these things relatively unscathed.” He raised an eyebrow at your statement, taking in your swollen and bruised features. “Well… maybe not unscathed. Alive, at least,” you quipped.

An eerie silence fell over the room. You could feel the tension increase as the gears turned in his head.

“But what if you don’t someday?” he whispered, his voice far away. You looked over at him, his eyes fixed on your heart monitor and the gentle green lines rising and falling accompanied by the signature beep-beep-beeping.

You squeezed his hand in an attempt to bring him back down to Earth. “I’ll always come back, Spencer. It’s what you and I do. We come back alive for each other.”

The tears that had pooled in his eyes earlier spilled over his cheeks as he let out a small whimper. He leaned down, gently wrapping his arms around you as he wept. “Hey, it’s okay Spencer,” you tried to calm him.

“No, it’s not. It-it’s not because,” he trailed off. You could still feel his shoulders shaking as he cried.

“Why, Spencer?” you asked once more. “Please, you can tell me anything.”

Suddenly his sobs slowed. He pulled back from your embrace, taking in your features. Bruised and battered as you were, you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. He felt like his heart was going to explode. Before his brain could catch up with his mouth, the words came tumbling out. “Because I love you,” he said simply.

Your jaw dropped open at his words. While you should’ve seen this coming, nothing could prepare you for the way your heart jumped. If it wasn’t evident from the expression on your face, the heart monitor picked up its beeping, nearly doubling its pace. The sound wasn’t lost on Spencer, who frantically looked at the screen.

“Oh no,” he mumbled, quickly walking to the monitor. “Did I upset you? I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’ve just felt this way for so long and if I keep pretending like I don’t-”

“Spencer,” you cut him off, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in minutes. “I love you too.”

The look on his face was priceless, and you wished you could have taken a picture, but you did your best to engrave it on your brain forever. His brown, teary eyes brightened in a moment, a glimmer of hope shining from within. “You do?” he asked.

You laughed, allowing your head to fall back on the pillow behind you. “Spencer, I volunteer to work with you during nearly every case. We split a room every week. I only wished that you’d said this sooner so we could’ve split the bed, too.”

He stared at you in shock. The tears in his eyes long forgotten as a smile crept on his face.

A soft laugh left his mouth as he leaned down to you once more, placing a soft kiss on your forehead, careful to avoid any injured area. “Well, I promise that next time we can,” he said. “And,” he started once more, “I’m never letting you go anywhere by yourself again.”

You smiled up at him, running your fingers over his own. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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jakescakeislateforourdate · 1 year

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Kiss It Better

Dirtyhands is no stranger to brawling, he returns to the slat with his face bruised and knuckles bleeding, hoping for a little refuge from the intensity of the barrel.

No warnings just hurt and comfort as well as a briefly shirtless Kaz

Enjoy this garbage!

...

Kaz Brekker sucks in a sharp breath, pain shooting up his side and across his chest as his lungs expand. He leans heavily on his cane, hand clasped so tight over the crow’s head he worried the metal would be crushed in his grasp. He smacks his lips and endures. He still has the trip up the stairs to suffer through.

The sweet aroma of the Slat welcomes him as he stumbles inside. But it does little to sooth the ache in his ribs and calm his burning skin. Hands all over him. Water rising up over his shoulders to suck him under. They’d touched him with their disgusting bare hands. He felt sick. He clearly relives the sweaty hand squeezing his throat and closing off his windpipe.

Warm drops of sweat bead along his forehead, some find their way down his spine. He clutches the banister and lifts one foot at a time. The climb is painfully slow and he has to stop several times to quell the epicenters of agony blooming all over his exhausted body.

He’s about halfway up when another fair of footsteps begin to accompany his. You ascend the worn steps much faster and are by his side in seconds. You don’t touch just listen.

Kaz refuses to look into your eyes. He knows how upset you get when he’s hurt. You may never say anything because you understand how the Barrel functions but he can see it in your eyes and if he looks now his guilt for worrying you will overwhelm him before he gets to his office.

You tread in the silence with him, your presence helping him find some sound mindedness. The waters begin to recede finally. Breathing becomes a little easier.

He climbs and climbs until, at last, he leans upon his office door. “May I come in?” You ask quietly. Kaz only nods. He’s grateful for your companionship and he needs it now more than anything.

He all but falls inside, grimacing and gasping when his muscles seize up. This when you step in. You reach out, with just the tips of your fingers, and prod his waist ever so gently. The touch is meant to guide him towards his wing backed chair that he likes to lounge in after rough days. He tenses but responds. He takes the final few steps that cover the distance from the door way to the chair, and slouches into the cushy leather.

Not being able to miss his pain, you search he medicine cabinet in his bathroom for some paint medicine and fill him a glass of water. Kaz mutters a “thanks” and swallows down two of the pills.

Next is cleaning up the cuts and tears in his skin. There’s a small laceration beneath his left eye, the blood already coagulating. You soak a clean cloth in rubbing alcohol and wrap it around your index finger. “Is alright if I clean you up, Kaz?”

Kaz nods again and tilts his back into the leather. You press the cloth first to the cut. His lips twist and eyes scrunch closed. You rub gently, it’s small so there’s no need to dig and soak or really even bandage.

You examine the rest of him: a busted lip, bruised throat, and bloody knuckles which are now revealed from the removal of his gloves. He tosses them onto his desk and sighs. You set to work on his lip. A flicker of motion draws your eyes away from the stained cloth and angry skin. His eyes are open, watching you. Trying to figure out why you still care so much.

Once his lip is cleaned, you crouch down and begin to scrub at his knuckles. You don’t hold his hand, simply pin it between his knee and the cloth. Blood and ripped skin come away from the peaks of his hand. Internally you cringe. You can practically hear his teeth sanding away at each other as he fights down the pain.

You take a break from his hands, Kaz lifts the hem of his shirt so you can check his torso for cuts. There aren’t any meaning his heavy coat cushioned his ribcage enough to keep the skin from splitting. But still, the dark purple splotches stretching over the delicate skin of his ribs breaks your heart.

“No need to look so blue.” Kaz grunts. There’s a slight smirk gracing his lips, the swollen fat, busted lip twitching.

You raise a brow, “Can’t help it. You know I hate this.”

“Can’t stop it.”

“Can’t I!” Your snap makes him chuckle.

“What? You gonna strap me to this chair, shackle me to bedposts?”

“Don’t tempt me.” You grumble and this makes him smile.

“You know how easily I can pick locks.” He straightens up a little, proud.

You toss ideas around in your head, “I could kiss you. That’d make you stay put for a while.”

This wipes the grin off his face. Now it’s your turn to laugh. Dirtyhands is practically pouting. He drops his shirt and rests his chin in his palm. “Whatever.”

Kaz’s weakness is always a tender subject. You’ve never actually used it against him and he trusts you not to. But still, it’s not fair how badly he wants to kiss you but can’t. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if your lips were a weapon that left him defenseless for a little while.

If only to have that one kiss.

You set in on the knuckles of his other hand. A long snake-like scar trailing across the skin. You’ve never found out where it came from but it’s always caught your attention.

As Kaz watches you work, he recalls something. A very distant memory of his mother kissing his scraped palm. He’d tripped and scraped it on the gravel roads while out helping Jordie. His mother and dabbed at the torn up skin like you were doing now, and then when she had it all bandaged she placed a loving kiss on the meat of his palm. He remembered how comforting the gesture was.

He thinks of your lips.

He watches you wind clean white bandages over his reddened knuckles. You won’t actually be touching his skin.

The kiss-

“Darling,” He begins. You’re certainly not his mother. But you are perhaps the only refuge he has left. “Will- willyoukissitbetter?”

The words spill out so fast you almost don’t know what he’s asking. But then you see the blush spreading on his cheeks. His gaze drops from yours. He’s bashful.

You smile and scoop his palm carefully into yours. You bring his knuckles to your lips and lay a kiss onto the bandages. Kaz blushes impossibly deeper and turns into his other palm, hiding from you.

“Give me the other.” You demand and hold out your hand expectantly. Kaz glances sideways at you and drops his other palm into yours. You kiss the knuckles of this hand, this time laying a quick peck to each curved bone.

The waters are at his feet but Kaz will win this time. Victory will be his and maybe, just maybe, he’ll have a kiss as his trophy.

You kneel before him, replacing his hands over his knees, “Anything else?”

Your eyes glitter, not like the stars, but like the flickering candles in the windows of the Barrel. There’s an enveloping solace to them. He’s drawn in and fallen prey to you.

Dirtyhands has been properly succored.

He taps his blackened eye. Wringing his fingers nervously. What will your lips feel like on his skin? What if he can’t handle it?

Then you are there. Your warm breath fans over his throbbing cheek. So lively. Your lips brush tentatively across his cheekbone before finally coming to rest just beneath the cut. Kaz closes his eyes and revels in the proliferating amenity in his chest like creamer in coffee.

Then you’re pulling away and the water fills your absence.

Come back!

He wants to call to you.

Don’t leave me!

You survey his expression, monitoring his emotions the best the you can. His walls are falling apart and he cannot scrape together fast enough to keep you out.

His hand cups your jaw, his head tilts, he pleads silently for your sympathy. Just the compassion he has never found in the Barrel. All in a kiss.

Your beholden eyes never leave his as your chin tips forward. Your lips slot against his. Through the blood of his pulsing lip and the bile in his throat, he tastes glory.

The splendor and conquest spread from your tongue, onto your lips, and flood his insides. He melts like chocolate, heart thundering against his chest. He can’t breathe, whether it’s from the panic or the joy, he can’t decipher.

The length could not dampen the kiss. Kaz has gained ground. His shaking hand leaves your jaw and you part. He wants to kiss you again but he knows he’ll over do it. So you thanks you. He leans back in his chair and smiles at you, finally relaxed.

You’ve given to him freely and in time he’ll return it. But most importantly he’s found that you cannot defeat him through touch. “See.” His grin grows mischievous. “You could not keep me here if you tried.”

...

Dear Reader,

Thank you for reading this post. If you liked it your are welcome to checkout my masterlist as well as request. Feedback is always welcome. If you have any questions you are free to ask and once again, thank you for reading. Have a nice day.

-the author, Lady

#kaz x reader #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows #shadow and bone #crooked kingdom #kaz #kaz brekker #hurt and comfort #blood #injury #touch aversion

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whumpslist · 2 months

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Tracker’s whumps’ list

[referred to main male character: Colter Shaw, portrayed by Justin Hartley.]

Season 1

.01: pensive, painful memories about his childhood, apprehended by police and into a cell, painful memories telling about his father's death, under gunpoint and on his knees, shot at his arm and collapsed on the ground, groaning in pain, grunting getting up, furious chase through the woods by foot, jumped on a running truck and almost fallen off, grunting in effort pulling himself up, hanging over a waterfall from a falling truck by only one arm and bleeding by the other, jumped into the waterfall from a great height, arm sling, shown bicep bandaged.

.02: a bit worried for the break-in at his mother's home, brief scuffle with two men then under gunpoint, interrogated by a cult leader and annoyed, memories of his childhood, surrounded and threatened, under gunpoint, brief fight.

.03: harsh confrontation with an armed man and fought, cut at his back, taken care of by a medic and sewn stitches without anesthesia, old scars on his back, groaning softly, covertly threatened, under gunfire, brief scuffle.

.04: conflicted, rough climbing a hill, under gunpoint, under gunfire and brief scuffle.

.05: arrested on purpouse, chased, hit at his haed and knocked out, bloody wound and Tshirt stained, tied to a chair and interrogated, cleaning up by himslef, worried, rough fight withiut consequences.

.06: uneasy conversation and painful memories of being betrayed, conflicted, grunting in effort, trapped into a burning barn, slipped and almost fallen into the fire, under gunpoint and threatened.

.07: confronted, angry and indignant, brief scuffle, upset, attacked and punched, thwron to the ground and under gunpoint, brief scuffle, under gunpoint again, fought against two opponents and gash on his forehead, pensive and bruised forehead.

.08: brief scuffle, fought and punched in the face, bruised cheek.

.09: hit with teaser and brief scuffle.

.10: airing next week.

In the original books (by Jeffery Deaver):

0.5: “Captivated”: under gunpoint, brief scuffle.

1. “The Never Game”: (fast forward) T-shirt stained with blood, jumped into the cold water, hit his head on the pylon, hit his shoulder on a rusty nail and bleeding; molotov thrown against him without consequences, threatened with a (fake) gun, under sniper's fire, fallen into a trap and badly fallen to the ground, oil drum slammed into his shoulders and toppled him, handcuffed and arrested, ambushed and thought he would be shot, grabbed and interrogated, feeling sick on the helicopter and almost rechted, encounter with a mountain lion, hasrh confrontation and blade at his face, told he's been shot in the past, under gunpoint and taken, manhandled, under gunfire and worried, back into the cold water and hit by the boat, shoved again toward a pylon and almost crushed, gasping hardly after remerging from water, rescued and dragged onto the pier, hypothermic and badly shivering, upset, brief scuffle, threatened with a gun and handcuffed, sore and pensive.

1.5: “The Second Hostage”: into a hostage situation and under gunpoint, brief scuffle, almost shot and brief fight.

2. “The Goodbye Man”: (fast forward) rock rolling toward his car and almost hit, trapped inside the car and trying to break free, shot at twice, disgusted, dangerous climbing and brief scuffle, shocked, palm slammed into his back and knocking him forward, sore, feeling guilty, upset after a difficult conversation, grabbed and manhandled, brief scuffle, shocked and upset, elbowed and scuffle, slapped in the face, disgusted, worried, brief fight, attacked and pinned under a crowd, his gut and shoulder in agony from the piling on, struggling for breath, pulled to his feet and grippec arms, spat in the face, gasping and breathless, slammed hardto the ground and breathless, hands zip-tied behind him, blow to his gut and struggled to keep from vomiting, ankles zip-tied too and dragged towars the cliff’s edge, rescued and fought back, shocked, encounter with a rattlesnake, fifty-five feet jump from the cliff into the water, jarring impact and cold water pushing out all of his air, soles stung like hell from impact with water, rescued, rough fight and pounded hard on his back and shoulder and head, car chasing and under gunfire.

2.5: “Forgotten”.

3. “The Final Twist”: UPDATING

3.5: “The Deadline Clock”.

4. “Hunting Time”:

#Tracker #Colter Shaw #portrayed by Justin Hartley #whumpslist #episode guide #serie tv #tv series #tv show #telefilm #tv shows #TV #whump #whumps

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phoebepheebsphibs · 1 month

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And the story goes on…

Spoiler warning for Until I Found You Lore.... CW: Mentions of torture, abuse, and experimentation.

@boots-with-the-fur-club @daboyau

Prev || Next || Reference image for Mikey’s scars || illustration

Mikey couldn't stop sobbing.

The other Donnie was writhing on the floor, screaming in pain as he gripped his head tightly. Something was wrong, something was very very VERY wrong...

But Michael could only watch and cry and shout at his brother to "Open the thing, open the thing up, Donnie! OPEN THE ORB!!"

"I'm trying!" his brother yelled back. "It's a different design from my tech, I'm doing the best I can considering I don't have my tools with me and I'm using my bare hands--"

The alternate Donnie started shrieking in agony, his cries ringing through the halls and echoing mercilessly in Mikey's head. He falls to his knees, the glowing marks on his arms and legs turning that evil shade of blue.

"PLEASE, DONNIE, HE'S HURTING! I CAN'T DO ANYTHING FROM IN HERE, PLEASE--"

"WELL EITHER GET APRIL TO POOF YOU OUT OR -- GOT IT, I GOT IT, I GOT THE THING TO OPEN!" UIFY Donnie yelled back, finally hacking into the sphere and causing the shields to dissipate. Immediately the three fall forwards, with Mikey regaining his footing at once and pouncing at the quivering Donatello on the floor.

Mikey wrapped his arms around Donnie, sobbing into his shoulder as he pressed his hands against his shell and the back of his head. A soft, warm amber glow began to spread over the shaking softshell, his eyes slowly refocusing as he turned and stared down at the copy of his brother. Apparently this Mikey was also in-tune with his mystic powers. Amazing, considering the age gap between him and the other Mikey, and the fact that they'd not even known about mystic abilities until they'd met Draxum and taken his magic weapons for themselves. This one must've been practicing magic for a while... Donnie's headache ceased. He watched as the tiny, trembling version of his brave baby brother kept pressing his small and delicate hands against his shell and neck, quietly mumbling to himself - praying possibly, or perhaps reciting a magic spell. Whatever he did, it helped tons. But it seemed to exhaust the poor kid as he slumped over, his head rolling into the crook of Donnie's neck and shoulder. Michael's soft, slow breaths tickled uncomfortably against his sensitive skin, and he flinched.

"Michael, get off of him!" the other Donnie said, coming forward and pulling the kid away. "If this Donnie's anything like me, he doesn't like to be touched. Especially after... whatever the heck happened to him."

"I-it's fine, he helped, he... What exactly did he do?" Donnie asked, slowly getting to his feet.

Donatello Von Draxum picked the child up and held him close to his chest. Mikey had fainted, it seemed, though his eyes fluttered open and shut several times. His head lolled from side to side, rolling around as if he was trying to force himself to stay awake but failing utterly. He mumbled softly, muttering whispers to no one specifically before finally succumbing to the exhaustion and resting his head against his brother.

"I'm... not exactly sure," Donatello Von Draxum mumbled, slowly pulling the bandages from Mikey's arms and checking for any mystic injuries. "Best guess is... he leant you some of his strength."

"His strength?" Dee questioned.

"Whatever you needed in the moment. Strength, presence of mind, life-force, that kind of stuff. It could explain why he's so sleepy now."

"Will he be alright?!" Donnie asked, hoping he didn't just cause a version of his brother to be in a vegetative state for the rest of his life.

"He's okay. He just needs a nap. It's nothing too extreme." Donatello Von Draxum looked over Donnie with concern. "YOU on the other hand..."

"Yeah. That was not fun."

"No fun in fungus, huh?"

"Roll credits," April interjected, having gone to retrieve Donnie's tech-bō for him.

"Very clever. I suppose... we should go look for Raphael now," Dee decided as he took the staff from the Mayhem-ified April.

"Are you sure you don't want to rest?" she asked, eyeing him nervously. "Those things have a way of draining you. Physically, just as much as emotionally."

"I am fine," Donnie insisted. "But you've got some... something on your arm."

"What?" April asked, looking down at said appendage, which had a black and blue smear across it. "Oh, ew, gross. It's the goo from that hand.PNG. Yuck! I didn't even notice that..."

Mutant April wiped the sludge off onto her jacket.

"No worries, I think I'm all good."

"What about Michael?" Donnie asked, pointing to the still out-of-it box turtle in DvD's arms.

"I can carry him," he insisted. "He weighs practically nothing. We'll be coming along."

"Good, the more help we can get the better. I don't think it's safe for anyone to split up anymore. Let's go find my Raph and your brothers," Donnie said, taking the lead.

The four walked on through the hallways, Mikey mumbling or muttering and even humming in his dazy sleep as they searched for the others. Donnie kept glancing over at him to make sure he really was okay. He seemed fine. It reminded him of the time his April had gotten her wisdom teeth removed, she'd sent them a video her mom had taken of her after she'd woken up from the surgery. They guys all had a big laugh over it, how loopy and looney she'd been, constantly gibbering about nothing and then falling back asleep. The memory made him smile a little. It helped to alleviate the stress, to simply pretend that was what had happened to this Mikey. And not that he'd sacrificed some part of himself for Donnie's sake. And not even for his Donnie's sake, for a complete stranger.

It was so unbelievably awkward.

The two Donnies barely said a word to each other. Donnie kept giving glances at Mikey and DvD would catch him, and Donnie's head would snap in the opposite direction. Poor April was stuck in the middle of their silence, doing her best to lighten the mood but eventually giving up and straying ahead of them.

Donatello glanced over at Mikey again. Michael had made some small squeaking sound - a yawn maybe - and curled up into his brother's hold. The bandages on his arm were loose... That's right, DvD had checked his arms earlier for cracks -- had that meant that there might actually be some danger to whatever spell he'd used to help Donnie?! He could see the cracks right there! DvD said he was fine, but Donnie could clearly see the holes and thin lines made from --

Holes?

Mikey's overuse of ninpo didn't make holes, they made cracks like broken glass that webbed across his arms! So, where had...

"Did you... want to hold him or something?" DvD asked.

Donatello was startled from his train of thought and realized he'd been staring at Mikey for too long.

"Oh! Um, no I didn't -- unless that is, you would like a break?"

"Like I said, he's not that heavy," Donatello Von Draxum repeated flatly.

"I recall. I was just worried for him, is all, and I--"

"You were staring at him."

"Oh, was I?"

"Quite obviously so."

"Ah. I apologize for the social faux pas of staring rudely at your brother."

Silence again.

"But do you want to hold him?"

"You are... offering?"

"Your brother is gone, for the moment," DvD stated. "And I saw how you looked at my Mikey. For you, there is precious little to distinguish the two. Correct?"

"Well... I suppose they are very similar," Donnie ceded.

"And he undoubtedly considers you family as well."

"That is evident, considering what he did for me."

"That's your fault, you know."

"Excuse me?" Donnie sputtered, stopping in his tracks. "How is it my fault for saving you three from getting spored?"

"Apologies, I misspoke. I merely meant that you did something that reminded him of... of something bad that happened to us."

"Then am I to assume that's why he reacted the way he did?"

"Precisely."

"I see."

Donnie looked down at the alt. Mikey, still fast asleep. He was so much smaller than his brother. So... petite. No, Miniscule. Maybe Runty. Donnie kept searching for the right word. Not weak, or tiny, he was so...

Frail. That was the word. Thin limbs connected to a slip of a body, a tiny round face with baby cheeks so slim and slender. He was just too small.

"...I think I will carry him. If only to relieve you of duty for a short while."

"Very well," DvD relented, carefully exchanging his brother into Donnie's arms. Donnie had carried his Mikey before, and even his Leo. Heck, he'd carried all three of his brothers on more than one occasion. He'd let them grab onto his legs or arms while he flew above the city with his hover-shell. It was quite a feat, all of them clinging together like the barrel of monkeys toys from their childhood. And he'd gotten his leg dislocated from its socket for the trouble, but that was nothing too bad really, and Leo had helped fix him up. He desperately missed his brothers... All this to say he knew what to expect, to carry a slightly smaller version of his baby bro.

The alt. Mikey was placed into his hold.

Ooooooh pizza supreme in the sky this kid literally weighed nothing.

Donnie's eyes widened. He'd expected some kind of difficulty, some weight, but no -- it was like carrying air. The only weight he could feel was from the clothes, it seemed. He'd estimated this Mikey to weigh somewhere in the vicinity of 70 pounds, maybe even 65. It felt like he weighed no more than 10.

"He's... he's so light..." Donnie's voice trembled.

"I did say he weighs almost nothing," DvD smirked.

"I thought you were using hyperbole!" Donnie snapped. "When was the last time this Mikey was weighed? He should have more tone in his muscles than this!"

"Well, years of near-starvation will result in major weight loss."

"Mikey -- my Mikey -- said he told him a bit about his life... but I never imagined..."

He never imagined this kind of troubled life for him. He knew the kid had a hypoglycemic condition, too. He couldn't imagine how difficult that had to have been for him. No wonder he was so skinny, his clothes baggy and nearly falling off of him, the bandages... Donnie's attention was brought back to the little boy's arms.

"...How did he get these...?" he asked softly, pulling the bandages off and showing the other Donnie the scars and marks on his arms.

Donatello Von Draxum went pale. He almost looked sick to his stomach, as he slowly re-wrapped the bandages for Mikey.

"...Those were my fault."

"Your fault?" Donnie was astonished. His voice came out as barely a whisper.

"Partly. Some of them were from me, some were from my father-- ahem. From Draxum."

"Draxum did this?" Donnie's blood began to boil. "But... why? And why did you--"

"The story is that I had left the Baron to try and start a new family with Mikey, Leonardo, and Raphael. I'd been... planning to trick our brothers into returning to Draxum so that they could join his army of mutants against the humans, but eventually I realized I couldn't go through with it. So I left without saying a word. Draxum got wind that his other experiments survived, and started searching for them. He found Mikey first, kidnapped him, and left a calling card for me so that I would know where he was. I confronted him, only to end up in a trap. He... he wanted me to return home and help him experiment on Michael."

"Did you?" Donnie asked, drawing the small child closer to him, holding him tightly to his chest.

"I had to. He threatened to torture Mikey, to intentionally sabotage his experiments on him and hurt him if I didn't assist. I had no choice. To ensure Michael's safety... I had to do whatever Draxum ordered me to. Day after day, it was nothing but surgery after surgery after blood test after--"

"I thought you said experiments," Donnie growled. Mikey whimpered in his hold; Donnie readjusted him slightly so he could rub his head to soothe him.

"That's what he told me, initially..." DvD continued. "But on the first day... he revealed his experiments were more medically-based than he'd lead me to believe. But I couldn't say no. He was going to inspect his spine, I had to stay and make sure he didn't--!"

Donatello Von Draxum covered his mouth as he gagged at the memory. His hands trembled.

"...It... It was inhumane. Unethical. Horrible. Even Huginn and Muninn - whom I don't typically get along with well but tolerated more than Draxum - agreed that his tests were unreasonable and not meant so much to inspect Michael's state but more so to punish me for having left Draxum and kept my brothers a secret from him. And Draxum kept it up for seven whole days. Most experiments and examinations were him cutting into Mikey with a scalpel and studying his skeletal structure and veins and nervous system first-hand. The rest were to see how his body reacted to certain potions and formulas and magic spells, to test his mystic endurance. He wanted to see if he could be a strong warrior... and if not, he wanted to see if he had any mystic talent."

"All that... just to know whether or not Mikey had mystic abilities?"

"I don't have any magic ability myself," DvD explained. "I know all the spells and potion recipes, I understand how to do it, and I know how it all works but... I'm disconnected from it. Draxum was always disappointed with me over that. He hoped that Mikey would show some promise."

"What happened?"

"He took it too far. On the sixth day, Draxum told me that Michelangelo possessed the greatest capacity for mystic power and ability to date."

"He what?!" Donnie yelled, forgetting the sleeping figure in his hands. "I mean, I know my Mikey became the greatest mystic warrior in the future, but... to have surpassed everything?"

"It came as a shock to me, as well. And Draxum said... He said he was going to take Mikey's powers away from him and then set him free. But it was all a lie. He was going to kill him... I fought with Draxum. I won. I took Mikey home."

Donatello could tell he was intentionally leaving out some big parts of the story. But based off of everything, he figure it was best to leave it unsaid.

"So that's why... Mikey leapt at the chance to help me," Donnie whispered. "Why he was so upset when he saw me hurting... it reminded him of you?"

"Yes. And it is also why he wears those bandages, though the wounds have long since healed."

"Why is that?"

"Because he knows that I feel responsible for that hurt. I did that to him. I helped to cut him open and chisel into his shell. I hurt him. But I'll never let anything hurt him ever again."

Donnie nodded, understanding that protective drive. He felt the same way about his brothers.

"In that case... maybe you'll want to carry him again?" Dee offered.

Donatello Von Draxum didn't even try to politely decline. He immediately reached over and took the boy away, who at this point was slowly coming out of his sleepy stupor. DvD held Mikey on his hip, letting him rest his head against his shoulder. Mikey groggily wrapped his arms around his brother's neck in a hug, yawning once more before going back to sleep. The son of Draxum felt the deep inhale and exhale from his little brother against his chest, proof that he was alive and well and trusted him above all else. DvD smiled, the first time Donnie had seen him smile -- really smile, not just an evil grin at the mention of humanity's destruction -- since he'd first met him.

"Do you think... my Mikey is okay?" Dee asked after the silence began to return.

"I am sure he is. He has you to look out for him. You'll rescue him, and all will be well again."

Donnie smiled.

"I hope so..."

"Hey, you lazy-bones!" April shouted. She'd gained a lot more ground than them during this bonding episode. "Hurry it up! I think I found one of the guys!"

…I have failed you, master. My injuries… they impede me.

They are inconsequential, my dear disciple. Rest easy, for you are still needed. You've done well thus far. But there is still much to be done if I am to take over this realm. So many tragedies to intercede, so many traumas to feed off of, so many toys to play with and BREAK.

But what of the others? Without my work—

I shall finish my collection soon enough. You did your part, and now we have a new player. Our new deliverer of destruction. They shall lead the others to their doom.

A new...? Do you mean you have infected one of the children? They serve our cause now?

Indeed, thanks to you.

How intriguing... but who...?

Rest for now, and regain your strength. Your services are yet to be utilized.

Very well... whom shall we be expecting to join us next, my master?

...I want the big one.

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sunshine-scented · 1 year

Note

Hi! I loved your work of Nezha💖 So I was hoping if you could do a Nexha x reader? (backstory was too long) The reader is Nezahs assistant, and can control the stars, but only to form constellations not use them in battle making them just an immortal being in the celestial realm. When the reader came back to the lotus palace, it was destroyed and couldn't find their master/friend any where! You can decide the outcome, it's all pure fluff💖

The urge to keyboard smash is immeasurable. I feel like this is turning into a Nezha blog not a lmk one so that's my bad. I'll try to hold off my very well hidden favoritism for Nezha as much as I can ♡

❀ Safely, in my arms ❀

: You find yourself in the planet where your master laid protection to, turned into a deserted, wasted, broken state as you hurriedly tried to find your friend. Will you make it in time?

: Nezha x gn!Servant!reader

: Angst/Comfort, mild swearing

You busied yourself in your duties, tasked to watch over the cosmos and constellations with the stars that surrounded you. Nothing went wrong until a sudden burst of wind almost sent you tumbling on space with it's low gravity as the once purple skies you were watching turned a eerie, cold, blue.

Strange, you thought. There shouldn't be any dwarf planets or red stars scheduled to burst today, that is until you heard a faint shout of agony. Your blood ran cold.

'Nezha...' in a flash, you immediately took haste and travelled to the planet with the map of Samadhi. And what greeted your eyes made your heart stop beating.

Piles of stone and broken pillars floated on the former planet's atmosphere, dust was piling up in the air making it impossible to see anything below, but that didn't stop you trying to find Nezha as you dived down head first into the multiple floating debris.

You coughed out the dust surrounding the area as you neared the former palace, Nezha out of your sight. You searched around frantically as the panic starts to grow into your senses. Up, down, left, right, you couldn't seem to find him anywhere.

'What if..he's stuck between the ruble?!' immediately, you flew down with your feet touching the broken, cracked tiled floor, calling out his name.

Lifting up some if the rocks was easy since the planets gravity was somehow damaged by that sudden wave, perhaps it was also the reason why the sky turned blue. Yet, even with this advantage you still failed to find the Prince.

'Shit...shit shit shit!' you were starting to lose your cool as your movement became careless and quick, wanting to find him as soon as possible to make sure he's safe. Immortal or not, he's still you're friend, you would do anything to make sure he's safe. But the situation proved impossible as you started to loose your patience, and hope.

Your panic seeped into your very blood as your heart started beating faster and your breath becoming uneven, your skin started to feel something crawling all over your body, your head pulsing with thoughts that you hoped weren't real.

Suddenly, you heard something thud into the ground making you snap your head into that direction. Without further hesitation, you rushed towards the sound, hoping, praying to find him.

"My Lord!" You shouted as you rushed towards his fallen body. Kneeling beside him, your took hold of his head between your hands and started so tear up, panting out the stress and panic as you started to shake. Thank God, thank God he's alright.

Relief washed all over your senses, but he was still heavily damaged. You carefulling picked him up, steadying him into your arms before rushing back into the celestial realm with a stomp of your foot.

Entering your private quarters with haste, you gently laid him down onto the soft, plush cushions of your bed before running off to find your medical supplies.

Grabbing a bandage roll, ointment, cotton balls, alcohol swabs and a wet towel, you made your way back towards the sleeping prince. Smiling at how peaceful he looks, and once again thanking Buddha for allowing you to find him.

Carefully, you started to clean off the dirt and dust sticking into his skin with the wet towel from his face, to his arms then immediately started treating his wounds.

Finally, you were all done patching him up. You were surprised that he didn't wake from the stinging of the alcohol swab but you thought about how much energy he wasted with trying to stand on the middle of an explosion.

You knelt down on the floor and placed your head onto the bedside with your arms resting on it as well, staring in pity at his face as you slowly untied his messy hair and tried to smoothen it out with your hands.

"It must have hurt a lot" you whispered "Just what happened to you.."

Standing up, you went towards a nearby plush chair located near the window of your balcony, covered with a deep red curtain with golden linings and decorations. Picking up a book from your small bookshelf, you took your time with the sleeping prince.

After a few moments of silence, you stayed by his side occasionally checking if he's showing any form of discomfort. Slowly, he started to stir in his sleep causing him to open his eyes still stuck in a daze "You're awake" you walked towards him as he looks at you in sleepy confusion with his palm resting against his forehead "..Where am I?"

"Currently, you're inside my quarters back in the celestial realm. It took a while to find you underneath all that ruble, but I'm glad I made it in time to see you safe and sound" you explained, smiling softly at the relief you felt, but the prince didn't return the feeling as he scoffed and looked away in disappointment "How could I be so weak.."

Your brows furrowed as your smile dropped back into a line. You didn't like the sound of that "If I may be so bold to ask you, My Lord, what exactly happened to you?" You carefully sat against the bed right beside him, waiting for an answer.

His mood dampened as he let out a sigh "The Samadhi fire's map was stolen by Sun Wukong" he began as you involuntary flinched at the news "He broke through the barrier protecting the map, causing the whole planet to crumble with a huge blast as it shattered into nothing. Fool ran off with it without knowing the dangers it could have caused" Nezha clicked his tongue in annoyance, both at the monkey, and himself.

"If only I wasn't so weak, if only I was a little bit faster, I wouldn't have failed my duties so easily"

You stared at him with distraught, absolutely despising the fact that he was insulting himself with such self inflicted anger. Yet before you could say anything back to at least calm his nerves, he spoke again "I'm sorry for the panic I caused you, (Name). For that, I must take my leave"

Your eyes widened as he sat up straight about to take his leave until you grabbed his arm, his head turning towards you "My apologies but you're still in a bad shape to fight. Rest is important whether your mortal your not"

He furrowed his brow at you, clearly wanting the conversation to be over "The further Wukong gets, the further the map gets. Do you get what I'm trying to insinuate here?" He reasoned with you, but you didn't stop without a fight "If you were damaged by the blast, then Wukong is damaged by the blast. Even if you do manage to catch up to him, what change would you be able to do when you can't even walk in a straight line?"

He clicked his tongue, but you spoke faster "As much as I admire your diligence, the more you over exert yourself, the more your chances of success will falter. If you want to get the map back, you have to get your energy back" silence filled the room as the tension was thick making the nothing sound like everything at once. However, the sigh Nezha made cut the room's silence like a knife.

"Fine, I see your point. There's no use in fighting you in this, I know how stubborn you are" he breathlessly muttered as you huffed out in a victorious grin "Hmph, I really am amazing" Nezha rolled his eyes and flicked your forehead making your wince "Ow— Hey! What was that for?!"

"For being annoying" he smirked at your demise making you gasp and playfully punched his shoulder earning a laugh from him "How dare you?! I saved your life and this is the thanks I get" you dramatically sobbed as you placed the back of your hand against your forehead and fell backwards into the bed in mock sadness.

Nezha smiled at your antics, only you can distract him from his previous anger and it continues to amaze him to how much effect you can do to him without even knowing it "Lucky you, you're the only one I allow to talk to me like that" he huffed at you, you sat up back to your original position but with a mischievous expression plastered on your face "Oh? Does that mean I'm you're favorite?"

Nezha's eyes widened as he flusters a pink hue on his face before looking away with a furrowed brow making you coo at his adorable actions "My~ I never thought I'd hold the favor of the Third Lotus Prince, but I'm quite honored, My Lord~" you leaned in closer to him with a grin making him groan "Heavens...I really hate you"

You laughed at his remark, earning a soft, hidden smile of his own. You were just so easy to get along with for him, it makes him shiver on you easily get inside his head every time you do anything, just what are you doing to him?

The once dreary atmosphere turned into a more carefree one with your smile lighting up the room, at that point, nothing mattered to him but you. Every time he sees you being happy, he gets a warm feeling inside him, he starts to fluster and immediately want to prolong that pretty smile of yours for him to see just a little longer.

He is known to fulfill his duty with never ending diligence and determination, so he will make it his duty to never see a frown on your face. Even if it takes his life, he will do it for you, and you alone.

Aaahh Nezha looks so pretty in that picture *sobbing*

#lmk #monkie kid #lego monkie kid #lmk x reader #monkie kid x reader #lego monkie kid x reader #lmk Nezha #lmk nezha x reader #lmk nezha x y/n #lmk nezha #Nezha #lego monkie kid nezha

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adrift-in-thyme · 7 months

Text

Whumptober Day 13: “I don’t feel so good”

Read it on Ao3

- Four, Sky, & Legend

- Summary: Four suffers from an infected wound

CW for blood and injury, infected injury, vomiting, and delirium

—————————

Another step.

Four breathes in deep and blows it out. The murmur of his brother’s voices surround him, swelling and retreating like the tides. The rhythm of their footsteps beat upon his pounding head.

Clank, clack. Cank, clack.

Every movement awakens their weapons, their armor. Every step sings with noise.

The migraine that has been torturing him for hours now increases again, a sudden wave of sickening agony. Bile rises in his throat and he fights to keep it down.

Another step.

One foot in front of the other. Slow and steady. Keep going.

It’s the mantra that he has been repeating to himself all morning. And he supposes it has done its job. After all, he has made it this far, hasn’t he? Across the hills and plains of Wild’s Hyrule, through monster camps and past streams of rushing water. With the incessant burn left from a guardian’s laser coursing through his leg and the left side of his abdomen, he has continued.

Because he has had to.

“—can’t be far,” Sky says, voice faint. Four has the creeping feeling that he has said the same thing once before.

“Yeah, unless the portal sent them somewhere else entirely,” Legend retorts. But there is little of his usual sharpness in his tone. “Another Hyrule would be awfully far away.”

Sky’s hands clench at his sides. There is blood smeared on his knuckles.

“They’re close. I know it.”

Legend gives him a doubtful look, then glances at Four, plodding along beside him.

“How’re you doing, smithy? Still kickin?”

Four tries for a smile and comes up short. His surroundings tip slightly and he fights to keep walking in a straight line.

Walking…how long has he been walking? It feels like an eternity. Perhaps, at some point, he will just walk off of the face of the earth into an endless expanse of blue sky.

“Smithy?” It’s Sky now, looking at him with an expression of concern. He comes to a halt and Four nearly collides with him. “Maybe we should take a break.”

Four shakes his head, vehemently, hair swishing and smacking him in the face. The movement makes his dizziness one hundred times worse. For a moment he is certain he is going to fall.

“We can’t stop,” he grits out, forcing down the breakfast that his body is so eager to expel. “We need potions and bandages, something to properly wash our wounds with. We have to find a town.” He sighs. “Besides, the Shadow wants us apart. That’s why he sent us in different directions. If we can find the others – or at least get to a place where they can find us – we’ll have a better chance at standing against any further attacks.”

Sky and Legend exchange a glance.

“He’s right,” Legend says. “We can’t stop yet. We can’t afford to.”

Sky hesitates a moment more, a battle evident on his face. Then, he sighs.

“Alright. We’ll keep going.”

Four nods and starts forward. “Then there’s no time to lose.”

His feet are immeasurably heavy now, as though the brief pause has allowed them to cement themselves to the ground. It takes a great effort to force them to move. Especially when the world dips again, a tilting, smearing world of color, and Four nearly loses his balance and goes down completely.

“Smithy!” Sky is suddenly at his side, propping him up. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Four blinks blearily up at him. He should argue, more than likely, assure the knight that he can walk on his own. After all, Sky is injured too. A line of blood colors his right shoulder and chest, a grim cloud of maroon on the emerald of his tunic.

But walking is much easier with the support and his strength is waning more by the second. He is never going to make it on his own. So, instead he gives Sky a smile, lopsided and a bit loopy.

“Thanks, Sky.”

There is concern shining bright in the Skyloftian’s eyes, but he returns Four’s smile anyway.

“No problem.”

The pain only gets worse from there. Though Sky’s aid keeps him on his feet, it can only really do so much. He needs a potion – they all do. But that is a luxury they lack at the moment.

With every step, though, with every movement, tongues of flaming agony streak up Four’s leg. He feels lightheaded with it, nauseated, strangely heavy and light at the same time. He is buried in the molten core of the earth and floating in dizzying circles amongst the clouds. Dreadfully present and oddly detached. Legend and Sky’s voices are meaningless hubbub, their journey a painful thing he must endure.

Once more, he squints up into the sun, gritting his teeth against the agony.

Why is he doing this again?

He’s so tired. Can’t he just take a moment to lie down here amongst the tall blades of grass and fluffy wildflowers and rest?

His body decides that that is a wonderful idea and in the next moment, Four finds himself on his knees, staring down at the dirt path. He frowns at it, trying to decipher how exactly he got there.

“Four!” Sky’s face comes into focus as the Skyfloftian kneels before him. “Are you alright?”

Four looks up at him, blinking in a vain attempt to clear the strange, crackling darkness from his vision.

Everything hurts. Why does it all hurt so badly?

“I…” He swallows a mouthful of fire. “I don’t feel so good.”

An icy palm presses against his forehead.

“He’s burning up, vet. We have to find a town. And soon.”

The veteran lets loose a string of colorful curses. “That’s great. Just great. I thought champion’s Hyrule was full of towns! But we’ve been walking for hours now and haven’t come across a single one!”

“He also said his Hyrule is large,” Sky replies, quietly. He moves closer cradling Four to his chest and the smithy slumps against him. Any strength he had possessed has fled. “It could take us days to reach the nearest town by foot.”

“Well, unless you know how to catch one of those giant mustangs over there, that’s our only option.”

Four’s stomach gives a sudden lurch and he shoves away from Sky, heaving into the grass. Both of the heroes fall silent. Sky places a gentle hand on his back and begins to rub little circles into it.

“I’m sorry,” the smithy mumbles once he has managed to catch his breath. “I…ca…can’t walk anymore.”

“It’s okay,” Sky reassures. “I’ll carry you.”

Four closes his eyes as the Skyloftian lifts him off of the ground, trying to ignore the way it feels as though the world is spinning off its axis. But when Sky shifts to get a better grip, he can’t quite keep back a groan.

“Sorry.”

“ ‘k,” he mutters, through clenched teeth. His stomach is churning again and it takes all of his effort to keep whatever might be left within from coming out.

Sky begins to walk and Four shuts his eyes, trying to breathe through the pain. With every movement claws dig into his wounds. He is being torn apart from the inside out.

Is this how Wild had felt? He wonders, dimly. When he had fallen?

How horrible that must have been.

Another streak of agony burns its way through him, this one the worst since the guardian had shot him down. Four chokes out a strangled gasp. Far, far away Sky murmurs an apology, but he doesn’t have the strength to reply. His grip on consciousness slips. He plummets into nauseating, directionless, darkness.

———————-

He’s drifting. Drifting on waves of befuddling pain signals. Four curls in on himself, cringing at the sensation of his tunic rubbing against his skin. The curtain of slumber still blankets him. Nothing makes sense here.

Not the bone deep chill, chipping away at him. Not the way everything aches. Not even the way he shivers, constantly, violently, despite the way he hugs himself in a desperate attempt to keep from falling apart.

He drags in air through constricted lungs and ends up choking on it. The coughs that erupt rattle his chest and shake his body. Tears spring to his eyes as waves of pain course through him.

Gentle hands prop him up so that he can breathe easier. Something soft and limp and terribly wet is draped over his head. Four shivers as icy water dribbles down his face.

“—fever down,” someone mumbles, their voice slurred and nearly incoherent past the daze blanketing Four. He tries to grasp the words to decipher their meaning but they slip away, drifting out of reach. He lacks the strength to pursue them.

“Still too…”

“...gotta be one closer.”

“Infected. Not…last.”

The pain increases again and Four’s breath catches in his throat. A low groan escapes through cracked and bloodied lips.

“Hurts,” he whispers to no one in particular.

Is anyone even truly here with him? …Wherever he is right now.

Can anyone hear him at all?

“...alright,” comes that voice again, soft and reassuring. “You’re going to be alright.”

Then, another wave of burning agony washes over him and Four slips away.

——————-

When he next awakens it is to the sensation of being burned alive.

Not that he has ever actually experienced such a thing. But he imagines this is what it would be like.

There is heat everywhere, oppressive and smothering and terrible. It eats away at his bones, pulls his muscles taut, pulses behind his eyes and situates itself in a tight, little knot at the back of his skull.

His back arches as a low, pitiful groan escapes. It wants to be a scream, begs to be, but he is so tired, too tired to let loose something so powerful as that.

Hands are on him again, clammy and warm. Voices collide above his head, incomprehensible.

“Please,” he begs in a voice so cracked, so hoarse he can’t even be sure that it is his own.

He can’t be sure of anything anymore. Everything is a blur of pain and heat and frigid, bone-deep chill.

He wishes it would stop.

He thrashes, weakly. The hands hold him down.

“Please, he-help me!”

“….will. We will.”

“Sorry…hold on.”

Hold on…

He lets go.

———————-

Time passes, Four fades in and out, dipping beneath the waves of consciousness. He is dimly aware of movement that rattles his bones and only adds to the aching in his head. Sometimes it picks up, sometimes it is nonexistent, a pause in a journey he no longer remembers. But the pain, the pain never stops.

…until it does.

It comes to a halt in a blurry of agony and confusion. Of people begging him to fight, to not fight, to let them pour fiery liquid down his throat, flaming magic into his veins. He is buffeted by it all, as though he stepped into the ferocious winds of a hurricane.

Then, after an eternity of indecipherable, dizzying pain, it stops.

He blacks out before it does, caving to the darkness in favor of the chaos tearing him apart. And when he awakens once more, it is to the dull, fuzzy, sleepiness of someone who has fought for far too long.

Four drags open his eyes, groaning as wakefulness brings phantom aches to his attention. But the pain is nothing even close to what it was before. And the nauseating mixture of hot and cold are gone now too, leaving him feeling strangely empty.

“Smithy?”

Sky leans over him, form hazy. But even through his clouded vision, Four can see the darkened bags beneath his eyes, the pallor of his skin. He looks exhausted.

“How’re you feeling?”

Four shifts, slightly, relieved to be able to do so without sheer agony paralyzing him.

“Better,” he croaks. “What…what happened? Did we find the others?”

Sky nods. “And not a moment too soon.”

The words he doesn’t say hang heavy in the air. Four swallows.

“I apologize. You should never have had…had to…”

Sky shakes his head, a kind smile lifting his lips. “It wasn’t your fault, smithy. You were hurt. None of us could ever blame you for that. We’re just glad you’re alright now.”

“Yeah,” Legend pipes up from Four’s right, “you were really bad off there for a bit, smithy. Completely out of it. I think if we’d let you go you would’ve tried to burn the camp down or something.”

Four can’t help but shoot him a less-than-enthused look. At least, he knows the veteran is alright. He too looks exhausted, but no wounds are visible.

“And everyone else...” he manages, past the tiredness already dragging him back into its embrace, “they’re okay?”

Sky seems to sense his waning consciousness. He reaches forward, tucking the blanket more snuggly around him and brushing his limp bangs from his face.

“Yeah, they are,” he says, gently. “You can rest now.”

Four nods, a small smile on his lips. His eyelids are already growing heavy, vision going blurry.

“Thank you…both of you.”

He doesn’t have the energy to specify what he is thanking them for, but they know. He is certain they do. Sky runs a hand through his hair again, his touch soothing, and with a sigh of relief, Four allows himself to drift off once more.

#whumptober 2023 #no.13 #‘I don’t feel so good’#linkeduniverse #fic #vomiting tw #infection tw #injury tw #blood tw #trin writes #lu four #lu sky #lu legend #hurt/comfort #angst #whump

64 notes · View notes

httpsghostie · 9 months

Text

M.I.A

ahm I dont know what this is, but this time im sorry for it

had to write this in my native language so I'm sorry in advance if something's wrong

dont murder me pls I'll write more fluff after this ok

inspired by the night does not belong to god

Summary: Death is inevitable in the battlefield.

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: angst, Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC, violence, mentions of death

masterlist

It was night when it happened.

Night vision goggles helped them through the darkness of the woods as Ghost led the way. The chaotic explosion had split them from the rest of their squad, leaving them with no choice but to navigate their way through the dense forest.

Twigs snapped beneath them as they ran. The moon's pale glow filtered through the canopy, casting eerie shadows on the forest floor. Wraith's heart raced with each step, and she anxiously looked down at her leg.

The chain of events unfolded fast, as the enemies artfully dangled their bait. Like desperate, starving fish, the team took the plunge, diving headlong into the trap. Through the dense forest, Wraith's only concern was to escape alive. Or at least that's what she thought.

Adrenaline coursed through her veins, the rush of it drowning out the pain throbbing in her thigh. She gritted her teeth, trying her best to keep up with Ghost's rapid pace, but it didn't help when he had giant legs. Each step sent a jolt of agony through her injured leg, leaving her limping and struggling to maintain balance. They had been running for what felt like an eternity, and she was pushing herself beyond her physical limits.

The weight of the gear bore down on her, and she felt heavier with each passing moment. The rifle felt like a burden in her hands, and the once comforting weight of the thick bulletproof vest now pressed mercilessly against her chest. The belts and holsters that held essential tools and weapons were now digging into her thighs, causing discomfort she could hardly bear. As her vision blurred and her head spun, she realized her body was giving in to exhaustion.

Ghost glanced back, noticing her erratic movements and the grimace of pain etched across her face. Wraith felt a nauseous wave wash over her body, a mixture of exhaustion and frustration. She cursed herself for her misstep that entangled her foot on a branch, sending her tumbling to the ground. Her pride hurt as much as her leg.

"Come on, Wraith" shouts Ghost, his heart pounding with terror as he was terrified to see the woman before him suffering as her thigh bled. His hands instinctively grabbed the shoulder strap on her vest and dragged her through the mud, looking for a denser area to let rest.

Ghost's urgent shout snapped her back to reality, his fear mirroring her own. Despite the pain and the increasing weakness in her limbs, she knew she had to try to keep moving. This was far from over, and they were still deep within hostile territory.

The mud sucked at her boots as Ghost dragged her to a slightly denser area. Gently, he helped her down to sit against a tree, his worry evident as he examined her bleeding thigh. Her breathing was labored, and she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

Ghost tore a strip of cloth from his own gear and improvised a makeshift bandage for her wound. His hands worked skillfully, a testament to his training and experience. Once he finished, he looked into her eyes, the weight of the situation hanging heavily between them.

The sudden sting on Ghost's back sent a shiver down his spine, immediately snapping him out of his focused state. His body dropped to the ground, pulling the injured woman along with him, seeking cover from the unseen threat. He knew all too well the distinct danger of a sniper's presence.

His mind raced, trying to assess their situation. They were vulnerable, and the dense forest provided limited protection against the sniper's accuracy. Ghost's eyes darted around, but his body gave in, collapsing onto hers. His wound ached, but she wasn't near to reassure he'd be okay.

Her body laid against a tree and for a brief moment she found herself dreaming.

She muttered at the unbearable weight on her chest, batting her eyelashes to understand the events. The sun was rising on the horizon, it was so beautiful, but yet so… painful.

As soon as her vision cleared, her eyes trailed down where she found her partner laying against her chest, arms on either side of her legs. It takes a moment to realize it was real.

The whites of your eyes

Turn black in the lowlight

The frigid air seemed to mirror the cold reality of their situation as she desperately tried to stem the flow of blood from Simon's wound. Her hands trembled as she realized the severity of his condition. Despite his low tone and apparent indifference, she could see the pain etched in his eyes.

"The sky is beautiful, don't you think?" Noticing the moving person behind him, Ghost says. She nods anxiously, looking down.

"I can't lose you, Simon," she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks as she attempted to keep him awake. "Please, we have to keep fighting."

In turning divine

We tangle endlessly

Feeling the bitter cold seep into her bones, she tried to ignore her own pain, focusing solely on keeping Simon conscious and warm. Their situation was dire, but she couldn't bear the thought of losing him, not after all they had been through together.

As her body grew weaker, she clung to his words, finding solace in the memories they had shared. Their unconventional relationship had been a source of comfort in the chaos of their lives. They had found solace in each other's arms, their bond transcending the trials they faced.

Like lovers entwined

"They won't find us, stop moving around, it's cold." Despite almost being unconscious, he still managed to be ignorant sometimes.

It was, in fact, cold. It was freezing cold. Or was it the life slipping away from their fingertips?

"No, not this way, Simon" she tries to move, but her legs don't respond to her commands. He breaks at her words.

This life was painful, the only joy of his life was having someone he could trust as much as her. They weren't exactly the definition of a relationship, but late at night they'd always find comfort in each other’s arms.

I know for the last time

"We won't make it out." He says, stern, but the fabric on his mask was soaked with his tears.

You will not be mine

Having tested all the channels on the radio, they knew there was no way anyone could find them in time.

"This wasn't what I expected from this mission, thank God I spent so much time memorizing every detail of you so I can find you again in another life." Ghost squeezed her legs, but she couldn't feel it.

"Simon-" she can't help but sob, taking every strength of her body to wrap her arms around him.

So give me the night, the night, the night

Death was inevitable, and being near her almost every single day made it even less scary, but nothing could prepare Wraith for having her loved one fall into a deep sleep on her arms. As the minutes passed, she felt Simon's grip slipping away, his breathing becoming shallower. Despite her efforts, there was little she could do to escape their fate. With each passing second, the weight of his words settled in her heart.

As his eyes began to close, Wraith held onto him, remaining by his side, refusing to let go until the last breath left his lips. In that moment, surrounded by the silence, she felt a profound loss. Simon had been her anchor, her confidant, and somehow her source of strength, and she held onto that until the very last end. She wouldn’t forgive herself if she let him see her die after all he’s been through.

He slipped into a deep slumber, large palm still clutching hers. Their souls would forever be intertwined, regardless of time or circumstance. As the cold darkness of night enveloped their lifeless bodies, her soul held onto the memories, cherishing the agonizing love and pain they had shared—transcending life and death.

The night comes down like heaven

#cod mw2 #cod fanfic #ghost cod #simon ghost riley #cod modern warfare #cod mwii #simon riley #ghost simon riley #simon ghost

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tiny-elf-of-doom · 11 months

Text

Resident Evil: Leon x Merchant

Final part! I will always take suggestions for flash fiction pieces!

18+ 🔞 MDNI (nsfw)

Leon had awoke in his bed. His hair was wet and there was a biting cold on his left eye- an icepack. Nothing made sense, earlier he was drowning, knocked to shit from a stupid tussle at the bar. Now, he was in his apartment, staring at the ceiling with the ache of a stiff neck. Adjacent to his bed was a bathroom with warm light peeking through the cracks of the door. Someone was fiddling around in there; Leon could hear their footsteps and mumbling. A person was in his place, casually fiddling around as if he were searching for something.

What the hell? Leon tried to throw off the covers when he realized how battered his body had become. There were bandages everywhere, a few still holding back the blood from his wounds. Attempting to ignore the pain, he struggled to get off his bed. There was been a brief moment when he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stand and he had been right. Once his foot hit the floor, a crunch could be heard along with his mass cluttering against the nightstand. Leon cringed from the agony of what appeared to be a broken ankle, yet he was still functioning in survival mode. Within the drawer of his nightstand, there was a backup handgun he kept loaded for emergencies and when he pointed it to the man exiting the bathroom, he was met with a very familiar voice.

“Stranger! Put the gun down before you hurt someone!”

Leon’s world went numb, “Merchant?”

He didn’t look like Merchant; not the one he saw on the island. This man was wearing a long sleeve shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows, drooping sweatpants, and a cloth to cover his mouth. The only thing keeping Leon from shooting this man was his eyes and how they sparkled an innocent blue. There was a willingness to help, to heal, similar to the man he bought his weapons from. He didn’t want to accept it, seeing as this was another man in his home, but Leon was too tired to fight and dropped his gun in a slump. Merchant ran to his side, carefully lifting him into his arms like a groom would his bride, and headed to the bathroom.

“What are you doing here?” The injured man managed to choke out.

“You needed me, so here I am. Let’s just leave it at that, stranger,” Merchant replied.

“I thought you were dead... blown up... the island,” Leon suddenly cramped up, clutching his bandaged ribs as they throbbed. One of them had to be broken, it hurt too badly to breathe.

“Easy love,” Merchant held his face, “I’ve got you.”

Leon didn’t trust many people, but he was sure to trust Merchant. The man had left him for only a few moments to turn off the faucet in the tub when Leon noticed his reflection. Half his face was the color of a snow cone. His lip was cut deeply and sewn with tiny stitches. Down his chest and stomach were dark blotches and damp bandages keeping his blood in his abdomen. There wasn’t a patch of skin that didn’t sting. It was funny: missions didn’t usually tear him up this badly, so why a bar fight?

“Alright, love, I’ve got a bath ready for ya. We’ll give you a nice clean up before I put ya to bed. I promise I’ll be gentle,” Merchant said before lifting Leon so he could place the man in the bathtub.

It was then that Leon noticed he was naked. Merchant didn’t seem to pay much mind to this exposure as he was far more focused on removing the bandages. Many of the ones wrapped around his torso were sticking to the injuries, causing Leon to wince and whine softly in discomfort. One particular gash went across his stomach, deep enough to where Merchant felt it needed extra padding and thick stitches to keep it closed.

“Ya know, ya coulda lost your intestines and all your other stuffing,” Merchant tried to laugh, “why the hell did you let this happen? Were ya drunk? Angry?”

Leon remained silent.

“Perhaps you were desperate?”

“I don’t need you,” Leon spat, avoiding eye contact.

Merchant snorted, rather loudly. “You probably didn’t need me then, but ya sure as hell need me now. Knowing you, I sparked a little excitement in your life, eh? A strange man sucked your mouth and your cock. Therefore, you developed a bit of a craving, yeah?”

Leon swallowed a stream of saliva, “fine, I’m a sex addict. Happy?”

“I would have been if you didn’t go and get yourself all fucked up like this. My stiff would have had a nice time between your lips, maybe in your ass if I was lucky.” Merchant sighed. “At least I can help you a wee bit.”

“It’s appreciated-” another cringe of pain struck Leon as Merchant dabbed disinfectant on his wounds. That spray was agonizing, but he continued to hold conversation. “Bit of a waste, though, huh? You got better things to do than just doctor me.”

“I disagree, it’s my job to make sure you’re good and tidy,” Merchant’s voice suddenly sounded distant.

Stabbing sensations lit Leon’s hip on fire, causing him to wiggle in his seat. Merchant noticed this, but continued to clean. His injury hadn’t bothered him since therapy that morning, he’d gone so far as to ditch the crutch. That hip didn’t hurt until that very moment in the tub. Leon recalled a bottle of pain pills on the counter, ones that took the edge off when it flared up.

“Hey,” the man reached for Merchant, “I have Vicodin for the pain... please.”

“Very good,” Merchant replied with a completely new tone and flat accent, “let’s hope you don’t pick up an addiction for it, Mr. Kennedy.”

“E-Excuse me? What did you call me?”

In the blink of an eye, Leon was staring at his therapist; the tubby man with thick glasses propped on a big nose. He was writing his notes as he normally did during their visits and nothing appeared to have changed since that morning. Even Leon’s hip was causing his teeth to grind. The crutch he had been using was still resting against the chair, stationary.

The therapist tilted his head to catch Leon’s attention, “Mr. Kennedy, are you alright? You’re heaving.”

Leon shook his head and for the first time in that office, he told the truth. “Not really, Doc. I’m getting two hours of sleep a night, I’m finding myself in bad situations constantly, and there’s someone you need to know about. I’m not sure he’s even real to be honest.”

“Ah,” the therapist’s eyebrows furrowed, “it seems we’ve hit a weak point. Well, let’s start from the beginning.”

And they began with Raccoon City.

#resident evil #resident evil 2 #resident evil leon #resident evil fanfiction #fanfiction #headcanons #18+#mdni #final part #leon x merchant #resident evil merchant

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raisin-shell · 2 months

Text

Raph’s Journal chapter 10: Scars ⚠️ TCEST⚠️

We get a lot of questions, particularly from tha humans we do encounter. One of those questions is how I got my scar on my lip… an Leo his eye. Tha day started out like any other, my alarm clock went off an naturally I hit tha snooze button one to many times.

“Cmon Raph! You’re going to be late again and you know leo told you last time that it’d be your last time. Hurry up dude!”

My kid brother of all people is tha only one who can, if possible, keep me in line but today was tha wrong day ta fuck with fearless. I scrambled ta get my gear on, running frantically towards tha dojo. Once I was there all my brothers were already lined up and in position. Usually I get a tongue lashin’ from Leo tha moment I set foot in our fightin’ area but today he just glared on into some distance somewhere. Man I must have really pissed him off with my tardiness this time.

Once master splinter had evaluated us during our warm ups it was time fer some one on one matches. Naturally I was paired with Leonardo. Go figure. He seemed different today. No stoic nature just plain angry as our master signaled for us ta fight. He came at me full force, katanas weldin’ into tha sky as they crashed down against the metal of my sais.

“I told you this would be the last time you’re late Raphael!”

He’s usin’ my full name which lets me know he is indeed pissed off.

“Listen fearless, I’m here aren’t I? I swear ya get yer panties in a bunch over nothin’!”

I shoved him backward a bit to hard and he was on me once again, tha metal of our weapons clambered and clanked. He was strong god dammit that bastard was heated. I had finally had enough.

“What’s good tuff guy? Our great leader huh? Looks like ya need ta control yer temper!”

And I uppercut him, the point of my sai slashin’ his eye as he began to stumble backwards.

“Leo.. I didn’t… I’m sor..”

Before I could get it out I felt his leg swipe mine out from under me, his katana swung an if I hadn’t already been fallin’ backward, he’d have gotten more than just a slice of my lip. I groaned in agony. Apparently I landed on a sewer drain an broke my tail. Blood dripped down Leo’s eye as he just glared at me as I was rollin’ around on tha floor in pain. Practice was cut short that day. Donnie not only had to doctor myself up but Leo as well.

“Can you believe that guy!? All this because he can’t get over himself!”

I wince as Donnie takes a look at my tail.

“You were late Raph. Again. It’s been nearly every day this week. He expects more from you. He loves you. And honestly I think it’s past time you told him the truth about your feelings for him.”

Donnie was my go to fuck boy. He had always known about my secret attraction ta Leo. Never once got jealous or malicious. He was right.

“Alright fine. I’ll go talk ta him. But I swear ta god if he comes at me again I’m kickin’ yer ass next Donnie.”

A few days went by. I had ta give ol fearless his space. Give us both time ta heal. He had ta wear a patch over his eye for a while. Once it had healed and things weren’t so heated, I decided to confront him. He was tending to his bansai plants when I approached him from behind.

“Hey Leo. Yer eye okay?”

I hummed deeply as he continued pruning his plants.

“Listen fearless I’m sorry fer always…”

He dropped his clippers and turned ta face me.

“You’re sorry? You’re SORRY?! Jesus Christ Raphael you’re always sorry. I can’t get each of you on the same damn page when I have my right hand constantly disobeying orders! Do you think the rules don’t apply to you?!”

I’ll admit it… he’s cute as fuck when he’s angry.

“My eye is fine. No thanks to you.”

He folds his arms as I lean in closer to him.

“Here. Lemme see hm?”

I trace my thumb under tha bandage, peelin’ it back ta expose his eye still a bit swollen from tha impact.

“I… I really am sorry Leo. Ya just… ya don’t…. Ya don’t know how badly I feel fer ya. Ya got no clue. I love ya an it’s my fault ya don’t know that. It’s my fault. I’m… I’m sorry.”

My hand trailed across his cheek cuppin’ it as I leaned in closer ta him.

“Raph…. No…. Stop.”

My other arm wrapped around his waist as I pulled his body against mine.

“Raph I… we’ll get caught…”

No sooner did those words come outta his mouth an my lips landed on his. I was expectin’ him ta pull away but his body began ta melt against mine. All tensed muscles softened an I felt his hand cradle my neck, deepenin’ tha kiss. My foot kicked his door closed as our tongues continued ta tie. My hands took it upon themselves to wrap beneath his bottom liftin’ him up as we both slammed against the thick brick wall of his room.

His hips began buckin’ eagerly, his hard rod rollin’ against my own sent an aching throb to my cock. I grunted against his kiss, quickly untied tha laces of his pants allowin’ that beautiful cock of his to spring free. My hand couldn’t help but wrap around his perfect girth, tuggin’ firmly as he gasped and whimpered against my mouth. Never in a million years did I think things were gonna turn out like this.

My hand continued to pump his cock, usin’ all my upper body strength I held him up against tha wall as I began ta kneel down. I had his legs tucked up over my shoulders as I broke our kiss and began nibbling and sucking down tha center of his plastron. Gently, I lapped tha under ridge of his cock as a needy moan gasped from his throat. My hands spread his ass cheeks wide fer me. His thick lime green muscles glistened under tha light, a rock hard cock with two perfectly round spheres set embedded in between those legs just waitin’ fer me ta take a taste. Fuck me. My lips puckered around his bulbous head as my head bobbed down. His back craned, teeth grittin’ as ta not make so much noise.

His cock is long and thick, I can feel his pulse in my throat as I take him deeper and deeper. And his cock just kept getting harder. My thumb slipped ta his perineum using some of my own drool ta lubricate tha area, slowly pluggin’ my thumb into his tight, warm back door. Tha sweat was beadin’ and rolling down his brown as his thighs widened for me, welcoming my thumb now two knuckles deep into his body. Precum was strandin’ from tha tip of his cock ta his plastron. I knew he was ready.

I slipped back ta my feet, our lips crashin’ together again as I tugged my shorts down lettin’ my massive cock free. I lined my head up with his tight hot ring and slowly sunk myself up into him. I could feel his body trembling but his hips kept pressin’ inta mine.

“This what cha want fearless? Hm? Ya want me ta fuck ya don’t cha?”

His blue eyes opened fer tha first time since tha encounter, gazin lovingly inta my own eyes.

“Please?”

My hips retract as his mouth purses into a silent moan, tha tight pull he had on my cock nearly makin’ me explode right then and there. But I held myself together, plungin’ myself deeper into his tight cavern.

“Harder. Please harder.”

He’s beggin’ fer me now which if you’ve been readin’ up on my journal… you know that’s a weak spot fer me. I tuck my arms beneath his legs, pinnin’ him tight against the wall as I sink myself in deeper and faster until little spurts of cum began ta pulse from his cock and he came unraveled in my arms. I pulled him up away from tha wall, hips still thrusting deeply up inside of his tightness until I felt tha sweet release of my own orgasm pull through my body.

We stood there for a moment, both of us catchin’ our breath and me catchin’ fearless smiling fer a change. I slowly retracted my cock from him and set him down, helping him get his gear and pants back inta place. All tha while he had this giddiness about him that I’d never seen before.

“So I take it I’m forgiven?”

I smirked with a chuckle as I pat him on tha ass.

“For now… We’ll see what happens next time.”

#teenage mutant ninja turtles #tmnt bayverse #tmnt #tmnt raphael #tmnt leonardo #bayverse #tmnt donatello #tmnt 2016 #tmnt michelangelo #tcest

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queenofbaws · 3 months

Note

Gosh, these all hit me with so much dopamine. I'm pretty sure I've used a few myself. It's hard to pick one. Perhaps #15? Some trash trio tomfoolery? The victim being you-know-who?

"This, uh...this is gonna hurt, okay?"

His head whipped up from where he'd been looking at the blood-spattered ground, and through a lockjaw grimace of pain managed to hiss, "Oh yeah?! Oh yeah, Josh?! Is it gonna fucking hurt?!"

Ashley was already crouching, wiggling her fingers before tentatively taking hold of her side of the trap. "On three. Not, like, one-two-three-go, but just three. One-two-three. Okay?"

"Yeah, I...yeah, okay."

The only one who didn't get a say in this particular arrangement, Chris screwed his eyes shut, dug his nails into his palms, and waited for their count.

"One...twooo...three."

The trap squealed like a wounded animal as they prised it open, and while Chris's plan had been to simply pull his skewered foot out of it, the shock of that sudden sound had him stumbling instead, falling flat on his ass on the grass between them. If there was any silver lining to the situation, any silver lining at all, it was that he had, in fact, gotten out of the bear trap.

He was having difficulty pinpointing any others.

"Fuck," he breathed, fighting twin impulses - to both touch his ankle and to keep everyone and everything as far from it as possible. The result was a shrimpish hunching of his back as he tried to curl in around himself, bracing against wave after wave of stinging agony. "Who even...why...this is a fucking summer camp! For children!"

Ashley shushed him, her eyes huge as she scanned the clearing around them, and if he hadn't been so busy trying to chew a hole through the inside of his cheek, he might've snapped at her too.

"Yeah, see - you guys thought my shit back in Blackwood was bad," Josh muttered, following the hushed voice rule and therefore receiving no shush of his own. "At least I didn't rig this kinda shit up..."

"There weren't werewolves in Blackwood," Ashley hissed. Already she was turning again, rummaging through the messenger bag she'd had slung over her shoulder all night. Her eyes kept moving between her stuff and the shredded flesh of Chris's ankle, and he swore he could feel each glance she shot him like the bite of a bullet ant.

"Is that really the argument you're going with? There weren't werewolves, so clearly there couldn't be shitty traps? Because, pardon me, I did get pretty shaken up that night so maybe I'm not remembering things right, but I do seem to recall there being...something terrifying up on that glorious mountain..."

"You're not helping!"

Barely able to see them through the tears welling in his eyes, Chris snapped back, "Neither of you are helping!"

"The tone, Cochise. The tone. Y'know, I hate to be this guy, but first there's the whole mess with your knee...now this...your track record with monster hunters is just not ideal, man."

"This still isn't helping!"

"Yeah, well, I'm just saying," Josh muttered, glancing over his shoulder as Ashley finally - finally - found something that might work as a bandage. "Maybe we should stop and ask the glaring question: Are you the problem here?"

"Josh!"

"It's a legitimate concern."

#wacem #six sentence weekend #until dawn #queenie writes supermassive #oooh cochise...#one day he'll catch a break #(he won't)

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jinxedruby · 2 months

Text

Febuwhump Day Eighteen: Too weak to move

Featuring Twilight and some others.

Heads up for major injury in this one (primarily descriptions of pain, not the wound itself).

AO3

First part | <- Previous part | Next part ->

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

Every step Epona took drove shards of agony through the wound in Twilight’s leg. He clutched the saddle’s horn so tightly that his hands began to cramp, taking slow, even breaths through his nose. The conversation of the others slurred together in a jumble of sounds and syllables drifting past his ears. He let out another slow breath, narrowing his eyes against the onslaught of dizziness. His left pant leg had been rolled up above his knee, boot removed to make way for the bandages wound around his leg. This left his leg feeling cold, bare toes dangling beside the stirrup.

He blinked, slow and languid, suppressing a full-body shiver that attempted to wrack through him. The sun glared through the branches overhead, piercing his eyes and making his head pound. Epona stepped in a shallow dip in the path. She bounced as she regained her footing, jostling Twilight in the process. The motion zipped through his leg, exploded in the teeth marks wrapping around his calf. Lightheadedness flooded over him, the world tumbling in vertical circles.

He suddenly found himself on the ground, shoulder sparking with pain as he lay crumpled on his side.

“Rancher!”

Wild appeared in front of him, crouching down. The champion’s long blond hair bled into the blue of his tunic, the colors swirling together and making Twilight dizzy. He closed his eyes with a soft groan, involuntarily twitching at the pain pounding in his temples. That only made the stabbing in his leg worse and he winced, biting his lip.

“Rancher?” another concerned voice called, dirt crunching underneath several sets of boots. Blissful darkness fell over him as someone else crouched by him. Time’s deep rumbling voice washed over him but he couldn’t parse the words. Another thinner voice, Wild’s, responded before someone gently pushed Twilight’s shoulder and rolled him onto his back. A hand grasped his shoulder and shook. He peeled his eyelids apart, Wild’s and Time’s faces swimming into view above him. Time’s mouth moved and it took a moment before Twilight’s brain processed what he said.

“-me? Rancher?” Time asked, brow pinched.

Twilight tried to speak, exhaling and attempting to attach words to his breath. “Wh… happ’ned?”

“You passed out,” Wild replied with a slight shake to his voice as Time looked to the side. Twilight tried to follow the old man’s gaze but found he couldn’t lift his head. “Fell off your horse.”

Twilight’s gaze slid over to Wild. “Oh.”

The bandages on his leg began peeling away and he hissed through his teeth, trying to jerk it back. Dizziness slammed into him, wrapping around his throat as a vice gripped his head. The bandages tugged away from his leg, plucking from the puncture wounds. It felt as if the bandages were being replaced with knives and he yelped, managing to yank his leg back and curl it against his torso.

“-cher, Rancher, it’s okay, he’s just checking your wound!” Wild called, grabbing Twilight’s hand and squeezing it. Twilight heard the words and tried to relax, focusing on Wild’s thumb rubbing back and forth along the back of his hand. Gentle hands grabbed his ankle and the back of his knee, guiding his leg out straight. Twilight felt a single tug of the bandages before dipping out of consciousness again.

“-won’t help-“ Someone spoke as he came around, still staring up at the sky through the trees, Wild still holding his hand. “-infected- only close th-“

Twilight tuned out the words, funneling all his focus into taking steadying breaths. He realized his lying there only slowed everyone down. He tried to count the seconds between breaths, but they spiraled together with the sounds and blobs of color around him, combining into an indecipherable mess. Something squeezed his leg, stabbing shards of glass into his flesh and digging in deep. He felt himself let out a cry but the sound drowned in the muddle of sensations. The stinging pressure on his leg eased after a few moments and the whipping of the world around him calmed just enough for the sensations to separate out again. Voices spoke in his ears, pitched in question. He tried to look around, tried to figure out what was said. Another pitch of a question and he just groaned, eyes falling shut. Hushed words, hands under his shoulders, gravity tilting as he was lifted upright. One arm slipped behind his knees and he abruptly realized that meant someone was preparing to pick him up.

He shifted as best he could, dropping his hands and finding the ground. He planted his good foot and struggled to push himself up. The voices rose around him, more hands appearing at his shoulders and back. He tried to shake them off. Injury or not, he could pull his own weight. Then a violent shiver coursed through him, sapping away any strength he had left. Gravity grasped at him, pulling him to the side. He fell against something warm with a sigh, muscles no longer obeying him and going limp. Frustration buzzed in his teeth and he struggled against his own body, fighting to at least open his eyes. Arms tightened around his back and knees before the ground fell away. Needles jabbed into his leg and he slipped once again into darkness.

He woke to a steady bobbing motion. He tried to open his eyes, head filling with cotton and a numbing fluid. The chest pressed against his side burned and yet he shivered, the movement turning to one of pain as the needles twisted around in his leg. His throat moved with a shallow intake of air, nausea prodding against the underside of his chin.

The heart beneath his ear thudded at a quick pace, but the pulsing rhythm calmed him nonetheless. Another voice spoke beside him, tone small and guilty. His brow furrowed as he attempted to piece his memory together, trying to figure out what the apology was for. The thicket a couple days ago. Something clamping around his leg. Him pushing the smith out of the way. Or had that happened first? He remembered the giant orange and black carnivorous plant poised above him as he lay on the ground, its teeth dripping with his blood. Better his leg than Four’s torso. He sighed, boneless in the man’s hold. Not your fault. He tried to lace the words into the exhale. He couldn’t tell if he succeeded or not. The man holding him spoke again and Twilight finally realized it was Time – when had he taken his armor off? His chest rumbled against Twilight’s side as he spoke, soft words brushing against Twilight’s ear. Almost there, he thought he heard. You’ll be okay.

Another shiver, another blaze of pain. Darkness enveloped him like a blanket.

#linked universe #linked universe fic #linked universe fanfic #ruby writes #febuwhump #febuwhump2024 #boy i must really love hurting time's kiddos #twilight passes out like four times in a row: the fic #lu twilight #lu wild #lu time #lu four

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luna-writes-stuff · 9 months

Text

CHAPTER XLI

A Kili X OC fic

Previous chapter // Next chapter

TW: Repressed traumas, mentions of pain/injuries, extremely unhygienic soldiers, mentions of blood, Fili is a darling, Gandalf makes questionable decisions.

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Repressed traumas are an absolute joy

Fili and Kili didn’t see Raewyn after she had woken up. Kili was transported to his own medical tent for further treatment of his hands, whereas Fili had taken it upon himself to help other surviving fighters clear out the bodies from the field. Raewyn had woken up for short periods of time, only to fall back unconscious seconds later. Even the elvish healers did not know what to make of it, so they ultimately decided to leave her in the hands of the persistent dwarven medics. Days had passed since the last time anyone really saw her, but since her first difficult awakening, Gandalf himself had insisted she’d heal in her own time, without the crowds. No one dared to fight with the wizard, not even the tired prince himself. He was simply glad Raewyn was still breathing - asleep or not.

She had no realistic grasp of time. When she woke, it felt as if she had slept for weeks, but after only seconds of adjusting to the surroundings of the growingly familiar tent, she thought she had simply woken up multiple times in one night. Sometimes, Oín would be beside her to change the bandages. It was awkward for her the first time, even after the old dwarf had insisted he’d seen a lot of naked upperhalfs (and underhalfs) in his years. After only two changes, Raewyn had simply given up on trying to cover herself with a blanket. She was too exhausted to preserve her dignity any way.

When she woke now, she wasn’t alone. Directly at the foot of her bed, she could see someone staring at her. She knew it wasn’t Oín. He would have announced his presence the second a tired grunt left her lips. “I was starting to wonder if you’d ever wake,” the old voice spoke, its figure now moving groggily to the side of her bed. The fatigue in Raewyn’s eyes slowly began to fade, and she found herself staring into the dull grey eyes of an elder dwarrowdam. Her face had been sunken in, her eyes nearly covered from the bags that hung below and above them. A scruffy, untamed grey beard adorned her face as her rope-like hair was tied into one single braid. She had never seen her before.

“My name is Zahrad,” she spoke sternly, though her blinded eyes showed some kindness. “I have come at the request of Gandalf.” That seemed to put Raewyn’s mind at ease. The wizard had only visited her thrice since she awakened, and he would always be gone after she fell back asleep. Not much was spoken between them, but then again - she never felt the need to say much to him. He knew her as well as she did. They didn’t need words. They’d be too difficult now.

“I already have a healer that tends to me.” Raewyn tried to dismiss politely, her voice aching and scratchy. She winced at the sound of it, then looked back at the dwarrowdam, feeling almost guilty for rejecting her. “Medic.” The elder corrected rudely, almost as if she was insulted. When she tried to reach out to the ranger, Raewyn flinched back, wincing as pain shot through her back, making its way into her head. A disapproving sound came from the dwarf as she shook her head: “You Ashas are so stubborn.”

Confusion seeped into her bones as she tried to force the pain down, her fingers clenching the blankets on her legs. Squinting her eyes together in agony, Raewyn turned her head to look back at the dwarf. “You knew my family?” “I would hope so,” Zharad returned. “I was married into it.”

Almost as if her heart had stopped, Raewyn’s body froze. For a blind woman, Zharad’s eyes were sincere, and her face looked almost content - at peace. As if reminiscing a beautiful memory. “That’s not possible.” “My husband died in the raid.” “You didn’t visit his grave.”

Raewyn had buried all the bodies properly, giving them a formal Khuzdul ceremony, before leaving the site. She counted all the bodies - she had held all of them. If she had been missing someone, she would have known, and she would have spent her entire life looking for them. She didn’t know whether to believe Zharad or not.

“I didn’t know he had any,” The dwarrowdam returned. “Didn’t know you survived either. Gandalf failed to mention that until his letter arrived.”

Zharad could almost feel the confusion and confliction filling the room. Raewyn was silent all of the sudden, but the dwarf couldn’t figure out whether it was because of acceptance or distrust. Thus, she decided to continue: “His name was Roghud. He was your uncle.”

The name was familiar. It was so familiar, but Raewyn couldn’t place it. She had heard it before, a long time ago. But she would have remembered the names of her family members. She wouldn’t forget any of them. There was her mother: Zura, and her father: Raegar. Then, her grandmother. Her grandmother’s name. She was a specialist in jewellery and gems. She had a beautiful name. Beautiful indeed.

Her breath hitched. She couldn’t place her grandmother’s name. Did she even have an uncle to begin with? She must have had. There were six, which means there are still three left. Her mother, father, grandmother…. Maybe a grandfather? She had an aunt - her father’s sister. What was her name? Did her father have a brother?

“You poor soul,” Zharad spoke up, noticing the rising terror in the room. Gently, her hand rose. Feeling almost guilty for lashing out at the dwarrowdam, Raewyn grabbed her hand, her eyes set in panic and grief. Yet, she wanted to help the old lady. “The times have not been fortunate to you.”

Rokal. It was a name so familiar to Roghud. But she couldn’t place where she’d heard it. They were with six, but it suddenly felt as if there were way more. She had been there. Was she part of the clan of six? Or was she the spare seven? She couldn’t even remember how many bodies she buried. Too many for a 41-year-old dwarfling. She didn’t keep count. Or maybe she had, and she simply forgot. Maybe she had buried ten bodies, and not five or six. She never asked Gandalf. She was convinced she knew. She looked back on the event so feverishly, but only now she realised how little she actually remembered.

A gentle squeeze was send to Raewyn’s hand, ripping her out of her thoughts and placing her back to the tent she was in. This was the first time she had gone this long without sleeping since the battle. Her mind was too anxious and stressed to shut back down now.

“Why are you here?” “I must apologise for announcing this all so sudden,” Zharad apologised, sounding genuinely remorseful. “You are still healing. That is why I am here.” The dwarf’s hand left Raewyn’s. Watching the dwarrowdam in pain and interest, she now noticed the bag she was carrying, and the amount of bottles held within it. “I was a herbalist before your family took me in. I took back my job after the raid. My skills lie far beyond your common medic.”

Then, she grabbed a very specific jar. Raewyn didn’t dare question how she knew she picked the right one. “This will help you more than the cheap medic’s paste.”

——

Gandalf had his hands full on dwarves and men. It seemed difficult for them to grasp the fact his spells would only get the soldiers so far. There were not limitless, nor were they miracles. Thus, they eventually left the wizard alone. Now, he was left with the complaining of Thranduil, the brooding of Bard, and the rough words of the new king of Erebor. All of them wanted the best for their soldiers and people, but none of them were completely willing to cooperate. Not even after surviving a grand army of orcs and goblins. It became even worse when Thorin decided Raewyn fell under jurisdiction of the dwarves and refused to let any elves enter her tent after Kili told him about the medic she had been left with earlier.

Tiredly, the old wizard sat on a low dwarven chair, his legs uncomfortably pushed together. This was the first time in days he had finally been owned some rest. Zharad had arrived only hours prior, but was still in Raewyn’s tent. He figured they deserved the long talk. And the wounded words that would be followed towards him. He was aware that there was no worse time to introduce them than now, but against his hopes, the chances of Raewyn’s recovery going well, were slim to none, and he knew Zharad’s knowledge would help her more than any elven medicine would. And it wasn’t worth the fight with Thorin.

Be that as it may, he was surprised she even showed up after his letter. She might not have been an Asha at birth, but she was as stubborn and pig-headed all the same. She wouldn’t have helped him lest she would have been the last resort.

When she finally emerged from the tent, her face was set in that same stern gaze she always held, even though her shoulders seemed more relaxed. Gandalf rose from his seat when he saw her, no longer surprised when the blind dwarrow walked up to him without issue.

“Next time you decide to introduce me to distant family, do it over tea.” And with that, she was gone again.

——

In the tent, Raewyn was still sitting upright, courtesy of Zharad. Regretfully, the old dwarf had helped her sit up, not lay back down. And now, with new bandages expertly applied around her and a stinging feeling in her back due to the new ointment, she was achingly left to lay back down on her own. It would be wisest for her to stay seated, adjusting to finally using her muscles. Laying back down was no option for her if she wished not to injure her back any further, but sitting up for the next few hours would be even worse to her. And thus, she finally decided it was time for her to get up. No one had told her she was not allowed to, so she saw no point in dwelling on the cot any longer, especially since fatigue had ultimately left her.

As her feet slowly touched the floor, she felt the bruises on her skin moving with her muscles. A dragged out hiss escaped her lips as she forced herself off of the bed. She stumbled lightly when she fully stood, her entire weight resting back on her legs. Holding onto cabinets tightly, she grabbed a cloak from a chair, clumsily throwing it over her shoulders to at least preserve the little bit of dignity she had left.

After days, she could now feel the grease and knots gathering in her hair, the entire thing seemingly untouched. She did not know whether to appreciate this or feel disgusted by it.

As she tried to adjust to stumbling across the tent, she began to feel more disgusting the longer she became aware of the state of her body. The only thing that seemed to be cleaned was her back, and a light portion of her torso. Her hands were still stained with dirt, blood, and little cuts, she could almost feel the layers of sand on her legs and feet, and her neck felt stiffer than it had ever been. She was grateful there was no mirror in her tent - never had she been vain, nor had she cared about the way she looked, but she began to grow self-conscious all of the sudden. She was not only feeling dirty; she felt deeply and utterly humiliated.

She halted in front of the entrance, the state of her appearance hitting her harder than the sharp ache in her back. Her hand was holding back a small piece of the tent: not enough to let others know she was there, but enough to risk a look outside.

A small crowd of elves, men, and dwarves walked past her tent, all seemingly focused on their jobs. Two dwarven soldiers marched past, their armour seemingly not have been taken off since the battle. She did not know how long it has been, but she had counted at least three days. The braids in their hair and beards were beginning to fall out and the beads no longer appeared to be shiny as all Khuzdul beads were known to be. A man walked past with mud and dirt covering his entire face and arms, but he seemed to care little for it, much too focused on the bag of herbs he was carrying as he followed the two dwarves. But what shocked her the most was the tiny group of elves in the distance bending over to help their injured archer. Their hair was tied back roughly, and their clothes were torn. Their fair skin seemed to have dulled as their faces showed nothing but worry and stress. It was when she saw them, that she realised no one had cared much for hygiene since the fight. And though she felt uncomfortable at the thought that her pants - darkened and hardened under the amount of blood from her and her enemies - had been on her since Ravenhill, she was relieved to see she had not been the only one.

Finally stepping out, she noticed Gandalf, lost in conversation with Bard. She would have walked up to them, had she not been conflicted about meeting Zharad moments earlier. Without announcing herself, she quietly tried to blend in with the crowds, which proved easier than she thought. Thin slivers of light glowed through creaks in the walls, letting her know she was not entirely inside the mountain yet. Thus, with new-found determination, she walked the halls best she could, trying to remember where she had walked earlier, and which roads let outside. And - for once - her memory had proven her right: only second later, she stood in front of the big entrance of Erebor, overlooking a sea of bodies, red fields, and working men and dwarves. Fallen soldiers were carried onto carts and piles, lost weapons were dragged against the walls of the mountain, and deserted transports were torn apart. A silent gasp tore from her upon the sight - she had no idea who had survived the battle and who had lost their lives. She had only seen a small amount of people, but nowhere near enough to be relieved of any stress.

Trudging through the field aimlessly, she ignored all protests in her legs and back, staring down at the fighters, bowing her head at every single one of them, before ultimately giving up at the amount. Little boys and young dwarflings lie beneath the fallen, fathers and mothers dragging them off in cries and pleas. She had no grasp of time, and could have stood there for hours. The sun told her that likely wasn’t the case, but it certainly felt like it.

“Raewyn?” A voice called out, closer than she anticipated. Startled, she turned around, her face apparently giving away the pain, because the figure neared her quicker than she could. Beneath all the damage, it was still a clear mop of blonde hair moving towards her rapidly. He halted just before her, looking at her up and down in surprise: “They did not tell me you were allowed to get up yet.” Observing him silently, she noted he did not look much better as she did, and if he did, she was thankful he did not mention it.

“I’m not sure I am.” She replied hesitantly, coughing after she spoke, trying to swallow the scratching in her throat down. “You sound awful,” Fili was quick to butt in, his heavy set face allowing a tiny boyish grin. She formed her lips in a thin line at his statement: “Haven’t spoken in days.” “What a relief it was.” Finally, a small laugh escaped her, a moment of peace amid a bloody battlefield. Fili’s smile grew at the sound, regardless of the roughness of it. If there was only one thing in the world the brothers shares, it was their ability to make anyone laugh in any circumstances, and Raewyn’s heart warmed at the familiar feeling.

Despite the slight happiness, her mood changed quickly as everything suddenly came crashing down. Picking up on the shift, Fili came closer to the Asha, wrapping an arm around her waist to help her walk back towards the gates. They weren’t even there yet when she decided to speak up: “I met my aunt.”

Frowning at the words, Fili’s steps faltered slightly, but he was swift to pick them both up and help her sit on one of the smaller boulders. “I thought you were the last one.” He stated through a hushed voice. “So did I.” Neither of them was entirely sure what to say next. Raewyn didn’t even know why she had shared that with him - she simply felt the need to say it out loud in order to believe it. “Gandalf sent for her.” She eventually continued, realisation slowly making its way into her mind. She was no longer talking to Fili specifically; she was trying to help herself actualise what she had just learned. “Gandalf knew of her existence and never told me. He never told her about me either.”

Fili’s face fell upon her words, a comforting hand squeezing her shoulder gently, almost as if it hadn’t been there. “Raewyn, I’m sorry.” “Why would he do that?” She rattled off, her sadness slowly merging into futile anger. “I have waited fruitlessly for my family my entire life - he knew.” Her breath hitched as she looked at the dwarf beside her, desperation in her eyes. “Why would he not have told me?”

He wanted to help his friend. He wanted to, but he could not imagine how. He had spent days comforting grieving families and friends, but for once, he did not know how to aid her. He tried to remember all she had told him on their journey together, to see if maybe he could help her relate somehow, but the only thing that came out was “do you not remember burying her?”.

A beat of silence passed between both of them, before she shook her head, wiping away a furious tear that had escaped halfway. “I do not remember any of them. I don’t know if I ever have.” She could not even retreat her hand before a second tear began to fall, taking the dirt and grime on her face with it. “Oh, Raewyn,” Fili spoke in remorse, carefully wrapping one arm around her in a side hug, extremely careful not to put too much pressure on her back. Leaning into his embrace, she slowly began to sob, all confusion hitting her harder than it ever had: “I know I buried my father. I buried my mother, my grandmother. She told me I have an uncle: Roghud, but it seems familiar to Rokal. I do not know who he is, but his name is so…” A chocked sob escaped her before she could finish her sentence, and she squeezed her hands together in agony. “Why can I not remember?”

“You just woke up,” Fili tried to soothe. “You should not exhaust yourself with thoughts. They will come back.” “No.” Raewyn protested nearly immediately. “No, I don’t think I ever knew. I had this dream…” As she trailed off, she shook her head wildly before resting it in the palm of her hands. Gently, Fili’s arm retreated, and he patted her knee in reassurance. “You need your rest.” “I need to talk to Gandalf.” “Raewyn, listen to me: this will fade. You will remember.” She raised her head at this, looking up at him with a heartbroken expression the dwarf had seen too often this week. “No,” She answered. “I never did. He must know.”

“Raewyn-” “Fili, please.” The Asha interrupted, offering a look so crestfallen, Fili found himself breaking just as easily. And so, with a sigh, his shoulders fell and he stood up, offering his hand to her in assistance. “If he turns me into something, I will take you with me.”

Smiling sadly at him, she nodded, accepting his help as she got back up, unable to repress the wince crossing her features as she stretched her legs. Though he noticed, Fili did not mention it. He had seen many other injuries, but was wise enough to conclude Raewyn would be too stubborn to pretend to be bothered by it. Instead, he led her back inside the mountain. Making his way through the halls decorated with medical tents and loose cots, both of them eventually rounded the corner.

“Fi, other side.” Raewyn mumbled, referring to the location of her tent, but her comment seemed to fall on deaf ears. Before she could give him another reminder, they waltzed into another tent. “This isn’t my tent.” Again, she was ignored. Instead, Fili grabbed a comfortable looking chair and gestured for Raewyn to sit in it. Assuming he was going to find Gandalf, she obeyed his silent order. As she sat down with some difficulty, she found Fili pacing the tent.

“He got out again,” She heard him mutter under his breath. “I thought people were keeping an eye on him.” “Fili, Gandalf is-” “Yes, I am aware.” She was interrupted this time. “I’ll find him.” And just like that, the dwarf had disappeared. Sighing at her futile attempts to help him, she remained seated. Smart of Fili to use an empty medical tent. That way others won’t see her lashing out at the wizard.

She discarded the thought. She had no energy left to be angry. She was just confused now.

The longer she looked around the tent, the longer a nagging feeling in the back of her head began to tell her this was not entirely unoccupied. The sheets on the cot were haphazardly strewn over the floor, a thick coat dangled over another chair, a candle was still halfway lit, and in a corner she noticed a pair of shoes. What idiot would walk out of the tent without boots? Then, she looked at her own feet. She quickly silenced her thoughts.

It wasn’t long until Fili reappeared, this time dragging someone in tow. Raewyn didn’t have to be fully awake in order to recognize that this was not an old man with a grey beard and a large top hat. Be that as it may, he recognized her before she did.

“Rae?” Disheveled as he looked, Raewyn could not suppress the tiny step in her heart when she heard him say her name again. Two arms wrapped around her tightly, pulling her in closely, though his hands remained on her shoulders and not her back. He too, was covered in muck, sweat, and blood, but he smelled just as she had fondly remembered. Her hands loosely grabbed his upper arms to return the hug, whilst her shoulders sagged significantly. A brief flash of white skies and biting cold gnawed through her as the embrace began to grow familiar, but it was gone as soon as it came.

“Thank Mahal, you’re up.” The words were muttered in the crook of her neck, but she heard them all too well. Slowly parting from her, Raewyn dared risk a happy smile. “Not according to Oín.” Kili followed with a scoff, that same mischievous grin forming on his face as it had always held. “Me neither.”

“She needs to talk with Gandalf,” Fili announced. “But I promised to tell you when she would be stable.” Kili nodded gratefully, though his eyes remained on Raewyn, watching her every movement. “Why must you talk with Gandalf?” He asked carefully, immediately noticing the shift in Raewyn’s posture. Though she appeared hesitant, she confided in him nonetheless. “It’s about my family,” She told him, then pointed to her back. “Apparently, I have an aunt who works magic with herbs.”

She did not smile as she spoke those words, yet Kili gently lowered a hand onto her shoulder and squeezed it affectionately.

“That is wonderful, Raewyn.”

After moments of confusion and pain, his words seemed to alter her mind completely. She had an aunt, of whom she did not even know existed. And though Gandalf should have told her, the fact still stands: she is not alone. Maybe not heriditary and bound by blood, but Zharad had certainly shared the Asha name.

Her face relaxed at the words. It was wonderful.

“I will go with you.” “Ki,” His brother dismissed. “Oín did not allow you to leave yet.” “He did not allow me to use my hands,” The youngest Durin corrected. “There is no need for hands whilst talking.” Unable to suppress a second grin, Raewyn’s hand shot up to meet Kili’s, which was still on her shoulder. Gaining his attention successfully, she spoke to him: “Thank you, Kili. But this is a conversation between me and Gandalf.”

Reluctantly, he nodded at her words. His hand intertwined with hers as he lowered them both, now suggesting she’d use it to get back up.

“At least let me walk with you?”

———

Taglist:

@errruvande @writingawaymylife @justnerdystuffs @spidergirla5 @fallenangeloflight @bianavacker-is-bi-as-hell @lxdymormont @deathofafangirl01 @the-cranck-hobbit @chaoticpaintsplatter @bxtchopolis @radbarbariancupcake @gay-destiel

#tolkien #the hobbit #starcrossed losers #kili x reader #kili #kili durin #thorin oakenshield #kili imagine #fili and kili #raewyn asha #Fili #kili x oc #kili x raewyn #Fili durin #gandalf the grey #botfa #the battle of the five armies

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ghostwhogallopedaway · 9 months

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stay, don’t go; i’ll eat you up i love you so

Ao3 Link

Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Experienced Kim, Inexperienced Porchay, Loss of Virginity, First Time, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Back Together, Fluff and Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Headcanons, Character Study, Porn with Feelings, Top Kim Khimhant Theerapanyakun, Bottom Porchay Pichaya Kittisawat, First Kiss, Kim is 22, Porchay is 18, Angst with a Happy Ending

In case KinnPorsche Season 2 is actually 100% dead and buried, this is my KimChay ending of choice thank yoooooou :'D

When Chay removes his headphones, the sound of gunshots and grunting men seizes his ears. When he turns around, a big angry man is lunging at him. Chay screams, tries to run, but he’s grabbed by his wrists and his arms are twisted behind him. His head bangs the corner of the table as he’s shoved to the floor, the impact ripping the air from his lungs. He writhes under the man’s weight but it does nothing. Terror pounds through him as a cloth is pressed against his mouth. Tears prick his eyes. He wants his brother. He wants…

Not again. Please, please not this again…!

A shot rings out. The man falls over off of him, bellowing swears and clutching his bleeding arm.

“Ngh…” Chay’s head throbs. Everything’s spinning. He struggles to sit up, tries not to throw up. He manages to look over his shoulder, and a trembling breath leaves him.

Kim has the man on the ground at gunpoint. One glance at Chay, one look at the massive bleeding cut on his forehead, and Kim’s eyes blacken. He drags the man up by his throat, fingernails drawing blood.

“You fucking bastard,” Kim snarls. The man grabs at Kim’s hand but he doesn’t budge. Kim digs the barrel of his gun into his purpling face, then angles it down above his leg. A bullet rips into his thigh and the man heaves and sputters in agony, eyes ballooning from their sockets.

“K-Kim…,” Chay whimpers, lifting a hand. Kim turns his head, and the look in his eyes is nothing short of bone-chilling. “Please, don’t…”

Kim stares at him for several seconds. Then he turns his attention back to the suffocating thug. Kim releases his throat and he crumples to the ground in a violently coughing heap. Not a second later, the man bellows like a crazed bull and pulls out a knife before throwing himself at Kim.

“NO!” Chay shouts.

But Kim easily sidesteps him, slams his foot down on the man’s back, and shoots him in the back of the head. Chay covers his mouth at the sight, hyperventilating into his hands. He watches blood pool beneath the man’s head, watches it leak across the floor. Then Chay’s eyes go to the bar and he catches what looks to be more lifeless bodies littered about. He looks at Kim, whose face and white shirt are blood splattered. Chay’s teeth start to chatter and he twists away from the scene, knees to his chest, arms around his head, shivering like the world’s turned to frost.

“Porchay.” Kim rushes to his side. His chest stings when Chay flinches away from his touch. “It’s me. It’s just me.” Kim tries again, gently brushing his fingers over Chay’s hand. He’s shaking so badly and it kills him. “Chay, come on. You know I’d never hurt you.”

Chay’s voice is soft and broken. “Y-You…all those g-guys you–”

“I know. But I had to.” Kim takes a breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to see this.” He’s careful as he reaches out with both hands to hold Chay’s face, tenderly turning him to look. Kim reigns in his rage. “You’re bleeding a lot.”

Kim coaxes Chay to stand and guides him further back into the club, away from the carnage. He goes back to the bar and checks under the counter, finding a clean rag and a small first-aid kit that only has antiseptic wipes and a single pack of bandages, then promptly returns to Chay. Chay’s eyes remain downcast, dim with shock. Kim gently takes his chin and tilts his face towards him before proceeding to clean him up. He wipes blood off of Chay’s eyebrow, his nose, his cheek. He dabs the cut then goes back over it with a wipe, finishing by applying the largest bandage he can find and then some. He’ll find something better once they’re out of here.

And all the while, Kim talks. He started shooting guns when he was six. He had to learn how to fight for his life at seven. His first kill was when he was twelve. All the men he’d witnessed being tortured, brutalized, beaten to death. All the despair, hopelessness, desperation, the pleas for mercy. Kim explains everything.

How he’d left home at the age of sixteen to escape from the hell he’d been born into. How he still chose to remain in contact with that world despite that, because he couldn’t forget about his family. How Tankhun had bought him a ukulele when he was a toddler so he’d stop crying. How Kinn used to sing to him when he couldn’t sleep. How music was his salvation.

How one day, he saw a really cute fan in the crowd who gave three correct answers to a single question about his music videos. How he could never forget his smile.

“I thought it was nice,” Kim says after applying one more bandage. Then his hands fall into his lap. “I was…kind of excited. That maybe I’d see you on campus.”

Chay still isn’t looking at him, but he’s been listening. His eyes become a little clearer.

Kim sighs then continues, “I was suspicious of this guy, Porsche, who’d been assigned to be my brother’s bodyguard for no real reason. I needed to know who he was, if he was a threat. If he’d fooled my father, if he was hiding something. So…” He clears his throat. “So it’s true. The reason I first reached out to you. But what I didn’t expect was…”

Now Chay looks at him, their eyes meeting. They hold each other’s gaze for a long moment.

“What…did you not expect?” Chay asks quietly, a tinge of hope blending with the hurt.

At first, Kim can’t find words. He’s too busy admiring how the rich golden sheen of the setting sun streams into the bar and hits Chay just right, dusting his hair, putting a sparkle in his lovely brown eyes, a soft glow upon his warm skin, a shine on his perfect lips. Kim takes it all in, and wonders how Chay is still bothering to sit here with someone like him.

“It’s true that I had ulterior motives,” Kim says. “But what I felt…that was true, too. That wasn’t a lie, Chay.”

“What you…felt?”

Kim takes Chay’s shoulders and leans in, head down. “I was really happy when you said you liked me. So happy it was stupid. The time we spent together meant a lot. It meant everything . I didn’t want it to end but I knew it would eventually because that’s what always happens. Because my life is shit and people always end up getting hurt.” Kim grips Chay. “I knew that. But I’m fucking selfish. I wanted to hold on to you as long as I could.” A dry sob escapes him, one of heartache and bitterness. “The minor family’s gone to war with us. I knew they’d come for you. So I came here to protect you. I told myself I’d always protect you. Because I’m sorry. Because I like you, Chay. I like you so much it terrifies me.”

The words hang in the air. For a minute there’s only Kim and Chay’s breathing and the ambience of the closed bar.

Kim wants Chay to shove him off in disgust. He wants him to take his revenge and reject him, swear he’ll never want anything to do with him ever again. He wants Chay to laugh in his face and scorn him for being a coward, for being an idiot to think he could fix what he’d done.

But instead, soft warm hands cup his cheeks. Chay uses his sleeve to wipe some blood off Kim’s face. Kim looks at him but Chay averts his eyes. It’s different this time. This time, it’s that shyness Kim adores.

“...Thank you,” Chay says. “For um…For saving me.”

Another beat of silence.

“I’m sorry again you had to see it,” Kim says, observing Chay’s fidgeting fingers. “Are you okay?” He looks down and quietly asks, “Are you afraid of me?”

Chay takes a deep, trembling breath. After a moment, he admits, “No. I don’t think I’ll be okay for a while.”

Then he gazes at Kim. Kim, whose music had given Chay a dream. Kim, who was patient and kind. Kim, who kissed him on the cheek, whose heartbeat lulled Chay to sleep that night. Who’d held his hand and embraced him. Kim, who’d broken his heart.

Who wouldn’t let Chay take drugs while wasted around a bunch of people he barely knew. Who had tapped into the very thing he hated most about himself in order to protect him.

“But I meant it for real when I said…,” Chay takes Kim’s hands, “that I like all of your sides.”

Kim looks at Chay as a blush blooms across his face and tears fill his eyes. Through Chay’s sniffling, a small smile breaks out. Kim’s heart swells and tears of his own gather. He starts berating himself because he shouldn’t be allowed this. He shouldn’t be allowed to feel this happy . But the relieved laugh escapes him. He cradles Chay’s cheek and swipes away a tear with his thumb. His heart sings when Chay holds his wrist and nuzzles his palm.

“I’m sorry that I made you cry,” Kim says.

“It’s cool.”

“No it’s not. I won’t do it again.”

“You’re doing it now though.”

“I love you.”

Chay’s eyes widened and he goes still. He searches Kim’s eyes, finds them unwavering.

“Kim…”

“I love you, Porchay.” Kim links his fingers with Chay’s and they stand. He leans in so their foreheads touch. “Let’s get out of here.”

✦

Something about seeing Porchay, hair wet and one of his shirts hanging off his skinny frame, sends Kim over the edge.

Without a word Kim gets up from his bed and stalks towards him, an arm wrapping around Chay’s waist to pull him close. The feeling of Chay’s thin body against him does things to Kim, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself, with Chay , that won’t be bad. So Kim buries his face into Chay’s neck but swiftly realizes that this, too, is a bad idea as the mingling scents of his body wash and Chay’s skin intoxicates him.

“K-Kim?” Chay squeaks, hands going to Kim’s shoulders. Their proximity, the feeling of Kim’s lips and breath upon his skin, makes him flush a deep red. “Um…Kim, what are you doing?”

“I’m just hugging you,” Kim says into Chay’s ear, chuckling when his blush reaches the shell. He kisses it and the kid nearly jumps. Kim snickers into his shoulder. “You’re so cute, Chay.”

“S-Stop saying, and doing, embarrassing things!” Chay yelps, pushing Kim back. They were never physical before, not like this anyway, so Chay doesn’t know what’s gotten into him. But Kim gives him a lopsided grin, his long tousled hair falling over one eye, and he somehow becomes even more handsome. Chay shakes his head. “What’s with you…”

Chay loses his words. Kim cups his cheek and leans in until their lips are a hair’s breadth apart. It’s a question, and Kim waits. Chay counts one heartbeat and answers, inching forward. They close the distance, lips meeting in their first kiss. They break apart for a second to look into each other’s eyes and process. Then they kiss again. And again, and again, and again.

Chay never so much as held a person’s hand (that wasn’t his brother’s) until he met Kim so he’s not sure what he’s doing. He just hopes Kim likes it, and Kim sure as hell does. So much so that soon he’s pressing a little harder, opening their mouths, letting his tongue brush Chay’s bottom lip. The sweet taste of him drives Kim wild.

Chay breaks away gasping for air. “Kim–”

Kim’s mouth covers Chay’s again and he spins them both around, starts walking him backward. He doesn’t allow their lips to part as they fall onto his bed, Chay laid out beneath him.

“Mmph…!” Chay goes to push Kim’s shoulders but Kim’s hands wrap around his wrists and pin them down on the bed. He gasps Kim’s name between kisses, moans softly as Kim licks into his mouth, tongue ravaging him. It’s not until Chay feels Kim’s hand slide under his shirt that he finally shouts around the kiss, “Wait!”

Kim’s hand stops immediately and he pulls back. As much as the sight of Chay under him, face flushed, breathing hard, hair a damp halo, and glossy lips swollen, turns him on, Kim doesn’t miss his discomfort. He removes his hand from under his shirt.

“Sorry,” Kim says, catching his breath. He brushes hair out of Chay’s eyes. “I won’t do anything else. Not unless you want me to.”

Chay gazes at him for a moment. Then he goes up on his elbows to give Kim a quick peck on the lips. He runs a hand through Kim’s hair, a million thoughts running through him.

“I-I…It’s not that I don’t want to,” Chay says, unable to meet Kim’s eyes. “I want to. I just…I’ve never…”

Kim wraps Chay in his arms. He kisses Chay’s neck and nuzzles his shoulder, his heart doing cartwheels. He cradles Chay close, holds him like the precious soul he is. Kim can’t fathom it, that Chay wants him to be his first. The thought almost makes Kim cry. And it also makes his body burn, deep and untamed.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.” Kim kisses the bandages on Chay’s forehead. Chay gasps as Kim starts pulling his shirt up. It’s tossed aside and Kim takes a second to ogle Chay’s slender body. He shudders as Kim runs a hand down his chest. “It’s alright. I promise I’ll be gentle.”

The way Chay looks at him, so nervous yet so full of trust, has Kim hurrying to strip off his own shirt. Chay’s eyes glow with longing as they roam all over his body, tight and sculpted with well defined muscle.

Littered with faded scars.

Chay sits up and extends a timid hand, his fingers caressing an old cut below Kim’s collarbone. A laceration on his side. Healed gunshot and stab wounds around his shoulders, along his torso. Multiple cigarette burns. Chay chokes back tears as he thinks about everything Kim told him, what Kim had gone through his entire life. How he’d turned to music to be free from it all, to do something else, something better than what was passed down to him.

“I’m sorry,” Chay whispers.

“Hey.” Kim cups his face. “Do you remember what you said to me?” When Chay furrows his brows, he chuckles. “You know…I’ve always thought I was a pretty unlucky guy myself. But it’s like you said.” His fingertips brush beneath Chay’s eye. “Maybe all of the luck I’ve ever had was so I could be here with you.”

Chay’s eyes shimmer.

Kim smiles. “Tonight, let’s just think about us. Okay?”

Us.

Chay sobs and hugs him tight, the pair of them shivering as their bare torsos touch. Kim squeezes him back.

“Okay,” Chay sighs.

Kim claims Chay’s lips and lowers him back down, their arms still around each other. He pulls away and peppers Chay’s face with kisses, making him giggle. He kisses Chay’s lips one more time before trailing down to his neck, licking and sucking his tender nape. Chay bites his lip, muffles his gasps and moans. Kim’s strong hands leave traces of fire wherever they go as they caress Chay’s body, sliding along his sides, down his stomach, his arms. When they rub over Chay’s nipples, his cry can’t be contained. He immediately covers his mouth, face burning.

What kind of sound did I just make? Chay whines into his hands as Kim doesn’t relent in toying with him. Kim parts from Chay’s neck and kisses down from his shoulder to his chest until closing his lips around one of his nipples, punctuating with a firm suck.

“Ngahh…!” It pushes through Chay’s fingers as his back arches. Before Chay can seal his mouth again, Kim grabs his hands.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Kim says. “It’s a normal reaction.”

“B-But…But–”

“You know I love it when you sing, Chay.” Kim thwarts Chay’s plan to hide by pinning his hands over his head with one hand. He brings his face close to Chay’s and a sly smile plays on his lips. “So let me hear you.”

Kim thumbs one nipple, brings his mouth down on the other, and Chay keens helplessly. The sound of his cute, sweet voice riles Kim up so much that he growls into a bite, just below Chay’s ribcage. The scrape of Kim’s teeth startles him, and he whimpers as Kim applies a little more pressure, but not enough to hurt him. Then Kim finally releases Chay’s wrists, drags his hand down his lithe arms, his neck, fondles his chest, tweaks Chay’s nipples as Kim works his way downward, and it’s like Chay’s being eaten alive. Kim dragging his tongue down his flat stomach, back up and over Chay’s nipples, then down his chest again. Leaving hungry kisses and sucking bruises into Chay’s heated skin wherever his lips pass, losing himself in the song that is Chay’s every wanting cry of pleasure. Kim closes his mouth over Chay’s hip, nibbles the skin on the delicate dip down further, stopping at the band of his pajama pants. He spies the very obvious bulge and smirks.

“Looks like you’re eager,” Kim says, nudging Chay’s arousal with his hand, to which Chay whines and throws his arms over his eyes.

“Kim!” he exclaims from the sheer embarrassment.

He takes a sharp breath when he feels Kim’s hands start pulling down the waistband, painstakingly slow. Kim watches the rapid rise and fall of Chay’s chest, how the gorgeous shade of scarlet dusting his neck and shoulders deepens, how he gasps when his hard, leaking cock is finally freed. Kim’s pupils blow wide, mouth watering at the sight. He teases the length of Chay’s cock with the tip of his tongue and Chay stifles a yell with his arm, his back arching beautifully. Kim repeats the motion, tugging Chay’s pants up and completely off as his legs bend from the stimulation. Chay whimpers at how exposed he feels and instinctively goes to cross his legs, to cover himself, but Kim doesn’t let him.

“Don’t hide from me,” Kim says. He settles himself between Chay’s legs, places a kiss on one of his knees, then on his inner thigh, pinching the soft skin with his teeth. Then he sits up to take in the view of Chay lying naked and breathless before him. Perfection. It provokes something primal, and Kim fights the raging desire to take him right there.

Chay sees Kim’s eyes, dark with lust, and trembles. He’s never felt more vulnerable, more at another’s mercy. And yet, he feels so incredibly safe, protected. Because it’s Kim leaning over him, surrounding him, touching him like he’s porcelain. Because he can feel Kim’s care, see his love crystal clear in the depths of his desire. And Kim sees it, too. Chay’s trust in him. Trust he swears on his life he’ll never break again. Trust he’ll treasure and guard until his dying breath.

Kim sticks two fingers into his mouth, gets them good and coated, before bringing them to Chay’s hole. He slots the tip of his middle finger against it and Chay yelps.

“W-What? Down there…Kim–”

“I need to prepare you,” Kim says, combing his other hand through Chay’s hair then caressing his cheek. He kisses Chay’s temple. “I’ve got you. Just breathe, okay? That’s it.”

His finger starts to breach him. Chay fists the sheets, tosses his head, gasps a string of moans as Kim pushes deeper.

“It f-feels weird…!” Chay says. “Ah…Ah! Hnngh! Mmph!”

Kim captures Chay’s lips in a desperate kiss. He works his finger deeper and deeper with light thrusts until he’s buried to the knuckle, while his other hand massages Chay’s nipples, pinching them between his digits. After several thrusts, Kim starts pushing a second finger in. Chay clings to his shoulders with a panicked gasp.

Kim licks his ear. “Shhh. You’re alright. I won’t hurt you.” The second finger eases in and Chay presses his face into Kim’s neck, a sob escaping him. “You okay? How does it feel?”

“I-I’m scared,” Chay finally manages. Kim digs and curls his long digits deep, brushing that bundle of nerves, and Chay absolutely wails . Kim bites his shoulder. “Ah! W-Wait! I c-can’t. I’m scared…I feel like I’m going crazy, Kim–Ngh! Haaah!”

“You’re not,” Kim says as he thrusts his fingers in and out. He laps at Chay’s neck, groaning at the sweetness of his skin, the saltiness of his sweat. “It’s supposed to feel like this. It’s supposed to feel good. Does it feel good, Porchay? Tell me.” Kim slides one more finger in, all three digits twisting inside him. Chay throws his head back, his cry filling the room, his body convulsing. Kim looks down to see Chay’s cock twitching, his stomach splattered white. He grabs and looks at Chay’s blissed out face, his own cock getting painfully harder by the second. “You came.”

They slot their mouths together. Chay groans into Kim’s mouth as he withdraws his fingers to hold Chay’s head with both hands, tilts him back, seeks to devour him. Once Chay is laying flat on the bed again, Kim sits up. He yanks his sweatpants and briefs down, his rock hard erection springing free, curling against his toned abs. Kim starts stroking himself, slicking his length with precum, eyes black with lust piercing Chay where he lays.

Chay quivers as his heart skips. He’s so big. How’s it going to fit?

As if he’s read his mind, Kim gives him a tender smile. He takes Chay’s hand and brings his knuckles to his lips.

“I’ll go slow,” Kim says. He kisses Chay’s wrist as he lines himself up. “Tell me right away if you want me to stop. Take a deep breath and relax…Good. You’re doing so good.”

Kim drapes himself over Chay as the tip enters him, pushing in as slow as possible. He stills when the head is in, giving Chay all the time he needs to adjust and catch his breath. Then he presses a little further, a harsh grunt punched out of him as Chay’s insanely hot and tight walls start sucking him in, squeezing Kim’s cock in a scorching pressure that has him seeing stars. Kim kisses Chay’s eyelids, kisses away the tears rolling down his face as he takes him deeper.

“Are you okay?” Kim breathes.

“I…It s-stings a little,” Chay stutters. “But don’t…Don’t–Ah!” The stretch is borderline unbearable and Chay fears he’ll be torn apart, yet the pleasure shooting through him alongside the pain has him yearning for more. And when he looks up at Kim’s face through his tears, when he sees the attentiveness, the kindness, the affection he remembers, when he sees Kim’s desire for him storming in his eyes… Chay wants him. He wants Kim so badly. “Please don’t stop.”

Kim’s heart thunders. He gathers Chay in his arms, smothering his neck and shoulders with heated kisses. He never wants to let Chay go ever again, as long as he lives. Chay hugs him tight, his slender arms wrapping around Kim’s muscular back as he finally buries himself to the hilt inside him.

“Porchay,” Kim rasps against Chay’s swollen red lips. He pulls out a bit then slowly thrusts back in. He groans into a kiss. Another thrust. “Porchay… You feel so amazing.”

Chay leans his forehead against his, wraps his legs around Kim’s waist.

“I feel so full,” Chay whispers. “Because you’re–ngh–inside me. Kim…”

Kim grits his teeth. The next thrust is a little harder and Chay chokes out a moan.

“You little…” Kim grinds his cock into him, hard and deep. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Then Chay touches his face so gently, like he’s holding a baby animal. More tears flood his big brown eyes. They spill over when Chay smiles. “Chay?”

“I’m so happy,” Chay says. “I’m so happy I met you. Everything, the good things and the bad things. I’m glad they all happened so I could be here with you like this. I don’t regret any of it.” Chay rubs Kim’s cheekbones with his thumbs. “Thank you, Kim. Thank you for liking me. Thank you for wanting me.”

In Kim’s eyes, everything about Chay is glowing. Warm embers. A candle illuminating the darkness. Sunlight, moonlight. This light that decided to come close to someone like him, that chose to shine for him. That’s still shining for him in this moment even though Kim had stupidly tried to snuff him out.

“I should be saying that,” Kim says, voice heavy with how much he means this. “I never thought someone like you would happen to me. And after what I did to you...” Kim holds Chay’s face. A single tear falls. “Thank you, Porchay, for liking and wanting me. For still liking and wanting me.”

Their tearful smiles become soft laughter and they kiss.

Kim starts moving, setting a slow, even pace. As the pain subsides and is replaced with overwhelming pleasure, Chay’s fingernails bite into Kim’s back. Kim groans, relishes in the delicious sting of his skin breaking, and starts snapping his hips a little harder. Kim laves his tongue over Chay’s nipples, sucks on the stiff buds. His hand palms Chay’s erection, stroking it in tandem with his thrusts that are quickly losing their rhythm. He sharply pulls back so that only the head is inside then slams back in. Chay moans, raw and loud, as Kim repeats the motion three more times, the bed jostling and creaking with the strength of his thrusts.

“N-Not like that, Kim,” Chay gasps, then squeals when Kim does it again. He begs between labored breaths,“Kim…! Please it’s too m-much! Ah! Ahh!” Kim’s cock pounds his prostate and Chay screams.

“But I can feel you thrusting back down every time,” Kim says, teeth scraping Chay’s chin.

Chay turns away, blushing bright. “What are you– AHH –saying?”

Kim grunts as he moves over him and starts picking up the pace, barely pulling out, hips pistoning faster and faster, possessed with unbridled passion as his climax rapidly approaches. The sound of wet, slapping flesh, their mingling ragged breaths, their drawn out moans fills the room like a lewd chorus.

“Kim, I can’t–I’m about to–”

“Me, too, Chay. I’m close.” Kim licks Chay’s lips. “Let’s do it together. Come for me.”

With one more powerful thrust, Kim lodges himself as deep as he can with an animalistic growl. Chay’s head falls back and Kim latches onto his neck as he crushes their hips together. Their bodies shudder violently against each other as they come. Kim grinds into Chay as his release coats his walls, flooding him, filling him. He feels the heat of Chay’s cum on his abdomen, the stuttering of his cock. They remain like this, wrapped in each other’s embrace, riding out the wave, breathing between tired, messy kisses. Eventually Kim reluctantly pulls out. The way Chay shudders and the dirty squelch of his cock slipping out of him almost gets Kim hard again. That, and the bite marks adorning Chay’s neck and shoulders. But instead, Kim tucks himself back into his sweatpants and rolls over, flopping down beside his poor lover.

Chay whines at the sudden emptiness he feels and seeks Kim’s warmth, snuggling into his chest, into Kim’s safe strong arms. Kim holds him close, pressing kisses into his hair, whispering sweet nothings as he tangles their legs together. Chay listens to Kim’s heartbeat and almost cries because he’s missed it so much.

“How was it?” Kim says, fingers stroking Chay’s hair.

Chay blushes and mumbles, “It felt…nice.”

“Just nice?” Kim chuckles when Chay shakes his head and presses further into his chest. “Too cute.”

“Shut up…”

The night settles in, and the room is gradually bathed in soft white moonlight.

“What’s going to happen tomorrow?” Chay asks softly.

Kim hums. Right. The whole mafia thing. “Honestly…I’m not sure.”

Chay draws small circles on Kim’s chest with his finger. “Well whatever it is, I’m going to face it with you. I won’t let you leave me again. And I won’t let you be alone anymore.”

Kim’s arms tighten around him, heart burning. He knows that Chay knows how vulnerable he is, how little he can do against the dangerous forces that now lurk in the shadows, that will follow him the rest of his life. But it doesn’t matter. Chay just wants to be with him. It’s Kim’s greatest weakness, and all the strength he’ll ever need.

“Okay,” he sighs. He noses Chay’s fluffy hair, breathes in his scent, closes his eyes.

“Kim.”

Kim looks at him. “Yeah?”

“I love you.” Chay smiles. He lifts a hand and strokes Kim’s cheek. “Do you…love me?”

Kim breaths in, gazing deep into Chay’s beautiful eyes brimming with love. Love for him. Love he’ll go to war for. Love he’ll never flee from again even if it kills him.

Kim captures Chay’s lips in a long, passionate kiss.

“I love you, Porchay.”

#kinnporsche the series #kim x porchay #kimchay #kimporchay #kim theerapanyakul #porchay kittisawasd #NNNGGGGGHHH #help i'm so weak for them

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painsandconfusion · 1 year

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Valentines Special

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Twenty-Seven

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“Hey, Eeeeeeeeeeeethan~?”

Ethan’s eyes flicked up to the ceiling - barely not needing to actively ‘stifle’ the groan. “What.”

Nate sat on the back of the couch, tipping backwards over it to lie upside-down with his feet dangling over the back. He turned a grin up to Ethan. “It’s Valentines Day~!”

Ethan frowned, picking up his phone to check the date. Hm. Guess it is. He set it back down on the couch - other side now. Away from the blond freak. “Exciting.” Deadpan. Attention back on the TV now.

“You wanna be my valentine?” Still grinning. How was he always grinning? Didn’t his face hurt or something? Maybe he just paid a couple million for perfect teeth and puts up with the pain for the shot at showing them off.

“Nope.”

Nate pouted. “Why not? You got someone else?” Puppy dog eyes.

Ethan sighed, grabbing the remote to turn up the volume.

Nate just talked louder. “That Wasn’t An Answer!”

Ethan kicked one foot up onto the coffee table. “Not interested, dude.”

“Oh come on - neither of us have dates. We can at least take advantage of the Valentines Day special stuff. We can fake it.”

Ethan glared at the TV. “I’m good here, thanks.”

Nate’s pouting intensified. “Mannnnn I really wanted to wreck some bitches in laser tag…”

Ethan’s eyes stopped following the movement on the screen. “..they have Valentines Day laser tag?” Skeptical.

Nate swiveled up to sitting. “You bet. Comes with pizza - really fucking good pizza, too. It’s a bundle thing.”

Ethan pursed his lips. Actually….considering this.

“Come onnnnnnnn~ Don’t you wanna go shoot some people? Get that blood pumping? Not like we have anyone else to fuck with right now~”

Ethan set his jaw, flicking his glare over to Nate. “..when.”

G R I N. “Right now!!”

Ethan begrudgingly jammed the button for the remote, clicking the TV off. He stood, stretching a little.

Nate bounced up to his feet. “Fuck yea! Come on, Valentine~!” He grabbed for Ethan’s hand only to be instantly smacked away.

“Not your valentine, I just like laser tag.”

“Yeah yeah yeah yeah yea, let’s go-” Nate snatched Ethan’s hoodie strings, pulling on them rather than his hand to lead them from the house.

Ethan grumbled a million curses as the fabric pulled shut around his face, blindly smacking at Nate as he followed.

Laser tag.

This couldn’t be that bad, right?

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(tags: @prisonerwhump, @whumpawinkk, @mabledonut, @heathenwhump, @paleassprince, @happy-little-sadist, @wormwriting, @distinctlywhumpthing, @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta @wibbly-wobbly-whump @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @bandages-andobsessions @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @michaeltalks @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @shelfsdesires @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-stars @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @hold-back-on-the-comfort @suspicious-whumping-egg)

As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

#nate and ethan #whumping the whumpers #out of timeline scene #for funsies #idk ill probably put it in as part 27 #have some fluff for valentines you lovely humans

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just-horrible-things · 11 months

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‘Verse: Box Boy Universe Story: A Girl Called Spider Timeline: A ways into Rayce’s training

Obedience [Prev]

The pain is too big, too far beyond what he could hope to handle, too much to comprehend. It doesn’t fit in his body. His mind shies away from one sensation only to be met with another.

Cramps run ceaselessly up and down his back, his legs, even his arms. The ache of one won’t have faded before the next sharp stab kicks in. His knees are worse. His knees hurt so much – the burning skin, the electric sharpness through the joints, the ache-turned-cramp-turned-tearing-agony in every connected muscle – so much he thinks they must be broken, torn, dislocated, something.

If he doesn’t stay on his knees, he gets the shock, and everything gets worse.

At least he has his hands on the floor. He tries to take as much of his weight as he can through his hands and his toes, but he is weak. If he shakes too much, the handler on the couch prods him with the baton and the threat of shock is a rush of terror.

He tries to focus on the weight of her feet on his back, because that is only a mild pain, only a dull throb in the skin and the muscles beneath.

Better to focus on that than on his knees.

He doesn’t hear the door, but he sure hears the Handler’s voice. “You are way too early,” she says, “for how late you went home last night.” He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t understand what she wants from him. “What can I say,” – Handler Sharan, his hated Primary – “I love my job. I see you got him following instructions.” “Sure did.”

The words wash over him as he struggles to decipher whether they’re talking to him, or to each other. Whether he needs to listen, or can tune out.

Handler Sharan is in front of him. He feels her presence, her frigid aura, without knowing which sense he is using. Not sight. He can’t lift his head, it’s too heavy.

The weight on his back lifts, and he gasps as his own weight shifts and sets off yet more cramps. Her voice sounds from very far away. “Guess this means it’s home time. God I hate nights.” He hates nights too. But – that’s a thought from another life.

His Handler touches his shoulder. He startles – another wave of cramps.

“Enough,” she says. “You may stop.” It’s not a conscious choice when his body collapses. Maybe it was only coincidence that he finally got permission at the moment his muscles gave out. He pitches forwards and crumples and ends with a shoulder on the toes of her boots, his head against her ankles.

“Good boy,” she says, adjusting his head with one foot. “You’re going to be so good for me now, aren’t you?”

Then she’s nearer, her hands nearer, danger, touch, fear. His head pinned between her hands, tugged upwards so he has to squirm to stop his neck turning through an angle it cannot.

He can’t read her face. He can barely make his eyes focus. The room is pulsating around her.

“Do you remember what you did?” she asks. He can’t. He panics. He can’t say no, he can’t say yes – then he sees the bandages wrapped around her hand and he remembers. His teeth bite so hard into the rubber between them that his jaw cramps. “Do you remember what you did wrong?” Hesitantly, fearfully, he nods. Her hand moves against his cheek and it’s so warm it almost burns. “You’re not going to do it again.” He shakes his head urgently, heedless of the pain behind his eyes, and she smiles.

He won’t, he promises he won’t, he’ll promise anything, just make it stop.

“You’re going to be good now.” Her voice is low and sure and sinks into his skin with every word. “You’re going to prove to me that you can be good. Or else we’ll start your punishment over, and over until you learn.”

Please no. He can’t, he can’t do it, he’ll be good.

The whimper in his throat comes out as nothing but a whistle of air.

And she’s gone, like the jolt of missing a step, like waking to find you aren’t falling. Her voice is above him.

“Follow, trainee.”

He can’t imagine standing up. He also can’t imagine disobeying, not with the consequences made so clear. He drags himself, with difficulty, back to his screaming knees. And he crawls.

One limb at a time, one more shuffling motion, just this hand, just this knee, just one more as many times over as he has to before he’s allowed to stop. The white tiles are all the same.

“Position Two.”

Another Handler, another voice he can’t put a name to. It doesn’t matter. They’re all Handler. They all give commands. They all have the power to shock him or worse.

He obeys – but he’s too slow getting to Position Two, too shaky on limbs that don’t want to hold him up for a second longer. He’s grabbed by the back of the collar, yanked up, and sat back on his heels. His eyes water as he chokes.

“Eyes up.” He looks up. “Mouth open.” He opens his mouth. It’s hard to unlock his jaw from the bit. “Wider.” The gag digs into the corners of his mouth, stretching his lips, cracking open splits that had nearly healed. “Better.”

Better means he hasn’t earned more pain, not yet.

He smells the nutrient shake when the bottle is cracked open. He didn’t know before that it even had a smell. His mouth waters.

The handler spoon feeds him, sliding the spoon in through the narrow gap between the bit and his front teeth. He can’t talk to say thank you Handler so all he has to think about is swallowing. His throat hurts when he does.

Three spoonfuls, then a mouthful of water. Another spoonful, but it pauses just in front of his mouth. He knows better than to try and take it.

“Mouth open until I tell you to close it. Don’t swallow.”

The spoon slips between his teeth and the rubber. The liquid is deposited onto his tongue.

It’s hard not to swallow. He’s fighting every starving instinct in him. Only the constant threat of the handler right there keeps him obedient.

“Good boy. Swallow.”

Two more spoonfuls. Each time he sits open-mouthed and waits for permission to swallow. Then another mouthful of water, poured slowly into his mouth until his eyes widen and still more until it spills out over his cheeks and trickles down his neck to pool under his collar.

Frozen, he doesn’t move. Thankfully, it’s the right response.

“Good boy. Swallow.”

All he cares about is not messing this up. Getting as much food and water as they’re willing to give him. Not getting hurt any sooner than he has to.

Maybe, maybe, being allowed to lie down when they’re done.

#my writing #bbu #a girl called spider #handler rayce #handler sharan #gratuitous use of fun tropes

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