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chaotic-birds · 5 months

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strong for you || j.pt

Jason comes home injured, prepared to patch up and rest with you, but he soon realizes something isn't right.

❤️‍🩹 Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

❤️‍🩹 Genres/AUs: Action, some angst & fluff, established relationship

❤️‍🩹 Warnings: Use of guns, mentions of killing, hostage situation, blood, injuries, reader referred to as girl

❤️‍🩹 Word Count: 2.3k

❤️‍🩹 Author's Note: Just felt like writing more Jason 🥰

masterlist

Jason uses the rest of his strength to lift open the window. His panting grows louder after he tumbles inside, feeling a bit safer in his home. He doesn’t have to worry about people hearing him in pain and taking advantage of his weakened state.

He knows you’ll be by his side in a matter of seconds. He hates how he came home injured since it always worries you, but he rather be hurt here than anywhere else.

His eyes shut tightly as he tries to calm down. It’s becoming harder to breathe under his helmet. He feels suffocated. He needs fresh air.

With a shaky hand, he begins to raise it to unlatch his helmet. However, an all too familiar click makes him halt; his eyes open wide and he forces his breathing to slow so he can hear better.

It’s then he realizes you should’ve been tending to him by now. You should be easing him out of his suit as you comfort and scold him simultaneously.

He lowers his arm as slowly as he can, worried whoever it is will act irrationally if he moves too quickly. Maybe if he was somewhere else and not injured, he would’ve leaped up and snatched the weapon from their hand.

But he can’t.

He’s home. He can’t put you in any more danger.

In slow motion, he turns his head to assess the scene.

There are five men in total. Each has a rifle in their hands, accompanied by a handgun on their hips. You’re seated on one of the dining table chairs that’s been moved, hands and feet tied together. You’re staring at him with big eyes—a mix of worry and panic.

Jason curses to himself mentally.

You’re already fearful of being held captive, but now you’re fearful of his wound too.

He already knows what questions are floating in your head: How deep is it? How much blood has he lost already? Are there any more injuries?

Jason hates that he was stupid tonight. He hates how out of all the nights to have fucked up, he fucked up tonight. But that doesn’t stop his determination. He’ll power through the pain if it means you’ll be safe in the end.

You turn your head to the man on your right. He holds himself to a different status than the others. The amount of confidence this man must have makes Jason want to gag.

“I’ll give you the files if you let me tend to his wounds,” you bargain.

Macho Boss smirks down at you before moving his sight to Jason.

“Well, you’re surely an unexpected guest. Didn’t think one of the bats would come to rescue a mere civilian when there are bigger crimes out on the streets,” he observes, then glances at you. “I guess this one’s special, huh?”

Jason suspects that this guy thought he could get away with his act since he’s not committing a big crime, compared to others in Gotham. Illegal activities happen all the time here, right? Jason almost snorts at his bad luck.

Macho Boss nudges your shoulder with the barrel of his gun. The cold metal touches your bare skin exposed by your cardigan, making you shiver. It must’ve fallen in your scuffle earlier.

Jason narrows his eyes at him even though his glare is hidden by his helmet. He’s grateful he etched a permanent scowl on it now. He wants your captors to know that despite being injured, he’s still got enough strength to incapacitate them.

“Please,” you grab the captor’s attention again. “Let me help him.”

“Why should I let you? His injury means he’s weak. I can’t let him stop us, now can I?” he questions, slightly mockingly.

“You can tie him up after I’m done.”

“Like hell you will,” Jason gruffs and the other person holding a gun to his head jabs him with it.

You send him a glare—signaling it isn’t the time to be snarky. Jason rolls his eyes but doesn’t say anything more.

“Do you want the files?�� you ask Macho Boss.

“You’re going to give us them whether we let you play nurse or not.”

“Perhaps, but you’re wasting time. Why take the hard way when I’m offering to give them up so easily?”

The man hums in thought. Finally, he nods at the man to your left.

Within seconds, your ropes have been cut. You gesture to the bathroom.

“First aid is in there,” you inform and carefully make your way to the room.

One of the men follows you, gun pointed to your head. You expect nothing less.

If they weren’t here, you’d be rushing to the kit, but any sudden movements will get them trigger-happy.

Your movements are slow as you retrieve the first aid along with a wet washcloth. You make your way to kneel beside Jason. Blood continues to seep through his fingertips, creating a pool of red beneath him. You fight back the worry consuming you.

You gently guide his hand from the wound so you can begin cleaning it.

Jason watches you for a second before shifting his gaze to the others. They’re staring at you both, weapons aimed. They seem impatient and ready to fire.

“You should be making a run for it,” Jason says to you lowly. Though it doesn’t matter the volume of his voice, it’s so quiet that everyone will hear him regardless.

“And get shot in the back? No thanks,” you argue, setting the bloodied rag to the side to start patching him up.

Jason wants to reply he wouldn’t let that happen. He’d have his hands on his guns, shooting everyone before you could get hurt. But he doesn’t want them to know how much he cares about you. Perhaps that’s a fruitless wish since they’ve probably already gauged their affection from their body language.

Jason grunts when you touch a certain area. He’s been trying to keep his cool—for the sake of seeming stronger than he appears to his captors, and for the sake of your sanity.

Your eyes move to his helmet, and there’s a silent “sorry” in your expression. He can tell you’re trying to appear strong, too.

All Jason wants to do is fill these guys’ heads with lead, then snuggle you in bed.

As you continue attending to his wound, he asses his options. He could quickly shield you with his body while he took out the men, but even then, he wouldn’t be able to move and risk the potential of you getting shot. The thought about tossing you out of the window since there’s a fire escape there is strong—get you out of harm’s way so he doesn’t have to worry about you in the crossfire.

Jason’s thoughts get interrupted when you lean in. He watches quietly as you kiss his helmet softly. His lips twitch in an immediate response, but then he feels something slip into his palm.

Clever girl.

With one hand, he slips the small knife you gave him up his sleeve; with the other, he caresses your back. He hopes his action distracts the men from the quick exchange.

You pull away carefully as Macho Boss grits out, “Touching. You done now?”

“Yes,” you reply.

The second the word leaves your lips, a pair of hands are pulling you from Jason roughly.

Jason quickly begins to stand but a heavy boot stomps on his fresh wound, forcing him down again. He breathes in a sharp inhale at the impact, head tilting back and fists clenching.

“Red!” you gasp, struggling against your captor’s hold. More so for his health and safety than yours.

“Relax, love,” Macho Boss coos, but it’s nothing close to soothing. “You can’t expect us to trust your buddy here.”

Then, he turns to the person who’s pinning him down. “Tie him up.”

“You better be treating me to dinner after,” Jason huffs.

Suddenly, Jason’s hauled up and shoved into a nearby chair. His arms get pulled back, forcing a grunt out of him because of his injury. His feet are then secured.

“What a charmer,” Macho Boss scoffs. “Now, the files.”

Your gaze lingers on Jason to make sure he’ll be okay before walking to your bedroom where your laptop is.

“Put me in that room,” Jason demands as he watches you leave.

“Not a chance. You can sit pretty with me right here,” the man behind him says.

Jason clenches his fists as you disappear from view. There are only three of them in the room now. Two went with you.

Easy.

Jason shimmies the blade low enough to reach the rope around his wrists. He waits a few minutes for everyone’s focus to dim before beginning to slice at the material.

“So what’s Red Hood doing in some rando’s apartment, hm?” Capture Two says.

Jason shrugs, subtly cutting the rope as he speaks, “Would you believe me if I said I have a magical power that lets me sense trouble? Because wow… My inner crime detector was blaring.”

Captor Two huffs in annoyance. “Yeah right. You probably got cameras set up around here.”

Jason catches on to the man’s agenda: Find the location of the cameras so they can take them out next time.

“There’s even one over there,” Jason says with a nod to the left.

“There is?” the guy questions and turns.

The second he does, Jason breaks through the rope and disarms and knocks out the man behind him. Gunfire erupts and Jason quickly takes cover in the kitchen nearby.

“Fucking liar,” Captor Two growls.

Jason laughs. “Sorry, man. Let me make it up to you.”

Jason peeps around the cabinets and aims with proficient precision. Two down, one to go.

Upon hearing the scuffling in the living room, you quickly retrieve the gun that’s taped under the desk. For once, you’re grateful for Jason hiding guns around the apartment.

Before you can second guess your actions, you shoot Macho Boss in the kneecap before ducking and shooting the second man in the same place. Once they’re both down, you take away their guns in case they try anything on the ground.

Jason rushes into the room hearing the gunshots, both pistols raised. He pauses in his trek when he sees you—seemingly unharmed—standing between the two men on the ground.

The men are groaning, blood soaking the carpet he vacuumed yesterday.

“Next time come when the carpet is already dirty,” he says before slamming the heel of his gun onto his head—knocking him out. He walks to the second guy and does the same. It’s tough for him to do so since he really just wants to shoot them instead, but he told Bruce he’d attempt his no-killing rule. It’s day four, and he already feels like giving up.

“Nice teamwork,” you comment and place the guns on the desk.

Jason stuffs his pistols in his holsters before he unlatches his helmet. He tosses the item on the bed, then pulls you close until his mouth captures yours in a heated kiss.

You yelp in surprise into his mouth. Jason smiles at the sound and squeezes your body tightly against his armored one.

When you pull back, you’re looking at him with a silly smile.

“Don’t tell me all this is what gets you hot and bothered?” you tease, fingertips gliding down his chest gradually.

Jason grins and pecks your lips with a proud grin. “Can’t help it. You’re sexy when you’re in action.”

You laugh, pushing at his chest until he’s loosening his grip reluctantly. “You’re sexy too.”

Jason can’t resist but lean in again, although this kiss is shorter.

“You okay?” he asks, mood turning serious. He holds you at arm’s length to examine your body.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about me. Are you okay?”

“Nothing but a flesh wound,” he beams.

You shake your head and glance around the untidy room.

“Can you call Dick or someone to clean this up while we go to a safe house?” you plead, too lazy to help with the cleanup. You just want to sleep with Jason next to you.

“We don’t need him. I’ll take care of it,” Jason informs and bends to pick up one of the men.

“I don’t want you to hurt yourself more, Jay,” you sigh, words meaningless as he throws the second body over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

“I’ll be fine, babe. Give me ten then we can cuddle. I know that’s what you want.” He smiles knowingly.

You roll your eyes playfully at his light tone. He isn’t wrong, but you wish he wouldn’t exert all his energy now when he’s injured.

But this is Jason.

Stubborn ass.

Jason takes two trips to carry the men out. You rest your elbows on the window seal, watching him drag the unconscious men in a small circle with their backs to each other. He takes a chain and secures it tightly around them. You think he’s done but he pulls out a paper. You squint, leaning a little out the window.

Sprawled in black ink is:

BAD GUYS FOR PICK UP

Jason steps back to admire his work, then turns to look at you. Although you can’t see his expression due to his helmet, the two thumbs up he gives you indicate there's a smile adorning his handsome features beneath.

Chuckling, you shake your head playfully and return the thumbs up before nodding to come back inside.

Your gaze follows the tall man as he struts back toward the building. You tuck yourself inside, shutting and locking the window as you stare at the silly paper with his handwriting.

He wouldn’t be your Jason if he wasn’t mischievous. After all, it’s one of his many talents.

©️chaotic-birds // DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY Please consider reblogging if you liked this work to show your support. Feedback/commentary is always welcomed.

#jason todd #jason todd angst #jason todd fanfic #jason todd action #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you

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earthstellar · 4 months

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Miko and Holding a Grudge: Storytime is Learning Time

I was thinking about how in the final episode of TFP, Miko uses the "I'm going to beat your ass" armour to punch Knockout clean across the face

Miko punches him so quickly and efficiently that I genuinely could not get a screenshot of the impact moment. lmao

And there are a lot of good reasons for her to want to slap this twink into the stratosphere, but I was thinking about any specific grudges Miko might have personally against Knockout to help fuel that punch

Because typically Miko goes in with a sort of "I learned this by watching WWE with Bulkhead and I'm excited to hurt you" tiny human wrecker energy and is naturally hyped, so she tends to go in with a slightly showy approach to delivering a beatdown, which makes sense.

We know she watches stuff like monster truck rallies with Bulkhead, and we know she's watched Bulkhead and Wheeljack pretty closely, and this has had an impact on her developing her personal fighting style: High energy, maybe a couple attempts at some kind of signature moves. she's learned from TV shows and watching actual factional alien warfare play out in the Nevada desert. Shit's wild, and so is she.

But when she punches Knockout, it's a totally silent, quick, efficient hit-- which is pretty different to how Miko usually approaches "the smackdown".

Sure, part of it is because Knockout is sort of ruining a huge moment for the Autobots by quipping at a particularly annoying moment to do so, and she probably just wants him to shut the fuck up as quickly as possible so they can all get back to enjoying watching the revitalisation of Cybertron.

And they're all probably a bit tired from even managing to get to this point.

But then I remembered:

In the episode Flying Mind, Miko and Raf help Fowler off the Nemesis after he's been incapacitated.

But Jack stays behind, and when Knockout snaps out of Trypticon's stasis, he attempts to power drill through Jack's head/upper torso.

Ratchet comes through the ground bridge and punches Knockout, in the same way Miko punches Knockout in the series finale. One hit, and we're done here.

(Sorry for the crunchy quality screenshot, my internet connection is a bit crunchy itself at the moment lmao)

Now, Miko wasn't there to witness this, but we know Miko frequently asks the others to tell her about anything she misses, either because she's been asked to stay home or because things kicked off when she was otherwise not around. She likes to hear battle stories. She's actively jealous of the others when they get to go deal with cool shit and she can't for various reasons.

So we can assume that she asked Jack what happened, or perhaps Ratchet briefed everyone once the other Autobots were revived from temporary stasis, and she would have been present for that in the base.

Miko holds a grudge. There is an entire episode where her and Wheeljack essentially go on an ill-advised revenge mission after Bulkhead is injured. She operates on that mafia level shit, wanting revenge so badly that she essentially withholds information from Wheeljack until he agrees to let her tag along.

And while she learned from that experience, it does hint at the type of mindset she has-- Don't fuck with her friends, or she will very much hold onto that anger until she gets the chance to act on it.

When she punches Knockout, it's a quick, clean punch. Which makes sense contextually for that scene, she's not going to haul completely off on him in that moment.

But it also echoes how Ratchet dealt with him when Knockout was threatening Jack, and that seems like the kind of detail Miko would remember after having it described to her.

She has a bit of a vengeful streak, and even though she does learn not to act on desires for revenge, she's still a kid and god she loves fighting so much, and there is no way she forgot about that one time Knockout tried to kill her friend with a fucking drill-- Even if she didn't get to witness it, it's likely she was told about it in some way, and she's been holding onto that for a while.

So I just really like that her punching Knockout is a mirror of when Ratchet punched Knockout previously, because we know she's very good at paying attention to detail when it comes to fighting, and we know that she learns from observation and from listening to battle stories.

It makes a lot of sense if she just recognised Knockout as being that one bot who nearly killed Jack and remembered how Jack likely described the incident to her later (or may have gotten details from any debriefing Ratchet may have provided at the base), and in that moment recalled that Ratchet took him down in one hit, so she should probably just do the same.

It's quick, it worked before on this exact bot, it'll probably work again.

Miko does learn. She very much holds a grudge. And I like that even though her actions in the finale make sense even without the possible background connection to a prior episode, it does perfectly make sense either way.

You know she begged Jack for all the details later, and you know she committed that shit to memory.

If Ratchet can knock out Knockout, so can she.

And she's not having their victory moment fucked up by some dude who seriously put them in danger on many previous occasions, even if he came around to the "winning team" in the end.

anyway you just know Miko is a mascot for the Wreckers later on, like there's no way Wheeljack and/or Bulkhead doesn't custom paint the side of a ship at some point like a WW2 aircraft lmao but it's just a painting of Miko laughing maniacally while punching a boulder or something

#tfp #transformers prime #tfp ratchet #tfp jack #tfp miko #miko nadakai #jack darby #tfp knockout #long post #just thinkin #maccadam #maccadams #transformers #wreckers

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whositmcwhatsit · 3 months

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Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion

Like a lot of girls, Chancy Crawford had once been able to call herself one of Elvis's girlfriends, but that was long time ago. Now, she called herself his friend, or his 'cousin' if any of his girlfriends asked. It was just easier that way. And their relationship was all about being comfortable and easy. Until she gets asked to come and join a tour that seems endless and cursed.

AN: I'm not sure if anyone remembers I used to write silly stories, but here's the next installment of one I have neglected for too long. Thank you to everyone who continued to patiently message and let me know how much they liked the characters and very politely ask for the next chapter.

Thanks to @thatbanditqueen for injuring herself in order to give me motivation. And reading to check that I still remembered how to type words. You might need to remind yourself what happened before: Chapter 11 Chapter 12- Move Across the night sky, with those anonymous lights.

Pulling up to the gate of one of Elvis’ homes always invoked a strange combination of emotions in Chancy no matter how often she visited. Maybe it was the fact that there was always, always, at least a few people standing around ogling her curiously, but there was also the insecurity that this might be the time that the gates would not open for her, and the pride she felt at how much he had achieved, as well as an undeserved sense of personal achievement that she knew someone who had so much. That last one always made her feel guilty.

Harold kept her waiting, pretending that he needed to come to the window of her Chevrolet to see who she was and then saying he would have to call up to the house to check it was okay.

“Can’t be letting in just anyone, you know.” He went to the gatehouse and the gate began to open immediately. She smiled and pretended to be amused by his trick as she rolled past.

Chancy pulled up around the back near to the fence where the staff parked. Her car fit in better there than next to the limo and the Lincolns and the cadillacs. She glanced in the rear view mirror and checked her make-up hadn’t slid off her face in the humidity. Her air conditioning was busted, again- it only ever seemed to happen in the summer, a cosmic joke or a punishment.

Grabbing her two small, yellow travel cases, she swung the door shut with her hip and sighed, trying to force her heart to slow down by denying it oxygen. Just a visit, just a visit, she focused on the words and willed her heart to follow their rhythm.

“Well, hello there, Chancy.” She started and dropped one of her cases as Mr Presley approached her from the office, a smile on his plump face. He had that end of the day twinkle in his eye and Chancy mused how, between his twinkle and Mrs Presley’s dancing glow in her brown eyes when she was laughing, it was no wonder Elvis could incapacitate people with just a glance.

“Hi, Sir, it’s good to see you again!” She went to grab her fallen luggage, but Vernon reached it first and picked it up, adjusting his grip and miming like the case was heavy.

“My Lord, what do you have in here?!”

“Well, you know now a girl can’t give away the secrets needed to make her presentable, it’d spoil the magic, wouldn’t it?”

“I guess it would,” he agreed, still smiling slightly. “Though I reckon I need some magic to help this ole mug.”

“Nonsense! I was just about to ask you for your secret!”

Chancy could do this all day. In fact, she did do this all day; most of her job was buttering up clients and making them feel good about themselves. The fact that there was a slight ache to her cheeks as she smiled now was proof of how hard she worked.

“Well, you always were a sweet girl,” he returned, glancing over his shoulder at the house and tightening his lips. “Let me walk you in, I know Elvis is expecting you.” He reached out for her other case and she let him take it, puzzled since Vernon didn’t usually go out of his way to be helpful or even really acknowledge her much past a short, pleasant greeting.

On the way, they made small talk about the weather, which was the law in civilised society. One of them remarking on the heat, the other saying that it had to break soon. Debating whether it was hotter or cooler than previous years and then exchanging stories of the most extreme heat they had ever encountered. He told her about a time when he was a young man down in Mississippi and he was doing some work for a man who wore a hairpiece. The day got so hot that the glue melted and the hair started slipping when he spoke. No one was brave enough to tell him and lose the job. He mimed the man’s hair flying back and forth and how they had to all fight to keep their eyes from flicking from side to side with it. His laughter at his own story was infectious.

As they came in through the back door, he paused in the dim back hallway. Somewhere nearby she could hear a football game being played on television and men’s voices rising and falling as they questioned plays and commiserated.

“You know, it sure is good to see you, Chancy. Elvis’ mother always used to speak so highly of you and how well you took care of him.” He left the rest unspoken, looking behind him to the stairs to the basement, and then turning back and nodding at her.

“Thank you, Mr Presley,” she smiled, a little puzzled. She awkwardly fished back her cases and wondered if he was working up to something, and if she should wait.

Instead, he opened the door to the kitchen and motioned her in, wishing her a good night.

In the kitchen, Elvis’ aunt Delta was complaining about trying to buy something and how they had raised the price when she gave them the delivery address.

“Shouldn’t matter if it’s Tom, Dick or Elvis, if it’s fifty dollars it should stay fifty damn dollars. The nerve of people!” Her little dog was yipping and bouncing around her feet, excited by the heightened emotion in her voice. Mary, Elvis’ cook, her coat on like she had been trying to leave for some time, agreed with her, nodding her head wholeheartedly.

They both turned to look at Chancy as she paused by the counter with a faint smile of anticipation. It was always a roll of the dice which side of Delta you would get, but that evening was a good day, because they exchanged greetings and Chancy was invited into the story of the new chair that had started out as fifty dollars and became one hundred once it was destined for Graceland.

“One hundred dollars, my ass! I said, it’s for me, not Elvis and we both of us have enough sense not to waste another fifty dollars on some piece of-”

The phone rang on the wall by where Delta was sitting at the breakfast bar and she snatched it up, listened for a minute, and then nodded to her.

“Elvis said to go ahead and go on up.”

Chancy had to temper her speed as she moved through the kitchen, heading towards the back stairs.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get your chair,” she shrugged, stepping onto the first tread.

“Oh honey, I got the chair, and a little table to boot. Soon’s I told ‘em that I’d go home and say what a rat-infested flea-ridden store they had and how we ain’t never gonna shop there again, we got the friends and family discount too.”

“Well, they’ll know better than to mess with you next time, Mrs Biggs. I might need to get some tips from you for when I have to negotiate with my suppliers.”

As she was climbing the stairs, she heard Delta say:

“Honey, I don’t think you need any help from anybody trying to get anything.”

Her foot momentarily faltered as her body wanted her to stop and march back down, but her brain won out just barely and forced her to continue her climb. By the time she had opened and closed all the doors that marked her journey, she was pretty sure she had knocked her case into her left shin enough times to leave a bruise, and she paused just inside Elvis’ office to run a finger under each eye to catch the slowly dripping mascara. She tapped on the door and waited to hear a low murmur of assent before she pushed the slightly ajar door open.

Elvis was sitting on his enormous bed with the newspaper laid out before him, apparently deeply engrossed in it, though she knew he had to have been watching the monitors at least a couple of minutes ago to know that she had arrived.

“Oh no! I think there’s been some mistake!” she lisped in a high voice. “The man at the reception desk said that this was my room.” She whirled around, wide-eyed, in the doorway. “This is room 385631.6 and half, right?”

Elvis smirked, his lips and cheekbones all curves as his eyes narrowed. His voice was a little thick like his tongue was still waking up.

“Damn, they must’ve double booked the rooms again, and, you know, I heard the clerk say that they were full up, no vacancies.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head like he was genuinely upset and disappointed in the ‘hotel’.

“Right,” she responded. “I guess that’ll be because of the convention?”

He nodded, rising slowly and stepping closer to her, his fingertips tickling her wrist.

“Uh huh, right, the, uh, One-eyed Albino Python Lovers of America convention,” he nodded, turning away as he almost broke.

“Oh, yeah, that’s a popular one,” she murmured, hearing him snort over his shoulder, and fighting to keep her face straight.

“Well,” he sighed with a sense of inevitability, turning back to her. “I guess there’s only one thing for it.” He shrugged with his whole body, throwing up his arms. “We’ll just have to share the room.”

“That seems like that’s all there is to it,” she agreed in her ditsy high voice.

“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind, uh, Miss…?”

“Tallulah-Wanda, and I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t, huh. Well, I guess I’m just fixing problems all over the place tonight.” He pulled her into a clinch worthy of one of his movies, dipping her down so that she dropped her cases and grabbed his shoulders for safety. They broke apart and smiled breathlessly at each other for a minute.

“One-eyed Albino Python Lovers,” she muttered, slapping his shoulder. He smirked and pulled her back up.

“What? I’m telling ya, Tallulah baby, it’s a real group.”

“Uh huh, and I bet you’ve met quite a few members.”

“I meet a lot of people,” he replied evasively. He grabbed her jaw and kissed her hard on the mouth. “How was your day?”

She paused, surprised by the question. “Uh, it was fine, thank you for asking. How was yours?”

“Honey, I woke up less than two hours ago,” he pointed out, with a wry lift of his eyebrow.

“Right, right, I’m in the Elvis time zone now. Gotta adjust my clock accordingly. How was your breakfast?” He rolled his eyes and tugged her towards him, cradling the back of her head as he kissed her.

“That’s enough of that,” he murmured, though he didn’t elaborate on what ‘that’ was, just steered her around and nudged her backwards towards the bed. “Gotta unwrap my present here.” He tugged on her pale pink pussycat bow, teasing the ends out from where they were tucked into her low scooped waistcoat and pulling the loose knot free.

“You want me to give you my scarf?” she murmured, keeping her voice low to hide how affected she was. “Hmm, that’s a twist.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but he seemed absorbed in his task, letting her silky scarf flutter off to the side as he studied her. She returned the favour, noting how fair his lashes looked in the daylight. His face was fuller, maybe because he hadn’t been well, but his colour was better than when she had last seen him at her house.

Biting his lip slightly, he unbuttoned her waistcoat, but there was nothing seductive or gentle about his movements. She genuinely felt like a gift given to an overexcited six year old. The waistcoat went in the other direction to her scarf, quickly followed by her heels.

“I’ll show you where your things are,” he said, pulling away and holding out a hand. She had to tamp down a smile as she let him lead her, padding behind him in her stockinged feet.

That morning, she had deliberately dressed up in her most businesslike outfit, stopping just short of wearing pants, because she knew he wouldn’t like it. Not to antagonise him exactly, but there had definitely been something pointed in her choice. Some barbed reminder that she was a whole person with a successful, fulfilling life that went on out of his sight line. She wasn’t one of the no doubt many girls around the country just waiting for his call, their life outside of him just filler that happened between their time with him.

In the ‘guest’ dressing room off his office, he showed her the row of plastic covered outfits that he had bought her on tour as if they had been there ever since he returned and not, as was more likely, hastily moved in that day after the last girl had left.

“You don’t like what I’m wearing?” she asked as he hovered in the doorway. He shifted uncomfortably and opened his mouth, clearly still formulating his reply. “I’m teasing you. Go on now, let me change.”

“Oughta tan your hide,” he muttered, giving her a sideways look as he retreated from the door. “Don’t change your hair.”

“Saying please don’t hurt you know!” she called out the door.

“I know!” he hollered back from presumably the bedroom.

In the small dusky pink dressing room, Chancy deliberately did not touch any drawers, no matter how painfully her curiosity niggled at her. She tried to be as dispassionate as she would be in a communal dressing room, which, essentially, it was. She made sure not to make a mess and folded her own clothes neatly, putting them back into her case.

There were a few toiletries sitting on top of the dressing table and she leant over them in order to apply more make up to her eyes, appreciating the good lighting. When she had finished, she checked that she had not left a trace and came back out into the office.

Elvis was sat at his desk with Joe standing over him and murmuring into his ear, his arms spanning the desk and the back of Elvis’ chair. His broad back blocked Elvis from her view. The body language could not have been clearer.

Without stopping, she tiptoed past them towards the bedroom, still holding her bags.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Elvis snapped over the top of Joe’s low mumbling. Chancy glanced over her shoulder almost guiltily.

“Going in there? I got changed like you said.” Elvis visibly relaxed, his face smoothing and shoulders dropping.

“I thought you were ducking out on me. What you got your bags there for?”

“I didn’t want to leave all my things lying about. I’m trying to change my messy ways, you know.” He shook his head and waved his hand back towards the dressing room.

“No, go ahead and put everything in there, honey, that’s yours.” She hesitated, but Joe had already resumed his whispering and Elvis was frowning at the console of his desk with its screen and knobs and switches. So, she tucked her cases inside the door of the dressing room and speed-walked past them back into the bedroom.

The curtains were closed and, though the lamps were lit, the room still felt dark to Chancy. This was not helped by the enormous bed that was clad in black every way from the headboard to the bedcovers. She perched on it primly, her feet barely skimming the floor. She didn’t like that, being reminded that she was short. It made her feel like the room was patting her on the head somehow.

Instead, she pushed off the bed and scanned the shelves of the units, smiling a little at the framed photos of a blond little girl and running her finger over the ornaments, some of them clearly from fans.

There were a few records scattered around the record player, their labels a mess of scrawled handwriting that revealed them to be demos. And there were books, piles and piles of books with fuzzy, slightly scary titles like ‘The search for…’, ‘A Study of…’, ‘Explore the world of…’

One caught her eye, a small, slim volume with exotic gold patterns etched into the worn covers. She glanced up at the door before she opened it to the foreword. It was Sufi poetry translated from the original Persian. Chancy pressed her fingers to the pages in wonder, trying to make it fit into the already complex and contradictory picture of Elvis she held in her mind.

The man himself burst into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, but he stopped short when he saw her standing by the shelves as if he had forgotten she was in there. She could see him biting down and breathing hard, his nostrils flaring, like he was trying to change gears while still accelerating.

She didn’t say anything, looking back down at the book and reading the first poem silently to herself, giving him time to collect himself without being observed, to leave without feeling obligated or ask her to leave. She felt him as he drew close to her, his chest brushing her shoulder.

“It’s good, you should borrow it when I’m done,” he said quietly, calmly. She smiled as she took her hand away from the page and turned towards him.

“What’s it about?”

“I- I can’t exactly say,” he shrugged. “It makes me feel like words and ideas, even sermons and laws, they’re just getting in the way and confusing people, distracting them from the truth and the real essence of God, you know. I-I-I ain’t saying it right, but the guys in this book, they pull back the curtain, you know, and you feel like you’ve caught a glimpse of something, just for a moment, that’s greater and truer than anything else.”

Chancy tilted her head, letting that sink in.

“I do think I’d like to read it after you, thank you.” He leant past her and picked it up.

“Here, take it, honey. I can get another. Ignore the scribbling though, sometimes I just gotta work things out in my head. Try and get things straight, you know.”

“No, Elvis, I can’t, not if you’re enjoying it! I can wait until you’re done.”

“Baby, I want you to. Like I said, I can get another. And we can talk about it when you’re done reading it. I don’t- I don’t have no one I can discuss these things with. They all just get this damn pie-eyed look on their faces like ole Elvis’s gone nuts and they don’t know who to call to fix it.” He crossed his eyes and pulled a silly face while he pushed the book into her chest until she took hold of it.

“That’s dumb,” she murmured, cradling the book to her chest. “Everyone knows you already went crazy years ago.”

“Yeah, well whose fault was that,” he returned, gritting his teeth and pushing his forehead against hers, smushing the tip of her nose. She wrapped her arms around his waist and drew him closer, simultaneously loving and resenting the almost painful wave of relief that rolled over her as she nestled into his arms and felt his soft lips brush against hers. The big sigh he let out as he squeezed her in tighter at least let her know that she wasn’t alone in this comfort trap.

“I missed this silly little face,” he murmured, one hand gripping her jaw playfully but gently.

“Really? This one?” She crossed her eyes and scrunched up her nose, tightening her lips so that it looked like she had buck teeth.

In response, he wrapped one big hand over her face and put a little pressure into it, nudging her backwards. She went with it, trusting him not to have her tumbling on her butt down the stairs. The side of the bed pressed into the back of her legs and she grabbed him by the biceps to stop herself from falling backwards.

“You missed me too, right?” he almost whispered, leaning down to kiss her again. “Tell me you missed me, Cha Cha.”

Chancy heard her own voice as if it came from far away, muffled and almost whiny with longing.

“I missed you, Elvis.” She continued to kiss him even as he turned his head slightly. She could feel his cheek bunch beneath her lips as he smiled, enjoying her affection. “I missed you, I missed you.” She felt his faint stubble grazed against her lips as she let them trail down his cheek and under his jaw. He was bent slightly at the knees so that she could reach, rubbing his thumb around in little circles on her back. Her awareness narrowed to only those points of sensation, the thumb circles on her back, the tingle on her lips, the warmth down her front.

The phone started trilling. They both looked at it blankly for a second, before Elvis straightened and sighed, going to answer.

Whatever was being said on the other end of the line irritated Elvis, he mumbled one word answers until he slammed the receiver back onto the hook.

Without a word, he disappeared into his bathroom and left her yet again wandering around his room, running her fingers over his belongings and trying to pretend that she belonged there. She opened her new book at a random page and let her eyes trip across the words:

“That’s how you came here, like a star,

Without a name…”

She had no idea what it meant, but it sounded beautiful. She murmured it under her breath, finishing with a sharp inhale as Elvis stormed back out of his bathroom clad in a long leather coat, gloves and carrying a police flashlight.

“C’mon, we’re getting out of here.”

Billy was waiting at the bottom of the kitchen stairs, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. He grinned, reflecting Elvis’ smirk as they converged in the kitchen.

“They fell for it, huh?” Elvis remarked, knocking Billy’s shoulder with his knuckles.

“Uh huh, I told ‘em we’d meet ‘em on up ahead.” “Joe bitchin’ and whining about it, I bet,” Elvis remarked gleefully, heading towards the back door with Billy beside him. Chancy trailed them, wondering what the hell was going on.

The wall of wet heat hit as soon as they stepped outside and Chancy shook her head as she stared at Elvis’ broad back wrapped in black leather even as she was peeling tendrils of her hair away from her damp neck and face.

Elvis was too busy crowing over his ability to fool everyone to notice the temperature. He and Billy were joking and laughing about it as they passed the car port and continued on down towards the back gate near where Chancy had parked her car. On the road was a white Cadillac coupe with an old, black truck behind it.

Billy tossed some keys to Elvis, who was still laughing as he got into the truck, but Billy’s smile faded as he turned away and he looked at Chancy with something close to reproach. She couldn’t think why he would be mad with her or blame her when she had no idea what was going on. He was the one going along with whatever crazy plan Elvis had come up with.

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked nobody in particular.

“Shh, we’re being sneaky!” Elvis whispered in an Elmer Fudd voice, leaning out the window. “C’mon, Cha Cha, get in!”

She looked to Billy again, hoping for something that made more sense, but he had already climbed into the Cadillac and the back gate was opening. Elvis beckoned her and she hurriedly circled the truck and jumped in.

As they pulled out into the narrow road that ran down the side of the church next door, Elvis accelerated slightly and gave the Cadillac in front a little nudge on the bumper, grinning so wide that his dimples made an appearance.

“Uh, shouldn’t you have your lights on?” Chancy asked, goosebumps of anticipation nonetheless breaking out over her arms as she caught his infectious excitement.

“Now that wouldn’t be very sneaky of little old us, would it.”

“Billy’s got his on.”

“Exactly!”

Ahead of them, Billy pulled out onto the highway and faintly they could hear a few people shouting. Elvis waited, engine idling with his lights off. Chancy watched him expectantly as he tapped his thumbs on the top of the steering wheel, humming quietly under his breath. He seemed to become aware of her eyes and glanced towards her, eyes narrow and cheekbones brimming with mirth.

“Being bad feels good, don’t it?”

“It might, if I knew what we were doing.” He didn’t reply, just flew out onto the highway, switching on his lights at the last minute and swerving around the oncoming traffic.

Eyes on the rear view mirror, he murmured, “I bet they’re shitting a brick right about now, man. Serves ‘em right, serves ‘em right. I tell you, boy…”

“So we’re not going to the recording studio?” Chancy asked, mainly to remind him that she was in the car too and he didn’t need to talk to himself.

“You catch on fast, don’t you,” he remarked, shooting her a sideways look. “Baby, what are you doing all the way over there?” He reached blindly across the bench seat and clamped a hand on her thigh, trying to drag her closer to him. She made a series of unladylike noises as she left behind half of the skin from the back of thighs on the warm leather.

“Where are we going then?” she inquired, once she was flush against him, her forearm resting on his thigh and her cheek stuck to his coat.

“Well…” He tailed off. “Where would you like to go?” She bit down on her lip as he made himself sound very magnanimous and not at all like he hadn’t thought his great escape plan all the way through.

“I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch,” she reasoned. “Maybe we could-” He took a sharp turn that almost sent her sprawling. “Or maybe we could not die, Elvis, how about that?!”

He snorted and glanced at her with his eyebrow quirked playfully. She swatted at him, because he knew exactly what to do to take the heat out of her irritation, leaving her with just the intellectual understanding that she should feel annoyed.

“Poor widdle Cha Cha, all moody and mad cos she’s hungry,” he murmured in that damn baby voice again. She was about to swat him a little harder when he did a double take out of his side window. “Hey, you know, I ran out of gas there one time.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, back when I was starting out. It was one of the first times it got really crazy, boy. The cops had to come out and everything. It was wild.”

“Uh huh, getting a ride in the back of a police car to the gas station is not something you ever forget. Especially after I got back and some girl called me your whore.”

Chancy watched his face as his brain worked overtime, recalling the little details that he usually airbrushed from the patter he gave his dates as he took them on a personal tour of his home town, like who else had been there.

“They called you a whore?” he echoed finally, focusing on the detail where he had no culpability. “I didn't know that.”

“Well, it wasn't something I would've wanted to repeat.”

It had been the first time she had been the victim of jealous, spiteful resentment, but not nearly the last. She shook her head like she could dislodge the echoes of embarrassment, hurt and outrage she had felt.

“Besides, you didn’t even remember I was there!” She smacked his leg and turned away slightly, playing at being mad.

“Honey, I did! I-I remember, I was just testing you!”

“Uh huh,” she murmured. “Well, I guess I passed.”

“With flying colours,” He hit her with a poorly aimed kiss on the ear as he steered the truck into a parking lot. Chancy glanced around and realised he had pulled into Dairy Queen.

“You do take me to the fanciest places,” she teased, already moving to climb out.

“Well, I only know of two ways to get you out of this mood you’re in,” he returned with irritating insight. “One’s food and the other… Well, we’re in public, honey, you know.” She felt so much better about the shiver she had to fight back when she saw that, despite the naughty look on his face, he had gone pink.

“You are terrible,” she informed him. “Hey, where are you going?” He paused as he pushed open his door.

“There’s only one way out,” he replied, looking bemused.

“You can’t go in there!” she exclaimed, then wanted to rewind time and roll her tongue back in, because the one way to guarantee Elvis would do something was to tell him that he couldn’t. “Baby, you don’t have any of the guys with you. It’s not safe.”

“It’s late, Cha Cha, I’m not letting you go in there by yourself,” he returned. Then, she witnessed the exact same expression of regret cover his face that must have shone from hers moments before. Because telling her that she wasn’t allowed to do something was like firing a starting pistol.

“It’s not exactly Times Square.”

“I don’t give a damn. Cha Cha, honey, you got all kinds of characters out there now, crazy sonsofbitches and losers strung out on all these fucking drugs they’re pushing on the streets. Baby- Baby, you don’t understand because you don’t know what it’s really like.” She bristled at the condescending tone and folded her arms over her grumbling stomach.

“Well, then it’s not safe for either of us.”

After ten minutes of silent sulking and hunger, they came to a compromise. Chancy would go in and order the food, and Elvis would park as close as possible with his gun ready just in case.

As silly as she knew all that was, Chancy still felt tingles of apprehension as she pulled on the metal bar and opened the door.

At that time of the evening, the place was full of teenagers hanging out and families grabbing a treat on the way home from the movies. None of them really spared her a look apart from a few pleasant smiles as she made her way to the counter.

Not long later, she was juggling a sack and two milkshakes and stopped to thank a man who had jumped up to hold the door for her. He smiled back, nodding at her chest rather than her face.

Turning towards the truck, she let out a little gasp as she saw a small knot of people standing by the driver’s door. Her heart hammering, she glanced towards the phone booth at the front of the parking lot, wondering if she would have to make a call to Graceland to get someone out to help.

As she drew closer, she saw that it was just an older couple and their children. As long as they made a getaway before they attracted any more attention they would be okay.

When she climbed in the cab, Elvis was signing a scrap of paper, what looked like a receipt, and he handed it over, ruffling the young son on the head. Chancy kept her head down so as not to attract notice. The only problem was that the family did not seem satisfied with the autograph and small talk and lingered, forcing Elvis to say that they had to leave. They even took a few steps forward as he backed out, like they were going to follow them on foot.

“Just can’t stay out of trouble for a minute, can you,” she remarked, handing him his milkshake.

“Well, you were gone so damn long,” he complained, spilling a little of the shake on his pants as he tried to negotiate the road. “Goddamn it! She quickly retrieved the paper cup before it was thrown, possibly at her. He was still swearing as he pulled into a rest area, the frosty drink slowly trickling into uncomfortable places.

Seeing his mood souring, she grabbed a napkin from the sack but hid it at her side.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” she exclaimed brightly, ducking her head down towards his lap.

“Chancy, no!” His voice went impossibly high, breathless and panicked.

She burst out laughing, she couldn’t help it, and tossed the napkin at him as she collapsed against the back of the seat, gasping and giggling, wiping her eyes. She tried to get herself under control as he irritably wiped at his pants with the napkin, muttering under his breath, but every time she looked at him, all kitted out in his flashy badass outfit, she kept hearing his panicked protest like he was a sweet virgin being propositioned by an over amorous date.

“Don’t see what’s so goddamn funny,” he snapped. “My fucking pants are ruined.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, her voice quivering very slightly as she bit on the inside of her cheek. “I…” She started laughing again and he smacked the steering wheel and started the engine, shaking his head. “No, baby, no, I’m sorry!” She lifted her milkshake and tipped it slightly as if she was going to dump the whole thing in her own lap. “Look, you give me the word and we’ll match. Want me to?”

A fast diesel truck rattling by startled her and she jerked slightly, causing a large drop to splat onto her bare leg.

“Damn, that’s cold!” she hissed. His eyes twinkled and a slow smile crept across his face. She realised that there was a very real possibility that he was about to knock the cup over her and almost resigned herself to it.

“You’re crazy, you know that,” he remarked, before very slowly and deliberately leaning down and licking the milkshake from her thigh. He punctuated that by opening his mouth and pretending to take a bite of her, his teeth leaving a faint imprint in her pale skin under the light of the cab. Holding her breath, Chancy now understood how fish felt drowning on dry land.

They ate their food at the rest stop without much chat. Elvis was still mad at her for laughing at him. It was always a sore point for him, and she sensed that he was embarrassed by his unfiltered reaction to the idea of her going down on him in public. He always loved to give off the impression that he was unflappable, that there was no boundary that he would not push and no impulse he would not indulge, but that wasn’t true. Not really.

Licking the salt from her fingers, she leant up and kissed his cheek as he chewed the last of his third burger. He didn’t reciprocate, but nor did he move away, just looked out the window at the shadowy brush. She stuffed the wrappers into the empty sack and slid a little closer to him, her bent knees knocking into his thigh.

Rising on her knees, she nudged her nose into the hair at his temple, pressing butterfly kisses into his skin, catching her lip on the arm of his sunglasses. His fingers tapped on the ledge of his open window, almost like she was keeping him from a more pressing appointment, and she wondered if his mood had sunk too low to be recovered. She started to draw back, but the firm line of his arm just behind her shoulders stopped her retreat.

She studied him, looking down from his turned cheek to where the tendon in his neck was just visible above his turned-up collar as he craned his head away from her. Almost tentatively, she pressed her lips against it, feeling his pulse pounding beneath the salty skin. She lapped at it with tiny kitten licks until he jerked away, trying to hide his smile.

Leaning forward, he started the engine and pulled back out onto the road, executing a neat u-turn so that they were heading north.

“Where are we going now?”

“Gotta get you back to the nuthouse before they send out the guys with straitjackets,” he replied, shooting her a sly grin.

“Uh huh, I’m sure it’d be me they were looking for,” she replied, settling herself down at his side. He just kept smiling, dropping his hand into her lap and entwining their fingers. That didn’t last long, because he had to keep twiddling the dial of the radio every time the deejay started talking.

“Wasn’t that George?” she asked, as he abruptly twisted the knob again, muttering a curse word. “I don’t care who it was,” he snapped. “Don’t talk over the goddamn song. What’s the point of them even playing songs if they’re gonna-” He let out some high pitched gibberish that sounded like an irate chipmunk after sucking helium.

“So, where’s next on the famous Elvis’ hometown tour?” “Aw, honey, there’s no…” He didn’t even bother finishing his lie. “There ain’t no point showing you, you know more about it than I do. I ever end up writing that book about my life, you’ll be there…’No, Elvis, it didn’t happen like that, I was there.’” She shook her head at his usual high-pitched impression of her.

“The two of us in rocking chairs, me trying to edit every story,” she added. “In my head, you’re old when you’re writing this life story.”

She felt her cheeks heat as she had basically admitted that she pictured them together when they were old. That was giving away too much and also trying to take too little.

If he noticed her embarrassment or thought that the idea of them being together when they were old was far-fetched, he didn’t show it, huffing a laugh as he guided them back through more familiar streets. “We’re going back? So soon?” She thought of all the people back at the house, likely some annoyed employees and some tense phone calls to be made. She wondered if they would get to sneak out like this again during her stay, and considered that plans would probably be put in place to stop that happening.

“Well,” he bounced a closed fist against the inside of the truck door. “I gotta change my damn pants and… It seems like you might still be in a bad mood, honey. I think it might be time to try the second thing.”

Tag lIst: @richardslady121, @dkayfixates, @fallinlovewithurlove, @notstefaniepresley, @heartbrake-hotel , @freudianslumber , @bbrtt777, @18lkpeters , @prompted-wordsmith, @literally-just-elvis-fics , @eliseinmemphis @lookingforrainbows , @stylespresleyhearted , @amydarcimarie , @returntopresley, @savedrebelcreation, @lettersfromvenus , @littlehoneyposts, @joshuntildawn13, @i-r-i-n-a-a, @from-memphis-with-love, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny

#elvis presley #70s elvis #elvis fanfic #elvis x oc #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley fanfiction #enjoyable slide to oblivion #whositmcwhatsit #Consider this my dessicated zombie hand breaking through the ground and finding the world above has changed beyond recognition

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legendofmorons · 1 year

Text

To protect a wolf (Twilight)

Pairing: Twilight x reader -pre relationship

Rating: T for language and some blood

Summary: While Twilight is incapacitated, you step up to protect him. Obviously, he realizes he loves you at the worst time. But you both take care of each other after.

Warnings: Some blood, some fighting, cursing

Other: Let me know if I missed anything

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This dungeon might actually kill him. Twilight can barley thing straight he hurts so much.

And you're with him - you need his help. He can't just quit.

But you're in the final room facing down the boss. And Twilight's barley able to move.

His leg is broken in at least three places. He's pretty sure the world shouldn't be spotty, and he is bleeding out of his ribs.

And to top it all of it's a water dungeon.

The boss is large, a squid like creature that seems to spit poison ink. There's a weak spot - an eye atop its head.

Always with the eyes.

Fuck his life.

"(Y/n)." He tries.

"Shut up." You hiss, drawing attention to yourself by smacking your sword and shield together.

He really can't do anything but trust to roll out of the way of attacks. He just wants to keep you safe- but he can't even decide which quickly blurring version of you is real.

He hears the fight, sword slashing and shield clanging. He heard movement and curses.

Feels the air move with you and the boss.

He can hear you taunt it.

He hears it fall as you attack it.

He hears the intimidating roar as it gets up.

He can't see shit-

But he hears it all.

He hears your curse and inve as something cracks.

He hears you take some new injury

He even hears the snarling curse as you drive something into the beast.

He bets you still look so beautiful. You always do.

What is he doing thinking about that?

You're in danger-

"Die you bitch!" Yoir voice cuts through his thoughts.

Well, you're still alive. That's very good. He'd hate to lose you before he told you he loved you.

Wait-

Fuck.

This new information is not helpful at all. It's also not surprising.

The sound fades out as you fight the boss, time lost to him.

He doesn't know how long has passed when he opens his eyes again... when did he close them?

"Twi... Link?" You call, kneeling in front of him.

"Hm?"

"I'm going to have to carry you out. I don't have any healing items."

"I can walk-"

"Bullshit. You could barely roll over. I'm going to carry you."

"Bu' 'm too heavy." He slurs out.

"You're really not." You say, relying on your own farm life spent wrestling goats, cows, and horses to the ground when needed.

He just groans.

You move so your kneeling on one knee, the othe in front of you.

He groans louder as you slide your arms under him. One around his shoulders and one under his knees.

"Shhh, I got you Twi. It's okay."

"I'm sorry." He manages.

"Don't be." You say quickly, standing and pulling him off the ground with you.

You hold him close to you, straining under his weight. He's pure muscle. You don't know why you thought you could carry him on a broken ankle without issue.

But you have to get hum out. Thank god for adrenaline.

If Twilight were even slightly more aware he'd demand you leave and come back for him. You're bleeding profusely from your stomach. Along with other places.

You walk, carrying him and your all's things out of the dungeon, wincing every other step.

He's concious but only just.

You walk to camp - each step feeling like you're being punished.

The others see you and rush forwards.

"What happened?!"

"Twilight is hurt. You gotta help him."

"You're hurt too." Legend says.

"Not bad." You say, obviously unaware of how injured you are.

Time takes Twilight from you, moving him so he's laying on the ground just so.

Hyrule releases a fairy over Twilight first. Then he starts in with healing magic.

"Is the world supposed to turn black?" You ask, feeling a lot weaker with no notice.

Time turns to you, "What-"

You collapse as your ears start to ring. You probably should have paid more attention to your own condition. Whoops.

.......

Twilight wakes up with a mouth like the desert and a pounding headache- but he's alive and well. Mostly.

He looks around, finding Hyrule and Wild nearby- but you're not in his sight.

"Where’s-" he summons spit to swallow to wet his mouth, "Where’s (Y/n)?"

Hyrule turns, looking relived to see the wolf shifter awake. "Hey, how do you feel?"

"Where is (Y/n)?" Twilight asks again, more impatient.

"They're resting at an inn. With both of you having lost a lot of blood, old man decided we'd need to stay in an inn for a bit. "Legend says from behind Wild.

"Why aren't we there?"

"Your leg needed to heal all the way before we moved you. They - well, they needed a bed."

"They're hurt?"

"Yeah. They are. But they're better now."

"Take me to them." Twilight says, pushing to sit up.

"Okay. Just wait - Wild's almost done with the hearty stew."

"Don't care, I need to make sure-"

"Twilight. "Sky says gently, "They worked hard to keep you safe, don't insult them by being stubborn and refusing a recovery aid."

"I-" Twilight doesn't known what to say to that.

"Good."

He trusts the boys. He really does!

But after his realization and you taking care of him- he just needs to see you as soon as he can.

He needs to make sure you're okay.

He also needs to figure out how in the name of Ordona to tell you he loves you. But he's way more concerned with your health.

Especially since you woukd have gotten hurt protecting him.

Oh... he really fucked up-

"They aren't mad." Legend says from his spot, "I know they aren't a hero like us- but they can hold their own."

"They shouldn't have had to. I should have protected them better."

Legend makes a face that suggests he'd rather talk to a praticularly stubborn wall than trying to convince Twilight of anything right now.

.......

You wake up to Time fretting over you. His muttering is unnerving paired with the face of grim acceptance.

"Where’s- Where’s Twi?" You ask, looking around and not finding him.

This does nothing to slow your racing heart, finding only Time with you and some dull inn decorating.

"He's at camp. He'll be here shortly."

"Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's okay."

"Good. I hate squid."

Time snorts at that, seeming relived that you're well enough to be bitter.

"You gave all of us a scare, looked dead when you came to camp, and then collapsed."

"Oh... Whoops."

"You have to be more careful-"

"Twilight would have died. I am not gonna let someone die just cause I'm hurt too!"

"I'm not saying otherwise. I'm just telling you to be more careful."

"Okay. But- is Twi really-"

The door opens with a bang, an exhumed Twilight in the doorway who let's out a breath of air when he sees ypu.

"(Y/n)."

"Twi!"

You try to sit up only to grunt and fall back into bed.

"Stay down," Time says, "You're gonna be sore for a while."

"You're okay." Twilight breathes out, walking over to sit on the bed beside you. "I'm sorry I should have protected you-"

"Don't start that." You manage, "You were really hurt."

"The others said you were too."

"I could walk. You couldn't. It's nothing. "

"(Y/n)." Twilight says sharper than he usually does, "You put yourself in danger for me. Please don't act like I couldn't have done things differently. "

"Twi... I know. It definitely could have gone better. It could have been worse too."

"Yeah."

"I'm really glad you're okay "

Time stands, stretching up, "You're staying in this room too, Twilight. I figured you'd both want to be near eachother. "

"Thank you." You say to Time.

"Seriously though, be careful, (Y/n)."

Twilight has to agree with his mentor.

You just sigh, trying not to move too much. "Okay."

"Good. I'm going to check on dinner plans." Time says before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

Twilight just let's out a breath, "I was worried... when I woke up you weren't there."

"I know. I felt the same way."

"I'm sure." Twilight says, not sure how to tell you that he actually doubts that.

Becuase you obviously care for him but how could you love him back?

"Twiligh- Link." You say, the use of his name making him look up quickly.

"Yes?"

"Don't beat yourself up. Everyone gets hurt."

"I'm supposed to protect you though."

"Why?" You ask, feeling hurt already at the implications of the statement. "I may not be a hero but I can hold my own!"

"It's not that... It's just-" he takes a moment.

How does he tell you that he needs to protect you becuase you are someone he loves. That he loves you romantically. With his whole heart?

You stare, waiting for him to continue and really hoping he has a reason that's not just him being a chosen hero.

Twilight sighs, he might as well just tell you. He can't lie for anything- not to you at least... and a lie woukd just confuse you more.

"Because I love you, (Y/n). And I don't ever want to see you hurt."

You choke a little, suprised and touched. That's definitely a better reason than be Hylia's chosen hero.

"And I don't expect you to feel the same-"

"I do. I do feel the same."

"What?"

"I love you too. Have for a whole now- though typically you confess with flowers and not while someone is in bed looking like shit."

"You look beautiful. "

"You're very biased."

"Yeah."

You smile at him, and while you definitely hurt, you feel better than you did when you passed out. And hey, you might just get a boyfriend out of this.

"We should talk about this more later Twi, but can- you just stay with me?"

"Of course. Can I do anything to make you hurt less?"

"No... I'm probably going to fall asleep again soon honestly. I feel like I was run over by a heard of wild horses."

"Ouch. I'm sorry, Darlin'."

You giggle, "I like that name."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

#lu #linkeduniverse #misty writes #linked universe x reader #lu twilight #lu twilight x reader

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oathkeeperoxas · 17 days

Note

Hello, dear friend!!! I would love to hear about "Codywan whump bingo" for the wip meme. <3<3<3

wip game ask meme

ah, sithywan my beloved <3 I perhaps bit off a bit more than I could chew with this one, as I have ten chapters published on ao3 already but the other 15 seem quite absent. There is a plan, though! Every chapter has been assigned a prompt from my whump bingo card and a small summary for each chapter has been written. Honestly with this one while the Cody and sithywan dynamics have been really dun to play around, I've also very much enjoyed the different worldbuilding that resulted from taking Obi-Wan out of the canon Star Wars timeline. Trying to figure out who would be where, doing what, was pretty cool to play around with. I think my problem with chapter 11 might be that it's pretty slow (I have most of chapter 12 written because it's codywan and action) so maybe I just need to punch through it to get some momentum going again.

I'll share some of the worldbuilding notes that I did for the TPM changes. Some of this is implied in the fic already, but some hasn't quite come out yet!

Tragedy of Naboo

Qui-gon as a solo master, who takes Anakin along with him

Without obi-wan there, qui-gon drives maul off but is not killed – and maul is not killed/incapacitated either. Also, he’s able to fulfil the objective of overloading the power in the powerbay that qui-gon chased him too, as they injured each other but maul wanted to prioritise the mission, not kill qui-gon, which he was uncertain he could do (esp without an audience of a vulnerable padawan).

Power overloads – Anakin still saves the day but the city is still toast. Queen dies, palpatine as the sitting senator is granted temporary executive power as the whole executive branch is killed, besides padmé and two handmaidens who were with her in a ship, outside the city

Qui-gon is injured and now hates the sith, and maul specifically. Other jedi are unsure he was a sith as only qui-gon’s word to go on. Qui-gon is very stubbornly in opposition to other jedi about this. Anakin is slightly outcast because of it. Palpatine doesn’t interfere with him as soon as in canon, instead maul gets sent to fuck with anakin and try to twist him to Palpatine’s benefit

Send me a title from my wip list, and I'll tell you about it!

#my writing #sithywan so crunchy hmm #codywan

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papabearbobbynash · 1 year

Text

9-1-1: Season 6 Death Theme.

So did anyone even thought about why this season is focusing so much on death?"

I mean, it's not something that started with season 6B. The show is beating on this theme quite strongly since the beginning of season actually.

We had in 6A:

6x02: The guy at the happiness convention dying and this had an impact on Buck

6x03: Tanya's murder being solved Bobby's first dead body of the season

6x06: Karen also had a death experience too as her heart stopped and Hen had to do compressions

6x09: Wendall's death Bobby's second experience with a dead body in the season

Then in S6B:

6x10: Buck's death experience as he got hit by a lightning Bobby's third and hopefully last experience with a dead body in this season

6x11: Buck's respiratory distress once he learned that Bobby was dead (Coma Dream)

6x13: Denny's worry for Nathaniel as he was bothered neither Hen or Karen ever thought on the possibility Nathaniel could die after the car accident

6x14: Chimney's struggle with leadership having roots on Kevin's death

6x14: Ravi mentioning he is haunted he couldn't save one of the kids and what bothered him the most was that he was thinking the dad didn't deserve to be saved

6x15: Eddie and Chris having a picnic in the cemetery as they visit Shannon's grave

6x15: A funeral going wrong.

6x15: A Death doula.

6x15: Domenic guy faking his death and then actually dying.

6x15: The death of the lady who's the funeral was being done.

With that pointed and very obvious, why is death so strong in this season? What are the writers intention here?

I saw someone on Reddit worried this might mean a MCD is coming, specially for Chim (because it's confirmed he will get heavily injured), Eddie (because of the ominous signals his scenes had lately together with Chris) and Bobby (because he was setting Chimney as leader almost like it was preparing the audience)

Particularly, I don't think the writers have balls to kill anyone of the main cast also they're no allowed. If an actor ever wanted to leave, I believe the writers would probably chose the "retire", "leave voluntarily" or at maximum "character is incapacitated of doing his duties" routes before killing their character. They did that with Marcanthonee Reis (Harry Grant) who suddenly is not around and they came up with the excuse he is living with Michael, who btw, is still mentioned from times to times, even though Rockmond Dunbar left the show due not following vaccine protocols and then sued. They had plenty of opportunities to kill off someone and didn't.

Also I believe the build up of these events makes it unlikely any character death:

In Eddie's case, he just recovered from a trauma, so it wouldn't make sense to give him another trauma, what also includes not putting Chris in severe danger (that would be traumatic not only for Chris, but for Eddie too), so the ominous tones of their scenes most likely are a foreshadow to a relative death (even because the latest episode was focusing slightly in his grief for Shannon).

In Chimney's case the writers just set up a Madney marriage potential, they wouldn't do that only to kill him off, so it's not likely they have intention at all, this might serve as the "I almost lost you, life is too short" realization to kick both of them (mostly Maddie, as the one insecure about it) to actually marry.

In Bobby's case, if we think about it, in this season he basically opened way for three characters path on leadership. He pointed Hen to be interim captain while he was on Florida, He reassured Buck that he was great leader potential and could turn out into a great captain with some really needed personal growth at first and last but not less important, he gave a kick on Chimney to overcome his inner fear of leading. Bobby's actions might be more about him being a good leader (as he incentive his subordinates growth) than a sign he is leaving, even because he already had a major story line this season (putting him almost on a safe place together with Buck who just died).

With that said, I have to yet figure out why are the writers focusing so much on death in this season that was supposed to be season sex fun and playful.

Any guesses on why?

#911 on fox #911 spoilers #911 speculation #bobby nash #eddie diaz #chimney han #evan buckley #hen wilson #karen wilson

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copperbadge · 2 years

Text

lacylu42

Before he got his own book, I pictured Jerry as something like Klaus from The Umbrella Academy.

You aren’t alone! I had a lot of people say that when Jerry actually showed up in Fete he wasn’t what they expected from the discussion of him earlier, but in a good way.

I think there is a sense, probably from the last few dozen years of television, that someone who is...not necessarily antagonistic to the hero, but at the very least antithetical to their character, has to be a specific way. You can’t be the slightly-shiftless, always-in-trouble, charming-regardless character unless you are also specifically making problems for the hero. And it’s a shame, because antiheroes like that are super fun and yet I absolutely cannot stand that plotline, where the entire conflict comes from one person being a selfish dickhead. (As is perhaps evident, I found Klaus intolerable.)

The thing is that I really like the type, because it’s fun to write someone who is likable in spite of their flaws. So Jerry is the other option, the guy who is fun and enjoyable to read about and feels deeply even if he clearly hasn’t got his shit together...but is also earnest, and doing his best to be helpful. What he has which a lot of other characters of his archetype don’t is the ability to be reflective, which made him a real joy to write about. Gregory has 99 problems but Gerald ben Eitan ain’t one.

niennanir

An amusing story to write would be Gregory and Eddy presumed dead in some sort of accident and Jerry suddenly being thrown into succession only to be "Oh no, their fine" at the point where he decides he really wants to nope out of this but he'll do it for the people he loves.

It would be super hilarious if Gregory and Eddie were temporarily indisposed -- say, a car accident that didn’t severely injure them but did put them out of commission for a bit, and the palace lawyers are like “Uh, Alanna, something you should know that we just discovered in consulting the constitution for precedence, turns out if the King and his consort are both incapacitated, technically the Grand Vizier takes over...” and Jerry is like “I realize this is poorly timed but we are in an emergency room, can I have an emergency Valium.” (”No, you can’t mix Valium and Adderall.” “Curse my unique royal brain chemistry!”)

Meanwhile Michaelis is like “I am...right here. Forty years of kinging, standing here. I’m here. Do we need a king? There’s a king in the room. King since I was twenty years old. Right here,” and the lawyers are like “Uhhhhhh technically once you give up the crown you can’t take it back, on account of rules about former kings trying to seize power again.”

Be even funnier if Jerry does a really good job of it. Like, gets a bill passed that Gregory’s been trying to get into law for months, finds a couple of budget line items that can be reduced, hosts a goodwill visit from the royal family of Norway* that goes so well they decide to buy a summer home there.

Gregory: What....did you do?

Jerry: Took an Adderall and opened some spreadsheets. You’re lucky I wasn’t medicated five years ago, I’d probably be king now.

Gregory: Fair play, I guess. No coups, Jerry.

Jerry: Who has the time for a coup? I have shopping to do. While I was king my whole entire wardrobe went out of style.

Gregory: That’s the spirit.

* My mother used to be an avid follower of the British Royal Family but after the nonsense of the last few years she simply can’t, so I suggested that we be fans of the Norwegian Royal Family instead. They’re more photogenic and appear to be a good deal more useful. Also the name Harald is fun to read and to say.

#lacylu42 #niennanir #shivadhverse

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heartbeatan · 1 year

Text

Crimson Park (Chapter 18)

Return to Chapter 17.

Return to Table of Contents.

Return to Desperado Series.

Return to Jungkook Fanfictions.

Return to Masterlist.

Chapter 18

The car ride to Dongnam's office was so tense you were suffocating. You knew something was up the moment you got the call. You just weren't sure exactly what it was for. Did he find out about the Chairman? Sheyanne? Or was it something else?

Since Taesub and Joohyuk were still technically supposed to be injured Jungkook was the only person who could escort you, and you worried about that most - especially if things went South.

"Whatever happens in there, I need you to stay calm and to not react. Do you understand me?" You looked across the console to ensure he was getting the message.

"Yes," he nodded.

"I'm dead serious, Jungkook. As far as you're concerned, you don't even know my name. You need to remember that you work for him - not me."

"I thought this was just routine?"

"We were just attacked during a meeting no one was supposed to know about, and he's found one mole already and is looking for more. I don't know what's going to happen, but I can handle it. But to do that, I need you to handle your shit in there, so that we can both walk out without any issues."

He nodded an uncommitted "yes."

"Jungkook!" you scolded.

"Yes. I got it."

When you arrived you were escorted up to Dongnam's office by four of his personal security - and that set your alarm bells ringing. But you kept your calm as you made your way down the corridors and up the stairs until you were finally standing in front of his office. You could see him clearly through the floor to ceiling industrial windowpane wall, as well, the intricately carved, white-handled revolver laying on his desk.

When you were summoned inside alone, and Jungkook was left outside flanked by security, you stood opposite him while he glared at you from behind his desk. You avoided looking at the gun entirely, holding Dongnam’s steel gaze with yours which was made of iron.

"My niece is back for fall break, and she told me something very interesting. The Chairman had given her to you after the auction."

"That is correct sir," you said matter-of-factly.

"Why?"

You tilted your head ever so slightly. "You know why."

His face didn't move an inch, but you knew he didn't like your answer. He pulled himself from his chair, rounding his desk to lean against the front, crossing his arms as he now stood mere feet from you.

"Have I not been good to you, Ms. Park?"

"You have sir."

"Then why is it that you defy me?"

"Technically, sir, I did not defy you.

"Do not run your tongue at me. It was defiance. Inconveniently, after your defiance, we find an undercover cop in our midst, and someone leaked our meeting location to the Cheonan and killed more than a dozen of my men."

He reached backwards, grabbing his gun, and in one smooth motion pointed it right between your eyes.

You heard the commotion in the hall, and your heart squeezed- knowing that Jungkook was trying to get to you. But you stood like a statue, your expression stoic, your arms crossed in a statement under your chest, but also silently begging for Jungkook to stop.

He did stop, but only after a heavy fist clocked him across the jaw, incapacitating him enough for four men to restrain him.

Dongnam motioned with the gun for them to bring him into the room, and they did, seating him partially dazed in a chair, and holding him there by their hands on his shoulders.

"This your man who just assaulted my personal security?" Dongnam asked, although he knew the answer already.

"Yes, sir," you glanced at Jungkook, noticing the cut on his lip and the bruise forming on his cheek.

"Seems loyalty is a problem in the bookkeeping office."

"No, sir. He's just new. He didn't know who you were."

"Is that true, boy?" Dongnam pressed the gun under Jungkook’s jaw to tilt his face up to look at him. "You'd be best not to forget my face now.

Jungkook swallowed, and you pleaded with him to calm down and play his part. He kept his expression neutral, but you knew him well enough now to know he was seething inside. you just prayed it would stay inside.

"Forgive me, sir. It was a knee-jerk reaction."

"Perhaps Ms. Park here didn't inform you properly that you work for me, not her."

"She did, sir. It was my mistake. It won't happen again."

"I assure you it won't," his promise was chilling. "But I'll come back to you," he shoved Jungkook's jaw aside with a press of the gun, then returned to you. "So, what do you have to say for yourself?"

"The officer was not within my department, and the meeting had nothing to do with me - I of course didn't even know the location until I got the call that morning."

"And yet someone did know and told our greatest and most violent rivals. I need to figure out who that is - and I can't yet reconcile the fact that you defied me when it came to Sheyanne. I'm starting to wonder if you regret supporting me instead of him."

"Absolutely not, sir."

"Then why protect his daughter after all these years?"

"You know what I did for you, and you know my history, and yet, you made me responsible for her sale - the pimping of basically a kid. You also know I have always remained loyal to you - and for that I feel I deserve a bit of respect, which I did not feel in that moment."

"So, you now despise me?"

"No, sir. This was about me and my conscience. But, yes, I was disappointed in your decision - and you knew I would be, which is why you hid it from me." He looked at you as if he was inspecting you, but you could tell you gave him pause. He always appreciated your honesty, no matter how brutal - you just hoped it would be enough today. "You’ve known for a long time that I wanted to leave you. But I haven't, and I won't. I made a commitment to you, and I have been and always will be loyal to that commitment."

"Why is that?"

"Because you are the only man in this world who has ever appreciated me for my cunning and not my cunt."

He inspected you again for any sign you were deceiving him, but after a beat, he turned back to Jungkook. You knew then that you were safe, but you weren't so sure that Jungkook would be too.

"Perhaps, you and I need another exchange of trust. Your man here needs to be punished. I was really in the mood to put a bullet into someone's skull today, but since this kid obviously cares about what happens to you, I assume you share the same sentiment for him. So, I'll let you execute a lighter punishment."

"Yes, sir," you kept your voice steady.

"What do you think of that, boy?"

"I deserve to be reprimanded, sir. I'll take whatever punishment you see fit without complaint."

“Then please have a seat over by my desk and place your hand on it.”

Jungkook moved slowly out of the chair against the resistance of security but when he was on his feet, he strolled over to the desk without any trepidation. Dongnam then took his place in his chair across from him, ready to watch the scene. He pulled from his drawer a narrow, shiny metal stake and a mallet. He handed the stake to Jungkook and the mallet to you - and you knew what to do. Jungkook knew too, even though he hadn't witnessed it before the way you had, it was pretty easy to figure out.

Jungkook held the stake, pointed side down, over the back of his hand, gripping it tightly and straightening it for you. You placed the head of the mallet over top of the flat side, holding it there, pretending as if you were lining it up. But your head was screaming, a back and forth in a no-win battle to not do this, or to let both of you die.

Jungkook looked up at you, and with kind eyes and a small nod, he let you know that he was okay, and that you needed to do what you needed to do.

Just one, hard swing, you told yourself, before you drew the mallet back.

⁂

You drove Jungkook to the hospital, but you didn't say anything to him, and he didn't say anything to you - save for the few times you checked in on him to make sure he wasn't bleeding out beside you. Neither of you wanted to speak really until you got home. The events that just took place had chilled the air everywhere you went.

Fortunately, the damage wasn't as bad as it could have been, and after several gruelling hours, orthopaedic surgery, a cast and an appointment for therapy, you and Jungkook were on your way home.

"I'm okay," he whispered to you across the front seats. "You did what you had to do."

Tears began to prickle behind your eyes, and you blinked rapidly to hold them back, biting hard into your cheek as well.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm not the one with a hole in my hand."

"He was pointing a gun at you."

Truth is you had almost forgotten - all you remembered regarding guns was when Dongnam had one cocked and pressed into Jungkook’s brain... but now the memory of staring down the barrel yourself came rushing back and made your skin crawl. "It wasn't the first time, and it won’t be the last."

"I don't care how many times it's been, or how many stakes he's made you drive into people's hands - you can't possibly be just fine right now."

"Well, I am."

"Y/N, don't shut me out," he pleaded softly.

You sucked your teeth, caught somewhere between wanting to burst into tears and wanting to burst into an uncontrollable rage. You chose to manifest a lighter version of the latter. "I told you to keep your shit together - that I would handle it."

"He was going to shoot you."

"No, he wasn't. But he was going to shoot both of us if you acted up. He almost did."

"I'm not apologising," he said, the stubbornness in his tone only sparking your frustration.

"God you are so fucking obtuse sometimes you make me crazy. You're going to get us both killed."

"Don't be mean, I'm injured," he tried to lighten the atmosphere in the car, but all it did was remind you of the feeling of metal piercing through bone and flesh, and the agonising way Jungkook’s body shrivelled in pain.

You rolled down the highway, desperate to get home, even though you didn't know what was going to happen when you got there. Out here, you felt vulnerable - like you were trapped in a nightmare - like you knew something scary was about to happen, even though you didn't know what it was. You hoped, behind the walls of your fortress, the dread would dissipate, and you would wake up and realize that it was just a nightmare.

When you made it to your apartment door, Jungkook followed you inside and clicked the latch behind him. You walked into the kitchen and grabbed some ice from the freezer.

"I'm fine, Y/N."

"They said to ice it."

"I iced it in the car on the way back here." You dumped the ice into the sink, frustrated by him, by everything. "I'm fine, Y/N."

"How fine are you?" you looked to him, your eyes insinuating heat behind their coldness.

"Fine enough," he quirked his head, hoping he understood your meaning.

You moved, and he moved with you - and in three strides between each of you, your bodies crashed into one another, your tongues instantly finding each other.

You tore the buttons apart off his blood-soaked shirt, and they fell like Tic-Tacs to the floor. You then peeled it off of his shoulders, and went to work manically at his belt, while he pulled the rest off his cast.

You walked him backwards to the chaise-lounge in the living room, stripping him of his pants, and him clumsily fumbling to help you take off everything that guarded your body.

The rush to get naked was feral, born out of pure need. Every single cell of your skin you had begged to be covered by his. The room echoed with the sounds of your scramble, your breathy kisses and smacking lips, and the clap of hands as you both desperately tried to get more than you could. You wanted him more than inside your gut - you wanted him in your bones.

When all your clothes were crumpled to the floor and precariously hanging from the innocent bystanders you called your furniture, he tried to lift you to carry you the rest of the way, but then hissed in pain.

"Don't fucking hurt yourself," you seethed at him, wincing at his pain as well.

He made a frustrated noise, then, in a feat and testament to his strength, he scooped you up by the waist with his good arm, giving you just enough of a boost to help you jump onto his torso, and clamp your legs around him like a vice. He shuffled the last few feet, dropping you clumsily onto the chaise.

He climbed over you, propping his punctured hand in the air on his elbows, while the other locked beneath your shoulder. His lips crushed yours in one... two... three desperate kisses, then he sunk his teeth into your neck.

"Ugh!" you moaned - even though he wasn't anywhere pressed against your pleasure points - the feeling of him mouthing at your neck was overwhelming.

He had one knee on the chaise while the other foot rested on the floor. He needed more space to join you on the cushion, so he could press his body into yours. You needed that... you needed his heat, his sweat, his flesh and muscle alive and pressed against you. if only for a moment, since you planned to fuck your patient into a coma from on top.

You shuffled back until your shoulder blades hit the backrest. But he didn't move with you - he kissed and nipped at your passing flesh, then worked his way south, over your hips, down the top of your thigh, then up the inner. Your squirming body sung his praises the whole way, watching him assault your skin and curves with his mouth.

When he was inches away from your pussy, he looked up to you, a barely noticeable pant in his breath, and a glare so dark it made you shiver.

"Yes," you nodded, giving him the permission he desired. "Don't hold back."

Without missing a beat, he looked down at your junction with parted lips, then plunged into it headfirst, and hard - not even taking a breath to tease you.

"Oh, God!" Your arms reached over your head and latched onto the backrest. You wanted to crane your neck to the sky as well, but you were trapped by the design of the chair.

He was an animal between your legs. Driven by pure, ravenous instinct to eat you out, like he had been a castaway starving for years. The pleasure was so powerful, so intense that it thrummed in your ears and strangled you.

"Ah... ahh..." you took in sharp gasps of air - your orgasm already knocking on the door - and your body instinctively tried to shuffle further back to escape his mouth and avoid coming. But he hooked both arms underneath your thighs, and, favouring his good arm, he pulled you right back where you belonged and never let you move again.

"Jungkook, don't you fucking make me come," you whined out your command.

"I'll just make you come again," he growled into your folds, and it vibrated through your entire body, freezing your every joint in their current position.

"No," you panted. "No, I want to feel you inside me. Right now. I need you."

That got his attention. He looked up at you from between your thighs, licking his lips, which were shining with your juices. "I need you too, baby."

You sat up, curling your body towards him, grabbing his hair as you kissed him hungrily, and used it as leverage to climb to your knees. You hovered above him, your tongue assaulting his mouth while you smashed your breasts against his warm, solid form.

Without losing your lock on his scalp, or his lips on yours, you stepped onto the floor and turned him to sit on the chaise.

He pressed his palms into the cushion to help move himself deeper onto the chair, but he hissed against your lips as pain shot up his arm from his wound.

"Jungkook," you pleaded, your hands instinctively releasing him as the desire dissipated into concern.

"I'm fine, baby. It's fine," his eyes widened as he tried to assure you. You tucked your lip under your teeth, and your eyebrows furrowed - your heart gripped by guilt and remorse. He shuffled back in the seat as smoothly as he could, then angled his arms to the sides in a "see!" gesture. "See, it's okay."

But you didn’t move, your chest too heavy behind your ribs.

He reached over to the end table beside him, opening the drawer and pulling out a condom. Then... your face left its troubled form and quirked into disbelief.

"What are those doing in there?" you asked.

"I told you; I like to be prepared."

"You're insane."

"I was told it was hot."

You scoffed, although one could easily mistake it for a laugh. He smiled at you with a mischievous curve to the corner of his mouth. With a sigh, you crawled slowly onto the chaise, being greeted by his arms as you pulled yourself onto his lap and crossed your hands behind his neck.

"Why didn’t you just listen to me?" you lamented, a sombre edge to your voice.

"What would you have done if it was me in that position and not you? I couldn’t just do nothing."

You didn't need to think about what you would do, because you knew what you would do. You knew you would have fought for him the way he fought for you. Once upon a time knowing that about yourself would have scared you, but you didn't care anymore. You would have fought for him without question.

You took the packet from his hand, turning it over in your fingers, questioning if you were ready to be with him without its protective barrier. But you decided that would be next time. The next time when it was just you and him, and not the Grim Reaper casting its spell onto your desperation to feel him alive against you.

You brought the packet to his lips. "Let's do something we're not supposed to do," you gave him a coy smile. He sniffed in amusement, then bit the packet with his teeth, and you flicked your wrist to shred it in two.

"It's hot, right?" he smiled, and you chuckled quietly as you pulled the latex from the pouch.

You slipped it onto him, stroking him several times with long, firm rotations of your wrist, enjoying the way his voice vibrated in the back of his throat as you did. Then you raised yourself on your knees, shuffling forward and positioning your entrance over him. You slowly sunk down - being sure to watch his face twist as your body consumed him.

God... it always felt so good to have him inside you. And when you were on top, he felt longer than humanly possible, like he was able to reach into your throat.

You began with shallow strokes, revelling in the burn, and in the way it dissipated into a different type of heat. His mouth fell agape, him embracing every slippery inch of your insides as you fucked him slow and steady. You picked up the pace - one step at a time - you enjoying the new but familiar pleasure of the rush, and air wheezed louder out of his lungs, in sync with the fall of your ass on his lap. His casted arm was abrasive on the small of your back, while his good hand began to knead desperately at the flesh of your hip.

You bounced even harder, faster, until you were slamming your hips against his, and the massive room became filled with the clapping sounds of your bodies meeting.

He lost his voice for a long-held moment, and you felt his body tighten and quake, both in and around you, until he suddenly released a noise that was so guttural, so raw, you were sure it came directly from his soul. It was so fucking hot, and your insides pulsed around him driven simply by the sound of him. It motivated you to fuck him faster, even though your legs were beginning to burn - but you just needed to hear it again. You needed to keep fucking yourself on his cock - which was like a granite rod inside you - desperate to match his pleasure and live the experience together.

Your thighs were now screaming, and fast losing their strength, but you were determined to not stop for as long as you possibly could. You called out to God, for the will to keep going, and in thanks for how good it fucking felt.

When you couldn't keep going anymore, you crushed your pelvis into his, and rode him hard and fast with waving grinds of your hips - until you recharged enough to bounce on and off him again. You couldn't be satiated - no matter how deep, how hard, how painful or how pleasurable it felt. You almost lost all of this today, and all your subconscious could do right now was try to embed him into your memory and marrow.

“Fuck, Y/N... I'm gonna..." the last word was strangled by his impending orgasm.

"Me too, baby. Just a minute more."

He squeezed you closer to him, pressing his forehead against your sternum, his moans sounding more like calls for help.

Even though everything felt like a race - like a maniacal need, and not a want - there was still something lingering between you that was beyond just sex. There was... connection. Like this was more than just the run-off of adrenaline of a near death experience - like the day had triggered something beyond a carnal response... it had made you both confront the thing that you hadn't acknowledged had become your greatest fear: loss.

Your climax was within sight, but just out of reach until suddenly it wasn't...

"I can't!" the words slipped suddenly and urgently off or lips, and your motions came to a grinding halt. "In can't," you said again through pants breaths that couldn't cover the panic within.

"What's wrong?" he whispered, lifting his hand to smooth an errant strand of hair off your face. He was soft, composed, but he sensed your inner turmoil. "Y/N, what's wrong?"

"I'm not fine," the foreign words tumbled from you once again - you didn't even know they were there to begin with.

He chewed contemplatively on his lip, while his hands continued to caress you in anyway they thought would be soothing. Then he found how he wanted to respond, "It's okay to not be fine, baby. Not after he threatened you... or what he made you do--"

"It's not me I'm upset about," you couldn’t control your tongue at all anymore. "You almost lost your head... right in front of me," you choked back a sob.

"I didn't. I'm right here, baby. I'm right here with you," he squeezed firm on your thigh as he said it. He was right here, alive and with you - but it was because he was with you that he might not be alive for much longer - especially now since Dongnam knew about you two. Your "not fine" thoughts were beginning to consume you. "Don't do that," he shook his head.

"What?"

"I can hear you thinking, Y/N. Whatever it is, just stop. I'm right where I want to be. Stay here with me."

"We need to talk--" you began to protest but he was having none of it.

"Not today. Not right now. Nothing else matters right now - it's just you and me," he smoothed his palm along your spine.

You swallowed, but you felt some of the dread wash away with it. You nodded if ever so slightly. "I can't believe you're the one shutting me up."

"Well... my dick is still inside you - the only things I wanna here you say right now are dirty." Your eyes shied away from his as you gave a heartfelt but short laugh. He strung his fingers behind your neck and pulled your face down to his and kissed you. You sighed heavily when he pulled back. "I know, baby, I felt it too. That's why I need you too - right now."

You nodded, lifting yourself over him again and kissing him with a passion you had never given anyone before. He squeezed you tight, and you made out for moments until your hips began moving once again. Very soon, you found yourself right where you had left off - a coil of searing heat tightening behind your naval.

"I'm gonna come," you warned him as your bodies which were once beautifully moving in tandem became erratic and uncontrolled.

"Me too," he grunted, and the indicators in his voice were enough to give your orgasm the green light.

"I... oh... Jung..." you spat out the high-pitched words, and then they were stifled by an explosion from inside you. You clawed at his back until your face shot to the sky, and your whole body went numb except for one crucial place.

Jungkook roared as he spewed his seed inside you, the pain in his hand irrelevant as he squeezed your body like it was a pillow that could be moulded. Expletives and partial calls of your name falling off his tongue with every interval between strings of ejaculation.

You sobbed pitched sounds each time you sucked in air and exhaled on your come down, and he grunted exasperated gravels as he came down from his.

Your bodies were frozen, like someone had glued them together, as you both panted heavily, trying to fill your lungs again.

"Give me your lips," he finally said, after what you were sure had been a day spent just like this. You did, letting him pull you into a long sensual kiss. When you both pulled back, he lifted his cast to stroke the hair off your face, and you noticed blood trickling down his wrist from within it.

"Shit," you grabbed his cast. "Your stitches came out."

"It's fine. I didn’t even notice," nor did he seem to care.

You pulled yourself off of him, then crawled off the chaise and onto the floor. "Come on, get dressed. I'll take you back."

"It's fine."

"Jungkook," you pointed a finger sternly at him. "Do not argue with me, and do not get blood on my white furniture."

Go to Chapter 19.

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts crime au

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blankdblank · 2 years

Text

Coup

Another cute idea I’ve had rolling around rent free in my head. @devilishminx328 @lilith15000 @jesevans @theincaprincess

...

Thranduil has been bitten by a spider out on a hunt for you when you got lost on your first patrol and the havoc that was unfurling as he tried to keep up his duties while clearly being injured had you snap. Right off his head you snatched his crown shouting, “THIS IS A ONE PERSON COUP! I AM KING NOW!” To Legolas the wide eyed Prince you glared, “Get your father to bed and you best keep him there!”

To Tauriel you said, “Fetch the healers for him and I don’t want to see them out and about until he is able to speak a coherent sentence again!”

The glare turned to the Council members who had been pushing the clearly incapacitated King to his limit to see what they could get out of him. “Now just what nonsense were you bringing to my table?”

Weeks later you simply declared you and Thranduil, the now freed and healed King you had come to terms and he was King again to a kingdom now with a great deal less nonsense for him to have to tolerate under your abrupt overhaul of a rule.

Two years down the line a bit tipsy at a party the King was found by you and you asked, “What is this I hear of a rumor you started I have struck another coup?”

“They want me to trade sows with Gondor! Gondor! For turnips! They wouldn’t know a turnip from a cabbage and I will not risk our precious sows for this arrogance!”

“You are older than the sun, Oropherion...” you mutter in disbelief.

“They like you better. I hear it all through the halls whispers of a wish for another coup.” Making you huff, “Which one is it?”

Cut to the next visit where you are welcomed to Lothlorien and I possibly obvious Celeborn sits calmly in the seat beside yours as you sip on some wine you were offered to choose between the options for the meal.

The fakest cough you had ever heard was feigned by the Elf Lord to your right who said weakly, “I feel I have taken a turn for invalid. I do wish there is no usurping Lord within the company who would take advantage of an inopportune moment of mine to stage a coup.”

Rolling your eyes you simply shift slightly in your seat to look slightly out of their view only making them up their blatant tries to have some help with arrogant Council members without their borders who have yet to see reason.

#Thranduil #Celeborn #Elf Nonsense #One Person Coup #The hobbit #Lotr #Older than the sun and still up to no good

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goldenfox3 · 1 year

Text

WIP of the aforementioned 10 years before X og FZ setting Falcon/Stewart

“It’s dangerous to be friends with me, Doctor,” Falcon says eventually. He leans forward as well, their faces nearly close enough to touch. “All sorts of people could come after you because of it. Is that really what you want?”

Robert scoffs. “Are you trying to scare me, or convince yourself? I can handle a little danger. Bit late to be worried about me being seen with you, isn’t it? I’m already your associate.”

Their faces are close enough that Robert can see the minute twitch of Falcon’s lips, the way they’re slightly chapped from time in the wind and sun. They remain there, neither willing to back down, until Falcon sighs and leans back, breaking their stare-off.

“It’s your funeral,” he says, raising his glass before draining the rest of it.

Robert shrugs. As he’d said, he can handle it.

The words come back to haunt him the next time they go out on the town, when he’s exiting the bar after Falcon’s already left. In an instant he’s hit across the head and dragged into an alley, back slammed against unforgiving brick. The cold steel of a knife presses against his neck as Robert’s breaths grow shallow, heart slamming against his ribs.

“You seem pretty chummy with Captain Falcon,” says his assailant. They’re wearing black, face concealed. How typical.

“What of it?” He has a knife on him too, but this isn’t exactly the best position to draw it. Besides, as a doctor, he’d prefer to avoid injuring people if possible.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about who he is, would you?”

Robert can’t help it, he laughs. The knife presses against his throat harder, but he pays no mind to the blood starting to bead beneath it.

“Even if I knew, you think I’d tell you? I’m afraid you’ve gravely misjudged my character.”

He earns a punch to the stomach for his trouble. He wheezes, unable to slump forward if he wants to keep his head attached to his neck. His assailant laughs, squeezing his face in an iron grip, and—really, could they get any more stereotypical?

“Everyone has their breaking point, Doctor. We’ll find yours soon enough.”

“Sorry,” a familiar voice says, coming up behind the black-clad figure. “I don’t think you will.”

Robert watches dispassionately as Falcon grabs his captor and hauls them bodily off of Robert, cracking them over the head with the butt of his gun. There’s a brief struggle, knife and limbs swinging wildly, but Falcon knees them in the groin, shoots them when they double over. They collapse and don’t get up.

“Captain,” greets Robert, working his jaw. “Thanks for the rescue.”

Falcon ignores him, prodding the fallen body with his foot before bending to unmask them. Whatever he sees makes him grimace.

“I told you being associated with me has its dangers, Doctor. Still determined to continue?”

Robert wrinkles his nose as he takes in the other bodies scattered at the mouth of the alleyway. “Are they dead?”

“Incapacitated. Minus this one. Sorry,” says Falcon, not sounding the least bit remorseful. “You’re taking this pretty calmly for someone who was just getting assaulted. You’re bleeding, you know.”

Robert waves a hand dismissively. “Just a scratch, don’t worry about it. I’m more concerned about you.”

#rob is like. everyone around me is a drama queen #(continues associating with the drama queens)#this is what i meant by there is something wrong with that man (affectionate)#duskwips

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aftokrator-official · 10 months

Note

📄,❔, 📝, 🗣, 🤔 for any series/wips you've got!

yes I already answered some of these for mis but there is ALWAYS MORE TO SAY SO

📄What’s a WIP you never finished that you would like to go back and revisit?

Shimateru family AU is another I'd like to go back to someday, I've got a number of WIPs for that one but in PARTICULAR: the Shimazaki+Shou fic, the Hotaru+Serizawa fic, and the one where Teru wakes up from his coma are all ones I'm hoping to clean up and post someday! Still have so much love for that AU arghh.

❔Choose a random WIP and talk about it.

Barely qualifies as a WIP, considering I have barely written anything of it, but: current brainrot is this fic about Azuma Squad winding up stranded somewhere in the Neighborhood, in which Azuma is injured and incapacitated and Okudera and Koarai are trying to take care of him and survive. I'm not sure where it's going, it's mostly running on vibes right now, but I'm just EXTREMELY feral thinking about those boys relying on each other in a desperate situation, unable to lean on Azuma for support this time because he's the one who needs protection and care right now. WEH. It's got very... post-apocalypse, survival horror type flavor, except not really an apocalypse unless you count the very localized apocalypse of one particular planet-nation falling to pieces around them.

(It's funny, actually, because I've always said Azuma would be super great in a survival horror setting, except now the one time I've actually placed him there, he's not actually doing any of the survival things and instead has to be cared for by his kids, haha. I guess the Azuma whump was inevitable though.)

📝Share a snippet of an unposted WIP, with or without context.

i put ranazu in the last post so... have some haiizu~

Hyrein finds himself stroking Izumi’s hair, and the boy leans into the touch. His eyes open to slits, tears clinging to his lashes and slipping down his cheeks. “H-hyrein-sama?” “Yes.” The confirmation makes Izumi’s body relax, just slightly, and for some reason some tension seeps out of Hyrein, too. “Hurts,” Izumi whimpers. “Still hurts.” “I know. I’m sorry.” And he means it. He doesn’t regret his decision, not exactly, but– he wishes there were an easier way. If he could protect Izumi from the pain of this process, he would have. “It won’t be long now. You’re healing, and you’ll be stronger for this. You’ll see.”

🗣️Talk about your favourite WIP

I've already talked a bit about Afto AU, but I'll just go more specific - my favorite WIP from that series so far might be what I've written about Izumi recovering from having horns implanted (a bit of which may or may not be quoted on this very post). It's such a turning point in his relationship with Hyrein, AND with Yuuma, both of whom are also stressed to the breaking point over Izumi's recovery, if for slightly different reasons. It's gonna be MESSY and I absolutely love it. Too bad it's quite a ways off in the timeline though haha, lots to do before I get there.

🤔Do you have an WIPs where you wish you had chosen a different fandom/character?

Hmm, not really... everything I write tends to be so specific to the characters that I can't imagine transposing it. WHICH sounds a bit silly because I do revisit my favorite tropes/AU "genres" a lot across multiple fandoms, but even then, it's the subtle variation that makes them fun... so it's hard to imagine any of my fics coming into existence in quite the same way in a different fandom or ship.

#elcie talks

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angry-geese · 2 years

Text

Blood Ties - Chapter Forty-two: Fellow Survivor

Soulmate au Choso x Reader

Warnings: not osha compliant but not in the fun way; blood and injury, death, canon typical violence

A/n: apologies for the late upload! I could have sworn I posted this chapter already and it wasn't until I was nearly finished with chapter forty-three that I realized my mistake 💀💀

Word count: just under 2.3k

Prev - next

Masterlist

James’ ears ring. The drops of blood make a steady plink plink plink as they collect on the ground below him. Mallory's mouth is moving, but James can't make out what she's saying. The wound on his hand throbs with each beat of his heart. James has lost enough blood that his head is light, and he can't quite think straight. The string of fate loops around his fingers. He traces the pads of his thumb across the frayed thread.

Have you figured it out yet? My cursed technique?

“By making a pinky promise with me, a person enters a binding vow," Mallory continues, "their life for mine. If I am gravely injured, we switch places, and my life will be spared. If they break this bond, and attempt to hurt me, they are killed instead,

"Really, you did me a favor back there. There was no guarantee you were even in this barrier, but then you just showed up .”

The air fills with the acrid smell of cursed energy .James lays flat against the pavement. The tops of the building above him spin. The concrete seems to sap any bit of warmth his body once held. He shakes. His arms fold across his chest and he shakes.

It occurs to him how easy it would be to kill him right now. He lacks the energy to put up a fight. Someone could come along and simply kill him with his own knife.

“Kenjaku has been looking for you for a while from the sounds of it. I know people aren't really betting on this game, but it sounds like he’ll pay a pretty penny for whoever takes down the soulmate sorcerer,

"Most people start crying," she says, "or screaming for mercy when they're cornered like you. Do you want to die so badly? Is this the world's longest suicide note?"

Mallory was working for Kenjaku. And James told her their entire plot to free Gojo.

If she had some way of relaying this information back to Kenjaku…

“That man back there… the janitor... you killed him…”

James isn't quite sure why he's surprised. Maybe shock is finally setting in.

In a sudden burst of energy, James swings his leg out, catching her across the knee. The force of the impact is felt even in his own leg.

Mallory hits the ground, her hands skidding across the pavement painfully. Her sword clatters as it lands, sliding further down the hall.

Seeing an opening, James makes a break for it, rounding the corner in the hallway, before exiting out onto a subway platform. No good, he thinks, too open.

Being ensnared by her cursed technique, landing a direct hit is impossible. He’s made a binding vow; attacking her now would be a death wish, and he has the sinking feeling that range isn't a big player here. Running is no use when she can simply activate her technique from across the barrier.

He collapses between a vending machine, and a bench. The adrenaline that courses through his veins is wearing off. Fatigue from blood loss and lack of sleep is setting in. Soon, he’ll be able to feel the full force of his injuries.

He’s not going to make it far with how badly he’s bleeding. All she has to do is wait him out. Blood loss will render him incapacitated in mere minutes. He needs to do something to staunch the bleeding.

James frees his belt from his waist, looping it around his forearm. He tightens it as far as possible, letting the corded nylon dig into the flesh of his arm. The bleeding slows slightly.

His attempt to stand up is a mistake, but James knows that staying in one place is an even deadlier choice. Nausea sets in quickly. He presses the metal arm rest of the bench against the back of his neck, in an attempt to distract himself from his churning stomach. The cold does little to help; he still wants to throw up.

His vision doubles. The pain in his hand has subsided to a dull ache.

“Found you.” Mallory coos.

The tip of her blade presses into his throat painfully. With a swift, upward motion, slitting his throat would be easy.

She can use a reversed cursed technique. If only he can get a bit of her blood…

“Why?!” James asks. “What could possibly be in it for you? Cause I gotta say it would have been easier to kill me in my sleep."

For a moment, she hesitates. Her expression softens, before it's replaced with a glare. As he swallows, the tip of her blade presses firmer into his throat.

"Your situation is complicated," she says. "I don't expect you to understand."

Part of him expects her to end her sentence with “nothing personal”.

As he sits there, a strange sense of calm overcomes him. Black spots close around the edges of his vision. It's as if a filter has been cast over the world; everything is faded, and grayscale.

“Then why?” He asks again. “Why make a deal with Kenjaku?”

Mallory turns to him, eyes glassy with tears. "Because I wanted my brother back! And he promised me! He came to me, wearing my brother’s body, promising me I could have him back if I made a deal!

“Do you really think I wanted to kill all those people? All those kids? I became a monster for him!”

At the end of the day, James holds some pity for her. Perhaps if something had changed, even in the slightest, things would have turned out differently for them. Either one, or both of them would be far from here. He did not know her well, until unfortunate circumstances brought the two together.

“Was it worth it?” James asks flatly. “Was he worth it?”

She looks at him, and simply says "no."

His body is moving before his brain is telling him to. James rolls to the side, before using his hands to shove himself up from the ground. Sparks are sent up from where the tip of her blade hits the ground, mere centimeters from James' body.

Seeing an opportunity, James stomps on it. The awkward angle, combined with the weight of his body, bends the blade. In the time it takes Mallory to recover, James is standing.

He charges, and the two hit the ground. What he lacks in speed, he makes up for in weight. He frees his knife from his waistband. James loops the string of fate around his fingers, and slices right through it. Something so sturdy, so unbreakable, snaps right under his knife.

The blast of energy rolls over him once, before the ensuing shockwave hits him. He feels as if he’s been caught in the middle of a nuclear blast; as if his cells are being shredded, only to be put back together wrong. It’s both hot, and cold. Black blobs dance around the corner of his vision. Everything threatens to turn black and white at the same time. James is certain that if he were to stand, he'd faint.

It takes an immense amount of effort to roll onto his back. James is uncertain how much time passes as he lays there. There's a dryness in his throat that doesn't go away even as he swallows. A gritty texture fills his mouth. When he spits it out, his saliva is laced with blood.

“Kogane!” James calls out hoarsely. “Kogane!! I want to add another rule!

"Two people joined by the string of fate shall be considered civilians and allowed to leave through the allotted exits.”

“New rule accepted!” The kogane says.

Two people joined by the string of fate shall be counted as civilians, and allowed to leave through the allotted exits, so long as they are together

Whitford, James, current points: 1

[Across Tokyo no. 2 colony, 1 hour later]

“Fushiguro!” Itadori calls out, voice echoing through the empty street. A residential district. “Fushiguro!!”

Yuji turns to the Kogane beside him. Did he hear that right? He and Fushiguro can leave.

Yuuta and Rika. Hakari and Kirara. Fushiguro and him. Those joined by the string of fate can leave.

One thing is certain in the student's mind: he needs to find Fushiguro.

He has to find higher ground. His voice will carry further that way. Just like in Shibuya.

“Fushiguro!”

Itadori can smell his cursed energy. He must be close.

“Fushiguro!”

When Itadori spies a figure approaching him, he first suspects it to be a cursed spirit. It’s bloody, and limping, and wheezing loudly.

"All that yelling is going to catch someone's attention," James says, stumbling towards the student. He makes it about two steps before collapsing.

He's a few shades paler than when Itadori last saw him. Blood plasters the front of his shirt to his body. Sweat beads across his forehead and runs down his temple. He clutches his hand close to his body.

"Whitford! You're hurt!" Itadori says.

James laughs dryly. When he sits on the curb, he finds it difficult to stay upright. Fatigue has set into his limbs, making moving a chore.

“What happened to your hand?!” Itadori asks.

“A fight.” He says.

James then proceeds to pass out. Not that the action of doing such is rather graceful in the first place, but his is particularly undignified. He clutches his stomach, and keels over.

When he comes to, he's not in the same place he last was.

He doesn't wake up instantly. It takes him several minutes to do so. For what must either be minutes, or hours—as he can't tell—he lays there. A pool of sweat must collect around him. A fan spins idly overhead but does little to cool the room down.

“What you're going to do is make a tourniquet,” a man says. “Place this belt around his forearm, when the artery is, and tighten it. If you think it's too tight; it's not. Tighten it more. ”

Two figures stand shrouded by the light behind them: a doorway. One voice he recognizes, the other he does not. The unfamiliar voice fills him with a silent terror. James finds himself bracing for the inevitable impact; be that a blade, or cursed technique.

The final time he opens his eyes, he's alone.

There's just enough light in the room to make out a nightstand, and desk. The door is closed, but gray streaks of light come in through cracks in the blinds. James finds a thick layer of bandaging around his hand. The pain in his hand has subsided to a dull ache. It's tolerable until he moves.

The shadow beside him shifts, morphing into the vague outline of a person. A man. Slightly shorter, and slightly stockier than James in build.

“He's awake!” A voice says. James soon recognizes it as Itadori. “Hey, he’s awake!”

A man in a suit comes into view. His eyes are sunken, and the bags under them are prominent. His tie has come loose around his neck. Overall, he has a tired, disheveled look to him.

“Don't sit up too fast,” the man warns. “You’ve lost a lot of blood.”

“How long?” James asks.

“It's been a few hours.” The man says. “It’s almost sunrise.”

“I'm sorry but, who the hell is this guy?” James asks, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“This is Higaruma,” Itadori says. “He’s a friend.”

“Hiromi,” he says. He offers his hand out for James to shake it.

“Whitford.”

Higaruma's hands are quite cold, and rough. His knuckles, and parts of his palm are bruised, as if he's gotten into a fight recently.

"You mentioned a Louis?" Higuruma says. "Was that someone you were with?" He seems to notice the way James clams up, and drops the subject.

"I've put into place a rule to get you and Fushiguro out of here." James says, turning to the student. “As soon as the prison realm is open, you need to leave.”

“What about Tsumiki?” Itadori asks.

The sorcerer turns a shade paler. Who? James’ expression seems to ask.

“Fushiguro’s sister…” Itadori says. “The whole reason why he entered the game in the first place…”

“ Right , I remember her,” James lies. “Is she a sorcerer too?”

"I don't know." Itadori says. "They’re half siblings—they have the same mother. He doesn't talk about her a whole lot, so I couldn't say.”

"Well, if she isn't, then all we need to do is take her to the train station," James says, "and if she is, I'll attach a string of fate between her and another player. Then, we hope for the best.”

The silence that settles over the sorcerers can hardly be considered a comfortable one. James finds himself wishing for something stronger than cigarettes.

“Are you really able to open the prison realm?” Itadori asks.

“No clue,” James says, “but if it saves us from finding this Angel guy, which we don't even know will help us, then I’ll try,

“Where is it, anyway?”

“The prison realm?” Itadori asks. “With Fushiguro.”

“And where is he?”

Itadori shrugs.

James sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb. “Neither of you know where he is?”

The sorcerer shoves himself up, and off of the couch. Higaruma throws his arm across the man’s chest to try to stop him, but relents upon realizing how insistent he is.

“Alright,” James says, “let’s go find him.”

#jjk x reader #choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #blood ties #cw blood and injury #cw violence #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #choso #choso kamo

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