Any tips on learning to make buttonholes? I've been putting it off for.... *checks notes* like three years.... but better late than never and all that. I don't have any fancy machines so I gotta do it by hand but that seems right up your alley.
Thanks!
It IS up my alley, yes, I do most of my buttonholes by hand!
I'm actually part way through filming an 18th century buttonhole tutorial, but I expect it'll be a few more weeks before I finish that and put it on the youtubes, so in the meantime here's the very very short version. (The long version is looking like it'll probably be about 40 minutes maybe, judging by how much script I've written compared to my last video?)
Mark your line, a bit longer than your button is wide. I usually use a graphite mechanical pencil on light fabrics, and a light coloured pencil crayon on dark ones. (I have fabric pencils too, but they're much softer and leave a thicker line.)
You may want to baste the layers together around all the marked buttonholes if you're working on something big and the layers are shifty and slippery. I'm not basting here because this is just a pants placket.
Do a little running stitch (or perhaps a running backstitch) in fine thread around the line at the width you want the finished buttonhole to be. This holds the layers of fabric together and acts as a nice little guide for when you do the buttonhole stitches.
Cut along the marked line using a buttonhole cutter, or a woodworking chisel. Glossy magazines are the best surface to put underneath your work as you push down, and you can give it a little tap with a rubber mallet if it's not going through all the way.
I'm aware that there are some people who cut their buttonholes open using seam rippers, and if any of them are reading this please know that that is abhorrent behaviour and I need you to stop it immediately. Stop it.
Go get a buttonhole cutter for 10 bucks and your life will be better for it. Or go to the nearest hardware store and get a little woodworking chisel. This includes machine buttonholes, use the buttonhole cutter on them too. If you continue to cut open buttonholes with a seam ripper after reading this you are personally responsible for at least 3 of the grey hairs on my head.
Do a whipstitch around the cut edges, to help prevent fraying while you work and to keep all those threads out of the way. (For my everyday shirts I usually do a machine buttonhole instead of this step, and then just hand stitch over it, because it's a bit faster and a lot sturdier on the thin fabrics.)
I like to mark out my button locations at this point, because I can mark them through the holes without the buttonhole stitches getting in the way.
For the actual buttonhole stitches it's really nice if you have silk buttonhole twist, but I usually use those little balls of DMC cotton pearl/perle because it's cheap and a good weight. NOT stranded embroidery floss, no separate strands! It's got to be one smooth twisted thing!
Here's a comparison pic between silk buttonhole twist (left) and cotton pearl (right). Both can make nice looking buttonholes, but the silk is a bit nicer to work with and the knots line up more smoothly.
I've actually only used the silk for one garment ever, but am going to try to do it more often on my nicer things. I find the cotton holds up well enough to daily wear though, despite being not ideal. The buttonholes are never the first part of my garments to wear out.
I cut a piece of about one arm's length more or less, depending on the size of buttonhole. For any hole longer than about 4cm I use 2 threads, one to do each side, because the end gets very frayed and scruffy by the time you've put it through the fabric that many times.
I wax about 2cm of the tip (Not the entire thread. I wax the outlining/overcasting thread but not the buttonhole thread itself.) to make it stick in the fabric better when I start off the thread.
I don't tend to tie it, I just do a couple of stabstitches or backstitches and it holds well. (I'm generally very thorough with tying off my threads when it comes to hand sewing, but a buttonhole is basically a long row of knots, so it's pretty sturdy.)
Put the needle through underneath, with the tip coming up right along that little outline you sewed earlier. And I personally like to take the ends that are already in my hand and wrap them around the tip of the needle like so, but a lot of people loop the other end up around the other way, so here's a link to a buttonhole video with that method. Try both and see which one you prefer, the resulting knot is the same either way.
Sometimes I can pull the thread from the end near the needle and have the stitch look nice, but often I grab it closer to the base and give it a little wiggle to nestle it into place. This is more necessary with the cotton than it is with the silk.
The knot should be on top of the cut edge of the fabric, not in front of it.
You can put your stitches further apart than I do if you want, they'll still work if they've got little gaps in between them.
Keep going up that edge and when you get to the end you can either flip immediately to the other side and start back down again, or you can do a bar tack. (You can also fan out the stitches around the end if you want, but I don't like to anymore because I think the rectangular ends look nicer.)
Here's a bar tack vs. no bar tack sample. They just make it look more sharp, and they reinforce the ends.
For a bar tack do a few long stitches across the entire end.
And then do buttonhole stitches on top of those long stitches. I also like to snag a tiny bit of the fabric underneath.
Then stick the needle down into the fabric right where you ended that last stitch on the corner of the bar tack, so you don't pull that corner out of shape, and then just go back to making buttonhole stitches down the other side.
Then do the second bar tack once you get back to the end.
To finish off my thread I make it sticky with a bit more beeswax, waxing it as close to the fabric as I can get, and then bring it through to the back and pull it underneath the stitches down one side and trim it off.
In my experience it stays put perfectly well this way without tying it off.
Voila! An beautiful buttonholes!
If you want keyhole ones you can clip or punch a little rounded bit at one end of the cut and fan your stitches out around that and only do the bar tack at one end, like I did on my 1830's dressing gown.
(I won't do that style in my video though, because they're not 18th century.)
Do samples before doing them on a garment! Do as many practice ones as you need to, it takes a while for them to get good! Mine did not look this nice 10 years ago.
Your first one will probably look pretty bad, but your hundredth will be much better!
Edit: Video finished!
And here's the blog post, which is mostly a slightly longer version of this post.
3K notes
·
View notes
Well it happened. I could no longer fit in my pants as the patches made it too tight. So time to make them bigger and relieve some tightness!
I chose this yellow plaid I found at Jo Ann's (and bought way too much of. Though it's a reversible and has red on the other end. So when I inevitably need to expand them again I can use the red for that
Cutting the pants apart!
I cut straight through patches too. So lots got bifracated.
The left pant leg has so. Many. Layers. In some spots. That's like 6-7 layers there.
And here's the finished product at this point. I know I didn't do this the "right" way. I used the strongest stitches I've learned to stich the plaid to the denim and in some cases, layers of patches. I also used floss just like I have been doing on most of these pants. I did underestimate the amount of space I would want on the plaid strips so they weren't long enough to hem, so got lazy and cut off the bottom of some old jeans and painted them and just sewed them on the bottom there. Good enough. When I do this again I'll give myself a bit more space for those.
A closer look at some patches that got cut in half.
I should also note that I did this all by hand and nonstop for like 3-4 hours. And yes I hate myself and my hands were very sore.
As a result i can finally easily get into these pants (for now) although the left leg is tighter than the right leg but it kind of always has been because the left leg has way more patches.
We get closer and closer to making the Pants of Theseus here!
931 notes
·
View notes
PAUSE! OH MY GOD. writing a soap smut got me thinking.
As a medic in base, you see the 141 guys all the time. Whether in passing or because they get injured, you’re always interacting with them. Your particular lack of response at Ghost’s irritated glare after reprimanding him for being unable to keep his stitches intact during training is what solidified your friendship with Johnny— what Soap tells you to call him.
Every time Johnny goes out, he likes to drag you along and this is where you notice peculiar interactions between him and Ghost.
The way Ghost gives Soap Johnny his full attention when he’s speaking, turning his entire body to face him, even if it’s something completely trivial. Or how Johnny stresses over Ghost who’s injured on your med table and Ghost will comfort him. When going on a mission, if one goes, so does the other.
You wonder if there's something else going on.
—
You get your answer.
One day you’re knocking on Johnny’s door because it wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to weasel out of a physical. You’d think getting shot would hurt more than a vaccine but here you are— about to twist his scottish ear off. The door finally opens, and you barge in because you aren’t about to cause a scene in the middle of the hallway when you freeze.
Ghost is in Johnny's room, lying on the bed. If looks could kill, Ghost’s would’ve leveled the base. And he’s naked under the sheets— if that tree trunk-sized bulge is what you think it is. It doesn't even look hard. Bloody hell.
You shift your gaze towards Soap, and your eyes drop— he's clad in nothing but a towel that hangs dangerously low on his hips.
Massive. These men just walkin’ round with weapons in their pants.
Shaking off those thoughts, you shift your attention to his face.
“Meet me at the clinic in 10 or so help me god, Johnny.” and walk out the door.
You hear a muffled "Yes ma'am" , and a hiss escapes your lips.
That cocky smile Johnny had means he definitely saw you ogling them.
—
A week passes and it’s a friday. You can’t wait to lock yourself in your barracks room and watch movies the entire weekend— you plan to start as soon as you're off the clock.
And then other medics twist your arm into going out for drinks.
Now you find yourself seated at a table in a lively bar, indulging in shots of tequila. As you glance around, your eyes catch sight of Soap and Ghost standing near the bartender. It appeared that some woman is talking to Johnny and he has a polite, detached smile on his face. Always too kind to strangers.
Then she starts caressing his thigh.
Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. Right in front of Ghost’s salad? You lock eyes with Ghost and he looks murderous. Jesus.
You usually don't stick your nose in others' business, but if you don’t intervene, Ghost might actually kill her in her sleep. Besides, tequila has always made you bold.
With a confident stride, you make your way towards Johnny and remove that woman’s hand before settling yourself snugly on his lap— and you wrap his arms around your waist.
“And who is this?” you ask Soap, but the girl questions back.
“No. Who are you?”
Bitch.
Curling your upper lip, you answer, “I’m the one he comes in every night hoping it takes. Now leave before I make you,” completely ignoring the massive bulge pressing up into your arse.
She looks at you with a bewildered expression, but doesn't move so you finish off with, "Try it. Just a warning though, it'll be hard to fight when the fight ain't fair."
You cock your head to the side with a taunting expression and the woman scoffs before walking away. Noticing she left her almost full drink behind, you give it to the bartender to toss in the trash. She's just gonna have to get another one.
Your act comes to an end, so you shift to stand up— and realize that the arms encircling your waist tighten, keeping you on his lap. His clothed cock.
“Ye didnae think we’d let ye go after yer little show, did ye?”
Unless Johnny’s speaking french, he just said we. You'd be nervous but you aren't about to decline what could be the best sex of your life. The want you feel in Soap's pants has you riding a certain high— it makes you feel confident.
Grabbing onto the edge of the bartop, you swivel the stool you're on to face Ghost.
“And this okay with you? I wouldn’t be stepping on any toes, or nothin’?”
Ghost swiftly lifts you from Johnny's lap and places you onto his own.
“Does this answer your question?” and draws you closer before grinding his erection against you.
And it sure as hell does. Slapping the counter, you ask for some water. If this night is going to end with you sandwiched between these two, you want to remember all of it.
reader's a boss ass bitch. GET IT CHILE.
818 notes
·
View notes
Some identifiers for AI generated fashion images that I've noticed
So, recently and not unexpectedly, I've seen a major uptick in AI generated images showing up in my searches for fashion photos, specifically. I've seen people make posts like this for specific art styles, and for 2D art in general, but I wanted to share some observations I made regarding clothing, fashion, and runways. I've seen a lot of people getting fooled by these, but it seems like for every one person thinking it's real there's about three people informing them that it's AI, fortunately. I'll admit, a lot of them look somewhat believable at first, but once you look closer it becomes apparent that they're off somehow.
To clarify: this is about common inconsistencies I've personally noticed in AI fashion images, so that you can learn where to look for these and similar inconsistencies and avoid sharing AI content by accident.
There's this one "collection" specifically that seems to come up a lot (also, click on all these images in this post to see the details more clearly):
There's more images like this and yes, despite the "houseofai" watermark I still see people asking who the designer is, or saying that they genuinely thought it was real at first. First and foremost: these are all clearly meant to be from the same runway show, right? Then why does each image look like it was taken on a different runway? The lighting and coloring are different in each one, and the middle one has vague red stairs in the background while the other two look like just a plain light-colored runway. This is something you'll obviously only be able to notice in groups of images and not singular ones, but it's a pretty dead giveaway if you see it.
Secondly: AI generated images, as a whole, tend to have this specific kind of super dramatic lighting with very bright, white lights and soft grey shadows. I'm not very knowledgeable about photography, so I can't explain it exactly, but I know it when I see it (and if someone reading this can properly explain it , please do.)
Thirdly: AI generated fashion tends to attempt perfect symmetry, but always fails somehow.
As for the actual outfits: the best that I can describe it is that a lot of the shapes and patterns just don't look like intentional human choices.
What in the hell is that monogram on the upper right supposed to be? It's clearly mimicking a logo of some kind, but it's messy and indecipherable, not actual branding.
The heart motif is clearly the running theme here, but the hearts don't really make sense. Like the main one in two halves across the chest here: why does it have those two notches missing at the bottom that prevent it from coming to a point at the bottom like a heart is supposed to?
The bottom hem is way longer on the left than on the right.
The little shoulder hearts are like, bleeding into the shoulder seams; those lines in the hair look like they're supposed to be headbands, but they disappear at the part with the rest of the hair; the embroidery on the pants isn't in a clear or intentional pattern.
Again, compare the lighting on this one's neck with the lighting on the last one's neck, totally different.
Those pink things on the chest look like they're trying to be hearts, but they're so clearly not actually hearts. If your collection is heart themed, why aren't you using actual hearts?
The quilting effect is uneven and the individual lines don't follow through and finish in the places they should. Look at the upper right sleeve, where the diamonds are misshapen and the diagonal lines are clearly disconnected. On the lower right chest, the lines just disappear. This can't actually with quilted garments IRL because the top layer is literally stitched to the bottom one along those lines with material in between. It can't fuck up like that, especially not a designer garment that costs your monthly rent.
Smooth zipper. Zippers seem to be a common fuck up.
You can't read the text on the hearts. It's nonsense. Nonsense, unreadable text and fucked up hands are the absolutely surefire ways to identify AI art like this. Conveniently, there are no hands in these photos.
What are those embossed shapes on the sleeves? They're not identifiable as anything in particular.
That is not how zippers work.
I suppose that weird folding beneath the hearts is something technically physically possible. But it's much, much more likely that they would create smoother, less ugly seams with less excess fabric.
These generative AI programs don't actually comprehend what they're trying to depict. Thus, they make mistakes like these. Physical inconsistencies that are often totally impossible, but even the possible things are just... stupid choices that an actual designer isn't going to do. Yeah, sure, designs can be weird, asymmetrical, and imperfect on purpose. But it's way, way more likely that this is just an AI.
Experiment: look at these two images of retro-futuristic headpieces/eyewear and determine whether they're real or AI.
Right one is easy, mostly because of the wonky bitch in the back. But some other inconsistencies I specifically wanna note: if the blue goggles color the "model"'s skin, hair, helmet, and the background behind the lenses blue, why doesn't it do the same for the eyes? And also, I've noticed that a lot of these images have trouble properly rendering the corners of the mouth, which is a weird detail but one you won't be able to unsee once you know to look out for it. Yes, there's a dark line where actual human lips meet, often with some subtle divots at the corners, but in the image on the right, it's rendered as a harsh, gaping hole more like something sculpted out of plastic than actual flesh. On the note of imperfect symmetry again: the left lens isn't perfectly round. And finally, this is a really good example of that giveaway lighting I mentioned. I don't know how you would actually achieve that lighting IRL, but it's so, so common in AI images.
The left photo is an actual model in 1967 wearing pieces designed by Pierre Cardin, a designer that the right image is definitely trying to emulate. The model has a look on her face that isn't super duper expressive, but it's still far beyond any of the AI images I've seen. Every AI fashion image I've seen thus far has totally blank-faced, expressionless "models". They might pout slightly, but I haven't seen any with visible teeth. Something tells me the AI would render teeth the same way it renders fingers. The emblem on the hat is actually perfectly symmetrical, and the glasses are clearly asymmetrical as an intentional design choice, not like the shapes are supposed to be the same but got messed up somehow. And she has ten fingers total, five on each hand.
Two more:
These are both AI generated. I'm not gonna lie, i fell for the one on the left at first. The right is easy:
distorted faces
woman in back is being absorbed by the train(?) seat
those middle buttons on the jacket are totally useless
AI Lighting (TM)
But the "models" on the left look very, very convincing, and the lighting doesn't immediately register to me as AI lighting. The only really wonky thing on the faces is the mouth on the left "model". However, there's one dead giveaway: the headphone wires. Why are they different thicknesses? Why does the rightmost wire disappear into the jacket sleeve? Where the fuck does the leftmost wire even go? AI, I've noticed, struggles with thin lines, strings, and strands of things. Like with the quilted jacket above, you can often try and trace a single line, only to find that it drops off, distorts, or disappears. And sure enough, as soon as I noticed something was weird with those wires, I went to the Pinterest profile that posted it and found that they exclusively posted AI content. Speaking of the actual headphones, the leftmost ear cushion is sitting on an angle that doesn't make sense, and the one to the direct right of it is significantly thinner than the other three. Again, subtle failed symmetry.
This is by no means a comprehensive guide, and I encourage anyone seeing this to point out ways they've found to identify AI images like this. These are things I've just been on the lookout for lately. And when in doubt: conduct reverse image searches and try your best to identify solid sources for your images. AI images won't list designers, model names, photographers, stylists, makeup artists, etc., while actual runway and photoshoot images will, because there are human creatives behind them.
781 notes
·
View notes
Midnights To Come
summary: After finding campus heartthrob Kim Mingyu absolutely butchering his trousers trying to fix the hole he'd busted in them, you offer his your sewing abilities. As retribution, he thinks that nothing is more fitting than his ultimate mission: getting you laid.
or
You and Mingyu spend an unforgettable night together.
pairing: University!AU - Popular!Mingyu x Unpopular!F!Reader, reader does read on the thicker side? Nothing specific.
word count: 6.8k (30~ minute read)
warnings: protected sex (finally), fingering (F rec), drinking, partying
a/n: Thank you so much for the love <3 This is mostly inspired by Taylor Swift's older music lol
I'm starting a new job soon, so I'll be mostly MIA for march and perhaps april TT
Kim Mingyu was the ex-boyfriend of a friend’s friend’s cousin, unforgettably handsome with the sort of beauty that belonged in Hollywood. A very tall glass of gorgeous with an incredible personality to boot, that’s why everyone adored him. He was majoring in business to follow in his father’s footsteps but was a star at football and made sure no one would forget just who was the best lineman on their amateur team.
And you’d met once or twice, briefly. Definitely not enough for him to come even close to becoming acquainted with your existence, but more than sufficient for him to leave his mark. He was a campus Idol, a guy you admired for his popularity and his way with people.
It was at a senior’s party your friend had dragged you to, that you met again. You were quietly searching for some solace in an empty room upstairs, when you saw him fiddling with his pants – It was hard not to notice his large frame struggling with a pair of jeans in the dark bedroom corner.
Being quite fair, at first you believed he was relieving himself, carnally. That was a puzzling sight as horrifying as it would be— I mean, the man had lines of women throwing themselves to be his, why would he just jerk off? And then, you noticed the stapler he was using to completely butcher the fabric in a desperate way to fix the large hole.
“Oh my God, just stop!” You exclaim, not being able to watch such abuse any longer. He was known to wear brand-name goods and just the thought of high quality fabric being assaulted by staples made your skin churn.
You, however, had totally forgotten to announce your presence.
Mingyu jumps, falling off the bed in a split-second, clashing into the carpet with a thunderous thump. Eyes blown wide like a moose in headlights, he stares at you from his half-down half-on-the-bed position, suddenly, completely aware of his nakedness.
“Oh- Fuck–!” He exclaims, stumbling off the bed and pulling the jeans to cover his brand-name boxers.
“OH!” You also seem to realise how inappropriate it was to simply barge into his intimate moment with the stapler. “I’m sorry!” You yell from behind your palms, eyes tightly shut.
“...No problem?” It sounds more of a question than anything. I mean, it was the polite thing to say when someone says “I’m sorry” however, there was a problem.
“Do you need any help?” You ask, still muffled and hidden behind your hands. Mingyu has no idea on how to reply, he is familiar with those words, especially coming from a lady, but this scenario is totally different from the sexy ones he’s accustomed to. “I’m a seamstress,” Your brain urges for an explanation, as to make the situation somewhat less awkward.
He seems to be content with that. “You are?”
“Yes!” You turn around, fishing around your purse for a small sewing kit, pink plastic box with teeny tiny everything. “I have some needles and thread.”
“Oh, thank God!”
That’s how you find yourself sitting on some stranger’s bed with a half-naked Mingyu – You’re carefully patching up the seams on his jeans while he sits cross-legged with a pillow between his legs.
Who would’ve known that years into University, your closest call with a boy would be such a weird scenario. Sitting with the campus heartthrob as you stitch up his busted trousers. What a story to tell your friends.
“I’m Mingyu, by the way,” He breaks the awkward silence, reaching out his hand; He then realises you are occupied and takes it back.
You tell him your name, eyes glued to the intricate detailing on the garment.
“Are you new here?” He asks, curiously studying your face.
“No,” You mutter, holding a needle between your lips so you can inspect your stitches.
“How come we’ve never met?”
“We have.”
Mingyu adjusts himself, leaning closer, “No”
“Yes?”
“No!”
“You dated my friend’s friend’s cousin,” You explain, though it doesn’t help.
“I’ve dated plenty of friends’ friends’ cousins’,” Mingyu half-chuckles, practically patting himself on the back for that one.
You roll your eyes, “We met once or twice, nothing major.”
“I would’ve remembered you.”
“You didn’t,” Laughing, you don’t even notice he’s taken offence to his own forgetfulness.
“I don’t forget a pretty girl,” It is said as a matter of factly, a worldly known truth of sorts.
“You haven’t.”
“I forgot you, apparently,” Mingyu is more frustrated than you’d expect – Than anyone would expect for such a laid back guy.
“I’m not pretty, though?”
Oh, he is furious at such a statement, “What?! Of course you are. You are a solid 7.5, no joke, dude.”
A solid seven point five? Wow. Coming from anyone else, that could be taken as an offence, I mean, what about you made them go so high up the scale yet not even give a full number? But you were talking about THE Kim Mingyu.
That not only tickles your ego in the right spot, but does get a good laugh out of you. Mingyu laughs along, not fully grasping the humour of it, but enjoying the sound of your giggles.
“Thanks,” You smile, pulling out your scissors to clip the last of your thread. “Here, it’s done.”
He widens his eyes, “So fast?!”
With a nod, you put everything back in your pocket kit. Mingyu excitedly inspects his trousers and his jaw falls open once he can’t locate where your repairs are.
“It’s perfect!”
You smile, “Great!”
“Wow. You are some kind of sewing genius! Thanks! You saved my life”
Mingyu proceeds to rant about how great you are and how amazing your skills are and you should totally work with sewing – you are, and that you should make clothes – you do. All because you are just that good – from a small repair.
You were happy with just helping him, seeing it as a finished mission, ready to pack up and head home but he would not have that, oh, no. Mingyu was laser focused on repaying your kindness – he said he hates owing people so you had to accept. His manner of retribution? Partying and maybe, if you got lucky, getting you laid. It was his mission now.
So he dragged you downstairs to meet his inebriated friends, all surprisingly welcoming and not nearly as douchy as you’d expected – Soonyoung was especially keen on having you accompany him on the dance floor. Even drunk, his abilities surpassed any of your own and he absolutely demolished the floor with his intricate choreo.
Seokmin pulled you from the dance floor to join him on a cheesy karaoke battle, the one feat no man can accomplish being as stone-cold sober as you were. His usually impeccable vocals suffered under the alcohol and strained over high-notes. So you just plucked the first poor soul you saw in the crowd to substitute you as Seokmin’s duet.
Stumbling through the crowd and away from the karaoke, you finally find Mingyu, giving him “Help me” eyes. He laughs softly at your predicament, stumbling from his friend’s shoulder to wrap his arm around your neck — his exaggerated stature almost sent you crashing down.
“Come on, no one caught your eye?” He slurs his words, wild tongue running over his pretty lips, classic red solo cup dangerously dangling from his long fingers. You can see from up close the drunken blurriness that glazes his pretty eyes with unhinged impulsiveness.
You chuckle, remembering his goal was to set you up for a “Hot date”.
“Not at all. But I had fun.”
“Whaat?!” He whines in frustration, stepping forward so you’re facing each other. His arm is still heavily draped over your shoulders. “You didn’t have fun!”
“I did!” You argue.
“No…” Mingyu pouts.
“I did! I promise,” Offering him a smile, you await his response.
“Have a drink with me?”
God, he was a pro at puppy-dog-eyes. With pouty lips, glistening under the remnants of his drink and sparkling eyes with furrowed brows.
“I don’t– I don’t drink,” You’re so upset with the idea of disappointing him and his adorable pout though he barely pays it any mind.
“Then we can do something else! Come on!”
“No, Mingyu–!”
But he’s dragging you away from the party, placing the edge of his cup between his teeth so he can snatch his coat from the hangers on his way out. You’re stumbling under his weight and hurried steps, but the night air feels so refreshing after the stuffy frat house you practically forget his intentions.
The house behind you thumps under the song that blasts through its brick walls, colourful LEDs flashing from open windows. The front yard feels almost completely separate from the party inside, a world apart from the drunk atmosphere that holds the stifling rooms.
Mingyu drags you toward the pavement and standing before his car, you feel your stomach drop once you see him press the button to open the door.
“Mingyu– You– You’re drunk. You can’t drive,” You stumble over your words, nervously fidgeting with your clothes, even if you left right now, would he still drive?
“I won’t. You’re sober,” He says as a matter of factly and you hadn’t even considered driving this insanely expensive sports car.
Mingyu opens the driver’s door and stands there, gesturing for you to get in. A true gentleman. With a relieved breath, you do.
It’s a convertible – Of course, it is, no other car would fit his personality as well. The chassis is coloured a blinding firetruck red and the rims are a polished silver, it’s so clearly well-maintained you feel nervous about driving it. The leather seats smell so vividly of his cologne, woody and fresh.
Mingyu closes your door and jogs to his seat, he jumps over his door with ease, settling onto the beige leather seat with a soft thump.
“Here’s ignition, turn signals, speed and all that,” He leans over and points to each item.
“Is it stick?”
“Nah, I had it modified, it’s completely automatic.”
“Wow, disappointed in you… I thought you’d drive stick like a real man,” You tease, leaning over to check the height for the seat – It’s obviously too far back so you adjust it forward.
“Too busy getting my dick sucked to worry about changin’ gears,” He sticks his tongue between his teeth, leaning back with a proud smile.
“Oh, god,” You groan, “Should I be touching any surface on this car?”
“Nope.”
You laugh.
After putting on your seatbelt, you look over and notice that of course, he’s not wearing his. With a roll of your eyes, you lean over and pull the seat belt over his chest. Mingyu would’ve flinched had he not been tipsy, his eyes linger on your body over his, how your left hand holds the belt at his chest while your right hand fiddles with the lock.
And you have such pretty long lashes that flutter along your cheeks as you focus on finding the clip for the belt. A soft furrow between your brows, you’re sighing and biting on your lower lip; He notices the pretty shade of red that you wear.
But you’re already done and it’s clipped on with a satisfying click.
“Driver’s rules, shotgun shuts his mouth,” You say before he can protest the safety measures.
You smile so brightly, happily turning back to the wheel, excited over this incredible machine that lays in your hands. More than the alcohol in his bloodstream, your joy is intoxicating.
And the car comes alive with a satisfying roar, you feel the soft vibrating from the wheel course up your wrists. For you, following the speed limit felt perfect, the wheel turned so smoothly and the pedals felt the perfect height. But the little devil on the passenger’s seat kept egging you on to go faster.
Caving to his wishes, you take the highway out of town, breezing through asphalt with no sight of other cars. The confidence that such a smooth ride gives is true, you feel yourself steadily increasing the speed much to Mingyu’s satisfaction.
The wind in your hair, caressing your face with the exhilarating night air, the thrilling constant hum of such a potent engine working to your heart’s content. Nothing could beat the constellation of artificial lighting that lit the night scenery, every building held its own collection.
“Where should I go?” You ask, suddenly remembering you’re supposed to have a destination, your eyes absolutely glued to the road.
“Somewhere nice,” Mingyu hums, thinking for a second.
He leans back, his left hand is carelessly draped over your headrest and you can feel his fingers fidget with your hair so unconsciously. Any of his go-to destinations were made for getting hot and heavy, which wasn’t the goal tonight; He wanted to repay you for helping him out and you hadn’t shown any interest in… other manners of payment. So it left him with only one option.
“Take a left next turn,” He says, leaning forward to dig through the glovebox.
Mingyu finds a pair of sunglasses, putting them on despite the very obvious lack of Sunlight. He offers you a spare set, and though you’d love to enjoy wearing Prada sunglasses that probably cost more than your entire net worth, you also enjoy seeing anything on the road. So you push them on top of your head, pushing your hair back.
Somewhere along the deserted road, Mingyu grabs the AUX cord, connecting it to his phone and going through his very generic musical taste. But the atmosphere is so perfect you can’t help but enjoy the bubblegum pop blasting from the dashboard. You even sing along.
It’s a comfortable silence, filled with Pop music and laughter.
You drive for almost an hour under his strict directions, until you reach a dirt road. There’s an alarm blaring in your mind, realising that you’re far from civilization, in the middle of nowhere with a total stranger. I mean, serial killers were always described as charismatic, right?
Making a deal with yourself, you decide that if he does anything even remotely suspicious you’re running the car off the road. You’ll die, but he’ll go with you.
Against your anxiety, however, he tells you to pull up at a clearing just ahead and once you arrive, there’s no doubt on why he chose this place.
From atop this hill, you can see far into the city, its blinding lights nothing but tiny stars on the horizon, the noise pollution of a bustling metropolis is totally gone and replaced by the calming murmurs of nature. Before he can even say anything, you’re leaving the car to admire such a view.
The moon is full, a pale veil over both of you, standing in the starry sky as the queen, ruling over her stars. The light caressing your body with the warmth of the perfect Summer night.
“What do you think?” Mingyu asks, leaning against the hood of his car.
You can’t help but to briefly admire the picturesque scene he paints with his playboy aura and Hollywoodian beauty, leaning against this straight-out-of-a-movie convertible. He has this side smirk, knowing this breathtaking landscape can’t be topped by any of your past experiences.
“It’s…” There aren’t words you can find to describe such a view. “I– Thank you. It’s gorgeous.”
He visibly relaxes, as if he was waiting anxiously for your opinion, “It’s my favourite place.”
“I can see why,” You laugh, joining him, though you have a little trouble stabilising your butt over the hood.
“Everything feels small when I come here,” He explains.
Turning to face him, your stomach is filled with annoying little butterflies that flutter around and tickle your insides with foolish thoughts.
His moonlit profile is somehow prettier than his beauty in any other lighting, his perfect nose and high cheekbones and his eyes, God, his eyes. They hold in their dark orbs, all of the stars and worlds, in its ethereal shine.
You hum, prying your gaze from him before your brain gets any outlandish rushes of dopamine and creates unattainable ideas.
Mingyu leans back, his lanky body hitting the windshield, his eyes stare up at the stars. At this moment, he wishes he knew constellations from the top of his head, then maybe, he could impress you with his astronomical knowledge.
“You look like a movie star right now… I feel like I’m in a movie,” Joking, you lean on your elbow, unconsciously following his body with your own.
“What do you wanna be when you grow up?” He asks on a spur of the moment.
You laugh, “When I grow up?”
Mingyu realises what you meant by your question and laughs along, “You know what I meant.”
Though you’re caught aback, there’s not much thinking to be done, “I want to design clothes.”
He hums, “It suits you, I think.” He didn’t know you that well, but it seemed fitting.
You chuckle, “You?”
Mingyu lets out a long sigh, leaning on his elbows to stare up at you, “CEO, I guess.”
“Have you always wanted to be a CEO?”
His lips press into a thin line and he hesitates on how much he should tell, throwing caution into the air, Mingyu decides to open up. “I honestly… Don’t want to.”
You furrow your brows, “Won’t you take over your father’s company?”
He nods, “That’s what I should do.”
“Then what do you want to be?”
It’s such an innocent question and in all honesty, sort of childish almost? Something you would ask a small child and just agree with whatever they come up with. But it’s something he was never allowed to question.
“I… Don’t think I know.”
You hum, “You could be an actor,” It’s a bit of a tease as much as it is the truth.
Mingyu raises an eyebrow, sitting up so he can face you properly. You have this soft smile on your face that holds so much warmth for a stranger like him, it almost feels undeserving.
“An actor?” He prods.
“Yeah,” You shrug, “You just have the vibes for it… Living a thousand lives in just one, I think you could play any character really well. Plus, you have the looks. I always told my friends you have a face that belongs in Hollywood.” It comes out so naturally, you barely realise what you’ve said until he’s staring at you. “I– Sorr–”
Mingyu smashes his lips into yours.
You squeak, but don’t shy away from his plush lips.
His left hand reaches for your jaw, fingers softly tracing your cheek with certain hesitancy but you lean into his touch so willingly he can’t help the bubbling feeling that comes to life deep in his belly.
When your lips part, you feel the night breeze caress the parts of your body he touched and you find your body misses his warmth.
Your brain simply can’t function.
In your brilliant academic journey, romance had never been an aspect you entertained. You quickly learned at thirteen that a fairytale story only happens to cute girls with nice hair and pretty bodies. And not the one repeatedly being used as the butt-end of a cruel joke.
Mingyu represented everything you would never have; A popular, rich guy with amazing hair and looks out of this world. And he was nice, too. Took time of his day to hang out with you and to repay what had been an instinctive action; help out someone.
It could only have been a mistake, right?
Mingyu, noticing the dread that paints your pretty face, can’t help the cold shiver that takes over his body, “I… I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine! I won’t tell anyone.” You reply all too fast.
“What?” He blinks a couple of times, “What do you mean?”
“Y’know, I won’t ruin your reputation…”
He practically jumps from the car, standing in front of you, “Say it again.”
You look up, his towering height has never once been intimidating, until now, “...I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”
“No, what the fuck do you mean ruin my reputation, why would kissing you ruin it?” His voice possesses such anger you couldn’t even think he was capable of. But you feel yourself getting upset, how long will he torture you with this? Do you need to say with all words how undesirable you are?
“Because no one in their right mind should be seen with a girl like me!” You blurt out, feeling his anger seep into your body.
“A girl like you?” He huffs in disbelief. “A girl that indulged me, was nice to my friends and let me drag her to the middle of nowhere?” Mingyu leans forward, caging your body in between his arms. “ A pretty, kind girl, who helped me without asking anything for it? What kind of girl, tell me.” He orders, his voice in a low, hushed tone that tickles your nose when he speaks.
Speechless, you’re sitting there, face to face with a guy that genuinely shows interest in you, told you you’re pretty for the nth time tonight and has the most kissable lips you’ve seen.
His jaw is tight with anger, almost as if he’s got a personal vendetta against you self-hatred, but your stupid lustful brain can’t focus on anything but the sharp cut of his jaw, deep veins bulging from tanned skin.
“Can I kiss you?” He asks, so quietly you think you hallucinated it. But it’s very much true.
He looks so irresistible, half-lidded eyes staring at your lips while he bites his own.
“Please,” you exhale, melting into his body when he leans forward.
You were never a woman of action, preferring when others make the move, but in this moment you have this newfound confidence, meeting his lips halfway, crashing into a fervorous kiss.
It’s nothing like your first, you feel the heat emanating from his body, scorching hot seeping into your skin, burning every nerve it touches with fervorous want.
His tongue is in your mouth, anxious and exploring and he is humming against your lips such an intoxicating melody that for a second, you’re a stranded sailor falling for the voice of a siren and dipping into the arms of unimaginable beauty.
Saliva drips from your connected lips but he refuses to end the kiss, no. Because you taste of cherry flavoured hard candies, provocatively luscious with a delicious aftertaste that can only leave you longing for more.
He parts the kiss, leaning back and practically tearing his varsity jacket from his body. You’re watching closely as he lays it behind you, over the car.
Right hand moving to your waist, Mingyu pushes forward until you’re laying on the hood, so pretty. Your body is still finding his, your chest leaning forward so you can mould into his warmth, hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, closer, closer.
You’re breathless, eyes trained on his every move with such incredulity as if you believed you were in a dream, hallucinating every moment so far.
He can feel every curve of your body pressing tightly against his. It’s evident the effect you’re having on him, blood boiling in his veins with unadulterated desire.
There has never been a moment in his life where he genuinely cared to go slow, to show his passion and intent; Every partner of his had been as much into the act as he had been.
But you, you’re so fragile and every moment he spends in your presence feels so ephemeral, he can not help the panic that rushes into his body to make it worth it, to make every second last.
His lips trace along your jaw, saliva coating the path he trails down your neck until he reaches your collarbones. And his lips are so gentle and enticing, with their sugary kisses that you lean into because you’ve never felt something so wonderful.
He nibbles and kisses on your exposed skin, teeth grazing across the teeniest bit of cleavage showing from your borrowed dress. So far, you had done an amazing job at keeping the sounds he elicited from leaving your lips, however this once, you couldn’t hold the breathy mewl that escapes.
Mingyu freezes, eyes slowly rising up until they meet your face.
“Oh my god, do it again,” He huffs against your sensitive skin.
“W-What?” You ask.
“That sound you just did, god, you sound so fucking hot,” And he slurs against your chest. Not because of alcohol, no, he had sobered up on the windy car ride, but intoxicated on the effortless warmth that you exude.
You lit a flame on his chest that burns incandescently with nothing but greedy lust, burning its way through his body with an unfathomable hunger that could only be satisfied by your sweetest moans.
He struggles with the buttons that decorate the cleavage of your dress, trying to undo them and seriously questioning his soberness when they do not separate.
“It’s got a zipper,” You admit, but he looks so relieved.
Mingyu leans back, pulling you by your hand until you crash into his chest and he can finally reach the back of your dress. You’re breathing so heavily against his skin, your soft hands grazing along the nape of his neck, fingers tangling into his hair; He can hardly focus on the task at hand.
His right hand runs under the skirt of your dress, clawing at your flesh with heavy hands, almost as if he wanted to hold you fully in his touch. Toying with the band of your panties, he sighs, watching your chest heave at the contact.
You pull your dress sleeves off, letting the fabric bundle around your waist, though you can’t be arsed to properly take it off. Mingyu does not mind at all, no, he’s absolutely hypnotised by the sight of your tits.
Shoving his face onto your cleavage, he’s pulling you closer into his body by your hips, sucking love bites on your unblemished skin. Leaving a trace of him that would last longer than your moments together, a mark of momentary possession that allowed his brain to indulge.
And you’re contaminated with his boldness, clawing at his shirt with relentless anticipation. You suddenly have this peculiar urge to feel his skin on yours, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.
Mingyu smiles against your skin, finding your hands that touch him fervently, wrapping his fingers around yours. And for a brief moment, you feel as though you might’ve wronged him, but he pulls your hands to wrap around his neck as he finds your lips again while his hands are pulling on the hem of his shirt.
The kiss is only parted once, when he pulls the white shirt above his shoulders and discards it somewhere across the soft grass; completely unimportant at the moment.
And god, Mingyu is divinely sculpted with defined pecs and hardened abs that tense under your touch. You sigh at the dreamy sight of his tan skin completely exposed for your viewing only.
He relishes in the adoring look you exhibit, eyes dripping wholly in an exquisite hunger you’ve never felt before; And he coerces this scandalous reaction from you with pride. Your hands are eager to touch him, so you do. You run your fingers down his supple skin, fingernails grazing in teasing lines.
Smoothing out your hands up his chest, you find his neck and pull him toward your lips, wanting to feel his bare skin on yours, stealing his heat until your bodies are running at the exact same temperature.
His hands, large and calloused from playing professional sports, lay heavy on your thighs. Mingyu pulls at the waistband of your panties and takes a second to lock eyes with you, guaranteeing your approval.
You can only hope you’ve got the good pair of underwear on.
But it doesn’t matter, because he pulls it off at once, discarding it above his shoulder to fall somewhere along his shirt.
Your dress is bunched up around your waist and you should’ve felt more embarrassed to be completely exposed before him but Mingyu looks at you with such reverent eyes, taking every inch of abundant flesh with care.
“Fuck–” He groans, eyes glued to the spot between your legs. You can’t even close them in an attempt at modesty because he is standing right there and not going anywhere.
He runs a slender finger across your slit, breathing heavier at the sight of moisture that pools along the lips.
When you bite your lower lip, unknowingly coquettish and staring at him all bright eyed and pleading, Mingyu let out a strained sound that could barely be classified as a groan.
“Can I?”
His finger dances around your slit and he looks unsure. You nod with a soft “Yeah.”
Nothing like anything you’ve felt or done before.
That’s the only way to explain the feeling of having his long finger prodding at your hole with gentle movement. He soon joins another one, stretching you out with delicate scissoring motions, he’s not focused on making you cum, he wants to prepare you for him.
And that very thought makes your stomach tighten in anticipation.
You don’t even realise when your hips are thrusting against his hand, matching his pace. And you’re definitely not thinking when you ask in a gasp:
“A… Another one–”
Mingyu stills.
“You don’t fuckin–” He leans forward, forehead flushed to yours, uneven breath tickling your sensitive lips. “You have no idea what you’re doin’ to me, babygirl.”
You feel your body consumed with an unstoppable amount of confidence, knowing the grip you hold over Mingyu at this moment, you’re dizzy with power.
“Show me, then,” The lazy smile that finds your red stained lips is a sight to bear.
He smirks, knowing he will make you eat your words soon.
As he pulls his fingers from your cunt, there is a thick string of arousal that coats his skin in a sinful glaze. With a confident smirk, Mingyu
But he doesn’t expect when you lean forward, letting your tongue run all over, cleaning his fingers and tasting first-hand the pleasure he brings you.
Oh, fucking hell.
Mingyu could’ve cum right then and there.
You’re giggling as he fumbles with his belt, he wishes he could’ve stopped to appreciate such a sweet sound, but he was way too horny to think about anything other than plunging his cock into you at once.
When the night breeze hits his throbbing erection, Mingyu shivers.
You’re chewing on your lower lip, equal parts excited and terrified at his sheer size. He is large. And fat, with bulging veins running down his length and a thick head that’s trickling with pre-cum.
“Oh my god.”
Mingyu cowers at your gasp, “What?”
“You’re huge, fuck.”
Oh, your praise runs straight down to his erection. His chest puffs out with absolute pride.
“Do you have a condom?” It was a silly question when aimed toward Mingyu, of course he did. He always does.
He fishes out his wallet and pulls a fresh packet, tearing the foil apart with his teeth and pulling the pre-lubed rubber. Mingyu is about to roll it over himself when your hands find his.
“Can I–?” You ask and he almost sighs.
He watches you with bated breath. You’re delicate, small hands quietly rolling the condom over his seemingly unending length until you’ve reached the base. Your fingers linger in curiosity and he can’t help but to find it adorable.
Properly protected, Mingyu grasps his length as you position yourself better on the hood, legs wide open, dripping in anticipation. Oh, you couldn’t fault his desire to tease, could you?
Running his tip over and over your drenched core, he groans. You’re clenching around nothing, hands fidgeting with the bunched up fabric of your dress. Mingyu has a stupid confident smirk on his lips, watching you squirm at his minimal touch.
“Mingyu!” You whine when he brushes against your clit. Reaching your right hand, you claw at his heaving chest. He doesn’t budge, however.
“What?” He plays dumb, toying with your hole.
“F-Fuck me? Please…?”
Fuck seven point five, you were a ten, a twenty, a one-hundred, no fucking numbers could quantify your allure, no. You could charm your way out of any crime if you pursed your brows and pouted your lips like this, smeared red lipstick painting your soft skin, saliva dripping down your chin so indecently.
And your hand was still, caressing his stomach, like a succubus ready to pounce and devour him like a five course-meal. Consume him whole, body and soul until he has nothing left to give. He would let you have him, any way you wanted, you just needed to say the word.
Just needed to let his name fall out of your pretty lips in a breathy gasp and he would be at your call.
Mingyu enters you slowly, stretching out every millimetre of your walls with a burning feeling of fullness.
“Fuck–” He groans, “Relax for me, baby.”
You take a deep breath, allowing your body to relax as much as your brain allows at the moment and he takes the chance to stretch you out further, hips pistoning forward.
Mingyu feels the pleasure seep into his body in one fell swoop, dissolving in his bloodstream, filling his lungs with heat. You’re snug around him, clamping down on his sensitive erection, pulsing alive and throbbing.
“Are you in?” You ask, not risking looking down and disappointing yourself at the remaining length. Mingyu is hovering just inches above you, hand taut on the hood, using every bit of restraint imaginable to not pound you into tomorrow.
“Just a little more,” He breathes out, head coming to rest on the crook of your neck as his hip comes to meet yours.
He allows you a moment to let the stretch lessen, to allow your discomfort to slowly morph into pleasure. And soon, you’ve got your arms wrapped tight around his broad shoulders, his almond eyes have completely surrendered to the dark gaze of lust, devouring you alive with their insatiable hunger.
“You can move now…” You breathe out, fingers tangling around his silky smooth hair.
“You sure?”
“Oh, yeah.” He smiles against your lips, hips finding themselves a languid, slow and torturous pace until you’re begging for more.
The way his body feels against your is something unforgettably wonderful, every curve of his torso giving into your own, every inch of you filling into the gaps of his in an imperfectly perfect little puzzle.
With every thrust, you’re pulling at the roots of his hair, gaining yourself sharp hisses from Mingyu. Though he enjoys the tugging, leans into your scratching, presents his lips to you with total eagerness.
He fastens his movement, thrusting into you with sheer fervour. His hands are exploring your body, kneading at abundant flesh with excited fingers that leave trails of crescent moons shapes along your skin.
Out here, in the middle of nowhere, caressed by the breeze and the moonlight, you’re whispering his name in an unanswered prayer, letting the syllables dance around in your tongue before you let them slip away into the starry night sky to be forgotten.
You’re clenching around him with pleasure, feeling the knot in your belly tighten and tighten.
“Feels– So good,” Mingyu hisses against your kisses, hips not stuttering even once.
Brain an absolute mush, you can’t find any words to respond other than strained moans.
“So– Fucking good…” Nuzzling along your jaw, he grazes his teeth on your neck, painting your skin with love bites.
“I–” You gasp, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He doesn’t even need you to finish your sentence to know what you meant.
“Yeah? Me too– Let go, baby.”
Digging his hands into your hips, Mingyu hurries his thrusts, hitting your sweet spot again and again until you’re melting in his arms, singing praise of his name with your candied voice and luring him into his own orgasm.
He leans forward, capturing your lips in a harsh kiss, hips slowing down as he comes undone, tainting the condom with heavy spurts.
You’re both gasping in complicity, blanketed in the summer night.
Once the condom is discarded, Mingyu lays by your side and pulls you into his heaving chest. You both lay there in comfortable silence, letting the orgasms fade out into strained sleepiness.
“Will you promise to remember me?” You ask, watching the twinkling stars that lay before you two.
“Where did that come from?” Mingyu chuckles.
“Do you promise?” Your voice is a soft whisper that dissipates into a shaky, hesitant breath, “Do you promise to remember me?”
He laughs, but your eyes hold such urgency, he can not ignore the human need to sympathise with your woes. “...Why– Why do you say that?”
“Because…” You sigh, “Because I’ll remember you, – this,” Hands vaguely gesturing toward your conjoined bodies, “For the rest of my life… And I’m afraid even a decade from now, you won’t be able to recall my name or what I look like.”
It’s serious, it’s a concern that has plagued your mind since the moment you laid down. However, Mingyu can only focus on the fact that you’ve assumed the two of you won’t see each other again, ever.
Leaning forward, his slight smile does nothing to hide the clearly confused look that is plastered across his handsome face, “It’s like you plan to disappear. We’ll see each other again.”
You shake your head, “What are the chances, Mingyu? We’re just… Fleeting seconds in centuries. What are the chances alumni – Not even from the same major, – will meet again?”
“What if we promise to meet?” Oh, he’s absolutely set on it, but you find it adorable; this fervorous intent on defying the hands fate has laid before you.
“Then, what happens when we’re bored of each other?” You chew on your lower lip, but he discards your argument.
“That might not happen,” He points out.
“We’re too different. It defeats fate to force it,” You sigh.
Mingyu doesn’t have an answer right now, but he’s seeking one with furrowed brows and pouted lips.
“Remember me like this, no wait–” You run your fingers through tangled hair in an attempt to fix the messing he’d done before. “Done. Like this.” You flash a smile, posing your body in the best angle it has, to construct the perfect memory.
But Mingyu sees your flustered cheeks, smeared lipstick that leaves behind a stained trail of hot red over swollen-kissed lips. Sleep hazed eyes that gaze at him with such warmth, that hold a longing he wouldn’t be able to grasp for another decade. You liked him, you truly did. And that’s why you would never allow your memories of him to be tainted by the grasps of time.
You’d forever remember his dorky smile and dad jokes, his clumsy hands and warmth.
And Mingyu doesn’t realise it yet, but he would forever remember you as someone who marked him forever. To disregard the cards you’re dealt, make your own memories, remember it all fondly.
Maybe in a couple years, you will have a wild dream about this very moment, a fuzzy memory that leaves behind a nostalgic smile that will follow you for the day, reminding you of this perfect feeling. You’ll look back with wistful thinking of the good days.
And will keep it close to your heart.
Where it belongs.
You thought about it often the day after, but days turned into weeks, turned into months, turned into years. And a decade later, you found yourself having a dream about the distant memory, and the sweet nostalgic feeling accompanied you throughout your routine.
After university, you had found a simple job in your area that sufficed the need for experience and filled the empty stop in your resume. Though it was far from fulfilling. There was no creative liberty allowed and you often found yourself overworked and constricted by tight deadlines.
The dream of your own line had yet to die, however. That’s why you had volunteered for such a demanding gig: designing for a historical movie. Luckily, your resume had allowed you a good position, overseeing the wardrobe and designing the pieces that would be forever captured on film.
The main character, a pretty young thing with curly hair, was extremely excited to work with you and almost cried when she saw the dresses she would be wearing.
Today, you would be fitting for the lead male role and designing him some characteristic James Dean style clothes. Your assistant led him to your office while you were gathering your materials.
When you enter the room and you’re met with those gorgeous almond eyes, you can’t help the stupid smile that finds your lips.
“This is the lead actor, Kim Mingyu,” Your assistant explains.
“Yeah, I know,” You laugh.
He stands up, a charming smirk plastered on his pretty face, “Hey.”
Your assistant looks at you with a puzzled look, “You know each other?”
Mingyu nods.
“Yeah, I never forget a pretty face.”
2K notes
·
View notes
Reborn in Baldur's Gate 3: Chapter 1
Plot: You’ve been reincarnated. It’s the realization you come to when the tiefling offering you a health potion introduces himself as Tav. You died and your soul revived in Baldur's Gate 3, at the beginning of the game no less. But you only have the memories of your past life on Earth, and none of your current one.
Tav invites you to join him on his journey, despite your lack of abilities or maybe because of it. You might as well go along with it; where else would you go with no memory of who you currently are, or knowledge of anything that lies outside of the narrative?
There is much to discover about your life in Baldur's Gate, and what transpires relies on the tiefling leading your group as Tav.
Word Count: 2.5K
A/N: This is very self-indulgent so there will by a lot of Gale and Astarion.
-------------------
“I’m Tav.”
He’s a tiefling, you recall. Tall and bulky with curled horns. The dark gray skin tells you he’s descended from Mephistopheles, and his simple leather gear tells you he’s a barbarian. Huh. Yeah, that makes sense, he’s Tav, the hero of the game! Or…the villain? Your head pounds as memories flood back to you—tieflings, bards, goblins, vampires—you, sitting at a computer debating which choice would garner you the most favour with your companions in…
“Baldur’s Gate,” you mumble. You slap a hand over your mouth, staying on your knees as you blink at the tiefling. At Tav. He arches his brows and kneels beside you, offering you a small vial of red liquid.
“You’re from Baldur’s Gate, too?” he asks. “Drink this, it’ll make you feel better.”
Without much thought you take the already opened vial from him and swallow it down in one small gulp. With a deep breath the pounding in your head subsides and you can think a little clearer. Maybe not clear enough to fully comprehend that you’re currently in a video game, or that there’s a small wriggling behind your left eye which means…
More images come to you, a mind flayer holding a worm with too many teeth to your eye, a githyanki—Lae’zel—pointing a sword at you, and then falling from the ship. The nautiloid. Tav’s memories of the ship.
Tav winces as the visions fade. “Guess you got one of those, too.”
A chill runs down your spine, through each and every bone of your body until the squirming thing behind your eye stops movement all together.
“I uh…” You look around at the crash area, taking in the rocks and splotches of fire dotting the land on one side and water on your left, until you meet the gaze of a raven-haired half-elf.
“This one doesn’t seem to be all there,” she says. Her voice is as smooth and condescending as you remember, and you find it endearing despite the insult.
“Give them a moment,” Tav responds over his shoulder. “It’s a lot to take in.”
Yes, especially because this is most definitely a dream. A very vivid, painful, exciting, insane dream.
“What’s your name?”
You fear all you can do is blink. You tell them your name, voice as shaky as your body. There’s a tremble in your hands that you can’t control, even with a hard grip on the now empty vial. “And thank you…for the potion.”
Tav lifts, holding a large sharp-nailed hand out to you. “Can you stand?”
You nod, taking his hand and letting him lift you to your feet. You let your hand drop to dust off your clothes, nothing that you remember wearing. The last thing you recall was going to bed in a tank top and shorts but you’re now wearing a dark blue overcoat atop loose fitting pants and a fitted shirt. The borders of the coat are stitched with gold swirls, and based on the softness of everything you wear it has to be expensive. Somehow, after everything (whatever the Hells that involved) you are quite clean. Not to mention the bag that hangs at your hip beneath your coat is quite heavy, and another bag that wraps around your waist and sits at your back has the contents clinking together when you move.
You look like a caster of some kind, but you can’t tell which. You can’t feel anything that would indicate your abilities, but some cold sensation at the back of your mind tells you you can do something. Like another limb sits in your mind, waiting to be moved.
“We don’t have time for stragglers,” Shadowheart says.
“Yet I helped you,” Tav counters. There’s a playfulness to his tone that doesn’t match his furrowed brow.
Shadowheart concedes. “Fair enough. You’re welcome to join us in our search for a healer.”
You nod. Yes, a healer! They’ll be able to—pain strikes your temples as another memory clouds your mind.
A truck careening at you, horn blaring—a sharp hit of adrenaline and then…here.
“Oh my God I’ve been isekaied.” Your revelation earns you quizzical looks from Tav and Shadowheart. Reincarnated. Just like those cheesy but addicting books about a girl being reincarnated as a villainess in some cheesy addicting romance novel. You press your hands to your face, feeling familiar features but still wary. “Quick, what do I look like?”
“A lunatic,” Shadowheart answers.
Tav hesitates, but describes you. You. Not some other face, not a character you recall from the game but you. Regular human you. You sigh, relief flooding over you.
“As…interesting as this conversation is, we should get moving,” Tav says.
“Agreed.” Shadowheart doesn’t move until Tav heads to the only direction you can go, near part of the crashed ship.
“We need to find Lae’zel,” Tav adds.
“Less agreeable,” Shadowheart says. “She’s probably long gone by now, if not dead.”
“Well we should still keep an eye out.”
You follow the two into the still burning wreckage where they suddenly stop and draw their weapons—Tav a large axe, and Shadowheart her mace and shield.
“Intellect devourers,” you conclude. Three sit at the far end of the ship, scurrying towards you at a frightening speed. With one slash of his axe Tav takes out two of them before they can get close to you, and Shadowheart smacks the other one down. All defeated in what? Three seconds?
The three brains bleed out and flop to their sides, clawed limbs twitching.
“Vile creatures,” Tav says, holstering his axe. You expect the two to keep moving and check the nearby bodies for gold and supplies, just as you do in the game, but they don’t. They walk right past the dead man without rifling through his pockets and as you step by you feel your stomach lurch. To see a bloody disfigured body in reality felt very different from the game. The vacant eyes staring upward, pieces of flesh torn from his stomach…It isn’t until a hand covers your eyes and directs you forward do you realize you’d stopped.
“Just keep moving,” Tav says, keeping his hand by the side of your head so you can’t see the body. When his hand falls you keep your eyes on his swinging tail, and follow after him as he turns and moves into the sun.
Barrels and a broken down cart let you know what’s coming next—who’s coming next.
Your excitement strikes you then, still shaky and confused but awake. You’re in Baldur’s Gate 3, with Tav and Shadowheart, and hopefully all the others.
Your eyes scan the water nearby, debris scattered everywhere until you spot a dagger on the dock. Tav and Shadowheart watch you dart over and pick it up.
“I thought you would be one to attack with words, not knives,” Shadowheart says coolly.
You stash the dagger in a boot, smiling at Shadowheart. Gods. She was pretty as pixels but seeing her in the flesh, she was something else. “Well, words aren’t always the best weapons.”
“Can I get some help?”
You recognize the voice without needing to see the speaker. Astarion is just up the hill waiting to ambush Tav and…kill him depending on how he answers.
Based on how Tav darted ahead at the sound of someone in trouble (albeit fake trouble) you figured it wouldn’t turn out too terribly. So they had skipped over robbing the dead, and didn’t explore every corner of the map looking for treasure chests…that didn’t mean things would be different with each companion intro, right? There’s a plot here, and it has to be followed to a certain degree…right? There were no screen pop ups to decide dialogue and you all appeared to have free will, which was good.
Right?
Your thoughts did little to comfort you as you climbed the hill to find Astarion already pointing his blade at Tav who was apparently perceptive enough to dodge rolling around in the ground with the vampire. You stopped next to Shadowheart, at ease just watching the situation unfold.
Both men twitch and writhe as their parasites connect. When their visions fade Astarion questions it, and Tav answers honestly about being in the mind flayer ship and what the worms can do.
You study Astarion’s face as he realizes that he’s somewhat free, but there’s a time limit to the incubation period. Tav offers for him to join your trio, and just like you remember, he agrees.
“Splendid,” Astarion says. “Lead on.”
At that the vampire meets your eyes. Icicles dance up your spine until they pierce the back of your head, making you wince and hold a hand against the spot.
You grunt at the sudden pain, the sound quiet but drawing attention all the same. You wave the eyes away from you with your free hand. “Sorry. Head still hurts a bit from…having a tadpole put inside it.”
Nobody questions that, though you know it was something else. Every time your eyes even flit in Astarion’s direction you can feel a push at the back of your head, that phantom limb clenching as if trying to stretch and release itself. You wish you could say it was the tadpole, but it feels nothing like when you connected with Tav.
“Well let’s just try to keep our worms separate,” Astarion says, seemingly at you. “I don’t need to see what’s in your head anymore than you do mine.”
His eyes linger a moment on Tav. You nod your agreement though he isn’t looking at you now.
“I saw some footprints along another path,” Tav announces. “There could be other survivors.”
There doesn’t seem to be any question as to who is in charge. Shadowheart insists on searching for a healer but with a quick convincing from Tav you’re all headed towards a strange looking purple sigil.
“Looks unstable,” Shadowheart says.
“Best left alone,” Tav agrees. It was just like a friend's first play through that thought the sigil would kill them, so they never had Gale join their party. It wasn’t a totally unfounded theory—swirling, sparking voids did seem like something that shouldn’t be touched but everything in this world had a purpose. Anything out of place or, well, glowing, was important to the story.
But then the group is walking toward the bodies of three goblins discussing supplies.
They’ll steal from goblins but not humans? Seems odd but maybe you’re the weird one being so willing to pillage the dead, no matter their race. You frown, looking back at the sigil and knowing who is inside. “You sure you don’t want to see why it’s like that?”
Astarion is observing his nails while Tav loots the goblin bodies. Shadowheart kicks one of the bodies out of her way once fully plundered and looks back at you. “Be my guest. But if you get sucked in don’t expect me to come looking for you.”
“I’ll come look for you,” Tav states with a cheeky grin, hands inside a dead goblins pockets. It makes you smile back, so…kind and disarming. You recall barbarians didn’t have high charisma, but Tav seemed to have it in spades. Or perhaps your recent head injury was clouding your judgement—after all your reaction to being reincarnated, to being dead, was quite tame.
“Ah, a true hero.” Astarion looks between you and Tav, eyes narrowing as if trying to solve a puzzle.
You turn your attention back to the sigil, taking a small step towards it when an arm pops out.
“A hand?” a voice calls. “Anybody?”
You slap the waxing hand immediately without a thought.
“Perhaps I should have been more specific,” Gale says. “A helping hand please?”
“Oh, right!” You quickly take his hand in yours and tug to no avail.
“Keep trying!”
You pull harder, wondering if you were going to end up holding a severed arm in your hand as the sigil sparks brighter and buzzes with energy. You choose to ignore those thoughts and keep trying to free the wizard.
With one final pull the person connected to the arm comes tumbling out of the sigil. If it had been Tav to pull Gale free you’re certain it would have been a smooth experience, and he would have stepped back and dodged getting shoved to the ground by the sudden lack of resistance. But it wasn’t Tav, it was you, and instead of dodging the wizard your feet tangled with each other and you both went down.
The wind is knocked from your lungs with Gale atop you, his forehead connecting with your sternum and leaving you gasping for air. Strands of his hair fall onto your lips, soft and smelling of something spicy while his left arm is wrapped around your middle, the other braced against the ground. You realize he’d been trying to protect you on the way down, but wasn’t quick enough to cover the back of your head, which now throbs from the fresh battering.
“Ouch,” you croak, voice barely making it out of your throat. Footsteps approach until Tav, Shadowheart, and Astarion are hovering over you, each with a small smile. Well…Astarion’s is more of a smirk…
Gale pushes himself off of you and before he can say anything Tav has his hands beneath your underarms and is pulling you up. His hands slide to your back until you’re steady enough to stand on your own and thank him, rubbing at the back of your head again.
Throbbing is better than stabbing, you suppose.
“Apologies,” Gale says as he smooths his hair back, “I’m usually much better at this.”
You continue to rub the back of your head as he and Tav exchange dialogue, much of it going in one ear and out the other as you focus on the pain radiating in your skull. You squeeze your eyes shut and let your hands fall to your sides, giving in to the fact you can’t rub away whatever sensation is there.
“And you my friend.” Gale is in front of you, drawing your gaze to meet his. “I am truly sorry for landing on you, but extremely grateful for the help.”
You can’t stop your smile at him anymore than you could with Tav. “Happy to help.”
His eyes stay on you a moment longer than appropriate, but when they drape down your body you think he’s almost sizing you up. For a fight, or romance, or maybe to steal your coat you aren’t sure.
You look to Tav for direction, waiting for the leader to…well, lead. Lae’zel should be next, but that’s when you notice you have an extra member. With you there it makes five travellers, but nobody has been sent to camp yet. Wherever that is. While you’d like a moment to sit and organize your thoughts, the idea of heading somewhere on your own was terrifying.
“I hear voices over that ridge,” Astarion announces. Everyone turns towards where he’s looking, just a few feet ahead where the path winds up and you know you’ll find two tieflings looking at Lae’zel. But you can’t hear them yet.
“Let’s check it out.” Tav is already moving before anyone can object. And like ducklings you follow him with Astarion, Gale, and Shadowheart.
Taglist:
@half-poison-and-half-hope
247 notes
·
View notes
hold me tight - bts | kim dahyun
summary: maybe cupid could save us
pairing: dahyun x fem!reader
themes: angst, fluff, tension, use of flashbacks in italics, marriage counseling, reader insecurity, past physical violence (against original male character, not any member of twice), implied sex, some of twice!
wc: 7.2k
polished silverware, two table napkins, two sets of forks, and knives. a draped tablecloth, and the long wooden table stretching down the dining room. on two ends are two lost souls, once connected with bountiful joy and prosperity. now sat farther apart than the two ends of a colossal ship. barely stitched together by unspoken words and exhaustion.
"what time?" you dig into your steak, back and forth sliding it down the tender meat.
"2pm tomorrow. should i call your assistant?" dahyun digs at her roasted potatoes, a little sweet, just the way she likes it.
"no need, i'll be there." you counter, stabbing the slice of steak, digging into it. pushing the green peas a bit to the left, and sipping the wine. a delicacy truly.
"good." she says quietly, "pass me the pepper?" you look up, the bottle is in the middle.
the dmz line, you lean foward, grabbing a hold of the glass bottle, placing it into her hand.
"here."
"thank you."
the rest of the dinner is followed by the sounds of silverware, and only silverware.
--
dr. yoo jeongyeon, phd, lcpc
you stare at the plaque, gold serif lettering, bold face on top of a black rectangle, sitting directly in the middle of the edge of her desk. your loafers gently tapping the carpeted floor, in time with each tick of a second.
she looks confident, shoulders back and sinking into her leather chair. glasses perched on her nose, a montblanc in hand. eyes a little empty, but inviting, a little too inviting.
"thank you both for joining us today, first time?" dr. yoo starts, eyes taking a slow drift from dahyun to you.
dahyun's legs are tucked together, low heels and a brown suit. she leans forward at dr. yoo's question. "yes, first time."
a simple nod, and a scribble along her notepad. you tilt your head to the right.
"each session with me runs fifty minutes, no longer. if needed, it can be cut short." she says, placing some files away, shuffling paper away, and fixing her glasses. you both nod at the terms. "lovely, could i have you both introduce yourselves?" she continues, eyes back on you and dahyun.
you stare at dahyun.
"i'm dahyun, 26, a fashion designer and a wine enthusiast, lovely to meet you." dahyun stands up, offering a handshake. dr. yoo smiles lightly and shakes it.
"and you?"
"i'm dahyun's wife, 26, ceo and founder of future consultants llc, and a tennis enthusiast."
dr. yoo's eyes stare at you, but her pens moves quickly along the page.
dahyun stares at you, before looking back at her folded hands.
"thank you both, now could you both explain why you are here?" her eyes come back up, those glasses hanging so low is making you mad.
dahyun coughs into her hand.
"we need help." a little unsure, but a desperate plea. your foot stops tapping on the carpeted floor.
dr. yoo scribbles along a new line.
"and you?" the doctor stares at you. you sit up, fixing the buttons on your blazer.
"we're...not the same as we used to be." you say, pulling one leg over the other. dr. yoo nods at that, another line filled.
"alright, now, let me give you some insight on me. i'm dr. yoo jeongyeon, did my phd in human psychology, masters in counseling and bachelor's in neurology. and i'm a lcpc: licensed clinical professional counselor. you can say i'm a people enthusiast." she smiles lightly, dahyun laughs under her breath.
your foot goes back to tapping.
"let's get into it." she sets down the notepad. "could you tell me how you both met?"
--
"what's the maturity date for a treasury bond?"
"20 - 30 years, you seriously have to try harder, sam." you laugh, taking another sip of your beer. sam just grins and flips over a new flashcard.
"okay smarty pants, what are floating-rate notes?" sam taps the index card on the bar table. eyes a little playful, he always did like making you work for your reward.
"they're-"
"stop it ryan." behind you is the voice of a woman, her back hitting yours, nearly spilling your beer. you turn around, a man towering over her, hand on her wrist and his firm grip, stopping her. no matter how hard she tries to pull.
you signal sam.
"take your hand off her." you press down on his wrist, holding his arm in place. the woman stares at you and sam, bewildered eyes and still pulling against ryan's hold.
"fuck off." he spits in your face.
"yeah? let's see how your face looks after this pretty boy." you slam into his chest, him tumbling backwards, foot hitting the barstool and a loud thud hitting the floor. you spot the submariner on his wrist shining under the bar light, fuck.
sam's at the ready, hand on a switchblade, you signal him back, not him.
the woman gasps, hand immediately shooting her sore wrists, shit it looks bad. ryan's still on the group, and then he shoots up. hands at the ready to land a punch, weak form though. you sidestep him, letting him fall forward.
"daddy can't pay to fix your crooked nose?" you smirk at him, taunting him to do anything. his eyes ablaze as he tries again. what a foolish boy.
you let him try and land a left hook, before you start punching his jaw, one good liver punch and he topples over. damn, your jaw hurts too, men like him throw too much of their power into their punches.
"fuck, sam." you groan to your friend, hand trying to pop your jaw back into place. you do, letting out a low shout, before getting your stuff.
stay too long and then he'll call the cops, the last thing you need is another fine print on your academic file. you stumble forward, feeling blood dripping down the side of your head, cheeky bastard, he had rings on.
you barely manage to push the bar door, string of curses falling out of your lip, the cold air immediately frosting your breath. damn it all, and you left your beer half finished.
"excuse me!" the woman's voice carries from the door, and you can see her, urgently trying to get to you. "thank you so much back there."
she's trying to offer you some napkins from her clutch, all you can do it hope that liver punch suckered him to stay on the ground long enough for you to dissapear.
"you have anyone safe?"
"safe?"
you gesture a bit. "like a friend maybe? did you come alone?"
you lean to the side trying to get a glimpse of pretty boy, but he's no where in sight. a good thing. you can see sam though, shoving bills at the bartender, and grabbing jackets.
"no friends, i came with him." her hand goes back to her bruised wrist, yeah that looks awful. you're very glad you stepped in.
"listen, i need to leave now. i would love to do the whole 'thank you, you're welcome' pleasantries, but I don't know how long he'll stay down before he calls the cops."
you explain, seeing sam opening the bar door, urgent eyes calling for you to disappear into the night.
"could you take me home, i really have no other way to get back." you stare into the bar, oh pretty boy's up, shouting at a bartender. you need to exit NOW.
"okay, let's go. i know you're wearing heels, but keep up." you offer a hand, and disappear into the back alleyway. by the time you just turn around the corner at the end, you can hear the distant voice outside the bar.
you're finally in sam's beater car, an old hand-me-down from his grandma, with the girl from the bar in the backseat.
she keeps watching you from the mirror.
"where do you live?" you pull out of the back lot, she's still soothing her bruised wrist.
"eleanor court, upper east side." damn shit, of course she's rich too, loaded with daddy's money just like that dude you suckered punched. how you always manage being at the hands of rich people, you hope to find out soon, because this sucks.
the drive's pretty silent, sam's got his old 80s mixtapes playing from the car radio. and he's humming along as he taps on his passenger door, you're glad that at least one of you has a car.
"woah..." sam brings you out of your thinking. woah is correct, even sam can see it.
colonial style homes the size of manors down the perfectly paved roads. long outdoor lamp lights lining the street. lush bushes and trees lining the sides of the house. not a single police car in sight, you can even see fountains spouting water from a statue.
what a bunch of crap.
"dude, she's asleep." sam taps your shoulder, you quickly put his car in park. looking at her from the rear view, damn she is asleep, jacket covering her torso but her head leaning against the window.
damn, damn, damn.
one wrong HOA member being curious, and you can easily be thrown in jail for the rest of your life. you open your door, rushing to the backseat. opening the door, and placing your hand against her head to keep her body from falling out of the car.
"miss, we're home." she just curls into your hand. "sam, help me hold her up." he nods, using his bodyweight as a rest for the girl's body. you begin searching through her clutch, hopefully she has an id inside.
"kim dahyun.....501 eleanor court." you shove the id back into her clutch. "sam move." you grab a hold of her body, picking her body up. wrapping the jacket and clutch over top of her.
"stay in the car. i'll bring her in." you began walking down the eerily quiet neighborhood, goodness rich people are so pretentious. you struggle to open the gate. then you hear a low mechanic voice.
"hello, who are you?"
"hi, i'm just here to drop off a kim dahyun. she had an issue with some guy at the bar, and she needed someone to take her home." you speak into it, a clicking noise and then the metal box goes silent.
the large metal gates open, you step in, walking up to the front porch, pillars lining the wide entrance.
goodness, you need to get out of this neighborhood. the large wooden door opens and you see two people, a suited man and a maid. of course.
"miss dahyun?" the maid begans fussing over her, hand on her cheek, "oh my!" a loud gasp at the bruised wrist. you drop her into the leather couch.
"what happened?" the butler asks you, offering a towel at your dried blood.
you try your best to keep yourself from dirtying the house, both of them keep staring at you though.
"uh, some guy at the bar, ryan. he kept bruising her wrist, so i had to step in." you point at your head. the butler nods, and the maid begins inspecting the bruise.
"i told miss dahyun to stop seeing him." the butler explains, placing the jacket to cover her.
you nod, so this wasn't even the first time. the maid returns with soothing cream, applying the ointment over her bruised wrists. you stand idly by the couch, a little confused with what to do here.
you stare at dahyun's face, she's rather pretty is what you land on, before the man's voice brings you out of your focus.
"let me offer you a new shirt." you look down, and it does look like you just got into the ring with rocky, blood-dried splotches all over. the butler disappears before you can even say no.
with a folded new shirt, linen and italian, goodness these people have too much money, you shuffle into a bathroom.
changing into it quickly, eyeing all the towels and expensive soaps on the counter. you fix yourself up and exit, seeing the butler and maid still crowding around the girl.
"i, i really should leave. i'm sorry." the butler and maid are still trying to get you to stay, to offer some reward, but really all you want to do is leave this hellscape. unfamiliar faces, with unfamiliar mannerisms, its all too much.
--
"she saved me from a sleazy guy at a bar." dr. yoo jots it down.
"and you?"
"i, i guess i did?"
"you guess?"
"i, yes, i saved her from the sleazy guy." dr. yoo nods.
the ticking sound comes back clearer in your ear. the repetitive ticking feels like tumbling down a hill, imminent and quick swift death.
"let's move on then, how did you two start dating?"
"dahyun was insistent on paying me back for the bar, kept telling me she needed to." you offer.
dr. yoo nods, another scribble along the notepad. then she pulled the file from her desk, and two separate questionnaires werefilled out.
"and it says here, you both attended the same university." ever since dahyun found out you two attended the same university, she began urging you for dinner.
you tried very hard to say no, but in the quad, down the main academic path. she just kept finding you, like a needle in a haystick, she always managed to pick you out from the hundreds of students.
if she wasn't so nice about it, you might have considered it creepy.
"yes, brown." you nod.
"lovely school, my friend's alma mater." dr. yoo comments and lifts her head once more from the notepad.
"how's your sex life?"
you see dahyun's feet uncross and cross again. while you start tapping your foot again.
"we haven't done it," dahyun begins, "in a long while."
dr. yoo nods, and turns to you. "how does that make you feel?"
"i'm not sure."
dr. yoo nods again, dahyun's feet uncross and cross again. the clock's still ticking on the wall.
you are sure it's non-judgmental, it just makes you aggravated, like you're being lectured on how to love.
dahyun can't remember the last time you two have cherished each other. dinner's filled with delicious food, to cover the absence of enticing conversation.
being married to the point of small talk, has drained you both more than you wanted to admit.
"this is still the first session, so let's start with simple exercises. try and vocalize your appreciation for each other. this can be as simple as: i appreciate you doing the dishes today. remember, speaking the unspoken words can change your relationship for the better." dr. yoo stands up, offering you both a handshake and walking you both out her office.
--
"i have to get back to work." you comment, letting dahyun walk in front of you. she nods at that, you both are busy people, even though it's important to try and fix your breaking relationship, you both have jobs to do.
"i'll see you for dinner?" she says as you open her car door, holding a hand over her head as she sits.
"yes, dinner." she nods at you, wanting you to say more. you want to as well, a little unsure.
"thank you, for being here today." she starts, staring up into you, you smile lightly back at her, dahyun's still got that warm eye smile that makes your heart burst.
"you as well dahyun." you lean your head down a bit, "charlie, get her to her office safely." he nods from the rear view. and with that you close her door. watching the car roll away from the sidewalk.
it's weird to have to see a professional for marriage counseling, but in your heart, you do want to fix things with dahyun.
sweet dahyun who is always so concerned with everyone's wellbeing; often neglecting her own. the rest of the afternoon, you try and focus on work, feeling downright awful about how your relationship has disintegrated.
--
"dahyun? i'm home." you enter the brownstone, a little more excited to be home. she's in the kitchen, an adorable brown bear apron over top.
"hey, i'm making pasta tonight." she's smiling.
"need help?"
"no, i should be good. could you set the table?" you leave the kitchen, entering the wine pantry, grabbing one that you know she loves. as well as two glasses, a gift from her parents.
dahyun's walking out with bowls of pasta, surprised to see the bottle in hand.
you begin pouring them into the two glasses, passing one to her, she thanks you quietly, placing down the bowls, and returning to the kitchen. you follow after her, grabbing knives and forks and napkins.
she's busy with another dish, and you hum to yourself, cleaning the silverware while waiting for her.
"damn it. fuck fuck fuck." dahyun's hand jerks back against the pot, her hand instantly going to hold it. you drop the silverware in the sink, quick strides towards her. she burned herself with the pot.
"dahyun, let me see." there are tears in her eyes, and she's shaking her head, she's always been so dismissive of her own pain. you take her hand gently, looking at it. it's definitely bad, red skin over top, hot to the touch. "let's run it under cold water, okay?"
she nods, even though there's tears in her eyes, and all she wants to do is just shrink into herself.
you run the water cold, feeling for it before letting it run over her burned finger. the tears in her eyes are still there, threatening to spill out.
then dahyun cries out. "i'm so stupid, i can't even cook a simple dinner." her tears are falling, much like the water over the hurt finger. like letting the pain rain out from her heart.
"oh dahyun, no you aren't stupid, you never were." you hug her tightly, letting her head fall to your shoulders, quietly crying against your shirt. she cries even harder at that, an anguish cry out for help,
you feel your own tears spring up. how you hate seeing dahyun cry.
"how is it?" you ask, pulling her away, looking at the finger under the water. it's less red, still there but it looks better.
"hurts." she pouts.
"let me go grab some ointment, stay here okay?" you leave, turning down the hallway to the bathroom, rummaging through the medicine cabinet for ointment cream to sooth the pain.
you return quickly, gently dabbing the cream over her finger with a q-tip. letting out a low hiss, and you apologize quickly, letting her relax a bit before continuing to spread it around.
"okay?" you step back, throwing away the q-tip.
"it's good, thank you." then she slips away to finish dinner. you stand by letting out a breath you didn't know you were holding, with every bit of your heart, you hope that dahyun wants to work this out as much as you do.
--
"hello, come on in." dr. yoo's now a familiar face, always a warm if not stoic face. never showing signs of disinterest or much of an opinion, you begin to wonder what it takes to be a professional therapist.
"thank you." you let dahyun ahead of you, her sitting in the left armchair, while you sit on the right. fixing your blazer as you sit with one leg over the other. eyes watching dr. yoo in anticipation.
"how are you both doing?" she starts, that same montblanc in hand, a new shirt, dark blue and glasses hanging on her nose.
dahyun looks to you.
"we're doing okay." you offer, a little smile on your face.
"and you?" dr. yoo turns her head towards dahyun.
"we're doing better." dahyun fiddles with the band-aid over her finger. your eyes linger on it, a reminder of the small act of affection.
"lovely, last time you both mentioned that sexual intimacy had not happened in some time. has that changed since our last session?"
dahyun coughs into her hand, sinking into her armchair. you look away from her.
"no, it hasn't changed." dahyun speaks softly, like she's confessing a sin. you fold your hands over each other.
dr. yoo nods, another line written.
"how is work-life balance for you two?" dr. yoo stares into you, you sit up again.
"it's fine, the normal 9-6pm work day." dr. yoo jots that down. the clock continues to tick in your ears.
"what about you?" dahyun stares at the floor.
"it's okay, usually after work i'll unwind with some wine or television series." dahyun's always been so absorbed with her dramas, often asking you to join her to watch them. you often decline with the pre-tense of overflowing work from the day.
"ah yes, you mentioned you are a wine enthusiast." dahyun nods, wine has always been something she indulged in, you don't share the same love for the drink. finding it all a bit too much for yourself.
"could you tell me how that started?" your eyes go wide a bit, you never bothered to ask dahyun that, just assuming she's always enjoyed it.
"my late father used to own a winery, when i was able to start drinking he started training me as a sommelier." you knew of mr. kim's obsession with wine.
multiple wine cellars across his basement, walls lined with rows of wooden aisles, each row lined with bottles filling the basement. often times you snuck into the basement with dahyun sharing kisses and giggles away from the prying eyes of her parents.
"sorry to hear that mrs. kim, that's lovely to hear that you still has a passion for wine." dr. yoo continues, letting the words fly across the notepad. you uncross and cross the other leg over.
"and you mentioned you were a tennis enthusiast, how did that start?" dr. yoo's eyes are still on the notepad, pen quickly running across the page. you lean forward a bit.
"my friend sam, used to sneak us into the tennis bubble after work, when all the people left the country club. and we would play for hours." dr. yoo nods, more lines filling across the page.
"you never told me it was because of sam, you said it was just a hobby you had." dahyun comments, eyes on you, a little suprised at the conversation.
"i couldn't afford tennis equipment, too expensive." you explain.
dr. yoo continues to write as you and dahyun talk.
"but all those times you came to the country club, you offered to pay for the tab." dahyun leans into you a bit, you let your eyes wander over the name plaque on dr. yoo's desk.
"had to work overtime to pay it off." dahyun sinks back into her chair.
"and dahyun, you seem suprised, how does this make you feel?"
she looks back at her hands.
"i feel awful, i didn't know it costed that much for you." you return your gaze to her, watching the anguish in her eyes.
you wish you didn't feel ashamed about your financial situation, but every second spent with the kims was another jab at your own social status.
"i'm sorry dahyun, i kept it from you because i didn't want you to treat me differently." you shrink a bit, pulling the blazer a bit tighter. eyes falling to the floor naturally.
"and i'm sorry too, for never noticing." dahyun speaks it softly, you barely register the words.
you just nod, letting her hand hold yours. you can't bring yourself to look at her, too ashamed that you feel like you have to hide yourself from the woman you devoted your life to.
you begin to think about the early days of dating dahyun, days filled with anticipation of seeing her. constantly checking your account for how much you could expend on your paycheck, often stretching it for a simple date.
often on the weekends, the kim's visited the country club, the managers all fussing over them, pampering them with free items, as if the rich needed more free item, it used to make you angry.
but never dahyun, a sweet girl built upon integrity and honesty, always offering to pay. treating you with respect that most members of the country would never do, them often throwing towels or other trash at you to pick up. and with gritted teeth, you always do, remembering you needed this job.
"so you both met often at the country club?" dr. yoo cuts into your thinking, pulling you out of your memories. one's that are filled with happiness and anger, all in the same bunch. anger at the rich, but happiness at seeing that beautiful smile in person.
"yes, i worked there, and dahyun's family were well known members there." you explain, squeezing dahyun's hand in yours.
--
"2 o'clock, the kims." your head snaps up from the tennis magazine you're reading. and there you can see your supervisor and your supervisor's supervisor crowding around the kim's.
especially dahyun's mother, she was always more prone to fawning at the attention that the staff would shower them in.
"stand up!" you read from your supervisor's mouth, then he goes back to smiling fakely at the kim's probably hoping to pick at their pockets later when they're far too tipsy from all the champagne they bathe in.
"one day i'm going to strangle him." you side whisper to sam as you both bow at the family.
"not if i get to him first." sam side whispers back, smiling at the kim's. continue to bow at them as they walk across the lobby to the courts. squeaky new tennis shoes on the marble floor.
"hey! you work here!" that familiar voice., you've been trying to avoid her since she found you in the quads hanging out with sam. insistently trying to get you to let her pay you back for the bar.
"hi miss, glad to see you are doing better." sam walks away, citing a need for a bathroom break, but you know better with the way he playfully walks away.
"you still haven't said yes to letting me pay you back."
"because you don't have to pay me back, i just did a nice deed."
"and you should be rewarded." you just sink back into your stool. letting her lean over the desk. "well as kim dahyun, a prized patron here, i order you to follow me to the courts."
"the courts?"
"yes, i want to play." you stand up, heading into the back to get that signature tennis racket that she loves so much, specific engraving of her name etched on the neck of the racket. "grab another one!" she shouts from the desk. you grab a generic one, one that still costed way more than a month's paycheck. placing both racquets under your arm.
"here's what we're going to do, three games, if i win three, i get to pay you back for the bar, dinner on me.
"miss dahyun, that really isn't neccessary."
"it's my wish, and you can't deny a patron's wish here."
so you get beaten, pretty badly, 0 - 3. with you sweating and falling on your back, breathing heavy as dahyun grins from the other side of the court. letting out a loud laugh.
"dinner on me, i'll drag you there myself if i have to!" dahyun's still bouncing a tennis ball with her racket while you recover your breath, all you can do is lift an arm to give her a thumbs up.
--
"well i am afraid our time is up for today, please schedule a session again soon." dr. yoo offers a light smile, and walks you both out of the door. letting the heavy door close behind you. you look at dahyun, she hasn't looked at you since the confession.
you walk her to her car, "dahyun, i really am sorry for hiding it from you. i just didn't want money to affect us."
she stares at your blazer, it's buttoned, the same button she stitched on a couple weeks ago.
"but it does, doesn't it?"
"money?" you stop to think about it, as much as you tried to let it not be a determining factor in your relationship with dahyun.
it really does bleed into your relationship, leaving you paralyzed with fear that she'll leave you.
when you first met the kim's for an official dinner introduced as dahyun's girlfriend, you spent hours with sam trying to find a decent hand-me-down outfit for the dinner.
they were not impressed to say the very least, you had no proper dinner manners. confused your soup spoon with the dessert spoon. nearly knocking wine onto mr. kim.
"i think it did, for a very long time." you open the door for dahyun, letting her in, hand covering her head as she sits inside. you walk over to the driver's side, sitting inside. "i wanted to prove myself to your family, but mostly to you."
"you didn't need to prove anything to me." she says, hands gently grabbing yours. you feel your heart sink a bit.
"it sucked, seeing all your friends get gifted lavish trips and designer bags, while all i could afford to do was cook you homemade dinners." you explain, thinking back your university days, meeting dahyun's friend.
"but that's what they didn't have." she counters. "all the homemade gifts, it was just gifts with enough value to hold each other over."
you really did try your best, with limited budget and often asking for favors. you did your best to offer the best anniversary, valentine's, and birthday gifts.
all of which were intended to express your love for her, spending hours decorating homemade cakes, learning how to cook dinners for two. renting cars to go on road trip, all of which you happily experienced with dahyun.
"i wanted to be someone you could confidently show off to your friends." you think back to dahyun's birthday parties.
open bars, waiters and a massive table filled with gifts for her. all you could do was stare in wonder at the exuberant gifts, all the while you would shrink into yourself, trying to hide your embarrassment watching her open your gifts.
"do you? did you...resent me for it? having money i mean." dahyun drops the question you've been trying so hard to ignore. it's been plaguing your mind lately, how you think about how hard you tried, giving your all into your work for an ounce of validation from the kim's.
validation that you never seem to get.
"no, never. never you, you were the only person i didn't resent." you smile at her, genuinely, and she smiles back. you're glad you met her, even if the circumstances have made your life complicated.
"for the record, i was always confident in showing you off, because i knew who you were in your heart." you give her hand a squeeze as you drive home.
--
"another hour please, i'll pay triple." you say, staring at dr. yoo.
"i'm sorry mrs. kim, but i have another appointment." she stands up, trying to walk you out of the room, and when the door opens, there stands two woman on the other side.
"sorry for the delay, mrs. and mrs. park."
"no worries, dr. yoo, sana and i don't mind." the two woman nod at you, before sitting in the same chairs that you and dahyun were sitting just seconds ago.
"i'm sorry mrs. kim, but really, we don't have more time today, schedule another appointment soon." and dr. yoo closes her heavy wooden door.
you nod solemnly, "dr. yoo, i'm sorry for my behavior." you explain, a bit embarrassed now.
"no need, i understand. go check up on mrs. kim." she just nods and gives your shoulder a pat, closing the door again.
now you stand in the office lobby, with a crying dahyun in a chair.
you sink to your knees, eyes staring up at her. her hair like curtains to her face, concealing the quiet sniffles and sobs that she's letting out.
"dahyun, darling?"
the tears keep falling, staining her dress pants, you hold her shaky hands. as she speaks to you, holding her breath here and there to control her emotions. "you never told me."
"i know, i didn't want to burden you." rubbing at her hands to sooth the pain in her heart.
"but isn't that what we're here for, to shoulder each other's burdens." she cries louder, a couple in the office look over, but you don't care right now. you brush the tears away.
"we are, i just, i didn't know how to tell you."
"but he, he did all that to you, and you didn't tell me. he's my own father."
"i know, i am sorry."
"let's go home please, i want to talk at home." you nod, letting her walk to the car, following her footsteps closely.
--
dr. yoo welcomes you both into her office, getting familiar with the diptyque roses candle burning lowly on the desk.
"mrs. and mrs. kim, please have a seat." dahyun smiles as she sits down, a new pair of glasses hanging on her nose.
"new glasses?" you ask.
dr. yoo smiles at that, pushing up the glasses. "yes, new! just got them yesterday. you smile, dr. yoo has become a familiar and friendly face with you and dahyun. almost like she's a friend, almost.
"shall we get started?" she looks up at you two, that same notepad in hand and the montblanc.
you both nod in sync.
"so, how have you both been?"
"good." dahyun smiles a bit, letting her arm lay along the armchair, eyes brighter than usual. you smile at that.
"and you?"
"we're doing better, i'm happier." dr. yoo write it along a new line, a light smile on her face.
"that's lovely to hear, could you explain why?" dr. yoo picks her head up, watching you explain how life has been. there's been a shift at home, dahyun and you having more time to go on dates instead of tensed dinners filled with the sounds of silverware.
"we spend more time together, having lunch together, and dinner's have become fun to cook together." dr. yoo nods at that, more words written along the notepad, you share a warm gaze at dahyun. her eyes smiling in that way you love so much.
"i haven't asked this before, but how are the in-laws?"
you immediately frown, thinking about the pretentious man that was dahyun's father. a dicator in the family, ruling with an iron fist and often giving you trouble for growing up "different." as he so nicely put it.
you often remember dinner's with the kims filled with biting your tongue and just letting snide comments go by, even dahyun's mother had no say whenever he made uncomfortable jokes.
"i don't think dahyun's parents liked me much, especially her father." you sit back, continuing your thoughts about the demanding man.
"could you expand on that?"
"i didn't grow up rich, which was the biggest thing he disliked, he didn't think i was a good fit for dahyun." you explain, often remembering the side comments that her father would make when dahyun couldn't hear.
"and did you know about this?" dr. yoo turns to dahyun.
"yes. he was adamant about me breaking up with her but i never did." that you didn't know. you always assumed that it was just sly comments towards you, but never did mr. kim outward display his disdain towards you to dahyun.
you button up your jacket. dr. yoo continues to write across her page, leaving you both to sit and think about dahyun's words.
"understood, do you think dahyun's parents affected your relationship with dahyun?" you think about the question, how loaded it all is, you cannot even begin to explain how suffocating being around him was.
family dinners spent trying to escape into the bathroom so he would stop pestering you about your business ventures, or the capital that you had under your belt. you just shudder whenever it becomes holiday seasons.
fearful of the power that mr. kim had over you, one of his last wishes before he passed away was upending his entire gambling debt onto you.
it had become a hold over you, that he would only support the love that you had for dahyun if you were able to help pay off his debt. it became a huge burden on your shoulders, conjuring up a plan to reach financial freedom and success without hindering dahyun's future.
one that you wanted to support from day one, pushing her towards her goal of becoming a fashion designer, every day you suffered at the hands of her father, letting his debt take over your life, all to prove your devotion to dahyun.
and it hurt, to shoulder this weight alone, you always had shouldered the weight of the world on your shoulders to begin with.
"yes, unfortunately. dahyun's father, he. he told me that by taking on his gambling debt before he died, that he would allow me to marry dahyun." you explain, feeling your shoulders release tension.
dr. yoo continues to write fervently, eyes on the page, but a slight nod here and there. you can feel dahyun's gaze on your face, one in disbelief and utter shock. you turn to look at her, meeting her blank eyes.
more than anything, you beg for dahyun to understand, to really understand where you are coming from. a whole life you lived having to make opportunities for yourself, little to no support from others. fighting tooth and nail just to prove that you are worth it. that you are deserving of success and love.
"were you aware she took on your father's debt?" dr. yoo looks to dahyun, not missing a beat or letting any inflection slip in her tone.
"i wasn't. i wasn't even aware he had debt to begin with. what? sorry. um, what? no sorry, how much?" dahyun turns to you, trying to understand all the information that has just been dumped onto her.
"50 million." you sigh, just thinking about the figures. spending late nights calculating interest, and ways to even pay off the large sum of money.
"50? million?" dahyun stands up suddenly, you stand up too. watching her bewildered eyes scan across the room, trying to control her breathing, watching the clock, watching the blue in the reds in the carpet. holding herself as she walks out of the room.
you stare at the open door, the sight of dahyun turning and sinking into a chair.
dr. yoo stands up.
"mrs. kim, perhaps we should end this session here today. dahyun seems to be shutting down."
--
you and dahyun are standing on both ends of the table, her eyes filled with tears as she glares at you.
"you don't think i recognize money-obsessed? you think i can't recognize my father turning you into him? that's all i can see! our marriage is falling apart and you have become my father and i've become my own mother!"
"dahyun, please, all i wanted was to marry you, he forced his hand, i didn't know what else to do." you can feel yourself shaking a bit, your heart racing as you both stand on opposite ends of the room.
"you should have told me." dahyun arms are crossed as she stares you down.
"i didn't want to tarnish the image of your father. i just wanted to love you, and if that was the final condition to marry you, i would do it.." you throw your arms around, frustrated with all this confrontation.
"his gambling debt costed us years of our marriage, can't you see? all this time you wanted to prove yourself to him, he just used you to fix his own problems." dahyun uncrosses her arms, voice reverberating around the large dining room.
"i thought, i thought it would, make him okay with me." your hands drop to your face as you cry into your hands. dahyun stops and walks over to you, wrapping her arms around you, holding you tightly.
"oh darling, i wish you didn't care so much for him opinion." she softly rubs your hair, rubbing circles into the back of your chest as you cry freely. for the first time in a long time, you feel the exhaustion, sadness, yearning all come crashing through your body.
"i wish i didn't too." through long cries in between you finally vocalize it.
"but you love me? isn't that why you did all this?" she questions, a thought thats been plaguing her mind. do you still love her? do you still have the same passion for her you once declared openly to the world? do you still mean each vow you said to her as your hands held hers?
"i do, more than anything else in the world, i love you. my words can only show so much of it." you lift your head up, wiping her tears as she wipes yours.
a small smile on her lips, it's all so stupid.
"show me." she stops crying for a bit, eyes glimmering with hope. she stares at you, in that way you love so much.
"show you?" you try and stop the tears, getting a clearer view of her face.
"show me how much you love me." she says crashing her lips into yours, pulling you forward, your feet nearly stumbling as you wrap your arms around her waist. "show me."
she whispers against your lips, like a spell, you nod and grab a hold of her, rushing you both into your bedroom. you try and show her, that the passion you have for her has always been there, and always will.
--
"mrs and mrs. kim!" dr. yoo invites you in, a warm light shining into the room. you both get seated, while dahyun lets go of your hand.
"i know last time, we had a bit of an outburst, how has that been?" dr. yoo stares at you both, notepad in hand.
"we resolved it." dahyun says confidently.
"resolved it?" she stares at dahyun. dahyun just nods.
"and you? what do you think?"
"we resolved it." you nod back, smiling at dahyun.
"alright, that's lovely to hear. so to follow up, how is sexual intimacy going?" dr. yoo notes the light blush on your faces, unwilling to look at her or even each other.
"it's, it's um, it's good." dahyun starts and coughs a bit, shuffling her feet.
"and you?"
"it's good. very good." you reply, and dahyun slaps your arm, trying to get you to shut up.
"oh i see." dr. yoo writes along a new line of her notepad. eyes reviewing her notes so far, comparing previous sessions with this one.
"is there more we should discuss?" dr. yoo comments, eyes lifting off the page again, a light smile upon her face.
"no, i don't think so." dahyun nods at your words, you smile at her. and she shares that same eye smile that you love so much right back.
"right then, well, these sessions are on a as-needed basis. so let me say this in the nicest way possible. i hope we never have to meet in this room again. although my door is always open." dr. yoo gives you both a wink as she ushers you both outside. you wrap your arm around dahyun's shoulder, a little smile on your face.
you hold onto dahyun just a little tighter.
--
a/n: genuinely had so much trouble with this fic, but it has come to fruition so i'm happy regardless! had to do research on marriage counseling and i hope it is obvious but this is fictional and i am not a licensed therapist so there will be inaccuracies. also shoutout to @cry4mina who listened to me word vomit my troubles with this fic <3 please listen to the song as well as look up the meaning of the song!! stay safe and stay healthy everyone!!
to @saiiidahyunee this fic is for you, hope you enjoyed <333
239 notes
·
View notes
Vesuvia Weekly: What it's like to hold the M6
~ my submission for this week's prompt - have some sappy headcanon drabble ^.^ ~
Julian
The sounds of leather folding and bending and creaking, of a pent up sigh, of a noble, anxious, too-big-for-its-own-good heartbeat fluttering against those thin, bird-like ribs
The smell of - yes, more leather - with a slight hint of sweat and the faded scent of the crushed herbs used to stuff doctor's masks
The feel of a well-worn, weather tested, oversized coat falling around both your frames, a cold set of bony fingers tangling into your hair through protective gloves
The sight of folded black cloth and slightly dulled metal buttons, a pale neck cradling your forehead, auburn stubble shivering over a bobbing adam's apple
The bitter taste of sea-salty lips, self-sacrifice, and coffee
Asra
The sound of an airy chuckle, a curious whisper, a deep, relaxed sigh, a heartbeat that touches your own with every gentle thump
The smell of smoking incense, sparkling spices, and syrupy vanilla, lurking beneath the petrichor of sunny spring rains on the dust of a far-off highway
The feel of a soft shawl on your cheek, sturdy linen body-warmed and slightly rough under your arms, heavy, heated hands running soothing pathways along your spine, cloud soft curls on your ears, a deceptively slight frame
The sight of golden metal and silvery blue stone on smooth skin, the barely-there rise and fall of a body slowly relaxing into yours
The taste of smoky tea, home, and desperate dedication
Nadia
The sound of rustling silks, the quiet clink of bracelets and rings, the hush of long, thick hair falling over chiffon-clad shoulders, a contented, throaty hum, a lofty heartbeat
The smell of jasmine, rose, pepper, and amber, of warm silk and chilled white wine, of flower gardens and powdery cosmetics
The feel of a heavy curtain of hair against your face, body warmth passing quickly through thin, gauzy sleeves wrinkling under your movements, of strong fingers tilting your chin into her collarbone
The sight of glinting gemstones and finely crafted metal, intricate embroidery stitches swirling across lustrous fabric, scalloped hemlines along sculpted shoulders
The taste of spiced fish, wine, and plush, commanding adoration
Muriel
The sound of heavy, rough cloth slowly dragging across itself, breaths hitching deep and slow, a grumble quiet and low enough to shake the earth, a nervous, powerful heartbeat
The smell of myrrh hanging around you like a cloud, of warm fur and chilly forest air, of falling leaves and running water and smoke
The feel of muscle and scruff, of radiating body heat, of massive, calloused palms alternating between gently splaying over your shoulders like blanketing weights and hovering cautiously around your waist in fluttering, feather like touches
The sight of thick, dark hair falling in choppy lengths over stubble and scar tissue, of thick green cloth over sinew
The taste of grilled forage and mead, of healing and steadfastness
Portia
The sound of an excited giggle, springing footsteps and jingling keys, a happy gasp and unstoppable heartbeat, a mischievous secret getting laughed into your ear
The smell of air-drying laundry and soap, hair oil and cocoa butter, fresh bread and sizzling butter and caramelizing berries
The feel of strong forearms, small, calloused hands, the push of energetic bouncing against your shoulder, of hair flying around your face, the plush squish of a no-holds-barred bear hug
The sight of fiery curls spilling over clean, pressed cotton, freckles speckling creamy skin, the occasional grey and white cat hair clinging to black ribbon, the dusk of a happy blush
The taste of yeasty bread, and the comforts of adventure
Lucio
The sounds of nearby dogs panting, a cutlass clanking in its sheath, the mechanical whir and musical hum of an alchemical arm, a confident, snorting chuckle and a devoted heartbeat
The smell of fresh sweat, warm metal, cinnamon alcohol in a journeyman's flask, hair gel and worn cologne
The feel of a padded, quilted vest, the quick rise and fall of an active chest, the slight tilt of a shoulder forever sloped in favor of a heavy arm, the sinewed grip of a warrior's touchstarved fingers and the cool, metallic touch of a careful clawed hand
The sight of sharp collarbones and glinting curved gold, fine flaxen hair at the nape of a snowy neck, crimson cloth and leather straps
The taste of grilled meat, traveler's wine, and new beginnings
220 notes
·
View notes
Let Me Lean On You
Pairing: John Price x F!Reader
Synopsis: You have a bad habit of putting yourself in harm’s way, enraging John to no end. But can you survive a wound like this? Or will everything you hate to love about John Price never see the light of day?
Word Count: 13.3K (yes this is a novel; yes this is longer than any English paper I’ve ever written)
Warnings: blood, wounds, heavy on the gore, swearing, violence, suggestive, angst, fluff, enemies-to-lovers type of relationship but you’re both down bad
A/N: This is heavily story-motivated (I’ve found out I can’t write anything not gigantically plot-oriented; I’m so sorry). I’ve taken that into account as this probably won’t do as well as I expect due to that fact. Nonetheless to those who interact -- thank you and enjoy! P.s. as always this is barely edited.
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
The blood was gushing too fast, pouring out of the wound like the gaping hole was nothing more than a faucet with the double handles thrown all the way on.
“Fuck,” You whimper, grasping pointlessly at the bullet wound in your abdomen with shaking fingers and sputtering breath. The blood slips out from under your fingers, cascading down the gear on your right thigh and splattering to the ground. Everything on that side of your body side was stained a vicious shade of red; sticky, heated, and pulsing.
All of it had gone wrong so quickly – Graves, Shadow Company, Alejandro Vargas, and Los Vaqueros.
“I should have seen it. Graves was never to be trusted,” You gasp out as you force yourself onwards, all but dragging your body through the dense forest to try and find shelter in the nearby city, “But Shepherd? Fuck me. I worked for that man for damn near five years and turns out he’s a traitor? Well…that’s what I get for trusting a bald guy, I guess.” Moaning out a curse, you rip open the medical pouch on your vest with vibrating fingers, the white stitched cross taunting you as you get it bloody. Your other hand clenches over the hole in your side as if that alone would stop you from dying, fingers slipping as more death splatters to the ground.
The rain was the worst part. A storm at night was terrible already, but here the rain created a shield of delirium as you hobbled on, with nothing to be seen beside the trees and rocks a few feet ahead of you. Even face-planting would serve as a death sentence for you. Who knew if you would be able to get up again?
Your black athletic shirt was sticking to you on the parts that your vest didn’t, and your cargo pants had come unstuffed from your black boots. Over your back, your modified SP-X 80 Sniper Rifle was ten times heavier than it should be, the barrel hitting the back of your numb knee at your uneven and sloppy pace. But you were far too stubborn to stop now. And pissed.
Tearing out a plastic-covered wrap of gauze and a rag from your pouch, you paused near a large bolder, panting like a dog as your lungs gasp for air. You tilt your head back as you drag the side of your shirt up, hearing the wet thump of a river of blood splashing into the flooded grass. Your skull connects with the chilled rock behind you as a wet cough in your throat bursts out into the sky.
“Okay,” You give yourself false confidence, moving to grasp the gauze with the side of your clattering teeth and grabbing the rag with both hands; you twist it to resemble a torpedo in shape. Looking down at yourself you have to suppress the bile building in your throat, coughing once more and feeling dark phlegm fly past your quivering lips, “Okay, okay, okay…I can do this. I can do it.”
Before you can stop yourself you twist the rag and shove it into your open wound, letting lose a wail of agony that’s thankfully covered by a slash of lightning over the black sky. Shoving it deeper, you feel it inside of your skin, moving like a parasite as your fingers splay over your skin. You grit your teeth and drop the gauze to the ground as the acidic feel of vomit rushes past your lips; with cracking knees you bend forward and release your guts into the grass, hacking until there's nothing left but regret and a vile taste on your tongue. Tears track down your cheeks as you breathe out a sobbing breath.
Through gritted teeth and blurry vision, you feel the rag peaking all the way through the entry and the exit points, and hope that the actions you’ve taken will buy you time to find Sergeant MacTavish and Lieutenant Ghost – if they were even still alive, that is.
“I swear,” You snatch the gauze from the ground, happy for the protective bag over the wrappings, as you sniffle with slurred words, ripping open the plastic with your teeth, “This is bullshit! If Price and Gaz are having a good time right now I’m telling Laswell to go pound sand the next time she tells me to go out in the field with these two. The Captain already gets on my nerves, but if I get to skip the part of hiking in the Mexican wilderness while I’m bleeding out– ”
A twig snaps off into the trees.
You immediately halt wrapping the gauze around your middle, securing the rag in place as it already begins to stain red. At your right thigh, your fingers brush the Basilisk Revolver as it lays dormant; heavy and cold to the touch as rain slides off its side. Your pulse, if possible, increases.
The only twigs I saw back there were large ones – and any animals in the area would have run from the Shadows popping off shots back on the road, Your body’s already moving, not focusing on the pain in your side as you tie off the gauze with such a tight knot it forces a grunted profanity from deep in your chest. You decide to keep the Basilisk in its holster, for now, instead favoring the combat knife at your shoulder and blinking away the rainwater and bitter tears from your eyelashes.
Not impressed, A deep raspy voice echoes in your brain before your grunt and force it down.
You unclip the clasp on the knife’s leather sheath before drawing the black metal, bringing it to your side; weaving behind rocks and trees as the light of the city in the distance gets larger. Behind you, you leave the noise of muffled voices with a nervous swallow. A gunshot would bring much-unwanted attention, and for all you knew you were all alone out here. You were being hunted.
Well, good for you that you always worked better alone anyways.
“I need to get to the city, try to radio the boys, and find a quick way out,” You grunt, wanting to itch the wound at your side as the rag pulls at the inside of your skin, making you feel unnaturally stuffed like a turkey. The skin around the fabric was undoubtedly bruising quickly, and already you could feel the pain pulsing like a bad headache leaving the skin hot and sweaty despite the cool rain and chilled winds. You just hoped you wouldn’t get an infection from this later, “If I’m lucky the radio signal will fix itself when I’m closer. If not I’ll need to slice a few necks and hope they have ear pieces I can snatch along the way.”
You had a bad habit of talking to yourself – as Price had pointed out on multiple occasions. Dodging a downturned tree, the houses in the distance begin to take shape, their colorful paint like a beacon dragging you in.
Captain John Price, You grumble before stifling a whimper at a spike of pain in your side, stumbling before you right yourself, or should I call him ‘ Captain Pain-in-my-Fucking-Ass?’ He acts like I can’t do my damn job – like I’m not one of the highest-ranking CIA Agents in the damn USA. Thinks he can handsomely swagger his way into a room and act like I’ll take his bullshit with a grin and a nod.
Your free hand connects with a stucco wall of a house on the outskirts of the city of Las Almas, the exterior painted a warm orange which was now stained with your crimson handprint. Sucking in a deep breath, you lick your lips and peak around the corner, conscious of the black void of the forest at your side.
Immediately your eyes land on the bodies.
Left to lie like useless sacks they’re sprawled in the street, limbs twisted and bent in grotesque displays as if it was an old renaissance painting. As a chill travels down your spine, you can’t help but call comparison to the grim artwork of Peter Paul Rubens's The Massacre of the Innocents. You never thought that a quick trip after a mission to a Canadian art museum would prompt a callback quite like this; in fact, you had prayed you’d never see anything like that painting in real life. But here they were, people, innocent people, of all ages gunned down en masse, with some visibly clutching onto loved ones; shielding children from the relentless downpour of bullets that now take home in their flesh. The small rivers running into the storm drains ran red with blood.
“Shadows did this?” You breathe out, voice small under the downpour as you blank at the sight ahead of you. The lightning strikes in answer, leaving a deep rumble in its wake. Or maybe that was just the enraged snarl that played off your lips, echoing into the streets like a rabid dog. A thought strikes you between fiery thoughts and clenched fists.
This just happened, Swallowing the mucus and blood in your throat, you shake your head from side to side to dispel your running thoughts, revenge later. I need to find the others.
Taking the nearest corner you stalk your way through alleyways, breaking into houses when needed when you heard shouting nearby, and carefully maneuvered your feet around more corpses.
“This is a fucking war crime,” You whisper, gripping your knife a little tighter and snarling as you spy two more dead bodies in the home you were now in; one was a woman in her late thirties, clutching another no older than ten, who in turn holds a blood-crusted tiger stuffed animal to her chest. Like a grim pack of Russian Dolls, one after the other, “Graves’ll hang for this. I’ll see to it myself if they make me. Shepherd too.”
You rip your eyes away before you have the chance to cry and go back to rummaging through a kitchen cupboard, finding a few spools of fishing net and a fabric needle in a spare parts drawer. Stashing them in your medical pocket, you reason with yourself that if worse comes to worst you’ll be forced to cauterize and stitch the gaping wound in your side by yourself. But not yet.
Find the boys.
Gripping the radio connected just above your breast, you press down on the button, sending out a signal through a blind channel. The static accompanies you for a moment as you catch your breath leaning on the kitchen wall and leaving a small sprinkling of blood behind.
Licking your tense lips, you utter, “This is Bravo 7-2 ‘Goldfinch’ reaching out over the Blind. Is anyone there? Over.” You release the button waiting impatiently as the seconds drag on.
Again your press down, “Ghost? Soap? Do you copy?”
Nothing.
Clenching your jaw another wave of pain travels up your feet, you wrench down on the button with a contorted face and snarl, “I swear to fucking high heaven, boys, if you don’t answer this goddamn radio I’m going to find your corpses myself and chuck them over a cliff–”
“Christ, Goldfinch, we get the bloody picture. Now stop your yammering and tell us where you are.”
“Oh, tell you where I am,” You grumble although a relieved sigh falls from your lips at the familiar Manchester drawl that belongs to your Lieutenant Ghost. You feel yourself deflate against the wall with a grunt, “We have Mr. Bossy over here. Where’s the ‘Please?’”
“Goldfinch–”
“Well, I can say it’s a pleasure to hear that American voice of yours, Ma’am. Good to know you’ll be joining us on our late-night getaway from the Shadows.”
There’s Sargent MacTavish, You huff out a breath in amusement.
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Soap.” Pushing yourself off the wall with clenched eyelids, you take a step out into the open space of the dining room, “But the attempt was admirable—!”
A force slams you to the ground, finger releasing the radio abruptly as you let out a strangled grunt. Bracing your head for the blow to the floor you manage to twist yourself and land on your back, taking the brunt of the tackle to your spine and not your damned side. Not that it hurt any less. It was easier said than done, as even the sensation of hands on your thigh, trying to pry your Basilisk from its holster was sending spikes of pain radiating like a burning pike through your veins. Like hands were prying apart your skin with blunt nails.
You bring your knee up and twist your shoulders as the shrouded outline of someone on top of you slams to the side with a curse. Wrenching yourself up, you grab harshly onto the Shadow’s opposite shoulder and batter the man to the ground, effectively switching positions and barring him from grabbing anything before your knife finds home in his right eye. You hear the orb pop with a spray of fluid that washes your face as you force the blade deeper, listening to the now gasped pleas from the talking corpse under you. He grasps at your arms, trying to pry off your iron grip before you send the knife all the way to the hilt with a strangled yowl.
The man goes limp, and his arms fall from you with a thump.
Groaning your get to your feet and yank at your blade, placing a boot over the man's face and pulling until you hear the sweet clunk of metal separating from soft, pliable, flesh.
“God, man,” You glare down at the black-clad Shadow Company member, “did you really have to tackle me?” Grabbing at your side, you grunt at the feeling of blood through the gauze, before pulling your hand away to look at the damage, “That hurt like a bitch.”
It was only then you heard the yelling voices over the radio, calling your name.
“Yeah, yeah,” You press the button and effectively shut the boys up, standing dumbly in the torn-apart dining room and putting more weight on your non-injured side, “I’m fine. Shadow got the jump on me. Took care of it.”
Grimacing, you lightly flutter your eyebrows as the world spins for a second. Soap speaks first.
“Warn us next time, Lass,” He whispers, “Bout gave us a heart attack out here. Thought we lost you for a moment.”
In typical Ghost fashion, he only grunts his concern.
“Thanks, Soap, I’ll be sure to take that into consideration. I’ll call out ‘Soccer’ next time for a heads-up.”
“Oh, you are devious, Ma’am.”
“Any injuries, Goldfinch?”
You clean the remnants of flesh off the edge of your knife on your wet sleeve, stalking up the stairs of the house to case the place for other hidden Shadows. You didn’t bother checking the dead one – if he was desperate enough to attack you with his bare fists he lost his group and ran out of ammo a long time ago. That was probably Ghost’s fault if you had to guess.
“Pretty bad one in my lower abdomen,” You admit, pausing on a creaky step and peeling your ears to listen for any nose. When there wasn’t any, you continued up, “Stuffed a rag in it and wrapped it, so I’ll be good for at least a half-an-hour if I’m lucky. Ten minutes if not.”
“Bloody hell, Goldfinch, just now?” The words are drawn out in solidarity.
“Nah, back near the highway. And what can I say, Ghost, I don’t make a fuss. Does hurt like you’re getting your intestines removed though – wouldn't recommend.”
“How in the hell do you know what that feels like?”
“Trade secret, now, shh!” You get to a closed door at the end of a halfway and press your ear to the woodgrain, feeling water drip down your neck and from your nose to plunk against the floor. But you can’t help but flush at Soap’s next comment.
“I can see why Price likes her so much, L.t.”
That gives you pause, your pain momentarily forgotten in the shock.
L-Likes?! Your mind seems to come to a screeching halt, and you feel your eyes widen, horrified, The hell does he mean the Captain likes me? Price can’t stand the sight of me!
You briefly think back on the last mission you had gone on with the Captain and Sergeant Garrick with a tight chest – an intel Op. in the suburbs of Amsterdam.
The goal was simple and the plan was perfect; you and Laswell would link up with Captain Price and Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick in Amsterdam where the pair was tracking an AQ cell on the docks and figure out this missile fiasco. Ideally, the private plane you and your fellow Agent had gotten on would have flown faster – at least you would think it would until the knowledge that the ETA was upwards of two hours punched you in your gut.
You had scowled as you wiped down your rifle's inner workings with a rag, the bits and pieces you had added onto the weapon yourself taking up most of your time when cleaning. Picking up the larger scope with an annoyed hitch to your breath you had turned to Laswell as she gave orders to Price over the radio.
“Two hours? Laswell, I could have taught myself to fly and gotten us there faster.” Your superior had sent you a glance, lips twitching up.
“Still impatient, I see.”
“Rookie coming along?” That was the first time you had heard the Captain’s voice in a long time, and immediately you had picked up on the prodding question hidden under the first.
Who the hell are you dragging into my operation? Or even, Do I look like I have time to babysit?
Had he forgotten you so soon?
“Quite the opposite – Goldfinch is joining us.”
You could hear a pin drop.
“I’m freezing my ass off in a river right now, Laswell, but if I had the time I’d try and wrap my head around what you just said. Can’t say I’d find an ending that has nobody scratching their heads.”
You bring the scope to your eye, looking through the glass to make sure it’s as clear as it can be. Satisfied, you lower it and send a glance to the phone on the tiny table with growing rage and sarcasm, “I’m flattered, Captain.”
“Don’t be, Muppet. I’m guessing you still have a habit of running off-script – creating more problems than necessary that I have to clean up? I’d expect nothing less from a woman like you…you ROG?” You feel yourself bristle, heat rising to your face at the jab. Sure you had a hard-set conscious, but only good things came out of you running off on your own when placed with others.
Playing nice was never part of your job description, nor, in some special cases, was respect. You played by different rules than normal soldiers.
Laswell shifts in her seat but doesn’t tell you to stop when a low growl enters the cockpit. You place the cleaned scope onto the table carefully and narrow your eyes.
“Ironic, coming from a man who consistently disobeys orders like there’s no tomorrow. I can’t count how many headaches you’ve given Laswell since I’ve been by her side. And, Hell, at least I manage to get the job done without leaving a bitter taste in everyone’s mouth,” You lean closer to the phone with curled lips, “You, ROG, Captain?”
From there it had been narrowed glances and snide remarks when you and Price finally met face-to-face on the landing strip. Eyes heated with anger. Gaz had been pleasant, at least, and it was good to see the man again, you admit, but John was…well he was something.
Something handsome to put it plainly, and that fact drove you crazy.
You couldn’t deny your attraction to the older man’s physicality – not even the time of your first meeting years prior. He had biceps that were nearly the size of your head, and shoulders that spanned doorways all tight under a form-fitting shirt. Tall, with large muscular thighs that led up to a tapered waist you felt yourself getting nasty thoughts about all under those damningly tight black cargo pants. Fuck, the things he could do to you without even speaking. The outfit didn’t leave much to the imagination as you’d quickly snapped your gaze away before you started to drool.
Shit, you had thought when you stepped off the plane and saw the familiar face, the strong jaw under Price’s brunette hair with a funny bucket hat on his head. Small blue eyes that filtered over your frame and left you only slightly taken aback by the growing heat in your body when he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his pelvis jerking, I forgot he was so goddamned attractive. Maybe I should have waited to insult him until later.
The attraction had dissipated the second he had opened his mouth, however.
“So here’s the Goldfinch, eh?” John had muttered, crossing his arms over his chest and moving his legs to shoulder length under him, “I’ve re-read your file. I can say,” He sucks in a slow breath, lips falling into a line, “not very impressed.”
Not very impressed.
Laswell grunts under her breath at your side, sighing lightly, “Not now, John.”
“What?” He chuckles humorlessly, body tense, “Can’t blame a Captain for re-learning who he’s bloody letting tag along on a mission – particularly one who made his life hell in Serbia and nearly cost the team the mission because of her stubbornness. Not to mention an entire bloody city. Why is she here, Laswell? I don’t have time to babysit Muppets.” He snarls and glares at you all through the sentence, making your spine crawl with genuine unease. The jagged scar that sits between your ribs had burned in remembrance.
You hadn't bothered stopping in front of Price on that landing strip, you didn’t even bother replying to him. Your eyes gain a hard sheen, even as your lungs sputtered with a very real panic. You’re sure he noticed the hitch in your breathing, though, and you saw something flash in his eyes before it was gone in the next instant.
Sashaying past all you do is call over your shoulder as you go to get ready for the mission – to go listen in on a Cartel and AQ meeting in an hour. You answer the Captain before Laswell has the chance.
“At least I know where to draw the line in the sand, Price.” You caught his dagger-like eyes over your shoulder, noticing Gaz shuffle at John’s side: cautious. Poor kid, he was getting dragged into all the drama.
You had never seen John’s eyes so blatantly full of distrust before. Blue laced with a deep gray that reminds you of a raging storm over an ocean. Lightning flashed every time he blinked. Cold. Calculated. They hadn’t always looked at you like that.
You told yourself a long time ago that you were nothing but a spent bullet to the older man, not worth the effort to pick up or care about.
You just need to wipe your hands of it. There was no changing his opinion of you…But why did you even care?
Even when you saved his life later that day at the café – putting a bullet through a Cartel member before he could blow Price’s chest out – all thwarted by a quick draw of your revolver, all the Captain had done was growl at you after the Basilisk was back at your hip. He had gripped your shoulder with a heavy hand that leaked molten heat. You hated the way your cheeks had flushed when you felt his hot breath on your forehead, the caress of his hard hip against yours.
“Stay out of my way, Finch,” he uttered before shoving past you to pick up the unconscious body of the target. Gaz had rushed forward to help and had spared you a sorry glance but nothing more.
It was like nothing you had experienced before, but he left behind a burning need to be recognized that made your chest sputter when he dismissed you.
Not impressed.
But that had been it. The next second you were shipped out with Ghost and Soap on account of your disapproval from the Captain and Laswell’s ability to see a dumpster fire beginning to smoke. Cutting the losses. Then you were hunting down Hassan in Mexico with adrenaline singing sweetly in your veins. You had been all too happy to be out of John’s seemingly never wavering sight. But still, you felt his eyes on the back of your neck, heavy and weighted with disgust. Everywhere you went and every bullet you fired you could hear his voice – not impressed.
Bullshit. His words shouldn't hurt this much. So, why do they? Why can’t I just let it go?
Back in the present, you shake your head to dispel the guilt of the broken and confusing relationship. You didn’t want any more enemies, least of all ones who in the right circumstances could be unbeatable allies. John was honorable, strong, and loyal, but just as stubborn as you, and that alone left a bad feeling in your stomach that nothing would ever change.
You swore you hated him but was that even true? How can you hate someone but still want their hands on your skin? Roaming under your clothes and gripping just the right places to make you squirm? Laying gentle kisses to your lips and whispering promises? Holding you to their chest...?
You draw your ear back from the door – not hearing anything inside that would make you suspect Shadows in the interior.
Grabbing the knob you twist and let it slowly open on its own, knife drawn and held firmly in front of you.
The shine of the street lights from outside cascades over the floor in muted colors, the many rugs muffling your footfalls as you move in; straining your ears above the raging weather. When nothing caught your attention outright, your hand moves to the radio as you turn and stare at the empty doorway.
“I’m just going to ignore whatever the hell you just said, Soap,” You huff, bringing your other hand grasping the knife closer to your abdomen wound, brushing it with your fingers before flinching, “Where are we meeting up? No offense, boys, but I’m in a bit of a hurry over here. We need to get out of dodge before the Shadows regroup and do a final sweep.”
“Church,” Ghost’s voice wafts out just as your eyes lock on children's toys littering the floor, a large pile of stuffed animals just to your left smashed into the corner, “near the center of the city. There are directions on every street sign. How far out are you, Goldfinch?”
“Not too distant I hope, we’re running out of time,” You hear Soap grunt over the line, obviously learning the ups and downs of Guerilla Warfare firsthand.
“I’m a good way in, but I'll have to check the street signs to know for certain how far and let you know.”
“Copy. Be cautious.”
You were about to leave when a lion stuffed animal bounced into your path, its dark eyes like voids against its tan coloring and flowing mane. A chilled breeze wafts in from under the window, bringing goosebumps up the length of your wet arms as your finger twitches. Freezing, your head filters over to the plushie corner with stilled breath. But even if you already knew what you were going to find, the pain of it didn’t hurt any less.
A young girl was huddled under the pile, gazing out with brown eyes that matched her lion, securely hidden under a multitude of her toys.
Someone placed her there, You think, noticing the signs of a rush in the way the rug was slightly up-turned at the corner, the closet across the room hastily half-closed in panic.
The bodies in the living room tell you what the story was. With glossy eyes, you quickly sheathe your knife before kneeling. Your mind was made before you thought about it – you had to get the child out of here.
Almost got him killed in Serbia.
“Erm,” Your voice makes her flinch, burrowing deeper. You suddenly wished you had taken the time to learn Spanish on the plane ride over, and perhaps known how to properly show someone you’re not a threat, “Eh…¿H-Hablas inglés?... Shit is that right?” Murmuring the last comment to yourself, your head tilts to the floor.
“¿Jilguero?” A thin voice murmurs out.
“I guess that's a no, huh,” You chuckle softly, swallowing down a groan when the motion tightens your chest. Your eyes flicker closed for a second before your breath comes out in deep pants.
Tiny feet hit the hardwood, and when you open your eyes a child no older than ten is standing in front of you, clutching the lion plush in one of her hands and clothed in a blue nightgown that brushes the floor. You blink carefully, and her dark eyes blink back.
“Jilguero,” She points with a tanned finger to your chest, and her soft face smiles.
“I-I don’t…” You sigh, itching the back of your head with a hand before licking your lips, “I don’t understand, I’m sorry. But we have to leave, okay, we have to go.” Emphasizing with the hope she subconsciously knows what you’re saying, you place your shaking hands to your knees and stifle a whimper with a bite to your lip. Forcing your weight down, you stumble to your feet and grip your hair in a tight fist.
When the spinning stops, you drop your bloodied fingers and force a smile onto your flushed face.
The girl walks slowly to your side and latches into a strap on your thigh, looking up at you with a hesitant twist of her lips. Nodding, you hope whatever strength you have left that you can guide this girl to the church and get her out of this city until everything dies down. Already, a burning hatred for Graves gains fuel, sending sharp spikes of adrenaline into the backs of your eyes and the base of your skull.
I’m gonna rip him apart with my bare hands.
Grabbing your combat knife, you keep a hand on the back of the girl’s head to guide her forward, but keep her carefully behind your thigh. If anything were to go wrong, you would be sure your body would take the brunt of it.
“Goldfinch, any updates?”
“You bleed out yet, Ma’am?”
You descend the stairs of the home and make a beeline for the back entrance, dodging the bloody massacre in other parts of the house. The girl follows silently but sends a wide-eyed glance up at your radio as her long brown hair swishes.
“I’m here,” You breathe, “found a kid.”
Steering the conversation away from your currently bled-through gauze the silence on the other end is strangling you.
“Do you think that’s smart?” Ghost knows what you’re doing, he’s not stupid, and Soap catches on not a second later.
“You’re taking it with you?!”
“Did you really just call a child an ‘it’ Soap? Come on now.” You open the back door slowly, peaking your head out, and see only an empty, flooded, cobblestone street. Abandoned cars and trash litter the city, “If I leave her here she dies. I don’t know if Price told you, but I draw the line at leaving innocents behind. I’m sure he mentioned Serbia at some point.”
“Fuckin’ hell, Goldfinch.”
You cut the line, looking down with a moment of contemplation at the girl with your lips pulled thin. But your chest beat with a surety that was deeply ingrained since childhood – what drove you into the life you lead now.
“Alright,” You whisper, “Here we go, Kid, keep close.”
She blinks, doe eyes wide as she tightens her hold on the plushie against her chest.
Hell, she doesn’t even know what’s going on. She doesn’t know…Fuck.
As you both step outside, your boots stomp where her bare feet slap, water splattering both of your heads as the rain still pours. The girl brings on hand to her head, trying to wipe away the racing droplets that fly down her cheeks. Stifling a laugh, you tilt your head and smirk.
Turing into the night, your side steadily burns more with every step you take, skin ripping as the rag drips a trail of crimson that’s wiped away by the storm not a second later.
“Jilguero,” The girl whispers, and with a tight face, you turn your gaze down. She points to your face and brings a finger to her lips, making little ‘shoosh’ noises that make your chest feel lighter.
“Yeah, Kid,” You mutter, “Jilguero.”
Playing copycat you bring the knife to your lips and shoosh before turning your attention back to the road, pulling forward into a back alleyway with iron wrought bars at the top of the walls. Light flows through the openings like a cage, making kaleidoscope images over your face.
The darkness spreads, and all you hear is the labored breathing of your sputtering lungs; tiny feet pattering at your side. But in your mind, there’s a brand like a curse and a voice that never leaves.
Not impressed.
The scar on your chest burns.
–
You never make it to the church.
Quickly picking up the girl, you duck behind an abandoned car as she yelps into your hold, dropping her stuffed animal. Shadows flooded the path ahead, leaking into the road from ransacked houses in groups. By now the rain had slowed – it was still coming down hard, of course, but it was just shy to the point of being safe to speak openly. Looking down, you place a finger to your lips, and a tanned finger mocks the action from the child at your side.
“--Found the three yet?” A shadow calls, and you tune in with a cocked eyebrow, eyes narrowed as your grip on your knife tightens.
“Nah, but I’ve heard comms are going silent from all different sections of the city. They’re out here somewhere. Cornered just like animals in a trap. We’ll flush ‘em out, then we go home and get our paychecks.”
A laugh.
“Yeah!” The previous Shadow yells out into the night, and you flinch slightly lower to the ground with a grimace, “You hear that?! We're gonna find you, Fuckers!”
“Jamie, shut the hell up!” Jovial slaps to shoulders echo, and you don’t repress the growl that builds in you, anger shimmering as you glare holes into the ground. Mistake.
“Aye, what was that?”
“Shit, you heard that too?”
Fuck.
Grabbing once more onto the girl’s arm you’re just about to make a reckless run for it when a small tapping catches your attention. You snap your head to a small window level with the ground, no bigger than a bookshelf cubby installed in the side of a dead house. Inside you see the scared face of a middle-aged man, dark-haired and sun-kissed skin, a beard over his cheeks.
He waves a hand wildly and cracks the window open, eyes wide and snapping from you to the street.
“¡Dése prisa! ¡Dése prisa!” Hesitating only a moment, you and the girl dart forward. Letting her shimmy her way inside first, you frantically look behind you as you place your free hand above the window; hearing footsteps splashing closer with a pounding heart.
“Come on, come on, come on,” You mutter, knees pressing into the ground. When the girl’s blue nightgown fully disappears, you swing your rifle over your head and shove it into the opening. Feeling hands grasp it not a moment later and yank it inside, you sheathe your knife and dive in feet first, body slamming to the ground with a grunt and a cloud of dust. Your vision gets blurry as you lay there, trying to get air into your lungs, nearly dry-heaving from the pain radiating through all of your nerves.
The window snaps shut.
“Get up,” A gruff voice ruffles your feathers as the back dots in your vision peel back, your survival instincts forcing unconsciousness away. Shit, you really needed a Medic, this was bad, “I said, get up!”
Panting, you drag yourself half-up with an arm, the other gripping the dripping gauze at your side. Blood hit the floor and your head feels like it's floating.
You feel your throat flex, turning your gaze to the same large middle-aged man that now holds your rifle against his shoulder, familiar gold-plated barrel now level with your pounding head.
“You fire that, you’re as good as dead.”
“I’ll take my chances,” The man wears a blood-stained white shirt and jeans. Around his neck a silver locket glints.
Your heart skips a beat as you grunt in answer, and you turn your head to look for the girl. Feeling your eyes widen when you find her in the hold of an older woman, who looks at you as she presses the confused girl’s head into her breast.
There’s a group here of at least fifteen people, huddled with fearful eyes. Most are women and children, but a few men watch you with distrustful eyes.
In the older woman’s grip, the girl pulls back and eyes the man holding your rifle. She points at you as you blink in delirium.
“¡Jilguero!” Your arm buckles, but with a wet cough you catch yourself before you hit the ground as your radio sizzles to life.
“Goldfinch, you copy? Haven’t heard from you in a while, Ma’am,” Your breath sputters in your chest as Soap’s voice filters out, but you don’t answer right away.
The man’s grip shakes the gun, but he keeps sending glances from you back to the girl. With a clenching of his jaw, he lowers the rifle.
“The only reason,” He growls, “you are here is because of her,” He looks at the child before walking over to you. Holding out a calloused hand as a peace offering, he continues, “If she wasn’t I would have let that Hijos de puta put a bullet in your head.”
“Goldfinch,” Ghost now weighs in, “report. Now.”
“I suggest you get that, Jilguero,” The many people around your two shuffle nervously, and your thoughts run.
How long before more Shadows break down the basement door of his place and find these people?
“What do I call you?” You ask the man, slapping your hand into his own and allowing him to pull you up with a choking breath.
“Just call me Manuel. Here,” He jerks his arm forward awkwardly, holding out your gun. It didn’t take an expert to know he had no clue how to handle the thing, “This is yours, I believe.”
“Word of advice, Manuel,” You send a slow smile his way before you grab and swing the weapon over your shoulders, “If you’re serious about using it, click the safety off next time.”
“Erm…”
You press the button on the radio as you look out the window, seeing a large group of flashlights descend into the darkness down further in the street. The Shadows were leaving.
“This is Goldfinch,” You flinch, fixing the weight on your legs, “No need to worry, boys.”
“That’s our job. Be lucky you have such enthusiastic partners whispering into your ear… You could have had Price barking orders instead.”
“Soap, never bring up the Captain. I can feel his hatred over the line just at the mention of his name.”
“Hatred? Is that what you think it is?”
“Both of you,” Ghost interrupts, and you have to hide a relieved sigh, “Shut the hell up.”
“Ah, you’re no fun, L.t.”
“Never said I was, Johnny.”
With that, you released the button and sank against the wall – utterly spent for the time being. Fisting at the wrappings around your middle, you draw them back just enough to peak at the damage to your side. Sucking in a deep breath sparks needles all along your ribs, but it’s all you can do to try and process the utter havoc that’s left of your flesh. The rag had helped stop the bleeding, but it had also made your flesh rip out in a way reminiscent of lightning, slowly making the wound bigger inch by inch.
It was drowned all the way through with crimson, and so too was the gauze. The sickly thick liquid you had felt when you were hobbling along in the streets hadn’t been rainwater. You had probably lost more blood than was good for you, by the way your limbs started to go numb and your fingers shook with shock.
“That doesn’t look good,” Manuel comments, having kept a close eye on you during your conversation.
“Yeah, doesn’t feel good, either.” Whimpering, you move the gauze and take the ends of the rag one at a time and ring them out, listening to the splatters of blood as they make slick pools on the floor. The pink skin of your insides is visible as your prod and pry. At least you know the bullet never hit anything important – you’d be dead by now. That didn’t make your dark thoughts take a break, though.
Trying to distract yourself and catch your breath, you send a glance around the room, looking at everyone present until you land on a flushed-faced Manuel. You weakly smirk, telling yourself not to scream as your legs nearly give out from under you.
“Don’t suppose you have a doctor in this room with you, huh?”
“Unfortunately not. I-I’m sorry,” You laugh, but it sounds more like a sob. Your eyes are glossy before you take a deep breath through the weight on your chest.
“No worries. Hey,” You try and straighten up, nearly doubling before you force yourself straight, “which way to the church? I have to meet up with my boys, and I, uh,” Chuckling as you stumble back into a wall you clutch your side numbly, “I just have to meet up with my boys.”
“You have a way out of the city?” Manuel perks up, taking a few steps closer to grab you by the shoulders. You flinch, but let him, watching his eyes fill with false hope.
“No,” His expression falls, “But if I make it there, I may find one. Ghost and Soap are some of the best men I’ve worked with. When we all get our brain cells clacking together, a plan’s sure to form.”
Probably not a good one, You keep the last portion to yourself with a grimace.
Manuel turns his head away before squeezing your shoulders and releasing you. You watch him look around the room, taking in terrified faces and tear-stained cheeks as the dark walls swallow the area. The man looks back as you struggle to keep upright, one arm behind you and hand splayed against the wall.
“You won’t make it there with that,” Manuel points to your side and shakes his head, “No way. Not a chance.”
“You want me to drag you all with me?” You raise an eyebrow, pushing off the wall and focusing on placing one foot in front of the other, stumbling to the basement door, “No. One was alright, but more than three is suicide. Everyone is–”
“--Safer here?” Manuel rushes after you, going to halt a few feet in front of the door with his arms out. He looked pitifully desperate, “Can you say that with certainty?”
You growl, shoving past him and side-stepping limbs on the floor that skirt out of your way, “No, but you have more of a chance.”
“Goldfinch, change of plans,” Your eyes widen at the breathy-toned Manchester accent entering the room, “Church is compromised – Shadows have the place torn up. Make for the Market. And no need to fret over Johnny, the bastards’ with me.”
“Shit,” You bring your hands to your head, running them over your hair and leaving streaks of blood in the strands before you grab the radio. You take a deep breath, “Copy.”
Saying the words so calmly feels like a betrayal of your emotions. You were anything but undisturbed. Swallowing the blood and mucus in your throat, you hesitantly turn your head to Manuel, side-eyeing him.
He smiles smartly, “The Market’s one mile up the road.”
“...I want everyone up and ready to go in two minutes. Move it.”
Hobbling to the door, you place your hand on the smooth texture as Manuel rushes to rouse the others. Taking a glance behind you, the girl stays close to the older woman who held her prior, clutching an apron that she wears. Your chest tightens as she stares at you.
Someone she knows, You think to yourself, good. They’ll look after her better than I could.
Two minutes come and go, and soon the small group is all standing holding meager belongings and family members to their chests.
“Alright,” You mutter, nodding, “You know how to shoot?” Looking at Manuel, you grab the Basilisk on your thigh, flipping it to hold into the barrel and point the grip at the blank-faced man, “It’s a revolver, so it has one helluva kickback on it – only holds five rounds too. If you have to shoot, make it count.”
“I-I’ve only shot a pistol before.”
“Well, then I hope you learn quickly. Safety’s off.”
Handing him the gun carefully, you swing your rifle over your shoulder and check the number of rounds you have left. Doing mental math as you shoulder the basement door open, you slowly ascend a set of stairs and end on the amount of twenty-five.
Your jaw clenches.
Graves had turned before you could re-stock in Alejandro’s facility, leaving you with the bare minimum.
Behind you, the group moves with muttered exhalations, whispering to each other fearfully. God, you could hear their heartbeats pounding in their chests without even looking; but it wasn’t like yours wasn’t beating just as fast.
Almost got him killed in Serbia.
“Shut up,” You growl to yourself, “Not now.” Leading them over the landing, your boots connecting with the hardwood floors; heading towards the front door as the world tilted. Bright colors shot across your vision like passing racecars.
“Easy there,” Manuel’s presence is heavy behind you, steady. You shuffle forward with a shake of your head.
The Market, You do a head count behind you as you grab the front door handle, I just need to make it to the Market.
Creaking the door open, you hold your rifle tighter as you stick your head out.
Empty.
“You stay on my ass, you hear me?” Throwing the inquiry over your shoulder you leave the house with your weapon scanning the streets, knowing that a Shadow could pounce from any angle. You had people to protect now; there was no bullshitting this.
“Wouldn’t miss it, Jilguero.”
“Very funny. Look, can’t you see me blushing.” Behind you, a nervous chuckle bounces off the dead houses, making an uneasy tremor wrack your spine. Keeping the conversation going, you wave the rest of the people over into an alleyway, watching them scurry to you and Manuel.
“‘Jilguero’ is Goldfinch in Spanish, I’m guessing?”
“You would be right, take the next left, but I can’t help but tell you that’s not much of a name,” The man whispers as you hear your feet splash in a puddle, taking a corner, “What do you call yourself – besides Goldfinch of course?”
You take the next left as directed, “Nothing.”
You make it to the market without having to fire a single bullet, though your knife has a few more stains to add to its sheen by the time everyone is staggering to a halt in the alleyway. Holding your hand up behind you to make them stop, you motion to the empty house to your left with two fingers and hear Manuel whispering in Spanish to help the civilians understand.
When they all safely make it inside, you and Manuel wait as the pitter-patter of rain hits your heads, dripping down your cheeks and chin. Swallowing, you look out over the empty stalls and businesses and grip your rifle, but the Shadows are nowhere to be seen in the reflections of windows or heard on the wind. A red pickup truck sits near an overturned booth, and you blink at it in contemplation.
Bright white street lights illuminate the city, creating dark spots over the cobblestone. Bringing a hand to your radio, your gun sits under your armpit, parallel to your chest as Manuel shifts nervously behind you. You hear his quick breaths and frown.
“Ghost, Soap, I’m in an alleyway just outside the Market. Where are you?”
“Copy,” Soap responds first, only a moment after an unsteady silence weighs on your shoulders, “We’re nearly there.”
“Copy,” You hesitate, “When you get here there’s a problem we need to address.”
“Anything deadly?”
“Heh,” Chuckling, your face twists in pain, “maybe.”
“We’ll get there as soon as we can, Goldfinch. Take it easy.” On the other end, the Sergeant was panting – running you realize. They must have really gotten into trouble leaving the Church, “Don’t want our favorite American kicking the bucket.”
“Favorite – I’m flattered.”
“Laswell takes a close second.”
“Less flattered.”
Soap’s laughter cuts out when the sound of running feet from across the Market draws your attention away from the small device. Snapping your hands to your rifle, you steady your stance with half-lidded eyes, though you still feel your hands shake.
Blood loss is one hell of a problem when you’re being hunted like an animal.
Across the road, two men rush out into the light, large frames creating more moving shadows as their steps bounce off the buildings.
“That’s them,” You turn to Manuel and nod your head, “Don’t shoot ‘em.”
The man lowers the Basilisk to his side.
Bringing your fingers to your lips, you feel your lungs sputter as you let out a thin whistle, impersonating a bird call.
Ghost’s masked face and Soaps tense one snap to you with their guns raised. Instincts still sharp as a blade despite the overwhelming circumstances they were in. Immediately the two noticed your disheveled form and shared a quick glance.
They rush over with pounding feet.
“Hells Bells, Goldfinch,” Soap grabs your shoulder with one hand, the other still clutching his gun with tight fingers as you stare at him blankly. He got over to you so fast you feel like you blacked out for a second, “You never told us it was this bad.”
Ghost grunts as he eyes Manuel, pointedly glaring at the revolver in his grip with untrustworthy eyes. He comments to you, “Can you keep going?”
“Always, Sir.” You respond immediately, a wavering smirk coming to your face. Letting Soap help you stand to your full height, you suck in greedy breaths, “But we have a bigger problem.”
The Scot scoffs, looking you over, “Bigger than a damn hole in your side?”
“Yes,” Nodding to the house where the group all huddle, you see their heads peaking out from under the window. The child’s little hands grip the windowsill like a kid on Christmas, trying to sneak the last cookie away, “namely a group of CIVs.”
Manuel takes a step forward, and you feel Soap's arm on your bicep tighten. He slightly moves to put you behind him, his shoulder bumping into your field of view. He had noticed the man before – they both had – but seeing your Basilisk in his hands had made them overlook his presence for a moment. If you had given the man your revolver, you trusted him with it, and seeing if you were alright took priority.
“Easy,” You mutter, “He’s with me.”
“The group is mostly women and children,” Manuel pleads, “If the men from before come back, they’ll all be killed. I have to get them out of the city, tonight.”
“That’s not our problem.” Ghost’s voice is cold and logical. He won’t endanger his squad’s lives, “You’re not our mission, and you’ve done fine so far.” They’ve all been put through the wringer, and dragging along others will attract attention that no one wants. It was more about saving his squad’s hide than the other way around.
But that’s a death sentence for the innocents who are watching from behind the window, eyes wide with fear. You made your decision the second you dragged them out into the street. They were your responsibility now.
“That’s nearly what she said,” The local man points to you and Ghost takes a step forward threateningly. In any other situation, the response from your boys would have been heartwarming.
“I’m not…leaving them here.” You force out from numb lips and feel more than see Soap whip his head down to you.
“Your joking! Lass, you can barely walk by yourself!”
“We don’t need another Serbia on our hands, Goldfinch. You’re coming with us.” Laughing, you shake your head at the Manchester man.
“Next time you see Price, tell him he was right, yeah? He’ll know what I mean.”
“Goldfinch,” Ghost thumps over to you, gargantuan body making you seem even tinier, “I don’t think you’re understanding me: that’s a fucking order, soldier.”
“Would now be a bad time to tell you I only take orders from Laswell?” You chuckle, shaking off Soap's increasingly tight grip; like he could drag you away into the night without you clocking him in the jaw. Your head turns to the red pickup with intent.
“Hotwire the truck – get the hell out of the city.”
“Bullshit. No way in hell are we leaving you here for the Shadows.” Soap spits, taking a step back from you and shaking his head so hard his wet mohawk sprays more water into your face, “I won’t stand for it. We leave here together, or not at all.”
“Graves’ll tear you to pieces if he finds you here,” Ghost stares you down with those unblinking eyes before looking to the tuck in the Market, “not to mention you’re wounded. You won’t last on your own, and with a group of CIVs to keep under check your chance of survival drops to zero.”
“Alejandro said he had a safehouse, yes?” You begin, not finding any other option for yourself to make them understand, “you know the way by road, Ghost, but he also explained a way through the mountains. It’s long, but it leads to the same place. I know the way. I can lead the people through it; get them to safety. I doubt the Shadows will follow beyond city limits – that's not their orders, and Graves is a little shit about that kind of stuff.”
A beat of silence. Soap clenches his hands and gnashes his teeth. He would be more difficult to persuade about this than Ghost. Too loyal to people; cares too much.
It’s not a bad quality to have, You say to yourself, but it clouds your judgment. Makes you…sloppy.
Something clicks in your head, but you don’t have the time to think about it before Ghost is answering you with a grave tone.
“That adds nearly half a day of hard hiking, Goldie…You sure you’re up for that?”
“You can’t seriously be considering this, L.t.!” Soap yells, voice bouncing over the rain, “She’ll die!”
“Better it means something, eh?” As his face drops, you send the Scot a small smile, “Soap…I can’t leave these people to die here. Never been able to, and I won’t start now. You can fight me on this, but you know it won’t end well for you.”
Manuel lets out a snort a few feet away but quickly shuts up when Ghost sends a glare his way.
You watch with guilt in your chest as the bear of a man’s shoulders deflate, eyes turning into that of a kicked puppy. Looking to the side, he grunts.
“...Let me look at the gunshot wound.” Soap gives in, knowing he can’t change your mind, and swings his weapon over his shoulders before ripping open his medical pouch, “No way am I letting you go without trying my best to patch you up.”
Pulling back the gauze and the remains of your shirt, you hike your vest up so he can get a better look as his fingers poke at the skin. The wound festers with sickness, puckered flesh-like lips around the sagging rag it clings to. You don’t even want to look at it, and judging by Soap's quick breath in, he doesn’t either. Ghost burns holes into the side of your face.
The Scot’s finger prod at the rag, eliciting a snarl in turn from your mouth.
“Ask a girl out first before you go lifting her shirt up?”
He doesn't miss a beat.
“I’ll leave Price for that – if the man ever gets his shite together that is. You both deserve each other.”
“Stubborn bastards,” Ghost agrees, leaning back to look into the Market impatiently, “Make it quick Johnny.”
You feel your face heat to an unexplainable level, disbelief pulsing in your veins. All of these comments about Price – Price this, Price that. God, what were these boys trying to do here?
Ask me out? What the fuck is this man on? How many times do I have to tell him how much Price hates me before it takes hold?
But you stay quiet, holding your tongue as the Scot gets to work.
Soap can’t do much to help without making you immediately bleed out in front of him. They have no intense medic experience, no good equipment, and no hope of making the wound disappear into thin air like a magician: though you have no doubt Soap would have tried if it meant it would make you better.
All he does is apply an antibacterial solution and re-dress the wound, getting his gloves all bloody in the process as they drip crimson down into the street. As he packs more gauze around the rag to suck up more blood and try to stop the bleeding, you force back the nausea in your throat.
“Not a chance you have any Advil in that pack of yours, Suds?” Soap sends a serious look up at you, now going to string a long tourniquet around your waist. He ties it tight.
“Sorry, Ma’am.”
“Damn, knew I was unlucky today, ” You pant.
Ghost steps forward, hands still gripping his gun, “Johnny,” He whispers, “We’ve got to go. Shadows on the move, I can hear ‘em coming.”
“Go,” You mutter, grabbing his hands in your own and forcing them away. Grabbing the rifle you had put aside, you take a few steps back from the boys who had just gone through hell to get back together and make it out. The only problem was they were now one member short, “I’ll get these people out of here and we’ll meet at the safe house in a day’s time max.”
“We better see you there, Goldie,” Ghost grumbles, “I never gave you permission to die on me.” He turns first, jogging his way to the pickup as shouts pick up on the other side of the city.
“Yes, Sir,” You snort, nearly feeling your legs give you before you right yourself. Soap stands still, watching with guilt-ridden eyes. He reaches into his medical pouch and produces a single white stick. You tilt your head.
“Adrenaline shot,” He explains, walking over to you and slipping it into one of your front pouches. He swallows thickly, “I better see you there, Goldfinch.”
You smile lightly, eyes crinkling despite the hopelessness of his tone, “Get Alejandro back in the meantime, yeah? He still has to play guitar for me at some point.”
—
Price has never felt like this before. His chest sputters, heart palpitating in his breast harshly. He knew how to respond to any situation imaginable – a gunshot, a stab wound, his comrades falling around him like flies and how to push on through it. But this…? Why did he feel like this now?
Where the hell is that damn woman, He feels his lips turn into a harsh frown as he enters the armory of the safe house, multiple racks of weapons and armored trucks passing in the corners of his eyes like phantoms.
It’s been two days since anyone had seen or heard from you, and in the meantime, Soap, Ghost, and Rodolfo had broken out the Mexican Special Forces from their overtaken HQ, and Price and Gaz had come in to assist. But still, there was no Goldfinch.
The Captain could tell the tension in his shoulders had gotten worse. When he hadn’t seen you with the boys breaking into Alejandro’s HQ to free the men…
It was like his heart had stopped working properly since.
“Ghost, Soap!” John calls, voice authoritative as it echoes off the wooden walls. Many of the Vaqueros in the room turn to look, backs unconsciously straightening at the Captains intimidating presence. The named men look up from the large brainstorming table they were hunched over. Alejandro and Rodolfo stand next to them while Gaz trails behind Price swiftly, watching the older man with concern, “Anything on Goldfinch?”
Soap glances at Ghost.
“Nothing, Sir.”
“Negative,” Ghost continues, straightening his spine, “I checked about a mile down the path – there’s no sign. Nothing from the radio either.”
Alejandro speaks up, his face twisting down into a frown as Price and Gaz make it to the table, “The mountains are difficult terrain – radio antennas can’t get a signal out through it. That’s why I hesitated to tell you the way when we first met,” He clenches his hands over the table, looking down at the map set over the wood, “Taking that path…It’s not something most of my men would ever dare to do.”
“And taking it injured – nonetheless with the wound that Soap described,” Rodolfo takes a glance at John, shaking his head with a hesitant look in his brown eyes, “It’s not promising, Captain.”
“The girl’s strong,” Soap grunts, tilting his head in denial as his jaw clenches, “Goldfinch is alive. We just have to wait–”
“We don’t have the time to wait, MacTavish,” Price interjects, crossing his arms over his chest and setting his legs shoulder-width apart, looking down at the map with hidden emotions. The mission came first…right?
Then why did John feel so fuckin’ bad about his decision?
“Graves’ll be vulnerable because of the prison break – on high alert, but that type of thinking always makes people like him sloppy. We have the advantage right now,” Price sighs, lowering his voice to no more than a grunt, as the bucket hat on his head tilts forward, “and I’d rather not lose it.”
A tense silence settles before Gaz speaks up.
“Are…you sure that’s best, Sir?” The man asks, “Goldfinch is one of us. We can’t just leave without her.”
“She made her choice, Sergeant, eh?” Price mutters, eyes snapping from one marked-out path on the paper as if he could find your body between the folds and red ‘x’s’ or if you’d magically appear from the fibers popping up with that damned happy-go-lucky smile that made him want to smash his lips against yours.
Price stills at the thought, hands tightening over the flesh of his arms.
Anyone could see John was pushed against a wall with this.
Graves, or you. The mission, or…you.
He’d never have brought you into this if it had been his choice – tried to shove you away from it with all his power already. But all he had done was force you right into the middle of this shitshow with all of your infuriating goodness. John wouldn’t have bothered to drag civilians into this; his mode of thinking was the needs of the many over the few, as you had pointed out to him in Serbia with such an outburst that the man was half convinced you would give yourself a heart attack. You were just so different from him.
That’s why you love her, A voice hisses in the back of his head.
I’d known she’d do something like this - put her damn life on the line like it meant nothing, Price clenched his teeth, and I sent her away anyways. I should have been here…fuckin' hell.
“We take back Alejandro’s HQ in two days,” John relents only slightly, cursing the hope in his chest singing that you would show up. You had to. Everyone at the table perks at the comment, not previously having any ideas of how to persuade the mission-focused man to relent in his choices.
Soap has a large smile blossom over his face, and he and Rodolfo share a mischievous look; Ghost shakes his head at the pair and their insurance of getting involved in whatever Goldfinch and the Captain had going on.
But it was incredibly confusing to everybody, to say the least.
Even some of the Vaqueros you had been friendly with looked at each other with smiles on their faces. None had wanted you to be presumed dead.
Price continues, “But I can’t do more than—”
“Alejandro!” A yell shatters the Safehouse, and soon one of the Colonel’s men comes springing into the room.
Everyone’s hands are on their weapons in an instant, bodies tense and ready to strike.
“Shit, is it Shadows?!” Gaz asks, but the individual rushes past and grabs Alejandro by the arm.
“¡Es Jilguero! ¡Ella está aquí! ¡Ella tiene sobrevivientes de Las Almas con ella! ¡Venga, rápido, coronel!”
“Jilguero?” Price asks with a hard voice, partially already knowing but not wanting to be disappointed, “What does that–”
“It’s her!” The man says, rushing past the others as everyone else immediately begins sprinting out of the room, talk of Shadows and strategy thrown to the side without a second thought.
It was you. Impossibly, it was you.
John doesn’t think as he rushes past everyone, adrenaline pumping from his heart down to his feet. He can’t seem to think about anything else besides you – your face, hair, body – and feels his stomach roll with an unidentified emotion. All that mattered was you, and he hated himself for it.
She’s back. She’s alive.
Price reaches the front door faster than anyone else, the packs on his vest weighing him down, and the gun over his shoulders jolts with every heavy step that slams to the dirt floor. He slams it open with a shoulder, feet skidding over the ground.
—
You don’t know where the pain stops and you begin. Stumbling forward you hear the happy cries of the people who had come into your care meeting the warm afternoon air, stirring the leaves and bushes.
“The safe house is just ahead, Jilguero,” Manuel keeps you upright with a hand around your waist, your arm over his firm shoulders. No doubt he was covered in your blood from head to toe – he’d been the sole thing keeping you on your feet for half the day.
You’d been forced to cauterize your bullet wound yesterday, and, admittingly, it was a shotty job. Your hands had been too shaky to hold your combat knife steady, leaving long sections of your side burned and blistered that weren’t even connected to the source of your problems.
But it had stopped the bleeding for a while, at least. Manuel had to stitch you up, using the fishing line and needle you had stuffed into your medical pouch when this nightmare had begun. That too was suspect to improvement, but the man had done the best he could while panicking over your unconscious, flesh sizzling, body. All things considered for his first time stitching skin, he had done better than expected.
The sutures had ripped open on the last stretch of the hike.
“‘Bout time,” You wheeze, forcing your feet to carry your forward. The amount of sweat, blood, and dirt that was caked over your body made you want to gag, but no one else was any better. You suck in weak, gasping, breaths.
“Let me walk,” Gasping, you begin moving away from Manuel the closer the outline of trees becomes.
“Whoa, careful there,” He says, but lets you go. Manuel stays close, watching you limp to the treeline on unsteady legs, “Stubborn.” The man mutters under his lips.
“Heard that,” You snort painfully, slowly making your way into the open with one hand over your side, trying to keep the bleeding to a minimum.
When you enter the safe house’s clearing, your eyes squint against the light, turning your head away sharply.
“Goldfinch!” Gaz’s voice reaches you first, making you flinch from how loud it was. Lifting your head, you blink away the dots and lock onto the multitude of people all gobsmacked on the lawn. You raise an eyebrow glancing for a moment at the various civilians being embraced by Vaqueros.
Many were crying.
Family members? You ask yourself, watching with a small smile before looking back to the task at hand.
“Hell, you really brought out the welcoming comity, didn’t you? Miss me that much, boys?”
Soap points at you, beginning to make his way over, “You’re a damned day late, Ma’am! You should get written up for all the worry–”
Price places a heavy hand on the Scot’s shoulder, stopping him with a small skid across the earth.
Oh, fuck, You curse.
You hadn’t even noticed the Captain, too focused on getting somewhere to rest, and finally, put the burning behind your eyes to bed. God, did your side ache something awful.
“C-captain,” You laugh breathlessly, voice cracking and eyes nervously filtering about. Manuel leaves your side to go greet a Vaquero who claps him on the shoulder lovingly, “Good to see you, Sir.”
Silence.
He’s pissed.
Price takes a deep breath, and you see his chest inflate as he stares you down with those narrowed blue eyes that you love to hate. His body is partially vibrating with rage.
Not Impressed.
Nearly got him killed in Serbia.
“Price…I–” You’re cut off with a sharp bark.
“You disobeyed orders!” The enraged man begins, face becoming a deep red under his beard. You watch with tense shoulders as John begins stalking over, his feet so heavy on the dirt they create puffs under his feet. Everyone halts to listen, too afraid to intervene, “Ran off without the security of your squad! Put your life in danger and yourself above the mission!”
Your head sags, chin falling to your chest as you stare hard at the ground. Price’s shadow gets closer, his voice not falling as that authoritative tone rips into your self-confidence.
“Nearly got yourself killed! What do you think would have happened if you died? Who’s fault would that have been, Goldfinch? Oh, right, your sorry Muppet self!”
His body heat leaked into you as you took the words he spits at you, British accent becoming even more prominent as his rage rises to new heights. You’d never seen him this angry before. Against your will, glossiness coats the sheen of your eyes, collecting in your tear ducts. You could feel John’s ragged breath on the top of your head, rustling your hair. He was breathing so heavily you would have thought he had just run a marathon.
He’s so warm, dizzy, and more exhausted than you had ever felt before, you take a deep breath. It was getting harder and harder to stand every second. But you were so done with this cat and mouse game, Price, please, hold me. I’m tired.
You don’t know where the thought comes from, but this one you don’t try to fight.
“Is there anything you have to say for yourself, Agent?” John growls, and you look to see his hands clenched at his side. Shaking.
You don’t look at his face, content with watching his heart beat wildly in his chest, a small smirk growing on your lips. Maybe you’d just cracked the code for all of his attitudes, his supposed hatred.
Maybe he loved to hate you just the same as you did him.
Your head falls forward, hitting on his chest just above his heart. You feel more than see his chest still in shock as your forehead angles itself above the bulkiness of his pouches.
“You can yell at me all you want, John,” You whisper, “but let me lean on you, first. You’re warm.”
Price’s body jolts like you electrocuted him, but after a minute of steady breathing and feeling his eyes boring into the side of your pain-screwed face, an all-encompassing hand makes its way to your head. Finally. It presses into you, pushing your body just a little closer to the man who, up until this moment, had never understood. But, apparently, he didn’t understand you, either.
That was probably because both of you were stubborn bastards.
John’s breath tickles your ears as he tilts his head to the side, knocking it against yours as you feel that stupid hat hitting your scalp. You release a gentle sigh, letting the tension leak out of you as whispered conversations flow all around. But here, at this moment, all you think about is John. About the way his hand fit so perfectly at the back of your head, his thumb moving up and down in soothing motions that leave your eyes fluttering shut in safety. His other gravitated to your waist, carefully whispering over the bandages of your injury. Checking the wrappings and running calloused fingers over the bulk of the stitches.
Was this what you had been missing this entire time?
“Stay awake for me, sweetheart,” He mutters, anger turning into something else as John’s lips caress against your skin so sweetly it leaves you with tears tracking down your cheeks; muffled inhalations of sobbing breaths stuck in your throat, “You’re alright, now. I’ve got you.”
“Don’t let go,” You sniffle, body shaking despite your best efforts. The hand on the back of your head travels to your cheek, wiping away the rouge tears as his callouses scratch your skin perfectly.
Your eyes open slowly, locking immediately on deep ocean blue, with lighting striking every time eyelids closed delicately. You hadn’t seen those eyes so softly meeting yours since before Serbia.
“Never,” John whispers, thumb once more rubbing over your flushed cheeks, so close you could move an inch and your lips would connect. “Never again.”
All you do is smile, feeling the heat in the air become thicker the more you feel John's breath over your lips, his gaze flickering down before snapping back to your shimmering eyes once more.
But, unfortunately, there is a time and a place.
“Fuckin' finally!” Soap’s voice shatters the calm moment, rising above the chirping birds and jerking the two of you out of whatever was sparking, “Ghost you owe me a fifty!”
“Johnny, do me a favor and shut up, would you?”
Laughter bounces, but all you do is close your eyes once more, pulling away to nuzzle your face into John’s neck. Your arms stay limp at your sides.
“Think you can walk for me, Finch?” He asks lowly, pressing his lips to the side of your head and making your face turn into a bonfire as he leaves a kiss behind.
It was a promise – we’ll talk later.
Your pride rears its head inside your breast for a moment.
“Y-yeah,” You stutter, head pounding when you force your eyelids open to see the path ahead of you.
Price grunts.
“Stubborn,” Suddenly hands are gently moving you up into a hold, arms settling under your knees and over your shoulders. When he lifts you so effortlessly, you can’t help the gasp that escapes you. Your rifle sits uncomfortably along your back, but you don’t complain, because John had somehow managed to lift you without aggravating your wound further,. But of course he had – this was Captain John Price, “We’ll have to work on that, Agent.”
“No more than I’ll have to with you, Captain. You’ve got it worse than me.”
“Hm, you’re probably right.” Blinking at him, your eyes crease in confusion, but he only smirks, white teeth flashing.
Scrunching your nose, you put your head under his chin, forcing his head up with a grunt.
You grumble, “Tell Manuel to give my Basilisk back, would you?”
John walks through the threshold of the safe house, nodding to the others to tell them he can handle it as Gaz sends a smirk and a tweaked eyebrow his way. Price won’t even try to decipher that. The rest give you soft glances that you miss, and Alejandro knows he’ll have to thank you personally later for everything you did for Las Almas and its people. But he knows that right now there’s something special going on. He’ll wait.
The Captain chuckles at your comment, even if he doesn’t know who the hell ‘Manuel’ is, “Well, it’s your gun, isn’t it? Why don’t you tell him, eh?”
But all he felt was the sensation of your sleeping body slotted under his head, lips touching his Adam’s Apple and making him shiver as soft breaths fall. John pulled you impossibly closer.
Making his way to the corner, he carefully rested your body on an empty cot and waved over a Vaqueros with medical supplies and ample training.
As the Medic worked on you – lifting up your shirt to see the mangled remains of your side and the botched sutures – Price sucked in a quiet breath and watched with his arms folded over his chest.
In his head, he was telling himself to not reach out to you, let the Medic work, but when your unconscious face twisted in pain he didn’t hesitate. He snatched your hand with your own and watched the wrinkles in your forehead soften as his thumb rubbed the length of the back of your hand.
Pride blossomed in his chest. He could fix this mess he made; you both made.
He smiled.
“You impressed me, Goldfinch. Always have.”
—
Serbia: August 15th, 1700 Hrs. –
You swore if you lived, you would love John Price for the rest of your life.
“What in the bloody hell were you thinking, Muppet!?” The Captain screamed at you as he hand a tight compression to your chest, blood leaking from his fingertips and pooling on the ground, leaving your combat vest in tatters.
If you hadn’t been prioritizing those damned civilians this never would have happened. A knife to the chest is never a good thing, and John was sure that you were going to die under him as he screamed at you in anger and fear; eyes glossy.
An imposter in the crowd, a liar, and the second you had checked to see if the man was alright, he had struck.
John had seen you go down and immediately put a bullet through the man’s skull with an enraged yell. He watched you hit the ground like you meant nothing.
“I told you to run! Goldfinch, I fucking told you to run!” Blood shot from your mouth, splashing Price’s face in a spray of gore. Your eyes were fluttering.
No, no, no. Not like this.
“You never listen! Fuck!” Damn you for making him fall in love with you. Damn you. Damn you. Damn you. Always running into danger, going where he can’t follow, you gave him a heart attack every time you were away from his side.
“Keep your bloody eyes open, Goldfinch! Keep them on me…! Fuckin' hell…where's the damn Medic!?”
John Price swore to himself that, if you lived through this, he would hate you for the rest of his life.
2K notes
·
View notes
greasy oiled up bbg || blood CW!
more under the cut!
omfg genuinely this is so embarrassing it completely slipped my mind to add a content warning or another version without blood yall please ignore me LMFAOOO this is what i mean by i’m new to tumblr so expect more clueless moments like this next time AHAHHA
(TYSM @/lewditydegreeblog for adding that one tag in your reblog, i knew i was missing something but i got that gold fish brain)
okay we’re back- the bloody clothes have no context whatsoever i just thought it looked cool cuz i love apocalyptic vibes and i’ll admit, kylar 100% is prepared for it. like a roach. you can’t get rid of him and neither will zombies or aliens or viruses. he has a million hunting knives, pockets galore, literally makes chemical weapons. he better learn to stitch his pants back together though.
ANYWAY BACK WITH MORE KYLARRR, thank y’all sm for the reactions to my last post on him!! i appreciate it a lot holy shit y’all are great and the tags ?? love y’all LMFAO so here’s more as a thanks <3
i got a funny idea for that papa roach thing btw i’ll probably post it later if i can actually do anatomy but yknow that dramatic cliche pose of someone on their knees ripping open their jacket ?? yeah
he’s so cute love u kylar when you’re not trying to stalk ppl (i avoided him for like three months in game time after the halloween event cuz my pc went with whitney IMSORRY)
also you cannot convince me otherwise that the local alley cats don’t absolutely DESPISE his ass, especially in the residential district, those stray alley cats beat kylar’s ass like it’s ON SIGHT any time he tries jumping the gate to and from the orphanage. they got a mark out for him, can smell his garlic ass a mile away. he scrambles, the cats are bailey’s unemployed thugs atp, doing that bastard a favor. idk how to draw cats
ironically except for whitney probably like no wonder why that idiot just hangs out in the alleyways 24/7. doesn’t even love cats he’s just that type of fucker that animals like but who’s he to complain if the random town cats also have a weird funny vendetta against kylar. love you whitney muah, and yes the whitney addition is 100% inspired by one of truthful_lier’s headcanons for whitney on Ao3!! animal magnet tbh i see the vision and i AGREE.
tbh besides the fact it’s just funny as fuck for random alley cats to hiss at kylar and chase him away or scratch him (would be just another reason why he always has scratches on his hands and face too), animals sensing the paranormal or something probably has something to do with it.
like even the animals probably think he’s a garlic smelling weirdo with some “off” vibe that just REEKS of supernatural remnants (his parents ofc) that makes the hair on the back of your neck prickle cuz it’s just an uncomfortable, foreboding feeling that’s just off.
jkjk he’s just getting punked by stray cats for no reason whatsoever. he gets bullied at school and now by the local stray litter shitters just for the hell of it. no context no reason it’s just on sight.
also here’s close ups cuz idk if tumblr ruins quality or not but yeah here’s this sopping wet cat of a guy. ALSO HEAR ME OUT PLEASE- the eye shaped gauges ??? you see where i’m going with this right RIGHT
also pls ignore it if you see me edit the tags they were off center and it bothered me LMFAOO but anyway my interpretation is 100% inspired by yall <3 i love this greasy little rat mf cant believe a p0rn game cured my artblock but idc i love it
327 notes
·
View notes
Spying from the Bayou (SFW tickle ficlet)
One sided radiostatic and implied platonic radiorose.
Vox spies on Alastor doing self tickling while talking to Rosie through his voodoo dolls.
He was hopeless. Obsessed. Pitiable. Always one step behind no matter how far forward he thought he was. His name was Vox. Even today, he thought he'd won some sparkling victory for having snuck a camera into the Radio Demon's tardis room. Normally he would be met with fuzzy images of the demon from where his stupid outdated power messed with the technology.
Now he watched crystal clear as Alastor entered, locking his door with comically sized chains and locks. Whatever he was about to do was something he really didn't want anyone to see, and Vox sat on the edge of his seat to drink every second of it. Perhaps some blackmail or a dirty secret would come of his spying.
Alastor began unbuttoning his jacket. Then suddenly his clothes poofed away into a closet, replaced by a vintage women's night gown and pants. No doubt a gift from Rosie. Alastor yawned and stretched his way into bed. Fluffy fur poured out from the gown collar, getting thinner toward his hands and hooves. Vox's heart melted at how soft the radio demon looked. Not at all like his usual conniving and murderous self. The TV demon was already drooling over the headlines. Slandering his rival's foreboding reputation. Imprinting the image of a delicate fawn into the eyes of the public.
He continued watching as Alastor cozied up in bed, pulling his pillows around him and summoning plushy voodoo dolls to his side. God, how much better could this get? He hugged the dolls close and picked at their stitched faces, absent-mindedly tearing the thread out as he stared at the ceiling. It was obvious his mind was wandering in far away places. If only Vox could see those thoughts.
The claws that had been picking at the doll eventually reached up to touch the corners of his own permanent smile. Picking away as if he could remove the invisible thread in his face, too. A small pang of guilt tugged at Vox's heart. A feeling he quickly overwhelmed with quips about how weak and dumb Alastor looked. Vulnerable. Exploitable. How so very exploitable.
Alastor suddenly rearranged himself into a sitting position. His dolls close, friends that had no choice but to do his bidding. Stay exactly how he posed them with their stitched up grins. Then he began talking to them as if they were alive or possessed the ghost of someone special.
“Rosie, dear. Are you there?”
Of course it would be Rosie. Who else? The dolls didn't make a sound, but the way that Alastor smiled…genuinely smiled with his eyes…made it seem like he could hear her voice through them.
“That's good to hear. Unfortunately my day hasn't been quite so bright. I wish I could come see you. I'm in one of…those moods. How do you call it? Yes, that word.”
Vox leaned forward as if he could step into the room himself and hear the other side of the conversation. How frustrating.
Alastor went quiet and brought his hands up to his neck. At first looking like he was trying to strangle himself, but a shift in the camera view revealed that he was spidering his hands from the top and bottom of his neck. Lightly scratching his nails across the pale, sun deficient skin. His eyes fluttered closed, his head tilting from one side to the other as if he couldn't decide which side felt better.
A deep sigh of genuine relaxation echoed in the large room. The hands moved from his neck and took turns rolling up the gown sleeve of the opposite arm. Exposing more skin and thin fur that faded out into a beautiful shade of ebony. One hand scribbled on the underside of the other forearm. Extremely slow and teasy, all the way from the elbow to wrist and back. His eyes opened, but his gaze floated off into some unknown space.
When he switched arms, his body twitched and his breath hitched. Whatever he was doing, it made him feel good. Relaxed. Cuddly. As his claws kept dancing around, he melted against his bed and hid his face in a pile of plushy dolls. Hiding the genuine curls to the edge of his smile, muffling the soft giggles and whines that threatened to be heard.
Vox was livid. He wanted to see that dumb silly little grin with a spaced out stare. Catch those disgustingly adorable sounds on record to broadcast all over Hell. Even when Alastor wasn't aware of the camera, he still made his likeness impossible to capture.
Out of what seemed like nowhere, Alastor removed his gown top. Revealing an upper body full of fluffy, curling fur. One arm tucked behind his head as the opposite hand explored with tickly touches. The fleshy underside of his upper arm, toward the armpit, down the side, and back up again. His body jerked when certain spots were grazed along, especially close to the armpit and over his ribcage. Sometimes even pulling out a sweet little giggly hum.
Vox wanted more. To have his claws dancing on those sensitive spots, eliciting those sickeningly adorable little sounds. Imagine the blackmail. Imagine the stories. Imagine his own exploding heart and popping circuits from how cute it was. He could feel his screen heating up to a point where the fans nearly kicked on.
“Rosie, shush! You're not helping! Shut up!” Alastor playfully bantered, saying mean things in the purest way. Whatever she was whispering through the dolls, given that this whole thing wasn't just imagination, had the radio demon's face turning a healthy shade of pink. He switched to the other side, playing with a fresh set of nerves.
His little hooves shivered and clicked against each other as he tried very hard not to break into a giggle fit. His smile growing with his need to hide it in the pillows and dolls.
“No,” Vox whispered at the screen, “you're going to show me that ugly little smile.”
As if he could hear him and obey his command, Alastor turned his face up. The smile completely true and bright, not hiding any shifty schemes behind its sharp teeth. Only genuine joy and fuzzy feelings. This only happened by accident, but Vox felt like Alastor was looking directly at him. Oh how his digital heart leapt at the mere fleeting thought. Hopeless.
Alastor's claws moved from his sides and both settled on his soft belly. Scribbling up the sides, over the top. His fingers moving in such an eye-catching and fascinating way. Like spider legs barely contacting his skin. it almost looked like art. The reactions even more so.
Little fawn-like bleats. Biting his lip to dam up the embarrassing noise. His hooves still clicking and kicking ever so slightly.
A single claw circled around his belly button, and that seemed to be the absolute end of his patience. He melted into a pile of giggling goo. Draping the idle arm over his mouth to muffle the sound. Such a shield could only hide so much. Eventually his giggles and sighs rose higher.
Locked away emotions bubbled up inside Vox. The desire to make those giggles fill up that entire room. To see his rival reduced to a fuzzy mass of useless goo. Unable to look him in the eyes because he was too busy hiding in dolls and pillows. Exploiting the demon wasn't even part of these strange desires. What could these feelings even be called? They were too pure for him to apply any label he knew.
Alastor's self teasing came to an end. He stretched out on his bed and sighed deeply. Fully relaxed like a baby in a warm cradle. And for the first time, Vox actually witnessed the overlord sleep. Gripping tightly to his voodoo dolls. Curled up in a fetal position with his head folded back on his body uncomfortably. His eyes stayed wide open, but Vox somehow knew he was sleeping inside that empty head. Creepy. Unsettling. Adorable. Charming.
After witnessing that pure little scene, Vox couldn't bring himself to do any of the things he'd originally planned. Exposing Alastor in this way felt morally wrong, like stealing a baby's candy or kicking an old woman who's already on the ground. At least he forever had the footage to go back and watch again and again. To obsess over.
Except that he forgot to hit the record button.
What a shame.
99 notes
·
View notes
Since you mentioned the Frankenhounds (one of my favs of yours)
I always remember those videos of Queen Elizabeth where she enters a room with her running corgis entourage, and I just imagine scientist reader with the Frankenhounds, but instead of cute corgis it's terrifying, stitched up murder machines.
Still cuties tho!
A new face in town always called for celebration. Don't see many of those too often, and with the gradually declining population for mysterious and unknown causes they were a blessing.
A corporate hot-shot decided they had enough of the city life and shipped themselves and their earthly possessions off to the closest town that allowed them to work remotely from their high paying job. To the surprise of neighbors who arrived with baked goods and freshly picked fruits, they had already started the process of planning a get together to meet everyone they'd see on the daily. The townspeople were so thrilled they forgot the tiny detail that there was one person who wasn't as welcoming as the rest. The party began without a hitch, but something felt out of place for the new face. The one person they were more excited to meet had yet to make their presence known as as their absence persisted they began to worry they might not show at all.
"Excuse me? Do you happen to have a number I can use to all the scientist?"
Though the tap on their shoulder was enough to alert the neighbor still wearing their carrier uniform, their eyes pop out of their sockets like billiard balls as they choke down a mouthful of food. "You... invited them?"
Puzzled by their sudden change, the new neighbor flashes a concerned smile. "Yes? Some articles of their work came up when I was doing research of your town, though most were slightly vague about what they do. They replied to my email saying they'd be around as soon as they could, and they'd bring their dogs if I allowed."
The mail carrier's eyes are just about ready to shoot out their skull. They make a grab for their bag - discarding their fallen cap as they gather their things. "Great party, but something's come up. Be seeing you, if you survive. Where are my keys... where are my..."
A sharp whistle pierces the air. All color, and hope, drains from the carrier's face as the yard's back entrance is pawed opened by a clawed hand - stitches running down the length of its furred limb. It retreats into the darkness as a lone figure steps out into view. Eyes follow them from all corners as they stride meticulously towards the larger group of party-goers, face void of greater expression than tight lips and a passive gaze. They scan the crowd, locating the newcomer with ease. A small smile forms - never meeting your eyes.
"Mx. Wilson. So good to finally meet you. Since this is our first meeting I must inform you I am not one to mingle with... others. I allow this an exception as you were unaware of this fact, and seemed so excited to meet my sweet pups - and I have to say they are quite eager to meet you as well."
The braver of the crowd regain function of their limbs, and take their attempt to flee as you bring two fingers to your limbs - but it's too late. Heavy panting and soft howls join the piercing shriek of your call in a sympathy of the chaos soon to follow. One by one, your howls spill into the yard - the newcomers eyes wide with newfound terror as the years long terror resurfaces in your existing neighbors.
The hounds knock over tables and chairs, barking and hissing at all who infer with their path. They corner those more expressive of their fear in tight shapes - bursting into maniacal laughter as they attempt to fling their bodies over the walls. The smallest of the group volts over to the snack table, scooping as many appetizers as they possibly could on one plate and balances the heavy weight in their claws - gifting their gracious offering to you as they kneel at your feet. You pick through the treats, patting their head as you pop one into your mouth. The others sniff out the outsider as they run for their house, dragging them back over to you and pinning them to the earth as you tower over them. You kneel, offerings a single fruit which they refuse. You chuckle.
"Oh, come now - don't be like that. We're only welcoming you to the neighborhood. My pups even when through the trouble of getting you a gift."
The fourth and most unpredictable of your hounds begins to convulse violently. They wheeze and sputter on the grass - jaws lax as they choke up something white and thin. You stroke their back, aiding them through their expulsion of whatever was lodged in their throat. Clinging to your leg, they spit out an entire human hand striped of its bone and still intact at the joints. With Halloween right around the corner, you'd say it was more a thoughtful gift than warning.
"And if I haven't said it all ready, welcome to the neighborhood."
269 notes
·
View notes
*Mama Spade accidentally bumped into Silver’s dad*
Mama Spade: “Ah!! Oh I’m so sorry! I’m trying to find my son but I think I got lost…”
*cracks knuckles* Our time has come, boiz 😎 (For anyone wondering why Lilia’s eyes are redacted, see this fic!) Figured we needed something more light-hearted after being rushed at by the semi-truck that was the recent main story update~
I briefly mention Mr. Spade, but I kept it vague since we don’t have the details on what happened to him yet!
Please note: I received multiple other Lilia + Mama Spade interaction requests; however, because those other requests are more specific than asking them to meet, I will be writing separate responses for each of those. I don't want to overload the blog with a ton of Lilia + Mama Spade content at once, so they will be spread out between other NRC Family Day interactions ^^
Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.
"Think nothing of it, miss." The man brushed off the bump with ease and an understanding smile. "It happens. Water under the bridge, yes?"
His voice was as smooth as a sky cleared of clouds, as sultry as midnight desires. There was a resonance to it as well, as though his words were reverberating in the annals of ancient ruins, echoing legends and legacies long since forgotten by history.
He was small yet snazzy in a black vest and dress pants embellished with golden stitching, a fancy jacket set in a dark hue of green hanging off of his shoulders. The man's long, dark hair was done up in a high ponytail, choppy and uneven bangs falling freely around his face.
If his voice was a mystery yet to be unearthed, then the man, too, was one. The exact composition of his face, and how his features were arranged, eluded her. But even with her aging sight, she could tell that he was strikingly handsome—lashes so long they batted his cheeks when he blinked, eyes like ever-shifting gemstones, and a pert, mischievous mouth.
"Oh dear." Mrs. Spade nervously fanned herself with a hand. "I'm hardly a 'miss'! I’m no spring chicken."
"After a certain point, we realize that time is something we cannot combat.” He coiled fingers against his lips. “I believe you've aged quite gracefully.”
A simple shoulder-length bob cut and homely, practicel clothing—those were the staples of her style as a single mother. She had her family to look after, and little time or energy to dress up. Yet Mrs. Spade flustered all the same.
“I-I don’t know what to say…”
The man laughed. “Apologies for steering us off-topic. Back on track, then. You said you were looking for your son?”
“Y-Yes…!” Mrs. Spade quickly rebounded, her worries returning. “He told me to meet him in Heartslabyul, but I’ve been wandering the campus for a while and haven’t passed any buildings by that name.”
The man stroked his chin. “If it’s Heartslabyul you’re looking for, you’ll need the Hall of Mirrors. It has mirror portals to each of the seven dormitories.”
“Mirror portals, imagine that!!” Shock was written all over her. "We don't have a lot of those back home.”
“Mirror portals are not always commonly accessible.” His mouth turned mirthful. “I just so happen to be heading to the Hall of Mirrors myself. My son’s waiting for me in another dorm. Seeing as we're both going to the same place, I wouldn’t mind escorting you.”
“You would?! You don’t mind…?”
“If you would have me,” he replied, his tone teasing. The man bowed melodramatically, arms gesturing down a path. “Then right this way.”
Mrs. Spade barely had any time to react before he started walking away. She hurried after him, trailing behind by a few paces. Careful not to get too close, to risk colliding with him again.
“Which dorm is your son in?” she blurted out, breathless. Not from exhaustion, but in excitement.
He cut her a sideways glance, his eyes glittering. "That would be Diasomnia. He’s a second year now, and a diligent member of the Equestrian Club."
Mrs. Spade quickened her pace. "He's an athlete? So is my Deuce. He's still a first year trying to find his footing, but he’s grown a lot in his first few months at school.”
"Deuce." He said the name oddly, almost like he had had practice reciting it. "How would you describe him?"
"He's a lot of things," Mrs. Spade confessed. She spoke unabashedly, as straight as an arrow carving an arc in the air. "He's not all that sharp, and he can be brash—but he’s also strong and kind, stubborn too. A really serious and straightforward person that means well and tries his best.”
“From the looks of it, he’s a good kid. His hard work will surely see him well in the future.”
She flushed with pride, pink as a peach. “What about your son? What’s he like?”
"Silver? He has a habit of dozing off, but he's as earnest as they come. It's that honesty of his that has made him so many friends. Even the local wildlife can't seem to keep themselves away from him.
“He’s the peacekeeper of any group he’s in, that lad. I’m so pleased that he’s able to connect with creatures from all walks of life.”
“Your Silver sounds like the kind of man Deuce would look up to. The sort of man he'd want to become."
“Does he?” The question was coy. “I think Silver would also enjoy Deuce’s company. Such a spirited, committed underclassman can keep him alert and on his toes.
“Silver already has a companion that fits that description, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind one more. The more the merrier, I say.”
“Your family must be big.”
“Afraid not. It’s only myself and Silver. We have close friends and neighbors of course, but legally speaking…” He brought his index fingers together, making them touch. “… we are one guardian and one child.”
Mrs. Spade’s heart stilled. “You’re joking.”
“Far from it." The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. It was not unkind, but curious. “Have I said something funny?”
“No, I was just thinking that you and I have a lot in common.” She bit her lower lip. “Deuce has his grandma, but at home it’s us two. His dad, my husband, he…” Mrs. Spade faltered.
The man inclined his head. “… You needn’t say any more. Please, don’t push yourself. Not all tales must be told to the strangers you meet along the way.”
“Y-You’re right.” She furiously shook her head. “What am I doing, making this about myself? I… I’m sorry if this brought back any painful memories for you.”
“Me? My, whatever are you concerned about me for?" There was a warmth, a fatherly tenderness, to his eyes.
“Your wife,” Mrs. Spade said weakly, “she’s no longer with you.“
“My wife?” His smile twisted into something wry. “I have no such thing. Always been a bit of a lone bat myself, but thank you for considering me."
"Oh! I... I shouldn't have assumed."
"It is you who is distressed. I should be the one more aware of your feelings."
Mrs. Spade blinked rapidly. From surprise, or to shunt back tears, she wasn't sure. "I... No, you don't need to worry about me at all! I'm fine!"
To this, the man chuckled. "I can see where Deuce must get his character from. However, you mustn't let yourself be entangled with the past.
"The past is in the past. If we keep looking behind ourselves, we will miss what waits for us in our futures." He came to a full stop, sweeping his arms forward. "Ah, and here we are."
A building with a domed roof was erected before them, guarded by massive stone walls on either side. Its door was tall, cut in the shape of a crystal pillar. One glimpse inside, and they caught the sparkle of sunlight refracting off the faces of various mirrors.
"You see? The future is right before us. No sense in dwelling on what was, only what can be."
He tapped the bottom of her chin, closing the mouth that had been hanging ajar. "Come now, let's see a smile! I wouldn't want to reunite you with your son while you've still got a frown on your face. He'd whack me a good one!"
Mrs. Spade chortled in spite of herself. "Deuce just might. He has a sharp left hook."
"I believe it. Ah, but it looks like it won't come to that. Lucky me, you're smiling again."
"Am I?!" Her hands flew to her face. The corners of her mouth had turned up, and she hadn't even noticed.
"Yes, that's what I wanted to see." The man offered a gloved hand. "... May I?"
Mrs. Spade giggled, taking it as easily as one might slip into a song. When was the last time she had felt this coquettish? So girlish, so young.
The Hall of Mirrors welcomed the pair, opening into a circle of seven portals. Each mirror trumpeted its dorm's name and iconography in its elaborate frame.
The man dropped her hand and indicated a mirror with thorns snaking up its sides, a fierce dragon guarding it. "This is where we part ways."
Mrs. Spade glanced at her route: at the mirror lined with playing cards and roses. Two spears, their points heart-shaped, crossed at the apex, and an open storybook formed the steps to the portal. Heartslabyul—the domain of the Queen of Hearts.
“Thank you for your help. I couldn’t have made it here without you, kind sir.”
“My pleasure—I thank you for the company. I hope you enjoy Family Day with Deuce.”
“Same to you and Silver.”
He nodded and turned, presenting his back to her as he made his way to Diasomnia’s mirror. She yanked herself away and stormed in the opposite direction. Just as he reached the dragon’s snout at the foot of his, and she at the cusp of a new page in the story, a single word erupted.
“Wait!!” she called out.
He craned his head to regard her. “Yes?”
Mrs. Spade clutched her fists to her chest. “Will I… Will I get to see you again?”
The shock was very slight on him, tempered by his mirth. He was used to being the one surprising, not the one being surprised, and so perhaps the silence lasted a few seconds longer than he would have liked it to.
“I really liked talking with you! I thought maybe we could do it again, and maybe Deuce and Silver could meet too.”
He took the idea, lazily rolling it between his thumb and his forefinger, considering. The confusion, the chaos, it would sprout.
“It sounds interesting,” he said mysteriously, pairing it with a shrug, “Who knows? We just might.”
And then he was gone, devoured by the dragon. The only proof that he had once been there were the ripples in the face of the mirror… and Mrs. Spade, spellbound.
The instant she stepped into Heartslabyul, she was struck with two things: the heavy, cloying aroma of red roses, and the warm body she collided with. Mrs. Spade stumbled back on the brick path. Her vision was still spinning when a familiar, rambunctious voice called out to her.
“… om! MOM!!” Deuce happily cried, wrapping his arms around her. “You made it!! I was worried that you didn’t show up on time—you’re usually not late. I was going to head out to look for you myself!”
“I’m okay, Deuce,” she reassured him with a playful tousle of his hair. “Don’t you mind me. I got a little lost, but I had some help from a kind man. Things worked out alright in the end.”
“That was nice of him! What a good samaritan!” He paused. “Er… You didn’t tell him about me in middle school, did you? I-I swear I’ve been working really hard to brush up and be an honors student!”
“Deuce!!” his mother gasped, smacking him on the side. (Dull pain reverberated in the area; she packed quite the punch.)
“What in Twisted Wonderland makes you think I’d go around parroting that around?! No, dear—I know you, and I know you’re trying your best. Besides, that man was nice!! He’d never intrude on our family matters.“ She sighed, stars in her eyes. “Ooh, and handsome too! So smart!! A real catch..”
“Uhhh…” Deuce made a face. “Are you… feeling okay, mom? Did you eat some of the weird mushrooms growing in the garden? Dorm leader Riddle says those can have weird effects.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. Mrs. Spade continued to prattle on, “He has a boy at NRC about your age, Deuce! We should arrange for us to all get together.”
“W-Wait, hold on a minute!! I’m happy that you made a new friend, but who are you talking about?!”
His mother startled, as if waking from a dream. “Now that you mention it, I forgot to ask for his name. I do remember that he talked about his son though. Silver, was it?”
“S-Silver-senpai?! Then… you’re talking about his DAD?!” Deuce was striken, his heart pounding unnaturally fast at the revelation. Silver’s dad is mom’s sweetheart now?!
“Oh, so you do know him after all!” Mrs. Spade clapped excitedly. “What do you think? Is he anywhere near as charming as his father i—”
“Grk…!” Deuce suddenly fell onto all fours, hanging his head. Tears streaked his face, and his entire body violently shook.
His mom practically shrieked and rushed to his side, frantically shaking him. “Deuce?! Deuce, honey? Are you okay?!”
He tried at a response, but only managed a semi-comprehensible wail. “I-I-I’m jusht shooo happy fa’ you, mooom,” Deuce sniffled, harshly wiping at his tears and snot. “Y-You found th’ perfect guyyy, just like you deserved all thish tiiime…!!”
“H-Hey now! I may have been a little swept off my feet by him, but I’m not marrying the guy!! No shotgun weddings here!! Wh-Who even marries a stranger they met in a day?!”
“R-Really?”
“Really.” She eased Deuce into her with a hug, her voice dropping into a whisper. “Pinkie promise.”
He tried to laugh, but choked on his own sobs instead. Mrs. Spade rubbed an open palm along his back, soothing him.
“Haha, I’m being silly.” She ran a hand along his scalp—a facsimile of the head pats she granted him in his youth. “I’m happy too—happy that you’re such a good kid, that you care for your mama’s happiness.”
“M-Mom… Mom!!” He wailed even louder and buried himself in her arms.
There, under a halcyon blue sky and tinted in roses, mother and son wept with one another. The past, far behind them. The future, yet to exist.
263 notes
·
View notes
𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈
[ PAIRING ] Wolfwood x f!reader
[ AUTHOR'S NOTE ] Yes, this is a repost. Yes, I didn't write this my brain.
[ SYNOPSIS ] idk you fuck your best friend's brother. I truly didn't think that hard about any of this.
[ WORD COUNT ] like 1k
[ CONTENT ] Porn without a stitch of plot, you're besties with your roommate, vaginal sex, "just the tip", he hits it from the back (ayyy), dubcon (drunk sex), alcohol, overstimulation, pet names (girlie, baby), barely edited, and nothing about this is serious like in the least.
You alwaaaaaaaaays thought your best friend’s older brother was cute in a fucked up kind of way. He was tall, legs toned and long, and broad shouldered. His clothes were always disheveled in some way: pants that were too short and revealed his ankles, shirts with several buttons undone that showed off his chest. His black hair was always in a state of perfect disarray. He wore dark sunglasses all the time and chain smoked.
But the biggest appeal was that he was a seminarian. A priest-in-training. You assumed those types were stuffy, good boys that went to bed sober every night.
Nicholas, however, was anything but that. You wouldn’t say he was an alcoholic, but he felt no guilt when it came to imbibing. Anytime he stopped by he brought a bottle of dark rum and made you play drinking games. When your friend would go to bed, you would jokingly confess to a multitude of sins of varying severity.
And you alwaaaaaaaaays wanted something more to happen, but getting caught by your friend deterred you. She already thought her brother was a bit of a loser and she would have judged you endlessly for having poor taste.
She loved him of course; she simply didn’t hold him in high regard. His existence was too contradictory, the juxtaposition too much to reconcile. He was a lout of the first degree, but also was relatively pious and devoted to his studies.
Your friend wanted more for you (not her weird, religious brother). And as long as she was around you could fight off your desires with zero issues.
That’s why you were set up for failure the night he stopped by without warning. Your friend wasn’t home and your fantasy started to feel more tangible. Everything was falling into place; this was the perfect opportunity to indulge in your crush.
You scurried around in search of something slutty yet comfortable to wear which ended up being a pair of booty shorts, a cropped sweatshirt, and absolutely nothing underneath. You knew if you stretched your arms over your head he’d get a tantalizing view of your breasts.
You opened the door and told him that his sister wasn’t home, batting your lashes. He smirked and asked if you were doing anything, his voice like honey, endlessly beguiling. You invited him in.
“You tryna have some fun?” he asked with an impish grin. He held up a bottle of Bacardi.
“Hell yeah. Let me grab some shot glasses.”
You strutted to the kitchen with a little spring in your step. You looked over your shoulder to make sure your guest was following. His eyes were firmly pointed at your ass, noticing how the cheeks poked out from the bottom of your shorts. The swing in your hips successfully hypnotized him, pulling him deeper into your clutches. You were going to make this night count.
He took a seat at the table and watched as you grabbed two glasses from the highest shelf. He smirked as your sweater rode up, revealing the plush underside of your tits. You pretended not to notice.
“Shall we?” you asked, handing him a shot glass.
The two of you took shot after shot, rarely speaking to one another. You didn’t need words. A smoldering glance, a flirty wink, said it all.
“You got a drinkin’ problem, girlie,” Nicholas finally said, pointing at the nearly empty bottle of rum.
“You drank just as much!” you laughed, elbowing him.
“I’m shouldering the weight of God’s words. What’s your excuse?”
“I’m trying to get the courage to fuck a priest-in-training obviously.”
He cocked an eyebrow and genuinely seemed surprised by your bold initiative.
“Nah. My sister’ll kill me… And you too probably.”
“She will never know,” you purred, grabbing a hold of his hands and leading him to your bedroom.
You undressed immediately, tossing your clothes at him. You got on the bed on your hands and knees, and arched your back. You gave him the perfect view of your glistening cunt. You heard Nicholas fiddling with his belt and dropping it on the floor. He positioned himself behind you, rubbing the tip of his cock along your dripping folds.
“I’m only puttin’ the tip in, alright?” he said, flicking his lighter. You immediately smelt the acrid smoke of his cigarette. “I don’t need you fallin’ in love with me.”
He guided his cock into your cunt, stopping halfway, and began to massage your clit with his free hand. The pads of his fingers were soft and warm.
“I want all of it,” you whined pathetically.
You craned your neck back and pouted at him. His cheeks were pink, jaw clenched. He was a man in trouble, a man weighing his options. He took a drag off his cigarette and put it out in the cup of water sitting on your nightstand.
“Alright. You want my cock that bad, huh?” he asked, playing with your aching clit.
“Yes!”
He sank his cock inside you and he let out the most heavenly moan. It was thick, stretching out your cunt in a euphoric way. His thrusts were fast and deep, with an air of desperation to them. He kept his fingers firmly placed on your clit, furiously rubbing it. It was almost too heavy a burden to bear. You felt like you were going to collapse under the weight of your ardor.
“To—too much,” you choked out.
“Nah. Lemme show what too much really is, baby.”
He pinched your clit between his fingers and you yelped. It was already so sensitive, the pressure he was applying was dizzying. You struggled to hold yourself up and buried your face into your pillow. He was right. This was too much. But you loved it.
Nicholas chuckled and slammed his cock into you. His thrusts were relentless. Each one was punctuated with one of your dreamy moans. You were seeing stars, ascending into the arms of God, or something… you didn’t fucking know. Your brain was leaking out of your ears. And it didn’t matter; it served no purpose. All you needed was his cock throbbing in your slick cunt.
277 notes
·
View notes
Eden's Passing is a 16+ game made in Twine by me, Doc, and is my first attempt at making an interactive fiction game!
Genre: Primarily Fantasy and Comedy focused with a smidge of Mystery and Horror elements. Do tell me if a separate catagory fits, please!
Warnings: Trauma, Bodily Injury without feeling it, Body Horror in general (more will be added as time goes on, these are what I'm currently certain off)
Demo: In the works!
Alone in a land you can't recall and stuck at the bottom of a seemingly endless ravine, the start of your journey isn't a pleasant one. Body slowly crumbling away, memory missing, and seemingly stuck with a stranger intent on calling you a name you can't remember, your attempts to leave seem fruitless until they finally offer a helping hand. Hopefully with no strings attached.
Set in the world of Nyr, you're just a lost soul trying to figure out who you are and what happened to you.
Features, added or intended:
☆ Fully customizable MC (name, hair, skin color, personality, etc.)
☆ Romantic or Platonic routes, Poly included.
☆ Long Crocodile. You'll see. ♡
☆ Learn more about the world and maybe save it, maybe launch a salamander at someone.
☆ Diverse cast of characters, ethnicities, religions, etc! (Please do tell me if anything's not accurate enough, it's fantasy, yes, but I am using some real-life ethnicities and such as basis!)
☆ A lot of lore. A lot. I made a map. I will do more than just a map. It's inevitable.
Eden's Passing isn't romance focused but, those inclined towards it, does have multiple routes with it.
Zacharie, M, 36(RO)
A 4'11" man with spiky green hair and red tinted glasses. Adventurers clothing, torn at the edges and taped to his body on his limbs, cover most of his skin. What you can see of his skin, primarily his face, has stitches spanning the length and width. No one is allowed to touch them. Beyond that, he seems nice, even when he mutters insults at passing plants or argues with books. But his skittishness towards others is concerning, especially the glint of pure terror he sometimes shows. It's typical to see him hovering around Cassian, primarily either hiding behind him or riding his shoulders.
Solo OR Poly route with Cassian or Florian.
Cassian, M, 29 (RO)
At 6'6, he's the tallest of the group. Long black hair drapes down well past his hips, sometimes being used to hide his eyes from others. Old yet well cared for armor is his ordinary choice of clothing, no matter the situation. Quiet and melancholic, it's hard to catch him smiling at much of anything. Despite that, he's the first to jump into a fight to protect his friends. One of the few people to understand Zacharie, he keeps a firm eye on anyone that might pose a threat to the smaller man. A bit of an enabler, he will turn a blind eye to the more playful deeds his companions wish to take.
Solo OR Poly route with Zacharie.
Florian, Gender Selectable (M/F/NB), 25 (RO)
At 5'3", they're the second shortest of the group. Blond curly and short hair, styled like an odd pixie cut, clashes against the bright red coat they drap over themself. Two antennae stick out from their scalp, twitching at any stimulus. A butterfly bow, which sometimes flaps on its own when Florians distressed, keeps it from falling off. When they're not being pestered by Zacharie or Wynn, they're actually the most sensible of the group. A bit of a motherhen, they do their best to prevent the others from getting into trouble. It's a thankless job, and they aren't even getting paid for it.
Solo OR Poly routes with Wynn or Zacharie.
Wynn, Gender Selectable (M/F/NB), 23 (RO)
A 5'9" elf that's joined the group alongside Florian. Long, pointed, and pierced ears flick every so often, parting their short, light purple hair. Clad in a cape that trails in the air and an outfit that shows off a concerning amount of chest, they aren't the shyest with showing skin. Long pants that hide even their boots cover their legs, yet never get dirty as they drag across the ground. A bit of a flirt, they aren't the type to take much seriously. It's common to see them, Zacharie, and Twig up to no good, typically with Wynn at the lead. A natural born leader, one might be confused why they follow MC's lead, even they seem at odds with that fact.
Solo OR Poly route with Florian.
Twig, NB, 26 (RO)
Looming over at 6'4", they tend to forget just how tall they are. Long purple hair ends as their tail begins, the fluff at the end matching their hair. Thick and curly when short, it covers up their eyes from the view of others. 5 horns sprout up from their scalp, imitating a crown of sorts, and range in size from a few inches to just two. Clad in purple and blue robes that are breathable yet skin-tight, they've had Zacharie modify it to properly accommodate their tail. Out of the group, they remain the friendliest even in the face of adversity. It's... hard for others to tell whether they're simply naive or just too forgiving, but regardless of that, they remain the first to lend their hand when others need it. A bit of a goofball as well, it's easy to catch them trying to pick the funnest option first. Quick to trust and quicker to befriend, one might wish to spare them from the cruelty of the world.
Solo route
???, NB, ??? (RO?)
A figure that stands at 5'10, they're your savior from the pit you woke up in. Long hair, starting black and quickly fading to a bright red, flows from their scalp like tendrils. It flows as if hit by a breeze constantly, regardless of airflow. Clad in only a white robe tied shut at the waist by a sash, it's easy to notice the gaps in their skin. They never answer when it's brought up, leaving you wondering just what has saved you from the ravine. Quick to anger, you'd almost think they're unpredictable if not for the consistent causes and phrases. Regardless of who you are, they insist your name is Eden. Regardless of their affection towards you, they refuse to tell you who they are. They insist you'll figure it out.
Solo route.
172 notes
·
View notes
Bonds with assignments.
Kai Anderson x afab reader.
Smut oneshot.
– Kai assigned you to help him around after being shot during his speech; though, clearly, Kai's independence makes it somewhat difficult. You were glad to assist him regardless to show your everlasting appreciation to him. That appreciation has gone a long way... and Kai definitely noticed.
"D– Damn it, Kai, you can't… move like that."
"It'll be fine."
"It won't. Please be careful, it'll rip…!"
"I know my own body, Y/N. Trust me."
Riiiip.
"Kai…"
You sat next to your dear leader as you helped him sit comfortably on his couch. Your eyes drifted to the cane that Kai had finally placed against the arm of the chair as he shuffled into the cushion.
"It's just one stitch," Kai spoke with a reassuring voice.
"You… asked for my help, I'd rather you not refuse to take it…" You paused for a moment, almost hesitant to say what you did next. "Do you still want me to assist you?"
"Hm," he hummed at your words before he looked up from his leg to your face; his eyes meeting yours. He always knew how to do that in a way that made you feel like it was just the two of you in the whole world. "I like your company."
You knew you shouldn't have been taken back by his words but his forwardness always made you a little nervous somehow. "That's nice, Kai, but–"
"Then quit complaining."
You furrowed your brows a little as you looked to him. He was way too stubborn for his own good – even after being shot, he still insisted that he could run everything around here. You knew it wasn't your company… Surely. He just needed help with things he wasn't so easily accessed to with his healing wound now.
"D'you… need your papers?" you asked like you were always nervous how he'd reply, even if you were comfortable with him and trusted him, somehow he always still made you nervous.
"Yeah," he replied, a bluntness in his voice. "The one in the blue folder. Do you know the one?"
You simply offered Kai a nod as you stood up and made your way over to his desk. It sure began to gather more and more folders, files and paperwork since his new army decided to join. Another personal cult of his that showed up all of their own accord. You didn't like those men at all, but you knew Kai trusted them. And you trusted him. You always trusted him.
When you picked up the folder and walked back over to him, you handed him the folder to which he took and placed it on the couch to his right. "Pen?" he asked, his dark eyes on the folder as he opened it.
"Here," you offered as you held a metallic pen out to him. The pen was engraved with his name on it; something he was giving out during his election time.
As you lingered there for a moment, your eyes fell to the blood that was seeping through his cargo pants. It wasn't a lot but if you didn't put pressure on it, it was sure to cause an infection. That much you knew.
"Kai," you spoke up, though your voice was soft and almost meek. "Can I… You're bleeding."
Kai's attention stayed on the papers in the flowers for a moment, twirling the pen around his fingers. "Y/N, do you think I should give my next speech away from the square?"
"I…"
When he didn't answer, you let out a soft sigh before falling to your knees next to him to his right, making sure to stay away from the papers. Before you could draw his attention to your words again, you watched as his inky eyes danced across the printed words on the pages. He looked so focused; so determined. It wasn't any wonder these men came out of nowhere and obeyed his every word. Kai Anderson was smart. He was ruthless, you knew that. You'd seen it. But he knew what he could do for the world. What he could do for you.
"Y/N," Kai muttered, his eyes still on the paper.
"Uh," you stuttered slightly as you seemed to come back from your thoughts, "Y– Yes?"
"Do you want me to show you the loose stitch?"
Your eyelashes flutter for a moment, like you were finally returning to reality. "Yes. Please, if that's alright…"
"Mhm," Kai hummed a yes before standing himself up slowly, his hand finding the edge of the arm of the couch.
"C– Careful," you spoke softly as you stood up, holding him steady.
Your eyes watched Kai bring his hands to the button of his pants and pop it undone. And then the zip. You felt your heart beat faster in your chest as you turned away. This was always so intimate, you'd done it twice already but every time… It brought a blush to your cheeks.
Kai never seemed to care; surely you knew he wouldn't anyway. He had other important things to take care of. Like his paperwork that he seemed to instantly go back to as he sat down.
When his dark eyes stayed glued on the words in front of him, you were trying to focus your attention to his wound on his thigh; rather than anything else. "I can… just patch it with a butterfly stitch. No need for anything too dramatic," you explained as you kneeled in front of him.
"That's good," Kai simply replied.
You pulled your eyes from his wound and towards the coffee table in the middle of the room. Under it, you had kept a small first aid kit since looking after Kai the last two weeks; almost like you were sure he'd do something so stubborn to break the stitches. And you were right.
Kai's eyes drifted along the paper in front of him, though a silent flicker of his attention drew to you quickly before shifting back to the files. "You were right to have that there, afterall, Y/N,"
When you tugged on the white, small plastic box and placed it on the table; you opened it and searched for those white strips. "Just… Be careful moving around, okay…?"
Pushing back some of the other first aid inside, you found a butterfly stitch at the bottom – closing the box again and turning your body back to Kai, your eyes drifting to the wound which was seeping a little bit of blood; the red stain glistening against the yellowish light that seemed to also stain the basement.
"These aren't as strong as the hospital's stitches…" you said softly as you placed a cotton swab against the blood to soak it up. "So, you can't do too much while it's keeping it together."
"They should've dissolved by then," Kai spoke up.
"Y– Yes, they have a little already, just…"
You pulled the cotton swab away before finally placing the strip across the wound; you were thankful the wound wasn't as severe anymore and you didn't have to take him to the hospital. If he just kept still from until the wound began to properly heal and scar over.
"Alright, it's done. Do you feel okay, Kai…?" you asked, your eyes flicking from the stitches to his face; an air of concern yet admiration loomed in your chest.
Despite Kai's tougher exterior, he did always seem to be thankful for your efforts. The way his voice softened when it was just the two of you together. Especially like right now.
"I'll be fine with you here."
Your attention was brought to Kai's handsome face when he spoke so kindly to you. You'd heard it before. And not just to you. You knew he was only ever just trying to be the best leader he could be. But regardless, though you wouldn't admit it out loud, it made you melt.
"You're almost done with those papers?" you asked, noticing him flick to the last file in the folder. "It's the red one, righ–"
"Y/N," Kai spoke up now, though his voice stayed almost subtle. "You've been so good to me."
Before you could reply, you felt the palm of Kai's hand rest on top of your head causing you to look him in the eyes – that seriousness that usually lingered in them seemed to evanesce just for a moment. Long enough for you to notice; he was being sincere with you. At least, you thought so.
"Well…" you muttered softly. "I—"
Before you could even finish the sincere words back to him, your eyes narrowed and your brows raised on your head when you felt Kai's lips press against yours. He was firm about it; like he meant it, yet it was soft enough that it made you want to loiter on his lips for so much longer, like a ghost to a haunted house with unfinished business, when he finally pulled away.
His fingers seemed to be wrapped around your chin slightly as he held you close to him. "I want you to stay with me – by my side when I get in office," Kai whispered against your lips. "D'you think you can do that for me, Y/N?"
Your eyes were glued to his, darting between the two pools of inky blackness staring into your soul like he could understand everything you wanted to say without speaking a word.
"Kai, I… would do anything for you." Your words seemed to slip off your tongue like hot butter; sweet and without control. "Anything."
Kai seemed to smile at your words, his thumb tracing your bottom lip before planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth. He brought his lips to your ear, with a sultry tone, he spoke softly, "Then let's do anything we want to. Together, Y/N."
You felt your heart racing in your chest, a burning in your ears as you felt your face flush. He always knew exactly what to say to you. It was true, you would do anything for him. How else could you thank him for everything he'd done for you?
"Together…" You seemed to echo that word more just to confirm that he said it.
"Y/N," Kai spoke softly, still so close to you. "I can hear your heartbeat. It sounds like a whirlpool."
"I… I'm sorry, I just–"
Kai simply shook his head before pulling back and leaning against the back of the couch. "Come closer."
You glanced up at him, watching as his dark eyes peered down at you; like Cupid's arrows striking you over and over. You only wished you could stay this close to him always. Just to show your appreciation for this man who's only done good to you.
"For everything you've done for me, Y/N, I want us to have such a closer bond," Kai explained, his voice coated with his usual authority in it; though it seemed to top with sincerity.
"I'd… want that too," you replied in almost a mutter, like you understood what he was implying.
Your cult leader's almost black eyes seemed to gloss over with a sense of longing as he gazed down at you kneeling in front of him, your own bright eyes like a doe in a headlights – but those headlights were something you were so daring to face. Especially with that look that Kai held in his own dark whirlpool eyes as he peered down at you.
"You want that too," Kai echoed your words like he was sure you wanted to be as close to him as he so desired. Kai Anderson had you wrapped around his finger from the beginning – and you knew that. You were happy with that. With him.
You gave him a simple nod before you watched as he pushed his fingers into his underwear – with a tug, he pulled out his semi-hard cock, his fingers wrapped around the base. You'd not seen anything like his. Your eyes drifted up from the base to the tip in pure worship. And that was what you wished to do.
"Y/N," Kai spoke with a softness in his tone, "This is going to be our own special bond. Something that'll connect us forever."
Your attention was still glued to his prick in his hands, watching as you could see it grow as he spoke. Holy shit.
"Yes, Y/–?"
"Yes."
You responded in a way that a fire would to gunpowder. Instantly and with incitement.
Kai laughed softly through his nose, that smile still on his lips. "Good."
When your eyes drifted up to his, almost like you were asking for permission, Kai gave you a nod before you glanced down back at his cock standing up in front of you. With all those 'little lamb' pet names, you sure felt like one around this lion now.
You felt the racing of your heart beat even quicker than before, you could practically feel it in your ears. As well as between your thighs.
Almost with shy hesitation, you brought yourself closer to Kai before you reached out with both hands, wrapping your fingers round the base of his cock; making your hands look so small in the process. "Hot…" you murmured softly, the feeling of Kai's hot skin against yours almost felt burning.
Your eyes flickered up to your leader once more before you finally moved your lips to the tip, your tongue lapping the bead of precum that laid so beautifully at the top. It tasted somewhat sour but that you didn't mind; secretly you were hoping for more.
Your fingers flexed around his hard cock a little before pushing it back slightly as your tongue curled around the tip. You could feel a heat burning between your thighs now, your slick wetting your panties. You dreamed about doing such dirty things with Kai even before joining the cult; watching him make his speeches on television had your fingers making circles on your clit. Having his cock against your tongue right now felt like heaven sent.
As your brows curled up and your hips twirled behind you, your tongue lapped the new precum leaking from the tip before gliding your tongue from top to bottom – your eyes glancing up to Kai for a moment.
When his eyes met yours, his lips parted and he smiled down at you, his hand cupping your cheek; Kai's fingertips just under your ear. "My sweet good girl."
His voice was laced with a caramel tone, only making his praise sound that much gratifying. His voice alone made your pussy flutter with appreciation for your admirable cult leader. Your Kai Anderson.
You brought your knees closer to him on the floor, mostly to find some kind of edge to your panties, some traction as you worked on him; your tongue and lips still dancing so vigorously against his thick cock.
A hungry moan escapes your lips when you pulled away from him for a mere second before your parted them over his tip, pushing your mouth over his twitching cock, somehow it felt even hotter than before, and fuck, did it make you want him even more.
"You continue to impress me, Y/N… My little lamb." Kai spoke with that sultry nuance in his voice, his hand on your cheek now moved to the top of your head, like an owner would a dog.
You almost reached the base of his cock before you felt it hit the back of your throat. Your eyes practically rolled back before closing them tightly and pulling him from your mouth, you repeated that a few times over, trying your damnedest to get further each time. You could feel drool run down your lips and chin now, slicking Kai's cock completely with your spit.
"Y/N," Kai muttered so softly, though you could hear him say it through clenched teeth.
When you pulled his cock half way off your mouth to look at him, he reached out and wiped the bottom of your chin with his thumb before pushing it into your mouth, laying the pad of his thumb on your tongue. "Come up here, my pet."
You could barely form any words, even with his thumb between your lips, your mind was drunk on his cock, as much as you were thinking about Kai entirely, the taste of his cock and precum still laid pleasantly in your mouth and mind.
Kai pushed his pants down a little more before patting his thighs, his hand just above where you placed the stitches from before.
"K– Kai…" you barely muttered back to him. "I can't– Your stitch–"
"Don't worry about it," Kai replied, cutting you off. He bent forward and his hand found yours, still slick from holding his cock from before. He led you to stand and pulled you over on top of him, your legs now either side of him on the couch. "I want to finish our bonding."
You gave him a dazed nod before you noticed Kai's fingers hook around your panties, pulling them down enough so that you could finally pull them off entirely yourself. When you did, Kai took them from you and placed them next to him, almost to say 'For next time.'
"Kai…" your voice broke a little when you echoed his name. "Want…"
"Want what?" he asked, so daringly like he didn't already know.
"To finish… our bond…"
He gave you a smile, though this time, it was a smug one. One you've seen many times but not at you. Oh, not at you until now.
Kai pushed your skirt up with ease before one hand went around your waist so fondly, easing you down onto his cock with his other.
Your eyes lingered on his as he drifted from your pussy stretching out over his cock to your face, you watched as he parted his lips ever so slightly, his tongue curling over his top teeth a little. That expression was enough to drive you insane.
"Aah…! Kai, you're… ngh, it's not going to… fit…" You barely broke your words through quick, soft moans.
"Shh," Kai hushed you, both of his hands on your hips now as he eased you over half way down now. "You're doing so good."
Your lips parted as the hot pain was replaced by pleasure – a long, breathy moan escaping your lips as the palm of your hands found Kai's chest, your fingertips pressing eagerly into the fabric of his button up shirt that hung open so effortlessly at the top.
"Fuck," Kai groaned softly through his own agape mouth as you squeezed around him, finally feeling his tip at your core.
"Kai…," you muttered his name along with a moan like it tasted like nothing but sweet honey. "Love… you."
Oh, you hadn't said that before. Not out loud at least. And definitely not to Kai.
"I know, my little lamb." Kai wandered his hands up your body to your face, resting each of his big hands on your cheeks as he looked to you, your eyes barely staying open to keep your attention on him. Kai admired that expression laying on your face – an expression that always held admiration for him and him alone. Oh, how he thrived from it. "We'll complete this bonding moment of ours tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow…?" you barely muttered, your brows curled up on your forehead.
"This is the beginning," Kai replied before he placed his hands back on your hips, pulling you up a little, which caused you to whimper. "Tomorrow, ngh… We'll kill that senator. Together, yeah?"
That senator. The one that humiliated Kai on TV?
"Yes," you answered him like you wanted to please him – not just physically, but in every way possible. "Yes. I'll do that."
"Good girl."
Kai then thrusted up into you, a slow and steady pace as he watched your expression, what could only be described as pure pleasure, pressure into your face. Your body reacted instantly with Kai's movements, your legs flexing against Kai's on either side of yours.
"Kai– Mm, fuck… Feels…–!"
Your words scarcely left your parted lips through your whimpers and moans – you could feel Kai's cock only get bigger inside you with each thrust, causing your forehead to find his shoulder, your hands tightening around his shirt.
"I'll take his place and we can–" Kai groaned as he kept his hands tightly around your waist, your skirt dancing around his fingers, "–be together forever."
Forever.
Forever.
Together forever.
Kai's words were running circles in your head as you felt him pump quicker and faster into you, your eyes clenching together as you felt your core begin to heat up with a knot in your stomach. "Kai…! I'm going to…!"
"Cum, my pet." Kai's voice in your ear sounded heavenly amongst the soft moans. "Show me that love."
You let out a whimper before you finally felt it. That hot sensation in your whole body seemed to explode where you and Kai were connected the most. "Kai!"
A smirk laid carelessly on Kai's face, his dimples on his cheeks adding a sense of innocence to him. "Such obedience… You really are– ngh…" Kai felt himself getting closer now, his jaw clenching before his lips parted again, "my favourite."
With those words leaving his lips, you wrapped your entire arms around him now, taking in every feeling of being so close to Kai Anderson. As you did, your pussy clenched harder around his big cock, those girlish whines of yours accompanying the euphoric feeling.
Kai bit down on his bottom lip before letting out a moan himself – and with a few more fast paced thrusts into you, he stopped as his hands flexed hard around your waist, holding you in place as he felt his cum shoot out into you, painting your pussy like a canvas.
"Fuck." As Kai's hand fell from your waist and went to your back, you felt your body collapse against him, your pussy full of Kai's cock and juices.
You both stayed there for a moment, your heavy breaths the only sound echoing in the basement. You wished you could stay in this moment forever – maybe you could. Just being around Kai felt like this. And with tomorrow's assignment…
"I look forward… to tomorrow, Kai…" you whispered softly, your forehead still comfortably against his shoulder.
Kai chuckled slightly, his arms holding you that much closer before he let out a sigh.
"Hm,
me too."
130 notes
·
View notes