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bedlamsbard · 5 months ago

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Tagged by @windona!

1. How did you get into writing fanfiction?

I genuinely have no idea, it was too long ago. (2001/2002)

2. How many fandoms have you written in?

I've dabbled in a number of fandoms, but my big three have been the MCU, Star Wars, and Narnia, with a reasonable amount of writing time in BSG, CSI:NY, Miracle, and HP, and there have been bits and bobs elsewhere, sometimes as crossovers, sometimes not. (I actually used to do a lot of crossovers.)

3. How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

SOME. probably like 22.

4. Do you read or write more fanfiction?

Write. By and large I don't read in my writing fandoms, and since I'm pretty monofannish in general, it means I don't tend to read much fanfic anymore. I'll occasionally go down rabbit holes of old fandoms or occasionally particular authors (I went down a Smallville rabbit hole about a month ago), but these days I don't read much. My reading fandoms have tended to be fandoms that I was familiar with but wasn't inclined to write in back in the day (10-15 years ago), and I don't really pick up new reading fandoms these days for whatever reason. The MCU was one of my longest-running reading fandoms and it messes me up that I can't read in it anymore, because it's now a writing fandom, and all the stuff I used to be able to read pings as wrong to my brain.

5. What is one way you’ve improved as a writer?

Execution and discipline. I have always been a cast of thousands/complex plot writer, but for a long time I just didn't really have the skill level to execute it really well -- Dust in the Air is the most dramatic example. Part of it is also that I didn't really know when to rein myself in, and that's something I've worked really hard on. (Even Gambit's guilty of this, though by that point I was better at it.) I'm a lot better now at not only knowing what can be done but actually, you know, doing it.

6. What’s the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

I've researched some unbelievably weird stuff, I don't know what counts as weird anymore. Most of it has been for the MCU, since that's real world (give or take) and I try to be as accurate as possible, especially with something like Home where it's historical. Like, I looked up boxed cereal the other day to figure out when it had been invented, pre or post WWII. (Pre, but the idea of it as a kids' breakfast came post.) I've looked up so much about WWII-era engagement rings. The infamous "WWII essentially invented the men's wedding ring" thing. So much spy stuff. (I'm haunted by the fact that there's an inaccuracy in Home because I didn't realize at least one term was Cold War era and wasn't used in WWII.) Everything about special operations and spies in WWII was more batshit than the last thing. I watched WWII hand-to-hand combat training videos so that Peggy's fighting style would be 1940s-appropriate vs. 2010s-appropriate. I dug through online archives of newspaper headlines for the exact dates of the events in Home (those are almost all real headlines!). I went through War Department ID cards so that Natasha's would be more or less accurate. For Horizon I spent so, so long looking at summer of 2020 photos and blog posts so I could get the post-apocalyptic deserted Midtown vibe just right. (Also, like, horrifying that that's a thing you can just look up since we lived through it!) I watched escalator videos of people riding the escalator up from Grand Central into the MetLife building so that the scene of the Avengers going up the escalator in Stark Tower would be accurate. I looked up elevator enthusiast blogs to figure out how the Stark Tower elevators were likely to work. I went and walked around my own campus to plot out the geography and choreography of the Atlanta fight in Horizon, and then looked up pictures of the dorm rooms in the building where Natasha and the Hulk-Widow fight so that the furniture would be accurate. (Couldn't get into the actual building and the way it's laid out I couldn't look in the windows, even when it was empty for summer.)

7. What’s your favorite type of comment to receive on your work?

Thoughtful ones about the details of the story, whether those are plot details or character details -- the "I never thought about it before, but of course Steve drowned" or the effect that the characters have on the environment or the characters around them, or the "wait, is this the thing from XYZ?" kind of comments.

I have a policy of not responding to comments unless they're direct questions, and sometimes not even then, but I do read all of them.

8. What’s the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

buddy I write Infinity War AUs in one of the biggest IPs in the world, I'm not sure what in here is fringe. lol.

that aside, I don't think I've seen another fic writer who's as interested as I am in dealing with the post-Snap period. I'm sure they're out there, I obviously can't read in this fandom anymore, but this is the period of the MCU I'm most interested in and it doesn't seem to be a really common one. (which is kind of understandable post-2020, tbh, but Horizon was my way of dealing with all of that.)

uh, less macro than that -- probably the most fringe topic is my intense interest in worldbuilding Asgardian law, particularly vis a vis inheritance.

9. What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

I can't write short fic so I don't even try.

10. What is the easiest type?

"Easy" isn't really the best word here, but my default is 80-350K complex plot with a cast of thousands and intense relationship between 2-3 of the main characters. A long time ago I trained myself into being able to come up with long-form plot relatively easily, which is a great life skill if you want to write long-form plot, which I do. That is my default, which is why it's the easiest; aside from concept writing it's the only thing I write, and the concept writing is me playing with whether I should get to this point.

11. Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

I am a Microsoft Word purist; I do it exclusively on my laptop, at home unless I'm traveling. I used to write on campus a lot; I don't do it anymore, though there are various reasons for that.

12. What is something you’ve been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

The honest answer is the third Ouroboros story, All Along the Watchtower, which I did get scared out of writing years ago. Would I love it to be written? Yes. Is it likely to ever happen? No. The other, similar answer, is the rewrite of the Dust in the Air, which kind of hits the "intimidation" point because I would have to completely rewrite it. Would I love to do that? Sure. Is it going to ever happen? Probably not. Anything I write I expect to spend a couple of years on, so if I get intimidated out of it, it's simply not going to happen.

13. What made you choose your username?

I have been bedlamsbard for many many years -- the name comes from Mercedes Lackey's Bedlam's Bard series, which I was very fond of at the time. (I was also a flute player at the time, like Eric Banyon.) IIRC, I was also trying to figure out what would be symphonic enough to be memorable, especially because this was back in the days when your username was your name, it almost never changed. The double B in Bedlamsbard followed a few other well-known fen who had similar patterns. It doesn't seem to be common anymore. (There are one or two places on the internet where I still have a pre-Bedlam username, and I have another username I use when I don't necessarily want my fannish username associated because my real name is attached.)

I don't tag people, but go for if you like!

#meme #your girl

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ariibees · 7 months ago

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*climbs into your askbox like an old friend* I just wanted to come and say I vibe so hard with your feelings about Outer Wilds! Unfortunately for stupid reasons of physical impediment I'm unable to play games with a controller and it is, as it turns out, pretty impossible to play on mouse and keyboard, so i had to experience it through other people's playthroughs which was a huge shame. but nevertheless, I absolutely agree with "rewrote my brain"!!

Interestingly enough, I had the exact opposite experience with the control schemes -- I played the game using keyboard & mouse pretty comfortably, and absolutely would have suffered with controller. In the early game the controls do take some getting used to (particularly the delayed jump and zero-gravity maneuvering) and I was using a pretty awful button mapping setup earlier on, but with the exception of [THAT SECTION] that controller can arguably-slightly-cheese I preferred the ease of looking around and aiming my scout that kb&m provided. Though I'll admit I'm biased in that regard, as I've gone to pretty comical lengths to avoid having to use a controller for anything (looking at you, Sonic Adventure 2) and thus never really learned how to hold/use them.

That aside, even though you didn't get to play the game on your own, I'm glad you were able to enjoy other folks' playthroughs -- there are some seriously awesome ones out there. Since it's impossible to replay Outer Wilds for obvious reasons I always try to push people towards experiencing it on their own first, but in a situation where you can't I'm glad you still got to see it through one way or another.

As for the actual point of the ask hahaha, yeah, gosh, this game just fundamentally dug into me in a way others haven't. I legitimately went through the five stages of grief over the game's ending.

The game is also just great at putting you in the shoes of the Hatchling. With the exception of like, continuing a save after getting the kazoo meme ending which technically "doesn't happen," you explore the world and learn everything entirely in-character, which made it all hit much harder for me. It didn't feel like I was observing a story, it felt like I was the one making it and uncovering the mystery and having all of this happen to me. That and the fact that I had some personal things going on in my life around when I played Outer Wilds that aligned with the game's themes, leading to it kinda taking me out on a very personal level.

Outer Wilds also just seemed perfectly engineered to suck me in, haha. It's got computer simulations! Black holes! Quantum mechanics! I was the kinda kid who lived for space documentaries so getting to fly around and explore everything was amazing. Going through environmental puzzles, reading adorable exchanges with the nomai, getting to see the most incredible sights (the door falling away at the [SPOILER] and having to make a leap of faith to get across the gap was amazing), and putting it all together in a wild red-string conspiracy board...I completed the entire game over the course of like, 2-3 days as I recall? Just entirely immersed for that time.

It's inspired me so much in my stories and how I think about mysteries. It's the best time-loop game out there, and the presentation of the sandbox mystery is just unparalleled in any other game. Hence why everyone who's played it is left looking up Youtube playthroughs and chasing that high again -- personally I think going into the original Subnautica game blind touches some of the same feelings, but you're never really gonna get the Outer Wilds Experience again.

The mechanics are great, the mystery is presented wonderfully; I fell in love with the environments and the characters and the dialogue. The themes were tied into the story very naturally and hit me right in my core. Obviously I can't really replay it, but I do sometimes boot it up just to reread some sections or go hang out on Giant's Deep for the ambiance; it's comforting and nostalgic in a weird sort of way.

Sorry that this response isn't anywhere near coherent. I'm very, very tired right now, and I love Outer Wilds a lot and won't pass up a chance to ramble about how great it is. It's a very special game to my heart and dug into me in a way other games often can't do. It's not for everyone, but if it is for you it's REALLY for you. Clearly I like it and clearly you like it. So thanks for climbing into my askbox and setting me off, haha.

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akitoscorpio · 11 months ago

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Dead of winter Pt 10

"EIC Log entry 2, Commissar Bogdan recording the log."

"The boss said he needed what amounted to a 'head of security role' around the base. I guess because I was the one that he trusted the most, not to mention the only that still had all his bits functional, I got the job."

"I had a couple requests though. The main one being he needed to take the Dominion's offer to make him part of their nobility seriously. He finally caved and we started to make him a throne room. I guess it doesn't look great when they have to give you a title in the entryway of the base next to the Paste grinders."

"I wonder if he climbs that ladder enough we can get some proper food around here?"

"Now I had a few idea's how to really impress the Dominion when it came time for them to show up and promote the boss. I had us set up an external mine shaft so we can exploit some of the deeply buried resources under our base to try and muster up something special to doll up the new room."

"It turned out we were parked on top of a deep vein of Eltex, that fancy ore that's used in creating clothes and weapons to make Psycasters a but more potent. The empire loved the stuff."

"Now my original idea was to plate the walls with the stuff, or maybe add some pillars to the place, but the boss said it seems like a waste of a rare resource"

"The guy is a corpo big wig but he anit fixing to bling his throne room out? I asked him for alternatives and he just said 'Why now use some of that gold we had in storage. We found a decent supply of it we anit using it for anything'".

"Of course it wouldn't be a Rimworld if shit didn't go tits up at the drop of a hat, we had a toxic rain storm hit the area."

"The whole outside area took on this sickly green glow, it was even setting of the radiation alarms, The boss said the base would shield us from it, as long as we stayed put till it was safe to travel outside again."

"Oh and this happened as well, Tapia commented that god was clearly pissed off at something to be stacking this much crap on us at once."

"So not only was the snow now trying to kill us, but random lightning bolts of Psychic energy was striking down around the base."

"Axl of course, in that very Axl kind of way was picking our brains, asking what we all knew about the storms. He has a one track mind, wanting to get to the bottom of every single thing that happens around here. Of course as Katie put it 'Were not the damn weathermen Axl, we don't know.'"

"On a positive note, our two not quite former federation raiders must have decided since they were not part of the Federation hold outs any more, it was okay to start hooking up. I didn't mind to much but I'm not sure how the boss would feel about having babies around the base."

"While this was happening, we were starting to see lighting hit the base near the base at least three to five times an hour"

"If one of them hit the solar panels, we'd have to go out and fix them and I wasn't to keen on that idea."

"I say that and then a lightning bolt blew a hole in the barracks."

"Fun fact, the lightning flashes caused the solar pannels to spike in power output for a second, so maybe the lightning had a bit of a perk to it"

"Katie and Lips dug up some armor designs they had seen bounced around their old stomping grounds, and we managed to recreate the armor. It protected us better than the hodge-podge of scavenged armor and clothes we all had before. It was also far better suited to the weather as well, which was nice."

"We all felt pretty good about it all things considered."

"Well I'd reckon that'll be enough to make the boss man happy, I'm going to snore some angel Grace and get some shut eye now, this is Commissar Bog, end of log."

#rimworld #dead of winter

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pegasus-ghost · 1 year ago

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My 2017 Old Self.

So I went and dig around my tumblr archive and read my oldest post in this blog.

So apparently I started this blog in 2017.

And... Oh boy...

I had.... I kinda... Broke down a little there.

I freaking cried.

So many thoughts came into my head while reading that. So many.

One that stood out the most was, how I just... No longer recognized that old me.

Reading those 2017 posts felt like I was reading detailed memories of a stranger. It was strange that I barely remembered all the memories I wrote down in my 2017 posts. I was significantly impressed of how well I tend to document my experiences and thoughts down back then. But also, since I barely remember any of them, It felt like my brain had probably suppressed a lot of them. And for a good reason too.

Because apparently I was terribly depressed back in 2017 and I didn't realize it.

Whenever Liam and I talked about our past, I had always been persistent with my statement that I barely had any significant trauma in my past years. Sure stuff happened here and there but I didn't remember anything that traumatizing.

BECAUSE MY BRAIN ERASED THEM OFF.

Reading those 2017 posts apparently woken up a lot of those suppressed memories. All those pain. It was so freaking bizarre that I forgotten most of them that happened. I only remembered bits and pieces, mainly just basic and general points of what happened, but not the detailed memories.

Reading those made me felt... Sad, for my old self.

Those were the days when I just moved from my parents place into the big city, working an entirely new job vastly different than my call center life. I was fresh. Stupid. Naive. Had no clue on what to expect of life.

And oh boy, 2017 Zach, you are going to make a LOT of mistakes you won't realize back then yet. Like a LOT of significantly terrible and shitty mistakes.

But also, dear 2017 Zach, you wouldn't have ANY clue that future you would drastically change.

That Allah would save you from this dark hole you dug yourself int0 5 years later.

And yeah, I cried, reading them, not only because of painful memories it reminded me of. It made me reflect that, while I was THIS lost and depressed, I hadn't spent a SECOND to remember Allah.

And yet, Allah never forgot about me.

He still provided for me. Watched over me. Guarded me. Cared for me. Planned for my future, despite my ignorant self not giving a damn about religion and Allah. He never left me alone, and He was always there. Always watching. Always guarding and observing me. Provided for my sustenance and livelihood.

And there I was, back in 2017. Lonely. Depressed. Sad. Desperate for love. Hating my job. Lost my beloved cat. Get heart broken and ghosted by blind dates. Got laid and fucked, performing actual Zina for the first time. Suffered a broken relationship which led to a break up which, despite me hating to admit it, really consumed me and made me feel lonely that I cried often. I don't even remember now but apparently I spent most of the first half year crying a lot.

Yeah. I was terribly depressed and didn't realize it.

And yes. Allah never left my side. He faithfully watched over me being stupid and ignorant, and provided for me, knowing clearly that I will eventually turn to Him 5 years later.

Sigh.

And throughout the reading the old posts. I kept telling myself....

"Zach, if ONLY you had picked up the Quran and read it. Please. I wish you would have read the Quran at this point to save yourself earlier, to save yourself from continuously being ignorant for the next 5 years and save yourself from making those future mistakes. All of these stuff that's making you depressed in 2017, its not going to end there. You're going to face so many more shitty things and make more mistakes, sin even more. I wish you would have read the Quran and turned to Allah earlier, you could have saved yourself from ALL of these trouble and pain..."

But then again, if I DIDN'T face all of those pain and make all of those mistakes, I wouldn't have gone on the specific path where I ACTUALLY picked up the Quran where it changed my life completely.

It was heart-warming as well when I really think about it, that Allah had put me on this path of ignorance, never once left my side, always watching over me and keeping me company, so that I would learn from those mistakes and turn to Him in 5 years.

He knew that about me. And He was Mighty patience on waiting for me to come back to him.

THAT, was why I cried reading them.

Just made me appreciate Allah and love him even more.

I was so damn lost back in 2017. So lonely. So depressed. I felt so lost in life, and felt like I had no aim and purpose other than just live life, which felt so pointless.

Reading my 2017 life and old self made me feel sad for 2017 Zach. It felt like I was reading a life of someone I cared so deeply and how I wish I could have saved this guy with Quran and the faith I have now. If only I had this faith sooner, it would fix so much of my depression and avoid me from making mistakes I should have known better NOT to make.

But now? I still just live life. I still have no big ambition or goals. But now, I am so, so much more at peace. A lot more thankful and content with life.

Because now, I found Allah, and my main purpose is to please Him, and better my faith, improve myself, train myself to let go of worldly desires, and focus on preserving my faith so I can eventually die in a state where Allah is pleased with me.

That's my aim now. My purpose. I live to prepare myself to die. I live as minimal as possible when it comes to worldly experience. I live to constantly be ready for death, constantly relate and think of Allah.

It's seriously FAR different than who I was in 2017, heck even LAST year. Back then, didn't even bother spent a second to remember Allah. Now? I remember Allah and talk to him, relate EVERYTHING to Him as frequent as I can.

And it feels more peaceful, knowing that this Almighty and All Merciful, All Loving God, has my back, and will always help me out.

Back then, I felt so lost when it comes to my future. I was always worried of my career and work despite doing good. But now? I don't even care much if I get fired. Allah has helped me eliminate most of my loans. The only loan I have now is related to my house, which I am planning to sell eventually when the time is right. I no longer am worried about money or the future. Whatever that would happen to me, I KNOW that Allah has planned it for me for a good reason, and as long as I have food to eat, roof over my head, I will be grateful.

My worries over worldly things are gradually disappearing ever since I trusted in Allah. Allah will never disappoint as long as His Servants are faithful to Him. Allah will have my back. Allah will support me.

All this, makes me feel so much calmer and at peace.

Thank you Allah. Alhamdulillah for saving me. I owe You everything in life and I will try my best to constantly remember You and improve myself to be a better servant to You, to please You.

P/S: Also, I just discovered that I was apparently very funny. Where did the humor go??

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dirtywresling102 · 2 years ago

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Crossroads Deal - Finn Balor (18+)

Demon!King!Finn Balor x Melanie

Commission: @thepalaceofmelanie

Summary: Making a deal with the Demon!Balor but instead of wanting Melanie's soul he wants to make her his sex slave.

Warnings: 18+, Minor DNI, Smut, Public!Sex, Sex in a library, Studying for finals, Blowjob.

Word Count: 3,258

Follow my main blog: @dirtywrestling

Like my writing? Leave a tip!

Enjoy!

Pushing the gravel back into the hole where I had placed my picture in a tin can, standing up, I looked around to see if anyone was in sight. Nothing. Legend has it if someone put a picture of themself in a small canister along with graveyard dirt and a black cat skull and bury it in the center of the crossroads, they could summon a demon and strike a deal, but of course there was a price, in ten years some sort of creature comes and collects what’s theirs.

Luckily when I dug up the tin box and opened it up there already had the ingredients inside and a couple of old photos of other people making deals in the past. I heard about the crossroads deals from my Mythology college class last term, of course I didn’t think anything of it, just an old tale but doing my research and finding out people actually have sold their souls for fame, money, looks, whatever they name it and they got it.

College was becoming irritating, ten hour shifts at work on my shoulders didn’t help and I was constantly worrying if I’ll have enough money for rent. I needed something to change.

“You rang.” A Irish accent filled my ears, jumping slightly, I turned around to see a tall, handsome man in a black suit. His dark hair short and slightly styled where his greenish blue eyes burned into me, his stare lasting longer than a few seconds. I couldn’t help but to blush as I noticed his eyes slightly wander over my body.

“Are you really…” Words couldn’t form in my brain let alone finish the sentence I started. Was this actually happening, demons were real?

“The Demon King? Yeah, I'm also a crossroad dealer.” The male smirked, his memorizing greenish blue eyes turning ruby red. Blinking, they went back to his normal color. “The names Finn.”

“I’m-”

“I already know your name, sweetheart.” He cuts me off before I get the chance to introduce myself.

“You do?” My eyebrows arched in curiosity, wondering how he already knew my name.

“Of course. I know the name of every person who wants to make a deal, Melanie.” The Demon King named Finn licked his lips and stepped closer, the gravel underneath his shiny black business shoes crunched with each step. “So, what can I do for you, dear?” Finn was now only a few feet away, his form nearly towering over me.

Swallowing thickly, I didn’t think I’d make it this far. I actually didn’t think this would work, just following some myth and the help of some reddit reviews from some possible emo kid sulking in the dark. All of this was a cry for help to get me out of what I was in. “I want to be wealthy with money.” I finally spoke out the truth of why I summoned him.

“Blah.” Finn spat. “You humans and money,” Finn started to circle around me, my eyes never leaving him. I quickly turned my head to the other side as it was starting to crank my neck. “Why, can a boy you like fall in love with you?” Finn laughed at my needs.

“Psh, no.” I scoffed at him for trying to assume and twist my words.

“Pay off that mortgage?” Finn spat back another reason why I could have possibly summoned him.

“I wish.” I sighed, looking down at the gravel. What was his deal and trying to guess why I needed this money? Why couldn’t he just give me what I wanted and leave?

“Get that dream car you’ve always wanted?” Finn guessed once more, his Irish accent filling my ears.

“Not even close.” I crossed my arms and looked at him.

Finn stopped guessing and stared back at me, eyes squinting. “Then why is it everytime I make a deal with most of you humans it’s always about money?” Finn hissed, it sounded like he was mostly annoyed than anything. He must get deals with people about money a lot.

“I’m in college, I’m on my own, I nearly work myself to death just to keep up with my rent and college is tiring along with it. I just want to live my life without having to worry about money.” I frowned, finally confessing onto why I summoned him tonight.

“So, you’re willing to give up your soul in the next ten years just for money?” Finn was baffled, he blinked as he waited for my answer.

“Well, when you put it like that.” I reassured myself, my hand going to my arm and rubbing it in comfort, trying not to back out of this silly deal. Should I ask for more or something for else? I felt so small compared to him as he pointed out the flaw of this deal I wanted to make.

“Listen, I’ll make a deal with you.” Finn shoved his hands into the suit jacket pockets and stood there casually. “I’ll give you what you want, I’ll stuff your bank account with so many zeros and with no questions asked from the bank tellers.”

“And you want my soul in return?” I followed up after his deal he proposed.

“No, something better.” Finn pulled his left hand out of his pocket, placing it upon his scruffy chin. Watching his moves made me want to reach out and stroke his facial hair. I watched his large hand stroke his beard, my eyes never leaving his slender fingers. I swallowed, not even realizing I was salivating in my mouth at how much of a good looking man he was, even if he was a demon. Knowing his large hand he could take me with one tight grip around my throat.

I couldn’t help but to clear my throat and squeeze my thighs together. I needed to stay focused and not have my mind in the gutter right now. “Like what?” My voice cracked slightly, I knew better, I should have just headed to my car and left, forget about this night and never come back to the crossroads again, but the other part of me wanted to stay, see what he had to offer.

Before Finn spoke, he shoved his left hand back into his blazer pocket. “I get to have my way with you, whenever and wherever I want.” Finn said nonchalantly, his gaze lazily looking over me. As if he wasn’t interested in me but knew it would be fun to offer the deal.

I blinked, trying to think what he meant by that. “You… You mean have sex with me?” I choked.

“Yeah, basically a sex slave.” Finn shrugged, as if he wasn’t bothered by anything. “If you don’t like the deal I could just make it to where I come and collect your soul in ten years.” Finn suggested. “Well, not me but my Hellhounds.”

“Hellhounds?” I questioned him. “Is that like a dog or something?” I didn’t understand what he meant by that.

“More or less, basically they come and rip you apart and collect your soul to bring it down to Hell for my collection.” Finn pulled his hand once more and checked out his nails in a bored manner.

Biting my lower lip, I fiddled with my fingers. Now it was my turn to check out his body fitted in the tight suit. Finn huffed out a breath, folding his arms together, his biceps flexing. “I can let you think-”

“I’ve thought about it.” I blurted out, interpreting him.

“Oh yeah,” He purred, the words rolling off of his tongue like silk. “And what’s your choice, sweetheart?”

“I’ll do it, I’ll take your deal.” I said without a second thought. I now didn’t know if I was doing this for the money still or to be in the sheets with this demon.

“Great!” Finn smirked, coming closer to me.

“So, how do we seal the deal? Handshake, I sign my name on a contract with?” I started to extend my hand out towards him.

“Something like that.” He murmured, pulling me closer to him by the waist, his free hand caressed my cheek, leaning down he pressed his lips against mine, planting a surprisingly soft kiss.

My eyes widened, placing my hand on top of his chest. I tried to push the Demon King away. My eyes slowly fluttered shut, I stopped trying to push him away and melted into his touch. Finn pulled away from me, gasping softly for air. I looked up at the demon. “You made a great deal, Melanie.” Finn chuckled. “See you soon.”

That was three months ago. At first I thought Finn would come back in a couple of days but soon days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. He was faithful on his end of the deal, I had money in my bank where I could retire today if I wanted to. My fridge was stocked with groceries, my cabinet stuffed with canned goods, my car even had a full tank of gas every week.

Finals were around the corner and I was spending my saturday at the local library, other students from the college were there too, noses in books, staring at computer screens, some students were so tired from studying they fell asleep their elbows propped up on the table while they rested their head in the palm of their hands, drooling.

Standing up from my table I forgot one more book for my anatomy class. Walking down the aisle of the large bookshelves I stopped in the health section, my fingers dancing along the spines of the books, looking for the one I needed.

“Looking for this?” A rich Irish accent asked. Jumping slightly, I looked to my right to see the Demon King, holding up some kind of book about romance.

I couldn’t help but to giggle. “No.” I grinned at him for picking out such a book.

Finn frowned, looking at the book and placing it randomly on the shelf where it didn’t belong, obviously romance didn’t belong in the health aisle. “I thought you females adore romance novels?”

“I’d love to be reading about that, but sadly I’m studying for my anatomy final. It's coming up in a few days.” I started to look for the book I needed again, my attention back to the shelf skimming through the books.

“Listen, that’s hot and all, I’d love to see you study for a final,” Finn teased me about studying in the library. “but I have something else better in mind.” Finn licked his lips and gave a mischievous smile.

“And what could that possibly be?” I asked, looking towards him, my eyes casted downwards, only to grow wide and quickly look back up at him. “You’re joking?” I gasped, Finn was standing there with a pinched tent pressing against his black pants.

“Oh no darling, you see I’ve had quite the chub since I’ve met you.” Finn’s Irish accent thickens with lust.

“Why now? Why here?” I squeaked, quickly looking around. Luckily nobody was near us until someone needed something from the human resources section.

“Well, you know how Hell is, soul meetings, soul counts, more meetings, keeping Hell from going, well, you know, Hell.” He chuckled at his word play.

“Okay, I get it. You do a lot of things in Hell to make Hell less Hellish. I have to study for this final so I won’t fail this course, I need to get an ‘A’ on this.” I sighed, trying to find the book I was looking for before Finn appeared.

“May I remind you, Melanie. A deal is a deal.” A growl rumbled from Finn’s chest, his eyes appeared glowing red, they flashed back to his normal colors. “Or you know, I could take away that money and let you struggle again.”

“No!” I said a bit too loudly only to look behind me to see if anyone was there to shush me. Swallowing my pride I turned to face the Demon King. “No, a deal is a deal, I’ll obey.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear.” He purred lowly, stalking towards me. He towered over me, being a foot and a couple of inches taller than me. “I’ll try not to have you screaming my name, this is a place of silence after all.” Finn snapped his fingers, my clothes disappearing leaving me nude for anyone to see. The cool stale air hitting my bare skin, my nipples becoming slightly hard.

Quickly, I crossed my legs and my hands flew up to my breasts to cover them. Finn tisked, “Don’t play coy now love, you’ve enjoyed this, trust me.” Finn unbuckled his black belt around his black pants. “Just trust me on this, you do trust me, right?” His eyes flashed back to those beautiful bloody red colors.

“Yes.” I breathed out, it was as if I was under his spell.

The red faded back to his greenish blue eye color. “Great.” Pushing his pants down, Finn rubbed himself through his black boxers. “Now, be a good girl and get on your knees.”

Obeying his command, I lowered myself onto my knees, the carpet feeling uncomfortable as the rough fabric rubbed up against my skin. “Open.” Finn pushed his boxers down his thick thighs, his cock sprung up, hitting his toned stomach. Gulping, I tore my eyes away from his throbbing erection and looked up at him. “I said, ‘open’.” He demanded again, his words like venom this time, his patients thinning. Slowly opening my mouth, Finn grabbed my jaw, forcing my mouth to open up wider. He shoved his salty mushroom tip into my mouth, down my throat. “Hmm fuck.” Finn let out a deep moan.

Water built up in the corner of my eyes, I tried to catch a breath before he shoved his cock further down my throat again. Digging my nails into his hips, I tried to get him to slow down. His erection thrusting in and out my throat I quickly tapped on his waist to stop. Finn pushed his cock as far down my throat as he could and slowly pulled out. Siliva connected from the tip of his dick to my lips which broke, making it snap back onto my face. Gasping, I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. “What- What the fuck?” I hissed up at him while wiping my tears away.

“Sorry, I got out of control.” Finn grumbled, helping me up to my feet. I didn’t want to do this anymore if he was capable of getting out of hand. “I promise it won’t happen again, Melanie. We’ll have a safe word.”

“I think the word ‘stop’ is understandable.” I snapped, giving him a glare.

“Again, my apologies.” He combed his fingers through his dark short hair. “Okay, okay. Stop is our safe word.”

“It isn’t a safe word, stop means stop.” I nearly barked at him. Finn’s eyes darkened this time, grabbing me by the waist and pinned me against the tall bookshelf. The books slightly rattling behind me.

“I said I’m sorry, now let me claim what’s mine.” Finn grunted, his hard cock nudging against my wet lips. “Oh my.” He smirked in a teasing manner, letting go of my waist with one hand and dipped it in between my thighs, feeling the wet coating. “I think someone got wet from me being too rough.”

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I looked away from the demon. Finn dipped his fingers into his mouth, sucking off the juices. His eyes shut for a moment before fluttering them open as he pulled his fingers out from his mouth. “Hmm, so sweet.” He moaned. Finn grabbed my waist again, making me jump up. He hooked his arms underneath my legs, my back pinned against the rough shelves. “Finally.” Finn whispered, he pushed the tip of his cock past my wet folds. “Holy Hell, I knew you’d be tight.” Finn sighed out, his head tossing back slightly.

A sharp gasp escaped my lips as Finn pushed his full length inside of me, not giving me time to adjust around his cock. “Fuck, you’re- you’re deep.” Digging my nails deep into his shoulder, I left small nail marks on his skin. I was a bit worried that he was going to split me into two.

“Such a good girl, taking my whole cock.” Finn whimpered, his thrusts becoming deeper, slamming his cock faster. The bookshelf behind me shook and creaked, a few books from the top fell onto the ground with a loud thud. Quickly looking down each side of the aisle for anyone to come by.

“Don’t worry about love, we’re fine.” Finn grunted. “Just relax and enjoy my cock.” Finn pressed his lips against mine, shoving his tongue into my mouth, our tongues dancing against each other.

A coil tightened in my lower stomach as Finn kept pumping his cock in and out of my drenched pussy. “I’m close.” I whined against his lips. Finn pulled away, opening his eyes that were now ruby red.

“I am too, sweetheart.” Finn grunted in my ear. My walls tightened around his pulsing member, my body was shaking with arousal, beads of sweat formed on Finn’s forehead, his muscles flexed underneath his suit. “Fuck, come with me Melanie, come with me.” He nearly roared out.

Crying out Finn’s name we both came at the same time, our juices colliding together. Finn thrust a few more times, pushing his come further inside of me.

He slowly pulled out, our juices oozed out of my fucked pussy and dripped onto the salmon color carpet. Finn chuckled deeply. “Someone likes to be filled with cream.” Finn teased, helping me onto my own two feet. Finn snapped his fingers, clothes appeared on my body while he adjusted his pants.

“I should uh, get back to studying.” I murmured, fixing my hair before anyone sees me.

“Here, I think you need this while you study.” Finn grabbed a random book from the shelf and gave it to me. It was the book I was looking for in my anatomy class.

“How did you-”

“I watch you all the time, love, I know.” He chuckled lowly and left on that note.

That was three years ago. College was finally over, I quit my job and moved in with Finn down in Hell. Sure he used me for a sex slave for a couple of months but we both soon caught feelings for each other and moved to the next stage.

“Mommy! Mommy!” My son came running up to me. “Daddy won’t play with me!” I couldn’t help but to laugh, picking up my son and carrying him down the hallway.

“You know how daddy is, he works a lot, being King isn’t easy.”

“My queen, would you like me to make lunch for the little one?” One of the demons that helped around asked me.

“Yes please, thank you.” I nodded, making my way to the throne room. I saw Finn sitting on the throne, murmuring to himself as he rubbed his beard, it looked like he was in train of thought. I let my son down who ran towards my husband.

“Well, well, well. Isn’t it my queen and little prince.” Finn smirked, putting the paper work away. Finn picked up the Prince of Hell and placed him on his lap. “Let’s raise a little bit of trouble, shall we?” Finn winked towards my direction.

#Finn balor #Finn Balor smut #finn balor imagine #finn balor #wwe smut #wrestling smut #finn balor one shot #wrestling fanfic #wrestling blog #wrestling one shots #finn balor fanfic #dirty wrestling #wrestling imagines #wrestling #wwe fanfic #wwe fanfiction #wwe #smut

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elysiadjarin · 3 years ago

Text

Day 6: Hand Kink

Day 6 of Kinktober! Already almost a week in, huh… I figured I’d dip into the rich Japanese side of mythology this time. I hope this is an acceptable tribute… Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ content ONLY. Trigger warnings for violence mentioned including physical assault, some family abuse dynamics, implied sexual assault (does not actually happen), and mild descriptions of death. Also sexual content including soft dom themes, PinV unprotected sex, entirely consensual.

Tags: Beast Youkai x reader, fox spirit x reader, exophilia, terato

Small Sun Showers

“It’s such a small thing, really.”

You slid the bag you’d brought into the hollow of the old tree. Avoiding the ropes strung around, you carefully sat on the rock next to the tree.

“I brought you some sweet buns, this time, with poppy seeds,” you said, ignoring the comment that had come from the dark hollow. “Since you said you missed some of the herbs.”

The sound of crinkling came from the hole, followed by the sounds of munching. “Attentive to me, as always, sweet one,” the disembodied voice cooed, though a moment later burning orange eyes stared at you from the darkness.

You studiously avoided the gaze, looking down at the grass under your feet. A sliver of shadow from the abandoned warehouse nearby fell over you, giving you some shade from the warm sun. As always, you didn’t respond to the epithets. You never did.

“How is the temple doing?” The voice asked.

“It’s fine,” you answered, almost automatically. “The festival is coming up soon, so everyone is excited.”

“And yet you do not, hmm?” The eyes tilted, as though the head had cocked at her curiously.

Your eyes slid away, more towards the forest beyond the tree. Unconsciously, your fingers tugged at the long sleeves you wore, despite the warm weather.

“I’m a little nervous,” you admitted. “As a Shrine Maiden, I’m supposed to be doing the Miko Kagura. I’ve been practicing, but…”

“You wear long sleeves again.” A hint of suspicion crept into the voice.

Despite yourself, you flinched. “I— I’m just-“

A low growl issued from the tree. “A spirit has been harassing you again, hasn’t it. Why haven’t you called an exorcist? Or told your Father, the Priest?”

You turned your head away. “It’s been contracted by someone else,” you admitted, voice thin. “I… can’t tell Papa.”

A pause. “Because it was bought at a high price.” A sneer laced the voice. “Then how do you plan to get rid of it? You can’t hold it off forever yourself. And it’s already injured you, hasn’t it.”

You shook your head. “I’ll find out a way. I can’t bother anyone else with it.” Your eyes slid closed, the bruises mottled up your arm throbbing.

“Or you could create a contract with something far more powerful,” came the slick purr. “If you’d only break the talisman, I would make a contract with you, sweet one.” The sealed beast offered, for not the first time.

“You are a beast youkai,” you answered, voice steady. “It is against your nature to bind yourself to anyone, much less become the guardian spirit of a small temple.” You reminded both him and yourself.

“Unless we have reason. Even the mightiest of beasts might be swayed by beauty such as yours.”

A bitter smile twisted your lips as you turned your face away. You? As if. The beast youkai only even spoke to you because you gave it food and paid attention to it out of your own loneliness, not because it somehow cared about you. You couldn’t bring yourself to really believe that.

With a soft sigh, you plucked at your sleeves. “What do you want me to bring you next time?”

But the voice stayed quiet for a moment. When it spoke again, something in its voice had changed. “Do you truly not believe me? I do not lie when I say that I would bind myself to you. I would never let you be injured. I would protect you, like your family cannot. I would hold you close,” the voice said, a dreamy tone in its voice, “and I would shower you with everything you deserve.”

You fought the tears that welled in your eyes as you abruptly stood, grabbing your bag. “If you don’t have any requests, I’ll just bring anything,” you interrupted, struggling to make sure your voice didn’t waver.

A sigh, so soft that you wondered if it were only the wind. “A meat bun.”

You nodded, then headed back down the hillside towards home. Reaching up, you angrily smeared your tears from your cheeks, breath hitching on your sobs.

You could never allow yourself to believe the words of a youkai, much less a powerful and dangerous one like him. No matter how sweet his words, how genuine they sounded… Everyone always lied to you. He would be no exception.

You tried to ignore the little part of you that wondered if maybe, just maybe, dying at the hands of the youkai would be better than continuing the misery of your life.

“Fouuuund youuuu.” A yawning mouth sprang from the darkness, black eyes fixed with crazed bloodlust on your body.

You dropped to the floor, scrambling across the hardwood to slide towards the doorway. Leaping back up, you ran for your life. Your breaths came fast and shallow as you blindly ran, tripping through the dark halls of the temple. Behind you, you could hear cackling laughter as its talons scrabbled after you.

You reached out your hand, then burst though the main doors, stumbling across the stones out front. Looking up, you froze.

An entire group of men stood in front of you, all staring at you with leering, jeering faces. The one in the front, the one your brain automatically assumed was the leader, stepped forwards.

“Well, well. Would you look at that.” He grinned, his eyes sliding over your shoulder.

Something grabbed your arm, wrenching you back. You stifled a cry, sinking your teeth into your lip as claws brutally dug into the bruises already all up your arm. The spirit held you, its tight grip almost unbearable.

“I guess the boy must really hate his family, huh?” the man sneered, hands in his pockets as he stared at you down his nose. Reaching out with his foot, he kicked at you like some sort of trash. “To think that he’d offer his own younger sister in exchange for his debts.”

Your heart sank. Of course. Your brother who had gotten into debt with the yakuza. Of course he’d offer you: the only girl, the precious little shrine maiden.

Sadly enough, it didn’t even surprise you. But at least now you figured out why the spirit had haunted you in particular so insistently, and how much trouble you were in. Which, you snorted bitterly to yourself, was a lot. Probably at risk of your life, at best.

A wild thought flashed through your head, desperate but somehow… insistent. Your eyes briefly scanned the crowd of men. You were smaller than most of them, and probably in better shape at this point. If you managed to get a brief head start, you weren’t too far away— enough to maybe be able to get there just fast enough. But you’d have to immobilize the spirit first, at least temporarily.

Thickly, you swallowed, closing your eyes and breathing in deeply. You had enough. Just enough for one— Your other hand landed on the spirit’s as your eyes flew open. The spirit let out a piercing shriek, letting go of you as the searing spiritual energy burst through your palm. You didn’t hesitate.

Breaking into a dead sprint, you headed straight for the hill behind the temple. Behind you, you could hear the angry shouts of the men as they started after you. You pushed yourself, ignoring it, taking as many shortcuts as you could, heart pounding in your ears as you gasped for air. Your legs were starting to ache, and you could hear them gaining on you; but the warehouse was in sight.

Skidding around the corner, you ran straight for the tree. Your hand reached for the talisman.

When the yakuza men caught up to you, they found you kneeling at the base of the tree, a shattered seal at your feet.

Tears streaked down your cheeks as you whispered into the hollow. “Please… if you help me, just this once… I’ll give you myself in exchange,” you promised weakly.

“It’s too late now, little girl,” the boss sneered, starting to step towards you. “You’re coming with us.”

But before he could say anything more or another move was made, a dark mist began to swirl around the area. Shouts of confusion arose as the mist covered everything, too dark to see through, almost too dark to even move in safely. A low, grating laugh spilled from the darkness, just as you felt yourself being lifted up.

Startled, you gasped softly and clung to the solidity you could feel under your fingers. Lips parted, you stared at the familiar orange eyes that slowly materialized in front of you. A wide, fanged grin split the darkness underneath the eyes; and slowly, a body started to emerge from the swirling dark mist.

“Well hello there, my sweet one,” the familiar voice cooed. Long, pitch black hair tied in a low ponytail framed a pale face. The beast youkai, one that you now recognized as a Fox, held you effortlessly in one arm, pulling you close to his chest. He towered above the ground, dwarfing you in every way possible. His entire hand curled around almost your entire thigh.

You swallowed. “H-hello,” you whispered tremulously, not even sure what to think at this point.

“You released me,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on you. He leaned forward, and his nose brushed against your cheek as a soft purr rumbled through his chest, reverberating down into you.

Your fingers clenched in his robe, surprise flittering through you that he wasn’t… leaving. Or killing you.

“My brave darling,” the youkai fairly gushed, nosing against you. “Now I can finally fulfill my promise to you.”

“Promise?” you repeated dumbly, mind whirling. What-?

He chuckled. “I told you, didn’t I? That I would contract with you, if you set me free. Protect you, cherish you as you should be.”

He’d actually meant it? What?

“I…” You stared up at his orange eyes, fixed on you intensely. Your breath stuck in your throat as the familiar ache of longing overcame you. Reminded you of your stupidity, falling in love with the beast youkai that you thought would never even glance at you if he were free.

“Of course I’ll do anything for you,” he purred, his tongue flicking out to briefly lick away the tear-streak on your cheek. “As if I would deny you when you offer me the one thing I truly desire more than anything else.” He grinned, eyes sparking. “You.”

And then his fingers tilted your chin up, and your eyes squeezed shut as his lips landed on yours. The kiss was warm and soft, surprisingly so. You could feel your spiritual energy gravitating towards him, could feel it wrapping around him, infusing him, as he made a contract binding him to you and your spiritual energy. He reluctantly let go of your lips, the dizzying kiss making your head spin as you gasped for breath.

“My name is Kaz, sweet one,” he murmured, orange eyes half-lidded in simmering contentment.

Unthinkingly, you repeated the name. “Kaz…”

His eyes glowed. “Now then. Why don’t we start with these filth?”

In the next moment, the mist cleared to reveal that everyone now stood in the empty warehouse. Kaz still held you in his arm, keeping you close against his chest as he stared at the yakuza men starting to reorient themselves.

The boss cursed, glaring at you and Kaz. “Hand her over,” he spat, bristling. “She’s ours.”

But Kaz only laughed, his teeth baring as feral glee glittered in his eyes. “Give you my precious shrine maiden?” he cackled. “Didn’t you ever consider the fact that she is in fact a shrine maiden at a temple, with her own powerful spiritual energy? Enough to make a contract with a powerful beast like me?” He licked his lips. “And your blood… smells wonderful.”

Some of the men started to look wary, clearly leery about the sheer size of Kaz, especially in comparison with you.

Kaz tilted his head toward you, just as he flicked his fingers. A soft sort of puffy cloud materialized beside him, and he gently set you on it. “Stay here while I get rid of these nuisances,” he said gently, his fingers brushing across your cheek. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” With one last sickeningly sweet smile, he turned towards the men. A sword materialized in his hand, practically the size of your entire body.

You looked away, bile rising in your throat. The blood drained from your face as you heard the men screaming, the sound of the carnage making you reach up to clap your hands over your ears. Though you were sure the men were far from innocent or deserving of mercy, the brutality of their deaths was undeniable. A high-pitched, inhuman shriek indicated that the spirit they’d contracted had also been shredded by Kaz.

It made you wonder. How powerful was Kaz, exactly-?

After another moment, you felt Kaz lift you up again in his arm. Eyes flying open, you grasped at his shoulders as he pulled you close against himself again. His other blood-spattered hand still held his sword, but his eyes were adoringly fixed on you.

Reaching up, you absently wiped away a tiny drop of blood off of his jaw. “Thank you,” you whispered. Despite yourself… you felt safe.

His eyes visibly lit up, and his grin widened as he gazed up at you. “Ah, my darling praises me!” You could swear his eyes had hearts in them. “Do I get a kiss?” His grin turned teasing.

You swallowed thickly. “I… I promised you myself if you helped me,” you said weakly. “It’s all I can really give you… besides my spiritual energy—“

Kaz leaned forwards, his face so close that you could almost feel his breath against your lips. “Be my bride,” he whispered, his voice a heady murmur.

You breath hitched. “K-Kaz?” Had you… heard him right-?

“You offered me yourself, darling,” he purred. “So, be my bride. I am contracted to you, aren’t I? So I will be an impertinent beast and ask the shrine maiden to be my bride without shame.”

You closed your eyes. “Okay,” you whispered.

He paused, as though he himself didn’t believe you’d agreed.

Because you both knew that as a youkai contracted to someone with spiritual energy, you had the power to entirely command him to do anything… and deny him anything. Yet here you were, agreeing to be his bride.

“Okay, Kaz,” you repeated, not meeting his eyes. You could feel the color splash across your face.

But in all honesty, it wasn’t as though you really had many other options. Kaz could promise you some sort of safety even against your own family, and his power was certainly enough to protect you against other youkai. It had taken one of the highest-complexity talismans to even seal him away in the first place, and you could already feel through the contract how powerful he was.

The idea of being his bride… wasn’t really disagreeable.

“Darling,” Kaz breathed. His lips gently slid against yours, the touch soothing and almost… grounding. “I’ll be a most devoted husband, I promise,” he murmured.

You closed your eyes and decided that you would try to believe.

The talisman had been such a small thing, really.

You smiled as you walked down the street, stretching your hand out to gather the raindrops that pattered down and pooled in your palm. The weather had been beautiful, but despite the warm sunshine and hardly a cloud being in the sky, it had still decided to rain.

Pausing in the middle of the empty sidewalk, you lifted your face and let the raindrops splash against your face in a cooling shower. You loved the rain, the way it seemed to wash away all your heavy worries and soothe the ragged edge in your soul.

A shadow fell over you, and you opened your eyes to see Kaz standing above you, smiling down at you. He leaned down and swept you up into his arm, one hand holding your thigh while the other wrapped around your waist. A startled laugh fell from your lips as you held onto his shoulders.

“Is my darling enjoying the fox wedding?” he cooed.

You flushed, just then realizing the common name for the burst of cloudless rain. You gave him a shy smile, then nodded.

He chuckled. “Should we celebrate, sweet one? I can give you a gift, if you like.” Between one breath and another, he’d shifted you both somewhere else.

You gasped, eyes widening as you saw that you were floating on a soft, wispy cloud, now deep in the forest on the outskirts of town. A place no other people were, where the rain pattered softly against the leaves of the trees and dripped to the undisturbed grasses below. Flowers bloomed beneath your cloudy carpet ride, and you leaned over to brush your fingers through the colorful blooms.

The cloud rose a little, coming to a stop and floating peacefully. Kaz pulled you into his lap, his hands wrapping around your entire waist. He smiled, watching your expressions as you looked around in delight.

“And what do you think of your wedding veil, my darling bride?” Kaz murmured, leaning down to brush his nose against your hair.

You looked down at the long, wispy cloud under you, and smiled. “It’s pretty. Thank you, Kaz.” You tilted your head back to smile at him.

His orange eyes flared, and he caught your lips in a burning kiss that seared through you like foxfire. Letting out a surprised squeak, you grasped his robe, fingers tangling in it for support as he pulled you closer, tilting his head and deepening the kiss. Your head spun as your eyes fluttered closed.

When he finally parted, you gasped a little for air, blinking dazedly. His hand gently slid up your waist and side, sliding to your back, pulling you flush against him. He pressed another kiss to your lips. You realized, with a burst of embarrassment, that the rain had entirely soaked your shirt, plastering it to your body and leaving rather little to the imagination.

“Darling, my darling,” Kaz murmured against your lips, “won’t you let me touch you?” His hands slid down your body, fingers caressing you sensually.

You bit your lip, heat staining your face. It wasn’t fair. He knew your weakness for his hands. His large, strong hands that held you close, admired your body with touch. His calloused, capable hands that protected you, defended you, worked for you.

You nodded shyly, peeking up at him. Your lips parted in a gasp as his hands slid under your shirt, starting to map out your skin. His tongue slid against yours in a soft kiss, almost distracting you from how his hands deftly explored your body.

It almost startled you when your back landed against the cloud, Kaz hovering above you with his hands wrapped around your waist. His robe slipped open, sliding down his shoulders as he observed you with burning eyes.

“So beautiful, darling,” he purred, his hands trailing down to your pants. “Can I touch? Please?”

Shyly, you nodded, one hand over your mouth as you let out a quiet whimper, chest heaving with breath. Kaz’s hands were so broad, so warm… handled you with such a reverent sort of gentility and softness that you couldn’t help but bask in it, melt into it.

A steady purr rumbled through his chest as he kissed his way down your jaw and neck, fingers sliding into your pants and underwear to pull them off. Sliding his hands under you, he pulled your body up against him, lips sliding across yours.

Your hands braced you against his chest as you gasped, feeling his cock land heavily against your stomach. It throbbed against you, but he quickly distracted you as one hand slid into your hair, pulling your head back. He pressed a kiss to your lips, his mouth hot against your skin.

“So tiny and sweet,” Kaz mumbled against your neck, his voice half-drunk. His fingers slid across your thigh wrapped around his waist, and he lowered his hips, pushing you into the plush softness of the cloud. Your mind started to fuzz, entirely focused on the way his hands grasped at you, somehow greedy and gentle all at once, and the way he handled you with that deft confidence yet tender infatuation.

“Kaz,” the moan left your lips before you could quite help it, your entire body humming at every brush of his fingers.

His answering hum was low and amused as he started to gently slide into you, making you gasp and arch. His cock slid into you without resistance. You’d gotten so wet just thanks to his soft touches and gentle attention. He murmured your name against your lips as he slid wholly into you, seating himself inside with a heavy breath.

You whimpered, biting your lip as you tried to somehow ground yourself. Everything had started to go fuzzy, especially as his hands wrapped entirely around your hips and pulled you down onto his cock, his grasp iron as he ground up into you.

His pace, once he started thrusting, stayed steady and almost agonizingly slow. But when you whined, he chuckled and slid his fingers between your lips instead. You let his lithe fingers gently play with your tongue, while his other hand kept you anchored to him.

You could feel the coil inside you steadily growing, getting tighter, closer to the edge. Everything felt so hazy and light, like the solidity of his body was the only real thing, the only think that mattered. Like his hands were the only things that kept you grounded, held you down, safe from drifting away.

“K-Kaz.” Your teary eyelids opened to gaze up at his face.

“Does this please you, my darling?” Kaz murmured, sliding his fingers out of your mouth and down to press against your clit.

“I— I love you.” Your fingers curled against his chest.

His orange eyes widened, then flooded with that pure, infatuated adoration. “I love you, my sweet darling,” he purred, kissing you. “And I am so entirely yours.”

The coil in your stomach snapped, your orgasm washing over you with a force that left you lightheaded and dizzy. The pleasure suffused your entire body until you were gasping, tears streaking down your cheeks as you whimpered.

You finally floated down from your high to the feeling of Kaz’s hands sweeping over you. He murmured soft endearments into your ear, pressing soft kisses to your skin. He pulsed inside you, but still kept his pace slow and steady as he fucked you through the aftershocks.

Wrapping your hands around his neck, you nestled your head into the crook of his neck. His hands clenched around your hips, and he let out a groan as he rested his head beside yours. You could tell that he was so close, his hips starting to stutter.

“You feel so lovely, so warm and tight and soft, darling,” Kaz groaned. “Please, can I—“

“It’s okay, Kaz,” you reassured sweetly, voice shy. “You can.”

He jerked one more time, sinking into you with a low groan. His entire body shuddered as he came, pouring into you as he gripped your thighs hard enough to leave fingerprints. For once, you didn’t mind the bruises.

Pulling back, he caught your lips in a deep kiss, mouth slanting over yours. He poured the love, the gratitude, the adoration between your lips until you felt as though you could drown in it.

“I will always protect you,” he promised against your lips.

And for once, you believed the promise.

It was such a small thing, really.

#elysiadjarinkinktober #elysiadjarin #my writing #mywriting #x reader #kinktober #fox spirit x reader #Youkai #japanese mythology #Youkai x reader #Exophilia #monster x human #nsft #smut #terato #monsterboyfriend #monsterlover #monsterfucker #x you

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pissjesus · 2 years ago

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How much are you willing to woobify the old man?… This is a question, not an accusation 😭

Let it be known I’m a Murdoc apologist first and a person with a brain second. Yes he’s a terrible person, and yes I made an oc to smooch him ten ways to Tuesday

But fr, it depends on the kind of story I wanna explore, cuz sometimes I like to look at it from a more cartoonish and goofy perspective and sometimes I like it more grounded and analytical.

Idk how to put it, I cherry-pick aspects where he’s “nice, actually” just like everyone else. I think he’d be really friendly with fans but an absolute nightmare when you get to know him. He loves Noodle with his whole enlarged heart but it doesn’t mean he’s good at doing the right things for her. I think he’s tragic for a lot of reasons that are his own fault but also a lot of ones that aren’t. He’s a lot more sensitive and lonely than he lets on but he lets those feelings rot within him until they become toxic to everyone around him.

I draw cute Murdad moments and him being friendly with 2D and Russel cuz obviously I just don’t wanna draw scenarios where he’s a piece of shit. I do, however, love to write him being a piece of shit, but it still depends on the story I’m trying to tell. He’s gonna be a different flavor of mean depending on the context and tone. I don’t think different depictions are right/wrong ways of looking at him.

I guess my limit to how much I wanna woobify him is whatever the fuck they were doing in Song Machine. Enough with the tears you miserable beast if I wanted to see you boo-hooing I’d kick you myself. I don’t want him crying unless he’s in complete and utter despair in a hole he dug himself into

#asks #plastickatz #gorillaz #Murdoc

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translations-by-aiimee · 3 years ago

Text

The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Chapter 17

Original Title: 二哈和他的白猫师尊

Genres: Drama, Romance, Tragedy, Xianxia, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 17 - This Venerable One's Shizun was Injured, This Venerable One is very. . .

What kind of Master of Ceremonies Ghost was this thing? They dealt with aphrodisiacs. At best, other people's aphrodisiacs would let average living people take about their prowess. This immortal was good. The dead could get hard with a small wave of the hand. The hand was truly a wonderful "aphrodisiac"!

He was watching with great interest when suddenly Chu Wanning stretched out his hand and covered Mo Ran's ears.

Mo Ran: "Huh?"

Chu Wanning looked extremely cold: "Such a ridiculous and obscene practice. Don't bother watching it."

"Then you should be covering my eyes. Why are you plugging my ears?"

Chu Wanning's face was expressionless: "Don't look, don't listen. Close your eyes."

Mo Ran: "Pff. Shizun, you are really. . ." He didn't even pay attention to his own red face. If he wanted eyes closed, he can do it himself.

Mo Ran couldn't help but be a little bit happy. Chu Wanning, a person made of ice and snow, had never even seen an erotic picture. At this moment, now that he saw intimacy up close, he would probably choke to death.

The dead couple came together, and gradually both of them became alive. Their dead throat, which was supposed to be silent, actually let out a raspy gasp similar to that of a living person.

Chu Wanning was obviously disgusted. He harshly turned away, not wanting to look again.

Mo Ran noticed this with great joy. He tried to get a rise out of the other. He smirked and knocked against his chin.

Chu Wanning quickly avoided him as if he were being stabbed: "What are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything." Mo Ran said sweetly and sneakily. With some sarcasm and teasing, he gave him a once-over like he was making a joke.

No matter how old this man is, this kind of thing still makes him blush. . .

No, it's more like a mixture of blue and red. It's quite funny.

"Shizun, didn't you tell us that we must see what the other party is capable of being doing anything? You should also see the ability of this Master of Ceremonies Ghost."

"What is there to see? Don't look."

Mo Ran sighed: "Why do you have such thin skin?"

Chu Wanning replied angrily: "It's improper and nasty. It really hurts my eyes!"

"Then I have to look at it." Mo Ran said, and he lay there nonchalantly. He looked outside again and he said, "Ah", "Wow", "Awesome", "Ouch" and so on. It made Chu Waning completely berserk, and the coffin board could not be held down. He whispered angrily: "Just look, what are you narrating for?!"

Mo Ran said innocently: "I thought you wanted to hear it."

Chu Wanning finally couldn't hold back. He strangled Mo Ran's neck, gritting his teeth: "If you make another noise, I'll throw you out to feed the zombies right now!"

Enough teasing. He couldn't push Chu Wanning too far. When he got anxious, Tianwen would quickly be summoned, so Mo Ran lay there obediently, staring outside, without saying a word.

As the ghost couple reached their climax, the male corpse let out a low growl, spasming and twitching on the female corpse. Suddenly a cloud of blue smoke burst out of them. The Master of Ceremonies Ghost opened her mouth and greedily inhaled the blue smoke until the last wisp of it was in her stomach. This time, he wiped the corners of her mouth gluttonously, and her eyes shone brightly.

It seems that these were the "benefits" that the married couple gave to it, which would increase its cultivation.

"Haha, hahaha—" When the Master of Ceremonies Ghost tasted the sweetness, it became even more radiant. When he spoke again, the misty and empty voice became clear, shouting and roaring. The sharp voice seemed to pierce through the long night. "Rise! Get up! All of you! Wait for the idiot and blame the girl! I kindly grant you intimacy! You offer me your faith! Get up! Get up! Everyone rise!"

Mo Ran's heart skipped a beat: It's over. . .

What is it going to do?!

The surrounding hundreds of coffins all began to tremble, verifying what Mo Ran was thinking. The Master of Ceremonies Ghost is going to summon all the corpses in the coffins to embrace so that it can absorb all their "benefits" at once!

Not caring about joking anymore, Mo Ran yanked at Chu Wanning: "Shizun!!!"

"Now what?!"

"Quick! Get out! Shi Mei is still trapped with the Chen's family daughter-in-law!" Mo Ran was going mad. "Let's go save him!"

Chu Wanning took a look outside. He didn't expect the Master of Ceremonies Ghost would have such a powerful hunger, not wanting to absorb from the pairs individually, but actually wanting to take a huge bite!

The trembling of the coffin next to them became more and more intense. It wasn't a stretch to think that all the pairs of the ghost marriages were inspired to start acting up in the coffins. This thought made Chu Wanning choke, his face growing even more ugly. At this moment, the Master of Ceremonies Ghost, who was standing in the same place and laughing for a long time, suddenly felt something. She abruptly turned her head. A pair of black eyes without focus stared straight past the others and landed on the coffin of Mo Ran and Chu Wanning .

It could feel, despite its low intelligence, that the coffin does not have the erotic scent it was familiar with.

There was no faith.

There was no. . .

Living people!!!

Suddenly it arched up, screaming and scrambling. The Master of Ceremonies Ghost's robe flapped up, a pair of blood-red claws stabbing through the coffin wood, piercing the thick coffin, straight into the coffin body.

Its attack was too sudden and Mo Ran was too late to react. Moreover, the space in the coffin was very small, and it was impossible to go anywhere. Seeing its head through the five holes made by the nine-yin white bone claws, its body suddenly fell -- Chu Wan Ning had already swiftly guarded him in his arms, blocking himself in front, and the five pointed claws of the Master of Ceremonies Ghost suddenly pierced into Chu Wanning's shoulder!

Deep enough to reach a bone!

". . ."

Chu Wanning stifled a grunt but he endured it and didn't shout out. The other uninjured hand was still burning with the sound-dampening spell, and he placed it on Mo Ran's lips, blocking the sound that Mo Ran would've made.

The claws of the Master of Ceremonies Ghost dug into the flesh and blood of Chu Wanning.

It had a muddled brain and it could only judge what was dead or alive by sound. Chu Wanning actually managed not to say a word in this situation, the blood bubbling down his shoulder. Mo Ran was held down so he couldn't see how serious his injuries were, but he could clearly feel Chu Wanning trembling slightly. . .

Living people. . . or dead people? It was impossible for a living person to have not made a sound. The Master of Ceremonies couldn't tell for a moment. The sharp claws shifted around in the flesh of Chu Wanning's shoulder, viciously tearing and scratching.

Chu Wanning trembled with pain. He spasmed, a cold sweat drenching his clothes.

But he was still biting his lip, protecting the disciple in his arms, as if he had really become a corpse and became a dead person, pressing against the edge of the coffin, like cast iron on the wall of the coffin.

The Master of Ceremonies Ghost seemed to confirm that anyone in the coffin wasn't alive anymore. It jerked its hand out, blood flying, and he could even hear the sticky sound of fingers being pulled out of the flesh, which made his hair stand upright.

Chu Waning's taut body felt like it had suddenly lost its strength. He let go of Mo Ran and gasped softly.

There was a strong smell of blood flowing in the coffin.

Mo Ran raised his head. Through the dim light leaking in through the hole, he could see Chu Wanning's drooping eyelashes, as well as the moist but stubborn eyes beneath them.

Those slightly provocative phoenix eyes, blurred with pain, but still more cruel and tenacious, a thin veil of mist filling them. . .

Mo Ran wanted to speak. Chu Wanning shook his head and he left the silencing spell on his lips. After a while, he took a slow breath and, with trembling fingertips, wrote on the back of Mo Ran's hand:

The sound-cancelling barrier was damaged, so they couldn't speak.

The Master of Ceremonies Ghost outside tilted its head, as if he didn't understand why, even though there was clearly no living person inside the coffin, he didn't follow its instructions, nor could it feel any of offerings of faith.

Chu Wanning raised his head and glanced at it from the gap. His uninjured hand was encaged with golden light, and a willow vine flowing with flaming luster came out in response to the call.

He held Tianwen and narrowed his eyes.

The next moment, they broke out of the coffin!!!

The coffin exploded. Chu Wanning flew out like lightning. Tianwen was both accurate and quick and it strangled the neck of the Master of Ceremonies Ghost who let out an ear-piercing whine——

"Who are you! How dare you!"

Chu Wanning's answer was only one phrase: "Get lost!"

The large, auspicious red robe flipped out, like a cloud wave. He had been holding back just to land the right blow, so he immediately struck with one hand and Tianwen went for the neck! It decapitated the Master of Ceremonies Ghost!

A thick red mist along with a strange fragrance sprayed out from its broken neck. Chu Wanning quickly backed away, avoiding the fog, and sternly said: "Mo Ran! Thousand Killing Cuts!"

Mo Ran had already been waiting on standby. When he heard the order, he clutched the dark sword box in his sleeves, filled it with spiritual power, and blasted it towards the mutilated body who was reaching for his head.

The clay body split open, revealing a flowing red light inside the translucent body. Chu Wanning raised Tianwen again and tied up the immortal spirit body of the Master of Ceremonies Ghost. A scream came from the body of the headless immortal: "The mortals are safe! The mortals are safe! — Rise! Get up! Kill them! Kill them——!!!"

The golden boy and girl, who had no facial features, suddenly both had a pair of blood-red eyes light up, and with countless squeals and screams, rushed towards Mo Ran and Chu Wanning.

The coffins lying on the ground also shattered and the dead corpses lying inside rose and surged toward the two of them.

Mo Ran's gaze weaved through the crowd, looking for Shi Mei. Chu Wanning barked: "What are you staring at those corpses for? That's not going to do anything!"

The two of them and the Master of Ceremonies Ghost had already flown on top of a coffin, the slow-moving corpses slowly gathering around them. Mo Ran raised his hands to light an exorcism talisman. He cast it in all directions, sending an explosion through the crowd. But there were too many ghosts, another wave of them not far behind.

Mo Ran was flabbergasted: "This many people died in Caidie Town? How many married couples are there?!!!"

Chu Wanning said angrily: "Look at the cultivation level of the Master of Ceremonies Ghost. There are so many men and women who didn't die naturally! In all likelihood, it probably compels those who aren't married to commit suicide! Hit over here!"

Mo Ran waved another exorcism talismans toward the place Chu Wanning signaled, exploding a piece of white bone and dead flesh.

"Why isn't the Master of Ceremonies Ghost dead?"

"Ordinary weapons can't hurt it."

"What about Tianwen?"

Chu Wanning was furious: "Can't you see that it wants me to use Tianwen? This Master of Ceremonies Ghost moves extremely fast. If I let go of it, and don't get another grip on it, I'm afraid it will have already escaped!"

Those corpses were piled up more and more. Mo Ran, while fighting, was paying attention to whether Shi Mei was in the crowd, so as not to accidentally hurt him. A golden boy rushed over and violently bit his leg. He cursed inwardly, and he threw an exorcism talisman directly on the golden boy's face. He kicked it into the crowd of corpses and he exploded with a bang.

Chu Wanning said: "Have you seen Shi Mei and Madam Chen?"

After frantically searching, Mo Ran suddenly saw two swaying figures in the distance and said joyfully, "I see them!"

"Get over there and pull the two of them away! Get away from here!"

"Okay!" Mo Ran answered and then he was taken aback. "What are you going to do?"

Chu Wanning said angrily: "I can't raise my other arm, and I can't summon other weapons. I can only use Tianwen. As soon as I release the Master of Ceremonies Ghost, I'll destroy this entire place. If you don't want to die, get out as soon as possible!"

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#2ha novel #2ha translation #2ha #the husky and his white cat shizun translation #the husky and his white cat shizun #english translation #chinese bl #chinese novel #bl novel #danmei novel #danmei #yaoi novel #yaoi #mo ran #chu wanning #ranwan

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oonajaeadira · 4 years ago

Text

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature.

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job.

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul.

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear.

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure.

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted.

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull.

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke.

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?”

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.” His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?”

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too.

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

#ezra x reader #ezra/reader #ezra prospect #prospect fanfic #prospect fanfiction #pedro pascal #soft #soft ezra

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pillage-and-lute · 4 years ago

Note

How about-Hanahaki disease? Gerald/Jaskier? Happy ending please!

Nonny! Darling you read my mind, I’m an ‘angst with a happy ending’ kinda gal. Just so we’re clear, I know nothing of flower meanings and I didn’t research.

TW: Gore

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Jaskier first coughed up a flower at age three.

Poets loved Hanahaki, it was considered romantic, and those prone to it were tragic beauties, destined to languish, delicately spitting blood and rose petals into a silk handkerchief. No one really wrote about how it could be brought on by deeply unrequited platonic love.

Jaskier coughed a violet into his little fist and brought it to his mother, who turned him away.

Fifteen years down the line and having graduated Oxenfurt with honors, Jaskier was old hat at taking care of Hanahaki. His feelings, although often unrequited, were also often fleeting. A night spent coughing tulips into a bowl and a sore throat the next mroning, but rarely more than that.

If it persisted for a week or more there was tea. Any apothecary in even a mid sized city carried it. It was putrid and thick and slid down the throat like a cup of slugs, but in the morning there were no petals, and after two or three days of the stuff, the disease was gone.

He was almost thankful for being so prone to Hanahaki, it was romantic and lended much to his chosen profession. People gave him sympathetic looks and free drinks if he sang a sad song and discreetly spat a rose petal into a handkerchief. Most of the time he simply didn’t mind it, and considered himself twice blessed with his mobile heart.

Sometimes he had nightmares of what would happen if he found true love.

The notions of true love itself was romantic, but everyone knew that your true love, the one you were fated to, if they didn’t love you in return no tea would save you.

He’d watched a friend, a grad student at Oxenfurt, die of it. It was no delicate coughing into handkerchiefs, no poetic languishing. He’d held her hair back as she threw up petals and blood, crying as she clutched the bucket with skeletal hands because she could no longer force food down a torn throat.

It had been so slow, she’d said between pulling thorned stems from her mouth. More than a decade of loving the boy she’d had a crush on in her small town village. She’d lived through it all, only occassionally throwing up flowers. Always snow white roses, for him, apparently. It would have been wonderfully artistic if Jaskier didn’t know how they looked covered in blood.

Then she’d gone to his wedding to the baker’s daughter and two weeks later he watched her cough out roots wrapped around a chunk of lung and screamed for a doctor knowing it was too late. The blood stain never washed fully out of the floor.

And she’d said it was worth it. That she wouldn’t have stopped loving him for the world, even as she said it through a throat full of thorns.

Jaskier never understood it, leaping from town to town, avoiding long term connections while knowing all the while that if fate wanted him to fall in love he would. Denying Destiny only made things nastier, he knew. And then, in a tevern in Posada, with bread in his pants and a hole in his boot, his eyes met pure gold.

It took a split second, less probably, for him to realize that, although he didn’t love the man yet, for love at first sight truly is a poet’s myth, he could love this man. And if he died for this man, maybe the love would be worth it after all.

The man was a witcher, who punched him in the gut and stank of onion and talked to his horse. Jaskier followed him anyway.

He followed him and coughed up flowers, different blossoms for different people, and he began to fall deeper in love. He wondered sometimes what flowers he would cough, as the bouquets turned into only one kind.

What flower would represent Geralt? Not buttercups or dandelions, certainly. Perhaps if someone else were to catch Hanahaki for Jaskier those would be for him. Geralt wasn’t a dandelion. He was grumpy and spiky and after ten years wouldn’t even call Jaskier a friend.

In the dead of night Jaskier feared it would be white roses, like he’d seen once before.

And then Geralt died in a collapsing building only to be alive and fucking a purple-eyed sorceress after nearly killing Jaskier with a djinn. Jaskier vomited flowers not twelve hours after vomiting blood.

Snow drops, tiny and delicate. And from that point forth he never coughed up any other kind.

It didn’t progress so quickly though. Jaskier had expected to die within a month of Geralt meeting Yennefer. He didn’t. Love and sex weren’t the same thing, and his love didn’t go totally unrequited either. It wasn’t the same sort of love, but in the quiet moments just after dawn it was enough.

Then Geralt made a choice.

He wouldn’t kill dragons, he didn’t hunt sapient creatures, he wanted nothing to do with the dragon hunt, until he caught sight of Yennefer.

And that left Geralt and Jaskier, on top of a mountain, as Geralt screamed into the wind that Jaskier meant nothing to him. Jaskier felt the roots set in.

He wasn’t going to get the story from the others. He could barely breathe, the pain was so sharp and intense and he could feel it growing, feel the flowers growing. Little snowdrops had no right to be so painful.

He wasn’t going to make it off the mountain.

Jaskier took a different trail down, and then wandered into the forest a little way, coughing blood and stems the whole way. He collapsed under a tree, blood staining his doublet. He wished he had a friend to clutch his hand, hold his hair back and rub his back like he’d done more than twenty years ago.

There wouldn’t be a funeral though. No one would know what had happened to Jaskier the bard. Worse, no one would know what happened to Julian, the person, the man. As he threw up a clump of flowers and blood he felt very much like the scared little boy who threw up a flower for the first time.

It hurt. It burned and shredded his throat and he wanted a friend and he didn’t have any. He’d thrown all his eggs in one basket twenty years ago and Geralt had kicked that basket off the mountain.

Jaskier leaned his lute up against the tree. It’d be such a shame to get blood on the lovely girl. He curled up next to it, in a fetal position on his side as the coughs wracked his whole body.

His friend had lasted two weeks, he thought. But her rejection was a wedding. Not her best friend and the love of her life telling her never to see him again. That he was a burden. That if life or Destiny could give him one blessing it would be to take Jaskier off his hands. And Destiny was going to deliver. She had made Jaskier love Geralt, and she would kill him by it.

Still, Jaskier would have given anything for the comfort of his friend right now. He began to cry, snot and tears and blood and petals all mixing. He couldn’t even breathe, his lungs burned so bad.

His vision was blurry.

He could hear noises, tromping through the forest and who knew what awful creatures lurked here. Just like Dame Destiny to have him disembowled while dying of Hanahaki.

It was dark, but it had been noon on the mountain. Black clouds swirled and closed in his vision.

A strangled noise.

No monster made that noise. That was a man-made noise. It sounded very much how Jaskier had felt on the mountaintop. He retched up a flower and tasted pollen and iron.

“Jaskier!”

He didn’t remember hallucinations being part of the final stages, but the brain played funny tricks.

“Jaskier!” There it was again, and he was being bundled up tight to a chest that was not at all comfortable and smelled of horse and leather and sweat and onion. A buckle of Geralt’s armor dug into his cheek. Jaskier’s mouth was full of stems and roots.

GLoved fingers dug in, pulling snowdrops from between his lips and then Geralt kissed him. It was entirely awful and unsatisfying.

Dimly Jaskier came to the realization that it was not supposed to a kiss, but Geralt trying to blow air into his flowering lungs. A nice gesture but unhelpful.

He lolled his head to the side to throw up another clump of root, not wanting to throw up directly into Geralt’s mouth.

A shudder ran through the chest he was pressed against, like a tremor before an earthquake. Then a sob.

It was quiet. The worst sobs are.

Geralt lay Jaskier down on the floor, one hand cupped beneath his head, gently cradling. Then the witcher curled next to him, face pressed against a pale neck streaked with blood, and cried.

Jaskier wanted to comfort him, to stroke a hand through soft white hair one last time and thank him for not letting him die alone. He just didn’t have the strength.

Another wretched, tiny sob, then, “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I’m so sorry.” Oh that wasn’t fair. A tear leaked from Jaskier’s eye.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt continued, face pressed into Jaskier’s collarbone. “I didn’t mean it, I was angry and tired and I’ve hurt you but please,” the voice faded to barely a whisper. “Please don’t leave me, I didn’t mean it, I love you don’t leave me here alone.”

Don’t leave him here alone. Jaskier though. Destiny owed him, owed them both for all she’d put them through. Don’t make him lonely, he prayed. I don’t want to leave him alone.

Geralt held Jaskier tighter, pressing even closer like he was trying to meld them into one. “I love you,” he said. “I’m sorry, Jaskier. I love you.”

The world went white.

Jaskier blinked his eyes open with blood in his mouth. It didn’t seem to deter Geralt, who kissed him so thoroughly his head felt light. Then Geralt pulled him upright. There was blood on the ground around them, some even streaked into Geralt’s hair.

There were no stems though.

The forest floor had been carpeted for ten feet all around them with snowdrops, planted firmly in earth instead of lungs. They were so close together it looked like a sudden snowfall, trailing to fewer and farther between at the edges of their little pool of white.

“I...” Jaskier said, letting Geralt pull him to his feet. He wasn’t sure what to say but it turns out he needn’t say anything. Geralt was clutching him like a lifeline and tucking a snowdrop into his hair.

“I smelled blood,” he said, lips brushing into Jaskier’s brown fringe. “I smelled blood and was so afraid. I haven’t been truly afraid in so long and then I found those wretched flowers.” Geralt took a shaky breath.

“I truly thought it was too late.” He pulled back and looked into Jaskier’s eyes. Geralt’s own yellow ones were dry but the emotion was clear. “I thought I had lost you, my love.” A gloved hand, only slightly bloody stroked Jaskier’s cheek. “I thought I had lost you, my life’s greatest gift. And I wanted to lay down beside you and die as well.”

Jaskier chuckled wetly. “You overdramatic sod,” he said between watery sniffles. “What a ridiculous notion. And I can’t believe it takes me dying to turn you into a romantic.”

“Almost dying,” Geralt said firmly. There was panic written plain across his face, as if he was terrified that time would slam into reverse just to take Jaskier from him. Another embrace, just this side of bone crushing. “Almost dying, my love.”

“Not dead, my love,” Jaskier responded.

As they made their way down the mountain snowdrops bloomed in their footsteps, but they were too busy looking at each other to notice.

#geraskier #hanahaki au #hanahaki disease #tw: gore #angst with a happy ending #yo im actually so proud of this what the heck?#askbox answers

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backtothefanfiction · 4 years ago

Text

WHAT BENNY DOESN’T KNOW | Chapter 5

A TRIPLE FRONTIER STORY

Summary: One good night out turns into a two month affair.

Warnings: Mature 18+ ONLY!! Drug use, relationship abuse, mental manipulation, drinking, cheating, angst, language, smut, praise, fingering, slightly rough sex, squirting, unprotected sex (you know the phrase kids...).

Word Count: 6335

A/N- This is a heavy chapter so I have done a longer authors note here. Please read before continuing if you haven’t already read it. Events in this chapter take place 11 months before Italy and a couple weeks after Will’s chapter.

PART FIVE| 11 MONTHS AGO

'Hey Will said you were back. Want to go grab a drink tonight?'

'Yea, sure. Who else is gonna be there?'

'No one else, unless you want to invite others. I kinda just wanted to spend some time with you and catch up.'

'Okay, sounds good to me.'

Frankie had run into Will as he was coming out of a bar earlier that afternoon. He was grateful that Will hadn't notice him coming out through the doors of the establishment, allowing him the chance to pretend like he was just in the neighbourhood; and the fact they had run into each other outside a bar was just coincidence. When Will had casually dropped into conversation that you were home and that he had seen you, that had triggered something in Frankie. Whether it was just his slightly drugged up and alcohol riddled mind or something else, Frankie couldn't tell, but he knew he couldn't get you out of his head.

Frankie had always had a thing for you, ever since Benny first brought you home with him after your last tour together and introduced you to everyone. You were gorgeous, deadly and had a wicked sense of humour, you were everything he wanted in a woman and that's why he had been absolutely terrified to make a move. As time went on and you found your place amongst the group, Frankie came to appreciate how lucky he was just to have you in his life and as a friend and as time moved on further still, it became clear to him that he'd completely missed his chance.

He had started dating Laura just over a year ago now. She was nice, pretty, sassy. She reminded him of a slightly watered down version of you and believing he had fully missed his chance with you and would never get the real you, he figured he could do a lot worse than settling for Laura.

Around month nine of the relationship Frankie started to recognise he wasn't happy. He soon found himself relapsing into old habits he'd fallen into after he'd first come home for good and the PTSD had settled in. It started off as sneaking a bump off someone in the bathroom of a bar one night when they had gone out for drinks with some of Laura's friends. Just a little something to get him through the rest of the evening. A couple of days later it had happened again. It was only when Frankie had dug out his old burner phone from a lock box in the garage and contacted his old dealer, did he realise he was no longer in control anymore, but he didn't care. That's how he had ended up drunk texting you at half past three on a Tuesday afternoon asking you to go out with him for the evening so he didn't have to be at home with 'her'.

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“Hey.” you said getting up from the booth you had commandeered as you waited for him to arrive.

“Hey.” he grinned as he wrapped you up into his arms, his head burying into your hair. It was so soft and smelt amazing, like coming home. “You been waiting here long?” he asked as he reluctantly pulled away from you, both of you sitting yourselves back in the booth. Frankie had taken a moment longer than he should have to get out of his truck when he had first arrived, prioritising snorting another line of coke up his nose off his dashboard, instead of coming straight in to you. A slight panic fogged his brain as he feared he'd taken longer than he had and made you wait ages for him.

“Nah, I only got here like 5 minutes ago or something like that.” You confessed and Frankie relaxed a bit. “Do you want me to go get the first round?” you asked, pointing towards the bar.

“No, its alright, I'll get it.” Frankie said hopping up from the seat. “What do you want?”

“I'll just take a beer.” you replied. You really were a girl after his own heart.

Frankie came back with two bottles of beer a few minutes later, handing one over to you as he tried to manoeuvre himself back into the booth without using his hands. “So when did you get back?” he asked casually, a typical conversation starter.

“Nearly two weeks ago.” you said, taking a sip of your beer.

“Where did you go again?” Frankie asked, his memory of where you'd been the last 6 months hazy.

“Colombia.” you said.

“Ahh, te dio la oportunidad de trabajar en tu español.” Ahh, gave you an opportunity to work on your Spanish.

“Cállate, mi español es muy bueno. Después de todo, aprendí de los mejores.” Shut up, my Spanish is great. I did learn from the best after all, you said stroking his ego and making him blush slightly.

“So what were you doing down there?”

You looked down at your bottle, unable to meet his eyes. “A whole load of stuff that, probably wasn't very legal.” you said, giving him as vague an answer as you possibly could. You looked up, expecting him to have a judgemental look on his face, but instead you were met with one of sympathy. You'd all landed yourselves in some form of shit or another since leaving active service and Frankie was the last person who could pass judgement.

You sat there for almost an hour just talking, drinking your first beers slowly. “You want another one?” Frankie asked, motioning to the empty bottle in your hands that you were now peeling the label off of.

“Yeah, sure.” you said with a smile. You looked to your left to find the pool table had also just become free. “Do you want a game?” you said motioning to the table where the last occupants were throwing the cues on top of it.

“Yeah sure. I'll go get the beers, you go rack ‘em up.” he said, hopping out of the booth with a smile.

You made your way over to the pool table, reaching your hand into the pocket of your jeans, searching for loose change. You took the quarters out, slotting them into the machine. The balls dropped like thunder as they were released, rolling towards the end of the table so you could pull them out the hole in the side. You rolled the discarded pool cues to the side of the table as you reached for the triangle, placing it on the top near you. You bent down to pull out the balls, dropping them blindly inside the triangle above your head. When you had pulled out the last one you stood and was met with Frankie's still smiling face making his way back over to you.

He handed you the beer and you took a sip before placing it on the edge of the table so you could use both your hands to pick out the balls, moving them into their correct spots within the triangle, then sliding them all into place. “Who's going first?” you asked Frankie who had put the pool cues that had been on the table, back into the rack on the wall, choosing his own to play with in the process.

“Well that depends, you get any better at breaking.” you screwed up your mouth at the cheap shot he'd just taken. You were a decent pool player but you were awful at getting the game started.

“Fine Morales, looks like you're going first.”

“Thank you.” he said, jokingly tipping his head at you as he put himself in position at the end of the table.

There was a loud crack as Frankie hit the triangle, the balls bouncing off each other in different directions. You winced in disbelief as he managed to pot two balls with just one shot. He flashed his eyebrows at you, showing off. “You know I think that was one of each.” you taunted him, bringing him back to earth. “You can only chose one, what's it gonna be?”

“Just because I know how much you love playing stripes...” he said leaving the sentence open with a shrug before moving himself around the table to pot one of the solid coloured balls. For a moment, both of you watched eagerly expecting it to go in, but it leaned to the right at the last second and bounced back, away from the hole.

You took a quick sip of your beer before placing it back on the side. “Ready to see how it's done.” you teased, dancing around the table sizing up your first shot. You started out with an easy shot, potting it with not much trouble. Frankie gave you a small nod of acknowledgment before you began circling the table again, working out your next move. You saw it near the corner. You lined up your shot and... clunk, you sank another ball into the hole.

You stood back from the table grinning as you looked over to him, ready to taunt. “That's two.” you said, a faint giggle at the end of the sentence. You danced around the table again looking for the next one. You decided to try your luck but ultimately missed.

“Hey, you can’t get them all in one go.” he said, pushing himself off the wall where he had been leaning. He handed you his beer to hold as he took his go. He fumbled his shot and you were soon handing his drink back to him to take your next go.

It had ended up being a quick game. You had won, easily potting ball after ball, much to Frankie's amazement. “Okay, you had to have been cheating. I want a rematch.” Frankie said, playfully challenging you.

“I mean, I am more than happy to give you one... then beat your ass again and then again and again.” you laughed.

“Okay, okay, I get it. Just rack 'em up again. I gotta go to the restroom.” he said backing away towards the door to the toilets.

When Frankie came back from the toilet he carried himself differently. He seemed both a little bit shinier but also spacey. It was a look you had recognised in people around you many times and had even, on occasion, experienced yourself. You had experimented with drugs a few times over the years, sometimes to keep your cover when trying to get intelligence out of a contact, other times just because it was a night out and you wanted to let your hair down. You never made a habit of it though. You never would have pegged Frankie of making a habit of it either, but it was becoming clearer and clearer to you, as you thought back on his behaviour at the start of the night, that it was.

“Hey, you ready?” he said as he picked his pool cue back up, snapping you away from your internal monologue. 'He's a grown man, he knows what he's doing' you berated yourself, shrugging off his actions. “You wanna break this time?” he asked you, raising his eyebrows encouragingly.

You pulled a face of discomfort. “Uhh.”

“Come on, I'll help you. You'll never get better if you don't practice.”

“Fine.” you said rolling your eyes, your footsteps falling heavier, stomping, mocking a stroppy teenager. He laughed.

“Come here.” He said ushering you to the table and taking a stance behind you. “You're problem is you doubt yourself and then get shaky on your follow through.” He said as you leant forward and lined your cue up with the ball. He leaned over with you, one hand on your left arm, helping hold it steady, the other finding a home over your hand on the cue.

He helped guide it back and you relaxed into his touch as you let him manipulate the shot. It was a gentle, yet forceful, nudge of the cue that sent the white ball careening quickly towards the waiting triangle of balls at the other end of the table. You turned back to him, smiling in triumph at the clack of balls as they scattered across the table. That's when you realised how close the two of you were. You couldn't help but look directly into his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, somehow they were both bright and glassy at the same time.

You weren't sure why you were doing it, but you found your fingers reaching for the front pocket of his jeans, hooking just the tips of them in slightly, nudging the bag of blow. His eyes grew panicked as you began to pull the small baggy from his pocket, curling it into your fingers. You bit your lower lip, trying to search his eyes for how he was going to react, if he was going to react. He didn't move. A part of you thought about just getting rid of it, just tossing it out, but you were having a good time with Frankie, he was having a good time with you. You felt safe and it had been so long since you'd had a good night out you thought 'fuck it'.

Neither of you said anything as you began to creep away, bag still firmly scrunched into your fingers. Frankie tried to act casual, attempting to go back to focusing on the game as you snuck off to the toilet. He assumed you had gone to get rid of the coke, he never imagined you'd have some yourself.

You rushed into one of the stalls, quickly assessing how best to go about this. You decided that none of the surfaces were sanitary enough to do this properly. You sighed, half excited, half still berating yourself for stooping to this, as you took a seat on top of the toilet lid. You tucked your hair out of the way before opening up the baggy and tapping only a small amount of the white powder onto the back of your hand. You listened a second, making sure there was no one else in the bathroom with you. Silence. You quickly lifted the back of your hand to your nose, closing off one of the nasal passages and then sucking in all of the powder, with your intake of air, with the other.

You'd forgotten how awful it felt in that first moment, your nose burning. You coughed and continued sniffing as you attempted to clear the passage, waiting for the initial pain and discomfort to subside. It only took a moment for the rush of euphoria to set in. You resealed the bag, then wiped off any remaining remnants on your hands, before tucking the baggy back into your clutched fingers, hiding it, as you left the stall. You quickly checked yourself over in the mirror, self consciously wiping underneath your nose, then fixing any stray hairs.

As you went back out into the bar, the effects of the drug really started to settle in. Everything seemed shinier and brighter, happier. You made your way back over to Frankie who was stood leaning against his pool cue, awaiting your return.

He stared at you intensely, trying to work out what it was that you had done with the drugs. It was only when you came to a stop directly in front of him and he got a look at your eyes did he realised what you'd truly done. He found himself breaking out into a small smile of adoration, impressed by your courageousness, but it carried with it this underlining guilt in the pit of his stomach. That feeling of guilt though was quickly quashed altogether by another feeling as you pressed yourself close to him once again so you could discreetly put the little bag back in his pocket. You gave him a sly smile and that was it. That was the moment Frankie knew he was completely in love with you. You gave him a coy grin before reaching for your pool cue and continuing the game.

Watching the coloured balls dance across the table top when you hit them, felt so much more satisfying now. You didn't even care if you were losing as long as you got to keep watching the balls of colour roll back and forth across the table. You enjoyed your beer and your company, you and Frankie nudging each other and taking any chance possible to touch one another now you were both happy and relaxed. “Come on Morales.” you said as you placed your hands over his shoulders, giving them an over exaggerated massage like he was about to go into a fight. He tried to shrug you off so he could concentrate and sink his last ball. You stopped your movements but didn't take your hands away and both of you froze watching the ball intently as he took the shot. Clunk.

He stood up straight and whirled around, wrapping you in his arms, a big grin on his face. “You know I let you win right?” you teased him.

“Sure you did.” he said placing a kiss on top of your head before leaning back slightly so he could get a better look at your smile, his arm still firmly around your shoulder. He leaned back against the table, his legs spread apart slightly so you could rest between them. You were both smiling content in the embrace, neither one of you wanting to pull away.

Frankie moved his hands to rest against your hips as he began to wrestle with the idea that had just popped into his head. He looked longingly to your lips, wanting to kiss them. Your smile faded as you scanned his face, realising what he was thinking. It was probably only 3 or 4 seconds but it felt so much longer due to the pace at which your next thoughts flooded your head. 'Oh my gosh, are we gonna kiss? What about Laura? Maybe they broke up? Oh I really want to kiss him.' then his lips were on yours and it was like someone had just set off a bunch of fireworks in your brain. Your head felt like it was fizzing and tingling, you couldn't help but smile as you melted into the kiss.

Frankie felt your lips pull tight against his as your smile burst from your lips and it only encouraged his own. He pulled away only briefly so you could both acknowledge how happy you were right then in that moment, but you quickly closed the gap again, practically throwing yourself into him, desperate to feel that tingling feeling in your brain again. At your enthusiasm, Frankie wasted no time deepening the kiss, his hands snaking down to your ass and pulling you tighter to him. This was everything he ever wanted, what he'd dreamed about for years now and it was finally happening. It felt better than he could have ever imagined it to be. Your kisses were powerful and hungry and for a moment you both almost forgot where you were.

Frankie quickly broke the kiss. You were about to protest when he took hold of your hand and started leading you to the door.

Neither of you said anything as he lead you to his truck. He gave you one more quick passionate kiss before opening the passenger side door to you and encouraging you to get in. You happily hopped in before turning back to give him another kiss as he closed the door.

He drove you both back to your place, using his spare key to let you both into the apartment. You had given each of the boys a spare key to your place just in case of emergencies but this was the first time you'd ever seen Frankie use his and it made you happy. The image of it felt so natural to you, like you were both coming home together after a long day.

You didn't have time to revel in the domesticity of it though as Frankie pulled you inside, rapidly closing the door before latching his lips back onto yours. You felt him lift you up into his arms and he carried you to your bedroom.

Your feet dropped back to the floor as you both made it through the doorway, Frankie wasting no time to start undressing you and himself between hungry kisses, both of your tongues fighting to pull each other back together after every break.

When you were both completely naked Frankie wrapped his arms tightly around your middle, lifting you slightly, walking you both towards the bed which you collapsed onto together, Frankie coming to lay on top of you. You reached your hands up into his hair as he covered your naked body with his own. It was only in that moment that you fully realised he hadn't been wearing his trademark hat this evening. You made a mental note of the actions significance and happily kept smiling and giggling into his kisses.

A sudden feeling took over in the pit of your stomach as you watched Frankie's gaze darken, his lust for you taking over at your joyful sounds and the way your naked body moved underneath him. You felt his hands move to your hips and he suddenly flipped you over onto your stomach before guiding your hips up so you were resting on your knees, your ass and pussy on full display for him. “Oh god.” Frankie groaned at the sight. “Hold it there baby, there's something I wanna do.”

You felt him get off the bed and heard him shuffle around on the floor for something. It took you a moment for your brain to realise what he was doing. He was rooting back into his pocket for the cocaine. You thought about saying something but decided not to for fear it would ruin the moment and this would all stop. This was Frankie. You had wanted this for so long and you were willing to put up with anything just to have his love and attention all to yourself.

You felt his hand smooth over your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh, giving it a squeeze before he let go. You shifted your head slightly so you could look back and watch him as he opened the little baggy and began gently patting the powder out of it, leaving a line of it across your right cheek. The dark look in his eyes as he stared at the sight made your knees want to go weak. He could sense the slight tremble within you, “Hold still for me baby.” he said as he took hold of you again, his hands firmly placed either side of your ass, holding you still. You closed your eyes, thinking if you didn't see what was about to happen, maybe you could act like it never did.

It all happened so quickly you didn't even have time to really take it in. Frankie quickly leant down, taking the powder up his nose, his tongue coming out to lick up any remaining powder before he thrust his face between your folds. You let out a startled squeal of pleasure as you felt Frankie's tongue dive straight in, catching you completely off guard. His patchy facial hair tickled your skin and you jerked back further towards his face, Frankie moaning in pleasure at the feeling.

He quickly pulled his mouth away, thrusting two fingers inside you instead, stretching you out and making sure you were ready. His fingers took a moment to explore your heat and you moaned as this thick fingers stroked your inner walls. You let out a groan when he took his fingers out and you were about to lift your head to turn and whine pathetically about it when he suddenly thrust his cock inside you.

“Oh fuck.” you cried out as you attempted to adjust to his size. He leant over you, his arm wrapping around your upper chest, pulling you to your hands. His head nuzzled into your neck, trying to get you to turn your head so he could kiss you. As you began to turn it towards him, his hand that had been holding your chest moved up to grasp your jaw, forcing your lips to his. He felt you clench around him as you reacted to the power move and he gently rolled his hips into you, your back arching, trying to encourage him even deeper.

He began pounding into you rapidly as he straightened himself up again. His grip on your hips was firm, holding you steady, pulling you back into him with every thrust. The feeling was overwhelming and the lingering effects of the cocaine only heightened everything more. “Oh my god baby, you feel so fucking good.” he praised you as your moans of pleasure rang out through the room.

You felt him lean forward again and you turned your head, seeking out his lips once more. “I've wanted this for so fucking long.” he grunted out between kisses. He almost melted when you moaned back into his lips in response to his words. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling your back into his chest again, making his rapid thrusts even deeper. He was hitting a certain spot inside you and it was devastating, your eyes wanting to roll back into your head as you relaxed it against his shoulder.

A feeling began to rise inside you. It felt so overwhelming and rapid you weren't even sure what was happening until it had already happened. Frankie felt your walls pushing back against him and when he thrust back he was forced out of you completely, your release gushing all over his cock and the bed. “Jesus fucking Christ did you just-” he couldn't even say the word. He was so fucking happy and impressed, but he saw the look of surprise on your face. He quickly crashed his lips into yours as he tried to reassure you that what had happened was a good thing. No a great thing. “Fucking do it again for me baby.” he said as he lined himself back up with your entrance and thrusted himself inside you once more.

You couldn't help but cry out, your mouth falling open against his. You felt so sensitive between your legs it didn't take much time at all before Frankie had you squirting again. “That's it, that's my girl. You're so fucking beautiful when you do that baby.” he said as he turned you around to face him. He could tell your eyes were unfocussed, completely blissed out from each devastating orgasm he was pulling from you.

He placed his hands either side of your head, smoothing your hair out of your face as he kissed it. He sat himself back on the bed, trying to avoid the wet patch on the sheets, pulling you to sit on top of him. He held you close as he pulled you back down onto his erection and you relaxed your head against his shoulder as he continued to smooth your hair. He began rocking you gently on top of him, letting you have a small break, both of you enjoying the moment of being close.

When you felt your strength coming back to you, you lifted your head from his shoulder, fixing your lips to his again. He lifted you in his arms, laying you back on the bed. He lifted your legs back, allowing him to push himself deeper inside you as his thrust began to pick up again.

You placed your hands either side of his head, forcing your eyes to focus on one another. “Fuck, you're so fucking beautiful.” he said, his forehead pressing into yours. You're mouth hung open again, your breaths coming out fast inbetween his thrusts, your moans stuttering wordlessly from your lips. He could tell your eyes were starting to become unfocussed again as your next orgasm built inside you.

He placed his hands under your hips, lifting them slightly allowing his thrusts to reach deeper still. The feeling inside you was devastating and your hand reached to rub circles over your clit, encouraging your release to come even faster. Once again Frankie felt himself being forced out from inside you as you once again gushed all over him and the bed, only this time he had a much better view. He was getting so close to his own climax and this only spurred him on even more. He barely gave you a moment to recover before he was thrusting himself back deep inside you.

His thrust were rapid as he chased his own finish and your fingers clawed at his back as you tried to ground yourself. Frankie let out a deep growl as he buried his head into the crook of your neck. His thrusts became sporadic, stuttering as he lifted his head to capture your lips in his own as he finished inside you. He stilled inside you and you relaxed into his arms as you felt every pulse of his cock inside you. It was a feeling that made you feel proud.

You looked up into his eyes. They were ones of complete bliss and adoration. You wanted to tell him you loved him but the words caught in your mouth so you settled for kissing him once more. This time the kiss was tender and not just because you were both exhausted. It said everything you both didn't feel like you could say. A silent acknowledgment of love.

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

“Hey where are you going?” you asked him as he climbed from the bed an hour later and began pulling on his clothes.

“I gotta go.” he said as he shrugged on his t-shirt, unable to meet your eyes,

“Oh, okay.” you said, sitting up and curling your knees up to your chest. You watched him silently as your racing thoughts from the bar slowly started coming back to you. They were more prominent now in this post sex quiet. “Frankie.” your voice said tentatively. It was half broken as the reality of the situation set in and an ache began to form in your chest, along with a churning feeling in your stomach. He looked back at you, eyes sorrowful.

Frankie felt like he had just been punched in the gut. He could see the hurt behind your eyes and it killed him. He knew his love for you was so great and he hated that he was hurting you in this moment. He made his way across the room to you, his arms leaning on the bed either side of you as he leant down to kiss you. “I'm gonna make this right, I promise.” he said as you dipped your head away from him. He gave you a tender kiss on your fore head. “I'll text you in the morning.” he said before placing a hand under your chin, encouraging you to lift your head once more so he could give you a final kiss goodbye. You could only watch silently and helplessly from your bed as he turned and walked away. You practically flinched as you heard the front door close behind him, the sound echoing around your quiet apartment, the reality of your actions setting in. What the fuck had you done.

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

True to his word, Frankie had indeed messaged you the following morning. There was no mention of Laura just an 'I really want to see you. Can I come over later.' You had of course said yes and you had both had a repeat of the night before, just this time with pizza and TV. You had wanted him to stay, but you also understood why he couldn't. He promised you he would soon though.

You had both carried on that way, the days turning into weeks. Wild nights turning into wild afternoons, always with the promise that at some point Frankie would break up with Laura and you would be together properly soon.

One week turned into two months and with every passing day your feelings for Frankie were growing stronger and stronger. You didn't care if he hadn't left Laura yet. You didn't care about the drugs, mostly because you could see he was using less and less when he was around you. You could see he was getting better. He was happier and shinier and you knew when he was ready he would end things with her and move in with you.

It was a Saturday evening when he turned up on your doorstep drunk and high and unable to get his key into the lock to let himself in. When you finally opened the door to him there were tears in his eyes. “Frankie?” his name fell from your lips as a question as he stumbled through the door. He made a beeline for your kitchen, searching the cupboards for more alcohol to drink.

You rushed over to him as you saw him pull a half full bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. He didn't even bother to get himself a glass, just started sipping it straight from the bottle. “Frankie, what the fuck is going on?” you asked as you snatched the bottle from his grasp.

“She's pregnant.” he choked out. Your face dropped, complete shock taking over.

“What?” your voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“Laura, she's pregnant.” he said again. His gaze wouldn't lift from a spot on the floor. There was silence between you as you both let the information settle in.

“What are you going to do?” you asked him tentatively.

“I love you.”

“What?”

“I love you.” he said again, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

“No-”

“I don't want to be with her-”

“Frankie she's carrying your kid.”

“I don't want to be with her, I want to be with you.” he said again stepping towards you, his hands outstretched reaching for you. You remained frozen to the spot as his hands rested either side of your face. “I love you. I don't love her, I want to be with you.”

“How long have you know?” you asked him, your voice cold. He was silent. “How long have you known?” you asked him again, your voice rising, becoming desperate.

“About a week.” he finally admitted. You stepped backwards, away from his touch, tears beginning to fall down your cheeks. “Please baby, please-” he began to beg, trying to step forward and close the distance between you again but you kept stepping away, shaking your head in disbelief. “Please, you make me better. I'm better when I'm with you.” You turned away from him, leaving the room in an attempt to get away, panic rising up inside you.

“I'll tell her everything, I'll get help, I promise just please-”

“FRANKIE STOP!” you shouted, rounding on him. He finally fell silent, allowing you a moment to breathe, to think. “I can't do this anymore.” your voice said broken. “If you really loved me, if you were actually going to leave her you would have done it weeks ago when you said you would. If you didn't want to be with her, why were you still sleeping with her, why did you get her pregnant-”

“I don't even remember it.” his voice came back broken and his knees gave way, his back leaning against the open kitchen door. He was sobbing now.

“Frankie, you need help.” you said to him tenderly as you made your way towards him. You sat on the floor beside him, your head leaning on his shoulder. His head slumped against yours in defeat.

“How did I fuck this up so bad?” he asked you. You didn't answer. You didn't need to. “I wish I had a time machine, like that car in that movie, back to the future,,, or that hot tub in that stupid movie Benny made me watch.” he started, his voice calming. “I wish I could go back to when I first met you and tell you how I felt about you. I wish I had told you I loved you the moment I saw you. I wish I'd never let Will or Santiago have the chance to fuck you before I did. Maybe then you would be the one carrying my child right now and not her.”

You let his words hang in the air. You wished more than anything that things could be different right now but they weren't. Frankie had a drug addiction. He had cheated on his girlfriend with you. He had promised you he would leave her but he didn't. Instead he had gotten her pregnant. You had been willing to over look so much for Frankie but for your own sake you couldn't do it anymore. There was a child involved now and there was no way you were gonna hang around and make this situation more difficult for everyone. “I'm gonna go to Italy.” you told him. He looked at you lost.

You had gotten the call that morning. You had been wondering all day whether or not you should take the job but now you saw it as the only option you had. You both needed space. Frankie needed to be there for Laura, for his kid and you couldn't be here as a temptation for him. “My supervisor called this morning about a job in Italy. I think I'm gonna go. I think we both just need some space away from each other to clear our heads.”

“How long?”

“I don't know. Could be a couple of months, could be longer.”

“I love you.” he said again after a moments silence, hoping it would change your mind, hoping it would make you stay.

“Promise me you'll get help Frankie.” was all you said. You were on the next flight to Italy the following morning.

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anonquack · 4 years ago

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Alex Quackity x Reader, Oneshot!

Word Count: 5047

Warnings: None! Just some curse words.

Summary: Breakups hurt. Confrontations hurt. Separation hurts. But when it feels like all is ending, you and Alex always find a way to make things work. [Angst -> Fluff]

After a loud plop of a box against the floor, you brought your hand up to wipe away the sweat that was now resting on your forehead. Yuck.

In an effort to avoid letting your thoughts take over and throw you into a spiral of regret and sadness, you had been cleaning and reorganizing your room. You took this moment to look around, eyes scouting every inch of the room in search for something you could've possibly missed.

The room looked almost spotless at this point. The box you had just plopped down onto the floor contained a lot of the stuff you planned on throwing away. Everything else had been dusted, thoroughly cleaned and placed back where it belonged. Looking at your organized, comfy, bed made you realize just how tired you felt at this very moment.

But there was no time to rest. Rest meant time to think about what had happened. Time to think about what had been lost.

You let out a small sigh as you walked over to the untouched part of your room; the closet. This part didn't necessarily have to be organized, since no one would come into the room and specifically open up the closet. But at this very moment, your brain was telling you to clean EVERYTHING in this room.

As soon as you opened the door to the closet, your eyes landed on an item you did not want to see right now. As your eyes continued to roam across all the clothes on the hangers, it started to dawn on you that this might've been a bad idea. Maybe cleaning closets really wasn't necessary.

There were multiple of Alex's hoodies on the hangers, all looking as comfy and cozy as ever, but at this moment they didn't bring that comfort and happiness they usually would. Rather, they brought back all those painful thoughts you'd been trying to avoid.

You gently bit at your lip, slightly frustrated since you'd been 'doing well', cleaning and trying your hardest not to let your thoughts roam.

Your stubbornness to not rest and keep cleaning had been your own demise.

You weren't really sure what to do. Part of you wanted to take one of the hoodies off its hanger, put it on, and crawl into bed. The rational part of you knew you should probably return these to him. You had no business having these in your room anymore.

That thought alone made your stomach twist and turn. It really was over. These past few days had felt like an absolute nightmare, but at the end of the day it was reality. You and Alex had actually broken up. It was all history now.

You reached into the closet, grabbing all the hoodies and placing them onto the chair near your bed. They were a problem for another time. The closet was going to be your distraction for now. You'd avoid facing reality for just a little longer as you organized the shirts and sweaters in your closet.

—

It sucked. Not having anything to do, having nothing to serve as a distraction from the fact that Alex would no longer be a part of your life. You were now sitting on your bed, playing with the strings on the hoodie, remembering how these looked on him.

They fit him so well, some fit loosely against his figure, others fit just right, showing off his toned figure. You vividly remembered how the material of the hoodie had felt whenever he wrapped his arms around you, whenever you would hug him and just snuggle your face close to him, looking for a source of heat.

The memories of how you acquired these hoodies also came flooding back. Some had been him noticing it was cold out and you lacking common sense to bring a sweater to keep yourself warm. Him pulling off the hoodie and handing it to you, the way his cheeks turned red as you thanked him, his eyes narrowing and telling you it wasn't that big of a deal.

Other times you'd directly ask to borrow his hoodie. One that smelled like him just in case he couldn't visit or hang out in the near future and you were in dying need of his affection.

You wondered whether these hoodies might still smell like him. As weird as it might've looked, you were now on your bed, bringing the hoodies up to your face and holding it close, snuggling your ex's damn hoodie to see if it still smelled like him. It was so fucking stupid. It was over.

You set the hoodie down as you felt your eyes water. Not because of sadness, but irritation towards yourself. You'd already spent days crying your eyes out over the breakup, and yet here you were again. There had been progress made already, and now it felt like you were back in square one just because of some fucking hoodies. Cloth.

You gently pinched the bridge of your nose as you took a moment to recollect your thoughts. You'd return the hoodies, and be done with him once and for all.

Picking up your phone and pressing onto his contact, your message history flashed onto the screen. Old messages were spilling all over, making a mess of you all over again. Not what you wanted at all. You'd wanted to delete his contact number and erase the messages, but hadn't been able to bring yourself to do it.

And now, once again, you were dealing with the consequences of being unable to let go. You tried to ignore the old conversations that were on display, instead pulling up the keyboard and typing up a civil message to send.

y/n found some of your hoodies at my place. mind if i give them back?

You felt an uncomfortable feeling settle in your stomach as you waited for the message to deliver, waited for any sign that he might've read it. Waited to see if he would even answer. Maybe he didn't want them back. Maybe part of you hoped you'd at least get to keep something of his, something that made your relationship with him feel real. Made it feel like it indeed happened and wasn't just a part of your imagination. Part of you didn't want it to officially come to an end.

Giving away the last thing of his you had meant officially putting an end to this. Whatever the fuck you had with him. You hadn't even noticed you were biting at your nails until the loud ding brought you back into present time.

alex sounds good. where would you want to meet?

It was starting to feel real. The split was at hand's length away. Meeting him to hand the hoodies over solidified the end.

y/n maybe the library? its near both of our dorms.

alex alright. see you in 20?

y/n yea.

Such simple discourse was already eating at you. This wasn't him. But that was to be expected. You weren't his anymore and he wasn't yours. Nothing would ever be how it was.

Even with that realization, you still looked at yourself in the mirror, checking to see if there was any signs that you'd been crying, or just you looking like shit overall. A few glances and strokes to the hair and you were ready to go, the small stack of hoodies resting on your arm as you walked out of your dorm room. To officially end things.

—

As you walked towards the library, you noticed it was rather quiet. Nobody was out and about at this time, it was peaceful. It gave you a moment to really reflect on all that had taken place. What had lead to you being here, on your way to officially cut all ties with Alex.

It had been a misunderstanding, really. Something that was going to happen eventually. Being college students with different majors and goals was challenging enough. But balancing the giant workloads and quality time with your partner had proven to be difficult for him, and perhaps even you too. There was effort being made in the beginning, but recently it had just not been the same. Perhaps things change, feelings change, but it didn't change the fact that it hurt.

After a few confrontations and harsh arguments, he had stated that he didn't want to be in a relationship if it meant that attention was required of him this often. He admitted it felt like a chore recently, having all his school work and also having you to deal with, especially when you got confrontational.

It had been heartbreaking hearing him say that you were the reason for his recent headaches and that he no longer was enjoying the aspect of a relationship. He wanted space, he wanted to have a moment where he could do absolutely nothing. Not have to worry about another individual's feelings. It was valid, and you had agreed that it would be best if you two just broke up. Clearly if you two weren't going to be happy, it was better to just end it.

You really couldn't blame or hate him. He was studying law, and you could only imagine how stressful and difficult it must be. And to have to worry about a relationship on top of that must've been hellish.

You couldn't shake off the memories though, all the great parts of your relationship. You struggled too. You had homework too, but he was the highlight of your college experience.

Even if you were drowning in homework, you knew you could waltz into Alex's dorm and just cuddle with him for a bit. You knew he would walk into your room any second of the day just to declare you two were going to take a break from studying to go eat at this place he'd found near the university. He was the light that shined brightly and took you out of the holes you dug yourself into when you worked too hard and barely had time to take care of yourself.

You thought you had the same effects on him, but instead you were draining him of energy. The hangouts and time spent wasn't a nice break for him, it was a chore. It was something he felt obligated to do.

You shook the thoughts away as you noticed the library getting closer and closer. Once you got there, you walked in and headed to where you knew he might be waiting, or where he'd know to go if you were the first to arrive.

Fortunately for you, he still wasn't here, so you simply took a seat and looked around the library. You could feel the guilt settling in your stomach. Perhaps this felt like a chore as well, having to come all the way out here to meet with you, just to get some hoodies you could've dropped off at his dorm. 0 interaction needed.

The small bell rang, notifying everyone inside that the front door had been opened. This was it. He was here. You held your breath as you waited to see Alex, if it even was him who had just gotten here.

Surely, it was. He was wearing these black sweatpants, a white baggy shirt, and his beanie that neatly tucked away the strands of hair that would usually hide his facial features. He looked good, to say the least.

You watched as his eyes scanned the room, looking for you. Once his eyes finally met yours, you felt your breath hitch in anticipation as his brown eyes finally met yours for the first time in about a week or two. It was so nice seeing him again, it felt right, but this was most likely your last time meeting with him.

You watched as he walked over to you, a small, polite smile on your lips as he came closer and closer. Once he was finally standing in front of you, a small, "Hi-" slipped out, which you instantly regretted. It sounded so pathetic.

"Hi." He replied calmly as he took the seat across from where you had been sitting.

He actually sat down. This meant he was planning on sticking around for a bit, right? If he wanted to leave right away, he would've stood, extended his hand out to show that he wanted you to hand him the hoodies. But here he was now, sitting in the chair across from you.

Usually when you two came to the library, he was seated beside you, arm wrapped around your waist as you two scanned a textbook of a shared electives class or both did your own studying. It was always so peaceful and actually allowed you to focus on what you were studying. His presence was so good for you, but it was recently made clear the feeling wasn't mutual.

Right.

You cleared your throat, not ready to hand over the hoodies just yet. "How have you been..?" You asked, trying to maintain a calm tone.

It might've been stupid to try and make conversation with him, but you were hanging on by a thread. You'd risk it, push your luck until the thread snapped and disintegrated in your own hands.

"I've been.. alright. You?" He hesitated to answer, and was currently avoiding eye contact, staring down at the table and then your hands that were placed on top of the hoodie stack.

"I've been okay. Big change to get used to." You admitted, a small chuckle escaping your lips. It was not a laughing matter at all, but you couldn't help it, especially since you were feeling rather nervous.

"It is a big change." He admitted as well, finally looking up to meet your gaze. The eye contact broke your heart. Usually looking into his brown eyes would heal any and every scar that may appear on your heart, patch up anything that may be breaking, but now it was these brown eyes that were killing you and breaking you apart.

It was now your turn to look away, settling your gaze on the strings of the hoodie, hands playing with them absent-mindedly.

The soft fabric against your finger tips reminded you why you were here in the first place, making you finally look up at him again. You were surprised to see that his gaze was already on you. Although your eyes widened slightly, you quickly brought them back to normal and cleared your throat, pushing the hoodies forward and towards him.

"Found these in my closet and figured you might want them back. They've been washed." You clarified towards the end as you watched him take hold of them.

And that's when it was official. They were now under his possession again, not yours. The hoodies were no longer yours, he was not yours. You could feel the lump forming in your throat at the thought, and figured it wasn't a good idea to be at this library for even a second longer.

You watched as he looked down at the hoodie stack that he was now holding. It seemed like there was something he wanted to say, yet was clearly holding back. It was a horrible sight to see. You knew you'd be thinking about this gaze, the words his eyes screamed, the words he failed to verbally say now. It would eat at you during late nights in the near future.

—

Now that the hoodies were in his hands, he realized just how real the breakup was. He hadn't been doing too well himself, beating himself up for reacting that way, for lashing out on you that way. For saying things he hadn't meant, and had only said because he was stressed out and in serious need of space. That was all it was.

And now here he was, sat in front of his ex, receiving the hoodies he had gladly gave them. He remembered when he handed each of these, what the occasion was and how cute you'd looked once you'd put it on. The pride that had filled his chest at the sight of you in his hoodie. How lovesick he'd felt whenever you came to his dorm with his hoodie on, when you wore it out in public and let everyone know that you were indeed taken. By Alex himself.

And now here he was. You couldn't even look at him for a few seconds without having to tear your eyes away. He wondered if you had cried just as much as he had, if you had blamed yourself or called yourself clingy, annoying, the worst of the worst because of the horrible things he had said to you. All things which he greatly regrets now.

When he had walked into the library, he'd spotted you almost instantly, sat at the table where you two would usually study, looking as cozy as ever. If he hadn't fucked up so badly, he would've walked over, wrapped his arms around you and left the softest kiss on your lips, maybe one on your jaw as well as he mumbled "hi baby," against your skin. The laugh that might've escaped your lips at his words and actions, the fact that he can't experience that anymore because he fucked up. It was killing him.

He knew that any second now, you'd stand up and walk out of his life permanently, and there'd be nothing for him to do about it. He'd already caused enough damage with the bullshit he had spewed just a week ago. He couldn't ask anything of you. Not a second chance, not a moment of your time so he could explain that he didn't want to lose you. That he had just been stressed and taken it out on you, tried to blame it all on one person rather than just taking a step back and thinking things through. Admit that he had fucked up. It would be extremely selfish of him to fuck up in the way that he did and then ask for you to forgive him. He just couldn't do it.

He wondered if you could tell how awful he'd been doing. Was it obvious that he hadn't slept? Too busy replaying the scene where he had broken your heart over and over again as he lay in bed, avoiding any and all responsibilities. When you'd reached out to him, he had been laying in bed, quickly getting out and trying to look as composed and not like he'd been feeling like absolute shit this whole past week.

But now he was sitting across from you and the hoodies were in his hands. The exchange had been successful and there was now no business for you to be here. Any second now, you'd stand up and leave him here. For real this time. He wouldn't get to see the way you smiled with your eyes, wouldn't be able to hear nor cause your wonderful laugh. Wouldn't be able to hold you close whenever he pleased, wouldn't be able to kiss you as many times as he wanted. Wouldn't be able to whisper secrets to you as you two lay in bed at 3 in the morning.

No. He had lost those privileges a week ago, as soon as those horrible words left his mouth.

The sound of you clearing your throat brought him back to his senses, along with the sound of the chair scraping against the floor. He quickly looked up, catching the words that were slipping past your lips.

"Well, now that you have your hoodies, I should probably head back to my dorm now." You said softly, an awkward smile on your lips. It was clear you weren't necessarily sure how to say goodbye. He wasn't either.

His thoughts were racing at a million miles per hour in his poor brain, your moves were almost in slow motion in front of him as he panicked and tried to figure out what to do for you to stay.

No matter how many times he had lied to himself and told himself that he would be fine with you finally walking out of his life, it was exactly that. A lie. He wasn't ready. He wouldn't ever be ready to lose such a wonderful person that had walked in and changed his life for the better. Not at least without explaining himself. Asking for a second chance, as selfish as that might've been.

As he stood to his feet, the loud scraping of the chair against the floor caught everyone around you two off guard, especially you as you almost bumped into his chest as he suddenly blocked the path with his body.

"Y/N." He said, almost breathless. Your eyes were wide in confusion at the new barricade that stood between you and the door.

"I-I'm sorry." He finally said. Even if it was just two words, he already felt much better. He wanted you to know, to know that he was indeed sorry for ever saying such horrible things to you.

The shock in your face was evident, your mouth opening and closing slightly, truly at a loss for words. He took this as a sign to continue.

"I'm sorry for the things I said to you that day. They really weren't true. I was just– so stressed and I needed to take that out on someone. And you questioning me and asking why I'd grown distant just pushed me over the edge and I snapped at you. But I didn't mean a single word I said. I love you so much, Y/N. I couldn't fucking live with myself this past week, it's been eating me alive, the fact that I said those horrible things to you. You that could never do harm, you that has helped me so much throughout the years I've known you, whether it be as a friend or as my lover." He paused, it was so clear he was suffering from a severe case of word vomit, and people were staring now.

Your eyes had softened slightly as you listened to his word vomit, but you were cautious, it was evident to him. Your stance said it all. You looked around for a bit before letting out a small sigh.

"Not here, Alex. This is a library. Why don't we go talk somewhere else?" You offered softly, gaze way softer now, almost as if you were being cautious of the state he was currently in, scared he'd fall apart any second now. He silently nodded, leading the way out of the library with you quietly following behind him.

—

Your heart was beating rapidly against your ribcage, unable to truly process what the hell had just happened. Was that real? Did it really happen? Or was this a cruel joke, and soon you'd wake up on your bed, clutching one of his hoodies tightly to your chest.

You were walking behind him as he lead the way out of the library. You replayed the words in your head, unable to grasp that he had actually apologized.

You had gotten up to leave, saying your final goodbyes to him, and that was what lead him to crack. He had stood up quickly to block your path, and had began to spill his apologies, explaining how he's been a mess and feels horrible about the things he had said. He hadn't meant it. You weren't a bother. The relationship wasn't a chore. He perhaps still wanted you.

You had mixed feelings about all of this, especially considering the pain he'd put you through this entire week. But you also were obviously not ready to throw away a relationship that had lasted this long, and that had been going so well up until last week, when he presumably accidentally took it all out on you.

You were brought back to reality as he stopped walking and turned to look at you. He had lead you two to a coffee shop, one that you two frequently visited. Not for the coffee, but for the pastries and other drinks they sold, all quite delicious and a perfect breakfast for when you both were running late.

You looked at him as he opened the door for you to walk in. As you walked in, you were immediately hit with the smell of the freshly baked pastries. He then asked if you could sit while he ordered.

It didn't take long before he was back, with the usual orders you both got from here. It was touching, and probably an effort from him to patch things up. You thanked him for the drink and delicious smelling pastry before taking a small sip, awkwardly seated as you waited for him to speak again, attempt to explain himself further.

When he realized you were just waiting on him now, he cleared his throat. "Y/N, I'm really sorry. I hope I didn't make a scene or anything at the library. It was just, kind of a desperate last minute attempt to fix things between us."

Us. Us. It left a savory taste on your tongue. It felt right. Yes, Alex, us. You and I. That's how it's supposed to be.

You shook your head, "Nono. It's not that. It just- caught me off guard obviously, and well, I didn't want you to get in trouble for speaking a bit loudly, at the library."

He smiled, a small chuckle leaving his lips at the slight teasing tone at the end of your sentence. God, you had missed his laugh so much over the past week. It always managed to cheer you up no matter how bad things were.

"So uh, I'm sorry once again, Y/N. I know what I did was shitty, I've been beating myself up for it this entire past week. And even if you don't accept this apology and you want nothing to do with me after this, I just need you to know that I could never ever mean the things I said. You mean so much to me, and I just- I fucked up big time. You're not a chore at all. In fact, you make my life better, but it just took me so long to realize just how much you've positively changed my life. I'm so sorry for being distant. It's school, I promise. It's not because I don't love you anymore or anything. It's impossible for me to not love you, I hope you know that–" He paused to take a moment to breathe. He had just dumped all of this information onto them again. But he was just so scared that you'd up and leave any second now. He had to let it all out before it even came down to that.

"It- it was a bit of an overload, regarding information." You said once you realized he was waiting for a response. "It might take me a while to think about this. I mean, what you said really hurt me, Alex." You confessed, watching as his expression saddened, it was obvious he regret it. Everything he had said. "Don't get me wrong, I still love you, so so so much. Words cannot explain." You said, hand shyly reaching out to grab his. He responded almost instantly, fingers interlacing with your own. His hands were warm, against your own. You'd missed his warmth so much, and finally having it, even if just for a few seconds was sending you over the moon.

His grip on your hand was tight, but not tight where it hurt. It was tight, as if he was trying to prove to himself that you were real, that you were really insinuating that you'd give him a second chance. And honestly? Of course you would. This man meant the absolute world to you. And you understood where he was coming from, why he'd done what he did. It didn't take away the fact that it hurt, but you understood him, and would forgive him, eventually.

"I love you too." He said softly, gaze meeting yours as he smiled softly. "Take as much time as you need. I really am sorry, I'll never stop being sorry for the horrible shit I said. But no matter the outcome, I'll accept it."

His words meant the world to you. Even if you knew you'd accept his apology soon, it still meant so much that he just wanted you to know he meant what he was saying, even if you decided to leave forever.

"Thank you, Alex." You said with a small smile, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, trying to tell yourself as well that this was real. You felt him squeeze your hand back gently as well, and smiled slightly bigger at the memory that he did this whenever he wanted to reassure you about something. You really did love this man.

The day had started off with attempts to forget the very man you were currently holding hands with, attempting to get rid of every trace he had in your life in attempts to heal, attempts to move on. But he had stopped it all. He had apologized, admitted to the horrible week he's had, admitted to his faults, and was willing to accept if you no longer wanted him in your life.

But how could you ever wish that in regards to Alex? The one that brought sunshine into your life, the one that made everything better just by being himself.

Things were going to get better from here on out. Alex apologizing and stopping either of you from leaving each other's lives was a clear sign of that. From now on, you wouldn't allow such atrocities to take place either. You two would work on this.

As you stared at Alex who sat across from you, you couldn't help but smile at the possibility of having him back. Having everything go back to normal. It was clear he was thinking the same, as he gave your hand a gentle squeeze and smiled at you so brightly, almost bright enough to leave you sunburnt. Alex was sticking around, and so were you.

Maybe you wouldn't have to give the hoodies back after all.

#alex quackity #quackity #quackity x you #quackity x reader #quackity x y/n #gender neutral reader #quackity brainrot #quackity scenario #help pls #streamer #quackity headcannons #quackity imagines #breakup #but fluffy

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therenlover · 3 years ago

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Would The Danny Bunch Survive A Holiday With My Family?

A/n: In the wake of recent life garbage, I have neglected to write a whole fic, and I’m sorry. In the interim, please enjoy this writing exercise I have put together in the hopes of nailing some characters I haven’t written for in the past in time for a larger project I’m working on! Cheers!

Characters: Laszlo Kreizler, Alex Kerner, Niki Lauda, Andrea Marowski, Ernst Schmidt, and Helmut Zemo

Rating: T

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Mild Misogyny, Mentions of Alcohol/Alcoholism, Mentions of Mental Illness, Non-Graphic Mentions of Death, Minor Spoilers for The Alienist Season One, Minor Spoilers for Goodbye, Lenin!, Spoilers for Rush (2013), Minor Spoilers for The Cloverfield Paradox maybe??? I haven’t actually seen the whole movie, blame Wikipedia if things are wrong.

Laszlo Kreizler

As the first of all of the Dannys to be put through the ringer, Laszlo Kreizler unfortunately would not survive a holiday with my family.

First of all, this man does not like massive huggy kissy crowds, so he’d already be off his game the second he walked into the packed house. That’s not why he’d die though, surprisingly.

His downfall would be his status as an Alienist.

There is simply so much mental illness and childhood trauma present at my family holidays that he would combust within 15 minutes of sitting in a room with all of my relatives.

Even if he were to somehow make it past the introductory phase, my family is nosey as hell, so they’d be grilling him about his arm and his own childhood trauma within the first hour.

Laszlo, for all of his strength, simply wouldn’t be able to withstand it.

His death wouldn’t come from the initial combustion though. No, it’s not that simple.

Knowing Laszlo, once he had combusted and entirely lost his composure the first time, he would become extremely intrigued about the interconnected nature of everyones issues with each other and he would start asking questions.

That’s where the problems would begin.

Because it’s one thing if my drunk great aunt starts badmouthing her sister at the table for abandoning her 90 year old mother for a lake house with her new boyfriend. That’s fine.

But when Laszlo hops in and starts picking apart the mommy issues and underlying reasons for their decades long sibling rivalry?

Oh it would be over for him.

The yelling would never end.

And, I have no doubt that Laszlo would start to psychoanalyze whoever started to yell at him, which would only lead to more yelling.

In the end, someone would throw a probably full and probably fresh out of the oven casserole dish at his head and he’d be unable to defend himself because of his weak arm.

We’d have to cart him out in a wheelchair and even if he were to technically survive, he’d never come back.

Therefor, Laszlo Kreizler would fall victim to my family and die before we even got to dessert.

Alex Kerner

YES

Ah, little baby Alex! A great contender here for holiday survival.

He seems relatively young in comparison to most of the Dannys on this list, though I don’t actually know how old he’s supposed to be.

Based on his relative youth, he would automatically get points with the fam for not seeming like a creep or sugar daddy. Instead, he could be just about any dude I brought home from college.

His skillset as a semi-skilled laborer would also earn him some points, seeing as several members of the family are in similar professions.

Alex might get lost in some of the more complex conversations about the local organic scene or the fine details of running a fine art gallery, but he would fit right in with the majority of the younger members of the family, smiling and nodding his way through the conversation.

His enthusiasm and optimism would brighten the room and leave everyone excited to see him around again.

There’s also the semi-small detail of him caring for his mother, which would earn sympathy from the older members of the family as they are in charge of caring for my deaf, blind great grandmother.

Now, all of these aspects have already set Alex up for a successful survival of a holiday dinner with my family, but the real secret weapon he has up his sleeve is what really cements him in place as a survivor.

What is his secret weapon, you may ask?

Lies.

Alex Kerner is really, really good at lying, and is even better at figuring out increasingly convoluted ways to keep his lies straight.

If he managed to hide to fuckin’ Berlin Wall coming down from his mother for as long as he did, he could keep a couple of white lies up for appearances if he was asked any potentially embarrassing or weird questions that would make him look bad.

He could also lie about enjoying my great aunt’s cooking, which is a vital skill for holiday survival in my family.

Therefor, at the end of the day, Alex Kerner would not only survive a holiday with my family, but he’d probably enjoy it and get invited back for every subsequent holiday he could possibly attend.

Niki Lauda

Niki is another Danny that falls very firmly into the category of characters that would absolutely not survive a holiday with my family, for many, many reasons.

First of all, just like Laszlo, Niki is not huge on going to big huggy kissy parties.

Both adults and children would be all over him the second he walked in the door, which would probably make Niki get very uncomfortable and cagey.

Little does he know at that point that people aren’t just all over you when you get in the door.

No, no, no; from the moment you show up to the moment you leave, if you’re at a holiday with my family you are being basically accosted with questions and hugs and conversations that get weirdly personal.

It doesn’t help that the whole entire house is packed and there are eyes on you at every moment, so he wouldn’t even be able to sneak in a break for air or a cigarette.

If my own mother can’t sneak out for a smoke when she’s been going to these events her whole life, the new guy who’s still being vetted by the family sure as hell won’t be able to either.

Needless to say, Niki would start to get really, really tired of it all in an hour tops. I’ll give him until dinner at most.

That’s where things would start getting really sticky.

See, a lovely little fact about the Niki Lauda that lives in my brain, as portrayed by Daniel Bruhl in Rush (2013), is that he’s just a little bit misogynistic. No more than would be period typical, but a little misogynistic.

Another fun little important thing to note is that my family is entirely matriarchal in nature.

There are only 4 reoccurring male guests at family holidays out of about 20 to 25 guests at each event; My great aunt’s husband of many, many years, the two male siblings my mother has that live in the area, and the young son of one of those siblings.

Men, specifically boyfriends, simply do not last in my family. They are considered pretty disposable and easily banned from family events after breakups or small mishaps.

So, not only would Niki not have any other manly men there to chat about sports with over a scotch and a cigarette, he would be surrounded by so much estrogen that he would definitely struggle with his inner asshole even more than usual.

In fact, we never have sports on, even on Thanksgiving. Poor Niki would be stuck hearing conversations about artisanal candlemakers and how to hand felt a woodland elf puppet.

Back to his downfall, the second he made a slightly sketchy joke about women in the kitchen at the dinner table to my great uncle, his fate would be sealed.

If you thought the yelling at Laszlo would have been bad, this yelling would be ten times worse, because he would be surrounded by like 20 very angry, very defensive, and very strong women waiting to beat the shit out of him and I would not be any help.

He dug the hole, so he can climb out of it.

In the end, his death would come when he tried to light a cigarette and calm himself down at the dinner table while trying to rescind his earlier statement, because smoking inside around all the precious textile art? Thats a big no no.

My great aunt would grab the lighter right out of his hand, light up whatever cocktail she had at the moment, and throw it all directly into Niki’s face.

It would be like crashing his car all over again, only this time he would be surrounded by people who would rather he burn than try to get him out of the situation.

Moral of the story, Niki would die within the first few hours of a holiday with my family because he made an asshole comment to a room full of women who don’t put up with that shit. Don’t be like Niki, even if you think you won’t get killed for it.

Andrea Marowski

YES

Andrea is pretty much the polar opposite of Niki here, and I love him for it.

He is very soft, very kind, very pure, and would never dare to say something rude at the dinner table like a certain racer we all know.

He couldn’t even say something rude if he tried to, because he probably wouldn’t have the English in his vocabulary to say the things he wanted to say even if he intended to say them out loud.

But let’s be honest here, Andrea would never.

Even with his limited English, Andrea would appreciate being surrounded by a whole bunch of people who think he’s the sweetest little thing since the invention of cake.

My great grandmother, despite being almost entirely blind and deaf, would say he looked darling and he would immediately be a member of the family from the moment he stuttered out his thanks.

Andrea, like Alex, is also relatively young, so he would get points for not being old enough to be my father.

I feel like, because Andrea was shown living happily in a tiny village by the ocean with two old ladies, he would have an appreciation for craft, so he wouldn’t mind sitting quietly as my great aunt pawns off a handmade blanket from my great grandmother to him.

He would also happily sit with the younger children and do whatever craft or simple game one of my aunts brought for them that time.

The cherry on top with Andrea is his skill with the violin.

My family is one that appreciates fine art a lot, but more than anything we appreciate music.

I wouldn’t say that any of us are anywhere close to Andrea’s proficiency, but we definitely aren’t terrible, and we all can appreciate the effort, practice, and talent that goes into getting truly good on an instrument like Andrea is on his violin.

He would be encouraged to play, of course, and he would happily oblige.

If he felt comfortable enough, I could even see my great uncle grabbing his guitar, my cousin sitting at the piano, and my sister bringing out her own violin to do a little quartet with some simple song they knew as everybody else sang along.

By the end of the holiday evening, once dinner was served and people were heading to the cars, Andrea would definitely be considered a member of the family.

Needless to say, he’d survive and pass their tests with better than flying colors, even despite the language barrier.

Ernst Schmidt

Now, Ernst was probably the most difficult one on this entire list to put into the living or dying category. In the end, though, there were a few things that couldn’t be overlooked that send him into bad territory.

To be fair, though, he would last the longest out of everyone who would die tragically at one of my family’s holiday gatherings.

He, like the past two victims, would not be exactly suited for the mushy crowding that’s inevitable when it comes to my family.

That being said, I think he would deal with it a little bit better than the other two did and would make polite conversation with the family when he could.

The fact that he was trapped in a packed house filled with drunk people who have several generations worth of beef with each other, though, would start to get him eventually.

If we consider all of the shit that happened while he was in space to be canonical minus, you know, the earth getting really fucked up, he would probably start to go a little bit nuts while packed together with that many passive aggressive people.

The second someone burst into tears on the way to the bathroom he would start to lose his shit.

Still, I think Schmidt would probably be fine-ish until dessert was served, because that’s about the time where all the adults are absurdly drunk, so insanity ensues.

They would start poking at him about his credentials and experiences as a physicist.

He would answer their questions at first, but, unfortunately for him, the questions would turn more and more personal and uncomfortable as time went on.

Did he ever still think about what happened up in space? Did he blame himself for not getting things to work correctly? How much did he miss his old world and old life? Did he ever have nightmares about what he saw? How much did it hurt to get shot?

They’d poke and poke and poke in their drunken state until poor Schmidt would snap at them, flying into a slight rage at their insistent probing.

From there, he would be swiftly asked to leave and then “accidentally” run over while calling an Uber to take him to wherever he’s staying as my drunk great aunt tries to back out of the driveway to drive down the block to her house.

In the end, Schmidt and his wit would be really close to surviving a holiday with my family , but he would, unfortunately, let his anger get the best of him, and it would be the last thing he ever did. Literally.

Helmut Zemo

YES, BUT ONLY BARELY

Okay, so my earlier comment about Ernst being the most difficult out of everyone was incorrect. Zemo was, by far, the hardest to put into one category or the other.

His wit and charm won out in the end, though, and I determined that he would survive one single holiday with my family.

If he ever came back for a second he definitely wouldn’t make it, but he would succeed in living past the first one.

Helmut’s problems start, surprisingly, not with the fact that he is a criminal. In fact that doesn’t even cause any problems for him.

No, instead they start with the fact that he is 43.

I am 99% sure that my mother is 43, and I know for a definite fact that he’s older than one of my uncles who would be present. I, at the time of writing this, am 18.

Needless to say, literally everyone would be massively suspicious of him and his intentions the second he walked through the door. The amount of money in his bank account definitely wouldn’t help in this situation either.

The family would warm up to him eventually, though, because if there’s one thing Helmut is good at besides killing people, it’s making people like him even if they absolutely shouldn’t.

With his expansive knowledge of what feels like literally everything rich and niche, he would slowly win over the older members of the family. Who knew the strange old man Jac brought home was so well versed in the American pottery scene, or that he could name specific jewelry artists from across the world that my family had done business with for years?

My family definitely wouldn’t. At least, not at first.

Oh how they’d learn, though.

Another nice thing about Zemo that would allow him to survive is his aggressive politeness.

No matter how many weird glances or dirty looks he got over the course of dinner, he would simply continue to be the best version of himself in the hopes of impressing everyone.

He would even pretend to enjoy my great aunt’s cooking and get himself seconds, because I’m sure it would be easier to scarf down than whatever he and his EKO Scorpion squad had to eat while serving in the Sokovian special forces.

On the tail end of reasons he would be accepted, Helmut Zemo drinks alcohol like it’s water, so he would fit right in drinking white wine and cocktails through the night with the rest of the adults.

((I think he’d totally tease me about not being able to drink with him, but that’s a story for another time. Anyways...))

His slight downfall would come from something entirely uncontrollable by him or anybody else.

And that something would be my flirty aunt.

I love my aunt. She’s wonderful in her own special way.

That being said, I know if a hot Sokovian baron with a nice smile and a fat pocketbook showed up to one of out holidays, even if he was introduced as my partner, she would be going for the kill all night long.

This would make Helmut more and more uncomfortable as she got more and more drunk, because lets face it, he’s probably not very comfortable with being touched by near-strangers anyways, and being touched by a drunk member of his partners family who is very obviously coming on to him?

That’s even more difficult to deal with.

That being said, Helmut is a man who has been shown to be extremely in control of his emotions.

He would swallow down whatever awkwardness he felt, make it to the end of the night, and, once he had escaped her clutches, he would politely say that he was never going back to another holiday function with my family again, though he would be happy to facilitate me still attending them.

So, in the end, Helmut Zemo would survive one holiday with his sheer stubborn politeness alone.

I will say that his patience would absolutely wear thin if he attended a couple more holidays and he would eventually die of a stress induced heart attack after being unable to politely decline my aunt’s advances.

For now, though, he’s safe.

#zemo #baron zemo #helmut zemo #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl #niki lauda #andrea marowski #ernst schmidt #laszlo kreizler #alex kerner #jac rambles #imagine #the danny bunch

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anninhiliation · 4 years ago

Text

Worn Out Jeans

Masterlist

Word Count: 1357 oops

Disclaimer: THIS IS MY OWN PERSONAL WRITING. You do not have the right or consent to copy my work and claim it as your own. You do not have the right to even copy my work. I can and will publicly shame you. Changing the boy is still plagiarism. Write your own work. Don’t test me or karma. Don’t be a useless leech.

Warnings: 18+ its smut!

You were about to walk right past Richard to take your spot back on the couch. But his eyes dilated in pure black lust as he couldn’t help but stare at your ass. Your leggings were so tight and smooth it was almost as if you had on nothing but a second skin. His ultimate weakness, right in front of him.

“Come here baby girl” Richard groaned, grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his lap.

“What’s up babe” you smiled turning your head leaning into him.

“What’s up?” he smirked, hands already grabbing the sides of your ass, kneading the flesh that spilled through “what’s up with this?”

“My leggings?” you teased smiling at him rocking your hips into him.

Richard groaned at your movements and pulled you closer to him letting you feel his hardening bulge. Your back pressed against his chest as your lips quickly parted releasing little sounds of pleasure. Richard nipped your ear making his way down to your neck. His hair felt soft between your fingertips as you tugged.

“Richard,” you whined out, growing needier and needier.

The familiar cologne intoxicated your senses as air trapped in your lungs. His warm breath fanning over sensitive skin before physically touching you had you floating on a cloud. One hand roamed your body as the other caged you in keeping you as close as possible. Electric waves were sent down to your core with every touch Richard left on you.

“You really thought I wouldn’t do anything with you looking that good?” Richard growled in your ear.

All you could do is whine out in response as your brain fogged in pleasure. His deep voice had your heart fluttering as your slit throbbed harder. Richard’s hand slowly moved down between your legs. His fingers slid under your leggings and panties as your reflexes spread your thighs open giving him easier access. Richard smirked against your neck as his finger parted your slit toying with the excess arousal. Your hips squirmed against the pads of his fingers trying to get him where you needed him most. Already wanting more and more of his delicious touch.

“Daddy” you whined out, knowing what that single word did to him.

Especially when you used it in such a desperate, needy voice. Richard groaned hearing you plea for him. It stuffed his ego, hearing you say, daddy. With full knowledge, he was the only one who got to see you like this, who was the only one to make you feel this good. Your head rested on his shoulder, as the pleasure made your body move against him. Richard showed your clit no mercy drawing your favorite pattern. Your lower abdomen muscles squeezed themselves tightly with the sheer pleasure.

“M- more” you whined out as your empty hole pulsated around nothing.

The tight fabric restraining Richards’s full control quickly annoyed him, as he let out a low groan. He stopped toying with your swollen clit as he pulled out quickly licking his fingers clean. He grabbed the elastic waistline and you squirmed on his lap helping yourself out of your leggings and panties. The fabric fell to the ground and Richard spread his legs wider, adjusting you on his lap. Your swollen clit rested on his jeans as your thighs caged in his upper thigh. Your hands wrapped around his knee cap as Richard grabbed your hips. His fingers dug into your hips as he guided you against the rough fabric of his worn-out black jeans. Richard moved you in a way that had you seeing stars. Your hole clenching and tightening around nothing as pleasure built up inside you. Heat rose from your body as his lips marked out your weakest points.

“That feel good baby girl?” Richard grinned as he tugged on the shell of your ear, his fingers digging in deeper into your flesh.

The answer was obvious just by how much louder you became. Nothing but moans and his name broken into incoherent whines fell from your lips. But hearing you struggle to even speak only riled him up more.

“Y-yes” you choked out.

“Yes, what?” He taunted slowing down his movement.

His teeth nipped your neck as he waited to hear the magical word. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as the slow movements were only enough to keep you riled up and drenched but nothing more. Your clit dragging slowly along his thigh had your head spinning.

“Da- mmm” you whined out trying to choke out what he wanted to hear.

“Dah-mmm- ah- d” Your head was turned to the side pleading with him to go back to the old movements.

His dick throbbed harder feeling a wet patch soak through the fabric. Richard grew a little impatient wanting you to finish as soon as possible for the real fun to begin.

“Good girl” Richard praised moving your hips in a smooth and quicker pace.

You harshly tugged on his curls as your hole pulsated with the build-up of pleasure. Mouth hung open as Richard had you floating on a cloud. Your breathing hitched in your lungs as your walls tightly clenched one last time. Your thighs shook around him as your clit began to have enough. The tight knot snapped inside you, throwing you straight into the galaxy. His name mixed with a song of curses vibrated out of your lungs as your head rolled back. Richard rode you out, gently bringing you back down to earth pecking your neck in kisses. You panted as the air returned to your lungs, trying to regain that even momentum once again. Leaning down to pick up your leggings came to an abrupt halt.

“Wait baby I need to feel that pretty little hole” Richard groaned into your neck feeling as if his dick would explode any second with how hard his dick throbbed.

You nodded your head yes as you stood up and helped release his bulge. Grabbing his base you gave him a few strokes before going back on his lap. His moans going straight to your core giving you a new coat of arousal. Caging in his thighs and aligning his tip you slowly sunk down. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as Richard grabbed your hips setting a fast and hungry pace.

“Fuck your so tight baby” He moaned.

You wrapped around his shaft perfectly making him see stars. Richard’s face contoured in pleasure with every thrust. You leaned in kissing his soft lips, swallowing a majority of his moans. His sounds of pleasure only riled you up more. Changing the pattern you grinded down on him, keeping him balls deep inside you for a brief moment. Reaching back you massage his balls as you moved your hips, keeping his shaft stimulated. Richard let out a string of curses at the added stimulation. His head shooting back in pure bliss had you clenching around him. Going back to riding him, Richard began to take over. He knew your body like the back of his hand and knew he could get you seeing more stars then you already were. He quickly angled his hips so his tip would massage your weakest point with every thrust. You were back on cloud nine as your breathing once again hitched. His name that you sang like a prayer lost its coherency. You broke the kiss as your mind fogged in pleasure once more. Eyes rolled back as every thrust tied a knot inside you tighter and tighter. The first orgasm ensured you wouldn’t last as long as normal. Feeling you pulsate, had Richard nearing his own orgasm. He was already so riled up, throbbed for so long that he was already twitching inside you. His balls squeezing into themselves as cum filled up. Not long after, white strings shot up inside you, filling you up nicely. Your knot snapped as he was mid orgasm. Eyes rolling to the back of your head as you floated around the clouds. Your fingers laced around the back of his neck as you kissed him one last time.

“Fuck that was so good” you smiled.

~~~~~~~

A/N: I havent written anything long or a fic in a long time and I honestly dont really like this all that much, edited and edited but I figured post it, write something else and maybe down the line the flow or a new flow will come back to me. It could also be that Im kinda annoyed at the Joel and Richard fued so like yea I wouldnt wanna fuck him rn lol. Okay have a beautiful day or sweet dreams.

#cnco #richard #rich #richuki #cnco smut #fic #fiction #imagine #richard camacho #richard camacho fic #smut #boyband #latin boyband #camacho #tattoos #black and white photo #brown eyes

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thetomorrowshow · 3 years ago

Text

unless you take your army back ch. 3

First - Previous - Read on AO3!

When I tell you I have never been more mad at one of my characters

cw: blood, violence, injuries

As the week cycled past, Jack fell into a kind of routine. He hated to leave Crutchie alone for any amount of time, but he had things to do. He made the decision to accept the cartoonist job, so that he could get away with selling less papers and still afford rent and food for both him and Crutchie.

Same as every other morning, Jack climbed down from the roof and got the boys up and getting ready with as little noise as possible--he didn’t want to wake Crutchie prematurely, especially if the kid had been having nightmares like he suspected. A quick trip to the convent and back, leaving Specs to get the troupe to the Delanceys’, which he handled easily. This morning, Jack took the coffee and apple that the nuns had given him and set them on the chair beside Crutchie, who was just beginning to stir. Jack felt immense relief--he couldn’t stay, he really couldn’t, but waking alone had sent Crutchie spiraling into a panic attack more than once in the past few days.

“Hey Crutch, breakfast,” Jack announced, cringing inwardly as he saw Crutchie flinch. The boy sat up, rubbing his eyes with his good hand--most of the bandages on that hand had been removed, excepting two fingers that were wrapped together to make them heal straight. Crutchie had had to let Katherine do that, even though he’d been changing his own bandages for the past three days. Katherine wasn’t too happy with this arrangement, but Jack knew that Crutchie was uncomfortable with letting someone--especially a girl--patch him up. When the two had approached him for a tie-breaker to this argument, he had easily sided with Crutchie. The look of gratitude and relief on Crutchie’s face had been worth Katherine’s disapproval.

Crutchie took the apple and frowned, then put it back down in favor of the coffee. Jack raised a brow at that as he hopped from one foot to the other, trying to stall his departure. “Somethin’ wrong with it?” he asked. Crutchie shrugged.

His silence wasn’t strange, really. For Crutchie it was far from the norm--sure, he usually hid pain from everyone, but he liked to talk. It was part of who he was. Crutchie had barely spoken a sentence strung together in the past week. Kids who came from the Refuge were always quiet, though. Jack himself had never really talked about his time there, just bottled it up until it exploded onto the paper. He’d gotten better, it had just taken some time. Same for any of the others who had been in there. Crutchie would be better in no time.

“D’ya need anything else?”

Crutchie took another sip of coffee. He glanced around, eyes wide and sad. For a moment, Jack saw not his fifteen year old brother, but a child. Eight years old, like he was when they found him. Shivering from the cold, face all bruised up, hiding in a back alley as snow swirled around and attempted to bury him.

Then Jack blinked, and Crutchie looked--well, not fifteen (he’d always passed for younger, useful on the streets), but like himself. Sort of. He was bruised up, of course--his entire face was a mottled green and purple as it began to heal--and hadn’t really done much smiling lately. It was still Crutchie, though. As tired as he looked now, Jack knew it wouldn’t be long before he was raring to go, grinning that bright grin of his, his eyes sparkling as he ribbed good-naturedly with the other boys.

“Open the window?” Crutchie whispered, and Jack nearly ran to do so. There were a few windows in the room, but Crutchie hadn’t specified which one, so he threw open each of them. As he was getting the one next to Crutchie, the boy looked up at him. “Don’t ya have work?” he asked, a bit louder.

“Ye-es?”

Crutchie rolled his eyes, and Jack mentally celebrated. Every time Crutchie rolled his eyes or quirked a brow, Jack gained more hope that his recovery was going well. “Get outta here, Jack.”

Jack lingered a few moments longer, but only long enough for Crutchie to glare at him. “All right, all right, I’m headin’ out,” he said, hands in the air. “I’ll be back in a few hours. That apple better be ate by the time I’m back.”

With the windows open, he could hear the first calls of the street vendors. He really did need to leg it. Jack adjusted his hat and made off, the door swinging shut behind him.

Crutchie winced, then watched it for a few moments. Apparently assured that Jack was not going to return, he traded the cup for the apple and chucked the fruit out the window beside him.

Too much time that Crutchie didn’t have had passed. A whole week of being laid up in someone else’s bed, letting them pay his rent and bring him food. He had to get back out there, and soon.

Crutchie wasn’t stupid. He knew how he looked--he’d know even if Albert didn’t insist on telling him every day “Get healed, Crutchie, ‘cuz nobody’s hankerin’ ta buy papes from that ugly mug”. He also knew that he had been perhaps hours away from death when Katherine rescued him, and that took time to get over.

But Crutchie wasn’t a normal kid. He didn’t have a pa with a job, or a mother who was supposed to take care of him, or money just lying around. He had a job, and he took care of himself, and his money went toward survival. Recovery just wasn’t an option for a kid who had to work every day of the year.

He supposed that, in some respect, that was what the union had been formed for. Davey’s dad had been laid off because he got hurt on the job, and unions were supposed to stop that from happening. The newsies weren’t officially hired, though, were they? Were they going to have to be listed as part of the company now? Would there be contracts to sign for everyone? But newsies came and went, it had to be more cumbersome to keep track of everyone involved. The whole affair made his head hurt.

Union benefits or not, Crutchie didn’t have the money to spend many more days in bed, and he wasn’t about to let Jack waste his savings on him when he was capable of making money. Jack was going to be tough to get through to on this issue, but Crutchie was pretty sure he had Racetrack on his side. Race was popular enough that others would back him, and he would stand up to Jack. As long as Crutchie could prove that he could go back to selling, Jack would be forced to let him.

So. Now he had to work on actually being capable.

Crutchie hadn’t walked anywhere himself in the past days--there was always an abundance of newsies to help him to the washroom, practically carrying him there and definitely carrying him back to bed. It was honestly getting to be pretty annoying--maybe he could start by making it to the washroom by himself.

Standing up would’ve been easier had he eaten that apple, but Crutchie was fairly certain that he had a tooth or two loose and wasn’t in a big hurry to have them drop out. That was the only reason, he told himself. He was fine, just needed to see if those teeth would settle back into place. He didn’t have a problem with food.

His crutch had been propped up against the wall beside the bed for days, cleaned as best as possible but still with a small crack near the end of it. The cushioning had been mostly replaced, the old cloth having come apart completely. Crutchie wasn’t sure who had fixed and cleaned it, and he didn’t much feel like asking. It was selfish, but he didn’t want another person to be indebted to.

Crutchie slid the crutch over to himself and used it to pull himself up, which he soon discovered was exactly what it sounded like: a bad decision. His knees buckled instantly and he couldn’t catch himself before he was lying on the floor, hip and side smarting from the impact.

He took a moment to breathe, clenching and unclenching his fists despite the ache in his fingers. He could do this. He had to do this. Crutchie steeled himself, then used his crutch one-handedly to bring himself to his knees, pushing himself from there up onto a wobbly foot.

His leg was sore from disuse (and probably from that dislocation and various other beatings), but it wasn’t nearly as bad as his chest and back. In fact, now that he was standing even his head felt worse. There was a pounding behind his eyes that made him want to vomit, but he didn’t back down. He couldn’t.

Crutchie propped the crutch under his left arm, biting his lip to stop a noise from escaping as it rubbed against a cut (and so many bruises) on his ribcage. He could do this. If the Refuge hadn’t been shut down, he would still be there, right? He would still be working right now, digging holes or polishing stairs or something equally as gruelling. If he would be doing it in that situation, he should be able to do it here.

Moving the crutch forward made the pain worse, and his side began to sting--it might have split open that cut. Still, Crutchie let it swing forward, then put as much of his weight as he dared on it and hopped.

Sure, it hurt--the padded underarm rest of the crutch dug into the cut and now Crutchie was certain it was bleeding--but he hadn’t fallen. He’d taken a full step with his crutch, all by himself.

Crutchie couldn’t find it within himself to be proud.

Slower than the first, Crutchie took another step, then another. By this point his chest was screaming for proper air, head pounding with each shuffle forward. It was time to turn back, before his brain decided that he wasn’t getting enough oxygen to stand upright. It really did hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. Everything hurt, so very very much.

Three more hops and he was back by the bed. He wanted to just collapse into it, fall face-first onto the blankets, but he knew that would be more pain than it was worth.

Never mind, he was just too tired. Crutchie faceplanted into the bed, screaming through gritted teeth as it jostled his various injuries. He lay there for a few moments, knowing he needed to turn over in order to feel less pressure on his lungs and breathe properly, but not yet wanting to lie on his twinging back.

He’d made six steps, he added up as he situated himself. Six measly steps. It had been about a week since he left the Refuge. A whole week of rest and he could still barely stand, let alone walk. He had to get back out there, pay his way, provide for himself. He hadn’t asked who was paying for his rent and food, but he had a strong notion it was coming from someone whose name sounded a lot like Kack Jelly.

Jack wasn’t selling near as many papes as he used to, not with the amount of time he was spending back here. According to Katherine, he was getting a job with Pulitzer as an artist of some kind? Crutchie wasn’t quite sure what exactly it was--he’d been pretty feverish at the time--but it probably didn’t pay much, and Jack hadn’t even started the job yet.

Whatever Jack couldn’t come up with, the others would be pooling to make up for. Elmer was probably budgeting it, Crutchie thought absently as he fiddled with the bracelet on his wrist. Elmer was one of the younger kids, but surprisingly good with numbers and calculations and things like that. Elmer working out the money, Race encouraging the others to contribute, Specs and Mush talking Jack into letting them help--Crutchie could see the whole ordeal playing out in his mind’s eye. Jack wouldn’t have been happy, but he also probably was getting low on spare change. They’d all lost a decent bit just by not selling for the few days (or day singular, in Crutchie’s case) that the strike had lasted. If he could get back to work soon, he could stop taking their hard-earned money.

Tomorrow morning, he decided. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t walk today, he would have to tomorrow. He would get up early and make it out of the room before Jack even came down through the window to check on him. That would prove it to everyone that he could at least sell five papers. He was even willing to let Jack go pick them up for him, as long as he could sell.

Before any of that happened, though, Crutchie needed to check up on his bandages. Katherine would kill him if he had bled through them while trying to walk alone. Maybe not yet, though. Maybe he could just close his eyes for a second.

Something was . . . off.

Jack hadn’t made it in time to see the headline since before the strike, and in the past week, he’d ran up to Wiesel’s only for Specs to hand him his papers. The nervous looks the boys had shot him each morning should have been enough to tip him off that something wasn't right.

He’d ignored them though, assumed they had to do with his tardiness or the headlines. Now that he knew better, now that he knew something was up, Jack was torn between wishing he’d been on time every other morning and wishing that he’d been late this morning. Despite stopping back at the lodging house to bring Crutchie breakfast, though, he had somehow made it back before Wiesel even started selling.

Today the looks he was getting were downright panicked as the newsies lined up, watching him carefully. The air felt tense, even heavier than normal. Jack got in line with the rest of them, not pushing his way to the front like he normally did. Something was off.

“Jojo,” he said slowly, turning to the kid behind him, “what’s goin’ on?”

“Whaddya mean, Jack?” Jojo replied, false cheer coloring his voice. Jack narrowed his eyes at him. Jojo didn’t waver. Good for him.

Jack looked back to the front, trying to not fidget. He was supposed to be meeting with Pulitzer today, right about the time that he usually checked on Crutchie. Maybe if he bought fewer papes, he could skip over to the lodging house before hiking to Pulitzer’s office? He was supposed to be bringing some examples of his art, so he’d have to stop by the lodging house anyway. He also was supposed to meet with Spot Conlon even later, who was currently handling union business over at The Journal. The eventual hope was that Jack, Davey, and Spot would become a team, three appendages of the same purpose, who could all visit any one of the newspapers and discuss rights and the like. Right now, though, he wasn’t entirely sure what Spot had been telling The Journal. Their meeting this evening would hopefully remedy that.

“Hey, Jack! You’re here early!”

Jack looked up from his thoughts to see Davey grinning as he joined the line, followed by a waving Les. Jack nodded back to them.

“Thought I’d see how badly Race is swindlin’ Snyder,” he said, and a couple of the boys gave forced chuckles. Okay. That was odd.

“Papes for the newsies! Come on, I ain’t got all day!”

Jack began to step forward in line, only for Mush to come out of nowhere and grab him by the arm.

“Hey, whatever happens, I gotcha back,” Mush said. Jack frowned. What was he talking about? “Jus’-- jus’ don’ fight if you can help it.”

Fight?

Jack was beginning to feel like he wasn’t going to like this at all.

As always, his intuition was correct. It wasn’t hard to laugh off Weasel’s snide comments about where he had been and their union, but then Morris Delancey opened his stupid mouth as he was handing Jack his papers.

“Where’s the crip, huh? We was hoping we killed him when Snyder let us at him. You been out mournin’ him?”

All background chatter faltered. At first Jack thought it was just his senses tuning in to Morris and Morris alone, but he realized vaguely that everyone was watching this interaction. The smile slipped from his face as for once, he was speechless. His teeth grounded together as the image of Crutchie screaming, crying for help while the Delanceys beat him into the ground was forced into his head.

Morris noticed, as did Oscar, who stepped forward with a grin. “What?” Oscar asked. “Tough Jack Kelly, gonna cry because the mean Delanceys bashed a poor cripple’s head in?”

Those were fighting words. Oscar knew it, and Jack knew it, and Oscar knew Jack knew it, and Jack knew Oscar knew Jack knew it. Jack couldn’t find it in him to care that he was being goaded--he was seething. Crutchie had come back to the lodging house unconscious and nearly dead, almost unrecognizable and the Delancey brothers had been a part of that. They might have been the ones who made it so painful for Crutchie to breathe, or the ones who hit his head so hard he couldn’t see straight, or the ones who broke his arm, or the ones who left the handprint-shaped bruise on his throat that still hadn’t faded completely--

They were laughing now, saying more vile things that reached Jack’s ears muffled, as if he was underwater. Someone else said something, gripping his arm, but Jack wrenched away from them. He grabbed Morris’s collar, drawing him close.

“You two wanna take that back?” he growled. Morris bared his teeth in a dumb grin.

“Maybe we oughtta go find him, in whatever corner the rat’s crept to ta lick his wounds. Bet he’d squeal just at the sight o’ us. Bet he’d try ta drag himself away. Bet he--”

Jack socked him square in the jaw. There was noise, lots of it, but all he could focus on was pummeling Morris until his now-shocked face was covered in blood. Hands pulled at him, but Jack dove over the counter, papers flying, to land on top of Morris, slamming fist after fist into him. Oscar kicked him hard in the side and Jack took that opportunity to latch onto his leg, pulling him down too. Before he could do any real damage, though, two strong sets of arms were prying him away and pulling him through the mess of newspapers.

“Jackie, Jack, please, let’s just go--”

Jack shoved Davey off of him, trying to shake the others off his back.

“You scared, Morris?” he shouted, voice cracking, struggling with the increasing amount of arms holding him back. “Only brave ‘nough to pick on thems as can’t fight back, huh? Huh!?”

Oscar was helping Morris up, the latter holding a hand to his own nose as it spurted blood. Everyone was yelling, screaming, shoving one another, and Jack found himself being dragged away, even though he was still trying to throw punches and kick out. “Let me go!” he gasped, face burning as red as his sight. “Let me at ‘im--he can’t--he said--!”

Mush and Tommy Boy ignored him, not letting him go until they had gotten him into an alley, surrounded by what seemed like every Manhattan newsie. There they loosened their hold, and Jack jerked away, dragging a hand under his nose as he glared at them all. Some of them had the decency to look ashamed, but most looked completely unrepentant, a few glaring right back.

“Lemme guess, you all’s known about this?” Jack said loudly, glancing from Specs to Race, from Buttons to Elmer. Les looked away.

“Don’t feel bad, Jack,” Jojo pleaded. Jack didn’t even look at him. “Albert tried ta do the same the other day.”

“I ain’t feelin’ bad,” Jack practically bellowed. He kicked the wall of the alley angrily. Still no one looked away. What was wrong with them? Why were they staring at him, some with pity, some with defiance? Why couldn’t they just go about their business and leave him to his?

“Look, Jack--”

“No! No, Racer!” Jack fell to his knees, tearing at his hair. He choked on a lump in his throat and realized there were hot tears rolling down his face. “It ain’t--he--” he took a shuddering breath, his voice cracking-- “why do they gotta hate him so much?”

No one answered. Jack stayed like that for a while, his knees digging into the dirt of the alley, frequently sniffing and rubbing at his face. How could someone be so terrible, that all they lived for was hurting kids who already had it hard enough? They had literally threatened to kill Crutchie, had faked remorse at not finishing him off the first time--

Jack was going to be sick. His stomach flip-flopped, reminding him of how he hadn’t eaten since midday yesterday. How could the others just stand there, while the Delanceys made vile threats toward one of their own, toward Crutchie? They had even known already--why hadn’t they told Jack?

Jack’s stomach twisted again, but before he could toss anything up, there was someone kneeling before him.

Davey wrapped his arms around Jack, pulling him into an awkward, stilted hug. Jack collapsed into the contact, shaking uncontrollably. He just wished everyone else would go. He just wanted everyone to stop staring at him. Davey ran gentle fingers through his hair, hushing him with little “Sh, sh,” noises.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Davey murmured. “Crutchie’s gonna be okay, Jackie. We’re gonna get through this.”

Jack almost choked out a laugh. David’s naivety couldn’t be helped--Crutchie had spent time in the Refuge, days where he was without help or support, growing weaker and weaker with every beating. It had been a good three years since Jack had been in there, and he wasn’t recovered. He wasn’t ever going to recover. How could David say with such certainty that Crutchie would be okay?

“I hope you’re right, Dave,” Jack said instead, voice thick with emotion. He curled his fingers into the stiff fabric of Davey’s vest, swallowing back another round of tears. “I hope you’re right.”

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