gamebunny-advance · 8 months ago
Text
*Sigh*
It's time for my bi-annual post asking where these new TPS fans are coming from.
There's a lot more of them than usual popping up from this year and late last year. Has that show hit the "nostalgia zone" or are younger people actually getting into it? If it's the latter, how and why are people learning about it now?
Tbh, the answers to those questions don't matter to me. I just wanna give my personal stance on it for the time being:
I’m not interested in the show at all right now. I'm probably not gonna draw it, or talk about it again except in reference to stuff like this happening. If you're following me with the hope that I'll somehow get into it again, then you're gonna be disappointed. (But, thank you if you decide to stay for my other nonsense. I don't mind if that was how you found me, and you're staying for other things, but don't feel obligated to stay for content I'm not making anymore).
I'm never gonna update the wiki no matter how many of you like that post now, and I'm gonna delete it now so I stop seeing the notes on it. Y'all seem to be strong enough to do that on your own anyway. Even if I wanted to, I can't remember the trivia that I used to know except in broad strokes, and I certainly can't source them anymore, which is a bad look for any wiki.
Look, I will never be able to fully separate myself from that fandom because I was in it for so long. Being a part of it was an essential part of my growth as an artist, so it's always gonna be a part of me. I'll probably still reference it from time to time, but it's not something I have an interest in going back to. My tastes have changed significantly, and it just doesn't have anything to offer the "me" of today. As such, I don't have anything to offer it either.
1 note · View note
that-spider-witch · 3 years ago
Text
On the topic of Book!Edward Hyde
Or rather: The topic of his existence (or lack thereof).
Browsing through the J&H tag, I’ve seen a lot of book readers be spiteful of every single adaptation of the character and its pop culture version because it misses the moral of the book: That Hyde and Jekyll were just one and the same, and that Jekyll was the one doing all the bullshit that went down and that Hyde was just a mask to keep his reputation intact.
Most of these rants go on to imply or outright accuse of any author doing the split personality take on the plot to have never actually read the original book, or that Edward Hyde never existing is something that the book leaves loud and clear, something irrefutably canon.
Having read the book too, I’m here to say: Yes and no. You could read the book and still get a “two character, one body” impression from it. Allow me to explain...
While the plot of “Jekyll is Good, Hyde is Bad” is truly bullshit and the very thing that the original novel rips into pieces, whether Hyde could be considered to have a will of his own is a little more ambiguous and it can actually be interpreted either way.
Note that I’m using the word “will” and not “personality”: Hyde is still Jekyll, they both have the same personality, but while Jekyll is a rational human being, Hyde is Jekyll but without the strings of societal norms, morals and impulse control holding him down.
Book readers who go by the take that Hyde never existed also claim that the book is very clear that the changes brought by the formula are just external: Jekyll is completely himself the whole time and “Hyde” is just a mask.
And this is true... At first. Depending on how you interpret Jekyll’s unrealiable narration, “Hyde” actually slowly develops something of a will of his own as Jekyll’s evil nature, given a body of its own by his dumb experiment, continues to develop.
Here’s a fragment of how Jekyll describes the experiment and the very first transformation:
“That night I had come to the fatal cross-roads. Had I approached my discovery in a more noble spirit, had I risked the experiment while under the empire of generous or pious aspirations, all must have been otherwise, and from these agonies of death and birth, I had come forth an angel instead of a fiend. The drug had no discriminating action; it was neither diabolical nor divine; it but shook the doors of the prisonhouse of my disposition; and like the captives of Philippi, that which stood within ran forth. At that time my virtue slumbered; my evil, kept awake by ambition, was alert and swift to seize the occasion; and the thing that was projected was Edward Hyde. Hence, although I had now two characters as well as two appearances, one was wholly evil, and the other was still the old Henry Jekyll, that incongruous compound of whose reformation and improvement I had already learned to despair. The movement was thus wholly toward the worse.”
“Edward Hyde” (who at this point still doesn’t truly exist as his own being and it’s just a mask for Jekyll to use) is evil because Henry Jekyll himself is evil. But while Jekyll-as-Jekyll has good personality traits as well as bad, Jekyll-as-Hyde is just everything that Jeyll finds evil about himself and nothing else. This paragraph also states very clearly that Jekyll’s intentions were never good.
If this was the only instance in which anything along the lines of “two characters as well as two appearances” was mentioned, then yes, there would be no room for debate on the whole “Hyde is just a fake identity and nothing else” because there wouldn’t be evidence of the contrary. It would be clear text.
Except that Jekyll, unreliable narrator that he is or not, also gives us evidence to support the theory that Hyde, while still not being a completely separate split personality on his own right, does develop a certain awareness of himself and a will to act somewhat separate from Jekyll’s. 
Of course, this all still falls on Jekyll’s own fault, and even if we consider Hyde as something of an alter, he’s still nothing but the scapegoat that Jekyll uses:
“The pleasures which I made haste to seek in my disguise were, as I have said, undignified; I would scarce use a harder term. But in the hands of Edward Hyde, they soon began to turn toward the monstrous. When I would come back from these excursions, I was often plunged into a kind of wonder at my vicarious depravity. This familiar that I called out of my own soul, and sent forth alone to do his good pleasure, was a being inherently malign and villainous; his every act and thought centered on self; drinking pleasure with bestial avidity from any degree of torture to another; relentless like a man of stone. Henry Jekyll stood at times aghast before the acts of Edward Hyde; but the situation was apart from ordinary laws, and insidiously relaxed the grasp of conscience. It was Hyde, after all, and Hyde alone, that was guilty. Jekyll was no worse; he woke again to his good qualities seemingly unimpaired; he would even make haste, where it was possible, to undo the evil done by Hyde. And thus his conscience slumbered.”
Something all book readers will be familiar with is that Jekyll’s narration uses “I” when writing about most of Hyde’s actions, while also mentioning both Henry Jekyll and Hyde on third person. Jekyll tries to dissociate himself from his crimes this way.
But... Whether also done by Jekyll to still reflect guilt from himself or not, the text also refers to Hyde as having a nature of his own, albeit one irreversably connected to Henry Jekyll’s own hidden desires.
“Between these two, I now felt I had to choose. My two natures had memory in common, but all other faculties were most unequally shared between them. Jekyll (who was composite) now with the most sensitive apprehensions, now with a greedy gusto, projected and shared in the pleasures and adventures of Hyde; but Hyde was indifferent to Jekyll, or but remembered him as the mountain bandit remembers the cavern in which he conceals himself from pursuit. Jekyll had more than a father’s interest; Hyde had more than a son’s indifference. To cast in my lot with Jekyll, was to die to those appetites which I had long secretly indulged and had of late begun to pamper. To cast it in with Hyde, was to die to a thousand interests and aspirations, and to become, at a blow and forever, despised and friendless. The bargain might appear unequal; but there was still another consideration in the scales; for while Jekyll would suffer smartingly in the fires of abstinence, Hyde would be not even conscious of all that he had lost. Strange as my circumstances were, the terms of this debate are as old and commonplace as man; much the same inducements and alarms cast the die for any tempted and trembling sinner; and it fell out with me, as it falls with so vast a majority of my fellows, that I chose the better part and was found wanting in the strength to keep to it.”
There’s a clear divide here, with Jekyll and Hyde having something of a different outlook on life, something that outright doesn’t make sense if we are to consider Edward Hyde as just Jekyll’s alias. 
Something to note here is that the divide between the two personas is not of a moral nature, but something much more mundane and selfish: To Henry Jekyll, his social status is everything, and his main drive to keep transforming into Hyde again and again is to enjoy a life of sin without repercussions. To Hyde, said social status can go to hell for all he cares, but still keeps the ruse because his concealment is ultimately necessary for his continued existence, something that the narration will go back to later.
After this point of the book, which is when Jekyll goes to sleep and wakes up transformed on his other body the next morning, the doctor becomes scared and goes cold turkey for two months, having decided to stop being Hyde forever and return to a normal life. It doesn’t lastlonger than that: Hyde returns not because he takes control, but because Jekyll turns himself into Hyde on purpose once again, by his own free will.
“I do not suppose that, when a drunkard reasons with himself upon his vice, he is once out of five hundred times affected by the dangers that he runs through his brutish, physical insensibility; neither had I, long as I had considered my position, made enough allowance for the complete moral insensibility and insensate readiness to evil, which were the leading characters of Edward Hyde. Yet it was by these that I was punished. My devil had been long caged, he came out roaring. I was conscious, even when I took the draught, of a more unbridled, a more furious propensity to ill. It must have been this, I suppose, that stirred in my soul that tempest of impatience with which I listened to the civilities of my unhappy victim; I declare, at least, before God, no man morally sane could have been guilty of that crime upon so pitiful a provocation; and that I struck in no more reasonable spirit than that in which a sick child may break a plaything. But I had voluntarily stripped myself of all those balancing instincts by which even the worst of us continues to walk with some degree of steadiness among temptations; and in my case, to be tempted, however slightly, was to fall.“
Something fun to note here: Jekyll describes Hyde, and/or himself when he’s Hyde, as being comparable to a child. First by merely noting that Hyde’s body is younger than Jekyll’s, then by comparing him to a “son” and Jekyll as the “father”, and now comparing the murder of Danvers Carew to a child breaking a toy. 
Speaking of the murder, Jekyll is 100% guilty of it: Even if Hyde was a completely different being with his own traits and goals, which he is not, Jekyll would still be responsable by virtue of willingly going through the transformation again like an idiot.
That being said, the text continues to give Hyde some semblance of personality:
“Hyde had a song upon his lips as he compounded the draught, and as he drank it, pledged the dead man. The pangs of transformation had not done tearing him, before Henry Jekyll, with streaming tears of gratitude and remorse, had fallen upon his knees and lifted his clasped hands to God. The veil of self-indulgence was rent from head to foot.“
From this point on, everything goes to hell: Henry Jekyll is relieved that now that Hyde is a wanted murderer, he now has no choice but to stay as Jekyll and leave that sinful double life of his finally behind (”Jekyll is the Good half” my ass!). But, surprise surprise! He starts to transform unwillingly, and now he needs to constantly drink the potion to stay as Jekyll. 
Fun fact: Do you remember which thoughts are the ones that trigger the first unwilling transformation after the murder?
“I sat in the sun on a bench; the animal within me licking the chops of memory; the spiritual side a little drowsed, promising subsequent penitence, but not yet moved to begin. After all, I reflected, I was like my neighbours; and then I smiled, comparing myself with other men, comparing my active good-will with the lazy cruelty of their neglect. And at the very moment of that vainglorious thought, a qualm came over me, a horrid nausea and the most deadly shuddering. These passed away, and left me faint; and then as in its turn faintness subsided, I began to be aware of a change in the temper of my thoughts, a greater boldness, a contempt of danger, a solution of the bonds of obligation. I looked down; my clothes hung formlessly on my shrunken limbs; the hand that lay on my knee was corded and hairy. I was once more Edward Hyde.“
The thought that he, too, was just like any other man. Something that his Hyde half knows as a fact, but that Henry “I’m superior than all these lazy peasants around me because I’m rich... I mean, because I have active good-will” Jekyll considers undignified, and therefore, cruel or evil. O Sweet, sweet Victorian hypocresy.
And it is from here on out that the narration acknowledges Edward Hyde as being his own character somewhat, somehow, at least as part of Jekyll’s conciousness.
After the transformation and the visit to Lanyon:
“My reason wavered, but it did not fail me utterly. I have more than once observed that in my second character, my faculties seemed sharpened to a point and my spirits more tensely elastic; thus it came about that, where Jekyll perhaps might have succumbed, Hyde rose to the importance of the moment.”
“Then I remembered that of my original character, one part remained to me: I could write my own hand; and once I had conceived that kindling spark, the way that I must follow became lighted up from end to end.“
“He, I say—I cannot say, I. That child of Hell had nothing human; nothing lived in him but fear and hatred.“ 
“When I came to myself at Lanyon’s, the horror of my old friend perhaps affected me somewhat: I do not know; it was at least but a drop in the sea to the abhorrence with which I looked back upon these hours. A change had come over me. It was no longer the fear of the gallows, it was the horror of being Hyde that racked me.“
It’s curious how Jekyll’s narration uses “I” when looking back at Carew’s murder, and yet it is just from here on out that he’s oh so repulsed by Hyde than he uses He/Him pronouns for him. 
And, most of all, when he has locked himself up:
“The powers of Hyde seemed to have grown with the sickliness of Jekyll. And certainly the hate that now divided them was equal on each side. With Jekyll, it was a thing of vital instinct. He had now seen the full deformity of that creature that shared with him some of the phenomena of consciousness, and was co-heir with him to death: and beyond these links of community, which in themselves made the most poignant part of his distress, he thought of Hyde, for all his energy of life, as of something not only hellish but inorganic. This was the shocking thing; that the slime of the pit seemed to utter cries and voices; that the amorphous dust gesticulated and sinned; that what was dead, and had no shape, should usurp the offices of life. And this again, that that insurgent horror was knit to him closer than a wife, closer than an eye; lay caged in his flesh, where he heard it mutter and felt it struggle to be born; and at every hour of weakness, and in the confidence of slumber, prevailed against him, and deposed him out of life. The hatred of Hyde for Jekyll was of a different order. His terror of the gallows drove him continually to commit temporary suicide, and return to his subordinate station of a part instead of a person; but he loathed the necessity, he loathed the despondency into which Jekyll was now fallen, and he resented the dislike with which he was himself regarded.”
And what immediately follows is my favorite part of the book:
“Hence the ape-like tricks that he would play me, scrawling in my own hand blasphemies on the pages of my books, burning the letters and destroying the portrait of my father; and indeed, had it not been for his fear of death, he would long ago have ruined himself in order to involve me in the ruin. But his love of life is wonderful; I go further: I, who sicken and freeze at the mere thought of him, when I recall the abjection and passion of this attachment, and when I know how he fears my power to cut him off by suicide, I find it in my heart to pity him.”
This petty behavior of supposedly destroying and vandalizing Jekyll’s stuff to spite him is mentioned yet again just a few sentences later,along with the following line:
“This, then, is the last time, short of a miracle, that Henry Jekyll can think his own thoughts or see his own face (now how sadly altered!) in the glass. Nor must I delay too long to bring my writing to an end; for if my narrative has hitherto escaped destruction, it has been by a combination of great prudence and great good luck. Should the throes of change take me in the act of writing it, Hyde will tear it in pieces; but if some time shall have elapsed after I have laid it by, his wonderful selfishness and circumscription to the moment will probably save it once again from the action of his ape-like spite.“
This assertion from Jekyll that, as far as he’s concerned, he will be already dead when he transforms for the last time, is what closes the book:
“And indeed the doom that is closing on us both has already changed and crushed him. Half an hour from now, when I shall again and forever reindue that hated personality, I know how I shall sit shuddering and weeping in my chair, or continue, with the most strained and fearstruck ecstasy of listening, to pace up and down this room (my last earthly refuge) and give ear to every sound of menace. Will Hyde die upon the scaffold? or will he find courage to release himself at the last moment? God knows; I am careless; this is my true hour of death, and what is to follow concerns another than myself. Here then, as I lay down the pen and proceed to seal up my confession, I bring the life of that unhappy Henry Jekyll to an end.“
If taken at face value, these lines actually paint Edward Hyde as being somewhat able to think his own thoughts and do his own actions, while still just being the childish, “ape-like” part of Henry Jekyll’s mind. Emphasis on childish, not evil, the evilness is all on Henry. Edward Hyde is still nothing but Henry Jekyll’s psychological scapegoat, and the one that Jekyll technically leaves behind to deal with the mess he himself created by “dying”.
I’m not trying to get more people to interpret the book this way nor am I saying that the ”Hyde is not real and Jekyll is a lying bitch” take is actually wrong, because it is not. I’m just pointing out the book could actually be interpreted differently by different readers, and they’d still have sentences in the book to back their interpretation on.
Now, if we could all stop hating and throwing shade on every content creator out there who “got the book wrong”, that’d be peachy. 
35 notes · View notes
matbarzyy · 4 years ago
Text
Impossible
Tumblr media
A/N: If you follow me on main you might know I’ve been obsessed with Impossible by Nothing But Thieves, so I tried to use it to write a fic. It definitely deserves a listen if you wanna have that playing in the background while you read. This is a best friends to lovers fic starting off a lil angsty but it ends well.
Word count: 4358
.
Love it stings, and then it laughs
At every beat of my battered heart
.
Something was wrong.
You couldn’t tell what it was just yet, but the way Mat was texting you wasn’t normal. He wanted to talk, he tried to keep the conversation going, but the texts were empty of content. It was so unlike Mat that you didn’t realise how worried you were until you tasted blood in your mouth from the way you bit your lip.
He was a ray of sunshine and a dork, always throwing jokes around and acting like an idiot. Seeing Mat sad was a rare occurrence.
You didn’t know what put him in that state but you guessed he needed something to distract himself, so you decided to call him.
“Alright, what’s up with you?” You spoke as soon as Mat picked up the phone. There was a sigh on the other end of the line and a ruffling noise before you heard him.
“Nothing,” He replied weakly, trying to hide a sniffle by putting the phone away from his face. You picked up on it anyway.
“Mat?” Your voice softened and your heart squeezed. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” He admitted, unable to give you a better answer as he lay on his bed without moving, tears streaming down his cheeks.
You took it as a clear no. The only times Mat ever called you to cry were after hockey games he lost, and that was only if he was too far for you to be with him. Whenever he played at home you came to see him and stayed to celebrate or cheer him up depending on the outcome.
“Where are you?” There was no need to ask if he needed you, the answer was obvious, you just had to ask where you had to go.
“Home,”
“I’m coming over, hold on, okay?” You slid into your sneakers as quick as you could, too rushed to undo the laces and put them on properly.
“Okay,” He whispered so low you barely heard him.
He went quiet on the phone and you hung up after promising him you’d be there in no time. You lived close enough to him that you could walk, driving was pointless unless you had a lot to carry. Mat had made you pick this apartment on purpose when you moved to New York, he argued that he’d be close if you ever needed anything, and you had never been more glad to be there.
He was your best friend in school when times were simpler, and he somehow remained your best friend when his hockey career began. Things were different with the distance, but you were the little bit of home he could stay attached to. He had been ecstatic to find out you were joining him in New York after your degree so that you could work on a masters.
Anthony had quickly become one of your best friends too, and you all got along well with Mat’s girlfriend. Lena wasn’t as part of the group as you thought she would be when you first met her, but you didn’t mind it too much. You liked spending time with just Mat and Tito, she was nice but always calm and calculated. It didn’t fit with the spontaneous crackhead energy you shared with the boys.
You often wondered why Mat always reached out to you rather than her. You could understand when he went to Tito, he understood him when it came to hockey and guy things you couldn’t wrap your head around, but you spent endless nights questioning where you fit in the middle of that. Mat never let you feel left out, no matter how invested he was in his relationship he always made time for you.
“I’m here,” You called out when you unlocked the door. You had a spare key from the moment you arrived, officially because he needed someone to have it in case he got locked out, unofficially because he wanted you to be able to come over whenever you wanted. “Hey,” You found him in his bedroom, dried tears on his cheeks as he looked at you with heartbreak written all over his face. “What happened?”
“Lena’s been cheating on me for four months,” Mat whispered, his eyes falling shut as he dug his teeth into his lip to stop himself from crying again. He had been rehearsing the words in his head since you called so that he could tell you, but they still tore at his heart.
“Oh my god,” You sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to engulf him in a hug. That at least explained why he called you. He needed comfort, and as sweet as Tito was he was also fiercely protective, you knew he’d go rip her apart if he found out now. Mat’s chest shook with small sobs while one of his arms wrapped around you, clinging to you for dear life. “Shit Mat, I’m so sorry,”
“I was- I was just going to surprise her,” He cried against your shoulder, tears beginning to soak your shirt. “And I found them,”
“Come here,” You breathed out as you slid onto the bed more comfortably, letting Mat curl himself against you. You had held him while he cried before, but you had never seen him look that small. “You deserve so much better,”
“I just-” He hiccuped. “I can’t believe she’s been doing this for so long,”
“I know… I don’t even know what to say,”
“Four years,” His words were so choked you barely understood them. He was the most broken you had ever seen him and your heart fell apart for him. No one should have to go through that, but it angered you more than anything that someone as sweet as Mat had to be the one to suffer from it. “I trusted her,”
“I know you did,” You nodded, gently running your fingers through his hair in a way you hoped would soothe him. On some particularly quiet nights at home when you were drunk with no one but him and Tito he liked to rest his head in your lap to make you play with his hair. It wasn’t something Lena really did for him, he had told you one day, but he never let himself be that close to you when people were around in case pictures circulated and she became unbelievably jealous again.
They had a fight about it once, and you wished you realised how horrible she was back then. She played it off on insecurities when it was pure misplaced jealousy, and you could now add hypocrisy to that. Mat was a good boyfriend, reassuring her and talking to you about it to make sure you’d know not to be too touchy when she was around.
It should have clicked in your head that she didn’t belong with him at all when he was forced to hide his affection for you and any other woman in his life. Tito might have been a bit smarter than you about it, he never even tried to take a liking to her while you made efforts to get along with her for Mat’s sake.
“I don’t want to fall in love ever again.” He sniffled against your shoulder, only calming down for a second before his sobs became louder.
There was nothing you could do except hold him through the rest of the night.
.
Somebody told me and I think they’re right
There is a change on its way tonight
.
It took a few months for Mat to feel better. He kept blaming himself, trying to find where he went wrong, and it took many pep talks from you to remind him that he was worth more than that. None of it was his fault, Lena was a heartless liar using him, and she didn’t deserve all of the tears he shed over her.
Tito helped too, joining your efforts as soon as he found out. Between the both of you Mat got plenty of encouragement and love, it was at least enough for him to appear fine to everyone else around him. Only you and Tito got his late night phone calls and texts when he got in his head and began blaming himself for everything that ever went wrong in his life.
Girls were still flirting with him, some of them asking him out on dates, but he turned them all away without a care. You thought he might get into a bit of a fuckboy phase to take his mind off things, but even that didn’t happen.
Neither you or Tito pushed it, he needed patience.
“You’re in love with him,” Tito accused you one night. He was the only one still sitting at the table you had secured in the bar for the rest of the team and their significant others. There was enough space that everyone was standing and mingling around the room. You were practically filling the whole bar anyway, there weren’t many other customers.
“That obvious, uh?” You gave him a weak smile, glancing in Mat’s direction.
“You’ve only been giving him all of your time and attention for the past year,” He shrugged. “I figured it out after I saw you turn down three dates the first month you were here,”
“Nice catch, I barely had it figured out for myself then,” You admitted, taking a weight off your shoulders. You had never been able to confess your feelings for Mat to anyone before. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Tito was the one to figure it out. “I just don’t want him to know yet,”
“Why not?”
“Because he’s too scared to fall for anyone again, or I would have told him already,” You saw him down the rest of his drink and laugh loudly at something one of his friends said, and that sound alone made a smile appear on your lips.
“He trusts you though,” Tito brought you back to the conversation. He had spent enough time with you to know, and he wished the two of you could see things as clearly as he did.
“Not to let himself love me as more than just a friend,” You sighed, your heart squeezing at the thought. “I know what he’s going through, well, not to that extent, but yeah, I know the kind of trust issues that come with it,” You had spent a long time getting over an ex who only cheated with a kiss, and you had barely been with him for six months back then. You could only imagine what it did to Mat to find out his girlfriend of four years lied to his face for four months straight.
“I honestly believe he already has feelings for you, he just won’t act on them just yet,”
“Maybe… Either way, all I can do is wait until he notices,” You could still give him time. You didn’t blame him for keeping his distance, as much as it hurt you had seen the damage his last relationship had done to him and you were willing to wait. You couldn’t see yourself falling for anyone else, Mat was the only one in your heart.
“Mat might act like an idiot all the time but he pays attention to people, he knows how much you care about him,” Tito assured you. You didn’t see it, but Mat was always looking at you and turning to you for everything. You were more than just his best friend and it was painfully obvious.
Mat wasn’t doing it subconsciously either. He was all too aware of your feelings for him, and he fought with himself trying to repress his own for a long time.
You were his best friend back home, but ever since you came to New York you had become so much more than that. Even when his relationship still held up you were the person he shared everything with. You and Tito were his favorite people, he constantly hung out with you without realising what you truly meant to him. Tito was like a brother but it was different with you.
Accepting his feelings for you while getting over his ex was a lot to handle, but he eventually got there. There was only so much patience you could have, he was scared it would wear off before he grew the balls to jump in and tell you the truth.
He could see you sitting with Tito while he was out there drinking, and he couldn’t help but walk over. There was no way for him to enjoy his night unless you did too.
“Come on, you’re missing out on all the fun,” He cheerfully grabbed your hand and pulled you up from the table, motioning for Tito to join.
“Someone’s drunk,” You chuckled when he wrapped an arm around you and pulled you into his chest. Drunk Mat was always extra needy.
“Only a little,” He grinned down at you.
His loud laugh echoed through the room when you took the opportunity to tickle his sides, and he jumped away from you with a squeal. It was the most beautiful sound, one you had missed for a whole month when he never let himself be truly carefree.
“See! This is why I can never bring you to work related stuff!” He tried to retaliate but you blocked his hands, wriggling around until he gave up and put his arm around your waist.
“Why, because I always make sure we have a good time when we’re out?” You laughed at the memories of all the stupid things you had done together when he was supposed to act professional. Granted, trying to see which one of you could catch the most olives in their mouth while the other threw them hadn’t been your smartest idea, but that dinner had been boring and the backlash had been worth it.
“More like because he can’t focus on shit if you’re around,” Tito muttered and you bit your lip in response, wondering if that was really the case. Mat was just Mat around you, but was he different when you weren’t there?
“Something like that,” The brown haired giant remained oblivious to his best friend’s words, too drunk and excited to notice. “But now you need a drink!”
“I’m driving you home, dumbass,” You laughed and resisted his grip while he tried to drag you towards the bar.
“We can uber!” Mat’s face lit up like the idea made him a genius, and you had a hard time not turning into a puddle at the sight. He was so cute it was unfair.
“And leave my car here? I don’t think so,”
“Tito, help me,” Mat looked to his friend, puppy eyes at their finest, to convince him.
“I only had one beer, I can drive,” The man sighed, rolling his eyes at Mat’s behaviour. It was the best compromise so that you wouldn’t have to leave your car and Mat could get his way.
If he could anything that might finally get you two together he’d do it. He was sick of watching you like this when you should obviously be a couple. As stupid as it was, he hoped the alcohol would help you loosen up and get closer. Mat hadn’t been with anyone in a long time and he was obviously lonely, there was a solid chance you’d at least be cuddling by the end of the night.
“You don’t have to,” You tried to ignore the hand that tugged on your arm, making sure Tito was okay with not drinking for the rest of the night. You promised you’d drive, you didn’t want to ruin his fun.
“I don’t really want to drink more, you’re good, go,” He gave you a gentle push, and a second later you were stumbling after Mat because he often forgot how strong his grip was.
“Two shots of tequila and a rum and coke please,” He asked a little louder than he needed to, but the bartender clearly didn’t mind. The guys tipped well when they were out, and since the whole team was filling the bar you knew the whole staff was happily making more money than on regular nights.
“You really think you should be drinking tequila?” You laughed at his state, knowing he was only about to get worse. You didn’t mind it, he was always closer when drunk, clinging to you like a baby, and there was nothing you craved more than his hugs.
“Nope, that’s all for you,” He handed a bill to the bartender to pay for the drinks. “You need to catch up,”
“You’re going to be the reason I die one of these days,”
“Promise I’ll make sure you get home in one piece,” His lips pressed against your temple and you melted into him. He’d always make sure you were safe.
You didn’t know what to do with the mixed signals you got from him. Tito was right, you were almost sure he had feelings for you, but you wondered if he would ever act on them or if he would only want to keep you as a friend. You could only have your hopes up for so long.
The shots were placed down in front of you before you could let yourself overthink things more, and you took both with a grimace under Mat’s stare.
He was trying his best not to let himself ruin a potential relationship with you. He knew he loved you, but getting with you before he was ready would be a mistake. You were more than a rebound and you deserved to be treated right. Mat couldn’t be the one for you until he fixed himself, but knowing that gave him the energy to be better. He let himself slip into the depth of the love he felt for you, allowing himself to fall a little further every day until he was so in love with you he knew he could never go back.
The night ended as predicted, you and Mat were so drunk you laughed constantly and could barely walk, Tito tried his best to be patient as he helped you both to the car.
“Guys,” He groaned as you stopped once again, doubling over into a fit of laughter at something he didn’t understand. He was mostly amused but had to act serious for either of you to listen to him. “Come on, hop in,”
“Thanks Tito,” You gave him a big hug while Mat opened the car’s door.
“Yeah yeah,” He rubbed your back with a chuckle. “Get in there and hug Mat,” He guided you to the backseat where Mat already was, leaving the passenger seat empty.
“Tito said I should hug you,” You leaned over to him and rested your head on his shoulder as you did so.
He only hummed in response, wrapping his arms around you while Tito started the car. It would be a short drive to Mat’s place, and the three of you knew there’d be no need to drive to yours. Tito’s car was at Mat’s because you had picked them up there to come to the bar, so he’d be able to drive home and leave your car where you’d spend the night.
Getting up to Mat’s apartment was surprisingly easy. Your energy had died down in the car and you were both just dying to get in bed. Tito had to fight a little to get you both to drink water while you complained you were hungry, so he promised to make you food if you both just went to bed.
“Alright, everyone comfy?” Tito had to stop himself from rolling his eyes when he found you settled under the covers together. Mat was shirtless and you were in one of his t-shirts, you couldn’t look more like a couple. “Here,” He let you both sit up against the headboard before handing you plates.
“You’re ‘e ‘est” Mat dug in and spoke with his mouth half full of his sandwich. You nodded after him, looking up at the blue eyed man.
“Drink some more water before you fall asleep, okay?” He chuckled as he thought that soon enough all of your nights would look like this. You might have thought that Mat needed more time but Tito could see he didn’t, he had already let himself fall for you, you just had to let it happen.
.
I could drown myself in someone like you
I could dive so deep I never come out
.
Dinner at Mat’s was common, but a homemade dinner at Mat’s wasn’t. You didn’t hide your surprise when you smelled chocolate brownies baking in the oven as you walked in on a Friday night. Mat rarely went through the trouble of making food himself when he could get it cooked by someone else who would know how to prepare it right.
He had texted you to come over early during the week, so you knew he had this planned and it wasn’t just another spontaneous night you’d spend together.
“You cooked?” You took a look at what was in the oven while he stood by the stove.
“Um, yeah,” He scratched the back of his head nervously, moving a pan off the heat while you smiled.
“It smells good,” You reassured him and earned a relieved sigh. You had teased him about his cooking skills hundreds of times, but he really had tried tonight.
You sat with him like everything was normal although the dinner and bottle of red on the table told you it wasn’t. Mat was a nervous wreck, glancing at the candles he had left unlit on a shelf because he knew it’d be too much to add them to the table.
You carried the conversation easily through the beginning of the meal, giving him some more time to say what he needed to. You could see he had something to get off his chest, but you didn’t try to push it until dessert. You could barely believe he was serving you a homemade brownie with freshly cut strawberries and your favorite brand of vanilla ice cream.
He was slowly turning quiet, obviously thinking too hard.
“What is it?” You bumped your foot into his to get his attention.
Mat finally looked up from his dessert, taking a deep breath in before letting the words flow out.
“I’ve fallen for you so damn hard,” He put his spoon down, looking at you with a slightly awkward smile. Mat was rarely shy around you, but there he was, knee bouncing under the table and running his hand through his hair too many times.
“The feeling’s mutual,” You abandoned the rest of your dessert to focus on him with a soft smile. You thought you’d feel butterflies or excitement when it finally happened, but Mat’s confession only brought warmth to you. It made you feel like everything was finally falling into place.
“I know,” He breathed out, reaching for your hand across the table. It wasn’t the first time he held it, but it was the first time he let himself get amazed by how small it was in his. “I just… I thought it was impossible, I didn’t want that again. But you’ve got more patience than anyone else I know and… and you made it all possible,”
“I knew you’d need time to come around,” You ran your thumb over the back of his hand, looking straight into his eyes. Mat felt his heart melt at the sight, it was like you had known this would happen all along while he wondered if he was meant to be single for the rest of his life.
“I didn’t think I would,” He honestly answered, knowing he could voice his insecurities around you without fear of being judged. You had been his rock this whole time, his steady while he was a mess. “And I probably wouldn’t have if it wasn’t for you. You’ve pulled me out of my head so many times, so thank you,”
“Come here,” You pushed your chair back and got up while Mat mirrored your movements.
He pulled you into a tight hug almost instantly, placing a soft kiss on top of your head while you rubbed soothing circles on his back. There wasn’t a lot you needed to say once you were there, holding each other.
“I love you,” He gave you a gentle squeeze, the words floating in the air for less than a second before you replied.
“I love you too,” You pulled away to look at him, cupping his cheek and feeling him lean into your touch. “And I know how much it takes for you to say that, so thank you, for trusting me,”
“I’ve always trusted you,”
The tip of his nose touched yours and you both smiled, letting your eyes fall shut before your lips finally met.
In all of the years you had known Mat you had never exchanged a kiss, not even during a dumb drinking game. You had only imagined this moment a million times, and now that it was finally happening you could barely think.
His lips were soft, the stubble growing on his face tickled your skin, and it all felt like perfection. Nothing could have ever prepared you for what it’d be like to kiss the person you were in love with.
“Wow,” Mat whispered as he pulled away, his hands trembling slightly.
“Yeah,” You chuckled before a frown appeared in your face. “Hey,” You got him to look at you rather than his feet. “What are you so nervous for? It’s just me,”
“Sorry, I’m, uh, all out of practice when it comes to that stuff,” He admitted, his hands coming to your waist to hold you.
“How about we clean up and get on the couch so you can get practice again, mmh?” You kissed his cheek and instantly got a smile back on his face.
“That sounds perfect.”
.
Please reblog guys! Feedback and comments are always super encouraging and help me write more
231 notes · View notes
mandaloriangf · 4 years ago
Note
given the topic of reylos and fandom, im gonna say a thing and i hope it makes sense, but if it doesnt definitely feel free to point out
as context, i spent most of my entire 20+ years of life engrossed in fandom. im the white autistic girl exploring sexuality and identity through fandom lenses that these communities love to trot out as the reason why fandom criticism is a form of oppressive rhetoric (its not).
fandom has always been an actively hostile space to those it considers "other" (black people overall and most especially black women, gay men who are treated as concepts and not people and told to be silent on the trend of harmful abusive slash fiction). it has not ever been a fully welcoming community
but i really do believe reylos ruined fandom as a concept overall
to elaborate, the size and proliferation of reylos sparked a league of discourse that left the boundaries of star wars entirely and instead focused around a singular question, applicable regardless of media content you consume. who is fandom for? this question split the identity of fandom in twain.
reylos, and quickly following behind pro-shippers and anti antis, answered that fandom was for "everyone" but in reality encouraged an environment where fan content was never questioned or criticized regardless of its contents or implications and that to do so indicated something about you as a person rather than your critical debate skills or media consumption. fandom was a space for pleasure, sexual and literary, first and foremost, and nothing could infringe on that. it is considered the ultimate escapism and ultimate freedom, through the thin veneer of fiction. nothing you say or do reflects anything about your person because none of it is real, it only FEELS and is meant to feel good, via catharsis or fluff or erotic fanworks. the fiction you write is a means of exploring your happiness through a vehicle of media consumption, with no bearing on reality whatsoever, so even if you write objectively awful triggering topics, the only request is that you at least acknowledge its fucked up even if you do NOTHING to protect other people from it. it is a position of inherent selfishness actively hostile to marginalized peoples, most especially women of color.
on the other side of this divide is anyone with a functioning brain. grossly oversimplifying the situation but this is already long enough lmao.
the faults of individuals acting in these debates is almost tangential. awful people of all stripes were drawn to both sides of the divide to leverage power gained from getting clout through discourse, but one side was significantly more accepting due to the inherent nature of their position. if you thought fandom was meant to be fun and nothing else, all you really had to do was apologize and everything would be swept under the rug. obviously plenty of people get away with this shit no matter what, but we have to notice the trend of genuinely awful and abusive reylos and anti-antis continously able to remake and move accounts with no issues
this discourse moved from star wars into the general online conversation, and then was taken back to individual fandom communities. and fandom was absolutely torn apart. anyone who couldnt stand it packed up and left, artists were driven out by the droves of people who liked their art and saved it but refused to share or reblog it, fanfiction writers didnt get any interaction unless they went out of their way to cater to the niche specific fanon interpretations regardless of how much it clashed with the source material, and reylos and their legacy fostered an active culture of harassment.
reylos didnt just ruin star wars
reylos ruined *everything*, even for the communities of people they hold up as their martyr, white autistic girls like myself exploring identity.
there is no content for questioning people anymore. there is no content of exploration. there is no fic detailing recovering from abuse with loved ones while exploring facets of yourself you couldnt face. im sex repulsed and wlw, can you imagine how hard it is for me to find something that covers these topics that isnt straight up porn?
these problems are compounded even MORE for anyone who isnt white, to levels i am shielded from thanks to my privelege. and now, when people like stitch find publication to discuss her experiences in an open forum, she is subject to a harrassment campaign that is now the norm.
its monstrous
(sorry for the long ask rip, hope u enjoy the impromptu essay)
i wouldn’t say reylos are the ones who ruined fandom but instead they are the natural progression of a community where racism has run rampant and it’s run rampant for the reasons you listed.
reylos in particular are especially sinister in the way they utilize progressive language as a way to shield themselves from criticisms of racism and make themselves feel justified in viciously attacking and driving out poc who speak up. and that way they can make the fandom a safe space for themselves and only themselves. and other fandoms do the same.
15 notes · View notes
frywen-bumbles · 4 years ago
Text
No More, Please...
Read on AO3
Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Rape/Non-Con
Fandoms: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV)
Relationship: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Word count: 5739
More warnings and tags on AO3
Written for Whumtober 2020 prompt:
No 6. Please... "Get it Out" | No More | "Stop, please"
"Geralt, you're back!"
"Run," Geralt grits through his teeth, stalking closer, his movements stilted, wrong.
"Don't be an idiot, you're obviously hurt, let me help." Jaskier steps closer, lifting his hand to help Geralt sit down. Or that was his intention. Geralt grabs his arm and flings him against a tree hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs and before he can even take a breath a hand on his throat pins him to the tree.
"I told you to run," Geralt growls against his neck, nosing under Jaskier's ear, burying his face in Jaskier's hair. The stubble on his chin tickles and Jaskier tries to squirm away, only to be held tighter, a knee pressing between his legs and he can feel something hard against his thigh.
"Ah, Geralt, not that I'm not enjoying myself but what's going on? Are you hurt? Didn't we need to flee?"
"You..."Geralt growls and of all things Jaskier thought he would do, licking his neck was definitely not one. "Smell too good..."
"Geralt...?" Jaskier tries again, trying to push Geralt's hand away, only for him to hold on tighter, choking him, "Geralt, please, you're hurting me...?" he manages to wheeze as he hangs on Geralt's hand, trying and failing to push it away, panic creeping on him as the witcher stays as immovable as ever.
"This was a perfectly fine chemise, you brute!" Jaskier tries his best to be angry instead of scared but the panic starts to raise its ugly head as Geralt's hand travels down his bare chest gripping his waist hard enough to bruise. He's not one to deny lovers even if they want to be rough, but this is not Geralt.
Geralt is always gentle, minding his strength around normal people. Minding his strength around Jaskier, his touch soft, gentle, like he's afraid Jaskier would break. He would never hurt Jaskier, not intentionally.
"Ah...!" Kisses which are more teeth than lips pepper his neck, his throat, his cheek, his shoulder as soon as Geralt rips the offending fabric out of the way and it feels so good, Jaskier wants to sink onto this feeling clouding his thoughts.
But this is wrong. Something is wrong with Geralt and he can't ignore it even if the hands and lips on his naked skin make him want, make his skin burn with desire like nothing he has ever felt before, make him want to be devoured whole.
"G-Geralt... please, stop..." he whines and is rewarded with a bite strong enough to draw blood and the jolt of pain brings him back to his senses, the earlier panic raising its head again as he cries out in pain.
"Can't," Geralt grits out and licks the blood dribbling down Jaskier's throat and grinds on him, the silver studs of his armour digging into Jaskier's exposed skin and Jaskier shivers but not from arousal.
"Geralt, Geralt, please, talk to me, I'm really not into this and I would very much prefer if you'd let me go right this instant so I can run away as fast as I can just as you suggested, but plea- ahh!" His rambling is interrupted by Geralt pushing a gloved hand into his pants and squeezing his arse.
"Can't... a curse..." Geralt kisses up Jaskier's cheek and Jaskier knows, can feel the exact moment the witcher tastes the first tear on his cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I know you don't want me... you don't want this..."
"...I do. I do want you..." Jaskier admits, his voice barely a whisper. But he knows Geralt can hear him, can feel him relax just the tiniest bit. "...But not like this... please..."
"Can't..." Geralt chokes out, "can't stop... Thought I'd reach a whore house... but smelled you... I'm sorry..."
Geralt sounds pained, his hands still but his lips keep kissing every bit of skin he can reach like he can't be apart from Jaskier, from his smell, whatever that means. Jaskier can feel Geralt tremble with the effort of staying still, his rock hard cock rocking gently on Jaskier's hip and Geralt whines, a small pained sound. That's what breaks Jaskier, breaks his heart, breaks his resolve. No matter how scared he is, Geralt is in pain. And if there's anything he can do to help he will.
"...It's okay. I forgive you."
"You shouldn't." Geralt whispers in his ear, biting his earlobe, his sharp fangs grazing at the sensitive skin ever so gently.
"I know..." Jaskier draws a sharp breath when Geralt noses behind his ear and buries his face in his hair, "What would... what if you stopped?"
"Can't," Geralt grits through his teeth, "the smell of you drives me crazy... I can't control it... I thought you'd run and... almost lost it..."
"But whoever made the curse, they must have said something? Could I like, give you a blowjob and be done with it?"
"That bastard... wanted me to slaughter the entire village..."
"And instead you just what? Became horny? What the fuck? How does that even work?"
"Jaskier, please... I need... I'm so sorry, I can't... I don't want to hurt you... I feel like I'm losing my mind... Fuck...!" Geralt sounds needy, grinding against Jaskier, every muscle in his body trembling. And still, the hand which strokes Jaskier's cheek is gentle, wiping away the tears. A stark contrast to his other hand, gripping Jaskier's arse with need, pressing himself more firmly against the bard.
"If you could... there's oil in my bag... please..."
"You shouldn't..."
"Geralt you're literally holding my arse hostage. If we're doing this I'd much rather enjoy myself," Jaskier says with as much bravado as he can muster. It's not much. Especially when his voice wavers. He has no idea what he has promised himself into. But Geralt needs him, needs him more and more and who is he to deny him.
Geralt drags him to their bags, his hand curled firmly behind his neck, like an animal dragging its young where they belong and as much as Jaskier wants to touch Geralt, to ease the pain he seems to be in, he has priorities. He unlaces his trousers as fast as he can. They are very nice trousers, no need to ruin them just because some idiot cursed his witcher horny. He only hopes there's still something left of him after tonight to wear the trousers again, but that's a worry for the morning him, not the current him.
He barely has time to step out of the fabric pooling at his ankles before he's pushed against a tree, face first, and a generous amount of oil is poured over his arse. Geralt pins him against the tree and he can feel the witcher's massive cock press against his arse and he won't survive this. He can't even see but even feeling the cock against him tells him there is no way he'll walk away from this unscathed.
"G-Geralt...?" he tries, not daring to even hint at escaping, the witcher's earlier words clear on his mind. He will not survive if Geralt loses it. Even if being fucked to death sounds great in theory, that is no way how he wants to end his days, thank you very much. So he stays very still, trying to relax while a very large, very strong man grinds against him, intending to fuck him until whatever curse this is has run its course.
"I'm sorry..." Geralt whispers in his ear as he pushes Jaskier's legs together, his oiled cock slipping between them the same time a well-slicked finger pushes into his hole, too fast, too much and too little at the same time, the finger pushing deeper on every thrust of Geralt's hips.
"I'm so sorry..." Geralt whispers again, while biting his ear as another finger pushes in, working him open, stretching his slick hole and it feels good but also too much, and it's definitely too much when a third and then fourth finger slips into him, and Jaskier cries out but Geralt doesn't let up, doesn't slow down, but he apologises over and over again and Jaskier can't even reply, all he can think of is the stretch in his hole, of the fingers, the hand slipping in in-sync with the thrusts of Geralt's cock between his thighs.
Geralt bites hard down his shoulder, muffling his groan and Jaskier feels him spill on his thighs and he thinks he can get a moment but to his horror, Geralt stays rock hard even after all his seed has spilt.
"I'm sorry..." Geralt murmurs again as he lines his cock against Jaskier's hole and kicks his legs apart, spreading his cheeks wide and pours more oil. Geralt grips tight on Jaskier's hips so he couldn't run even if he wanted to and he sheaths his entire slick length in on one push and Jaskier cries out, digs his hand on the tree to hold onto something as Geralt slams into him again and again, his cock so hard and big fingers could have never prepared him enough even if they had more time.
It's too much.
Too much.
He can't take it.
He thought he could, but he can't. It's too much.
"Get it out, stop, please...!" Jaskier sobs, desperately trying to relax despite the onslaught, but Geralt only holds his hips tighter, pulls his ass up and fucks into him harder than anyone has ever before and growls.
In any other circumstances, Jaskier would find it hot. So hot. But now? Being devoured by a cursed witcher? He does not. It makes shivers run down his spine and Geralt must have felt it because the bruising grip he has on Jaskier's hips eases and he leans to kiss between his shoulder blades despite maintaining the brutal harsh rhythm.
"Can't... stop... sorry..." Geralt grits out and Jaskier feels as he trembles. This is not Geralt's fault, he reminds himself. Or tries to. But it's hard. Despite Geralt not being the cause of it, it's still Geralt's body holding him down, Geralt's cock slamming painfully hard into him and no amount of kisses on his back will make it better.
"G-Geralt it hurts..."
"I'm sorry... I'm trying... I'm so sorry..." Geralt sounds pained, sad and it breaks Jaskier's heart, but it hurts and he can do nothing but to try to stay still and hold onto the tree.
"Please... no more... please..." Jaskier pleads with every thrust but the onslaught just keeps going until finally after Jaskier doesn't even know how many pleases Geralt stiffens behind him and thrusts one last time.
Jaskier could cry. He thinks he does when he falls to his knees on the ground as soon as Geralt lets go of him. Geralt tumbles after him, turning his face towards him, hands on his cheeks, frantically wiping the tears still falling.
"Jaskier? Jaskier? I'm so sorry I never meant to hurt you, I never wanted this to happen, blame me all you want, I deserve it, I'm so sorry.., I'm so sorry.., I'm so sorry.., I'm so sorry..."
Jaskier looks up, at golden eyes staring at him with pupils blown wide, worry and terror and guilt written all over his stoic face and he wants to do nothing but relieve those feelings but he can't. He can't, the horror of the situation is still firmly on his mind and he can feel himself tremble, the torn chemise bringing no warmth to his bruised skin and he hugs himself, willing to take any comfort he can.
"Is it over...?" Jaskier asks, his voice a hoarse whisper he knows Geralt can hear.
"...No. It isn't. This is all my fault. If I... if we survive this you'll never have to see me again."
"I... Geralt, that's not what I want. This is the fault of... of whoever made that curse... but please... I can't... not like that, not again, please... I could run now, be as far as I can before the curse takes a hold of you again... could I?"
"...No. It's... I could kill you if you run. Even the idea..." Geralt growls, a deep sound in his chest and he collects Jaskier in his arms, gently, carefully, but giving Jaskier no way to escape. "I can't... you should hate me..." Geralt buries his face in Jaskier's hair and Jaskier revels in the moment, just for a while, it feels safe to be held in strong arms, in the arms which have protected him more times he can count, in the arms of the man he has loved for so long.
The moment is all too short.
Jaskier can feel Geralt's cock poking at his thigh, ready for another round and Geralt holds him just a bit tighter, kissing his hair, drawing soothing circles on his back, hand securely over his chemise as he whispers, "I'm so sorry... I'll be gentle this time... as much as I can, I promise..."
Geralt lifts Jaskier carefully off the ground, grabbing the bottle of oil and lays him out on his bedroll. He slicks up two fingers and pours more oil on Jaskier's abused hole, massaging gently on the rim. Jaskier can feel every muscle in his body tighten, anticipating the pain sure to come. But Geralt leans forward and presses his forehead on his, hand flat on the bedroll beside Jaskier's waist and hushes him like a frightened animal and somehow it works.
Jaskier spreads his legs wider, giving Geralt more space to work and given how sore he is, it takes surprisingly little time for Geralt to insert one finger without any pain. Geralt loosens him gently, methodically and soon three fingers are in him, spreading him, preparing him for the onslaught sure to come.
Jaskier almost cries when Geralt's fingers leave him. They felt so good, so gentle and he was so relaxed, so turned on, but all good things must come to an end.
"Geralt..." Jaskier gasps when the witcher grabs his legs to spread them even wider and Geralt looks so pained, so guilty, his fingers pressing too tight on Jaskier's skin and Jaskier can see the sweat beading on the witcher's forehead, can see the painfully hard cock between his legs. "It's okay... I forgive you."
"You shouldn't..." Geralt murmurs and closes his eyes. "We don't have to... when you can see me. Or do it any way you can feel it's easiest to relax."
"This is alright, Geralt. Come here." Jaskier reaches his arms and Geralt falls into his embrace surprisingly fast. He trembles in Jaskier's arms, even when he lines his cock with Jaskier's hole and pushes it inside, slowly, only a little bit at a time before he pulls out again and with every slow, shallow, gentle push Jaskier can feel him tremble more and when finally, after what feels like an eternity, at least for Jaskier who is so slowly and carefully worked open, Geralt whines, a sound full of pain and restraint about to snap, his cock almost fully sheathed in Jaskier.
"Jaskier, Jaskier... I need... I'm sorry... I..."
"Hush, it's okay," Jaskier cups Geralt's cheek, trying to soothe him, trying to ease his guilt and Geralt grabs his leg, lifting it up under the knee, pushing deep, deep inside of him, and Jaskier cries out, the feeling somewhere between pain and pleasure and something seems to shift in Geralt who thrusts again, just as hard, just as deep making Jaskier cry out with every thrust.
"Geralt...! Geralt! Just a little slower, please, I can't... I'm..." he doesn't even know what he's trying to say, just that it's too much.
"I'll try... I'm so sorry... Jaskier..." Geralt soothes him, presses their foreheads together and pounds into him just as fast, just as hard and Jaskier moans, tears falling to his cheeks, his hard cock rubbing against Geralt's jerkin.
"Ah! Geralt... please... please...!" Jaskier's not even sure what he pleads, just that he needs, wants, desires.
"Can I..." Geralt starts but Jaskier grabs him, holds his cheeks in his palms, buries his fingers in Geralt's hair and tugs.
"What... what do you need?" Jaskier manages to choke out and opens his eyes to look at Geralt. The witcher looks guilty, sad, pained and it breaks Jaskier's heart.
"Can I... can I kiss you?" Geralt asks, so ready to be dismissed, to be rejected.
"Only... only if you really mean it... I can't... not if you don't mean it..." Jaskier says, not expecting anything to happen. But Geralt kisses him, desperate, passionate, like he wants, needs to devour Jaskier whole and he pulls Jaskier to sit up in his lap, still impaled on his cock and he holds Jaskier's hips still, pushing up, up incredibly deep, his lips never leaving Jaskier's lips, not even when he tangles his hand in Jaskier's hair and holds him still and there's not a hair's width between them and the silver studs dig into Jaskier's skin but he doesn't mind because Geralt is kissing him.
Geralt is kissing him and fucking so deep into him Jaskier feels like he'll lose his mind, like at that moment he would do anything Geralt asks of him, anything to make this moment last longer, to make Geralt his if just for tonight.
He has no words, no desire to speak, all he wants to do for eternity is to kiss Geralt, kiss Geralt until he knows nothing else and he whimpers, whines into the kiss.
Geralt pulls back like struck. "I'm so sorry..." he pulls Jaskier to him, burying his face in Jaskier's hair and Jaskier can hear his ragged breath in his ear even though all of the moans every thrust forces out of him.
"Geralt... Aah...! Geralt..." Jaskier moans and grasps Geralt's hair to tug him back, to look at him and he comes willingly, his eyes so full of guilt Jaskier can't take it. "Can I... a-ah! Can I take off your- Ah! Your clothes... It's awfully unfair... Ah! Unfair to be the only one... the only one naked...!"
While he is, in fact, not fully naked, the torn chemise still on his shoulders, he knows Geralt will not point it out. Instead, Geralt lets go of his hair and Jaskier hurries to hold his hands around Geralt's neck, as Geralt strips surely and efficiently and soon Jaskier can feel the witcher flush against him, his cock getting trapped between them as Geralt renews his hold, pulling Jaskier as close as he can.
Jaskier tangles his hands in Geralt's hair and kisses him fully on the lips, moaning into his mouth with every thrust and he's so close, so close.
Jaskier pulls Geralt's hair and he can feel the witcher tremble, a moan escaping his lips between kisses and Jaskier can't help himself. He reaches between them and takes his cock in his hand, stroking in sync with every thrust and he can feel Geralt lose it when he squeezes around the cock inside of him. Geralt grabs his hips and slams into him, holding him still in a bruising grip but Jaskier doesn't mind, all he can think about is the pleasure building inside of him, of the cock ramming into him, of the witcher kissing him, devouring him and he comes, spilling his seed between them, screaming.
Geralt doesn't let up, not even when Jaskier can feel cum drip from him with every thrust, the witcher holding him like his life depends on it. And maybe it does, Jaskier still hasn't got the slightest clue what the curse was about, only that whoever cast it wanted Geralt to murder an entire village.
"Geralt... Geralt... Geralt... I need... I need a break..." Jaskier begs, digging his nails in Geralt's shoulder, trying to hold on, to stay sane when every hard thrust hits him just painfully right, his body trying to respond in vain, the overstimulation making his eyes water and he cries out when Geralt tightens his hold, his teeth grazing his throat a low growl rising from deep within the witcher's chest.
"No..." Geralt growls, this time with words and sinks his teeth in Jaskier's throat, drawing blood with his sharp teeth and as hot as that is, as much as Jaskier has fantasised of those teeth in his throat, he cries out in pain.
Geralt looks up, startled, and Jaskier can do nothing else but to kiss the sadness, the guilt away from the witcher's lips, holding onto Geralt as best as he can even when he feels like everything is too much, too fast, too... everything and he knows he whines, whimpers into the kiss but still, despite that, despite everything he never breaks the kiss, not even when he feels Geralt stiffen under him and push into him the last few times and he could cry with relief.
Geralt all but collapses on the bedroll, Jaskier underneath him, all that's preventing the mountain of a man crushing Jaskier are Geralt's forearms beside his head, his elbows on the ground and Jaskier can feel Geralt's breath on his face, small, fast puffs of air.
Jaskier looks up. Geralt's eyes are closed, sweat glistening on his furrowed brow, his breath ragged like he'd run ten miles with a gryphon chasing him.
"Geralt?" Jaskier asks. Geralt doesn't answer, doesn't acknowledge him but Jaskier keeps going, "Geralt, are you alright?"
Geralt hums in response and shifts, his softening cock slipping out of Jaskier and collapses next to him, nuzzling his hair, an arm slung lazily over his waist.
Jaskier lies very still.
He doesn't dare to move, frightened he'll awaken the witcher from his slumber. His body feels like it's wrung dry, like he wrestled with a witcher... which he sort of did. Wouldn't mind doing again. But in very different circumstances.
A snore at his side startles Jaskier out of his thoughts and he dares to take a peek. Geralt looks peaceful. The light of the dying flames of their campfire illuminates his white hair, half of his gorgeous face and Jaskier can't help but admire him.
"I forgive you, my wolf..." he whispers, running his fingers whisper-light on Geralt's cheek. Geralt doesn't even flinch. He's deep asleep, more relaxed Jaskier has ever seen him. Even in his haze, Jaskier notes, Geralt has set himself between Jaskier and the forest, providing defence from whatever might lurk in these woods.
Valiant, Jaskier admits.
But tonight, the scariest thing lurking in the forest is the cursed witcher fast asleep next to him and despite what he wants to feel, Jaskier is scared, terrified, of what might happen if Geralt woke up again. Terrified of how long the curse will last, of what would end the curse.
He makes it to the other side of the camp, trousers barely on (after all one cannot run around the woods naked) before he's caught, tackled to the ground by a deadly silent attacker. He doesn't have time to scream, to protest, to make the terror freezing his body known before he hears a growl, a deep sound no human should be able to make, despite the clearly human hands holding him down by the scruff of his neck, despite the human hands ripping his trousers to his knees.
"Geralt...?" Jaskier tries, only to be responded with another growl and icy cold dread freezes him, tells him to run, to escape from the monster behind him and he tries.
Oh, how he tries, his fingernails chipping when he claws the ground, claws the hands holding him down, kicks behind him but it's all in vain.
"Geralt!" Jaskier tries again, desperate, but all he gets as an answer is a growl. "Geralt, please... please..." Jaskier begs, begs as his ass is hoisted up, begs as his cheeks are spread to reveal his hole.
"...Please..." it turns into a moan as a wet flat tongue licks him as if to taste.
"Please... please..." Jaskier begs, moans as he is slowly, meticulously licked, teased, fucked with a tongue, held firmly in place by strong hands and it feels so good.
Jaskier would rock his arse into Geralt's face, but he's locked in place, forced to take anything Geralt wants to give him and he whines, whines with fear, with lust, with frustration, with confusion all at once. He can't move to touch his aching cock but it doesn't matter because Geralt fucks his tongue into his hole and he comes undone, crying aloud as his cum spills to the dirt.
He doesn't even realise the witcher has moved behind him, too focused on his afterglow, on the pleasure still running through his veins and suddenly, it's too much.
"Geralt! G-Geralt no, it's too much... too much, I... I can't... I'm only a human... please stop, please, please... no more, please..." Jaskier knows he's blabbering, knows half of the words he's saying won't even make sense but he can't.
Geralt's knee is firmly between his legs, pushing them apart as much as the fabric of his trousers bunched at his knees allow, his cock already halfway in Jaskier's spit slicked hole, rocking back and forth, every thrust going in deeper, deeper until Geralt is balls deep in Jaskier and Jaskier cries out.
"Please, Geralt... please, please, get it out, I can't... I can't anymore... please..."
Geralt growls again, but this time, there are words, or at least a word, "Mine..."
"Yes...! Yes! I'm yours but I can't, it's too much...!"
Somehow, Jaskier buries his face in his arms to muffle his cries, his moans and whimpers and whines. To hide his shame and fear and confusion at the utter betrayal of his body, of his mind because he enjoys this, enjoys the rough hands on him, enjoys the borderline painful overstimulation and above all when Geralt called him mine he was sure he was losing it.
A hand on his hair tugs hard, pulls hard enough to force his head up from the safety of his arms and Geralt leans over him, bracing his weight on the ground, hand on the ground behind Jaskier's arm so he can't move and the new angle hits him just right, tears streaming down his face at the overwhelming pleasure, lust and when Geralt growls in his ear only a single order Jaskier is sure he will die.
"Sing."
Jaskier cries, moans, screams. Every sound he makes drives Geralt on, his cock slamming hard into Jaskier, hard and fast, the hand on his neck holding him tight enough he couldn't escape even if he tried, even if he wanted to.
"I'm yours... I'm yours... please... have mercy..." he begs and moans, Geralt's breath hot on his shoulder and he knows Geralt can hear him, can hear every plea, every affirmation, every sound he wrings out of him.
Jaskier doesn't even know what he's saying, if he's saying anything at all, but he obeys his witcher, sings, until his voice is hoarse, until his body can't take it anymore, until everything turns black.
***
Jaskier wakes up, slowly, blinks his eyes open, trying and failing to understand what he's seeing. He's not in their camp. He's not in fact outdoors at all, but in a decent straw bed, in a warm house. A woman is sitting next to him, watching over him, but it's not her he wants to see.
The woman sees he's awake and points towards a corner.
Geralt.
Geralt sits in the corner, deep in meditation, no emotion visible on his face.
"Is he..." Jaskier's throat feels raw, the pain stabbing him with every word but he forces it down. He doesn't know what he wants to ask. Obviously, Geralt looks okay, looks unharmed.
The silence stretches on and Jaskier tears his eyes away from Geralt, to look at the woman. She has a frown between her brows and she looks sad as she pets his hair with gentle strokes.
"I can help you. Whoever did this to you, you can't go back to them. You were lucky the witcher found you and brought you here. I will give you everything you need and help you to leave, okay?"
"I... It's not like that..." Jaskier tries to deny, his voice rasping in his throat but the woman's eyes turn sharp.
"It never is. Until it is the next time. And the next."
Jaskier looks over at Geralt who hasn't moved an inch. But Jaskier can see he's no longer meditating, but listening to every word as carefully as if he were on a monster hunt.
"How long... how long do I have to stay?" he asks, dreading the answer. Sure Geralt is here now, but in an hour? Tomorrow?
"At least a couple of days. You took quite a beating, it'll take a while for you to heal."
"No, I need to..." Jaskier tries to get up, but moving hurts, hurts everywhere, in places he didn't know could even hurt, in muscles, he didn't know he had and cries out.
"Don't worry, I won't tell a soul you're here, no matter who comes to ask."
Jaskier isn't looking at the woman, his eyes are fixed on Geralt, who's standing up, eyes open and alert, silent as ever. The woman looks over at Geralt and frowns.
"Ease up, Witcher. He'll be fine."
"That's not..." Geralt starts but stops himself. He looks like he's searching for the right words, not sure what he needs to say. "Could I talk to him? In private?" He finally asks.
"I'll go get some food and painkillers for you, love," the woman pats Jaskier's arm gently. "I'm just over there, shout if you need anything."
Geralt looks as the woman walks to the next room, leaving the door ajar.
Jaskier doesn't even dare to hope, to wish for Geralt to look at him like he used to, with kindness and fond exasperation. And he isn't wrong. The short look Geralt gives him from the other side of the room is so full of guilt and fear Jaskier feels it'll suffocate him.
"...You stink of fear." Geralt says, never stepping closer. He isn't wearing his armour, only trousers and a shirt, swords laid against a wall.
"I'm not afraid of you," Jaskier says, more out of habit than anything. Geralt takes a step towards him and in an instant, his heart is in his throat, hands grabbing the blanket laid over him, feet kicking him further away from the witcher.
Geralt backs away and sits against the wall, as non-threatening as he can appear. It calms him. Despite him knowing it's all false, Geralt could leap at him in an instant and there would be nothing he could do, it still calms him.
"Did you really mean it?" Jaskier asks. Geralt closes his eyes and... slumps, covering his face with his hand.
"...I'll come back and pay Aniela after you're gone."
"That's not what I asked."
Geralt doesn't answer.
The woman, Aniela, Jaskier guesses, comes back with a bowl of stew and a vial of... something.
"Eat. And drink this, it'll take the edge off the pain. And hopefully, keep the nightmares at bay." She helps Jaskier sits up and places the tray on his lap, keeping a keen eye on him until he has eaten everything. It takes surprisingly little time for Jaskier to get sleepy, his eyelids heavy, but he doesn't want to close his eyes because when he'll open them up again Geralt will be gone.
"The witcher won't bother you, I assure you. He's as good as they come," Aniela assures him, "He saved you, brought you here. Wouldn't stop pestering me until I told him you'd be fine with some medicine and a bit of rest."
"Yeah... okay... good..." Jaskier mumbles, sleep threatening to overtake him. Aniela pets his hair and leaves again leaving him with Geralt.
"Geralt...?" Jaskier asks and untangles his hand from his blanket, "hold my hand?"
Geralt gets up and walks to him slowly, every step making a sound on the wooden floor. Jaskier can feel his heart hammering in his chest, fear tangling his insides in a freezing knot but still, he holds his shaking hand to Geralt who kneels at the side of his bed and takes his hand like it's the most delicate thing in the whole world.
"It's over, right?" Jaskier's voice sounds small in his ears but he knows Geralt can hear him just fine. He can't look Geralt in the eyes. It feels like too much, too soon. So he looks at their joined hands, focuses on Geralt's warm hand in his and tries to imagine everything is just like it used to.
"Yeah."
"And the... who did it..." Jaskier doesn't know how to ask. How to use words which is ridiculous because words are his thing, it shouldn't be this hard but it is. He doesn't know what to say, what to ask, every word feels wrong in his tongue, hurts his throat like poison.
"I'll take care of it."
"...Good." He doesn't have any other words. He doesn't even want to know. Whoever did this can choke on their tongue for all he cares. They deserve whatever Geralt decides to do and he won't ask.
"Did you really mean it?" Jaskier needs to know if it was real. If Geralt wanted to kiss him. He dares to look into Geralt's eyes, into the deep golden glow he loves so much it hurts. Geralt looks back at him, this time with gentleness and guilt and Jaskier can't help but feel frightened and hopeful, not sure which feeling is worse.
"...I did." Geralt admits. He holds Jaskier's gaze and Jaskier blinks to stay awake, to memorise this moment he thought he'd never get and smiles at Geralt, fear melting away one drop at a time and when Geralt reaches to pet his hair, slowly, giving him enough time to refuse he lets his eyes close, too tired and happy to fight it anymore.
"Go to sleep, Jaskier," Geralt tells him, voice gentler than Jaskier has ever heard.
"Will you be here when I wake up?" Jaskier murmurs, voice already heavy with sleep.
"If you want me to be."
"I do."
***
Partially inspired by amazing art by @spielzeugkaiser in tumblr
Thank you @kazeetease for betaing!
@whumptober2020
33 notes · View notes
kimjongdaely · 4 years ago
Text
The Art of Sin [Chapter 6]
Tumblr media
Gang!AU, Racer!AU, Tattoo Artist!AU
Pairing: Chen x Reader
Warnings: Language, violence, sexual situations, vandalism
Summary: He’s an artist. He does it all for the ‘art.’ Tattooing. Racing. Sex. All because he thinks they’re beautiful. There’s no one here that doesn’t know his name, because it’s everywhere. On every graffiti-filled wall, every tattooed skin, every cheer of the crowd. His name is there somewhere, because it’s all his—this world. And when he lays his eyes on you—well, he’s never seen anything more beautiful. And he’s going to make you his masterpiece.
Tumblr media
Chapter 1│Chapter 2│Chapter 3 [M]│Chapter 4 [M]│Chapter 5 [M]│ Chapter 6│Chapter 7│Chapter 8 [M]
Tumblr media
The sun beats down on you, sweat dripping down the side of your face and you try to quicken your strides, eager to get to somewhere cool. Throwing open the doors of the garage, their AC is a blessed relief. Byun hangs half-way off the reception counter, his bored grin greeting you like always. “Hey there. Here for Chen again?”
You nod while fanning yourself, the tank top you wear practically soaked with your sweat. Summer days are the worst. Byun points to the tattoo parlor, “Well, you know where to find him.”
Chen is cleaning his tools when you enter, and he greets you with his usual smile. “Hey, princess. Visiting so soon? Well, not that I mind.” There’s a sly edge to his tone now, as he leans in to give you a peck on the cheek.
You grin back at him. All you want lately is to see him, every minute feeling longer than the last when you can’t. Being with him makes you calm and excited all at once, and you savor every second with him.
As if you’ve gotten addicted to him.
As if you’ve fallen in love with him—
What a dangerous feeling to have. You know how these stories end, all too well. You’ll fall head over heels in love with this mysterious person and you’ll be ripped apart faster than you can blink. He’ll rip you apart.
He’ll trample on your heart and you’ll be abandoned.
So you have to keep this feeling a secret, no matter what. Just keep smiling like you’ve always have, and you’ll be able to stay next to him. Never take him too seriously, that way you’ll never be hurt.
“Wanna go for a drive, princess?” Chen asks, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. Good thing the AC is blasting, or else you would’ve turned into a puddle by now. Still, the garage is much too hot.
“You sure? What if a customer comes?” You raise a brow at him as he begins to lead you out. Chanyeol isn’t here as he usually is, you notice.
“It’s fine.” He answers casually, dismissing it with a shrug. “They’ll be back.”
For the tattoo or for him, you wonder. You wouldn’t be surprised if he gets some returning customers just because he has a pretty face. “Alright then, your call.”
He leads you outside where his white Nissan Skyline is parked. His car is always polished to perfection, several of his designs drawn across the hood and doors. It’s a perfect display of his artistic skills, the white of the car acting as a canvas.
But...wait.
Something’s wrong.
As you get closer to the familiar car, you clearly see that the windshield glass had been shattered. Not only that, but there are several long, deep scratch marks that stretch over the side of his car.
You gasp at the sight, knowing how much this car means to Chen. You glance at him, afraid of his reaction.
You feel a icy shiver roll down your spine, your skin prickling in fear. You’ve never seen Chen look that way before. His face is calm, so calm, but it’s cold. His eyes are filled with a chilling anger, the silent kind, the most deadly kind. Like a snake bidding its time before it sinks its teeth into its prey. The kind of look that insinuates the calm before a world-wrecking storm.
He doesn’t move for what feels like an eternity and a second all at once. Then he carefully fishes his phone out from his pocket, dialing a number and smiles. “Hey D.O. When you’re done with your work, could you take the white Nissan Skyline away? Yeah, you know the one...uh huh...no, I want it destroyed.”
“What?” You gasp, clutching onto his arm to stop him. “But that’s your favorite car! It’s just a scratch, it can be fixed!”
He glances at you, such an frigid look that makes you swallow thickly, your grip on him loosening. He ends the call, slipping his phone back in his pocket. “Fixed?” His voice is soft, but there’s a terrifying edge to it. He chuckles darkly. “No. Something broken can never be perfect again. I don’t need anything that’s not perfect.”
Then he walks away, hands in his pockets and humming a tune like he didn’t just destroy his most prized possession. Like nothing just happened.
You shiver—tremble—feeling your knees go weak. It’s only a matter of time before you, too, will be thrown away like that.
So you must hide these feelings. 
Deeper.
Deeper.
Tumblr media
“You know who did it?” Chanyeol asks taking a long drag from his cigarette.
Glancing at Kai, Chen nods. “Probably the guys from the last race.”
“Great.” Sehun sighs, rolling his neck, his dark puffy hair falling over his eyes. “I love dealing with sore losers. So what are we gonna do? Should we tell Suho?”
Chen wrinkles his nose at the thought, loathing the idea of a scolding. Hey, it’s not his fault this world works like this. You gotta live somehow, even if you break all the damn rules. “Let’s not. Suho’s been plenty busy himself. They just keyed my car, no biggie.”
“No biggie?” Chanyeol raises a skeptical brow, tapping his long fingers against his knee, the cigarette ashes falling onto the ground. “You loved that car, man.”
“Loved.” He repeats, the word quiet and heavy. A shadow passes through his eyes, a look the others know all too well to comment on.
“So what are we gonna do?” Kai asks, tilting his head at Chen. “I’m not about to let some fucker trample all over us like this.”
Chen grins, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes. “If they want a rematch, so be it.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Kai scowls. “We don’t do rematches. Our turf, our rules and they lost.”
“Yeah, well, if they’re gonna be stirring up trouble, I’d rather you guys have a rematch rather than fucking each other up, you know?” Sehun grins. “It’ll make my job heck of a lot easier.”
“Fuck that.” Kai says, but Chen only laughs, slapping his back a few times.
“Chill man; I’ll do the rematch myself. I’ll take on a hundred of those bastards if I have to—I’ll still win, fair and square.”
“What a load of bullshit.” Chanyeol snickers. “But I’ll enjoy it for sure either way.”
“Keep it on the down-low, ‘kay? Don’t leave us any messes to clean up. Suho’ll be real fucking pissed.” Sehun says, earning an eager nod from Chen.
They’re still skeptical of this, of course. Chen’s been known to get into a lot of trouble—rather minor ones for sure, but trouble nonetheless. It’s rare to see him so excited about something when he’s usually so uncaring about anything. Still, it’s none of their business and they’re in no position to stop him.
“Alright.” Chanyeol shrugs, putting out his cigarette. “Go for it then.”
Tumblr media
You walk into the tattoo parlor again, greeting Byun as per your usual routine now. This time though, Byun tells you that Chen isn’t here.
“What? Where is he?” Another race, perhaps? He doesn’t have his car anymore though...so did he get another one?
“Met up with some people.” Byun answers vaguely. “Don’t worry. You can wait here if you want, but it stinks like hell so I’d recommend you come back later.”
“Um,” you wring your hands against the skirt you’re wearing. “Who is he meeting?”
Byun let’s out a sly grin, looking up at you from where he’s sprawled over his counter. “What’s wrong? Scared he’s cheating on you?”
Your cheeks heat up immediately as you shoo away the very thought, appalled he would say such thing. “No! Of course not. I’m just...worried. He seemed really upset about his car, so...”
“Heh, I guess he is.” Byun shrugs. “He went to have a rematch with those jerks from the last race. He said they were probably the ones who keyed his car.”
You gasp, feeling a wave of anxiousness as you recall the faces of those racers. They didn’t seem to take their loss lightly—if keying Chen’s car is any indication. They’d probably do anything to win this rematch. “Where are they meeting?”
“Whoa there, calm down.” Byun waves his hand at you. “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
“Please, Byun.” You grab his arm, unconsciously digging your nails into him. “I’m really, really worried. Please tell me.”
He winces, seizing your hands quickly in attempt to pry you off. You can see the boys in the garage start to take notice, stopping with whatever they were tinkling with to stare at you.
“Okay, okay! I can tell you, but it’s not where a good girl like you should go. And you can’t do anything even if you go anyways.”
“I’m really not a good girl, Byun.” You say, forcing out a tight smile. “I don’t care about anything, I just want to see him, make sure he’s okay.”
“Well,” he sighs, giving in. He rips a piece of paper from a notepad, scribbling down an address. “Here. Just...I warned you, alright? And Chen isn’t the type to change his mind easily.”
You clutch the paper tightly, thanking him.
You’re not the type to change your mind easily either.
Tumblr media
“Well would ya lookie here.” The man from the race hollers when he gets out of his car. What was his name again? Damn, maybe Chen should’ve made an effort to remember their names before calling them up. “Who would’ve thought the cheater would want a rematch? Feelin’ guilty, boy?”
Chen smiles, swallowing the desire to laugh his ass off. Guilty? Him? It should definitely be the other way around, right? “You’re the sore loser here. Can’t take a hit and now you’re calling me a cheater?”
The man scowls, grabbing Chen by the collar. He’s as strong as he looks, but all brawn and no brain.
Chen quickly puts up his hands in a sign of surrender, the smile still on his face, unfazed. “Hey, now. Let’s just have a rematch fair and square. That’s the best solution, right?”
With a scoff, the man shoves Chen back, a confident grin growing on his face.
A red flag for trouble.
“Sure, pretty boy. Let’s have a rematch fair and square.” His friends start to giggle behind him, and Chen mentally rolls his eyes. Yeah, he knew they’d have some underhand tricks up their sleeves. He’s still confident he’ll win though and even if he doesn’t...well, he tries not to think of that right now.
“Rules?” He asks.
“None.” The man answers, gesturing towards the dusty road that stretches on into the distance. “Just get to the finish line.”
Well, his turf, his rules. Chen shrugs and begins to get into his car when he sees a taxi pull up nearby. Odd, he thinks, this place is pretty secluded.
But then the person that gets out makes him nearly choke on his own spit, and he gets out again, jogging towards you.
“Yo, where ya goin’?” His opponents yell after him, but he ignores them for now. He grabs your arm, pulling you to face him.
“What are you doing here?”
He looks shocked, and maybe even angry. It’s a stern expression you’ve never seen on his face before, but you stand firm and stare back at him. “I was worried.” You glance at the parked cars, and at the familiar men with several new faces. You turn back to him. “You gonna race him?”
“Of course.” Chen answers, scoffing. “No one messes with us and gets away scot free.”
“I’m coming too.” You say, resolute.
“No you’re not.”
“I am.” You pull your arm from his grip, storming your way towards the car you recognize from EXO’s garage. Chen follows you closely, a string of complaints that go unheard. You get into the passenger seat and slam the door closed.
“The fuck!” Chen yells, knocking on your window and tugging at the door handle to get it open. “Get out! This isn’t your race. Get the fuck out, now!”
You ignore him completely, turning away. Chen continues like that for a while longer before the opponents begin to grow impatient.
“You racin’ or what?” They snarl out, eyes narrowing on the two of you threateningly. “You makin’ fun of us?”
Chen stops, but continues to stare at you. Even without looking, even with glass between you, you can feel the heat of his glare. He takes a deep breath, perhaps to stop himself from breaking the car window, and finally slips into the driver’s seat.
“You’re going to fucking regret this.”
“I won’t.” You answer.
You see the race flag being raised, and the sound of the starting gunshot rings in your ear.
Tumblr media
Previous Chapter [M]│Next Chapter
The Art of Sin Mini Masterlist
EXO Customs Collab Masterlist
Tumblr media
A/N: After a bazillion years, things are finally kicking off now. And between you and me, I’d hang on real tight. :)
Tags: @ninibears-erigom @baekwell--tart​ @fairyyeols​ @suhoerections​ @kpop---scenarios​ @skjdln​ @yeoldontknow​ @kyungseokie​ @mint-yooxgi​ @loser-dot-com​ @writingstuffandmore​ @enchanting-exo​ @dear-fake-diary​ @weirdsofagirls​ @wongxiexie​ @lovebuginlove​ @noonaofjungkook​ @soondingieworks @joolsreadsfics​ @bluepsycopanda​ @sebootyforlife​ @yerimdaes​ @the-freefeather​ @xcharlottemikaelsonx​ @shxrl4747​ @uminnies​  @mango-bear​
Tell me if you want to be tagged!
©kimjongdaely
Talk to me!│Support me on Ko-fi!
72 notes · View notes
dontasktheradiodemon · 4 years ago
Text
Ship Repairs
This actually happened... mid-October, but somehow I never transferred this chat log, so HERE IT IS NOW. Alastor helps Sir Pentious repair his airship; they take a break in the middle for a picnic lunch and chatter about things like magic and personal boundaries and conquering Hell, you know, normal friend things.
Sir Pentious
Work on the airship continued, now with the benefit of having a giant tentacle monster loading crates into the creation. It was almost complete, with decor really being the finishing touches needed. Pentious would have time to work on mechanisms and making sure everything *there* was in tip top shape... And with Alastor here, it seemed things were taking no time at all.
Other than the fact when Pentious would demand various tools, he wouldn't call them by their actual names, but rather whatever he'd come up with, which likely made the entire cooperative experience much more infuriating.
But now it was a break for lunch! Tea, sandwiches and cuts of meat. Nothing overly sweet this time. There's some brandy on hand if necessary.
Alastor
On the bright side, Alastor was learning an entirely new vocabulary of made-up tool names. Learn something new every day, right?
"Now, I'm no engineer—but it looks to me like you're gonna be done here in just another few days, is that right?" In lieu of any sort of proper etiquette, he'd started spearing cuts of meat with one claw to eat.
Sir Pentious
Sir Pentious sips at his tea, watching Alastor with one opened eye. And at least fifteen others.
"YESs, THAT IS THE PLAN. SHOULD I BE ABLE TO KEEP TO SCHEDULE, BUT YOU KNOW. THINGSs COULD CHANGE AT A MOMENT'Ss NOTICE."
Alastor
"Of course! All schedules are tentative down here." He says so flippantly enough; but there's real nervousness buried beneath it. This ship was smashed twice in short sequence; there are, he has no doubt, overlords and other heavy hitters who must smell blood in the water.
He pushes his concerns down for the moment; he doesn't plan on leaving without addressing them. "Even so. Good to see this thing in almost working order again."
Sir Pentious
Sir Pentious has definitely *thought* about such things, but also.... He's been pleasantly distracted by Valera that he hasn't worked himself to second death trying to fix the airship.
"YES, WELL, THANKS ARE IN ORDER. IT HELPS TO HAVE MORE HANDS ON DECK! OR TENTACLES, AS IT WERE, HAHA."
Good to have them NOT ripping his ship apart, again.
Alastor
"Any time!" He half bows in acknowledgment of the thanks. "It's about time said tentacles did something *useful* around here, anyway."
Good to not be ripping the ship apart again.
Sir Pentious
He's going to take a sandwich and start biting... Just little bites. Mentlegen.
"OH? IS DESTROYING YOUR ENEMIES NOT USEFUL?"
Alastor
"I've never considered you an enemy." The answer's out before it occurs to Alastor that Sir Pentious was quite likely including *other* potential enemies among the pool of his monstrous friend's possible targets. "And barely anyone down here that I DO consider an enemy has hardware big enough to necessitate calling him out! So—no, not much use for him, really." SMOOTH RECOVERY. He's going to stuff half a sandwich in his mouth and hope Sir Pentious focuses on the latter half of his statement.
Sir Pentious
..... <:looking:744577544283750520>
He is Looking at you Alastor.
..... <:squint:548214854138200065>
"... *YES*, WELL. FOR SOMEONE YOU DO NOT CONSSSIDER AN ENEMY, YOU CERTAINLY HAVE A WAY OF TAKING THE STEAM OUT OF HIS ENGINES." Pentious two of those times are entirely your fault. (Maybe even three.)
Alastor
For the next thirty seconds Alastor's number one priority is pretending that didn't cut him to the bone. He arches an eyebrow. "Sometimes someone you don't consider an enemy aims a cannon with a barrel wider than you're tall at your face, and you find you don't have many options but to aim something bigger back."
Brandy sounds better than tea right about now. He's gonna snag that bottle and pour some out. "I could've dodged, I suppose. It would have made me look bad and the hotel would've taken the shot—but I COULD have." A shrug.
Sir Pentious
His tail curls a little more around their picnic area. He's so much longer now. Pentious closes his eyes, grinning just before sipping his tea.
"I WOULDN'T WANT YOU TO GO DOWN WITHOUT A FIGHT, IF I AM BEING COMPLETELY FRANK! WHERE'SSSS THE FUN IN THAT? SSSTILL, YOU DEFENDING A HOTEL? YOUR *LUST* FOR ENTERTAINMENT REALLY DOES MAKE YOU UNPREDICTABLE. WHY, YOU COULD TURN HELL UPSIDE DOWN IF IT MEANT OBSERVING THE BUSINESS VENTURES OF A RATHER AMBITIOUS INSECT!"
This is a. Compliment? Or a drag? It's uncertain, but Penny is looking very smug about it.
Alastor
That's one crisis dodged. "MY lust for entertainment, you say! Right after saying you'd rather a fight with me be fun than easy! I think you've got a bit of entertainment lust yourself!"
He's gonna take it as a neutral statement of fact. "Ha! Maybe. I don't know about turning Hell *upside down,* though—I'm better at knocking things over than setting them back upright. Now, if anything around here is capable of turning Hell upside down..." He gestures in a way meant to take in the airship. "And not for any mere insect, either."
Sir Pentious
*PURRRRRRR*. That's such a loud Cobra purring. Look at him preening, as he brushes his hood over his shoulder, and holds his talons just below his chin... He is so pretty, look at him.
"YES, INDEED, ONLY A MAN OF MY CALIBER, A DEMON SUCH AS I HAS THE CAPABILITY, THE *DRIVE* TO CONQUER AND RULE ALL OF HELL! AND ONCE I FULLY CRACK THE CAPABILITIES OF INFERNAL ENERGIES, I WILL BE UNSTOPPABLE!"
Alastor
Alastor is Looking. A very pretty snake—and a *proud* snake, which just enhances the prettiness.
He's Looking too much. He's started leaning toward Sir Pent. He hastily leans back. "Now, what's this 'infernal energy' business you've been up to lately? Because it sounds to *me* like you're trying to tap into the same power source us magic users have been utilizing." He wiggles his fingers, *magic users*—alchemical and astrological symbols dance in red around his fingertips. "Is that about right?"
Sir Pentious
Sir Pentious seems to be somewhat acclimated to Alastor leaning towards him--his own head is slowly leaning away, unconscious of his own actions therein. Personal space.
His claws wave away the symbols, and Pentious grins at him, "MORE OR LESS, YES. THERE IS A LOT OF ENERGY THAT COURSES THROUGH THE GROUND AND THE VERY AIR IN HELL. WHEN A NEW SINNER ARRIVES, THERE IS ALWAYS A FLUCTUATION IN THE AMOUNT OF INFERNAL ENERGY AT ANY TIME!! I HAVE COME TO THE CONCLUSION THAT IT IS *TIED* TO SSSOULS, AND THAT THE EYES GROWING AROUND HELL (AT LEAST THE ONES I DIDN'T PUT THERE) ARE LOADED WITH INFERNAL ENERGY."
Alastor
Alastor certainly isn't unconscious of being leaned away from. He suppresses a wince. Right. That's something else he needs to bring up. And sooner rather than later.
But the self-consciousness only has a chance to last a couple of seconds as he's dragged back into the fantastical idea of channeling Hell's own energy through machinery.
"And YOU'VE figured out how to—what, convert that energy into electricity? Or just power machinery on the energy itself, unconverted?" Whichever Sir Pentious was doing, he'd certainly demonstrated the concept respectably enough to Alastor—channeling Alastor's own energy to power that absurdly big gun. "I can only imagine what kind of power you're going to have at your disposal once you've scaled that up! Turning manipulating the power of souls from a skill into a science... Why, who WOULDN'T you have the ability to overpower?" He's already busy mentally measuring up Sir Pentious's odds against Lucifer. No, probably not yet; but getting ever closer.
Sir Pentious
Oh, look at him. He's *preening* again. Every time he's praised and uplifted like this, he just looks like he's *so* proud of himself.
"OH, YES, UNFILTERED FOR NOW! BUT I WILL LIKELY WORK ON WAYS TO FILTER OUT THE IMPURITIES... IT IS SSSUCH AN ABUNDANT ENERGY SSOURCE THAT WHEN IT COLLIDESS WITH SOMETHING... MORE EYES ARE FORMED, AND THUS, MORE PATCHES OF ENERGY. OF COURSE, ONLY A DEMON SUCH AS *I* WOULD THINK TO UTILIZE IT!"
Tumblr media
Alastor
"I certainly haven't seen anyone else trying!" Which is something, because plenty could have. *Alastor* could have—he himself works with that energy every day, it's the power behind his magic and even his machinery.
But Alastor has only ever used it as he's always used magic, tamed through his intent and his will. Like trying to move water from a river to a pond by cupping it in his hands—and here's Sir Pentious building a canal.
"How much have you looked into technology that's already powered by souls?" Alastor summons up his cane and holds it across their spread of food, microphone out. It rolls its eye as it tries to make eye contact with all of Sir Pentious's. "It works just like any other microphone—but it's not running on a battery, it's running on me. I couldn't begin to tell you how. The way I see it, either you already know that part and you can tell me—or you don't know, and studying it could give your research a boost."
Sir Pentious
Alastor's question has him looking over at the deerman with a bit of a squint. Ah, this topic... He'd attempted to keep his knowledge of this kind of thing on the *down-low*, but it didn't surprise him all that much that Alastor of all people would be more aware of it. Sir Pentious looks more closely at the cane, studying its singular eye, and he takes his hat off, holding the accessory close to it.
"IT IS RATHER A MIX OF THE TWO, ACTUALLY. I DO NOT FULLY UNDERSTAND IT, MYSELF, BUT I DO KNOW THAT OUR BODIES, THE STATES OF OUR SOULS AND MINDS HAVE AN IMPACT ON THE HELLSCAPE AROUND US, OR AT THE VERY LEAST, OUR *PERSONAL* HELLSCAPES."
The Hat is Looking at the Cane. .... Big grin!
Alastor
"Well, do you need another test subject to help you understand more? I'm connected to the cane, I can manipulate radios, I've got limited skill with some other machines... some of it's just broadcasting signals, but some of it's magic. Hell, I've got radio parts IN me—but you're going to have to take me on a couple more picnics before I agree to any dissections!" Look at him so eager to offer assistance, please let him help take over Hell, oh please, oh please— "I'm sure your research is miles beyond anything I'm built to do, but if there's anything I can naturally do more efficiently that you can copy—why reinvent the wheel?"
The cane winks at the hat. It's just a blink. There's no actual way to tell it's winking.
Sir Pentious
HMMMM. Pentious' tongue flicks, and he suddenly leans in VERY close. His hand reaches to grab Alastor's arm, and he begins inspecting him.
"YOU ARE A LITTLE *THIN* TO BE IMPALED WITH MY  SIPHONING TOOL. IT WOULD GO RIGHT THROUGH YOU, BUT PERHAPSSSS I COULD WORK ON MAKING SOMETHING SSSMALLER." Another tongue flick, "YES, YES, LIKE A..." OH he's just going off on experimental mumbling. Mad Genius here.
The Hat is Looking Away.
Alastor
That arm is Sir Pentious's now, Alastor doesn't need it. It's safe to lean in now, right?
For the moment, Alastor forcefully swallows back the urge to fling out suggestions and questions, instead listening carefully with ears perked toward the mad genius mumbles.
Well, fine, maybe the cane didn't want to make eye contact. It looks away too.
Sir Pentious
Pentious doesn't lean back this time, though his hood opens up as he rambles on. Big and showy snake.
"HM HM! YESSS, I SHOULD LIKE TO RAM ALL KINDS OF THINGS INTO YOU, HA HA! FOR SCIENCE. FOR DISSSSCOVERY."
He smiles far above his eyes at Alastor. Sir Pentious was looking more in color than usual. This is one happy and energetic Cobra.
The Hat looks back at the cane, making a quizzical expression........
Alastor
Don't mind the brief burst of shocked static as Alastor processes the words that just came out of Sir Pentious's mouth. "... Well! You know me: high pain tolerance and far too curious for my own good! It sounds like an agonizingly good time! Call me over to ram whatever you'd like into me any time you want!"
... Is the hat looking at the cane again? It glances over to check—oh, yes, it is, look away, look away quick. ... Check again.
Sir Pentious
The hat is looking at Pentious now like B/. Penny is ignoring his sassy chapeau as he goes right back to preening.... Dainty claw taps to his hood.
"I SHALL CALL YOU OVER WHEN I HAVE SSSSPACE TO STRAP YOU DOWN TO A TABLE! NYA HA HAAAAAAA!!!"
Alastor
And just when the cane thought it was making some real progress with the hat.
"I'll be eagerly awaiting your call!" It's a date. Well, not a date, but close enough.
Oh, right, there's still food here, isn't there? Alastor nearly forgot. He's gonna grab another sandwich. "Say! While we're on the topic of ramming into each other's personal space..."
Smoothest conversational segue in Hell's history. Ladies and gentlemen, a professional radio host at work.
Sir Pentious
..... That segue is enough for Sir Pentious to realize he said something weird before, and he lights up like a pink light bulb.
"I DIDN'T MEAN THAT IN A *PERVERTED WAY*, ALASSSTOR!!!"
Alastor
"I didn't think you did! I know you m—I didn't mean it that way either!" Okay segue a little faster, Alastor. "It's about—I wanted to talk to you about Broadway."
Sir Pentious
He's already in full Pentious Pout as he replaces his hat on his head. Arms folded. Huff.
"ABOUT BROADWAY? WHAT ISS IT?? I DO NOT WANT TO GO AGAIN FOR A LITTLE WHILE, I HAVE A SCHEDULE TO KEEP TO!"
Alastor
Farewell, hat; cane hardly got to know thee.
"No, about last trip. There was—well." Don't tiptoe around the topic, remember, Sir Pentious prefers direct and plain. Alastor cuts out about five sentences of easing his way into the topic and plunges in. "You shoved me off of you." (And yes, it HAS been haunting him ever since.) "Now, believe it or not, I'm actually putting a little effort into being less of an irritation than usual. If my presence is getting on your nerves... just say so. Preferably before I've become so annoying that you feel the need to bodily push me away." A wan smile. "My goal is to AVOID reaching that point, see."
Sir Pentious
Well, that wasn't what he was expecting. Pentious squints, trying to remember. So much happened that day...
"COME ON, MAN! HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO REMEMBER THAT? COULD YOU BE MORE SPECIFIC???"
Apparently Broadway wasn't enough. Pentious may have smushed all of New York into Broadway. Even the restaurant was Broadway.
"I DO NOT RECALL DOING ANYTHING OF THE SSSORT!"
Alastor
"Oh, well! That's comforting." And also embarrassing, if it was such a not big deal that Sir Pentious doesn't even remember it. "During the musical. When we were leaning on each other.  Not long after we were joking about... how much we don't like physical contact." Ah. "That was it. That was the hint to get off that I missed, wasn't it."
Sir Pentious
Pentious looks at him like he's speaking a different language, and he recalls everything going on at that point. These two having a laugh, and then Valera withdrawing and ignoring him suddenly.
He frowns, remembering her hand slipping out of his even though he had squeezed it lovingly. They'd talked about that after but it had hurt his feelings.
He waves Alastor off! "NO, YOU BLITHERING IDIOT! IT WASN'T ABOUT THAT AT ALL!!! VALERA PULLED AWAY FROM ME AND I WAS AGITATED AFTER BECAUSE OF HER BEHAVIOR. WHEN THAT HAPPENED, I WAS NO LONGER IN THE MOOD FOR FRIVOLITY!!"
Alastor
“Oh!” He doesn’t quite heave a sigh of relief, but there’s a static hiss as he exhales. “Well, don’t I look a fool, all this time and it didn’t have a thing to do with me! But give me a little credit, here—how was I supposed to guess that you were shoving *me* because of *her*?”
Sir Pentious
"WELL I DIDN'T THINK IT TO BE SUCH A *BIG DEAL* THAT YOU WOULD HARBOR IT FOR WEEKS." He is Looking at you Alastor, like a man on the brink of Realizing Things.
Except he's Pentious, so he just remains on that brink.
Alastor
Alastor’s #1 survival skill is talking himself back from the brink. “Of course you wouldn’t think so! Not to put too fine a point on it, but at the moment I’m in a far more precarious position than you!” His smile is nearly a grimace. “YOU, after all, are not engaged in ongoing efforts to convince a man you messily backstabbed that you’re worth the risk of keeping around! You don’t have to wonder what little irritation might be the last thing he’s willing to stand out of you. You’ve got nothing to prove.”
He lets that thought linger for only a split second; and then hurries onward: “So my initial request still stands. Tell me if I’m going too far—on anything—BEFORE I’m past the point of no return. You have enough to resent me for. I’m trying not to add more.”
Sir Pentious
Alastor is also very good at just talking a lot, and Pentious is listening but also shifting his mouth from side to side. His hood flares out and he throws his arms up!
"WELL I DIDN'T TELL YOU BECAUSE IT WAS NOT A BIG DEAL TO ME!!! I MAKE A POINT OF BEING DIRECT, ALASSSTOR ! YOU ARE THE ONE WITH DIFFICULTIES ON THAT FRONT, NOT I!"
Alastor
“Clearly it wasn’t! So it’s—The request is for future reference. For situations where it DOES apply.”
Sir Pentious
"WHAT DO YOU TAKE ME FOR?? OF COURSE I WOULD TELL YOU!!"
He stretched out his bowtie, "I HAVE CLASS, AFTER ALL!"
Alastor
“Well, good! Glad that falls under your criteria for class, then.”
Mission accomplished, he supposes. On the other hand, he just tried to be about as direct as a bullet and on top of that spilled approximately 1/3 of his heart to Sir Pentious, and he’s not sure if any of it registered at all.
That’s fine. He’s got brandy.
Sir Pentious
Unfortunately, things always took a while to really register for Sir Pentious. He'd never had friends he could rely on, and even his previous partnership with Match had been, from his perspective, business. Although working together with someone so closely was different for Pentious, too... He was awkward and aggressive and questioning everything.
So he pours himself more tea and looks away, without turning his head... And thinks over the things Alastor has said to him. He was trying so, so hard to be appear trustworthy, and that made the snake's paranoid brain more suspicious!
Which sucked. He liked Alastor's company, which was why he didn't want this to all go belly up. His tail curls closer, now, sliding against the deer's backside. You now have a sofa.
"... ALASSSTOR. I *DO* RECOGNIZE YOUR EFFORT. CONTINUE TO BE UPFRONT WITH ME, I CANNOT PROMISSSE WHAT MY..." He gestures, vaguely, then points to his head with an ashamed expression.
"JUST! *BELIEVE* ME WHEN I SSSAY I WILL *TELL* YOU."
Alastor
He is IMMEDIATELY leaning back on that sofa oh hell yes he's been trying to avoid touching Sir Pentious too much and being able to lean back against him is bliss. It's like a hug, except minus any and all features that resemble a hug in the slightest.
He waves off Sir Pentious's embarrassed disclaimer. "That's all I ask for! I'd like you to notice it. I don't expect you to TRUST it. Getting you to trust it is my job." And a job that he takes zealously seriously. He had been allied with his own Sir Pentious fifteen years before abruptly betraying him; if it takes another fifteen years before this one is completely comfortable with him, it will be fully justified and worth the wait. "I believe you. And thank you."
Sir Pentious
C O m f Y.
Sir Pentious turns his head, idly fidgeting with his jacket. WELL NOW HE FELT AWKWARD. And sweaty. Why did he feel SWEATY he didn't SWEAT. Penny pouting...
He reaches for the brandy, pouring himself a glass!!!
Alastor
That was, in Alastor's opinion, quite enough time spent talking about things like trust and communication. It's high time for Alastor to move them on to another topic. He'd thought of one earlier, what was it?
"Oh! Before I forget again—to celebrate the ship repairs, I got a little housewarming gift!" He pauses. "... Shipwarming gift. Want it now, or should it wait until all the repairs are finished?"
Sir Pentious
Pentious turns his head RIGHT BACK to Alastor in interest. A present??? A present! His hood floops open as he brings a hand out in interest, "OH? A SHIPWARMING GIFT??? HOW THOUGHTFUL! WHAT ISS IT? I AM *DYING* TO KNOW! HAHA!!" That clearly took his mind off of the awkwardness of the previous conversation. Eager to get away from vulnerability, thy name is Sir Pentious.
Alastor
"So, right now it is!" Alastor kind of thought it might be. He opens up a portal in mid-air to reach through and rummage around until he finds and retrieves a simple paper bag with the top rolled shut. "Here. I suspect it's going to take a little explaining." But he'll give Sir Pentious a chance to see what it is first.
Inside the bag are five little pouches of cotton gauze dyed red, tied shut with two long loops of fabric so tightly they'd have to be cut open. Visible beneath the gauze is a second layer to the pouches, clearly made out of snakeskin (guess whose); and between the gauze and the semi-translucent snakeskin, it's probably too difficult to see any further inside. Each double bag is stuffed full with about as much material as could fit inside a typical cup of yogurt, and whatever's inside is slightly crunchy.
Sir Pentious
A paper bag causes a grimace to appear on the serpent's expression.... What, a packed lunch? Of course not, but with the ratty preparation, he's really going to have to be won over!
Though looking inside just raises *further* questions...... Is that his skin. Sir Pentious looks up at Alastor without turning his head up to follow, a kind of expression that reads *Alastor, what the fuck am I looking at?*
Alastor
"I didn't have time to gift wrap it," he says dryly.
He scoots closer to explain the gift. (Note that he doesn't scoot AWAY from Sir Pentious's tail. He just sort of scoots around the perimeter of the picnic so he can keep leaning on the tail.) "I thought that—well, this poor ship got knocked outta the sky twice in short succession, it couldn't hurt for you to have a little bonus protection! Not extra armor—you've got that handled—but something to designed to repel more... MAGICAL assaults. So! You've got yourself the typical crystals and herbs, all bundled up in snakeskin—snakeskin is WONDERFUL for protection work, and no magical ingredients are ever stronger than ones DIRECTLY connected to the person they're meant to protect—plus a tiny portable radio in each one—got those from the dollar store!—to ensure they remain connected to their power source."
Look at him beaming. He's so proud of himself. "Just hang one up by whatever you consider the main entrance, and arrange the other four around the ship against the inside of the hull to form as close to a pentagram as you can, and they'll do the rest! Of course, a few little bags can't knock out every hex, curse, and spell—but they'll make it a damn sight harder for them to get through!"
Sir Pentious
He's listening to Alastor, occasionally tilting his head and plucking up once of the little bags to examine it. Very odd to see his own skin used for something like this... Usually he just burnt it. But he does like the fact that he was given something so specific... Alastor really wanted him to build his ship, and, considering it was an Alastor that blew it up *every time*, this would have to be a good ward!
"WHY ISS SSNAKE SSKIN GOOD FOR THESE THINGSSSS IN PARTICULAR?"
Local inventor specializes in machines, not hoodoo or whatever this was. He probably would enjoy studying it.
Alastor
"Why, bits of snakes are good for a whole slew of things! Snakes are some of the most inherently magical creatures you'll find. Venom for cursing and crossing, blood for poisoning—naturally, you can use venom for poisoning as well, but there's no magic needed for that, hah!—and snakeskin, it's something that a snake sheds off from time to time to be symbolically reborn; so it's good for magic tied to symbolic rebirths—like rebuilding your ship, here—or good luck—'shedding off' old, bad luck, see—and on and on. And ANY skin or hide or leather is good for protection, since that's what a skin is FOR, but between snakes' natural magic and the connection you'd have to the skin, under the circumstances this snakeskin is going to work better for you than, say, cow hide."
He's rambling, but it's a very excited rambling. He's rarely asked about his magic, and when he is it's rarely by somebody he'd really really like to share that info with.
"So I'm afraid the explanation isn't something simple you can find with a microscope—no chemical reactions or analyses of tensile strength involved. In my experience, most of magic is... you know how humans look human in the living world, but in death their souls takes on traits that metaphorically suit them. Spin a web of lies and see yourself reborn as a spider, that sort of thing. It's no different here: you've got something's physical form, and then you've got the traits that metaphorically suit it—and it's the metaphors in that object's 'soul' that hold power in magic."
Sir Pentious
Alastor most assuredly knew all about these sorts of things... and honestly! Sir Pentious couldn't hide the grin that was spreading over his features. Listen to this man go off--there were very few in Hell who prattled on with such excitement about their craft. Alastor, of course, and himself! Of course, there were likely *others*, but Sir Pentious frankly didn't have much patience to listen to much other than what he deemed to be interesting and good work. Yes, indeed, if it didn't pique the serpent's interest, did it really count as work at all?
No, apparently. So his own shed skin was most exceptionally effective! He couldn't do any scientific examinations, though, and that news brought his grin down a little as he went back to examining the contents. And then... Sir Pentious reached into his coat to withdraw a pair of glasses. They had multiple rows of magnifying lenses upon them, and he put them on, leaning his head back so that he could get a better look. Alastor had JUST SAID he couldn't find anything under a microscope, but apparently, Sir Pentious wanted to see for himself!!!
"I WAS REBORN IN HELL AS A SSSNAKE COVERED IN EYESSS. IN LIFE, I MUCH ENJOYED SSERPENTSS, BUT IT MIGHT BE MORE TO DO WITH THE KIND OF PERSSSSON I AM, HMM? SSSOMEONE WHO SSTRIKESS WITH CERTAINTY, *DEVOURING* ALL WHO UNDERESsssssTIMATE ME!" Big grins, his eyes all glowing red as he flicks his glasses--with the way he's looking at Alastor, it kind of looks like he has eight eyes, now that the lenses are all resting in different places. Eldritch Grin!
Alastor
Oh, look at that smile! It's nearly enough to make Alastor's heart start beating again. "Could be. Or perhaps it's both! Honestly, I bet there are more factors than we can dream of that decide our shapes down here. Maybe you were fated to become a snake the minute you named yourself serpent-ious!"
And here was Alastor thinking Sir Pentious couldn't squeeze on  any more eyes. What a look. "Now, how many optometrists did you burglarize to make that thing?"
Sir Pentious
Clearly, that assertation sits well with him. Look at that smile.
Tumblr media
Though the question that's posed gets another wide grin out of the serpent!  
"OH, THESE? OH, YOU KNOW." A hand gesture, "BUT MOSTLY I TRY TO MAKE MY OWN MATERIALSSS, IF I CAN! THE LESS I HAVE TO INTERACT WITH THE DENIZENSS OF HELL, THE BETTER! UNLESS I AM BLOWING THEM TO BITS!"
Alastor
"You want something done right, you've got to do it yourself!" (How much meat is left? He's gonna snag some more. Yum.) "Where ARE you doing your materials fabrication these days, anyway? Can't be all aboard your ship, but I don't know what your current territory look like."
Sir Pentious
He makes a bit of a *face*, and puts the little baggies back inside the main baggie, before picking up his mug of brandy... "I HAVE TWO FACTORIES TO MY NAME, WHICH IS REALLY A GODDAMN SHAME. I INTENDED TO TAKE MORE TERRITORY AFTER THE LATESssssT EXTERMINATION, BUT EFFORTSSS WERE THWARTED BY THAT HARLOT--" he looks around like he just fucking saw a ghost--"CYCLOPS WITCH AND ANGEL DUST ATTACKED ME! I HADN'T EXPECTED HER TO HAVE SO MANY EXPLOSIVESSSS ON HAND. ALAS." Sip.
Alastor
"That IS a shame." Only two. Good grief. It's amazing Sir Pentious gets anything done at all, although Alastor doubts he'd appreciate hearing so.
He saw the fight with the harlot cyclops witch on the news. In his opinion, Sir Pentious shouldn't have had any trouble with her or with Angel Dust. The fact that he did... well. Alastor can't very well blame Sir Pentious for that, can he? "Maybe next extermination you ought to venture further from downtown and snap up the suburban industrial zones? I expect the turf's less hotly contested out there." He huffs. "But you've probably thought of that." Unlike Alastor, who hasn't had to think about this in half a century  and even back then the extent of his involvement in the strategy was deciding how he'd like to crush his assigned target.
Sir Pentious
Looks like he's about to INTERJECT but then. Bingo. Sir Pentious nods, a little solemnly, looking pretty tired. "YES, EXACTLY, I *HAVE* THOUGHT OF THAT. BUT NEXT TIME I WILL BE MORE SSSUCCESSFUL! I WILL *DOMINATE* ANYONE WHO GOES UP AGAINSSST ME!"
He wiggles the bag around with quite the smile, "I HAVE ADDED PROTECTION, AFTER ALL!!!"
Alastor
Alastor beams. "That you do!" The best he can create without bargaining with nobility for a little extra oomph—and if he did that, the strength of the defenses would be tied to another demon's will, not to Alastor's.
"I'd say you have added firepower, too, if you want it; but, well—if you're ever going to call me into battle, it's only going to be a surprise to everyone first time. I'd think it ought to be the kind of surprise saved for a... special occasion."
Sir Pentious
"MM--" He's actually just drinking straight from the bottle. Old times,. Should they even be drinking while about to get back to working with power tools?
Oh well.
"YESSS, INDEED A SSSPECIAL OCCASION! PERHAPSSSS THE ANNIVERSARY OF MY DEATH!"....... He's immediately looking. Uncertain, as he can't exactly remember when that was.
"OR SOMETHING ELSE,"
Alastor
No, it's probably not a smart idea for Sir Pentious to be chugging the bottle before getting back to work. Therefore, Alastor will have to help him be responsible—by slinging an arm over Sir Pentious's shoulders, taking the bottle from him, and chugging it himself.
"I was thinking more along the lines of a special occasion like, 'When you take on whoever's got the most turf once you've worked your way up the ladder.' But, hey! No reason you can't schedule that fight for your deathday!"
Sir Pentious
*DRUNKEN DEMONS WITH POWER TOOLS. THERE ARE NO BRAIN CELLS LEFT.* Pentious doesn't lean away or out of the friendly embrace this time, beaming even if he's a little embarrassed.
"OH IS *THAT* WHAT YOU MEANT? THAT'SSSS NOT A SSSPECIAL OCCASION, THAT'SSS JUST BUSINESS!!"
Alastor
What's the worst that can happen to them? A hospital trip or two? Pshh.
"Well, can't it be both? Business is business, sure—but on the day that, say, for example... old blockhead takes a tumble? I'm going to consider that a *very special* business transaction."
He's not getting pushed away. That's good. That means they're back closer to where Alastor hopes they'd be. Right?
Or maybe it means Sir Pentious is only willing to let Alastor drape around him like this when he's too drunk to think clearly.
That thought alone is nearly enough to make Alastor withdraw completely.
No, not this time. He's already here, he'll enjoy it. But in the future—no getting closer to Sir Pentious AFTER he starts drinking. Once the bottles are open, Sir Pentious can close the distance himself, or else it won't get closed at all.
Sir Pentious
He's not that drunk yet! Of course, Alastor wouldn't know how Pentious felt without the booze nearby.
He himself enjoyed drinking around Alastor--wasn't that proof of trust, of friendship? It was probably not great to go off of Pentious' standards... He didn't really have friends.
"OHH, YESSS. INDEED, THAT *WOULD* RATHER BE A SSSPECIAL OCCASION, HHEE HEE HEE!!" He clacks his talons together with glee.
Alastor
"I thought so!" Oh, Alastor can hear his scream now... "But! I'll leave the details to you. I may have many skills, but warfare strategy isn't among them."
Sir Pentious
"MMM, I SUPPOSE NOT. BUT THAT MIGHT BE WHY YOUR BRAND OF CHAOSSS HAS BEEN SSO EFFECTIVE." Pentious gestures, "YOU SHOWED UP ONE DAY AND NOW EVERYONE ISS TERRIFIED OF YOU."
Alastor
"Amazing, isn't it! I haven't caused that kind of devastation in decades and ninety-nine percent of the population is still too scared to talk to me! Ha!" He shrugs one shoulder, "Still, it's what you say it is—chaos. It's not what one would call a firm foundation for empire-building, is it?"
Sir Pentious
"RATHER LIKE A BIG EXPLOSION WITH NO FOLLOW UP, YOU'RE RIGHT." He makes grabby hands for the bottle again, "LIKE A WRECKING BALL! I DO SO LIKE THOSE MACHINESSSS."
Alastor
He's gonna take another swig before passing the bottle back. "A wrecking ball, hah! How apt. Clears the playing field for something new to be built, but doesn't do the construction itself."
Sir Pentious
Pentious points at Alastor, nodding as he takes the bottle and just holds it, "EXACTLY! THAT'SSSS YOU. BLOW THEM OUT OF THE WATER AND I'LL DO THE REST!"
Alastor
Hand on his chest and smiling widely even by his standards, "With pleasure!"
It's where he was always happiest: blowing them out of the water and watching Sir Pentious do the rest.
Sir Pentious
That tail is slithering closer. You're gonna get a snake hug, you've no choice in the matter. Pentious leans back against his own body, taking another few gulps of brandy before he laughs, "OH, FUCK. WE'RE SSSUPPOSED TO BE WORKING AFTER THIS."
Alastor
Oh no, whatever will he do, it seems he has no choice but to be embraced in a coil of pure friendship.
Alastor huffs. "Maybe we should extend the break." He probably shouldn't be giving orders to an eldritch abomination while tipsy, things tend to get disconcertingly non-Euclidean when he does that. Then he brightens a bit and reaches over to poke the paper sack. "We don't have to be sober to place these, do we?"
Sir Pentious
The mere *suggestion* gets him beaming into full on LAUGHING.
"OH PROBABLY NOT!! BUT I LIKELY WILL NOT REMEMBER WHERE I'VE PLACED THEM, DEPENDING ON HOW FAR WE GO!"
Alastor
"Well, you probably won't *need* to know where they are once they're placed—but still. You never know." He ruminates on this a moment longer. "Well—unless you can think of a better way to pass the time, maybe we ought to just sleep it off and then get back to work."
Sir Pentious
"SSSLEEPING IT OFF IS THE *INTELLIGENT* THING TO DO. BUT I AM NOT YET AT THE POINT WHERE I WANT TO SSSLEEP, SSSO YOU ARE SSTUCK HERE WITH ME A LITTLE LONGER, ALASSSSTOR!" Yes, as if that's not exactly what Alastor wants at this point, but Pentious is somehow still clueless. To him, this is what friends are just like! He broke all kinds of social etiquette rules when he was alive, after all.
Another swig from the bottle, and he hands it back. "THERE'S SSTILL SSSOME SANDWICHESSS TO WORK ON."
Alastor
"I'm not budging." He is being coiled around, he wouldn't leave for the world. If the hotel catches fire right now he'll teleport in a newspaper and start browsing the job listings.
Another swig for him. "I didn't want to hoard them!" He says, and then immediately grabs three, now that he's being encouraged.
Sir Pentious
Prrr Prrr prrrr. Alastor likes his food!! It's not really *cooking* but Pentious always put work into it regardless. Picnic fair was his favorite.
He leans on Alastor, and splays his hand open as he reaches towards the sky.
"HELL *WILL* BE MINE. I CAN ASSURE YOU OF THAT. NOTHING WILL TAKE THAT GOAL FROM ME, ALASSSTOR. THAT ISS A *PROMISE.*"
Alastor
He has to swallow quickly to reply. (He'd stacked two sandwiches on top of each other to bite.) "I know it will. It's just a matter of time."
And he truly believes it. Not that Sir Pentious WILL—there's too much that's uncertain, too many people that will be doing everything in their power to stop him—but that Sir Pentious CAN. He's the only person in Hell that Alastor believes can. And he's going to see it happen or get exterminated trying.
4 notes · View notes
rosaline-kei · 5 years ago
Text
Hanji and Mikasa - A Series; Part 1
Title: Pain and Pills and No Peace
Disclaimer:I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin / Attack on Titan nor its characters.
Parts: ( 1 )
Synopsis: The idea of becoming the new Commander of the Survey Corps, the memories of comrades dying and the mere thought of more of them dying should she make a wrong move is driving Hanji Zoe further down into the dark path of insanity. Alone in the office in the darkest hours, Mikasa Ackerman enters the room quiet and distant to pass her a report. And the last thing either of them expects is for vulnerabilities to seep through from one of them. They were mere strangers—acquaintances at most—after all.
(PLATONIC Hanji and Mikasa)
Rated: T
Pairings: Hinted Levi Ackerman / Hanji Zoe
Read it also on / Please Leave a Review at:
Ao3 or FF net 
Author’s Note : I told myself to take a break from writing because of my stupid busy life, but something frustrating happened to me yesterday that I ended up spending my entire night writing this as a vent lmao.
I really love Mikasa and Hanji a lot as characters, and I wished they interacted more I guess and had a closer relationship(platonic) like a mother-daughter?? Idk haha; the idea just intrigues me. I hope it isn’t OOC.
This will be a series of one-shots/two-shots? (Under the series name 'Hanji and Mikasa' on tumblr tags and my ao3) BUT it won’t be updated normally; it’s just a side thing I’ll write when I have time and have Writer’s block I guess.
- - -
The brutal sounds of swords clashing against one another rang through the area, accompanied by the tragic suffocating screams of the living that abruptly halted once their corpses came crashing down on the rock-hard ground that reverberated relentlessly one after another. There was no end. Deafening roars left the giant monsters'—Titans'—mouth non-stop as they mercilessly trampled the ants beneath them along with their homes. It was like an earthquake. A bombing. It was so loud, so agonizing. So noisy. A titan-crazed woman like her should have been absolutely and undeniably thrilled at the mere sight of those beasts stomping their way towards her. But she was only human too, a human distressed by her fallen comrades that ceased to ever see life way beyond the walls and the vast Ocean. Freedom. They ceased to ever see freedom.
And that woman was none other than Hanji Zoe. She looked up wearily, knowing the fight must go on regardless. It had to go on. No matter how much she had lost, no matter how much she was losing it… the fight had to go on. The fight, the war, the battle it had to be carried out to the very bitter end until a victor emerges… right?
She looked up towards the papers she held. The papers she had to finish looking through before tomorrow came. Or maybe it was already tomorrow, Hanji couldn't tell for her curtains were closed shut, there wasn't any hope in that for a light to shine through. All she had was the lit lamp and other fixed lightings around her. But even with that, all she could see ahead was darkness.
She sat alone in her office. It was quiet, really. Silent as the dead. And yet, those dreadful memories came at her, haunting her with those excruciating sounds that never failed to send a shiver down her spine. It was a quiet room, but whatever was going on in her head was anything but that.
I shouldn't have been Commander. It didn't help that thoughts like that would intrude in her head frequently, worsening the voices. Why Erwin? Why me?
Eren had left—no, he had abandoned them not too long ago and travelled to the enemy's side. He went on ahead to pursue his mindless schemes that not even his close companions had an inkling about nor could they ever understand why. Not even a goodbye, had he left them with. He left without a warning, fled away to some island to achieve what he called 'freedom'.
"Not too long ago… you gave me solutions…" Hanji recalled all the experiments, all the fun she had with him. He had been Humanity's Last Hope. And that was what Hanji truly believed, for the results she obtained from him after countless experiments had undeniably paved a path for them to walk towards Freedom and hope. Away from those titans—cruel beings that Hanji was so helplessly fascinated with. But given the chance, Hanji rather trade her and their entire existence in exchange for all of them back. Her comrades. The ants they stomped on. "And now look at you… giving me problems and trouble." If it hadn't been for the knock on her door (a sound that she welcomed; it was better than the chaotic and piercing noises in her head.), she wouldn't have realised her clenched hand that came close to crushing the paper she was gripping. There was a sudden temptation to throw that paper away, everything on her desk away. Everything. She didn't want to be in this room, left alone with nothing but traumatic flashbacks and exhaustion. She didn't want to be in this room meant for a Commander. A position she believed she could never live up to. She—
The second knock on the door interrupted her disorderly train of thought, "Come in!" She quickly said, maybe a little too enthusiastically. Maybe even with more enthusiasm than how she was whenever she conducted those experiments of hers back then.
She hoped it was Levi. Please be Levi. It was selfish of her to think this, Hanji knew. Because even this late at night, she knew Levi and many others still had responsibilities to carry out. Nonetheless, she continued to wish for that Ackerman to appear. Perhaps he wasn't the best man to deal with someone who was in such a distraught and emotional state. But, if anything, he knew how to clean up messes. And more than anything, he was one of the few who could deal with the madness of Hanji Zoe. He was one of the few who understood her. He was someone close to her that she hadn't lost yet, and hoped to never lose ever. He was someone she needed company from. So please, she thought. Let it be—
"Sorry to bother." The feminine voice greeted her upon opening the door, and her height betrayed and ruined any remaining hope of Hanji's that it could be Levi. She was greeted by the other Ackerman. "It's Mikasa Ackerman. I have the reports you wanted from Armin."
"A-Ah…thank you. Place them here." Hanji gestured to the piles of reports that she still had to go through. She felt lucky that she hadn't given into the temptation to rip apart and throw everything away; because then she wouldn't know how to explain to Mikasa, who probably knew nothing of the true pain residing in her heart. She did feel disappointed that it wasn't Levi, but what could she expect? This wasn't a fairy-tale where happily ever after would appear so conveniently at the doorstep.
She watched Mikasa enter the room, and briefly envied her. The way she walked in was awfully graceful, her movements were smooth and the way she held Armin's report with such care made Hanji wonder how could she be so calm. Or maybe, it was just her in the entire Survey Corps who was going overly insane. If it weren't for the eyebags that betrayed Mikasa, Hanji would've been tempted to ask her how she got through it. The exhaustion. She had almost forgotten that people were different. Thus, they all dealt with things differently. And that included Mikasa.
Her pain could never be compared to Mikasa. They were all different. Mikasa currently grieved the loss of a loved one who was still alive and breathing but lost while Hanji suffered from her own inferiority complex she didn't even know she had. How could she fit in Erwin's shoes?
Mikasa placed the report down just as gently as the way she came in. She even took the initiative to straighten the pile of papers, eliminating any corners and edges that had been sticking out. Hanji nodded in thanks, and when she took a glimpse at Mikasa, she didn't understand. She couldn't decipher the emotions in her eyes nor face; aside from her weariness indicated clearly by her eyebags. Other than that, she looked blank. Even Levi who was similar to her in more ways than one, showed more emotion than this. Then again, he only ever let that vulnerability slip when he was alone with her. He could reveal so many things to her in a single look and without a single word. Perhaps it was because they were close, unlike how she was to Mikasa.
That or, her missing eye was the cause of her inability to see. To really see. And for a fleeting moment, Hanji pondered if the loss of her left eye was the reason why she couldn't see the damn solution to this mess.
"Do you need me to pass anything to anyone, Commander Hanji?" Hanji winced at the end of her question. Irritation and guilt filled her for a small second upon that reminder—that she was the Commander. She would take back her earlier nod of thanks she gave to the if she could, it wasn't the papers that needed cleaning up anyway. No, no Hanji… I'm being too… petty. It isn't Mikasa's fault. She doesn't know that I…don't want to…
"No, thank you for bringing it here. Thank you." Hanji wondered if she had sub-consciously said her thanks twice verbally because she felt bad for wanting to withdraw her nod of thanks earlier, for fixing and straightening the other reports. "You may leave."
Back to being alone, was what Hanji wanted to think before bracing herself from the attacks going on in her head. But Mikasa didn't move.
"Mikasa…? Is—"
"Sorry." She apologised, her eyes shifting towards the cupboards around the office. "May I ask something…?"
Did she notice the damn mess I'm in? Hanji pondered, anxiously. There were only a few people Hanji dared to let her guard down completely. And Mikasa wasn't one of them. She couldn't let her own subordinates see any more of her weakness, because she feared it may affect their faith in her.
Truth be told, she felt like sobbing on the ground right now like a damned whiny, bratty child because the stress was too much. It was all too much. Every decision had to be approved by her and a single wrong move and approval could cost another hundred soldiers. She missed and craved and wanted her life back as the scientist. Admittedly, she could take that life back. She could give up this title to someone probably more suitable. But because she trusted Erwin so much, she couldn't just carelessly and ignorantly toss this burden of a title away. She couldn't just run away. She couldn't. Because at the end of the day, Hanji wanted freedom too. It's just… she didn't want to seize it in a way as harshly as Eren.
"Yes, what is it?" Hanji forced a calmness in her voice, hoping that this solider worth a hundred wouldn't see through her façade.
"Do you have… any medicine here?" Mikasa queried, "I've been having… insomnia and headaches. It's been affecting my performance recently and I want it to stop. The infirmary cabinets are locked, and the nurses nor doctors aren't around right now…" She sounded so absurdly and naturally nonchalant as she said this that even if she was faking it, Hanji would be unable to tell. How does she do it?
Despite Hanji's natural curious nature, she chose not to pry. There was a line and she didn't want to cross. Besides, with all these tragedies happening… she was gradually forgetting what it felt like; to be a scientist. To be curious and to have one's curiosity piqued.
"Yes, I do. Hold on." Hanji opened one of her drawers, taking out an unopened bottle of pills and passed it to Mikasa. "Take one only. It's the stronger type. Afterwards, tell the others working to call it day. You need rest." She hadn't taken any pills for her exhaustion, and the only 'medication' she received for her suffering came in the form of a cup of tea prescribed by Levi. Even if she knew these pills could numb her pain and give her a temporary fake paradise, she knew better than to take them in her state right now. She knew better than to be too reliant on medicine like that, that could become a poison if Hanji ever went mad enough to decide to indulge on them as opposed to just simply take it. She didn't even know how and why she got them in the first place, and she couldn't care less about it.
Hanji watched her cautiously examine the bottle, before passing her a cup of water she poured for herself earlier, but never really got to drink. Maybe it was because she got a little too use to Levi's random appearance, coming in with two cups of tea that never failed to soothe her senses. She had almost forgotten that he was a busy man who had other matters to deal with, too.
"Here." She added, and Mikasa nodded in thanks before she took the cup, that had accidentally knocked itself against a pencil on the table, causing it to drop. "Ah—"
"I'll pick it up." Hanji assured, before bending down to search for the fallen stationary. Despite it being of a lighter sound as compared to the sounds of bones being crushed, Hanji found it all the same. Just as how the pencil presumably accidentally fallen, a single accident in her calculations, could result in more than a single death. Tsk… even a damn pencil can remind me of these things… She sighed as she thought this, before grabbing the pencil. Well, unlike the pencil… I can never bring them back up to life…
She remembered telling Mikasa something like that some time back.
'I also have people I want to raise back up…there are hundreds. It's painful, even so we have to step forward.'
They never talked about it since. They moved past it, and Hanji assumed it was a sort of understanding that didn't need any further confrontations. There didn't seem like there was a need to.
"Well, whatever…" Hanji muttered to herself as she slowly rose back up to her seat. And despite having one eye left that still required the assistance of a lens to see clearly, it was sharp enough to identify the danger that Mikasa had just placed herself in.
Hanji never felt her tiredness disappear so fast, nor did she think she would be able react so swiftly when her body had felt heavy this entire time. She hadn't physically felt her heart palpitate this quick in a while, and she hated that it was because of fear, yet again, and not because of some fun thrill. Her arm stretched out across the table and ruthlessly snatched Mikasa's own arm before she could ingest the pills she had in her palm. The force of her snatch inevitably caused the pills to drop on the ground, and the table had felt the impact from Hanji's rough movements and as a result, which caused the papers Mikasa helped arranged neatly to disperse and fall.
That other entirely different mess was the least of their concern, though.
The pill-drop silence was incredibly mortifying, and the intense gaze of Hanji Zoe didn't lessen the tension any bit.
Mikasa was frankly startled by Hanji's reaction, she hadn't expected for her reaction to be that immediate after her 'accident', considering she looked too tired. She had underestimated her.
"I said take one, Mikasa." There was a sternness in her tone, and even if that statement wasn't exactly a reprimand it sounded like a chide. But it didn't sound like how a Commander would scold her subordinates though, there was something else hidden beneath the anger and worry in her tone that Mikasa and Hanji were yet to identify. Mikasa wanted to rip her gaze away from Hanji's, but she couldn't. Her single eye could hold her so tightly, it was quite suffocating. Her grip too.
There had been a rumour a long time ago that it was Hanji who was the scariest when she got angry, and here Mikasa was to confirm that rumour to be a fact.
"I'm sorry." It was her third sorry that night and unlike the other two, this one felt broken. She was breaking, her perfect façade was shattering. Even a soldier worth a hundred had their limits. This was Mikasa's, and she didn't know why.
There was no mention of Eren. No mention of her suffering; no implications of it. There was no conversation made about the current situation about him. All she did was enter her office to deliver a report. And who would've known her desperateness to seek a brief escape would've gotten the best of her, which led to her meeting a fierce look upon being caught red handed for the defiant actions she conducted when she got her hands on what she could be her escapism.
Or maybe Hanji's intervention in her silliness, in her recklessness had reminded her of everything—it had reminded her how careless she could be when she was troubled. She hadn't even realised she took more than one pill until after Hanji pointed it out. Had she lost so much that she couldn't even control her body; that seemed to seek an escape even if it'd cost her deathly consequences?
And it was all because of one man. She felt like a fool. She felt like a fool for still caring about him so much. She wondered if she was in denial about who he was and the destruction he might soon bestow to the innocent. She didn't even know what he was doing anymore, or who he was. And for some reason she felt responsible for it. For him.
But that one man was the root of everyone's current stresses and problems and predicaments. Some just suffered more because of the ties they made with him… the ties that they couldn't cut. The ties she couldn't bring herself to cut. She was still wearing that damned, precious red scarf.
I'm pathetic. "I'm sorry." It was her fourth sorry, and she managed to look away and take back her arm when Hanji regained her composure, as well as softened upon seeing her distress; the distress she was unable to conceal in front of her Commander.
Mikasa had somewhat fought this woman before, back when she stopped her from saving her beloved friend, Armin. It was safe to assume that she wasn't afraid of her, even if she was her Commander. For her loved ones, she was fearless.
However, in this moment, where she let her vulnerability carelessly slip. She was. She was terrified and she didn't know why. Was it because she didn't want people who weren't so close to her see her at her weakest and lowest point? But then again, she didn't even want Armin to see this side of her.
Everyone was suffering. Everyone was pained. Everyone was tired. She didn't want to add on to that and burden all of them even more. There was just no time and space for her to act like a childish girl.
And ironically, she was here, breaking… in front of her. It was pathetically hypocritical.
Even if she and Hanji weren't close, Mikasa wasn't blind. She knew her Commander was undergoing her own troubles, too. The way she saw Hanji grip her paper as if she wanted to shred it to pieces, the way her remaining eye looked so sad when it saw Mikasa; as if it was looking for some form of solace that she couldn't get from her. If anything, it would be extremely absurd if anyone here wasn't uneasy about this entire predicament. But Mikasa said nothing about that to Hanji. Because she knew not to meddle. Because she knew she wasn't the person she was looking for.
And because she knew her Commander was so troubled, she resented herself even more for looking like a mess in front of her, for almost attempting something so stupid and something that she didn't fully consider the effects of the aftermath had she done that.
Now she wanted nothing more to leave, even if her gaze softened she still felt the lingering intensity of her look piercing right through her soul. She didn't want to give her more trouble to deal with either.
"…I'll take my leave now, Commande—"
"Don't." Hanji had cut her off harshly, she didn't need that now. "Don't call me that." She sounded sharp, and her voice was raising. And it was the second time she snapped in less than an hour. "Not now. Not here. Just call me Hanji."
A pause. It was brief, and she didn't give Mikasa enough time to even glance at the spilled pills on the hard, wooden floor.
"Are you tired, Mikasa?" It was an odd question, wasn't the answer obvious enough? There were a few times when Mikasa had observed Hanji's curious, crazy and hyper nature. She always found it an oddity. She was an enigma to her. She couldn't understand her craze over titans, and there were times she forgot she was human too—considering there were moments where she neglected the well-being of others for the sake of experimentation. But she was reminded, how this crazy scientist was a human too… back then, on the roof, her arms wrapped around her as both a restraint and a comfort.
They never talked often. Their relationship was merely soldier and Commander. Thus, they never talked about that incident, nor bothered to seek solace from one another even if Hanji had back then revealed to her that their pain was so similar.
"Yes." Mikasa answered truthfully, there was no hiding anymore. Her eyes found itself fixating on the pills she dropped, and she felt her stomach clenching and churning with disgust and disappointment at her pathetic state. Because how dare she attempt to run away when she was the one who wanted to bring him back the most? And how dare she forget his words that had been her motivation to push on?
"But… in order to win we must fight." She uttered, and faced back towards Hanji whose eye brimmed with such anguish and agony upon hearing her words that Mikasa couldn't possibly understand why. "I… shouldn't have… I just… right now… in that moment I was—"
She was interrupted yet again by Hanji, whose hands reached out— albeit not as forcefully as just now— and held both her hands together, gently.
"Treasure your life, Mikasa." A part of Hanji realised how hypocritical she sounded, because she couldn't tell herself that sometimes, during dark times. However, this was what she truly wanted Mikasa to believe.
There was a tenderness in Hanji's voice, it didn't sound as authoritative as compared to earlier but rather more… motherly. Mikasa didn't know how else to put it. Regardless, she was surprised that Hanji seemed to care for her a lot, even if they weren't close. Perhaps, it was because she didn't want to lose anyone anymore no matter how trivial their connection was.
Hanji parted her lips, as if wanting to offer more soothing words but Mikasa stopped her before she could. "It's okay." She assured, before carefully withdrawing her hands from Hanji's grasp that soon loosened. "Thank you, C-… Hanji." Mikasa quickly corrected, and Hanji shook her head. "I barely said anything… don't thank me." She sighed softly. And it was true, she didn't offer that much comforting words. But there was something unspoken and unsaid in the moment that both of them seemed to understand. Maybe it was because at the root of it all, their current troubles was all because of… him.
"I should… leave." Mikasa spoke, not wanting to keep Armin waiting too long. She wanted to ask Hanji whether if she would relay this incident to others, but something told her this incident would stay between them. She turned, and made her way towards the exit.
"Wait." Hanji called, albeit a little hesitantly. "Do you… really think the only way to win is to fight?"
Mikasa didn't turn around and only halted in her steps. She considered Hanji's words, and for the first time contemplated the words Eren had told her almost a decade ago.
Everyone was tired from this fight. From this constant war that stole too much from everyone. It would be so much better if things could be sorted more… peacefully.
"I… don't know." Mikasa was caught off guard by the doubt in her voice, but decided to shove it down. "I just… want everything to go back to how it was before." And suddenly, she sounded desperate.
"Me too." Hanji said solemnly, before taking a deep breath. That was enough for today, it was better for Mikasa to go rest and collect her thoughts as opposed to staying in this sullen room, chatting about sad things to make her sadder. Hanji could only hope that insomnia wouldn't consume her that night. "Tell the others who had been overworking to take a break tomorrow too. I think you all should have time to… recuperate." She instructed before bidding her a farewell. "Sleep well, Mikasa."
"You too, Hanji." The unfamiliar word or rather name left her lips; it was strange calling her so informally. But she was still in this office, and the least Mikasa could do was follow her request to the end. "Take care." And Mikasa left.
Hanji observed her as she walked off, until her vision was cut by the closed door. And she couldn't help but feel an immense amount of pity for her. "She still carried her façade as she walked out…" She mumbled to herself, having noted the exact smooth and confident movements Mikasa walked out with just as she came in. How much of her pain was she keeping to herself? At least I have Levi to talk to… and so does he with me. But Mikasa… it seems…
As Hanji pondered about this, she found herself walking towards her windows, before ripping her curtains open and was greeted by the moonlight as opposed to the rays of sunlight. And in this moonlight, one thing caught her eye.
She walked towards the little object that sat innocently in the little light the moon offered, and crushed it with her foot mercilessly. The pill, that was. One of the pills. "I ought to throw that bottle away… it's not like I even eat it." She sighed, and walked towards the area where her papers were scattered on the ground, without a care in the world for that crushed pill. She now wondered if this was how some of those titans felt whenever they stepped on them, killing them.
As Hanji bent down and gathered the scattered pieces of paper, she then found herself wondering if Mikasa saw as much vulnerability as she had seen in Mikasa. And if not, she wondered if the world had enough bad humour to make her crumble as much as the raven had in front of her.
"Oi, shitty glasses." A familiar voice dragged Hanji back to reality. "I knocked three times and you didn't answer." She had been immersed in her thoughts so much that she hadn't even noticed.
A wave of relief flooded in her heart when she heard him, though. She slowly turned towards the male who clicked his tongue agitatedly at the clutter of papers on the ground. He made his way towards her, placing their cups of tea down, and was about to offer her help after making a snide remark. But stopped. Flinched and hesitated.
Hanji was confused, and was about to ask why until Levi spoke. "Why are you… crying?"
Now, she realised the tears coursing down her cheeks like a river. But oddly, she laughed. A laughter so fatigued yet hysterical, which increased Levi's concern.
"I don't know." She lifted her glasses shakily and wiped a tear away. "I'm just… very tired."
21 notes · View notes
nessaiscute · 4 years ago
Text
The one you don’t expect
“Dad what are we doing here?” I asked.
“I'm taking you hunting. Stated dad as he grabbed an axe.
“Mom said i wasn’t allowed though.”
“Your mom worries too much.” Dad stated, “No ones going to hurt you.”
Ugh, why is he like this? Everyone tells me that my dad is a scary big iron knight. The winter prince who killed without any mercy, however, if you ask me? He's a mega nerd, like no lie he could only kill anyone by boring them to death by never shutting up about mom. Hasn’t he heard that winter knights are looking for him, you know dad...the people who are disgusted by you? Sneaking me out isn’t going to win you any favors, dad.
So here I am, watching my dad strap a saddle to a horse away from the prying eyes of Fix or Glitch who would go running to mom and this would all go to heck. I did really want to hunt, but I also didn’t want mom to kill me over dad getting hurt. One time dad went missing for 2 hours and mom nearly tore the whole palace apart to find him. Turns out the fool was sleeping in the dungeon because he had a headache due to too much sunlight. I wonder if mom ever regrets marrying him? He has to drive her insane. 
“Ahh there we go.” Dad stated and he got on the horse, “come on son, I’ll make you a man yet.”
I’d rather be an alive man not a dead one, but i'm just a kid, no one listens to me and gods do I want to hunt. So i took my dads hand and he pulled me up and buckled me in. I warped my arms around him, although i didn’t want to admit this but there was a comfort in knowing dad was here. No matter what scary beasts or winter knights awaited us, i knew we would be alright. Dad was here. Although If he ever reads this I will deny it. Deny it to my dying breath.
“Ready?” Dad asked.
“Yea.” I started and we rode off into the forest.
I was starstruck. The forest was amazing.
I was gasping at every little thing, the huge trees and the small animals heck even the bugs. I thought about keeping a spider or two but i think mom would ground me for 2 centuries if i did that. 
“Enjoying the sights, little warrior?” Dad asked grinning.
It felt a little warm all of a sudden and I puffed, “It's just… so different from the palace.”
Dad chuckled, “The forest is where fey test themselves, it's supposed to be different from a place where people of power live. But son, this place is not a place to live. It's full of danger, you must never come here without me.”
I suddenly felt… really scared, i didn’t want to go home but I felt like I didn’t belong here. Some of the larger animals noticed us, eyeing me up. Like I was a tasty steak rather than a powerful fey. I tightened my grip on my dad’s waist. Really thankful he was here with me, and praying that all those rumors about him being good at killing were true.
Dad noticed, “What's wrong? Whats scaring you?”
He followed my eyes to a troll glaring at me, dad had a glare of his own but the troll just charged at us. I shirked but dad just pulled out his bow and shot it dead between the eyes, however its head exploded and the chunks turned to solid ice, the rest of its body fell to the ground. And i loosen my grip, although my heart was still beating very hard in my chest. We stopped and I got off the horse, dad jumped off and softly pivoted me to him. Titling my head to look into his eyes.
“Are you okay?” he asked in a soft yet stern voice.
“Yes, I'm just…. That was scary. How did you shoot him so fast?”
There was a slight pain in his eyes, as if he was recalling something I was never meant to know, “You don’t want to ever be that good boy, now, lets set up a fire. I need to make you a bow, come over and watch.”
“Okay dad.” I beamed and dad went to work.
 I was confused as to why he brought an axe  till he started chopping the tree, it was so strange, I thought dad as this mega nerd. The person who literally turns into a wuss the moment mom is mad at him, however, recalling how fast dad killed that troll and watching how he takes an axe that's even bigger then I am and pounding it into this giant body of bark with ease. He looks pretty darn cool. The tree quickly fell, dad then ripped out a piece of the bark inside of the tree. Then he pulled out his bowing knife he kept on his person at all times and started forming the wood.
Dad caught my attentive stare; and he chuckled, “Not as easy to do as it looks in books isn’t it?”
“Yea, it looks really hard, don’t cut yourself dad.”
That caught him off guard, he stopped and stared at me bewild but only for a few seconds he smiled at me and said, “Don’t worry.” What's with the odd confusion? I'm just concerned.
I watched him for what felt like hours, It was art. His movements and how he knew exactly when to move his hands, I’d probably bleed out due to cutting myself a bunch of times. What is he forming anyway? I know not to ask, that would distract him and he would get mad. Although I’ve never seen my dad get mad at me before. He scolds me a little but never actually mad.However I didn’t want to start a trend, besides it was becoming clearer and clearer that he was making a bow. The wood was being molded into what dad wanted it to be, when he finished he pulled out some thick string and sowed it to the wood, he then pulled it back and let go, to see if it was working and it was.
“Get over here.” Dad said and I did.
He handed it to me, “Your first weapon, if it breaks let me know.”
I felt a thrill spike through my body, my first real weapon. A long range bow, I would snipe something from a long distance with this, Who knows what wonders I could do with it. It was very exciting to think about.
“Now, lets see if you can use it.” Ash smirked and we went to work.
We had been following a deer for a few hours, I was nervous about it. Dad didn’t notice but it seemed…. Different. I watched TV shows about deers. This one was going all over the place, like it didn’t have a mind of its own. It finally stopped, dad signaled me to raise my bow to fire. I did so.
However as I did the deer let out a roar and charged straight at Dad, knocking him down. Dad went to pull out his blade but the antlers of the deer disarmed him.
“Don’t touch my dad!!” I cried out and shot an arrow.
It was out of fear and instinct, I had never fired a weapon or deflected a blow. I was sure i missed and dad was gone, however my shot connected straight through its skull and it fell to the ground dead.
“Dad!” I cried out and ran to him.
When I got to him he wasn’t moving, and… I saw blood pouring from a wound.
“Oh no! Dad!”
“I’m fine. Son, do me a favor, go back to the camp and find the salve. Hurry boy.”
“Yes sir.” I started and I ran off.
I had to hurry, dad was dying. Dad was dying and it was my fault. I wasn’t fast enough, I found the bag fast enough and found the salve but my mind kept rushing. What if dad’s already dead? What if mom hates me for this? What if she blames me for dad's death? What if she throws me out? Throwing those thoughts out of my head I rushed towards dad.
However, he wasn’t where I left him. Gods no please no. my eyes darted around, i didn’t see him anywhere and then something grabbed me and lifted me into the air. A hand, grabbing my throat.  I barely saw the armor of a winter knight, he wasn’t wearing a helmet he was grinning.
“So this is the traitor’s brat…”
“Where… is….my dad?” I growled.
“You don’t need to worry about that, You won’t live long enough to see him again.”
“Screw you! I want to see my dad!” I snarled.
That got me a punch to the gut. The pain was unreal, I had never been hit before. I spit out some blood that got on his armor. That enraged him and he pounded my body on the ground and pressed his leather boot on my head. 
“You ruined my armor you brat! I'm gonna kill you even slower now!”
I felt a presence, i didn’t know where it was but i felt it creeping. And before i knew it a blade went straight through the knight's chest and he fell to the ground I looked up and there was dad. He was patched up and everything. However my brain didn’t focus on that. I started crying.
“WAHHHHHH!!” I wailed the tears falling freely from my face. 
This must have puzzled dad, I couldn't help it, I was scared my head hurt and I really wanted to go home. I didn’t want mom to hate me, my body was reacting on its own. I wailed and wailed, I expected dad to hit me like the knight did.
But he didn’t.
He scooped me in his arms and held me tight. 
“I’m sorry Kerrian, I'm sorry.”
The feeling of safety from earlier returned, I pressed myself to him, Softly sobbing. 
“Dad…..” 
He carried me to the horse and we went home.
I half expected mom to be pissed, raging, but...she was just worried. Mom knew I spit blood that I was attacked by a winter knight. Although dad didn’t say how he got cured and broke free of the winter knights that kidnapped him. However, mom also knew that I was scared of her leaving me alone because of dad. So she sent me to my room till she was ready to talk.
It was getting late, how much longer?
The door opened and mom was there. She  sat next to me on the bed.
“How are you feeling?”
“Good.”
“Do you really think I prefer your father over you?”
“Not exactly, you just care for him a lot. I...i just panicked mom. I’m sorry.”
Mom then stroked my hair, smiling softly at me. I couldn't help but smile too, both my parents are really good to me.
“Kerrian, I love you just as much as I love your father. I’d never throw you out. I'd never blame you for your father's death. Although I don't like thinking about that notion it does plague me sometimes. But know this, you both mean the same to me.”
“I understand mom.”
Mom then kissed my forehead, “Good, I love you.”
“I love you too mom, and tell dad i love him too.”
Mom giggled, “I sure will, now sleep good night.”
“Good night mom.” and I fell deep into slumber feeling very lucky at my situation. 
6 notes · View notes
thatfanficstuff · 6 years ago
Text
Do You Mind? - Elijah (18+)
Tumblr media
Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader
Warnings: Here be smut! 18+ only. biting, choking, hair pulling, what?
A/N: Reader’s hair is long enough to pull for reasons. Also this is for @rissyrapp20 who requested anything Elijah for my 1000 followers celebration. I hope this is passable. (seriously why do I do this to myself)
***
It had been a hell of a day. It started as breakfast with your closest friends and ended with you marching into battle beside them. Okay, that was a bit dramatic, even for you. A vampire had come into Mikaelson territory with an army at their back ready to take down the Original family. Idiot. His numbers were nothing compared to their strength. You weren’t a Mikaelson by blood, but they’d declared you family some 300 years ago.
You’d met Rebekah first, bonding over your shared hatred of the vast majority of your peers. Kol liked your penchant for trouble. Klaus fell in love with your artistic spirit. And Elijah…well, to be honest, you weren’t entirely certain why he spent time with you. For your part, you’d been madly in love with the Original since roughly the first time you saw him but he kept his distance. Klaus had been the one to turn you, though you discovered later that Elijah and Kol had been the ones to kill the man that made it a necessity.
Elijah and you grew closer over the years, though you would often disappear for decades at a time when he became too wrapped up in some woman or another to notice you. It wasn’t his fault as you’d never admitted to your feelings, but that didn’t make it any less difficult to watch. Despite your tendency to take off at a moment’s notice, they’d told you often enough that you were family that you believed it by now. And that meant when they had an enemy, you did as well.
Which was how you found yourself covered with blood that was not your own as you stepped through the door of your home. You tossed your relatively clean jacket in the direction of the couch, not checking to see if you hit the target or not. Pulling up your favorite playlist, you put your phone in the dock that would send the music throughout your entire home and cranked the volume. 
Fortunately, the blood that thoroughly covered your arms up to your elbows, was mostly dry so you weren’t leaving it on everything you touched. Though by this point in your life you certainly knew how to get blood out of just about anything. Ripping out hearts would never be a clean endeavor, but it was efficient. You swung your hips to the music as you made your way down the hall to your bedroom, unbuttoning your shirt as you went. 
You shrugged out of the top and tossed it aside, aware that it would need to be disposed of later. Your jeans went next though they were harder to strip. They’d been tight to begin with but dried blood had them sticking to your skin. Finally, you wiggled them off and kicked them into the pile with your shirt. Your undergarments soon followed.
You stretched your arms above your head willing the lingering tension from the fight to leave your tight shoulders. Until the adrenaline subsided, that was unlikely to happen. It was then you heard it. There beneath the steady rhythm of the familiar song blasting through the speakers was the shuffle of a step followed by a low moan. You spun around only to find Elijah leaning in the doorway to your bedroom. His suit jacket had long since been discarded and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up to just below the elbow. His arms were crossed, pulling the thin fabric tightly across his muscles and causing the vessels to stand out under the skin. Damn the man.
By sheer reflex you grabbed the throw off your bed and held it in front of you. You’d expected Elijah to apologize, to leave and shut the door but he did none of that. Instead, his gaze moved slowly over you, all the way down and back up leaving a trail of heat in its wake. You arched a brow as you cleared your throat. “Do you mind?”
The corners of his mouth curled up ever so slightly as his tongue darted out to trace his bottom lip. Heat pooled in your core.  He straightened and moved toward you, closing the space between you with slow, casual strides. “I am a thousand years old, Y/N. I assure you that you possess nothing I have not seen before.”
You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Yeah, well, you haven’t seen mine.”
He stood so close now you could feel the heat of his breath whisper across your skin when he spoke. “Yes. That appears to be a rather tragic oversight on my part.”
Your gaze searched his face for some indication of what he meant to do next. Before you could think about it too long, his lips found yours. The blanket slipped from your fingers and you pressed yourself against him. Elijah’s hands ran down your back and over the curve of your ass. You thought about stepping back, giving yourself some space and asking him what the hell this was but centuries of wanting won out over being sensible.
With his lips still locked to yours, his hands slipped down to your thighs and lifted. You took the hint and jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist. His hardening length pressed against your slit and you all but panted. Long steps took you into the bathroom where his lips separated from yours only long enough for him to turn on the shower and adjust the temperature. You giggled as his mouth found yours once more.
He pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes seeking answers to your sudden mirth.
“I know you’re always in a suit, but you were planning on taking it off before the shower, weren’t you?”
He gave you the same look he often gave Klaus. The one that said he was so done with your shit. It only made your grin bigger. “Down,” he instructed with a slap to your ass. As soon as your feet hit the cool tile, he turned you toward the shower and pushed you gently in that direction. “In.”
You’d no sooner gotten under the stream of water than he was there behind you, pressing against you while his lips followed the curve of your neck. He was either still clothed or had used his vampire speed to undress. Since you could feel the heat of his skin against yours, you were going with the latter. You started to turn toward him, wanting to see him. His fingers wrapped in your hair and pulled, lengthening the line of your neck. You weren’t about to complain as his lips continued to worship your skin.
He pulled you against him so your back pressed to his front. There was no space between the two of you as his hands slid up to squeeze your breasts. You glanced down to take in the sight, wanting to memorize every bit of this moment with him in case the opportunity never came again. Reddish-brown blood still covered swaths of his milky white skin and your breath quickened at the contrast. You arched back against him, leaning your head on his shoulder. A twist of your head had your lips meeting once more.
One of his hands began a slow journey down your chest and over your stomach. He stopped just short of your folds and hissed in a breath. You moaned as his lips pulled away from you, mourning their loss. “I want to worship every inch of your body, but I fear I lack the control.”
You were needy, empty and the only thing that could fix it was Elijah. “Worship later, ‘lijah. Fuck me now.” Your hand wrapped around his and guided it into your cunt. His fingers found easy passage in the moisture that had started gathering the moment you found him in your doorway.
“Thank fuck.” The words were little more than a hiss as he maneuvered the two of you into the position he desired. He used his foot to spread your legs apart so your stance was sturdier. His hands ran up your sides then down your arms in unison and a shudder racked your body. He lifted your hands and braced them against the shower wall, flattening his own against them. The gesture brought his mouth next to your ear. “Brace yourself, sweetling.”
His hands wrapped around your waist one moment and in the next, he drove into you. A scream made of pleasure and pain tore from your lips. It had been awhile for you and Elijah was larger than most of your previous partners but you had been wet and waiting for him. Once the haze cleared from your head, you realized he wasn’t moving.
You pushed your ass against him, hoping it would get him to move. His fingers dug lightly into your hips, stilling you. “Did I hurt you?”
It took you a minute to find the breath to speak with him still buried deep inside you. “No, but I’d love it if you did.”
A low chuckle rolled through him pulling another little tremor from you. “Oh, sweet Y/N, don’t you know by now to be careful what you wish for?”
His fingers immediately pressed harder, dug deeper, leaving bruises in their wake though they’d heal as fast as he made them. He pulled back until only his tip remained inside before slamming back in. Each thrust, each rapid movement had you grunting beneath him as he echoed your sounds.
“Oh fuck,” came from you like a mantra repeated over and over again. Your fingers curled against the tile looking for purchase that didn’t exist. Just when you thought he couldn’t get any deeper, his hands shifted position. One lay flat against your belly, the other found its way to your throat. He pulled you back against his chest as he continued to drive into you. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck,” was the only sound you seemed capable of making.
Then those sinful lips found your ear. “Come for me, sweetling. I want to feel you gripping my cock. Come undone for me, Y/N.”
The sound that came from you was inhuman, something between a desperate plea and a shout of triumph as you climbed toward that edge. A moment later, a piercing pain jolted through you at the curve of your neck. Elijah’s bite pushed you over that precipice and you trembled and jerked against him as he held you tight. He grunted against your shoulder as his orgasm rode yours. Only when you were both finished, did he pull away and run his tongue over the bite.
He leaned against the back wall of the shower, cradling you against him. Vampire you may be but even your knees were weak after that. His were as well if his current position was any indication. Once you managed to pull yourself together, you chuckled. “That was so much better than I imagined.”
Elijah echoed your laugh. “Imagined this often, have you?”
You pressed a soft kiss to his lips. When you leaned back, you were still close enough that your lips brushed as you spoke. “For longer than I care to admit it has been your face I saw when my fingers danced in my folds and your name on my lips when I came.”
He groaned at the mental image that conjured up. “Why have you never said anything?”
You broke eye contact then, turning away from him and standing on unsteady legs. Hopefully the remaining wobble would be noticeable to no one but you. Grabbing your robe from its hook on the wall, you wrapped it around you and tied it tight. You weren’t even close to clean but that hadn’t really been the point of the shower anyway, had it?
Digging through your dresser, you found the clothes you were wanting and tossed them onto the bed.
“Y/N?” His voice was low, concerned. You glanced over your shoulder to find him in the doorway to the bathroom, still beautifully nude. Of course, his nudity didn’t concern him, why should it? He was flawless.
You shook your head and focused on your fingers as you twisted them together. Now that the moment had cooled and your mind was clear, all your old worries and insecurities creeped back in.
“Why are you here?” you asked.
His brow furrowed. “I didn’t get the chance to check on you after the fight. I wanted to be certain that you were all right.”
You gazed at him through your lashes. “You never have before.”
He scoffed at that. “Of course, I have.”
“No. You haven’t. It’s always Klaus and Bekah. Even Kol on occasion. I think you might have sent me a thank you text once, but I don’t recall.” That was a lie. You could recall every detail of the words you spent hours analyzing as you cried in your bed. You’d been hung up on this man for far too long. “So, I’ll ask again. Why now? Why tonight?”
He glanced down before meeting your gaze. “Because I couldn’t take my eyes off of you. Even as I fought, it was you I sought out. The way you danced through our enemies, leaving them dead in your wake. The way you kept Niklaus from being staked though you knew very well it wouldn’t kill him.” His tongue darted out to moisten his lips and he stepped closer to you. “You were exquisite.”
You’d never been called exquisite before. And to have this man using that word? Holy shit. You let out a long breath deciding you could be honest with him since he’d been honest with you. That didn’t mean you could look at him while you did it. You turned your back and wrapped your arms around yourself. “I was in love with you before I ever became a vampire.”
“But that was…” He trailed off and you were glad for it.
“Many, many years ago, yes. At first, I said nothing because I didn’t want to risk losing what I had. Your family was my family. I couldn’t imagine being sent away from them. From you. When I realized that wouldn’t happen, it seemed every time I gathered the courage to tell you how I felt you had someone else. When I couldn’t take seeing you together anymore, I’d leave and come back in a few decades.”
One finger trailed down the side of your neck and along the curve onto your shoulder. You shivered in response, your nerves still on edge from your earlier love making. “And you’ve been in love with me all this time?”
You nodded once and leaned your head to the side as he traced the same path in reverse. “I didn’t deserve you. I never have. There is darkness in my past I would have kept you from forever if I could.”
“I don’t fear the darkness, Elijah. I never have.”
His mouth found the delicate skin at the curve of your throat and he sucked, nipping lightly before he pulled away. He made a sound of agreement as he moved your hair out of the way and kissed up the column of your throat. “I know. It is one of the things I love about you.”
You sucked in a breath, your hands finding his to grasp them tightly. “What did you just say?”
His tongue flicked out to pull your earlobe into his talented mouth. He bit gently then pressed his lips against the curve of your ear. “I love you, sweet Y/N. Have for ages.”
In an instant you turned to face him, your hands flat on his chest as you peered into his eyes, searching for any hint of deception. Elijah wasn’t a cruel man, surely he wouldn’t do that to you. His eyes were hooded with lust as he looked at you for a moment before capturing your lips with his. You melted against him, smiling when his growing erection pressed against your hip.
You untied your robe and shrugged it from your shoulders letting it pool on the floor. His gaze darkened as he ran his eyes over you once more. That wicked tongue traced the line of his bottom lip as his mouth curved into a grin. “I intend to spend several days showing you just how much I love you, Y/N. Do you mind?”
You mirrored his grin. “I thought you’d seen it all before, Mr. Mikaelson.”
“On that, I was very much mistaken. As I said, you are exquisite.” His arms wrapped around your waist as he fell onto the bed, taking you with him. And from that moment on, he spent every day of your eternity showing you just how much you were loved.
***
TVD/TO:  @evyiione @violentmommabear42 @theroyalbrownbarbie @aomi-nabi @livinglion @zillahvathek
All the Things: @swanky-batman @rissyrapp20 @startrekkingaroundasgard @spooookyscary @taylordrunkonwhiskey @laneygthememequeen @collette04 @shatteredabby @thewolf-and-thesheep
Requested Tags: @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash (I know TO isn’t your normal thing but it was on the list of stuff you asked to be tagged in. Feel free to skip.)
814 notes · View notes
Text
How to Survive a Factory Tour - Chapter 4
A Sanders Sides / Charlie and the Chocolate Factory FanFiction
PREVIOUS
———-
OH. MY GOD. YOU WILL NEVER BELIEVE THIS!
I... still haven’t opened the Wonka bar. Six days it’s been in my fridge, and it’s still sat there. Uggggghh, what am I doing? Why don’t I just open it up?! I mean, I know it’s gonna be a normal bar of chocolate, no point building it up. I guess I just don’t want to face the fact I wasted money...
Thomas finally noticed the bar. He asked me about it, and I told him the truth, as well offering him the chocolate. But, nope, it’s Thomas, with his heart of gold. He insisted I have it. Said I should get something nice for Christmas. Did I mention it’s Christmas Day today?
Anyway, as I was saying, I still haven’t opened the bar. Is there something wrong with me? Well, apart from the poverty, lack of healthy diet, lack of a proper education, unbridled self-loathing and crippling anxiety.
I know. I need help. Too bad I can’t afford it!
”You need help,” are also Remy’s first words to me after I also tell him all this. I answer with the same response I gave you, but he has an answer to that too. “Look, my parents are loaded! And they think you’re a good guy, Virge. I’m sure they’d pay for you to have a few appointments with a therapist.”
“Oh no. No no no. I am not accepting charity. No thank you.”
Remy rolls his eyes. “Fine... but the offer still stands.” He pulls out his phone and starts scrolling. “Oh, and the third ticket was won.”
I look up. “You’re kidding.”
”Was I kidding the other times?” Remy asks, sliding me his phone across the counter. “Will you please bow down to the esteemed Prince Roman!”
I raise an eyebrow, looking down at the news story on the phone. The subject of the photo is Hispanic, with tanned skin and broad shoulders. Just looking at him, I can tell he likely has a six pack under that white shirt. He has emerald green eyes, as bright as the gemstone, and red-brown hair, styled perfectly to accentuate his facial features. He’s pretty much exactly like those models in magazines that lower your self-esteem by 100% after one second of looking at them. He’s stood in front of a large house – no, let me rephrase that, A FUCKING MANSION – in the photo.
I get this horrible feeling he’s gonna be a self-entitled bastard.
-
As I run on stage, I bathe in the applause of the audience. Valerie and I stand hand in hand, taking our bow. After, the music for the encore plays and the whole cast sings the final chorus of Beauty and the Beast. I belt out, trying to make myself heard over everyone while also still sounding glorious.
The music rises to a crescendo before coming to a fabulous end, and that applause, oh how it drives me! We bow one final time before I look over the sea that is the standing ovation. I spot Dad and Pa and direct a wave to them, when suddenly I see someone throw something out of the corner of my vision. Valerie catches it and I peer over her shoulder.
”A Wonka bar?” I raise an eyebrow. “I thought roses were the traditional things people threw.”
”I guess the Wonka-mania over the past few weeks changed that slightly,” Valerie replies. She pauses before holding the bar out to me. “Here.”
”What? No, I can’t possibly take this! It was thrown to you!”
“Just take it, Roman. You’re much more invested in Wonka’s competition than I am. You want this more,” she presses the bar into my hands.
I look between her and the bar, and then back to her. “Val, if I weren’t the gayest man alive on this earth, I would kiss you right now.”
I plan on opening the bar afterwards when I get home, but when I turn back to the crowd, they all start chanting the same thing, over and over.
”OPEN IT! OPEN IT! OPEN IT!”
Valerie starts chanting along as well and, pretty soon, the cast and crew join in. Everyone’s staring at me, chanting the same thing, asking the same thing.
I grin to the audience before starting to peel back the wrapper, and everyone falls silent. Being on stage, I still feel like I have to treat this like a show and build up dramatic tension, so I peel the wrapper slowly at first, before ripping it off at the last second.
The light of the spotlight reflects off the golden glow and the audience bursts into cheers as I read the slip in the wrapper.
WONKA GOLDEN TICKET
I’m completely speechless, the grin on my face explaining everything I’m feeling inside.
Valerie finally snaps out of her shock. “You know what, on second thought, I’ll have the bar back please.”
I chuckle at her words, pulling the ticket out from the wrapper. I hold it above my head, once again bathing in the applause.
-
There’s a long silence after I finish reading the article about Roman Prince.
”...Nothing to say about him?” Remy asks. “C’mon, sis, spill the tea!”
”Well... I don’t mean to be rude, but- “
”He seems like a stuck-up asshole, doesn’t he?”
”Well, it sounds hypocritical coming from you-”  I’m interrupted by Remy calling me a bitch before continuing, “but I think you may be right. But maybe its not too bad. I mean, I know one good stuck-up asshole, and they’re my best friend.”
”Are you trying to compliment me or offend me? I really can’t tell anymore,” Remy asks.
”You decide,” I shrug.
”So, how many Wonka bars have you bought?” Remy asks.
”One.”
”Yas, queen! You bought one!”
”I bought it ages ago and haven’t opened it, and likely won’t.”
”Less yas...” Remy sighs. “Virge, every time I come in here, I give you a free chance of winning a ticket. Please, do something for yourself for once! I mean, come on, you’re spending Christmas Day working!”
”Says the one who’s spending it buying Starbucks instead of with his family,” I respond. “Thomas needs the money more than me! Look, the bar’ll probably be opened eventually – be glad you got me to buy at least one.”
Remy nods. “I guess...” He takes his drink, pays and drops a tip. “See ya!”
I wave in response as he leaves before turning to the next customer. “What can I get you?”
-
”I could not eat another thing...”
I hear Emile’s statement from the kitchen, chuckling. As I cut the Christmas pudding, I call out, “Desserts ready!”
”Actually, maybe I could have a little more.”
I chuckle again, putting the servings of pudding into bowls, grabbing spoons and heading into the living room. Mum and Dad are curled up on the sofa in each other’s arms. Emile is flicking between channels on the TV, most likely trying to find one of his favourite cartoons. I hand everyone a bowl of pudding before sitting on an armchair, snuggling into my Christmas jumper as I eat.
Once I finish, I feel my eyelids growing heavy. I yawn, stretching, before resting my hands on my full belly. Time for a little nap...
I’m not sure if I even actually fall asleep, however, as the next thing I know, Emile is calling my name.
”Pat! Patton! Look! Look at the TV!”
I yawn, stretching as I sit up. I open my eyes, looking at the screen. My eyes light up upon seeing the news: the third ticket has been found!
Roman Prince, a guy from Spain, has managed to get a ticket. He seems rather fun, telling the story about how he won the ticket like dramatic fairy tale. And he’s into theatre and musicals! I wonder if he likes cartoons...
”You gonna make friends with him?”
I nod. “Of course! It would be rude to only make friends with Logan and dismiss the others.”
Logan Berry... So adora-
NO, PATTON, STOP IT!
*
My friend Joan and their partner Talyn are the only ones who know about my family situation. Because of this, they took the liberty of inviting me round their apartment for Christmas Day. We’re currently all bunched up of the sofa, watching A Muppet’s Christmas Carol in our onesies (Joan in a Pikachu one, Talyn in a Charmander one, and myself breaking the Pokémon theme with my unicorn onesie).
Joan and Talyn have actually offered that I move in with them a few times, as they have a spare room in their apartment. However, I don’t want to intrude. Sure, I already treat it like a second home, but these two are a couple, they need their privacy.
Half way through the movie, just as the Ghost of Christmas Present brings Scrooge to the Cratchits, my phone suddenly vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to see a single message from my brother, a single emoji: 🖕
”The third golden ticket’s been found.”
Immediately, Joan pauses the movie and they and Talyn look over my shoulder. They look confused.
”My brother blames me for him not getting a ticket, despite it only being my fault one time,” I explain.
”Man, your brother’s a dick,” Joan says.
”He just does it to get my parents’ approval.”
”I still think the reasons they hate you are complete bullshit,” Talyn adds. “I mean, seriously?! I’m pretty glad I’ve never met them in person.”
I just shrug. “When I was little, I was this baby who they could dress up and pretend was the perfect child. Then, I grew up and turned into a completely different person. It’s understandable they’d find it hard to accept.”
”I know, but their lack of acceptance is way too bad compared to normal parents,” Talyn continues.
Meanwhile, I google the third Wonka ticket. “Roman Prince... Oh, fuck, he’s a musical theatre geek. Great... That’s not going to be annoying...”
---------
NEXT
Taglist: @clone-number-1, @i-have-n0-idea-what-im-d0ing (added you because you seem into this fic)
26 notes · View notes
one-of-us-must-be-crazy · 6 years ago
Note
Okay I gotta cuz I feel like that kinda person right now: Ripules and fetishes go.
WELL THEN.
*pours a whiskey*
Start with the easier one to explain: Samuels doesn’t know shit. Amanda had to corrupt the poor bot (not that he didn’t literally ask her to). He doesn’t have (yet) any specific turn ons. He isn’t even sure he works that way. Thus far he’s controlled all functions himself, nothing really works or doesn’t work on its own. Now, his partner still enjoys trying it; she tries to grind on him when he meant for them to slow dance in their living room; reaches under the covers, grins like a cat, and strokes him.
“I don’t require it,”
“Does it feel good?”
“You don’t have to do anything, if you’d like to start–”
“Does it feel good?”
“….Yes.”
“Then I’m going to keep doing it.” 
Touch is so new to him that he adores it in any form; finds it fascinating that he has a want for touch though he lacks the hormones that drive humans to reproductive actions. There’s very little he doesn’t enjoy, but nothing specific. 
If you asked Amanda, however, what got his gears going, she’d immediately answer “He likes me on top.” 
Only once thus far has he reacted without control, and that was when Ripley struggles to explain with a straight face what she meant when she told him: “If you’re too busy with that stack of data sheets, I will do this myself and not let you join in when you decide to come to bed.” So…So she just…showed him what she meant instead. And did end up letting him join in, about as near to begging as Amanda Ripley would ever allow herself to get.
AS FOR HER….Amanda does not have a thing for androids. NOPE. She doesn’t. She’s half afraid that she does, between her lover and Data, but he just doesn’t count. Neither of them do. Sentience is a pre-req for her to go to bed with anyone, therefore she does not have a robot fetish. NOPE. Dirty talk worked on her when she was a little younger, but her new housemate is so…. Vulgarity doesn’t suit him. He’s naturally a gentleman, with a smoothness–despite the shyness–that she didn’t think he had in him. 
Once at Samuels new job, far from WY and anyone who’s ever worked with synths, there was an office party (he doesn’t get it, he just doesn’t; these are lame obligatory bullshit events and she doesn’t own a dress and you do not want me there I’m going to embarrass you) and Amanda was getting increasingly uncomfortable; both of them were feeling…less than confident since so many there were shocked they were together. She looks young, too hot for him damn. Ripley saw the looks that said clearly what is someone like that doing with a grunt like her? No  last-minute dress and hastily chosen lipstick could hide that. So. Contact. Hand holding so people stopped asking if they were together, and also for comfort. Eyes meeting over glasses, small smiles at various things others said; the two already had a myriad of private jokes, a mostly-shared sense of humor with them. 
Then his arm slips around her waist, she mirrors his action, their backs to the wall, she sneaks in a pinch and he startles. 
“whywouldyoudothathere?”
“You look tense. Want to find an empty office?”
“Yes I’m tense I—what? nO no I do not want to find–”
“OOOOh! Your office. I want to see it.”
“Not now you aren’t.” 
Damn his self control to hell, but a night of subtleties and seeing him in that suit and seeing him behave so human, and then their increased flirting and Amanda…he’s got to know what I’m thinking. On cue he hands her another glass of—-ice water.
“Please, luv, you look like a cat ready to pounce, cool off a little,” a sly glance at those who had been standing near them, assurance no one is looking, then a kiss below her ear and a low voice: “Wait until we get home. I promise I’ll see to it that its worth the wait.”
“You bastard.” the jab earned her another, decidedly chaster kiss on the forehead and a smile that made her unsure if she wanted to tear out his central power cable, or say to hell with the audience and make an effort to get him to the floor. 
Neither was a good choice at the moment. And its not her fault, she rationalizes, not her fault some pervert at WY made a robot that could do what he could do. Not her fault that who or whatever they modeled him after fit her like none of her previous male partners did, like whoever designed him made him for her or very nearly. 
Certainly not her fault that like all other functions, he could keep at it indefinitely if he wished, and as often as he wished, with little to no wait. Or that he had the ability to smile like that, or dance with her like this was eighteen-ninety-fucking-seven and that smooth bastard pulled her close by her hips at the end, very close, too close, enough to feel that he–
“I’m going to void your warranty when we get home,”
“I look forward to it.”
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Am I?”
Cut to now; Ripley kissing him hard against the door of their apartment as he fumbles for the card-key, her hair a mess from having started this in the elevator; not sure how or when they got inside, but at some point he lost his jacket, and her dress is lifted over her head, and why are we in the hallway?
Some part of him was still aware, still knew that this wasn’t quite right, that he should have more control than this, but Ripley had pulled him by the necktie towards their room and the ended up on the hallway table. Or rather, she did. At moments. And she’s always a little vocal, enough that he knows when she’s enjoying his motions, but this is different, she’s vocal on her gasps, on the exhales as moans, even a pleased hum as she bites his shoulder, enough input for him to jolt back to senses, and any more and you’re going to hurt her.
He met her eyes for half a second,
“Harder.”
One wall-lamp loosened, two picture frames on the floor, and three angry shouts from neighbors later, Ripley’s arms are slack around his neck; his still resting at her waist. He’s nearly certain that she’ll have bruises on her hips and backside…and her neck. For obvious reasons, he didn’t care to see bruises on her throat left by an android, even if the android in question was himself, and the bruises were tidy bite marks rather than clumsy chokeholds. 
“That….. happened.” he said.
“Do you want it to happen again?”
“I think I lost control at some point,”
“You didn’t hurt me,” far from it, he thinks, looking at her please smile.
“I could have.”
“You didn’t.” She looks down and notices.
Both of them still have their formal shoes on, and though its been opened, he’s still in his dress shirt too, trousers on the floor.
“I…I’m sorry for the…”
“Ripped-out-of-an-erotic fuck against a wall? Please do not apologize for that.” she says, gently poking his chest as she edges off of the table and to stand on uneasy legs (still in her high-heels) on the floor. Her intention was to help him with his clothes, and a sense of dignity, but maybe that wasn’t a good idea.
“You enjoyed it?”
“Hell yes.”
“….You prefer intercourse…rougher?”
“Mmm sometimes. What did you think?”
“….I liked it.”
“A lack of control is scary…but its also nice sometimes. And I trust that you have some kind of protocol to back off before you actually hurt me. Trust yourself.”
“Everything you’ve been through, and you still trust me?”
“Unconditionally,” she answers without hesitation.  “You want to try this?”
“Anatomically, I don’t think that this would work exactly the same in a reversed position.”
“I meant…do you want me to lead through it? Maybe…maybe in half an hour?”
“……yes.”
“That doesn’t sound very sure.”
“I am very sure, I’m merely unsure over how concerned I should be about the fact that I am.”
Amanda kissed him on the noes, laughing a little how his eyes crossed to focus in on her in confusion when she leaned in.
“You are the sweetest person I’ve ever met,” she took his hands and backed towards their room, a wide smile on her face.
“Half an hour you said?”
So Ripley likes it rough, and ocassionally on a wall. Sometimes. 
13 notes · View notes
cloubleoh · 7 years ago
Text
te volo
in which bond and q do fieldwork, or, the aftermath of q sleeping with bond and it's everything he's ever dreamed of, and then bond leaves and he still has to get up and go to work the next day
rated m ♛ 4.6k words ♛ mentions of sex ♛ ao3 link
There’s an incessant pinging noise in Q’s right ear and he has half a mind to leave Bond’s call unanswered, but he taps the comm anyway and sighs heavily as the doors to the lift slide shut and he slumps against the wall, letting his bags drop to the floor.
“Please, 007, it’s been a terribly long flight and I’d really like to find my room and have a rest.”
He can hear Bond chuckling on the other end, and Q has half a mind to tell the agent to sod off before Bond finally speaks. “And what’s the harm in having a quick chat with a colleague?”
“You know bloody well what the harm is. I’ve spent four hours on a cramped, rattling coach seat and several more after that on a bus that smelt horribly of manure, I’ve half a mind to castrate M once we’ve returned for lacking the foresight to alert me sooner about being assigned to fieldwork so I could book myself proper transportation, and you’re asking me if I want to have a chat.”
Bond’s responding laughter is enough to force Q to cut the connection with an indignant huff, and Bond’s already pinging him again before the lift doors can even open to Q’s floor. Q waits through one, two, three blips then answers with a reluctant groan.
“Apologies, Q, I wasn’t aware you’d had such a rough time coming in.”
“You wouldn’t, would you, not from your first-class seat and chauffeured drive into town. I should have switched out seating arrangements and made you sit with the lambs.” The only reason Q hasn’t hung up on Bond again is because his hands are full with luggage as he limps down the hall to his room and he cannot tap twice at the device in his ear to shut Bond up for five bloody seconds. He notes to himself, mentally, that he’ll have to work on voice-controlled comms when he gets back to Q-Branch. For now, he squints through smudged lenses for the placard that directs him to room towards the end of a long and winding hallway.
“Oh, they were lambs now, were they?
“Yes, 007, lambs, and I dare say I don’t need to elaborate.”
Q drops his bags again and rummages in his pockets for the room key before giving it a vehement swipe through the card reader and nudging the door open with his foot. The large windows drawn with blackout curtains and the plush couch in the sitting room is a welcome sight, and Q barely gives a thought to where he’s tossing his bags before he’s shrugged off his coat and collapses onto the couch.
“Well then, perhaps you should make yourself comfortable while I go have a look ‘round,” Bond says finally after Q has settled in to a mostly comfortable sprawled position along the length of the couch. Q finds himself nodding before he realizes Bond can’t see a nod over the comm, and he mumbles a very drowsy mmhm in response.
Even after all the trouble Q had been through to get to Savona, some part of him had to admit it felt good to get out of Six once in a while, breathe in different air and sleep in a ridiculously posh hotel room that was nothing like his homely flat back in London. Q wonders, idly, if this is what it’s always like for his agents.
“I’d join you but I’m afraid I’m much too tired to extract myself from this rather comfortable couch. You’ll have to go it alone, I’m afraid.”
“That’s alright,” Bond replies, “I’m quite used to doing these things without a Quartermaster in my ear, you know.”
“Says the one with the better room and the more comfortable couch.”
“That’s hardly my fault, I’m not the one that booked it, am I?”
“Cheeky bastard,” Q smiles, rather tiredly. It’s quite a few minutes later, after Q has already closed his eyes and has barely started to drift off before he speaks again. “007, I don’t suppose…”
“Yes?”
Q squeezes his eyes tight and presses his lips together in a flat line, turning the words over and over in his head. Don’t, you know you can’t, he’s not going to, there’s no bloody point—
It’s a purely selfish request, one Q cannot help but ask, now that they are so far away from Six, and in the end it just slips out unintended. “I don’t suppose…you’d see me off to bed, would you?”
Bond falls silent in a way that Q almost thinks he’s pulled out his comm, but when Bond does finally speak, Q’s heart sinks into his shoes.
“I should be going. Might as well scope the place out before tomorrow.”
“…yes, of course. I’ll leave you to that, then.”
Q almost doesn’t hear the line fall silent, but when he’s sure Bond is no longer listening Q allows himself a choked, almost angry sob as he scrubs a hand down his face, kicking out in frustration at the arm of the couch before growing still. Of course he doesn’t, why would he, he’s James bloody Bond and you can’t get him out of your head—
It was one time, dammit, he let himself go for one time, and you let him do it—
Q’s limbs suddenly feel encased in lead, and he no longer has the strength to do anything but sink further into the couch and tuck his head into the divot of a throw pillow. He wants to seek Bond out, but the fight is gone from his bones, and before he can even think to remove his glasses, Q succumbs to sleep.
               He awakes from a fitful slumber long after the sun has set to voices in his right ear, and it faintly occurs to Q that Bond must have forgotten to remove his comm after Q had gone to bed. Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Q fumbles around in the dark for the lampswitch and opens his mouth to tell Bond to shut off his damn earwig, some people are trying to get some shut-eye, when he hears something that chills his blood ice-cold.
There’s a woman in the room with Bond.
Q can hear her voice, soft and lilting, every flirtatious word she whispers to Bond, and then Bond himself replying in turn, voice suddenly very husky and low in a way that’s got Q stumbling over his feet and collapsing onto the floor, nearly knocking into the lamp on the way down.
Q’s fingers curl into the loose carpet fibers and the wretched feeling in the pit of his stomach returns as Bond whispers lowly in the woman’s ear just how he plans to fuck her, and it shouldn’t shock him, really, Q’s heard this routine many times before today without hardly batting an eye. Everyone knew Bond has sex for information, but this time, this time Bond’s words have Q feeling as if he’s going to be sick.
In his small, cluttered flat, amidst tangled bedsheets and a tossed duvet, Bond had breathed the same lines in his ear too, and it hadn’t taken but a fraction of a heartbeat for Q to surrender to what he’d wanted, yearned for months.
God, what an utter fool he’d been.
He can hear Bond maneuvering the woman onto a bed, letting out a low growl as he does so, and Q’s cock traitorously throbs in response. It’s all Q can do to bite his lip and keep silent as Bond strips her, then claims her. He presses his head against the carpet and chances a ragged, shaky breath, trying very hard not to rut into the floor. Thankfully Bond doesn’t seem to notice, as he’s currently very engrossed in taking the woman apart, piece by piece, in words Q almost knows by heart.
Q could leave the connection open, listen to the way Bond breathes and moves against the sheets, and pretend there isn’t a woman beneath him. He could close his eyes and drift back to that evening he’d found Bond in his flat, bleeding out in the bath, and afterwards how Bond had pulled Q into a searing kiss that tasted heavily of scotch. In his right ear, Bond moans and Q is inexplicably harder than he’s been in months, and he almost gives in to the pure want that’s coursing through his veins to knead himself through his trousers.
Instead, Q rips the comm from his ear and throws it across the room, uncaring if it breaks as the earpiece smacks against the wall with a sharp clack. He storms out, pretends that Bond isn’t fucking someone three doors down from him, and his feet carry him all the way to the bar where he orders a glass of scotch, and another, and yet another still, downing them until his throat burns of it and he can no longer remember the sound of the woman in his ear, only the intoxicating taste of Bond’s lips against his own.
               Q finally gets to see the woman the following day, thankfully at a different bar than the one he’d drank at the night before. She’s tall and slender, wearing a deep red dress with a plunging neckline, one that’s got several men turning their heads in her direction as she boldly slides into the stool next to his.
“You are the Quartermaster, correct?”
Q’s grip on his own glass tightens, annoyed with how loudly she’s just announced to the whole sodding world his identity. It does nothing to help the vestiges of a hangover that pounds behind his eyes, though he greets her with an easy smile anyway, just to keep up appearances. The only reason Q is still in the same room is because she has information that MI6 is desperate to get its hands on, and Q is the only one able to crack it.
“Quentin,” he offers, reaching out to shake her hand.
“Nice to meet you,” the woman replies, and she gives her own name, though whether it is from the din of the people around him or from Bond’s voice in his ear, Q does not hear it and does not ask for it again. Like his own given name, hers is almost assuredly fake. Q will know this woman, this temporary armistice for all of a few days, and then she will disappear off the map as if she had never existed to begin with. There is no point to committing such a name and a face to memory, not when she still smells of Bond’s expensive cologne.
What he does do is offer her a drink, one she gladly accepts.
“I’ve heard a lot about you from Mister Bond,” she says once the drink is in her hands, and Q fights the urge to roll his eyes.
“I’m sure it’s all been quite bog standard, that I’m here to hack your employer’s files and do quite a few other computer-y things that would take far too long to explain.”
The woman’s responding laugh is sharp, far too loud for his throbbing headache that had nearly gone away but is now steadily growing worse. Q isn’t sure if it’s her fault or the alcohol this time around. “Yes, it was something like that. ‘Youngest Quartermaster to join the ranks of Six,’ was the phrase he used, I believe.”
“Youth is no guarantee of innovation,” Q finds himself echoing before he’s realized it, and he punishes himself with another sip of his drink. Were Bond here, he’d have quirked his lips into a knowing grin and that smartass twinkle in his eye, just enough to set Q off but nothing terribly abrasive. But Bond is not here, and the private joke does nothing to soothe Q’s rattled nerves.
“Stealing my lines are you now, Q? I’m afraid that won’t work on her, though I can see why she’d be keeping you from finding our target for me. She is terribly easy on the eyes.”
Bond’s voice snaps Q out of his thoughts and he rubs his eyes, realizing Bond must have been speaking to him for ages now and he’d hardly noticed. “I’m sorry?”
“The target,” Bond repeats. “Where is he?”
“I’m looking for him now,” Q replies, focus now detouring to the mobile in his lap, rapidly swiping through security camera feeds before he stops on a wide angle shot of several blackjack tables. Q spots their target seated at the largest table, thankfully in Q’s direct line of sight from the bar. “Aha, found him.”
“A little more specific, Q.”
“Directly across from the bar, about three rows back. And if this woefully shoddy image is anything to go on, he’s playing a losing game. You should have no difficulty in gaining the upper hand.”
“Mm, if that’s the case, I might even have enough time to cash in my winnings and buy a drink for Madame—”
“Focus, 007,” Q reprimands. He tells himself he’s cut Bond off to keep him on track, and not because of the woman. “I will buy the drinks, and you must do your job of winning at playing cards.”
He can hear a soft chuckle on the other end of the comm as Bond enters the line of sight of Q’s video feed. “You should be careful, Q. You know what happens if you buy a pretty girl an expensive drink.”
No, I wouldn’t Q thinks and doesn’t say. “I’ll have to keep that in mind for when I spot someone on the cameras that catches my eye.”
Q watches as the Bond on his phone scans the area for surveillance before looking directly up into the camera Q is controlling, locking eyes with it and winking. Q splutters, nearly dropping his phone, and before Q can hiss out a curse or two Bond has already slipped on his impassive mask for the evening, polished and suave and approaches the tables, waiting for the game to end before sliding into an empty seat directly across from their target. Damn him.
“Is he good at cards?” the woman asks, and Q takes a moment to compose himself before looking up from his lap and pocketing his phone for now.
“Terribly good. If it weren’t for the fact that he always comes back with tenfold what we give him in allowances, my employers would have had his head on a silver platter years ago.”
She laughs as if Q’s little joke is the funniest thing she’s heard in years. “Good. He should easily gain the attention of my employer, then.”
“That does tend to be his modus operandi,” Q replies, more to himself than Bond’s mark.
The woman takes a sip of her drink and sizes Q up for a long moment before speaking again. "So, tell me. How long have you two been involved?"
Q nearly chokes on his drink and it takes him more than a few moments to recover. Several choice words fly through his head in rapid succession, all of which Q is sorely tempted to bite out, though he holds his tongue. It wouldn't do to blow the whole mission over a stray comment. Yes, we've fucked, if that's what you're implying, and I don't believe who I choose to sleep with is any of your bloody business.
“I’m sorry, what?”
The woman smiles at him and regards Q with eyes that almost seem to glint in the muted light of the bar. “You speak to him with such an ease one only finds in a partner. Though, if I may be frank with you, Quentin—”
Oh please, do Q almost spits out, instead choosing to grasp his glass tighter still.
“—I hadn’t guessed he’d brought someone with him. From what I’ve gathered, Mister Bond doesn’t…strike me as one to settle down, you know?”
While her question hardly dignifies a response, Q chooses to give the only one he knows best, in as steady as voice as possible given the circumstances. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. I am simply his Quartermaster, and nothing more," he says, eventually. His glasses have slipped and Q takes a moment to push them back up, stealing a quick glance at Bond, who seems to be doing very well for himself at the blackjack table. He can hear the faint voice of the dealer, the disgruntled mutterings of Bond’s target, and Bond himself in his right ear, and while normally it would be a comforting distraction Q finds himself on edge, his whole body thrumming with a nervous energy he rarely gets out in the field.
The scent of Bond’s cologne on the woman is overpowering now and Q licks his lips, fighting the urge to excuse himself to the bathroom to splash ice water on his face until the burning heat inside him bleeds out.
His gaze now lingers on Bond's hands as they slide cards across the green velvet of the table, strong, calloused and sure. He remembers those hands on his own body, once, reverently mapping out the planes and dips of his skin before cupping his arse roughly enough to leave bruises that lasted for days. Then, Bond’s hands were still marred with blood that the bathwater hadn’t completely washed away, leaving behind red stains on the pale expanses of Q’s skin, a counterpart to the red lines Q would score down Bond’s back. Hands that coaxed soft, pliant moans from his mouth, words he daren’t utter anywhere else, to anyone else. Q finally swallows hard, realizing he has lingered too long, and he tears his eyes away and turns back to the woman beside him.
Q is not here to stare after Bond, to wonder about his agent and the company he chooses to keep. His task tonight is to look after Bond's mark, and make sure no harm is to come of her, reluctant though he may be. This, and nothing more.
"I see," the woman replies. She regards Q with a strange, pointed look, before returning to her drink. "Though perhaps Mister Bond doesn't think of you that way."
               Miraculously, the mission hadn’t gone pear-shaped this time around. Bond had snapped a man’s neck inside his room with very little fanfare, and before casino security could be alerted Q had already erased the incriminating footage with a few swift keystrokes. He was almost disappointed Bond hadn’t gotten to test out the modifications he’d made to the agent’s Walther, though perhaps it was for the best that the weapon was going to make it home in one piece.
“Job well done, 007, I really must commend you this time for managing to not expend a single bullet. Q Branch will be so pleased with your efforts this time ‘round.”
“Cheeky today, aren’t we?” Bond says in turn, and Q can almost imagine the man is smiling on the other end of the comm.
“And the files? While you might have come here just for the thrill of killing a man I still have some ends left to tie up.”
“She’s got them transferring to a thumb drive now,” Bond replies. Q sags a little in relief, knowing their target hadn’t been given the chance to destroy the hard drive. In the end, the distraction of the woman had proved just enough for Bond to slip into the room and make sure that this was where the man would breathe his last. After all, there’s only so much one can do with a drive that’s been ripped out of the chassis of a laptop and been bludgeoned half to death. What would have become months of pulling overtime on data recovery had instantly been narrowed down to days, maybe hours if he was lucky.
“At this rate we might even catch our scheduled flight back to London.”
Q can almost hear the wry smile in Bond’s voice when he replies with a curt, “Why Q, you wound me, you know I’ve taken great care to improve my punctuality issues.”
“Mm, your efforts have been admirable but I’m sure there’s quite a bit of working room on that front.”
“Will you two stop going at it like old biddies and do something with this damn body?!”
The woman’s sudden interjection startles Q into silence, and after a moment’s pause he hears Bond shifting around, grunting as he hoists what Q can only assume to be the target’s dead body off the floor. There’s more shuffling, the sound of a door being slid open, and, oh no he couldn’t possibly—
“007, are you putting that in a closet?”
“Well there’s no bloody other place for it,” Bond huffs, “If you’ve got any better ideas why don’t you come down here and do it yourself?”
“I’d rather not, thank you. After all, I’m only here for tech support.”
Bond swears under his breath and goes back to attempting to shove the body of his target into the small linen closet, and Q tries to ignore the hot tingles racing down his spine at the gruff strain of Bond’s voice under duress.
               As agreed upon, Q meets her by the Lucky Seven slot machine. It’s an ostentatious thing, gilded with shiny gold-colored plastic and enough flashing lights and bells to trigger a migraine, but deep enough into the stacks and just perfectly out of range of the three cameras that sweep the room. The woman is there waiting for him when Q arrives. The red dress is back, though not as prim and wrinkle-free as before. Q tries not to think about where the wrinkles came from, or where else the dress has been. Instead, he swallows and holds out his right hand, awaiting the exchange of information.
The woman reaches between her cleavage with slender fingers and pulls out a thumb drive before placing it gently in Q’s palm. “I believe this is rightfully yours now, Quartermaster, as my employer is no longer around to make any use of it.”
Q pockets the drive and gives the woman a curt nod. “Thank you. I trust all the information is there? I’d hate to contact you again. We at MI6 can be very…persistent.”
She nods, clearly unaffected by Q’s veiled threat. “Yes, all you need is on that drive. I cannot promise it is unencrypted, though from what I understand that shouldn’t be a problem for you.”
Q knows it’s meant to be a complement but he is done playing nice, done pretending to be Bond’s polite little boffin with the quips and the gadgets and the fancy computer. Now that Q has what he came for and is no longer bound by obligation, Q immediately says the most scathing thing he can think of. “Yes, I assume Bond charms every woman he meets into bed with tales of his Quartermaster’s hacking skills.”
The woman almost smiles at that, though her eyes grow narrow and flinty, a silent warning. “It’s unbecoming to harbor jealousy in the world of espionage, Quentin. Makes you lose your head, get your agents killed.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Q replies with a smirk, and though the woman gives him a knowing look she backs off. What Q doesn’t expect is for her expression to melt into something softer, and she steps closer, capturing his hands in her own and giving them a gentle squeeze. Q instinctively wants to pull away but the woman has captured him in a piercing gaze, one he finds he cannot look away from.
“Please,” she says, “for me. Look after your agent. He has…such lonely eyes, don’t you think?”
…what?
Q’s forehead wrinkles into confusion but the woman has yet to let go, so instead of pressing her further he gives a short nod, and the woman finally releases her grip on his hands. “Though I’ve enjoyed our time together, I’m afraid I must depart now. Please, enjoy your stay in Savona, Quartermaster.”
And with that, the woman in the red dress melts into the crowd and rows of slot machines, and is gone within seconds. Q supposes he could log into the security system at the casino and track her movements, watch her for a good long while and make sure she’s not going to compromise either of them, but he doesn’t. He’s spent the whole of this mission loathing the very air around her, the way she walks and talks and carries herself, but all that pent-up anger ebbs out of Q the moment the woman disappears, walking out of his and Bond’s life forever.
Q considers the woman’s words and wonders, briefly, if there’d ever been a Quartermaster that had lost an agent because of compromised attachments. Then, Q’s mind wanders to how many men and women alike had died because they got too close to Bond, seen things the agent had never meant for them to see, become too deeply embroiled into his life that it had killed them in the end.
Oh, bollocks Q thinks, what have I gotten myself into?
“Q.”
He feels a hand on his shoulder and Q whips around, startled, only to find Bond staring down at him, forehead knit into deep lines of concern.
“007?”
“I’d been calling after you for ages now. Our flight is in two hours, and we’d better get going before M starts thinking we’ve been delayed.”
Right, of course. The flight. Q gives Bond a tired smile and nods, letting out a shaky breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding in. “You’ve never been one to give into M’s whingeing, and I doubt you’re going to start now.”
“What were you thinking about, just now?” Bond asks suddenly, turning the entire conversation on its head and bringing Q’s mind to a stuttering halt. “I’ve never seen you that lost in thought before.”
“Oh, just all the hours of my life I’m going to get back, now that I don’t have to restore a banged-up hard drive this time around.
Bond makes an exasperated face. “You still resent me for that, don’t you?”
“All you double-oh agents think Q-Branch are magicians that can wave our hands at hard drives that’ve been beaten with a nightstick and kicked halfway ‘round London and poof, oh there comes that data M wants.”
“That was one bloody time, Q—”
“If you’d just learn to return everything in one piece—”
And just like that, they fall in step together, and it’s almost as if things are back the way they once were, before Q had pulled out the dental floss stitches from Bond’s skin as Bond bled permanent stains onto the floor of Q’s bathroom. It was ironic, Q had thought, that while the blood had washed out of his clothes, and his sheets, and his skin, he could never quite manage to get it up from the tiles, no matter how hard he’d scrubbed until his arms began to feel like overcooked noodles.
He senses Bond knows his answer was a lie, but thankfully Bond lets it go and doesn’t press further. Q doesn’t think he could deal with Bond knowing the truth, not now, not tomorrow, and possibly not ever.
Bond stops in front of the lift and turns to face Q. “I’ll be in my room. You can come collect me when you’ve finished packing.”
Q can’t help the smile that forms across his lips. “Is that a promise, 007?”
“Well,” Bond replies, matching Q’s widening grin, “what do you think?”
And maybe, Q thinks, just maybe, it is.
i also take prompts/requests!
5 notes · View notes
goodboicerberus · 5 years ago
Text
December
My summer peach is gone. He’s been gone for a long time but I’d been hoping that maybe some particularly sunny winter day might revive him, might make him reappear. But what’s done is done, no matter if you are able to accept it or not. 
I will be alone, for real. It doesn’t matter how many partners I have, or whether I have a friend here, or friends back home. I will be alone because he felt like a part of me, or rather *we* felt like something new, some composite that is now going to be missing one of its two functional pieces. And instead of feeling like I am returning to being my own functioning self, I feel like a hollowed out machine, like a useless *thing*, like the leftovers or the out-of-date tech left down in the basement. And that’s my fault for seeing us that way, not his fault for leaving. I broke the contract, refused to follow my own rules, stuck my hand in a fire and watched it burn. It felt good, that warmth finally making its way through skin that I thought could never feel again, felt too good to be concerned with the charring, felt worth the pain that my brain knew was on the other side but my heart could not comprehend.  
I will be alone in this house, this apartment that was my sanctuary when my home stopped feeling like home. This place where we made love and held hands and dreamed out things that couldn’t be, this place where time used to stop, where the world couldn’t make its way in. But now I see the dust gathered under the doorway and the blinding harsh sunlight beating against the window shades and I realize I will have to occupy this ruin alone, like a hermit, like the last survivor who returns and finds everyone else gone. It will never feel full without him. I have to disentangle our clothes and our dishes and our bottles of soap, have to rip out the most beautiful vine that had curled its tendrils into my life as if it was a weed. 
I thought I had time. What’s worse than realizing there are literally only days left to see his face is realizing that those days won’t matter, because all the parts I need have ended. We’ll never make love again, we probably won’t even have sex. We’ll never lie sweaty and wrapped together, breathing in each other’s breath, noses rested against each other, because that time is long in the past. died and I’ve been getting the notices, but I’ve been reading them upside down, or in the wrong language, or something because I just never understood that they were informing me of a death. I was, I am? deeply entrenched in denial. I cannot even cling to my scraps, cannot attempt to fill my chest with love of our friendship, because that, too, is at its end. Every phone call is an act of charity, is a kindness to an addict struggling to quit a drug that ran out a while ago. When he moves, this will be over. I will be the one who gets one last video call, who pines to step through the screen and know what is out of frame, who won’t know there’s a new girl sitting on the couch listening to my tender words, who won’t know that the smile on his face has pity mixed up in it, who will say “talk to you later” to someone who will never call again. 
I guess it’s good there aren’t any pictures. To press delete, you have to acknowledge that something is there. He never was interested in sorting through such things. Who cares what’s in your downloads folder when you know you’re going to indiscriminately wipe your hard drive at the end of the year? 
I don’t want someone new. I don’t know if I ever want anyone again. It sounds dramatic but it feels very true, right now. Someone accomplished, handsome, intelligent wants me, wants to keep me all to themselves and plan years into the future with me , and all that does is scare the shit out of me. I don’t want those things, not with him. I can’t see those things with anyone else any more. I had never, *never* imagined children with anyone else, never thought that I would see that kind of future, never wanted to so thoroughly give myself to someone. I have rehearsed a pure fantasy so many times that I cannot imagine an alternate reality, and do not want it. I keep trying to hold back the tide of suicidal thought but it’s crashing against my walls and the light for my beacon has gone out. I don’t know who to call, who to talk to, because I just want to talk to my best friend. I just want to be held by the person I love. I want to hear words that he will never speak; I want him to love me, to beg me to go with him, to keep me from signing my life away because he wants to spend his with me. I want him to move on from that perfect blonde angel and throw away all the pictures, all the baubles left of her. I want to be warm in his arms and feel my pain and stress drain out of my body, want his heartbeat to be as soothing as words, want not to cling to him from knowing he is just about to slip away. I want him to take me home for Christmas, to share his family with me because he knows I can’t see my own, want him to plan to keep me around long enough for such a trip not to be a waste of time.
.
0 notes
wildlove836 · 8 years ago
Text
2017
wow. okay. when I said 2016 fuck me up I didnt mean literally. 
but god damn, once again I’ve rung in the new year heartbroken as can be, but wait there’s more. I fell in love with someone. he’s somehow worse than the last guy and hell I love him a thousand times more.
I’ve dealt with so much shit this year. I’m in a relationship with a drug addict. I didnt know it until about 3 months ago. I mean I knew, but I didnt know. 
He asked me to marry him literally the 3rd day we spent together. no I didnt say yes, but apparently I did because now hes calling me his fiance n shit. I ‘lost’ my virginity to this guy. It sounds fucked up but it isnt as bad as it seems. or maybe it is and I still have a long way to go before I figure it all out.
I think I really love him. I think he really loves me. But people keep telling me he’s going to love those little crystals more. 
I’ve seen some shit. My humdrum life has done a fucking tail spin in the last 6 months. I went from a full tank of gas and watching netflix all day to $1.43 in my bank account and needles hidden in the dresser drawers.
I’ve seen junkies, I’ve had shit stolen. I’ve watched him physically and mentally change without even noticing.
I’ve been choked and pushed and bruised and screamed at. I’ve done the same things back in a rage I didnt know I was capable of.
I’ve heard stories from child hood that make no sense but make perfect sense and I know I cant change the past but I’d very much like to.
I smoked weed and that shit was great at first but now its the only way I cant really talk to you, it seems. you told me that wasnt it but trust me. i’m too afraid to tell you the truth when we’re not...chill.
I’ve cried and screamed and walked away. I’ve waited hours upon hours for you to call. I havent slept and I’ve slept too much. I had a real panic attack for the first time in my life.
I’ve sat in the ER with you for 6+ hours after you crashed your car from being on adderall. I watched you literally mentally and physically break down in the pizza hut parking lot while normal fucking people watched and wondered what the fuck they could do for you and I just sat there next to you counting change from your pockets because you lost the receipts.
im sorry. i lost them somehow. who fucking knows. i’ll take the blame for it though if thats what I have to do.
i walked across train tracks wondering if maybe my foot my get caught while you told me you were addicted to sex and of course I should have already known this but surprise I didnt. its still my fault though.
we missed trick or treat with your daughter because you were on acid.
then the other day you brought her to my house and slept the whole time. you said what does it matter my parents see me taking her out of the house. well what the fuck do you care right. if you’re playing the part of dad. you son of a bitch. i love that girl and I know you do too but you better try harder. you better or you’ll lose faster if you have her.
I’ve seen you coming down down down. with a knife in your hands and the doors locked and the lights off. I’ve watched cops drive by thinking you were already dead.
I’ve had the best sexual experiences with you and only you. I got drunk and gave you a blow job after knowing I’d never have a dick in my precious mouth.
you called me perfectly imperfect for a while, now that i’ve lost my innocence you call me your miracle. these days I feel like a burden. enabler is the word i’m trying not to say because I know its the truth. but i didnt know. i swear i didnt.
and not in the fucking physical sense. i’m not giving him money or anything like that. im stressing him the fuck out. BUT FUCK HE NEVER MAKES ANY SENSE. and im stressed out too. doesnt anybody see that?
everybody knows him like I know him now. a fucking mind fuck. this little twat can turn a sentence around on you so quick you’re wondering what you even said in the first place. this mother fucker can have you so god damn confused you’re rethinking your whole life.
he does it on purpose. I think so he feels more normal on the inside. the only question I have is, was it the meth that brought it out of him or was it destined to come out eventually on its own. the crazy will never subside and I must admit that’s what somehow attracts me to him.
feeling like a complete dumbass after every conversation we have. BUT YOU ALREADY KNEW THIS. he’ll say, like I already knew it. and then i’ll realize I did already know it. he was telling me all along, but in his own way. like a secret language. and I cant fucking afford the rosetta stone for crazy talk.
half the relationship i spend KNOWING this shit isnt right for me and here i am thinking i have to do this i have to do this but i still dont know what love is. its breaking the god damn futton i know. 
there’s no doubt about what i feel but really is it worth it. will he kill me. will i kill him. ive done things i never thought i would do. ive seen things i never thought i would see. the world is my fucking oyster over here. anything is possible. anything can happen. anything.
regardless, here I am. alone and wondering what hes doing. if he’s okay. a thousand and one fucking questions because he doesnt have a phone for me to call. and somehow now it feels like its my fault. it is my fucking fault and im crying a lot right now because of it. and im alone. so he can calm down. but i cant calm down without him. i need him. i need him. I NEED HIM. and im going insane worrying and wondering and crying and feeling okay for a little while.
now im just mad because hes okay without me. hes okay. and im not okay. it isnt fair. FUCK YOU. it isnt fair. do you even love me? DO YOU EVEN CARE. DO YOU EVEN DO YOU EVEN DO YOU EVEN LOVE ME. duh.
WHY DID I QUIT MY FUCKING JOB. I had what I needed. besides clarity and sanity so fuck, you cant blame me. hes been driving me insane since he spotted me.
but I know he fucking loves me. crazy people dont fuck around with shit like that. if they mean it they mean it. i feel it. I know it. I love it. its the only thing I understand ever. is my love for him. is it true. is it real. who fucking cares. its real and its ever present and its mostly reciprocated in good and bad ways. if i could walk away from it i already would have . i swear. i already would have but i havent so get off my fucking back.
but love is hard they tell me. love is fucking hard as hell and you’ve got to suffer before you can enjoy that shit, otherwise its not worth it. I realize this is too long and i’m not gonna reread it so nobody else is probably going to read it. thats okay. i needed to get it down on ‘paper’ just in case.
god just fucking pray for me or something. every time I feel like something is going to get worse it does okay. I had people burning up spoons in the trailer we were supposed to live in just to shoot up heroin and I was too busy making sure my boyfriend wasnt killing himself in a shed to realize. 
old dude (thats what they call people in fairdale) literally over dosed in the bed that was supposed to be mine. in the bedroom that was supposed to be mine but I cant say anything about it? I CANT SAY ONE GOD DAMN WORD ABOUT IT?
nah because bf is too nice to people who ‘care’ to realize what they’re really doing in the big picture. she put her clothes in the closet that was supposed to be mine. mine. FUCKING MINE. but i cant be mad because shes homeless and has cancer. what a fucking lifetime movie. I DIDNT NEED THIS TO KNOW I WAS A SELFISH PERSON. I ALREADY KNEW. I’M GOOD AT HIDING IT. I WANT MY CLOSET SPACE BACK. I see drug abuse and friendship and something strikes me as sketchy. OMG. and dont get me started on the cheating.
he cheats on me. he puts his dick inside his best friend while they’re fucked up on whatever. they tell me she says no everytime he asks but this time she didnt. oh wow. what a perfect picture of a life im stuck in. what a romantic gesture. WHAT A FUCKING ROMANTIC COMEDY OF LIFE. i can keep my perfect pussy to myself and he cant go one fucking day without trying to put his dick in something. I WILL BUY YOU A FUCKING GRAPEFRUIT TO FUCK IF THAT WILL KEEP YOUR DICK OUT OF OTHER PEOPLE.
he says hes taking a shit when he goes over there but he takes a shit every time and they’re long shits. idk if its to fuck or whatever but its for sure about drugs. drugs that tear people apart and keep the glued together and they’re fucking ripped seams. god this sounds like fucking trash and it is. it literally is. and I know it but I cant do a damn thing about it because I love this trash. hes not trash. but he acts like it.
I know he’s not trash because somehow he has it all figured out. its like his autistic niche is seeing into the future and knowing for god damn sure that something is going to turn out the way it is but he wont fucking tell me. just straight up tell me the truth. 
naaaah. that’d be too logical. he’d rather tell me the alternative lie. to keep me safe. HA. OKAY FROM WHAT. my life is so fucked up now.
needless to say 2016 has royally fucked me up. there’s probably a shit ton of stuff I forgot to mention and I should of because this is my collective fuck up recap but oh well. its not the last of it anyway. I know that for damn sure. 
I just hope that when we get married or whatever the fuck next big thing happens in our lives. I hope it balances out the bad shit. because the bad shit is getting really hard to deal with. like really hard. like my hands are shaking  sometimes hard and i feel like i cant kill myself because even in death i’d be worried about you and its nobodys fault but its our fault. 
I know it is. he’s not even supposed to be in a relationship right now and what does this fucker do. he falls in love. true love with an innocent girl who has no idea what shes about to fucking go through. god damn. somebody help me. somebody really help me. I know I will always love him. more than the other mother fuckers I thought I cared about. I will fucking love him. 
I FUCKING LOVE HIM. it makes me angry how much i love him. because it hurts me. a lot. but I wont stop. I cant. i wont. i never will. even if he stops loving me. i dont see how. but if he did. i’d still be calling and showing up and waiting outside and peeping in windows like a fucking nutcase. its my fucking ride or die. even if we broke up and i met someone else. god its not gonna be like this. it might be better. it might be a fucking dream. it might be date nights and morning kisses and flowers at work. but it wont be this. it wont be what i have with tey. nothing will ever be like this.and i fucking love that. im obsessed. im entranced. im in deep heartache love. 
and ironically he does literally the worst thing he could do. the worst thing. he could. is love me irrevocably. whole heartedly. stubbornly. passionately. intentionally. desperately. in return. a love that i could live with for eternity. without a shadow of a doubt love. til the day we die in each others fucking arms.
its killing him. its killing us. but its keeping us alive.
how sobering is that shit.
2 notes · View notes
lethe-distillery-blog · 6 years ago
Text
Perfect
I had just sat down at my desk, the cold drizzling weather outside making the morning a bad one, I hated being cold. It was the worst, took one the better part of the day just to warm up even slightly, and by the time I felt at least somewhat back to normal, I would have to go back out in it to go home. I shivered, and wrapped my shawl tighter around my shoulders, doing my best to ignore the cold as I logged into my computer in my regular morning ritual. Time to get started for the week. I looked around the bare office, my coworker and boss didn't ever really show up on time, it was nice to get started without a distraction. I took a deep breath to get started and smelled, coffee.
I froze. I hadn't gotten coffee, a fact I had been cursing myself for as I had been settling down to start my day. But there, on my desk, was a steaming, to-go cup of coffee, the small writing on it read my regular, one cream, one sugar. I frowned but the shadow over me made me jump. Spinning I grabbed the pen from my desk for self-defense, not that it would do much, really, but it made me feel better. I stopped mid-spin, squinting and then blinking. The dark purple on black making him appear almost like a shadow, a figment of my imagination. But no, he was real, he was here."What," my words tumbled over themselves, making me sound clumsy and stupid, "are you doing here?"
His deep purple tie caught the light causing the silk to glisten like an amethyst on a nest of black satin. He was wearing what was affectionately called his 'Dom' outfit; a full black suit, crisp and precise, the only color on him was the tie, the gunmetal tie clip, pocket watch, and cufflinks, and the platinum signet ring that he wore on his right pinkie. His long hair was loose about his shoulders, beard trimmed close, and his beautiful grey eyes glistening like dark steel set in his features. "Coming to see you," his voice was rich and complex, an old-world sound, if he ever claimed to be an ancient vampire, or god, I would never have cause to doubt him. He held a grace that barely varnished an animal like feral instinct, an intriguing dichotomy that affected me more than I would ever want to admit to. It was like he was always one step away from breathing poetry to me in that succulent voice of his or ripping me to pieces. It was titillating. His lips found mine, and I savored the softness of his full lips, and the rich taste of whiskey as my arms, unbidden, wrapped around his neck in reaction to him. "Of course."
I shuddered, unconsciously pressing against him, closer to the warmth he radiated, a silent confirmation to his promise to me, that he would always keep me warm. Normally, I was too stubborn to let his sweet honeyed words affect me, but today, of all days, and with it raining, I liked his presence here, a solid comfort that had never faltered in his affection for me, no matter what I had done. I gave myself to this sensation, pressing myself to him, as his arms wrapped around me and his lips teased the top of my head in soft kisses as he breathed me in. It felt so right it scared me, a deep thing that knew that this was wrong, and yet, every other part of me gave myself over to him willingly. I was indefinitely screwed. And when he tilted my chin to look up, I didn't fight even though I knew what was coming.
Our lips met in a heat of passion, I can't deny that I joined in, warming myself before the blaze of us. I threw myself, without reservation, into the flames and savored him. Our lips pressed so hard together that I was sure my lips would bruise while our tongues danced a furious pace inside our mouths. Our moans synched, I could feel my body reacting to him, the heat that pooled in my belly and started spreading out and pooling at my core. I desired him, against all sanity and reason, I craved him and his touch, and there was no way to miss the bulge against my tummy from where his own desire was rather obvious.
I pulled away, breathing hard, trying to calm my raging hormones. "We can't," I hissed, "everyone will be coming in soon."
He leaned in and kissed me properly, keeping his arms wrapped around me, making sure to keep me pressed to him, and not the desk. Something he had started to do since I made the off-hand mention of men pushing women against cold hard things like walls and desks. It was sweet, in a 'he listens to me' sort of way. Our lips tangled again and he sat me up on the desk and I moaned as he stood between my parted legs, his growing erection rubbing where I ached for him most. My skirt provided a laughable amount of protection, my underwear even less so. "I will have you," his voice shook slightly, slurring slightly on the startings of a growl as it invaded my ear, "and fuck anyone that thinks they can stop me."
I knew he wouldn't stop, and that, in its own weird way, was nearly an aphrodisiac. That insistence, that desperate hunger, that need, for me. He slid his hands under my skirt, sending electrical jolts through my body as his large hands slid over my skin, possession in every touch, desire sparking like a live electrical wire. And when he took my panties. I nearly came right there from the shock of the cool air over my hot, wet folds; that, and the anticipation of what was coming didn't hurt. I knew how savage he could be, how hard he would take me, and how thoroughly he would satisfy me. It was like a drug.
I spread my legs, opening myself up to him and murmured a single word. "Please."
He didn't disappoint. He barely pulled his slacks down far enough to free himself, there was something sexy about a man that went commando. He pressed the head of his cock into me, I groaned as it spread me deliciously, just like I knew he would. He stopped though, tormenting me with just the throbbing tip inside me. "You know I respect you, right?"
The question confused me a bit. He was the most respectful man I knew, demanding, but respectful. "Yes." I paused, "why?"
His eyes flickered, appearing to lighten to nearly mercury, "Because," his voice took on a low growling cadence, "I am going to fuck you," he slammed into me, jarring my hips, my breasts bouncing within my bra. I cried out in pleasure and wanton hunger, his voice invading my head. "Like I don't." True to his word, his hand took hold of my throat and he thrust into me again, pleasure ripped me apart as he took full control of our play, I couldn't even thrust back against him.
Every thrust was a hard jerk into me, harder and deeper than the last. My silk bra was grating deliciously against the hardened nubs of my nipples, my body spread around his invading member, tightening down on it sending jolts of pleasure through me with every thrust. My cries echoed about the office, I was unashamed of my need for him, my desire for his claim. I needed him, I wanted him. I felt my own pleasure rising, overwhelming me until there was nothing but pleasure, and him. Again and again he thrust into me, jolting electrical sparks of white-hot desire through me, around me. Oh Christ, it felt incredible. A sharp pleasure-pain at my neck told me that he had sunk his teeth into my skin, my entire body shuddering and shaking beneath him. I was so close, his snarls and growls driving my further, closer. And finally I came, hard, in a way that no one but he ever managed to make me.
It consumed me in overwhelming desperation, I screamed out his name as I splintered apart around him. He kept thrusting, driving me higher, my climax crashing around me until I feared that I would be swept away with it. Finally it abated, but the pleasure was still there, his hair was pressed to his temples by sweat as he thrust into me, his eyes were nearly unrecognizable as human. "Turn over," the words came out as a snarled command and I obeyed, eager for the position change to my favorite. I turned, keeping him inside me, and positioned myself over my desk, hot, eager, and ready. I thrust my ass back against him, satisfying myself at his snarled groan.
There was a sharp smack, a burn of pleasure from across my ass cheek from where his hand had connected. Pleasure sizzled through me. Everything burned, everything made me ache more and more for him, and the chance of my boss or coworker coming in, only made it hotter. I cried out as he thrust into me, his arms solid on either side of me as he thrust hard, his hair teasing the nape of my neck. I thrust back into him, harder, eager to please him too. Another sharp smack, my body hummed, Christ, he felt so good. I felt my own climax coming again, a peak from the heavens, a pleasure in which none but he brought me to this quickly, or this hard. It was insane what he did to me, how desperate he made me.
"Cum for me baby," I wasn't sure if he understood me, he seemed to go feral when we had sex, the veneer of refinement ripped away to show me the beast that lurked beneath. "Cum for me, oh gods, you're so beautiful when you cum for me." And he was, he was pristine perfection, he was the god, and I was unworthy of him, and yet, he worshipped me, wanted me, needed me. I screamed out as I felt his thrusts growing erratic, his cock swelling and jerking, and I timed my climax with his. My scream resonated with his howl as we reached paradise together.
He had barely managed to get out before my coworker arrived, they could have even passed each other on the way out, at six foot four, he tended to stand out, even without his exquisite dress. It was my fault though, I had kept him, I hated to see him leave, even though I hated him coming too. I sighed, conflicted, and sat down at my desk. My hips ached deliciously, and it was only after he had left and I had gone to clean up did I notice he had taken my thong. I shivered as traces of pleasure rippled through me and I looked over and smiled, warmed by the sight of a single sterling rose on the desk, the purple a pale hue of silver glistening with water on the petals. It was accompanied by a note and I read it before I smiled lifting the rose, breathing in the sweet scent and kissing the petals, wishing it was him.
The rain didn't bother me so much as I worked my way home, my spirits light. Even the cold couldn't get me down, my warmth radiated from within. I shuddered though, remembering the feel of his hands on my skin, my desire peaking yet again, I needed him, I wanted him. It was crazy, and still, I wanted him. I came close to the door and hearing the general chaos within I smiled as I remembered the note.
"My Beloved,
I know that you don't celebrate your birthday much, but I value them because they remind me of when the gods blessed me with you. When they sculpted you of flesh and bone as easily as the masters make their own works of art. I know that this isn't much, but I know you loathe me spending money on you, so, this will do, until the project I am working on for you is completed.
Eternally yours."
Even though it wasn't signed, it still rang of him, in his thoughtful ways. I opened the door to the general chaos of home, the children playing chase in the small space, likely trying to burn off excess energy since it was miserable outside. My husband looked up at me. "Hey, glad you're home. How was work?" Perfect.
0 notes