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whumpacabra · 7 days

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Barfight

Choking, violence, attempted stabbing, homophobic language, ableist language, racial slurs, threats, knife mention, neonazi mention

[Directly follows Night Out]

Alister knew this skinhead. East’s first impression, wary and poisoned by a whisper he dismissed had been correct. (No one ever talked about what Alister had done to end up in prison. Somehow it now made sense why.) Ice in his veins had East frozen where he stood, but with his hearing implants he could clearly understand their conversation across the bar.

“Fuck off.”

“What? No ‘hi Andrew, long time no see’?”

“No. I’m not talking to you.”

“You are right now.”

“He told you to fuck off, prick.” Tomas’ grumble was soft, but it made Andrew prickle. East flinched in sympathy with Tomas - the skinhead’s glare was venomous.

“Don’t talk like that to customers, Tomas, it’s bad for business.” East saw him slide money across the bar. Tomas glared at the cash, frozen. Andrew’s condescending voice was laced with an unspoken threat. “Don’t tell me you forgot my usual, did you Tommy?”

There was a tense moment where Tomas and Alister shared a look, but the barkeep eventually relented, turning away. (He didn’t touch the money, leaving it in the counter.) Andrew got more comfortably embedded in Alister’s space, leaning back against the bar as he spoke.

“I don’t blame you - for selling the boys out. You did what you had to do, right?”

“You don’t know shit, Andy.” Alister took a deep swig of his liquor. “I don’t want anything to do with them anymore. I’m not coming back.”

“Really? C’mon, like I said - I don’t blame you. None of us do. Let’s get out of this shithole and go - ”

“I’m not fucking around Andy. I’m done.” Alister set his drink down harshly, glaring at Andrew. From this angle, East couldn’t see the newcomer’s face, but he could see the coil of tension building between his shoulders.

“You’re one of us - ”

“I was. I’m not anymore.” Alister’s voice dropped to a desperate whisper. “Just fuck off, please.”

“Hey - he said fuck off!”

East’s heart nearly lept out of his chest as Tierney, in his drunken confidence, shouted at Andrew from across the bar. His steps were surprisingly steady as he wove between tables, but he stopped a few paces away. Even he could tell Andrew was looking for a fight, disgust and hate in his eyes.

“You’re fucking pathetic, Al. Hanging out with gypsy homos - ” Andrew paused, looking down at the hand on his shoulder, surprised to see East beside him.

(He had used Tierney’s shout as a distraction to slip between the booths and make his way to the bar. It only took a few short steps to be close enough to grab him.)

“You’re in that gypsy homo’s seat, dickheaded cunt.” East’s voice rumbled low, cold and threatening. It was a role he knew well. He would lie to himself, that he didn’t feel the familiar rush from when he played the role of the Wolf. But unlike his victims, Andrew only looked up at him with disgust, swatting away the hand and stepping away from the bar. (Away from Alister.)

“The fuck did you just call me?”

“He called you a dickhead.” Tierney took East’s cue and sidled up to the other side of Alister’s seat. “And a cunt.”

“You sure know how to pick ‘em, Al…” Andrew scoffed, still posturing as he looked between the trio. East turned back to the bar, taking a swig from his beer. (He was going to need it, hands shaking with adrenaline.) “Fine. Fuck you too, then. Enjoy your new friends - ”

Things seemed to happen in slow motion, but all at once.

Andrew slapped East’s ass. Whether it was intended to be purely provocative or inappropriately teasing had no bearing on East’s reaction. It was a fluid movement, turning on the balls of his feet, taking a step to Andrew’s right. East’s other leg hooked behind Andrew’s, sweeping him off balance. The skinhead started to raise his arms in defense, but East was too strong and too fast. He caught both of Andrew’s wrists in one hand, and used his opposite forearm to press down on Andrew’s throat. Their momentum did the rest, the bar deathly silent save for Andrew’s gurgling gasps where East had him pinned down on a table.

East was surprised - mostly that he was so aware of what he was doing, and who he was doing it to. This wasn’t a panic reflex, thinking Smith was back from the dead. He wasn’t seeing ghosts or caught in a memory. East looked down into Andrew’s pale eyes and saw fear. He was here and now, putting this punk in his place.

“Fuckin’ hell dude…” Tierney’s breathy whisper broke the silence, eyes shifting uncomfortably between the pair and Tomas, watching wide eyed behind the bar. Andrew was starting to run out of air, struggles growing weaker but more erratic.

“East - East, let him go.” Alister had never sounded so small, so ashamed. “He’s not worth it.”

(East knew well how long it took to strangle someone to death. Andrew wasn’t even unconscious yet.)

“I don’t know, prison wasn’t so bad the first time.” East was in his comfort zone - putting on a show. Playing the monster. He looked back down at Andrew, easing the pressure on his throat enough that the man didn’t lose consciousness as he dropped his tone. “Follow in your hero’s footsteps and go find a hole to die in.”

He released Andrew, stepping back as the skinhead sank to the ground, gasping for air. East watched him, now knowing better than to turn his back.

“You’re fucked - you know that?” Andrew’s voice was reedy and thin with strain as he struggled to his feet, hands tentatively probing his bruised throat. “I’m - once the cops find out - you’re so fucked. Assault absolutely violates whatever bullshit probation you’re on.” He gagged and sputtered between his words, wheezing. “You fucking hear me?”

“I do. Now get out of here before I reconsider.”

“What? Apologizing to me, you fucking maniac?”

“Before I reconsider going back to prison for assault or for murder. Now get, the fuck, out.” East took half a step forward, satisfaction warm in his chest when Andrew flinched away. (This was when the Wolf was safest - posturing and threatening victims for the entertainment of others.) Andrew started to shuffle back, turning away. He had a hand in his pocket - getting brass knuckles or a knife, if East had to guess.

“I’m going - I’m going, you fucking psycho.”

East nodded, purposefully turning away. He was curious - was it a knife or knuckles? Two quick steps and something slashed the fabric at the top of his jacket. Knife it was.

East turned heel and caught Andrew’s knife hand, a squeeze at his wrist forcing the blade to drop into East’s waiting hand. A quick jab to his nose sent Andrew reeling back, East’s hold released to examine the knife while the wanker whined about his bruised and bloodied nose.

“You hold it wrong.” East demonstrated, holding the knife upside down in his hand as Andrew had held it. “This kind of stabbing isn’t effective - not with a moving target. You want it like this.” He flipped the knife around, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. “See? Smooth. Much more control in your slashes.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Andrew panted, exasperated disgust across his face. East narrowed his eyes at the bastard - he was scared of East, sure, but he was too proud to leave without the last word. East squared his shoulders, appraising Andrew the way he did a cut of beef at the deli.

“I’ve killed better men than you.” East took a step forward, Andrew took a step back. “I’ve killed worse men, too. But you - you might just be the most cowardly, pathetic, whiny little bitch I’ve ever had the chance to relieve this earth of.” Another step forward, another step back. “Go to the police - go to your skinhead brothers and tell them how you were beaten and bested by some Sinti son of a bitch who didn’t consider you worth the time it would take to break your fucking neck.”

Andrew had backed into another table, flinching away from it even as East stepped into his face. He knew that look on Andrew’s face well. The fear. The shame. The rabbit-like panic from being cornered and hurt and humiliated and helpless.

(It was an expression he had worn many times.)

“Get the fuck out.” East spat, leaning back enough for Andrew to scramble toward the door. Half frustrated with the memory of his own weakness and half sure the bastard needed some extra motivation, East threw the knife after Andrew. It landed solidly in the doorframe, of course - he wasn’t trying to kill the guy - but with the curses Andrew screamed, you would have thought he had been stabbed.

The door bell chimed, window panes rattling as the door slammed behind Andrew and he ran into the rainy streets. The bar was silent, save for the prattle of the television program and the rumble of thunder outside. East stalked to the door, taking the knife from the frame and inspecting the knick it left behind. Not too deep. He walked back to the bar and took another swig of beer.

“Sorry about the door, Tomas. I can pay - ”

“Don’t worry about it.” The barkeep said, a smile stretching across his face as he laughed. “Don’t you worry about paying me anything ever again.”

The bar seemed to release the breath it had collectively been holding, laughter and chatter erupting from the patrons. Tomas poured East another drink, while Tierney and Alister looked at him with wonder and gratitude respectively.

“How’d you fuckin’ do that? Huh? You gotta teach me - that take down was smooth as butter.” Tierney’s rambling praise settle light and warm across East’s back. He rolled his eyes at the half drunk requests for sparring lessons, giving Alister a glance.

“Thank you.” He mouthed, a shaky relief in his eyes as Tomas laid out shot glasses of hard liquor for the three. East smiled, toasting with the others. He could push his personal worries and guilt aside - it was hard to feel panic in his throat when it burned with the best vodka Tomas could find.

[Directly before Bared]

(Part of my Freelancers: Changing Tides series)

Taglist: @stargeode @sacredwrath @genuineformality

#whump #choking #violence #knife #threats #ableism #homophobia #racism #neonazi mention #freelancers #also yes Andrew is referring to tierney specifically. given the conflations between Irish Mincéirs and nomadic Romani in the UK.#‘beans is this a power fantasy bc of all the white supremacist Jackass you’ve had to deal w lately?’ maybe. idk.#East deserves a little power fantasy. as a treat for the both of us.#anyways. punch Nazis but don’t let them make themselves martyrs. they find power in ‘being proven right’ about being hated by the Bad Peopl #so make sure they’re aware of how deeply pathetic and laughable they are #also as an aside I’m pissed abt the ‘Nazis can’t be punk’ sentiment lately. you can’t no true Scotsman your way out of your due diligence #to keep tabs on your community and who you associate with. skinheads started as a punk counter-social movement that got co-opted by nazis s #badly that we call nazis skinheads to this day. if you let one nazi in the bar it becomes the nazi bar. don’t give an inch.#on a lighter note. well. getting the Hell presentation over w today wish me luck o7

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has-gilgamesh-doneanythingwrong · 1 year

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I saw requests are open was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing some NSFW head canon's for a soft dom Solomon x female master with dirty talk and foreplay. Also sorry if this is too many things but can you do NO penetrative sex please?

Hello anon, thanks for the request, that is perfectly okay! Sure, that's okay with me. So that's Solomon foreplay including dirty talk concept. I can do that. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for waiting for so long!! As for the Soft Dom part, that will focus on him giving a lot of praise and care to the master. I should warn you though, this may become full of angst, as well.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW Fanfic tagged as 'lemon fanfic'. Includes a lot of fluff and ANGST, soft dom(?) Solomon, FGO SPOILERS, dirty talk, fem! master character, outercourse and foreplay (no sex).

Solomon x Fem! Master NSFW (Foreplay, Soft Dom, Dirty Talk, A LOT OF ANGST!)

✰ Facing him at the apex of your journey; standing as two juxtaposing forces at the very precipice of the end, your meeting with Solomon is fraught with anticipation. With such a precious wreath of memories of his time fighting on behalf of the Chaldeas as Romani, to the lacerating pain that engulfed you with his final self-sacrifice.... to see him standing before you, right in the flesh- was like a dream.

✰ "I-is that really you...? Roma- Solomon?!" Rushing haphazardly through a mass of broken fragments floating lifelessly upon a realm that was unknown to either the world of man or gods- it stood an atelier that only you and he alone could access, cut off from the rest of the universe. Whether it was a dream, or possibly even a new reality was anybody's guess.

✰ As you gradually make your way towards him, crystallized tears frozen within the air; the solemn figure standing before you smiles wistfully as he turns to face you- his golden eyes burdened with a sense of suffering so deep and profound; carrying the truths of the world within their glistening depths.

✰ "...You've come a long way, to find me here; meeting me at the end of all realms of existence. If Romani was here, I'm sure he'd be glad." Within an instant, he materializes before you, his sun-kissed bronze hands lightly tracing themselves across your face, his expression taking on an unreadable hue. "Even if it was only for a short period of time, I was able to live as a human by your side. Thank you, Master of Chaldea."

✰ Bursting into tears at his words, you wrap your arms around him as your faces draw but a hair's breadth away from one another, breath misting upon another's faces as he gently wipes away your tears, kneeling down to support your fallen form. Though he reassures you that there's no need to cry, you can't help but wail, inconsolable gasps rippling through your body, as you press your forehead to his, desperate to rekindle any form of connection, to feel any sign of warmth.

✰ Romani, Solomon. You him, Mash and Da Vinci. The benevolent Doctor of Chaldea who had been a loveable goof, a massive Magi Mari simp and an invaluable ally to all... no, he was even more than just that to you. He was the one you held dear to your heart, committing every memory, every moment of his existence to mind. But now for you both to meet like this...it was certain that this was likely to be the last time you'd be able to hold onto him for a while.

✰ It seems as if Solomon is acutely aware of this as well. Despite seeming distant- as if the version of him you grew to love and adore in Chaldea is no more- his grip has yet to be loosened from your figure, his flowing locks of flaxen hair tickling your face. As his fingers absentmindedly rub circles into your cheeks, almost on instinct; his body recalling the movements of a part of him that may now possibly cease to exist.

✰ Taken aback by his familiar touch, and the nostalgia of having your chests pressed against one another; hearts beating in unison, you open your mouth to speak, to beg for him to return in some way, only for him to sadly shake his head.

✰ "My return isn't currently prophecies within the stars as of yet. However," He pauses, as his gleaming, ring-laden hands softly trace themselves over your lips, a tender hue entering his eyes, "If you are to oblige, then let me touch you. Let me feel you one last time, and embrace you like I did as when I was a human. Roman- no, I... I wish to commit how it felt to be with you to my mind, for one last final time." Although his words are resolute, his fingers tremble slightly, as his nonchalant mask finally begins to crumble.

✰ Lips locking in what feels like forever, the kiss is tender yet also bittersweet; the two of you savoring every moment, hungrily gasping for more as your form blossoms beneath him, kisses trailing down your neck, your eyes misting with a sense of longing. Oh how long it had been since the last time you had kissed! How deeply you craved for more!

✰ "You're beautiful. Sprawled before me with such need in your eyes... he surely must've felt blessed to have been by your side." Despite the indomitable nature of his words, his touch becomes even gentler; sinking down to fully embrace you as his robes flutter against the ground, spread out like a canopy of ancient paintings.

✰ Holding onto your waist for dear life, the two of you become entangled within a passionate cuddle; your limbs entwined between one another's as he begins to grind against you. As you whimper with bliss at how delectable it feels- and at how unfair it was to be delighting in a warmth that would soon be ripped from you, eventually to become naught but a fleeting memory; tears prickle at your eyes as you pull him back in to a passionate smooch, breaths quickening from the action.

✰ Mewling his name repeatedly- like a solemn prayer to the heavens- your body completely yields to his addictive touch, that tickles and rubs against your most vulnerable zones. You cared for him, yearned for him- so, so much. Desperately avoiding even spending a fraction of a second apart, your entire body clings onto his form as you warble words that bleed with love.

✰ "That's right. Hold on even tighter, so tightly that it becomes impossible to let go. Let me feel you in your entirety." He's also been entirely consumed by the moment, losing beneath tidal waves of passion, as well as ones of heart-wrenching melancholy.

✰ Continuing to rub his body against yours in a soothing circular motion, Solomon parts from by sucking onto your bottom lips as his gaze locks into yours- it's so deep and profound that it leaves you trapped, unable to look away.

✰ By this time, you're a sweaty mess- Chaldea uniform all crumpled, as your body fills with electrical tremors of desire, tingling with pleasure. To Solomon, such a sight is alluring- though a twinge of something so forlorn (that even he can't quite grasp it) lacerates his heart at seeing you so laid so emotionally bare before him.

✰ "...Despite overcoming numerous hurdles, you are still so precious, so fragile a human. Romani- I- no, I'm sorry that I was unable to see things through with you until the very end. I... I love... you." Sealing his hesitant vow with lips that softly regaled your forehead, your eyelids; every facet of your face, loose tears make their way down his face, his once steely golden eyes now a pool of melting amber.

What a sorrowful finale this was turning out to be.

#solomon fgo #fate series #romani archaman #gilgablog #gilgawriting #character x reader #fgo #fate grand order #fgo fanfic #fgo headcanons #well time for some feels. am i right or am i right.#fgo spoilers #ok this is not soft dom at all. this is the saddest lemon fic ive ever written. thanks im going to cry now

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