#still probably not posting the remaining six though | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

heliads · 9 months

Note

Can I pretty please request Carlos Sainz x reader where she’s rly shy and gets worried that maybe he wants someone more outgoing but he tells her he loves her any way she is? Your writing is amazing 🫶🏻

anon i love you wholeheartedly please let me speak on carlos

masterlist

You are not who you are supposed to be. There are qualifications for being the girlfriend of a Formula One driver, you’re sure of it, probably even a style guide somewhere if you only bothered to look it up. Perfect hair. Clean makeup. Pretty, but doesn’t try too hard. Willing to give up their whole life to follow one man on mad jaunts across the planet. Wherever your guidebook is, though, you must have lost it long ago, because you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing, and worst of all, it’s starting to show.

You never should have gotten into this position in the first place. That isn’t to say that you hate it, far from it; dating Carlos Sainz is the best thing that ever happened to you, making you the happiest wrong person at the right time to ever exist. In every other universe, he’s probably seeing models or actresses, but here, he has you, and you’re willing to fight off every multiversal version of you just to keep everything as it is right now.

Your butterfly effect was quite stunning, actually. You ended up getting tickets to a Grand Prix through last minute cancellations. They were great, came with paddock passes and all that, and while you were lingering through Ferrari hospitality, Carlos happened to drop by to visit a friend and he noticed you while you were in line to get some water. He’s got the confidence of, well, a world class athlete, an adrenaline junkie, a professional race car driver, and so he introduced himself.

Sometimes, it’s just as easy as that. A father’s cousin’s roommate buys two tickets to a Grand Prix, then a stranger’s roommate’s brother gets sick, and suddenly you’re touching down off a plane overseas and walking through the door of paddock hospitality. You wear red, and you are seen. Just like that.

It took one more weekend before either of you knew that you wanted what you had to last for good. He texted you, followed you on Instagram and blew his cover of seeming cool by accidentally liking a post of yours from six years ago. And, when he saw you again, he knew that he wanted the spark between you to be something more, something like a bonfire.

Coincidence may have supported you thus far, but you don’t trust it not to abandon you. At the end of the day, you are you, you are Y/N L/N, and you are so far removed from Carlos’ world that it stuns you to think that you were even in his orbit so long as to meet him. If there are powers that be somewhere in the universe, they’re either playing a cruel joke or messing around to give you a helping hand.

Hopefully, it’ll be the latter, but truly who knows at this point. As if it wasn’t surreal enough to introduce Carlos to your friends and family as Carlos Sainz, Formula One driver. As if it doesn’t blow your minds that people have started making Instagram accounts just dedicated to posting photos of you and your boyfriend whenever you’re seen out together.

The problem lies in the insanity of it all. You are not from this sort of life, you weren’t born into a silver spoon dynasty and you barely know how to interact with any of them now. You get along with the other WAGs as best you can; Heidi’s lovely, sure, and you were friendly with Charlotte until she disappeared, but sometimes it feels like it’s just you and your boyfriend against the world. Of any ally to pick, Carlos would be your top choice each and every time, but still. The fact remains that he will go out and race and leave you to your own devices, and you lack the extroverted impulses to social climb with everyone else.

This, then, is the main concern. You can pick out whatever designer clothes you want, goodness knows Carlos has offered to buy you anything already, and you can get your nails and hair done before each and every race, but that doesn’t change the fact that you, at your core, are never going to enjoy the paparazzi circus whenever you have to brave it.

It’s just not your scene, that’s all. You’re on the quieter side, happy to spend time with a few key friends but increasingly nervous in large crowds. Formula One is all large crowds, as you’ve discovered; thousands of fans, hundreds of engineers and team members, plus drivers and girlfriends and best friends. So many eyes, all on you. So many voices all shouting over each other.

You love Carlos, though, and you love him wholeheartedly, so you gather up your courage and go to race weekends when you can. Every time Carlos sees you in the crowd, he smiles so widely his friends tease him for weeks, and he runs to you first after every podium and strong finish. You want to be there for your boyfriend, truly you do, you just wonder if all of this should come easier to you than it does.

Also, you wonder if Carlos wishes the same thing. He has been nothing but perfect to you, so the spirals of guilt currently tangling their way through your insides are purely of your own creation, but what if he truly does think like that? Carlos must see the other WAGs, how they shine and sparkle with attention instead of feeling the urge to run. Wouldn’t he want that? Wouldn’t he get frustrated that you can’t be like the rest?

Thousands of girls in the world, and he picks you. You don’t know if it’s sweet or genuinely frightening. He wanted you out of everyone, yes, but he could replace you in a snap, swapping you out like some useless part on his car. There is nothing about you that cannot be replicated in any other girl. Even Charles did it, in a way, got himself a new girlfriend that’s a dead ringer for Charlotte. Carlos has no reason to keep you except for something he knows and you don’t.

The guessing will drive you mad, maybe, but you’ll lose your sanity long before that just trying to keep up with everything in his fast-paced life. You’ve been to prior F1 races, obviously, it’s how you met Carlos in the first place and it’s also how you kept him, but this upcoming weekend is different, this is Barcelona. Carlos is the center of attention at his home race, and every step he takes, a new storm of people is flooding in to ask him for autographs, selfies, anything to remind them that he’s real and right before their eyes.

Carlos doesn’t ask for a whole lot, and he certainly didn’t force you to come to this race, but you saw the hope in his dark eyes when he brought it up oh-so-casually at a dinner last week. You had assured him that you would go there to cheer him on along with the rest of his home crowd, and Carlos had been delighted for the rest of the evening.

You are happy to go, truly, but it’s taking everything in you to keep your smile up in front of the reporters and crowds and fans, and it’s just the first day. All you’re handling right now is qualifying, not even the actual race. In the back of your mind, a voice whispers that it’s only going to get worse from here on out, but when Carlos looks back at you as you wind through the paddock, you just smile and tell him you’re glad to be there with him. You’re here for him, after all, and Carlos is busy enough with race stuff that he won’t want to hear your complaints.

That’s what you keep repeating to yourself throughout the entirety of that day. Carlos qualifies well and is properly pleased about it, as he should be. The possibility of a podium or perhaps even a win for his home race has been one of his top goals for the season, and he’s as close as he can get to it right now. He earnestly talks about it the whole drive back to your hotel, but once you’re back in the safety and peace of the room, the conversation abruptly switches back to you.

Carlos sheds his jacket at the door, watches you flop down onto the bed with a smile on his face, then asks you pointedly, “And how are you doing, amor?”

You smile back at him, the expression trained to perfection after being tested so many times today. “Great! Glad that everything’s going so well for you. I’ll be cheering for P1 tomorrow.”

In truth, you’re tired more than anything. People kept coming up to you all day, assuming that taking a selfie with Carlos’ girlfriend was at least half as good as getting to see him. They gave you all manner of gifts and things to give to him, extracting promises that you’d tell him dozens of different people wished him well. You knew you’d get a lot more attention when you started dating Carlos, but the lack of personal space and privacy at the races is truly unlike anything you’d experienced before.

Carlos has been dating you long enough to pick up on this, apparently, because he furrows his brow and sits down on the edge of the bed next to you. “I’ll be glad to see you tomorrow, but do you want to tell me what is really on your mind? Don’t try to tell me otherwise. I know you, no?”

You sigh, covering your face with one of your arms. Carlos deflects from this attempt to hide by gently pulling your arm away, pressing a kiss to your forehead to make up for it. “Talk to me, cariño.”

You look sorrowfully at him, but when it becomes clear that Carlos won’t let you go until you confess, you give in. “It’s just a lot, I guess. The people and the cameras and everything.”

Carlos frowns. “I can get them to go away, you know that. Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

You look away. “I just thought you wouldn’t want to hear it. All of the other girlfriends have no problem with it, just me. I thought you’d want me to be more outgoing, so I tried, I really did, it’s just hard for me, I don’t know why.”

When you dare to risk a glance up at Carlos, you’re surprised to notice that he looks genuinely hurt. “Sweetheart, you didn’t think that I would actually be unhappy about that? I just want you to be happy. Don’t think about me.”

You let out a low breath. “I know, it’s just– I want to be like the rest, really. I don’t want this to be a reason–”

You cut yourself off, distracted by Carlos’ hands still wrapped around yours. Carlos picks up on the obviously dropped subject, though, and looks at you with fresh concern. “You don’t want it to be a reason for what?”

“That you would break up with me,” you whisper.

That’s it, then. That’s the truth. If you can’t live with Carlos’ lifestyle, why wouldn’t he leave you for someone who could? It makes perfect sense to you, but judging by Carlos’ expression, that logic couldn’t be further from his mind.

“No, Y/N,” he says, “That’s not right at all. I don’t want to break up with you, like, ever. Not because of this. I don’t want someone else, I want you. I love you, querida. I love the girl who showed up out of nowhere and made me forget about every other woman in the world. I love the girl who shows up to my home race even though it stresses her out because she wants to be there for me. I love you, Y/N. No one else. Just you.”

And, well, in the face of such passionate declarations, who could stand firm in their own self-pity? Certainly not you. You smile and let him kiss you again and again until you can’t see straight, and after that it is better, it is all better. Hearing it straight from Carlos is better than trying to guess at it. It lets your worries finally sink off into nothingness. It’s just you and him, just what he wants. Just what you want.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy

#carlos sainz #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz oneshot #f1 #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 oneshot #formula one #formula one imagines #formula one x reader #formula one oneshot #f1 carlos #f1 carlos imagines #f1 carlos x reader #f1 carlos oneshot

1K notes · View notes

starry-bi-sky · 4 months

Text

I am procrastinating homework and finals studying so I'm making another DPxDC au -- or more accurately, I am making an au of an au. or combining two aus to make a third one, because I am Procastinating And thinking about it.

(the part two for my Danny is Jason Todd au is like,,, half-made and I will get around to finishing it, promiiissse)

So the two aus I had in mind were combining, of course, the two clone aus - the Danny Clone and the Damian Clone au. For folks who haven't seen either posts (or saw one but not the other) here are summaries of both:

Damian Clone Au: The LoA make a clone of Damian Wayne specifically to either kill Damian Wayne and have the clone take his place as the heir to the LoA, or to bring him back. At 6 years old though and through magical teleportation mishaps, Baby Damian ends up in the warehouse district of Amity Park and picked up (and later adopted) by Danny Fenton. They develop a brotherly dynamic with one another.

Danny Clone Au: Danny is straight up a clone of Bruce Wayne, doesn't find out until a year after he has his accident. And, for the fun of it, is also mostly-powerless (he retains his ghost sense and a semblance of a ghost core and signature, but no ghost form). His reasoning for becoming Phantom is because he has walked into the lab watching his parents dissecting ghosts post-portal working more times than he can count. And due to this, changes his beliefs from "ghosts are evil" to "ghosts are sentient and sapient beings who don't deserve this treatment". (masterpost pinned on my blog, its currently incomplete) He is also a little GNC, as a treat. Long-haired Danny ftw. Ellie is a halfa because of the ectoplasm that Vlad used, and also the same age as Danny. They call each other twins and she is viciously protective of him. He uses a baseball bat and brass knuckles that I call 'jawbreakers' to fight ghosts.

Now admittedly, not much probably changes with the combination of these aus other than the potential parallels between Damian and Danny, and Bruce and Damian - and of course, I am always a sucker for parallels. Plus Damian's running off would take Danny finding him much longer, since he can no longer fly, but all the more meaningful because he still took so much time to find him.

(It probably also makes their first meeting different as well - Danny wears a ROTTMNT Casey Jones Jr. esq. mask when he goes out, but Damian would recognize lazarus green anywhere. He'd probably try harder to kill him though once he sees his face, since he knows that its not his father but an imposter.)

It also includes what I consider a hilarious conversation: "Since I'm a clone of Bruce Wayne, does this make me your dad or your brother?" "Don't be an idiot, laeazir." "You didn't answer my question."

The biggest change that comes from this is, of course, the fact that Danny now no longer has a leg to stand on with the "you're a human, I am a ghost" excuse in order to prevent Damian to help him with ghost-fighting, because now Danny is also a squishy, fleshy and fragile human just like Damian. And a human who, arguably, has less combat training than Damian and no powers to make up for it.

Now, Danny in both aus are about 16-17-ish in age, so they've had time to adapt to their new vigilante-hero lifestyle, but its still not the same as Damian's training as an assassin. Damian, unlike in the original clone au, remains insistent on his want to help Danny.

And,,, eventually wears him down after weeks or months of sneaking out after him, helping in fights, interfering, arguing, etc. Danny eventually agrees, exhausted, but he makes Damian promise, promise, that he will be careful and to focus on dodging and distraction. At least until Danny can figure out a safer alternative. He wants him as far removed from the fight as he can, he's a child for ancient's sake, after all.

Which is another issue too - if we follow Damian Clone timeline, then Damian is six years old when this happens. I'll be point blank, I do not see Danny ever actually agreeing to let a literal 6 year old go with him. SO, solution, I bump Damian's age to 7 when he arrives in the Fenton Family, and make him freshly eight years old when he finally gets Danny to agree.

It still SUCKS. He is still very much an itty bitty child, but as someone who has seen the difference between a six year old and an eight year old due to working at a daycare, an eight year old is still... slightly feasible. And an 8 year old assassin even more so (even if he hasn't trained properly in nearly a year or so)

So Danny, reluctantly, agrees to let Damian come with him on patrols.

He ghost-proofs Damian's sword (as he has since learned to do with his bat and jawbreakers), makes him a grappling hook and a Fenton thermos, and reluctantly lets Damian come with in his old LoA uniform that he appeared in (with some tailoring and ghost-proofing, because he has since begun to grow out of the uniform).

(and Danny himself also finally starts looking into alternatives to improve his own "suit" - which is all but a hoodie and reinforced jeans and a hockey mask. He needs to set an example to his little brother, goddammit.)

Then, as they're planning for Damian's eventual (dreaded on Danny's part) debut, they sit in their shared room and brainstorm for what to call Damian. "Ellie already uses the name Spirit." Danny says, sitting criss-cross at his desk with the eraser nub of a pencil chewed between his teeth.

(Behind him he has an investigative corkboard set up -- his accident left him with the ability to see ghosts not capable of being seen on the visible plane. 'Stereotypical' ghosts. Between school work, his social life, and ghost fighting, some of his downtime is spent figuring out ways to help them move on. His most recent is a cold case.)

(Bc with Danny, I loove to have him have some sort of trait that ties him in with his original counterpart. Nature vs Nurture and all that. Investigative work can be part of that.)

"What about Wraith?" Damian suggests from the floor, leaning against the bed frame while he goes over one of his english books. They've been practicing his reading and writing.

Danny furrows his brows. "A ghost seen typically shortly after or before someone's death?"

Damian nods. "Yes, it's of a similar cadence to 'Batman and Robin'."

"What's with you and your thing with Batman and Robin?" Danny asks with a playful half-smile, Damian shrugs and looks at his books. Danny sticks the eraser back between his incisors. "Phantom and Wraith... that works, though."

The first night out together, Danny fusses over Damian, making sure every bit of uniform was secured and in place -- something Damian took mild offense over. His outfit was far more reinforced than the juvenile get-up that his older brother wore.

But he let him fuss anyways. It made him loved.

"Now remember, Wraith--"

Damian interrupts him: "Yes, I know, Dany. Avoid and distract. Stay situationally aware. I fear that is something I should be telling you, however. Mother would have your head if she ever saw what your training was like."

(It was, not for the first time, that Damian wondered how his,,, "mother",,, would react if she ever met Danyal. Not good, he knows.)

Danny's shoulders sag, and he sighs. "I believe that, what with that super-secret spy--"

"Assassin."

Danny sends him a half-hearted chagrined look, "Assassin," he corrects, "organization that made you. I'm sure I'd give your mother an aneurysm." When he's finally okay with whatever make-believe issues he found with his suit, Danny reaches for the nearby side table and carefully slips on a black domino mask over Damian's eyes. It was thin, flexible, and made with some kind of material that Danny reassured was environmentally safe.

("Some kind of matieral that Wayne Industries invented awhile ago, Sam bought it for me." Danny told him when he first showed it to him.)

It was also cold. But the chill was made up for, slightly, with Danny's warmer hands smoothing it out over his skin, and ridding of any ridges that could form. Damian isn't sure entirely what Danyal did to keep it stuck onto his face, but when he touches it with his fingers he feels a very faint seam at the edge, and it doesn't budge against his hands. It felt like a second skin.

"There we go." Danny smiles, pulling his hands back. He still looks nervous. "It's not the same as my hockey mask," which sat atop his head, ready to be pulled down, "but I think a domino mask will work better for you considering your background."

He was right, a hockey mask would only hurt Damian's peripheral vision. This mask was thin enough that it didn't.

"Ready to go, Wraith?"

"After you, Phantom."

+++

Damian has much issue with Danny's suit. He can think of a million ways to make it better. It is one of the things he and Samantha Manson can get along with, and the few times they have spent time together they have brainstormed suit ideas. He knows that since Danny took him on as Wraith, he has started to look into better suit alternatives.

However. They are both aware of the same thing:

Danny is not Batman, nor Superman, nor Wonder Woman, nor Aquaman, or the Flash, or Green Arrow, or Nightwing, or any single hero on the public roster. He is also not rich like Lex Luthor or Vlad Masters or Bruce Wayne himself.

He has no money and no contacts, and thus, no way of properly improving his suit to be something even half as safe as the other supers.

And he refuses to let Samantha Manson help him find a way to fix that - even with all that money, Samantha Manson is on an allowance from her parents, and also, despite her other range of abilities, not capable of getting those materials without putting herself on a list of some sort. They are at a standstill.

Damian knows this, because he has asked.

Until one day when Danny is talking about a case he is working on and telling Damian about old adventures he had in the Ghost Zone, does he see his brother get hit with a lightbulb.

He slaps a hand against his forehead and straightens up from his swivel seat. He huffs a laugh, "Of course! Why didn't I think of it sooner?" And he turns on his heel and hurries to his bookshelf, pulling down a notebook and flipping open to an empty page.

Damian frowns, "Laeazir?"

"I know you don't like my suit, Damian," Danny says, striding over to his desk and snatching a pencil out of a cup. He begins jotting something down on the notebook. "And there's nothing I can really do about it because, well, I'm poor in comparison to my facesake, and I don't have the resources to get my hands on someone who would make me a new suit."

"Yes, we have talked about this..." Damian nods slowly, still frowning, and trying to follow his brother's line of reasoning.

Danny shoots him a megawatt, half-tilt smile, his hair tied up into a half-bun. "But! I was thinking about it from the wrong angle. I don't have the living resources to help me get a suit, but..." he trails off, staring at Damian intently.

It dinged in Damian's brain to where he was going, "But you have the undead resources instead." He says, his eyes widening slowly. Of course, of course! Danyal was ridiculously charismatic by accident, and Damian has seen plenty of times where his heart-of-gold had one or two non-hostile ghosts be incredibly grateful to him.

His brother makes a loud, 'ding-ding-ding!' sound, pointing his pencil at Damian as his smile stretches further across his face. In a few quick strides, he was sat down next to Damian and showing him his notebook. "Correct! When I first started out as Phantom a few years ago, I managed to help a ghost who called herself Taylor, and apparently she was a seamstress both in and out of life."

Damian watches as Danny writes the name at the top of the paper, and creates bullet-points down the page. "She said that in return for saving her, I should come find her in the Ghost Zone if I ever need clothes made for me. It's a one-time thing, but I was thinking that she could perhaps help make me a new suit."

Danny turns a bit pink at the ears, and rubs his neck, "I never thought much of it because I didn't think I'd ever go into the Ghost Zone, or ever need ghost clothes, so I forgot about it up until now."

A scoff forces itself out of Damian's mouth, but he is smiling. "Danyal, you are the smartest idiot I have ever met."

For the next hour, both he and Danny make a bullet point list of what both of their suits would need. Reinforcement in certain areas, gauntlets with reinforced knuckles to replace Danyal's jawbreakers. A different weapon than a bat.... a utility belt, reinforced boots. Anything they could think of.

It was Damian's idea to add a cloak to both of their suits, asymmetrical and torn at the edges for a more 'ghostly' look. They have a theme, after all. It's quite fun.

Then Danyal calls up Sam for help in drafting up design ideas. And while Danyal steps mostly to the side when it comes to the design itself, Damian and Sam fill pages with designs until coming up with one they both agreed on and like.

"What about a lightning bolt on the chest?" "Why are we using my traumatic accident as a symbol of my identity?" "Ghosts do it all the time, Danny. Ember sings about her death." "I'm not dead?" "No that won't work, Manson. Shazam already has a giant lighting bolt emblem." "Okay, but I still want to use it somewhere." "How about this?" "...That could work. Okay, now onto your emblem--"

Last was the hard part: getting into the Ghost Zone without the Fenton parents noticing the disappearance of their precious Fenton Specter Speeder. They employed Jazz's help with that. She would get the Fentons out of the house long enough for him and Danny to get into the ghost zone, hopefully find the seamstress, and cash in that favor.

They went through with their plan that following weekend. Danny tossed Damian a small jumpsuit as they both climbed into the specter speeder, but did not grab his own. He had a small duffle bag on him that he threw under the seat.

"What is this?" Damian asks, nose scrunching up at the gaudy picture of Jack Fenton's face square at the center of the chest. He held it far away from it, as if it had a disease.

"Your hazmat suit." Danny replies, settling himself into the driver's seat as the door hissed shut and he began turning it on. He had some sort of gas mask on in his lap, too small to fit Danny's head, but certainly the right size to fit Damian's. "Normally you wouldn't need it since you'd stay in the speeder, but we're both getting out once we find Taylor. It's to protect you from the ectoplasm."

A scowl forces itself across Damian's face, "You don't have one." He points out, finding seat in the passenger chair next to Danny. His arms cross over his chest, and he was not pouting.

Danny looks at him amusedly, "I have enough ectoplasm in my body that I don't need one, you however, do not." He retorts, poking a finger into Damian's ribcage pointedly. "If you don't put it on now, you'll put it on when we find Taylor."

Damian's scowl deepens, feeling petulant as he sunk into his chair. Danny turns back to the console and flips a few more switches. "I will not, it looks ridiculous." He turns it around to show Danny the Jack Fenton Face.

The Specter Speeder hums to life, and there's a moment of turbulence as it lifts off the ground. While it does, Danny turns back to him blankly, stares at the emblem, and then reaches forward and yanks it off with a scriiiiich of the emblem. He crumples it up with one hand, and throws it into a small bin at his feet.

"There, fixed." He smiles. Then turns back to the controls, taking the yoke with both hands. "And I'm calling Dad Rights; you will put it on when we find Taylor or you'll stay in the speeder."

Damian sputters, sitting up incredulously. "You are not my father." He argues.

"Teeechnically, I am." Danny says, "I'm a clone of your father, and since I am fully his clone, that makes you my son by a technicality." He says cheerfully, pushing the specter speeder forward and into the swirling green portal.

Before Damian can retort, they're passing through the portal. This was his first time going into the Ghost Zone, and for a few seconds there was nothing but bright, swirling green filling his vision. His body felt like it was being twisted and pulled, his up and down reversing and returning. It was painless, but dizzying.

It only lasts for a few seconds, but it feels like a minute, and when they exit out the other side, Damian is holding his head while his vision spots and swims. Internally, he felt like those cartoon characters when their eyeballs rolled around in their head.

The dizziness fades away slowly, and as Damian regains his sight, he notices Danny's hand splayed over his sternum, gently keeping him pressed against his seat. It fell away when Danny saw that he was alright.

"Put your seatbelt on," Danny orders, nodding to his chair. Damian listens absently, before remembering their conversation before they went through the portal.

"That is not how it works." He scowls, and, annoyingly, only gets a challenged eyebrow raise from Danny. He could see the words written on his face without Danyal ever having to say it.

Because, dangit, he was technically right. Damian refuses to say this aloud. He screws his jaw shut, and crosses his arms back across his chest.

Danny chuckles under his breath, and turns his eyes back to the ghost zone. "My point still stands, either you wear the suit, or you don't leave the speeder."

"Fine."

+++

They eventually find where the seamstress is. Through quite a lot of Danny stopping to ask questions with any friendly ghost he came across, they eventually locate an island with a strange, urban city bustling with life on it. Massive, rocky stalagmites grew from the ground, and buildings were built on top of it or around it, with strange, warping architecture.

It was oddly beautiful.

Danny parked the speeder on the side of the street with a two hour parking sign on a nearby post. As he turned off the engine, he flipped a switch on the console that darkened the windows. He unbuckles his seat, and stood up, stretching out his back with a deep groan.

"Alright, put your suit on. The windows are tinted, so nobody should be able to see into the speeder." He orders, pulling out the duffle he brought in earlier and unzipping it. He pulls out his hockey mask and the hoodie he wore out for patrol, and the notebook they'd been using to jot down ideas for their suit.

Danny even had the hindsight to write in their respective heights, and with Tucker's help, some of their measurements. While he did that, Damian sourly pulled on his hazmat suit, irritated by the need to wear it.

Unfortunately, he also had to wear the boots and gloves for 'extra precaution'. Damian nearly bites out a grumpy 'you're as paranoid as father', but holds his tongue. He wasn't going to tell Danyal that secret.

Once he was done and Danny has his hockey mask and hoodie on, Danny grabs the gas mask and helps fit it over Damian's face. It was a sleek, simple design, shaped similarly to a regular face mask, with little filters on both sides of the mouth and a clear, protective covering around the eyes and forehead. Danyal improved it from the original his parents made.

He was smarter than he gave himself credit for.

Danny checks, then double checks that it the mask is tight, then smiles. Patting Damian's shoulders before standing up fully. "Taylor's shop should be somewhere nearby." He says, grabbing the notebook and tucking it under his arm.

Damian nods, and follows him out the door and onto the busy streets.

Finding Taylor becomes remarkably quick now that they were inside her city - something that Damian silently wondered was based loosely off NYC. Danny kept a firm arm around Damian's shoulders the entire time they walked down the street, keeping the both of them on the inside sidewalk.

Barely anyone passed them a second glance, spare the few odd looks shot at Damian. Danny whispers to him the first time it happens that it's because he has no ghost core, those more attune to their signatures might've been picking up on it.

They didn't notice Danny, because he had one, albeit a weak one.

Taylor's shop has a big sign on it in logographic writing that Damian has no idea how to read. The text shifts slowly, a jambled squiggle of lines, dots, and connected curves that look like a mix of messy cursive, gibberish, and logographic alphabets. He only knows its Taylor's shop because Danny pulls them towards it, stating that it was the place.

"You can read that?" He asks, incredulous as they draw closer to the door. Danny moves his arm off his shoulder, and wraps his fingers around Damian's instead.

"Yep," He replies, then scrunches his nose up, "sort of. It's - uh--" he stumbles over a word that Damian's ears cannot comprehend, but fills his head with slight static regardless. Danny winces. "It's the written form of ghostspeak, but since I'm not a ghost, I can only read some of it. Like uh, dyslexia."

"...I see." Damian says after a moment of silence, trying to replay the word in his head. His mind can't grasp the sound.

When they enter, the door doesn't ding with the sound of a bell, but rather it makes a low scream. Nobody bats an eye to the sound, keeping to their slow search through the racks of clothes.

At the counter was a woman talking quietly to another woman, one of whom Danny recognizes, as he walks over to her.

He doesn't need to say anything, because the woman behind the counter sees him coming, and her face positively lights up with delight. "Phantom!" She cries, and gestures to come over. "I was wondering when in the high ancients you were going to come see me!"

Danny's face is obscured by his mask, but Damian knows he's smiling sheepishly with the way he tilts his head and the way he tenses his shoulders. "My bad, Miss Taylor," he says, reaching the counter and standing beside the woman she was talking to, "It kinda... slipped my mind."

Taylor waves her hand dismissively, "Well you are here now!" She replies, grinning wide. Then her eyes pop open - literally - and she puts a hand over her chest. "Oh, how rude of me!" She turns and gestures between Phantom and the lady next to him, "Miss Mabam, this is Phantom. I told you about him a couple of years ago. He saved me from humans. Phantom, this is Gigi Mabam, she funds my shop. In return I make clothes for her and her staff."

The 'Gigi' woman turns just as Danny does, and smiles wide at him. Damian narrows his eyes at her, shuffling behind Danny legs as he looked her up and down. She had silvery-white hair and purple skin, and wore a darker purple business suit, a red gem cravat at her collar, and teal cat-eye glasses.

There was a lot of purple.

"So this is the ghost-touched you were telling me about, dear!" The woman, Mabam, said. Her voice was rich and low but she spoke in a whimsical cadence. It made Damian's skin crawl, and his narrowed eyes turned into a glare. "I must thank you for saving my seamstress, it would've been quite a fizzy-wink if she had been lost to those ghosty hunters."

What were those nonsense words? Damian hated it.

"Miss Mabam here runs a five-star hotel nearby," Taylor explains, her body turned to Danny, "she also is in charge of the city's Battle Nexus."

Danny is silent for a moment, and his free hand lifts and places itself on the back of Damian's head, keeping him close. "Battle Nexus...?"

Mabam claps cheerfully, laughing low, "Oh yes! Ghosts from all around the zone come to attend and watch as their fellow haunties are ripped from limbity-limb in a blood-curdling battle!"

Danny is still as stone. "I see." He says, careful. Damian wraps his fingers around his pant leg. "Well, I hate to interrupt your conversation, but I was hoping to cash in that favor, Miss Taylor?"

"Of course! What do you need?"

Danny looks down at Damian, and he looks up at him, locking eyes with the ominous green glowing from the eyeslits of his mask. He nods, and Danny looks back up. "Do you know how to make suits? Of the protective kind?"

+++

The seamstress it turns out, is capable of such a thing. And she ushers the both of them into one of the backrooms, sending off Mabam with a farewell and a promise to continue their conversation soon.

She flips through their design book, and immediately gets to work making their suits. In the end, with the help of her powers, she gets both done over the span of four hours. It's longer than both Danny and Damian want, but neither rush her.

Damian just hopes that Jasmine can keep the Fenton parents distracted for that long. She will have to.

The suits are better in real life than on paper, and Damian preens from the side in his own custom suit as Danny examines his own in front of the three mirrors. They were both dressed in all black, but whatever fabric Taylor used was of a blackest-black, turning Danyal - and Damian's - bodies into a black hole to look at. Both of them were fitted for agility, with reinforced padding around their shoulders and chests, as well as around the joints of their legs. Their boots were reinforced as well.

("It was hard to make your boots shock absorbent," Taylor explains, "since we all fly, but I applied similar stuff to what I did with your shoulders and chestplate.")

On the side of Danyal's legs were raised, black, lichtenberg-like figures that were contained to the seams and disappeared under his boots. There were similar designs going up his sleeves, with spiked gauntlets wrapped around his lower arm and hands. The knuckles were reinforced, just like he wanted.

Damian's favorite parts were their capes, however. Black like the rest of the outfit, but "wrapped" around their shoulders like an apocalyptic shawl with a back that went down to their knees, and at the hems the capes were torn and ripped like a wraith. Danyal's mask had gone through very little change. It was made of a stronger material, and Taylor had gone and made it more skull-like in its shape, with three large grills at the front, and the sides curving inward below the 'cheekbones' of the skull to better fit his face. It was still shock white, the only white part of Danyal's entire costume.

Damian's suit was almost identical. However, rather than having the seams of his suit resemble lichtenberg figures, the seams of his sleeves and upper torso were that of a black skeleton, with bone-y designs over his gauntlets and the fingers an ombre of dark red-to-black. And around his torso were raised lines that looked similar to a ribcage. The edge of his cloak was splatter a dark red as well. And he had a new domino mask that looked similar to the upper half of Danyal's mask, with the outer edges curved downward over his cheekbones. He was briefly allowed to take off the upper part of his gas mask to try on the mask.

The best part however, was that since the suits were made of material native to the ghost zone, they could also be taken off quickly and hidden in a small artifact. It was magic, is what it was. Danyal chose earrings, and Damian chose a ring.

When they got back to the Fenton house, Jazz demands a box of chocolate for her hard work. Damian thinks that's only fair as Danny takes them both out to get candy for Jazz.

+++

But other than vigilante stuff, not else much changes. Danny gets to pull a "Dad By Technicality Rule" card over Damian when he's being a brat. Danny doesn't have his run in with Rift (a ghost who portals him into Gotham) until after he meets Damian/lets Damian join him on patrol and when they get new suits.

My reason? Because I want it to happen after that point in time lol. It also makes the eventual "heyyyyy you have a clone" @ bruce much funnier to me because not only does he have a clone of HIMSELF but also THAT clone has a clone of Damian living with him.

Also when Danny destabilizes for the first time Damian is terrified for his safety. The fentons are surprisingly good at cloning, Danny hasn't had any issues up until this point in time, and that's only because he got hit with a new gun from Skulker that messed up the ectoplasm he had in his dna, which in term fucked with his own DNA.

Danny's destabilization, imo, is not "I cast you with Melt" he's not Ellie, he's not made of 50% ectoplasm. His parents surprisingly knew what they were doing, and he was human. So his destabilization should be unique to himself and different. Thus his destabilization is "I cast you with Compromised Immune System" his body slowly weakens over time as his cells destabilize. He becomes unnaturally frail and sick. Damian calls Ellie for help when Danny doesn't get up after being hit in a fight that he normally, and Ellie helps figure out that he's destabilizing. This is whats gonna happen in OG clone au too, but Ellie is going to be there rather than Damian.

It makes going to Wayne Manor after that slightly more interesting,,,

#dpxdc crossover #dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #danny fenton is a clone #damian clone au #i couldnt NOT describe their new suits. i just couldn't. they're leaning into the ghost culture of being scary as fuck looking #i feel a little cheesy for giving them magic jewelry that lets them hide their suits instantly #but i have to make up for danny's lack of ghost form SOMEHOW #damian just gets it too by association #if anyone is curious #Ellie's ghost form is identical to Danny's suit just the colors are inverted. so her suit is all white and her mask is all black #its not a starry au unless its got a read more #did anyone notice the Big Mama cameo from ROTTMNT #its because Danny's mask looks like Casey Jones Jr's mask from ROTTMNT without the red marks on the eyes #Danny and Damian's dynamic itches my brain #Danny: im calling Dad Rights - youre grounded #Damian: nnOOOO #also also. danny uses sign language if he's in view of the living since they could recognize his voice. damian does not yet know ASL #so thats on his 'languages to learn' list #although he is not seen by the public since he has school and ghost attacks happen around danny and not him #Red Huntress gives the Phantom so much shit when she sees his sidekick. Phantom tiredly explains that he had no choice - Wraith would have #come with anyways. truly a robin at heart.#“idc if you say no imma do vigilantism ANYWAY. i dont NEED ur permission” is robincore and bruce/danny going #“fine but i'm gonna make sure you dont DIE then”#clone^2

456 notes · View notes

vigilskeep · 6 months

Text

a quick guide to dog lords, telling your arls from your teyrns, and generally how ferelden works

okay, this isn't quite what anon asked for, by which i mean not at all, but unfortunately they activated my interest in some of my favourite lore. it should hopefully contain a lot of the relevant stuff and i’ll try to branch out to less fereldan specific information in other posts!

okay, let’s start with the hierarchy. there’s four kinds of noble in ferelden

royalty: you know who these guys are. except for during the orlesian occupation, ever since ferelden became one kingdom, it’s been ruled by the theirin family. which i think is for 388 years, i really hope that’s right, i got out a calculator

teyrns: these are super powerful lords, basically banns so powerful that other banns swear fealty to them. they’re second only to the king, who is essentially just the most powerful one of them. there used to be a lot of them, but with one dynasty in power for so long, that kind of opposition has been eroded away. there are only two remaining: the couslands of highever in the north, and the mac tirs of gwaren in the south

arls: these are extra special banns. they answer to a teyrn or king and hold a strategic fortress for them. we know of six—amaranthine, south reach, denerim, redcliffe, west hills, and edgehall—but i’m unsure if that’s because they are only six or because there are unnamed others

banns: these are your common or garden noble, the lowest ranking and most common. this is your local lord type. they seem to vary the most in power, though, with some banns having big speaking roles in the landsmeet

but i kind of should have written that list in the opposite direction. what do i mean by that? well, in your standard medieval hierarchy, and in a lot of the rest of thedas, power comes down from the king, who lets you hold the land. but in ferelden, most of the land is owned by freeholders: commoners, well-off enough to own their land but still not by any means nobles.

how does that work? well, let’s say i’m a freeholder.

i own my land, but thedas is a rough place. if i want to keep my land, i’d better swear fealty to a bann. i’ll pay him a portion of the goods produced on my land, and in return, he’ll protect my land from anyone wanting to beat me up and take all my goods... and also, you know, not beat me up himself, as he probably would if i didn’t have any bann looking after me. it kind of sounds like he has all the power, right? like a medieval protection racket? it’s certainly how he gets his power and wealth

so i, freeholder harker, have signed up with bann jeff. it makes sense, because he’s the closest to my freehold, and i want soldiers to actually get here in time if i’m in trouble. that’s why my family has been swearing fealty to his family for generations. it’s just how things are done

but the thing is: i hate bann jeff. maybe he takes too much of my harvests, maybe he sides with a different freeholder when we go to him with a dispute, maybe his men don’t mind their pleases and thank yous when they come for my goods. i’m well within my rights to say fuck bann jeff and leave him. especially if there’s another bann nearby who would be perfectly happy to take my goods instead and treat me right. and the less freeholders bann jeff has, the less resources and men he has to make a fuss about it with. if bann jeff pisses off enough people, he might not have any freeholders left at all. and where will his wealth and power come from then? maybe soon he won’t be a bann at all

of course, bann jeff’s family might feud with the family of the bann that stole me away for a few hundred years. but that’s hardly my problem, is it? “courting” someone else’s vassals is apparently the biggest cause of conflict within the bannorn

anyway, this isn’t just how banns work; it’s how all power theoretically works in ferelden. there are no serfs/“unfree” men. every peasant has a right to go where he will and choose which freeholder he works for, just as every freeholder has the right to choose their bann, and banns who swear to teyrns can break away. (the latter is probably less common because a teyrn could fuck you up. i’m guessing you’d have to get the king’s backing about it to survive that.) and even the king answers to his lessers in the landsmeet, the super ancient gathering of nobles where law is made, which can override the king on any matter of law. (but they’re not going to do it if the king is really popular or powerful, because. you know. there’s a limit to all things called common sense and they would prefer not to get squashed about it.) but generally, everyone who holds power in ferelden has to curry favours with their so-called lessers in order to keep their goodwill.

everywhere else in thedas thinks this is weird as hell, by the way. having to court the approval of those beneath you? even the king having to do that? wtf? but the level of freedom means everything to fereldans. it’s their highest ideal and they’re really proud of it.

(the people who really don’t have a voice are what the ttrpg calls “low freemen”, which according to its handbook, consists of criminals, prostitutes, and elves. they still have the right to freedom of movement and to be paid for their work, but they’re not going to have freeholders and banns seeking their favour and speaking for them, and they typically have to resort to bribery for entrance to cities, their homes are bought and sold by others on a whim, things like that. ultimately it makes their position incredibly vulnerable to abuse, as we see in the games. i’m sure we’ve all played the tabris origin. there’s a reason the potential boon to get a bann for the alienage is so wild.)

so, let’s say you made it, everyone loves and/or tolerates you, and you’re a noble. what good does that do you and what can you do? firstly, you have a voice in the landsmeet, which is super important and means the king wants your goodwill and advice. more generally, you have three basic functions of a noble: raising taxes/tribute, commanding soldiers, and dispensing justice. nobles are expected to live off the wealth provided by their land and it would be hugely looked down on if they did work instead, with exceptions for, like, military careers and the chantry, which are respectable for their status. they raise militia from the commoners when necessary, and they also have trained soldiers or possibly knights (see postscript) in their service. that means you can protect your land and you can win glory and spoils when the kingdom goes to war, it also means you’ll be expected to provide those men when your liegelord calls for them. and lastly the law is their responsibility. remember how in the awakening dlc you had to make judgements as the arl of amaranthine? like that! the smaller scale you are, the smaller scale it’s going to be. in turn, if you want a dispute sorted by a higher power, you have to go up to your liegelord, maybe a teyrn or the king, or if you can’t get one of them, a more powerful bann or arl in the area. possibly the chantry would be an alternate option? if it’s just about finding someone you will both listen to, which is usually the main issue

some privileges other than the standard “power over those beneath you” that you can typically expect to belong to the noble class, even if it’s not specific to dragon age: the right to carry a sword, the right to have a coat of arms, the right to precedence on formal occasions and a special seat up front in your local chantry... sometimes niche ones, like fabrics and clothing that are only permissible to wear for people of a certain rank, so it distinguishes them. you can expect favours from/common class interests with your king, you would expect to be given a trial or treated chivalrously if things did not go your way, depending on era you might be captured for ransom in battle rather than killed outright, you probably have exemptions from certain royal taxation... etc. etc.

that’s what i have! i hope these are some helpful fundamentals and that anyone who has more knowledge than me on any aspect feels welcome to contribute it

P.S. as an aside, i’m a little confused about the fereldan use of knights. they definitely exist as lesser nobility, but i don’t understand how they fit into the hierarchy. a real knight was typically a vassal who held land from his liegelord and fought for him in exchange. i... don’t know how that works in the context of land ownership mostly going upwards. they’re definitely around, anyone addressed as ser is a knight, you have the knights of redcliffe and people like ser jory and ser cauthrien. (someone in an order like the templars has the rank of knight and gets ser and everything, but is not a noble.) as a rule of thumb i think generally they’re probably just members of noble families with that dedicated military training and no greater title to lay claim to? i’m basing that on stuff like nathaniel howe being sent as a squire to his mother’s cousin, a chevalier; if he’d completed that he probably would have been a knight unless/until he inherited his father’s place? i don’t know. i’m making this up. and on the other hand, there’s very little distinction in fereldan between your regular noble and a some kind of warrior class, which is why i struggle to see the purpose. (there are also inexplicable career soldiers who are not knights. what the hell is funding that upkeep and armour, buddy. you and whose land ownership? this is why you were fighting the darkspawn with your whole arms out, aveline. stop trying to imply ferelden has a standing army you can go off and join. yes i see you carver lore. i will not buy it.) ANYWAY, because knights are more prevalent in certain areas, i do wonder if it’s an import from the long orlesian occuption, based on the knightly order of chevaliers? i don’t fucking know. worth chewing on

#dragon age #ferelden #dragon age: origins #sorry to anon for asking specifically what your exact question was #and then going off on one anyway. that is my bad. if anything is not answered here let me know #and to anyone who has noticed the probably obvious things i missed pls be gentle #god this is so fucking long AGSHSJSKKS i thought i was being brief i dodged powerpoint... anyway #i just couldnt get to grips with what a noble can do until you know what different kinds there are and where there power comes from and.#well here we are

506 notes · View notes

disillusioneddanny · 1 year

Text

This was inspired by this post. This will also be turned into a multi chapter fic on my ao3. You can subscribe here

But enjoy <3

Tw: talks of vivisection and abuse

Harley Quinn stumbled through the streets of Amity Park, newborn baby clutched to her chest as she furiously checked over her shoulder to make sure no one was following her. She had done it, she had finally gotten away from Mr. J for good just six months before. If he came lookin’ for her, she would be able to handle him on her own, especially with the help of Ives. But Danny wouldn’t be able to do jack shit against his crazed sperm donor. So, Harley was doin’ what she thought would be best. She was going to ask her step-brother and see if he and his wife could take him.

If anyone would be able to protect her baby it would be Jack Fenton, her step-brother was a hulking giant of a man and while his aim may have been shit, his wife’s wasn’t. The two were scientists, ghost hunters if Harley remembered right and they would be just crazy enough to think Mr. J was a ghost if he showed his slimy face around Amity Park.

“Don’t worry Danny, they’ll keep you safe, I promise. You’re never gonna have to worry about a crazy father tryin’ to kill you or use you for his own gain, I won’t ever let that happen,” Harley said quietly before pressing a soft kiss on her son’s head and knocked on the door of Fenton Works.

His father was trying to kill him. Danny allowed his sister to drag him out of Fenton Works and to her car, head spinning, lungs burning for oxygen. Telling his parents about his ghost form had gone bad, it had gone so, so, so bad and now Jazz and Danny were running for their lives as Jack Fenton shot another ectoblast at the siblings.

“Jazz, where’re we going to go? What are we going to do? You destroyed the portal,” Danny gasped out once Jazz had shoved him into the backseat of her beat up, gray, ‘78 Volkswagen Beetle. He scrambled in just as Maddie shot in the spot he had just been occupying, his sister grunted as she took the shot. While she was liminal, she still had enough human in her that it was nothing more than feeling like she got an instant sunburn.

Jazz slammed the door shut, ignoring the shouts from the Fentons behind her as she got around to the driver’s seat and sped off, tires spinning against the pavement.

“We’re going to Aunt Harley’s,” Jazz said determinedly.

“My mother?” Danny squawked from the backseat. “Didn’t Da-Jack say she was crazy?”

“Jack’s crazy Danny! He had you strapped to a table-” Jazz stopped herself as a guttural growl escaped her lips. “Whatever. Aunt Harley will be the best option. If anyone can keep us away from the Fentons it’ll be her.”

Danny slumped down in the backseat and finally looked down at the giant cut on his chest and let out a groan. His mother. Jack and Maddie had never hesitated to tell Danny where he had come from. Jack in particular boasted about how his poor, abused sister trusted him of all people to raise her baby and keep him safe from harm.

Joke’s on him apparently considering he was the very person who had managed to hurt Danny the most. Danny wasn’t stupid, though, he had heard about Harley Quinn. The psychiatrist turned villain who was now in her own way a hero but remained the self titled Queen of Chaos. He knew that his mother was dangerous, each time she had come to visit with her pasty white, tattoo covered skin, chemically bleached hair, and slightly crazed look in her eyes, Danny knew. He knew that the reason Dan was a reality was because of his genes, because of where he came from.

He had done everything he could to make sure he wouldn’t turn out like his mother. And if his suspicions were correct, he would do everything to make sure he didn’t turn out anything like his sperm donor. There was a reason Danny hated clowns and it wasn’t just because of Freakshow.

“Do you think she’s going to be happy seeing us at her house, though? Or Aunt Ivy? She’ll probably be annoyed that we dropped in unannounced,” Danny said before reaching down and grabbing the metal box that held his first aid kit. He used his powers to thread a needle with fishing wire and bit his lip hard as he forced the needle through his skin and started to sew up where his parents had started the vivisection. It would most likely scar but Danny didn’t want to think about that right now. Danny didn’t want to think about anything right now except for the fact that they were going to his mother’s house of all places.

“Danny, your mom adores you. She didn’t drop you off at the Fenton’s to abandon you. She did it to protect you. Aunt Harley knew that she wasn’t capable of raising a baby and she did the most responsible thing she could think of. But she loves you, she’s loved you from the moment you were born,” Jazz told him, glancing in her rearview mirror to watch her baby brother sew himself up as she sped down the highway.

“And how do you know that?” Danny asked, a hiss escaped from between his clenched teeth as he got to the worst part of the cut and continued with his sewing.

“Because I was there the night she brought you home. And I see it in her eyes when she comes to visit us. She loves you Danny, she was just in a bad situation,” Jazz reasoned, knuckles white on the steering wheel as she sped onto the onramp to start their journey from Amity Park, Illinois to Gotham City, New Jersey.

“And she’s just going to be happy to have her sixteen year old son randomly appear in her front door? She couldn’t take care of me then, what makes you so sure she can help us now?” Danny spat out as he finally finished his stitching and tied off the thread. He reached into the kit once more and grabbed a few of the antiseptic wipes that had been packed in and cleaned the ectoplasm-blood mixture off of his chest as best as he could before taping gauze to his chest. It wasn’t the best patch job and Frostbite would probably be horrified if he saw it, but it was the best Danny could do with a tiny first aid kit in the back of his sister's rickety car as she went well over a hundred miles per hour in a seventy.

“I think so, yeah,” Jazz admitted after a few minutes of silence. Danny let out a huff of a laugh as he struggled to sit up. “There’s a shirt in this bag,” she said, tossing him the backpack that sat in the passenger seat, the go bag for if the worst had ever come to fruition. Which it definitely had.

Danny dug through the bag and found the tried and true NASA shirt folded carefully within the bag and let out a sigh through nose as he carefully maneuvered around to get the shirt on without angering the stitches on his chest too much. Even if his mother wasn’t happy to see them or able to take care of them, she’d be able to help. She was a better option than any other.

Vlad was completely out of the picture. Dani was ancients only knew where and she wouldn’t have been able to do much anyway. Sam and Tuck still didn’t even know what had happened and Danny hadn’t decided how he was going to deal with that. Aunt Alicia would most likely call mom-Maddie if she saw them on her doorstep.

Aunt Harley was their only option now that the portal was destroyed and Danny certainly did not have the strength he would need to open a portal. Plus, Gotham had plenty of ambient ectoplasm according to Tuck’s research.

When they had first made this plan, Tucker had looked into any place that came close to having the same amounts of ectoplasm as Amity Park and Gotham had been number one on the list. So at least Danny had that going for him.

“I’m going to try to get a little bit of rest, getting cut open drains a guy,” Danny said with a chuckle, pressing the backpack into the car seat and carefully laid back down. “When I wake up, we can switch and I can drive for a bit. You need rest too.”

Jazz simply hummed in response and said nothing more as her little brother settled into the backseat and allowed sleep to take over.

“I told you I could have helped drive here,” Danny muttered as Jazz pulled into a shady looking, nondescript building.

“Danny, you had to sew yourself back up in my backseat. You needed the rest far more than I did, besides, no use in complaining, we’re here now,” Jazz said, glancing back at the tired, pouty look on her brother’s face and smiled. “Aren’t you excited to see your mom and Aunt Pam?”

“Is she technically my stepmom?” Danny asked once Jazz put the car in park and shut off the engine. She got out and went around to Danny’s door and helped her baby brother out of the car.

“Technically?” Jazz said, crinkling her nose as she thought it out. Yeah, that would make the most sense anyway. “Are you okay?” She asked as Danny winced, pressing a hand to his chest as he climbed out of the small car and leaned heavily against Jazz’s side.

“Yeah, just hurting,” he murmured and shook his head as if that would get rid of the pain. “Let’s just go.”

Jazz gave her brother a concerned look but locked her car nonetheless and started to help the boy up the stairs before she rung the doorbell.

The two tensed as they listened to footsteps stomp their way.

“Look, I’m Jewish, I ain’t interested in that Jehovah’s Witness shit,” they heard Harley shout before the door swung open.

Harley’s jaw fell open as she froze in place at the scene in front of her. The two teenagers were quite the sight. Harley had never seen the usually put together Jasmine look so frazzled as long as she had known her niece. Her son was in even worse states, if the eyebags on his face, the strange blood and green stains on his shirt, and panting told her anything.

He looked up at her tiredly, the dark circles under his eyes even darker than she had initially noticed. “Hey mom,” he said with a huff, hanging from Jasmine’s shoulders.

“Aw fuck, come in, come in,” Harley said wearily, ushering the two into the building. “Ives! I need your help!”

Harley carefully moved her niece out of the way before she quickly lifted her son into her arms and started down the hallway. “It’s okay Danny, Mama’s gotcha,” she murmured, cradling the sixteen year old boy to her chest as she carried him bridal style. Jazz followed her aunt as they made it to the living room just as Ivy came out of the bedroom looking confused.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise, though, as she spotted the three before her. “Shit, I’ll get the salves,” she stated before her eyes landed on Jazz. “Come help me?”

Jazz looked between her aunt and her brother before looking back at Ivy and gulped, nodding her head once before following the eco-terrorist back into the bedroom.

“Oh sweetie,” Harley murmured, carefully setting Danny on the beat up couch. “Baby what happened to you?”

“Jack and Maddie happened,” he said with a hiss as his mother raised his shirt and took in the cuts that had been sloppily stitched up.

Harley’s eyes flicked between the incision that seeped red-green liquid and Danny’s pained face. “Jacky boy did this to you?”

Danny nodded, letting out a whimper. “It’s a long story,” he said as his mom traced a finger over the cuts, the pieces connecting in her brain.

Harley Quinn was a lot of things but she was not stupid. She may not have gotten the chance to visit her son as often as she wanted but the last time she had seen him she had noticed something was different about him. She had been around Ivy long enough to know when someone had gained powers that they barely had control over. She had noticed the way her son’s eyes would flash a startling green whenever his emotions got out of hand. Noticed the way he was colder than before and how his shoulders looked as though they carried the entire world on them.

She didn’t know what had happened to her son or what it had done to him, but she knew he was more than human now. She had seen that plenty of times before. And it looks like the Fentons had discovered this and decided that Danny was one of their new experiments.

“You’re dead, aren’t you?” She asked bluntly, recognizing the toxic ectoplasm that seemed from between her son’s stitches. “Not all the way but somethin’ happened and they didn’t like it.”

“Yeah. I uh, I was fourteen, didn’t kill me all the way, just enough for me to be considered a ghost and you know how mom-Maddie and Jack are about ghosts,” Danny said just as Ivy and Jazz came back with towels, wet rags, and salves to cover the incisions.

Harley raised her eyes from Danny’s wounds and looked her son in the eyes. “I’m gonna kill ‘em,” she snarled, snatching a wet rag from Ivy and started to better clean the wound. “I’m gonna murder them and then when they turn into ghosts I’ll give ‘em a taste of their own medicine,” she said, hands gentle as she cleaned around the wound.

“You’re going to need to redo those stitches,” Ivy said softly, sitting beside Danny’s head and taking it in her lap as she ran her fingers through the black locks, trying to distract her wife’s son from the stinging pain he was likely feeling.

“There’s no point, the wound will be closed by tomorrow,” Jazz said quietly and handed a warm, dry towel to Harley after she had finished cleaning the incisions and carefully patted the skin dry. She then took the salve and carefully coated it over her son’s chest.

“Don’t kill them,” Danny said quietly, taking his mother’s hand in his and squeezed the pale hand in his. “Just, mom, just protect me. Please?” He asked, voice cracking slightly.

Harley let out a sigh and squeezed her son’s hand tight. “Baby, I’ll always protect you,” she promised, still feeling her chest burn in anger at the fact that her step-brother, the one person on this earth she had trusted to take care of her son had caused him this much pain. Jack and Maddie Fenton would rue the day they hurt Harley Quinn’s baby.

#dp x dc #DPXDC #dc x dp #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fanfiction #dc x dp prompt

1K notes · View notes

aerahyasashi · 3 months

Text

IDIOSYNCRASIES CHAPTER THREE

Yandere! Suguru Geto x Fem! Gojo's Sister! Reader

Sypnosis: Where suguru geto founds himself deeply enamored with satoru's non-sorcerer sister to the point of obsession.

Note: This is a fanfic and i originally posted this on quotev. I'm still learning on how to use tumblr so the aesthetic might be a lil shitty.

TW; Sexual assault, Parricide, Sexism, Non-consensual touching, Infidelity, Attempted Rape, Gore, Incest.

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter four and five

Chapter six and seven

•───癖好───•

IT HAD BEEN A COUPLE of weeks ever since [Name] had encountered Suguru, and currently, [Name] found herself seated on a comfortable chair with a mirror positioned directly in front of her. She had meticulously styled her hair into an elegant princess-inspired half-up, half-down hairdo; the upper part of her hair adorned with the intricately braided strands that Satoru had woven for her before going out.

Tonight, they were hosting a grand party for some unknown reasons, and though the idea of attending wasn't exactly her preference, Satoru had adamantly insisted, and thus [Name] reluctantly agreed. However, she was determined not to appear disheveled or bring further humiliation upon her esteemed clan.

Taking great care, she applied skillfully chosen makeup, adorning her face with a touch of gray eyeshadow accented by glitters and other luxurious embellishments that Satoru had bought for her.

Her eyeliner possessed a refined precision and her lips were adorned with a soft, yet eye-catching, pink hue.

Her gaze shifted towards the necklace Satoru had given her as a birthday gift the previous year, which, until now, had remained unworn.

It was probably very expensive, considering that Satoru tends to buy her a lot of expensive things. The necklace silver-tone glistened and was encircled by dazzling diamonds.

Adorning this piece were crafted flower-shaped jewels, and at the very center of it all, a resplendent circle housing perfectly cut rubies.

Placing the necklace around her neck, [Name] examined herself in the mirror, feeling a subtle twinge of self-consciousness regarding her appearance.

‘Do i even look good...?’ she thought to herself, her self consciousness getting the best of her once again.

She was donning a simple azure-hued dress which was enhanced by a few tasteful pieces of jewelry, that again, was given to her by satoru. Satoru was mostly the one who buys her things as their clan seldom bestowed any items upon her.

What makes this even more remarkable is that Satoru consistently selects the most costly presents to give her. Although [Name] is not unappreciative, she cannot help but perceive these extravagant gifts as too expensive for someone in her circumstances.

Speaking of Satoru, [Name] wanted to ask for his opinion on whether she looked good or she looked like shit. (even though she knows that satoru would always say that she's pretty)

However, Satoru was temporarily absent, presumably occupied with the task of greeting their arriving guests.

Releasing a gentle sigh, her eyebrows knits together as she contemplated whether or not to proceed on going to the damn party.

Discord permeated her relationship with her clan, and vice versa. Yet, Satoru insisted that she attend the party and divulged that they had agreed upon her involvement due to an impending announcement. A flicker of doubt whispered in her mind, speculating that they might subject her to humiliation, but surely, Satoru wouldn't permit such degradation in public, would he?

he adored her and reciprocated her love; hence, he would shield her from any harm. right? Right? Right? He would protect her.

Her muscles tensed slightly at the sound of the door to her room opening.

“Satoru?” She swiveled her head towards the entrance, anticipating his arrival. However, to her disappointment, it was not Satoru who crossed the threshold; instead, her father made his way into the room.

Her eyes widened and instantly, her muscles clenched and her jaw tightened as she observed who it was.

‘Shit! What is he doing here?!’

[Name] panicked internally and struggled to put up a relaxed expression.

“O-otou-sama..,” [Name] whispered under her breath, her voice cracking and barely audible as she shakily rose from her seat and placed the pillow on the chair before bowing respectfully—not really wanting to anger her father.

Upon noticing his return, her eyes scrutinized him from head to toe, sensing his gaze on her body which made her uncomfortable .

“You've returned...”

Summoning a smile, she forced herself to feign happiness.

“Welcome back, Otou-sama” she greeted, though her smile was forced and unconvincing.

Her heart raced within her chest as she averted her gaze, keeping her eyes away from his piercing stare. “If I may speak.. what brings you here?” she inquired tentatively, anxiety griping her every word.

With each step he took towards her, her father's mere presence sent shivers down her spine. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder, causing her body to tremble involuntarily.

“Your father has missed you dearly,” he spoke softly, his touch lingering in an uncomfortably intimate manner. She couldn't help but feel that a father's touch should never be this way.

He shouldn't touch her like this.

A father should not touch her daughter like this.

“You have grown into a remarkably beautiful woman,” he remarked, his words causing her discomfort. Unpleasant memories resurfaced as she noticed the scent of alcohol emanating from him.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, finding no solace in the way he had complimented her. It had been five long years since she last saw her father, because he was overseas, and the dude too, was often abusive during her earlier years. However, something about his current behavior unsettled her, creeping her out in an inexplicable way.

“It must have been quite challenging for you to handle Satoru in that way...” He let out a light chuckle as his fingers gently traced circles on her tense shoulders, causing her to feel a mixture of revulsion and fear.

Disgusting and utterly repulsive was her father.

“I-it wasn't that bad,” she responded, her voice trembling slightly. Ofcourse, satoru sometimes acts like a man child, but it was only because he hadn't been given the chance to be a child and [Name] loves his brother.

“Satoru is a good person” she stated.

‘Unlike you.’ she added mentally.

“I'll go and call satoru,” [Name] said, her heart racing inside her chest, as if it were about to burst through her ribcage. Her instincts were in overdrive, her flight and fight instincts were screaming at her. She wanted satoru to just come back so bad and take her away from this creep of a pathetic excuse of a father.

“No,” he firmly stated, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

“Why not?” she questioned.

“Because it would deeply sadden me,” he declared with a touch of theatricality, causing [Name] to resist the temptation to glare at him.

“You would do anything to keep me happy, right, [Name]?” he questioned, seeking assurance from her as she hesitantly nodded in response. Of course, she had her own boundaries and limits, and she wouldn't go to extremes for his happiness.

“Beloved daughter,” he whispered in a low voice, and she visibly flinched when his hand began to inch toward her hip. Attempting to distance herself, she took a step back, yet he followed her, backing her into a corner until her back collided with the wall. Her heart raced with unease as his grubby hand veered towards her inner thighs but she swiftly slapped it away and she earned a glare from it.

“Speak as you're told,” he commanded, his words causing her to swallow uneasily. Her response had to be compliant.

“Yes... yes, I will,” she murmured, detesting the tone she was forced to use. The anticipation of Satoru's return grew with each passing moment, as she increasingly felt an overwhelming sense of discomfort, a foreboding feeling that something dreadful was bound to happen.

“You are nothing more than a mere accident that occurred during the prenatal development in your mother's womb, [Name].” he told her and she raised an eyebrow, finding his statement to be random.

Of fucking course, she doesn't fucking need to know that.

She knows that she's an outcast.

She knows that she's just a mistake.

They don't need to remind her about that fucking truth, for she's aware of it.

“Satoru is meant to be a sole child.”

He added.

“But speaking of your mother... She no longer fulfills my needs,” he murmured, a hint of amusement in his voice.

‘Like i give a damn,’ she thought bitterly.

“Her beauty has diminished,” he uttered, causing her to freeze as his hand stealthily crept beneath her dress.

“Do you realize how beautiful you are?” he inquired, drawing nearer, subjecting her to the repulsive stench of alcohol.

“I think that you'll be able to satisfy me, daughter.”

His words had a paralyzing effect on [Name], rendering her unable to react or defend herself, it felt as if she was nailed in her place.

“...”

The desire to push him away and slap his hand away was evident, yet she found herself immobilized, as if invisible strings were pulling her to stay still against her own will, like a marionette in the hands of a puppeteer.

‘Satoru, where are you?!’

Looking anxiously at every nook and cranny of the room, her [E/c] orbs searched desperately for a familiar face: Satoru. The urgency in her grew increasingly intense as she was in dire need of help.

In her time of distress, it was Satoru whom she longed for. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. Only Satoru. His presence could provide the security and support [Name] craved.

It was satoru, always satoru and only satoru.

Her dependency on Satoru was very evident and She was scarily dependent on the white-haired lad. Her fingers curled up as she swallowed a lump in her throat.

“What's that supposed to mean, Otou-sama?” she feigned innocence, cringing internally at herself for sounding so dumb. Certainly, she was fully aware of his intentions. She wasn't intellectually naive by any means. She comprehended precisely what he was alluding to, the repugnant depths of his perverse desires that he was referring to.

The mere thought of it caused an intensely uncomfortable sensation to ripple through her entire being, primarily because she shared a bloodline with him as her own flesh and that she was his blood daughter.

“Can you explain it?” she asked, trying to look ‘cute and confused’ and making a genuine effort to maintain a composed facade. Yet behind this facade, she was gripped by an overwhelming sense of panic, frantically attempting to stall for time as a means of gathering her thoughts and possibly finding an alternative solution—and for satoru to arrive, ofcourse.

[Name] shivered as his dirty hands ascended towards her delicate face, enclosing it within his grip.

“My daughter, so pure and untainted,” The ugly man uttered, causing a nauseating sensation within her. He sarcastically murmured, emphasizing her purity and innocence. “How adorable,” he remarked, revealing a sinister undertone. With a sinister intention, he offered,

“Stay still, alright?” her father's disgusting voice echoed in her ears.

[Name] swallowed thickly, the rhythm of her heartbeat reverberated through her chest with an alarming force, threatening to break free from its bony confines. The sound of blood rushing through her veins seemed to echo in her ears, serving as a reminder of her vulnerable state.

In this vulnerable state, she was left pondering the same question over and over: Where the fuck was Satoru when she needed him the most?

‘Satoru, where are you? I need you...’

As she inhaled and exhaled deep breaths, attempting to calm her racing pulse, the absence of Satoru loomed over her like a dark cloud. Satoru's absence only magnified her sense of helplessness, increasing her yearning for his presence like a beacon of hope.

“W-what are you doing?”

She squeaked as she experienced a sense of repulsion as she felt his dirty grubby hands clutching at the strap of her dress, as if he wanted to take it off and the mere proximity of his hands filled her with revulsion. She wanted nothing to do with his touch, especially since he was her own father, making the situation even more disturbing.

“Otou-sama.. this is wrong...”

She was a minor. She was 16. He's a fucking adult. This is fucking pedophilia. This was incest. This is infidelity. This is so wrong in so many ways. And more especially, this is sexual assault.

This whole scenario seemed morally and ethically wrong in countless ways. Her jaw clenched tightly, her eyebrows furrowed, and a scowl formed on her face as she directed her intense gaze at him. She was disgusted, angry, and scared.

“Please don't touch me...” she gritted out.

Sensing her disapproval, he paused in his actions and met her gaze with a hint of irritation.

“Don't you fucking dare to look at me like that,” he uttered with a sharp, venomous tone, as if he wasn't talking to her in a sweet voice before and acting as if he wasn't being a creep earlier and lusting at his own daughter, prompting her to suppress a snarky reply.

“What do you mean—”

SLAP

Her [E/c] eyes widened as an abrupt, stinging sensation spread across her face, causing her head to turn to the side due to the force of the slap delivered by her own father. Despite the pain, [Name] remained silent, raising a trembling hand to touch her tender cheek.

The impact of the slap left a prominent, reddened mark on her delicate skin, causing her to clench her teeth together and direct an intense glare towards the ground, desperately holding back tears.

It was so fucking painful.

Suddenly, [Name] felt his hand cupping her cheeks, a invasive gesture that further heightened her discomfort. His words only added to her distress as he coldly remarked,

“If you didn't provoke me, I wouldn't have to leave such an imprint on that pretty face of yours.” He then proceeded to openly scrutinize her body, examining every curve and contour, which made [Name] bite down hard on her lip in nervousness, trying to cope with the overwhelming emotions swirling within her.

“Otou-sama, don't do this” she managed to whisper.

“P-please stop...” She winced in pain, her eyes welling up with tears, but he glared furiously at her and forcefully gripped her throat, applying just enough pressure to leave her gasping for breath. The sensation of his hands crushing her windpipe sent a searing agony throughout her body.

“You dare command me to halt?” he hissed menacingly.

“You were practically begging for this, parading around in an immodest dress and presenting yourself like a harlot,” he accused, causing tears to cascade down her face.

[Name] struggled to breathe, her larynx engulfed in excruciating pain. Eventually, he released his grip, allowing her to desperately gasp for air.

[Name]'s throat was ablaze with agony, and she instinctively clutched at her neck while trying to steady her rapid breaths. In truth, she had not worn a provocative dress, but rather a modest and unassuming one. So how could she have possibly provoked him in any way?

[Name] wasn't begging for it. He was fucking delusional.

In this moment, she longed for Satoru's presence, yearning for his support and help to escape this horrifying situation.

She absolutely despised being trapped in this predicament and her mind continually echoed her brother's name, Satoru, Satoru, Satoru.

[Name] felt an irrepressible urge to scream, to call out for Satoru's help, but she couldn't summon the courage.

“Satoru..” [Name] breathed out shakily, trying to scream but she couldn't do it.

With a heavy heart, she fell into silence as her father began to kiss her neck, an unspeakable violation of the boundaries between a father and his daughter. Helplessness engulfed her entirely as she grappled with overwhelming feelings of disgust, fear, and anger. Why didn't satoru returned? why wasn't he there when she needed him the most? Why wasn't satoru—

A sudden realization washed over her, causing her to come to a halt. It was a frightening realization that she had become excessively reliant and dependent on her older brother.

She found herself unable to defend herself in any situation, constantly relying on him for protection and support. The mere thought of standing up for herself seemed impossible. The depths of her dependency on Satoru was alarming.

As her eyes darted back and forth, her pupils began to tremble, accompanied by a nauseous sensation.

It was alarming just how reliant she had become on her older brother, Satoru. She couldn't even protect herself; constantly relying on him for both defense and support. She was utterly incapable of standing her ground or facing the world on her own.

The depth of her dependence became increasingly clear as her very core began to tremble. The nauseating urge to vomit overwhelmed her when her father, with his hand on her waist and thigh, pressed an unwanted kiss upon her shoulders. It was at that moment that she understood the root of her helplessness, connected intrinsically to her reliance on Satoru. This dependence, she couldn't deny, made her vulnerable to abuse.

Her vision became clouded by tears, prickling at the corners of her eyes, as the weight of her powerlessness enveloped her. She couldn't accomplish anything without Satoru by her side.

She was nothing without satoru.

In her eyes, she saw herself as weak, nothing more than a mere shadow, incapable of even the simplest tasks without satoru's guidance and protection. Her entire identity seemed intertwined with this inescapable dependence, leaving her questioning her worth and purpose.

She's useless. Just like they had said.

Yet, amidst her turmoil, a glimmer of realization began to take shape within her. Just because she's a non-sorcerer doesn't necessarily equate to constant reliance on Satoru.

Slowly, she began to understand the necessity of her own dependence if she ever wanted to taste the sweet freedom she so desperately craved; She needed to be independent. No longer did she wish to be shackled by her dependency on Satoru; it was a burden.

In this moment of clarity, she could feel her hands clenching into tight fists, and her knuckles turning white.

When she felt his grimy hands tracing up and down her thigh in a lewd manner, an intense wave of fear surged through her.

Then she screamed, the thoughts of being independent going through the back of her mind as she completely forgot about it.

“SATORU! SATORU! HELP!” she cried out in desperation, as he pushed her father away from her and attempted to escape towards the the door while continuing to scream for satoru, her trembling hand desperately gripping the doorknob as she continued to scream for satoru. She banged on the door loudly, hoping to alert satoru.

“SATORUUU! HE TOUCHED ME!”

Meanwhile, her father grimaced in pain but managed to muster a threatening remark,

“You insolent brat...”

“SATORUUU! OTOU-SAMA IS TRYING TO RAPE M— MMPHH—!!” her voice was abruptly muffled when her father covered her mouth with his other hand, silencing her screams grabbed a handful of her hair, his sharp nails digging painfully into her scalp and she began to sob on his hand.

“Shut up!” he hissed and dragged her forcefully towards the bed and pressed his body against her.

“No one will come to your rescue. They will simply turn a blind eye to someone as pitiful and insignificant as you.” A malicious grin spread across his face, a grotesque display of his sadistic pleasure.

“You are nothing,” emphasizing his contempt for her. The pain intensified as his razor-sharp nails continued their assault on her scalp.

“Poor thing, can't even use jujutsu and yet you dare to talk back to your superiors” he scorned, belittling her inability to utilize jujutsu.

[Name] teared up as she tried to scream but her screams were muffled by his hands. Expressing his derogatory views towards women, he continued,

“Women like you are feeble, incapable of defending themselves, always needing a man to protect themselves” He further degraded her, completely aware that [Name] Is dependent to satoru.

“I bet that if you were given a chance to go out, you would go show your body off to men like a whore, because you are already doing it right now in our house.”

“Women are meant solely to satisfy and serve men, bearing and caring for children.” He let go off her hair with one final and painful tug.

“So you better do your purpose as a woman and satisfy me”

He then pulled at the straps of her dress, ripping it off. she let out a scream that was muffled by her father's hand, as she squirmed in discomfort as his hands shamelessly explored and fondled her chest.

In a desperate attempt to defend herself, she delivered a knee strike to his groin, causing her father to emit a pained grunt as he stumbled backwards, ultimately collapsing in agony on the ground.

she tumbled to the ground, falling in a heap alongside her father. The impact caused her elbows to press into his stomach, inflicting a sharp pain that left him gasping for breath. Without wasting a moment, she promptly rose to her feet whilst clenching her teeth together and fixing a piercing glare upon her father.

She wasted no time seizing a momentary opportunity to unfasten the sharp hairpin that had previously secured her braids. As her lustrous [H/c] colored locks cascaded freely around her face.

Writhing in pain, clutching his injured groin, her father managed to wheeze out in a raspy voice, his words dripping with contempt, “You insolent child!”

Without granting her father even a moment to react, she lunged forward, the pointed end of the hairpin finding its mark in his eye as she stabbed him in the eye. Initially, the sharp tip of the hairpin pierced the delicate iris, causing it to recoil instantly. Blood erupted from the wounded eye, splattering both her and her father as he unleashed a horrifying scream, desperate to rid himself of the searing agony consuming him.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” she repeated shakily.

Unrelenting, she slammed her feet firmly on his chest, effectively knocking the wind out of him. Crouching over his writhing body, her teeth clenched with as she applied intense pressure, feeling his bony ribs crack beneath the pressure exerted by her mere feet, causing bone fragments to likely disperse throughout his entire body, inevitably inducing excruciating agony.

Lost in a blood-red haze, she acted on instinct alone, unaware of her own capabilities and the reasons fueling her actions. However, the satisfaction derived from defending herself against her tormentor overwhelmed any semblance of rational thinking.

Driven by an insatiable thirst for vengeance, she plunged the hairpin deeper into his eye, mercilessly breaking through the fragile barrier of the eye itself. With a twist of the hairpin, she targeted and severed the optic nerves, thoroughly obliterating his vision. All the while, her father's cries of agony served as an eerie soundtrack to her brutal assault.

However, she remained unsatisfied with the extent of his injuries.

Suffering from fractured ribs and a severely injured eye proved to be insufficient in punishing him adequately. The gravity of his sins, which involved attempting to sexually assault her and subject her to abuse, demanded a far greater retribution. He undoubtedly warranted a punishment of a much higher magnitude.

He deserved this for looking at her in such a dirty way. He deserved this for trying to rape his daughter. He deserved this. He deserved every single part of it.

Her father was still writhing on the ground, uttering agonizing screams. With her free hand, she began to gouge his eyes using her fingers. The crimson liquid spurted onto her palm, and the squelching noises resonated in her ears as she pressed her fingers into his eyeball, causing them to penetrate the outer layer—the sclera, and eventually piercing through the iris. As her fingers continued their destructive path, they shattered and obliterated the delicate lens within the eye, she delved even deeper into the eye socket, curling her finger upwards and effortlessly piercing through the gel-like vitreous humor, permanently robbing him of his ability to see.

The sensation of the eyeball squirming under her touch intensified his torment, causing him to cry out in excruciating pain.

She then finally distanced herself from the horrific scene, leaving behind the haunting image of the hairpin penetrating his eye, her trembling hands glistened with crimson liquid. Breathing heavily, she bore the weight of her strenuous exertion. But she wasn't satisfied yet.

Making her way back to her previous spot, she seized the chair and launched it at his defenseless body, a reflection of the fury in her trembling eyes. She was grateful for being away from the other rooms and she was grateful the blaring music that drowned out the sound, for she knew the wretched screams of her father, an abomination seeking to violate her, would go unheard.

Unleashing her pent-up rage, she struck him repeatedly with the chair, causing his face to become disfigured and adorned with grotesque wounds. A broken nose and a swollen, battered lip, gouge out eyes were the least of his deserved punishments—and many more.

How dare he kiss her space with his repulsive, chapped lips? How dare he tarnish her with his grimy hands? The chair continued to collide with his wretched body, until it succumbed to the sheer force, shattering into fragments. The pieces, now stained with blood, came to rest on the floor, which too had become drenched in the crimson fluid of the disgusting man.

Breathing with intensity, she was overwhelmed by the putrid aroma of her father's blood permeating her senses, finding it as repulsive as his very presence. In response, she made a conscious decision to inhale solely through her mouth, bypassing the revolting scent.

She clenched her fists tightly and repetitively punched him. The force behind each blow became so relentless that her own knuckles ruptured, causing her blood to intermingle with his as she persistently aimed to annihilate him.

As she delivered her punches, she could audibly discern the sound of his skull fracturing. The exertion of her physical strikes caused her breath to become labored, each inhalation eliciting a searing pain in her chest, and with every exhale, it felt as though her lungs were on the verge of bursting. In addition, her windpipe seemed engulfed in an inferno, intensifying her discomfort.

As she readied her hand once more for impact, the sight of her knuckles, now exposed and vulnerable due to the blistered skin, revealed the delicate hue of her light brown bones.

She experienced excruciating pain throughout her entire body, but she paid it no mind and pierced through the flesh of his countenance, the contact between her hand and his skull sending a shudder through her being.

But it wasn't enough. She wasn't satisfied yet

•───癖好───•

Support me in wattpad?🥺

#jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x fem!reader #yandere satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere suguru geto #yandere geto #cw: gore #idon't know what the fuck i am doing

164 notes · View notes

acowardinmordor · 1 month

Text

Rumor Has It

Found this in my drafts and don't really remember writing it. I know it was prompted by a post I saw, but I can't find it . The only other thing I know is true in this AU is that Steve is not aware he isn't straight.

Eddie didn't trust the rumors that plagued Hawkins. He heard them just like everyone else, sometimes he'd chase down more details if it interested him, but he didn't trust them at first contact the way that most of the denizens of the town seemed to. The ones that faded away in a few days were obviously fake. The ones that lasted weeks probably had some grain of truth. But this one, now six months old, but still only whispered about, should have been counted as truth. If it lasted that long, it had to be true. Eddie still didn't trust this one.

Not when it was a rumor that was, quite literally, the stuff of his dreams.

Steve Harrington was gay.

According to rumor.

The story started sometime after he got dumped by Wheeler and got his shit rocked by Hargrove. Eddie didn't know where it came from, but he heard it said for the first time a few weeks later. Hargrove never said that it was why Harrington got beat to hell, but he gave a nasty grin if the topic came up that implied a hell of a lot about Harrington on the rebound.

And Eddie didn't trust that. He didn't trust it when Tommy H started telling tales from their freshman year. Or when some of the guy's attempted-hookups started talking.

Eddie didn't trust it because it spread fast, stuck around, had plenty of sources, but it also never got said to Harrington's face. And if there was one thing that Eddie was sure of, it was that no one in that damn town had a problem throwing out slurs if it was even possible someone was different.

According to the rumor mill, that was because Harrington's dad had a connection with the mayor and enough money to bring the police down on anyone that started something. So it remained a rumor, remained in the background, and Eddie remained unconvinced.

Until Eddie went to the mall.

Embarrassing uniforms to earn minimum wage was not evidence. Though it was eye candy.

A different facet of the rumor said that Harrington Sr made Steve get the job as a punishment for the facade of heterosexuality slipping. So, no, the ridiculous, awful, wonderful, slutty little sailor suit didn't count as evidence of the guy's sexual or romantic preferences.

The lip gloss, on the other hand...

And maybe some eyeliner and mascara, but Eddie hadn't gotten close enough to be sure that wasn't his imagination.

And even then! That wasn't proof. A straight guy could use makeup. They didn't, they flipped out at the very concept, but in theory, it was possible.

Eddie wanted to know. Nay, he needed to know. His dreams, and his junior-year-crush demanded answers. Eventually, the temptation of fruit of knowledge grew to be too much.

Slipping into line behind a trio of girls, Eddie watched as Steve deployed the charming smile that had melted the hearts of half the school. Plus Eddie's. He watched it fail to work, catastrophically, and after six months of hearing this rumor and resisting the lure of believing it, he figured: fuck it, go for broke.

If it was bullshit, he'd get to be the one who broke the news to the guy, which might finally be enough to kill that stupid crush of his when Steve flipped out at the insult of the implication.

On the other hand, if it was true....

"Hi, welcome to Scoops Ahoy!"

"Well, hi there, sailor boy," Eddie flirted.

This is a hot potato fic. Continue it, steal it, whatever you please.

#steddie ficlet #hot potato fic #my writing

127 notes · View notes

ganondoodle · 17 days

Text

(OC art)

kinda needlessly redid Eadrya's (they/them) demon form design instead of working on any of the other things (why am i like this)

more info (hahaha .. ha .. long post woops); their jaw is unhingable and their mouth can technically open all the way past their gills (?) with the lighter colored part being an extra flap of skin they are widely known as the most powerful demon to exist (not counting their dead demon god who is only very rarely able to possess shargon if given right circumstances but otherwise dont exist anymore) to the point that they generate so much coreblood/energy that excess is constantly being emitted to the environment around them giving them an aura felt even by humans (it generally has no drawbacks ... unless you later have to deal with demon hunters that use devices to detect demonic energy bc it kinda turns you into a lighthouse for them..) that fact also means they pretty much never have to eat or rest, though they are one of the very very few demons willing to eat other livings things and able to digest it (most demons cannot)

they are one of seven Lords, the Lord of Water specifically, and are very proud of that and, while acting like they dont care about anything or anyone, do probably the best job at keeping their world intact and other demons safe than anyone else- Eadrya is also kinda obsessed with strength and thus hates Shargon to the point of having attempted to murder him several times, not just bc he is so weak but mainly bc they think he selfishly took the title of King to essentially doom them all (since that title, only able to be given of demons with the core element of lightning, means that demon must be the one to go into battle alone for the protection of their world as the first line of defence, bc if the strongest demon, able to invoke their god, can defeat a threat alone theres no need to endanger anyone else, and if the king fails and the six remaining Lords cannot do the rest it was a lost battle to begin with--- the six Lords (not counting the King who starts as a Lord if none of the other accept them) also serve as a sort of council, and to put it bluntly, 'battery' for their god-

see, every demon naturally only has one main element, the Lords, if they accept the King as such, can lend the King part of their power enabling them to use more than one, with each acceptance their gods connection to the King gets stronger, and if it is summoned, will constantly siphon off (?) the strength of the Lords- which can kill them if its active for too long

MEANING that with Shargon being so unfit for that role it not only puts them all in danger, it also means all responsibility falls on them) a title like that cannot be undone once one accepts it, so alot of them, while not actively wishing harm upon him, hope a little that Shargon dies and a better King can be chosen

Eadrya, especially for the first part of the story, is an antagonist, and kinda an ass to everyone, the typical powerful, loud and mean guy that despite being never nice to anyone still does good, the only ones they really care about is Thor, an almost equally strong lightning demon and childhood friend who is also the only one Eadrya will listen to and due to Thors pacifist ideals always stops their outbursts, and Jyothi, Shargons daughter, who is a prodigy of a wind demon and has started to learn from Eadrya, much to Shargons dismay

generally they are way less mean to children and a surprisingly good and patient teacher ... if they are willing to teach you

(alot of their problems stem from a deep fear of being powerless and left alone- they dont think of themselves as highly as it seems and are actually very lonely- thinking that no one could actually genuinely like them for who they are and just does their bidding bc of their strength, of the fear they can instill in others-- they became a Lord at a horribly young age, not even having learned how to change form yet, and saw their parent, the previous Lord of Water (titles are not inherited, this was coincidence), slowly waste away with a strange disease, not even really understanding what was happening and after their passing spend months at the side of their corpse all alone)

they later have a character arc (that is horribly underselling it but i do not want to make this post any longer lol) and join the main group, one of my fav OCs of them all and the most detailed story and arc (god its so good i wish i could just show you all the movie in my head argh) besides Shargon :3

#ganondoodles #art #artists on tumblr #ocs #original character #oc art #monsters #i spent an hour writing this all #who even reads this #just wanted to give some character details and BAM devolves into short versions of alot of lore and story #its so late........... i wanted to get the other painting done but then suddendly #did this instead #my other oc blorbo ............ my dearest big baby lad #long post #sorry .........................................

92 notes · View notes

fahbev · 1 year

Text

Humans and aliens don’t mix

I love this concept, I might end up writing something, but for now I’m just gonna do some bullet points. If you’re unfamiliar with the idea, search up “humans are space orcs” and you’ll get an idea where this came from

Humans bond in a very complex social way

- other aliens probably don’t do this

- what if a human bonds to an alien?

- the human becomes very protective and fiercely loving of this alien. The alien probably loves them back, but in a very different and well, alien way.

- the human risks their own safety and goes feral to protect their alien friend. The alien appreciates it, but can’t fathom why they would risk themselves for someone else, no matter how much they like them. The human has done this repeatedly.

- at one point the human is in danger. In theory, the alien wants to protect their human friend, but isn’t willing to risk themself, even though the human is in greater danger.

- the human is in danger, and possibly in pain, and their friend is right there, capable of intervening. Imagine how crushed they are when their friend looks them dead in the eyes, and runs away. After all the human has risked and sacrificed for them!

- the alien feels a bit guilty, of course. The alien does feel they should reciprocate the kindness they were shown, and they really don’t want their friend to suffer. On their planet, friendships are more conditional, they benefit each other in times of peace, but when danger arrives everyone is for themselves. Or maybe their not social at all, and this is the first interpersonal bond they’ve had. Either way, anyone from this alien’s species would understand, and wouldn’t blame them. It’s not their nature, their brains don’t function like that. There are no protective instincts or courage, but the human doesn’t understand.

- anyway yeah, hurt feelings. The human feels betrayed and abandoned. Especially combined with the hurt of whatever happened to them in the first place.

- the alien knows that they hurt their friend’s feelings, and is pretty torn up about it. Despite the guilt, they’re also kind of angry. The human can’t expect them to do such extreme things for them! The human does so much more for them, but it’s still a crazy demand to ask!

-they probably reconcile, with the human understanding that this isn’t the alien’s fault really, it simply isn’t a function of their behavior. Even so, the human will have to accept that no matter how much they’d sacrifice for their buddy, they can never expect the same in return.

Also, a human meeting an actual space orc? HELL YES! This could be the same alien, or a different one, i’m just rambling. (Don’t know where I saw this idea, but I can’t find the post sadly).

- imagine being feared and considered immensely dangerous. Your planet being considered a death world and you being considered badass, tough, cutthroat and terrifying just for surviving it. Imagine the complex that would give you, especially if your species is rare and your pretty separate from them!

- the human is used to being feared. They’re used to the hushed whispers, they’re used to being one of “the scary ones from the death world”. From hearing this for so long, they’ve come to believe it. They subconsciously decided to fit the bill of how they’re perceived. They act tough, aggressive, feral. They know they’re scary and badass and they flaunt it, they like being perceived this way.

- the alien, also from a so-called death world, is the opposite. They’re friendly, they’re peaceful, and they hate their reputation. They hate how their species is perceived just because of where they hail from. They aim to break the stereotype, and show the gentle giant that they actually are.

Now have them meet >:D

The human Sofia sits at the bar. The seats within six feet of her are all empty. She guzzles her fifth drink - apparently most species are affected by it similarly to alcohol, and some weaker species would be dead by the fifth drink. Sofia remains unaffected. She could drink 30 and be unaffected. It doesn’t even taste good. She slams her empty goblet on the table, all for show. The conversations nearby hush even further, and the fearful whispers start up again. Good. She should be feared.

The door opens. In comes a gust of wind, and a hulking figure. No one in the bar is talking now.

Sofia slowly turns to face the door. She sizes up the newcomer. They’re big, not twice Sofia’s height, but a few feet shy. Not that it matters, when she’s wrestled creatures the size of bears before. The armor plating though, it sported a recognizable pattern. The forelimbs too, that were an odd combination of insectoid legs and tentacles, were a dead giveaway. This was a rragletatch. One of the most feared species in the multiverse, from one of the deadliest worlds known to the galactic community. They’re as rare as humans too. She smirks. Finally, a worthy opponent.

Some chatter starts up again as the rragletatch begins to walk up to the bar, pretending to ignore Sofia. It was still eerily quite, considering this was a bar, and people were drunk. A few gasps and screams echo when Sofia abruptly stands up, knocking over her stool. Her smirk widens into a grin. She stalks confidently up to the rragletatch stranger, and stands close enough that they can’t ignore her. Several people began filing out of the building, while others chose to stay. “So.” The alien greets her.

“You’re one of those infamous rragletatchen I hear of, no? The ones who are supposedly suuuuper scary?”

“Yes, I am rragletatchen. You’re human, right?”

“Damn right.”

“well then.”

A long pause. Practically the whole bar was listening in anticipation.

“Fight me.” Sofia’s expression didn’t waver. On Earth, she never could have looked so intimidating while staring so far up at someone.

“No.” what? “Oh? You scared? I thought you were supposed to be tough or something.” The stranger didn’t look scared, but they must be. Why else would they not want to fight?

“I’m not scared.”

“Then square up bitch. See who’s stronger. Finally put it to the test.”

“No.”

The whispers now were not of fear, but of confusion.

“I will not engage in needless violence,” the rragletatch continued, “contrary to the stereotype of my kind, I will not harm others if at all avoidable. Attack me if you will, I refuse to fight you.” The rragletatch stood still in a wide, but open stance, as if preparing to be hit. Sofia felt a flash of guilt. Something about attacking an opponent who refused to fight back felt wrong.

“You don’t want to see? Find out who the real champion is?” Sofia pushed aside her feelings and stared up. Unafraid, taunting as ever.

“No. My parents, grand parents and great grandparents before me have embraced a sacred philosophy of pacifism. It saddens me that my kind is known only for cuttthroat violence, only because of our home and biology. I refuse to hurt you. Do you truly wish to hurt me?”

Sofia was a bit shocked to say the least. When she realized her jaw was open and her head cocked, she quickly schooled her expression. That question though... she thought she did. But usually she just liked to brawl. Scare people. Assert dominance. When faced with an unwilling opponent who would not be scared of her... she realized she did not wish to cause harm. She never liked hurting people, that was never the fun of it.

“No.” Sofia sighed. She slouched from her offensive stance and backed over to her seat. “Come, sit with me.” It was phrased like a command, but really it was an offer. Everyone knew Sofia would have a hard time forcing this stranger to do anything. The rragletatch followed reluctantly. Sofia picked up her stool and plopped herself haphazardly on it. The stranger sat more eloquently on one of the many seats next to her.

“I’m Sofia.”

“Yal-sre.”

People moved their seats even farther from the Death-Worlders, or as some call them, orcs. Suddenly, Yal-sre relaxed their whole body.

“Wow.” Yal-sre almost whispered

“What?” Yal-sre made a sound that, in aliens with exoskeletons, tended to equate to a soft laugh.

“To be completely honest, I thought you were going to kill me.”

Sofia barked a laugh.

“hey! I’ve never met a human before! I didn’t want to judge based on reputation due to my own, but you came on pretty aggressively!”

“Yeah, I’m the apex predator ‘round these parts, and I plan to keep it that way. Still though, I ain’t gonna fight you if you don’t wanna.”

“That’s a relief.”

Neither knew what to say next, and suddenly the nearby silence was so loud. Fortunately, a few conversations began to pick back up now that they were talking peacefully.

“What’s your planet like?” Sofia asked.

“My planet, Challrk, is beautiful. It has vast plains of purple vshink, glowing with bioluminescent insects. Sure, they bite. Sure, I’ve been stung, bitten, chased and harassed by many a critter, but Challrk is a truly incredible place. It has high mountains that stretch beyond the atmosphere, and colors some planets can’t imagine. Our sky is orange and pink, if you can believe that. What’s Earth like?”

“Earth. It’s a rough and tumble place, you can’t survive there without being Hardy. I’ve been chased by swarms of wasps and stung repeatedly more than once. I stepped on a bee and couldn’t walk properly for days. I’ve been stung by jellyfish, and went back into the bay knowing they were there with no protection. Unafraid. Earth is rough, our fauna is often hostile and transmits thousands of deadly ailments, much of our flora is poison. Our weather conditions alone could wipe out an entire species instantly. Earth is extreme.”

“i’m sure that’s true, but that’s what you’ve been told. By people who have never been there. People who are scared because they couldn’t survive there. But what is it actually like? What do you remember?”

“I- I remember the heavy storms. I remember punching a goose and having to go to the hospital. I remember- I remember the blue skies. Fluffy white clouds, flocks of songbirds. I remember walking barefoot because I loved the green grass under my feet, not because I was trying to face danger. I remember a loving family, playing with friends. Warmth and love. I remember going in the bay because I loved the feeling of swimming and playing in the water, not because I wanted to be tougher than the jellyfish. Earth is- Earth is a BEAUTIFUL place and it makes me ANGRY” Sofia slammed both her fists on the table, “that all it’s known for is being dangerous.” A few satisfying screams and gasps rang off in response. Sofia looked over at Yal-sre. When they didn’t say anything, “I can’t read your face or body language. Can you give me a description?” This was actually a normal question to ask, in places where species were mixed.

“Uh, understanding, I’ve been there. Pleased that we’re getting somewhere. Uhhhhh, still kinda scared of you though. Sorry,” Yal-sre answered. Sofia gaped for a second, before she gave another rough laugh, knowing she probably sounded unhinged to the alien. “Ah!” Yal-sre yelped, “What- what are yours?” Sofia laughed harder. “laugher can mean many things, in most cases it means ‘amused’. Right now, I am laughing at you, meaning I’m being rude because I find your fear amusing. If there was any non-human who wouldn’t be scared of me, I thought it would be the damn rragletatch. You guys are supposed to be tough shit, but you’re pathetic.”

Yal-sre paused. “Well, yeah. Some of us are tougher than others.”

“Hm, yeah I guess it’s kinda the same with humans. That makes sense. Obviously if you put a fearless human who’s tougher shit than most together with the most timid rragletatch, of course you’d be scared.”

“I’m not the most timid! I’m normal! I’ll bet most humans would be scared of me too, after hearing how “dangerous” we are for so long.”

“Maybe. Humans are tough, but I’ll admit they’re not all like me.” Yal-sre did an odd motion with their... shoulder?

“Translation? I don’t speak shoulder,” Sofia attempted to mimic the motion.

“Understanding, but now amused. Anyway, does it bother you?”

“Does what?” “The fact that everyone is afraid of you? ... even me?”

“I like being feared.”

“Do you?” Sofia took a long sip of her drink - which probably made it look like she was drowning her sorrows - to avoid answering the question. When she was done, she placed the goblet face down on the bar to signal to the bartender that she was ready for a refill. The metal was dented... she had put it down too forcefully.

“Oops.” Though it had been an accident, her voice held no remorse.

Anyway, might continue this, might not! I’ve had the “humans are space orcs” idea in my head for a long time, I might later separate this into its own post and make it longer lol.

#humans are space orcs #OC: Sophia #OC: Yal-Sre #alien bar #therapy with Yal-sre!#my autocorrect does not want me to write Yal-sre’s name #keeps turning it to y’all-see #y’all’s-sure #Y’all-are #and all combinations of that #the poor bartender #humans are terrifying

330 notes · View notes

sun-and-moon-mushroom · 2 months

Text

Day 11: Time Loop

AO3 link

(Based on the AU in this post)

(cw for canon typical torture, suicide, implied SA)

During Luo Binghe’s first life, he was one of Shen Qingqiu’s favourite students. It wasn’t something he achieved right away, but rather something he worked for, until his shizun could look at him with pride. Among his martial siblings he was one of the strongest, and was overjoyed when he was given the chance to defend the sect from a demonic invasion. When Shen Qingqiu was accused of murdering the Bai Zhan Peak Lord, Luo Binghe was his most ardent defender, making sure that the Bai Zhan disciples that attacked their peak would never disturb his work or rest. Shen Qingqiu might seem cold and cruel to others, and Luo Binghe wouldn’t deny that he was — it was just that those were the traits he admired in his master, the ones he dreamed of emulating some day.

When the seal on his demonic heritage broke, he was terrified for the first time since he was a child. It was something he’d been having nightmares about for years — that his nature as a demon would be discovered, and that Shen Qingqiu would think he was a traitor and cast him out. What happened instead, after a tense interrogation, was his shizun ordering him to jump into a rift that led to the Endless Abyss, warning him that if any of the other cultivators in the area saw him — a heavenly demon in the middle of a demonic invasion of the largest cultivation event in years — he would be dead within moments. Luo Binghe left, but not without promising Shen Qingqiu that he would be back as soon as he could.

He could never figure out why a flash of sorrow flew across Shen Qingqiu’s face at his words, not until he returned to the human realm once more, six years later, to the news of his imprisonment by Huan Hua Palace for his crimes — something the sect leader, who had always been apologising to Shen Qingqiu for some unknown failing when Luo Binghe was a disciple, had stood by and let happen. Luo Binghe had stormed Huan Hua with an army of demons, intent on keeping his promise, but in the end, he was too late. Shen Qingqiu had died of his injuries just a few days before.

Even as he went on to become Emperor of both the human and demon realms, amassing a harem of a hundred women and becoming more and more powerful with each year, that old promise still lingered in his mind. He made it a point to return any kindness shown to him at least ten-fold — if Shen Qingqiu was still alive, he would be safe and living in luxury, perhaps as one of his advisors, while the sect that betrayed him burned. He wasn’t though, and so the thought remained, until Luo Binghe came across rumours of a rare technique.

It was an ability said to send the user back in time, into the body of their former self, in order to fix their past mistakes. Luo Binghe made it his mission to track the technique down, spending years on the project, until he finally found it. There was an aspect to it that none of the rumours had told him about though — if he returned to a time after he had begun to cultivate, the shock of the transition would send his body into a qi deviation, one that would probably be fatal. That was fine by Luo Binghe though — he knew the perfect time to go back to. The next time he opened his eyes he was back in the body of a child, right before being accepted into Qing Jing Peak.

Things were different the second time. He wasn’t sure what he could have changed — maybe it was just something he said, or maybe Shen Qingqiu was able to see the spark of his older self in his eyes. Either way, when the other disciples started bullying him, when they pushed him out of the dormitory and into the woodshed, he let it happen — it must just be Shen Qingqiu testing him, right? What once was an affectionate nickname becomes a cruel insult. He doesn’t even notice how wrong his cultivation manual is until much later, just using the knowledge from his first life to progress.

As much as he hopes for it, his relationship with Shen Qingqiu in his second life never gets better. He doesn’t know what went wrong for his shizun to hate him so much, doesn’t know what went differently in this life compared to the other. At his worst moments he starts to wonder if the Shen Qingqiu of his first life ever actually cared for him, or if he had simply seen his potential earlier and wanted to claim it for himself.

Years later, the Endless Abyss is open once more, and the sign of his demonic heritage is clear on his forehead. Shen Qingqiu looks at him with rage as he pushes him over the edge while he’s still unsteady from the unsealing, and he wonders if this was how it was always going to be. He makes it through the Abyss faster this time, returning to the human realm after only five years. Xin Mo seems louder in his mind, but it’s nothing he can’t handle.

This time, it’s Luo Binghe who orchestrates the trial, using every piece of knowledge he has to bring Shen Qingqiu under his power. As before, his martial siblings are quick to abandon him, like the cowards that they are. When he first visits his former master in his cell, Shen Qingqiu calls him a beast as he spits at his feet, and in a sudden moment of rage, Luo Binghe tears off his arm. His mind becomes clouded with fury as he thinks back to everything he endured, all out of a hope that Shen Qingqiu would care for him again, only for each and every effort to fail. If Shen Qingqiu won’t love him, he concludes, then he can face the consequences of his actions, here in this cell.

Years later, when Luo Binghe sits on the throne of the combined realms, with six hundred wives, Shen Qingqiu finally dies, and Luo Binghe goes back in time once more.

In his third life, he leaves for the demon realm instead of Cang Qiong, and takes his place at it’s rightful heir by the time he’s fifteen. He comes with Sha Hualing when she leaves to attack the sect, and in the chaos of the fight, he manages to capture Shen Qingqiu. He’s still injured — from the caves, from Liu Qingge’s death he assumes — so he can’t fight back as well as he could. Luo Binghe brings him to the palace he’s been rebuilding, the one that once belonged to his father, and locks him inside a set of luxurious rooms. Maybe, if he sees what accepting Luo Binghe will get him, he’ll be more open to it?

Instead, Shen Qingqiu slits his throat in his room before Luo Binghe can even feed him his blood. He spends the next few years recklessly cultivating, until he is once again strong enough to use the technique that will send him back in time.

In his fourth life, he resolves to make sure Shen Qingqiu will not die, not without his consent. He becomes a disciple again, and slips his blood into his food after breaking his seal in secret. He uses the chaos of the Immortal Alliance Conference to capture him this time, keeping him in an enforced sleep until he finds somewhere safe to keep him. This Shen Qingqiu thinks he’s a spy, thinks he betrayed the sect and kidnapped him to weaken it. He laughs at the idea of a ransom — they both know that the other Peak Lords would never agree to it.

Luo Binghe almost dies in that life, impaled by the blade of Xuan Su, but he manages to survive it, turning his own blade on it’s wielder. In the moment of panic before he breaks free, he pulls on his blood parasites and they tear Shen Qingqiu apart — if he can’t have him, nobody can.

The lives go by, again and again. He’s familiar with the sight of Shen Qingqiu flinching now, with his rare tears of pain, but the way his smile looked is starting to fade from his memory. In one, he tries wiping away his memories, in another he tries wearing a different face, but each time it ends in failure. In one life, he even takes Shen Qingqiu as a concubine — the pills he’s fed provide an illusion of love, but Luo Binghe knows it’s not the real thing. Nothing he tries seems to ever work.

This is what Luo Binghe doesn’t know — Shen Jiu remembers each life as well. Not consciously, not the details, but the impression of the emotions he felt remains. From that first life, where he died alone and cursing his own hope that a half-demon disciple would ever keep his word, he’s been turned against Luo Binghe from the start, with each successive timeline only making things worse and worse, as the hate and fear he feels for him grows.

In a life long after the first, Luo Binghe opens his eyes, once more about to become a disciple of Cang Qiong. Instead, he feels a hand press against his forehead, breaking the seal on his demonic heritage too early. The next thing he feels is a sword through his chest. He looks up at Shen Qingqiu, who is standing there with his sword outstretched — and sees that same look of sorrow he remembers from so long ago.

#svsss #svsss au #shen qingqiu #shen jiu #luo bingge #time loop au #bingjiu #technically!#my writing #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump

58 notes · View notes

blackberrysummerblog · 2 months

Text

So many more than six sentences and not quite Sunday

On the heels of my sad!post, here’s something hopefully more fun: a bit from my never-ending WIP, the married-bythe-crucible au I’ve had in drafts for over a year. This snippet isn’t newly written and I’m crossing my fingers that I haven’t posted it before. I’m actually just going to post a huge fat chunk so there will probably be at least something new. Aaaand if I’ve posted the whole snippet before, no I didn’t 😢 It’s under a cut for mild spice. Thanks for the Wednesday tags @youarenevertooold @aristocratic-otter @confused-bi-queer @artsyunderstudy and @valeffelees!

Snow runs into the bedroom ahead of me, turning at the last moment to hurl himself onto his back on the bed. He’s cackling wildly. “Their faces!” he wheezes, clutching his stomach and kicking his heels on the duvet. His wings stretch up and out, then curl in and fold themselves neatly.

I lock the door and cast a silencing spell around the room.

“Oh Merlin.” He pushes up on his elbows to look at me, his eyes shining with mirth. “When you came out with, “the pitter patter of little claws on the Italian marble’...” He drops back onto the bed and gasps for breath.

Smirking, I approach slowly, acutely aware that neither of us is wearing any more than short swim trunks and t-shirts, and the paltry quantity of fabric is suddenly seeming far less than adequate to keep us out of mischief. “It’s not that they believed any of it,” I tell him, reaching out to place a hand on his bare foot. He’s still cooler than usual, from the pool. I love him singularly.

Snow must have closed his eyes for a moment, because when he lifts his head again to regard me, he’s squinting at me with just one eye. “It’s that you sided with me. To make a joke at their expense. They’re gobsmacked.”

Crowley. Simon Snow is completely thick, but now this. He’s understood exactly. “It’s unforgivable,” I murmur, but I’m smiling, partly because he’s laughing again and it’s contagious, and partly because I’m stroking the top of his foot with my thumb, and it’s skin touch close Simon love and unbearable more ache die. I’m falling into myself while being inescapably yanked toward him, as surely as a Crucible joining.

I climb up onto the bed and Simon's feet slide apart readily, making room for me to crawl between his legs. I do, putting a hand on one bent knee while pressing a kiss to a mole on the other. Snow’s eyes are closed but he smiles in a way that almost seems smug; he wriggles back and forth for a moment as though preening under my attention. “You like that?” I murmur, deliberately keeping my eyes above the drawstring of his (my) exceedingly small swimming trunks. He whines when I push his shirt up as far as it will go and begin my ascent, one mole at a time: one on his hip, two like small round twins just beside his navel, and on and on. He hitches at each touch of my lips, but otherwise remains silent until I reach the one right at the edge of his left nipple.

“Baz,” he whines, reaching for me. And Crowley, I’m weak, because I lower myself onto his chest and nuzzle into his neck, kissing and mouthing at any available space I find. He’s everything. I can’t believe that this is a thing people feel, this all-consuming need for another person, and that he’s letting me be this near to him. One of my hands cups the back of his head while the other grips his waist, kneading him as he squirms beneath me. “Baz,” he says again.

I push myself up, hating myself for the wreck I must look. “What, Snow?”

His cheeks redden, and of course that only makes me want him more. Everything he does makes me want him more. “I just like saying your name,” he stammers, eyes shifting away from my face. “It makes me feel...closer to you.”

“Oh.” I hear the softening in my own voice.

“Baz?”

“Yes?”

“I like you a lot.” It’s a small statement, murmured quietly, yet it feels momentous. “Really, really a lot.” Simon reaches up, taking my face between his hands. They’re warm now, I notice dimly. “No one’s ever treated me the way you do. Like I’m...valuable. I know that sounds stupid,” he adds defensively, his fingers tensing along my cheekbones as he juts his chin up at me.

Valuable. Treasured. Cherished. Beloved. All true, and all so difficult to surmount the sincerity of; it may well kill me. But I lower my face to kiss the side of his eye; as it flutters closed I feel his lashes against my cheek. “You are valuable, Simon,” I choke out, despising every word and the vulnerability the confession inflicts upon me. “You’re the most precious thing I’ve ever known.”

His smile feels legendary, the way it lights me up from the inside. I’m so hopelessly, hopelessly lost. And then his legs wrap around the back of my knees, followed by his tail, pressing our hips close together. Oh.

Have a great week everyone! No pressure tagging: @rimeswithpurple @papierhaikuphoto @nightimedreamersworld @aristocratic-otter @valeffelees @c0nsumemy5oul @alexalexinii @prettygoododds @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @nausikaaa @thewholelemon @supercutedinosaurs @youarenevertooold @cows4247 @larkral @confused-bi-queer @asocialpessimist @aceumbrellaheroes @cutestkilla @hushed-chorus @stitchy-queerista @ic3-que3n @raenestee @bookish-bogwitch @forabeatofadrum @ivelovedhimthroughworse @orange-peony @thehoneyedhufflepuff @bazzybelle @theotherhufflepuff @iamamythologicalcreature @ionlydrinkhotwater @fatalfangirl @facewithoutheart @palimpsessed @letraspal @stardustasincocaine @whogaveyoupermission @onepintobean @wellbelesbian @j-nipper-95 @ileadacharmedlife @imagineacoolusername @sailorblossoms

#six sentence sunday #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on #simon snow series #married by the crucible #crucible au #au #wip

55 notes · View notes

hungermakesmonsters · 5 months

Text

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Six

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R

Chapter Rating : R - some lots of smutty content

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Billy likes a bit of dirty talk during sex. It's pretty run of the mill, though there's some minor discomfort for reader during. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story.

Word Count : ~5.1k

A/N : This chapter picks up straight after the end of the last one. It got a little out of hand but this is exactly what I meant when I said this was going to veer recklessly between fluff and smut. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this, and thanks for all the comments, likes and reblogs on previous chapters!! My posts don't seem to be showing in the tags anymore and I don't know how to fix it.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE

Chapter Six

For the longest time, you were content to stay exactly where you were; your hands on his shoulders while his arms remained around your waist, holding you safely in place while the limo made its way through the New York traffic. His dark eyes stayed fixed on yours, barely blinking, like he was afraid you might disappear if he took his eyes off you even for a moment.

As the limo took a corner, he pulled you closer, holding you tighter against him, letting you feel the heat of his body against yours. The hands on his shoulder drifted to his neck, your thumbs running across his jaw through his stubble, still holding his gaze. You pressed closer still, feeling the now-familiar press of his erection between your thighs.

His hand trailed up your back to your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled you in for a kiss. It wasn’t long before your hips were moving against his, muted moans muffled by his lips. It went on and on, and you were happy to lose yourself in him, but you both came to realise that you needed more.

Eventually, Billy broke the kiss, breathless and staring at you like he was barely holding himself together, like he was losing his mind over you. You broke his gaze when you felt his hand on your thigh, slowly trailing upwards. He stopped for a moment, his thumb gently running over a faint scar, but he didn't ask, he didn't make you explain where the mark had come from before carrying on. Your cheeks started to warm and you found yourself glancing over your shoulder at the privacy screen, the only thing separating the two of you from the driver.

“He can’t hear us, you can be as loud as you want,” Billy smirked, looking at you in a way that felt dangerous, like he was prepared to do anything to you, for you.

You bit your lip as his fingers crept higher, finally reaching the hem of your black lace panties - panties that were, by that point in the evening, embarrassingly soaked. Was the divide really soundproof? Did you really care?

“Then you should probably do something to make me loud,” you challenged with only a hint of nerves, knowing it was too late to try and stop it.

“I thought you’d never ask,” that smirk still on his lips as his fingers finally moved to touch you through the wet fabric.

His touch was slow, teasing at first, fingertips tracing your folds through your panties until a moan spilled from your lips. With that first victory under his belt, his touch became more insistent, finding your clit and starting to trace circles around it. You hadn’t thought it was possible, but you got wetter with every moment that passed, your arousal climbing through the roof.

“Billy,” you moaned, giving him his second little victory.

Your breath caught the moment his fingers slipped into your panties, biting back another moan, trying not to lose another point so soon. Billy’s gaze seemed to darken when he realised what you were trying to do, how you were trying to deny him. He ran his digits through your arousal, spreading it from your slit, coating his fingers in it, before turning his attention back to your clit.

His smirk disappeared, replaced by something more serious, something hungry.

“Oh God, Billy...” you moaned again, this time louder as he teased his fingers over your swollen clit. He kept going, expertly moving his fingers, strumming that bundle of nerves like you were an instrument only he knew how to play. Another moan slipped out and you soon abandoned your game; Billy had won, you couldn’t keep quiet when he was touching you.

You got louder with every sound that left you, letting Billy know that you were defeated. But, still, he wanted more from you. That hungry look on his face was far from satisfied.

His fingers ventured lower again, the tip of his index finger teasing your wet opening, slipping inside slowly before pulling out again. You keened every time he almost gave you what you wanted, your hips moving, trying to show him what you needed.

“Please -” you didn’t even realise that the word had come from you, but it did something to Billy. His eyes sparked with want and need, but he continued to toy with you, until; “Billy, please…”

Slowly, finally, his finger slid into your trembling pussy right down to the knuckle.

“Is this what you want, sweetheart?” He asked and your body answered for you, clenching and fluttering around his finger as it started to stroke into you. The fingers in your hair curled tighter and you couldn’t decide if Billy was trying to hold on to you or keep himself anchored. The hunger in him only seemed to grow as you moaned and writhed against his touch, and you weren’t sure which one of you was going to break first.

“Such a needy little pussy,” he muttered and all you could offer him was another moan. A second finger joined the first and you cried out, clumsily rocking your hips against his hand while your inner walls tightened. “Fuck, sweetheart, I’m gonna enjoy stretching you with my cock…”

Your cheeks started to burn; you weren’t used to dirty talk, but hearing those words from Billy made you crave more. You bit your lip, too embarrassed to tell him that you were going to enjoy that too. Billy seemed to notice your embarrassment and he soon turned it into his next game. His fingers fucked you faster, bending and scissoring inside you, trying to prepare you for what was coming, searching for -

“Fuck!” You cried out as his fingers hit just the right spot, causing your back to arch and your thighs to tremble.

“Did that feel good?” You didn’t answer, his fingers continued to stroke into your body, but it didn’t feel like enough anymore. “If you don’t tell me, I won’t do it again.”

He wanted you to admit it, wanted you to beg and, as much as you didn’t want to, as much as you told yourself you were better than that, you knew that you weren’t. You’d never wanted anything more than you wanted him. He made you feel desperate, needy, and it should have worried you how much power you'd let him have over you.

“Yes,” you admitted, and he rewarded you by pressing his thumb to your clit.

“Do you want me to make you come with my fingers?” The smirk was back; he knew that you were his, that he was in complete control.

“Yes,” you moaned.

“Say it for me, sweetheart.”

“Make me come with - with your fingers, Billy.” As embarrassed as you might have felt, Billy didn’t give you time to feel anything except his fingers, fucking you harder and faster, hitting that spot inside you, over and over. Your hands found his hair, fingers twisting and pulling as his fingers drove you insane.

It took less than a minute before your back was arching and your whole body was shaking. His fingers kept their pace, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could, while his other hand continued to hold you tight.

When his hand finally pulled back, you caught an expectant and somewhat uncomfortable look on his face.

“What?” Had you done something wrong?

“You okay? Last time you... you kinda panicked.” he explained with a gentle smile, reminding you of the party.

“I’m not going anywhere. I promised you the night, Billy.” And, to prove your point, your hands started to slip down his body, over his shirt, finding their way to his pants. You heard his breath catch as you quickly dealt with his belt and the fastenings.

“Are you sure?” You didn’t stop to answer him, too busy slipping your hand into his boxers to free his cock.

“I want you, Billy,” you told him, your eyes dropping between your bodies, finally getting a good look at his cock.

“Good, ‘cause I don’t think I can wait until I get you home.”

You might have laughed at his desperation if your attention wasn’t fixed on his cock; like every other inch of Billy, it was perfect. Long, thick, and impossibly hard in your hand, the tip already glistening. And it was all for you. You started to stroke him slowly while Billy fumbled in his jacket for a condom and, soon enough, he was knocking your hand away so he could sheath himself.

Without warning, he tore your panties and balled the tattered remains into his pocket, leaving you perfectly exposed to him. Billy took hold of himself, teasing the tip of his cock against your slit, while you gripped his shoulders and lifted yourself over him. You expected him to drive into you but, instead, he waited; he was going to let you set the pace, you realised. After a few deep breaths, you slowly started to sink down, letting out a grunt of discomfort as the crown of his cock nudged its way inside of you. Despite his preparation and how wet you were, you ached as he stretched you, so much so that you needed to stop after you’d taken the first couple of inches.

“Fuck, Billy, you’re so big…” You hated yourself the moment it left your lips; the most ridiculous and cliche thing you could have said. Your gaze dropped between your bodies to where you were now impaled on his cock, second guessing whether or not you could continue.

“Don’t stop,” he told you softly, his hand cupping your cheek, forcing you to look at him, “it’ll feel so good in a minute, I promise. Just keep your eyes on me, okay?”

His words said one thing, but his grip in your hair and the spark in his eyes said another. He was fighting himself; he wanted to take control, wanted to fuck you hard. But he didn’t, he waited for you to move, slowly sinking down onto him, every hard inch filling you in a way that made you feel like you’d never been fucked before. You kept your eyes on his, watching every flash of pleasure as you took more and more of him. And, despite the ache, the feeling was intoxicating. Panting for breath, you buried your face against his shoulder, needing a moment.

“You feel so fucking good,” Billy moaned in your ear, “so tight, so fucking perfect, just like I thought you’d be.” His fingers tugged your hair, urging you to lift your head again. “Fuck me, sweetheart.”

His hand gripped your hips through your gown, urging you to move. The ache started to subside once you did and it wasn’t long before you were enjoying how it felt. Billy used his hands to guide your movements but he didn’t push for more than you wanted to give. But you wanted to please him, make him feel how you felt. You moved faster, clumsily riding him, moaning his name every time you sank down, and it wasn’t long until you felt your climax starting to build. A gasp slipped out as his fingers found your clit again and mercilessly pushed you over the edge.

You cried out as you came, so loud that there was no way the driver couldn’t hear you. Your body shook so fiercely that you barely noticed Billy moving you, laying you back on the seat so he could continue at his own pace. His arm hooked beneath your knee, pulling it up so he could fuck you deeper. Once he was in charge things turned faster, harder, giving you the full Billy Russo Experience (trademark definitely pending). He fucked you like you belonged to him and all you could do was cry out for him, moaning his name, over and over.

He grunted something that sounded a lot like ‘mine’ against your neck, nipping and sucking the column of your throat in a way that you knew would leave a mark if he carried on. Panicked fingers quickly pulled his hair, not wanting to be branded by him, pulling his lips from your neck and leading them towards your own. Billy was happy to kiss you, to slip his tongue between your lips and dominate you in another way. It didn’t take much to make you come again, and the feeling of your walls convulsing around him was more than enough to finish Billy off.

The twitch of his cock inside you was dulled by the condom, but the groan he let out was more than enough to let you know that he was done.

“Holy shit,” he muttered softly, trying to catch his breath.

Billy didn’t move straight away, leaving you trembling beneath him, his cock still buried inside you as everything started to slow down again, his face hidden against your neck. Finally, he sat back up, fingers trying to tame the mess you’d made of his hair and rolling his shoulder like he might have pulled something. You stayed where you were for a moment, suddenly feeling so cold and empty without his touch. Taking a deep breath, you awkwardly sat back up, smoothing out your dress and pulling it back down to cover your legs. Billy, similarly, had dumped the condom and sorted out his own clothes.

Your eyes drifted to the window, watching the outside world speed by. In the silence you found yourself thinking about what you’d just done - what you were going to do next. How were you going to go back to how things were after tonight? How would you ever get over this? The quiet between you dragged on for a few minutes before Billy reached for your hand and pulled your attention back to him.

“You okay?” he asked softly, leaving some space between you while he tried to figure out what you needed from him.

All you could do was nod, and that seemed to worry him more.

“Hey, talk to me. What’s going on?” He squeezed your hand.

“I’m just trying not to overthink this.” You admitted. Billy nodded before slowly moving towards you and wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you towards him and holding you tight. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Tonight is whatever you want it to be, okay?”

That was the problem, you weren’t sure what you wanted the night to be, especially now that you’d had mind blowing sex with him.

“Can you just hold me like this? Just for a little while?” You asked softly, letting your own arm move across his waist.

“Of course,” Billy answered just as softly, tenderly pressing his lips to your brow.

His other hand pulled his phone from his pocket, but you couldn’t see what he was doing. Once he was done, the phone was slipped back into his pocket and his hand moved to gently stroke your hair.

“You look really beautiful tonight,” he offered softly, making you smile.

“I’m a sure thing, Billy,” you laughed softly, “you don’t have to keep flirting with me.”

“I’m just being honest,” turning a little and pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “I’ve been losing my fucking mind all night just looking at you.” You stayed quiet, not sure what you were supposed to say to any of that.

Billy let the silence hang between you for a few minutes, holding you tight.

“I think this is my favourite part of the night so far,” he admitted. “This is why you. You let me have moments like this. When I’m with you I feel like there’s no expectations, no pressure, like you don’t want me to be anything....”

“I like this too,” you answered, though you didn’t have the heart to remind him that this wasn’t going to last, that, come morning, it would all be over.

You let your eyes close, holding Billy a little tighter, enjoying the moment while it lasted. It wasn’t much longer before the limo was pulling to a stop outside of his building and, when the driver opened the door for you, you were pretty certain he knew exactly what the pair of you had been up to back there, but he didn’t seem to care, especially not after Billy had given him his tip for the evening.

He took your hand, an eagerness in his step as he led you into his apartment building, a grin on his lips that you couldn’t quite decipher - was he really that eager to fuck you again? The building's doorman welcomed Billy home.

“This just arrived for you, Mr Russo,” the doorman approached and you burst out laughing at the sight of the pizza box in his hands.

“Thanks, Marvin.” Trying to hold back his own laughter as he took the box and tipped the doorman.

Billy didn’t waste any more time, pulling you towards the elevator and putting a key into the control panel and hitting the button for the top floor - because, of course, Billy Russo had a penthouse apartment.

“I can’t believe you actually got us pizza,” you laughed, an irrepressible smile pulling at your lips.

“You’re gonna need all the energy you can get for what I’ve got planned, sweetheart.” He joked and, suddenly, you were very aware of the fact you weren’t wearing panties beneath your dress anymore. (And for a moment you stopped to wonder what you were supposed to do in that situation - were you supposed to ask for the shredded panties back? What was Billy even going to do with them?)

Whatever clever answer you had for him was silenced the moment the elevator doors slid open, revealing his apartment. It was strange, really; while you’d known that Billy was obviously rich, it wasn’t until you saw his apartment that it really hit home. He must have noticed the way your jaw had dropped because he let out a little chuckle as he led you into his home.

“Make yourself comfortable, I’ll go grab us a bottle of wine.” He stopped by a coffee table set in front of a large corner sofa to put the pizza down before disappearing.

Finally, you were able to slip out of Tammy’s Louboutins, your aching feet reminding you why you normally didn’t wear heels. Rather than making yourself comfortable, you found yourself creeping across his apartment, looking around. Surprisingly, it felt - empty. Sure, there was furniture and pretty much every appliance you could think of from a hi-fi to a TV with surround sound, but there was nothing personal, save for a couple of photos on one of the walls.

You recognised Billy in them immediately, then Frank, and a few of Billy’s friends that you’d met; all dressed in their Marine uniforms, all looking a little worse for wear, but smiling regardless. But, other than that, there were no other photos, nothing that made the apartment feel lived in.

Soon enough you were moving towards the windows that ran from floor to ceiling, marvelling at the view of the city.

“It’s a great view,” he almost startled you. You turned back slowly, a creeping sense of shame filling you, like he’d caught you snooping.

“I don’t think I’d ever get bored of this view,” giving it one last glance.

“Me neither.”

You didn’t dare ask which view Billy was talking about.

He sat down on the sofa, opening the pizza box before pouring two glasses of white wine. You made your way towards him sinking down onto the sofa beside him, eyes fixed on the pizza. Although you’d eaten earlier that evening, you found that you were surprisingly hungry. Billy gave a wave of his hand, telling you to help yourself as he picked up a slice for himself.

The moment the slice hit your lips you let out an embarrassing moan and, from the corner of your eye, you could see Billy’s grin.

“So, uh,” you choked back a laugh, “this is a nice place. It’s very - big?”

“I bought it the first year Anvil turned a profit,” he explained, reaching for his glass, “I was feeling a bit… indulgent. I always dreamed of a place like this when I was a kid, I thought I’d finally feel like I’d made it once I had a place like this.”

“And did you?”

“Not really,” he shrugged. “The problem with wanting is that once you fill one hole in your life, you realise that there’s another, bigger hole that can’t be filled with things. And, when you grow up in the system, there’s a lot of things you want.”

“You grew up in foster care?” Billy nodded and you had no follow up.

“Where’d you grow up? You don’t talk like you’re a native New Yorker.” He shifted a little, turning so he could see you a little better.

You took a bite of pizza, trying to avoid the question for as long as possible.

“Islamorada, it’s, uh, in Florida.”

“You gave up sun, sea and sand for city life?” He asked and you just shrugged. “You still got family down there?”

“No, it’s just me now.”

Billy seemed to realise that it was a sore subject and you didn’t want to say any more. In a way, it felt wrong sitting there with him, getting to know him when all of this would be over in a few hours. You made small talk for a little while, asking Billy about Anvil, telling him little anecdotes about work and what it was like to live with Tammy, all the while eating pizza and almost getting through the bottle of wine together.

Until you finally felt brave enough to say; “Billy, take me to bed.”

He didn’t say a word as he got to his feet, holding his hand out to you. You took it and soon found yourself being led towards his bedroom, grabbing his free hand when it reached for the lightswitch.

“Leave the lights off?” It came out more like an uncomfortable question, but Billy was happy enough to go along with it, closing the door behind you. With the lights off, the room was bathed in the gentle glow of the New York City lights, enough to see each other but not enough to see every detail and imperfection.

You moved quickly, fingers frantically pulling his shirt open, leaving Billy to shrug it off while your hands trailed down his exposed chest to his belt. His lips crashed against yours as your fingers worked and, soon enough, you were pushing his pants and boxers down his legs.

Before you knew what was happening, he’d turned you, his fingers tugging at the zipper of your gown, letting it drop to the floor next to his clothes and your bra soon followed. Billy pulled you back against him, his lips trailing wet kisses along your shoulders and neck while his hands explored your body. When his fingers found the faint ridge of a scar on your stomach, Billy paused, but before you could panic, the hand started to move again, slipping down and between your thighs. Your legs parted, longing for his touch.

“Still so wet for me,” he groaned, fingers running between your folds, “don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m gonna take good care of you.”

He didn’t waste any time, sinking two fingers into you and fucking you with them. There was something rougher about the way he touched you, something demanding and desperate, like the last of his patience had finally worn away. It didn’t take long for you to come and Billy didn’t waste any time trying to drag it out; he just wanted to make sure you were ready for his cock. And you were, you were desperate for him.

You felt his cock twitch as you turned in his arms, your breasts pressed against his bare chest as you sank closer and closer, until your lips were ghosting his.

“Fuck me, Billy,” you breathed, giving him permission to take what he so desperately wanted from you.

His hands on your ass pulled you towards him, holding you against him as he stepped back and took a seat on the edge of the bed, pulling you down with him. Your lips found his while he reached for the bedside table for a condom, sucking his tongue as he rolled it on and positioned you against him. The hard tip of his cock grazed the slit between your wet folds before he rolled his hips upwards, pitching every inch of himself into you. He moaned at the feeling of your slick walls straining around him, stretching as you struggled to take him, still so overwhelmed by the size of him. But the ache felt good now, intoxicating even, and you knew it would stick with you for at least a few days once you were done.

You wound yourself around him, fingers pressing into his back, holding on as he started to drive his cock into you, higher and deeper, taking more control than he had in the limo. Fingers curled in your hair, gripping but not pulling, and little by little, you realised that you were finally getting to see a glimpse of the real Billy Russo, the side that he’d been holding back. Some part of you felt like you should be afraid, especially when his dark eyes found yours in the gloom; there was something about the way he wanted you that made your stomach knot, not with fear but anticipation. He wanted you in the darkest of ways, like you were prey and he demanded your submission before devouring you whole.

He fucked you like he was laying claim to your body, like every fibre of his being wanted you, needed you. And you craved it, you craved the feel of his cock inside you and his fingers gripping at your hips and pulling your hair, just as much as you needed his gasped groans telling you how good it felt. As he stretched you, as he filled you so completely, you got wetter, practically dripping all over his cock, your body telling him what your words couldn’t. (More, more, more.)

The heat of your body clamped around him, earning groans and a hundred filthy mutterings from him, telling you everything you already knew; you were desperate for him, you loved his cock inside you, your pussy was made for him and, your personal favourite;

“You’re never going to want anyone but me to have this pussy ever again, sweetheart. No one else is ever going to fill you like I do.”

His tongue slipped into your mouth, saving you the embarrassment of agreeing with him so easily, from screaming yes and offering him something that you knew you couldn’t give. But you couldn’t think about that. If it was only going to be one night, then you hoped that the night would last forever.

You moved with him, hips trying desperately to keep time with his, drawing him deeper and deeper, your soaked walls finally letting him move with ease. As your back arched, his lips tore from yours, his face buried itself between your breasts, tongue running over sweat-slicked skin until his lips closed over an already achingly hard nipple. He sucked your nipple while his fingers curled tighter in your hair, and nipped with his teeth while his cock continued to stroke fast and deep inside you.

Nails clawed against his back, his name falling from your lips, over and over again. You’d never felt such desperation, such eager desire.

“That’s right,” he almost growled as his lips pulled from your nipple, leaving it tender and swollen, “beg for me, beg me to let you come.”

And you did without thought, so ready to give yourself over to him, no longer thinking about anything but him and the feelings he was creating inside of you.

“Please - please, Billy, I need you to -” you panted, so willing to do whatever he wanted, to submit to his every need, his every dark desire, “- please, let me -”

You could see him smirking in the gloom as he tugged your hair, causing you to lean back, letting him change the angle. The tip of his cock found that special spot inside of you and his movements became merciless, filling you with so much pleasure you barely noticed the way he was still pulling your hair. You tightened around him every time he grazed it, moaning wildly, crying his name, until you finally shattered, flooding his cock and convulsing around him. And still he fucked you, pitching his cock up into you in a way that let you knew he wanted you to be able to feel him long after he was done.

By the time his release flooded the condom, your entire body was trembling and boneless, completely and utterly his in a way you didn’t care to think about. He pulled you back toward him, crushing your breasts against his chest and laying claim to your mouth with his tongue. Neither of you tried to pull away or sever your connection; you weren’t ready to lose the feeling of his cock inside you just yet, and Billy seemed equally reluctant to leave the warm embrace of your body.

As the kiss broke your head moved to his shoulder, taking slow and steady breaths as your body slowly came down from its high. After an immeasurable amount of time, he moved, lifting you up and putting you in his bed, climbing in beside you and wrapping his arms around you.

Minutes passed in silence, his hands trailing up and down your bare skin until it felt like he’d explored every inch of you that he could. Similarly, your fingers ran across his chest, while you tried to commit every perfect detail to memory. It wasn’t long before he was kissing you, urging you onto your back so he could fuck you again. And that was how things went until you finally fell asleep; tender moments followed by desperate fucking, until you were aching and exhausted.

When you woke a few hours later, light was starting to filter into the room, and you knew it was time to leave. Gently, cautiously, you slipped out of his bed, pausing for a moment to look at him; he looked so peaceful and it struck you how you’d never seen him look so relaxed. Without thinking, you reached for him, wanting to run your fingers through his hair one last time, but stopped yourself at the last second.

You needed to get out of there.

You got dressed, found your coat and phone, and left before he could wake up and give you a reason to stay.

CHAPTER SEVEN

END NOTES : So, yeah, I got a little bit carried away with this one. I thought about making it into two chapters but there never really seemed to be a good place to stop it. Because the next chapter is set during Halloween (I know, I'm super late) I'm going to post it a little earlier, probably Wednesday.

Also for some reason my post don't seem to be showing up in the tag and idk how to fix that...

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this hope you have a great day!

TAG LIST

@lincerad @sweetserendipity65 @rafaelakelley @slayerofthevampire @rensolodriver @lovelydoveval @doloreschanal @uncontainedsmiles @damagelove

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo x female reader #the punisher #billy russo fanfic #cmiyc ff #ben barnes #punisher fanfic

144 notes · View notes

hearts4youz · 4 months

Text

The Captains Daughter: Chapter 16

A/N: finally, a chapter worth posting. This one is so much better than the last two or three i've posted. Sorry guys, I've totally lost track of time, its been two weeks since the last chapter ive posted... this is a longer one so hopefully it will suffice. Thank yall so much for reading, feedback is much appreciated :)

Taglist: @abbiesxox @n30n-j3lly @weird-katthing @kayoyamamegame @kroowonderemporium @astro-ghoul99

word count: 1.3k

Reader pov:

You and your father have silently agreed to just let go of what happened during the commute to the grocery store. The two of you have not talked about the topic since, and you were grateful for it. You headed for the doors to get outside the base, as you had decided earlier that a morning run should do the trick for your sluggish start to the day. It seems you had woken up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Barely making conversation at breakfast, feeling irritated and put off by everything. Even the sound of Gaz breathing when you sat next to him in the mess hall made you want to choke him out.

You breathed in deeply, savoring the crispy winter air as it's freezing tendrils circled your lungs. You sighed and were about to get moving when you heard a gruff noise behind you.

It was Ghost, clearing his throat.

You turned towards him, a quizzical look crossing your features.

"I've tracked you across the whole bloody base," he said, in a gravely, morning voice.

"And?" You said, annoyed. You didn't feel like talking to anyone not even your mysterious crush.

"And, a good soldier should know to watch their damn six."

"Yeah, in the field," you roll your eyes.

"Someone's pissy this morning, I thought we were on good terms now?" He chuckled

"I just... sorry- you didn't do anything wrong-" he cut you off.

"I know," he smirked.

"... just bad nights sleep I guess," you glared, finishing your sentence.

"Where are you headed?" his voice softened slightly, but his gaze still remained rigid and judgy.

"Out for a run."

"You don't mind if I join do you?"

You raised and eyebrow at his suggestion

"What? i'm not supposed to be friendly with my teammates ever?"

"I-I...no...I don't mind," you said skeptically.

The two of you took off at a quick pace, you were surprised that the lieutenant could keep up despite the skull balaclava covering his nose and mouth, as well as his large, toned build.

"You run often?" you ask.

"Mmm... when I was a kid I got in trouble a lot. I had to make a quick getaway sometimes."

"Who was chasing you... the law?"

"Eh, sometimes," he said, nonchalantly.

"Well, what kind of trouble?" you asked, not knowing whether to be concerned or intrigued.

"Dumb, teenage shit. You know, smashing windows... drinking... smoking, anything to get me out of the house really. I matured eventually."

"And now your in the military, the irony," you paused. "You know, I really wouldn't have guessed that you were so... unruly as a kid, Mister 'im so strict and tough," you laughed.

He gave a chuckle in response.

"Mhm, my teenage years were pretty lawless... probably can't say the same for you, Price's kid," he smirked.

"Ah you got me there... I did get into a little trouble though."

"Really...?"

"I dabbled with boys mostly..."

This made Simon's heart rate quicken, the thought of you with other guys, but then he reminded himself that you were a teenager at the time.

"Boys? I'm sure the captain wasn't very fond of that"

"Oh hell no... he always chased 'em away. I never could keep a boyfriend for very long. No matter how secretive I was he always found out."

Noted Ghost thought to himself.

Ghost laughs, "Yup, sounds like ol' cap."

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence for a few minutes as Ghost thinks about your love life.

"You...you don't happen to have any of those men in your life now... do you?" he asks quietly.

"I uhm....uh...well... no," You respond, a bit flustered.

"Good, otherwise i'd have to tell cap" He added, voice stronger and more confident while trying to play the question off as a joke.

You two were almost back to the base now, as you finished at the doors Ghost spoke up again as he swung the door open for you.

"It's about time for our daily training now, good timing."

You nodded as you stepped through the door into the pleasantly warm building. You walked down to the training facilities with him.

"Lets do some lifting," Ghost suggested.

You groaned in protest, dragging your feet as your lieutenant led you into the gym. You went through a few sets, bench press, curls, a few ab exercises, and finally some squats. By the time you were ready to start squatting, your body was exhausted, especially your legs considering you ran beforehand. Ghost looked at you with a slight bit of sympathy.

"Lets just do two sets of eight for this one alright Y/N?"

"Thank you, G-Ghost," you sputtered as you struggled to keep the bar level as you got into your first squat.

You wobbled, your legs quivered as you raised yourself back up into a standing postion.

One

You shook even more on the way down the second time, Ghost noticed this and left the wall he was leaning up against. He stood behind you with his hands open, ready to steady the bar if needed.

down, up

Two

By the third rep, the bar was so far away from being level on your shoulders your whole body tipped to the right. Luckily, Ghost caught you and lifted the bar off your shoulders before you could fall. He put the bar back on the rack and took a few pounds off of it while you sat down for a moment.

"If you're not okay enough to finish we can be done here," Ghost told you. His words were sympathetic but his voice was void of emotion, it was hard to gauge weather he was disappointed in your failure to finish the set or if he was concerned for you.

Ghost pov:

Goddamnit, she totally felt that.

I stood in front of Y/N while she sat down for a moment to catch her breath. I had to get the bar off of her before she hurt herself, but in the process I had pressed myself against her by accident. Which in return gave me a little problem... down there. Forever grateful to my mask for saving my ass once again, I tried to exert calmness towards Y/N while she rested. I desperately hoped that she would be done now that she was almost crushed by the weight.

"No, I'd like to finish out the set at least," she responded to my question.

"You sure? no shame in calling it quits to avoid injury," I responded in a warmer tone than before.

"Yeah, I've got it," she reassured me, more strength in her voice now.

Again, I positioned myself behind her to spot her. Only this time, a half step further back, not forgetting about my hard on. I'm not going to lie, It was tough to just stand there silently while she got her reps in. All I wanted to do was praise her, to tell her what a good job she was doing. I wanted to see her smile when I told her she did something right, I just wanted to make her happy.

"Good work," I managed to say when she got all eight reps in.

She told me goodbye and turned to leave. I watched her walk away, she took a few steps before I couldn't help myself.

"Wait!"

She turned around.

"I enjoyed running with you this morning... really- it was nice. Thank you for letting me go with you."

Her face broke into a genuine smile.

"Thank you for coming with me, it was nice to see you more informal... you know, outside of all the work stuff."

When she walked off again, I couldn't help but get all giddy and boyish. I felt like a teenager swooning over his crush at school.

fucking hell, Y/N enjoyed my company.

Reader pov:

When you left the gym and were sure that no one could see you, you damn near squealed for joy.

He liked running with me!

Ghost

My lieutenant

The guy I like

#captain price #cod 141 #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #cod ghost #task force 141 #cod x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost smut #ghost simon riley #simon riley #ghost mw2 #dad!price #gaz cod #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish

95 notes · View notes

sirowsky-stories · 7 months

Text

The Old Prince

So, this is my entry for the Halloween themed Pedro Pascal Writing Challenge hosted by @pedrocontestsrus Thank you for organizing this! And if anyone else is interested in entering the competition, here's a link to the post with all the info.

I chose Prompt #2 Theme: A Dark and Stormy Night. However, I suck at short, so this is basically just a teaser which I'm gonna have to continue outside of the contest.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Monster Oberyn Martell x Female Reader, Game of Thrones AU, obviously Halloween themed, reader cusses, reader is attacked and abducted. Also, this is my first time writing Oberyn. Word Count: 4041 Author's Masterlist

You run at full speed despite the darkness, ignoring the burning in your lungs and the furious pounding of your heart, even though you know that he’s already gone and that your running would only scare him off if he wasn’t. The woods have always scared you and even now, in your mid-thirties, you still panic when you’re alone among the creaking old trees, spider webs and nightly active animals, all of whom seem intent on eating you. At least, to your own imagination.

“Damned it, Casper…” you breathlessly curse the horse for leaving you, once you’ve been forced to a stop by the pain in your lungs.

He’s normally very brave but being in the woods in the middle of a building storm is apparently too much even for his stout heart. So, you’re left to walk the remaining four miles to your house, and not for the first time, you find yourself wondering why the hell you’d chosen to live all the way out here, surrounded by the very woods that have always been such a source of discomfort to you.

“Because that was all you could afford, dimwit,” you chastise yourself out loud.

The house you now live in had been put up for sale after the previous owner had been missing for a few years and was eventually declared dead, despite her body never being found. It’s small and old, but well maintained and very charming, so you’d been surprised to be the only one interested in it.

You’ve lived there for over six years now and while it’s a bit secluded and a little too far from town, you do love it. The hiking trails leading up to the seven hills that make up the east boundary of the region run right by your property, and in daylight, you love to ride or just wander up to the peaks and admire the view.

There are rarely any larger wildlife passing through so for the most part, it’s quite safe, so long as you remember to bring water and check for lose rocks on the steeper sections of the trails. But now, in the near pitch-black darkness of night, you can’t even recognize the trail you’re on. So, why are you even out here?

Well, that would be because you’d started out in daylight, as usual, but then gotten involved in a search for another missing person in the hills, which had left you out there until well after nightfall. You had of course expected Casper to bring you home safe and sound, like he usually does no matter what’s going on around him. But unfortunately, on this occasion, the horse had lost its footing and fallen to the ground.

He’d gotten up without trouble, but since you’d no longer been on his back at that point, he’d gotten spooked, probably by the reins getting caught in his legs or something, and had taken off. You hope that he gets home without hurting himself, but you’re also quite angry with him for not recognizing your voice and staying by your side instead of running off on his own.

But your thoughts are disrupted by a creaking sound coming from behind you, a sound definitely not created by a tree. You stop, feeling a cold shiver move slowly down your spine, and you know that you’re in danger. You have no idea exactly what is watching you right now, but you know that something is.

You hear that same sound again, mere moments after the first, and even as you instinctively set off running, too panicked to even know if you’re still on the trail, your mind tries to work out what the hell that sound is. The winds are picking up, building towards the forecasted storm that has all the kids in town excited because of how perfect it is for the Halloween celebration, but it’s making it so much harder for you to hear if something’s chasing you.

Unable to stop yourself, you throw a look over your right shoulder, and a strangled scream escapes you when you catch a glimpse of something impossibly large and strangely shiny, and then just teeth. You try to run faster but you can’t. The dark world around you is a blur as you wait for those teeth to sink into your flesh and torture you to death. It seems to take so long.

And then it happens. You’re snagged to a stop so quickly that it makes your legs lift off the ground as they’re kicked forwards by the momentum. Something has your shoulder between its jaws, but that’s as much as you’re aware of before the world fades away and nothing exists anymore.

-=¤=-

You wake up on a bed in a room with a strange ceiling and stone walls. You’re groggy and only half awake, so it takes you a moment to realize that there are paintings covering the ceiling, making the stones look kind of fluid. Beautiful images of stormy seas and a red sunset flow across the domed shape, bringing it to life in a way that stone shouldn’t be capable of.

Then you remember, and bring your left hand up to examine your right shoulder, half expecting it to just not be there. But it is, and it feels fine. You sit up, relieved but also confused that there’s no pain, and as your bare feet hit the cold floors, your eyes are drawn to the rest of the room. It’s round and there’s a window in every direction, revealing the daylight outside, but also every detail inside.

The bed is easily large enough for two people, and the sheets and blankets are the softest you’ve ever felt. There’s a loveseat underneath one of the windows, with plush pillows leaned against the armrests. In the middle of the room is a carpet which you can tell just by looking at it, likely costs more than your house. And the curtains, four matching pairs, all a deep red, somehow seem both heavy and feathery light.

There’s a door to your left, and it’s standing open, so at least you’re not a prisoner. But you don’t feel like one regardless. All of this is so strange, because you’re sure that something bit you, but you can’t find any wounds in your skin. There are holes in your shirt, though. And where’s your jacket? Why are you barefoot?

You head for the door and find a winding staircase leading down, so this is apparently a tower. At the foot of the stairs is a corridor and then more stairs, twirling the other way this time, so you keep heading down, passing closed doors and empty spaces until you reach a pair of large double doors that are left wide open.

There’s a fire crackling inside and your cold feet and bare arms have left you shivering, so you head inside, finding the biggest open fireplace you’ve ever seen, in the other end of the huge room. It must be a ballroom or excessively large dining room, but it’s completely empty, save for a padded short stool in front of the fire.

You sit and warm yourself, trying to think back, to remember any details that might help you understand what’s happened to you, but nothing comes to mind. And then a movement to your right startles you to your feet.

“My apologies, miss. I have a habit of moving quietly,” a dark and low voice says, and when you locate the man who that voice belongs to, you’re momentarily stunned into silence.

He’s tall and broad, but quite lean, with a perfectly chiseled jaw and a beard trimmed to accentuate that. He wears no jewelry, but his dark green coat has golden threads and small embroideries on the cuffs and along the collar. Shapes too small for you to make out at ten feet of distance, but which from afar remind you of snakes. Still, it’s his eyes that rob your brain of most its function.

So dark, but also incredibly expressive. He’s curious, intrigued, but wary. As though you might pose a threat to him somehow, which seems impossible to you.

“W-… Where are my shoes?” you manage to croak, still unable to break away from his eyes.

“I took your shoes and your jacket to encourage you not to run away once you awoke. I’m afraid I am going to need you to remain here for the time being,” the man explains, and suddenly your brain wakes up in full.

“So, I’m your captive, is that what you’re telling me?”

“Yes, and no. You are my captive, as much as I am yours.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? I have no idea who you are,” you counter, getting angry because that’s all you can do to keep from panicking.

“My name is Oberyn, and this is my home. You’re welcome to explore as much as you like, but I would recommend staying away from the basement. Especially at night.”

“Why? Do you have more prisoners down there you don’t want me to set free?”

“Oh, there are cages down there, and many of them are occupied,” he says, while taking a few steps closer to you. “But I doubt that you would want to release any of the creatures that are locked inside.”

Creatures? What the hell does he mean by that? He’s only three feet away when he stops, just as the outside light catches his eyes at a different angle, and you can swear that you see something else within them. A bright golden shine seems to illuminate them from within for just a fraction of a second, as if reacting to the sun’s rays.

“The tower is yours. I will not venture there without your approval for the duration of your stay. But the rest of the castle is my domain, and you move through it at your own risk. Do you understand?” he asks, to which your anger flares.

“Understand? No… I really don’t. Who are you?! What is this place, where the hell am I?! There aren’t any castles anywhere near the seven hills! And what the hell was it that chased me last night, and why do I have bitemarks in my shirt but not on my skin? What the fuck is going on?!”

He lets you scream and rant without so much as a twitch bothering his mustache, and says nothing as you begin to pace in front of the fireplace, crossing your arms in silent defiance, but also an attempt to guard yourself against all this strangeness.

“You were bitten by a serpent,” he quietly says, just as you’re about to give up and leave the room.

“It was a lot bigger than any snake, and it had a lot more than two fangs,” you counter, all but spitting at him now, further angered by the notion that he might be trying to convince you that you imagined the whole thing.

“I didn’t say that it was a snake,” he replies, and you stop pacing.

“And what is a serpent if not a damned snake?” you challenge, but he seems unbothered.

“Is that all it can be? You must think broader than that, young one.”

His words make no sense to you. Serpent, snake, fucking danger noodle, it’s all the same. And “young one”? He’s at most five years older than you.

“Please, just tell me where we are?” you finally ask, deciding that there’s probably no point in trying to argue with this mystery man.

He looks at you for a good minute then, as if trying to decide if he should answer, and you notice that he doesn’t blink a lot, which is surprisingly unsettling.

“We are six hundred and nine miles from your home. Give or take a few dozen feet.”

That takes you a second to process.

“What!?” you almost scream, unable to take any more of this incomprehensible nonsense. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that you had a fucking helicopter hidden in the woods, or something?”

“Take a look outside the windows,” he calmly suggests. “I’m sure the snow on the ground will help you come to terms with the truth that you are no longer as far south as you think.”

Unwilling to take his word for it, you walk over to the nearest window, where the view makes your heart sink. Because he’s right. Not only are there several inches of snow covering everything in sight, but you also don’t recognize the landscape at all. And that’s when the realization of just how much trouble you’re in, finally dawns on you.

Turning away from the window, you now meet your captor’s eyes, for the first time with fear brimming within your own. Unable to stop yourself, you try to back away from him but there’s a wall in the way, so you start moving sideways instead, heading for the open double doors of the room. He doesn’t try to stop you, but just before you turn your back to him as you’re crossing the threshold, his expression turns incredibly sad.

You run through the halls, fully panicking now and having no idea where you’re even going. But then another set of large double doors are in front of you, so you grab the handle on one of them and pull it open. It’s the front entrance. You’re standing on the top ledge of another staircase, this one twisting off in both directions, leading down to a massive courtyard.

There’s a fountain in the shape of a rearing Pegasus in the middle, so big that the lilac shrubs which surrounds it barely even reach halfway up its hindlegs. And beyond that, is a giant garden of cherry trees and rhododendron hedges, in the middle of which, a wide driveway comes straight through, right up to the courtyard. A driveway that’s so long, you can’t even see the end of it, where it disappears into the surrounding woods.

You couldn’t run from here even with your shoes and jacket.

The freezing wind brushes over your exposed skin, making you shiver and wrap your arms around yourself while sorrow suddenly burns through you, bringing tears to your eyes. But then something soft and warm falls over your shoulders and you flinch, spinning on your heels and quickly backing away, further out onto the ledge to try and get away from him, which means stepping into the icy cold snow in just your skin.

“Please…” he says, and he sounds alluringly soft and inviting now, which only adds to your suspicions. “I have no intention of harming you.”

“Then how about you tell me what exactly your intention is?” you counter, barely able to keep your jaws from clattering with how badly you’ve started shaking.

He takes a deep breath and then slowly releases it, somehow looking sadder and more tired with each milliliter of air that escapes him.

“I just… I’m sorry. Please, come back inside before you get frostbite on your feet.”

“That’s n-not an answer,” you challenge, already trembling all over now.

“I know, this is why I’m sorry, but how is hurting yourself going to help the situation?” he wonders, and you have to concede that it doesn’t.

You huff once in defiance, and then step forward, allowing him to wrap the blanket around you. But you hadn’t expected him to sweep you up into his arms and carry you inside.

“Hey, I c-can still walk, p-put me down!”

“The floors are cold here. I will put you down once you’re in a room with a rug.”

“Or you c-could just give me b-back my shoes,” you gripe, and he hums in what sounds like a thoughtful manner to you, as if he’s conceding that maybe he was wrong to take them from you.

But he says nothing more, and as he carries you through the empty hallways, none of which look familiar to you because this place is apparently a damned maze, you steal a few closer glances at him. His skin is in better condition than yours ever has been, to the point where even his stubble looks soft. And his hair looks flawless. Not one strand of the curls on his head seems damaged or less bouncy than the rest. And the same goes for his beard and mustache.

His clothes are perfectly tailored, and they look new, but they don’t smell like it. Instead, the only smell you detect seems to be his, and it’s not at all unpleasant. Contrarily, the longer you smell him, the more inviting the scent becomes. You’re somewhat embarrassed to realize that you’ve stopped shivering with the warmth that spreads through you from within, just from that delicious scent.

The room that he finally turns into is small and smells of paper, reminiscent of the old bookstore in the city back home, run by a sweetheart of an old lady who also happens to be the grandmother of the missing woman who’s house you live in. She was the only one who’d come by with a housewarming gift after you’d moved in. That’s how sparsely populated your social circle is.

It looks to be an office, of sorts. There’s a fireplace here too, already lit and crackling warmly in the far corner of the room. To the left is a desk filled with scrolls of paper and what looks like old maps of countries you don’t recognize, and to the right are shelves filled with more scrolls, books and scraps of paper. There’s an armchair and a small sofa in front of the fire, and he sets you down on the sofa before kneeling in front of you to inspect your wet and freezing feet.

You’re about to argue that you’re perfectly capable of tending to your own extremities, but something about his touch stops you. His fingers seem warmer than they should be, almost feverishly so, but more than that, his skin feels like it’s giving off tiny electric impulses where it meets yours. And the feeling is highly intoxicating.

He quickly examines your feet and then sits back and looks up at you again, where a curious expression flashes across his features as he notices that you’re suddenly a bit out of it. He seems concerned at first, and then… is he blushing?

“If I get you your socks and your boots, will you promise me that you will not go running into the woods and getting yourself lost?” he asks, sternly holding your gaze while he looks for any traces of deception in your answer.

Except you don’t give any. Because you can’t make that promise. Not when you still don’t know why he’s brought you here or why he intends to keep you here.

“I don’t suppose it would make much difference if I told you that we are much too far away from any other people for you to make it there alive in winter?” he sighs, and he does seem genuinely worried that you won’t believe him.

“Actually, I do believe you on that part. I just also believe that dying while running for your freedom might be better than living in captivity,” you explain, and once again, something terribly sad comes over him.

“I really wish you could trust that I don’t intend to harm you, young one.”

“Why do you call me that? I can’t be that much younger than you.”

He chuckles drily at that, but it’s a sound of hopelessness rather than bemusement.

“If only that were true…” he says quietly, turning his gaze to the floor for a moment before he rises and leaves the room.

When he returns, only a few seconds later, he’s carrying your shoes and wool socks, both of which he appears to have cleaned, hands them to you and then steps back while you put them on. For a moment, you contemplate more questions, but the more you think about the strangeness of this whole situation, the more you just want to pretend that it’s a dream and that you’re gonna wake up and laugh at yourself any second now.

“The tower’s mine?” you find yourself asking, instead of any real questions.

“That whole wing is yours for as long as you’re here,” he nods.

“And how long might that be?”

“For now, I can’t say with any certainty, but hopefully no more than a few days.”

He does look genuinely apologetic as he says that, but you’re relieved to hear it. Somehow, you’d envisioned being a captive for years, locked away in that tower. But there’s something innately honest about this guy. You have no reason to trust anything he says, and yet you do.

“And what determines how long my stay ends up being?” you wonder, while rising from the sofa and daring yourself to take one step towards him.

He doesn’t react in any visible way to your truly minimal challenge, but you wonder if perhaps he likes that you don’t just accept your circumstances when they don’t feel right to you. There’s a little glimmer in his eyes that might just be a hint of awe.

“How long it takes me to figure out how you’re still alive,” he quietly answers, bringing you back to the severity of the moment.

Turning away from you, he reaches for an old-fashioned candlestick holder, lights the candle and then hands it to you.

“Living light reveals the path to the tower,” he says, as if that isn’t the most useless piece of information you’ve ever gotten, and then gestures to the open door.

Utterly confused, you step out into the dusky hallway, half expecting the wooden door to slam shut behind you, but it doesn’t. When you turn back to ask him which direction to turn, you find him right behind you, already showing you to the right with a gentlemanly open hand aiming that way. You nod your thanks and begin walking, still without a clue as to what the candle is meant to show you. Until it does.

Once the dancing light hits a certain wall, a faint glow appears in a thin line running along the wall, around waist-height. You follow it, seeing it fade away as soon as the flame isn’t directly in front of it, and before you know it, you’re back at those winding stairs. Walking back into the chamber at the top, you find that nothing’s moved since you left.

You walk around the room, examining everything more closely, finding two large and fully stocked bookcases hidden behind drapes on either side of the fireplace. There’s also a closet built into the wall next to the bed, and there are very old dresses hanging in there, covered with dust, making you wonder who the girl might’ve been that those clothes had originally belonged to.

Realizing that you haven’t asked your captor how to get food or how he intends to figure out how you’ve miraculously healed, you spend a few minutes pondering on whether you’ve got the energy to make the long walk back down to look for a kitchen and ask if you’re expected to come down from your tower at any specific times. But ultimately, you decide to leave it for now, picking out a book instead. You’re too stressed still to be able to eat anything anyway.

The book keeps you occupied for the entire afternoon, and it isn’t until it grows dark that you eventually close it and get up, intending to go looking for that kitchen. You’d left the candle holder in the window that faces the front of the castle, although you can’t see the courtyard from behind the main structure, but as you go to pick it up, a movement outside catches your eye.

Peering down towards the ground, you see a door swing open, and then something runs across the section of the yard that you can see. It’s so fast that you can’t be sure, but it looks like it could be what attacked you last night. And it looks like… a dragon. A dragon that just ran out of the same castle where you’re trapped.

Part 2

Thank you for reading! I had so much fun with this and I'm nowhere near done with it. Huge Thanks to @joelswritingmistress for inspiring me to take on Oberyn, I didn't think I ever would.

If anyone wishes to be notified when this story is updated, follow @sirowsky-stories and turn on notifications, or just ask nicely, and I'll tag you.

#PedroHalloween2023 #pedro pascal character fanfiction #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell x female reader #oberyn x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones au #modern!au #halloween writing #sirowsky stories

89 notes · View notes

bultaoreunheyyy · 20 days

Text

It’s not a mountain, it’s a butte (1/2)

Title: It’s not a mountain, it’s a butte (1/2)

Word Count: 5451

Summary: Jungkook loves hiking. He absolutely loves being in nature– even if nature does not love him back. And today, on a very rare occasion, all six of his best friends are joining him for a short hike that he’s been planning for months. It does not go quite as planned.

Sickie: Jungkook (snz, allergies, asthma)

Caretakers: OT7

A/N: This got a bit long, so I split it into 3 chapters. I'll probably post the other chapters sometime next week. This first one is the main story and fulfills this request, but I couldn't resists adding on the aftermath of Jungkook's allergy/asthma attack and the aftercare and then the after after care of the next day too, lol. Also, this is completely unedited and likely full of typos and grammatical errors per usual.

Jungkook lowkey hates springtime.

Overall, spring is actually his second favorite season because of the milder temperatures. His first favorite season by far is winter, because hot weather sucks and cold weather is where he belongs to his very core.

Spring, however, usually means allergies. Lots and lots of allergies. Itchy, sniffly, sneezy allergies. Jungkook’s body unfortunately did not get the memo that other bodies get and so on top of allergies, he also has asthma, which of course is always the worst for him in the springtime.

On this particular spring Saturday morning, he wakes up with puffy eyes and a stuffy nose. It’s pretty typical for this time of year, and he’s usually not so cheerful upon waking when he has to immediately sneeze before he even fully has his eyes open, but this morning he doesn’t give a shit because it’s hiking day.

Jungkook loves hiking.

He absolutely loves being in nature– even if nature does not love him back. And today, on a very rare occasion, all six of his best friends are joining him for a short hike that he’s been planning for months. He’s very excited for hiking day.

With a mildly irritated sigh, Jungkook pulls the comforter completely over his head, sneezes six times in a row, and sniffs sharply to chase away the tickle that will be returning as soon as he lets his guard down and then remain in his sinuses for the rest of the day.

When he resurfaces he finds two faces staring down at him.

“Morning,” he says with a cheerful smile and a soft sniffle.

“Good morning, and bless you!” Jimin responds.

“Good morning!” Taehyung says. “We thought we would have to wake you up.”

“Nope!” Jungkook replies. He cups a hand over his mouth and nose and sneezes once more, his whole body shaking. “I’m up. It’s hiking day!” He pauses, hand still over his lower face, anticipating another sneeze that never comes. After a minute he shakes his head and scrubs hard at his nose with a sleepy, irritated groan.

Both Jimin and Taehyung, looking more than half-asleep themselves, lean down at the same time– Jimin on his left and Taehyung on his right– to pat him on the chest sympathetically.

“Don’t forget to take your allergy pill,” Jimin reminds him. “Did you pack your inhaler last night?”

Jungkook glances towards his nightstand where his inhaler is. “Yep.”

Taehyung pokes him in the belly. “Well, get up, then. You made us all wake up at the asscrack of dawn so this better be worth it. Let’s go hike your mountain.”

“It’s a butte,” Jungkook corrects him, but Taehyung is already leaving the room, yawning so widely his jaw cracks.

“I need coffee,” Jimin says, also yawning, and he trails behind Taehyung.

Despite his excitement, Jungkook is the last to be ready, and when he gets to the living room everyone else is lounging about.

“Let’s go!” He practically shouts, urging them all out the door. “It’s hiking day!”

“Does the whole street have to know?” Yoongi grumbles, making a face as Jungkook pushes a set of keys into his palm. Even though he’s making a show of being grumpy, he’s the only one Jungkook trusts besides himself to drive at such an early hour.

The seven of them take two cars to the trail, arriving before the sun rises. There’s a slight chill to the morning air, but the skies are clear and it’s already the start of a beautiful day weather wise.

Jungkook gets out of the car and reaches his arms up high above his head, leaning to one side and then the other and moaning loudly at the stretch. He’s wearing tight black spandex shorts and a black hoodie that’s halfway to being a crop top, and Taehyung pokes at his exposed stomach with a smirk.

“We might see some deer if we’re quiet enough,” Jungkook announces, ignoring Taehyung. He pulls a camera from his backpack and hangs the strap around his neck. After he shoulders his backpack, he turns towards the trailhead. “Ahhh,” he says with a noisy exhale that he follows with a long, deep breath in through his nose. “Smell that? That’s the beautiful smell of nature.”

He sneezes immediately afterwards.

“Bless you,” Hoseok and Namjoon say in unison.

“Did you take your allergy pill?” Yoongi asks.

“I take it every morning,” Jungkook responds. “Did you take your brain pill?”

Yoongi flips him off and mimics, “I take it every morning.”

“Only because I have to remind you,” Seokjin mutters under his breath.

Taehyung yawns and plasters himself against Jimin’s back, snaking his arms around his waist and tucking his hands into Jimin’s hoodie pocket. “I can only smell Jimin’s coffee breath.”

Jimin, still half asleep, only pouts.

Jungkook sneezes, again.

“Bless you,” Hoseok and Namjoon say in unison, again.

“Doesn’t seem like you took your allergy pill,” Yoongi grumbles. “At least tell me you brought your inhaler.”

Ignoring him, Jungkook bends down to check that his black hiking boots are laced up properly. He adjusts his backpack, stretches his calves for all of ten seconds, and straightens his posture.

“Let’s hike this butte,” he says cheerfully, and then he takes off at a light jog, disappearing down the trail and leaving them all behind.

When they catch up to him, Jungkook has his camera raised to his face and he’s squatting by the base of a pine tree, looking at the ground.

“What are you taking a picture of?” Taehyung wonders. “A worm?”

“Caterpillar,” Jungkook murmurs. “See? Right there.”

Taehyung pats him on the shoulder in a way that indicates that he does not in fact see the caterpillar. “It’s a very nice caterpillar,” he says anyway.

The hike Jungkook has chosen isn’t too long nor too strenuous of a hike– only 7 kilometers or so of a well established trail– and they get a beautiful view of the sun rising when they start their hike in earnest, climbing up the east side of the butte.

Although he’d started off at a fast pace, Jungkook isn’t feeling particularly competitive today, and because he has his camera he chooses to take his time watching wildlife and taking pictures of every bird and plant he sees along the way.

Namjoon leads the group instead, long legs carrying him far very quickly. Jimin has the shortest stride but he’s the second most competitive of the group behind Jungkook, and so he falls into pace right next to Namjoon. Taehyung, Yoongi and Hoseok stay in the middle of the pack, their pace a bit more average.

Seokjin falls back and keeps Jungkook company in the rear. He watches fondly as Jungkook gushes over the beauty in nature and patiently listens when Jungkook explains the different species of birds they see on the trail.

“Do you think we’ll see any deer?” Jungkook asks Seokjin, scanning the hillside hopefully.

“Maybe,” Seokjin replies. “Are there usually deer on this mountain?”

“It’s not a mountain,” Jungkook whispers as a curious chipmunk peeks out at them from behind a fern. “It’s a butte.”

Jungkook and Seokjin continue up the steepest part of the path until it evens out in elevation, stopping every so often so Jungkook can take his pictures, and they’re the last to reach the summit. There’s a small lookout with a view of the surrounding mountains and the other five are all crammed onto the one single bench there, eating snacks.

“Look,” Hoseok says around a mouthful of trail mix. He points at the ground where Jungkook and Seokjin are standing. “There’s a compass on the ground. It shows what mountains are in the distance, too.”

Jungkook already knows this. He’s been up hiking here before. He’s about to look down at it when Seokjin covers his eyes from behind.

“Guess which way is north?” he says, chuckling in Jungkook’s ear.

“Fuck off,” he says, shrugging Seokjin off, because he’s shit at directions and has absolutely no idea which direction north is.

Hoseok and Jimin nearly fall off the bench from laughing so hard.

Jungkook flips them off and then walks to the lookout point, cheeks flushed in sudden embarrassment. He lifts his camera to hide his face and marvels at the beautiful early morning view. He can hear Seokjin join the others on the bench– if Yoongi’s complaints of getting squished are anything to go off– and he can’t stay mad for long when he hears their chatter and joyful laughter.

He turns and snaps a picture just as Seokjin is shoving a massive handful of trail mix into his mouth.

“That’s hot,” he smirks, and this time Seokjin is flipping him off.

They stay up at the summit for about fifteen minutes before Jungkook is itching to get moving again. He takes a long drink from his water bottle and shoves it back into his backpack. Even though it’s still a bit chilly, he peels off his hoodie and ties it around his waist, snaps one more picture of the group sitting on the bench, and then starts the descent knowing they’ll all follow quickly once they realize he’s leaving.

Jungkook smiles when he remembers there’s a meadow just on the other side, full of beautiful wildflowers that he can’t wait to photograph. Sure enough, he doesn’t have to go very far down the trail before he spots the colorful field ahead of him.

“Hey,” Seokjin says, catching up to him. “Wait up!”

“Fuck off,” Jungkook mumbles, but there’s no real heat behind it.

He hears Seokjin’s pace quicken behind him and slows down a little. His eyes are starting to itch and he scrunches up his face, trying not to rub at them. His nose is starting to itch, too.

Seokjin peers at Jungkook, taking in the irritation he can see on his face. “Oh, come on,” he says. “I was just teasing about the direction thing. Don’t be grumpy with me.”

“I’m not grumpy.” Jungkook gives in and digs his fist into his eye.

“Okay,” Seokjin says, sounding unconvinced.

Jungkook rubs at his nose, and then sniffles, and then nearly stumbles a step when his nose prickles sharply, bringing a few tears to his eyes.

And then he sneezes.

It’s not just any sneeze. It’s harsh, quick and forceful and so itchy sounding that Seokjin winces.

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs. “You okay?”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. He’s bent at the waist, sneezing again. The irritation makes him cough afterward, and he feels Seokjin’s hand on his upper arm, like he’s getting ready to steady him if needed.

When he straightens, his eyes and nose are streaming and his eyes are still itchy as fuck.

“You okay?” Seokjin repeats. He’s biting his lower lip.

Jungkook rubs at his eyes with his fists. “Yep. I’m fine.”

At this point, the others have caught up to them.

“Was that Jungkook sneezing?” Jimin asks, pulling a small packet of tissues from his pocket of his sweatpants. “Here.”

Jungkook accepts the tissues, but he doesn’t have time to get one out before he has to sneeze again, another harsh expulsion that has him bending at the waist.

Jimin rolls his eyes in amusement and takes the unused tissue pack back, opening the plastic and pulling several tissues out before passing them to Jungkook. They all know by the sound that it’s not just a regular sneeze– it’s very clearly the start of an allergy attack. Jungkook thinks about how often they all like to comment on his sneezing, which apparently sounds different depending on what’s making him sneeze. To him, it all just sounds like sneezing. Instead of going off the sound, he goes off the feeling, and the current feeling is an unbearably itchy allergy attack that’s going to have him sneezing his head off for the rest of the hike, probably.

Fuck springtime.

While Jungkook blows his nose, Yoongi digs through his backpack and locates Jungkook’s epi pen, extra inhaler, allergy medication and more tissues.

“Holy shit, Yoongi,” Jungkook laughs. He scrubs the wad of tissues in his hand under his nose back and forth several times until the undersides of his nostrils are bright pink. “I actually did my meds this morning.”

“When are you due for more?”

“I’m fine.” Jungkook says instead of answering. He tucks the used tissues into his pocket. “I can breathe. I’m just a little itchy.”

Hoseok watches him rubbing his eyes again with a frown. “Yeah, we can see that. Quit rubbing your face.”

Jungkook sneezes again and does not quit rubbing his face.

Namjoon sighs and pats his shoulder. “Why did you plan your hike by all these flowers?” He asks, gesturing at the meadow. “There are so many. Damn.”

Jungkook starts to answer, but he’s hit with another sharp prickle in his sinuses. He holds up a finger, sucks in a massive breath, and then sneezes loudly four times in a row.

“Uh, pretty sure you just scared all the deer away,” Seokjin teases, smiling a little before going back to chewing on his bottom lip.

Jimin pulls more tissues out of the pack and hands them to Jungkook. “Bless you!”

“Jimin, you’re a lifesaver with these tissues,” Jungkook says with a sniffle. His nose is drippy now and he can feel the next sneeze approaching fast. “C’mon, let’s start heading back to the car. There might be deer closer to the trailhead.”

“Wait! Don’t you want to take a moment and–”

Whatever Yoongi’s saying, Jungkook doesn’t catch the end of it. He’s scanning the meadow for deer and wondering how close he can get to the pretty wildflowers without throwing himself into an asthma attack on top of everything. He might already be heading for an asthma attack, with the way his chest is starting to feel, but they’re already halfway through the short hike and he has his own inhaler in his backpack in addition to the one Yoongi apparently thought to bring along.

In the end, he decides to take pictures of the flowers as he walks and doesn’t stray from the trail even an inch. Namjoon and Seokjin take the lead once they catch up, but they don’t let themselves get too far ahead, and Jungkook notices them glancing back over their shoulders every time he sneezes.

Jimin, his sweet angel of a friend, sticks close and keeps handing him tissues. Hoseok blesses him from behind so frequently that eventually, Jungkook stops and turns around.

“Seok,” he says, and wow he sounds like shit. He clears his throat and holds up a tissue. “You don’t have to say bless you every single time.”

Hoseok blushes. “Sorry. It’s just a habit.”

Jungkook rips the tissue in half and shoves one half up his right nostril, then the other half up his left. “There,” he says, sounding even more stuffed-up and ridiculous. “This will hold off the sneezing for a bit.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow skeptically but doesn’t say anything.

“That’s…kind of gross, but okay,” Jimin tells him. He stays close by with tissues at the ready anyway.

They all start walking again. The tissue stuffed up his nose does keep the sneezing at bay, but only for about ten minutes. In that time, they descend past the meadow and get back to the treeline, where Jungkook spots a woodpecker and spends a good few minutes photographing it.

“That’s a nice bird,” Taehyung says, reaching up to thread his fingers through the hair at Jungkook’s nape. “You sure you can breathe okay like that?”

Jungkook sniffs hard in response, which turns out to be a mistake since there’s still a half a tissue stuffed up each of his nostrils. The intake of air pulls the tissues further up his nose and sets off an intense tickle that makes him snort and then cough.

It’s not his smartest moment.

He reaches up and tugs the pieces of tissue out of his nose, and he’s pretty sure Jimin gags next to him at the sight, but he doesn’t really hear him because doing so only makes the tickle so, so much worse. He finds himself suddenly trapped in between sneezing and not sneezing, his lungs forcing him to suck in air and his nose twitching in irritation but not quite completing the job. It’s torturous and it lasts for what feels like hours, but in reality is probably only twelve seconds before he hears the crinkle of plastic next to his ear.

“Try blowing your nose,” Jimin suggests, and Jungkook forces his eyes open so he can see. He takes the tissue that Jimin’s offering and cups it over his nose.

“Jungkook,” he hears Jimin say after a moment. “You gotta try blowing your nose. Or sneeze, or something.”

He’s vaguely aware that he’s still standing there in sneezy limbo, mouth wide open and nostrils flaring, but he can’t do anything because his sinuses are on fire and his breath keeps catching with nowhere to go and the tickle is spreading to the back of his throat and he’s still not sneezing.

He feels something swipe beneath his eyes to catch the irritated tears– Jimin’s fingers– and then a hand covers his hand around the tissue and squeezes lightly.

As soon as the air is cut off to his nostrils, Jungkook sighs in relief, the tension draining from his body, and as soon as Jimin lets go of his hand, he sneezes explosively.

“Bless you!” Hoseok chirps.

“Bless you,” Jimin says. He passes another tissue over.

“Fuck, shit,” Jungkook grunts out, coughing a few times.

Taehyung squeezes the back of his neck.

Hoseok and Yoongi are looking at each other, communicating silently with each other in their own secret language that only they speak, but that Jungkook can understand perfectly– they’re debating whether or not to ask him if he wants to take his inhaler. Jungkook can tell by the way they’re staring into each other's eyes and frowning, and also by the way that Yoongi is cradling Jungkook’s inhaler in his palm.

“So, that sucked,” Jungkook croaks out. He coughs a few more times. “Please never let me put tissues up my nose again.”

“Gladly,” Jimin responds with a grimace.

“Let’s go,” Jungkook says, rubbing his eyes as he starts walking down the trail again. “I don’t want Joon and Seokjin to see a deer without me.”

“That would be tragic,” Taehyung agrees, following behind.

Jungkook’s sinuses and lungs are starting to ache, and his eyes are so itchy he can’t keep himself from rubbing at them every minute or so, but he’s still in good spirits as they take a switchback and finally get the final, glorious view for the last part of their hike.

Jungkook lifts his camera and snaps about ten pictures. He uses his viewfinder to spot Namjoon and Seokjin below, not too far ahead of them on the trail, and takes a picture of them too.

Taehyung, Jimin, Hoseok and Yoongi stop behind him as he takes pictures and drink from their water bottles.

“Why does going downhill hurt my knees so much?” Yoongi complains.

“It’s because you’re old,” Taehyung retorts.

Hoseok and Jimin fall into each other with laughter, and Jungkook shushes them. “Shh, you’ll scare the deer away!”

It doesn’t matter how loud they’re laughing, though, because in the next moment a tickle flares in Jungkook’s sinuses and he has to sneeze. The sneeze rings out through the air, and it’s followed by a second sneeze, and then a third, the itch spreading again in a way that only his allergies can do. He reaches up and scrubs hard at his nose, but it does nothing to stop the tickle nor the resulting sneezes, one right after the other without much of a chance to breathe in between.

“Bless you,” Hoseok says after about seven or eight sneezes.

Jungkook shakes his head, swipes the back of his hand over his streaming eyes, and then cups both hands over his mouth and nose and keeps on sneezing. He sneezes so many times in a row that he grows dizzy, head spinning when he tries to open his eyes. He instinctively reaches out and grabs on to the thing nearest to him, which happens to be Jimin’s arm.

“Woah, Kook–? What’s wrong?”

Jungkook can only dig his fingers into Jimin’s arm as another fit of sneezes takes him over.

“Sit down for a sec,” Hoseok says in his ear, helping to guide him to the ground as he sniffles and blinks against the spots in his vision.

Once he’s sitting on the ground, he feels Jimin take his hand, press a handful of tissues against his palm, and then help lift his arm back up to his face.

“Blow,” he says, waiting until Jungkook gets the tissues to his nose before he reaches over and slides Jungkook’s backpack off his shoulders for him.

Jungkook sneezes into his wad of tissues. And sneezes some more. And then sneezes about ten more times for good measure, and not a single sneeze does anything to relieve the maddening tickle in the back of his nose and throat. He pauses to suck in a greedy breath of air, cough harshly, and then sneezes twice more before he can finally stop. The tissues in his hand are soaked through and are practically useless by the time he tries to blow his nose, but he does it anyway, snorting air out of his nostrils forcefully and shuddering at the awful, raw feeling he always has post sneezing fit.

“Bless you!” Jimin and Hoseok exclaim at the same time as soon as it’s apparent that Jungkook is done sneezing for the time being.

Seokjin and Namjoon are squatting down in front of him.

“You’re both going to get permanent wrinkles from frowning so hard,” Jungkook tells them. His voice is nearly gone.

Seokjin heaves a deep sigh and stands up. He offers a hand out to Jungkook, helping him up off the ground. Jungkook hops up and brushes the dirt off his ass, then turns to Jimin.

“Please tell me there are more tissues.”

Jimin holds up another unopened pack of tissues. “So many more tissues. Take all you need.”

Jungkook grabs his backpack from the ground and opens the front pocket so he can shove all the used tissues inside, emptying out his pockets as well. He finishes off the rest of his water, shoulders his backpack, and gratefully takes the pack of tissues from Jimin.

“Need your inhaler before we keep going?” Yoongi asks. He cups a hand under Jungkook’s chin and gently tilts his head back, eyes narrowed as he inspects the puffiness around his eyes and nose.

“Your nose is so red,” Taehyung comments, poking the tip of Jungkook’s nose with a grin.

Jungkook squirms under their gaze.

“I’m fine,” he says hoarsely.

Taehyung reaches over and pulls the collar of Jungkook’s t-shirt from his neck.

“I’m not going to get a rash!” He nudges Taehyung’s hand away just in time to get his own hand up to his face, sneezing against the back of his wrist once. “I’m really fine,” he tries to reassure everyone, even as his breath hitches in preparation for yet another sneeze. “Honestly, I’m just really sneezy right now.”

“You’re sneezier than I’ve ever seen you before,” Seokjin agrees.

“I hope I didn’t scare all the deer away,” Jungkook pouts.

Hoseok hooks his arm through Jungkook’s and gives him an optimistic smile. “If you did, we’ll just come back some other time.”

They start walking again, this time sticking together as a group. Jungkook carries his own tissues this time, though his sneezes have gotten smaller and stuffier and he stops trying to cover them up after a while. Soon, he’ll be too stuffed up to sneeze properly and it will hurt– he can already feel his sinuses throbbing.

He has to stop walking again not five minutes later, annoyed about having to pause every three steps to sneeze. Despite the increase in frequency of sneezes, he’s getting very little relief from sneezing so much– his whole face just feels too itchy and he knows it’s only going to keep growing worse until he can get back home and shower. After a fit of sneezes that lasts too long for him to count, making him have to stop on the trail for a good several minutes, he turns to Yoongi.

“You happen to have eye drops in that bag?”

Yoongi does in fact have eye drops, and Jungkook takes the bottle as fast as he can because Yoongi looks like he’s a second away from putting them in Jungkook’s eyes himself. After, he unzips his own backpack and pulls out his inhaler to take a hit.

“Preventative measure,” he croaks out before Yoongi can say anything.

Suddenly, Taehyung gasps and they all startle.

“What?” Hoseok squeaks.

Taeyhung is pointing just over Jungkook’s shoulder. “Kook, look at that butterfly!”

Jungkook turns and looks to where Taehyung is pointing, a grin spreading over his entire face when he sees one of the biggest monarch butterflies he’s even seen before, fluttering so close he could probably reach out and touch it. He lifts his camera, snaps a couple of pictures, and then turns to Taehyung.

“Good spot!”

Taehyung puffs up his chest, proud of himself.

Jungkook’s nose twitches. His smile fades, his breath hitching erratically. “Fuck,” he pants out breathlessly before sneezing harshly. When he looks up, six mouths are frowning at him. “Sorry,” he rasps, suddenly feeling upset. “I don’t…” He trails off, unsure of what to say, but Yoongi immediately grabs his hand.

“No apologizing,” he says firmly. “Let’s get you back to the car, hm? Do you want Namjoon to give you a piggyback ride?”

“Hey!” Namjoon protests halfheartedly. “I didn’t agree to that.”

“I would take up that offer in a second if there wasn’t the risk of me sneezing in your hair the whole way back,” Jungkook chuckles.

“I appreciate that,” Namjoon says with a grin.

As soon as the parking lot is in view, Jungkook launches into another seemingly endless sneezing fit.

He stifles each sneeze into his hand, trying to hold them back as best as he can so they can make it back to the cars. It’s a difficult feat– his sneezes, especially his allergy sneezes, are strong and not at all easy to contain– but it makes it so he can keep walking and sneeze at the same time. One of the downsides, however, is that as soon as he starts stifling, he also starts to wheeze slightly, and it only takes a couple of minutes for everyone else to hear it.

“No, no,” Yoongi scolds when he realizes what Jungkook is doing. “Do not hold them back like that. Shit, Kookie, what are you thinking?” Then, a little softer, he adds knowingly, “Really, just let them out, baby. We’ll help you get back to the car.”

Jungkook raises an eyebrow at the pet name, but doesn’t say anything.

He feels Namjoon cup the back of his neck. “We’re almost there, Koo.”

Jungkook slows his pace just a little. Now his friends are breaking out the pet names and the gentle touches, which means they are officially worried about him and they’re going to be openly babying him like they’ve been wanting to this entire time.

Not that he cares, in this moment, because now that he’s not allowed to hold back his sneezing, he has to fully stop walking every time he sneezes.

One step. A harsh, ticklish sneeze that sucks the energy out of him and makes his eyes water. And before he’s taking the next step, he’s already building up to the next sneeze, sucking a trembling breath in, in, in– before he explodes. And then it repeats.

Jungkook feels a soft grip on his upper arm. Jimin is on his right and Hoseok is on his left, and at first they’re just trying to gently guide him along, but he’s sneezing so helplessly that eventually they each hook and arm through his elbows, and start nudging him a little more firmly down the trail. He trusts them to get him back to the car and not let him trip.

“Here, love,” Jimin says, holding a tissue to his nose for him.

Another pet name. Jungkook feels his face heat up. His nose is running profusely, though, so he doesn’t really have room to refuse the help.

“Don’t know why I can’t stop sneezing,” he mumbles congestedly, his breath rushing out in a wheezy exhale before he promptly sneezes again.

Jimin and Hoseok guide him to a bench near the trailhead to sit down, even though they can literally see their cars from the spot. Jungkook slumps against whoever is sitting next to him– Hoseok, he’s pretty sure, and closes his eyes tiredly.

“Poor thing,” Taehyung murmurs. “You sound so miserable and itchy.”

“Should we try to let him ride out the sneezing first?” He hears Seokjin say. “It seems like it’s slowing down, right?”

Namjoon voices his agreement and Jungkook hopes he’s right, because he honestly can’t tell at this point.

Yoongi keeps a hand on his back, rubbing lightly between his shoulder blades, standing behind the bench. Jimin sits to his right and holds tissues for him, which would embarrass Jungkook on most days, but in this moment he tolerates simply because he’s so fucking itchy and he can hardly see past the irritated tears that won’t quit– not to mention the fact that his nose is a drippy faucet now.

Hoseok sits to his left and keeps a grounding hand on his thigh, allowing Jungkook to lean on him. The others hover and give him sips of water every so often, petting his hair and squeezing his shoulders, offering encouragement after every sneeze.

Jungkook does eventually slow down on the sneezing, enough that he can actually tell he’s slowing down, but as the sneezing dies down a growing sense of irritation and embarrassment replace it.

He also might be the tiniest bit grumpy, because hiking day did not go as he planned at all.

Fuck springtime.

He huffs out a wheezy breath. “Sorry I ruined the hike,” he rasps, crossing his arms and frowning.

Yoongi holds his inhaler out. “What did I say about apologizing?”

Jungkook snatches the tissues that Jimin is holding and pulls several out of the pack, pressing the bundle to his nose. He stifles a tired sneeze, coughs, and then closes his eyes. “Well. I’m still sorry.”

“Come here, baby,” Hoseok says, wrapping his arm around Jungkook’s shoulder, and Jungkook lets himself be tugged against his chest.

He feels tears welling up in his eyes and keeps them squeezed shut, not willing to let them fall. He jams the tissues under his nose, stifles two more sneezes, and then pinches his nose shut so no more can escape.

Jungkook, not at all pouting and definitely not crying, rests his head on Hoseok’s chest and only his stuffy breathing fills the still-early morning air. For a moment, they’re all quiet, listening to Jungkook breathe. As soon as he feels like he has his tears under control, Jungkook squints one eye open, glancing between everyone to get a read on their expressions, and feeling relief when he doesn’t see any disappointment on any of their faces. He blinks a few times to clear any remaining tears, looks towards the parking lot to determine how much farther they have left to go, and then freezes.

Suddenly, Jungkook snorts, which results in a soft sneeze, and then full-on giggles, because he absolutely cannot believe his eyes.

“What?” Namjoon asks, whipping his head around to look at Jungkook.

“Are you laughing?”

“Kookie, baby, are you okay?”

They follow his finger when he points away from them and see a deer in the distance, standing so still it looks fake, staring directly at them.

“See? I didn’t scare all the deer away,” he croaks out.

“The fuck, Jungkook?” Seokjin yells. “Don’t joke about deer at a time like this!”

Jungkook stands and coughs hoarsely into his fist. The deer is still unmoving despite Seokjin’s loud voice, but he wants to get a picture of it before it runs away. He raises his camera, snaps a picture, and then lets his camera fall back against his chest just in time to cup both hands over his mouth and nose and sneeze mightily.

The deer bolts. Jungkook swipes his wrist under his nose and turns to Seokjin.

“At a time like what?”

With that, Jungkook turns and strolls back toward the cars, leaving his friends in stunned silence behind him.

Read Chapter 2 HERE

#chaptered fic #bts sickfic #sickfic #bts snz #sick jungkook #allergic jungkook #allergy fic #asthma fic #jungkook snz #bts hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort #caretaker seokjin #caretaker yoongi #caretaker jimin #caretaker taehyung #caretaker namjoon #caretaker hoseok

30 notes · View notes