#As good as dead fanfic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zae-heeyyy · 2 months ago

Text

Piquancy- I

Summary: You and Arthur spend time at the saloon. Pairing: Arthur Morgan X Female Reader Word Count: 3,093 Tags: High honor Arthur, developing relationship, alcohol and intoxication, fluff, before the Blackwater Massacre

a/n: I took a break from writing, and when I started again, this came out lol. Got carried away, so I divided it into several parts. Part 1 is very tame; I can't say the same for the next ones. I'm feeling a little rusty, but I hope you still enjoy!

piquancy: a sharp or stimulating quality that provokes a strong, often intriguing reaction.

A thunderstorm reigned over West Elizabeth, and several associates of the Van Der Linde gang had holed up in the Blackwater saloon, seeking refuge from the downpour. A handful of them sat at the poker table: Sean, Karen, Davey, Javier, Jenny, Arthur, and you. The gang had taken advantage of an unlimited supply of beer––provided they had the cash–– and were a few drinks deep. You were the only one hanging onto your sobriety and the only one sober enough to keep your head in the game.

You felt particularly lucky tonight, partly because you’d played a few good hands and partly because Arthur, whom you’d long admired from afar, had taken to being stuck to you all night. You'd convinced him to dance with you earlier in the night when Uncle hounded the pianist to "play something good." Afterward, the broad-shouldered outlaw paid for your pot in the poker game “for the dance,” he'd said.

His generous donation turned into quite an investment for you as you dealt the last card of the round, a king of hearts, giving you a full house.

“Dammit!” Davey yelled, slamming his cards down and busting out of the game. He pointed an accusatory finger at you, “You’re a cheat; I know it!”

Karen glowered at him and rolled her eyes as she added her cards back into the deck.

“She ain’t cheating; maybe you just suck,” she mocked, smiling mischievously.

Arthur leaned back in his seat next to you, keeping his temper even but putting a protective arm around the back of your chair. “Tonight just ain’t your night partner; go have another drink, walk it off, and shut up.” He and Davey held each other’s gaze, both impassive and unreadable. Finally, Davey averted his eyes and mumbled under his breath.

Arthur leaned over, and the heat of his breath tickled your ear. A rumble of laughter built up in him as he whispered to you, “he ain’t used to dealing with beautiful women with brains— you're making him feel emasculated. “

You peeked over at Davey, who had safely directed his gaze to the deck of cards and stifled the giggle that bubbled inside you. Arthur had straightened back up but kept his arm resting on the back of your chair. Warmth radiated off of him like sunlight in the spring. You wanted nothing more than to be basked in it, but a move like that wasn’t in the cards, so you focused on your winnings, boasting as you scooped the chips to your pile.

Your gloating session only lasted for a short second before one of the saloon’s working girls added the poker table to her list of stops. As she spoke, one of her gloved hands perched a little too comfortably on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Any of you boys looking for a good time?”

Leaning forward slightly, the cowboy shifted his chair closer to yours—not enough to draw attention, but enough to angle the girl’s gaze toward Davey. You were sitting closer to him now than anybody else at the table, and neither of you minded.

“Maybe another time,” Arthur told her, his tone kind but dismissive. His eyes flicked up to meet hers briefly. Then, with a knowing glance toward Davey, he added, “But my friend over there is more charismatic than he looks."

Davey’s demeanor did a complete flip, the look of aggravation on his face now replaced by a closed-mouth grin. By the time the woman was at his side of the table, he’d already stood to whisk her away.

“Men.” You mocked, and Arthur chortled low to himself.

“Amen, sister,” Jenny said, shaking her head in more mirth than annoyance as she watched the pair climb the stairs. A thick Irish accent joined the conversation.

“Don’t ya' go lumpin’ me in with the likes o' Davey. It’s not just about me when I’m with my lady. I make sure she’s properly looked after, too.”

Sean threw a lax arm around Karen's shoulders as he finished his declaration. She shrugged him off, faking irritation, though a coy smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

“Yes, the whole camp hears just how satisfied your woman is.” Javier chimed in, smirking at Karen over his glass of whiskey.

Karen shot him a sharp glare and stood abruptly. “You’re an asshole,” she snapped, pointing a finger at him. “And you—” she shoved Sean—“keep your hands to yourself.”

Karen stalked off away from the table, Sean close on her heels. “Ah, come now, darlin’! Don’t be like that!” He chased her clumsily, bumping into chairs, making Javier and Arthur laugh. You swatted Arthur’s arm and shot daggers at Javier.

“Men are like roosters,” you said, disapproving. “Proud and obnoxious, but not a single egg to show for it.”

Jenny giggled to herself but looked dreamily across the bar to Lenny, who was engrossed in conversation with Hosea.

“I’d agree with you, but every time I’m with—” she cut herself off, averting her eyes and ignoring everybody else’s knowing gaze.

Javier whistled under his breath, and Arthur cackled, loud and toothy, as he waved an arm across the bar towards Lenny. "Atta boy, Lenny!" he yelled over the noise of the saloon. The young boy's furrowed brow made the whole table throw a fit, even Jenny, trying her best to look nonchalant.

Despite the merriment surrounding you, a twinge of something unpleasant scratched at your insides, something envious and wistful. You were happy for Jenny; she deserved someone like Lenny. He was a good kid, one of the finest you’d known, given his circumstances. And you wanted what they had, even if they were still figuring it out themselves. Though the laughter had died down, and the game continued, you couldn’t help but notice Lenny across the room, a smile on his lips as he kept his eyes trained on Jenny, studying her as if he’d never see her again. You were distracted by the thought. Arthur took notice and nudged you with his elbow.

“What’s that look?” he asked, and all eyes turned back to you. You were in the hot seat now, Javier having raised a brow and Jenny looking concerned. You turned your attention back to the previous conversation.

“I just never––” you trail on, trying to find the words, “well, no man I’ve ever been with made me––” you stopped, feeling like you were starting to make a fool of yourself. Arthur’s eyes turned timidly back to his cards, and Javier leaned back, smug.

“Ah, that’s why you always have a stick up your ass.”

Jenny and Arthur jumped in with a course of objections to Javier’s crassness, but you didn’t miss a beat. “You would be the authority on all things asses,” you hit back, “matter of fact, how’d that late-night job with Bill go the other day?”

You were rewarded with ripples of laughter from your allies at the table, Javier, clearly trying to hold in his own, frowned and clutched his chest in dramatic fashion.

“Ouch,” he voiced, throwing his hands up in surrender. “Alright, sorry. Take whatever I have left, but leave my pride, please,” he scooted his chips to the middle of the table and tipped his hat in departure.

The poker game died down with the last bits of laughter. Jenny had turned, placing her hand atop yours, her expression pensive.

“So you’ve never...” she trailed off, lowering her voice, “a man’s never made you...” she didn’t say the words as if realizing how taboo the conversation was, especially in front of a man. You cringed, the awkwardness crashing over you like a tidal wave.

“Forget I said anything,” you said, rising hastily. Before he could even think, Arthur’s hand shot out to grab your wrist. He let go just as fast as he’d caught it, but the rough touch of his fingers lingered on your skin like embers in a smoldering fire.

“Hey now, where you running off to?”

You smoothed your skirts and gazed down at him, “far away to not make a further fool of myself.”

Arthur chuckled, organized his chips with one hand, and stroked his beard with the other.

“Sounds like the fellers you’ve been friendly with ain’t worth their salt. They should be the ones embarrassed."

Neither of you tore your eyes from the other for a long while. Finally, you let out a breath and a doubtful sigh. “Maybe,” you murmured, then pointed over your shoulder at the bar. “How about another drink?”

Arthur joined you for your first and only drink of the night, then had himself another and another. Over time, you’d learned that Arthur was day or night when he was drunk. Tonight, he was all sunshine, laughing louder than usual and leaning too close when he spoke. In all his attention, you’d let yourself forget about your previous self-reproach.

Completely inebriated now, he tugged on your hand, pulling you away from the bar and back towards the piano, his chipped-toothed smile lighting up his whole face. You let him haul you towards the lively music, shocked by his sudden excitement to dance with you. This dance was different from the first; you were acutely aware of how his heavy hand settled firmly on your hip and the way he looked through you with yearning eyes.

“What happened to ‘I’m not much of a dancer’?” you asked as he twirled you to the music.

He didn’t respond, only dipped you and laughed when you yelped at the sudden pull of gravity. You clutched his forearms, trying to keep yourself from toppling over; you both fumbled a bit, him in his drunkness, trying to keep you both steady. With a quick yank, he pulled you back up against him, your bosom flush against his chest. You joined his laughter and decided chairs were much safer than the makeshift dance floor.

Jenny’s voice broke through your laughter as she and Lenny passed by on their way out. “Never seen you dance like that, Arthur,” she teased.

As the night grew older, the energy in the saloon dwindled, as did the number of people inside. The remaining caravan of outlaws rode back to camp, leaving just you and Arthur behind. Your conversations with the cowboy had moved past reminiscing about the good ole days and lighthearted banter to something more quiet and intimate. Listening to him talk, even drunk off his ass, was like floating downstream on a lazy river, easy and impossible to resist.

Sleepiness crept up on you, a yawn escaping mid-conversation; Arthur caught the contagious inhale like a passing train, his own yawn following close behind. Heading back to camp was the smart idea, but it was clear that Arthur was too drunk to even consider mounting a horse. He didn’t argue when you convinced him to get a room for the night.

“You’re lucky. Last key left,” the barkeep informed him, sliding the key across the counter. You started to step away, but Arthur’s hand found your wrist again, just like it had earlier in the night. He didn’t move this time, though, his grip steadfast and purposeful. Then he brought you in close, close enough to smell the leather of his hat, the cigarette smoke in his coat, and the whiskey on his breath. Great lakes glimmered down at you, full of longing and quiet intensity.

“Come with me.” His voice rumbled like distant thunder as he slid his hands into yours. Though his forwardness and touch weakened your legs, you tangled your arm in his to ensure he was steady. Chuckling to himself at the sudden role reversal, he dipped his head, his face close to yours.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, close to your ear. Goosebumps formed on your arms, like raindrops rippling across a stream. Then, you shivered when his head fell into the crook of your neck. He inhaled deeply, breathing you in with closed eyes. “And you smell so nice.”

Every fiber of your being fought to keep your composure; you didn't want him to move. You wanted to feel his lips on your skin and his hands in your hair. But you couldn’t be sure of his feelings—not with the whiskey clouding his thoughts and his words slurred from the bottle.

“Thank you, Mister Morgan.” You laughed to ease your nerves as you pulled him along to the stairs.

“No—” he said, shaking his head defiantly, “not Mister. Morgan, just Arthur,” he insisted, “unless you want to be Missus Morgan.”

A self-assured smile unfolded on his face as his boot made contact with the first step. “You’d be a fine Missus Morgan,” he slurred, one hand still in yours, the other clutching the railing for support.

You tried to trudge on, but Arthur wouldn’t, standing stiff as if the wood had turned to concrete. When you turned to face him, you expected that same smile you’d heard in his voice a second ago, but this time, his mouth was set in a deep line, and his eyes were not on yours but fixated on your mouth. He folded his lips inward, afraid he’d lose the ounce of control he had left if he stared at yours too long.

His chest rose in a deep sigh, and his voice came out quiet, a passing shadow in the night, “I mean it.”

Your pounding heart tried desperately to burst out of your chest. It pounded against your rib cage hard, as if escaping would relieve the unbearable pressure his words built within you. Tentatively, you tore your gaze away, patting his hand with your free one.

“C’mon, Arthur,” you said gently. Ignoring him felt safest, so you did, focusing on getting him to the room despite your heart hammering at his words.

When you finally reached the door, he reluctantly ripped his hand away from yours like a magnet being pulled from metal. The gunslinger drunkenly fumbled with the key for a moment and paused before twisting the knob.

“I’d treat you right,” he said, his back turned to you. “Treat you better than any of those fools–– Treat you how you deserve.” He looked back at you as the last of his words fell from his lips.

“Arthur, you’re drunk,” you said with a half-smile, pushing you both through the door. He disassembled himself like a tornado blowing through the room. His gun belt went first, hitting the floor with a clank, then it was his bandoleer, satchel, coat, boots, and socks right after that. When he was free of all his equipment, he flopped down on the bed with shut eyes.

“Might be drunk, but I ain’t a liar,” he mumbled, then chuckled, “not to you, anyway.”

Reaching for his hat, you took it off for him and set it aside on the nightstand.

“If you still feel that way when you’re not swimming in whisky, let me know, Mister. Morgan."

He grunted assuredly, then turned to face you, opening his heavy lids.

“I said just call me Arthur,” he insisted. You didn’t say anything–– just stared back at him. He spoke after another second, “always felt that way 'bout you,” he admitted, a look of quiet vulnerability washing over his features. Your legs wobbled like a newborn foal, but you stood firm.

“Goodnight, Arthur,” you said, shifting to leave.

“Wait." His voice came out fast and unsure. You froze and turned back to him, “would you stay with me if I asked?” And those sad, sad eyes made your chest ache. If he wasn't drunk off his ass, your silence would've unnerved him, but he was too far gone to notice.

He'd lost the fight against his eyes, and they were closed again. His hand fell limply over the edge of the bed, calloused fingers opening up to you.

“Shouldn't be on the trail by yerself in the middle of the night.”

And he was right; it was dangerous and stupid for anybody to be on the road so late at night, especially a lone woman.

“Can get my own room,” you stammered.

Arthur sighed deeply and desperate, running out of ways to convince you.

"No," he swallowed, "no, you can't."

And you’d remember the barkeep telling Arthur he was lucky to have secured the last room key as everybody sought shelter from the storm. “Just stay 'til I'm asleep,” he cut into your thoughts, "to make sure I don’t do anything stupid. Can’t have the camp golden boy out of commission now, can we? Who’s do all the heavy liftin', robbin', and killin' if I'm laid up with a broken arm?”

You didn’t argue anymore. The truth was you’d wanted to spend every moment with him. You wanted his arm back around you, and you wanted to relish in his laughter. He had that effect on you, both drunk and sober.

“Fine," you tried to hide your smile, "but only til you fall asleep.”

Bliss transformed his face from shadow to light as you strolled to the bed. Arthur shimmied over, giving you space. He laid flat on his back, and you followed suit, hands folded on your stomach, your body mirroring his. Silence fell over the room like fog, and you thought he’d finally gone to sleep. Then he let out another breath of amusement but didn’t open his eyes.

“Yep,” he bellowed, “I tried, you know. Tried to keep away from you. Not because I don't like you, but because I like you too much,” he continued, not giving you a chance to respond. “And I’d–” he paused, what little filter he had left trying to stop him, but it wasn't enough. “I’d bed you right too. Damn those bastards that had you and didn’t do it right. I’d do it right."

You froze for a long while, trying to build the courage to face him. Words were lost to you, but you rolled over to face him anyway. Mouth agape, his chest rose and fell with the cadence of sleep. Disappointment fell heavy on your chest as you adjusted your eyes to look at him, to really look at him like you'd never been able to. He was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen; the sentiment would've made him laugh if he could've heard it. You returned to your back, willing your feet to move, but they didn't. Before you knew it, you were fast asleep beside him, lulled by the crackle of the fireplace and his deep breaths. It was the first time in years that you'd slept through the night.

251 notes · View notes

tragedy-machine · 8 months ago

Text

Something something Crystal gets kidnapped by a demon and Edwin concludes that the best course of action would be to go visit the demon (somewhere incredibly dangerous, not hell, but with a big chance of him perishing if something goes wrong, and only Edwin can access that place bcs of his connection to hell)

He's friends with Crystal now, so he's willing to risk it, so he tells Charles to wait for him and goes to mirror hop, but Charles stops him with a desperate grab.

And Edwin is trying to comfort him like

"Charles, if anything happens to me, you can just peacefully pass on after a few years with Crystal, it's fine."

Charles's entire demeanor goes cold. There's no flaming fury in him, he just turns more serious than Edwin has ever seen him, so beyond mad that he appears calm.

"No." And when Edwin wants to argue, he hardens further. "I said no! Not up for a discussion. For now we've got to focus on finding another way to save Crystal, but later, we'll talk about this." And he firmly pulls a speechless, and frankly nervous, Edwin away.

Of course they save Crystal without Edwin needing to risk his entire existence, and when it's all over, Charles grabs his hand, intertwines their fingers and drags a very reluctant Edwin up to the roof.

Charles doesn't give Edwin a chance to even open his mouth.

"Edwin, I told you you're the most important person in the world to me, didn't I? What about that don't you understand? I really care about Crystal, but I would never allow you to risk your existence for her, me, or anyone else for that matter. There's no "I'll just pass on." There's no afterlife for me without you. I don't want it! Having you ripped away from me would break me. Edwin, I need you. I need you the most. I love you the most."

#this is made for angst purposes #ik edwin knows his importance #and wouldn't be so flippant but the fucking angst is so good #thats why we have fanfics #dead boy detectives #edwin payne #payneland #my posts #charles rowland #painland #chedwin #edwin x charles

659 notes · View notes

kingstarkingslay · 2 months ago

Text

What if the reason why we get so attached to fictional characters is because they were supposed to be our soulmates but we were born in different universes

272 notes · View notes

noodlewritez · 7 months ago

Text

Orange crush

Pairings: Carl Grimes X GN!reader

Warnings: fluff, carl being kind of an idiot, little bit of a drabble sorry :P Also i’m working on a lot of asks right now, so dw they’re coming soon🫶

Ever since you could remember, you and Carl had been best friends, growing up together when he joined Alexandria, when he got his eye shot by your ex boyfriend...

But you had noticed you had developed romantic feelings for your best friend, holding hands with him, kissing each other on the cheek...but you didn't think he had feelings for you? And you were fine with that, after all, you didn't want to lose him after everything you two had been through together.

Rick or Michonne would tease him about having a crush on you and he would immediately go red and throw a puzzled look. "No, I don't like them...Me and Y/N are just affectionate... Can't best friends be affectionate?"

"Best friends don't leave hickeys on each other, Carl..." One of them would say.

"It's platonic!"

Or the way you would stay over at the Grimes' house and come downstairs in his shirt and some jeans. Rick and Michonne would look at each other and roll their eyes. Holding each other's hands when you went on a run, talking about how you guys would end up living together, in the middle of nowhere.

And when he did realize? Oh boy...

You were in Carl's room, reading comics together, you were laying on his chest and he sat up, looking alarmed. You sat up too, looking at him with worry. "What? What's wrong?" You tried staying quiet in case he was hearing something. "I think I like you...?" You roll your eyes. "You just now noticed?" You smile and he looks at you puzzled. "Carl, we make out all the time...?"

"It was platonic!" He would try to reason while his face turned red.

345 notes · View notes

smallsinger5901 · 1 year ago

Text

My all time favourite line from each chapter of MBTY!

Chapter one: They took our girl away from home

Chapter two: As long as you call me

Chapter three: Silly girl

Chapter four: Latent content

Chapter five: Oh distant you

And a bonus:

#agggtm #agggtm fanfic #as good as dead fanfic #as good as dead #mtby fanfic #pipravi #as good as dead fanfiction #as good as dead spoilers #make them believe you #a good girls guide to murder #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic

36 notes · View notes

outromoony · 2 months ago

Text

"I'm not like other girls." Well, that's good for you, but I am. I love reading books and fanfics. I love obsessing over fictional characters and screaming music at the top of my lungs. I love fangirling over celebrities and getting overly invested in ships that will never be canon. I cry over sad endings and laugh at memes no one else understands. I love getting way too excited over small things, daydreaming about impossible scenarios, and staying up late to finish just one more chapter. I love getting lost in fictional worlds, losing sleep over them, and rewatching my favorite shows a million times. I love spending hours scrolling through fan art and feeling alive through the stories, music, and love for people I will never meet. I love being like other girls.

3K notes · View notes

darylssunshine · 8 months ago

Text

A Little Bit Dangerous, But, Baby, That's How I Want It

warnings: stockholm syndrome, f in v, swearing, TWD violence

genre: smut

era: reapers

word count: 2.1k

a/n: no I don't condone actual stockholm syndrome obviously, but I am deranged and have Fantasies.

~~~

The tightness of the ropes was harsh against your wrists, the skin growing red and raw. Your ankles were bound as well, to the legs of a metal folding chair, with your hands behind your back and a rag fastened over your mouth. You moved your hands around again, trying to find a loose spot, but it was to no avail. Those ropes held you, and held you down good.

—

The Reapers had found you in the forest, scavenging for food with Maggie and Gabriel. You had gotten separated from your companions to avoid a herd of walkers, finding an abandoned cabin in the process. Musty and ever so slowly falling apart, but it had four walls, a roof, and it hid you from the dead, so you were sold.

The herd was almost past your cabin when you saw a couple of masked figures dressed in all black stride towards your cabin, knives in hand. You quickly ducked behind a tattered recliner in the corner of the room. The sound of knives plunging into rotted flesh sounded off before one of the masked figures opened the creaky door of the cabin and entered, with the other following suit. They padded their way through the cabin, making stealthy footsteps and slamming open every door to check for scavengers.

Just as the two of them were concluding that there was no food or supplies left in the cabin, one of the mysterious figures caught your reflection in a nearby window and dashed to your so-called “hiding spot.” You realized your mistake a second too late, and suddenly the base of a pistol came in rapid contact with the back of your head, feeling yourself fall forward and the world go dark.

—

Your wrists were getting more and more irritated by the second, so you stopped the pointless struggle and looked around to get your bearings. There was a window on the right wall with blinds that were shut, providing not a lot of light, but enough to see what was around you. Though, there wasn't a lot to see. It was a gray, brick room. It was presumably built for the torture of others, considering how empty it was, and that there was a window next to the wooden entrance door so that people on the outside of the room could see whatever sick and depraved things were happening on the inside.

As soon as you were about to try to get the leg restraints loose, you heard heavy boot steps just outside of the door and the click of the lock being unlocked. Your breath hitched beneath the cloth that binded your mouth. You stopped whatever movement you were doing to stare at the door, waiting for the masked people to come and kill you slowly and painfully.

What came through that door wasn't a menacing looking masked figure, however. It was a tall, broad shouldered, brunette older looking man. He was dressed in a long sleeve button up black shirt, black jeans, a black leather vest, and dark brown combat boots. He had a hunting knife sheathed on his belt. His face was rugged and wounded, the most noticeable being a red and jagged scar cutting through his left eyebrow, the rest of the scar being about an inch from his eye. It was the face of a man that has seen, and done, a lot of things.

You were taken out of your thoughts when you heard the stomping of his combat boots come towards you. Before he even stops walking, you spit on the ground in front of him and mumble, “I’m not telling you anything, you sack of shit.”

“So tha’s how ‘s gonna be, huh?” He questioned, one eyebrow raised.

He began slowly walking around the metal chair, reading you, drinking you in.

“Wrists hurt?” He asked rhetorically, noticing the harsh rash blossoming from the base of your wrist. He watched the back of your head as you were unresponsive, refusing to give him anything to work with.

He leisurely walked around to your front, with you looking back at him, trying, and failing, to look intimidating. He got down on one knee to speak with you face to face, eyes stern and unwavering. “Jus’ tell me where yer friends are. It don’t haveta be like this.”

“Go to hell.” You responded immediately. The brunette man sighed and gave you a rough punch to the jaw. You yelped and lolled your head to the side, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I can go all night, Gimme a location, sweetheart.” He said lowly, flexing the hand that just pounded into your jaw.

“Go. To. Hell.” You emphasized through gritted teeth. The next punch was straight to the left eye, so hard that it was sure to leave a nasty black eye. He then suddenly unsheathed his silver hunting knife and started flipping it in his hand absentmindedly.

“We saw who they were. A country girl ‘n a preacher. We can either find ‘em with yer help, or we’ll find ‘em, and before we kill ‘em, I’ll tell ‘em both how I killed ya, nice ‘n slow. Yer choice.” As the man was saying this, he leaned over, painstakingly slow, to put his knife to the base of your neck, his face inches from yours.

Unfortunately for you, your stern demeanor faltered. Your breath hitched when you felt the cold blade pressed firmly to your neck combined with the man’s warm breath hitting your face. You were so scared that you were trembling, but also there was another feeling you had in that moment that you couldn’t quite place. “I’m n… not telling you anything.” You avoided his gaze like the plague, knowing that the man was catching on to how he was already breaking down your walls.

“Huh? What was tha’? Use yer words.” He interrogated. He placed his hand on your knee and used it as leverage to lean impossibly closer, the knife nearly breaking the skin. Almost unconsciously, your eyes drifted from the man to his hand. It was so large, it could easily surround your relatively small hands. His fingers were so long and thick, and the veins. He had too many for you to count. There was dirt and a small amount of oil under his fingernails, implying that he worked with his hands every day. Maybe a car guy? Those hands could easily snap your fragile neck without a second thought, and it made you breathe heavier than you already were.

“Hey. Hey!” He moved his hand from your knee to roughly pull your hair back, causing the back of your head to slam against the back of the chair you were tied to. That got your attention. Also, earned a high pitched yelp from you.

“Did ya even hear wha’ I jus’ said?” He asked, not as rough as just moments before but still firm.

You decided to finally tell the truth. “No… I was… looking at your hand.” You said sheepishly, not looking him in the eye.

This time, the man falters, leaning back to get a good look at you. He eyed you up and down and smirked. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“N-Nothing. No reason.” You blabber out, honestly a little embarrassed that you told the truth, considering that you were supposed to be getting tortured at that moment.

He roughly tugged on your hair again, your head coming in violent contact back of the chair again, making your head fuzzy. Your eyes were half-lidded when they find the man’s piercing blue ones. “I… uh… think it’s hot.”

It looked like something clicked with the man in front of you. He eyed you once again while unconsciously licking his lips and smoothly resheathing his knife. He got down on both knees to properly look you in the face. To properly get you all hot and bothered. The same hand that was on your knee mere moments ago raised up to your throat, squeezing hard. Your eyes became wide and he chuckled maliciously.

“Tell me what you want me to do with ‘em then.”

You swallowed, your mouth suddenly becoming very dry. You very much noticed the resistance on your throat when you swallowed, and he knows you did too.

“Touch me.”

The man gave another laugh in response with how brazen you were with your desires. With one had still clutching your throat, he moved his other hand up your leg in a teasing manner.

“Here?” He rubbed his thumb on your knee before continuing.

“Here?” His calloused fingers rubbed the inside of your thigh, and he could feel them tremble at his touch.

“Here?” He rubbed the crotch area of your thin shorts, already feeling how wet you were from him. For him. He thumbed at your clit, earning a soft whine from you.

“Yeah? This where ya want me?”

“Yes.” You responded desperately, letting him know that you do, in fact, want this.

He then slowly removed his hand from your throat, resting both hands on your hips for a moment before starting to lower your pants and underwear. The process is excruciatingly slow, his hands rubbing up and down your ass and then your inner thighs. He finally gets your pants and underwear down to your ankles, then yanks both articles of clothing off. Your silky, red panties get shoved in his back pocket while your shorts get thrown behind him haphazardly.

His calloused hands then started making quick work untying the restraints around your ankles, getting them both off in about ten seconds. Without even exchanging words, you knew what he was doing. You swiftly wrapped your legs around his torso, adjusting so he would have the best angle.

“Good girl.” He rasped. You clenched over nothing.

He rubbed his hand dangerously close to your cunt, while his other arm was casually resting on your other leg. Like this is just a normal night for him.

“This hand? Ya want this?” He motioned to his hand with his icy blues.

You languidly nodded.

“Then beg.”

A strangled gasp forced its way out of your mouth at his comment. You then forced your brain out of its lust induced haze to come up with a coherent thought. “Ple… Please.”

He smirked, teasing your folds. “Name’s Daryl, by the way. Say my name if ya wanna be a whiny bitch.”

You were getting more needy by the second, trying to buck your hips to get even a little friction. “Please, Daryl.” Your voice was airy and you struggled to get your breathing under control.

He then shoved two shoved two fingers deep into your pussy, not even caring to stretch you out first.

A strangled scream forcefully leaving your throat, you throw your head back in ecstasy. His- Daryl’s long, thick fingers fit perfectly inside you, almost like they were two pieces of the same puzzle. You arched your back as far as your arm restraints could let you, craving even more of his touch. You needed to feel his bulging biceps. You needed to pull and tug at his hair in desperation. You needed him.

His pace was slow and excruciating.

Daryl spoke with a rasp. “Ya like bein’ tied up like this? Bein’ exposed? Huh? Little slut?”

All he got in response were fast deep breaths.

“Answer ‘n I’ll go faster. Told ya ta use yer words.”

Your brain was temporarily paralyzed hearing his accent get thicker, so you had to physically shake your head to snap out of your daze. “Yes. Yes, Daryl. Yes. I’m your slut.” You struggled to breathe out.

His eyebrows raised in a smirk as he quickened the pace. Unholy moans and whines left your mouth, not caring if anyone else hears. High pitched yelps and a tight feeling in your gut started when he continuously hit your sweet spot, his finger curving inside you. Your eyes were beginning to roll back, completely consumed by your hunger for Daryl. For only Daryl.

“I- I’m gonna-”

“‘S fine. Let go, sunshine.”

With a few more pumps to your sweet spot, you did what you were told and let go. Your whole world was blurry and you felt lightheaded, but it was the best you’ve felt in a while. And no one has ever made you feel quite that good.

Daryl stood up and waited patiently for you to come down from your high, licking his fingers clean and grabbing your discarded shorts.

You finally came back down to the same astral plane as the man now standing next to you and gazed at him with adoration. “Holy shit.”

The brunette chuckled and your dazed state. “‘Holy shit’ is right.”

He then suddenly went behind you and loosened your arm restraints. You looked over your shoulder in surprise.

“What happened to wanting to know information?” You cocked your head.

He kneeled back down to caress your face. “Fuck yer friends. I only want you.”

#daryl dixon #twd #the walking dead #twd daryl dixon #daryl twd #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #yes i use they/them pronouns #yes i wanna be called good girl #let me LIVE #stockhom syndrome #Spotify

369 notes · View notes

gladoswantscake · 2 months ago

Text

An Eternity with You - Dracula x Reader (DBD)

Summary: There's only pessimism if you were taken into a realm of lifelong suffering.

Warnings: Psychological distress/trauma, blood, gore, horror

Available on AO3

The hacking, slashings, stabbings, and murder never stopped. Every time your body was pierced with those hooks or killed by the killer's hand; you prayed to whatever deity existed to put you out of your misery for good. But alas, you always wake up back at the campfire. You were unwillingly taken by the Entity; taken into a realm of endless pain and suffering and stuck in sick games of nothing but pure torment. You dreaded going back to that campfire. It never led to anything new. You never came to terms that this was your new life, and you were never going to see your home again.

You could hardly close your eyes to rest without visions of murder entering your mind or the paranoiac-piercing screams messing with your eardrums. Streaks of your hair were becoming white from the great amounts of trauma, and bags under your eyes took effect from the lack of sleep.

The other survivors you've met had been here longer than you, but they never grew used to it, either. You never truly wanted to die so badly till now.

But then something happened during the times you served your trials.

Your chest grew heavy when there were no sounds of generators being repaired, or a teammate calling out in need of assistance. The air was silent and heavy as you explored the trial. The clicking of your footsteps only gave sound to the dead air. Fog entangled your legs with a step towards a sign of any life within the trial. In the midst of the fog, a silhouette laying on the ground could be faintly seen from a distance. As you approach further, you realize it was one of your teammates with their neck torn open. A small pool of blood lays underneath your dead teammate and soaked into their clothing. Upon further examining the body, the hole in their neck looked as if an animal had done it. Their eyes remained open; a hint of expression of fear remained on their face. It was almost as if they were begging you for help.

Quickly and quietly your teammates were being killed without you realizing. Was it just them or all the others?

"I apologize for leaving a mess for you to see. It wasn't very chivalrous of me." A deep voice startles you from behind causing you to whip your head around to see a rather tall man.

The Dark Lord, or Dracula that some of your fellow survivors refer to him as. Word of mouth went around the campfire that he was a vampire. He held no mercy for anyone who had a beating heart. Except for you. The first impression wasn't the best. You found him towering over you as you cowered beneath after watching him toss your teammate's dead body to the side after draining every drop of blood from them.

For the longest time, he's felt his dead heartstrings being pulled. He wasn't sure what caused him to feel this way. Maybe if he was not feasting on your dead teammate, he would have looked less frightening.

He's grown obsessed with you since the day he spared you.

He takes his time walking up to you, wiping the blood off his mouth with the back of his hand in the process. "I was afraid I wasn't going to see you again." His hand reaches for your face with a clawed thumb to wipe a streak of blood splattered on your cheek from healing a teammate earlier.

"Is there ever a time you haven't?"

He chuckles at your response. "No, but I must say, it's become a hobby of mine as of late."

Every time you entered his realm, Dracula always saved you for last. Killing off your teammates as fast as possible then finding you. He couldn't have any of your teammates spoiling anything between the two of you. After killing off your teammates, he would take his precious time stalking you from a distance in his wolf form. His dead heart always skipped a beat whenever he found you wandering alone with no one to get in his way.

"I can tell."

His fingers feather down to your arm until stopping when he notices discoloration on your skin. He pulls your wrist towards him examining a red swollen area with scrapes. The color was slowly bruising into a purplish red. His thumb gently glazes over the scratches allowing his cold touch to calm down the swelling for a bit finally.

"It's nothing. I fell." You reassure.

"My dear, you should be more careful. I'd hate for something so delicate to get into harm's reach."

"If I had a flashlight that lasted longer than ten seconds, I would have been able to see."

"Rather than relying on something so worthless, you should find something that'll do you good."

"Is that your way of saying I want to spend more time with you?"

"Of course. I enjoy indulging in conversations with you." He leans into your face, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Not only that, but I also enjoy feeling your warm skin under my hands and hearing the rhythmic pulse underneath your skin." His warm metallic breath hits your face. "It's so rapturous. Wouldn't you agree my dear?"

"I suppose it's better than death." You wince.

It took some time to warm up to him.

The Entity eventually notices the strange behavior of Dracula. He was unable to fulfill his duty because of you. No matter how much the Entity craved and demanded the survivor's flesh and blood he couldn't do it. He could never conjure enough courage to sacrifice you. It decided to remove you from the trials that involved him for it to be satisfied with its sacrifices. He grew angry upon hearing the news, but the Entity didn't care. If it wanted sacrifices, it was going to make sure it got what it wanted.

Now he finds himself in his castle away from the other killers—sitting alone in his throne room staring off into the distance, sulking in his thoughts. He had no regret being taken into the Entity's realm at first; it felt like paradise, but now he's beginning to have second thoughts. He grew madly in love with you that's why. He wanted to take you away from a place that's done you no good. He wanted to spend an eternity with you. If only he could.

Quiet clicking sounds from a distance pull him from his thoughts. He turned his head to where the sound was coming from and there you were just a few feet from where he sat.

If only he saw how his face beamed at the sight of seeing you again. He rushes to you. "I'd never thought I would ever see you again." His clawed fingers stretched outward feeling your hair as his thumbs stroked your cheeks; feeling the warmth that once sought comfort to him "I pray your suffering has not been too utmost for how long I've been away from you."

"Nothing has changed. I hate it so much."

"I'm sorry how things have-"

"I missed you. So. Much." Your voice cracks upon interrupting. He stares down at you as you try to keep your composure. You look away from him to hide your frustrated tears. "I wish I didn't have to go back."

"Please don't grieve." He lifts your face. "No matter what happens, I will always be here waiting for you. And one day there will be no more suffering. I promise you."

Despite you suffering eternal damnation in the Entity's realm; to Dracula, in a certain way he has gotten the happy ending.

An eternity with you.

#sorry for the shitty summary :( not very good at them #sorry again if its ooc #i really love writing castlevania dracula fanfics :3 #dead by daylight #dbd #dbd x reader #dbd oneshots #castlevania #castlevania x reader #castlevania oneshots #dracula #dracula x reader #dracula vlad tepes #dracula vlad tepes x reader #my creation

117 notes · View notes